The normal revelry of B2B went down yet again. The perfect weather and crazy atmosphere made for drunken fun all morning long. Many of Tommy's buddies from SoCal made the trek up North for the festivities and had so much fun that they pledged to return next year. Makes you wonder why a certain hobbit who lives in Marin has NEVER made it to B2B? The Olympic Torch Relay theme included Torch Runners, a Beer Bong Torch, Security Guards, Hippie Protestors and a mobile DJ Stand. Hell Yeah!
Two pipe hittin' hard core mofo's protect the Olympic Torch. Don't mess with the handlebar stash!
Here's a hippie not trusting our President. Can she get arrested for that? Dude, not in San Francisco.
Here's Cam the Security Guard posing with a super hot tranny.
Now we give you a picture of Spitzer's Whores. Our Torch Runner in the wheel chair got a lapdance from the one in the white. HOT.
Another hippie protestor protesting another thing that's wrong with the world
The crowd "running" up Hayes Hill was trying to better it's finish in the race. Here you see finishers 45,678th - 59,901st place in the B2B at the halfway point.
A famous Running Elvis caught the Torch Runners for beer bong.
USA! USA!
C'mon Baby. To take a Torch Bong you gotta drop it like it's hot. Yeeeeee!
This ones for the ladies who like old man ass.
Team Vagina was popular with the crowd. They gave out free tacos to fellow runners.
Flaming Torch Bong!
Here you will see the one naked chick under 40 at B2B 2008. Plenty of painted boobs, but only one kinky enough to bare it all:
This guy loves peace so much that he just had to show it
Here's the Torch Relay crew pre-race:
And we leave you with our lone FBI Agent Sharp "protecting" the Torch from those damn hippies
Derby Day was upon us and we were ready to roll...after strip search, a quick $40 cash at the gate and a $9 mint julep for all, we had officially arrived. We wasted no time heading for the infield and came upon a sweet open spot at the start of turn three, just off the path and spitting distance to a beer stand (and the KFC truck!). The fools in front of us had a tent which is why the spot was so wide open, but we staked the spot anyway, it was close to the fence and slightly away from the true madness of turn 3 so it was all good. Rob and Scott were so excited they demanded I take their picture while sharing a man-hug and a frosty mint julep.
Another sweet thing about our spot was the sheer genius of our spot neighbors. It's always amazing to see the methods by which people manage to sneak booze into the Derby. There are strict rules about what you can bring in and what you can't, and anything you bring with you has to be in clear plastic bags. You are allowed to bring food, but no drinks, no coolers, etc. Every time you go through the gates at Derby you see somebody who just tried to tape booze to themselves and it was easily found. Among the interesting methods employed by our generous neighbors were:
- A dozen oranges with a hold punched in them and soaked in Everclear - my eyes watered just smelling them, and half of one was enough to to start feeling a bit of a buzz (well, half of one plus two mint juleps and 6 beers)
- A chick to the left of us miraculously went from a D-cup to an A-cup after she pulled four plastic baggies full of booze from her bosom; somehow we resisted the temptation to suckly from her booze-teat, though the offer was out there
- The boys to our right (all clad in flight suits and Top Gun costumes), had somehow concealed a fifth of booze in loaves of bread - I'm still not quite sure how they did it because the loaves looked whole and unbroken, but it was high skill indeed
Fortunately for us, Derby day was warm and dry, and the previous days' showers left quite a bit of mud all over the infield, which in turn led to fantastic displays of mud-catfights, mud-slip'n'slides, and the like, in addition to the ritual baring of the breasts for tiny plastic half-cent trinkets. Nothing like a few thousand binge drinkers in one place on a nice sunny day (at least for the first half of the day, until they start dropping like flies).
Few people know that there are other very well-known races on Derby Day besides the Kentucky Derby. Perhaps best of all is the annual Porta-Potty Dash, where drunken folks attempt to sprint across a row of approximately 30 porta-potties all lined up side by side, while the bystanders hurl any available object at them in an attempt to knock them off course. Poor Lamar happened to be pissing in a porta-potty during one of the preliminary heats and reported a near-miss of his head (the one on top), as the roof of his porta-potty collapsed under somebody's foot. Here's one example of an uncontested preliminary heat:
Sometime in the late afternoon, after countless $6 tall-boys, they played the bugle, sang the song, and off we were in the 134th running of the Kentucky Derby. I think this one moment is the only time that most of the infield quiets down and focuses on the race. About a third of the infield is way past passed out at this point, as was Lamar after he stole somebody's comfy chair.
My official ruling is that Lamar is still a Derby Virgin, due to this gross violation of protocol. Unfortunately, neither Ells nor Robodo nor Lamar had much beginner's luck at the betting windows, leaving Tommy the biggest winner for the day. As the sun set on Churchill Downs and another Derby was put in the books, we headed out and grubbed at Wick's, the Lousville version of Woodstocks. We hit Bardstown Road for one more night of Derby madness, some White Castle late night action, and the next thing we know Tommy was being stopped for speeding (damn speed trap right here) on our way to the Indy airport. Until next year...
On Friday the clouds moved in as we dug into breakfast at that most Southern of institutions, the Waffle House. Despite a couple near-brawls between the head cook and the head waitress over who was responsible for getting a new crate of eggs out of the fridge, we made it out of there alive and headed downtown. We were headed for the main bar area downtown, a highly fabricated "mall" of bars that might as well be in anytown USA, when it really started pouring so we ducked into the Louisville Visitors Bureau where we learned all about Colonel Sanders and Bourbon, while Ells just pointed at the Colonel's junk:
After learning way more than we needed to know about the Colonel, we rolled over to the bars and settled on bowling at Lucky Strike, mainly because they had the best-looking waitresses of any place there. After a few games and few drinks, we made what we would come to realize was the most pivotal decision of the day. Should we keep our good spot at Lucky Strike, albeit in shorts and flip flops, and extend our buzz through the rest of the night, OR should we return to the hotel, get dressed a bit more appropriately and return when the concert and nightlife were in full swing?
Being old men and pussies, we chose option #2, which unfortunately took the wind out of our sails just a bit too much. We didn't make it back to the mall of bars until it was a total cluster of people and rain, leaving very little space to get into any of the decent bars without paying $25 cover. After a few drinks at the outside bar and a few lame songs from the Goo Goo Dolls, we headed for a local sports bar to watch the Sharks-Stars game, and give us a bit of a rest in anticipation of Derby Day.