'When you get to the, 'FUCK YOU' stop, you're here.

For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge. FUCK. Fuck is a great fucking word. Think about it. How many words in the English language can actually be used as a noun, verb, adjective, adverb & infix? Oh yeah, an infix is when you insert a word into another word, like 'abso-fucking-lutely.' Not many other words can prompt such a strong reaction. Would you really be that upset if somebody yelled, 'Burrito You!!!!' Didn't think so. As you can probably guess, this story involves a whole lot of 'FUCK' & how this lovely word became part of the directions that Dennis & I would eventually have to start giving out to people when they came over to our house in Philadelphia.

The Doctor Seuss house(For further information about said Doctor Seuss house, please see the previous blog entry entitled, 'The Martini Incident.' 'Natch!) that Dennis & I lived in was a duplex. Our neighbor was the landlord's son, let's just call him Mr. Ed. Mr. Ed was your typical trust fund baby, burnout douche-bag. You know the type, old enough to be an adult, but never truly will be. He smoked alot of weed, drank profusely & loved to cruise the local high schools to pick up chicks(Because he could buy them beer & cigarrettes.). He worked part-time for the city & dipped full-time into the $$$ that daddy gave him. If you ever needed him(Which really was never!), he could be found on the back deck that we shared shotgunning Milwaukee's Best beer cans & the occaisional gravity-bong hit(If you don't know what either of those things mean, Google that shit. I obviously had much more fun in college than you did!).

One Friday Night, Ed invited Dennis & I over to his palatial estate for some drinks. We reluctantly accepted. There was a distict, pungent smell of spilled bong-water as we entered his Man-Cave of doom. A stained yellow couch was the centerpiece that that tied his living room together where 2 empty kegs & a piece of plywood made for a makeshift coffee table with various porno mags strewn about the floor for good measure. I stepped on a crunchy Hustler magazine that stuck to the bottom of my shoe much like melted gum on a warm, summer pavement would. Ewwww!!!

The evening started out innocent enough with some Pabst Blue Ribbon tall boys, but then Mr. Ed decided to break out the Jagermeister & red bull. Wikipedia describes Jagermeister as follows:

Jahermeister is a type of liquer called Krauterlikor. Jagermeister's ingredients include 56 herbs, fruits, & spices including liquorice, anise, poppy seeds, saffron, ginger, jumiper berries & ginseng. These ingredients are ground, then steeped in water & alcohol for 2-3 days. Afterwards this mixture is filtered & stored in oak barrels for about a year. When a year has passed. the liquer is then filtered again, then mixed with sugar, caramel, alcohol & water. It is filtered one last time & then bottled.

My definition of Jagermeister is as follows:

Milk from a witch's tit is mixed with the tears of a child, blood from your 1st born & unicorn urine. This concoction is blessed by the dark lord on Arbor Day & then marinated with crack cocaine & pixie dust for good measure & delivered to your local dive bar!

If you've ever habitually drank Jagermeister, then you probably side with my definition. This tart, sugary liquer is liquid crack. Moreover, it used to make me destroy furniture(Hell, one time I drank almost an entire bottle & built 'Stonehenge' with all of the living room & kitchen furniture, then proceeded to throw a few of the couches off of my balcony into the bay('What??? Don't judge me. It was a Tuesday night & I was bored!'). If you mix Jagermeister with Red Bull you create a 'Jager-Bomb.' 'Jager-Bombs' taste just like Welch's Grape Soda & are technically a legal 'Speed-Ball' which is the term used when you combine an amphetamine & a barbituate(An upper & a downer-'Natch!). In lamens terms, 'It fucks you up real good!'

About halfway through our 'Jager-Session' we started talking about previous pranks that we've pulled off & how coincidentally the Annual Philadelphia Bike Race would be going right past our house tomorrow with a live-feed camera set up strategically beside our front deck. I jokingly infered that somebody should paint, 'FUCK YOU' on the road in front of our house just to screw with the live feed & local newscasts.

Mr.Ed: 'Hey man, that sounds like a really good idea!'

Me: 'C'mon Ed. Not really! But I tell you what, if we ever decide to deface a public road with obscenities, we'll give you full credit!

We all had a good laugh & continued to drink ourselfs into a 'Jager-Bomb' induced oblivion that could only end inevidably with a hugging of the porcelain-god. What I forgot to realize was that in my heyday, I was so good at instigating anarchy amongst my peers that I could practically do it in my sleep. I planted a seed in Mr. Ed's brain that grew that night & spread like the fucking ebola virus. When Dennis & I stumbled next door, Mr. Ed went to his work truck where he had phoshporescent highway paint. Just what the fuck is phosphorescent highway paint you ask? Well it's the reflective paint that they use to paint the lines on highways. This reflective paint contains thousands of little glass spheres, designed to reflect lots of light, even at night! Mr. Ed began painting what would become his masterpiece....

Flashforward to a hungover, headache-laced morning. I stumbled to the bathroom, fumbled with the aspirin bottle(Stupid child-proofed piece of shit!) & the brushed my teeth. I was half-singing a song & brushing my teeth to the beat in my head.

'Kitty at my foot & I wanna touch it! Kitty at my foot & I wanna touch it!' Kitty at my...What the FUCK!!!?????'

I looked out of our living rom window & did a triple take. The bike race had already begun. There were literally hundreds of people lining the streets & right in front of our house in 20-ft high letters was spelled out, 'FUCK YOU.' My toothbrush hit the floor. Holy shit Mr. Ed had really done it. My drunken lament had become reality & it was being broadcast live locally on CBS for all of Philadelphia to see!

I ran downstairs & started pounding on Mr. Ed's door. After what seemed like an eternity, he answered.

Me: Ed, what the fuck did you do????'

Mr.Ed: She sure is purty ain't she?'

Me: Ed, I'm actually more inpressed than pissed, but I'm using my Plausible Deniability Card on this one ok? You didn't do this. I didn't give you the idea & we have absolutely no idea how a 20-ft high 'FUCK YOU' was pained in perfect Queen's English in front of our house ok???

Mr.Ed: Word.

Me: Word it is you silly bastard!

And with that I marched back upstairs where Dennis was watching the local race on tv.

Dennis: 'Biff, check it out, they haven't computer-blurred the 'FUCK YOU' completely yet. You can totally tell what it says!'

That Monday, the City desperately tried to remove the painted 'FUCK YOU' in front of our house to no avail. This was after all phosphorescent reflective paint that you literally cannot wash away. After about 2wks of trying various power washes & paint-dilutes, they City of Philadelphia's Road Maintenance Department conceded defeat & we were stuck with a big, fat 'FUCK YOU' in front of our house.

There's a funny caveat to this story, Mr. Ed didn't use up all of his 'special paint' that night. He walked up to the top of our hill & wrote 'LICK MY BALLS!' in 20-ft high lettering as well. So now every time we gave directions to our house it went a little something like this;

"Make a right on Lewis Street & start driving up the hill. When you get to the 'FUCK YOU' stop, you're here. If you get to 'LICK MY BALLS!' you went too far & have to turn around.'