Quote:
Originally Posted by Canofbier
You must have been wasted when you wrote that, because there are parts of that story that don't make an ounce of sense.
|
A little bit wasted, but it's pretty much truth.
I could go on about the time that I was in Miami in 2000, got crushed, crashed a party, tipped over an entire table of drinks and an ice sculpture, had the hotel security (two of them) escort me back to my room, drop a cocktail on the floor splattering glass everywhere, clean that shit up, shower, go back out to the hot tub area (after the security guys leave - ****ers stayed outside my door for at least 45 minutes), hook up with some girls there, mess around, go back to my room - shower again, dress up, start to wander about South Beach, casually walk by CroBar and start to talk to some dude out front, he takes me in, gives me the grand tour (as he's one of the owners - as I find out during the tour), get into the VIP room, have drinks with Tim Hardaway (who is playing a game the next day btw) and dance with Naomi Campbell. Go back to the hotel after some weird shit that I'm not going to divulge and wake up and do the sales meeting, training, seminar shit the next day.
So there is that.