20 Horses And A Box Of Franzia

October 27th 2013

Story originally written and experienced: October 9th 2013

 Rise and Shine!…With Wine.

Top of the morning.
Top of the morning.

Indeed this was an exact reenactment of my appearance on the morning of October 19th, 2013 at approximately 7:25 am.

 The occasion was this:

 About a month or two back a my local NYC friend, Bee

Face clarification.
Bee’s face.

Invited a flock of preppy New Yorkers to join her on a party bus to Far Hills, New Jersey.

“There’s going to be a race” she said.

 “A horse race.”

With booze.

 Everyone said yes.


The story gets better.

The expectations were as follows:

1. The bus will leave exactly at 9 am

2. That bus will have drinking

3. That race will having driving

4. This event is BYODF (Bring your own damn food)

5. The bus will leave exactly at 4 p.m. And will not wait for anyone.

4:01 pm.
4:01 pm.

Now normally I’m not a ruler abider

Because quite honestly:


But one does not simply – cancel on Bee “Goldfish Chugger” Dover:


So alas, at the painful stroke of 8:30 am on a Saturday morning, the lot of us woke the fuck up. And piled on the damn bus with optimal grace:

The sacrifices we make to party....
Ready to roll.

That looked like this:

Everything looks swankier in black and white.

Where we pulled on our drinking khakis and leggings. And got the party started with a classy, world-renowned, fresh from September 2013 swig of:


Feels good to be a post grad.

Order up.
Breakfast is served.







2 hours and 48 blacked out individuals (and 1 semi-coherent wasian) later

___________________                                            ___________________

We had arrived. 

And at the precise moment of park, Tucker bound off the bus instantaneously:

Look how instantaneous I am.
Look how instantaneous I am.

As the rest of us frOLicked behind him shortly after. Mostly drunk and partially excited to see a fleet of horses, swirling glasses of chardonnay, oversized hats, flowing dresses, some croutons sprinkled on catered-in salads

Until we saw…


Good god.
So no croutons then…


Not a glass of chardonnay was found. All croutons were

And any abandoned mustaches?

Were fucking worn:

Oui Oui
No shave november pre-game.
A gunshot went off.

 The ====== horses  ===== were ===== out  ===== of =====  the ===== gate

 And no one gave a single fuck.

But only because.

We were distracted.

And going  a little rogue.

These guys.

And I noticed it when:

In the midst of making new friends:

Can't hang out. Busy.
Can’t hang out. Busy.

I noticed a something bright from the

corner of my eye.

It was a man. Dressed in a yellow shirt. He wore a puka shell….wicker hat.

And his name was Hank.

Hey Hank.
Hey Hank.

And Hank had one request.

To fill up his flask.

And that was it:

Your wish is apparently our command, Hank.

Once Hank was properly remounted on his walker, (flask in hand)… I suddenly noticed an unusual amount of hay











In the sky.

And that’s when I saw it.

Liam Parker violently chucking mass amounts of hay at innocent children’s faces:

He's going to make a great father someday.
He’s going to make a great father someday.

Without a single ounce of remorse:

No fucks.
No fucks.







Moments after I witnessed Liam face plant a handful of children, his very roommate, Tucker,  was approximately 8 shots of whiskey overboard slow mo-ing a champion fall that looked like this:

Man down.
Man down.

But not for long.

Wait where did you get that candy corn.

Glamour shot.
Glamour shot.

Alas, Tucker was sitting up right and simmering down Liam’s violence. And the rest of the day was spent hijacking fireball:

Gimme that.

Taking selfies:

Girls never do this.

And overreacting to pre-packaged sandwiches #drunkanddesperate

An absurd amount of happiness going on here.

And at the precise stroke of 3:43 pm that day, KrissyCharlie and I moseyed >> our way over to our trusty ride home. Eagerly ready to abide by rule #5:

The bus will leave exactly at 4 p.m. And will not wait for anyone.


Just a friendly reminder.
Just a friendly reminder.

So off we went  >>>>

Ready to go

Happily drunk

With cheetos on the mind

When suddenly

X    X     X

_________”I’m sorry ladies. No one can cross this gate” ________

2 officers were standing at a barricade in their uniformed slacks and freshly polished badges.

“What do you mean, officers? We need to leave!”

“I’m sorry but we simply cannot let you leave until the horses have crossed this part of the track”

“Well…how long will that be?”

“20 minutes? Maybe more?”

“But we’ve gotta go. Our ride. It’s in the parking lot!”

“Tough shit.”

Good times.
Good talk.

So there we were.

The lone 3 of us

X    X    X

Stranded with a pack of horses and a phone call that said

“The bus driver said he’s not going to wait. We’re leaving now”

And that they did.

We kept our cool:


And began to brainstorm the various ways to travel back to our overpriced homes in the city.

Help me, I'm poor.
Help me, I’m poor.

And that’s when we saw it.

A glowing train station from a fair distance away.

Celebration time.

And with a quick dead sprint and an impromptu ticket. We finally boarded the train.

Lord have mercy.
Not sober.

And made some friends.

Jk who is this.
Jk who is this.

And it wasn’t until we strolled through our     doors          a not so brief 4 hours later, changed into our makeshift PJs and watched breaking bad until 1 in the goddamn morning, did I realize that

This might just be the last time I’d ever attempt to mix animals with booze.

Unless it involves something like this:

Sign me up.