Our 5 Hour Adventure With A Fog Machine, Chicken And A Stranger Named George

November 11th 2014

Story originally written and experienced: November 8th 2014

“I’m leaving.”

I told them. As I stood uP from the table and gravitated >> towards the door. It was 10pm on a Saturday and we were sitting at a bar in midtown, watching the OSU game, sharing buckets of brews with a large party of…a lot…when


I decided it was time to go.

“I’m leaving.”

I told them. As I stood uP from the table and gravitated >> towards the door.

“Why? Where are you going?”

Jordan asked me noticing my abrUPt movements to go.

Jordan's face.

Jordan’s face.

“I’m going on an adventure.”

“An adventure?” Phil and Hollis chimed in from                       across the way.

“Yeah, earlier this week I was g chatting with my friend Megan, and we both decided we wanted to have an adventure this weekend. Somewhere random and unexpected that we’d never been to before, and that we’d likely never go to again…so I’m gonna go do that.”

The three of them.

Looked >>  << at each


And then back at me < < < < and said, “I’m down for an adventure…can we come?”

“Of course you can.”

And off we went. > > > > >

Fast forward >> just 5 hours later.

And the next thing I knew:

It was 3:32 in the morning, my hands were greasy from chicken, and I was sitting in a strange man’s car.


 “I’m down for an adventure…can we come?”

“Of course you can.”

And off we went. > > > > >

Which is when Phil said, “Alright, alright. I’ll go on this ‘adventure.’ But. I’ve been out all day. So if I bought a pack of 5 hour energies at the pharmacy, would you guys take shots of it with me?”

“5 hour energies?” I said. “It’s 10:30pm now…which would mean we’re committing to a 3:30am night.”

“I’m down.” said Jordan.

“Me too.” chimed Hollis.

“Let’s do it.” I confirmed.

And after waiting a copious amount of time in the pharmacy’s lengthy line, (pre-gamed with drunken wandering through the beer and oreo aisle.)

This is going well.

This is going well.


We alas chugged our 5 hours of self-inflicted energy, and all simultaneously decided:


But wait.

There’s more.

“Where are we going?” Jordan asked me with complete and utter validity.

“Hmm…let’s see here. Her text message says ” Meet me at the Bossa Nova Civic Club.” Let me







 to see where it is.

Oh shit.

It’s on Myrtle Ave.”

“Why what’s wrong with that?”

“Myrtle Ave.? Nicknamed ‘Murder Ave?'”


“Yeah that’s what it’s nicknamed.”

“I’ll go if you go.”

“Let’s roll.”

Fresh with FDA approved stimulation, we acknowledged that our commute to the deep depths of Brooklyn would indeed be bit of a lengthy one, thus causing us to make the excellent life decision to use the facilities before we were Murder Ave. bound.


There was no bathroom in sight. No McDonald’s. No Starbucks. All malls were closed.

And then there it was.

A Burger King/Cinnabon hybrid just a meer 2 blocks away.

Blessed be the day.

Blessed be the day.


I corralled the crew immediately for a quick pit stop before our final destination. But upon arrival. I heard a distant voice from

Across the restaurant echo

“Customers only.





So I did what any good friend would do. I perused the menu and purchased a good old-fashioned “Pecanbon”

Diet starts tonight.

Diet starts tonight.


For an entire $4.56 to keep my team both watered and fed.

My apparent treat.

The sacrifices I make for you people.



Only screaming for confirmation, “YOU GUYS AREN’T ALLERGIC TO NUTS ARE YOU? IS THE PECANBON COOL?” Once. Just. Once.

And alas we were off. Bathroom needs fulfilled. Pecanbon being passed around. Ready for an adventure on one the most highly acclaimed hoods in all of New York.


We missed the train.

And another one.

And another one.

Making mistakes. Going the wrong direction. > < > < > > < > < > < >

Claiming all along the accidental way that “it was all a part of the adventure.”

Adventure? Check.

Adventure? Check.

When the clock struck 12:15 am—2 hours after our original departure time…—we had finally arrived on Murder fuckin Ave. Ready to meet my friend Megan who was only a terrifying 12 blocks away. Hoping that on our treacherous trek, no surprise attacks like this would happen along the way:

None of this.

None of this.


We survived. And persevered. All.12.Blocks. Finally approaching >> our final destination with 3 hours of energy left on the clock.






We waited.





And while we waited.

We were greatly entertained by a 4 ft man attempting to provoke a 7 ft bouncer from             just a few feet away. Because he wouldn’t let him in. Because he was apparently a neighborhood psycho. But it all balanced out because he said sweet things like this:


To which the bouncer was like:


And with the collective street cred of Phil, Hollis, Jordan and I adding up to just about none.




I cannot explain why…oh why…when I got to the front of the line, I said to the bouncer “Howz about THAT GUY?! What was he thinking! To think he could take you?! What a JOKE.” And just like that, I could feel Jordan tapping my arm and shaking his head and motioning for me to stop.

But only because.

Well because.

The little gangster was back.

And he was looking right through my soul.

He's backkkk.

Welcome back…

And within moments, my friends skyrocketed their street cred when they made a casual barricade around me.

And I just kind of.

I just.


To which the bouncer was like:


Because he could tell I was new to Murder Ave. And with that knowledge, finally told my friends and I that we could just go inside.


And there we were.

Finally inside.

My friend Megan awaiting with open arms.

Or was it her?


Is it really?

“Hey it’s me!”

Twas confirmed. It was Megan, my skepticism deriving from a strange cloudy haze that inconveniently


          over us

“Ahh sorry I couldn’t see you at first. It’s so cloudy in here!” I said to her.

“Yeah. I did some research and I guess this place is known for their ‘fog machines’ “


In time.

Made entirely too much sense. For just a few minutes later, this same intense fog that blockaded me from facially recognizing my friends, also prevented us from taking satirical pictures dancing with a sign that said “No dancing.”

No no one will every know how funny we are.

Well great, now no one will every know how funny we are.


Sign? What sign?

7 days.


And after some fog-accompanied cardio, starting a human limbo and being graded by our “robot skills” via all the local hipsters.

Just real quick.

A ++.


The clock struck 2:02 am and we officially had 1 hour and 28 minutes of energy fuckin left.

Let's roll.

Let’s roll.


 So we headed out. To a tiki bar not so far away. Where everyone got blocked up.

Playing Jenga.

Goin in.



Until we had 24 minutes of energy left to go.

And suddenly Phil said something really magical. He said.

“I want chicken.”

“I definitely want chicken,” I voluntarily confirmed.

“I think I saw a Popeyes by the train station…” said Jordan.

“It’s 3 in the morning. Is it still open?” inquired Hollis.

No one responded.

Because we were already out the door >>>

Bound and determined to figure it the fuck out.

A massacre happened that night.

In Brooklyn.

Circa 3am.

At the Popeyes we were passionately en route >> to.

By us of course.

The victims included: An 8 piece family meal, 4 biscuits, 6 different sauces, a box of fries and every ounce of dignity.


Snap chat verification.


A delicious tragedy.

A delicious tragedy.



Weapons of mass happiness.

Weapons of mass happiness.



The scene of the crime.

The scene of the crime.


Satisfied with our bodies filled with Pecanbons, 5 hour energies, booze and chicken. We decided to use our last 14 minutes of energy to Uber home. And call it a damn night.


It wasn’t that easy.


That easy.

“Uber driver said he’s rounding the corner now. In a black Lexus, I believe?” relayed Phil with Bayou Buffalo sauce still on his shirt.

“Oh, oh!! A black Lexus!! I see it! Right there!” I alerted the crew sCaMpErInG across the street.

“Okay, the driver’s name is Eugene!” yelled Phil.

I approached the black Lexus, opened up the door and made my way inside. I traveled all the way to the back seat. Laid down and said with finger guns “HIT IT, EUGENE! TAKE ME TO THE HOMELAND.”

To which he said.

“My name is George.”


“Yeah my name is George. What are you doing in my car?!”

And that’s when I realized.

It was 3:32 in the morning, my hands were greasy from chicken and I was sitting in a strange man’s car.

Within seconds I could see the panic on my friend’s faces on the other side of the glass mouthing.


I jumped uP immediately and fled the vehicle, forever grateful my accidental friend George didn’t give me an impromptu tour de Murder Ave.

And alas.

Eugene was found.

And we all piled in.

Satisfied with Pecanbons.

Pleased with Popeye’s chicken.

And realizing that we fulfilled our adventure.

And exhausted our energy.

At precisely the right time.


Cheers to these adventurers for joining me on one hell of a night.

Hollis, Jordan, Phil, Olive & Megan.

Hollis, Jordan, Phil, Olive & Megan.