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-----Original Message----- From: "scott crowell" <scott_crowell@hotmail.com<@ENRON Sent: Monday, October 22, 2001 9:08 AM To: Giron, Darron C. Subject: Fwd: FW: Are you ready for some football? <From: "Laurence, Andrea" <alaurence@kpmg.com< <To: "Adam Devine (E-mail)" <adam_devine@hotmail.com<, "Alex Stopka <(E-mail)" <astopka@hotmail.com<, "Alice Hurley (E-mail)" <<alicekhurley@aol.com<, "Andrea Weimeyer (E-mail)" <<andreaw@homemail.com<, "Andreas Neuffer (E-mail)" <<Neuffer.Andreas@bcg.com<, "Grossi, Anthony L" <agrossi@kpmg.com<, < "Bob Helbing (E-mail 2)" <robert.helbing@mortgage.wellsfargo.com<, < "Diana, Christopher J" <cdiana@kpmg.com<, "Cory Hartquist <(E-mail)" <chartquist@yahoo.com<, "Dana Schroeder (E-mail)" <<rdaschroeder@yahoo.com<, "Gerard Devine (E-mail)" <<gfdevine@hotmail.com<, "Graham Johnston (E-mail)" <<graham.e.johnston@us.arthurandersen.com<, "Woodson, Granville M" <<gwoodson@kpmg.com<, "Frates, Gretchen" <gfrates@kpmg.com<, <"Hugh Brown (E-mail)" <brownhm@excite.com<, "Jean McHugh (E-mail)" <<jeanm@donohoe.com<, "Jeff Ottenbreit (E-mail)" <<ottenbrj@sacredheart.edu<, "Myles, Joanne D" <jmyles@kpmg.com<, < "McGlothlin, Julia J" <jmcglothlin@kpmg.com<, "Krista Pearl <(E-mail)" <Norton94@aol.com<, "Marc Laurence (E-mail)" <<marclaurence@hotmail.com<, "Michael Laurence (E-mail)" <<kingarthurman@yahoo.com<, "Michael McCall (E-mail)" <<Michael_McCall@hud.gov<, "Kelleher, Michael P" <<mkelleher@kpmg.com<, "Weisfeld, Michael" <mweisfeld@kpmg.com<, < "Michele Farley (E-mail)" <Michele_Farley@yahoo.com<, "Mike Ibay <(E-mail)" <mikeybye@hotmail.com<, "Patty McKenna (E-mail)" <<patriciamckenna@netscape.net<, "Paul Rude (E-mail)" <<rude.paul@cnrsw.navy.mil<, "Rashida Mitchell (E-mail)" <<ragirl99@hotmail.com<, "Russell Sole (E-mail)" <<RSOLE@us.oracle.com<, "Scott Crowell (E-mail)" <<scott_crowell@hotmail.com<, "Rodiger, Stephan" <<srodiger@kpmg.com<, "Sue Tafrate (E-mail)" <SusanT@bchands.org<, < "Stoltz, Suzanne" <sstoltz@kpmg.com<, "Arcona, Teresa" <<tarcona@kpmg.com<, "Morley, Thomas" <thomasmorley@kpmg.com<, <"Todd Edwards (E-mail)" <jte38@hotmail.com<, "Todd Lantor (E-mail)" <<Tlantor@steptoe.com<, "Tom Stolpman (E-mail)" <tstolpman@home.com< <Subject: FW: Are you ready for some football? <Date: Fri, 19 Oct 2001 11:29:04 -0400 < < <-----Original Message----- <From: KurtHelwig@aol.com [mailto:KurtHelwig@aol.com] <Sent: Friday, October 19 , 2001 9:52 AM <To: alaurence@kpmg.com <Subject: Fwd: Are you ready for some football? < < <this might be guy humor, but it is one of the funniest damn things i have <ever read < < <-----Original Message----- <From: JimmyLynn1@aol.com [mailto:JimmyLynn1@aol.com] <Sent: Friday, August 31, 2001 12:36 PM <To: t.butler@rane.net; KurtHelwig@aol.com; Wiedis@aol.com <Subject: Fwd: Are you ready for some football? < < < <this one should remind you guys of our sojourn to new orleans last fall ... <it takes a while to read, but it's worth it. j -- < < < < <Fan on Game Day--- (apologies if you've seen this before...worth another < <look) < <This is pretty long, but it's HYSTERICAL! If you've ever been drunk at a < <sporting event, or been with someone who has, you can relate. < <++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ < <+++ < <This is an e-mail from some guy named J.D. Horne, who, according to the < <messages that were attached to this, is not a 21 year-old frat boy, but an < <attorney of indeterminate age. He sent it to his friend Brian Brice and it < <got forwarded around the country. You have to give the guy some props for < <being self-deprecating...but I hope I never meet him on game day. < <A chronology of events for Saturday, December 4, 1999, and the early <morning < <hours of Sunday, December 5, 1999: < < <6:00 Arise, play the Eyes of Texas and Texas Fight at full-freaking blast < <6:20 Get in car, drive to New Braunfels < <7:30 Tee off (me and a buddy were the FIRST tee-time of the morning) < <8:50 Turn 9 (crack open first beer) < <8:53 Crack open second beer < <8:58 Crack open...(you get the idea) < <10:30 Finish 18 (holes, as well as beers), sign scorecard for smoooooth 95. < <10:35 Headed for San Antonio (Alamodome - Nebraska vs Texas) < <10:50 Buy three 18-packs for pre- and post-game festivities < <11:10 We decide we don't have enough booze, so we double-back to a liquor < <store and buy the good ol' 750 ml plastic bottle "Traveler" Jim Beam < <11:50 Arrive at the tailgate spot. Awesome day. Not a single cloud in the < <sky. About 70 degrees. < <11:55 I decide that we're going to kick the shit out of Nebraska. < <11:56 I tell my first Nebraska fan to go fuck himself. < <12:15 The UT band walks by on the way to the Alamodome. We're on the second < <floor of a two-story parking garage on the corner (a couple hundred of us). < <We're hooting and hollering like wildmen. The band doubles back to the < <street right below us and serenades us with Texas Fight and The Eyes of < <Texas. AWESOME MOMENT. < <12:25 In the post-serenade serendipity, 50-100 grown men are bumping chests < <with one another, each and every one of them now secure and certain of the < <fact that we are going to kick the shit out of Nebraska. < <1:00 The Nebraska band walks by on the way to the Alamodome. Again, we hoot < <and holler like wildmen. Again, the band doubles back and stops right below < <us to serenade us, this time, however, with the Nebraska fight songs. < <Although somewhat impressed by their spirit and verve, we remain convinced < <that we are going to kick the shit out of Nebraska. < <1:30 I begin the walk to the Alamodome, somehow managing to stuff the < <"Traveler" and 11 cans of beer into my pants. < <1:47 I am in line surrounded by Nebraska fans. They are taunting me. I am < <taunting back, still certain that we are going to kick the shit out of < <Nebraska. I decide to challenge a particularly vocal Nebraska fan to play < <what I now call and will forever be remembered as Cell-Phone Flop Out." < <Remember flop out for a dollar? The rules are similar. I tell this < <Nebraska jackass that if he's so confident in his team, he should "flop <out" < <his cell phone RIGHT NOW and make plane reservations to Phoenix for the < <Fiesta Bowl. And then I spoke these memorable words: "And not those damn < <refundable tickets, either! You request those non-refundable, < <non-transferrable sons-of-bitches!" He backs down. He is unworthy. < <I call Southwest Airlines and buy two tickets to Phoenix, non-refundable <and < <non-transferrable. Price: $712. He is humbled. He lowers his head in < <shame. I raise my cell phone in triumph to the cheers of hundreds of Texas < <fans. I am KING and these are my subjects. I distribute the 11 beers in my < <pants to the cheering masses. I RULE the pre-game kingdom. < <2:34 Kickoff. Brimming with confidence, I open the Traveler and pour my < <first stiffy. < <2:45 I notice something troubling: Nebraska is big. Nebraska is fast. < <Nebraska is very pissed off at Texas. < <3:01 The first quarter mercifully ends. 9 yards total offense for Texas. < <Zero first downs for Texas. I'm still talking shit. I pour another stiffy < <from the Traveler. < <3:36 Four minutes to go in the first half: the Traveler is a dead soldier. < <I buy my first $5 beer from the Alamodome merchants. While I am standing in < <line, a center snap nearly decapitates Major Applewhite and rolls out of <the < <end zone. Safety. < <3:56 Halftime score: Nebraska 15, Texas 0. I wish I had another Traveler. < <4:11 While urinating next to a Nebraska fan in the bathroom at halftime, I < <attempt to revive the classic Brice-ism from the South Bend bathroom: < <"Hey, buddy, niiiiiiiiice cock." He is unamused. < <4:21 I buy my 2nd and 3rd $5 beer from the Alamodome merchants. I share my < <beer with two high school girls sitting behind me. Surprisingly, they are < <equipped with a flask full of vodka. I send them off to purchase Sprites, < <so that we may consume their vodka. I have not lost faith. < <Nebraska is a bunch of pussies. < <4:51 No more vodka. The girls sitting behind me have fled for their lives. < <I purchase two more $5 beers from the Alamodome merchants. < <5:18 Score is Nebraska 22, Texas 0. I am beginning to lose faith. This < <normally would trouble me, but I am too drunk to see the football field. < <5:27 I call Southwest Airlines: "I'm sorry, sir. Those tickets have been < <confirmed and are non-refundable and non-transferrable." < <5:37 I try to start a fight with every person behind the concession <counter. < <As it turns out, the Alamodome has a policy that no beer can be sold when < <there is less than 10 minutes on the game clock. I am enraged by this < <policy. I ask loudly: "Why the fuck didn't you announce last call over the < <fucking PA system??!!" < <5:49 Back in my seats, I am slumped in my chair in defeat. All of a sudden, < <the Texas crowd goes absolutely nuts. < <"Whazzis?," I mutter, awaking from my coma, "Iz we winnig? Did wez scort?" < <Alas, the answer is no, we were not winning and we did not score. The < <largest (by far) cheer of the day from the Texas faithful occurred when the < <handlers were walking back to the tunnel and Bevo (the Texas mascot) <stopped < <to take a gargantuan shit all over the letters "S", "K", and "A" in the < <"Nebraska" spelled out in their end zone. I cheer wildly. I pick up the < <empty Traveler bottle and stick my tongue in it. I am thirsty. < <6:16 Nebraska fans are going berserk as I walk back to the truck. I would < <taunt them with some off-color remarks about their parentage, but I am too < <drunk to form complete sentences. With my last cognitive thought of the < <evening, I take solace in the fact that if we had not beaten them in < <October, they would be playing Florida State for the national championship. < <6:30 Back in the car. On the way back to Austin for the basketball game. < <8:00 Texas-Arizona tip off. We can still salvage the day! I crack open a < <beer. It is warm. I don't care. < <7:12 We have stopped for gas. I am hungry. I go inside the store. I walk < <past the beer frig. I notice a Zima. I've never had a Zima. I wonder if < <it's any good. I pull a Zima from the frig. I twist the top off and drink < <the Zima in three swallows. Zima sucks. I replace the empty bottle in the < <frig. < <7:17 There is a Blimpie Subs in the store. I walk to where the ingredients < <are, where the person usually makes the sub. There is no one there. I lean < <over the counter and scoop out half a bucket of black olives. I eat them. < <I am still hungry. I lean further over the counter and grab approximately < <two pounds of Pastrami. I walk out of the store grunting and eating < <Pastrami. The patrons in the store fear me. I don't care. < <8:01 We are in South Austin. I have been drinking warm beer and singing < <Brooks and Dunn tunes for over an hour. My truck-mate is tired of my < <singing. He suggests that perhaps Brooks and Dunn have written other good < <songs besides "You're Going to Miss Me When I'm Gone" < <and "Neon Moon" and that maybe listening to only those two songs, ten times < <each was a bit excessive. Perhaps, he suggests, I could just let the CD < <play on its own. I tell him to fuck off and restart "Neon Moon." < <8:30 We arrive at the Erwin Center. My truckmate, against my loud and < <profane protestations, parks on the top floor of a nearby parking garage. I < <tell him he's an idiot. I tell him we will never get out. I tell him we < <may as well pitch a fucking tent here. He ignores me. < <I think he's still pissed about the Brooks and Dunn tunes. I whistle "Neon < <Moon" loudly. < <8:47 I am rallying. I have 4 warm beers stuffed in my pants. We're going < <to kick the shit out of Arizona. < <9:11 Halftime score: Texas 31, Arizona 29. I am pleased. I go to the < <bathroom to pee for the 67th time today. I giggle to myself because of the < <new opportunity to do "the bathroom Brice." There are no Arizona fans in < <the bathroom. I am disappointed. I tell myself (out loud) that I have a < <"Niiiiiice cock." No one is amused but me. < <9:41 I walk to the bathroom while drinking Bud Light out of a can. Needless < <to say, they do not sell beer at the Erwin Center,much less Bud Light out <of < <a can. I am stopped by an usher: "Where did you get that, sir?" I tell him < <(no shit): "Oh, the cheerleaders were throwing them up with those little < <plastic footballs. Would you mind throwing this away for me?" I take the < <last swig and hand it to him. He is confused. I pretend I'm going to the < <bathroom, but I run away giggling instead. I duck into some entrance to < <avoid the usher, who is now pursuing me. I sneak into a large group of < <people and sit down. The usher walks by harmlessly. I am giggling like a < <little girl. I crack open another can of Bud Light. < <9:52 I am lost. In my haste to avoid the usher, I have lost my bearings. I < <have no ticket stub. I cannot find my seats. Texas is losing. < <10:09 Texas is being screwed by the refs. I am enraged. I have cleared out < <the seats around me because I keep removing my hat and beating the < <surrounding chairs with it. A concerned fan asks if I'm OK and perhaps I < <shouldn't take it so seriously. I tell him to fuck off. < <10:15 After the fourth consecutive "worst fucking call I have EVER seen," I < <attempt to remove my hat again to begin beating inanimate objects. < <However, on this occasion I miscalculate and I thumbnail myself in my left < <eyelid, leaving a one-quarter inch gash over my eye. I am now bleeding into < <my left eye and all over my shirt. "Perhaps," I think to myself, I'm < <taking this a bit seriously." < <10:22 I am standing in the bathroom peeing. I'm so drunk I am swaying and < <grunting. I have a bloody napkin pressed on my left eye. My pants are < <bloody. I have my (formerly) white shirt wrapped around my waist. I look < <like I should be in an episode of Cops. < <10:43 Texas has lost. I put my bloody white shirt back on my body and make < <my way for the exits. I am stopped every 20 seconds by a good < <samaritan/cop/security guard to ask me why I am covered in blood, but I < <merely grunt incoherently and keep moving. < <10:59 With my one good eye, I have located the parking garage. I walk up < <six flights of stairs, promise that when I see my friend I will punch him <in < <the face for making me walk up six flights of stairs, find the truck, and < <collapse in a heap in the bed of the truck. I look around and notice that < <traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and <no < <one is moving. I take a nap. < <11:17 I awake from my nap. I see my friend in the driver's seat. I lift my < <head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is lined up < <all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and no one is moving. I < <am too tired to punch my friend. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker." < <11:31 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that < <traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and <no < <one is moving. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker." < <11:38 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that < <traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and <no < <one is moving. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker." < <11:47 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that < <traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and <no < <one is moving. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker." < <11:58 I am jostled. The truck is moving. I lift my head to look out the < <bed of the truck and notice that traffic is beginning to move on the second < <floor. I jump out of the truck, walk to the edge of the parking facility, < <and pee off the sixth floor onto the street below. < <My friend looks at me like I just anally violated his minor sister. I turn < <around pee on the front of his truck while singing the lyrics to "Neon < <Moon." < <12:11 We are moving. We are out of beer. I jump from the truck and go from < <vehicle to vehicle until someone gives me two beers. I am happy. I return < <to my vehicle < <12:26 We have emerged from the parking facility. We make our way to my < <apartment and find Ed sitting on the couch with a freshly opened bottle of < <Glenlivet on the coffee table in front of him. We are all going to die < <tonight. < <12:59 We have finished three-quarters of the bottle of Glenlivet. We decide < <it would be a wonderful idea to go dancing at PollyEsther's. Ed has to pee. < <He walks down the hall to our apartment and directly into the full length < <mirror at the end of the hall, smashing it into hundreds of pieces. We < <giggle uncontrollably and leave for PollyEsther's. < <1:17 The PollyEsther's doorman laughs uncontrollably at our efforts to <enter < <his club. "Fellas," he says in between his fits of spastic laughter, "I've < <been working this door for almost a year. I've been working doors in this < <town for almost 5 years. And I can honestly say that I ain't never seen < <three drunker mother fuckers than you three. Sorry, can't let you in." We < <attempt to reason with him. He laughs harder. < <1:44 We find a bar that lets us in. We take two steps in the door and hear < <"Last call for alcohol!" I turn to the group and mutter: "See, dat wasn't < <that fuckin' hard. Day don't fuckin' do that at the Awamo...the awaom...the < <alab...fuck it, that stadium we was at today..." We order 6 shots of < <tequila and three beers. < <2:15 Back on the street. We need food. We hail a cab to take us the two < <and one half blocks to Katz's. The cab fare is $1.60. We give him $10 and < <tell him to keep it. < <2:17 There is a 20 minute wait. We give the hostess $50. We are seated < <immediately. < <2:25 We order two orders of fried pickles, a Cobb salad, a bowl of soup, <two < <orders of Blueberry blintzes, two Reuben sandwiches, a hamburger, two <cheese < <stuffed potatoes, an order of fries, and an order of onion rings. < <2:39 The food arrives. We are all asleep with our heads on the table. The < <waiter wakes us up. We eat every fucking bit of our food. Most of the < <restaurant patrons around us are disgusted. We don't give a fuck. The tab < <is $112 with tip. < <2:46 I'm sleepy. < <9:12 I wake up next to a strange woman. She is the bartender at Katz's. < <She is not pretty. < < < <***************************************************************************** <The information in this email is confidential and may be legally <privileged. <It is intended solely for the addressee. Access to this email by anyone <else <is unauthorized. < <If you are not the intended recipient, any disclosure, copying, <distribution <or any action taken or omitted to be taken in reliance on it, is prohibited <and may be unlawful. When addressed to our clients any opinions or advice <contained in this email are subject to the terms and conditions expressed <in <the governing KPMG client engagement letter. <***************************************************************************** _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp
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