Setting the Record Straight

Some people out there may be wondering if I did a jaegerbomb with Dirk Nowitzki. Other people are questioning whether I even saw Dirk Nowitzki. What follows is the truth in as much detail as I can remember.

Typically when I get out of work on Friday, all I want to do is party. This past Friday I had big dreams of going down to the casino and playing poker on Friday, and hopefully, finding some schmuck in town for the NBA All Star weekend who wanted to give me all his money. Instead however, I received nothing but massive threats as to how long it would take me to get downtown, so I went to Cooter Brown’s to see one of my favorite bartenders, Laurie. Laurie was her usual self, effervescent, effusive, and making drinks that were strong enough to peel paint that still tasted delicious. After one double cocktail I was no longer good at pool, after two I was no longer good at standing. Laurie’s shift ended and she came and shot the shit with us and we had some dinner and a few more (considerably less strong) drinks.

After we had enough of Kevin Durant’s shoes on the big HDs we rolled to my buddy’s house and he showed us his haunted attic. We then went to one of the swankier uptown bars and drank expensive Irish whiskey until after the jazz band stopped playing and it became clear that the waitress I had a crush on wanted nothing to do with me.

We rolled out and met up with some friends at the Kingpin. Now, for those of you who have never been to the Kingpin allow me to describe it for you. The Kingpin is a little dive bar hidden away uptown and not really near any sort of legit streets. It’s the kind of place where a member of the biggest pop band from New Orleans (Better than Ezra) sits next to the biggest drunk in NOLA (yours truly) but is left alone because I’m talking to my friends who are: 2 law students, 1 med student, an English professor and her Architect boyfriend. They also have shuffle board and Ms. Pacman, both of which are more fun than cracking “it’s been good _(verb)_ing with you uh-huh” jokes.

After a while, my ride home was leaving but I was having a little trouble finding my hat. I did a circle of the bar trying to find my hat. I had just given up when who do I see has taken a seat at the end of the bar but Dirk Nowitzki, the reigning NBA MVP. Now, it’s not easy to lose a hat in a bar the size of a Quizno's (it is however impossible to miss a seven-footer) so I’m not 100% sure that this is the way it went down, but I’m pretty sure it went something like this:

Crazy Drunk American: Oh hey Dirk, do you have my hat?

Seven Foot Tall German: Huh?

Crazy Drunk American: (laughing) Nothing man, enjoy yourself. (Walks out the door)

I then called half a dozen people and told them that I’d just done a Jaegerbomb with Dirk Nowitzki.