The thematic terror that I spoke of on Thursday will start tomorrow. Today, I shall recount the Cowboy Breakfast and the subsequent celebratory kidnapping.
My friend Danza has the awesome fortune of having his birthday on the merriest of days, September 11th. Definitely not cool for him, but his girlfriend Kristin and I have decided that no national tragedy shall dim the glory of the anniversary of his escape from the birth canal. Last year, we had a surprise party at her house, that is notable solely for the fact that I showed up way too early, then had to hide in her closet and pray my bladder didn't explode while they talked in the next room. Fun was definitely in the forecast that evening. This year, faced with the prospect of topping that, we had our work cut out for us. While I consider myself the world's greatest schemer, the well was dry the first several times I tried to bring up some genius. Weeks stretched, and it began to look like this thing was not going to go down. My inability to come up with something awesome dragged me into a funk that threatened all of Powelldom. And then, last week, inspiration came in the form of a letter from Marlboro.
It was for something called a Cowboy Breakfast, being held downtown at a fancy steakhouse. I realized there was a possibility here, and slowly, the wheels began turning. Kristin and I pow wowed via email for a few days, before we finally struck gold. Danza didn't get to make the last tubing trip, so how about while he's at the Cowboy Breakfast, a bunch of people can show up at his place so we can all kidnap him and take him to the river? A kidnapping plan slowly took shape (code name Furious Platypus) and by Saturday morn, it was all planned out. Yes, a faux kidnapping on September 11th in the middle of downtown Austin; this had good idea written all over it.
I picked him up bright and early Saturday morning to head to the Breakfast Boondoggle. After filling out a few surveys that ought to ensure a lifetime supply of Virginia Slims coupons for yours truly, we sat down and dined like tobacco barons. I give a tip of the cap to the waitstaff, whose cowboy attire made me want to weep in sympathy. Midway through the meal, I pulled the old "Ohhhh, I don't feel so good" routine and ran outside to call my comrades and let them know to get ready. It struck me midway through the call to make it memorable; if this thing went badly, I wanted something to reminisce over in Guantanmo Bay. After it wrapped up, I went back inside and we finished up our meals. As we left, a representative from Marlboro threw me a barbecue set in a desperate attempt to earn some consumer loyalty, like a pathetic obese woman. I gave the set timidly to Danza, in the hopes he wouldn't turn my own tools against me in the heat of the moment.
We got in the car and headed back to his place. When we pulled into the parking lot, he sensed something afoot, much like cows do right before an earthquake. Taking a look at the cars assembled there, he declared, "There's a surprise going down!" I whipped out a water gun and barked, "Get inside, before I pistol whip you!" He marched in, and was met with a truly terrifying sight: a man dressed in camoflague and a ski mask, running towards him with a bag of zip ties and a pillow case. In short order, lead kidnapper Boj had hogtied Danza and peppered him with insults. We put him in the back of the car and booked it to the river.
What followed was 7 hours of tawdry aquatic fun. I'd recount it in all of its sleazy glory, but some things are just a little too majestic to be express throughed words. Also, the whole trip got a little hazy two hours into it. Good times were all, and I fully expect Danza to shake in fear when he thinks to what may be in store for him on his next birthday. On Saturday, we truly proved the old saying, "One man's day of mourning is another man's cause for lighthearted capital offenses." Mazeltov!Posted by Cody at September 12, 2004 08:51 PM