Boobie Tassels For Buddha

A long long time ago in a shopping cart far far away.

There we stood on that hill. We knew what was going to happen down to the impact. We were going to do it regardless. We didn't care. It had to be done. It was shopping cart jousting tuesday and we were drunk. Yes that is correct shopping cart jousting tuesday. We all had genius IQs that were blinded by alcohol that was higher proof rated than our brilliant intellect. So we figured it would be fun. I was the lead joust man. My goal was simple. Crush my enemy with the end of the pvc and boxing glove jousting pole that I had made. Within twenty feet I would make my opponent feel the pain. Even though I had no idea who it was. Before hand the ritual was simple. My group of friends all drew lots. Our teams were made of three people. There were twenty four of us. Eight teams one goal. The bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label. Granted most of us were too drunk to appreciate awesome scotch but we all chipped in for it.

Now for those of you who are uneducated to this most skilled of sports the shopping cart joust team has three positions; the pusher, which pushes the cart until about three quarters the way in which momentum takes over, the glider which is only on for about halfway to make sure the shopping car stay straight and the jouster, who simple shoves the jousting stick straight to the chest head or heart of whoever the hell is in the other cart (unless they suck.) Basically this means all the members of the team are important-- well actually the glider is kinda like a bass player, you sort of need em but really most of the time you could probably do with out em if you were truly good at it. The whole thing requires expert coordination and of course, shopping carts. We stole ours. I think everyone else did too. The rules were simple, you must be touching the cart until the other person was clearly hit and knocked over/turned (routed) by the jouster. Basically part of you had to be touching the cart at all times. That was the only rule.

Our teams strategy was fairly simple: put the tall agile motherfucker in the cart and have him sorta hop/jump and thrust the fucking pole at the opposition. That tall and agile mother fucker was yours truly. Let this be known: introduce me to your mom at your own risk... Anyways I just did this sort of hop thrust thing from the cart that while ridiculous looking was menacingly effective. Because I was tall enough to still be touching the cart while leaping. Believe me shopping cart physics are more complicated then they look when you add in jousting and tall people. So my goal was simple team three "The Angsty Monkey Dongs" would maybe have my reach but not my agility so I was to do my hop thrust the spear and derail them and get the bottle of gentleman jack.

So our glider helped the pusher (which every team did) up until halfway keeping us halfway and started shouting encouragement. The teams were random each week. My team was pretty much imbalanced. Everyone was over six foot tall and healthy. I was agile. The end. The pusher was a football player so I was going pretty fast. But I could recognize the person on team three. My best friend, and probably the coolest stripper I ever met Layla. She was looking back. This was going to be interesting.

Thoughts of chivalry and moral issues went through my head. Should I knock her cart over? Should I miss her? Should I give her all I got? Why the hell is she in the cart she is shorter then the guys on her team? Did they know this and do this intentionally? What would Brian Boitano do? Is she gonna pull a stripper move and out agile me? Is she wearing her heals cause then we are about even? Is this some sort of sick joke from some deity? Why am I thinking so much? After that I just did what was appropriate: I played to win. I hopped. We collided, she contorted in the air as only a stripper could and artfully dodged my lance. I didn't even have a chance but I was gonna tip her cart too. We went down together. We tied. The Johnnie Walker was shared.

All my stories have some sort of moral. The moral here is simple: Johnnie Walker blue label is ALWAYS worth it.