Outta Here!
The Booty-Shaking Shakedown
Alright, so it has a lot in common with Delco. But it's in the middle of nowhere and is only known for two things: First, it is the home town of Jimmy Stewart. If your not familiar with Jimmy, he starred in great films such as The Man Who Knew Too Much, The Philadelphia Story, Mr. Smith Goes To Washington, and of course It's A Wonderful Life. He is a legend in the film industry, but he was born in the cum stain of Pennsylvania.
And secondly, Indiana is known for The Indiana University of Pennsylvania, or IUP. The jabronis who attend IUP are those whom either are local Indiana scum or pussies that couldn't hang at State.
This past November I was a young, naive, 5th year senior, and had heard that IUP was actually a great party school. Great bars. Girl-to-guy ratio was heavily leaning towards the lady-folk. Not to mention girls from the sticks will make a Delco broad seem like Mother Theresa. And to top it off, I had a friend from State going to grad school there(this is the only acceptable reason to attend IUP). So a road trip to IUP seemed like a no-brainer for me and my band of buds.
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- Stop for beer?
- Stop for beer.
We walk into the beer distributor and see our very first Indiana local working behind the counter. When I say working, I mean he was sitting in a chair behind what appeared to be bulletproof glass, playing a NASCAR game on his mint condition PS2. He turned and gave us a smile to acknowledge our existence. In doing so, I caught a glimpse of his teeth and suddenly it clicked. I now know exactly what my geography teacher was talking about in that lesson on plates shifting. His mouth consisted of an even distribution of overlapping, gapped, and straight up missing teeth. Disgusted, we made our way into the store and found what instantly became my new favorite beer: American Light. This beer had the smooth finish of a Bud Select with the patriotic styling of a "shock and awe" attack. With every sip I felt like I was supporting the troops.
Our new liquid allies accompany us to our female friend's apartment. The girls are ecstatic to see us, as they should be. They have been dealing with inbred hicks for the first couple months of school and needed a breathe of fresh man-cakes(see Delco Dictionary). We drink. We chit-chat. And as we are making plans for the evening, the girls throw a curve ball our way.
- "I don't know if any of our friends are going out tonight..."
- What? But it's friday night. What do you mean they're not going out?
- "Well, they were gonna stay in and study, maybe order a pizza."
This was our first glimpse of just how ass backwards this town was. Friday night. Study and order pizza. Jesus titty-fucking Christ.
Whatever, we'll go out and tear up the town ourselves. So five of us hit the streets. Four of us Delco chums and one sad soul hailing from Pittsburgh that had no clue what she was in for.
The first gin mill we stop at is called Culpepper's H B. The place is crowded, but nothing crazy. We immediately head to the bar and order a round of their finest bottom-self whiskey and a few beers. Pitt girl is already looking at us funny. The shots keep coming, as do the beers, the mind erasers, and did I mention the shots? Drinks were flocking our way like the salmon of Capistrono.
We're all feeling loose. Pittsburgh bailed on our binge within the first 10 minutes of being there and was quietly watching in the corner as we got blitzed and completely owned the room. But it was time to dance, and this place wasn't doing it for us anymore. Off to Coney Island, or “The Coney” as the locals call it. This is apparently the hotmouth hot spot of Indiana, PA. It had upwards of 8 bars, a huge dance floor, and a stage that I would soon find myself occupying.
The music is bumping, strobe lights flashing, and the females were wildin' out. I was grinding up on a prospect who was really digging my moves. A Delco man knows his way around a dance floor. As this dame is thrusting her baby-maker violently against my pelvis, she suddenly ups and walks towards the stage. I turn around to see what the hell was going on. I mean the babe left me there at half mast for Christ sake. But when I look upon the stage I saw what all the commotion was for: a booty shaking contest. Aww shit!
Girls are lined up to get on stage and show the club just how big of smeasers they could be. One by one dames would take stage and shake their tail feathers. It was a scene from a MTV spring break, and I was in central PA. I was blown away. Obviously I had to be apart of this. Sure, booty shaking contests are reserved for females, as they should be. But my drunken self was not about to be excluded from this booty bout.
Up onto the stage I go. My hips are shaking like a tremor, trying to compete with the babe that actually belonged up there. And the babe was up for a challenge. She drops to the floor and rocks her rump, making the crowd go wild. I was not about to be out done by this Indiana harlot. Naturally, my first instinct is to drop my pants. Why not? Pants down - check. Underpants down - check. Bouncers tackling me off the stage and beating my head against the dance floor - check.
The bouncers beat me senseless and drag me to a back room where they sit me down and 5 extremely large men surround me. Now, this isn't my first rodeo. I've been kicked out of bars before and was completely expecting that to happen here. Not so fast, Dr. Funkenstein. This back room they brought me to was reserved specifically for roughing up out-of-towners and making them wait there for the police to arrive.
-The police? Why the fuck are you calling the police?!
-”Well, sir, you just exposed yourself to the entire bar on stage."
-Oh, that. Well alright then.
The rest of the story is a bit of a blur. Between the ass kicking and the 60 beers I drank, I believe it is understandable that I forget a few things. But the affidavit that I received in the mail days later, along with 2 citations for public drunkenness and disorderly conduct, would help me fill in the gaps. According to the Indiana Police Department, when they apprehended me from “The Coney” I was slurring my words, my eyes were rolling to the back of my head, and all I would say to them is “why can't you fucking dance in this town? I feel like I'm in communist Russia!”
They kept me in the station until a friend could come pick me up. Apparently my friends got one of those sober, pizza eating babes to go get me. In gratitude, I tried hot mouthing her right there in the police station. She was not amused.
Let me jump forward a few months to my court date. I went to court thinking that I had a fighting chance because I was not breathalysed and I was just going to deny the shit out of everything the pig said I did. Little did I know he would bring a bouncer from The Coney to confirm his side of the story and detail exactly how I went about getting on stage and doing the no pants dance. The judge was disgusted by me. He demanded that I pay the maximum fine for both citations, threatened to throw me in jail for indecent exposure, and kindly told me to stay the fuck out of his town.
You got it, buddy.
-Dr. Funkenstein