Tag Archives: Republicaster

Projectile Vomit and Mean Joe’s Car

( #Lefty, #JerseyShore )

NOTE: This story is being republished and reformatted from another section of my website. It was originally written in 2006. Thanks to idiots who don’t know how to enjoy things, the names have been changed to protect the not-innocent. The story takes place in the summer of 2001. My friends and I were still in college.

It was supposed to be a perfect day and in some ways it was. My friend Republicaster and I had decided to drive down to the beach to see my friend Jack and his band play. My father was in the habit of taking my car to work on Saturdays, so I took his (relatively new car) to the shore (I thought it was fair trade). We opted to go early and spend the day on the beach.

We arrived late in the morning and everything was just…fantastic. Republicaster and I swam for a few hours and introduced the term “Super Wave Crusher” into our collective vocabularies. After we had our way with the ocean, we decided to break for lunch. At this point, I should mention that we brought another guy with us. He wasn’t a big part of the story except that when stood in line at the deli, I ran into a girl that I worked with (and she was with a group of attractive friends). I quickly said hello and goodbye as I could see “he-who-shall-not-be-named” assessing his odds of getting a phone number (my mental math said no chance in hell). My friend had very poor social skills and I didn’t want to be embarrassed, so I pushed him out the door. Back to the story…

After lunch we walked around Sea Isle. There were plenty of girls to be ogled and we didn’t pass up any opportunity. By 4 PM we decided to go to the bar Jack was playing at and get ourselves camped out. The bartender informed us that Bud was $1. Neither of us drank the stuff, but that changed.

We ordered food and a round of our usual favorites (Coke and a brown booze). I remember I had about $40 bucks cash on me and that’s when we both decided to switch to beer. Around 6 PM, Jack showed up. He sat down and had a few drinks with us while the other band played. By 8ish Jack was getting ready to play. Republicaster and I helped them set up. We spent the next three hours rocking our faces off Lefty style.

I noticed something that would become a trademark of Republicaster’s that night: walking around drinking, making friends, getting drunk, being playful and then getting mean. Jack noticed first (from his own experience) as Republicaster was trying to help move their equipment. Jack skillfully jedi mind-tricked him into sitting down. Republicaster continued to drink. For records, at 6 PM he started drinking dollar Buds, but 9 PM he was asking me for money. The $40 bucks I had left was dwindled to $10 and I stopped drinking for the most part. Which meant Republicaster drank anywhere from 15-20 beers in a few hours.

Jack packed up and left. Republicaster was teetering and I knew we had to get him to the car. He did another now famous move – yelled at people while walking. Republicaster started insulting the locals sitting on their porches and screaming (it was now close to midnight). We finally got him in the backseat and started on our way home. 10 minutes into the trip he started playing with the windows. Then he started sticking his head out the window (the back windows only went half-way down). We reached a desolate, wooded section of the road. It was quiet except for the one car directly behind us. His head had been out the window for a good minute and I looked back and noticed a pink mist shining in the headlights of the bar behind me. The car started to swerve. Republicaster’s head was still out the window.

The fine vomit mist lasted a solid 5-6 minutes. I will compliment Republicaster and say, not one drop of puke got INSIDE my father’s car. As for the outside, I had my concerns. Republicaster fell asleep for the remainder for the trip, which was a blessing on every level. When we pulled up to my parent’s house, my father was sitting outside. It must have been 2 or 3 in the morning. Republicaster knew that my father would not react well to his car being coated in vomit. The old man being outside certainly put a crimp in my plan to wash it off. Republicaster started to do cartwheels on my lawn. My father looked at him, and then me and just walked into the house. I hastily hosed the car off.

The other guy drove Republicaster home and I went to bed. The next morning my car was gone again leaving me more time to inspect Republicaster’s art project. My cleaning efforts the night before got most of Republicaster’s mess, but he managed to coat the back bumper too. It looked like pink insulation foam all over the back. I gave my father’s car a total wash and called Republicaster to curse him out—he just chuckled with self-satisfaction.

Flash forward a few years (winter 2004), a mutual friend had invited us out to have dinner and drinks at a club he was associated with. We all had an early dinner, but then our friend suggested we go to some of the other bars in the area and come back later when the club picked up. We both ended up drinking way too much.

By the time we got back to our friend’s club we were not functioning on any rational level… so our friend broke out a bottle of Johnny Walker Black. I hazily remember dancing with lots of pretty girls. I sort of remember a circle of said girls around Republicaster. Rushing through the long narrow hallway leading to the bathrooms comes to mind. I clearly remember throwing up in the bathroom and NOT making a mess (I was afraid I would get my friend in trouble). The world was brought into focus.

As I walked out. The doors to the club were closed but the patrons that remained inside were allowed a last call. The pretty circle of girls surrounding Republicaster were no longer pretty (perhaps they never were or the attractive ones left for another adventure). Republicaster paid no attention as he was still in his altered state.

My friend looked at me and noticed I was suddenly lucid. He allowed/forced me to stay until he was sure I coherent to leave. As we walked out, Republicaster said he wanted to drive and then got into the back seat of my new car. He started playing with the windows on the bridge and I told him if he needed to throw up, I would pull over. Minutes later on 42, the pink mist I was so familiar with was dusting cars. I just kept driving. When we got back to my house, I was amazed that there was no vomit on my car. The white salt mix crusted on the side of my car seemed to show no sign of Republicaster’s own brand of insulation.

A few weeks later as it warmed up, I took my car to car wash around the corner from my office. It went through the automated assembly line, but when it came out there was a spot that didn’t come out. A small Hispanic man ran over with a solvent to clean it off and then started vomiting. He asked me if anyone had thrown up on my car and I immediately knew Republicaster’s night of drinking had made it on to my car, but the saline solution locked in the flavor.

Bravo my friend, Bravo.

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Stories: The Most Awkward Car Ride Ever

I spent a few days with “Woody” from the story last week; being in his company make me think of this story, which I had to capture while still fresh in my mind. Some facts, places, and people might have been changed to protect people’s identities and to make the story better. Deal with it.


The events of this story took place on Sunday, August 10th, 2008 in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania. My friends and family rented a house for my bachelor party. Through the course of the weekend one of the guys whom we shall call “Gambo” took offense to the antics that were taking place in the house, especially one that indirectly-directly impacted him. This one specific event caused Gambo to mope around the house and not talk to anyone. On Saturday evening, a minor confrontation broke out between Gambo and a gentlemen we shall call Woody (actually a confrontation between me and Gambo also broke out). Woody was one of the principles in the act that caused Gambo to freak out and stop talking to us. Woody took responsibility for any damage and called in a specialist at a very low cost (a fraction of the deposit on the place). Gambo, who booked the house, wasn’t satisfied for some reason. Gambo came out of his funk on Saturday night, but still wasn’t talking to Woody. This leads us to Sunday Morning…

It had been decided after the specialist repaired the damage to the house (outstanding work I might add), we would all go out and get lunch. I picked a local Indian place to piss off my friend “Nuesbaum” who doesn’t like ethnic food. The pressure from the last few days had lifted since the damage was fixed and the security deposit was coming back (which nobody expected to be returned except for Gambo). Woody and I got into Republicaster’s car. As we were pulling out, Gambo got into the back seat next to me. The next 6 minutes won’t ever be forgotten.

[The Ride]

{Scene: Republicaster, Woody, and I are in the driveway of the house, getting ready to leave for lunch. Gambo is looking at the car.}

Woody: I hope he doesn’t think he is getting a ride with us.
Joey: I doubt he will get in the car, Gambo is non-confrontational, he knows better than to come in here with you.

{Gambo gets in the car. I hear Republicaster saying “Oh shit” under his breath. The car is silent for a full minute}

Joey: Man I can’t wait to get me some Indian food. I wonder if Nuesbuam is going to make it through lunch before he ruins himself.
Gambo: He isn’t coming, he is going to get Burger King with some of the other guys
Joey: What the hell…
Woody (to Republicaster): Man, that specialist did a great job today.
Republicaster: No doubt man, we got lucky finding him. Good work.
Woody: Gambo, you like what he did?
Gambo: Yeah it looks fine.

{Woody nodds}

Gambo: I just want to let you know that I am not paying you for the specialist, I don’t think I should have to.

{Woody remains silent}

{Woody turns around to face Gambo}

Woody: You don’t think everyone should pay for the damage. Everyone was down there laughing and half the people in the house were in on it. It’s a bachelor party – everyone should pay. It should just come out of the deposit money.
Gambo: I don’t think I should have to pay for that damage.
Woody: That’s because you are a rat.

{Silence from everyone. There are much nastier words in the English language, but when Woody called Gambo a rat, it sounded like the absolute worst thing in the world}

Woody: Republicaster, can you believe this guy? He can’t relax and be part of the group, he needs to create a problem… needs to act like a RAT

{Gambo is looking at me with pleading eyes, I just look back with a a sad nod. I felt bad for the guy, but he got on the crazy train, now he need to sit back and enjoy the ride}

Woody: I can’t believe I am sharing a car with a rat. This guy has a been a complete jerk all weekend. A total RAT. You ever see a rat chew a hole in a wall? Then he climbs in the wall and makes more holes. And then he gets in your kitchen and eats your food and poops all over your counter. That’s what Gambo is doing. He is crapping in my kitchen!
Gambo: You think I should…
Woody: RAT!
Gambo: Why should I be expected to…
Woody: RATS CAN TALK! When a Rat got into our house, my mother made me chop off it’s head with a shovel….

{Woody is now sweating with rage and the thought of rats. Republicaster and I are fighting the urge to laugh.}

Woody: I am done with this guy. Nobody should talk to RATS, it’s bad for your health.

{Republicaster nods in agreement as we pull into the Indian Restaurant’s parking lot, Gambo is just staring out the window like nothing happened}


Lunch was a curry flavored session of tension. The other guys didn’t know what happened, but they knew something was up. Gambo and Woody stayed away from each other and when the meal was over he did not join us in the car ride home. Actually, I think we just got in the car and left knowing that Nuesbaum’s car had room (they met us after they got back from BK). Woody and Gambo kept their distance until the car ride back to New Jersey as they were both in my car. Gambo put on his earphones and listened to his iPod the entire ride home not saying a word to either of us. Woody made a few Rat comments, if Gambo heard them, he didn’t react. I didn’t speak to Gambo for a few months (actually not until days before the wedding). That is another topic to be covered in another place.

The boys didn’t get their deposit money returned for months, but none of them said anything to me about it – not even Woody, who told me after he got the check that he wasn’t expecting to get one. Eventually Gambo stopped talking to the group and after some initial questioning from the guys, they stopped asking about him. I have no doubts that this incident had something to do with his previous self-imposed exile.

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Thanksgiving Eve (2006)

[A Brief History]

About 8 years ago (when I was still in college and interning), my cousin’s business was located in downtown Marlton, NJ. I used to meet him for lunch regularly at his office and I often brought my co-worker “Shame” (I am going to keep the naming methods from “The Night We Got Beat Up”). During the holidays at my office, people used to leave around lunch and never came back. We got the wink that we could leave at noon the day before Thanksgiving and decided to meet up with my cousin and his business partner. When we got there, we couldn’t agree on a place to go, so my cousin looked at his buddy and said – “Follow Us” with an ominous tone.

We ended up going to the Jug Handle and for the next few years it became a mini-tradition. As my cousin and his partner stopped going for various reasons, I started supplementing the crowd with other work buddies. The Jug Handle was great because it had cheap food, cheap drinks, pool, darts, and shuffle board. Eventually people switched jobs and meeting at the Jug Handle became a pain in the ass because nobody worked or lived around there anymore and the cops were out looking for DUI’s. In 2006 we agreed to meet in a small bar attached to Fuddruckers because we knew nobody would be there and we could have a few hours to ourselves. This is the story of that day.


I decided to open up the invitation to my cousin and a few college buddies, Fudds is near my cousin’s place so I thought he could make it, but he couldn’t that year, but my college friends did. Republicaster made the trip from Pa and agreed to spend the night. With Republicaster involved, I knew it was going to be a crazy night. Another friend agreed to drive us to our liquid lunch and my future wife would meet us there when she was done work. On the way to the bar, we picked up The Mongolian from my Fear and Loathing stories. On this particular day, Republicaster had just discovered the video “Two Girls and a Cup” and made us all watch it. If you don’t know what this video is, I wouldn’t recommend googling it unless you like watching people eat freshly squeezed feces. Republicaster played that damn video on every computer he came in contact with that day and on his iPhone.

We were really early and the other guys informed us they were getting out of work late, so we stopped at a Chinese Buffet down the street and loaded up. After 20 minutes, The Mongolian looked like he was going to pass out in a food coma. He stopped eating which had me concerned for his whole day drinking stamina. After 40 minutes of killing time, we got the word that the others were on their way, so we left for the bar. Clowncar and “The Professor” were already there and we quickly settled in and started taking advantage of Fudd’s Blue Moon special (I don’t know how I remember that). Shame and Grapeape were the next to arrive and we started playing pool and darts. We were having a great time and then Shirts walks in sporting a 1992 US Basketball Dream Team Jersey complete with head and wrist bands. The verbal beating that Shirts took that day became legendary (check out the video). Shame actually had to tell us to stop because Shirts was really upset over the verbal lashing. It didn’t stop Clowncar.

[La Casa de Shirt]

My future wife showed up just as “The Professor”, Grapeape, and Clowncar were leaving. My college friend left to pick up his lady friend and never came back – typical. Shirts suggested we enjoy a few beverages at his place. Off we went. Shirts had recently moved into a nice condo and he was definitely entertaining often based on the amount of booze at the place. Republicaster immediately went up to the loft and started showing everyone “Two Girls and a Cup”, even after repeated viewings, I threw up in my mouth a little bit. Republicaster must have had it on repeat as I heard him belly-laughing for several minutes. Up to this point, I hadn’t really noticed how much Republicaster was drinking, but I started to see bottles of Shirt’s scotch start to pile up next to his recycle bin. Shirts had invited some of his other friends over as well because he was leaving the country for the holidays for a few weeks. Shirts also invited his neighbors over. His neighbors were divorced women who were dressed just a little bit provocatively. Republicaster was all over this. Somehow they started talking politics and George Bush. At some point in the night, Republicaster said “George Bush is a great president – how can you deny it? – we won the war on terror”. If you haven’t figured it out, this is how Republicaster earned his name. This started a shouting match between Republicaster, Allison, and I that Shirt’s semi-tramp neighbor had to break up by getting Republicaster to go outside with her for a cigarette. Looking at the recycling bin there were two empty bottles of scotch, 2 empty bottles of rum, 3 empty vodkas, and at least a case of beer. Allison didn’t have one drink at Shirt’s place and I stopped well before my shouting match with Republicaster which was good because Shame, The Mongolian, and Republicaster wanted to leave. Shame’s dad was playing music at an old-school Italian bar near Berlin, NJ so we agreed to go there.


This place was totally “Guido’ed” out. Lots of dark slicked back hair, gold chains, teased hair, Frank Sinatra covers…. Shame immediately started doing shots of tequila with family members at the bar. The Mongolian got sucked into the vortex and quickly became a drunken zombie. Republicaster found his way to the outdoor patio and started making friends outside. Me and Allison were sitting at a table waiting for Shame to find some girl to take home so we could leave. We stayed a while as Shame performed with his dad’s band, but I could see most of the women at the bar were more like family to Shame and the girls that met his approval – well, I think he already slept with most of them. Shame decided it was time to go to a bar near his house. At this point Allison said enough. We promptly told the guys we would take them to the bar but they have to find their own way home OR we would drive them all back to their houses. Shame wanted to go to the bar (because he could walk home). Republicaster got caught up in Shame’s spell thinking he could actually get his run off. Shame left no run off. If there are three girls, Shame will try to get all three. I tried to warn Republicaster but he wasn’t listening.


As we pulled into the new bar’s parking lot, I looked at The Mongolian who had not spoken a word in over an hour, I told him we could take him home and he looked like he really want to leave with us, but Republicaster pulled him out of the car. I looked at Republicaster – who was supposed to be staying at my house – and said “if you leave with them, I am not coming back out to get you. You will have to find your own way.” He said he understood and with that I shut off my cell phone. Getting home was terrible. There were so many checkpoints I was really glad Allison hadn’t had a drink in close to 7 hours, but I still took her down back-roads to avoid any possibility of conflict with the police. We got home and went to bed. I never did turn my cell phone on.

[The Morning After]

Thanksgiving day was misty and cold. As I turned on my cellphone I knew I was going to have several obscenity-laced message and I was right. As I predicted, Shame quickly found a girl and left Republicaster and The Mongolian behind. The Mongolian had enough and started to walk home (about 2 miles). Republicaster started following him back. As Republicaster followed, he called me on his cell phone to tell me to pick him up, of course I never answered. The messages became more desperate and crude. The Mongolian told me Republicaster was trying to hitch-hike a one point (Republicaster hates to walk). Eventually they made it to The Mongolian’s house. The Mongolian’s wife – Lady Death Strike – is a very clean woman. Their rug and couch are white and you have to be very careful not to mess up their pristine set-up. This was not a good situation for Republicaster.

Lady Death Strike later told me she heard snoring from downstairs and had assumed it was one of their friends but she didn’t know anyone that snored that loud. The Mongolian was still in his drunken zombie mode and offered no information. The good lady was left to wonder who was sleeping on her couch that evening.

As I deleted Republicaster’s half-dozen messages, Allison and I went to the gym. After we got out, my phone rang and it was a very panicked Republicaster asking me to get him the hell out of The Mongolian’s cave before they woke up. He didn’t want to deal with any awkward conversations with Lady Death Strike who he didn’t know well at the time. Allison and I laughed as we went to get Republicaster. I texted him when I was at the door and he snuck out.

Republicaster promptly informed me that he lost his credit card and I needed to take him back to the Guido Bar. So I had to drive to Berlin (about 25 minutes) and then back to my place (which was 40 minutes). When we got to the bar, some meat-head was yelling at his girlfriend; he peeled off when he noticed Allison and I were shamelessly watching him. Another girl dropped off a very shady looking character at the bar. He quickly got in his car and pulled off without saying a word. Ah, who doesn’t love the sights of trashy South Jersey one night stands.

Republicaster got back in the car and we went back to my place. He quickly grabbed his stuff and left so he can celebrate the holiday with his family. My family enjoyed our typical early meal and then I drove back to Berlin to take my Grandmother home and then off to my future in-laws.


Needless to say it was a long 24 hours. The last few years we have continued to meet at Fudds for a few hours. It has been getting harder as some of the guys have kids at home and they need to get back and help their wives with holiday preparations. Regardless of the obstacles, we plan on getting together again this year.

If you find yourself going out on Thanksgiving Eve – make sure you have a designated driver and don’t “Shame” your friends.

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