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Charlottesville, Meet Bjorn the Village Killer - December 2, 2006

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I am going to preface this blog entry by saying this; I am a happy drunk. When I go out drinking, 199 out of 200 times I am a giggly, joke-cracking burlap sack full o' sunshine. Really. What happened to me late night after the Charlottesville book signing was truly an anomaly that can only be understood when you examine all of the factors involved, which when combined brought out my savagely bitter drunken alter ego...Bjorn the Village Killer.

Tucker and I got the book signing started around 2:00 p.m. at the Phi Kappa Psi house on the UVA campus. They did a great fucking job setting everything up for us; they had a big ass banner out of spray paint and what looked like some pledge's bed sheets that said "Tucker Max Book Signing Today" and had it hanging up for all to see, a covered table set up on a platform and what looked like a 100 gallon Tupperware container filled with ice and Milwaukee's Beast Ice sitting directly behind us. It was glorious.

3:00 p.m. Tucker and I started cracking beers and pounding them with reckless abandon. After both of us had tossed three empties into the trash can, he turned to me with a look on his face that could only be described as a cross between fear and curiosity and said, "Mike, we are going to get extremely shitfaced here. Nothing good can come from this." After having spent a little under two weeks on the death march/book signing tour I completely understood how he felt.

3:01 p.m. I cracked another beer. I ain't never scurred.

4:00 p.m. I had abandoned my job as the JewFace Killah (working the cashbox) to play Beirut with the brothers. Tucker started having a hard time choosing between yelling at me to get back to the signing table and flirting with groupies. After three merciless beatings and me strutting around talking shit like Neon Deon Sanders, I returned to my station and helped take money for books only to find that giving people correct change while buzzed was quickly becoming a challenge. Doing two things at once is hard. I have a newfound respect for Bodie Miller now.

5:00 p.m. Tucker fucked his first chick of the night. I am left to sit by the cash box and entertain the sea of people in front of me who were all asking me "why Tucker was fucking the fat Asian looking midget" in the RV. I told them that he needs a girl with some meat on her bones to keep tension on the belt around his neck while he jerks off. All of the guys laugh. The girls just kind of looked on with wide eyes their jaws dropped, hoping and praying that I was kidding. Awesome.

5:19 p.m. At this point I was chain smoking while double fisting Milwaukee's Beast Ice and some kind of energy drink. Tucker strolls back in and everybody laughs at him for deep-dicking the oompa loompa. His response; "DID YOU SEE THE CARD SHE GAVE ME? THE 'I CHOO-CHOO-CHOOSE YOU' CARD?! I HAD TO FUCK HER!!" The laughter increased. Tucker was so drunk and exhausted that he could only shake is head and stare at the floor as he walked back to the book signing table.

7:00 p.m. Tucker and I looked at eachother and decided that we were far too drunk to continue selling and signing books. This is where I did the bulk of my drinking, trying to suck down the last remaining Beast Lights before we were forced to drink Beast Ice for the rest of the night.

7:20 p.m. I was sitting at the book signing table chatting it up with some chicks when out of nowhere, someone grabbed the sunglasses off of my head and tossed them on the floor in front of me.

~Bjorn the Village Killer starts warming up with jumping jacks~


I stopped everything I was doing, balled up one of my fists and started turning around slowly. Tucker was standing directly behind me with his hands up laughing at me; "Dude, it's me. Relax!" I laughed at how short my temper had become after 10 days of driving, drinking and fucking without any real sleep. I finished the last Beast Light and began rummaging through the cooler for another beer.

8:00 p.m. A girl came up to me and told me that she didn't understand how Tucker was fucking all sorts of chicks on the tour and that they should be fucking me because I'm "hotter and nicer" than he is. I told her that I agreed, and that we should hook it up later on that night. She concurred. Her even more attractive friend also began saying the same thing and the possibility of a threesome reared its filthy little head.

8:30 p.m. Me, the two chicks and Tucker all walked down to this awesome fucking deli in town to eat some food before we became too drunk to shovel food into our gullets. As we were eating, the two chicks reiterated what they told me back at the frat house in front of Tucker. "There you go, Mike. You know what you're doing tonight!" Yeah, I thought I did until Tucker made one of them cry and run out of the deli, forcing the other one to follow her out the door to console her.

~Bjorn the Village Killer begins aerobic stretching~

9:00 p.m. We get back to the frat house to round up the troops and have a few more beers before we headed to the after party at a place called Orbit. The two chicks that stormed out of the deli made it back and were hanging out by the doorway, refusing to set foot in the main room were everyone was. I walked over to them and one of them was bawling.

Girl 1: "I'm sorry I'm crying. I'm so sorry, you must hate me."

Me: "Don't be sorry, why the fuck are you crying, Tucker wasn't even being mean to you, it was your friend he was yelling at."

Girl 1: "I know, (sob) I know...I don't get it, (sniffle) why is he such an ASSHOLE?! (uncontrollable wailing)"

Me: "let me get you a beer."

I put all of five minutes into patting her on the head and telling her that it was ok before she snapped out of it. I slipped my jacket back on and was about to bring her out to the RV when her friend came and dragged her out the door, never to be seen again.

~Bjorn the Village Killer is now jogging in place and checking his pulse~

10:00 p.m. We arrived at Orbit. It was ok for about 5 minutes before the fans strolled in and began choking the life force out of Tucker and myself with offers from dudes to get "Tucker Max Drunk" and the occasional jealous, pussy starved guy trying to muscle up and talk shit. It was unbelievably oppressive.

It was around this time when this very cute chick in a green shirt and HUGE boobs began chatting me up, buying me beers and telling me that she wanted me to stay at her place. I thought to myself, "Finally, I have somewhere to put this hard on of mine and fall asleep on a real bed instead of waking up alone in Anne Frank's attic with scoliosis." We moved to one of the couches and began to make out and unabashedly grope eachother in front of people. After a few minutes, I got up to take a piss. I came back to find - HAPPY SURPRISE - GirlinGreenShirt passed out on the couch, completely shitfaced.

~Bjorn the Village Killer begins to sharpen his war axe on the skulls of the innocent~

Seeing as that I like the nickname KungFu Mike more than Shifty McRapist, I left her to keep my jacket warm with her drunken corpse and went to find Tucker, who was so freaked out by the situation inside the bar that he grabbed the first female fan he could find so we could escape to the confines of her apartment, which happened to be a couple of blocks away.

11:00 p.m. Tucker grabs one of the chicks and drags her into her bedroom. The other girl, a very cute Asian girl, looks at me and says, "You know I have a boyfriend, right?"

~Bjorn the Village Killer is now ritualistically bathing in the blood of sacrificed children and singing songs about days of raping and pillaging past.

11:10 p.m. VeryCuteAsian drives me to the RV. When we arrive, she asks me if she can get a tour of the inside. Once again, I have managed to take lemons and make lemonade. We got inside and it was FREEZING in there. The temperature in Charlottesville couldn't have been above 35 degrees that night, and for some reason it felt even colder inside the RV, perhaps it was baby Jesus slipping ice cubes down the back of my soul's t-shirt, either way it was God damn cold. I was about to turn the ignition so we could heat up the place to a suitable fuck-making temperature when it hit meTucker had the keys to the RV. I called his phone no answer. VeryCuteAsian decided to take off, leaving me alone in the cold, dark innards of the recreational vehicle to stew in my own vehemence.

~Bjorn the Village Killer dons his horned helmet and assumes the three point stance~

11:30 p.m. There I was; 10 days into the book signing tour, exhausted to the point of sensory loss, pummel-fuck drunk, sporting a semi from three potential hook up situations that went to hell and frozen solid with no place to sleep and no feasible way to correct the situation. My emotional meltdown was inevitable; the only question was when and where it was going to come to a head.

12:00 p.m. I bolted out of the RV and hiked the 6 blocks over to a bar called Jabberwocky where she was drinking with friends. I got to the door and the bouncer wouldn't let me in due to the fact that the shit hole flop house was packed to capacity. I told him that I was meeting a friend in there and he fucking slammed the door in my face like I was some kind of leper looking for a bathroom to wash my sores in. I called the chick up and told her what happened. Her response? "Oh, that sucks. Too bad." *Click*

Ladies and gentleman, Bjorn the Village Killer has entered stage left.

With my nostrils flares and my fists balled up I started the journey to the RV, staring at the ground in an attempt to keep myself from engaging in conversation that would ultimately lead to me sitting in a cell minus my belt and shoelaces. I didn't make it 50 feet before my shoulder clipped a mailbox. I started kicking the shit out of it and screaming obscenities. When I was done, some guy actually started talking to me.

Random guy: "Hey man, are you ok?"

Me" (long pause) "WRONG QUESTION!!!"

As I trekked back to my frozen sleeping chamber I walked by a handful of other people. They said nothing to me, but they were in my way and in my mind that meant that they would feel Bjorn's cold, northern fury.

"WHY ARE YOU WALKING SO CLOSE TO ME?! ARE WE FUCKING DATING?! AM I TAKING YOU TO THE FUCKING PROOOMMMMMM?!"

"GRAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRGHHHH" (Kicking newspaper machine)

"WALK FUCKING FASTER. IF I WANTED TO SEE A JIMMY FUND PARADE I'D GO TO YOUR FAMILY FUCKING REUNION!!!AARRGHHHH!!!!"

"WHOOOOOOOOORE!!! YOU ARE A FUCKING SHIT-CUNT WHOOOOOOOOOOREEE!!! FUUUUUUUUUCKING FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!"

(To a happy couple strolling down the street) "GET OUT OF MY FUCKING WAY YOU UGLY FUCKING WHORE. I DON'T KNOW HOW YOUR BOYFRIEND GETS HARD LOOKING AT YOUR SCREW MUG, YOU FUCKING CLOWN-FACED FUCK HOLE!!!"

12:30 p.m. Somehow, I made it back to the RV without being shot. After a few rounds of screaming to myself and pounding the tabletop with my frozen hands, I called Bunny in the hopes that she would talk me off of the ledge. She was phenomenal, as usual. I swear, she should get a job as a hostage negotiator or something.

As I was calming down, I got a beep on the other line from the chick that hung up on me. She had left the bar, and wanted me to meet up with her at her friend's place and let me sleep at her house afterwards. At that point I didn't care about my pride anymore; that awful girl had just hung up on me and Bjorn would normally punish such insolence with cruel words but she had a soft bed in a room with heat. I folded and walked over to her place another 7 blocks away.

1:30 p.m. I finally made it to her friend's place, physically and emotionally drained, with snots frozen to the sides of my face. I walked inside and I instantly recognized a few people from the book signing earlier that day, one of them being this really cute chick that Tucker offered a free book to if she did 20 push-ups (she only ended up doing 17.5, but we gave her a discount for effort). I would have totally put my remaining strength into hooking up with herbut I was a battle weary man and I didn't need to gamble away my only sure shot at a place to crash.

2:30 a.m. I turned to the girl that I was staying with and asked her when she planned on going home so I could sleep. "In a few minutes, don't worry" she told me.

5:00 a.m. We finally walk back to her house (which ended up being directly NEXTDOOR mind you, I could have fucking walked over and slept instead of entertaining people with tales from the road and doing stupid Tucker Max Q & A for a room full of people smoking out of a hookah and drinking Miller Light for 2.5 hours), took our clothes off and got in to bed. I didn't even expect to hook up at that point, but as soon as the lights went out we were fooling around.

5:30 a.m. Right as we were about to fuck, she turned to me and says, "You know, I think I should just go to bed."

~Bjorn the Village Killer has put on his superman pajamas and is fast asleep, sucking his thumb and dreaming about future village torching~


Without saying a word, I turned away from her and closed my eyes, completely incapable of any kind of rebuttal, civil or otherwise.

7:00 a.m. I woke up to the sound of my cell phone going off. It was Tucker, and he wanted to start driving right away. I hopped out of bed, tossed my clothes on and bolted out of the front door, my only fuel at that moment being my manic desire to get the fuck out of Charlottesville as soon as physically possible.

POST-SCRIPT - Tucker just forwarded this email to me:

Tucker,

Hey man I'm in Phi Psi at UVA. I was just wondering if
Kungfu Mike had written his account of his late night
c-ville antics. When I was talking to him he was pretty
drunk and I have a friend that said he saw someone roaming
the streets late-night with a red jacket yelling at people.

Glad you had a good time here. You should consider coming
back for Foxfields again.

-Ben

Posted by KungFu Mike at 3:48 PM

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Comments

Well, there's 5 minutes of my life I'm never getting back. Next time, your story should really strive to (a) have a point and (b) get there.

Posted by: Anonymous at December 15, 2006 07:56 AM

Disregard that last comment, I suck dicks.

Posted by: Anonymous at January 6, 2007 05:57 PM

Yet another reason why Charlottesville and UVA suck. Right exit, wrong highway. You wanted exit 118 on 81, not 64.

Posted by: Anonymous at January 11, 2007 12:13 PM

Awesome story. Just awesome.

Posted by: Cupcake the Warrior at January 13, 2007 11:18 PM

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