This year, we did Bay to Breakers as the Marching Schneiders a la “One Day at a Time“. We drew on mustaches, wore men’s undershirts, and carried plungers, and yet still the women drew attention. My favorite unsavory remark was from the guy who wanted a blow job:
Bottomfeeder’s friend: Where’s the booze at?
BF: Where’s the head at?
BF: Where’s my head at?
Me: Excuse me, did you just ask for some of our booze, then request oral sex?
BF: I’m just sayin’, I could use a little head.
Me: You don’t get laid a lot, do you.
BF: I’m just sayin’.
Me: Yeah, I heard you. And I’m just sayin’ that you need to work on your opener if you’d like to have sex one day.
Bryan: What’d he say?
Me: He wants a blowjob.
Bryan (to BF): Did you just ask my wife for a blowjob?
BF: Yeah. Huh.
(Whereupon, Bryan poured a glass of sangria on the gentleman’s crotch.)
Now, you might think this is where the fisticuffs come in. Fortunately, the gentleman in question was so inebriated that it took him awhile to realize that his crotch was dripping with wine. He walked on ahead of us, and about five minutes later, he realized there was a problem. He grabbed at himself, attempting to locate the source of the liquid, he held his hands up to his face to more properly ascertain the nature of the liquid, he questioned his friends (who shrugged), then he walked bowlegged for a block or so. Spectacular.