i told you it was wrong, and other gambling disasters

as soon as i got my official Faster Than The World press credentials, i immediately called the Doktor to gloat. he said nothing on the phone, which i initially took as rather rude even from his ignorant ass. it seems that he dropped the phone and raced to my place with, among other things, a tape recorder. he was very persuasive that we leave at once and test the limits of my new found authority, or something like that. the following is a vague recollection of the past week.



DATELINE: January 28, 2007. 11:58 PM. somewhere in Pittsburgh.

i show him the press pass. “well?”

[strange rumblings, broken glass, a few dull thuds]

“you hit me with a fuckin’ bat?”

“get your shoes on. we’ve got business to attend.”

“alright. fuck. where are we going?”

“Miami.”

“well, that’s all you had to say.”



DATELINE: January 29, 2007. 8:03 AM. Portland, Maine.

“welcome to…Portland? what the…Portland!”

“damm…this compass is worthless.”

“Portland? you drove to fuckin’ Portland?”

“well you were no help.”

“I WAS SLEEPING!!!”

“exactly. man i drive like Steve McQueen.”



DATELINE: January 29, 2007. 2:17 PM. somewhere outside of Philadelphia.

“license and registration.”

“it’s cool, officer, seriously. johnny, show him the pass.”



DATELINE: January 29, 2007. 2:19 PM. somewhere just a bit further outside of Philadelphia.

“how come they’re chasing us.”

“relax. i bet it’s just a police escort. we’re like royalty.”

“you sure?”

“totally.”

“why are they behind us then?”

“i dunno. it’ll be a goddamm miracle if we make it there on time.”



DATELINE: January 30, 2007. 12:27 AM. around Walterboro, South Carolina. i think.

“here comes a pick-up. keep your thumb out and look sad.”

“what are we gonna do about my car?”

“sorry about that.”

“we can’t just leave it here, can we? i mean, it’s still on fire.”

“shut up and look sad. HEY!!! HEY!!!”

“you boys need a ride?”

“yeah, we’ll take it as far as you’re goin’.”

“mmm hmmm. the other one’s gotta ride in the back. but you ride up in the cab with me. you got a pretty mouth, boy.”

“whoa. johnny, show her the pass.”

“i don’t think i really need to.”

“you heard what she said.”

“yeah.”

“well?”

“well i don’t want to abuse my power, you know. so…”

“come on boy.”

“i’ll be in the back if you need me.”



DATELINE: January 30, 2007. 9:11 AM. on the dais at Dolphin Stadium, Miami.

“yo…we made it. meet the press, motherfuckers.”

“wow…look at all the cameras and shit.”

“HEY!!!”

“it’s cool…we’ve got credentials. check it out.”

“GET OFF OF THE STAGE YOU TWO!!!”

“look…it’s Peyton Manning. hey Peyton. Peyton. yeah…a couple of questions for ya. it’s ok, i’m with the press. seriously.”

“SECURITY!!!”

“yeah, uh, does the back of your hand smell from taking snaps under center? if so, after about how many? and when is it the worst?”



DATELINE: January 30, 2007. noon-ish. on the way to Miami-Dade county jail.

“alright. remember…we can survive this.”

“what the fuck are you talking about? we’re going to the county for a few hours.”

“don’t protest. it only makes them feel better.”

“what?”

“start growing your thumbnails.”

“look…i’ll call [deleted], he’s got a boat down here. if we’re lucky, he’ll post our bail once it’s set, and in a few hours, we’ll be out.”

“man. as soon as we get in, i’m puttin’ some bread in the toilet and makin’ that jailhouse wine.”



DATELINE: January 31, 2007. 3:26 AM. on the way out of Miami-Dade county jail.

[breathes deep] “you smell that johnny?”

“no.”

“ah. that’s freedom.”

“damm…where’s my press pass?”

“don’t worry. contraband. i didn’t want The Man confiscating it. i took care of it.”

“you did?”

“yeah. i’ll get it after we eat.”



DATELINE: January 31, 2007. 7:33 AM. back in Miami. i think.

“motel time…how about that one?”

“sure.”

“it’s close to the bus stop.”

“indeed it is.”

“where are we?”

“i don’t know.”

“las hojas sucias por la playa.”

“wow. you’re all Spanish and shit.”

“yeah man.”

“sounds classy. must be a four-star.”

“wait until they see your press pass.”

“we’re gonna be like royalty here.”



DATELINE: February 1, 2007. the less said about it, the better.



DATELINE: February 2, 2007. 10:45 PM. south beach.

“i think we’re kinda early.”

“i know, but this is where he said.”

“i can’t believe Snoop said he’d hook us for this Playboy party. man…that press pass is working wonders.”

“i didn’t tell him about that. he’s a big Steelers fan. me and Snoop go back.”

“how far back?”

“way back.”

“shhhh…act serious. Ladies, ladies, good evening.”

“they’re smiling. they must not understand English.”

“relax. i got this. now, Ladies, who wants to see if the groundhog in my pants casts a shadow?”



DATELINE: February 3, 2007. 4:32 PM. south beach.

“listen, Officer, sir…i don’t know that guy at all.”

“well, he says you came to Miami together.”

“yeah, well, he’s a liar.”

“he said you guys are down here covering the Super Bowl.”

“we’re not…i mean we are. what i mean is, no one is supposed to know. it’s highly confidential. top secret. Patriot Act-type shit, you know. but i told him not to do it, ok. i told him, ‘you better not. you better not even touch it,’ you know. but sometimes there’s no reasoning with him. he’s an animal. the sooner you lock him up, the better.”

“he says you’ve got some kind of press credentials, immunity from prosecution or something-or-other.”

“i did…well, i do. but you don’t wanna get your hands on it. better that you don’t even know. better that NO ONE knows about this, you know what i mean? i’d hate for you to get the federalés on your back.”

“right.”



DATELINE: February 4, 2007. 6:28 PM. Dolphin Stadium.

"let's walk down this way."

"uh oh...be cool."

"hey look. it's Prince."

"oh shit...hey watch this. Prince. Prince, hey. Pancakes, bitches. ha Ha!!!"

"SECURITY!!!"