Wanye on the road: day one

For reasons that we no longer remember, Wanye, the OilersNinja and a guy we will call the Dutch Bastard from parts unknown (DBPU) decided to load up the OilersNation Bang Bus™ and head for the warm shores of California.

To add an extra level of difficulty we have also brought a 100-pound Rottweiler named Eddie on the trip, which MapQuest assures us will only take 26 hours if we don’t stop. So stop we shall not—not even for a moment—until we reach the gilded shores of Newport Beach.

Twenty-four Java Rockstars and nine hours later we find ourselves in Montana in the midst of one hell of a foggy night.

Q: Ever try and find an open gas station in Helena, Montana in the middle of the night?

A: We have. It’s a friggin’ needle in a haystack. It’s a ghost town down here.

Q: Ever play ass-puff investigation unit?

A: We have. The suspect list is down to DBPU and Eddie. One of the two has some real digestive issues most likely requiring serious medical care.

We’re going to watch Ducks and Lakers games. We’re going to get into some of these Celebrity Clubs and try and land some Z-List Celebrity Ass.

And dammit, Nation, you are coming with us.

Seriously Eddie, what have you been eating?

Hour 15

It seems like we are the only vehicle on the road. None in our merry group of four have slept yet despite the fact there has been little to see beyond dark-ass nothingness for hours.

We’ve taken to calling Eddie “Puff Daddy” due to his gaseous and digestive tendencies. This dog has stood in the back of the truck for over 15 hours—a singular feat of strength no human would have a sniff at replicating.

The vet suggested we sedate him before the US border, so we wrapped a dog sleeping pill in delicious beef jerky. Canine Puff Daddy ate it in one gulp and the thing didn’t so much as faze him in the slightest. If the Oil were 1/1000th as tough as this dog they would be the toughest team in the history of sports.

Hour 17: The twilight zone

We have stopped to get gas in Idaho Falls at a McDonalds gas station that also sells liquor. Don’t believe us? Here is a picture of the beer cooler under the McDs sign.

“We don’t supply the gas, sir, we just take payments,” we’re told by the chick at the counter.

Listen, Trixie, the fact we can get six Bud Lights, a tank of gas and a Big Mac meal combo all on the same bill blows our brain bananas. The fact you pay for it all at the McDonalds counter? Mind shattering. What will they think of next?

Enjoy your sleep, Nation. We haven’t.

  • hunter1909

    If you want to blag your way into a club, one way is to chat to the doormen about anything of interest to them. For example, once I wanted to talk my way into a place without paying, and had just come from a martial arts class. Doormen like anything to do with fighting so, we talked shop for awhile and then…bingo. I was waved in. Free.

    The Z-list babes you're going to have to figure out for yourself.

  • Joe

    I had a buddy a while back get into a pretty wicked party with a good lie.

    There were 3 of them that went to LA. They found a club with a private party going on, so they told them they were players for the Ottawa Senators (back when they got back into the NHL). Well, sure enough, they got in and found out it was a party for Willie Brown!

    They had their own cover stories, and one of the guys was supposedly an enforcer type guy. I guess a huge guy came up, put his arm around him, and asked him "so, you're the tough guy, huh. Think you can take me?". He looked up at him and said "throw on a pair of skates and we'll dance". He bought them all a round of drinks.

  • Ender the Dragon

    California is so unlike Alberta, it really is almost the Twilight Zone. Enjoy having to fork over cash in advance through the little armored slot before they'll tell you where the fuel is in LA. (No filling up here unless your superhero ability is being able to predict the exact price of the fuel required to top up.)

    'But Ender, why don't we just use our debit card or credit card for gas at the pump and save ourselves the hassle?'

    Why indeed. Because if your card is from out of state, it won't work at the pump. Ah, the armoured POW camp that is California; how I miss it – not.