We’ve all played video games in which the goal is to ascend, level by level, facing all sorts of foes and encountering myriad power ups only to face one final Mega Boss at the final floor. I recently played a game like this…we’ll call it Kiawah Krush. The dangerously debonair Mob Boss Guiry certainly took his pound of flesh.
The game began like any Joseph Campbell “Hero’s Journey,” would begin – with a call to action. The character is entrenched in their mundane routine with a wishful eye to the horizon begging for something to shake up their life. Just then there’s a knock and you turn to see a mysterious envelope slide under the door. The envelope is shrouded in mystery because it floats over to you and opens itself. It is unlike any envelope you have ever seen. For within this envelope are two other envelopes and each of these envelopes possess their own various accoutrement, wrapped in silk and written in beautiful calligraphy and you think to yourself, “these are some really fucking sweet envelopes.” And you wonder if you’ve ever paid so much attention to an envelope or the concept of envelopes in your entire life……”envelope…..envelope…..envelope,” whispers a disembodied voice of enchantment. You become disinterested by what is inside the envelope and think what it might be like to disseminate envelopes as a career. Mailmen actually make a pretty decent living and the pension is quite a robust incentive. The envelope politely coughs to break the ADHD Rabbit Hole that you’ve just plummeted into and your attention is renewed. “You are cordially invited to celebrate the union of Princess Twiford and Lord Brendan The Butcher Guiry.” Your mission is as clear as your bathroom window after the maid service comes at the beginning of each fiscal half year – Figure out what type of material these damn envelopes are made of…..
Level One – Goal: Make it to the wedding
Like the world of Mario transporting through pipes, so too was there a mystical medium of travel involved in this first level. We’ve seen the shiny green exterior of the Mario pipes but I’d wager we’ve never imagined what the inside looks like. Imagine the waste, fecal matter, sludge and grime that he endured in order to bippady bop around town. I’m here to tell you that my traveling cohort and I suffered a transport modem far more nefarious – Spirit Airlines. There are times in video games when the player gets lost or needs some guidance and his traveling scribe/companion will make suggestions like, “Maybe we passed the entrance to fight the beast back there.” My cohort – Anthony and Ashley – had similar suggestions at the Spirit Airlines bar. “Maybe we should slam a few more bud lights before we get cattle prodded into this cargo ship.” We also had to use cloaking devices in which we shrouded ourselves in order to ward off the dangers of the Spirit Airlines rapscallions and ruffians. Cloaking devices like blasting Fat Joe’s “Lean Back” from my Iphone three consecutive times and fiercely undulating at our section of the bar. We blended right in. STOP!! IT’S THE MOTHA FUCKIN’ REMIX!! Thanks to 7 or 8 beers and one zesty Cosmo, we essentially deleted the flight and uber ride to base camp. Now, upon arrival at camp, I opened the gates and walked into what appeared to be a dumpster fire that someone had tried to put out with raw sewage. I was blown away as I had arrived to camp a mere day late. Garbage littered the streets, drunkards swayed and bellowed, exposed cheeses wafted through the town’s air…..this was a Godless country, a barren wasteland. “How could a place lack so much just a few hours into the wedding weekend,” I thought to myself. Just as the thought crossed my mind, I sensed an odious draft wafting through the air. Just then the light bulbs burst, the windows began to frost over and crack through the center…..something was wrong. I rounded the corner into the kitchen area only to see my greatest foe snickering, malevolently, as if he had known my arrival was nigh. There, before me, stood a great towering beast……Brendan….The Mob Boss…..Guiry
Level Two – First Encounter
It was too soon! I was unprepared. Stale from a day of travel and dizzied from canceling bud lights, I was in no shape to take down this Bowser equivalent but I knew I had to strike first. “HOW DID THE ENVELOPES LOOK SO THIN BUT WEIGH SO HEAVY?!,” I barked out, truly eager to know…fuckin’ loved those damn envelopes….The nefarious one parried with ease and countered with a devastating first blow. “Ooooo look at me, I’m Kyle. I have tan skin and white teeth,” He barked at me with LITERAL air quotes up….Confused, I charged him, grabbed him by the back of the neck and hit him with a combination shot. “Brendan, you don’t need to use air quotes for something that is actually true.” Followed by “Try to keep your eyes open. It looks like you’ve got two leprechauns dancing on top of your eyelids.” He slithered away into the Kiawah forest. I knew very well that this was not the last I’d see of him. He would soon be sending our snap group a 30 minute video of him walking home, smoking a cigarette and blasting an Electric Lights Orchestra or Queen song with absolutely zero context or spoken narrative. The wedding was in two days. I needed to prepare. At this rate I’d be using a 4 1/8 in x 9 1/2 #10 envelope for the rest of my life ....unacceptable.
Level 3 – Day 1
Several months earlier when my team of heroes made plans to set off, I was ensured that I would have a bed and room for myself. There were two minor alterations when I arrived. The room was a living room and the bed was a floor. Thankfully, my day one compadre, Marshall Wagner, agreed to take the floor while I stuffed my lean and muscular frame into the couch. It was nice to have a slumber party with my friend, Lunch Meat (a nickname I gave him for notoriously stealing other people’s lunch meat in the morning after a night of drinking)….I missed him greatly and I know that he didn’t mind the floor because that is where dogs sleep and I knew that he was just thankful to be sleeping indoors. I love you Marshall :)
I stuffed wax earplugs into my listening bins and covered those with Bose headphones (sponsor me Bose or I’ll start plugging walkmans), turned the volume to full blast on my “white noise” playlist
and slipped into the void. These details are important because it paints the picture for our next character, Joe Page. I had never met Joe Page but I felt like I had an idea of what to expect from conversations I had had with mutual friends in the preceding weeks. When I’d mention Joe Page as one of the heroes living in our base camp, friends would respond in the same way. “One of you is going to die in that house.” And so, the following morning - with blockades and sound barriers surrounding my ears – I managed to wake up to a voice of a human that sounded like it had ingested a tuba….I use “IT” instead of “HE” very deliberately lol. I crack my eyes to see a…..um….a big fella looming over my sleeping body. I take off the headphones, dislodge the wax plugs to hear the first words that the Bostonian Rambo ever speaks from his perennially pursed lips. “I hear you and me are gonna get into a little trouble this weekend.” He says this with great anticipation as if he is greatly looking forward to it. He slips away to play golf for the day and I think to myself three things:
I cannot wait to spend time with this man
I deeply fear this man
One of us is going to die this weekend
I can assure you that this is not the end of the Joe Page story.
Level 4 - Power Ups
Like these video games, you often get attacked by enemy forces and lose health. Often there are
power ups that you need to search for. I was in dire need of one and so the posy moved to the pool to start slurping down some Mojitos (pronounced Mow - Jeets). As I was justifying putting back a third Mojito before noon (there’s lettuce in those things), my great buddy Nick Kuhner surreptitiously looks at me and says he’s going to go on a solo mission. I inquire if he needs back up and he declines. I kill some time looking at families by the pool and wondering what it would feel like to experience human love and just before the thought turns into a violent death spiral, my very first power up quite literally slithers into my hand. I look down and in my hand is a glowing key to a different realm. I turn and see a giddy Nick to my right. “You’re going to have to tolerate my whistling nose breathing this weekend because we’re sleeping in the honeymoon suite.” In my hand was a room key to what I can only describe as the literal resort’s honeymoon sweet. We quickly transported our things from base camp to our new headquarters and prepped for the big boss battle the only way we know how – a cheeky photoshoot before the first cocktail night.
Level 5 - Second Encounter
After Nick and I told Emma Chamberlin and Ryan Seacrest what we were wearing on night one, the glitz and glamor filled photoshoot dampened. A dark cloud rolled through the Carolina night sky. The same taste of sulfur from my first encounter with Brendan started to fill our mouths again. We looked good, but we knew a battle was afoot as we trudged uphill to the cocktail party which actually looked like it was hosted in a castle of sorts….not making this part up…..or any of these parts…Life is a video game whether you KNOW IT OR NOT…just kidding, Jesus is King and simulation theory is retarded. We walked into the castle and there he stood. With his soon to be betrothed standing by his side he stood alert like a dragon that had recently been awoken from its slumber by the sound of grubby hobbits hands wiping the sweat from an anxiously furrowed brow. The element of surprise was lost so I sprung into action right away. “Would you classify the envelope color as an eggshell or ivory white!?!?!” Again, the battle was lost and I walked away with no knowledge on the ‘lopes and this time managed to lose money as well, buying Brendan a 30 dollar dirty martini. Important to note that when ordering the dirty martini, one should say, “I’d like a dirty martini, extra dirty. Filthy, even. I want it so dirty that the martini’s father is ashamed of it’s behavior.” I walked away in defeat but was almost instantly revitalized when I rounded the corner to see what was essentially a college reunion of High Point University friends - a well needed power up. Go Panthers. We drank and chatted until inhibitions were lowered and my new friend Joe Page and I looked at eachother and tacitly communicated with our dizzied eyes that it was time to do something reckless. What it was, was still unknown. And so we walked the grounds of the fairy tale Kiawah wedding grounds waiting for the side quest to beckon to us.
We walked and spoke - about what I could not tell you - as the effects of the filthy rotten dirty martinis whose fathers were deeply ashamed of their loosened morals continued to drag us into the trenches. As if on queue, we noticed two one speed beach cruisers perched innocently against an iconic vacation beach home. You’ve all seen these bikes before. They represent tranquility and repose. A past time shared between couples, families and loved ones seeking to relax and take in the sights. We had different intentions. “Let’s defile these beach cruisers” is something that I’m sure wasn’t spoken but I wish it had been. What I know was discussed was two males egos peacocking over a race and who was the dominant bird. “We go on three and race to Nick Kuehner,” who sat about 50 yards away looking like a formula one, checkered flag waving, scantily clad Jezebel. We were off to the races. Two grown men with bellies full of olive juice and vodka wearing expensive suits, tearing asphalt from the ground on two bikes that hadn’t seen this much action in their manufactured lives. The two a.m. night sky was above us, no light pollution and nothing but the moon’s glow to guide us forward. Our speed gained with each mighty pump of our thunderous legs. At about the 30 yard mark, we were quite literally neck and neck when suddenly the bike, as if to say, “this is not the intention of my frame and never was,” popped a chain and I went soaring over my handlebars breaking the fall with my elbows and head. Again, I became intimately familiar with defeat. Nick yelled, “is he dead?” and rushed to provide air support as he does. I was bloodied and tattered. Not a single article of clothing in tact. But the night was young and we had more physicality to endeavor.
Level 6 - Best in Show
The initial cocktail party was great, don’t get me wrong. But everyone was saying how there
wasn’t quite enough wrestling or human dog shows…..Naturally, being the problem solvers that we are, my good buddy Marshall and Chandler took matters into our own hands. Already drenched in my own blood and torn to tissue bits, Marshall and I took to the floor like a couple of Jiu JitSu skanks. We grappled and crawled around on our backs (like you’re supposed to) and people gawked and chanted from the colosseum. I had to win because I needed a way to get closer to the emperor who murdered my family out of resentment on account of his father loving me more in a previous life. If you don’t get that reference, have fun watching Wicked in theaters this weekend you unripe banana. Bedraggled and losing the ability to speak, Chandler grabbed me by the back of my collar and neck, propped me up and deemed me “first in show.” I was so fucking proud - biggest accomplishment of my 31 year years (roughly 4.5 in dog years).
At this point in the weekend, my liver looked like the top of a Floridian man’s head in the thick of summer. More spotted than a brood of Dalmatian pups…….a cow. You get it. I was down bad and there was only one thing that would get me back – the sweet sensation of drinking the blood of my nemesis as I stood triumphantly with my boot atop his moribund body. That and a bud light, some hors d'oeuvres and some good old fashioned matrimony.
Level 7 - Matrimony
The Kiawah venue was something out of a fairytale – string quartets, paradisal views, bleeding skylines that looked like the heavens were peeling back, large dance floor to assert one's dominance, cigars…..it was opulent to say the least. The main reason, however – and I’m going to drop the “arch nemesis” storyline for a moment so I can gas up my friends and their loved ones – was because of the tangible feeling of love in the air. To start, Brendan and Maddie were biologically manufactured for one another. They are a perfect fit, they both looked like royalty and the entire room remained transfixed by their aura at every singular moment. Looking forward to seeing their children literally run the country one day. On top of that, their families coming together in unity was a really beautiful thing to see. I’ve been to some pretty dull weddings in my day, often trying to catalyze both sides to leave behind the plate of chicken drenched in marsala to stand and celebrate the unity. The word “reception” is significant here. It’s the first time that family and friends receive the couple as newlyweds. The word family is etched in my brain as well. I don’t know if this was just the first time that I was in the presence of a big Irish Catholic wedding but the “reception” seemed significant to me as I watched all of the different family members unifying as well. For so long, to me, weddings just looked like “two people coming together.” I’m at a juncture in life in which Family is dripping with significance and watching two great families come together wasn’t just beautiful to watch but it was inspiring.
Seeing both sides of the family come together makes me want to become the man that can dance and sing and support my brother's children. It makes me want to be the father that puts on a wedding for my daughter. It makes me inch closer to the beauty of having a large family instead of the fear of wondering what may go wrong. That is what we are all here to do – support each other and bring out the best in everyone.
Level 8 - The Cost
With great reward comes great sacrifice. I’m sure you’ve noticed the themes so far – Brendan Guiry took his pound of flesh as payment for this beautiful weekend. A few bruised ribs here, a skinned elbow and knee there. Tattered suit jackets, malfunctioning livers, sleepless nights – we paid the price. Perhaps the most costly form of payment came after the wedding, however. The families rented out a bar for the after party. I don’t know how this happened but a very entitled and uneducated family of inbreds showed up after THEIR daughter’s wedding – she had just married her very handsome brother and they forced their way into our private event. As if occupying a private venue wasn’t problematic enough, they had the gall to start making trouble with our group. I told Samuel Fradin I would keep him anonymous at this point in the blog but we all knew that was never going to happen. At one point, they started flapping their cousin-smushing lips at Fradin telling him and others to “go back to New York.” To which Fradin boldly proclaimed, “we’re actually from Boston - are you so stupid to think that New York is the only state in the North?” This is a very antagonizing thing to say……especially when it is directed at the Bride hahahaha (I’m fucking weak). In the spirit of “pound of flesh being taken,” the copenhagen gargling, fertilizer sniffing, mayonnaise drinking, tractor driving equivalent of John Candy emerged from within a boiled peanuts trough at a local Buc-ee’s. The father of the bride became incensed by this act of war. He made a fist composed of 20% bones, 10% muscle and 70% lard and delivered a haymaker to Fradin’s brave face. At this juncture most of our group was already on the bus headed back to Kiawah island. Fradin popped up with a face so swollen and purple, the kids mistook him for Barnie. I say this in earnest. To me, it is exactly the cherry on top that the wedding weekend needed. The price for this friendship is costly. When you love people as deeply as we do, the “acts of service” match the intensity of the relationship. It is a true testament of friendship on Fradin’s behalf. A friendship of lesser quality would have let the other wedding party walk all over us. But when you have a dynamic that is as intensely loyal and fierce as this friend group, really insane shit tends to happen. And to me, that is totally worth it.
The dreaded moment had finally arrived. The moment that I had actually been thinking about literal months prior to this event. In fact, the second that sweet and sensual parchment inside the envelope arrived, I began to dread this moment. The moment when I would wake up after the weekend was over to experience the hangover. What’s worse is that, in my stupor the evening last, I made the bone headed decision to sprint – in my full tuxedo – through the woods for sport - don’t ask me why. Somewhere in that enchanted Kiawah forest, my wallet was consumed. As if the island was saying, “for this amount of fun, this significant of a weekend, your penance is not complete.” The feeling of waking up the following morning with no wallet, credit cards or ID and a hangover evidentiary of the evils of the netherworld was truly terrifying. But my mind immediately shifted to that of knowing that it is exactly what Brendan Guiry expected of me as payment for this wedding. I wouldn’t trade these wounds because they tell a story. Fradin’s black eye tells the story of defending the bride and groom’s honor. My skinned elbow and literal pound of lost flesh recounts the story of two new friends racing with childlike wonder at 2:30 am. The torn jacket and best in show tells the story of three friends that knew exactly how to pick up where they left off.
Level 9 - Final Battle
And when you finally meet the mob boss…..yes he looks like a Mob Boss but all you can remember is the great history you have with him: The rancid socks in south carolina that almost killed people groups, the wireless 4am drunken calls in which there is nothing but chuckles exchanged to keep each other company on a walk home. You remember the tireless Tombstone quotes that only get sweeter with each reference. And then you realize that you are more than happy to pay the troll toll because they just paint a picture of what friendship is supposed to look like - costly, messy, joyful and grand.
My foe won this battle but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Kiawah island will forever be a battleground drenched with the blood, sweat and tears of our gaggle of miscreants. A currency that we have known since freshman year of college.
Sincerely,
A happy friend and defeated warrior
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