Get Your Preak On: Tribal Tats, Bigass Hats, Tramp Stamps, Amberlamps, and Beer at the Preakness Inf
Editor’s Note: If you have a great Preakness story and hilarious photos of people passed out drunk at Pimlico Race Course this past Saturday, send ’em on over to firstname.lastname@example.org.
Having attended Preakness 2007 and 2008, I knew this year’s event wouldn’t compare. It didn’t. But it was still a great time, though the absence of the port-o-john run was conspicuous. It was a glorious day: 75 degrees and sunny. Being a member of the Mug Club got you unlimited refills of either Bud Light or Bud Select. Game on… Full report and lots of photos after the jump.
My friends and spent Friday hydrating as if for a marathon (talk about pissing like a racehorse), left DC at 6 am and arrived at Pimlico’s gates at 7:55. We were among the first in the far beer garden and were swilling down our sixth beer by 9 am. Sufficiently sloppy, we left the beer area and headed to the 98 Rock Tent. We talked with Mickey and Amelia, signed some worthwhile petition and in payment, dined on a limitless supply of complimentary bacon.
At this point I decided to start taking pictures of as many hot girls as possible (you’re welcome). As I continued to wander around the sun-soaked infield, a B- rock band called Burnt Sienna wrapped up and a bunch of prostitutes appeared on stage — we’re talking straight HBO late night. Upon closer inspection, what we thought was some auction of ill repute came into focus as a blue collar beauty pageant. Tempting, but like a ham and mayo sandwich in the sun, I wasn’t going to touch — this is Baltimore we’re talking about.
We tried making our way within heckling distance of the stage, but as is so often the burden of strapping gentlemen such as ourselves, two chicks in skimpy sundresses and idiot hats pulled me out of the crowd and begged me for a photo with them. In my inebriation I reluctantly obliged. We got to talking and one of the girls started rubbing her ass and body all over my friend as if she had an itch she couldn’t reach. It was 9:30 am and these classic University of Maryland ho bags were already freaking. Thank you college.
Out of nowhere my bullshit detector went off as some skinny punk with cargo shorts and an Express club striped shirt approached my friend and the sundress skank he was dancing with. Apparently this was the girls’ boyfriend. He started giving my friend shit. “Stay the hell away from her. We are here together.” No problem. She was ugly anyway. I shouted at him, “If that’s the case, you need to keep your sheep in your pen. She’s straying.” They walked off.
Time for more beer. We got three refills in a nearby tent and headed to a flavored oxygen bar. Along the way, aided by her boyfriend, I convinced a girl to show me her huge b**bs. After three minutes I realized how f*cking retarded an oxygen bar is. If I want my nostrils to smell like cinnamon I’ll get a different tobacco flavor.
I headed back to the stage and caught the tail end of the bikini contest. Sacred sky! I did not know there was going to be a bikini contest. As we watched the winner crowned, Maryland skank girl appeared again. And once again she was all over my friend, feeling him up and, in his words, “attempting to use her ass to make my dick go through my ass.” Puzzled, I asked her why she had her finger dipped in her gin and tonic. “Oh that’s because my boyfriend broke it.” Her pinky was swollen and starting to turn blue. And then like clockwork her weakass, abusive, “boyfriend” showed up. Only this time he was actually pissed. They started arguing and ran off together. What a shitty situation. I felt bad for her, but f*ck it. I’m not a social worker. I was 10-deep and in search of a black and mild and more titties. We got in a short line for some more brews and headed to beach volleyball. I never realized how interesting that sport can be.
I guess at this point some country rock band started playing, followed by OAR. They were good I guess. Not really my thing. More importantly, it was early afternoon and people started passing out. One particular chubster was shamed with a sharpee while I saved another guy from a likely expensive hospital bill by convincing him to summon his remaining vigor, stand up and walk away from the paramedics.
From here things are fuzzy. I basically spent the rest of the time wandering, chatting up sl*ts and, judging by my camera, taking way too many creepy photos of the volley ball chicks. Honestly, what a great sport.
Preakness 2010 was a real shit show of a great time. While it didn’t compare to the years of BYOB, there was plenty of beer to go around for those with motivation and frontline soldiering skills. As for the horse race, I was in the infield. You’ll have to ask someone else about horse races.