What’s that in the Fettuccine Alfredo?

 

What Son

Has to be from Florida

As mentioned in an earlier post, I hate Florida.  One of my favorite stories from my past is when a group of friends went to Ft. Lauderdale (mistake #1) for a mini vacation.  Truth be told, we went there as one of my friends had lined up a free place to stay.   While the free room was, the male douche bag friends of the host were Florida at its worst.  Nightly events included rave “Glo, Glo, Glo, Glo” dancing in the living room where 2 D Bags would turn on techno and glo stick each other to death.  From there, it went downhill fast and the guys had a problem with a group of males coming in to stay with their women.  Understandable right?   So several other mini run-ins later, my crew decides to leave early on the last night – which coincidentally happened to be the night the had planned to cook us all a “Big Italian Dinner”.  The whores spent most of the day preparing a meal of salad, fresh baked bread and homemade Fettuccine Alfredo.  They raved about how good this Alfredo family recipe was and the glo boys talked about how much they loved the sht.  As we sprung the news that we would be getting a hotel near the airport on this last night, my one friend went into the fridge for a road soda and as he put it “pubed the sht out of that sht”.

Fast forward 4-5 hours later and the cell phone was blowing up with messages that started with

Message 1 – 7:56 pm – “Hey can you give me a call when you get this”

Message 2 – 8:05 – “Seriously, can you please call me ASAP”

Message 3 – 8:11 ” You are such an a**hole – that was NOT cool and Tommy (the Glo boy who I hated most) freakin puked at the table

Message 4 8:19 – From Tommy – You Mutha F-er, I’m gonna kick your A** – I don’t care if I have to go to every hotel near the airport, I will find you b*tch

Lesson learned – don’t eat pubed Fettuccine Alfredo as it will make you puke

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