A crew update from Rob McAdams, a worthy crew member of the Suladan during it's extended Bahamas cruise. Good to see Rob has moved on to a productive and fulfilling life in Chicago: 

    I hope this finds message everyone in good spirits. I found myself in quite the lively, libacious spirit last Sunday. A friend called to see if I wanted to go get lunch and watch hoops. However, when I walked into McGee's Pub I noticed that everyone was still wearing green and was drinking green beer. The St. Patty's Day celebration was still in full stride at McGee's, this being its ninth consecutive day of celebration here in Chicago. St. Patty's Day is like Hanukkah here in Chicago, only for the drunk. There wasn't an empty table or seat in the entire joint. I didn't want to be a party pooper. I decided I was spinning my dradle. So I saddled up at the bar and let the green beer and jagermeister flow like the salmon of capestrano. In addition to it still being St. Patty's Day, the genius marketing squad that is McGee's had stepped it up this Sunday by unveiling their newest promotion- SUNDAY, SUNDAY, FUNDAY. Let me explain how this works. They dress their four hottest cocktail waitresses in short, plaid mini-skirts that they've most certainly stolen from the nearest all-girls Catholic High School (if you're wondering if I meant that the girls or the mini-skirts were stolen, it's both). Then they give these girls some tight green T-Shirts that they tie in a knot, just below the fun bags. Then they send them out to battle with trays full of jagermeister shots, which they can't sell fast enough to every straight guy in the bar. Once everyone in the bar is equipped with a jager shot, the four Catholic School Girls stand up on four chairs around a circular table. Some big meathead bouncer stands up on the table in the middle of all the talent. He is equipped with three things- a pitcher of beer, an enormous funnel with four tubes protruding from it and a microphone. I'm sure you can all see where this is going. The music stops and the meathead bouncer, who from this point forward we'll refer to as Bif, yells into his microphone in his best "Let's get ready to rummmmmmble!" voice "Itttttttttttt's SUNDAY, SUNDAY, FUNDAY!" 

    As Bif starts his chant, everyone in the bar raises their shot of jagermeister and joins Bif in his battle cry. And as Bif and everyone else in the bar slams back their shot of jager, Bif's assistant pours the entire pitcher of beer into the funnel as we all cheer on the Catholic School Girls, who spill beer all over their skimpy T-Shirts as they do their best pound the entire pitcher. They finish and the bar erupts into an uproar, which is immediately followed by a blaring "Hit Me With Your Best Shot," courtesy of the one and only Pat Benetar.

    This entire process repeats itself every fifteen minutes. And I, like everyone else, was a sucker for it every time. And who wouldn't be? It's no different than going to the gentleman's club. Nobody goes in there and just drinks. The first second a beautiful, naked young woman who hasn't yet figured out a way to attend college asks you if you'd like a lap dance, what are you going to say? Uhhhhhhh, yeah. I mean, I've even been to the gentleman's club with girls and they couldn't turn down a lap dance. Anyway, Sunday-Sunday-Funday began to take its toll on me around 5:30 in the P.M. I decided to head home so that I could catch a nap before I went to bed. I woke up around 7:30 in the P.M. with a burning desire to drunk dial someone, anyone- only to realize that I had absolutely no idea where my phone was. It is gone. Long gone. I got a new one yesterday and my number is still the same. However, I don't have any of my old phone numbers. If you all would be so kind as to email me your phone numbers, I would be forever grateful.

Thanks,

Drunk & Stupid