Observations of American Football - and the state of the happy American - from a Gentleman dressed as a chicken

The chicken suit was not a premeditated decision.

I stumbled upon the costume while staying at friend D.E. Keevah's quaint flat in Washington, D.C. I had come down on a Saturday to see old mates from University, enjoy a few drinks while out on the town, and then spend my Sunday tailgating at FedEx field. The chicken suit - which was yellow and fuzzy, and covered the entire body - was originally used by Keevah's live-in girlfriend for Halloween. When I came across the costume, it was early evening, and we had returned from an afternoon spent drinking beer and playing "cornhole" (basically a game of beanbag toss that involves no sodomy whatsoever). I tried on the suit to find it to be a perfect fit (as a note, Keevah's girlfriend is a tall, slender, and very pretty lass (whereas I am a short, muscular, rugged gent)). It was decided then that I was to wear the chicken suit with an old Champ Bailey Redskins jersey over it.

Prior to the 'skins game, my only tailgating experiences were at New York Jets games at the Medowlands, which tend to be much angrier occasions. There you can find overweight carpenters bursting out of their Wayne Chrebet jerseys, yelling at you to support Pat f*ckin' Tillman with the Pat f*ckin' Tillman fund, before they inevitably collapse into a pool of their own sick.

The experience at FedEx field was vastly different. My reception upon arriving at the tailgate was surprisingly enthused and warmhearted. Immediately people asked to take their photo with me, while asking if I had lost a bet? I explained to them that I was a PETA activist who wanted people to fess up to their carnivorous sins. "Really?" these slack-jawed gawkers would ask. "God no. I'm here to party!" I replied, just before eating a hamburger.

A very drunk Southerner saw my outfit and called me over to his section of the tailgate. "Hey chicken man, want some moonshine?" he asked while holding up a mason jar of clear booze. Keevah, who was with me, asked if it would make us blind? "Ain't done a thing to me, yet," said the Southerner. We each took a sip, thanked the gentleman and walked away. Within seconds we heard a loud crash behind us. We returned to find the Southerner splayed across the concrete with a pained and bewildered look on his face. I asked a woman who was by his side if her friend was all right. She saw me in my chicken suit, immediately jumped up and ran over to me. "Somebody take my photo with this chicken!" she screamed.

Not too far away, a group of cougars noticed me and ran over in a drunken rage. One shoved a shot down my throat. Another tossed a camera to Keevah and demanded that he take a photo. A third placed her hand on my tushie, her probing fingers trying to make their way to my gooch (she did everything but put a dollar in my thong and get me pregnant). This third cougar, fueled by several kamikaze shots and perhaps being a closeted "furry", then scuttled in between my legs and asked that she be ridden like a naughty mule. Trickier to execute than initially thought.



We thanked the cougars for their kind fondling and made our way to FedEx field. We wondered aloud how security would treat a man in a chicken suit. Would they refuse him entry? Would they take him to a back room and "cornhole" him? Surprisingly, the security guard who frisked me was very polite. Tender, even.

We wandered to our seats, stopping for the occasional photo opp and friendly hug from Redskins fans. The game - as you may have seen - was a thrilling match. The Redskins' offense were faltering at first, which garnered a lot of groans from the fans (they have suffered much, these Washington faithfuls). A trick pass from Hunter Smith brought the crowd into a frenzy, causing the chicken man to flap his mock wings and "caw" in victory.

The rest of the game was spent posing for more photo opps, with one woman goosing me as I stood next to her (women like to goose mascots, apparently). The Redskins won the game 27-17, and a friend in our company bribed a security guard driving a golf cart $40 to escort us back to our tailgate. Fans hollered like mad as we drove past them. I slapped hands, blew kisses, and even acknowledged the Broncos fans. It was a marvelously expensive experience for my friend (the briber).

In short, wearing a mascot outfit to a sporting event will make you look like an ass, sure. You will pose for photos, be serenaded with free food and drink, and even get goosed. I highly recommend the experience.

A presto,

EtG

A Gentleman returns

Wanker

Fair Reader,

My apologies for my absence. I have been hard at work on a super-secret project that Herr Binn has dispatched me on weeks ago.

On to today's brief:
Chris Surette (seen above) has shot himself in the foot, perhaps for all eternity. He has written what is perhaps the most puerile, unremarkable and unfunny article on modern collegiate dating in recent memory, if not ever.

Here is a sample:

"... girls, even though many may consider you a slut after witnessing your glorious Walk of Shame, just realize that you have given this lucky guy a story he can share with others at the Grape for the rest of the year. We ought to thank you for that. And hopefully you got something out of this to … actually, we don’t really care.
But in order to achieve success, we need to understand a few tips of advice to become a champ. First and foremost, right when you wake up, get out of there. There is nothing worse than the awkward wake up next to a girl, who is not as hot as you thought she was when you were 12 deep the night before. Not only that, it is kind of embarrassing when you smile at her and call her Julie, when her name is actually Ashley. Plus you don’t want to find out she’s a stage five clinger because that pounding you gave her last night will turn into a pounding headache for you for the next couple of weeks.
Second, even though you might feel like the man for doing it, make sure you don’t raw dog it.
Let’s be real, we are too young to have a little mini-me running around. I would rather enjoy my college years drinking my face off and having to clean my own vomit, than cleaning the vomit of 16 month infant. Also, if you can’t remember her name, there is a very good chance you don’t know much about the broad. Trust me, you don’t want that hood rat giving you a venereal disease. Not because half are not curable, but the next time you try to bang and that little cutie sees that rash around your genitals, she’s going to be running for the fences. Listen guys, gonorrhea is a serious disease. So don’t be a fool and wrap your tool."

I won't comment on it too much, and just leave what I wrote in my comment (I am fond of the "shooting yourself in the foot" bit)

EdtheGent says:
November 12, 2009 at 2:57 pm
I don’t even think this is good enough for Maxim… or Nuts. You would bore the bejesus out of even the most devoted of Hustler readers. Way to shoot yourself in the foot, mate. Enjoy a long life of wanking.

Stay chivalrous, be proper to your hook-ups, and for god's sake don't wear a cap in your author photos.

EtG

A Gentleman does not speak blue

Fair Reader,

A good chum was telling me about an esteemed colleague of his who, despite his preppy and stern demeanor, had a mouth like a Hungarian pimp.

This colleague, who we should refer to as "Detective Nick Curran" - the same name of Michael Douglas' sexually dangerous character in "Basic Instinct" - has a habit of making sordid points at inappropriate moments.

For instance, my chum - who we should call "Archie", for his unspoiled innocence and ginger hair - was remarking on Alex Rodriguez's sudden resurgence in the post-season as the two were sitting in their office. Detective Nick Curran chimed in, crediting the resurgence to the fact that A-Rod is giving it "hard" to Kate Hudson and her magical minge (he used different words here). Det. Curran did not stop there. He then wondered aloud what it would be like to entertain Ms. Hudson's minge while using the word "strawberry" as a descriptor.

It was enough to make Al Goldstein go blue in the face.


On another instance, Archie asked Det. Curran if he hated it when cab drivers spoke on their bluetooth earpieces? Instead of answering the question, Det. Curran asked Archie if he ever received a blow-job in the back of a taxi cab?

Archie, who recently married his very own "Veronica", feigned a smile as his face became as red as his hair. He said that he never had.

Det. Curran sure as f**k has. Seven times.

Det. Curran is new to Archie's office, and perhaps being sexually frank was his way of finding an instant rapport with Archie. Or perhaps he was looking for a like-minded dude who would partner up with him to"Eiffel Tower" that naughty secretary in the office who's just asking for it...
Such approaches are negligible, as they come across more creepy than charming.

In short, save the naughty talk for your lass, your sexual therapist, your porn scene, or for your guest appearance on the Robin Byrd Show. Spare the good people in your office the indignity of your naughty speak. They just want to talk about baseball.

Stay chivalrous,
EtG

And the name of my son shall be...

Yourhigness the Gent. How's that for the future son of EtG?

He can knock you the f**k out with his charm and his tackle. A Gentleman Linebacker indeed.

A presto,
EtG

Ali Wise update

Fair Reader,

The accused in happier times.

Ali Wise, as you may recall, was the fair and fierce lass who was arrested earlier this summer for using spyware to hack into the voice mail accounts of Nina Freudenberger, a lady with whom Wise had an ex-boyfriend in common.

Well, Wise was formerly charged in Manhattan criminal court on Monday.

From the NY Post:

Other alleged victims have since come forward anonymously to the Post to describe Wise busting into the voice mail systems of her perceived romantic enemies and competitors -- and then listening to and even deleting messages. Wise has admitted to hacking into at least one of the alleged victim's phone messages. "I used the SpoofCard to get into her voice mails," Wise 'fessed when cops asked about the alleged Freudenberger hacking, according to the criminal complaint against her.

The fetching 30-year-old Wise was dressed entirely in black and wearing stilettos, the Post reports. Perhaps as such:

If convicted, she faces at most four years in prison or, if lucky, probation.

According to the criminal complaint, Wise made at least 337 hacking calls - blimey! - to Freudenberger's cell and land line voice mails.

Wise also made 137 calls to the voice mail of a second victim, 119 calls to a third victim, and 102 calls to a fourth victim.

Again, blimey!

This is what I wrote on the matter back in July:
"... we have so many online avenues - like facebook, asmallworld, NY Social Diary - that permits a person to keep tabs on their ex-lovers, albeit in a semi-innocuous (and anonymous) fashion. Does this mean this is permissible? Not entirely. In the event that Wise is guilty of the charges levied against her, one could argue that she just went one foolish step beyond that - wanting to stay abreast of the going-ons of her ex-loves in a more thorough and unconstitutional manner."

Now, all I can say is this: 337 calls is not "semi-innocuous." Perhaps I am too compassionate a Gent, especially when it comes to madcap women.

A gentle night to thee,
EtG

Daily Musk: Halloween costume?

A Gentleman wonders:

What are you, fair reader, going to go as for Halloween? Leave your response in the comments section.

As for EtG, my costume is simple: A slutty Robin Hood.

Ciao,
EtG

EtG and MtB: Chicken with shallots and Madeira

Fair Reader,

If you live on the Eastern Seaboard, then you have perhaps noticed that the weather as of late blows. Blows massive bollox, to be precise.

A benefit of such weather is that one can start cooking like a peasant. Mark (the) Bittman would probably scorn you for going out to restaurant in such weather, looking all fershlugina from the gale-force winds. Like your Gent friend, MtB implores that you stay at home and cook an easy dish.

One such peasant dish is Chicken with shallots and Madeira. Madeira is a sweet Portugese wine that hails from the Madeira Islands (according to the noted sommelier Captain V. Obvious). It can be purchased cheaply at most wine shops, and it adds a gentle sweetness to the resulting sauce of this dish.

A trick that I like to do whenever preparing chicken - something that the recipe does not call for - is to toss the chicken pieces in a bowl containing a tablespoon or more of flour, salt and pepper. This particularly helps when cooking chicken with wine, as it gives the final product more body and character (I think).

Here is your recipe, with action shots.

Chicken with Shallots And Madeira
Time: 30 to 40 minutes

2 tablespoons neutral oil, like corn or grape seed
1 whole chicken, cut into serving pieces, or about 3 pounds thighs or
drumsticks
Salt and pepper
10 shallots ( 1/2 pound or more)
1 1/2 cups Madeira
2 tablespoons butter
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice or good balsamic vinegar, or to taste
Chopped fresh parsley leaves for garnish.

1. Put oil in a deep skillet or casserole, and turn heat to medium
high. When oil is hot, add chicken skin side down. Cook, sprinkling
with salt and pepper, until skin is nicely browned, about 10 minutes.
Turn, and brown other side a minute or 2.


2. Spoon or pour out excess fat. Add shallots, and cook, shaking pan
occasionally, until they are tender and begin to brown, 5 to 10
minutes more.

3. Add Madeira, and cook over medium- to medium-high heat, turning
chicken occasionally so it continues to brown and cook evenly. Let
Madeira reduce almost to a glaze. If mixture dries out before chicken
is done, add 1/2 cup water or more Madeira.



4. When chicken is cooked through and sauce is shiny and thick, add
butter and lemon juice or vinegar. Cook a minute, and remove chicken
to a warm plate. Taste and adjust sauce's seasoning. Spoon sauce and
shallots over chicken; garnish and serve.

I had no parsley to garnish the dish with, hence the sloppy presentation.

Yield: 4 servings.