Hearing about Andrew Long’s consistent inability to control himself with the bottle lead me to one conclusion: I had to talk to him. With a recent arrest, Long was suspended for a good portion of the following season, with what I can only assume Coach Kevin Jackson had to say "Get off the bottle, or get off my nuts." I set out with Ames as the destination.
12:27 PM – I arrive in Ames. Knowing his recent penchant for cheap tequila and running from cops, I at first think about leaving toward Iowa City, where it’s most common. As I head away from campus, I spot the elusive Long heading out of the dining halls. Looking calm, cool and collected, I follow him in my fantastic bush camouflage.
As mid afternoon rolls around, I find myself seated in the Memorial Union eating some Panda Express while listening to Long trying to convince anyone that will listen that it’s time to party. I check my watch. 2:53 PM Tuesday. It doesn’t sound like anyone really agrees with him as a vein starts to bulge in his forehead. "So what if it’s fucking finals week? Study later!"
Next thing I know, we’re over at Paddy’s. Long has a pitcher; he’s the only customer at the time. I hear the bell ring as someone enters the bar. I catch a glimpse of Long diving behind the bar just before I see a tough customer enter the room.
"Where the fuck is he?" the man demanded. The barkeep’s eyes give away that he’s too busy pissing his pants to answer, so I interject.
Bitch, get over here.
"Who?" I ask.
"That little bitch that thinks he’s hot shit because he was in the finals!"
"Oh, I just came from a final," I responded.
Next thing I know, I awake laying on the floor in a pool of blood. I notice that I’m missing two molars. "Who the hell was that?" I wonder to myself.
The barkeep is standing over me as I wake up. He is saying, "Dumbass," to me. I ask where Long went, and he told me that after he stole a bottle of Jack Daniels, he ran out the back door saying something about how he won’t be found at Mother’s.
I look at my watch, and it’s 5:15. Happy Hour. I make my way over to Mother’s Pub and find it quite full for being a place with no atmosphere. Long’s at the bar pleading for a drink. He gets shut down as he is visibly intoxicated (again).
I end up using my long-range listening device while camping out in the bushes and catch Long saying "Bitch, don’t you know who I am? I can make you suck my dick through spandex, and you’re going to like it." I couldn’t believe my virgin ears. At the same time, I was intrigued as I witnessed the next event. Being used to this kind of abuse, the barkeep didn’t think much of it until he was tossed over the bar, and ended up with a face full of taint.
Like this, only with a bigger pussy tossing someone
Knowing he was cut off, Long left the scene as I followed from a safe distance. I guess he was tired of the bar scene as he headed to Hy-Vee on a segway (only queers can pull off going down the street in one of those).
Pictured at 50% queerness
It was hard to keep up having to hide behind trees and posts to avoid being seen. Unwilling to sell him anything (by this point, he’s trying to wage bets on fights for products), Hy-Vee refused his bottle of Johnny Walker at the counter while I’m busy looking at the latest issue of Hustler in the next aisle while keeping an open ear. At this, Long volunteers to return it himself. I’m a little wary after all I have seen this day, so I don’t know what to expect. He returns the bottle to the shelf as workers follow him to ensure that it makes it back to its home. On his way out, however, he grabs a bottle of rubbing alcohol and sprints out of the store.
Walking outside with my new magazine, the next thing I see are blue and red lights flashing as I exit the store. The cops are here. Two police officers enter the lot. One is female, and the other looks like a reincarnation of He-Man. As soon as Long spots the pair, he whips his dick out, which causes an uproar of laughter of everyone in the parking lot, as it looks like a rogue bush planted in a sea of cement. The last I saw of Long, he was being hip-tossed over the hood of the police cruiser while screaming "That bitch had it coming!"
After the police left, all I found was a pool of blood on black pavement, and what looked like a tic-tac (it might have been a tooth, I didn’t look too closely as I have an ungodly fear of loose teeth). There were also too many people for me to leave my post in the shrubbery. I’m not sure how the night ended for him, but I’m keeping my eye out on tomorrow’s police blotter; or the coroner’s office for a death via severe sphincter tearing.