2008 Woodie Awards
Screwball Run 2004
An adenture of smoke, drugs, and divine health insurance
Brian Moser, Ramsay Crawford, Tom Vought, and Justin Lyman
Issue date: 4/22/04 Section: Fun House
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After much talk, some free advertising in Issue five, and a very short day of preparation, ¾ of the crew of Screwball Run pulled out onto County Highway M at 4:59pm this past Friday, beginning their 48 hour trek to wherever the hell they might wind up and back again.
In an unfortunate twist of fate, Corey Kempf was unable to attend this prestigious event, but the Fat Man on Food, Justin Lyman, Mosey Around's Brian Moser, and Ramsay "I need a better nickname" Crawford still chose to attempt the long and dangerous trek to the nearest non-US Spanish-speaking country (aside from California). Fortunately, the group was able to find a backup for "Bad Apples" Kempf, but he would not appear in the car until over an hour into the trip.
After the crew piled into Lucretia Crawford's Dodge Neon (the use of which was gracefully donated out of fear for her son's safety), along with various homework and entertainment, everything was ready for one of the craziest Mirror-affiliated (though legally unaffiliated) stunts of all time.
Since Justin was driving and Ramsay was writing, Moser was given the maps. Soon the car was filled with talk of Normal, Illinois and "uh oh, better get Waco" caliber jokes. As Moser tried to figure out the details of getting to Laredo, Texas to cross the border into Mexico, it was noticed that James and Lucretia Crawford were following in their Grand Caravan, apparently to make sure their son was in safe hands. After the Crawfords got off Interstate 43 at exit 123, the real driving began.
Things slowly tapered off after Milwaukee, conversation slowing and music becoming the lone source of entertainment aside from the occasional humorous comments, such as Moser's "Hell yeah, we made it to Germany!" upon entering New Berlin and Justin's "I love the smell of skunk in the evening, it's rather musky," six miles out of East Troy and "We just passed the meaning of life," not long after at mile marker 42.
We took a detour to UW whitewater and arrived at 6:56pm, we met the one, the only...
Strider log- The Return of a Legend by Tom Vought, former staff reporter
My preparations for this trip were very calculated. I would, of course, need my Intermediate Japanese book, because we were going to Mexico, and befriending any Ninja on the way would be helpful. Various pens and other tools of destruction, some clothes, some Tylenol PM (blues), pain killers (I.B.) and caffeine pills (Stackers).
Ramsay Log-
Yes, Strider the Bounty Hunter was back with us for this fanatical trip. With him came a slew of new inspiration, new energy, new entertainment, new safety hazards and even more great music. Since we again needed new music, Strider's Ultimate Road Mix went straight to the CD player.
Illinois, 7:38pm (02:39)
Strider-Ramsay Log-
Soon after coming across the Illinois border, we were blanketed in some rather thick, woody smelling smoke. We looked out our windows to see raging fields of fire. Ah yes, the depths of hell hath no fury compared to that of the Illinois interstate. I would recommend that we tax all drivers in Wisconsin who have Illinois plates (to make up for the toll booths...) but we have to remember the handicap these flatlanders have because they live in Illinois more than makes up for it.
Ramsay Log-
Not long after our flame-laden experience (we were mildly worried, having recently passed a tanker truck) it was time for our first rest stop. Strider, his appetite still satisfied from the previous night, took it upon himself to fill the gas tank at the devilish and complicated (and typical Illinois) gas pumps while the others either went for food or kept the chain-writing going.
Night started to fall, and we settled in for a quiet night as the music took over.
After recovering from the hypnotic effects of the music we had playing (the CD ended) conversation started to return to the Neon (things like nearby cities, UFOs, Moser wondering where the map was). A new CD was played, Justin's Mix this time, and things began to return to how they were before our musical blackout, though the celestial blackout was still in full effect except for the stars and those UFOs which had attempted to fool us by disguising themselves as commercial planes.
We crossed into Missouri at 12:19am
Strider Log-
"We now approach the town of Doolittle. I wonder if people work a lot in Doolittle? It feels appropriate to go on a rant about now."
Ramsay log- (Outside of Waynesville, 2:15)
"Ok, this is pleasantly disturbing. The only traffic is behind us...and there's a white cross in the middle of the road."
2:34
"It's four miles to Lebanon...there are so many other countries in the US."
Crossed into Oklahoma about 4:15ams
Moser takes the wheel in Texas at 9:15am
Moser log- 9:00
If I could describe meandering around the Texas highways with any vehicle small enough to put into a suitcase, then contact me later due to the excessive cursing that would occur during my explanation. I have found that you have to take on a different mentality when competing for lane space with these cowboy-hat-wearing members of our nation.
First and foremost, when trying to escape the traffic of the busy city by means of interstate highway, always use the left lane (otherwise called the "fast lane" because everyone in this lane tries to break the land speed record). If at all that you think that the other lane will make you reach your destination faster, you must immediately go to that lane and watch all of the other happy drivers pass as you find yourself put-putting behind a person who is older than the speed limit of the highways (75).
Strider log- We make it to Mexico; Fun with Homeland Security
As we approached Laredo, Incubus's great song "Mexico" blares from the CD player, foreshadowing the monumental events about to take place.
We soared across the border like hawks.
PALM TREES! WE MADE IT!
We cleared our twenty-four hour goal by a whole five minutes, and immediately realized that the hell that is Texas is no match for the inferno that would be Nuevo Laredo.
I had never been to a border town before. We approached the town skeptically, as it was a busy town, and as we all had been informed, American car insurance is not in effect in Mexico.
After a half hour in the country and some shopping for post cards amidst drug offer after drug offer, we approached customs, and sat around as Mexicans washed our windshield, happily receiving a handout from Justin.
Eventually we made it to the booth, and a fat latino looking man eyed us.
"You American citizens?" He asked all four of us individually, we nodded collectively.
"Where you from?"
"Wisconsin."
"How long have you traveled?"
"24 hours."
"How long were you in Mexico?
"30 minutes."
"Do you have anything to declare?"
"No."
"You bought nothing?"
"No, we tried to get some postcards, but decided against it," I replied.
"Go over that way to have your car inspected," the agent said, pointing towards the garage. That's the moment we realized we were screwed.
Four college students from Wisconsin drive straight to Mexico, go to one of the sleaziest border towns possible, spend half an hour in Mexico, and expect to get through customs?
It was obvious to the Customs Agent that we were smuggling narcotics.
We went to a new agent, and once again we were asked questions, the same precise questions. This time by a fat African American woman, pattern?
Our answers, judging from her response, were not satisfying.
"Get out of the car and stand on the other side of that table," she directed.
Silently, we complied.
Now, while I had plenty of "legal" drugs on my possession, this was not bothering me. What was bothering me was that if any one of my cohorts had any narcotics on them at all, I'd be sharing a prison cell with someone quite soon. And while I have known Moser and Justin for quiet some time, I just didn't know about Ramsey. Does he look like a flower child to you? No, well, no.
Five Agents approached the stainless steel table that we were around.
I sat relaxed, waiting for the intimidation and threats to start. I'm no stranger to drug shakedowns.
A fat short man (another overweight agent!) with male pattern baldness and a knife in his hands stepped up to bat.
"Which one of you has the drugs?" he glares at me, spitting the words.
I gave him a slight "what up G" chin move and locked eyes. Unable to fight my steely glare, he soon looked to my left and scowled at Justin and Moser. Moser sort of shook back and forth, looking confused, not knowing what to do.
"We're going to find them," he pointed his knife towards Moser, "so you better just tell us now..."
"Take your hands out of your pockets," a different agent piped in.
One of the Agents gave me some "special" attention.
"Empty your pockets, and turn the pockets inside out." We all did so.
I watched proudly. I was patted down.
They searched our car for 30 minutes while the real drug runners cruised past, smiles on their faces. We were helping someone out. They didn't find much. The Jack Daniels interested them vaguely. They brought the drug dogs out anyway.
Finally, the two agents that appeared in charge came back to the table.
"You mean you drove all night to Mexico from Wisconsin, spent almost no time here at all, and did all of this for nothing?" Of course we did, and of course I worked some charmed on them, telling them how much guts it takes to do what we did. They weren't impressed.
"Gentlemen, get back in your car, get on 35, and don't come back. There is nothing for you in Laredo," they said and sent us off.
At that point we returned to our home soil with a few hypnotic sessions, crazed Texans and a lot of thanking and praying that boarder patrol did not have to use the lube. The trip was a success. (50:00)