Did you spend this past Saturday at Decadence, the Weekly's annual bacchanal of breasts, bros, and booze? Probably not, since the Westin South Coast Plaza Hotel security probably stopped you, you poor, poor nerd. I snuck in somehow, got in a verbal fight with a moron restaurant owner who shall remain nameless but whose food was available at Decadence and is slightly tastier than mildewed bath towels, and eventually retired to the Westin's bar, invaded by a bunch of New York Yankees fans still riled up from seeing their team's asses handed to them this weekend by your Anaheim Angels. Those losers were busy harassing some of their Yankees idols, and none was more pained by the attention than outfielder Johnny Damon.
We felt bad for Damon at first, because a group of guidos literally sausage-partied Damon next to a wall for a good 20 minutes. He eventually escaped to a couch, where Damon talked to a group. It was around midnight by this point, and two chicks (one hot, one not) slipped the married Damon a piece of paper. The man obviously repaired his playa status with that move after a weekend that saw him crash into a wall while unsuccessfully missing a catch.
And Yankees manager Joe Girardi, or at least the guy who looked like him: Sorry for shouting “FUCK THE YANKEES!” in front of your family, but what respectable father lets his kids hang with boozehounds?
