I Called It

So in my recent article, I briefly mention my encounter with former "star" center Kevin Pittsnogle.

(Note: Pittsnogle pushed me in a club once and I was kicked out. I hope his baby gets Downs Syndrome.)


and a reader commented that I was the one who was "Pittsnogled," ... using a phrase that's already losing popular understanding.

Anyway, I wanted to clarify about how that night actually went down...so here's the story.

I Called It.
Last year, the place to be was a bar called Elements (recently, it has been under new ownership and the name has been changed). It was the hang-out for girls acting like they were rich, guys acting like they were rich, snobby sorority whores and Jersey fucks with tight pants and striped shirts with gelled, spiked hair. I hated all of them equally.

They played techno in the VIP room, rap in the main bar and I hated both equally.

They charged too much for liquor and the bartenders carded all the goddamned time. I hated both equally.

So, with all of this hate, it's quite understandable that I never liked the scene; however, my sister (who loves to act like she comes from money), hung out there quite often and would by me drinks/introduce me to her sorority whore friends/etc. So, in the name of brotherly protection and a desire to fuck snobby sorority whores, I showed up a few times. (On a sidenote: I once met Bengals WR Chris Henry, and former WVU alum., at Elements. He came back to Morgantown to get his car tricked out and my best friend Shaun from this article was invited to his private party to hang out because he was the guy who did all the audio installation in whatever big SUV he had, I can't remember. As it happened, Shaun asked me if I wanted to go, I did, and I ended up talking to Henry for a bit. Between every whore flirting with him and most douches looking like Guidos and kissing his ass, it was pretty easy to be like "Yo man, you're on my fantasy team." To this he replied something to the tune of, "Good lookin out." He bought me a couple beers even. And because he's not nearly as bad as the papers say and did help me win my league last year, I am a Bengals fan.)

Well, back to the story...
One Friday night in April, my sister rented out the back VIP room (again, trying to seem wealthy) and threw a big party for her best friend at the time Katie. I say "at the time" because it turns out Katie is a big ol' cunt and nobody really likes her anymore.

Anyways, at this party, I was enjoying a gin&tonic in one of the plush velvet booths with a friend of my sister's: a pretty cute blonde girl. In walks the lanky redneck fuck himself.

He came over to my booth with an entourage of two squatty, porcupine looking fuck and told the girl to get up. Not only did he do THAT, but he also had the audacity to do so in a pretty goddamned disrespectful manner.

Well, I was a bit drunk, and found him to be pretty fucking retarded already, so I decided to stand up and tell him to be a gentleman. Then, he gave me a forcible push. I expected more and only moved about an inch back. Within a split second, three bouncers were on my ass, telling me to leave. But here's the thing, I'm not that easy to convince. I made a move for the redneck and they all grabbed me, and started pulling me out of the bar by my shoulders.

I yelled "You'll never make it in the NBA, you white trash fuck!"as my heels dragged the slick, wet floor.

Outside I waited until my friends trickled out to see me. We went to another bar and had an excellent time finding people who also hated the fact that basketball players/football players are treated like gods on campus.

My sister ended up being the hardcore ballbreaker I've always expected. She went into the owner's office THAT NIGHT and told him to handle things. He did, mainly because my sister had paid for the room and had control of who did and did not enter, and ol' Pittsnogle was...well...PITTSNOGLED.

Now, one of my readers informs me that he was cut from the Boston Celtics. I guess this means that I'll see him at the Citgo on University.

So, if Kevin ever learns to read, I'd just like to make one more statement...


I prefer Premium gas in my car, Kevin. Premium.

And don't skimp on the windshield wiper fluid, either.

Bitch.

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And you accuse Tucker Max of writing hard-to-believe stories?

I don't see what's so hard to believe.

I'm not saying I fucked a girl in the ass, had tapes and then somehow magically "lost" them. I said I went to a popular bar's VIP room, he walked in and started shit (which, everybody knows that athletes on campus act like they're fucking God), I, being drunk and one not to let my lady friends be insulted, told him to play nice, he didn't...and because he was "KEVIN PITTSNOGLE: STAR CENTER" I was summarily kicked out, as I'm only "NICK GAUDIO: EDITOR-IN-CHIEF OF THE LIT MAGAZINE"

Either way, if you don't believe me, don't read my shit.

I'm obviously not from around there, but I found the story entertaining none-the-less. You're a good writer, Mr. Editor In Chief.

Ahhh...classic Gaudio. I need a cigarette.

Listen...Pittsnogle isn't going to work at a gas station. He's too tall for that. He's going with carnie/sideshow freak. I'm callin it right now.