For those who didn't catch the original piece, here's a look at what these weirdos like Tim Andrews do after hours:

Here's an extra audio segment of advice from a drunk on peach schnapps Dragon*Con veteran:

Here at Cumulus, The Power of Radio, we have a gym downstairs with showers in our building.  I found this the other day:

Somebody forgot their pile of clothes.  They apparently also forgot to wipe fully.  No, they're not mine.  Are they Gary Lewis'?  Why don't you email him and ask.

Where's a place to buy beer at 6:30 am?
 

I thought that the options would be plentiful, but then I remembered that some people spend their time making the rest of us unhappy because they think they know better.

I spent 12 hours Friday overnight working on a movie, and wanted beer after leaving at 6 am.  The grocery store wouldn't sell until 7, one gas station wouldn't sell until 8, and the Mexican gas station only had a menagerie of American urine lagers, so I didn't even bother asking.

The answer to your and my dillema is the QuikTrip on Sydney Marcus Blvd.  Not only is it convenient to 85, 400, and Midtown (via the access road), but they sprinkle in a few decent beers amongst the 40s and domestic cans you'll see floating in Lake Lanier.

As far as why they were the only ones selling beer at dawn, that's a philosophical question about man's need to control his fellow man and the power and responsibility of personal choice.  But I assume we'll all come to a consensus on that soon.

Early Sunday AM I as surveying bars for hilariously entoxicated subjects. I heard a bartender yell abruptly, "Go to the bathroom!"

Looking over my shoulder, I saw that he was talking to a young lady who had taken a novel approach to disposing of her bodily fluids. Instead of vomiting in private, she had chosen to puke right back in to her plastic mixed drink cup. The woman was sitting right at the bar in plain sight, yet she ignored the yelling bartender and continued disposing petite loads of brown goo in to the clear cup. Little missy was also enjoying her friends holding her hair back clear of the gentle upchuck.

They eventually went off to the baffroom, but I did manage to wrangle a moment with Jenna before she was whisked off to a cab. Take a listen:

I was driving up Peachtree St around 2:30 am Sunday when I saw a BMW pulled oner to the right side of the road.  The rear passenger door was ajar, and it appeared that a woman was mooning me. As I got closer (about to the intersection of 16th street, I noticed that her naked rear end was indeed facing me, and there was also a a stream of liquid shooting out of the same. Gross!

I quickly pulled over on the front side of the car to snag an interview with the female urinator. She was just recovering, pulled up her pants, got back in the car, and it sped off. She yelled something at me. Hopefully it was an apology for being such a disgusting pig.

Back in my car, I continued North on Peachtree, and, coming upon the Federal Reserve Bank, I saw a cab swerve in to that parking lot, and a chick in a pink hoochie top and black skirt hustle toward the bushes. Almost in disbelief, I pulled in in front of the cab and the young "lady" yanked up her skirt, tilted her hips forward, and unleashed a gush of pee that was so thick and voluminous, it was clearly soaking the parts of her skirt that hadn't been fully cleared.

Grabbing my recording equipment, I was hurrying in for an interview when her girl friend left from the cab and started screaming and pushing on me. "No pictures. Get the f#@k out of here."

I only wish I had a camera to document the filthiness.

As the friend was blocking me, the obscene lassie jumped back into the cab, followed by her friend, while the Rwandan cab driver tried to get me to leave.

I did leave, in disgust. Women, don't piss in public. It's gross.

Sincerely, Sebas