In the recent past, rumors have swirled about regarding the heist that Log's Blog and friends were attempting to pull on both pizza places and
At about 10:00pm, five men with a plan started their trek from Jacobs’ Field to the neighborhood of Damon Jones. Sadly, he was not home to take part in the festivities that were about to take place at his house. It was ignorant of us to think that a guy like Damon Jones would be home on any night of the week. Anyway, a simple order of 2 large pizzas, Howie Bread, and a two-liter were on their way from Hungry Howie’s-- but Damon wasn’t there to feast. The delivery man still put on a great show as we followed him back to Howie’s home base, as he appeared quite pissed off while explaining the ordeal to his co-workers (and rightfully so).
After the amusing, yet disappointing, run at Damon’s house, Paul Byrd’s was next on the agenda. Upon staking out the scene to get a good grip on the situation, Byrd was easily viewable in his living room, hanging out with no shirt on, which was easily the highlight of the night at this point (we’ve gotta look into getting Rich Garces’ address). Then, Coop called in the pizza from Papa Johns at about 11:30pm (two large pizzas, one with green peppers and pepperoni, one with sausage and mushrooms, cheese sticks, and a two-liter of Coke-- in case you were wondering). At first, the plan was to be on foot, “just taking a stroll through the neighborhood.” After realizing how bad of an idea it was, we just parked the car on the opposite side of the street of Byrd’s house, where the front door was right in our sites. Then we waited-- after all, Papa Johns gave us a 40 minutes to an hour time-frame. After about 45 minutes, the delivery car pulls into the driveway. A pizza girl (yes, girl) strolled up with the pizza not knowing what was about to hit her. She knocked. Nothing. She knocked again. Nothing. Then she went back to the car, looking to make a phone call to the number that we gave Papa Johns (which just happened to be a friend back home who was waiting for the call). She called and I’m sure the conversation went something like this--
Pizza girl-- I’m outside of your house with your order sir
Our intoxicated friend-- Yeah I’ll be right down thanks!
She goes back up. Knocks again. Still nothing. Knocks one more time-- and there he is! Paul Byrd himself flicks on the porch lights and tells the girl to go away! And the kicker-- he’s pitching Wednesday night! I swear to God I didn't even know until after the fact.
Sorry, Paulie. We love you, but it had to be done.
(Note: A special thanks to everyone involved. You know who you are)