Sung to the tune "Girl From Oklahoma" by Steel Panther Tell me more! Well, I bet you never guessed When you got to the game You’d be smashing through tables And feelin’ no pain Your boyfriend’s in the parking lot Looking for you He’s gonna find you when I’m done Covered in Buffalo goo Ooooh, Miami girl got all sticky Silicone titties Tramp stamp on your beaver? Down in South Beach You’re a wide receiver What’d you have to do For that field-access pass Cuz I found a Marino jersey stuffed up your ass Come on, Miami girl Squish the fish all night Checkin’ out your tailgate Sure hope it’s tight Dolphins gonna lose, ya know I’m right Oooh, Miami girl, squish the fish all night Yeah, that's it Aaah, deflate my balls Pinto Ron, ketchup n mustard In the Hammer Lot I can’t wait to do a Bowling ball shot Wings ‘n Labatt Blue Is what they got The only thing better Is her mouth and her twat Hey eyyy, who’s next ta fuck her Whoa, whoa Come on, Miami girl Squish the fish all night I'm part-a Bills Mafia So please don’t bite Here comes a batch-a blue cheese It’ll taste alright Oooh, Miami girl, squish the fish all night In the AFC There's a hundred billion wacko chicks, just like you Hungry for dongs to screw Come on, Miami girl Squish the fish all night Sneak in a dildo Throw with all your might Drunk near the railing You fell outta sight Oooh, Miami girl, squish the fish all night Come on, Miami girl Squish the fish all night I'm part-a Bills Mafia So please don’t bite Here comes a batch-a blue cheese It’ll taste alright Oooh, Miami girl, squish the fish all night Hey, Miami girl Squish the fish all night Zubaz’d in your end zone Much to your delight Dolphins gonna lose, ya know I’m right Oooh, Miami girl, squish the fish all night Come on, Miami girl Squish the fish all night
This excerpt is from Dave Lundy’s new novel, “Zero F*cks Given” (still in development) — the prequel to the bestselling comedy “Squish the Fish: A Tale of Dating and Debauchery”.
Once upon a time in Buffalo, NY…
The waitress flashed some eye-popping cleavage as she delivered lunch orders to a table of three college students.
Bob, a college senior, glared at his friend Zabka and said, “Who the fuck orders a salad?” He dropped his fork, clanging it on the table for dramatic effect. “No good story ever starts with, ‘So, I was eating a salad…’ But here you are eating a fucking salad.”
After handing out their second round of drinks, the waitress pulled down her red and black checkered shirt and adjusted her cowboy hat. “Y’all need anything else, boys?” she asked.
Zabka looked up at her and replied, “Naw, Sugar-Tits… Unless ya got a twin sister?” The look on his face was one part self-amusement and two parts severe hangover.
Daggers shot out of her eyes. “My name ain’t Sugar-Tits — it’s Wendy.”
“Like the fast-food joint?”
She stared at his face, wanting to punch it, and was pleased that someone had already taken the liberty. She commented, “Nice shiner. You should put some ice on that,” and moseyed away in her cowgirl boots and denim shorts.
The ring around Zabka’s left eye was swollen and dark purple. “Ice?” he mumbled. “I don’t need ice. Pussies need ice. Right, Bob?” He stabbed his fork through lettuce and a cherry tomato, and with a shaky hand brought it to his mouth. He had to concentrate to not drip any dressing on his cheap suit.
Magnum, their housemate, said, “Just so you know, calling women things like Sugar-Tits, and stuff like that, is offensive. It’s inappropriate to comment on their body parts.”
Zabka looked at Bob with an expression that said, Can you believe this guy?
Reflecting on Magnum’s bizarre and unexpected outbursts concerning women’s feet yesterday, Bob shrugged and took a swig of his beer.
Magnum said, “And like Bob was saying earlier — no good story ever started with, ‘So, I was eating a salad…’”
Zabka chewed, his face scrunched, pondering those words of wisdom. “Yeah, but what if I was tossin’ some chick’s salad?” He raised his eyebrows. “That’d be a good start to a story, right?”
“It sure would… except you’re not.” Bob threw his polyester tie over his shoulder. “Anyway, if we don’t have a blast today, it’s your goddamn fault.” He attacked his greasy cheeseburger, devouring half in one bite.
“Whatever.” Beads of sweat were on Zabka’s forehead. His skull was pounding.
“You look like shit. Did you throw up in the bathroom?”
“No…” Zabka took a sip of his Bloody Mary. “But I wish I had.”
Magnum felt compelled to share, “Well, I feel great.”
Bob replied, “Yeah, Magnum. That’s cuz you’re a freak of nature.”
As buddies do, they called each other by their nicknames — Zabka, because his doppelgänger was William Zabka, the blond actor in The Karate Kid whose character is an arrogant prick; Magnum, although younger and taller, for his bushy mustache, naturally tan skin-tone, and likeness to the TV private investigator; and Bob, the jovial moniker for Robert. And although it was 1993, they looked like they forgot to leave the ’80s.
Bob said to Zabka, “Come on, you need more than a salad. We have a big day ahead of us.”
“I’ll eat what I wanna eat.” Zabka grabbed an olive from his drink and tossed it at Bob, hitting him between the eyes.
Bob wiped tomato juice off his face. “Asshole.”
“Listen, I couldn’t make it to the gym, so I’m eating light.” Zabka flexed his arm and made a muscle. “You don’t get a ripped body like mine without sacrificing every once in a while.” He looked at his friend. “And Bob, you could stand to lose a few pounds. So don’t give me any shit.”
Magnum asked Zabka, “Seriously, why bother? You know today’s gonna be a repeat of last night… you’re gonna drink a hundred beers again. What’s the use?” He was also wearing an off-the-sale-rack suit and popped a new roll of 35mm film in his Kodak compact camera.
They were having lunch on that muggy summer day in a restaurant-bar called The Steer. Located near the University at Buffalo’s city campus, it was popular with students from Long Island. Its dark wood interior and the large bull’s skull and horns that hung on the wall gave the place its western vibe. A country pop-song by Billy Ray Cyrus started playing in the bar.
Magnum commented, “I’m so sick of this song. It’s on the radio all-the-damn-time.”
“Achy-Fuckin’-Breaky Heart?” Bob was physically agitated. “This sucks donkey-balls.”
Zabka said nonchalantly, “I’d Achy-Fuckin’-Breaky that guy’s nose if he was here.”
“Why? I figured that tard was your idol. Why else would you have the same stupid mullet?”
“Cuz I make it look cool,” Zabka replied. “To be honest, I could get up and line-dance to this shit and make it look cool.”
“Oh god, please don’t.” Bob closed his eyes and shook his head. “But seriously, Zabka, why’d you make us come to this hellhole? I hate this fucking place.” He watched a group of girls in matching sorority shirts and with matching nose jobs, chat up the bartender. “Oh, that’s right… because you’re sniffing around for Tracy Cohenstein.”
Magnum’s eyes grew wide as he thought about the last time he saw Tracy the previous school year. It was the end of spring semester their Junior Year and she was sunbathing in her backyard. He was perched in a tree with binoculars.
Zabka put his fork down. “Screw you, Bob. Stop trying to stir the pot.”
“Who, me?” Bob placed his hand over his heart. “I would never.”
Zabka shook his head. “Yeah, never.”
Bob was undoubtedly stirring the pot. “You two fucktards were ridiculous yesterday. Like, over the top.” He gulped down some beer and shoved a fist full of fries into his mouth. “Hey, remember the last time we came here? The bouncer tossed some douchebag into the street.”
“Oh yeah, that was hilarious,” Magnum responded. “No offense, Zabka, but I’m shocked that’s never happened to you.”
“Someone’s got the balls to try to throw me out?” Zabka scoffed. “Ha. That’s a good one.”
Bob commented, “Actually, I’m shocked Brewer didn’t toss you outta The Base last night. You were a walking-talking-stumbling shitshow.”
Zabka had a crooked smile. “They’d never — they love me. We own that bar.”
Magnum shook his head. “Everything… and I mean everything… was a fiasco yesterday.”
Bob added, “Fiasco isn’t quite the right word. It was a… clusterfuck.”
“Yep, one giant clusterfuck.” Zabka felt his black eye impulsively.
“I’m mentally scarred by several things I witnessed.” Bob shuddered. “Actually, can we please just talk about something else?”
“Sure. How about hangovers?” Magnum finished his beer and raised the bottle. “Thank god for hair-of-the-dog.”
“More like shit-of-the-dog. Dog shit — that’s what I feel like. So no, I don’t want to talk about hangovers.”
“Okay, then how about the Bills?” Zabka asked. “Their second preseason game is today.”
“Come on, I thought we were changing subjects.” Bob rubbed his temples. “The Bills are the NFL’s version of a hangover. They lost against Detroit last week. Fuckin’ Detroit!”
“Relax,” Zabka told him. “It’s preseason — means nothing. The team’s rusty and, most-likely, partying a fair amount. I’m sure things get a little wild down in Fredonia during training camp. No big deal.”
“To be frank, Buffalo is done,” Magnum stated. “They lost the last three Super Bowls. They’re done. It’s all about Miami this year. Go ’Phins!”
Zabka picked up his fork. “Fuck Miami, and fuck Marino.” He then speared a piece of chicken with his next helping of salad. “Shouldn’t you root for a Hawaiian team, Magnum? Oh shit, that’s right — there isn’t one!” As he gnawed on the meat like a piece of gum, his face slowly turned green. He spit the chicken on the floor and inspected its pink flesh. “What the fuck?!” He dry-heaved. “It’s fuckin’ raw!”
“Here less than twenty-four hours and already someone’s out to get Zabka.” Magnum shook his head. “Shocker.”
Their waitress heard the commotion and hustled over. “Is there a problem with your order?”
“A problem?!” Zabka’s adrenaline had spiked. “You’re goddamn right there’s a problem! The fuckin’ chicken ain’t cooked!”
“I’m so sorry. Let me take care of that and get you a new salad.”
“No! You will not do that! I’ll handle this myself.” Zabka stood up holding his plate, marched toward the kitchen, and slammed through the aluminum swinging-door. “Who the fuck made my salad?!”
The kitchen staff froze, alarmed by the madman with a black-eye.
Zabka scanned for the most-likely culprit and landed on the man who’d been chopping lettuce. “Hey, chico! Did you do this?!” His experience growing up as the only white kid in a Latino high school had kicked in. “Did you put raw pollo in my salad?!”
The Panamanian food preparer replied, “No, sir. I just make the vegetables.” His nervous eyes implicated his coworker — the guy cooking on the grill.
“I see.” Zabka turned to the cook. “So, it was you… Señor Fuckface, eh?” He walked over and dumped his salad on the Mexican man’s head. “Why’d you do this?! Tell me right now, or I swear, I’ll strangle your fucking neck!”
The guy gulped, fully believing Zabka’s threat. “Okay, okay. Some girl paid me fifty bucks to do it. Please don’t tell my boss. I beg you.”
“Some girl?!” Zabka looked around. “So where is this conniving little cunt? Keep talking and I might let you off the hook.”
“She was out at the bar.” He was shaking.
“Take me to her.” Zabka punched his palm. “Let’s go, motherfucker.”
Scene 0 | Scene 1
Published November 4th, 2017
Damn right, I’m a Buffalo Bills fan… well, maybe more than a fan. I love Buffalo and the Bills so much that I wrote a song and published a book about them called “Squish the Fish.” If you think that sounds crazy, keep reading.
Let’s take a step back — I didn’t even grow up a Buffalo Bills fan. So why would anyone in their right mind choose to be a Bills fan? Four Super Bowl losses in a row — torturous. The Music City Miracle — a kick in the nuts. O.J. Simpson — let’s not even go there. In the past 17 years, Buffalo has had more drunk fans fall from the upper deck of their stadium (one) and more dildos tossed on their field (one) than they have playoff appearances (zero). So again, why am I a Buffalo Bills fan?
I grew up in Binghamton, NY and, like most people there, was a New York Giants fan. I hate to admit it, but I didn’t root for the Bills in their first Super Bowl. A year later, in 1992, I transferred to the University at Buffalo for the spring semester. On January 26th, I watched Buffalo play in their second Super Bowl with my new friends in our Ellicott dorm. That year I was rooting for the Bills — admittedly, it was more like rooting against the Redskins — and again they fell short of victory. After the game, people were crying and throwing crushed beer cars out of windows — until everyone just said “fuck it” and we partied our sorrows away for the rest of the night. (Side note: I have a couple of good postgame stories, but unfortunately because of legal reasons, I’m not allowed to share them.)
The next two years of college brought two more Super Bowl losses, both at the hands of the Dallas Cowboys (F Dallas!). After I graduated, I took a job at a local company in Cheektowaga and finally went to my first game at Rich Stadium in the winter of 1995. It was a game against the Miami Dolphins and was one of the greatest days of my life. I’m not lying, it was that much fun. I loved the tailgating, the third-down train horn, the fan spirit, and the support of the team. There was electricity — and booze — everywhere. I watched Kelly, Thomas, Smith, Tasker, and Christie lead the Bills to victory over Dan Marino and the much-hated Bryan Cox (F U! You gave us the finger — we gave you 160,000 middle fingers back). That was the day I truly became a fan. The day I first watched the Bills “Squish the Fish!”
Now I live in San Francisco and gather with the rest of the Bills Backers at the Northstar on game day. There’s nothing like wearing Zubaz pants and drinking Labatt Blue with friends to make you feel at home. Last year, we met at the bar and took a charter bus over to Oakland when the Bills were in town. Our amazing organizers, Maggie and Jeff, set up an incredible spread with wings and garbage plates. But here’s the best part — Andre Reed hung out and tailgated with us! What a trip that was!! As for the game, however, I’m still trying to forget how we folded in the second half.
Earlier in the season, a bunch of us also flew down to LA for the Bills game, and I finally met the legendary Pinto Ron at Busby’s West during the Saturday welcome party. That was a great weekend and we won the game! I also was at the 49er game in Buffalo and partied in the famous Hammer Lot! It was incredibly fun! And we won that game too!!
Like in any twelve-step program, the first step is admitting you have a problem. So here it is — I’m a Buffalo Bills fan. And you know what? I wouldn’t change a thing and I’m sure-as-hell not moving past step one. I’m a Bills fan for life and I can’t wait to celebrate in Niagara Square when the Bills bring home the Lombardi Trophy! Until then, cheers!!!