Free Tickets To Pheast: And The Winner Is…
Wow… Apparently, you people all have Oprah-worthy backstories full of unemployment, screaming children, gastric surgeries, dead cats, house fires, more dead cats, three-ways, dead grandmothers, centipede infestations, homelessness and more dead cats (seriously, you people need to take better care of your cats), and, when prompted, have no problem whatsoever trotting them out in the quest for free stuff.
Which is awesome, really, because free stuff is what we have. 2 pairs of free VIP tickets to tomorrow night’s Pheast at the Navy Yard for the people who wanted them the most.
And the first pair of tickets goes to…
…Preston! And why? Because I am a man who appreciates honesty, and I am not really quite so much of a soft touch as my giving-extra-tickets-to-the-pregnant-lady stunt seemed to prove. Here’s what Preston had to say:
I don’t have any sob stories. I did dislocate my elbow a few weeks ago, I have loans, I have a mortgage, wedding was expensive, blah blah blah. That’s life. To know that these are my “problems” means I’m doing just fine.
The truth is, my wife and I enjoy good drinks, love good food, are good people, and will have a kick ass time. Hell, I’ll drop off some homemade desserts at the office and I’ll (fake) tattoo foobooz on my forehead for the night if it gets me through the door.
So he wins–with one little extra thing he must do. While I would never demand that anyone tattoo Foobooz on their foreheads (even temporarily), I do think a nice set of knuckle tats makes a man look ever so classy on a night out. So, Preston, ink up those knuckles with FOOBOOZ (you can skip whichever pinky you choose), snap a picture and email it to me at jsheehan@phillymag.com and the tickets are yours. If not, I swear to god I’m giving ’em to another pregnant lady. Or maybe that dude who saved the pandas from being turned into Subway foot-longs.
As for the second set, I’m going with Amy–she of the centipede infestation.
My apartment is infested with home centipedes. I LITERALLY need to get out of my house. Plus, I’m a high school counselor, so I spend all day writing kind words about my students in their college recommendations. Maybe someone can do something nice for me.
She was nearly disqualified for the smiley face she appended to the end of her story, but won out because when I was in Seattle, our apartment was infested with ants that we COULD NOT GET RID OF. It got so that I was having dark fantasies of just burning the whole place down to take care of the ants, of building a flamethrower in the garage and then just letting loose. I hated those tiny little fuckers–all zillion of them, individually. And I remember how it felt trying to deal with them night after night.
So that’s it, folks. Those are your winners. Congratulations all around, thanks to everyone for playing, and remember: If you didn’t score the free stuff this time, tickets for Pheast are still available for sale. All it takes is a phone call.
Pheast [Official website]
