Jil, Dana and Lynn were on a private O.U.T.R.A.G.E. jet, enroute to St. Kitts for what they believed to be a 'planning session'. "I HATE meetings," said Jil, "they're so unproductive!" Lynn sipped on an ice cold Bushwhacker, a creamy, frothy concoction from the Islands. Dana nibbled on a silver tray of imported cheeses, delicate French crackers, and exotic sausages. Jil seemed nervous, always concerned that she might be unprepared for the "inquisition" she anticipated. Finally, to put herself at ease, Jil helped herself to an ice cold Bud Lite. She expected to be grilled by Interim President Colin Powell and Interim Vice-President John McCain. She wasn't looking forward to this exercise. By the time the plane was over Kentucky, Jil had switched from beer to Bushwhackers. Other members of the AROB team (Adams, Ryan, Oetting and Baker) were also on board in the back of the plane. Patrick Hamilton, Cher Thomas, Lynn Patrick, Cher Ryan and Janie Baker were also part of the troupe. It was an unusually quiet flight, perhaps because all eleven passengers had 'closed' Jilli's Pub the night before and were feeling little pain.
By the time the plane was over Georgia, everyone was drinking Bushwhackers.
By the time the plane landed in St. Kitts, all eleven passengers were shit-faced.
Eleven Hoosiers stumbled off the plane into the hot, sticky St. Kitts sunshine. Ron Oetting tripped and fell face first on the tarmac; predictably, Jil was there to pick him up and brush the debris from the cement off him. As Phil and Patrick farted and laughed uncontrollably, the rest of the entourage staggered into the airport terminal, seemingly unaware of Oetting's accident. Fortunately, he landed on top of his carry-on bag, thus having escaped any serious injuries.
Bob Ryan led the group to two black Lincoln limousines waiting outside the airport. Patrick ("Hammy") Hamilton poured himself into the back seat of one of the cars and collapsed on the floor of the car. "Oh, look," he slurred as he looked up at the roof of the car, "it's 88 degrees in St. Kitts." "Oh, look," replied Phil Baker, "it's 88 degrees in - where the hell are we? - St. Kitts." Before he could finish the sentence, he collapsed on top of Hammy like a 220-lb. sack of cement.
This drunken party of revelers were in no condition to attend any kind of a meeting, and Jil Adams was concerned that this group of inebriated idiots would embarass her.
Embarass her? Hell, this group was about to embarass the whole country!
The limos drove all eleven party people to St. Timothy's Resort, just across from the Shiggity-Shack. "You have six hours to sober up," the limo driver warned. "Then we'll be back to pick you up."
At 8:00 p.m. sharp, the two limousines returned. Clothes had been laid out in each room, and everyone was dressed to the nines. Jil, Lynn, and Dana all looked hot in their black-sequined gowns. Hairdressers had been recruited to help them with their buffants. Hammy, Bob, Phil and Ron had been fitted into black tuxedos. Janie, Cher, Lynn and Cher were all decked out in lavish black evening gowns. Obviously, this was not a "meeting", but an all-star event! As the passengers disembarked from the lusterous sedans, it was apprent that Jil, Lynn and Dana were about to be honored for their "National Parade of Honor". Jil accepted a beautiful award from Colin Powell that seemed to pale in the presence of her golden blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. Lynn and Dana were brought up on stage to accept similar awards.
The ceremony concluded before 10:00 p.m., and the rest of the evening was spent dancing and drinking. It was almost 2:00 a.m. before the limo drivers dropped everyone off at St. Timothy's Beach Resort. The clan decided to end the evening at the Shiggity Shack. The girls changed into bikinis' the guys slipped into swim trunks. The hot, steamy island evening became one more party! To Jil's surprise, O.U.T.R.A.G.E. had arranged for another plane load of her friends to come down for the celebration. Kathy, Michelle, Donna, Connie, Suzanne, and Phyllis joined the party that lasted until the wee hours of the morning. Hammy ended the evening by sprawling on the beach, spreading his legs, farting, and lighting it on fire. The flame could be seen for almost a quarter-mile down the beach. After that, everyone retired to their respective rooms for a much-needed respite.