A buddy of mine is writing a screenplay called The Wolfpack, about a business that breaks “the rules” to lie, cheat, and manipulate girls that you go on dates with to make them think that you’re responsible, monogamous, and sober.

Personally, I love the idea.  I was a deadly assassin when it came to drunk, moose-hipped, exiled sorority whores, but when it came to any girl bordering on the top half of the hotness scale, i.e. 5.1 or greater, I was shooting blanks … in my pants.  I guess I needed the Wolfpack.  I’m sure that they’re already planning on casting Dane Cook in the lead.

It got me thinking … who would I pick to be my Crew if I could pick anyone, from anywhere to join me in the boozerous foray into ‘Gina-land.  Well, I’m glad you asked.

There were stories that the main cast of Oceans 13 would frequently go out in Vegas and tear the town apart.  Clooney, Pitt, Damon, Affleck (the younger, less dumb one), Mac, Caan, Cheadle.  It was as close to the Mecca of awesomeness in Vegas other than NBA All-Star weekend.  With that in mind, I’ve been giving this some thought and I feel that I’ve the list narrowed down to the essentials and with proper analysis and consideration I’ve got the perfect person for each.

THE ANNOUNCERS – - – - – - – - -

These are the guys that provide the in-game commentary and analysis for the home viewing audience.  I choose Gorilla Monsoon and Jesse the Body Ventura.  Even before Jim Ross or Bobby “The Brain” Heenan were at ringside, it was these two.  Gorilla was the play-by-play caller and Ventura the color commentator and topical “expert”.  I remember watching these two comment on the early pay-per-view wrestling events, starting with Wrestlemania I.  If through smoke, mirrors, and the spray of Gorilla spittle, they ensorceled me as a young lad into a jumping, screaming frenzy at the prospect of a matchup of Koko B. Ware vs. Adorable Adrian Adonis, then they are capable of anything.  Anything.

Let me just interject – when King Kong Bundy and Bobby the Brain Heenan ambushed Hulk Hogan and he was carried off in a stretcher, were you simultaneously convinced it was all REAL and filled with a mix of hatred-dread of KKB?  I know I was.  I attribute it all to the tag team behind the mike.

I can just imagine how it would work out.

JBV: “Wow, Gorilla, I in my days of wrestling, I have never seen a rejection like that.  I don’t think he’ll come out of that bathroom.  He’s finished!”

GM: “Will you stop?!  That man is a hero and the arena is cheering for his return!  And here he comes!  Like a house of fire!  This crowd is on its feet.  Listen to the roar!”

JBV: “Even I have to admit, the Luckster has the heart of a lion!”

In fact, let’s throw in Mean Gene Oakerlund for crowd reactions, as well.

THE BAR GOPHER – - – - – - – - -

In the best bars, the trip to get more drinks inevitably takes an hour.  That means that you have roughly four trips to either get hammered … or to remain hammered all the while trying to spit game, dance in a rave-like trance, and piss every fourteen minutes thirty seven seconds (I’ve timed myself).  So its best to have a designated bar gopher.  This is the guy that is either big enough to bully his way to the front, small enough to weasel his way through, or bold enough to forearm-shiver drunk girls trying to cut in line.  Well, I’ve got a better solution – I choose Jesus of Nazareth.

My protestant readers probably just shot a hot rocket into the back-end of their shorts.  Remember, I’m Catholic (see this article for more on that) and we drink.  In fact, our German pope, Benedict, got his Bier Meister certification with Internet classes at the Vatican.  I love the scene in the Exorcist when the two priests get so pissed that Father Karras can barely molest his altar boys.

What better for our bar gopher then just to magic/miracle more Courvoisier into our empty glasses.  “I don’t normally do this, but …. keep the party going!”

BAIT – - – - – - – - -

This one is essential.  To attract the hottest quality of girl you need to exude two qualities.  First, that you’re a complete dick and will only feed their insufferable self esteem issues.  Second, that other hot chicks find you desirable.  Unlike men, women see other girls that have staked ground, even with an ugly guy, and they think – they might know something that I don’t.  He might be RICH!  Guys are different, we’re completely visual.  When we see a guy grinding on a gutter slut, we either think 1) that poor, drunk bastard … this is gonna be hilarious or 2) oh goody, the ratio just got better.  So when you’re fishing, you need bait.

For reasons that I’m going to explain, I choose 2004 Lindsay Lohan.  Not 2008.  There’s a couple of reasons.  First, she’s a party girl and could probably outdrink most Irish hobos.  Second, she’s whorish, but back in 2004, she was still holding it together enough that girls were thinking that they either hated her or would be in favor of a drunk makeout session.  And then, not so much now, she was hot.

I was thinking about choosing Paris Hilton, but I think that girls have hated her since her first infrared porn video.  Plus, she’s on the Ethiopian lithe side.  I like curves, not taut skin stretched over transparent ribs.  And I’ve wanted to give her a curb sandwich ever since I first heard her speak.

THE INSTIGATOR – - – - – - – - -

Contrary to what most people think, the Instigator is probably more important than the Wingman in ensuring a successful night.  Still, though, I’ve got the winger covered below.  The Instigator is the person that starts the fun, finds the fun.  They are the person that comes up with the idea and then implements. The most important aspect of the Instigator is out of the box thinking.  This is closely related to the Daredevil (see below).

The Instigator breaks up the nightly Oktoberfest around the PS3 and Funyans to go out and find shit to do.  For that reason, I’m choosing David Wooderson in Dazed & Confused (Matthew McConaughey).  Case in point – the big event of the movie that had a police raid, underage drinking, sex, weed, fighting, and hazing was only the pre-party for this dude as they were driving to go to an Aerosmith concert that morning … um … presumably still drunk and high.

My biggest problem was that in my close group of buddies, we were missing the Instigator.  We had plenty of the “Sit on the Side of the Bar and Make Acerbic Comments on Other People” guys in our group.  Hey, at least we were funny.  Sometimes.

I strongly considered Stiffler for this role, but he’s selfish.  If you have a selfish instigator, then basically you have a member of the crew going Commando, he’s in it for himself and within 15 minutes he’ll disappear at the back of the club while he fingerbangs some Swedish girl.

THE DAREDEVIL – - – - – - – - -

The dumber this guy is the better.  The key ingredient for this person is fearlessness.  This is the guy that you can dare to slap a big, hairy bike on the ass while he’s at the urinel or drink a bottle of tabasco sauce with a Bacardi chaser.  And he’ll do it.  Typically, these guys are rare, because they don’t live long or their nights going out are limited because of prolonged hospital stays.  A lot of times if left to the wrong hands, these impressionable guys can become super dicks if their energies are not directed into self-mutilation and antics.

I was torn on this one, but my ultimate decision is Steve-o from Jackass.  Firstly, this guy is truly, truly crazy.  Not only is he fearless, but he’s apparently immune to pain.  He must have Logan’s healing factor to still not be crippled.  Secondly, he’s actually funny/famous enough that he could probably pull wool for the team just on his own.

And if I needed a third, he owns a freaking circus.  With an elephant.  Can you imagine what kinda of crazy monkey shit that could be unleashed with a band of drunken idiots with a circus elephant?  My nipples are hard.

BLACK-UP – - – - – - – - -

Every crew needs the token black guy.  Some girls like to dance and if none of you can even manage the Whitey Shuffle, being friends with a black guy will still keep the door open.  Some girls like to visit the Dark Side like its a mini-spring break and you can benefit as the Friend.  The reasons go and on.

In my own actual group, I was sufficently covered with Black-Up (as noted here).  I enjoyed the benefits, including being able to accurately rap all of the lyrics to La Di Da Di even when blitzed, free dance lessons, creative cursing and the appropriate usage of MF, and dipping in the chocolate.

But since this is my dream column, I’m choosing my pseudo-man crush, Adrian Peterson of the Minnesota Vikings.  For me, it really doesn’t matter the question, the answer is Adrian Peterson.  This guy so much as looks at a college girl and her ‘nany yelps like a whipped dog.  I have no idea if he can dance, but its sorta a requirement to be a black man that you can grind.  Plus, if Emmitt Smith can dance the foxtrot, then Adrian Peterson can do the Crip Walk.

I know, I know – what about Lebron?  Too obvious, too tall.  No member of the crew can be freakishly tall, hence no Andre the Giant for the Bait.  He was this close.  Besides, AP went to college in Oklahoma and that gets point at LuckyRob.com.

THE CONNECTION – - – - – - – - -

Everyone needs the inside man, the guy who knows people and can get you into places.  This was another area that we were sorely missing, unless you’re counting the hamburger cooks and Ladies Night DJ at Eskimo Joes.  Oh yeah, there were some high school guys that I pretended to like that were bartenders at the Wormy Dog … not that it got me anything cool, free, or free and cool.

This one is tough, because most guys with crazy connections don’t advertise.  So as an outsider to the insider world, I’m going to just throw it up there and hope it sticks like a Ben Wallace free throw – Diddy.  Just to be safe, let’s say its 2002 Puff Daddy.  I’ve got some logic behind this pick.  Just stay with me.

First, he’s the mogul of East Coast rap, either as an artist, collaborator, mixer, producer, or label.  NYC, baby.  Second, he’s got his own fashion brand.  Third, he holds one of the most exclusive parties in the world – the White Party.  Presumably its not just for white people, but instead its where everyone dresses in white and has sex with white chicks.  He’s rich and he was first on the J-Lo booty train.  Or nearly first.

Part of me thought of putting Kevin Bacon here.  Afterall, he knows every human being on the planet, right?  Plus, he can turn invisible and watch Rhona Mitra get out of the shower.  But he’s old and I’d be deathly afraid that he’d break out in Foot Loose in the BET Club.

THE COOL FRIEND – - – - – - – - -

This is the male version of Bait.  Coolness by association.  If I walk into any club/bar/bathhouse in the world with Jack Johnson, people are going to assume that 1) a master hydroponic gardener, 2) I’m his retarded cousin (sorry, Cahalan, I promise to not use the word retarded again), or 3) somehow, in my own bizarre, retarded way (damn!), I’m ALSO cool.  It’s good if the Cool Friend can just be there and not speak so much.  There’s only so much conversation time and I like to be the one making the cheap dick jokes.

This is a careful selection.  If I choose the wrong person, I become a sidekick and I vowed to never be second fiddle to anyone other than Chuck Norris in Invasion USA.  Plus his coolness qualities rub off on me.  So if I choose Jet Li, then people are going to assume that I’m also a Chinese martial artist.  I’ve got to find the right person that embodies the essence of Lucky Rob’s claim to coolness.  So Californication is out.  Ruben Studdard is out.  And so on.

Against my better judgment, I’m purposefully NOT picking my man crush.  I’m choosing 1977 Burt Reynolds.  It was the debut of Smokey and The Bandit.  I’m a fan of the mustache, though I don’t sport one myself.  In addition, it was before he was de-testicled by Loni Anderson.

THE ENFORCER – - – - – - – - – - -

This one would have been easy prior to the Green Mile.  The Enforcer cannot have a movie where he’s a blubbering simpleton through most of the running time.  So Michael Clarke Duncan … Michael Duncan Clarke … whatever … he’s out!  The Enforcer needs to look so imposing that we’re basically unbothered in our pursuit of trim.  Sorry, Bruce Lee, you’re the baddest man that ever lived, but even in your own movies dumb Americans and Japanese were challenging you to numchuk blood duels.  Being 5′ 7″ isn’t a bonus.

So I’m choosing Ivan Drago.  I’m so looking forward to a moment where I can climb ontop of the bar during a brawl and yell DRAAAAAAAAAAAGO!!!!  He doesn’t talk much, which is a bonus.  Though Dolph is 6′ 6″ in real-life in the Rocky universe, he’s probably closer to 7′ and he punches with seven-hoondrid-un-vifti-punds! And that’s before the synthesizer assisted training sequences where he goes over 1,000.

He’s loaded with anabolic steroids and ended Balboa’s career (at least for 1 movie) with severe head injuries.  My guess is that after the Christmas Day fight, Drago quit boxing and joined MMA.  Plus, he was nailing Brigitte Nielsen with perhaps the worst accent ever other than Leon’s gut-wrenching attempt at Jamaican in Cool Runnings.

If Drago is unavailable for visa reasons – afterall he did kill Apollo Creed in the ring, I’ll still stay with Dolph Lundgren and choose Red Scorpion.  Perhaps sporting the coolest buzz cut I’ve ever seen on a human being.  It’s the anti-King of the Hill.

And finally …

THE WINGMAN – - – - – - – - – - -

Of all of the selections on this Dream Crew, it is the selection of the Wingman that I’m most positive about.  In fact, I’m willing to fight any man that doubts this decision.  The role of the Wingman is well known.  They’re the back-up, support, and comrade in approaching hot girls, which inevitably cluster in defensible groups or hide behind an ugly friend.

My guy is none other than Colonel Trautman.  Walking in as a full bird colonel into Jerkwater, USA he instantly gains credability, plus he’s got a cool voice.  I think Richard Crenna was the voice of Darth Vader.  No?  Well, he could have been.

Not only was he too legit too quit, but his word choice was flawless in pimping his Ace.  He’s what I’d call a pre-emptive strike.  Remember when Harry sent Lloyd over to the hot girls and waited at the bar sticking his ass out in Dumb and Dumber, he would have scored had he sent Sam Trautman.  Here’s what he says about his boy Rambo to Sheriff Teasle within the first five minutes.  Prepare for awesomeness.

Trautman: I don’t think you understand. I didn’t come to rescue Rambo from you. I came here to rescue you from him.
Teasle: Well, we all appreciate your concern Colonel, I will try to be extra careful!
Trautman: I’m just amazed he allowed any of your posse to live.
Teasle: Is that right?
Trautman: Strictly speaking, he slipped up. You’re lucky to be breathing.
Teasle: That’s just great. Colonel, you came out here to find out why one of your machines blew a gasket!
Trautman: You don’t seem to want to accept the fact you’re dealing with an expert in guerrilla warfare, with a man who’s the best, with guns, with knives, with his bare hands. A man who’s been trained to ignore pain, ignore weather, to live off the land, to eat things that would make a billy goat puke. In Vietnam his job was to dispose of enemy personnel. To kill! Period! Win by attrition. Well Rambo was the best.
Teasle: Are you telling me that 200 of our men against your boy is a no-win situation for us?
Trautman: You send that many, don’t forget one thing.
Teasle: What?
Trautman: A good supply of body bags.

I’ve got chills.  Unleash this guy onto a crowd of foreign exchange students?  Might go something like this:

Trautman: You don’t seem to want to accept the fact you’re dealing with an international porn star.  He’s hung like a rodeo bull.  He’s a tripod with a Pop-eye arm.  He won a gold, silver, and bronze medal in Seoul in competitive cunninglingus.  A man so rich that Michael Jordan cuts his grass.  Trained to drink gasoline shooters and do pull-ups with his pecs.  If you talk to this guy you better be prepared for one thing?
Sabina from Zurich: What?
Trautman: A torrid night of wild orgasms.

He’s not just my Wingman, he’s THE Wingman.  If fact, if your real world Wingman jumps on the grenade or sets you up, I propose calling it a Trautman.  Let’s create a verb, a noun, a adverb, whatever, in honor of this great man.

– - – - – - – - – - -

And that, friends, is my Dream Crew.  Too bad there wasn’t a role for old guy with wrinkled balls, else John McCain would be right in there.

Disagree with my selections?  Well, well, then just add your comment below.  I’ll be sure to print it out and then wipe my butt with it.  Cheers!

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