S t e a k F e s t
A Who's Who Guide
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Founding Fathers
Rob McCrone
I, Rob, the scourge of Carpathia, the sorrow of Moldavia, command you. On a mountain of beef in a steakhouse of pain, I sat on a throne of blood. What was will be, what is will be no more. Now is the season of STEAKFEST. Find me a steak that I might live again!

Ryan McCrone
You all know me. You know how I earn a livin'. I'll eat this steak for ya, but it ain't gonna be easy. Bad cow! Not like goin' down to Outback eating Blooming Onions or Melbourne.s. This steak will swallow them whole. Shakin'. Tenderizin'. Down they go. Now we got to do it quick. That'll bring back the tourists and it'll put all your businesses on a payin' basis. But it's not gonna be pleasant. I value my stomach a lot more than twenty bucks, Chief. I'll find it for twenty, but I'll catch it and eat it for thirty. You've got to make up your minds. Gonna stay alive and ante up? Or want to play it cheap, be on welfare the whole winter. I don't want no volunteers. I don't want no mates. There's too many captains on this island. Thirty dollars for me by myself. For that, I eat the meat, the grizzle, the whole damn thing.

Chris Nowell
My name is Chris and I am a slave. Close as I can figure it the year is 2005 AD and I'm being dragged to my death in New Jersey. It wasn't always like this... I had a real life, once. A job. I had a wonderful wife, Beth. Together we drove to a small state in the American Northeast. It seems a Steakhouse had come to this remote place to cook and serve from their latest find: Arthureos ex Menutis, the Book of the Steak. Bound in Bovine flesh and inked in A1, this dry aged, medium rare text contained bizarre seasoning rites, intoxicating incantations and obscene photos of me eating. It was never meant for the world of the living. The book awoke something dark in my bowels. It took Beth, and then it came, for dessert. It got into my stomach and it went bad, so I crapped it out in Ryan's bathroom. But that didn't stop it. It came back. Big time....

Trapped in Hoboken, surrounded by steak, full of gas.

Spring Class of '05
Kevin Hollywood
It is I, Hollywood, son of Uther Pendragon, from the castle of Camelot. King of the Britons, defeater of the Saxons, Sovereign of all England! I have ridden the length and breadth of the land in search of knights who will join me in my court at Authur's.

The Lady of the Lake, her arm clad in the purest shimmering samite, held aloft a 48 oz steak from the bosom of the water signifying by Divine Providence that I, Hollywood, was to carry the title of Rookie of the Year. That is why I am your king!

Rob Skutinsky
Yeah, I was the kid...it got so that every pissant prairie punk who thought he could eat a steak would ride into town to try out the Waco Kid. I must've killed more cows than Cecil B Demille. Got pretty gritty. I started to hear the word eat in my sleep. Then one day, I was just walking down the street, and I heard a voice behind me say, "Reach for it Mister!" I spun around and there I was face to face with a six-year-old kid. Well I just threw fork and knife down and walked away....little bastard shot me in the ass!! So I limped to the nearest saloon, crawled into a whiskey bottle, and I've been there ever since.

Fall Class of '05
Pete Czerechowski
Listen up, maggots. You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique piece of steak. You're the same decaying organic matter as everything else. But you are tasty with shots of A1 steak sauce.

The first rule of Steakfest is - you do not talk about Steakfest. The second rule of Steakfest is - you DO NOT talk about Steakfest. Third rule of Steakfest, someone throws up, goes limp, has a heart attack, the fest is over. Fourth rule, only two gin martinis to a fest. Fifth rule, leave your manners at the door, fellas. Sixth rule, no shirt, no shoes...no service. Seventh rule, Steakfest will go on as long as it has to. And the eighth and final rule, if this is your first night at Steakfest, you have to eat the 48 oz.

I am Pete's Colon...you do not want to be me after Steakfest.

Mike Dries
Mike: Sons of Scotland. I am Michael Dries.
Other: Michael Dries is seven feet tall.
Mike: Yes, I've heard. Eats plates of meat by the hundreds, and if he were here, he'd consume the live cattle with fireballs from his eyes, and bolts of lightning from his arse.
(laughter)
Mike: I AM Michael Dries and I see a whole army of my countrymen, here in defiance of veganism. You've come to eat as free men, and free men you are. What will you do without freedom? Will you eat the 64oz?!
Other: Eat that much, no, we will run, and we will live.
Mike: Aye, eat and your gut may burst, run and you'll live, for at least a while. And dying in your beds, many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that, for one chance, just one chance, to come back here and tell our servers, that that they may take our knives, but they'll never take our steak!