Condo invited a bunch of Pendejos to his condo for Friday happy hour — all we had to do for 2 free beers was destroy his brand new hot tub.

Ernesto, from the delivery truck, got the hot tub off the back and left it on a pallet sitting on the sidewalk. He took one look at the 5 of us geniuses and ran away as fast as his 30-foot U-Haul-wanna-be truck would take him.

Angry Ed and Kevin were calling “come back, come back…”. We all knew we would have to return the damn thing the minute we dropped it in the rocks. There’s no point letting the truck go and just making him come back 10 minutes later.

It’s a 72-inch tall circle covered in plastic with zero grip handles.

“We are going to have to lift it over this wall,“ Angry Ed said with his shoulder on a 5-foot block wall. Like any of our 50-plus shoulders can lift anything heavier than a hairbrush or a beer over our heads without somebody “tearing” something. (Either the hot tub frabric or a rotator cuff).

It’s a giant fucking wheel. Can’t we just roll it through the little fucking gate.

“Nope,” Condo said. “Ed measured.”

“How did Ed measure?” Was the smartest question Kevin has ever asked in his life.

“He put his hands like this and then walked over to the gate,” Condo said with the earnest voice of an elderly librarian collecting a 20-cent fine. For a second we believed him, because he teaches college-level math.

Then reality took over. Fuck Angry Ed’s “Venezuelan” measuring stick.

Patrick got the real tape measure and looked at the width of the circle; 36 inches wide.

“It’ll fit,” Patrick said. “We just have to take this gate off. “

And holy shit Patrick had the little metal gate unbolted and off the block wall in 2 minutes flat.

I was ready to roll the thing right over the sharp edges of the landscape granite. But these pendejos didn’t want to scratch the outside plastic. Pussies… it’s not my fucking hot tub.

“We need a piece of carpet,” Kevin said. Like Condo’s condo is really a Home Depot full of every fucking home good under the sun.

We had just hauled in a giant carboard box that held the hot tub lid.

“Why don’t we open the box and use the cardboard,” I said. It was the first good idea I’ve had since 1987 when I tricked the Bear into taking care of me for life.

That’s right mother fuckers, I, of the tankless water heater disaster and purchaser of the lying nazi bullshit diesel, was the fucking hero of hot tub rolling.

We split the box in two and rolled the fucking thing like Egyptians rolling granite blocks up the pyramids. Roll over one cardboard to the second. Pick up the first, and pass over the wheel, put it down in front and repeat.

Would have worked perfectly except Condo could not get his fat feet off the first piece —- every fucking time. He’s giggling like a kindergarten girl and lifting his feet up like it’s an Octoberfest polka. But this damn mexican can’t polka. We have to pull the cardboard like a magician with a tablecloth.

Once it was through the gate, I gave up on the pyramid roll and started to screw the gate back to the block wall.

Don’t know what made me believe this would end well. The metal posts were too high, so I picked up a river rock and just started pounding the top to drive the metal poles into the ground.

Got 2 lag bolts on either side to “catch” in the holes and started screwing that metal “real good.“

When I could almost close the gate, I was ready to quit. Close fucking enough. But Patrick showed up.

”You are screwing it wrong,” Patrick said. “You gotta get that dirt out from between the post and the wall.”

No, no I didn’t. Not my fucking gate.

Patrick got a screwdriver from your imaginary God knows where, cleaned out all the dirt and rocks. But he fucked up and left me to screw in the rest.

Gate sort of latched shut. I was done. Beer time. Let’s see how long that gate will last.

Pendejo hot-tub-time-machine was set up in back. Condo plugged it in, filled it with the hose, and posted pictures of all these half-naked people, beer and bacteria stewing together in 100-degree weather and 105-degree water.

So let’s use that time machine to travel 6 months into the future… It will be a miracle if that damn thing doesn’t implode or leak by then. And I don’t even want to think about the urinary tract infections…

Next happy hour, we will steal a few more of Condo’s cold beers (he has a keg), but everybody will have to bring their own penicillian.