I'll preface today's edition with a little fun fact: Paul is currently passed out next to me while I write this. I came home from the library (being the studious scholar that I am) to find a rather large creature sprawled about my mattress. Indeed, it happened to be Paul, who woke up still drunk and then proceeded to drink unknown quantities of Natural Ice until he wound up in the position that he is in now. Paul and I originally had plans to journey to Saginaw Valley this evening, in hopes of making aquaintences with some female friends that Paul has there. Somehow I don't think this excursion is anywhere in Paul's immediate future, though.
Anyways. . . Reader, I dare say I underestimated the amount of shots that I am capable of drinking over the span of one weekend. When I began this endeavor, I was skeptical as to whether I would be able to reach the 40 mark in shots (considering mixed drinks, beers, and other mind-altering substances on the side). However, last night qualmed any fears I had about coming up short of the 40 pinnacle.
According to the sheet I kept from last night, I amassed 20 shots last night. I can only vouch for 18 of those, considering the haze that began to fill my memory. After I left the house to venture to the street they call Greenwood, I simply don't remember what I drank. So we shall say I will begin tonight's efforts beginning with shot number 29.
There is one piece of nearly unlegible literature from the sheet that I would like to share with you, as it will give you a notion of what kind of state of mind I was working with last night. I do not remember writing this at all, so take it as you wish. It reads, in bold letters: "12:25 a.m. - I am as black as Martin Luther King Jr." I don't plan on tonight being any better.
(BOX house - 10:01 p.m.)
For those of you sitting by your computer continuously clicking the refresh button of this blog (I know about a 1,000 of you are) waiting for me to update this blog constantly, let me give you a warning. This may be the first and only update I give this evening, because if things continue to go the way they are, I may be unable to perform motor skills in about one hour.
I've already done 10 shots, am probably drunk already, and here they are. The first one is a doozy.
29. To my childhood physician. This man also conveniently happens to be Andy's uncle (this is before I ever met Andy - small world). Anyways, imagine your childhood physician walking in the front door of your house to see you chopping up lines of Adderall with a credit car/ snorting these lines. . .It pretty much screams, "Hey doc, remember me? I was healthy as a youngen', but now I've resorted to drugs and booze as my means of recreational fun". Here's to you, doc.
30. Ulysses S. Grant - proving that drunk everywhere can in fact be successful. But this is not the reason I love the man. The reason I live President Grant is because he has stated that his favorite alcohol is in fact Old Crow Bourbon Whiskey.
31. Zack Novak. The man elbows Ohio State bitches who deserve to be elbowed in the face. Also, I happen to have a man-crush on him. (side note: recently I made a terrible bet - in which I bet $1,000 dollars the Novak would have his jersey retired at Michigan. I hope it happens)
32. Michigan Baseball! PLEASE SALVAGE SOMETHING, ANYTHING FROM MY JUNIOR YEAR OF COLLEGE. PLEASE. I will be drunk at the Fish every game this spring, that is a promise.
33. Michigan football. No matter how many tears I've shed over you, you alone made me have ambition in high school. Now, I will at least have a degree from the University of Michigan no matter how big a failure I am at life.
34. Al's Dad. "THE MAN"- enough said.
35. To Al - my best friend. He is such a good friend that he handed me tissues while I was vomiting up every line of Adderall I took just now.
36. Chewin tobacca'. And also to the two biggest supporters of this cash crop that I know: my fine roommates Matt & Paul.
37. To losing my voice - because I've been barking like a dog the past three nights whenever I've been intoxicated.
I'm off to get dark.
(8:32 a.m. - I woke up in Al's bed shivering my timbers off; Al found himself in a similar fate, as he woke up in my bed. I don't know how this arrangement was made, but I am in no position to ask questions at this point of my life)
As I was clearly too blackout to make any updates last evening, I will publish what my list has to say this afternoon.
38. Chewie and his 70's porno mustache. (I think at this point I started blacking out, because I have nothing to say about this)
39. "Don't take my word for any shots after this point. I will have one of my roommates sign each of these from now on".
- To Rich Rod
40. FLASBO9
40. Yes, I did two number 40's for the some reason. I think it was because I lost the first sheet I had, and then got a new one.
To Mike Gundy, Oklahoma State head football coach: "I'M A MAN! I'M FORTY!!!"
(By the way, I think this puts me at a grand total of 46).
41. "I HEART DIXIE"
41 1/2. Sav is doing one of my shots to Catholic Central. And he puked.
42. "Every fuckin' Iraq soldier - you are braver than me. I salute you"
43. "I'M BLEEDING EVERYWHERE" (I'm not sure if I did this shot or if it was more of a statement about things happening at the moment (indeed, my shirt is covered in blood this morn)).
44. Chris giving me moral support. "God knows what # shot I'm on" (I wrote this statement while the number 44 was clearly visible directly to the side. ?)
45. While I would love to make number 45 public to my readers, I have been advised by my roommates not to post this particular dedication. It is simply way too offensive. I'll just leave it at that.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
ShotQuest: Friday Edition
If you read the Thursday edition of my shotquest, you will understand that I am entering today's battle round with very little sleep. I am currently fuctioning on fumes; yet I am determined to persevere and slay whatever remains in my half gallon of rum (which, by the way, is in fact the worst tasting rum i have ever encountered (heaven hill)).
Unfortunately, I began to exxagerate the number of shots that I had taken as the early hours of the morn passed by today. In reality, I was pretty much just drinking mixed drinks. This puts a real damper on the quest to 40 shots. So my grand total of what was once 13 shots is now reduced to 10 shots. So today I start with number 11 (still on pace, though).
Although I'm feeling a bit under the weather currently, a surprise visit made my Matt today will certainly give me boosted energy which I can direct towards shot-guzzling. As you may recall, the last time Matt and I drank together, the night ended with each of us spray-painting our chests with greek letters. So tonight certainly promises to be a dandy.
But let's just get right to business. It's about 6:15 at the moment, and I will try and muster the fortitude to take that terrible first shot at about 7. I have already dedicated the first three shots of tonight's festivities:
11. To Matt. His unexpected arrival at our house today sent the amateurs running for the hills, and I hope to get sloppy with the man this evening.
12. As Zola indicated to me earlier today, I had failed to do a shot to Gettysburg yesterday (which was personally requested). So I must do a shot to the glory of Gettysburg.
13. To A0E III. I will certainly take this shot reluctantly. But, true to my word, I will do a shot upon request in the comment space of this blog.
As for the rest, you will just have to spend your Friday night posted in your computer chair, grab a bag of popcorn and a couple sodas, and wait anxiously for me to give live updates.
(BOX House - 8:28 p.m.)
Well, the only reason I'm updating at this moment is because Paul told me to slow down. Let me repeat that. Paul told me to slow down. Usually, when someone tells me to slow down, I would say "why don't you do me a favor and go drink a bleach cocktail". But if Paul tells me to slow down, wow, I should probably slow down.
What began as a battle to get the first shot down has evolved into a parade of rum-guzzling glory. The only reason I'm updating is because I have to wait 15 minutes before I do my next shot. Anyways:
14. To: Chron-johnsons, chron-snakes, & troutsniffers around the world. (and also, courtesy of Paul) to: Lord Chronwallis.
15. (also courtesy of Paul): Facial hair in all forms. Including, but not limited to: the fu-man-chu, handlebars, any mustache, & whatever whiskers Zola can grow.
16. (per request of Zola): To James Taylor. I'll leave you with a personal favorite lyric:
"In my mind I've gone to Carolina,
Can't you just see the sunshine?
Can't you just feel the moonshine?"
Well reader, I think I've "slowed down" for long enough. You can count on a blackout this evening, I assure you.
(BOX House - 9:38 p.m.)
I've already done 10 shots and it's not even 10 o'clock. If you ever wondered if I would get to 40 shots, you've got an answer.
17. (Al and myself thought this bad boy up): To J.P. and Roger, foster care children, and bringers of good fortune to the California Angels via the film "Angels in the Outfield". Not only did these little heroes help the Angels win the pennant, but they showed the world that a little faith can take a man a long way. (Also, Al has suggested): the roles that Danny Glover and Tony Danza play in said film.
18. Paul has requested a shot to Grant Fuhr - longtime St. Louis Blues netminder. After Paul's request, I decided that a better dedication would be to G Tim Cheveldet - Red Wings goaltender in the prelude to the Detroit god that is Chris Osgood (prior to his arrival in Hockeytown)
19. Obvi. STEVE YZERMAN. # 19 himself. Savior of Detroit hockey.
20. (9:27 p.m.) To the most drunken man in Ireland, whomever that may be. Because, undoubtedly, the man must certainly frat his freckled face off like no other hero ever could. Ireland forever.
The next update I make may or may not be blackie.
(BOX House -10:30 p.m. exactly, the friendly neighborhood drunk has just arrived; justin's house on their way)
21. (via Paul) To the drunkest man in Alabama - you better watch you're ass. As some of you may know, Paul and I plan to attend law school together in the prestigious Dixie state of Alabama where the Crimson Tide play. So, to the drunkest man in 'Bama: you betta' watch your ass, because there are a couple of fratties gunnin' for your tail in about two years. ROLL TIDE.
22. (via Justin on a telephone conversation): To Bobby Fisher, the greatest chess player of our generation. Good call, Justin.
23. Apple Orchards.
24. (via Chris Orr - who has just entered our home) Clit-boners. I'm not quite sure what this entails?
Shit's about to get wierd.
(11:50 p.m. - BOX - I am with Craig & Zola)
25. (10:51: Matt is vomiting) Here's to XX chromosomes aka vaginas (via Paul)
26. FREE WILLY. That whale persevered through everything, including sea world, in order to free himself in the sea.
27. Playing the fruit game in the street.
(11:29 p.m.: Chris Orr just broke a broom over his head. Wait, now he is continuosly pounding it against his noggin')
28. To: "Where the Wild Things Are" by Maurice Sendak
* At this point, I don't know what's going on
(Justin, Craig, Zola, and me are here - I'm certain we will get black out; Matt has already passed out (12:03 a.m.))
According to Zola: General Buford, Sam Eliott, and Ross are in fact the same person.
Unfortunately, I began to exxagerate the number of shots that I had taken as the early hours of the morn passed by today. In reality, I was pretty much just drinking mixed drinks. This puts a real damper on the quest to 40 shots. So my grand total of what was once 13 shots is now reduced to 10 shots. So today I start with number 11 (still on pace, though).
Although I'm feeling a bit under the weather currently, a surprise visit made my Matt today will certainly give me boosted energy which I can direct towards shot-guzzling. As you may recall, the last time Matt and I drank together, the night ended with each of us spray-painting our chests with greek letters. So tonight certainly promises to be a dandy.
But let's just get right to business. It's about 6:15 at the moment, and I will try and muster the fortitude to take that terrible first shot at about 7. I have already dedicated the first three shots of tonight's festivities:
11. To Matt. His unexpected arrival at our house today sent the amateurs running for the hills, and I hope to get sloppy with the man this evening.
12. As Zola indicated to me earlier today, I had failed to do a shot to Gettysburg yesterday (which was personally requested). So I must do a shot to the glory of Gettysburg.
13. To A0E III. I will certainly take this shot reluctantly. But, true to my word, I will do a shot upon request in the comment space of this blog.
As for the rest, you will just have to spend your Friday night posted in your computer chair, grab a bag of popcorn and a couple sodas, and wait anxiously for me to give live updates.
(BOX House - 8:28 p.m.)
Well, the only reason I'm updating at this moment is because Paul told me to slow down. Let me repeat that. Paul told me to slow down. Usually, when someone tells me to slow down, I would say "why don't you do me a favor and go drink a bleach cocktail". But if Paul tells me to slow down, wow, I should probably slow down.
What began as a battle to get the first shot down has evolved into a parade of rum-guzzling glory. The only reason I'm updating is because I have to wait 15 minutes before I do my next shot. Anyways:
14. To: Chron-johnsons, chron-snakes, & troutsniffers around the world. (and also, courtesy of Paul) to: Lord Chronwallis.
15. (also courtesy of Paul): Facial hair in all forms. Including, but not limited to: the fu-man-chu, handlebars, any mustache, & whatever whiskers Zola can grow.
16. (per request of Zola): To James Taylor. I'll leave you with a personal favorite lyric:
"In my mind I've gone to Carolina,
Can't you just see the sunshine?
Can't you just feel the moonshine?"
Well reader, I think I've "slowed down" for long enough. You can count on a blackout this evening, I assure you.
(BOX House - 9:38 p.m.)
I've already done 10 shots and it's not even 10 o'clock. If you ever wondered if I would get to 40 shots, you've got an answer.
17. (Al and myself thought this bad boy up): To J.P. and Roger, foster care children, and bringers of good fortune to the California Angels via the film "Angels in the Outfield". Not only did these little heroes help the Angels win the pennant, but they showed the world that a little faith can take a man a long way. (Also, Al has suggested): the roles that Danny Glover and Tony Danza play in said film.
18. Paul has requested a shot to Grant Fuhr - longtime St. Louis Blues netminder. After Paul's request, I decided that a better dedication would be to G Tim Cheveldet - Red Wings goaltender in the prelude to the Detroit god that is Chris Osgood (prior to his arrival in Hockeytown)
19. Obvi. STEVE YZERMAN. # 19 himself. Savior of Detroit hockey.
20. (9:27 p.m.) To the most drunken man in Ireland, whomever that may be. Because, undoubtedly, the man must certainly frat his freckled face off like no other hero ever could. Ireland forever.
The next update I make may or may not be blackie.
(BOX House -10:30 p.m. exactly, the friendly neighborhood drunk has just arrived; justin's house on their way)
21. (via Paul) To the drunkest man in Alabama - you better watch you're ass. As some of you may know, Paul and I plan to attend law school together in the prestigious Dixie state of Alabama where the Crimson Tide play. So, to the drunkest man in 'Bama: you betta' watch your ass, because there are a couple of fratties gunnin' for your tail in about two years. ROLL TIDE.
22. (via Justin on a telephone conversation): To Bobby Fisher, the greatest chess player of our generation. Good call, Justin.
23. Apple Orchards.
24. (via Chris Orr - who has just entered our home) Clit-boners. I'm not quite sure what this entails?
Shit's about to get wierd.
(11:50 p.m. - BOX - I am with Craig & Zola)
25. (10:51: Matt is vomiting) Here's to XX chromosomes aka vaginas (via Paul)
26. FREE WILLY. That whale persevered through everything, including sea world, in order to free himself in the sea.
27. Playing the fruit game in the street.
(11:29 p.m.: Chris Orr just broke a broom over his head. Wait, now he is continuosly pounding it against his noggin')
28. To: "Where the Wild Things Are" by Maurice Sendak
* At this point, I don't know what's going on
(Justin, Craig, Zola, and me are here - I'm certain we will get black out; Matt has already passed out (12:03 a.m.))
According to Zola: General Buford, Sam Eliott, and Ross are in fact the same person.
Vom-Sesh
The side of our lovely home now has a new addition. As told to me by Stephi this morning, I managed to throw up a large amount of Aristocrat vodka along with some goldfish and a salami sandwich out of my window. There currently is a large path of vom from my bedroom window to the ground down the side of the house. ENJOY!
ROCKY TOP, TENNESSEE
Wish that I was on ole' rocky top,
Down in the Tennessee Hills.
Ain't no smoggy smoke on rocky top,
Ain't no telephone bills.
Down in the Tennessee Hills.
Ain't no smoggy smoke on rocky top,
Ain't no telephone bills.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Shots This Weekend
I had this great idea to keep a liveblog of the shots I take this weekend. I will dedicate each and every one of my shots to a particular person/place/thing/or product of my blackout mind. Now, the original goal of this blog post was for me to have 40 shots, but I'm not sure how that will go. So we'll see. With Super Bowl Sunday occuring this weekend, it would average out to about 10 shots per day/night - which is a very realistic goal. You can cheer me on in hopes that I reach the magical number of 40.
Why do you care? You probably don't. I really just wanted to challenge myself to make this an epic weekend somehow, and this is what I came up with. Also, this blog has been lackluster all week, so it needed something new. And at least it will be interesting to see what my mind comes up with at about 2:00 in the morning to dedicate a shot to. I will also try and give time settings for each shot, and I will make note of any debaucherous activities that are going on around me at the time. I really don't know what I'm going to do about remembering shots while blackout.
Oh, and also, if you leave a request in the comment space, I promise I will dedicate my shot to whatever you request.
My first two shots have already been decided (and will probably happen at about 7:00 this Thursday evening.
(Thursday) Sidenote: I vomited before taking even one drink. Yes, this night will end well.
(Marilyns house)
(Marilyns house)
1. To B-Russ! As he is one of our roommates who actually lives in the real world, he got a job the other day! I will toast my first ounce of liver-destruction to his success.
2. The horrible state of Michigan: a. This school is hard. b. Its too cold here. c. Michigan sports currently blow. I will toast my second ounce of liver-destruction to forget why I came to school here.
3. MARILYN, ROSS' LOVELY G/F WHO I SAW AT CAMPUS corner and invited me over for cocktails.
4. Sargeant Deason The man, the myth, the legend.
(@ DKE Senior House - State St.)
5. Delta Kappa Epsilon.
6. Drummer from Fleetwood Mac. Spent $ 8 million dollars on cocaine from 1971-1979. (as told to me by doug)
7. Petoskey, MI: Home of Doug; site of my former cottage
8. Awooooooooooooooooooooooo! Werewolves of London.
9. Willy Wonka and the Oompa Loompas
(druunkazoids - beers (but no shots) at white street party
10. lockness monster
(3 a.m. - BACK AT BOX!: Peter, Coop, and I are still alive by the fate of the alcohol gods)
11. to Toilets (I have to piss)... but honestly... what would we do without them?
12. (3:15 a.m. - Yessir. I've decided to pull a personal all-nighter. by myslef that means. This way, I will get a huge head start on my goal of 40 shots. I figure I will do shots. Shots. On the downside, I figure I once again will get none of the work I planned on doing on Friday done. Lame-johnson's... THIS IS MY REASONING: OK. If i go to sleep, there is practically ZERO chance i wake up for my 10 oclock class in the morn. BUT! I have wisely decided that IF i stay up all night drinking, I will EASILY make my 10 oclock class in the morn! yes society, good luck finding a place for me. . .) # 12 - to myself, because i am still drinking at 3:19 a.m. and that's quite sad.
13. Puff the magic dragon. Hey, don't lie, you loved this magical marijuana-created dragon with all of your heart. I'm about to go off on a dissent. My mouth feels as dry as a cactus in Arizona. I feel like I'm making a bad decision by staying up all night (well, bad decisions are what i do best). Peter Peter pumpkin eater is still awake (3:24 a.m) and he is strongly encouraging me to go to bed. Do you thing I should go to bed reader? NO!!!!! Right now, I AM going to watch about two seasons of the Wonder Years (my all-time fav show) while sipping rum for six hours until my class. Then I will present through my appearance to my class that I am in fact one of those drunken guys who will make no progress in life. I digress. . . . . . . (Bonus Question: Will I make it to 14 tonight? - We shall see).
At this point I feel like this blog is just geetting ridiculous. It's just my drunken ramblings. My only hope is that someone can waste some homework time reading this nonsensical blackout thought coming from the piece of shit that God tried to give me which is a brain (he failed).
3. MARILYN, ROSS' LOVELY G/F WHO I SAW AT CAMPUS corner and invited me over for cocktails.
4. Sargeant Deason
(@ DKE Senior House - State St.)
5. Delta Kappa Epsilon.
6. Drummer from Fleetwood Mac. Spent $ 8 million dollars on cocaine from 1971-1979. (as told to me by doug)
7. Petoskey, MI: Home of Doug; site of my former cottage
8. Awooooooooooooooooooooooo! Werewolves of London.
9. Willy Wonka and the Oompa Loompas
(druunkazoids - beers (but no shots) at white street party
10. lockness monster
(3 a.m. - BACK AT BOX!: Peter, Coop, and I are still alive by the fate of the alcohol gods)
11. to Toilets (I have to piss)... but honestly... what would we do without them?
12. (3:15 a.m. - Yessir. I've decided to pull a personal all-nighter. by myslef that means. This way, I will get a huge head start on my goal of 40 shots. I figure I will do shots. Shots. On the downside, I figure I once again will get none of the work I planned on doing on Friday done. Lame-johnson's... THIS IS MY REASONING: OK. If i go to sleep, there is practically ZERO chance i wake up for my 10 oclock class in the morn. BUT! I have wisely decided that IF i stay up all night drinking, I will EASILY make my 10 oclock class in the morn! yes society, good luck finding a place for me. . .) # 12 - to myself, because i am still drinking at 3:19 a.m. and that's quite sad.
13. Puff the magic dragon. Hey, don't lie, you loved this magical marijuana-created dragon with all of your heart. I'm about to go off on a dissent. My mouth feels as dry as a cactus in Arizona. I feel like I'm making a bad decision by staying up all night (well, bad decisions are what i do best). Peter Peter pumpkin eater is still awake (3:24 a.m) and he is strongly encouraging me to go to bed. Do you thing I should go to bed reader? NO!!!!! Right now, I AM going to watch about two seasons of the Wonder Years (my all-time fav show) while sipping rum for six hours until my class. Then I will present through my appearance to my class that I am in fact one of those drunken guys who will make no progress in life. I digress. . . . . . . (Bonus Question: Will I make it to 14 tonight? - We shall see).
At this point I feel like this blog is just geetting ridiculous. It's just my drunken ramblings. My only hope is that someone can waste some homework time reading this nonsensical blackout thought coming from the piece of shit that God tried to give me which is a brain (he failed).
Note: Half of the shots I post may or may not be legible.
13 and one half: I am not able to do a shot at the moment. but i will leave you with a rookie of the year quote:
"ROSENBAGGER!!!! . . . WARM UP!!! YOU'RE GOIN IN!!!!!!!
13 AND 3/4: Ok, I've probably been lying about the past 5 shots. they've really been mixed drinks. its currently 4:02 a.m. and i have now come to the realization that my life is a failure. i will never post on this blog again. that puts me back at about 10 shots realistically.
- 4:11 a.m. I AM GAY
- 4:53 a.m. I will now try to go to sleep, only because 27 dubious shots lie in front of me the next 3 days. and homework that will undoubtedly be avoided.
13 and one half: I am not able to do a shot at the moment. but i will leave you with a rookie of the year quote:
"ROSENBAGGER!!!! . . . WARM UP!!! YOU'RE GOIN IN!!!!!!!
13 AND 3/4: Ok, I've probably been lying about the past 5 shots. they've really been mixed drinks. its currently 4:02 a.m. and i have now come to the realization that my life is a failure. i will never post on this blog again. that puts me back at about 10 shots realistically.
- 4:11 a.m. I AM GAY
- 4:53 a.m. I will now try to go to sleep, only because 27 dubious shots lie in front of me the next 3 days. and homework that will undoubtedly be avoided.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Awesomeness or weirdness?
As I'm drunk writing this post, I come to a very serious realization. I am stuck in Dayton, Ohio. I know my dearest followers will wonder not only why, but how in fuck's name I ended up only an hour and half from Kentucky in Dayton. Well loyal followers, I made a terrible decision when a roommate of mine and I drove down for 3 hours unannounced and visited our friends that go to the University of Dayton.
As I've been here, I've come to the knowledge that regular people who I may or may not have known for years, may have conjured an opinion about me; as opposed to how regular blogposts go, this is not about sexual conquest or weirdness. This blogpost is about terrible things.
As I sit here in a lonely chair, about to drunk dial someone. I have an exam tomorrow and I have work at 4:30 which I will not be attending. My roommate, who I've seen for a grand total of 20 minutes during the weekend, is currently not capable of driving.
I now am making a blogpost that will come nowhere near the epicness of Brick's blogpost earlier. However, my readers, give me one good reason why you shouldn't miss work? Give me one good reason why you can't wake up with someone else's blood on you? Give me one good reason why you shouldn't break a strangers' futon? Give me one good reason why you shouldn't vomit on your own person? Give me one good reason why you shouldn't lose all of your belongings at a weird Frat Party? Give me one good reason why I was drinking at 8am and am now drinking warm Franzia? Give me one good reason why you shouldn't makeout with a girl for an hour and then get prompty kicked out of her room?Give me one good reason why I have no dignity?
So now I'll get to the importance of this blog. I visited Dayton this weekend, and I consider myself a lowely member of BOX, but now I realize that I am not a real person. I visited 2 of my best friends that go to Dayton, as did my roommate, and now I know how good people exist. Unfortunately, I have not been a real person in recent days. Even my closest of friends who I went to High School with for years, were utterly insulted with my debauchery this weekend. Apparently, no matter what time it is, "You can't kill me." That was a staple of verbal commentary this weekend. My real point readers revolves around the notion that BOX went to Dayton...and Dayton laughed at BOX.
As I've been here, I've come to the knowledge that regular people who I may or may not have known for years, may have conjured an opinion about me; as opposed to how regular blogposts go, this is not about sexual conquest or weirdness. This blogpost is about terrible things.
As I sit here in a lonely chair, about to drunk dial someone. I have an exam tomorrow and I have work at 4:30 which I will not be attending. My roommate, who I've seen for a grand total of 20 minutes during the weekend, is currently not capable of driving.
I now am making a blogpost that will come nowhere near the epicness of Brick's blogpost earlier. However, my readers, give me one good reason why you shouldn't miss work? Give me one good reason why you can't wake up with someone else's blood on you? Give me one good reason why you shouldn't break a strangers' futon? Give me one good reason why you shouldn't vomit on your own person? Give me one good reason why you shouldn't lose all of your belongings at a weird Frat Party? Give me one good reason why I was drinking at 8am and am now drinking warm Franzia? Give me one good reason why you shouldn't makeout with a girl for an hour and then get prompty kicked out of her room?Give me one good reason why I have no dignity?
So now I'll get to the importance of this blog. I visited Dayton this weekend, and I consider myself a lowely member of BOX, but now I realize that I am not a real person. I visited 2 of my best friends that go to Dayton, as did my roommate, and now I know how good people exist. Unfortunately, I have not been a real person in recent days. Even my closest of friends who I went to High School with for years, were utterly insulted with my debauchery this weekend. Apparently, no matter what time it is, "You can't kill me." That was a staple of verbal commentary this weekend. My real point readers revolves around the notion that BOX went to Dayton...and Dayton laughed at BOX.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
FLASB08
FLASB08 (Florida Spring Break 2008): An event of legendary status that will remain cemented in BOX lore for the centuries. Yes, Spring break of last year was a time of greatness worthy of only the hardcore frat-mongers. And since our precious blog is only a baby, my loyal readers did not get to hear of the tales of this epic excursion. Lucky for you, though, I'm going to highlight some of the best memories of FLASB08.
Why am I bringing up such an old story, you ask? Because Spring Break '09 is fast approaching. For this spring break, BOX has assembled a crew of hooligans that could outdrink John Daly and his closest friends. Said crew will descend upon Panama City Beach in late February of the year of our lord MMIX, reak havoc on the local citizenship, clean out every liquor store in town of their cheapest vodkas, cause a week-long blackness to shadow all of Florida, and frat off our faces until we simply can't feel feelings any longer. I joke you not, reader; The collection of renegades that will be driving down to the Confederate territories is an ungodly cast of people that would make Captain Hook's crew of scalliwags look like saints.
Back to FLASB08, though. Just thinking about it gives me the willies.
Well, I've spent enough time putting aside schoolwork blogging for now. I'm now off to pre-game for the basketball game on the lawn for a bit. But I will leave you with a promise: The blogmosphere will be filled with debaucherous tales when Spring Break concludes, so prepare yourself.
Why am I bringing up such an old story, you ask? Because Spring Break '09 is fast approaching. For this spring break, BOX has assembled a crew of hooligans that could outdrink John Daly and his closest friends. Said crew will descend upon Panama City Beach in late February of the year of our lord MMIX, reak havoc on the local citizenship, clean out every liquor store in town of their cheapest vodkas, cause a week-long blackness to shadow all of Florida, and frat off our faces until we simply can't feel feelings any longer. I joke you not, reader; The collection of renegades that will be driving down to the Confederate territories is an ungodly cast of people that would make Captain Hook's crew of scalliwags look like saints.
Back to FLASB08, though. Just thinking about it gives me the willies.
- The drive. Well, this is the lone downspot for me. 5 of us fratters (Al, Pete, Sanchez, Ross, and myself) all piled in our luggage and our beer bellies into Al's car that really should fit no more than 4 persons. It all started well. I beat everyone handily in a game of MarioKart to secure the position of shotgun for the beginning of the 13 hour trek to the sandy shores of Florida. I got this position for about half an hour. From then on, I was forced to sit in the middle of the backseat for the rest of the trip. Lord have mercy on my soul. The only way I can describe the agony of doing this is to relate it to having to quit drinking for the rest of your life. Yes, MISERABLE! Anyways, the position was so terrible that on the return home from Dixieland I decided that I could no longer handle being bitch unless I began drinking. Therefore, I began drinking straight vodka in order to calm the pain. I soon was quite drunk. As I am told, I requested my friends to leave me at a gas station in the middle of hickville, Georgia because I refused to sit in the middle any longer and I was sauced. Well, my friends forced me to come home anyways (this could be good or bad for the general population).
- On to the good stuff. Gainesville. After meeting up with B-Russ, there was now 6 of us. We all descended upon the dormotories of the University of Florida looking like an approaching hurricane ready to cause damage. A lovely girl had been kind enough to let us stay in her 3-person dorm room for the weekend. I dare say she regrets the decision. Her other roommates wisely decided to leave the dorms for the weekend to seek shelter elsewhere. Well, we began drinking heavily, and I'm pretty sure the drinking never stopped. We made a huge bowl of Jungle Juice filled with Everclear, mingled with some southern belles on the town, visited The Swamp, played football on the field, and brought a general sense of debauchery to the campus. If I remember correctly, we left the place covered in hundreds of beer cans and about a dozen empty pizza boxes, probably smelling like King Kong just took a dump in the place. Gainesville: conquered in bold fashion.
- Clearwater. I'll cut to the chase. While I choose not to remember this particular part of Spring Break, my comrades choose to remind me of it whenever they get the chance. What began as an innocent decision to drink some handles on the beach at night watching the ocean turned into one of the most regrettable moments in my regrettable life. We were pounding some vodka when Sanchez decided to approach some females on the beach to ask them for a cigarette. Things quickly spiraled out of control. Both of these femals were questionable-looking at best. Sanchez decided to hit on the better looking of the two, the rest of our roommates decided to call it a night, and I wisely decided to wing-man for Sanchez. My wing-man decision may or may not have ended with me making out with the Swamp Thing or the Creature from the Black Lagoon. Anyways, the Swamp Thing turned out to be an amateur drinker and passed out on the beach. Her friend decided she needed to go to the hospital, called up her parents, and Sanchez and I quickly decided to get the hell out of Dodge. Clearwater: Fled as Wanted Criminals, but conquered.
- Port St. Lucie/ Ft. Lauderdale. The most mellow part of the trip. We decided to drive across the state to support our beloved baseball team (we are the #1 fans at The Fish, ask any player) as they played the New York Mets. Shockingly, Michigan tied a major league team; we were excited. Afterwards we desperately needed a free place to stay, so we drove down to Ft. Lauderdale and stayed with Sanchez's Pike broseph, where we were welcomed with extreme southern hospitality and boozed it up all night. Port St. Lucie: Michigan baseball is the only real sport we can be excited about; Ft. Lauderdale: Southern hospitality is great/ we conquered.
- Naples. This was probably the most exciting part of the trip, considering we got to stay in a private beach resort with two of the hottest females that attend the University of Michigan. Some of the highlights of this venture include: Al hitting on Melina's mother, Ross spending one morning curled up with toilet for a couple of hours, getting to drive a golf cart to the private beach, enjoying cocktails on said beach, admiring the gorgeous females, seeing alligators and dolphins, and the creation of the puppy dog diaries. Naples: conquered.
Well, I've spent enough time putting aside schoolwork blogging for now. I'm now off to pre-game for the basketball game on the lawn for a bit. But I will leave you with a promise: The blogmosphere will be filled with debaucherous tales when Spring Break concludes, so prepare yourself.
How to Survive BOX Pledge Term
Despite certain members of BOX being strongly anti-frat, there are a number of similarities between Beta Omega Chi and fraternities. While many of the pactices that we have copied off of fraternities are done only as a joke, such as the house elections in which we elected positions like house steward and head of standards, we have taken other fraterinty procedures more seriously, most notably Pledge Term. Although each new member of BOX is given his own unique Pledge Term, more and more frequently this has involved spending a semester living in the basement. If you have ever stepped foot in our basement you know how awefull this must be, if not here is a brief description: upon entering the BOX basement the first thing you notice is the sudden drop in temperature by about 15 degrees. Next you notice that the place is a shithole, not only is it not finished, but there are pieces of broken glass all over the floor and the walls are falling apart. If this sight does not deter you from becoming a member of BOX, then the basement is now your room for the next 5 months. If you are the unfortunate soul who happens to pledge BOX during the winter semester I pity you, because temperatures in the basement drop to new lows. It can however be done, and here are some ways to make it easier:
- Because of the footlong centipedes that crawl the floors at night, it would be wise to invest in a sturdy tent
- Pack 4 to 5 wool blankets
- Bring a sleeping bag, not only does it fit nicely with the camping theme but it also is another way to stay warm
- Wear underarmor and two pairs of sweatpants and sweatshirts to bed, because no matter how warm you think you are when you fall to sleep, you will wake up freezing
- Charge your ipod every day in order to keep it operating while you sleep, because if anyone is watching TV or moving on the floor above you, it will wake you up
- Be prepared to wake up at 7 am to the sound of someone doing their laundry in the machine right next to you
- Keep your clothes and any expensive items off of the floor, because when the snow melts the basement floods with 2 in standing water
- Lastly, you may want to place a microwave in your tent and turn it on at night to generate additional heat
Although following this advice will make your life in the basement a little more bearable, the only real way to survive it is to drink heavily as often as you can, because if you can't remember going to bed, you probably will not remember how cold it was.
Friday, January 23, 2009
How To Get Kicked Out of a Frat
As this is my first blog post under the pseudonym Drew, I felt that it would only be fitting
to tell the story behind how I came to call the BOX house my home. While many of you may
think that it is impossible to get kicked out of a fraternity without committing murder
or getting caught in a drug bust, there are other alternatives. The problem however is that while committing any of the following actions might normally lead to your immediate termination from your job, team, or club, a fraternity prides itself on being a brotherhood. Because of this so called
brotherhood, fraternities find it difficult to kick a brother to the curb...If you believed any of that bullshit please stop reading, because obviously this post is not for you. In actuality, it is almost impossible to get kicked out of a fraternity because fraternities are all about money. Frats could care less about what kind of person you are as long as you continue to pay the monthly fee to remain a brother. Without a brother's dues, the fraternity could not survive and therefore it will rarely resort to terminating a brother. Thus, I can not guarantee that these steps will work in every case, so proceed with caution:
to tell the story behind how I came to call the BOX house my home. While many of you may
think that it is impossible to get kicked out of a fraternity without committing murder
or getting caught in a drug bust, there are other alternatives. The problem however is that while committing any of the following actions might normally lead to your immediate termination from your job, team, or club, a fraternity prides itself on being a brotherhood. Because of this so called
brotherhood, fraternities find it difficult to kick a brother to the curb...If you believed any of that bullshit please stop reading, because obviously this post is not for you. In actuality, it is almost impossible to get kicked out of a fraternity because fraternities are all about money. Frats could care less about what kind of person you are as long as you continue to pay the monthly fee to remain a brother. Without a brother's dues, the fraternity could not survive and therefore it will rarely resort to terminating a brother. Thus, I can not guarantee that these steps will work in every case, so proceed with caution:
- Step 1. While the rest of the fraternity is off at formal or some other date party (that you were not allowed to go to), throw the fraternity a welcoming home party for them without their knowledge.
- Step 2. Ignore all of SRC's bogus rules such as: registering a party that has more than 25 girls in attendance, no kegs ever allowed in fraternities, and never serve liqueur out of handles at a party.
- Step 3. Have all attending guests get blackout and demonstrate to them that it is okay to throw beer on the walls and ceilings, dump the trash from the trashcans all throughout the house, draw on the fraternities most precious symbols, etc.
- Step 4. Stack all furniture in the center of the room upside-down.
- Step 5. Take a can of paint, preferably blue, and dump it all over the front lawn.
- Step 6. Light the pillows from the couches on fire.
- Step 7. Take all remaining furniture outside and place it on the front lawn.
- Step 8. Chuck the fire extinguisher against the wall, causing it to explode and set off the fire alarms. This action will be followed shortly by the arrival of the city's fire department, in which case your party is over.
- For best possible results, try to coincide Step 8 with the return of your frat brothers.
Questions That Need Answering This Morn
1. Why did Ryan wake up on the floor of my room? We we're both scared out of our trousers when we arose at about 4 a.m. to see eachother.
2. Who vomited on my pillow? The options must be: a.) Myself (I don't think it was me, but I'm not ruling it out) b.) My friend visiting from Michigan State. c.) Ryan d.) Craig (since he's a suspect in all BOX vomits)
3. Why is our carpet covered in popcorn and pretzels? The answer to this most likely can be related to the water filter jug at Dave and Ting's that is filled with vodka - and was used a great deal last evening.
4. Who clogged that damn toilet?
5. Who vommed on the toilet that is now the only functional toilet in the house last night?
If you or anyone else you know might have information regarding any of these questions, please visit BOX immediately.
2. Who vomited on my pillow? The options must be: a.) Myself (I don't think it was me, but I'm not ruling it out) b.) My friend visiting from Michigan State. c.) Ryan d.) Craig (since he's a suspect in all BOX vomits)
3. Why is our carpet covered in popcorn and pretzels? The answer to this most likely can be related to the water filter jug at Dave and Ting's that is filled with vodka - and was used a great deal last evening.
4. Who clogged that damn toilet?
5. Who vommed on the toilet that is now the only functional toilet in the house last night?
If you or anyone else you know might have information regarding any of these questions, please visit BOX immediately.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Unsung Heroes
Where to begin?
As I'm sure you could tell from my Shakespearian blog posts about Ireland and the letter 'F' on Sunday about 6 p.m, things got quite out of hand at the BOX house this weekend. So much tomfoolery occured that I was still recalling certain events this morning as I walked to class.
Well, I could tell you about the glory of Ross returning, and the amount we drank with him. I could describe to you about the normal obnoxious antics that Paul and I seem to pull out of our asses every weekend. And I could tell you about how rowdy events got when some old BOX members returned late night Saturday (well, come to think of it, I couldn't tell you that much about that).
But I would like to dedicate this particular blog entry to two heroes who don't get many stories in this blog: Matt and Craig. You two won over my heart this weekend.
Craig: As many of us know, Craig had been on a temporary hiatus from drinking since the Notre Dame game this year. At this point, I had just met Craig, and considering he took my job from an unnamed sorority, I didn't regard him as one of my great friends. Over the course of the rest of the year, though, I grew to love having Craig around. I greatly anticipated the event of his 21st birthday and his return to Grandpa's Old Cough Medicine.
Since his epic return to alcohol, he has been on mean streak of boozing. He has been a suspect in nearly all of the mysterious stains created at BOX recently, and it couldn't make me happier. This Friday, though, he took a beating. I assume he blacked out and passed out on our sofa very early. Shortly after, the sharpie was brought out. Not long after, chocolate syrup began to cover him. And I will admit, that I was guilty of pouring some Italian dressing on him. It was an event reminiscent of Paul's hazing. We all felt sort of bad the following morning. But wouldn't you know it? Craig took it all in stride, and he was back at our house by 3:00 day drinking on the lawn with us. Cheers to you, Craig.
Matt: For the second consecutive weekend, Matt has returned to our house to get sloppy with us. In fact, as Matt so aptly puts it, he comes "to play beer pong until we can't breathe air anymore". Matt and I certainly did this on Saturday. The great thing about these weekends, is that Matt is usually just a casual once-or-twice a week drinker.
On Saturday night, though, he proved to us all that he is a true BOX hero. Long after we had begun day drinking on the front lawn, after we had continued drinking well through the Michigan basketball game, after playing more beer pong on the lawn at night, and after old BOX members came over with more beer and left the house like a house in the path of a tornadoe, Matt, Paul, and I were somehow still holding on to dear life. I don't know exactly what order events go in, but I do know that Paul ended up with a hand bleeding profusely, and Matt and I had brilliantly decided to spray paint our chests. Though the artwork wasn't great, we attempted to spray paint the Greek letters of BOX onto ourselves while chest pumping eachother and slamming some beers. Cheers to you, Matt (I hope your spray paint is still there, cause mine sure as hell didn't come off in the shower).
As I'm sure you could tell from my Shakespearian blog posts about Ireland and the letter 'F' on Sunday about 6 p.m, things got quite out of hand at the BOX house this weekend. So much tomfoolery occured that I was still recalling certain events this morning as I walked to class.
Well, I could tell you about the glory of Ross returning, and the amount we drank with him. I could describe to you about the normal obnoxious antics that Paul and I seem to pull out of our asses every weekend. And I could tell you about how rowdy events got when some old BOX members returned late night Saturday (well, come to think of it, I couldn't tell you that much about that).
But I would like to dedicate this particular blog entry to two heroes who don't get many stories in this blog: Matt and Craig. You two won over my heart this weekend.
Craig: As many of us know, Craig had been on a temporary hiatus from drinking since the Notre Dame game this year. At this point, I had just met Craig, and considering he took my job from an unnamed sorority, I didn't regard him as one of my great friends. Over the course of the rest of the year, though, I grew to love having Craig around. I greatly anticipated the event of his 21st birthday and his return to Grandpa's Old Cough Medicine.
Since his epic return to alcohol, he has been on mean streak of boozing. He has been a suspect in nearly all of the mysterious stains created at BOX recently, and it couldn't make me happier. This Friday, though, he took a beating. I assume he blacked out and passed out on our sofa very early. Shortly after, the sharpie was brought out. Not long after, chocolate syrup began to cover him. And I will admit, that I was guilty of pouring some Italian dressing on him. It was an event reminiscent of Paul's hazing. We all felt sort of bad the following morning. But wouldn't you know it? Craig took it all in stride, and he was back at our house by 3:00 day drinking on the lawn with us. Cheers to you, Craig.
Matt: For the second consecutive weekend, Matt has returned to our house to get sloppy with us. In fact, as Matt so aptly puts it, he comes "to play beer pong until we can't breathe air anymore". Matt and I certainly did this on Saturday. The great thing about these weekends, is that Matt is usually just a casual once-or-twice a week drinker.
On Saturday night, though, he proved to us all that he is a true BOX hero. Long after we had begun day drinking on the front lawn, after we had continued drinking well through the Michigan basketball game, after playing more beer pong on the lawn at night, and after old BOX members came over with more beer and left the house like a house in the path of a tornadoe, Matt, Paul, and I were somehow still holding on to dear life. I don't know exactly what order events go in, but I do know that Paul ended up with a hand bleeding profusely, and Matt and I had brilliantly decided to spray paint our chests. Though the artwork wasn't great, we attempted to spray paint the Greek letters of BOX onto ourselves while chest pumping eachother and slamming some beers. Cheers to you, Matt (I hope your spray paint is still there, cause mine sure as hell didn't come off in the shower).
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Words that Begin With the Letter F
Hello my loyal readers. If you were ever wondering if I have an alcohol problem, confirm your thoughts now. The answer is yes. YES! YES I DO.
I would like to point out that I made a post about 7 minutes ago. At that point, I could think thoughts. Yes, thoughts. You know, thoughts like that guy Emilio Estevez used to have. He thought.
Well, once again, I have some bad news for you, reader. I have no idea what I intended to write on the internets. Instead, you will have to suffice with some thoughts from my brain. At this moment of my piss-poor life I have for you words that begin withe the letter F.
- Flapjacks
- Finnegan's wake
- Foot
-Phosphorus
- Fuckin' Gay'o'sexuals
- Fisting anus
- Football
- Flamers
- Fat people
- Furnish
Goodbye, for now readers. But I promise you that I will create material worthy of the blog-world tonight. Keep in mind, it's only 6 p.m. and I'm on the verge of blackness (in honor of the Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.)
I would like to point out that I made a post about 7 minutes ago. At that point, I could think thoughts. Yes, thoughts. You know, thoughts like that guy Emilio Estevez used to have. He thought.
Well, once again, I have some bad news for you, reader. I have no idea what I intended to write on the internets. Instead, you will have to suffice with some thoughts from my brain. At this moment of my piss-poor life I have for you words that begin withe the letter F.
- Flapjacks
- Finnegan's wake
- Foot
-Phosphorus
- Fuckin' Gay'o'sexuals
- Fisting anus
- Football
- Flamers
- Fat people
- Furnish
Goodbye, for now readers. But I promise you that I will create material worthy of the blog-world tonight. Keep in mind, it's only 6 p.m. and I'm on the verge of blackness (in honor of the Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.)
Reason for Alcoholism
At this point of my life, I would like to thank the green shores of Ireland for intstilling in me the glorious skill of drinking.
And at this next point of my rathor worthless sense of wordly existence I'm going to make an assumption. I'm going to assume that whomever reads this blog has some sort of difficulty with managing their alcohol consumption.
Shit. I have no idea where I was going with that thought. What I do know is that I'm on the verge of blackout. And I would like you all to enjoy some lyrics about the wondrous nation that I call my drunken grandfather's homeland!
Ireland I am coming home,
I can see your rolling fields of green
And fences made of stone.
I am reaching out, won't you take my hand?
I'm coming home! Ireland!
And at this next point of my rathor worthless sense of wordly existence I'm going to make an assumption. I'm going to assume that whomever reads this blog has some sort of difficulty with managing their alcohol consumption.
Shit. I have no idea where I was going with that thought. What I do know is that I'm on the verge of blackout. And I would like you all to enjoy some lyrics about the wondrous nation that I call my drunken grandfather's homeland!
Ireland I am coming home,
I can see your rolling fields of green
And fences made of stone.
I am reaching out, won't you take my hand?
I'm coming home! Ireland!
Weekend
While weekends are not the designated time for drinking at this house, seeing as how on any given night this semester at least one roommate has been drunk, there are certain things happening currently that reflect glory. A long-lost friend and former roommate has returned, a great man who once shared a room with me has also returned, Brick and I are going to SVSU for about 3 hours tomorrow to have questionable relations with women-folk, I work in 2 hours and I am thoroughly intoxicated, and this morning 2 of my other roommates woke up to find themselves covered in spray paint. Several UDI's have been the result of a night that ended at 6am for BOX: 1.) UDI stands for unidentified drinking injury, 2.) my right hand is fairly ripped up, 3.) the top of someone else's foot has a hole in it and is covered in dried blood, 4.) Brick's left knee does not fully extend. At this juncture I would the reader to know that on our three TV's there is a cascade of manliness happening including the NFC Championship, HEAT and Mario 3 on the Original NES. Yesterday, an amazing thing occurred. For about 7 hours, BOX and our closest friends gatethered in the front yard. We were all bundled up and as the temperature flirted with 6 degrees, we built a beer pong table out of random supplies we had found strewn about the house. Your author went 8-2 on the day, but on a better note we kept playing through the snow and vigorous wind as passers-by walked to Crisler Arena to watch a Michigan basketball game against the Buckeyes, the outcome of which will not be discussed in this post. Our water cups froze, the beer got slushy and snow flakes fell into every cup, by the end of the night we had lost 5 pong balls in the snow and we were playing with miniature snowballs. As this debauchery was going on, many individuals stopped to take pictures or honk their respective cars. I remember a specific instance when 2 girls ran up to the house and stated: "Your house always makes us happy" and I then insisted upon taking a picture of all of us. The most remarkable part of this weekend is the impending doom that awaits us. With no class tomorrow due to MLK's couragous life, tonight promises to get more silly than any mentally compitent man, woman or child would consider. Actually for the fist time in several days I will be inclined to do some personal hygiene things including brushing my teeth and showering. I know many of my dear friends follow this blog, along with people that I would both like to know and would prefer to not know, so I will end this post with a motto that has just become of significant relevane to me. My readers, as I sit here eating Wavy Lays being an Alpha Male, I have to the realization that nothing has rung more true than the age-old saying: You don't live in BOX because you want to; you live in BOX for America.
This Happened
If you have any kahunas you will go to this website. It was sent to our house this morning by one of our roommates. It is a link to craigslist:
http://annarbor.craigslist.org/mis/994804415.html
http://annarbor.craigslist.org/mis/994804415.html
Friday, January 16, 2009
Return of a Legend
Every once in a great while there is a legend in any given field; a figure who is so mythical that little children look up to him or her with awe. Michael Jordan in Basketball, Wayne Gretzky in Hockey and Tiger Woods in Golf are just a few examples of such heroes. People far and wide stare mouths open and blinkless in shear admiration of such individuals. While BOX House prides itself on having no said compelling attributes, there is a single man who was once a member of this questionable establishment that undoubtedly retains particular remarkable facets. Around Ann Arbor, the air has been cold with temperatures flirting with 0 degrees before wind chill, but if you listen closely, the day has come. There is a gentle message in the swirling breeze around campus; the message tells of a returning legend.
Ross is a man of tremendous drinking fortitude and wisdom beyond any of his peers. After being a part of his last tailgates and eventual departure for our nation's capital, I was deeply saddened and only held out hope for his singular promise: I will return in January. Last weekend the house was falsely informed of his arrival; this lowered morale deeply, but new reliable information has come and told of his coming today. He was an athlete of drinking capability, a pillar of immoral activity and most importantly a great friend to literally every person within this house. I look forward to spending time with the man, but I personally plan on getting so intoxicated that I will not remember a great deal of it. Let us rejoice together with friends. A Legend has returned!
Ross is a man of tremendous drinking fortitude and wisdom beyond any of his peers. After being a part of his last tailgates and eventual departure for our nation's capital, I was deeply saddened and only held out hope for his singular promise: I will return in January. Last weekend the house was falsely informed of his arrival; this lowered morale deeply, but new reliable information has come and told of his coming today. He was an athlete of drinking capability, a pillar of immoral activity and most importantly a great friend to literally every person within this house. I look forward to spending time with the man, but I personally plan on getting so intoxicated that I will not remember a great deal of it. Let us rejoice together with friends. A Legend has returned!
Monday, January 12, 2009
The Old Crow Challenge
After the controversy surrounding the most recent blogpost, and a flurry of comments that quite frankly made me question the sexuality of this blog (i.e. "PLC is gayer than a handbag of rainbows", and various Ages of Empires references that I can't even begin to fathom), I decided to bring this blog's focus back where it needs to be.
So I had to think of the manliest, most extreme, most awesome instance of blatant debauchery that I've been experienced with in terms of this house. It didn't take me long to settle upon the topic of the infamous Old Crow Challenge. . .
If you've been inside the BOX in the past year, you may have noticed that our kitchen is decorated with a gorgeous array of Old Crow half gallon bottles. This lovely collection began not long after this summer started. Ross and I failed to get real jobs over the summer, and spent an ungodly amount of time inebriated. After a rather lengthy stretch of consuming only the finest Old Crow Bourbon Whiskey, I began to place the empty bottles on the kitchen shelf. Then Ross and I made a pact - to complete the kitchen shelf before the summer's end.
We were well on pace to reaching our goal by the time July rolled on. Events such as the Fourth of July, Kentucky Derby, Red Wings Stanley Cup, and boredom on just about every day of the summer, kept us well ahead of schedule. However, our endeavors were interrupted by a series of events starting in early July. Several half-gallons were lost at other abodes, Ross and I both took vacations at the end of July, and we ran into a financial crisis (which at one point led to Al, Ross, and myself stuck at a tollbooth in the middle of Pennsylvania, unable to pay the measly sum of $12 American). This forced me to drink only the cheapest booze for a short while, and left us in a pickle. By the time early August rolled around, the shelf was still 8 handles and one fifth short of completion. But we would not abandon the pact.
Therefore, we dreamed up a glorious escapade worthy of the Greek gods - the Old Crow Challenge. Paul - the newly arrived and valuable asset - Ross, and I pledged to endure a gruelling one week stretch in which we would finish the 8 half gallons and one fifth in the five days prior to Welcome Week. It was courageous, brave, and downright dangerous. A task that would test three drunks til' the end. But the shelf had to be completed.
The nature of the event prevents me from remembering exact details from any of the days, but this is how it happened in my mind: (note: after consulting Paul, I have learned that this particularly day was August 17th)
11:30 a.m. Wake up with head pounding, perhaps in a curious room, spills all over your shirt, with little memory of what the hell happened last night. Proceed to make way to the kitchen where you notice broken glass, coke spilled everywhere, and a quarter of a half-gallon remaining. Fill up a cup of Old Crow, coke, and ice, drink. Repeat. The headache begins to dissipate.
Noon. Sip Old Crow while watching the dvr'd Red Wings Stanley Cup game for the 877th time this summer. Wait for your fallen comrades to make their way out of wherever they passed out at.
1:00. Drink as much water as possible so that you don't feel like you've been living in the Sahara Desert for the last two months. Perhaps scrounge for a meal in the barren pantries of the house - where you will likely find Ramen Noodles, spaghetti, and nothing else. Decide not to brush teeth again for third day in a row.
2:00 p.m. Tee time for the Old Crow Challenge Open - an event consisting of beer can golf in the front yard and surrounding areas of the house. Put on best golf attire, put on some tunes of choice on the speakers, crack open a fresh handle of Old Crow and fix yourself up a concoction for the links.
3:00 p.m. Ross is winning in the Open somehow. Everyone is shooting well. Passersby see you for the third day in a row day drinking and are now are absolutely sure that a group of mangy alcoholics live at 933.
4:00 p.m. Golf scores are now going up dramatically. Paul just shot a 9 on a par 3 and is stumbling. Uh-oh, Ross just stumbled down the stairs.
4:15 p.m. The back nine on day 3 is postponed due to one or all of the participants being unable to phsyically function. Perhaps pass out somewhere.
5:00-6:30 p.m. Prepare for the night's festivities to get real absurd. Once again, scrounge for a meal if you so choose, drink some water if that floats your boat, and try and make yourself look somewhat presentable if you are physically capable. Heavy, heavy drinking soon begins. Depending on the day, Al, Chris, or Andy may also join you in preparing to get mega-bad.
8:00 p.m. Half gallon gone. Cola gone. Ross is drinking straight bourbon now. Run to Campus Corner to greet our everyday friends working the liquor store, and purchase another half-gallon and cola.
8:30 p.m. Ross temporarily MIA. Find him passed out in the floor of the room. He is soon back on his feet and back at the Old Crow.
9-midnight. A blurry, blurry haze of events. Half gallon nearly gone. Blackness.
1:30 a.m?. Wake up on couch? Not sure if I was sleeping? Almost Famous is on for the second time.
3:00 a.m? Paul is missing. Ross: "Let' finish the second handle".
5:30 a.m. Somehow, some way, Ross and I are finishing the final sips of the handle on the porch, watching the real human beings fight traffic and make their way to work, and the sunlight beginning to rise. Sleep soon follows.
Repeat next day.
At the end of the week: success. And the kitchen shelf of Old Crow stands in all of its glory, for all to see until this present day. And one day this summer, the Old Crow Challenge II will stand in the way of all those drunk enough to to face its wrath.
Special thanks to: Al, B-Russ, Chris, Andy, and whoever else contributed to consuming the enormous amount of Old Crow this summer.
So I had to think of the manliest, most extreme, most awesome instance of blatant debauchery that I've been experienced with in terms of this house. It didn't take me long to settle upon the topic of the infamous Old Crow Challenge. . .
If you've been inside the BOX in the past year, you may have noticed that our kitchen is decorated with a gorgeous array of Old Crow half gallon bottles. This lovely collection began not long after this summer started. Ross and I failed to get real jobs over the summer, and spent an ungodly amount of time inebriated. After a rather lengthy stretch of consuming only the finest Old Crow Bourbon Whiskey, I began to place the empty bottles on the kitchen shelf. Then Ross and I made a pact - to complete the kitchen shelf before the summer's end.
We were well on pace to reaching our goal by the time July rolled on. Events such as the Fourth of July, Kentucky Derby, Red Wings Stanley Cup, and boredom on just about every day of the summer, kept us well ahead of schedule. However, our endeavors were interrupted by a series of events starting in early July. Several half-gallons were lost at other abodes, Ross and I both took vacations at the end of July, and we ran into a financial crisis (which at one point led to Al, Ross, and myself stuck at a tollbooth in the middle of Pennsylvania, unable to pay the measly sum of $12 American). This forced me to drink only the cheapest booze for a short while, and left us in a pickle. By the time early August rolled around, the shelf was still 8 handles and one fifth short of completion. But we would not abandon the pact.
Therefore, we dreamed up a glorious escapade worthy of the Greek gods - the Old Crow Challenge. Paul - the newly arrived and valuable asset - Ross, and I pledged to endure a gruelling one week stretch in which we would finish the 8 half gallons and one fifth in the five days prior to Welcome Week. It was courageous, brave, and downright dangerous. A task that would test three drunks til' the end. But the shelf had to be completed.
The nature of the event prevents me from remembering exact details from any of the days, but this is how it happened in my mind: (note: after consulting Paul, I have learned that this particularly day was August 17th)
11:30 a.m. Wake up with head pounding, perhaps in a curious room, spills all over your shirt, with little memory of what the hell happened last night. Proceed to make way to the kitchen where you notice broken glass, coke spilled everywhere, and a quarter of a half-gallon remaining. Fill up a cup of Old Crow, coke, and ice, drink. Repeat. The headache begins to dissipate.
Noon. Sip Old Crow while watching the dvr'd Red Wings Stanley Cup game for the 877th time this summer. Wait for your fallen comrades to make their way out of wherever they passed out at.
1:00. Drink as much water as possible so that you don't feel like you've been living in the Sahara Desert for the last two months. Perhaps scrounge for a meal in the barren pantries of the house - where you will likely find Ramen Noodles, spaghetti, and nothing else. Decide not to brush teeth again for third day in a row.
2:00 p.m. Tee time for the Old Crow Challenge Open - an event consisting of beer can golf in the front yard and surrounding areas of the house. Put on best golf attire, put on some tunes of choice on the speakers, crack open a fresh handle of Old Crow and fix yourself up a concoction for the links.
3:00 p.m. Ross is winning in the Open somehow. Everyone is shooting well. Passersby see you for the third day in a row day drinking and are now are absolutely sure that a group of mangy alcoholics live at 933.
4:00 p.m. Golf scores are now going up dramatically. Paul just shot a 9 on a par 3 and is stumbling. Uh-oh, Ross just stumbled down the stairs.
4:15 p.m. The back nine on day 3 is postponed due to one or all of the participants being unable to phsyically function. Perhaps pass out somewhere.
5:00-6:30 p.m. Prepare for the night's festivities to get real absurd. Once again, scrounge for a meal if you so choose, drink some water if that floats your boat, and try and make yourself look somewhat presentable if you are physically capable. Heavy, heavy drinking soon begins. Depending on the day, Al, Chris, or Andy may also join you in preparing to get mega-bad.
8:00 p.m. Half gallon gone. Cola gone. Ross is drinking straight bourbon now. Run to Campus Corner to greet our everyday friends working the liquor store, and purchase another half-gallon and cola.
8:30 p.m. Ross temporarily MIA. Find him passed out in the floor of the room. He is soon back on his feet and back at the Old Crow.
9-midnight. A blurry, blurry haze of events. Half gallon nearly gone. Blackness.
1:30 a.m?. Wake up on couch? Not sure if I was sleeping? Almost Famous is on for the second time.
3:00 a.m? Paul is missing. Ross: "Let' finish the second handle".
5:30 a.m. Somehow, some way, Ross and I are finishing the final sips of the handle on the porch, watching the real human beings fight traffic and make their way to work, and the sunlight beginning to rise. Sleep soon follows.
Repeat next day.
At the end of the week: success. And the kitchen shelf of Old Crow stands in all of its glory, for all to see until this present day. And one day this summer, the Old Crow Challenge II will stand in the way of all those drunk enough to to face its wrath.
Special thanks to: Al, B-Russ, Chris, Andy, and whoever else contributed to consuming the enormous amount of Old Crow this summer.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
House Plague: AOE 3
Certain members of the BOX who shall remain nameless have fallen victim to a problematic scourge. Age of Empires III is a computer game that incorporates medieval game play in a strategy setting; during this game, one can play against other people set up on the same network. As an individual who considers himself fairly open-minded, usually I would not mind this kind of behavior. However, I have the sad duty to report to my audience that yesterday, on Saturday afternoon (during which may I add the rest of the house was day-drinking heavily), 4 members of BOX played this game for 6 consecutive hours. These poor souls sat together in a room strategized there conquest against the computer foe(s). There is vehement divide amongst house members as to the role and place of this game. Upon questioning one of the non-AOE players, I was told to name this post, "Age of the Gays." I must say, I too disagree with the actions of those who have decided to follow the path of Age of Empires. The author on the blog known as Mary Swanson, the only female author of the blog described her feelings toward this humiliating practice as "so embarrassing." What began as an innocent Christmas gift for one person has now taken over the majority of the house. One by one they have fallen to this adversary. I will leave my reader with a ray of hope, the most ardent of drinkers have stayed strong to their commitment refuse to let themselves be infected with the poison that is Age of Empires III.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Headache
Last night I was drinking a fifth of 100 proof hot damn through a straw, straight from the bottle. I have a sneaky suspicion that this may have been in direct correlation to the pounding headache I awoke with.
The Blackout Problem
I wake up this morning not knowing how I got to my bed. Better yet, when I get up to "hold a short staff meeting" (take a piss) as my father would say there is a mysterious dried red substance on the bathroom floor. While BOX has a longstanding tradition of problematic drinking, from personal experience during the Old Crow Challenge: a period of 4 days during which 10 handles of whiskey were consumed amongst 3 men; along with the stretch over the past few days, during which I have drank every night in the past week and gotten blackout more times than not. Most human beings would say that this sort of lifestyle is problematic, but I disagree. It, in and of itself is not a problem.
The inordinate amount of money I have spent at Campus Corner is however a problem. In roughly 5 months, $1100 of my hard-earned cash have been spent on alcohol (or so my bank account recently informed me). Contrary to popular belief, getting blackout (or brownout) for several nights on end is not an easy accomplishment. Instead, it takes several largely important aspects-a fairly large amount of money, the personal fortitude to drink when your body doesn't want you to, and most importantly the willingness to accept the notion that you most likely will not get laid. The amount of dignity, money and possible sexual encounters that I have personally lost out on can not be expressed well enough in this post. While alcohol has become more than a problem for me and arguably a few of my roommates, blackouts are a wondrous thing, but the various components to achieve this goal are a great cost.
The inordinate amount of money I have spent at Campus Corner is however a problem. In roughly 5 months, $1100 of my hard-earned cash have been spent on alcohol (or so my bank account recently informed me). Contrary to popular belief, getting blackout (or brownout) for several nights on end is not an easy accomplishment. Instead, it takes several largely important aspects-a fairly large amount of money, the personal fortitude to drink when your body doesn't want you to, and most importantly the willingness to accept the notion that you most likely will not get laid. The amount of dignity, money and possible sexual encounters that I have personally lost out on can not be expressed well enough in this post. While alcohol has become more than a problem for me and arguably a few of my roommates, blackouts are a wondrous thing, but the various components to achieve this goal are a great cost.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Box: The Female Perspective Part 2 [ALCOHOL]
BOX house has the reputation for being the best tailgate spot on campus, although perhaps I am a bit biased. Say what you want about the costumes and the intoxicated dancing, but when you get right down to it, it’s all about the booze. There is no house on campus with such abundant quantities of cheap vodka, cheap whiskey, and cheap beer; nor does anyone else give it away so freely. Before Al and I started dating, I had never consumed any vodka that was of lower quality than Smirnoff. However, my standards dropped considerably when I was introduced to Al’s favorites: Crown Russe, Crystal Palace, Kamchatka, and of course, Mohawk. As is usual for this blog, I’d like to dedicate this portion of my entry to some of my favorite drunken memories of the BOX house inhabitants.
- B. Russ: I met Brian Russell on the evening of his twenty first birthday. I didn’t have much time to form a first impression, although I noted that he seemed drunk. This impression was cemented when I almost slipped going down the stairs the next morning; they were coated with his fresh vomit. Ah, memories.
- Paul: BOX had enjoyed a relaxed afternoon together watching a Michigan football game on TV. As usual, this meant that several house members would celebrate/drown the memory of the occasion by blacking out. Paul spent the later part of the afternoon alternately passing out and thrashing around on the second floor landing. Al and I heard him falling down stairs, hammering on doors, and finally calling out to Barty in the voice of one who knows he has been beaten: “Matt. Matt. I need help. I just want to go to bed.” Realizing that his friend would not be physically able to get up, Barty finally came upstairs and half-guided and half-carried Paul to his bed.
- Brick: As Welcome Week 2008 began winding down, BOX house was still going strong. I was standing in the living room making a little speech about god knows what to those assembled, using the metal shaft of a golf club to gesture and accentuate the key points of my rhetoric. All of a sudden, Brick came tearing down the stairs and marched right out the door. I chased him outside, still waving my golf shaft, calling, “Bricky Bear!” Brick proceeded to throw a chair across the yard screaming, “Fuck My Life!” I watched, open-mouthed, as Brick began hightailing it toward central campus. But the best was yet to come. A heavyset girl came out onto the porch, slipping on her heels and calling Brick‘s name. I poked her with my golf shaft and said, in my best Southern drawl, “And what’s your name, honey child?” The circumstances prevent me from remembering it, but I do recall her chasing Brick all the way down State Street, buttoning her blouse as she went.
- Al: The stories I could tell. One of my favorites was definitely the Northwestern tailgate. I was giving a campus tour that morning and so had the misfortune of not being able to attend the last tailgate of the season. I first realized that things had gotten a little out of hand when my friend Rachel called me and said, “Al’s walking down the middle of State Street, screaming that he found ten bucks.” I chuckled as I came out of the Michigan Union, then did a double take when I saw Al before my very eyes. Rather than walking on the sidewalk, Al, in all his bear-suited glory, was just strolling down the side of the road as angry motorists swerved and honked. I’ve never been so proud as when I had to pull Al out of the street and convince him to turn around and walk back toward BOX house without touching or yelling at the other people (many of them parents) who were walking towards the stadium. The second time I saw Al that day was when I attempted to leave BOX house and he caused an enormous clusterfuck in the doorway by trying to make out with me for an extended period of time. The third time I saw him was by far the best. Rachel and I only stayed at the game for one quarter, and as we walked back toward campus, I caught sight of the bear yet again. Once again, Al was shunning the conventional sidewalk and was instead walking in the grassy ditch beside it. He was babbling and gesturing animatedly and I wondered who he was talking to. I was hardly surprised when I realized no one was there. Al maintains that he was, in fact, singing, but this feeble attempt at dignity is accepted by no one.
BOX: THE FEMALE PERSPECTIVE PART 1 [GREASY FOOD]
THURSDAY, JANUARY 8:While most college students (especially girls) make it a goal to avoid the freshmen 15, most of the members of BOX seem to have welcomed it with open arms and demanded more. True, I have noticed that Brett and Peter spend time at the gym, but they are in the minority. I once witnessed (horrorstruck) Al scarfing down two pounds of bacon in one sitting. Worse was the time I saw Paul eating a burrito that was about the size of my leg. Worse yet was when I realized that this was not an isolated occasion, but that these BTB giant burritos are a frequent and beloved snack among BOX members.
Brick is the lone exception to this eating pattern. This summer, I watched him scrape by on one daily meal, usually a pathetic little container of Spaghettios. True, his culinary skills are sub par; I heard he often used to heat up metal cans of green beans in the microwave until someone informed that this practice was, in fact, extremely dangerous. However, he did manage to survive by supplementing his meager diet with the Old Crow Whiskey he adores so much.
I have never, in over ten months, seen anything that could be classified as a fruit or vegetable enter the BOX house. The closest I’ve seen was a wilted piece of iceberg lettuce on someone’s burger, but this hardly qualifies. That’s why the new pennant in the kitchen says it all. The pennant doesn’t advertise a team or even the BOX house itself (like my miniature one). Instead, it proudly proclaims “Bacon!”; a true testament to the BOX lifestyle.
Brick is the lone exception to this eating pattern. This summer, I watched him scrape by on one daily meal, usually a pathetic little container of Spaghettios. True, his culinary skills are sub par; I heard he often used to heat up metal cans of green beans in the microwave until someone informed that this practice was, in fact, extremely dangerous. However, he did manage to survive by supplementing his meager diet with the Old Crow Whiskey he adores so much.
I have never, in over ten months, seen anything that could be classified as a fruit or vegetable enter the BOX house. The closest I’ve seen was a wilted piece of iceberg lettuce on someone’s burger, but this hardly qualifies. That’s why the new pennant in the kitchen says it all. The pennant doesn’t advertise a team or even the BOX house itself (like my miniature one). Instead, it proudly proclaims “Bacon!”; a true testament to the BOX lifestyle.
BOX: THE FEMALE PERSPECTIVE
SATURDAY, JANUARY 4: It seems like everyone at BOX has been waiting for this day forever. No, today is not the first Michigan home game, although I wish it was. However, today is that Quickie Burger will begin serving alcohol for the first time. I heard B. Russ thundering down the stairs this morning, on his way to what will surely be a day of inebriation and poor decisions. As he left, he called back to Peter, “Let’s grab some burgers, grab some brews, and grab some bitches!” I chuckled to myself for a little while, and then rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. As I thought it over, however, I realized that these three pastimes fundamentally comprise the triumvirate of what BOX house is all about. My sorority, Delta Gamma, has built its tradition on courage, strength, and peace. Beta Omega Chi, on the other hand, has built its legendary reputation on greasy food, ALCOHOL, and an endless parade of unsuspecting U of M coeds. My commentary on these three aspects of “living the dream” at BOX house will be posted in three separate installments.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Late Night Chronicle of Hilarity
I would just like to preface this blog post by saying that everything in parenthethes is what i am hearing as i type this.
So after a robust evening of drinking last night I decided to bench myself from drinking tonight. Just before I went to bed (rosenfoosner) a certain drunk individual, very well known around these parts, walked down the stairs and offered herself up for an Eiffel Tower. No (loud thump) one accepted. Shortly after, I went to bed, but was unable to fall asleep. All i could/still can hear is a rattling sound coming loudly from the (silverware crashing) bathroom. After thinking about it for a few minutes I (rosenfoosner followed by loud thump) realized that it was Harriet Tubman, our beloved hamster, in her wheel. Why might you ask is there a hamster in the bathroom? This is because Brick accidentally knocked over a chair into Harriet's previous (cabinets slamming) enclosure sending glass shards everywhere. In all of our drunkenness we decided last night that the bathtub would be a suitable area for Harriet to live... terrible. (Brick laughing saying he loves Paul).
About two hours later after browsing the internets trying to fall asleep I heard the door slam... Paul had arrived home. How did I know it was Paul? Because I opened my bedroom door 5 minutes later to find him passed out in front of my (red wings commentary/ Paul groaning) door on the second floor landing. (things breaking/ dignity being lost) Brick was also still awake when i walked downstairs. I was glad to discover that after brick spent the entire night casually drinking, no more than 5 or 6 beers, he had decided (glass breaking) to drink half of a fifth starting at 2am. fantastic job brick.(rosenfoosner/ misc. debauchery). As I am writing this Chris Orr has just arrived at our home announcing his presence with a "I'm drunk" as he entered the house. I am not sure why it seems that most of BOX is awake at 3:30am the day before classes begin. I love it, confused, but pleasantly surprised. Something is currently being broken downstairs... I am not sure what, but it sounds great. I just walked downstairs to discover Paul with a fifth in his hands, and Brick playing Mario 3. Paul asked me if I knew where the Ghettysburg DVD was (Brick grunting) and threw the remote at me. I just sulked back to my room, ashamed of my own sobriety.
So after a robust evening of drinking last night I decided to bench myself from drinking tonight. Just before I went to bed (rosenfoosner) a certain drunk individual, very well known around these parts, walked down the stairs and offered herself up for an Eiffel Tower. No (loud thump) one accepted. Shortly after, I went to bed, but was unable to fall asleep. All i could/still can hear is a rattling sound coming loudly from the (silverware crashing) bathroom. After thinking about it for a few minutes I (rosenfoosner followed by loud thump) realized that it was Harriet Tubman, our beloved hamster, in her wheel. Why might you ask is there a hamster in the bathroom? This is because Brick accidentally knocked over a chair into Harriet's previous (cabinets slamming) enclosure sending glass shards everywhere. In all of our drunkenness we decided last night that the bathtub would be a suitable area for Harriet to live... terrible. (Brick laughing saying he loves Paul).
About two hours later after browsing the internets trying to fall asleep I heard the door slam... Paul had arrived home. How did I know it was Paul? Because I opened my bedroom door 5 minutes later to find him passed out in front of my (red wings commentary/ Paul groaning) door on the second floor landing. (things breaking/ dignity being lost) Brick was also still awake when i walked downstairs. I was glad to discover that after brick spent the entire night casually drinking, no more than 5 or 6 beers, he had decided (glass breaking) to drink half of a fifth starting at 2am. fantastic job brick.(rosenfoosner/ misc. debauchery). As I am writing this Chris Orr has just arrived at our home announcing his presence with a "I'm drunk" as he entered the house. I am not sure why it seems that most of BOX is awake at 3:30am the day before classes begin. I love it, confused, but pleasantly surprised. Something is currently being broken downstairs... I am not sure what, but it sounds great. I just walked downstairs to discover Paul with a fifth in his hands, and Brick playing Mario 3. Paul asked me if I knew where the Ghettysburg DVD was (Brick grunting) and threw the remote at me. I just sulked back to my room, ashamed of my own sobriety.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Which Mighty Ducks Character Are You?
The lack of brain cell killing I have been forced to endure over this merry holiday break has left me with an abundance of these overrated bodily components and an abundance of time to use them. What have I been thinking about with these brain cells, you ask?
The Mighty Ducks. These peresevering hockey warriors captivated all of us throughout our adolescent lives. Whether it be at the wintry atmosphere of the Minnesota peewee league, the world-stage of sunny Los Angeles, or the snooty confines of prep-school Eden Hall Acadamy, these hockey heroes have taught us just how far one can go with so little talent.
So, I said to myself, what better way to pass this sober period of my life than to compare BOX to these distinguished champions. The Roster:
# 44 Fulton Reed - Paul C.
Role: Slap-shot specialist; Bash Brother
The Similarities: Fulton Reed was brought onto the District 5 hockey squad for one reason - His eye-opening, window-cracking, net-breaking slap shot. When he shoots, opposing players scramble to get out of the way. Like Fulton, Paul is a big guy renowned for one thing - his ability to smash alcohol. When you hear Paul mouth those glorious words, "Im blacking out tonight," you better watch out, just like you have to watch out for Fultons wicked shot. When the Ducks are in trouble, they go to Fulton's slap shot; If BOX had to designate a chugger in a contest, it would undoubtedly be Paul. The two are so alike its almost unreal.
#21 Dean Portman - Matt B.
Role: Enforcer; Bash Brother
In the words of Don Tibbels (to Coach Bombay), "They're called enforcers Gordon, when you play Iceland you're gonna need em". Dean Portman was recruited out of Chicago for the sole reason to go up against the bigger Iceland squad at the Junior Goodwill Games. In hockey, enforcers don't get much playing time or glory, but when they hit the ice, they sure as hell mean business. This is Matt's exact role in BOX. He may not get to drink as much as the rest of us, and he may not get much spotlight, but god almighty, when the man drinks he can do damage. Just as Dean Portman can fire up the crowd, Matt makes everyone in the house excited when he decides to go all out drinking on a particular night.
# 16 Kenny Wu - Zola
Role: The Surprise Talent
An Asian figure skater brought in to play for team America? Dammit, I thought when I saw it, Team USA's gonna be lucky to sneak past Trinidad and Tobago in the first round. I'll admit it, I was pretty skeptical about our lovely Zola coming into this school year as well. A lanky kid who wears high socks and shorts all the time? No way he's any good at drinking. Sure enough, Kenny Wu and Zola both proved the nay-sayers wrong. Kenny Wu could provide a triple-camel-half-toe whenever Coach Bombay needed and he even had a short stint as a Bash Brother; Zola has proved me wrong and, in my opinion, is one of the elite drinkers of the house. I couldn't be happier about the acquisition of Kenny or Zola, nowadays.
# 99 Adam Banks - Brett
Role: Former Hawk; Cake-Eater; Only Real Talent on Team USA; Eden Hall Varsity
Adam Banks spent much of the first film as a member of the vaunted Hawks peewee powerhouse team, lighting up scoreboards and making goalies look silly throughout the season. In other words, he was absent for much of the beginning of D-5's epic quest. In similar fashion, Brett spent much of his first year at U of M in SAMMY, failing to come into his own as our good friend really until his second and third semesters here. In addition, Banks is constantly worried about scouts in the stands, while Brett is always worried about looking his best for the ladies. Although Banks becomes a lovable member of the Ducks, he quite frankly is too good for the other lowly skaters, and he eventually makes the Varsity team at Eden Hall. Brett also Brett sometimes thinks he is too good for us living-room dwellers, citing that, "I'm not spending time in that shithole". In the end, though, even if they are "cake-eaters," they're critical to the success of their respective organizations.
# 6 Julie "The Cat" Gaffney - Andy Nev-Squad
Role: Back-up goalie
Hailing from the hockey-loving state of Maine, Julie the Cat left her Bangor team to join Gordon Bombays Team USA "to show the world what she can do". However, she spends most of her time quietly parousing the bench, backing up Goldberg, who just happens to be on a hot-streak. Like The Cat, Andy can sometimes be the quiet drunk around the house, taking a backseat to the much louder and more obnoxious drunks such as myself or Chris Orr. Despite all this, Julie the Cat has two state titles to her name. Similarly, Andy, even though you might not be able to tell at first glance, has an astounding drinking history in his past. Finally, when the big game rolls around the corner, Julie the Cat sure as hell shows up (stoning Gunner Stahl in a shoot-out to beat arch-rival Iceland). Andy shows up for the big games too; if there's a tailgate or a big party, you can count on Andy to be a loud drunk.
Coach Wolf "The Dentist" Stanson, Iceland - Alexander
Role: Lack of Dignity; Does what he wants, when he wants
The rumor mill around the Los Angeles Junior Goodwill Games has it that Wolf "got ran out of the NHL after he punched out his own coach". Worse yet, he cheap-shots Gordon Bombay in the knee during a battle over a beachball. The man clearly lacks dignity. And who do we know in BOX that prides himself on this exact thing? That's right, the lovable, always entertaining Al Girard. Though Al might be a bit more friendly than the hated Iceland coach, both men do what they want, when they want, and are respected no matter what shenanigans they seem to pull.
Coach Gordon Bombay - B-Russ
Role: Drunken Lawyer; Bitter Community Service Participant; District 5 Savior; Big Shot Coach
Let's make this perfectly clear: Without Gordon Bombay and his DUI, the District 5 hockey club would probably be in shambles. Jesse Hall would probably be selling drugs, Charlie Conway would be in rehab for alcoholism, Connie Morreau would be pregant with Guy Germaine's third child, Adam Banks would still be a Hawk, and Goldberg would be an overweight McDonalds employee. The "Minnesota Miracle Man" turned everything around, though, convincing his group of outcasts that "ducks fly together". The man took a group of talentless hacks and made them champions of the world, and then got them high school scholarships. B-Russ' role in BOX is very similar to Bombay's. Without, B-Russ, BOX would struggle to function. We would be a bunch of drunks that would probably be evicted from our residency. He is the man behind the scenes, the mastermind, paying all of our bills, calling Wilson White, yelling at incompetent handymen, arranging our tailgates. Like Bombay, though, B-Russ will soon be moving on to bigger and better things (head of the USA Junior Program). What will Charlie Conway and his mates do without Bombay next year? God it won't be pretty. Unless someone like Coach O'Ryan steps up to handle our affairs.
# 00 Guy Germaine - Peter
Role: Lurker; On-and-off love affair with teammate Connie Morreau
Guy Germaine spends pretty much his entire hockey career lurking in the background. As an engineer, a lot of Peter's time is spent away from BOX doing work or something of that sort. Still, Pete and Guy can surprise you from time to time. For instance, Guy crashes through the boards when driving a zamboni. Sometimes, if Pete blacks out, you never know what he is going to do either. In this way, Pete and Guy have a lot in common. But the real similarity here is both of these men's love life. Guy Germaine spends a lot of time wooing fellow skater Connie Morreau. For as long as I've known him, Pete has had a similar-type relationship with one Rachel or another.
Hans - Ross
Role: The Wise Man
Whenever Gordon Bombay needed advice or got himself into a jam, he would turn to Hans. Ross was the Hans to BOX during his tenure in Ann Arbor. Smart, Patient, and Drunk, he was the epitome of a wise man and always seemed to have the best answers to all of life's questions. Should we drink today? Yes. Should we go to class today? No. In D3, though, Hans tragically passes away, leaving everyone sad and reminiscent of the good ole days when life was simpler. Likewise, BOX suffered the loss of Ross this year - a true blow to the morale of everyone.
# 96 Charlie Conway - Myself, Brick
Role: Captain Duck; Loyal Duck; Troubled Teen
Because it's my blog entry.
# 22 Luis Mendoza - Chris
Role: Speed-Demon
Luis Mendoza came all the way from the hockey recruiting goldmine of Miami Florida (note the sarcasm) to share with the world his wonderful ability of speed. The world was fortunate. In equal style, Chris Orr came to us from the basketball hotbed that is Kansas to show BOX and everyone else at the University of Michigan his ability of drinking. Luis likes to skate fast all the time; Chris likes to drink fast and all the time. This is what I love most about both men.
# 33 Greg Goldberg - Justin
Role: Mediocre Goalie; Convert to Defense
Justin, like Goldberg, is really just an all-around talent. Goldberg may not be the most talented of goalies, but he gets the job done. Justin may not be the drunkest of the drunks, but you can always count on him to drink with you. All in all, a great asset.
# 56 Russ Tyler - Steve
Role: Inner-City Street Hockey Legend; Knucle-Puck Inventor
Wild, crazy, all over the place, you never know where the knucle puck is going to go. This can be seen as a metaphor for Steve's drinking ability. You never know when he is going to dump a beer on a girl's head or come home from Michigan State looking like Michelangelo's paint canvas. One thing is for sure, though, just like the knuckle puck, Steve is damn funny to watch when drunk.
# ? Terre Hall -Jello
Role: Oreo Line Wing; Cut from Duck's USA Team
What is better than a blatantly racial remark in a Disney movie? I can't think of much. Jesse and Terre Hall, both black, played wingers with a white person at center, forming the unforgettable "Oreo Line". Then, unexpectedly, Jesse Hall makes Team USA, and Terry Hall is nowhere to be found. WTF? As we all know, Jello is going away next semester. Just as we all want the Oreo Line back immediately, we hope Jello and comes back ready to show his glorious drinking skills once again.
# ? Tommy and Tammy Duncan - Craig
Role: District 5 walk-ons; Cut from Team USA
Craig and the Duncans both have red hair. Just as the Duncans are on a hockey hiatus, Craig is on a drinking hiatus. But we hope that he returns soon to his once remarkable drinking form.
The Mighty Ducks. These peresevering hockey warriors captivated all of us throughout our adolescent lives. Whether it be at the wintry atmosphere of the Minnesota peewee league, the world-stage of sunny Los Angeles, or the snooty confines of prep-school Eden Hall Acadamy, these hockey heroes have taught us just how far one can go with so little talent.
So, I said to myself, what better way to pass this sober period of my life than to compare BOX to these distinguished champions. The Roster:
# 44 Fulton Reed - Paul C.
Role: Slap-shot specialist; Bash Brother
The Similarities: Fulton Reed was brought onto the District 5 hockey squad for one reason - His eye-opening, window-cracking, net-breaking slap shot. When he shoots, opposing players scramble to get out of the way. Like Fulton, Paul is a big guy renowned for one thing - his ability to smash alcohol. When you hear Paul mouth those glorious words, "Im blacking out tonight," you better watch out, just like you have to watch out for Fultons wicked shot. When the Ducks are in trouble, they go to Fulton's slap shot; If BOX had to designate a chugger in a contest, it would undoubtedly be Paul. The two are so alike its almost unreal.
#21 Dean Portman - Matt B.
Role: Enforcer; Bash Brother
In the words of Don Tibbels (to Coach Bombay), "They're called enforcers Gordon, when you play Iceland you're gonna need em". Dean Portman was recruited out of Chicago for the sole reason to go up against the bigger Iceland squad at the Junior Goodwill Games. In hockey, enforcers don't get much playing time or glory, but when they hit the ice, they sure as hell mean business. This is Matt's exact role in BOX. He may not get to drink as much as the rest of us, and he may not get much spotlight, but god almighty, when the man drinks he can do damage. Just as Dean Portman can fire up the crowd, Matt makes everyone in the house excited when he decides to go all out drinking on a particular night.
# 16 Kenny Wu - Zola
Role: The Surprise Talent
An Asian figure skater brought in to play for team America? Dammit, I thought when I saw it, Team USA's gonna be lucky to sneak past Trinidad and Tobago in the first round. I'll admit it, I was pretty skeptical about our lovely Zola coming into this school year as well. A lanky kid who wears high socks and shorts all the time? No way he's any good at drinking. Sure enough, Kenny Wu and Zola both proved the nay-sayers wrong. Kenny Wu could provide a triple-camel-half-toe whenever Coach Bombay needed and he even had a short stint as a Bash Brother; Zola has proved me wrong and, in my opinion, is one of the elite drinkers of the house. I couldn't be happier about the acquisition of Kenny or Zola, nowadays.
# 99 Adam Banks - Brett
Role: Former Hawk; Cake-Eater; Only Real Talent on Team USA; Eden Hall Varsity
Adam Banks spent much of the first film as a member of the vaunted Hawks peewee powerhouse team, lighting up scoreboards and making goalies look silly throughout the season. In other words, he was absent for much of the beginning of D-5's epic quest. In similar fashion, Brett spent much of his first year at U of M in SAMMY, failing to come into his own as our good friend really until his second and third semesters here. In addition, Banks is constantly worried about scouts in the stands, while Brett is always worried about looking his best for the ladies. Although Banks becomes a lovable member of the Ducks, he quite frankly is too good for the other lowly skaters, and he eventually makes the Varsity team at Eden Hall. Brett also Brett sometimes thinks he is too good for us living-room dwellers, citing that, "I'm not spending time in that shithole". In the end, though, even if they are "cake-eaters," they're critical to the success of their respective organizations.
# 6 Julie "The Cat" Gaffney - Andy Nev-Squad
Role: Back-up goalie
Hailing from the hockey-loving state of Maine, Julie the Cat left her Bangor team to join Gordon Bombays Team USA "to show the world what she can do". However, she spends most of her time quietly parousing the bench, backing up Goldberg, who just happens to be on a hot-streak. Like The Cat, Andy can sometimes be the quiet drunk around the house, taking a backseat to the much louder and more obnoxious drunks such as myself or Chris Orr. Despite all this, Julie the Cat has two state titles to her name. Similarly, Andy, even though you might not be able to tell at first glance, has an astounding drinking history in his past. Finally, when the big game rolls around the corner, Julie the Cat sure as hell shows up (stoning Gunner Stahl in a shoot-out to beat arch-rival Iceland). Andy shows up for the big games too; if there's a tailgate or a big party, you can count on Andy to be a loud drunk.
Coach Wolf "The Dentist" Stanson, Iceland - Alexander
Role: Lack of Dignity; Does what he wants, when he wants
The rumor mill around the Los Angeles Junior Goodwill Games has it that Wolf "got ran out of the NHL after he punched out his own coach". Worse yet, he cheap-shots Gordon Bombay in the knee during a battle over a beachball. The man clearly lacks dignity. And who do we know in BOX that prides himself on this exact thing? That's right, the lovable, always entertaining Al Girard. Though Al might be a bit more friendly than the hated Iceland coach, both men do what they want, when they want, and are respected no matter what shenanigans they seem to pull.
Coach Gordon Bombay - B-Russ
Role: Drunken Lawyer; Bitter Community Service Participant; District 5 Savior; Big Shot Coach
Let's make this perfectly clear: Without Gordon Bombay and his DUI, the District 5 hockey club would probably be in shambles. Jesse Hall would probably be selling drugs, Charlie Conway would be in rehab for alcoholism, Connie Morreau would be pregant with Guy Germaine's third child, Adam Banks would still be a Hawk, and Goldberg would be an overweight McDonalds employee. The "Minnesota Miracle Man" turned everything around, though, convincing his group of outcasts that "ducks fly together". The man took a group of talentless hacks and made them champions of the world, and then got them high school scholarships. B-Russ' role in BOX is very similar to Bombay's. Without, B-Russ, BOX would struggle to function. We would be a bunch of drunks that would probably be evicted from our residency. He is the man behind the scenes, the mastermind, paying all of our bills, calling Wilson White, yelling at incompetent handymen, arranging our tailgates. Like Bombay, though, B-Russ will soon be moving on to bigger and better things (head of the USA Junior Program). What will Charlie Conway and his mates do without Bombay next year? God it won't be pretty. Unless someone like Coach O'Ryan steps up to handle our affairs.
# 00 Guy Germaine - Peter
Role: Lurker; On-and-off love affair with teammate Connie Morreau
Guy Germaine spends pretty much his entire hockey career lurking in the background. As an engineer, a lot of Peter's time is spent away from BOX doing work or something of that sort. Still, Pete and Guy can surprise you from time to time. For instance, Guy crashes through the boards when driving a zamboni. Sometimes, if Pete blacks out, you never know what he is going to do either. In this way, Pete and Guy have a lot in common. But the real similarity here is both of these men's love life. Guy Germaine spends a lot of time wooing fellow skater Connie Morreau. For as long as I've known him, Pete has had a similar-type relationship with one Rachel or another.
Hans - Ross
Role: The Wise Man
Whenever Gordon Bombay needed advice or got himself into a jam, he would turn to Hans. Ross was the Hans to BOX during his tenure in Ann Arbor. Smart, Patient, and Drunk, he was the epitome of a wise man and always seemed to have the best answers to all of life's questions. Should we drink today? Yes. Should we go to class today? No. In D3, though, Hans tragically passes away, leaving everyone sad and reminiscent of the good ole days when life was simpler. Likewise, BOX suffered the loss of Ross this year - a true blow to the morale of everyone.
# 96 Charlie Conway - Myself, Brick
Role: Captain Duck; Loyal Duck; Troubled Teen
Because it's my blog entry.
# 22 Luis Mendoza - Chris
Role: Speed-Demon
Luis Mendoza came all the way from the hockey recruiting goldmine of Miami Florida (note the sarcasm) to share with the world his wonderful ability of speed. The world was fortunate. In equal style, Chris Orr came to us from the basketball hotbed that is Kansas to show BOX and everyone else at the University of Michigan his ability of drinking. Luis likes to skate fast all the time; Chris likes to drink fast and all the time. This is what I love most about both men.
# 33 Greg Goldberg - Justin
Role: Mediocre Goalie; Convert to Defense
Justin, like Goldberg, is really just an all-around talent. Goldberg may not be the most talented of goalies, but he gets the job done. Justin may not be the drunkest of the drunks, but you can always count on him to drink with you. All in all, a great asset.
# 56 Russ Tyler - Steve
Role: Inner-City Street Hockey Legend; Knucle-Puck Inventor
Wild, crazy, all over the place, you never know where the knucle puck is going to go. This can be seen as a metaphor for Steve's drinking ability. You never know when he is going to dump a beer on a girl's head or come home from Michigan State looking like Michelangelo's paint canvas. One thing is for sure, though, just like the knuckle puck, Steve is damn funny to watch when drunk.
# ? Terre Hall -Jello
Role: Oreo Line Wing; Cut from Duck's USA Team
What is better than a blatantly racial remark in a Disney movie? I can't think of much. Jesse and Terre Hall, both black, played wingers with a white person at center, forming the unforgettable "Oreo Line". Then, unexpectedly, Jesse Hall makes Team USA, and Terry Hall is nowhere to be found. WTF? As we all know, Jello is going away next semester. Just as we all want the Oreo Line back immediately, we hope Jello and comes back ready to show his glorious drinking skills once again.
# ? Tommy and Tammy Duncan - Craig
Role: District 5 walk-ons; Cut from Team USA
Craig and the Duncans both have red hair. Just as the Duncans are on a hockey hiatus, Craig is on a drinking hiatus. But we hope that he returns soon to his once remarkable drinking form.
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