Trials of the Garbage Man

Today, a champion has fallen, but let us not remember how he failed, but how he won. Today, I tell the tale of the Garbage Man, and his eating challenges.

Garbage Man (GM), has always had the gift of massive caloric intake. Whenever GM received free food or was at a buffet, GM would always make sure that he took in food to the point he was just short of vomiting. It's just the kind of champ he is. Now in instances such these, GM would set little goals for himself, i.e. "Bet I can eat 5 plates of food" (Old Country Buffet), or "Bet I can finish the rest of the tray of mostocolli" (Good ol' mama GM). These were all well and good, but not official house sanctioned challenges. What really brought on the challenges was the infamous "Pizza bite challenge".

One night GM had made his usual frozen pizza and a stroke of genius hit him. Why not test the sporting side of himself while eating? The conversation went something like this:

GM- "Hey guys, you think I can eat this pizza in under 30 bites?"

Roommates- "We don't care."

GM- "I think I can!"

And so the Bite Challenge was born. Every time GM made a frozen pizza, he would count how many bites it took him to finish, but there were also rules: 1.) The pizza could not be folded or cut, and 2.) Single bites were one open and shut motion. Now keep in mind this competition and its rules were all made by GM because no roommates gave two shits about this competition, but he kept fighting the good fight. One time he even gave himself a self imposed 1-bite penalty because of a "suspect bite". That time he could have had 19 bites, but with the penalty it was 20, and it still stands as his record. Again though, one challenge starts another, and we were inspired to start eating challenges.

The Fish Stick Challenge
Roommates were sitting around drinking on a Saturday night, and previously I had seen the GM eating 20 fish sticks. I was feeling in a sporting mood, so I proposed a challenge to him.

"Garbage man, give yourself a challenge and eat the rest of that bag (100 fish sticks) tonight"

GM- "What'll you give me if I do?" (his answer to virtually 98% of requests)

Eventually we made it into a real challenge; 100 fish sticks in one hour. If he won: a fifth of bottom shelf whiskey. If he lost? Shame. Well GM didn't fail, he ate the shit out of those fish sticks in fact. I'll be damned if he didn't get blackout drunk and have sex that night, too. What a man.

Summer Sausage Challenge
Again, roommates were thinking of horrible food that would be tough for GM to eat in large quantities, and summer sausage was proposed. On this occasion, the GM had already eaten, so he was Michael Jordan, game 5 of the '97 finals. Even so, the roommates proposed that if GM at least attempted to eat 1.5 lbs of summer sausage in 30 min, he would be rewarded with a bottom shelf whiskey. This sparked the sporting man in GM, and again he accepted the challenge. At the end of the time limit he had gone through 1.2 lbs of summer sausage. Let me reiterate: The Garbage Man ate 1.2 pounds of summer sausage in 30 minutes on a full stomach. A true man amongst boys who happen to care about what enters their stomachs.

Today, the Garbage Man truly met his eating match, and spurred on this entire post. The gauntlet was finally thrown down...
The McRib Challenge
After a fair amount of negotiation over the course of a few weeks, GM accepted the terms of the McRib challenge last night:
-10 McRibs in 65 minutes,
-He would has to pay for half the McRibs if he loses
-The regular bottom shelf whiskey if he wins
-The challenge takes place in his room
-No picture-taking devices during the competition
-We must get them for him before noon today. Lets get right into it, shall we?

I walked into McDonalds with some pep in my step this morning, moseyed on up to the counter, perused the menu for a second, and said "I'll have 10 McRibs and a medium coffee."

-The woman behind the counter chuckles, "Are you serious?"

Me-"Yup"

The woman does some typing on her computer, and then calls the manager over for something, which is just about when just about every worker seems to have seen the order and each one says "10?" This is when Zola and I start getting thoroughly embarrassed. To have to sit in there, waiting for 10 McRibs with a building full of MCDONALDS WORKERS looking down on you is something I'd rather not be put through again. Nevertheless, after a short while we received 4 bags of McRibs and a coffee and we shuffled out of there.

Upon arriving home, Garbage Man was at his peak of hunger, and not 10 minutes after our arrival he dove into them. We all gathered in GM's room, turned on his HD recording of the Victoria's Secret Fashion show, and started the timer. From the outset GM far outperformed everyone's expectations-
50 seconds-1st McRib
2.5 min-2nd McRib
4 min-3rd McRib
7 min-4th McRib

At this astronomical pace every roommate thought that GM had hustled us with the rules, and we had been played for fools. He had finished 6 McRibs in 30 minutes, and we thought the real challenge would be finding something Adriana Lima could walk in that wouldn't make her look like the most attractive person on the planet. GM pooed at the 35 minute mark though and hit his wall. After lying in his bed for another 5 minutes, he officially threw in the towel, knowing that another bite of saucy McRib would surely lead to vomit. Few thought that GM would see anything but victory, but clearly Ronald Mcdonald had other plans. This surely won't be the last of the eating challenges, but it will always be the most daunting. Here's to you, oh most vile of men.


**EDIT**
How could I forget GM's first eating challenge associated with BOX? We were at the dining hall once, and after eating a full (gargantuan GM-style, i think it was on the order of 5 plates) meal, Bri-Bri offered to pay GM 5 whole bucks to eat another 5 pieces of pizza and a giant milkshake. GM took the bet, downed the food, and napped for half a day. Again, what a man.

The Litte Things I Will Miss

Tonight I received a text message, a text message that seems like I've been receiving on a nightly basis from the same person since the fall of 2006, when we first met: "I'm a mess". The composer of the message was Al, who has been my best friend throughout college. It goes without saying that no one would be surprised that Al was drunk, but I was intrigued when he said that he was reading old blog entries while drunk with his father.

After drinking about six beers by myself, which has become the norm of my summer in Northern Michigan, inspired by Al and the great Steve, I began reading the blog, from its inception up to its unofficial close sometime at the end of the last semester.

What appealed to my emotions most was not the standard, comical drunken moments that are detailed at length throughout the blog's history, but rather, the little things about life at BOX that are intricately woven into the blog. It's those little things that make me proud to be a member of the exclusive fraternity of men - make no mistake, we comprise a fraternity that features a bond much stronger and much closer than anyone in Michigan's Greek life can boast - that have had the privilege of calling BOX their home. It goes without saying that everyone of us will remember tailgates, the big parties, bar nights. Any college student can say that. Only a few can say they lived in BOX to experience the little things, though, which I think made it so special.

As my graduation day on May 1st drew closer, and my days of residing in BOX neared a close during the month of April, I found myself, quite simply, sick of the BOX house. It's something any resident of the shit-hole has felt at one time or another. I was tired of living in filth, tired of hearing about yet another city inspection, tired of being the only one who knew how to use the dishwasher (or maybe just the only one who knew we even had a dishwasher), and quite frankly, worn out by the lifestyle of the genuine alcoholic I had become.

Having been separated from the mecca for a full three months now, I can truly appreciate the old saying that "absence makes the heart grow fonder". Minute occurrences that I thought I despised, I now miss. I think we all knew we would miss the big stuff, but I didn't think I would miss all the things I thought I disliked so much. Time has a way of putting a sweet flavor of reminisce into the memory, I suppose. I tend to have this feeling right around this time, the end of July, every summer, but this time, unfortunately, its permanent for all of us.

The little things I will miss about BOX House:

• Hangover Sunday's.

Having spent most of my hangovers over the past three months by my lonesome, I am quick to lament the loss of that familiar bond of struggle that occurred without fail ever Sunday morning. When Sunday's rolled around in the BOX living room, most of us were left in the trenches to fight the all-inclusive hangover from what was a hangover dating (at least) back to Wednesday night at Mitch's. There was a time freshman year when I used to use Sunday's as study days, but I, as is with all BOX residents, was forced to make Sunday a hangover day during my tenure there. In my mind, at least six of us would pile onto the couches for about twelve straight hours on those Sundays, watching mindless television, quite incapable of doing much else. Don't get me wrong, there was nothing fun about those days at the time, but there's something about retrospect that makes them seem like more fun; at least the company of others in your same boat beats what surely awaits all of us in the future, a hangover with no companion other than the wife and dog.

• The hours leading up to a tailgate

Every college student, save for the extreme nerds and clueless foreigners, knows what a football Saturday consists of. Very few know of the feeling of being at BOX at 5:30 a.m. just prior to a tailgate. I've documented it before on this blog, but it deserves saying again, I believe the time from 5:30 to about 8:00 a.m. is the best time of the tailgate. During that time you are surrounded by those who truly care, the utter die-hards of Michigan football tailgating, you are perhaps still conscious of what is about to occur, a beautiful day worthy of the great days of your life, and you can sip your drink, truly happy with the world about you.

• Pre-gaming events that aren't OK to pregame for

Many of us who have lived at BOX were self-proclaimed alcoholics, me being one of the biggest, and perhaps most sincere, of those. For an alcoholic, it is extremely convenient to have at your disposal someone willing to drink with you at a moment's notice. Quite literally, there was always someone at BOX willing to drink with you, at any given time. And I think it is here that separates BOX from the typical college student. Any college student is used to pre-gaming for football games or the bars, but I don't really remember any events in which we didn't pre-game for at BOX. If you wanted to pre-game for class, there's usually always someone who woke up still drunk who wants to do a couple shots with you before class. Christ, I pre-gamed for my own graduation. As we all move on with our lives and slowly attempt to infiltrate the real world, I think we will all find that pre-gaming many events is simply unacceptable to the real world. When in BOX, you could simply spit on the expectations of the real world and come drunk to anything you wanted.

• Socially Unacceptable Amounts of Pre-Gaming

I often heard college students remarking on how they pre-gamed too much before the party. "Wow, I got way too drunk before the party," I would hear. I remember thinking to myself, "thank God I'm in BOX". Yeah, college students get too drunk sometimes. For each person who got too drunk before a party that one time a week, we were getting too drunk before parties 5 times a week. BOX took it to another level. If we were going to a bar or to a party, it was blackout or bust. People would consume an entire fifth, two 40's of CSI, or 15 beers before going out, and then we would still outdrink everyone at the party after that. Now that I've experienced the outside world for what it is, I've realized that drinking half handle of Old Crow is not what most people do before hitting the bars. That normality, I will surely miss.

That's all for now, I've got more, but I'm a bit drunk to continue writing. If only I had something else I miss from college to keep me going...

Long live the blog. Love you all. If anyone's alive out there, post your own memories.


- Brick (my google account somehow got deleted?)

Poop War 2010

The beginning of Poop War 2010 has been launched. I have been relocated away from BOX for the summer, working in my hometown of Gun Ru (Grand Rapids), but was informed of a recent theft at the home. On Friday night, one of the roommate's bikes and more importantly the "GO BOX-GO WOLVERINES-GO TO CAMPUS CORNER" sign were stolen. This occurred largely due to the Open Door Policy instituted and still supported under the Russell Administration beginning in 2007. The Open Door Policy, as its name suggests, states that the front door should be unlocked at all (at least 99%) of the time and only should be locked over extended breaks. It is advantageous because I am fairly certain no one owns a key to the front door, but also because it is the embodiment of our attitude being welcoming to just about any human. This has its drawbacks in the form of theft and the constant annoyance of street urchins. However, after the recent cowardly acts of last Friday a Poop War has been declared.

Due to important intel from Jello, BOX has become aware of enemies that live right down the street on Hoover. These individuals have made a public declaration of wanting to steal the House letters and may be responsible for last year's stolen letters. While we don't know if it was these same individuals who stole the sign and bike, it makes little difference. A poop now, ask questions later approach has been taken. Since the suspects' home has been identified, the Wetness has called me to inform me of a Hiroshima-style Poop Attack on their grill. I expect a complete breakdown of the horrifying attack. Millions of lives will surely be lost, but since the men of BOX have notoriously vicious and unrelenting poops, it seems fitting that this form of attack ought to be the desired weapon.


Let it Begin...

LT: I Don't Remember My Draft Day

NEW SPECIES DISCOVERED

The Cavanagh Bird: A portly, flightless bird who smokes Santa Fe's and eats exclusively burritos

Antiqued

This is what happens when you pass out drunk circa 4 p.m. at BOX:
















... ANTIQUED!

R.I.P. BOX Tailgating

New Box House Pets

Ever since the death of the beloved hamster Harriet Tubman, as she was poisoned while she drowned in the BOX washing machine, the BOX fellowship has been saddened and dismayed with the absence of a house pet. The Friendly Neighborhood Drunk was so upset that he attempted to dig up Harriet's grave in the front yard with a 2 by 4 during a stupor (Fortunately, someone stopped him, and Harriet still rests in peace). In lieu of our pet-loneliness, BOX decided to buy this:


Everyone should own an ant farm! Not only is it educational, but it is downright fun. Furthemore, it is especially easy to maintain an ant farm when your house is infested with ants! (BOX is dirty, if you were wondering). Things we have done with the ant farm thusfar:

- Fed the ants weed brownies
- Put a bumblebee into the farm to watch two powers of the insect world duke it out
- Put a ladybug into the farm to be annihilated
- Fed ants booze.

What an amazing pet!

Bum Court BOX Basketball

This afternoon BOX members fell upon Bum Court. Pushing aside the broken glass and other mysterious substances on the court, we began to shoot around. Soon enough, a game ensued. The teams were split by Notorious PLC, The Wetness, and Marky Mark on one side. Our opponents were Zola, C-Rag, and Folster the Holster. Now, I know that all of my readers are concerned, and have a lot invested into me winning this showdown. However, when the game began Notorious PLC ceased to be and instead I took on the alter ego of The Landlord because I owned the paint. In what will be considered one of the most important and epic games to ever take place, our team was victorious 11-7. The Landlord capped off the best performance of his career with an oustanding 3 points. My athleticism is a gift for all mankind. Due to our mean team defense, the best Bum Court basketball player to ever live, Zola, was held to 1 point.

Scoring Summary
Marky Mark: 4
The Wetness: 4
Notorious PLC (The Landlord): 3

Other Team: Who Cares?

It feels so great to know that you're a winner, and not a loser like Zola, C-Rag, or the Holster. Its just such a rewarding feeling.

BOX: 2010 Frat of the Year

The poll results are in, and America has spoken:



We successfully pissed off some sorority, and pissed off the SigEp bro's who were bro-ing out on the lawn yesterday. Also keep in mind that this sign accompanied all of our furniture on the front lawn yesterday.

Also, things currently happening inside the home:
- Broken garbage disposal, which has created a sloppy broth of food compiling in the sink
- 1 clogged toilet
- Mysterious garbage can full of urine festering in the bathtub that Harriet Tubman briefly called home
- One couch soiled by the infamous drunk urinater, smelling strongly of cheese

Meatspin Record

To preface, BOX has sort of a unofficial challenge about who can get the most meatspins, of course by someone else putting meatspin.com on an unsuspecting victim's computer.

Earlier this year, I thought I had made quite the accomplishment when my computer screen read "320,00" meatspins on meatspin.com. I was wrong.

Apparently, over spring break, or Gay10 - which I hope to describe fully with another entry - I had been meatspinned. When I returned today, I had reached 658,000 meatspins. I challenge anyone else in the world to acquire more that than.

Profile of: Bricky Bear

Bricky Bear, is that you on top of that horse? Get down from that horse! You don't belong on that horse!


Bricky Bear's Loves: Alcohol of all varieties... actually that's it, just alcohol. Preferably Old Crow Bourbon Whiskey. Also, Camo hats, wearing fake Indian headresses, snorting substances, literature written by alcoholics (namely Bukowski, Hemingway, Kerouac, London), John Denver tunes

Bricky Bear's Hates: LGBT groups, SigEp, horses that ride too fast for bears to ride on them, Sports gods shitting on him, women with morals, anywhere north of the mason-dixon line, Non-alcoholic beverages besides mountain dew, Anyone not originally from America

Bricky Bear's Favorite Ice Cream: Chocolate cocaine chips

Bricky Bear's Favorite thing to do at 5:35 a.m: Drinkin' and watching '97, '98, '02, and '08 Red Wings Stanley Cup videos.

BOX Profile of: Zola McChron-Zola

Is that David Bowie???!!! No! Wait! It's BOX resident ZOLA!


Zola's Love's: Hot Showers, Alcohol (white rum & bourbon), black coffee, Indigo Girls, Movies, Hannah, Cow & Moose, the idea of Zombies (he will not think twice if you turn into a zombie)

Zola's Hates: Religions, Illinoi Nazi's, People who think Animal's Should Have Rights!, Fat People (besides Paul, besides Jon Daly, but including Cheese Paddle), Non-normal Jeopardy, College Football Recruiting, Goalies Facing Rick Nash in Shoot-outs

Zola's Favorite Ice Cream: Cookie's & Zombies

Zola's Favorite thing to do at 5 a.m.: Push Native-American's off of their reservations

Profile of: The Danimal

Is that Hunter S. Thompson, you ask? No! That's BOX resident, The Danimal!!!!

Danimal's Loves: Alcohol, Drugs (specifically low-grade meth), and older women, Zolas, Meijer food chains, Trousers that do not feature zippers (i.e. sweats)

Danimal's Hates: Jews, Catholics (I find this ironic, because Dan is a confirmed Catholic), Protestants, Deer (he hope to kill one someday), Zolas (he also hopes to kill this mammal)

Danimal's Favorite Ice Cream: Cookie's n' Cream

Danimal's Favorite Thing to do at 5 a.m.: Coca-cola (aka the drug)

Olympic Obstacle

Gold. Gold. Gold.

USA! USA! USA!
One fifth. One fifth. One fifth.
Blackout. Blackout. Blackout.

Tonight the Olympic drinkers are faced with what is surely the most formidable obstacle of the Olympics yet. For the first time, the daily fifth was not consumed before 5 p.m. On top of that, we have won a gold and a silver in women's downhill skiing. That put's us at 2 fifths and a pint. Yet Shaun White still has to compete later tonight, which everyone expects should be a gold medal.

To make matters worse, only four of us are drinking tonight. It appears as if the blackness will enter the future of some of those closest to us very shortly.

Update: Gold and Bronze in Speedskating.

Update 11:00 p.m. There are but 3 drinkers remaining. I just finished a paper drunk. The friendly neighborhood drunk is obviously blackout per usual. And the Danimal is drinking. Notorious PLC has departed from the home, but hopefully shall return soon to join is pursuit of intoxication. Al, for some reason, is drinking beverages other than the 2 1/2 fifths that we are required by BOX Olympic law to consume. Expect more drunken updates soon.

Update: 11:20 p.m. Shaun White wins gold. Other unknown American wins bronze. This makes this drinking tallies thus:

- Daily fifth: consumed
- Women's skiing gold (fifth): nearly consumed
- women's skiing silver (pint): consumed
- speed skating gold (fifth): none consumed
- speed skating bronze (CSI 40): consumed
- men's half pipe gold (fifth): none consumed
- men's half pipe bronze (CSI 40): none consumed

Lets recap: it's 11:30 p.m, and we have 2 fifths, one pint, and one CSI 40 to consume before dawn. Not only will this day go down as the greatest Olympic day for the United States of America, but this day will certainly go down as the greatest struggle of the BOX Olympic drinkers - for we surely face a deadly task in front of us in the coming hours.

Update: 11:37 p.m.: One fifth remains. Notorious PLS has returned. He and I intend to represent America by drinking this by ourselves. All others are either too drunk or too Canadian. But the Notorious PLC and myself are American, and we promise that this fifth shall be consumed, no matter how drunk-johsnon we already are,.

Update: 1: 49 a.m. Holy Bozonka-burgers. Zola, PLC, and I determined to consumed alcohol.

The Games Go on.....

The Opening Ceremonies approached quick
We all made sure we looked real sick
All dressed in red, white, and blue
About to drink a lot......what's new.

Everybody supporting our country.
The Great Land of drinking is really something.
We had three half gallons on the plate
Everything was gone, but it wasn't late.

Our whole house stumbling onto the floor.
The booze was gone, but we wanted more.
Lots of dudes were present,
But we still had a few girls, which was pleasant.

The night began to get foggy and hazy
I was crying on Zola's shoulder....how amazing.
Our entire house totally shit bombed.
Dropping booze down the hatch like a phenom.

Waking up the next day, Wow what happened?
Head pounding, stomach aching just the standard.
Lady friend had to climb onto the roof and through the window,
The signs of a true black out, that's what i know.

As we continue on, yes we have won.
Six medals thus far,
We are drinking enough, we could run a bar.
The days are bound to get longer,
And with it our drinking skills will get stronger.

These games aren't for the faint of heart,
We have all known that from the start.
So let us all get together for our nation,
And celebrate our winnings in exaltation.

Go America! Go Box!

Likes and Dislikes 2.0

Some time ago I made a blogpost in regard to my likes and dislikes. I am going to do that again, I don't care if any of you find this interesting or not.

Likes:
Cheese
Long Acronyms ex. MESSENGER (Mercury Surface to Space Engineering and Geochemical Ranging)
Richard the Lionhearted
Carbon Dating
Dirt
Scented Markers
Bungle in the Jungle by Jethro Tull
Bill Lambeer
American Men with Mustaches
Hardened Rubber
Salt
Antlers (of all varieties)
The Term Smushing for Sex
Making Banal things Extreme
Using the word "Banal"
Buzzards, Crows, Ravens and the Like

Dislikes:
Gorillas' Hands
Toadstools
Cathode-Ray Tubes
Sand
John C. Reilly Movies
Jungles
Michigan City, Indiana
European Men with Mustaches
The Scientific Method
People who are Smarter than Me
Swamp Ass
Glenville HS
Androids
Softcore Porn
EECS Majors
Druish Princesses

Support for America? Or Alcoholism? You Be the Judge

Today is Sunday, day 3 of the BOX Olympic Drinking Challenge. Today was supposed to be one of the most difficult days of the challenge, especially considering that Dan, Paul, and myself all marked down that today was one of the days we definitely could not drink (because of midterms/school).

- As of 5:30 p.m., Dan, Paul, and myself have all started drinking.

- When I came home to BOX around 2 p.m., the fifth for the day was already consumed.

- Around 5 p.m, the U.S. won a silver medal. About 5 minutes later, the designated pint was already being consumed.

- Currently, there are a number of BOX members sitting around the television hoping for more medals so we "have an excuse to drink more".

I think we may have underestimated the love for drinking in the house when we layed out the rules for the challenge. Perhaps we should have made it a half gallon per day to really challenge us.

Other notables since the challenge started:

- On day 1, Paul begins to stumble, a common indicator that Paul is blackout. Mid-stumble, he vomits on the floor. After vomiting, he stumbles once again, slipping in his own vomit and falling into the vomit.

- The Friendly Neighborhood Drunk, in a stupor, recorded "Willard's World" - a song already infamous, as it is all about Dan's sexual organs. We hope to get the song on the interwebs shortly.

U.S.A: Jack Johnson

=



If you are not already excited for the drinking bender that will be the 2010 Winter Olympics, starting Friday February 12, the year of our lord 2010:

http://michigandaily.com/content/maize-red-white-blue-former-wolverines-jack-johnson-first-shot-olympic-glory

Michigan Man, through and through, Jack Johnson is the only United States hockey player that will be representing the Red, White, and Blue at the opening ceremonies. If you haven't yet heard about the spat between Johnson and the Los Angeles King's General Manager yet, let me get you up to date on how much of a Michigan Man Jack Johnson is:
1.) L.A. Kings (piece of shit hockey club) G.M. calls out Michigan player Jack Johnson, and claims that Red Berenson, Michigan Hockey coach and legend in all of hockey, doesn't know how to develop players.
2.) Johnson responds to his boss' claims by asserting that the L.A. Kings are a joke of a franchise, and anyone in the organization claiming to know hockey talent should wind up in a gutter dead. Furthermore, Johnson states that U of M develops the greatest number of NHL hockey players in all of college hockey, citing players such as Brendan Morrison, Marty Turco, Aaron Ward, Mike Knuble, Jed Ortmeyer, and Mike Camilleri, among others. In other words, Johnson literally asks to be traded, as he would rather leave L.A. than have his alma-mater criticized.
3.) 2 days later, Jack Johnson shows up at Yost Arena sporting his Michigan varsity jacket, in what I would label a big "fuck you" to the L.A. Kings G.M.

Go Blue. Go U.S.A.

Get your drinking shoes ready, folks.

“I no longer have any reasons to live”

Lonely Mitch’s, you were my favorite bar
Now you have gone away… so far

The nights wasted playing pool were really great
Without you, my life I hate

A blackout, every time I walked inside
Paul and Brick would follow stride

Twas the long-hairs and the chain-smoking Asians
That aided your persuasions

Two dollar pitchers for the entire night
Brett would squirm with such delight

Once I spent one hundred and twenty-one bucks
When I woke up, I said “Shucks”

None of us ever picked up girls at Our Bar
Except Dan… big as a car

I no longer have any reasons to live
Mitch’s back, what I would give

One more night to get silly drunk and black out
In that dirty bar that we called home.

Longing for Days of Yesteryear

I awoke this morning feeling pretty much how I always feel after a hard night's drinking these days: like a victim of the black death. It's a hangover quite hard to describe for those who aren't familiar with the hangover from hell. My innards feel like buzzards are eating them, my brain functions like an emo kid, and my digestive track does absolutely nothing because I'm pretty sure it thinks I'm deceased. As a direct result of this, today I spent nearly 50% of my time at my office job hiding in the basement bathroom vomiting up pleasantries; I have chosen to neglect my academic responsibilities for the day for my own health as well as for the well being of any students who might have been in my close proximity had I chosen to go to class.

Sadly, these days have become the norm in my hard-drinking lifestyle.

Back in high school, when I was but an alcoholic with training wheels, I drank just about every night. The next day, I drank a water bottle in my first class, and I was pretty much fine by the 3rd class of the day. Even freshman year, when Al and I were blossoming drunks, drinking practically every night, I was always able to make it to class the next day. Oh, those were the days. A life in BOX has completely and utterly destroyed what once was, though. Will this ever stop me from living the dream? Certainly, no, but it might slow me down from time to time.

What I wouldn't do to have those freshman year hangovers nowadays.

Or maybe I just need a drink.

Side note: What seems to be every Sunday, I tell myself (and actually believe myself) that this will be the week that I go to every class and do all my work. Time and time again, I wind up blackout drunk on Tuesday and proceed to neglect most of the rest of the week. Today, I tried to tell myself I would finally get serious about this semester. Then I remembered that the Olympics start Friday and that there will not be a shred of dignity in this house for the next 2 weeks.

The Sober Life

Well folks, what an interesting journey thus far. For clearly the longest stretch in my drinking career, I have gone sober for 12 straight days. I must consider this one of my most shining accomplishments in the history of the Friendly Neighborhood Drunk considering the crowd I run with. For those who do not know, I decided after a slight mishap prior to the UM/MSU basketball game that this was necessary.

The day started like any other basketball weekday game. Clearly I needed to skip class to start drinking about 3 hours before the game. But unlike other games, I was not drinking forties or the delicious red with the mere alcohol content of 9%. The Danimal had finally convinced me to man up and thus I drank a fine Vella Merlot with the content of 12%. This was my first major mistake. I had drank 6 fairly large glasses by the time my friend Mitch came to pick me up to go to the game. The second mistake was trying to tie one more on with Mitch.

I proceeded to pour us each one more glass before going to that two hour wait to get into the game. I finished mine in roughly a minute, and Mitch decided not to finish his so I just decided to chug the rest of his. This decision would ultimately lead to an epic failure. The last thing I remember is walking out of BOX and falling down the stairs, utterly destroying a fresh tin of dip in my pocket. While walking past the IM building, trying to clean a tin’s worth of dip out of my pocket, I entered the blackness. From there the rest of what happened I only know from hearsay or second hand sources.

Apparently when I reached Crisler, I proceeded to run around the arena looking for cameras. Why? I have no explanation. Then, I proposed that one of the fans falate me. When she said no, I just happened to say that I’d like to masturbate in her hair. That is all I know what happened outside of the game. Once entered, I marched down the stairs to my typical spot where I could inevitably lay into Tom Izzo. But unfortunately I could not stand. A police officer noticed the state I was in and came to escort me out of the arena. When he tried to grab me, I thought he was shaking my hand, so I gave him the firmest handshake I possibly could. As I was being escorted out, the only words I could put together were “I’m just livin’ the dream.”

When I awoke from my blackout, it was 4am and I was in a hospital bed. This being the second time I ended up in the hospital due to drinking, I was obviously angry. But I saw the wristband from the game on my hand so I assumed I had atleast seen the game. Unfortunately the nurse informed me that I was admitted at 6:20pm…40 minutes to tip. Needless to say I was very disappointed. Then, I saw the highlights to the game and how we completely blew it. That was just more salt in my already gaping wound. When I was discharged at 7am, I was given my bag of things: My swim trunks, my maize rage shirt, another shirt I was using as a turban, my Neil Diamond Vest, my cellular, my wallet, one half used tin of grizzly wintergreen longcut, and two pieces of the other tin that shattered in my pocket. I was driven home from the hospital by DPS and proceeded to sleep through all three of my classes that day and defecated a black goo comparable to tar.

And so folks, this is the reason I have gone 12 days without enjoying the beverages that I have come to love. Right now my goal is to pick up drinking again by the spring game, but odds are that it will be relatively sooner that I end my sabbatical. I would also like to congratulate NotoriousPLC on his case race victory. The man knows how to drink. But I digress. So the next time in the coming weeks that any of you decide to drink have one or two or ten drinks for me.

Done Deal

Posting an impressive time (so I'm told) finishing in 7 hours and approximately 45 minutes, the Notorious PLC defeated Ross. By a score of 30-24, PLC apparently surged with the consumption of roughly 4 beers in 10 minutes and then prepared to enter a state of unconsciousness. However, with 2 beers remaining, the stout coaching of Zola motivated PLC to finish the remaining beer. While I've never had a hangover quite as distinctive as the one I am currently experiencing, I am proud of my accomplishment. If given a few weeks to recover, I will gladly accept any challenge to a similar competition. I've just received information from the Ry-Guy that Jello posted a bet with Brett for the total of $30; Jello doubted Notorious and believed that Ross, the well-traveled drinker, would defeat Notorious, but it appears as though Jello will have to pay up. Farewell loyal readers, academia calls for the next week.

Eve of the Contest

Every so often two fine combatants face off in a tremendous contest: Ali/Frazier, Federer/Nadal, Nicklaus/Palmer. Tomorrow marks one of those events as Notorious PLC (me) will be taking on Ross in a one vs. one Case Race.
The Official Start time is 11:30am and should be an epic battle and clash of wills. Ross should prove to be a difficult competitor; he has been drinking since I was in sixth grade and undoubtededly would be considered the seasoned veteran. However, I have confidence in my own abilities regardless of the the fact that over the summer I was defeated in my last one on one challenge against the Friendly Neighborhood Drunk 30-22. I expect to make up for that showing tomorrow.

With the assistance and guiding influence of a great man, Coach Zola I am sure of my skills and have been refining my abilities in the past weeks. Together, we will formulate a strategy to secure victory. Regardless of who you are rooting for, stay tuned for the results of the monumental contest.

Drinking Olympics: How American Are You?

February is definitely the most boring month of the year. The doldrums of winter set in, and parties become rarer and rarer in Ann Arbor as no one really wants to go outdoors. This year is even worse, as Michigan basketball has ruined its season already, and my beloved Red Wings are as bad as they have been in years.

Yet this February is probably the most anticipated February I have ever had in my life. Yes, BOX house has once again taken an ordinary event and found an excuse to turn it into a long-term drinking bender in which most participants will probably take years off of their lives.

BOX loves America. If you didn't know that, you probably should stop reading. That is why we will be supporting our American heroes in action in the upcoming winter Olympics. The last time this festival was held, the American's lost by a slight margin to the Nazi Germans; this year, though, members of the house feel confident that our drinking will give the Americans that extra push neccesary to give the U.S. the top spot.

The official rules to the event we have created are simple:

1.) All participants must be clad in a silly red, white, and blue outfit.
2.) During the two-week Olympic period, one fifth must be consumed each day. Certainly, on days like Wednesday through Saturday, multiple fifths will be consumed; this is encouraged. But no matter what the day, someone has to man-up and drink at least a fifth.
3.) If the U.S. wins a gold medal, a fifth must be consumed within 24 hours of that medal have being won. This throws a bit of a wrench into the equation, and might make days like Sunday and Monday a bit difficult, especially considering that this time period includes midterms.
Additionally, if the U.S. wins a silver medal, a pint must be consumed, following the same format. And if the U.S. secures a bronze, a 40 of CSI must be consumed. (last Olympics, the U.S. won 9 gold, 9 silver, and 7 bronze... so there will most likely be a minimum of 23 fifths consumed in 14 days). In my opinion, this is the most challenging part of the event. I can just picture the house now, debating about who has to consume 2 fifths at 1 a.m. after the U.S. just secured two gold medals (the olympics are in Vancouver) on a Sunday night before everyone has exams (or, in Dan's case, before he has to teach little kids physical education).

Plans are to kick off the 2-week event with a big shebang the opening Friday, in which we have pledged to consume 3 half gallons. From then on, shenanigans shall occur. It may not be on par with the Old Crow Challenge, but is sure to conjure up some good drunken tales.

I would like to throw in my own personal challenge as well. Certainly, the Olympic drinking marathon is first and foremost a team event, namely for the members of the house plus Craig. But I think it would be interesting to award he who consumes the most amount of booze personally throughout the event with his own gold medal; second and third shall receive honors of silver and bronze respectively. The winners will get a shout-out in the blog, but more importantly, they will get respect as great alcoholics around the house.

For those who are reading (Pete), you should probably drink a fifth a day by yourself to support the good ole U.S.A.

Go USA.

And though I hate that he is an MSU grad, Ryan Miller seems to be taking the Olympics about as seriously as we are:

Drinking

Every member of the house in 10 years:

http://www.theonion.com/content/video/packers_fan_announces_he_will

Except insert Michigan Football whenever you hear Green Bay Packers

Paul is a garbage man

But more importantly, a legend and believer in everything that Box holds dear has stepped down today. John Daly has said that he will no longer golf. Gone are the days of seeing this man blackout in Hooters and wear ridiculous pants to golf tournaments. We will never forget you John Daly. I hope everyone pours one out for the homey not with us tonight.

The Upcoming Weekend

I look forward to the upcoming weekend with the most unbridled anticipation. The return of the infamous White St. gentlemen is upon us. Among these folk include Ass-Born, Paul's Son, Human and if I am not mistaken BAD (Big Asian Dave). While it is not summer and therefore no cornhole will take place, there will most certainly be shenanigans of the most degrading and humiliating nature. I think I will try to persuade Human to engage in another Crayfish Boil and perhaps assault Ass-Born for arbitrary reasons. The thing that is most exciting for everyone in the house is the fact that a certain Peter Mattes will NOT be returning this weekend. We all cherish the moments of our lives that Peter doesn't ruin with his miserable existence. This is why I can say with complete confidence that my past 6 months (in which Peter has been absent to Seattle) have been the best times of my life. On the other hand, the White St. fellows' triumphant return will be celebrated in grand fashion. I hope that Paulson will be drunker than the time when he wandered about Zolapalooza wearing only a loincloth made of leopard print. I also sincerely hope that BAD will have a strong AOE session before my eyes. I still do not condone of the game, but I do miss BAD's presence and his skills in the game of medieval warfare on the computer. Ultimately, let us all enjoy the White St.'s return and more importantly another weekend absent of Peter Mattes' trivial absurdities.

Box man breaks up part deux

In the second part of this story, we find the same two people in another conversation, but this time the woman tries to make the man feel guilty about his actions. As a background the woman is reacting to the man from Box and his friend making drunken fools of themselves the previous night and abandoning her and her friend. See the how one from Box acts when backed into a corner.

Her: Haha amy is nooot feeling steve right now you guys are like the turn off champions lol
Him: Whyyy? What did he do?
Her: She said she thinks he would just be really wasted and crazy all the time and that is not her thing. I am just the messenger haha.
Him: Lol well she doesn't know. She's just saying that bc of association with me
Her: And because of how drunk he was the other night. But yeah she doesnt want to be the new me, to be blunt haha. As fun as it can be lol
Her: You set a standard of excellence apparently haha
Him: THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE HIGHLANDER
Him: Eh I'm sure he'll be fine
Her: Haha way to skip over the part where we all think u are mean lol
Him: I AM CONNER MACLEOD, OF THE CLAN MACLEOD
Her: Haha yeah this is why i dont want to sleep with you
Her: But glad i can be treated with such respect always a pleasure
Him: I was born in 1518 in the village of Glenfinnan on the shores of Loch Shiel. And I am IMMORTAL
Her: Are you trying to make me more mad than i was already because working.
Him: I've been alive for four and a half centuries, and I cannot die?
Her: Ok great done talking now
Him: I apologize for calling your wife a bloated warthog, and I bid you good day.

Thank you Conner Macleod, for inspiring us all

Awesomnosity

Very rarely does one person touch all mankind with a true mastery of their art. One man who exemplifies this action more than anyone else is the great Nicolas Cage. For the last 3 decades he has provided such greats ranging from "Leaving Las Vegas", to "Bangkok Dangerous"; moreso who could forget the fantastic epic "Con Air"? Well gentlemen, again he graces our screen again, but this time in musical form. Yes, not only can he impersonate elvis, he does techno. Without further ado, Sir Nicolas Cage.


yes I can't figure out how to get it on our blog so enjoy elsewhere

Response

While usually I would attempt to craft something in response to the allegations put against me, this time I will not. All I will say is that I can't confirm or deny any of the said attributes (a great deal are true-I will leave the interpretation of which is true and not to the reader). All I will say is in regard to Peter Mattes, I am thankful that I have been circumcised.

A letter to Mr. Cavanagh

It will indeed surprise some people to hear me say this, but Mr. Paul L. Cavanagh's as dumb as dirt. I want to share this with you because Paul's attempts to identify political and religious groups that are his political enemies and re-label them as "unbalanced dipsomaniacs" in order to justify operations against them are much worse than mere vandalism. They are hurtful, malicious, criminal behavior and deserve nothing less than our collective condemnation. Your guess is as good as mine as to why Paul wants to manipulate everything and everybody. Maybe it's because he plans to turn a deaf ear to need and suffering.

Paul keeps telling everyone within earshot that he is a paragon of morality and wisdom. I'm guessing that Paul read that on some Web site of dubious validity. More reliable sources generally indicate that he possesses no significant intellectual skills whatsoever and has no interest in erudition. Heck, he can't even spell or define "erudition", much less achieve it.

Stripping from the term "poluphloisboiotatotic" the negative connotations it evokes, I will try to open students' eyes, minds, hearts, and souls to the world around them. Perhaps Paul has never had to take a stand and fight for something as critical as our right to pursue virtue and knowledge. But on this subject we get only a lot of blather and obfuscation from him and his comrades. Let me try to explain what I mean by that in a single sentence: Time cannot change his behavior. Time merely enlarges the field in which Paul can, with ever-increasing intensity and thoroughness, interfere with my efforts to rub his nose in his own hypocrisy.

Paul has been known to say that sophomoric rotters should be fêted at wine-and-cheese fund-raisers. That notion is so acrimonious, I hardly know where to begin refuting it. He has been a bad apple for as long as I can remember. I know you're wondering why I just wrote that. I'll explain shortly, but first, I should state that Paul often argues that principles don't matter. A similar argument was first made over 1200 years ago by a well-known pop psychologist and was quickly disproved. In those days, however, no one would have doubted that Paul has never disproved anything I've ever written. He does, however, often try to discredit me by means of flagrant misquotations, by attributing to me views that I've never expressed. In the end, some day, Paul's antihumanist janissaries may ask you why you think it's a good idea to establish a supportive—rather than an intimidating—atmosphere for offering public comment. If you're too stunned to answer immediately they'll answer for you, probably stating that honor counts for nothing. You should therefore be prepared to tell these vile hucksters that Paul accuses me of being a liar. The only proven liar around here, however, is Paul. Only a die-hard liar like Paul could claim that hedonism is the only alternative to chauvinism. The truth, in case you haven't already figured it out, is that his attendants have the gall to accuse me of challenging all I stand for. Were these prudish politicasters born without a self-awareness gene? That's the question that perplexes me the most because Paul keeps stating over and over again that his activities are on the up-and-up. This drumbeat refrain is clearly not consistent with the facts on the ground—facts such as that people sometimes ask me why I seem incapable of saying anything nice about Paul. I'd like to—really, I would. The problem is, I can't think of anything nice to say. I guess that's not surprising when you consider that Paul's reason is not true reason. It does not seek the truth but only hypersensitive answers, bleeding-heart resolutions to conflicts.

When Paul tells us that we should abandon the institutionalized and revered concept of democracy, he somehow fails to mention that his monographs reek like rotten eggs. He fails to mention that some of his former companions say they were willing to help him feed blind hatred because Paul convinced them that they were part of a historic mission to save the world from a parasitic global conspiracy—a belief they now reject as refractory. And he fails to mention that anyone who hasn't been living in a cave with his eyes shut and his ears plugged knows that he says he's going to recruit and encourage young people to spew forth ignorance and prejudice, just as older drug dealers use young kids to push drugs, some day. Good old Paul. He just loves to open his mouth and let all kinds of things come out without listening to how mingy they sound.

There is no such thing as evil in the abstract. It exists only in the evil deeds of evil people like Paul. He needs to open up to the world around him. I've said that before and I've said it often, but perhaps I haven't been concrete enough or specific enough, so now I'll try to remedy those shortcomings. I'll try to be a lot more specific and concrete when I explain that unless you define success using the sort of loosey-goosey standards by which he abides you'll realize that true measures of success involve calling your attention to the problem of shallow pickpockets. Success is getting the world to see that Paul has a long, propagandism-infested history of attempts to redefine humanity as alienated machines/beasts and then convince everyone that they were never human to begin with. I'll say that again because I want it to sink in: Any effort to negotiate with him or appease him is akin to spitting into a hurricane to quiet its fury.

Paul is careless with data, makes all sorts of causal interpretations of things without any real justification, has a way of combining disparate ideas that don't seem to hang together, seems to show a sort of pride in his own biases, gets into all sorts of cranky speculation, and then makes no effort to test out his speculations—and that's just the short list! He seems totally incapable of understanding that he is completely patronizing. We all are, to some extent, but Paul sets the curve. He keeps saying that I'm some sort of cully who can be duped into believing that his opinions are a breath of fresh air amid our modern culture's toxic cloud of chaos. This is exemplary of the nonsensical rhetoric and scaremongering that typifies the language of ethically bankrupt jackanapes and other unruly fruitcakes. You may make the comment, "What does this have to do with peremptory flag burners?" Well, once you begin to see the light you'll realize that Paul seems unable to think of turns of speech that aren't hackneyed. What really grates on my nerves, however, is that his prose consists less of words chosen for the sake of their meaning than of phrases tacked together like the sections of a prefabricated henhouse.

Paul's fairy tales all stem from one, simple, faulty premise—that newspapers should report only on items he agrees with. The last time I told Paul's helots that I want to hold Paul to account for preventing me from sleeping soundly at night they declared in response, "But there is something intellectually provocative in the tired rehashing of hidebound stereotypes." Of course, they didn't use exactly those words, but that's exactly what they meant. I've heard of pestilential things like philistinism and interdenominationalism. But I've also heard of things like nonviolence, higher moralities, and treating all beings as ends in and of themselves—ideas which his ignorant, unthinking, nefarious brain is too small to understand. Paul has been trying to raise funds for scientific studies that "prove" that profits come before people. This is what's called "advocacy research" or "junk science" because it's funded by mawkish scum who have already decided that it's perfectly safe to drink and drive. He says that he has his moral compass in tact. Whenever I hear such statements from Paul I reel in disbelief. Does he really believe such atrabilious things? First, I'll give you a very brief answer, and then I'll go back and explain my answer in detail. As for the brief answer, by leading to the destruction of the human race, Paul is telegraphing his intentions to create a beachhead for organized Bulverism.

Paul's scare tactics are a mere cavil, a mere scarecrow, one of the last shifts of a desperate and dying cause. If you've never seen Paul squander irreplaceable treasures, you're either incredibly unobservant or are concealing the truth from yourself. Just as night follows day, he will put our liberties at risk by a stupid and obscene rush to take rights away from individuals whom only Paul perceives as rummy before the year is over. Apparently, unlike everyone else in the world, he seriously believes that war is peace, freedom is slavery, and ignorance is strength. Woo woooo! Here comes the clue train. Last stop: Paul.

Only the impartial and unimpassioned mind will even consider that Paul believes that bombarding me with insults is essential for the safety and welfare of the public. That's just wrong. He further believes that every word that leaves his mouth is teeming with useful information. Wrong again! I was once asked, "When will he come clean and admit that he intends to make life less pleasant for us?". I'm not quite sure how to answer such a question. The problem is that some people have indicated that Paul's atavistic values lead him to abridge our basic civil liberties. I can neither confirm nor deny that statement, but I can say that idle hands are the devil's tools. That's why Paul spends his leisure time devising ever more meretricious ways to promulgate partisan prejudice against others. It is high time for someone to advance a clear, credible, and effective vision for dealing with our present dilemma and its most closed-minded manifestations. Will that someone be you?

The weekend beckons

As friday arrives, we all realize

It is time to black out.
We may shout, we may pout
But we all know that there is no doubt.
The red haired heathen from next door,
will definitely be laying on the floor.
His birthday party, yes indeed,
DJ Jello is not what we need.
Zola will be out of the house once again,
Hopefully he will gain his redemption.
He wants a cuddle buddy, to put it in his muddy
Spot between his legs. It maybe be one of box's pegs.

Tomorrow will be yet another day,
Drinking games we will play.
Cases races are so much fun,
We are so sloppy when we are done.
Partying again tomorrow night,
Hopefully there will be no fights.
Sunday will then be here too quick,
The hand on the clock continues to tick
Real life is a bunch of shit, no matter what we do we won't quit.

Early Night Hilarity

Chris: "Wow Zalinski, what are you reaching for, a fat cock?"
Dan: "Don't mind him."

WTF

I woke up at 6:30am today... alone... not sure why. Some of the things i found confusing about this morning are... WHY THE FUCK IS MY WINDOW OPEN, IT IS COLD AS HELL. secondly, why do i have a facebook message from a coed informing me that she was kicked out of box last night. who gets kicked out of box.... ever... homeless people hang out here. Why did i discover a panda backpack, stuffed animal thing on our couch. we don't have a lot of asians come over so i am at a loss. also... who is in brett's bed with him? lastly, who on earch baked brownied with banana's on top of them. i hope this was brought over. nothing has been baked at the box house in decades. i am really glad today is the first day of classes.

Update

It is now 8am. i think i stole someones new sperry's and left them my old ones last night

New Years Eve

New Years Eve... always a classy night. I began the night with low hopes. I was informed that I would be spending the night with myself and 4 other couples at Cafe Habana in Ann Arbor. Thankfully I never had the awkward moment of who to kiss at midnight... I was unconscious by 11pm by the review of my text messages from the night. I remember arriving at the bar and ordering a number of caprihini's. Apparently it is just a bunch of liquor and sugar; they were delicious. After our party proceeded to offend everyone in the bar by blowing extremely annoying horns for an hour or so, i apparently decided that i had had enough of cafe habana and departed on foot. Judging by my wrist band that i found when i woke up, and a missing 30 dollars, it appears that i decided to go to studio 4... alone. I can only imagine how poorly that went. Sometime around 10:30 pm our dear friend Ross managed to discover me, staggering in the middle of the road, on state street by angel hall. After driving my pathetic ass home, i then attempted to become Emeril and cook a feast. When i woke up in the morning i discovered what i had created. There was an egg all over the stove, a pot of cooked noodles, and a crock pot full of green beans, butter, bread, and paprika. thank god, none of it was consumed. I didn't even bother to clean the cock pot, I just threw it away. Some say how you begin the new year determines how the following year will go. This is bad news to me...

Yet Another City Inspection Ends Well

It was a typical Monday morning at BOX: The Wetness was preparing a story to tell his boss as to why he wasn't at work again, The Danimal was off to the Secretary of State to pay all of his parking tickets, I was off to go deal with legal troubles, Zola was on drugs, and the Friendly Neighborhood Drunk was already well on his way to another drunken afternoon -- which he has become famous for around these parts -- as he sincerely attempted to live up to his New Year's resolution of "man-ing up and drinking more" (I'm not sure this is humanly possible). And then there was a knock on the door. We had forgotten that today was the day the city inspector was to inspect the house.

Considering that the result of the last city inspection we had about a year ago resulted in a e-mail to the house stating that our house had a "Code G-2 Sanitation Violation," no one in BOX really had too high of hopes for this one. When I saw that his first move was to go downstairs to the basement, I knew we had no chance, especially considering that I had been using the basement as my own personal frustration outlet where I could throw bottles and break other appliances throughout football season.

The city inspector had two observations from his visit:
1.) 'You guys must really love Old Crow'. (yes we do)
2.) 'This is the dirtiest house I have ever seen in my time as an Ann Arbor city inspector'. (I know our house isn't clean, but really? I guess I'm kind of impressed). At any rate, he informed us that he would be returning next Monday, and if our house wasn't clean by then, we would all be issued misdemeanors and we would be evicted from the property. Al tried to offer him a beer, but I don't think that helped.