While this house welcomes peculiar experiences, I feel as though they most certainly occur at our house more frequently than in other houses on campus.
1. I received a postcard from Des Moines, Iowa telling me that I am a "filthy garbage man." I know no one who lives in the state of Iowa.
2.There was a unicycle race outside of our house yesterday. One of the competitors was a BOX roommate.
3. For the first time in months I was fortunate enough to get my old friend 6' 6'' 290lb "Little Bitch" drunk off a CSI and a half.
4. The Wetness was walking down the street and saw and old friend driving by; jokingly he asked "how much for a blow job?" Immediately a bum riding by on a bike stopped and offered him one for $5.
5. Lenders called me last night to inform me that he was running around on N. Fifth St. If you do not live in Ann Arbor or don't where that is, needless to say its no where you should be blackout drunk running in the middle of the street.
6. One of our dearest friends and neighbors, Steve, was appalling drunk yesterday and in his wisdom ran all over State St. and in front of a cop car showing his patriotism, waving the American flag. The police were impressed.
That's all for now, as finals approach surely the frequency with which posts are made will slow to a trickle, but be patient because only a week or two of torment remains before the steady flow of debauchery is yet again revealed to the outside world on a more consistent basis.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
A Tailgating Hero
I'll preface this post with a brief recap of the BOX beer can golf championship: The 2009 tournament ended in much the same way the inaugural 2008 tournament played out, with a premature finish directly caused by extreme levels of intoxication -- making a full round of 18 on any day impossible... I wouldn't accept anything more respectable than this from the golfers that descended onto the links (the glass pit that we call a yard) this weekend.
Back to the post at hand. . . As many of you know and several more of you experienced first hand, BOX held a tailgate for the spring football game this Saturday. I, for one, usually experience tailgate withdrawals all of second semester, so I was ecstatic at the prospect of waking up at 5:30 once again to get drunk and perhaps stumble down the street to celebrate our beloved Wolverines and make an embarassment of myself in front of some alumni and elders at the Big House.
Certainly, I enjoy every second of every minute of every football Saturday morn, from the field goal kicking, to the keg laps, to the matress jumping, and so on. But if I had to choose favorite parts of the tailgate, the time period from about 5:00 a.m. until 6:30 a.m would be a personal favorite. There's just something awesome about actually being excited when your alarm clock wakes you up from last night's binge drinking affair, because you know that you're about to go have one of the best times of your life. And there's something exciting about turning on "Gettysburg" for the first time, and, as Notorious PLC eloquently puts it, "drink some bourbon and watch our American heroes in action". Another great thing about our 5:30 start time is that only the die-hards show up this early. Again, there's something special about sharing that first morning cocktail with the extreme of the extreme tailgating enthusiasts.
While I pride myself on being one of these die-hards (and I salute everyone who was there early on Saturday and always is during the fall), I know none of us can match the audacity of one true hero who arrived here at 5:30 a.m. this Saturday. It pains me a bit to write this, because the man whom I speak of happens to be one of those Spartans from the wretches of East Lansing, but I have to give him respect where respect is due. Notorious PLC's friend Al drove all the way from State and arrived here at 5:30; I'm no math major, but I think that this means he must have left there at no later than 4:30 in the morning. . . to come to his rival's spring football game, in which we play ourselves. People who live here sometimes don't even get up that early, even if the music is blaring in their ears. I can't imagine this tailgating hero had any interest in the game, so let's just assume that he came to do some drinking. THAT is a tailgating hero in my book.
Back to the post at hand. . . As many of you know and several more of you experienced first hand, BOX held a tailgate for the spring football game this Saturday. I, for one, usually experience tailgate withdrawals all of second semester, so I was ecstatic at the prospect of waking up at 5:30 once again to get drunk and perhaps stumble down the street to celebrate our beloved Wolverines and make an embarassment of myself in front of some alumni and elders at the Big House.
Certainly, I enjoy every second of every minute of every football Saturday morn, from the field goal kicking, to the keg laps, to the matress jumping, and so on. But if I had to choose favorite parts of the tailgate, the time period from about 5:00 a.m. until 6:30 a.m would be a personal favorite. There's just something awesome about actually being excited when your alarm clock wakes you up from last night's binge drinking affair, because you know that you're about to go have one of the best times of your life. And there's something exciting about turning on "Gettysburg" for the first time, and, as Notorious PLC eloquently puts it, "drink some bourbon and watch our American heroes in action". Another great thing about our 5:30 start time is that only the die-hards show up this early. Again, there's something special about sharing that first morning cocktail with the extreme of the extreme tailgating enthusiasts.
While I pride myself on being one of these die-hards (and I salute everyone who was there early on Saturday and always is during the fall), I know none of us can match the audacity of one true hero who arrived here at 5:30 a.m. this Saturday. It pains me a bit to write this, because the man whom I speak of happens to be one of those Spartans from the wretches of East Lansing, but I have to give him respect where respect is due. Notorious PLC's friend Al drove all the way from State and arrived here at 5:30; I'm no math major, but I think that this means he must have left there at no later than 4:30 in the morning. . . to come to his rival's spring football game, in which we play ourselves. People who live here sometimes don't even get up that early, even if the music is blaring in their ears. I can't imagine this tailgating hero had any interest in the game, so let's just assume that he came to do some drinking. THAT is a tailgating hero in my book.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
BOX Masters: Day 1
The second annual BOX Masters beer can golf tournament is underway. Details and a leaderboard soon to follow.
Beer can golf: All you need to know is that it is golf... with a beer can replacing the golf ball, and a grill top replacing the hole. This is beer can golf.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Happenings at BOX in the Past Two Days
A List of Things that have Occurred in our House in the Past 2 Nights:
1. The Friendly Neighborhood Drunk stumbled into our abode completely annihilated and threatened The Wetness that he was going to "have sex with his girlfriend" (Mary Swanson). Mary Swanson was extremely frightened and ran into The Wetness' arms. While Mary Swanson was wimpering in terror, the Friendly Neighborhood Drunk tried to apologize repeatedly and failed every time.
2. Tonight another friend of the house came over and hit the CSI hard. He smuggled yet another 40 in his jacket and rode his bike back to his living accomodations with a giant bulge in his jacket. If he is capable of not falling off the bike and causing severe head trauma I will be a bit suprised.
3. We watched Commando with Arnold Schwarzenegger.
4. Our computer in the kitchen has had a problem for the past 5 months. The monitor simply says: "Operating System Not Found." Last night, after removing the significant components of the computer (the lingo of which I am unsure of), we now have a fully functional Kitchen Computer sans volume.
5. I heard the best joke ever:
Person A: Do you like fishsticks?
Person B: Yes
Person A: What are you some kind of gay fish?
1. The Friendly Neighborhood Drunk stumbled into our abode completely annihilated and threatened The Wetness that he was going to "have sex with his girlfriend" (Mary Swanson). Mary Swanson was extremely frightened and ran into The Wetness' arms. While Mary Swanson was wimpering in terror, the Friendly Neighborhood Drunk tried to apologize repeatedly and failed every time.
2. Tonight another friend of the house came over and hit the CSI hard. He smuggled yet another 40 in his jacket and rode his bike back to his living accomodations with a giant bulge in his jacket. If he is capable of not falling off the bike and causing severe head trauma I will be a bit suprised.
3. We watched Commando with Arnold Schwarzenegger.
4. Our computer in the kitchen has had a problem for the past 5 months. The monitor simply says: "Operating System Not Found." Last night, after removing the significant components of the computer (the lingo of which I am unsure of), we now have a fully functional Kitchen Computer sans volume.
5. I heard the best joke ever:
Person A: Do you like fishsticks?
Person B: Yes
Person A: What are you some kind of gay fish?
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Due for a Post
I would like to say a few things before I get to the "meat and potatoes" of this post. I would like to thank our neighbors Kiki and Christine for their excellent blogpost last night. Brick made a grievous error in not including them in his post: The Times They Are a Changin. I will reiterate to any follower of this blog that our neighbors at 931 have had an immense influence on this house particularly during tailgate season. One could not ask for better partners in tailgating than the girls next door and their graduation marks a sad day for State St as a whole.
Earlier in the week, BOX was challenged by our close friends that live in DKE's State St. House to a handle race. The competition occurred last night. The rules consisted of the following:
1. Both teams drink OLD CROW Bourbon
2. 5 people on a team.
3. Everyone on the team must drink the same amount of booze as the others in the same style. For example, 2 people cannot do shots while the other 3 have mixed drinks. If mixed drinks or pulls are to be utilized the same amount of alcohol must be drank be each person to the discretion of a designated referee.
4. Regardless of the speed at which the individual finishes his drink, he cannot take more alcohol until the last person on his team finishes his drink. One is only as fast as his weakest link.
5. The only time a member of a team is disqualified is if he spills or no longer remains conscious. A team can proceed with up to 2 disqualified members, but if only 2 team members are able to compete than the entire team forfeits.
6. Each team must wear uniforms.
Our team was composed of yours truly, Brick, the Friendly Neighborhood Drunk, Lenders and the Elder Lenders. The scene at about 8:40pm last night begins with Brick hugging a toilet, nursing a violent hangover. He has vomited consistently for the past 20 minutes with game time only a precious few moments away. Needless to say, his excitement to partake in the Handle Race is less than considerable. The Friendly Neighborhood Drink is 15 beers deep already, but his outrageous tolerance and appetite for drunkenness makes him look more sober than me and I've drunk nothing all day. Lenders and the Elder Lenders are notorious drinkers and both have a slight buzz on, but there were suspicions about how the Elder Lenders would perform considering his worried demeanor since he had heard of the competition. Everyone on our team is wearing jerseys and absurd outfits.
DKE walks in wearing neon yellow hats with flat brims, polos, sunglasses and Olympic Gold Medals around their necks. I know at this point that their uniforms mean war. Promptly at 8:55pm EST an epic race begins as both teams pour mixed drinks and drink theirs down as fast as possible. The Friendly Neighborhood Drunk drinks his concoction in less than 5 seconds, but as the rule states he must wait until the last person on our team finishes his drink before he makes another. Meanwhile, Brick is still in the bathroom and vomits for his last time. He picks up his drink, eyes still watering, stifling a boot and he begins to consume his beverage. 22 minutes later at 9:17pm EST, BOX finished their handle and defeated DKE's warriors.
Earlier in the week, BOX was challenged by our close friends that live in DKE's State St. House to a handle race. The competition occurred last night. The rules consisted of the following:
1. Both teams drink OLD CROW Bourbon
2. 5 people on a team.
3. Everyone on the team must drink the same amount of booze as the others in the same style. For example, 2 people cannot do shots while the other 3 have mixed drinks. If mixed drinks or pulls are to be utilized the same amount of alcohol must be drank be each person to the discretion of a designated referee.
4. Regardless of the speed at which the individual finishes his drink, he cannot take more alcohol until the last person on his team finishes his drink. One is only as fast as his weakest link.
5. The only time a member of a team is disqualified is if he spills or no longer remains conscious. A team can proceed with up to 2 disqualified members, but if only 2 team members are able to compete than the entire team forfeits.
6. Each team must wear uniforms.
Our team was composed of yours truly, Brick, the Friendly Neighborhood Drunk, Lenders and the Elder Lenders. The scene at about 8:40pm last night begins with Brick hugging a toilet, nursing a violent hangover. He has vomited consistently for the past 20 minutes with game time only a precious few moments away. Needless to say, his excitement to partake in the Handle Race is less than considerable. The Friendly Neighborhood Drink is 15 beers deep already, but his outrageous tolerance and appetite for drunkenness makes him look more sober than me and I've drunk nothing all day. Lenders and the Elder Lenders are notorious drinkers and both have a slight buzz on, but there were suspicions about how the Elder Lenders would perform considering his worried demeanor since he had heard of the competition. Everyone on our team is wearing jerseys and absurd outfits.
DKE walks in wearing neon yellow hats with flat brims, polos, sunglasses and Olympic Gold Medals around their necks. I know at this point that their uniforms mean war. Promptly at 8:55pm EST an epic race begins as both teams pour mixed drinks and drink theirs down as fast as possible. The Friendly Neighborhood Drunk drinks his concoction in less than 5 seconds, but as the rule states he must wait until the last person on our team finishes his drink before he makes another. Meanwhile, Brick is still in the bathroom and vomits for his last time. He picks up his drink, eyes still watering, stifling a boot and he begins to consume his beverage. 22 minutes later at 9:17pm EST, BOX finished their handle and defeated DKE's warriors.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Re: The Times They Are A Changin'
Ok so here's my beef.
This is a once in a life time guest blog on 9 Guys 1 Cup because it is necessary.
I need to say, that 931 South State St. needs to be represented in this blog because we have made a significant contribution to the drunkeness, female (and hottness factor) on State St. for the past 2 years. We have put up with Celine Dion (and don't forget the Ping Pong song) at 5am every football Saturday, we have seen the shananigans that correlate with Fridgay, we have been there through Champagne wars, furniture demolition, beer cart, break-ins: including, Peter in said roommates bed when she was blackout, Paul bleeding on our floor, Brick stomping furiously down State Street, Al wearing unbearably short (size 0) shorts, and B Russ honking to show our tits while drinking on the roof while driving the UofM bus.
Therefore, I feel this blog post is justified.
You will miss us more than anyone on this block and the boys moving in next year could never live up to us. They have some big high heels to fill.
Brick-
You wrote the post that denyed our existence on State Street. Therefore you are on State Street probation. This means that the girls of 931 will forever ignore YOUR existence until you write a rebuttal post acknowledging the fabulousess that is our house. I thought we were friends and im thoroughly disappointed in our obvious lack of friendship. I am saddened that upon our graduation we have to also deal with this horrible reality.
I expect a new post soon.
We love you so please don't make us do something we don't want to. And yes, this is a threat.
Bricky/BOX
We will never forget you no matter how hard we try, for Celine Dion will forever play in our heads at 5am out in the working/real world.
xoxo
Kiki/Christine and the beautiful reps of 931 South State Street. Holla.
This is a once in a life time guest blog on 9 Guys 1 Cup because it is necessary.
I need to say, that 931 South State St. needs to be represented in this blog because we have made a significant contribution to the drunkeness, female (and hottness factor) on State St. for the past 2 years. We have put up with Celine Dion (and don't forget the Ping Pong song) at 5am every football Saturday, we have seen the shananigans that correlate with Fridgay, we have been there through Champagne wars, furniture demolition, beer cart, break-ins: including, Peter in said roommates bed when she was blackout, Paul bleeding on our floor, Brick stomping furiously down State Street, Al wearing unbearably short (size 0) shorts, and B Russ honking to show our tits while drinking on the roof while driving the UofM bus.
Therefore, I feel this blog post is justified.
You will miss us more than anyone on this block and the boys moving in next year could never live up to us. They have some big high heels to fill.
Brick-
You wrote the post that denyed our existence on State Street. Therefore you are on State Street probation. This means that the girls of 931 will forever ignore YOUR existence until you write a rebuttal post acknowledging the fabulousess that is our house. I thought we were friends and im thoroughly disappointed in our obvious lack of friendship. I am saddened that upon our graduation we have to also deal with this horrible reality.
I expect a new post soon.
We love you so please don't make us do something we don't want to. And yes, this is a threat.
Bricky/BOX
We will never forget you no matter how hard we try, for Celine Dion will forever play in our heads at 5am out in the working/real world.
xoxo
Kiki/Christine and the beautiful reps of 931 South State Street. Holla.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
The Gamble
So, as I am now of the United States legal drinking age, I have been frequenting the bars quite often as of late. Good Time Charley's on Thursday afternoons has been a particular place of interest for me these past two weeks. So forgive me if this post is poorly constructed, but I've been giving this post a lot of though lately and now's as good a time as any.
Anyways. . . Drinking problems. In reality, I believe that anyone (including myself) that believes they have a drinking problem is mistaken. In actuality, a drinking problem is really a gambling problem. Let me explain.
I don't love to drink so much because I love alcohol. Well, I do love alcohol, but that's another story. But really, the reason I love blacking out is because it is a gamble of life.
Blacking out: "It's like gambling somehow. You go out for a night of drinking and you don't know where you're going to end up the next day. It could work out good or it could be disastrous. It's like the throw of the dice." - one of my personal heroes, Jim Morrison.
It's just so true. The real reason I enjoy blacking out is because it offers me an alternative to reality. If I chose to live in reality, like so many boring people do, I would wake up in the same place every day, probably numb to my surroundings and numb to the fact that I'm pissing my life away doing exactly what society wants me to do.
When I black out, I can transcend reality. I never know where, how, or with who I'm going to wake up. Don't get me wrong, blacking out certainly has two sides.
The Great Blackout Morning Wake-Up
You wake up still drunk. These glorious morns, you are the god of your own universe. If you're real lucky, there is some leftover vodka in the handle from last night, and you can make yourself a fresh morning cocktail. Perhaps you have even been lucky enough to find yourself spooning with a girl that is above a 3. This will be the perfect start to the perfect day, because, in most cases, this will lead to an all day drinking affair (in which case you will never feel bad today). These days make up about 50% of your blackout mornings, and you should treasure these days, because the other 50% is miserable.
The Dreadful Blackout Morning Wake-Up
Owwwwwwwwwww..... Unfortunately, the dreadful morning blackout is a realistic portion of society. These days you will feel like you don't deserve to be a real human being. You will feel like you have let your mother down 1000 x over. You will feel like you need to stop drinking for at least 2 months. Perhaps you have even woken up next to Shrek's wife. This is horrible, right?
Wrong, reader. I'm here to reassure you that these days are neccesarry. If we woke up every day still drunk, what fun would it be to blackout all the time? It wouldn't be any fun. In fact, we would just be like all the "real" people in society who wake up feeling the same way everyday. The dreadful blackout morning wake-up gives us variety, spice in life. Without these days, us alcoholics would just be like the every day man who works 40 hours a week and has no conception of what "carpe diem" means.
So, fellow alchy, the next time you wake up feeling like you aught to turn yourself into the local rehab center, just remember: "it's better to be absolutely ridiculous, than boring." Indeed, did anyone ever write a history book about someone who lived an average life? I don't think so. Actually, most famous alcho's have been writers, and have a venerable history (all of my favorites: Hemingway, Kerouac, Faulkner, H.S. Thompson, Dylan, Poe, etc.). Drink on.
Love,
Brickstreet.
Anyways. . . Drinking problems. In reality, I believe that anyone (including myself) that believes they have a drinking problem is mistaken. In actuality, a drinking problem is really a gambling problem. Let me explain.
I don't love to drink so much because I love alcohol. Well, I do love alcohol, but that's another story. But really, the reason I love blacking out is because it is a gamble of life.
Blacking out: "It's like gambling somehow. You go out for a night of drinking and you don't know where you're going to end up the next day. It could work out good or it could be disastrous. It's like the throw of the dice." - one of my personal heroes, Jim Morrison.
It's just so true. The real reason I enjoy blacking out is because it offers me an alternative to reality. If I chose to live in reality, like so many boring people do, I would wake up in the same place every day, probably numb to my surroundings and numb to the fact that I'm pissing my life away doing exactly what society wants me to do.
When I black out, I can transcend reality. I never know where, how, or with who I'm going to wake up. Don't get me wrong, blacking out certainly has two sides.
The Great Blackout Morning Wake-Up
You wake up still drunk. These glorious morns, you are the god of your own universe. If you're real lucky, there is some leftover vodka in the handle from last night, and you can make yourself a fresh morning cocktail. Perhaps you have even been lucky enough to find yourself spooning with a girl that is above a 3. This will be the perfect start to the perfect day, because, in most cases, this will lead to an all day drinking affair (in which case you will never feel bad today). These days make up about 50% of your blackout mornings, and you should treasure these days, because the other 50% is miserable.
The Dreadful Blackout Morning Wake-Up
Owwwwwwwwwww..... Unfortunately, the dreadful morning blackout is a realistic portion of society. These days you will feel like you don't deserve to be a real human being. You will feel like you have let your mother down 1000 x over. You will feel like you need to stop drinking for at least 2 months. Perhaps you have even woken up next to Shrek's wife. This is horrible, right?
Wrong, reader. I'm here to reassure you that these days are neccesarry. If we woke up every day still drunk, what fun would it be to blackout all the time? It wouldn't be any fun. In fact, we would just be like all the "real" people in society who wake up feeling the same way everyday. The dreadful blackout morning wake-up gives us variety, spice in life. Without these days, us alcoholics would just be like the every day man who works 40 hours a week and has no conception of what "carpe diem" means.
So, fellow alchy, the next time you wake up feeling like you aught to turn yourself into the local rehab center, just remember: "it's better to be absolutely ridiculous, than boring." Indeed, did anyone ever write a history book about someone who lived an average life? I don't think so. Actually, most famous alcho's have been writers, and have a venerable history (all of my favorites: Hemingway, Kerouac, Faulkner, H.S. Thompson, Dylan, Poe, etc.). Drink on.
Love,
Brickstreet.
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