Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Fake blood and you ... a pranksters guide

This story was told out in Vegas, and I cannot believe I hadn't put it up here yet. Stupid memory loss.

So some random night in Evanston, Paulie, Joe and I (I'm sure there were others there--Mueller?) proceed to tie one on. I think we started with 40s purchased across the street at D&D Ghetto Grocery, followed by caps, gravity bongs, and the 1800 Club. As an aside for those who know, 1800 Club>PURE, despite the presence of Cornelius.

So we kick it in the 1800 Club beer garden for a while, get even more plastered, and eventually head back to my apartment while committing felonious acts of vandalism.

A quick note about the apartment, because it's important later. Joe and I lived on the "garden" level of a 4-story apartment building just off NU campus. It was pretty good size for 2 people, but still fairly ghetto due its lack of windows and the general economic instability of its tenants. My bedroom featured glass double doors into the living room, which I had classily taped up with old newspapers. But we did have two TVs for some reason.

So anyway, we get back and chill to the free cable, and as per usual, Joe passes out on the couch. Not sure how it started, but Paulie and I decide to fuck with him, frankly, because we could. It was one of the most enjoyable things about my senior year -- having someone pass out on the couch every night, and messing with him at our leisure.

So anyway, I have the brilliant idea to bust out the fake blood I have left over from Halloween. I think we put some on his hand and arm. And laughed uproariously. But Joe did not wake, and eventually we passed out ourselves.

The next morning Joe awoke and found himself covered in (what he thought was) blood, so he predictably freaked the fuck out. I got you good you fucker. But this is where it gets even more ridiculous.

The alcoholic super decided this was the morning that he needed to show the apartment to 2 innocent young coeds. Joe tried to persuade him at the door, but old drunk John super was having none of it. Dadgum it, he was going to illegally show this apartment whether it was going to rent or not.

So he brings them in, past the trashed kitchen, into the living room which has 40s, caps, beer cans and probably drug paraphenalia strewn all over in the haphazard manner typical of a mini-bender.

Joe maybe still had blood on him and definitely was rocking a wife-beater covered in bacon grease. Paul was lying on the futon giggling maniacly. I, still asleep in my room, heard the commotion and burst out of the double doors in my boxers. Pretty much everybody is like, WTF is going on, except for Paulie, who is still giggling.

Needless to say no one else came to see our apartment for the rest of the year.

The kicker is the super still insisted on looking at the bedrooms, only to discover Joe's blood covered sheets.

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

Why I like Chelsea

In my 20 odd years as a Philadelphia sports fan, I have undergone all kinds of agony.

So close and yet so far: Eagles go to 4 straight NFC championship games, yet fail to win a Super Bowl. What is this, Buffalo?

Incandescent and irreplaceable:
A great player who defies description ends up leaving town without a championship after an acrimonious fallout. Witness the current saga involving Iverson. Please let him go to Miami Denver. And don't get me started on TO.

Inevitable yet frustrating: I was at a World Series game(4) at the late Veterans Stadium, where the Phillies lost 15 to 14. Followed by the inevitable Joe Carter HR in game 6. I'm just glad I was young enough when this happened that most of the negative memories have been blocked.

Mythological: '64 Phillies lose the pennant after being up 6 1/2 games with 12 to play. Chico Ruiz stealing home was the start of it all. I don't even know who Chico Ruiz is, but I hate him.

Idiotic: Within our constant anguish, Philadelphia sports fans are portrayed and seen as boorish, stupid, insane, drunk and even racist. This probably bothers me worse than anything my teams have done. After all, I can't do anything about what the Phillies or Eagles actually do on the field, but I am a philly fan and that gives me some kind of responsibility to our collective national perception, in theory.
We don't all eat cheesesteaks you stupid fucks.

ANYWAY, as I increasingly become a fan of the English Premier League (EPL), I find myself able to root for whichever team I choose. I had brief flings with Arsenal, Liverpool and Everton, but I think Chelsea is the team for me. They have won the last two EPL titles. Even the nickname given to them by their rival fans -- Chelski -- is badass.
And they have Didier Drogba, who provided the fantastic late goal that may just propel them to another league title.

It would be the first championship a team I support has ever won.

edit: they lost

Monday, December 18, 2006

Vegas baby, uhhhh Vegas?

I was going to be generous call it the "KE Kicked-off Campus Memorial Vegas bachelor party", but in lieu of recent events I think "complete abortion" is better. Damn you cop for pulling me over on my way home from the airport and issuing me a $150 citation when I have exactly $13.56 to my name. You truly are a competent public servant who I wish dead.

Despite the excessive amounts of fear and loathing on this trip, I did have a good time, I think.
For example, seeing all the peeps was fantastic. Even DJ.
Also, riding in a stretch Hummer is a frivolous expense I can handle. Even if the ride is only 6 minutes long. YEAH! /little jon
And whiskey is always good.

That said, four days in Vegas is too much. Do not deny it. By the end I was breathing out some sort of THC/nicotine-based mist and hallucinating due to sleep deprivation and over-stimulation of the senses.

But walking back from the buffet using all of my severely limited mental capabilities to keep from vomiting all over the casino was a good challenge.

I will get into more details later, but I'm tired as shit right now and need to relax to some quality television. Ok lets see ... Domino? Damn you HBO!

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

All hail the elusive bog turtle

Ah the turtle.
Truly one of natures greatest creatures.

Condiment Fight

Preface: I received some "constructive criticism" from a "reader" and apparently there isn't enough "coherent narrative" here at the old Fainting Goats. In my defense I do this for my own entertainment (read the subhead), but I'll admit that anything with a timestamp after 4 am is not to be trusted.

But anyway, back to the bread and butter that everyone craves. Thats right -- stories I can barely remember from some random time I got drunk!

I'm sure everyone has held a bottle of ketchup and thought to themselves, what if I had a food fight, except limited only to condiments? No? Well let me tell ya, it is fucking glorious and hilarious and gay.

One time at the old KE my nemesis and I returned from a luckless night at the bar.

Nemesis and I had, as was tradition, been giving each other shit all night with no other purpose than to see if we could get under each other's skin. This came to a head while we were sitting in the basement/kitchen of KE, which was stocked with assorted food products. Grantpiece and Fancy were there as well.

Fancy had, as was tradition, been gorging himself while uttering such gems as, "aaaaaahahhaha BEEF" and smearing roast beef all over his face. This required copious amounts of ketchup, mustard, probably relish, and of course Sweet Baby Ray's BBQ sauce.

At some point nemesis made some snide remark and I held a squeeze bottle of mustard at his eye in a threatening way. Said eye then got a mischievous glint that was only too familiar, and I knew it was on.

We stripped out of our bar clothes and into our skivvies cause we couldn't afford new bar clothes (Northwestern education at work), and proceded to basically spray the hell out each other (and the KE basement) with all the condiments we could get our hands on. The coup de grace was when I threw a tray of croutons at my nemesis, many of which stuck to his mustard and ketchup covered back.

Sidenote: There was a glorified janitor that worked in the KE kitchen during the day. His name was Vince and he was a big ass black dude from the south side. Vince was the man, not to mention totally nuts. He had been stabbed, shot and generally lived in the ghetto his whole life, but still put up with a bunch of privileged/drunken Northwestern frat boys on a regular basis. Probably because of the reverence we showed when he showed off his stabbing scars. Also, Vince drank 40s with us in the Kave.

After the fight, my nemesis and I decided we didn't want to make Vince clean up our horrific mess, so we did a half assed cleanup ourselves, which restored the kitchen to a state not unlike a normal night, ie there was beef and smashed fruit all over the place.

Aftermath: After getting cleaned up -- or maybe before -- all 4 of us decided it would a good idea to fuck with the 2nd floor(we lived on the 3rd and 4th floors). So we stole the partition between their two bathroom stalls and put it on the 4th floor sundeck. They didn't get it back for at least a couple months, and a few of them even said they enjoyed the double-wide bathroom stall. I should pull the same prank at work.

As far as I know, there is still mustard on the ceiling in the now boarded up KE kitchen.

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Avatar? WTF is Avatar!

I was supremely amused looking at my yahoo avatar today. For some reason my pseudo digital self is wearing a turkey suit. Not sure why I made that choice. It is disappointing that the tail obsures the alien standing next to me.

Also yahoo apparently has been tracking my fantasy sports leagues all these years, compiling everything. I had a team called Lords of the Bling in an NBA fantasy league in 2003 that somehow finished second. Thats an imaginary silver trophy lining my virtual trophy case. HIGH FIVE!

But anyway, back to avatars. For me to understand avatars I look to 2 sources:

Snow Crash: A book by Neal Stephenson, where Hiro Protagonist's avatar runs wild as a samurai sword weilding badass in the three dimensional computer created world known as the "Metaverse". This is the best science fiction book I've read, probably.

The Matrix: As Morpheus puts it -- digital representation of our physical self. This version springs directly from the users subconcience. Better put -- slaves mind. But I can't get into the Matrix, cause its pretty complicated.

So yeah, I know avatars are digital representations of computer users in a virtual world. Be them sprung from the users imagination(Snow Crash) or the subconcious(The Matrix).

While I hate to say the Matrix is not realistic -cough- Snow Crash's avatars are far closer to my turkey suit wearing jerkass.

Sunday, December 03, 2006

Bomb the system

OK sorry, I have to put this up, just be glad its not a tool video.

Also--old news, Ryan Howard IS MVP.