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.