The O goes winning! O Yeah!

Despite overall team behavior dangerously and obviously not organized by Soberding's accountant-watch, The O and the Crush took power for the 32nd year in a row, defecating all over San Franciscan dreams in the process.  This year was peculiar, however, in the horribly negligent process in which we went about our way in securing the W.  Honestly, it must have seemed like we were hung over.  Thirty seconds before the gun sounded, Chopkins could be found frolicking around a nearby meadow and "couldn't be bothered" by that individual crown he was to secure.  Big Bob forgot that he didn't forget his singlet, and proceeded to rip the sleeves off of Ascott's long sleeve in order to at least be a blue-collar badass, if not disqualified.  Ascott failed to "proper tie" his shoe, which became untied about 200m into the foray.  Kip City's leg, like the shoelace, decided it didn't really want to serve its function, and it just kind of stopped working.


But what a save by Snowdi, who was rewarded by treats (shitty pretzels) being thrust between airplane seats for him to secure by means of jutting his lips out and thus reeling in the goods.

As meek as The O is, we secured an interview, asking how he won his race (something along the lines of): "Yeh, I did'nt realize I was allowed to do that.  I thought that if I beat the bloody Yanks in a footrace, the guys would'nt like me.  When I saw Kip City bugger off I figured it was bloody well time to, well you know, actually try for the first time this season.  MMmm!"  He proceeded to observe things no one else paid attention to while making sounds of interest.

Friday, while you were gone...

Well after last night the Mansion lies in ruin:  C-Mac was apparently concussed while ironically trying to avoid any trouble.  The front doorknob to the abode is loudly missing, leaving a large hole the size of... well, you know, peering into the depths of destruction.  Also - the very sturdy and unbreakable kitchen table is... broken after crippling under mere weight of 3 dancing girls.  What a mess.

As for the Track House, perhaps known as the Retirement Home for this year due to influx of old people/one negligent and flamboyant caretaker... There is slight evidence suggesting our team either doesn't know how to handle co-ed situations, or Pussyhands ruined a perfect bro-out sesh last night.  According to the kid with floppy hands, there were a ton of bros just chillin n' shit here last night when many "like, really hot girls" made the bold decision to cross the threshold of our front door.

DJ was in a proper state of mind, and probably sensed the shift in aroma as it drifted from the familiar "Wow, it smells like this entire carpet has been used as a toilet" to "Did some girls just walk in and ruin this brofest?"  At any rate, he hastily led a mass exodus of bros out of our house, leaving Pussyhands to walk into his bedroom, close the door, and giggle at very high decibels about Glee, Pattycake, and fun to be had while baking.  I'm not sure whose side to be on, DJ's, or.... I don't know.  Tarry's I guess?  What actually happened?  (comments)

Weekend Lines

Don't get the wrong idea from the title.  We, well at least most of us, are saving that kind of behavior for the night of November 29 and on.  Grape Crushers are out for blood seeking #32 straight this weekend in California, Tarry thinks he's having a secret party in our house that he hasn't mentioned, and there's Halloween, which has the Brits totally bamboozled.

Spread:
Our house being a terrible, smelly venue that no one wants to be at (-7) vs. Pussyhands having a real party.
RC getting worked up about mischief solely based on the fact that it's Halloween weekend (-14) vs. Satisfaction/Calmness from #32.
Various displays of old man strength (-9) vs. Adversity

Over/Under:
Seconds Kip City has to get weird at the finish line before 2nd place: 36
British citizens having way more fun than they thought they would while still not having any idea what's going on: 0.5
Domino's orders: 3.5

Horribly Awesome Movies

While riding our luxury bus back from Fernhill on Tuesday someone mentioned that that chixses thought Ascott looked a lot like John Mayer.  Well... John Mayer is a giant.  Have you seen that guy?  The dude's 6'3''.  At any rate it got everyone making casting calls.  There were some obvious ones like Cheech to Garse, RC to Marky Mark, and Kip City to Samuel L.  There were also some risky ones like me to Johnny Rico and FPJ to our very own DP.

The Johnny Rico reference had me longing to see myself in action, mostly because I still remember my mom trying to cover my eyes from that shower scene.  But I also remember all the cool special effects and guns, I think.  Well, I highly recommend watching this movie to everyone on our team.  I think there's something to be learned about the lesson of being a citizen rather than a civilian, and when a gigantic asteroid destroys only Buenos Aires, but none of the surrounding area, we should know who to blame.

Top Gun - another classic worth watching again*.  This was awesome for the special effects (everyone loved fighter jets) which was enough to take a child's fickle attention away from the obviously real plot of gay companionship

I'm still trying to figure out how Twilight is making its money (95% profits from Boxcar, I assume).

*To our Euros - I guess it'd be the first time you watch it.  My understanding is that those movies have yet to be released over in Europe.  Which may explain why you have such horrible taste.  Who doesn't like cheese?  Not including RC, who doesn't like anything that doesn't grow in his front yard/New Seasons.

NBA Fantasy League

With teams like Ron Artesticles, LebRon Jeremy, The Durantula, and... well... Quack, among others, it's sure to be competitive league.  Suffice it to say I'm calling myself the dark horse to win it all, seeing as how I have no fucking idea what I'm doing, but this will be supplemented with copious amounts of free time.  All I'll really have to do is take maybe an hour of random T.V. watching a day and focus it to watching basketball as I update my dynasty that is sure to conquer.  I'll be ruining Lady Geiga's team in no time, but I'm also 100% positive that I'm going to lose every match-up during the first 4 weeks while I get my feet wet.

The draft is set for tonight at 8 PM, which is perfectly timed to allow me to consolidate my notes (from one illegible post-it note with lines/numbers going everywhere) just after getting out of class, and to delay dinner to an unhealthy time of around 10 PM or so.  Awesome.

C-Mac and his slanging roommate (rumored currently to be in Mexico) have been invited to the league but have yet to sign up.  This could be for a number of reasons:

• C-Mac's Bellevue agenda forces him to learn more about WA high school athletics than anything else.  Like setting up a fantasy team, something Quack easily managed.
• The Slanger actually is in Mexico becoming a better slanger.  Probably not, but hey, at least it's legitimately impressive now.
• C-Mac really does know so much about real sports and by joining the fantasy league at the very last second (5 minutes ago) he will have some unforeseen (at least by the rest of us) benefits

We'll see how this turns out.  Likely nothing to be said on this topic again until February, or unless I start destroying people.

Old but spry

I'm not talking about myself.  I'm "old" but definitely not spry.  Did you see me trying to get up that first hill today?  Jesus christ, I felt like I needed surgery and a nap.  What I'm talking about right now are old dudes like Tony Bennett, who actually just hit the high note at the end of "God Bless America" in the 7th inning stretch of the World Series.  What a guy.  Totally had me leaning forward maybe an inch in disbelief as I felt the build-up to that note.  If my running talent ages similarly to that guy's singing talent (dude's 84 years old...), I'd be looking at a sub-14 5k at his age.  Yes, I would actually improve.

T Benny isn't the only one.  Perhaps you've noticed the badass World War II veteran hanging out with us these past few days.  Either that or you're completely insensitive to one of the greatest mustaches I've ever seen.  Ole Al, 88 years old, started his walk today on Leif undoubtedly way faster than I started my gimp up Cannon. He then told us stories on the ride home about how he got to work for the San Francisco Giants, a good, typical old-fashioned dream he once had that came true like all childhood dreams that old people have.  Unlike any of our dreams.  Which makes me think... I bet his dream was actually to work for the 49ers, but he adjusted his "dream" to make a better story.  As an elderly person, he certainly feels pressure to provide us young chaps with mildly entertaining and optimistic tales of how everything will work out. 

... Anyway.  Al's great.  I'm pretty sure he told us today that Barry Bonds's dad was the biggest asshole he ever met, and that Barry was a huge brat.  Probably with small testicles and lots of acne.  I wonder how that worked out for him.

Grape Crush Institutions: King Burrito

Although nearly impossible to find, this Mexican locale has stolen the hearts of each and every one of us with the odd exception of our beloved Garse of Mexican descent.  Huh.  I'd say that perhaps in this context he may know something we don't, but... he doesn't.  Even RC took pleasure in frequenting King Burrito with his children, buying vegan bean burritos and feeling very healthy, that is, until he all of a sudden felt very unhealthy upon learning that they supposedly use lard in their beans.

From the quarter-candy machines that some asshole stuck a nickel in, thus rendering Runts unattainable, to the cilantro and spice table filled with inedible stems, the atmosphere in KB oddly caters to all audiences.  I've seen people from every background wait in line to give that huge tatted up dude their orders.  KB holds the honor of being the first food item my significant other consumed in Portland, as she decided to forgo a gigantic box of goldfish.

At roughly half the price of a Thai Ginger dinner, Big Bob and others have been known to buy 2 burritos with intent to save one.  This plan has been foiled on numerous occasions, usually just from negligence as the 2nd King Burrito with rellenos (what exactly are those? Garse?) sits in the back of the fridge staying somehow perfectly preserved for weeks on end.  Despite this amiable preservation, no one has been yet bold enough  to actually risk their internal organs for the forgotten meal.

I just bought 3 new Glad plastic food containers, which will do nothing but provide Big Bob and Tarry new venues to store even more unknowable nasties in the fridge.

Unrelated: Pussyhands had to use scissors last night to open up a bag of tortilla chips.  Typical.

Facebook friends

Well, there's nothing better to do with my life other than update this blog and change settings on facebook because nothing interesting is happening on that site right now anyway.  Over the past month or so I've been "making lots of new friends" on facebook with the move out to Portland.  Big Bob remarked at my friends at the time (over 1300) and talked about how Soberding thought he had a lot, even though he was well under 1000.  What a n00b.  At any rate, I'm now rapidly deleting everyone that I was friends with just because they were friends with one of my ex-girlfriends from high school or because they were freshmen on the track team, who never spoke to me, during my senior year, etc.

I'm 100% positive that in some capacity this will come back to haunt me.  Who knows, maybe the cool girl in high school I just defriended (that is now, I can judge with good accuracy by her pictures, a stripper married to the owner of the club) will become my boss someday in some sick twist of fate.  In that case I can only hope I don't end up in the stripping business.  Only one person, I hope, will find that previous statement extremely hilarious/ironic. 

Do I really need to be friends with Brie Felnagle?  I don't think so.  I'm happily relinquishing my facebook friend crown to you, Soberding.  May you find happiness in being friends with that one super-creepy photo-taking stalker guy that wants to be friends with all athletes at our school.  As well as that one dude with the profile picture of a completely fake never-seen-before hot chick that will spam you for porn subscriptions.  Awesome.

Borrowing Cars/Lines

I asked Soberding to borrow his car a couple days ago to drive to the Forest and go get some VD, to which he speedily complied,  happy to help.  About... 5 hours later I brought his car back, jackassingly honking his horn at him as he stood on the porch, clearly having waited about 3 hours to have his car back.

In my defense, I couldn't help it if my significant other ran farther than Soberding that day by running a cumulative time of 2 hours, 45 minutes.  I also couldn't help the 90 minute line to get some VD.  But it got me thinking - every line has a culture and provides an opportunity to scrutinize/judge everyone around you.  That overweight couple (obviously not vegan) in line for doughnuts  -- why haven't they been killed off yet?  That sunburned redneck in line for the roller coaster wearing nothing but paint-stained basketball shorts and a beater -- why hasn't he been killed off yet?

So maybe it's not always a question of why haven't people been killed off.  Maybe I'm being too pessimistic.  But I'm pretty sure when Soberding saw me pull up in his car he thought, "Why hasn't that fucking asshole been killed off yet?  Who does he think he is, not responding to my 2 calls and 2 text messages that were perfectly and evenly timed in his absence?"  Well, I didn't have my phone on me, but that didn't make me any less of a jackass.  It did, however, provide a comical reaction upon seeing my phone and realizing how frustrated Soberding must have been.

Knowing this could have been humorous to watch unfold, I asked Pussyhands how Soberding was holding up in my, and his beloved Sebring's, absence: "Well-- yeah- he was getting really mad.  He was saying 'Dammit, he's the type of guy that would borrow my car and try to duct tape a tire when it blows.  Or get it towed and rush to fix everything, not tell me, and I'd somehow find out months later.'"  Pussyhands then made some odd craning movements with his neck while losing to the CPU at NFL Blitz, and I figured that was all I could get out of him.

Typical asshat who hates fun as he walks past a line at Cedar Point: "Why are all these people waiting for this shitty ride?"
(Link note: my personal favorite part of Cedar Point is not the Millennium Force, but rather the typical Midwest disgustingly tasty all-you-can-eat buffet that features pizza, fried chicken, burgers, pasta, and a plethora of desserts. I've somehow yet to vomit, even after tearing toward the Power Tower immediately after binging.)

Le Malde wonders why Soberding won't let him borrow his car.

The O Goes Driving!

Friday night recap:
$52 worth of gift certificates inspired a 10-person trip to Rogue Brewing, which is kind of like Papa Murphy's in that it will never become a G.C. Institution.  After I ordered 3 appetizers, a 16'' supreme pizza, and many beer flavors, my significant other as well as the other ghost couple were looking to take the Max back home.  The other party split looking to somehow find their way to Spyce, undoubtedly for that rowdy Friday night $9.99 lobster/NY Strip combo.

After getting Revolutionary Warred on and denied entry into a club because of British identification, we received a text from Chopkins asking "Where abouts getting max from?"  I took a brief moment to translate this into American to realize that he was saying "I got rejected from the bar because I'm British and would like to join your guys on your bus ride home."  This situation became pretty funny for me, as I imagined the O trying his luck at obtaining directions by communicating with local hipsters, who would surely do nothing but think he's trying to out-hip them with his fake accent and not help him in any way.

Well this kind of disturbed Xmas's ghost companion, and she made me text Chopkins saying how worried we were that he was alone and British in downtown Portland.  This text was sent only after we had successfully waited around for a while, and then boarded the Max, destroying any opportunity of meeting up with Chopkins.  A quick response came back from the O, "thanks mate, sorted now" 

What?

Somehow the tables had turned and Chopkins had already made his way home.  It was cold and wet outside and now we were the fools transferring from the Max to a grimy hipster shuttle bus oozing of some sick combination of trendy homelessness and actual hobos.  Dammit, how could this have happened, I thought as the O texted me again "well the bar wouldnt accept my british driving license id so [Frek Daddy] let me drive his car back!"  Jesus christ.  So now Chopkins must be haphazardly driving on the wrong side of the road, making intelligible squeaking noises, and becoming totally lost running red lights somewhere on the wrong side of the Willamette. 

This story could continue, but I don't really want it to.  By some act of Science, and after worthlessly waiting at New Seasons for a long while, the O somehow managed to find his way to pick up the double ghost pair, drive exactly the speed limit, partially run a red light before putting it in reverse and correcting his rubbish mistake, and finally drop everyone off safely.  We can only assume he returned Frek Daddy's car after going for a round of berries and cream and defiling the back seat.

That entire night I wore a pair of Snowdi's socks.  My feet have never felt so unsure (or sweaty, imagine our combination), but yet so secretly watched-over as if.....

Fall Break Quick Recap

Big Bob only ate Thai Ginger twice this past week, demoralizing the entire establishment as they became worried about what he was eating just to subsist.

The pizza count for me is now 9 of the last 10 days.  My dinner on Wednesday was Oreos, all I ate yesterday was Voodoo and 2 slices of leftover pizza as my diet has crumbled at the leisurely pace of Girlfriend Week.

Girlfriend week was a resounding success.  Ascott and I cast aside our ghost cloaks and made a largely public appearance on Friday night at Rogue.  Total amount of all forms money spent at Rogue by Xmas: Over $100.

Wayyy more servings of doughnuts were consumed than servings of vegetables.

Lady Geiga's attempt this weekend to share the joy of his loins with an entire room of people was unfortunately thwarted by Faubs.

Snowdi's attempt to become more spiritual and less cheese-eating was entirely dismantled as the Veggie Palace's landscaper powerfully mowed over his sweat lodge.  There was no thoughtful pause to wonder what that bump was.

Apparently Norwegian people are allergic to nuts.  Talk about an efficient way of obtaining calories tossed out the window... how embarrassing.

More to come later tonight.

Papa Murphy's

(note: Chopkins's pansy garlic bread underneath)

Not a G.C. Institution, this Papa Murphy's pizza was consumed solely by Big Bob and Xmas for dinner last night, foolhardily by Xmas before today's workout, and Big Bob just now immediately before bed.  Ouch.  I was feeling awesome last night after crushing my half of half that pizza, and thought Mosby was crazy for mentioning he was going to eat the rest of his before the workout.  After sampling the crust early this afternoon, I thought it'd be OK to just nibble a little bit more on the slice.  I mean, surely I wouldn't eat the whole thing.  It amounted to a terrible situation as I basically wasted half the slice by eating it cold while being in denial about what was actually going to happen. 

For the record, as much as I never want to eat Papa Murphy's again, I'd gladly attempt to split one of these with someone after the season is over.  Also any other absurd eating competition (voodoo tex-ass 80 seconds??).  Also on the record: this marks the fifth day in a row I've eaten pizza.  None of which... were vegan. 

Ghost mode comes into effect tomorrow.  This website will be lucky to be updated, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't check back just in case.

Snowdi seeker to further activate sweat glands

Many of us are busying ourselves in important tasks right now for fall break.  I've been playing Conker's Bad Fur Day for the last 36 hours or so.  Mosby has been relentlessly consuming food in an attempt to get ready for an upcoming date.  News has come in now that the Vanilla Gorilla has begun preparations for his sweat lodge.  It appears that he's cultivating the land behind the Snowdi Veggie Palace in order to further his Chi.  What will take place in this sweat lodge beyond simply profuse sweating and lots of naked men is yet to be known.  Whether or not it will have any spiritual effect on Snowdi, however, is already very obvious.  Being spiritual as he is and already as sweaty as he is, the only spiritual benefit Snowflake sees from this project is the satisfaction of seeing other naked dudes in his lodge.

So it comes down to this question:  What will Snowdi put in his lodge to entertainingly differentiate his new environment from the locker room showers?

Foursome at 5629

Watching East Bound & Down with Chopkins, Soberding, and Big Bob has felt extra comfortable this evening.  No Cowboy playing music upstairs stomping his feet, no Tarry shouting excessively loudly at C-Mac on the phone, clean (relative) kitchen.  It's actually peaceful here.  Some weird Marky Mark movie is playing soft music (Clint Mansell knockoff) and he's holding a child.  Chopkins is mowwing down some trail mix, Bob's workin on his thesis, Soberding is drinking a Negra Modelo and trending with his iMac. 

These days are numbered as Tarry is soon to return and think that he's discrete in never washing his dishes, asking what channel Fox is (it's always been channel 12 you goof), and having really loud freshman girls over that piss off Mosby.  That being said - I'm greatly looking forward to business as usual again when he returns tomorrow. 

We've been playing a lot of male-to-male grab-ass here (Bob - I put the $8.50 in your right ass-pocket) which will probably be curtailed on Wednesday when I become a ghost.  To achieve this, I'll need to expand upon the oreos/goldfish in my basement with proper provisions such as gallons of water, and maybe some cheetos.  Has anyone seen Ascott in the past 24 hours?

Fall Break Preview

Girlfriend week began today as Ascott's wife struggled to open an American door (automatic, side-door, Radisson hotel) in front of the coed Grape Crush bus returning from the second worst state in the Midwest.  Severe character judgments were made by WXC as Ascott greeted "HELEN" with a genuine yet brief embrace and very reasonable kiss.  I guess WXC was expecting more emotion, perhaps tongue, and general gaiety which may seem reasonable if you're Pussyhands or of a similar variety.  Otherwise, let's remember that commies only have a limited daily collective amount of happiness to be parceled out.

Some things should be obvious this week.  Ascott should be a phantom all week.  Who knows next time he sees HELEN.  Christmas break?  Do they celebrate Christmas, or is there not enough presents for everyone?  Xmas will likely become equally reclusive beginning Wednesday afternoon and The Grape Crush may go on extended hiatus.  Tarry is sure to try his best to make it sound like he doesn't care about chasing older women, while still getting his hands all tied up in a bunch at people... somehow finding out?!  Expect Cadillac to show very stern facial expressions while dancing at social gatherings.  Lem will excessively wear his new Moss jersey in an attempt to finally synchronize with Soulberding, ultimately melding into some form that doesn't take any bullshit from anyone.  Ever.

Other things remain unknown.  How many blocks of cheese will Snowdi eat?  Will the DJ grow another inch?

Exclusive Fall Break Over/Under - Big Bob meals at Thai Ginger: 3.5

Other news: At 3:30 A.M. last night T-Bar casually texted Silvester as we waited to board our 7 A.M. flight in Indy.  Classic.  Expect Silvester to not see more than 8 hours of daylight this week.

Weekend Betting Lines Results

Spreads:
Likelihood of Xmas making no adjustments to his diet (-11) absolutely shamed RC's 3-hour airplane discussion.  I've had five meals of pizza in the last three days, none of which were vegan.  I haven't eaten a vegetable in days.
5629 Remaining clean/orderly while extremely important guests arrive for fall break (-2) edged out Typical Situation with a last minute effort by Chopkins throwing 2 sinkloads of dishes into the dishwasher.  Soberding cleaned the toilet.  Gross.
Stress-free aviation plans (+7) leisurely came all over the face of Something going horribly wrong logistically for the Crushers while traveling back from IN as Xmas made a new acquaintance with a pleasant stay-at-home mother of 2 from a wealthy Seattle island.  What a fantastic woman.

Over/Unders:

Random unimportant text messages from Soberding to Big Bob/Xmas: 4.5

• Over: Big Bob claims 7 alone.  Xmas received 2 pictures of n00bs getting iced, 1 random text about cleaning the toilet, and 1 fake-random text when S0berding tried to sway the odds.

Domino's orders: 1.5

• Over: To my knowledge, 2 for sure.  Chopkins and I just smashed our respective specials, and Lady Geiga supposedly split one with Boxcar.

Days until Le Malde figures out that the team was joking when they said my mom and aunt were "partners": 0.5

•  Under: When my aunt said "That's why I'm his aunt," she kind of blew it.  She wasn't in on the prank though, otherwise Lem would be totally stressed right now about their inability to efficiently reproduce.

RC's Life

“In years past we usually have a 1-2 punch and ah, well, this year we have a ah… 1-2 punch…instead of a…1-2-3-4 punch… or whatever...” – the Boss’s night-before pep talk

“Well……. Here we are…..” – Kip City’s RC impersonation that was followed by a good 7 seconds of waiting for more that would never come

I guess I never noticed the constant head bob RC rocks any time he’s doing anything.  Sitting next to him on 3 flights was very enlightening.  At first I thought he was stressed out as he was honestly rocking back and forth like a crazy person/innocent child just staring out the window.  I asked him if everything was ok and he seemed surprised that I asked.  Big Bob then pointed out that the Boss is always rockin hard and “that’s just how he is.”

RC’s views on veganism are widely known and don’t need to be discussed (cheese causes cancer).  Actually, none of his views really need to be discussed much here (RC: there is only one Earth with absolutely no possibility for another one being in existence.  At all.).  So, I’m not going to waste any time publicly displaying the poor guy’s views (the first spears were originally not used for hunting, but collecting fruit).  But credit must be given where due, and all of his opinions (vegans don’t get cancer) have been influenced by either research studies or published works. 

Intense competition

 The Grape Crush had finally landed in Indianapolis on Thursday, after hours of RC's vegan discussions.  Of course other non-Crushers were making their excited way to Terre Haute as well.  The Crush had the pleasantry of sharing escalator moments with some Buffs.  A harmless question by AScott "Who are we following?" answered with gusto by Xmas "Some Buffs" (emphasis on the B) began an interesting square-off.  Xmas looked over his shoulder to see a random Buff with some shit-eating/just-found-out-he-loved-men look on his face and promptly continued to stare at this Buff for several moments while the Buff looked retarded.

After some time, "Sup" was called to the Buff, who was still frozen and indefinitely suffering from a total lack of any kind of human interaction until he took that dumb look off his face.  Once he realized that there was no backing down on the Crush side, he said something stupid about a "yogging competition" and then started to mumble to himself.

What an asshole.

There is still a lot to be said, but it's been busy here, so back off.  Lots of updates/making fun of Tarry to come soon.

Weekend Betting Lines

Pretty huge weekend coming up for the Crush

Spreads:
Likelihood of Xmas making no adjustments to his diet (-11) vs. RC's 3-hour airplane discussion.
5629 Remaining clean/orderly while extremely important guests arrive for fall break (-2) vs. Typical situation.
Something going horribly wrong logistically for the Crushers while traveling back from IN (-7) vs. Stress-free aviation plans.

Over/Unders:
Random unimportant text messages from Soberding to Big Bob/Xmas: 4.5
Domino's orders: 1.5
Days until Le Malde figures out that the team was joking when they said my mom and aunt were "partners": 0.5

Broloff to the Lead

After nearly 14 hours of traveling, there’s quite a bit of Grape Crush to be covered.  Not all of it will be said in this post, as the bossman has parted much knowledge on Xmas today, and it is meant for another post.  

The 14 hour journey easily could have been pretty close to 12 had Broloff not had an absolute hankering for Whole Foods that deterred our 3 deep Chevy Equinox caravan.  “Shit (Broloff)” has been said by RC at least 17 times while driving thus far, with half an hour remaining in our journey.  Why is that guy leading our caravan?  Because he has a Whole Foods-tracking GPS, apparently.

Upon arriving to Whole Foods under RC’s promise of “They’ll have all kinds of hot foods, it’s great,” Kip City found himself cheated and settled upon a banana and two bagels: “Dude they have no food here man,” he said while standing in an aisle full of groceries.  Meanwhile, Schmosby was busy spending $16 on a salad and Xmas was sampling tofu scrambled in an unappetizing assortment of RC-approved foods that were obviously sitting out for hours.  It’s been a long day, fraught with many new revelations.  Much more tomorrow.

Various Methods: Assembling Wardrobes of 5629'ers

Big Bob: Blue collar.  Doesn't own any suits/ties; borrows from Soberding when necessary.

Soberding: Trendy.  Often found in slim, but never skinny, jeans, he's got the square-rims and height to be a shoe-in for any business trying to be as hip google/apple.

Tarry Pussyhands: Questionable.  Prefers garments that  allow for freedom of wrist/hand movement.

Chopkins: British.  Anything weird or unusual anywhere outside of the UK.

5629 Cowboy:  Skateboard/spurs.  As much as clothing is a part of his outfit, so is his rig.

Xmas: Recycled.  Not a fan of laundry... these jeans look good enough...

Norseman's Efficiency Breakdown

Le Malde basically short-circuited in a crazed effort to attain the unattainable level of efficiency.
"Look at all these retards.  Carrying backpacks.  Hm."

Le Malde quickly solved this issue by deciding to only take one very small diary-style notebook (replete with random inspiring pictures) with him to cover every class.  Neatly segregating the tiny pages,15 for each class, surely, this could revolutionize note-taking forever.  Alas, when studying for theology, however - after his professors grew tired of seeing him write "Much ado about nothing" for everything - he had to shuffle through his entire jumbled diary trying to find what was said in class about gods no one has actually ever worshiped. 

"What happened?" you may be asking.  Le Malde uncharacteristically misjudged the amount of space that would be taken up by each class, and the pages inevitably began alternating between classes and his own sketches of wildlife, with the duck being a favorite of mine.  Upon realizing this error, Le Malde admitted to his national failure, and went home to construct robots.

Other news:  Xmas achieved the Invincible option in Goldeneye 64.  Suck it, Kimura.

Chopkins loses trademark hair

Chopkins takes fantastic care of his hair.  AScott chooses to do nothing with it, instead wearing a "beanie" of some sort or some fashion that no one has ever really seen before.  Both characters being of the UK variety (communists), there had to be some kind of common ground.  Naturally, the decision axe fell upon Chopkins's hair, and rightfully so.  The carefully crafted and gelled spikedness was so individualistic that it could only survive in America, or maybe only part of it. 

In typical sacrificial fashion for common betterment, Chopkins made it seem like he was really embarrassed about "messing up his hair" when he tried to cut it.  He went to great lengths proving this, wearing a neon orange Tide racing hat (implying that he he actually loved NASCAR and capitalism) and complaining about his dodgy patches. 

Oh, now look.  No coincidence that his hair, and spirit, are both crushed now underneath an oddly similar style of bonnet that AScott wears.  Dammit, we're on to you two, and I want to see the O's hair come back in full fashion.

Grape Crush Institutions: Thai Ginger

Whether you're getting sloppy take-out, or taking Soberding wining and dining, you're sure to be mildly satisfied with a meal from this locale.  Always leaving you wanting something more but filling you up so you can never complain, Thai Ginger makes you dig deep into your wallets to pay the price for their inconsistent and overly spicy chicken pad-thai medium ($8.50, or roughly 5.67 quid for those of you who don't love freedom). 

So why do we keep eating at this place?  It's a lot of food, it means we don't have to cook, and honestly for half the team now it's cheaper than the Commons.  Big Bob treated me last night for helping him with his Spanish, and it made me realize that I would never eat this schlop alone.  Sure it tastes good for the first few times, and hey - that lime you squeeze over the noodles adds some zest!  But really when all the dishes are made of the same 7 ingredients (noodles/rice, completely random amount of spice, grab-bag fake vegetables) it does get kind of old. 

However - it'll take a lot less to deter us.  As long as they're a Grade E food supplier that gives you just the right amount of edibles, we'll confusedly continue our patronage.

Weekend Betting Lines Results

Spreads:

• Reason for coach to give a third "time to get serious" speech (-5) defeated Tame behavior.  Again, RC's mood determined the outcome of this one with nothing more need be said.
• NFL Blitz mongering all free time (-20) destroyed having a productive weekend as no additions were made to the statistics formula card for Tuesday's exam.  Too busy dismantling whatever was left of Pussyhands's delicate masculinity (note: hands) by absolutely clobbering him in Blitz.  
• People being level-headed about a blog (+7) presumably upset the girls' team getting angry about things posted on here (probably this), while still not having any idea who I am.  Well, I guess the fact that they still don't have any idea who I am doesn't help me find real results for this.  But no one has approached me while cussing thus far, so... 

Over/Unders:

• Tarry making screaming phone calls at C-Mac: 1.5 Result: 0, Under.  Tarry made adjustments and became allies with C-Mac once more after wasting 3-4 hours of his time not wanting to be in the same corn maize as him.
• Bottles being unnecessarily broken outside our porch: 2.5 Result: 0, Under.  This is likely due to the fact that the 5629 Cowboy was casually drinking canned Bud 55.
• Domino's orders (I need to hear about them- Text/facebook): 1.5 Result: 3, Over.  One order each day, with Saturday being the largest, 4xStudent Special.

Big Bob's Tin

Big Bob misplaced a tin earlier this year and somewhere, a volcano exploded.  Likely, somewhere over in Japan where there is no such thing as blue-collar work.  When Big Bob discovered it was Bralph that took the tin out on loan without asking him, we had to go hide behind LeAnn Rimes to not get our shit wrecked.  Big Bob would never harm LeAnn. 

So this reoccurred this weekend when Big Daddy Bob wanted to just take it easy after a hard day's work:  "Ah yeah, fuckin' nothin better than kickin ass in a workout, eatin some steak and takin a chew.  God damn," he said as he finished his dinner and threw his svelte body into the couch, which didn't become much deformed.  You could see it in his eyes.  At first it became a curious challenge: "Hm, I thought I left my tin there," then, pestilence "Dammit I fuckin' put my tin there." Finally, the dedication: "Where the fuck is my tin?  Goddammit."

The following ten minutes of 4-person desperation-searching turned up nothing.  It was time to seek shelter once more from the wrath of Big Bob.  His lithe muscles strained as he powerfully heaved the couch cushions and hefted 2, even 3 magazines at a time in a hopeless venture.  The fright in the air was palpable.  Daddy was angry, and no one wanted to be in the way, but no one knew what to do!

Please - put an end to this.  If you can help (honestly, stop stealing his tin, it's awful), we'd all appreciate it.  Especially LeAnn.  She can only take so much.

Not very famous person seen in forest; Schnodgras defecates

If Kobe Bryant were running through Leif, D Will is very justified in going from 6 to midnight.  Prefontaine reincarnate came ambling up the trail today and Schnodgras predictably shit all over himself and nearly tackled him off the bluff all while involuntarily splooging downward into his knee-high socks.  Gross, get a hold of yourself.  If you're "famous" in our sport, keep in mind that no matter what you do, people like this will always be more famous than you, and will have way more money to spend on Thai Ginger.

Rip City marathon goes down tomorrow morning.  I'll be heckling people that still have 7 miles to go by means of dumping my dehumidifier on them and telling them there's no shame in jumping in the polluted river.  What will you be doing?

J Marc (Extremely important guest post)

The sole reason this blog exists (not me) has written a guest blog.  From the hallowed halls of Coschlumbia U. in New York City comes this guest post by the author of The Blerg, Berg:

"Last night I received a text from Xmas asking if I knew a certain former Columbia runner who is now apparently coaching at whatever school is affiliated with crushing grapes.  (You guys probably don't know that the only reason Xmas chose to continue his jogging career at your school is because he missed the purple uniforms we used to rock in high school while losing 4X8s to inferior opponents).

Anyways, let me tell you about my relationship with your current assistant coach.  I have never met him: we have no relationship.  That said--The summer after my freshman year, after getting mugged and eventually losing around 350 bucks in one very long day, I acquired a very unconvincing Portland, Maine piece of identification.  For eight months it served me well, gaining me entrance into very crowded/mostly underaged establishments where people went to shout at each other over bad music and get into fights for no reason.  Then I made one of the bigger mistakes of my life: I took a shit in a semi-public bathroom and (pocket-less) left my wallet in the stall.  Half an hour later I sprinted back, but my shit (and wallet) was gone.  One hopeless police report later and I was no longer a debit card holder, Michigan resident or Maine resident.  Alcohol procurement was out of the question.

For weeks I prayed for a miracle, and it came in the form of an expired Portland, Oregon ID with a picture of some blonde doof who was/is about six years older than I am.  Never mind that it had expired in '07, in New York all you need is a laminated flash card and you're usually money.  I embraced my new pacific northwest-identity and returned to the best that NYC's nightlife had to offer, mainly in the form of decrepit byob restaurants and cheap corner stores.

Whenever I asked a former runner or older guy on the team about the true man behind the license, they would usually just shake their head and include adjectives in their descriptions like "unpopular," "doof," "fucking idiot," and "one good season."  On a team where pretty much everyone gets along well (usually better than well), this was surprising, but given that jackass grin on my ticket to drinking, I wasn't too taken aback.

I had the ID taken away in Memphis.  Tennessee is shockingly hard on authenticity, and some huge guy with an eye-patch took the license and told me and my friends to get the hell out of town.  After several twitches from his pectorals, one very pathetic request to get our IDs back, and a few minutes of standing around feeling like shit, we obliged.  I hadn't thought about J Marc until I got the text from Xmas.  So basically, yeah, this is just a really long way of saying that your first impressions of the bro are probably accurate and if any of you want the address of the house he grew up in, I still have it memorized."

Snowdi fails at Saltines; Tarry has seizure

Snowdi was called on to attempt the Saltine Challenge to help the rest of us kill time on the strenuous ten minute bus ride back home.  He jovially obliged, despite sacrificing 15 lbs worth of sweat for this afternoon's workout and being unbelievably dehydrated with a cherry-red face.  Tarry began pounding his chest and shouting at prepubescent levels "Let's Goooooo!" and the match was on.  Cody chuckled with mirth as he began to smash on some cracker, and Tarry's hands started spelling out rare hieroglyphics never before seen (or...?) as he bounced up and down in his seat with.....Glee.....

Snowdi embarrassingly failed but - still had a great time trying! - and ended up spewing cracker all over T-Bar's world.  Tarry's hands "went out of control" as they coincidentally began to caress his neighbors' chests instead of his own.  "Snowdi - come - ooooooon!  Why can't you just eat six crackers?  It's only six crackers, Snowdi."

Weekend Betting Lines

Spreads:

• Reason for coach to give a third "time to get serious" speech (-5) over Tame behavior 
• NFL Blitz mongering all free time (-20) over Productive weekend
• Girls team getting angry about things posted on here (probably this), while still not having any idea who I am (-7) over People being level-headed about a blog.

 Over/Unders:

• Tarry making screaming phone calls at C-Mac: 1.5
•  Bottles being unnecessarily broken outside our porch: 2.5
• Domino's orders (I need to hear about them- Text/facebook): 1.5

Tarry

Tarry typically comes home in a stressed state late at night, hands/body parts jazzing out of control, only to unnecessarily remain awake for an extra couple hours.  Instead of winding down with Bill Maher (traded 6 mos. HBO for free 24-pack of Bud55), Tarry opens his computer in the living room and begins watching Glee.  Upon discovering Britney Spears is featured in this evening's show, Tarry slowly adjusts the acoustics of the house: "Do you mind if I turn the TV down?  Are you even watching this?  God, this is so annoying, why is there so much Britney Spears?"  Tarry raises the volume of his laptop/Britney Spears and begins tapping his feet to it.  "If you want me to go somewhere else, just let me know."

Enough was enough.  Yeah, do you mind going into your room with that?  Tarry began mumbling, mostly to himself, as he began moving to his room: "Isn't this annoying?  I wish they wouldn't keep playing Britney Spears.  I don't even know how she's still so popular.  Like, I could understand if you're from a different country and...." Finally his voice became muffled behind his closed door.

I turned off the TV and made moves to get to bed when the music from Tarry's room became louder than it was out in the living room.  Jesus Christ.  He's playing "baby one more time" by Britney, and this time, it's absolutely not coming from the episode of Glee he was watching.

Twins Nearly Blow Series; Ragerding Obliterates 5629

"FUUUUCK!!! WE'RE OUT OF COFFEE!!" Knowing how comical this could be, I ventured upstairs Tuesday morning to see a trademark & bashful shit-eating grin by Soberding.  He has been high-strung all week.  His precious Minnesota Twins have clowned their way into MLB postseason after six long months of wondering how poorly the Tigers will finish (exactly .500 going out on a win - good form).  After scoring a preemptive lead of 3-0 last evening, Soberding quietly left the Bang House and retired to troubled sleep.  Another episode of crushed dreams aired tonight as Granderson absolutely pummeled the baseball like it were a match-up between C-Mac and Ocho Loko. 

I haven't seen Ragerding yet, but I know he has already evolved.  I'd say it's safe to assume he hasn't been home yet considering the remote hasn't been thrown through the TV and coffee grounds aren't strewn about the house.  And LeAnn Rimes hasn't been unceremoniously relegated to the front lawn, a sure sign of Ragerding.  I really fucking hope the Twins pull this one off, I like having a working TV and a fridge that isn't somehow broken in eight different pieces with bite marks missing.

The Indefatigable Mos

Some of you may be wondering, "Wow, all the freshmen and... A.I... are now in relationships.  Hmm, that's odd."  Not at all.  Let me remind you:  Big Fuckin' Bob is single.  Now is the best time to lock down some prospect before Big Bob awakens from his stupor and goes on the hunt.  Not surprisingly, Tarry took it upon himself to seek out some dude simply because he "didn't want to feel left out." 

Cadillac and DP are on to something that others may need to consider.  Now that the Mos is out of its cage, there's no telling who its victims will be.  The least you should try to do is deter, making the womenz on campus feel like they have some sort of obligation to not be seduced by the Mos.  I can't imagine how stressed out Schnod and C-Patty must be now that their efforts have been thwarted.  Schnod: better mustache, more rebellious.  C-Patty: Not so damn creepy.  Calm down with the Mike's.  Jesus. 

If you guys are to have any hope... in... wait a second... I just realized....

The Mozz has already struck.  And evidently it doesn't mean anything if you think you "have" a girlfriend.  With roughly six feet and 135 pounds of allure, he makes for a very efficient swooping machine.

Tarry just walked in and started whining about how sore handball made him: "I didn't even know what was going on, my back is so sore right now - all the way to the top from the bottom - and balls were everywhere," or something like that.  "What is that shit and why won't it come off?" - Direct quote just now.

Brief Thought

Why are there so many homeless cats in NoPo?

One more update to come tonight.  It's been an academically busy day for Xmas.  Nine hours of class/week can be tough, Tarry.

Casual Gradual School

-Yes, you're allowed a 3 by 5 card. - Professor Easton
"And that's 3 inches by 5 inches, not 3 feet by 5 feet - I tried that!" - Grad School Class Clown
-... ... No he didn't. - Easton

This champ is in two of my three classes.  He's always the one with lots of business experience (he's like, 45 years old) that has something to say about everything.  Quick with a joke at the expense of interrupting the professor, he sometimes get laughs, mostly  from himself.  Main differences between this clown and an undergraduate clown are very obvious.  He's at least 20 years older, much less optimistic about life (jokes = insecure front), and always wears a suit.  His name is Jeff and he's always fucking swiveling in his chair chewing on a pen.  He's still single, but that's just like the undergrad.

Compare Jeff to that One Kid in Spanish class.  The one that rolls his tongue really well (what.) and jokes around with the teacher in Spanish, likely talking trash about how you pronounce your rr's or some bullshit that Big Bob never took the time to care about.  Now that I think about it, I imagine having class with A.I. is a lot like this.  Except instead of telling jokes, he probably just mocks all the unbelievable retards that answer questions incorrectly.  Ha, morons.

Woeful Detroit

Tonight's preseason matchup between the Pistons and the Heat has drawn much media attention as this is the first time the "Big 3" will be playing together.  Despite being a preseason game, and despite the fact that everyone hates Lebron James now except bandwagoners (Silvey), I'm sure many GC'ers will be tuning in.  With the fantasy draft this Sunday (4:30 PM), Chopkins should be shitting himself crazy right now just trying to figure out what a power forward is.  They don't have basketball in the UK, right?

It's no secret that this nation is trying to seal the deal on Detroit's ultimate crumbling.  Not only are the Lions indefinitely bogged down with the Ford family, but now LeBoshAne are about to go Harlem Globetrotting on the Pistons.  Dammit.  You can never take Datsyuk away from us.

Other news: JgaMayn apparently confused the set agenda over the weekend.  I never said try to go through the window of a bar, trying to get into the dance.  You silly guy, you.

Weekend Betting Lines: Results

Here are the results from this weekend.  If you don't know how betting works, I'm not going to teach you.

Winners are boldly underlined.

Spreads:
Half the team's combined pursuit (-30) vs. Charlie's Triumph with S.U.F.G. (Huge upset, not sure whether to commend C-Mac for pulling this one off, or to be disappointed in others' failure to utilize teamwork.)
Post-Willamette debauchery (-10 now after RC's talk.  Otherwise, -45) vs. Tame Saturday evening (No details needed on this one.  This outcome was based solely on RC's demeanor Sunday morning.  Yikes.)
Team G.C. (-18) vs. Combined team of all other individuals at Willamette (sure G.C. beat the combined team, but only by 6.  Would have needed a lot of displacement to get 18.)
Restless nights staring at the ceiling (-25) vs. Xmas sleeping soundly (Although I only got 5 hours of sleep Friday night, my window is currently broken/cannot be closed.  With an influx of cold temperatures, I'm beginning to finally get timely rest.)

Over/Under:
Grape Crushers under 25 minutes:  15 - EVEN.  Exactly 15 (including Frosh) GCers finished under 25 minutes with 3 more unbelievably close.
People that forget Sunday practice is at 8:30: 1.5 - OVER.  JgaMan (...) and St. Thomas missed the boat on that one.
Domino's Orders (extremely relevant, but straight from The Blerg): 2.5 - UNDER.  I speculate there were more, but I only know of one placed by Cwhan in time of need.

Banqueting - 2nd Guest Post

 

 DJ's heartfelt message (best post yet) predictably inspired others to speak their minds.  Here, T-Bar breaks down this evening's supper.

"As we all sat well-groomed amongst the other sports teams during the athletic banquet I found myself entranced in my comrades styles and swagger. Here are some of my observations that I jotted down in my mental notebook when I wasn’t bullshitting with RC.

English Gentlemen- Although AScott seems unassuming while sporting some combination consisting off cross country shirt, grey hipster beanie, and camouflage shorts, he cleans up well. Walking over to the Chiles I thought I was amongst the company of James Bond. I’m not really sure about the hair straightening though.

Zombieland- A.I. took particular pleasure in his evening to shine. While racking up the hardware you couldn’t tell if he was really pissed off or just “fucking goddamn tired”. Perhaps he was plotting a way to torture Charlie into following him on the next Sunday long run. Or maybe he had some erectile difficulties with a certain lady friend. Who knows?

Bethany McCinturff- Or should I say lack there of. As we all enjoyed our crusty enchiladas she was busy with her nose in her books, no doubt angered by Marit’s academic prevail. Let’s all hope she’s mentally alright after that stunning upset.

Sinatra looked like a hobo- JBass made sure to put us all to shame with his snappy tuxedo (or whatever the hell that was) and his fashionably late entrance. The golden boy was looking sharp!

Squilliam C.- As his guilty looks sent a lot of questions through the air, there was surely only one thing on his mind. “She better have swallowed that fucking pill.”

RC - In traditional brown western button up and semi-spandex khaki-like pants, RC was his normal witty self. Questioning among a variety of things, if Sean Thomas banged that one Soccer chick.

Back to the Basics- Garse: Greasy hair, boating shoes, cross country sweatshirt…basketball shorts? The usual.

I would enjoy writing more but I think it’s time for a library sesh. I hope Charlie and S.R.F.G.  (Significantly Remarkable Freshman Girl) are not around.

Yours truly,

T-Bar"

Xmas note: Chopkins devoured 8 "biscuits" and 2 brownies.  Welcome to America.  You'll be eating cheese soon enough.