So here's a little random video we took in a study lounge.
Male nurse K-Mart thought Pistol Pete looked a little dehydrated and under the weather after a rough and rowdy weekend, so he decided to juice him up with a little intravenous saline.
This may or may not be for the faint of heart.
1/31/10
1/30/10
1/27/10
The Bulleted List, January 27
Things Hurrican Brien Has Promised to Bring This Weekend
- the perfect storm
- the thunder
- a lightning bolt
- a lot of wind
- a cat meowing
- a storm that is somehow more perfect than the perfect storm
- a spinning motion with his index finger
Labels:
the bulleted list
1/21/10
Big Moments, Part 3

For awhile I debated about including this next Big Moment in the series because I feared it would make me seem like the degenerate, deadbeat drunk I've been trying to be less and less in the recent months. Then I realized you can't run from the past. Even if I'm not the sputtering, stumbledrunk of yestermonth, I was that person at some point and it helped making me the quietly muttering, sitdown drunk I am today. So, with personal reflection aside, I present Big Moment 3, 'The First Time I Drank Key Ice'
It was February 2008, a month many will remember for giving us such humanity-improvers such as, well, pretty much nothing. However, for one young college freshmen, the world was about to be rocked. I believe I was at a party, some type of mass bro-out, getting weird sort of thing. Lot's of beers were being crushed, raucous laughter filled the air and a general fratitude pervaded the air. There was enough testosterone in the air to sprout chest hair on even the lily whitest young lad. Amidst this jubiliant boisterousness, a friend of our we'll call Hurricane Brien walked, or moreso, drunkenly hobbled up to me.
Before I go any further, we should take a quick note on the life of Hurrican Brien. He is a disaster. He has been known to blackout on a whim and roar through an establishment with the kind of shouting, teeth-gnashing bravado reserved only for the much too drunk. He once took a TV--around which several people gathered, watching a movie--and thrown it unceremoniously out a 3rd floor window because someone said 'he was too big a pussy to do it'. He has thrown bricks at people, woken up in strange garages, and berated a bartender for not knowing how to mix the purely imaginational 'Strawberry'.
On this night, however, Hurrican Brien wasn't acting as agent of chaos, but as a bearer of good things. In his deep state of inebriation, Brien stumbled to me and held out a can of Key Ice, offering, 'You wanna beer?' I took the can in my hand, tossing my empty Natty Light can on the floor. What is this? I thought. The can was sleek and black, I thought it might be European. I cracked it open and sipped. It tasted different from regular Keystone. Something I couldn't put my finger on. On I drank. In my child-like wonder, I asked Brien what the difference between Key Ice and Key Light was. Hurrican Brien responded, a true scholar, 'Ice has more fuckin' booze in it, man!'
This shook my foundations. There was a beer out there with MORE booze in it? This is the best idea any one has ever had. I began lapping up Key Ice with gusto, and soon learned that while Key Ice has more booze than your average beer, it also posesses an unknown ingredient that can turn the mildest-mannered of men into a raving, semi-violent maniac. It brings out the beast in the best of guys, it is truly a substance that can make or break your night, week, month or life. Stupidity thrives in the grip of a Key Ice frenzy. On another semi-important note, the night I 'enjoyed' my first Key Ice was also one of my inaugural lessons in the science of Alcohol By Volume, or, ABV. Now, my knowledge of ABV is a curse and blessing, as I can be seen standing in a liquor store, seemingly endlessy, taking down bottles and reading the ABV, making sure I get enough bang for my buck.
The First Time I Drank Key Ice was indeed a big moment for me, as it closed the casual drinker chapter of my life and opened up the section on being a full fledged rageoholic.
Labels:
Big Moments
1/20/10
Vampire Weekend - Contra
A little bit late on posting this, but oh well. Stream the new Vampire Weekend album Contra right here on 31st & Chi. Enjoy.
Labels:
Vampire Weekend
1/13/10
The Bulleted List, January 14
Alternatives to 'Gym, Tan, Laundry'
- drink, puke, cry
- eat, watch TV, eat
- shower, shave, wait
- Xbox, eHarmony, depression
Labels:
the bulleted list
1/4/10
The Bulleted List, January 4
Reasons Why My Sims Character is Cooler Than Me
- rides his bike to work
- gardens in his tuxedo
- has six girlfriends
- gets drunk with his robot butler
- midnight swims in his pool
- throws awesome dinner parties
- does not live with parents
Labels:
the bulleted list
Big Moments, Part 2
This next tale of my formative years brings us to the winter of my 13th year. 7th grade, what a glorious time. The particular event on which we will dwell was a wellspring of the very essence that grips me to this day. Yes, dear reader, this big moment is 'The First Time I Bro-ed Out With the Boys".
This tale begins, unassumingly enough, on a church youth group ski trip. Before I go any further, it is imperative that the reader know that my hometown is on the cashing end of some sort of bizarre genetic jackpot where everyone had sons and no daughters. In my youth, there were four families all with four sons living within a ten mile radius of each other. Every now and then someone managed to have a girl, but these tend to look like boys anyways. So, I continue, this ski trip was set upon with my original crew of tween bros. There were 8 of us, I believe, on that fateful Saturday, and we set out in a convoy of Chevy Suburbans and Dodge Caravans, headed for Laramie, Wyoming. After a day of talentless and graceless skiing, we set to return home. But providence held something else in store. Yes, the winds were blowing that day, the winds of new discovery and burgeoning manhood. Oh, and they were blowing a bigass snow storm towards Laramie, too. As our noble drivers tried to navigate the perilous blizzard, their actions grew more and more futile. The storm was too bad. We were snowed in. We'd have to stay in Cheyenne.
This was the most momentous news of our young lives. Us? Stay in Cheyenne? Why, this gaggle of 8 very eligible bachelors would be staying--only semi-supervised--in the classy digs of the Cheyenne Holiday Inn? This was it. This was our chance to break our small town bonds of continual parental supervision, our chance to spread our wings, our chance to fly! Oh, and fly we did. We ran rampant--or at least what at 13 seems rampant--over that hotel. We jumped in the pool in our underwear. We filled our bathtub full of ice and tried to throw someone in. We jumped on the bed and watched the dirty late night shows on HBO! However, the Bedlam drew to a somber close around the unheard hour of 2 am when, amidst the disarray of frenzied juvenescence, a lamp was broken. This was very serious to us, and we spent the better part of the next hour concocting a fool proof alibi. One of us was a sleepwalker and had broken the lamp in an intrepid bout of nocturnal locomotion. This would surely convince them of our innocence!
The broken lamp certainly dampered the rest of the night, and some of us lay sleepless worrying of the broken lamps long term reprecussions. We walked out of that hotel to the cleared interstate the next day filled with a new emotion. This was the first time we had known a regrettable morning after a night of wanton mayhem. We were charged from our boisterous antics but leary of the consequences of our rough shenanigans. And while nothing ever became of the broken lamp, that day would always be remembered as 'The First Time I Bro-ed Out With the Boys'.
This tale begins, unassumingly enough, on a church youth group ski trip. Before I go any further, it is imperative that the reader know that my hometown is on the cashing end of some sort of bizarre genetic jackpot where everyone had sons and no daughters. In my youth, there were four families all with four sons living within a ten mile radius of each other. Every now and then someone managed to have a girl, but these tend to look like boys anyways. So, I continue, this ski trip was set upon with my original crew of tween bros. There were 8 of us, I believe, on that fateful Saturday, and we set out in a convoy of Chevy Suburbans and Dodge Caravans, headed for Laramie, Wyoming. After a day of talentless and graceless skiing, we set to return home. But providence held something else in store. Yes, the winds were blowing that day, the winds of new discovery and burgeoning manhood. Oh, and they were blowing a bigass snow storm towards Laramie, too. As our noble drivers tried to navigate the perilous blizzard, their actions grew more and more futile. The storm was too bad. We were snowed in. We'd have to stay in Cheyenne.
This was the most momentous news of our young lives. Us? Stay in Cheyenne? Why, this gaggle of 8 very eligible bachelors would be staying--only semi-supervised--in the classy digs of the Cheyenne Holiday Inn? This was it. This was our chance to break our small town bonds of continual parental supervision, our chance to spread our wings, our chance to fly! Oh, and fly we did. We ran rampant--or at least what at 13 seems rampant--over that hotel. We jumped in the pool in our underwear. We filled our bathtub full of ice and tried to throw someone in. We jumped on the bed and watched the dirty late night shows on HBO! However, the Bedlam drew to a somber close around the unheard hour of 2 am when, amidst the disarray of frenzied juvenescence, a lamp was broken. This was very serious to us, and we spent the better part of the next hour concocting a fool proof alibi. One of us was a sleepwalker and had broken the lamp in an intrepid bout of nocturnal locomotion. This would surely convince them of our innocence!
The broken lamp certainly dampered the rest of the night, and some of us lay sleepless worrying of the broken lamps long term reprecussions. We walked out of that hotel to the cleared interstate the next day filled with a new emotion. This was the first time we had known a regrettable morning after a night of wanton mayhem. We were charged from our boisterous antics but leary of the consequences of our rough shenanigans. And while nothing ever became of the broken lamp, that day would always be remembered as 'The First Time I Bro-ed Out With the Boys'.
Labels:
Big Moments
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