My secretary loves crack
I am not wearing a belt today. This is problematic. You see, I got up early and went to the gym before work. This, in and of itself surprises many of you, I am sure. Regardless, I packed up my work clothes (casual Friday, you know…) and headed off. After I worked out, I took a shower. I used soap. As I got dressed, I realized that I did not bring a belt with me. Normally, my moderate heft aids in keeping my pants up, but today, the situation is a little different. I have on a this neato pair of pants that have this revolutionary new Teflon© coating on them to help with stains. Yes, any kind of stain. I also have a shirt on that I took to the cleaners and had laundered and starched. It is a fairly fine grade cotton button-down shirt. The problem arises in that I have this fairly smooth shirt tucked into these slippery-ass pants and let me tell you…things are not working out. My pants keep falling down like a fried egg flies out of Inga Grieb’s bacon-grease soaked frying pan. I think our secretary caught a little glimpse o’ me crack!

F- Canada
Not a big hockey fan, but I caught an article about our National Anthem being booed at the Islanders- Canadiens game the other night. F- those morons. Can you say, “52^nd State?” I only know like one or two Canadians and as far as I remember, they were not real bright. When I was a kid, there was this Canadian guy that, every summer, would drive from like somewhere in the taiga of Quebec down to my parents house to collect persimmons out of this tree in our yard. He apparently knew the dead people who lived there before us. He was really odd and drove a Renault and had a blue tint to his face. He was such a dick…just showing up and shaking our persimmon tree. FYI, the persimmon is a gooey, apricot like fruit sans the pit. It is like a small, silicone breast implant, but it is pink. Anyway, I’m like, “dude, those stupid ass fruits keep falling out of that tree onto my Datsun. What’s the deal?” He just ignored me and kept shaking. Parlez vous English, blue face? I thought it was cool when my parents built a deck and we had to cut down the persimmon tree. Though they did not think about it at the time, I could not wait for Jacques Thibeaut to roll in with his little fag French car and look for the persimmon tree, only to see a nice new deck built where it once stood.

I agree with Grieb, finally
Though I do not wax sentimental as much as Karl does about our college years, I was thinking today about one specific thing. It was late spring, 1994. We decided to have a party at the fabled apartment in Cedarbrook. I don’t know where we came up with this figure or what made us think we could do it, but we bought 11 f-in kegs of beer. I remember Kevin Grubb dismounting Rachel long enough to take us down to Nittany beverage and filling his little Chevy truck with 11 kegs. I also remember bringing them into the apartment and just sitting them around, in no particular pattern, to be tapped when one of the others ran out. I think we used like 900 cups that day. There were people from 28 states and 7 countries there. It was just the most surreal thing when I look back it. I remember around 11 o’clock or so at night, we sang happy birthday to someone, and just as it ended, the opening riffs of “Crackerman” by Stone Temple Pilots tore out of the speakers at the perfect time. Freehauf dove off the bar. The next morning, the sweet stench of stale beer and cigarettes still permeated the apartment. I woke up alone, wondering if it was Durff or Grubb or Matt Scott who had violated my girlfriend that night. But, I did not care. We had rocked.