Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome back into another lovely Happy Hour. Heading back to my old stomping ground was a most excellent trip, especially since this is the first year my Richmond Spiders play in an on- campus football stadium.
After crushing Towson last weekend, my official Homecoming record for 2010 stands at 1-1. Now, if the Gators manage to get their shit together and beat the Georgia Mutts this weekend, everything will be dandy on Planet Puck.
This week has been spent trying to work off the vicious hangover I received from a weekend of partying in Richmond. This hangover developed from a three day binge that I will attempt to describe. Thursday evening was a pretty standard affair, pounding “The People’s Beer of Richmond”(PBR) while also alternating between Car Bombs and shots of Jameson. Friday evening was again a shit show, with the old gang arriving in town. Saturday is when all hell broke loose. It’s not the end of the column, but here is some extra free advice. Avoid drinking copious amounts of Everclear grain alcohol. My boy Scotty mixed up some concoction he called “Riot Punch.” Essentially, this is some mixture of Grain Alcohol, Purple Drank, Gatorade, and water. I really have no idea how to make it, but it tastes fan-fucking-tastic. Two glasses of that stuff at a tailgate gets you a solid 3am drunk in a hurry. While the entire gang was partying hard all day, the real trouble set in at about 4 A.M. At that point, the only thing left to drink in the house was more Everclear. A grain alcohol screwdriver is not something you want to wake up remembering. Hell, mostly, you just hope to wake up after drinking one of those.
Just to wrap up my feelings on the weekend, I need to make some things clear for the women out there. All men, including myself, are pigs. Many of us control it 90% of the time, but occasionally, we turn into sex crazed Hulks that will sleep with anyone and anything. It’s not our fault; we can’t control our DNA, that’s just the way it is. As a man, I can tell you with absolute certainty that after 3 beers the only things we think about are breasts, muscle cars, football (either kind), bacon, and more breasts. Sure, some guys are not as bad as others, but we all know you’re not really interested in them, or else you wouldn’t be going home with the muscle head in the leather jacket and pierced nipples that only compliments you on the shape of your ass. That said, when a guy calls you at 3 am and asks you to come to his place, you know exactly what he wants. He is not calling you over to play checkers and watch episodes of “My So Called Life”, he is calling you to play of game of, “Here Quick Hide This!” Furthermore, don’t act surprised when the guy makes a move on you. Get it together out there people! Obviously, I had an
It’s time to move on to more important things in the world of soccer. As many of you have heard, Paul the Psychic Octopus has passed away. Paul quickly rose to fame for correctly predicting the outcome of every one of Germany’s World Cup matches, as well as correctly predicting Spain’s win over the Netherlands in the final. While Paul was pressured to pick the Germans to knock off the Spanish in the semi final, he stuck to his guns and proved to his fellow Germans, and the rest of the world, that he was the last Octopus you should try and fuck with.
After having a fabulous Nostradamus-like run Paul retired from the soccer predicting game to live the rest of this life hanging out in one of the most fabulous aquariums in the world. This is really a shame.
I was planning on going on a Back to the Future-type run-of-luck in sports betting to create myself an empire seeking worldwide domination. I can just imagine myself heading to Vegas with Paul in the passenger’s seat. Me and my own aquatic Rain man bringing down Vegas. Paul lived to a very lengthy life as an Octopus, a whopping 2.5 years, that’s 86 in Octopus years. There certainly will never be a squid quite like this one. All this Squid talk has really got me thinking about some Calamari. It’s time to heat up the fryer and marinara sauce.
It’s Friday so I can’t leave you without:
PUCK’s FREE ADVICE:
The midterm elections are just a few day ahead of us in the States. My roommate T-Bone and I have discovered a way to take full advantage of the endless campaign ads that will be airing over the weekend. In order to actually enjoy watching commercials and of course get incredible shit-hammered we have invented a game, actually there are just two simple rules. 1) If a political attack ad airs, slamming a member of your political party, you must slam your beer as long as the ad is on. 2) If two attack ads air back to back, regardless of the political party, finish your drink. 3) If you are an independent, go fuck yourself. Choose a side, you non-combative Northern European wannabe asshole. Follow these simple rules, I promise you will be shitfaced about one hour into your Friday afternoon.
Puck is the pop culture guru for The Yanks Are Coming. He wrote this last Thursday night, but his editors were too busy and too lazy to put the thing up on time, so they back-dated it. For this, they apologize. We hope you still found it interesting, and a little creativity can turn the attack ad game into an election-night results drinking game. You can follow Puck on twitter at @pucklovespbr.