Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome back into another lovely Happy Hour. I can’t wait for the weekend to begin. Down in Yanks Are Coming country, the Gators host LSU , so the bars will be much more crowded than they are all year, which is an enormous disad to allowing me and the gang more room for activities which may include, Golden Tee Golf, chocolate pudding wrestling, and rounds of bear, ninja, cowboy. This is quite unfortunate. Either way, Neil W. Blackmon is back in town for his birthday weekend, so it’s certain to
be a sandstorm of booze and sleep deprivation.
Before I get to the major theme of this post, I want to tell you all a story of a Friday morning two weeks ago. After getting little to no sleep all week from spending late nights on my NSF proposal, I decided Thursday night was the time to go out and celebrate its completion. Needless to say I got shit-hammered. I am not talking about your run of the mill puke and pass out drunk. I am referring to the tackle your buddy’s girlfriend drunk (sorry kt), the kind of drunk where you wake up with a tattoo of the “Little Mermaid” on your ass, the kind of drunk where the building manager has to show you the security footage to confirm it was actually you that was taking a piss in the elevator. Anyway, I wake up at 8am Friday morning, with the motivation to actually go to my office and try and get some work done. After walking back and forth from the bathroom, I realize that this may not be such a good idea. With the lights and TV on, I sat down on my bed and took a deep breath and tried to collect myself. The next time I opened my eyes it was 11:15, and I had an 11:30 class to get to. I managed to make it to class just a couple minutes late, but naturally there are no seats left but the front row. I tried to sneak in unnoticed, but my coordination was all fucked up from the awful hangover, so I kick some girl’s book bag and nearly fell on my face. When I finally get into my seat, some chick behind me says, “What is that awful smell?” I quickly turned around and let her know exactly what she was inhaling, “PBR and Old Crow Whiskey. Get Over It.” I do have to admit, I smelled like complete shit. Basically I smelled like Nick Nolte or Kansas City Wizards boss Peter Vermes look after a night of intense drunk driving. Of course the professor heard this conversation and jumped in, “PBR and Old Crow, on a Thursday night? And you made it to class; I have to say I am impressed.” At that moment, that professor received my full respect and admiration. The moral of the story here folks is simple; it’s always ok to party with PBR, as long as you make it to work the next day.
Now, let me get to what I really wanted to ask. Where did all the TYAC writers go for the past week? I know Neil tried to sugarcoat it and explain it as a “vacation”, but I figured you, the loyal readers, deserved the “E Hollywood True Story” of what actually went down. Were they sitting around their respective apartments watching Paula Cole videos on repeat? I would have never guessed that a week would go by without some actual solid soccer content being sandwiched between two happy hours, it’s
like a sandwich with no meat, the Hanson brothers without the ugly one playing drums, and it’s like watching a House Party Marathon without installments 2 and 3. That said here is the true, documented reality of what activities went down during our vacation, along with the actual whereabouts for some prominent TYAC staffers.
Jon F. Levy – Ever since the beginning of the Jewish New Year, Jon “Lighting Cup” Levy has not been able to stop pounding Manischewitz. After work each day, he speeds home and pours himself a tall glass of the Kosher wine. He immediately has a seat on his couch in front of the TV watching Fox Soccer Channel for a glimmer of hope that West Ham will sign a striker in the January transfer window that will save his team from certain relegation. As each day passes, and no hope arrives, he slowly slips deeper and deeper into a Manischewitz induce comma. If you replace “Manischewitz” with “Canadian Hunter Whiskey”, that story is 80% accurate. Hey Jonny, at least you still got Katy Perry.
Neil W. Blackmon – Neil was also been suffering from what we at TYAC offices like to call “relegationits”, due to the piss pour form of his dear Everton. Couple this with his mission to reduce his considerable caffeine intake, and you have a volatile situation. Now that he no longer spends hours pounding Red Bulls and sitting in coffee shops, Neil decided to parley this new free time into a budding rapping career a la Joaquin Phoenix. You can check out his latest solo effort here. It is a JAM!!! “I got a big D and I got good looks, and I love pleasin’ the bitches!” No word yet on whether this new scheme will finally win the heart of his beloved Anne Hathaway.
Raf – After years of work, Raf was preparing to defend his dissertation. It scares me that a man who only wears sleeveless shirts, and can chug a beer in under 2 seconds is going to be called, “Doctor.” I love America.
Guy Bailey – Many people are beginning to think that Guy has been deported. Others reports have placed him as a juggling street performer in Atlanta. Hell, he may even be serving as Neil’s manager and hype man in his rap career. However, in this bloggers opinion, we will be seeing great things from Guy during the second round of Euro 2012 qualifying as Fabio Capello’s secret weapon.
PUCK’S FREE ADVICE:
When you are out drinking, never, and I mean never, get into an argument with a police officer. You are the drunken asshole that cops are looking for at 2am just to fuck with. Getting in a drinking screaming match with a cop is just like sex with Ben Roethlisberger; you can kick and scream all you want, but in the end, you lose.
Time for some more PBR and Old Crow.
Sorry for Partying Bitches.
Puck is the pop culture guru for The Yanks Are Coming. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org or you can FINALLY find him on Twitter at @pucklovespbr.