Who's Now? Second Round

It has been a little while, but the re-seeding is done for the second round of the tournament. Here is how everybody stacked up:

C-WORD BRACKET:


The Karaoke Revue (1) VS. Keefe (8)


Dougie the Karaoke DJ (2) VS. Conor (7)


Peeje the Steeje (3) VS. Hambone (6)


Franny (4) VS. Mr. Martini aka "The Vest" (5)



CAR RAM-ROD BRACKET

Notini (9) VS. The General (16)


New Hampshire Bar Association (12) VS. RBoosk (4)


Hefe (11) VS. Fridge (3)


Brownie (10) VS. Dom (2)

This Place Have Scorpion Bowl and Taser!

The Grand Buffet. Amherst Street. Nashua, NH.

This is a place familiar to many of us. It holds memories for us, some sweet, some a bit foggy, others somewhat violent. Either way, "we've all got stories." I have one to end all stories (truly to end, seeing as it was requested by the Nashua PD that myself and a few others never go back there). It was Friday, August 10th and it was supposed to be a nice little get together at the buffet to celebrate the 23rd birthday of FJ. I sat at my house drinking beers, waiting for Hambone to come pick me up. I talked to him, realized he was still going to be a while, so I set out on a journey. I decided to be the first, from my group, to walk from home to buffet (or buffet to home). It took about 25 minutes, and it was completely worth it in the end.

I arrived at the buffet to find FJ, Domn8rx, and a few others. Minutes later, Hambone, accompanied by Sherm and Ozzy arrived at the buffet. To those who don't know Sherm, he is a great guy, but gets somewhat belligerant when out on the town drinking. Needless to say, drinks and karaoke ensued. While many prefer to drink socially, Sherm and I were more drinking at a competitive pace. We indulged in our fair share of Mai Thai's, he rocked a Scorpion Bowl, I grabbed a Tom Collins, the usual. The night proceeded and we made our presence felt in the buffet. While this part of the night is a bit foggy, I remember some broad on stage singing some shitty song. That's when my boy Sherm jumped on stage and began singing along with her. From there, an off duty karaoke DJ known to many as DJ Dougie came over and escorted Sherm from the stage. That's when shit got interesting.

I Saw Dougie and Sherm exchanging words so I began to walk over. Sherm then put his hands up and began walking backwards. The situation escalated quickly and I followed them out the door. A large 6'7" man known worldwide as "Unit" came up beside me and informed me "that guy is holding a taser to your boy's stomach." I walk out the door, whip out the cell phone, and dial 9-1-1. Looking back on it, maybe calling the police wasn't the best idea, but I hate scumbags and I wanted that guy to go to fucking jail. The next part of the story pisses me off so I will summarize. The 2 cops showed up, "investigated" the situation, and decided that since Dougie is an employee and he felt threatened by a big group that it was OK for him to pull out the taser. FUCK THAT. He was off duty, he was drunk, and he was trying to intimidate someone who could clearly beat the shit out of him when there are no tasers involved. The rest of the night consisted of talking about how hot the female cop was and harassing the 7-11 employee by trying to purchase beer at 1:30 AM and pretending to not understand what he was saying.

In conclusion, do not go to Grand Buffet. DJ Dougie is a scumbag and I hope that fuckin place goes under.

To the Yee Dynasty it is...

- K-Rock -


(Official Statement from the Revue: We are deeply saddened by the events described above. After much consideration and in light of this, The Revue has decided to no longer be the house band at the Grand Buffet. We, as a band, have been discussing this over the past couple months after declining appreciation for our talents and lack of songs. However, what happened to K-Rock has proven to be the final straw. To our fans, please don't see this as the end of the brightest era in musical history, but more of a chance to go to Manchester and hang out with hotter girls and drink cheaper booze. Thank you to all of our supporters, wamp wamp. -The Revue)

REFLECTIONS OF A "C"

Seeing as how Fridge and R Von D (or typists with similar Y chromosomes) have taken to posting exclusively on this website, I thought that I might take a stab at being the first female in the history of the world to have the privilege of contributing to all that is the Pen 15 Club. Im not going to lie, I read this blog (alot) and not only that, I usually find it quite amusing. But I found something missing dear readers; I just couldn't put my finger on it. And then it hit me -- feminine wiles. This site is in desperate need of some estrogen...and I am just the woman to provide it.

Take Fridge for instance. If one were to take his posts at face value, you may judge him to be a guy's guy who enjoys sports, beer, and occasional bowel troubles. (In fact, I often find myself wondering if Fridge whistles whilst on the crapper so he doesn't forget which end he needs to wipe.) But what you may not know is that underneath it all, Fridge is all teddy bear. That's right---he played the namesake in our 4th grade production of "Paddington Bear." Never to be outdone, Fridge also enjoyed rave reviews in a glowing performance of the Broadway Hit, "Cats." I kid you not. Never before in my life has the Magical Mister Mistofolees moved me to tears in such a way. Although he lives right down the hill, Fridge has a way of keeping me close, but not too close. For example, I've never been invited to his pool (even on the hottest summer days), Fridge used to hop rides to school and blow past me at the bus stop, and he has a way of conveniently leaving his phone in his car whenever I "really" need to get in touch with him. Nevertheless, Fridge remains one of those people that will be there for you when you need him the most (and I'm talking more than just "being there" to puke on my the kitchen floor as my roommate's dog proceeds to lap it up).

Up until the age of 15, Fridge and I were forced to ride the hell that was public transportation together. We shared the same bus stop, endured the same frigid 7 am daybreaks together, and waiting patiently as our busdriver seemed to be perpetually late morning after morning. During those jaunts back and forth to school, Fridge taught me such important life lessons as what it means when a person chooses to sit on another's face and which characters had the misfortune of falling on the ice walking on the sidewalk outside school that morning. Even when I got my peach Bath & Body lotion all over his silk neck tie, Fridge promised not to tell his mom and get me in trouble--that is TRUE Friendship.

Then there is R Von D. Though I don't have the same history with him as I do with Fridge, (if we are talking solely time measurement) I can say that over the past few years, he has become my "family" (as we so affectionally refer to each other). As I read this, however, I feel a certain twinge of guilt that I must divulge. One drunken evening, R Von D and I did have the misfortune of playing tonsil hockey. Therefore, it is a bit strange to refer to him as my "family" as we do not live in Keene or northern regions of New Hampshire where it would be acceptable to love my "family" like that. Let me assure everyone that I had just puked my guts out, pushed R Von D into my sunroom, and not even bothered to brush my teeth (just to give u a sense of the sobriety level there).

Judging from the posts on this blog, I bet you can already guess---R Von D is "AN ANGRY ELF." But he is MY FAVORITE ANGRY ELF. They say "misery loves company," and that couldn't be more true for R Von D. Despite his mood, he is always the first to cheer me up when Im feeling down. He will literally drive hours to make sure my parties go off without a hitch or to scare friends away with his foul smelling foofs (a mixture of pancake batter and butthole I believe is his "scent.") I can say without doubt that he is the only person in this world I would let refer to my "moose knuckle" or call me the "C" word to my face. Furthermore, just this week I shared a great moment with R Von D. Chatting online, he told me that he had a "chode." Quick to correct him, I informed him it was spelt "Choad." His quick retort: "You don't have to spell, just bend over and take it." Gotta love someone who gives you that type of respect. (On a side note, there is no way he will EVER get in my pants as there is already one asshole in there).

Together, R Von D and Fridge encompass a huge amount of my life. I just wanted to make sure the blog got a sense of who they are from the female perspective. Though they claim to treat women like objects and view them all as a bunch of "C's," they are kind enough to welcome me into their fold. But then again, I keep my bitchin and crying to a minimum -- these tactics are reserved for blackmail and blackmail alone. Moreover, beer is more exciting to me than shoes.

-Not so stupid a "C"

Fridge and R Von D on Golden Pond: Day Three

"I'm not sayin'...but I'm just sayin'..."

As stated in the previous entry, I woke up with half of a molar gone and severe shoulder pain on Friday morning. Still, I was not about to let a few minor injuries deter me from having the most debaucherous weekend of my adult life. Around ten in the morning I woke Fridge up from his spot on the pull-out couch. He was swaddled in the blanket his mother made him (dead serious) and had no pillow and no sheets. He and I recapped the previous night, had a few laughs, and then decided to make enough noise to wake up Big Ron and Wang. Wang was reluctant at first, but we then convinced him that the best thing for his hangover would be to sweat it out in the Roman Spa. Big Ron, on the other hand, thought that sitting in a hot tub was the greatest idea he had ever heard. Confused by his enthusiasm, he explained to me that after throwing up on the deck, he somehow made his way into the bathroom where he spent the majority of the night. He then told me that while in the bathroom, he thought it would be a great idea to splash toilet water all over his person leaving him drenched and smelling like urine. Wang recounted that Big Ron then made it into the bedroom but not before telling Wang how cold he was and asking him why he was all wet. If I were cold and smelly, I think a hot tub would sound like a really good idea too.

So the three of us set out to the indoor pool facility that housed the Roman Spa. Wang thought it best to not wear shoes or a shirt even though we had to walk through the facilities' check-in desk which was manned by a serious looking woman. Also, in order to get to the building, we had to walk through a stone covered road, something which Wang had significant difficulty traversing. So there we were, four out of shape mid-twenty-year-old hungover assholes in a hot tub together a little before eleven o'clock. Those with families and small children were wise to stay away from us. I can't even imagine the horror they felt when the four of us stumbled into that place. On the flipside though, we had the whole huge hot tub to ourselves. We stayed there for a little while, introduced Big Ron to the water slide and then planned out the rest of our days.

Fridge had mentioned to Big Ron earlier that Bad Dawgs would definitely be on the menu again for lunch. Remember when you were a kid and you woke up to realize that it was Christmas morning or your birthday? Remember the look on your face? That's what Big Ron looked like all day. For some reason though, he wasn't really excited about the fact that he was going to eat an inhuman amount of hot dogs, but more because they had blue cheese on them. Needless to say I was struck with a confused fascination for Ronnie's obsession for blue cheese, but I thought it best to let it ride and let him have his fun. We went back to the room, had a beer, got dressed, and headed out for Plymouth once again.

After a car ride filled with hate-filled music and funny stories, we reached Plymouth once again to gorge ourselves on the best hot dogs ever created by man. What happened next was something that should have been witnessed by everybody we know. Hungover and tired, the four of us still managed to put away 16 hot dogs in under an hour. Fridge and I both had four, Wang couldn't finish his fourth, leaving Big Ron to finish it. Ron himself said later that the five hot dogs he ate was not nearly enough for him and demanded that we find a Taco Bell on the way home. What made this display of manhood even greater was that it caught the attention of the owners of Bad Dawgs. So impressed where they that they started talking about the different franchises they were starting and hopes that R Von D himself would run a franchise out of Lowell, MA. I'm not kidding.

Full and brimming with confidence, we left Plymouth with the plan to stop at a mini golf course for some friendly competition. While I was the leader by three shots after the first nine, I had a Norman/Michelson-esque meltdown on the back nine letting Fridge take the day's trophy. Now, please understand that my play was not all that bad, but rather the Fridge sank three hole-in-ones on the back nine and wound up beating all of us by at least seven strokes. All this coming from him slamming his pink ball of the back wall and hoping it would somehow find the hole, which proved to be an amazingly efficient way to play mini-golf.

More pool and more sun followed and at around five o'clock we retreated to Fort Brokeback for a much needed power nap. Our friend Dana Complaina was coming around 7:30 and with female accompaniment on the horizon, we all felt as though we were going to be rested and on our game. So we slept and began drinking around seven. Dana then arrived and though overwhelmed with the level of "dude" in the room, she acclimated herself nicely to the environment and began putting away copious amounts of white wine and "IntensiTEAS"...whatever the hell those are. So around ten we ventured out into the Laconia night looking for a good time.

We started the night at the "Funky Monkey" which proved to be a den of iniquity far surpassing that of anything we had ever seen. Big Ron and Wang made the mistake of sitting down right in front of one of those touch-screen bar game things. For the next hour or so, the two of them would sit in front of the Mega-Touch 3000 and play the "Naked Photo Hunt." It also came to the point where they were getting so far into the game, that the pictures of 80's women with teased out hair and no sense of how to groom themselves began to repeat over and over again. Over 700,000 points and a few cocktails later, I asked Fridge if he wanted to head over to Club OG again. My reasoning for suggesting this was twofold. One, Dana had not seen this place and we had not stopped talking about it since she got there. Two, I knew that no matter how bad all of us got, we could make it home without having to call a cab.

So we arrive at Club OG to see that the place has about half the people it did the previous night. Sadly, Frank was not there. However, one OG All-Star that was in attendance was Barnacle Bill, who had his three pipes lined up on the bar. Fridge, fascinated by Bill's stories and racy sea chanteys, would spend the rest of the night sitting with his new best friend. I let the twinge of jealousy in my heart slide as I turned my attention to dancing. Later in the night, I thought the best thing I could do now to get a cheap laugh was to break out the "mom dance" that I have worked so hard perfecting. I got the what I wanted, but what happened next is something of legend. Dana threw down what is possibly the greatest mom-dance I have ever seen. I was shocked to see different variations of the dance which included such moves as a "spin" and "pointing to the sky." I asked her how it was possible that I have been working on this dance for two years and she, out of nowhere, can just up and do it better than I have ever seen. "Well," she began "my mom is a really accomplished 'mom-dancer' and I just got it from her." Normally my competitive side would have taken over and I would have done everything in my power to best her at my own game. In keeping with the good-spirited nature of the weekend though, I thought it best to just let Dana do her thing and I spent the rest of the night doing "the running man" to that Eric Prydz song. After a sing-along with Barnacle Bill to close out the night, we went home.

Saturday morning we had to check out of the resort and a tearful goodbye was said by all. And as I write this from my bed in Nashua, NH with severe indigestion, shaking from alcohol D.T.s I am happy that my summer yielded a three-day bender like this. I wish that there was a video montage in slow-motion of the things we did. But, the only video we have is of Big Ron splashing toilet water on himself. I guess that will have to do.

Final scores: Three days

Hot dogs eaten : 22
Beers: 80+ (two thirty packs, 12 and 6 pack of Miller Chill, however many bar beers)
Mixed drinks: 15+
Trips to Plymouth: 2
R Von D's mini golf score: 54
Fridge's mini golf score: 42
Karaoke songs performed by The Revue: 4
1000+ calorie meals: 5

http://www.baddawgs.com/baddawgsphotos/menu.pdf

Fridge and R Von D on Golden Pond: Day Two

“Beers, Weirs, and Peers”

First and foremost, I would like to go on record and say that while I have been accused of slightly embellishing the content of these blogs (an accusation I vehemently deny), I can say with unabashed certainty that everything you are about to read is one hundred percent fact. Let’s roll…

Fridge and I woke up around ten in the morning on Thursday and planned out our day. First, we were to go to the lake, get some much needed sun. The ever-sensitive Fridge laid out his favorite towel which is a confederate flag featuring a snarling pit bull on the beach, and I began my fifteen minute ritual of sunscreening. In one of our more tender moments as friends, Fridge reluctantly agreed to get the parts of my back that I couldn’t reach. I had to explain to him that this was not gay, but rather a necessity. For some, tanning is a pleasant way to achieve a healthy glow. For me, “tanning” is a practice I avoid, for there is no tan to my skin. The two varying degrees of my skin are pale and burned, no in-between. So Fridge put up a bit of a stink but in the end he was a good dude about it and he lathered me up ever so gently.

A few hours later we came back to the room to regroup and drink more beer. As I began to do the math in my head, I realized that my beer to other liquid ratio was astonishing. I had lost track of how many beers I had drank over the last 24 hours, but a moderate guess would have been somewhere around sixteen. In addition to beer, I had also had several mixed drinks during our karaoke night, so my number alcoholic drinks consumed was in the low twenties. On the flip side, my non-alcoholic liquid consumption was two vitamin waters. For those of you who are math scholars, that is an impressive 10-1 ratio for alcoholic drinks to non-alcoholic drinks. Pool water started to seem like a good idea for hydration. Even so, Fridge and I sat in our heavily air conditioned condo and drank the rest of our Busch Light thirty pack we had picked up the day before while watching Caddyshack. After the movie, we decided the best option for us to waste time would be to get some fried food and head over to Funspot for some old-school gaming. We played everything from Mortal Kombat, to Frogger, to NBA Jam, while Fridge kept is streak of 1000+ calorie meals going as he consumed a fish and chips plate, a side of onion rings, and another side order of mozzarella sticks. All of this happened before 5pm.

The purpose of us wasting time on this day, however, was to kill enough time during the day as the rest of our party was soon to be joining us at the Weirs. Fridge’s college friends, Big Ron and Wang were to be joining us this evening. What neither Fridge nor I knew at this point was it was to be one of the greatest nights in the history of my life.

Big Ron and Wang walked through the door at 9:30 pm on the dot. Ron told us that he had just driven six hours from Connecticut to be with us. I began to think to myself that this was an unnecessary amount of time to be in the car, but Big Ron explained that he had set his car’s GPS to “no tolls,” and thus taking him hours out of his way to not pay the $2.50 he would have to pay in Mass Pike tolls. Really. So we sat for a half hour drinking beer, playing games, and swapping stories until the entire party deemed it was time to make a dent in the Laconia night life scene. The place we agreed upon is affectionately known as “Club OG” which is a shithouse Chinese buffet converted on the weekends from “Oriental Gardens” to probably the greatest night club Weirs Beach has to offer… Club OG. Also, Big Ron told me earlier that he had never in his life had a scorpion bowl, and I was not about to let him go another day without tasting the nectar of the gods. So, we approach Club OG to find that there is a line outside and the parking lot is nearly at capacity. We walk in, pay our three dollar cover, and walk inside. The interior of Club OG is nothing but black lights and spotlights and smells like bleach and vomit. I promptly ordered two scorpion bowls, one for me and one for Ron. Not in my right mind, I begin telling Fridge, Wang, and Ron the story from last year where I claimed to be able to finish a Scorpion Bowl for two in fewer than ten seconds, and was paid to do so. Ron, being skeptical of this claim, told me that there was no way this is possible. Roughly eight seconds later I walked away from my stunned comrades to get myself another drink. R Von D does not make claims he cannot back up. At this point I opted for a ginger ale, for no other reason but to pace myself. As I started to walk back to our table, I noticed that the Fridge started talking to a man who introduced himself as Frank. Frank was no bigger than 5’3” and was wearing nothing but denim. Frank would spend the rest of the night hugging Fridge and I and kissing us both on the top of the head…seriously. Too drunk to care, we made small talk with Frank and his friend “Barnacle” Bill, who seriously looked like Popeye’s father. He smoked a pipe at the bar (which he later told me was filled with weed) had on a US Navy shirt, and was wearing bell-bottom jeans. Seriously it was something out of a movie and I wish all of you could have seen it. After my conversation with Barnacle Bill, I moved back to our original table to find Fridge talking to a skinny blonde girl with glasses. I quickly sat at the adjacent table but still remained right next to Fridge. Overhearing some of the conversation, I kept hearing the girl tell Fridge how nice he was and how much she liked him. But, as he went to get another drink for him and the girl, Wang sat down with the girl and attempted to hold her hand in what was then the greatest attempt at a “block” I have ever seen

(note: Wang would be outdone literally minutes later when Big Ron would dump a beer on Fridge’s head for no reason as he was talking to the blonde girl.)

So, Fridge being the good friend that he is did his best to ignore Wang and Big Ron and then asked the girl for her number. She then explained to him that she was unable to afford a cell phone, and that she should just take his number instead and she would call him tomorrow. Now, while some of you women would think this is a good way to not call a guy, I firmly believe she was telling the truth, which makes that part of the story hilarious. Also, as the girl stood up from the table to walk away, I noticed probably the most horrifying thing I have ever seen in my life, and while my cohorts denied it at first, they later came to see the same thing. This girl, this HIGHLY INTOXICATED GIRL was pregnant…three months I’m guessing. While Fridge maintained that she probably just had a bit of a “pooge,” I argued that it was sitting far too low on her to be a beer gut, and that her otherwise skinny frame would not allow her to look like that unless she was as malnourished as one of the African kids on the TV commercials. We said our goodbyes and left Club OG, hopefully for good.

(Fridge’s Note: Even if she was preggers, we cool. At least we know she pokes...WAMP WAMP!!)

As got back to the room, the four of us continued to drink as we sat out on the deck for some cigar time. I wasn’t feeling all that great from the scorpion bowl chug, so I opted to just chew on the straw I had kept in my mouth from my last jack and coke, a decision that proved to be costly five minutes later as this act led me to breaking a sizeable piece of enamel off of one of my molars. No bullshit, I broke my tooth right then and there by chewing a cocktail straw. At that point, I left Wang and Fridge to their cigars and a passed out Big Ron on the porch.

I woke up this morning to find that Ron had made it back to his room, but not before puking right on the deck. I also realized that half of one of my teeth was missing and that I could not lift my left arm. I have no idea how I sustained such an injury to my “good” shoulder but I assure you, dear reader, that R Von D is in a lot of pain this morning as he is typing this. Today is slightly overcast and there have already been rumblings of a mini golf theme to the day as we plan to hit all four in the area before lunch. God only knows what the night will bring. Yet, while some would fear another night like this one, I find great solace in the fact that no matter what the shadows bring, I will be back tomorrow morning to let all of you know IN DETAIL how low the four of us can sink into this abyss the locals call “The Lakes Region.”

With Soreness,

Fridge and R Von D

Fridge and R Von D On Golden Pond: Day One

“Go North Young Men”

Yesterday at noon, the Fridge and I embarked upon one of our most ambitious undertakings to date. We were to spend an extended weekend together at New Hampshire’s on Weirs Beach. A hotbed of high society and intellectual curiosity, we were to take Laconia and Lake Winnipesauke by storm and forever leave our mark on New Hampshire’s lakes region.

Before we set out, Fridge demanded that I meet him at Market Basket in Nashua which as he put it “is the Hall of Fame of obscure, cheap, and delicious beers.” We left the supermarket with a case of Busch Light, a twelve pack of Miller Chill longnecks, Market Basket brand “butter flavored popcorn,” and a small bag of snack mix. Somehow, I convinced Brian that we could nourish ourselves on nothing but beer and snack foods for more than two days. Although he was skeptical, we left the store with said items and headed to Burger King for a meal. I took in a triple stacker meal and a butterfinger pie while Fridge opted for the triple whopper meal. I later had to listen to him talk about the constant incorrect feeling coming from his innards.

Post BK, the Fridge and I set out to the lake. Upon arriving, we proceeded to drink all of our Miller Chill within the first hour and even cracked several of the Busch Lights. With a stiff buzz in our heads, we then headed to the indoor swimming facility that our condo had to offer which featured two water slides, and a thirty person hot tub the amenities workers referred to as the “Roman Spa.” Being a classicist by trade, I was always apprehensive of the name given to this hot tub. My feelings were then exacerbated by the fact that Fridge and I would be spending the entire evening alone with each other (insert Brokeback and Harry and Lloyd jokes here).

Hungry after our swimming and drinking, Fridge proposed that we drive further north to Plymouth to experience an establishment known to the townspeople as “Bad Dawgs.” Fridge then informed me that mutual friends Dom and Hambone were members of the Bad Dawgs Hall of Fame for consuming 15 and 12 hot dogs respectfully in a one hour sitting. Upon arriving at Bad Dawgs, Fridge called K-Rock, who is conspicuously missing from this trip to maintain his sobriety, to tell him that we had arrived at his favorite eating establishment, and even though he was full of hot, stinky jealousy, K-Rock was still able to recommend the “Boarder Collie Dog,” and the “Chow Chow”. A thousand calories heavier, we drove back to Laconia.

(Sidenote: While eating at Bad Dawgs, we found out that Hambone was dethroned as third place “mighty dawg” after he was dethroned by a girl, and we sincerely hope he got the news of this by reading this very sentence.)

The evening continued with extensive recon work of the surrounding area, and we successfully mapped out our nightlife experience for the rest of the weekend. When that was over with, we retreated to Fort Brokeback for a viewing of “Artie Lang’s Beer League” and more Busch Light. At 9:30 PM Fridge and I set out to experience Laconia night life. After much debate as to whether or not to approach the “cougars” at swanky hot-spot The Nasbar, we ended up at a bar called “Goodfellas” which featured what is now considered to be the greatest karaoke set-up we have ever seen. It was not long after that that Fridge and I took the Karaoke Revue to the stage for what many believe to be the greatest cover of “Rebel Yell” by Billy Idol in the North America (and a close second to Finland’s own H.I.M. for WORLD dominance in said category). More cocktails and more karaoke flowed. As Fridge and I got in the car to head home, we both agreed that we, once again, were the highlight of everybody else’s night.

This concludes the rundown of Operation: Take the Lake – Day One. Stay tuned fore a complete rundown of Day Two to come.

With Sunscreen,

Fridge y R Von Dizzle

Random Thoughts by K-Rock

Seeing as the two elder statesmen of the Pen15 Club are gone for the remainder of the week and into the weekend, i'm going to be holding this down for a while. Today marks the end of my month of detox. I did OK. From July 8th until August 7th, I had a grand total of 6 beers and they were all for good occasions (Golf, Friend returning from basic training, Beastie Boys concert). I learned that not drinking is for jerks and lesbians and I plan on never doing it again. I did have a thought when I woke up yesterday morning to find out that Barry Bonds hit #756. Maybe I need a month away from sports. Anyone who knows me realizes that basically what I do on a nightly basis revolves around sports, whether it be playing or watching them. Should I go to a bar? Only if they have a TV and i'll be able to watch the Sox game. Of course there is no way I could stop watching sports, but I feel like if there is any time to do it, its now.


I have been watching sports for as long as I can remember and one thing I pride myself on is not being a "homer." At the age of 7, I was about as big a San Antonio Spurs fan you could find outside of those who live in Texas. I liked this team for one reason only, David Robinson. Robinson is as classy (a word which is through around very liberaly today) of a player as you can find throughout the history of the NBA, and all of professional sports for that matter. The 7 footer won championships, MVP's, went to All-Star games, and was generally a fantastic all-around, team player. Given his credentials, I would kill to sit down with him for five minutes and discuss his opinions on "makin it rain", dog fighting, gambling on basketball, and automatic weapons. I'm not going to sit here and say I have modeled my life after his, but I certainly have never put a pit bull on a rape stand.

KARAOKE. Despite a distinct lack of Fridge and R Von D this upcoming weekend, a karaoke blow out at the buffet is in the works. I'm not completely versed in the art of karaoke yet, but I am working my way there. This weekend should be a good chance to strut my stuff. What I'm really trying to say is, show up at Grand Buffet this Friday night if you wanna see a show.

CALM DOWN. Those are my words to Boston Red Sox fans. Only in this city would people be shitting themselves about a 6 game lead in the division in August. I understand where people are coming from that they were up double digits for a while and this is the smallest the lead has been since early May, but you have to look at the facts. The Red Sox have a substantial number of games left against the D-Rays and a plethora of other shit teams, while the next month for the Yankees is the most difficult part of their schedule. Granted, they have been very hot, but they have been beating up on teams with Gil Meche as their number one starter. I never guarantee anything, but just calm the fuck down.

CHAMPIONS. In conclusion, I would like to inform the Revue that despite their many second place finishes, the Canadian Hunters were able to take the trivia crown last night at Peddlar's. It took a lot of training and hard work, but some day you guys will be able to touch us.

VICTORY!!!
- K-Rock -