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Life Set to Theme Songs

So, I'm working here in my little apartment, studying for yet another midterm, and my mind naturally started to drift from the task at hand. I am as sober as a church mouse, am blessed with the reflexes of a jungle cat on crack, but have the attention span of a gnat. Because of this flaw, instead of studying the genetics of flies (fun, motherfucking fun), I have put my life to theme songs from "popular" television shows and movies. Here's the list:

1. Taking a crap-One of life's necessities. We all do it, we all hate it, unless it happens to defile a buddy's bathroom before his new girlfriend is about to visit his apartment for the first time. Then, it is funny as shit (I'm fucking awesome with my ironic word choice)...Shit also has a lot to do with the old '80s show "Airwolf", moreso than just their desirability to watch for long periods of time. When squeezing out an anaconda, nothing gets the motor running like the sound of rotors churing to life. Using the inspirational instrumental as a metronome in which to coordinate the pushing, you can force out any corn-ridden crap in record time. A heroic shit needs a heroic them song, and "Airwolf" fits the bill.

2. Recovering from a hangover but still "needing" to drink-Again, one of life's necessities. The hangovers can be so brutal that they make you want to cry, but knowing that life dictates that you have to pull the rip cord on the drinking machine again the next day makes a theme song for this part of life absolutely paramount. Something truly inspirational is needed, because God knows that your body is screaming at you to stop:

Brain: "I fucking hate you John. Quit fucking drinking you stupid twat."

John: "Brain, you are a piece of shit, and you are coloured like afterbirth. Fuck yourself. I can drink all I want to."

Brain: "You think you're soooooo special, don't you asshole? 'I'm John, and I'm cool. Look at me go!'. You know what dink? Tonight, when you're good and lit, I'm going to convince you that the fifty year old swamp donkey in the bar really is Sharon Stone's hotter sister. If you're lucky, she won't try and do it with you in her grandson's treehouse. Try that on for size prick."

John: "You would be an asshole like that, wouldn't you? You know what? I hope that I do sleep with an old swamp donkey. You know what else I hope? I hope that she has syphillis. The syph goes for the brain, fuck stick."

Brain: "Fine...It looks like I came to this battle of wits unarmed. Drink yourself to death. See what I care."

John: "I will, you bag of dicks."

To resolve this seemingly endless battle, "Terminator 2: Judgement Day" was created. The scene, and the music, where Arnie, apparently dead and no hope for mankind, finds the alternate power supply, pulls the spike out of his body with one arm, and goes and fucks up the most advanced human killing machine ever invented ranks as the epitome of popular culture's cinematic achievements. Though the thumbs-up he gives to John and Sarah Connor as he is lowered into the molten steel, preceded by the "I know now why you cry, but it is something I can never do" line makes real men weep, it still is one of the more inspirational moments ever, and definitely helps all those with the proverbial spikes in their chests find their alternate power supplies to pull through and begin drinking again. Hasta la vista hangover...

3. Writing exams-Unfortunately, many of us are still in school, and as such, we are still burdened with the joys of exams. And with exams, comes the pangs of self-doubt during the test. Sometimes, you just feel like an idiot, and that the solutions are just out of your reach. I've been there literally millions of times myself, but instead of drawing crude pictures of jagged objects penetrating your prof's urethra in the answer spaces, just think of "MacGyver" and his theme music. Now, ol' Mac was one smart prick, and was a walking resource on how to use the laws of physics, chemistry, and biology to your advantage if you're ever trapped in a Peruvian temple by grave-robbers.

"Thank you MacGyver! Thank you so much for preventing the northern chunk of South America from breaking off in the massive earthquake!" a random local villager would say.

"No need to thank me. This pack of gum and the moon's gravitational pull are the real heroes!" MacGyver would answer.

The guy was smart, and he had a mullet. Enough said.

4. Having sex-Now, I've never tried the following theme song out in person, but it has to be better than yelling "Yatzee!" as you blow your wad. Next time you and your partner are feeling amorous, try playing "The Price Is Right" theme song in the background. The happy, high-paced music is a perfect mental distractor from the fact that your girl is faking it this time, and has probably been faking it for the last few years (although I'm still not convinced that girls can orgasm. It seems like a bit of a myth, kind of like aliens or STDs). And if you follow "The Moose's Guide for Picking Up" manifesto, and you happen to find yourself with a warpig, then you can always imagine her to be one of the "Barker's Beauties", the chicks that Bob likes to sexually harass.

There is one flaw with this little song though, and that is Bob's warning to "have your pets spayed or neutered". With the routinely poor performance- immediately going for the goodies without any foreplay, pounding like a jackhammer for two minutes, and passing out on top of her due to the eight Big Bears that you consumed previously that evening-she may consider giving you the old "snip-snip" to prevent you from breeding offspring. Like many of the games on the show, playing this song as you do it comes with great reward, but also great risk.

Let's see...Hmmmm...Shitting, drinking, school, and fucking...Yep, that pretty much has life covered. You now have the keys to everything it takes for a successful existence. Enjoy.

Moose

posted by Team Shawn Michaels @ 2:53 p.m. 0 comments

I Hate You Liver

With Jay Doss being back where he belongs, here in the centre of the universe with us, this past week has been a straight shit-show. We've been drinking like we were still in Lister Hall again, and apparently believing that even still at our advanced ages, we are still appealing to the young girl crowd of The Ship. Muley addressed this very well in his last entry, and most of us were creeping it up pretty well, looking totally unappealing in our boozed up state. After seven years of living in Edmonton, I still can't get it through my brain that chicks don't like guys who smell like they just had a bath in Jack Daniels, or whose eyes are burning holes through their bummers or their yams. Yes, I don't learn from my mistakes, but that's okay. I'm comfortable in my idiocy.

The one thing that I do know, though, is that my body definitely cannot handle the excesses of alcohol like it use to. The hangovers are unbelievable now, to the point where I seriously think that I am close to breaking into weepy girl tears. Yes, I know I sound like a gay, but I ran for mayor of pain and I won (credit to Jody on that one). My liver is close to death now, and when it goes, I go. Regardless, Doss is in town, and we all knew that we had to charge on through the madness. Thursday's gong-show was an opening act for the Drink and Puke Party (a.k.a. Friday afternoon).

Arriving with Craig Blair to SCABS' place at 1:30 with a 60 of rum to meet Muley, Chad, Doss, and Jeremy, we immediately started boozing. I was really hungover from the day before, but thank God that my alcoholism kicked in, as I was soon "Moosing-up" (according to Craig)- swearing and generally acting like a waste of oxygen. SCABS had Grand Turismo 4 at his place, so the classic battle had to be waged. Yes, Moose in an '83 Corolla versus the Jeremy in an Echo. I lost, and this would later prove to be the theme of the weekend.

As I was getting worked at video games, the rest of the mangs were playing poker. In my mind, this was a recipe for disaster, as pissed-drunk cocks and gambling can only lead to terrible things happening. Soon, "twat", "cunt-face", and "ass-fuck" were being thrown around with reckless abandon. Combine this with the requisite racial slurs, and you know that the group had reached prime time. Fucking money.

Soon, my addiction to being stupid when I'm wasted raised it's ugly head, and I decided to go to the nearby Mac's. Fucking bad idea. I was in the "charming-drunk" stage, and I managed to con Jody, SCABS, and Doss into coming with me. We also left with instructions from Captain Asshole to buy him a hoagie. We ended up buying him a salad. I could say that I care about his health, but really, I just wanted to fuck with him. Eat shit Houle. At the Mac's was when we shone. Jody was dropping the N-bomb every two seconds or so, SCABS was fucking every women in the place with his eyes, and Doss was laughing so hard that I thought that he was going to soil himself. I was in the mood for pornography.

"I need the porn with the ugliest women possible," I asked the cashier girl behind the counter.

"The ugliest women?" she asks, laughing.

"Yes please," I reply. She hands me a High Society, the magazine that would later be used to decorate Paddy's bathroom.

"Are you single?" I ask her.

"Yes, are you?" she said.

"Obviously," I reply.

"Well maybe you should leave me your card," she said.

"Well, I have beer to drink, so maybe another time," I replied, leaving the store.

We arrive back to SCABS place, and a game of bowling was going on in the hallway, the poker game had degraded into a yelling match, and the place smelled like a fucking brewery. It was disgusting in how much fun it was, and it reminded me so much of the nights in Lister Hall when we would get ourselves juiced on the floor. Vandalizing Paddy's bathroom with some of the most disgusting pictures ever only further confirmed this fact.

Two more hours of solid boozing had us realize that it was time to go to the Stonehouse. I remember next to nothing about this part of the evening, but these were some of the things that I vaguely recall: SCABS lost his coat for the second night in a row, and a Native dude got pissed off at me for some reason. Kunal bought a million shots of Jagermeister, and Muley was trapping people with his 5 XL t-shirt that he was wearing. This is a poor desciption of the events, as I simply didn't know what was going on most of the time. I'm sure idiocy reigned, but I was too busy killing my body with booze.

The drinking machine didn't get fired up the next day until around 7:00 PM. I had spent a lot of money up to this point, but I still was in the mood for partying. Turkey felt the same way, so we decided to go on the welfare and pick up some cheap shit. He was able to find cans of this vodka mixture that only cost one dollar each; he bought a million of them. I bought a magnum of Baby Duck Champagne, as I wanted to hurt the next day. We decided to destroy my apartment, and Scunt, Garthy, Greener, Turkey, and myself managed to turn a child's boardgame into a drinking misadventure. Soon, my place was fucked, Scunt was nearly vomitting on my coffee table, and the boardgame was thrown out my window by Greener and Turks. Fucking awesome. In the state that we were in, there was only one place on Earth that could contain the madness. Yes, we made the excellent decision of going to Diamond's Gentlemen Club, the closest peeler bar to my place.

The strippers are always interesting. You absolutely have to be wasted to enjoy it, as sobriety makes you realize that throwing pieces of metal at female genitalia is pretty fucking degrading. Indeed, I have had many interesting stripper stories from my short life. I have seen a pregnant girl on stage, taking it all off at Pinky's. I have seen a girl launch a ping-pong ball from her goodies at Fuzzies. I have witnessed a good friend (who shall go nameless) have a bottle of whipped cream rammed up his ass on stage due to evil friends. I have taken out a hundred dollars in loonies on Muley's stag with the intention of winning one hundred posters, only to come away without a single one because I was too ripped to aim properly. I have had a peeler push her tits in my face when I told her that strippers "are people too". I have eaten the lunch buffet in gynecology row (awesome hairy tacos). I had a friend's girlfriend (who shall also go nameless) flash the stripper for a poster. I have a friend who caught the worse case of SARS in the history of mankind when a peeler took his glasses from his face, placed them between her groin, got them dripping with goo, and put them back on his face. I had the pleasure of waiting in line for the urinal behind a guy who was spanking one off into the toilet. I have had the honor of having a stripper tell me about the reasons behind her career choice, to get money for coke, one night during a school party at the rippers. At this same school party, I had a cocky guy in my class piss off a dude so much that he ended up waiting in the parking lot for all of us with a 2 x 4 as a weapon. And last night, I had the pleasure of seeing the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen in my entire life. Honest to God, she was almost as hot as Paddy's young sisters (or the coug that Jody had relations with). She nearly helped me win the battle with my ED. In short, I'm in love.

To make a very long and sordid story short, rounds of lap dances were purchased, which were strange to say the least. The beer was cheaper than the Power Plant, I fell in and out of love with every dancer on stage, we nearly lost another coat, and the cabbie nearly ran over Greener after he dropped him off.

Reading this blog entry back to myself, I know that it isn't up to the quality of the previous entries. I just drank waaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much this weekend, and in some ways, it's a bit disappointing that I don't have more memories. It's not often that an old friend from Philly comes up, so as the stories start rolling in from the friends, an updated chapter can be added. Fuck, Liver, you should eat some shit. You let me down, preventing me from drinking like a raging alcoholic while still retaining total recall of all the shit that went down.

Moose

posted by Team Shawn Michaels @ 6:59 p.m. 0 comments

Snow Boarding Sasquatch

Fresh off of our flawless victory at karaoke at the Gas Pump the night before, I phoned J-Dizzle my nizzle to find out what the plan was going to be for the evening. Croquet, anyone? Knitting?

No. The Power Plant. For SHIP NIGHT!

Man...for those of you that are reading this that never lived in Lister Hall, there used to be a bar IN the Residence that everyone would go to on a Thursday night. That bar was called the Ship, and hence, Ship Night. Due to liability reasons and the fact that the University was trying to discourage excessive alcohol consumption in a student Rez, the Ship was shut down. Ship Night, it seemed, was over.

***Flash Back. When I worked as a Residence Life Assistant, we had these vests that read "Rez Life". One day whilst waiting for the bus, this bogan (or...Native, for those of you unfamiliar with the term) that said "Hey...I'm from a Reservation too...which one did you come from?" Uh, awkward!***

But some enterprising soul recognized that no one goes to the campus bars so why not hold Ship Night at the Power Plant? And thus this brilliant brain child was born, combining three of my favorite things.

1. The Power Plant -- honestly, I LOVE this bar if for no other reason than the character. Everyone should go at least once.
2. Ship Night -- I "snagged" Corinna by singing in her ear during a Ship Night. I guarantee that it works like a charm.
3. First Year Girls Living in Residence (wow...what an amazing juxtaposition from #2)

I leave my class at 8:00, or as I call it, halfway through. In a class of only 10 people, do you think anyone noticed that I left? Corinna meets up with me and roll up to the bar. We are early, as per usual. If there are two things that are consistently late, it's my friends when they've been pre-drinking and the period of that random girl you had mindless unprotected sex with after picking her up in the bar, hammered out of your mind.

Luckily for us, we get to catch up with Megan and Katie. Do I know two hotter sisters that are friends with us? No. And actually, it's been sooooo long since I actually hung out with them that I didn't care that the doods weren't there yet. And when Jody arrives, I kinda wish that they had been later. He is wearing his "Slim Shady" outfit...as in, track suit (tops and bottoms) based on a clothing line developed by -- you got it -- Eminem. Fortunately the gargantuan aviator sunglasses hide his eyes so that he did maintain a measure of anonimity.

Drinks are cheap at the bar -- and here is a lesson in perspective. Drinks are $3.25 at the Plant; they are $5.25 at Cook County. You do the math...and while you're at it, slap the whiny college kids upside the head for complaining about high prices. (Kunal...I'm looking at you here).

Corinna suggests that we go and play a game of pool. I heartily agree to a friendly little game. I shout out my signature catch phrase "By the Power of GreySkull....I. HAVE. THE POWER!!!!!" to power up. My competitive juices are flowing and I'm ready to crush my opponent. But it's not important who kicked whom's ass. (**Cough, cough -- Corinna won -- Cough, Cough***).

Luckily, although I can't beat my wife (uh...bad choice of words?) I CAN beat Jody Blair...at Golden Tee. Honestly, it wasn't even close. Okay...so maybe he was so drunk that he couldn't see the screen and the sunglasses couldn't have helped, but I still celebrated like Ripudaman Singh Malik and Ajaib Singh Bagri upon hearing the "not guilty" verdict. (These are those Shiks acquitted in the Air India Bombing...fucking CSIS, destroying crucial evidence).

After schooling Jody at video games, I phone Val who had earlier promised to come out with us after her midterm. And while I'm still dealing with the rejection of being stood up, I do remember the ultra-smooth line I used: "I've got a recipe for a great dance...and the only missing ingredient is you". Wow...pure genius and I came up with that all by myself!

Fortunately, I quickly forgot about Val because out on the dance floor are three girls wearing -- as I described it at the time -- SHERPA'S ON THEIR FEET! These were fuzzy boots that looked like they were made out of animal hides. Now if you know Nepal at all, and I'm certain you do, you know that a SHERPA is a moutain guide.

Sherpa:


What I meant to say is Alpacha.

Alpaca:
.

And in the end, it doesn't matter 'cause Alpaca's have short hair and these boots definately had long hair. I am an idiot!

Closer inspection, however, would reveal that these girls were actually dressed up at the Kokanee Girls (you know, the ones that apply to catch the Sasquatch)? The costumes....were amazing.

Ding-Dong
Ga-ga-ga-goo
Dare to dream, Arnold, dare to dream

And if it wasn't the Kokanee girls, it was the OTHER chicks on the dance floor. Now, admittedly I am a happily married man but good lord, I can still appreciate a good looking girl (hey...if Corinna can "crush" on the harlequin romance men, I can have my vice too!) and my head nearly spun off because there were so many of them. It's been nearly 4 years since I lived in Lister Hall and during that time and during that time, certain truths were revealed to me in one night concerning the developments of the last 4 years.

1. There were never that many hot girls living in Lister Hall. Indeed, when I lived there, I must have snagged one of the few hot ones there at that time.
2. In my day, the girls did NOT dance like THAT! (use your imagination as to how they might have been dancing...)
3. Girls in Rez at this time of year should NOT have a body that's as tight as a nun. Haven't they heard of the freshman 15 (kilo's)???

Moose would later state his desire to take one of those women to be his luvah in the hawtub.

Jody and I rushed the stage to dance and I was gang tackled by security like I was on an episode of COPS. "Get off the stage with your drink" was the cry. Uh...okay, Nazi's, how about you chillax and stuff? Sadly, I would find out why they were so adamant about this rule later on.

I pounded the 4 beer in my possession and again rushed the stage. Rushed the stage in time for Eric Prydz "CALL ON ME". When Dave Chapple spoke of the Imminent Whistle of the Train of Destiny, this song surely must be the literal Canadian version for me and my buddies.

Now, you are all familiar with ringing the demon bell, and the sorrid details of this money move do not have to be put into print. (Read: I'm scared as hell that Patty will send out the VIDEO of me, Moose, Jody ringing the bell in his apartment... But at the same time, me and moose are still waiting for the picture of our naked asses). Well, as per usual, we starting ringing the dongs. Even when I'm old and forget that you have to unzip your pants before taking a piss, I'll never forget the most amazing part. There were these chicks, wearing skin tight wifebeaters no less (Steve, you would have been proud!), ringing the demon bell too!

Autobots! Transform and ROLL OUT!

So picture, if you will, us and them ringing the demon bell. I looked up to the DJ booth and the DJ had a digital camera and was taking a movie of the whole sorrid affair. Picture, as well, Corinna dying of embarrassment (again) 'cause I'm ringing the demon bell (again) and will likely do it again -- tonight. Agh...I need professional help!

The other thing that you must realize, of course, was that our raison d'etre for being in the Plant in the first place was the return of the one, the only, Jay Doss to the Ship. Jay is a veritable LEGEND in Lister Hall, thanks in no small part to the collective efforts of all of his friends. The rumors and the murmers of his arrival rose up through the crowd in the bar, not unlike the Jews during Jesus' march to Nazareth.

"There's Jay Doss", one girl would giggle excitedly.
"I heard he got more head than anyone", admired some dood.
"Where are my knee pads?", shouted the sluts.

All facietiousness aside, it was like a presidential campaign stop, with Jay having to shake everyone's hand.

We danced for what seemed like hours. The only thing that disturbed our tantric rhythm were all the god-damned spilly talkers in the bar. I don't know how many times I had a drink spilled on me...this kid spilt a drink on Corinna and I almost put him through a window. I HATE when guys do that.

And spilly talkers did not do justice to the term. Indeed, two brown girls tried to pour a beer over Kunal. More on that to come!

But if people weren't spilling their drinks, they were simply letting their glasses / bottles /etc. just fall to the floor and smash on the ground! I've never seen anything like it...there was SO MUCH broken glass on the floor! No wonder the bouncers rushed me when I went on stage with my beer...I would't want broken glass to get on the stage that could get kicked (potentially) into the eyes of the people dancing on the dance floor below!

By this time, Cori was long gone and I was dancing with Heather Raven. Again, for the benefit of people that don't know her, she is a friend of mine that once sent Moose and I a picture of her in a pink bikini (which you can still find on www.hotornot.com ) She sent it to us, I guess, to make sure that she wasn't going to be a fool by posting a picture of herself on the 'net with all those perverts and creeps. So why she sent it to us I'll never know......

Jeremy shuffled up to us, with his arms raised (with beer in hand). I bumped into him so that one of his beers got dumped on top of those girls that were earlier trying to dump a beer on Kunal! COWABUNGA, DUDES! Easily half a beer, gone, just like that! They were PISSED...and there was Jeremy, not really sure what happened, and me busting a nut laughing so hard.


Remember boys and girls, today's blog entry was brought to you by the letters "S", "T", and "D", and by the number 69. Oh...and this website (used extensively) which features catch phrases from all your favorite '80s T.V. shows: http://www.inthe80s.com/phrases.shtml

posted by Team Shawn Michaels @ 8:50 a.m. 1 comments

You can can count on accountants

I woke up to find my tongue swollen to twice its normal size. The sheets on my bed were on the floor. My breath was raspy, I was sweating like a dog, and my vision was blurry. Was I dying? No. Instead, I have visions of the cougars from the previous night, haunting my dreams and causing me to wake up in a cold stark terror.

And I realized that I will never be rid of them; indeed, they had one of my business cards!! At the time, it was the best that I could do when they were hounding my for my phone number. Oh why, oh why, didn't I have Patty Wigmore's number on the tip of my tongue, since he apparently loves older women anyways?

Now, crack of dawn this wasn't. The way that I figure it, if God wanted us to see sunrises, he would have made them later in the day. I shrugged off the vestiges of my nightmare long enough to throw on some sweats and drag my ass down to the street to relive my "Rocky" fantasy. I must have run for a hour or so and every single step was laborious and torturous. There is nothing harder to do in the world than work out the day after a heavy boozing episode. But if there are going to be pictures of my naked ass floating around on the internet, then a guys gotta do what a guys gotta do! I got back and walked through my door to find the phone ringing.

It was Kunal, mi Mexicano Amigo.

I had 5 minutes before him and Houle were picking me up. Amazingly, and I don't think that I'll ever know exactly how, I made it with time to spare. We headed over to Houle's where we proceeded to start to drink TWO FLATS OF BEER. I cracked open that first can of Kokanee and felt a slow shudder well up from the core of my being. It was uncontrollable, much like the first time you eat liver or when you sleep with a 47 year old woman named Barb (eh Jody?). But what else could I do? After all, Terrorists had taken control of my stomach and were demanding beer as the ransom.

We relived the escapades of the past 24 hours and noticed that Patty was lying conspicuosly silent on the floor. Patty had to play hockey that night, and was beginning the mental preperation necessary in order to uncage the rage on his men's team opponents later that evening. Well, if there is ANYTHING that goes hand-in-hand with drinking, it's amatuer hockey. So we tell Patty that we'll be there with bells on.

And were we ever.

We even made signs! On one side, it read "Patty -- DO TIT". The other side read "YOU CAN CAN COUNT ON ACCOUNTANTS - I'M DRUNK". Yes, I realize what an idiot it made me look like. And okay...so maybe my so-called arts and crafts skills aren't up to the level of Corinna but at least I tried! We had rye and coke and we had beer and, most of all, we had enthusiasm.

At this point, some of the people not accustomed to our little group need a lesson in history. Our floor in residence had a men's hockey team. Now, in every other situation with every other team, nobody (and I do mean nobody) would go and watch the games -- except that our floor did. And being that this was university hockey, and that we were dinks, we used to cat call the other players, refs, and fans.

That tradition, long dormant, can back with such a vengenance that you'd be hard pressed to say that it was ever missing in the first place. Now, to be fair, we mostly just cut down Wigmore. Indeed, at one point in particular, I shouted, "Wigmore...your sister is HOT", just before they dropped the puck for a faceoff. But that's not to say that the other players from the other team didn't get a verbal bitch-slapping. Wow did we ever give them grief...

The problem was that there WERE a few fans of the other team at the rink sitting next to us. It didn't take us long -- and by us, I mean me, since I am the loudest out of our friends -- to piss off the other fans. This one dude, who had to be 50 if he was a day, came "this close" to throwing punches. In one lucid moment, he yelled out, "Hey you drunk assholes, you're drunk and being assholes!!!!".

I was like, uh....yeah?! Do they give out awards for pointing out the obvious?

Now that I had a new target to concentrate on, I proceeded to ask the dude if HE was the reason the Canadian Hockey Association had to put out those "It's Just a Game" commercials. Luckily for me, Jon Houle pulled me back from the edge, reminding me that it just wasn't worth it. Uh...worth what? I was so drunk that by that time I was already forgetting what had made me mad in the first place.

Too soon, the game was over and Patty's team lost 4 - 3. After Chad and Robin finished having sex in the men's bathroom, which may or may have actually happened, we left the arena ahead of the angry mob that would soon be after us with torches and pitchforks.

Lucky for us, the Union Hall is right beside the arena where the game was being played, and just as we were leaving a pub-crawl bus pulled up. COUNT IT! We snuck onto the bus (naturally) but couldn't blend into the crowd which demanded to see our wristbands (necessary for the pub crawl) . All I could think of were two things.

1. SHUT THE FUCK UP! Honestly, who cares that we technically weren't supposed to be on the bus? There was extra space and we were friends with the bus driver. Well, at least, we would be when we tipped her at the end of the ride.

2. Ga-ga-ga-goo. (Think Kokanee commercial here). The "leader of the pub crawl" was this chick that was wearing a bra that was beyond push up. I shit you not that her boobs were levitating! Too bad Moose and/or Jody weren't there, to give me the courage necessary to ask her "If I flip a coin, what do you reckon my chances are of getting head?" Of course, I did NOT say this...if I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind, then I'd be dead by now or in a coma.

Once we got dropped off at the Iron Horse, we went our seperate ways. Houle, Scabs, and I went to Hoolio's Barrio for some macho nacho's and a Bulldog (think tequila margerita with a corona stuck upside down in it). I got a cab to Houles and then walked home to sleep for 13 straight hours.

Ugh...tomorrow's Monday. What an absolute waste of 1/7th of your life...

posted by Team Shawn Michaels @ 6:21 p.m. 1 comments

The Guide to Being a Fuck Stick

"The Hero Who Curls Always Gets the Girl" is a line that rings near and dear to my heart. Really, combining a sport where you throw rocks down ice and copious drinking and yelling is a recipe for disaster, and as such, it has always attracted the shitheads of society. Because of this, my friends and I were thrilled at the prospect of drinking at the Edmonton Brier Patch.

Now, I have been near death with SARS since last weekend's drinking binge until 5:30 AM. Maybe I caught something from one of the random girls who tongue-fucked my tonsils at Cook County, but it was pretty bad. By Friday, it had turned into a sinus cold where the only outlet for all the snot and puss were my eyeballs. Yes, I was a walking, talking, dripping snot-rag, but drinking was on my mind. Buying a case of Pil, I rolled over to Wigmore's at 6:30 PM, snotty-eye be damned. Keep my disease in mind, as it plays a major role in the climax of this little tale (tail?).

I was on my sixth beer when Houle, Muley, Robin, Chad, and Jody rolled in, an hour and a half late. I was actually pleased that I had been able to drink so much before their arrival, as it made their presence just that more palatable. It made the requisite "Moose is gay/Moose is an idiot/Moose is ugly/Moose is a huge douche/Moose should fuck himself more/Moose only deserves cougars/" talk a bit easier to take, as I could drift off into my booze induced fantasy world where such stains don't exist. Ahhh, beer-what can't you do?

In terms of partying, Paddy's place was fun, but it wasn't remarkable by our standards. The drinking games were brought out, a billion beers were slaughtered, the token female was offended but pretended she wasn't, and Jody and I acted overtly homosexual. A couple of munts here, a tag-team ass shot there- it was the same old stuff that I've come to expect and love from myself and my group of friends over the many years of doing our shit (indeed, the tag-team ass shot was pretty beautiful, and whoever are the owners of those amazing shitters should spread the picture around the world. It’s just that hot!) And after a ridiculous amount of beer that would have kept most people at home, we decided to LRT it over to the Northland's Sportex for the Brier Patch Beer Gardens.

The ride over on the train was fun, for several reasons. It was during the trip that I learned that Val and Vanessa thought that I had a cocaine addiction, because, as they apparently said, I was "twitchy and moved fast". Muley, bless his heart, didn't want to tell me, as he was worried it would hurt my feelings. Jon Houle, on the other hand, had the biggest shit-eating grin in the world when he told me, further solidifying his role as Captain Asshole in my heart. In regards to the whole cocaine addiction thing, it is appropriate that Muley would introduce two new friends into the group who would have this opinion. It's just a couple more nuggets added to the pile of shit that I like to call my friends.

Keeping with this theme, we were able to convince random people on the LRT that Houle was on the Canadian National Ski Team. By calling him down for failing to make the Olympics in 2002 for a simple mistake, we gave the entire story credibility. Our group has the asshole-friend routine down to a fine art, where it makes any tale believable and convincing. Yes, by the end of the ride, Houle was fake-angry with us for making fun of his failure, and we had about ten people seriously believing that Jon was a potential Olympian. Ohh, if they only knew...

We got to the Brier Patch, and I was beginning to sober up, so I made a bee-line to the beer gardens. I immediately buy two beers, and begin killing my body with alcohol again. Because I have lived in Edmonton for too many years, I soon ran into people I knew. A couple of members of my team that are going to Tanzania with me this summer found me. They were female, so the pickle-party soon rolled on dubs. Because we are all walking jackals, the women were soon surrounded by a herd of pissed-up drunk guys, all trying to get their attention at once. We scared them, and the Sunday afternoon meeting will be all the more fun now. Yes, yes, I love awkward situations.

Flash-forward to the dance floor, and Muley cons this one girl into talking to me for awhile. She was drunk and not attractive, so she was in my league. Ashley was her name, though it wouldn't really matter. Her hand on my ass was nice, but her telling me that she had a boyfriend wasn't too cool. Regardless, I decided to suck it up, as in the time that she went from groping my can to telling me about her boyfriend Clint (or Cunt, or Fuck Stick, or something along those lines), SCABS was moving in for the kill with her friend Pam. Jody, seeing what was going down, also takes a bullet for the team, and dances with another girl in the group who apparently thought that JDB was her cousin. Deliverance and dueling banjos came to mind as I watched poor Jables take one for a friend. I lose SCABS in the crowd of girls who had panty soup over Brad Johnner, and try to have a conversation with Ashley:

"So, do you like....stuff?" I ask, being as charming as ever.

"Yes...You know I have a boyfriend, right?" Ashley replied.

"Yes...What's the point? I was just asking if you liked stuff?" I said.

"Okay, well yeah! Yeah, I like stuff!" she said, leaning over and giving me a kiss on the cheek. As old as I get, I know that I will never, ever understand the logic of a woman.

While the younger members of the group, Jody, SCABS, and myself were fighting off attack from the Deliverance Girl, Ashley, and Pam, apparently the elder statesmen of the group, Jon Houle and Muley were causing a bit of shit on their own, further proving that people do not get better with age. After talking with Muley over email, this is the impression that I got of what went down:

Houle, with a boner for Emerson Drive, pushed his way to the front of the stage. In the process, he pissed off a gaggle of cougars, who were seriously considering tearing him a new one. To appease them, Muley apologized on behalf of the “Canadian Olympic Skiing Association”. They bought this load of horse shit, and immediately fell in love with Dave for being so nice in diffusing the situation. They were all over ol’ married Muley, to the point where he was getting a bit uncomfortable.

The concert ends at 12:30 AM, so instead of being responsible and calling it a night, the group rolls on over to the Stonehouse, with Ashley, her friend Pam, and the Deliverance Girl in tow. Again, the Stonehouse was busy with hot women, and again, Jody and I did all we could to impress them by dancing like homosexuals with each other. Strangely, they weren't impressed. Muley’s cougars, however, were impressed, as they continued their love affair with him outside the bar by insisting that he pose in a picture with them. As the flash was going off, one of the cougars on Muley’s lap said, and I shit you not, “I hope my husband doesn’t see this picture!”. Muley, you fucking home-wrecker!

Soon, we were all too drunk, and we finally realized that it was time to go home. SCABS was doing amazing with Pam at this point, so I thought that it would be good if Jody and I went back with him and the rest of the girls to run some shake-n-bake, cock-block style. We hop in this van cab, and the women started being belligerent to the foreigner who was playing the role as our cabbie for the evening. Maybe they aren't so bad after all...

The girls lived in HUB Mall. Those apartments are small, much too small for three pissed up guys. It is at this time that Jody and I pull out some of the Old Magic, circa 2002-2003. It was rather remarkable, as we were talking about bringing back the thunder earlier in the night. The topic of sex came up:

"I give rim jobs to my boyfriend all the time," Ashley said.

"Oh yeah? Do you ever get corn in your mouth?," Jody said.

"That's sick!" Ashley said.

"As for myself, I'm a terrible lay," I said for no apparent reason.

"That's not something that you should brag about," Ashley said.

"Giving rim jobs isn't something you should brag about," Jody said with an expressionless face.

The room went silent, save for me busting a nut laughing. "The guy in the red hoodie should go," Ashley said, referring to Jody.

"Fuck it, let's roll Moose," Jody said.

"You're right. My pink eye is acting up (it’s not pink eye, but it suited the moment). Ladies, it's been a pleasure. Hopefully, we can all do it again sometime. SCABS, enjoy your evening," I said as I walked out of their place. The last thing I heard coming from the apartment was "I kissed a guy on the cheek who has pink eye????!!!!".

Flawless victory.

Post-mortem:

SCABS never did end up screwing Pam, and he somehow lost his wallet. Jon Houle unfortunately survived the evening, and Muley ended up being liquored to all get out, and yet nothing bad happened. But of utmost importance, Jody and I regained our titles of being Douches Supremes. A simple night of curling and drinking provided so much.

Moose

posted by Team Shawn Michaels @ 2:40 p.m. 2 comments