Friday, May 22, 2009

The Game of Deathball

I write this post to ensure that you are all made aware of the new sinister trend that is currently sweeping through the Midwest like wildfire. I'm not talking about ugg boots*, swine flu, enormous man-sunglasses, or any other such un-American bullshit...I am referring, of course, to the new drinking game called Deathball. States that have been infiltrated include Missouri, Illinois, Ohio, and, most recently, Tennessee. This post will inform you of the ins and outs of the game so that you will be prepared in the event that there is a Deathball sighting in your area.

Deathball has a simple gameplay and configuration; it can be set up at most residences, whether they be an apartment, Mc-mansion, or cardboard box. What follows is a list of items needed to complete a beer-soaked evening that you will most likely need to piece together the next day with the help of your equally retarded friends:

1 table, preferably 8x4
2 ping pong balls
4 pint glasses (must be glass, no solo cups)
6 ounces courage
1 pair of drinking shoes
4 players
1 midget**

The pint glasses are each filled with one (1) full beer and placed at each corner of the table. A "chuggable" brew is highly recommended - think one of the Big Three light beers***. Two (2) people stand on each end near their respective glasses. The object is to completely drain your beers before the other team, subjecting the losers to all the shame and humiliation that goes hand-in-hand with losing a drinking game. There is certainly no second place in Deathball.

Balls are thrown one at a time with the intent not to land in the cup, but rather to make contact with the glass and bounce off the table. If the cup is missed, your turn is over. Throw with the idea to make it difficult for the other team to retrieve the ball, whether it be with a sweet ricochet or a lucky bounce under a nearby object. Your partner begins chugging his beer until the other team successfully tracks down the ball and returns it to the table. Once the ball is settled back on the playing surface, the drinking immediately ceases and the turn passes to your partner. He throws, you drink, the ball is returned, then the other team gets their shot. Play continues until one team has emptied both of their glasses.

When people describe most drinking games, the phrase "everyone wins" is often mentioned. While there may be a grain of truth to this cliche, it is still a stupid saying. Drinking games frequently go awry for many reasons -- people stop paying attention, fail to realize it's their turn, forget the rules, etc. With Deathball, however, there is simply no room for such douchebaggery. Here is a quick list of why Deathball is such a great drinking game:

-Matches are quick and intense; no long, drawn out I-hit-one-cup-every-seven-minutes beer pong type of wait
-The rules are so simple that even people from Kentucky**** will understand them
-People will fall down and/or get hurt, which is always funny
-If you go on a winning streak, you will black out, and set yourself up on a collision course with White Castle at 3 a.m.

So to sum up, if you are bumming around on a Friday night and feel like playing a game that will effectively separate you from your sobriety, sense of pride in oneself, and possibly one of your shoes, give Deathball a try. Introduce it to all of your friends, so that it may continue to spread throughout this great land.



*Ladies, you look goddamn ridiculous.
**Optional (celebratory dwarf tossing is recommended after a particularly big win)
***Fighthouse should be probably be avoided
****Former state motto: "Where Education Pays." Seriously.

Monday, May 18, 2009

Greatest Birthday Present Ever!


On my 7th birthday I got a new bike.  On my 10th birthday I got a set of drums.   On my 15th birthday I got my first guitar.  On my 18th birthday I got a car.  On my 21st birthday I got to buy myself 21 shots, got hosed off completely naked by the 18 year old sister of the girl I was dating after puking on myself, and got to sleep in the bathtub of said girls' parents' house.  

To celebrate my 25th birthday, "Go Skateboarding Day," and the summer solitice/pagan holiday, the state of Kentucky has given me a gift I could have lived without -- the opportunity to take a Friday off of work, drive 8 hours (one-way), and spend entirely too much time in the hell-hole of Mayfield, KY to renew my drivers license.  Talking to the DMV today on the phone quickly reminded me of why I only go back to West KY for Christmas. 

I would much rather be leaping across bonefires to promote the fertility of animals and crops with all the other pagans.   

An Inclusive List of Things in my Room

- Sixty-Four (64) square feet of carpet (maybe never vacuumed)
- Zero (0) electrical lights
- One (1) Window (doubles as only source of light)
- One (1) funky smell that I can't quite identify (from previous tenant)
- Three (3) empty suitcases 
- Zero (0) things on the walls
- One-thousand (1,000) noises from the street
- Two (2) pillows
- One (1) air mattress (twin size, if not smaller)

It's really impressive and I call it home.

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Where Not to Meet Chicks and the Freakness


Last year I went to Preakness and had a life changing experience within the confines of Pimlico and then in the ghetto of Baltimore.  Yesterday, I enjoyed the second leg of the triple crown 700 miles away from Pimlico and safely at an Off Track Betting site with Yak and Goat.   I had never been to an OTB and was amazed at the number of interesting people were there.  Lots of people with serious gambling problems, lots of people yelling at the ponies, and no women.  

As some of you are probably aware, this is the first year that Pimlico didn't allow its patrons to bring in their own booze and it did not go over very well.  I really can't blame the Maryland frat guys from not going because without booze there is no reason to get in random fistfights, have outdoor sex, or race down the urinals.


Saturday, May 16, 2009

"You're a gift from God!"



I finally moved into my apartment Friday night and immediately became friends with my neighbors. My neighbors are 2 50 year old twin sisters who are not attractive and don't fit any of the porno stereotypes that I've heard about.  The twins and I became such good friends that I had to call and bail on my long time friend, PD, and explain that I had chosen my neighbors over him.  


I will say the Twins couldn't have been any nicer, but I'm quite confident that no one in the entire world has spoken to them in 10 years.    The Twins told me everything about their life, cried in front of me while speaking of their now deceased mother, offered to give me a Chicago Bulls three-peat t-shirt circa 1993, and they have promised to begin leaving baked goods on my door.  After a few drinks, the Twins declared that I am "a gift from God."   The Twins' 22 year old nephew and his "fat but cool" friend joined the party also and it became one of those nights that is so absurdly weird you wake up the next morning and just keep asking yourself "what the hell happened last night?"  A lot after this point becomes fuzzy in my mind except I know the nephew and I put on an impromptu concert and I woke up fully clothed on my couch -- the roommate I met 5 hours earlier was impressed.  More on him later.

Monday, May 11, 2009

New City, Same Characters

Today was my first day in a new city.  I was quickly reminded of one thing that large cities can offer that most other places cannot -- an army of shit balls crazy, in-your-face, homeless people.  For some reason these individuals are attracted to me, or maybe its vice versa.  I've encountered many different types of bums and for the most part they are friendly, especially if you offer to share your White Castles.   (*note:  this isn't always true, once a guy approached 3 of my buddies and myself and declared "I'm gonnnnnnaaaaaaaaa killlllllll you guysss."  We have yet to see him again, but he haunts my dreams.)


Anyways, my experience today with the city's homeless ambassador was enjoyable.  Just when I began thinking how weird it is for thousands of people to be so physically close to each and give absolutely no acknowledgement to each other, a bum yelled at me "Good morning gentleman!  Have a great day!"  The Wabash Wanderer (as I learned he's named) expressed kindness that most in the city don't show and made my first day in the city much more enjoyable.  I hope to share a bag of White Castle's with the Wabash Wanderer soon.

A New Summer