Sex is awesome. Anybody who has ever had it wants to keep having it, and there seems to be an endless list of benefits – it relieves stress, burns calories, boosts your immune system, improves self esteem, etc. Having a lot of sex is almost a prerequisite to being a Champion, but apparently this is only true for men. Allow me to elaborate. Most women could have sex whenever they want, and an attractive woman certainly can. But most of them don’t because they’re afraid that they’ll be called a slut. What these women don’t realize is that with the way girls gossip and talk shit nowadays, they’re going to be called sluts anyways. So, they might as well play the part….fuckin’ slut.
Whenever I get on the topic of sluts, one particular event always pops into my thought process. It is an event like no other, when Champions walk amongst men and girls tear their clothes off to bow at our feet. It is a sacred event, unparalleled in its nature and envied by those on the outside looking in. It is a tradition that goes by many names, but it is most commonly referred to as the Revue.
Sponsored by my Oneonta fraternity, the Revue is an annual contest to see which sorority can get the most naked. Seriously. They just get naked. There are a number of competitions that help us to determine the winner, and the sorority that ends up being the victors gets to party with us that night. This might sound absurd, and even down right mind boggling, but you should understand that this event is pulled off because my fraternity is a bunch of Champions constantly on the hunt to feed their champion urges. There is also an open bar to get all of the girls nice and loose.
Anyways, a few years ago on the night before the Revue, my girlfriend at the time called me to tell me that it wasn’t working out. I explained to her that I can’t be a good boyfriend until I retire from being a Champion, and I’m not going to stop being a champion until I die. With that said, I can’t be in a relationship when I’m dead, so it looks like we got a real conundrum here! Then I reminded her that she was breaking up with me at the worst possible time, because I was so excited for the revue that I forgot I even had a girlfriend to begin with. So before she could respond, I hung up and laid down to fall asleep, hoping to dream of the nakedness I would be seeing on the morrow as a newly single man. Unfortunately, I was so fuckin’ pumped for the Revue that I couldn’t sleep, so I did this for 8 hours until it was morning:
So after doing that all night and going to class all day, it was finally time for the Revue to start. I walked over to my boy Detail’s apartment and we took a few shots of Belvedere and made a toast to the night ahead of us. We arrived at the venue, and I started pounding beers and posing in as many pictures with the girls as possible. Normally I’m not a big “picture guy,” but I needed some way to remember what was about to transpire.
After drinking like it was my last day on Earth, the competition started. I’m not going to get too specific, because in all honesty I barely remember. I just know that girls were getting naked, licking whipped cream off each other, and ruthlessly making out at every turn. It was disgusting and beautiful at the same time. In the midst of hooking up with different girls, I was getting texts from my ex about how gross I am, and how slutty all the girls are. I was too preoccupied by the Revue’s awesomeness happening all around me to text her back, or give a fuck, so I smashed my phone so it would stop vibrating. Champions don’t think about consequences, they assume that all of their actions will lead to some type of Championship Ring ceremony.
After about an hour of sexual pandemonium, the Revue was over. A winner was chosen and the girls left so they could shower and "wash the revue away". My boys and I were so full of joy that we were on stage together jumping, dancing, and celebrating. We looked like a baseball team after a pitcher pitches a no hitter. It was the happiest I’ve ever seen a group of men, and I’m glad I actually remember it because happiness in its most pure and intense form is hard to come by in life. Just kidding. I’m a champion aka always happy as fuck.
Once the victory dance was over, we all scattered to find somewhere to put our dicks for the night. I suddenly realized that I no longer had a girlfriend, and it was one of those nights where I didn’t feel like trying too hard to get laid. I was way too fucked up, and most people didn’t even know I was single yet. So, to remedy the situation, I found a real easy target who was almost as drunk as I was.
We went back to her apartment and immediately started going at it. It was nothing special, and as soon as we were done she passed out. As I lay there smiling and gazing at the ceiling with thoughts of the Revue still fresh in my mind, I started to get the hiccups. After about fifteen minutes, I was still hiccupping like a hooker with a sensitive gag reflex, so I got up and went to the kitchen. I tried all of the tricks to get rid of them, and nothing worked. At this point, I was hiccupping nonstop for nearly an hour. I was not going to let them ruin the best night ever, so I was determined to find a solution to my problem. I decided to try and stick my finger down my throat. To my amazement, it actually worked, but not until I was done vomiting all over this random girls bedroom. It was like my mouth was the opening to a fire hose connected to a vomit-filled hydrant, and I was dousing everything. Let me show you a classic family guy clip to emphasize the shear magnitude of my vomming.
When I finally finished emptying the entire content of my stomach and intestines, I notice that the girl somehow slept through the chaos. Being a Champion, I wasn’t about to clean the mess, and I definitely wasn’t going to replace anything that was damaged beyond repair. So I did what any champ would do – I gathered all of my clothes and wrote the girl a note. Then I left. The note went something like this: “So I know you were too blacked out to remember this, but you threw up all over the place and all over my clothes (hence the vomit all over your room). That is why I left. I hope ya feel better!”
The next day, the girl called me apologizing for her “disgusting” actions. She told me she drank way too much, and then apologized a few more times before insisting on buying me new clothes to replace the ones she threw up on. So not only did I get away with throwing up, I got a new outfit out of the deal. Being a Champion really has its perks!
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