Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Being A Champ's Friend

As I was sitting at my desk in the massive expanse of cubicles that is my office, I was neglecting the tasks I’m actually paid to do because I couldn’t help but think about the drastic differences between my weekend and weekday lives.  I was at work, wearing a suit, speaking politely when spoken to, and putting on a facade that gives off the impression of normalcy.  However, when the weekend rolls around, I shed my secret identity and emerge as the Champion that you all know and love. 

But sometimes my weekend adventures don’t turn out exactly as planned, even though I am fully aware that there is always the possibility of something bad happening to me anytime I go out partying.  Even worse is when something unexpected happens to one of my friends as a result of my actions, and it’s gotten to the point where I feel like I should make my friends sign consent forms before they go out with me.  For example, last weekend I went to the city for my friend’s birthday party and I got unbelievably hammered.  My night was like the Giants’ last three seasons:  it started out good and extremely promising, but as it went on it got worse and worse until it ended up completely fucked.  I was starting arguments with my friends and trying to fight Asians for no reason, and that was all before me and my boy Diego tried to fight everyone we saw for the rest of the night.  Some of my friends had to spend a good amount of time trying to keep me at bay, and luckily, nobody got hurt or arrested, but it does remind me of some other times when my friends had to pay the price for my championship wins.

A few years ago I was at an acquaintance’s apartment on the UAlbany campus.  Everyone was fucked up, and there was a great ratio of girls to guys, so we all knew we had a good shot of putting the dick in the puss.  Everyone was dancing, smoking L’s, and having a good time while I was in the middle of a game of beer pong.  It was a friendly contest at first, but the kid I was playing against made a wise comment, so I flipped up the table and hit him with a three piece combo to the jaw.  Next thing I knew I got kicked out of the party, along with all the friends I brought, leaving their dreams of getting laid shattered as a result of my champion actions.

Another time, I was with a bunch of my boys at a club in downtown Albany and I was in rare form. When I was on the dance floor I felt like Jerry Sandusky in a shower, except instead of young boys it was college age sluts falling victim to molestation.  There was absolutely no controlling me, but at this point all of my alcohol induced aggression was still being channeled into positive energy, so nobody was paying any mind.  The drunker I got though, the more the club started to seem like Tiananmen Square, where the girls were the Chinese protesters and I was the fuckin’ Tank.  Eventually, things did start to get ugly and several fights almost happened because I was hitting on girls who were with their boyfriends, so my boys and I decided to leave.  On the walk to my friend’s car I was knocking over garbage cans, bending street signs, barrel rolling through bushes, round-housing side mirrors on cars, and basically destroying everything in sight.  By the time I was done, the path from the club to the car looked like a Fault Line in Chile after a high magnitude earthquake strikes.  Unfortunately, when we got in the car and pulled off the curb we were immediately pulled over.  The officer said he witnessed my rowdiness on the walk back and waited to see if we drove.  My friend who was driving drank just a little too much and was slightly over the legal limit, so he was hit with a DUI.  Once again, I was partly responsible for something negative happening to a friend because I am incapable of losing championships.

There are many more occasions where my actions have caused an unfavorable outcome for my friends.  Some of these situations are going to have future blog posts that detail the shenanigans completely, and some I have already shared with you.  Some stories, like the time when I called a kid a pussy, not knowing his group of friends outnumbered mine three to one, are better left untold (for now).  With all of this being said, I was really thinking about taking it down a notch and not being so aggressive in my pursuit for championships.  Because truthfully, I do feel bad when someone I actually care about gets caught in the crossfire.  Throughout my life, my champion ways have caused me to lose some friends, whether it’s because they can’t handle being around me, or because I just think they’re bitch.  So, as the hour hand neared five o’clock and I was still at my desk, I was really pondering my life and wondering if I am taking things a little too far.  I was debating if it was finally time for me to start living a conventional life, where everything is done in an orderly fashion and I’ll never have to worry about what kind of trouble I might get into when Friday rolls around.  Then I remembered that I really don’t give a fuck. I fuckin' is.

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