tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22618087043634846872024-03-13T11:16:33.579-07:00The Champion's CornerGreg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-61966339369277369412017-03-30T11:05:00.000-07:002017-06-03T04:04:33.175-07:00Introduction<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On March 3<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>rd</sup>, 1986 at approximately 3:00 am, a gentle breeze cascaded easterly, gusting over the rolling hills and misty mountains of upstate New York. A vibrant moonlight reflected off the dew-covered grass, and a feeling of optimism hung in the air as if the land knew that Spring was right around the corner.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> At this moment, </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">a <i><b>Champion</b></i> was born.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">And by "born," I mean an infant covered in uteral goo broke free from the confines of the womb and army crawled out of his mother’s vagina.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The world has never been the same since. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The fiscally brilliant correctly predicted that Plan B stock would skyrocket, and knife use increased exponentially.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "Pharmaceutical" companies</span> expanded their productivity in preparation for a certain someone's late teens and early twenties, and Door Builders began developing panels that could withstand the fiercest head butts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Needless to say, the Door Builders failed and the Pharmy's ™ couldn’t keep up - but those stories will come later on in our journey.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> And as you begin this journey, understand that the journey of The Champion is difficult to put into words. The scribes and scholars who have attempted to document this spectacle have devoted their blood, sweat, and tears to their duty as historians - their duty to humanity. </span></span><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> But even they falter.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> For example, it is known in the scientific community that the early years of one’s life are critical in their development, but the early years of the Champion's life are shrouded in mystery.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">His earliest memory is actually something he doesn’t remember: losing his virginity when he was 15 to a 21 year old fat whore named Stephanie while blacked out on Jim Beam.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Thank god he doesn’t remember.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">After that everything got a little crazy -partying, arrests, vandalism, stabbing, pledging an unrecognized Frat.....even a little poo on the rug.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> So with that being said, I extend the warmest of welcomes to all. Welcome to The Champions Corner</span></div>Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-49135026403392374162016-03-11T20:03:00.000-08:002017-04-01T18:26:54.894-07:00Tips When Battling a Champ<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Since I’m a Champion, a lot of people assume that I am invincible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These people are correct in their assumption.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am invincible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, when facing me in battle, there are some things that can be used against me that will temporarily weaken me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a way, it is kind of like Superman after he is exposed to kryptonite, but the things I am talking about actually exist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Superman is a fictional character, I am a real life champion, and I like a fair fight every once in a while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For this reason, I am going to share with you three things that will effectively suppress my attacks long enough for an opponent to either run away from me or achieve a false sense of confidence that will cause them to continue battling me and eventually be annihilated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: large;"><strong>1. Norv Turner's Neck</strong></span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Norv Turner’s neck is so disgusting that it stops me in my tracks no matter what I’m doing so I can regurgitate everything in my body that I haven’t yet shit out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The thought of it alone makes me want to gouge my own eyes out with my bare hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if I am forced to learn Braille because of this self-imposed blindness, and someone makes me feel the little bumps that spell “Norv Turner’s neck,” I will saw off my fingers with a dull knife and never read again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously Norv, what the fuck is going on there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s as if your neck is aging ten times faster than the rest of your body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your neck looks like a brown paper bag that’s been crumpled up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your wardrobe should be nothing but turtlenecks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ya know what they say about wrinkly necks, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing, because until you were born, no neck has existed that looks like a mixture between a Pug’s face and fingertips that were in the pool for too long. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s too bad disgusting necks don’t translate to winning seasons, because then you might not be one of the worst coaches in the history of sports.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And seriously, that neck man….what the fuck. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: large;"><strong>2. Pale Chicks</strong></span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If you don’t happen to have Norv Turner’s neck handy, then the next best thing you could do to stop my onslaught is to physically transform into a pale chick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing makes me drop everything and run away screaming while flailing my arms like the sight of pasty skin on an otherwise attractive girl. It’s not a coincidence that terrifying monsters like Vampires, Mummy’s and Yeti’s are all white as fuck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously girls, there is absolutely no reason you should not have a bronze skin tone to compliment your god given features (boobs and butts).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before I start talking to a girl at a bar, I hold up a small piece of paper that is colored with a tan hue and compare it to their skin – kind of like homeowners using paint swatches to help them choose a new color when they’re redecorating the foyer to impress the judgemental neighbors. The most widely accepted excuse for not tanning amongst young women is that overexposure to the sun and frequent tanning booth usage can lead to different skin diseases when they get older.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay, but sometimes in life you have to take risks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you don’t get tan now and continue to look like a model from a picture painted in the 1700's, you’re not going to attract any worthwhile s</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">uitors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Therefore, by the time you’re 40 and you look like Cruella De Vil, you’re going to be alone and miserable anyways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess it’s a lose-lose situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><strong>3. Vegans</strong></span></o:p><br>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And lastly, if you can’t produce any of the things I just mentioned, just tell me you are a Vegan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you do this, you will piss me off so much that I will beat the shit out of myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing makes me want to dive head first into a wood chipper more than being trapped in the middle of a group of Vegans. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess I understand some people don’t eat meat because they don’t like the taste, but everybody has the right to be a pussy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the people who don’t eat meat for the “ethical” reasons that really make my blood boil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could go on a rant for hours about this, but I am going to cut straight to the point – their logic is fucking retarded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The same amount of chickens, pigs, turkeys, and cattle are going to be domesticated and slaughtered for human consumption regardless of how many salads you eat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Basically what I’m saying is you are not making a difference at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re just being really fucking annoying.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span>Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-34483890321819266802015-01-14T10:32:00.000-08:002017-04-01T21:53:00.280-07:00Champions > Celebrities<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "inherit" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In life, there always seems to be a natural order to everything, with Darwin’s theory of evolution and survival of the fittest at the forefront of this ideology.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my opinion, the order of superiority amongst living beings goes something like this: Champions, Men, Inferior Men, Animals, Insects, Women.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once an initial order is established, we can also rank each subject in different categories, like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">FHM</i>’s Sexiest Women in the World or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">NatGeo</i>’s Deadliest Animals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, I’m not trying to get too deep in philosophy, but there is a group of people who seem to be ranked above everyone else:<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">celebrities</b></i>.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> Everyone loves celebrities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People will flock to their favorite actor’s movies or stand outside in pouring rain for hours to watch their favorite band’s concert.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Celebrities invoke a reaction from their fans that is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Eli Manning threw the Super Bowl winning touchdown pass, Giant’s fans across the country acted like rabid dogs, and you can be sure there wasn’t a dry pussy in the crowd when the Beatles performed on the Ed Sullivan Show.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One time, I had the honor of hanging with a couple celebrities, or should I say<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> they</i> were honored to be amongst a Champion.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> It was a cool autumn night in the hills of Oneonta, a night that started like most other nights for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was hanging out at my apartment, winning freestyle battles and dominating beer pong without a partner, when I got a text message from a friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>According to the text, the band OAR was in town and they were going to be hanging out at the bar I frequent. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t give a fuck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I continued my beer pong game and kept pounding my Jack and Coke side-drink when I got another text from a different friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>According to this text, my friend got his hands on some PED's.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> At the time I didn't realize the weight of the situation - but with that text message the three puzzle pieces needed for a Championship-winning night fell into place: Me being in a situation with a large audience (OAR at the bar), me having PED's and alcohol, and me being a <i>Champion</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> Anyways, while I was waiting for my friend to get to my apartment I continued my streak of landslide beer pong victories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he finally showed up, I got so excited I sank my opponents last cups in succession, then threw the remaining ball so hard at his face he felt like an innocent bystander after a Michael Boley interception.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After doing a little wheeling and dealing, I had what I wanted and I cleared everyone out of my apartment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was all ready to taste my new purchase when my phone rang.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the kid who texted me earlier about OAR. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“What?” I asked in the most exaggeratedly annoyed voice of all time.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Wer'e comin’ to get you to go chill with OAR at the bar,” he responded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Where have you been man?”<o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Bro, you know I was at the pregame for Happy Hour before I went to the pregame for the party before the bar.”<o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> “Whatever, we’ll be there in five minutes.”<o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">With only five minutes left to finish my beers, I quickly assembled a makeshift funnel and chugged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I frantically searched my apartment for a plain white tee shirt so I could write “Fuck OAR!” on it with a sharpie, but my efforts were futile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Champions don’t do laundry, they buy new apparel when soiling occurs. Hashtag Stay woke. </span></span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Finally, I heard my friend’s car horn, so I ran outside and we headed to our destination.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we pulled into the parking lot, I waited to go inside so I could sample the product.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did a bump, and it was so good that I sat in the car for a few minutes and looked like a kid watching Star Wars for the first time before I proceeded into the bar. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As soon as I got in, I plowed my way to the bar so I could get a drink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I waited for the bartender, I examined my surroundings and realized that the band’s presence had caused the bar to be completely packed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided it would be best to order two Double Jack and Cokes instead of one single mix, because who knows when I would be able to shimmy my way to the bar again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once I had both drinks in hand, my eyes found the prize.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>OAR was at the back bar, but fully accessible to anybody who dared to go up to them.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I started heading in their direction, looking like Michael Strahan doing the “swim move” to get through the crowd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I completely ignored everybody trying to say hi to me, and I suddenly realized I was ridiculously fucked up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My alcohol-induced double vision made OAR look like a 10-piece band made up of five identical twins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, double-vision doesn’t impair a Champion, it just makes me think I have twice as many fans giving me a standing ovation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When I was a couple feet away from them, I realized one of the band members was ordering everyone around him shots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pushed a couple girls out of the way so my face was literally one inch away from the face of the bassist's.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We made eye contact, and he obviously averted his gaze before I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>Champion 1, Celebrity 0.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I grabbed two of the shots off the bar that OAR ordered and threw them back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pointed out how I have a limitless supply of championship rings and MVP trophies, but they don’t necessarily translate to actual wealth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I screamed, “THANKS FOR THE FUCKIN’ SHOTS!” right in their faces.</span></span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> Apparently, they thought I was being disrespectful, so I was ushered away against my will by a group of large men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t really care at the time, because I already finished my two Jack and Cokes and coincidentally, the two ruffians dropped me off right at the main bar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> So after I ordered some more drinks, two things happened that pretty much sealed the deal for my night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First, someone at the bar told me that OAR stands for “Of A Revolution.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Second, I noticed a pattern within the female populace of the venue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realized that all of the girls around me at the bar were very unattractive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the other hand, I observed that as you got closer to the band, the girls became more attractive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let me present this visual aid to enhance my findings:</span></span><br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipYfUNxA2lUf04jHnVRxUOK8VkHjXJC3IOzY4l05lnbQ76PK3wfA00UIuL8-QYS885bHPOPCWEj5TRPKr4-3RzuMzZck2FHD2QUXk7B74E5m2K1ZgmS99ouCw1KsTwckz1sfbELXn6xek/s1600/Graph.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipYfUNxA2lUf04jHnVRxUOK8VkHjXJC3IOzY4l05lnbQ76PK3wfA00UIuL8-QYS885bHPOPCWEj5TRPKr4-3RzuMzZck2FHD2QUXk7B74E5m2K1ZgmS99ouCw1KsTwckz1sfbELXn6xek/s400/Graph.bmp" width="400"></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Allow me to clarify – if a champion is around unattractive girls for too long he starts to feel like a Vampire exposed to ultra-violet sunlight. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My skin literally starts to melt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, in my drunk rage, I plowed through the crowd and was right next to OAR again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My blackout was about to claim my night, and one of the band members was raising his glass, presumably to make some kind of toast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he started to speak, I interrupted him by screaming “OF A REVOLUTION!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He shrugged it off, so I stepped closer, and as he opened his mouth to try and speak a second time, I interrupted again screaming “OF A REVOLUTION! YEAH!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Then, I just started screaming, “OF A FUCKIN REVOLUTION!” no matter who was trying to talk, and next thing I know I’m kicked out of the bar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still had the PEDs so my night didn’t end, but it is full of too many black holes for me to recollect. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This was the first of many celebrity encounters I have had, and let me assure you, no lessons were learned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will say this though: I’m sure OAR are a bunch of good guys and I hear for celebrities they are actually very down to Earth, but no one is safe </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">when the Champions come out to play. So what I am trying to convey with this disclaimer is FUCK YOU OAR. </span></span><br>
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Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-27761530484962085712014-12-25T13:43:00.000-08:002017-04-01T18:45:48.172-07:00Hall of Champions Inductee #1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzYtso5guucWxOHRp8oir2XbP7_QBVTF9bX__msS3-3dpYG9C5zpfCUVpGy5CgWN0Snu7-t5FWvnAEBe24VL2zVkw7Upxxx8nYoQFUkGTLUuGrCS0TVcWVgQ94O-cDqPUd4k_7GJWVvnY/s1600/000000000000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzYtso5guucWxOHRp8oir2XbP7_QBVTF9bX__msS3-3dpYG9C5zpfCUVpGy5CgWN0Snu7-t5FWvnAEBe24VL2zVkw7Upxxx8nYoQFUkGTLUuGrCS0TVcWVgQ94O-cDqPUd4k_7GJWVvnY/s400/000000000000.jpg" width="400"></a></div>
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When I decided to start writing a blog that would serve as a chronicle of my champion achievements, I knew that it would bring joy to people all over the world. It also donned on me that there are other champions out there besides yours truly, so it only made sense to devote some of my time on this website to make my readers aware of these other champs. At first I was going to do a "Champion of the Week" post, but being a champion is a lifestyle, not a seven-day act.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also, I don’t know if I will be able to post once a week about these people, because champions have no set schedule.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day I might wake up and decide to go to “work,” clock out and drive home, and write all night about my past sexual exploits and binge drinking escapades.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the other hand, I might wake up one day and not go to work, drive to Oneonta for a twelve day drug-and-alcohol-fueled party, and put in the type of MVP performance worthy of a future blog post.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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So with that said, you may be asking yourself why I posted a picture showing what appears to be the offspring of Gimli Gloin and Yoda.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clearly a man who looks like that cannot be worthy of enshrinement in the prestigious HOC.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>WRONG.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That man is <strong>George R.R. Martin</strong> aka author of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Game of Thrones</i> aka Champion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(minor spoiler warning)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkqjMNmWJxXw8HhQft0UupTtcQN9SJiwbq0DDBVyithvtcp9rD2q4nHrIRWfv6azGiZ1D77kYnMQa7_z52jDgVI01OwOBw8hCqzXqH7VTpk5_zZRUJUudlmo3g38rwlvFBDkIXLMyRsic/s1600/Game-of-Thrones-gifs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkqjMNmWJxXw8HhQft0UupTtcQN9SJiwbq0DDBVyithvtcp9rD2q4nHrIRWfv6azGiZ1D77kYnMQa7_z52jDgVI01OwOBw8hCqzXqH7VTpk5_zZRUJUudlmo3g38rwlvFBDkIXLMyRsic/s320/Game-of-Thrones-gifs.jpg" width="320"></a></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A Game of Thrones </i>is actually the title of the first book in his planned seven book series <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Song of Ice and Fire</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Calling them books doesn’t do Martin justice either, these are fuckin’ Tomes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each one is near a thousand pages or more, and they are filled with epic sword battles, back-stabbing that makes the Desperate Housewives look like Big Bird and Elmo, and graphic sexual encounters. Anybody who can write about a Dragon Queen taking a Horse Lord’s “manhood in her mouth” in one chapter, then discuss a Dwarf who fucks a prostitute before leading a band of mountain clansmen into battle is a true Champion in my book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also, don’t get too emotionally attached to any of the characters – Martin won’t think twice about chopping off the head of a fan-favorite main character to advance his plot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just ask Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, Hand of the King, and fuckin’ dead before the first book ends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And to top it off, an Emmy-nominated HBO series is based on his books, creatively titled “Game of Thrones.”</div>
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Basically, if Lord of the Rings raped The Sopranos, Game of Thrones would be the bastard child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So <strong>George R.R. Martin</strong>, I am proud to welcome you to the Hall of Champions.</div>
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Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-73706945378409678382014-12-22T18:40:00.000-08:002017-04-01T20:58:30.168-07:00A Little Advice From The Champ<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidlWG5aTiy-fN8YIITFFtAepkLW0OBKfXFvArsxeC6cBcbvdWugLKx42g68rj1Emvr3XcTW7LKagH8tUgwbPYigZznb6lui7Koi8c9_MEjEoRyQtgziuDxcNpmLuXEowyLWKR8cXS3UUA/s1600/thinking-man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidlWG5aTiy-fN8YIITFFtAepkLW0OBKfXFvArsxeC6cBcbvdWugLKx42g68rj1Emvr3XcTW7LKagH8tUgwbPYigZznb6lui7Koi8c9_MEjEoRyQtgziuDxcNpmLuXEowyLWKR8cXS3UUA/s320/thinking-man.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Hey readers! This is your friendly neighborhood crime-committing Champion checking in to give you a little bit of advice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you have 900 dollars laying around, and you don’t want to part ways with it, then do exactly the opposite of what I did in the following situation. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A few years ago I was feeling a little worn out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of the championship winning I was doing was really starting to take its toll, and my life felt as if it was a never ending playoff series in which the trophy-clinching game was always within my grasp, but still just out of my reach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To make a living, I was delivering pizzas, which is slang for smoking weed while driving around town to pick up tip money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One night, after reflecting on my life over a thirty pack of PBR, I decided I was going to quit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of giving my manager two weeks’ notice, I felt that the most appropriate way to leave the job would be to just not go in - without any prior indication that I was unhappy with my work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also, I decided I would head straight to a local bar and pound some beers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually, my now-former boss called my cell phone to see where I was.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Where are you, you’re late for your shift,” he asked with a hint of anger in his voice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“I’m at the bar, where are you?” I responded, matching his angry tone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Well ya can’t drive if you’re drinking. You wanna get fired?” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Yes.” I said as I hung up and threw back a beer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Now that I was officially a free man, I decided to celebrate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ordered shots for myself and the three girls sitting next to me, and after drinking them I immediately left the bar, forcing them to pick up the tab.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whatever…I do what I want. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I ended up meeting up with a few of my friends at another bar, and the heavy drinking really took off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean shots being chased my mixed drinks mixed with shots being chased by beers in between bogey breaks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a few hours of this alcohol induced massacre on my personal well-being, I was obviously the most fucked up person at the bar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bartender must have noticed my belligerence, because when I ordered another round of drinks he told me that I was cut off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now a normal person would probably realize it was time to call it a night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not a Champion. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> My response to a </span>bartender telling me I’m cut off is like when a girl insists she's on the pill but still shows up on your doorstep six weeks later with a positive pregnancy test. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I exploded with uncontainable rage tainted with regret and pride - AKA the Champion's cocktail </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Before the bartender had time to react, I reached over the bar and grabbed a bottle of some type of liquor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I tipped it back and the liquid started pouring into my mouth, my friends grabbed me and tried to force me into submission.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile, the bartender hopped over the bar to join the confusion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few seconds later the bouncers jumped in the melee, and it was complete chaos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, someone managed to wrestle the bottle away from me, and I was told that if I didn’t leave immediately the cops would be called.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided to be the bigger man and leave, but not before I left my mark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>As my friends and I were strolling out of the exit, I grabbed a vase off one of the tables and concealed it under my jacket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we were pulling out of the parking lot, I threw the vase at one of the huge 10x10 foot windows that faced the main road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Needless to say, the window shattered and I laughed like Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight during the whole car ride home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Unfortunately, I left my cell phone on the bar, and I was caught on camera.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So the next day, I received a phone call from the owner of the bar telling me if I didn’t pay for the window there would be felony charges pressed against me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since I am familiar with criminal law I decided to pay. I will stack misdemeanors like Jose Canseco stacks hormones, but felonies are no joke. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Nine hundred dollars later, there was a new window at the bar that I am now banned from, and my friends who were there decided it wasn’t a good idea to take me out for drinks when I am “celebrating” new found freedom.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">To conclude, I just want to say that you should never celebrate quitting your job in an extremely inconsiderate way - drinking an insane amount of alcohol and ignoring someone who tells you that you’ve had WAY too much to drink and then smashing a 900 dollar window for no reason.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh Champions, ya can’t live with em’, ya can’t live </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">without em’. </span></span><span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; text-align: center;">¯\_(ツ)_/¯</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> </span>Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-304269403164925842013-11-13T14:26:00.000-08:002017-04-01T20:25:23.125-07:00The Champ Heads to College Part 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOO_qZIe7OkzUbhjJS7uCOG30ISFAKDBXROLv98uzB2WoDutsOyuu5hqWP9Dk-RngO743zNlskC5TrxOkhePP4n3hU-g3zXeR4eWfpAVKCpvocHwKJVwmhh9ESiEkCP1PPqEU9EvQTiwQ/s1600/grad.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOO_qZIe7OkzUbhjJS7uCOG30ISFAKDBXROLv98uzB2WoDutsOyuu5hqWP9Dk-RngO743zNlskC5TrxOkhePP4n3hU-g3zXeR4eWfpAVKCpvocHwKJVwmhh9ESiEkCP1PPqEU9EvQTiwQ/s320/grad.png" width="320"></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Most experts see college as a rite of passage for young people and a necessary step on their path to adulthood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is also a place where one can experience living away from their parents for the first time, and all of the amazing benefits that go along with the new found freedom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>College in its most basic sense is an institution where you can obtain a higher level of education, and if you accumulate enough credit hours of coursework you will earn a degree in your chosen field of study.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This degree is basically a receipt saying you paid thousands of dollars to bullshit your way through class so you can go out all night and drink, experiment with drugs, fuck the shit out of each other, and one day get a good job. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being a champion, you can probably imagine how my college career went, and the ironic thing is I wouldn’t have gone back to school if my parents didn’t make me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I would like to thank my Mom and Dad, because without their influence and support, half of the stories that will make up this blog would not exist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are true Champions indeed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">With that being said, the latter months of 2007 were pretty wild for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By day I was a mild mannered short order cook at a golf course restaurant, but when the sun went down I was a raving lunatic, hell bent on winning championships.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When it got to the point where I had five or six consecutive weekends that were worthy of a Champions Corner blog post, I knew it was time for a change of scenery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My parents also were getting nervous, because every week there was a new arrest, legal fine, or self-inflicted injury that I had to deal with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So after a serious discussion about my future, we decided that I should enroll at the State University of New York at Oneonta.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After filing the necessary paperwork and applications, I was accepted by the admissions department and was eligible to start classes in the Spring. A few months later, I made the trip out to Oneonta and settled into my new dorm room, anxious to start classes and get a feel for the local entertainment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And for those of you who don’t know, by entertainment I mean beer, blunts, bitches, boobs, bangers, and butt fucking. So my first night there, I went out with my roommates to grab some drinks and hopefully get my dick wet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What actually happened was the complete opposite of my expectations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We sat in some losers apartment all night, drank warm beer with no vaginas in sight, and ended up ordering an alarming amount of disgusting calzones from a shithole restaurant aptly named <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Zonies</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides being incredibly disappointed about waking up alone the next day, the combination of cheap beer and gross food made my morning bathroom trip something like this:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After another uneventful night and disgusting morning, I started to feel as if going back to school was a bad decision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, being a Champion, I feel that you cannot judge a man by how he falls, but how he stands back up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So with nothing to lose, I decided to hit up this guy from my hometown Pete, founder of the </span><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/uisnation"><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">U Is Clothing Company</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">, because he also went to Oneonta and I heard he was in a fraternity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later that day, Pete responded to my message and told me to come down to a party his frat was throwing that night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said it was the first day of Rush week, and there would be plenty of alcohol and girls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still had my doubts, but I decided I would give it a shot, because at this point I was going through the worst case of Championship withdrawal I’d ever had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was shaking so bad that when I held my dick to piss it looked like someone was partially covering a garden hose with their thumb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was rough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Now that I had plans, my classes that day seemed like they would never end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was finally done, I shaved, showered, and put on a Champions uniform.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was looking extra fresh and my confidence was at an all time high.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I called a cab and headed straight to the address Pete gave me with high hopes and an eagerness that I can’t describe in words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we pulled up, Pete was waiting for me, and as we ascended the steps that led to the party apartment, he turned to me as he kicked the door open and said:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Welcome to Greek Life.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Now I’m not exactly sure, but I firmly believe that at that precise moment, Pete was actually St. Peter and he was ushering me through the Pearly Gates of Champion’s Heaven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was unbelievable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone was dancing in a black-light lit room with barely any room to move.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were a thousand shots lined up on a countertop that overlooked three kegs of beer, and there was a bucket with some type of rape serum in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I later found out it was actually punch, but at the time I was too overjoyed to care.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The events that transpired that night changed my life forever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was pounding beers, taking shots, and groping sluts while the liquor was flowing freely and the jiff was easily accessible at every turn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I immediately forgot about the kids I chilled with the first two nights, because I was raging like a champ and their idea of a party was probably more like this: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This insanity went on for ten more days, and let me assure you, it was fuckin’ crazy every night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were lingerie parties, disgusting jiff adventures, a night when strippers got naked for us, and there was even a huge brawl with another fraternity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It might have been the best two weeks of my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When it was all over, the brothers of the frat told me that I had to make a decision – I could accept their bid and pledge so I could continue my quest for the Ultimate Championship Trophy, or I could decline and go back to hanging out with a bunch of dudes drinking room temperature beer and having the green apple splatters every morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What an easy decision. A decision that changed my life, and let me tell you, I was not even close to being prepared for the journey I was about to embark on…….</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br>
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<a href="http://thechampionscorner.blogspot.com/2011/11/champ-heads-to-college-part-2.html">Part 2</a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span>Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-21246662850610711852013-08-14T13:28:00.000-07:002017-04-01T18:03:13.653-07:00The Champ Heads to College Part 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">*You should read </span><a href="http://thechampionscorner.blogspot.com/2011/10/champ-heads-to-college-part-1.html"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Part 1</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> before you read this, if you haven't done so already*</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After two weeks of non-stop partying, I accepted my bid to pledge with the hope that I would eventually become a brother of the fraternity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In all honesty, I had no idea what to expect, and looking back now, I realize that I was in no way prepared for what pledging actually was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was basically someone else’s bitch for however many days it took me to complete all of the traditions, and in time learn the ideals that are the foundation of the fraternity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was probably the hardest thing I ever did in my life, but I knew in the end it would all be worth it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was also the best time of my life that I would never want to do again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In between the slave-like treatment I endured, I was getting kidnapped by sororities whose only purpose was to get me as drunk as possible and take advantage of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At parties, I spent half of my time serving the fraternity beer and the other half trying not to get a boner after drunken sluts were ruthlessly grinding their butts on my dick while I stood against the wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The traditions themselves were absolutely terrible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not going to get into specifics, because frankly it’s none of your fuckin’ business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And some nights when I didn’t have traditions were just as bad, because my fraternity was no joke, whereas the less-hard frats probably chewed out their pledges more like this:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When the time for my induction into brotherhood was nearing, it was almost like I was brainwashed to not give a fuck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Good thing I was already a Champion with this sentiment firmly embedded in my psyche, because most people would probably start to breakdown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was cold, wet, hungry, and sore by the time the sun rose on my last night of pledging, and you better believe that when they gave me my shirt with the fraternity letters emblazoned upon it, I earned it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I literally screamed like a madman as I was being congratulated by the brothers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, the party started, and I blacked out pretty quickly because during my time pledging I didn’t drink that much and I lost some weight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t remember if it was the first night I was in or the second night, but I finally got pussy from a girl who looked like a hot version of Oprah, which is still an ugly version of a normal girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did not give a fuck though, because I was overjoyed to be a free man and back on the road to winning championships.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My first few weeks as a brother, I was an absolute savage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the weekends I brought championship-winning to a new level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would pregame with a bottle then drink beer and punch at the parties, and after hitting up the bars I would either try to get pussy or do some J with my good friends until the sun started to peek over the horizon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On weekdays, I would still go out and get hammered, and sometimes during the day I was that kid sitting in the back of class with disheveled hair and red eyes, still awake from the night before with my jaw swinging to a rudimentary beat looping in my delirious mind. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over time, I learned that when I would “party” myself into that physical and mental state, it was better to just skip class that day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was too hard for me to sit in class with other students, and when I tried to it normally ended up being like this:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Unfortunately, pledging took up most of my first semester at school, and since I transferred in the spring, I only had a few weeks after I became a brother until summer vacation started.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took full advantage of the short time I had left that semester, and I went out almost every night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In less than a week I put on all of the weight I lost during pledging, and my lungs, nostrils, liver, and penis made up for all the lost time as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only significant memory I have from this time period is during Alumni Weekend, when I woke up at 8am on the stage at the party apartment in a puddle of some unknown liquid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My guess is that it was some cocktail of beer, punch, and piss, but I try not to think about it. Luckily, my boy Pete picked me up so I could shower at his apartment, and then I bought an alarming amount of jiff to help resuscitate me in time for that night’s party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After weeks of unadulterated awesomeness, the semester finally came to an end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before I packed my shit and headed back to Albany for the summer, I made one fateful decision that would alter my future in a profound way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My fraternity was having trouble finding a fifth person to live in the party apartment, and although I was still considered a freshman, I was older than most of the brothers, so they turned to me for help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It didn’t take that much time for them to persuade me to sign the lease, and that signature set in motion pieces of a puzzle that would ultimately end in a Championship like no other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So instead of this summer being the summer before my sophomore year, it was the summer before I lived in the party apartment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the calm before the storm….</span></div>
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<a href="http://thechampionscorner.blogspot.com/2011/11/champ-heads-to-college-part-3.html">Part 3</a></div>
Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-24789316556506245412012-04-10T16:22:00.000-07:002017-04-01T18:34:08.686-07:00The Champ Heads to College Part 3<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://thechampionscorner.blogspot.com/2011/10/champ-heads-to-college-part-1.html"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Part 1</span></a><br />
<a href="http://thechampionscorner.blogspot.com/2011/11/champ-heads-to-college-part-2.html"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Part 2</span></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The summer of 2008 dragged on like a bad Family Guy gag, and all I could think about was getting back to Oneonta to begin my title defense as reigning MVP.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For three hot and humid months I worked overnight at Target unloading trucks so I could build up funds to support my habit of being a Champion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was by far the worst job I ever had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I worked incredibly long hours at inconvenient times doing strenuous labor for ridiculously small wages. I now know what it feels like to be a child in Indonesia. But<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> n</span>o matter how bad it seemed at times, the modest compensation and slave-like working conditions could not put a damper on my spirits, because I knew that soon enough I would be back on Market Street in Oneonta wreaking havoc with my brothers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My biggest regret of working at Target was that the overnight shift made it virtually impossible for me to go out and party, so I literally got no pussy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean none.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got to know my laptop pretty good that summer, but the college sluts couldn’t have come soon enough.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When the time finally came to move back to Oneonta, I could barely contain my excitement, and the morning of my departure I woke up and all of my shit was already packed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was also an empty twelve pack of Bud Light next to my bed and a half-smoked pack of bogeys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After pondering the situation and going through a process of mental deduction that would rival Sherlock Holmes, I realized that I somehow managed to pack my clothes and get drunk while I was sleeping…yes, I am a Champion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also realized that I had way too much stuff to move into the Party Apartment, so one car and one trip was not going to be possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided I would drive out to Oneonta with my boy Pete and bring a bag of clothes, and my parents would come the following day with a truck and all of my furniture, electronics, and Championship Ring display cases.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I had to do that first night was find a place to crash, and considering I had plans to get the D wet, it was not going to be an issue.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Even though Albany is only an hour away, the car ride to the City of Hills felt like an eternity. I passed the time by taking shots of Jack Daniels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we finally arrived, the partying started immediately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everybody was happy to be back, but nobody was ready for the Oneonta lifestyle yet, so the majority of people got unbelievably fucked up after only an hour. After annihilating opponents in beer pong and walking on my hands for a few hours, I found a girl that I maintained contact with over summer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she invited me back to her place, I knew that all of my plans were going to work out. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> As soon as we entered her apartment w</span>e started hooking up, but as I mentioned before, I didn’t hook up with any girls all summer, so the nut I had built up was like the molten lava that pushed towards the surface of Mount St. Helens before the disastrous 1980 eruption.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she finally went down to finish me off, it looked something like this:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After finally getting my nut off, I fell asleep and obviously slept better than I had all summer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I awoke the next morning, my parents were waiting for me in the parking lot of my new apartment – the Party Apartment. As I arrived at my new living quarters, two ideas were presented to me that I later determined to be incredibly stupid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first thing was that I heard our rival fraternity was living and partying in the same building right down the hall from us. This meant there were going to be brawls, and considering that some of my fellow champions like Fuzz and Joba would be roaming the corridors late at night after drinking, there were going to be a lot of brawls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The second idea that I later deemed idiotic was my expectation for making my bedroom look real cool when it was set up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hung posters and arranged all of my belongings to give my room a clean and orderly appearance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rooms in this apartment also had lofts where we put our beds, so I hung lights all around the walls and up the ladder to the loft.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the first few hours that I was all moved in and unpacked, my room was the shit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It did not last long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That night, we wanted to throw a pre-Rush banger at my apartment. For those of you who have never experienced Greek Life, Rush week is when frats and sororities throw parties and sponsor events every day and night for two weeks to recruit new pledges.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of the craziest experiences of my life happened during Rush, but that’s because I’m a Champion and I don’t pay attention to rules or give a fuck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, most members of Greek organizations have a lot of responsibilities during Rush Week, so they can’t have as much fun at the parties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For example, guys have to actually be nice to other guys that they don’t know, and girls have to babysit their potential pledges so they don’t end up like an underage boy taking a shower after a Penn State football practice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Anyways, when my whole fraternity assembled in the main room of my apartment, we were </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">giddy with anticipation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After about a half hour, it was still only my fraternity and the three kegs, and we all started to worry that the lack of people could be foreshadowing a wack school year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then out of nowhere, two buses pulled up and unloaded scores of kids, and this was only the first of several waves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was like a mass exodus of young college students who were forced from the homes of their parents with nowhere to go except my apartment to obtain the nourishment of our alcohol and drugs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was fucking insane.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People were hammered and dancing and sweating and thumb-darting and funneling and snorting and smoking and fighting and laughing and jumping for joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I was jumping for joy, the other partygoers were doing the other things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a few hours of this , everybody was completely blacked out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I tried to bring a girl up the stairs to my room, we were so drunk it looked something like this:</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Needless to say, we didn’t hook up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I ended up doing was accidentally destroying my entire room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so fucked up that I couldn’t keep my balance when I tried to climb the ladder to my loft, so I fell off of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I was tipping over, I grabbed the lights that I had hung on the wall to try to stabilize myself, but I still fell and ripped them all down with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This apparently pissed me off, so I punched a few holes in my walls to release some anger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On my second attempt at climbing to my loft, I fell again, but this time I landed hard in my closet and knocked over everything in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Refusing to give up, I tried to climb the ladder for a third time, and believe it or not I somehow succeeded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of this going up and down must have mixed up the contents of my stomach pretty good though, because when I got to the top I projectile vomited off my loft and onto the rug below.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The force of the throw-up stream was so powerful that it took a stack of DVD’s with it on the way down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I passed the fuck out…with my Timbs on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The next morning I woke up with one of the worst headaches I ever had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took me a minute to figure out why my room looked like a Third World Country recovering from a natural disaster, but I was too preoccupied with thoughts of Rush Week to care.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it just so happens that Rush Week started that night in the same way it started every semester during my college career – with a thousand shots, three kegs, and an army of college girls who were about to have their first encounter with a Champion…. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span>Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-67586667830285586792012-04-08T15:39:00.000-07:002017-04-01T18:37:33.446-07:00Hall of Champions Inductee #2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5m0_OEilqKmWeKGRowWZG2YUnE75lXAKoXjUNWUTAhyphenhyphenWa-us0iTzGTkskaKq6Z3JOewd8CwO3VkAm1cVnriZsefF9oyU93WEOhvlFdFHoORU5JO5l-3btQzgQ2aM1bSB7YlFp7Ab6gN0/s1600/LongSNAPPER-300x199.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5m0_OEilqKmWeKGRowWZG2YUnE75lXAKoXjUNWUTAhyphenhyphenWa-us0iTzGTkskaKq6Z3JOewd8CwO3VkAm1cVnriZsefF9oyU93WEOhvlFdFHoORU5JO5l-3btQzgQ2aM1bSB7YlFp7Ab6gN0/s1600/LongSNAPPER-300x199.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The world of sports is basically a breeding ground for Champions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some might consider it a cop out for me to even mention an athlete for the HOC because it’s such an obvious call.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For instance, Aaron Rodgers is a Super Bowl MVP who is coming off the greatest Fantasy Football Performance in the history of mankind – obvious Champ.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But this blog is designed to bring the oft-unheralded champions to the forefront of humanity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The champions who linger on the margins of society, the ones who care little about living life in the limelight. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">With that being said, sometimes when I’m out with a group of friends harassing girls, pounding shots, and high-fiving, a sports discussion will start.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More often than not, the discussion is about the world’s greatest sport – American Football.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We argue about whose team is the best, what city has the most fuckable cheerleaders, and so on and so forth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we start talking about different positions, everyone’s favorite is always Quarterback, Running Back or Wide Receiver.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My favorite position and new member of the Hall of Champions - the fucking long snapper.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Long snappers are fuckin’ champions, plain and simple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most football players have a hard enough time trying to throw accurate spirals to they’re receivers with only a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">possibility</i> of being hit by a defensive player.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Long snappers throw perfect spirals every time with a 300 pound lineman literally three inches from they’re face who is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">guaranteed</i> to smash into them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh yea, and they do it upside down and through they’re fucking legs. Not to mention the minimum NFL salary is somewhere around $550,000 for rookies, so these guys are ballin’ out and on good days they only get on the field about ten times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So they make bank by having the best seats in the stadium for the majority of the game, then when they are called upon they do some crazy upside down acrobatic shit that normally results in points being scored.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Imagine being the long snapper on a team like the Jaguars – they never score, so in turn you get paid to put on a uniform and watch your team lose every week without breaking a sweat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God I love football.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Now you may be thinking, "but what about punts? They have long snappers too." This is true, but Champions don't punt, they always go for it on fourth down. So Long Snappers, I’m proud to welcome you to the Hall of Champions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span>Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-21300270394574384902011-11-28T23:26:00.000-08:002017-04-01T18:34:33.243-07:00Sullivan's Grad Party<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Throughout my long and allustrious career as a Champion, I've seen every type of approach to the concept of partying. I've been unbelievably hyped up during a pregame, just to become an unemotional and non-responsive drunkard once i arrive at the bar. On the other hand, i've pregamed with the energy of an autistic savant who has no access to his area of expertise, then suddenly erupted like the Yellowstone Super Volcano that's hypothesized on countless Nat Geo programs.<br />
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Regardless of these aformentioned occurences, the bottom line is that I am a fuckin' Champion. I'm such a Champion that professional athletes pick me first in fantasy drafts, and I don't even play sports anymore. No matter how I start or finish a partying/championship situation, I'm going to drink an unbelievable amount of beer, bum bogeys off people I don't know, and judge all the women that are in attendance solely on their looks. Good personality? Fuck You! Nice tits? Hi I'm Greg! And to top it the fuck off, this is how i walk into every party i attend:<br />
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Now that I've stated the obvious, I hope you keep it all in mind as my story of utter savagery and alcoholism unfolds. It was a hot and humid morning in the summer of 2010. I was woken up by the sounds of my boys telling me to get the fuck up, because we arrived at our friend Meg's house. After a few seconds of confusion, I realized I was still incredibly fucked up from last night and laying in the back seat of my boys SUV. The odor I was emitting was a mix of vodka, bogies, bud light, and medieval war strategys. It was very unsettling. After squirming around for a few more seconds, i was finally jolted awake by my boy screaming like the armegeddon was upon us. As I lazily forced my head out the backseat window, I heard shouts that made me realize that not only were we at Meg's house, but there were also two limos waiting to take us to her Aunt's mansion in the Hamptons, and I was holding the group up.<br />
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Now I don't know about you, but when people scream in my face to wake me up because a limo thats going to bring us to the hamptons is about to leave, I sit up faster than Tony Horton with a cock dangling in his face after he comes outta the closet. P 90 X. faggot. Bitch. Pussy. Herman.<br />
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Once I was safely seated in the limo and situated between my fellow champs Cushion and the Niggie, the driver took off. After 20 to 30 uneventful minutes in transit, some dumb broad had to bring up women's sports. Now under normal circumstances, if this topic was brought up, I'd dive out the window of the moving vehicle and gladly accept the carnage of every car on the highway running over my defensless body. However, I knew we were going to Meg's grad party, so I couldn't commit suicide. Instead, I decided to point out facts.<br />
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"Girls are good at sports! Just look at the Olympics!" shouted a random broad.<br />
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"No," I yelled, without giving any concrete examples of athletic superiority amongst males.<br />
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"You're just ignorant!" said the aformentioned broad, as she realized there was no hope for her argument.<br />
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And the reason she realized the futility of her argument was because at that moment our eyes met and no more words needed to be spoken. The intensity of my gaze alone made her realize that women's sports are not decided by who scores more points, but by who misses less shots. As if the final score is 37 missed shots to 28 bricked lay ups. Or it could be a closer margin of victory, like 32 air-balled threes to 21 unintentional turnovers. Or since we're speaking of women, it mght be 27 terrible attempts at being athletic to no actual existence of female participants in American football. Or maybe it was because she noticed there is no snow or ice between the kitchen and the bedroom, which in turn explained why women are terrible at skiing. I digress.<br />
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Once my landslide victory was secured in the argument, all the passengers in the limo settled down. It took about an hour to get to the destination of Meg's party, and once we pulled up I immediatley went to the keg. The crowd around the keg stared in awe as I became both the first person to finish my beer, and the second person to fill my cup. <br />
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After about an hour of relentless intoxication in the backyard, I decided to move to the front yard and continue to be a Champion. My boy Cushion came with me, and on the walk to the front yard we decided to stop at the keg for what can only be estimated as the 30th or 80th time. No middle ground.<br />
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Believe it or not, the crowd around the keg was thin, and only a few people were waiting in line to fill up their cups. After budging them, I began filling up my beer and humming the melody to Emnem's Oscar winning song "Lose Yourself." When I was about three quarters of the way filled up, something nudged my shoulder and caused me to spill my beer. I attempted to hold it together as rage spread through every inch of my body, but my effort fell short like a jiffed up dick praying for a second stab at the pussy.<br />
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As I wiped the spilt beer off my arm, I looked up at the person who accidentally knocked my beer and said, "Are you fuckin' retarded?"<br />
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Believe it or not........He was.<br />
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Yes, I actually asked a mentally retarded and involuntarily handicapped individual if he was "fuckin retarded". I clearly did this accidentally, but what's really fucked up is the uncontrollable laughter that occured between Cushion and myself after we realized this transpired.<br />
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Tears were streaming down our faces as we rolled around the lawn like Bocce balls at an Italian family picnic. I was slapping the ground harder than a referee at a WWE title match, and i actually started to believe this moment was the pinnacle of my life. As I rolled on the floor and laughed hysterically, I looked towards the sky and fully expected to see a Goodyear Blimp getting ariel footage of this historic event. When I realized there was no blimp, I figured there must be some mistake. And If not a mistake, it could only mean that the host couldn't afford constant overhead coverage, but they most likely made up for this oversight by roping off a corner of the yard so paparazzi could document this once in a lifetime occurence.<br />
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Eventually, after minutes of hysterical laughter, I realized nobody was attempting to preserve the moment. Apparently it's not socially acceptable to call a retard a retard, even if calling a retard a retard was accidental and the person responsible now feels retarded as well. <br />
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Regardless of social norms and popular interpersonal behavior, I walked away from the scene and fought the urge to defend my actions. In hindsight, I was shitfaced, so any argument I made would probaly have fallen short of victory. Truth is, I mistakenly called a retard a retard and I'm sorry....almost sorry to the point that I feel retarded. And also, I actually wasn't sorry at all. <br />
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So after that slight mishap was cleared up, I forgot why I started walking that way in the first place and returned to where my boy The Niggie was chillin. At this point in the story everything gets a little hazy. Hazy like the memory of a freshman chick on parents weekend trying to explain to Dad why there are four pairs of men's sneakers strewn about her dorm room and each pair is a noticeably different size. Sluts.<br />
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However hazy the memory is for me, I do remember that I eventually ended up back in the driveway, waiting patiently for the limo to come back and give us a ride home. And by patiently waiting I mean the complete opposite. I was obnoxiously screaming to all the adults in a twenty foot radius, and asking why there was a tennis court on the property that's bigger than my parent's house. I pulled an Uncle aside and asked him when he thought the innocent chicks in attendance would blossom into sluts, and he became so uncomfortable he went inside.<br />
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Obviously I followed him, but I was barred from entering the actual house. To this day I'm still unsure if my blocked entry was the result of a predetermined policy to keep the inside of the house off limits, or the fact that all bystanders who looked in my eyes saw I was teetering on the edge of sanity. At this point in the afternoon, the odds were practically 50/50 that I'd either pass out with no incidence, or go on a killing spree that spanned ten to twelve congressional districts. <br />
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Regardless, I was ushered out front to the limos like the drunkest uncle at a wedding reception after the family is sufficiently embarrassed. Once I was safely situated in the limo, I kicked back and prepared to nap for the entire journey home. Being a genius, I always utilize the travel-nap tactic on long journeys so the wait to reach the destination seems instantaneous upon awakening. Not this time. <br />
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As soon as I tipped my head back and closed my eyes, a screeching sound pierced the air in my vicinity, and probably damaged a decent amount of ear drums. I immediately sat up, and after about 2 seconds it was apparent that the screecher was a middle aged woman. I realized the source of the sound was a 40 year old aunt, and after utilizing the scientific method I determined that she was mad because she discovered Iron Man was a super hero and Iron Woman was a command.<br />
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About five minutes into my pondering of this groundbreaking philosophical discovery, a high pitched voice cut through the air screaming, "I'm a MILF."<br />
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Without hesitation, I replied "No! You're a fuckkin cougar!"<br />
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Laughter. A lot of it. The perfect send-off. Allow me to explain.<br />
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And now I end this post here,though it is to be continued. So you can wonder if part two of this tale will be a simple continuation of the saga or a photocopy of the police report describing how a Champion was caught buttfucking a cougar from the Hamptons. Jiff.......<br />
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<br />Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-76224023979988949992011-11-25T09:53:00.000-08:002011-11-25T13:48:28.535-08:00Happy Thanks(Not)giving (A Fuck)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwv9oabMuvTl_rDpfcTdc8O04RQtd24hwa9IXLWBgQJ0wN6Qr9YLyXjZbQlFXYIwPwTUGHhCaRMGo42X3NOF3jLdlQk0xaTE9Zca50V6ShXp4c9nsEODgkCkr-2PZ86ibtI62fDp_5dY4/s1600/HappyHolidaysLights.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwv9oabMuvTl_rDpfcTdc8O04RQtd24hwa9IXLWBgQJ0wN6Qr9YLyXjZbQlFXYIwPwTUGHhCaRMGo42X3NOF3jLdlQk0xaTE9Zca50V6ShXp4c9nsEODgkCkr-2PZ86ibtI62fDp_5dY4/s320/HappyHolidaysLights.gif" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Everybody loves the holidays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a time to be thankful for everything we have been blessed with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a time to give back to all those we care about, a time to spread the warmth and love that is the very essence of the holiday season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a time for happiness, caring, and joy - or so we thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Recent studies suggest that this time of year is the most depressing on the calendar and there is a noticeable increase in the suicide rate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This self loathing supposedly comes from the envy that single and lonely losers feel when they observe happy families gathering for holiday festivities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They feel like they’re on the outside looking in, so they put a fuckin’ shotgun barrel in their mouth and ruin the wallpaper behind their head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pussies.</span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I mean, how stupid are these people?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being single during the holidays is one of the best things that ever happened to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, I strategically plan my relationships around the holidays so I can avoid wasting money on gifts for a girl who is guaranteed to hate me more than any man on Earth after a couple months of courtship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The money I save by not buying stupid shit for a significant other can then be spent in a more rational way, like funding my championship winning adventures. </span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One particular Holiday Championship happened not too long ago on New Year’s Eve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the time I was working as a Floor Manager at the Albany CBS affiliate for the early morning newscast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Basically, I had to get to the studio by 4am every morning and set up the lighting and microphones, and then I used a robotics system to control the four studio cameras simultaneously during the actual broadcast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It sounds complicated, but it was fuckin’ cake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also got to flirt with the young female reporters, and by flirt I mean lie to them about having connections that could advance their careers in return for sexual favors. I know…I’m a Champ. </span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyways, that year one of my friends was throwing a New Years Eve party at his house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was supposed to be the party of year, and anybody who was anybody was going to be in attendance, so the Champ was obviously expected to make an appearance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The problem was, I had to be at work at 4am on New Year’s Day, so it seemed like I had a pretty big predicament on my hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A normal person would realize that a new career should always take precedent over funneling, fornicating, and frolicking with females, but I’m a champion for Christ’s sake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was determined to own this party and somehow make it to work, so I decided I would attend the NYE bash and just stay awake and go into work red-eyed and whiskey-scented.</span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So later that night, I packed a bag with work clothes and a handle of Jack Daniels and headed to the party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before I left, my parents did everything in their power to persuade me to stay in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When they told me it was a bad idea, I told them to stop cock blocking and hopped in my car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I peeled out of my driveway with no regard for human life and made a beeline to the party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though I was staying awake until I had to go into work, I still felt like I was in a hurry to get fucked up and make the most of my time, so I immediately started pounding shots and chasing with beer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The best part was, there were a lot of other champions there that I grew up with but hadn’t seen in a long time, because apparently that’s what happens when you “grow up.” And to be honest, we are all terrible influences on each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The manner in which civilians kept their distance from us when we all congregated in the same area would make an observer think we all had leprosy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was fuckin’ great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one point, we took the container filled with punch and started performing the “Cooler Prank” on innocent bystanders….for an hour. It never got old to us.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/paBJ9Tj2SN0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When we finally decided to give the prank a break, I led my entourage of champions to the living room to post up for a while, because the living room seemed to be where the majority of attractive girls were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once we established our location, one my boys nudged me with his elbow and pointed me in the direction of a beautiful young lady who was beckoning me with her eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a moment, it seemed like everything at the party froze in time, and I slowly started to make my way over to her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the crowd gracefully parted before me, I felt like I was in a scene from a corny 1980’s chick flick and everything seemed to be in slow motion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Everyone's</span> attention was focused on me as I drew closer to the gorgeous girl, who was now looking at me while playfully twirling a lock of her shimmering auburn hair. I then noticed she was standing underneath mistletoe that the residents of the house forgot to take down after Christmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I finally reached her, we embraced and our faces inched closer and closer while the mistletoe above us was swaying in a faint breeze. Right before our lips touched, I leaned back and said:</span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Do you want to suck my dick or something? If not, stop fuckin staring at me from across the room you dumb bitch.”</span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After the girl poured her drink on me and the uproar of laughter died down, I ran back to my fellow champions and they hoisted me on their shoulders like I was Rudy being carried off the field after making a tackle for Notre Dame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About an hour after the ball dropped, I found the girl I was hooking up with at the time and we made love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just kidding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I fucked her real quick and hard and the whole time I was screaming “NO EYE CONTACT! NO FUCKIN EYE CONTACT!”</span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Eventually, after a few more hours of being ruthless at the party, it was time for me to go to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was really, really shitfaced, but I somehow managed to make my way to the studio in one piece.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was even fifteen minutes early, so everyone was pretty happy with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To this day I don’t know how they didn’t realize I was hammered, and I don’t think they even suspected anything until about an hour into the newscast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the first hour, everything was running smoothly and I was making all the camera movements that the Director asked me to make with precision and accurate timing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, the whole time I was controlling the cameras, I was all alone, sitting down, and in a dark studio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was way too comfortable, and if you add the heavy alcohol intoxication into the mix, you can understand how I started to get extremely tired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I started to fall asleep….several times.</span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I would be sitting at my station operating the cameras, and I would suddenly nod off, then be startled awake by the Director screaming at me because the camera would slowly tilt to the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the thousands of people watching the news that morning, every few minutes the picture on their TV would go from having the News Anchor directly in the middle of the screen to dropping to the lower left hand side where there was only the desk he was sitting at.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After this happened four or five times, I realized my whole career was in jeopardy and something had to be done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew that at this hour, under these circumstances, the only solution would be to get the J.</span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I texted my friend with the J and told him to come to the parking lot of my work and meet me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also told him it was an emergency situation, and he needed to hurry the fuck up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said he would be there in fifteen minutes, and I told him to make it here in ten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My only problem was that I had to handle the whole situation during a commercial break, because it’d be impossible to leave the camera station unattended while the broadcast was live on the air. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That left me three minutes to unhook the communications equipment from my body, navigate my way through the maze-like hallways and staircases that make up the studio, jump in his car and do the deal, then retrace my way through the obstacles of the building, do my business in the bathroom, run back to my camera station, and set myself back up before the Director gives the on-air cue – all while being really drunk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When my friend finally told me he was in the parking lot and the newscast cut to commercial, I looked like a contestant on ABC’s Wipeout, but I managed to pull everything off with a few seconds to spare.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/wKVZf2YSR0o?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once we were back on the air and I was suddenly wide awake, everything went smoothly for the next two hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually, it might have been the best camera performance of my life, and I would even go so far as to say that the show deserved an Emmy nomination for Outstanding Multi-Camera Newscast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the cameras stopped rolling, I decided it would be best for me to go home and get some sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After working this job for a few more months and seeing all of the promotions go to people with Bachelor’s Degrees while I only had an Associate’s Degree, I started to think seriously about going back to college.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ended up quitting and working as a short order cook until I finally enrolled at Oneonta.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is when I solidified my position as the People’s Champ and started adding to my MVP trophy collection every weekend. </span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Happy Holidays – from the Champ. </span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span>Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-76281490677891687782011-11-15T14:34:00.000-08:002011-11-15T14:43:06.530-08:00Being A Champ's Friend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXpoz76UPpyykA9v0ggt0Jx1KmEmW4jrlbjTZKOD54pUcthCqr2fqqn_ScATr0QXtudUOVjNVioXnwgaaAiSl26WueCF1ZfSWuS_yaRLoaCINzmnIVLZctg_8txjgQU4b8CRC_RcPDljY/s1600/disclaimer-plug-in-wordpress.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXpoz76UPpyykA9v0ggt0Jx1KmEmW4jrlbjTZKOD54pUcthCqr2fqqn_ScATr0QXtudUOVjNVioXnwgaaAiSl26WueCF1ZfSWuS_yaRLoaCINzmnIVLZctg_8txjgQU4b8CRC_RcPDljY/s320/disclaimer-plug-in-wordpress.gif" width="298" /></span></a></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I was at work, </span>wearing a suit, speaking politely when spoken to, and putting on a facade that gives off the impression of normalcy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, when the weekend rolls around, I shed my secret identity and emerge as the Champion that you all know and love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For example, last weekend I went to the city for my friend’s birthday party and I got unbelievably hammered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My night was like the Giants’ last three seasons:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>it started out good and extremely promising, but as it went on it got worse and worse until it ended up completely fucked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.</span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few years ago I was at an acquaintance’s apartment on the UAlbany campus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone was dancing, smoking L’s, and having a good time while I was in the middle of a game of beer pong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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. </span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, when we got in the car and pulled off the curb we were immediately pulled over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The officer said he witnessed my rowdiness on the walk back and waited to see if we drove.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once again, I was partly responsible for something negative happening to a friend because I am incapable of losing championships.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are many more occasions where my actions have caused an unfavorable outcome for my friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of these situations are going to have future blog posts that detail the shenanigans completely, and some I have already shared with you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because truthfully, I do feel bad when someone I actually care about gets caught in the crossfire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I remembered that I really don’t give a fuck. <a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/uisnation"><span style="color: red;">I fuckin' is.</span></a></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span>Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-86386835716106957582011-11-15T11:24:00.000-08:002017-04-01T20:30:46.126-07:00Drinking and Driving...Classic Part 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A common trend that I’ve noticed during my binge drinking career is that the mornings after I go out, I tend to wake up in a state of confusion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes I wake up naked in strange places, and other times I wake up covered in piss in a familiar setting. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>Still, I never fail to wake up with a bewildered look on my face, and by waking up I mean the nights I go out and actually end up going to sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Hashtag Stay Woke</span></span></span><br>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The first time I woke up in a perplexing situation was when I was at the ripe age of 16.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was before I started disintegrating the inner workings of my nasal cavity, and all I did was drink and fuck my 15 year old girlfriend. I used to choke the shit out of her when I fucked her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only did I choke her, I fucked her in my unfinished basement on an old futon that I vomited on after a night of Irish Car Bombs and a gravity bong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was no better than any of my other possessions.</span></span><br>
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</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On this particular night, I remember a light fog hanging over the cool spring air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe I was just really shitfaced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just finished having sex, and I needed a bogey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without hesitation, I grabbed my car keys and headed out the door.</span></span><br>
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</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Wait!” shouted my slut. “You took like 15 shots, you can’t drive.”</span></span><br>
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</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Bogeys,” I grunted.</span></span><br>
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</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Let me drive at least,” she pleaded.</span></span><br>
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</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I laughed hysterically for fifteen minutes before I proclaimed, “You’re a female, you sit in the fuckin’ back”</span></span><br>
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</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sometimes you have to remind them who dominates and who subdues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The conversation that just happened will be a common theme in my life journey, although it will be presented in a wide variety of ways. </span></span><br>
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</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyways, after she got in the car, I sped away from my house, purposely running over my neighbor’s lawn because it’s next to mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Give me some fuckin space when I’m drunk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After I turned onto the main street, I started hunting for a gas station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I pulled up to an intersection, I caught my first red light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A piece of shit suburu pulled up alongside me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I was hammered, but I could’ve swore the guy driving it was staring at me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In reality, he didn’t even glance at me.</span></span><br>
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</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Being a Champion, I could not let a person who is not staring at me get away with staring at me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To my girlfriend’s horror, I rolled down my window and leaned my head out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br>
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</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“HEY,” I shouted, “what the fuck man?”</span></span><br>
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</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The man driving the car still didn’t look over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took this as a direct insult to my masculinity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I grabbed a handful of debris from my car’s ash tray and threw it in his direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man looked over at me, our eyes met, and a fire lit in the pit of my stomach that erupted through my whole body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Regardless of whether or not he actually looked at me before, now he definitely was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could sense the fear that was overwhelming my girl in the back seat, but I heeded her not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next thing I knew my whole torso was out the window and I was screaming obscenities that humans had not yet attached a definition to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My voice was projecting with such power that Doppler radar was picking up the disturbance.</span></span><br>
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</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Then, the suburu was gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The light turned green and the man sped away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no way I would let this man who didn’t do anything get away with not doing anything, so I floored my gas pedal in hot pursuit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br>
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</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Unfortunately, I was fifteen shots deep, so my foot was a tad on the heavy side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My car jerked forward so forcefully that my girl was tossed into the front seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I over-compensated the over-acceleration by breaking too hard, and once again she was in the back seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To an outside observer the movement of my car looked like a prostitute’s head when getting skull fucked.</span></span><br>
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</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After laughing at the situation, I finally steadied the pace of my car but the suburu was long gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I had new company…flashing lights in my rear view mirror.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Fuck,” I mumbled, knowing that there was nowhere to run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br>
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</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For a second I pondered holding my girlfriend hostage at knife point and attempting to escape back to my house, but I realized that could potentially make the situation worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In hindsight, I wish I had at least tried.</span></span><br>
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</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I pulled off to the side of the road, and the cop walked up to my door and asked me if I had been drinking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After exchanging disrespectful banter, he made me get out of the car and do the standard sobriety tests.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To everyone’s amazement, I passed all of the field tests.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And since most cops have nothing to do except harass us, there were three more police cars that pulled up at this point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was loving my audience, bowing and demanding applause after each passed test.</span></span><br>
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</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This did not make the cops happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They threw me in the back of the paddy wagon and made me blow into a breathalyzer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next thing I knew they picked me up and threw handcuffs on me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Coincidentally, at the precise moment the cuffs clicked into a locked position on my wrists, my girlfriend’s father pulled up.</span></span><br>
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</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now this man already hated me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can only imagine having to get out of bed at 1AM on a work night to pick up my fifteen year old daughter who was in the car with her sixteen year old boyfriend while he was heavily intoxicated and witness him getting cuffed as soon as I pull up.</span></span><br>
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</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Needless to say, my penis never entered that vagina again.</span></span><br>
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</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The rest of the night is kind of blurry, as my body fully absorbed the entirety of my alcohol consumption on the ride to the police station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next thing I knew I woke up in my bed fully clothed with my Jordan’s on, my license revoked for a year, and my parents really pissed off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was also extremely confused.</span></span>Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-16306837572687804102011-11-09T21:01:00.000-08:002011-11-09T21:37:07.473-08:00I.P. Freely<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi61l-rgYUMxpQ92xuAccZYjgu4OLJHi35dU16JnKktSEBe73lPwqFGGgDDRvuJJBh2-Yv9x7HTdmYvfUGoPso3idvvYitSN-16rjwsYffJsg8Zee0ddXBTg5DWFan24USbbo5rh-ZT0Ys/s1600/Pee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi61l-rgYUMxpQ92xuAccZYjgu4OLJHi35dU16JnKktSEBe73lPwqFGGgDDRvuJJBh2-Yv9x7HTdmYvfUGoPso3idvvYitSN-16rjwsYffJsg8Zee0ddXBTg5DWFan24USbbo5rh-ZT0Ys/s1600/Pee.jpg" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Although a specific genetic makeup is required to grow into a Champion, there are also responsibilities that Champions have for themselves to help maintain performance at the highest level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In other words, there are a number of obligations and activities that a Champion must partake in to cultivate the physical and mental gifts they were lucky enough to be born with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To help clarify, I’ll use the original Champion (me) as an example.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I’m not out pounding beers, fucking sluts, destroying property, getting arrested, or lowering peoples self-esteem to raise my own, I’m working and making money in a new career, going to the gym to build a statuesque physique, teaching myself how to play instruments to enhance the creative side of my personality, and reading books to satisfy my intellectual needs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And believe it or not, I didn’t go to college just so I could share my crazy experiences in this blog, I also went to get an education.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You see, it is necessary to constantly feed the mind and body the fuel needed to keep the finely-tuned machine know as “a Champion” functioning with the most efficiency.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can’t just go out one night and expect to win a championship – being a Champion is a lifestyle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually it’s not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">a </i>lifestyle, it’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my </i>lifestyle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now that I’ve basically explained the blueprints for winning championships, let me tell you about a time when I didn’t do one fucking thing I mentioned in the previous paragraph.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fuck that shit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a Champion and I do what I want.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So a few years ago during a snow storm in late December I was throwing a party at my apartment in Oneonta.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During that time I really lost control of myself and didn’t give two shits about my appearance, health, or overall personal well being.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I know you’re thinking “Champ, you never give a fuck about that stuff anyways,” but as I mentioned at the beginning of this post, a lot of hard work is put in behind the scenes so I’m able to not give a fuck and get away with it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During this time period, I skipped the hard work and went straight to the not giving a fuck.</span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyways, the party we were throwing was pretty rowdy, or at least I think it was, because I was by far the drunkest man there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would even take the odds that I was the drunkest human being on the planet that night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so drunk that when I went to hit on girls they started asking me the questions that doctors recommend you ask a person who is having a stroke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess that’s what happens when you drink a bottle of Jack Daniels to the face before the party even starts.</span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Eventually, I realized I was way too fucked up to be at the party and I needed to sleep off the spins that were developing in my eyesight, brain, and stomach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went to my room hoping to enjoy the comforts of my bed, but there were people doing jiff in there, and I’m not the type of guy who breaks up a good time just because I need a little beauty rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, one of the girls I was fucking at the time lived right across the street, and without her approval I decided I would go to her apartment and sleep in her bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I miraculously made it down all of the staircases in my building without breaking any bones and staggered across the street to the girl’s place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sprawled out on her bed and closed my eyes, with dreams of soberness dancing in my head……..</span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>….Suddenly I woke up, confused as hell and soaking wet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was also naked and still really drunk. I had no memory of anything I did before I awoke, so I hopped out of the girl’s bed and started looking for my clothes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily I had relations with this chick many times before, so I at least knew where I was, but as far as my clothes went, they were nowhere to be found.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At this moment I also made a startling realization – I was wet because I pissed in this girl’s bed during my drunken slumber.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was beer piss too, so there was A LOT.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her mattress looked like a fully saturated sponge set out to dry on a damp carpet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now you think I would be embarrassed about sharing this, but shit happens, or in this case piss happens. Plus I rarely get embarrassed by anything I do because Champions don't give a fizzuck. So after laughing about the situation for a few minutes, I decided that finding my clothes was my number one priority.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since I was still drunk, I didn’t think to listen closely to see if there was anyone in the living room, and I burst through the bedroom door butt naked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, there were people there, a good number of people, and all of their eyes immediately moved to my dick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was completely silent, and the awkwardness was growing so palpable that I felt like I could touch it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being a Champion, I had absolutely no shame, and instead I just started laughing hysterically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They must have initially thought I was a disturbed person, standing there in the nude and laughing like a maniac, but it was all part of my plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Laughing can make any moment funny, like this one from Silence of the Lambs:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><embed allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" flashvars="id1=81967317" height="345" src="http://www.ebaumsworld.com/player.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="567" wmode="opaque"></embed></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The laughter was contagious and the next thing I knew everyone was cracking up and slapping their knees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone even gave me a blanket to wrap myself up in and a beer to quench my thirst.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They also told me that it was only 1am, and the party at my apartment was still raging.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even better, the girl who owns the bed I slept/peed in and fuck on the reg was at my apartment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could have continued searching for my clothes but I opted to just walk back to the party in nothing but the blanket, because Champions always have their head in the game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Going back without my clothes is like when a running back loses his shoe during a play – he doesn’t just stop running, he presses on hoping to reach the end zone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In this case, the end zone was a pussy and my dick was the running back.</span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I got back to my apartment, I turned the blanket into a toga and became the talk of the party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was awesome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After leading a couple dance-offs, I found the girl, and eventually we walked back to her place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she saw her bed, she was pretty mad, but she still ended up having sex with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only did she have sex with me, she didn’t even make me do the laundry the next day to clean her sheets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And to top it the fuck off, she paid for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and </i>walked to pick up my breakfast the next morning while I laid on her couch and watched the Giants beat the Texans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Champion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span>Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-42428659915874570422011-10-30T14:58:00.000-07:002017-04-01T18:39:10.550-07:00Drinking and Driving...Classic Part 2<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">*I suggest you read </span><a href="http://thechampionscorner.blogspot.com/2011/10/drinking-and-drivingclassic.html"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Drinking and Driving...Classic Part 1</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> before embarking on this journey. It is a sort of "prequel" to this story. Also, I don't condone drinking and driving, its dangerous and stupid, unless you're a Champion. Then do whatever you want.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A year had passed since my first DUI, I was a senior in High School, and I was ready to graduate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent the year getting drunk without having to worry about getting drunken driving tickets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I still had to worry about getting them I drank heavily, so imagine me when I didn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It made Robespierre and his Reign of Terror during the French Revolution look like a fuckin’ episode of Barney.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some nights I wouldn’t even wear normal clothing, but instead I would dress like a Viking and rape and pillage in the neighboring towns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunetly for you guys, this year of my life is so blacked out that I can’t remember any of the championships I won.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe if it comes back to me sometime it will be a memoir of its own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Anyways, right before I graduated a letter came in the mail addressed to yours truly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was from the New York State Department of Motor Vehicles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I opened the envelope, my new Drivers License fell out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so happy I round-housed my mail box and the shards of black plastic scattered in the street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My dad was pissed, but I was too elated to care.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was back on the road.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In all honesty, during the first month of being a licensed driver again I was pretty good about not getting behind the wheel after drinking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually, it became too hard for me to ignore the convenience of having a free ride when I wanted to leave a party or the bar…drunk or not. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A couple of days before graduation, a group of seniors decided to go to a club for a few drinks and some dancing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They let me pick the venue based on my wealth of knowledge in the field of getting fucked up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I chose a nice little place called Mardi Gras in downtown Albany.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I say nice, I mean the sleaziest, grimiest haven of debauchery with cheap drinks and corrupt bouncers that let girls in who aren’t even old enough to grow pubes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They might as well have changed the name from Mardi Gras to The Champion’s Paradise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Some dumb slut who coordinated most of this adventure told everyone to meet at her house at ten o’clock to pregame for an hour, and then call cabs to go to the club.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the pregame, I dominated beer pong, punched a few holes in the wall as victory celebrations, and won a freestyle dance-off against a black kid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Good thing I was taking it easy, because this night ended in a pretty crazy way for me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Eventually, the girl’s father came downstairs to get everyone’s car keys, and when I refused to give him mine he told me I had to leave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told him how much of a faggot he was and that his daughter got fucked by half the school, and then casually walked out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On my way out of the house, I happened to pass by his liquor cabinet, so I grabbed a bottle of Smirnoff to sip on while I waited outside for my friends to finish pregaming.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>About fifteen minutes later, everyone came out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just finished pissing on the vinyl siding of the house, so I was all ready to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pounded the last drip of the Smirnoff, and smashed it in the street.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Really Greg, did you really have to break that bottle?” asked the girl who lived there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You already pissed my dad off.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Sorry,” I replied, “I’m gonna go apologize right now.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Really?” she asked<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The girl looked pretty upset, but she wasn’t surprised by my actions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tendencies of Greg Lou George Foreman Millerly were already a widely known legend cemented in the minds of all his peers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A short time later, two taxi vans pulled up to where we were standing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As everyone began to pile in, I went up to the cab drivers window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The driver was an Asian, so I obviously had to talk to him in the stereotypical Chinese accent by pronouncing all of the L’s as R’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked him what the fare would be per person, and he said something that sounded like "twelve dollars."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I stared at him for a good five minutes because I could not comprehend how preposterous this was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Twelve dollars could get me three cheap drinks at four dollars a pop, and everyone knows I don’t tip unless I see some titties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before anyone could stop me, I sprinted to my car, got in, and sped off on the road to the club.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My friends who were in the cab were calling my phone during the whole ride, but it’s kind of hard to answer your cell when you’re smoking a bogey, drinking a beer, and driving at the same time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I only have two fuckin’ hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I had three hands I’d probably be jerking off too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Anyways, after escaping the level-headed group of friends I had at that whore’s house, I finally approached Mardi Gras.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I parked my car in a vacant lot, got out and slammed the door a lot harder than necessary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nobody looked over, so I was already in a bad mood before I even got to the club.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I arrived at the line, and waited patiently as it progressed into the club.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While waiting, I saw my friends from before walking up to wait their turn.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Mill,” one of them shouted, “you shouldn’t have drove!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I turned and gave no vocal response, but my gaze was so maddening at my group of friends that I only needed two eyes to cut them down like weeds being landscaped by a Peruvian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At this point I was at the front of the line, and the bouncers let me in free of cover charge and without ID’ing me. Champion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Once everyone was in, the girls immediately headed to the dance floor to do what sluts do, and the guys went to the bar to do what men do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was already completely wrecked, so I ordered a bud light and some type of shot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pounded the beer and sipped the shot, and by sip I mean I pounded it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I moved to the dance floor and began my dance, a dance that actually isn’t a dance, but an all out molestation of hoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I grabbed a cheek, lifted up a skirt, and thumb darted a girl so hard it looked as if she was David Blain performing his levitation illusion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was basically Sub Zero on the dance floor:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This went on for about an hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next thing I know, most of the people who were around me before are now keeping there distance. I'm steadily becoming more and more blacked out, and I have vague flashes of leaving the club and walking to my car, but the images are hazy at best and the memories are covered in a fog of war.……<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">…..CRASH……<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">……I’m jolted awake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of my car, my left front tire doesn’t exist anymore, and sparks are flying from the hood of my car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My driver’s side window is shattered, and there are shards of glass in my hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My right forearm is bleeding from three different spots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gather myself, still grinding ahead and sparking on three tires, and realize I’m skidding down the main street two blocks from my house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I whip a left turn into a parking lot, exit my car, and sprint to my house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walk in my front door, grab some bath towels from my parent’s bathroom closet, and wrap my arm wound tightly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I shed my clothing down to my boxers and go in my basement, passing out on the futon that I fucked many-a-hoes in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pass out…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Wake up scum!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I opened my eyes and my parents were standing over me with two police officers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My parents looked pissed off and confused, and the cops just looked like fuckin’ cops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone was yelling and accusing me of drunk driving and leaving the scene of an accident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the cops informed me that witnesses saw me rear end someone, pull my car over, and then get out and run off into the distance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They also said my minor injuries looked exactly like the injuries one would sustain in the accident that was reported.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And my wallet was in the wreckage, along with empty beer bottles and a pack of bogeys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, they said nobody else was hurt.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Instead of defending myself, or even speaking for that matter, I casually stood up and walked over to the garbage pail to take a piss. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really</i> pissed off the cops - pun intended.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They wrestled me to the ground, mid-pee, so I’m flopping around with two other grown men and my dick out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Good thing I cut off the stream or it would have gotten pretty messy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile, my mom’s screaming, my dad’s telling the officers to let go of me, and my dogs upstairs barking as if he saw a black man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They finally got me on my feet and arrested me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After hauling me to the police station in nothing but my boxers, they tirelessly questioned me, but I didn’t say a word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having no solid evidence to build a case against me, I was only charged with Drunken Disorderly Conduct and Leaving the Scene of an Accident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I insisted that I drank <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">after</i> I drove and crashed, so they couldn’t charge me with DUI.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They asked how it was humanly possible to get that drunk that quick then, and I said it probably isn’t humanly possible. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said, though, it is very Championly possible.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-19765453195461127042011-10-26T20:13:00.000-07:002011-10-27T12:51:12.829-07:00The Champion's Champion<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW27r2V-CXRF8xp48eT2oyiWCcUa5-DGpd45mxH6cWguWHLQALkeqXzlbisYMoDymdO0-7CR8cWClJUCRRys4PERBhheEYkAV_ZDbr5-YRX1CtBNSX_GlVs5E78LpiCYKH9DlSGjWH2Ug/s1600/doof.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW27r2V-CXRF8xp48eT2oyiWCcUa5-DGpd45mxH6cWguWHLQALkeqXzlbisYMoDymdO0-7CR8cWClJUCRRys4PERBhheEYkAV_ZDbr5-YRX1CtBNSX_GlVs5E78LpiCYKH9DlSGjWH2Ug/s1600/doof.jpg" /></span></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Most people have some type of remedy that they can turn to when they’re having trouble falling asleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another similar concept is that most men have an idea that they can think of to aid they’re limp penis when they’re too fucked up too perform.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An idea that can inspire they’re dick to hardness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And to top it off, some men can continue to be complete savages when they’re heartbeat is fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When all of you’re body’s blood supply is preoccupied with rebuilding the capillaries that were destroyed after your most recent jiff night, and there’s a sexy Asian straddling you, you know you’re a unique breed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you still have the mental tact to get good grades for not only yourself, but for a friend who pays you to write their final paper, you are a rare specimen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A specimen who can somehow manage to find the jiff from a mentally impaired cab driver in the same night that he throws his door, chair, and desk fan out of his second story window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When said man goes out and drinks liquor, his friends warn the community that “the dragon’s out of the lair.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It would be an injustice to say that what I just described is a human, almost as much of an injustice as allowing Ethiopians to enter marathons against normal folk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Almost as much of an injustice as Ja Rule trying to maintain his career after calling out Eminem in a rap battle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Almost as much of an injustice as the last time people thought I would lose a championship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So now, after almost a month of publishing stories that detail the debauchery and social destruction that I cause at a whim, I present to you the Ultimate Champ.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His name is Deputy Doofy, and he is a martyr amongst men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since I am a champ, I don’t believe in religion, but I now believe in reincarnation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The black man in this video is the reincarnation of Deputy Doofy inspiring the world to be Champions:</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://3.gvt0.com/vi/yX39J_YyKbs/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/yX39J_YyKbs&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/yX39J_YyKbs&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">*To avoid confusion for my non-Oneonta readers, the Deputy Doofy I was referring to is not the bumbling idiot from <em>Scary Movie.</em> I'm describing one of my boys who happens to share the same name. Champion out.</span></div>Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-12244813586369367212011-10-25T16:56:00.000-07:002011-10-25T16:56:15.540-07:00The Young Champ<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaYkW2ew0Ap2IMaUBH9rTOe77d571z6VYPxkR-2VaNYDsjLHRHSzjGrnL73nGEGNQgR0D8Xd9LeT7WVv7ebyiFziWIARb2oWR6Kk7qHCBpPVuDfsrOIY8SjwYI7hzHMS7nFhVevj1bXPg/s1600/MICROPHONE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaYkW2ew0Ap2IMaUBH9rTOe77d571z6VYPxkR-2VaNYDsjLHRHSzjGrnL73nGEGNQgR0D8Xd9LeT7WVv7ebyiFziWIARb2oWR6Kk7qHCBpPVuDfsrOIY8SjwYI7hzHMS7nFhVevj1bXPg/s320/MICROPHONE.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Earlier today I was in my basement dusting off old Championship rings and MVP trophies when I noticed an old karaoke machine hidden under some boxes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was astonished by my discovery because I never was a fan of karaoke, and I would rather create my own music than sing someone else’s. If I was a middle aged schmuck drinking away the sorrows of my predictable lifestyle and sitting at a bar yelling “Hey Barkeep, leave the bottle,” then maybe, just maybe, I would take up karaoke as a hobby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’m not, and “Champion Karaoke” is almost as much of an oxymoron as “Women’s Sports,” so I decided to investigate my finding a little further.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I pushed a few Player of the Year awards and old paternity tests clearing me of fatherhood out of the way and walked up to the machine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was obviously broken, and the cassette deck was sticky with stains of vodka.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided I should just smash it to pieces for fun, but as I hoisted it in the air a tape fell out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I picked up the tape and it was labeled “2002 rap.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly, my memories rushed to my brain like smoke spewing from a gravity bong.</span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I was in High School, I used to rap all the time with my friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And since I’m a champion, I was quite good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tape I found happened to be some songs I recorded when I was sixteen years old, and I immediately uploaded them on my computer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since the tape is so dated and decrepit, only one of the tracks was transferred to a digital file with a good enough sound quality to hear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s still kind of rough, and you can tell I sound like a very young champion, but it’s worth a listen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also, whereas the last song I posted was hilarious because of how sincere it sounded despite the content, this one is just nasty. Champion out.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/LkFYDOScsco?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span>Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-4763521560296489692011-10-23T13:59:00.000-07:002011-10-23T19:32:36.407-07:00Hall of Champions Inductee #3<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMU4vxKjkvajAxR2Ncrmh79vd-RL1U4cepZQwaSe4tSr2HK3h3GYGdtUITTqE7YpfSCh_2qmStcZYqjVCi-0uwkgHyTpLQvFOJtxtSA41Wv7p-LwZ8QdNj-jCU-ek14btA_DhYyLNM5PA/s1600/Belt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMU4vxKjkvajAxR2Ncrmh79vd-RL1U4cepZQwaSe4tSr2HK3h3GYGdtUITTqE7YpfSCh_2qmStcZYqjVCi-0uwkgHyTpLQvFOJtxtSA41Wv7p-LwZ8QdNj-jCU-ek14btA_DhYyLNM5PA/s320/Belt.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let me start off by apologizing for the lack of posts recently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although Champions don’t have to give any justification for their actions, I feel like my readers deserve some sort of explanation for my absence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Basically what happened was that I just finished working at an old job, and I have a couple of weeks until I start a new career with a better employer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This means I have a couple of weeks without anything to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most people would probably relax, spend some quality time with a significant other, or maybe finish a project around the house while they have the free time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not me. I literally went out every night, got hammered, chased skirts, did jiff, ripped off my shirts mid-party, and won championships.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even made an impulsive trip to Oneonta where I took binge drinking to a new level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My performance was on par with Albert Pujols recent three-home-run World Series outing, and considering the fact that I did it every night for seven days, some might say I outplayed him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So fellow champions, that is why I have been MIA.</span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, I want to be honest with everyone - sometimes being a Champion sucks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope my readers can appreciate the courage it took for me to admit that, but when it comes to honesty it’s all worth it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So with that being said, you should know I was definitely just lying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being a Champ is fuckin’ awesome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Always was, always will be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It never sucks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So while we’re discussing the expected criteria needed to be a champion, allow me to introduce to everyone the newest member to the Hall of Champions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSAvrQAJkKnrBXWzTVadeZQRwcPaUxBwIln8SdaCqpTauDLAcSO8Nmqw47rfYGH5bK0-8klWqB0tFhoDXYM78iqnLxvEanNbfUBJNJkGhXIDtEw0jozW0v5Vh2_-sQBgOyuOzC1AunsZY/s1600/Jack+Daniel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSAvrQAJkKnrBXWzTVadeZQRwcPaUxBwIln8SdaCqpTauDLAcSO8Nmqw47rfYGH5bK0-8klWqB0tFhoDXYM78iqnLxvEanNbfUBJNJkGhXIDtEw0jozW0v5Vh2_-sQBgOyuOzC1AunsZY/s320/Jack+Daniel.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jasper Newton Daniel, aka fuckin’ Champion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A man who is such a Champion that even his Wikipedia entry doesn’t know the exact date of his birth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And better yet, his date of birth isn’t known because his birth records were destroyed in a courthouse fire that he probably started.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That fact alone could be enough to elevate his existence to Champion status, but his legacy will be passed on for something else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jasper Newton Daniel happens to be the founder of the Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Whiskey Distillery, also known as the “Jack Daniels Distillery.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And everyone knows that some things run on gas…other things run on batteries….but Champions run on Jack Daniels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let me share an <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">exact</i> quote from a real life situation that exemplifies JD’s potency:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Hey Champ, how come <em>everything</em> in town has been completely destroyed….and why are <em>all</em> of the men dead and <em>all</em> of the women pregnant?”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I’m not sure, but I drank Jack Daniels last night.”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Oh no wonder! By the way, you’re really handsome!”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Awwww…thanks Meghan Fox!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Possibly the greatest alcoholic beverage in the history of binge drinking, Jack Daniel’s was introduced to the world in 1875 - and being a Champion hasn’t been the same since.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When an athlete feels like they need to re-energize after a tough game, they normally reach for an electrolyte-boosting drink like Gatorade or Powerade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When a champion needs to enhance their performance, we throw back a few shots and within seconds there is a noticeable increase in irresponsible and reckless behavior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it wasn’t for Jack Daniels and the unique chemical reactions it causes in my brain, I would still have a number of good relationships with women, several of the nice cell phones I smashed, and the thousands of dollars I had to hand over to my lawyer and the government.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I would not be in possession of so many MVP trophies and championship rings, and this blog would most likely not exist to entertain my loyal readers.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So Jack Daniels, on behalf of my fans, I would like to thank you for making this blog possible, and I would also like to welcome you to the <strong>Hall of Champions</strong>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Also, I am now back in full force, and I will be regularly updating like normal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, I’m currently debating which story I should share tomorrow, but it’s either going to be about the time I got arrested in Sea Side Heights, or the time this stupid girl pooped in my presence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll leave that to your imaginations for now……</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"></div></span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span>Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-34292934939420172012011-10-13T17:53:00.000-07:002011-10-14T21:01:03.628-07:00Skin it to Win it<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqgfk0ul5zl9jMCLvGsH0JNkF2dJKKFcmQBSAyNdnndpiyYbUbF1GW9PCum-WZ0n_W0TqTEm7l4lxZR6z3-9k3bVMjycF2d3MPqk94VLHyWZksAjE1NoMEArw9UPDERDaZk9KS7Ctt4pQ/s1600/514px-Silhouette_of_Stripper_on_a_Pole_svg.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqgfk0ul5zl9jMCLvGsH0JNkF2dJKKFcmQBSAyNdnndpiyYbUbF1GW9PCum-WZ0n_W0TqTEm7l4lxZR6z3-9k3bVMjycF2d3MPqk94VLHyWZksAjE1NoMEArw9UPDERDaZk9KS7Ctt4pQ/s320/514px-Silhouette_of_Stripper_on_a_Pole_svg.png" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sex is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">awesome</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having a lot of sex is almost a prerequisite to being a Champion, but apparently this is only true for men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Allow me to elaborate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most women could have sex whenever they want, and an attractive woman certainly can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But most of them don’t because they’re afraid that they’ll be called a slut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, they might as well play the part….fuckin’ slut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Whenever I get on the topic of sluts, one particular event always pops into my thought process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is an event like no other, when Champions walk amongst men and girls tear their clothes off to bow at our feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a sacred event, unparalleled in its nature and envied by those on the outside looking in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a tradition that goes by many names, but it is most commonly referred to as the <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Revue</i></b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sponsored by my Oneonta fraternity, the Revue is an annual contest to see which sorority can get the most naked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They just get naked. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is also an open bar to get all of the girls nice and loose.</span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With that said, I can’t be in a relationship when I’m dead, so it looks like we got a real conundrum here!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/9UdaPfXwvCI?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We arrived at the venue, and I started pounding beers and posing in as many pictures with the girls as possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Normally I’m not a big “picture guy,” but I needed some way to remember what was about to transpire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After drinking like it was my last day on Earth, the competition started.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not going to get too specific, because in all honesty I barely remember.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just know that girls were getting naked, licking whipped cream off each other, and ruthlessly making out at every turn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was disgusting and beautiful at the same time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Champions don’t think about consequences, they assume that all of their actions will lead to some type of Championship Ring ceremony.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After about an hour of sexual pandemonium, the Revue was over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A winner was chosen and the girls left so they could shower and "wash the revue away".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just kidding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a champion aka always happy as fuck.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once the victory dance was over, we all scattered to find somewhere to put our dicks for the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was way too fucked up, and most people didn’t even know I was single yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, to remedy the situation, I found a real easy target who was almost as drunk as I was. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We went back to her apartment and immediately started going at it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was nothing special, and as soon as we were done she passed out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried all of the tricks to get rid of them, and nothing worked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At this point, I was hiccupping nonstop for nearly an hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was not going to let them ruin the best night ever, so I was determined to find a solution to my problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided to try and stick my finger down my throat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To my amazement, it actually worked, but not until I was done vomiting all over this random girls bedroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/4eYSpIz2FjU?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I finally finished emptying the entire content of my stomach and intestines, I notice that the girl somehow slept through the chaos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I did what any champ would do – I gathered all of my clothes and wrote the girl a note.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The note went something like this: “So I know you were too blacked out to remember this, but you threw up <em>all over</em> the place and <em>all over</em> my clothes (hence the vomit <em>all over</em> your room).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is why I left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope ya feel better!”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next day, the girl called me apologizing for her “disgusting” actions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So not only did I get away with throwing up, I got a new outfit out of the deal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being a Champion really has its perks!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span>Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-62118305830377662142011-10-12T15:45:00.000-07:002011-10-25T22:28:40.336-07:00A Champion's Love (sike)<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Websters defines champion as "a winner of first prize or first place in a competition; one who shows marked superiority." This is a very accurate definition, and the accuracy’s validation is backed up by the fact that Webster is widely regarded as the go-to institution for anything concerning English language and grammar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fuck Webster. Fuck his big-ass books too. My definition of champion is: “me.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">With that said, being a champion makes me a sort of "jack-of-all-trades." Besides being an amazing writer, an intellectual genius, a sexual expert, a gifted athlete, and an all around non-fuck giver, I'm also a talented musician. So I'm going to share with you guys a song I made, based on the true events from my life. I play all the instruments, sing, and produce the track, because a Champion doesn't need help, he can carry the team to victory on his back.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">The song is a re-telling of the events of the last night I shared with an ex-girlfriend. She was one of my first real girlfriends, and it was before I realized how much of a champion I am. I'm not sure why she broke up with me, maybe it was the binge drinking, random acts of explosive anger, or the blatant flirting with other girls right in front of her. Anyways, here its:</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwjvyQV2v-ExBFYUFkIzmmDKpNyy6PIo68Hmh50Vd0hIuXZ3aQNkw_vRspY1yhLEt93m0_h81v-BRWICe1reg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">I hope you enjoyed my ballad. I'll continue to post different types of music and video that I create in between my classic stories and Hall of Champions inductions. Well, I gotta go, my forty's gettin warm, see ya soon.</span>Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-76720689190535448322011-10-10T16:03:00.000-07:002011-10-11T13:09:29.833-07:00The Real Lock Out<div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFGhkZJbDLZCivfWEwQRrZqWirZ58KkAQ2P9jwAyz_Nedemw6CZkJO3wFTbO0NPZFeJeaW3t_4L2RaFN5RqCDgwtraalfinrNiWy2mU7d2pbN4KsNPCUvkH272kXJT1aK4Cvlo3JWpm4w/s1600/Lockout-Safety-Caution-Sign-S-2544.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFGhkZJbDLZCivfWEwQRrZqWirZ58KkAQ2P9jwAyz_Nedemw6CZkJO3wFTbO0NPZFeJeaW3t_4L2RaFN5RqCDgwtraalfinrNiWy2mU7d2pbN4KsNPCUvkH272kXJT1aK4Cvlo3JWpm4w/s320/Lockout-Safety-Caution-Sign-S-2544.gif" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With so many lockouts happening in sports, I figured it would be good to tell you guys about a lockout </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">that I was involved in. It was a couple years ago, in the land of Oneonta.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I woke up for my usual 4pm-Saturday breakfast with a little hop to my step.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something extra must have been in the air that day because I felt great, which is odd if you consider the handle of vodka and mountain of jiff I consumed the night before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, I felt so good that when I rolled out of bed I naturally landed in a push-up position and effortlessly banged out fifty reps. Then I ate a whole box of Wheaties dry, and chugged a half gallon of milk to wash it down.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After finishing my breakfast of Champions, I relaxed for a couple of hours and sharpened some knives I had laying around until it was time to start getting ready for the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was running low on clean shirts but I didn’t have enough time to go buy a new wardrobe, so I had to look through my reserve clothes – “the practice-squad” equivalent of fashion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although still better looking than outfits of non-champs, I had a feeling I wouldn’t be on my A game tonight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To top it off, the shirt I wore was given to me by an ex-girlfriend, so it already had a bad omen about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided to buy a personal flask of Vodka to help ease the concerns I was having about my appearance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a good idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After drinking every last drop and chasing it with my roommate's left over beer, I completely forgot about my wardrobe woes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was time to party. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I got to the party apartment, I realized there was a pretty good ratio of girls to guys, and within the girl population there was a pretty good ratio of hot to not-hot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided I would only drink tonight and focus on getting laid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My decision was made easier when I went to the bathroom and found a bunch of my friends basically doing this because the jiff was so bad:</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/s1X3DDcbR6Y?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><o:p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I went back downstairs and started to mingle, getting a feel for the overall situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In between funnels and keg stands, my friend Al informed me that a girl I used to have sex with was in town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This little piece of information would prove to be very valuable as my night went on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thanked him for the intel and decided to go let loose and have some fun. The party was at its peak, with the strobe lights and DJ’s working their magic on a dance floor packed to full capacity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realized that no music had made me feel that good since George Harrison’s guitar gently wept.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I started my classic half dancing/half molesting maneuvers and began hunting for a female target.<o:p></o:p></span></span></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After rubbing elbows with a few sluts that aren’t worthy of a Champion, I noticed a sexy little brunette who looked lonely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Better yet, she looked really drunk…and really easy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I parted the crowd, knocking over people’s cups and stepping on girl’s shoes, and introduced myself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Hi, my names Champ, what’s yours?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The girl looked at me, then glanced down at my shirt and said, “Your shirts really ugly!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now this girl was obviously hammered, judging by the fact that she sounded like she had peanut butter stuck on the roof of her mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I can’t let someone talk to me like that, so I screamed, “Oh yea, well you’re a real Cunt!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well folks, that was the first and last time I <em>ever</em> said that word in the presence of females.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wrath brought down on me was unlike anything I had ever seen, all because of one word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the girls who were close enough to hear me swarmed like Africanized Killer Bees, and the girl I actually said it to literally turned into Halle Berry:</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/QvYyz5IAJhQ?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After enduring the relentless scolding from almost every girl at the party for about five minutes, I retreated to the porch to get some air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though I am physically stronger, further advanced mentally, athletically superior, more quick-witted, and all around more MacGyver-like than any of the females that were there, you have to be able to choose your battles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was a battle I chose to stay out of, so instead I just began drinking at a higher rate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After throwing back shots, beers, and cups of punch, I started to feel like my night was beyond the point of salvation. I was hammered, and all of the sluts that were still around were either too mad at me from earlier or too disgusted after seeing my sexual résumé. Most people would call it quits for the night and go home to throw in the towel. Most people aren’t Champions. Suddenly, the words of the greatest rapist/Linebacker of all time, Lawrence Taylor, flashed in my mind:<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“He's a cocky sumbitch. That's what makes him such a great player.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In all honesty, I don’t even know what the fuck LT was talking about or why it inspired me, but I was suddenly determined to get pussy and be a great player.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At that moment I also remembered the girl who I used to bang was visiting, so I immediately called her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What do you want?” she asked, obviously knowing what I want.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why else would I call her at 2am drunk.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I want to talk,” I said, barely able to hold in laughter.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Really?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Yea, I miss you,” I proclaimed after I put the phone down to laugh hysterically.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For some reason she believed me so I went to the apartment she was staying at.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I got there, we made some vodka mixed drinks and sat on the couch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasted no time and started making out with her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After about ten seconds, she tells me that she can’t do it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we start making out again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After another ten seconds, she tells me she really can’t do it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This exchange goes on for another five minutes, until it becomes so annoying that I stand up and scream.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I’m goin to smoke a bogey! I’ll be right back, and make up your fuckin’ mind.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, I go outside and smoke a bogey, quite possibly the maddest man in the world. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I see another group of girls on the other end of the balcony so I make my way down to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After impressing them with my charm and Champion’s attitude, I decide to go back to the apartment and give it one more try with this girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m also completely fucked up at this point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I walk back, I try to open the door but it’s locked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not ready to give up just yet, I walk over to the window and notice that it’s open.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I crawl through the window and into the pitch black apartment, tip-toeing like the Grinch on Christmas night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly, I trip and slam onto the floor, too drunk to realize how loud I was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I press on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I’m just about to reach the girl so I can wake her and persuade her into having sex, the lights flash on and a girl starts screaming “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY APARATMENT! OH MY GOD BLALALALALALA!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, I didn’t even try to calm this bitch down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ran out of the apartment like the true champion I am and ended up having a romantic evening with my laptop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the time I couldn’t quite understand why the girl who turned the lights on was bugging out so much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next day, when I wasn’t so drunk, it all made sense to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Imagine hearing someone stumble through your window, then going downstairs and seeing a man crawling on his hands and knees in a drunk stupor, all while he is trying to wake up your <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">guest </i>to fuck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, that was my lock out, and the girl barely remembered it because she was as drunk as me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Champion out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-71105846456573440452011-10-06T08:14:00.000-07:002011-10-06T08:14:08.429-07:00Cinco de Champo<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A lot of people say that with age comes maturity; however that is not the case with this Champion. It seems that the older I get, the more absurd my actions become after I have a few beers. Instead of someday growing into a wise and mature old man with the look and manner of Mr. Rogers, I’ll probably end up being more like this guy:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/5QhnZqF528w?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Allow me to elaborate - most of the tales I will be sharing with my readers happened when I was in my late teens and early twenties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of the debauchery and immoral self-indulgences I will be describing in future posts will be pulled from the deepest and darkest corners of my personal archives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some might be from the past few years, when I was savaging the Oneonta landscape with my fraternity brothers and fellow champions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some might </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">be</span><span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"> from High School, when I thought (correctly) that I was an untouchable warlord.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One thing I can always count on no matter what, is that whenever my life starts to be boring for a length of time, and I feel like a real adult, nature will step in to restore balance to the universe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God wants me to be a Champion, and he will set the cosmos back to order when things start to become unaligned. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">With that being said, a couple of months ago I was sitting in my apartment in Oneonta staring out the window and pondering my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was about 4pm, the weather was nice, I went to all my classes that day, and it was Thursday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the past few weeks, I seemed to be going through the same old routine. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In other words, I needed to start drinking as soon as possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, being a champion, I sprinted without rest to the corner store to buy a few beers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After buying a thirty pack of Bud Light, I sprinted back to my apartment, somehow at a faster pace than before even though I had the extra beer weight.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The second I walked through the door, I pounded a few beers just to get my blood flowing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After about </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">fifteen minutes, a couple of my roommates burst into the room.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="mso-ascii-font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: inherit;">“</span><span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Damn, what time did you start drinking?</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: inherit;">”</span><span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"> asked my roommate, as he glanced at the nine empty cans strewn about my room.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="mso-ascii-font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: inherit;">“</span><span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Fifteen minutes ago...pussy,</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: inherit;">”</span><span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"> I replied. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="mso-ascii-font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: inherit;">“</span><span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Well, why are you drinking Bud Lights?</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: inherit;">”</span><span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="mso-ascii-font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: inherit;">“</span><span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Why the fuck not, it's Thursday afternoon.</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: inherit;">”</span><span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: inherit;">“</span><span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Yea, but its CINCO DE MAYO!!!</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: inherit;">”</span><span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">he screamed like a gay mariachi. "Where's the Corona?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">The best part of this exchange was the fact that I had no idea I was actually <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><strong>supposed</strong></i> to be drinking for Cinco De Mayo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was honestly just pounding brews back because that’s what champions do when they’re bored.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">After having this sudden epiphany, I sprinted back to the store to buy a liter of Tequila and sprinted back to my apartment immediately after the purchase was made.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of this sprinting was really making my throat dry and my lungs hurt, so I threw back a few shots and lit a bogey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I got really, really, REALLY fucked up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I vaguely remember wandering around Oneonta with a group of friends and stopping at various apartments to claim Lords Rights on all of their food, alcohol, and women.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">As the sun started to go down, I was on the verge of a total blackout.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily for me and my brave companions, my fraternity was throwing an open party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Naturally, I showed up late and was the drunkest and oldest man there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I get that drunk, there is a chance that one of several different personas will come to the surface of my personality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They range in demeanor from the peaceful and nervous jiff head to the raging destroyer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On this night, I was more of a maniac who was basically molesting any girl who came near me while dancing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After being Fresh Prince on the dance floor for a good hour, I decided to leave the party and go to the bars.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/riVn4u1B7sU?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I left the apartment, beer in hand, and began to descend the long and steep stairwell that leads to the street below.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I reached the bottom, I noticed a taxi heading towards me at the precise moment I wanted to cross the street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a sudden urge to walk in the middle of the road and stop the aforementioned vehicle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, a normal person has that little angel on one shoulder and that little devil on the other shoulder, trying to persuade the conscience to do what can be considered right or wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have two little champions on each shoulder rooting me on at all times.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">So, I charged into the middle of the street with my hand out, forcing the cab to stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, a cop just happened to be right behind the taxi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next thing I know I have handcuffs on my wrists and I’m screaming, </span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: inherit;">“</span><span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Ya did it again Greg! Ya did it again!</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: inherit;">”</span><span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I’m almost certain that cop was there because of some divine intervention, because my life was getting a little too boring and adult-like up until that point. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ended up being thrown into a holding cell, violently shaking the bars and screaming about lawyers and civil rights, until I was bailed out by a young lady.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I had sex with her. Champion.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "inherit","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Actual Police Report:</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYkgQak2obVJ2-aCvY24Q0BbGY-tdW5TF0hhuwIcdslhdH7m4BZNJwQLJykJRqgJFLvlYV7naNbFGvHzURtaZeFaBnTDWCkmv9-aZferjhhQrK84SgUtLNzAj3TtRmY-v5qtOOww_VpDk/s1600/Police+Report.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYkgQak2obVJ2-aCvY24Q0BbGY-tdW5TF0hhuwIcdslhdH7m4BZNJwQLJykJRqgJFLvlYV7naNbFGvHzURtaZeFaBnTDWCkmv9-aZferjhhQrK84SgUtLNzAj3TtRmY-v5qtOOww_VpDk/s1600/Police+Report.jpg" /></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
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</span></div>Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-56533502198736820412011-10-04T12:35:00.000-07:002011-10-04T12:35:28.776-07:00Happy Halloween Officer!<div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I awoke with a sharp pain throbbing in my head. My mouth tasted as if I was trekking through a desert for days with no water...but with several packs of bogeys. This wouldn't be the first time in my life I woke up in this physical state, so I reached into my pockets to check my phone and gather my bearings. Pockets empy. This wouldn't be the first time I woke up in this physical state,<em> without any of my personal belongs</em>, so I opened my eyes and rolled over to examine the environment. Upon turning on my side, I realized my face was literally six inches from a toilet. This wouldn't be the first time I woke up in this physical state, <em>in a bathroom,</em> without any of my personal belongings.</div><br />
<div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Suddenly, I realized this was not a normal toilet, but a Stainless Steel Toilet. I knew I could be in only one place: a jail cell. At this moment I also came upon another startling realization: my hair was long enough to drape over my shoulders. Also, my cell mate was laying on a wooden slab wrapped up in bandages. Could it be? Have I really been locked up long enough to grow twenty inches of hair while my cell mate withered away and died? Instead of freaking out, I hopped up and took a shit in the stainless steel toilet. Nature called. There was no toilet paper, so I cautiously unwrapped some of my cell mates bandages so I could finish wiping, because no job is finished until the paper work is done.</div><br />
<div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">After cleaning up, it was time to figure out what was going on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked up to the bars and began shouting, and a man in a police uniform walked up to the cell.</div><br />
<div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“Shut up Miller,” said the officer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><br />
<div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“I’ll shut up when you’ve explained to me why I’ve been confined to this cell for years with a dead man, you fuck! HAR!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where is my stuff, I want my lawyer!”</div><br />
<div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“Calm down you drunk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last night was Halloween and we brought you in for disorderly conduct….again,” proclaimed the guardsman as he threw an egg-croissant sandwich into my cell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Now sit there and be quiet until a Judge comes in, and eat somethin’ for Christ’s sake.”</div><br />
<div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Suddenly, everything started to make sense to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I grabbed the hair on my head, which I now knew was a Halloween wig, and ripped it off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realized my cell mate was just a drunk idiot who dressed up as a mummy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And at some point during last night’s festivities, I was arrested for being a Champion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having been in this situation before, I knew I would not learn anything else until I saw a judge, so I decided to relax and eat the provided breakfast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After finishing the meal like Paul Rudd, I waited patiently to be called to the court room.</div><br />
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<div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">After what seemed like an eternity, the guard finally came back and escorted the mummy and me to the court room to appear before an "honorable" judge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When it was my turn, I was told that I was being charged with Drunken Disorderly Conduct and a court date was scheduled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was finally released, I used the court documents given to me and testimony from my friends to piece together my night.</div><br />
<div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Apparently, my night started out fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I dressed up as Joe Dirt, pounded shots of cheap rum, and went to the bar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My girl at the time happened to be tending bar there, but I was still ruthlessly hitting on every Naughty Nurse and Slutty Sailor right in front of her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we went back to her apartment, I began the transformation that normally occurs when I consume an inhumane amount of alcohol.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/P3J0g-zHQyA?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>While in that state of mind, I began head butting doors and juggling knives. The chaos that ensued startled everyone in the apartment complex and a crowd formed. Being a champion, I love when fans gather to witness me hoisting the trophy, but this time there were also police officers. When they tried to subdue me, I fought them off until a group of them finally wrestled me to the pavement and cuffed me. As they struggled to push me into the patrol car, I was seen screaming, "ITS NOT OVER! ITS NOT OVER" <br />
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So, thats what happened, and the truth is, it wasn't over until lawyer fees and fines were paid. A nice Halloween contribution to the Oneonta Government courtesy of your local neighborhood Champion.Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2261808704363484687.post-71751106096975777942011-08-15T20:22:00.000-07:002017-04-01T18:37:51.518-07:00Hall of Champions Inductee #4<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I fuckin’ HATE romantic comedies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whose brilliant idea was it to create a genre of film that gives women unrealistic expectations about dating and finding love?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who is the genius that realized you can fictionalize the hopes and dreams of every young girl who still possesses the ignorance that’s needed to believe they’ll live happily ever after.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Obviously a non-champion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My idea of a romantic comedy is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Full Metal Jacket, </i>or if that’s too hard for you pussies to swallow than I guess I can settle for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Goodfellas</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But not the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Goodfellas</i> that is edited for TV, that one is just plain soft.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s the version I show my kids when they get home from Kindergarten on a rainy afternoon, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">after</i> I finish giving them their daily lecture on knife throwing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Anyways, I know if I keep this up I’ll end up going off on a tangent for hours, fueled by my hatred for romantic comedies, which is pretty ironic considering all of my romantic relationships have ended pretty comically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fuckin’ sluts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now since I’m on the topic of films and cinema, allow me to introduce to you the newest member of the Hall of Champions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A man whose name I did not take the time to find out, because I don’t really care who he is, for he is being inducted based on the merit of a single movie he created.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A movie that is basically an instructional video that teaches its viewers how to be men, or better yet, how to be Champions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to introduce to you HOC inductee number four – the guy who made the movie <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Predator</i>.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The movie follows an elite Special Forces team, led by 'Dutch' (Arnold Schwarzenegger), on a mission to rescue hostages from guerrilla territory in Central America. Unbeknownst to the group, they are being hunted by a technologically advanced form of Extraterrestrial Life, aka the fuckin’ Predator.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now besides Arnold, the cast features Jessie “The Body” Ventura <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and</i> Apollo Creed from Rocky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know how so many champions’ can be assembled under one roof, but I’m almost positive that those champs being in the same vicinity for so long somehow created a rift in the universe that contributed to Global Warming, the Iraq War, and the international financial crisis in the late 2000’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first time I saw the <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>movie I was captivated, and after watching an early scene that included the most manly handshake ever captured on film, I knew I wanted to grow up to be a Champion:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After that fateful arm-wrestle/handshake, the movie really takes off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every few seconds it seems like there’s another explosion followed by a few hundred violent enemy deaths.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And to top it off, the movie is packed with one-liners that Champions actually say in everyday situations that they commonly encounter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of my favorites is right after Arnold throws a massive knife into the back of an enemy he shouts, “Stick Around!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is classic post-stabbing Champion taunting right there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another great line is when Jessie The Body says, “I don’t have time to bleed,” a line that is not only manly because of how non-fuck-giving it is, but because basic factual anatomy studies prove a woman could never say it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Women do have time to bleed, once a month for about a week to be exact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Then we have the eponymous villain of the film, and personally, I don’t know what the fuck it is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I do know is that it is bad ass and a champion in its own right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The creature shoots lasers, blends in with its environment like a Chameleon, and sees everything with this crazy infrared vision while effortlessly jumping through a rainforest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of this multitasking is done while the Predator is disposing of puny humans left and right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Predator's appearance is so savage that it has inspired a plethora of nicknames in the world of sports.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any football player with dreadlocks or a unique facemask can be referred to as “the Predator", like Marion Barber or Chris Canty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not going to spoil the end of the movie or any other elements of the plot in case some people haven’t seen it yet, but then again, if you haven’t seen <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Predator</i> you probably don’t read my blog because you’re definitely a bitch. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So guy who made <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Predator, </i>I am happy to welcome you to the Hall of Champions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Save some J for the rest of us!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span>Greg Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08869118992631914257noreply@blogger.com0