Happy Thanks(Not)giving (A Fuck)

Everybody loves the holidays.  It is a time to be thankful for everything we have been blessed with.  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.  It is a time for happiness, caring, and joy - or so we thought.  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.  This self loathing supposedly comes from the envy that single and lonely losers feel when they observe happy families gathering for holiday festivities.  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.  Pussies.

I mean, how stupid are these people?  Being single during the holidays is one of the best things that ever happened to me.  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.  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.

One particular Holiday Championship happened not too long ago on New Year’s Eve.  At the time I was working as a Floor Manager at the Albany CBS affiliate for the early morning newscast.  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.  It sounds complicated, but it was fuckin’ cake.  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.

Anyways, that year one of my friends was throwing a New Years Eve party at his house.  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.  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.  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.  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.

So later that night, I packed a bag with work clothes and a handle of Jack Daniels and headed to the party.  Before I left, my parents did everything in their power to persuade me to stay in.  When they told me it was a bad idea, I told them to stop cock blocking and hopped in my car.  I peeled out of my driveway with no regard for human life and made a beeline to the party.  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.  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.  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.  It was fuckin’ great.  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.

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.  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.  For a moment, it seemed like everything at the party froze in time, and I slowly started to make my way over to her.  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.  Everyone's 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.  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:

“Do you want to suck my dick or something? If not, stop fuckin staring at me from across the room you dumb bitch.”

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.  About an hour after the ball dropped, I found the girl I was hooking up with at the time and we made love.  Just kidding.  I fucked her real quick and hard and the whole time I was screaming “NO EYE CONTACT! NO FUCKIN EYE CONTACT!”

Eventually, after a few more hours of being ruthless at the party, it was time for me to go to work.  I was really, really shitfaced, but I somehow managed to make my way to the studio in one piece.  I was even fifteen minutes early, so everyone was pretty happy with me.  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.  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.  However, the whole time I was controlling the cameras, I was all alone, sitting down, and in a dark studio.  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.  Then, I started to fall asleep….several times.

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.  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.  After this happened four or five times, I realized my whole career was in jeopardy and something had to be done.  I knew that at this hour, under these circumstances, the only solution would be to get the J.

So I texted my friend with the J and told him to come to the parking lot of my work and meet me.  I also told him it was an emergency situation, and he needed to hurry the fuck up.  He said he would be there in fifteen minutes, and I told him to make it here in ten.  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.  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.  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.

Once we were back on the air and I was suddenly wide awake, everything went smoothly for the next two hours.  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.  When the cameras stopped rolling, I decided it would be best for me to go home and get some sleep.  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.  I ended up quitting and working as a short order cook until I finally enrolled at Oneonta.  That is when I solidified my position as the People’s Champ and started adding to my MVP trophy collection every weekend.

Happy Holidays – from the Champ.

Being A Champ's Friend

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

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

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

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

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

Drinking and Driving...Classic Part 1

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. Sometimes I wake up naked in strange places, and other times I wake up covered in piss in a familiar setting. 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.  Hashtag Stay Woke

The first time I woke up in a perplexing situation was when I was at the ripe age of 16.  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.  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.  She was no better than any of my other possessions.

On this particular night, I remember a light fog hanging over the cool spring air.  Or maybe I was just really shitfaced.  I just finished having sex, and I needed a bogey.  Without hesitation, I grabbed my car keys and headed out the door.

“Wait!” shouted my slut. “You took like 15 shots, you can’t drive.”

“Bogeys,” I grunted.

“Let me drive at least,” she pleaded.

I laughed hysterically for fifteen minutes before I proclaimed, “You’re a female, you sit in the fuckin’ back”

Sometimes you have to remind them who dominates and who subdues.  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.

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.  Give me some fuckin space when I’m drunk.  After I turned onto the main street, I started hunting for a gas station.  When I pulled up to an intersection, I caught my first red light.  A piece of shit suburu pulled up alongside me.  Now I was hammered, but I could’ve swore the guy driving it was staring at me.  In reality, he didn’t even glance at me.

Being a Champion, I could not let a person who is not staring at me get away with staring at me.  To my girlfriend’s horror, I rolled down my window and leaned my head out. 

“HEY,” I shouted, “what the fuck man?”

The man driving the car still didn’t look over.  I took this as a direct insult to my masculinity.  I grabbed a handful of debris from my car’s ash tray and threw it in his direction.  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.  Regardless of whether or not he actually looked at me before, now he definitely was.  I could sense the fear that was overwhelming my girl in the back seat, but I heeded her not.   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.  My voice was projecting with such power that Doppler radar was picking up the disturbance.

Then, the suburu was gone.  The light turned green and the man sped away.  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. 

Unfortunately, I was fifteen shots deep, so my foot was a tad on the heavy side.  My car jerked forward so forcefully that my girl was tossed into the front seat.  I over-compensated the over-acceleration by breaking too hard, and once again she was in the back seat.  To an outside observer the movement of my car looked like a prostitute’s head when getting skull fucked.

After laughing at the situation, I finally steadied the pace of my car but the suburu was long gone.     However, I had new company…flashing lights in my rear view mirror. 

“Fuck,” I mumbled, knowing that there was nowhere to run. 

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.  In hindsight, I wish I had at least tried.

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.   After exchanging disrespectful banter, he made me get out of the car and do the standard sobriety tests.  To everyone’s amazement, I passed all of the field tests.  And since most cops have nothing to do except harass us, there were three more police cars that pulled up at this point.  I was loving my audience, bowing and demanding applause after each passed test.

This did not make the cops happy.  They threw me in the back of the paddy wagon and made me blow into a breathalyzer.  Next thing I knew they picked me up and threw handcuffs on me.  Coincidentally, at the precise moment the cuffs clicked into a locked position on my wrists, my girlfriend’s father pulled up.

Now this man already hated me.  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.

 Needless to say, my penis never entered that vagina again.

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.  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.  I was also extremely confused.

I.P. Freely



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.  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.  To help clarify, I’ll use the original Champion (me) as an example.  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.  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.  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.  You can’t just go out one night and expect to win a championship – being a Champion is a lifestyle.  Actually it’s not a lifestyle, it’s my lifestyle.     

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.  Fuck that shit.  I’m a Champion and I do what I want.  So a few years ago during a snow storm in late December I was throwing a party at my apartment in Oneonta.  During that time I really lost control of myself and didn’t give two shits about my appearance, health, or overall personal well being.  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.  During this time period, I skipped the hard work and went straight to the not giving a fuck.

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.  I would even take the odds that I was the drunkest human being on the planet that night.  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.  I guess that’s what happens when you drink a bottle of Jack Daniels to the face before the party even starts.

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.  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.  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.  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.  I sprawled out on her bed and closed my eyes, with dreams of soberness dancing in my head……..

 ….Suddenly I woke up, confused as hell and soaking wet.  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.  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.  At this moment I also made a startling realization – I was wet because I pissed in this girl’s bed during my drunken slumber.  It was beer piss too, so there was A LOT.  Her mattress looked like a fully saturated sponge set out to dry on a damp carpet. 

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.  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.  Well, there were people there, a good number of people, and all of their eyes immediately moved to my dick.  It was completely silent, and the awkwardness was growing so palpable that I felt like I could touch it.  Being a Champion, I had absolutely no shame, and instead I just started laughing hysterically.  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.  Laughing can make any moment funny, like this one from Silence of the Lambs:

 

The laughter was contagious and the next thing I knew everyone was cracking up and slapping their knees.  Someone even gave me a blanket to wrap myself up in and a beer to quench my thirst.  They also told me that it was only 1am, and the party at my apartment was still raging.  Even better, the girl who owns the bed I slept/peed in and fuck on the reg was at my apartment.  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.  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.  In this case, the end zone was a pussy and my dick was the running back.

When I got back to my apartment, I turned the blanket into a toga and became the talk of the party.  It was awesome.  After leading a couple dance-offs, I found the girl, and eventually we walked back to her place.  When she saw her bed, she was pretty mad, but she still ended up having sex with me.  Not only did she have sex with me, she didn’t even make me do the laundry the next day to clean her sheets.  And to top it the fuck off, she paid for and walked to pick up my breakfast the next morning while I laid on her couch and watched the Giants beat the Texans.  Seriously.  Champion.