A Little Advice From The Champ

Hey readers! This is your friendly neighborhood crime-committing Champion checking in to give you a little bit of advice.  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.

A few years ago I was feeling a little worn out.  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.  To make a living, I was delivering pizzas, which is slang for smoking weed while driving around town to pick up tip money.  One night, after reflecting on my life over a thirty pack of PBR, I decided I was going to quit.  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.  Also, I decided I would head straight to a local bar and pound some beers.   Eventually, my now-former boss called my cell phone to see where I was.

“Where are you, you’re late for your shift,” he asked with a hint of anger in his voice.

“I’m at the bar, where are you?” I responded, matching his angry tone.

“Well ya can’t drive if you’re drinking. You wanna get fired?”

“Yes.” I said as I hung up and threw back a beer.

Now that I was officially a free man, I decided to celebrate.  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.  Whatever…I do what I want.

I ended up meeting up with a few of my friends at another bar, and the heavy drinking really took off.  I mean shots being chased my mixed drinks mixed with shots being chased by beers in between bogey breaks.  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.  The bartender must have noticed my belligerence, because when I ordered another round of drinks he told me that I was cut off.  Now a normal person would probably realize it was time to call it a night.  Not a Champion.   My response to a 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. 

I exploded with uncontainable rage tainted with regret and pride - AKA the Champion's cocktail 

Before the bartender had time to react, I reached over the bar and grabbed a bottle of some type of liquor.  As I tipped it back and the liquid started pouring into my mouth, my friends grabbed me and tried to force me into submission.  Meanwhile, the bartender hopped over the bar to join the confusion.  A few seconds later the bouncers jumped in the melee, and it was complete chaos.  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.  I decided to be the bigger man and leave, but not before I left my mark. 

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.  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.  Needless to say, the window shattered and I laughed like Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight during the whole car ride home.  

Unfortunately, I left my cell phone on the bar, and I was caught on camera.  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.  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. 

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. 

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.  Oh Champions, ya can’t live with em’, ya can’t live without em’.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The Champ Heads to College Part 1

Most experts see college as a rite of passage for young people and a necessary step on their path to adulthood.  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.  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.  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.  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.  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.  They are true Champions indeed.

With that being said, the latter months of 2007 were pretty wild for me.  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.  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.  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.  So after a serious discussion about my future, we decided that I should enroll at the State University of New York at Oneonta.

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.  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.  What actually happened was the complete opposite of my expectations.  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 Zonies.  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:

After another uneventful night and disgusting morning, I started to feel as if going back to school was a bad decision.  However, being a Champion, I feel that you cannot judge a man by how he falls, but how he stands back up.  So with nothing to lose, I decided to hit up this guy from my hometown Pete, founder of the U Is Clothing Company, because he also went to Oneonta and I heard he was in a fraternity.  Later that day, Pete responded to my message and told me to come down to a party his frat was throwing that night.  He said it was the first day of Rush week, and there would be plenty of alcohol and girls.  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.  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.  It was rough. 

Now that I had plans, my classes that day seemed like they would never end.  When I was finally done, I shaved, showered, and put on a Champions uniform.  I was looking extra fresh and my confidence was at an all time high.  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.  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:

“Welcome to Greek Life.”

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.  It was unbelievable.  Everyone was dancing in a black-light lit room with barely any room to move.  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.  I later found out it was actually punch, but at the time I was too overjoyed to care.  The events that transpired that night changed my life forever.  I was pounding beers, taking shots, and groping sluts while the liquor was flowing freely and the jiff was easily accessible at every turn.  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:

This insanity went on for ten more days, and let me assure you, it was fuckin’ crazy every night.  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.  It might have been the best two weeks of my life.  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.  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…….      

Part 2

The Champ Heads to College Part 2

*You should read Part 1 before you read this, if you haven't done so already*

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.  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.  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.  It was probably the hardest thing I ever did in my life, but I knew in the end it would all be worth it.  It was also the best time of my life that I would never want to do again.  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.  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.    

The traditions themselves were absolutely terrible.  I’m not going to get into specifics, because frankly it’s none of your fuckin’ business.  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:

When the time for my induction into brotherhood was nearing, it was almost like I was brainwashed to not give a fuck.  Good thing I was already a Champion with this sentiment firmly embedded in my psyche, because most people would probably start to breakdown.  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.  I literally screamed like a madman as I was being congratulated by the brothers.  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.  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.  I did not give a fuck though, because I was overjoyed to be a free man and back on the road to winning championships.

My first few weeks as a brother, I was an absolute savage.  On the weekends I brought championship-winning to a new level.  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.  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.  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.  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:

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.  I took full advantage of the short time I had left that semester, and I went out almost every night.  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.  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.  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.   

After weeks of unadulterated awesomeness, the semester finally came to an end.  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.  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.  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.  So instead of this summer being the summer before my sophomore year, it was the summer before I lived in the party apartment.  It was the calm before the storm….

Part 3

The Champ Heads to College Part 3

Part 1
Part 2
 

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.  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.  It was by far the worst job I ever had.  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 no 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.  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.  I mean none.  I got to know my laptop pretty good that summer, but the college sluts couldn’t have come soon enough.

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.  There was also an empty twelve pack of Bud Light next to my bed and a half-smoked pack of bogeys.  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.  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.  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.  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.

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.  When we finally arrived, the partying started immediately.  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.  When she invited me back to her place, I knew that all of my plans were going to work out.  As soon as we entered her apartment we 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.  When she finally went down to finish me off, it looked something like this:   

  

After finally getting my nut off, I fell asleep and obviously slept better than I had all summer.  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.  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. 

The second idea that I later deemed idiotic was my expectation for making my bedroom look real cool when it was set up.  I hung posters and arranged all of my belongings to give my room a clean and orderly appearance.  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.  For the first few hours that I was all moved in and unpacked, my room was the shit.  It did not last long. 

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.  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.  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.  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. 

Anyways, when my whole fraternity assembled in the main room of my apartment, we were giddy with anticipation.  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.  Then out of nowhere, two buses pulled up and unloaded scores of kids, and this was only the first of several waves.  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.  It was fucking insane.  People were hammered and dancing and sweating and thumb-darting and funneling and snorting and smoking and fighting and laughing and jumping for joy.  Well, I was jumping for joy, the other partygoers were doing the other things.  After a few hours of this , everybody was completely blacked out.  When I tried to bring a girl up the stairs to my room, we were so drunk it looked something like this:

Needless to say, we didn’t hook up.  What I ended up doing was accidentally destroying my entire room.  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.  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.  This apparently pissed me off, so I punched a few holes in my walls to release some anger.  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.  Refusing to give up, I tried to climb the ladder for a third time, and believe it or not I somehow succeeded.  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.  The force of the throw-up stream was so powerful that it took a stack of DVD’s with it on the way down.  Then, I passed the fuck out…with my Timbs on.

The next morning I woke up with one of the worst headaches I ever had.  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.  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….