Oh No I Won't

Another time, also late at night, I was minding my own business whilst leaving some sort of dance, social gala, or similar excuse for drinking when it occurred to me that I should liberate one of the Student Center gazebo chairs from its shackles of slavery. So, for reasons that are less clear to me now than they must have been then, I picked up the chair and began carrying it with me.

As I later explained to the Dean of Students, I wasn't attempting to "steal" the chair from the College. To "steal" implies to remove from the possession of the owner. The chair was no less in the possession of the College during my walk than it had been previously. In fact, since I lived on the grounds of the College, there was no question but that the chair would remain on the College premises. At worst, I could be criticized for malicious furniture rearrangement.

So back to that fateful night when I and 3 or 4 of my closest friends were walking across the campus, me with my newfound chair-friend on my back. We hadn't traveled far before the keen eyes of one of the campus student patrolmen noticed something unusual about my attire. I believe it was the chair on my back that gave me away.

"Hey, what are you doing with that chair on your back? Put that chair down and stop right where you are!" The safety patrolman demanded. He then began frantically describing his situation to a walkie-talkie.

"Tall male caucasion carrying chair has been apprehended .... Hey, come back here!"

By this time it had occurred to me that there was probably someone on the other end of the walkie-talkie radio-waves and that, while the guardian of the chairs apparently carried no fire-arm, the radio listener might. After carefully considering my options, I concluded that my best course of action involved running away.

Do you think my "friends" would run any sort of interference or at least create a distraction. No, they just laughed. I think one of even sat in my chair while they all watched the ensuing chase scene.

As I began jogging away, the safety patrolman engaged in hot foot pursuit. "You will stop right where you are!" He stated emphatically. I'm guessing he had received this tip during safety patrolman training. However, no reasonable person could have expected that statement to be true.

I confirmed the expectation of the reasonable person. "Oh no I won't." I correctly predicted.

I had about a 50 yard head start, and he didn't seem to be very fast, so I wasn't all that concerned about out-running him. However, he had that damned walkie-talkie, and, one could only assume, reinforcements. One's assumption was correct.

For a while, the chase was rather comical. My pursuer would announce my whereabouts and trajectory into his radio at which time I would change course. Another tip to be incorporated into safety patrol training: Do not assume that your target is deaf - he probably can hear what you are yelling into your walkie-talkie.

As we ran around and around the bushes and various buildings, I began to realize that what this predator lacked in speed and cunning, he made up for in stamina. I was getting tired. Plus, every time I headed down a street, I would see squad cars approaching. I could only assume that there was some major crime going on, and I didn't want to get tangled up in that mess.

Eventually, I jumped over a brick wall and hid in some bushes to catch my breath. I could hear police radios all around, so I figured that the other suspect must have been cornered in the same vecinity. Poor guy, it sounded like he was surrounded. Suddenly, a blast of light shined over the wall into my bush and a voice stated, "Get up."

"Me?" I wondered aloud.

Apparently catching one's breath whilst lying in the bushes in the middle of the night is some sort of criminal matter, so I was cuffed and stuffed and taken down to the station. I don't recall being breathalyzed, but somehow the officers concluded that I had been drinking - alcohol - in large amounts.

They removed my cuffs and put me into some type of a holding area which was - note to self - not locked. Having already experienced my fondness for late-night jogs, I'm not sure what they expected to happened next. My expectation was that I would release myself into my own custody, and, again, my prediction was correct.

I returned to my room, explained to my room-mate that he had not seen me, and passed out. Later, he told me, some officers arrived to inquire as to my whereabouts and to confirm my identity. He displayed my comatosed body and they elected to let sleeping dog lie.

And so, the Dean put me on some sort of probation, the terms of which were, as I understood them, if I didn't get caught driving the skid-steer in the basement of the gym reconstruction project, then I could still attend law school.

Alright you f^ckers.

Well, it turns out that "OneEar's High School Memories - the Game Show" was not as big of a hit as anticipated. One would have thunk that Col would have backed me up on the toy noose story, but so be it. I didn't even go into the time that the cheerleader with the fake leg kicked it off during a homecoming assembly.

So, now I'm left with college memories. OK. You asked for it.

I have a vague, cloudy recollection of a time that I and 4 or 5 of my closest friends decided to jump the fence to get into the football stadium for some reason. This sounds like a relatively easy task except for the fact that I recently had experienced knee surgery and was hobbling around on crutches.

At the time, my disability apparently did not disable me (or, perhaps I had even greater disabilities) because I threw my crutches aside and followed the rest of the idiots over the wall. (Disclaimer: I may have been the lead idiot, I really don't remember).

So, what does a group of 20 somethings do when they scale the wall and break into a football stadium? They head for the press box. I, being less nimble than the rest due to my full leg brace, stumbled along across the football field whilst the other 3-4 idiots scampered up the bleachers to the press box. As luck would have it, one of the press box windows was unclasped, and the idiot brigade managed to infiltrate the enclosure. I, of course, was still on the field hobbling ever so courageously toward my comrades. One of the fellows, we'll call him Coco, began poking at the buttons on the PA system. You've heard about chimpanzees using typewriters? Same thing. And, by some coincidence of rudimentary intelligence and luck, this fellow, we'll call him Coco, managed to turn on the Public Address system for the football stadium.

You can probably predict what happened next. After several inappropriate announcements of increasing volume, the system began feeding back into a squeal amplifed by the speakers of a football stadium (= LOUD). The chimps had no idea as to how to shut it off, nor the inclination to figure it out, so they scampered back across the field, past your limping hero, to scale the wall and leave.

There comes a time in every man's life when he is limping across a football field he has unlawfully entered around bar time wearing a leg cast whilst a PA system is screaming to all law enforcement personnel to come detain him when he asks himself, "Is there any reason why I should not kill those F^ckers?"

Suck My Boycott

What is the FU missing that all of the really trendy religions have? That's right, boycotts. Whether it is the Reverend Al Sharpton, the Reverend Jerry Falwell or those people that are always bitching about what is on TV, it seems that all truly pious people have something which they insist upon not-buying. And, they do it in a very loud manner.

Announcing, the First Unichurck's first holy boycott in the furtherance of justice, goodness, and publicity! For as long as need be for us to get on the national news, FU followers shall boycott all forms of citrus. No more limes in your Cuba Libre, no more lemons with your Cuervo, and no more orange in your weiss-beir. Rickets be damned. (Coco, you are going to have to find a new way to mask your drinking at work. Have you considered Peppermint Schnapps?)

Hey hey
Ho Ho
Put us on the nightly news (after the macabre titillation over the VaTech tragedy expires).

Scary

In the comment forum below, enter the scariest phrase you can compose. Not clever or meant to be humorous, these are words that, if you ever uttered them, would most disturb you.

We need this information.

There Goes My Hero

Watch him as he goes. One of my all-time heroes has died; the inventor of Ice-9. He had the same set of demons in his head that I do, except that he put them to work.

Dead Toys

Here is another in the popular series "OneEar's High School Memories."

Late at night, we would drive into a seemingly normal neighborhood where one of the houses, tucked among many, always had its interior lights illuminated. The front living room of this particular place had a large front window with no curtains through which we passers-by could see very clearly. The large, white room was empty. Empty except for the ceiling. Hanging from the ceiling, by hang-man's nooses, were 50 or 60 dolls and stuffed animals.

The parents of the poor suicide victim had created this memorial to remind of (or punish for) the fact that their young daughter had hung herself. Or so the story went.

Merry Easter

B&S's Happy Friends

Nappy Headed Hos

Rusty, the father of our children and the God of our universe, would like to sincerely apologize for some insensitive remarks made recently about the Rutgers girls' (womens'?) basketball team.

"Those are some nappy headed hos." We can see how some might have taken this as a derogatory commment. Granted, the Rutgers girls are some nappy headed hos. But, they are neither the nappiest nor the hoiest hos. A bad impression was made, and we are sincerely, sincerely apologizing on behalf of the impression maker.

He should have just left it with the ultimate insult, "They live in New Jersey."

----------

UPDATE!

Don Imus has been extinguished. Racism is dead.

Years from now, any of these young heroes will be proud to recall, "I was one of them nappy headed hos."

People Are Strange

I've written many songs over the years. Clever, heartfelt, sappy, edgy - I've done them all. I've hit the rugby song genre, I've appealed to pedophiles, I've appealed to camel toes and UFOs - but do you know what remains my most popular song?

County G

Let me tell you of a river,
It runs slow and small but free.
The easy way to get there
Is to take old County G.

Bring along your fishing gear
Head down Mount Vernon Creek
You'll prob'ly need your wading boots
Cuz the stories, they get deep.

Pull up a stool my friend
Come and watch the waves with me
As life goes drifting by
Past the shores of
County G.

For as long as I've been living
On the shores of County G.
I've never been surprised by the
Surprising things I see.

I've seen em riding horses and
I've seen em walking goats.
I've seen em pulling tugofwar
To raise Rick Skindrud's votes.
I've seen the shoreline gleaming bright
Reflections from the sun.
The shining chrome from 50 bikes
Out on a poker run.
I've seen all kinds of festivals
I've seen weddings wakes and feasts,
Arm-rassling, tractor pulls and
Parades that last for weeks.

Pull up a stool my friend
Come and watch the waves with me
As life goes drifting by
Past the shores of
County G.

I've seen em spin a thousand miles
Of otherwise Goodyear.
I've seen em leave old Wally's head
With a stripe from ear to ear.
I've seen a friedly Euchre match
evolve into push and shove
I've seen em leave from down below
and drive to up above.
I've seen em fight like tomcats
When a pussy is in heat.
I've seen em out there yodeling
while staggering down the street.
I've seen em tracking buffalo
they say its harder than you think,
by now I've seen it all
Since Rufus bought a drink.

Pull up a stool my friend
Come and watch the waves with me
As life goes drifting by
past the shores of
County G.

I've seen a wedding band perform
made up of the bride and groom
You'll have that yes you will
You betchas around the room
I've been the jury in Judge Jeannie's court
Where justice is disposed
If you happen to be there on the odd occasion
When Jeannie isn't closed.

Pull up a stool my friend
Come and watch the waves with me
As life goes drifting by
past the shores of
County G.
I think I may have seen it all
Or all I want to see
As life goes drifting by
Past the shores of
County G.

"Rusty - The God for those who enjoy oral sex."

The FU is much like the Heaven's Gate religion, only it is not a cult and it is not run by a crazy person. (Incidentally, the HG (HG WELLS, coincidence?) used to meet at the Pat Boone Motel. Following this model, I was thinking that we should meet at the Buzz Bresette Motel. I can't remember where it is. Kittyhawk?) But, unlike the HG, the FU hasn't found its gimmick yet. Hows about oral?

When I was in high school, for several months, I attended a southern baptist church because I was trying to have sex with a girl who believed in that particular faith. As an aside, this happened in Virginia where religions followed a practice known as "segregation." On one occasion, several of our youth group went on some sort of exchange to a black baptist church, and I saw first-hand how the other side lives. They rocked! People were jumping around and singing and testifying. It was almost enough to make you believe in ghosts.

Anyway, back to pubescent intercourscepades. The preacher's daughter (not the particular object of my affection, but I would gladly have affected her too) was a comely lass who, although somewhat tom-boyish, had a nice set of feeding pimples. My friend, we'll call him Mark because that was/is his name, and the preacher's daughter, and my affect and myself were walking on the beach one night when we split off into teams. When we looked back, the preacher's daughter was giving Mark a blow-job right there on the beach! No matter how many times I nudged, winked, and gestured, my friend didn't seem to get the hint.

I trace the moment that I lost faith to the time when I found out there was no Santa Claus. However, the lack of sexual gratification on the beach while the preacher's daughter blew my friend pretty much sealed it. Wouldn't an omnipotent benevolent God hook me up?

GI Recruiting

Well, that was a lousy, miserable failure of a membership drive! I would have thunk that there were more people with blood in their stool(s). What is bad for religious membership is good for gastro-intestinal health, and versa-vice. But that doesn't alleviate my worries. You people are not good at this.

What part of "proselytizing" don't you understand?