Jan 10th, 2004, 12:57 PM
The Retards Abroad
Does anyone else besides me do something extremely retarded when they leave the area in which they live? Every time I leave my corn field in good ole’ SOIL (Southern Illinois) I lose at least 68% of my total IQ. Who knows maybe a large portion of your IQ is derived from familiarity. Anywho…
Example time!
The high school band that I played trombone in decided that we should go to Canada, have a parade in a theme park (after which we ruled the park for a while), go to some clinics, and generally play music. (imagine!) Well, our chaperones (collectively known as band parents) don’t trust us farther than they can throw us (especially the low brass). They decided that when we are located in a motel they should hire a rent-a-cop, duct tape the doors shut, and put us on the 8th floor of a motel so that if we tried to escape from the window, we would fall to our untimely deaths. We anticipated the duct tape and height of the room, and collected the parts for rapidly assembling and disassembling a duct tape re-sealer, which consists of a hanger and optional dowel rod. The security was not planned for. I would like to state before I continue, that I am not homosexual, but you might get the slight impression of it during this post.
Kevin is lovingly known as sloth. He is very good at hitting things, but he is known for being so freaking hairy, that girls run away from him. Scott is the mastermind. He comes up with the retarted stuff that we do. Jason is known as peaches, as his last name is Petrea. He is the muscle in the group. I am known as squeak. I, along with 1 other, spent a lot of time with the ‘NET SEND’ command on a network set up in the span of one hour for some conference the hotel was hosting. We also did some nifty stuff with Netware and rights, but we will get into that later.
So here goes the actual story time…Finally.
We pull up to the motel in a greyhound-type bus. I take my Canadian coke (mind you Canadian coke is much different than our coke, coke changes formula by region) and drop three Jolt-Cola mints in it. I let it sit there for it to fully dissolve. When I open the container, almost all of the coke decided that the ceiling was a much nicer location. Luckily, I was sitting directly under a speaker with some bare wires on it. Needless to say the resulting shower of coke and the shorted speaker attracted some looks from the band parents. I have never been able to reproduce this event on American soil. Belive me, I tried. Although rolling up little wads of aluminum foil, and pouring “The Works” cleaner in a 2 liter bottle just enough to cover the foil and then capping the bottle is interesting, but much more dangerous. *DON’T TRY IT AT HOME KIDDIES* We all go throw our bags in the room, Sloth and Scott leave to pursue greater ambition than unpacking; looking at the hot Toronto ladies, and drinking Mt. Dew. I promptly lay face down on the bed. Within the span of 5 seconds, I roll over onto my back to see Jason standing over me with a belt, he grabs me legs and lifts them in the air, Scott opens the door, and everything comes to a stand still. Scott looks at Jason with a belt raised, getting ready to hit me in the ass with it, and Jason says “We’re not having gay sex, honest.” Scott looks at him and pulls the door closed. He walked to a different room, called a friend of ours and said “They are having gay sex, and I’m not invited.” Our friend, Cory, convinces Scott he would rather not participate anyway, and then everyone comes back in our room. Scott tells the story of how me and peaches are apparently gay for a while to Kevin, and then we decide to do the ten second knockout. Basically a ten second knockout quickly cuts off blood flow to your brain, and you get knocked out. When you are knocked out you have full-length dreams. Some people don’t get completely knocked out, and they just do stupid stuff, like dance or hug people, or in the case of Nate Jones, do a pseudo-earkle impression and break a hole in the drywall with the back of your head. I got completely knocked out. Jason was the one knocking me out, and he let go. I fell down onto my knees and fell forward into his crotch. Pictures ensue. I wake up, and they didn’t say anything. We decided to go swimming. Well, they went swimming, I decided to sit with my girlfriend and look at the other band girls in swimsuits. Everyone wore their band shirts to let the locals know that we were stupid Americans. On the way down to the pool, a guy walks up and says “So, what are you guys here for.” Scott says “Swim” it gets really quiet for a few seconds, and then Jason says “You’ll have to excuse my slow friend here, he is from America.” The guy gives them an “Oh I’m sorry” look, and then gets off at the next floor. When we go back up to our room, another friend of ours is waiting for us. We go inside and talk for a while, and he excuses himself to use our bathroom. More people come over, and more chaos ensues. When he leaves, I walk in the bathroom…and he left spooge in our toilet. He actually freaking pleasured himself in our toilet and then left. I took it on myself to avenge the wrong done to our toilet. “Think” I told my self, and think I did. Caffeine is good… Caffeine! I must use the epitome of holy to rid this evil from the crapper. I proceeded to take two Nyquil for allergy and then emptied all the hotel coffee I could find into the bowl of the toilet. After about 10 flushes, the coffee was still plastered to the side of the toilet, and I discovered something. Sometimes, increased oxygen from rapid breathing combined with exertion while under the influence of Nyquil answers the question of why you should not operate heavy machinery. It’s not because you fall asleep, it’s because you get higher than a kite sometimes. I flushed until there was only about 10-15% coverage of coffee on the toilet, urinated, and the flushed one last time. I went out of the bathroom, flopped on the bed and said “Welp, there’s just a few rouge grains left.” WTFs! Ensued, and discord abounded. I started talking about how there were these lobsters at walmart and we should go free them, and put them in Turkey creek (why we didn’t want to put them in Crooked creek which runs all the way to the Mississippi is beyond me). Scott interrupted and I interrupted right back with a swift “Now about those lobsters”. The next night, we tried jumping back and forth from one bed to the other, playing PSone, and playing our own version of Who’s Line. At about 4:30 A.M. we were yelling at Jason to get off the phone with his girl friend. Every light was on, and so was the TV. There is a knock at the door. A security guard is out there, and Jason yells the loudest I’ve ever heard him yell “Quick, turn out the light!” In the process of running around, we blew a light bulb, knocked over a lamp, and broke the headboard of the bed off the wall. Scott reaches over and pokes me several times, and I jump up and proceed to start whaling on him, but I never have to touch him, he falls off the bed and cuts open his back on a jagged piece of metal sticking out of the bed. Noting really happened the next day, except for 8 more cokes and a whole tin of jolt mints. We watched 18 hours of Mr. Bean on the way home. We saw Princess Mononoke, Dream Theatre DVD, and random Monty Python on the way there.
Does anyone else do this sorta stuff when they are on vacation? Or are you like me and this retarted / more retarted all of the time?
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