April 2005

Revenge is a dish best served cold.

My concentration in college was in film. But not like in Quentin Tarantino, guys-with-guns who curse a lot film, but like watching a fucking clock move for 15 minutes because it's "artistic" and "avant-garde" film. I hated every second of it. The only thing I liked about the major is that the frequent long and boring screenings gave me ample opportunity to fall asleep without anyone noticing, and since discussion was a large part of the grade I could easily listen to what other kids were babbling about and chime in with bullshit replies. But worst of all, the professors SUCKED.

One year, I had a professor who was not just a pompous prick (95% of the professors I have dealt with fell under that category), but also a complete fucking lunatic. And I had to spend 3 hours of my Friday afternoon with him for a whole semester.

The course was a mandatory elective for my major. Like all my other electives, the class roster was filled with pretentious tools who preferred to spend their weekends jerking each other off to Kurosawa, Godard, and other filmmakers instead of partying. Mixed in with them was maybe one "normal" guy as well, who was cool. I would spend every restroom break in these courses talking with the one other cool guy about how much "this class sucks". And boy, did we have alot to talk about for this one.

The professor, who shall be called "Professor Y" treated us with film screenings and lectures which ranged from psychotic (the theory of relativity as applied to when a fucking dead person takes control of your body), to delirious (analytics of writing literature while getting stoned out of your mind on mescaline vs. acid, LSD, and PCP) to just plain weird (theories on why Aliens only abduct people of certain geographic locations and social demographics), to just... WHY the fuck are you telling us this? (the time when him and his buddies got stoned out of their minds in college and wound up in jail before they came to).

He would spend at least an hour talking about each of these subjects, just ramble on and on and on. What the hell any of it had to do with the course curriculum? WHO KNOWS? He was as close to batshit insane as any person who has ever been employed by Higher Education. According to IMDB, the highlight of his life was co-writing the script for a movie no one ever gave a fuck about except for Alien/UFO conspiracy addicts and Area 51 nutjobs. And another thing, He Hated Me.

Every time I raised my hand, he gave a snarl of scorn and contempt. He saw me as a frat boy who was trying to corrupt his distorted vision of reality with my fascinations of "beer and pussy". He spoke out against my behavior and appearance several times. I was almost failing his course because I couldn't understand a fucking word he was talking about. I would ask the other normal guy in the class if he knew anything about it. His reply was always "Beats Me."

One time in particular though, Professor Y crossed the line. He had just finished the final details of the time he was stoned on acid in jail. He noticed that I was laughing harder and more profusely than the other students in the room. Then, he said it: "Why do you find this story so funny? You, out of all people. I'm sure you have a few druggy and drinky stories of your own, hiding under that red hat of yours. Why don't you share with us, frat boy?"

That does it. NO ONE fucking embarrasses me like that. In front of an entire class of people. Several of my classmates were laughing. A few were in shock. My face was red with anger. I wanted to stomp this psychotic motherfucker out so bad, and my adrenaline was pumping. But I restrained myself. Why did I restrain? Because I had already caused enough trouble during my college years. If I were to have any hope of graduating, I would have to get revenge on him mentally, not physically- by finding a hole or flaw in his logic, in his reasoning, in his teaching, and absolutely nail him in the worst way possible. A victory of the mind, rather than the fist.

And during the very last session of the course, I found that chance. I was on the verge of flunking the course. I had failed or gotten a D in almost every quiz, evaluation, paper, and project up to this point. A large part of our grade was based on a series of quizzes on our lectures and readings (which I did absolutely NONE of, they made about as much sense to me as Babylonian scripture).

I had noticed from the previous quizzes that Professor Y went over the answers directly after the quiz was done. The quiz ended, everyone passed their quizzes up, then we were all handed other people's quizzes and we graded them as Professor Y read the answers out loud. Just like in elementary school. Here is where I saw my opening, my shot at revenge. And as I had promised myself, I hit it hard! It was the feeling of a running back seeing a small hole and then breaking through the defense to go 70 yards for a touchdown. Or a sports gambler when he cashes in on the biggest upset of the century. I had found my way to story gold!

So here's how it played out. I sat in the very back of the classroom. The professor handed out the quizzes. Everyone began writing down their answers. Except for me. I pretended to be scribbling furiously. But in reality, my pen was clicked off, and nothing was appearing on the paper. Then, as Professor Y gave the signal for everyone to hand their quizzes up front, I covered my arms, with my blank quiz resting right underneath. Then, as the professor read off each answer, I filled it in on MY OWN quiz paper, with the illusion I was grading someone else's. FYI- I intentionally gave myself one problem wrong, just in case anyone suspected anything. Because even the dumbest kids know that no one gets 100% in college.

So a couple of days passed, and I waited and waited for that phone call from the dean or the expulsion letter delivered to my dorm door. It never came. But a very amazing Email did. And I will show it to you now, VERBATIM:

From: (Professor Y)
To: (Class Email Roster)
Subject: Quiz Results

"Hello all. Professor Y here. The results of your final quiz have just came in. And Scotty Dukes, of all people, recieved the highest mark in the class, with 95%. How do you like them apples?"

I spent the next 5 minutes in my dorm room screaming, pumping my fist, jumping for joy. The Joke is on YOU, motherfucker! It was because of my grade on that quiz, which counted, that I just barely passed that course, and ended up graduating on time. Who got the last laugh now? HUH. This man spent years, decades of his life talking about nothing but Aliens, ghosts, and all these bizarre fascinations, and he was employed by one of the country's top universities. Yet he possessed a grading flaw that even most kindergarten teachers would most likely catch. And I was there to totally nail him on it.

A week later I was at a random party when I ran into the only other normal kid in that class. He ran up to me and gave me a bro hug.

Dude: Scotty Dukes! Congratulations bro.

SD: Thanks alot man. Thanks for being so cool all semester.

Dude: You got it man! How the hell did you do it?

SD: You promise to keep a little secret?

Dude: Yeah, sure.

SD: I totally cheated on that motherfucker.

Dude: All right, bro! I promise. We all got your back for hangin' in there for so long. You are the man!

I was the bigger man, and I got a nice-looking degree on my wall to show for it.

May 2005

In college I had That Gay Friend. He was some kid who I used to know from elementary school or summer camp, some shit like that. He threw many parties at his conveniently located apartment, at which I was a frequent and always uninvited guest. It was the kind of party where even I had a decent chance of hooking up, because let's face it, if I am a drunk college slut hungry for action and I'm at a party where there is exactly one straight dude there, do you think I would give a shit if the dude is a little weird or socially ackward? Probably not. Many of the best college tales of my last two years of school took place at ThatGayFriend's house. Including one incident where my buddy SurfGangsta showed up, and disgusted by the guest list and the host's party hosting ineptitude, he found a spare refrigerator laying around in the hallway, and shoved it down five flights of stairs, shaking the building's foundations in the process. Why I rolled with people like this, I have NO idea. It was college. But that's for another story.

Two co-conspiritors and attendees of all ThatGayFriend's parties were a pair of girls who I had been good friends with from freshman year. They were known around campus as The Trouble Twins, Mandy and Mary. One time, they finally recognized that I was quite the cool guy to have around, so they put me down as an invited guest, for once, for a big end-of-semester bash at their apartment. With my brain sufficently fried from writing 20 pages of final papers in a span of two nights, I was beyond stoked for this party. Many of the top sluts in my class year were confirmed in attendance, and I got set for a nice night of free booze. This party likely had more random and unexpected appearances by old friends from various points in time than any other party I have been to. This was the apeothesis of my social scene, and my performance here could make or break my status heading into senior year. A failure could result in some uncomfortable times ahead.

The night started out good, with me drinking, doing more drinking, and chatting with Mandy and Mary on topics such as the new season of Family Guy, and various post-graduate plans (You know that point in college when no one will shut the FUCK up asking you the same questions about what you're doing next year, "after we graduate"). This one girl, "Raven", was even interested in talking to me about more serious issues, like what my plans were after the party. I later learned through careful interrogation that she had slept with half of the guys in my freshman dorm. But not knowing that at the time, I was more than happy to be among that half. Then, out of nowhere, my friend "RollerKingdom" showed up. And as usual, he came with a sizeable entourage, all guys. These guys loved me, but at the same time loved to see me drink and act a fool. The subsequent entrance of some old friends proved for their perfect opportunity.

The one other girl from my high school who went to the same college as me came in with her whole entourage, as well as my freshman year neighbor, the eccentric "Famguy" and his entourage. Famguy had wit like a bullet, and a penchant for making huge comedic scenes. He also had a tendency of taking practical jokes and pranks waaaaay too far. His opening comment, spoken loud and proud in a Richard Simmons-esque feminine voice: "So, it's my former gay lover. Haven't seen you in awhile. C'mon darling, why don't you come over here and plant me a nice big kiss?" I resisted as long as I could before he thrust himself towards me, and continued to make jokes about my resistance in his Simmons falsetto. I had to shove him as hard as I could before he finally got the picture that I wanted no part in his shenanigans. ThatGayFriend, who was watching this scene, was very amused. I was not.

Once that bit of entertainment was over and done with, I went over to see how my high school friend, "Chica", was doing. However, I was quickly interrupted by RollerKingdom, who had some questions of his own.

RK: So, what was Scotty Dukes like in high school?

Chica: He was cool. He was really normal though. He didn't drink.

RK: NO fucking way. Scotty Dukes did not drink?

Chica: Not really. He just studied a lot, rapped and did drama.

RK: Like, theater drama? NO way. This can't be the Scotty Dukes I know.

Chica nodded to confirm that yes, that was me then. RollerKingdom then attempted to show her what "me now" was like.

RK: Are you like that now Dukes?

SD (ME): HELL NO!

RK: Do you drink now?

SD: Hell yes

RK: And like a champ, I might add. Should we show her what's up?

SD: Hell yea.

At which point Rollerkingdom, always armed, pulled a can of piss-quality Natty Lite out of his pocket, used a knife on his keychain to poke a hole right in the center of it, put his finger over the hole, and handed the can to me. A bit of beer squirted right into my face before I realized where he was going with this, and covered it with my finger just in time to avoid a waterfall on my chest.

RK: Shotgun this beer right now bro!

With Chica, her whole entourage, and others including Raven and the rest of the RollerKingdom Crew watching, I obliged. Call it peer pressure, but with beer steadily squirting out of the hole and onto my shirt, automatically making it stink, I had no choice. I put the can up to my mouth, uncovered the hole, and chugged as fast as I could. I was about halfway to the bottom when I realized something: I just ate a full footlong chicken parmigiana sub less than two hours before (which BTW, is NOT a good call before doing any kind of drinking), and it was coming up fast. I had just finished the last drop of this swill before I felt the first chunks of puke hit the roof of my mouth. The storm was coming, and there was no place to place it.

I surveyed the scene, and carefully considered my options. I looked back towards the bathroom. The line to piss (or in my case, destroy the toilet) was almost out the door. I looked for a garbage can nearby, but to no avail. At this point, I considered making a run and gun out to the street, but the rocket in my mouth made it apparent I would not make it in time and splatter my brains all over some unlucky partygoer. At this very second, the host Mary came into the room. Having been on the other side of this scenario multiple times in her college career, Mary saw the look on my face and instantly knew what was going on.

Mary: Sink! Run!

She pointed towards the kitchen sink, which was two rooms, and a large crowd of many people, away. I immediately ran through the crowd, to a couple confused shoves from guys not knowing the dire straits of my situation. There was a couple making out in front of the sink. I pushed them out of the way hard and let loose in the sink. Before my first round of puke had cleared my system, every single person at the party was staring at me. It was just past midnight, and the party was near its peak. My reputation was ruined.

Mary and Mandy immediately ran over to me to lay down the law. They would have to wait a few moments, as the second and third waves of chicken parmigiana coursed their way out of my mouth and into their sink. Then:

Mandy: Out of my house! Now!

SD: Listen I'm sorry. I had too much to eat.

Mary: Get Out Of My Fucking House!

SD: You can't do this to me! I'm a legend.

Mandy: GET THE FUCK OUT!

At this point, an unknown male companion of the Trouble Twins grabbed me by my arm, and started to lead me out the door. I did not even have time to find my jacket, which was still inside. I would never see that jacket again. On my way out, I heard a disgusted yell from behind me:

Mary: Oh no he didn't...

Mandy: It's not clearing

Mary: HE BROKE THE FUCKING SINK!

I had no idea it was physically possible to permanently break a sink just by puking in it. However, when it comes to my luck and my stories, the laws of physics need not apply. If there is something imaginable that can happen to make a situation worse, it WILL happen, hell or high water. When I talked to Mary the following fall, she told me that sure enough their sink was still non-functional, without giving a precise reason. The official explanation? I guess I'll never know. Go figure.

So back to the story, the Trouble Twins' male companion led me to the front door, shoved me hard, and slammed the door in my face. I would never see the inside of that house again. Given that I was still a few months from turning 21, and this was pretty much the only party going on in the vicinity, I decided that it was a good idea to try and sneak back in unnoticed. Given my reputation as a weekend warrior, I am never one to just go home and give up on a night. However, my strategy did not work very well. Every person that exited the front door had been given clear instructions not to let me back in. Some kinder souls offered words of support such as "Sorry dude" and "That sucks, man". But ultimately it was to no avail. Just as I was about to throw in the towel though, a very special guest exited for a cigarette break. It was Raven the slut, and I had a conversation to finish. I just walked up to her like nothing had gone wrong.

SD: So, as I was saying earlier...

Raven: Umm, what's your problem?

SD: Nothing at all, just chilling. Nice out here.

Raven: You just puked, and you broke their sink. They're not allowing you back in.

SD: I know. Whatever. Shit happens. Why don't you just stay out here and chill with me.

Raven: I can't. My friends are all inside.

SD: So what. Fuck em'.

Raven: I was gonna make out with you, but my God am I glad I didn't. I hate the taste of puke residue in my mouth. Sorry kid, maybe another time.

Only in college

Here's a good college one

January 2005

During my last two years of college I knew this kid named "Surf Gangsta". He was one crazy sonofabitch. He rolled with a HUGE crew of like-minded crazy college motherfuckers called "The RollerKingdom Crew". Their antics were well-known and documented around campus, and their series of parties at a certain Massachusetts roller rink more than earned them their nickname.

Most usually in college, kids like these would spit on me, beat me up, and eat me for breakfast for being just a little different. But not this wild bunch. Maybe the fact that I was one year ahead of them gave me a slight bit of street cred, but these kids saw my weirdness right away, and they were so crazy that they embraced it and took me on as one of their party crew.

In early 2005 Surf Gangsta and his partner-in-crime "RollerKingdom" lived in a tiny apartment not far from me. They waited until the biggest snowstorm of the year, and then they bought a Mercury-level heating device and filled every square inch of their apartment with 3 inches of sand.

How the fuck did they get enough sand to turn their entire apartment into a mini-beach? Beyond me. I guess SurfGangsta knew a guy who knew a guy and so forth. Trust me, he had to have his share of connections to pull off some of the epic-size bashes they did. And believe me, it was a big pain in the ass for them to get all that shit outta there after the party. So big that I had to assist them.

So in the biggest blizzard of the year, The RollerKingdom Crew threw a party where people were not allowed in without their swimwear, the so-called "Blizzard Beach Bash". Of course, I did not have any, and regular shorts "did not count". As much as the RKC loved me, they also loved to put me in humiliating situations, and tonight would be the mother of them all. So, they demanded that I go commando- wearing just my underwear, or else I would not be allowed in. Back then I was not 21 yet, with 21 inches of snow quickly accumulating on the ground, I was not technically allowed into any party but theirs. So commando it was.

At first, it looked like this was gonna be a great time. I drank tons of beer, the entire RollerKingdom Crew was there whooping it up, what could possibly go wrong? At a certain time after I was thoroughly shit-faced though, members of the crew began to notice my biggest weakness- the fact that I was just one short pull away from showing my dick to the entire party.

I do not remember much from this part of the night, but according to SurfGangsta, at one point, I was depantsed, and for about 10 solid seconds before I realized it, I gave the entire party a shot of my wang. And he swears to God that I screamed " I don't give a fuck, motherfucker" in fact forcing an apartment full of college kids, the majority of them male, to stare at my weiner.

But that was not even the worst of it. About five minutes later, that same pair of boxers sustained a fatal gash at the hands one of RollerKingdom's raucous friends, "Half Gallon" who weilded a massive gay penchant, and pocketknife. Yet again, my dick hung free and clear for all to see, but this time it was permanent. For Half Gallon had cut off practically an entire side of my underwear.

Who knows how much longer I was at this party, because I was stumbling drunk and beyond comprehension. I'm sure some concerned folks attempted to explain the situation, but talking to me at this point in drunkenness was as good as talking to a crack-addled Chinese monkey.

I was drunk to the point where you could tell me anything- you could tell me there is a fucking tiger loose next door, or that my wallet and credit cards were stolen, whatever, and I would give you a blank stare like you are speaking Japanese, and then a louder-than-socially appropriate "What? Huh?" and then walk away. This little tick of mine has been made semi-famous among the RollerKingdom Crew because it was captured on film during my (extremely drunk) interview approximately two minutes into this video.

Needless to say, telling me "dude, your dick is showing" probably elicited a similar response. So everyone who was unfortunate enough to be at that party at that time recieved a double, very prolonged dose of indecent exposure. In fact, one girl may have been scarred for life.

"Melissa" was a friend of a friend of SurfGangsta who happened to be there. We had been in the same class the previous year and had exchanged several conversations and drinks. But in the year and a half after this night, she gave me a look of disgust and repulsion every time I passed her on campus or showed up to the same bar as her, and never even went so far as to wave hi to me ever again. In fact, every single friend of hers who I had ever been in contact with did the same thing. I never got to say another sentence to her, but if I ever had that chance, it would be something like this: "What's up with you girl? You can't handle a weiner? Must be a sight you're not used to seeing, so no wonder you were scared of it."

Talk about ackward.

February 2005

The winter of 2005, famous beatboxer Rahzel came to my school, and he could not find an opener for his performance in the grand auditorium. So instead of a traditional opening act, there was an open freestyle competition, the winner of which would receive… well, something. And one of my buddies at the time, “SurfGangsta” was planning to enter. He entered as a complete joke, but since the contest was based on crowd reaction, and he had over 15 loud-ass dudes there to support him, he would finish in second place. Don’t you love college?

Rather reluctantly, I showed up at this event with the sole purpose of watching SurfGangsta make a complete fool of himself. But as soon as I walked in, I heard a loud “Scottydukes!”. His friend “RollerKingdom” was there, with his entire posse, “The RollerKingdom Crew”. Everywhere this kid rolled, he was 15 deep with a crowd of the most rowdy, out of control college motherfuckers. To their credit, these kids were, and still are, some of my only real fans. But they would have a tendency to put me in embarrasing situations based on peer pressure. Tonight was no exception

“Scotty, you are going up there”, RollerKingdom told me. My rebuttal was “But dude, I’m not here to perform. I’m just watching. I have nothing…” Which led to a round of boos and shouts of “Pussy” from the whole crew. “Oh no Scottydukes, you ARE going up there” RollerKingdom replied. “We already signed you up”. “WHAT? Are you fucking kidding me man?” I immediately ran to the student programming council and demanded to see the sign-up list. Much to my dismay, he was not kidding. And it was 5 minutes till showtime, too late to cancel.

So ten minutes later, with absolutely no idea of what I was doing or saying, I was onstage in front of maybe 700 people. This is how the contest worked. The first round would be every contestant alone in front of the crowd for a minute. The rest of the rounds would be a straight battle. Before this, I had not freestyled or rhymed for over five months.

They handed me the mic, and I just rhymed sets of words. For example “It’s a matter of time, for I splatter with rhymes, like tasting a lime…” and so on- stream-of-consciousness shit. After a few stanzas of this, the words just became straight gibberish, like “Patter me zyne, a hatter see dime, latter me byme”. My mind just spun out and went its own crazy ways. When the minute was up, I heard a very loud chorus of boos, along with maybe a smattering of sympathy applause. However, RollerKingdom and his friends were laughing their asses off, loving every second of ME making an ass out of myself.

After every contestant had gone up, it was up to the crowd to decide who was to move on to the battle. When it was my turn to rile up the crowd in my favor, I just walked up to center stage and took a bow. More boos all around. But to my amazement, when the contestants were announced, I was one of them! “Could this be happening?” I thought. “Is this for real? Am I really gonna battle some fucker in front of 700 people?”

There was a short interlude in between this announcement and the battle, during which I kept thinking of other words to rhyme and just stood in utter disbelief that I was chosen. But as the freestyle contest emcee, a Mekhi Phifer-ass black dude, came up to announce the who would be battling who, he had a change of heart.

“Before we begin, I have an announcement. Ladies and gentleman, we have made a mistake. Upon further review, Scottydukes will NOT be moving on to the next round. Sorry dawg.” Laughter and more boos all around. And I listened hard, but there was no sympathy applause. Not even a smattering.

Although it was anything but unceremonius, this was the bitter end to my bid for rap supremacy. To be singled out in front of a full auditorium of people and told “We made a mistake, you’re just not good enough”- just thinking about it makes me shudder with bitterness to this day. What an ending to another disappointing and unfruitful chapter in my life. I keep dreaming of a fruitful chapter, but the way this world turns it will most likely stay a dream.

Note: This is not as funny as most of the stories, but it is a rarely told tale of a true experiment I performed. I am posting this story as a reaction to anyone who thinks I am in any way, shape, or form, "spoiled"

May 2006

It all started with a Strokes concert. April 27th, 2006. I am calling the band out actually because it was a great show, and the beginning of a two-week run towards my graduation from college where I was officially a broke motherfucker. Sometime after the Strokes show I went to the merch booth to purchase a T-shirt or something (Note: In my late college years I was a consumer whore, buying any sort of ticket, T-shirt, DVD, or movie ticket which struck my fancy. I don't do that anymore, because it was this kind of spending mentality which led to the upcoming crisis). I paid by debit card. I recieved my tour T-shirt.

Then, a huge crush of fans poured out of the show, just as I remembered that the vendor had forgot to give me back my card. I tried to fight my way back to the merch booth, but the onslaught of fans coming in the opposite direction was just too much to handle. NOOOO! My debit card was just lost in the crowd. Making it even worse, that ATM card was the ONLY FUCKING SOURCE of liquid cash I had at the time, and would be my only source of currency, save an overbalanced credit card. I checked back with the event staff lost and found the next day. Nothing. Two days later. Nothing. FUCK! And it was just my luck that my bank did not have a branch within 200 miles of school. So no way I could get my ATM replaced before graduation.

For the previous three and a half years of school, I had relied primarily on "Convenience Points" for survival needs. They were spend-anywhere-on-campus dollars I could use to get food, buy textbooks, and other campus-only purchases. Sure I could survive for two weeks on those, but there was one problem. They would only be a valid for two more days, until the end of classes.

And even more importantly, Senior Week was coming up. A series of bar nights, boat cruises, billiard nights, pub crawls, and every other possible kind of celebration imaginable for a college graduate. And yes, these would cost a lot of money. So what did I do? In the two days remaining with Convenience Points, I scrapped together all the food I could until all the Points were gone. Then in the following week, I went to every bookstore, record shop, and magazine depot imaginable in the Boston area until every single CD, unused DVD, book, magazine, and electrical appliance I had in my possession was sold for a small sum. This required a lot of bargaining, going well out of my way to find these stores, and just, yeah more bargaining.

I could have bummed a bus ride home and grabbed a replacement card and some cash. But fucking hell, this was the last two weeks I would ever spend as a student and individual, so why waste time at home? I was determined to push myself, for once in my life, to the outer limits of broke-ass-ness, and see if I could still enjoy Senior Week. This next week I would live like a hobo and live like a king at the same time. Unbekownst to everyone else, this next week would make me a legend.

I only got like 40 dollars from all these book/DVD/magazine-selling efforts. 20 of those were spent on my friend's upcoming Senior Week kickoff toga party, with a five hour open bar. Usually in college, I would DHV the toga scene, but this was possibly my last chance, so I went all-out. I was 21 and having one of the relatively great times of my life, so why the hell not.

I went to a certain department store and bought a linen sheet with the remainder of the cash I had left. By the end of this party, the sheet had all sorts of mud, beer stains, and floor filth on it. Of course I could not return it the way it was, so I had to do some careful positioning. I stuffed the sheet back into its case, with the only side resembling whiteness up front so it was the side seen, and with all the filth and gunk just below view. The cashier was dumb enough to fall for it, and gave me a full refund in cash for my "toga". Just wait til they sell that shit back to some loser!

Next up was the 1980s Attire Boat Cruise, which fortunately I had paid for before the Strokes theft. But it was also just my luck that the cruise had a strict NO Credit Cards policy. At the time I barely had enough cash to buy even a single beer. So besides having to endure the excruciating ear torture of a boatful of girls singing along to 80s songs at the tops of their lungs, I had to give up my drinking habit while everyone else was getting shit-faced. Hard enough. But even harder, there was a round of bars and after-parties later on. Which, for the most part, I tried to abstain from opening massive tabs at, knowing greater celebrations were to come. Which meant I couldn't even celebrate, save a full bottle of beer I just found laying around. Poor bastard. No, I'm talking about myself

The next night, I DHVed going to the big Senior Ball to watch a very bad mainstream movie. A decision I regret to this day, given that event could very easily have been crashed. But getting all dressed up and listening to umm, let me guess, Bon Jovi and Journey for the second night in a row, well that was not necessarily my scene. So what if it was the last week of college, it's not like I gave a shit about most of these kids anyway.

The next night was Thursday, and I was on the home stretch. Just three more nights til I graduate, my family comes up, and I can be moved back home to NY and ATM card replacement relief. And that was the night of the big Senior Pub Crawl. Every person I could have possibly known in the last 4 years would be out at some point that night, so I went all-out to every single bar on the itinerary, and amassed several hundreds of dollars in tabs on my overbalanced credit card. God only knows what the balance was for this month, but for reasons I won't get into here, and wouldn't find out til much later, it wasn't my problem.

But, I did not have a single dollar to tip, so this would become an exercise of a process my friend "Phase" refers to as Reservoiring in its purest form. Meaning grab your drinks and bounce. A couple of the bartenders were OK with it, because they were seniors themselves and getting just as drunk as us, but by the time I reached the final bar it was an absolute shitshow in the purest definition. Filled to the gills with almost-blacked-out college seniors.

I was no exception. My speech was slurring, my vision was a blur, and I don't even remember many of the random and awkward people I ran into. But one thing I do remember is this. The final bartender was not very receptive of the fact that I couldn't tip her, especially after more than 30 bucks worth of drinks. Whatever. I think I grabbed my tab from her, gave her the finger, and ran off, or something like that. Fuck her, I was a street survivor!

The next day, Friday, I was able to completely steal three hours of free champagne through this pre-graduation reception/ champagne toast. The reception had like a 40 dollar cover, but who the fuck cares? I Demonstrated Higher Value. I just walked right in like I owned the place. Everyone else was wearing prom or dress attire, and most kids had their parents there. Meanwhile I had a Maiden T-shirt and shorts. No one cared, and the champagne-pourers didn't say shit. They did their jobs and I got drunk. I was passed out by 8PM.

Saturday was rather uneventful, except for almost burning down my apartment building while overheating a pizza in my piece-of-shit oven. But that's for another story. Sunday came; I graduated and was home free. Looking back on this two week span, it was one of the greatest things I have ever done, and proved that I could make make a great story out of literally nothing. When you look at pictures taken of me during this week, it looks like everything is going great, and everyone thought I was having a great time just like them. And believe me I was. But no one could have ever known that among these successful and graduating college seniors there was a real life hobo.