Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Poison Ivy

I hate the Cubs, mainly because they are the archnemesis of my beloved St. Louis Cardinals. I despise their players, their stupid hats, obese coach and whining media. They always suck, yet year after year their is a buzz around this city that THIS IS THE YEAR. No it is not. This is the year that you once again get anally assaulted by the Cards and the rest of the National League...but I must say, I love Wrigley field.

Wrigley field is a dilapadated hell hole plopped in the middle of an affluent neighborhood surrounded by bars that encourage debauchery. On any given Saturday you can find an all you can drink bar crawl somewhere amid Addison and Clark with a theme that encourages alcohol poisoning and partial nudity. Your typical Cubs fan is a spoiled North Shore brat who will trade in their daddy's box seats so they can sit in the bleachers and catch a drunken coma by the bottom of the 6th. It's the polar opposite of your Jersey Shore-esque Sox fan who will brag to his friends how many overtime shifts his dad picked up the past weekend.

The rooftops, similar to the bars that surround Wrigleyville offer packages to groups of 20somethings that can booze and eat on a highrise townhouse while wearing their $200 Mark Prior jersey without the knowledge that he now teaches high school gym in Aurora. The day game schedule is also conducive for the unemployed Wilmette fan who can hop the purple to the red, go to the game and then empty their trust at Manor later that evening.

I may be apathetic about baseball and the Cubs but I have a feeling I will be calling in sick a lot this Spring...and to all those hooligans and smoking hot NT chicks that will be joining me in the $15 SRO's...cheers.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

There's nothing little about it...

What is Little 5? That's what everyone always asks. It's just a stupid bike race is what most outsiders think. Some people will throw the Lance Armstrong quote about it being the coolest moment of his life, others will bring up the Academy Award winning movie made about it, and most frat guys will tell you it's a week in which "you get super fucked up!" But instead of me arguing that it's the greatest college week in the known universe or that it is what makes Indiana the greatest party school in the nation, I will instead try to encapsulate the true spirit of Little 5 with some commentary. And this will all be from the perspective of a Greek, so if you are a gdi, stop reading now and ban your IP address from further visits to this site.

The selection process: I would equate this process as similar to finding your prom date. It's very stressful, and it can make or break your high school legacy. If you end up with a B-team date outside the "in-crowd" you will forever be looked upon in memories as a loser, or even worse that you didn't even exist. Chapter rooms are abuzz with excitement as group BBM-chats explore every possible scenario in which the chips could fall. This decision not only determines the name of the sorority on the shirts you will be wearing or the girls that you are banging, but it ices your reputation on campus. (Because remember when you are in a frat you sacrifice all individuality and become 3 greek letters.) Then your social stands up in the middle of your president scolding a group of neophytes about the drano bomb they inserted in the house mom's office. "WE got (insert facey sorority here who has lots of hot chicks and a few unattractive slutty ones but even if you hook up with the later you can tell your boys at the bar that you slayed a ____ )" High fives ensue, and a drinking little 5 planning committee meeting immediately commences.

Planning the week: Little 5 goes Monday-Saturday. There is a function every night. Breaking the ice Monday is important, have to start things off right. A common theme could be speed dating or some sort of meet and greet function, lights should be on so everyone can select their mate for the week or at least plant a few seeds for the more fun days. Tuesday can be a week night, you should only expect about a 50% showing from the younger girls, all upperclassmen will be at the bars. Wednesday and Thursday need to be absolute blowout events. Band, concert, dj, fog, lights, sweat, shots, mix all those together and add a shitty college theme and you have yourself a legit little 5 frat party. But this is still a crescendo taking us to...

Boats: What is better than throwing 40 people on a double decker pontoon boat and setting asail with 3 kegs and 20 handles? You're right, docking that baby up to an 80 foot yacht (where do these Lake Monroe residents get their money?) and sucking on a 45 year old MILF's surgically enhanced titties. Boat parties have and always will be a strong staple of the little 5 tradition. Pissing in water, wearing lifejackets like diapers and floating around for 4 hours with a personal handle is pretty much the climax of all of my sexual fantasies...err just fantasies.

Then it's time for the main event...race day: 5 am, in a courtyard, outdoors, drinking...300 people in obnoxious jerseys/shirts/nude doing all sorts of tomfoolery that comes with the territory of drinking. Launching potato missiles across the street, 4 story beer bongs of Old Crow bourbon, sunny with a chance of beer-showers. This ensues for about 8 hours, until the race begins. The Greeks flood to the stadium marching 20 wide on a mission of victory. Several people are unconscious or bleeding, but everyone needs to go cheer for their respective team and threaten the lives of all the Cutters fans and call their girlfriends ugly. 200 laps later, the track is covered in literally the blood, sweat and tears of the eventual champion and everyone is ready to retire to the Jewish frat for a terrible rap concert that was co-financed by a banker named Silverberg and his son's drug money.

So that's it in a nut shell: 5 parties, a day at the lake, some bars and a bike race. But it's so much more. It's a celebration of spring, of all things alcohol and taking hedonism to the furthest stretch of the imagination. Hopefully you shacked at least one night in the dorms with a Freshman, avoided the tank, and won a fight with an ATO...it's little 5 man, go get it!

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Editor's note

I've been told time and time again, that I don't focus enough on Chicago in this blog. Also people are mad that I never use names, from now on I will try to mention more landmarks and such that make you feel like you are along for the ride in my twisted delerium that is a "real world existence" i.e. instead of waking up in a dumpster, I will be waking up in the dumpster of Taco Burrito palace #2 off Halsted with a Goodbar bracelet on my left hand. I agree my rants should be more descriptive. However, this blog will remain anonymous because I don't know how to screen its visitors and if I lose my job bc of this and have to go on unemployment it will go against everything I stand for politically and shame my mock upperclass roots.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010


If you were in middle school in the late 90's and grew up in chat rooms then you had no problem interpretting that as that I am a 23 year old male living in Chicago and yes I do have a picture I can send you. However, now that I have gone through the stringent Marketing curriculum at IU I will more than likely photoshop Taylor Laughtner's abs and Peter North's cock to make myself some sort of superhuman, because really that's all I'm missing. Well that, ambition, the ability to grow facial hair and Tony Stark's bank accounts. Maybe I'll just get bitten by a random spider, play in a puddle of toxic waste and get struck by a meteor...but just my luck I wouldn't turn into Spiderman, the shapeshifting Captain America...I would probably end up looking like the elephant man, dying 3 weeks later to know fanfare or Facebook memorial groups.

I guess I'm really nerding out today talking about comic book super powers and how I used to prey on unsuspecting Lolitas in chatrooms posing as a 16 year old JV football player when I hadn't even sprouted armpit hair...(check that I still hadn't sprouted armpit hair when I was a 16 year old JV football player, but you get my point.) It's just that sometimes life is so average, so you look for escape in your dreams...so when you wake up after conquering a dark wizard, slaying a three-headed dragon and saving the princess your reward is to go to work. FUCK THAT. Do you think Mario had to go pull some shit out of some clogged plipes afetr he saved peach? He may have done some work on her plumbing but he definitely didn't go to work.

How can people be satisfied with normal. You go to college, you meet someone, you move in together, you get married, you have kids, you sacrifice all of your material items, dreams and happiness for those kids, they treat you like shit and you die. Why can't it be more like you go to college, you get a shitty job that makes just enought money for your mdma filled weekends, obnoxious bar tabs, and just enough cash left over to go dutch on that rando's plan B pill as you stop at CVS on the way to dropping her off...but then you buy gummy worms and make her pay for the whole thing...your calling her bluff that she will let her vagina go into ruin over 10 bucks that you won't give her.

Obviously I exagerate, but if you aren't going to a college night at Joe's on Weed or you can't muscle up the fortitude to check out karaoke night at Kincaid's on a Wednesday, move to the suburbs and unfriend me on Facebook because you and I are done. The real world is very much like the lyrics to Semi-Charmed Life, you don't know what they really mean until you get to college, and then you are like...holy shit this is all about crystal meth and escaping from reality...I don't get it...but then you kind of have that "Aha" moment. (Did that make sense or was that a shameless plug of my favorite song?)