Phishr Chronicles

I am solely using fraternal nicknames for this one.

Once, in a time long ago, something like, oh… February 22^nd 2003 to be exact I met what will now be known as the CRAZIEST group of college kids the U.S. could ever brew up. These kids disgusted me with the amount of alcohol they could drink. And they all called Rolla, Missouri home. Rolla, MO, a town that shuts down and has something like a 3 day St. Patty’s day festival. THE TOWN STOPS FUNCTIONING ALL TOGETHER! Imagine that.

My fraternity has its typical scholars, athletes, public servants, etc. But there was a group of us that took “fun hunting” a little too far, but nonetheless always had something exciting to talk about on Mondays. We have (nationally) this traveling trophy that’s main purpose is to get chapters to road trip to other chapters in order to extend relations, and develop friendships all over the U.S. Upon staying with the hosting chapter overnight, your chapter takes the road trip trophy back home and another chapter gets to come get it from you. Pretty fun sounding idea right?

Our group had decided to travel from Tahlequah to Rolla, Missouri at the University of Missouri-Rolla engineering school. This engineering school is quite prestigious, so we instantly assumed we were gonna be staying at some lame chapter full of tools (yeah we were judgmental, that’s what we get for assuming). The trip was calculated at somewhere around 4 and a half hours. There were 8 of us, crammed into a conversion van; not to mention 4 of us were up in Tulsa all night for one of the guy’s birthday. Very vague night, I didn’t really drink too much because I was driving the birthday guys car back to Tahlequah that night, I do recall how cold it was with the window down on the Muskogee turnpike at 2 A.M. with him puking out the window. Classy group of lads weren’t we.

The next morning we assembled in a parking lot. The van ride down was full of practical jokes. This was the first time I ever saw an individual release “gas” into another person’s unsuspecting face. We stopped at what seemed like every rest stop for pick me ups and not to mention our driver that had a gambling niche that needed fixing every 20 minutes. We told stories, laughed and prepared ourselves for a fun filled night that the other chapter had “promised” us.

Upon arrival, the town/campus was relatively dead. It was a Saturday, and this suitcase college (a college where the majority of the population goes home for the weekends in turn leaving very few people on campus still). I was personally excited because this chapter had a rather large fraternity house. Fraternity houses do not exist in Tahlequah so I found the fact that their basement was a full bar, they had their own kitchen and cooks, and living rooms throughout the house to be exciting. On another note, I might add this little tidbit. There was something like 17 fraternities and 2 sororities on campus, 80/20 male to female ratio. Yeah, do the math. This was Weinerton University.

The hosting chapter (I believe 5-10 still there for the weekend) took us to this little Italian place for beer and cheese balls. The food was great and the hosts were awesome. After “dinner” somewhere around 6 in the evening my chapter had decided to get tattooed together to commemorate the trip. This was the beginning to the most hardcore night of my life.

The tattoo parlor was off of the highway. We arrived in the middle of the lone tattoo artist working on a whole arm sleeve. Upon deciding what we were all going to get we had to sit and wait for nearly 3 hours. We were growing restless and bored. The artist bragged about doing one of the “Undertakers” (wwf wrestler) sleeves. The guy seemed legit. We all paced, joked, and cracked jokes to the tattoo artist’s 15 year old daughter who was helping daddy prep and whatnot. “Pucker”, my old roommate in Tahlequah was being kind of an asshole to the daughter at her expense. But the crowning moment was when the girl (who was infatuated with us) had spilled rubbing alcohol down her arm. We were all sitting in the lobby and the daughter was standing in the circle next to Pucker. He was joking around with her by flipping his Zippo (that I assumed was out of fluid) by her arm telling her if she doesn’t watch it he’ll strike that arm up. Take a wild guess what was bound to happen. The girls arm went up very fast in flames. Remember, this was the artist’s daughter! He was busy with a tattoo and Pucker and this girl are trying to slap this fire out on her the whole time saying “please don’t tell your dad!”, “I’m so sorry” and “I didn’t think that would happen!” It was that frozen moment in time when you have to wait for the all clear sign before you started laughing. Everyone had that shit eating grin on their face when all was said and done. I can’t believe I just saw that! Is that assault or arson? Whatever it was, she didn’t tell, and about this time it was our turn.

Now the guy couldn’t have been happy because there were 9 of us, all getting tattoos the size of a freaking tator tot, it was 20 minutes past his closing time, and on top of that we were being loud and obnoxious. He rushed though us, every time he was finished he would announce “next” and another would go in. very systematic, very scary. The final count: 9 shitty tattoos, 7 scarred up, 3 infections, 1 hospital visit, and probably out of 9 of us, 1 needle. Oh well, I haven’t developed lock jaw quite yet. I guess it’s karma for lighting his daughter on fire.

We arrived back to the fraternity house late. There were 6 of their guys up drinking and 2 absolutely revolting girls. They were retarded drunk, completely ugly, and dressed like truckers, time to show them what we’re made of. We proceed to play a friendly game of Wild Turkey 101 pong. You ever get so drunk so fast that the alcohol hasn’t had time to metabolize in your system yet and over a span of 20 minutes you go from “good times guy” to “zombie drunk”? I have, and never again will I attempt it. These guys got us shit-housed drunk in a matter of an hour. But then I for one noticed something. After we reached drunk, we let the drunk just coast. They didn’t.

I’ve done power-hour, I’ve done century club, I’ve done my fair share of all out binge drinking; BUT I HAVE NEVER seen such aggressive drinking in my whole entire life. I thought they were trying to kill themselves. They drank until their eyes were shut then felt around for another bottle like they were reading Braille. I watched the less ugly of the 2 girls binge and purge on a handle of Jim Beam. Yeah, this girl actually placed herself in front of a trashcan and CHUG straight Jim Beam until she threw it up into the trashcan. AND THEN CHUG MORE! They weren’t even talking to us. Not because they were trying to be mean… Because to them, the more they talked, the less chugging they could get done. They were leaning on each other throwing up. Imagine this; a few of us were standing outside telling stories from our respected chapters. This cat from Rolla is telling us about St. Patty’s day and pausing every few minutes to regurgitate, then he proceeded to talk. Norm, Gerbil and I are trying to hang with these guys and girls but it is almost a lost cause. I for one was having difficulties functioning.

I have seen a good amount of places, and a lot of faces, but these particular groups of college students were some of the most hardcore people ever.

I somehow found my way into an empty room, opened a window and completely passed out like a rock. Downstairs was different. Gerbil passed out in a gameroom-esque area. All night he was drunk screaming how everyone was a wimp and how no one can hang with him when it comes to drinking.

Lesson learned: Never talk shit about how much you can drink and gloat about it, then pass out first. They did everything humiliating to him. I saw pictures of testicles on his face, condoms above his lip, and excellent tagging abilities with a permanent marker all over him and of course, the hairy potato.

The few remaining guys stayed up in the same room as Gerbil and played video games/TV. They say they were bored, I to this day think it was to be sure Gerbil made it through the night. Sometime early in the morning, Gerbil woke up while they were playing games. He walked over to the television to turn it off. Everyone stayed quiet while he tried to conquer this dilemma. When you are this drunk, simple objects such as an “off button” are as foreign to you as everyday Latvian morals. One resorts back to a more “primal” state. Gerbil couldn’t turn the bright light from the television off. Instead he simply picked the TV up and turned it around. While in such state as the primal male can get, windows, screen or no screen, appear to be urinals. In this case, there was a screen. And as much as I can assume, the remnants could not have been too sanitary. Ladies and gentlemen, Gerbil…

Sometimes, however, primal state holds no water to the ever feared, inanimate object drunk. When you are so drunk you can breathe and that’s about it. “I was awakened at 7 in the morning. Partly due to the chill in the room, or maybe it was the freezing cold wetness that covered my jeans. (Yeah, I did, I was THAT bad). I could hear the guys going room to room gesturing if anyone has seen a guy this wide and this short. The gestures went as far wide as one can stretch their arms, and high as their chest. They finally opened the door to a room and said to the guy on the bottom bunk “Have you seen a…” The guy said “yeah, he took my bed last night” and pointed at the top bunk. How the hell does a 5′8″ guy built like an exercise ball get 8 feet off the floor into a top bunk without a ladder? Once again, do the physics.

This next exert was hands down the “worst smelling moment” of all time.

We hit the winter storm head on… Of course.

It was practically a white-out… Of course.

Our top speed was 25 miles per hour.

It took us over 12 hours to get home.

On top of that…

The heater is pumping out steamy air.

We all are going off of 3-4 hours of sleep

We smell of whiskey, very very strong whiskey

You know the stomach rot that is associated with Whiskey?

You know the only food on the highway is garbage that eats at your stomach?

You know how guys act with no girls around?

This van stunk so bad I distinctively recall my eyes burning so bad from the stench.

I could taste the aroma; it was so sour and pungent. For 12 hours, locked in a van, with 7 other guys.

All I have to show for it is embarrassing pictures and a scarred over tattoo.