Here we are; it’s Valentine’s Day once again. If you have a boyfriend, girlfriend, hermaphrodite, favorite sheep, or any combination thereof, you probably had a pretty good day. If you’re a lonely, disfigured, useless piece of humanity like me, your day was either normal or extra shitty.
I don’t know that I’ve ever had a good Valentine’s Day. It’s one of the occupational hazards of being chronically single. Now, normally, I wouldn’t even bother to write about such nonsense, but I was inspired this week. Yesterday, Danielle Stiffler gave me a call, and I haven’t talked to Stiffy in many a moon. We were doing a little reminiscing, and later that night, I started to think about the first time I met the Stifflah. It was actually at an anti-Valentine’s Day party in college.
Now, because I’m lazy, I’m going to fill this post with an essay I wrote in March 2005 for Shannon, Jared, and Darren entitled, “How to get drunk and smoke no less than an entire pack of cigarettes.” It’s really about Stiffler as you’ll see below, but be warned, I was but a mere baby when I wrote it. I think I’ve mellowed with age, but judge for yourself:
It would be pleasing to begin this essay by simply stating that there is only one way to get drunk and smoke no less than an entire pack of cigarettes. Indeed, my readers may agree that it would also be acceptable if there were a single preferred method out of the hundreds of possibilities. However, getting drunk and smoking no less than an entire pack of cigarettes, like life, is seldom that simple. With this essay, I aim to use anecdotal evidence, sophistry, and Jedi mind tricks to fully explain Matt Bochman’s life-experience with alcohol and tobacco, as well as demonstrate why Matt Bochman should drink the first beer on the Coonass Canoe Trip (Editor’s note: The Coonass Canoe Trip has yet to occur, but I still haven’t given up hope).
Legend has it that on a blistery cold day in February near the beginning of the current millennium, Matt Bochman drank no less than 384 beers and smoked no less than Stiffler’s entire pack of cigarettes. It’s a quaint tale, and anthropological research has shown it to be completely true. However, it is a gross oversimplification of the evening’s events and ramifications.
During a dark time in the life of a simple Pennsylvania Dutchman named Matt Bochman, he was invited to a modern day Tower of Babel cartographically named East. Having masturbated approximately 40 times that week and having nothing better to do for the foreseeable future, he accepted the invitation and put on his drinking shoes. He commenced to sit in a chair, not unlike the Stink Chair of Viking lore, and drink can after can of Key Light while watching some horseshit on TV and listening to stupid bitches babble on about stupid things.
Then, out of nowhere, a tiny sprite with a devilish aspect arrived and set the Boch-cock astir. This pixie-hellion went by the name of Danielle Stiffler. She liked to drink, she liked to smoke, and she liked to tell her boyfriends that she thought about Matt Bochman while she masturbated. Curiously, Matt Bochman thinks about werewolves and the awesome power of yeast genetics while jerking off.
In any event, 50 Key Lights tends to put a man in a certain state of mind, so in order to get to know Stiffler a little better, Matt Bochman decided to continue to drink heavily and do everything that Stiffler suggested he do. In layman’s terms, he obeyed Stiffy due to a stiffy. This obviously led to the inhalation of no less than Stiffler’s entire pack of cigarettes while in an intoxicated state due to the consumption of no less than 384 beers. Now, if 50 Key Lights will put a man in a silly frame of mind, 384 Key Lights and the finest tobacco that the state of Virginia can offer will wreck even the steeliest of cognitive machines. In the case of one Mr. Matthew Q. Bochman, it rendered him completely retahded (as they say in Boston).
So, my eager young minds, if you want to get drunk and smoke no less than an entire pack of cigarettes like Matt Bochman, you have two choices. First, you can drink 50 beers in the presence of a baboon, meet a woman that will stay out of reach for 3 years, and then finish the evening by ingesting another 334 beers judiciously interspersed with smoking breaks. Alternatively, you can choose to stay at home, eat pork chops, watch lesbians have sex on Showtime, and drink and smoke alone like a real man. In all honesty, that’s the true road to happiness.
As Stephen King says, “and now constant reader,” let me share some advice with you. Never get involved or allow yourself to even be attracted to a woman shorter than 5’6” or taller than 5’10”. As my old man says, “keep your eyes and ears open and your mouth shut.” Cheers to beers my brethren, and props to hops my homies.
Done and done…go!
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