Men of the Skull Chapter 54: Backboard

Turns out that Chapter 53 was posted some time ago- it's linked below.

This day was a turning point in my time at Skull.  I didn't plan it to be, but it was.  I felt that, since I had some artistic skill, I could contribute a bit to the House.  I was angry when I saw the vandalism, and decided that if no one else were doing anything about it, I would.

Well, a couple of the people who didn't like me saw me doing this.  They found out I just did it on my own.  Suddenly, they treated me differently- they treated me like a brother instead of an interloper.  That changed a few other's minds.

Eventually, I used my art to revitalize the house scrapbook, for which I won the first "Officer of the Year" award in 1988.  The guy I beat for it was house chef, who is now a multi-millionaire restaurateur.  More important than the award though, was acceptance.  To this day, not all of the brothers of my time accept me because I was a transfer (and some because I transitioned- as expected.)

However, it isn't ALL of them.  That, I believe is because of this day.

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Chapter 54: Backboard

Saturday, March 21, 1987 Pained  Faithful of Bakker’s PTL are stung by his sudden fall.

            A week ago, someone sprayed PKA all over the basketball net backboard in the Skull parking lot.  A few of the brothers were pissed off by this, me included.  However we had no idea who did it- after all, anyone could’ve painted those letters just to get us after PIKA.  

            The backboard was old.  Bacchi said “it was fuckin’ old when I was a fuckin’ pledge!”  As he graduated in 1950, it was at least forty years old.  It looked like it.  The pole was square and wooden, maybe six inches thick.  The backboard was maybe three feet by four feet and grey from age and rain.  The hoop was only a few years old, but it was bent and beginning to rust.

            I couldn’t believe no one was repainting or replacing the backboard.  No matter what- having those letters on our property was a slap in the face.  So I figured if they weren’t going to do anything about it, I would.  I asked Virginia if she wanted to help.

March 23, 1987 Collegian.  Baby's is still there as of this writing

            “Why should I?  It’s YOUR house, not mine.”

            “I’ll make it worth your while” I said while backing her against a wall in my apartment hallway.

            “Yeah?  How?” she asked quietly, her eyes never leaving mine.

            I pinned her to the wall and kissed her forcefully.

            “Promises, promises” she said, rubbing my crotch and smiling.

            “So are you helping?”

            “Convince me more” she said.

            The pledges repainted the entire downstairs a couple weeks before.  Should be enough paint left over to do the board at least.  There was primer, beige (why?), and black.

            So that morning, I used my Mac to print “Skull” in a calligraphic script.  Very ornate- fancy- as befits a stately mansion.  I wanted to reproduce this on the backboard.  After breakfast at the Waffle Shop (it was packed, being Parent’s weekend), Virginia and I bought a couple of small miniature painting brushes at Nittany Line Hobbies and walked hand in hand to the house.

            We quickly found the paint in the second floor Gamma closet and a ladder down in the Quag.  The step ladder was old, wooden and as rickety as the backboard.  Damn thing might’ve been as old as the house!

Mar 23, 1987 Collegian.  I remember seeing this back then and feeling pain

            I stirred the paint with fallen branches from the tree that overhung the backboard and the parking lot.  Virginia held the rickety ladder which was in real danger of collapsing into a pile of splinters.  During this entire time, no one asked me what the hell I was doing with the ladder, the paint, anything.  I was invisible to them.  I didn’t care, since no one was parked under the net so I didn’t need any cars moved.  I didn’t need to talk to anyone. 

            Prime.  Let dry.  (Virginia and I walked over to Pizza Pi for slices.)  First coat of beige on the backboard.  Let dry (went back to my apartment and fucked like crazy, as mark was away for the weekend.)  Second coat of beige.

            Virginia and I sat on the ground under the tree and waited for the coat to dry. 

            “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

            “Doing what?  Painting?  Going to school?  Dating you?”

            She kicked me.  “Asshole!  Painting! You could be studying!  Doing homework!”

            “Sleeping!” I said, stretching.

            “Sleeping?  We could be having sex!”

            “We could do that here.”

            “Not with your brothers watching, no thank you.”

            “You’re no fun.”

            “Fuck you!”

            “You just said no!”

            “Are you gonna answer my question?”

            “Which one?”

            She hit me on the shoulder.

            “Ow!  I felt like it.”  I said.  “I made a promise to Phi Kappa Sigma.  Doesn’t matter how these guys treat me- I intend to keep that promise.  And if that means repainting this old thing to get rid of someone else’s letters, so be it.”

            “Even if these assholes don’t care?”

            “Right.”

            She shifted over and kissed my ear.  “Are you gonna keep your promises to me?” she whispered.

            “Have I made any?”

            She bit my ear.

            “OW!  I keep my promises.  Always.”

            “Did you promise anything to Judy?”

            “I promised always to be there for her.”  I said.

            “Why?”

            “Why do we have to talk about this?”

            “What else are we gonna talk about?”

            “What do you wanna do tonight?”  I asked, leaning back to look up at the heavy cloudy sky.

            “My house is partying.”

            “So the usual?  That’s cool.”

            We relaxed a bit before I started painting the black gothic letters.  I sketched them out in pencil, maybe a foot high on the tallest one, and then outlined them with the small brush.  When that was done, I started filling them in with the bigger brush.  Virginia sat on the bottom rung, steadying the ladder while reading a book.

            The paint wasn’t exactly dry, so the beige mixed a bit with the black, making a muddy grey.  Fuck.  I’d have to repaint a bit.  Before doing that, I stopped and sat atop the ladder for a second for a break.  I looked over at the house.  Veal was leaning out his second floor window. 

            “Yo Lancer, you do that?” he yelled.

            “Yeah.  It’s not done yet, though.”

            He smiled.  “It looks fuckin’ awesome, man!”

            “Thanks!”

            “No, really!  Great fuckin job!” 

            He gave me a thumbs up and leaned back into the house, pulling the window shut behind him.  I looked down at Virginia, who was looking up.

            “Isn’t he one of the biggest assholes?” she asked.

            “Yeah.”  I said.  “It must’ve hurt a lot for him to say that.”

            Virginia laughed.

            After I finished the lettering, I painted our letters over the green ones painted on the post.  Quick touch ups on the board and the job was finished.  Virginia helped me carry everything back into the house, and we went back to my place to clean up and fuck again.

Monday, March 23, 1987 Soviet says U.S. evades arms accord

            I sat in the dining room of the house having a soggy burger for lunch.  There were maybe seven brothers there, all reading the Collegian and talking about whatever.  Veal walked through the kitchen doors and grabbed a plate and a burger.  He sat among a few brothers.

            “Hey guys, did you see the job Lancer did painting the basketball net?  Fuckin’ awesome!” he said loudly. 

            “Lance did that?”  “Really?”  “Wow!”  A few other mumbled comments.

            The brothers smiled and were nice to me.  Felt great.

Taken in 1988, after it was knocked over in a fight, this is the backboard.

            That night we had chapter.  Veal was the Pi (academic chairman), and as always gave his officer report.  After his other stuff he said “I’d like to recognize Brother Kandler for the great job he did painting the backboard of the basketball net.”

            Some whispers and “good jobs” then the customary round of applause.  For Me.  Wow! 

            We had elections that night as well.  Maple was elected Alpha.  Like I cared.  I was floating.

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Men of the Skull Chapter 52: Crow Bowl

It's strange how events occur, and the people one meets.  This was a really strange night.

By this point, I was treated better by the Crow people than by my own brothers.  They didn't care that I was a transfer, and they didn't care that I was different.  All they cared about (at that point) was that I showed them respect, and treated their little sister, my girlfriend, well.  In that order.  And UI did both.

Their attitude would change a year later.  They decided they preferred Virginia to date one of their brothers instead of a Skull, so encouraged her to cheat on me.  (According to her.)  Which she did.  With one of their pledges.  Things got... ugly.

In any case, that night I met someone who would eventually return to my life years later.


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Chapter 52: Crow Bowl

Saturday, March 14, 1987 Gotti cleared by jury in Mafia trial

Every house had their fun little “brothers only things.  Skull had BSB and other stuff.  For Alpha Chi Rho, it was Crowbowl.

Crowbowl was a basketball tournament.  Chapters across the East Coast would send teams to whichever school was hosting to compete for a trophy or something like that.  Of course, the idea was to promote brotherhood blah blah blah, but let’s face it: Crowbowl was all about bragging rights.  In 1987, Crowbowl was hosted by Penn State.

To hear Judy and Virginia talk, it was as if Moses came down from the mountain, handed Crow the Ten Commandments, then hung out to play flip a cup for the rest of the night.  It was that monumental.  And of course, it was all hands on deck, especially for Little Sisters.

So while Judy and Virginia spent their day in one of the White Building gyms watching basketball, I was up at Dave’s playing the usual games with the usual crowd.  I arrived at the gym around seven, full of pizza, beer, soda, and burps.

Eventually I found Virginia, who was wearing the garnet Crowbowl shirt over a white turtleneck.  She was watching the game with Mandy and a few others.  Judy sat with Richard some distance away.  The shirt wasn’t bad.  The top of the image had “14^th Annual” then the bottom had “Crow Bowl.”  In between were two basketball players: the left one, number 19, trying to block a shot by number 87.  (1987. Get it?)  Behind them was a giant bird that looked like a cross between a crow and a raven.  All of this was done in white.  Cheap and effective.

My timing was perfect.  I showed up during the second half of the championship game: Penn State vs. West Chester University.  I saw Virginia’s “big brother” Rob on the court, shirtless (it was shirts vs skins) leading the team.  I recognized a few others as well.  I got a quick kiss from Virginia, but that was it.  She was hoarse from shouting and cheering so much.  Penn State was leading by four, but West Chester was too good to count out.  They kept coming back. 

I began to cheer too.  Why not?  Essentially I was cheering for Penn State.  Judy looked over and half smiled. 

Eventually, the game ended.  Penn State won by three.  Virginia hugged me, and then ran out onto the court to hug her sweaty big brother.  She then went with all the other Penn State Crows in a victory procession back to their house, while out of town Crows went back to their various hotel rooms to clean up, eat, fuck, or whatever.  After all, there was a party that night.

            Oh, how good was the Penn State Crow team?  A month later they won the fraternity inter-mural basketball championship over some very strong competition.  If nothing else, those guys could play hoop.

            After a few hours of sleep, I was at the door of Crow House.  The party that night was “Crow’s Only,” but I was invited because of Virginia.  I just walked right in- by then the pledges knew me by sight. 

I never saw Crow House this packed- and I never would again.  I thought it’d be a lot emptier, but what I didn’t realize was that each team brought their team, supporters, and little sisters from like thirty different chapters all stuffed into that little house looking for beer and sex.  And of course, all the Penn State Little Sisters had to be there- mandatory attendance.  So this is what I walked in on.  The dance floor was packed.

Ain't no doubt about it we were doubly blessed

'Cause we were barely seventeen and we were barely dressed

Meatloaf was at high volume tonight.  Had to try to impress the other chapters with the stereo system I guess.

            I saw a few familiar faces.  A lot of people were wearing Crow jackets, which was odd as it was fucking hot in the house! 

            A few hours later (or so it seemed) I managed to burrow my way down the solid packed stairs to the party room.  There, behind an impenetrable wall of garnet and white, was the bar.  And behind the bar was Virginia wearing the same tight white turtleneck she was wearing earlier (she ditched the shirt God only knows where.)  Next to her was her Big Brother.  No sign of Judy, but in this crowd she’d be impossible to find until I was on top of her.  Which would be fun.

            Somehow, perhaps by using mind control, teleportation, or using my spider powers to crawl along the ceiling, I managed to arrive at the bar.  Virginia saw me when I was about three quarters of the way there, and she had a beer waiting for me.

            “Isn’t this awesome?” she tried to shout over the music and people.  The music was some new rap group that was getting really popular: “Beastie Boys” I think.

You wake up late for school man you don't wanna go
You ask you mom, "Please?" but she still says, "No!"
You missed two classes and no homework
But your teacher preaches class like you're some kind of jerk
You gotta fight!  For your right!  To parrrrrrrrrrrrrrrtay!

“What?”  I yelled back.

            She leaned over the bar and yelled back “ISN’T THIS AWESOME?”  She didn’t realize that the tips of her breasts had touched the beer covered surface.  When she leaned back up, it looked like she had two large wet nipples.  I pointed at her chest.  She looked confused, then looked.  At first she looked shocked, then she shrugged.

            “They’ll dry!” she shouted. 

            Her breasts were now attracting more than the usual attention from a room full of drunken guys.  This could be ugly.

            “Skull!  Drink!” 

            What?  Oh.  I looked down the bar and saw one of the brothers pointing at me with extended elbow.  On the bar before him was the inevitable plastic cup top down on the bar.  I raised my glass to him and drank.  Guess I’m playing.  Wait- of course I’m playing: this is the Crow bar I’m standing next to, and everyone plays.  I looked back and saw that Crow talking to a couple of out of state Crows while gesturing at me, then at Virginia. 

In 1987, the bar went wall to wall.  And there were no tables.  

            I finished my beer, and Virginia gave me another.  “WHAT ARE THE RULES?”  I asked.

            “WHAT?”

            “RULES?”

            “STANDARD AND…”  Song ended.  “No cursing,” Virginia said.

            Guys were pushing me a bit, trying to jockey for a place at the bar with a view of Virginia’s wet tits.  There was no room- at all.  Part of me thought it was cool- the girl I was dating was wanted by all these guys, but she was with me.  But what if she got really drunk, and one of the guys…  No.  Don’t think about that. 

            Too many beers later, I dragged my ass through the crowd.  I saw Judy, who either didn’t see me or ignored me.  To the stairs.  Up the stairs.  In line.  Wait.  Wait.  Wait.  Bathroom.  Blessed relief.  And I didn’t have to piss in the sink.

            After washing my hands (a bit of a challenge), I headed toward the steps, where I bumped into Kathy.  She was shouting at some girl in the living room.

            “I don’t give a fuck what you think!  We didn’t take it!”

            I looked in the living room and saw a chubby blonde with a tall Madonna circa 1984 haircut (only a little less altitude than Mandy’s!) 

            “Who else would want it?” said the Wannabe.

            Mandy threw up her hands in disgust.  “Oh, suck my left tit!” she shouted and stormed past me into the kitchen.  Wannabe looked completely stunned, and then burst into tears.  I noticed a bunch of other girls frantically tearing the room apart.  I staggered over to the closest one.

            “What’s up?”  I asked.  “What are you looking for?

            The girl turned to look at me.  I’d never seen such eyes.  Perfect blue, like a lake I could dive into forever.  She had a narrow face and a slightly pointed chin, slight nose and wavy chestnut brown hair that didn’t quite touch her shoulders.  She looked young- like high school young, but she wore the same garnet colored Crowbowl t-shirt that so many were wearing, so she had to be college. 

            “One of my sister’s jackets is missing.  Are you a brother here?” she asked, maybe a hair sharply.

            “Well, no.  I’m a Skull.  I date one of the little sisters here.”

            She looked at me for a second.

            “Wanna help us look?” she asked.

            “Sure what does it look like?”

            The girl pointed at one of her sisters, who wore a jacket.  Typical fraternity jacket.  Garnet with white lettering.  Name in script on the front on the right, W.C.U. on the left.  In large block letters on the back it said “AXP” across the top and “Little Sister” in script across the bottom.  Hard to miss.           

Amazing how I have a picture of a jacket like the one described...

            We searched a few minutes.  I was tossing through the coat pile behind the DJ stand with the Blue Eyed girl. 

            Woaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh half way ther-ah!  Wah-Oh! Livin’ on a  Pray-uh!

            Take mah hand, we’ll make it ah swe-uh!  Wuh-Oh! Livin’ on a  Pray-uh!

            I was so sick of that fucking song!

            “Hey!  Since we’re searching together, what’s your name?”  I asked.

            “What?”  The music was so loud! 

            “What’s your name?”  I shouted.

            She considered a moment- I’m guessing it was whether or not to give her real name. 

            “Jen” she said.

            “What?”

            “JEN!” she shouted.

            “What?”  I was playing with her.

            “JENNIFER!”  She shouted really loud just as the song ended.

            Oh great.  Another Jennifer.  Like we didn’t have enough of them up here already.  “I’m Lance.  Pleased to meet you.  Where was it last?”

            She pointed at a door to the porch.  “There.  The name on the jacket is Michelle.”

            So for the next, I don’t know, long enough to lose my buzz, we turned the first floor and basement upside down.  I managed to get a good look at Jen while we searched.  She was very thin: frail.  Wispy.  Not much of a chest but a beautiful heart shaped ass.  She moved like an athlete.  I also met her boyfriend, the Little Sister Pledge master from their chapter. 

            Eventually Virginia found me looking through the pile coats behind the DJ for the zillionth time.  The beer spots on her sweater dried to round brownish stains more nipples like than before.

            “Would you be upset if I stayed here late?” she shouted in my ear.

            “What’s late?”

            “I dunno” she said.  She was drunk.  “It’s a private event so it doesn’t have to shut down at one thirty.”

            I looked around to the packed living room where Jen was talking in a very animated way to some brother, then to the packed dance floor where everyone writhed to the B-52s.

We were at the beach.
Everybody had… matching towels.
Somebody went under a dock and there they saw a rock.
It wasn't a rock- It was a Rock Lobster!

And I knew the downstairs was packed.  Judy was probably down there somewhere with Rich. 

            “Wanna dance?”  I asked.

            “No, I gotta get back to the bar.  I’m bartending!”  Virginia said.  “So you’re not mad?”  She gave me the sad doe eyes. 

           

            “Why should I be?  I trust you” I said, smiling.

            She kissed me quickly and disappeared.

            Fuck this.

            I walked over to Jen, my battered blue Members Only coat in hand. 

            “Jenny, it’s been a pleasure meeting you, but I’m heading back to my house.”

            We locked eyes briefly.

            “Jen.  I hate Jenny.  Thanks for your help” she said.

            “I forgot to ask.  Where are you guys from?”

            “West Chester University, outside of Philly.”

            Duh.  W.C.U. on the jacket. 

            “I grew up not far from there.  In Spring City.”

            “Oh.  Isn’t that nice?”

            Even I caught that cue to leave.

            “Anyway, best of luck finding the jacket.  Enjoy your stay here at Penn State.” 

DORK!

            And I left.  Back to Skull House where the party was winding down.  But- here not everyone was Crows.  And no one was hitting on my girlfriend.  I grabbed a couple of beers and found a quietish corner to drink them.

           

            The jacket was never found.  Let’s face it; there were very few people who could wear this jacket, and only one Penn Stater.  And SHE wasn’t there that night as she went back home for whatever reason.  A week later, the Vice President of Penn State Crow House made a trip down to the West Chester chapter.  I don’t know the exact reason, but I’m betting he brought apologies and beer.

            Jen?  I’d meet her again a few years later.  Small fucking world.

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So, I met "Jen" again in 1991.  Long story short- we married in 1993.  In this blog, I refer to her as "Wife" (by her request.)  That's her modeling the West Chester Crow jacket.  She still has it.  We're still married 26 years later.  (Separated five.)  Story HERE

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Props and Proceedings

I haven't really posted in a while.  Like anyone cares.  In any case, I managed to get some things done.

To start with, I am in a play: A Funny Thing Happened on the way to the Forum. In this comedy, I play a courtesan named Tintinabula.  I have no lines, but I have a solo dance.

Those who have seen me dance know why it's a comedy.

In costume

Actually, the play is extremely funny, and cast is amazing.  I'll be sorry when it ends.  Being a part of this gives a sense of belonging. 

I'm back being unemployed.  I was offered a position, but, for reasons of my own, I turned it down.  It seemed like a "high drama" zone- and I don't need any more drama. 

In any case, that has given me plenty of time.  When I was in Dracula in January, I made a few props for the play.  The director of Forum was the makeup artist for Dracula, so she knew I did that.  She asked me to do a prop or two for this play as well.  I ended up doing almost all of the props.  As I can't dance or sing, is this why I was cast?  Or is that just my depression and lack of self worth making me paranoid?  In any case, I did receive a Props credit in the program.

Making these props gave me a purpose- something to focus upon.  I've been spending my days mostly lying in bed, staring at the ceiling- paralyzed by depression and feelings of uselessness.  Some of the props took quite some time to make.  In fact, one of the people in charge started doubting my ability to finish the pieces in time.  I told her I would have them on time, and I did. 

In any case, as the play has begun, here are the pieces.

Formula 409 bottle in Latin

Contract (unfolded version)

Poster for gladiator fights: Maximus vs. Leonadis

Potions for Dummies in Latin

Back.  That's the first lines of the Hobbit in Latin

Interior

Mad Dog 20/20 in Latin

Colt 45 in Latin

"Wooden" jeweled goblet

7up in Latin

Domina bust

Domina without nose

Rolled version of contract- it never gets unrolled.

In any case, they allowed me some time to be creative.  During this time, I also painted a miniature for the first time since 2003 (which is when Games Workshop and I parted ways.)  I painted it for a friend, because the one she had (painted by someone else) was just... horrible.  Painted with house paint.  I knew that, even out of practice, I could do better.  Humble-brag- I think I did,

She chose the color scheme

So now all that is done, now what?

I guess I could paint some of the old miniatures I've had for decades.  Sell them for money.  Or just go back to lying in bed.  

In any case, random thoughts from this month:

More times than not, I cry myself to sleep.

I saw Wife and Daughter for Father's Day.  We went to dinner locally, along with Linda.  

I still have no idea how I'm going to pay for school.

When I look in the mirror, I want to break it or throw up.  I still see a guy looking back at me.

I still believe that I will not survive the Trump regime- that I'll be killed.  Nothing has happened to change my opinion.  

I whine too much.  

I'm going to bed.  

Men of the Skull Chapter 51: Bill

"Bill" was a character.  I'd met many Marines before and since meeting him, but he remains the most Gung Ho person I've ever met.

Bill also taught me a lesson, even if it didn't sink in right away.

You see, I didn't realize why Bill drank and fought so much.  I just thought "that's just Bill."  Years later, I realized that he was dealing with a deep Pain.  He was a combat Marine- he'd been deployed to Beirut and other places before I met him.  He was in Beirut in 1983, when the car bomb detonated.  Dave told me that- Bill never mentioned it.

I came to this realization when after a particularly rough night of drinking, etc, I looked in the mirror- into my dead eyes.  And I realized what was happening.  I wasn't drinking and fighting for fun or to prove my manhood.  I was drinking hoping to dull the Pain.

Just like Bill.

And of course it didn't work.

In any case, here's Bill.  I have NO idea what happened to him after I graduated PSU.  I would guess he deployed to Panama.  And Desert Storm.

I hope he was able to quell his Pain.

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Chapter 51: Bill

Wednesday, March 11, 1987 Test-tube births are condemned

            Bill was a Marine.  He was five foot six, and every inch was Gung Ho, Semper Fi and Squared Away.  Bill was a little fireplug.  He was all muscle and had a very broad, round-ish head with a high, backward sloping forehead.  His hair was dark and always in a high and tight crew cut.  His eyes were small, brown, and wide apart.  He had a small mouth which was locked in a creepy smile.  It became wider when he was angry.  Sometimes he had a wispy attempt a moustache, sometimes not.

Every Marine was proud of carrying that title, and rightfully so- anyone who had the balls to finish that training program should be proud.  However, there was something that Bill different.  It wasn’t just that he lived and breathed the Corps.  No, there was more.

            Bill was crazy.

            You could see it in his eyes. 

Other Marines (who aren’t afraid of anybody) were afraid of Bill.  I was glad he was on our side.

I met Bill at one of Dave’s dorm gatherings.  He taught me how to play Ace Face and drank me under the table with extreme prejudice. 

Ok, another thing that set Bill apart was that he was married.  Married in college?  What the fuck?  That’s like taking sand to a beach!  Well, he was married to a girl named Paula.  She was really fat.  I mean, she seemed to get fatter every time I saw her.  I referred to her a Paula the Hutt when Bill wasn’t around.  And she was as ugly inside as out.  We hated each other.

March 11, 1987 Collegian

So this one night I’m at the apartment working on homework when I heard a knock on the door.  It was Bill and Dave- both bloody, roughed up, and drunk.  As always Bill was smiling.

“What the hell happened?”  I asked.

“Got any beer?”  Bill asked back.

“Some Strohs”

“Bill decided to take on all of Sig Tau,” Dave said.  Sig Tau was right across the street from Beaver Hill.  It was the ROTC fraternity.  It was also the house that most closely resembles Delta House from “Animal House.”

I gave Bill a beer. 

“One of those squids insulted the Corps and one of my brothers,” Bill said.  “”I couldn’t let that go.”

“Bill was thrown down the stairs,” Dave said.

“Asshole frat boys won’t fight one on one like men,” Bill said.  I didn’t reply to the insult.  I figured it’d be best to let him vent. 

“Meanwhile, some guy says ‘hey ain’t you with him?’ and punches me,” Dave said.

“It was fuckin’ awesome!”  Bill said, smiling even wider, kinda like the Joker.

“Are you guys ok?”  I asked.

“My arm hurts but its nuttin,” Bill said, reaching into the fridge for another few beers.

“Are those beers yours?”  Dave asked.

“No, they’re Mark’s.

Bill handed us each a beer and opened his own. 

“What?  Whose are these?”  Bill asked.

“My roommate’s,” I said.

Bill smiled wider, if that was possible.  “Fuck him.  I buy him more.  I just won’t be buying it tonight.”

I was a little worried that I’d be stuck replacing the beer, oh well- what could I do?  Fight a drunken Bill?

“So how did they throw you down the stairs?”  I asked Bill.

“Well the fuckin’ squid was upstairs in the head and he started talking bad about the Corps.  I told him to stop and he wouldn’t!”

“Squid?”  I said.

“Navy,” Dave said.

            “So I had to correct his worldview,” Bill said.  “But those faggoty ass frat boys never fight ya man to man.  Noooo, they always gang up.  So there was like four of them and they threw me down the fuckin’ stairs.”  (This number of Sig Tau’s would increase as time went on.  By the time I graduated, Bill had been tossed by no less than ten guys.)

            I looked at Dave.

            “All I saw was him landing on his ass at the bottom of the stairs,” he said, shrugging.  “I picked him up and we beat a hasty retreat here.”

            “Where there’s beer!  Here where there’s beer!” Bill said reaching into the fridge for Mark’s last beer.  He finished three while Dave and I barely started ours.  He wiped a trickle of blood off his forehead with his right sleeve.

            “Are you sure you’re ok?”  I asked Bill.  “You seem to be favoring your left arm. 

            “Yeah.  Ain’t nothing a fucking beer can’t fix.  Semper Fi!”

            Bill chugged his beer.

            After a hefty burp, Bill asked Dave “You ready to hit some bars?”

            Dave chugged his beer, much more slowly.  He handed me the empty.  “Thanks” he said.  And off they went, leaving me holding a half drunken beer, five empties, and homework to finish.

            True to his word, Bill showed up the next day, sprained arm in a sling, and a six pack of Strohs to replace the one drunk the night before.

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