by King Brody
There once was a man named Charlie,
Drinking he was good at hardly.
Living in Mass, he once taught a class,
But now he imbibes like an ass.
October had started with nary a noise,
But lately these pills had challenged my poise.
And watching "The Hills" all alone under covers
Caused all of my friends (even his brothers!)
To call out loudly to all of our lovers:
"This guy on this blog has one giant schlong!
Hey Michigan guy, pass me that bong!"
Atomic attacks, there have been two. Too many? I say no. For tonight in Smithtown a third should have been ordered. Like a missing cover letter from an Epsco application, a nuclear warhead failed to land at Ants Marching's (a DMB tribute band) latest performance. Electric issues aside, this sonic abortion rendered all in attendance deaf with rage, especially those of us attempting to watch four college football games and USA v. Honduras highlights on ESPN News HD. Imagine a Kappa Sig party but with more baseball hats and yeast infections. I tried to watch SNL with no audio, something I attempted 8 years earlier at an adjacent bar, but Drew made me question my universal attraction to females. This time she wasn't fake-marrying Tom Green, instead she was Justin-not Jake-(Long)-carrying a vomit show.
Back to the games: The Buffalo's will soldier on after this week, the Rebels (Ole Miss) are without a cause, and fuck you BC, VA Tech just spanked you INSIDE your ass! Alabama? You're not that good. At all. You are a 1990's NFC East team without an all-time great back or Lawrence Taylor.
Tebow won't win the Heisman, but his boy JC will: Jimmy Clausen.
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