Don't Fuck With The Captain

The story I am about to tell you is the Mecca of Hellacollege. This is the apotheosis of what we do. I am not kidding. If you haven't read anything here now's the time to. We officially encountered the most triflin' event of this year.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is what we do this blog for.

So it is yet another useless Saturday night (a sad trend indeed...we could be filling out scholarships and getting ahead in classes with all that free time...Ok I'll stop bullshitting.). My fratdick pals and I are at a friends house, playing beerpong, watching hockey on mute, and bumping some 90's tracks.

To add on to the hellacollegeness of our situation, we had two distinctly triflin' ass asian friends with the same names (DTD's you know who they are) passed out due to outlandish inebriation--one passed out on the couch, Old English and orange juice his conquerer, the other facing defeat in a computer chair with his hand in a pack of Chex Mix--still chewing in his sleep.

It was one of those nights where my hellacollege spideysenses were tingling. I just had this premonition that something blog worthy was coming.

It then began.

A group of people walked by outside, and things aparently took a turn for the worst...

"WHAT THE FUCK! BITCH WHAT YOU WANNA DO? I WILL FUCK YOU UP!"

We all looked in the window to see saw an antwar-like conglomeration of people in the middle of the sidewalk outside, in a huddle of drunken anger.

like 6th grade girls, we scurried to the front door for an upclose view of the drama.

The first thing I noticed when I got outside, was the pissed off soccer dad neighboor trying to be a bad ass from the safety of his lawn screaming at the kids, "CHILL THE FUCK OUT!! CALM THE FUCK DOWN!!"

The mob of chaos was standing around two guys in what I call the circle of I'm-so-tough-I-don't-need-to-fight-you-so-I'll-intimidate-you-by-aggressively-rubbing-my-shoulder-on-yours.

It looked like yet another drunken dispute.

Now in college, A fight is typically a clash of the egos; a crowd inspired slugfest with little recollection of causation--you just know the other guy did something to piss you off and he deserves an ass whopping.

But this was much different. This was personal.

As we continue to watch the drama unfold, (still no punches thrown) a dude walks up to our porch and says "you guys wanna know whats goin' on?" and begins to give us some context to this dilemma.

apparently, the guys up the street were having a little party when these assholes showed up that nowbody knew. Being the chill hosts they were, they were more than happy to accomidate to them even though they gave off an awkward vibe. Unfortunately this was a mistake, as the unknown guests went to the kitchen and stole a prized possesion--a bag of Captain Crunch.

The cereal thieves then tried to slip out of the party unnoticed, but a mob of people from the party chased after them in hot persuit.

So what we were watching was a near fist fight confrontation--over a bag of captain crunch.

***I will never be able to say that sentence again.***

Shortly after the guy told us the story, the conflict resolved with no punches thrown. The thieves were forced to apprehend their stolen possesions, and the angry mob was able to walk back with their goal accomplished, and their Captain Crunch in hand. We cheered them on like the winners of a boxing match, and they waived their bag of sugary sweetness in the air like the heavyweight title.

It was a special moment for them.

We got back inside and laughed our asses off for several moments...then there was a knock.

???

We skeptically walked to the door in a group and opened it. A pair of dashingly cantakerous black men, with du-rags and mean mugs to match, sized us up and sternly asked,

"whodaheadadahouse?" (who is the head of the house? in white language)

They thought we were the ones causing the problems and, for reasons unknown, it appeared they were ready to brawl.

these brothas wasn't playin'

We clarified the situation and told them everything that happended and before they could even leave the porch, we broke in unanimous laughter!

But that night made me think...

reflecting back to the case of the Captain Crunch Theives, I initially thought that the people were just drunk and overreacting. But after critically thinking, I was proud that they defended their rights to a good breakfast.

How dare those scandalous punks attempt to strip other college students of their most important meal? Don't they know that the only thing worse than a cereal stealer is a cereal killer? (and not by a longshot.)

I mean put it like this: studies show that a student who eats before class is more attentive, and a kid who eats a good meal before a test will get a higher score; thus, it can be logically assumed, that stealing their breakfast was not only a violation of their right to a meal, but it was also the attempted theft of their academic success.

Its times like these that I appreciate the 2nd amendment.

If a mothafucka tries to take my cereal, I'll bust a cap in his ass! I'll kick him in his balls! I'll eat is children! I'll throw his morbidly obese mama down the stairs! I'll--ok you get the sarcasm.

Bro, its just cereal. It's not your grandmothers urn or your pet dog...

If any of you guys who committed this act of cereal hyperbolization happen to come across this blog, I want to thank you for an amazing and idiotic evening. I hope you enjoyed that hard earned bowl of cereal the next morning, and I hope you all get some rational thinking counsoling.

For crying out loud, you guys were ready to brawl over some cereal.

But, as idiotic and irrational as it may seem, I suppose there is a moral of this story--

Dude, don't fuck with the Captain.

HELLAQUESTION: WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF A MOTHAFUCKA STOLE YO' FAVORITE CEREAL?

--HellaCollege--

Hella Cuisine Pt. 3

If you've been reading hellacollege, its probably pretty apparent that food is a huge part of college life. College students are like guinea pigs*. We're never sure where the next meal is going to come from, so we make it last. Sometimes, we eat until we puke (via the last post), sometimes we sacrifice our values for some grub (writing letters to some senator to some free spaghetti or signing up for a credit card for free potato salad), but we are always scheming to turn our pennies into pizza.

I'll just cut to the chase. College kids do funny things to protect their food. Today I opened my fridge to grab a delicious rockstar energy draaaankk and there was a cheez-it box.

Weird place for some cheez-its

I opened up the box and there's 4 pieces of pizza in it. I couldn't help it. WTF HELLACOLLEGEEEE.

I asked my roommate and here's the train of thought. Awesome coupon. HUGE Pizza. SMALL price. My roomie (luv u) buys the big ass pizza. He eats his fill and wants to make some more meals out of it. He writes his name on the pizza, and writes the number of slices on it as a sort of security deterrence, and sticks it in the common fridge. WATCH OUT... I can count. So next day, 2 slices gone, he's pissed. He eats another piece and decided he needs to step up his game. This box is too big for the mini fridge. HMMM. Cheez-it box. He pulls out the bag, stuffs the pizza and throws it in the fridge.

Seemed like a great idea until, seriously 2 minutes ago, he picked up the naked cheez-it bag upside down and the snack ended up all over the floor.

Anywho, way to be. Gotta be smart. Hella cuisine.

-Hellcollege

*miss u J-LO. My roommate and I used to have a guinea pig named Jennifer Lopez. She died of gluttony.

What Goes Down, Must Come Up.

A birthday for a college student is typically an excuse to have yet another "raging" house party--The only difference between a college birthday party and other parties, is that instead of having a bunch of guests you don't know come over to party; it's a bunch of guests you don't know coming over to party--for a birthday that they don't even know exsists.

So when my birthday came along on April 25, I decided that instead of celebrating a personal holiday with a bunch of strangers who wouldn't appreciate the value of it, I would just spend it with the guys, go out to eat, and hang out.

After me and my co-blogger hit a baseball game,we met up with a couple of the boys to figure out what we would eat. We were hungry; and we didn't want any pizza, dorm food, chinese, frat meals, salads, or hot pockets...we wanted something with some soul--and there is only one place in this triflin' ass city to get yo' soul on...Papa's soul food.

Ahh Papa's....the Eugene/Springflield area's flavorful blast from the "souf". I had never been there or had its food, but everybody in town told me it was "incredible..."

Now, bluntly put, I am from a black family where my grandma whips up yams, greens, mac and cheese like a pro; I know how it's supposed to taste. So when I had a bunch of white college kids, who probably grew up off of pasta and chicken nuggets, tell me that the CORNbread (for the last time people, it's pronounced CONEbread--the "R" is silent) is "wonderful" or the yams were "spectacular....it made me a bit skeptical to say the least.

I mean, how could I not have been? I had people telling me the food is "wonderful," "incredible," and "superb"--any brotha who eats soulfood professionally, knows damn well that those big ass words aint supposed to be coming to mind when you thinkin' 'bout catfish nuggets, ribs, and 'tato salad! Why you think black people describe soul food as "bomb" "the shit" or "hella good?" It's because it tastes so great, that you ain't got time to think of sensible adjectives when you attempt to explain it. The fact that proper english was used to describe their food made me uncomfortable...

But I figured it wouldn't kill me to try it, so the six of us loaded into the truck, and headed to Papa's Soulfood Kitchen.

15 minutes later we arrived...and my skeptisim rose. It was surrounded by redneck mobiles and trailer trash apartments. They said it was southern...but is it the blues and saxaphones type of southern? Or the banjo's and confederate flag type of southern? But before I tasted the food or even saw the menu my every skeptisism was cleared...

I saw old school tables with plaid tablecloths, old school show posters of many blues legends, and, most importantly, a picture of the owner...who was fat as hell!

[Sidenote: If the owner of a soul food restaurant is morbidly obese, most likely, their restaurant is the shit. The fatter the owner, the more "firsthand" experience he has with taste and the more irresistable his restaurants food is.]

I was officially excited to eat there.

We sat down, and the waiter brought us the menu, which was so innovative I cant really describe it, and offered us drinks...sweet tea or Kool-Aid.

Could it get any better?

I ordered pork ribs, yams, mac and cheese and purple Kool-Aid.

In summary, it was the shit. It was bomb. It was hella good.

We ordered boxes, made jokes about how Papa is black taxing us all because it was so damn expensive, and left.

As we got in the car, my co-blogger had stated how he felt like he was gonna throw up from eating so much. We all laughed it off, but as soon as we hit the parking lot of the house, he hopped out of the truck and hurled up one of the most epic and lengthy vomits of all time.

He didn't have enough soul for soul food.

just as I was making fun of him, for throwing up, I realized that I had to throw up too!

So there I was: on my knees and vomiting my eyes out, like many other people do on their birthday....except I didn't have a lick of alcohol.

What the hell happened? I understand one person throwing up from a meal--but two? Did we pick up the Swine Flu from the pork ribs?

Nah. We were just fat asses.

We came to the conclusion that we over ate. Him and I got so adapt to hella college cuisine, that when it came to good food--the type of meals that had entrees AND side dishes--our bellies panicked and didn't know how to react. We're pretty upset that we didnt get to digest all those fats, empty calories, carbs and oils that we call soul food. we would have loved to get that much closer to obesity and heart failure.

But we look on the brightside...not only was Papa's good going down, but, we can both attest, it was just as good coming up.

We got two meals for the price of one...whats more thrifty than that?

Hellacollege.