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.

Always Smooth

So cheap beer is a beast all its own. The taste: anywhere from watery to bitter, tangy to tainted. Cheap beer comes in all shapes, sizes, packages, and shelf-lives. Some try to position their product as dirt cheap and plain, while others try to pass off as the cheaper version of nice beers. Some are filling, some have horrible aftertastes, some are actually pretty good. Probably the reason we at hellacollege love cheap beer so much is because its what we've been drinking since we got the nerves to ask the random dude outside rite-aid to get us some booze in high school.

I will say for one, the reason love cheap beer is NOT because the marketing. Yesterday I got a 30-bomb (rack, case, boat, what have you) of Keystone light and i noticed something weird about the case insert. It's part of a marketing campaign called, "Always Smooth" They put a slogan in the middle of the case explaining a sort of unsmooth situation. It then says, "Key Light, always smooth. Even when you're not". At first we laughed...

"Bagged a six-point buck. (With your bumper)." Oh haha yeah reeeealll smooth.

Wait... is that talking about driving in the alcohol box?

It took me 10 beers to be able to pull this out of the box. Kinda like the toy half way through the cereal. Are they describing a drunken driving mishap involving some beautiful wildlife? Whatttt the effffff. This is messed up. I looked further into the campaign online and found some more slogans.

SHE CALLED YOU AT HOME (YOUR MOTHER ANSWERED)

If that isn't encouraging underage drinking I don't know what is.

GOT OUT OF A TICKET (BY CRYING)

Being a drunk emotional asshole getting out of a DUI. Way to go key light

GOT TO WORK EARLY (ON A HOLIDAY)

Real alcoholics here. Drunk at work.

HELD OPEN THE DOOR (INTO ONCOMING TRAFFIC)

At least this douche bag never made it into traffic. If he's that drunk imagine what damage he could have done with his Chevy Silverado.

THE RESULTS CAME BACK NEGATIVE (ON YOUR DRIVING EXAM)

Now thats just dumb. Underage drinking and drunk driving.

MET A GIRL ONLINE (HE'S THIRTY-SEVEN)

Hella homophobic and heteronormative and ish. WTF. This also implies the reader is drinking at home, alone, scouring the internet. CMON!

WENT HUNTING (BAGGED A DECOY)

Now guns and alcohol have to be the worst idea ever.

Anyway. I like cheap beer. I drink key light, but come on. This has to be the worst campaign ever for a beer company. Seems funny at first. Definitely is not. Stop encouraging underage, alcoholic, irresponsible beer. Start positioning your product as the beer thats cheap as dirt, gets ya drunk, and goes down well for binge drinking games. I'll be graduating in a year with a marketing degree. Feel free to hire me.

Hella College.

Lazy Bloggers

So Tyree and I have been horrible bloggers lately. I've even pretty lazy on tweeting, the diet zero carb grandchild of blogging. Its not that our lives havn't been hellacollege, or that we don't love yall, its just that Spring Term is a beautiful siren of a beast. We're constantly lured into the pollen-allergy-sun-burning-homework-ignoring "great outdoors" by the foreign sun we havn't seen for 6 months. You know you're procrastinating when you put off what you usually spend time procrastinating with.

What I'm trying to say is i'm sorry. Instead of spending time blogging, we've been playing frisbee, tanning on the roof (though no color to show for it), and drinking "hard" slurpees. We've been half-assed tweeting because softball games and 1$ microbrews are just too hard to pass up.

Anyway, I have 45 minutes till my next class, and I'm gonna go outside. Who knows how long this will last up here in Oregon. HOWEVER. Don't fall off the face of the earth, lots of exciting things in the works. Watch out for the hellacollege cam snapping pictures and hellacollegeTV's debut in a few weeks. In the meantime, enjoy that sun, but for pete's sake go to class. If you stare out the window long enough, the professor will let class out early.

Much Love,

hellacollege

Hella Golf

I've always been an antifan of golf. I could probably think of a million better things to watch than 85 year olds dressing like they lost a bet, bashing around a poor little dimpled ball with a club (ok when described like that it sounds pretty damn amusing). The problem with golf is that its so damn conservative and snooty--and boring. perhaps thats why so many upperclass Americans enjoy it...

However, it is a good thing to watch when you wanna make fun of some suckas plaid shorts, don't want to wear your eyes out following around a bunch of men scurrying up and down a court, or if you just need something to lull you to bed. Yesterday after school, I kinda wanted to do all 3.

As I'm watching the golfers waltz up and down the green and semi dozing off, my roommate (probably the most hellacollege person I know) comes down stairs, and we begin poking fun at how old they are. I then go on a rant about how I think golf is completely boring and lame. He surprises me with his response:

Roommate:"yeah but I love that shit."

Me:"you love this shit?"

R:"yeah, I like to play but not to watch"

M:"hmm...that's weird."

R:"but I didn't look like that when I was out there."

M:"No?"

R: "I used to have dubees and 40's when I hit the green."

M: "what?"

R: Yeah man! whats better than getting out of school on a sunny day, and teeing off with a dubee?"

Guess I couldn't challenge his logic.

you know, revolutionizing golf wouldn't be a bad thought--my roomate is a pioneer! his style of play could attract millions of younger viewers and angry mothers! this would be a reinvention of golf! Hell, if they started getting faded during the PGA tour, I wouldn't miss a second of it! This gave me an idea of how I would hellacollege baptize professional golf...

If hellacollege ran the PGA...

1) The goddamn scoring system would make more sense. none of that negitive is positive shit, none of those birdies, eagles, doves, geese and any other nicknames they have.

2) Caddies would have at least a C cup.

3) Intoxication of some sort would be recommended.

4) Steroids would be mandatory.

5) Instead of a green jacket, the winner would recieve a fine bag of green and a pair of nikes.

6) I'm tired of the big green country club bullshit, lets take it to the skreetz! golf would be played in the New York City projects; imagine how much more valuable it would be to get a hole in one--while Deshawn is shooting his pistol at you.

7) Instead of FOUR!! everyone would yell out MOVE BITCH!!!!

8) Dress code wouldn't be enforced.

9) Games would not be cancelled or delayed due to bad weather.

10) And most importantly, it would be come a full contact sport.

Although these changes will NEVER happen (they're a little dangerous...and illegal), I still dream of the day where I'd hit the course and ask my big breasted caddy what should I use in this situation and she replies:

"a 9 iron and a dimesack."

Hellacollege.

Marco! Polo!

So its spring term now. That means the weekend starts on tuesday. Last night I was minding my own business, doing some business statistics in my second-floor room when I heard some yelling outside. 

MARCO! Polo! MARCO! Polo! MARCO! POLO! MARCO! POLO!

It took me a second to figure to figure out what was happening, but two groups of drunk ass girls were using an instinctual hellacollege skill to locate their friends. 

Everyone remembers the old pool game of marco polo. The game where all the big kids swim around taunting you while you flap around the deep end of the pool barely keeping your head above the water. The worst part was even when you tried to cheat by opening your eyes, the chlorine stung your eyes. At the end of the day, the cheaters always needed some clear eyes. 

I think the old Venetian explorer who traveled the Silk road to trade in china would be proud to know that his years of master trade, authorship, and mingling with Kubali Khan have been reduced to letting your friends know which apartment the beer pong table is in 

Hellacollege ladies! Way to go.