Non Existent Memory: Century Club

Some of you (those with a lot of time on your hands, no doubt) may be wondering why this post was completed prior to 9 AM. I normally don't make it a habit to be awake before the crack of 10:30 (unless the dog jumps on my head before that). Being unemployed allows me to reinforce my theory that my body is permanently set on West Coast time. Since I live on the East Coast, this is only mildly inconvenient unless I have a job that requires me to get up with the rest of the work-a-day jackasses and commute to some drab cubicle every morning. That is why I hope to embark on my tv (television, not transvestite, you sicko) career today.

I have my audition at 3 PM today, which is why I am up so early. I guess I'm kind of nervous and excited because I not only have my first real audition for anything, but I will also get to go to the glorious Discovery Channel headquarters in picturesque Silver Spring, Maryland. Notice to all: it is Silver Spring, not Silver Springs (like the Fleetwood Mac song). As preparation for the interview, they told us to think of an embarrassing story about ourselves. If someone asks me to think of an embarrassing story about myself, I am always at a bit of a loss. So much of my existence is based on trying to avoid embarrassing situations that I think I blocked many of the most embarrassing stories from my mind. Here is one I remember (or at least remember partially.)

I had just gotten into my fraternity the first month of my freshman year at college when we had our first party. Seeing as I wasn't exactly Burt Reynolds in high school, I had never been to a party with so many girls. I think the sorority there that night was SDT and the pledges (from both groups) were all locked in the basement for the first hour in order to get to know each other better. We also all had white tee shirts that we were supposed to get signed by the girls (they had the same thing). Being the smooth operator I was, I took this as an opportunity to get drunk and write on boobies without any repurcussions. Advantage: Catheter Man.

After about an hour, we all were let upstairs with our new friends (and potential sexual assault victims). It was then announced that we would be having the time-honored tradition of the Century Club. For those who don't know what this is, it means that you are supposed to take a shot of beer every minute for 100 minutes. This didn't sound too hard to me, as I was already an acomplished binge drinker, as well as a little tipsy to begin with. So the Century Club began.

The major logistical problem with the century club is that about 15-20 people would all be trying to get beer from the same keg at the same time. This would inevitably lead you to miss some of your minutes and require you to play catch up. The other problem was that being pledges, we were required to get the brothers beer whenever they wanted or face the consequences at the next line up, something I desperately wanted to avoid. So with all of these impediments to me getting beer, I made the only logical conclusion there was: start playing Century Club with the Jungle Juice.

Jungle Juice is the best and worst drink ever created. Girls like it because it tastes like Kool Aid (the red kind) and guys like it because girls don't realize that it contains Bacardi 151. I would guess that a normal person would be completely wasted after 2 glasses. I, of course, was going to drink about 80 shots of this. So I get started.

In the beginning, it went down pretty smoothely. I thought I was drunk, but it was not a big deal. Little by little, people began noticing what I was doing and gathering around me as I attempted this Knievel-worthy stunt. I remember keeping pace through 40, then 50, then 60. This was going ok. I thought, hell, if I'm this far along, I might as well see if I can finish. 75. By this point I was a train wreck, but a determined one. Like the Little Engine That Could, I just kept saying, "I think I can. I think I can." 85. Blackout.

At this point, the only reason I know what happened is because of what my friends have told me. First of all: I actually completed the Century Club with Jungle Juice. I probably deserve some kind of medal for this, but I'm not sure who the correct authorities to contact are. Second, I supposedly sat down on the stoop outside the party and told anyone who would listen that I would not go home until I got a blow job. Even if there was some girl with rock-bottom self esteem who would take me up on this offer, I'm not sure if my circulatory system was even working at that point in the night, and my wang probably would have been about as stiff as a bowl of oatmeal. Third, my new pledge brothers helped me get back to my dorm room that night and promptly deposited me on the floor (my loft was out of the question). I awoke confused, sore, and splashed with red liquid that my roommate thought was blood. However, it was just vomited-up Jungle Juice from the night before.

Luckily, I still had about 1 hour before my parents showed up for parents weekend. How proud they would have been.