Just in case. If we ever say something stupid, please note that said stupidity is ours, and ours alone. Our stupidity! You can’t have it!
//Friday, September 18, 2009 3:23 AM
Archielot
I remember being seven and walking around in my diapers (toilet training took a while) and holding a Betty and Veronica double digest in my greasy baby hands. In those days (the underrated 1980S), the double digest was a true behemoth, unlike the skinny, insubstantial comic they publish under the double digest label these days.
So imagine my utter surprise when this happened:
Why in the world would Archie want to marry Veronica? Yes, this is absolutely true. It happened in issue 600. Archibald Andrews proposed to Veronica Lodge. They are getting married. I am shocked, confused, and feeling somewhat robbed of my childhood. What about Betty? Is Jughead getting married to Ethel next? Is Moose going to beat Midge to an uninterested intellectual pulp? Is Dilton Doiley really straight?
Seeing as to how I am really a lot more used to the kind of situation below, let's hope this new story line is only fleeting:
Sometimes your ideas make you appear brilliant, other times you wonder if you should have just kept your mouth shut. When it comes to drinking games, I'm proud to say i know enough, but sometimes, even i surprise myself.
So i received a call last night just as i was settling down in the lecture hall. Not wanting to disrupt the professor's incessant praises about Breadtalk (Sometimes i wonder if he has a share in the business), i decided to reject the call.
A missed call alert appeared instantaneously on my home screen, i clicked on it to find that the caller was Denny. On a Tuesday night at 7.30pm, it could only mean one thing. I asked him via SMS where the party was at and made plans to drop by Acid Bar after classes.
By mid-break, my brows were twitching and i was getting restless, i couldn't stop my legs from shaking and everything the professor said reminds me of alcohol.
Prof: Strategic Leadership is the ability to anticipate, envision, maintain flexibility... My Brain: Oh.. like having the foresight to know which club is happening.
Prof: Strategic Leadership needs to understand and manipulate human behavior... My Brain: Oh.. Knowing how much someone can drink before puking.
Prof: Strategic Leaders seek corrective feedback from others... My Brain: Ok guys, Chivas or Vodka?
Prof: Strategic Leaders make candid, courageous and pragmatic decisions... My Brain: Ok guys, come 5-10 now!
As the lecture drew on, i felt time slowing down to a steady creep, the ticking of the second hand on my watch seems to be taunting me. I tried not to look at my watch for 30 mins to divert my attention. I tried taking down notes, but the lecturer was hopeless, i could understand the subject better from reading the textbook.
The lecturer gave some examples which didn't seem to make sense. I fight the urge to look at my watch. Someone dropped his pencil case on the aisle, i run to pick it up for him. I fight the urge to look at my watch. I discuss our group assignment with my mates. I fight the urge to look at my watch. I flip through the textbook reading the case studies. I fight the urge to look at my watch.
OK its been a long time since i last looked at my watch. It must have at least been 30 mins. I fight the urge to look at my watch. It should be fine come on just a glance. I fight the urge to look at my watch. Ok ok just a glance.
"FUCK ONLY 5 MINS!!"
I slumped back into my seat in pure desolation. Then the words of the Messiah sounded from beside me.
Mate: Fuck this lecturer, im going home to read on my own... Me: Yay, me too, this lecturer sucks! (Secretly high-five'd myself)
I got back into my car and raced down towards Acid Bar, ignoring traffic rules and weaving through slow traffic reaching Cairnhill from Clementi in 13 mins flat. If Bernie Ecclestone had seen me drive, i would be the first choice to replace Felipe Massa in the Ferrari F1 team.
I arrived to find Justin, Cynthia, Chloe, Denny and Ben chilling on the sofa with half a bottle of Vodka remaining. The first glass of Vodka, eased the twitching in my brows, the second shot, stopped the quivering in my legs, the third shot, lifted my spirits, i realised if i went on, i would have a cure for cancer.
Understandably, half a bottle wouldn't last long with us. In no time at all, we were left with an empty bottle of Vodka as we slumped reeling in the excitement of drinking games. Then an idea hit me like a freight train, i look back on this and torture my brains for coming up with games like that.
Since the bottle was gone, drinking games lost its appeal. However if we substituted the forfeit to something funny, something painful the excitement would instantly multiply itself by 55. The bottle was gone and the mixers too, so what we have left is the bucket of ice with some water created through a weird process called melting.
So essentially, we can continue playing 5-10 with the 6 of us but now the loser will have to dunk his entire hand in the bucket of ice until a new loser could be found thereby relieving the previous loser of his misery. GENIUS!
My idea met with disgust from the guys, but they were still willing to give it a shot.
I didnt lose the first few rounds but Cynthia had her hand in the bucket for at least 5 rounds without anyone else losing. Because i haven't dipped my hands in the bucket i did not understand the suffering they were going through and everything was funny.
Next round, i lost, when Cynthia removed her hands it was all red and numb, i realised this wasn't funny anymore. With bravado and some cheering, i dunked my hands deep into the icy water to find myself trapped in an icy cavern of glacial scale.
Pain shot through my arm as soon as my hand touched the water. I felt my skin contracting around my bones and my blood slowly crystallizing. The blood crystals seem to be firing away in ridiculuous fashion spreading their way at breakneck speeds up the sleeves of my shirt allowing my shoulders to share the pain that is lost to my numbing fist and the next round hasn't even started yet.
I begged the guys to call the next number and prayed someone else lost. My hand must have been in the bucket for 3 rounds before Ben lost. I quickly retrieved my hand and laughed menacingly at Ben.
Me: HAHAHAHAHA YOU'RE FUCKED!!
By the time i removed my hand, i had lost all feeling in all my fingers and my hand no longer feels like it belongs to me.
