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Every year Spring Break comes around to remind us of how much fun we are not having on a regular basis. The Monday following Spring Break was one of the most miserable days of my life, but I am comforted in the fact that everyone else had a crappy day as well. Well, in honor of my new dark and leathery skin, I’m going to start off this Spring Break review with all the reasons why getting a tan is stupid:
1) My skin is eroding away and I look like I have diseased shoulders
2) I don’t recognize myself in the mirror
3) My skin feels thin, weak, and wrinkly; paper cuts stay open for days now
4) People ask me about my tan as if I want to talk about it, but when I lash out about how I hate my tan, they think I’m an angry person.
Moving on.
You can sum up our spring break trip into three main aspects: Beach Volleyball, food, and shamelessly hitting on chicks.
Beach Volleyball was about as good at is got at the beach this year. Of course, me and my 4 teammates continually dominated all who opposed, and constantly reiterated that fact verbally. Then along comes freakin’ Biff McChiggins to ruin everything. He was one of those guys who is way too competitive in everything he does. He was tall, I’ll give him that, but he hit like a sissy. Before EVERY SINGLE SERVE he’d say “Guys… GUYS! Set me up and I’ll spike it!” The first few times we did, and then he’d gently pooch it over the net, allowing them to prepare for a ferocious slam against us. And in between each of the points, Biff would flex his tricep and try his best to lean his head around his arm in order to get a better look at it. I couldn’t stand this guy. Then after two games with him, he leaves to go wax his chest or something, and a couple of lovely young ladies come along and want to join, we immediately accept them onto our team. “We don’t know how to play” they say, but we couldn’t care less about their Volleyball talents. We are about to start a new game when suddenly freakin’ Biff McDungdaddy comes back and he isn’t happy. We tell him that he can rotate in, and he does so. The girls mess up a few plays, but no one cares except for freakin’ Biff McSpangledunk who practically runs the girls off the court. That’s the only Volleyball story I could scrounge up.
The first night that we went out to eat, we went to some place called Pootster’s or something, I forgot the name (go ahead Wilson, get mad). And we wait for an hour, then get seated and then wait for another hour before getting what was one of the best meals I have had in DAYS! Anyways, while we were waiting, one of us spots Brandon Cox. We were within 25 feet of sheer greatness. And most people know not to stare, but I’m not most people. I watch his every move. He gets up to go to the restroom and I think “Here’s my chance!” I go for the door and it’s locked. Well crap, it’s a single bathroom. Well there went my plan for an awkward restroom conversation. So I stand casually outside as if I was next in line. Brandon Cox comes out, looks me in the eye and says “Holy crap, you’re Ryan Stephens! One of the writers for the Auburner! I read everything you write! Please take a picture with me!” To which I simply reply, “You’re alright too, I guess.”
Okay, here’s what really happened. Brandon Cox spots me very quickly, but acts like he didn’t. I didn’t actually see him seeing me, but I do know that that guy has 360° of vision. He sees everything. He can pick out a 190 wide receiver from 40 yards away when he is surrounded by 300 pound linemen and there are 80,000 fans surrounding him at all times. I know he saw me, and I was grinning from ear to ear, which without a doubt creeped him out. It’s a good thing too, though. If he had stopped to talk to me, he would have sacrificed his immortality by conversing with a puny human such as myself. Good judgment Brandon Cox.
Now let’s talk about hitting on chicks. There were five of us: Wilson, Egon, Clauson, Craigurd, and me. Each of us has our own styles of picking up the ladies. And it goes as such:
Wilson: He has two key methods of creating conversation with chicks, one is to throw a volleyball at them while they are unsuspectingly walking along the beach. This only worked once when he misfired and hit a middle-aged trio of women. It turns out one was a former volleyball player and she asked if he wanted to hit the ball around for a while. Obviously, Wilson accepted and the rest is history. Another one of his methods is to threaten to “form tackle” her, which he admitted to us that he doesn’t even know what that is. He would yell “I’m gunna form tackle yuh!” and then backpedal about 10 yards and then start charging after them, making them scream, but he’d never actually hit them. What a sweetie. Later, while we were sitting at a table with some ladies, he tried the same stunt, launching over the table and onto the unsuspecting victim whom we called “Giggles”. (Named after the clown at Pootster’s).
Egon: Egon had a girlfriend so the only people he talked to were all the bassists of every band we saw, and us.
Clauson: An odd technique. He finds a girl that is already seemingly attached to a guy and then talks to the guy until he is driven away, leaving the lady all in her lonesome, to which Clauson is extremely ready to comfort.
Craigurd: Craigurd’s technique is stupid and ineffective. He simply walks up to girls and starts talking to them. One time he tried that, and was actually doing pretty well, but then another guy comes up and attempts to divide the attention of the chick. I was carefully watching from across the room and then I did what had to be the coolest thing I have ever done. I decided I was going to be a good wingman and drive off the other guy. I call this move the “Rooster Reject”. I walked over there, put my arm around the guy, forcibly turn him the other way and say “Hey man, what’s going on?” To which he immediately responds “Dude, who are you?” At a loss for words I respond “What uhhhh, what are you guys doing here? Spring Break?” He thinks for a second “Seriously dude, who the %$#& are you!” Then I kind of stand there until he went away, easily the most awkward moment of my life, but I got the job done. Craigurd needed the help, his techniques aren’t efficient enough.
Ryan: For some reason, I put a whole lot of pressure on my ability to think quickly and be witty. I have never been known for either. I just say the first thing that pops into my head, which never EVER works. There were some ladies on the beach trying to do cartwheels, none of them were quite able to do it right. I saw the opportunity and attacked. I walk up to them and say, “Do you know what we call people like you where I come from? FAKERS!” None of them took this nicely. Not only was that simply the dumbest thing for anyone to say to a group of girls he’s never met, but to make things worse, they thought I said something else that sounds like “fakers”. For all they knew I just launched an F-Bomb at them and then smiled content with myself. They kindly asked for me to leave, which I did. Wilson, being a good pal as always, stood up for me and said “Don’t be mad, he’s just a dumb idiot with no social skills. He doesn’t know what he says most of the time”.
One time I got into a hot tub, waited about 5 seconds and then yelled “Oh Crap!” and then hopped out and then proceeded to take out my recently destroyed cell phone and wallet out of my trunks. For some odd reason, one of the chicks in the hot tub took the liberty to dismantle my phone and spread it all across the ground. Which gave two ideas: 1) Maybe I shouldn’t sit in the freakin’ hot tub with my cell phone in my pocket (It is completely ruined by the way) and 2) Maybe I should bring a decoy phone along and use it as a sympathy tool for when I “accidentally” get in the hot tub with it. It’s so stupid it HAS to work!
So now we come back from Spring Break worn out and tired, and Wilson checks the Auburner only to find out that it is being automatically redirected to r*llt*de.com. I was furious. I wrote Mark a long letter about how bammers can’t defend their quarterback so they pathetically attack an auburn-run website, and how I was going to personally attack all of the bammers in a very violently written article. I didn’t know it was April Fool’s, let alone what day or month it was. I still might write that article though. I don’t need any justification to bash some daggum bammers! Boy I tell you what!
WAR EAGLE!
ryan can be contacted at ryan@theauburner.com
ryan's 2005 spring break review can be found here.
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