Saturday, April 25, 2009

Penn Relays...Yea, I've run those.

I'm not sure if people read Blogs on the weekend, but I'm here and awake so I'll give it a try. Plus I go hard, like taking a dump with an erection...son....uggggh.


With the world famous Penn Relays track extravaganza occurring today, I cannot help but think of my own days at the University of Pennsylvania and the various times I've attended this event. This being said, I regret to inform you that this post is not at all related to track and field, but rather my days as a Upenn Quaker (our mascot.) By the way, the old school pic of me and Al Lee in the Choate Blues...Timeless.
If I were to write a book about my first two years of College it'd be similar to a hybrid of Tucker Max's "I Hope they Serve Beer in Hell", (if you haven't read it you must), and a Black Ferris Bueler's day off. If given the chance to finally pen (no pun intend) this novel, I would entitle it "Poisoning the Ivy league: A Quaker Trying to Sow his Oats." LOL. Go ahead, laugh.

While I know that this post may get me in tons of trouble and I am in no way attempting to glorify my sexual exploits, I will say one thing about my days in the Frat and my days in W.E.B. Dubois (the predominantly Black dorm)...We've shamelessly passed girls off like batons, and yes...Penn Relays, I've run those.

While I'll be damned if I give a sh*t about what people say, I do have enough couth not to mention names or specific instances except to say that the memories were grand and i still, in the words of Lil' Wayne, "wish I could F**k every girl in the world." From the "Sigma Pi All-Stars" (girls who slept with at least four members of the frat), to everyone's favorite jumpoff, the truth is, none of these girls deserved the reputations that were bestowed upon them. From the name "eggplant" (called so for the shape of her head), to the name LSB (called so because of her resemblance to Light Skin Balls), to the collective name "Suzie rotten crotch and her morally loose friends", I feel that all these girls we're given a raw deal. Looking back at the debauchery and everyday antics which we chose to call college life, I now realize that we, the hormone crazed, intoxicated man-children are the ones who should've been called whores, sluts and "jump offs." Oh, well...it's too late for that now and all I can say is 'viva la double standard.' From this moment forward we shall be known as Track Stars...we run through these b**ches like marathons son.

If a conversation between you and your boys can begin with "remember that time we both banged so and so in the same night," and end with "or the time she was giving you dome (jargon for fellatio) as i tapped it from the back", you should be saying no homo, but can officially consider yourself a Track Star. Welcome to the club. If you can have the aforementioned conversation and end it with "in Mexico", you are officially me, and should help contribute to this Blog. You are awesome and possibly my Idol.

In an effort to at least show that my intelligence and common sense were not completely eclipsed during my relay days, I can say that although I may have run track in at least three countries (true story), I was smart enough to Usain Bolt out of there just as quick as I came (pun intended.) While you may think more or less of me now for hanging up my track spikes, I can safely say that it ain't over until the old Star Jones sings.

I made a promise that I would never bring my track shorts out again, but in doing so, realized that I suddenly became a fan of another sport...Tag team wrestling.


Church Out.


Live, Love, Chickenheads.




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