Nation, today's shout out goes... out to not only one of my good friends from last year in the dormitory known as Gaige Hall. But a flatmate of mine next year in good old 905 Brookwood.

Ladies and Gentlemen... I give you Bob Pryor.



This picture is taken at the turning point of Bob's life as most people know it.

What he is holding there is the first of many bad decisions we have made that we look back on now and smile about. AKA: The Red Hot Reindeer. Which is, 2/3 Frank's Red Hot Sauce and 1/3 Jagermeister.

However, the real story behind Bob Pryor's birth is this.

As you may or may not know, I used to smoke like a chimney. I've cut back now, simply because of this.

One day, I was on the stoop of Gaige. Smoking. When I noticed a lump on my arm, it was rather large and looked pretty fucking malignant, so I took a knife to it, and lopped it off. It fell to the ground with a splat, so I decided to piss on it. I did so, turned around, and when I turned back this is what I saw:



My first instinct was to take the knife to it, but it quickly said "let's drink". So I started calling it Bob, and to hide the fact that I was it's father we made up a story about Richard Pryor being his dad.

ANYWAY.

We've been friends ever since.

Here are some stories about Bob and I.

We once belted "Springtime for Hitler" throughout the halls of Gaige 2C right before winter break started, only to find out the only person left was Lee. Who happens to be Jewish. No big deal... but then again, his parents were there too.

We sat in his room one night, and learned all of the words (IN FUCKING RUSSIAN) to The Hymn for Red October. And haven't stopped singing it since.

Bob had sex to the same song, even stopping momentarily to start the song over again.

We had a competition about how many epic songs we could hook up with girls to. So far we each have one. Bob has Red October, I have Jurassic Park.

I once told Bob to watch over a friend of mine who happened to be female while we were drinking one night. And when I passed out, they ended up making out for the rest of the night.

Bob brought Airsoft guns into our lives. Simultaneously one of the best and worst decisions ever made.

No matter what time of day it was I could walk by Bob's room and yell "SUIT UP, BITCH!" and he'd meet me on the stoop for a cigarette.

Bob once scissor-kicked Angela Landsbury.

One time Bob left me for dead at a party and I made a huuuuge mistake... manufactured by Black and Decker, this mistake.

We are two people who within one year at Millersville were able to walk into any party and at least five people at the party would scream our full name, and at that point, it was possible to get a cup for free.

One time, Bob and I went to a Power Hour. Before we went we finished three quarters of a bottle of 99 Apples, then went and drank a 40 each before switching to some mystery mixed drink that was prepared for us for the last 20 minutes of the aforementioned Power Hour. I went into the house, vomited, and passed out. I woke up ten minutes later to Bob slapping me. I went, threw up again, came back out to the living room and Bob was passed out on the couch. We left the house at 7:30 PM. And were sober for the rest of the night.

Bob once drank so much that the next morning he climbed into a sleeping bag, zipped it up around his body and called it his womb. He stayed in the womb for the remainder of the day.

Bob and I ran around the World of Warcraft slaying innocent creatures for two months before we got bored of it and quit.

Bob and I were so drunk one night that we had our other future flatmate Kirk drive us home in my car. I rode shotgun, Bob rode in the trunk. Voluntarily.

Bob and I shared an entire bottle of SoCo 100 Proof one night, and by the time we were done were speaking to each other in accents and toasting each shot to something deep and spiritually touching... surrounded by people who were sober.

Bob dates out of his league.

Bob and I have sworn off of 99 Berries because we finished a bottle of it, went downstairs, and Bob got an underage for ... just sitting there, pretty much.

Bob, who owns "America The Book" downloaded the audio book on iTunes and we spent a week listening to it in his room.

Bob and I once drove to Vegas on a psychedellic journey of self-discovery and havoc that Hunter S. Thompson (RIP) turned into Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

Bob's nickname in his fraternity... is Stalin. I shit you not.




Ladies and Gentlemen. Bob is my greatest creation. He will die for your sins one day, mark my words.

There are so many more. But frankly, I am too exhausted to remember.

Enjoy.

Love,
Chris

u like cowboy beepop?
» renaye on 2007-04-07 11:38:02

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