Where did you go to school if I may ask? Just wondering if this is one incredible coincidence!
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A Jesusfied sig: Next time I covet thine opinion, I’ll ask for it!
UVM, evilbeth. And it was last year. Why?
I’d retell my story, but it’d take a while…it’s here, in MPSIMS, in a ‘prank’ thread somewhere.
A fella named Neil Steinberg wrote a great book about college pranks called If At All Possible, Involve A Cow that’s just hilarious. It’s out of print, but you should still be able to find it in bookstores.
A Wop Toga party. Something kindda crazy happens when you drink fruit and Vodka wearing only a bed sheet.
“Clatu, Verrata…nector?..neck-tie?”
I don’t know if this constitutes wacky, but it sure was funny at the time.
The following story is true. The names have been suppressed to protect the innocent…and the clueless.
The time was the mid-'80s. The place was a hick town attached to a major university. The parties involved were myself, my girlfriend, and a female individual I will refer to only as “P.” No, this is not what you’re thinking–I have one of THOSE stories too, but I’m not gonna tell it. This is not a sex story as such. (Oh, stop booing.)
It was summer, and classes were over. I was 21 at the time; my girlfriend was 18. P was 22, and had already graduated. She was in something of a strange position–she was the University’s Student Trustee, a full voting member of the Board of Trustees appointed by the Governor to represent the student body, but for the moment she wasn’t technically connected with the University. She had decided to take the medical school admissions tests–the MCATs the med school equivalent of the SATs–with an eye to going to the University’s medical school. She had to be in town for several days to get her transcripts together or something, and she’d been a dorm student–she had no place to stay. She ended up sleeping on my floor, as did a number of people over the years–graduates had a tendency to keep coming back to the place.
My girlfriend and I lived in a furnished efficiency (one room) apartment–not big, but close to campus and reasonably priced. There were two single beds in the place, and the setup dictated that they be separate–it wouldn’t have worked well, otherwise. That was fine; my girlfriend and I usually did whatever we did in one bed or the other, and then slept separately. There was sufficient floorspace for a guest or two. Visitors ALWAYS slept on the floor–if word got around that you could show up and get a bed, I would have had as much business as a motel. I made the rule and stuck to it–anybody who didn’t like it was free to go elsewhere. (One of my nicknames was “the son of a bitch.” Not A son of a bitch, THE son of a bitch. Nice guy like me–go figure.)
Anyway, P moved in and occupied the floor for about a week. She was what I sometimes called “a flaming Catholic”–very religious, and very naive. Our beds were separate, but most people would have figured out that my girlfriend and I could get around that. Not P, though–I suspect it never crossed her mind. And we didn’t do anything overt in P’s presense, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. P had never had a boyfriend, and had certainly never done THAT. If forced to bet on her fate back then, I’d have gone with her becoming a nun.
On the fourth day of P’s stay I had to go out of town for a meeting that evening; my girlfriend went with me just for something to do. P had a key to the apartment, so we went our way and she went hers. I had expected to be back by 11:30 that night, but the meeting took longer than I thought. Then, on the way back, I had the sudden urge to try a new route–a fine idea, except I got lost and went in a wide circle that took me back to where I started. It was almost 2:00 AM when we finally made it to the apartment. P was sleeping on my bed, but she woke when we came in. I told her to stay put–I’d take the floor–but she insisted on moving. My vague sense of guilt was overridden by my sense of astonishment–P had apparently packed her own fitted bedsheet, and had put it on top of the sheet that was already on the bed. I asked her why as she took it off, and she mumbled something I didn’t catch–she was still mostly asleep. I wondered if maybe she had a bedwetting problem, but dismissed the thought–she’d been sleeping beside me on the floor for three days, so I would have noticed. I decided she must think I didn’t change my sheets more than every six months or so–which wasn’t true; those sheets were changed every three months whether they needed it or not. Then I forgot about it and went to sleep.
The next night P was occupying my girlfriend’s bed, with MCAT application forms and related junk strewn all over. My girlfriend was tired, so she commandeered my bed. When P finally put her stuff away, I just took my girlfriend’s bed–who slept in which didn’t matter to us. I wasn’t tired enough to sleep, so I got a deck of cards and played solitare. (Some of you will remember the days when solitare required a 99-cent deck of cards rather than a thousand-buck computer.) My girlfriend and P were next to each other this night, and they were talking softly–girl talk, I assumed. I didn’t really pay much attention, even when I heard P say “Aren’t you scared?” My girlfriend said “Huh?” or something to that effect; P said something back which I didn’t catch.
But my girlfriend’s reply got my attention. In an incredulous voice, she exclaimed “P! You can’t get pregnant that way!” At that moment the pieces of the puzzle all dropped into place–P was afraid of lying on a bed in which a male had slept…for fear of renegade sperm. THAT’S why she covered up my bedclothes–it was a bed condom! The Student Trustee…college graduate…22 years old…filling out applications so she could go to MEDICAL SCHOOL…I started laughing, and I couldn’t stop for nearly 10 minutes.
It turned out P had some interesting ideas vis a vis male reproductive excretions. For one thing, she thought us guys often left pools of the stuff lying around on our beds–there it would sink in and wait, possibly for days. She also thought some of the little buggers could JUMP–bide their time, launch themselves at the nearest feminine opening, and slip in around the unsuspecting victim’s panties to create havoc. She really and truely believed these things, did P–she was honestly surprised to be told otherwise. Maybe she believed us, and maybe she didn’t.
I have always seen myself as a nice, compasionate guy…but some things just can’t be kept to yourself. I told everybody who knew her…then I started telling people who didn’t know her…and then I told complete strangers. They in turn told others, and the story spread quite aways–P and the lurking intercontinental ballistic sperm. It’s at least possible someone reading this will already know the tale–if they were at that university at the right time, they might have heard it. Or a version of it–stories get distorted in the retelling. But my version is completely accurate and true. I was there…and I couldn’t forget if if I had to.
About a year and a half after the incident in my apartment I was at a New Years party with P. Her attitudes and beliefs had undergone a change. She sat on my lap with nothing more than our clothes and underwear between us–no more that six layers, maybe as few as four. She did not get pregnant. (I assume someone would have told me if she had.)
P did not go to medical school, thank goodness–I always had a vision of her trying to check a patient’s four bodily humors or something. She went to graduate school, and then she went to law school–she became a lawyer. (There must be some pithy comment to make about that, but I can’t think of one at the moment.) Last I heard of her, she was married and had a baby. I assume the child was conceived without the aid of jumping jizz…but even if I knew her anymore, I wouldn’t know how to phrase the question to find out.
MysterEcks, that was hilarious! And I really appreciate your storytelling style!
If the fate of this post is any indication, MPSIMS led a fairly tame college experience.
But then, who am I to talk? I’m on the internet, begging others to share their stories because I don’t have any of my own…
Pardon me while I cry into my Vodka…
*A doctor can bury his mistakes but an architect can only advise his client to plant vines. - Frank Lloyd Wright
*
Tame, eh? Hah. Now that you’ve got my dander up, I’ll have to come across.
My problem is that my entire college experience was wacky; it’s difficult to isolate incidents.
There was the all-night LSD party, which was held in the sound booth (it was a large sound booth, holding about thirty participants) of the college radio station. We broadcast live all night, with poetry readings, spontaneous musical improv, etc.
There was the time our buddy in the graduate school took over an entire building for a performance art event. We all had parts to play…one guy sat in a closet and recited a line from Beckett whenever anyone opened the door (he got bored fast). There was a room of coin spinners, I recall. Dave Brubeck’s son (forgot his name, we weren’t all that close) sat in one room playing the cello. I was stationed on a staircase landing…my job was tuba-playing.
We also were strong believers in getting on the tops of things. There was an abandoned observatory on top of one building, which was a nice place to crawl up the outside of the dome and look at the stars while stoned. The most ambitious event was one night when four of us got on top of the library, which was a 25-story structure…it involved stealing ladders and some rock-climbing-type activity up the mock-Gothic butresses. I’m amazed we got out of that one alive.
Oh, one VERY nice thing…the gate-key I was issued as a freshman turned out to be a skeleton key…I could open most of the doors on campus with it. It goes without saying that I pretended to have lost it when called upon to turn it in at the end of the year, so I held onto it for all four.
Uke
Let’s see. My pranks were fairly boring since I lived off campus my entire college carreer. However, I started a papering campaing where a small group of my friends would cover every sleeping person in the hallways, cafeterias, etc with “bum blankets” aka newspapers. 
It was funniest after they woke up and about 50 sheets of newspapers shifted. They knew they were got by that time. We all laughed.
HUGS!
Sqrl
Ike, you bring to mind an event I had sort of fogottne about.
My senior year in college I lived across the street from the Art School. Late one night, after determning just how much pot I could smoke before paralysis set in, I looked out of my window and saw a number of folks rappelling (sp?) off the roof of the Art School and into an open window. Never could figure out what they were doing (it was Spring, so they may have been trying to finish up their respective Mona Lisas) and obviously couldn’t call the campus police (“Hello, I’d like to report some people climbing down a wall of the Art Schoo. What? No, I’m not drunk…I’m high. Click.”) College, how I miss it sometimes.
Craziest hijinx at my school…
ZOO Bucks:
a game, played only with those at my residence, 1252 of us, at an undisclosed location until the actual night when cards are slipped underneath every door by unknown people. This year it was at The Drink.
(this used to be done by res’s student council, before it went underground).
Now, all sophs(kinda like RA’s but not paid, we all do it voluntarily) are sugar mommas’s and sugar daddies, we get Zoo Bucks(they are like Monopoly $$ but in our res colours, red, yellow, green).
The object of the game is to get as many zoo bucks as possible, who ever has the most at the end of the night gets the prize-this years was a 27" TV You can pool your $$ together to win too.
The fun part is what you have to do for the $$ All the sophs go up to frosh and tell them what they have to do for the $$ many people leave with no underwear…
This year one girl did a lap dance for free and a bj for 4 zoo bucks. She got kicked out.
But there’s lots of stories like that.
5 yrs ago when this game started 4 girls got pregant.
I only kissed my friend Krysta for 25 bucks.
Good times had by all, and I’m not finished school yet, and I’m at the same res next year.
When he was ready, it was already far too late, to go back.
There will never be another.
He is lost to me, as surely as if he had died.
Standing alone, I stare into the flames trying
to remember what went wrong.
Thanks, Breckinshire. It’s nice to be appreciated.
Now I feel warm and fuzzy all over…oh hell, my beard’s on fire…
My friend’s boyfriend lived in a co-op and didn’t wash his laundry all semester. The clothes in his room were knee high (as were the booze bottles); and we won’t even talk about the smell in there.
After a wild party at the above mentioned co-op one night, my inebriated friends dropped me off at my dorm with another friend. We lived in a women’s dorm that was one of four that formed a quad. The freshman dorm (Littlefield) could be accessed after hours only by checking in through Andrews and then walking through the quad and waiting until the attendant buzzed you in. Anyway, we show up completely wasted. I think my friend, V, passed out on the floor. The whole scene is still very hazy, as I was so drunk I could hardly see. I do remember puking in the middle of the entrance to Andrews - I couldn’t make it to the bathroom - hell, I don’t think I could have found the bathroom!
I had one hell of a hangover and had to go to an alcohol abuse counseling session. I also rearranged all of the furniture in my dorm room that day.
Another time, 6 of us piled into V’s volvo and headed across the border to Mexico. We got trashed and drove back that night. Sometime around 4am in some tiny town, M’s boyfriend (the one that never did laundry) puked in front of a convenience store because the clerk wouldn’t let him in to use the bathroom. She called the police, but we left before they arrived. M’s boyfriend was a big, bald, earring-sporting, heavily tattooed guy (in the days before that look was common).
My roommate’s friend stuck his head in the elevator doors imitating ol’ Arnold. He had to get stitches. That same guy and his EE friends, poured saline solution down the coke machines in his dorm so they could get free cokes.
The rest of college is a blur.
My friend’s boyfriend lived in a co-op and didn’t wash his laundry all semester. The clothes in his room were knee high (as were the booze bottles); and we won’t even talk about the smell in there.
After a wild party at the above mentioned co-op one night, my inebriated friends dropped me off at my dorm with another friend. We lived in a women’s dorm that was one of four that formed a quad. The freshman dorm (Littlefield) could be accessed after hours only by checking in through Andrews and then walking through the quad and waiting until the attendant buzzed you in. Anyway, we show up completely wasted. I think my friend, V, passed out on the floor. The whole scene is still very hazy, as I was so drunk I could hardly see. I do remember puking in the middle of the entrance to Andrews - I couldn’t make it to the bathroom - hell, I don’t think I could have found the bathroom!
I had one hell of a hangover and had to go to an alcohol abuse counseling session. I also rearranged all of the furniture in my dorm room that day.
Another time, 6 of us piled into V’s volvo and headed across the border to Mexico. We got trashed and drove back that night. Sometime around 4am in some tiny town, M’s boyfriend (the one that never did laundry) puked in front of a convenience store because the clerk wouldn’t let him in to use the bathroom. She called the police, but we left before they arrived. M’s boyfriend was a big, bald, earring-sporting, heavily tattooed guy (in the days before that look was common).
My roommate’s friend stuck his head in the elevator doors imitating ol’ Arnold. He had to get stitches. That same guy and his EE friends, poured saline solution down the coke machines in his dorm so they could get free cokes.
The rest of college is a blur.
My friend’s boyfriend lived in a co-op and didn’t wash his laundry all semester. The clothes in his room were knee high (as were the booze bottles); and we won’t even talk about the smell in there.
After a wild party at the above mentioned co-op one night, my inebriated friends dropped me off at my dorm with another friend. We lived in a women’s dorm that was one of four that formed a quad. The freshman dorm (Littlefield) could be accessed after hours only by checking in through Andrews and then walking through the quad and waiting until the attendant buzzed you in. Anyway, we show up completely wasted. I think my friend, V, passed out on the floor. The whole scene is still very hazy, as I was so drunk I could hardly see. I do remember puking in the middle of the entrance to Andrews - I couldn’t make it to the bathroom - hell, I don’t think I could have found the bathroom!
I had one hell of a hangover and had to go to an alcohol abuse counseling session. I also rearranged all of the furniture in my dorm room that day.
Another time, 6 of us piled into V’s volvo and headed across the border to Mexico. We got trashed and drove back that night. Sometime around 4am in some tiny town, M’s boyfriend (the one that never did laundry) puked in front of a convenience store because the clerk wouldn’t let him in to use the bathroom. She called the police, but we left before they arrived. M’s boyfriend was a big, bald, earring-sporting, heavily tattooed guy (in the days before that look was common).
My roommate’s friend stuck his head in the elevator doors imitating ol’ Arnold. He had to get stitches. That same guy and his EE friends, poured saline solution down the coke machines in his dorm so they could get free cokes.
The rest of college is a blur.
My friend’s boyfriend lived in a co-op and didn’t wash his laundry all semester. The clothes in his room were knee high (as were the booze bottles); and we won’t even talk about the smell in there.
After a wild party at the above mentioned co-op one night, my inebriated friends dropped me off at my dorm with another friend. We lived in a women’s dorm that was one of four that formed a quad. The freshman dorm (Littlefield) could be accessed after hours only by checking in through Andrews and then walking through the quad and waiting until the attendant buzzed you in. Anyway, we show up completely wasted. I think my friend, V, passed out on the floor. The whole scene is still very hazy, as I was so drunk I could hardly see. I do remember puking in the middle of the entrance to Andrews - I couldn’t make it to the bathroom - hell, I don’t think I could have found the bathroom!
I had one hell of a hangover and had to go to an alcohol abuse counseling session. I also rearranged all of the furniture in my dorm room that day.
Another time, 6 of us piled into V’s volvo and headed across the border to Mexico. We got trashed and drove back that night. Sometime around 4am in some tiny town, M’s boyfriend (the one that never did laundry) puked in front of a convenience store because the clerk wouldn’t let him in to use the bathroom. She called the police, but we left before they arrived. M’s boyfriend was a big, bald, earring-sporting, heavily tattooed guy (in the days before that look was common).
My roommate’s friend stuck his head in the elevator doors imitating ol’ Arnold. He had to get stitches. That same guy and his EE friends, poured saline solution down the coke machines in his dorm so they could get free cokes.
The rest of college is a blur.
This one is nasty, but still a classic.
Pee on a plate.
Place the plate in a freezer. Be careful not to slosh.
Slide the frozen disc of urine under your neighbors dorm room door.
Wait for the thaw.
Oh and another thing. Never…ever…ever leave a camera unattended at a party./
Hey Bevis better get one of the captain.
My boyfriend and his 3 roommates rented a house not far from the university and decided to throw a pre-Jimmy Buffett party.
Since we’re a couple hundred miles from the Florida keys, they decided to improvise. They took out all the furniture from the living room and put it on the front lawn. Picture the opening to “Friends.” Anyway, in the living room they then dumped about 50 bags of sand on the hardwood floor (note: I do not recommend this), completely surrounding two plastic baby pools, which they filled with water. They rented palm trees and various plants from the nursery and strung chinese lanterns throughout the house.
We all sat in the baby pools in our bathing suits, drank margaritas, and listened to Buffett all night. The downside is that the only bathroom was upstairs so sand was tracked EVERYWHERE. Gawd, that was an awesome party. They didn’t have a stinking bag of potato chips to serve guests, but no one complained.
Oh, and we completely missed the concert.
P.S. they were evicted 3 months later b/c they never brought the couch back inside.
Then there was the Alma Mater, which we sang at every football game:
“We don’t know the Goddam words.
We don’t know the Goddam words.
We don’t know the Goddam words.
And we dooon’t giiive a shiiit.”
That’s what came out of the student sections, anyway.
Just a wacky coincidence I guess! Exact same thing happened at Northwestern University about 5 years ago. Carry on!
Those who are dancing look insane to those who cannot hear the music.
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