So Katie is home, things worked out well schedule wise and she is currently sleeping off her rough weekend in North Carolina (come on and raise up, take your shirt off, twist it round yo' head, spin it like a helicopter) while I watch That 70s Show and recover from my not very rough day at school. I only had one class today and didn't have any of the movies or extracurricular shitty that has been destroying me on Tuesdays for the last month. All things considered, I feel pretty good today. It was just teaching and one class, which was actually very instructive.
I was also able to adequately utilize my down time to damn near finish my first of the semester's projects. Its currently marking in at just over 16 pages, which is swiggedy swizneet, so I approve. My hope is to flesh out the skeletal sections tomorrow and be able to print it out in the center on Tuesday and be done with it. I feel shockingly optimistic about my ability to finish this semester on time, but even if I can't do it, its not really that big a deal. Not gonna discuss that for the moment, however, no more studying tonight and thinking the end of the semester will only get me wrapped up in shit that is not my concern quite yet.
There have been a couple sports radio discussions recently that I have been very opinionated on, so much so that I considered actually discussing either of them in this format. I'm pretty fucking confident that this would not be much of a thing to read however, my thoughts on the BCS, while I am quite confident that they are correct, are probably readily available on espn.com. If people are coming here to read sports coverage they are not so smart in the first place, since I don't really talk all that much sports. I think I would like to talk more sports, I would be a hella sweet Sports Radio show host, but, again, this is not the proper format.
Instead, I realize that what makes really good blog material are stories about the zany exploits of the homefolks in the crizew. By the crizew I refer to the ole RHS gang plus Sanjay, at least for the most part. Maybe the house gang, minus AJ. You get the idea. So, you ask, which highjinx will be recounted today. I was thinking about Andy's various pants-dropping antics, which, I will remind you, continue to this day.
Their most flagrant appearance was likely one night when I was a junior. It was in the fall I believe, probably a Wednesday night, since we had no debate practice we tended to just dick around and play video games and go Ng-onking (Ng-onking, pronounced na-gon-king, was a practice which concerned the home of a young Miss Nga Chiem, she lived on a street which was shaped like an L, but at the apex of the L there was like a cul-de-sac. Basically, the process was to enter the street from one branch or the other, begin honking, drive around the cul-de-sac anywhere between 1 and 11 times, and then drive out the other side before ceasing to honk. It was often either immediately preceded or immediately followed by a coning of Ian's house. A process which I am sure I will come to some other time.) Well, one night we decided to go drive around and play with Andy's parents video camera.
I was driving the Corsica of Power (the original I think), my bro was riding shotgun, and Andy was in the backseat on the driver's side. We were originally just trying to get people's attention and videotape them, but quickly discovered that Andy sticking his ass out of the window was the best way to do so. We did that a couple times, Andy would stick his butt out the window, we would film the reaction of the car next to us or the pedestrian or whomever. We moved on from there of course, the next step was to stop at the intersection of Johnny Cake and Cliff in Eagan. We parked just North of their and my bro found the best angle to see the whole intersection. Andy got out of the car, dropped his pants around his ankles and ran around the intersection, I mean from each of the four corners to the next one. The reactions were fabulous, as they often are when one spots a naked guy dancing through an intersection.
We needed at least one more step up and the only reasonable option was the McDonald's drive-thru. So we pulled around, butted in front of someone who had already ordered, and got to the window while no employee was there. It was late enough at night that there were probably only 2 or 3 people working the restaurant anyway, but when the one at the window turned around, he looked directly into the nasty nasty glaring ass of Mr. Kemp. This one was for some reason, way too much fun, so we drove around the McD's for like 10 minutes. As we would find out when we got home, someone had called the cops at some point, but apparently they weren't very interested in the butt-spanking which was taking place. They ran our license plate and called my parents to tell us not to do it anymore, but that was really about it.
Our parents originally tried to scare us by saying that the cops wanted to talk to us or whatever, but it quickly became apparent that the cops didn't give much of a fuck, since the facts didn't really sort out. The funniest part of the whole experience was that one of the cars who had apprently driven by Andy at Johnny Cake and Cliff was filled with my sister and like 3 of her friends. My sister, of course, went immediately home to tell my parents, as well she should have. It was hilarious. Besides, how often, when one sees a dude running around a pretty busy intersection with his pants where his socks should be, does one end up knowing the dude fairly well. The answer, if you are me, or anyone else who knows Andy Kemp fairly well, is most of the time.
Arguably the most fucked up thing about all this is that we were fucking sober. The whole time, we didn't have a drink, or any drugs or whatever. I mean, we were smoking cigarettes, but they didn't exactly provide Andy with an excuse to drop trou and go for it.
The one redeeming thing about this story is that it gives you a nice sense of homeliness. If, virtually any day of the rest of your life, you are driving around and run across some dude running around without pants on, you can take a pretty solid educated guess that its Andy Kemp. Even if it turns out not to be him, pretty obviously it is someone who learned the art from one of the true true masters of the butt-slapping art. Its like a little chunk of memory, a moment of the past, forever preserved in the stanky ass of some random crazy stranger.
Peace,
MB-K
No comments:
Post a Comment