In the morning with the sun, to the bathroom I do run,
Head towards the mirror can’t wait to see, glorious moustache smiling back at me,
For thirty days I’ve had this look, its length reflects the time it took,
But it hasn’t been all fine and dandy, to share a look with South Park’s Randy,

“Its looks so stupid” I hear you shout, But you’re nothing to write home about,
It’s obvious you lack the balls, to venture outside comfort’s walls,
All your excuses and outright lies, can’t hide the fear behind those eyes,
No use denying you are a gay, what’s butt sex feel like anyway?

A tough decision it was to make, enduring stares and double takes,
My girlfriend’s face showed pure perplex, which lead to many days sans sex,
And through it all I stood my ground, moustache was groomed and mind was sound,
But sadness now reflects in mirror, the time to shave it off grows nearer,

We’re close you know moustache and me, I watch you grow you watch me pee,
We check out girls and get in fights, surf online porn sites late at night,
This month we ran our first 5k, got hammered on St. Patrick’s Day,
Together there were good times had, to me you’re more than just a fad,

And when it all is said and done, at end of day I still have one,
I’m proud of it and it of me, this month long costume I got for free,
Tomorrow I’m supposed to shave, at that point it’s ok to cave,
Well fuck that shit is what I say, I think I’ll keep it one more day.

 

Max trying to convince Courtney that sleeping with him will make her boyfriend love her more.

     By my count I have driven home to Hanover for the Christmas holidays approximately 8 times since graduating high school. It’s scary to think about how that number, much like Alex’s ass hair and Pappas’s dry streak, will only continue to grow. And as I make the same monotonous drive up 93 and 89 North each year, staying awake by packing lippers and giving myself boners thinking of fantastical hookups that will never be, the same questions always seem to headline my thinking; which of the touch-holes I know will be around, how will I get my car home each night, and most importantly, which girl might slip up and inadvertently have sex with one of us?

    First I’d like to thank the group of Pontius Pilates’ who decided to spin their dradles somewhere else this year (Gaybe, Alex, Sk, Saul). There was also the welcomed absence of the lame duck boyfriends’ brigade, namely Tim “gayer by the day” Draper and Mike “TEFL for life” O’Donnell.

    Once I pulled into town it was time to revert into the standard problem drinker mode, which consists of not calling your parents to tell them you’re home and going to pick up Max from wherever he passed out the previous night.

Mairk is scheming.

    In an effort to find bars with an atmosphere more closely embodying a “Loutish Vulgarity” to Main Street’s “Polished Casual,” we stumbled into India Queen, where I would spend a large part of my Christmas Eve and Christmas night with various Hanover Jews and townies. No other place in Hanover offers you the option of a whiskey and coke ‘neat’, curry at all hours, and a bartender who genuinely looks like he is trying to decide whether you are real or not.

Highlights of the week include:

•    Christmas Eve drinking with Max and Eli where questions such as whose life is more pathetic, where at midnight could we go to shoot guns, and how best to talk Max out of getting a twelve-pack and drinking down at the ropes course were answered.

•    Tom vomiting in the Willey’s driveway after he was invited up for a “party” but was really just a ploy by Max to get people to come up there so he wouldn’t be drinking alone.

•    Tom subsequently passing out in T-Dick’s 6 year-old niece’s bed, covers and all (those are your uncle’s drunken shit-bag friends honey.)

•    A classic Smalls’ pairty complete with hot older girls, moving the dining room table down to the basement to play Beirut, and a late night tirade by a furious Mr. Smalls which Ryan and Jillian wholeheartedly ignored.

•    A groundbreaking weekend sexcapade carried out by Buck Baker and Ms. Richmond School ‘96 which included a dramatic bloody nose injury suffered during the initial encounter from a wayward Charchie elbow.

•    The text messaging and calling of Tom and Alex immediately following the hook up to relentlessly make fun of them for not being Baker.

•    A humdinger of a party put on by Mairk in leb-town that introduced two new ‘Scoma girls to the Hanover scene and who were promptly surrounded and accosted by members of the graduating classes of ’97 through ’99.

•    The next day when a large group of us got hammered in town following the realization that the Patriots were getting screwed out of the playoffs with an 11-5 record courtesy of another stinker by suck ass Brett Favre.

•    Later that night stumbling around downtown with Mahler, Max and some younger kid looking for a secret spot to get high and then eventually giving up and smoking a bowl right on School St.

Max and Ashley get confused while man-whoring.

And thus all of my earlier questions were answered in spades, as they always are.

    It’s somewhat comforting to know that we can still tie it on like we’re completely oblivious to the expectations society has for people in their mid-twenties (and we are.) Sure our sperm may be “lazy”, our alcohol tolerance “alarming” and our potential a little “peaked” but that doesn’t mean we’ve stopped enjoying ourselves on that glorious free fall to the unforgiving ground.

    So another Hanover holiday season comes to an end and we’re all still alive, nobody has “come out” or is serving time for killing a stripper (yet.) I say here’s to another year of questionable drinking, risky behavior and a general ambivalence towards responsibility. Who knows, maybe 2009 will be the year it all comes together for us (but it probably won’t.)

Cheers.

     A quick story about Max because it’s worth noting. Last week our dubious little red-haired tomcat was asked to be Gerber’s wingman for a date he had planned that evening. Not being one to say no to anything involving booze and a female Max of course said yes. So off the two Casanovas went for the night and no one in the house heard from them until early in the wee hours of the morning when they noisily returned.
    First in was Gerber’s girl who I must say, besides looking like she had snuck out of her house to go on the date, looked quite good. The same could not be said of Max’s beast of a lady friend however. This Gila monster that entered our house looked like she had just eaten a kitten and then laid down and projectile vomited it back into her face. No amount of makeup could salvage this train wreck. She had a gut, and walked like she forgot to take the 10 inch black dildo out of her ass before she went out. In other words, she was right up Max’s alley.

WARNING: This story contains explicit sexual details and embarrassing information. Do not continue if you want to have respect for anyone involved.
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I write to you, the fine gentlemen of Wish We Weren’t Friends so that I may head off any unsubstantiated rumors before Gabe’s devious and homoerotic mind can begin to twist them and spin them to everyone he knows. Before I begin however I will say this, I got my come-uppins and then some this weekend.

Saturday night four of our group (Chainsaw, Mike, Gerber, myself) decided to attend a social function in Allston. And by social function I of course mean a college party. And by college I of course mean an institution that some of us have been out of for quite some time. Did we let the fact that we were a group of overweight, undersexed 20- something creeps in an underage Wentworth party stop us from having a good time? You know the answer to that. Would we ruin a lot of college kids’ good time before everything was said and done? Obviously, yes.

As per usual Hanover standing orders, we found a nice little corner of the apartment to call our own and made no attempt to converse with anyone from the outside. Once sequestered, we proceeded to talk shit about everyone else at the party as well as the over-sweetened "jungle juice" that we had commandeered and weren’t letting anyone else drink. (Except for hot girls, and surprisingly none approached us.) This, friends is the last thing I remember.

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Noah’s Response Yeah I can see how that would be our fault. I’m sure your overweight, unnaturally hairy body and the creepy way you would look at girls, as if you were already imagining yourself pumping furiously and uncaringly away at their undersized bodies with your tongue hanging out the side of your mouth in a concerted effort to get off as soon as possible so you could rejoin the party had nothing to do with your girl troubles. Our bad Admin. So anyway, this website looks like it is coming along flawlessly as a venue to take our bitching about each and expose it to the global community. I’m sure thats just what the internet needs. We’re really filling a niche here fellas. There is no way this will end well for any of us. To that end though, Mike’s gay, so is Max, Saul, Mark, Alex and especially Gabe, Tim’s a queer (there’s a difference), and Papoose has gone so long without getting any ass he may actually be evolving a vagina to compensate. If that is the case it’s not out of the realm of possibility that Max will have sex with him. P.S. It’s too bad you couldn’t make it to Sundance Mairk, I’m sure Hollywood was very disappointed. -Random Noah stat of the day- People who have had my balls in their eyesockets: 2 (Mike and Max) and counting