Mairk’s Got Talent
Monday, December 1st, 2008
Archive for the 'Field Reporter' Category
Issue Deux
Thursday, November 13th, 2008
Dudes - the moment has arrived: we need to pay to renew the site. What is everyone’s feeling? It’s been two whole years.
Labor Day Baseball
Saturday, August 16th, 2008
Sammy can be on Noah’s team because they suck so bad.
Two weeks until the Wish We Weren’t Friends Annual Meeting. The weekend’s activities promise to include throwing dynamite aimlessly into the river, jumping off railroad bridges, drunk driving, shoplifting, and my personal favorite, unprotected sex with high-risk, low-energy (passed out) partners.
In all seriousness, let’s have a frickin’ rager at Mairk’s house, make a trashcan full of mairgaritas, call the classy girls Dave knows from the bowling alley, get absolutely slammed and trash the place. Mairk?
We also plan on sitting down for a strategy session where we figure out how to "take back the internet." Chainsaw has some ideas, and he’s apparently been "banging chicks," so I say we listen to him.
Huntley, Saturday August 30, 1 PM. Someone call NA and tell Samson. We’ll play Sunday too. Mike, fly back from Chile for the weekend. Bring your wife. And kid.
In all seriousness, let’s have a frickin’ rager at Mairk’s house, make a trashcan full of mairgaritas, call the classy girls Dave knows from the bowling alley, get absolutely slammed and trash the place. Mairk?
We also plan on sitting down for a strategy session where we figure out how to "take back the internet." Chainsaw has some ideas, and he’s apparently been "banging chicks," so I say we listen to him.
Huntley, Saturday August 30, 1 PM. Someone call NA and tell Samson. We’ll play Sunday too. Mike, fly back from Chile for the weekend. Bring your wife. And kid.
More From Out West
Sunday, June 3rd, 2007
Here’s a little tidbit from Mairk, our number one Western Correspondent. Using his unique style of prose (bad spelling and grammar coupled with confusing sentence structure) he explains one of Smalls’ recent exploits.
"For your amusement, this is the business card of the 40 year old chick that Smalls had been banging for the past few weeks maybe months I’m not quite sure. He recently broke off ties with her after long debate. How did he break off ties with her you may ask? Well he did what any of us would do, he took her up on a free birthday dinner, got hammered on the fifth of Jack she bought him, fucked her in her kitchen, then snuck out her bedroom window and drove home shit faced."
Thanks Mairk, you’re doing your pairt! Maybe Max would be interested in this WOMAN if she’s still single. From what I hear, he’s into "fit ladies."
If you haven’t noticed it already, Wish We Weren’t Friends is back from Spring Hiatus. Read Below for a more in-depth explanation of our recent failures to keep you informed.
The Tables Turn
Wednesday, March 7th, 2007
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.
