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.

WRITTEN AND SUBMITTED BY DAVE

PAIRT 1
    A few weeks into our move to Charlestown, Draper and I discovered that Noah had been sponsoring a Save the Children boy named Dionisio Tumbo. A bright young man with all the ambition his little heart could hold. As the weeks went by and the letters from Save the Children kept arriving and Noah continued to make payments, Draper and I continued to make fun of the Noah. It wasn’t necessarily because he was sponsoring a child in need which is a great thing, it was because….you know what….he’s losing a who do you hate more vote ballot to Mike, I don’t have to explain why the hell we were making fun of him.
    So one day while Noah was at work and Draper and I continued to strain the springs on our lazy boy and couch with our unemployed bodies, a light bulb went off in Tim’s mind. He put down his daily lunch of saltines, peanut butter and bacon sandwich, and Stop & Shop fruit punch mix and simply said, “We should kill Noah’s kid”. As I muted the COPS episode and sat up I replied, “Yes…..YES!!!”
    The next letter to arrive was intercepted by us and as I was successful opening the envelope carefully with hopes of re-sealing it, I knew we were underway. I proceeded to research the Save the Children Company, the Mozambique area, and any letters Noah had received until this point. I put together the following letter. Enjoy….

PAIRT 2
    It had been days of the letter just sitting on our coffee table and the suspense had been driving us crazy. Then one night when Max was visiting we came back from a drunken night on the town and started watching TV when Noah came out of his room saying “OH MY FUCKING GOD, MY FUCKING KID DIED!!!!” The best part was our outburst of laughter was not going to give anything away because let’s face it; that’s funny. This was the only brief laughter that came out of Noah however as the rest of his period of staying up that night was a sense of disbelief. “In the picture they sent me of him he looked so healthy!” He protested. “These things happen” we said. Before Noah went to bed Max and Tim gave him a hairtfelt hug as Noah kept saying he was so down from what had happened. “I’m so depressed I don’t think I can even go jerk off before I go to sleep” I believe were his exact words. Too bad for Noah, the worst had not passed.
    A few weeks passed and I started to construct a 2nd and final letter letting Noah know the details of Dionisio’s death. The 2nd envelope I tried to open was not as easy as the first. I held it just over the stove trying to melt the glue but it almost burned it up. So I just did my best with a knife and then resealed it with a delicate application of super glue using a Q-tip.
    Then Draper walked in with new mail from Save the Children. This one opened as easy as the first, and what it contained put a spin on my plans. It was a drawing from Dionisio, for Noah, of the little hut he lived in. So I thought of a new idea for this one, and put the letter with the details of the death on hold for it to be a 3rd letter. I enclosed this 2nd letter, with the drawing, and as I did with the first one, threw some little Save the Children flyer that had come to make it look more believable.

PAIRT 3
    Noah was very impressed with Save the Children at this point. Their offices were doing a great job of finding out the details and keeping in touch with Noah about their progress. He started to feel a bond with Dionisio’s parents because of the fact that they wanted him to have his drawing. After a few days of letting that blow settle in to Noah, the 3rd letter was already sealed and waiting for delivery.

EPILOGUE
    In closing, below should be a link for the audio I recorded on my phone. I set it on the coffee table out of view to capture Noah’s reaction to the letter. It really says it all for you. He believed every pairt. The only thing it did not capture was the look on his face when they blamed his homosexuality for Dionisio’s death. But he still believed that part too. Cheers to unemployment!

LISTEN HERE TO NOAH’S REACTION AS HE LEARNED ABOUT THE FIASCO!

UPDATE: In the interest of science, we have added a poll to the bottom of this post.. Continue to discuss your selection in the comments section, but also log your official vote below. If this is your first time seeing this post, make sure to examine all the facts before voting. Or just vote for Noah. Either way.

ALEX: He took Noah last night…
MAX: Oh God
ALEX: And he’s taking Mike tonight.
MAX: UGH! Even Worse!

"What a joke!" Baker yelled in the early hours of last Sunday morning, "he didn’t even think about inviting me."

"I bet Mike and Gabe are rolling around under their seats in peanut shells sixty-nining." Tim exclaimed after Pedroia hit the clinching homer.

So who pisses you off more with his anointment as Gabe’s chosen one at Red Sox Bonanza 2007? Mike, with his yellow teeth, dirty clothes and stupid giggle? Or Noah, with his relentless arguments,  giant forehead and blatant public homophobia?

I HEARD that Noah managed to buy six beers at the bar a mere 10 minutes before Game Six started, charging all of it to Gabe’s credit card and forcing them to chug and run to make the  first pitch. Typical. When Gabe called me I heard the predicable crow of his ‘Scoma Caw in the background telling me "how cool I was for staying home and not going to the game." He spent the entire game trying to bum dips from the guys next to them, and after the big win celebrated by raw-dogging a member of the BU Equestrian team. Classy.

I know less of the Mike performance, only hearing that he was as nervous during the game as I was during my colonic. Gabe taking Mike to Game Seven is like Gabe taking his retarded older brother who used to buy us beer in high school but still isn’t sanctioned by the state to drive a car and even at 25 can’t be left home alone for the weekend.

It was just the right thing to do.

VOTE VOTE VOTE!

There are upstanding citizens right in your community that are former Marines. They, too, have gone on to a level of success that they often attribute to their time spent in the Marine Corps.
- Marine Core Website

         Last weekend, as I cooked dinner in Gabe and Tim’s kitchen for the 17th day in a row, I found my cellphone mysteriously “powered down” and idle, unable to receive calls or texts from my legions of fans or harem of sex-obsessed, trust fund-buoyant girlfriends. I quickly powered up, ensuring that I would be “in the loop” for another high-octane night on the town as one the major players in New York’s young, hip “in” crowd.
        With a beep and a purr, Moonphone alerted me to new correspondence. 11 voicemails! My phone had been off for only an hour. Was someone dead? Did I get a job? Did Noah participate in a gangbang?
           I soon learned the answer to all my questions was simply the timely updates of my favorite Special Forces Reconnaissance Marine. Never leaving me out of the loop, I was immediately up to speed on all of the afternoon’s events.

        The first message was an important newsflash from the week’s hottest gossip. Knowing the full-scale importance, Max took the time out of his busy work schedule to clue me in. Pay close attention to the soothing hold music as he takes another call.

         Luckily for me, Max was dedicated to the story, and wanted to rehash the details once more to make sure that I knew just exactly the sort of example Noah was setting as Max continues to reintegrate himself into the civilian world.

       Turning the topic to himself, Max then asked a few favors of his friends in New York. Just some simple “intel” that would ensure his new love interest wouldn’t be straying too far from the cave.

        As my new messages ended, my first saved voicemail reminded me that times had not always been so “stable” for young Max, and that problems with girls had extended beyond them being in other cities where he wasn’t sure of their whereabouts or activities with other men.

        As we can hear, the extensive, life-threatening tours in Iraq and Afghanistan have allowed Max to celebrate his return to American soil with enhanced confidence, the luxuries of capitalism and the support of lifelong friendships.  Sleeping on a naked mattress in the attic of a condemned townhouse, enjoying the intellectual company of asexual couch monkeys living on a diet of bong smoke and Nattie Light, Max has found that leaving a world of berkas, grenade launchers, and communal showers has enabled him to progress as a human and an American.

God Bless the USA.

     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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(click to enlarge)

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