For a Trip to JMU? I'd Pay a Dollar

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Anytime my buddies and I get together for a drunken romp at JMU (er...scratch that, reword it yourself) it turns into something memorable. I hereby spoonfeed you a short account of this JMU weekend. It will annoy, shock, bore, and hunger. First things first, let me introduce you to The Weekend's Players:

--Craig (The Host--proprietor of GoldenRoad and all around good guy, yet female-whipped worse than any of Catherine the Great's horses. He is the only one currently still living in Harrisonburg, so we crashed at his place.)

--Perdue (That Guy--I've mentioned him before. Charming until he gets half a beer in him, then just simply humiliating. But in a good way, for us.)

--Loftus (Ross from Friends--chicks dig him, but for some reason he couldn't score in a Bangkok whorehouse with a fistfull of dollars and Brad Pitt doing the pushing.)

--Roland (Johnny Cochran--Seems like a great guy until the first shot goes down. Then you'd swear he has Tourette's and an IQ of less than 7.3. And he got into law school?)

--Ruby (That Guy #2--The one "Crazy Friend" that we all know, love and fear. When the chips are down, bet on him and Perdue to say/do something insane.)

--Farrell (Did not show up but is intrinsic to the plot.)

Here we go:

--The weekend was marked by an unbelievable thick homoerotic element that I could have done without. Not only was there a near-constant rash of "Good Game's" at Highlawn, but whenever Roland drinks he tries to hump Perdue. Actually, let's be honest, he tries to hump anything., including Craig's digerido. Gotta give mad props to Lily for putting up with it, or maybe it works in her favor. I don't know. Also, there was a lot of Craig yelling, "Why don't you come over here and suck my d*ck?" I think it was because he's been listening to a lot of rap.

--None of us can drink like we used to. With the exception of Loftus, each of us neared death at least five times during the experience. I was broken upon waking Saturday morning, and Ruby's effort the following morning looked like something out of the Evil Dead Trilogy. More on that later.

--Not a single one of the single dudes in the group (myself, Loftus, Perdue, and Ruby) came anywhere close to being remotely near a girl thinking about touching us in a vaguely sexual manner. I mean not close. So far in fact that the light from Touching a Girl will not reach Earth for 3.8 million years. Between Loftus, myself, and Perdue, we are looking at a good three calendar years without any action. I'm pretty sure it's been so long since I've had sex that they've changed it on me. The worst offense of the weekend came at Highlawn Saturday night. It was myself, my friend Meghan, and a girl named Michelle, our new Dukette obsession. This girl has always been cute but somehow in the time we left JMU until we got back she exploded into a gorgeous little dancing package. We were all excited. I met her before, saw her talking to Meghan, and decided I'd say hi. I want to be clear on something: I was not hitting on her. Not that I wasn't going to at some point--I was. Not that I had a chance--I didn't. But this is what transpired:

(I walk over to MEGHAN and MICHELLE)

ME: Hey.
MICHELLE: Hey.
MEGHAN: Geoff, this is Michelle.

(LOFTUS comes walking over and stands next to us.)

ME: Hi, I think we met before.
MICHELLE: Yeah, I remember that.
ME: Actually, I think it was at a Ranger Party.
MICHELLE: Right, it was.
LOFTUS (to me): Wow, good memory. Stalker.

Loftus walks off in the other direction, and you might as well have extracted me from the conversation with an oversized Vaudeville cane. Needless to say, I have only fond memories of Michelle in a clingy red evening gown. And Loftus is now my Non-Friend.

Aside from those, Ruby danced with fat chicks, because that's what Ruby does, and Roland got cornered by a girl who introduced herself as "Bambi".

(EDITOR'S NOTE: When introduced, I immediately made the joke, "Hi, where's Thumper?" I then fake-laughed hysterically. Good times.)

She was a plump little muffin of a girl and revealed to Loftus that she came from Jersey. Oh, and she threw in the fact that she was a mental institution. We passed this girl off to each other like a foreigner asking for directions.

"I'm from Jersey."
"Really? Oh, well then, you've got to talk to (insert victim's name here). He knows all about that."

--Favorite quotes of the weekend, which will contain neither speaker nor reference to what they were speaking of, so as to conceal intentions and protect the innocent:

"Are you a Jew? Listen, is Farrell there? Is he trying to f*ck you? I don't want you around him, he's going to try to f*ck you. Don't let him f*ck you. Actually, I don't care, f*ck him, go ahead and f*ck Farrell. Perdue, Ge-off, and Loftus are all listening. Call me tomorrow."

"That townie lady is about to drop it like it's hot."

"Yeah, alright, so she hurt your feelings and all, but doesn't it make you feel better that she got fat?"

"I thought we were going to make out? Oh wait, you only want to hang out with black guys."

"When the f*ck are they going to play Hey-Yaa?"

"No listen I'm fine I can drive no I can you can't take my van f*ck you you f*cking f*ggot where is Farrell I'll f*cking kill him..."

"We have one pork roll casualty."

--We make it through two nights of unsurpassed drinking quality without human casualty. Then, inexplicably, early Sunday morning (well...before Noon), Perdue gets pissed at Craig and attempts to get off the futon. He stumbles and falls. AS I am laying on the floor next to him, this scares me, and I jerk upward. Perdue's lip collides with my knee, and my knee wins the battle. Perdue is down. He rises moments later with bleeding lip. After countless (and by that I mean less than 24) hours of hearty intoxication, it takes a Sunday Morning Stumble to cause someone to become injured. And I am not taking into account Loftus's ill-fated Tour Guide Blunder through the prickly-bush forest behind Forrest Hills, which left me with pricklies all over my left hand. This has made for itching, burning, and severe discomfort while masturbating. I don't want to discuss any more than that.

--If I left anything out, which I'm sure I have, let me know.

Finally, I'd just like to add that one and a half tanks of gas, two orders of chicken wings, two latenight cheesesteaks, countless Michelob Lights, one pair of handcuffs, a pile of fake greasevomit, a long walk through campus, two hours of dancing with hot girls, severe humiliation and $180 later, I still have the best friends in the world.

I f*cking love you guys.