(Authors Note: Catalina makes you do funny things. Things you would never do elsewhere. To that end, I will be using fake names to protect the alternate identities that may be featured in this tale.)

The Island

The Preparation

We always reserve anywhere from one to three campsites. You are supposed to have no more than four people

Arriving into Town

per campsite. We arrive with 30 or more people always. This makes for an interesting arrival on the island when you are talking to the ranger who remembers you from last year. The trip is always supposed to cost less than $100 and that includes the boat ride there and back. This $100 gets you a campsite, boat, food, drink, and random supplies. It is never enough for four days. I like to pack light and here is what I (or someone) will bring:

The Arrival

The boat ride is usually really rough. There is not much to look at except the smog dome of Los Angeles slowly fading away in the distance and the occasional whale or dolphin siting. Drinks are unusually expensive and I enjoy this time to prepare mentally for the weekend to come with deep breathing and deep meditation. When you hear the motors drop in tempo, you know you have arrived. You can run to the front of the boat and see a

That peak was the start of extreme cacti jumping

magnificent white cliff. In reality, it is not magnificent because it is a giant rock that has been covered in bird shit. There has always been talk to swim to the rock, and know its majestic properties, but no one has ever done it. We have been told if you jump off the boat, you will be arrested. By who? No one really knows what jurisdiction Catalina falls under. The boat arrives and the people disembark. Our pile of things will be about four meters high and 10 meters wide and require five sherpas to help us load the truck. When a boat arrives in Catalina, it is greeted by the analyzing stares of the people who have already arrived. Catalina is very contained and isolated, like a Bio Dome. You know what comes in, and you know what goes out. Although we would like to think so, we do not go unnoticed. The casual traveller to Catalina can sit down at the bar and easily converse with the locals. It wont be too long before they start hearing stories of us. I have heard these stories first hand when I was detached from the group. Stories of a whirlwind landing in Catalina, consuming everything, taking over benches, terrorizing the small boat dogs, harassing every female that doesn’t have huggies, infiltrating the camp fire chats, challenging everyone to a tug-of-war, sinking ships, burning the landscape, etc, etc. Like any myth, there is some foundation to be found in these tales, but rest assured that we all care deeply about this island and would never do anything to hurt her.

The Campgrounds

The campgrounds are connected to Two Harbors by a long and perilous dirt path that goes up and down and winds around. I always feel like I am putting in the code to Contra. There are no lights on this trail and it is rumored to have claimed the lives of three boy scouts. It has also been used as an inspirational masturbating

Just asking for the sea gulls to attack

point for a few of my friends. Although I have not partaken in the inspiration that Catalina provides for this activity, I do sympathize. Please read Laughter Across the Lake. Personally I like walking real fast to the point that the people I am with cannot keep up, then I hide in a bush, and I leap out at them as they walk by. My inspirational moment came one year after a frustrating night with a girl named Jessica. After she returned to her boat, I walked back to the campgrounds but on my way I stopped at the highest point overlooking all of the harbor. From here I bellowed at the top of my lungs “JESSICA!! JESSICAAA!!” and then continued back to camp. What she or her parents were thinking I do not know.

Each campsite is no more than a flat piece of dirt with a bench, fire pit, stove, and a plastic canopy. Each campsite amongst the 50 or so has its benefits and drawbacks. Naveen has an ordered list of the top 15 sites with a break down of their pros and cons. (Maybe he could provide this list?) Personally, I never gave a shit,

Right before we descended the mountain for extreme cacti jumping

and was happy as long as we did not have young children within visible range of our debauchery. The campsites were arranged on the side of a hill and at the bottom was the communal beach. To walk to the beach meant walking in the middle of other campsites. It was usually really easy to know if you were welcome in a campsite or not. Apparently if you scream and cuss bad words all night, sometimes you are not well received the next day by random families trying to enjoy their vacation.

The Snorkeling

Extreme Downhill Cacti Jumping

The Benches and Town

The benches are placed on the beach, but we drag them onto the main walking area to ensure that we are in

When I had muscles and no hair

the middle of everyones way. For those too young to drink at the bar, it is a place to sit, pound a very expensive can of bad tasting beer, and people watch, people heckle, or cry, or be angry. For those people who can enter the bar, it is a resting point to evacuate to when the bar situation is getting too out of control because Bald Doctor is sleeping at someones table with his arms and legs in his shirt, Axe is hitting on the wife of a fat sailor, Naveen is trying to dance with moonshoes, and Roaring is making out with the help.

Eventually the night will wind down and each individual will have their own way back to camp. I can remember one evening walking back to camp and encountering Carmat, the best saxophonist in the world. He was unusually sober, and I chided him for being so. I decided I would make him feel stupid by challenging him to a game of chess and making sure we put money on the game. I was a mess and could barely stand up. He beat me senseless in the game and took my money. I am pretty sure I wasn’t even moving the pieces in the correct places. None the less he took my money. I was infuriated and demanded he honorably give me my money back since the game was not held under sanctioned conditions. He refused. The following night, I walked back to camp to find Carmat once again. Only this time, the tables were turned and I was the unusually sober one and he was stumbling drunk. He decided his best option was to pass out on the bench in a most undesirable way. He had his stomach on the seat with his forehead resting face down. His arms and legs were hanging over the sides very limply. He was not a well shaped human being and was rather hairy. His ass crack was a disgusting site to say the least. Time to get even. We had purchased a 10 liter jug of peanut butter to be used by the group which was hardly used. I decided to use the entire jug to cover every inch of Carmat. Using sticks and other objects, he was completely covered. His face was absolutely featureless except for three straws I had placed in his mouth and nostrils. His ears did not exist. His hair was missing, it was like a blueman group guy but with peanut butter. Down his ass crack, his arms, his legs, his shoes, his socks, anywhere and everywhere. I left him that way and went to bed. The next morning I encountered Carmat completely cleaned up. The effort involved in that cleaning process I cannot imagine. We looked at each other and we had nothing to say. I felt I had gotten

beer die

even and he knew exactly why he got what he got. You don’t FUCK with me when it comes to chess. I am 1500+ on Yahoo if you want to challenge me.

My Attempt at Organizing Catalina

But Alas…

I was working at the Abercrombie and Fitch in South Coast plaza at the time. Regarded as the flagship store for this brand and used by almost the entire soccer team as a means to make some side income. They let us work after hours, likely because we were all too ugly to work during store hours, which allowed us to make our 5pm and 6am practices as well as go to school. I had recently got in touch with a long time friend, Mitch, who was living in Long Beach. He informed me of a party that I “needed” to go to at all costs and any excuse was not going to be good enough. I had to work until 10pm on the Saturday night but Mitch informed me that this would not be an issue and I should arrive whenever I could. That night I worked feverishly so as to be able to leave early and at 9:30pm I was out of the store.

My vehicle at the time was a 1989 Suzuki Katana 600 motorcycle. A fantastic starter motorcycle for those that might be interested and a horrible decision for my father who purchased the thing for me. I jumped on the Katana and set off North on the 405 at a gut wrenching speed to ensure the party would not start without me. Mitch lived in the downtown area of Long Beach right off 2nd street which is the main ‘drag’ if you will. There is a main street, 2nd street, littered with bars and restaurants and behind them are countless one way streets lined with fortunate cars that found parking. The houses are all very large but usually split into duplexes or triplexes. I came to a skidding stop in front of his house and the atmosphere was relatively quiet when I arrived. I walked in wearing my leather jacket, hideously long abercrombie shorts, helmet under my arm, and a huge smile as I was looking forward to seeing Mitch for the first time since we jumped out of Nicky’s bedroom window when her father came home.

The party was bleak to say the least, and it was already a little after 10pm. But that doesn’t stop re-acquaintances and immediately I was given the tour which included a trip to the fridge. This was the first fridge I had ever seen where all the shelves had been pulled out, and the entire thing was completely filled with beer from top to bottom. I grabbed one and we all sat down in Mitch’s bedroom and chatted and sang and played guitar. It was a splendid moment I must say, Mitch had become an amazing guitarist, along with his companions, and the music in the air was just right for the beginning of an outrageous night. The house was small but people were filling it up quickly and our overly merry group entered the party to make our presence known.

The first few hours could be described as a loud commotion with rapid talking and intense conversations. The people I met spanned the generations and mental capacities that this great world has to offer. The fish tank became quite a heated topic of conversation. I believe I was really hung up on why my gold fish always died and these pristine creatures seemed to be enjoying their existence. Music debates filled the apartment and many a soap box was constructed and shattered within minutes of each other. Small animals seemed to own the lower 2 feet of the apartment and if anything was dropped or you mistakenly bent over, they took advantage.I was the only person wearing Abercrombie and Fitch and they made sure that I knew that.

I am not one to count or brag about my consumption, but under these circumstances, I drank at least 18 beers over 5 hours with an unknown quantity of shots and other things put in front of me. ..

So the night dragged on and people started to clear out. The remaining crew fought courageously to maintain the rhythm of conversation that had been present all night. Mitch and Mike started to ask me about my motorcycle which I was so pleased about as I DO love bragging about that. We went outside around 3:30am to scope the beast out. You can imagine myself tapping the top of it, giving it a few kicks with my foot, and puffing my chest out about how fast I had taken it and all this. Mike asked to ride it which I did not think was a good idea. BUT, I would happily give him a ride. There was only one helmet so I forced him to wear it since I could not take responsibility for his demise due to lack of head protection. With unprecedented precision and accuracy, I stormed off down the one way streets of down town Long Beach. I took Mike on what was the most reckless driving that Long Beach had ever seen by two men on a motorcycle. One way meant nothing and I enjoyed heading straight into head lights only to squeeze between them and the parked cars lining the street. Speeds of 70mph+ were reached in 20mph zones. After about 10 minutes, I decided I would need to give Mitch a go. We arrived back to the house. Mitch was bouncing up and down like the floor guards inside the house. I came to a sliding halt and waited for Mike to get off. Mike slowly dismounted, removed the helmet, and gave it to Mitch. He said nothing. He just shook slightly and stumbled into the house. Later, from other party goers, we heard that Mike had entered the house very slowly, and when queried as to what had happened, he just mumbled something and flailed his hands in the air. He then went into his room, locked the door, and was not to be seen again for another 20 hours.

After seeing this, Mitch was doubly excited. He was about to put the helmet on but then stopped. He told me “If you are not going to wear a helmet, I am not going to wear a helmet.” Now, I like to think I am a master of logic, and Mitch’s logic was so clear and concise to me that of course I could not argue his reasoning. We sped off down the roads, screaming and yelping, with the wind in our hair and not a care in the world. I repeated the same manoeuvres that I had done with Mike and the more I did them, the more Mitch screamed with excitement. We took a cruise down 2nd street, slowly trying to show off our situation even though there was not many people to entertain. At this point in time, I had recently rolled my ankle during soccer practice and was severely weakened on my left side. On 2nd street, we came to a stop sign. I came to a complete stop because I follow all laws. As I leaned on my left side, I could not support the bike and Mitch and I fell over. The bike crashed to the ground still idling. I screamed at Mitch that we needed to rectify the situation so we both got on one side and lifted the bike. We both pushed so well that it just fell over to the other side. Eventually we recovered but this sequence of events happened at least two other times at other stop signs.

I decided that we needed to raise the bar a bit so I headed to Pacific Coast Highway. A marvellous road with at least 3 lanes on each side and slow rolling curves as you pass through Long Beach. Making sure to take the corners on the inside despite traffic regulations, we were able to exceed 100mph without issue. In a sudden moment of clarity, Mitch decided he needed to relieve his bladder so I headed into one of the beach parking lots. On the way in there was a gate that was blocking half the entrance. I thought to myself what a stupid gate and just went around it. As I passed the gate, the bike lurched like a bucking gila monster and all of a sudden the Katana sounded like a fully bored Harley. No matter. We parked and took a piss on top of a wall. A homeless man approached us and we talked philosophy with him for a while. An angel in disguise I believe as I am sure that the Police were currently scanning the roads for a loose cannon that made screaming noises.

We left the beach and made a few quick hot laps around the neighbourhood, but this time, we suddenly had the power to turn on the lights in all the houses. I believe it had something to do with the new noise my bike was making. We paid no attention to our onlookers and found the house. We parked, walked into the house, Mitch pointed at the couch and then walked into his room and locked the door. I fiddled with the TV remote and put a movie on. It was the movie RAD which is a BMX movie from the 80′s which culminates in the main character swooning his lover by dancing on his bicycle, with her, at prom, to send me an angel. During this movie, a giant white fluffy dog entered the house as if he lived there which I do not think he did. He laid on the end of the couch and looked at me as if to suggest I should use him as a pillow, which I did.

I woke up 16 hours later, and was the first one up in the house. I had to be at Abercrombie in 40 minutes. I tried to say my good byes but all the doors were locked in fear or excitement, I do not know. I went outside and inspected my bike, the muffler appeared to have been attacked by a radio active bobcat that had sliced a 10 inch gash in it. I stormed off and made it to work just in time, just in time to be harassed by the Abercrombie people for wearing the same outdated clothes two days in a row.

(The gash was created from running over the things that pop your tire if you go backwards over them. Pffff…. useless.)

Move in day and I meet my new roommate. We had organized that he would bring a fridge even though I told him I had one to bring. His fridge was extremely small and would hold either one bottle of captain morgan or an 18 pack pf beer. His parents were not pleased with the contents that seemed to be constant through out the year.

Spotting the good looking girls in the cafeteria, sitting down and placing my tray down, and afterwards asking if I could sit there.

I had a very artful poster depicting some naked girls with the album artwork from several of the pink floyd albums painted on their backs. I put this poster above my desk and was quite pleased with this. When the roommates parents came into the room, the mother saw the poster, and started climbing over my back and onto my desk in an effort to remove the poster. As I was sitting at the desk, unsure of what she was doing, I gently leaned into her with my shoulder until she lost balance and rolled onto a bed.

Having an absurdly large 21 inch CRT monitor (not flat screen) that weighted 74 pounds. It was old and not designed to be moved often. If disturbed, sometimes it would peer a red light at you and you knew you had no screen. The solution was to not move the screen. Late one night, with my roommate sleeping, I go to use my computer and the red light was showing indicating that my roommate had used the laptop. Drunkenly I started yelling and picking up the monitor and violently banging it around trying to fix it all the while cursing my sleeping roommate. No words were exchanged that night, but I knew there was fear instilled.

Showing up to lab way too drunk trying to help Andy and Dave on a project. I was not much use but more or less hilarious I am sure.

Finishing a huge programming assignment with Dave and Andy in my dorm room. We were on the final straight and we had decided to celebrate by drinking some captain morgan. Andy got a little too drunk and was laying on my bed. When Dave and I were not looking, Andy rolled off and fell 4 feet hard onto the ground. Our solution, duck tae him, heavily, to the bed. The situation would have looked strange to any observer as two white guys were duck taping a black guy to a bed while he was moaning and thrashing around.

Making the beds in my dorm bunk beds and leaving my roommate only 2 feet until the ceiling.

Getting in trouble for something and having the main dorms supervisor come. They looked for the help of the RA in our particular dorm, Tuy Vu, a very exotic and feisty asian girl. But when she was called to help, it was obvious that she was very high on something and was a hypocritical symbol to the entire situation.

Stealing a pizza slice from some one else in the dorm, running away to my room, and him punching a huge hole in the door. Complications ensued when time for payment came around.

Missing every single dorm meeting and coincidentally arriving for the last ten minutes (without knowing there was a meeting) either drunk, covered in something, extremely tired, or smelly.

Tray surfing.

Pat and I shooting each other with B B guns.

Pepper spraying pat.

6am practices.

Eating incredible amounts of food 5 times a day.

Walking through the drains.

Making a cave underneath my bed when my monitor finally broke permanently. I was cool.

Having sex on my bed and looking up to see my roommate peering at us from underneath his covers. He denies his activities.

My roommate sleeping in his bed. Me and someone are having sex on my bed. A couple is underneath my bed having sex and using a blanket to create their sex cave. And another couple are having sex just on the floor on the other side of the cave making blanket. All at the same time.

Putting a trojan virus on my roommates computer and disabling all his vowels on his keyboard. Or reversing the direction of his mouse. Or opening his CD tray while he is sitting at the desk and looking at it in wonder, slowly closing it and going back to work. I would do it again and the same process would repeat. He would then stop working and just stare at his CD tray waiting for it to do something. I would then open it, he would quickly try to close it, but I would close it before he could touch it. I would then open and close really quickly to taunt him to try it again. Meanwhile me and a friend are laughing hysterically, and when he looks at us and assks what is so funny, we say we are watching some video on the computer.

If anyone can think of more, please remind me…

Luke – “My debit card does not have a chip like all you English have.”

Mail guy – “It’s because all you Americans have eaten all the chips.”

I laughed and reminded him that the English are just as fat now-a-days and then we stared at each other. I recommend talking to my fattist friend Xavier if you want to continue this discussion but let me get back to the point of this entry. This is the story of how I enjoyed the benefits of a deep fryer I had found deep in the cupboards of my parents house. I wonder why they hid it so far back in the cupboards and never told me about it?

I returned to my Newport beach house with 5 gallons of corn oil, a deep frying machine that could just about hold a whole chicken, and a grin that extended from 34th street to 52nd. My first experiment was a bunch of chicken finger things we had in the freezer. It was easy, dump the oil in the machine, press the button, wait until it says its ready, and then put whatever you want inside. As far as how long, the machine gave recommendations on the lid for various types of common deep friable food. The result of the first experiment was a load of extremely tasty chicken fingers that could not have been eaten fast enough by me and my under fed roommates, except for Ian, who ate as if he had a large tape worm inside him. He also was huge and could beat three of us up at the same time, with me trying to choke him hanging on his back, he had Phil in a painful arm lock, and had Pat just held on the ground with some magical power with his other arm.

I decided I wanted to be a little more creative and for the next experiment tried a quesadilla. This was tougher since I had to use something to keep the quesadilla in the correct position otherwise everything would fall out. Everyone was sceptical but in the end it came out fantastically and I was happy to share with my roommates. Best quesadilla I have ever had.

Here is when things got interesting… part of my regular diet was grilled cheese sandwiches and since I was running around that anything dropped in this wonder machine was coming out perfectly, I had to try my favorite food inside it. I received immediate disapproval from everyone around but I had to persevere otherwise my deep fryer would lose all of it’s integrity. The oil at this point was collecting bits and bobs inside it from previous foods but I claimed this would only add flavor, and plus… what the hell do you do with 5 gallons of dirty oil? pshhh… So i butter up the bread, throw an extra amount of cheese on it, pin the bread together to ensure sealage, and drop it in.

I gave it five minutes and brought it out. It looked really good, I must tell you. It was very crispy but the sort of light crisp that you like to gobble up off your plate after eating some fried fish or something. It was an interesting brown but not burnt. A crowd had developed and was interested in the results and I could tell that they thought it might have actually worked. I bit into with a nice sizable bite and immediately about 6 fluid ounces of oil rushed into my mouth. Obviously the bread had soaked it all up and encapsulated it in the previously mentioned crisp. I struggled to not gag and chewed and swallowed. i could not taste cheese or anything else but it did not necessarily taste bad. It is just a really weird feeling. I didn’t make a face and tried to convince everyone it was good and they should try but because of my slow deliberate chew with no face , but definitely no smile, I could not convince them. Begrudgingly I admit, it was a failure and I did not finish my sandwich. So I no longer say to everybody as they eat deep friend fish heads and snickers… “you can deep fry anything and it will be good.”

P.S. As a final note on this story, I will tell you how I disposed of the oil. In a moment of complete stupidity, I went out back, and dumped it in the trashcan and walked inside. I had no idea that modern trashcans put wholes at the bottom to not let them fill up with water or trash sludge. I left for an hour or so and came back to my neighbor screaming at me and threatening to call the authorities (whoever it is for this kind of thing, EPA I suppose) unless I cleaned it up. Mind you I lived in Newport Beach, a very posh area, about 100 feet from the beach and a fine for something like this is on the order of $10,000. I spent the next three hours blowing all my non-existent cash buying clean up materials and sand cleaning that stuff up. Apparently you take that stuff to an auto store…

P.P.S This remind me of when I changed the oil on my motorcycle at a different house but still in Newport using 2 liter bottle. I had a 600 cc katana. Apparently two and a half coke bottles and some random plastic thing is enough to contain all that oil so when I ran out of containers I thought I would just let the last remaining bit go on the ground. Turns out there was a lot more and the complex had to come clean it up and they eventually charged us. I got them back by going backwards over those things that pop tires in parking lots and shredding a 13 inch gash in my exhaust pipe making my motorcyle sound like a harley and going to soccer practice at 6am.

I know, I can be really stupid. No people or baby seals were hurt in these oil fiascos.

Now I have no real passion for blimps, but I do love and adore remote control electronics. I used to be very heavy into R/C cars and spent many hundreds of dollars, or my dad’s dollars, trying to win the races behind the target and losing to the fat kids who had more money. In R/C car racing, just buy the best motor and you can do well. Electronic R/C that is. The coolest thing I got out of R/C life was getting my neighbor Matt involved who had some serious sponsorships from the parental units. He bought the best car, the best motor, and the best everything. We celevrated this by convincing him that he should line it up towards my friend Len’s 8 foot quarter pipe. An R/C car that weighs around 10 pounds going 45 mph up an 8 foot ramp that is vertical at the top is a freaking awesome combination. The car cleared the 100 foot oak tree and came down on the ground so hard it cracked the concrete. But I digress…

But let me digress one more time… I used to have an online journal in high school where I would write each day about random things that usually made no sense but was generally an entertaining read for the population at my school. I swear I had beat the blog scene but never capitalized, oh well. Either way I had a web cam in my room that you could control from the web page which I thought very cool. I had a contest that asked people to take pictures of me and send them in. I planned to give no prizes but people sent me some pretty hilarious pictures. Most involved the use of MSpaint and poorly drawn or pasted pictures of penises in front of my face. But I digress…

So I really wanted to venture into the realm of flight with R/C vehicles but planes and helicopters were so expensive. So when I saw this blimp I thought it was perfect at $80 while I was a broke freshman. I show up at the dorm and open the box. First I had to buy some 16 AA batteries brining my cost up another $14. This was for the remote and the mini fans. The next problem was that the balloon was not filled with air. The balloon had the dimensions of 3.5 x 2 x 2 feet, pretty fuckin big, nice and shiny with some really slick lightning bolts on it which obviously was to give it the impression that it would be moving really fast.

So UCI had a flower and balloon stand which I hoped would help me out. I brought the balloon down there and begged to have it filled up. They finally obliged for some over priced fee, damn bureaucrats, and I was walking back with a giant silver balloon with lightning bolts. I was very careful to not let this thing fly away and even tied a string to it and my shirt. I was getting really excited.

Back in the dorm I attached the main unit with the engines to it. you then need to attach weights (washers) to the balloon otherwise it floats away. After a while I got the ballast right and in my dorm room was this huge balloon with a small black unit on the bottom of it and it just hovered there, dead still. It was pretty cool. I would hang notes to the bottom of it that said things like “Go fuck yourself Geoff” or some other really poor taste thing like that. I would then fly it out my door, down the hall, and then into the next room making best guesses as to where it was. Keep in mind that this thing moved INCREDIBLY slow. It was too slow really but who wants a missle blimp? Just imagine, sitting at your desk, hearing this buzzing sound, and you look to your left and all you see is this giant silver balloon slowly turnin to face you telling you to fuck off. Perfect.

So now the time came to take it outside and really see what this thing could do. It was at this time that I learned some basic physics. Helium will act differently under different temperatures. So in our lovely california sun, the balloon basically started to rise and never changed it’s course. I had the fans at full speed and was running through middle earth (the dorms) as fast as I could to stay under it. Suddenly the lightning bolts were telling the truth and the balloon was moving at gulf stream speeds. I ran for about a mile staring at the sky with a ludicrously large and ineffective remote control screaming at an inanimate object which apparently only I could see. Only once I saw a plane fly underneath it did I give up and consider the balloon a loss.

What did I learn from this lesson? Nothing. I have broken several mini R/C helicopters, bought an R/C helicopter USB thingy that was the biggeest waste of time, went back to frys to get another balloon but was denied at the counter when I didn’t have any money, spent hours researching R/C helicopters and other things to fly like UFO’s, and much more stupid stuff that I shouldn’t waste my time on or even want.

Part 1: Computer Science Class

Senior year of high school was a breeze for me. I had a free first and fifth period and played sports all year so my 6th period was either for practice or also open. One of my other classes was AP Computer Science with Mr. McDermott. I attended this class with a good friend of mine Joe Proja. The first 20 minutes of each class consisted of the students sitting at their desks waiting for McDermott to finish whatever it was that he was doing and then eventually he would allow us to go to our computers. During these 20 minutes Joe would take massive chews and I would generally harass whoever was around me.

One day Joe and I decided to grow our hair out. But to make sure this happened we wrote up a contract which unfortunately has been lost in the winds of time. The terms went something like this: If you cut your hair before the other you will get pepper sprayed. (Initial revisions of the contract allowed for the choice of a stun gun, the one that sticks needles into you, but we abandoned this idea.)

At some point we allowed our friend Dustin Helvig to join the hair cut bet. He was a ringer since he did not go to school, play sports, and worked at play it again sports. After months and months our hair was getting out of control. Much respect to the females for managing long hair all their life. When prom time came around, Joe could not take it anymore and decided he required clean cut prom pictures. He cut his hair in secret to make sure that I would goto prom with my hair extremely long. I even saw him that day at the flower shop but when I tried to say hi, he ran away from me to hide what he had done.

I was ready to cut my hair as it was becoming a burden while I played soccer in the hot california weather. I ultimately cut my hair several days later taking second place, meaning that Dustin had won… that bastard. We decided on a day to enact the consequences and the plan was for me to pepper spray Joe and Dustin to pepper spray me right after.

This is all on video somewhere and if Dustin V. or Zak V. could get a grip and find it in their closet, that would be much appreciated.

I stood about 5 feet from Joe and blasted him in the eyes with some pepper spray we bought at the swap meet. He fell to the ground instantly and was screaming, although not louder than the roar of laughter from all his friends! Unfortunately for Joe he had his eyes locked shut and was not able to see Dustin stand in front of me and spray this foul substance into my eyes. It is really hard to stand in front of someone with pepper spray and keep your eyes open. It hit my eyes and they immediately shut with no chance of opening for about 45 minutes. I fell to the ground and started crawling around looking for the hose which Joe was using himself. Definitely a funny site watching someone on all fours stare directly into the end of a hose that is on full blast and listen to them try to explain how much it hurts. If you removed the water from your eyes, it would hurt much worse than it did in the beginning.

We were told that highway patrol men need to get sprayed and then do an obstacle course which I find extremely hard to believe. I have also heard of stories of cracked out people pulling up stop signs from the ground while getting doused with high powered pepper spray and then still able to beat up the cops. We also heard that a significant percentage of the population are not affected by pepper spray, as well as dogs.

Part 2: Luke goes to university to dupe some newbies

Move ahead one year or so and into the dorms at University of California, Irvine. I was describing this bet to my two good friends Pat and Geoff and we decided to do the bet again. I was coming off a second place in my previous bet which taught me to never lose this type of bet again. The bet had the same terms. Geoff eventually was excommunicated from the bet after we found out that he was trimming his hair ever so slowly to make it appear that it was never changing. To this day Pat and I still think we should sneak up on Geoff one day and douse the bastard! Pat started the bet with a two month head start of not cutting his hair but he was aware of his decision.

This bet did not last that long and I was ultimately the winner. Maybe Pat can fill in the real reasons for him cutting his hair but I think it was just because he secretly wanted to experience pepper spray. Now at this point I was experienced at shooting the pepper spray. Pat stood maybe 10 feet away from me but the distance did not matter. I zapped him in the eyes with the first pass from left to right and then I wrote my name in hand writing across his forehead and mouth making sure to have complete coverage. Pat had heard that in the previous bet we had dropped to the floor and found water instantly and he chose to try and avoid doing that to one-up us. So for about 5 – 10 minutes Pat did an amazing job of pacing back and forth in the grass with his eyes shut and spewing curse words about the accuracy of my shot and anything else he could think of. I am sure if he could see, he would have been throwing punches. Pat can be aggressive and with pepper spray filling his tear ducts he was like a wounded rhino in heat. Eventually he hit the shower and we all laughed about it afterwards.

Part 3: Luke gets his revenge

One night while I was visiting my friends back in Simi Valley and playing 100 club (100 shots of beer in 100 minutes), I was describing how I had got my friend Pat to feel the pain of the pepper spray. Part of my story was how I would never lose again, EVER. I would do anything other than getting pepper sprayed. And then I said the sentence that kicked off the next hair cut bet. “I would rather eat my own shit than get pepper sprayed again!” And the bet was on between me and Helvig who had still yet to know what it felt like to have your eyeballs peed on by a volcano.

Circumstances had changed at this point. I was not playing soccer as competitively as I was before and Helvig had got himself a job at a bank. Unfortunately for him, those banker types dont look well on someone with long shaggy hair turning into a mullet on it’s own accord.

For months we had the very gross conversation of how I would perform my penalty if I were to lose. Most of the suggestions had to do with my sobriety or what I would eat for a week before. It did not matter to me because I knew I would never lose. Eventually Dustin caved and he cut his hair. I pepper sprayed him well good with an evil smile on my face the whole time. Oh the taste of sweet revenge, or in Dustin’s case, searingly hot revenge.

In Conclusion

I have pepper sprayed three of my best friends and I don’t have any regrets. I still will run like a ninny if I see pepper spray within a 100 meters though. As I write this I have not cut my hair for 5 months and my reasoning now is to look more like the indigenous Argentinians as opposed to the gringo that I am, which I believe to be working. Any challengers out there?

So the day of the pageant rolls around and Nuthead and I need to prepare as we have done nothing until this point. The format of the pageant is in four parts: swim suit, knowledge quiz about the sorority, formal dress, and talent portion. Nuthead had a cow outfit for some reason and there was always a beer bong around the house. Milk would be purchased right before the event. His swimsuit was something rediculous like board shorts, a wife beater, and an inflateable ducky around his waist. His formal dress was some killer 70′s/80′s looking suit. My swimsuit was my roomate Geoff’s speedos which had a waist of size 24 while I am easily a 32 with huge legs due to me playing soccer 7 hours a day with a stunning tan right above the knees. My formal atire was purchased at the salvation army that day and ended up being pretty slick considering it was thrown together last minute. We went to Grants for Guns to purchase a taser. They were happy to give us one since we claimed it was a gift for Nuthead’s sister. We got two 9-volt batteries and we were ready.

Right before we goto the auditorium we decide to try the taser real quick to make sure it wouldn’t kill me or something on stage. We put the batteries in, turned it on and this thing was mean! We barely touched eachother with it and didn’t want to feel how it would be if you jammed it into your side. The sound is the worst part about it as it sounds like somebody is slapping a lardy thigh with a ruler 5 times a second with breakneck speed.

We show up backstage and find our lovely “coaches” from the sorority. They tell us the answers we need to know for the knowledge quiz and then give us a bag of goodies. The best goodie in the bag by far was the gatorade bottle with the label removed and replaced with a homemade label with pleasing pictures and encouraging words and the contents of the bottle were replaced with pure Captain Morgans spiced rum. Nuthead and I decide that since the pageant was soon we should drink all of the rum so that it would take effect by the time we got to the more difficult talent portion of the contest. A great idea of course.

The social science lecture hall was absolutely packed with people overflowing out the back and people sitting on the floor. Thankfully we had a large contingent of Phi Psi’s claiming a good chunk of the seats in the middle left. I come to find out later that the arts department was having a very rare kegger party and our very non-artistic friends had found their way there and practiced the art of drinking so they were floating on the same level as Nuthead and I were after our special gatorade. I gotta say I was feeling a little nervous at this point. The pageant starts and its all bells and whistles and lights and flash. The guys are announced and they walk out on the stage in their swimwear and take a little turn on the catwalk. Everyone else other than Nuthead and I had boardshorts on from what I can remember and with heavy concentrations of muscles on the upper body. My legs looked ludicrously large with this tiny speedo (the first time I had worn one) and who knows how the package looked but I felt that I got a good reaction from the crowd.

We are then told to sit down, without changing cloths I might add, and prepare for the knowledge portion of the pageant. The questions were things like “When was our sorority founded?” and “Who was the chapter advisor?” Nuthead and I were drunk at this point. We didn’t do well but the scoring was obviously not important as they were just arbitrarily claiming how much each question was worth.

We then all go back stage to change into our formal attire. Nut much to say for this round other than we both looked good and we both were more drunk than we were during the quiz round.

Now for the talent portion. I think there was some buzz in the crowd as word had trickled out as to what was going to happen even though we were trying to keep it somewhat of a secret. Nuthead goes first. He walks out in a cow outfit, udders and all, with a beer bong in his hand. He then pours a half gallon of milk into the beer bong and then proceeds to drink it to completion. Amazing! Takes a bow and walks off the stage. The crowd loved it and applauded him as he gracefully found the nearest trash can and then yakked it all out, backstage. The other guys were doing things like playing the guitar, or building them letters, or singing, you know… real talents. Then my turn comes. I come on the stage in my formal 70′s gear lip syncing to “When I think about you I touch myself” and the plan was to do this for only 30 seconds or so. Of course Nuthead let me sweat and this lasted for a minute or more as I performed some weak dance moves. Finally I waved him out he comes in his cow outfit and tasers me in the side until I fall on the ground writhing in pain. The crowd is gasping and laughing and applauding I think. Then in an effort to not lose the crowd, Nuthead comes over and stuns me again with a prolonged 3 second stun with me twitching on the ground the whole time. Then follows up with one final blast just to make sure I am done which I relay to him through some contorted facial expression that I was definately done. The crowd now is not really sure what to say or do as they seemed to feel my pain and were not sure if I was alright. I got up, bowed and stumbled off stage. Good thing I was drunk.

In the end we did not win. It was all rigged and the guy who was not that exciting who built letters for the girls won. It was not important to us. However, our section of the crowd was getting a little rowdy and the outcome was the final straw. Kamron gets his hands on the taser and starts stunning anyone he can reach in his area of the crowd, strangers or not. Bodies are hurdling the chairs two at a time and girls are screaming. Kamron finally gets the taser wrestled away but only after getting a few of our friends for good measure, especially Phil. This cleared the whole auditorium and needless to say the sorority was not pleased with our actions. I think they banned us from any more events like this or at least they didn’t tell us about them.

I had some hardy scars on my side for about 6 months after that night but it was well worth it and a very good memory from university. I would take a tasering any day over mase which will need to be discussed in another blog.

If anyone has any pictures or movies from this event PLEASE get in touch with me. Mine were lost in the great picture deletion of junior year.