i post this every year, but this years version is different. better. more bittersweet.

The Things We Think and Do Not Say

As my entire college career lies in my wake and an uncertain future lies ahead, now is the time for yours truly to take a short time to remember and reflect.

All throughout grade school, I remember the last day of classes as a yearly event of unparalleled joy. The only thing anyone could think about was the endless summer. The next school year seemed like it would never come. College? Getting a job? The rest of you life? Only an eternity away, not worth worrying about now. However, in college that same last day of classes is different. One might never think that a party that starts at 3 pm on a Friday afternoon could in any way be bittersweet, but you would be wrong. The very reason why we drink with the sun on our backs, the reason we sing "Freebird" at the top of our lungs, arm in arm with our closest friends on the front lawn of a frat party, is not because we are happy that the school year is over, but because we realize that the rest of our lives is one year closer. We are scared because we finally comprehend that these years, the years that we live our lives and our youth to the fullest, the best years of our lives, are slowly but surely coming to a close. That is the reason why we drown our misty-eyed happiness at the bottom of a bottle. We smile, we sing, we cry, but we will never be the same.

This realization is useless unless each of us learns, for better or worse, from our earth's most recent trip around the sun. Each person reading this rant is not the same individual he or she was at this time last year. We have fallen in and out of love, slept through classes, ingested copious amounts of alcohol and encouraged others to do the same. We have sung, danced, fought, talked, walked, run, and ate. Many times all of these happened in the same day. We grow, we build relationships, we fall, we get back up, and in the end, we are better people simply because we made it through the ups and downs.

This year has taught yours truly a great deal. I've had the best times of my life, most involving alcohol, loud music, and loose women. Highlights include Novemberfest (a 621 production), Halloween, Puerto Vallarta, BLACKOUT featuring Tyler Hansborough (another 621 production) and all the lovely, lovely ladies in between. But, as with all things in this world, the good came with the bad and the ugly. I learned what real friendship is, and who my real friends are. Almost at the same time, I learned to recognize who could persevere through life's lemons, and who will need a lifetime of therapy to get over their sheltered youth. I can tell you with no ego that I am not bitter toward any of the people who taught me these things. In fact, I am glad I ran into them now so I can avoid them in the future. As cliche as it sounds, when life hands you lemons, make lemonade, mix it with vodka, and drink a lot of it.

i dont know how things are going to be. in about a week, this so called life called college will be done. like at the end of goodfellas when ray liotta goes from the gangsta life to the middle of suburbia and he is bored to tears. After all my reminiscing is done, I know that remembering is only helpful in moderation. Don't worry about the future, for it has yet to come. Forget about the past, for the past is done. Only care about today, because today is day one.

Enjoy the endless summer everyone, wherever it may take you. Never forget that the future is bright.

Hugs and handpounds.

how to throw a hot party, by mobert jones the third

go on spring break

get drunk

plan end of year party while drunk on spring break

621 presents BLACKOUT featuring tyler hansborough? sounds good to me.

create an event on facebook and send it to all your friends, cuz we all know word of mouf is the best advertising money can buy.

make fun of people who dont rsvp cuz they are wack as shit.

see over 100 confirmed guests

expect three times more

buy supplies, which include giant shroom shaped black light bulbs, specially ordered black plastic cups, and big ole bottles of bottom shelf liquor.

dont forget the grape kool aid. lots of it.

put all the breakable shit in the closet so it stays in one piece.

if youre name is greg, keep telling everyone thats worried about the rain that its gonna stop.

sit in your house and watch it rain. all day.

if your name is mike, bounce out on helping out to go to the hurricanes playoff game.

watch hurricanes lose.

make funny comments about bad karma and laugh nervously.

more rain.

as soon as it gets dark out, go get fly and change into your blackout threads.

mix the shitty liquor and the koolaid. stir it up just a lil bit.

dump a whole two pound bag of sugar all up in that shit. stir it up just a lil bit.

kappa tappa kegga with mussell's super industrial strength robotic no hose tap.

start dranking.

bang out some jams, cuz everyone knows if you play it loud, they will come.

drank some more

see the rain stop and be merry.

see people show up.

see ladies looking fly all blacked out.

see more ladies looking fly all blacked out.

move some units and make that money.

get crunk. get high. get low.

cut the lights off and watch everybody glow.

dance dance, cuz these are the lives youd love to lead.

bring out two more kegs just to, you know, keep the party goin.

move some units and make that money.

go upstairs and break the seal.

have sloppy drunken makeouts.

get buzzed, get drunk, get crunked, get fuuuuuucked up.

watch greg go to work. watch mike holla. watch kelechi spit game. watch vic-tory treat all the women in the place real respectable-like, the ones hes not tryna fight at least.

watch three of them fail miserably.

get pissed cuz the cops show up, even though the music isnt loud at all. next time you should tell people not to stop their cars in the middle of the street in front of your apartment.

try to be polite to officer miss butch nasty while secretly dropping some yo mamma jokes from that new mtv show on her in your mind.

hide lora and lil paige in your bathroom when the cops come all up in your place clearing people out.

go to timeout at 4am and consume the most delicious meal youve ever had.

go home and go to bed

listen to victory come back from dook, bang on your door at 5am, take off his socks and pants and hop in bed with gregory paige.

get up, clean up, wrap up.

take lots and lots of pictures.

blog.

fin

the hurricanes are strugglin a bit, and i think i know why.


ive decided that katy temple is the worst sideline reporter in the history of sideline reporting. therefore, she must also be bad luck for dem boyz. now, im not saying that she belongs in the kitchen, but she sure as hell doesnt belong on my hurricanes' sideline. fuck off katy.

laziness defined


must mean a big party is coming up

hmmm...

greg says:
speak of the devil.

mobert says:
dude, what i do, i just got home.

greg says:
youre just like vinci man.

mobert says:
like who?

greg says:
vinci, man! that dude from eighth and ocean

mobert says:
whys that

greg says:
man, you have to watch this episode

mobert says:
no i dont, ive seen him already

greg says:
see? you are just like him!

mobert says:
yeah, cept i have much better taste.

greg says:
in what?

mobert says:
beer, women, clothes, you name it. hell, i should be on that damn show.

greg says:
hahahahaha

ok, see i have a confession to make. no, it doesnt involve underage girls or a video camera, father, its something much worse. right now, right at this moment, i have two papers due in the next fourty eight hours. two. at twelve pages a pop, and about an hour of dicking around on facebook per page, thats a whole lotta writing. so instead of actually doing productive work, im blogging. welcome to the show.

understandably, the undergrad is not exactly poppin at eight in the morning. my first paper is due in exactly nine hours and im not worried one bit. hell, i wrote fifteen pages on The Godfather in six. something tells me that the economics of premarital cohabitation is not as much fun as visual analysis of violence in the greatest film of all time.

speaking of The Godfather, its common legend that, in order to play the role of Vito Corleone, Marlon Brando stuffed his cheeks with wads of cotton to pull off the necessary aura of The Don. this is a load of horseshit. i just had my wisdom teeth removed, and after having my cheeks stuffed with gauze for the past three days, i can tell you from experience that it doesnt make you all raspy or strike fear into the hearts of men. you can wave you hands around in the air and squint with beady eyes all you want, but without the voice, people will be refusing your offers left and right. theres no such thing as the co-tton don.

the only good thing really about having dental surgery is getting a brand spanking new bright orange plastic prescription bottle of Vicotin, addictive painkiller to the stars. this shit will fuck. you. up. i promise. theres a little sticker on the side that says so. ive been trying to get off it, especially cuz academic work usually requires clarity of thought in writing and not medicated ramble soup, but it just makes you feel so damn good. i could probably get off it if i really wanted, which means that ive just come into a supply of prescription drugs for recreational usage. not my bag, but nobody turns down a profitable opportunity. any takers?

two pages down, ten more to go. schweeeeet.

mobert out.

blog, world.

world, blog.

everyone grab a beer and lets go.