Why would you post that Long-Ass Shit ?

“That's a basically accurate comparison between people who live on the north side of Chicago and people who live in Milwaukee. I'll take the happy medium of Madison.”

So after Dr. A.R. Hess’ comment I got to thinking: what would an article detailing Madison during the BigTen Football opener sound like? Madison is a bit of an enigma - a city where people as smart and conceited as Northern Chi-sters still enjoy vomiting, Brett Favre, and self-deprecation as much as their fellow Killwaulkians is hard to define…

You wake up at 9am on Saturday - not because Kick-off is at 12:06 and you need exactly 3 hours and 6 minutes to get drunk, but because the vomit stuck to your cheek from the night before has hardened into some form of a weapon that’s starting to poke and scrape. You peel yourself from the kitchen floor, tossing aside the paper towels you were using as a blanket only to realize you don’t know where you are (other than a kitchen). At least you’re clothed.

You try to massage the softball-sized knot out of your neck as you walk outside – only to see you are the last one on the street and already late for the party. You weave through a jungle of multiple-story beer bongs, noticing that many people are already too drunk to focus on your puke-caked cheek. You are the only one in public not yet wearing red. You see a 48 year-old man vomit behind a car while double-fisting rum mixers. His wife stands next to him eating a hot dog and watching. She is also double fisting. You decide this requires action - you take off your shirt and run home topless. The woman cheers for you.

After a 3-minute shower, which includes 2 HighLife cans and a bowl that was too moist to actually hit, you pull on your $350 jeans and your $7 red t-shirt with both a large middle finger and Bucky printed on both sides. Somewhere between your 3rd and 4th HighLife and brushing your teeth you decide old shoes, no socks. You turn on your roomates 60-inch flatscreen TV with the 19-inch scratch to GameDay, not because you’re going to watch GameDay, but because it needs to be on GamedDay all-day during GameDay (Fuck You Al Gore). 2 hookahs and 3 HighLifes later you’re out. It’s 9:48

Suddenly you remember you have a boy/girl friend, so you call, let it ring once, then hang up. You can’t be expected to do all the work. You walk into house Party #1 along the way down Spring Street. Entirely too many unnecessarily large JelloShots later you’re convinced the only thing capable of balancing you out is Gin and Brats from the Stadium. While leaving the house party you see another 50 year-old man puking. As you walk by you see him regain his composure, only to stick his fingers into his throat and resume heaving. His 14 year-old son is standing next to him watching, eating a brat. He is also double fisting.

10:39 Walk past the police station, promising your friends you will knock out a bike-cop with one punch, and that you’re ‘going to fuck Darcy tonight.’ Everyone laughs, then immediately falls silent as a bike cop rolls by. ‘Next time.’

10:45 walk into the Stadium. See your 5th grade teacher drunker than you you’ve ever imagined a 5th grade teacher can get. At first it’s awkward, but she ensures you it’s ok – she teaches 6th grade now. You trade McGillicuddy shots. Then you trade Kessler shots with her husband – which he thinks is way funnier than you. Your teacher kisses you on the cheek - which he also thinks is way funnier than you. It’s awkward again so you relocate, buy 2 Gin & Tonics and 2 brats. As the G&T’s arrive you put your fingers into the cups and scoop out all of the ice, proudly combining your 2 talls into a quad. You put more condiments on the 2 brats than they can support, assuming it’s cool b/c Red can’t stain Red.

10:48
Discover Red stains Red severely.

10:58
Vomit Session # 1. It’s more orange than Red. You make a mental note that JelloShots trump Ketchup.

11:03
You finish vomiting, only to realize there’s a 49 year-old woman obliviously leaning against the wall next to you peeing. There’s an ATM 10 feet away with a family that includes 2 little kids – all fixated on this shit-show. In one motion you take off your shirt, wipe off your mouth and run. The woman cheers.

11:14
30oz Sol bottles behind the Open Pantry. Many.

12:15
Wait inside the Open Pantry to use the bathroom. Although the line is 17 deep it’s cool because the game’s on a 14-inch TV above the bathroom and Kit-Kats are 2/$1. You feel that this requires a mass-text to your whole phone book. (“KitKats 2fer1 @ OP you Hoes” – Nana will be thankful for the tip) There’s also a girl with really short shorts in front of you that has tied her shoes like 6 times already. You notice how sweet it is to watch a game on the little ass TV but hear the live crowd of 80k through the door. Suddenly, like an 8 year-old, you notice you are about to piss your pants and decide to run outside, only to realize you still have 4 half-eaten KitKats in your hands. ‘I’ll be back – I promise!’ The dude behind the counter has cleaned up far too much vomit by this point to give a fuck. ‘Fuck You!’

12:28
You find it tremendously humorous that you’re peeing in the same spot for the 3rd time in an hour. The people walking on the sidewalk that you shout this to don’t find it quite as funny. You suddenly remember that JelloShots Trump Ketchup and get super pumped – only to immediately forget why.

12:41
You decide to go back into Open Pantry – not because you feel guilty about the KitKats you just threw behind the store, or because you think that girl with the shoe-tying fetish was into you, but because it seems like a good time to buy a pack of Marlboros even though you don’t smoke.

1:38
On your 9th cigarette, you figure it’s time to go into the game. Your uncle’s co-worker’s neighbor would be super pissed knowing you wasted his tickets. Even if they were only $24.

1:45
You get to your seat to realize the Badgers are already winning by 28. That addition looks cooler every time you see it; you remind your buddy that Barry is god. Then you watch Biellema execute some ridiculously complicated confusing shit involving 7 substitutions, a field goal, 14 linemen and 2 kickers right before the half - that just hurts your head. Everyone around you has 17 theories and some even have rule books out; none of them seem drunk enough. The sun is starting to beat your ass. You begin dreaming of hockey games.

1:57
HalfTime. You pretend not to hear the PerMar guard when he reminds you can’t re-enter once you leave. You’re positive the rock-solid excuse you’ll create will change that rule - sorry old man. Let the 2nd half of the day begin.


(Peace to Al Gore and the Environment; GameDay only trumps you guys in the world of humor. Now get me some cold water)