Wednesday, October 19, 2005

The Greatest Danger To America

Friends, Civitonians, random visitors:

Today I must address the greatest danger to America and our way of life. This is an evil that has been plaguing us for several years now. An evil which has employed increasingly hostile methods to further its own cause. I know that this blog has never been a forum for political discussions, and I see no reason to change that, however, I feel that the problem must be properly addressed.

We are all familiar with this problem. Many of us deal with it daily. His name is Chris Cassimus. To many, Chris is known as a loyal friend, a funny guy, and a Greek-American. Don't let his witty man fool you. He is a danger that must be dealt with. Chris is a wolf in sheep's clothing, the bad apple that spoils the bunch, the HIV virus on the tip of the used heroin needle.

My fellow Civitonians: do not be taken in by his "charm."

You may be wondering what would posses someone to sit down and write about Chris in this manner. Well, my friends, allow me to explain. Chris is a deadbeat, a plagerist, and a hoodlum.

Chris would probably not want you to know that he currently owes me $50. This money has been owed to me for over a month now, and I am starting to believe that I will never see it. I have mentioned this to Chris several times, yet he has still not blessed my wallet with the money. In fact, one time, I was at Chris' apartment with him for sevearl hours. While there I asked him for the money, and when I did, he simply laughed and said that he would pay me. Well, Civitonians, this was over two weeks ago, and I have yet to see a dime. Remember that the baseball season is over and I will not be earning any more money until mid-April, so it is important to collect my debts promptly.

Fifty dollars is a big deal, yet, by itself is not enough to declare Chris to be a poison. In fact, I probably would never have realized the truth about Mr. Cassimus if it hadn't been for an incident that occurred over the last several days. This weekend we were at Civy and one of our favorite discussion points was brought up: Moose. I said that someone should write a blog article about him, and Tyler and Chris both immediately "assigned" me the topic, saying I should write it. On Monday, I honestly spent over 30 minutes online trying to find out any information on Moose. Yesterday, (Tuesday) during a stressful day of playing Madden and watching TV, I began to think out how I would address the topic, planning out much of the article in my head. When I became satisfied that the article was properly outlined (and after the World Series of Poker was over), I went into my room to type the article. The first thing I saw was a message from Chris that said "Are you gonna write it?" As soon as I saw it, I responded with "yeh." He then told me that it was "too late" that he was already stealing my topic and that he was "too deep" into writing it to stop.

This is not the only example of Chris stealing ideas. Sophomore year, I started an anti-police group known as PAP (People Against Pigs). Chris became overwhelmed with intense feelings of "jealousy and envy" (in his own words) and started a rival group called PACK (People About Cop Killing). Tsk Tsk Chris, violence is not the answer.

Another time, after becoming extremely covetous of the fact that several of his friends held membership in the underground organization known as CARL, Chris started another unorigonal group called Anti-Carl. This led to a prank war that began with the juvenile act of toilet papering my room, then moved on to me valiently putting shaving cream on his jeep. Chris then caused a massive escalation of the war by SMASHING MY CAR WINDOW, AND ATTEMPTING TO STEAL MY STEREO! I'm not saying that I responded to this, but you should ask Chris where in Georgia he was when his car engine blew up.

I want to make it clear that I do not hate Chris. He is a good friend of mine and a fellow Viper (sssssssssssssssssss), but he is a problem that must be dealt with, if only for the good of America and all of humanity.

The Dude Abides

P.S. I didn't even mention above that during the past year, Chris has been attempting to steal my own father away from me.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Ladies and Gentlemen: Sir Nate Torrence

There are a select few actors in Hollywood who command multi-millions per film. They are the elite. The best of the best. Producers know that even though the script might be garbage (see: Collateral), or that the director might be a child molesting coke addict (see: Man of Fire), these actors can and will cause the film to make a profit. Because they are the elite. Their names transcend both space and time. Their mere presence on the screen causes women to swoon, gods to be created, and kingdoms surrender to their eternal glory. They are Jack Nicholson. They are Robert DeNiro.

They are Toms, Cruise and Hank.
They are Denzel Washington and Brad Pitt.
They are the elite.
The best of the best.

Ladies and Gentlemen, let me unleash upon you the next actor to join that exclusive list. The English--who knighted him several years ago--know him as Sir Nate Torrence. But the rest of the world will know him by another name:


Nate Torrence was destined, from birth, to be one of the greatest actors in human--or any other kind of life form's--history. He was born in a quaint hospital in Canton, Ohio, under the supervision of Dr. Kenneth Noisewater, the same doctor who delivered both Leonardo DiCaprio and George Clooney. By age three, young Nate was already reciting lines of Hamlet, which annoyed his mother to no end--especially at dinner parties when he would approach her and say "Lady, may I lie in your lap. I mean, my head upon your lap. Do you think that I meant country matters?" Nate was scolded, and was told that Shakespeare was like Santa, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny. He didn't exist. Young Nate was undeterred.

By age eleven, Nate was already drawing comparisons to Marlon Brando, having had the lead in the school play locked up for seven years straight (the principal was considering moving him up, to the sixth graders play--Nate was that good--but he didn't). But one night, one fateful night, Nate's mother walked into his room to find him acting out one of the less-than-hetero parts of Milton's Comus on his favorite stuffed animal--a bear named Mr. Twinkle Britches. He was banned from acting, and his mother forced upon him competitive trampoline gymnastics, which he also excelled in--winning multiple national championships in a span of a couple of years. But Moose would charge (or whatever a moose does, charge? trot? stampede? slowly meander?) on.

So fed up with life, gymnastics, and acting, he fled from home at age sixteen. After years of living in a cottage in New Hampshire, writing a twelve act play about snails, Moose reappeared on the acting landscape.

Who is Moose Torrence? He's rugged. Deviant. Moose doesn't stay tied to one project. No sir-ee. That's why he's guest starred on hit shows such as "Las Vegas," "House MD," "Quintuplets," and "Malcolm in the Middle," delivering All-Universe performances in the roles of Private Turner, Pizza Guy, Moviegoer, and Keith.

Who is Nate "Moose" Torrence? He's the strapping young blond who defies the evil David Spade in those Capital One "No!" Commercials. Determined enough to risk certain death for a Roy Williams Cowboys jersey (when he could just go to and get one). Powerful enough to yell like a madman in that VW Bug commercial. Portly enough to make audiences actually think that taking an enterprise rent-a-car to a high school reunion--I mean come on, an enterprise rent-a-car to a high school reunion--is not only a good idea, but the only choice available if you want all those stupid hot chicks who would never make eye contact with you during high school to stop their materialistic and mundane lives and think "Hey: this guy is the balls!" He's just that good.

Tom Cruise. Brad Pitt. Nate "Moose" Torrence.

Get used to it.

Feech. out.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

A new old favorite

I just returned from the greatest course I have ever taken in my educational career. This includes elementary school all the way through the semester in college I am currently in. I am talking of course about the amazing bowling course that the University of Georgia offers. I can only describe the class as "totally balls." You walk in, grab some kicks, find your ball (in my case its the 12 pounder with the large finger holes), jump on a lane and throw rocks, baby. Today was a fairly good day as I bowled a 136 and a 129. However, one of the greatest days of my life occured only last week on October 3rd when I bowled a 185. It felt as though the bowling gods themselves were guiding my green orb down the lane and annihilating those helpless, wooden pins. I almost felt sorry for the little fellas until I glanced up at the scoreboard to see a big X. For those unfamilar with the sport, the X is the sign of a strike which, of course, is the most glorious moment a bowler can experience. You may be thinking, "why the hell would someone like myself want to bowl?" And to this I would merely say Bowling rocks. In addition, I have found that alcohol does not impair your skills. In fact, I would argue that I have thrown some of my better games following a binder the nite before and won money while drinking heavily and bowling. All in all, bowling is a fabulous course and I suggest any of those who have not yet taken it to do yourself a favor and enroll in it. You will not regret it, I promise. As I conclude this, the latest entry in the Civy Times, I have only one thing to add. In the words of the legendary Walter Sobchak, "Fuck it, dude. Let's go bowling."