by Jonathan Weinblatt
As stores have now decided to sell Halloween candy in droves, we here at The Punch Bowl have decided to sell seasonal humor a tad early, and by seasonal, we mean obvious, and by humor, we mean things we overheard at Marbar. Today’s column comes from the eyes and ears of Jonathan Weinblatt.
The night began just like any other Tuesday night. The clock struck midnight and 25-year-old senior Al Famail departed his sweaty apartment in a post-game state of sobriety at to crash a party at the football house. As he ascended the creaking stairs Al mumbled to no one in particular, “Dude, if I could find a hot wasted freshman chick to nail tonight, I won’t drink a drop of booze for the rest of the semester.”
Little did he know, but some one in particular was listening. Fortunately for Al, he had just made a heartfelt plea to Dude, the local West Philly god of fraternities. You could say Al Famail got lucky later that night, but luck had nothing to do with it. Al was not surprised in the least that his spurious claim of starring as a thrice redshirted tight-end on the football team was enough to entice a sufficiently buzzed and excessively gullible young maiden. Apparently, the 14th time was the charm for this pick up line. With Dude’s deific assistance, the buxom lass was unable to resist the handsome young man, and Al had his dirty way.
Sadly, our story does not conclude with this happy ending. Al had made an oath to a powerful and vengeful god and his promise would prove difficult to keep. The following afternoon, Al found himself deep in the doldrums after an embarrassing loss by his E-A-G-L-E-S, Eagles! A careless pledge the last thing on his mind, Al sauntered over to Allegros to drown his sorrow in the nectar of the gods, so to speak. 30 minutes later Al was double fisting empty forties of Olde English and belching with great vim and vigor. Though Dude loved his brothers, he considered any vow regarding alcohol to be an especially important one. Indeed, the last council of the fraternal gods had deemed it a “man law” never to be broken.
Only a split second after the orchestral resonance emanated from Al’s belly, a far more unusual noise emerged for the first time. “Pardon me. That was quite rude.” Truth be told, Dude had mysteriously transformed the contemporary neanderthal into an urbane man. Beyond simple Penntrification, Al was now more comfortable expounding on the inevitable ills that could befall emerging economies in West Africa than he was stuffing buffalo wings down his greased-up esophagus. Al was ready to advance in society and take up the reigns at his father’s prestigious law firm. In his life Al amassed great wealth and honor. Sadly, all of his college buddies grew to hate his guts and longed for the chugging comrade they once knew and puked in front of. Al died alone in a soulless husk of body, regretting that he had chosen to save hundred of lives instead of planting that one tree for the community service requirement of Alpha Alpha Mu in West Philadelphia.