Body Shots VIII

Well, another team ritual has come and gone. And with it, some very interesting (to say the least) experiences.

1) The party was, of course, the infamous Body Shots. If you don't know what a body shot is, you better axe somebody. Anyhow, as a tradition, every year the women's team chooses one of the guys on the team to be the "team shot." All the women get to do a shot off of that particular individual ("shot" consisting of licking, applying salt, licking again, taking a shot of tequila, and taking a lime slice from the individual's mouth).

Well... that individual, my friends, was none other than this guy (::points to self::). Ironic indeed.

2) Immediately following that, given that I had my shirt off so they could apply salt, a certain red-haired member of the women's team proceeded to write "SLUT!" just below my neck, and "I AM SLEEPING WITH YOUR SISTER" in huge letters just below that. Soap and water alone are powerless to remove this bodily vandalism.

3) I took three showers tonight. Only two of them were with water though. The third was a shower of glass shards. All over my head and back. Why? Because a certain 6'5" non-roommate best friend of mine decided it would be a good idea to smash in his own living room window from outside in the alleyway. Not only that, but to do so while I was standing directly behind it. Needless to say the first words to come to mind were, (thanks Dave Campos of IU for giving me such applicable words) "Are you fucking stupid?!" Only one small piece of glass was embedded in my arm.

I originally thought that someone had thrown a bottle or shot glass at me. I was ready to kick ass - way past fight-or-flee reflex and on to pummel reflex.

4) But on a lighter note, I basically devoted my entire night prior to that to throwing used lime slices at people. No regrets there, cause it was amazing. Leaping over the bar to smear limes in Jack's face was pretty fun. Ethan provided the funniest moment of the night, when he chucked a fistful of lime rinds at us from the side, while emitting a hilarious war screech. In the words of Jack, it went down like this:

-Hey, Jack...
-What??
...Limes to the face

Good work, Thomas Jefferson. You fucking wrote that shit, man.

5) Meatbites. I was bitten earlier in the night by said red-haired member of the women's team. Such is life, I mean, that happens all the time. Last year we all gang-bit her as payback for the numerous bitings over the course of last year. But anyhow, I didn't really think I'd get bitten again. But then, I was on Meatduty. That is to say, escorting Meatwad home from the party to his dorm. In the words of Premie, "a drunk Wad cannot be tamed, rather its damage can just be slightly contained." Contained, of course, means getting bitten on not one but both triceps, and preventing him from passing out behind a jersey barrier on K Street. Victims in the path of Hurricane Wadma include a GW garbage can (full of garbage), several orange warning barrels, the palm shrubs outside of the Plaza Hotel (I think) and a "sidewalk closed" sign.

Although marred by one hospitalization, all in all, even for a stone-cold sober individual like myself, it was a good night. Particularly getting most of it on tape and pegging Walsh with limes for most of the night. Pwned.