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Saying "No" to a Dare: This Happens

January 31, 2017
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There I was, in a shady hotel room, awoken by the sound of what may have been people f***ing, or someone trying to give their cat a bath. I wasn’t too sure, due to the previous night's shenanigans, where I drank enough to kill a small farm animal, much less create a massive hangover. After stumbling down the hotel hallway in search of any sort of liquid that didn’t resemble whiskey, I realized two facts. One, today was the Grunt Style beer pong event I road tripped 13 hours to attend. Two, I wasn’t wearing any pants, but, upon further reflection, I really didn’t give a sh*t. That soda machine was my goal, and no laughing people or the occasional wiggle jiggle of my manhood peeking out the frontal fun flap was going to stop me.After a short day of consuming what the hotel tried to pass off as eggs and a stale-ass English muffin that may have been a relic from the Revolutionary war, it was time to plan out the radio broadcast and conspire on some shenanigans. I’m not sure why we ever bother planning, being it all goes to shit at the drop of some Cap'n Morgan’s

When we rolled up to what we thought was going to be a total sausage fest of drunken vets all trying to measure dicks (as if it makes a difference now), upon entering, it was anything but. The joint smelled like stale beer and bad decisions from the previous night’s event, but we were greeted by the Grunt Style staff who enthusiastically traded some nice crisp Washingtons for the coveted beer tickets to be used during the epic battles of skill, wit, comedy, and the occasional wardrobe malfunction. See, beer pong isn’t just a drinking game. It’s a bragging rite of passage to peek into one’s true character. Some take it too seriously, but I think you can gain more by losing with style, rather than winning with a pickle up your ass. By the first match, it was evident that there was a strong female presence in the room (other than the smell of perfume that, mixed with the current aroma, could have been named “Essence de Coors Michel”) - the tell-tale sign of a line to their bathroom. Go figure, our first match was to my partner-in-crime’s wife and her friend. It was a sudden loss, that, I suspect, was a calculated maneuver to guarantee my partner and his wife sealing the deal that night (I previously mentioned being awoken by the lovely sound earlier). That game was a never ending match filled with laughter and mayhem. And, bonus, that loss meant more air time, drinking, and mingling amongst the diverse crowd of fun people. It was a mixture of veterans, active, and patriots that were all there for the same reason - have some fun, meet new people, and hang out with their own. There were no fights, no arguments, no “I was this service & MOS” crap one would normally expect when you mix services and booze. As we waited for the ensuing battles to transpire, I was able to meet some of the coolest people - not knowing that, later on, they would become amazing friends, business partners, and co-hosts on some of the most successful net radio shows out there. I personally never go to an event to do business. It's a time for fun, letting loose in a safe environment, and getting to hang out with people doing amazing things. There is plenty of time later on to discuss future endeavors (after trying to remember even meeting them through pictures no one remembers taking, and those “Oh sh*t, that did happen?!” moments of partly embarrassing laughter). I have seen more like-minded people connect as friends that combined their forces toward similar goals, who went on to not only achieve those goals but far exceed them. I’ve seen re-connections of old friends, and new relationships form (and I’m pretty sure the occasional “Pull and Pray’ gone wrong resulting in the conception of a future patriot).


After a regrouping (AKA Got smashed) with my teammate, we were up for the super hyped, shit talking, super fight of beer pong grudge matches. Now, I’m not saying we whipped their ass - well, yeah I am saying that, since the bet made resulted in "The Kiss Heard 'Round the Community." This, thankfully, was not between my teammate and I; no crying game for us! Now don’t get me wrong, I love the dude and look for any excuse to stroke my fingers through his majestic man mane of beastly bearded beauty. Kissing him is NOT on my bucket list of mayhem, sorry to disappoint ya’ll. As a result of this win, my teammate took full advantage of both the moment and my inability to back down from a challenge of epic comedic value, no matter what may happen. He said, with an evil giggle, “Hey Dan, take this pong ball and slam dunk it!”It was mid full-body launch when I realized what a dumbass I am, this was going to hurt, and, generally, I f****ed up. I slammed the ball home, and stuck the landing, crashing down upon the table of freedom. That wasn’t the only thing that got stuck. Many can say that they took a little piece of that even back home with them through great memories made; I, however, can say I actually DID take a piece of the event home, in the form of splintered wood impaled in my abdomen due to someone leaving a beer pitcher under the table. Through the cheers and laughs (mostly because I didn’t kill myself), a couple of things stood out in my mind. The 13-hour trip with some fellow brothers who all were having an amazing time, the new bonds that were made, the future ideas that were becoming reality, and - most of all - the feeling that was long lost. You know the one; that no matter good, bad, funny, or sad, you were surrounded by your own. No one judging you, no one looking to cause trouble, everyone looking out for one another, the feeling of togetherness. Laughs and stories that have lasted a year leading up to the next one. That’s what it’s all about. It was all worth it, and I can’t wait until the next.

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