Thursday, November 10, 2011

Welcome to the Party Foul!

Which brings us to the party foul...

This Universe, like the human mind, walks a delicate balance between order and disorder.  Up to this point in human history, we have successfully navigated the milky balance between animus and anima, the ability to create with the hunger to destroy, entropy v. anarchy, etc. 

The party foul represents the moment that complete disorder is unleashed.  When all reason breaks down, Pandora’s Box is opened and irrationality ensues; the negative consequences of the party foul spread like wild-fire.  Religions cast this great struggle as good v. evil, sin v. austerity.  When the dragon overcomes, the Partiers, like John Jenson, Rick the Rat, C-Money, Gards, Fat Pay, Shady G, Euro P Gold, Cousin J, Party Boy Geazy, Party Girl Pinky, Tinka, Juicy Jules, Cousin SEP, Big Z, Big Mike, Big J, CRSN, the Flag Man, Lil' Prince, Lil' Smokey, Ronnie, Danny Boy, Bosch, Eh Goddamit, Quark, Big Davidson, Cliffbar, Aro, Hercules Einstein, Vicky the Viking, Emily the Baker, the Booty, Mexico, Peach Pie, Pigs, CC, J-Man, Strawberry, TaxMan, Suzers, Blazin D, Chuck the Hipster, Nosey Lena, BeReal, Tax Man, Kristophe the Beer Man, understand a different form of chaos – and decry Party Foul!  The Party Foul marks that moment in time when the pure unpredictability of the universe is unleashed in human form, and all hell breaks loose around those within the strings of the persona’s party-foul.    Most of the time, the party foul sets in motion a series of events, compounding, consuming others in its course of destruction until there is nothing left, the momentum disipated, but the indicia of destruction.

For example, following the party foul of the 2001-2 New Year's Party, which you haven't yet learned of but will be detailed shortly, after Joe Jenson jettisoned Dude-Bro Burrows through the wall, it set off a course of events that is impossible to measure in scope and breadth:

Jensen's girl Yoni walked away from the relationship
and into the arms of another. 
She is now a mommy.  Jensen joined the Marines, where he lived at Camp Pendelton,
California and Okinawa, Japan.  This decision could be directly linked
to the lost girl who would have been otherwise. 
Anything is possible in the multiverse,
and a properly executed party foul changes history in manifestations
that may never be truly comprehended.  Were it not for a Tsunami that struck in Thailand
the day after Christmas, 2004, Joe Jenson may have been shipped off to Iraq. 
A few days after Joe Jenson put a hole in the wall with a human body,
riddled with the guilt of causation, I found myself in the back seat of a car
going 70 miles an hour at 4 AM around the curvy roads in the Mainline, 
and Danny Boy hit a patch of ice and the car swerved right and over a wall,
flipped across the street and landed with a defeaning thud. 
A BMW collapsed into a shattered meatball. 

Bosch was in the front passenger’s side, upon touchdown,
his ankle broken into pieces as well.  His winter was spent hobbling around
Cornel’s campus with a walking boot in tow, struggling through the snow. 
My head, bloodied from the impact, vividly remembers
struggling from an upside down angle, a car that smelled of fuel,
and how difficult it was to unbuckle while strapped in the wrong way. 
It’s all related to the party foul.  We’re all connected for better or worse.   
       
            The greatest party foul of the information-age occurred September 11, 2001, championed by a powerful and influential group of shadowy world leaders.[1]  It has led to years of war, destruction, and a lost generation of volunteers that have returned home without any hope for the future, devastated by PTSD and no longer able to integrate into society.  Villages and a century of culture lost in the wake of war.  Adolescent recruits drawn into a war by a propaganda machine.  A media obsessed with images of firey planes and destruction, flames that unfolded into bloodlust and rage.  A complacent government that ignored the warning signs, and potentially understood the benefits of war to its benefactors.  A country traumatized by the memory of a day survived by all those who observed on television, and obsessed with exacting that same carnage against innocent civilians thousands of miles away.  Party fouls abound. 
            Everyone alive remembers that fateful day.  While in college at Emory University, a few blocks away from the CDC, watching televisions in the gym after class was cancelled, briefly in fear that an attack may take place close-by.  The student population resembled a walking lot of zombies, confused and destinationless, hungry because Dobbs Cafeteria had been closed.  About 10% of the school’s population hailed from the New York Metro region, 5% from the DC region, unspeakable sorrow and fear.  School was cancelled for two days, so then everybody went home to relive the nightmare on television thousands of times in the next 48 hours.  Since school was cancelled – I invited people over -- a group of select friends - C-Bo, Crackhead, couple of freshman girls from New York who did not know anyone, and Beastie Girl - this hot sophomore I’d been courting for a couple of weeks.  We are drinking games for 2 hours –
            Make a rule – little Shreepal rule – you have to take the little Shreepal off of the cup before you drink.  Eh don't drink me!  You just drank Shreepal, you have to drink!
"Eh Goddamit!  I'm gonna cut you.  I don't talk like that!"
"Hey man, Sweeps man, you kinda do sound like that man..." Says Crackhead, a handsome 6'2" baseball star from Valdosta who had quit the baseball team and about half his brain when he joined the fraternity to become a ladies' man drinker as opposed to a ladies' man athlete, Lauren Freshman in his left arm, who is interested in C-Bo but C-Bo and all 135 pounds of him is already passed out on the couch after like 5 beers.  Been a long day for C-Bo, his family from North Jersey, lots of firemen, lots of stress, I just hope he doesn't pee on the couch like he did last week.
"Shit, two queens, I can’t play."  "AH! You didn’t take off the little Shreeps" yells the Beastie Girl, "DRINK!" 
            The Beastie Girl stayed over that night.  We dated for two years.  Almost started a family, if it weren't for distance, graduation, moving to different cities and starting carreers, and therein lies the strangeness of our world, where beauty occassionally arises from tragedy; French women fall in love with wonkey U.S. soldiers during WWII, yes there is always the slim promise of opportunity, even in the face of sheer horror, that is a reason to get up everyday even in the most disheartening of circumstances. 




[1] The iconic 21st century party foul in no-way overshadows the political party fouls of the 20th century – the Holocaust, the A Bombs, the annexation of Palestine and corresponding internment of its people, Stalin’s “Gulag Archipelago” and engineering of the Ukrainian famine, the Cambodian Killing Fields, Ruwandan and Bosnian genocides – too much sorrow and pain to list from historical eras that people hope to forget, but their mere occurrence and remembrance seems to perpetuate further violence.  The party foul is rooted in the marginalization of the other, fratricide, that people are worth excluding or not sympathizing with because understanding would require a person to turn the mirror inwards; instead of introspection, much simpler instead to condemn another. 

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