Season's Greetings from Joe Reefer

WDR May Cause Obesity, but We Didn't Cause Thanksgiving

You can blame the Indians for that.


It's that time of the year again, folks. Halloween's over, and sloooooow down there Wal-Mart, it's not Christmas yet. No, seriously. Knock it the fuck off. If Santa isn't squeezing his fat ass down my chimney for over a month then you need to get that shit out of the stores. Look at me when I'm talking to you. MY FACE IS UP HERE, WAL-MART. UP HERE.

Well, now that we have that unpleasantness out of the way, on to the festivities! I'm sure you all noticed that today was Thanksgiving. If you didn't, well then you're either a god damned communist and you need to get the hell out of my country, or you're a Native American and again, I am so.. so sorry. But regardless of any of these scenarios, chances are that you got to stuff your face today. Hell, I'm over 7 hours from even friends, and roughly twice that from family, and I still managed to force twice my daily intake down my throat (and digest most of it).

This year, I did something a little different with my Thanksgiving fare though. Usually I'm a traditionalist here: Turkey, gravy, cranberries, mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie. Delicious. There's nothing more American than that combination of food, even though Americans eat it at most twice a year. There was just something different about this year. I can't put my finger on it. Maybe it's not having anyone I associate with close enough for actual human interaction, maybe it's my roommate having left without driving me to the grocery store, maybe it's that my apartment building vaguely reminds me of a mental hospital, or maybe it's just that I'm one lazy son of a bitch. The point here is... wait, what was I talking about? Oh right, Thanksgiving feasts.

My fine feast this year was a bit unorthodox, but I recommend it to anyone who's just not feeling up to holiday pressure... or has decided to commit suicide the hard way. The meal came in four courses:

1. Macaroni Salad

I don't really know how I ended up with this stuff. Some combination of only being able to buy what I could carry and my hatred of shopping alone led to me walking out of the store with this classic. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Macaroni Salad is twice as delicious as the putrid vomit it looks like.



2. Canned Soup

My roommate's strange obsession with buying canned soup (and I say "buying" because he picks up at least three cans every time we shop, but I have never seen him eat a single one). Either way, it was lying around so I tossed one in the microwave and gave it a shot.

My opinions on the mediocrity of soup remain unchanged. I'm sorry, I'll accept Tea for the flavored water is it, but at least it doesn't try to claim that it is a food.

3. Hot Pockets

There isn't really anything I have to add to this. Hot Pockets should be included in any Thanksgiving festastrophe.









4. Klondike Bars

Much like that damn owl from those old Tootsie Pop commercials who makes a mockery of the age-old "how many licks does it take question", I simply walked two blocks to buy a box of Klondike Bars, but suffice it to say I would have performed rituals far more cruel and unusual for this delicious High Fructose sweet.




If I were a reasonable man, this would be the end of this post. All that Thanksgiving really was for me this year was eating this disturbing concoction of shit and watching the Hitchcock marathon on AMC. However, in the interest of nostalgia for "years gone by" I will entertain you with a story of a far better Thanksgiving. A Thanksgiving Of Legend, by which all other Thanksgivings shall be compared, and none shall live up to.

The year was 2003, and the place was Worcester, MA, a town truly as beautiful as its name--a factory town left behind by time, only there were never really any glory days for this hellhole. The occasion? ... Thanksgiving. I thought we already covered this. You should pay more attention.

The esteemed Mr. Ouzo had descended from his Ivy-ry tower and had decided to spend the holiday with me in what can only be described as "the filthiest room in the history of mankind." I had to scoop trash out of the way for him to have a place to sleep the first night before my roommate left. No joke. (Nic Ouzo: To tell you the truth, I didn't mind. But I can only imagine the carnage that was there before I arrived. This was a room that included an overturned bookshelf that was used as a convenient computer desk.)

The next few days were a blur, possibly due to the entertaining times, and possibly due to our diet consisting primarily of chips and soda procured from the local Price Choppa'. Also, if anyone is wondering, Goya brand Tamarind soda tastes like Nothing. Not water, but Nothing. Liquid Nothing. If you wanted to taste something that distilled the essence of pure neutrality, saddle up with a Tamarind-flavored Goya soda.

However, the real magic of the vacation came on Thanksgiving Day (not that aimlessly wandering around a campus tossing bottles for no memorable reason doesn't qualify as "real magic" but... well... it just doesn't). On Thanksgiving, the demand to have a meal that didn't consist primarily of ground corn took over, and Nic Ouzo and I embarked on an epic quest. Where did we go on this fine Thanksgiving in Worcester? Well, we tried many an establishment, but the only place that was open was a Denny's.

Now, the map we had in hand when we embarked on this journey is a bit misleading, because what I have neglected to mention thus far is that neither Ouzo nor I had a car (the van without a floor in the back that had been used to bring Nic to campus had gone on vacation). This lead to some difficulties with the - not one, but TWO - times in which these directions required us to cross the freeway. Let me tell you, there is nothing more fun than running across a freeway in the dark, on your way to a Denny's. Also, the map fails to properly represent just how damn hilly that whole area is, as more than half the journey was very steeply uphill. By the time we had made it to the Denny's - and it should be noted that we saw it just as we were giving up, the sign loomed over a hillside like a beacon to the promised land... or maybe just a moon over my hammy. We were just starving enough for that meal to be everything we had hoped it would be: Better than stale chips.

The strange thing was we didn't appreciate the absurdity of our journey until after we finished our halfway-delicious meal. The waitress came by with our check and asked us if this was a post-dinner meal of some sort, and only when we responded with a "well, this really was our Thanksgiving meal" did the nature of our situation dawn upon us. We slowly realized that yes indeed we did just spend the previous three days living on a diet that consisted solely of Dorito's and Dr. Pepper, in which time had no meaning since there was no light in the room and we slept at random hours. And that this had been our first human contact since Monday night.

So many kudos to you, Denny's. You will always be our go-to eating establishment when nothing better is open... and there aren't any Shari's nearby. ... so basically you're one step ahead of Arby's.


Happy Thanksgiving everyone, and I would like you to all remember what brought us where we are: Yams and Smallpox.

Joe Gets Festive... with Sexy Results

A Survey of the Event and Sport which is Halloween


October means a lot of things here in the great land of WDR. October means a change in the leaves, a nip in the air, a change in attire, and of course my incessant use of the pseudo-word "Rocktober." But, most importantly, October means one thing: People dressed up in even more ridiculous manners than they usually are. This wonderful month is a bastion of all the finer things in life. All the girls you know spend the entire month fanatically piecing together a monstrosity of cloth worth its weight in gold or malnourished children in any third-world country. All the guys you know spend the whole month acting too cool to dress up, or wishing their significants others weren't making them. All the girls you don't know find those fantastic costumes that would make their parents proud enough to finally let them move out of the house. And, of course, I once against embarrass myself with yet another poor costume choice.I don't know how this happens to me every year, but I suspect a Halloween curse. So, for your viewing enjoyment, I have compiled a brief history of my costumes representing some of the highlights of my now-infamous festastrophes.
The first of these selections is not really my fault. I decided I would ease into the embarrassment with a little issue of miscommunication. I put this little number together for a party a few of my friends were throwing during a brief stint back east. I don't exactly know how I misunderstood my invitation. However, despite my costume not being in the same military theme as my friends, I still managed to have the honky good time that I was promised. I suspect I may just not be as adept as deciphering the African-American slang as I previously believed. Also, I wasn't aware that saltines were such a prominent feature in Halloween parties, or that these parties normally featured pinatas. At least I wasn't the only one to have missed the latter of these, as the party's hosts completely forgot to buy a pinata and over the course of the evening I was mistaken for it over 12 times. It was a crazy night! I miss those guys...
Now that I think about it, this wasn't the first time my poor ebonics led to Halloween misfortune. My co-authors will of course remember the incident that was broadcast on our school's student news show.

Then there was the year I thought I could impress my high school sweetheart by acting like I was on one of the school sports teams. This plan may have worked better at a time other than Halloween, but it only occurred to me when I saw this snazzy uniform in a costume shop. I still can't believe that plan didn't work, she was constantly dating football players. I guess some people just don't respect the athleticism of track anymore. Shame on them.

... Now that I'm thinking about this costume, I realize that I haven't seen it when I've been in my attic to get down the ol' Halloween decorations. Also, it looks suspiciously like several of the characters in the movie House. Coincidence? I don't think so.


I would like to take a moment from the wave of humiliation I have brought upon myself to remind our audience that my co-authors are not without their own Halloween festastrophes.

We all remember Nic Ouzo's ill-fated Halloween decision that resulted in the loss of his girlfriend to... what looks like some guy who couldn't decide if he was dressing up as The Dude, House (from television's "House"), or some kind of balding Brad Pitt. I'm sorry for dredging up the bad memories, friend. There are other fish, just... don't dress up as a pelican, okay?

And of course, who could forget the city-wide disaster that erupted when Mr. Zhuang unveiled his costume to that poor group of unsuspecting... and possibly mentally handicapped... middle-aged men and women. Respect for the dead prevents me from going into this subject further. It's just too soon, I'm sorry.

Nic Ouzo can't escape a second mention in this section, as his rampant cultural promotion seems to know no end. I can't even tell you how many WDR events and social gathers (I'm sorry, your invitation must have gotten lost in the mail) his proselytizing has ruined. However, there is a fine line between cantankerous preaching and animal abuse that I believe was crossed that fateful Halloween of 1992. Everyone felt so sorry for Nic's poor dogs. I, for one, didn't know you could circumsize a dog, let alone teach it to perform the ceremony upon its pups. Well, the more you know, right?

I, of course, had to one-up Ouzo's flaunting of his animal training abilities. I still contend, as the age-old saying goes, that my dog could beat up his dog. (If anyone asks, Michael Vick said that, okay? [I'm being told this is no longer topical.])







Celebrities are not above the iron fist of Halloween's cruel mistress either. Sean Connery's silly attempt to gain popularity during the computer boom left his career in tatters, though this prominent internet reporter would like to say he appreciates Connery's nod to Commander Keen.

Even G-dub himself jumps in on the stupid costume bandwagon from time to time.



... Jesus that man is a jackass. God fucking damn it. What the fuck is wrong with you people? How has he been in office for this long? I hate you. I hate each and every one of you. Go home. Stop reading this. You don't deserve it. God fucking damn it.
Moving on...

I don't really know what's going on here, but one of these three must be in costume, right? Yeah.

There are of course the constant sources of costume disasters: nerds. Not nerds like I am... but yahknow... nerds like... other people... are.... Hey! Let's laugh at these people now!

Now, we've all been at that magic age where anything you do is retarded. But this guy prettymuch takes the cake. First off, he chose to dress up as Robin. Now, Robin could be kinda cool, but he picked one of the lame Robins from one of the animated Batman tv shows. So, not only did he choose to be second-banana, he also chose to be one of the crappiest incarnations of said banana.


This guy doesn't seem to know whether he's a Transformer or Spiderman. Other than that he's cool with me.



(Don't look directly into his eyes.)












WHOAH WHOAH WHOAH.
This just in. Apparently Robin up there got a girl??

WHAT THE FUCK, WOMEN? No, seriously. come on. How could this man get even feigned-for-photo action? This offends every lie I've told myself to explain why women don't like me or any of the seemingly eligible guys I know. If that kid gets the ladies? I don't know what to think anymore.
... I'll choose to believe that it's just his enormous, throbbing erection. You girls are so shallow. Honestly. Shame on you.

At this rate, Shaved Leg Man will have the ladies lining up.

Now that I think about it, I would pay to see someone dress up as Shaved Leg Man.

But, I digress. This post is about my Halloween embarrassments, and we're nearing the end. In fact, we're down to the wire. The following are my two biggest Halloween disasters. Enjoy.
Alright, now I know what you're thinking, "Joe, I love Alvin and the Chipmunks, where can I get this amazing costume and show off my raging erection as it was meant to be showcased?" I have only one response to this:

Anyway, I think I'm making some kind of 'secret agent holding a gun' sort of pose in this photo. I don't remember why. God, I was so high that night. How else could I have chosen that god awful green and yellow shirt? What was I thinking. Worst Halloween ever.



But now for the final act. This was less of an embarrassing costume, and more of a Halloween disaster in general. Most of my costumes have just led to mockery and ridicule from my peers, and a few racially motivated assaults, but this costume actually landed me in jail under suspicion of murder.
I guess, in retrospect, I can kinda see where they were coming from on that one.
Well that's all for now, folks. Have a happy Halloween. Don't make the same mistakes I have.


After all this, the only solace I can find is that at least I've never looked as dumb as this weirdo: