I gained some decent material over the last 24-hours that I wanted to put into words before it escaped me. Hence…a bonus from the Holler today.

First off, everybody in the hills and hollers is wearing black, pounding whiskey sours, and contemplating suicide after last night’s loss to Texas in the Sweet 16. Damn it, this was supposed to be OUR year! Shit, this sucks. On another note, congratulations Wordnerd, you’re probably still experiencing multiple orgasms over the Duke/LSU game.

I was relating the old college meal plan to you yesterday and how I missed the good ole days. I learned through the comments board that as good as it was—it could have been sweeter. Surf Reporter Griff tells me they were still selling chew through the Meal Card Deduction plan until 1992 at Andy’s Pantry. I’m not calling you a liar, but although I attempted the feat many times, I was always denied. I lived in Andy Holt in 1989-90.

I recall that year in Andy Holt was kinda crazy. We lived on the 7th floor above the alley where the dumpster was stored. The other side of that alley was the walkway to the front door. We quickly learned if you had a full two liter bottle of water and a proper guidance system, you could drench drunken people staggering back home after a night on the Strip. There were three windows in our apartment. I would crack the window and standby with a hand held radio. Because of the wall I could not see the approaching victim. From the living room, my roommates could see them and tell when they were in range. They would signal me via walkie-talkie and I’d let fly with a stream of water—and sometimes urine. The seven story fall afforded ample time to back away from the window before splashdown so as not to be noticed. I never saw a direct hit, but when I’d hear howls from the spotters I’d feel satisfaction in a bull’s eye.

Toward the end of the year, there was plenty of shit lying around we had no intention of keeping. One night, in a drunken stupor, I got the bright idea to toss the toaster oven out the window. I did it and it must have shattered into one-million pieces on the concrete below. Feeling cocky, I grabbed the VCR. This was one of the old early models, a top loading Beta VCR. It sat there for a whole year never once being played. I’m not even sure who it belonged to. It must have weight 300 pounds. I flung it out the window and it hit the pavement with a dull “thud.” Two