Ben Kundman, Humor Page Editor
behrco!l2 @ aol.com
Nothing spells
trouble like a
duck smoking
a doobie^Z^
So I’m standing there in
the shower this morning
and I hear this cough. I
turn around and don’t see
anything. Then I hear it >
again. I look down and see /
this duck standing there in
the shower with me. And
get this; the duck is
smoking a joint. So I’m like, “Whoa, dude,
you can’t smoke pot in here.”
And he’s like, “Dude, yes I can. How else
am I going to be able to fishbowl? I’m digging
all the steam too.” So then the duck takes
another hit and asks me if I want some.
So I say “no thanks” and tell him again that
he can’t smoke weed in my shower. He keeps
taking hits and then he asks me if I want a hot
lunch. I had already eaten so I’m like, “No, I
don’t want you to give me a hot lunch.” Then
I tell him again that he can’t smoke in the
shower.
And he’s like, “Why not? I saw you shooting
up in here with the donkey the other day. Why
can’t I smoke?”
And I’m like, “Dude, listen duck, that is
between me and the donkey. Now get the hell
out of my shower and wait your turn."
So then the duck’s like, “How about
shroom:
mushri
Now
my b
like, “Di
purple i
from y<
We
thedui
didn
like that
much so Ryan Anthony
when 1 turned back to wash my
hair I get smacked upside the head with
something. The freaking duck threw a bar of
soap at me! And I didn’t like that much either,
so I picked up the duck by his bill, ripped the
joint out of his mouth and tossed it down the
drain. Well, the duck didn’t like that very much
so the next thing I know is there’s a webbed
foot kicking my shins. 1 look down and see
another duck in the shower.
So I’m like, “Dude, this isn’t a public shower.
You can’t be having all these ducks coming in
here.” Well neither of the ducks liked that
much and they both started fighting me. So I
get out of the shower and break out my 9mm.
I’m about to shoot them and one duck says,
“Dude, it’s not duck season. You’ll get
arrested.”
So I’m like, “crap.” Then the ducks tried to
run away, but they couldn’t waddle very fast
because their pockets were weighed down by
their stash. So then I yell, “Yo donkey, come
out here.”
The donkey was asleep and I woke him up
and he didn’t like me waking him up very much
so when he came out he punched me. And
obviously I didn’t like getting a donkey punch
very much so I ran after the ducks and got my
gun back. The donkey tried to give me another
donkey punch, but I was like, “Dude, no way.”
Then I shot him.
The morals of the story: Ducks are not
allowed to do drugs in my bathroom and
donkey punches are not cool.
Anthony’s column will appear whenever
mils getting flashbacks.
Kaii and Bruno’s Excellent Adventure
Hell
everyone. W<
it’s been thi
weeks since m
last editorir
and so muci
has happened!
As stated in
my last
column, I v
Karl Benacci
Utah to compete in the National Pole Dancing
Competition. Well, my friend, do I have a
story for you.
Last weekend, Bruno, the Yeti and I
embarked to the competition in Penn State
Behiend’s very own Blue Bus. It took us a
few days to get there, but it was all good.
Upon arrival, we checked into the Salt Lake
City Econolodge and began getting ready for
the competition.
Bruno unexpectedly opened his knapsack
and unveiled some bottles of alcohol, which
included rum, whiskey and vodka. The Yeti
quickly downed the rum and whiskey, while
Bmno gingerly sipped upon the vodka. Bruno
then pulled a keg from under the bed (I don’t
✓
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I C(^P an y cal,ed Corn Town ; he acted pretty normal. Oh yeah,
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money by cutting down part of the cornfield calories « In other words> it like swamp
and ordered his evil groupies to husk the This js , adjes j
| corn an ry t e see s. gents. Plus, it’s dry and harsh, much like the-
I This angered the evil corn god (that ® |
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| governs them) off, for they mined his field stuff jt sucks Corn Town can go t 0 |
| (the kid running the John Deere tractor with AWi , s Macaroni and |
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! Let me break it down for you: this is evil . ~, - ■
I _ .. . „ ... to return my pants. I need them for my next |
■ popcorn. Do not mess with it. If you eat it, .. . .... .
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✓
Even non-freshmen need kegetiquett
The keg is as much a part of a Behrend party
as the bad dance CD playing on the stereo,
the 15-1 guy-to-girl ratio, and the shady old
guy who no one really knows. The problem
with kegs is although most understand the
basic operations, a rare few posses the je nais
sei ques (I don’t know what that means)
necessary to be a true keg connoisseur. In my
10 semesters at Behrend (yeah, I’m a lifer) I
have learned a thing or two about keg
etiquette, which I will now refer to as
“kegetiquette” to avoid unnecessary use of the
space bar. I have also spent many hours
working kegs at parties, enough so I feel it is
justifiable to refer to myself as a “tapmeister,”
or, if you will The Tapmeister.
Kegetiquette rule #1 - House beers are
always first. Tapmeister’s beers second. Beer
pong pitchers third. Friends of the tapmeister
fourth. Party Peons fifth.
The tapmeister must always have beer in
hand thus ensuring the beer in stomach that
maintains the steady hands and quick wit
necessary for a good tapmeister.
Allowing the residents of the house quick
access to beer (in other words, when the
tapmeister spots a resident of the house, he/
she immediately grabs their cup from over the
masses and pours them a beer) prevents all of
the assorted unpleasantries that occur when
resident makes his way through the line for a
beer and a fight erupts because some uncouth
freshman becomes peeved that anyone would
dare cut in front of him or her.
It may seem counter-productive by allowing
pong pitchers ahead of others, but beer pong
is an integral part of any party. Many muscle
bound hyper competitive testosterone junkies
need the competitiveness of beer pong to
relieve their pent-up frustration at losing the
State Championship high school football
game and winding up at a college with no
football team.
By giving friends beer before normal party
peons the tapmeister ensures that he/she will
receive preferential treatment should the
aforementioned friends ever assume the role
know how it got there) did a keg stand, and
puked on the Yeti (who later required dry
cleaning.) Not long afterward, it was time to
go, so we left the hotel and walked to the pole
dancing competition, but made a stop in the
liquor store because Bruno wanted some more
vodka, which he brown bagged upon opening
the container.
While walking down the sidewalk we
noticed more and more people lined up on the
street, cheering. “Oh,” the Yeti exclaimed,
“that’s the Olympic torch relay.”
Moments later, Bruno stumbled into the
street, pushed the torch runner to the ground,
and stole the torch. Bruno began running
slowly (stumbling, really), amidst protests from
the crowd. A few minutes later, Bruno was
running into the packed Olympic stadium. He
skipped to the middle of a track where a
podium sat along with a microphone. The
canine screamed profanities into the
microphone before launching the newly lit
torch into a crowd of terrified Canadians.
Bruno then took the microphone, looked up
into the crowd, and repeatedly yelled,
“Absolute Bruno!” He followed this statement
by regurgitating on the podium and soiling his
brand-new dungarees.
of honorary tapmeister at that party or another.
Party peons are run-of the mill partygoers.
Notice I made no distinction between male
and female partygoers. In many cases those
of the female persuasion will try and get a
beer ahead of others by sticking their chests
in the air and throwing “puppy dog eyes” at
the tapmeister. Women have spent many years
fighting for equality, and in order to support
their desire to be equal, they shall receive no
preferential treatment in the aforementioned
keg line.
ft
Kegetiquette rule #2 - r
Proper cup position. Lj w.\
Picture a waterfall. Kool and the Gang
Which way does the
water flow? Up? No, you moron, it flows
down. Put your cup BELOW the beer being
filled. For ideal beer placement, see Figure
Kool and the Gang. The reason the empty
cup is tilted is to minimize the amount of beer
spilled while the tap flow is moved from one
cup to the next and to reduce the phenomenon
known as “head.” Although reducing the
amount of “head” at a party sounds like a
horrible injustice, it is actually rather
beneficial when you consider the amount of
additional beer that can fit in a cup without
any head. “You gave me too much head!” is
the party phrase which most inspires
tapmeisters to kick the offending person in
the mouth or the can.
With the exception of the first couple of
beers out of a keg, the amount of head in a
beer is entirely in the hands of the beer holder.
Amazingly enough, by placing the beer at the
proper angle in relation to the flow of beer
out of the spout, the amount
of head received can be
reduced to almost
imperceptible levels
Kegetiquette rule #3 - Personal space for
the tapmeister/ courtesy pump
Although it is very important to have cups
lined up for the tapmeister to continuously fill,
it is still critical to leave him or her enough
What happened next? Bruno began laughing
hysterically, his tongue hanging out of his
mouth, and immediately passed out.
The Yeti and I hastily dragged Bruno to the
competition, for we had little time to spare. We
made it just in time and I did my best to pole
dance to MC Hammer’s Can’t Touch This. The
routine was a success. Middle aged women
cheered me and begged for an encore
performance.
Bruno heard my song and sobered up just in
time, because he was next to dance. In perhaps
the best display of pure artistry I ever saw,
Bruno mesmerized the crowd with Biz
Markie’s hit “Just a Friend.”
It all went to hell, though. The Yeti danced
to DJ Kool’s “Let Me Clear My Throat,” but
in haste, he put his weight on the pole, bending
it in half. Due to this, the top two finishers
would have to dance without the pole. Who
would be the two lucky winners? Yes, you
guessed it, Bruno was one of them, but the other
finalist was someone decked out in a yellow
mask and cape, and was known only as “Trina.”
The incognito finalist (who we later learned
was Ben Kundman), performed “Raspberry
Beret” by Prince.
Bruno’s head sagged after the display,
Super happy
funb °#
AByottin^bve|ao^by^l)^««»top
of die page, this is a humor page. M onfortunate
side effect of being hum6ttms (or mailing to be
humorous, as we are all -pet© collegestudents) is
offending# person ora group of people.
Let’s say Tom, Dick, Harry, Sally,
Jane all read the humor page one week.
(the numberofpeople inthis example
accurately reflects our readership.) Now
Tom might fail off the toilet , £
laughing. Dick might think some of it is
funny, hut a lot of it is too sophmoroic and potty
based. Harry might think it’s the dumbest thin* he’s
ever read. Sally might beextremely mad that anyone
would dare print such trash, and Jane might diink
it’s kind of funny but deserving of an “E" for effort
for having guts enough to jput something like that in
the school paper. '
The idea I am trying to convey here is that notall
humor is for everyone. Freedom of speech is a
wonderful thing. It allows us to say what we do in
this paper. It allows you, the reader.to read this page,
or to skip it entirely. It also allows you to write angry
letters to the editor because of our offensive content
It is my firm belief, however, that humor will
always offend spttetooe or else be fhany topoone.
Keep on keep
the page. We welcome all feedback, positive and
negative, sent to behrcoll2@aol.com.
space, as tapmeisti
generally require somi
fresh air so that they don'
spew everywhere.
It is a wise party peoi
who administers a courtes;
pump, as tapmeister
generally favor those whi
help them avoid the .
awkward one-hand- Ben Kundman
holding-a-beer-pump. Pumping the keg will often
raise a party peon to the “friend” caste, at least for
the evening.
Kegetiquette rule #4 - Never leave a wounded
soldier behind.
Have you ever seen the movie “Saving Private
Ryan?” In the movie, a group of frien risk, and lose,
their lives to save ONE MAN. The man they wish to
save is Private Ryan, the last of the Ryan boys still
alive. Have you ever been at a party, and seen half
full cups of beer sitting everywhere? THOSE CUPS
ARE PRIVATE RYAN! DON’T LEAVE HIM
BEHIND!!! Beer, like gold, platinum, and Wayne
Newton, is a precious commodity. I don’t know about
you, but I don’t really like driving to Jimmy Z’s at
1:45 a.m. to buy a bunch of overpriced six packs
because a bunch of schmucks didn’t have the common
courtesy to finish their beers or give them to a buddy.
Kegetiquette rule #5 - Never sign for the bastards.
If all of your 19 year old buddies are throwing a
kegger that’s certain to be filled with high school girls,
try and find a homeless guy to sign for the keg(s).
Getting busted for buying beer for a party is very
bad. (Not that there is anything wrong with high
school girls or high school keggers - it’s just that one
should always be sure there name is not associated
with the alcohol on hand.)
Mike Butala and I are both seasoned veterans “behind
the barrel” as they say, and would like to
wholeheartedly offer our services to any needy
parties. Beer lines too long? Every cup filled with an
unsightly amount of head? Single women? Drop a
line to behrendbeacon@hotmail.com providing
Sheer stupidity
specifics and we will gladly spend an evening making
your lame-ass party slightly less lame.
• Ben Kundman
Humor/Editorial Page Editor ■'
because he knew he would have to do something
special to win the competition. Minutes later, amidst
liquid smoke and a laser light show, Bruno appeared
from behind the curtain wearing a bleached jeans
jacket, black leather pants (a hole in the back for his
tail to stick out, of course), and a pair of old ’B6 Jordan
basketball shoes. He danced to “Hangin’ Tough,” by
NKOTB and flung his jacket into the crowd after the
roaring crowd cheered him. Bruno had won; in fact,
he even signed a record deal with Death Row Records.
I’ve helped collaborate on the project and have written
a few songs (the Yeti does turntables), such as ‘Take
My Paw, Let Me Sniff You,” and “That Ain’t My
Tail.”
It was a heck of a weekend and I will definitely
cherish the memories. Oh yeah, Bruno wanted me to
say hi to everyone out there and insists that all cute
girls must hug me (Karl) whenever they see me,
whether they know me or not. Hey now, don’t shoot
the messenger! That’s what he said for me to tell you.
Oh, and another thing, he wants girls to send me
valentines and chocolate, too. I like that. No bones
about it!
Benacci’s next column will appear when
he gets back from the oppressive Mormon
state of Utah.
The Behrend Beacon
Dirty Teddy’s
Malt Liquor
Boozehound
of the Week
pennState
‘AdmiraC idefsoti
In days of yore when men
were men and battles raged
across the lands and glory swept
the seas, there came upon the
world’s stage a great leader
whose courage and classical
good looks quickly became the
stuff of tabloids and tavern talk
and you guessed it, legend.
Horatio Nelson was his name,
adventurer, true friend of the la
dies, admiral of the greatest ar
mada ever to set sail. Admiral
Nelson’s romantic spirit in
spired this premium imported
(from St. Louis) spiced rum
which bears his name. A superb
golden rum carefully blended
with just the right spices to pro
vide an incomparable taste of
the tropics. The only rum wor
thy of being called Admiral
Nelson’s.
Find out more about Admiral
Nelson at:
www.admiralnelsonsrum.com/
Dirty Teddy and The Behrend Beacon
encourage students to drink responsibly.
Boozehound of the Week was created to
show what can happen when one consumes
too much alcohol and makes a complete
jackass out of him or herself.
Send your SO-100 word nomination for
Boozehound of the Week to:
behrcoll2@aol.com.
Note: We will not publish stories about crimi
nal acts. If you want your name in the paper,
the nomination must come from your psu per
sonal account. If you want your picture in the
paper, send a jpeg file along with your story.
Mike Butala’s
seaworthy adventure
with Admiral Nelson
EES
By: Mike Butala
It all happened a fortnight or two
ago. It was colder than a sea snake
stuck in the very depths of an arctic
snowdrift. It was then I generously
indulged in the sweet nectar that is
Admiral Nelson’s Rum. As I
swaggered ‘round the desolate ice
land, I came ‘cross the bunkhouse of a
fellow land lover who went by the
name of Scabs. Groggy-eyed and
belligerent as a pee-whipped
schoolboy, I made a feeble attempt at
the door of the bunkhouse and
stumbled my way ‘cross the swill
covered surface that posed as a floor.
As I entered the room I jumped on the
bunk where I observed Scabs and a sea
wench making a sorry pursuit of some
sort of sexual escapade. As I was
hastily escorted out of the bunkhouse,
menacing threats were given to me by
Scabs, obviously under the influence
his own dreary eyed groggin’. As I
was ejected, the door latched behind
Scabs, leaving him on his own gallows.
Locked out of the bunkhouse, he
clenched his fist and cursed obscenities
at me as I left him in his long johns.
After that night, Scabs and me shared
a special bond and raised our hooks
toward each other.
Thank you Admiral.
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