Peanut Gallery: Dan

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Ahhh…Lost. Glad to have you back, old friend.

Some comic message board wisdom…

175k copies? What a piece of crap!

And story time…


I was friends with Dan from freshman year straight through to senior year. He lived on the sixth floor; we worked in the dining hall together. Sophomore year we both became student managers. Junior year he got an off-campus apartment with a different group of my friends that I didn’t even realize he knew. Senior year he was one of the four people that performed in Jesus Christ: Megastar. So we have some roots yet he’s quirky enough to dedicate a Peanut Gallery posting to.

He liked to scream, for starters. A lot. People do comedy in different ways. I obnoxiously turn everything into sex, my boy Guam constantly jokes and 75% of the time it’s funny, PJ does his bizaro-PJ routine where he goes from quite Catholic boy to licking girls faces and making anal sex jokes. Dan just sort of screamed. That was his comedy. He saw an opening for a joke and he, you know, screamed something. Usually involving the f-word and threats to kill somebody.

So, there’d be a bunch of people standing in front of the grill in the dining hall when Dan would say:

Dan: Hey, pass me a spatula.

Jason: In a minute.


And then he’d laugh really loudly while everyone around got uncomfortable and began shifting about, thinking pizza might be a better idea than burgers.

But yelling in the dining hall is harmless…

I’ve had friends that I’ve known who honestly believed they drove better drunk. They weren’t rationalizing their behavior, you look in their eyes and you know that they really thought they were excellent drunk drivers. Of course most of these people have had their licenses suspended, yet they still believe that if it wasn’t for that “broken” street light that was only yellow for “like a second” they would still be getting along fine as the world’s best drunk driver.

Dan was like that, but not with cars. He thought he was the best drunken swordsman.

For starters, I don’t really hang with people that own swords. Dan was an exception because I didn’t know of his swords until junior year. Unless you’re a ninja, samurai or antique collector there is absolutely no reason why you should own a sword. And if you are any of those three things, you shouldn’t own a sword you got for two-hundred bucks at a flea market. There are four things you can own that are worse than a sword: a fake “The One Ring”, a battle axe, Denver Broncos’ parachute pants and an Iroc-Z. Nevertheless, Dan had a couple of swords, being neither a ninja, samurai or an antique collector.

When he got drunk he’d take his swords out and whip them around. I shit you not on several occasions I’ve seen him demonstrate how he can stop the sword within a couple of inches of someone’s throat, without the person’s consent, of course. Everyone would yell, “WHAT THE FUCK DAN! PUT THAT SWORD AWAY!” to which he’d follow up with his usual humor, “HOW ‘BOUT I CUT YOUR FUCKIN’ HEAD OFF!” He’d then laugh maniacally as we all called it a night and headed home.

Amazingly no-one ever got hurt by Dan’s sword. Maybe he was the best drunken swordsman in the world, which in reality means about as much as the best impotent lover.


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