College Football Tailgating as Seen Through the Eyes of the LandMan - by Landon "The Landman" Parker III
"Fuck the Candyman. The Land(y)Man is back." - Landon "the LandMan" Parker III
Let’s get one fuckin’ thing straight. When the Land Man writes something on this gay website, you read it. And the Land Man only writes for this site when it narrates what the Land Man does best. And that’s day drinking. And I’m not talking about having a few casual beers at your boys’ bbq. That’s pussy shit. I’m talking about getting rip shit wasted by 4pm and then knockin’ off some drunk sluts. That’s not pussy shit. That shit is pussy. Giftwrapped for the Land Man.
Do I have your attention yet? Good.
One of the best opportunities to engage in hardcore day drinking is game day baby. Last week, BC had a 3:30pm game against some gay team. Probably Notre Dame. I forget. You know what that means? That means the Land Man is rippin shots, bong hits, and Stacey’s clothes off by kickoff. 3:30pm is also premium real estate for a game, because it provides plenty of pre-game tailgating and since I usually leave the game early to hit up Mr. Giggles, I have a full night of bar hoppin’ and pussy poppin’ ahead of me. Sit back, grab a brewski, fart, and let the Land Man fuck you up while he recalls his Saturday. Holler.
There are two types of ways college students approach game day. There’s the type that don’t go out Friday night or at least go out for a little while and don’t’ get wasted. And there’s the type who go out Friday all night, wake up with crusty mustard on their face, a passed out chick in their bed, and a burning desire to carpe deez nuts and keep the party going. I’ll let you take a wild guess which category the Land Man falls under.
It all starts with six words: Black. Eyed. Peas. I. Gotta. Feeling. Bump that shit to 11 and watch the hunnies flock to your dorm room. So I got my beats bumpin’ and ready to rock out with my cock out. Literally. Like I’m so fuckin pumped and comfortable with my body image, that I would literally walk around all day with my dick hanging out of my pants. But that would be gay, cause some of the BC faggots might get excited. And that shit’s just not goin down. So I’ll keep my dick in my pants. Until Stacey’s room that is. I digress.
So we got some frosty brews, a solid contingent of bros and hunnies minglin, gettin pumped for game day, and we gotta feelin, that tonight’s gonnna be a goooood night. Or day I should say. God, this song gets me so jacked it makes my head want to explode. And my dick. Let’s live it up.
So its time to separate the men from the boys and the sluts from the prudes. A few of my roommates are still asleep, struggling from last night. So we cut them like a bad habit, pick up the girlz and head to the Modz mufucka. We all got our Superfan shirts on (well in my case, my SuperDrunk shirt because that’s just how I roll) and we’re ready to go. I throw a couple of brewskis in my back pocket, rip a shot of Jaeger and head to the door. I just know that today is going to be epic. Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-a-alcohol. Or just the fact that I’m the Land Man.
Commence the Bronado (Brody thought of that term to describe when a day gets so crazy that it just spins wildly out of control, destroying every ounce of alcohol and pussy in its path.) Before we head to some of my bros’ tailgating spots, we play a little Spin the Bottle with Brody and Trip (not sure if you know him, but he’s really fat and awesome at drinking. Also good to have when you wanna talk shit to pussies at bars and threaten to fight them by yelling ‘whaddya gonna do about it, tough guy’ and then not actually do anything about it. Annnnnnyway, this is how Spin the Bottle works: We fill up a wiffle ball bat with beer, chug it, spin around with the bat on our foreheads, and then point the bat ahead of us. Whatever house the bat points to is where we go to hit up some free booze and intimidate strangers.
I’m up for Spin the Bottle, so naturally I destroy the beer, spin around and end up pointing to a house where six girls live. Unreal. It’s almost like when I play Spin the Bottle, the wiffle bat acts an extension of my dick, guided by a pussy radar built in me that just naturally gravitates to women. I love Spin the Bottle.
Still feelin a little woozy, I stumble into the house and we are shot some weird looks. No worries, though. Within minutes, those looks will quickly turn from “Who is this guy and why is he here?” to “Who isn’t this guy and why I am not blowing him right now?” Just the way it goes. The first step to causing that transformation is locating the speakers in the house, and throwing my playlist on there.
To get the party poppin’ I usually like to start it out with these dudes called Girls Talk. Nobody knows them, but they are so sick, they mash shit up. Once the hunnies hear Girls Talk, they’ll be so smitten by my good looks, confidence (I mean I just took over their speakers and they don’t even know me) and hella-sick musical taste, that they won’t be able to control themselves. The sickest part about Girls Talk is that they use a lot of ridiculous rap lyrics, which in turn, encourages the girls to rap out lines like 'come girl I’m tryna get dat pussy wet’, which in turn, makes them feel reckless and horny, which in TURN, makes them vulnerable to the infectiously sick-ass charm of the Land Man. I. Gotta. Feeling.
I’m working the dance floor. I mean I am getting DOWN. It’s a tall task to get the dance floor poppin' when there’s nobody on it, and its 9am, and nobody knows you, but I’m up for the challenge. I throw the chicks some winks and smiles and realize that this subtle shit is just not cutting it. Thankfully my favorite Girls Talk part comes in for the rescue and I go in for the kill. I go up to the fat chick and start dancing. My logic, though blurry from boozing and dancing, is that she will be so surprised that I chose to dance with her that she’ll be flattered and start dancing. The dance floor slowly grows. THEN, her hot friends (LandMan’s end goal) will be 1) pissed off that I didn’t choose them and 2) impressed by how I’m such a nice guy to make the fat girl feel special, that they will start getting down on the floor and suddenly…what’s going on?, why is the room shaking?, why are my clothes falling off?, why is the ceiling ripping off the house????
Because a Bronado has arrived.
Now the key to keeping the Bronado in full force is switching up tracks. After Girls Talk, you gotta go to some old school shit like Real McCoy’s ‘Another Night’ or this gem. Chicks love that shit and they’ll think I’m so fun and ironic once I get those middle school panty droppin’ tracks going. Plus, the LandMan’s sexual journey started with a French kiss on the dance floor at Camp Lackawanna the summer of 1995. What song was playing? Real McCoy’s “Run Away.” The song comes full circle, in college, at the peak of my sexual prowess.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t work out quite that way. After attempting to grind on Ms. Piggy while lip-synching, “Wait till you see my dick. Hey bitch. Wait to you see my dick. You will never get enough” she is somehow not turned on and runs away. Probably to eat another burger. Whatevz. It’s almost like God won’t allow the LandMan to hook up with ugly chicks. It’s truly a blessing.
I would have kept working the room but they didn’t have any beer. Well, actually I never went to the fridge, but they probably didn’t have any. Because they’re lame. Fuck it. Moving on….
We bump into some of my boys in the MODS, the tailgating spot for BC games. The Chadster thinks it stands for Mecca Of Drunk Sluts, but that’s neither here nor there. I approach the group, while giving double shockers to my boys. I like to announce my presence with authority. To really announce my presen-sizzle, I give Chad an exploding pound, throw my warm beer in Tobey’s face and slap Colton in the face. Mostly cause he’s a fag. And when Greg comes by, there’s only one way to greet each other. We both do a running chest pump, then follow with an imaginary jump shot, and yell BALLLLLLLIN!!!!! God I’m fucking cool. Feeling amazing and ready to bang, we call up the chicas to meet up with them before the game.
We make our way through the stadium, and find an open patch where we can see the game. Naturally, we find ourselves surrounded by faggot freshmen. You can tell them from a mile away. They all awkwardly stand around, barely interacting with each other. They don’t know the chants, they don’t know what to do after touchdowns, and when they finally learn that you are supposed to lift up a girl and toss her up in the air after a touchdown, they NEVER go cop a titty or ass grab while the girl is bouncing helplessly in the air. Freshmen. Thankfully they learn, that is, if they study under the master, Yours Truly.
Naturally, the game is gay, and nobody seems impressed that I was recruited by BC hardcore. Just didn’t want to play, as I’ve discussed before. I’m telling you right now, I could step on that field 18 beers deep and drop bombs. But you think I’m gonna let 5am lifting sessions and 3 hour practices take a serious bite into my quest for pussy? Nope. Not a chance. I decided I’ve had enough this shit. I leave the game.
I walk over to Stacey, slide my fingers down her stretchy black pants and seduce the shit out of her by giving her a romantic massage on her ass cheeks. She loves it, but she won’t admit it because she fires back, “Landon, get your hands off of me.” I’ve heard that before. No biggie. I tell Stacey I’m leaving and that she should too, because well, I think we would both agree that me banging her during halftime is way sweeter than sitting on a cold stadium bench for 15 minutes while your buzz melts away.
“Landon, I’m watching the game, we’re beating ND…like this is amazing!”
“No Stacey, what is amazing is me and you back at my dorm room, watching the Real World while you heat me up some EZ Mac and suck my dick.
“Landon, first of all, we are DONE, and that is not fucking happening…my roommate ate all my EZ Mac. Besides, why the fuck are you like so obsessed with the Real World?”
I am at loss for words, not only for her blatant rejection of my forward sexual advances, but more so, for her hating on the Real World. Stacey loves the Real World, she was just trying to piss me off. And she succeeded. Fucking slut.
I walk away from the stadium. Alone. Time to hit up Mr. Giggles, take a quick nap, and get back at it. I get back to my room, load up the bong, and smoke myself retarded. Obviously.
I wake up, the lights are off and I’m the only one in the room. The clock reads 1:38am. My pants are by my ankles and True Life: I’m a Crystal Method Addict is on TV. Fuck. I figure it’s too late to go out and meet my boys. Plus, Stacey McSlut is probably banging some other dude. Fuck it, I’ll go back to sleep and start raging tomorrow. Fuck yeah, raging on a Sunday afternoon. Like only the Landman can. Tomorrow, I’m gonna nut on Sunday’s face. And Stacey’s. Fuck. Yes.
Let’s get one fuckin’ thing straight. When the Land Man writes something on this gay website, you read it. And the Land Man only writes for this site when it narrates what the Land Man does best. And that’s day drinking. And I’m not talking about having a few casual beers at your boys’ bbq. That’s pussy shit. I’m talking about getting rip shit wasted by 4pm and then knockin’ off some drunk sluts. That’s not pussy shit. That shit is pussy. Giftwrapped for the Land Man.
Do I have your attention yet? Good.
One of the best opportunities to engage in hardcore day drinking is game day baby. Last week, BC had a 3:30pm game against some gay team. Probably Notre Dame. I forget. You know what that means? That means the Land Man is rippin shots, bong hits, and Stacey’s clothes off by kickoff. 3:30pm is also premium real estate for a game, because it provides plenty of pre-game tailgating and since I usually leave the game early to hit up Mr. Giggles, I have a full night of bar hoppin’ and pussy poppin’ ahead of me. Sit back, grab a brewski, fart, and let the Land Man fuck you up while he recalls his Saturday. Holler.
There are two types of ways college students approach game day. There’s the type that don’t go out Friday night or at least go out for a little while and don’t’ get wasted. And there’s the type who go out Friday all night, wake up with crusty mustard on their face, a passed out chick in their bed, and a burning desire to carpe deez nuts and keep the party going. I’ll let you take a wild guess which category the Land Man falls under.
It all starts with six words: Black. Eyed. Peas. I. Gotta. Feeling. Bump that shit to 11 and watch the hunnies flock to your dorm room. So I got my beats bumpin’ and ready to rock out with my cock out. Literally. Like I’m so fuckin pumped and comfortable with my body image, that I would literally walk around all day with my dick hanging out of my pants. But that would be gay, cause some of the BC faggots might get excited. And that shit’s just not goin down. So I’ll keep my dick in my pants. Until Stacey’s room that is. I digress.
So we got some frosty brews, a solid contingent of bros and hunnies minglin, gettin pumped for game day, and we gotta feelin, that tonight’s gonnna be a goooood night. Or day I should say. God, this song gets me so jacked it makes my head want to explode. And my dick. Let’s live it up.
So its time to separate the men from the boys and the sluts from the prudes. A few of my roommates are still asleep, struggling from last night. So we cut them like a bad habit, pick up the girlz and head to the Modz mufucka. We all got our Superfan shirts on (well in my case, my SuperDrunk shirt because that’s just how I roll) and we’re ready to go. I throw a couple of brewskis in my back pocket, rip a shot of Jaeger and head to the door. I just know that today is going to be epic. Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-a-alcohol. Or just the fact that I’m the Land Man.
Commence the Bronado (Brody thought of that term to describe when a day gets so crazy that it just spins wildly out of control, destroying every ounce of alcohol and pussy in its path.) Before we head to some of my bros’ tailgating spots, we play a little Spin the Bottle with Brody and Trip (not sure if you know him, but he’s really fat and awesome at drinking. Also good to have when you wanna talk shit to pussies at bars and threaten to fight them by yelling ‘whaddya gonna do about it, tough guy’ and then not actually do anything about it. Annnnnnyway, this is how Spin the Bottle works: We fill up a wiffle ball bat with beer, chug it, spin around with the bat on our foreheads, and then point the bat ahead of us. Whatever house the bat points to is where we go to hit up some free booze and intimidate strangers.
I’m up for Spin the Bottle, so naturally I destroy the beer, spin around and end up pointing to a house where six girls live. Unreal. It’s almost like when I play Spin the Bottle, the wiffle bat acts an extension of my dick, guided by a pussy radar built in me that just naturally gravitates to women. I love Spin the Bottle.
Still feelin a little woozy, I stumble into the house and we are shot some weird looks. No worries, though. Within minutes, those looks will quickly turn from “Who is this guy and why is he here?” to “Who isn’t this guy and why I am not blowing him right now?” Just the way it goes. The first step to causing that transformation is locating the speakers in the house, and throwing my playlist on there.
To get the party poppin’ I usually like to start it out with these dudes called Girls Talk. Nobody knows them, but they are so sick, they mash shit up. Once the hunnies hear Girls Talk, they’ll be so smitten by my good looks, confidence (I mean I just took over their speakers and they don’t even know me) and hella-sick musical taste, that they won’t be able to control themselves. The sickest part about Girls Talk is that they use a lot of ridiculous rap lyrics, which in turn, encourages the girls to rap out lines like 'come girl I’m tryna get dat pussy wet’, which in turn, makes them feel reckless and horny, which in TURN, makes them vulnerable to the infectiously sick-ass charm of the Land Man. I. Gotta. Feeling.
I’m working the dance floor. I mean I am getting DOWN. It’s a tall task to get the dance floor poppin' when there’s nobody on it, and its 9am, and nobody knows you, but I’m up for the challenge. I throw the chicks some winks and smiles and realize that this subtle shit is just not cutting it. Thankfully my favorite Girls Talk part comes in for the rescue and I go in for the kill. I go up to the fat chick and start dancing. My logic, though blurry from boozing and dancing, is that she will be so surprised that I chose to dance with her that she’ll be flattered and start dancing. The dance floor slowly grows. THEN, her hot friends (LandMan’s end goal) will be 1) pissed off that I didn’t choose them and 2) impressed by how I’m such a nice guy to make the fat girl feel special, that they will start getting down on the floor and suddenly…what’s going on?, why is the room shaking?, why are my clothes falling off?, why is the ceiling ripping off the house????
Because a Bronado has arrived.
Now the key to keeping the Bronado in full force is switching up tracks. After Girls Talk, you gotta go to some old school shit like Real McCoy’s ‘Another Night’ or this gem. Chicks love that shit and they’ll think I’m so fun and ironic once I get those middle school panty droppin’ tracks going. Plus, the LandMan’s sexual journey started with a French kiss on the dance floor at Camp Lackawanna the summer of 1995. What song was playing? Real McCoy’s “Run Away.” The song comes full circle, in college, at the peak of my sexual prowess.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t work out quite that way. After attempting to grind on Ms. Piggy while lip-synching, “Wait till you see my dick. Hey bitch. Wait to you see my dick. You will never get enough” she is somehow not turned on and runs away. Probably to eat another burger. Whatevz. It’s almost like God won’t allow the LandMan to hook up with ugly chicks. It’s truly a blessing.
I would have kept working the room but they didn’t have any beer. Well, actually I never went to the fridge, but they probably didn’t have any. Because they’re lame. Fuck it. Moving on….
We bump into some of my boys in the MODS, the tailgating spot for BC games. The Chadster thinks it stands for Mecca Of Drunk Sluts, but that’s neither here nor there. I approach the group, while giving double shockers to my boys. I like to announce my presence with authority. To really announce my presen-sizzle, I give Chad an exploding pound, throw my warm beer in Tobey’s face and slap Colton in the face. Mostly cause he’s a fag. And when Greg comes by, there’s only one way to greet each other. We both do a running chest pump, then follow with an imaginary jump shot, and yell BALLLLLLLIN!!!!! God I’m fucking cool. Feeling amazing and ready to bang, we call up the chicas to meet up with them before the game.
We make our way through the stadium, and find an open patch where we can see the game. Naturally, we find ourselves surrounded by faggot freshmen. You can tell them from a mile away. They all awkwardly stand around, barely interacting with each other. They don’t know the chants, they don’t know what to do after touchdowns, and when they finally learn that you are supposed to lift up a girl and toss her up in the air after a touchdown, they NEVER go cop a titty or ass grab while the girl is bouncing helplessly in the air. Freshmen. Thankfully they learn, that is, if they study under the master, Yours Truly.
Naturally, the game is gay, and nobody seems impressed that I was recruited by BC hardcore. Just didn’t want to play, as I’ve discussed before. I’m telling you right now, I could step on that field 18 beers deep and drop bombs. But you think I’m gonna let 5am lifting sessions and 3 hour practices take a serious bite into my quest for pussy? Nope. Not a chance. I decided I’ve had enough this shit. I leave the game.
I walk over to Stacey, slide my fingers down her stretchy black pants and seduce the shit out of her by giving her a romantic massage on her ass cheeks. She loves it, but she won’t admit it because she fires back, “Landon, get your hands off of me.” I’ve heard that before. No biggie. I tell Stacey I’m leaving and that she should too, because well, I think we would both agree that me banging her during halftime is way sweeter than sitting on a cold stadium bench for 15 minutes while your buzz melts away.
“Landon, I’m watching the game, we’re beating ND…like this is amazing!”
“No Stacey, what is amazing is me and you back at my dorm room, watching the Real World while you heat me up some EZ Mac and suck my dick.
“Landon, first of all, we are DONE, and that is not fucking happening…my roommate ate all my EZ Mac. Besides, why the fuck are you like so obsessed with the Real World?”
I am at loss for words, not only for her blatant rejection of my forward sexual advances, but more so, for her hating on the Real World. Stacey loves the Real World, she was just trying to piss me off. And she succeeded. Fucking slut.
I walk away from the stadium. Alone. Time to hit up Mr. Giggles, take a quick nap, and get back at it. I get back to my room, load up the bong, and smoke myself retarded. Obviously.
I wake up, the lights are off and I’m the only one in the room. The clock reads 1:38am. My pants are by my ankles and True Life: I’m a Crystal Method Addict is on TV. Fuck. I figure it’s too late to go out and meet my boys. Plus, Stacey McSlut is probably banging some other dude. Fuck it, I’ll go back to sleep and start raging tomorrow. Fuck yeah, raging on a Sunday afternoon. Like only the Landman can. Tomorrow, I’m gonna nut on Sunday’s face. And Stacey’s. Fuck. Yes.
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