Uhhh, chyeaaa, hens on the trackkk
Yo, did a truck hit me?
Nah, was the shots
Not one, but three
I mean one plus three
That be thirteen
Should be dead like Jason
Friday the thirteenth
But today’s the thirty-first
Kildares killt it last night, Hearst
Hens gettin juicy, feelin sweet
blue hen starburst
Heads back, shots tilted, lips pursed
The blue hens are crazy, maybe cursed
Nah more like blue hen blessed
Sloppy as shit, but still well dressed
Thanks to UDress
Shirts, shoes, and shots always impress
Were pioneers bitch
Like a blue hen pil-I-gram
YouDee fucked a hen
And here we are
All his chil-I-dren
Blue hen babies, hens do rage
Were not Purdue , but free from the cage
are we on the same page?
I need to TURN UP
A stove with a broken gauge
Icon DJ’s drop that beat
Denim ass with some denim man meat
Grindin, tuggin, turn up the heat
The final product……
A fuckin blue hen creep
Us hens are dangerous
Unlike Hal, we roll deep
Claim our territory, Main Street
We don’t sink, but swim
Like the UD swimmers
Always the ones to beat
TURN UP to this!!!! Yesss, TURNT
I’m a blue hen bitch, no ordinary chicken
Kildares, Kate’s, and Grottos is where I be kickin
Hit the dance floor, like the techno driver straight creepin
Those beats from DJ Nii got those panties seepin, like they be weepin
Hook up not once, but twice, like a maid straight sweepin
Down a pitcher straight to the face
Impeccable speed, Usain Bolt, fast pace
Killin that dance floor bro, Jodie Ariace
No one safe with these moves, girl with no mace
The dance floor is straight sloppy
Boners everywhere, not floppy
On each other like seeds on a bagel, NDB poppy
Caught by UD Makeoutz, girls gone wild, straight naughty
Not a dime, a one , far from a hotty
Your mouths nasty, used port a potty
Sunday morning is a damn shame
Like the little giants, no game
It’s ok, we feel your pain
The towers to ivy is one long lane
Super Bowl Sunday is a glorious day. Usually Sundays are dreadful. They consist of homework, projects, hangovers, and the mere doom of the Monday to come. However, February 2, 2014 will be different. Hangovers will be conquered and schedules will be cleared. It’s time to jam Tostitos into your mouth, take a knee, tilt your head back, and let that beautiful river of golden, bubbly, deliciousness flow down your throat. However, there is one token guy that needs to be avoided!
There is always THAT sad piece of shit who thinks he’s on the fucking field. He screams at the TV, yells at everyone else in the room, and occasionally sobs when there is a fumble. This person is a fucking nub. The last time he played sports he was chauffeured to the field in his moms Dodge Caravan, he ate dunkaroos in between plays, and he shit in his uniform. This dude is usually fat and not athletic. He has the body type of Augustus Gloop ( fat ass from Willy Wonka) If he was on the field he would be destroyed. It would be like putting a starving child on the field to face Ray Lewis. This dude literally has no right to even watch the Super Bowl. So please, if you encounter this person: 1: Tell them to shut the fuck up and 2. Rip their pants off, stand them on their head, and make them funnel a delicious stone through their balloon knot.
DONT BE THAT GUY!Tweet
“Fill it up again! Once it hits your lips, it’s so good!”
-Frank the Tank
I remember moving into my freshman dorm like it was yesterday- sweating my ass off in the August heat unloading my dad’s SUV, awkwardly meeting my two roommates for the first time, and essentially doing everything possible to get my mom to stop talking to every human being on move-in day and leave so I could do what I had waited all summer for. The movie 300 had come out earlier that year, and every male who graduated high school in 2007 knew exactly what that eye patch-wearing badass meant when he said, “We did what we were trained to do, what we were bred to do, what we were born to do.” We were Spartans, not of the art of war, but of something far greater- we had become men, and were finally ready to go out and bro really fucking hard.
I will never forget the first time the sweet, beautiful taste of liquid sunshine made love to my taste buds. I knew exactly how Barry Bonds felt right after he injected enough anabolic steroids into his ass to make the Incredible Hulk look like Pee Wee Herman, ready to jack some poor sphere of cowhide into the stratosphere. I felt like I could outdance Michael Jackson, and outsmart Stephen Hawkins. It was the nectar of the gods. King Leonidas had his sword, spear, and shield. I had Keystone Light.
It is no mere coincidence that I chose the brew affectionately known simply as “Stones” as my first Bro Beverage of the Week. It is college in an aluminum 12 oz. can.
Now some people out there will denounce Keystone, claiming it is piss water. Do not listen to those people. I can guarantee they hate America and wept alone when Seal Team Six but a boot up Bin Laden’s ass, courtesy of the red, white and blue. For the rest of this post, I will tell all of you how Stones changed my life for the better. If you still think Keystone sucks after this, then you can fuck off and watch Bridget Jones’ Diary with your stuffed animal collection.
The first reason I love Stones more than I could ever love a human baby is the experience provided on a college budget. Nothing else for $13 brings you 30 servings of pure happiness. Some will argue the same can be had with Natty, and that’s where they are wrong. Each case of Keystone comes with a cardboard sign with ingenious slogans on them, each one describing a scenario smoother than glass, and almost as smooth as Keith Stone himself. Need to make your dorm room look less like a prison cell and more like a habitable environment? Boom, smuggle a 30 into your dorm, gather your bros and put on some sweet pump-jams before you dominate the night. Not only do you get an amazing pregame, you also have a new piece to cover up the deteriorating cinderblock wall. If you managed to cover your walls floor to ceiling with “Always Smooth Moments,” chances are we’d get along really well.
“ASKED HER WHEN SHE’S DUE (SHE’S NOT). ALWAYS SMOOTH, EVEN WHEN YOU’RE NOT” –Always Smooth Moment, c. 2007-08
Reason numero dos: versatility. Keystone Light truly is the Swiss Army Knife of college sodas. Playing pong, civil war, or flipcup? There’s a Stone for that. Running late on the pregame and need to knock back as many beers as possible before you sprint to the bar and beat the line? There’s a Stone for that. Have two-story funnel set up on a fire escape (go to Home Depot and get vinyl tubing, trust me on this one)? There’s a fucking Stone for that. Wake up feeling like death, still fucking hammered at 8 AM after a long night of raging and need a serious rally for the tailgate that starts in an hour? Watch the battle scene from Gladiator and get Stoned. Is it a beautiful spring day and feel like daging on a Tuesday just because it’s a Tuesday? Keith Stone has you covered. Post game? More like Stone game. Do you have absolutely nothing to do but stoop it with your peeps on a shitty front porch somewhere? Get your ass to the liquor store and grab a case of Keystone.
While Keystone Light will always be the brew that has a special place in my heart, it is worth mentioning its lesser-known, but equally effective cousins Keystone Ice (black can = blackout) and regular Keystone (red cans, or as the Lips Crew have come to call them, Stone Heavies or “Boulders”). Both of these must be used with caution, as they have the very real potential of getting you drunker than a high school girl chugging her first wine cooler, but let’s be honest, if you erred on the side of caution when it came to crushing brews you probably wouldn’t be reading this. The only downside to Ice and Boulders are that they are harder to find than the classic Light, but if you live in or near a college town, you shouldn’t have too much trouble tracking down theses beauties.
The final and most important reason I chose Keystone as the flagship Bro Beverage of the Week: the memories. Throughout my four years of college, and even when raging with the Lips Crew postgrad, Keystone Light has always been there and has been responsible for countless stories. I would love to tell them all, but if I did you’d be reading shit longer than Leo Tolstoy’s “War And Peace,” and no one wants to do that, especially when you could and should be out getting really fucking weird with your bros and babes. All I can say is that behind every hookup I’ve ever had, good and bad, Stones were involved. Behind every hilarious story involving a member of the Lips Crew, Stones were there. Every situation that would make your dad beam with pride and your mother cringe came as a courtesy of Keystone Light.
Every person in AA (aka “quitters”) eventually has what they call a “moment of clarity,” or some situation where they finally realize they need help to turn their lives around. Well, my moment of clarity as a creeper, crusher and winner came when I first experienced the heavenly feeling of Keystone Light sliding down my throat as a college freshman. From then on, I knew nothing would ever be the same. It was going to be a bumpy fucking ride, and I buckled in for the journey. Of course, this was only after I had safely secured my cold 30 of Stones with the seat belt in the spot next to me.
So bros and babes everywhere, raise up your cold, blue cylinders of joy and toast the legendary holy water that is Keystone Light. As the saying in the American classic that is The Sandlot goes, “Heroes are remembered, but legends never die.”
Keystone Light for life.
And even after that. Seriously, when I die I am writing into my will that I be buried with a road stone while I cross the River Styx.