50 Shades of Purple, Chapter Two: The Battle for the Keg

“At first I was like, ‘You know, it might not be such a great idea to go skinny dipping in the Amazon with a bottle of Patron and the entire San Diego Chargers Charger Girls squad,’ but then I was just like, ‘YOLO.'”
-Morton O. Schapiro

Don’t worry, the sex scene’s coming soon.

It’s a Monday evening, and my roommates are pregaming the pregame for the Keg. I’ve had a pretty stressful day in Journalism 301, filled with lots of hard-hitting pestering of innocent yuppies reporting for my enterprise story, and it’s time for me to kick back and relax. I pop a bottle of Peach Andre and my night has begun.

“How was your interview with Ross Packingham?” asks Beverly Brooke, my roommate and consummate frenemy.

“Intriguing. There’s something secretive about him that I can’t figure out. Is it true he once had a threesome with a Theta and Willie the Wildcat in the library stacks?”

“I heard it was with Stephen Colbert and two theater majors on South Beach while Andrew Bird played in the background,” Beave answers, “But that’s just what I read once on College ACB.”

We finish off our bottles of Andre while watching Say Yes to the Dress and head over to Alpha Delta for the true pregame. The second we step into the basement, our senses are assaulted by skunked beer, bros in tank-tops, and Katy Perry. Lots of Katy Perry.

“WOOOOOOOOOO” shouts Beave as “Teenage Dream” comes on, and immediately begs a frat brother who looks suspiciously similar to an Asian Nic Cage (and almost as belligerent) to let her take a beer pong celeb shot.

I leave to get myself a drink. I pour myself some Mohawk vodka into a solo cup of Busch Light, which I affectionately dub ‘The Bobb,’ because the drink’s always a party and smells like piss.

The Alpha Delta brothers are getting rowdy. Some jackass tries to hit on me by asking which Vice President I’m most sexually attracted to, only to leave the next moment muttering to himself about the similarities between House Republicans and gonorrhea.

“KEG! KEG! KEG!” The Alpha Delta brothers shout. I down my drink and steel myself for the heinous that is to come.

————————————–

HE’S HERE! OMIGOD HE’S HERE!!!

It takes me a little while to recognize the man before my eyes, but after I adjust to the hedonism around me and get over the brief torrent of terror that shot through me as the Keg bouncer took an additional five seconds to ensure that I truly am the 25-year-old Beyonce Lovato from Anchorage, Alaska that my ID said I was, I realize that I really am beholding the elusive Ross Packingham, HERE, in the flesh, at the Keg!

Gorgeous as all hell and with a gleam in his eye, Packingham is freaking the night away with some co-ed like he’s Channing Tatum on ecstasy.

“Carla!” He shouts, “Carla Rossi! Over here!” He’s beckoning me over to join him and his slam-piece on the dance floor, and I head his way.

And then, with a tremendous blast, the door of the Keg comes crashing down. A dark, shrouded figure looms large in the doorway. For a moment everything stops, douchebags freeze mid-thrust where they were dancing, and even that one townie playing pool turns to look. The only sound is that of Ludacris’ verse on “Baby” as Mayor Tisdahl, clad in combat boots, night-vision goggles, and a James Taylor t-shirt, fully armed with a crowbar and flanked by a cadre of Evanston cops, steps into the neon light of the Coors Light sign.

“My sources tell me that there’s been underage drinking in this establishment,” Mayor Tisdahl growls, tossing the disemboweled corpse of an engineer into the stunned crowd. “You can thank this snitch here. Now I’m going to shut this motherfucker down once and for all.”

All hell breaks loose as Elizabeth Tisdahl and her police posse attack.

Intoxicated and sweaty bodies frantically jostle with one another (not unlike the Keg on a normal Monday night) as Tisdahl brutally swings her crowbar with reckless abandon at poor defenseless English majors and ETHS seniors while the cops gleefully cite students for underage drinking by the score.

“That’s for yacking on the Evanston Post Office!” screams Tisdahl as she brains a Comm Studies student with her crowbar as he tries to scuttle up a stripper pole.

“And this will teach you to holler about blowjobs on MY streets!” she adds, sucker-punching a Tri Delt like she’s Michael Barrett squaring off against A.J.

“Say blowjob one more time. I FUCKING DARE YOU!”

I can’t bear the sight of her pile-driving two foreign students through a window, and quickly duck under a booth and pray that God will save me, or at least turn off the Bieber that’s still playing if I am to be summarily executed by Mayor Tisdahl in this den of debauchery.

The Keg has all but cleared out as I cower in fear, watching Tisdahl and her cops methodically pour big cups of Bud Light and handles of Svedka and Wild Turkey all over the Keg’s walls and floors.

Tisdahl shoulders her crowbar and lights a cigarette. Turning with a menacing gait, she addresses the few remaining students.

“Based on what I see here, I think that the Keg has some grave public safety concerns. I’m revoking the Keg’s license,” she flips her cigarette onto the booze-soaked floor, “Permanently.”

The flames erupt immediately, burning away years of sin and memories. Students scream, and Tisdahl laughs, but just as she turns to leave a gallant figure, wearing nothing but an enormous purple cape, bursts through the Keg’s window riding on the back of a dashing wildcat.

“MORTY SCHAPIRO!” everybody cheers as the lionhearted president rushes to their defense.

His body is lithe and stately, glistening in the fiery inferno as his beard bristles with the white-hot intensity of a hundred thousand Pat Fitzgeralds.

“Oh no you don’t, Tisdahl!” cries Morty, slapping the Mayor back with his massive appendage. More cheers from the students. Morty rips off a stripper pole to serve as his quarterstaff (he already has a full staff down below).

“I’m going to give you the Chet Haze treatment tonight, baby,” shouts Morty. “You’ll be white and purple when I’m done with you.”

Then Morty sets to work, fighting off cops left and right with the help of his trusty wildcat. Those police officers who are too foolish not to run away suffer the awful fate of his beard, and Morty and his steed finish them off faster than the NCAA finishing off Northwestern’s March Madness dreams.

Yet somehow in all the confusion, Mayor Tisdahl managed to escape, cursing Morty and swearing that her revenge is nigh. Few seemed to care, however, as Morty ripped open a fire hydrant with his bare hands, soused the Keg’s raging flames, and turned the club into an all-night slip-and-slide.

“Come here,” a voice says gruffly. I turn with shock and look at the man gripping my hand. It’s Packingham. “This way.”

He leads me to the Popcorn machine, raps it three times with his knuckles, opens up the top, and helps me inside. “Follow me,” Ross says, pushing a button and revealing a secret passageway that travels out of the popcorn machine and leads to a mysterious tunnel. I follow, obediently, trusting Ross completely.

“I hereby declare the Keg re-instated!” bellows the victorious, and still mostly-nude, Morty. “I wish the Keg luck with their newly instated Lifetime License to Rage!”

I can barely hear the cheers as I go deeper and deeper down the tunnel, guided only by the mysterious Ross Packingham.

To be continued

Chapter one of 50 Shades of Purple can be found HERE.

Sherman Ave’s One Month Anniversary!

Unfortunately, stripper cake not included.

It is with immense satisfaction and joy that we announce the one month anniversary of the venerably estimable, nay TOTALLY KICKASS, website Sherman Ave! Ever since our first post (a review of the latest single from hip-hop duo Alpha Delta, which helped launch the group into international popularity) was first published around 5 in the morning on January 25th, it has been our proud duty and pleasure to provide our readers with only the highest quality of reporting on the culture and shenanigans of the Evanston and Chicagoland area. We thank you, our loyal readers, for making us who we are today: the 4th most reviled news source on campus.

In blog years, one month is approximately 18 human years. Therefore, we have decided to celebrate our one month anniversary in typical teenage fashion. First comes the traditional bickering with parents. In a display of our need to exert our own individualism and adolescent rage at our nurturing and well-intentioned parents, our relationship with North by Northwestern and The Daily Northwestern will slowly devolve into incessant shouting matches, until we eventually storm out and get a regrettable lower back tattoo after falling into the dangerous “blog crowd.” After our familial situation deteriorates, there won’t be anybody or anything stopping us from the self-destructive behavior most young blogs experience when first stepping out on their own.

Not that certain Sherman Ave editors can name all 195 countries thanks to sporcle, or anything...

The next step in our celebration of our one month anniversary is the common teenage phenomenon of dangerous abuse of alcohol and other drugs. After being peer-to-peer-pressured by the “cool” websites like Gawker or Facebook, we’ll try and distance ourselves from our once dear, but now hopelessly lame, website-friends like Sporcle or Stumbleupon by drinking obscene amounts of liquor. This will unfortunately lead to the alienation of many of our closest friends, including Her Campus after a particular poor attempt to hit on our secret blog crush, and maybe even the loss of our bloginity to the interweb tramp CollegeACB.

Where would this man be without us!?

Teenage angst asides, looking back on this past month, we feel that our humble blog has accomplished a hell of a lot. A positive write-up from our venerable website can do wonders for a career, and we’ve broke some of the hottest celebrities over the past month. Hip hop duo Alpha Delta never would have exploded onto the national scene without our glowing review, and it is doubtful that American pop culture ever would have experienced the impact of Kanye’s “All of the Lights” video without the attention it garnered on our humble pages. We have also transformed President Schapiro from a little-known college president to a dearly beloved demigod, all thanks to our extensive profile of the living legend himself.

But our influence extends much further than mere pop culture. We have fought endlessly against the repressive Evanston government, eventually ending the evil Brothel Law, decriminalizing bowling and skipping, and working endlessly to slowly return fun, happiness, and joy to the northern suburbs. Politically, we have covertly aided Rahm Emanuel’s miraculous election against all odds (although we can neither confirm nor deny suspicions that we are also the authors of the @MayorEmanuel twitter feed), toppled repressive governments throughout the Middle East (and American Midwest) with our flaming rhetoric, all but insured a Palin/Bachmann victory in 2012, and wielded more influence over the Willard Exec Board elections than a power-hungry and depraved CA exerts over innocent and amiable freshman.

What is most important to remember, however, is that for the past month, we have selflessly shared our profound wisdom and taste for the Chicago area, free of charge. We shudder to think of where we would be as a society had wearing tights as pants gone out of fashion, or if the term “Tagalongs” became the accepted name for the impeccably American “Peanut Butter Patty.” Without us, women might never have left the kitchen to edit Wikipedia, Americans would still remain woefully ignorant of the rising phenomenon of Wombinations, and nobody would know the extent of how freaking hilarious Chenny Ng is.

Prepare yourselves, and let Sherman Ave take you there

But there is still so much more left to do! As the hottest blog in the 60201 zipcode for a month running, we take our duty to our readers quite seriously. Expect to be inundated with even more killer satire, features, and reviews. We also intend to completely infiltrate ASG by next quarter, establish a secret society that practices voodoo sexual rites in the steam tunnels, and maybe even one day Stumbleupon ourselves during Econ lecture. These are high goals to set for ourselves, but after one month of raging success, we feel like now’s the time to ratchet up our game to the next level. Who knows, maybe one day we’ll even post regularly!? Only time will tell.