Early Man's Version of Beer Pong was Different but the Results were the Same

Written by Samuel Vargo

Sunday, 16 June 2013

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Beer pong wasn't a big campus rage when I went to college. Back then, it was different. But the overall concept of getting smashed out of our skulls was the same "ends justify the means" of the contemporary college drinking game.

Most of the differences between Beer Pong then and now are just minutia inside the trivia. The variations don't add up to anything. And by anything, I translate this into nothing short of a catatonic, comatose, crawling lemur drinking cyanide and other poisons from a venomous centipede.

Beer Pong shouldn't be legal. Its roots are psychopathic and sociopathic. This isn't social drinking. In fact, it's not even antisocial drinking. It's sheer terrorism, at its best; utter anarchy blazing with violence at its worst. Our Beer Pong bordered on something similar to the conquering Mongol hordes crossing the Carpathian Mountains on giant silverfish and rabidly snarling unicorns.

To be academic, precise, and thorough, let's look at a few of these minor differences of today's game as opposed to the old way of playing Beer Pong: First off, today's college crowd usually uses pre-recorded music as an audible backdrop for the games. But back when I went to school, pre-recorded music wasn't invented and the classroom was Socratic Method (if not just stick drawings flickering on the walls of the caves). Way back when, we referred to any system of higher education as having deep caves with a celebrated and distinguished crew of talented bean counters. A handful of seers, witchdoctors, warlocks and mythical madmen rounded out our "university." Actually, the faculty hasn't changed much comparing then and now. But in my day, Beer Pong was used to solve the problems of the world. [According to the city leaders where my university was headquartered, one of the big problems of the world was solved when the whole uncouth crowd of us would end up in the hoosegow. On a very sad note, this watershed always earmarked the end of our game, though.]

"Your forefathers of this frat house have a very rich tradition in getting stoned to the bones," was the Omega Omega Omega's version of the "Serenity Prayer."

Continuing, we played this drinking game with a sandblaster, a deck of pinnacle cards, a can of sardines, and last but not least, no less than two dozen full kegs of any beer (and I use this term very loosely - even imported, defective kegs of Los Gatos y Los Perros Cervesa de Paraguay would do).

Other accoutrements included: a Parcheesi tumbler and an Absinthe kit, along with the hideous front fangs of a rare Pekingese Pygmy Python. Another thing - according to the rules of our Dark Ages version of the Beer Pong ceremony, we sang a bunch of Hootenanny songs. These "oldies but goodies" are about the same as a cappella Irish pub songs - except they were of a more hillbillyized musical genre. Oh, this brings me down Nostalgia Thoroughfare: I remember my old college roommate Stick Man the Sick Man, and my old English Comp Teacher, Feducious T. Flynt, were always the first to begin the games. They would argue like wild animals at the beginning - when the sandblaster's engine was started by rubbing two stones together to ignite a flame.

"Let the games begin!!!" Mr. Flynt would always yell from his high horse. This was another ceremonial constant of the game: Our Comp Professor always began the game from his perch on top of an actual replication of the historic Trojan Horse.

My friends, women simply weren't invited to Drink Pong back then. Moreover, if some sagging boozehound showed up at our Beer Pong orgy, she was surely dragged by the hair to the nearest gravel pit where she was pelted with large rocks until she was as dead as a vulture's slimey snack!


Ah, I remember the cries and jubilant sounds of our Beer Pong Extravaganzas! As cute and cuddly as the Thanksgiving Wombat, Feducious T. would try to circumvent the power of the sandblaster with a good dose of Plutonium or Uranium he had hijacked earlier in the day from the university chemistry lab.

This is perhaps the most drastic difference of today's game versus the Dark Ages game of Beer Pong. We used, instead of a ping-pong ball that is used today, a 20-pound sledgehammer and a straight-head screwdriver.

"When the screwdriver won't fix the thing, use the sledgehammer!" Mr. Flynt would curse from his high horse as the crazy bunch of freaks started imbibing on the keg, akin to turkey vultures settling around a rotting hippo carcass.

- I don't want to get into this aspect of the game, just let's call it very bloody, nasty and ugly.

"Funk U," Mr. Flynt always yelled when the sledgehammer and screwdriver were put away for the evening. We'd then look at the old relic like he was touched by some arcane type of insanity or unidentified frying object. Our Comp professor had the pudgy ruddy looks of Winston Churchill yet had an Amish man's scraggly long beard and he hardly ever wore his false teeth (which were made of wood). But he was a charmer and his heart was always in the right place. Feducious T. Flynt was very, very proud of his school and would always use the "FUNK U" analogy to describe the carpe diem of frenzied drinking that would end up costing him his life.

[See, in the end, the administrators of the school burned ole' Feducious at the stake for his caustic, perenniel, blabbering, drunken diatribes which always evolved into sundry religious and political heresies. Our Comp Professor wasn't killed because he was a drunken draconian monster, but because he was a heretic.]

What's most important, my young friends, is the fact that our version of Beer Pong included all the related felonious and phony behaviors of today's drunken drink fest. In fact, our primitive version may have been even a better version of the game than yours, all you young bucksters!

But let's get back to the drinking festivities. Just about then, after the sandblaster was used to take down the walls of the dorm or the frat house where the game was played, the cops would always show up. Then the fire department arrived to kill all the fires that were blazing as a byproduct of our little ceremony.

The last one to enter the downtown drunk tank always won the game. Nobody ever became rich or famous (none of us even graduated with a degree) but those were the daze, brothers, those were the daze.

Call it Beer Pong, Pong Ping, or the Sledge and the Screwdriver! Just call it something so we can allow the games to begin! Just drown in the alcohol, not all those silly rules!

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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