A Toast to Joe Lewis, the Greatest Boxer of His Time

Twas a cold winter day in the Midwest.  A few of the natives and I awoke after slumbering in my Iowa home, rounded up our gear, stepped outside, and decided that 15 degrees was too warm for a journey to Omaha, Nebraska in a vehicle that actually had a working heater (us Midwesterners are a bit masochistic).  After a short 2.5-hour drive, the three of us reached Council Bluffs, a friendly Iowa city that housed our hotel for the weekend, and killed some time until the rest of the band arrived.  Apparently, the TSA prohibits people from bringing more than 3 ounces of heat onto a plane, so the band was unable to bring any sizable amount of warmth with them.  

We were shortly off to rally the volleyball team outside their hotel.  The band played fiercely for our goddesses, despite the icy cold death rays that Mother Nature shot at us.  We then headed over to the Qwest Center and brought funk to the legions of funkless Nebraskans, Penn Statians, and Texans that came to see their beloved teams play (the stalwart Stanford Fans having already been thoroughly funked).   After giving Texas a fair head start, the Stanford women dominated the game and finished 3-2, securing a spot for the Saturday game.   Most of us returned to our hotel to make merry and/or play Risk.  A few stayed behind at the center and watched some more intense volleyball.  I hear that the innumberable throngs of Nebraska fans can be quite loud.  

Friday, the traditional day of rest in many modern religions, saw the band exploring Council Bluffs and Omaha.  Some of us went to the zoo and threw snowballs at the animals, while others surveyed the local thrift store scene and bought up the county's supply of flannel and three-piece suits.  For dinner, we had steak.  Some establishments are not quite used to the amount of awesome brought by the band, so we tip well to compensate.   The rest of the night saw us fighting off the giant alien robots that frequently attack the area.  

Saturday.  The band was up at the crack of noon, preparing for the epic battle that was to unfold that night.  We again rallied the team before the game, this time in zero-degree-freeze-your-snot-in-your-nose-Mother-Nature-is-Not-in-a-Good-Mood-and-Father-Nature-is-likely-Sleeping-on-the-Couch-Tonight weather.  The game was hard fought, but the Stanford Women fell to the onslaught of the Cyborg-Go-Go-Gadget-Volleyball women from Nittany.   The band retired to our hotel, and drowned our sorrows in more Risk.  Most everyone returned to California on early flights.  The locals and I drove back to our abodes the next day, this time in zero-degree-25-mph-wind-gusts weather in a vehicle that again had no heat.  

Things to do in Ft. Collins When You're Still Alive

Hidey-Ho Neighborino! We know we said that we'd wait until 2009 before massacring your RSS feeds, but as I sit on a plane home listening to Richard Cheese take on System of a Down and looking over what I presume to be nighttime Utah, I decided the Band just couldn't wait to talk to you again, even if it is too early in our relationship for that. And while we know you're about to go run some errands and that it's 8 o'clock in the morning, we just have to regale you with tall tales about our recent trip to Northern Colorado. More after what would be the jump, if this were the type of blog that had advertisements (Hey Gawker, sure you don't want to pick us up? We'd be an excellent companion to Deadspin and Fleshbot).





The Band collectively groaned when management sent the e-mail that said call time at the Shak to ship out was 0430 hours. We separately stumbled our way across campus in the blackest of night and into the hallowed stomping grounds, carrying everything we owned (our dorm rooms would no longer be ours when the trip was over, Housing needed them instead). And as we entered the doorway, the 15-song, all “Thunderstruck” playlist greeted our ears and the Pop-Tarts our Social bought us greeted our stomachs, the grogginess slowly turned to grogthusiasm, and with a newfound sense of purpose, we changed into our “uniforms” and packed our instruments onto the bus.

While United Airlines didn't appreciate our cries of “Get Me Off this Tube of Death”, we still enjoyed our flight to Denver, some of us thinking that United Airlines would benefit a great deal from sponsoring Manchester United, especially given the state of AIG, but I digress.

The native Californians eeked with joy when they saw the snow (I think for some of them it was their first time) and we all rejoiced when we saw that right next door to the hotel was a 24 hour IHOP. Some poor souls still had finals to take while the remainder immediately took advantage of the Big Two special for $7.50. All work and no play makes Band a dull boy though, and when those still bonded to the university cast off their shackles of exams, the fun could really begin.

The next two days were a whirlwind of victory and bone-chilling cold. During the games, we rocked our hearts out, giddy that the 15 goddesses sent from Asgard, also known as our women's volleyball team (I frequently am confused as to whether I just saw Mjolnir, Thor's Hammer, in action or if it was Alix Klineman serving) would actually want us miscreants to be in the same building as them. The other teams were less appreciative, though, of our lessons in colonies throughout history and prohibited items on an airplane. That might have been because they came when Florida and Hawaii were serving. Our bad.

When darkness hit, the Band engaged in the most wholesome of merriment activities. We tried our hand at knitting, pin the tail on the donkey, and pick up sticks. Some went over to Colorado State to go to a house quilting bee some fans at the game invited them to. A few frosh got new nicknames after an epic game of charades. We even had contests to see who could drink a rational amount of water at a reasonable pace. Unfortunately we got a little too into the quiet game drawing a complaint from the other hotel guests that we weren't making enough noise for them to fall asleep to. We survived the night, but we certainly felt that extra round of Pictionary in the morning.

During the day, the legal folks took a tour of the New Belgium Brewery. Word on the street was it was quite fun. The remainder explored what it was like to live in an actual college town, though we still love The Tall Tree. We also delighted patrons of Old Town with our trademark brand of symphonic cacophony. Don't worry vice cops, it's not anything like the Old Town in Sin City.

All in all, it was a wonderful trip. We'd like to give a special shoutout to D.P. Dough's for nourishing us with their delicious and affordable calzones, to Colorado State University for accommodating us on our late night snow adventure, and to the volleyball team, for giving us a reason to go to Omaha in a few days (Woo Final Four!!!). Aaron will be on that trip, and I'm sure that he'll provide a similar account of the Band's exploits in an area that looks to be even colder (as if that were possible).

Until then, screw you guys, I'm going home.

The Future is coming!

And lo, there the band was at Big Game, thankful that we had not been swallowed into the Hayward Fault after taunting it so mercilessly in our halftime show (video soon to come!), watching the seconds tick down on a valiantly fought but ultimately futile football contest. Dean Julie's (the Dean of Freshmen and the South Bay division of the Obama Campaign) leading of an inspired "Yes, We Can" chant after we recovered an onside kick proved to be no match for Kal's junior college transfers, pumped up from the Kal Band's halftime tribute to boy bands. And yea, as the clock hit 00:04 the band rejoiced, for the new staph had officially taken over and the old staph could finally stop pretending they liked this sorry excuse for an organization. For outgoing manager Liz Schackmann it meant her blood pressure immediately dropped 50 points and for incoming AssMan Tim Haefele it meant adding 100 stress balls to his Christmas wish list.

Perhaps more significantly for you, the reader, it means that we have a new PR (Shotgun, that's me) and a new Web Relations/Public Master (Aaron, that's not me) and us two misfits will be manning this blog from now on, with others chiming in when they feel the need to drop some knowledge. What can you expect from your new US Blogators? Lower taxes, more frequent updates, embedded YouTube videos, and free bald eagles for every American citizen.

The revolution will hit in the new year, until then the band lies in wait as we study for finals, and get ready to lay siege to Colorado, as we travel there to follow the women's volleyball team for the 3rd and 4th (knock on wood) rounds of the tournament. Ft Collins has no idea what's about to hit them.

Then it's winter break. The band goes home to rest, celebrate its non-religious specific holiday, and try to erase the trauma of shakethatbear (some mean person sent the link to our e-mail list, google it at your own risk) with 3-hour sessions of Puppy Cam (google it at your own reward). For the saps that happen to call Northen California home and the Old Fartz that couldn't bear to leave the Bay Area, they'll be roped in to playing at the basketball games over break, turning the Shak into Springfield Retirement Castle.

The band will be back early though, to support the men's team as it takes on the pair o' universities from the AZ (much to some people's dismay) the week before classes start. There's no telling what the Band will do to amuse itself without the restraints of academics, but we hope the city of Palo Alto is still standing afterward.

Until then, we leave you with one our best shows of the year, the halftime show from Road Trip (woo!!) to UCLA, replete with commentary by our former Graphix, go to the URL for the fabolous script.


P.S. What Aaron said also. That sneaky ratfink wrote something while I was creating this masterpiece.

A new challenger has appeared!

Every year, with 4 seconds left in big game, new staph officially assume their positions.  Shotgun and I, assuming the positions of public relations and public master, respectively, have decided to breathe some new life into this infrequently-updated blog. 

I'd write something more interesting, but I have to study for my partial differential equations final.  

Peace

-Aaron

I am become Graduate, eater of ramen

Hello again

So it's been quite a while since you heard from us. I bet you thought we were in trouble again! Nope, not in trouble, just distracted.

I guess most young folks in the LSJUMB have lately been far too interested in their day jobs of preparing to be America's lawyers, doctors, and search engine billionaires to take much notice of our humble blog. I say "young folks" because I, like quite a number of my pals, have crossed over and begun to walk in that mysterious land from which the only return is grad school. That's right, I graduated, and am now officially what the young punks call an "Old Fart" (I hear the original term in Mandarin has much more respectful connotations.)

So while the leaders of tomorrow spend their time in labs, running tests for jaded Post-Docs, I've been called up, urged to come out of retirement and ramble on for a few paragraphs. I guess Band knew I don't have job yet (Anyone out there know a TV comedy writer who needs an assistant? Better yet, anyone want to give me a TV writing job? I'll bring my own jokes!)

So here I am. I seem to recall that the last time I wrote here, I told you all what an awesome spring the band had ahead of it. As it turned out, the spring was more awesome than predicted. Over the next couple of days I'll try to scrape the rust off my memory (or maybe it just needs valve oil?) and retell some of the better stories. There were some good times. We played at an after school program, and some of the kids there have a famous NFL dad who really likes us. Who, you ask? Sorry, Band does not rock-out-and-tell. That was also when my academic advisor saw me in Band Mode for the first time. I tried to imagine what it's like to see your negligent advisee with an interest in modern American literature transformed into the tuba player in purple pants and a skunk hat. I liked my advisor, and I felt a little pressure to play well, until I remembered that it was her job to make sure I took that poetry class, not to point out how much I stumbled through "Crazy Train."

Here's a story...it begins at another event for the wee bairns. We were playing for a preschool/kindergarten's family picnic, which happened to also be the birthday of the inventor of the Aerobie flying disc. Earlier in the day, I had honored this occasion by going to Manz field to get a free aerobie, which I brough to the school rally. Since I don't sweat the music thing too much, I tossed the aerobie around with another band dude. We'll call him Wooley, because everyone else does. Now I remember a sloppy throw sending the aerobie over to the water activity table, where it disappeared. Some adept little sticky fingers made off with it. I was distraught, but I figured toys on a preschool playground are communal property, so the little absconder hadn't knowingly committed theft. Fortunately, when Band Time was over and it was Pizza and Juice Time, I saw my aerobie set down at the sand box table, and I quickly reclaimed it. In a charming coda to this part of the story, Wooley hid the aerobie after it was found, causing me to wonder if the preschool wasn't a Dickensian pickpocket academy.
The story continues a week or two later when I brought my aerobie to LSJUMB Senior Rehearsal, during which every senior gets to conduct the band for one song, outside on the grass. After I led the band in an inappropriately "Slow 'n' Funky" rendition of "Ruby Soho," Wooley (yes, him again) and I tossed the ol' flying disc around. Skilled Nordic sportsman that he is, Wooley managed deftly to lodge my precious aerobie in a tree. In the aftermath, a valuable lesson was learned: if one's aeroblie is lost in a tree, and throwing rocks to dislodge it is proving ineffectual, it is not wise to resort to throwing one's shoes in place of rocks. And that's the story of how I lost an aerobie and two slip-on vans in an oak tree at Stanford.

Well we're just startin' the old blog engine up again, so that seems like a good stopping point. There will be plenty more to come if I can find the right mix of bribery and intimidation to get Scott Bland or some other bright-eyed young bandie to be Blogmaster from now on. There could be more Spring Band recap, or perhaps just a whole lotta Football Season. The band is driving to Texas for the game against TCU next week, so maybe you'll get periodic updates from the 40 hour round trip, chonicling Manager Liz's descent into madness. Or maybe we'll let Jill W. tell you about her trip to Tanzania, if we don't think it's way too boring. Who knows? Some of you leave lovely comments after some posts, so how about you tell us what you want to see in the blog. We may ignore it, but even just posting a comment on the Band Blog makes you cool by association.

Class of '08 for life.
Coop

Spring Band, Boing Boing!

Hello my brothers and sisters

First of all, we of the Leland Stanford Junior University Marching Band would like to say that we are proud of both of our basketball teams. Thank you, Men's and Women's Basketball, for representing our university (including us hacks with the instruments) with class and fine athleticism.

Now that Basketball Season is over, it's time for the greatest mash-up in the history of the world. Spring + Band = SPRING BAND!!!!!!!!!!!!
Spring Band is the LSJUMB's mercenary faction. Spring Band has no sporting event obligations, so it is free to wander around the Bay Area, playing for birthday parties, weddings, wakes, gun shows, and more. Fine weather (practically guaranteed) and Fun (guaranteed, or your money and Open Bar back) abound. It's an exciting time to be playing an instrument in tacky, awful clothing. We never know what's going to happen. For every game of downhill bowling outside a birthday party in San Francisco (true story), there is getting locked inside the fence during the lunch hour at a construction site (also a true story).

You can get a taste of Spring Band this very weekend! On Saturday at 6 pm in the Stanford Stadium there is the annual Stanford Football "Cardinal vs. White" Spring Game. It's like October in April! Neat! We'll be there. Come out.

Also on Saturday, in the early morning (between 8 and 9 am? No one tells me anything) Band is playing for Stanford Relay for Life. Come out and read the stories of Friday Night in exhausted Tenrz' faces.

And next weekend? DAVIS DAY. Get ready Davis, we are coming to rock you.

Peace.
The LSJUMB

WHERE ARE WE GOING?

THE FINAL FOUR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!












(Spokane/Houston recap coming soon. In the meantime, get psyched.)

Divvy up the Band

Hello and welcome once again to the Stanford Bland Bog.

This is the first blog post actually written IN THE BAND SHAK! Why has it taken so long for us to write from our smelly, messy, dearly beloved HQ? Probably because most of the time when we're here we're just having too much fun to sit in front of a boring old computer (no offense, Shakputer). Today however, Shak is empty. It's just me sitting at Shakputer, drinking Capri Sun and listening to Flogging Molly, so I'm getting down to some bloggin'. But why is Shak so devoid of its usual Funk and joviality? Because tomorrow one half of Band flies to Spokane, WA and the other flies to Houston, TX. That's right, both of our basketball teams have advanced to the Sweet 16, and Band has to execute the demanding "Split Band" maneuver, bringing funk to the funk-less in two locations. Sometimes this seems like a daunting task, to rock paint off the walls in two Western states, but then we think "Leland Stanford conquered the American West, and so can we -- and without all the shady business practices." (Though not, perhaps, without labor exploitation; Band essentially works for no more than a per diem/taco money.)

So there you have it. Each half of Band is furiously packing (wait, we can legally bring how much liquid onto a plane?), and one half is trying to figure out what to wear in Spokane (it's not going to be as warm there as it is here, nope nope).

I leave you now because I too must prepare for the trek to the North (Sorry Houston; your favorite celebrity blogger will try to make it out next time.)

Playing Catch-Up

Hello Dear Friends.

We got word that violence has been breaking out around the nation because we never got around to telling you folks how Dollie Day '08 turned out. We apologize for sucking. It "won't" happen again.

Some people who don't suck nearly as much as your LSJUMB bloggers are the DOLLIES 2008-2009. Woooooo! They are (numbered according to ascending height order, natch):

Dollie #1: Jennifer Lee
Dollie #2: Ali Romer
Dollie #3: Taylor Phillips
Dollie #4: Sydney Gulbronson
Dollie #5: Taylor Thibodeaux

New Dollies are awesome, but they officially begin their term in May, so we'll talk more about them later.

Now we invite you to wonder what could make the Tenrz yell obscenities at the Toobs, make a former drum major crawl on the ground and cry like a little girl, and get twenty people suddenly crammed in a bathroom.  Ha, no it isn't Bacardi 151 (at least not this time...).  We're talking about the Toobz-initiated Toobz 'n' Tenrz Dollie Day Hot Wing Challenge.  Everyone knows the Tenrz are a bunch of self-absorbed sissies, but they think they're pretty tough, so they stepped up to the plate when we bet we could eat more hot wings than they could.  What they didn't know was that "hot wings" was a comically severe understatement.  Toobz sexion leader M.R. spiced up his wings with Dave's Insanity Sauce.  The Toobz knew this, and ate the same wings to preserve the illusion of a friendly contest, but the Tenrz launched themselves a little too enthusiastically into the challenge, guaranteeing their doom.  Thirty seconds later, cries of "My face is burning!" and "Why, Toobz, why?" filled the air as scorched bandies spilled out of the Shak, looking for a hose.  Habanero-sauce hand prints covered the bathroom walls as twenty people crowded around the sinks. (When the powers that be said "No showers in Shak," they really didn't understand the significance of their decision.)  It was a great Dollie Day.

Also, Dollie Day '08 yielded a significant discovery.  The discovery was "Me And The Cap'ns," a delicious new breakfast beverage/cereal.  The recipe appears below.  (Eat out of a bowl, with a spoon, natch.  Also, you have to say "Me and the cap'ns make it happen! - and you have to mean it.)


Me And The Cap'ns was a big hit.  Two thumbs up.

Okay, time to bring this entry to a close, because Finals Week is upon us.  That means it's time to study real hard before we take our finals on the road as we jet off to play for some NCAA Tournament Basketball.  Woo! Go Card!

Good pub

Greetings, friends and foes. Winter quarter is winding down and we're busier than ever, with both the men's and women's basketball teams heading to the postseason. The IVs are flowing for exhausted bandies. But we've still had a pretty good week.

A few months ago, Pat Forde of ESPN.com wrote a college basketball "bucket list" that included performing as the Tree. So we thought, "Hey, cool!" and went back to playing Guitar Hero. And then we thought, "Hey, we should invite him!" So we did. Last Thursday, Forde came to and hung out with the Band, and was the Tree for the first half of the men's basketball game against Washington. He also conducted "White Punks on Dope" after the game. Forde is a great guy, and he seemed to have even more fun with us than we had hosting him, which is saying something. He wrote a glowing article about us that was on the front page of the men's basketball section of ESPN.com (see screenshot!) for all of Thursday, and was also the main story on the front page for most of the day, too.

Needless to say we're pretty excited about it. It's not every day someone writes really nice things about you on the front page of a big-time, national website. And it's nice to get the word out that we're not terrible, cannibalistic devil-worshipers...or most everyone besides the mellz, that is.

The Gathering Storm

Hello Humanfolk and clever Animalfolk!

I'm writing this entry solo, but your new favorite blogger Sweet Cheeks is with me in spirit. He may even edit this post or post something new later. Won't that be a treat?

We are sorry that we haven't written much lately; there just hasn't been that much to report, as our weeks lately have been basketball, basketball, basketball. If you haven't kept up with Card Hoops this season, or maybe you have never heard of basketball, we recommend http://gostanford.cstv.com/ Read up, fill that brain with knowledge.

We did participate in the San Jose Vietnamese Spring Festival Parade over the weekend; that was a fun time, despite Band Management making us get out of bed way earlier than we had to. Our comrades from the North, Davis Band, showed up. In the staging area we were sandwiched between Davis and the local branch of the Galactic Empire, so we played "Throne Room Fanfare" from the very end of Episode 4 (A New Hope). The stormtroopers were very impressed. Then Davis played a much lamer song from Episode 1. Good try Davis, better luck next time. We look forward to rocking out on your turf in April.

By now you might be wondering what the title of this post refers to. It refers to this coming weekend, the biggest weekend in the Band calendar. Yes, it's DOLLIE WEEKEND 2008. It's time to pick our new Dollies, who will begin their term in May. The weekend's festivities are like a school carnival, Festivus, and a monster truck rally tossed together in a giant burrito of mayhem and liver-punishment. It is a time for each sexion to prove its worth. There can be no backing down when, for instance, the Toobz challenge your sexion to drink a bacon milkshake. Was the bacon cooked before it went in the blender? You can only hope that it was. Perhaps this is the year that someone will prove that it is possible to drink an entire box of Capri Suns and keep it down. On top of all this metaphorical bear-wrestling, there is the strenuous process of deciding of who will be the next Fab Five. The new Dollies must be brainy Stanford women with dance skills to pay the bills, where the bills are the national debt. They must be capable of making the U$C Song Girls look bad in every way. Most importantly and difficultly, they have to be able to roll with The One, The Only, The Truly Incomparable Leland Stanford Junior University Marching Band. Godspeed to all the ProDos* who advance to the Battle Royale, Dollie Day 2008.

Brace Yourself!
The LSJUMB

*Prospective Dollies, duh.

Bandquet 08, the end.

We have seen horrors.

Congratulations to the Bonz, most improved sexion 2007, and the Tenrs, best sexion 2007.

Now we begin the process of forgetting how much of a circus Bandquet '08 was. Bandquet '09, here we come.

Asshole off the mic

Slideshow over. 60 yays, 2997 boos.

Slater is on the mic, for perhaps the last time. He is presentting our yearly awards. Oh, the humanity! The rabbi is becoming ever more belligerent!!! He and the milk have just come to blows, only to be separated by Mario and Luigi!!! Exclamation points!!!!!!!

Cooper accepts awards on behalf of both himself and former PR Sammy Franco.  God bless Sammy Franco, wherever he is.  Probably at home in Terra, watching cartoons.

Plotz and Patchez are loudly applauded for their long, hard...turgid...efforts to put a cock and balls on the football field at every opprotunity.

Management is getting pelted with missiles right now. We've always wanted to see the entire Band rumble against the U$C band or someone, but it looks like we might have to live out a civil war first. Coop and I are retreating to an undisclosed location.

The slideshow has begun. A montage of everything the Band has done for the past year is flashing past our eyes. Swiss Army knife Buster is met with approval, as are the Dollies...approximately 350 times. Dan Meyer practicing the Banner solo and getting PB&Js made on his foot at high resolution is regretted mightily by everyone. Stanford Marching Cardinal pictures are lustily acclaimed, never more so than when the Tree knocks us all over and we experience the Second Coming of the real LSJUMB.

There are far too few pictures of the Trumpz in this album. Sadly, Buster's conflagration in the Quad was not captured.

This is tiring. I'll give you a more general play-by-play:

Yay. Yaaaay! Yaaaaay! Booooo! Yaaaay! Boooooooooo! Boooooooo! Booooooo! Boooooooo! Yaaaaay! Peeeeennnnissss!

More coming up, soon.

From Coop: A quick summary of the slidwhow so far:

Dollies: popular!

the Altoz: not so popular!

Banduet 08 more live coverage!

Will someone please tell that rabbi to quit yelling at everyone?!  Uh oh, Rabbi just shoved the giant milk carton!  Giant milk must have tried to mix with Giant MEat!  

Uh oh, Band is boooing!  The people "in charge" must want us to do something!  Stay tuned!

Bandquet 08 Live Coverge Continues!

It's officially a party - the clergy showed up! No, wait! She's no nun, she's in Band! 

I haven't seen so many bandies in one place in a long time.  Where were these bums during football season?!

Whao, crazy! Vinny and a tenr have switched coats! It's madness!

Stay tuned, slideshow and general merriment forthcoming!

Live from BANDQUET, 2008

Greetings, citizens of Funkytown. Cooper and I are blogging to you live from Bandquet, our annual dinner and awards ceremony. A carton of milk has just walked in to the last strains of the Dirty Limerick. Also in attendance tonight are a lumberjack, five Hershey's kisses, and two drones being controlled via remote from the Athletic Department. First chance we have, they're getting dunked and short-circuited in the Blue Moon.

Stay tuned for more. The awards are coming up, the beers are going down, and the genitals are a-flyin'. It's Bandquet, 2008, live on the LSJUMB Bogl! Watch for the spelling mistakes to skyrocket as the evening goes on.

Meet the Sweets

Hello Literate Public

As you may have realized, I, Coop, have done the vast majority of the blogging for the one, the only, the etc. LJSJUMB.

But as alluded to in an earlier post, I, Coop, have been replaced (although not, for once, due to gross incompetence) as the LSJUMB's PR Coordinator. Replacing me, Coop, is everyone's favorite curly-haired, glasses-wearin' Ithacan sportsman, Scott "SweetCheeks" Bland. He, Scott, is currently practicing with the rest of the band in the rehearsal hall, while I, Coop, blog about him without his knowledge. Here is a picture of him, Scott, in which you can see his, Scott's, sweet, sweet cheeks.

See those cheeks? I challenge you to find sweeter cheeks than his, Scott's.

But what makes him, Scott, everyone's favorite guy? Well for starters, he, Scott, plans to declare for the NBA Draft this spring. He comes with a lot of upside and holds the distinction of having dunked on Brook Lopez. He, Scott, is currently preparing the paperwork.

He, Scott is also the Trumpz Sexion Leader. Remember when I, Coop, told you about their, the Trumpz' Big Game project, the hot dog cart? Well they, the Trumpz, were a little careless and left a cooler full of hot dogs in the Band Shak over Winter Break. Now as Sexion Leader, he, Scott, must figure out what to do with the cooler, which emits a stench that is as
Oh crap band has to go rally the prospective Dollies. I, Coop, will finish this later.

Okay, back. Anyway, cooler full of rancid hot dogs, smells very bad, blah blah blah.

In conclusion, he, Scott, would be a great asset to the NBA because of his freakishly long arms.

Love,
I, Coop

(Even though this post introduces SweetCheeks as a new guy who will be blogging here, I'm going to keep posting at least up until June. Angry letters demanding that I step down may be sent to Scott Bland.)