November 12, 2009

It has come to my realization that in six months – that’s half a year (or 1,048,320 quarter-minutes) – it will be May 12, 2010. The number of us graduating from college that month will be, well, a lot… minus Juan. For many, this will mean entering the workforce, and for all, it means parting with the independent and subsidized existence that is undergraduate college. Do not, however, mistake my tone for nostalgia as I have no intention of mourning graduation as the end of life’s best. I hope and expect the future will bring novel and fulfilling experiences along with, or perhaps because of, life’s greater responsibilities. No, my tone, rather, is one of urgency: urgency because there is work to be done before we are finished. There are six months left of college and I still haven’t:

- Done a keg-stand

- Gone Streaking

- Participated in an Elephant Walk

- Bent a spoon with my mind

- Bent a mind with my spoon

- Kicked a goose’s beak off

- Sported a Wakwom (on my head or my pubes)

- Slipped a girl a ruffie

- Assassinated a black president

- Fought Noonan

- Played Griffey with twenty other guys arranged in a circular formation around Wendy

- Gone to Cortaca!

But that will soon change. Tomorrow night, I shall waltz my brown ass on up to the State University of New York: Cortland for festivities, the imbibement of drink, and general good times. Here is my rendition of what will happen when we invade SUNY Cortland tomorrow Friday November 13, 2009:


November 13, 1400 hours: As I finish class and rush to Grand Central to board a Metro-North train back to Somers, a certain Big John is only now awakening from the previous night’s alcohol induced slumber. For some reason he can’t remember, Nick Saperi is passed out naked on the floor next to his bed. In fact, the only thing he does remember is that Nick Saperi was not invited to his party. Warren G knocks at the door, but before the said Big John grants him entrance, he covers Saperi’s Olmetti-esque pee-pee with a few sheets of Bounty quilted, quicker-picker-upper paper towels to make him decent. Two hundred clicks northeast, and not a moment later, a Lion driving south on I-87 forms a face of sincere disapproval as his passenger attempts to enumerate the reasons why Led Zeppelin is the greatest band ever. There are still four hours left in the ride. “Led Zeppelin is overrated,” chimes a skinny boy clad in pants three sizes too small that he bought from the Salvation Army’s Binghamton store. “Now Wilco… there is an underappreciated band. They just make you feel so alive.” His friend, an All-American Ginger who bears a resemblance to Jay Cutler, offers no response except to take a long drag on his cigarette and nod his head in agreement.

November 13, 1530 hours: The clock on the wall works, but it feels as though it registers only one of every three ticks. There is always a lull around this time of the afternoon at the Yorktown Dunkin’ Donuts. The manager, who seems in relatively good spirits this day, decides to let his staff off early – news that is very welcome to one clerk in particular. He quickly clears the register and is out the door. Although he may have lost a step or two, no one is surprised to see some fireworks as he books it to his car and tears out of the parking lot in the direction of the Golden’s Bridge Metro-North train station. The Lion tears into his cheesy gordita crunch with reckless abandon. “The food is awesome!” he roars without the slightest hint of irony is his voice as he dives in for another bite of grade F meat. His posse of Hyena goons is equally enthused by the gourmet cuisine of Malta, NY.

November 13, 1800 hours: As soon as Freebird ends, the Jet removes his foot from the gas pedal allowing his vehicle to slow down to a speed at which it does not rattle violently. Despite his best efforts at 100mph switching lanes like whoa, he will not make it to MO-MO-MO-MEMORIES before closing. The disappointment soon subsides as he and I reach Binghamton University to pick up the All-American Ginger. However, when he is not at the predetermined meeting location, we begin to worry. We scan the library, but the only people there have sideways vaginas or are Dan Pond. A Henry David Thorough search of all the frat houses turns up nothing but hair gel, fake tan cream, and lubed, extra-large black dildos. We are all but ready to give up when the sound of uninformed, pretentious conversation seeps out from behind the infirmary. We turn the corner to find none other than the Ginger, a flannel hanging loosely from his shoulders and camel tail way too pronounced, singing the praises of modern French art to some girl concealing her ugliness behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, assorted piercings, and an indifferent pout. The Jet worries that it may be too late, but fortunately the setting sun shines through the trees scattering the hipster scum. They are gone long enough for us to seize the Ginger and lug him back to the car. He looks like a dead fish – the Jet points out that he looks pretty crappy – but we move on, because we just received word that Simba and his pride have already arrived at Cortland.

November 13, 1930 hours: The party is picking up at the Big John’s house by now. He is taking a bag full of empty cans to the end of his driveway when he spots a shady looking car parked in front of the house. There is movement inside the car. He approaches the driver’s side door cautiously from behind reaching the window just in time to catch the Ginger, the Jet, and myself taking sips of it through our noses. Jenkum, that is. I hit play on the stereo and Semi-Charmed comes on. It is immediately followed by Kickout (James Veg Song). The music is so loud that Warren G, Brucey B, and a host of other similarly initialed clowns come outside. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe are not far behind. This is an occasion for a shotgun. The crowd moves to the backyard and the ceremonies are about to begin, but there is a grumbling from behind a bush. The Ginger, a look of shock on his face, shouts, “It’s the Bear!” People drop their beverages and prepare to run when a hairy-chested goofball in cutoff jeans emerges from the bush. All are pleasantly surprised by his presence and gather ‘round as he lifts his drink and opens his mouth to speak…

What does he say?

Disclaimer: This account is the intellectual property of the author (With some credit going to Nick D). All characters are entirely the product of the author’s imagination and any similarities to actual people are purely coincidental… except in the case of the hipster Ginger who is clearly Noonan.

September 2, 2009

June 19, 2009

This is why they are the Nationals

-Their top selling jersey is Ryan Zimmerman

-Recent Washington Times headline "Nationals discover a new way to lose"

-So far this season their longest winning streak is 3 games

-They cannot spell their own name.

-They were unable to sign their first pick in last year's draft

-Despite posting a .257 carreer batting average, Tim Wallach is the franchise's all time hits leader.

-The most wins any current Nats pitcher has with the franchise is 15 by John Lannan. Joel Hanrahhan has the most saves with 14.

-Their only retired number is Jackie Robinson. 8, 10 and 30 were retired by the Expos (for Gary Carter, Rusty Staub/Andre Dawson, and Tim Raines respectively) but the Nationals returned all three into circulation.

-One of their premier food stands is called "Hard Times Cafe"

-Since the strike in 1994, they have finished above 4th place in the division only twice. That year, they were in first when the season was cancelled. Had they won, it would still be their only divison crown since the team's creation in 1969.

-The last time they made the playoffs, Reagan had recently been elected to his first term (1981). They finished second in the division only after a player's strike cut the season short by 54 games, thus preserving the then-Expos' majestic 60-48 record. It is the franchise's only playoff appearance to date.

June 14, 2009

May 16, 2009

Chest Assaulters

During our tenure as Somers students, there were plenty of people that consistently generated the emotion now labeled as chest mutilation. Whether they were tuppas, jokers or Nick DeBellis, these people said or did stuff which through its sheer brutality probably shaved a couple of years off our lives. We now present them to you in top 25 format.
25. Schultz’s Gym Stories: Set the record for most Veg faces in a single period. Enough said.
24. Kolaj: Fuck La Famiglia.
23. Dave Reit: Despite being 23 or so, this kid dated Moloney since she was a junior in high school and was subsequently her prom date senior year. Not only would he show up at school and demand to take her class’ math tests, he was also known to frequent parties and even went to Seaside.
22. Abate’s Middle School Backpack: If I recall correctly the thing was big enough to fit an 8th grade Matt McKeon inside of it
21. Andrew Fairchild: Looks like a monstrous baby and almost hit a pack of 2nd graders running the half mile with a softball jack. Actually, that last part is kinda funny.
20. SN: Upon first seeing Neri at Jones' July 4th throwdown, a wise man said, “Wow, that's Neri? He lost a lot of weight......I wonder if he's still a loser.” Bring back fat Neri.
19. WS: One time when the heat was broken in English class, the whole class was allowed to go their lockers and wear their coats. This monstrous tool, however, took of his overshirt, and kept saying “Guys, what are you talking about? It's hot in here! I'm sweating!” Note that this was in 10th grade, not Primrose.
18. AP: Anyone remember when Berg went on a rant against this chick while she was standing right behind him? That should have happened more often. Maybe she would have taken the hint. Check her face in the bottom left here
17. MH: A dirty thief, this chick always seemed to smell like b.o. and cigarettes at 7:30 in the morning.
16. Cooper: Had a nice little career for himself.
15. KK: What was going on with this chick? Once at a party she was overheard having sex with one of the shadiest characters ever on top of the washing machine. She was overheard because the party was only 15 feet away. Now the fourth person (Zo's count as one) to voice her qualms with the Bons.
14. DW: Came into school one random day wearing his entire motocross outfit including helmet. That day was not Halloween.
13. Dennis: This man really doesn't need an introduction. Have you been to that basement? I really can't even go into this for risk of chest-related injury.
12. SL: One time, someone managed to get his name printed as “Sally Lally” on the hockey programs. It fit.
11. Bob Geck: In travel ball, John Mullen threw a no-no and was obviously awarded the game ball, at which point Bob Geck insisted that Erich receive half a game ball, as he was supposed to pitch that day but “allowed” Mullen to take his place. Bob Geckle pleeease.
10. Nov: Nov + females= mad fingerbangin'
9. Poops: This
8. J. Pizz: This Simpsons Trivia and Duck Hunt pro secured her place on this list with five words - “Video killed the radio star.” I don't know how many people actually saw the video in the caf, but it was fucking terrible.
7. RC: La semana, posada, a whole lotta, hakuna Cassatta
6. LS - CL Combo: For the fifteen minutes out of the day that these two weren’t off molesting each other throughout the halls, they were individually drilling into chests. In 10th grade English, Stier did a book report on the Hardy Boys (the wrestlers) and played the entire theme song in class. She also stated that these two were heroes because they put their lives on the line every night…and wore a shirt that said “Property of Chris Lucia.”
5. YL: It’s no small feat to make going to Mr. Malone’s English class a brutal, chest-destroying ordeal, but Yasmin somehow pulled it off with the greatest of ease. She raised her hand so many times that Malone was getting sick of it. Could you pronounce the word “battalions”? I can, but Yasmin might just say “battle lions.”
4. Bitchface: allegedly once jerked off under the bleachers during girls’ basketball practice.
3. SE: Have some Motrin handy before reading this. He's of course very trustworthy, because he's Asian (quoted from himself in 8th grade). If you somehow haven't seen the UPTV Abodez episode, they don't “have a big fuckin'...thing” in their bathroom, they got RUST! Lucky enough to be the one person not on the infamous 'Top 10 Hotties' post to find himself on Bonsai, he was really perplexing in his response. Failing to decide what tone to post comments in (passive, aggressive, or pleading), he is apparently under the misconception that blogs are written entirely at once, and doesn't realize that things from high school are relevant when written about in high school. Also seems to think that laughing about dumb shit people do is not a universal right, and that posting links to his own YouTube and Facebook pages is completely out of line. Next time you want to make fun of any of his videos, he would prefer it if you were to call him up and say it to his face first. In that case you should probably also call up this kid, this chick, and these morons. Stop giving us material and we'll lay off. Viva la Bonsai.
2. SS: If you attended Somers High School or have ever read this site you should know exactly why this kid is up here. Steve Smith has been consistently hurting chests longer than anyone in the biz. For further confirmation see here.
1. Merc: In the third grade, before I could even pick up a baseball, I hit Mercaldi in the head with a metal baseball bat during an in-town practice. Little did I know how much enjoyment this simple fact would bring me for many years to come. No one in the history of Somers High School has penetrated as many chests on such a consistent basis as the one Chris Mercaldi. Few could escape unharmed as even a glimpse in his direction would subject one to the douchery that dripped off him as he donned his characteristic strut.
When asked in Stats to estimate the length of the room Mercaldi got down in a sprint start position, ran across the room and then said “yea, it’s about 8 meters.” Later, at a meet in which he got DQ’d from the pole vault, he began screaming and cursing, pacing back and forth in the infield. He then proceeded to repeatedly pick up the poles and slam them down. This prompted another coach to whisper something into Arnie’s ear who then shouted “Mercaldi cut that shit out they think you’re retarded!”
Honorable Mention:
Swi family
Dana Ba
The Recine Family
Dan Leyh

Compiled and written by various Bonsai writers.
Yes, this blog (and post) is, itself, a chest pulverizer.

March 15, 2009

Letter Sent Out to Our IM Soccer Team Before the First Game

          Men, as you prepare for battle tomorrow at 1900 hours, take a moment to consider how lucky you are to be members of such a prestigious corps. Realize that you have been deliberately chosen to partake in this regiment for your abilities as merciless killers and devastating assassins. Do not, however, take your participation in this endeavor lightly as it demands your undying commitment and passion to play with reckless disregard for your opponents’ safety. Also, tomorrow, before you make your way to Ram’s Head battleground, be sure to call your parents and loved ones, for if you do return, it may be as a warped or vacuous version of your former self. This is due to the fact that warfare always carries the unfavorable possibility of getting skull fucked. Dulce et Decorum est indeed. 

         Make no mistake, however, we will win. We will take no prisoners. If those bitches wanted fair play and sportsmanship they would have never entered the cold, anarchic state of nature commonly referred to as Intramural Recreational soccer. For the next few weeks we will not bathe but in our opponents’ blood. We shall not dress but with our opponents’ skin as a surprisingly warm winter coat. We shall not season our salad but with vinaigrette made from our opponents’ sweet, sweet eye juices. The eyes will have to be removed anyway in preparation for the customary victory-skull-fucking of the socket. Some of our creepier members (Kevin) will probably extract some semen for their personal use but this is by no means compulsory. Kevin is a sick fuck anyways. Tomorrow, let us bombard our pusillanimous opponents with cascades of skull fucking shots. Let us shatter their pansy wills as if they were an old lady’s pelvis, let’s push them down a flight of stairs. Let us mung jump their hopes and dreams, leaving their miserable, battered corpses penetrated and unrecognizable. Let us redefine “slaughter rule.” 

          Most importantly men, you must always remember and act in accordance with the team’s three bylaws. Make moves, do work and when presented with the choice, always go big, not home.

Note: Move Makers and Work Doers beat Mathchester United 7-1 the next day.

Second Note: I am a monumental tool.

March 10, 2009

Is it Bad...?

- if you feel up meg tighe and don't remember it

- if you call someone a dipaolo while dipaolo is right behind you

- if you say "nigga" (without the "er") in front of a black acquaintance

- if wendy has to help you

- if we bukakke wendy

- if nick d. is your surgeon

- if a girl farts

- if you got some siblings

- if coach carter makes out with tren pak in the auditorium

- if you whet wee in public

- if the menu you're reading says "No MSG upon request"

- if you're under 30 and have just a mustache

- if you get a tiny bit of poop on your underwear

- if you eat meat and dairy together

- if i've pooped every color except blue/violet

- if you want neri's "D" in or around your mouth

- if you're an avid fan of Dave Matchoos Baynd

- if you end up in the tombs for selling bags of sugar (or PCP)

- if your roommate confuses your drunken stupor with an attempt to choke him

- if you don't shave, wear no shirt, prevent forest fires, and scratch your hairy tummy while grunting Bruce Springsteen lyrics

- if you hit a ball signed by Babe Ruth into the clutches of a beast

- if A-Rod's urine has more steroids in it than it does urine

- if A-Rod's face continues to look the way it does

- if Bean asks to take a sip of your beverage

- if Yo Yo Ma is your opponent

- if josh kneer drinks his own pee

- if you fall for the banana in your tailpipe

- if you watch more than 15 spins on meatspin

- if you are one of the Lawrence brothers

- if you forget who sings "Come on Eileen"...
... actually, no. that's not bad. but if you think The Cure sings "Come on Eileen," well... it's not good.

February 22, 2009

The Utmost Perversion

That dude is a sick, sick man. Perverse online stalking originally took form in  "I used to play Quaterback", but it is now surely embodied by another aforementioned balding Jewish creature. Mostly at this beast's urging, the following list of chest assaulting facebook discoveries have been made.

Feb 7
SE edited Education Info, Work Info, Interests, About Me, Quotations, Music, TV Shows and Books in his profile, and changed his profile picture. 9:06pm

IB wrote at 9:49pm
i noticed yo no longer have mind of mencia listed under your tv shows section

Feb 8SE wrote at 12:00am
yea his show isnt on anymore. so im not interested in it anymore. times change.

Feb 13
IB is selling his Mind of Mencia DVD's: who wants them? The sooner you PM or comment me for them, the better chance you have at getting it. I DO NOT have season 4. 2:47pm

If this doesn’t mutilate your chest, I don’t know what will. Does no one else see how absurd it is for IB to be a fan of the man who included the line “de de de” in about 62% of his skits? Where the fuck were his parents when he was buying those dvds? My guess is there were probably off looking up the definition of irony. Also, the frequency with which IB changes his status coupled with the fact that it only took him 43 minutes to recognize E's profile changes and comment on them is deeply disturbing. At least this finally isolates the group of people that actually watched that garbage.

Too Much
When given the opportunity to briefly summarize himself, the most important thing that TR wanted to convey was "Is a brother of the Delta Chi Fraternity." He also chose to go to school in the state of Indiana.
Also for those of you wondering about champion paper-saver VC's view of the world - "Im LiKe A PeRfOrMeR, Da DaNcE FlOoR Is MaH StAgE.."
Someone was concerned enough with this question to post a poll on his wall in an attempt to get some other people's opinions - "Do you think VC has ever used sex to advance their career?"

BREAKING NEWS: SB was spotted at a mall in Peabody, MA!

Few quick Facebook ticker bullet points:
  • BP actually works at Cracker Barrel and "LOVES THIS JOB"
  • SB has Weird "Al" Yankovich listed as on of her favorite artists.
  • JV rocked a goatee for a period of time, then realized that Adam Morrison would laugh at it. He also finally looks 12 years old.
  • SM is livin' large

At some point towards the end of the summer, PC decided to uproot himself and move to the Arizona desert. He knows no one in the state and takes many very poor quality pictures of himself alone in his room while looking the same he did when he left Somers to play center for the LA Lakers.

Like I said, most of the fuel that powers this chest auger was located by a surprisingly disgusting asshole. Fuck him.

February 1, 2009

January 26, 2009

We hold these truths to be self evident...

233 years ago this month, it became clear that the people of this nation would refuse to live under tyranny.

229 years later, we once again risked our lives, liberty, and sacred honor so that we might awaken the people to a truly subtle oppressor.

January 9, 2009

New York Post

This should come as news to know one but the New York Post is a fucking absurd publication. As hilarious as the continuous presence of an asterisk next to New England’s record during last season, or as their treatment of Bonds was, the Post’s covers often prove why it is widely considered to be pure smut. Then again, some covers are pretty damn funny. 

The Post tried to give a meaningful endorsement but instead ended up with the words “COP SEX RING” in giant boldface type right next Obama’s head.

It is a rule of the Post that if you are a sports figure they are pissed at, you will be photoshopped into something ridiculous.

Or they could just ask Arnold Schwarzenegger for what to say.

This picture isn’t so much funny as it is awesome. The Boss and Obama in the same frame, what more could you ask for?

I can't explain this.

The Post really lives by the idea that if it's in context, it's fair game.

But really, who needs context?

Yup, this should be the cover on the anniversary of September 11.