MSc, USA: Grad Students Take America, Pt.I

Sometime in March, a road trip was planned to take a much-needed break from the fun and overwhelming self-respect of being a grad student. Myself and two dudes named Cobra and Snake (your guess is as good as mine). We had two weeks and the perfect plan.

Destination: B.C.

Wait, what? Oh.

Destination: changed.

Who would’ve thought that all the hot spots en route to BC would still be covered in snow?! Well, they were, and none of us had even looked into it. Maybe it was just a giant layer of cocaine dust from the Alberta oil workers, but either way it didn’t sound too enticing. And since the three of us had temporarily defected from grad school, we had no desire to do research of any kind. Including checking the weather. So we rerouted to the U.S. to find some warmer action and show off our accents telling charming stories a boat a boat. Also because the gas and beer were cheaper and we thought if we combined the two in excess we could test out that whole Obamacare phenomenon. Funny how if you buy gas you can’t afford beer, but if you buy beer, gas is eventually free. Screw Chaos Theory; order’s important.


Stocked and loaded. You can’t even  the illegals under the luggage! 

Our first stop was Washington. Wait. Our first stop was McDonald’s. Our second stop was Washington, D.C. The office of the home of the brave, and the district with the least Marvel fans. We went straight to the hotel and set up shop…If I recall it was around 9pm, so it was probably any time other than that. We unloaded our gear and cracked our first beers. Someone suggested we shotgun them, so being good subservient grad students we said “oh, great, yes, good, let’s do that, great idea sir.” And the gut rot and regret came shortly thereafter; like a regular meeting with a supervisor. It was still hanging around when we met the angry dad next door who A) must work out based on his door-knocking abilities, B) might just masturbate a lot based on his door-knocking abilities, and C) U. N. T. He wasn’t nice. We had apparently ruined his night by laughing and watching an old video of Snake trying to drunkenly and high-enly tell a 30-second story over the course of 10 minutes. Literally, folks, the kid began the story with one time point and never made it further chronologically. It became a lesson in backstory, and repetition, and “Hey, pass that over here.” Also, the wonderful wanking father seemed to dislike our filming of a hotel Art Attack on a GoPro. This complaint could be seen as legitimate, as we used our best British accents to describe how to make your own Cadbury Creme Egg. See, I’d found a chocolate bunny at the grocery store on a beer run an hour before and neurons fired and hungers panged (pung?) and I had to have it. Anyhow, the rabbit (not a bunny, as that could be cause for an under-18 lawsuit) lost its face in a biting accident (no accident) resulting in a rather obviously useful hole. I won’t go any further because the video didn’t record properly and no evidence is good evidence. But the masturdaddy probably got the most infuriated when he heard our version of the stone man Art Attack sidekick “Head” being reenacted as a Frenchman named Head, but appropriately pronounced “Ed,” and loudly agreeing with just about everything. Isn’t that right ‘Ed? “UHHH OUIII UHHHH OUIII UHHH OUIII-*knock knock knock*

As Frank Sinatra once said, “regrets, I’ve had a few..” Then again, three verses later he says, “the record shows, I took the blows…” One might think we all play for the Gee-Gee’s hockey team..

So dad’s at the door with his hand angrily on the knob (guess which one) and telling us that his whole family is trying to sleep and we’re ruining it. I assured him that it was actually only 9 o’clock, despite his pants showing something at midnight, and that we would try keep it down so he could try to keep it up. So we loaded up on more beer and chocolate for the next day’s athletic display of tourism and called it a night.


Catching some z’s. And hopefully not D’s. I don’t want to know why they call him Snake.

The next morning we grabbed some continental brea—pre-packaged muffins, and headed to the metro to get our tourist on. Was it fun? Stay tuned to find out. For weird buildings, obscured views, foreigners who don’t wanna know what love is, and humans wiping out in quite humorous situations.

Until then, goodnight and good morrow. And good marrow, to that dad with the bone.