By contributing writer J.B. Hour

ollege is a time in a young man’s life when he grows out of his shell—a time for him to transform from a child into an alcoholic, idiotic, pathological liar. In other words, college is where legends are born. Everybody has that friend in college who is legendary. They’re the very essence of every good story you’ve ever told from your college days.

For me, that guy is Randy Spellner. See, Randy was one of my best friends in high school. He was also my roommate in college until he got kicked out of the dorm, in record time, our sophomore year. Randy wasn’t just any roommate though, he was the kind you wanted to punch, repeatedly, but couldn’t because he was one of your best friends. Randy would go to war with you, but you see, he would also drink all of your fucking Mountain Dew when you went home for the weekend, too. Yeah, that’s fucking Randy, alright. If I wrote a book about my freshman year with Randy, it would be at the top of the New York Times Best Seller List.

Randy was a lot of things, including a great friend, and my worst enemy, all at the same time. It’s a shame I haven’t talked to him in years. I remember every detail from my time with him. I remember every brilliant idea he had and every idiotic thing he ever said or did.


One thing Randy Spellner would not do: wake up.

I remember when he thought it was a great idea to put a grape air freshener in the mini-fridge to keep it smelling fresh. Too bad it made all the beverages smell and taste like shitty artificial grape air freshener. He should have consulted me first. Instead of confronting him about it, I stuck the air freshener behind the clothes in his closet so HE smelled like shitty artificial grape air freshener for the rest of the semester.

I also remember the time he woke me up at four o’clock in the morning by trying to drag me out of my bed by my leg. I screamed in horror as I kicked him off of me. When I woke up later that morning he was passed out, with his head under my desk chair, soaked in a puddle of cranberry juice. I never asked how he ended up there, or why he tried to murder me in my sleep. He was my friend, and that was good enough for me.

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I also remember the time I got a phone call at three o’clock in the morning with an unfamiliar voice on the other end. The conversation went like this.

Unfamiliar voice: Hey… ah… is Randy your roommate?
Me:
Yeah, what did he do now?
Unfamiliar voice:
Well, he’s passed out in our apartment, he threw up everywhere, and all I could get out of him was your name and this phone number… can you come get him?

I had to explain to Randy the next morning how he’d been robbed, but I had managed to get his hat back.

Randy also had a bad habit of telling ridiculous lies. Like the time he was in a hot tub with his dad’s second wife (his step-mom) and she blew him. I also remember the lie where he banged the really hot chick from the second floor. A World War II bomb shelter couldn’t have protected him from the fallout from that one.

However, there is one story that pretty much defines Randy. This story is my all-time favorite college story.

Randy and I had attended an apartment party off campus. I drove there and was the designated driver since I didn’t drink at the time. It was Randy, Ryan, Anthony, Dave, Brandon, and me. Brandon decided to walk some ugly chick home, because he wasn’t attracted to pretty girls. I drove the rest of us to King’s Family Restaurant for some late night eats.

By this time Randy only had one shoe on, for some reason, and couldn’t tell us what happened to the other one. Randy had no money, but ordered a complete meal. Shortly after the waitress brought us the food, Randy puked all over the table. Because I’m pure awesomeness, I quickly covered it up by dumping his iced tea all over the table, and telling the waitress he spilled his drink. I still have no idea whether she bought it, but she did bring him another drink, on the house, biatch.

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Randy then got very upset and said he would wash the dishes to pay for his food. We had no idea he was serious, considering everybody said they would chip in to pay for it. So, we decided we had better make a hasty retreat, one even the A-Team would be proud of. But, before we could leave, Randy took his plate and silverware into the kitchen so that he could wash them. When he came back out for the rest of our dishes, the bus boy and waitress looked confused, and everybody else was staring at us. We finally convinced Randy that we should either leave, or get arrested by the police they were inevitably calling.

The night ended with Randy locking himself inside Brandon’s room, and then returning to ours after he pissed in his pants 20 minutes later. I even washed his pants with Tide in the bathroom sink, and hung his pants to dry over the shower stall.

Randy ultimately dropped out of the university (coincidentally right before they were about to expel him), but he did end up graduating from another one. I wouldn’t trade the world for what Randy taught me though. You see, Randy taught me how to drink responsibly. Every time I think I might be making a bad drinking decision now, I think to myself, “What would Randy Spellner do?” And whatever answer I come up with, I just do the opposite.

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