i'm too tired to title this.

if you know us or follow our blog, you might be familiar with the urine bottle debacle. now this is a little outdated, but we all assume someone else will blog about group experiences and then no one actually does it for weeks. so this post is the continuance of our prank war shenanigans.

when i left off, leah had messed around with our room, and it was our turn for revenge.

saturday night following the long weekend incident, we took Jorge to the creamery where i purchased 216 plastic cups. leah likes to stay up late watching animal videos on youtube and italian movies on netflix, so we decided to wait until the following morning to really smerf her.

keep in mind that we have church at 1:30, so we are accustomed to sleeping until noon on sundays. the sacrifices we make... we woke up at nine in the morning to mess with leah. the plan was to stack plastic cups on top of each other in her doorway in such a manner that she would be rendered unable to leave the room.

to make sure she wouldn't just godzilla her way out and rampantly rip the whole thing down, every other layer of cups had water in them. it took us about 40 minutes and like 150 cups to create this masterpiece:

nearly six feet of glorious shenanigans.

and here is her very tired reaction:

Scooters, and the Many Uses Thereof.

We got ourselves some brand new wheels, y'all!  

Isn't it hot??  We named him Jorge.  It's a Spanish name, apparently.  Which means it is not pronounced like "George."  Duh.  Who would think that?

In testing out our new wheels, we've taken Jorge all over Helaman Halls.  Outside, inside, even up and down the stairs.  We've discovered that it's so much easier and faster to scooter down the hall rather just walk.  Psh.  We don't walk.  Come on.  That's so mainstream.

Because of Jorge the scooter, we have stumbled upon an important truth- and we even did it using the
scientific method.

Step 1: Ask a question.
Would it be beneficial to you to have a scooter if you were randomly being attacked by a mad man?

Step 2: Do background research.
Surprisingly, there are not many scholarly articles on the most effective use of a scooter if one is being raped or molested.  Too bad.  So we settled with asking a few of our hall mates what they thought.  Mostly, we just got weird looks, so we abandoned our research and moved on to step 3.

Step 3: Construct hypothesis.
Having a scooter like Jorge with you in the event of unsuspected attack would be beneficial because you could scoot speedily away.

Step 4: Test with an experiment.
This was easy enough.  Katie and I took turns playing "Mad Rapist" while the other scootered down the hall at high speed.  Turns out, no matter who was running and who was scooting, the runner could always catch them.  We wanted more evidence, however, so we recruited Leah to help us.  She was very willing to chase us down the hall, and the same thing happened.  It wasn't until she switched roles that we realized there was more to this experiment than met the eye.  Leah, upon being chased, turned around to face her attacker.  She picked up Jorge the scooter and began to beat the "Mad Rapist" until she no longer felt threatened.  Then she calmly set Jorge down and walked back to her room.

Step 5: Analyze results and draw conclusion.
If you are ever scootering through campus, be aware that although it may be faster and less work than walking (especially down hill), nothing is faster than just plain running.  So if your fight or flight instinct tells you to run, ditch Jorge.  He'll live, I promise.  And he might even find it in his heart to forgive you.  Eventually.  But if your fight or flight instinct tells you to beat the living daylights out of the creepy man behind you, smerf off and let Jorge do all the work.

Lies! All Lies!

Ciao ragazzi! It's Leah. Yup...the one who sounds totally crazy from this blog. Okay, fine so I may be a little crazy, but it's cool with me and I love my life. Anyways, I would like to clear up how the prank war really started. One fine late winter night, I was sitting on the floor in Katie and Sara's room. I found an empty Powerade bottle that was lemonade flavored and had a little left inside. It sort of looked life pee, so I jokingly said, "hey guys would you be mad if I peed in this bottle and put it in your fridge?" Sara and Katie both responded with, "Not at all. Go for it!" With the unexpected answer, I decided..."hmm I might as well". So I said, "I'm really going to do it then", and they gave me the okay. So there I was with a Powerade bottle that I did not originally intend on peeing in, but now that I said I would, I couldn't go back on my word. And so I did...and stuck it in their fridge while they were in class.

Thus we see, this prank war did NOT start by me saying, "hey guys, I'm going to pee in this bottle." Sort of. I just wasn't going to go back on my word. Moral of the story, I'm not that much of a freak. :) BUT, don't mess with me unless you want to get smerfed up. Woo! :)

because a prank war isn't a prank war unless it starts with a bottle of urine.

it started with an empty bottle of powerade. things just went bad from there- because nothing good comes from late nights. let me begin with that.

about two weeks ago, our dear friend leah was sitting in our room, talking with us, when she picked up a powerade bottle and said "hey guys, i'm going to pee in this." i was like "sure, ok leah, whatever" and dismissed her. until a bottle, helpfully labeled "Pee for Katie" showed up in our fridge. after some very scientific tests, it was confirmed as pee.

one of these things is a bottle of urine. the other is a piece of corn. guess which one leah was freaked by?

we were appalled and revenge hungry. so on a fine sunday evening, we snuck into her room while she was out and stole her closet door as well as the face to her dresser drawers. unfortunately, she figured out what was going on and caught us in the act. that was the turning point in which leah opted for war.

before/after

sara, jessie and i went to my house last weekend for some much-needed girl time. fearing revenge, we were careful to make sure the doors were locked and no one left leah any chance to break in. i should have seen the signs saturday night, when leah starts texting me, asking me if i like sausage, but not telling me why.

anyways, we came home monday night to a room completely SMERFED up! she inflated over 100 trash bags and hung them from the ceiling and walls, she switched mine and sara's mattresses, she wrote "poop" all over our window, she switched all our drawers (jessie's and marina's, also) and she hid a bunch of vending machine sausage on a secret shelf. also, she claims to have peed in our sink. probably, that really happened- we don't like to think about that.

the moral of the story is that leah is a wildcard, but revenge is in the works. more on that later...

things be gettin' real up in hurr.

the knuckle tatts are back. with a vengeance.

things started simple enough... sara wanted to reintroduce my thug life.

that sparked a hallway fad. i took a break from accounting, and started demanding to see some knuckles. everyone i got to walked away with a sweet gangsta persona (or something like it).

just for kicks and giggles, marina found this:

be afraid. or we'll smerf you in the esophogus with our new, intimidating knuckles. more likely, we'll just bare our knuckles at you and give you our most gangstalicious face (see immediately above). anyway, if you want some sweet tatts, you know where to come.

as a fun corollary, can you spot what's wrong with my renewed thug life tat? brownie points to whoever figures it out first.

Happy Death Poems

Yes. You read that right. Happy death poems. We had a contest to see who could write the best happy poem about death. Katie and Marina and I each wrote 3, and then we had Jessie be the judge. However, she was indecisive, so we called in Leah to be a guest judge. She, also, couldn't decide between two of them, so we called in Emily, Vanessa, and Nicole to have the final say. Here are the contestants:

Sara:

I'm writing of death.

And yet I am so happy.

I am the winner.

One day there was a man named Frank.

He was angry and tried to rob a bank.

So he ran through the door

And fell to the floor.

Turns out he was killed by a tank.

According to Gandalf, when you die

You don't get a huge face full of cow pie

You see silver gates

And your old dead mates.

So don't be scared as your body begins to fry.

Marina:

Hiding in the tree-

the big deer walks by at last-

perfect shot- got him!

He broke my heart again,

so I shot him in the head.

There was much rejoicing.

I chased after it for hours

almost got it near the flowers

when I tripped over that vase

I saw it laughing in my face

but that fly no longer cowers.

Katie:

there was a dead girl.

she died laughing at our blog.

totes a true story.

sara just told me

i have to write another.

dolphins are the worst.

guys, i hate haikus.

really, i hate writing these.

vote for me, i'm best.

Leah:

i savor the smell

when i am in the bathroom

unclogging toilets

Random Other:

Don't dwell on revenge.

Anger not at stupid folks.

They all end up dead.

The winner ended up being the one about the tank, but it is still a confused and insecure victory, as none of our judges were incredibly sure about their choices. Oh well.

Comment and/or vote! Which one do YOU think should win as the happiest death poem???

yelling at a cop isn't illegal... right?

because if it is, i'm in trouble.

last night was a big basketball game. i went out with leah and marina, and when i came back, all the spots in our parking lot were full because of all the jerks who stole our parking for the game. as i circled, i became increasingly angry and aggressive, especially in passing people who were parked in non parking spots that made it difficult for me to drive through the lots.

on my last circuit of the lot, i came around a bend where a large truck was obnoxiously stopped in the middle of the road. not in the middle of his lane- in the middle. of the road. and not only was this jerk obstructing traffic, but his brights were on, which made it even more difficult to maneuver around him.

by this point, i was so smerfed up because i couldn't park ANYwhere, that i threw my arms up and started yelling things at this guy from inside my car. he was out, walking around the side of his car, and threw his arms up at me too and started yelling at me. i finally got around the nose of his truck... and was able to see the university police logo on the side of his door. then, looking back, i noticed he was in a police uniform.

i yelled at a cop tonight, folks. THAT'S why you shouldn't drive angry... you do stupid things like make angry gestures at authority figures, and then park in the dairy queen parking lot because you're afraid he'll hunt you down and ticket you and send you to jail. true story.

too legit (to quit).

this past weekend, i went to vegas with some friends (probably there will be more about this later). during one particularly crazy hour, i was offered a tramp stamp by our lovely friend, leah. obviously i said yes. and then chickened out.

leah doesn't take no for an answer, and after a very smerf-tastic struggle, i ended up on my back, held down by three people while leah took a sharpie to all readily available, unmarked surfaces of my skin.

i ended up with a face on my stomach, a diagram of cave people shooting and roasting a sheep on one arm from alex, a gorgeous likeness of myself from marina on the other arm, and a portrait of thomas hobbes and john locke on each shoulder from michael and asa, respectively.

most importantly though, leah gave me knuckle tatts, deeming mine a "thug life."

that was on saturday night. i washed everything else off for church, but decided to leave the knuckle threats. as a warning. (un)fortunately, i washed off the "t" before making said earlier decision. leaving a more accurate representation of my life:

not ready to let go of my new lifestyle, i had nate reapply my tatts, but with a new addition, courtesy of asa (who decided the night before that we should all replace our "l"s with "r"s):

and that's the story of how i became a mob boss.

because nothing's more legit than a sharpie tattoo.

-katie