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The Aw Yeah! page is updated once a week and contains material that is far too experimental or unstable for the more normal confines of The Toilet Paper.  This week's edition of Aw Yeah! is....

The Power Hour

"Fear. That should be the first word, fear."
--Richard Hwan Chang, 5:49, May 8th, 1998


As I pen these words the minute hand slowly winds its way around the clock towards the new hour. In ten minutes, at six o'clock, the experiment shall begin. In that instant, I will take the first shot of beer. One point five fluid ounces. Not much compared to a 12-ounce beer, but each minute thereafter, for one full hour, I shall take another shot. A total of sixty shots. Seven and one half beers. One hour.

T-minus eight minutes now until life and limb are put on the line in the name of science and AwYeah! to bring to you the exact thoughts of a man in rapid descent to total inebriation. I will do my best to recount every detail accurately and to the best of my ability.

Special thanks to Emma, my lovely Australian assistant, ready with shot glass and beer. Emma will keep track of the shots, watch the time and has even memorized the number to 911 for this occasion. An assistant affords the freedom to type every thought and sensation that may come to mind in the next hour. Everything. It may become unintelligible. It may become cumbersome. It may become other things, but there is no time left to think of an appropriate adjective.

Each time Emma pours and I drink another shot, I will type, "(shot)". This will keep you, dear reader, informed of my progress. So without further adieu -

(shot) It begins. Aw yeah. Well, it’s an interesting world. The sun is beginning to descend on another beautiful day in Southern California. Sigh. My apologies for the stilted begin(shot)ing, but I’m sober and self conscious at the moment.

This truly gives you an appreciation of just how much time in a day is wasted, the awareness of each second. Thanks again to Emma who is taking her duties seriously and strict(shot)ly following the clock. She has her principles.

Reechard is here as well, with running commentary. We’ve just in this moment decided to allow him to do a sober documentation (shot) of what transpired. I’ve just announced that everyone must be quiet to allow the thoughts to flow.

Anyway, this is in no way an endorsement of alcohol. Sort of. One can have fun without drugs or alcohol. It just (shot) takes a lot more effort. (Yes that was sarcasm). You know, I just realized (as emma went to grab the next beer out of the fridge) that this is going to be quite difficult.

So where are we going with the Aw Yeah pages and the TP. (*Warning, I tend to wax philosophic more than usual in times of dr(shot)unkenness. (Just gave Reechard a silly smile). Feeling a bit giddy with the anticipation of vomit. Anyway, the question…where is the TP headed. What’s the purpose. What are we trying to do with it. And why do I keep forg(shot)etting to write my question marks? Not drunk or even buzzed yet, just silly.

Right, the TP. So maybe I should save this for shot number 40 or so, it wasn’t my original inten(shot)tion to make this a TP fest, but it seems to be coming out. Um….so why don’t we all get together and make this thing big! Oh fuck it, I’ll save the proselytizing for another day.

Emma’s gett(shot)ing ready to say, "Now" in that quiet voice. Actually, as was indicated by the "shot" she just did. I’m already starting to loath that. Now we’re both laughing as she reads these words. "Hi Emma. What do you think Rich is writing right(shot) now? Maybe you should go do some recognizance. Thanks for saying ‘okay’ instead of ‘now’ on that last shot, by the way."

Sigh. Right. So I used to ponder the purpose of life a lot. Lately I’ve just been getting stressed by it. It seems like such a rush(shot) to get things done. Oh boy, I can already feel the violence bubbling up. Anyway, that last one was a landmark of sorts, number ten. I may have already or may in the future miss a "shot" or two, but don’t worry, I’m taking them. (shot) Oops that one was number ten, Emma just informed me.

Oh God. I’m in trouble….I’ll be out by thirty. Don’t try this at home, but if you doubt the severity, maybe you should.

 (shot) So I took a pause in my writing to think for a moment. Felt like I was rambling aimlessly there. It’s only going to get worse, I realized, so I’ll just continue. Rich is laughin(shot)g at me. Two beers down, 5 and a half to go. Jesus. Rich just warned me that when I puke, I have to run back for the next shot before the minute ends. "Usually people can’t finish puking in a m(shot)inute" says rich.

This little experiment reminds me of the Big Mac Bonanza which I shall now relate:

In high school, my good bud Matt Fred and I went to McDonald’s. Now Matt’s a pretty slim fellow(shot), but somehow we got to talking about whether or not Matt could finish four big mac’s in an hour. (I’m going to start leaving in the misspellings from (shot) now on.) I knew he couldn’t do it. He was convinced he could. So we set down the ground rules. The big macs must be completely consumed within the hour. No vomiting. It was that simple. We bet fifty dollars and the loser would have to pay for the burgers. He was so confident (hubris) (don’t know why I just wrote that in parenthesis) that he ate a packet of gummy bears (shot)prior to the contest. Then it began. He quit after two and a half. Special sauce, one can only consume so much.

But this gave us the idea to promote a giant big mac eat off. We passed out fliers and had sixty fans packed into the local McDonald’s to witness the event. Jeff and Leah participated. We made bets with each of them and took hundreds of dollars in side bets. Jeff had to eat 6 in an hour, Leah five. We had a lot on the line and engaged in some serious(shot) (Emma tells me that was number twenty). Psychological warfare. Matt invested 69 cents in a hamburger and flapped it in the air in front of the contestants. Jeff puked at big mac four. Leah got all the way to the last bite b(shot) ut couldn’t swallow it in time. She just couldn’t do it. It was a triumphant moment.

But I digress.

(shot) Maybe I’ll recount that story more eloquently later. I’m already feeling fucked up. To be honest, I’m not exactly a heavy weight drinker, but this is in the name of science…so…

Oh shit. I’m going down. What you missed during that story was me calling emma a bitch every time she said, "okay" to indicate it was time for a shot. Rich is taunting me. I’m belching.

"Look at it this (shot) way, you’re not even halfway done yet."

Oh god. Nooooooo!!!!!!!!

I just realized. I don’t really want to finish this. (shot) Rich is a good man. Just put on some good Blink 182 to inspire me (that’s a music group for those who don’t know). Emma’s cheering me on. This is good. I can make it. Maybe. Belchin(shot)g a lot. Oh boy. I’m going down big time. If it fails, I’ll train and retry. Don’t really feel like dropping out, but loosing my resolve quickly. (shot) I’m gonna puke momentarily. Probably feel better after that. Going to my head now. Was just in my stomach before. Fuck. Getting drunk and feeling damn shitty. This is a bad idea.

Not like I haven’t had plent(shot)y of those (bad ideas) before. Going to puke damn soon. This is bad. Do not, I repeat do NOT try this at home. Or if you do, don’t document it…the pain is already hitting me. (shot) (shot) Just puked by the way. That was a good Canadian Bacon Burger the first time, but revisited, it was rather foul. (shot) Oh my god, that’s only halfway, Emma tells me. What the flying fuck am I doing. No offense to those of you who don’t like curse words.

I can’t believe I just mother fucking puked and am drinking more goddamned mother fukcing foul ass shots of beeer. Is this what I’ve become. J(shot) (shot)esus Christ. Sorry, just went to blow my nose and consider puking again. (shot)

I just announced that this isn’t fun. I’ve been informed that it is. Going to pace now. Jesus. At least Reechard (my nickname for Mr. Chang) (shot) is being a good dj DJ and putting on nice inspirational music. Lots of hymns and such (not really). (shot) I just scooped emma by doing my shot early. She wasn’t impressed.

OH GOD! This is really not fun, no matter what they say. Thinking about smoking a cigarette. What the flying fuck was I thinking when I got this idea. I feel like a fucking invalid. Music is very important. I’ve said that one hundred times. I learned that lesson in a big arm wrestling match. He who likes the song wins. Going to puke again. Maybe.

Today emma and I went to a garden/temple called "the spiritual self realization temple". She’s tellig(shot) me to go back there now. It’s not working. I think I’ll go back to the toilet.

I’m realizing something rather annoying. The computer is a good twenty yards (shot) from the bathroom. It’s a freaking commute. "Come on, you’re doing good" Emma.

Yeah right. Sorry about those paragraph fragmentations, by the way.

"Kay." (shot)Said emma. Never have I (shot) heard such an ugly letter.

Just puked again. For those of you experienced drinkers out there, you know that I’m not that well trained as I’ve already vomitted twice. My eyes are watering. I’m not prepared for this. (shot) Eighteen minutes left. I’m taking a break. Hang the fuck on. (shot)

Emma is a fucking vigilant bitch! Leave me be, woman! (shot) Bithc. (shot) Bitch.

Reechard just put a bad song on. I can’t handle that. I need help here, Reechard. None of this schneider. Harder and harder to type. Oh please don’t say it emma. Sigh. (shot) Six beers down. One and one half to go. Actually, six down, two up, one and one half to go. I think I’ll take a brief hiatus on the floor now. (shot) That was a hard one. The last of the sixth beer, and rather warm.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(shot) Emma’s getting a little high on her power here. "Go" she says to me evily. Bitch. (shot) Reechard says the next three songs ill,. I mean will, drive me to the end. Emma says ten more to go. I feel like a boxer.

AW YEAH!!!! Rechard is good! AW YEAH!!!! Triefd to write the words / lyrics to this song, good one, but tood drunk. cAlled, seel (shot) sorry, "Sell Out" by Reel Big Fish. Good song. S Sshit. Check it out. Too drunk. Thank gut I mean god for microsoft to tell me when I misspell something and correct some of these words. God. (shot) T minus eight or seven or something. Again, do not fucking try this at home.

(shot) ouch.

Reechard just picked a bad song. Oh well. `Fuciiug ak;sldfjafjasfs Fucking bitch just gave me a noogie (hard knuckles to the top of the head) and laughed. Argh. Five to go, says emma.

Which isn’t so bad. The (shot)just projectile vomited onto the carpet. As I was saying. Five (actually four now) ain’t so bad. The worst was aroudn 25 to go, when I didn’t think I would make it (shot) Feeling really fucking shitty right now, but apparently I shall finish. Thank god microsoft capitalizes random I’s . (shot) because capitalizing I’s is important. (shot) (shot) Appropriately (and you can’t even imagine how slow I am typing right now) reechard hath put on "Swallowed" by Bush. Good song. Last shot coming up 5 4 3 2 1 (shot)

Thank god that’s over with. According to Reechard I’ll puke again in "ten minutes tops". Thank god. Goling to collapse on the floor now. Thanks to Emma and Reechard. Some day (not next week though for god’s sake) on the Aw Yeah! Page, the documentation of the century club (100 beers in a weekend) and of the power hour revisited, but with coffee! Until then Aw Mutha Fuckin’ Yeah! --joe 

Just heard Rich’s rendition of what he wrote out louad. Drunk as shit but thinking this was great. Look forward to more experiments in the futures. Future. Again. Away. Shit! W. Shti! Shit. Cnanott type. Can’t I mean. Awyeah!

Read the sober perspective, AWYEAH!II, on the following page.

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