Three Men and a Vulgarthon...
By Keith Miller

Well, can words describe Vulgarthon '98? I hardly think so. How could measly words, formed by a pile a worthless vowels and consonants, describe the pure emotions that were flowing on January 5? I believe that everybody who was there will agree with me on this point. Anyway, now I will futilely attempt to write about the joy, love, and pure eroticism that was the Vulgarthon 1998...

I guess the festivities started on the night on January 4. After a dull and uneventful manifesto spewed from the mouth of a certain Bill Woods, involving some worthless gibberish about 'responsibilities' and 'duties', the night really got started when Matt and I decided to crash the party at the Marriot. Honestly, it was like heaven came down to earth and was residing in the gazebo. And not an authority figure in sight! After the congregation of the First Church of Vinnie started to break up, Matt and I followed Vinnie, Dutch, and Neil to the Innermost Sanctum. I'm willing to bet that God's own face doesn't look as inviting as Vinnie laying in his bed does. What a sight to behold. And even though the liquor was warm, I could still feel the love following from the mouth of that bottle. The warmth in my stomach reminded me of when I was a child, sitting around the fireplace, singing Christmas carols. Soon afterwards I took a trip around to see everybody in their rooms. >From the guitar playing to the pornography watching, I could tell that bonds were being formed that would last a lifetime. Even dear old Ming could feel the love that was coming in abundance from me as a staggered into him later on in the night. At around three I sadly had to call it a night and leave the warm embrace of everyone's company. But luckily, I only had to sleep three hours before the day of the Vulgarthon began!

After I got ready, the day began promptly at 7:00 am. As I watched all of you flock to 32 Monmouth Street, my heart swelled with excitement. It was as if you were all God's beautiful creatures and the old municipal building was Marc Singer himself drawing you all there. And what joy it brought to my heart to see all your faces as we handed you your shirt. I'm sure all you you felt it as well. I also got to see some of the interviews done by Brian Lynch. The words 'tasteful' and 'elegant' come to mind. Good Lord can that man wield a microphone with grace and style not found anywhere else. I know all of you will agree with me on this one. Anyway, after everyone got their shirts, we took a much needed rest and got ready for the festivities to begin. Those must of been some of the longest hours of my life. How can you prepare yourself for what most likely will be the best day of your life?

As that eternal wait was coming to a close, I went over to the Sony theater to help prepare for the rest of the day. As I walked in and saw everyone working to their heart's content, I was reminded of a colony of ants working, selflessly and diligently, towards a common goal. And that goal was the happiness of those wearing that special Vulgarthon shirt. Hopefully we succeeded, but that is your call. I like to think we did, so don't tell me differently. God, I hope we did. But maybe, just maybe we didn't. No, I should rephrase that: I didn't. It's all my fault that no one was happy at Vulgarthon. What did I do wrong? Why am I not good for anything? Wait a second, it's not my fault at all. It's God's fault. He's been trying to stop Vulgarthon '98 from the beginning. Well damn you God, I'll see you in hell!

After that, everyone got to have their special artifacts signed by their heroes (no thanks to God) and watch their favorite movies on the big screen. And as the day came to a close, I could tell by the smiles on everyone's faces that they could finally die happy. And that right there was what made it all worthwhile. And for those of you who didn't come, shame on you! What were you thinking? I hope you've learned your lesson...

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Special Thanks to: Scott Benner and Luke Robinson. Photos "borrowed" from Scott Benner and Luke Robinson.