Townies Part 1: Butch

Here's a great story. So last year, my buddies Dave and Drew (my current housemates), lived at 55 Clayton. It was a great place to chill on the weekends: so close to everything, plus they always set up a beer pong table, and tourneys lasted sometimes all night long. They lived on the first floor with a frat boy Blake, second floor there were also three college guys, however, on the third floor was a single apartment. A one-armed, 45 year old townie named Butch lived there by himself. Now, I was quick to judge such a specimen of creation at first, but he liked to talk (I'm assuming he was pretty lonely), so we always gave him the time of day. However, as the year progressed, he got sketchier and sketchier. On many occasions, Cortland's finest (also known as po po's) would arrive at the apartment looking for this Butch character for a variety of reasons. Butch would often tell us that he was broke and that he was going to have to move out, much to our joy, however he never did. It got to the point where, and this was our fault for being such nice fellas, that he would walk into the apartment on a Friday or Saturday night when we were all partying and sit down with his Zima 24 ouncer and a random ass cigarette and join the festivities. Now, picture this scene: a bunch of college kids, hanging out, playing beer pong, smoking some cigs, watchin some television, and out of nowhere a scraggly old guy with a beard and reeking of piss or some other foreign smell and only one arm strolls in drunk and decides hey, they look like they're having fun, I'm gonna join. Well I can assure you that party sure hit the shitter. People randomly snuck out the back door, hid in bedrooms, and some even gorged their eyes out (that didnt really happen, just trying to spice things up). It always came down to one or two of us who got screwed bc we didnt leave when everyone else did, so we had to sit and talk to him for a few mins, make him feel wanted, cus we're idiots.

Well, you might be thinking, well that kinda sucks, and its kinda funny, but it gets better. Cortaca weekend, mad people up for the festivities, beer galore at my buddies place. Well, as evening starts in, we all have our beer faces on (we'd prolly been drinking for a good 8 hours). None other then Butch, the one-armed townie living upstairs, strolls in again, uninvited. Now most of us were pretty used to this and were getting pretty annoyed; but for others who were up for the weekend, well we decided what the hell, welcome to Cortland. Dave starts to talk to Butch, see whats up, meanwhile his sister and girlfriend run for cover and lock themselves in his room. Whatcha guys doin, asks Butch. Playing a little beer pong, responds Dave. Let me give it try, butch says. O man, this is going to be good. Butch, a completely unseasoned beer pong player, rockets the ball at the rack, nearly knocking the entire pyramid over. Whoa there slugger, easy on the turbo. Shot number two, same result. Alright, your done says Dave. But Butch insists that he wants to hang around and starts to tell Dave and I this wonderful heart-warming story. So Butch apparently used to live on a farm somewhere (prolly in his head), and he started telling us that he liked to ride horses and drive motorcycles. Whoa whoa whoa...motorcycles? How so, me and Dave are thinking simultaneously. Before we can answer, Butch does for us. "Your probably wondering how I drive a motorcycle with only one-arm" (when I say one arm, its actually like half an arm, from the elbow up). Umm, ya is Dave's response. "Well let me show ya. First, when I have to pull in the clutch (which is on the left handle bar if you didnt know, obvi the arm he doesnt have), I quickly grab it from underneath (motioning with his stub), and pull back quickly to engage the clutch (bending his stub at the elbow to make a "pulling in" motion), and then let go to put 'er gear." I nearly pissed myself. Actually, I think I did. I can't remember. It's not important.

Needless to say, that was the last time I saw Butch. He was forced to move out by landlord Ed, who is our current landlord right now, so you can imagine why this is going to be a four, five, maybe even six part series. Currently, we have townies living downstairs of us. How many you may ask? I have no freaking idea. Sometimes there are only one or two people down there, sometimes there are 15 or so, with little kids running around, like a little townie convention. God Ed, I hate you. But these stories will be coming soon to a blog near you, so check it out son.