Teachings from The Sacred Handbook

Published February 27, 2007

By Mike Pelansky

I am not a religious man, but I know that most definitions of righteousness involve providing for one’s neighbor in times of need. My own dark hours here at UVM have usually occurred during the darker hours themselves, the wee hours of the morning.

Belligerent pilgrimages up and down Buell or Isham Street have found me searching for a resting place. Hemingway’s drunk sought a clean, well-lighted place, and similarly I have found myself seeking a safe-haven for the night that does not involve intimate contact with a filthy gutter, a Portuguese chokehold from Tobias, the Bouncer of RJ’s, or my Art History professor’s front lawn.

My safe deliverance out of intoxicated exhaustion has come solely from you, brothers and sisters in University. It is through your support that I have become Master of the Art of Couch-Crashing.

I have crashed on the most urine-stained couches on the coldest of nights — my survival resting solely on the precarious warmth of a few “Rise and Shiner” tin foil sheets and an empty Natty Ice box. Other times, I have been laid to rest on the most lush and wonderful smelling bed of my friends’ roommates.

The latter is far preferable to the former, EXCEPT DURING PARENTS’ WEEKEND. I am endlessly sorry to you, Jenn’s mother and father, for all of the things you had to see when you entered your daughter’s room at 9 o’clock in the morning. But I will not apologize for my love of sleeping languidly in the nude. None of you will ever understand how important it is that I aerate.

Situations like this one initiated my search for the Mecca of all crashing spots, one with comfort, compassionate friends, and with little room for awkward encounters. My travels have culminated in the creation of The Sacred Handbook of Late Night Crashing. Allow me to preach to you a few of my favorite verses:

I. Always arrive with an offering or sacrament — now this one is a little different for me, as startling good looks are usually gifts enough to bestow upon whomever’s house I enter. However, even these charms can be dulled significantly when entering a friend’s house wearing a vomit-streaked sweater. A little booze or cigarettes is all that is needed — if nothing is available then offer to order some Big Daddy’s on CATscratch.

II. Brendan met Ashley, and they would know each other after making out in a basement — It is generally our first instinct to haul-ass away from the implicit awkwardness of hook-ups that we are not a part of, but for a Couch Crasher this is a destination brimming with potential. Overactive, intoxicated college sex-drives eliminate self-consciousness, and nobody cares if I quietly sneak in and sleep on a couch somewhere. If the two love birds in question are taking too long to hop to the Biblical Begetting, play Poison’s “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” on your Ipod and count to 30.

III. Do not wear out Thy welcome by being the Drunk Person — It is one thing to sleep in your friends’ houses or perhaps steal a little grub before you bounce the next morning, but it is quite another to wrap 20-plus years of emotional baggage into a tight little gin-soaked package and soundly beat them with it. No one wants to hear my incoherent crying about my ex-girlfriend’s wholesale rejection of my last mix-tape. Truly though, you can be A drunk person, just do not be THE drunk person.

IV. Make sure someone sees you pretend to clean up the next morning — sometimes the Handbook speaks for itself.

I hope these verses are received with love. I once heard a song that said love, sweet love, is what the world needs now, and it seemed sensible enough at the time. Teach these and follow them, and if someone ends up crashing in your house, please, do not write “PENIS HEAD” or “POOP” across their forehead. Those words are just hurtful.

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