Welcome to the Jungle, We've got Fun and Games

For Short Term '08, Flanders enrolled in Math Camp, which may, in fact, have interfered with more prime opportunities to see Flanders drunk.  The benefit of his five-day-a-week-super-serious-let-me-tell-you-gnome-riddles-class, however, was that when the weekend arrived, Flanders was ready to go.  Having missed the entire week of shenanigans, Flanders often felt he needed to make up for a week's worth of alcohol in a single night.  And make up for it he did.  On this particular night, Flanders was in a zone.  As usual, we started the night at Webb basement, with a grill session in the back alley and then moving to the basement to begin the nightly rotation through games of 21.  If Flanders has never told you himself, he is really good at 21.  He can count out the right number of cups to make a triangle faster than any man alive.  And never second guess him, because he is a math major for a reason (likewise, if Flanders is mad at you, never try to trick the other team in to thinking they have the right number of cups for a rack, because no matter how many eyes he has open, Flanders can spot that kind of poor math from across the room and will stop it before you even know what happened).

We decided later that night it was time to move on to the Village to visit the kind people there.  Flanders decided this was an excellent idea and took off running.  A couple of us chased him down to make sure he didn't disappear and eventually found him on the quad yelling for us to catch up.  We had not lost him after all.  We convinced him it was too warm out to run and he agreed, also admitting that he may have been running in varying diagonals.  And that's when it happened.  The hair came a tumblin' down and all hell broke loose.  "What is your favorite guitar solo song?!" he asked.  What other answer could I give than the infamous Welcome to the Jungle?  And there it began.  Right next to the side door entrance to Hedge walking towards the Village.  Flanders began air-guitaring and wailing away at the entire intro to Welcome to the Jungle while his head-banging waved his hair in unnatural ways.  By the time we reached Bardwell, Flanders reached the middle solo of the song, and in all of his excitement, literally flipped backwards on to his back in the soft mud of the field.  I watched in awe for a second to make sure he didn't hurt himself, but was amazed when that guitar solo did not miss a single beat.  Flanders was not going to let a little slip in the mud ruin a great guitar solo.  So there he laid, on his back in the mud, air-guitaring and wailing away with his very best vocal impression, while his hair flopped back and forth and his legs kicked in joy.  Never have I seen a man so entrenched in his air-guitar solo as was a drunk Flanders on Bardwell Field.