Adam's Alcoholism

(Picture a British guy with a mustache that wiggles when he speaks, and an obvious toupee, or however you spell it)

At some unkown time 23 years ago today, on August the 21st, Adam J. Hogan of the University of Michigan turned twenty-one. This peculiar, blonde-haired boy... ehem... man once lived a respectable life. The fact that he hadn't grown a 'fro' (so to speak) with his hair by then proves this.

Being the jolly old chap that he was, on that day Adam decided to finally step out of Telluride House and explore Ann Arbor with optimism and jocund glamour. Freely he would walk into any store, restaurant, bakery, or hair supermarket that he pleased, with the sound of freedom ringing in his ears.

However, ignorance can never be beautiful when truth grabs hold of its 'jewels', for poor old Adam walked into places that he had never seen before. He strolled along to what seemed to be a little used book shop, with the title of "Hidden Obsessions." Blissful buoyancy trumpeted through Adam's brain at the thought of finding old and hidden books. His descent into the red, neon pit was one that could never be undone, at least figuratively, for the poor young man succumbed to all that was evil in this tiny lair.

Adam turned the metal doorknob, dripping with the sweat of countless previous users, and walked merrily into the room. For two steps. His face turned green, yet his eyes were diligent and entranced, and his left hand twicthed slightly with nervous excitement. A woman, droors and all butt naked, swung around a fireman's pole in front of him. Adam's eyes almost glazed over that instant like eggs in a frying pan. A tall man with black clothing came over and asked for identification, Adam handed him his driver's license, still as fixated on the dancing angel as before. After close examination, the bouncer said, 'Happy Birthday, Adam' and smiled a golden grin with his hand leading the way. Overwhelmed by the sight, Adam found the nearest seat, and began spinning about the stool nearest to him. He almost started to laugh his zany laugh that many knew him for, until a man on the other side of the counter said something. 'Here, it looks like you could use a beer.' Adam let the chair rotate freely, and by chance it came to a slow halt in line with the golden beverage that lay before him. He looked at it curiously, mouth agape and eyes wide. He eventually grasped the handle, tilted his head, and the alien green that was once on his face was there no more.

Now, you can see old Adam stumbling across the street, usually in front of the Telluride House on Washtenaw Ave. Intelligence still runs freely in him, like it did in the glamourous young man he once was. If you ever see him, picking his golden fro with silver stickets, ask him for a bumper sticker. You will most probably read, 'I can't fathom that it's Adam!' or some other clever rhyme he's come up with. He's undoubtedly looked upon as a cheerful old chap, and we will never forget 'ol Madame Adam'.



Happy Birthday Adam,
from Henrik.