Taking the mills out of Potomac….

During another enthralling day of subsessions at the conference, the subJostonians decided to indulge their hedonistic consumerist tendencies and built up their hopes for an excursion to P’Mac-Mills.

Here – all manor of desires were able to be catered for, yet the indulgence of time proved too great which necessitated the joint-sub-leaders in purchasing a pair of finely tuned timepieces. Precipitated by an exhaustive search of the premises, the titillatingly, titaniac pieces were located and capital was exhanged as the price was set. Now armed with navigational and impervious chronometers, always guaranteed to be on time due to their radio-controlling abilities, they proceeded to satisfy their capitalist tendencies as they sought out the apparel to match their newest acquisitions.

Whilst meandering amongst the multitude of shopkeepers and vendors, one of our number decided wander off by himself in search of a private adventure… during this experience he found more than he bargained for which became quickly apparent upon the arrival of the other subJostonians, who arrived to find him in the clutches of a Dead Sea salesman trying to stroke the sale out of our unfortunate member. Only with the combined power of all of the subCultural members were they able to overcome the fierce and forceful, yet subtly purposeful gentle grip of the vendor.

Returning back to base, the now-safe subclub, were admittedly, after a long week of subactivities, feeling in a quieter sub-mood, yet continued, with gusto, to party on as the night before, in the college dorm.

The Vibrating Touch of the SubJostonians

After a day of sessions challenging the intellectual fortitude and acronymal decipherability of the subJostonians, the newly reformed group set forth into the heart of WDC to explore the Smithsonian Folk Festival… which had been viciously sabotaged by the suborganisers (either JOSTI or Smithsonian) whose timely arrival coincided with the ending closure of the festival !!! Following our disappointment, previously swollen numbers were reduced to the hardened few who progressed on another trekking mission quest to find yet more fluid refreshment for the new grail that was called Capitol City Brewery. After an enthralling session sampling a variety of the establishments delectable beverages the intrepid travellers utilised their newly found technical skills while creating the subcultural guide to WDC’s landmarks.

Following the interesting and invigorating times in WDC it was “Danger! Danger! Will Robinson!” as the crew left the hoppy haze of the New York and 15th micro brewery … and with a successful evening of bus recruiting behind them, progressed wt swelled numbers into the uncharted waters of Tidewater Hall, Level 3, rec room 2, where ample and copious quantities of beverage were to be mysteriously found.

Numbering ten, an increase of 11 (on the mixolydian scale) from the previous nights of adventure, the subCultural subJostonians gathered resources and battled the local constabulary (who took exception to the violation of the double yellow line!) to bring the sacred drop to the lips of the parched. But for one, the numbness was about to abate.

Having succumbed to the perils of mass consumption and excretory organs with limited capacity, one of the subJostonians went in search of relief and found more than she bargained for when she inadvertently walked in on our showering roomy from Mehico. With one yet to commit to the subJostonian creed washing away the sins of a day in the Capital and yet to embrace the modern technology known as the “lock”, our desperate member sought relief in the smallest room in the house only to find the sinner within wearing Adam’s suit.

As the howls of laughter finally died down from Tidewater, Level 3, rec room 2, the subCultural subJostonians were left to reflect on the pile of empty lubricant receptacles, failed beer opening efforts and the illiteracy levels of the bloggers on the trojan vibrating touch website.

Findin’ the ‘oke…

After a day of deliberative discussions full of technological tautology the yellow transporters of intellectual recepticles disgorged the usual subSuspects looking forward to an evening of unexpected expectations.  Having succeeded in their recruiting efforts, their numbers swelled like a seaslug stroked by a mermaid, as did their hopes for an even more successful evening.  The siren call of the Auld Shebeen beckoned our valiant heroes forth into the clear, starry night.

Fifteen minutes into the five minute walk, the new recruits began to question the navigational capabilities of the subLeader, but were mildly irritated (like a mermaid being stroked by a seaslug on heat) during the unsolicited attempts by some eager beaver voting recruiters who questioned the patriotism of the group and was soundly rebutted by the thunder from down under asking “Can Aussies vote…?” The puzzled look on M. Beaver’s face gave way to relief as the group continued on their mission, seeking the warm embrace of The Auld Shebeen. Turning the corner the skeptical new subJostonians were silenced as the shining establishment came into view and the lingering strains and wafts of Gaelic fiddle tickled their ears like the fingers of a Bangkok masseuse.

Into the ample Irish bosom, the intrepid group nuzzled and immediately suckled upon the teat and were nourished by the black milk from the Emerald Isle. Following their initial nourishment, yet still in search of the “‘Oke”, the explorers, feeling more fortified, proceeded on their quest, sending a scout down into the bowels of the establishment. The scout soon returned with tales of melody, rhythm and fear, which to the seasoned explorers sounded like the direction in which they should be headed.

Braving the perils and climbing down into the deep, the group of 7 set forth knowing that every step down was a step closer to the holy grail known as the ‘Oke. The night progressed downwards and backwards as the black milk continued to be suckled and made its spirit felt in the vocal harmonies as the 7 intrepid subExplorers eventually sipped from the grail – the ‘Oke.

 

  

   

 

Whiskey in the Jar in Alexandria

With a full day’s conference and lessons learned behind us, the subcultural Jostonians unleashed their hunger for subknowledge upon the inhabitants of a small town called Alexandria, further developing the subskills they learned the previous evening in Fairfax.

The Usual Suspect Jostonians increased and brought another member into the subflock by coercing a potentially unsuspecting bird of paradise jungfraü into a den of debaucherous inequity. However, it was the Usual Suspects who were in for a surprise as this young bird progressed through cider like a fish in the desert and taught them a thing or two about Freud. Afterwhich the München Jungfraü, “Rapunzel,” let down her golden locks and switched to ale instead.

Shortly afterwords all subconversation ceased as the lilting Irish brogue of the night’s entertainment began. Immediately mesmerized by the songs of the Emerald Isle, the newly increased Suspects could not help but join the harmony and entertain the rest of the establishment. The Irish Bard will not soon be forgotten, nor will the performance of the Usual SubSuspects.

Stay tuned tomorrow evening for the next exciting update and even join in the fun as we follow our intrepid subexplorers while they destroy the subharmonies of life during Karaoke Evening in Fairfax after visiting the “fruit” store (Apple).

Tuesday Evening Agenda:

Meet @ 2145 at dorm reception for a short walk down to Irish Pub and Karaoke on Main St.

JOSTI subCulture 2008???

What is SubCulture 2008?

It all began on a rainy evening when a few hardened, jetlagged JOSTonians set out into the wilds of Fairfax County, Virginia on a quest to quench their insatiable desire for subknowledge.

After many attempts at subescape from the clutches of fatigue, travel and registration, our grizzled group set forth with the purpose of continuing their subdiscussions over some subbeverages at a variety of subculture, subestablishments. Lo and behold, they found subgrail that is Main Street!

After many subdiscussions and subheaded beers, the intrepid crew found themselves in the midst of mayhem. Bearded ladies, diapered college kids, and an eclectic mix of subacademia, subrockers and subrappers proceeded to party on into the subnight.