Vote (NAME REDACTED) SBA President!!!

I am writing to strongly recommend that you vote for (NAME REDACTED) to be SBA President.

I first met Brian when we were roadies for Guns N’ Roses during their now infamous 1989 “Give Us Your Money” tour. One night in Toronto, Brian and I were on “Groupie Wrangler” duty when we were summoned to the green room by Axl Rose. Axl had created a drug cocktail by blending together all of the hallucinogens he had access to backstage with Jack Daniels and a hint of carrot juice. Axl was not experiencing the effects he desired from the concoction and wanted Brian to sample the elixir, which Slash had dubbed “Chinese Democracy.” Brian diligently took 3 large gulps of Chinese Democracy and almost immediately began playing an 8-minute long composition using only mouth noises, air guitar, and air piano. And that is where “November Rain” came from.

After completing his masterpiece, Brian let out a frightful scream and sprinted out the door of the green room, past Duff McKagan, who was standing at the door inexplicably holding a drumstick in one hand and a Twizzler’s licorice whip in the other. He was also nude from the waist down and wearing a tin foil hat (Duff McKagan, not Brian).

In the green room, assorted groupies, Guns N’ Roses, and I stood there quietly for about 12 minutes trying to process what we had just saw. Brian then appeared in the doorway, yelped something semi-incoherently about the Thetans coming for us, stole Duff McKagan’s tin foil hat, and disappeared as suddenly as he appeared.

We didn’t reunite with Brian until the European leg of our tour, in West Berlin. By this time he had converted to Scientology and somehow married into the Namibian Royal Family. We became separated from the rest of the tour during the Great Sauerkraut Riots of 1983. Brian had started the riots by refusing to use the word “sauerkraut,” referring to the food item as only “freedom cabbage.” Fearful for our lives and hunted by the East German secret police, we fled to his bachelor pad in Namibia.

Brian was the Royal Family darling of the Namibian Tabloids. In Namibia he was called “Huntu Mari Wimbbi Arranga,” which, of course, in the local Oshiwambo dialect means “Goofy White Dude.”

After about of week of Rhinoceros Horn Powder and Sugar-Free Red Bull fueled orgies with the Namibian Royal Concubines, we decided to go on Safari. We chartered a jeep, hired a guide, and headed out to the Namibian Bushveld to hunt Rhinoceros (in order to harvest their horns and return to the concubines, of course.) Brian refused to hunt the beast with anything more than a potato gun, roman candles, and a Barack Obama commemorative letter opener.

Unfortunately, our adventure was cut short by the outbreak of the 1977 Namibian Civil War. Once again we were forced to flee.

We returned to America. During our processing at Ellis Island, my name was shortened from Richardamunditillo Ecklewamanishevitzey, and his name was lengthened from B-Mar. Alone, frightened, and broke on our new/old country, we were forced to share a lone sleeping bag and sleep in the nude…to…um…share warmth. It was then we decided to go to law school in Vermont, the Thetans would never find us there.

This is why you should vote for Brian for SBA President. Sure, he may be Namibian royalty, a fearless hunter of rhinoceroses…rhinoceri…rhinoceroi…RHINOS, a sauerkraut instigator, and all-around hero to the common man, but to me he’ll always be that guy that would round up skanks and drink whatever Axl Rose told him to.

DEMOCRACY IN ACTION