My Open Apology Letter
Updated: Mar 31
As some of you may already know, I believe in everything Joe Rogan says or does. Everyone has their rock: Some people go to church, others meditate, and I listen to my broshaman, Joe Rogan while reading all of the very original and funny "middle name" comments:
It's not uncommon for Rogan to bring up the various books he's reading throughout his podcasts. After speaking about Sapiens, for example, I decided to buy and read the first 58 pages. Although it inspired me to write one of my better articles, The First Ever Recorded Evolution of an Instagram Model, I realized that reading isn't my thing. Why was I making life harder on myself when everything comes in audiobook form? Reading is for try-hards, and that includes you reading this right now; Nerd.
The next book Rogan convinced me to buy was Can't Hurt Me by David Goggins. Joe regularly spoke about how tough this guy was. I initially thought it was a bunch of bullshit. Everyone thinks they're big and bad until they have to sit behind a computer screen and make fun of others, twice a week, every week, like me.
Nonetheless, I decided to give the audiobook a try. The beginning was quite depressing, but once it got to the part about Goggins running 100 miles in 24 hours on TWO broken legs, I was immediately hooked. There's nothing that gets me going like another man shitting and pissing blood on himself.
See, the great thing about reading an inspirational book is that the author's accomplishments become your accomplishments. And when that happens, it becomes your job to let everyone around you know how much they could achieve if they applied themselves while simultaneously ignoring the things you should be working on. PRO TIP: You never have to confront your own issues if you bring up other people's problems:
After bombarding my much more successful friends with inspiration, I decided to take one of Goggins challenges on. Throughout the book, Goggins stresses that you shouldn't hide from your past. He wants his readers to take what might have been an embarrassing past, own it, and turn it into fuel to drive themselves; Just as he did. At one point, he explicitly challenges the reader to step out of their comfort zone. CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.
In this article, I will bravely and anonymously apologize for all the not so great things I did while blackout in college. As you'll see, Drunk Mister Bigleys is kind of a dick. Not in a "join a frat and roofie a girl" sort of way. More like a "this guy has some internal problems he should probably take care of" kind of way. That being said, I think it's time I step up to the plate and face those demons head-on. I present to you, my apology letter:
1…To That Kid Who Yelled "Fuck The Police"
When the football games began in college, cops would walk through the tailgating area to break up the festivities. As an act of rebellion, this guy decided to yell, "Fuck the police!" I have to give it to him, that takes a lot of balls. I remember thinking, "Damn, that dude is hard as fuck."
Sure, African Americans think they have it tough with the police. But they don't know what struggle is until a group of officers politely ask you to leave the parking lot that you've been drinking at since 7 AM. I imagine the feeling is similar to that of the Native Americans when their land was cruelly stolen.
After you (I'm speaking directly to the guy now) yelled that, a fire was lit inside of me. It was as if Mel Gibson had just given his Braveheart speech, live. Similar to the participants at the civil rights protests, I was willing to do whatever it took to stand my ground. If I were to be arrested for the cause, then so be it.
After the cop heard the battle cry, he spun around to see who said it. He and I immediately locked steely eyes. I could tell he thought it was me, and at that exact moment, my mindset completely shifted. I put my hands up, nodded my head 'no' to signal it wasn't me who said it, and pointed directly at you. I already had a MIP and didn't need another one.
Some may say I was a snitch. Personally, I'd say you're welcome for not stealing credit. Nothing show's how down you are then being an upper-class white kid who can say they got arrested for saying, "Fuck the police."
2…My Friend, Who's Face I Punted Into Infinity
I had to puke, and you happened to be sleeping on the ground. There's an argument to be made that this was on you. You saw me sleeping on my bed, fully clothed and boots laced. Only psycho's and people with substance abuse problems sleep in jeans; you know that. In my humble opinion, that should have been clue enough that the space between my bed and the bathroom was a danger zone.
When I inevitably got up to go puke, your head was in my path. Honestly, it's incredible your neck held onto your noggin. That kick would have been good from 60 yards out. The science behind concussions was also still in its infancy, and puking on the carpet was arguably the worse alternative with the knowledge at hand. Either way, I'm still man enough to say, my bad…but also, you're welcome for letting you stay at my place.
3…To Any Girl That Used My Toilet
A guy's bathroom is ground zero for some of the most wide-spread diseases the earth has seen. The bubonic plague, mad cow disease, even that monkey who started AIDS; All of these can be rooted back to a University toilet.
I'll tell you this from first-hand experience: If you see a towel being used as a shower matt, a dirty plastic shower curtain with no cloth in front of it, and a counter lacking anything but old dried toothpaste baked in - Pissing yourself may be the cleaner alternative. The good news is that if you survived that toilet seat, then the Corona Virus should be a walk in the park. You and your immune system are both welcome.
4…The Girl I Threw Money At
You were kind, showed interest in me, and were willing to ignore the asinine things I was probably saying the entire night. Still, I repaid the favor by treating you like a second rate hooker.
After I inevitably blacked and passed out, you asked me for cab money—a fair request. I proceeded to reach into my pockets and throw all of it in your direction, making you pick it up like a townie stripper. I mean, who does that? I don't know who the fuck I thought I was, but I apologize.
You're welcome for the free cab ride, but people shouldn't treat other people like that. If you're reading this, though, feel free to Venmo me a couple of dollars. I think you took more than you actually needed.
5…To The Hispanic Community
I'm going to come out and admit it: I was a "Cholo" for Halloween one year. I couldn't afford a costume, and it ends up if you just use the single button at the top of a shirt, tuck a beater in underneath, and wear a bandana, you have a costume. I'm pretty sure that's considered racist now, and probably was then. I just want to get ahead of it before I get Trudeau'd in the future when I run for office.
Which reminds me: I'd also like to apologize to the black community for being a "gangster" in 3rd grade. I literally wore a do-rag to school that day. I'm not joking. In fact—to make matters worse—I owned that do-rag long before Halloween. In my defense, I think that says more about my parents than me.
6…That Person's Cell Phone I Stole And Gave Back
I'll admit it: I sometimes turn into a weird Klepto when I blackout. It's most likely a subconscious thing that developed after my parents let me pretend I was a Blood, wear a Chicago Bulls Jersey, baggy pants, and a fucking do-rag to a nearly all-white school in 3rd grade.
"Oh, Mister Bigleys, are you trying to say only black people are gangsters? That's racist!"
Listen, you know what I mean. I could have dressed in a powdered wig and told the Native American kids that they couldn't play on the swing set anymore, but even my parents had the foresight to veto that.
Point being, there's something inside of me that creates this urge to steal weird shit when I'm drunk. To others, it's a crime, but to drunk me, it's a hilarious joke for one. Which brings me to the time I saw a kid passed out at the bar with his cell phone on the table. I decided I'd take it, go to my dorm, and immediately play hero by calling his friends and letting them know I found the phone. GOOD ONE, BIGLEYS!
I didn't look through the phone or anything. I literally got home, called one of his most recent contacts, and gave it back.
What a dick…but also, you're welcome for being responsible and holding onto your phone while you took a cat nap in the middle of a college bar. Seriously, why don't you grow up.
7…That Household Who's WiFi Router I Stole
Normally, I find the strength within myself to return items that I drunkenly steal. This WiFi router was another story. Maybe I thought it would be funny, or perhaps I just enjoy watching the world burn.
I already owned a fucking WiFi router. At least a legitimate thief does something with the things they steal. I just put it in a box to never see the light of day again. I couldn't look myself in the mirror for a full 24 hours. This put an end to Bigleys klepto phase.
You're welcome, though, for bringing you guys closer together. Nothing causes a group of people to unite like not having WiFi. Was what I did fucked up? Arguably. But wouldn't you pay $90 for a closer bond with your best friends? If no, I think that says more about you than it does about me.
8…To That Guy Down The Hall, On Behalf Of My Roommate
I can't make all of these about me. My friends deserve most of the blame for the things I do. To make it clear, my freshman college roommate and I weren't exactly useful for making new friends. Probably because we're the kind of assholes that think we're above the group. Well, that and the time that kid down the hallway broke up with his girlfriend for one weekend, and she fucked my roommate—that probably didn't help. Only made the relationship stronger, though. I did see on Instagram that you guys are back together and have a child. Congrats! It's going to work out great.
9…To That Cop Who Kept Arresting Me
Somehow we had enough cops to patrol 27,000 kids, but the same goddam cop always caught me doing illegal things. He arrested me at 9am for an MIP while responding to a completely unrelated issue. We'll call that karma. But then he caught me after I photoshopped a fake, scannable parking pass. It was my pride and joy. Probably the most impressive thing that came out of my college career. I still remember walking out, seeing a cop parked behind my car waiting, and me thinking, "abandoning my vehicle forever is probably the smartest option."
After he made me give him the parking pass, I could tell he was impressed. He asked how I made it, and I respectfully told him. He then said, "You know this is like stealing $300?" To which I responded, "Listen, you can guilt trip me to feel bad about that WiFi router I stole, but I'd argue the $13,000 yearly tuition fee should have come with a free parking pass."
Either way, sorry for breaking the law. Ends up, being white and committing crimes is only illegal half of the time. I got the MIP, but he let me go on that one. Without people like me, University cops like him wouldn't be employed. Again, you're welcome.
10…The Person Who Had To Read This Email
Although I could keep this article going forever, I think it's right we stop at an even ten. I could go on and on about the three alcohol violations I received in the dorms which funded the purchase of a new ping pong table, the time I had my roommate climbed onto the roof of our apartment to get my $15 BlackBerry that I threw, the Schizophrenic kid who was convinced I had brainwashed my business class group, or all the black people that our undeniably racist German Shephard barked at when they came in. She was a rescue, so we're unsure of her past. Also, German's have a history...
This email, though, was arguably the unofficial start to FaHoo. Since I'm 26 and refuse to give up my University email address, I was able to look back and find the exact message I sent to an unsuspecting administration assistant.
As you'll see, I've always been an angry little elf. When I first signed up for the class, I figured it would be a blow-off. The course was called Intro to Logic — How hard could it really be? The answer: Hard enough to produce an alarming Adderall addiction.
With the combination of my hangover, the Addy on an empty stomach, and my pure hatred towards participation points; the following email was born:
If this doesn't inspire you to become a better person, I don't know what will. Now go out there and inspire others without actually doing anything yourself.