Archive for the 'The Trancos Days' Category

Probation Party

Saturday, May 6th, 2006

On Feb 22, 2002, at 3:17 AM, Keaka Jackson wrote:

In celebration of the dichotomy that is my life:

What: Probation Party

When: 9pm to 10am, Thursday, 2/28/2002. Come early and often.

Where: Trancos Lounge (Wilbur). Don’t let the location fool you. We’re going to be crazy.

Why: In celebration of the 2 letters I received simultaneously from Stanford University. Here are the two opening lines:
(1) “Congratulations! You have been admitted to the Masters’ Program in Computer Science.”
(2) “The Subcommittee on Academic Standing has placed you on academic probation.”

Also, my roommate Mikey just got OFF academic probation. He’s been on probation since fall quarter freshman year. Beat that, people!

How: However you want it. We’ll supply a keg or two, some good old fashioned hard liquor, some tasty mixed drinks, and big-ass speakers pumping out music to get nasty with.

Who: Me, you, your roommates, your parents, your hot cousins, anybody I know, anybody I don’t know, blah blah blah.

A lot of you haven’t seen me in a long time, so drop by and party hard. It will be much better than pub night (and much cheaper).
Must be 21 to drink, 14 to hook up with Mikey.


Does your roommate need a date? Don’t do this…

Friday, February 3rd, 2006

On Feb 11, 2002, at 4:17 AM, Keaka Jackson wrote:

Hi Logan,

I was wondering if you would go to “Screw Your Roommate” with
my roomy, the devilishly handsome Mikey!! As the most
gorgeous girl alive, I’m sure you get requests like this all the time.
However, this request is different. OK, maybe it’s not any different.
Nevertheless, please let me know if you would consider gracing
us with you presence at the Wilbur “Screw Your Roommate” on
Saturday, March 2nd. We live in Trancos, which I believe is your
old home!

Just to show you what an amazing night you would have, I’ve
gathered some quotes about Mikey:

“Mikey is so frickin’ HOT. When he takes a shower, I usually wait
in the hall to catch a glimpse of him walking to his room wearing
only a towel. Mmm, mmm. He sure is a fine piece of meat!” —
Kristen Jenkenson

“If I were gay, I’d hit that shit.” — Third floor (male) RA

“Mikey is such a SWEETY. And he makes me laugh constantly. I
wish he would write one of his romantic songs for me… That boy
has some serious guitar skills.” — Allison Morioka

“If you won’t go to Screw Your Roommate with Mikey, I hear his
roommate is single!” — Me

I could go on forever, but you get the idea. This will be a night for
the record books. You will tell your grandchildren stories of how
much fun you had at the Trancos Screw Your Roommate!

Eagerly awaiting your verdict,

[Editor’s Note, February 3, 2006: All quotes in the email were fabricated, and should not be held against the imaginary quotees. And just in case you were wondering, the second setup attempt with an equally hot date was far more successful.


Friday, September 30th, 2005

On Mar 8, 2002, at 3:29 AM, Keaka Jackson wrote:

Hey Kids,

Yesterday at 5am I was jarred awake by this high-pitched squeaking. Of course, this happens every night, because Mikey is always whining about something at 5am.

Yesterday, however, the culprit was a frickin’ cricket. This thing wouldn’t shut up. After 15 minutes of listening to Mikey complain about his fear of crickets, I finally decided to rescue him. Being the nice, sensitive Tranconian that I am, I dutifully chased the cricket out of our room and placed it in Peter’s room.

It’s 3am the next day. Cricket is back. Cricket is back with a vengeance. I hate Cricket. I can’t even find cricket. Cricket is hiding so deep under Mikey’s crap, I have failed to find him after 30 minutes of poking around with my cricket detector (magic ski pole). Cricket is squeaking non-stop at at least 40 decibels. I hate cricket. Since it’s 3am and I can’t sleep, I am forced to let Trancos feel my pain through email.

This email actually has a point. Since this cricket fiasco is clearly going to become a regular event, I’m looking for a futon to crash on whenever Cricket decides to stop by and torture me. Don’t worry about Mikey, he sleeps better with relentless noise.


Keaka and Mikey.

P.S. This is Mikey. Keaka is a pansy and woke up scared as hell when he heard Cricket peeping. I told his ass to go to bed, but he proceeded to turn the lights on and that’s why I’m in such a bad mood. I didn’t get enough sleep and am incoherent. I hate Keaka. I looooove Cricket. I love hearing Keaka wake up and in dead seriousness say, “FOOOCK YOUUUU CRICKET!” I’m going to turn in now while Keaka nods off between Cricket’s mating calls. Dear god, Cricket is horny tonight.

P.P.S. This is Keaka again. I hate Mikey even more than I hate Cricket. Mikey just told me he is actually turned on by Cricket’s mating calls. I need a futon now more than ever, as Mikey is finally going to be getting a little action in my room.

P.P.P.S. This is Mikey. This is Mikey’s room. Keaka is a little leaching hobo. He needs to go back to his little shack out by Sand Hill. If all of you could only hear what he’s whispering to himself. He’s going delirious with his little whispers under his breath, “Cricket? Cricket! Cricket? Crickeeeeet… ”

P.P.P.P.S. Keaka here. This is definitely my room. I won it from Mikey fair and square in a Timmy fighting contest. And you have no idea how edgey Cricket is making Mikey. Mikey is such a pansy. A few minutes ago, Mikey basically pissed his pants just because Glenn came into the room. Then he went nuts screaming about how Glenn was really Zack. At this very moment, Mikey is standing on his dresser with a ski pole stabbing behind the bed yelling, “He’s right here. I know he’s right here. I’m going to get him. Cricket must be so scared!!” A few minutes ago, he was yelling the same thing while sprawled on the floor in a different corner of the room. Mikey’s survival skills aren’t very honed. Now he’s begging me to get on the case. I’m off to save Mikey’s ass again.

P.P.P.P.P.S. Keaka is going to sleep in the lounge. Now who’s the pansy? I even had to correct Keaka’s spelling of “pansey.” And I’m just trying to save Timmy from sleep deprivation since he can’t sleep. Uh-oh. I think Cricket’s asleep now.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Only a pansy worries about the spelling of pansy at 3:30am. And the only reason I’m going to sleep in the lounge is because Mikey won’t let me have my turn at Cricket hunting. I could catch him in 10 seconds, but Mikey has to try to save face. He just proclaimed he’s “Going back into action.” I’m going to sleep in the lounge. I hate Cricket. Timmy.

[Editor’s Note, September 30, 2005: In our vocabulary, the word pansy refers to a wimp. A wimp is a weak, cowardly, unadventurous person. Like Mikey.]

Re: Don’t read this, it’s stoopid

Saturday, August 27th, 2005

[Note: Read part 1 first, or your children will be ugly!]

On Mar 17, 2002, at 3:50 AM, Keaka Jackson wrote:

Hey Kids,

I never thought it would happen, but I am happy to announce that some idiot has finally stolen the rusting hunk of metal that I called a bike. It was stolen sometime between 10:30pm on Friday the 15th and midnight tonight (Saturday the 16th).

According to my meticulous notes of all the dates thrown in for the Grand Bike Theft Bet, the winner is…

MAGGIE, who put her money on March 13th!! If you don’t know who Maggie is, you didn’t win, so don’t come banging on our door begging for the prizes.

Speaking of the prizes, some of them are no longer available. The cookies have disappeared. Either Mikey mistook them for something edible after a long night of drunken foosball, or Cricket finished them off during his 3-day long symphony performance in our room. I hate Cricket.

Onny stole all the coupons for Mikey’s famous oral foot massages, so those are no longer available either. It doesn’t really matter anyway, because Mikey’s tongue is exhausted after hours of sucking on the foosball men. (Completely true. When you ask him about this, be sure to ask him how his clothes got stuck in a 25ft high light fixture suspended from the ceiling.)

Mikey and I would never go 3 days without sending a stoopid email to the list, so I’m sure you all knew that prize never existed in the first place.

So Maggie, that leaves you with two prizes: You get to do my laundry while enjoying a curiously strong mint. Please come claim your prizes soon, as Keaka is in dire need of some clean boxers.

I would also like to congratulate the biggest losers of the Grand Bike Theft Bet. Kelly Wilson lost hands down with his bet of May 33, 2078. He was educated in Canada, so none of us are too surprised by his last place finish. I was second to last, betting that my bike wouldn’t get stolen until the last day of the school year. Christina was third in the loser line, betting that it would get stolen the night I sent out the original email. Come on Christina, even thieves have standards (which my bike definitely didn’t meet).

I would like to take this opportunity to thank all of you who assured me that you wouldn’t be able to distinguish between Keaka before and after taking the hallucination-inducing, mood-changing Malaria pills. I have to admit the pills have been disappointingly ineffective. I have confirmed, however, that they do in fact ruin your ability to read. I haven’t been able to study all weekend, and I’m positive that it’s because of the Malaria pills.


[Editor’s Note, August 27, 2005: I love Canada, Canadians, and Canadian beer. I’ve spent both of my vacations this year in Canada. I only rag on Canada because my friend Kelly and several other friends are Canadian, and I have to harass them about something, so why not their nationality? I learned it from South Park, so don’t blame it on me, blame it on TV. Don’t you see, I’m a victim of these brainwashing entertainment devices!]

Don’t read this, it’s stoopid

Monday, August 15th, 2005

On Mar 5, 2002, at 11:04 PM, Keaka Jackson wrote:

Hey Kids,

A few days ago I stopped locking my bike in the hopes that somebody would steal the piece of crap so that I would have an excuse to buy a new one (a new bike, not a new piece of crap). So far, my mission to get robbed has failed. Today I even rode around with a big sign on my bike that said “STEAL ME!” Unfortunately, somebody stole the sign and left the bike.

Anyway, I’m taking bets on how long it will take for somebody to actually steal my bike. The person who comes closest to guessing the date of theft will win the following:


  1. A plate of home-baked, stale cookies that we found under Mikey’s dirty underwear while we were “cleaning” our room yesterday. I had one of the cookies last month, and it was pretty good.
  2. A coupon redeemable for one of Mikey’s famous oral foot massages.
  3. One (1) Altoid (It’s curiously strong, just like Mikey).
  4. The opportunity to fold my laundry. If you guess the exact date, you will also win the opportunity to wash my bed sheets. This is not an automatic prize, because I washed them last year so it’s not really necessary yet.
  5. Three (3) days with no emails from Keaka and Mikey.***


  1. Tranconians, or friends and family of any Tranconians, are not allowed to steal my bike.
  2. If Mikey wins, the above prizes will be replaced with slaps.

***Offer void in Hawaii, California, and Mars.

Keaka and Mikey

[Note: Read part 2 next, or else the suspense will keep you awake all night.]