Definition: (noun) The feeling of elation one feels when their favorite band is playing at their favorite outdoor bar in their favorite neighborhood.

Usage: When the Wrigleyville Cubs-Fan-Meathead read this article, the Carcaputtis-Olympus caused him to drop his Rolling Rock.

If you’re unfamiliar, one of Schadenfreude’s most beloved (by us) characters is our Frat Boy, Lincoln Park Meathead, Todd Voorhies. He works in sales, loves the Cubs, Rolling Rock, playing Bags, Golden Tee, and Dave Matthews Band, and that makes him a very unique individual.

Having made fun of these specific facets of Todd for many many years I had to take a picture of this shirt. While we added all of our favorite Meathead stereotypes to Todd, I never expected them to converge in real life. This is a frat party shirt that takes a Dave Matthews album cover, and adds the word “drinking.” Plus – below it, illegible in this picture are “tour dates” which are all meathead bars in Chicago plus one that says “Bags on The Beach.”

Thank you, real person.

While we’re on the Cubs, here’s my Buck fifty (two cents adjusted for inflation). Okay, so I’m back from Los Angeles for this week’s fantabulous THEATRE ON THE LAKE!!! show (312-742-PLAY)…seriously, I dropped four hundy to come back, the least you can do is throw out $17. Anyway. This may have been hammered to death, but I had to mention it again because I was in town for literally four hours and had my beer spilled on me by an asshole Cubs fan. They ought to post them at the airport gates, “welcome to Chicago – SPLASH – who you lookin’ at, fag?”

I went to a friend’s show at Second City, which, last time I checked is not in the Wrigley Pavilion, but still, somehow, everywhere in this city there’s drunken asshole Cubs fans in every bar. So I’m waiting at the bar to order and for some reason these assholes are acting so erratic that they’re bumping against me at the bar, like, where am I going to go, further into the bar? They’ve cleared a twenty foot circle in the crowd so they can do whatever loud, violent bits they have to do, and everyone’s given them that space. I get bumped into again, so I go around the corner of the bar so they can do whatever they’re doing. Finally I get my beer but then have to walk by the traditional meathead game of “shove the other guy really hard.” and get knocked into, beer all over me. I’ve been in Chicago for four hours. Has this town always been one big BW3′s, or has it gotten worse? 

And yes, I Googled “Jock Toolbag” for the above image. 

I happened to be there not once, but twice this weekend and and Oh My Lord, I do not recommend it. I hadn’t been there on a Friday or Saturday night in a loooong time and it was unbelievable. It’s like being in bizarro version of a Michigan State game day meets Daytona Beach Spring Break meets puking. There was the quintessential drunk girl who fell flat on her face into traffic and lost her shoe. Then there was her drunk friend who fell on top of her trying to help her up. They both had tube top dresses on, and I’m pretty sure I saw a nipple. I navigated 4 puddles of vomit and one guy I was with saw 3 fist fights on his walk along Clark street between Newport & Addison. Suggestion for Mayor Daley: Put a big invisible fence around the area on the weekends keeping everyone contained. If they try to wander north outside of the Addison to Newport or Seminary to Sheffield parameters, their belly button rings give them a nice little shock.