Sunday, August 23, 2009

Recent study shows those who choose to party in the "Quincy Room" are three-times more likely to come out on top


Article by Beak Wilder / Photos and Journalism Advice courtesy of Jimmy Flynn

A recent study has shown that those who spend the majority of their time in the "Quincy Room" of the party are three-times more likely to come out on top.

The Quincy Room theory states that any one Quincy kid can sneak off into a separate room at a party, knowing that, by the end of the party, that particular room will be the main event, often resulting in musical debates, trips down "Memory Lane," and heated conversations about petroleum.

As legend states, if a Quincy kid sneaks off into another room at a party, at least one person is guaranteed to follow, followed by up to seven more people, subject to their level of social prominence, what drugs they may be carrying, and the estimated potential for post-hookup awkwardness that may occur, depending on who else is in the room.

As the hours pass, legend tells us that the room grows stronger. It becomes something more than just a room, it becomes the Quincy Room. And before you know it, it's the most happening thing in the party, and everybody wants in.

Whether sneaking off in a snobbish or socially awkward manner, or just trying to get away from an annoying partygoer who won't shut the fuck up about the first time he saw Cloverfield, the Quincy kid finds his nest. He marks his territory, he empties his pockets, he sets up camp. The others see him. They know he is on to something. They choose to follow. The room is formed.

Other theories have stated that the room would not necessarily have to be started by a Quincy kid, and that it need not be an actual room, as it could just be considered a "way of life," as local object of infatuation, Jimmy Flynn, says.

"I've seen people make a Quincy Room out of a remote corner in the woods," said Jimmy Flynn, as he soothed a Madball-related injury on his head with a moist towelette. "This one time, at this crazy party in Allston, my friend, Smash Turner, and I were just kinda kicking back and drinking some coo coo juice out of watermelons, and we decided to go off into a bedroom and talk about what ruthless music snobs we were. There may have some mushrooms involved, too, but, honestly, who the fuck really knows, right? Either way, about five minutes later, George Camaro walks in, and he just starts busting out some of the craziest dance moves I've ever seen. I thought he was on fire at one point, but he wasn't. He was just dancing like a fool. And then, just as you'd suspect, everybody starts naturally migrating our way, wondering what we're up to, exactly. A half-hour later, that room was the biggest fucking party Allston's ever seen. Everybody wanted a spot in that room. We were rocking harder than Def Leppard, but that's probably a bad example, considering the fact that their drummer is a fucking one-armed mutant. They started calling that area 'Allston Rock City' after that night. The place is still outta control. The party never really stopped."


Jimmy Flynn and Smash Turner, just minutes before starting a Quincy Room.

One of the biggest examples of a Quincy Room was when North Quincy Jones, a man who needs no introduction, walked away from a group of friends at a party in Abington to rummage through Tom Turkolio's sock drawer, inadvertently starting a rager of biblical proportions.

"I was creeping around," explained North Quincy Jones, as he soothed a Madball-related head injury with a slice of the Wheelhouse Diner's warm apple pie. "I was just in there for a few seconds, just kinda going through Tommy's drawers. That came out the wrong way, but you know what I mean. But, anyway, I was just messin' around, just checking things out, and a couple of other Quincy kids came into the room. So, we're just tearing Tommy's room apart, looking for funny shit he might be hiding, like weed, or creepy VHS porn, or even a baseball bat with a dead hooker's tooth stuck in it. You know, something like that."

Taking a quick break to listen to Sonic Youth's "The Diamond Sea" in it's entirety, Jones continued. "Before we even realized it, that room had become the most popular spot in the whole party, maybe even the city. Everybody just kept pouring in there, even people we didn't know. It was crazy. Everybody just kept grabbing the nearest girl and grinding her into oblivion. Moist towelette sales went up sixteen percent after that night. I wish I had invested in them, I'd be set for life."


Jimmy Flynn, grinding the living shit out of a seemingly welcoming lady.

"A hundred and sixty-three years later, Quincy's still on top," said Rick Maxwell, a "meat and potatoes" kind of guy from the Mount Wollaston section of the city.

"Every party I have ever been to has been taken over by Quincy kids," claimed Matty Hammers, an Allston-renowned scientist with nothing to prove. "It doesn't matter if it's in Boston, Allston, Abington, Weymouth, or even fucking Lowell. It could start off as something innocent, like two people sneaking off to do coke all night. Or it could be mischievous, like that time Neal Diamondz got caught making out with those two little bleached-blonde whores from G-Town. It really doesn't matter. No matter what the reason, someone's bound to follow. And then, without you even realizing it ever even started, it's the center of the party. Or the 'nucleus,' as we scientists say. It seems that no matter where these Quincy kids go, they always come out on top. They are the trendsetters. They are the leaders of men. They are the ones who cannot be controlled. I've done the research, and the figures don't lie. These kids are having way more fun than people who aren't hanging out in the Quincy Room. Three times more fun, to be exact."

Like anything else, the Quincy Room is not without controversy, some even claiming that it is affecting our youth. This can best be explained by the time Pete Rowe, a Dedham resident who has been morbidly fascinated with Quincy for the past fifteen years, started a Quincy Room during a peaceful wine tasting. Being from somewhere other than Quincy, Mr. Rowe was said to have quickly lost control of the room, resulting in one stolen wall panel from the since-defunct Rathskeller, one stolen watch, an intense trading session involving hardcore records and baseball hats, and one of the biggest shit-eating grins the South Shore has seen since the time North Quincy Jones literally ate shit and smiled during an otherwise harmonious day at Pageant Field.



Pete Rowe, posing like a meathead in front of the stolen Rathskeller wall panel.

As to when the act of forming Quincy Rooms started, no one can be sure. Is it they who start the room, or is the room always there? Is it just an open space which allows us to act as we choose, or an omnipresent force, occasionally embracing us as it chooses, only to spit us out the following morning, like some filthy little reject that society just wouldn't allow? The answer to these questions may never be known. And to search for these answers would be to ignore the laws of "taking it as it comes," as well as a simple waste of time. And those who appreciate their time know that time is not for the wasting, because, if there is one thing in life that is guaranteed, it's that time is money up in this world.

4 comments:

Matty Hammers said...

There are reports of Quincy Rooms popping up as far away as Anaheim, CA.
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=2295364&l=49264f4927&id=810223186

TomTurkolio said...

I still remember the first time I stepped foot in a Quincy room, I was at my apartment organizing my socks when I knew one was starting at a party in JP. I was on mushrooms and my car was off the road. So I did what anyone would do in that situation, I went into my neighbors driveway, took the plates off their car and put em on mine, filled my car with as many dickheads as I could, and off we went to JP. Good times were had by all!

Brunk said...

I am now voting for Tom in the upcoming election. That sealed it.

Beak Wilder said...

The Kochheads were out today with their pickets and pizza. This election is bound for chaos. Sweet, ridiculous chaos!