|
When I woke up the next morning, the woman done left me, my roommate was
lying in a pile of someone else’s vomit, and I had thirty dollars
in fines from various clubs around town. So you know what I say? Fuck
Spring Weekend 2001. Ben Harper eats babies. I went to the concert with
a girl who made me a cute box for my birthday, kissed me goodnight after
grinding with me all night on Wriston, and then told me no way Jose Miguel
Rodriguez Rodriguez, your breath stinks and I can see the sock you stuffed
down your pants, go away and suck Dave Binder’s dick. But I didn’t
and I feel sorry. No really, the truth, no shitting. Spring Weekend is
the biggest load of feces. But it’s so passé to say so. Instead
of watching The Roots make fun of us to our faces last year, what could
I have done? The woman of my dreams from freshman year, strangely interested
in hanging out with me all of a sudden. Or I could have not introduced
my friend to Natalie Chicha, who went on to call him a fat fuck. Or I
could have driven to Arizona and sat in my mom’s minivan and cried
tearz. There are so many possibilities. So I encourage you, all of you,
to take Spring Weekend into your own cum-stained hands. Seriously, though,
don’t go to the concerts. Host parties in your rooms. Watch bad
plays. Go to the Avon and set off stink bombs. There is so much possibility
in this clouded “spring.” These are the days of our youth
and we will not spend them “grooving.” Build bongs out of
toilet seats and smoke keyboard hash. I’m so sick of this school.
I want its spring to never end. God bless America.
—DS
Spring weekend is
a great invention. At its very least, it gives us an excuse to drink during
the day and take hard drugs without feeling guilty. Sometimes, the spring
weekend bands are even bands that people like. I love spring weekend.
I love getting blackout drunk with kids from Tech House. I love hung-over
girls sunbathing on the green. I love the concerts on Wriston, I love
the moon bounce, I love Spagfest. But the one thing that I hate, that
twists my guts, that invariably ruins my Spring Weekend, is that fucker
Dave Binder. Having lived on Wriston for 2 years, I can safely say that
there is absolutely nothing worse in the world, ever, than having to listen
to that miserable piece of shit sound check ‘the chicken dance’
at 9am Sunday morning. Where did this asshole come from? Whose idea is
it to keep bringing him back? Are Brown kids really so retarded as to
be entertained by this Jimmy-Buffett-looking, drum-machine using, dick
riding clown?
—SS
|
