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Thursday, May 11, 2006

Here Comes the Fun

Summer is almost here. Skanky and respectable college girls everywhere are bringing out the miniskirts and the famous lime/white/angel pink colored “brat” shorts that each ass cheek hangs so deliciously out of. Guys bringing out their wife beaters, flip-flops, and the dreaded popped collar polo. With all of these classic signs multiplying and appearing more and more often, only one word that means so much comes to mind: summer.
When we were young, it was a long and cramped car ride to the beach, collecting seashells, and sleeping in late. When we started growing up, it was hanging out with friends by the pool and begging your parents to let you take an “innocent” road trip filled with pubescent lust and lots of masturbation. And now, it is everything one could hope for.

Here is a compilation of gathered individual definitions of what we call “summer.”

1. Beer pong tournaments that leave the victors spinning with delight.
2. Awkward hookups that smell of stale beer and that throat burning cheap vodka she carried around like a trophy the night before.
3. The girl in the skirt that “forgot” to wear panties sitting in your lap.
4. Making sure the girl from #3 realizes you are going commando in fishnet shorts.
5. Losing a farmer’s tan to even better crisp, red sunburn that flakes.
6. Losing your keys and finding them in your door.
7. Parties that don’t get busted.
8. Parties that do get busted.
9. Carding (asking for ID) any girls that walk into your fraternity house. Damn lawsuits.
10. Waking up the next morning and realizing you still have two and half months of the bad things you did the night before.

Yes, all of these things are great. But what is it that sets summer apart from winter break? Spring break? The three or four days for Thanksgiving? I believe that the continuous phenomenal weather, coupled with completely randomized sex partners, severe alcohol abuse, starting/continuing a criminal record made just for you, “experimentation” hours being extended, no classes, and the countless MTV shows consistently displaying half naked skanks dancing on the most undeserving bastards ever all serve to better our opinion of the term “summer.”
So crack out the hunch punch and set up the condom bowl. Because whether you like it or not, summer is coming. I will be sunburned. I will not remember being in the sun that long. And I can assure you, you will know when my wrath has been initiated, because I will be the guy being ushered away, only to trip in vomit and get even more angry when you laugh. This is my promise to you, America.
Happy Almost Summer.

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