Halloweekend, close second for the title of “drunkest five days on campus” right after that one week in January where everyone is breaking up with everyone, is coming to a close. But while everyone else is settling back down to their normal zero-sum state, I’m just getting started, baby!
I’ve emerged stronger than ever, after 3 weeks with the wettest cough known to man, 2 of which were spent in the cold, wet WWI style no-man’s land trenches fighting off tiny little widgets that cross my screen at inconvenient times. My ass is fatter, my mind is bigger, and crucially, I’m ready to rock and roll baby. Yes, the jungle juice is limited, but it’s that same glorious 4 gallon potion in an ice-cold beat-up Gatorade dispenser split 3 ways (me, myself, and I). You plebians clearly didn’t take economics seriously: buy low, sell high, all that jazz. When they go low, I go lower. The rats of New York have scampered back, bellies full of that sweet sweet street za: that’s when it’s ideal to go in. There is no competition: this campus is my playground and I am atop the monkey bars.
See, the difference between you and me: Halloween, for you, is just a silly, goofy, holiday one-off. But to me? Oh no. It’s a fucking lifestyle bro. That’s why this year, I pledged to never be the same person twice in a row. My psychiatrist calls it multiple-personality disorder, but he clearly doesn’t know shit about my grade A cosplaying. That’s the reason I have six separate passports under my delofted-to-the-lowest-setting ‘Twin XL’ bed. Commitment is not the issue here.
Come meet me at the corner of Alvadarro and Serra Street: I’m dressed to the nines (no shoes, no pants, no bra, naked as the day). See if you can out-Halloween the champ.
