On the Killing of Brain Cells

I don’t really understand the appeal of college parties. I found myself at one last night/this morning. It was what I expected: crowded, perspirant, and loud. Drunk for the first time in their lives, they waddle, stagger and shout. The standard male greeting, “Whatdup”, elicited responses ranging from “Shit… […] …my fucking face is tingly as fuck, man,” to “wobbly.”

Standard small talk like “What are you majoring in?” yielded a similar, disappointing panoply of answers. A girl with whom I was talking (shouting) simply stared at me as if to say, “What kind of bullshit question is that?” I stared back, slightly bovine and totally nonplussed. I was floundering, and asked her what she did over the summer. She didn’t respond as she was busy kissing a young gentleman who just seconds ago passively admired and semi-groped her breasts. “I Love College” played in the background. Writhing. One to one becoming one.


“2014, REP-resent dat shit!”


“I love it! It’s just like high school! Except better. Like, umm…. How do I say it? Like, the same social groups… It’s neat.”

“Eunomia. It’s Greek for ‘in good order’.”

“Fuck. Why’re you doing this? GREEK?”

“Yeah, man.”

“Don’t be such a fuckin’ smug ‘That Kid’. You’re not impressing anyone.”

And neither you me.


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