One may ask what all three of these items have in common.
At Hofstra, these are three things seen and/or heard on the Hempstead Turnpike
bar crawl that should not be. Why do we constantly go to these bars that are
named after Mexican mothers trying to serve their children a late snack,
reptiles that are having trouble finding equilibrium, and an Irishman with
gonorrhea? To get laid, of course! Why would anyone? Classes are tough,
teachers are boring, and ten term papers in a month is a pain. We go to these
bars to feel older ““more mature maybe-, get drunk, and find ourselves in
someone’s personal V.I.P. room later that night. At Hofstra’s prestigious night
clubs, a girl placing your hand on her crotch always says the same three words:
“Go for it!” without the girl ever having to open her mouth ““at least until
later- which is good because that techno remix of Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep”
would not let you get a word in edgewise anyhow.
Unfortunately, this longtime and long beloved facet of Hofstra culture
is being ruined by three elements that plague the streets. No! I am not talking
about guidos. If you do not want guidos in your clubs, then I suggest you
transfer to some hick school in Central Tennessee and change your major to
Basket Weaving while you’re at it, because I don’t want to see you around here.
Long Island and Jersey is where the guidos be, dumbass. However that is an
awfully close guess. On my way back from the Irishman’s favorite nighspot,
McBigTits, a fight broke out in front of the neighboring bar. Not only did two
guidos bust out with their shirts off flexing their estrogen-filled pecs, but
they had to have all the king’s horses and all the king’s men of friends and
bouncers try to put peace back together again. Unfortunately, just like Humpty
Dumpty”¦that’s pretty damn hard. One shirtless man asked of his friend ““presumably
after being punched- how he looked the friend responded. “Don’t worry about,
baby. You look beautiful.” I’m not one for homophobia, but the girl who was
ready have sex with Mr. Tough Guy just walked away. Don’t be angry, steroid
men. Be merry, drink for tomorrow you’ll be making out with the toilet. If you
know you’re an angry drunk then don’t drink. If you need to be drunk to have a
good time, then you don’t know HOW to have a good time. That’s like saying you
need to use steroids to get jacked, because you don’t know HOW to”¦Oh yeah. My
bad. Your arms are looking tone though. Too bad your penis is too small to have
sex with anyone now anyway.
Back in the
clubs, I don’t need to see the party girls grouped together who always have the
fat one that acts as the “mom” of the group who is the same bitch when you’re
about to get it in with her friend grabs her arm and says, “It’s time to go! We
promised we’d all leave together.” Listen, I didn’t make you fat as much as I
didn’t get your friend drunk and Horny (mostly), but we have to agree that you
are being the Debbie Downer. Promising to leave together is like when teenagers
lose their virginity the summer before college promising it won’t change
anything. We know it’s a lie, and we make a promise because we didn’t want to
hurt your feelings back when we pre-gaming; but as you can see, someone found a
pogo-stick to play with tonight and I suggest you do the same.
What’s worse
than scoring the goal and the referee telling you there won’t be a trophy
awarded at the end of the night is the not-so-single girls that appear looking
for a “good time” which to me translates as, “I want to get as drunk, and act
as slutty as humanly possible by drinking into a stupor, grinding against five
guys, and not so much as look at any of them, because I have a boyfriend
helping the poor children of the Sudan or studying whale behavior and migration
in Nova Scotia that I love and cherish and would never break that trust.” Are you
kidding!? Don’t wear such a shirt that’s cut so low and a skirt that’s cut so
high then. And would these ladies be kind enough to NOT put the poor sap’s
hands on their crotch if the roller coaster is closed? These are the same women
who offer Pepsi waiting on me in a restaurant when I ordered a Coke. You know
what I want, now give it to me!
The clubs are
not meant for those in a relationship. They are not even meant for those that are
not into that. The clubs are an African savannah where all the endangered
species have been replaced with gorgeous sluts and jerks. We have the choice of
acting as the hunter or the hunted, but we should never choose to be watching
from the jeep through a set of sober binoculars.
