💾 Archived View for gemini.spam.works › mirrors › textfiles › magazines › HOE › hoe-0151.txt captured on 2022-06-12 at 12:20:44.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
$$$$$$
$$$$$$ hogz of entropy #151
$$$P $$ $$ moo, oink, up your butt.
$$P $$ x$$
$$P $$ xP$$ d$$$$$$.
$$. $$xP $$ $$$' >$$
$$$$$. $$P $$ 4$$$. .$$'
$$'`4$$b. $$ $$ 4$$$$$P'
$$b 4$$b. $$$$$$ 4${body}lt; %%
$$$b 4$$$x $$$$$$ 4$$$$$ %%
>> "Fear and Loathing in the Suburban Midwest" <<
by -> MoonBagel
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Frat boys are the bane of my existence, I think. I could be sorely
mistaken. No, that's wrong. I could be mistaken, but I find it hard to
believe that mistaken-ness would be in any way sore. It would probably be
quite healthy if I didn't harbor this inexplicable loathing of frat boys
(frat boys, Ohio, and role-playing games, actually).
Frat boys are bad. They are not good. I don't like their dirty
little baseball caps, nor do I think they are in any way necessary (the caps
and the boys). I don't like how they vomit a lot. When I was at UMass in
Amherst, Mass., I didn't like how a group of frat boys had a giant
inflatable turtle in front of their house. There is irony -- I wouldn't
mind having a giant inflatable turtle of my own. The cause, however, is
perverted royally by having a largely-grassless yard fertilized with vomit
surrounding it. Such a turtle deserves respect and a proper, healthy
environment in which to thrive.
Through years of extensive testing, living in the vincinity of
several large state universities as well as numerous smaller schools, I have
come to discover the one thing I'm sure frat boys are good for. To recreate
the joy I sometimes feel, you must have at your disposal a small group (or
even one other) acquaintance/friend/stranger-who-shares-your-pain, a car of
some variety... and it sure doesn't hinder you to be hyped up on all sorts
of caffeinated substances.
Drive along a busy thoroughfare, or hit a popular weekend (or
weekday, if it tickles your toes) frat-boy nightspot.
Spot a carload of fratboys. FOLLOW THEM. Follow at a safe distance,
but follow 'em -- don't compromise your health and well-being for a carload
of brothers. If you hit upon a ripe group, you'll hear shouts that your
momma admonished you for when you were a pure and virtuous,
uncorrupted-by-frats child. Sometimes you'll get compliments. Other times,
the most you will witness is a neat, intriguing mix of hand gestures which
may be offensive in a foreign land. They may not be. It doesn't matter,
ultimately. It's funny. Well, it's funny if you're caffeinated. If you're
not, I must apparently reside among the upper echelons of lame-osity.
Woo-wee.
If the pickin's are slim in your area, expect me to show up on your
doorstep in a matter of days. Don't despair -- I clean up after myself, I'm
house-broken, and you have another option -- redneck/hicks (also in
abundance in my city) prove to be a fine target, as well. In that case,
follow the same steps -- just find boys in rusted-out pickup trucks.
Snacks are also appreciated. Snacks make friends.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
* (c) HoE publications. HoE #151 -- written by MoonBagel -- 12/12/97 *