Nexus File Photo

Dear Mother,

The air is stale and morale is low. I regret how long it’s been since I last wrote you; I am perplexed and disheartened. I can feel the encroaching forces moving against me, against us all… We have no hope this Halloween. The fences are high, higher than any of our friends are getting because there is no overnight parking in lots 18-22 and we’re supposed to “keep it local.” This morning I saw a squadron of bike cops pull over Indiana Jones on a Bird and they asked to see his Student I.D…. Poor bastard didn’t realize the thing was out of battery when he tried to run. I can sleep for once because all we can do is party up until 6 p.m.,  but is this what I want? No. I want to be shit-faced, dressed as sexy Forrest Gump and telling people why “life is like a box of chocolates” until 3 a.m., at which point I will promptly pull trig and smile because I realize this is where I belong. The stores suffer too; who will eat their food if we’re all in bed by 11 p.m. and they’re open until 2 a.m.? We cannot go on like this, but I fear it’s too late. There’s a whisper in the wind, it says “you’ve lost.” We’ve let the traffic cones be put out and they tried to trick us with Young Thug. It worked for the sheep but for the rest of us, we are at a loss. We cannot rally, not this year, but in time, we will rebuild. We will find our way back to the 90’s and before, the time when we were the No. 1 party school. They might be able to take our music, our parking spots, our out-of-town friends, but they can never take our spirit animal, the zesty raccoon. He will awaken as will we, and we will be ready to take back the night… as soon as the noise ordinance is lifted. Wish me luck Mother, your boy is about to be a star.


Sexy Forrest Gump, formerly Brock


Brock Clark wants you to know he has been waiting to go as sexy Forrest Gump for an absurd amount of years.