There, I said it. I stand on my patio waiting for the swarms of dangerously Caucasian minors — I can see them bumble around in confusion and with a grossly high amount of self-confidence — just so I, a seasoned fourth-year, can feel cool.
“Hey guys, I might have found an addy!” one yells to their pack as they desperately refresh YikYak to figure out the move, “They said it’s a band show so we might need tickets?”
Those fucking idiots. God, I am so cool. I can literally go to the store and show them my government identification and buy alcohol and drink it in my home. Them? De La Guerra realness.
I mean, the reality is I would probably commit a crime to be in their place. It’s time to be real — to be able to see UCSB with fresh, nonjaded eyes and an excitement for the future? Unmatched. The excitement to consume a room-temperature Four Loko with people that I met on a random Snapchat group chat? Unmatched. These kids haven’t taken Greek Myth before. They have not been handed a jug of borg. One day, they will find out that there has been porn filmed on Sands Beach, but today is not that day. Or maybe it is for the freshmen reading this as you walk directly down the bike path to get a “feel for the campus.”
Schmalison Warts is a withered, old crone with a fatty. Seriously, you can check for yourself.