Three years of re-learning how to binge drink will culminate tomorrow afternoon in the streets of State College. Some may consider it just “two idiotic old men drinking” but for us it is a release from the past three years of classes and a celebration of an accumulated $100,003 debt. It kind of reminds me of the time when I, along with a group of 12, climbed Mount Doom in an attempt to throw the one ring into the fiery pits of Mordor from whence it came. The only difference here is that we are walking in attempt to throw up at least one time, and instead of Sméagol we get Todd Kline. There will no doubt be other competing bar crawls of undergraduate sorority girls and custom t-shirt circles of friends all trying to sleep with the same mediocre girl, but our crawl has the unique ability to sue under the dramshop act if we are served past our limits. Not to worry however, chances are good that the group will blow its load within the first 2 bars and will be in bed before SNICK starts.
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Mustache month has come to an end, and as of midnight tonight I can officially remove the patch of scratchy mess that rests above my upper lip. I really can’t figure out how these things were ever a sex symbol unless having hairs shove in to your nostril every time you use a hard “I” vowel and tasting mustard 36 hours after you had a hamburger is considered a turn-on. Its not to say that the stache didn’t have its perks however. You instantly know your the filthiest man in any room which in turn raises probability you will be offered any one of the following: drugs, cheap sex, pornography, stolen merchandise, 
