Underpants On The Outside

A few days ago, I posted an open call to all of my Berkeley friends.  I wanted a fan to hear their stories of the illegal, tales of the illicit and accounts of debauchery, some of which I witnessed firsthand.  I wasn’t there when they turned the firehose on (indoors), and I missed the Russian-Roulette party (five shots of vodka… one of everclear).  But I left for Reno at one in the morning, cranked up on “dietary supplements”.  I hauled sand for the indoor beach party in the middle of December, and I got a midnight tan from the 1000 W bulbs…that we had…y’know… for no real reason.  And when the women wrestling in suntan oil ran out of suntan oil,  I was there when someone grabbed the olive oil and butter.  (The women left soon after, but that’s beside the point.)

So I know that good stuff happened, but nobody stepped up and told the stories, not even to impress the impressionable teenager who thought I was funny. 

I’d stay away from Cal if I were you, Corey.  The women you hump will be ugly, and your friends will let you down in the end.

(That being said, go Bears v. NC State later today!)

Update: The Bears lost.  DAMN IT!