As the year has come to close, it’s pertinent that we bid a proper farewell to EC and the memories; cheers to the nostalgia! (NOTE: This must be done with either a drink or joint in hand- preferably both)
Cheers to Wild Weekends, Wasted Wednesdays, Thunder Thursdays, Fucked-Up Fridays and the other nights of the week that we have all celebrated but won’t tell respectable people about.
To the hundreds of ounces smoked out of nearly every window of the building, to the hot boxing of our rooms and to the RA’s who have both recognized that Mary Jane is pretty tight friends with a fair number of us and those that still don’t know what it smells like.
To five hours of uninterrupted Shisha in the common room and a year’s worth of spontaneous sessions around campus.
Cheers to the only bunny in living memory to have more friends in EC than men donning fishnet. (Who’d have thunk?)
To the exotic Raphael, who successfully snuck into, and stayed in, the building to wish a rather bouncy Happy Birthday from his waxed and muscular bottom to the tip of his naked self.
Cheers to the numerous and creatively broken doors; from backwards handles to general jams, from flyaway punches to the battery of permanent markers that have made exiting and entering our home all that much more adventurous.
To the four-hundred-thirty-seven invented facts submitted by the four, five or six EC students stupid enough to register for Rosa Harris-Adler’s class.
Cheers to our honorary building mates, who have successfully confused the fuck out of a sizable percentage of those of us who actually live there.
To Dormcest and the inability of the campus male-female ratio to inhibit driving teenage hormones; what would the year have been like without knowing you shouldn’t shower in the right-hand stall or lay on the second floor common room’s carpet?
To the poor purple birthday cake that ended up ground into the carpet, but eaten despite the fact.
Cheers to burning toast and the subsequent four fire alarms that served to keep us on our toes; aside, of course, from those who were still too saturated from the night before to get out of bed.
To the hygienic capabilities of a concentration of university students that not only failed to keep us smelling sweet, but concluded in the circulation of coughs, snivels, mono and (last, but most definitely not least) lice.
To dancing on washing machines and raving with the driers.
Cheers to the constant nudity, parties lacking pants and, of course, Tit-Shock-Therapy on the third floor.
Take ‘er EC for the summer!
Cheers to Wild Weekends, Wasted Wednesdays, Thunder Thursdays, Fucked-Up Fridays and the other nights of the week that we have all celebrated but won’t tell respectable people about.
To the hundreds of ounces smoked out of nearly every window of the building, to the hot boxing of our rooms and to the RA’s who have both recognized that Mary Jane is pretty tight friends with a fair number of us and those that still don’t know what it smells like.
To five hours of uninterrupted Shisha in the common room and a year’s worth of spontaneous sessions around campus.
Cheers to the only bunny in living memory to have more friends in EC than men donning fishnet. (Who’d have thunk?)
To the exotic Raphael, who successfully snuck into, and stayed in, the building to wish a rather bouncy Happy Birthday from his waxed and muscular bottom to the tip of his naked self.
Cheers to the numerous and creatively broken doors; from backwards handles to general jams, from flyaway punches to the battery of permanent markers that have made exiting and entering our home all that much more adventurous.
To the four-hundred-thirty-seven invented facts submitted by the four, five or six EC students stupid enough to register for Rosa Harris-Adler’s class.
Cheers to our honorary building mates, who have successfully confused the fuck out of a sizable percentage of those of us who actually live there.
To Dormcest and the inability of the campus male-female ratio to inhibit driving teenage hormones; what would the year have been like without knowing you shouldn’t shower in the right-hand stall or lay on the second floor common room’s carpet?
To the poor purple birthday cake that ended up ground into the carpet, but eaten despite the fact.
Cheers to burning toast and the subsequent four fire alarms that served to keep us on our toes; aside, of course, from those who were still too saturated from the night before to get out of bed.
To the hygienic capabilities of a concentration of university students that not only failed to keep us smelling sweet, but concluded in the circulation of coughs, snivels, mono and (last, but most definitely not least) lice.
To dancing on washing machines and raving with the driers.
Cheers to the constant nudity, parties lacking pants and, of course, Tit-Shock-Therapy on the third floor.
Take ‘er EC for the summer!
No comments:
Post a Comment