Randy McQuaid, freshman resident of Owen Hall, has eagerly awaited Grand Prix since he was informed that he had been granted the honor of representing his residence hall in Saturday’s race.
“Yeah, it should be pretty cool,” boasts McQuaid with a smug grin. “Like, a lot of my homies are pretty pissed because they wanted to race but they didn’t get the gig. Racing’s not for everyone though, ya know what I mean?”
When pressed for their opinions on the matter, McQuaid’s neighbors reveal how they really feel about his honorary title of Grand Prix Racer for Owen Hall.
“Wait, who?” Asks his one-door-down neighbor, Ryan Mink. “Oh, that kid? Ha! What a douche. He’s been wearing the same Grand Prix shirt all week. I’ve been trying to decide whether to tell him no one gives a shit.”
McQuaid has allegedly been preparing himself for the big race with a week full of celebration.
“Yeah, I’ve invited a couple of ladies to dorm-drink in my room. None of them have taken the bait, but I guess I’d be pretty intimidated too if I was in the presence of a future Formula One driver,” slurs McQuaid as he takes a massive pull from his handle of McCormick’s.
His roommate admits to being less-than-amused by the entire situation.
“The dude didn’t even lift a finger to help build the kart. He’s just been playing NASCAR games on his Xbox and getting hammered drunk all week. I’m pretty sure he only got the gig because he wrote a passionately-worded email bitching to Mitch Daniels about the politics of Grand Prix.”
While McQuaid’s work ethic seems unorthodox, he remains confident that it will help him succeed.
“I’m just tryna get in the zone, ya know? Don’t wanna overthink it. If you try too hard, you’re pretty much doomed to fail. That’s a fact!” McQuaid yells through glassy eyes as he kills his handle of vodka and immediately projectile vomits into the nearest trash can.
At press time McQuaid was passed out on a common room couch in camouflage briefs surrounded by empty Four Loko cans.