After spending weeks building the courage necessary to participate in the Oakland social scene, freshman, Larry Hippley, from Sutherland East decided to go to a party on Atwood with nineteen of his floormates this past weekend.
“Yeah, of course I’d been invited to parties; I just didn’t want to overdo it too early in the semester,” Larry said, attempting to save face in a major news publication.
Larry admitted that he was nervous for his first party, but said he was happy to have so many of his new best friends with him for morale support. “Some of the other guys who live on my floor are more into going out on the weekend than I am, they’re the ones who told me about the party. I told them I’d go out if I could finish my Seminar and Comp essay before they left. Well… I did, and here we are…”
I met Larry while off duty, but a great reporter is never off duty. I was taking a casual midnight stroll down Atwood when I saw our boy forcibly ejected from a clearly raging party with a ton of cool dudes and plenty of pretty ladies standing on the porch.
The party patrons cheered and laughed as Larry was tossed onto the front lawn by what looked like a caucasian version of the Incredible Hulk. Larry shouted, “Hey man, my friends are in there!” His pleas were met with more riotous laughter.
After the scene I met up with house-dweller Joe Joebinson a Pitt sophomore and Lou Ferrigno impersonator who stated, “The frosh went down stairs to our basement to grab a Natty. First off, he was acting all twitchy because we were charging a buck a Natty, which is standard. And second off, he was also acting twitchy when we charged him the door fee, which is also standard. So we were ready to drop the chump before he even started causing problems.”
I asked Joe what Larry did besides be a total effing square to result in his eviction from the festivities. “Well he comes up to me all naive and whatever and tries to give back the Natty he just bought. He said he didn’t like the taste or whatever and he wanted his money back. I didn’t want to have to deal with it, so I just used my muscles to solve my problems like I always do,” said Joe giving off the vibe that I would not like him if he were angry.
When questioned, Joe’s girlfriend, who asked to keep her name off the record, responded, “I don’t give out my phone number normally. Please leave me alone.”
My journalistic instincts kicking in, I caught up to Larry as he walked up Atwood. “It tasted like pungent horse urine, and they were charging me for it on top of the door price. It’s just bad business if you ask me,” Larry shouted in the street, clearly on the verge of tears.
Sensing Larry’s frustration, I invited him back to my apartment in South Oakland to split a case of Mike’s Hard Lemonade. Two bottles in, Larry slurred, “I love Michael’s lemons, but I hate Louis Furrygeeno…