by Jake Hectic Gillies
It is the best of times, it is the worst of times, it is the beginning of O-party, it is the marked end of O-week, it is a time for foolishness, it is time to focus for classes, it is the midnight of childhood, it is the dawn of the adult years. In their multitudes, new and ongoing students congregate in the divine temple of their true god alcohol. The hired-band is yet to begin its sermon of sex, drugs and rock & roll but people are already forming a conga line of spending in front of the bar. The followers relinquish their dollars and cents so they can be inoculated by spirits that inspire dancing, flirting and poor life choices. Outside, the insects teem; preparing their pincers and proboscises for a feast of fornicating flesh.
Mission Command was highly satisfied with Abe’s report of O-week but demanded...