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The Boston Tea Party Was Soooo Fucked Up... Can I Come In Now Zetes?


Ok, I’ll be honest. I really couldn’t care less about the Boston Tea Party and I don’t think anyone smarter than a bag of rocks does either. However, I will also admit that I will hop on any chance to get into a Zetes party like a rat charges for a stale Cheeto on the 37th street trolley. Does that make me a bandwagon? A fanatic for international life and good fashion? A Zetes groupie?? I DO NOT GIVE A FUCK!

Let me put it simply for all you uncultured Amero-centric frat hoppers who would be completely satisfied with a 10-hour Mo Bamba loop at any Atypical Parties Ending Shittily with a cup of crown reuse in one hand and a flair vape in the other. 

Europeans. Throw. Better. Parties. 

I’m not saying that more American frats don’t have the capability of throwing fun parties and I’m certainly not saying that they aren’t ever fun. However, to be a little more blunt, if I’m not curling my toes and clenching my cheeks in an attempt to keep my balance or high enough to dissociate for 45 minutes to 2 hours, I will be Irish goodbye-ing. 

So, for a future warning to all on Locust, don’t be alarmed when you see me strutting along with my masseters fully flexed and especially skinny jeans on legs. It's all theatrics and, indubitably, a persistent plea for help. Woe is me! I’m fun, like to party, will do whatever little techo-robot-vogue you like and come with only the best EDM (Calvin Harris “Summer”?)! So, please, as I sit here quaking uncontrollably and drooling at the mouth just from the sight of the house outside of Hill, come hither and let me enter.