Lord of the Fail

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So in typical Queen’s tradition, Waldron Tower, nicknamed “the shittiest rez on campus”, attempted to do Isengard. For the plebs who don’t know, Isengard involves constructing a ‘wizard staff’ or ‘beer tower’ that extends from the ground floor up to the top of the 12 floors. The bar, Isengard was started by 2015’s and has escalated steadily since then. 2015’s completed one full tower, 2016’s completed 2 towers, 2017’s Waldron completed 2.5 towers before being caught. This year, though, upper years were left wondering if 2018 really is a year. After completing a shitty 6 floor tower, dozens of dons burst into the stairway and ended the reign of the tower. This is the story of the lord of the fail:

 

In a quaint little town, filled with quaint little frosh. There was a year so adorable though ungodly un-sloshed.

Their mickeys in hand, their mouths filled and sticky, the frosh were confused, lost but real prickly.

When in there he did come, a beacon of pride, a Sci 17, really drunk but alive.

He told them a story, he started their quest, to build a new tower, to prove they’re the best.

And so the frosh did, begin their long trek, to build a new staff, compensating for Frecs.

They ran to the beer store, like cute little kids, and then they did realize, they weren’t fucking of age… Idiots..

But then they did think, and did what frosh do: they paid a good upper year, to beer them; it’s true.

They gathered in Waldron, and made a shit plan, to do it on Saturday, though it’s sure to get banned.

For Saturday is, as everyone knows, a real busy night, for the dons we call hoes.

So deep in the night, and deep through some beers, the frosh did assemble, in excellent cheer.

They started to duct tape, and yelled like real bitches, the dons heard a clamour and went into conniptions.

The dons brought the hammer, and security too, to fuck up the froshies, and fill their pants with poo.

The dons were like bloodhounds, all the staffs were put down, including a frosh with a mission to town.

This frosh was a savior, or so he did think, when he walked back to Waldron, right after his drinks.

His staff was in hand, he walked into Waldron, but one don was watching as she stirred her big cauldron.

She watched out the window, and saw our lone hero, she started her mission, to bring him to zero.

For this was the one don, the don of them all, to bring them before council, to crush them with a call.

As the frosh went to the elevator, to go to his floor, the don hit the up button, waiting in store.

The frosh he was shocked, when the door it did open, one floor too early, he gripped his beer token.

The don she did scowl, the thunder it cracked, the Nazgul was awakened, and looking to snack.

The frosh like a wanderer, a man of his year, held his staff high, to offer a cheers.

The don she did shriek, and yelled and was angry.

The frosh, feeling proud, big and real classy, looked at the don and spoke really sassy. “You would not part an old man from his walking stick?” and with that he hit button, close door did the frosh, or so he tried, while drunkenly sloshed.

“Thou shall not pass”, said the adorable frosh, but the don hit door open, and all was lost.

So take warning by me, a wise upper year, don’t do stupid things, when drinking your beer.

Just stay calm and quiet, and make a small staff, a beer for a rhyme, you’ll make your Isengard, one night at a time.

 

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