Overseen on Aberdeen: SPD Edition


    If you were like me, and somehow managed to drag your still drunken ass over to that 8:30 class from hell friday morning, I say congratulations: You are at the pinnacle of your university career; first-years look up to you, your housemates envy you, and your professors think mildly better of you. Breathe in that smell of lasts nights jello shots and suppress that gag reflex, because you are a winner!
    As for why that paper was due the morning after a National Student Holiday, I only have this to say. I speak for all students who have ever had the desire to party and get turnt on a thursday night. I speak for the shitty Shamrock sunglasses that don’t do anything except fall off your face, but fuck you they’re festive. I speak for all of you that consider thursday the first day of the weekend. Syllabus writers, I will find you. I will throw down that half empty tallboy of Guinness on the table and will respectfully ask for an extension. 
    For the rest of the world that overslept, this is for you: This is for everyone that went way too hard on that Kool-Aid Jesus beverage, for everyone that ended up taking a can opener to bed with you, and for you Steve, that proved you are never too drunk to finish that Wow-Size poutine. Out of our love for you loyal party-goers, here is a list of literally everything we saw in and around the UD the morning after.
    This sign: “No Somersby allowed, so fuck off and leave!” 
    These green beads, that are strewn across 3 lawns and end at what can only be described as the remains of one hell of a pankegger. On a completely unrelated note, a delicious stack of pancakes are just sitting there on the table. They won’t last long.
    This fallen party-goer, who is draped over a railing with his green hipster shorts draped around his knees. Considering that his shirt says “Fuck me I’m Irish” I am led to believe two things: 1 – Go back to your Bud Light Lime and apologize for pretending you could hold your shitty beer. 2 – Ironically, congratulations.
    This ID, that apparently belongs to A. Whitegirl, conveniently located beside a student card, a cracked cell phone, and a single black boot. On the plus side, if she finds one she’ll know where the rest are. If you want them back, please go to the nearest Starbucks and say “pumpkin spice latte” three times, and the barista will return them to you.
    This classy green fedora, that isn’t classy at all and totally clashes with that mini skirt you thought you could pull off. Okay it was me, and I rocked that mini skirt. Or at least that was what this guy told me. And he was right.
    These students, that are desperately trying to clean up before anyone outside of Queen’s notices what happens when students and alcohol mix. Let’s get closer. Here we see a group of these fine young people trying to make a difference in the lives of the less fortunate UD inhabitants. But look, a wild douchebag appears, and in his last conscious act of douchebaggery, he collapses on the half-full garbage bags of these student cleaners. A devastation blow.
    This man, passed out on the roof of a house that is potentially his, an irish flag in one hand and a case of Guinness in the other. Well done sir. When the rest of Aberdeen is deserted, and the denizens of the UD are passed out safe in their homes, who will fight the evil of this world? He will, because he is the drunk the UD needs, but not the drunk we deserve. But wait, he stirs. One eye open, now both eyes open. With a guttural roar he collapses back against the roof, always ready to fight for our right to get fucked. Ever watchful, rest easy good Queen’s students, he’s got this.
    This house party, still going strong. Do they know it’s already friday, they probably don’t, but they don’t care because they still have three kegs left to tap. The bass in blaring out through all the windows and those four holes in the wall, but they don’t care. What’s this? A brave switch back to actual Irish music? Do they care, no they do not, because it’s St. Paddy’s day and totally not friday. They have an essay to hand in for class on friday, but do they care? They will when they find out.
    This totem pole (not actually, but the Heineken mini-kegs are an impressive sight). How long this monument to debauchery will stay upright remains to be seen, but for the time being it heralds the collective triumph not just of these few individuals, but of the less than admirable accomplishments of us all. It is a powerful statement of how you can accomplish anything as long as you have the duct tape for it.
    This random sober guy with a guitar, playing Wonderwall for the 11th straight hour. Calm your anger dear friends, because after so many hours of trying to pick up unsuspecting females and pretending he’s cool has finally paid off. Not for him though, but for us. This is a victory for all of us, because his failure proves there is still hope for humanity. No matter how long you play Wonderwall for, they will not come, and yes, the problem really is you.
    These two friends, trying to console a third who has mascara all over her face. She played beer pong with these two guys that were on her floor in first year. One of them was Chad, he always smelled nice and had great hair – he was the perfect guy, and she was totally crushing on him. This was her chance to impress Chad with her wicked rad beer pong skills, but she needed a partner. Along came Blake, another former floor mate who assured her of victory. She believed him, and through tears she told the rest of the story. He was too drunk for the game and air-balled every shot, but would always insist on shooting first. She wanted to seem nice in front of Chad, but it would prove her undoing. She and Blake lost…without sinking a single cup. But she was a trooper and ran that naked mile with class, in front of Chad.
    As I turned back towards the ARC and began my walk back through the aftermath of Aberdeen, this black car with tinted windows drives up out of nowhere. Suddenly the window starts to roll down, revealing a pair of beady black eyes and a sickening grin. From the shadows I can only guess at what his intentions were, but I caught a quick glimpse of the two tiny words he mouthed…

Aberdeen: putting the “not good” in Mark Gerretsen since HOCO 13’