The Pole Climb: A Synopsis of the Greatest, Least Hazingiest Event in Frosh Week

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This past Saturday, the engineering class of 2019 became a year as they climbed the fabled grease pole in 1:58:44, or 1:58:45… or 1:58:46. No one really gives a shit, they got up the thing, and made sure to take long as fucking possible doing so. The day was so glorious, one might think that the hand of God was used to create the atmosphere of the event. We began preparing our bodies both mentally and physically, at 5am the morning of the climb. Knowing the extreme level of exertion required to successfully climb the pole, there was an extreme emphasis on proper hydration. Every man, woman, and child made sure to consume their body weight in nutritious fluids up until 7am. Then began the walk to the buses. The brisk wind stimulated us to full alertness as it blew across our little grease poles underneath a myriad of summer dresses and jean short shorts. We arrived to a sea of upper year camaraderie, complete with joyous chants and colourful outfits. “FROSH BLOW GOATS!” What a nice time that must be, to gently caress the smooth conditioned fur of a loveable goat with your warm moist breath.

We were graced by his excellence, the Pope, which truly shows the worldwide support that is given to Queen’s Engineers. He began his day by blessing the event from Miller Hall where his posse of Cardinals joined him. The heavens above abundantly dropped holy water over the blessed individuals below, bolstering us with the energy and charisma to fully support the young frosh as they attempt their goal. He took time to bless a tree but watering it from his holy spout, after which He presided over a beautiful wedding between two very happy pole-goers. The newlyweds consummated their relationships in the dirty sea of pit water, a very apt metaphor for their relationship. We embarked on a very appropriately timed bus ride to the welcoming location of the pit. The cheers ranged from year songs, to unofficial cheers where we let curious onlookers know who we are. Our bus driver and Stucons were overjoyed to work in the presence of such fine gentlemen, ladies, and a-gender, two-spirit, meta-beings. They joined in the festive dancing and even wrote letters of recommendation for half of the bus. Dean Woodhouse also provided our bus with the “Most Spirited Upper Years” Award. Upon handing this award to us, Dean Woodhouse was iced. She promptly opened the bottle using her eye socket, then chugged it in 0.6 seconds and loudly declared, “That’s why I’m the Dean of Engineering Bitches!” This event was both magical and awe-inspiring. We hopped off the bus to be greeted by a wall of Stucons whose only wish was get their icy hands on our bodies. It seems like there’s an awful lot “optional” friskings going on. For whatever reason, I was flagged as being a “high-risk” occupant and was sent to the port-o-potties for an “optional” strip search.

After ensuring that I wasn’t a danger I was sent on my merry way to where I joined the chorus of respectable looking folk chanting motivational slogans at the incoming frosh. “Frosh are Humans” and “The Square Root of Nine is Positive/Negative Three” were both technically correct but I didn’t see how they were helpful. But somehow the frosh did. They made joyous attempt to mount the pole for a lengthy period of time. However after this sinful act, they needed to be baptised in pit water, to save their souls an error which the Pope, his Cardinals, and one errant monk along with the rest of the upper years happily corrected. Instantly with Uppers, Frosh and Water Team working together in a sober, calm and professional manner, we climbed it. Congrats Frosh
 

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