Additional Friday Classes: The Era of the Power-Ragers

"Chug, Chug, Power Ragers!"

Let me ask you a question; did you go out last night? I’m sorry, that was the dumbest fucking question ever asked. OF COURSE you went out last night. I’m pretttttty sure even the Asian bio-chem-engineering-fucking-math-whatever majors went out last night. So why, why, why does the administration think that adding more Friday classes will ever change that?

I can see the real world logic behind their scheme but this is Miami University; this is not the real fucking world. When has having class ever stopped us from drinking? Have they ever seen uptown on a Tuesday night? I mean it’s a goddamn Tuesday and a solid majority of the student population gets ratchet. We’re the college that shows up to exams on green beer day drunk beyond reason and they think a seventy-five minute lecture will stop us from indulging? It’s actually kind of cute how they think that they can make a difference in student drinking.

Miami is a very proud university. We take our reputation seriously when it comes to both academics and partying. So if you make us work harder, we’ll absolutely play harder, too. I guaran-fucking-tee that next year students will rage just as hard, if not harder, just to fuck with the administration.

Freshman will be indoctrinated into a culture of caring EVEN LESS about Friday classes. So maybe students should thank the administration for engineering their college life so that they can handle the early morning hung-over march to class. They’ll be conditioned to become Power-Ragers, able to endure even the most boring Miami plan lecture after a night of jager bombs and whiskey.

I guess after all of our bitching and doubting, a thank you really is in order. So, thank you, Miami University, for pushing us to be the best partiers that we can be. 

Cheers,

-DVB 

It's Christmas Fuckin' Eve

Twas the night before Green Beer Day and all through the house, 

not a frat star was stirring, not one could you rouse. 

The kegs were on ice, they were tapped with such care, 

in hopes that tomorrow they would soon be drunk bare. 

The students were nestled all snug in their beds, 

while visions of green beer danced in their heads. 

The slampiece in her leggings and I in my cap, 

had just settled down for a short springtime nap. 

When down in the basement there arose such a clatter, 

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. 

Away to the stairs, I flew like a flash, 

tore open the door, and down them I dashed. 

The just rising sun on the newly tapped keg, 

gave the luster of mid-day, paired with a green egg. 

When what to my wondering eye did appear, 

but a mini ice luge with green shots for my peers.

Drunk Freshmen, drunk Sophomores, 

drunk Juniors, drunk Seniors! 

Drunk Buckeyes, drunk Bearcats, 

drunk Hoosiers and Hawks! 

To the top of the porch, from the window, to the wall! 

Now drink away, drink away, drink away all! 

Cheers,

-The Big Lebroski 


EDIT: An (unfortunately) anonymous commenter left their own poem which is actually hysterical. Fucking read it. 

'Twas the Night Before Green Beer Day
By Two Former Miamians on the occasion of GBD '07 

'Twas the night before Green Beer Day, when all through the school
Not a student was studying, not even the tools.
The Coozies were placed by the fridge with care
In hopes that the morning soon would be there.

The students were nestled all snug in their beds,
While thoughts of morning drunkenness danced in their heads.
And everyone set their alarms to 5:30,
For their academic records tomorrow they'd dirty.

When out on their desks there arose such a ring:
They snoozed their alarms to see what morning would bring.
Away to the kitchens they flew with a flash;
Tore open the doors and gathered their cash.

The sun starts to rise over few driving cars
As all in Oxford head out to the bars.
When what to our wandering eyes should appear
But kegs upon kegs of green, flowing beer

Our eyes lit up bright as our lips we all lick;
By the end of the day, we all will be sick.
More rapid his than eagles, from taps out it came;
The students whistled, shouted and called out by name:

"Bud Heavy, Mich Ultra and some Natty light!
Start me a tab and pour me a pint!
To the top of the cup and then down to the end
Finish your first, then fill up again!"

Then, it's 9:30, and we're drunk off our ass;
We're met with an obstacle: our morning's first class.
Threatened with things like zeros, fails or drops
On our way down the slant walk, we're alert for the cops.

And then, in the twinkling, we enter the room
Knowing full well of our impending doom.
As we take our seats, we are thoroughly messed
And try our hardest not to puke on our test.

When on question 10, our answers in doubt,
To the left what sees we? A classmate passed out.
After 50 minutes' torture, still we're not sober
On the way out the door, two others fall over.

We look at the bus stop but the sign is a blur;
To the house for a nap we must go for the cure.
We wake up at 3 again twinkling and merry
And go back to the bars for a shot of Extreme Cherry (suck it, Bratz)

Our droll little mouths were drawn up like bows
We look to our right and see three bangin' hoes.
Decked out in green shirts, right jolly young sluts
In two hours time, we'll put it in their butts!

But then we remember that we're too drunk to talk;
We get another round and continue to gawk.
And using the grease off the side of our nose,
We put fingers in beer and down the foam goes.

After several shots, where tequila's the killa'
We realize that we are all totally drunkzilla
We spring to our feet, to our friends give a whistle
And away we all fly like the down of a thistle.

But as we leave the bar, we've one statement to make:
"Happy Green Beer Day to all, have a nice Spring Break!"

Chillabus Week

          Chillabus Week is coming to close. The week when we all spend 168 hours intoxicated. The week when we make the best worst decisions of our lives. The week like no other. However, we no longer have a rock solid excuse for skipping class to drink pitcher after pitcher. Does that mean we'll stop? Oh, fuck no. So there's no need to mourn the end of Chillabus Week. Today is not the end of the greatest week; instead, today is the beginning of the NHL season and the eve of one of the greatest football sundays this year. Today is the second consecutive weekend that we've had spring day drinking weather in January and the first weekend you have the opportunity to hook up with that certain smoke in your new class. So carpe that god damn diem and close out Chillabus Week like the fucking professional that you are. See you uptown. 

Disclaimer: I'm drunkenly writing this instead of taking my regular power nap before the weekly saturday rally. 

Peace & Blessings: Brogina George Says Goodbye

Well folks, it’s about that time. After 6 years of shenanigans and semi intentionally avoiding the professional world I’m taking the plunge and heading into the real world. As of December I’ll be a real person, or as real a person as possible. I’d like to thank our alcoholic followers and the rest of the Brohio staff for all of the facebook/groupme/twitter entertainment. Thank you to Brick Street for keeping my glass full and the starry knights extra starry. Thank you to Bagel and Deli for late night feeding my face. Thank you Krishna for Krishna Sundays and Diarrhea Mondays. Thank you to that random sushi place that’s open at like 3 am when I’m too stoned to make food at home. Thank you townies for reminding me of how pretty I am on a regular basis. It’s been real, it’s been, fun, but it hasn’t been real fun. Stay strapped and never forget Brogina George.

Peace and Blessings.

-Brogina George