As I said before; I almost shed a tear. Living in Penn State can, at times, feel like a warzone. Witnessing drunken green-hair-dyed scantily clad women being hit by cars on College Ave. midday on the psuedo-holiday, State Patty's Day, felt like descriptions my grandfather gave of France during World War II. Their blonde-green locks slammed heavily on the hood of a blue-green Nissan, that had been driven carelessly by a man foaming at the mouth with white-green bubbling liquid. These are the things I can tell my grandchildren. My grandfather lost his teeth in World War II— but he gained a knowledge-of-self through the rampant debauchery. Likewise, a Penn State student's worth only amounts to his ability to survive and retain the very essence of his character through the mire.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Dethroned!!!
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