It's fall, and there's a smell of death in the air. Some experts blame the rotting Magnolia blossoms. Others more correctly blame the rotting corpse that is Duke fall fashion.
As with spring, summer and winter fashion, what's hip at Duke this fall is redundancy, redundancy, redundancy (redundancy)! The ladies have officially put away their 27 black tank tops in exchange for 27 sweaters with one conveniently-located horizontal stripe ("Lookie, I got boobs!"). Meanwhile, fashionable guys all across campus have dug deep into their closets only to throw up their hands and exclaim, "I don't care what they say! Fleece keeps ya warm, and nothin' says style like a vest! Unless it's a sweater with one horizontal stripe of course!"
Meanwhile, over on East Campus, there is a much deeper fashion faux pas plaguing the freshmen. Before I can fully explain this phenomena, I must provide a brief history lesson... actually, a pretty damn long history lesson.
A little over 2000 years ago, some fisherman off the coast of modern-day India were swept out to sea by some sweeping storm thing. Since they were fishermen, and not particularly good sailors, they figured the moon was always north, and ended up in Australia. Upon arrival in Australia, the men discovered kangaroos, which everybody knows are the only creatures in Australia other than koalas and beer. Intrigued by the kangaroos' bizarre shape, the fishermen brought a few on board to keep as pets. That night, while they were asleep on the boat, another storm arose and swept them back out to sea, and because of El Nino or something they soon arrived safely back in India.
Around this time, the Romans, under the command of Alexander the "so-so," had bullied their way within the western parts of India. The kangaroos brought back by the fisherman had already been bred and had become a popular trade item in the markets. A Roman soldier wandered into one of these places, and while attempting to make the international sign for a prostitute, ended up buying a kangaroo.
When the soldier returned to camp, his buddies viciously teased him about the "hairy chick with the buck teeth" whom he was apparently dating. Offended and embarrassed, he had to figure out a way to show the guys that he wasn't a complete schmuck (yes, Romans spoke Yiddish). So he grabbed the kangaroo and started jamming his belongings into it's pouch. "What da' hell you doin'?" the other soldiers inquired. Then he explained that he had bought the little pocket animal to hold his miniature sundial and Iliad action figure collection while he went out to battle. It worked!
Once the other soldiers saw how easy it was to rape and plunder when you don't have to hold all your stuff in your hands, they wanted a kangaroo, too! The other soldiers ran to the market, violently giving the international sign for kangaroo, only to get several nasty cases of genital lice. Soon, Alexander the "so-so" died, and the troops were forced to return to Rome kangaroo-less. But there was one man among them, a young buck named Plato Johnson, who came up with the brilliant idea that would change the world of pants forever!
"Listen up," Plato said, "ya know how those kangaroo things have big pouches on their stomachs? Well, why don't we just put big pouches on our stomachs, too, and then we wouldn't need them dang things no more." (Obviously there was more than one Plato, and they weren't all brainiacs).
So the Romans started cutting each other open attempting to fashion a big skin pouch like the kangaroo. Many died in vain. This gave Plato a better idea. "Hey, why don't we just cut these pouches in our pants instead of in our stomachs. We'd probably lose a lot less spleens that way." They decided it was worth a try. And behold, the first pockets were invented!
Ever since that fateful day, generation upon generation of smart and stupid people alike have been using the pocket to make their lives a little easier. Despite all the history and precedence behind this miraculous invention, the freshman have decided to collectively say, "Screw the pocket!" Instead, they walk around with their keys, and their cards, and their wallets, and their dog's picture, and half of breakfast dangling from their necks on some ludicrous lacrosse-player-wannabee shoelace thing from hell!
There is no God.
DISCO STU will pay $50,000 for the head of the ACES lady.
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