I overheard that I was part of man-whore’s last-minute costume: “Dead Lucifer” or some nonsense like that. Except, idiot forgot to get fake blood when he swiped me from Spirit Halloween, so they used ketchup. Dickhead started mixing it with beer and calling it Vampire Piss. The first cup was served at 2pm on Thursday, when he was supposed to be in ECON 216. I soon accepted my fate, strapped to the back of the Delts “Dickhead” devil himself, a fallen angel’s wings.

Friday, we’re looking a little… ran-through, so Dickhead supplements with a little face paint, and we were a “sad sexy swan.” Was it with such swan-like grace that we pantsed your little at the party and traumatized the 18-year-old? Saturday and Sunday, we didn’t rest. I believe at some point we were used in a foul game he called “Lit Like Lucifer.” Still, I had some sympathy for Dickhead when the festivities ended, and Betty Boop had long blocked bro. I was preparing to be tossed into the bins behind Hashinger on the way back from the recovery-Sunday Paul’s run, but we had one last calling: Pheobeween as Dolly Parton.