On a recent Sunday morning, I awoke from a brief sleep on the dank carpet of Quincy and stumbled into the bathroom. After clumsily splashing some water on my face, I cupped my hands under the shaving-cream-stained faucet, ready for a cold drink. Hazily looking up into the mirror, I was surprised to find my entire mouth had turned a bluish-green. Momentarily concerned I had become Na’vi overnight, I reached for my toothbrush but didn’t recognize any in the medicine cabinet. Nor did I recognize the two brutes now staring back at me in the mirror.
Aha, I thought. I don’t have carpet floors. I don’t live in Quincy. I don’t shave yet. This is not my suite and I don’t live with two bearded football players. A few painfully colorful cans that bore a frightful resemblance to Ed Hardy t-shirts were scattered on these randos’ common-room floor. My displacement and melanoma-like symptoms suddenly made sense: Four Loko had struck again.
Like flip flops, Nalgenes, dreadlocks and other college trends, I simply do not understand our campus’s current obsession with this vile liquid. Where are you possibly going tonight that your chances of obtaining more alcohol are so slim that you MUST consume the equivalent of four beers and an energy drink all at once? The only destination that currently comes to mind is church, and countless denominations serve there.
Rushing to Quatro Crazy’s defense, some students attest it is “hard core” to drink Four Loko. At parties this semester, I’ve heard many a bro attempt to impress a lady-friend by divulging, “I tried Four Loko last weekend. It. Was. Insane.”
Really? How wild was it? Did you have Cranberry Lemonade or Blue Raspberry? Four beers is not insane, it’s a nightcap. Shooting up heroin is insane. I don’t see any needles. Where are the needles? Show me the needles!
