Spring is in the Air, and all of the familiar signs of its arrival are visible. The temperature is slowly increasing, college students are tired as fuck after losing an hour last weekend, Jewish people are eating crackers, and all kinds of animals are having sex. It really is a wonderful time of year.

What does spring mean to me? Spring means short skirts. It means all kinds of whorish garb on young women who are still grasping the fact that they are no longer under the watchful eyes of their parents, and instead are subjected to the more-than-watchful eyes of my friends (myself included). Spring means stupidly named formals, "Oh my god, Tina! Who are you taking to the Alpha Phi Spring Fling?! Lets buy slutty dresses!"

Spring means drinking, lots of underage drinking, and unlike fall drinking and winter drinking, which coincide with lament over our horrible football and basketball seasons, spring drinking is joyous, because we are preparing for that chemistry exam by learning that the result of the reaction between a handle of Cuervo and Stomach lining is a fucked up toilet. Who can't appreciate the celebration of a change in season? Probably the Canadians, but nobody likes them anyway, so, back to the important matters...

...The skirts. I'm not talking about your average short skirt. I am not talking mid-thigh, oh no, I am talking mid-cheek. Its the kind of thing that Christina Aguilera would wear if she started dressing like more of a ho. Thanks to spring time on a college campus, I have front row seats. Its a beautiful sight, usually.

The one downfall to this is the occasional freshman-gone-wrong... you see, she used to be hot, in September, guys were popping boners left and right when she passed. A girl like that can never last on a college campus however, no sir, soon the hard-partying lifestyle that she is sure to pick up will lead to her destruction. Beer-belly and Cheeto-ass will become her downfall, a once-beautiful maiden will be transformed into the hideous hag.

The problem is, she still thinks she looks good in the rubber-band length skirt and gut-buster shirts that she once thrived in. However, much like a hermit crab on a growth spurt, baby's gotta find a bigger shell. Perhaps someone will whisper in her ear a warning, before its too late. Nonetheless, her new habitat is a set of oversized, loose-fitting sweat pants, with the associated sweatshirt top. It may not bring back her hotness, but at least it will spare the eyes and genitals of wary onlookers.

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Sorry, no update tomorrow. Its Easter break (one of the benefits of a Catholic school), and I'm going to try to make the most of it. In the mean time, if you get bored, why not click on some of my "Extra-Good" links?

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