Post Ann Arbor trip, I'm sitting on my couch in my underwear, waiting for Desperate Housewives"" to come on, and feeling completely uninspired and too tired to write anything worth reading. That's about all the energy I have to type right now, reader, as I feel as useless as Charter. But I thought I would share with you something that I read recently that I loved from an new up-coming literary talent. Whitney Newman, one of my best friends, just wrote a poem, documenting our great nights in Madison and the only stable thing in our collegiate lives: post-night out runs to McDonalds for a Large-and-in-Charge Diet Coke, a remedy I am quite sure cures hangovers. So please, dear reader, accept this as a token of my appreciation, and expect bigger and better things from me next week after a quiet weekend in Madison, keeping it low key for the Ohio State game... wink.
Ode to the ""Large-and-in-Charge""
Another epic night in Madison, done. / The morning after is here. / Wake up with a headache, still wearing last night's clothes, / Immediately regret drinking all that beer.
Cell phone rings, it's all the girls. / ""I feel like shit,"" we all say. / The consequences of last night are now clearly evident; / It's going to be one hell of a hung-over day.
No words are needed, Court gets the car / And drives around to pick us all up. / Our feelings of nausea and ""what happened last night"" will soon be cured / By the magic of a ""Large-and-in-Charge"" cup.
""How can I help you?"" says the woman at McDonald's / And we order up some Large-and-in-Charge Diet Cokes. / ""That's it?"" she says, ""Is there anything...else?"" / As if she knows our lives are all jokes.
We pull ahead to the window for the drinks, / The attendant says, ""Have a nice day!"" / We all roll our eyes and mumble as we drive off, / It's not possible to feel ""nice"" today.
Break open the straws, take the first sip, / The reality of our life sinks in. / ""I fucking passed out on a pizza,"" Ash blurts out, / And discussions of last night's craziness begin.
Whit made-out with a random, / Court made-out with three, / Megan let some old man grope her, / And soon all her drinks were free.
We drunk-dialed Bielema multiple times, / And went to go look for him at the KK, / But why did we think that sexting everyone in our cell phones / Was even remotely okay?
The lights turn on, the bar is closing / And we're scattered all over the bar. / Wando's might seem like a pretty small place, / But we've managed to travel pretty far.
Ash just peed in the men's bathroom / Whit's playing air guitar on the dance floor / Court's looking for an outlet so she can plug in her dead phone / Megan starts fighting with some skank girl, as we get thrown out the door.
Finally meet up, it's time to go home / Ready to pass out from a ""classy"" night of fun. / We're all so tired we don't even stop for food, / It's pretty clear we are done and done.
""We weren't that drunk, were we?"" asks Whit, / ""I thought we just had enough to get loose."" / ""Whit, we were smashed,"" Courtney says to clarify, / ""Fuck, we accidently did a shot of pure cranberry juice.""
We conclude our morning drive with a necessary stop / At the traditional place, Bagels Forever. / Outside, people are going for runs or to work. / When will we be real people? Probably never.
But I wouldn't change it for a million bucks, / I love our weekends more than words can say. / And I know we'll long for these days in the future, / When we have to man-up and have real jobs someday.
So here's to life, happiness, and a whole lot of fun, / Even if our lives sometimes seem like jokes. / And wherever you go, whatever you do, / Don't forget the ""Large-and-in-Charge"" Diet Cokes.
If you'd like to tell Ashley she's lame, e-mail aaspencer@wisc.edu. If you'd like to find out more exciting facts about her friend Whitney, look though Ashley's facebook photos for incriminating evidence.
