Aside from interviews with toasters and Jordan Becker’s hatred of the Minnetonka Little Leaguers, I feel our newspaper has become sidetracked from its chief subject of discussion-underage consumption. What ever happened to the babbling stream of controversy-filled pissing contests in which we fearlessly assimilated underage consumption to racism and then contested it with the rational argument that a bloke who breaks the law should not be punished? What happened to our defiant youth and adventurous enthusiasm?

Eager to uncover the truth, I set out on the definitive investigation which would bring minor consumption back to the Weekly and expose this intricate web of evil. Are drinkers (underage in particular, naturally) truly the detriment of society or merely victims of a larger scheme? Has the social scene at our college changed since our run ins with Undercover ZAP-ster Sergeant Ramstad and Prosecutor “I Hate My Life” whatever-his-name-is? Am I chemically dependant? Armed with pen and notepad, I began my quest.

Saturday night and rumours are in the air. I overhear a slightly slurred conversation between two male students. They sound suspiciously underage.

“Halloween party in Kirk 1 … I hear there’s a free fo’ty for best costume.”

“Fo’ty? What kind?”

“It’s free you stupid sod, who gives a toss!”

Now I don’t mean to brag or nothin’, but I can smell trouble before trouble smacks me in the gob. I don’t fuck about. So I make a mental note to report those scum and get on my way.

Kirk Hall looms ominously - a thorn in this campus of sobriety. (I live in GDD, a temple of purity.)

“He’s quick, he’s fast, he scores goals with his ass, Kimaaaani, Kimaaaani .... he’s tall, he’s slick, he’ll make you look a prick, Kimaaaaani, Kimaaaaani.” The culprit approaches, a tall, slender islander named Knokka-oddly drinking what looks like coke out of a 16 ounce bottle of Mountain Dew. The clues flash through my mind-bloodshot eyes, disheveled clothing, the unmistakable scent of alcohol, slurred speech … I know my clues. I’m some serious shit.

“Excuse me, is this an alcohol party? I’m doing some investigating and-”

“Train, train, choo-choo train, my team’s gonna win this game, woo-woo … woo-woo!”

Another approaches, an athlete (I can smell trouble before trouble smacks me in the gob).

“Hey Knokka, why don’t you shut the fuck up and chug that wine cooler of yours you li’l bitch” articulates he.

“Shut yer pie-hole you freshman wanker. D’ye really wanna be huggin’ your toilet on progressive night?”

Hazing? Peer pressure? Spurred by this furious turn in events, I boldly enter the party. Inside, I find myself surrounded by swarms of underage costumed drinkers. One young lad grins curiously for no apparent reason, a vacant look in his clouded eyes. “Have you been drinking?” I explore. His face lights up.

“Yeah dude, its what the cool kids are doin’. You hear me? And anyone who’s cool does it, and they does is right man. They does it with Yon-Yon, cuz Yon-Yon’s in the house, and he’s cool as fuck. Knowhatimsaying?”

This is good. I turn to the next bloke, who holds a Colt 45 in one hand, six pack in the other. “How’s it going man-are all of those beers yours?”

“My friends told t’me I’m pussy cos I don’t drink. S’now I’m gotta to drink two’imes as much. Y’want some, man? hey listen’p y’all … who wants some? Whoants some?”

I decline, but something troubles me. Why are these intelligent, well-informed people surrendering their constitutional rights for a simple drink? Is peer pressure really at the root of this evil? If not, who is to blame? My thought is cut short by my old roommate, Jo-Jo. “People don’t learn their values from their friends, man …” He pauses pensively. “They learn from their parents. Except Mowgli from the jungle book, he didn’t...” Another pause, but this time he makes a dash for the bathroom.

“Oi Guvnor!” a voice from heaven. Suddenly I feel relaxed. Someone knows who I am, someone acknowledges me. “I know this ain’t usually your scene, but c’mon man, its not gonna kill ya … have a drink kiddo!”

Theory confirmed. Peer pressure is the detriment of society and the root of all evil. Peter hands me a Mickey’s - it seems rather large but what the heck, nothing wrong with one drink and hey … I’m just being social, hangin’ with the lads, right? Right. Well. Next thing I know this massive bloke called Nick the Chief is screaming his bollocks off, “Chug, chug, chug, chug…” with increasing volume and urgency. Why am I doing this? I’m a hypocrite. I’ve signed a frickin‘ pact with the devil himself, gall darn it! But as the bottle empties so too does my anger, a hesitant grin imposing itself on my face. “Pete … I love you dearly…” my words flow with a comfort so sweet I can hardly believe where they’re coming from.

“Hehe … lightweight bastard’s fookin’ smashed already!” Alcohol is the detriment of society. “Just playin’ with ya dude, you want another?”

“Cheers mate.”

Thus ends my recollection, but not my investigation. The following morning, I consulted my trusty notepad to discover the following quotes:

“Peer pressure rules, yo! Dudes learn how to chill out ‘n’ shit. It’s kinda like getting really, really high … except … well … I guess … I guess its not really like getting high …” -Male, ’03

“Peer pressure? I had these nice red shades but I lost them... fuck!” -Male, ’03

“Peer pressure? I saw them fuckers. Lets beat the shit out of ‘em.” -Beast, ’03

“698-5254” -Female?

“Peer what? Dude, if you cough and it hurts … you should get that shit checked out …” -Female, ’02

“I am the fever, I am the fever. When you catch the fever you will never recover” -Male ’04