Every year, new students get suckered by the golden promises of university life. The wide-eyed hopefuls arrive, ready to start anew in “Wild ‘n’ Wet Vancouver,” only to be beaten to a pulp by the worst thing to happen to this nation since the death of Gord Downie. There’s a scourge on this campus that no one is willing to do anything about. The kids aren’t alright, and I know whoses fault it is. It’s that damned Mr. Booze.
Underage drinking will annihilate the entirety of the West Point Grey area before the year is out. I strolled along Fraternity Village last Halloween and as far as the eye could see it was first-year fools slumped against the cobblestone walls lining the village. Their shoddy costumes snagged upon the wrought-iron fencing, their tattered rags still skewered upon the rigid bars to this day foreshadow their futures should they refuse to alter their ways. Should these scoundrels not lighten their choice of refreshment from hard to soft, their woes will worsen from mild to grievous. But what is the solution for the pollution? What is the remedy for the malady? The single greatest beverage known by the human race. Warm grape juice. The warmer the better. Even now, as I write this exposé, I sip upon the nectar of the gods. I perfected my practice through many years of hard work, and now I wish to share it with those who need it the most. Underage drinkers rejoice, for your salvation is here! The recipe is simple, but you simply must make it from scratch.
Hopefully you live near a vineyard, as you’ll first need to gather fresh grapes. Take approximately one pound of grapes and mash them together until you get all the juice out. Then strain the mixture into a bottle, seal it, and place the juice on a window sill for 3 weeks. The heat from the sun will ensure your nectar reaches the perfect temperature for consumption. The results are immaculate, as I can tell you from experience. I cannot stop drinking this concoction of mine. It is simply so splendid! These rapacious rapscallions could turn their lives around with just a little bit of effort.
This is also a personal vendetta. Every morning I get up at 5 a.m. with a pounding headache because all I can hear outside is the idiot children stomping around drunk. The sounds of their hooting and hollering rattle around in my head like a marble in a glass bowl. It even happened this morning. Last night, I was up late trying to write this letter, drinking my lovely grape juice, when I heard the flocks of drunkards slam their doors and march up the sidewalks to the frats. They were making so much noise, I couldn’t stand it, and I threw up all over my new carpet. Disgusted by their nauseating lack of decorum, I’m now out $400 for the cleaning bill.
Everything wrong in my life is all because of underage drinking. Morning comes, 5 a.m. alarm goes off, and what do I hear outside? These bastards are back at it! I’ve just lost a month’s supply of grape juice, and I still can’t catch an break! There just lucky I make three months worht at a time. It made me so mad in fact, that I’m half way theough month two right now. If I ever canth thes ones responsible for this I’m going to make them pay. For the juice I wasted. Actuallym the juice they wasted witha ll their senseless noise makeing. Adn theyll have to pay for all the juice I’m drinking now because I,m only drinking it becasue I’m so mad at them. And another thing! There all a bunch of cowarsss whoes parets never loved them adn never woll. Theyr all uselees psycology majers actin lke therapy isnt a rackeet made up by big alcohol to stela my monet. Well not today becaus ti es up for you. Im blowing the lid sof your schem tonight im going to walknf intor rhe sych buildign and give them a piec of my miind but not ehe patt they want. And they ave to listne to me because im always right ebout everyyrhign espehectly tis evisl of liqo nd meen kitlle kiuygzswadfexykm,
Editor’s note: The article submission also contained three full pages of nothing but the letter “b” after this point. This has been omitted for brevity.
