Letters from the Spartan spy: Who am I?

Dear Spartyers,

Welcome back to the castle for what I presume to be another five weeks of mayhem. There’s nothing like a week without classes to help you keep calm and sparty on. 

I’ve been hearing some rumblings around campus about my identity. I think I have you rattled, Castleton, but keep on guessing because you haven’t even started to shake my barstool.  

I was afraid that Parent’s Weekend would force some of you Spartyers into a weekend of sobriety; however, I was pleased to discover you up to your usual late night antics. The morning after a chaotic evening always seems to bite a little harder with parents on scene. I saw a few of you in Birdseye, eyes still glazed over and trying to stomach an omelet pretending it had flavor.

With your families so near and the recent police rampages, it became a weekend of narrow escapes. Public Safety and local police secured the front and back entrances to campus and waited as stumbling spartyers attempted to make their way to the dorms. This sent a few spartys taking cover in bushes near campus until all was clear.

Rumor has it the king of the castle, John Rehlen, was out on the town in these wee hours of the morning directing local police to check in on some of his properties.

The next weekend, instead of once again awaking the king from his slumber, local police busted a party with the assistance of two state officials. The fleet, which consisted of three local cars and two state, surrounded the house, sending a sea of white tickets back to campus and left one over age resident with an upcoming court date.

The resilience of a true spartyer is something to be admired, because despite the mass quantity of tickets issued you were right back at it the following evening, theme and all. Pro sports and booty shorts, proved to really be just a call for a whole lot of spandex, but I will admit the name does roll off the tongue quite nicely.

There have been many complaints that this years freshman class walks a little too far on the wild side and there’s nothing like alcohol and spandex booty shorts to confirm that belief. One baby sparty missed the pro sports aspect of the theme and came prepared just for the booty shorts. Her shirt choice proved to be irrelevant, as she hardly had it on fully in order to show off her rib tattoos while she danced provocatively, and furthermore when she flashed the entire party later in the evening.

Can you guess me yet Castleton, or are you still just taking shots in the dark? Keep looking for more letters from the Spartan Spy to see if you’ve been spotted.

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