Letters from the Spartan Spy: Who am I?

Dear Spartyers,


            By now mid terms have come and gone and with the end of the semester encroaching some of your late night BAC’s may be reflecting upon your GPA’s. When it comes down to cracking the books or the brews I know your choice because there’s never a good story told the morning after spending the night with a textbook.


            With bad weather in the midst Castleton cancelled classes, giving us a break from our typical weekday study front.  While Hurricane Sandy devastated the east coast, Hurricane Sparty unleashed its wrath in the residence halls. Though I have said before that few things in life compare to a hurricane party, I think some of you Spartyers need to learn the proper execution of a hurricane survival pack. You lose style points when you spend the evening hugging a toilet bowl.


            Sandy’s presence at the Castle proved to be as weak as some Spartyers ability to spit game. In attempts to pick up a girl one baby Spartyer skipped the “hello” and went for something more memorable. Unfortunately, his booze swimming brain only spit out a promise to not vomit all over her. At least you’re a man of your word.


            Many say that Vermonters are far more relaxed and less attune to schedules than most. It seems holidays are not even free from this virtually schedule-free lifestyle, as we celebrated our Halloween in November.


 But regardless of the number on the calendar no one can tackle a Halloween party quite like a Spartyer. The annual Flubb’s party was in full swing this year and car loads of anxious Spartyers flocked to the doors. I hope you weren’t left out in the cold.

Everyone’s favorite teddy bear, Ted, was spotted on the dance floor. He may have left Mark Wahlberg back in Boston, but we were fortunate enough to have another celebrity grace us with their presence that evening. Michael Vick and his stuffed dog danced the night away on stage. In my book, any man who can dance that long with a dog has clearly overcome any former dogfight gambling addictions that may haunt them. And how could you miss the crossing guard directing the party with a stop sign labeled “DRINK”?


But what’s a true party without those few who can’t swallow the night so smoothly? One glitter-covered diva discovered her table dancing skills to be less than impressive when she hit the floor. But then again, inebriation and heights generally don’t mix well. Maybe this Sparty Hardy should stick to the dance floor. The fall isn’t as far. The night proved to be a blur for the Twister board caught tripping around the bar. Something tells me his stumbling wasn’t an attempt to get into character.


I don’t believe wrapping a few parts of your body in caution tape and throwing a hat on for good measure really constitutes for a costume, but next time try really rounding your bases and making sure everything’s covered.


Can you guess me yet Castleton; or is you recollection of your late night escapades still too foggy? Keep looking for more letters from the Spartan Spy to see if you’ve been spotted.

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