The average college student’s life revolves around one thing. Some might say class. Others might say sex. But I say it’s beer.
The average under-aged college guy will go through $40 and a homeless man to get it. The average college girl will drink beer that tastes like crap (Michelob Ultra) to negate the belly-fattening effects of it. The average college transsexual will frequent the nonexistent unisex bathrooms more often because of it. And the average college student’s baby (which must now wash dishes at the Dining Common to pay for its own daycare) is probably the direct result of it. For these reasons, the average Collegian columnist should write a column based on a commercial about it.
I’m sure you’ve seen the “Bud Light Presents: Real Men of Genius” ads on TV. Over the last few years, we’ve all fallen in love with Mr. Too-Much-Cologne-Wearer and Mr. Nudist-Colony-Activity-Coordinator. But, come to think of it, UMass has men of genius too, and I plan on pointing out just a couple. Reader’s note: 1) If you haven’t seen or heard these commercials then download them immediately. 2) Words within the parentheses indicate outbursts from that amazingly talented backup singer.
UMass presents, “Real Men of Genius” (Real Men of Genius!). Today we salute you, Mr. College-Hockey-Away-Game-Goer (Mr. College-Hockey-Away-Game-Goer!). Armed with your team’s hockey jersey, and a hat too, just in case we didn’t get the point, you travel with your only three friends to the Mullins Center on a Friday night to get booed by our drunken student body (Went to the prom with your cousin!). Sure you could be doing better things: watching the game on TV, listening to the game on the radio, or sleeping in your hockey jersey (Wet dreams!), but no, you choose to brave the cold and ridicule to cheer for a team full of guys that have no idea you even exist (No f—ing clue!). So take pride in being a loser, Mr. College-Hockey-Away-Game-Goer. Although your team may have the game in the bag, when you pull into your school’s parking lot at 1 a.m., we will already be half in the bag.
Today we salute you, Mr. Got-Pulled-Over-in-Front-of-the-Horseshoe-Driver (Mr. Got-Pulled-Over-in-Front-of-the-Horseshoe-Driver). Anyone can get bagged on the highway, but you somehow manage to get pulled over on a street decked out in flashing signs, useless over-extended yellow curbs and a squad car on duty 75 percent of the time (Another one bites the dust!). You may have laughed at those sorry, ticket-receiving-Jetta-easy-girls many times before (You’ve slept with them too!), but tonight you had a date to impress, and a fast car to impress her with (Sweet Ford Taurus!). So give Officer Ting your license and registration, Mr. Got-Pulled-Over-in-Front-of-the-Horseshoe-Driver, for you clearly didn’t have the window side of the Z-room freshmen year. Because if you had, you would’ve seen time and time again that Ting makes Bruce Lee look like, well, my backup singer (You better recognize!).
Today we salute you, Mr. Roommate-Who-Never-Leaves-the-Room (Mr. Roommate-Who-Never-Leaves-the-Room!). With a wardrobe that says, “I have no life,” and a closet funk that says, “I have no soap,” (Plug it in, plug it in!), you’ve decided to double major in Whipped-phone-calls-to-long-distance-girlfriend and Snood (Just register the damn thing!). Sure, if you went outside you might actually enjoy your freshmen year, but without your presence, we’d be able to eat crackers without worrying about your weird allergic reaction to wheat, and hook up without your frustrated sighs from the top bunk (Sleep in the freaking hallway!). So keep saying, “No, YOU hang up,” to that annoying girl, Mr. Roommate-Who-Never-Leaves-the-Room, because if you keep eating our Easy Mac, your cell phone’s going in the toilet.
Today we salute you, Mr. Crappy-College-Band-Lead-Singer (Mr. Crappy-College-Band-Lead-Singer!). Jumping up and down like a freaking bumble ball, your almost-transvestite voice deprives us drunk students of what we really want to hear at the bars: real music … by real bands (Play that new Sean Paul joint!). It’s true, 13-year-old girls throw their training bras on stage every time you play “More Than Words,” (Statutory Stuuud!), but who needs chicks when you’ve got two drumsticks autographed by Simple Plan … and a really cheesy lip ring (TRL, watch out!). So sing that punk song about the girlfriend who dumped your ass again, Mr. Crappy-College-Band-Lead-Singer, because these chicks don’t even know the name of your band … and they never will, because your band sucks, and so do you.
Today we salute you, Wing-niece (Wrong beer commercial!). Cue guitar … Sun bathing chicks may look imposing in the Horseshoe / But when it comes to saying, “How you doin’?” there are no rules (Or clothes!). Hey, wrong song. I don’t need a backup singer for this one (My bad!). But the best pick-up line isn’t one that you can say / Just pick up your toddler niece and walk on over their way. The lady oasis may be dry for days or weeks / until she flaunts that little diaper and those pudgy cheeks. Girls will flock from all over just to see her / and when she takes a nap, you can buy them a beer. Wing-nieeeeece.
So crack open an ice cold Bud Light, UMass Men of Genius, because you give genius a face, and without that, we wouldn’t know who to make fun of on a daily basis.
Matt Brochu is a Collegian columnist.
