Georgetown University’s Newspaper of Record since 1920

The Hoya

Georgetown University’s Newspaper of Record since 1920

The Hoya

Georgetown University’s Newspaper of Record since 1920

The Hoya

Shoot Drugs, Kids and for the Moon

Shoot Drugs, Kids and for the Moon

By Nicholas Johnston A Famous Hoya Columnist

Author’s Note: This column does not represent the opinions or views of The Hoya, Georgetown University or the Catholic Church in any way shape or form. Nor do any of those institutions recommend or condone the haphazard use of illicit drugs or firearms.

I’ve decided something. My life needs to be more exciting. Sure, being a Famous Hoya Columnist has its moments, but please, getting recognized at Champs by some freshman can carry me only so far.

I make up for my dreary weekdays (see above) by spending weekends either at some random bar complaining about how the Tombs isn’t any fun anymore, or at the Tombs complaining about how every other bar was never fun to begin with. I pay my bar tab, usually with other people’s money and go home and wait for the mail to bring, not job offers from potential employers, but angry letters from my credit card company. I need to get my mind off of all of this. I need to get out of the house. I need to have fun. Finally I think I’ve figured out how.

Georgetown students, we merry bunch of college kids, lead relatively tame lives. A 45-second keg stand or a daring trip to a bar somewhere on U Street is about the extent of our daring. Friends of mine who are seniors express their adventurous nature by sending in job applications to the Peace Corps or Teach for America. But they do this knowing damn well that they’re going to happily give up ditch-digging in Guatemala or math lessons in Detroit for a four-figure signing bonus and a cubicle at PriceWaterhouseCoopersDeanWitterCitibankArthurAndersen. I know they mean well, but their lives sicken me. I need to get away from it.

So here’s my plan: A friend of mine has an old Mercury station wagon. It’s got a lot of space in back, which is good because I’ll need a bit of room, and it’s pretty nondescript, which is also good, because I don’t want to be noticed. At least not at the start.

I’ll need some money to get going too, so before I leave I’ll have to max out the credit card again and probably sell some furniture or plasma. Anybody who comes with me will have to do the same since this kind of excitement has got a pretty steep cover charge.

Then, cash in hand (its gotta be cash), we’ll go someplace that I’ll know how to get to by then, and fill up the trunk of the car with automatic weapons and illegal drugs: boxes of ammo, garbage bags of powder and a few crates of whatever comes fast and easy on the street. Then it’s a full tank of gas, a case of Bud Lite and 95 North out of town towards Atlantic City.

Because where could we go but Atlantic City?

That’s usually about a four-hour drive or so, but I’m thinking we can do it in two with the right kind of guy at the wheel who has the appropriate disrespect for the law. And considering what will be in the trunk at this point, I’m going to accept that disrespect for the law as a given. So that’s only two hours to Atlantic City.

There’s a parking lot then, just off the expressway into town which is across the street from the Tropicana (I’m a member of their rewards club, so I get points for each dollar I spend), and that’s where we’ll put the car. Then we put on heavy coats, fill the pockets up with guns and ammo and start tearing through bags of cocaine and amyl nitrates until something interesting happens. In the interim, we cross the street and enter the Casino; drunk from the drive, hopped up on goofballs and packing heat.

Any sort of planning beyond that point really just defeats the purpose of the whole exercise. I will say, however, that I pity the first dealer who beats me in blackjack with a 20 to my 19. But beyond that anything can happen. No pitchers of Busch at the Tombs or mindless keg parties for me that night. I’m plunging off into the great unknown with a trunk full of drugs and enough guns to kill your whole stupid family.

Now that, kids, is real excitement. Look for a column detailing that weekend sometime in the next few weeks. And don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Because I’ll have finally found something to do.

A Famous Hoya Columnist appears every other Friday in The Hoya.

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