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This vs That – Issue 13

Town VS Flat Parties

 

This

I think it’s about the fourth time I’ve written one of these, but I feel like I need to hammer it

home once and for all and make these cretins understand that town is the true king of the

sesh. Some of you have never been let into House after downing roughly 18 beers and it

shows – there’s a sense of joy that comes from having your ID handed back to you and the bouncer says you’re all good to come in. I’m too old to be chatting about getting my groove on to High School Musical or whatever that trash is that they used to play in Bar101. I actually

enjoy House where there is plenty of talent. Seriously though, I’m not even talking about proper town where you spend the whole night dancin. There’s nothing I love more than sitting at a bar in town with my mates and gaining a head full of steam from a couple of jugs and whatever cocktails are on offer. It doesn’t quite feel the same at home. Doing it at a bar is just a bit more ridiculous since it’s an establishment where you’re meant to drink responsibly (whatever that is, never heard of her). If you enter a bar and walk out in a straight line, you’re doing it wrong. You need to be absolutely rat-eyed. In summary, fuck flat parties, fuck town, go to a bar with your mates, sit down and get absolutely blared. 

 

That

A short trip down memory lane will take any scholar of Waikato University to a place of warmth and wonder. A place where the long dick of the Halls’ disciplinary laws hasn’t managed to fuck yet. A place called the house party. Close your eyes and think back. A house party in your first year was a helping hand, reaching out to the 10pm refugees and guiding them to a night of Greensboro gatecrashing. There are two huge factors to consider when comparing the house party to town. Cheap drinks and comfort. Putting your feet up on some second hand coffee table with a stolen can in your hand is one of the finer things in life. The house party was and still is our saviour from the cold hours between 10pm and 12pm. Our saviour from drunkenly blowing Cindy’s handouts on $15 cocktails. House parties are our friends. 

 

House party? Feels more like a home party to me. 

 

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