The Black Sheep FR
EE .. pu . lik bl e g ish e ed ttin in g th yo e b ur la po ck op sh jo ee ke p! s
• a college newspaper that’s actually about college •
Volume 3, Issue 7 10/18/12 -10/24/12
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the grove Squatter’s Rights barney thompson wrote this
It’s Friday and the sun is rising over Oxford. Most residents are still working though the prior night’s festivities in dreamland. A handful of unlucky students are rushing to their classes, chilled to the bone by the cold. In the Grove sits a solitary man, kind of like Neil Diamond. This man is one of many students known as Grove Squatters; these students sit in the Grove holding a ten-by-ten plot of land for their employer’s tent until land rush at 9 p.m. You may think sitting in the Grove all day is easy work that any intoxicant-loving college student could do, but you couldn’t be more wrong, cadet. Grove squatting requires an immovable presence, a quick mind, and the courage to urinate on anyone bold enough to move in on a squatter’s territory; unleashing a healthy stream on an 11 year-old’s My Little Pony backpack changes a man. Nothing is taken for granted when you’re a Grove Squatter, and everything is earned. By 8 a.m. the Grove Squatter will have received his assignment and already made camp, defined as a cooler full of Coors Light and two family-sized sleeves of Solo cups. Once the Grove Squatter claims their ten-by-ten plot of land, they can never leave it undefended; akin to why there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. In prime Groving locations a blanket left unattended for more than a few minutes will find a new home in a nearby trash bin. Not all encroachers will be ruthless though, occasionally a drunken alumnus will wander up to the Squatter’s land and claim his Great-GamGam was buried in this exact spot; the alumnus may also claim to have ties with a rebel uprising bent on overthrowing all order in the Grove, but he’s probably lying about that too. No one is perfect, not even the elite Grove Squatters, and after throwing back half a case of Coors Light he’ll have a need to relieve himself that’s unsurpassed by a frat daddy’s desire to “take it to the hole.” When this situation occurs the Grove Squatter has only two choices, sprint for the Union or start refilling those cans. Situations like these are what separate the boys from the Rebels. A novice may think that sprinting to the Union is clearly the best choice, and that’s why they’re a novice and our vetted Grove Squatter still has his job. Instead of leaving his land open to poachers as he opens the beer-soaked flood gates, the professional Squatter will call in a friend to watch his turf for him. Anyone who has sat for someone’s tent space knows that the first rule of squatting is to have a backup network you can call on at a moment’s notice, a drunken Justice League of sorts. these intoxicated do-gooders will be your support when you
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not require only wit, but numbers to keep your spot when opposition swarms the Grove - especially come Egg Bowl weekend, as the MSU student body’s combined intelligence and ruthlessness matches that of an inbred Chihuahua with freshly-diagnosed rabies. Sometimes not even the Hammered Avengers can save your spot though, and that’s when the Grove Squatter pulls out the big guns; his genitalia. While walking to the Union to relieve himself, he looks back at his spot one last time. To our Squatter’s dismay, his backup has wandered off to find female companionship. Where his blanket and cooler once were now sits a Hello Kitty blanket and a My Little Pony back pack with Twilight Sparkle looking like a snotty bitch. Don’t be fooled by the childish items, this is a just a device to use your conscience against you. Luckily, our Grove Squatter knows better
what’s inside
bartender of the week
Naturally, just add booze.
hannah from round table would throw a mean left-hook to the situation.
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than to fall for this. With swagger in his walk rivaling Paul Walker’s, the Squatter walks back up to his ten-by-ten plot of land and unleashes a chicken broth-colored stream of urine that emits an odor only to be described as “death in a dick.” Now that the blanket and backpack are appropriately soaked, our Grove Squatter tosses them in the nearest trashcan. By now the Grove should be filling up nicely with people looking for last-minute tent space. Our Grove Squatter can sit back, enjoy the last of his beer, and revel in a job well done. Not everyone is cut out for a job like this, they might not have the killer instinct, an agile mind, and the lack of hesitation when the time comes to urinating on what seems to be a little girl’s belongings. For those who do carry these characteristics, there might be some work for you on a cold Friday in Oxford, MS.
the black sheep interviews: owen our chat with this Chicagoan about his new album Ghost Town, available on iTunes.
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