I may be wrong, but tequila puts you into the oddest moods.

That’s what I have to say about a little known but not forgotten period I like to call my college days. Not so much a time for learned study, or even a fake attempt at seeking knowledge. More like a life of sarcastic bingeing. An era for pushing my body to extremes and letting my mind observe the ins and outs of blasphemous self-destruction. We would party all night, cram for tests in the morning and barely squeak by with our loans still intact.

On this particular occasion, my roommate and I were engaged in a little Russian roulette with tequila. Cramped into a tiny room that I swear to God was smaller than a jail cell. You could hardly fit two bunk-size beds in there, let alone any sort of stylized treasures. At the moment, we were in the midst of a deranged tequila party, and as always when one is in the grip of the evil alcohol bug, one begins to loose track of moral and sociological values. This is, in truth, what this story is about. Nothing so loose as to give a happy or even moral ending, just an interesting anecdote for some poor college kids to tell his poor college roommate one night when they are in the hold of liquor parties.

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