Gregory Steinwitz ’13 strode through the regal pillars of Eclectic with a mighty resolution. This was the night he had been waiting this whole year —perhaps his whole existence for. It was sissy bounce night. With his waif-like frame and ethereal way of explicating medieval poetry, no one ha expected him to be what he in fact was —the High Chancellor of Booty Bounce. The Prime Minister of Funkytown. The Krump Lord.
But it was true. It was so true.
When Gregory Steinwitz’s booty ‘13 hit the dance floor, everyone,
including Big Freedia zirself, stopped and gasped in reverence. Right
here in Eclectic, God was amongst them. In the audience, Pamela ’15
struggled to keep the buttons of her sheer blouse closed. She felt
the overwhelming desire to tear off her grandmother’s bed-jacket and offer
herself to the Krump Lord to be ravished. She wanted to feel his
oversized member, hard as a zeppelin, against her generous thighs as
they melted together on the dance floor.
At long last, tickled to frenzy by
desire, she danced toward him, her molten amber eyes locking with
his. He could see in her hardened face that Pamela was not just another “biddie.”
Having been spoiled by the heated, cutthroat dancing at the underground
hip-hop clubs of Scarsdale, New York, Gregory had come to Wesleyan
jaded and unsatisfied by the weak grinding typical of the WestCo Raves
and Psi U Formals. He wanted passion. He wanted fire. And looking at
the way Pamela booty-dropped, he knew that she was the one, that he
must seize this moment and pounce before that atomic she-devil escaped
and he never got to hold her in his strong, scrawny arms.
Seventeen minutes later,
Pamela threw Gregory onto her bed, mounting him with the fervor
of a rabid jaguar. He ripped off his Morning Benders t-shirt and
threw it to the floor of her Fauver dorm room in a flourish. Although Pamela’s roommate,
Gladys Merkin ‘15, was by now asleep on the twin bed a mere six feet
away, nothing could quell their funky lust. As Pamela throaty and
fermata’d moans pierced the ears of the P-Safe officers driving down Foss Hill
Drive, the patrolmen could but laugh mirthlessly.