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Chasing The Dragon-A Peculiar Tale of College Life at the Uni- versity of Brisbane- Dear University of Brisbane college faggots, I'm a third year engineering student, I can't help but notice that somehow, living in a place that promotes ridiculous levels of alcoholism - to the point where it essentially makes getting alcohol poi- soning some strange honour or right of passage - seems to make the majority of you believe you are better than everyone else who attends this university. Most of you seem to be of the belief that because we either already live in Brisbane, or do not wish to spend the ridiculous amount of money you waste on living in what is essentially a box, you are su- perior and we are nothing. I do not understand, to any degree whatsoever, the basis of your view that everyone else in this uni- versity who does not wish to spend their Sunday nights vomiting on the pavement next to the RE and their Monday morning with the hangover of a lifetime, is a loser in comparison to the glorious college students. The only underlying factor I could think of is a lack of intelligence (probably due to ridiculous levels of alcohol consumption) or the consuming nature of the colleges' "mob mentality" You have a strange, collective, warped view of the world, and your exclusive culture is the cancer that is killing this university. tl;dr, you guys are hardly as awesome as you think you are. Sincerely, a "day rat" keep anon pls. -University of Brisbane Confessions on Facebook-May 7, 2013. 125 “likes“. Dayrats. Don't be hating just because we're the elite, and you're yet to finish your first beer. Learn your place (i.e. below f.reshers), and stay the fuck away from our hallowed halls. Not only do we spend the majority of our nights making the Hangover movies look like a quiet night in, we also keep GPAs higher than most of you motherfuckers; mostly through all-nighters pulled the day before the assessment's due. You could not handle the amount of sex, booze and balling that happens at college so suck my well- endowed dick and bowdown to the 3% who actually run this motherfucking place. Bitch. anon as fuck. -”University of Brisbane Confessions“ on Facebook-May 8, 2013-May 8, 2013. 572 “likes“. Every time a day rat confesses their hatred for UQ college elitism, I drain a goon sack and make a Faith College girl climax. Not because I enjoy it, but on principle. anon as balls, please -”University of Brisbane Confessions“ on Facebook-May 8, 2013. 248 “likes“. “first time sitting under a tree in the great court as a day rat. god i feel dirty“- Facebook post by 2012 Imperial College Student Cub Vice President James Mullholland- May 3, 2013. 50 “likes”. Chapter 1-Psycadelic Mushrooms and College- If you do illegal drugs, you are a mug-Extract from a speech by James Grazier, President of the Imperial College Old Boys‘ Association. February 2010. The Imperial College at the University of Brisbane, Australia, is an oddly mismatched structure. Located five minutes walk from the University of Brisbane proper, it is an im- posing and strange building. Upon the exterior of the building is a facade of sandstone, a coat and an artificial skin. This sandstone exterior is embellished with various venerable inscriptions in Latin and multiple grotesques of the college’s universal and timeless sym- bol, a Dragon. The building’s interior and halls form an immediately and almost complete contrast to the sandstone skin of the college. Basically, they are fucking drab. The interiors of Imperial College largely consist of red bricked and blue carpeted halls. A smell of disin- fectant pervades these halls during the off season, the heights of the Australian summer and winter respectively. During the “On Season“, the time when the men of the college reside in the sandstone exterior-red brick interior halls, an equally pungent smell of vomit and spilt alcohol combines noxiously with the ever-present chemical odour of cleaning liquids. It is this strange contrast between a shallow but presentable facade and a less then flattering but ever present and pervasive reality that defines the lifestyle and culture of Imperial College. Basically, a shallow veneer of respectability hides the often brutal and vicious nature of life at the prestigious institution of The Imperial College at the University of Brisbane. Su- perficially, Imperial College appears to be one of the finest establishments of the universi- ty. It is the home of the “Optimates“, The Best Men, of the Queensland university system when the doors are open to the general public. However, when the doors close and the lights go out, a more unsettling reality becomes apparent. Excess of wealth and general bastardry predominate and become the norm. Men devolve to drunken apes. All manner of hell breaks loose. Hence, delusion and illusion dominate. False realities become the norm. Young men, often vulnerable and impressionable, spend their first few years of adulthood in a fantasy land. The more naive, unprepared, and delusional among them of- ten believe wholeheartedly that they are invincible mad dawgs destined to be lords of the universe and everything existent within it. Oh, the gimpishness. My stay at The Imperial College at The University of Brisbane ended over one year ago. However, for all intensive purposes, my College life began in earnest around three years ago. Though I didn’t know it at the time, College and “College life“ were elements des- tined to be one of the defining influences in my later life and beliefs. This would become apparent as the next two years unfolded and events, people, and chaging beliefs made their assault upon the basic structure of my personality. Who was Lucas Jones? This is the story of my stay at Imperial College, a tale of a surreal and somewhat strange pair of formative years. This story of my College life, I supposse, begins at my mate John’s farewell party in Feb- ruary 2010. It was a sweltering but somewhat familiar summer night on the New South Wales North Coast. I was sitting on the grass outside at a mate's place on the ridge I was raised on, McEllens Ridge. McEllen’s Ridge is a beautiful place discovered by a great and pioneering man, McEllen, whom no one quite remembers. It was John's going away party and I was tripping like a motherfucker. A bunch of blokes from Lismore had picked an of- fice bin full of shrooms before they came to the party. Everyone had had a quick look then swiftly dropped in to see what condition their condition was in. I was positioned slightly away from everyone else, I couldn't handle the pounding music and heat of the party and I needed a rest. As I sat there, February night sweat soaking my black Rage Against The Machine shirt, I was looking at the swirling patterns in the grass and had reached a period of extreme introspection. What had I really done with my life so far? Sure, I'd gone to school and got a reasonably good pass, I'd kept a decent extracurricu- lar record, and I'd got accepted into a relatively decent uni. But other than that, what had I really done with any of my time? I was fucking overweight and useless as shit talking to anyone with a vagina. Well, this year I was going to college. Imperial College at the Uni- versity of Brisbane. An all men's college that prided itself on it's website for almost one hundred years of illustrious history. Things could, no things would, be different. Maybe I'd have a chance there to prove something of myself and let people know that I wasn't a completely useless piece of shit. A clean slate. Tabula rasa. My thoughts continued to spiral towards hatred of what I was and corresponding ideas of what I could become. However, I couldn't handle the negativity and general self criticism of this thought. I focused back on the grass around me and it's intricate swirling patterns. Then I heard a voice from behind- "Hey Lucas, want a bong?" I obliged, headed over, and grabbed the glassie. I pulled that bad boy in one go. As the weed hit my brain and chemically combined with the mushrooms and the beer, my mind flipped back to a discussion I'd had a few weeks back. One of my mates, Mick, had a brother who went to Imperial College for six months around five years ago. We were walking through the summer rain in my home town of Ashtonville, Northern New South Wales, Australia. Ashtonville is a wierd place. It has an unusual number of churches per capita, two retirement homes, and a large community of moody retirees to match. Ashton- ville is a refuge of conservatism in the left wing stronghold of Northern New South Wales. This strange combination is reflected in Ashtonvilian geography. The town is structured like a suburb in a big city, but it is set amidst the rolling hills and farmland of the New South Wales North Coast. Suburbia in the countryside. A strange place indeed. Ashton- ville as a town is unique and paradoxically mundane at the same time. In addition to the huge retiree communitty of Ashtonville is an equally large population of young families. This is due to the fact that two primary schools and a high school are lo- cated in the town.

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