By contributing writer Jay Maloney

This past weekend I had the rare opportunity to tear my sorry ass away from the eternal hell that is The Citadel, and release my pent up rage upon the wondrous Southern gem that is Athens, GA. Known for parties in which the participants regularly wake up married in Tijuana, the fair town of Athens is also home to a legend by the name of William Kiser, who aptly describes it as “a heavenly place for misfits.”

One would assume that this kind of behavior is really only seen in the undergraduate world, but my weekend of lawless shenanigans allowed me to witness something that I didn’t even know existed. Let me introduce you to a group of young men and women who can go from zero to obliterated in mere seconds; a group who can make such perfect and irrefutable logic out of any situation that James Brown would stop and gauge the air; a wondrous collection of students who can both make you feel like a complete window-licker while also drinking you under the FUCKING table—I’m talking about none other than the UGA law students.

“That's a very accurate construction of the beer molecule, Mr. Hunting, but what does it have to do with the writ of habeas corpus?”

You know, during my tenure at The Citadel, I have seen some shit. I know that everyone and their mother claims to have done so, but in all actuality no one drinks harder or with less regard for health and reason than a cadet at a military university. It’s just a law of nature, set in stone long ago when soldiers in the Roman army would get shit-faced and call the emperor a pedophiliac nut-sack. Yet even so, with all of my knowledge of what I thought were the hardest animals this side of the pond, I was humbled and made an absolute bitch this weekend. Perhaps I should explain their academic schedule first.

From what I gather, it’s more of a “teach yourself” program than anything encountered in the normal college arena. I guess that’s why it’s so difficult…. Regardless, the old adage “1 hour in the classroom equals 3 hours studying” could not be more accurate for these students, with the normal bedtime averaging around 3AM with a beer break at 12AM. Dusk to dawn they constantly cram incredible amounts of incomprehensible law jargon down their throats, only to regurgitate it to a pretentious asshole who really does know that he’s better than everyone else in the room (think Harvard summa cum laude, staff position in D.C., etc.).

This goes on Monday through Friday, and then something truly magical happens. The day comes slowly to a close, and the law students can actually feel their bodies begin to change from John Marshall to John Belushi. Yes, the gods themselves sit upon their misty thrones and utter one simple phrase:

“Uh oh.”

Bar management and owners of 7-11’s can feel this too; it’s part of the job training. I checked, so all you fucking smartasses can look it up.

With the fervor and speed of someone on their 21st birthday, the law-students-turned-conquistadors start drinking. Their drink of choice is almost always beer—never cheap shit though, always a microbrew or an import. They converse and make small talk about the past week’s victories and defeats, and of course Roe v. Wade. The beer starts to flow just a little faster now. Like a crack in a dam, slow at first but building up incredible momentum. The conversation goes from:

“I respect the woman’s choice for cessation of pregnancy,”


“HEY! Get a FUCKIN’ coat hanger ya SKANK!!! Ahhh HA! Coat hanger!”

It happens so quickly, you wouldn’t even notice that these are grade A, top of the line students of America. It was at this moment that I knew I was in trouble, for though I am no stranger to the ways of binge drinking, this was a style all new to me.

“So you go to The Citadel huh? Jeeeeeeez that’s hard man… I… I couldn’t do that man… just the fucking…Army stuff… yeah…” *Drinks shot #8*

Okay, so the last part isn’t entirely accurate. It was actually shot #9 for that guy.

So I moved on, trying to find someone who was still capable of rational conversation, even for a drunk cadet. I remember vividly thinking, “Hey, there’s a female law student, this could be fun, if not awkwardly boring.” So I approached her, and began talking about what it’s like being a law student, etc, while also violating her with my eyes. Things were going well as far as my glazed pupils could tell, so I asked if she’d like to have a drink at the bar with me.

“So what would you like?” I inquire with a shit-eating grin.

“JACK DANIELS on the FUCKING ROCKS!! Wooooooooooooo!” she bellows at the bartender.

From that point on, I heard only the most foul and disgusting jokes pass the lips of this woman, who seconds ago looked as if she had just jumped off the stand. Imagine every “dead baby” joke combined with the word jizz, and you’ve got a faint understanding. So there I was, drinking straight Jack at what was suddenly 12AM, surrounded by students who I am quite certain were the most inebriated, yet intelligent people I have ever laid eyes upon.

The funny thing was (and this was almost the best part), through all the slurred speech people doing the “hula hoop” (you know what I mean, where you sway around in an attempt to stand straight—an expression coined by none other than King William Kiser IV) these people STILL had the snippets of law jargon spliced in between drunken words. Think of every courtroom drama you’ve ever seen, but as a drinking game.

“You can’t *HIC* hhANDLE the truth!!”

I pretty sure everyone in the bar who wasn’t with that group knew exactly what was going down. They almost avoided us, as if to acknowledge, “We know you’re carrying some lethal STD that causes your heart to explode while a giant cock stems from your forehead like a mutant zucchini.”

In retrospect, I don’t think there was a single stereotypical college incident that didn’t occur. We had the white guy who thought he could magically shed his skin color after enough alcohol and “bust a move.” There was the emotional girl who started drunk dialing while insisting that “this never happens and it’s so his fault.” And in a drunken coup-de-grace, one member of the group decided to let everyone know he was gay. Oh, and of course, someone threw up in the bathroom, completely missing the target, and then proceeded to prove that he wasn’t messed up by drinking even more.

Fucking glorious.

The 5-hour drive back to Charleston proved to be a time reflection and appreciation of the simple nature of what I had just experienced. Maybe it was because I was suffering one of the worst hangovers I’ve ever had, or maybe it was the Goody’s powder in my system as a result of said hangover, but I almost heard the air rustle and the land sigh, as if to say, “Hey guys, damn outstanding job this weekend.”

My body is still broken, but my spirit has been forever strengthened by the tenacity and drive of these incredible men and women. Have I learned any kind of lesson? Not really. All I know is, I’m going to law school.