Everytime we yelled intensity, all hell would break loose!

Lyndon is a small town, consisting mostly of gas stations and banks. So when winter hits, the most a college student can do besides homework is throw parties. These parties are often impromptu word-of-mouth affairs.

During the softball season we always liked to get together to do a "jungle juice" night, which involve a 10 gallon bucket, 4 bottles of cheap rum, koolaid, water, and lots of cocktail fruit. Mix it all together and you have cheap drinks to get 100 people drunk. There is usually pong, cards, loud music, and an apartment complex filled with college students and cranky old ladies. Now we don’t believe in hazing at all we believe in letting people know who the freshmen are and kind of breaking them in.

Some of the rules:

Whenever someone would say "intensity," Barbie would have to run around with a peapod yelling "I gotta pea, I gotta pea!"

Stacy would have to moan like she was having sex;

Maureen would have to get on one knee and yell "superstar" and kiss a guy’s shoe.

The list went on with useless stuff. All these girls were NOT made to participate, but it was all in good fun. Well about an hour later you got elbow to elbow people in Apartment 8 with people coming and going from apt 12.

You randomly hear INTENSITY. Then a lot of chatter saying "if that girl has to pee so bad, why doesn’t she just go to the bathroom!” We had those old fashioned Jello Eggs full of Jello Shots, and giving those away for a quarter. There was alcohol everywhere you looked.

The captain and I find out that one of the girls has NEVER drank before and is now licking the juice that is spilt from the pong table, and is now nicknamed "rook" for her ability. Random people are signing the teams’ shirts, and then you get the old guy from across the hall knocking on the door in his bath towel telling everyone to quiet down. Five hours later, the party dies down, people are passed out everywhere. Rook is now puking and asking for chips, and I, of course, don't care and throw all the bags in the bathroom where she remained.

Finally, I go for a cup of jungle juice and realize that there isn't that much left. But the best part is still there:

The alcohol-soaked filled fruit!

So naturally I did what any typical student would do, grabbed the 10 gallon bucket in my arms (no handle) and headed for the next party. I hear my name being called and people are chasing me for the fruit! I ran, but being weighed down by the bucket and my drunkenness, it was a no-win situation. When I was inevitably caught, I had ten people pile on me and swallow that fruit like it was gold ... or, well, something that tastes really, really good!

A year goes by and the school finds out about our gatherings, and we were under supervision of hazing for the last two years left of our college career.

Sadly, Jungle Juice nights are no longer.