Sweat + Coeds = Sweaty Coeds

Once again, here on the grandiose oaks of LSU, the squirrels have begun their annual mating dance. So once again, I run across campus avoiding the caterpillars that the satanic tree rats keep humming in my direction. Mind you, I like to watch them torment freshmen and those professors that don’t curve (you know, the ones that say that your grade is “the scalar quantity of your test and homework grades”). But more important than the barrage of caterpillars and demented squirrels, our two weeks of winter and spring are over and it is getting HOT!!! I know, I know: It’s not the heat; it’s the humidity. I have heard that pitiful excuse for almost thirty years now. But really, I can’t stand the simple fact that my bus stop is a mere fifty paces from my door, yet when I get there, I look like the loser of a wet t-shirt contest. I can handle the heat. I can handle the 3pm downpours that last five minutes. I can even handle the sauna that occurs when the sun comes glaring back at 3:06. What I cannot handle is the layer of sweat that coats my body with a layer of my own salty waste starting at 6am. It’s disgusting, vile, and uncomfortable, especially when I arrive at my first class of the day and sweat for at least a half hour more until my outer shirt is sopping wet. (That’s the real reason for the gaudy Hawaiian shirts.)

However, this rant does have an upside. I happen to not be the only citizen of this metropolis that feels the drench of the insane humidity. All of the coeds on LSU’s campus feel the heat, too. Which means for me and all the other guys (and more than a handful of the women, too) that the bikinis, tube tops, and shorts that were designed for a 3’6” woman will be back in fashion again, making me want to attend any class with the words psychology, political science, mass communications, or marketing in its name. (I would mention the engineering women because of their beauty, but they still dress like engineers, not like bimbos.) They tend to lay out and “study,” but we all know that they are performing an annual ritual similar to the rabid squirrels. They are trying to earn their MRS degrees and bag themselves a pre-law, pre-med, or international trade and finance guy to make their dreams come true. And to those ladies, I say: “Good luck and happy hunting!”

I guess this humidity thing isnÂ’t so bad. I guess if worse comes to worst, I can always go stand outside of my apartment during the next hurricane and let the 75-mph winds cleanse me of the salty layer that is my birthright of Southern Louisiana. And remember folks, that is only a month away, so follow my advice: Stock up early, stock up often, and the girl at the pool needs someone to put oil on her backÂ…

Holden is upset that he didnÂ’t make the N.O. mayoral runoff. Please send him campaign contributions.