It was the first Friday of the first semester. On this day we were at the peak of our wisdom. Like every other day we did shit throughout the day. A wise man told us that we must get our books if we are to learn, so we decided to go the next day. Because our classes were in Westbury, three of us had to catch the blue leviathan at 8:00 in the morning to purchase our texts at the Westbury book store. As the day turned into nite, and the nite into early morning, we all came closer to the conclusion that there would be no point in sleeping. (Our logic at this point was so Long Islandish that we had no idea what we were getting into.)
As the bus reached closer to Westbury, we thought that we could be in and out of there in an hour. Little did we know that once we reached Westbury, we would have to wait for 12 hours for the bookstore to open. In the meantime, Stomach Patel started to complain that he needed sustenance?  We all figured that NYIT was a “normal” college and that we could go the cafeteria, but to our unfortunate surprise it was closed. So at this point, we had no food, no water, and no sleep.
Finally, the bookstore opened its rusty iron gates. On we went into the dragon’s mouth to purchase the books that would soon cost us $200,000,000,000 and a pound of flesh. Alright, we thought, lets get out of here. We could already see that this place was f*cked up. “When’s the next bus,” said the short one. “WHAT’S THIS. NOT FOR 6 HOURS!!” said the fat one. The middle one said, “that’s too bad!” We were so sleep deprived that we decided to call a cab.
We searched and searched for some type of phone. At this point we would have settled for Morse code or a banana (but that would be taken from us rather quickly). Finally we found a bold, obese man squatting in the registrars office eating a banana. “Look a Banana,” said all three at once. This is when the link between the middle one and fat one emerged. So we asked this ape like creature if we could have the banana. “NO,” he grunted, “but you could use the phone.” So we decided to call a cab. Once that cab agreed to pick us up, we had to give him intricate directions to the “college,” even though we didn’t know where the hell we were. Somehow he found us and picked us up at the flagpole. He found the three of us curled up in the fetal position near the flagpole waiting to die and perhaps be reincarnated into a black and white cookie. Lo and behold, it was no cab, but a “car service.” Our first thoughts were that he was a hit man out to get us, or a member of the infamous Patel brothers.
Reluctantly, the fat one crawled into the front seat while the other two got into the rear. After we told the guy our destination, he just wouldn’t shut up. He kept on talking like a drunken lemur from Mexico. The fat one passed out within minutes, while the other two were able to struggle to stay awake. Finally they surrendered and went into shock sleep. When we reached our destination, scenic Central Islip, the “cabbie” pulled out a metal briefcase. We thought (or hoped) that it was the end. He then handed us our bill. After paying the bill and tipping the man a deetzonian amount of money, we all entered our chambers and depressed onto our bedsteads.

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