There is a phenomenon that sweeps our campus,And it is not the belief in the lost city of Atlantis.It tangos in the valley and rumbles in the dell;Some say it emanates from Dante’s Seventh Circle of Hell.It is neither Christina Aguilera nor Britney Spears,Who is a freshwoman at GW from what I hears.
This is no ordinary spectacle; no extraordinary sight,But it occurs on many weekend nights.Bushjumping is the name of the game,And to all those who try it comes unfathomable fame.It is a quest so genuine, so tasseled with divinityTo those who do it arrives a feminine affinity.
But what is this bushjumping?Could it be more fun than the bunny from Bambi? Thumper? Thumping?More fun than the Good for your Seoul Bowl or meaty, cheesy Meximelts?No way could it be better than ice dancing or bagging pelts.Bushjumping entails the finest of hedgesAppeared to have been cut from stone with hammers, sledges.
Bushes of this caliber are hard to find Especially when alcohol does not effect your mind.Though on the GW campus,There are drunken academics a plentus.What is the philosophy of this bizarre fad?Well, that is quite simple. Be rad.
Be rad. What the heck does that mean?One thing is for certain; you don’t just go up to the bush and lean.A running start, a skip, a hopAnd onto the bush you will flop.I mentioned before that this was a quest,And at that, one only for the best.
The journey will lead us to unity with natureBecause the bush I look for is a supporter of one human creature.This challenge invites all lads and lassesBecause I have seen varsity athletes pick leaves out of their asses.I have ripped shirt upon ripped shirt,Torn underwear, and friends with tattered skirts.
Atlanta even has bushjumpers (though a bit mentally feeble).The guy who jumped down there was as wobbly as a weeble.He managed to jump in a bush filled with thorns.Out he ran screaming and stripping his clothes as if he was a movie star, porn.He learned his lesson when it came to down South:Never go bushjumping while running your mouth.
Bushjumping may lead to other jubilees or fandangos,But don’t lose sight of our prestigious goal for some rare, ripe, juicy mango.Those bits of nature we are not interested in;We want bush, for jumping in.GW Colonials beware,Smudged, stained, dirtied may go the clothes that you wear.This is not a phenomenon that takes mercy On Gucci, North Face, Diesel, or jerseys.However, if one should be dressed in clothes likes this, snappy,Bushjumping welcomes all of those smiling and happy.
For the best way to find the ultimate bushIs with friends who may give you the occasional push.Because that is what those people are for, to help you take risks, Go on adventures, and maybe even get frisked.Friends will help you with that goalBecause once achieved, you will be unified with buddies, new and ol’.
So grab a pal, be it guy or gal, and head for the bush.Neighbors may complain: Be quiet and ShushBut who will whine when that special bush is found?I sure won’t. I’ll howl like a hound.
This article appeared in the September 25, 2000 issue of the Hatchet.