It's sometime in March and the Golden Age of The Betch Life is upon us.
Spring. Fucking. Break.
Betches all across the land are dismounting their treadmills and jetting to some third world country where shit is gonna get fucking weird. For 51 weeks a year, we have to mask our true selves by trying to keep our betchy activities under the radar. Been #8 holding off on fucking bros? Wearing clothes that cover 50 percent of your body? Not on Spring Break, betches.
The best part about the week is the fact that it’s basically a black hole in your life, which means it’s a completely judgment-free zone. Normally we’d think it was a little fucked up if we found one of our guy friends attempting to sniff something off his coffee table just because it vaguely resembles white powder. But on Spring Break, you instead accuse him of drug hoarding until he admits that he is actually out of drugs and wanted to see what would happen if he snorted your month’s worth of Yaz. Sorry bro, that's not what you’re looking for.
Spring Break is both the most ridiculous and most amazing thing to hit modern society. Like, how is it actually possible that there’s an entire week when it’s socially acceptable for your parents to pay thousands of dollars so you can go to a tropical island and get obliterated day and night, while alternating between getting fucked on the swim-up bar and getting railed against your balcony’s, umm… railing. It’s like #3 going abroad, but you don’t even have to pretend to be having a cultural experience. Actually, we lie. Some of us took the opportunity to work on our espanol throughout the week.
Manuel, uno mas tequila por favor!
Even the assholes who took French in high school are fluent in Spanish bartender heckling.
Nothing brings out your betchiest side like the tropical heat, tan bros, and leaving America. Fuck #2 world news, your parents bitching at you to get a job, and your fake desire to “be a real person.” Suddenly you’d rather win the booty-shaking contest than receive news that you got into the grad school of your choice.
But contest or not, you know nothing really matters except the purity of the drugs you bought from the islander down the beach.
Unfortunately, there comes a point in a betch’s life when the only vacations she’ll be on will be with her family (vom) or boyfriend/husband/kids. In ten years, when your spring break consists of taking your two year-old on Space Mountain fifteen times, just think back to your betch glory days. Fuck roller coasters, remember there was once a time when the club was your amusement park, the only rolling you did was on E, and your favorite ride was the bro underneath you.