Whether you are discussing the partying, the couch burning, the unruly fans, or the diploma scandals, West Virginia University is infamous. I’m not saying academically its lacking, just that it is deeply foreshadowed by the incorrigible bits.
Rumored to have begun in 1982 after a win against Oklahoma, a bunch of students decided to turn Sunnyside, aka college slum, into a street of burning musty couches. The police were not prepared for the reaction to the win, some say, and had to open the fire hydrants to put out the flaming cushions. But really no one knows...its one of those urban legends of some kid deciding his zippo should be intimately acquainted with the couch that had been sitting on the porch since 1961. You know, that old chesnut.
It is better known as the bane of every WVU student's existence for the last 36 years. Built by Boeing from 1972 to 1975 it is basically a monorail built for mayhem. In 2006 it broke down 259 times. Meaning you are stuck...on a track...in a 15' by 8' by 8' car...with at least 20 other people...for an undisclosed amount of time. Fuck. That. And lord help you if its hot outside, because if you think those sons a bitches still have functioning air conditioners, clearly you are on something very potent. As an added bonus for all of those non-student or faculty (who get to use it for free as some consolation prize), you get to pay 50 cents for that kind of entertainment. But in a true demonstration of collegiate safety, every year the student union hosts a "PRT Cram". This is exactly what it sounds like...a competition to see how many people can be stuffed into one of the aforementioned cars. The record being 97 in 2000. Again I state...fuck that.
Yes, that makes it so much safer.
Now, many of you are going to think to yourselves why the hell I'm mentioning New Jersey. That is because WVU is nothing but a colony of Jersey Shore candidates. I don't know why...perhaps it's the tuition...maybe it's the famed partying with enough fist pumping for all...who the fuck knows. What I do know is, when you walk down High Street (bar central), you are guaranteed to run in to more leopard print, fake tans, spiked hair, and stiletto heels than any one person should have to encounter...ever. Not to mention the bombardment of plaid shorts...good God...the plaid shorts.