Read the fine print in the Bible, page 4,376 of the King James version, under "signs of Armageddon," and the movie The Real Cancun makes perfect sense. If the fun-lovin' guys and gals roasted a goat in between hits off the beer bongs and wet t-shirt contests, it would be close to prophecy confirmed.
In cinematic circles, there were concerns that this Cancun spring break "reality" concept might not translate to film. Movie executives gathered and stroked their chins and calculated that, yes, maybe, if scientific marketing strategies are implemented, following around a bunch of beer-buzzed, half-naked girls and sex-crazed dudes with washboard stomachs might-just might-work on the big screen.
The exploits of sloppy-drunk, scantily clothed kids are, of course, already a staple of cable television and home video. Late night TV is a blur of scenes of bikini-clad young girls competing with brain dead lacrosse players to see who can drink the most margaritas without puking.
It's reality, baby. Despite all the efforts of the church and our civic leaders, apparently there are many, many busty young women out there who, when approached by Snoop Dogg carrying a camera, will gleefully take off their tops and, perhaps, if asked politely, lick a girlfriend's nipples.
Sure, it may be easy to write it off as the cavorting of a few academics blowing off some steam, and, what the heck, no one is roasting any goats. But these people are among us. Anyone who spends some quality time at a San Diego State frat party or walks Garnett on a Friday night knows that MTV is reality, except without the smell of stale beer.
You can try to deny it, and believe in your hearts that the Chargers cheerleaders really do read Nietzsche in their spare time. But we all know San Diego is some sort of Mecca for vacuous frat boys and trust-fund chicks who live for nothing more than to see how much tequila it takes to drown a rat.
There's no sense in denying it. It's like porno. No one knows anybody who would deal with such filth, but sales of "Close Encounters of the Anal Kind" are booming at the F Street bookstore.
In the same way, the hard-partyin' kids of spring break are out there. They're your sons and daughters. They go to your schools and serve you drinks at the Sizzler.
On TV, San Diego is always well represented in this culture of beer busts and horny aerobics instructors. MTV's mind-enriching dating show Dismissed recently featured Angela, a 19-year-old blonde San Diego State student who introduced herself to an international television audience by announcing, "I like to paar-tay."
To make it clear that she is no slacker in the "paar-tay" department, she added, "I like to party five days a week." It's a rigorous schedule that she is apparently able to coordinate with her demanding academic requirements.
For those who've missed it, Dismissed usually features two girls competing for the attention of a guy. It's a heartwarming show of romance and old-fashioned courting, if your idea of courting involves getting liquored up and pulling a stranger into the bathroom for a quickie.
Fearing rejection, the two women eagerly display their attributes for the hunky frat boy, and cooking is never one of them. Knowing what men really want, the women eagerly hop into bikinis and promise acrobatic sex if only-please, please, please-the tequila-sloshed dude picks her.
There's none of the time-wasting rituals of Blind Date or the tense interpersonal dynamics of ElimiDate. Dismissed is all about which girl can convince the dude that she is really the best lap dancer.
Interestingly, there seems to be no "prize" to Dismissed-no trip to the Caribbean or silverware set to the lucky contestants. The only reward seems to be the chance to get on TV. Certainly the guy is no prize. Typical comment from the guy: "Man, she has a smokin' body."
Most of the guys waste no time trying to discern the inner soul of the two girls, primarily regarding their views on anal sex on the first date. By the first commercial, talk of future careers and socio-religious patterns in modern Europe are over and the women are demonstrating their tonguing techniques.
Despite stellar work in the hot tub, Angela lost, dismissed by Josh, who preferred the girl with the pierced tongue. In some ways, this was a loss for all San Diego State students, who were certainly rooting for Angela.
The question plaguing San Diego society is, of course, what happens to Angela now? If she isn't able to get accepted on Survivor and opts out of porn, she will be tossed into the local workforce, perhaps armed with little more than a degree from San Diego State.
This is the true reality of the Beer Bust Generation. When the foam bars close, the legions of thong-wearin', brewski-swillin' youngsters merge back into our world. And soon they'll enter the job market. They'll grow up to be our bank tellers and meter maids. They will mature listening to Jeff and Jer and think Bill O'Reilly sure is a keen thinker. In the future, they will vote for Jenna Bush because she doesn't like smart people, either.
...they rejoin society.
There will be millions of them, a new generation of alcoholic used-car salesmen and ex-strippers. They might not be able write a complete sentence, but they'll kick ass in a limbo contest.
And then they will breed.
Forget al Qaeda. These are the people we should fear.
Write to MsBeak1@aol.com and email@example.com.