There, there. It’s over now. You can relax. No more shall the threat of scrumpy hands plague these streets. No more shall students walk the streets in fear of the next red card where they will be forced to drink two bottles of the worst form of alcohol imaginable.
Scrumpy hands is no more. Its time has come. And it is time for us, the students of North Dunedin, to let it die a peaceful death.
Once there was a time when scrumpy hands was new and exciting. It was the first drinking challenge you ever heard about and thought “wow that must be fun” (how wrong you were), the first red card you ever attended, the first time you truly appreciated how disgusting scrumpy is no matter what the colour, the first time you realised how necessary a tak yak is.
But now it’s over and we walk in the light. It’s time to let yourself know the truth, to feel it in your bones and sigh in relief. Scrumpy hands is bad. There is no good reason to drink two bottles of scrumpy. There is even less reason to tape them to your hands so that you can’t pee for over an hour.
We shall not be trapped in the purgatory that is red cards and parties involving scrumpy hands. It is the seventh circle of Hell. Dante could not have imagined the horrors. Drinking something that tastes like vomit, feeling the sensation of duct tape on your skin, not being able to pre-drink because you know you are going to vomit during the red card, not having any normal interactions with anyone (guess why?) because you have two bottles of scrumpy taped to your hands, the taste of scrumpy, the smell of scrumpy, endless scrumpy.
The pain is unforgettable. Comrades, friends, enemies, anyone who has lived through the horrors, rise up against this trial. We are doing this to ourselves.
I’m not against red cards. I am against scrumpy hands. There are many inventive ways to consume alcohol in a competitive environment. Of those ideas, scrumpy hands is the most unoriginal and boring. Yes, you get fucked up. But at what cost?
The scrumpy red cards are never ending. The first one is fine. But the second is worse. And on and on and on it stretches. Friends, this has to stop at some point. You don’t have to be another link in the chain of scrumpy hands, forever condemning your friends to endure this medieval torture.
If we band together, we are powerful. We consume enough alcohol to influence the alcohol habits of the entire nation. Together, we are strong. Together, we can say: NO MORE. NO MORE SCRUMPY HANDS.
Inspired by my friend Sorel’s suggestion that we turn a perfectly normal and sane party into scrumpy hands. You really awoke something in me.