The sacred art of streaking

Everyone has traditions. To my father, tradition is yelling at the TV on Sundays, acting as if the Skins won’t lose miserably, and then cursing them out when they do. To UVA lads, tradition is running your naked ass across all 740 feet of The Lawn.

Now that I think about it, there are actually a lot of aspects I absolutely adore about UVA: everyone dresses the same so I never confuse Josh in the blue khakis with Jake in the slightly-lighter blue khakis; weaving my way around blonde southern belles who down half a shot and then trip around as if they’re on shrooms in the middle of Woodstock; having a Pokestop conveniently located on the unmarked slave graveyard right next to my hall; explaining to my suite mate that Iran and Iraq, are in fact, two different countries. But running across TJ’s sacred Academical Village in the nude (as the good Lord intended us all to be)? That’s next level.

I told my parents that I chose UVA for its academics, and more importantly, because I thought UVA was trying to change socially. One Saturday night and one abandonment-at-the hands-of-being-the-only-one-without-a-fake-ID later, I was walking down The Corner alone at 1:30am when the spirit of Thomas Jefferson decided to knock some damn sense into me, and I mean literally – some intoxicated punk  clocked me in the face with strength of a real man (Just kidding real men don’t hit women – real douchebags do though).

My point is, I felt duped: the way you feel when the Victoria’s Secret Angels convince you to buy sexy lingerie because it looks so good on them, but then realize that Gigi Hadid tricked you into selling your soul to capitalism. And that’s why streaking The Lawn is the best part about UVA – it’s a tradition that’s true to itself. Everything is out in the open (both literally and metaphorically).

In all seriousness, no rendezvous better exemplifies the Wahoo spirit. Between you and me, the real reason I chose UVA is because I am destined to be a legend amongst streakers. I won’t go down in history, but I sure as shit will go down the Lawn butt-ass naked at one in the morning.

Here at good ol’ UVA, streaking the Lawn is a well-respected art form. Run down to Old Cabell, circle Homer’s statue three times, and then kiss his ass. After all, isn’t kissing the ass of pompous white men in positions of authority what UVA kids do best?