A Toast to My Fraternity Brothers

Ah, our squandered youth. We were like kings, ruling our land with a drink in one hand and a wench in the other. Where did our power, fleeting and sweet, fly off to? It fled from our adulthood, as did our hopes, dreams, and beer pong prowess. It ran from our lives when it saw what was coming - adulthood, and with it, responsibility and jobs and future, all evil words to a thing as vigorous and fragile as our youth.

Cry with me brothers! Cry to the heavens, and shake your fist with rage at the sputtering of the candle of our hopes, and dreams, and youth! Lament drinks not imbibed, parties not attended, substances not abused, and wenches not besotted with the juices of our virility.

Lament time not spent unwisely. Lament good choices made, and made not with the knowledge that our time together was slowly coming to an end. Lament fights not fought, battles not waged, and wars not begun. Lament most my brothers, any cross words between us, and any time not spent in the company of our true friends.

Though we are scattered through the world, I still consider you my band of brothers. When I am kicked out of my apartment by an angry wife, it is to your doorsteps I shall fly. I shall come with a bottle of Sambuca, a deck of cards, and warmth in my heart to finally see my brothers again. We will remember the good times, and toast the days gone by. We will drink until the weight of our maturity disappears, and we are free to once again make asses out of ourselves. And when the dawn breaks, and reveals our divine insanity, we can once again slip on the cloak of responsibility, bid each other farewell, and continue our lives, knowing our brothers are still out in the world, waiting to receive us when we need them.