“We will, we will rock you!” Jameson, Steve and the DJ chanted at the top of their drunk-ass lungs, waving their beer steins in unison. Of course, it sounded more like, “We, uh, we’ll, rocka!”
“You guyz are aight, ya know dat?” Jameson muttered before losing his balance and falling on his ass. His new friends laughed, but in all fairness they were not in much better shape.
They loaded the equipment into their Scooby Doo van and drove home, swerving just often enough to keep from dozing off at the wheel.
At the dorm, Jameson collapsed on a couch, hopeless and abandoned. He quickly passed out.
He awoke startled as some jerk had flipped over the couch on top of him. He tried to shower the guy with obscenities, but his reaction was quite delayed, so the guy was long gone when he shouted, “Try it again, beyotch!”
“What did you just call me?” Becca asked, somewhere between disgusted and amused.
“Becks, uh, Becca!” Jameson said, suddenly only half-drunk. “Why do you hate me? Was it the worm?“