After a week-long binge at whatever destination you chose for Spring Break, your body is probably in a pretty fucked up state of withdrawal right now. Odds are you still have the shakes, beer shits, and carry the scent of alcoholism and unattended hygiene. If you pushed it to the limit, as you should’ve, then you undoubtedly have some disturbing tales to tell, and there is probably some sick photographic evidence. Perhaps you took down a bottom-tier whale, bribed police in another country, or experienced a full body explosion (simultaneously puke, piss, and poop yourself). Maybe you took some mind-bending psychedelic that changed your whole perspective on shit. Take it easy you fucking hippie; time to come back to reality.
Remember, Spring Break really shouldn’t alter your behavior that much. You should be raging all the time. It’s just a week without school where GDIs pretend they can party at a level comparable to you. Therein lies the beauty of this hiatus: they can’t afford to rage where you rage. These pathetic professional-spring-breakers work out everyday for months, just to show off their barbed wire bicep tats in Fort Lauderdale, packed 10-dicks-deep in a fucking motel. While broke geeds remain in-state at weak beaches, you roll out to exotic locations where there are sure to be hot slams of your caliber looking to participate in consensually freaky sex. It’s no secret that sluts (both male and female) are way more likely to execute deplorable deeds if they are never going to ever see you again. I mean, they already know you’re FaF. Your attire and the mere fact that you can afford to be in the same place should tip them to that. Be careful though: if a strange sorosty yells “CHOKE ME!” during sex, have a safe word or signal that lets you know when she’s about to blackout or lose consciousness.
And yes, it is a good idea to get tested after you let that Mexican hooker blow you behind Carlos’n Charlie’s while you were waiting for her dealer to show with the blow.