A couple weeks ago, I brought my 17-year-old cousin to our fine university with the intention of taking him on the ultimate college tour. I called it “The Maryland.” Our tour started with a trip to the fine dining establishment known as Chicken Rico.

After a few minutes spent settling in to our respective chicken sandwiches, my cousin dropped the bombshell of all bombshells on me:

“So, what’s there to do around here?”

SHIT. I panicked. I mainly spend my days going to class, eating Chicken Rico, eating Chicken Rico in class, spending class at Chicken Rico, etc. Well, class hasn’t started yet, and we’re already at Chicken Rico. What else does the university have to offer?

Oh, wait. This is a college campus for crying out loud. Let’s go drinking!

“Oh, wait. This is a college campus for crying out loud. Let’s go drinking!” I said to my cousin. 

A devilish grin spread across his face. “Good idea,” he said.

We exited The Rico and started walking down the main drag toward the campus. I told my cousin that there are two main bars in College Park.

“One’s called Cornerstone Grill and Loft, and the other is called The Decrepit and STI-ridden Turtle. Which do you want to drink at?” I asked.

“Whoa, I guess Cornerstone.”

“Good choice,” I said, fishing in my back pocket for my wallet and handing my cousin an ID with a picture of my old Russian roommate, Alexei Cantsayf***inthediamondbackov, on it.

“What’s this?”

“That’s a fake ID, man. You need one to get into the bar.”

“But this doesn’t even look like me,” my cousin protested.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said.

Still, my cousin looked nervous as we approached the portly bouncer waiting outside the bar.

“Hey Mike, I don’t need to see your ID at all, you sexy bitch,” the bouncer said to me, which would be awesome if it was actually true. “And who’s your friend?”

“Oh, this is my cousin, Alexei Cantsayf***inthediamondbackov.”

“Nice to meet you,” said the bouncer, taking a perfunctory glance at the ID and motioning for my cousin and I to move along. As we walked into Cornerstone, I felt his hand grab my shoulder.

“What was your cousin’s last name again?” he asked.

“Cantsayf***inthediamondbackov.”

“F***,” said the bouncer. “That’s a really long name.”

Four hours, 50 Yuenglings and $200 later, we stumbled out of Cornerstone a drunken mess.

As we ambled toward our final destination (Panda), I told my cousin there was one last thing for us to do before “The Maryland” tour ended — something that every Marylander is used to hearing about.

“What’s that?”

“We’ve got to masturbate in public,” I said.

Luckily, we both passed out right after that. The two of us awoke the next morning with our wallets, jackets and dignity missing.

“Well, that’s about all there is to do around here,” I said. “What do you think of the place?”

And my cousin, picking himself up off the concrete, turned to me and smiled. “I love it,” he said.

Mike Sanders is a junior history major. He can be reached at msanders at umdbk dot com.