Last Friday night the Pomona party scene (I know, I laugh when I say that too) had an unexpected visitor. A mysterious student, or possibly even a faculty member (I’d guess Sontag but he’s on "sabbatical"), dressed in a full gorilla suit, bouncing from raucous party to raucous party. Some friends were made. Some hearts were broken. Some a capella members were harassed. Some frat guys got pissed off (sounds oddly like a day in the life of Jon Vanasco ’00), I was fortunate enough to witness the gorilla’s various adventures, and I record them faithfully as follows.

10:04pm: I ran into the gorilla in front of Lawry. There was an empty bottle of Olde English in his wake and a gleam of trouble in his eyes. Well, his eyes were actually white and plastic with a little hole drilled in the middle. But I could tell he was looking for action. My predictions proved accurate not too much later.

Gorillas, I assumed, dined primarily on bananas, bugs, and pieces of Jane Goodall PI ’69, but this gorilla had different cravings. He made his first stop at the Coop Store, nonchalantly strolling to the candy shelf. The gorilla proceeded to gather as much candy as possible, gave the clerk a "So I’m a gorilla and I’m stealing your food; what are you gonna do about it?" look, and left.

The clerk returned with a "So you’re a gorilla and you’re stealing food; what am I gonna do about it, and who cares ‘cause I can’t steal cigarettes anymore anyway" look. Besides, the law of the jungle cares little for Flex Dollars.

10: 47pm: After a cool-down in the Frary Fountain, the gorilla headed south, south being where the motherfucking parties are. I followed him first to Mudd-Blaisdell basement. His animal instincts led him straight to the beer room, which was filled with drunk people who play sports (I say this because I didn’t know any of them, and I generally assume that people I don’t know play sports). Several sports-guys offered him beers. Apparently, drunk sports-guys like gorillas and feel inclined to spread their drunk-love. Gorilla attempted to shotgun a few beers, but in vain. Unfortunately for this gorilla, his plastic mouth was a self-contained, beer-barricading piece of cheap plastic, and the beer just ran down his furry, furry (oh! how it was furry, so, so furry…ahh) chest.

Unable to reach satisfying levels of intoxication, he tried the only other popular party game: anonymous, casual sex.

The gorilla, dancing like a young, taut, footloose Kevin Bacon, got jiggy with as many girls as he could find. He told them his name was the Lover Gorilla and he was the team mascot for the UCUM ‘Statutory Apes.’ Apparently drunk sports-girls like gorillas, and danced with him like young, taut, dirty-dancin’ Jennifer Greys. But, sports-guys don’t seem to like it when gorillas steal their sports-girls, and they told Lover Gorilla as much.

11:14pm: It became even more apparent, however, that sports-guys like it even less when Lover Gorillas dance with sports-guys like a old, not-so-taut, Nathan Lane, as Lover Gorilla enthusiastically attempted. Lover Gorilla realized a drunk Friday night is no time for drunk sports-guys to explore their confused sexualities (save that for the locker room) and he got out of there quicker than Tarzan chases Jane, or, in this case, faster than a Lover Gorilla chases Jane.

11:16pm: Next stop was Lyon balcony. LG managed to get himself a little drunk, and, because he was on Lyon balcony which is constructed essentially of residual marijuana, he got a little high, too. And when the Lover Gorilla gets high, he become the Lover Guerrilla, if you know what I mean (Derek, I know you do). He was a-humping and a-bumping and a-thumping everyone he could get his furry (Oh God! So furry! Yes! AHHHH furry!) hands on. Anyone who stepped in his way was dealt with like Donkey Kong deals with Mario when he tries to step up to the Princess.

11:47 (You know, like the gag thing?) pm: Lyon grew old, however, and LG decided to return to Mudd-Blaisdell where he knew that he was loved. I followed him into a bathroom stall in MB with a couple other Gorilla groupies. We locked ourselves in and discoursed loudly on such subjects as Chuck Berry’s curious sexual proclivities, whether or not there was any alcohol in the fruit drink, and who, in fact, won the blowjob contest (evidently I won, but I didn’t even know that we were keeping score). When drunk sports-guys came into the stall next to us to urinate, we encouraged them to participate in our rousing renditions of Beach Boys’ songs, as well as a free-style a capella version of Hansen’s MmmBop! It seemed as if the Lover G was seriously increasing his popularity. Until, that is:

12:09am: Lover Gorilla produced a nondescript medicine bottle and started cutting up white lines on the toilet fixture. He then went out into the hallway, started Go-Go dancing to attract attention, and asked people if they wanted some blow. He grabbed unsuspecting sports-guys and-girls as they passed the bathroom, dragged them into the stall, and asked them if they wanted to ‘fly’ with him. Various people accused to LG of lying, saying he merely cut up Vitamin C to look like coke. Vanasco commented, "I didn’t get high, but my cold did go away." I guess sports-guys don’t like cocaine-gorillas, as they grew increasingly agitated. They grew even more agitated when Lover Coke-Gorilla told them to ‘sack up’ and to handle their ‘motherfucking business.’ When we finally left the party, the only bottles we left in our wake were the ones being thrown at Lover Coke-‘Better-Sack-Up’-Gorilla.

The moral of this story is that Pomona doesn’t appreciate gorillas or cocaine. So, obviously, the problem with this place isn’t apathy, but that we have no love for gorillas or cocaine. Actions are being taken to ensure that, by the time the incoming class of ’04 arrives, there will be a new Gorilla/Cocaine Appreciation PAC. TSL strongly endorses these measures. Lover Gorilla, you’ve led us into the light.