Ode to the Double Red Bull

‘Twas two weeks before Christmas, and the soon-to-be grads,
Spent long nights in Butler, all hopped-up on Adds,
With sour demeanors, their eyes bloodshot red,
As the finals and papers instilled in them dread.
The pre-meds made flash cards and memorized cancers,
While knocking back loads of performance enhancers.
And Scotty—the wanna-be music historian—
Who yearned once again to be valedictorian,
Had lain in his bed in his coffin in Wien,
When his heart went and failed him due to all the caffeine.
And those for whom studying seemed an awfully tall order
Got shrinks to sign off on their “learning disorder.”
Amphetamines, stimulants, No-Doz and Coke®—
Stop reading! Start dosing! Your grades are no joke!
Two hours ‘fore finals—you won’t need study aids:
Drug use is the only guarantor of good grades.
And he who says “Learning’s the thing” is a fool,
‘Twas obsession with transcripts got us into this school!
And to think of the papers that I have been shirking,
(I was writing this poem when I should have been working),
Imparts to my soul such a terrible fright.
So, good luck with your finals, and to all—sleepless nights!

The author is a Columbia College sophomore.