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tenacious craziness; spirit, and the will to combine both (1 Viewer)

this article is one of the first i wrote for a school paper, before it was edited, its about 'Car Rally', which is one of those things the whole grad class does together- its kind of like a scavanger hunt but in cars and you're pretty naked and alot tanked... so no, nothing like a scavanger hunt.
Anyway this is my ode to car rally:

Car Rally. The name beams infrared fear and ultraviolet giddiness deep inside the hearts and minds of all inner-organs within the enlightened few, but to most the name is motionless, dead; void of all the significance and applause it so wholesomely deserves. “So just what the heck is it”, someone hears a man decked-out in suspenders at the back mumble aloud. Its the climactic, reckless embodiment of all that is great and sporadic in the graduating spirit, comes the retort. Car Rally comes at that special time when the end is finally in sight and so is that last journey that we embark on in order to be fully qualified to wear a robe, don the flat cap with diploma in hand, to get even drunker and to join the ranks of the Royal Canadian Workforce. It is what the Long March was to Mau, and the Marathon of Hope is to pirates. It is epic.
In the spirit of competition and decency we pack into cars, or trucks, wearing team stripes and nipples, ready and revved up to represent. Represent who and what? No one will remember. What follows is 4-6 hours of randomly high-paced celebrations in the name of dignity and alcohol. These few hours takes us back to the fundamentals, honouring our primitive past, back to the days of whale riding and rambling nakedness. All for one and one for one giant middle finger salute to responsibility. An ‘Up Yours’ to all who care.
But there’s a finish line too. First and foremost: this is a race. And those with out true grip and grit will not finish; they will not make it. They’ll wake up in a ditch hours after the rest, wandering and wondering what happened and why, god-damning the whale on whose hump-back they left the last of their last self-respect. But those who made it haven’t won yet. Fuck no! Oh no, so much more! Out comes the tapes. Proof that what happened, happened; and out of the hazy fog emerges a winner. How does the winner emerge? How are they decided? Someone obviously doesn’t want me to know, because I don’t. But I can speculate: the tapes are all collected, simultaneously, then put in a big bag, possibly leather, maybe duffel, driven, in an import, across town to a board of invigilators, over looked by scrutineers and poll captains, some people vote, then others, then after all the votes are cast, they are recast, then put in a hat, then a bigger hat, then a monkey named Travis picks one. Someone wins a bottle of booze three times the height of God. Then repeat.
Go Team.