👀 Country Music vs. Rap, Chicken Finger Friday
Plus a love poem that would make Shakespeare cry!
The diversity of our campus is underappreciated. Lehigh students study such interesting things. Yesterday, I met someone who was a double major in finance and accounting. Talk about interdisciplinary!
This week has been pretty eventful. There was a snowstorm and now I can’t walk to class without getting showered with ice-cold gutter water from leaky Amicus houses. And the university didn’t even cancel classes for our trouble. We’ll get an email that classes have been moved to Zoom when the Rapture comes and the entirety of South Mountain is sucked down into the Inferno.
Speaking of Jesus, yesterday was Ash Wednesday. I’m not Catholic, so I don’t know why you guys put that stuff on your foreheads, but I think it would look a hell of a lot cooler if you smudged it under your eyes like a baseball player. Hope this helps!
Adios Amigo,
New Sheriff In Town
Frat Brother Who Enjoys Rap and Frat Brother Who Enjoys Country Both Enjoy Saying N-Word
Despite vastly different personalities and music tastes, Brandon Surgery and Jared Truck ‘26, two brothers of Chi Phi, beat the odds and bonded over their shared love of saying racial slurs.
“We fought over the aux at every function,” described Truck, who exclusively listens to country music. “I always wanted to play Morgan Wallen. I’m a huge fan of his music and more importantly his TMZ footage. He is a super talented songwriter and a stand-up guy.”
Surgery, on the other hand, listens only to hip-hop: “My favorite artist is Travis Scott. The energy of his music is unmatched. He’s such a talented performer. I wish I was at Astroworld.”
Truck and Surgery frequently butted heads over their clashing music tastes. They quarreled over the vibe, with Truck insisting country music should be played at “kickbacks” and upbeat rap music moved the gathering into “rager” territory.
Both brothers attribute their music tastes to their upbringings.
“I grew up in Morristown, New Jersey which is only, like, 45 minutes away from New York City. I’ve been to Times Square. It’s a tough neighborhood. You can really see and feel what Pop Smoke was rapping about. I gravitated towards hip-hop because that’s the sort of lifestyle that surrounded me,” Surgery explained.
Truck offered a similar explanation. “I was raised in Summit, New Jersey. That’s only like 45 minutes away from the nearest cornfield. My dad bought me an oversized car with four-wheel drive on my 17th birthday. I always resonated with the message of country music because that’s how I was raised.”
The pair bonded when Surgery played Kendrick Lamar’s “Alright” from his 2015 album To Pimp a Butterfly.
“I told him, you have to like this song. It’s really deep. It has, like, a message, and shit.”
When Surgery played Kendrick Lamar for his fraternity brother, Truck was pleasantly surprised by the lyrics.
“The chorus was just so catchy. I couldn’t help but learn all the words. I mean all of them.” said Truck.
The pair began to play the song frequently at fraternity events. They put their arms around each other as they jumped up and down, screaming the lyrics.
“Some people don’t like it when you say the N-word, even when you’re just singing along to a rap song,” said Surgery. “Luckily, I found Jared. It seems like white country music fans want to say racial slurs as much as white rap fans.”
Surgery continued, “We still have some disagreements, Jared is more of a hard-r guy. Regardless, it's comforting enough to know that we’ve cultivated a friendship where we can be casually racist around each other. We’re more similar than we thought!”
An Ode To Situationships
To my love,
On this Valentine’s Day, I want to look back on all we’ve been through as a couple.
It started freshman year when we were in the same orientation group. From the moment I laid eyes on you in the basement of Rauch, I knew I had to have you. That's why, on that very first night, I extended my first romantic gesture and Snapchatted you “Yo slide to my crib.” From then on, the nights we spent together after I partied without you and talked to other girls were the best of my life.
I fell for you because you were always there for me, and so three days in, I said I loved you. I was astounded when you didn't say it back. If you can’t love me three days in, WHEN WILL YOU? That’s when I knew our relationship was doomed.
You didn’t respond when I said I loved you, but you got mad when I got with other girls? Oh my God, you’re just so controlling.
So, four years later, we’re still together and I still hit on the freshman girls who come to my parties. And you get mad, but that’s just us. All is fair in love and drugs. At least I think that’s how the saying goes.
So with that, I wrote an ode to us:
In a classroom in Rauch, where legends begin.
I texted you, “Yo slide to mine,” thinking it a win.
Partied alone, talked to others feeling smart,
Three days in, I dropped “I love you,” playing my part.
You just stared, no words back, left me reeling,
Couldn't believe it, my heart hit the ceiling.
So I kept on flirting, thinking, “Why not?”
Blamed you for not loving me on the spot.
A relationship? No. More like a game,
Hated you when things stayed the same.
Four years later, nothing’s new,
Still hitting on freshmen, that's just what I do.
“All’s fair in love and…drugs????” I say,
Missing the point, every single day.
In the end, it's clear, my approach is a flop,
Perhaps it’s time, at the barbershop,
To trim my ways, refine my spin,
And maybe, just maybe, truly win.
The Secret Chicken Finger Friday Recipe
Chicken Finger Friday is among the fondest memories from my freshman year. Walking into Lower Cort and smelling the sweet aroma of fried chicken, unsalted fries, and mildew was one of the great wonders of this campus. The wonderful hard rock music playlists, judgemental glares from the newest Theta pledge class, and the workers behind the dish station yelling at students to do a better job of cleaning their plates were like the sounds of Heaven.
One day, I stumbled into line and bashfully asked the food lady to please give me more chicken. Yes, really. I will eat it all. It won’t fall off the plate, trust me. She suspiciously eyed my backpack, which looked a little too heavy for me to be standing so straight. I assured her that I hadn’t eaten in three days in preparation for this exact moment. No longer would I have to starve, as soon I’d be biting into some of the crunchiest, juiciest fried chicken that has ever blessed the streets of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania.
The food lady reluctantly gave me my plate and I quickly found a corner table that was far, far out of the watchful gaze of the Lower Cort employees.
After inhaling at least 5-7 pieces of chicken and trying not to orgasm from the taste, I finally began to feel sober. Maybe I was still drunk from the night before or maybe it was the smalts from the guy in piss alley on Hillside, but either way, I was going to do this. I had to.
Carefully I moved my all-too-light-but-heavy-looking backpack between my thighs. Giving a glance at the unsuspecting faces around me I quietly unzipped my backpack and wiggled my tupperware open. The 25 chicken fingers sitting sluttily on my plate miraculously disappear within a second. I zip the bag up: package secured. Then I made my dreaded mistake.
As I got up and brought my plates to the dish station, the worker behind the window whistled. Just as I realized what was going on, I was body slammed from behind. They spotted me stashing the chicken fingers. They ripped off my backpack off me and tore it open to reveal, my full Tupperware. The other students, my peers, began laughing at me.
As I was escorted out, the food lady managed to slip a handwritten note to me. On it, the recipe for greatness. Lower Cort may be gone, but it’s not forgotten.
Ingredients
2 pounds chicken breast tenders
1 1/2 cups buttermilk
3 eggs beaten
1 ¾ cups flour
½ cup cum
2 ¼ teaspoons kosher salt
½ teaspoon black pepper
¼ teaspoon smoked paprika
¼ teaspoon garlic powder
¼ teaspoon onion powder
⅛ teaspoon baking powder
⅛ teaspoon tears
vegetable oil for frying
INSTRUCTIONS
Place the chicken breast tenders, buttermilk, cum, and tears in a large bowl. Stir to combine.
Cover and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes or up to 8 hours. This will make sure all the flavors really soak into the chicken.
Crack the eggs in a medium-sized bowl. Place the flour, salt, pepper, paprika, garlic, onion, and baking powder in a second bowl. Stir the flour and spices together until well combined.
Take each piece of chicken out of the buttermilk mixture. One at a time, coat the chicken in the flour, then dip it in the egg, then coat it again in the flour. Repeat until all chicken pieces are coated.
Heat 3 inches of oil in a large deep pot to 350 degrees F.
Cook 4-5 pieces of chicken at a time for 6-8 minutes or until golden brown.
Drain on paper towels, then serve.
Sorry in Advance: Advice From the Lookaway
I have an extensive history with fumbling guys I’m super interested in because I think they’re not interested in me. Looking back, they so were but I’m not even ugly and I’m fairly confident. plz help I don’t wanna die alone!
Dear No Bag Nancy,
Although this is an advice column, there is no advice to be given here. It seems to us at the Lookaway that you fumbling is not due to a lack of attractiveness or anything, it's all you. So maybe use that brain of yours and get a little more confident. Because let's be honest, the men of Lehigh are not thinking about anything deeply; they’re rarely thinking about anything. So, the not-advice I'm going to give you is that you are probably going to die alone if you continue to believe that these men are worth shit, so change your Goddamn perception of what you are.
XOXO,
Sorry in Advance
My roommate keeps trying to convince me to push our beds together to make a mega-bed for us to share. How do I get them to stop?
Dear Big Bed, Big Problems,
Why stop them? Are you homophobic? JK!!! Here at the Lookaway, we pride ourselves on being accepting. However, we are really against being up close and personal with someone you probably DMed “Hi, can’t wait for the next four!!” So with that, here’s some pointers to get their bed as far away from you as humanly possible!
Become really passive-aggressive
Fake a foot fetish
Lean into that foot fetish
Go mute
Switch out your sheets for Cars movie sheets
If all of those don’t work, ask for a room change because two freaks shouldn’t live together
Best of Luck,
Sorry in Advance
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