It’s 5 PM. As Justin Bieber’s Sorry comes on for the 10th time today, you remove yourself from the elevated platform you were just on and begin your quest up the hill. While some would say your fraturday has come to a close, it has truly just begun: time to Frunk.
You and your Squad enter Frank Dining Hall, which has somehow transformed from a lowly dining hall into the Cordon Bleu of Hamilton, New York.
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You say “Hey, Wassup, Hello” to Stacy. She’s for some reason not as happy to see you as you are to see her.
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You pass the infamous Saturday Cupcake Dessert Bar.
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Sadly, it isn’t 3 AM, so Ed isn’t there making his delicious egg burgers. Neither are those quinoa hacks you just learned about. Luckily, other carbs are there to comfort you.
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You bee line towards the fried food. You’re not yourself. You don’t remember who you are anymore. It’s just you……… and that chicken tender.
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2 plates of fries. Pizza? Hell yeah, I pregamed this with a SLICE. Pasta because why the hell not? I always wanted a food baby.
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You look at the salad bar. You’re offended.
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You and the squad sit down. A flurry of limbs. Ketchup is all over your body. Where is my 5th plate of food? People are looking.
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You finish up. It’s a war zone. You were full 30 minutes ago. But your hearts weren’t.
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You and the squad begin to waddle out of Frank. But then: the cupcake bar. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. You take your creation out with you, proud, despite the horror on Stacy’s face.
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Its 7:30 pm. Your cupcake is done. Fraturday might be over, but your food baby will be with you forever. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you FRUNK.