Ah, springtime, the perennial natural renaissance when the arboreal beauty surrounding us grows and blossoms into breathtaking maturation. Kinda like puberty, except I don’t go through spring four years after everyone else does. Haha! Seriously, what’s a scrotum?

The warming months of April and May mean one thing here at our beloved WesleAnn Rimes: Foss Hill. Or, more precisely: litter, gratuitous marijuana smoking, bare feet, bare boobies, an obvious display of the social divisions that plague our school, and Frisbee. However, the social structure and guidelines of Foss Hill can be more complex than the plot of Snakes on a Plane (i.e. very complex). Thankfully, I have taken this opportunity to inform y’all of the proper etiquette for Foss Hillin’ like a villain wearing tefillin.

First off, never say “I’m gonna go Hill it,” “Let’s just Hillary Fossham Clinton for a while,” or “Dude, I really need some ‘Hilling Me Softly’ right now.” Verbalizing Foss Hill, or any derivation thereof, is strictly for cock-fisters. Oh, what’s that you say? The title of this article verbalizes Foss Hill? What are you, the fucking verb police? Because if you are the fucking verb police, you should be stopping people from fucking verbs, not reading this paper. Either way, you’re much better off going with the tried and true “Comrades, let us go revel in the unadulterated opulence of nature with a respite on yonder Hill of Foss.” Or, just tell your friend “Dude, you’ve got something in your teeth. You really need to Foss more.” Then your friend will beat the shit out of you for making a terrible pun. This won’t really help you with hanging out on Foss Hill.

Now, I’ve done some pretty bad stuff in my life– forgetting to tightly snap the cap back on the markers, producing The Passion of the Christ, wearing my Duke lacrosse jersey to Take Back the Night– but I have never, ever, never committed the egregious sin of trying to sit backwards on Foss Hill. You know what I mean. Foss Hill is, surprisingly, a hill. And on a hill, there’s really only one way to sit: the “right” way. If you try and sit the “wrong” way, Isaac Newton fucks your shit up and makes things rather uncomfortable. Sure, everyone sitting one way makes for annoying, hard-to-hear conversations, were we all to sit facing the top of the hill we’d have really strong abs, and it’s kinda awkward to look down and see everyone’s ass crack sticking out of their pants, but what is college for? Uncomfortable conversation, flabby stomachs, and protruding ass cracks; that’s what college is for.

Perhaps the most intimidating aspect of Foss Hill is going out by yourself and trying to find your friends. Never, under any circumstances, walk across the base of the hill and look up, attempting to locate your chums. While you’re doing that, everyone on the hill will be analyzing, criticizing, and mocking everything about you, and they will all be able to ascertain that you still listen to Dispatch, brought gastro to Wes, and had seven abortions. And don’t even think about trying to pull off the ole “pretend to sit by yourself and read a book in the middle of the hill while secretly scanning the crowd for friends.” Everyone’s onto you. That’s like saying Brokeback Mountain has beautiful cinematography; everyone knows that what you really mean is, “I was aroused by watching gay cowboy sex.” Your best bet is looking down from the top of Foss Hill and trying to spot your homeslices, or, even easier, rectally inserting GPS tracking devices into all your friends while they’re drunk.