Fellow frat brothers! For all that is right and holy I come before you a new man! After spending three and a half years at this state university, I have found the very thing that has mystified the prophets, baffled the likes of Shakespeare, toppled the city of Troy "" I have slept with the same girl for three consecutive nights. The same girl! Holy Jesus-fucking Christmas trees! It has happened: I have found true love.

Holster your skepticism! The tale begins several days ago on the eve of our annual "Everybody Gets To Kill A Stripper" Party. My friend Buck and I had wandered out on the back porch, where there was rumored to be a keg and a midget. But as we made our way to the beer, that's when I saw her breasts. In a word: huge. In several words: mountains parted like the Red Sea by a God daunted by his own creation. Time. Stood. Still.

"Dude, check out the melons on that chick," Buck announced. "Melons indeed," I replied. "Melons attached to the woman that I shall make my wife." It was love at first sight. I moved in for the kill and, later that night, sacrificed her virginity on the altar of the men's room toilet. Before she passed out, she managed to write her phone number in lipstick on my ass. I danced all the way home. "This must be love," I thought to myself, pissing into a garbage can, "This must be love."

Not wanting to appear desperate, I waited until the following afternoon to hold a mirror to my ass, copy the digits and make the call. She answered on the second ring, a pause that felt like an eternity. "Why did she hesitate?" I wondered to myself. "Has she married somebody else?" "Who is this?" she asked wearily, her young voice singing with the timbre of a thousand larks, "Do you know why I'm naked in the handicapped stall?" By Jove! She never left our coital hideaway! Great Moses swallowing the Easter Bunny alive! She must love me!

We met that night under the soft blanket of nightfall at Chili's. She thanked me for retrieving her from the men's room and offered to blow me under the table. "That won't be necessary," I exclaimed, "I'm a gentleman." Five margaritas later we snuck into the parking lot, wedged ourselves between two dumpsters and made such sweet, gentle love that to this day I can still hear the broken glass chipping beneath our feet.

After five minutes she received the text message, "BUTY CALL, IHAV JELO SHOTS" and absconded. "Good-bye my sweet, sweet nectarine of pixy dust!" I yelled down the sidewalk, calling her by her nickname. "Go to Hell!" she gleamed. "And don't follow me!" Aha!!! She's playing hard to get! Supreme ghosts of Judas riding a whale into the mouth of Zeus! We're in love!!!

The next night, I arrived at her apartment promptly at 8 o'clock and rang the bell. No answer. Could my sweet love be out back in the garden picking daffodils? At the store purchasing lollipops for the children's hospital? I turned the knob. Unlocked! She must be waiting for me inside! That rascal! "Pixy Dust?" I called out, but there was no answer, just the sounds of a woman having sex in a bedroom. "Pixy Dust?" Opening her bedroom door, I found my love straddling the second-string running back. I was aghast. "I didn't know you liked football!" A poet and a sports fan?! What deed have I done in a previous life to deserve such spoiling! "My love!" I exclaimed, getting down on one knee, "Will you marry me?!"

And faster than it takes a running back to collect his shoulder pads, question his religion and speed away in his Isuzu Amigo, she had my answer: "You have five minutes or four condoms, whichever happens first." Sweet Socrates gnawing on the remains of a pterodactyl! A poet, dear friends, a poet!

My Greek peers, I know what you're thinking, but do not renounce hope! You'll see that true love really is possible in college! It's been over a week since our tryst, and if I can still read my ass, good glorious God, I'm definitely going to see where this goes.