ON CAMPUS — They can throw judgmental daggers with one patio-chair slouch and half-lidded side-stare across Porter’s Pub, they can quip cutting irony like paid professionals in their sleep and they’ll challenge you to the meanest match of foosball (no spins) in which you’ve ever been slaughtered — they’re the Pubrats, and until you’ve served a good half of your college career buzzing off someone else’s ID in the corner, listening to well-traveled pretensions and step-by-step revelations on their favorite Radiohead albums and the untouchable brilliance of Dark Side of the Moon, that twinkly-lit haven will belong to them and them only. So yeah — don’t even try. You can order as many pricey Arrogant Bastards as you want, but you’ll never truly up these arrogant bastards.
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