This year's (just to be more politically incorrect) fresh men (take that, some political personage) get to suffer the same indignities we were condemned to, all while basking in the helpful criticisms the upperclassmen gently bestow upon them: "Yeah, that's a really bad grade, but I'm surprised he passed you..."; "Mr. Appel was telling me about you at dinner... "; "Yeah. And I thought our class was bad..." and even more edifying remarks. Their classes are way easier, so to create an equilibrium, we create a more hostile environment. Lest they be deprived of the full NSA experience, of course.
Anyway, there was a very impressive, very Shakespearean sonnet produced by Miss Claire Martens, a good friend of mine. She forbade me to post it, but allowed me to link to it, informing me, and I mercilessly (and horrendously) (mis)quote: "Mihi placet. Genua mihi rubri sunt" (or something meaning something like that). So, enjoy the poem in the knowledge that, for your sake, little children, a girl blushed, and you still know nothing of it.