I'm not-sick and druuuuunk-sorry officer, I'll put my hands on the trunk yeeahhhhhhh.

Durham, New Hampshire, home of the University of New Hampshire, where more than 10,000 undergraduates and 2,000 graduate students go about their daily tutelage. Unfortunately, more than a few have broken off into packs of beer-swilling troglodytes, starting fights with anyone in front of them, knocking over trash cans, clogging up the lines at your favorite late night food joints and ruining perfectly good jukeboxes with Dave Matthews Band and Sublime. What's even more alarming is that more and more of these sad-looking bastards are infiltrating Portsmouth, turning a night on the town into a deleted scene from The Running Man.

What was once simply Jack Quigley's, Tequila Jack's, the Brewery Lane Tavern, the Portsmouth Brewery and the Gaslight are now moron settlements that I like to call "Little Durham." If you're local, it's very hard to break into Little Durham as the lines are so long, and once you breach the bouncers you are packed in, ass to crotch. But hey, don't fret, Tequila Jack's still takes care of its locals, thank God. A locally-invented drink, the Full Nelson (Red Bull, Stoli O, Stoli Razz, a splash of cran and a lime) that normally only locals order costs a measly $8.50. That's eight dollars and fifty cents. I could host a wedding reception at the Daniel Street Tavern for $8.50.

Take your woo-woo, drink it uuuupppp-break your shot glass, then throw uuuppppppp.

Not only have these locusts taken over these establishments, the New Durhamites have started to slowly gnaw their way into other more "local friendly" watering holes. Fat Belly's was, in its infancy, a place many locals would frequent, some just because it was a new place to go, some out of nostalgia for the Tiki Bar (R.I.P.), reminiscing about days of heavy metal Karaoke past. The lords of Little Durham have recently learned about this gathering place and have sent out more and more scouts, cleverly disguised in Abercrombie and Fitch garb and Mardi Gras beads, to blindside the clientele and add it to its collection of roofie/ steroid palaces.

Since the Little Durham settlements are only serving drinks by the time the Wildcat apparel-clad jackals arrive, last call is normally a reminder for the colonists that all they've eaten all day is a packet of chicken-flavored Top Ramen noodles and that they should put something in their stomachs before they get into their car and wrap it around a tree. This makes getting late night food waaaay more fun for locals, what with all the long lines, fights breaking out and reduced quality in service. It's like Mad Max, but instead of finding out that the gas truck is full of sand, it's discovering that the pizza at Joe's now tastes like a mummy that's been standing upright on the meat slicer because they stopped making new pies when I was halfway through the line/death march.

I could go on and on about how the University of No Hope is clogging the windpipe of downtown nightlife, but let's talk solutions. Here are a few I came up with:

1. Build a giant wall around campus.

2. Erect a new bar in Durham the size of an airplane hanger. Make sure the Dave Matthews Band and Jurassic 5 are on loop and only serve Bud Light.

3. Don't allow a prospective patron into a local establishment if he's sporting a shell necklace or a backwards visor.

4. Tow cars with UNH parking stickers on them. I understand that this will inconvenience some local residents who commute, but I don't care. The end justifies the means... sacrifice a few sheep to save the flock.

5. Convince UNH students that it's "cool" to drink at bars in Durham again, and that drinking in Portsmouth is "totally bogus" via air-dropped pamphlets.

6. Build a giant wall around campus.

7. Build a giant wall around campus.

Unfortunately, nobody on the City Council will listen to my ideas because they're ridiculous and because local businesses like the money those savages bring in. Pshhh, whatever. Talk to the hand, Evelyn Sirrell. I guess in the meantime we'll have to cope with an onslaught of the lanyard-toting buffoons until they either disperse or swallow us whole. Jesus, I need a cigarette.

Pour some Durham on meeeee, oooh in the town I'm from,
pour some Durham on meeeee, c'mon fill it with scum,
pour some Durham on meeeee, what have the bars become?
I'm not-sick and druuuuunk-sorry officer,
I'll put my hands on the trunk yeeahhhhhhh.