Gift horse

So last night, instead of dragging things out for hours, we finished all of the pages by one am. [Keep in mind, this is extremely rare.] It would have been even earlier, but the printer was misbehaving, and so were a couple of the computers. To celebrate, we went to the bar. Not just any bar, mind you - Roscoe's.

That's right, the seven of us that were left [the editor-in-chief, the managing editor, two news editors, the features editor, and two layout people] packed up and went to the dirtiest bar in town. The one that serves as a pseudo-dance club. Not only were we there, but our advertising manager had already been there for a few hours. It was amazing that any of us were out on a Tuesday, as Tuesday's our latest night and we're generally not done until three. Our EIC said, "I haven't been out on a Tuesday night since ... sophomore year!" We were back on campus by about 1.45, as last call wasn't terribly long after we got there.

The moral of the story is, don't look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when he's the managing editor and he's buying everyone a shot.