FRIEDMAN: Give me everything

For those of you boycotting the West Campus dining hall – Pitbull is on your side. I know, I know, BU is getting cheap. For those of us with a dining plan, we pay nearly a million dollars (it’s kosher to exaggerate for the sake of proving a point)… and what do we get? Pre-made sandwiches and mini-portions from stir-fry servers. Unacceptable.

But my fellow BU classmates, do not lose faith. From creating Facebook pages protesting dining hall lines, to updating photos that prove just how teeny-tiny these portions are, you are making a difference. And let’s not forget, you weren’t the first to start this food fight, Pitbull was.

As a child, Pitbull had no relationship with his father and his mother struggled to make ends meet. What did this do to Pitbull? Undoubtedly it skewed his vision of the “bread-winning” fatherly role. Papa Pitbull wasn’t knocking on the door at 7 p.m. with a bag of groceries and a bouquet of flowers for the wifey. He was MIA. Instead, Momma Pitbull was forced to make the Benjamins, and little Pitbull was in psychological crisis.

To cope, he began rapping and spent hours on the street perfecting his swag. He practiced his rhymes in supermarkets and alleyways, drawing crowds wherever he went. He first performed with the stage name “Chihuahua,” but later upgraded to Pitbull. Why he didn’t pick “Boston Terrier,” I’ll never know. After years of rapping and coming home to no food on the table, little Pitbull realized he needed to do something big to change his life.

He began stopping by every major city, searching for seeds of inspiration. What was he going to do? Make the next big single, obvs. The man had the rhymes, he just needed the content. He stopped by New York, only to find littered streets and an over-population of taxicabs. He moved on to Chicago, but got distracted by a deep-dish pizza and was in a food coma for the next 24 hours. He moved on to Las Vegas, but a stampede of burlesque dancers nearly trampled him to death. Finding inspiration was going to be more difficult that he had anticipated. Pitbull sat on a bench outside Caesar’s Palace, tending to his rhinestone scrapes and stiletto wounds, when he saw his answer in shining lights. “Boston, the city of inspiration.”

Trust me, that’s what happened.

Fast-forward a week later. Pitbull is sitting on the B line searching for the “Boston inspiration.” Suddenly, he is overcome with hunger—just as he gets to the Pleasant Street T stop. He spots a herd of college students profusely salivating and walking toward the West Campus dining hall. Curious, he follows.

Somehow, Pitbull manages to sneak into the dining hall (I know, how could he possibly get past that security without a BU ID?!) and gets on line for some grub. Pitbull can’t believe his eyes. “How can there be so much wonderful food?” he thinks.

Finally, he’s the next in line, and he reaches for a plate of spaghetti and meatballs. Make that spaghetti and a meatball.

“Please sir, may I have some more?” Pitbull asks.

The pasta server looks confused. He replies, “More? MORE?!” Veins bulge from the server’s throat.  He continues, “well how much more could you possibly want?!”

Pitbull thinks for a moment. “Eh, give me everything.” And that’s when it happened.

Thanks to BU’s preposterous portions, Pitbull had a revelation. The dining hall should give you everything. But sadly they don’t, and that’s when the revolution began. 50 Cent wanted to take you to the candy shop, and Aaron Carter desperately wanted candy—but BU’s stinginess made it impossible. But that my friends, is for another article.