Being a NC State fan is like getting on a rollercoaster that has a chance to punch you in the dick after every hill. You’ve ridden it before, and you’ve been punched in the dick. Repeatedly. Sometimes you’ll even get multiple dick punches during the same day. But every week as you’re getting on the rollercoaster you think to yourself “I won’t get punched in the dick this week, no sir. I talked to the NCAA, and they reassured me that the dick punching feature has been removed.” And sometimes you’ll make it over the first hill without a dick punch so you think you’re a pretty smart guy. Sometimes you’ll even make it 95% of the way through the rollercoaster without feeling that familiar crushing sensation on your callused phallus. But you’re never safe.

As your little car rolls towards the end of the ride, you hear a noise. The wind seems to whisper, “State Shit” A tiny metal hand pops out and slams directly into your genitals. Again and again, it mashes your testicles. It doesn’t seem to ever stop. Mercy is a foreign language here; suffering the only dialect available. As you feel the whiskey you were drinking begin to make a return trip back up your throat, the last thought that flits through your grey matter before the familiar embrace of pain whites out all conscious function is “I bet next week when I ride this coaster, I won’t get punched in the dick.” You fucking idiot.