They are your best friends for the next four years. I might as well warn you.

The angel. He drank his first beer on bid day. He tries just a little bit too hard to fit in. His parents had dual heart attacks on parent’s weekend when they saw their little darling sporting a natty while coughing up his 10th cigarette since birth. He can kill a joke faster than he coughs up shots. He’s been in a relationship for the past four years and has no plans of ending it. He stands amidst house parties with a look that closely resembles that of a 10 year-old boy who has discovered the playboy channel.

The tank. He chuckles at the sight of a two story funnel. He started nose guard on his high school at 250. He boasts a carpet of chest hair that is repulsive in more ways than one. He drinks nonstop and is always in search of the post-bar, late-night party. He breaks things, a lot of things. He can say whatever he wants in public because no one in their right mind would poke a bear, especially one who just won the case race before 5 p.m.

Womanizer. He’s charming with a reputation to keep up. He’s your pretty boy bartender who manages to hit on a different girl every night. He’s a name and face that girls will associate with your fraternity with mixed feelings. He does not understand the term “wingman,” nor will he ever be one. He's the reason for countless grudges between sorority sisters. He hasn’t been in a relationship since middle school and she still drunk calls him every night.

The blackout. He is the normal American college student until happy hour comes to a close. His face appears more on bars' banned lists than it does in class. He doesn’t know what the inside of some bars look like despite throwing a bar stool or urinating in the trashcan at some point in all of them, just last week. All the bouncers know him by name and always assume he started the fight for a reason. He did start it. Every single time. 

Born and bred pain in the rear. English is his second language, after sarcasm. He maintains that everyone owes him some amount of money. He has never bought a round of shots, but you can bet that he’s the first to get his hands on a freebie. His tires are always squalling as he peels around every turn in the tank he calls a truck.  He’s the guy who gets you and all your friends arrested for the barrage of profanity he aimed at the nearest street cop.  Worst of all – he’s smiling in his mug shot.