Do you remember Snick? Nickelodeon guts? Are you afraid of the dark? Legends of the hidden temple? Do you know who cares? Nobody. That's right, Jonathan William Nobody. Aside from him, no one should think this worn out bit of reminiscing is funny. However, there are still people that find great comedy in such overused routines. We call them Emerson college students (ECS). At gatherings, each ECS will attempt to claim some title inferring comic genius through showcases of wit. One night I found myself in the midst of this type of convention – the only one, ever, that wasn't Nickelodeon themed. Submitted for the approval of The Midnight Society, I give you "Emerson's warriors."

Running inside from the streets of Boston I find shelter in an apartment party. Once involved, I immediately find myself right back outside - not outside in the physical sense, but, in the symbolic sense, an outsider. This close knit circle of ECS's makes no effort to set this stranger at ease. Eventually, what I discover is that this is not a social gathering, but a crusade of cleverness.

Picture an apartment filled with witty kings all in danger of being overturned on the thrown of comedy. Each one is trying desperately to out-do the other in a never ending battle. If another is making hilarious comments, than each become filled with suppressed, insecure rage and attempt to outwit their nemesis before a comedy takeover can ensue. They do this by using an arsenal of random, interesting observations that seemingly just popped into their head. If there's still debate as to the one true king, than competitions will ensue; involving a.) Use surroundings to make a clever game b.) Talk about fads of the past and propose to bring them back in style or acknowledge and dissect low quality, childhood television shows or c.) Talk about important icons that no one has heard of.

This Emerson attitude stems from the college's history. Established in 1880 by Charles Wesley Emerson, it was initially a 'geek's revenge' school. The "outsiders" that were picked on in high school could find sanctuary in the abstract, art filled walls of the college. They could finally say and do whatever they feel without harassment. The students pride themselves so much on their open-mindedness that when Emerson tried to increase its sports programs, the students rebelled and shunned the athletes because, as we all know, jocks are quite close-minded.

I entered the party and immediately the war began. On my left, through thrift store clothes, I saw the refrigerator was covered in what appeared to be magnetic words. This was the first competition; to see who could make the most arbitrary, yet poetic statement. I saw something involving "frantic eternity" and "hollow scream" - emo bands I assume. Feeling accepted I tried a hand at it and organized the sentence "you're all wasting your lives and your parents money; die", alas I was left to my solitude.

Retreating to the living room I stumbled upon the clear winner of the many, previous battles, which have taken place inside these walls. Equipped with only his oversized brain and a mere four million dollar lap top, Tobias Persicus – which I assume is his name – has initiated a grand task: childhood memoirs. "Hey! Does anyone remember this?!" asks Toby. At that moment, the theme song for Small Wonder blares out of the speakers. "Yeah dude!", says the kid that used to be straight edge but now drinks PBR or an expensive, imported beer – depending on which scene he is determined to fit into. I say "Yeah, I do too. That show was out when you still had a hope to not be a douchebag." Again I was left alone.

From this small dose of childhood remembrance stems conversations of how brining snap bracelets, Skidz and hair tails back in style would be in America's best interest. Feeling as though I've outstayed my welcome, I make my way to the exit. While trudging though the thick smog of pretentiousness I've become immersed in the final leg of the tri-wizard tournament: who knows more movies/bands/songs/artists that no one else knows? I heard some Indian names and arbitrary, yet poetic sentences (a trademark of these people apparently) as I tripped through the door and out on the concrete, escaping to the easier world of "that chick's hot" and "I would have kicked his ass."

Looking back I saw not one person through the windows, no lights on, nor did I hear a noise. Perhaps, the whole thing was a dream, I thought as the camera drifted off my face to show the kids gathered around the fire pit. Then some kid said he'd stay behind and put out the fire with the sand, but two seconds later he said "wait for me!" in a nervous voice. I mean, come on, that happened in every episode of Are You Afraid of the Dark. Don't you remember?