Live, from anywhere, it's Friday night: time for the youth of
America to ''rage.'' Time also to get broasted, buzzed, catatonic,
messed up, ripped, screwed, trashed, wasted, zoned out. Time, to put
it in language older folks can understand, to get totally, hopelessly
drunk. Not at bars, of course: everywhere in America you have to be
21 to drink there -- legally, that is -- and anyway it's not the hip
thing to do. These days teenagers buy into keg parties at homes where
parents have left town for the weekend, where dangerous chugalug
games are played to get booze and beer flowing into their system
faster.
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