Feeling repressed? Feeling oppressed? Welcome to Covid University.

At Covid University, students can star in the sizzling new reality show, “Germs Gone Wild” where exchanges of bodily fluids and saliva are rampant, public health orders are disregarded and that 6-foot beer bong everyone keeps deep-throating has already been given a rim job by thousands of other mouths.

Are you privileged? Did mom and dad gift you a Tesla for Flag Day?

You’ve come to the right place. Welcome to Covid University.

It’s a place where barbaric activity takes precedence over education. It’s a place where condoms fly off the shelves like organic oyster mushrooms. It’s a place where daddy Venmos you $10 grand after you flip a car in a drunken rage. It’s a place where frustration disrupts into parties and designer couches are torched for game. It’s a place where the school is so terrified of its frat boys that it cut ties with them.

Welcome to Covid University.

Apply to CU now to be seduced by a hotbed of germ activity and to slip into a hot bed of sloppy seconds. (Gargle sanitizer for three minutes after for funsies.)

OK, OK. I know. To the majority of CU students, that Hill blowout was only a very small percent of the school population. It was just a select group of ignorant fools arrogantly partying like 2.1 million people haven’t died from a virus during a worldwide pandemic.

To the partiers, shut the fresh fuck up. You got your 15 minutes of fame with those sheisty shenanigans that landed you all over the national news. I’ll snap you a trophy.

The past year has been a tough go for all of us. Even for you shredded jean-sporting, Croc-wearing, middle  part-styling Gen Zers. We all want to party. We’re all tired of life as it’s been. But too bad, we’re so close to the end. We need to push forward. If I’m locked in my house for more months because of you dicks, I will personally… not finish that sentence.

Now ye who can’t handle a year of safety sanctions have to quarantine for 10 extra days after getting nosefucked by a Q-tip.

When I tell my child she can’t have candy, she makes it her main mission to get her little paws on any kind of sugar. When I take her screen away as discipline, she apocalyptically wails.

But she can. Because she’s a child.

Then this deadly pandemic took away your parties so you go and flip cars, evade cops on the back of an Amazon van, smash glass all over a neighborhood and disrespect your neighbors.

You aren’t children. But on that ominous day on the Hill, you sure looked like temper tantrum-throwing little assholes. Go in timeout.

I love Boulder, and I know this is no reflection on the beautiful people who live here permanently, nor of most of the student body. I have worked at the city’s papers for 17 years. My brother and sister went to CU Boulder. I’ve defended the school’s tarnished reputation to skeptics and haters for almost two decades. Outsiders tag students as trustfund brats and suba-douches. They see the Playboy limo cruising town, a disjointed fraternity system that got canned by CU, couches set aflame and entitled spoiled brats.

Aside from a select pack of rabid vodka-chugging vermin, I see brilliant graduates going on to excel in space and beyond. I see the majority of the student body as upstanding, respectful citizens.

But, man. That pocket of pests who can’t enjoy cocktails like big kids is sure making it difficult for me to stand behind my convictions.

Until then, bros and bras, it’s NA beer ‘til you can be chill.

I had a best pal die from COVID complications in January. He’s never coming back. I’m just one of probably billions who lost someone to the virus. Put that in your pipe and smoke it next time you want to pout like a toddler.

You Hill partiers are an inspiration to freshly coined disparaging terms in Urban Dictionary. Congrats. I’ll snap you another trophy.