I could fill like a warehouse with the shit I know about Old Bull Lee; most importantly, dude taught people how to party, and he was totes qualified to teach that shit because he lived his whole life learning his “clutch-ass party essentials,” which were the total shit. He transferred his ass to like eight different colleges during undergrad, always trying to find which school had the sickest vibe; he hooked up with the Provost at Michigan State to keep from getting expelled; there are Facebook pictures of him hanging with the 2007 LSU BCS-champs—huge dudes slugging shots and laying babes; there are other Facebook pictures of him in a Florida State hat, winning at flipcup in Seminole country; he never hooked up with the Provost again. He was an intermural basketball champion at Illinois State, an equipment manager at UT-Austin, a beer pong master of Penn State. In Madison he sat on porches, hollering at freshman hotties walking by. In Athens, Ohio he never went to class but managed to stay enrolled for two semesters. At San Diego State he threaded his way through the quads, looking for a party. In the Ohio State dorms he did like five chicks at once. At Illinois State he planned the naked mile, let word get out too much about it, and wound up running ass-naked from the cops. He was like the grandmaster of partying. Now the final study was being all chill as fuck. He was now in New Orleans, taking it easy and getting mad high.