815

So this Aggie pledge-ritual field-trip crash lands on a desert island. Utilizing their exhaustive stores or agriculture know-how and plain old gumption, they set up camp and go on with all the traditional rituals and hazing.

The first night, around the campfire after dinner as the fellas all cuddled up with their girlfriends (see above), one strapping young lad stood up and yelled, "4!"

Everyone erupted in laughter.

The laughter died down and another corn-fed young man arose.

"8!" he yelled, and this time the laughter was uproarious.

When those guffaws had finally died down, yet another young man stood up, the fire of meat-judging ablaze in his eyes.

"How about this one... 15!" he shouted and the crowd lost it. Rolling in the sand, gasping for air, slapping their knees.

"15! No he didn't! Aww man... 15."

"16!" someone else hollered. "23!"

The laughter was uproarious

One young freshman--a sweet, simple lad--didn't get it.

"What the hey's going on here?" he finally asked. "why y'all keep yelling out numbers and then everybody's crackin' up?"

An older guy pulled himself away from his wooly lady friend and took the confused young man aside.

"It's an Aggie joke book," he informed. "We all know the book so well that we just yell out page numbers, and everybody knows the joke."

"Oh, alright, I get it!" the young fella beamed. "Watch this!"

"42!" He yelled at the top of his lungs.

Silence. Not a sound but the crickets chirping in the jungle and the waves crashing on the beach.

"I don't understand," he asked. "What happened?"

"Don't know what to tell ya, man," the older fella consoled, shaking his head. "Some folks just can't tell a joke."