Broke-ass bitches are sassy, shameless members of the 99 percent. They like to think of their membership as exclusive, but flexible enough to act ridiculously without fear of losing their status as a 99 percent-er. A broke-ass bitch wears a frat-tastic North Face with pride although it's not technically a fracket and not technically by North Face. Yes, there are some things money can't buy. For everything else, there's someone dumb enough to give it to you.
- Don't pay. For anything.
The ultimate beauty of a town like Hanover is that brave human beings between the ages of 18 and 22 are desperately needed to relieve the innocent citizens from the overwhelming burden of not being able to give away free shit, which enables the broke-ass bitch to never, ever spend his/her hard-earned (read: nonexistent) dinero. Sadly, it would seems that none too many of said innocent citizens are handing out free flat-screens, but all a broke-ass bitch really needs are food, clothes, alcohol and a place to lay his or her rainboots.
Hungry? Go to club meetings. Nobody ever seems to notice that you know nothing about this silly thing called Pan Asia but a whole lot about how to yum-yum pan-fried noodles. The Yale Club of New Hampshire (yes, this is real life) has particularly good cinnamon buns, though your green Dartmouth sweatshirt may make you stand out a bit. Luckily, the broke-ass bitch couldn't care less when free pastries come out to play.
Clothing may be procured through either the more kosher yet infrequent sustainability sales or the preferred method of drunkenly ("accidentally") stealing shit from frats. A BAB can be identified by his or her predilection for exclusively wearing black North Faces, rainboots and flair.
- The world is a BAB's oyster.
By definition, a broke-ass bitch goes wherever, eats wherever, stays wherever and boots wherever he or she pleases including, but not limited to, Occupy Dartmouth, your significant other's futon, Jim Kim's lawn, the White House, any frat house, the glass hamster halls in the Choates, the back of Nick Giaconne's car, the front of Nick Giaconne's car and/or your bed.
As long as you don't get stuck paying the cleaning bill. BABs are fundamentally opposed to paying and cleaning.
- Form a deep-seated hatred for DDS.
Because even a BAB becomes incensed when he finds out that DDS has not only been forcing him to spend money, but also forcing him to overpay for cheap shit. The BAB is all too conscious that the $2,625 per year he's paying for the cheapest meal plan could fund the purchase of a flat-screen 3D TV, three years worth of premium cable, copious pay-per-view movies and HBO for life. DDS is depriving him of to-the-minute sports coverage and late-night SATC marathons, all in the name of cold cheeseburgers and mini Odwallas. The BAB wants to do something about said injustice or at least loudly and regularly complain about it.
- Become ridiculously territorial about the Collis TVs.
All the bitching about DDS reminds the BAB how fantastic large televisions are. Good TV, the BAB discovers, must be protected at all costs, especially given the distinct lack of 55-inch flat-screen TVs lying around public spaces on campus. For this reason, the BAB should always go to Collis equipped with a machete and some fierce tribal songs to ward off other potential TV viewers who have clearly forgotten that they are impinging on the BAB's ability to enjoy her metaphorical oyster.
- Do not tell anyone of your super-secret status as a BAB.
It's like Fight Club, except with a lower budget and not even remotely like Fight Club.
