The sound of scrunching grass being flattened by the soles of my shoes resounds loudly off of the evening sky, filling up the quiet campus with my existence. For some time now, the Chapel has been “undergoing construction,” large signs are posted on each side of the Chapel with the words “keep out” on them. But I don’t buy it, I think they must be hiding something.

Haven’t you noticed that at night the chapel comes alive? Light shines upon its surface like a lone beacon in the sea of darkness protesting the waning of a dying sun. Walking towards it, I almost forget that I am moving voluntarily. There is this seemingly mysterious element of attraction pulling my body closer and closer to those projecting walls. … Oh, wait, it’s just the smell of alcoholic drinks and the muffled sound of intoxicated underage drinkers beckoning me.

According to Wikipedia, “the interior [of Skinner Memorial Chapel] has a dark wood ceiling and dark wood beams”. Very true, Wikipedia, and how could we be letting that beautifully polished dark wood go to waste? I give you Stevie P.’s dark secret-The Skinner Memorial Chapel and Authentic English Pub. Yes, that’s right.

For years, Stevie P. has been craving a nice pint of Fuller’s London Pride after work and, in a sudden fit of ingenuity, has devised a master plan for the renovation of Skinner Memorial Chapel. And it is truly spectacular. A multi-story tapestry of the Greek god Dionysus drowning himself in lager is accompanied in the foreground by a Scotch Whiskey waterworks, which pour out from the gaping mouths of inebriated student-statues. The Chapel is now divvied up into three distinct levels for every kind of drinker.

We have the “Postprandial Sips” level, the one preferred by the late middle-aged and elderly who tend to fall into introspection at parties and other exciting events, usually with the host’s cat. They are often overheard being offered a rather lightly alcohol-infused beverage and replying with the all-too passive “Oh, don’t mind if I have a wee taste” or “Perhaps just a little with dessert”. But the real crowd attractant is the gong-sized Frisbee that deposits several tons of fresh-baked apple crisp every fifteen minutes at the chime of the Cow.

One level above lies the “Goin’ Out with the Lads Tonight” level, which includes a spiral wine slide and pool equipped with several dozen beverage holders. A short-bread climbing wall affords alcoholics the opportunity to indulge those hangover-induced cravings. Just beyond are the entirely plush and enclosed “Stumbling Drunk Recovery” rooms, which allow the less intoxicated to do away with their mentally incapacitated friends and not have to endure several additional hours of repetitive and socially inappropriate misery.

The Skinner Memorial Chapel and Authentic English Pub’s highest level, “The Blurry Spill”, is, as its name indicates, home to a rollicking good time. While this mad, draining sea of young adult energy throbs with palpitating excitement to the deafeningly loud, bass-heavy, monotone drone music, sane and sober visitors to the floor can look on with amusement and intrigue, safely tucked behind five feet of almost unlawfully thick glass in a viewing area known as “Depressant Dive: The Blackout Factory” and see firsthand the progression from the calm, soft flow of pre-festivity humanity to the animalistic catharsis that comes with obscene amounts of hard liquor. Nowhere else is observance of this fascinating decline so easy to see or understand as it is here. Reportedly, the SOAN department is already planning a study on human debauchery.

Skinner’s Liver Fun Palace, formerly Skinner Memorial Chapel, makes sense as a way for students and faculty to let go of restraint, to release their will to party after a long day of reading, writing, and whatever other deep stuff it is that people do in labs in the comfort of Skinner’s considerably less hallowed halls. Stevie P., we’re onto you.