Where's the Dough?

The sun may have shone and the bands may have rocked, but the dough was certainly not plentiful. After a hard day's work of jumbo boxing and dunking-booth dunking, a certain first-year--me--wondered if there were any sumptuous delights in that magnificent haven called the "Fried Dough Booth." Alas, it was not to be. A large, grim-faced man stopped my innocent inquiries with the fatal words, "Sorry, fella, you should've come earlier."

Earlier? Piddlytosh! It was 3:30! Shame on you, Undergraduate Council. Next year, give the masses what they want: fried dough for all, preferably with sugar on top.