The general reaction to my first column last week was “this makes you look like a jerk.” I had already written this week’s piece by the time it had come out, and I’m too lazy to write another one, though it doesn’t help my case. It’s a short history of Kohler Hall and its culture, and one should read it bearing in mind that I’m completely kidding about everything that would make me seem like a jerk: I can’t muster up the effort or lack of apathy to do any actual research on the subject, but having seen the portrait at the entrance of Kohler a number of times, I know that Kohler Hall was named after Ruth DeYoung Kohler, a Frida Kahlo-esque former trustee of this very college. The hall itself was constructed in 1967, during a time when America was in the throes of the Vietnam War and aesthetically pleasing architecture was rejected by the ever-growing hippie population in favor of a system in which everyone was afforded an equally shitty room layout. The hippie culture continued to pervade Kohler Hall until the mid 1970s, when the hippies dispersed and were replaced by a new, free-spirited movement whose repercussions continue to be felt throughout Kohler. This movement mimicked the hippie revolution, except it sucked. Instead of beads and protest songs, residents now wore cargo shorts and quoted Monty Python ad nauseam. Over the decades, Kohlerites have continued to refine their collective identity. Whereas 20 years ago, a Kohlerite might only be identifiable by his or her smell, a Kohlerite is now easily recognizable from any distance due to the fact that he or she will be accompanied by other Kohlerites, at least one of whom will be dressed like a pirate, ninja, elf, cat, etc. This encapsulates the Kohler sense of humor, which can be summarized as: If (1) a person dresses up like something from an internet meme or video game and (2) the person is not attending a costume party, then this person is being random, and therefore hilarious. Today, Kohler is a thriving community consisting of three types of students: Freshmen who filled out their housing applications with their parents, students who were screwed over by the housing lottery/study abroad, and those who legitimately prefer Kohler over any other residence hall. Some of Kohler’s most well-known events in the last few years include root beer parties (advertised throughout campus on posters that cleverly make the word “beer” more visible than the preceding “root” — I’ll let you readers decipher this ingenious play on words) and the Kohler Kraken Klub, whose members used to blast the Kraken song from the second “Pirates of the Caribbean” movie throughout the building at exactly 9 p.m. every Thursday (look it up on YouTube). Additionally, Kohler boasts the highest number of organizations whose members were too overwhelmed with the allure of alliteration to realize that the group they’re founding is the KKK. Ultimately, most Kohlerites end up either joining the Yuais or choosing to continue living in Kohler for the rest of their Lawrence careers, content in the knowledge that though they may abstain from drugs and alcohol, they can still act higher than anyone else on campus.