This week's hating column was inspired by a recent encounter at Front Porch Pub in Midtown. One of our group, a burnt-orange-blooded Texas alum, was accosted by a couple of Aggies declaring they'd be rooting for Alabama for the upcoming National Championship out of spite. Somewhere between the slurred proclamations, the crew cuts and the blinding gleam from their knuckle-sized class rings, I grew irate. I think the jewelry was the last straw in a series of wrongs, but it compelled me to relay the following:

Look guys, it's like this: Unless you played Division I sports and led your team to some kind of National Championship, there is no reason you should be wearing a class ring.

Class rings are the second thing I look for on a man after a wedding band, and I avoid both with an equal sense of principle. They are, without exception, hideous, and they signal an attachment to meathead fraternity days you should've phased out along with your favorite mesh shorts.

One flip through Balfour's Web site leaves me absolutely stunned at the sheer size and ostentation of these things. The Texas Tech ring, with its pavé diamond accents, is one of my favorites. It looks like something out of a rap video, which I find especially amusing coming from Lubbock. Methinks it should be offered with a matching chalice or gold-handled pimp cane.

It's fine to have school pride—I still sport college tees and sweats—but class rings just scream "I peaked at 19." It's like BrosLikeThisSite come incarnate, minus the irony. (An aside: if you haven't checked out this blog, you must. Best entries include "Drinking and Driving," and "Birth Control Not Involving Condoms").

No one overdoes the ring thing more than the Aggies. Those rings are absolutely garish, and their wearers seem totally oblivious. I don't care if they can double as a bottle opener; much like College Station, they are without redeeming qualities.

I loved college, too, but it's over. Time to move onward and upward.

So lose the rings, boys. You look fratarded.