I love college.
Lessons learned.
Actions observed.
People judged.
Oh, just another day in the life.
- You don’t have to be rich and famous to party like Lindsay Lohan or Flavor Flav. You just need coolers of vodka, no inhibitions and black lights.
- Strippers are great when you're in some dark, age-restricted place in a sketch part of town with a bag of terrible cocaine and a pile of secrets, but when you take them out of context and over to the nearest fraternity throw down, it is just uncomfortable for everyone.
- Man, is it a relief to finally find a college man showing a touch of refinement instead of slutting it up all over the place. There's something about that rare gentleman sporting calf length board shorts, no shirt and promiscuous highlighter drawn body art walking through an indoor party full of normalcy (with water nowhere in sight, mind you) that gives you peace. What kind of peace, you ask? Let's just say your aching soul can now rest. You may, in fact, have just found the man of your dreams. You and your bright yellow friend add to his chest art as he passes by. Rather than continuing on his path through the crowd, he stops. The bowl cut turns around and looks you over, top to bottom to top. With a sly smirk, it speaks. "Ok, my turn. Lift up your shirt so I can draw on your chest now. It's only fair." Oh, really? He shows up looking like a Cabbage Patch Kid from the sea meets Aaron Carter from the streets and he is telling me what is fair? Uh, gross. Now, this may be a long shot, but hear me out. Here's my guess. Due to his surprising (and completely undeserved) level of confidence, I am thinking Patchy Carter, here, has full intentions of riding something other than waves tonight. Soul mate? Totes.
- That whole flat stomach endemic is an urban myth. Ladies like a guy with a beer belly. Why? It shows that he cares about the really important things in life, duh. Also, it is a very clear indicator that he has better things to do than spend all of his time staring at the mirror worrying about his figure. Cute, I know.
- Hey, I think it’s really cool that you’re attractive. Legit. However, you are so sexually liberated that everyone around you feels uncomfortable. Please though, continue on. Dancing like that may catch you a disease or seven, but I am enjoying that I get to watch you sweat your dignity away. Never mind that your date is MIA and no one else is dancing. Who cares that the music stopped 26 minutes ago? The floor is your friend and like any good friend, it will be there for you when you fall.
- I’m sorry you don’t like my sweater. When you’re this pretty, any retarded affectation I decide to put on my body becomes a dignified eccentricity that no real man would dare question. Clearly, you are not a real man.
- Apartment pool parties are feeding grounds for all that is good in the world. 92 degree weather, two cheap beers down and an unflattering bikini group shot later, you and your friends are plastered on the side of a Couch Trip bus headed down Dan Allen. Every now and then you may find a classmate engaging in an intense hula hoop competition, an old roommate participating in a shotgun race or, if you’re lucky, someone’s mom visiting from Hickory. That’s right. Tanaholic recent divorcee with her fresh highlights and new D-cups (if you ain’t no punk, holla we want prenup), your jaw drops as she asks the most attractive pool dwelling male to apply dry oil to her back. As the day progresses and humidity sets in, Mama is lookin’ good. She reminds you of a mystical creature that would rise from the water during Spring Break, try to seduce a 19 year old boy with a goblet of sangria, attempt to 69 him against his will and then scamper away on all fours. Think Lord of the Rings: Daytona Beach. Well, in this case, Wolf Village.
- Hey, you’re really pretty, but please stop ralphing in the corner. I mean, I typically go for the hot guy in the room with vom all over his shirt, but not every girl possesses such refined taste. I’m just looking out for you, big guy.
Cheers.