How to be a College Guy or How to do Nothing and Love It

Saturday, 14 December 2002

a blog en­try en­ti­tled: “How to be a College Guy” or “How to do Nothing and Love It”

wake up to the in­ces­sant rau­cous­ness of your alarm clock; if it is not yet 2:00pm hit snooze and go back to sleep. when ear­ly af­ter­noon rolls around arise grog­gi­ly, per­haps hun­gover from your slum­ber, kick your books in front of the clos­et and pro­ceed to the re­stroom. take a long and sat­is­fy­ing uri­na­tion. then take an even longer and more sat­is­fy­ing defe­ca­tion. this is quite pos­si­bly the most re­lax­ing point of your day. wan­der back to your room and grab a tow­el. (Nota Bene: If you live in an apart­ment you may skip the show­er step and pro­ceed di­rect­ly to­ward break­fast. Since I don’t live in an apart­ment, i will take a show­er). Shower. when back to your room, toss your books on­to the couch, away from the clos­et. reach in and grab the first thing that your hand touch­es. put it on. find yesterday’s pants. wear them. curse and take off your shirt. ap­ply de­odor­ant. reap­ply shirt. scratch your­self and head to break­fast with your bud­dies. On the way to break­fast, at ei­ther the din­ing hall or a lo­cal eatery, poke fun at the du­bi­ous sex­u­al­i­ty of whichev­er bud­dy it has been agreed up­on (with no words ac­tu­al­ly be­ing spo­ken to de­ter­mine this) has du­bi­ous sex­u­al­i­ty for that day. If you are the cho­sen one, de­fend your­self by mak­ing graph­ic com­ments re­gard­ing the amounts of for­ni­ca­tion in which you have en­gaged with their var­i­ous and sundry moth­ers and sis­ters. Order a burg­er for break­fast. smoth­er the fries with cheese and ketchup. if it is af­ter 3:00pm or­der a beer to go with it.

re­turn home. re­al­ize you have skipped all your class­es. don’t care about this. re­al­ize that it is ac­tu­al­ly the week­end. care about this. turn on the game. (doesn’t re­al­ly mat­ter what game). pop open a beer. throw books off couch. watch game. Curse long­ly and loud­ly at the of­fi­ci­at­ing and the per­for­mances of the play­ers. even if you don’t give a shit who wins. af­ter the game play some­thing vi­o­lent on your videogame con­sole for sev­er­al hours. scream fuck fuck fuck con­stant­ly while killing killing killing. get up from the couch. trip over your books. mut­ter. kick books un­der TV. pro­ceed to re­stroom and take a long and sat­is­fy­ing uri­na­tion. scratch your­self and let a long and dis­gust­ing fart rip through the room. in­fec­tious­ly gig­gle and leave be­fore the smell dri­ves you away. hop on the com­put­er and check your email. look at pr0n. dis­gust­ing pr0n. call in your bud­dies to look at said dis­gust­ing pr0n. laugh in dis­gust at said pr0n. go play bas­ket­ball. af­ter the game, go to a restau­rant and or­der an in­or­di­nate­ly large amount of buf­falo wings. eat them all and get sec­onds. drink beer to wash them down. eat more wings to wash beer down. cy­cle, rin­se, re­peat. go home. men­tion some­thing about study­ing, but do noth­ing be­cause you can’t find your books.

show­er, change in­to par­ty clothes. talk with your friends about your chances of get­ting some that night. al­ways pos­i­tive. tell your friend that has no game that you will get a girl for your­self and one for him too. go to par­ty. chau­vinize. drink lots of beer. for­get every­thing, dance and make out with a girl you don’t lat­er re­mem­ber but you’re friends lat­er term as “the fat ug­ly chick.” re­turn home wast­ed. watch sports­cen­ter. find books un­der TV. car­ry them to your room and drop them on the floor. go to the re­stroom and take a long and sat­is­fy­ing uri­na­tion. re­move pants. scratch your­self. walk back to your room car­ry­ing your pants. turn on alarm clock. fall face first on bed. rip some noi­some ass. sigh. pass out.