Things That Suck About Moving Out of the House

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Nice Move

Things That Suck About Moving Out of the House

As a senior who is set to graduate, I have decided it’s time to pass the torch of knowledge to you young whippersnappers who weren’t hazed as hard as I was, and will never rage as hard as I raged. Much like Michael Phelps, in a metaphorical sense, I’m beginning the process of hanging up the speedo so I can load up my proverbial bong and watch jackoffs like Ryan Lochte take over the sport I once owned with ease, as I watch from the sidelines. Do they have those in swimming? I don’t know, who gives a fuck? But here I sit, two-thirds of the way through my last summer, and it already fucking blows.

The House Is A Bubble

While living in the house, I was able to say, do, and observe things that would never be appropriate in normal living situations. Not living in the house gives you no place to let out your Helen Keller jokes to the partially deaf guy, or yell “Tomacock” at the top of your lungs while you chunk a triumphantly veiny black dildo into a pledge brother’s room. Don’t ever take that for granted.

The Easiest Pick Up Lines Ever

“Wanna go take shots in my room?” There won’t be many opportunities in life where you will have the ability to simultaneously offer a chance for exposure to two different life bloods of the party, cheap vodka and your semen, in such an innocent, unassuming way. I’d be lying if I said that a successful 5-minute conversation can be closed this simply. Am I really going to have to develop actual game when I move out to have random hookups? Shit balls.

I Don’t Own Shit

After moving all my stuff into my new off-campus house, I realize how little I fucking own. I’m still buying random bullshit so it doesn’t look as empirically unimpressive as LeBron’s hairline.

Your Natural Drunken Instincts

I’ve definitely blacked out a few times this summer, and either woken up on an empty loft in my old room at the house, or passed out on the nastiest ass couch that still exists and is located in my room. No matter what you do, your blackout self is going to refer back to routine and what’s comfortable. I’ve even tried to take a few girls to my room while drunk at the house and realized there’s absolutely nothing in there to aid my continued sexual advances.

So do yourself a favor, and don’t move out, even if you feel the need to. Who gives a shit if you’re a senior and the girls your age are “too old to go to frat houses?” Fuck those girls. Even if you go to a North Southern Montana A&T satellite campus, move into your damn fraternity house and stay there as long as you can. Because you have to remember, like that random redneck at the drive-in restaurant in Friday Night Lights said, “Life’s just nothing but babies and memories when your done.” Nothing but babies and memories, boys…

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