You wake up at 9:43 and open up Twitter to learn that a 500 pound bear in California is refusing to hibernate and has been continuously breaking into people’s houses and stealing their food. Immediate opportunity here so you send the screenshot in your GroupMe and @ that one kind-of-fat-but-pulls-off-a-flannel-really-well kid who always munches other people’s food after chops. You walk into your living room to see your roommate, whose name begins with a “T” hungover, slumped on the couch watching soccer because he studied abroad and came back a West-Ham fan. If you have a friend or a roommate whose name begins with a “T’ and you don’t refer to them strictly as “Psycho-T,” you’re missing it. A. it really pisses them off, and B. it’s an homage to one of the coldest white boys of all time. The same can be said with a kid named James. It’s a cardinal rule to only refer to kids named James as “Big game James.”
After eating a petite breakfast, you go to change into regular clothes and realize that you’re on your last lix on the laundry rotation with a reminder from the Fruit Of The Loom underwear you’ll be sporting today that looks like it was target practice for Kyle Rittenhouse. The walk to class is a cold one, and you’re a little anxious that the person who runs the “humans of *insert school*” Tik Tok will catch you at the intersection, so you keep your head down, and your College Dropout up because you watched the Kanye Doc. last night. During class, you fall in and out of sleep, which makes you self-conscious because you don’t want people around you to think that you’re having a seizure, but it might look as such. This shit is boring, and you have a little bit of time before midterms, so you begin to ponder about a possible war with Russia. You think about the old Bert Kreischer bit. What if you got there, and the Russians were like, nah this kid’s pretty cool he can just drink with us? Twenty-five minutes into this fantasy, the professor dismisses the class, and you shuffle out and make your way to the library.
A school library isn’t a place for the weak. At any moment, you can run into a girl that Jackson Pollacked your sheets with period blood studying with her boyfriend, a girl that rejected you after you bought her two drinks or a kid you’re engaging in a Cold War in eating a muffin. Fuck that kid, and fuck muffins- they are a soft man’s snack that leaves nothing but crumbs and malnutrition in their path. After two hours of trying to be productive, you hit your last class of the day, where you’ll get partnered up with a girl with a Big-12 bench basketball player amount of followers on Instagram. This is a daunting task. She’s clearly hot, and you’re a slob, so you try your best to deflect your nervousness by opening the conversation with something along the lines of “this guy gives the worst fucking directions.” She responds by telling you that she actually really likes him and comes in on Tuesday mornings for extra help. You’re immediately down 0-2, and it’s time to stop swinging, so you keep rhetoric strictly focused on the task at hand.
When you get back from class, your roommate’s girlfriend is sitting alone on the couch. You ask her where he is, and she replies that he’s taking a shit. You sit next to her, and she has this strange flicker in her eye that you recognize, but you don’t know from where. She leans in to kiss you, and you wake up with your heart pounding. This whole thing has been a dream. I got zooted and watched Inception recently.
