It’s almost 2:30 PM when you finally sit down after completing a lab with a chick in Alpha Phi that wouldn’t stop talking about how Shein is more harmful to the planet than nuclear weaponry. Quite frankly, between maintaining eye contact with a girl that hot and nodding your head with conviction as the things she was talking about made less sense to you than the concept of being non-binary does to your grandfather, it’s been an exhausting day. You fire up Twitter and see Joe Rogan trending. Apparently, he is now getting canceled because Nutella wasn’t a sustainable food option for weight loss. You ticker through a few unfunny Brooklyn-based female comedians make the same horse-dewormer joke with a slight twist seventeen times, and you sigh. Women always ask why guys like listening to The Joe Rogan Experience so much; it’s because the guy mastered five life skills while being 5’7. Could YOU be a renowned comedian, a black belt in various types of Asian fighting, and host the world’s biggest podcast while having to stand on your tippy-toes to reach for toilet paper at the grocery store? Didn’t think so.
As soon as you open Tik Tok, you see a girl dump an entire bucket of barbecue sauce on a singular chicken wing and decide that you’ve had enough internet for the day. Your stomach sounds like the upside-down from Stranger Things, so you open your fridge, which smells like the back of Casey Anthony’s Pontiac because your roommate is disgusting, and heat up a bowl of chili that’s old enough to be the E-trade baby. However, enough sour cream and sriracha can make you forget that every time you eat leftovers, you’re playing Russian roulette with salmonella. After a brief moment of self-indulgence with Lele Star, you fire up 2k, where your character and his racially ambiguous friends are tasked with designing your new Nike shoe. For like forty-five minutes, you go through the Rolodex of your middle school athletic accomplishments in an effort to create a fake scenario where the coach of your school’s basketball team sees you shooting in the rec and needs you to join the team. All guys do this; don’t fucking lie to me. Amidst an offensive battle with Devin Booker, where your teammate grade directly contradicts how things look on D2L, you pause the game to rip a quick chop- which is a cool way to have an anxiety attack before taking a nap.
You wake up to your roommate bumping his song of the week in the shower. He’s the type of guy that stopped listening to new music after the decline of Fetty Wap, so now he just gets into one EDM song a week and plays it in 1930’s Germany-style repetition. You walk in your kitchen to see the kid that never fucking leaves your house in your kitchen wearing the same goddamn Mike Bibby Vancouver Grizzlies Jersey he wears every day of the week it’s acceptable to drink. You’re not usually a stickler about shit, but there comes the point where some grifters need to Venmo for the amount of heat and AC they consume while in your house. You don’t even hate the kid either, on paper, he’s fine. He sits on your couch and says, “big bet.” That’s literally all he does, yet for some reason, the sight of him on some days makes you want to put his face through a meat grinder.
After a quick shower, you watch an old-school Vice documentary about mushrooms in Amsterdam, then proceed to bet your nicotine budget on college basketball. You give Instagram a scroll past the Barstoolsmokeshows you started following when you were like thirteen and glance at the twenty-somethings with body parts about as fake as your middle school pair of Jordans. Tonight you’re going to try and keep it to a buzz, but in the back of your head, you know you’re going to go full Rachel Dollezare. I’m not going to explain the joke to you, but it’s a phrase I’ve just originated that means blacking out.