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My Rules For White Boy Summer

Chet Hanks is ruining my life. For the past four days, I haven’t slept because I can’t decide if I like him in a sarcastic way or hate him in a very real, very certain that he’s one of those white guys that say yo that’s tuff kind of way. All I know is that white guys desperately need a win right now. We had some steam going into last summer with Tyler Herro’s playoff run, but the election proved too much for some Jack Harlow music videos to overcome. Being a white guy is like being a fan of Indiana basketball. There was a lot of winning for a long time, but the last five years or so have been abysmal. We are very much not hot in the streets right now. A white boy summer could be instrumental in turning this ship around, but we can’t have Chet Hanks, who looks like the generic version of a white MyPlayer character, leading this charge. Here are some basic rules I think we can all agree on. 

  1. Vineyard Vines if Fucking Dead: If you are still walking around with a fucking pink whale on the front of your shirt, you’re either an eighth-grade boy who gets most of his clothes from Grandma on Christmas or an adult man that buys a little too hard into Barstool Sports. Not saying anything is wrong with Barstool, just saying it’s a little weird that thirty-two-year-old guys with kids still feel the need to comment on every pizza review Dave Portnoy does. I have to side with Chet Hanks on this one. I still have Vineyard Vines clothes from five years ago lurking someone in my closet, but they’re now mostly my twelve-year-old neighbor’s problem. Sidenote: that’s the coolest part about having a twelve-year-old neighbor, if you don’t want to drive to Goodwill, you can just leave a box of shit at his doorstep, and his Mom will be forever grateful.

2. It’s The Summer of Country Music and EDM: This is the summer of the neurotic aux cord. I want to hear a cover band butcher Tyler Childers when I’m watching the Cubs game at a sports bar, and I want to hear deep wubs when I’m on a boat. Consistency doesn’t matter. 

3. Wear A Real Fucking Shirt: It’s time for your coke head friend with greasy hair to wear something different than a plain black/white shirt and tight jeans. I don’t really care if you’re a promoter dude. If it’s eighty-degrees out, you shouldn’t be wearing skinny jeans. Dress like a fucking normal person. 

4. No More OnlyFans: Did I pay $20 for one month of watching a girl from my town get fucked on camera? Of course, I did. Who wouldn’t want to see a girl they slow-danced to the song I Won’t Give Up with deepthroating a cock so far that she’s basically playing tetherball with her uvula? But that’s all you need. One month to get all the morbid curiosity you have of seeing somebody you know naked out of the way. We are leaving paying excessive amounts of money for anything you can see for free on the internet in the past. The whole fetishy culture thing where guys go viral on Twitter every two months for bragging about how much money their girlfriend makes on OnlyFans is OD. 

5. Cargo Shorts Still Suck: This is one of the only legacy’s that I’ll accept from Frat guys ten years ago. Cargo shorts are for fat kids who scratch bug bites on their calves at summer camp and guys with at least two restraining orders. Unless you are fishing or have military experience under your belt, there’s still no exceptions. 

6. Beer Die: If you’re day drinking, play some beer die. Playing beer pong is a religious experience when reuniting with your friends from high school over Thanksgiving and drinking with your little cousin for the first time, but leave playing ten cup on a folding table to sixteen-year-olds. I’m not shitting on pong, I’m just saying that I’m at an age where the kid who makes a scene when he claims he called fire island has become a social pariah. If you don’t have a die table, hit home depot. If you don’t know how to play by now, catch the fuck up. 

7. It’s Time To Get Off Twitter: There’s not much to be gained from being a white guy on Twitter. Best case scenario, you get a retweet from Caucasian James. The worst-case scenario, you lose your internship in Finance over replying to your friend’s tweet with the HUUUHH GAYYYY gif back in 2014. 

8. Juul is Making A Comeback: I can’t fucking do it anymore, bro. I can’t take anybody’s gambling advice seriously as mid-analysis, they blow smoke from a Miley Cyrus Unicorn Pussy Lush Ice fake puff bar with 2,000 rips. I sucked it up. I’ve been going in between dipping and juuling. When puff bar first got hot at the beginning of last year, I used to enjoy the feeling of ripping something that feels like chewing five gum, but it’s time to get back to the basics. 

9. Silver Bullets: Coors Light and Miller Light both sell nine packs of silver bullets. I’m not anti-buying a thirty rack to split between a few friends, but beer hit astronomically different from a cold silver bullet can. Nine pints is also the perfect amount of beer for pretty much any scenario. Whether it be a spread-out day of boozing, or a pregame before bars, nine is a solid number. 

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Written by Bobby D'Angelo

TFM middle school penis game champion. Rutgers student.

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