Bobby D'Angelo
Before I went to college in Texas, I knew nothing about California other than it contains the country’s most overenthusiastic liberals and a cult following for a basketball player who dropped 81 points during the world’s most forgotten rape allegation. Meeting hundreds of kids from Orange County as an outsider has given me enough evidence to provide the world a general description of a fascinating group of people. Due to their parent’s distaste for the suffocating liberal collegiate education programs provided in the golden state, young adults from Orange county pack their dab cartridges and parent’s credit cards and make the trek to Texas where they spend the next few hours listening to the same deep house songs on repeat while chowing down on a complimentary scone from first class. I imagine that the average Orange County kid left his/her mother’s womb off of a bean, and their parents spent $46.79 on UberEats from In-N-Out, which would commemorate the baby as a citizen of Newport Beach.
Guys from Orange County seem to be incapable of wearing shorts, as they dawn themselves in black pants despite the Texas heat creating an exhaustive amount of ass sweat. Black seems to be a year-round theme for the boys from Orange County as I perceive it as a sort of uniform that says, “I own a very expensive bong.” Despite a somewhat feminine selection of garments, most guys from Orange County are supremely athletic. This leads them to have a cult following for the game of “Beer Dye.” In the Midwest, Dad teaches his son how to throw a baseball after mass, in the northeast, Dad teaches his son to look both ways to cross the street, in Orange County, Dad teaches you how to perfect your dye toss while reminding you that in your family, you must love and worship Travis Scott. Orange County guys love more than anything to tell you tales from high school; specifically, to describe in relentless passion their experience of their first time rolling molly, which seems to be similar to a first communion in the Catholic Church for these fellas. Orange County guys are usually pretty well-rounded students and create some of the most lavish Snapchat stories I have ever seen. If you’re dating a guy from Orange County, know you come second to the only thing he wants to fuck more than you, his BMW.
Girls from Orange County (OC as they like to say) are some of the most attractive people on god’s green earth. Weirdly, they are all pretty tall, which leads me to believe if I ever knocked one up, I could produce a son capable of D3 aspirations. Despite their love to destroy their cardiovascular system with white powder on weekends, they illustrate an incredibly healthy lifestyle to the world; after all, the phone eats first. The girls are nice, and their Mom’s are always so fucking hot. To them, their Instagram is more than 2.3 thousand people with a mild interest in their daily functions. Instagram for Orange County girls is what antidepressants are to me, something that is needed for survival. They love more than anything for an aspiring bikini company to show interest in using their thin, desirable appeal so that they can pretend that they didn’t even notice in the comments section. Cold World. A drunk girl from Orange County reminds me of my dog when I give her the other half of a Peanut Butter Jelly Sandwich; she is happy, smiling, and just wants someone to cuddle with.
On the real, I love Orange County kids. They never make you pay for Ubers, always seem to be happy, and confidently know where the best pre-game will be before bars. When I think of heaven for white people, I think of a place that dumps money into an all-out Forth of July celebration.
