>>> Thank Me Later March 31, 2008
By staff writer Casey Freeman
Weekly Drunk Text: There are worse ways to go out in than a booze fueled wedding riot. Tie down the groom and put the wood to hisold lady – that will shut him up.
Unless you become rich, famous, good-looking, or go to an all men’s college, never in your life will you ever have access to hot college girls again. Think the girls on the floor of your dorm are slim pickings? Go to any office anywhere. Total sausage fest. If there are women in your cubicle maze, there isn’t enough alcohol in the world to make these ladies look good. And there’s not enough bleach in the ocean to wash the nastiness off of you.
Every night of college you waste not getting laid, an accountant on the fourth floor dies.
Pretty soon your girlfriend lives across town, or in another city, instead of across the hall or in another dorm. You’ll have to start cleaning your bathroom, going on dates and listening.
Get your kicks now, because after four, five or six years of college (and then maybe one or two years when you can still pass for college-aged) people quit inviting you to Just Underwear Parties, Tuesday Afternoon Beer Pong, and threesomes (with chicks).
“Mature men are like mature women in porn: old, saggy, gross, and totally unwanted.”
There isn’t an executive out in the workforce who wouldn’t trade his fancy loft and expensive car to go to alcohol-fueled parties where it’s completely acceptable to make out with chicks and then leave. Sure crazy debauchery happens all the time out of college…when you have H2s stuffed with money.
Otherwise you wake up, go to work and go home. Maybe you hit the gym or go to the grocery store. But you don’t stop by Rebecca’s room just for a quickie. You don’t see if the cute girl in biology wants to grab a burrito. Work. Home. Maybe the gym. Hell, even a real world gym has less chicks than a college gym. Most real gyms have soccer moms unstretching their guts while wearing either too much or too little. These relics don’t have skin like college girls. Instead of blemish-free beauty, post-grad women have a dermis that looks like shrink-wrapped wet sourdough bread. Not delicious.
But in all fairness. You’re going to suck too.
Instead of creating the next Strong Bad, Facebook or Napster, you’ll anticipate the next time your boss tells you, “You’ve done a good job.” That won’t happen often because your job will suck, and you will suck at it.
Sure, you think you’ll never sell out. Once your writing/music/wacky entrepreneur career takes off, you’re going to retain your coolness. No. You’re. Not. You’ll monitor your spending rather than getting shitfaced crazy with your credit card.
Don’t believe me? Go to a bar during happy hour. See the guys still wearing their casual Friday polo shirts? That’s you in six years. They used to be cool, have tons of friends and know everything that was happening. Now they are sad, pathetic and alone except for the business cards in their briefcases. Look at them. Friday five o’clocks are the highlight of their lives. Their dreams are shattered.
You’re still going to go out to the bars. Maybe you’ll still wear your favorite hat. Perhaps you’ll get a new one but won’t remember how to fold the bill. Or you’ll just let your thinning hair show to the world—though you probably shouldn’t.
Even worse, your drinking prowess goes into the shitter. Bong beers? No chance, you have an ulcer. Smoke weed? Nope, got random drug tests at
work.
If you go on an all-night drinkathon, you’ll wake up tomorrow morning with a hangover. Not a 19-year-old college kid’s hangover that can be cured with a shower and a blowjob, but a hangover that lasts for days. You’d kill yourself if you had something more dangerous than a fajita maker. But you don’t. You got rid of your ninja swords when you “matured.” Mature men are like mature women in porn: old, saggy, gross, and totally unwanted. They should be neither seen nor heard.
Pretty soon you’ll start having stupid thoughts like, “Shit, girls are tough to come by now. All my friends are getting married. Maybe I should marry the next girl that comes along.”
With false love then marriage, comes the true end to fun: a baby carriage. After your bundle of joy comes through, you might get to drink with your friends once a year for the game, a random weekend or another one of your friend’s marriages. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
Don’t let the man or old age get you down. There is one way to keep college girls around you without having to make a lot of money or wallow in complete douchebaggery. There is one golden nugget that will allow you to live on campus forever. You can wear sandals to work. You can be attractive to college chicks, yet somewhat respected by college dudes. You can compose your opera, write your sonnet, or paint your masterpiece.
What is this glorious position? Go to grad school and become a TA. Your life, friends, and penis will thank you.
And when you are teaching Understanding Children’s Literature to a group of 23 lonely girls-waiting-to-go-wild, please, get me invited to a Just Underwear Party. Or tell me about it.