For some reason, being a male college student carries with it a very negative stigma. Sure, most male college students are promiscuous, beer-guzzling oafs but I don’t really have a problem with those sorts of unfounded assumptions…it’s the assumption that all dudes such as myself are horrific pigs who can barely get their hairy, over-sexed bodies above the toilet to make poopies let alone shepherd their ancient, mold-infested pizza boxes and beer bottles to the proper receptacle.
I’ll actually concede that most college students are garbage machines, barely human. This has never been clearer than over the last few days of cleaning up our new house after the horde of feces-hurling apes that lived here before (Ryan excluded). After I developed a back problem from scrubbing away pubic hairs that were glued to the kitchen floor with pizza sauce, I realized to what extent male college dudes deserved whatever shameful assumptions were associated with them.
I thought I was exempt from the horrors of college life. I’ve managed to make it to my senior year without making anyone wince with my slovenly lifestyle (except for the infamous egg cup incident). I use deodorant. When I spill something I try to engage in a reasonable practice of mopping it up; when I get streaky undies I apply bleach or throw them away. I have certain standards of personal cleanliness and those generally extend to the area in which I dwell.
Then it happened! In a fit of rage I destroyed my blood droplet bobblehead. It was a sweet piece of swag I obtained after a terrible blood giving incident. I don’t remember exactly how it happened, but afterwards things were messy and my little red friend was dismembered. The horror! What have I become?! I’m nothing more than a clich酡 lumbering dullard, inept at taking care of his things and keeping his tidy area clear of debris and detritus. May I live in shame.