Take Off Your Shirt, You’re not Twenty-One

Yesterday was freshmen move-in day or what I like to call “freshmen heckling day.” All of them are scared shitless and look awkward as fuck, perfect for trolling. Their mommies and daddies have left them for the wolves. As luck would have it, I actually didn’t start shit until a parent got on my case.

I had just gone for a run with my Foster’s shirt on. Abe had just finished his shift as a residence hall desk clerk, so I made my way to his dorm. I cut through the freshmen dormitory courtyards and was stopped by an old, white man with his snide remark, “You’re not 21; you shouldn’t be wearing that shirt.” I stopped, put my sunglasses on top of my head, and stared at the codger. I don’t like it when people tell me what to do.

“I don’t think my wearing a shirt advertising beer is going to make your son turn into an alcoholic… sir.” Yeah, I was being an asshole, guns blazing.

“My daughter is a lot smarter than that, young lady.”

“Well we’ll see how smart she is after she drinks shitty Coors Light and gets plowed by some upper classmen. Tootles.”

I walked away very calmly until I was out of sight, and then I ran like a thief in the night to Abe’s place. Sometimes I’m a big pile of chicken shit. I kept throwing looks over my shoulder expecting to see the old dude following me.

I bet that old guy is imagining all the terrible things that could happen to his daughter right now. I’ve probably ruined the whole college experience for that family.

“Tough titty,” said the Kitty. “But the milk’s still good.”

Sam: That’s probably one of your biggest flaws, Jess.

Me: What?

Sam: You find listening to instructions interesting but following them less so.

Me: Bad decisions make for great stories. If I did everything right, my blog would be a lot more boring.

Sam: You ever gonna tell me the name of your blog?

Me: Hell no.

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