Now that everyone on campus knows that you think "condoms are for chumps" and that "the caveman got by just fine without them," it's going to be extremely difficult finding somebody to "lay" with, or talk to. These words will haunt you long after you graduate, as they will reappear every time your name is Googled. It doesn't matter if you were misquoted, you're going to have to transfer, write some sort of a letter to the editor, or invent a time machine. Either way, you have a lot of work ahead of you. At least you won't have to worry about an SMS from a PYT distracting you from the task at hand. Oh, your poor, poor hand.
Freshman year was full of terrible plans. There's that haphazard attempt at running for class president, the trip you took to see that band that's no longer cool, and a lifetime membership to the Greater New England Erotic Puzzle Club. But out of all the stupid ideas, wasting all of your electives on your first year of college is the worst. After all, they're the only reason you had time to do those other dumb things in the first place.
Senior year was full of terrible plans. There's that haphazard attempt at running a marathon, the trip you took to see that band that recently became cool again, and a lifetime subscription to Sirius XM Radio. When you take into consideration your decision to take as few electives as possible, it's impressive that you found time to do all of these asinine things. At least it would have been impressive, if it didn't mean not graduating on time.
Sweatpants are the heroin of clothing. They damage your appearance, ruin your relationships, and all but squander your desire to get anything done. Wearing sweatpants in public is one of the first signs that you have a serious problem. It starts out innocently enough, donning them to a lecture you were running twenty-minutes late for, but next thing you know, you're lying face down on a beanbag chair waiting for your younger, khaki-clad brother to lend you a couple of bucks for a pair without the embarrassing elastic-bottoms or mortifying Dijon mustard stains.