First few months of freshman year going well? Making a lot of friends, are we? Have fun while you can. You won't be friends with any of these people by the time you graduate. It's not because you did something wrong (although you could take more showers, dude). That just happens" these bonds you're making are out of necessity.It happened to me, too. I am not friends with anyone I met my freshman year. Not the squirrelly red headed kid who was obsessed with Ayn Rand and tweed jackets, not the scary guy from Seattle who stole all my CDs, not the crazy Indian guy with OCD who built a partition in his dorm room out of soda cans. And I'm especially not friends with Evan Wilson. And you shouldn't be friends with him either.You have an Evan Wilson at your school. My school had several. I just happened to meet one who was named Evan Wilson. He's the chunky compulsive drinking guy who enters the freshman year with a full beard on his face, two dozen Hawaiian shirts in his closet and a book shelf filled with Bukowski poems that glorify taking a dump after a night of hard drinking. Which is something Evan Wilson loved to do.I met Evan Wilson while waiting in line for a freshman orientation event. "This is gonna suck," I said. "Yes it is, my friend. Yes it is," he said back. I was already in over my head.It turned out I lived in the same dorm as Evan Wilson. We'd see each other all over the time (mostly in the laundry room) and bonded over a mutual love for comedy. I told Evan I wanted to be a comedy writer. "I AM a comedy writer," he responded back. "I made a pact with myself in high school that if I'm not the head writer of Conan before my junior year in college, I'm done with this country. Buh Bye America, you bitch." All right.We would go see comedy shows together, though for different reasons. I would go because I wanted to laugh. Evan would go because he wanted to binge drink brown bag 40s and embarrass himself. On the way home, I'd have to pull him out of traffic as he tried to jump into moving cabs.Sure, it was a horrible existence but my only other options at the time were my Born Again Christian roommates (and nothing against Born Agains, but sometimes I don't want to hear 'ministry,' like, for instance, when I'm in the shower). Evan and I repeated our little 'friend' routine for a few months. One night, when we were coming home from a show, I walked a particularly inebriated Evan Wilson up to his place on the 10th floor. When we got to his room, the door was locked. "I flipppinnn' tole those head suckers not to lock the door," Evan slurred. "They knowww I loss myy key.""I'm sure they just don't want their stuff stolen," I responded. "Probably nothing personal.""Ohhhh! So you're on their side!! Well, let gooo of mee!" I did. He was sound asleep in the hallway by the time he hit the ground.The next day I went up to Evan's room to see how everything was going. His roommate answered."You Evan's friend?" he said. I said I was. "Are YOU gonna clean up this mess?" He led me inside.Apparently, in retaliation for being locked out of his room, Evan took a shit in his roommates' sheets and hurled it all over the room, the beds and his roommate's stuff. I told Evan's roommate I was sorry, went down to my room and never saw Evan again.