I guess we’re supposed to do it now…
“Do yourself and the World a favor, and talk to at least one old person per day. It’s about the simplest good deed you can do. Just say something– anything– about the weather, about how you wish cell phones didn’t exist, anything. It will make them happy. They’re so lonely. I’ve been doing it for 20 years, and sure, one time it landed me in a dungeon halfway underneath a creek for the worst 42 days of my life, but I wouldn’t trade all those smiles to have my freedom back.”
Sometimes we joke and joke and joke about something that might just be true.
Don't worry he has a walker you can take him.
An oldie but a goodie that I had not put on here yet:
“Keep your thinking cap on at the beginning of this year for party ideas. Fraternities are great not just because of the pseudo gay fantasies that play out on a nightly basis, but also because of psycho-hetero ones too. You get to have parties like “Golf Pros and Tennis Hoes” where you act like a rich old asshole and grab girls asses all night– or “Dirty Old Men and Naughty School Girls” where you act like a weird old asshole and grab girls asses all night! I remember my little brother Drew (yes I’ve had other little brothers) walking around the whole night grabbing every female body part in sight saying “I guess I’m just an old perv!” over and over again. And guess what? The girls WERE LAUGHING AND KISSING HIM! God Bless America.
One night we had pledges go out and buy some “prizes” (shitty electronics, Victoria’s Secret gift cards, etc.) and then had a gambling night with two sororities. The premise was that the person with the most amount of money at the end could have first choice of the gifts, second place would have second choice, and so on. The great thing happened to also be the only smart thing Dad ever told me, and that is: “The ONLY problem with Capitalism is that it creates a system in which people will do anything for money.” And the girls did do anything, and by that I mean stripping, massaging and eventually blowing their way to a “$50 Victoria’s Secret gift card” which by the way only had $15 on it.”
I think “psycho-hetero” describes him well.
Don’t worry guys, he’s feeling better:
“Suicide Threat Level: ORANGE (reduced from RED).”
Sometimes it takes two I guess.
I think that the moratorium (he’d love that I used that word) on me posting shit about fraternity stuff is over now that I’m a brother. So I will find the ones he’s been sending me on that topic…
“Hope you’re ready to never have privacy again!!!! That’s probably the worst part of living in a frat house. And the fact that you’re almost going to die like 15 times over this year. No biggie. Just understand that none of your possessions belong solely to you anymore– everything is communal. And that includes girls you might like. Other people are going to fuck them. They’re going to fuck them, and they’re going to steal your cool t-shirts. So kiss them both goodbye. Make it a habit to not put too much stock into cool t-shirts and women in general for the rest of your life, in fact. They both look great, but there are so many ways for them to get ruined (spaghetti sauce, ecstasy, wine stains, lies) that the likelihood you ever find one that lasts you a lifetime is VERY low.”
Cool t-shirts and women are fleeting things. I’m learning so many new words!
You can't count on anything in this picture.
Up and running here in my new room and very hungover. Off to a good start. He sent this mid-day yesterday:
“Just wanted to let you know that you never stop getting zits. It’s like a fucking joke. Your gut is always trying to grow, your penis is always trying to shrink, and just when you think you’re out of the woods, you get a big weird painful zit on your nose like some gay witch. Just remember that when you’re complaining about having to turn in a paper this year after having a threesome with two 19 year olds. Your life will never be easier or better than it is now.”
I hope that scenario happens.
No seriously are they? He needs to know apparently…
If you're a dumb girl in LA this might be an important message.
“Yo who’s fucking keys are these???? I’m about to put an ad on Craigslist for these shits. I asked my main ho. Nope. My new B. Nope. The old Korean lady. Not hers either (fuck her by the way for continuing to cheat on her husband with me). Then they all gave me guff like “They must belong to some other girl you’re fucking” in a really annoying tone of voice. Well of course they do, fool! It’s pretty simple math– do you think you’re the only star that orbits Planet Awesome?
Craigslist ad: Hey who’s fucking keys are these? Do you go to the grocery store and the gym so much that you have that shit on your keychain and ALSO– Did you fuck me recently? I’m that guy with brown hair who bought you drinks hahahaha. How did you even get into your place, dude? Do you have like a bum window you climbed through or did you just say fuck it and roll to work in the same clothes like a straight up sex-gangster? Call me let’s fuck each other’s lives up some more.
Anyway I know the keys aren’t yours (you never visit me, you’re a shit brother) I’m just annoyed and felt like telling someone because I have emotional problems and my therapist is an idiot.”
Back to school today, might be down for a minute as I get my new room setup. Hope someone gets their keys back.