So school is just about starting up, homework is just about starting to be due and overdue, and it’s the perfect time to start writing inane comedy. But you don’t have to take my word for it—just ask LeVar Burton. Or, if you don’t know his private number, read on.
Speaking of roommates, let’s discuss statistics. There are only so many chances that you’ll like your roommate in any sense of the word "like," most likely the context in which Americans show their lack of being able to do grammar. For example, assume you end up with a decided she-bastard who comes fully assembled with her own pair of hot lips and an ass that could smack your face if it could talk. Lesbianest, it could work out quite well. But it won’t.
Scenario 1 (Say the numbers in French and it’ll sound like you’re more sophisticated than the person sitting next to you, until they ask you why the fuck you’re reading an eighth grade level internet article out loud, and you shame-facedly cry into your mashed potatoes, until the librarian asks you why the fuck you brought mashed potatoes into the technology wing of an anorexic state school’s library, and your friend will laugh and totally forget about your level of illiteracy, until your roommate shows up asks you why the fuck you’re reading an eighth grade level internet article in a British accent. Things happen fast in parentheses.): You’re gay.
Scenario 2: You’re a woman.
Just kidding, I know that nobody goes on PIC unless they’ve been extremely rewarded by external masturbation. So congratulations if you’re a female in this position, and I congratulate you on saving the money on the sex change. I hope you’re happy.
Scenario 3: You’re the successful and accepting editor of a popular male comedy website.
I’m sorry, Court. I would have done more research into penises if I had realized that. Or let them do more research into me. That might have been a pun.
Scenario 4: You’re a male, just trying to get lucky.
You’d even do so much as to stay up all night. You’d also be vaguely satisfied with just having some good fun, but there is such a thing as focus. I don’t know why you’re rooming with a woman, but she is a little hypothetical, so let’s roll with it. Anyway, women love the love shit, so you’d woo Hypothetical Roommate until she faints, and…yeah, that could work. It won’t, but Hypothetical Roommate also dries her lingerie outside your window like it’s a 90’s sitcom with an exclusively attractive cast, so there isn’t much of a need to be subtle. She wears adorable little Hypothetical Glasses, and once you tell her that you can tell she’s smart just by looking at her, she will prove you wrong in the wrongest way, even wronger than the part of a ladder that would be a step if a ladder were steps instead of being a ladder. Which it could be, in this situation.
You’re angling for THIS?
As a woman or a hairy middle-aged internet predator, what I really want you to learn from this article is a sense of compassion, because women are more than flexible sex dolls—they are flexible sex dolls with naturally hairy legs and feelings. And so are you, guys. Check out your armpits. It’s true. And of course, I don’t know what you’re gonna go off and do now that you’ve stopped reading, but whoever it is, just make sure—no, don’t actually smell your pits. Your nose can’t physically reach either of them.
But, of course, I kid. And you adult. Make your own damn judgments.