How to Live with a Hotter Roommate
by
Seth Kristalyn
First things first, you have to understand you are both guys, and there is no way you would tell him he’s hotter. You must observe gender norms. You need to have a one-bedroom apartment situated exactly one block from campus and one block from the bars. Find out from your alcoholic brother that his friend, whom you both went to school with in a small town in the Midwest, needs a place to live. Out of misplaced loyalty to your brother, agree to let the acquaintance move in. Remind yourself that you’ve played Dota 2 together, and it can’t be that bad.
Before he moves in, get rid of your cushion-less Walmart futon and locate one of those bachelor-pad style college couches that were first owned by somebody who knew somebody who dated some other person that graduated six years ago. This will be his bed, and you’ll never want to sit on it again. Make sure at least twice during the semester you leave your room to use the bathroom and see him having sex with a 90-pound blondie riding in his lap with your formerly-favorite, plaid-patterned blanket draped across her shoulders. It’s all right to hope to see a flash of something good.
Occasionally, he’ll give you some money, pay the Cox bill, or make you a burnt dinner with outdated chicken. Complain to your girlfriend, who never wants to come over anymore and whom you can’t visit at her place because she lives in a sorority house with 60 other young women. Then when he starts smoking weed out of a homemade bong made from tinfoil, a two-litre bottle, and a gallon jug, complains more. Don’t tell him it’s not cool, though. You don’t like the smell. When he offers it to you, decline. Don’t explain that you never wanted to do weed yourself because the one surgery you had, the mind-altering anesthetics, caused you to spend the following month breaking down in panic and crying in public.
Most of all, don’t ask him to put a shirt on. Act like it’s no big deal his back has visible, toned muscles. Ignore his six-pack abs. Never mention that he shaves his chest, and it makes his pecks look better. It wouldn’t be right for you to really notice or tell anyone. He will drop out of college and move back to your hometown to work at the local rubber hose factory and hit on high school girls.
After he leaves, pay for the hole he punched in the wall. Use no less than four trash bags to throw out his left-behind junk. Don’t bother to wash the pots and pans that were yours, but he used and never cleaned. Just throw them right into the dumpster. Lastly, go back to having missionary sex with your girlfriend with the lights off.
Before he moves in, get rid of your cushion-less Walmart futon and locate one of those bachelor-pad style college couches that were first owned by somebody who knew somebody who dated some other person that graduated six years ago. This will be his bed, and you’ll never want to sit on it again. Make sure at least twice during the semester you leave your room to use the bathroom and see him having sex with a 90-pound blondie riding in his lap with your formerly-favorite, plaid-patterned blanket draped across her shoulders. It’s all right to hope to see a flash of something good.
Occasionally, he’ll give you some money, pay the Cox bill, or make you a burnt dinner with outdated chicken. Complain to your girlfriend, who never wants to come over anymore and whom you can’t visit at her place because she lives in a sorority house with 60 other young women. Then when he starts smoking weed out of a homemade bong made from tinfoil, a two-litre bottle, and a gallon jug, complains more. Don’t tell him it’s not cool, though. You don’t like the smell. When he offers it to you, decline. Don’t explain that you never wanted to do weed yourself because the one surgery you had, the mind-altering anesthetics, caused you to spend the following month breaking down in panic and crying in public.
Most of all, don’t ask him to put a shirt on. Act like it’s no big deal his back has visible, toned muscles. Ignore his six-pack abs. Never mention that he shaves his chest, and it makes his pecks look better. It wouldn’t be right for you to really notice or tell anyone. He will drop out of college and move back to your hometown to work at the local rubber hose factory and hit on high school girls.
After he leaves, pay for the hole he punched in the wall. Use no less than four trash bags to throw out his left-behind junk. Don’t bother to wash the pots and pans that were yours, but he used and never cleaned. Just throw them right into the dumpster. Lastly, go back to having missionary sex with your girlfriend with the lights off.
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