So you blacked out Saturday night, congratulations! We’ll get back to that in a moment. First, let me introduce myself, I am That College Guy. My $40,000+ tuition would likely be better spent on…just about anything, but don’t tell my parents that. When I’m not playing Tiger Woods 2007 on my stolen playstation, bonging Jager, you can find me drunkenly trading STDs with a fat chick who tastes like beer and a KFC Famous Bowl. If I can’t make it to class I try to cover up the guilt by engaging my roommates in inane banter about the most recent political developments of which I know absolutely nothing. Do you know who Roberto Gonzales is? Neither do I, but by merely mentioning his name in casual conversation I am able to reassure myself that I have not “smoked myself retarded.”
That’s right, I am That College Guy and I am everything that is stereotypically college. I have decided to share some of my knowledge with you. I already found a half hour spot in my weekly schedule; on Thursday night in between downloading internet porn and purchasing alcohol for minors, during which time I will let my wisdom spill onto this page like so many knuckle children onto the t-shirt under my bed.
So you blacked out Saturday night! Forgot already, eh? Oh what fun you must have had. In fact, you are nearly 100% positive that sometime in between your eighth shot of tequila at 10pm on Saturday and waking up on Sunday at 2pm, that you must have done something really fucking sweet. All you can remember, however, is a scattering of blurred images. Likely something like this: “Where did I go last night? The swimming house? I don’t even know any swimmers. Who the fuck is that walking me back to my dorm…a public safety officer? I’m I vomiting on his shoes or are his shoes kicking me in the face? Why is he wearing heels? It’s a chick! Sweet, I must have scored last night! Was it that cute girl from upstairs? Now I remember being in her suite...I think. God let’s hope it was her and not her ambiguously gay roommate Nathan.”
Now what? First, you are going to need to find out what you did/didn’t do/touch/break/lick/vomit on/fall down/ bad touch/good touch…you get the point. That is the only way to ease that ominous feeling that you may have done something horribly wrong. Was there a cat involved? Perhaps a small child? Fire? Public urination…maybe involving the cat? Start with your closest friends. Ask them vague yet directed questions such as: “Did I leave my jacket at your place? No…how about my man-juice?” Questions like these will make it seem like you remember everything. Other good examples are: “Were you with us when we walked back last night? Did we go to Turkey Hill? Did I break a car window with my head and then proceed to relieve myself into the car while screaming improperly quoted lines from Family Guy?” The answers to these questions will help you slowly piece together the story of your hilarious/witty/sloppy/burning/murderous/horrifyingly inappropriate actions.
By now you should know whether you should avoid eye contact with the girl from upstairs for the next couple of weeks. Also, you should have some sense of the likelihood of any pending legal actions. There is a big difference between running from the cops after peeing on the side of the pizza place, and running from imaginary cops…after peeing on yourself.
Chances are that I (That College Guy) saw you at some point Saturday night. Maybe we talked about “that chick that does that thing with her tongue” or swapped stories about home made bongs. More than likely we reminisced about how awesome it was to wear sandals that day when it was 8 degrees below zero. Man that was cool! Perhaps you even threatened to fight me because I told you that O.A.R. sucks.