Surely you read The Great Gatsby. You at least PRETENDED to read The Great Gatsby. In fact, you probably have it listed as one of your favorite books on Facebook. First of all, liar.
I once heard an actual Portlander say (and I quote, as evidenced by the upcoming quotation marks): “If it’s yellow, let it mellow.” This trite rhyme and disgustingly hippy tendency in an effort to conserve water did not make me vomit or scream, but it did make me turn up my nose and just feel generally sad and grossed out.
Don’t go to water parks. Don’t hate your swimsuit. Don’t like hers. Don’t dream of futuristic water slides that can change your gender.
This is a letter of apology for the terrible sexual intercourse we’re about to have. I just wanted to take a moment to accept full responsibility and provide several philosophical justifications for a night that you and your friends will undoubtedly laugh about for years to come.
I used to look at other people’s OKCupid profiles because I wanted to see if we were compatible enough to date. Those days are dead. Here are the real reasons I look at OKCupid profiles.
Please stop. I’ve had enough of your raucous nonsense. Like for real, dudes, go back to earnestly swaying or self-consciously nodding your head. Or, better yet, just stand awkwardly while ogling girls. There is nothing worse than you jumping up and down like you’re at my eighth-grade birthday party at the trampoline gym…
I spent my adolescence hating my dad for being an insane, racist, misogynistic, conspiracy theorist. I chalked up all his beliefs to deeply repressed reclining-chair-and-Prozac type issues. Unfortunately for my years of teenage snakiness, I’m starting to realize he was right about everything.
Present yourself in the world as an individual. Put on a guise. Convince yourself that your presentation is unique and worthy of notice. It is of no consequence. You will not be given the attention you seek. It is never enough. The eyes you meet will be primarily concerned with their own gaze, as are you.
I dropped out of college after three days. 10:00 on a Saturday night, I threw on my backpack, strode to my car, and fled.
Oh, Jane Austen is female? Really? My bad. It’s hard to assign a gender to those bulbous baggy eyes and sloping shoulders. Here’s how “she” was crappy to women: She glorifies uptight chicks. Have you ever noticed her fangirls tend to be on the highstrung “virtuous” side?