How To Be An Asshole, Easy

I’ve always been one to not give a shit about how anything I say affects anybody else.

To me, this is the ideal way to live.

However, in a recent conversation with my roommate and butt-buddy Aidan, I learned that living this dangerously has consequences of unspeakable volumes. And so it goes:

Last week, our neighbor Ben went on a number of dates with a girl from our apartment complex. It was a casual thing, beginning and ending awkwardly and not entirely progressing towards a real relationship. Ben just thought she was pretty and went about pursuing her; unfortunately, he found that they had absolutely nothing in common and decided to end his pursuit. According to her, this was the wrong move.

Labeling Ben as a “fuckboy” on her most recent Twitter feed, the pretty girl-next-door lashed out and demanded to know why she was left so broken hearted. Why the fuck did he lead her on? (Direct quote. Subtlety is out the window.) Continue reading

A Playlist for Attention Deficit

Since I was officially diagnosed with ADHD at age twelve, studying has been the ultimate experiment; finding a completely quiet, solitary place, and pushing my mind to focus on a singular subject, even though I know I’m fucked the second a bird flies by the window.

ADHD stands for Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. According to the National Institute for Mental Health (authenticity matters), it’s a disorder that includes difficulty staying focused and paying attention, difficulty controlling behavior, and hyperactivity.

It’s a common diagnosis for children, being that most children are hyperactive and lack mature attention skills anyway. Throughout my childhood, I struggled to listen and concentrate on a singular thought. Thinking that this was just a symptom of being young, my mom refused to mention it to doctors and instead focused her energy on harder discipline. Mom never liked doctors. So obviously, I’m studying to become one.

As I grew out of the premature stage, I still found myself continuously straying from tasks. It wasn’t just being bored or disinterested; it was a serious, lost-in-my-brain thing. Like every sound in the room was being amplified in my head ten times the original, or worse, like I drifted away and couldn’t come back.

It’s incredibly irritating and some days are worse than others: there’s just no escape from thoughts being too loud. At this point, you say, “Bro, take some amphetamine or methylphenidate or something,” to which I say, “Fuck you,” and then eternally wonder how you know the medical terms so well. Continue reading

Drive-Thru Sex

“Here you go, Champ,” I said, handing Aidan one of the two waters in my hand and sitting next to him on the futon. I reached for the Xbox controller on the coffee table and took a swig. The water felt like a miracle on my hungover throat.

“Yeah, that party last night was not bad,” he said, chuckling into his water. “Not bad at all,” I nodded in agreement.

“You know, I think I like it better when campus is empty,” I said. “It’s like we were at an apocalyptic party or something. Last men on earth meet beer and beautiful women.”  I paused. “When did Ash leave?” Ashley is Aidan’s new, ‘we’re totally hooking up but we aren’t labeling anything yet,’ girlfriend. Cutest non-couple out there.

“About ten o’clock this morning, actually,” Aidan grinned, pausing to receive his well-deserved high five.

“That’s my man!” I patted him on the back before returning to the game. Having received a copy of 2k15 for Christmas, Aidan and I have been playing nonstop since we got back to the apartment, about as soon as winter break ended.

“So, things are getting pretty serious then,” glancing at Aidan for any eye twitches. “Or was this just a fuck and go situation?” His eye twitched. Bingo.

“Listen, Ashley does not deserve to be fucked. She deserved to be loved-”


“-as any woman should! And any man for that matter,” Aidan took a painful swig of water before continuing. “It’s not all about the fuck and go, okay? Intimacy shouldn’t be such a shitty topic.” I paused the game and put down my controller.

“Then why the fuck have you only hooked up with her when you’re drunk?” Continue reading

Ten Commandments of a Healthy Bromance

When Aidan, Ben, Chris, and I get together to hang out, it’s essentially the equivalent of the entire Friends cast reuniting to create an extended season of the show. It’s the kids from Dragon Tales meeting up with their prehistoric mammal counterparts. It is the Weasley brothers before Fred dies. In other words: bro time is fucking legendary.

For those that don’t know, Aidan is my roommate, Ben is my next door neighbor, and Chris is Ben’s roommate that I never write about. Chris is the shit, but he also works sixty hours a week, so fuck him.

Between Chris’s work schedule and our mapped-out napping matrix, we rarely have the chance to share this coveted bro time.

That being said, the four of us understand each other better than anyone else. But like any regular relationship, maintaining a healthy bromance takes work and dedication.

1. Thou Shalt Not Have Hoes Before Bros Continue reading

Song of the Week: Only One

Song of the Week: Only One by Kanye West

Recently released, Kanye flips a coin by introducing us to this ballad. I usually think autotune is shitty, but for some reason, this works. And Paul McCartney is featured in it on organ. So it’s worth going soft for.

How to Make Christmas Your Bitch

Christmas is fucking awesome. You wake up, the house smells like bacon, there’s free shit in your living room underneath a tree, and you can eat cookies for breakfast and pretend that’s not what you usually eat. Best of all, you get a stocking full of fresh underwear. It’s essentially the ideal day for a privileged college kid.

However, if you’re anything like me, you fucked up and forgot to buy any gifts for anyone. So it’s approaching dawn on Christmas Eve and you’re clueless and honestly just want to give everyone a six-pack, but you resist, knowing only your roommate would appreciate that. Luckily, I’ve prepared a shopping list perfect for all your last-minute needs: Continue reading

The Art of The Mental Breakdown

I was nervously striding to my last final on Thursday when I heard my name being called from a distance. Breaking free of my walking-to-class stupor, I saw a figure materializing in front of me. Doctor Fucking Johns.

Despite forcing me to write this blog and ironically making me late for a final, D. Johns is easily my favorite professor. I hadn’t seen him since last semester and besides an email congratulating me on passing his class, had not heard from him either. I embraced him right there on the sidewalk.

“Michael, it is so good to see you again. I have meant to keep in touch, but it appears my schedule has been a bit more hectic than usual. How are you? How is your blog?” I chuckled and shook my head.

“Dr. J, this semester has been a shit show.” I watched his face turn from momentary alarm to warm recognition.  “I would rather take your class one hundred times and fail every one than relive this semester,” his alarm returned. “and as soon as you passed me, I stopped writing. Sorry Dr. J.”

He looked me straight in the eyes before speaking. “Michael, I don’t believe I have ever had a student with as much wisdom and insight as you. Reading your blog was such a joy because I knew it was not forced and was not worded only to get an A. Michael, you are a talented young man and I wish to see that continue. And I urge you to write about this ‘shit show’ you speak of. I can tell you are on your way to something, but I would love to hear about your endeavors. Please, do write. I’d hate to see such a clever domain go to waste.”

Dumbfounded, I thanked him, exchanged parting words, and hurried to my exam. After days of thinking over what Dr. Johns had said, I opened my computer. Staring at the blank page, I started typing; and I didn’t stop.

The Art Of The Mental Breakdown Continue reading

My Dog Ate My Homework

Aidan and I decided to indulge in the return of Burger King’s chicken fries early yesterday evening. Sitting down in the cold, stark-white booth in the middle of the eating area, we opened our respective chicken containers and gazed at the beauty of the thirteen fresh nuggets. As we began our feast, I asked Aidan if he had seen Ben’s tweets last week.

“Oh yeah, he said those were about his professor or some shit like that,” he mumbled through a mouthful of fries. I shook my head.

“Those were about Sara. Did he really say that?” I waited for him to nod. “Why the shit would he do that?”

Aidan glanced up at me. “He told Sara the same thing when she asked about it,” He stuffed his mouth with more fries. “I guess he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.”

I laughed, spitting chicken bits in Aidan’s direction. “Fuck that, man. If you tweet shit like that where she’s going to see it, you have to own up to it. You know what happened last time I lied to a girl about something I did?” Aidan shook his head. “I got dumped. And rightfully so. Making excuses is pussy shit, man.”

He furled his brow. “But he didn’t really lie, did he? It’s just an excuse; like, we don’t know what it’s really about.”

“I’m positive,” I said, mouth full with my sixth chicken fry. “I talked to him about it the other day.” I swallowed the last of the sixth and began the seventh. “And an excuse is a lie. Because it’s not the truth, is it?”

Aidan cocked his head before responding. “It could be,” he mumbled while sitting up in his plastic seat. “But sometimes excuses aren’t lies. They’re just extended truths that hide the ultimate truth.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, like, if I was late to class because I overslept after a night of, you know, drinking, I’d tell my teacher my alarm didn’t go off and I overslept. That’s true, but it’s still an excuse,” he stared into his almost empty chicken box. “It’s just not the entire truth.”

I thought it over before responding. “But if you didn’t turn in your homework because, say, you lost it, but you told your teacher ‘my dog ate my homework,’ it’d be an excuse. And a lie.”

Aidan nodded. “Right. I’d agree with that.”

“That’s what I’m saying, though. He lied about it. It wasn’t about his professor, those tweets were directed towards Sara.”

“I guess,” Aidan started, chewing on his last chicken fry. “But still. Wouldn’t you lie about it, too? I mean, it sucks to hear that shit be about you.”

“Yeah, it sucks to hear it, but it sucks to read it, too.” I savored the last bite of my chicken fry. “So really, what’s the difference?”

Aidan nodded in agreement. “It’s really more insulting to be lied to than to be tweeted about.”

I closed the chicken fry box and checked my wallet to see if I could afford another round. “Exactly. It’s a blow to your intelligence to be lied to. Like you’re not worthy of the truth or something.”

Aidan slid out of the booth, wallet in hand. “I think everyone should be entitled to the truth,” he said, walking over to the register to buy more chicken fries. “Ben’s just a pussy.”

“Yeah,” I laughed, following Aidan into the line. “Ben is quite the pussy.”

You’re a Bitch #yolo

This morning I rolled over in my bed, grabbed my phone off the nightstand, and rolled back over. Sheltering the screen between my pillows, I groggily signed on to Twitter to read the few early morning tweets that appeared while I was sleeping. I imagine this ritual is similar to reading the morning paper, minus the politics and the effort of getting out of bed.

I continued scrolling down the illuminated feed until I saw Ben’s name appear. “You only care about your own fucking self. Feels good to be done with you,” shone brightly in the 12-point Helvetica font. Scrolling farther, one more tweet caught my eye: “You mean nothing to me any longer.” Continue reading