There are few times in a person’s life as exciting as moving away from home and into your college dorm for your freshman year. It’s just an orgy of trips to Target, plastic containers, creative TV-placement and school-orchestrated social events. But 18-year-olds are fucking stupid. Hilariously so.
Thankfully every awkward moment is carefully documented on the internet. These are all real pictures I found by searching the #SDSU tag on Instagram:
This is the fourth entry in a series of posts in which I recount the relationships I’ve had and the tragic and/or hilarious (TRAJILARIOUS) ways they proceeded. The names have been changed to protect the innocent as well as the cunty. They’re written out of order because I’m a serious writer who does serious shit like that. Is it getting confusing yet? Even I’m starting to lose track of these fake names.
It was the last week of sophomore year of college. My precious few days left sitting next to Heather, desperately trying to get her attention. For our final project in that class, we each wrote a short story that we would read and workshop with the class. My story would be about a guy who came to class everyday and tried to talk to this one girl who wouldn’t give him the time of day. Genius, right? Yes, yes it was.
I cringe reading it now. Though, seeing as the theme of this series has quickly become “LOL POPE IS SO STUPID”, posting the short story in its entirety seems appropriate. This is exactly what was submitted and read to the entire class, as I sat 9 inches away from Heather:
This is the third entry in a series of posts in which I recount the relationships I’ve had and the tragic and/or hilarious (TRAJILARIOUS) ways they proceeded. The names have been changed to protect the innocent as well as the cunty. They’re written out of order because I’m a serious writer who does serious shit like that.
For the rest of freshman year in college, Erin and I kept in contact: occasionally going to the same parties and often ending up sloppily making-out, as drunken college freshman so often do.
She was weird. She was home-schooled in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere and came to college as a dance major. The best way I could come up with to describe her at the time was “judgmental hippie”.
She was resolutely against all drugs, but often admitted she secretly wanted to try weed. She hated all sports and bounced between apathy and disgust whenever I told her I was watching or going to a game. She was always in her own little world, oblivious to how things were really happening around her. If there was ever someone in this world that I wouldn’t be able to get along with, it was her. But somehow, I ended up spending many a night sharing her twin-sized dormitory bed.
I never saw her as someone I would want to date, and we never got past the proverbial first base (OK so maybe I rounded towards second a couple times, but that was it), so it wasn’t like I was using her for sex or anything like that; but still, I kept going back.
This is the second entry in a series of posts in which I recount the relationships I’ve had and the tragic and/or hilarious (TRAJILARIOUS) ways they proceeded. The names have been changed to protect the innocent as well as the cunty. They’re written out of order because I’m a serious writer who does serious shit like that. This entry is important, because if you believe in karma, this is the reason for everything bad that has ever happened to me.
As fast as my relationship with Rachel started, it ended even quicker. About a month into our relationship, the appeal of making out in the band room and leaving cutesy MySpace comments got old — I was bored. Plus, since she was a sophomore and I was a junior, she kept trying to convince me to take her to prom. This sounded awful. I wanted out.
This is the first of a series of posts in which I recount the relationships I’ve had and the tragic and/or hilarious (TRAJILARIOUS) ways they proceeded. The names have been changed to protect the innocent and the cunty. They’re written out of order because I’m a serious writer who does serious shit like that.
I met Rachel during my junior year of high school. I was 16 and in drumline; she was 15 and in colorguard. We were the nerdy, less attractive version of the stereotypical football player / cheerleader couple.
She was undeniably cute, but not especially memorable if you saw her in passing. Short and skinny with brown hair and brown eyes. I couldn’t have told you what her eye color was back then. In fact, I never would be able to if she didn’t tell me herself. Apparently girls don’t like it when you date them for months and never take note of what color their eyes are. It took me about 2 or 3 girls later for me to figure that out.
As you’ve probably heard, kids in the music program (band, drumline, colorguard, dance team, etc.) seem to become overly sexually active at a fairly young age. I literally saw a fellow drummer getting head from a clarinet player in the back of the band bus in junior high. And I didn’t even fully understand what a blowjob was until years later.
I was kind of a late-bloomer when it came to girls. I had plenty of those one-week relationships in elementary school and junior high, but it seemed like by the time junior year of high school rolled around, I was the only one I knew yet to kiss a girl.
When you really think about it, fanatically rooting for any particular sports team is pretty goddamn stupid.
The most important picture ever taken by modern technology. (SUCK OUR DICKS, COWBOYS.)
I’m not talking about just following a particular sport or team and I’m not talking about going to games and having a rooting interest. I’m talking about the over-the-top, die-hard sports fans that live and die by the accomplishments and failures of a group of athletes they have absolutely no meaningful connection to. Those people are idiots.
I am an idiot and I am a Green Bay Packers fan.
When the Packers win — the grass is greener and the sky is bluer.
When the Packers lose — who the fuck cares about what color the sky is? We need a new coach and the defense fucking sucks.
I have an unnatural hatred towards the residents of Chicago and Minnesota, simply because the Bears and the Vikings happen to be aligned in the same division as the Packers. I don’t really care about the Lions because LOLions.
A few years ago,Green Bay lost a close overtime game against Chicago to give the Packers their first loss of the year. I punched a hole straight through the cheap, cardboard-like closet door in my apartment and went on a two-hour, direction less walk.
Was that reaction stupid, inappropriate and immature? Absolutely. And I even knew that at the time. But in that moment, someone needed to know how dissatisfied I was with the Packers’ offensive line. That someone just happened to be my closet door.
What’s even more incredible about my irrational devotion to the team is the completely arbitrary way I became a fan.
Thanks to http://www.theshowsdsu.com for letting me use this image without their knowledge or permission.
Oh holy hell, America. Are you ready? ARE YOU READY FOR THE HURRICANE OF DESTRUCTION ABOUT TO RAIN DOWN UPON YOU? The 2011 San Diego State football season is about to begin, and sweet ass-fucking dick balls is it going to be incredible.
“But Pope, isn’t the SDSU football team really shitty?”
FUCK YOU CUNT MUFFIN. While it is true that the Aztecs were a goddamnn embarrassment for the better part of the past 30 years, the Sons of Montezuma are coming off an 9-4 season including a dominating win over Navy in the Poinsettia Bowl. If terrorists could beat the Navy like SDSU did, then America would be FUCKED. How good were the Aztecs last year? The 4 games they lost were by a combined 15 points. That means they were 15 points away from a perfect fucking season. Does that make your buttholes tighten up, SEC fans? BECAUSE IT DAMN WELL SHOULD. You’re goddamn lucky this army of superhuman champions I’m about to introduce to you didn’t face you in the BCS Championship:
I’m not afraid of many things. I’m really not.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to brag about what an incredible specimen of masculinity and citizenship I am. I am a terrible fucking person. I voted in favor of Prop 8 just to spite my gay friend because he beat me in Fantasy Football. I once created an elaborate lie about having a Canadian cousin coming to town to avoid going to see a play that a girl I was boning at the time was in. I do not deserve your respect.
I really don't.
But when it comes to being frightened, most things don’t bother me. I’ll calmly chase a spider out of a room. Scary movies don’t get to me. And heights have never really bothered me. But there is at least one thing that fucking terrifies me:
Recent text message exchange from a girl a few days after we met at a bar in Pacific Beach:
Her: “I’d like to thank you for the comment that has been stuck in my mind all day. ‘I have a huge dick but I don’t know how to use it.’”
Me: “I don’t remember saying that, but it definitely sounds like me.”
Her: “You said it throughout the night. I would almost go as far as to say it was your opening line.”
If getting knuckle deep on the beach at 2AM is any indication of success, well then mark this one in the W column..
But what woman could resist this:
The title of this post is really true. But don’t feel too special, I’m not talking about you specifically. Unless Aaron Rodgers happens to be reading this, you are pretty much irrelevant. You’re just some asshole reading some other asshole’s blog.
What I mean by “you” is the miniscule fraction of the general populace of the internet who validate my existence by reading my thoughts on important facts like which Spice Girl is the most underrated, and which MLS team has the best alternate uniforms.
Anyway, I was reminded this weekend, that writing is the only I’ve ever done well at and actually enjoyed. More importantly, it’s also the only thing that can get me laid. Because my gratuitous use of the word “cunt” and occasional drunk-texting of 17-year-olds sure as hell ain’t getting it done.
So this post is more of a motivator to myself to start writing again. Because more people need to know how smart and important I am.
And on a hypothetically related note; I’m not saying an Australian girl has recently seen my dick, but if she did, her reaction would be something like this (0:49):
