MORGAN HENDERSON and EMMA PATTERSON
Staff Scallywag and Editor of the Scallion
To the poor broken body I have the current misfortune of inhabiting (AKA Paul),
First of all, I’ve had enough of all of you. Every day it’s the same thing. Every time spring break rolls around I have to live in your gross body all over again and, let me tell you, that gets old real fast.
I mean, it’s like every week with you, Paul. How many times can you possibly make the same mistakes? Do you ever think, “Maybe I shouldn’t drink til I have to get my stomach pumped,” or “maybe I shouldn’t black out and spend every dime I’ve ever made on shots?” I mean, really, all you college kids are the same. Spring break is just some excuse to blow all your money on pool floats and drinks for a week. I always want to go somewhere nice, like Europe or Costa Rica. If I see one more Miami palm tree, it’s gonna get real existential up in here.
I don’t have time for it anymore. I never get to go on spring break. Did you ever think about what I wanted to do with my life? No one ever asks me what I want. No one ever thinks about MY needs. When you wrapped yourself in bubble wrap and threw yourself off that makeshift catapult and into the lake, did you even consider my schedule at all?
Nooooo.
I had weekend plans with Self Loathing that day, which you KNOW I’ve been trying to schedule for months. It’s like you have an antenna in the stupid part of your brain that just knows when to screw up my day. Self Loathing and I were gonna spend a tasteful weeked in the Poconos, drinking quality wine and trying to forget about our day jobs. That’s kinda hard to do when you keep forcing me back into your life with your crap-for-brains decision making.
And I thought Fear had it bad with you college kids.
The worst part, Paul, is how we’re always together on the car ride home. Road trips are only fun on the way there. You KNOW this, Paul! On the way back it’s just a lot of headaches, and I’m sick of puking with you guys in rest stop bathrooms. So here’s my message for all you college kids in search of a “good time”:
Please get it together.
Thanks,
Regret
