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SupremeCommander
Posts: 33978
Alba Posts: 35
Joined: 4/28/2006
Member: #1127
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I wrote this, thought it was entertaining and thought provoking, but there could be some fallout if printed. I didn't use the girls names, but it is pretty easy to put 2 and 2 together. I guess what I'm asking is this good enough to warrant dealing with a potential poop show? EVERYONE HERE IS A WHORE
by Supreme Commander
The overwhelming majority at Tulane University is either a whore or aspires to become one. Sit down at the tables next to the food court Friday night and look, listen, and smell the females that pass, most of whom look like Elliot Spitzer's prostitute catalog come-to-life. Do not worry, more than likely you will get touch and taste later that evening too.
At those tables you will hear the cattle herd slamming their heels on concrete headed to The Boot. Heels are supposed to be hot, right? Apparently, grace can be sacrificed when doused in
designer scents and wearing next to nothing. Then you see the male sheep, all dressed alike, afraid to do, look, and act different.
The attire certainly does not match that establishment, or The Palms' for that matter. But these female students are clueless and want nothing more than to be deemed sexually adequate. The male students are just as clueless and have no idea how to pursue without the presence of alcohol. This campus is infatuated with penetration. All other social interactions be damned!
Monday night I went to The Boot because I wanted a ****tail or eight after studying. This one girl *introduced* herself by propping herself on the pool table While fondling herself. Wearing a low cut top, she pulled it down more and more so I could get a good gander. Easier than making instant oatmeal.
My first visit was the beginning of the fall semester. Another girl introduced herself by rubbing her body all over me both up-and-down and left-to-right. Her friends intervened to cut off her sexual assualt. She, however, broke away from their restraint like Barry Sanders in his prime for an easy score. That literally required fifteen minutes of, um, effort.
Yet another girl I met at The Boot grabbed my hand, pulled me to her dorm, and ripped her clothes off the very second we got back. I wake up to her wetting the bed. I am naked, buttocks hanging off her bed to avoid urine, and later plead with her suitemates to stop corralling me like a zoo animal. Clearly, they aspired to be in that embarrassing situation.
I took this same girl out another time for sushi. When we got back to my place, she was so nervous. Technically experienced, I would be far from surprised if she forgot most of her indiscretions. We were talking, she was uncomfortable, and when I finally tucked her hair behind her ear the 800-pound-gorilla jumped off her back, as she did not know how to sexually interact sober.
I bumped into my sushi date at The Boot another night, where her suitemate tells me I "made a mistake choosing her." I head back to my place with my former sushi date, where she watered my bed like the Nile River during flood season. I had to sleep on my couch for a week to let it dry. She became nicknamed Pee-Pee Pants by those who asked "why are you blowdrying your mattress?"
This is the caliber of person available at The Boot, The Palms, Maple Street, or any of the typical Tulane University spots. Guys, want to get laid? Play pool at The Boot with one of hundreds way too overdressed for the establishment. Gals, want to get laid? Go to The Palms and say "hi!" to anyone you fancy.
Recently, Pee-Pee Pants and I attempted a relationship. I am busy, and was rebounding from a long-distance break up (if you want a signifcant other, outsource). Besides learning I am an idiot for trying to start something with someone nicknamed Pee-Pee Pants, I learned relationships are so rare on this campus they may as well be called oddities.
The story itself is indicative of how inconsequential relationships are viewed. The last time I went out with her was Valentine's Day, which was nice. With no relationships under her belt, she had never had a legitimately good Valentine's Day. I decided to get some rose and sunflowers, then take her to Dick and Jenny's.
I stopped by late in the afternoon to drop off the flowers. All eyes were on me, even though McCallister Avenue was as crowded as it gets. Why? Well, I simply was the only person holding a bouquet. Flowers on Valentine's Day are apparently rare at Tulane.
In any other place, in any other situation, things would be going great. But not here, not where freely giving it up positively affects social standing. Here, she contacted me 25 days after Valentine's Day apologizing "for subjecting (me) to (her) obvious apprehensions regarding relationships" via facebook.
This experience did not hurt too much, however. Friends on campus informed me of her multiple, hammered interactions from new, random males. The last encounter was when two affectionate males dropped her off at 4:00 AM. This, of course, transpired during what should have been the fun time new and wonderful stage of the relationship and the night before she finally, um, apologized.
"I'm not too sorry because I am so thankful that I got to meet someone as wonderful as you," Pee-Pee Pants wrote. "You truly are a beautiful person and I'm sorry that my later actions did not reflect this exact sentiment."
The next beautiful day, look around. See how many hands are being held or how many public displays of affection in general. Do not get it twisted, I certainly am not advocating PDA. However, college tends to be where people figure that out. You know, at places where relationships are not synonymous with leprosy. At Tulane emotional development is eschewed for getting so inebriated that students consistently ask the morning of the same beautiful day, "who did I go home with," or "what did we do," or "was I any good," or "what was your name?" DLeethal wrote:
Lol Rick needs a safe space
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3/12/2008 4:17 PM
