To All the Hipsters I've Loved Before- Brianna Colomb

Blog #1
My dear naked run participant with the concave chest,

I get it. Sometimes the beauty of seeing sweet precipitation meeting the arid soil for the first time gets me a little feverish too. And yes, my clothes sometimes feel too much like the culture coffin they really are. And yes, the need to show UCLA that they are indeed delusional assholes for thinking the undie run is something to get excited about is tempting, but dear emaciated whitey, please resist the urge! If I wanted to see a Porter freshman’s fuzzy little pic-nic patch I would put on an ironic t-shirt and get my banjo.

Now I realize if the naked run were exclusively for the well hung Adonis it would be restricted to the members of the Queer Men of Color group, but is avoiding a painful rehashing of my sexual blunders too much to ask? We all fuck a few mistakes in college, like that doughy virgin who introduced me to Edward forty-hands, but seeing Bilbo Baggins and the Hobbits flop past me only reminds me of that awkward minute and forty seconds that I’ll never get back.

But if not for me, think of yourself! Letting that cute first year down the hall compare you to that normally unfuckable kid with “a great personality” who is actually packing heat is tantamount to admitting that the guy who sings while he takes a dump is actually you.

Now please, next time you get the urge to show off the custard cannon and its genuine fur coat, please think of your friendly neighborhood slut, if they see it when they’re sober, they’ll have a harder time forgetting it when they are drunk.
I guarantee it.