I love genuinely innocent “boys will be boys.” Just saw a guy come out of a frat house to poke a pair of jeans they’d left outside - they were frozen solid, and as soon as he confirmed that, like twenty more boys came rushing out of the house going “YOOOOOOOOOO”
I heard grunting outside my window the other night and there were four boys struggling to push this giant snowball (like 7 foot diameter) down the sidewalk.
I once lost my keys at a frat house.
My drunk ass had actually walked home without them, pounded on my apartment door, gotten let in by my rightfully-disgruntled roommate, and proceeded to pass out on the couch. Apparently I puked in the toilet before passing out. I do not remember this part.
The next morning, I schlepped back to the frat house. I stood there, right in front of the front door. This was a novel experience for me. I’d never been at a frat house in broad daylight before.
A boy, presumably, of the house, asked me what I was doing.
“I lost my keys in here last night,” I called back. “I was seeing if I could go in and look for them?”
He opened the door and gestured for me to come in.
“Go wherever you want.”
I’d never seen a frat house post-party before. Wandering up the stairs and through the halls, I was surrounded by hungover and still-drunk frat boys stumbling around in their socks and sandals and gym shorts, seeking out food and showers like moths to a porch light. A few of them threw puzzled glances my way. I’m sure they thought I was some post-bacchanalia hallucination.
I entered one room where a boy was drunkenly watching some Old Yeller-esque movie on a tiny TV in the corner of his room from his bed.
“Do you like dog movies?” he asked, voice all mumbly from grogginess and also from the fact that his face was squished against his pillow and half-buried by his blanket.
I told him I did.
He mumbled again, pleased, and asked what I was doing. I told him I was looking for my keys.
“Sorry, I haven’t seen any keys around here.”
I didn’t doubt him.
Twenty minutes had passed. I’d searched just about every bedroom and nuclear-waste-dump-site of a bathroom in that house. I’d given up on ever finding my keys and was prepared to beg my roommates’ forgiveness and get a new set copied.
As I stood there in the hallway, silently bewailing my predicament, a particularly-burly frat boy approached me.
“You need help with something?”
“I lost my keys here last night and I can’t find them, I’ve looked everywhere.”
“What do they look like? I’ll put it into the group chat.” He was already pulling out his phone.
No one ever checks a group chat, I thought, but what the hell. It was worth a shot. “Um, it’s just a ring of keys. The keychain is a pink plastic cat, though, like yea big. Like bright pink, you can’t miss it.”
He nodded, presumably typing this description faithfully into the group chat.
“Alright, I sent the message out. Good luck.”
And with that, he turned and left.
A few moments later, I heard a distant thundering. It was coming from upstairs, and it was getting louder and louder. One assumes that how I felt in that moment was how Simba felt seeing the wildebeest stampede through the ravine as a horde of large young men all thundered down the stairs, making a beeling for me.
“Someone tell the girl!” One of them shouted, faceless in the mob. “Girl! Hey, GIRL!!! We found your keys, girl!!!”
They circled around me. I hadn’t felt that small since I was maybe eleven years old. One of them split himself off from the crowd.
“Are these -” he pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket, “your keys?”
And lo, there was the distinctive bright millennial pink cat keychain dangling off the ring.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Oh my god, yes.”
“EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!”
The cheer went up.
Turns out he found them in the bathroom upstairs. I thanked them again profusely. There was a scattered round of “no problems” and then, just as suddenly as they descended, they all dispersed, like ships in the night.
Okay so we have a white American exchange student in our class and he’s kind of a massive dick.
We were in class and he made a fried chicken and watermelon joke to a Kaurna classmate and the whole table was just like ????
Like we all *knew* something was fucked up, from the tone of voice and body/face language but the association between black people and fried chicken and watermelon isn’t a thing here? I sort of roughly know about it from tumblr: enough to know that his dude was a fuckwit.
Everyone just stared back and were like “We don’t understand can you explain it?” And he started off repeating and laughing and then as we kept pressing for an explanation he was hella embarrassed and kept saying that “It’s fine, don’t worry about it, it was just a joke”
Until one of my table mates went “Oh, maybe he doesn’t understand it himself - I googled this, let me explain it to you AMERICANDUDE and she read off a whole definition while maintaining intense eye contact and and it was like watching a premeditated MURDER.
THE LATEST TUMBLR BOT PASSWORD SCAM - PLEASE SHARE - 3rd Feb 2019
I got this message from an account I didn’t follow - their blog looks very authentic because the owner was fooled into giving over their password and then locked out of the blog
If you click on the link (on mobile) it takes you here
No official tumblr post NEEDS to be viewed in a web browser, EVER!
It takes you to the page below, where it asks for your account details.
Whoever started this will then steal your info and lock you out of your blog!
It should go without saying - do not enter any account info into this or anything like it.
ALWAYS navigate to Tumblr’s official homepage yourself.
a pair of mischievous goblins examine their new charge
Ebony and Tenebrous were aghast.
“Did you hear what those fairies gave her? Beauty, grace and willingness to please? Bast’s tits, that’s a terrible thing to do to a kitten.“
Ten got up on her hind legs. “Never trust a flying thing that gives you a mouthful of glitter when you catch it. Come on, Eb, let’s give her our gifts.”
“Like half a shrew? I tried giving her that, her dam shouted at me.“
“Quite right too,“ said Ten wisely, “it’s got be at least four weeks before she can manage the skulls. That’ll be my gift then. May you always be able to manage skulls. Big ones, small ones, beaky ones, mousey ones, any sort of skull.“
Ebony copied her sister’s pose. “And may you always catch the flying things. Then you’ll never be hungry, and that’s much better than fairy wishes.”
***
Thirty years later, Alba was everyone’s favourite keeper at the zoo. Not only could she cure her colleagues’ headaches just by telling their skulls to give over, but she was the only person they’d ever know who could work alone in the emu enclosure…
