BY: JACOB TRACHTENBERG Oct. 27, 2020

I am a really cool guy. If you ken me (that’s a traditional Scottish word for “know”), you are certainly aware that I am an attractive, strong, significant, intelligent human being who can ingest exactly twenty-one alcoholic beverages in one nighttime session. (And afterward, I can still recite every Hamlet soliloquy from memory.) But I have encountered a simple yet deceivingly complex conundrum (ah yes, the pleasure of an intentional contradiction)–most of you inferiors are not yet acquainted with me (and you shall regret that).

This year, I have been unable to converse with all my buddies from ninth, tenth, eleventh, and twelfth grades–my many, many close friends who all do, in fact, exist, such as Jimmy, Johnny, Jerry, Joey, Janie, Jenny, Jackie, and my best friend of all, Rick. I shall provide evidence of their quiddity (oh, what a sumptuous term!). I shall first provide Jenny’s phone number: 867-5309. And now, a video of Rick singing one of his delightful little tunes: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ. 

Although relinquishing time with J, J, J, J, J, J, J, and R was arduous, I shall now form new social attachments at Boing Doing. (That was a joke, by the way!) While adhering to social distancing guidelines, I concocted a scheme to demonstrate my utter coolness to my peers, without the help of my dastardly roommates. (My roommates refuse to acknowledge my quiddity [oh, what a voluptuous piece of vocabulary!], perhaps out of envy, but I shall disclose that tale during another 24-hour solar period!)

I shall now discuss my brilliant plot. It revolves around the free condoms in the lobby of Chambo, for one must take advantage of what one is given without cost. I often opine that power rests in the hands of those who hold condoms. I had to ensure all recognized the gargantuan number of condoms I possessed and certainly intended to employ during that night’s witching hour.

Enough chitter-chatter: shall we bask in my swagger? From here, I shall describe my six-point plan in enthralling narrative format. Prepare thyself.

Step 1: I stumbled upon a gathering–a legal one with mask-wearing collegiate citizens. Rule breaking is naughty, but not as naughty as I was about to (pretend to) be! They were socializing in the Chamberlain Hall lobby viewing the television (oh, the immaturity!)–next to the box of complimentary phallic protectors. Perfect!

Step 2: I strode to the condom box, guaranteeing my footsteps were as loud as possible. As I arrived at the box, I confidently yodeled (exact words: “YODELEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEH!”) to attract the attention of my classmates. They stared at me, in awe of my confidence and might.

Step 3: It was time to pop the question: “Which one of these condoms is largest?” A muscular first-year answered, “they’re all the same, headass!” But this was part of the plot from the outset! You see, now they know about my (ten sentences redacted for ‘flowery’ language).

Step 4: I grabbed each and every condom and stuffed them all in my wintry jacket. Oh, the pleasure of the condom! A round of applause erupted, and the plebeians chanted my name–oh, how fickle the masses are! The approval I desperately craved had been achieved, if only for a temporary amount of time; I was finally hip, as the masses say.

Step 5: I located a second gathering in my floor’s common room and “accidentally” spilled my jacket-full of condoms on the vodka-stained carpet. “Bravo!” exclaimed my proctor. “You are definitely going to have sex tonight, perhaps even seventeen times!” But my proctor counted the condoms incorrectly–there were in fact nineteen condoms on the ground. I was to possess nineteen sexes that night, in fact! Ah, how sophisticated–and sexual–I am!

Step 6: I returned to my room and immediately discarded the condoms, because no true patrician needs those anyway. Alright, I admit I played finger-puppets with them for a while, but quickly after, I buried them in the trash can as I ritualistically chanted Kant’s treatises on the immorality of sex. For no perspicacious human would base one’s sexual philosophy on infantile and lewd pieces of ‘cinema’ such as “The 40-Year-Old Virgin” or “Animal House” rather than Kant. One day, I shall find a partner who despises sex as much as I; on that day, I shall perhaps be open to….

Anyway, the deed is done. My reputation has skyrocketed–every time I encounter someone who attended that gathering, they laugh, as if enthused by my mere quiddity (if you have not looked up that word, you do not deserve life)! Thus begins my social dominion over the college.

Now, all grasp my coolness–except the guys who actually needed condoms that night.