This opinion piece appeared as part of the Nexus’ April Fools’ edition.

So, the other night I totally hooked up with this guy. Yeah, like, toootally hooked up. And I thought he liked me, but then he totally kicked me out at the end of the night. And I was like, “Wait, what?” And he just totally slammed the door in my face! Juicy Campus was right: He is a total a-hole.

So I had to walk all the way back down Del Playa in my Jimmy Choos and my new dress (P.S. Hello, Nordstrom’s! Can we talk, SALE?!?! I know, right?!) and I. Looked. Fabulous. But it was the middle of the night and I was cold and he kicked me out. What a d-bag, I know.

But like what the eff is with guys these days? I just, like, gave you half of my virginity. And you can’t cuddle with me? Not for a little? I’m not like asking you to marry me or be my boyfriend. Not yet, anyway. I like, don’t even know you. Give it like a week.

I mean, I came to this school and I thought that I was going to find some nice boy to be with and buy me presents. And all I get is you? You flirt with me all night at that party, take me home, make love to me like that and then just want me to leave? I wore my cute underwear that night just for you, Justin. It’s Jason? Fine, whatever, James.

I don’t love you anymore.

Walk of shame? Fuck that. Chick is wack, bro. When the S-man has a real chill beezy over at his crib, he keeps her around only long enough to finish busting a nut. Broskis, don’t wait like a lollipop to get another lick the next morning. Who do you think you are… a freshman? The more you see a bitch’s face, the more she has you in her place. That’s philosophy, player. You should think about it.

Mornings after are overrated anyway — they just give bitches an excuse to do a bunch of gross shit. Like morning breath. Brush your teeth, bro, for real. And what’s up with this smeared makeup and puke and shit when the S-man gets up? He gave you his time — you should at least look hot. Nobody in Isla Vista wants to see that shit when you’re walking home either. Some douchey poli sci major might be jogging by, and he’ll be, like, “Damn! Who’s the fucked up hoodrat walking back from the S-man’s crib?” Some people have reputations to maintain, bro. Oh, and walking down Del Playa at the break of dawn is cold as hell.

Look, the S-man came to UCSB to get some fuckin’ poonani — not to deal with lurpy skeezers blubbering about “relationships.” No way, bro. For that kind of shit, you should at least be making the S-man some breakfast. And it better not be some lazy-ass breakfast like a bowl of Cap’n Crunch. Fucking Honey Bunches of Oats, player. And some whole wheat toast! That’s a good girl.

Don’t ask me. I’m just a raccoon.