D ear Christy,
I started dating a girl over the summer and we fell pretty hard for each other. She's from Colorado, but the problem is, she goes to Nebraska and I'm a huge Buff fan, meaning I hate Nebraska. Should I pursue this fling, as we have plans to see each other during the school year, or should I just go find a Buff girl for myself?
I hope you're not the real Ralphie. Her buffalo hooves aren't conducive for typing. And she knows way better than to date a Husker.
Although much of the world would scoff as this as a ridiculous scenario, I empathize, Ralph.
A house divided could cause uproarious strife.
Are the future spawn decked out as Buffaloes or Cornhuskers? Whose bumper stickers and memorabilia will embellish the pad? What about the guest bedroom décor? Flags? Garden gnomes? Sex positions? And who is going to wear which mascot when the furry mood strikes?
It's all a large clusterfuzz. Hold me.
Luckily, I have some not-so-new-news for you: You two aren't in the same conference anymore, homeboy. Buffs = Pac-12, Huskers = Big Ten.
Alright, I still get it. I'm a Florida Gator (hush, we don't play the Buffs) and I could never crawl into the pants of a Florida State Semenhole. Seminole. Whatever.
At least you can shove that "N" helmet (somewhat) in the past.
I know, you still want to punch Herbie Husker in his stupid cowboy hat, but you may want to let him hump his corn. Meanwhile, you should really be pants pissing over Oregon and USC. The only Trojan you'll ever desire is the one in your man purse.
If you like the broad, pursue her if you must (good luck with that long distance in college, buddy). Just put a Buff bag over that Cornhusked head when Big Red hits the sheets. After all, she is a Nebraska girl.
I need a girlfriend this year. I'm a CU junior, and I haven't had a girlfriend yet. This is getting to be humiliating. Where do I find a girl asap?
-- Desperate Dillon
Cheer up, dude. You're butchering my buzz.
You need a set of double Ds. An adult arcade. Glory hole. Something.
Stop whining. When you ooze desperation, us bitches pick up on that. You need confidence.
Know you're hot. You're an eyesore, ey? Know you're hot.
Girls see confidence, boys get laid. Then we all dance with the devil in the pale moonlight after a quick genital hug.
It could be worse. You're still young. Slap on the charm, stroll the scene at the Farmers' Market, a book club or...
Nope. Meet her like all Millenials meet their future spouse: drunk at a bar.
Now go pound some Midol.