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April 5, 2008

There's Either Rank-Nasty Shoes or Stale Fritos Up in This Bitch

Guest Editorial by Paul Oberlin,
Penn State Class of 2011

I noticed the evil funk as soon as I walked in the dorm room, dude. The smell hit me like a faceful of battery acid, and you sit there like you don't notice anything? Jigga, puh-leeze!

To my nose, there's either a pair of rank-nasty tennis shoes or a bag of stale Fritos up in this bitch.

Now, don't get all righteous with me, brother. I'm not calling you out or nothing, just pointing out what is oh-so-obvious. Yes, I split town for a week, and yes, visiting my parents meant that I reconnected with words like "hygiene" and "chores" and "laundry detergent" and shit.

But something mighty foul is causing this stench, and it must be eradicated. Now.

Christ, the place smells worse than a boarded-up shitter with a backed-up sewer and a couple of open cans of tuna fish. Or maybe it's a backed-up shitter with a boarded-up sewer, I don't know. All's I'm saying, dude, is that this dorm is not fit for human habitation, let alone a couple of poon-chasing studs like us.

I mean, shit: this place smells like Vick's Vapo-Rub plus syphilitic queef plus an open quart of curdled milk, brother-man. You been deadly sick or something, chucking up half-eaten burritos next to your bed again 'cuz you're too lazy to walk to the john?

Last time I smelled something that wicked was when Tyler, this retarded kid in Sunday school, shit his pants and didn't tell anyone. Fuck!

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it must be a combination of both lol

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