I gotta say, it was pretty lit when I saw I got a text around noon today. It’s been a while since anyone from school has hit me up, and since I’m back from break now, I was ready for some action. I saw the guys from WiscAlert hit my line, and my heart hit the floor. Could this have been it, finally an invitation to the biggest rager of the year? Or better yet, a booty call from Becky B herself?
Nope, just another threat to campus security. So now I’m here with a message to WiscAlert: fuck outta here, man. If you’re not trying to ride my dick later, don’t hop on my line. It’s like when Team Snapchat sends me a holiday message: if your titties aren’t out, I don’t want to talk to you.
The same principle applies for WiscAlerts. The only explosion I wanted to hear about today was one in my pants. You gonna make that happen? If the answer is no, then I got one word for you. UNSUBSCRIBE.
We’re living in a global pandemic. That shit’s depressing, and it severely limits the pussy I can get. I’m just saying, a more considerate university would be dropping me invites to kickbacks and smoke sessions where I can meet some hunnies. Instead, it’s always “Avoid the area,” or “Police activity on State”.
That shit just pisses me off. Only thing that could make me feel better now is one of those hot chicken rollers from 7/11. I’m gonna head there for some comfort, lmk if you wanna link up after.
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