Beating out dorm damage
Hard empirical evidence gathered from my tenure here at Colby College tells me that the largely male-perpetuated dorm damage that so ravages our fine campus has as a cause unsatisfied male sexual desires. When the sexual impulses of men go unrequited on a Thursday, Friday or Saturday night, they find release in another way: destroying the property around them or flinging their fists at the nearest male they either correctly or incorrectly identify as an obstacle to the satisfaction of their primal drives. With alcohol reducing typically upstanding young men to horny Neanderthals on any given night of the weekend, the testosterone has to get out somehow. As the godfather of modern psychology, Sigmund Freud, writes in his seminal work, Dudes, Dames and Dorm Damage, “If a guy puts his fist through the glass door of a fire extinguisher box at 3 a.m. in Dana, odds are that he failed to hook up with the girl he was hoping to that night.”
Indeed, the cigar-chomping shrink seemed to be onto something: my calculations show that as much as 90 percent of male-male fights and 98 percent of dorm damage could be prevented if guys simply took the time to spank it in their rooms before the evening begins. Given this impressive data, you might be wondering why the school doesn’t institute a mandatory masturbation policy for males before they embark on an evening of carousing and imbibing, shipping complimentary copies of Hustler and whole containers of Lubriderm to the doors of dudes across campus. Well A) such a policy would be damn near impossible to enforce, B) it would be costly, C) most guys would rather harness their sexual energy for the evening rather than expending it ashamedly into Kleenex beforehand and relatedly D) self-satisfaction is still a somewhat stigmatized activity in our polite society despite the fact that everyone does it. Many guys would rather not deal with the ego-bruising post-masturbation shame and self-loathing before they go out, knowing that the only reason they’re cloistered in their room clicking away on YouPorn is because of their shortcomings with women. And of course, unfortunately, despite the approximately 60-40 female-male student ratio on this campus, plenty of guys end up sleeping alone at the end of the night.
This is where my business proposition comes in. I’d like to start a one-man company that gives guys the satisfaction they need, nay, deserve at the end of a long night of binge drinking. A business that solves the above masturbatory issues and eradicates problems of fighting and dorm damage all in one fell swoop (or more accurately, in just a couple of pumps). I’m taking matters into my own hands, literally and figuratively. Here’s how it works: for the paltry fee of $150 per month, dudes sign up for the service and they get my exclusive pager number. If things don’t work out as they had hoped for at the end of the evening, starting at 1:30 a.m. on any Thursday, Friday or Saturday night they’re free to page me. Upon paging me, I come rollerblading to their current locale on campus clad in boy shorts and a tight-fitting tank top à la Nick Swardson in Reno 911, sucking a lollipop, with my delicious golden locks tied in adorable pigtails, and deliver them some manual satisfaction from my calloused, sweaty-palmed, well-worn hands. The service is completely anonymous, and if you’re not satisfied after a thirty day trial period I’ll refund your monthly fee entirely.
Call me what you will. Given the dorm damage fees and the fights I’ll stave off with my service, I’ll call me altruistic. I’m kicking myself for not presenting and pitching Feels on Wheels, Inc. at the recent Entrepreneurial Alliance competition on campus. Undoubtedly it would have swept the competition, especially if I had worn my rollerblades during the presentation. With all due respect to the winners of that competition, what would you rather have, Colby College: produce in a box or satisfaction on wheels? Don’t lie to me and don’t lie to yourself, fellow students. I think you and I both know the honest answer. Better still, how about a combination service offering fresh produce in a box and a hand job at the end of the night? In fact, I’m going to propose the idea of a joint franchise to the boys of My Fresh Maine. I don’t think they’ll have a choice but to comply with my demands, and supply me with a courtesy $5,000 of their prize money to defray the cost of Vaseline for the first couple months.