If violence isn’t the answer, here are two for you

Q. My roommate and I have been having some problems. While I’m pretty chill when it comes to living space, he’s like a freaking Hun, coming at me with this big battle-axe of a bad attitude. I’ve been trying to put friendly distance between us, but he resents it; he alternates between being clingy and being a bastard. At a party recently, he came up to me while I was dancing with my girlfriend, and he punched me in the face. I think he might be in love with me. What should I do?



A. First of all, Shakespeare, let’s cut out the frilly literary devices. Like a Hun? Big battle-axe? I’m an American Studies major; I don’t work with metaphors. So you got a bad roommate and now you’re dealing with it. The “friendly distance” thing is a good way to go, although you could always just be a man and punch him back. I find violence to be a pretty time-tested solution to most of life’s problems.

But if violence isn’t your thing, and why wouldn’t I be surprised if it isn’t, go talk to your freshmen counselor; I mean, I’m assuming you’re a freshman because you can’t deal with this on your own, and I’d like to see those damn freshmen counselors earning their free room and board (oh, and when you’re chatting with them, throw in the possibility of a case of herpes in the entryway — it’s fun to watch the freeloading seniors squirm). If that doesn’t work, it couldn’t hurt to check if your roomie’s been popping estrogen, ’cause those mood swings sound like three little letters that aren’t “DUH.”

And one more thing: you think he’s in love with you? For God’s sake, if you’re that desperate for a self-esteem boost, I want to punch you. But then you’d probably think I was in love with you and next thing I know you’d be at my doorstep like a cat looking for a saucer of milk. Dancing with your girlfriend? Oh, give me a break, there’s gay written all over this question and you know it!



Q. How can they all be gay?! This is so unfair.



A. How can they all be gay? Well, that’s not much to go on, but I’ll do my best. If you mean gay in the eighteenth-century sense of the word, your question is, ‘How can they all be so happy?! This is so unfair.’ In that case, you’re officially depressed. My advice to you is to seek therapy (but avoid Yale’s mental health ward — I’ve known people to go in and never come out). At the very least though, begin a heavy drug regime; everyone can have a gay olde time with a little help from our friend the pharmacist, and CVS isn’t open 24 hours a day for nothing.

Now, if you mean gay in the vernacular negative, as in “Hurricane Isabel is totally gay,” which by the way it is, your question is, ‘How can they all suck so much?! This is so unfair.’ In that case, you’re a misanthrope (thanks, Moliere), and I’ve got good news: you’re fitting in just fine here at Yale where, let’s face it, everyone’s too busy loving themselves to ever really like anyone else.

But if you mean gay as in homosexual, and your question is, ‘How can they all be homosexuals?! This is so unfair,’ then I have a couple words for you: quantity doesn’t necessarily mean quality. Gay or straight, when it comes right down to it, it’s slim pickins for all of us out there. So quit whining, get drunk, go to Toad’s this Saturday and be happy with what you get, ’cause if you can’t get good, you can at least get some. But don’t quote me on that.



Matt Horowitz is not really this jaded.

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