Confidence: An Endangered Species

I don’t have so much confidence that it’s spilling over the sides like a muffin top, but it’s better than it used to be. However, when it comes to approaching women, I still end up looking like a first-time murderer who can’t decide if he wants to go in for the kill or not. Exhaustive preparation has aided many halfway studs in their quest to capture the heart of an unsuspecting beauty before a cardboard cutout of Chris Hemsworth steals her for good.

You know how it goes, you spend countless hours preparing for a night out on the town by completing an abundance of frivolous activities in order to increase your confidence and sex appeal. Surely lifting a couple of weights, taking extra showers, and reciting biology pick-up lines to your reflection in the mirror will snowball into an evening of great sex with glow-in-the-dark condoms. When all else fails, chatting up your cat before you leave may eliminate the nerves and up your game because, you know, how else are you going to get the girl if you don’t practice on a house pet who licks itself beforehand? I possess the game of a 5th grader, so I’ve sought my cat’s expertise on numerous occasions. He was like a sensei until he turned his back on me and stole every girl I had a crush on. The bastard. He coughed up hairballs like you’d never seen before while I was left out to dry on the couch binge-watching My Cat From Hell by myself.

Straighten up, soldier, because none of the above is necessary to accomplish your goals. Confidence goes a long way towards winning that person’s undivided attention and certainly doesn’t require therapeutic chit-chat with a cat. Make due and make that girl go wild with what you have!

Have you ever studied for hours on end for an exam, only to get a dismal grade when you think you nailed it? I sure have, and that method has been running rampant in the dating world without a leash for centuries. I’ve learned over the course of many failures that this is exactly how it should be. You can spend many weeks learning how to score women by watching scripted entertainment or consulting a house pet, but the noticeable absence of confidence can put a dent on the hard work you’ve put into improving your game. You may not win the girl like you had dreamed in your fantasies, but at least you had the confidence to walk up to her and make an effort. I’ve learned that failure is an option because it can actually turn into a great success. The success I’m talking about is learning. You’re learning that not everyone is going to accept you, but you’re also learning that some lucky lady will accept you eventually because you had confidence.

Take a chance even if you’re destined for failure. Put down the dumbbells, let your cat do their business in the litter box without interruption, and swim into the singles pool with confidence. There’s a woman out there waiting to be dazzled by your ability to show that you have the gonads to make conversation. Confidence is dying out quicker than the mighty polar bear, so give it life and show the ladies what you’re made of! You stud, you.

Why Do We Hurt?

Why do people hurt other people? In this case, I’m not talking about physical harm towards others; I’m referring to the hurt that can be engraved deep into your psychology. A wound dished by a swinging fist or the cut of a knife will bruise, scab, and maybe turn into a permanent scar. Maybe it won’t scar at all, instead becoming a ghost that used to populate your arm until the proteins and blood platelets in your body healed it. Emotional hurt is the most dangerous ghost there is because it lives inside of your mind to haunt you until your dying day. Why do people bestow these demons upon others to populate their psyche?

It’s certainly a hard question to answer because I’m assuming there isn’t one person in this world who wants to be hurt. Intentionally or unintentionally, there is no good reason to install negative energy into another living being just to make them feel uncomfortable. It’s a sadistic act that has personally affected me, my friends, my family, and basically anyone that ever existed. If there’s anything that I absolutely cherish, it’s the minutes I’ve spent being physically alive and the minutes I have left being alive. A perfect life for me is living in peace with myself and those that I love, however both parties are capable of becoming monsters and hurting themselves/others at the drop of a hat, therefore tarnishing the perfect life that I’ve proposed. Even the simplest acts can cause eternal pain to oneself or another, and I, much like many of you, have experienced this first hand.

The worst is knowing that the person who hurt you is carrying on with their lives with a smile as if nothing happened. It’s quite a wicked smile that fails to subside. I’m ashamed to admit that I’m guilty of this act, for I have hurt someone before, just as others have hurt me. The only answer I can provide why I hurt these people, people that I love, is because I was empowered by own misery to cripple another person’s happiness – usually the one who had hurt me. It’s a classic revenge story that should’ve never taken place but did because I thought that I could be happy again. I can’t speak for others on the matter; I couldn’t tell you why others have hurt me or why they’ve hurt others. Revenge? Jealousy? For laughs? Inherently evil?

Whenever I’m hurt, people tell me to man up or move on. The first assumes that the male population should be impervious to emotional hurt; I call it poor advice. I’m not afraid to admit that I spent most of October, November, and December of 2013 shedding tears because the emotional pain had become overwhelming. I had never experienced depression in my life until those months crept in. I’m still not sure if the perpetrator is aware of the emotional pain that they caused me. This is where the “move on” statement comes into play. In my honest opinion, it’s even poorer advice than “man up”. Numerous people have told me to move on and forget about this person, but that’s really hard to do because I loved that person. If love used to be there, wouldn’t it be safe to assume that it can come back once the hurt is extinguished? I’ve learned that love makes it hurt even more.

I don’t know if there’s a universal answer for why people hurt others, but I think it’s essential to learn that the minutes we have left on this Earth are quite precious. No one, not even your worst enemy, deserves to live these minutes emotionally tormented by another person. No one wants to have to rely on medication and weekly therapy sessions just to exorcise the demons that reside in a person’s psychology. My psychology has certainly tortured me recently, but I forgive those who have hurt me and I hope that those I’ve hurt have forgiven me.

I don’t want to breed and spread this negative energy to anyone. I’m interested in getting as close as possible to that perfect life that I described earlier. A perfect life is typically defined as being flawless, but I argue that a perfect life comes with a set of flaws that you get to experience and improve upon. Progress is perfect for me, and I sincerely hope we can progress as a society to make peace with ourselves as well as others. Learning to love one another rather than hurt one another is our ticket to a flawed, perfect reality.

A Happy, Lonely Valentine’s Day

Remember those awkward days in elementary school before those awkward days in middle/high school where the class project was to make a mandatory Valentine’s Day card for a classmate? You know what I’m talking about, because the goal was for everyone in the classroom to receive one from somebody else in the class. Little boys and girls got creative in the classroom with their Valentine’s cards by decorating them with chicken-scratch, misspellings of everyday language, and an excess of Elmer’s glue infected with cooties and nasal discharge. Nothing says “I love you” more than receiving a Valentine’s Day card from a fellow classmate who tells you she did it because she wanted a satisfactory grade on their report card. I wasn’t this lucky, however, because I never received a mandatory V-Day card. Instead, my 2nd grade teacher decided to cheat on her husband and make me one so I didn’t feel completely nonexistent, but really she was just making fun of the sexual failures of an 8 year-old.

Coming home that day was rough because my twin sister had dozens of Valentine’s cards. I spent Valentine’s day learning that my pint-sized penis was a vestigial structure; a doomed fossil that Dr. Alan Grant and his colleagues would be ashamed to discover on a digging expedition. Besides my own loving mother, my 2nd grade teacher was the last serious Valentine that I’ve had since I was a young buck. Cupid has not shot an arrow into either hemisphere of my buttocks or any unsuspecting female that I’ve stalked on Facebook in my entire 22 years of life. My mother’s womb didn’t even want me anymore on my day of birth. What a tragedy.

I’m here to tell you that none of that matters anymore. Valentine’s Day is some sort of last-ditch effort in case you forgot your lover’s birthday, anniversary date, Arbor day, etc. It’s a day designated for love as if we don’t love on any other day of the year unless the calendar highlights the fact that it’s a holiday. Loneliness reigns for many segments of the population as a person’s right hand or schizophrenic hallucinations no longer cut it as viable partners on this day of love. February 14th would rather you socialize with the meat sacks we call humans and spend money at Walmart in order to celebrate properly. I haven’t succeeded in this endeavor because every time I spell a girl’s name on a Valentine’s card, she spells my name on a restraining order. Well, not really, but she disappears quicker than a missing child on a milk carton.

However, I still long for the day that I can be cheesy and show up unannounced at a woman’s house with a rose and a half-empty box of chocolates that I ate on the way over. I’d sexily ring the doorbell to the tune of “Ice Ice Baby” and try to sit back and look cool as the thorns of the rose puncture my epidermis. She’d answer the door looking like a million bucks while my face tomatoes and takes after the hindquarters of an African baboon. Her angelic features would twinkle in my cornea, and I’d get so distracted by her beauty that I would think she’s speaking parseltongue, embarrassingly raising the slithery bastard beneath my belt for all to see. I’d be an absolute car wreck on her doorstep, but the goal is for her to feel loved and special; not for me to look like a Ryan Gosling poster.

Don’t we all crave for the scenario I have just described above? Well, obviously, who doesn’t want to be loved? I want to have a successful Valentine’s Day at some point in my future, but it doesn’t mean anything in comparison to the other 364 days that we could share together. You may be lonely on this very day as many of us have for years on end, however it doesn’t compare to the very day that special someone decides to walk into your life for the first time.

If you don’t have a date today, don’t fret. I advise you to acquire some chocolate, a bottle of Chianti, and a good show on Netflix to binge-watch. Ignore the fact that your neighbors upstairs are having steamy Valentine’s Day sex, role playing as a prisoner and her tough-as-nails prison guard; your day is soon to come.

Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone! Now excuse me, I have a lunch date with a pretty lady.

Prisoners Are Human, Too

Yesterday, in a criminal justice course that I have to take for some reason to get my psychology degree, the professor brought in three prisoners accompanied by a member of security to talk to the class about what it’s like to be incarcerated.  These gentlemen walked into a classroom filled with spoiled, dead-eyed undergraduates who have never seen the inside of a jail cell and were expected to give them all a play-by-play of the heinous crimes they had committed.  I’ll tell you this: their stories were very eye-opening and managed to dig deep into the thought of only having one life to live.  I can also honestly say that despite their status as inmates, they were by far more human than every being populating our classroom.

The first inmate who stood before the classroom was a 39 year-old man who informed the class that we had nothing to be afraid of, and joked if something were to happen then they’d be tranquilized on the spot.  Immediately, he began his soliloquy on his life of crime.  He began an addiction to crack cocaine at the tender age of 15 after only a few experiences with marijuana.  Eventually, his story was filled only with speculation as he claimed that he could not remember a good portion of his life due to what seemed like an everlasting high.  One night, while high, he said that he wanted to go rob a store with someone he considered a “true” friend at the time.  They settled on a gas station and decided they’d rob the place by equipping a starter pistol (a pistol used to start track and field races).  He stumbled into the gas station and immediately pointed the starter pistol into the gas attendant’s face.  He requested all of the money in the cash register and made a quick attempt to the escape the gas station, only to be stopped by what he described as a .38 handgun held by the attendant.  The attendant did not pull the trigger and the prisoner repeatedly claimed that God had intervened to give him a chance to correct his actions.  Just as he was about to let go of the money he had stolen, the prisoner began overdosing on whatever concoction of drugs circulating about his system.  His “true” friend, waiting in the car, proceeded to drive off once he noticed that the prisoner was on the ground overdosing.  The prisoner says he never saw his friend again and woke up in the hospital the very next day, only to be given possession charges and robbery charges among others.  He is currently serving his 7th year in prison.  He has a wife and two daughters who await his release.

The second inmate was an enormous man about 45 years-old who did not have an excellent grasp on the English language.  He started off in life as an excellent athlete who played football, basketball, and baseball while in high school.  He also said that he amassed an impressive grade point average during his time as the school’s star athlete. His peers convinced him to try an assortment of drugs that would eventually damage who was then and change him into an entirely different person.  While in jail serving time for drug charges, he got into a fight with another inmate who he ended up stabbing with an improvised weapon that he made in prison.  After discussing why he was in prison and what it was like living out his life within these walls, he informed the class that he had a wife along with seven children; two of the younger ones aren’t exactly sure why their father isn’t at home with them.

The final inmate was younger than me at 21 years-old.  He had dreams of going to college until one night in particular changed his future.  At the age of 18, a fight had broken out at the party he was attending with some friends.  He and his friends had left the party after the fight had concluded, only to return later in the night to brutally beat on the people who fought them.  After severely wailing on them, the prisoner and his friends stole some items from the house.  That same night, the prisoner and his friends were arrested and destined to be imprisoned for the next several years.

Each prisoner showed remorse for his actions, however they also admit that they’re grateful for the events that took place in their lives because they claimed they would not be the changed men that they are today if those events didn’t occur.  The prisoners looked about the room and admired that all of us were sitting in our seats pursuing the dreams that we wanted to live out.  However, I was bothered when I noticed that two girls had the audacity to sleep for a better part of the class period while the prisoners were sharing their life stories. These rude displays of behavior bothered me because it did not seem like they were appreciating the life they were living as opposed to the prisoners.  These prisoners were in the classroom wishing that they could be in our seats living out the dreams that they once set out for themselves.  My classmates did not even have the decency to give these men the time of day.

Their goals have changed to accommodate the dreams of their children so that they won’t make the same mistakes they did growing up.  Unlike many of who want a job that will provide thousands or even millions of dollars, these men vie for a simple life where the only requirement is happiness.  The money doesn’t matter to them, instead they’d rather be out of prison so that they can care for their children and give them the greatest lives possible.

Our society looks down upon prisoners who have wasted their chances on heinous activities, yet I discovered during this lecture that they are human like the rest of us.  Like us, they have made mistakes that have altered their life’s course and seek for a second chance to correct themselves.  Despite what these men had done, I grew a tremendous amount of respect for them; even more respect than the two girls who decided to sleep during their presentation.

These men are not prisoners, rather they are humans like the rest of us, and I pray that they will be given the second chance at a life to fulfill their dream of happiness.

The 5 Worst Types of Boyfriends

Since I did a post called “The 6 Worst Types of Girlfriends,” it is only fair that I do one about annoying boyfriends as well so I’m not just making fun of you ladies.

1. The Pick-Up Artist

Distinguishing Characteristics: constantly talking, grins stupidly

The Pick-Up Artist has no shame in the art of using snazzy one-liners which may or may not be panty-droppers. He has brushed up on his game and won’t leave the house until he has an arsenal of pick-up lines to use on any girl he deems attractive. He is the kind of a doucher that will approach a girl in the library, grinning stupidly, and say, “I wrote the dictionary on my cock last night, if you come to my house I’ll put some words in your mouth!” He is the master of not taking no for answer, because after that brilliant line he will drop a couple more with the assumption that he is sealing the deal. He’ll drop many more as long as he remains hard, but he is baffled to observe that her panties haven’t fallen to the floor collecting dust just yet. He has much work to do, but may need some time off after she uppercuts his jaw.

Advantages: smooth

Disadvantages: thinks pick-up lines actually work

2. The Bad Kisser

Distinguishing Characteristics: drooling, awkward body position

When we begin dating somebody else, we constantly think about how good the other person will be at kissing. The first kiss is hyped up within the first couple of dates. He invites her upstairs for ‘coffee’ and discretely pops in some breath mints while doing a couple of tongue exercises to prepare for the big moment. He moves in quite slowly, both eyes shut and lips puckered as she awaits for the prolonged session of tonsil hockey to commence. She opens her left eye to observe how close he is and notices that his sloppy tongue hangs out like he’s about to lick some ice cream. BAM! Contact is made and saliva is exchanged at her displeasure. A string of onion dangles from his canines and stinks up his breath, which soon makes way into her own mouth. He tongues everything in her mouth and slobbers all over her face looking like she got attacked by a gang of banana slugs. This is the guy you’d recommend to that one girl you’re friends with but absolutely loathe.

Advantages: everything you’d hope he’d be Disadvantages: until he starts smooching

3. The Narcissistic Dude

Distinguishing Characteristics: greasy, tan, inherently stupid, kissing his biceps

She has abstained from moving in on those spindly geeks and their pizza-face personas, so she wants a man strong enough to protect her from other candidates who also have a hard-on for her. Meet the Narcissistic Dude, an orange, beefy-looking character who is confident in his tanned muscles to help fend off other attention, but is incapable of pretty much anything else that doesn’t involve taking steroids or lazily wasting his day in a tanning bed. His image is his top priority, so his attention deviates constantly from his girlfriend.  He’s so into himself that if his schlong was long enough, he’d stretch it underneath his legs and plunge it into his own anus.

Advantages: intimidating look to fend off others Disadvantages: wrinkly tanned skin, wishes his muscles had genitals

4. The Sweetheart

Distinguishing Characteristics: helps whenever you need it, likes to cuddle, constantly anxious

He cracks his voice incessantly and has a disturbingly effeminate need to cuddle. He has devoted his life to serving you and is irritatingly around at all times, sweet-talking and boring you to tears with details from their uninteresting day.  This skinny twig is always worried that he has done something wrong, so he uses his pubescent voice frequently to squeak a slew of soliloquies about how sorry he is on a daily basis. He dreams of having kids with you, but things aren’t looking too good after you’ve repeatedly kicked him in the nuts as a way to tell him to man up.

Advantages: is a damn sweetheart Disadvantages: man-child with the nuts of a 12 year-old

5. The Frat Boy

Distinguishing Characteristics: sunglasses, bow-tie, sandals, drunk

Low and behold The Frat Boy, a needledick douchebag sporting a bow-tie who is king of shitty beers and slipping drugs into the drinks of unsuspecting females. He’ll come off as a suave gentlemen in the beginning, yet his only goal is to get more brain than the bullet that claimed Kennedy’s life. He’ll proceed to escort you to a room in the fraternity house, cutting the lights, then attempting to calm you with sounds of the ocean that he recreates with his mouth.  Trousers down, revealing yet another polka dotted bow-tie on his junk, he ensures his hardened barb will secrete the spirit of brotherhood into your reproductive organs, tattooing your uterus with the Greek alphabet.  Everything has gone swimmingly in his opinion, so he’ll brag to his fraternity brothers in an exaggerated manner about the sexual encounter.  The Frat Boy knows as much about love as date rape.

Advantages: none Disadvantages: you aren’t Greek, asshole.

 

I Can’t See My Face

Looking into the mirror, I’m able to note every physical characteristic of my being. I know the color of my eyes, I know the shape of every scar and blemish, and I know exactly what body my innards are controlling to walk this Earth. I live in a world where it’s possible to know who I am just by looking through a series of photographs, films, and mirrors. I’m not afraid of who I am because I know exactly what people are looking at when they look at me.

I’m beginning to think of a world where physical reflection, photographs, and film footage didn’t exist.

If this were the case, I can look down and see nearly everything from my shoulders down to my feet. Yet, I’d live my entire life without ever knowing my facial characteristics. I can pick hairs off from the top of my head to get an idea about other characteristics.  I could also trace the outline of the bones that provide structure, but I’ll never see the face that hosts the eyes responsible for visualizing the world for me. Imagine living your entire life being able to see everything but your own face. Everyone else can see your face, but you’re left in the dark for the rest of your existence. Sometimes what you don’t see is scarier.

You could always ask somebody to draw your face so that you could get an idea. However, you’re going to get a wide range of quality from the many people you ask. Some will only be able to draw a stick figure with a circular head, and simple dashes to represent the eyes, nose, ears, and mouth. Some will be able to draw a near photo-realistic portrait, but it’s open to interpretation. They could have drawn everything exactly as they have seen, or they’ve made a few adjustments, purposely deceiving you. Would you trust somebody else to tell you who you really are? No, only you know who you really are.

I’ll Be the Best Damn Husband the World Has Ever Seen

But first, I’ve got to fall to one knee without face-planting and say the 4 magic words to the woman of interest.  No, wait… First I’ve got to find a woman that would be willing to take the risk and say that one devastating word.  What is that devastating word, you ask?  Sure, “no” qualifies as devastating, but the word “yes” is the answer I’m looking for.  The second she says yes is the grand moment where, metaphorically, the business has been conducted and now it’s time to sign the paperwork.

Your lives have been intertwined into one, destined for a single grave at the cemetery all because of one monosyllabic phrase that seeped through her teeth.  Contrary to popular belief, being comfortable enough to fart on each other is not a great indicator of love.  I firmly believe both partners will know simultaneously when it comes time to pop the question.  I’ll fart on her only in the event of an ice age, just to ensure she’s warm enough to survive.

“Oh, Phyllis, lemme push gas from my ass on to you so I can prove that I love thee.”

People love to nag at me for having such a bleak view on marriage, what with using terms like “devastating” and “marriage” in the same sentence.  I’d like to clarify for those naysayers that I take marriage very seriously, especially because my parents have worked out so well in their 30+ years of wonderful matrimony.  I’ve always viewed dating as a trial-and-error process, not a new contract that I’m damned to fulfill until my dying day.  I shouldn’t be expected to believe the very first day of a new relationship that I’m going to marry this girl sometime down the road.  I’d have a better chance at predicting the Second Coming of Christ by swallowing the alphabet and shitting it out into a grammatically correct sentence.

That being said, my lucky future bride to be is sure in for one hell of a ride.  I say that because I believe I’m going to be an awesome husband.

I’ve learned a lot from my father and consider him my greatest role model.  Life gets tough out there, yet he has managed to maintain his loving marriage with my mother for decades.  He’s everything that a husband should be: kind, caring, loving, and always putting his wife before himself.  Thus far, and successfully, he has done everything in his power to avoid joining the dismal statistic that is America’s divorce rate.  Whether American couples are just too damn difficult is another matter of discussion, but that’s besides the point.  The point is that my father serves as the paradigm for excellent husbands.  I’ve learned more from him than anything I’ve been taught in public schooling over the years.

It’s because of him that my future wife is going to have a man that she really deserves.  Like him, I want to show my bride that I truly love her.  I want her to know that I’m always going to be there for her, never severing the line of communication.  Our love will not end on our dying days, it will continue past that.

The title of this post is not really fair because there is no possible way to measure who is the best damn husband in the world.  Instead, I’m going to do the next best thing: I’m going to be the best damn husband that I possibly can be for my lovely, deserving wife.  Rest assured, whoever my kids are will operate under the same principles and show nothing but love towards their significant others.

Dear Future Wife of Mine

Dear future wife of mine,

I really shouldn’t call you a wife yet, only because I don’t know if I’ll ever get married, but I’m just going to do it anyway. It means that much more if I call you “wife” instead of “some girl.” Anyways, I had this scary thought when I was going to sleep last night. What if I’ve already met you? If we’ve met, I can’t tell if it’s through a customary handshake or we’ve sat down and had a conversation, maybe we’ve dabbled into future love in one of these conversations. Coincidentally, all the girls I’ve ever talked to about love just happened to be beautiful, inside and out. So I can only hope I have somebody like that: their insides reflecting who they are on the outside. True beauty.

Maybe we haven’t met, but maybe I happened to walk by you somewhere out in this “small” world. What if you were in the vicinity when I ordered a pumpkin spice latte at one of the many Starbucks in Indianapolis? You could’ve been standing in line in front of me or behind me. Maybe you stood right next to me while I was waiting for my latte, or maybe you made my latte. Either way, I might’ve failed to notice the significance of your character at the time and vice versa. If we do indeed marry 10 years down the line, wouldn’t it be weird if we lived the rest of our married lives without noticing who we really were at that bar, that Target, that airport, or wherever? Don’t get me wrong, I am not spotting every girl I come into contact with and wondering whether I’ll ever marry her. Usually, I have to feel some kind of connection to this girl, but then again, you made a damn good latte.

Then again, maybe we haven’t met, neither have we crossed paths yet in this life. I wonder if you’re sitting there wondering the same thing as I am at this time, except you’re wondering who your future husband might be. Because of this, I’m not going to sit here and describe exactly what I think you’ll look like or what your personality will be like. That’s kind of like me saying exactly what I expect out of you, and that wouldn’t be fair. I’m waiting for you to surprise me, if you haven’t already. I promote a relationship where it thrives in the realm of mystery. That “mystery” part is both exciting and scary. For all I know, I may have the correct person in my mind. I could also be way off. Not even thinking outside the box will help me here. How weird is it that I am writing this to a person I may have met, or maybe she doesn’t even exist.

Oh, my love, you are quite the mystery.

Love,

Evan

Smile

Whenever somebody flashes a smile your direction, what do you make of it? Unlike a mirror, one that is incapable of deception, a smile boasts the unique ability of possessing several different meanings. The mirror will tell you as it is while a smile works to truly mess with your mind. We’ve been taught to associate a smile with positivity, but does this positivity benefit the giver and the receiver, or does it mean happiness for one and hurt for the other?

Her face twists up into a smile, emitting a glow of beauty across the room. He’s proud of himself because he’s made the love of his life happy. He responds with a look on his face to match hers, reminding her that they’ll always have each other. The complexity of their love exists within the simplicity of a smile.

The little boy’s face drips with blood, trickling down towards his mouth where a smile used to be. It is no longer existent. The violence and hatred of his peers have taken the smile he once had for good, and they’ve used it for the purpose of evil. Their smile emits a darkness the little boy is uncomfortable with, reminding him of the darkness he bathes in within the boundaries of his own mind. Even inside him, his smile can’t penetrate the ridicule and hurt they’ve inflicted on his innocent soul. Never has a smile destroyed him like this.

She walks through life with a smile engraved on her tortured soul. Everybody’s jealous of the smile that she’s seemingly proud to wear upon her face, but what’s the real story behind this smile? We don’t know if it’s a smile that hides a violent history, or if it’s a genuine smile that encourages progression, that everything is going to be okay. Her smile is a visible scar from the damage done on the inside.

There’s a vast amount of interpretations that you can make about a smile. You just never know what the other person is thinking and you won’t know what their smile indicates. As far is I know, it’s just a crack in your soul.

9 Annoying Types of People In College Classes

College classes are filled with the following infuriating cast of characters:

1. The Class Comedian

He’s equipped with an arsenal of one-liners and a shit-eating grin after spending an entire summer lying dormant. The first joke makes an appearance on the first day of class and will typically generate a sea of chuckles from his classmates. The positive response beams his self-esteem to an unspeakable level, which he views as an open invitation to release even more jokes. Eventually, the laughter dies down and the Class Comedian will have a cooling off period like a serial killer. However, like a bad case of genital warts, he rears his ugly head in for another maniacal laugh after staying silent for a few days.

2. The A-Grade Slacker

While showing an obvious disinterest in class, the Slacker still manages one of the better grades on the exam. He doesn’t study and is more interested in how to assassinate the person sitting next to the most beautiful girl in class so he can make advances. All the while of accomplishing these unimportant, irrelevant tasks, he still does better than you in each aspect of the class worth a grade that you work hard for to achieve. He is further proof that test scores and overall grades don’t accurately measure the character of a person and their chances for a successful future.

3. The Pig

Not referring to their physical size; I’m talking about the one who literally has something to eat in every class. She’ll test the waters with a candy bar or anything that doesn’t require the constant molestation of a wrapper/bag. After surviving a class without any punishment for indulging while everyone else starves, she makes it a habit to bring a snack to every class thereafter. The very next class she has an apple that demands her vampiric fangs to sink into the skin of the apple, then penetrate further to the core, and then let her chompers meet to complete the bite. A massive chunk of apple has been ripped from the body and it must be chewed so obnoxiously loud that it could wake the dead. Repeat process until all food has been consumed. Do it again next class and every class after that.

4. The Honors Student/Overachiever

Bask in her glorious, holy presence, for she is there for a real education so she can rack in millions throughout her theoretically illustrious career. While this is admirable for any student to do, she makes it known to the entire class that she is destined for greatness and she must not be disturbed. She has no time to speak to classmates or anyone else that she perceives as unintelligent. Instead, she must flourish with the academics and the individuals who tack on a PhD at the end of their birth name. She is likely to flaunt her exams to students who proudly sport lower IQ’s scores than her test scores.

5. The Fraternity/Sorority/Extracurricular Activities Nut

Some are cool, interesting, and kind. Others are obsessed with their involvement in their fraternity, sorority, and/or extracurricular activities. They are quick to inform others that they belong to a “service” Greek organization as an attempt to minimize the perception of how much they drink. Topics of discussion range from pregnancy scares to Miley Cyrus’ VMA performance to how much alcohol was consumed over the weekend. However, their brave commitment to sacrificing their precious time to raise money for the autistic is peppered throughout the conversation just so we can pinch their puffy, bloaty, alcoholic cheeks out of gratitude. They frequently seek for attention and approval, but it could be a scam to sucker you in so that you’ll go to their party this Friday.

6. The Great Political Debater

Since he has an opinion, he feels that he will one day be the Great Leader of this country. Usually sitting front and center, he must inject every ounce of opinion he possesses into friendly conversation with a classmate or an argument with the professor. No matter how radical his views are, he expects that his fellow classmates will rise and rally behind him to assist in his dreams of undertaking the corruptness of everything. No one dares share their viewpoints during class discussion because this guy will sound off every square inch of his testicles to denounce your opinion, once again claiming his title of the great and powerful. The female version of this guy is generally equal to his degree of armchair politics, but she is much more likely to ignite a revolution towards the torture and execution of men. She also tends to not shower or shave her armpits.

7. The Know-It-All

A classroom classic, this guy is the only one who does not ask questions because he already knows everything. He knows more than the professor who has been working and studying in their particular field for more than 30 years. Going back to never asking questions, he instead frequently raises his hand to present random research findings that he Googled one lonely afternoon. His days consist of Googling random, pointless information with the hopes of it being handy. When he finally gets the chance to blow peoples’ minds, the professor stumps him with the requirement of elaborating on the research he is reporting on, and he most likely can’t. Take that, you fake, scholarly shit-head.

8. The Academic Ninja

A word almost never leaves the comfort of her own body, instead favoring the modest approach of attending each class and just sitting there. She doesn’t contribute anything to the class besides silence and the twitch of an eye if you ever make eye contact with her. Sitting in the back row and most likely paying attention, she still possesses an unpredictable, reptilian nature, leaving the rest of the class damned to look over their shoulders for the remainder of the semester in fear of her going berzerk.

9. The Student Who’s Older Than the Professor

Either never went to college as a young buck or just taking a class to escape from his wife during retirement, this person stands out as the only old person in class besides the professor, sometimes even older. Although generally friendly, he is bound to unleash story after story about his long life no matter how irrelevant it is to the topic of discussion. His whole purpose of being there is to serve as some sort of metaphor for “Stay in school, or this could be you.” His hand is raised just as much as The Know-It-All, although I think we’d all rather hear it from this guy than the former.