Something actually happened on Blipdar?


Ok, so I was going to copy and paste the whole conversation but that was annoying so go read the thread and then read my response.

As a caveat, this is blogworthy because nothing ever happen’s on Bowdoin’s Blipdar. The “hot asian” thread hasn’t gotten action in months (ever since it dissolved into a “hot half asian” thread). And although I see some of our saucier Twitter followers have their own thread I’m not going to encourage anonymous internet smut by drawing attention to them…

So–to answer your question–Wesleyan of the extremely active anonymous smut slinging, this IS a notable event for Bowdoin’s crusty old…Blipdar.

Dear God,

It’s me, blame_me. Last night I had a dream that I’m a little confused about. I started with my typical bedtime routine, but I was especially thorough. I cleaned the brie out of my fingernails with my roommate’s set of bamboo brushes, and I did some aerobics to a Ke$ha cover. (I’ve decided, with your blessing, to only listen to pop covers by British children under the age of 5, distilling the music to its purest form). I drank an Odwalla in the shower (4giveme4Ihavesinned) and watched the neighbors have sex for the full 30 seconds, before texting my best friend a line from our favorite New Yorker piece and feeding my fish, Charlie. I also set three alarms so that I could make it to breakfast before the egg white omelets ran out.

Anyway, when I put on my AP Bio t-shirt from high school and crawled into my flannel sheets I noticed a new crack in the ceiling. It distinctly said “crack,” and I wondered whether Residential Life would assess it as wear and tear due to the weight of the solar panel on our roof or view it as vandalism. Soon however, I realized that upside down it looked like an image of Madonna and would–in fact–be construed as a miracle.

God I had a dream you were my fratdaddy. There, I said it. You made me chug beers and slay chicks. You paddled me every day like a canoe on the Saco and when I wet myself you just laughed.

Waking up in a pool of my own urine, I frantically lit my incense burning, basking my room in a brief spark of light. In that spark was a little man, and in that little man was a little dog, and on that little dog was a note that said

I DON’T GIVE A RAT’S ASS WHAT FRAT YOU WERE IN WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE ANYWAY.

God…I think I figured out what the dream meant now: I’m going to lay off the hashtag. Please disregard the previous message.

Sincerely,
Me 

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