“I Love You Too, Mom,” Reports Absolute Pussy

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Chapel Hill, NC—Standing by the steps of the Wilson Library this morning, Clark Thiel, UNC junior and buttery soft puss, concluded a phone conversation with his mother by telling her that he loved her too.

The statement was preceded by a fifteen-minute discussion that spanned topics including Theil’s two dogs, aunt Linda’s progress in physical therapy, the birthday card that grandma sent, and how much the swirly girly candy man misses his precious mother.

“Just calling in to check on her,” said the throbbing pansy.

Theil made the call as he walked across north campus, skipping daintily, no doubt, from mailing his mother a tear-stained love letter on his way to tea time with other mamas’ boys like himself.

Sources on the scene speculated that Thiel is currently in the throes of a heavy period.

“He definitely cares about his mom,” said a friend of the spineless fairy.

Saying “I love you too, mom” was the latest unmanly act in a day that saw the fey little sissy-missy float to the grocery store on a cloud of mother love and tear up midway through a chemistry lecture because his mommy was not there to diaper his dainty, fragile ass.

Several sources close to Thiel reported that the he calls his mother approximately once a week, a fact that confirms he has yet to grow a dick.

Lorenzo Malcolm, a professor of behavioral psychology at UNC, said Thiel’s behavior is not unprecedented among men his age.

“You have to consider that many college-aged males are at a complicated stage in the maternal relationship,” said Malcolm. “From a psychological perspective, it’s impressive that this little fruit was able to stop suckling at his mommy’s teat long enough to make the call in the first place.”

I Whistle for the Bitches

By The Whistle Man | The Minor

As I meander along the brick pathways of UNC, bouncing my sweetly whistled notes off the buildings and trees, people occasionally ask me, “Why do you do this?” Why would I, clad in 1990s headphones and perhaps a conductor’s hat, whistle my days away?

It’s simple: I do it for the bitches.

Oh sure, it was all innocent at first. I was a man without a care, wandering through campus and brightening the day with my tune. But fame came fast, and it came with perks.

Within a month, I was showered in money, women and drugs. Doing cocaine in dorm rooms and having drunken sex with stressed out sophomores. Turns out nothing melts panties like an older asian man with khaki pants and a talent for whistling.

By now, I’ve run the gambit at UNC. Hooking up with me is practically a rite of passage for all freshmen 10’s.

I am like the Pit Preacher that you want to fuck.

Or at least listen to whistling while you study on Saturday afternoon. But by Sunday we’ll be fucking, that’s for damn sure.

Whistling might have gotten old, but the freshmen girls didn’t. I never thought it would be this way, or this easy. But it is, and I love it. Now, whenever I have a song on my lips, I’ve got pussy on the brain.

I know you might think I whistle for whistling’s sake, or just to give myself something to do with my days, but I don’t. I do it for the bitches.