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.