So, it happened. The moment every self-pleasuring girlypop fears. Everyone in the mailroom has just clued into the fact that that oblong package you’re currently picking up is a sex toy. How the hell did you get yourself in this indecent position (wink)? Let’s go back to the beginning. *cue 2000s-disney-channel-feature-movie record scratch*
Okay, so on Monday night, you did some…online shopping. The dinky bullet you furtively bought at Target when you were 16 finally crapped out and you’re a big college girl making a big college girl purchase! Plus it was Cyber Monday! 20% off the whole Spank Me Silly collection? Uh, yes please! You clicked purchase, kicking your legs back and forth, giggling. DILDOEMPORIUM.COM said your purchase would be there Friday. Perfect. Things were going smooth as water-based lube.
Only that’s not how it went down. Friday morning, you took the Page-Rob stairs two at a time down from FREN0300, cunning linguist that you are, racing past your professor to beat the mailroom rush. <<Pardon, madame, I have a ménage à trois—me, myself, and I—to get to!>> The mailroom line was infinite. Everyone was taking forever grabbing their overnighted Urban Outfitters packages—the wench themed party tonight was requiring everyone to show up in *that* corset top. Finally, finally, your name made it towards the top of the queue. There was a pause in the litany of names. C’mon. Cum’mon! What’s with the delay? Stop edging me! You hear your name hesitantly called, and that’s when you see it.
Before you lies a massive, shrink-wrapped package. Yeah, that sort of package—a penis package. It’s unabashed, unashamed, à la grey sweatpants, dick print out for the world to see. This thing is as discreet as a public boner. So, what the fuck do you do?
Here are four Rib-vetted strategies:
- Serenade the mail room with your best live rendition of whatever 2018 pop song is currently playing, dildo microphone in hand. 80% chance it’s Imagine Dragons. The mailroom broadcasts the lyrics to their playlist on the TV for situations just like this. Everyone will be so dazzled by your performance that they’ll forget about the veins on your “microphone.”
- Brandish the member fiercely, shout “On guard!”, and challenge an unsuspecting onlooker to a proper 1700s duel. Bonus points if you’re able to ignore the slight waggle to your weapon. They weren’t lying when they advertised “foot-long;” it’s pretty hefty. You’ll put the fear of God in everyone and they’ll be too scared to make fun of you.
- Loudly reassure everyone that it’s for your final project in Philosophy of Sex. Yeah, it’s the third week of the semester and Philosophy of Sex isn’t even offered in the Fall, but no one will question it, because everyone will be too overcum by the shame of their sexual repression—they’re real tear-jerkers.
- Drop out. Seriously, you can’t recover from this one. It’ll be all over Sidechat in seconds. Get out while you still can. Move back in with your parents and surrender yourself to a life of acoustic wanks. Your mom will somehow happen to call you to dinner every time you start to “strum the guitar,” but at least the days of being the mailroom dildo girl will be behind you. Right? Right??
Wishing you luck, my dear clam yanker! Remember, whichever course of action you choose, there’s no shame in practicing some self care. Just not with that thing—God, you’re filthy.
Original image via via archival rib (the rib and mail room are always funny).