Spring is here, which means ‘tis the season for allergies! To avoid coughing snot onto your faux vintage Urban Outfitters motorcycle jacket, head down to the CVS on Thayer and stock up on your favorite antihistamine for the low price of $40.99 per pack. Is that your wallet coughing? Yikes, you really need this.
Be warned, though—take too much throat-clearing, non-drowsy goodness, and you may encounter this season’s newest sleep paralysis demon, CPax’s dog, Nicholas Laurence Titus IV. Named after the same prominent member of the Whig Party, this loyal Portuguese Water-Doodle mix has no soul behind his eyes. Witnesses say they appear “unsettlingly” human, like that one dog from Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood. You know, this thing.
Nick Laur Tit, as he prefers to be called, will first appear out of the corner of your eye after 50 mg of Claritin. Whispering your middle school nickname, he will start licking your hand until you nod off to sleep. Then, while you’re sleeping, he will use whichever liquid is closest to write, “Humans can lick, too,” on the nearest wall for a nice jolt when you wake up.
After 80 mg of Claritin, Nicky LT4 will write a mathematical formula on your windows that no sober person could solve, but you’ll get it. Just as you’ve written the last digit of the solution, he’ll piss on the window so you can watch your life’s work drip away, slowly. Wiping the (allergy-induced?) tears away from your itchy eyes, he will slowly lull you into an afternoon nap that will leave you wondering, “Is the sun gone forever? Does my mom know I love her?”
Witnesses report that NichLaw “gets too concerned about the state of world politics” after 100 mg and that he “never reveals” who he voted for in the primaries. Did he write in “No preference” on the Democratic ballot? You can ask him as he tweezes your eyelashes, starting with the longest ones. Then, he’ll make you do his. When you both sport the Pan’s Labyrinth eyelash-less thousand-yard stare, he’ll ask you to compete in a staring contest using your roommate’s life as stakes. Any allergy-prone students out there who hate their roommates? If he loses, he says he’ll tell you where Amelia Earhart really is. When you ask him what he means, he’ll get a strange glint in his eye before pointing downwards. Sounds like Amelia is managing her seasonal allergies this Spring– girlboss!
Once you hit 200 mg of Claritin, things really get going. Only a few students have made it this far and come away with their sanity, so reader, choose your dose wisely. At this stage, N. L. T. (that’s Nicholas, Lettuce, and Tomatoes) asks you if you want to feel something real. You can say no, but he knows your social security number from CPax’s computer. PETA says dogs have the legal right to commit identity fraud– if they want. If you say yes, he’ll bring out two syringes– one filled with saline, and the other with the tears of arrested students. You can pick, but you’ll never know which you get. He’ll inject the other one, quivering from the pain. Or maybe the excitement.
At this point, students recall falling into a deep slumber and awakening refreshed, their allergies cured. This furry campus hero never takes credit for his work, but those wishing to express their thanks often leave dog food outside CPax’s home for her husband (oops, we mean Nicholas Laurence Titus IV) to enjoy.