Contributor: Sam Bernhofer
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The police would later say that my dorm had the most interesting arrangement of furniture they’ve ever seen.
The bed was held up 5 feet high purely from being wedged between the walls perpendicularly.
It was a fucking drawbridge that took me 3 hours of scraping and complaints from the dorms next door to make that way, and I hated it.
Underneath drawbridge was a desk, laptop, schoolwork covered in piss, Vitamin Water bottles full of piss, several cum rags, a shotgun I had purchased when I turned 18 in a guitar case, and some hair I had twisted and pulled out of my head.
I had a girl come over occasionally, you know.
Her lungs were dirty brown underneath rotten yellow teeth and a smelly white tongue.
All she gave a shit about was the fucking drawbridge bed.
I raised a few hairs with my hand to let her in my head.
She plucked them out and said, “Can we pull down the bridge-bed?”
Saying that would have come across better as a text with the use of a winky-face immediately after the question mark.
You can’t actually winky-face in real life, or laugh out loud without actually laughing though.
“No, I’m expecting company and won’t be able to maintain an erection. Lololol ;]”
She ducked under the drawbridge and left.
Her brain was still in one piece and she probably still liked me then.
I was waiting for Garcia.
Garcia lived on my floor and was the tour guide friend in every college movie that knew everyone - The vehicle to get the “new kid” protagonist quickly introduced to all the important people so that the dorm/movie “College Experience” doesn’t go over 90 minutes long.
I mean 2 years, and it’s $20K, not 8 dollars.
Garcia also sold amphetamines for $3 a pill.
A few minutes later, he slid a 70mg Vyvanse under the door, taped to a sticky note of my single dorm just like I asked him to.
“$3? Sam?”
With all the lights out, no one can tell that I’m home.
He’ll leave eventually.
I didn’t have three dollars.
I drank some Vitamin Water with the pill and was ~76% sure what I drank was Vitamin Water
I started writing a paper on violence in schools.
I finished it in 3 hours. It had been due 5 hours earlier.
It only needed to be two pages.
I didn’t quite know how to navigate amphetamines back then.
Somewhere on the school violence paper I had mentioned how, “many students, including myself, indulge in homicidal fantasies the same way many young kids play Grand Theft Auto.”and felt very inspirational about that statistic.
The email was sent to Prof ? and away I went from the world and started masturbating with speed dick.
The mind decays when it’s unstimulated. Dicks go soft when they’re unstimulated. Amphetamines send blood away from “unimportant” organs like dicks in order to stimulate the brain.
“More like syllo-jizz’m” was a joke I tried to make in my philosophy classes often.
After the 6th hour of desperately searching for more and more deviant porn to fill the decay, not much else mattered.
For example, noticing the sunrise, or answering the door for Garcia, who had been knocking for the last 10 minutes.
Another knock, and I hear it and finally stop.
I had been watching something that had to do with torturing cocks.
The knocks get harder/cock softer.
I put everything away, closed the laptop lid, and crack open the door to 3 cops.
“What.” I said, with a very obvious period mark.
Certain that I was being talked to about some shady students on my floor smoking marijuana or something worse.
“Are you Sam Bernhofer?”
“YAH.” I said begrudgingly.
“Did you write a paper on how much you’d like to shoot up this university?”
“….” I said.
“Mind if we take a look at your laptop?”
“-___________________________________________________-”
“We need you to retrieve the email you sent to your professor this morning.”
The professor had read my email about an hour ago and realized that I was obviously the next Sandy Hook and sent the suicide cops.
But I mean, fucking look at my dorm.
“You’re going to have to wait until I raise my bed.”
Then I realized how much weird porn was currently open on my computer.
The crazy killer student with bald spots on his head, 3 cops, all underneath a makeshift Drawbridge bed, waiting, eagerly staring at the old laptop as it started up to reveal an .wmv file of someone pulling on another’s pube hair probably.
The cops weren’t going to just let Cho Sueng-Hui disappear under a drawbridge like some kind of armed troll, so all eyes were on me and my computer screen.
There it was.
And there it stayed.
My computer froze whenever it started up.
The woman officer had a look of motherly concern for me.
I looked at her and laughed.
I showed them the email, and kept the porn up.
The cops acted professionally and when I got handcuffed, they told to “watch my head” and the woman officer said that I “had a cool chest tattoo” and that “she has 3 more than anyone on the force.”
“That’s really cool.”
I was put in the backseat of the cruiser but it was too early in the morning for anyone to see.
“We care about all of our students, Sam. Here’s my card, if you ever need to talk feel free to call.”
“What kind of Assault Rifle do you carry in your car?” and then we drove to a hospital where someone watched me for 72 hours.
And I never feel calm when I shave my head, have a happy girlfriend,
or lower my drawbridge bed.
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I'm Sam Bernhofer, 23, counselor of the developmentally disabled, obsessive hair-puller, midwesterner.
Read more »
- -
The police would later say that my dorm had the most interesting arrangement of furniture they’ve ever seen.
The bed was held up 5 feet high purely from being wedged between the walls perpendicularly.
It was a fucking drawbridge that took me 3 hours of scraping and complaints from the dorms next door to make that way, and I hated it.
Underneath drawbridge was a desk, laptop, schoolwork covered in piss, Vitamin Water bottles full of piss, several cum rags, a shotgun I had purchased when I turned 18 in a guitar case, and some hair I had twisted and pulled out of my head.
I had a girl come over occasionally, you know.
Her lungs were dirty brown underneath rotten yellow teeth and a smelly white tongue.
All she gave a shit about was the fucking drawbridge bed.
I raised a few hairs with my hand to let her in my head.
She plucked them out and said, “Can we pull down the bridge-bed?”
Saying that would have come across better as a text with the use of a winky-face immediately after the question mark.
You can’t actually winky-face in real life, or laugh out loud without actually laughing though.
“No, I’m expecting company and won’t be able to maintain an erection. Lololol ;]”
She ducked under the drawbridge and left.
Her brain was still in one piece and she probably still liked me then.
I was waiting for Garcia.
Garcia lived on my floor and was the tour guide friend in every college movie that knew everyone - The vehicle to get the “new kid” protagonist quickly introduced to all the important people so that the dorm/movie “College Experience” doesn’t go over 90 minutes long.
I mean 2 years, and it’s $20K, not 8 dollars.
Garcia also sold amphetamines for $3 a pill.
A few minutes later, he slid a 70mg Vyvanse under the door, taped to a sticky note of my single dorm just like I asked him to.
“$3? Sam?”
With all the lights out, no one can tell that I’m home.
He’ll leave eventually.
I didn’t have three dollars.
I drank some Vitamin Water with the pill and was ~76% sure what I drank was Vitamin Water
I started writing a paper on violence in schools.
I finished it in 3 hours. It had been due 5 hours earlier.
It only needed to be two pages.
I didn’t quite know how to navigate amphetamines back then.
Somewhere on the school violence paper I had mentioned how, “many students, including myself, indulge in homicidal fantasies the same way many young kids play Grand Theft Auto.”and felt very inspirational about that statistic.
The email was sent to Prof ? and away I went from the world and started masturbating with speed dick.
The mind decays when it’s unstimulated. Dicks go soft when they’re unstimulated. Amphetamines send blood away from “unimportant” organs like dicks in order to stimulate the brain.
“More like syllo-jizz’m” was a joke I tried to make in my philosophy classes often.
After the 6th hour of desperately searching for more and more deviant porn to fill the decay, not much else mattered.
For example, noticing the sunrise, or answering the door for Garcia, who had been knocking for the last 10 minutes.
Another knock, and I hear it and finally stop.
I had been watching something that had to do with torturing cocks.
The knocks get harder/cock softer.
I put everything away, closed the laptop lid, and crack open the door to 3 cops.
“What.” I said, with a very obvious period mark.
Certain that I was being talked to about some shady students on my floor smoking marijuana or something worse.
“Are you Sam Bernhofer?”
“YAH.” I said begrudgingly.
“Did you write a paper on how much you’d like to shoot up this university?”
“….” I said.
“Mind if we take a look at your laptop?”
“-___________________________________________________-”
“We need you to retrieve the email you sent to your professor this morning.”
The professor had read my email about an hour ago and realized that I was obviously the next Sandy Hook and sent the suicide cops.
But I mean, fucking look at my dorm.
“You’re going to have to wait until I raise my bed.”
Then I realized how much weird porn was currently open on my computer.
The crazy killer student with bald spots on his head, 3 cops, all underneath a makeshift Drawbridge bed, waiting, eagerly staring at the old laptop as it started up to reveal an .wmv file of someone pulling on another’s pube hair probably.
The cops weren’t going to just let Cho Sueng-Hui disappear under a drawbridge like some kind of armed troll, so all eyes were on me and my computer screen.
There it was.
And there it stayed.
My computer froze whenever it started up.
The woman officer had a look of motherly concern for me.
I looked at her and laughed.
I showed them the email, and kept the porn up.
The cops acted professionally and when I got handcuffed, they told to “watch my head” and the woman officer said that I “had a cool chest tattoo” and that “she has 3 more than anyone on the force.”
“That’s really cool.”
I was put in the backseat of the cruiser but it was too early in the morning for anyone to see.
“We care about all of our students, Sam. Here’s my card, if you ever need to talk feel free to call.”
“What kind of Assault Rifle do you carry in your car?” and then we drove to a hospital where someone watched me for 72 hours.
And I never feel calm when I shave my head, have a happy girlfriend,
or lower my drawbridge bed.
- - -
I'm Sam Bernhofer, 23, counselor of the developmentally disabled, obsessive hair-puller, midwesterner.
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Sam Bernhofer
