When I returned from my semester abroad to see that Housing Services had placed me with a dog as my roommate, you could imagine how excited I was to go on a series of wacky adventures with my new canine friend. I was so wrong because that dog is mad annoying.
First of all, this stupid dog is so arrogant about going to an Ivy League school. Shadow, we all go here, so quit bragging — I don’t need to see you in your Penn dog-sweater every day. It’s bad enough that he wears his Phillips Exeter Academy hat all the time, too.
The first morning after we moved in, I saw that he had printed his class schedule and placed a copy on my desk. I was impressed enough that he was able to operate the keyboard, the internet and the printer. He didn’t need to rub it in my face by circling that he’s taking Partial Differential Equations.
And even though he takes the hardest classes, I never see him working. I come home every day to find him napping or slobbering all over my sneakers, but there’s always a new test he aced stuck to the fridge.
After a couple weeks of putting up with his crap, I stormed down to Housing Services to let them know they had placed a dog in a building where pets are not allowed. They told me not only was he properly enrolled and in the correct building, but that he was also a 4th generation legacy dog and that I should feel honored to room with him.
When I got back, there was poop on the floor and a leash in his mouth. Yeah, I cleaned it up and took him for a walk, but I sure as hell didn’t play fetch with him afterwards.
