I am now officially one year removed from college. This, naturally, is a depressing feeling. I don’t drink as much, I don’t sit around on my ass as much, and now I actually read books. The only similarity is that they still do not pay me. This being said, my biggest regret about college is not that I didn’t get better grades so I could go to a better law school; it’s not that I didn’t take advantage of many of the school’s activities; hell, it’s not even that I didn’t go to bigger and better parties. My single biggest regret is that not enough women touched my penis.

Now a few girls touched my wiener and god bless those who did. You’re the real American heroes. But here I sit in law school, surrounded by women in high heels who want nothing to do with me, except potentially to castrate me in front of others. It’s a sad world we all live in now - the amber waves of female grain have turned into your neighbor’s unmowed lawn: wild, untamed and full of gopher holes.

I’d imagine many of you can sympathize - I mean, lord knows you can never have enough women touching your penis. But there’s a simple fact that many of you don’t realize regarding MY penis specifically. It’s not that it didn’t get touched because I’m subpar looking and it’s not because I lack self-confidence; it’s not because I abhor exercise or that I lose any and all ability to be clever and witty around girls I find remotely attractive; it’s not even that I have a tendency to get tanked before engaging in any social environments. Simply put, the reason I didn’t get laid more is you. That’s right, every single one of you. It’s completely 100% all of your faults.

Now you may say, 'Jesus bud, pointing fingers huh?' And to that I say, Fuckin’ A pointing fingers, I’ve got my reasons. It simply can’t be my fault. I mean, I put next to no effort into anything else and that seems to work out, so where the hell are my tuggys? Huh? Where are they? It HAS to be your faults. No other explanation.

I’m not just pinning this one on the ladies - though trust me, you’ll get yours in a bit. I blame a lot of this on the fellas. Where were you guys? The fact is you weren’t there for me. You were too busy having sex to help me get sex and that’s just unacceptable. You’re supposed to be my bros, my dudes, my wingmen. Instead you guys were at your gyms and your bars flexing and generally being more confident and better looking than me. What’s up with that? Didn’t you take two seconds away from your charity work and your intramural sports and your deep boning to think, 'Hey, maybe I oughta give Tom a call and see if he wants any of this. No, you didn’t, and I thought we were cool man.

And girls. Girls girls girls girls girls. Tsk tsk. Just what were you thinking? Prancing around like you didn’t know I was there. You knew I was there. I was the guy walking down the sidewalk on my way to the 1:15 class every Tuesday and Thursday. You saw me! You knew I was there, so what the hell?? What was I supposed to do, walk up and talk to you or something? That’s outrageous! When you’re at the grocery store, do you wait for all the food to just jump into your basket? No! Of course not! And what was with the boyfriends? That guy? Really? What’s he got that I don’t have, besides 4 inches and 25 pounds that aren’t all flab. Half of you brought these jackasses from high school, and you kept dating them? He was like 40 billion miles away and I was two dorms over! Two dorms over! You’re telling me you came to a school of ten thousand people and didn’t find someone other than that jackass? You easily could have found someone better than him...you could have found me. You probably SHOULD have found me. I was the one sitting around watching episodes of Aqua Teen Hunger Force and drinking Natty Ice. You know, that guy. Come on ladies, who’s the keeper: some meathead who does charity work and tells funny jokes, or the guy who slinks around the bar and knows the entire starting lineup of the 1996 Red Sox?

To conclude, I think it’s high time I was paid reparations. Guys, find some girls and bring them to my house. Girls, come to my house. Form a neat and orderly line. I’m getting my just desserts, and frankly, I think it’s about damn time.