TwinkleTop:Absolutely not lol I don’t think you’ll turn into a brat because I spoiled you once.
TwinkleTop:You haven’t even told me what you want yet.
3dge-m3:I want you to send me a photo of you in your underwear for a week.
3dge-m3:So I know what you’re wearing.
TwinkleTop:Maybe you are letting this go to your cockhead.
3dge-m3:Please, Daddy?
TwinkleTop:Okay. I’ll send them in the morning when I’m half hard. So you can think about sucking my cock all day.
3dge-m3:How do you know I’m not doing that already?
TwinkleTop:Because you would have lost the game if all you were thinking about is my cock
3dge-m3:You’re right.
Someone spenttheir whole Saturday plastering the campus with hockey posters. Everyone’s team photos from the school website superimposed onto historic figures, bodybuilders, even a large Dingbat swooping down to snatch up the rival team.
Marcus is waiting for me outside the dining hall. He offers me a curled piece of paper. I recognize the rookie, number twenty-four, photoshopped on top of a chariot being pulled by hockey players in opposing team’s colors. There’s a cartoon drawing of two guys making out in the corner, wearing Dingbats purple and silver. The page has clearly been crumpled up, but like a dedicated archivist, Marcus has restored it.
“Every good artist has their critics,” Marcus says, holding the door open for me as I continue to examine the poster.
“You know who did all this?”
“Based on the composition, someone with a whole lot of time and not a lot of skill.”
“I dunno…” I pluck another poster off the wall as we pass by. This one has Leroy’s head atop some bodybuilder, the kind of bulk that’s more veins than muscle. “This looks pretty realistic.”
“Yoooo!” Terrence has somehow snuck up behind me. “Leroy is fuckin’ shredded. Can I keep this? I’m starting a collection.”
I hand him both papers, figuring it’s good that Terrence has a hobby outside of hockey.
“Sick!” He slips it into a folder under his arm.
“You know how to use one of those?”
Terrence snorts. “Fuck you, man.”
“I’m just saying, I’ve seen the inside of your backpack. Abandon all hope, documents who enter here.”
Marcus gives a little wave to get Terrence’s attention. “Good game on Saturday.”
Terrence grins and reaches over me to pat Marcus on the back. “Appreciate it. Hey, you know about tech right? Some of the guys are talking about starting a podcast—”
“Oh god,” I reflexively announce.
Marcus should know better than to entertain this idea, but Terrence leads him to the hockey table, pulling up an extra chair. Once we’re all seated, there are so many guys all together it’s hard to have a full conversation. Nevermind a conversation about recording interfaces and microphones.
“I think we offer an interesting perspective—”
“You talk to that wannabe puck bunny Saturday?”
“I was so wasted—”
“I’m so cooked on this lab report.”
