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I’m a Campus Conservative, I Found a Tampon Wrapper in our Bathroom, and I’m Gonna Fucking Call CSS


Hey guys. It’s me. Greg. The campus conservative. I wrote a bunch of emails to the Haystack that just said “please,” or “let me speak” until they gave me my own column. Now I’m here and I’m sure this is going to be a lasting, regular thing. Anyways. Now I’ll start the Op-Ed. Some great takes in here today, so buckle up friends.


The main problem I have with all women is that they are gross. They pretend that they are not, by doing womanly things, like wearing perfume, or lip gloss, and washing their sheets. But that, my friends, as I so tragically learned recently, is an illusion. A smokescreen. Behind the curtain made of all their tricks and feminine wiles, is a gross little Wizard of Oz, creating the illusion that they are not gross. I guess that would make me Dorothy. But if Dorothy was a cool, masculine man. And unlike Dorothy, I am not dreaming. I am wide-fucking-awake, baby. And today I am here to make the claim that periods should happen somewhere else, away from me.


Let me provide some context which will show you why I am right. They tell you to provide evidence when you write arguments, and I am really good at this, so now I will back up my argument with a story that I was a participant, nay, victim in. This is how you set up an argument, which I know how to do because I am good at writing.


Last night I was in the bathroom. The reason? Not important. And frankly? None of your business. As I was giving myself my nightly affirmations in the mirror, telling myself that I am a strong, brave boy, ready to get a good night of sleep, I noticed something disturbing and disgusting. A wrapper. At first I thought it might be for a candy, like maybe a Swedish Fish, or a Good And Plenty, and I went over to investigate, wondering why someone might leave a perfectly good candy in the trash. A perfectly good candy that I, a strong brave boy, might be partial to snacking on. However, I was disturbed to discover that what I had mistaken for a sweet treat was actually a wrapper for (to put it delicately), a feminine product. And by feminine product I don’t mean an accessory, like a purse, or nail polish. (I used to get confused about that too). I mean the other kind of feminine product. The kind for lady parts. Now you’re starting to get it.


I’m not going to lie to you. I had an adverse reaction. My whole body convulsed, and I projectile vomited, and when I came to, I was lying on the bathroom floor, my only female podmate standing over me, ready to call CSS. I grabbed her by the shoulders and asked her why she did this to me.


My podmate told me she didn’t understand what the big deal was and that it was “just a t•mpon wrapper.” And sure, there wasn’t any blood anywhere, but it sure reminded me that there maybe could have been blood somewhere at some point. And that’s GROSS, Emily.


So yeah. I called CSS. I told them there was a fire and that Emily set it. And yeah when they got here they were pretty mad for lying about something as serious as a fire, and told me I was in trouble and I got fined. But was I wrong?


Well if framing someone for arson is a crime then lock me up.


Men of campus, we’ve let our women get too comfortable. Maybe we should go back to the good old days of the 1960s, or really any of the hundreds of years before 1970, when women didn’t bleed a mess all over everywhere. Everyone knows that women only started getting these period things in the last couple of years. Thanks, Democrats. Or maybe we should put them in a nicer, more feminine dormitory, like Dodd, or Suzie Hopkins (named after a woman), where they can do their knitting and bleeding in peace. And us guys can live in the buildings made for boys, like Carter or Spencer or Briant or Mark Hopkins or Garfield or Tyler or Tyler Annex. Because I don’t want to see it.


And don’t get me wrong. I love women. Like Hillary Clinton, or Malala. Or my mom, or even my girlfriend, Emily. And like, they should have rights. But also, they shouldn’t get to imply via t*mpon wrappers that they might bleed, or bleed on me, or that they might fill a whole elevator up with blood like in the Shining.


I am Sisyphus. Pushing this boulder up this hill. And yeah, maybe I don’t know what the myth is really about. But I do know that I’m working really hard and that hard work is probably definitely going to succeed, and that all my efforts aren’t in vain.


Tune in next week ‘cause I know this is gonna be a slam dunk.


Gregory out ✌️