B. Hoota I’m not a 400 pound badass with simpering lips and platinum records behind a pet name. The most cocaine I’ve been exposed to was snorted up the nose of Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction. Truthfully, rap music only appeared in my Spotify playlists ten months ago. Despite my nonexistent street cred and explicit-lyric […]Read more "How I Relate To Biggie Smalls As A Privileged White Girl"
B. Hoota To whom it may concern, To all the boys who fuck me in the future, here is a contract you must fulfill in order to slip your penis into my body. I’m not a sex maniac or an intercourse queen; quite frankly, I’m asexual, aside from spontaneous makeout sessions at Grog. I […]Read more "Guarantee of Foreplay"
Peculiar title, but this post is truly about creating awkward-free zones through flour, sugar, and eggs. I’m a dude friend magnet, meaning my closet chums are guys while college females are more distant, misunderstood. I don’t mind that girls are bitches—I just find it easier to get along with sweaty boys that obsess over Star […]Read more "How I Friendzoned Guys Through Baking"
Marriage doesn’t much upset me; it’s the unnecessary hullabaloo that accompanies two lovers and their private business.Read more "I Guess I Like Weddings Now"
B. Hoota Either I’m incredibly daft or I’m the coolest mother my future children will ever have. Drugs are such a fascinating vice of humans—we know these substances are dangerous and yet we inject, inhale, dissolve, crush, and suck down these elixirs anyways. We’re the most intelligent race in Earth’s history that fucks up our […]Read more "The Conundrum of Dropping Acid The Sunday Before Classes With Monday Off"
Dearest Bedrich, I’m not actually a cripple. My back just hurts like a bitching motherfucker. Every time I brave the pillow, needles drill into my shoulders like some oil field in Texas. I’ve always been delicate, but piercing pain on Christmas Eve? This has to be Santa’s sick way of telling me I was naughty […]Read more "Random Musings of a 3:23 a.m. Cripple"
B. Hoota I randomly got my ears pierced at 11 p.m. one night at a sketchy tattoo parlor on University Avenue. That day, I was scribbling away at accounting homework when a whim gripped me: I deliberated on ear piercing for years, but on October 11th, I donned my fuck it beret and did it. […]Read more "An Analysis Of The Fuckery of Fall 2016 (Part Two)"