April 01, 2016 by Rodd Shaftman
Space is a precious commodity in a bustling city like Philadelphia. Real estate that you could buy for a song out in the ‘burbs may well cost you an arm and a leg out here in our city of brotherly all-hours construction. It is for this reason and more that I propose the following: a drastic reduction in the fucking number of women’s bathrooms on campus.
Before I get into my justification, allow me to drop some piping-hot knowledge bombs on your otherwise cold asses. Did you know that Drexel’s mascot used to be “The Engineers”? It’s true. Look it up. Before we were Dragons, we were actually the coolest. Like Nickelback before they were Nickelback. My point is that Drexel is a college of engineers and, by immediate extension, a society of men.
Now before everybody gets their shafts in a pretzel twist, I know there are women here. I get it. I don’t personally “see” them, but I do often feel the warm breeze of their palpable sexual attraction to me and my massive, swollen, vein-covered brain, so I know that they exist. But due to the sweaty, male-dominated sausage arena that is the field of engineering (WHICH EVERYONE KNOWS IS THE ONLY MAJOR HERE) there can’t be many of them on campus. My guess would be 12. 13, max.
A baker’s dozen of lucky ladies in stud city does not justify the excessive presence of women’s restrooms. They’re an eyesore, an inconvenience, and a major missed opportunity. Just imagine what could be done with that space – we could rent it for parties, or we could use it to store the 47 tons of knock-off adult legos that we engineers are always using to make weird shit that takes up all the space in the elevator. At the very least, we could use them as rooms full of rulers for us to compare the sizes of our dicks. It’s pretty inconvenient to arrange that kind of thing at home.
If I’m unable to convince the university to get rid of women’s restrooms, they must at least get rid of those horrifying metal boxes in the unisex ones. When I walk into the stall in a unisex bathroom, my aesthetic is violently disrupted by the presence of a tiny silver container attached to one side. I can barely manage to take a proper manly shit knowing that it’s there, staring me down like a goddamn liberal arts major. Even if there were more women here, certainly they don’t really need these boxes. Blood-soaked plugs of swollen cotton are not that difficult to carry around. Trust me, I carry lots of things. I’m a man.
It is my sincere hope that the other engineers of Drexel will join my cause and take arms against these atrocities. If anyone is interested in learning more about engineering, getting unjustifiably friendzoned, buying a fedora or flaunting a neck beard, I hang out in the Korman Center basement on Wednesday nights. If you come, bring anchovy-pineapple pizza and a copy of ‘All the Right Reasons’ on CD by Nickelback.