Thursday, April 06, 2006

Murder, he wrote: Roommate wants perfect grades

From the College Heights Herald, Jan. 18, 2001

I think my roommate is trying to kill me.

I thought nothing of it last week when I tasted arsenic on my ice cream, and I ignored it the night I woke up and saw him standing by my bed holding a pillow over my face.

I paid no mind when I saw him reading the instructional book “How to Kill Your Roommate and Get Away With It.” But the other day he said, “Jacob, I think I’m going to kill you.”
I put two and two together.

It’s nothing personal, he told me. You see, he hasn’t been doing all that great in school recently. And he’s heard the urban legend that if your roommate commits suicide during the school year, you get straight A’s for the semester.

So he came up with a plan: Since he’s on academic probation, he signed up for a bunch of classes. Now he wants to kill me and make it look like a suicide, and his semester GPA will be 4.0.

He even has a fake note planned out:
“Dear World, I’m tired of living. It’s been real. Hoo-ha-ho!”

Pretty authentic.

He’s a smart guy, but he’s what the French call “les lazy.” He only took one class last semester.
He failed it.

So that loophole is the answer to his prayers.

“I can sit around for the rest of the semester – and actually get credit this time,” he said.
Naturally, my feelings are kinda hurt by my roommate’s desire to snuff out my life.
We’ve been tight since we were growing up in Brandenburg. Man, we were close.
We were like Siamese twins, except not from Siam.

Even worse, I don’t think I’ve been that bad of a roommate. I don’t stay up real late, I lend him quarters for his laundry, and I don’t entertain girls in the room, since they hate me.

Not only are my feelings hurt now that I know my roommate wants to kill me, I’m also terrified. To ease my worried mind I called President Gary Ransdell to find out if Western has an official policy on roommate deaths.

Ransdell’s secretary told me that the president was “too busy” to talk to me because he was “going out of town,” but she said he’d never heard of the policy and then she laughed at me.
I told my roommate this, and it only strengthened his resolve.

“Do you really think they’d tell you if that was their official policy?” he asked. “Of course not. Then everybody’d kill their roommates. Now here, drink some of this antifreeze – I mean, green Kool-Aid.”


Here comes columnist Jacob Bennett, he comes groovin’ up slowly, he got joo joo eyeballs, he one holy roller. He got hair down to his knees, got to be a joker he just do what he please. Come together, right now, over him at

Pinchable Guys Work Off Nachos in the Morning

From the College Heights Herald, Feb. 8, 2001

I’d never seen so many naked guys that early in the morning.

I’m talking, of course, about the Preston Center locker room. My friend Mike and I had just finished a 6 a.m. workout in an effort not to be fat.

Other guys were also finishing their workouts, and they were in various stages of undress.

Mike and I became workout partners a few weeks ago, when we both decided we weren’t in peak physical condition.

Chalk it up to whatever you want: bad genetics, big bones or the fact that I just sat around all summer eating nachos and drinking beer. The fact is, I was a little bit more pinchable than I wanted to be.

Experts say if you work out early in the morning, you burn fat for the rest of the day. I wanted to try it, and I knew I was more likely to stick with it if I had a barbell buddy.

Mike’s also storing a few more calories than he would like, so he agreed.

The gym is a two-minute power walk from my dorm, so naturally Mike picked me up and we drove there in his faded Ford Tempo.

And he parked in the “Employees Only” spot right outside the door. “It’s 6 in the morning,” he said. “Who’s gonna park here?”


Exercising was hard at first, since we were as out of shape as delicious melted ice cream cones. But, as coaches like to say to motivate out-of-shape players, we gave 110 percent.

That first day we jogged until we collapsed (three laps), we played a strenuous full-court 1-on-1 basketball game (OK, it was H-O-R-S-E; fine, P-I-G), and we even did a couple minutes on the exercise bikes.

In a blatant act of heterosexuality, Mike suggested we ride the bikes upstairs so we could watch girls walk in.

Note to Mike’s fiancĂ©e, Cami: Just kidding.

Not to everyone else: We rode the bikes upstairs.

We’re still going a couple of times a week. We vary the routine to sculpt every inch of our now svelte bodies. This morning we did some bench presses to work our pectoral muscles. When we started, our chests looked a lot like Meat Loaf’s in “Fight Club,” if you know what I’m saying.
But no more.

I’ve lost like eight pounds since Christmas. And I wasn’t really even trying to lose weight, I just wanted to be not as floppy.

To test our new selves, this morning Mike and I ran up every single step in Smith Stadium. It’s a killer. I think I got more out of that workout than anything else I’ve ever done. No wonder Rocky beat Drago in part IV.

Then Mike and I changed our clothes in the locker room. Never before have so many guys seen me naked that early in the morning.

Columnist Jacob Bennett wants to get physical, physical. Let him hear your body talk, your body talk at