Letter to the Editor: I Am a Concerned Dartmouth Mother, and I Can See Your Dickprint Through Your Sweatpants

This week I read a letter published in the Notre Dame Student newspaper entitled “The Legging Problem” written by a Catholic mother about her deep concern with the “blackly naked rear ends” of the Fighting Irish’s young ladies in their spandex athleisure clothing. As a Christian woman and a mother of five daughters, I agree with her sentiments completely. I would only like to add one additional concern about the sinfulness of dress on college campuses. To the young gentlemen of Dartmouth, when you wear those nifty tight gray sweatpants, I can see the outline of your 100% all-beef thermometer in its full unholy glory.

I’m just a mother, and I know that some of you might be thinking, “why is Mrs. Peterson staring at my junk?” but I cannot stay silent about the Jon Hamm sausage-in-your-pocket action going on right in front of my daughters’ corruptible eyes. I’m a petite woman, Jordan, and as you stand across from me like Goliath before David in Dartmouth Basketball  joggers, I am at eye level with your johnson. I can’t help but notice that you’re packing heat.

I know that you, Jordan, and other young lads say that your thin-knit gray joggers, which hug your pocket rockets like  pigs in a blanket, are “comfortable.” But I would say that comfort is secondary to dignity. As my pastors say, a good pair of khakis always sheathes a pork sword.

Boys: do you have any idea how hard it is for girls to focus in class and in extracurriculars when there is a veritable all-you-can-eat meat buffet at every corner of campus? It’s harder to avoid your steak tubes every day on campus than it is on Fridays during Lent. I taught my daughters to focus on their faith, studies, and friends. How can I expect them to uphold those values when there’s more wood on display in your pants than in the Garden of Eden? I’m more worried about your one-eyed trouser snake than I am the Serpent himself. If I had to behold this much yogurt slinger in 1987, let me tell you, I would have spent much more time on my knees, and the Lord Almighty certainly knows it would not have been in prayer.

So, good sons of Dartmouth (and especially you, Jordan,) next time, I ask that you think of the mothers of daughters before you go to the library with a raging, impossible-to-avoid Florida Peninsula. Let’s lead the way for a return to the times when  ladies would have to “accidentally” brush up against your baloney pony in jeans to see what you were working with. It’s what God intended.

-IC’22

(Also, Jordan, if you’re reading this you should know that my husband will be on a business trip next weekend and I leave the house key underneath the “I love Jesus” doormat. I’ll be waiting for your penis.)