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Dear Nancies,

I think someone is playing pranks on me. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, my TV will turn on and start playing ‘Ghost Dad,’ even when there’s nothing in the DVD player. The other day, I came home from class to find the words ‘The Dark Lord Will Return’ written on my dry erase board, and when I turned on the shower this morning, blood came out the faucet, which is weird because usually water comes out of those faucets. How can I catch this prankster red-handed?

‘ ‘ ‘ -Daily Creep Press

‘ ‘ ‘ PS: 13 years ago, a group of sexy teens was murdered in my bed on this very night. Don’t know if that helps.

Dear Daily,

References to the Dark Lord, exquisite taste in cinema ‘- signs point to your tormenter being your floor’s resident metalhead, but it’s unlikely. Pulling these stunts would require that he leave his room. It’s far more realistic to assume you’re dealing with a poltergeist.

He’s the disembodied spirit of someone whose life was violently taken from him before due time, but try to think of this ghost as a roommate. He may be annoying, have weird sleep habits and eat out of your side of the microfridge, but you have to share your space with him or risk ending up with someone even worse. Sure, he’s got the mean-hearted sensibilities of the uncles from ‘Casper’, but if Patrick Swayze’s ‘Ghost’ taught us anything, it’s that you may discover he also has a sensitive, sexual side.

As for the sexy teens murdered in your bed, call Buildings and Grounds and see if they’ll hook you up with a new mattress.

Trickingly or Treatingly,

The Nancies

Dear Nancies,

My roommate is so unhealthy. Every night he comes back to the room with a West Campus Burger and goes out to the library to work, not getting back till 2:30. Should I step in or let him continue to kill his body?

-I’m with Meathead

Dear Meathead,

Unfortunately, allowing your friend to kill his body won’t resolve much at all; your bunkmate is a zombie, and his body is already dead and rotting. Zombies subsist on rotten flesh and brains, hence the appetite for the West Campus Burger. You should find it more than mildly curious that he finds his way back to Mugar Memorial Library every night. Could it be that he and his undead chums haunt the cubicles to massacre term papers till closing time, siphoning theses from the ripe noggins of unsuspecting BU wiz-kids? We’re also willing to bet he put up a fuss when Michael Jackson disintegrated; MJ was the only undead to come out as a people eater in a music video and still retain celebrity. He’s also prized as zombie-kind’s only flesh-gobbling martyr, known to put his own flesh under the knife.

Slow limping and drawling moans are telling as well, and if he’s hanging with the wrong crowd, take the hint, because zombies travel in packs like large, hairless, anthropomorphic lemmings; I’m sure you noticed that support section at Bill O’Reilly’s guest speech last week. Adverse opinions toward Will Smith, Charlton Heston or any other ghoul hunter should not be taken lightly, and if he’s salivating over Rosie O’Donnell’s meaty rolls, it’s about time you applied for a room change, zombie or not. He’s hungry for that creviced, pink think-sack in your skull; find another room, or better yet, take refuge at Boston College.


The Nancies

Dear Nancies,

I have an ongoing Facebook chat relationship that I can’t seem to move from the Interwebs. Our conversation is beginning to stagnate, and I’m growing bored. What can I do to rekindle the excitement I felt the first time his chat box popped up, and how can I suggest we move our conversation into real life? Respond quickly, there are needs of the flesh I must attend to.

-Suck Face-book

Dear Suck,

We will cut our usual prologue in which we would offer suggestions to improve upon Facebook’s efforts to meddle in your love life (like a ‘Crushin’ On,’ option for relationship status) because you clearly have a more serious issue than what you lead on. Are we to assume that waiting for a new notification is what gives you this cabin fever, and not the sunlight itself? Is your penname really a euphemism for your aforementioned sexual desires, or a clue at your longing for a different nighttime exploit? And your ‘needs of the flesh’ are as thinly veiled as hints come. You’re a vampire. More importantly, you’re in love.

Facebook by nature will only put lovelorn vampires like yourself at odds with your social network. Its downtimes are scheduled at hours unaccommodating to your nocturnal sleep schedule. It gives your crush the opportunity to haphazardly send bumper stickers glorifying posers like Edward Cullen or Count Chocula. It enables events to take place at fake addresses like ‘123 Boogie Blvd,’ which makes finding your love at a party before the sun rises virtually impossible. And it must be hard to survive as one of those people who only have comics and baseball players as your profile pictures, as you traditionally turn cameras to dust.

It’s time to stick the wooden stake in the circuit board. Since you’re used to self-sacrifice, you must disable your account – this will prevent him from overanalyzing your presumably telltale ‘about me’ section. If this truly is your soul mate, curiosity will inspire him to personally ask you out to Olive Garden. As long as are yourself and order something other than the Garlic Alfredo, you’ll be back at your place sucking neck in no time.


The Nancies.’

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