vision fest

On Hippies and College Credits

For months, it was about the only thing Stanford did. To Fiddleford’s annoyance, it seemed that Stanford rarely slept.

Stanford Pines just knew that Backupsmore was going to be horrible. The dorms were only mostly bug-free, his parents hadn’t even bothered to help him move into his dorm, Stanley isn’t here– no, no he was just fine without Stanley, it’s not like his twin had been his only friend for years, it’s not like he missed him, god no. He just had to work his way through this, just like he’d worked his way through his last few months of high school, just like he’d worked through his first birthday without Stanley there. All he had to do was go to his dorm, unpack his bags, and meet his roommate. Just meet your roommate, hope they don’t think you’re a freak, get your PhD and get the fuck out of Backupsmore. Stanford took a deep breath, adjusting the grip he had on his suitcase, and opened the door.

“Greetings, I’m Stanford Pines–” Stanford stopped short, taking in the sight before him.

The first thing he noticed was the god awful tie dyed bedspread on one of the twin beds. There were gaudy, multicolored “PEACE” posters on the walls. His apparent roommate was a thin, wiry man with sandy blonde hair down to his shoulders, and– oh god, was that a goddamned banjo?

My roommate is a fucking hippie.

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