You asked for it: In which we sell our organs for AirPods

Kent McDonald (Zack) and Annie Kiyonaga (Cody) are the writers of UNC’s premier (only!) satirical advice column. Results may vary.

Dear YAFI,

Help! I have a dilemma. I want AirPods, but I also don’t want to break the bank. How can I reconcile these conflicting desires and discover my inner peace?

Sincerely,

Tortured Terry 

Hello Tortured Terry,

Ah, we have arrived at a very rare and critical point of divergence between Annie and I. Annie, in her undying pursuit to be one with nature and lead a more simple, unencumbered life, does not own AirPods. I, on the other hand, am in my most long-term relationship with my AirPods. We are a throuple: Righty, Lefty and I. We are happy. So, you may notice that the normally singular, consistent and cohesive tone of our writing deviates considerably when discussing AirPods. It is the rare subject upon which even Annie and Kent, often referred to as the Antony and Cleopatra of our time, respectively, disagree. Nevertheless, we have compiled a list of options for you in your time of need: 

1. Sell your organs on the black market. Done. Problem solved. You now have all the money you could ever need and can buy as many AirPods as you want. (We presume, we haven’t actually sold our organs, YET, but we hear it’s easy and minimally invasive.) Plus, you will hear the music more clearly without all of your organs clogging up your body.
2. Pray to Steve Jobs' ghost daily. Wear a black turtleneck and jeans whenever possible. Shave your head. You embody Steve Jobs. You ARE Steve Jobs. AirPods will, logically, follow. 
3. Remember that when the revolution comes, all AirPod wearers will be first against the wall. Give up your dreams. Seize the means of production. Make your own AirPods. 

We are confident that these ideas will be very helpful. You’re welcome.

Dear YAFI,

This recent burst of summer weather (IN FEBRUARY) has been so lovely. How can I defy the laws of the universe and make this weather last forever? 

Sincerely,

Ambitious Amy 

Hey Ambitious Amy,

First of all, we want to commend your ambition. We need more bright, revolutionary thinkers like you. Don’t ever change, Amy. 

Second of all, we want to warn you: remember how hellishly hot it was in September? Shirts sticking to sweaty backs. Backpack-shaped sweat imprints. Red faces. Misery. You get the picture. I, for one, don’t want to speed the return of the North Carolina hellscape that is summer. Be careful what you wish for, “AMY.” 

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Dear YAFI, 

Now that Groundhog Day is over, I’m feeling sort of hopeless and lost. For so long, Groundhog Day was my guiding light and my main motivation to get out of bed in the morning. Without it, I’m uncertain of who I am; of what I have to look forward to. Help. 

Best, 

Punxsutawney Phil

Dear Phil, 

Post-Groundhog Day funk is very real and very important to address. Signs that you might be succumbing to the desolate landscape that is post-Groundhog Day February include: relentless daydreams about groundhogs; prolonged periods of gazing at your own shadow; attempts to burrow underground. It’s scary to think about the bleak, endless march of February days without any sort of groundhog-related event to look forward to. Our advice? Focus on the little things: Harris Teeter’s hilariously overwhelming Valentine’s Day display; the naive, optimistic cherry blossom trees blooming on our campus; the New York Times’ Daily Mini Crossword puzzles. (So easy to solve, yet so satisfying.) We’re rooting for you. 

Best, 

YAFI