After making a three year incursion into the third decade, I can state unequivocally that being a single male between the age of 18 and 30 is one of the most catastrophically unhealthy decisions a person can make. Now please, don’t assume I’m talking about the usual binge drinking, smoking, and sexing depicted on The OC, Gossip Girl, and the news. Yes, these hobbies – along with Tivo and microwave dinners – are destroying an entire generation of Americans, but what terrifies me is an entirely different threat. While much is made of the considerable effort young men invest in shortening their lives, far more dangerous is the stupefying and awe-inspiring laziness that single men are capable of. To put it simply, we will die young because we expend no effort to keep ourselves alive.

It is impossible to overstate the lethargy that my generation is capable of. Truly, it defies credulity and the furthest reaches of the imagination. If it weren’t for the civilizing effects of Christian marriage, I am convinced that none of us would live to see thirty. Temporary fixes like jobs, and visits from mom can force short bursts of exertion, but they do not touch the languid gene that controls the minds and limbs of my peers. Allow me to cite some unsubstantiated, anecdotal evidence to affirm this.

I once lived in a house that was rendered unlivable by a tragic light bulb shortage. Lights burned out; rooms were abandoned. For two weeks I brushed my teeth in the kitchen and showered in darkness because no one was willing to make the 5 minute trip to Target for fresh bulbs.

For the past three months I have been living in a completely unlocked house. Now, Wheaton is a pretty decent town, but it’s no security patrolled, gated community either. The usual suburban riff raff – hoboes, maniacal mailmen, roving bands of teenagers, etc – are still prowling about. So why not lock up? Missing key? Broken locks? Nope. The key sits on the counter and the doors sit unlocked because no one is willing to spend $10 and twenty minutes at Home Depot making copies for all the roommates.

Once, my house was down to a single roll of TP. Rather than going to get some more (again, requiring an errand) we decided to ration what we had. Every person was given 10 squares of TP with the opportunity to petition for more if they could prove need. When this failed, we began going to friend’s houses.

We would rather throw trash on the floor next to a full can then empty it. We would rather throw away dirty clothes than clean them. We are all controlled by a bewildering, counterintuitive, counterproductive slothfulness that can not be shaken or defeated; it can only be nagged into remission by the presence of an attractive woman. Some have already found the cure. For those of us unfit for female company (like Conor), the future is bleak. For those of us too lazy to pursue a female (like me), it is even bleaker.