If you know Sam Martin, and I'd like to think that I do, you'll agree that a good one word description for him is simply "failure". In all that he attempts, in every professional, academic, personal, athletic, or social instance of his life, he has failed, failed, and failed again.
I've known Sam for about four years, and known who he is for even longer. He first appeared on the scene of UChicago as a goofy freshmen kid with a mop-top living in Max Pavelsky who was friends with Rob Huff. At least before I knew him I respected him, or at least who he appeared to be; but alas, I got to know him, which has removed all doubt of his shitiness.
When he first met me, he has said he instantly didn't like me. Which, he confessed a few years later, is generally the case with every other poor, innocent soul who has the misfortune of making his acquaintance. The bastard will immediately judge your every little move superficially and hold it against you. One instance I observed, someone offered him a chocolate bar, which he accepted and enjoyed. Then, once the chocolate giver had left the room, he turned to me and said, "Who the Hell gives away free chocolate bars? That kid sucks." I said to Sam that he had given you a chocolate bar, and that was a venerable deed, to which Sam replied "to Hell with him."
Over the years, I have watched Sam tragically become the victim of his own demented character. Girls reject him, and he wonders why. He hates and sucks at doing his schoolwork and makes a scapegoat of his choice of collegiate institution and every random person associated with it. He has been unable to hold a job better than a carpet cleaner or tea barista, and has subsequently pissed away all his earned money indulging in a collection of terrible action movies and barbecued pork.
The instance in Sam's life he will be quick to tell you he is most proud of is founding and leading a successful men's choir. To be fair, this is an accomplishment on some level, but like any example from Sam's life, he has taken something pure and true, and killed it. How one person can take an honest men's choir full of good natured college kids and turn it into a make-shift frat full of sexual deviants who throw horrible parties is beyond me, but I assure you, Sam has managed to do it, and do it well. And I haven't even mentioned their worthless, boring performances which don't seem to attract anyone Sam doesn't force at knife point to attend. I honestly will give 50 dollars to any single person who can attend and not fall asleep. Seriously, if you can do it, email me and prove it, and I will pay you 50 dollars.
To give you a more illustrated idea of what it's like to actually know Sam, here are a few of his more memorable quotations:
Me: Hey Sam, I went for a jog today for the first time in a while.
Sam: You went for a jog? Did the EARTH SHAKE?!
Me: It's my goal to lose some weight this Summer. I think I can do it.
Sam: You fat piece of shit, you're incapable of losing a pound the way you cram your fat ass full of pie all the time. Forget it.
Me: Sam, I'm supporting this new thing called the One campaign to end global poverty.
Sam: That's a ridiculous, Marxist idea. For there to be rich people there have to be poor people. I say keep the poor people down and out of the way of the rich folks. Rich people are better.
"I hate everyone that's different from me."
Sam: Did you just fart?
Chick Sam is trying to bone: I can't believe you just said that, get away from me, you creep.
"Come on guys, Hitler, Stalin, and Torquemada weren't so bad. In fact, I like them. I like them all."
"My favorite actor is John Leguizamo."
But these are just a taste of what it's like to know Sam Martin. To be his friend, as I have ventured to be for a few years, is much more painful. If you're like me, and you end up unwisely entering into a friendship with Sam Martin, don't expect to be fulfilled. Instead, expect scorn and abuse at every turn. As Sam's friend you'll develop a complex about your weight and physical appearance. If you're even moderately overweight, he will rain fat comments upon you, like "gigantor". If you're too skinny, he'll tell you to go gain some weight, "skeletor". And if you're perfectly in shape, he'll still tell you you're too fat. In any case, he will continue to put you down until you are on the verge of taking your own life, taking his first as a souvenir.
Thus, I give you one last word of advice. Someday, if you see Sam Martin approaching you with open arms and a crazy smile on his face, you do what I should have done four years ago: run. And then shoot the bastard.