|
|
.comment-link {margin-left:.6em;} The finest news from America's finest minds - offbeat, implausible, and prevaricative stories about life in and around college campuses. Evan and Tracy, During Their 37-Hour Romance Tracy, neither of us will forget that fateful night eight truth about enzyte weeks ago when we made sweet love in the back of my Prius and then hit up Denny’s for some Grand Slam omelets. Sure, I have a few regrets—sticking my pinky in your ass was a bit rash, and I should have turned the new Metallica album off and put the radio on that smooth jazz station no one likes except when they’re fucking. But Tracy, the way you exploded when I suggested our most logical and affordable option was nothing short of immature—you’re really blowing this abortion out of proportion. What exactly is your sticking point with this? I mean, it’s not like you’re Catholic and going to burn in hell forever while devils dance around a circle of flame and jab you in the uterus with their pitchforks. And it’s not like you particularly like kids, because that one time I wanted to watch “Jon and Kate Plus 8,” you said you’d rather punch yourself in the boob than watch that crazy family for a half hour. Are you scared that the procedure is going to hurt? As a life-long field hockey player, I’d like to think you have a remarkable threshold for pain. And as far as the cost, I told you that we could hit the Coinstar machine at the post office on our way to the clinic, so I got it covered. Abortions are a natural part of life, Tracy, and you should be grateful we live in the United States of America. Yeah, it might be tough for folks to get bridge work done or get physical therapy for a work-related injury, but damn if we Americans don’t take our embryo vacuuming pretty goddamn serious. So let’s plan on going Friday, Trace, since neither one of us has class, and we can be back in time for the Kappa kegger. And maybe, just maybe, if you take this all in stride like a big girl, we can hit up Denny’s afterwards for old time’s sake. Labels: abortion # posted by Subcomandante Bob : 5:20 AM 0 comments links to this post Graduation rates for college athletes improved one percentage point to 79% over the past year, according to the NCAA's most recent Graduation Success Rates (GSR) survey. Yet one segment of student-athlete lagged far behind their basketball, football, and track peers: practitioners of the sport known as beer pong. “Certainly we are not where we want to be, and I’m disappointed in how we compare to some of the other sports,” noted Brett Killian, NCAA Beer Pong director. "It takes time to change what's expected of coaches and what's expected of beer pong student-athletes: we have to change the culture, not just grades." NCAA president Myles Brand praised the national figures, which showed that 78 percent of Division I athletes graduated within six years. 62 percent of men's basketball players graduated during that time, while 67 percent of BCS football players graduated. A mere 3 percent of beer pong athletes, however, managed to graduate within 6 years, a figure that worries Killian. "Straight up? I'm embarrassed,"he admitted. "These fuckers don't realize that there is more to life than beer pong. And while we're at it: what's with all this drink-and-dial shit with these idiots? Why do beer pongers thinks its OK to call someone in the middle of the night and share with them the pie-eyed truths that came to you after a half-bottle of Jack Daniels and seven keg stands. Like my dude Tre last week: shit-head calls me up and is narrating an episode of The Simpsons he's watching at 4:00 am, and then starts bawling about some hoochie who dumped him in 10th grade. As far as I'm concerned, beer pongers can kiss my ass." Labels: beer pong # posted by Subcomandante Bob : 1:46 PM 0 comments links to this post Franks: Using His Soap Box to Bash His Soap Box You know, I’ve been a long-time fan of this website, The Codependent Collegian. But lately, with its utter lag in content and lack of invigorating humor to get me through the school week, I gotta take this link off my blog, my girlfriend’s blog, and the blog I use to troll for tranny porn. I hate to say it, folks, but The Codependent Collegian sucks my ass. It didn’t used to be this way. No sir. Once upon the time this site was full of cutting-edge journalism, and had all kinds of exclusive stories about orgies, and talking dorm buildings, and about how the only person who washes their hands at the downtown Arby’s in Toledo, Ohio is the fucking retard guy. And when I’d run into my friends, and they’d say something like “Hey Collin, did you hear about the stock market dip?” or “can you believe these war casualties?,” I could look them proudly in the eye and say, “why no, fuck muffin, but I read an amazing exposé about the push-up bra this morning, and I must say that thing is some false goddamn advertising.” In conclusion, it’s high time for The Codependent Collegian to stop sucking ass like a refurbished shop-vac somebody picked up from the curb and get back to reporting the news. Labels: Codependent Collegian # posted by Subcomandante Bob : 5:08 PM 0 comments links to this post Frankfort: Embracing His Inner Feminist You know, Penn State is one big-ass school. With so many buildings, majors, and campus events, it can be a daunting place to make friends and, dare I say, date someone new. So that’s why I’ve discovered the best-kept secret around, and want to share it with all those other freshman bros out there who feeling shy: Gender Studies 101 is the perfect place to meet some hot-ass bitches. See, Gender Studies is all about how we live in a society run by men and junk, so a lot of guys feel threatened by chicks sitting around bashing us all the time. But the truth is, most of these girls are secretly looking for a strong, confident man to sweep them off their feet and fuck them sideways on the futon while their roommate is in the chemistry lab. Plus, they really respect it when you say something smart in class, like how football is really just a form of dance and has nothing to do with bashing some fucker’s skull. They slurp that bullshit straight up. Of course, you have to deal with the token militant lesbians who would love nothing more than to eradicate men from the planet. They wear army boots and have safety pins through their lips, and always wear militant t-shirts that they buy off eBay. After a while, though, you just start to think of them as other dudes, since most of them have beer guts and shave their heads. So in conclusion, Gender Studies is a must-take course for your spring semester. There’s tons of smokin’ ass, and if you have the courage to maybe cry once or twice in class, and say that you really want to get in touch with your feminine side, and how you’re so glad your girlfriend from high school dumped you for being immature, and now you’re totally focused and grown up, and Eleanor Roosevelt would have made a great president had there not been a glass ceiling back in the day, you’re bound to have more pussy than you can shake your dick at. Labels: gender studies # posted by Subcomandante Bob : 6:17 AM 1 comments links to this post These Coeds Know How to Mourn (New York City)—It was a somber day in the world’s most iconic city, as New Yorkers paid their respects to the anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks through an usually quiet demeanor, as if a hush fell upon these bustling avenues of commerce and fashion at the very thought of that tragic morning seven years ago. That is, of course, with the exception of the students at Hofstra University, who commemorated 9/11 and “thirsty Thursday” with several randy games of powderpuff football. “As a native Brooklyn girl, I know first-hand how horrible that day was,” explained a tipsy Sarah Langan, a freshman majoring in communications. “I mean, it was pretty scary for an 11 year old girl to watch that stuff on the news. That’s why we’re [hiccup] having this awesome powderpuff tournament—to celebrate America and junk. WOOHOO!!!” Tom Roland, a sophomore majoring in political science, echoed Langan’s comments. “Look brother, I know what you’re thinking—this is totally tasteless of us to get drunk at 3 p.m. and have these girls dress all trashy to play football on the anniversary of 9/11,” Roland patiently intoned. “But honestly, dude, the ugliest girl out here is like, still a 7 on the ol’ boner scale, and I’ve got seen enough thong and boob-jiggle to fill the spank bank for at least a month. God bless those troops fighting for our freedom over there in Islam.” Labels: 9/11, Hofstra University # posted by Subcomandante Bob : 7:33 AM 0 comments links to this post My first go-around with my required differential equations course was highly unsuccessful. Straight up? I flunked that shit; no other way to say it. I fell behind about Week One and I never recovered, and by November of last fall I was completely fucked up trying to differentiate between linear equations, nonlinear equations, and even my own phone number. But this semester is different, my friend. This is the year that I make differential equations my own personal bitch. You see, I'm taking a new approach to Diffy-Q, as the graduate assistants call it. Before you can make differential equations your bitch, you must have a good, positive self-image, so the math will find you attractive. You must take your differential equations into another world, a really special world where only the two of you exist, a romantic world, a poetic world. Sometimes this happens automatically with students and mathematical equations: if you've ever fallen in love, you remember what it's like to feel like you are the only two people who've ever existed. Other times, you have to create the mood: some soft music, a nice bottle of wine, and your Heweltt Packard 11C engineering calculator. That's how it's going to be with me and differential equations this time. And listen: never take your differential equations to the same place you'd go with your homies if you want to really understand this math. Take your equations someplace out of the ordinary, like a river front cafe in a nearby small town, a walk in the woods where you've previously and secretly stashed a bottle of champagne, two glasses and a blanket. That will make differential equations feel very special, and not like some cheap geometry proof that you picked up at the bar. One me and differential equations get it right, the world ain't never going to be the same, you hear? Labels: differential equations, Florida State University # posted by Subcomandante Bob : 8:12 AM 0 comments links to this post A Pennsylvania Lad Ponders the Noose (Washington, DC)—As the hazy dog-days of summer draw to a close, and families across the nation relish Labor Day weekend with all of its freewheeling pathos, America’s youth must ultimately turn their attention to the impending school year. And for most youngsters, the prospect of ten more months of homework, standardized exams, and unfulfilled playground romance elicits a feeling that can only be described as suicidal. “I just got a letter last week saying I have Mrs. Fowler this year,” lamented Ginny Williams, a fifth grader in downtown Cleveland. “She doesn’t let you draw or talk to your friends or do anything, and I heard from Stevie Mitchell who heard from Beth McDonald that heard from Terry Ginsberg that she stabbed a boy with a protractor last year for text messaging under his desk. What the heck! I might as well take some of mommy’s sleeping pills and hope I don’t wake up.” Other youngsters echoed this sense of dejection and malaise at the prospect of returning to the classroom. “Yeah, I know most kids are sad and all, but I have to repeat eighth grade because I got suspended for bringing my Boy Scout knife to school last April,” huffed an inconsolable Jimmy Owens, a native of San Diego. “I mean, think about it: I have to spend the next year of my life doing the exact same dittos I’ve already done. I sure bet Principal Dufus would feel pretty bad if I used that knife to slash my wrists in the tub like that neighbor lady we’re not allowed to talk about.” # posted by Subcomandante Bob : 12:31 PM 0 comments links to this post ---Subcomandante Bob "Important Thinkery" is an occasional feature on this site, and is usually indicative of a writer who has little to offer beyond a sentence. Pretty pathetic, really, but it's not like you are paying for this content, Bubba. Labels: Important Thinkery # posted by Subcomandante Bob : 5:51 PM 0 comments links to this post Baxter, Replete with Mustache Toothpicks Since my internship with the Toledo Zoo ended in July, I’ve had a lot of free time lately to work on my Pog collection, make prank calls from my sister’s cell phone, and mail boxes of dog shit to my former high school teachers. And yeah, like everybody else I like to drop a little acid now and then. Let me tell you something, brother: these Chinese Olympics are tripped out when you’re tripping. First, these games are in China, where they speak a crazy language that sounds like it’s from outer space. Last night I thought the entire Chinese gymnastics team was going to pop out of my TV set and melt my Zeppelin records with lasers from their slanty eyes. When you’re freaking out like that, the only solution is to drink a lot of Gatorade and watch the most mellow DVD you own. For me, the Sound of Music works every time. Then there’s the equestrian events. Holy fucking balls is that stuff messed up when you’re messed up. I thought this one chick from Sweden was like, an elf princess or some shit, riding a unicorn and brandishing a sword made of flaming vipers. I called my homeboy Mitch so he could come over and watch it with me, but he was already wasted, watching some weird show where hobbits rode talking mules through a minefield. So whether you’re watching field hockey played with a human skull or swimmers relay through a pool of Jello, these Olympics are fucked up when you’re fucked up, and I can only recommend it for the most experienced dosers. Speaking of which, can you spare a hit? I wanted to watch some softball later this afternoon. # posted by Subcomandante Bob : 10:19 PM 0 comments links to this post (Tallahassee, FL) Florida State University sophomore Derrick Greenbriar, a creative writing major, admitted to reporters that his poetic efforts have lately been "majorly shut down" by his almost obsessive focus on street slang. "Part of this, no doubt, comes from listening to rap and hip-hop, but there's something really versatile about the word 'ho,'" Greenbriar insisted. "I mean it can rhyme with words like 'shore' and 'flow' and even a word like 'cold,' if you mumble a little. Still, most poetry professors - especially the women - aren't too keen on 'ho' showing up in my poems." Greenbriar said that the word "gay" also keeps popping in his head. "Besides the fact that it's a one-syllable word with hundreds of possible perfect rhymes, the word 'gay' also has a ton of different connotations," he argued. "Like, it could be used for 'happy' or 'carefree' or 'stupid' or like, well, dudes who like to take a sausage up the ass and whatnot. It's like the poet's best word friend, except for 'a-i-i-i-e-e-e-e-t,' which you can stick just about anywhere in a poem." Labels: Florida State University, FSU, poetry # posted by Subcomandante Bob : 7:58 PM 0 comments links to this post Contributors |