So I had this awesome column at the Northern Star, yeah? And it was called The Fold, yeah? It ran for a few months back in 2007 and I was all, "Ohh, yeah, I have my own little column at the school newspaper, look at me, I'm the coolest guy at school!"
THEN
Then I got shitcanned for screwing off and having a personality. Tough nuts. I then actually got my job back, but quit the very next day on my own terms (think that one episode of Scrubs where Dr. Kelso is going to get forced into retirement until the whole hospital backs him up to keep his job; then, the board agrees to keep him on. This news pleases Kelso, who then quits. Yeah, it's kind of like that). I loved the Star. I loved the people there (well, most of them). But for some reason they will not hire me back. I know who is behind this. As I am not a violent person, I don't exactly have it in for them. If anything, I'd probably just kindly tap them on the shoulder and say, "Hey. Um, hey you. Yeah. What's the deal, here?" Something like that. Most of these people are probably threatened by my fun-loving demeanor and life ambitions, though. Every comment people gave me when working there was, "Oh hey, Derek, you're awesome on the keyboards! Here, take this story," or "Derek! You have amazing ideas! Can I blow you?" Relatively close to that, actually. So does my not being hired back have anything to do with being a prick? Or are these people, these good journalists/not-so-good writers, just threatened I'll take their jobs and munch on 'em? Nom nom nom!!!
But, as the story goes, I started this little blog for both shits and giggles. Looking back on it all, I've had plenty of each. This was an outlet for my more comedic side (and conversely, my less talented side). I originally wanted to save some of this writing for an online version of The Fold, which we did have talks about producing. Those talks, like much of the happenings down at the Star, fell through. Which is a shame (but didn't matter; again, shitcanned). I rolled with this project for maybe 4-5 months, these posts now serving as nothing more than a time capsule for when I was a much poorer writer and person. I called it a day in July, who knows why. Maybe I lost my funny bone along the way, maybe I ran out of things to write about; who knows. While I still write in a few spaces, it is more personal chronicling than anything. Things like the racist drivel and pea-brained "rants" I filled this up with are more prone to negative feedback and incredulous thought. That, and nothing I wrote back then was at all that funny or even worthy of posting. I did like a few of the articles, especially the exclusives I did for here, but nothing else really captured my attention. Toward the end of this site's run I just copy and pasted posts from my myspace. It was then when I knew I had to let this thing die.
Overall, I liked the idea of this. It was fun to see what whacky ideas I had in my head. Posting about clowns, a fear of animatronics, old TV shows, bad movies, and overall silliness was more than satisfying - for its time. Now, a year or so later, I'm just not that guy anymore. Much like my former colleagues at the college newspaper, I sometimes fear I will not be able to write like this anymore. Whereas most are either good at writing the funny-type article or a journalistic news story, neither can carry both cards. Many have told me, and I have sometimes felt that I can. To be daft a second, not many people at that place knew how to write outside the ascribed format. Without that inverted pyramid in their life, they didn't know where to go with a story. I read an article about the Simpsons by this guy I am pretty sure hates me (and, coincidentally, is a honcho at the paper), and it sucked. It just wasn't good. It was a dip outside his comfort zone and it showed.
Anyhow, I'd just like to thank... um, myself for all I have done. And to the three or four people that have actually read any of this, good or bad. Sometime next July or August when I actually come back to read this insane ramblings once again, I'll be sure to check out what everyone has to say. Of course, it'll end up like this...
0 comments.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Friday, July 20, 2007
Who's Your Caddy? for Best Picture.
Oh my shit, I've just seen a television spot for the best movie in history. It is called "Who's Your Caddy?" and stars... black people, and that fat 30 year-old from MTV2. Today's Hollywood lacks all the necessary racism and over-the-top golf puns this film seems to provide. I mean, the title is a pun in itself - a play on the oft-asked, oft-unanswered question, "Who's your daddy?" My daddy is Dave; he is 53, loves pornography, and barbecues every Sunday afternoon. Who's yours?
I suppose I don't understand that question to begin with. I'm not sure if it is supposed to be taken literally, or jokingly or what. A lot of black dudes used to say it when the Fresh Prince and Penny Hardaway were rad, and I know they generally don't have fathers, so who knows.
The film is directed by USA Network legend Don Michael Paul, an actor/writer/director with a staggering three first names. To think, most people struggle with one. With hits like "Renegade" and "Pacific Blue" already to his credit, I predict Who's Your Caddy? to open to huge numbers. Like, mega-huge. I'm not entirely certain on a number, but I'm ballparking around $120 million for opening weekend, but that might be a tad low.
A Hummer golfcart with rims! Why didn't I think of that?
I love "black people" movies, and I hate coming off as slighting or racist, but there's no proper term for the genre yet, to my knowledge. For my birthday, I'm asking for "Are We There Yet?" - another film whose title ends in a question - on DVD. Hey, I can't help it, I love Ice Cube.
I know this flick will be the standard "black people try to do a typically white people thing/sport and get turned away yet end up doing it anyway because they're an overcoming people and at the end, show whitey a lesson in how to 'get down'" piece, but I know I'm going to love it. It's films about overcoming the odds that I love, and this one will surely be a hole in one with that. It's like they're taking Tiger Woods' life, and throwing it on the big screen, only with more hip-hop music and racism.
The "CG" on his chest could only stand for one thing: "creative genius."
I know what you're telling yourself - "them 'colors' dress funny!" "That spook looks like Rerun!" And that's fine, that's what you're supposed to think, because the film is totally serious. Black people actually dress like that and Who's Your Caddy? nails 'em on it.
I'm not seeing this movie because Bruce Bruce and the midget from Bad Santa are in it (amongst a cast riddled with Academy-worthy black actors, or, as I know them, "blactors"). I am seeing it for what it's worth, a few laughs, and the effervescent screen presence of Jeffrey Fucking Jones. Yeah dude, Mr. Rooney is in this shit, and he's going to rob the Oscars blind come time. The man just knows his way around the acting bizz like no other. If you haven't seen his work, I suggest 1995's critically acclaimed, buzz-worthy laugher "Houseguest." It really, ahem, hits home on the funny. Oh, and I've heard good things about that "Beetlejuice" movie he's in, too, but Tim Burton's pretty gay.
Writer's note: Jeffrey Jones' middle name is, in fact, "Fucking."
I am hearing great hype for this picture already. While big-name honchos like Ebert's cancer-ridden corpse and Dick Roeper may not appreciate the collaborative genius that is those behind Who's Your Caddy? I sure do. But I really don't expect much less from Big Boi and company. Laughs, as they seem, are par for the course in this comedy.
Basically, all sports lovers should view this movie. Everyone who has even heard of Tiger Woods or has played miniature golf should see this movie. If you have a pulse, is what I'm getting at, you should see this movie. The people who make films like this, rap stars and, you know, they need to feed their families. All overpaid homosexuals like Tom Cruise and uh, Clint Eastwood need is to feed their oversized egos. Just see the movie, you won't be disappointed. And if you are, you can punch me in the testicles.
If you laughed at this photo, you are a racist. All pro-golfers wear kilts on the green (especially ones who can't point out Scotland on a map). Dipshit.
And may your roads be rashed (Two).
Writer's note: Continuity still rules.
___
I never fully understand the premises behind most video games in the 90's. One title has a blue hedgehog frantically running for his life, escaping the grasps of an obese, over-mustachioed man. Another features a three-legged, red gremlin-like critter who we're led to believe is Flava Flav. Oh, did I mention he funkily wanders about the planet Funkotron with his whale's vagina-looking friend? Well, yeah, he wanders about the planet Funkotron with his whale's vagina-looking friend, and it is both absolutely awesome and ridiculous at the same time. Dig it.
___
I never fully understand the premises behind most video games in the 90's. One title has a blue hedgehog frantically running for his life, escaping the grasps of an obese, over-mustachioed man. Another features a three-legged, red gremlin-like critter who we're led to believe is Flava Flav. Oh, did I mention he funkily wanders about the planet Funkotron with his whale's vagina-looking friend? Well, yeah, he wanders about the planet Funkotron with his whale's vagina-looking friend, and it is both absolutely awesome and ridiculous at the same time. Dig it.
One premise that makes perfect sense to me, and always has, however, is that of the Road Rash series. Simply put, 15 racers are pitted in competition against one another in some sort of cross-country/world race to the finish line (and the death). The winner of each course receives a generously whopping sum of $1,000 to spend on bike upgrades, a new bike, cheap overseas beer, dime-a-dozen Euro-hookers, and what-have-you. A cool grand is perfect compensation for taking a chain to the face or sliding off your motorcycle because an errant cow fell asleep on the asphalt.
HEEEEYWHOOOOAA HOLY SHIIIT!!!!!!
One of the most rewarding aspects to these games are your rivals, all of whom pulled their names from one of those online "Prison Name Generator" deals. Kakana is one of the more decorated riders in the league, and what he lacks in the English department, he easily makes up for with third and fourth-place finishes. Lucky Luc, as it turns out, may in fact be director Luc Besson in leather. Grimacing like a teenager bustling full of free beer and one too many burritos, Luc offers such Pulitzer-worthy advice as, "Speed and guts are what it takes, but you don't qualify. Watch me for pointers." For the guy who brought us masterpieces like – okay, nothing but a bunch of French shit, really – he talks some tall game.
Hey tough shit, purple is so your color.
P.E. Number 1, Belladonna, and Viper usually head up the pack, as does a jive brother known by Lawson. Clearly banking on the popularities of the Fresh Prince and the House Party series, Road Rash brings us our very own hugable-yet-street-tough black man. I like to think to myself that he is actually MC Hammer in full-on biker gear, trying to win back his earnings down to the penny by competing in someone's sinister idea of a street race. I like to think a lot of things.
Over the course of the second and third installments of the franchise (if you can call it that), your character will travel the world over. The
Yeah, that's pretty much how I envisioned Alaska, too.
Another thing I don't really "get" is why these races are taking place and who is enforcing them. Whose bankroll are these things being funded out of? Who selects the roads they race on? The answer to these questions and more is quite clear: The giant Indian man. Reportedly, he runs an Indian casino on the side and regulates the small series of motorcycle events for fun, funding it all from the depths of his very own pockets. He is at the start of the race waving the green flag and at the track's end with the checkered. He rolls his own cigars, pitches his own teepees, and practices scalping and self-removing. Granted, none of this may be true. Curiously enough, he lacks a shirt.
Hey, ain't that the Indian I saw at the front of the cigar store not too long ago? Instead of "how?" I'm left asking "why?"
These races are apparently popular enough to garner some little-needed attention amongst the townsfolk. Because, hey guys, if I am going to zip down a public street at plus-100 speeds and smack that asshole Jorg in the mouth with a Billie club, I sure as hell would like a witness or two. Hell, in one of these shots, a mother brought her little boy to the race. I can only imagine the conversation going something like this:
O hi guys didn't see ya thar lol
"Come, boy, the race is just about to start!"
"Oh boy! How thoughtful of you, mother. You know there is nothing I value more in this world than watching grown men launch their crotch rockets down these otherwise safe city streets, endangering the wellbeing of families nationwide."
"I knew you'd appreciate it."
"Why sure, mother! Is there anything in this world more enthralling than a female going by the alias "Roz" slapping face-first into the hot desert pavement, tearing flesh from bone, chipping teeth, and failing to answer the paramedic's call of a flashlight sparkling through her blackened eyes? Not that I can think of. Only in the world of Road Rash are teeth trophies, scars stylized cool, and a blood-soaked blacktop a thing to behold. Thanks again, mother, what a terrific inspiration you truly are."
Dropping a collective deuce on the competition via oil can. Ah, what a deliberate pastime.
I'm no complainer, but the road is no place for civilians. Nor is it a place for random construction or destitute livestock. Seriously, if I fly off my bike one more time because a fucking rhinoceros took up the streets, I am going to autocide. A motherfucking rhino, splayed out in the middle of the street like nobody's business. Gee, what better place to cool off than the hottest God damn surface in the country. Why Biff or Slater never pulled for a bite to eat has always puzzled me. I mean, hey, when in
When all is spoken for, the Road Rash titles are prime real estate on the Genesis front. The plot doesn't necessarily make the most sense, nor does it truly have to. In an age of games completely devoted to delivering newspapers and solving puzzles on a hackneyed version of Wheel of Fortune, I guess colecocking a police officer with a lead pipe is a little bit more satisfying than the norm.
Beastiality lives.
I love animals. Goddamn if I can't help but put my cat on my lap and pet her before I retire for the night. But some people, boy, do they really love animals. Take the folks over at the "BeastForum," for example, a forum dedicated to, you guessed it, beastiality! Below are my favorite posts (actually, just a small sampling, as the whole place is golden):
From the topic "Donkey Penis Size"
I always been somewhat attracted to Donkeys. In a way, I like them more then horses. I guess because I saw their dongs and became attracted to them long before I saw my first horse cock.
Maybe you should consider a minature donkey ? You would need to get him to drop his penis and measure it, then add at least an inch in case it wasn't fully erect. The same applies to horses. A good ball park figure for what a woman can take would be 10". It is better to err on the side of caution. You do have to get familiar with your potential partner first and make sure he feels comfortable with you playing around with his weapon. Take a look at some video clips showing human females mating with horses. Watch just how the horse or donkey positions himself when he is entering. In the few that I have seen the woman is usually yelling and it doesn't sound like she is having fun. Take it slow, get to know how well endowed your proposed partner is, experiment a bit first. Get under him and insert him into yourself and masturbate him. This will give you an insight into his length and girth and just how he is likely to be humping you. If you are careful it should all work out OK. Good Luck and have fun. ZZ.
Personally I prefer to 'chow down' on stallion tube steak.
From the topic "Dog Cum"
My dog has been giving me head for almost 2 years and I would like to return the favor.
What does dog penis and cum taste like?
Is it bitter or sweet?
From the topic "Sex With My Dog..."
Well, I finally decided to have sex with my dog. Its pretty big now and it took me a while to get it bathed, but I was gentle and it didn't "decline" the offer. I penetrated successfully and I decided to cum using my hands at the end. It was good for a first try. Any suggestions?
I guess it was a female dog?
How old is she, and what breed?
You ask for suggestions. Well, I suggest that you do it again when you get the chance if you both enjoyed it. I also suggest some oral and that you cum inside her next time.
Anyway, I'm glad you did it. Welcome to the wonderful world of special animal love.
From the topic "Fondling Bull Balls"
Hi, I love great big balls, I love to see bulls with huge balls. Has any of you ever had the chance to fondle great big bullballs?
From the topic "Sloppy Seconds"
i have had sloppy seconds quite a few times after a mare has been bred by a stallion .. the studs gel makes an awesome lube. the thought of breeding a mare after a stallion has been with her is just so erotic, but actually doing it and experiencing the warmth of the mare as well as the gooey stallion cum on you makes it just really hot.
though i must say that eating out a mare after she has been bred by a stallion has got to be the best taste in the world.
ahh the perks of working at a breeding farm
From the topic "Lamb Sex"
at what age should a sheep be before it is ready to have sex? i have two lambs about 3 months old but their vaginas seem too tight to recieve me. do they need breaking in like human virgins? if so how should i go about this? i should note that i have not forced myself upon these animals and i do not wish to hurt them. help!
From the topic "Horse Cum"
pigs are not really my thing...i only do horses and ocasonaly dogs if my mood is good..
i have swallowed dog before and they are pretty sweet...but it is horse cum i really want, but the horse i have, the cum is just to thin, and i can not gag on it to much..
any type of horse know for being really big and wide......and thick seman.......i would love to just gag on a big load...
Hey I'd swallow, I mean isn't that the best part about giving head to an animal?
a chick swallowing horse cum and covered in horse cum is sooooo hot! the more the better. There is a Bruno beast movie where a horse shots a huge load like a machine gun, but that's the only time I've seen it com e out like that. Do most horse movies use fake cum or do the horses cum slowly like that. Still, huge horse dick and a lot of cum all over a girl is the best!
YES!!!
PUMAMAN'S REVENGE!!!
Anyone can be anything - in America!
I honestly am beginning to loathe society as a whole right now. The fact that anybody can be anything with the littlest amount of effort imaginable is unnerving. It is just an extra grain of sad that it is the world of sketch comedy that is hit the hardest. I mean, you produce one mildly amusing 3-minute clip and within the next handful of months, you have an agent, a booking company, and your own television program on a third-rate cable network. The American dream was founded around hard-working individuals becoming successes by doing honest labor, and busting their asses. Instead, you have a group of talentless clowns doing stuff a room full of monkeys can do.
The list of examples for this kind of stuff I have is rather limitless, but I'll do my best to throw as many out there as I can. And the first, and most annoying one to me, personally, are all these sketch comedy shows on the music networks, which I briefly alluded to in my introduction. Shows like "The Whitest Kids U' Know" and "Human Giant" are programs on FUSE and MTV, respectively, and each feature a band of idiots raping popular culture for its worth with videos that are more than likely part of the YouTube explosion. They're "witty," "edgy," and just so darned amusing that I must be the only guy in the world who doesn't find humor in it. Any of it.
I never thought I'd condemn YouTube, but I guess the time has come. What once was a place to watch illegally downloaded TV shows in 10 minute allotments, is now a place where moronic college kids without degrees, talent, or inherent ability could strut their proverbial stuff and make it to the big time. What the blog did for shitty writers (such as yours truly), YouTube has done for shitty actors.
Hey, isn't that the Inconsiderate Cell Phone Man? And that gap-toothed guy from Best Week Ever? And the guy I buy my scratch-off tickets from?
But back to these sketch comedy shows. The difference between a comedic clusterfuck (The Whitest Kids U' Know) and an American icon (Saturday Night Live) is that not everyone can do what the writers, actors, producers, et al can do on SNL. Yes, ever since Will Farrell left, the program's been in peril, but I'd taken 90 minutes of Amy Poehler and that hilarious Falconer fella over some untalented hacks any day of the week - especially Saturday.
The whitest hacks I know. Congrats, guys, you're doing what anyone else in the country can do.
However unfortunate these new YouTube-birthed shows are, they are not the only example justifying the phrase "anybody can be anything." As I lay in my bed this evening, I flipped on another FUSE-produced show called "Rad Girls," which I suppose is a female version of Jackass. While I appreciate how they didn't shoot for being "tough" by spelling their title "Girlz," their program isn't very good. In this suck-fest, three airheads (affectionately known as 'Munchie,' 'Ramona Cash,' and 'Darling Clementine') run around the city, pulling stunts on an unsuspecting public, and ingest various disgusting non-food items. And we have seen it all before, only done better by fellow idiots Johnny Knoxville, Bam Margera, and Steve-O. They were funny because it was as if they had no limits - something about running around a park, dumping creamed corn on yourself doesn't exactly sound too "tough." Just kind of pathetic. Women, if you're still wondering why you're not treated as equals, look no further than Rad Girls.
The tagline says it all. People only watch this show, nay, they only *have* a show because they have tits.
Just when will it end, dare I ask? You know Hollywood is scraping the bottom of the barrel when they resort to programs like these. It's only bothersome because I suppose I am actually earning my place in this world by going to college to earn a degree, with plans for graduate school soon after. A lot of money and effort is being put forth to ensure that I get to where I want to be. But hey, why even try to give an honest effort when I can just buy a video camera and fuck around with a few of my friends and chuck it on YouTube? My mother always told me I could be anything I wanted to be when I grew up, and in a way I suppose that is true. But with that comes effort, which the people behind these TV shows know nothing about.
The list of examples for this kind of stuff I have is rather limitless, but I'll do my best to throw as many out there as I can. And the first, and most annoying one to me, personally, are all these sketch comedy shows on the music networks, which I briefly alluded to in my introduction. Shows like "The Whitest Kids U' Know" and "Human Giant" are programs on FUSE and MTV, respectively, and each feature a band of idiots raping popular culture for its worth with videos that are more than likely part of the YouTube explosion. They're "witty," "edgy," and just so darned amusing that I must be the only guy in the world who doesn't find humor in it. Any of it.
I never thought I'd condemn YouTube, but I guess the time has come. What once was a place to watch illegally downloaded TV shows in 10 minute allotments, is now a place where moronic college kids without degrees, talent, or inherent ability could strut their proverbial stuff and make it to the big time. What the blog did for shitty writers (such as yours truly), YouTube has done for shitty actors.
Hey, isn't that the Inconsiderate Cell Phone Man? And that gap-toothed guy from Best Week Ever? And the guy I buy my scratch-off tickets from?
But back to these sketch comedy shows. The difference between a comedic clusterfuck (The Whitest Kids U' Know) and an American icon (Saturday Night Live) is that not everyone can do what the writers, actors, producers, et al can do on SNL. Yes, ever since Will Farrell left, the program's been in peril, but I'd taken 90 minutes of Amy Poehler and that hilarious Falconer fella over some untalented hacks any day of the week - especially Saturday.
The whitest hacks I know. Congrats, guys, you're doing what anyone else in the country can do.
However unfortunate these new YouTube-birthed shows are, they are not the only example justifying the phrase "anybody can be anything." As I lay in my bed this evening, I flipped on another FUSE-produced show called "Rad Girls," which I suppose is a female version of Jackass. While I appreciate how they didn't shoot for being "tough" by spelling their title "Girlz," their program isn't very good. In this suck-fest, three airheads (affectionately known as 'Munchie,' 'Ramona Cash,' and 'Darling Clementine') run around the city, pulling stunts on an unsuspecting public, and ingest various disgusting non-food items. And we have seen it all before, only done better by fellow idiots Johnny Knoxville, Bam Margera, and Steve-O. They were funny because it was as if they had no limits - something about running around a park, dumping creamed corn on yourself doesn't exactly sound too "tough." Just kind of pathetic. Women, if you're still wondering why you're not treated as equals, look no further than Rad Girls.
The tagline says it all. People only watch this show, nay, they only *have* a show because they have tits.
Just when will it end, dare I ask? You know Hollywood is scraping the bottom of the barrel when they resort to programs like these. It's only bothersome because I suppose I am actually earning my place in this world by going to college to earn a degree, with plans for graduate school soon after. A lot of money and effort is being put forth to ensure that I get to where I want to be. But hey, why even try to give an honest effort when I can just buy a video camera and fuck around with a few of my friends and chuck it on YouTube? My mother always told me I could be anything I wanted to be when I grew up, and in a way I suppose that is true. But with that comes effort, which the people behind these TV shows know nothing about.
Introduction to Northern Illinois University.
Greetings freshmen, and welcome to Northern Illinois University. I realize many of you chose this school for its proximity to home, and a good third of you chose it because it is a relatively fair state school. That's good. Great, even. I'm very proud of you and I hope your stay is relaxing, comforting, and "off the chain," as the 'boyz' like to say. But what many of you new to DeKalb and its surrounding areas may not understand yet is that this college is much like any other. And, well, instead of beating around the bush here, I'll fill you in as to why that is, exactly.
1. Posters of the following are fully acceptable:
-Jim Morrison, of "The Doors"
-John Belushi, preferably in a toga or with a sweater reading "COLLEGE." In fact, any scene with Belushi in it from "Animal House" will suffice.
-Any cheap alcohol, beer or otherwise. Coors, Bud and Miller Lite are all acceptable. Extra points for a neon glow sign or something that shines under a black light.
-Anything featuring the school's mascot, team name, or a combination of the two.
-John Lennon in a tank top reading "New York City."
-Your favorite sports team. Plus-five for football, plus-three for baseball, and plus-one for anything else.
-Women in precarious positions. I don't care if they're in the back of a pick-up truck, or posing with an alligator, it's all good here. Bikinis, wet t-shirts, and shiny neon thongs a definite plus.
-The Simpsons and/or Family Guy. Aging cartoon humor never runs dry.
-Stick figures. Whether the figures are showcasing the many different sexual positions one could find themselves in or what not to do around an officer of the law is up to you.
-Anything black light-ready. Bonus if you can score an angry-looking clown or a pair of flaming dice.
2. There is no such thing as the "weekday" in college. Every day around here is another excuse to drink. "Thirsty Thursdays" have paved the way for alliterative weekdays-turned-weekends. What do I mean, exactly? What about "moonshine Mondays"? Sounds pretty tempting, doesn't it? Go to your local frat house and make some of that exploding bathtub booty. Delicious! And Monday is just the start of the week. The day after that is its cousin "tipsy Tuesdays," where the primary objective is to get tipsy! Creative, ain't it? And considering Wednesday is already "hump day," I think dubbing it "wobbly Wednesday" is all but fitting. What you are wobbling and who at is completely in your own hands - literally.
3. Hug your lungs. Seriously. Because after a year or two in any college town, you're going to need to dust the suckers off, free them from their black, sooty casing. Smoking is a big deal around here. If you don't smoke, start. If you do smoke, smoke more. And if you're already a pack-a-day kind of guy, well, I heard there's some pretty good deals on cartons down at the Citgo. And if you're a "square" dude like me who is absolutely appalled by the stuff, never, ever leave your bedroom because you will live to regret it. As soon as you leave your residence hall, smoke will be blown in your eyes, nose, mouth, and every other hole above your belt line. I understand that it's frustrating and all that the bars are starting to ban smoking, but is revolting by sitting *right* in front of the doors where I enter completely necessary? Can you maybe blow it in a fellow smoker's face? I'm not trying to upset anyone's precious feelings, but I don't want to hold my breath every time I walk inside of a building. So, let's fix that, okay?
4. College football tickets are free, yes, but I am petitioning to those of you who know nothing about football to deny your free entry. Today was the home opener for Northern, and they faced the Ohio Bobcats. I fully understand that football games are a time for everyone to get drunk before noon and be with their friends and hoot and holler as obnoxiously as humanly possible, but let's save us all some trouble here. Never have I encountered a more detestable group of people in my entire life. Some girls asked their jock boyfriends, "why is he running backwards?" Others, "why don't they just give [Garrett] Wolfe the ball, then we'll win." Ignorance. He runs backwards because he is avoiding a tackle. They don't give Wolfe the ball because they are down by 11 and it is illogical to run the ball (and the clock) with a deficit such as that. I don't like sitting amongst a crowd of people who don't know a place-kicker from a place mat. I'd rather sit in a stadium composed of 14 fans than a packed house of drunken, ignorant morons who are there to add to the beer breath stench that haunts the stadium and take photos for their facebook. See, I took photos for facebook at the game too, but I at least watched the game.
5. Pettiness is godliness. When it comes to arguments in college, the pettier, the better. Do you call your soft drinks 'soda' or 'pop'? Or are you a tricky son of a bitch and combine the two with 'soda pop'? Do you follow the Cubs or the White Sox? Do you drink Busch or Bud? The answer to every question, as you may have guessed, is "who the fuck cares?" A hefty portion of this college do, apparently. All over facebook are groups devoted what you call your beverage, what sports team you obsess over, what color hair the bitch you banged last night had, and everything else. So honestly, allow me to restate: who the fuck cares?
6. Dave Matthews' second name is Jesus Christ. In college, you come to appreciate music. You listen to it when you are doing homework, you listen to it when you're on the number 7 bus, you listen to it to piss off your roommates who absolutely cannot stand the Three Six Mafia. But hey, I dare you to go room-to-room in your residence hall or apartment complex and check everyone's library. And if you don't find at least a handful of songs by Dave Matthews, the Dave Matthews Band, or all his other side-projects, then you have found a person lacking a soul. Eek. I sort of am in that bracket, truth be told. And boy, I feel super duper guilty for not having 16 versions of "Ants Marching," including two studio versions, three acoustic versions, nine live versions, and two versions where Boyd Tinsley has the bow to his violin so firmly wedged up Dave's ass, it gives the guy an actual reason to sing like a drunk pussy. Just keep in mind that Dave Matthews is the son of God or something.
7. People are easily impressed. Last week was the first week of classes, and on that Monday, it rained. Every street I walked down had at least a handful of boys and girls prattling amongst themselves that "it's raining!!" What the Christ? Does it, you know, like, EVER rain in the midwest? Are rain and winds akin to the outlying areas of Chicago? Well shit, I guess not because "it's raining!!" Another thing is that people really like to announce is when they are drunk as if we couldn't tell by their horrendous breath or the glossy look in their eyes. "Dude, I am sooo wasted right now!" Yep. You are. You're gone, man, and I doubt you're ever going to return to your normal, soberific state. Or how about, "we were so drunk last night!!" I wonder if the people who get drunk more than they remain sober wake up and say "man, I was sooo sober last night!" when they actually don't drink. Easily. Impressed.
8. Don't get used to your things. If you're expecting your room and the stuff in it to remain exactly perfect just as the day you brought it here, you might as well go home right now. Chances are, when your roommate is disabling the smoke detector with the door half-open, some random busybody will stroll down the hall and notice to himself "Ooh! Pringles! Great fucking Scot, Pringles! Grab grab grab." And then before you know it, you're down half a can of the mustache man. It just happens, there's really no way around it. My first week here, I was out about three Gatorades and several bottles of water. Because apparently the refrigerator is a public domain, and thus, whatever goes in it is as much mine as it is theirs. So what I did was open up the remaining Gatorades in my possession, spit in them, and put them right back where they were. I figure that if you're not good enough to ask me for something that's mine, you're not good enough to know that I blow loogies in my orange drink. So, sucks to be you.
9. Respect is disrespectful in itself. Every day in class, I am sitting there with my hands gripping my copy of the student-run newspaper, waiting for class to begin just like the three hundred other people in the room. The clock strikes the top of the hour, the professor and his aides walk out and begin class, and some people are still in "pre-class mode." Reading their newspapers, chatting on their phones, texting their friends about how drunk they were the night before or how high they got with the kid who makes a living in the Huskie costume. It's pathetic. I don't care who you are, but the one thing we all have in common is why we're here: to learn. Whether you pay for your own schooling or mom and dad lend a hand or two, money is being spent to learn. Lots of money. A whole lot of spending money. So Jesus, people, make a fucking effort to put down your phones and open a notebook while your professor babbles on for the next 50 minutes. That means shutting off your cell phones so your dick-in-the-ass Ciara ringtone doesn't go off half-way through the lecture. That means putting away the newspaper which you most likely weren't even reading anyways; that's right, I'm talking about you Sudoku-crazed motherfuckers. Fuck you. That also means shut the goddamned fuck up and LISTEN. Stop chatting with the loose neighborhood slut next to you because she sure as balls isn't going to give you a blowjob, and isn't going to give you her notes. So just be respectful and, whoooa Christ! Listen!
10. Niches, man, niches. All about town there are niches. And some are bigger than others. For example, the ratio of people who watch MTV greatly outnumbers the people who watch Freaks and Geeks. The number of people who enjoy the shitty, asshole country and rap music completely engulfs the niche of people who like that weird indie and emo music. That's me, by the way, hi. But what I am ranting about here is the fact that if you like what is popular, you will in turn *be* popular. If you like drinking fag beer to Rascal Flatts or OAR while flipping between Laguna Beach, you're bound to find a slew of people whose interests line up with yours. If you like popping the collar of you A&F shirt as you walk down the street in your flip-flops, you're going to get an ass or two. If chucking beanbags into a little hole and coveting partially-naked women is your deal, then you're probably a little higher on the "facebook friend" ladder than I am. And good riddance. I just wish there was a little bigger audience for people with different musical tastes or television shows. But I guess for every complaint I make, a wish by me goes unheard. Such is life.
11. Pictures are worth a thousand words, and even more in spending money. People in college are camera whores. Camera sluts. They literally dive on the dick of those snapping their shot. Just the other night as I was casually photographing my friends, each and every one of them walked up to me, patted me firmly on the shoulder and said, "Dude, you gotta put these up on facebook! Tag me!" Uh, okay. I guess I just don't comprehend or care about having 560 pictures of myself on the internet, but whatever. The thing that disturbs me a little is that if a picture comes off slightly hokey, the person with the goofy-looking face gathers every fucking person back, forces them into the exact same pose, and demands the man with the camera takes another 12 or 15. "Nooo, no, I look fat in that one, take another!' Fuck you, pal. Fuck you. I am not doing shit. I paid my money for this camera, and I am not risking cracking my lens on your ugly, cock-eyed face. Back of the line. So honestly, why do people care how many pictures of themselves are on this stupid site? This level of perceived popularity is quite disgusting. To anyone reading this, when I approach 100 or so photos, do me a favor and rip my dick off with your bare hands and kick it somewhere. Thanks. Until then I'll be savoring every piss I take and kissing the urinals with firm lips.
So that is it. While we've touched on many subjects, I expect you all as Freshmen to look out for not only yourselves, but for others, okay? Because there is a lot more than 11 things wrong with the general college lifestyle and it is neither my civic duty, nor my calling to list them all for you. So for now, enjoy what is in front of you, God or Buddha bless, and welcome to college.
1. Posters of the following are fully acceptable:
-Jim Morrison, of "The Doors"
-John Belushi, preferably in a toga or with a sweater reading "COLLEGE." In fact, any scene with Belushi in it from "Animal House" will suffice.
-Any cheap alcohol, beer or otherwise. Coors, Bud and Miller Lite are all acceptable. Extra points for a neon glow sign or something that shines under a black light.
-Anything featuring the school's mascot, team name, or a combination of the two.
-John Lennon in a tank top reading "New York City."
-Your favorite sports team. Plus-five for football, plus-three for baseball, and plus-one for anything else.
-Women in precarious positions. I don't care if they're in the back of a pick-up truck, or posing with an alligator, it's all good here. Bikinis, wet t-shirts, and shiny neon thongs a definite plus.
-The Simpsons and/or Family Guy. Aging cartoon humor never runs dry.
-Stick figures. Whether the figures are showcasing the many different sexual positions one could find themselves in or what not to do around an officer of the law is up to you.
-Anything black light-ready. Bonus if you can score an angry-looking clown or a pair of flaming dice.
2. There is no such thing as the "weekday" in college. Every day around here is another excuse to drink. "Thirsty Thursdays" have paved the way for alliterative weekdays-turned-weekends. What do I mean, exactly? What about "moonshine Mondays"? Sounds pretty tempting, doesn't it? Go to your local frat house and make some of that exploding bathtub booty. Delicious! And Monday is just the start of the week. The day after that is its cousin "tipsy Tuesdays," where the primary objective is to get tipsy! Creative, ain't it? And considering Wednesday is already "hump day," I think dubbing it "wobbly Wednesday" is all but fitting. What you are wobbling and who at is completely in your own hands - literally.
3. Hug your lungs. Seriously. Because after a year or two in any college town, you're going to need to dust the suckers off, free them from their black, sooty casing. Smoking is a big deal around here. If you don't smoke, start. If you do smoke, smoke more. And if you're already a pack-a-day kind of guy, well, I heard there's some pretty good deals on cartons down at the Citgo. And if you're a "square" dude like me who is absolutely appalled by the stuff, never, ever leave your bedroom because you will live to regret it. As soon as you leave your residence hall, smoke will be blown in your eyes, nose, mouth, and every other hole above your belt line. I understand that it's frustrating and all that the bars are starting to ban smoking, but is revolting by sitting *right* in front of the doors where I enter completely necessary? Can you maybe blow it in a fellow smoker's face? I'm not trying to upset anyone's precious feelings, but I don't want to hold my breath every time I walk inside of a building. So, let's fix that, okay?
4. College football tickets are free, yes, but I am petitioning to those of you who know nothing about football to deny your free entry. Today was the home opener for Northern, and they faced the Ohio Bobcats. I fully understand that football games are a time for everyone to get drunk before noon and be with their friends and hoot and holler as obnoxiously as humanly possible, but let's save us all some trouble here. Never have I encountered a more detestable group of people in my entire life. Some girls asked their jock boyfriends, "why is he running backwards?" Others, "why don't they just give [Garrett] Wolfe the ball, then we'll win." Ignorance. He runs backwards because he is avoiding a tackle. They don't give Wolfe the ball because they are down by 11 and it is illogical to run the ball (and the clock) with a deficit such as that. I don't like sitting amongst a crowd of people who don't know a place-kicker from a place mat. I'd rather sit in a stadium composed of 14 fans than a packed house of drunken, ignorant morons who are there to add to the beer breath stench that haunts the stadium and take photos for their facebook. See, I took photos for facebook at the game too, but I at least watched the game.
5. Pettiness is godliness. When it comes to arguments in college, the pettier, the better. Do you call your soft drinks 'soda' or 'pop'? Or are you a tricky son of a bitch and combine the two with 'soda pop'? Do you follow the Cubs or the White Sox? Do you drink Busch or Bud? The answer to every question, as you may have guessed, is "who the fuck cares?" A hefty portion of this college do, apparently. All over facebook are groups devoted what you call your beverage, what sports team you obsess over, what color hair the bitch you banged last night had, and everything else. So honestly, allow me to restate: who the fuck cares?
6. Dave Matthews' second name is Jesus Christ. In college, you come to appreciate music. You listen to it when you are doing homework, you listen to it when you're on the number 7 bus, you listen to it to piss off your roommates who absolutely cannot stand the Three Six Mafia. But hey, I dare you to go room-to-room in your residence hall or apartment complex and check everyone's library. And if you don't find at least a handful of songs by Dave Matthews, the Dave Matthews Band, or all his other side-projects, then you have found a person lacking a soul. Eek. I sort of am in that bracket, truth be told. And boy, I feel super duper guilty for not having 16 versions of "Ants Marching," including two studio versions, three acoustic versions, nine live versions, and two versions where Boyd Tinsley has the bow to his violin so firmly wedged up Dave's ass, it gives the guy an actual reason to sing like a drunk pussy. Just keep in mind that Dave Matthews is the son of God or something.
7. People are easily impressed. Last week was the first week of classes, and on that Monday, it rained. Every street I walked down had at least a handful of boys and girls prattling amongst themselves that "it's raining!!" What the Christ? Does it, you know, like, EVER rain in the midwest? Are rain and winds akin to the outlying areas of Chicago? Well shit, I guess not because "it's raining!!" Another thing is that people really like to announce is when they are drunk as if we couldn't tell by their horrendous breath or the glossy look in their eyes. "Dude, I am sooo wasted right now!" Yep. You are. You're gone, man, and I doubt you're ever going to return to your normal, soberific state. Or how about, "we were so drunk last night!!" I wonder if the people who get drunk more than they remain sober wake up and say "man, I was sooo sober last night!" when they actually don't drink. Easily. Impressed.
8. Don't get used to your things. If you're expecting your room and the stuff in it to remain exactly perfect just as the day you brought it here, you might as well go home right now. Chances are, when your roommate is disabling the smoke detector with the door half-open, some random busybody will stroll down the hall and notice to himself "Ooh! Pringles! Great fucking Scot, Pringles! Grab grab grab." And then before you know it, you're down half a can of the mustache man. It just happens, there's really no way around it. My first week here, I was out about three Gatorades and several bottles of water. Because apparently the refrigerator is a public domain, and thus, whatever goes in it is as much mine as it is theirs. So what I did was open up the remaining Gatorades in my possession, spit in them, and put them right back where they were. I figure that if you're not good enough to ask me for something that's mine, you're not good enough to know that I blow loogies in my orange drink. So, sucks to be you.
9. Respect is disrespectful in itself. Every day in class, I am sitting there with my hands gripping my copy of the student-run newspaper, waiting for class to begin just like the three hundred other people in the room. The clock strikes the top of the hour, the professor and his aides walk out and begin class, and some people are still in "pre-class mode." Reading their newspapers, chatting on their phones, texting their friends about how drunk they were the night before or how high they got with the kid who makes a living in the Huskie costume. It's pathetic. I don't care who you are, but the one thing we all have in common is why we're here: to learn. Whether you pay for your own schooling or mom and dad lend a hand or two, money is being spent to learn. Lots of money. A whole lot of spending money. So Jesus, people, make a fucking effort to put down your phones and open a notebook while your professor babbles on for the next 50 minutes. That means shutting off your cell phones so your dick-in-the-ass Ciara ringtone doesn't go off half-way through the lecture. That means putting away the newspaper which you most likely weren't even reading anyways; that's right, I'm talking about you Sudoku-crazed motherfuckers. Fuck you. That also means shut the goddamned fuck up and LISTEN. Stop chatting with the loose neighborhood slut next to you because she sure as balls isn't going to give you a blowjob, and isn't going to give you her notes. So just be respectful and, whoooa Christ! Listen!
10. Niches, man, niches. All about town there are niches. And some are bigger than others. For example, the ratio of people who watch MTV greatly outnumbers the people who watch Freaks and Geeks. The number of people who enjoy the shitty, asshole country and rap music completely engulfs the niche of people who like that weird indie and emo music. That's me, by the way, hi. But what I am ranting about here is the fact that if you like what is popular, you will in turn *be* popular. If you like drinking fag beer to Rascal Flatts or OAR while flipping between Laguna Beach, you're bound to find a slew of people whose interests line up with yours. If you like popping the collar of you A&F shirt as you walk down the street in your flip-flops, you're going to get an ass or two. If chucking beanbags into a little hole and coveting partially-naked women is your deal, then you're probably a little higher on the "facebook friend" ladder than I am. And good riddance. I just wish there was a little bigger audience for people with different musical tastes or television shows. But I guess for every complaint I make, a wish by me goes unheard. Such is life.
11. Pictures are worth a thousand words, and even more in spending money. People in college are camera whores. Camera sluts. They literally dive on the dick of those snapping their shot. Just the other night as I was casually photographing my friends, each and every one of them walked up to me, patted me firmly on the shoulder and said, "Dude, you gotta put these up on facebook! Tag me!" Uh, okay. I guess I just don't comprehend or care about having 560 pictures of myself on the internet, but whatever. The thing that disturbs me a little is that if a picture comes off slightly hokey, the person with the goofy-looking face gathers every fucking person back, forces them into the exact same pose, and demands the man with the camera takes another 12 or 15. "Nooo, no, I look fat in that one, take another!' Fuck you, pal. Fuck you. I am not doing shit. I paid my money for this camera, and I am not risking cracking my lens on your ugly, cock-eyed face. Back of the line. So honestly, why do people care how many pictures of themselves are on this stupid site? This level of perceived popularity is quite disgusting. To anyone reading this, when I approach 100 or so photos, do me a favor and rip my dick off with your bare hands and kick it somewhere. Thanks. Until then I'll be savoring every piss I take and kissing the urinals with firm lips.
So that is it. While we've touched on many subjects, I expect you all as Freshmen to look out for not only yourselves, but for others, okay? Because there is a lot more than 11 things wrong with the general college lifestyle and it is neither my civic duty, nor my calling to list them all for you. So for now, enjoy what is in front of you, God or Buddha bless, and welcome to college.
11 things to live for.
1. The
This motherfucker is the coolest bird and dare I say, animal on the planet. Mickey Mouse? Bugs Bunny? Marvin the Martian? Not a fuckin' chance. There's more than corn in 
His clothes are so awesome.
2. The Oreck vaccuum guy
News flash, people: Dave Oreck is the baddest motherfuckin' spokesman/old person on this planet and maybe even the collective terrestrial bodies as a whole. His name? David Oreck. His occupation? TV vacuum salesman. His hobbies? Kicking ass, taking names, and selling vacuums. I wish this guy was my grandpa no, wait, I wish this guy was my dad. How cool would it be to come home to this guy?
Daddy Oreck: Hey son! How was school?
Derek: *removes baseball cap* It was alright I guess.
Daddy Oreck: *russles my hair* Alright I gueeeessss?
Derek: Yeah. I was selling Mr. Waterman those spare vacuum compressors like you said I should do and at the last minute he says he doesn't want them.
Daddy Oreck: *clenches fists and dons a Zorro costume* Where does this "Mr. Waterman" live? I'll put his fuckin' skull on a plate and provide his family with a dainty funeral. At'll show him!
Derek:
With father's day coming up, I want to buy this man something. Would, say...a vacuum cleaner be too obvious?
These fellers can't believe who they're standing next to. And neither can I.
3. "Blank Check"
Such a masterpiece. Ok, here's a quick rundown of the plot: Rich bad guy runs over fag's bike. He's in a hurry so he gives him a blank check. Kid somehow cashes it in for a million (exactly a million, too, not to seem too obvious) dollars. Kid and random black guy buy shit. Kid macks on a broad 20 years his senior. Kid loses it all but the movie has a happy ending or something. This movie defined so many childhoods it makes my freaking nose bleed. The part where the kid and the bitch get caught in the fountain makes my dick move. Sure it's unrealistic that a bank would just hand over a million dollars or even have that kind of dough on hand, but who the fuck cares? Tone Loc delivers an Oscar-worthy performance in this masterpiece. Tom Hanks? Fuck Tom Hanks and fuck Forrest Gump, this deserved the Oscar. It deserved all the Oscars. Best supporting actor? Tone Loc. Best actor? Brian Bonsall. Best actress AND best supporting actress? Karen Duffy, peoples. Karen. Duffy. Best scene involving a negro and a 12 year old twerp named 
I <3>
4. Jive haircuts
What exactly are "jive haircuts"? Haircuts that only Mexicans and blacks get. Now, that's not a knock. You just don't see a white man gettin' a fade or a Hindu rockin' some cornrows. I love how certain ethnicities have their own hairstyles while white people just have a system of confusing numbers that corresponds to the length. We don't get cool, bitchin' names to show off our hair do's. I never tell the chick down at the Hair Cuttery (yeah, I go there, you got a problem?) to give me an "el fade" or "los cornrows" do I? I just tell her "short" or "thinner." It's so much easier being white, but I gotta give it up to you urbz, you know how to do some hair.
Shave it all!
5. Grimace
Not enough can be said about Grimace. He's big, he's purple, he's unafraid to slap a dyke when provoked, and he gets all the action from the fry girls he wants. And believe me, when you're the fucking Grimace you're getting it all over the fry girls. Many have questioned what exactly a "grimace" is. Those people don't have a goddamned clue. Grimace, obviously, is an alien bringing happiness, joy, and glee to school children and obese over-eaters everywhere. That's a grimace. And why do people always complain about him, asking what he is? What the fuck's a Hamburgler? Is it a man or a nymphoid or some sort of zombie or what? Seriously. And what kind of bird is this Birdie whore anyways? Jeez. Lay the fuck off Grimace. Never have I heard so much shit for such an awesome, Hershey-Kiss shaped badass like I've heard for Grimace.
Grimace gets ALL the bitches, rain, sleet or snow, he gets his ho.
6. Mel Gibson's last-year beard
Come on. Just look at this fucking thing.
'Nuff said, niggas.
7. Tim Taylor's hotrod
Through-out the history of Home Improvement, all Tim would go on about is his goddamned hotrod. And all Jill would ride his ass about is that stupid hotrod. "Tim, put down those tools and come to dinner!" and "Tim, put down those tools except for the power-drill that doubles as one of those fucking machine dildo things you see on the websites while the kids are still at karate, soccer, and play practice and fuck me on the dinner table, then enjoy some of my famously bad cooking, grunt a few times, bring up what Wilson said to you 5 minutes ago and somehow manage to completely miss the picture, injure yourself in some hilarious fashion, put down Al's mother, and talk to your family about good, clean, wholesome fun, with or without an theme relevant to the overall plot." That's how it always goes, man. But back to the 'rod, man... that was Tim's baby. His pride and his joy. He poured so much blood, sweat, tears, and semen into this thing that it makes the sticky floors down at the discount cinema seem tame by comparison. And in one of the last seasons, he finished it. And it most likely exploded off-camera. Just his luck.
Haw haw haw haw!
8. Schemer from Shining Time Station
Schemer was (and still is, in my heart) the lousiest human being in the world and yet, he was such a warm, thoughtful character. And that's why I love him, because he schemed people...he didn't joke around. He didn't mess with you. He didn't pull pranks, oh no. He played schemes, all of which were equally devastating as the black-paint around the eye of the periscope. In fact, half his schemes WERE the black-paint around the eye of the periscope. Not the most original fella, but dammit, he TRIES! Is that worth NOTHING to you people? Schemer was defined by his slick hair, sharp outfits, and hell-fucking-yes, those blue suede shoes! Pop a quarter in that juke box and rock the fuck out, babay. Holy balls was Schemer the shit. Here's a picture of the guy in a train, seconds before he slams the thing into a group of school children.
Next stop, orphanage!! lol!
9. Victory Auto Wreckers guy
For those not native of the 
Whoamg!
10. The Charmin bears
These bears are the ultimate in awesome. Why? Because any bear, let alone group of bears that can wipe their collective assholes out in the open, in broad daylight, and get away with it deserve to have such praises. Most bears will run up to you and rip your clothes off before tipping you on what toilet paper to run out and buy, but these rad dudes aren't mean. They aren't queers like that kid from Snuggle. They're genuine nice guys who are there to offer a helping paw to those in need. Don't know where to wipe your bung? Come to the forests near the Charmin factory, plenty of ass-wiping room and plenty of bears smiling and eating shit. Fuckin' aye.
That big bear totally has a camel toe.
11. Amelia Bedelia
This dumb slut is much unlike Mr. Magoo, who haphazardly runs around and actually accomplishes things. Ms. Bedelia, however, runs around, but she fucks everything up. And it's hilarious. No matter what you ask of this fucking woman, she will fuck it up. As her to take a shit before she fills her panties and she'll run to the nearest port-o-let and scoop out as much crap as she can using the palms of her hands. What a wretched excuse for a woman, eh? Naw, see, Amelia KNOWS she's fucking up and has been keeping the act up for years! At first you're all like, "Oh noes, she's gonna ruin the party!" but then you're like, "Oh yes, this bitch is rusin' these assholes, step on that cake, woman!" And all is good n the hood. And shit.
Odds that cake'll be on the ground in the next...second? 1:1.
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