Dear Mouth,

It's me, Asshole. Listen, I know we haven't talked in a while and I'm sorry for that. You know how life is; one day you're best friends working together, the next you've grown into complete strangers. Again, I'm really sorry for not contacting you sooner or keeping up with you but there is nothing more I can do except apologize. So with that out of the way, I hope you'll listen to me.

I know you've been eating whatever you want lately. I know, I see it on the other end so don't try to deny it. I'm trying to preach to you or tell you what to do, but seriously Mouth, can you maybe change your eating habits.

It's just that the stuff that has been coming out of me lately isn't all that pleasant. I've been talking to Stomach and Intestines and they agree with me. I understand that you might want some food at 4 AM, but spicy chili? Come on, man. Are you trying to get back at me for that fart I let out when you were trying to talk in class? If that's the case then know the only reason that had to come out was because you"¦let me repeat that, YOU were eating baked beans all morning.

I don't why you are doing this to me"¦to us. Caliente Taquitos, 7 layer burritos, 2 Lb steaks? What the hell's going on up there? At first I just thought that maybe you were depressed and were eating a lot more. But as the volume of food, and spicy food at that, continued to pass through me unchanged, I felt I had to do something about it. I can only take so much. I've been sore for weeks and I burn"¦oh, how I burn!

Sure, it's all fine on the way down. You enjoy that Chicken Curry and pepper humus. I'll just be down here sweating in agony when the time comes for me to go to work. Thanks to you, I'm chafed, sore, redder than usual and covered in something called Preparation H. I don't know what it is, but it seems to at least relieve some of your treachery.

Mouth, what happened to us? We used to be such good friends. Hell, 20 years ago the stuff you took in looked exactly like the stuff I sent out. We were a team. But you've lost track of that. Now I spend my nights trying deal with oversized helpings of White Castle and hot sauce-drenched nachos. Thanks.

If this kind of behavior doesn't stop I am going to be forced to do something drastic"¦something that affects you. I know I don't have too much control over what you do but I have powerful allies. Stomach has never been madder at you and he says he'll gladly reject everything you send down. Is that what you want? Do you want to be throwing up all the time? I didn't think so.

So, why don't you sit back and think about what you've done to me. Think about the pain you have caused myself, Stomach, Intestines, hell, everyone down here. you had better stop taking in any old piece of food that comes along and seriously think about eating some lettuce or maybe some fiber. I can't deal with anymore Big Macs, Mexican Bagel Bites or chilidogs. Change or suffer the consequences. I might even close up shop altogether. How does that sound, hmm? Constipation? Don't put us through that.

Sincerely, Asshole

Certain things we know are impossible: flying under your own power, drinking a gallon of milk in under an hour, and looking at me naked without laughing (trust me, I have done many tests with many women). Recently, I took stock of all the things I thought would be impossible for me to do. I found a lot: touching my toes with my knees straight, doing homework before midnight and sleeping comfortably without the aid of NyQuil. Obviously, I could never do any of these things. But then I thought of something I may be able to do; attend an entire semester's worth of class.

At first the idea seemed foolish. "Never skip a class?"� I guffawed, "It will be a cold day in Hades when I attend all my classes."� But the more I thought about it and the less I talked like a medieval monarch, the more the idea started to make sense. I mean, my parents are paying for me to go to class and maybe, for the first time in years, I should learn their money's worth?

So, the challenge has been set. I will do my best to attend every one of my classes this semester. If I succeed at this task, I will reward myself by skipping all of my finals. Actually, that may not be the best idea, but I will definitely have ice cream or something.

Now, the rules of this challenge are simple. I go to every class unless I have either a serious reason to miss one or I die. I define a "serious reason"� as something that is more important than a college education. I know that is a liberal definition but ski trips happen oh so rarely. Basically, the challenge I have set for myself is to not miss class because I slept through it, wanted to watch TV or decided to drink instead.

I know what you're thinking, "Streeter, why have you chosen such a nerdy challenge for yourself?"� Well, for the past three years I have been attending roughly %75 of my classes; a respectable record. My GPA hovers somewhere around a 3.0 and my teachers have all seemed to like me a little bit. All in all, I have a pretty average college student record on my hands. I will not graduate early, I will not be on the Dean's List and I will not get any Latin after my name on my diploma"¦I need something to set me apart from all my fellow students. They may boast a 4.0, an acceptance letter to Yale Law and a stunning, blonde girlfriend. But I can stand there stoically and say, "Yes, that's all very well and good, but I went to all my classes this semester"¦what do you have to say now?"� Then I slap them with my glove, pull myself onto my horse and ride off into the morning fog. How thrilling it will be.

It may seem pretty easy to go to all your classes. Hell, some of you may even do this regularly. But for me this is big. To haul myself out of bed and make it on time to my 11:30 has become increasingly difficult with each passing year. At first, I would struggle to make it there shaved and showered. Then I skipped the shave. Then I skipped the shower. Then I just skipped altogether; my dreams being more important than the real world (is Keira Knightley going to rub my back in real life? I think not). As you can see, this is going to be very difficult for me.

So, wish me luck on completing this task. I do not know if I will be able to accomplish such an amazing feat, but I will certainly try. So far, I'm going strong at two weeks. I will keep you updated as to my progress and will be honest if I fail. Now, it is late and Keira has the oil ready"¦I have to get to bed.

-You know who I think the ultimate wingman is? Grandma. Seriously, the next time you go to the bar, I think you should take your grandma. Think about it. Your grandma will go up to anyone and just start talking. No one will make an excuse and walk away from your grandma because that’d be rude. And who better to hype you up to a chick than your grandma – who literally believes you are the greatest person in the world? Plus, your grandma will give you money for drinks and you won’t even have to pay her back. But best of all, grandma is the best wingman because chances are she won’t try to make a booty call and bail on you in the middle of the night. I mean, all the guys she knows are asleep…or dead.

-When I’m taking the elevator down to the lobby with a bunch of buddies after pre-gaming and getting ready to go out for the night, I’m always amazed how chivalrous my friends are. We’re holding the door for girls, we’re making sure they all get out first, we’re being generally polite and friendly. Then we get to the bar and immediately forget all sense of tact and discretion as we get as drunk as possible and offend every woman within a twenty-foot radius while vainly attempting to take them home against their better judgment. I really believe that guys would be much better off if we never left the elevator.

-When it comes to getting inside an exclusive bar, guys suddenly lose all their abilities to estimate. You know when you call inside the club and the dude who is going to help get you in asks how many guys and girls you’re with? You quickly survey the eleven guys and one girl that is your crew and then say, “Um…it’s like two or three dudes and, uh, like six girls, six or seven girls.” Then you frantically try to start recruiting groups of stray chicks to join you. Of course when your friend comes outside to get you in, he’s not too happy with the total sausage fest you’ve produced. So your one girl friend gets in and totally leaves you all pathetically standing behind the velvet rope. Who’d have thought grandma would be such a dick?

-I’ll never forget that just before the final stage of the old school video game Marble Madness, the words “Everything You Know is Wrong” flashed on the screen. I remember those words every time someone asks me if I want to buy a bottle in a club. Because in the world of bottle-purchasing, everything you know is indeed very, very wrong. Let me explain: at some so-called hotspots in the city, the only way you can get in or, once you’re inside, actually sit down, is by buying a bottle of alcohol. The prices are, I’d say, a little out of whack. For instance, a bottle of Absolut (retail value: $35) costs $250 inside the club. Then you get to sit in a cramped booth while people you barely know stop by to make small talk and slyly make themselves a hearty drink then take off before the bill comes and you’re shamed into giving a 30% tip to the waitress who did nothing more than bring you a few straws and a carafe of lukewarm tonic. Again, much better off staying in the elevator.

-As the hour grows later and later and you and your friends grow drunker and drunker, you need to become increasingly vigilant about suggestions of which bar to go to next. Because I know that as soon as it passes 2am, I always start suggesting bars closer and closer to home. I’ll be like, “How about that lounge at 35th and Park? No? OK, what about that new place on 31st and Lex? No? OK, OK, how about that bar on 27th and 3rd? How about that, huh?” And my friends are like, “Karo, there’s no bar there. That’s your apartment.”

-I’m sorry, but wasted Saturday night plans must be confirmed. Ever run into a friend you haven’t seen in a while at the bar on a Saturday Night and in between shots of tequila and your twentieth beer, you make plans to get lunch or something the following week? And then your friend gets mad at you for standing him up when you don’t show. I don’t think that’s fair. Standing someone up implies you knew you had plans and chose to ignore them. But having no recollection of meeting the person in the first place should absolve you of all wrongdoing.

-As always, here are some random things I've been ruminating about lately...

-How come babies are never born in the afternoon? Every time I hear that someone had a kid, it’s always at like four in the morning. I mean, I was born at 8:10am and I haven’t gotten up that early since.

-In previous columns, I’ve written that I hate the questions, “How was your trip?” and “How was your test?” because you know the person you’re asking has told the story about fifty times already and could care less at this point. I’d like to add to that list “How was your flight?” That’s a great one isn’t it? The answer is always, “Actually, not too bad.” or “You won’t believe what happened…” and then they launch into some horror story. And what about this classic: “How was the funeral?” How the fuck is anyone supposed to answer that question? Ironically, though, the funeral usually goes better than the flight it took to get there.

-Never, ever tell your parents that you’re expecting to hear news of any kind. When you do that, you’re effectively giving them free reign to call you every twelve hours to ask if you’ve “heard anything.” That’s usually followed by them incessantly asking, “How come you haven’t heard anything yet?” Soon, they find it necessary to tell you they “thought you would have heard something by now.” And when you finally get the good news, you’re less excited about the news itself than the fact that your parents will finally stop asking you about it.

-Do you have friends twenty-five years old and up that still have like five roommates? It’s amazing how the astronomical rent in the city will force grown people to live in basically the same conditions as they did in summer camp ten years earlier. Several times this year I’ve even met girls that not only share a room, but that share a bed as well. That’s so hot.

-And, finally, I flew to LA for some meetings last week and you won’t believe what happened. First, the cab driver that dropped me off at the airport took off with my luggage still in the trunk. It took me four hours and three missed flights but I finally managed to track him down, but only after he tried to get me to pay him to bring the bag back. Then on the flight, the guy next to me choked on a nut and the flight attendant had to give him the Heimlich maneuver. The expectorated cashew hit me square in the Saucony. Then my flight got in to New York so early that we had to taxi on the runway until we were late instead. When I finally got off the plane and called home, my mom said, “Welcome back, honey. How was your flight? Have you heard anything?” Fuck me.

Thanks for reading RUMINATIONS! Be sure to visit www.AaronKaro.com and sign up for my free mailing list to receive RUMINATIONS directly every other Monday. Tens of thousands of people around the world subscribe! You can also find my latest stand-up dates, check out my books Ruminations on College Life and Ruminations on Twentysomething Life, and my new stand-up DVD Recovering Frat Boy. Thanks again!

-Karo

Copyright (c) Aaron Karo.  All rights reserved.

Yesterday, I turned 25. I am now a quarter-century old, and closer to 30 than I am to 20. As depressing as that is, I got some good news. I saved a bunch of money on my car insurance.

Which is well-timed, considering I got into my first accident a few days ago. It wasn't my fault. Someone swerved ahead of me, I stopped to avoid him, and the guy behind me was too close and hit me at about 30 MPH. My neck still hurts, and the inside of my trunk is a bit crumpled, but the guy's insurance is going to take care of it all. He's been 25 for quite some time now.

This is the last birthday that people look forward to, except perhaps 65 because then everything gets cheaper. So is it downhill from here? I hope not. Because if I'm going really fast downhill, I may hit someone else.

I've written about having a 9/11 birthday before - I use the day as a time of contemplation rather than celebration. This year, in addition to contemplating life in general, I'm contemplating getting older. Odd that I didn't do that before, since I have been getting older almost every single year of my life.

I did a few 9/11 benefit shows this weekend. I teamed up with Billy Bingo, a retired firefighter and comedian who does a lot of work for the Thomas Elsasser fund, which raises money for NYC firefighters killed outside the line of duty. I try to devote as much of my birthday as I can to helping anything related to 9/11. The rest of it is devoted to being annoyed when people call and don't remember to wish me a happy birthday. I'm kidding. No one ever calls.

Actually, the past few years, my friends have been wonderful about calling me to see how I'm doing. And the answer is that I'm doing great. Even if my neck hurts a little.

The shows were great as well. The folks at Worcester Polytechnic and Anna Maria College in Paxton (as if knowing it's in Paxton is going to help you know where the school is) were very friendly. After the Anna Maria show, there was a vigil for September 11th. The kids thanked me for coming - which was silly, since they were the ones extending themselves to me. I thanked them for having me. And demanded some cake.

Okay, so I didn't demand cake. But I was offered plenty of food afterwards, when we visited the firehouse in Auburn, Massachusetts. Billy knew a friend of a friend, and they offered us dinner and hospitality. I'd never been in a firehouse before, let alone stayed there. The guys were great and they were very happy to meet a New York firefighter, trading stories about people they saved and people they didn't. I was silent through it; I was both fascinated, and feeling ridiculous for ever complaining about my job.

When I stay at a friend's house and he gets a call at 6AM, I am allowed to complain. But not Friday night. At 6AM, I was woken up by a report of an 80-year-old woman with congestive heart failure that needed medical attention. She lived. Just like I did on the highway last week, and several thousand people did a few years ago when they were evacuated from the World Trade Center before it went down.

There's a lot that I wanted to accomplish by the time I was 25 that I haven't. Mainly because when I set those goals, I was 20 and had a very different view of the life I'm actually leading. But I'm fine with that. I am closer to 30 now. But I have the next five years before that actually happens, and I can use them to keep contemplating and set new goals and find the guy that swerved in front of me and whap him in the back of the head with a wet sock.

I am thankful I made it through that accident pretty okay. There was a fourth car that almost nailed me from the side. So I'm thankful I made it to 25 at all. And I am also thankful that, if that 4th car had hit me, there are people who spend their lives saving ours.

If you'd like to help the Thomas Elsasser fund, you can click on "merchandise" at www.billybingo.net and pick up an FDNY comedy t-shirt.

I just did. I can afford to now that my car insurance payments have gone down.

Steve Hofstetter is the author of Student Body Shots, which is available at www.SteveHofstetter.com. He can be e-mailed at steve@observationalhumor.com.

People You Love

Here at "A Word From The Streets"� we have been constantly accused of promoting hateful sentiments. While I cannot agree with these allegations, I have bended to the pressure a bit. For the twentieth edition of the Famous Hate List I decided to see not what you hate, but what you love. Here it is, People You Love.

*Next week we'll go back to the usual Hate List. Please submit your entries at suxatlife@hotmail.com

MINE:

Holding Hank: Nothing can brighten my day quite like someone holding the door for me. While it may be a small act of kindness it is one that stays with me all day. It's not that I couldn't open the door for myself; on the contrary, I am much accomplished in the operations of a door. It is that Hank here has taken a few moments out of his day to make mine better. He has inconvenienced himself for my benefit and I appreciate that. And, unlike some of my more barbaric peers, I always make sure to thank him. Hank, you put a smile on my face, made my way through this doorway a bit easier and shown me that you are a humanitarian in the truest sense of the word"¦I Love You!

You, Dude: Seriously bro, you're the best. I know I'm a little fucked up right now but I mean it. Freshman year bro"¦that was crazy. We did some serious shit. I love you, man. C'mere, gimme a hug, dude. You're the best roommate ever. You didn't care when I broke the neon beer sign, you always respect the sock-on-door rule and you never smoke any of my weed without asking. You're the best, dude. I wanna, like, move next door to you someday and we can, like, raise our kids together. Then, like, every weekend, we'll have barbeques and watch football. Once you marry Nicole and I marry Tammy we can totally be best friends forever. Bro, get over here and gimme a fuckin hug. I love you, man"¦I Love You!

The Royal You: This is for all of you out there who faithfully read my column. Maybe it always hasn't been as funny as you might have liked and maybe I haven't adhered to my update every two days regiment as strictly as I should have but you have stuck by me. When I get email from you guys it makes me happy (unless you're telling me I suck) and when I get naked pictures, it makes me even happier. I suppose this is as good a time as any to thank you for all the feedback, the compliments, the medical advice (Jan), and the encouragement. So, to all my readers and without a hint of sarcasm (for once), thank you so much for reading"¦I Love You!

YOURS:

Reader Richard "High School Hero"� K. really loves: What-The-Fuck Willie - This is the guy who you can always count on for a laugh. He's too dumb or stoned to realize he's such a fucking moron that it's amusing to everyone else in the class/hallway/lunchroom/etc... I always have one of these dumb bastards (and sometimes, 2) in my class. Usually, he's the only entertainment in the hell that shall remain nameless...Well, keep tokin up and don't drop out...I don't feel like taking up this role again. Love ya, guy.
*Author's Note: "A Word From The Streets"� does not endorse the use of illegal drugs by high schoolers unless they plan on sharing

Reader Hilary G. really loves (in list form):
-People you know so well that you can insult and not worry/care about them feeling insulted
-people who are hilariously self-deprecating
-people who put up depressing away messages that aren't meant to be funny, but are
-people who leave cell phone messages like, "there's a party in my pants and you're invited."
-women on the mid-day talks shows who say stuff like, "I am big and I am beautiful beeotch; which do guys like better: a cot or a water bed?!!!" and then flash the audience
-the kid in everyone's math class who sits in the back and sleeps and makes everyone else look good in comparison
-Chad Michael Murray!
-Conan O'Brien
- Street Seidell
-the creepy old guy by the pool who always compliments my tan
*Author's Note: The last two entries are one in the same.

Reader Stoic K. really loves: I love the penny saver checkout lady: This is the lady who always picks up the small denomination of change and gives you back the whole bill. Example: you buy a pack of gum, it comes to $3.04, so instead of making you pay the other 4 cents by breaking a dollar and having to spend the rest of the day walking around with a huge amount of clanging change in your pocket, she just comps you the four cents. Oh how I love her, if she were 30 years younger, had less piercing and didn't smell like Lysol, I would ask her to marry me. I love you "Penny saver, checkout lady."

Stoic K. also loves: I love anyone who gives you the "wave" when you give them your turn in a traffic situation. Example: you find yourself driving down a narrow road, but in the distance you see a massive SUV driving toward you, so instead of continuing on, you pull off to the side and allow the vehicle to pass even though you have the right of way, as it passes, you get the "thank you wave." It's not that big of a deal but it's a nice common courtesy. I know I'm not the only one who gets pissed when you're sitting there waiting, doing something nice for another driver only to not get the "wave." It makes you want to turn around and follow the asshole home, then wait outside until he or she sleeps and then murder the whole family in their beds then find their parents and murder them for raising such a fucking asshole of a person. SO WAVE GOD DAMNIT, so that I can love you. . . .

Reader Chrissy W. really loves: I love the college professor who is a decent teacher but just doesn't give a shit about any rules. He knows plenty about his trade and is totally willing to help anyone who needs it, but at the same time he has a complete disregard for any school policy. When talking about rules, this professor will gladly tell you the best way possible to break pretty much every single rule on the list. He'll encourage you to harass the resident Rent-A-Cops, make fun of the school administrators, and piss off the janitors, all while telling hilarious stories of his past experiences doing so. Awesome college professor, I really love you!

Reader Ashleigh F. really loves: Friendly Tattoo Guy"¦It's great to receive friendly service from your restaurant waiter or bookstore cashier, even when they only have to interact with you for a few minutes of their day. But it's AWESOME when you receive a cool tat from Friendly Tattoo Guy. Whether this tattoo is your first or your fifth, this dude knows how to treat you well. He always makes sure you're comfortable, he tells you you're cute when you flinch, and his gentle touch eases the annoying sting of his needle. Yes, you know full well that you're only one of about a million customers he's had, but Friendly Tattoo Guy makes you feel special nonetheless. You don't even need to show him your boobs (unless they're being inked) in order to receive your "special customer discount"�"¦The store policy says there's a $50 minimum on all tattoos, but you know that a smile is all it takes to make it $35. Friendly Tattoo Guy knows you need the extra money for books and booze, so he's cool, unlike that bitch in the next booth who overcharges for her shitty-ass handiwork"¦.But let's not hate; feel the love! I love you, Friendly Tattoo Guy!

Ashleigh also loves: Boozefest Babysitter"¦We've all been to parties where there are a few designated drivers, or those who are only there to hold the hair of puking girlfriends, but none quite measure up to Boozefest Babysitter. While those other guys are standing in the corner whining about their duties and scoffing snobily at the fall-down drunks, BB is having a great time. When you stumble past the couch and almost knock over his Budweiser lamp, he's there to catch *you* and not his lamp. This dude might have barely met you, but he'll still hold your hand to guide you up the stairs, hold your hair while you lean into the sink, and kiss you on the cheek when you say you're so embarrassed to look so unhot in front of him...even while there's regurgitated Bacardi dripping down your chin. It takes a big man to endure the sound of so much violent gagging, but an even bigger man can do it for you before he's even learned your name. BB is somehow able to go through this with four different people, drink a bit, and enjoy himself all in one night. And when you see him the next Monday on your way to Classical Mythology, he gives you a big hug as you proclaim, "I love you!"�

Finally, Ashleigh's last entry is one I think we can all agree on. She loves: Adorable Humor Columnist from New York"¦Even when I'm fall-down drunk, I am usually not willing to show my bare boobs to any random stranger. But when one handsome internet Humor Columnist comes along, gives me the ride of my life with every word on the screen, and then asks the ladies to send him pictures of our boobs, I can't help but comply. That's the first sign that he's a truly gifted man. Humor Columnist not only speaks truths that others are afraid to speak, but he does so in a manner that puts a smile on my face and a quiver in my thigh. He claims to be chubby and undesirable, but anyone who has seen his CampusHook pics knows that he's just trying to cover for being so adorable. He also says that he doesn't have the best of luck with the ladyfolk, but anyone who doesn't love him--for the adorably funny Irish hotness that he is"”is a total hagslut. If Humor Columnist ever stopped writing, I would have little motivation for visiting the website that hosts his columns. Oh, Adorable Humor Columnist from New York, I LOVE YOU!
*Author's Note: While Ashleigh may have capitalized certain words in her entry, I do not feel I am equal to God"¦yet. Also, Ashleigh has fantastic breasts. Finally, she better not be talking about Neil Janowitz (author of "A Life in the Day"�)

Well, that's all for the Love List. Join me next week when we return to the usual "hateful"� format. Please send your submissions for the Famous Hate List to suxatlife@hotmail.com. Thank you and, once again, I Love You (until next week when I'm back to hating you).

A Lyme At a Time

About 1 week ago, my knees started to hurt. It was nothing new, I'm always in pain and I'm always sick. My roommates have taken to calling my "The Host"� (I finally got a nickname!) due to a 10 month cold I developed sophomore year. Everyone had their own theory for my chronic illness; my dad thought it was my weight, my mom thought it was my smoking, and my friends all just assumed I was faking it. But I knew there had to be some more serious, more sympathy-producing reason for my mysterious illnesses.

So my knees hurt and this time I was going to do something about it. Normally when any of my joints started to act up I just assumed it was because I was a fat, lazy bastard. But I haven't gained any weight recently and I decided to go to my school's health center.

Now, I know most of you don't know a thing about Fordham University, but if you did you would know that they are the number one recommenders of Tylenol Cold and Sinus. Why? Because every single person that comes in, no matter what the symptoms, is diagnosed with a sinus infection. I wasn't going to be bullied around anymore and I insisted I get some blood work done.

This morning I got a call from the health center"¦my tests had come back. I went in to learn that I was HIV Negative (YES!) but very positive for Lyme Disease (SHIT!). But the fun doesn't stop there. The Lyme Disease that is sitting in my body seems to have been sitting there or at least 2 years. "Well,"� I thought, "that explains a lot"� as I wiped the blood from my ears.

Eager to find out what's going to happen to my already overburdened body, I hit WebMD which proceeded to scare the shit out of me. I learned that I can get a cool thing called arthritis or maybe even a little partial paralysis. Neat. Things were going well for me. I called my house to tell them the news and my Dad told me that I "should probably get that taken care of."� Ok Dad"¦I think I will.

I think I will take my dad's advice and go see a real doctor. Hopefully there is some kind of drug they can give me that will make me not sick and not sore. I hope more than anything that there is some new miracle drug that is some kind of mix between Trimspa and Vicadin. Please, keep me in your prayers.

But the cost of drugs for this terrible illness is more than my skinny wallet can handle. I don't have a lot of money and, with my little sister also in college, my parents don't have a lot either. That's why I ask you to give generously to the Streeter Lyme Disease Relief Fund. For just dollars a day, you can help cure a sick humor columnist. Think of the joy on his face when he cashes your check. You'll be bringing a smile to a very sick little boy.

The Streeter Lyme Disease Relief Fund is an independent organization with no ties to big business or even the government. Please, for only $500 a year you can make sure that Streeter still has the ability to write his little column. Please email me and let me know how much you are willing to pledge. I sincerely hope that Streeter and his illness has touched you the way that he has touched so many others, legally.

Seriously, send me money"¦my electrical bill is huge this month.

Now that I'm on my own in Manhattan, it has become very evident that there is an insurmountable difference between my approach to life and the one that my parents think I should have. The folks, for example, maintain that the perfect compliment to my recent move would be a "job."� I've countered that, with all the stress I face just walking to and from the corner grocery store in such a hectic city, it makes much more sense to devote the remainder of my time to being completely sessile. Inactivity, after all, is essential to be a "struggling writer."� And, having just gotten digital cable, I figure that since I'm not going to be able to pay for it, I might as well take advantage before it's gone.

Now, I concede that the whole "get a job"� incident is just a single example. However, I feel that it illustrates a point: my parents, inexplicably clinging to their old school ways, are unfit to offer sound advice for something like a transition to a city like New York. But that doesn't mean they won't try. From what I can tell, the responsibilities have been divided up logically, with Mom taking on the "˜hygiene and comfort' front while Pops imparts his knowledge of business etiquette through a series of grunts and pointed criticisms.

Mom dove headlong into her role the second she stepped foot into my apartment. Admittedly, I can see some of her points - for example, I agree that my room could use some windows, locking doors, a floor not sloped thirty-degrees, natural light and a loft made of something beside balsa wood, popsicle sticks and scotch tape. Some manner of ventilation for fresh air flow would also be nice. I'll take any sort, really; a direct connection to a smokestack would provide even a slight degree of oxygenical relief, unlike the cloud of Mercury's atmosphere that has settled in around my bed. So yes, Mom may have a point when she says that my room is far from inhabitable, much less desirable. But hey, my rent could really only finance two brand new BMWs, so I figure that my hard unearned lack of money is being somewhat well-spent.

It's over more obscure matters, such as my lack of clothes and / or soap, that the fists really fly. I've never seen a need for multiple pairs of jeans. In their classic role jeans were meant to be worn and destroyed, and I aspire to keep that tradition alive by having only a single pair of "respectable jeans"� at any one time. That they get washed once a month seems appropriate and does not bother me. Strangely, it does bother Mom, particularly when she finds colonies of bacteria on the inside of my pant legs. "Mom,"� I always reassure her, "I shower sometimes."� She then cries, and further weakens my understanding of women.

Meanwhile, to refine my coarse business skills, Pops employs an instructional system that I've dubbed "reverse encouragement,"� in which he calmly establishes that all of my ideas are very bad. The system is simple and absolutely ineffective: I present Pops with a humor-laced, yet carefully crafted, cover letter. Automatically - and by this point, I assume, unconsciously - he gives me "that look."� The cover letter will then be stripped of all traces of identity or personality, ultimately leaving it as a single statement: "Neil is punctual."� Then I'm reminded not to wear mesh shorts to an interview and that a suit is an absolute necessity at all times. In fact, I should be sleeping in my suit, just in case an employer calls at five a.m. from my living room to demand an interview. This has had a profound effect on my REM sleep, as the suit becomes offensively unbearable when worn inside my mattress's poisonous shield of scalding air.

Eventually, all it really took was one suit-clad interview in an office teeming with a jeans-and-sandals editorial board to realize that my parents simply have no clue what they're talking about. Who needs "fresh air,"� "natural light"� and "flat floors"� to live comfortably? I may go berserk in my dark, dank and crooked cave, but as long as I have the sweet smell of urine wafting over from the homeless shelter next door, I'm content. And who needs good resumes, cover letters and references when you can have bad resumes, cover letters and references and still . . . gah. Point is, I've almost matured, and finally find myself in a position in which I can survive without relying on the wisdom and assistance of my parents. I've developed those skills necessary to competently and confidently live a struggling life, and I'm going to use this independence to reach unprecedented levels of dominance, near-comfort and convention-defiance.

Providing that my parents say it's ok.

Hello everybody! If you're reading this sentence, than you've already begun the most important CollegeHumor.com update ever. While most other articles can promise you laughter, this article can promise you CASH! (Cash means american money.) I've recently discovered a website that turns something that ALL of you own into unadulterated smelly-putrid-rotting-fresh-intimidating money! Please don't let your attention span wear thin at the sight of my obscenely-long-hyphenated-words, keep reading and you will be rewarded with several hundred, if not thousands of moneys.

"BUT WHAT CAN I POSSIBLY HAVE TO OFFER!! I'M JUST A POOR STUDENT!!" No Duh! But you are a poor student with old textbooks! That's right, for those of you who opted not to attend the end-of-the-year bonfire in which students hurled their textbooks into a pit of flame as a means of symbolic vindication (or in my case, were too socially awkward to be invited to any school event that required friendship) your lucky day has arrived! Right now there are thousands of eager college kids begging to buy your old textbooks for pretty darn good prices! So far I've sold 4 old textbooks to the tune of $195.03, and I've still got more to go. And the great thing is, ANYBODY CAN DO IT!

However... you will need to read some comedically written tips in order to ensure that your books will sell... tips written by an experienced writer and book seller! So without further adeiu i present to you... "ERNEST HEMINGWAY'S 5 TIPS TO SELLING OLD TEXTBOOKS!!!"

1) Choose the Right Textbook. Nobody wants to buy an old biology book that discredits evolution and talks about two up and coming "futurists" named Watson and Crick who recently discovered DNA. Textbooks are like cars, if you don't have a history book from 2007 already, you're out of date. The fresher the book the more money you can get. For example, the Dead Sea Scrolls are like textbooks from 2000 BCE. They're the oldest text book out there, and would fetch NO money on textbook reselling websites. However, if you have a Math Book from like... 2003, you could probably get some fine cheese for that amount. (Cheese means cash).

2) Set the Right Price. It's useless to try to sell your old textbook for $300.00 and it is useless to try to sell your old textbook for $1.00. The key is to find a happy medium. So I sometimes use exactly $150.00, I figure its perfectly in between these two extremes! What can go wrong! If that fails, you might wanna see how much the cheapest asking price is for your book is, and subtract a penny. Either method is completely acceptable.

3) Location! Location! Location! Location doesn't matter at all when selling a textbook. Its just a book.

4) Description matters! Some sites will ask you for a sentence or two description of your specific book- this is your chance to shine! Most other people will throw out cliche terms such as "Like new," "No Highlites," "Some ripped pages," or "cum stains! just kidding!" This is where your description will differentiate yourself from the other 100 people trying to sell their book!

Don't try to act like a used car salesman, just tell the truth. Use key phrases like "Look, I'll level with you, this isn't really a book, its a facade I made out of an oak tree" and "If you buy this book, you'll probably get a C, cuz I ain't shippin it!" Buyers will view these honest statements as a breath of fresh air and it might just give you the edge you need over "Johnny-Come-Lately."

5) A Picture is worth a thousand and one words. Because of the weakening of the American Dollar versus the Japanese Yuan, a picture is now worth a little over a thousand words. Some sites allow you to submit a picture along with your description when selling your old textbook.

I was completely dumbfounded to see that 99% of people DO NOT take advantage of this feature! Providing a picture will ensure your buyer that not only do you own the book, but you're also rich enough to own a digital camera, so you're probably not an online criminal! Provide a picture that shows a little skin, that goes for you guys, too! A naked chick, or dude, standing next to a book can GO A LONG way when trying to woo your potential buyer. Besides, do you really care that a pedophile from North Dakota is buying your book just to smell the pages that have been near your crotch? NO! As John Kerry said, "Money is Money, even if it was earned while molesting little kids."

So there you have it! Five easy-to-follow tips that will ensure sweet sexual profit from your old dusty textbooks. If you're still a little unclear on what the final product would look like, check out this page which currently displays a Microeconomics textbook that I'm trying to sell.

Here's to retiring early!!! Ahahaha! Don't Spend your first million too quickly!!! hahaha! Can I borrow your YACHT when you're done with it!?!? Hahaha! What is your BUTLER doing this weekend, I want to start an intramural basketball team and he's got a good jump shot! AH aha hah! Seriously, though, about that YACHT! AH aha ha!! Enjoy these hotlinks! HA AHA HA~!

Matt has a new column out called "My Walk of Shame" so check that out, as well as Dean's new article.

This update has been sponsored by ShockerTees.com, where you can get, well, shocker tee shirts. And now, straight from the home office in Baltimore, MD...

MTV Offices, New York City
RE: Road Rules Mega-Extreme, Spring 2005 season.
Official Proposals Meeting Transcript

Mary Ellis Bunin (producer, creator)
"Ok folks, last season's road rules really challenged the contestants in ways they never expected. It was our highest rated version of the series yet. I see these figures and one thing is very clear"¦the viewers like watching the cast overcome challenges. So, for Road Rules Mega-Extreme I think we should push the envelope even more. Any ideas?"�

Randy Conrad (production assistant)
"Well Mary, research shows that viewers do not like seeing the cast get voted off. But we still want to present some sort of punishment for losing challenges, right? So, how about this"¦if your team loses more than three challenges, not only do you not get the mega-key, you have to nominate one of your teammates to get shot by Dan Cortez. I figure we let them decide where to get shot. The kids these days love guns, I'm sure this would draw a ton of viewers in."�

MEB
"I like it, Randy. I really think the shooting is a totally great punishment. Oh, and I love the Dan Cortez angle. People love seeing b-list celebrities on reality shows"¦I mean, you've seen The Surreal Life, right? Ok, so we'll do the shooting thing. I think we should use maybe a 9mm or a .38 special"¦something with a small caliber. Let's not forget, they still have to compete after getting shot so we don't want to rip too big a hole in their flesh. Any other ideas on how we could make this season even more extreme?"�

Sally Robertson (casting)
"Yeah Mary, I have something. We all know viewers like the sexy element of the show. People want to see the cast-mates hookup. So why not just force the cast to have sex with each other? We can make it one of the challenges, ya know? We'll be like "˜you need to have sex with four cast mates in 5 minutes or you fail the challenge' or something like that. How's that?"�

MEB
"Oohhh, I like it. That's genius. But I think there may be some trouble finding a girl that slutty. Oh, you know what, give the real World people a call and see if Trishelle is doing anything in October. Great, we're really getting some great stuff here. Who else has an idea?"�

Tommy Canton (intern)
"Why don't we, like, get them to, like, eat poop and shit?"�

MEB
"Tommy, go get some coffee for everyone"¦great."�

Randall McPhearson (asst. director)
"You know, last season I was thinking this show is missing something and now I realize what that was. Remember the episode where they had to eat all that disgusting stuff? Well, everyone really liked that one but I don't think it was mega-extreme enough. How about this"¦ready"¦they have to eat a PERSON! Cannibalism is a hot topic this season and I think we better ride that wave. I say we pay some peasant's family to give up a kid or something. Of course, they would have to be fully cooked. Here's the catch"¦we don't tell them the thing they just ate was a person until AFTER THEY EAT HIM!"�

MEB
"perfect"¦.PERFECT! That is just the angle we need here. I love it"¦no, I NEED it! Randall, this is why you've come so far in this business; you're always one step ahead of the game. Ok, so we've got the gun wounds, the forced sex and the cannibalism"¦this is good but we need one more thing to make this truly mega-extreme"¦c'mon people, this is what we do."�

Carol Silverstein (Editor)
"I might have something here. Picture this"¦the cast goes through a whole season of challenges, they get to know and love each other, they collect their winnings and they get on a plane to go home. But, and here's the final twist, their plane crashes on the way home on a desert island. Of course, we'll have to island completely covered in hidden cameras and microphones. Then we tape them for the next 6 months as they try to survive on this island. Hopefully they'll all live through the crash. That right there is a whole other season"¦we get two seasons for the price of one! Whatcha think?"�

MEB
"What do I think? I think we've got ourselves an Emmy is what I think! People, this is going to be the greatest season of Road Rules yet. I want to thank you all for your great ideas. So, let's just find a good island for this and try to get Trishelle on board for the sex challenge. Oh, I think we should have two black people on this one"¦actually, nah, let's just stick to one"¦It's fun watching them try to relate to all the white, preppy college kids."�



*It was recently brought to my attention that Mary Ellis Bunin passed away from cancer. I was not aware of this at the time I wrote this article. I hope this does not offend anyone as it was not intended to. I also hope you, nor I, do not die as well. Thank You, Streeter J. Seidell.

The Streety Awards II

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the voting for the second bi-monthly Streety Awards. The Streetys are decided by you, not some overpaid industry "expert"� sitting around sipping mochas and lighting Cubans with his intern's hair. Also, the Streetys cover all manner of entertainment while ignoring such awards as "best digital sound editing"� and "best use of duct tape on a soap opera set"� so you get to the good stuff. Without further ado, here are your nominees for the second 2004 Streety Awards.

Who farted?
1. Oprah
2. Keenan
3. Cedric the Entertainer
4. The Dog

Funniest Political News Program
1. FOX News
2. The Daily Show
3. Hardball
4. Crossballs

Worst Nickname
1. Le Douche
2. Skidmark
3. Slutron 2000
4. Herp

Best New Sports Trend
1. Poker
2. Dodgeball
3. Volleyball
4. Metered Decathlon (Romanian Version)

Most Un-Funny Person Still Making Horrible Movies
1. Adam Sandler
2. Rob Schnieder
3. Jim Carey
4. Dana Carvey

Bets Formerly Funny TV Show That Has Overstayed Its Welcome
1. That 70s Show
2. The Simpsons
3. The Newlyweds (debatable, might not have been funny in the first place)
4. Saved By The Bell; The dead-end Career Years

Best Fake Breasts
1. Lindsey Lohan
2. Pamela Anderson
3. Jenna Jameson
4. Condoleezza Rice

Best Line For Getting A Freshman Girl To Go Home With You
1. "I live off campus."�
2. "All the girls in my class are fat."�
3. "I just got tested last week."�
4. "Hi."�

Best Chin
1. Ashlee Simpson
2. Jay Leno
3. Superman (cartoon version)
4. Michael Moore (has three)

Male Celebrity I Would Most Like To Fight
1. Ted Nudgent
2. That nerdy guy from "Honey, I Shrunk the Kids"�
3. Fez From "That 70s Show."�
4. Frankie Munitz

Best Celebrity Famous For No Reason
1. Paris Hilton
2. Nicky Hilton
3. Ebeneezer Hilton III
4. Wendell "˜Chubs' Hilton

Funniest Movie of the Summer
1. "Napoleon Dynamite"�
2. "Without a Paddle"�
3. "Fahrenheit 9/11"�
4. "Streeter Walks Into Screen Door"� (Home Movie)

Best Way to Drink a Beer
1. Shotgun
2. Beerbong
3. "CHUG, CHUG, CHUG!"�
4. Depressed, alone in your Mom's basement.

Most Essential Item For Freshmen
1. Condoms, Birth control pills
2. George Foreman Grill
3. School Hoodie
4. Dad's credit card

Preferred Brand of Toe-less Shoe
1. REEF
2. Birkenstock
3. TEVA
4. K-Mart Red Light Special- Canvas Deck Flip Flop $3.99

Best Snack Cracker
1. Saltines
2. Toastables
3. Ritz
4. Wheat Thins

Worst Excuse For Missing Class
1. "I died"�
2. "There was a really good song on the radio"�
3. "I didn't buy the book."�
4. "My house got stolen."�

How Good at Football Were You in High School
1. State Champs, dude, all four years.
2. eh"¦I was more of a wrestler.
3. More interested in the cheerleaders
4. The bench has never been so warm.

Funniest Movie When You Were 9
1. "Beetlejuice"�
2. "Home Alone 2; Lost in new York."�
3. "Ghostbusters"�
4. "Big"�

Best Place Celebrities Go To Die
1. "The Surreal Life"�
2. "Hollywood Squares"�
3. "I Love The 80s/90s"�
4. Thailand

The New Black is"¦
1. Brown
2. Pink
3. Mauve
4. your sister's boyfriend.


Please email your votes to suxatlife@hotmail.com. When all the votes are tallied, I'll announce the winners. Write-ins are welcome.

I don't care how shaved your head is. I don't care how faded your t-shirt is. I don't care how many friends you have whose names are also nouns. Your band sucks.

Maybe you're reading this, and happen to be a member of a great band. Maybe you're a Leader of the New School or a Lord of the Underground or a Pilot of some sort of Stone Temple. Or maybe you're just in a great garage band that doesn't even get gigs but has a nice sound. But odds are you are a bald, dollar-store-t-shirt-wearing guy with 37 friends named Moon, whose parents mistakenly bought him a guitar for his 12th birthday and have been apologizing to the world ever since.

You know who I'm talking about. The guy you meet at the bar, who gives you his number on the back of a flyer. The guy next to you on the bus, who sees you with a discman and tries to sell you a CD. The guy at the music store or the restaurant or the copy shop, who has to work there because his band sucks.

As a comedian, I know that artists get better with stage time. But as a comedian, I don't lie to people about how good a show will be to get that stage time. When I perform at Caroline's, I tell everyone to come. When I perform at a crappy open mic, I tell everyone that it's a crappy open mic. I don't want people to see me bomb and think that's the best I can do. It's basic pride math.

This phenomenon of ego-driven honesty, however, does not exist among most bands. The front man, typically named Travis or Skeeter or some other name that we made so much fun of in high school that he formed a band, will desperately try to get people to come to every show he has. And he'll lie to do it. When he tells you that "It's gonna be a rockin' show" and "make sure to get there early so you can get a good table," he is certainly lying. Very few rockin' shows have tables.

If someone wearing thick black non-prescription glasses and a tattoo with an esoteric reference to a cartoon approached me and asked me to come to his show, I would quickly decline the offer. Unless he was honest.

"Look," Skeeter might say. "My band sucks. But we're trying not to suck, and the only way for that to happen is to practice in front of a real crowd. Please help us to not suck."

I'd go to that show immediately. I'd even ask them to save a good table.

I used to want everyone I knew to come to every show I did because I was excited about being a comedian. But I learned quickly to stop inviting people to everything, so that my friends would only see me at my best. Why can't bands learn this? When I was in a band, I didn't invite anyone to see a show. That's right - A band and A show. Because we only had one of each.

I was in a band when I was 18. We were called "Damn the Core" and we were awful. We were funny, but awful. We performed three times - twice for Safer Sex Week on campus and once at an actual show. I did invite people to those first two shows, but that was only because I was involved in the planning of the whole week. When we had our real show - a gig in front of eight people at Nassau Community College - I only told others about it afterwards, while I drank myself stupid. I passed out no flyers. We recorded no CDs. I never got a job in a copy shop. I knew we sucked.

After the show, the friends of my bandmates came over to "congratulate" us with the kind of fake happiness previously limited to a Sears catalogue. I laughed and started drinking. I didn't ever want to hear another round of "well, you guys seemed really confident." My band days were over.

And I request the same thing of Skeeter and Travis, and anyone else currently fronting a band whose biggest gig has been the Lieberman Bar Mitzvah. You have no angst. You have no social unrest. And you have no room for three bassists. All you do have are two choices - quit or practice. Until then, stop inviting people to your shows. When you're trying to sell a product that's all enthusiasm and no substance, you're just wasting everyone's time.

Though Sears might tell you otherwise.

Dear "A Word From the Streets"� Readers and people who might have Googled my name,

If NBC's "Law & Order"� has taught us anything about New York City it is that dead bodies are discovered there on a fairly regular basis"”usually before the opening credits and if it's a very special episode maybe forty minutes later. Well I've been an official Bronxite for about two years now and my corpse/hour ratio has been severely lacking. I guess things would be different if I were a young Hispanic boy who played in empty lots Well boy did my luck change this afternoon. This is all to say that Streeter Seidell, your beloved columnist is dead.

In retrospect the first thing I should have done was call the police or an ambulance, but seeing as I discovered him slumped over his keyboard with what would have been his one-hundredth entry for "A Word From the Streets"� still in progress I felt it was my duty to inform you, his adoring public. I fleetingly considered finishing his final column"”a fake term paper about a time traveling medieval lord who was having an awesome time at summer camp that you hate"”but decided not to tamper with what might later have serious posthumous potential on the auction block.

So after making sure that there was no possible way that I could be held accountable for anything that might have happened to my roommate in the last eight to twelve hours, stealing what was left of his cigarettes and watching a preview of the new season of "The Real World,"� I sat down at the poor bastard's Compaq and decided to let you all know about Streets' passing on. I also have decided to blame the shit out of you for it.

Let's face facts; that much blood could only mean one thing. It's quite clear that the man's brain exploded. Over the past five months Streeter had been complaining of increasingly severe headaches and menstrual pain, picked himself up a pretty serious meth addiction and become a huge fan of R. Kelly's "U Saved Me."� He had also written almost a hundred pieces for College Humor. I see an obvious correlation. If it weren't for you readers and your needy little brains I'd still have a roommate and we'd probably be eating nachos with our shirts off right now. I also wouldn't have to pull an extra five hundred dollars out of my ass every month to make up for the dead kid's share of the rent.

With the national media's tendency to focus on the trendy epidemics like teenage pregnancy, childhood obesity or increased drug use by white upper-middle-class kids it's far too easy to forget another plague attacking our country's youth: writing. Every year literally tens of bloggers fall prey to their craft. Most are left with cripplingly bothersome injuries such as carpal tunnel syndrome or drying of the eyes due to intense staring at a screen for prolonged periods. But some, like our fallen hero Streeter, are so mentally taxed by their need to provide the world their clever musings that their brain simply collapses in on itself.

Some might blame VH-1 or E! whose entire programming deludes these poor kids into thinking that there might somehow be a career in, "saying some funny shit about some other shit"� on cable television. Others might point the finger in the general direction of websites such as Collegehumor.com who allow an outlet for unfiltered ranting. But I say the guilt rests solely on the demanding public who ever so gently pressure kids like Streeter into this situation by sending him positive feedback and even submissions. Do you know how hard it was for him to fill his half of "Hate List 19"� without being explicitly racist? This is truly peer pressure at its most heinous.

The shame is that Senators Ted Kennedy and Orin Hatch were introducing bi-partisan legislation into the house last week that would have federally mandated regulation of online writers. The so called "One Column, One Week"� Law might have saved Streets' life, but I fear the wheels of bureaucracy have spun too slowly this time. My only hope is that Streeter's tragic death will speed up the legislative process before some elementary school kid meets the same end imitating his hero.

If any of you parasites are interested, and I'm sure you are, I'll be auctioning most of Streeter's worldly possessions on Ebay over the weekend with all proceeds going to the Streeter Seidell Brain Explosion Prevention Fund. This new charity will help keep at risk teenagers and young adults away from computers through their college years; because the only real solution to this problem is to prevent young writers from getting an audience in the first place.

Now if you will allow me to excuse myself I have some cleaning up to do. You make me sick.

Insincerely Yours,
Matt Lynch

I, like Jay Z, have some problems. And what a coincidence, we both have 99. And since this is the 99th edition of my column, what better a time to tell you about them.

1. A bitch is one.
2. I really need a haircut and they don't know how to cut white people's hair in my neighborhood.
3. I can't think of a catchy name for my new band ("Stinky Pinky and the Shockers"� was rejected by my fellow bandmates)
4. The girls at school look better than last year and I look worse.
5. I spent way too much money at IKEA.
6. 9 of my 11 white shirts have some kind of stain.
7. I might have to live another four years with W. in the White House.
8. Both my roommates have serious girlfriends while I continue to please myself in my room"¦alone"¦sitting Indian style.
9. My knee hurts.
10. So does my elbow.
11. My roommate found a roach in my apartment today"¦just when I finish decorating, this place goes to shit!
12. I've just found out that I, issue for issue, have more typos, grammatical errors: and misplaced aggression than any other columnist for this site.
13. I also have a lot of freckles on my shoulder which aren't very attractive.
14. I need to cut my fingernails but all I have is a toenail clipper and I fear that it will cut my fingernails too short.
15. I also need to cut my toenails, but I can't touch my toes.
16. I only have one pair of shorts and about a week ago I sat in gum and I can't figure out how to get it out.
17. I have 2 computers (one laptop, one desktop) and I can't decide which one I should look at porn on.
18. I just found out that my sister makes more money than I do"¦I should become a bookie too.
19. I bought too much NyQuil at Costco and the only way I'm ever going to use all of it is if I stay sick for the next 32 years.
20. My car is sitting in my school's lot with a dead battery and no one will drive over there to jump me.
21. After 21 years of learning I still can't spell "Autstraila"�
22. My teeth have been declining in whiteness exponentially for the past 7 years.
23. I've been getting gassier lately.
24. I won a big poker game against my friends last night but then they all got mad at me.
25. Even though the weather has cooled off, I continue to sweat like a grill cook in Mexico.
26. I haven't left the country in over 6 months.
27. The amount of earwax that was on my last Q-tip could have supplied the Yankee Candle Company with raw materials for 9 years.
28. thespacebaronmycomputerisn'tworkingaswellasitusedto.
29. People keep saying I've really "filled out"� but I know what they really mean.
30. Apparently, kicking a homeless person is illegal. I wish someone told me that before Friday night.
31. People keep getting mad at me for using their names in my column. Seriously, Kyle Hunts, it's not a big deal.
32. I watched TRL the other day and I didn't know one band on the show"¦I'm getting very old.
33. I'm running out of stuff to bitch about and I'm only 1/3 done with this list.
34. I've slept with 9 people, 8 of which have immediately gone to sleep, 1 of which stayed up and watched my "Family Guy"� DVD.
35. I threw up in my mouth earlier today.
36. Shit"¦I just did it again.
37. My toothbrush is the most primitive of all the one's in my apartment.
38. My tan is fading from a nice "milky white"� to an unattractive "ghostly white."�
39. The price of milk has gone up again. What's going on? Did cows start filing sexual harassment claims?
40. By this point in his life, my Dad was married. I, as I said before, continue to pleasure myself in my room"¦alone"¦sitting Indian style.
41. I continue to make friends with people who have much more money, style, and confidence than I do. On the bright side, I make a fantastic wingman.
42. I bought a chair the other day that I cannot fit in.
43. Slowly, my state of the art phone is become a Zak Morris.
44. I'm old enough to get Zack Morris references.
45. I'm so comically untalented that I need to resort to Zak Morris jokes.
46. I'm now too fat to tie my shoes comfortably.
47. I've just been through the last summer I will ever have. From now on Summer will just be the hot time of the year when I still have to go to work.
48. My yacht's crew has been complaining about the workload I assign them.
49. Slowly but surely, hair is creeping onto my chest.
50. Despite my best efforts and encouragements, my penis seems to have stopped growing.
51. Despite my best efforts and discouragements, my love handles continue to grow.
52. I've just realized that you have probably stopped reading this by now"¦I'm not really that interesting.
53. My cousin is in Iraq and seems to be having a better time than I am"¦that's flat out sad.
54. I just learned I fart in my sleep"¦fantastic, I was looking for a way to be more unattractive in my sleep.
55. The dried drool on my pillows is eerily reminiscent of another bodily fluid"¦Jesus, I hope "Roomraiders"� doesn't swing by my place.
56. I cannot get that goddamned song from those fucking Enzyte commercials out of my head.
57. I miss the old version of AIM where the little alert things didn't pop up on my screen all the time and I can't figure out how to get it back.
58. I beginning to think that I should change my email; bong_rip@awesome.com doesn't look that good on a job application.
59. I cannot force myself to burp which has caused me great shame amongst my male (and some female) friends.
60. My classes start tomorrow and I know I will spend the entire time trying to figure out where I should sit next time to get next to the hot girls.
61. After I have found the good seat, I will never summon the courage to say anything to them.
62. I've got fools that want to make sure my casket's closed.
63. The number value of this complaint (63) is greater than the monetary value (in dollars) in my checking account.
64. I got my new school ID today and they have once again used my High School senior portrait for my picture which is great because now every time someone sees it they can say, "Oh my God, is that you? You were so skinny!"�
65. While I think that my column would make a good book, I don't think anyone would buy it.
66. I think I have a self esteem issue of some kind.
67. I also have panic attacks. I made my friend take me to the hospital once. He got a roast beef sandwich while I waited for the tests to get back. Across the hall there was a very old woman with her legs up and no underwear on. I pointed this out to him while he took a bite of his sandwich"¦he doesn't eat roast beef anymore.
68. It's really hard to think of a girl's name that starts with "G"�
69. I haven't done this number in quite some time.
70. I have killed the one and only plant in my apartment not with neglect but with secondhand smoke.
71. I would say that %88 of you lead more exciting lives than I do.
72. The thrill of telling people I live in the Bronx is beginning to wear thin.
73. Girls continue to ignore the fact that I have really great hair.
74. I also have the legs of a female track champion; long, thick, and hairless.
75. Banana republic has sized me out. I am now forced to return to my roots and shop at T-JMaxx
76. My toenails are yellowing"¦I tell people I smoke with my feet.
77. My ride was rejected by MTV for pimping. I really wanted a waterfall and a TV in my trunk too!
78. I went on a ride at an amusement park a few weeks ago and had one of the embarrassing moments of my life. I sat next to my friend who is extremely attractive and the worker at the ride literally had to run full force at the shoulder restraint to get it to close. I broke 2 ribs and lost about 2 gallons of dignity.
79. While being a comedian was impressive 2 years ago, it seems sad when your friends work at banks and investment firms.
80. I spent about $1000 dollars making my apartment cool. But instead of complimenting me on my decorating skills and eye for design, most of my friends just call me a "fag."�
81. I was reprimanded for my failure to meter the last poem I wrote. I can't help it, I'm white.
82. I didn't win one award at this year's VMAs.
83. My 2005 BMW isn't the color I wanted. I yelled at my dad and he said he'd buy me a new one.
84. I didn't think that this issue would take so long"¦I'm missing World Series of Poker for this"¦I hope you're happy.
85. My heartworm medication ran out.
86. Even my best friend's don't really believe that "Streeter Pinkerton Hampton Seidell"� is my real name.
87. My apartment building should have been condemned years ago, instead I pay my landlord 500 dollars a month.
88. I have been taking Trimspa for 2 months and I am yet to be envied.
89. Every time I have a brilliant idea, someone steals it. Some of my previous ones: waterproof cell phone, airplane, the pizzaburger, Thomkin's (Streeter's) theory on Cellular Interaction.
90. My dog doesn't respect me. Maybe he remembers me stealing him away from his mother when he was just a puppy.
91. I made fun of a retarded person on stage at a comedy club on time because I didn't know he was retarded and my comedian friends still think I'm an asshole for it.
92. I can't tell who has an STD and therefore I always think I'm killing someone on the inside when I crack jokes about having one. Well, actually, the Hepatitis is killing them on the inside but you get the point. (That may have been the worst thing I have ever written in my life)
93. If Higgins can't shine my Italian made alligator loafers, I don't know why I hired him in the first place. Honestly, it's impossible to find good help these days.
94. Everyday it seems my morning breath is worse than it was the previous day.
95. Even my hand isn't attracted to my genitals anymore.
96. The stretch marks on my love handles I can live with. The one's on my stomach I can live with. But the ones on my cheeks are really embarrassing.
97. Not enough of you have sent me naked pictures. And I asked so nicely!
98. Just when I buy a bunch of trucker hats, the damn fad goes out of fashion.
99. Damn, I'm a whiny little bitch.

"It was the best of times; it was the worst of times"� was the phrase that opened "A Tale of Two Cities,"� and now, with the Olympics having just ended, the same line could be used in a work entitled "A Tale of Two (Hundred and Two) Countries"� to describe the Games and its games. Before we return to our routines and forget about the past four weeks, we should take a moment of our time to look back on those times - competitive or otherwise - that defined the Athens Olympics.

The 2004 games were a time of many times, with many of those times faster than the many times that preceded them. Five records fell at the hands (and feet) of Michael Phelps, who, in breaking one world and four Olympic record times, actually set records by breaking his own earlier times. The success was shared by other swimmers and teams, six of which torpedoed their way into new world record times. Doubtlessly, there were Olympic veterans watching at home, fondly recollecting their old times while fondling recklessly their old medals, cursing the sloth that kept .02 off of their time and twenty years off the longevity of their record.

It was a slow showing in Athens for runners - comparing them only to past times and not, say, my times - with nary a record broken. However, considering that nearly every running record has been set in the past three Olympics, it shouldn't be too long before more records fall. (I'm predicting a sub-1:00 mile within twelve years, particularly if plans continue to add performance-enhancing supplements to city water supplies.) And that's not to say that the track and field world was devoid of dominance in Athens, as it was finally the time for oft-disappointed 1500 runner Hicham El Guerrouj, who will hopefully celebrate his gold by eating something. Anything.

There are a number of sports that get overshadowed during the Olympics, and it would be unfair to exclude those events in which the athletes spend their time pursuing something other than times. Athens provided an opportunity for badmintonians and fencers alike to reach their sport's center stage and receive much-deserved recognition; sadly, most of those same athletes went unrecognized back home, if not on the medal podium itself. Canoeists just don't draw chicks like quarterbacks do.

(At this point, I will admit that I have my own obscure Olympic aspirations; unfortunately, they're on hold until the IOC consents to my proposal of adding Tecmo Super Bowl - an event not judged by time, except perhaps for "˜time wasted,' in which case I would effortlessly medal - to the summer games. Or the winter games, if that's more convenient. I'm flexible.)

In some cases the absence of time proved to be damaging, as many performances will surely be remembered for the timeless controversies that ensued. That's why the excuses of the U.S. men's basketball squad - whose members represented the (supposedly) most talented and the (allegedly) most competitive basketball league in the world - were so thoroughly marinated with irony: upon being asked about their lack of cohesion and preparedness, the team cited an absence of time. Meanwhile, taking a step back in time was Cornelius Horan, who attacked marathoner Vanderlei De Lima while wearing an outfit taken from some seemingly ancient - and hopefully never revisited - era. Appropriately, Horan served time that night - a punishment equally deserved for the accuracy-challenged gymnastics judges.

Yet perhaps the most definitive time was late at night, when America was finally able to share with the world its greatest source of a pride: that enduring icon that allowed viewers worldwide to reflect back on those times and those times (or those times not judged by times) and put them all in perspective, keeping in mind all the while that these times are just times, and that in time we won't remember the times, but rather the athletes that had the times of their lives while setting those times. Late at night - past the bed time of many, for sure - it was time for Bob Costas.

And hopefully not for the last time.

It is time once again, to say hello
To fresh young minds eager to grow.
The freshman, it seems, have come at last
To hang out in dorms and sit on the grass.

To them I say, Welcome fresh fish
For your next year will be one not to miss.
Take it from me, the wise and the learned
Never a party goes skipped, never a credit un-earned.

You are in for a ride of unimaginable glee
Where you will learn what it is to truly be free.
No curfew, no rules, a fine situation
Unless you attend a Catholic institution.

So let me just say, from the depths of my heart
I hope you all have a very good start
Because as you grow, you will certainly find
That in freshman year, your best times are left behind.

To make the best of this year, you must listen true
To this brilliant advice I pass on to you.
Don't question my wisdom, for I am surely right
Hell, I drank beer from a girl's ass one night.

You must never skip class unless for good reason
Like throwing a Frisbee, drinking, or sleeping.
You must always call home; make sure that it's done
Where do you think all your money comes from?

Avoid every chance to eat in the cafe
Don't ask me why"¦just ask your ass.
Always wear sandals when washing your body and hair
Who knows what the kid before you was doing in there?

When given a nickname, never protest it
It's an honor to be called "Slutski"� or "He-Tit"�
Write all of your papers the night before they're due
You'll save lots of time and energy too!

When dining at home, there are but three options
Easy Mac, Pop Tarts and, of course, Top Ramen
Piss off your roommate right from the get go
It's fun to have a psycho sleeping below you.
Sex is ok, but make sure to be careful
The top bunk is shaky and the common room; lethal.

Get a fake ID, but do not be hasty
You don't look Puerto Rican when you're tall, thin and pasty.
Attend every party or soon you will see
That you're the only kid on the hall with no STD

Drink every beer, take every hit
Wake up on the floor covered in shit.
Take every shot, down every drink
Smoke till your brain can no longer think
Smack every ass, gain every pound
Pull your drunk ass up off the ground
Wear every hoodie, cry every May
Cherish every moment you can remember the next day.

With that, my friends, it is time for me to go
I hope you have listened to all that I know
But let me just say, and let you just hear
Welcome, young minds, to your Freshman Year.

1. Dean's got a new column out called "FFTHONKK!" (really). So check that. Also check out Aaron Karo's new column here yo.

2. Christian Finnegan of VH1's Best Week Ever is gonna write some stuff for us in the next couple of weeks so stay tuned for that. We're stoked. He's also playing at Caroline's in New York this Wednesday if you're in the 'hood...

3. Thanks to MagazinesForCheap for sponsoring this update. Show your support by getting both Maxim and Stuff for a year for $10. Then show your support of these hotlinks by clicking the bejeezus out of 'em.

I'm sorry"¦I'm sorry. It has been a long time since I've published a new hate list and I do apologize. You see, I just started my senior year, all my friends came back and my hair grew another inch. With all those great things happening, how could I be mad? Well, a little time has passed and I've been able to let all the goodwill and kindness fade from my mind. What replaced it? Pure, unadulterated hate. Welcome friends and enemies to the 19th edition of the Famous Hate List!

If you would like to contribute, email suxatlife@hotmail.com with your submission. But, since the next hate list will be the 20th anniversary, I'm doing something special. The next edition will be "people you LOVE"�. I'll be looking forward to these.

MINE:

Observant Andy: Hmmmmm"¦there are four hundred people in this bar, it's 107 degrees in here, and I have jeans on"¦I wonder why I'm all wet? Ohhhhh, I know"¦I'm a sweaty pig! I have the unique ability to be able to sweat through any garment made of any fabric. Needless to say, spending my evenings in packed bars makes me rather wet. I know this, everyone else knows this, but Observant Andy is always gracious enough to point it out to me and anyone else who may be standing around. "DUDE!!!! You are sweating your balls off! Holy shit!"� Really? Thanks a lot, you worthless douchebag. Now I finally know why my hair is plastered to my face and there is a constant stream of fluid dripping off my nose! How kind of you to point that out to me, it makes me feel a lot better about my situation. Maybe I can point some things out to you? You're obnoxious, you're a prick and"¦I Hate You!

Gretchen Grabs-a-lot: Ok, let me put a scenario out there for you. I see someone walking down the street. I notice that in their hand they are carrying something I desire; perhaps an iPod or an umbrella. When they get near me, I snatch it out of their hands and keep it for myself. Am I wrong or is that stealing? Because Gretchen Grabs-a-lot doesn't seem to think it is, at least when it comes to my cigarettes. Gretchen will casually reach into my shirt pocket, remove a smoke or two, and then have the nut to ask me for a light without thinking twice about having just stolen my property. Sure, I can buy more cigarettes, but that doesn't mean I want some fat, pimply bitch who thinks she's something else helping herself to my tobacco. Hey Gretchen, maybe you could afford some cigarettes for yourself if you didn't spend all your money on food, you fat snatch. I was nice this time, I didn't say anything and I was a gentleman. Next time you try to pull something like that, you're losing an eye. You can help yourself to a nice inch or two of knife blade in your eye. I Hate You!

Frontin' Freshmen: Ok, I used to be a freshman too and, more importantly, I don't have anything against underclassmen. I figure (and so do statutory rape laws) that once you're 18, you can do what you want. However, that does not mean you know a damn thing about this school. I don't care if you go to my school, some huge state school, or Beaver State (hehe), this never changes. You'll hear them talking about where to get the best pizza, who sells the best heroin and which bars have the sluttiest girls. Listen up youngens, you have no idea what you're saying. This little act may work on your fellow freshmen but never try to pass that shit off on me. I know where the best pizza is (Mikes), I know who has the best heroin (me) and I know which bar has the sluttiest girls (the one my sister works at). Know your role, open your mind to the possibility that you may not know everything and, freshman girls, don't even think that I'm going to buy you a drink because you talked to me for fifteen seconds. Go find some freshman guy to buy you drinks"¦he'll be able to tell you which bartender makes the best long island"¦I Hate You!

YOURS:

Reader I have no idea what this kid's name is really hates: The cheap SOB guy... The guy who threw himself a birthday party. Then tells you What to bring like... can you go out of your way and make those wings that you make or can you bring a case of expensive beer whatever he is desiring at that point in time I guess. Now this wouldn't be so bad ... But he has the nerve to put the beer you bring in his garage and then serve you Jacobs ladder or some shit ... I mean what the hell is that ...the worst part ..."someone" snuck into the garage and took back the case of beer they brought and hid it in there car. Then the next day he complains how cheap some person was for doing it. Man i really hate him.

Reader Jack G. really hates: Mr. "I'll favor you because your mom is my friend". A little background: My best friend (Big T) is a trumpeter. He plays better than a lot of professionals, practices more than is probably healthy, and puts on one hell of a show at our concerts. So obviously I'm bound to get pissed off when some chick (Z) who doesn't care gets into the top-level band at our school instead of him. It's no fault of hers -- she didn't even want to be any it. But the fact remains, the director is friends with her parents, and he doesn't have a fucking clue who Big T is. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU????? Big T had a perfect audition tape when Z couldn't even play the motherfucking scales. Does it give you satisfaction knowing that either of us could replace you in a heartbeat? I hope it does, asshole. Maybe you'll get the clap from the trombone you fuck yourself with...I HATE YOU!!!!!!
*(Author's Note) Wow, that is the nerdiest hate list entry ever. Congratulations, Jack. Don't worry, I used to play in the school band too and as retribution for me calling you a nerd, I will post a picture of myself in full high school band regalia on my campushook profile.

Reader Mary really hates: Girls that pee all over toilet seats really annoy me... It's not like you have to point and shoot like guys do. It's not that hard, toilets are practically fool proof, you just go and that's that. And for some odd reason, if you do happen to pee on the seat, for goodness sake, clean it up you asshole. No one wants to clean up your bodily fluids so just do us all a favor and learn how to COLOR IN THE LINES. I HATE YOU!
*(Author's Note) Girls do that too? I had no idea.

Reader Bryan J. really hates: I really hate Goths: Honestly, what is the point of going about all day complaining about how shitty life is? Seriously, I don't care if your life sucks, no one else cares if your life sucks and writing shitty poetry that actually causes my ears to bleed when hearing it and wearing black clothing and making your fucking skin looked bleach won't make them care. Here's an idea you useless shithead, next time your cutting yourself just go straight for your throat, it may hurt for a few minutes but hell, you seem to be into the whole "pain is life" bullshit anyway so give it try. You think life is so depressing you middle class white shitheads? Try living in a third world country for a month then come back to me and talk about pain you useless drains on societal resources. How fucking stupid do you have to be to make it look like a fucking vampire bit you? Drawing fake teeth marks on your throat won't make you badass you sub-human piece of filth! Hey Non-Conformist shitbag! If you all listen to the same fucking music, dress the same way and write the same type of pointless poetry how the hell aren't you conforming? Dumbshit! I swear, I've never seen a more useless way to live your life, no on understands you, nobody likes you, nobody cares about you and I HATE YOU!

A Reader who does not wished to be named but I will call Winston Martini, really hates: bitchy girls that get offended when you ask them out (like it's an insult to receive a "How about dinner") or come and mope to other guy friends of theirs about how damn depressing it is to be the object of someone's affection. BULLSHIT! How I would love to be chased after by a dozen people - instead, the most i get are gay men! And you sit there and tell me some damn sob story about how you are so liked by so many people and it just gets annoying. And then you have the nerve to turn around and bitch again, and again, and again about how it's incredibly difficult to get a date. MEN ARE CHASING YOU DAY AND NIGHT AND YOU HAVE TROUBLE GETTING A DATE! I don't mind if you're picky, hell, that's you're right, but honestly - it's not like you're being shunned. If you want a date, take one of the many who are apparently blind to the treachery and whining bitchiness that lies so deep in your pitiful blackhearted soul, give them a run for their money. Hell, they've got the guts to do what you have been dying to have happen to you, so don't be an ass anymore. They'll even buy you dinner, but I won't. Why? Because I know what you are and I HATE YOU!

Reader Tom M. really hates: "Too-nice-to-tell-you Tammy" This is the girl that is nothing but nice to you in conversation, and gives you every reason to believe she's interested in you. Only the fact of the matter is that this spineless twat isn't interested in you at all, she just isn't gutsy enough to tell you to stop wasting your time. Instead, this particular species of useless, societal stain would rather have her tough guy friends take you aside and tell you how they really feel because they lack the courage to tell you themselves... or do they lack the ability to break their attention addiction? Well fuck you, you worthless, irritating brain scab, I HATE YOU!

And, the award for most prolific hater of the months goes to"¦.

Reader Stephanie really hates: "preppy groupies who crave attention" These little fucks strut around in groups of 4 or 5, all wearing identical rolled-up jeans/ruffled skirts in an assortment of colors with off the shoulder shirts or tops displaying cute adjectives describing themselves (sexy, dangerous, bootylicious, etc.) They seem to think that the street is their personal runway, and any slightly-gay abercrombie lookalike model should turn his head at them and proceed to kiss the ground they just walked on with their ugly flip flops/pumps. Their noses are in the air, and