-It has come to my attention via email, that many high school aged children frequent this website. How these little scamps came to find this page is unbeknownst to me, but I think it is time that I wrote something especially for them"¦well, at least some of them. I'm sure with all the great writing on this site you youngsters have already gleaned quite a bit of guidance and advice for living as a healthy, successful college student. But that is all in the future; let's focus on the present.

-It was about ten years ago that I climbed up into my tree-fort with my cousin Nathan (see "support my cousin"� issue). Excitedly he pulled a pack of Marlboro Light Menthols from his pocket and offered me one. I took a tentative drag, filled my cheeks with smoke, and blew out. "You're doing it wrong, Streeter. You have to suck in and then suck in again."� He said. I did as I was instructed and the cool, minty smoke filled my lungs. My head spun with delight and, ten years later, I still have not stopped (I did switch to Parliament Lights though, like any self-respecting person should).

-Now, being that I was 11 when I started smoking, I had to play it off for my parents for many years. I came home smelling like smoke everyday and everyday I needed a new excuse. I imagine that over the seven year period where I had to lie about it, I came up with about 10,000 excuses. For you high school kids driving around with cologne in the car and a change of clothes, I present the best of my excuses. All of these have been successfully tested on my parents; so if my parents ever catch you, you'll have a good excuse. (the excuses have been broken down into two categories: the first is excuses if your parents find cigarettes on you or see you holding one, the second is if you smell like smoke.)

-Caught Red Handed:

-You come home and Mom is holding your smokes in her hand which she just found in your bedroom. Shit! What do you do? The first thing you must do is act relieved and say something like, "Oh God, there they are. Where did you find those? (insert name of friend) has been looking for those forever. He must have left them here."� If Mom's not buying it, elaborate a little more. "Yeah, his older brother told him to hang on to them for him, you can call him if you want."� We all know Mom isn't going to call your friend and ask, so finish off with, "Well, they aren't mine, I don't care if you throw them away."� You'll be in the clear.

-If your Mom finds a half smoked pack, try this excuse. "Mom, I bought this pack of cigarettes because I wanted to smoke. But then I realized how foolish I had been and I threw half of the pack away. I kept the other half in my sock drawer to remind me of how dumb I had been."� It won't explain all the porn in your sock drawer, but at least you'll be off the hook for the smokes.

-Uh Oh, Dad just saw you hanging out with your friends and you were holding a cigarette. He's definitely going to approach you on this one. Usually one of your friends will spot him walking over and alert you to his presence. The best way to handle this is to play it cool. Just say, "Hey Dad, what's up?"� like it's no big deal. When he asks about the cigarette in your hand, act surprised and go, "oh heck, I forgot, I was holding this for (insert friend's name). Have you seen them? They've been gone for a while."� If your Dad has any bit of a brain, he'll never buy it, but it's worth a shot because that's your best hope when you're caught with a cowboy killer in your hand.

-A variation on this last one, which should only be used in emergencies, is to make up an extremely elaborate story which will bore him to the point where he no longer cares. Here is an excerpt from one such rant I engaged in once. "Yeah, there was this guy over by the fire house, and he came over and asked if I smoked and I said no because it kills you, but then he was like good, I can trust you to hold this cigarette while I make a phone call and he gave it to me and he went over to the supermarket and he hasn't been back yet.

-Stung by the Stench

-Smelling like smoke isn't necessarily a bad thing; sometimes it will make you seem dignified and refined. However, when you're 13 and you smell like it, it isn't nearly as impressive. If you happen to be a high school smoker hiding it from Mom and Dad, chances are you will be asked about your overpowering stench on more than one occasion.

-Before we begin with the excuses, may I suggest getting an after school job at a place where smoking is permitted. I worked at a deli run be a Dutch expatriate who sucked down about 4 packs a day so I always had an excuse. If there aren't any Dutch refugees running high class delis in your area, try these great excuses when you reek of tobacco.

-First, try to single out a friend of yours that your parents don't like to begin with. Then, casually mention the fact that they smoke at dinner one night. You can use this poor, unknowing wretch of a friend as your permanent scapegoat from now on. He'll wonder why your parents give him dirty looks, never invite him over, and warn him about the danger he is putting himself and others in, but, at the same time, you'll never have to worry about that smell again; no harm, no foul.

-If you are one of those nice people that refuses to blame all your bad traits on a friend, then try one of these patented excuses. I smell like smoke because"¦
1. There was a burning truck full of cigarettes and I tried to save the driver but the smoke was too thick.
2.Some guy at the fair was blowing smoke on me and making fun of grandpa; he was mean.
3. I bought a new air freshener for my car and I thought it was called pine tree, but it was really called cigarette smoke, but I already paid for it, so I'm gonna leave it in.
4. It was the dog.
5. Some older kids beat me up and made me smoke a cigarette and said I liked boys and I was crying.
6. I went to Burger King and instead of giving me fries, they gave me a big bucket of flaming tobacco on accident.
7. My doctor said that smoke might help my abnormal heart arrhythmia.
8. I saw some celebrities doing it and you know how bad I want to be famous.
9. I went up in the tree fort with Nathan and he was smoking.
And finally, the piece de resistance (for all you French Canadians out there),
10. SHUT UP! YOU DON'T OWN ME! I'M NOT A KID ANYMORE! YOU'RE NOT EVEN MY REAL DAD!

-I hope all of you high schoolers have found these excuses useful and enlightening. And, by the way, if you need me to buy you cigarettes, I'll be hanging down at the gas station in my '87 Camero, looking at your girlfriend and talking about how she doesn't even know the things I'd do to her. Good luck and happy smoking.

It's 92 degrees. Do you know where your Stanley Cup is?

This week, Calgary Flames fans and sane people everywhere were shocked to see the Tampa Bay Lightning overcome a 3-2 deficit in the Stanley Cup Finals and take the last two games and win the championship. Which is great, because Spring Break needed another punch bowl.

The high in Tampa this week is 92 degrees. Ice melts at 32. There's something wrong here. Finding out that Tampa Bay is the best hockey team is like Sweeden winning all the medals at the Summer Olympics.

"Coming in first in the 100-meter dash, it's Bjorn!"�

The lowest it has ever gotten in Tampa, in the history of Tampa, is 18 degrees. That was 1962. In Calgary, the average temperature for two whole months a year is lower than that. But is that reason enough to root against a hockey team? Sure!

When this season started, the Flames had been in Calgary for 23 years, during which they made the playoffs 15 times. That's not so impressive, considering everyone in hockey who doesn't totally suck makes the playoffs (read, everyone but the Rangers). The Flames were a big underdog. Seven of the eight times they've missed the post season were in the last seven years. Since they won the Cup in 1989, the Flames have exited before round two of the playoffs every season.

The Lightning were also an underdog. Though they made round two of the playoffs last season, it was only the second time they've ever seen May. They are 12 years younger than the Flames, but they've managed to suck just as much in recent years.

So the deciding factor was whether or not Florida deserves a Stanley Cup. They just missed one in 1996 when the Florida Panthers lost in the finals. If you're a hockey fan, you know that the Panthers play in Florida, which is a city in Florida. (Okay, so they're from Miami. But even they recognize how ridiculous it would be to name a hockey team the Miami anything).

Is it wrong of me to dislike hockey teams from Florida, just because they're from Florida? No, because everyone dislikes them. This year, there were four teams that averaged a road crowd below 16,000. Two of them were from Florida.

You may be saying that if the state can support two teams, I should be all for it. Except the state can't. In an effort to boost sales, the Lightning recently unveiled a plan to give free beer to season ticket holders. What a great message: "our product is so great, you have to be wasted to fully enjoy it."�

Though that makes sense because you have to be drunk to enjoy Tampa. I've been to almost every major city in the United States, and was surprised that Dante never write about this particular ring of hell. Ironic that a city built in the path of hurricanes would be built so unstable that it could be wiped out with a small gust of wind. Though that's partly because so many houses have wheels.

People from Tampa told me that I didn't enjoy myself because I didn't go to the right bars. Like I said, it's a great city if you're wasted. I don't want to offend any Tampa residents with this rant, but you're probably drunk anyway.

While Americans should want to get even for the Blue Jays winning the World Series twice, I feel bad for Canada. We've already taken so much from them. We've taken Michael J. Fox and Kids in the Hall and the idea of a beer-pez dispenser. Which will probably be given out at the next Lightning game. It's got to be even more insulting that a city whose low temperature is higher than Calgary's high could be better at ice skating.

So toast to your Stanley Cup, Tampa Bay, while you still have it. Pour a few cold ones in there and drink to victory and success and a job well done. Drink to winning the most coveted cup in ice hockey, in a city that hasn't had ice since 1962.

Congratulations, Tampa Bay. Hell has officially frozen over.

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.

"Modern World, Ancient King"�
By King Henry VII of England

The Home Depot

-What Ho, good people of the Kingdom of America! It is I, once again accordingly, King Henry VII. Whence we last corresponded, I informed you of my absolute awe with a hostelry known informally as the Motel 6. I tell you, and I tell you honestly, that I have never known such comfort in all of my reign. Why, I was not attended to so well even on the eve of my coronation at Westminster! And my admiration for this great nation grows as I am exposed to more of its wonders. Take, by way of example, my adventures this week.

-It seems that Plinny, my trusted but dim manservant, had once again forgotten to polish my throne. Irate, I bade him polish the throne at once for we had been beckoned swiftly to the mighty kingdom of Wayne, New Jersey, and a King does not sit upon an unpolished throne when attending to his divine duties. Plinny, the foolhardy young lad he is, begged not to be amiss with him for he had run out of polish. "How dare you not bring enough polish, you were fully aware that I will not rest my posterior on anything but the most varnished of thrones!"� I screamed at the boy and slapped my kingly glove across his boyish face. Poor lad, he wept great tears and begged me to forgive him. I am a nobleman, and one quality of chivalry that I take with the utmost seriousness is the knight's ability to forgive. Forgive the young lad I did, but not before I bade him promise my highness that he found another acceptable polish and complete his duties for the day.

-Now, the royal polish is provided by a tradesman named Barnaby Boggs who operates a small shop on Fleet Street in London. This Boggs fellow, whom I have never had the pleasure of having an audience with, makes the finest throne polish in all of England! I believe his recipe calls for an ounce of beeswax from the Yorkshire Dales, mixed lovingly with some sort of curd extract from the Kentish Coast. I know not the mysterious alchemy with which Boggs' polish is made, for a King does not bother himself with such matters, but it a wonder nonetheless. The task of finding a suitable replacement for Boggs' throne polish was a heavy one indeed. But like the great Hercules of ancient times, Plinny undertook the task with a ferocity not often seen outside the jousting courts on May Day!

-After a brief constitutional, which the royal surgeon has suggested I indulge in every day to help ease the pain of my gout, I awoke to find Plinny beaming proudly at my couch-side. "What Ho, Plinny? How goes the search for throne polish?"� I asked of him. "Sire,"� Plinny replied, "The greatest event has transpired since the angels of sleep took your Kingly head to the dream land. I have, by way of inquiry, secured the location of a retailer which claims to sell not only fine polish, but a variety of fine polishes. We must depart at once for the Home Depot, your Magesty!"� And so, with a head heavy from sleep, the royal touring party entered our horseless carriage and made way to the Home Depot which lies on alongside a toll road a fathom or so beyond the horizon.

-I have never been one to become awestruck at the sight of a simple shop. I rarely visit the shops in London for I have royal attendants to such things for me. It is not like a King to grace a shop with his presence, but at the sight of the Home Depot, in the township of Bloomsburg in the principality of Pennsylvania, all but brought a tear to my eye.

-Before the royal touring party even entered the great store, I was amazed by the sheer size of the thing. I say, the Home Depot look as though it could retain the entire royal fleet, that being 14 man-o-wars and 19 captured Spanish galleons, within her great walls. Mistakenly, I assumed this to be not a store, but a royal residence. Its high walls gleamed with the finest grey brick and its defenses had been painted bright orange, as to show attackers that the Castle of Home Depot had not a need to disguise or camoflauge itself. "Plinny!"� I raged at the boy, "You have brought me to a castle, not a retailer of fine polishes. Foolish boy, I command you to be whipped in the Tower dungeon Tower upon our return to London! Ten"¦no, Twenty lashings for you!"�

-It is lucky for Plinny that Cardinal Ampersand came to the boy's defense, telling me that this was indeed the retailer Plinny had secured and not a mighty castle. I retracted by punishment, but commanded that Plinny spend half of an hour in the stocks for failing to inform me that this Home Depot was, indeed, the store we had been searching for. Oh Plinny, what will I do with such a foolish manservant?

-As soon as the royal walking carpet lain before me, I stepped from the horseless carriage and made haste to enter the mighty store. I stopped perhaps a stone's throw shy of the entrance so as to let Bartholomew, the royal attendant whose only concern is the opening and closing of doors, pull back the mighty transparent doors of the Home Depot. Bartholomew approached the great doors but then the most magical of things happened. By some devilish trick, the doors parted themselves. "Treachery!"� cried Bartholomew, retreating with haste to the horseless carriage. But I am a nobleman and have fear of nothing; "Foolish man,"� I cried after him, "watch as I enter this mighty enclosure unafraid of these mystical doors! Why, "˜tis only the work of some wizard, such as the great Merlin whom cast his noble spells for the noble King Arthur in times past!"�

-I will not trouble you with detail, as you peoples of this land have doubtless seen such wonders before, but the stores of the Home Depot were stocked to the highest peaks with furnishings of every kind! Why, I could build a thousand siege towers, outfit an entire fleet, or make ready twenty castles with the materials climbing high on these mighty shelves. The sheer immensity of the place made my trusted concubine, Gwendeline, cower with fear for she is not used to being enclosed in great buildings as such. But I gripped her shaking hand and bade her follow me.

-Like the Beefeater gaurds which patrol the Tower, the Home Depot had robed its subjects is a strange orange frock which matched the color of the buildings defenses. I ordered Plinny to place an inquiry with one of these guards as to where we might locate some throne polish. "Hi, my name is Tyler"�, as the guard was known by way of a piece of transparent parchment affixed to his frock, informed us that the Home Depot did not stock throne polish as such, but that if the throne was made of aged mahogany, as it is, we could locate suitable stores in aisle 8. Even though the guard went by such strange nomenclature, in him we trusted and, on the advice of the honest Hi, my name is Tyler, we made haste to aisle 8, for we were due in Wayne, New Jersey in less than a fortnight.

-Hi, my name is Tyler did not fib when he informed us that there would be suitable polishes for my throne in this aisle 8. I say, arrayed before me were no less than one hundred different makes of polish. My head started to spin with the sheer amount of choice here and I called upon the royal surgeon to asses my condition. He recommended that Plinny select the polish and I not trouble myself with such a harrowing task. Before I took my leave of the Home Depot, I bade Plinny to find if this store stocked any of Boggs' polish. He agreed to do as such and, taking Gwedeline's small hand, I made haste for the exit.

-I know not what brand of throne polish Plinny selected, but I have never seen the throne shine so much in all of my reign. It was though Plinny had captured some deity and rubbed her into the throne, her diving light spilling out of this noble furnishing. I say, I would much like to acquire a Home Depot in London for military purposes. But I fear that my faint condition would keep me from entering the enclosure ever again. However, be I as faint as I was, upon my exit I bade Cardinal Ampersand bless the Home Depot with good fortune for they had helped a King"¦A King in need of the finest polish in the land!

*Where will King Henry, Plinny and the rest of the royal touring party stop next? Log on next week to find out or send me a suggestion at suxatlife@hotmail.com

-Collegehumor.com is a very popular website. It gets more hits than Comedy Central's site and way more than my family blog page which my Uncle Carl runs. Hell, it's even more popular than Islam"¦true fact, Ricky told me. When you work for such a popular website you achieve some semblance of fame. I would even venture so far as to say that I am definitely the most famous person from my high school class. And you know what, that feels good. When I go home I can hold it over all their un-famous heads. I can be like, "Oh yeah, I can't go to that party because I have some stuff to do that only famous people can do."� And they'll ask me what and I'll say, "Well, I can go to Wendy's and I don't even have to get out of my car to get my food. I just say what I want into this box and when I drive around, it's ready for me."� And they'll be in awe.

-But there is so much more to fame than ordering food at the finest family-themed fast food restaurants. Take, for instance, the groupies. Yeah, it's nice to be idolized by women all over the world, but it can get tiring. I mean, between the autographs on stuff like debit card purchases and all the picture taking at family gatherings, the pressure can get to you. But I am never one to shy away from it. I won't go in to much detail here, but I have at least impressed one female with my job here. It happened like this; my cousin Lee came up to me at a family function and was like, "what are you up to now?"� And so, playing it cool, I go, "Oh, I have a column on collegehumor.com. No big deal or anything."� Then she goes, "oh, that's cool I guess"¦I think one of my roommates looked at that page once."� It's a crazy life, but someone's got to live it.

-Yet, with fame comes responsibility. I have to watch what I write because I could piss a lot of people off. For instance, if I were to say that Native Americans should all go back to where they came and get out of this country, that could make people mad. But I won't say those kind of things. That is also why I have shied away from talking about specific people that have wronged me in the past"¦like my most recent ex-girlfriend who is a lying bitch and, I believe testing would prove this true, is actually an incarnation of Satan himself come to earth to ruin good men. You see, that would be irresponsible use of my new power and I'm a bigger man than that*. It is important to try to stay true to my convictions but not to end up convicted of slander or libel. I feel I have done this so far.

*If you have pissed me off or been as ass to me in the past, I hope you read this and get scared. The only reason I have not given out my ex's name, phone number and birth wieght is because I like her parents a lot and wouldn't want to be mean to them. I may not show the same courtesy to you. Yeah, you heard me Thomas Wentworth, that means you!

-I guess being famous has changed me a little bit. For instance, I now wipe my ass with sewn linen toilet paper imported from Belgium because a famous person is only as good as their famous ass. If I hit someone with my car, I don't stop. I throw my lawyer's card out the window and let him take care of it. Now I only breathe air that is imported from the Swiss Alps in special bags. That way, when I go on stage, I know my voice will be crisp and clear. I have special people who do my exercise for me so I don't get sweaty and flustered. I now take as long as I want on the toilet because, as a famous person, I have earned that privilege. Some times I don't even go to the toilet, I have other people do it for me. I can have pizza delivered straight to my door within half an hour by just calling this super-secret number I have. As you can see, the perks of fame run deep.

-So, if I went to high school with you and you're not as famous as me, you can kiss my famous ass"¦no, you can lick it because, as a famous person, I can have things like that done to me. Who cares that you work for the Red Cross now helping refugees, Mark? I have a column on collegehumor, loser! Oh, you work with disabled war veterans and spend you spare time volunteering at a soup kitchen, Kelly? Good for you, but people in Canada know who I am, sucker! What I am trying to say is that, because I am now world famous and respected by millions, I am by nature better than you. I'm sorry, but those are the facts"¦Ricky told me that right after he told me about that Islam thing.


*Author's Note- I am not really famous. But if I were, that is how I would act. I would also get really drunk and demand things at clubs that they could never supply"¦like a bathtub in the VIP room or twenty midgets to do my bidding. Until then, I will continue to watch Reno 911 in my underwear and eat ice cream with my fingers...just like the rest of you.

-Many of you have just spent your Memorial Day with your family. Many more of you have just spent your Memorial Day drinking on your buddy's Dad's boat. You should be ashamed of yourself"¦Memorial day is not about drinking"¦It's about being with the ones you love (and drinking with them). And the ones you love are your family. Just like China, families are made up of many individuals who all kind of look alike. With this in mind, I present Your Family.

-The Grizzled Vet- This is the family member who will always start a sentence with, "yep, those were some crazy days out there in the jungle. Hell, I was no older than you by the time I killed 20 men"¦"� The grizzled vet will regale your younger relatives with war stories as he shows off his "knife scar"� that he got in "Nam."� (translation: The injury was acquired during a fishing trip in 1983) The Grizzled vet will constantly remind you how lucky you are to be in college and not "sloppin' through rice patties halfway around the world looking for an enemy we couldn't find."� Be kind to this man, for Memorial Day is his day"¦and he can kill you nine different ways with his bare hands.

-The Gay Cousin- Every family has one"¦some just don't know it yet. Most likely named Trevor or Tyler, the gay cousin will enliven any family get together with his funny Cher impressions and his sarcastic comments on your Mom's throw covers. While his father sits by himself drinking till he can forget, your gay cousin will tell you about all the exciting art events happening in San Francisco and about what a "super-awesome, mega-blast"� it was to march in the Pride Parade last Fall. Of course, you can't let Grandma and Grandpa know the truth about cousin Marcus"¦they think he's just artistic.

-The Drunkel- Chances are the gay cousin's father is the drunkel. He can usually be spotted asking your little sister to "grab (him) another brewski"� from the cooler or wobbling his way to the driveway insisting that he's "fuckin' fine to drive"¦Jesus, I've been driving for fuckin' 30 years!"� Your Aunt will always try to explain the he has "had a rough week at work"� or that the "courts said he can't see his oldest son anymore,"� but everyone knows that when Uncle Chester hits the bottle, the bottle doesn't get back up. Chances are that if you are over the age of 35, reading this, and trying to think about who the Drunkel is in your family; it's probably you.

-The Free Spirit (also known as the Vegan)- Everyone knows that you had better stock the family BBQ with boca burgers and tofu casserole if cousin Enya is coming over. This family member marches to the beat of her own drummer; so long as the drum is made of recycled laminate and the drum head is not made from stretched animal skin. The Free Spirit will try to explain to you the wonders of either A. Yoga B. The Kabala C. Veganism or D. Spiritual self awareness. Your Mother will humor her to a certain degree but your grandfather, the saintly soul that he is, will tell her to "shave her Goddamned legs and find a man because a woman can only get so far in this world on her own."�

-The Ancient One- At ever family gathering, tucked away on a lawn chair by herself with a glass of lemonade in her shakey hand and a confused look on her weathered face, is the Ancient One. You don't really know who she is or what your relation to her is, but she is there nonetheless. Her wrinkled face and thick, black shoes give away the fact that she is certainly older than Jesus, but her nature eludes you. "Who did she come with?"�, "Does she know who I am?"�, "Have I ever met her before?"�, "Why is she talking to the dog?"� These questions are to be asked when confronted with the Ancient One. For further inspection of her identity, look at photos from your birth. She will be there holding you when she was a much younger 89-years-old.

-The Hometown Hero- The cousin you love to hate, but can't really seem to. Like the Chinese kid in math class, the Hometown Hero ruins the family curve by doing everything right. He got straight A's in high school and college. Has a great internship. Helps out at the local soup kitchen. Has a great girlfriend that your whole family "absolutely adores."� Was financially independent from his parents at 17. Plays four sports and overcame some crippling adversity"¦like polio or rickets. If you're reading this, don't worry, you are not him. The Hometown Hero doesn't need the internet because he reads every book on the planet and will talk to your mother about The Da Vinci Code for hours. Don't fear though, he'll die young in a tragic accident, like saving a bunch of kids from a fire, so you won't have to deal with him that much longer.

Somewhere between Kuwait and Waco, my generation lost one of the most valuable resources we were blessed to have: John Hughes.

Hughes is the writer behind "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" and "Breakfast Club" and every other great movie you ever saw. The unofficial founder of the Brat Pack, Hughes' work includes "Sixteen Candles," "Pretty in Pink," "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles," "She's Having a Baby," and the first three "Vacation" movies. And in 1990, he was responsible for one of the top grossing films of all time, "Home Alone."

Of his first 17 movies, 10 were fantastic, and another four were pretty darn good. But what's more important, Hughes was the voice of the 1980s. If that damn "Children of the 80s" forward ever started re-circling, someone should edit it to discuss how freakin great John Hughes was. WAS.

John Hughes is still alive. And he's still writing. But I say we lost him because all indications are that he is no longer writing for us.

After Home Alone in 1990, something inside him must have snapped. Hughes may have realized he was too successful, had too much money, or was positively impacting too many people. Because after "Home Alone," came "Dutch." And after "Dutch" came "Beethoven." Followed by "Home Alone 2" and "Dennis the Menace" and "Beethoven's 2nd" and "Baby's Day Out" and "Home Alone 3" and "Beethoven's 3rd" and "Beethoven's 4th" and "Home Alone 4" and "Maid in Manhattan" and "Beethoven's 5th." There was some other crap in the middle there, but you get the idea.

I should point out that Hughes wrote the screenplay for only some of those, and just the story or characters for others. But he had to have known how terrible those stories and characters were - on the Beethoven movies and Maid in Manhattan, Hughes didn't even use his real name.

Hughes was 35 when Breakfast Club came out, yet he managed to capture the angst and social hierarchy of a high school perfectly. So why, at 53, is the only thing he's capturing is rights to a straight to video sequel?

The day I realized John Hughes had stopped writing good movies terrified me. As a writer, because it made me worry that I might get soft. But more so as a kid. Because if John Hughes can willingly stand behind "Baby's Day Out," then I guess we will all get old sometime.

We lost Eddie Murphy, too. Murphy went from Axel Foley to Pluto Nash, using the same reasoning Hughes gave - he wanted to do more kids movies. Which is fine, but why not good kids movies? And Hughes doesn't even have Murphy's Shreks to bail him out. Though after Daddy Day Care and Haunted Mansion, the price of Eddie Murphy's bail ran pretty high.

We need John Hughes back. America has been living scared for a large part of the last two years. We were scared of terrorists and unemployment and SARS and unemployed terrorists with SARS, and we do not need to be scared of "Home Alone with Beethoven's 9th."

I know it is unfair of me to expect that Hughes will entertain me. I'm sure he has his reasons for what he has done (though "Maid in Manhattan" is pretty inexcusable). But I do think it's fair to lament what we had. And what we had was a genius who helped us realize that we were all a brain, and an athlete, and a basketcase, a princess, and a criminal. What we now have is a dozen movies about dogs or kids solving crime.

John, if you are reading this, and I know you are because you've apparently got nothing better to do, we need you. And we don't need a made for TV "Vacation" film or a remake of an old Disney movie. We need you to forget about the easy money of sequels and adaptations and create another Cameron Frye.

We need you to help us get through high school and family vacations and our first job. We need you to show us that growing up is a part of life, and that getting old isn't the worst thing that could happen. We need you to be there, speaking for those of us who are still unsure of what we'd like to say.

And not like in "Baby's Day Out" because that was ridiculous.

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.

-Ok everybody"¦gather round"¦Jimmy, get down, you're blocking Rob"¦Ok, everybody smile"¦"�Happy Tenth Birthday Hate List! Yes folks, that's right, the famous Hate List is ten issues old. We've had a lot of good hate together in these past ten issues, but there is so much more to come. This week, in celebration of its birthday, we're having a special Celebrity Hate List. Here it goes.

-MINE

-Ted Nudgent: Nobody in the world, and I really mean this, is more irritating than Ted Nudgent. And now, thanks to VH1, he has his own little reality show. "The Nudge,"� as some people who were cool in 1974 call him, is an over the top, extroverted, ego-maniac who is constantly talking about how crazy he is and how crazy his life is. This is what goes through Teddy's head all day and all night, "look at me, look at me, look at me, look at me, look at me."� Guess what Teddy, you had like 2 hits thirty years ago and they weren't even that good. Oh, you're good at shooting animals? Good for you, it takes a lot of talent to hit the broad side of a buffalo with an arrow, you dumb fuck. Why don't you grow the hell up; and stop acting like you're still a successful musician when you haven't had a hit since America was worried about communism. You're a washed up, old, long hair having assbag who, in addition to being the world's saddest excuse for a rock star (he didn't even sing on his songs) is also the most annoying celebrity on the face of this earth. Go fuck yourself, your ranch manager and that deer you just shot, you washed up piece of shit"¦I Hate You!

-Aaron Carter: Holy shit, what can I say about this toe-headed little scamp other than he is probably the worst person in the music business right now. How on God's green earth does anybody enjoy the prepubescent rhymes that spew from his mouth? Aaron can rap about anything that you cared about when you were nine"¦like candy, and birthday parties, and a new bike, etc"¦AND, if his shitty songs weren't bad enough, he has hot girls fighting over him. I believe it was Lindsay Lohan and Hillary Duff who feuded over this heir to the Backstreet throne. This little choade had famous girls fighting over him before he even learned how to masturbate. Plus, he acts as if he grew up on the streets of the Bronx, but that's where I live and I've never seen him walking around. Hey Aaron, your music blows, your brother is a tool, and you look like Eminem shit you out after a long night of drinking. Go have a Kool-Aid with Lil' Romeo so he can beat you up, you little white fuck"¦I Hate You!

-Frankie Muniz: I was watching TV a few days ago when I saw something that made made me cringe. No, it wasn't Anna Nicole Smith taking a dump or Drew Carey masturbating, it was Frankie Muniz talking about the war in Iraq. Now, it is bad enough that his opinion should even carry enough sway for him to interviewed about it, but what was worse is that he said something like this, "It is really hard for young people (i.e.16-25)today to deal with the war. A lot of us really oppose it, blah blah blah."� No Malcolm, you do not speak for my generation. Don't try to pretend that you know what young people these days are going through; we all didn't get a Porsche for our 16th birthday. So, take your millions, your scrawny frame, your famous friends and enjoy your fabulous life. But never, and I mean never again, try to speak for my generation because if you do, I'll beat you retarded and it will take more than Agent Cody Banks to figure out who you are, you little turd"¦I Hate You!

-YOURS (General)

-Reader Brian R. really hates: The In-the-Know Celebrity Reporter: What did Britney Spears' dog eat for breakfast last week? Please tell me, I'm dying to know. No, wait. Don't tell me. She probably doesn't even own a dog, you desperate-to-be-noticed, "news"-fabricating tool. I can't believe somebody actually pays you to make up shit about stars. Even if this ridiculous garbage is true, I can't imagine that there's a single sad mother fucker out there who actually cares. Yet, they must be there, because you're still in business, causing my blood pressure to spike with your huge, sensationalist headlines and incredibly shallow red-carpet interviews. So, cheers. This puke's for you, you nauseatingly phony vaginal discharge. I really hate you.

-Brian also hates: The Militant Political Analyst: This douchebag gets paid to sit around bitching about how the country's going to hell in a handbasket. But it's not enough to just bitch. He has to bitch louder and more angrily than his opponent/co-host and anyone else bold enough to defy his supreme knowledge on all things political. Some issues, like war, are worth getting fired up over, but I want to snap his damn neck when he fogs his glasses up over something like changes in public decency law. PS: Bush isn't the greatest president, but he strikes me as the kind of guy who spent four years of high school (and probably a little college time, too) holding guys like you upside-down over toilets, so quit mouthing off about him like you're some badass, you nerdy fucking rectal itch. I hate you.

-Reader Heather R. really hates: super skinny celebrities. Thin is fine, toned is fine, in shape is all well and dandy. But if I see another pair of shoulder blades popping out of an Armani dress that only hangs on by the straps because only their collarbone that also juts out is keeping it on, I swear to God, I will come down the the red carpet and snap you in half myself. Kate Moss, Calista Flockhart, the entirety of the Victoria's Secret models, you know who you are. I will kill you and dance on your mangled, bloody, pathetic bodies. For the love of all things sacred, stop throwing up. Hip bones that jut out when you walk is just not sexy.

-Reader Mike D. really hates: the celebrities who be it actors, Ath- *cough*over paid babies *cough* -letes or who ever, just feels the need to tell everybody that they are ri-godamn-diculously rich, and we just have to know about it. Especially when they go on MTV cribs and talking about how great their life is and all of their money. Well I don't have a shit ton of money, so shut up and let me go back to my minimum wage job and try to make enough to buy beer for the weekend. You fucking bastards shut up, i hate you! Except for the Olsen twins they can do whatever they want.

-YOURS (Specific)

-Reader Krystle B. really hates: Hillary Duff....I CANT STAND HER...first of all...her acting abilities...Suck! However, compared to her singing abilities they aren't too bad.... How this friggen 13 yr old no talent, annoying 'actress' is as popular as she is I WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND....she's just some lucky girl who is now more rich than I could ever hope to be.....HILLARY DUFF...I HATE YOU!

-Readers Dan F. and Alycia P., respectively, hate: The Olsen Twins.
*A pair of overly hyped-up brats who won't acknowledge that their fifteen minutes of fame are over. Incarnations of the very worst self-lauding, self-aggrandizing aspects of the Hollywood nightmare factory. But before you start loading the assault rifles, bear in mind you can at least claim to hate me, so reading this far wasn't a total wash.

*seems like the world is having the stupid huge "countdown until the Olsens turn legal"... how magical, but did anyone ever stop to think about what makes them so "hot" and why they'd even deserve their ridiculous millions of dollars? From their amazingly hot role on Full House, where it took both of them to play one character, horribly (that alone should've ended their "careers"- where's DJ today? yeah that's right, full house was her last gig), to the countless random movies and TV shows that have the exact same plot: they're twins. yeah, lets go with that plot AGAIN, girls, because its all you're good at! Although that, along with their line of Wal-mart girl's hair accessories, may appeal to girls age 6-10, it makes no sense to me why that should earn them not only unimaginable fortunes, but also the admiration of every male on the planet. They're not cute at all, well maybe with a lot of airbrushing, but hey, there's two of them so that almost equals one attractive person. So here's to you Olsens, that definitely earns you all kinds of admiration from me. No wait, you're annoying, untalented, monkeyfaced, and as it turns out, I HATE YOU!
(Author's Note: Don't listen top them Mary-Kate, I still think you're neat)

-Reader Tom C. really hates: Lindsey Lohan because she has played the same crappy role for about 10 movies now and I don't understand why she's still making movies, or why anyone is going to see them. She also always has ridiculous painted black lines around her eyes that make her eyes look like they're about to fall back into her head. And nobody thinks your a punk, EVEN if you dress in over priced Pacific Sun clothes and wear a guitar around your neck, so just stop making movies and or at least stop playing the Teenage Girl Who's Just Trying to Fit In, if you went to my school I'd throw you into a locker or make fun of you until you got an eating disorder...and I Hate You.

-Reader and middle schooler Jack G. really hates: Orlando Bloom. Not necessarily because he's a bad actor, but because every fucking 14-year-old whore in the country has a pic of him in their locker, binder, or AIM profile. For fuck's sake, quit talking about him! I don't give a rat's ass if he's hot, quit making me feel ugly. That, and he has to go and become Mr. Supreme Fag in the most ambiguously gay film of the year (Troy). Lose the goddamned elf accent, you supreme prick...I HATE YOU.

-Reader Kirk J. really hates: Johnny Depp. You are such a fucking fag! In every interview the news people throw at you, you always talk about how you don't want to be mainstream, you want to be different and you want people to leave you alone. Well, Guess what jackass, your a movie star, so shut the hell up about your little philosophies and say your damn lines. Nobody gives a shit that you want to be eccentric (SAT word, kinda) and only pick roles based on how weird (or gay) they are. We all have much bigger problems than trying to decide which movie deal to take, your lucky, and rich, so just shut the hell up. And guess what asshole, your mainstream, so get used to it and stop being so damn weird. I HATE YOU!!!!!!!!!!!

-Reader Juliann H. really hates: Madonna.... yeah I used to like you, you had catchy songs and were a fashion icon but lately you've become a complete waste of media space. Your getting up there in years and refuse to bow out gracefully, desperately clamoring for attention you keep doing stupid shit. look at me, look at me...Seriously you're worse than a 12 year old girl who just got her new boobies... rapping, bad idea .... frenching spears, whoops there went some more credibility as an artist. Not only are you ruining music but I don't need to hear your preaching on religion, I really don't give a fuck about Kabala (or whatever) so shove it and fade into retirement. Do the world a favor and pick one religion, one identity (you schitzo) and go bankrupt yourself like a classy musician. I hate you as a virgin/slut/modern/Chinese woman/Christian/kabala follower/desperate 40 going on 13 year old/rapper and writer.... basically I HATE YOU!!!

-Reader Kallie C. really hates: Christina Aquilera. Now I'm sure this is going to be a popular one, but I hate her because she's so fake. And no I'm not just talking about her chest. She went from sweet Disney girl, to dirty whore, to "gothic". I hate Avril, but at least Avril can stick to an image. Same with Britney Spears, who cares if her boobs are fake, everything else is real. "Xtina"� claims that this is who she's been all along but her label wouldn't allow her to be her... GET A DIFFERENT LABEL! Christina, you're back to being a whore. We all know that you went goth because you thought it was the new popular thing (which doesn't make any sense...It's a fad to be punk/goth/rocker lately, don't get me started. damned ass hole poseurs) and you needed a cover up. We've seen your latest video. You're a GHETTO whore now. Homes from da street yo! Christina, go fuck one of Britney's ex's again... I HATE YOU!

-Reader Derrik really hates: Michael Moore, for making "documentaries" that are 90% bullshit and then convincing way too many intelligent people that it's true. Go choke on a sandwich you fat fuck. I hate you!

-Finally, Reader Shannon R. really hates: Oprah Winfrey: Yeah, I said it, I hate fucking Oprah! With her fake perfect image making her look like a queen when she does nothing but exploit the insecurities of women for profit. I hate you Oprah and them crazy bitches in your show who lose their god damn minds over a toaster that's hidden under their seat as a special gift. I hate your whole fake pop culture feminism which is only used for personal gain and less women cooking me Thanksgiving dinner. How do I feel you ask? I hate you!

-Wow, I hope none of the famous people on this list read it and come looking for me. But I have a hunch I could take them all in a fight. Next week it's back to regular hate until we hit the famous Hate List's 20th birthday and I've got something real special cooking for that. But, until then, happy tenth birthday hate list, you have made so many mad and so few happy. We love ya!

If you're returning home from college right now, you doubtlessly find yourself in a rather disheartening situation: likely too old and far removed from high school to attend any legendary high school house party keggers, you're also too young to legally gain entrance to any of the bars in your town. Yet, the world at large can't possibly expect you to slow down your breakliver drinking pace, can they? Fortunately there's a solution, and like all good solutions, it's illegal.

During the past year I, aside from the occasional responsibilities as a "full time university student,"� spent my working hours as a bartender at a nearby college bar. A "college bar"� is a very interesting entity in that it is, by definition, catering exclusively to a demographic in which ¾ of members are ineligible to drink. Yet, these bars still seem to perpetuate and grow, all thanks to the wonders of the fake ID. From my post behind the bar, I've been exposed to a creative assortment of forgeries and felonies as intrepid gals battle their way past the bouncers, and every one of them could possibly work for you.

The Chalked ID. The "gateway fake,"� this process rarely, if ever, actually involves chalk. Instead, the "˜chalking' of an ID is performed by etching a canyon of colored pencil into the birthdate of one's ID - occasionally in a color that matches those actually appearing on the license at hand - and drawing in an older, legal birthdate. This method is particularly successful if the identification inspector happens to be pink / teal colorblind and has no sense of touch.

The Computer - Generated Fake. These computer-created fakes can usually be found on medium that feels little to nothing like the license being imitated, except for Wyoming, whose laminated construction-paper-and-crayon license has been reproduced flawlessly on a number of occasions. Though each new fake is personalized with your own picture, the well-traveled templates used in their creation are responsible for a phenomenon called "Jersification,"� in which every single person in an Oregon college bar is amazingly from New Jersey, perhaps even from the same town and street address.

The Borrowed License. The most successful charade is doubtlessly securing the license of someone who shares a similar trait with you and passing that ID off as your own. Having brown eyes myself, I have had a surprising amount of luck employing Shakira's license at local bars and gas stations. Similarly, it is no coincidence that at most college bars you will meet bafflingly youthful 35-year olds, many of whom boast accessories such as braces and / or pigtails - all of which have been acquired since the photo was taken in 1969.

Of course, all of these methods would significantly more daunting were it not for the tendency of bouncers' eyesight to fluctuate drastically in power. One moment, their keen vision might detect even the slightest forgery in the ID of a young male. Then, just seconds later as a scantily clad young lass approaches, the bouncers' eyesight spikes into absolute blindness, leaving their arms flailing about the air in a vain search for the gal's ID. Yet, in further defiance of all optometrical law, their vision will instantly return to top form just in time to intercept the New Jersey licenses being presented by nineteen gentlemen in line. It's a remarkable spectacle to observe, and now that you've got your pencil-engraved license in-hand, maybe you'll be able to see it yourself.

URGENT! GO VOTE FOR COURT AND AMIR IN YAHOO'S IM CONTEST!!!

A few things...

1) If you've caught a case of Boobs In Seatbelts Fever (see the pictures page), maybe you should get this wallpaper: 800 x 600 1024 x 768 1280 x 1024. (contains nudity, of course)

2) We totally revamped our weekly newsletter, so go sign up.

3) If you make movies or short films, you should check out this contest. Now, hotlinks!

Many of you have just spent your Memorial Day with your family. Many more of you have just spent your Memorial Day drinking on your buddy's Dad's boat. You should be ashamed of yourself"¦Memorial day is not about drinking"¦It's about being with the ones you love (and drinking with them). And the ones you love are your family. Just like China, families are made up of many individuals who all kind of look alike. With this in mind, I present Your Family.

The Gay Cousin- Every family has one"¦some just don't know it yet. Most likely named Trevor or Tyler, the gay cousin will enliven any family get together with his funny Cher impressions and his sarcastic comments on your Mom's throw covers. While his father sits by himself drinking till he can forget, your gay cousin will tell you about all the exciting art events happening in San Francisco and about what a "super-awesome, mega-blast"� it was to march in the Pride Parade last Fall. Of course, you can't let Grandma and Grandpa know the truth about cousin Marcus"¦they think he's just artistic.

The Grizzled Vet- This is the family member who will always start a sentence with, "yep, those were some crazy days out there in the jungle. Hell, I was no older than you by the time I killed 20 men"¦"� The grizzled vet will regale your younger relatives with war stories as he shows off his "knife scar"� that he got in "Nam."� (translation: The injury was acquired during a fishing trip in 1983) The Grizzled vet will constantly remind you how lucky you are to be in college and not "sloppin' through rice patties halfway around the world looking for an enemy we couldn't find."� Be kind to this man, for Memorial Day is his day"¦and he can kill you nine different ways with his bare hands.

The Drunkel- Chances are the gay cousin's father is the drunkel. He can usually be spotted asking your little sister to "grab (him) another brewski"� from the cooler or wobbling his way to the driveway insisting that he's "fuckin' fine to drive"¦Jesus, I've been driving for fuckin' 30 years!"� Your Aunt will always try to explain the he has "had a rough week at work"� or that the "courts said he can't see his oldest son anymore,"� but everyone knows that when Uncle Chester hits the bottle, the bottle doesn't get back up. Chances are that if you are over the age of 35, reading this, and trying to think about who the Drunkel is in your family; it's probably you.

The Ancient One- At ever family gathering, tucked away on a lawn chair by herself with a glass of lemonade in her shakey hand and a confused look on her weathered face, is the Ancient One. You don't really know who she is or what your relation to her is, but she is there nonetheless. Her wrinkled face and thick, back shoes give away the fact that she is certainly older than Jesus, but her nature eludes you. "Who did she come with?"�, "Does she know who I am?"�, "Have I ever met her before?"�, "Why is she talking to the dog?"� These questions are to be asked when confronted with the Ancient One. For further inspection of her identity, look at photos from your birth. She will be there holding you when she was a much younger 89-years-old.

The Free Spirit (also known as the Vegan)- Everyone knows that you had better stock the family BBQ with boca burgers and tofu casserole if cousin Enya is coming over. This family member marches to the beat of her own drummer; so long as the drum is made of recycled laminate and the drum head is not made from stretched animal skin. The Free Spirit will try to explain to you the wonders of either A. Yoga B. The Kabala C. Veganism or D. Spiritual self awareness. Your Mother will humor her to a certain degree but your grandfather, the saintly soul that he is, will tell her to "shave her Goddamned legs and find a man because a woman can only get so far in this world on her own."�

The Hometown Hero- The cousin you love to hate, but can't really see, to. Like the Chinese kid in math class, the Hometown Hero ruins the family curve by doing everything right. He got straight A's in high school and college. Has a great internship. Helps out at the local soup kitchen. Has a great girlfriend that your whole family "absolutely adores."� Was financially independent from his parents at 17. Plays four sports and overcame some crippling adversity"¦like polio or rickets. If you're reading this, don't worry, you are not him. The Hometown Hero doesn't need the internet because he reads every book on the planet and will talk to your mother about The Da Vinci Code for hours. Don't fear though, he'll die young in a tragic accident, like saving a bunch of kids from a fire, so you won't have to deal with him that much longer.

Three things to check out...

* Chaster's new article called "What my mom has to deal with when we're home for summer"�

* This shirt (perhaps the coolest of the summer).

* These hotlinks...

I don't just want the Lakers to lose. I want them to lose hard. I want them to lose so hard that Shaquille O'Neal becomes a Clippers fan.

I have lived in Los Angeles for exactly one day. But I have rooted against the Lakers for 15 years. When I was a kid, I loved Kareem Abdul Jabaar, which prevented me from cheering against Los Angeles. But Kareem retired, and I loved John Starks and Patrick Ewing and Mark Jackson a heck of a lot more.

I am a Knicks fan. I will always be a Knicks fan. I didn't stop rooting for the Knicks when they started losing, and I didn't start rooting for the Nets when they started winning. I stay true to my teams. And moving across country won't change that.

The Knicks have not won in my lifetime. They made the playoffs most years I've been alive, and lost the finals twice, but the last time they won a championship was six years before I started dribbling.

I remember 1994 - that hurt the most. When the Knicks lost to the Spurs in 1999, it was expected. Hell, I was thrilled the series went to five games. But in 1994, the Knicks were a win--nay, a John Starks buzzer beater--away from the title. And like so many John Starks buzzer beaters, it didn't happen. I remember crouching in the coatroom during my sister's wedding listening to them lose that game. I'm usually not one to cry at weddings.

People say that New York sports fans are spoiled. I disagree. Maybe Yankee fans - they've won more championships in the last eight years than most teams have ever played in. But the rest of our teams are really known for losing in the post season.

I'm a Mets fan. They won the World Series when I was seven - I admit that was pretty cool. But I saw them lose the playoffs in 1988, lose the playoffs in 1999, and lose the World Series (to the Yankees, no less) in 2000.

I saw the Giants win the Super Bowl after the 1986 season. But that was before I was a football fan. Their Super bowl win in 1990 was alright - I was 11, and had followed the season a bit. But after that, I saw them lose the Bowl in 2000, and lose early in the playoffs three other times.

In hockey, I root for the Rangers, who took the Stanley Cup when I was 15. That is the only time I've really been old enough to see one of my favorite teams win it all. I've also seen them become a laughingstock since then, paying an exorbitant amount for early playoff losses, followed by paying an exorbitant amount to not even make the post season.

And then of course, there's my St. John's basketball team, which alternates between being the worst good team in the country and the best bad team in the country. We're all so proud.

I have spent my life disappointed by the almost-wins of my favorite teams, especially the Knicks. And now, in my first week as a resident of Los Angeles, I may have to see a team I severely dislike win the whole she bangs.

When I get to LA, I can root for the Clippers, because they're harmless. I can root for the Kings because I've been following them loosely since their amazing comeback filled playoff run a few years ago. And though I will be rooting against the Dodgers because my father grew up in Brooklyn, it's not like LA cares about them anyway.

"We'll have to stay to the end of the game if we don't want to get caught in all the 6th inning traffic."�

But then there's the Lakers. When the Knicks actually won in 1973, they beat the Lakers. When the Lakers won in 1972, they beat the Knicks. The Knicks have been in the finals eight times, and five of those were against the Lakers (some even before they moved to Los Angeles).

I have been raised to root against those yellow and purple uniforms (seriously guys - yellow and purple?). I don't care much for their players, either. I don't think Kobe raped that girl, but I can still root against him for being an egotistical adulterous grandstanding jerk. And I like him a lot better than I ever liked Shaq or Malone.

I don't want to be part of the impending parade and I certainly don't want to be there when there's a riot (again). It was bad enough to see the Lakers win so often from across the country. Now I have to do it in person.

As a sports fan, I will watch the finals. And as an LA resident, I'll watch at a local sports bar. But I'll be doing it all in a Clippers jersey.

Wait, I don't have a Clippers jersey. Maybe I can pick one up during the riots.

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.

Hey you. Yeah, you! You sitting there, hunched over on your computer. You with your blue/green/brown eyes peeled from within a dorm room, or an apartment, or a computer lab or your parent's house. For the past couple years you have sat down at that same computer, reading articles on this website that have been tailor made for you. You with your nights of drinking and partying and bongs made of discarded pizza boxes. Well this article isn't for YOU, so stop reading! This article is for everybody else! This article is for THE REST OF US!

I have never played beer pong! That's right, I said it! I've never actually been to a frat party and played beer pong. I know what it looks like. I've seen photos of cups on a table! I can only imagine it involves throwing a ping pong ball into a beer and drinking it, but I cannot say for sure, because I have never played!

I don't really like ramen noodles all that much. Sure I'll eat some on the side of a sandwich occasionally, but they do not line the insides of my cupboard! Call me crazy, but when I'm hungry for dinner, I make teriyaki chicken. It costs more than 19 cents, but frankly it's an economic sacrifice I'm willing to make.

I study for tests! Please don't adjust your Internet browsers, I assure you, what you have just heard is the truth. On the days leading up to an exam, I head over to the library, sit down, read a textbook, do some practice problems, and familiarize myself with course material! You just don't see pictures of that on this website because frankly, drunk chicks don't make out at libraries! (Though one can dream"¦)

I've never passed out due to drunkenness or written on somebody who has. Once again, I've seen plenty of evidence to the contrary, so I know such a ritual does exist, however, I've never experienced it first hand. In fact, I don't even think I own a Sharpie even if I did wanted to draw a penis and then jizm in the shape of CollegeHumor.com on somebody's face and neck.

During Spring Break I go home! I can't really go to Cancun or Florida because people walk around with backwards hats, board shorts and no shirts on. I, on the other hand, am a pale and lanky individual; plus, all my shorts are khakis. I could attempt to party down on the beach, but I'd rather soak that environment in by watching MTV for a couple of minutes, then switching over to Comedy Central. South Park is on.

So what does one like me do!? Sure I can write humorously and act silly when instant messaging, but they don't give out awards for that! Or so I thought"¦.

Last month my friend told me that Yahoo! Was having a competition to find the funniest pair of instant messengers on earth, and we applied on a whim. Three weeks and several rounds of interviews later, me and my buddy Court (who also writes for this site) are one of 7 pairs of finalists in Yahoo's IM Live competition (slash nerdfest).

Starting TODAY! We will instant message to each other back and forth from 5-8pm pacific time every day for a week, and people are supposed to come in and vote for the most entertaining pair. I am here to beg for your vote. So go do your good deed for the day and (click here) and vote for Amir B and Court S - Team Three! You can vote every day during the allotted time and every time you do, your name is entered into a lottery to win a trip to Hawaii as well. So the more you vote, the greater your chances! So eat some beans with every meal! Oh and umm"¦ if you vote for us every day, you'll feel so good about yourself you won't even WANNA do charity work for a week! (wiiiiiiiiiiiiink)

Thanks to MagazinesForCheap for sponsoring this update. They've got a combo deal of a year of Maxim and Stuff for $10. Forreals.

Steve has a new Observational Humor out called Excusing America's Gas Problem. And speaking of which, his new CD just came out and it's hilarious. Info here.

Now enjoy these ever-so-hot links.

-I do not know who you are yet, but I know that I will love you. And when we get married, we must work to make our marriage work. It is from the bottom of my heart that I make these promises to thee.

-I promise"¦

-To always snore at night so as to create a regular, familiar pattern.

-To never tell the kids that Santa Claus is fake so that, on their first Christmas alone, they won't get anything and we can laugh at how stupid they are.

-To eat all of my meals in the nude so I don't mess up any of my clothes.

-To never question the paternity of our children unless Streeter Jr. looks a lot like the mailman.

-To never adopt a child without letting you know first.

-To always come home"¦maybe it won't be for a few nights, or weeks, but eventually I'll come home.

-To never ask you to do the housework. I will be straightforward in demanding that you do it or else"¦or else.

-That if I fart in bed, I will shove you under the covers and keep you down there to smell it because what is a marriage without sharing?

-That if you ever fart in bed I, will divorce you and sleep with your sister.

-To drive the kids to their soccer games every friday, provided the field is on the way to the bar.

-To not get a job so we can spend more time together.

-To never insult your parents by asking your Father if your Mother is as good in the sack as you are.

-To always scratch myself when I itch, unless I can't reach the spot"¦then I will have you do it for me.

-To sing to you every Saturday night when I come home from the bar and I"˜m drunk out on the lawn.

-To love our children almost as much as I love our dog.

-To remind you when you forget to perform felatio on me three times a week.

-To always comment on how much older and more dignified you look on each of your birthdays.

-To never celebrate our anniversary because everyday should be a celebration of our love.

-To kill any insect, rodent, or reptile that invades our home and threatens the safety of our children.

-To kill any cat that you bring into our home.

-To fix any leak, plunge any toilet, paint any wall, or mow any lawn unless I can pay someone else to do it.

-To warn you if I leave a particularly smelly mess in the bathroom.

-To wet myself as I get older because I know how much you love taking care of me.

-To turn off all the lights and shut all the blinds on Halloween so we don't get bothered by little annoying kids.

-To never fly to Europe on business without taking your credit cards for backup if my Sam's Club Super Saver card isn't accepted at the Ritz in London.

-To always remove my shoes when I come home so you can rub my feet.

-But most of all, I promise to love you and care for you"¦unless you start wetting yourself; then you're going to a nursing home. And if that happens, I promise"¦

-To visit you once a month and bring ginger snaps"¦for me, not you. If I gave them to you, you'd shit the bed because you're old and incontinent.

-Honey, these things I promise you. I love you.



Happy 50th Birthday "A Word From the Streets," and 50 more to come!

I may not have concrete proof for what I'm about to say, but I'm going to float a theory by you. Gas prices have gone up so much in the last year because we, as American consumers, are suckers.

The price per barrel of oil is at a 13-year high. A few weeks ago, that price passed $40 for the first time since Iraq invaded Kuwait when the other Bush was president. But gas, to the American consumer, is somehow about two-thirds more expensive than it was during that invasion. This is the beginning of my sucker theory.

For those of you who think microeconomics refers to paying for things with smaller bills, bear with me while I explain the economic theory behind why we're all getting, well, pumped.

The price of oil is set like the price of any other limited consumer good - the cost is determined by the price the company perceives it will cost to replace the goods they are selling. Thus, when Iraq first invaded Kuwait, the price of oil jumped because everyone was afraid of how high the price might be in the future.

This paranoia made sense - and a heck of a lot more sense than those cheapo "Bomb Sadaam" shirts everyone was wearing. (Like your mall t-shirt is going to influence our foreign policy). It made sense because Iraq, one of our enemies, invaded Kuwait, one of our allies. In 1990, Iraq and Kuwait accounted for about nine percent of America's oil supply. So if Iraq took Kuwait AND became hostile to us, the supply of oil would have been harder to come by. Afraid of that, oil companies raised the price of gas as the price of a barrel of oil went up.

But guess what happened? The price of the barrel dropped down once we sent in troops, and was cut in half once the only memory of the war was that "Proud to Be an American" song. Did the price at the pump go down? Of course not. We got used to paying as much as we were for gas, so the price simply leveled off. Are you starting to believe me about how we're suckers?

And in the past 10 years, the United States has been importing fewer and fewer barrels of oil from the Middle East. America now relies on Iraq for just 7% of our oil, and just 3% of our consumer oil. Still, if the oil companies were scared that it'd be more expensive to get oil next quarter, the prices would justifiably go up. But the oil companies are not scared. They're laughing. They're looking at us giving them all our money and laughing hysterically that we're doing it out of a blind sense of patriotism.

The price of oil should have gone up only when we first invaded Iraq. But it's gone up consistently for the last two years. Yet we're allegedly in control in Iraq now. Hell, we're in so much control, we have time to take prison pictures that could cost our president re-election (there's that silver lining).

Yet the price of oil is still rising. Because we're letting it. We hear terrorism and Middle East and oil prices rising and it all makes sense to us somehow. How? Because we're suckers.

Last year, Exxon-Mobil reported profits of over $21 billion. Iraq's estimated GNP is as low as $13 billion. In other words, Exxon-Mobil could have made this whole mess a lot simpler by acquiring Iraq.

Never mind that Vice President Cheney used to be the CEO of Haliburton, an unregulated monopoly that makes most of their money off of the rise in the cost of oil. Never mind that Saudi Arabia (our biggest supplier of oil) increased their production to help stave off the inflated prices. Never mind that the price of oil per barrel is roughly the same as it was just after Iraq invaded Kuwait in 1990, yet by the end of the summer gas prices are anticipated to have doubled since then.

It would be hard to tell a company to charge less than consumers are willing to pay. If we never paid more than a product is worth, there'd be no Burberry or WNBA. But what's happening here is not good business - it's collusion. Oil companies are simultaneously artificially inflating the cost of their product, a practice in direct violation of every anti-trust act we've got on the books.

So while America lets these oil companies get away with everything, I am curious to know if we're being paid back. Lots of commercials tell us to sacrifice for the war. My question is, how much is Exxon-Mobil sacrificing? Are they paying a large sum towards the rebuilding of Iraq? They're certainly the ones directly profiting off of it.

There's not much we can do about the prices. We can't afford a boycott, and I know too many people I dislike to start carpooling. But we can make the oil companies explain themselves.

No matter who you're voting for and why, if you'd like an explanation as to why the current prices defy basic economic theory, why not ask for one? Print out this column and mail it to:

K.P. Cohen
VP Public Affairs
Exxon-Mobil
5959 Las Colinas Boulevard
Irving, TX 75039

And if Exxon-Mobil doesn't answer, maybe we can try Chevron-Texaco next - they only profited $7 billion last year.

No matter what we do, gas prices will not come down; gas prices never come down. But maybe if we all voice our concern, we can prevent them from rising any more than they already have. Of course, I could be wrong about all of this. I'm just floating a theory.

Sucker.

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.

I was sitting around the other day
Not knowing what do to
But then in my belly, I felt a swelly
And I began think of you.

How sad it is, these days it seems
that no one ever says thanks.
My toilet, my friend, my refuge till the end
My lovely bowl that stanks.

It is with great pride that I write to thee
And say these words so true.
For all the books that I've read, all the knowledge in my head
Was learned on top of you.

In this hectic world, where time flies past
Like speeding bullet trains.
I find solace and time on your lid so divine
In your bowl; tiger stripe stains.

You've civilized man, my porcelin friend.
But man is not likely to admit it.
He will say it was speaking or learning or reading,
But never where he shits.

Man is blind to the truth but I am different
than most, I must declare.
For I am but child, bewildered and wild
If you clog with feces or hair.

My heart is racing, my face is blushed
When you no longer agree to flush.
The water is rising so quick to the brim
All of my options now look very grim.
The plunger it seems is nowhere to be found
And slowly the water runs to the ground.
Thinking quick, I plunge in my hand
And remove the cursed, evil dam
And with a quick tug, the crisis averted
Over, it seems, as quick as it started.
You see, my toilet, you hold much power
With a clog of your pipes, the bravest will cower.

You may not be pretty like a rose or a diamond.
You may not have wings like a dove or a stork
But God only knows, and history shows
What happens when you fails to work

So next time you sit in the bathroom alone
Remember this poem and never forget.
Have not a doubt, you are nothing without
The can"¦the throne"¦the toilet.

-Hello again, my fellow haters. Well, you guys must be really pissed off or I'm just getting more popular because this week I have had an unprecedented amount of hate flowing my way and I couldn't be happier. Seeing as how I like to give everyone a chance to vent, I have decided to make this a double issue of the famous Hate List. Enjoy.

-Oh Yeah, I almost forgot. The next edition of the Hate List will be the 10th one and I want to do something special. One of my readers suggested a celebrity themed hate list, so why not. Send me some Celebrities you hate at suxatlife@hotmail.com. Now, on with the hate!

-MINE:

-Tan Man: If you traced my ancestry back through the years, you would find out that I am a mix of English, Irish and German blood. These cultures do not lend themselves to dark skin very nicely. In fact, when I get in the sun, I don't even burn"¦I just get instant blisters. Because of this, I have to work all summer to achieve some semblance of a tan. But not Tan Man. No"¦Tan Man already has a tan 2 months before summer because he went to the fake n' bake all spring. Listen up, you greasy shit, you shit on my parade every year and I'm sick of it! I can't compete with you no matter what I do, so Im discouraged from the get go. You're the kind of guy that would show up to a wheelchair race with a go-kart, you insensitive fuck"¦I Hate You!

-Smell This: "Hey dude"¦dude"¦C'mere. Dude! You gotta smell my ______!"� No"¦No I don't. Why are you so amazed by the odors your body can produce? What is so great about your fart, or your shoe, or your finger that would make you think that I want to smell it? I'm sure your fart smells like shit, your shoe smells like feet and you finger"¦well, your finger is another story altogether. Why don't you do the world a favor and keep your rank body to yourself, you smelly ass"¦I hate You!

-W.W.J.D.: What would Jesus Do??? I don't have a fucking clue. This is one of the most useless phrases of all time and damned be all who further it through bumper stickers, bracelets, and tee-shirts. Ok, maybe if you were tempted by the devil on a mountaintop, you could ask yourself this ridiculous question. But for all intensive purposes, it's completely erroneous (5 point SAT word). What would Jesus do if his porn wasn't downloading fast enough? What would Jesus do if he farted in class? What would Jesus do if he ran over a kid? What would Jesus do if"¦I Hate You!

-The Scientist: This time of year, I begin to sweat. At first, it's just a wet brow"¦then some wet hair"¦and before you know it, my entire body is expelling liquid like it's the Hoover dam. So when I complain about how the heat makes me sweat so much, my best friend The Weather Man always has to say, "It's not the heat, it's the humidity."� The only thing is, he waits, like he's announcing the winning raffle number. So it really sounds something like this, "It's not the heat"¦(wait for it)"¦it's the HUMIDITY!"� Oh my God, I'm so proud that you passed seventh grade science and can regale me with information about the water density in the air, you big fucking douche. Next time you say this to me, I'm going to wipe my sweaty hair all over your face, dickhead"¦I Hate You!

-YOURS:

-Reader Shannon R. (see "To Shannon"� issue) really hates"¦the "Ummmm Girl." The girl in my pop culture class that says "ummm" every third word. Not only that, but she's one of these people that takes longer to answer a sentence than it should. On top of that, this shoveoff talks about crap no one cares about. "Ummm, well, it's all, ummm, subjective, in an.... ummmm..... media consumed.... ummm.. culture. it's like, ummm... we're all these..... ummm, mice in a maze" Ummmm... I HATE YOU.

-Reader Krystle B. really hates: I hate the Pity friend who can't take a hint. We all have one or two, the 'friend' that you let chill with you because you feel bad for him or her. But its a sure thing that sooner or later that friggen haunt will get beyond annoying and you want nothing more than to rid yourself of this pathetic parasite. Even during the summer vacation this person STILL doesn't get it, look I don't talk to you for a reason, and when I say I'll brb and never come back...hmm I WONDER WHY??? NO you dumbass I didn't accidentally forget to IM you back I PURPOSLY DECIDED NOT TO. Why don't you go find new people to feel sorry for you and Leave me alone..... I HATE YOU!

-Reader Brian T. really hates: Mr. 40 Year Old College Student. Some people look at you and say, "How great that they are going back to get an education". I look at you and say, "Get the fuck out of my 8:30 am class you wrinkly old bastard". There is a reason for night classes; they are for rundown, good-for-nothing, mid-life crisis entering old fat farts. The men aren't as bad, they know they aren't SUPPOSED to be there, so they sit in the back and quietly earn their 2 decade late diploma. It's those fucking housewives that wake up one morning and think they can go to college now that the kids are out of the house and get a degree. TO DO WHAT YOU FAT CUNT?!?! By the time your idiot ass even EARNS a diploma, you'll be 50. That's 5 to 10 years away from retirement, or a job as a greeter at Walmart. You don't need a fucking degree to smile and say hi to people. So stop asking questions, stop sucking up to the professor that's 15 years younger than you, and get out of my class. Do you need to take English 275 to understand the words "I HATE YOU!"

-Reader Jon A. really hates: those loser guys who go to clubs with their top 3 buttons on their shirts not done up. Some even have the chest hair poking out that makes me want to punch them even harder. What are they going for here the "greasy guy from the 80's" look? I hate you, you fucking loser!
(Author's Note: Chest hair and gold chains are back Jon, get with it)

-Reader Jim P. really hates: all those fucking jackasses who think that they are funny when they quote Dave Chapelle's skit of Little Jon. Dear God, you people need to realize that you are not Little John Or Dave Chapelle and you are not funny, most of you aren't even black!!!!!! Go to hell you copyright infringement motherfuckers
(Author's Note: I was similarly troubled by such an incident, see "People I Hate"�, the first hate list)

-Reader Eric H. really hates: The 40 year old women who walk around campus with those damn backpacks on wheels. Are they really that lazy and weak that they cant just get a real backpack that actually goes on their backs and not some damn suitcase for their books. They walk slower than anyone else on campus and get in people's way all the time. Guess what? You're not going to be able to stow that carry-on anywhere on this campus. Get a bag like everybody else, you old, lazy hags"¦I Hate You!

-Reader Katie J. really hates: those fucking assholes that drive on the interstate in the passing lane while going below the speed limit OR just keeping pace with the person in the regular lane. IT'S CALLED THE PASSING LANE FOR A REASON!!!! I also hate that son of a bitch that weaves in and out of lanes with out using a turn signal - people like that should just die because they are probably going to end up the cause of my death. Assholes"¦I hate you both!

-Reader Rhino really hates: closet studiers: These are the people who claim to never attend class, don't buy any materials and never study. Just tell the truth. They act like they are too good to study and base their grades on the amount of time they studied, which is usually some bullshit amount of time immediately preceding a test. I think grades should be base on a ratio of time studied to your score; like 300 minutes divided by the score of 97% that's a 3.1 you failed..... but on the other hand, a 75 earned in 35 minutes of study time equals a 2.1 good job!! So fuck you, you little dishonest, "I never study" schoolboy or schoolgirl and get you ass back to the library.

-Reader Alyssa S. really hates: the smelly drunk girl. You know who I am talking about, the girl who gets drunk, and then dances, getting sweaty, only to ask you the same question over and over again, which is usually "Am I pretty?" I want to tell her she's fucking ugly just so she will go cry in the bathroom and leave me alone. She tries to hug you and cover you in her alcohol infused perspiration, continually re-applies her makeup until she looks like a fucking clown and smells. I'm not sure what it is exactly that makes the "drunk girl smell" Not all girls get it, but a lot do, and it's nasty. It's the combination of smoke, alcohol sweat, makeup and bad breath I think. Stop fucking hugging me, go take a shower! Can you not smell or see yourself the 800 times you have gone to the bathroom to apply makeup? If you must hover around me shut the fuck up! Stop annoying me when I'm trying to find a piece of ass! I hate you!

-Alyssa also hates: the friend who always sits in the front seat, and then talks on the phone the entire god damned time she's sitting up there. She even turns down the radio so she can have a conversation. God forbid anyone else turn the radio down when they want to speak or hear anything at all. No, you must sit in the backseat and be deaf until the car ride is over, not to mention get sick and windblown because she has to have the windows down too. Sit in the back fucking seat if you are not even going to talk to people in the car, so I can bust your eardrums you inconsiderate fuck. I hate you!

-Reader Sarah H. really hates: The I'm-Too-Good-To-Go-Out-And-Get-Drunk-Asian-Philospher: That's right, my RA likes to preach CONSTANTLY about the evils of alcohol and the many reasons why alcohol is the root of all of society's problems. Fuck you, douche nozzel! "I would go out and get food....but I don't feel like looking at drunk people..." Eat shit and die, alright? Because as soon as I'm finished listening to you piss and moan about your Holier-than-thou attitude, I'm gonna go slam 12 beers till I can't tell my ass from my hand! Fuck off, I HATE YOU!!!

-Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ really hates: No one. I love all men as one. However, I must say that I don't really like Muslims. I don't know what it is. I mean, I'm a Jew, so I dig the Jews. And Christians worship me, so I like them too. But Muslims don't seem to like me at all, so they kind of annoy me. Who is the Mohammed guy anyway? Wasn't I around first? I've been looking all over heaven for him and I can't seem to find"¦wait"¦ I think I see him talking to Ghandi"¦I gotta go"¦

-Reader CJ really hates: the "Angry Thong Wearer" She's the dumb skank that feels the need to go to class dressed like it's friday night and she's going "clubbin". As soon as she sits down in the desk in front of you her thong rides up, she reaches back and realizes it and tucks it back into her black booty pants, and then turns gives you a dirty look becuase you were looking at it. Like it's my fault she's dressed like a hootch while the rest of the world is still wearing what they slept in and she can't keep her sexy underwear in her pants and out of my field of vision. Guess what put a hoodie and some fleece pants on and act like a regular person you dumb bitch. I HATE YOU

-Reader Andrea The High Schooler really hates: the couples that are so openly "lovey dovey" they must confess it to the world threw msn...no one really cares that "you LOOOVE BOBBI SOOOO MUCH *KISSES*" i want to fucking choke people like that... but that's not the worst of it what's worse is when they break up 2 days later and they put it on their screen name as well "I'm such a fucking loser that bobbi dumped me...I'm sorry I'm too ugly for you"...no one fucking cares about shit like that...especially over msn...all we want to know is the simple shit. Don't lay your life out for everyone to read, trust me we don't find it as amusing as you do.

-Reader Gabbi really hates: the poseur queen. Everyone knows her oh so well, or not at all. She has been everything from slutty to straight edge"¦sporty to emo, in fact you can't understand how she has the money to become someone new every week. The cost of clothes, condoms, sweatbands, and notebooks to write her feelings in must be well into the thousands, but wait she's also pretending to have problems at home, so maybe her rents feel bad for her and encourage her fake ways. So when I throw your flower on the ground an stomp on it, or tell you to shut the fuck up b/c I'm not listening, or lick the cupcakes u probably spent hours making for your boyfriends birthday, or most importantly when I tell you I hate your guts, IM NOT FUCKING JOKING AND I HATE YOU!

-Reader Melissa really hates: the slutty drunk-This is the so-called good friend that when Intoxicated decides your bed would be the optimal spot to fuck some random guy. He busts on your sheets, and then they leave you without cleaning up. Your left drunk/stoned at 2 in the morning trying to wash your god damn sheets. ( side note: bleach and laundry detergent are not interchangeable). Then she has the nerve to call you the next afternoon to see if you caught the guys name by chance. I hate you! You're a stupid whore!

-Reader Tom W. really hates: people who wear cell phones on their belt. They act like it's special or something, when really the guy sitting next to them has the same fucking one. Does it make you feel important that you have a cell phone. Welcome to the 21st century every mother fucker has a cell phone so put it in your pocket bitch. FUCK YOU pocket illiterate mother fucker I HATE YOU.

-Reader Nick G. really hates: The "Look at Me, I read the Newspaper!" Guy. These fuckers go out of there way to show everybody in class that they read the Washington Post. To them I would say: Guess what fag? Nobody gives a shit you spend 10$ in newspapers from the bookstore every morning. Read your paper in your dorm room, when you actually have time to do it. I HATE YOU.

-Finally, A Reader Who-didn't-give-me-his-name-but-the-beginning-of-his-email-name-is-Jgraf really hates: People who walk at the exact pace you are, but pull out RIGHT in front of you. You know the people, your walking at a nice leisurely pace, but then some mother fucker walks RIGHT out in front of you. And he HAS to go the same damn pace as you. So you can't pass him unless you jog around his ass, and then you have to fucking crawl if you don't want to be walking on his ass. You fucking annoying pull out walker...I HATE YOU!

-Wow, that was a lot of hate and I've enjoyed every last bit of it. If you made it this far; congratulations. If you didn't; your Mom hate