It cost us $1.4 billion dollars to make sure that the Republican and Democratic National Conventions finish securely. I don't understand why we spent all that money to protect the people we would most like to see killed by terrorists.

These are the same two-faced jerks who risk the lives of our family members in Kabul and Baghdad and they should have been willing to risk their own in New York and Boston. $1.4 billion dollars is more than the combined salary of every American soldier serving in Iraq for an entire year. I don't think we should try to kill our politicians, but to save that kind of money, that's a risk I'm willing to take.

Think about all the amazing stuff we could buy. I know we need politicians, but can't we do better? Let's take the first half of the money and genetically engineer better politicians. Politicians that can fly, and shoot laser beams out of their eyes, and when they do have extra-marital affairs, at least let it be with hot chicks. This is America! Our politicians should be hooking up with the hottest interns our colleges have to offer.

Then, let's invest 300 million dollars in our education system, because if we don't spend it on education now, we're going to have to spend it on prisons later. The number one contributing factor to crime in America is dumbass. I recently heard this great story from Arkansas (coincidence, I'm sure) where a man was arrested for robbing a convenience store while wearing a hat with his name printed on the front. If I were the cops, I'd think that was pretty convenient.

I know that 300 million dollars isn't near enough to solve all the stupidity in America, so we have to spend it wisely. We use the money to solve our education and crime problems in one master stroke. We take all our worst criminals and sentence them to the worst punishment imaginable. We send them back to high school.

What criminal in his right mind would ever risk that kind of humiliation? Solitary is nothing when you're being stuffed in a locker five days a week. You think it's tough eating prison food while ignoring your cellmate's advances? Try having Delores the lunch lady serve up a hearty portion of steak-ums, tater tots, and cigarette ash while the cool table ignores you. Anal rape got you down? How about showing up to your prom stag after spending a year's worth of lawn mowing money on a tux, limo, and flowers for some bitch who forgot she said yes to another guy.

We'll also see unprecedented graduation rates among students that draw Lester The Molester as a lab partner. There's no better incentive to pay attention in class than having your future sitting at the desk next to you.

Then there's the problems of America's farms. Do you know what farm subsidies are? That's when we pay farmers not to grow food. That makes as much sense as paying the homeless not to eat. We are paying farmers to grow less food in a world where millions of people are starving. If only there a way to solve both problems! Here's an idea: we spend 100 million buying food from the farmers and giving it to the hungry people. This also solves a third problem, by creating a world where that over-fed guilt-tripper Sally Struthers is banished from late night TV once and for all. For just the price of a cup of coffee per day, she can shut her pie hole and let me watch South Park.

And we haven't even touched gas prices. Two dollars a gallon? For that price, a tank should come with a massage and a happy ending. You know why we don't use wind and sun and water to power our cars? Because it's not profitable for Mobil. If renewable energy sources were as profitable as oil, we'd all be driving wind mills and flying solar panels while Exxon cleans our oceans instead of coloring them.

If we had god's Mastercard we couldn't make a dent in Mobil's business plan. So let's take 200 million dollars to hire one lawyer for oil company executive that makes more than me, which is every oil company executive, not to mention a good portion of the mailroom. These lawyers will fine the company $20 every time they treat the American consumer like a drunken cheerleader. And since that IS their business plan, we'll have enough money to buy the oil companies, shut them down and pursue an energy policy that - get this - makes sense. We will finally stop getting screwed by the oil companies and re-assert our constitutional right to get screwed by the government, like the founding fathers intended.

So we've only got 100 million dollars left. Let's take half of that bribe MTV to never air another episode of Newlyweds. And with the final fifty million, we go to Vegas, baby, and put our last fifty million dollars on black six. Why black six? Because George Bush would hate that. Six, being the number of times Jenna has passed out at a keg party, and black representing black people, who will not be voting for Bush in this election. I'm kidding, Colin Powell will. I'm still kidding, he's white.

Maybe we'll lose the money - if we do, we already did a lot of good with what we had. But if we happen to win, that's another $1.8 billion dollars to play with. And we'll use it to support our military, by spending it all on a team of super soldiers. But we don't use them to invade other countries - we send them to hunt down Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson, and cancel those morons once and for all.

"Oh my gawd Nick, it's like, the army and stuff! Oh, I love a man in uniform."

"Bang. Bang."

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you world peace.

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'm an incoming freshman this year, and I've come to learn that my roommate will not be a fellow classmate. Rather, a junior biochem major. What am I to do?

-Sean

Sean,

What, you don't address me? Just send me an e-mail with no "Dear Joe" or "My Dearest Joe" or "Joe, The Coolest Guy in the World Who Totally Banged My Sister"? Fine. See if I answer you. Wait, I'm answering you now. Oh, you're good Sean. Real good.

So you want to know what you can do about your biochem junior roommate? Well, you have several options. You can...

a) Whine about it

b) Write a letter to an internet advice columnist who would rather
make fun of you than give you any actual advice

c) Suck it up and realize that this is the smallest problem you
will ever have, you over-sensitive, expect-every-thing-to-be-perfect spoiled little suburbanite douchebag. What's the big deal? The guy is two years older than you and takes different classes. So what? You expected a roommate that you can do homework with and schedule your classes around and IM funny little private jokes across the room while the rest of your hall watches, filled with jealousy over your platonic man-love? Buy a "My Buddy" doll and leave me out of it.

And since you've already done a & b, I'd recommend c.

Okay, maybe that was too harsh. I'm sorry. It's just been a while since I've answered a letter and I released all my pent up aggression on poor Sean here. I apologize, really. In fact, I'm going to start a fund for Sean. Send your contributions to the "Sean is Afraid of His Roommate Fund," care of CollegeHumor.com, 123 Whiney-Complainer Rd., Douchebag CA, 90210.

Thanks for writing. This was Joe College saying, "What, you thought I was actually sorry?"

Dear Joe,

I live with 5 other girls at school. Two of them are really rude and always talk about me behind me back. Since we only have a few weeks left until summer I decided to start messing all their stuff up and then tell them off on the last day. I have tried being nice all year but they are mean anyway! So far all I have done is mush up their sandwiches and break their popsicles in half. Oh and I threw away some of their shampoo and silverware too. Do you have any advice or good ideas to help me make the end of their semester miserable?

Sincerely,

The Popsicle Snapper in South Carolina

Dear Popsicle Snapper,

Hmmm. What could I suggest that could possibly top breaking their popsicles? See, this is why we haven't had a woman president yet. Because if you were a guy, you'd have put glue in their shampoo instead of throwing it out, and you'd have peed on their frozen food months ago. I'm not saying you should do that, I'm just saying I would.

- Joe College

Got a question about an aspect of college life? Want to be made fun of? Then this is the place for you! Send all your college-related questions to joecollege AT observationalhumor DOT com.

Steve (not Joe College) has a new column up called "The Blind Dating the Blind" (not by Joe College).

A quick plug... If you and/or your friends do crazy shit, submit it to Totally Outrageous Behavior on FOX. They're collecting videos right now via that website and they pay at least $500 if it airs. Now, hot hot hotlinks...

There are two things that control my life right now: being a comedian struggling to get noticed and being a single guy struggling not to be single. So it made perfect sense to go on Blind Date.

If you are unfamiliar with the show, Blind Date puts couples that have either a lot or absolutely nothing in common in an SUV for seven hours and sees what happens. There's a little more to it than that, but I'm summarizing.

A friend was chosen for the show, and that convinced me to give it a shot. Why not? They would pay $100, give me a free dinner, and allow me the chance to embarrass myself in front of a much larger audience than usual. Oh, yeah, and the getting a date thing.

The first step in the process was to apply online. I sent in an e-mail with my headshot and answers to a few basic questions. My favorite was "why do you want to appear on Blind Date?" I answered, "Normally, I take dates on a seven hour drive in an SUV, but this way we could have cartoon thought bubbles." I passed the first step.

I was happy to get that far, because that means I was not average; there was something about me that they thought would make good TV. I figure the producers pick people who are either all-stars or train wrecks, but I'd rather be a train wreck than forgettable. I was called in for an interview earlier this week.

When I got to the offices, there were several other guys there. I quickly understood I was right about them wanting some train wrecks. I didn't know if that's why I was there, but it was definitely why the other guys were.

The office process was not easy. First, I had to fill out a multi-volume application, detailing my personality with the same three questions phrased differently eight times each.
1)How would your friends describe you?
2)Do you like sex?
3)Do you like how your friends describe how you like sex?

I had some trouble filling out unique answers to all the questions, which included three words I'd use to describe myself, three qualities I had, and three of my strong points. I listed "ability to make detailed lists without repeating anything" as my third strength.

While I filled out my application, I was distracted by three episodes of Blind Date they were airing in the room, and three train wrecks hoping to be on future shows.

Guy One was okay. Nice guy, all smiles, but certainly not Generic Reality Dating Show material. He was a bald school teacher in his late thirties, and he seemed shocked at everything on TV, even when they started airing the episodes a second time.

"Can you believe she just did that?!" he asked with astonishment.

"Yes I can," I said. "But the first time they showed it, I was totally caught off guard."

I said that all in my head. I don't need them typecasting me as smarmy.

Guy Two was more the reality show type - smooth talker, glass jaw, and cut arms (I know because his mesh shirt didn't have sleeves). And he called a friend to help him fill out the application. The entire application. The entire seven page application.

"Hey, Jim? What do I look for in a girl? And give me three words for how much I like sex."

Guy Three seemed harmless, until he spoke. Because when he spoke, he asked me to spell "Ralph."

"What, like the grocery store?" I asked, assuming he worked there, while also fearing it could be his first name.

"No, like Macchio," which he then also asked me to spell.

Guy Three was writing that he looked like Ralph Macchio. Odd, since I didn't know Ralph Macchio was a 200-pound Hispanic guy with a shaved head and a goatee.

After two hours, I finally interviewed. They wanted me to talk about sex a lot more than I wanted to, and they made me stand in a very unnatural position (they said it looked better on camera). Overall, I think I came across well, looking for an intelligent conversationalist with an accurate self-opinion and a body like Jessica Rabbit. Hey, they asked.

I haven't heard back if I made the show, so whether I'm an all-star or a train wreck remains to be seen. But I can take solace in what I learned from applying: The competition at the comedy clubs may be fierce, but I'm not as scared as I used to be by my competition in the dating pool.

Insert witty cartoon thought bubble here.

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.

Canter's is a very famous deli in Los Angeles. Well, most of the time. Sometimes, it's a nightclub.

Canter's opened in 1928, and has been at its current location in West Hollywood for over 50 years. Many reviews list it as a kosher deli, but that's not true. It used to be - kosher delis don't serve BLTs. Now, Canter's is a kosher-esque deli, providing the same rude service you'd expect to get in a kosher place with none of the rules about not serving pig.

But on Tuesdays, half the place closes and becomes a trendy music venue, where bands play to the greased hair and tube-topped masses. I went there to grab some fries with a few friends Tuesday and saw a line around the block. Thankfully, it was not for the deli. Just for the dance club. Not so thankfully, there was a dance club at my freakin deli.

I understand why Canter's goes from deli to dance club - it's just good business. I don't understand why people go there. I've never been half in the mood for a party, half in the mood for a pastrami.

"This is a great beat. You know what would make it better? Coleslaw. And some bass. With a pickle. And some e. Maybe an egg cream. And a glo stick. But yeah, some more bass."�

Has Los Angeles run out of real clubs? Are there not enough clubs in one of the largest cities in the country, that people are taking over a deli in order to find a good place to party? No, there are plenty of clubs in LA. Skybar, Saddle Ranch, and White Lotus, for instance, are not known for their pastrami.

I'm not about to write the sequel to Footloose - I really like going out and dancing. I just don't like having to wait an extra 20 minutes for my fries because the staff is busy selling drinks. I especially don't like that the reason why Canter's is so popular as a music venue is because it is not really a music venue, and that draws more people in.

That's right, you heard me. Or read me. I'm accusing anyone who goes there as going specifically for the novelty of it. "Isn't this fun?"� they say, as they wait in line and I wait for my fries. "I got so tired of the scene at the real clubs, I'm glad this place opened. Now I can get all of the club sketchiness with none of the classy ambience."�

Canter's is known as a celebrity hang out - the Rat Pack used to eat there, as well as stars from yesterday's Marylin Monroe and Cary Grant to today's Madonna and Brad Pitt. It was the backdrop for the recent "100 Greatest Stand-Ups of All Time,"� and the less recent "Enemy of the State."� Nick Cage met wife Patricia Arquette there, Keith Moon of "The Who"� got kicked out once, and Gene Simmons has publicly discussed his fondness for their pastry.

But the cool part about that is that at Canter's, nobody cares about the celebrities. They just eat, and no one ever bothers them. And that makes the rest of us feel cool - because we can sit and enjoy ourselves as equals in a town that typically separates the cream from the coffee.

On Tuesdays, all that changes; Canter's becomes a "scene."� Rumor has it that Simmons will be playing there sometime soon. I doubt that he'll stick around to enjoy some babka. And even if he does, there won't be parking for anyone who wants to stick around with him.

Canter's, as a club, succeeds for a dumb reason. People, especially people in LA, like going to parties that they feel are cutting edge. They like parties that are their little secret, even though there's a line around the block. Soon, people will tire of club Canter's. As more people find out about it, it will no longer be cool. And then they'll probably fence off half my laundromat once a week and rename it "Cycles."�

"Look how the laundry detergent glows in the black light!"�

I don't partake in "scenes,"� so on Tuesdays, I am forced to go elsewhere to eat. Since this is Los Angeles, I take solace in knowing that 24-hour eateries dot the landscape, and I have many choices. I will have even more once Skybar, Saddle Ranch, and White Lotus start serving pastrami.

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.

The road conditions have suddenly become unsafe for driving. Please stay in your houses. And stay out of your living rooms, because I might crash through those. That's right, I can drive. Well, I am allowed to drive. Whether or not I am able to is still being questioned.

This week, just about a month before my 25th birthday, I got my driver's license. For those of you just tuning in, I grew up in New York and never needed one. For those of you who have been with me a while, I know I promised I'd get one by New Year's. What I didn't realize is that my friends were terrified of me practicing in their cars. (Good call, guys).

I tried to get my license earlier. I got my New York permit four years ago, and drove occasionally with my father. My mother wouldn't ride in a car with me. Which makes sense because she gets nervous riding with someone who DOESN'T have the potential to kill everyone in a fiery crash.

So I kept driving with my father whenever he could, and took the test this May--WAY before I was ready. I took it again a few weeks later, which was only a little bit less WAY before I was ready. It was like a 12-year-old taking the SAT. Sure, he might be able to finish the test. But he's not getting into Harvard at 12. Penn, maybe, but not Harvard. (Sorry. That's just leftover spite from losing so many basketball games.)

After that second time, I decided I would actually pay for some lessons. I had not yet had any official car lessons. When I went for my 5-hour certification class (a requisite of a New York license), I was the only one who showed up. So the instructor signed my papers without the class and told me to go home and not tell anyone about it. So keep that quiet, okay?

I took two lessons once I moved to California for $85 a piece. The lessons consisted of one hour of lesson and one hour of sitting in traffic while we went to pick up the next student. My friend Heather was nice enough to give me one last day of driving before she took me to my test. She also took me home once her turn signal burnt out ON THE WAY TO THE TEST, preventing me from taking it. In New York, you don't need a working turn signal to take the driver's test, but you do in California. That's odd, since no one uses them anyway.

So I scheduled another exam, and this time I paid $70 to have a driving school take me there. I failed that one when I didn't stop for a fire engine traveling in the opposite direction three lanes away. I didn't know that rule, and so I learned to stop the next time. And I also learned that taking the test with a driving school also included an hour of lesson before the test. Which was $15 cheaper than straight up paying for a lesson. So it was cheaper to just keep taking the exam until I passed. So I did that. A few times.

That's right - I failed the road test four times. Is that a record? Possibly. I've never heard of anyone failing it more. Probably because the people who failed it five times either keep quiet about it or stop driving when they crash into someone's living room.

I had to go to the DMV ten times to complete this process. There were the five tests, the time I couldn't take the test, the time I got my New York permit, the time I got my California permit, the time I tried to get my California permit but went to a DMV that no longer gives permit tests, and the time I tried to get my California permit but didn't have a CERTIFIED copy of my birth certificate. I did bring a "copy of a birth certificate" like the instructions said. When I asked if they understood how that can be taken to mean a "copy of a birth certificate" they agreed, and said that they'll change it as soon as I go home and leave them alone.

10 visits to the DMV. And wow, was it worth it. I love the freedom of driving, and I love not having to ask people for a ride. But what I love most is not being made fun of anymore.

When I was 20, I made a list of things I wanted to do by the time I was 25. I posted the list on my wall, and would check things off as they happened. Interview a hall of fame baseball player, visit more than 30 states, write a book. Sometimes someone would see the list. Everytime, they'd skip right over the cool stuff I did accomplish and say, "Woah, you don't know how to drive? What's wrong with you?" And this was in New York.

So a big middle finger to everyone who thought I couldn't do it, especially several driving examiners. I finally passed (thanks in big part to my friend Neil, who let me co-opt his car for a weekend) and I rented a car for a few weeks while I look for something more permanent. I've already put almost 300 miles on it, and I intend to put a few more.

How many miles is it from here to your living room?

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, how are you? It'd God again. I know it's been a while since I wrote, but that doesn't mean we're not still totally bff. I mean, the f stands for something, right? Well, both of them do. And the b, also. But that second f is the important part.

People have been calling me lately more than ever before. I don't wanna say I'm Ms. Popular or anything but it's crazy! The phone just keeps ringing. It's "God this," and "God that," and I'm getting so tired of it. If George calls me one more time I'm just gonna freak. And John is no better. The only thing I care less about than that stupid election is the Super Bowl. It's in friggin January. Like I wanna be bothered during the one week I get off from school until March. I'm planning a ski trip with Ashleigh and Deb and I hope we get to go. Last year we had to cancel cause there was some big flood and my line was going off the hook with people telling me about it. Duh. Like I don't know. I'm the one that started it!

I dunno why we get off for presidents' week anyway. There's no gods week. I guess Christmas and Hanukah, but that's only some people anyway. And last I checked Lincoln's birthday wasn't always on a Monday (I should know - I invented it!)

Some jerks set off a few bombs in churches in Iraq the other day and I've been really tense about it. I mean, how would they like it if I wrecked their stuff? My little brother lost his retainer once and my mom totally freaked. What's she going to say when she finds out that I lost five churches in one day? And Allah didn't even apologize! He said that he didn't want it to happen and his friends just misheard him, but still I'm the one who has to deal with all of it. I think he's still mad at me for what George did to his front yard. I told him not to! I promise! Yeesh, this is so sixth grade. No offense.

I've been having trouble at school lately. Some of the other gods have been teasing me and they wouldn't let me sit at their table. And I was like, "but I'm America's god," and then Allah got all up in my face about how all of us are America's god and I was like, "no!," and he was all, "yeah!" and I said something about how if he was so special than why can't he help anyone win a war and I probably shouldn't have said it because everyone got quiet. And then Shiva told me that my friends were using "born again" wrong and Thor said something really mean that I can't even remember but I threw down my tray and stormed out. Whatever, it's just high school. Like this stuff is really gonna matter in four years. Get over it.

I liked it better when we were kids and we could just play all day in the desert and no one really bothered us except when we'd break a palace window with a Frisbee or something. Oh man, do you remember how mad Ramses got? He was all, "I'm the Pharaoh and no one breaks my window," and I was like, "don't tell me what to do, I'm God!" and I let a bunch of bugs go in his house.

I've just been feeling really blah lately, and I was hoping that writing to you could help me get some kind of catharsis or something. Catharsis. Isn't that a good word? I learned that one yesterday. It means "The emotional relief that results either from allowing repressed thoughts and feelings to surface." I should have known that one already cause that's totally the story of my life. Well, my friend's lives, anyway. But you know what I mean.

Look at me, I'm just rambling to you. So how have you been? Did that stuff with the tissues and the sweater work? Don't worry, that's totally normal. I went through the same thing when I was your age. Like I'm so much older now. It's just been three years, but time here is different so it's felt like way more. Anyway, write back and let me know how everything is. I could use the distraction.

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.