Streeter Seidell's Article Archive
21 total in June 2004What's Going On Hand High School?
In the spring of 2001, I addressed my high school class at graduation in what would be remember as one of the sweatiest graduation speeches ever delivered in my town's history. I don't really remember what I talked about but I can almost guarantee that somewhere in there was something about lasting relationships and continuing friendship. Now, three years later, I stay in touch with approximately eight people from my high school. It's not that I don't like the kids I graduated with, you just lose touch with people as the years roll by. But there's a problem.
In two years my five year reunion will take place and who gets to call everybody and let them know about it? You guessed it, me. That means I'll be making hundreds of phone calls to hundreds of people I haven't seen in half a decade. Here is how I imagine most of the calls will go.
"Hi, is this _______ ________?"
"Yeah, who's this?"
"Streeter Seidell, I graduated with you five years ago."
"Ohhhh yeahhh, we're you the sweaty one at graduation?"
"Well, it was really hot that day and""
"Damn, you were sweating so bad even my grandma was saying how gross it was."
"Yeah, great. Anyways"" And so it goes.
I really do not want to encounter the awkwardness that these phone calls will bring, so I thought of a solution; email. If you graduated with me and have a working computer, please email me and tell me what's going on in your life. Who you're sleeping with, any ailments, crippling social anxiety, nerve damage, anything! This way I'll know a little bit about what you're up to before I have to call you. Sounds great, right?
"But Streeter, what if I didn't graduate with you? How can I help?" Unfortunately, you people didn't have the honor of knowing me in my younger, longer hair years. You were not there to see me wear the same Smashing Pumpkins shirt everyday or skip out to go to Pizza Hut for the lunch time pizza buffet. Sadly, there is nothing we can do about that. But, you can help my little investigation. If you know anyone who graduated from Daniel Hand High School in Madison, CT in 2001, tell them about this little article and give them my email address.
Will you receive a reward? Of course. If you successfully locate a member of my graduating class and I receive an email from them citing your name, you will receive a picture from my personal picture box. Yes, that seems like a weird reward, but I don't really have anything in excess except stupid pictures of myself from high school. Who knows, you could get the one of me eating jell-o, or maybe one of my sleeping in an airport, or a nude one if you're lucky.
If any of your finds ask what I am doing, you can tell them I am happily married and living in Ohio. Or maybe you can tell them I am taking a year to wander around Europe so I can "really find myself." No"I got it, tell them I live in The Bronx and do standup and go to college and don't have a girlfriend and spend way too much time watching E! It's Good To Be" yeah, that one will impress them.
So, what's happening with you Colby? Remember that time I called our math teacher at midnight, insuring I would get a c- in the class? Hey Will, how's the acting going? Timmmmmm, did they ever find your foot after the accident? Christian, are you still taller than me? Hello Bryn, are you still blonde? Tom, still playing drums? Amy and Laura, are you guys still twins? This is all stuff I would love to know before I have to call you. Please, drop me an email at suxatlife@hotmail.com. And remember, if you find one of my classmates, you could receive a picture of me with my shorts jacked up real, real high. Happy hunting.
In two years my five year reunion will take place and who gets to call everybody and let them know about it? You guessed it, me. That means I'll be making hundreds of phone calls to hundreds of people I haven't seen in half a decade. Here is how I imagine most of the calls will go.
"Hi, is this _______ ________?"
"Yeah, who's this?"
"Streeter Seidell, I graduated with you five years ago."
"Ohhhh yeahhh, we're you the sweaty one at graduation?"
"Well, it was really hot that day and""
"Damn, you were sweating so bad even my grandma was saying how gross it was."
"Yeah, great. Anyways"" And so it goes.
I really do not want to encounter the awkwardness that these phone calls will bring, so I thought of a solution; email. If you graduated with me and have a working computer, please email me and tell me what's going on in your life. Who you're sleeping with, any ailments, crippling social anxiety, nerve damage, anything! This way I'll know a little bit about what you're up to before I have to call you. Sounds great, right?
"But Streeter, what if I didn't graduate with you? How can I help?" Unfortunately, you people didn't have the honor of knowing me in my younger, longer hair years. You were not there to see me wear the same Smashing Pumpkins shirt everyday or skip out to go to Pizza Hut for the lunch time pizza buffet. Sadly, there is nothing we can do about that. But, you can help my little investigation. If you know anyone who graduated from Daniel Hand High School in Madison, CT in 2001, tell them about this little article and give them my email address.
Will you receive a reward? Of course. If you successfully locate a member of my graduating class and I receive an email from them citing your name, you will receive a picture from my personal picture box. Yes, that seems like a weird reward, but I don't really have anything in excess except stupid pictures of myself from high school. Who knows, you could get the one of me eating jell-o, or maybe one of my sleeping in an airport, or a nude one if you're lucky.
If any of your finds ask what I am doing, you can tell them I am happily married and living in Ohio. Or maybe you can tell them I am taking a year to wander around Europe so I can "really find myself." No"I got it, tell them I live in The Bronx and do standup and go to college and don't have a girlfriend and spend way too much time watching E! It's Good To Be" yeah, that one will impress them.
So, what's happening with you Colby? Remember that time I called our math teacher at midnight, insuring I would get a c- in the class? Hey Will, how's the acting going? Timmmmmm, did they ever find your foot after the accident? Christian, are you still taller than me? Hello Bryn, are you still blonde? Tom, still playing drums? Amy and Laura, are you guys still twins? This is all stuff I would love to know before I have to call you. Please, drop me an email at suxatlife@hotmail.com. And remember, if you find one of my classmates, you could receive a picture of me with my shorts jacked up real, real high. Happy hunting.
FacebookPeople You Hate XIII
I want you to relax. Take a deep breath and count to ten. That's good"let it out. I want you to push in all of that anger; all of that hate. That's right. Push it in. Now I want you to channel it into the pages of the Famous Hate List. Good, good, we're making progress. Okay everybody, take a deep breath and let the hate fill you.
MINE:
Answering Annie: Ring"ring"ring"ring""Hello! And welcome to Verizon voice information processing. The customer you are calling is either not available, has turned off their phone or is purposely ignoring you. Please choose from our automated menu to continue. Press 1 if you would like to hear this message in Spanish, para Espaniol. Press 2 if you would like to leave a callback number. Press 3 if you would like to hang up. Press 4 if you would like to press 4. Press 5 if you would like to leave a voice message. Press 6 if you would like to beat me with an iron bar." "6". I do not think anyone on this planet angers me more than the lady that reads the voicemail instructions. Honestly, how dumb are we? Do we really need a 3 minute guide to say to our friend, "Hey dude, it's Street. Call me." Leaving the message takes 1/375th as long as the instructions. Lady, if you could only hear the things I say to you while you're telling me that if I'd like to send a picture to my friend I should press 8, you'd hear me say"I Hate You!
Stubborn Sam: The bar is packed with sweaty coeds. You have two full drinks in your hands as you try to make your way back to your friend who is stranded on the other side of the room. Everyone moves aside as you say "excuse me" in a polite manner except stubborn Sam. No, he's not moving for anyone. You try to be nice and say, "'scuse me man, just gotta sneak by ya." But he pretends not to hear. You get a little more corse, "Hey, can I get by?" Poor guy, he must be deaf because he isn't moving an inch. Finally, not able to stand the freezing V-and-T in your hand anymore, you put your shoulder down and try to squeeze by and then you get a reaction. He turns around and looks at you like you just ran over his dog. He'll probably say something like, "You got a problem?" Yeah, I do. You won't move your designer-pants-covered ass out of the way. Your five foot three, 113 Lbs and have more gel in your hair than all of Staten Island where as I am six foot two, 235 Lbs and carry two potentially deadly weapons in my hands. I could have just run you down, but I didn't. I was trying to be nice, I was trying to be cordial, but you couldn't suck up your macho pride to move your body 2 inches to the left. It's okay though, I know you wont swing at me because you're not that stupid and I know that I'll have the satisfaction while I watch you dance by yourself. Maybe you should try that not moving trick next time you cross a busy intersection"I Hate You!
Otherwise Occupied: Last night I went to a movie. I had bought my ticket the night before because I figured Fahrenheit 9/11 would sell out. It did and I was right about something for the fourth time this week. The only problem was I didn't know which screen the movie was playing on. So I went to the help desk and asked the lady "Hey, could you tell me where 9/11 is playing?" She replied, "No he didn't"Oh, girl you gotta set him straight." Hmmm, that's a funny answer. It took me a minute to realize she was talking on her earpiece cell phone and completely ignoring me. I thrust the ticket in her face again and asked the same question. She waved my hand off, getting back to her pressing business. Hey, you fat bitch, I'm sure Lowes Cinemas would be thrilled to hear that you spend your working hours talking to your fat bitch friends on your phone. Hell, that's what they hired you for, isn't it? What's that? No? Oh I see, they hired you to answer my questions but that is obviously too much to ask of you. God forbid you would have to take 2 seconds away from your important phone call to say "Theater 9." I wouldn't want to inconvenience you like that, you piece of shit. If I got paid to talk on the phone, I'd be a millionaire. So take your job and shove it up your fat ass, you should be shot"I Hate You!
YOURS:
Reader Janice S. really hates: The Department Store Dictator- I just hate when I go into a fancy department store, like Sax's and the salesperson acts like she's has zillions of shares of Microsoft(r), owns Harrod's and thinks she has looks of Catharine Zeta Jones. This auto-bitch, who has obviously condescended to have taken this job out of charity, attempting to look down her nose at someone towering 4 inches above her, is trying to sell a bra! For Chrissakes, this B.I.T. (the last two letters stand for "in training") is selling you gd lingerie. God. I wanna say, "Drop the attitude, Alice, you're just a shop person." They must have a place where they clone these C02 generators, who are so anal that they cannot sit for fear of sucking up the furniture"I Hate You!
Reader Diane E. really hates: The Illiterate: When the time comes for midterm papers, inevitably the "peer review" session is soon to follow. Somehow I am always paired-up with the illiterate dumbshit who doesn't know the difference between "your" and "you're" or the oh-so-challenging "to" vs. "too." How did you even make it past seventh grade, much less get admitted to college, you brainless turd? The three-and-a-half minutes I spent skimming your (that's the possessive one) incoherent excuse for an essay is valuable time I could have spent reviewing my own paper. Instead, I have to circle all your frivolous grammatical mistakes like I'm your middle school English teacher. You're (that's an abbreviation for "you are") about as intelligent as Paris Hilton with half her cerebral cortex removed. I hate you!
Diane also hates: The Perfumed Diva: To the girl who always sits next to me in my 9 a.m. class: You apparently like the new J. Lo fragrance. Message received. But do you always have to douse yourself in perfume every morning to the point that the professor starts slurring his speech and wavering behind the podium because your eau de toilette is announcing itself to the whole room as subtly as an air-raid siren? There is a reason my eyes are watering, and it's not because I am deeply moved by the lecture. Furthermore, I have a hunch that the guy sitting behind you is not napping, but has in fact passed out as if in a tear-gas-induced coma. I've got a fragrance for you. It's by Ralph Lauren, perhaps you've heard of it? It's called Essence of I Hate You!
Reader Russel P. really hates: People who bitch...alot.
Reader Suzanne really hates: The hootin- hollarin fool: Mr. and Mrs. Smith how did you two meet? Mrs " well I was just out jogging one hot summer day when Mr. Smith started honking and whistling. I knew by the sweet melody of that whistle and the ear intoxicating sound of those car beeps, that he was the man for me!!!" Ok so for all you fat hairy old men , when was the last time you heard a Mrs. Saying that? NEVER?!?! Oh you don't say how very peculiar that is! I would have thought by the way you instinctually beat away at your horn like you are the merry f-ing little drummer boy every time I walk/jog/ skip along ( I don't typically skip but maybe its just that sort of day) that this must always find you mates. Unlike Mrs. Smith, I can't tell you the last time I thought "aww that sweaty man driving that rickety ford pick-up is such a sweetheart for calling me a " hot baby-mm-mmm" I think I might just skip my Philosophy class and go track him down, he may just be the love of my life!" Oh yeah I HAVE NEVER HAD THAT THOUGHT YOU PIECE OF ASIAN DOG SHIT! Next time you feel the urge to comment on my or any other girl in the neighborhoods looks do us all a favor- roll up all the windows , wipe your sweaty dripping, un-showered self off, and look away from me , then wail away all you like go ahead!- feel better? Good ! You ear-deafening f*ck I hope a big Iron Pipe lands on you at the construction site and smashes your vocal cords you nasty piece of complete whacked out shit I HATE YOU !
Reader Nikola K. really hates: I hate people who can't drive with any semblance of intelligence. You're 36 years old and have been driving for 20 years, but some how you think it's okay to enter the freeway at 35 mph! Who the fuck do you think you are!? If you aren't swerving into my lane and causing an accident, you're making a right turn, but for some reason you can't merge and you end up on the sidewalk endangering the lives of a mother and her baby. You stupid fuck. I HATE YOU!
Reader Amber L. really hates: the "I'm gay so I know everything about fashion" people. I have this gay best friend and he always wants to go shopping with me. But I refuse because every time I suggest any type of fashion style he shoots me down with "Well I'm gay so I know." Just because your recently came out of the closet doesn't mean that you know everything about fashion. You wear a fucking cut off shirt with a button down dress up shirt under it! I Hate You!
Reader Allison F. really hates: The "quotes- corrector" guy. Picture the scene: you're hanging out with your friends, talking about guitars, etc, when someone recalls a quote from a movie everyone was just watching. All of your friends are about to start cracking up when a little annoying fuck comes along and says, "actually, the quote is (whatever the hell it was, with some minor change like "the' to "a')". No one gives a shit! All you've done is killed the joke and proven that you're a socially-inept moron! I HATE YOU! ("actually, it's I really hate you")
Reader Mary-Edward G. really hates: the Grammar Jerk - The guy or gal who always feels the need to chime in when you make one little grammatical error, like "ahem Sally and I." You know what, asshole, you aren't my mom and I am way more important than you and Sally so I am always going to put ME first when I'm trying to tell you something about what ME and Sally did so fuck you and you're little 7th grade grammar lesson because oh my god, I'm so glad you're my friend because instead of listening to what I was saying you're correcting me ooh how lucky I am, NO! I HATE YOU!
M-E. G. also hates: the extremely Ugly Guy who thinks he's hot and who tries to get with every girl he sees. You're not hot but for some reason you think you are and don't realize that you have no liberty hitting on me and my friends, and thinking you have a chance. I met this guy who was so forward about us "gettin it on later, baby" that he made me throw up (which also might have had something to do with all the beers I drank but nonetheless, nasty!) I had a small cold and he's like "oh no sweet tits, I hope you aren't sick cause we have to make out later" as he eye-rapes me and my friends - what? Hold on, did you just? I think I just I heard... this can't be... does he actually think? WOW! Ok... I don't even know what else to say but go have sex with your sister, I HATE YOU!
Finally, Reader Travis S. really hates: The guy from work who keeps asking my girlfriend for her number. Look dickhead, remember when you asked the first time and she told you she has a boyfriend and that you're uglier than a prostitute's vagina? Well, you obviously don't learn you short-yellow-bus riding retard. That's why you're a high school drop out stuck in a dead end job, while my girlfriend is already above you in the company, she just started there, AND she's only working there for the summer. You keep asking, she keeps ignoring, and she'd still rather drink a bottle of vaginal discharge than acknowledge your presence on earth. Only God knows why you're still alive. You're lucky she won't tell me who you are. I hope she rips your nuts off next time you ask, because if she doesn't do something terrible to you soon I promise you I will. You stupid cunt, I HATE YOU!
Wow, Travis. You can certainly form a powerful simile. Discharge"nasty. Anyways, that's all the hate for this week. Make sure to check back next week when I, and you, will be madder than ever. Also, remember to send me your submissions at suxatlife@hotmail.com and maybe all your friends can comment on what a bitter ass you are!
MINE:
Answering Annie: Ring"ring"ring"ring""Hello! And welcome to Verizon voice information processing. The customer you are calling is either not available, has turned off their phone or is purposely ignoring you. Please choose from our automated menu to continue. Press 1 if you would like to hear this message in Spanish, para Espaniol. Press 2 if you would like to leave a callback number. Press 3 if you would like to hang up. Press 4 if you would like to press 4. Press 5 if you would like to leave a voice message. Press 6 if you would like to beat me with an iron bar." "6". I do not think anyone on this planet angers me more than the lady that reads the voicemail instructions. Honestly, how dumb are we? Do we really need a 3 minute guide to say to our friend, "Hey dude, it's Street. Call me." Leaving the message takes 1/375th as long as the instructions. Lady, if you could only hear the things I say to you while you're telling me that if I'd like to send a picture to my friend I should press 8, you'd hear me say"I Hate You!
Stubborn Sam: The bar is packed with sweaty coeds. You have two full drinks in your hands as you try to make your way back to your friend who is stranded on the other side of the room. Everyone moves aside as you say "excuse me" in a polite manner except stubborn Sam. No, he's not moving for anyone. You try to be nice and say, "'scuse me man, just gotta sneak by ya." But he pretends not to hear. You get a little more corse, "Hey, can I get by?" Poor guy, he must be deaf because he isn't moving an inch. Finally, not able to stand the freezing V-and-T in your hand anymore, you put your shoulder down and try to squeeze by and then you get a reaction. He turns around and looks at you like you just ran over his dog. He'll probably say something like, "You got a problem?" Yeah, I do. You won't move your designer-pants-covered ass out of the way. Your five foot three, 113 Lbs and have more gel in your hair than all of Staten Island where as I am six foot two, 235 Lbs and carry two potentially deadly weapons in my hands. I could have just run you down, but I didn't. I was trying to be nice, I was trying to be cordial, but you couldn't suck up your macho pride to move your body 2 inches to the left. It's okay though, I know you wont swing at me because you're not that stupid and I know that I'll have the satisfaction while I watch you dance by yourself. Maybe you should try that not moving trick next time you cross a busy intersection"I Hate You!
Otherwise Occupied: Last night I went to a movie. I had bought my ticket the night before because I figured Fahrenheit 9/11 would sell out. It did and I was right about something for the fourth time this week. The only problem was I didn't know which screen the movie was playing on. So I went to the help desk and asked the lady "Hey, could you tell me where 9/11 is playing?" She replied, "No he didn't"Oh, girl you gotta set him straight." Hmmm, that's a funny answer. It took me a minute to realize she was talking on her earpiece cell phone and completely ignoring me. I thrust the ticket in her face again and asked the same question. She waved my hand off, getting back to her pressing business. Hey, you fat bitch, I'm sure Lowes Cinemas would be thrilled to hear that you spend your working hours talking to your fat bitch friends on your phone. Hell, that's what they hired you for, isn't it? What's that? No? Oh I see, they hired you to answer my questions but that is obviously too much to ask of you. God forbid you would have to take 2 seconds away from your important phone call to say "Theater 9." I wouldn't want to inconvenience you like that, you piece of shit. If I got paid to talk on the phone, I'd be a millionaire. So take your job and shove it up your fat ass, you should be shot"I Hate You!
YOURS:
Reader Janice S. really hates: The Department Store Dictator- I just hate when I go into a fancy department store, like Sax's and the salesperson acts like she's has zillions of shares of Microsoft(r), owns Harrod's and thinks she has looks of Catharine Zeta Jones. This auto-bitch, who has obviously condescended to have taken this job out of charity, attempting to look down her nose at someone towering 4 inches above her, is trying to sell a bra! For Chrissakes, this B.I.T. (the last two letters stand for "in training") is selling you gd lingerie. God. I wanna say, "Drop the attitude, Alice, you're just a shop person." They must have a place where they clone these C02 generators, who are so anal that they cannot sit for fear of sucking up the furniture"I Hate You!
Reader Diane E. really hates: The Illiterate: When the time comes for midterm papers, inevitably the "peer review" session is soon to follow. Somehow I am always paired-up with the illiterate dumbshit who doesn't know the difference between "your" and "you're" or the oh-so-challenging "to" vs. "too." How did you even make it past seventh grade, much less get admitted to college, you brainless turd? The three-and-a-half minutes I spent skimming your (that's the possessive one) incoherent excuse for an essay is valuable time I could have spent reviewing my own paper. Instead, I have to circle all your frivolous grammatical mistakes like I'm your middle school English teacher. You're (that's an abbreviation for "you are") about as intelligent as Paris Hilton with half her cerebral cortex removed. I hate you!
Diane also hates: The Perfumed Diva: To the girl who always sits next to me in my 9 a.m. class: You apparently like the new J. Lo fragrance. Message received. But do you always have to douse yourself in perfume every morning to the point that the professor starts slurring his speech and wavering behind the podium because your eau de toilette is announcing itself to the whole room as subtly as an air-raid siren? There is a reason my eyes are watering, and it's not because I am deeply moved by the lecture. Furthermore, I have a hunch that the guy sitting behind you is not napping, but has in fact passed out as if in a tear-gas-induced coma. I've got a fragrance for you. It's by Ralph Lauren, perhaps you've heard of it? It's called Essence of I Hate You!
Reader Russel P. really hates: People who bitch...alot.
Reader Suzanne really hates: The hootin- hollarin fool: Mr. and Mrs. Smith how did you two meet? Mrs " well I was just out jogging one hot summer day when Mr. Smith started honking and whistling. I knew by the sweet melody of that whistle and the ear intoxicating sound of those car beeps, that he was the man for me!!!" Ok so for all you fat hairy old men , when was the last time you heard a Mrs. Saying that? NEVER?!?! Oh you don't say how very peculiar that is! I would have thought by the way you instinctually beat away at your horn like you are the merry f-ing little drummer boy every time I walk/jog/ skip along ( I don't typically skip but maybe its just that sort of day) that this must always find you mates. Unlike Mrs. Smith, I can't tell you the last time I thought "aww that sweaty man driving that rickety ford pick-up is such a sweetheart for calling me a " hot baby-mm-mmm" I think I might just skip my Philosophy class and go track him down, he may just be the love of my life!" Oh yeah I HAVE NEVER HAD THAT THOUGHT YOU PIECE OF ASIAN DOG SHIT! Next time you feel the urge to comment on my or any other girl in the neighborhoods looks do us all a favor- roll up all the windows , wipe your sweaty dripping, un-showered self off, and look away from me , then wail away all you like go ahead!- feel better? Good ! You ear-deafening f*ck I hope a big Iron Pipe lands on you at the construction site and smashes your vocal cords you nasty piece of complete whacked out shit I HATE YOU !
Reader Nikola K. really hates: I hate people who can't drive with any semblance of intelligence. You're 36 years old and have been driving for 20 years, but some how you think it's okay to enter the freeway at 35 mph! Who the fuck do you think you are!? If you aren't swerving into my lane and causing an accident, you're making a right turn, but for some reason you can't merge and you end up on the sidewalk endangering the lives of a mother and her baby. You stupid fuck. I HATE YOU!
Reader Amber L. really hates: the "I'm gay so I know everything about fashion" people. I have this gay best friend and he always wants to go shopping with me. But I refuse because every time I suggest any type of fashion style he shoots me down with "Well I'm gay so I know." Just because your recently came out of the closet doesn't mean that you know everything about fashion. You wear a fucking cut off shirt with a button down dress up shirt under it! I Hate You!
Reader Allison F. really hates: The "quotes- corrector" guy. Picture the scene: you're hanging out with your friends, talking about guitars, etc, when someone recalls a quote from a movie everyone was just watching. All of your friends are about to start cracking up when a little annoying fuck comes along and says, "actually, the quote is (whatever the hell it was, with some minor change like "the' to "a')". No one gives a shit! All you've done is killed the joke and proven that you're a socially-inept moron! I HATE YOU! ("actually, it's I really hate you")
Reader Mary-Edward G. really hates: the Grammar Jerk - The guy or gal who always feels the need to chime in when you make one little grammatical error, like "ahem Sally and I." You know what, asshole, you aren't my mom and I am way more important than you and Sally so I am always going to put ME first when I'm trying to tell you something about what ME and Sally did so fuck you and you're little 7th grade grammar lesson because oh my god, I'm so glad you're my friend because instead of listening to what I was saying you're correcting me ooh how lucky I am, NO! I HATE YOU!
M-E. G. also hates: the extremely Ugly Guy who thinks he's hot and who tries to get with every girl he sees. You're not hot but for some reason you think you are and don't realize that you have no liberty hitting on me and my friends, and thinking you have a chance. I met this guy who was so forward about us "gettin it on later, baby" that he made me throw up (which also might have had something to do with all the beers I drank but nonetheless, nasty!) I had a small cold and he's like "oh no sweet tits, I hope you aren't sick cause we have to make out later" as he eye-rapes me and my friends - what? Hold on, did you just? I think I just I heard... this can't be... does he actually think? WOW! Ok... I don't even know what else to say but go have sex with your sister, I HATE YOU!
Finally, Reader Travis S. really hates: The guy from work who keeps asking my girlfriend for her number. Look dickhead, remember when you asked the first time and she told you she has a boyfriend and that you're uglier than a prostitute's vagina? Well, you obviously don't learn you short-yellow-bus riding retard. That's why you're a high school drop out stuck in a dead end job, while my girlfriend is already above you in the company, she just started there, AND she's only working there for the summer. You keep asking, she keeps ignoring, and she'd still rather drink a bottle of vaginal discharge than acknowledge your presence on earth. Only God knows why you're still alive. You're lucky she won't tell me who you are. I hope she rips your nuts off next time you ask, because if she doesn't do something terrible to you soon I promise you I will. You stupid cunt, I HATE YOU!
Wow, Travis. You can certainly form a powerful simile. Discharge"nasty. Anyways, that's all the hate for this week. Make sure to check back next week when I, and you, will be madder than ever. Also, remember to send me your submissions at suxatlife@hotmail.com and maybe all your friends can comment on what a bitter ass you are!
Great Mysteries
From time immortal, man has tried to understand the nature of the world. At first, he put his faith in the stars and looked to them for insight into the future of things. Then man found Gods and Goddess' and they held the answer to all things material and spiritual. But God was not good enough for man. Science is the new God and we have spent the last 400 or so years blindly putting our faith into the scientific to answer our questions. And through all this we have learned immense volumes of knowledge about nature, the universe and ourselves.
But the stars, God and science can only take us so far. For all the great discoveries of man, whether by accident, chance or reason, there still remains much to be answered. And although many a great man has doubted the capability of humankind to unearth truth only to be proven wrong later, I still feel that these things may never be explained. I present for your consideration Great Mysteries!
1. I have spent my entire life riding in elevators. When I was young I would visit my Grandfather at his office in the Empire State Building. As I grew, I lived in buildings with their own elevators. Now, I work on the 33rd floor of a skyscraper and rely on this contraption to take me to and from my half-hourly cigarette breaks. And in all this time spent in elevators, one mystery has eluded my every sense; why the door does not shut until you reach to touch the "close door" button? I have spent minutes"minutes standing in the elevator looking out of its open doors just wondering when they will close. Yet, as soon as I can take it no more and reach my hand out for the button, the doors magically begin to shut. It is as if the elevator knows my limits; my patience and wishes to merely toy with my emotions. "Hahaha," it chuckles, "Let's see just how long he'll wait before he reaches for the button. And then, just as he is about to touch it, let's close the doors; robbing him of the satisfaction! He Will Never Control US!" How this happens, I nor the world, will never know.
2. Along with riding in elevators, I spend a lot of time driving. And, most of that driving is done in and around New York City; The Traffic Capitol of the east. Nothing angers me more than traffic jams. For the first mile or so, I keep my cool saying, "This aint so bad"I've seen much worse than this." But then it happens, someone cuts in front of me and all thoughts of generosity, kindness and respect for my fellow man fly out the window along with the Snapple bottle I just threw. My mind dissolves into blind rage as I curse and wedge my car in and out of lanes. I always feel that "if I could just get into the right lane," all my problems would go away. But they will not, because as any of you who have been in my situation before know, the other lane is always moving faster in a traffic jam. Try as you might to calculate which lane will let you get that engine above zero RPMs, you will never succeed. It as if God is punishing you for trying to escape the jam by letting whichever lane you are NOT in move swiftly along while you sit in neutral, inhaling the carbon dioxide of all the sinners in front of you.
3. Now, traffic jams are not all bad; on at least one occasion they have produced astonishing reason. It occurred in the late eighties when a man named Michael Stipe climbed atop the gridlock and crooned to the world "everybody hurts." Truer words have seldom been spoken. Allow me to digress for a second. My friend Tim is, by all outward appearances, a normal 22 year-old boy. However, not more than a year ago, he broke his hand when he fell down drunk one night. About an hour after the accident, I spied him at a party encouraging people to "punch my hand, dude." Everyone had their turn and every time someone connected with the mangled mess of bone and tissue that used to resemble an appendage, Tim fell to the ground in agony only to rise minutes later, searching for his next executioner. And here is the mystery, when something hurts, why do we continue to force that pain on ourselves? Actually, this applies to smells too. When something stinks to hell, what do you do? You smell it"then you smell it again"and again. Why? We will never know. If there is any proof out there that man is not a spiritual being but rather one of the physical world, this is it. What transcendental creature would ever be caught sniffing a filthy gym shoe over and over again?
4. As shown before, man is inclined to test the nature of tolerance. Which means that someday we will unleash a nuclear hell and end the world. It's a fact. It may not happen in our lifetime, but somewhere in the future someone is going to nuke this entire planet. And when that happens two things are rumored to able to withstand the chemical onslaught: Cockroaches and Twinkies. I can understand cockroaches surviving and you would too if you have ever tried to kill one. However, the Twinkie? First, I want to know who figured this out. "Hey Jenkins, have you seen my Twinkies?" "Oh"Jeez"You know what, I think I left them at the blast site"God, I'm sorry. I'll go get them." Did Jenkins find two shrink-wrapped Twinkies sitting beneath a burnt bomb crane on a glass dessert?(pardon the pun) But more importantly, how is it that a Twinkie can withstand the same level of heat that exists on the surface of the sun, be bombarded with deadly radiation, and survive winds that could capsize a cruise ship, but not be able to survive an encounter with my mouth and digestive system. Am I so powerful that my entrails can destroy an object that stands in the face of a nuclear blast and says, "C'mon, gimme your best shot!"? If so, why hasn't the military contacted me about the devastating powers of my stomach? Forget Iraq, I know where the weapons of mass destruction are.
5. It has already been proven that all of our stomachs are more powerful than the world's nuclear arsenal. But what feeds this power. I know, for me at least, it is beef. I will eat beef anywhere (except England). I'll eat it on a stick, I'll eat it with a pick, I'll eat it off your"you get the point. It has been a staple of my diet since my father hoisted his 3 year-old son onto his lap and softly said, "now, this is called the tenderloin"this is the prime rib"and this"this is the flank steak"" There is nary an animal I have loved so much as the humble cow. Yet, for all the years I have spent devouring these creatures, I have never been able to understand one thing; how the hell did the cow survive in the wild. Cows haven't always been domesticated. At some point in history there must have been great herds of them roaming the wilderness looking like walking meals to any passing lion or cougar or bear. The cow is, by far, the stupidest, slowest, tastiest animal in the world. How were they not eaten out of existence long before man ever thought, "Ya know, I could go for a steak tonight."? Can you even imagine a herd of slow, dumb, delicious cows wandering through the woods? Any carnivorous animal hanging around there would sit up and say, "Ok guys, real funny"this is some kind of joke right? I'm on Punk'd, aren't I? It can't be this easy." And even though I will never know how the cow managed to have escaped certain doom, I am glad for it nonetheless because every day I can sit down in front of a plate of steaming meat and smile knowing that at least one great mystery has made my life a whole lot better.
But the stars, God and science can only take us so far. For all the great discoveries of man, whether by accident, chance or reason, there still remains much to be answered. And although many a great man has doubted the capability of humankind to unearth truth only to be proven wrong later, I still feel that these things may never be explained. I present for your consideration Great Mysteries!
1. I have spent my entire life riding in elevators. When I was young I would visit my Grandfather at his office in the Empire State Building. As I grew, I lived in buildings with their own elevators. Now, I work on the 33rd floor of a skyscraper and rely on this contraption to take me to and from my half-hourly cigarette breaks. And in all this time spent in elevators, one mystery has eluded my every sense; why the door does not shut until you reach to touch the "close door" button? I have spent minutes"minutes standing in the elevator looking out of its open doors just wondering when they will close. Yet, as soon as I can take it no more and reach my hand out for the button, the doors magically begin to shut. It is as if the elevator knows my limits; my patience and wishes to merely toy with my emotions. "Hahaha," it chuckles, "Let's see just how long he'll wait before he reaches for the button. And then, just as he is about to touch it, let's close the doors; robbing him of the satisfaction! He Will Never Control US!" How this happens, I nor the world, will never know.
2. Along with riding in elevators, I spend a lot of time driving. And, most of that driving is done in and around New York City; The Traffic Capitol of the east. Nothing angers me more than traffic jams. For the first mile or so, I keep my cool saying, "This aint so bad"I've seen much worse than this." But then it happens, someone cuts in front of me and all thoughts of generosity, kindness and respect for my fellow man fly out the window along with the Snapple bottle I just threw. My mind dissolves into blind rage as I curse and wedge my car in and out of lanes. I always feel that "if I could just get into the right lane," all my problems would go away. But they will not, because as any of you who have been in my situation before know, the other lane is always moving faster in a traffic jam. Try as you might to calculate which lane will let you get that engine above zero RPMs, you will never succeed. It as if God is punishing you for trying to escape the jam by letting whichever lane you are NOT in move swiftly along while you sit in neutral, inhaling the carbon dioxide of all the sinners in front of you.
3. Now, traffic jams are not all bad; on at least one occasion they have produced astonishing reason. It occurred in the late eighties when a man named Michael Stipe climbed atop the gridlock and crooned to the world "everybody hurts." Truer words have seldom been spoken. Allow me to digress for a second. My friend Tim is, by all outward appearances, a normal 22 year-old boy. However, not more than a year ago, he broke his hand when he fell down drunk one night. About an hour after the accident, I spied him at a party encouraging people to "punch my hand, dude." Everyone had their turn and every time someone connected with the mangled mess of bone and tissue that used to resemble an appendage, Tim fell to the ground in agony only to rise minutes later, searching for his next executioner. And here is the mystery, when something hurts, why do we continue to force that pain on ourselves? Actually, this applies to smells too. When something stinks to hell, what do you do? You smell it"then you smell it again"and again. Why? We will never know. If there is any proof out there that man is not a spiritual being but rather one of the physical world, this is it. What transcendental creature would ever be caught sniffing a filthy gym shoe over and over again?
4. As shown before, man is inclined to test the nature of tolerance. Which means that someday we will unleash a nuclear hell and end the world. It's a fact. It may not happen in our lifetime, but somewhere in the future someone is going to nuke this entire planet. And when that happens two things are rumored to able to withstand the chemical onslaught: Cockroaches and Twinkies. I can understand cockroaches surviving and you would too if you have ever tried to kill one. However, the Twinkie? First, I want to know who figured this out. "Hey Jenkins, have you seen my Twinkies?" "Oh"Jeez"You know what, I think I left them at the blast site"God, I'm sorry. I'll go get them." Did Jenkins find two shrink-wrapped Twinkies sitting beneath a burnt bomb crane on a glass dessert?(pardon the pun) But more importantly, how is it that a Twinkie can withstand the same level of heat that exists on the surface of the sun, be bombarded with deadly radiation, and survive winds that could capsize a cruise ship, but not be able to survive an encounter with my mouth and digestive system. Am I so powerful that my entrails can destroy an object that stands in the face of a nuclear blast and says, "C'mon, gimme your best shot!"? If so, why hasn't the military contacted me about the devastating powers of my stomach? Forget Iraq, I know where the weapons of mass destruction are.
5. It has already been proven that all of our stomachs are more powerful than the world's nuclear arsenal. But what feeds this power. I know, for me at least, it is beef. I will eat beef anywhere (except England). I'll eat it on a stick, I'll eat it with a pick, I'll eat it off your"you get the point. It has been a staple of my diet since my father hoisted his 3 year-old son onto his lap and softly said, "now, this is called the tenderloin"this is the prime rib"and this"this is the flank steak"" There is nary an animal I have loved so much as the humble cow. Yet, for all the years I have spent devouring these creatures, I have never been able to understand one thing; how the hell did the cow survive in the wild. Cows haven't always been domesticated. At some point in history there must have been great herds of them roaming the wilderness looking like walking meals to any passing lion or cougar or bear. The cow is, by far, the stupidest, slowest, tastiest animal in the world. How were they not eaten out of existence long before man ever thought, "Ya know, I could go for a steak tonight."? Can you even imagine a herd of slow, dumb, delicious cows wandering through the woods? Any carnivorous animal hanging around there would sit up and say, "Ok guys, real funny"this is some kind of joke right? I'm on Punk'd, aren't I? It can't be this easy." And even though I will never know how the cow managed to have escaped certain doom, I am glad for it nonetheless because every day I can sit down in front of a plate of steaming meat and smile knowing that at least one great mystery has made my life a whole lot better.
Patrick On World Issues - Radical Islamic Militants
Patrick is a 14 year-old Freshman in High School at Pinevail High. In this column, he weighs in on tough issues confronting the planet as only a pissy 14 year-old wannabe punk can.
Radical Islamic Militants
Sup, dudes. Pat here, once again coming atcha live from ma-duke's basement on Crescent Ave. Yo, I was watching this totally hilarious show on Cartoon Network the other day when my dog, Duster, hit the clicker and the TV went to, like, CNN. At first, I was like, "Yo Duster dude, quit being a fag or whatever and put Spongebob back on." But then the chick on CNN was talking "bout stuff that tweaked my shit like beheadings and killings.
I just wanna say to all the Arab dudes out there capturing people and cutting their heads off, you guys are fuckin dickheads. Like, when I get mad I just burn stuff in my backyard. This one time I burned my sister's cabbage patch doll and I was like, "Hells yeah, fuckin burn doll!" and I felt, like, ten billion million times better. It's like, why you gotta be cuttin' off people's heads and shit?
The CNN lady was talking "bout some "holy war" or something and I was like "shit, that's a fuckin TIGHT band name." But it wasn't a band. She was blabbing "bout why these fags cut people's heads off. She said they do it cuz America won't leave Iraq and I was like, "well, why did they did they invite us there in the first place then?" Dude, if I had a show on CNN, which would be fuckin' gay cuz I'm gonna host TRL one day, I would've called those dudes assfucks"no, wait"doucheclowns. Yeah, doucheclowns.
I don't get why people get so steamed "bout religion and shit. I mean, my Mom makes me go to church and I don't like it but you don't see me kidnapping people, do you? Plus, there's this chick that goes to my church named Chrissy and she's hella-fly. She's in my CCD class and I wanna be like, "yo, let's drop this God shit and get fuckin' nasty." I'm gonna say that next week"I swear. It's like, take a chill pill "bout God, dude. No need to be killing people over it.
Plus, these Is-lame-ic militants don't even follow what God says. Get a clue dudes, Jesus says that you shouldn't kill people cuz he got killed and he hates that. If you're gonna be so into God you should at least listen to what he says in the Bible. I don't know what kind of Christians these Is-lame-ic dudes are, but it's a lot different from the kind I am.
I dunno man, this world is shit. It's like, the only way I get through it is to just think about my music dude. I got a message. Like, the other day I wrote this song called "Hazel-R*O*C*K*S" which is about my town, Hazelrock. Ya know, it's just "bout stuff my friends and I do when we're bored. It's a totally fuckin awesome song. And I wanna say to the dudes killing other dudes, just start a band. You guys already got a sick name. You could be on Ozzfest. I went to it with my Dad last year and it was SICK!
Aight, I gotta run cuz I've got this totally gay oral report on The Great Gatsby (or as I call it, The Great FAGSby) tomorrow in English that I haven't started yet. So, to all the militant Islamics, stop killing people on the internet cuz now when I search in Kazaa for my favorite band "Dead Behead" all I get is your stupid videos. Rock on, the Pat is out!
"Patrick On World Issues" is a collegehumor exclusive but will be available for syndication purposes this coming October.
Radical Islamic Militants
Sup, dudes. Pat here, once again coming atcha live from ma-duke's basement on Crescent Ave. Yo, I was watching this totally hilarious show on Cartoon Network the other day when my dog, Duster, hit the clicker and the TV went to, like, CNN. At first, I was like, "Yo Duster dude, quit being a fag or whatever and put Spongebob back on." But then the chick on CNN was talking "bout stuff that tweaked my shit like beheadings and killings.
I just wanna say to all the Arab dudes out there capturing people and cutting their heads off, you guys are fuckin dickheads. Like, when I get mad I just burn stuff in my backyard. This one time I burned my sister's cabbage patch doll and I was like, "Hells yeah, fuckin burn doll!" and I felt, like, ten billion million times better. It's like, why you gotta be cuttin' off people's heads and shit?
The CNN lady was talking "bout some "holy war" or something and I was like "shit, that's a fuckin TIGHT band name." But it wasn't a band. She was blabbing "bout why these fags cut people's heads off. She said they do it cuz America won't leave Iraq and I was like, "well, why did they did they invite us there in the first place then?" Dude, if I had a show on CNN, which would be fuckin' gay cuz I'm gonna host TRL one day, I would've called those dudes assfucks"no, wait"doucheclowns. Yeah, doucheclowns.
I don't get why people get so steamed "bout religion and shit. I mean, my Mom makes me go to church and I don't like it but you don't see me kidnapping people, do you? Plus, there's this chick that goes to my church named Chrissy and she's hella-fly. She's in my CCD class and I wanna be like, "yo, let's drop this God shit and get fuckin' nasty." I'm gonna say that next week"I swear. It's like, take a chill pill "bout God, dude. No need to be killing people over it.
Plus, these Is-lame-ic militants don't even follow what God says. Get a clue dudes, Jesus says that you shouldn't kill people cuz he got killed and he hates that. If you're gonna be so into God you should at least listen to what he says in the Bible. I don't know what kind of Christians these Is-lame-ic dudes are, but it's a lot different from the kind I am.
I dunno man, this world is shit. It's like, the only way I get through it is to just think about my music dude. I got a message. Like, the other day I wrote this song called "Hazel-R*O*C*K*S" which is about my town, Hazelrock. Ya know, it's just "bout stuff my friends and I do when we're bored. It's a totally fuckin awesome song. And I wanna say to the dudes killing other dudes, just start a band. You guys already got a sick name. You could be on Ozzfest. I went to it with my Dad last year and it was SICK!
Aight, I gotta run cuz I've got this totally gay oral report on The Great Gatsby (or as I call it, The Great FAGSby) tomorrow in English that I haven't started yet. So, to all the militant Islamics, stop killing people on the internet cuz now when I search in Kazaa for my favorite band "Dead Behead" all I get is your stupid videos. Rock on, the Pat is out!
"Patrick On World Issues" is a collegehumor exclusive but will be available for syndication purposes this coming October.
All The Street's Women
Where did I go wrong? I used to have girls like me. I used to have girls love me. But somewhere along the way I turned into a loveless loser, destined to spend his nights fantasizing about Keira Knightley and how "she would totally like me if I could just talk to her for a little bit." But Keira and I will never have that conversation nor will Mary-Kate ever email me. I am destined to be by myself for the foreseeable future. And by that I mean till the day they lower me into the grave, say a few words about how I was a "free spirit who couldn't be tied down to one person", throw some dirt over me, and forget me forever.
That may seem a little depressing, but it's for a good reason. The other day my Mom gave me a Playboy. She had received it in the mail from an old subscription my recently deceased Grandfather had ordered. Normally, she throws them away, but not this time. This time she gave it to me, driving home the fact that I will never know the touch of a woman's hand ever again. My Mother"my MOTHER gave me porn. Even she could see the hopelessness in my sex life. When your mother knows you're not getting any of the good gravy, it's become a serious problem.
This caused me, John Cusak style, to go through all of my relationships from my past and find out what the hell went wrong. And, because I have invested so much time thinking about this I feel it is only fair to share it with you. In that time I could have been writing my usual witty, satirical, almost God-like articles for you, but instead I was thinking about my lost ladies, so I owe this to you. It all started so good"
Ashley: When you're in 8th grade, you begin to date people. But you don't date them because you like them or vice versa, you do it because your friends and their friends have decided that you two should be together. My best friend Matt was dating a girl named Sara who had a best friend named Ashley. A few secret meetings and phone calls later, I found myself dating her. I thought she was the hottest thing I had ever seen, but nobody else really did. Until she dumped me, that is. After three romantic months where we held hands once and talked on the phone for hours and hours, Ashley decided she had had enough of me. Almost instantly after she dumped me, the entire school discovered the hotness that I had been telling them about. Ashley remained one of the prettiest and most sought-after girls all through High School and probably still is. I guess I started off on the right foot.
*(interesting side note: when Ashley was dumping me on the phone, she laughed the whole time. I later found out it was because one her friends had farted.)
Annie: Annie was another girl I dated without ever really having a hand in the process. As I was dragged out of the cafeteria for swearing, I learned that I was also dating a girl named Annie. Funny how things work like that, huh? When I finally got around to talking to the girl I was dating for the first time, I learned that she and I were a perfect match. She was brash, funny, had absolutely insane hair, and liked The State as much as I did. It lasted an amazing 6 months (not bad for middle school) but couldn't survive the high school transition and ended when I dumped her at -shame- band camp that summer. We had occasional flare ups throughout high school and beyond, but always stayed the best of friends. Coincidently, she's probably going to read this"Hi Annie! Remember when I felt you up? That was fun!
Julia: During my freshman year I somehow got the idea that I had become a man. I lacked facial hair and sounded like an 11 year-old girl, but I was convinced that I had reached adulthood. As I rode the bus to school (like real grown-ups do) I started talking to a girl named Julia. By the end of our third bus ride, she was my girlfriend"my first serious girlfriend. Julia and I wasted no time doing all the things that grown-up couples do: breaking up ever three weeks, making out in class and the bus, writing poems to each other, and awkwardly trying to figure out exactly how you're supposed to have sex. Somewhere within our relationship I realized that this was it"I was in love. It was the first, but not the last time that I had convinced myself that I loved a girl I had known for two weeks. I don't remember how it ended exactly but that is because it ended so often. Julia had a pesky habit of dumping me all the time only to call me 2 days later saying she wanted to get back together. For the year that we were together I got dumped on New Years Eve and my birthday"twice. Julia and I remain friends to this day due to our love for making fun of each other and the inseparable bond that comes with swapped V-cards.
Diane: After "Jules," as I called her, I did some soul searching. I had a few dates here and there thanks to my new driver's license, but nothing serious. As history teachers who are trying to justify their careers often say, "learn from history because it is destined to repeat itself." Taking a cue from this, I looked back at my childhood and found out that just up the street lived a young lady who had been my friend when I was just a wee boy. And what luck, she had grown into an extremely beautiful girl! I instantly proposed a relationship to Diane and she accepted. Actually, my friend proposed it to her and she called me to accept because I'm a huge pansy. Diane and I dated for about a year during which I fell in love with her like nerds love grilled cheese. She cheated on me once, but we made it through that (I'm still pissed about it, if I ever find that George kid, he's losing an eye). It ended one Thanksgiving Day when I decided it had lost its magic. In my great, if short, relationship history Diane would be the most important for showing me what it is to love someone else"it was easy, we did dirty things with each other. Current Status: Close Friends
Kate: If there was ever a relationship based on pure guilt, this was it. Kate had been my friend for a long time. She was beautiful"no, seriously beautiful like a movie star from the forties. Even my Grandfather thought so, saying of Kate, "Nice rack on that one." The thing was, we never should have dated. We had been (for the sake of my parents who will read this) "funny" with each other for some time but had not entered into a relationship. My Catholic guilt took over and I decided that we should be boyfriend and girlfriend. That was pretty stupid move considering we were both were 2 months away from college. But dated we did, "funny" we made, and to college we went where we abruptly stopped speaking with each other. I must admit, I was a huge asshole for not calling her, but I"actually, I can't even reason it out. I haven't spoken to Kate in a few years, but I'm sure she's still beautiful and has found an equally beautiful boy with which to have "funny."
Sharon: My first college girlfriend! Yayyyy! Sharon lived on the floor below me. She had been seeing my current roommate, Matt, for a little bit when I stole her away with my charming rapport and stunningly handsome Belushi poster collection. Sharon was and is a great girl. So great, in fact, that I dumped her on the day her uncle died. Of all the low things I have done in my life, that one takes it (actually, the time I shot 10 puppies was worse). The amazing thing is she is still talking to me. She even let me stay with her in Dublin when I was abroad and invited me to her sister's wedding. Forget Jesus, Sharon is the essence of forgiveness. She has been in Australia for a long time now and I anxiously await her return so I can do some more horrible things to her only to be forgiven shortly thereafter.
(Interesting side note: Sharon was present at the end of my most recent relationship when she came to visit me in London)
Nora: Karma is a bitch, and you will shortly see why. Nora had been dating my friend Steve for years. The summer between my sophomore and junior years, I began to hang out with her a lot. We went skydiving, swam in my pool a lot, and ate a shitload of seafood. Out of the blue, she dumped Steve and, like the horrible friend I am, I saw my chance. Two months later, we were together. Steve hated me for good reason and I lost about half of my friends, but I didn't care because Nora was beautiful and one of my best friends. Our relationship got serious very quickly, especially since we went to schools in different states. I didn't mind traveling to see her because I truly loved her with all my heart and she loved me"or so I thought. It got so serious that we moved to New York City the following summer and I had one of the best times of my life (she would tell a different story). Shortly after that, I left for England confident that we would stay together. She seemed to have a lot of trouble emailing me. I sent her one almost every day and got one back maybe once a week. She was spending a lot of time with our friend Tim, which I didn't mind. They had always been friends and I liked Tim a lot. I thought of him as kind of looking after my interests when I was gone"how stupid I was. Nora flew out to see me and she spent ten days pretending she was having a good time as we traversed Europe. On the last night, with Sharon out on the couch, she dumped me. The only comparable situation in terms of feeling would be if one day your Dad came downstairs and said, "Hey, listen, I'm not your Dad. I'm really an alien sent here to learn how the internet works." I was shocked only because she was such a great actor. In fact, she revealed that for the last six months (while she had been saying she loved me) she had been totally unhappy with the relationship. SURPRISE, she is now with Tim, my trusting friend! I have heard that they had been "inappropriate" with each other since shortly after I left. See what I mean about karma? Nora broke my heart and I have been in a funk since then.
(if this section seems a little dark, I'm sorry. It's just that I have nothing good to say about her)
And that must be it. That is why I am alone. It is because I am bitter about what happened to my last relationship, which I had put almost all of my faith into. Maybe I'll meet someone new soon. Maybe we'll get married and have kids and I can beat them and then they'll need counseling and blame me for all their problems. But one thing is for sure, I need to find someone soon"I can't keep getting porn from my Mom.
That may seem a little depressing, but it's for a good reason. The other day my Mom gave me a Playboy. She had received it in the mail from an old subscription my recently deceased Grandfather had ordered. Normally, she throws them away, but not this time. This time she gave it to me, driving home the fact that I will never know the touch of a woman's hand ever again. My Mother"my MOTHER gave me porn. Even she could see the hopelessness in my sex life. When your mother knows you're not getting any of the good gravy, it's become a serious problem.
This caused me, John Cusak style, to go through all of my relationships from my past and find out what the hell went wrong. And, because I have invested so much time thinking about this I feel it is only fair to share it with you. In that time I could have been writing my usual witty, satirical, almost God-like articles for you, but instead I was thinking about my lost ladies, so I owe this to you. It all started so good"
Ashley: When you're in 8th grade, you begin to date people. But you don't date them because you like them or vice versa, you do it because your friends and their friends have decided that you two should be together. My best friend Matt was dating a girl named Sara who had a best friend named Ashley. A few secret meetings and phone calls later, I found myself dating her. I thought she was the hottest thing I had ever seen, but nobody else really did. Until she dumped me, that is. After three romantic months where we held hands once and talked on the phone for hours and hours, Ashley decided she had had enough of me. Almost instantly after she dumped me, the entire school discovered the hotness that I had been telling them about. Ashley remained one of the prettiest and most sought-after girls all through High School and probably still is. I guess I started off on the right foot.
*(interesting side note: when Ashley was dumping me on the phone, she laughed the whole time. I later found out it was because one her friends had farted.)
Annie: Annie was another girl I dated without ever really having a hand in the process. As I was dragged out of the cafeteria for swearing, I learned that I was also dating a girl named Annie. Funny how things work like that, huh? When I finally got around to talking to the girl I was dating for the first time, I learned that she and I were a perfect match. She was brash, funny, had absolutely insane hair, and liked The State as much as I did. It lasted an amazing 6 months (not bad for middle school) but couldn't survive the high school transition and ended when I dumped her at -shame- band camp that summer. We had occasional flare ups throughout high school and beyond, but always stayed the best of friends. Coincidently, she's probably going to read this"Hi Annie! Remember when I felt you up? That was fun!
Julia: During my freshman year I somehow got the idea that I had become a man. I lacked facial hair and sounded like an 11 year-old girl, but I was convinced that I had reached adulthood. As I rode the bus to school (like real grown-ups do) I started talking to a girl named Julia. By the end of our third bus ride, she was my girlfriend"my first serious girlfriend. Julia and I wasted no time doing all the things that grown-up couples do: breaking up ever three weeks, making out in class and the bus, writing poems to each other, and awkwardly trying to figure out exactly how you're supposed to have sex. Somewhere within our relationship I realized that this was it"I was in love. It was the first, but not the last time that I had convinced myself that I loved a girl I had known for two weeks. I don't remember how it ended exactly but that is because it ended so often. Julia had a pesky habit of dumping me all the time only to call me 2 days later saying she wanted to get back together. For the year that we were together I got dumped on New Years Eve and my birthday"twice. Julia and I remain friends to this day due to our love for making fun of each other and the inseparable bond that comes with swapped V-cards.
Diane: After "Jules," as I called her, I did some soul searching. I had a few dates here and there thanks to my new driver's license, but nothing serious. As history teachers who are trying to justify their careers often say, "learn from history because it is destined to repeat itself." Taking a cue from this, I looked back at my childhood and found out that just up the street lived a young lady who had been my friend when I was just a wee boy. And what luck, she had grown into an extremely beautiful girl! I instantly proposed a relationship to Diane and she accepted. Actually, my friend proposed it to her and she called me to accept because I'm a huge pansy. Diane and I dated for about a year during which I fell in love with her like nerds love grilled cheese. She cheated on me once, but we made it through that (I'm still pissed about it, if I ever find that George kid, he's losing an eye). It ended one Thanksgiving Day when I decided it had lost its magic. In my great, if short, relationship history Diane would be the most important for showing me what it is to love someone else"it was easy, we did dirty things with each other. Current Status: Close Friends
Kate: If there was ever a relationship based on pure guilt, this was it. Kate had been my friend for a long time. She was beautiful"no, seriously beautiful like a movie star from the forties. Even my Grandfather thought so, saying of Kate, "Nice rack on that one." The thing was, we never should have dated. We had been (for the sake of my parents who will read this) "funny" with each other for some time but had not entered into a relationship. My Catholic guilt took over and I decided that we should be boyfriend and girlfriend. That was pretty stupid move considering we were both were 2 months away from college. But dated we did, "funny" we made, and to college we went where we abruptly stopped speaking with each other. I must admit, I was a huge asshole for not calling her, but I"actually, I can't even reason it out. I haven't spoken to Kate in a few years, but I'm sure she's still beautiful and has found an equally beautiful boy with which to have "funny."
Sharon: My first college girlfriend! Yayyyy! Sharon lived on the floor below me. She had been seeing my current roommate, Matt, for a little bit when I stole her away with my charming rapport and stunningly handsome Belushi poster collection. Sharon was and is a great girl. So great, in fact, that I dumped her on the day her uncle died. Of all the low things I have done in my life, that one takes it (actually, the time I shot 10 puppies was worse). The amazing thing is she is still talking to me. She even let me stay with her in Dublin when I was abroad and invited me to her sister's wedding. Forget Jesus, Sharon is the essence of forgiveness. She has been in Australia for a long time now and I anxiously await her return so I can do some more horrible things to her only to be forgiven shortly thereafter.
(Interesting side note: Sharon was present at the end of my most recent relationship when she came to visit me in London)
Nora: Karma is a bitch, and you will shortly see why. Nora had been dating my friend Steve for years. The summer between my sophomore and junior years, I began to hang out with her a lot. We went skydiving, swam in my pool a lot, and ate a shitload of seafood. Out of the blue, she dumped Steve and, like the horrible friend I am, I saw my chance. Two months later, we were together. Steve hated me for good reason and I lost about half of my friends, but I didn't care because Nora was beautiful and one of my best friends. Our relationship got serious very quickly, especially since we went to schools in different states. I didn't mind traveling to see her because I truly loved her with all my heart and she loved me"or so I thought. It got so serious that we moved to New York City the following summer and I had one of the best times of my life (she would tell a different story). Shortly after that, I left for England confident that we would stay together. She seemed to have a lot of trouble emailing me. I sent her one almost every day and got one back maybe once a week. She was spending a lot of time with our friend Tim, which I didn't mind. They had always been friends and I liked Tim a lot. I thought of him as kind of looking after my interests when I was gone"how stupid I was. Nora flew out to see me and she spent ten days pretending she was having a good time as we traversed Europe. On the last night, with Sharon out on the couch, she dumped me. The only comparable situation in terms of feeling would be if one day your Dad came downstairs and said, "Hey, listen, I'm not your Dad. I'm really an alien sent here to learn how the internet works." I was shocked only because she was such a great actor. In fact, she revealed that for the last six months (while she had been saying she loved me) she had been totally unhappy with the relationship. SURPRISE, she is now with Tim, my trusting friend! I have heard that they had been "inappropriate" with each other since shortly after I left. See what I mean about karma? Nora broke my heart and I have been in a funk since then.
(if this section seems a little dark, I'm sorry. It's just that I have nothing good to say about her)
And that must be it. That is why I am alone. It is because I am bitter about what happened to my last relationship, which I had put almost all of my faith into. Maybe I'll meet someone new soon. Maybe we'll get married and have kids and I can beat them and then they'll need counseling and blame me for all their problems. But one thing is for sure, I need to find someone soon"I can't keep getting porn from my Mom.
Summer Tips For Fat People
I have been fat for the better part of a decade now. It all started around 1996 when my waistline began to expand and my breasts swiftly outgrew my vertical vision, obscuring my feet forever. It is not an easy life, but it is the one I have to live.
Given that this is the internet and given that, if the Simpson's have taught me anything, fat people like computers, I would be willing to bet that there are a lot of fat people reading this right now. Who knows, maybe you're one of them? Take a look down your body, can you see the floor?...No?...then this is the article for you.
Of all the seasons in the year, summer is the worst for fat people. We can no longer hide our supple frames under layers of cotton and denim. No, we are forced to lay our hoodies and sweat pants to rest and confront the fact that we are now wider than we are tall. However, there are some tricks I have picked up in my 8 years since the great expansion and, like the mafia, I am here to help out my friends. Here are the summer tips for fat people.
1. Avoid the beach. Take a look in the mirror. What do you see? I bet you see a large, shapeless, pale body with spotty hair and, most likely, a stretch mark here and there. Do you really want to show that off? No, no you don't. Yes, you may like sand and salt water, but nobody wants to see your fat ass splashing around the waves and nobody wants to pull that harpoon out of you after the whalers nail you by accident. Let the beautiful ones have the beach"they let you have the library. Instead of going to the beach, try having a BBQ instead; you'll feel more comfortable around roasting meat than you will trying to hide those pesky he-tits.
2. Tan yourself. I know it may be difficult to work on your tan if you can't go to the beach, but there are plenty of other places to tan that flabby hide. For instance, you could try to convince all your stoner friends to let you borrow their grow lights for an hour or two each week. That way, you can achieve a solid base coat in the comfort of your own home. Or, try this; cover yourself in baby oil and stand in front of the microwave for a few hours. Sure, the cancer will hurt, but at least you'll look a little slimmer for all the ladies you won't be getting.
3. Avoid bars and clubs. Only fat people know the real reason we hate summer; the sweat. It pours off your head and down your chest; over your tee-shirt and down the crack of your ass. And where do you sweat more than in a crowded bar or club. Good luck hitting on girls when you look like you just went down the slip-n-slide. Try heading to a beach bar or an outdoor party; this way no one will see the sweat due to the lack of light and you'll be less likely to soak someone with sweat by bumping into them. Also, never dance"it is not meant for you. (Note: it is OK to attend the beach after dark, but, like a vampire, make sure you leave before the sun crests the horizon)
4. Do not swat at mosquitoes. You may be bitten. You may contract West Nile. But at least you won't look the fool by swatting the air for ten minutes. One of the great comic loves of this country is to watch fat people do physically challenging things: rollerblading, climbing things, tying shoes, and, yes, swatting mosquitoes. You may be large, but don't be the jester for your friends. You'll never hear the end of when, "Jay was trying to swat that mosquito and he was all like, falling down and shit and his shirt, like, came up and shit"that was fucking hilarious." Don't feed the stereotype.
5. Do not wear a Speedo. If you choose to ignore my warnings about the beach and go anyway, at least wear something befitting a person of your stature. No one looks good in a Speedo, especially you. Your fat gut will droop over the front of the Speedo making it appear as though you are wearing nothing at all. However, those behind you will be treated to the sight of your hairy ass crack just poking through the top. Please, for the love of the children, do not don this European nightmare. If you must go to the beach, wear a moomoo, garbage bag, or raincoat and save everyone the doom of staring at your bared flesh.
Now, I don't want you to be ashamed of your body. On the contrary, be proud of what you have accomplished. That gut, that flab shows years of accomplished eating and drinking feats and you should cherish it. You may envy the guys with the rock hard abs and no boobs, but what do you think will happen when the ice age comes? Huh? Yeah, they're all going to freeze to death when we, you guessed it, will still be sweating. To my fellow fatties, I'll see you in the living room watching TV and not, and I mean it, not on the beach this summer.
Steve has a new Observational Humor out today called Feeding The Meter so check that out.
This update is brought to you by this shirt and the letter Q. Now, hotlinks!
Given that this is the internet and given that, if the Simpson's have taught me anything, fat people like computers, I would be willing to bet that there are a lot of fat people reading this right now. Who knows, maybe you're one of them? Take a look down your body, can you see the floor?...No?...then this is the article for you.
Of all the seasons in the year, summer is the worst for fat people. We can no longer hide our supple frames under layers of cotton and denim. No, we are forced to lay our hoodies and sweat pants to rest and confront the fact that we are now wider than we are tall. However, there are some tricks I have picked up in my 8 years since the great expansion and, like the mafia, I am here to help out my friends. Here are the summer tips for fat people.
1. Avoid the beach. Take a look in the mirror. What do you see? I bet you see a large, shapeless, pale body with spotty hair and, most likely, a stretch mark here and there. Do you really want to show that off? No, no you don't. Yes, you may like sand and salt water, but nobody wants to see your fat ass splashing around the waves and nobody wants to pull that harpoon out of you after the whalers nail you by accident. Let the beautiful ones have the beach"they let you have the library. Instead of going to the beach, try having a BBQ instead; you'll feel more comfortable around roasting meat than you will trying to hide those pesky he-tits.
2. Tan yourself. I know it may be difficult to work on your tan if you can't go to the beach, but there are plenty of other places to tan that flabby hide. For instance, you could try to convince all your stoner friends to let you borrow their grow lights for an hour or two each week. That way, you can achieve a solid base coat in the comfort of your own home. Or, try this; cover yourself in baby oil and stand in front of the microwave for a few hours. Sure, the cancer will hurt, but at least you'll look a little slimmer for all the ladies you won't be getting.
3. Avoid bars and clubs. Only fat people know the real reason we hate summer; the sweat. It pours off your head and down your chest; over your tee-shirt and down the crack of your ass. And where do you sweat more than in a crowded bar or club. Good luck hitting on girls when you look like you just went down the slip-n-slide. Try heading to a beach bar or an outdoor party; this way no one will see the sweat due to the lack of light and you'll be less likely to soak someone with sweat by bumping into them. Also, never dance"it is not meant for you. (Note: it is OK to attend the beach after dark, but, like a vampire, make sure you leave before the sun crests the horizon)4. Do not swat at mosquitoes. You may be bitten. You may contract West Nile. But at least you won't look the fool by swatting the air for ten minutes. One of the great comic loves of this country is to watch fat people do physically challenging things: rollerblading, climbing things, tying shoes, and, yes, swatting mosquitoes. You may be large, but don't be the jester for your friends. You'll never hear the end of when, "Jay was trying to swat that mosquito and he was all like, falling down and shit and his shirt, like, came up and shit"that was fucking hilarious." Don't feed the stereotype.
5. Do not wear a Speedo. If you choose to ignore my warnings about the beach and go anyway, at least wear something befitting a person of your stature. No one looks good in a Speedo, especially you. Your fat gut will droop over the front of the Speedo making it appear as though you are wearing nothing at all. However, those behind you will be treated to the sight of your hairy ass crack just poking through the top. Please, for the love of the children, do not don this European nightmare. If you must go to the beach, wear a moomoo, garbage bag, or raincoat and save everyone the doom of staring at your bared flesh.
Now, I don't want you to be ashamed of your body. On the contrary, be proud of what you have accomplished. That gut, that flab shows years of accomplished eating and drinking feats and you should cherish it. You may envy the guys with the rock hard abs and no boobs, but what do you think will happen when the ice age comes? Huh? Yeah, they're all going to freeze to death when we, you guessed it, will still be sweating. To my fellow fatties, I'll see you in the living room watching TV and not, and I mean it, not on the beach this summer.
Steve has a new Observational Humor out today called Feeding The Meter so check that out.
This update is brought to you by this shirt and the letter Q. Now, hotlinks!
People You Hate XII
Welcome back. As summer progresses, and the weather heats up, I find more and more people to hate and you have to. Without further ado, here it is the Famous Hate List, now, more than ever.
(Send your hate list to suxatlife@hotmail.com)
MINE:
Burning The Block: There happens to be a few people in my neighborhood in The Bronx who have cars. Of those few, a still smaller few can afford to make their cars better. Of those few, an even smaller few have decided to make their car's exhaust sound like lawn-mower played through loud speakers. Every night like clockwork, some asshole burns down my block at about 200 mph just to see how many car alarms his extremely annoying exhaust can set off. Aren't you magnificent, with your little 91 civic hatchback! I'll tell you what you prick, you can get the same sound out of your exhaust with out spending hundreds of dollars on a kit"just tear your muffler off! God, I really hope you hit a telephone pole on one of your late night rampages. If you did, the entire block would come out to cheer and I could rest at night knowing I'd never have to listen to your shitty car again"I Hate You!
The Makers of The 4S-JX Shower Head: "Hello, how can I help you?" "Oh, Hi, I'm looking for a shower head." "Ok, well we have a lot of models to choose from, what are you looking for in it?" "Well, I really want one that has only 2 working spots for the water to come out"oh, and I want it to drip, not spray." I imagine the previous owner of my apartment had this conversation at Home Depot several years ago. If you are ever so lucky to take a shower at my place than you'll know it's less like standing beneath a cascading waterfall and more like getting peed on. The water sort of drips from the head and every drop must be aimed accurately to remove the soap on your body. To whomever designed this sorry excuse for a bathroom fixture, I salute you"You have made the worst shower head in history"I Hate You!
Insulted Sally: I pose this question to all the women reading this; if I were to cut my hair half an inch and change its color by half of a shade, would you notice? Then why should I have to notice yours? Yes, if you hack your flowing locks into a buzz cut, I will notice and comment on it but when you trim it in the back and get 2 highlights in, how am I supposed to see that? I don't spend my days logging the current state of your coif. Nor do I even care when you chop some off. If you look at the facts, people have been cutting their hair since people figured out how to. There have probably been trillions of haircuts in human history. Now, do you think each one of them was met with enthusiasm and joy? No, you silly brat. Why do you think that A) your haircut should be noticed, B) That we should have a party for you and C) that this is some life-changing event, noteworthy enough to be committed to memory. You got a fucking haircut, you ego-maniac, get over yourself"I Hate You!
YOURS:
Reader Louana A. really hates: "I only smoke when I'm drunk." Wtf is with that? I hate these fucking people who go to parties get shit faced and then go and ask every person they see for a cigarette and say "I only smoke when I'm drunk." It's so annoying I don't know if you think it's cool to smoke when your wasted or if you enjoy going up to random people you don't know and asking them for a cig"but here's some advice BUY YOUR OWN FUCKING CIGARRETES"and stop bothering me and everyone else...I HATE YOU!
Reader Andrea the Canuck really hates: the guy at the punk shows or parties who are belligerently NOT high or drunk and shouts to the world "oh man I'm fucking blazed" "holy shit I think I'm gonna hurl I drank so much" etc. or you talk slower than the second coming of Jesus to make it look like you're either 1) drunk and have to think to form a sentence or 2) that you have a speech impediment and you can't talk right...point A being if you can say any of those, chances are you aren't drunk or stoned or fucked up...maybe if you said "I can taste my skull" or "I can taste the color of that wall..yummy sounding it is" or "I lurve/love/luuuuv you man!" 80 freaking times...then maybe. But since you can form a sentence and coherently ask questions and talk like a fucking moron...chances are you are faking it just so that everyone will think you are not the pathetic loser putting on a facade for the whole fucking crowd...no one cares if your not fucked up. In fact id rather you weren't, being drunk does not give you a reason to grope me or to talk to me like a god damned moronic fuck head! Stay off me and stay out of the damned social scene if you can't act sober when YOU ARE SOBER! ...Jesus Christ...I really fucking hate you!
Reader Carlos V. really hates (this one is good): Morbidly obese fatties who drive small cars. Ok, I'm not trying to knock fat people...but damn, why must you make the rest of us question the laws of physics by driving a Geo Metro. Small cars were not made for folks like you, yet you proudly fill every inch of the interior of the car with your ample girth. And why oh why must you drive around with the windows closed Fatty Mcgee? Its bad enough you expose the whole of humanity with a flesh fest so vile, you blubber is practically coming out of the tail pipe...but to actually have to see you breath between bites of your 5th big mac as you steam up the windows is unacceptable you freakin' vomitous mass of excrement. Hey! Chubbs Mcgillacudy! Listen up you inflated grundel sac...either buy some tints or pony up and buy a dump truck to ferry your chunky ass. I hope you heart explodes on the parkway snapperhead...I Hate You!
Reader Rebecca D. really hates: the guy who pees all over the employee restroom. How old are you? Only little boys who can't reach the seat and incontinent old men are allowed this privilege. We are at work, you shouldn't be here if you are too drunk to piss straight. About thirty people share this one toilet, and you feel the need to spray all over it so I have to clean up the seat before I go. Then I feel dirty no matter how much I clean. I do not urinate all over your ass, why do you feel that it is okay to do that to me? Also, if it does happen, why don't you clean it up yourself? Do you think that no one will notice the yellow drops on the seat, or that they won't mind? You are an inconsiderate fuck, I don't care if it is because your penis is too short to reach, I HATE YOU!
Reader Chelle A. really hates: the people at my school that act like they are so fucking special because they are part of the 20% of students from my university who managed to graudate in four years, instead of four-and-a-half to five years like the other 80% of the student body. Yeah I'm on the five-year plan, but guess what ass clown? For the past four years, you have had no social life because you have taken 25 or 30 credit hours every quarter--not to mention the fact that you barely passed your classes because you never had enough time to study for each of your 8 or so classes you were taking every quarter. At the same time, I have taken 13-15 credit hours every quarter (which is still full time), gone out 5 nights a week, and got better grades than you. News flash asshole! Our school makes it all but impossible for any average student to graduate in 4 years. So quit acting like you expect me to bend over and kiss your ass because you did it! This time next year, I will be graduating as part of the happy majority on the 5-year plan, with an extra year of friends, football games, and parties, while you are sitting in a fucking 9-5 job that you hate with no friends, or worse yet, still looking for a job. As it turns out, you are NOT better than everyone else just because you shunned anything to do with an actual social life for the past 4 years in favor of a shitty job with shitty salary! So take your degree and shove it, because I'll have one next year anyway, and 20 years from now it isn't going to matter who graduated earlier!
Reader Caitlin really hates: The reformed Christian: This guy used to beer bong with me...this guy used to steal packs of gun from QuikTrip with me...this guy used to light my 7 foot Graffix bong...where the hell was I when he got touched my Jesus' light? Funny how those reformed Christians just wake up one day with the love of Jesus in his heart and the word of God to spread. FUCK YOU and FUCK YOUR WORDS OF LOVE! I personally ENJOY getting hammered and not remembering what or who I did last night. Who are you to tell me what's right for me? I like my liver to be poisoned and swollen. I like my head to pound in the morning. What was your prophetic name anyway? Wait, I'm too drunk to care...I HATE YOU!
Reader Lee F. really hates: people who go to public places and can't speak English. Especially a waterpark full of lifeguards attempting to tell them what to do for their safety. 'please back up sir' *stares and smiles* 'back THE FUCK up' *stares and smiles, continues to move forward* Lets recap this country called America. First and universal language, ENGLISH. If you don't know it, learn it. Or at least don't leave the house without a translator. Because I am not going to learn Spanish, French, German, Russian, Polish, ect for you. Bitches. I really hate you. PS, you won't be able to understand this anyways SINCE YOU DON'T SPEAK ENGLISH.
(Author's Note: Lee ist eine Saurbratten und der kinderhammer! Hahahaha"she'll never know what I just called her (and neither will I).)
Finally, reader Jan B. II (the second) really hates: The "Pseudo-Power" Drinker. The nineteen or twenty year-old who isn't legal yet and who isn't that remarkably big of a guy or girl, but still claims things like: "Yeah, I don't usually feel anything until about the seventh or eighth shot", and "Yeah, I never get hangovers. Never. I can get up and function just fine on three hours of sleep and with a BAL of .28." What planet of super-humans are you from, dickhead? - and if you think that this impresses girls, ask yourself why you're spending weekends playing "Ninja Gaiden" on your nintendo emulator. News flash, asshole: EVERYONE SEES RIGHT THROUGH YOUR ACT... especially upperclassmen like me who've been drinking twice as heavily as you have been for the past few years and who KNOW that nobody that size can accomplish such a feat without a trip to the ER. To the "Pseudo-Power Drinker", I say: "I'd love to see you actually consume half the amount of alcohol that you claim to regularly put down so that you drink yourself into a coma and die. I HATE YOU!"
That was some delicious hate"not too hot, not too cold, not too sweet and plenty sour. I hope you'll join us next week for more from the famous Hate List. Hell, why not be a part of it, send me your hate at suxatlife@hotmail.com and let's see if we can mke some beautiful anger together.
(Send your hate list to suxatlife@hotmail.com)
MINE:
Burning The Block: There happens to be a few people in my neighborhood in The Bronx who have cars. Of those few, a still smaller few can afford to make their cars better. Of those few, an even smaller few have decided to make their car's exhaust sound like lawn-mower played through loud speakers. Every night like clockwork, some asshole burns down my block at about 200 mph just to see how many car alarms his extremely annoying exhaust can set off. Aren't you magnificent, with your little 91 civic hatchback! I'll tell you what you prick, you can get the same sound out of your exhaust with out spending hundreds of dollars on a kit"just tear your muffler off! God, I really hope you hit a telephone pole on one of your late night rampages. If you did, the entire block would come out to cheer and I could rest at night knowing I'd never have to listen to your shitty car again"I Hate You!
The Makers of The 4S-JX Shower Head: "Hello, how can I help you?" "Oh, Hi, I'm looking for a shower head." "Ok, well we have a lot of models to choose from, what are you looking for in it?" "Well, I really want one that has only 2 working spots for the water to come out"oh, and I want it to drip, not spray." I imagine the previous owner of my apartment had this conversation at Home Depot several years ago. If you are ever so lucky to take a shower at my place than you'll know it's less like standing beneath a cascading waterfall and more like getting peed on. The water sort of drips from the head and every drop must be aimed accurately to remove the soap on your body. To whomever designed this sorry excuse for a bathroom fixture, I salute you"You have made the worst shower head in history"I Hate You!
Insulted Sally: I pose this question to all the women reading this; if I were to cut my hair half an inch and change its color by half of a shade, would you notice? Then why should I have to notice yours? Yes, if you hack your flowing locks into a buzz cut, I will notice and comment on it but when you trim it in the back and get 2 highlights in, how am I supposed to see that? I don't spend my days logging the current state of your coif. Nor do I even care when you chop some off. If you look at the facts, people have been cutting their hair since people figured out how to. There have probably been trillions of haircuts in human history. Now, do you think each one of them was met with enthusiasm and joy? No, you silly brat. Why do you think that A) your haircut should be noticed, B) That we should have a party for you and C) that this is some life-changing event, noteworthy enough to be committed to memory. You got a fucking haircut, you ego-maniac, get over yourself"I Hate You!
YOURS:
Reader Louana A. really hates: "I only smoke when I'm drunk." Wtf is with that? I hate these fucking people who go to parties get shit faced and then go and ask every person they see for a cigarette and say "I only smoke when I'm drunk." It's so annoying I don't know if you think it's cool to smoke when your wasted or if you enjoy going up to random people you don't know and asking them for a cig"but here's some advice BUY YOUR OWN FUCKING CIGARRETES"and stop bothering me and everyone else...I HATE YOU!
Reader Andrea the Canuck really hates: the guy at the punk shows or parties who are belligerently NOT high or drunk and shouts to the world "oh man I'm fucking blazed" "holy shit I think I'm gonna hurl I drank so much" etc. or you talk slower than the second coming of Jesus to make it look like you're either 1) drunk and have to think to form a sentence or 2) that you have a speech impediment and you can't talk right...point A being if you can say any of those, chances are you aren't drunk or stoned or fucked up...maybe if you said "I can taste my skull" or "I can taste the color of that wall..yummy sounding it is" or "I lurve/love/luuuuv you man!" 80 freaking times...then maybe. But since you can form a sentence and coherently ask questions and talk like a fucking moron...chances are you are faking it just so that everyone will think you are not the pathetic loser putting on a facade for the whole fucking crowd...no one cares if your not fucked up. In fact id rather you weren't, being drunk does not give you a reason to grope me or to talk to me like a god damned moronic fuck head! Stay off me and stay out of the damned social scene if you can't act sober when YOU ARE SOBER! ...Jesus Christ...I really fucking hate you!
Reader Carlos V. really hates (this one is good): Morbidly obese fatties who drive small cars. Ok, I'm not trying to knock fat people...but damn, why must you make the rest of us question the laws of physics by driving a Geo Metro. Small cars were not made for folks like you, yet you proudly fill every inch of the interior of the car with your ample girth. And why oh why must you drive around with the windows closed Fatty Mcgee? Its bad enough you expose the whole of humanity with a flesh fest so vile, you blubber is practically coming out of the tail pipe...but to actually have to see you breath between bites of your 5th big mac as you steam up the windows is unacceptable you freakin' vomitous mass of excrement. Hey! Chubbs Mcgillacudy! Listen up you inflated grundel sac...either buy some tints or pony up and buy a dump truck to ferry your chunky ass. I hope you heart explodes on the parkway snapperhead...I Hate You!
Reader Rebecca D. really hates: the guy who pees all over the employee restroom. How old are you? Only little boys who can't reach the seat and incontinent old men are allowed this privilege. We are at work, you shouldn't be here if you are too drunk to piss straight. About thirty people share this one toilet, and you feel the need to spray all over it so I have to clean up the seat before I go. Then I feel dirty no matter how much I clean. I do not urinate all over your ass, why do you feel that it is okay to do that to me? Also, if it does happen, why don't you clean it up yourself? Do you think that no one will notice the yellow drops on the seat, or that they won't mind? You are an inconsiderate fuck, I don't care if it is because your penis is too short to reach, I HATE YOU!
Reader Chelle A. really hates: the people at my school that act like they are so fucking special because they are part of the 20% of students from my university who managed to graudate in four years, instead of four-and-a-half to five years like the other 80% of the student body. Yeah I'm on the five-year plan, but guess what ass clown? For the past four years, you have had no social life because you have taken 25 or 30 credit hours every quarter--not to mention the fact that you barely passed your classes because you never had enough time to study for each of your 8 or so classes you were taking every quarter. At the same time, I have taken 13-15 credit hours every quarter (which is still full time), gone out 5 nights a week, and got better grades than you. News flash asshole! Our school makes it all but impossible for any average student to graduate in 4 years. So quit acting like you expect me to bend over and kiss your ass because you did it! This time next year, I will be graduating as part of the happy majority on the 5-year plan, with an extra year of friends, football games, and parties, while you are sitting in a fucking 9-5 job that you hate with no friends, or worse yet, still looking for a job. As it turns out, you are NOT better than everyone else just because you shunned anything to do with an actual social life for the past 4 years in favor of a shitty job with shitty salary! So take your degree and shove it, because I'll have one next year anyway, and 20 years from now it isn't going to matter who graduated earlier!
Reader Caitlin really hates: The reformed Christian: This guy used to beer bong with me...this guy used to steal packs of gun from QuikTrip with me...this guy used to light my 7 foot Graffix bong...where the hell was I when he got touched my Jesus' light? Funny how those reformed Christians just wake up one day with the love of Jesus in his heart and the word of God to spread. FUCK YOU and FUCK YOUR WORDS OF LOVE! I personally ENJOY getting hammered and not remembering what or who I did last night. Who are you to tell me what's right for me? I like my liver to be poisoned and swollen. I like my head to pound in the morning. What was your prophetic name anyway? Wait, I'm too drunk to care...I HATE YOU!
Reader Lee F. really hates: people who go to public places and can't speak English. Especially a waterpark full of lifeguards attempting to tell them what to do for their safety. 'please back up sir' *stares and smiles* 'back THE FUCK up' *stares and smiles, continues to move forward* Lets recap this country called America. First and universal language, ENGLISH. If you don't know it, learn it. Or at least don't leave the house without a translator. Because I am not going to learn Spanish, French, German, Russian, Polish, ect for you. Bitches. I really hate you. PS, you won't be able to understand this anyways SINCE YOU DON'T SPEAK ENGLISH.
(Author's Note: Lee ist eine Saurbratten und der kinderhammer! Hahahaha"she'll never know what I just called her (and neither will I).)
Finally, reader Jan B. II (the second) really hates: The "Pseudo-Power" Drinker. The nineteen or twenty year-old who isn't legal yet and who isn't that remarkably big of a guy or girl, but still claims things like: "Yeah, I don't usually feel anything until about the seventh or eighth shot", and "Yeah, I never get hangovers. Never. I can get up and function just fine on three hours of sleep and with a BAL of .28." What planet of super-humans are you from, dickhead? - and if you think that this impresses girls, ask yourself why you're spending weekends playing "Ninja Gaiden" on your nintendo emulator. News flash, asshole: EVERYONE SEES RIGHT THROUGH YOUR ACT... especially upperclassmen like me who've been drinking twice as heavily as you have been for the past few years and who KNOW that nobody that size can accomplish such a feat without a trip to the ER. To the "Pseudo-Power Drinker", I say: "I'd love to see you actually consume half the amount of alcohol that you claim to regularly put down so that you drink yourself into a coma and die. I HATE YOU!"
That was some delicious hate"not too hot, not too cold, not too sweet and plenty sour. I hope you'll join us next week for more from the famous Hate List. Hell, why not be a part of it, send me your hate at suxatlife@hotmail.com and let's see if we can mke some beautiful anger together.
"Modern World, Ancient King IV" by King Henry VII of England
Medieval Times
What Ho, fair crowd. I come before you again with more news of my travels and adventures in the land across the pond known as America. Whence we last spoke, I told of the Home Depot; perhaps the finest furnishing store mine eyes hath ever beheld. I also spoke of Plinny, my manservant, who had incurred my wrath by making my highness look rather the fool. Well, I am pleased to say to you that Plinny completed his half of an hour in the stocks and the royal party was once again ready to make way across this great and plentiful land.
Once all of the royal accoutrements had been packed, the party made haste for Wayne, in the Dukedom of New Jersey. Alas, the best laid plans of mice and men oft go astray, as a fine gentleman once said. And apparently, this creed holds true for royalty as well for, not an hour post-departure, we found ourselves lost in the tangle of stony pathways you call a highway system. Amiss I was, but, being of royal blood, I withheld my anger and embraced this unexpected turn of events with the fortitude and expectancy of a King! "Gentlemen and ladies, by some divine providence, our Lord and creator has sent us on a holy pilgrimage! I shall welcome this adventure with arms wide open!"
With these inspiring words, I rallied the low morale of the party as we strode blindly towards our shared destiny. However, excitable and anxious as I was, I never expected the wonders that lay in store just beyond the crest of the horizon. Why, I have not seen such magnificent sights since the transit of Venus in my boyhood!
What was this spectacular sight which mine own eyes beheld, you ask? Well, that is a question to be answered at a later and more suitable time. For the present time however, I was still dim as to what lay ahead and I called Cardinal Amerpsand to my couch-side as our horseless carriage rocketed down the toll road at increasing speed. "Cardinal," I beckoned to him, "hath thou seen any omens which might persuade yourself to declare the ends of this journey?"
"Your Highness," Ampersand replied, "I know not what lie ahead. However, as you are of divine blood and I am of the holiest order, I believe that God will provide us with safe harbour and plenty of merriment." Well, I dare say I have never been so exuberant since my boyhood when I slew my first fox in the Yorkshire Dales! And so, as Plinny soothed my ears with his sweet voice and lyre, I drifted off to sleep but not before I bade him find my highness suitable entertainment whence I awoke.
And, whence I did awake, I believed I was still dreaming, for what lay before me was not some tavern or brothel, but a castle of grand proportions! "Plinny," I cried, "I fear I may have become feverish for I see before me a great castle with high walls and strong bastions! Where have you taken me?" I recoiled in horror, as the castle rose up before me, but Plinny, the saintly boy that he is, clamed my nerves. "Your Majesty, tis not a dream you behold; tis the evening's entertainment! By some magic I spied this castle along the toll road near the township of Lyndhurst, New Jersey. I inquired within as to the king of the castle and it is none other than Arthur himself! He has arranged a tournament in your honor!" Delighted I was! Plinny bade me make haste for the castle, for the tournament was about to begin.
Oh, how I delighted in sharing the company of the great King Arthur and watching brave knights joust for the hand of fair maidens. I have not seen such pleasures since I left mine own shores. However, a king is always cautious and I summoned my personal guards, the feared Westminster Coutiers, to accompany into the fortification. As we passed beneath the mighty barbican, I spied the name of the castle"Medieval Times! A placard below was emblazoned with the inscription, "Welcome! Fun for the whole family! Eat, drink and watch a joust just like you were in"Medieval Times!"
The royal party was escorted to our seating arrangements and offered the finest mead and ale! We were then present with hen and cabbage. Now this was a feast I could enjoy! But then, just as I tore open the ribcage of my hen, the lights, as if by God's hand, dimmed and fog filled the room. Plinny began to weep and held my kingly arm. "Quiet boy, " I scowled at him, "show no fear and ready your rapier, I fear this may have been a trap." Under my cloak, I gripped the handle of my sword and steadied my concubine Gewdeline's shaky hand."
Suddenly, from behind the barricades, rode"the Black Knight! His armour, black as death and his spear, long and pointed. Across his chest was emblazoned the crest of the Eagle, the symbol of my enemy, the Duke of Devon. Presently the crowd, which seemed to be over one thousand strong, fell deathly silent as the Black Knight began to speak. "Hello ladies and gentlemen, we're about to start the show. I just want to thank you all for coming tonight and please be careful on the stairs, they can get"" I could take no more of this treachery""Tis a Trap," I cried,"ATTACK!!!!"
The Westminster Courtiers rushed the arena and drew their mighty swords. "Step down from your horse!" Shouted my most trusted Captain, Sir Wellesley Brighton. The Black Knight faltered as he messed about with the reins but Sir Brighton wasted no time and struck the Black Knight with his mighty sword. The cur fell to the ground and before he could reach his weapon, which appeared to have splintered as if made of wood, glue and paint, Sir Brighton thrust his sword into the Black Knight's chest. Then, as if guided by God, the rest of the Westminster Courtiers drew their blades and hacked the Black Knights body to pieces.
It was when Sir Brighton thrust the Black Knight's dismembered head into the air shouting, "Victory for King Henry and victory for England!" that the crowd seethed with fear. Seemingly at once, they all rose and positively ran for the exits. What squeamish peasants, have they never seen a beheading before? All the lights were raised and, for the first time, I could clearly see the utter depths to which my deadly Westminster Courtiers had slew the Black Knight. No sooner did I begin to revel in our victory than a strange force of blue-uniformed men, with shining gold metals on their breasts, rushed the arena.
"Take care, " I shouted to the courtiers, "Tis the palace guards!" One would think that due to the lack of armour that the palace guards wore, my courtier's blades would pierce them easily. For all warriors know that a thick suit of armour, chain mail, gauntlets, and a helmet are a knight's best protection. Alas, it was not to be so, for the palace guards laid waste to my courtiers with mysterious hand-cannons which they drew from their hips. With my guards lying dead in the arena, I saw no option but to flee.
Safely inside the horseless carriage, I bade Steve our driver, to make haste down the toll road. Plinny sang a sweet lament for my fallen courtiers but I did not weep. For though they had died, they had died honorably; defending their King and country against my fiercest enemy. Brave courtiers, I shall declare a public holiday whence I return to England and all shall know of the day that the mighty and fearless Westminster Courtiers defeated the Black Knight of Devon at Castle Medieval Times of Lyndhurst, New Jersey! And as for King Arthur"I shall return and take my revenge; he should count his blessing he escaped this time"MAKE READY THE FLEET!
Where will King Henry, Plinny and the rest of the royal party go next week? Log on to find out or email me at suxatlife@hotmail.com with a suggestion!
What Ho, fair crowd. I come before you again with more news of my travels and adventures in the land across the pond known as America. Whence we last spoke, I told of the Home Depot; perhaps the finest furnishing store mine eyes hath ever beheld. I also spoke of Plinny, my manservant, who had incurred my wrath by making my highness look rather the fool. Well, I am pleased to say to you that Plinny completed his half of an hour in the stocks and the royal party was once again ready to make way across this great and plentiful land.
Once all of the royal accoutrements had been packed, the party made haste for Wayne, in the Dukedom of New Jersey. Alas, the best laid plans of mice and men oft go astray, as a fine gentleman once said. And apparently, this creed holds true for royalty as well for, not an hour post-departure, we found ourselves lost in the tangle of stony pathways you call a highway system. Amiss I was, but, being of royal blood, I withheld my anger and embraced this unexpected turn of events with the fortitude and expectancy of a King! "Gentlemen and ladies, by some divine providence, our Lord and creator has sent us on a holy pilgrimage! I shall welcome this adventure with arms wide open!"
With these inspiring words, I rallied the low morale of the party as we strode blindly towards our shared destiny. However, excitable and anxious as I was, I never expected the wonders that lay in store just beyond the crest of the horizon. Why, I have not seen such magnificent sights since the transit of Venus in my boyhood!
What was this spectacular sight which mine own eyes beheld, you ask? Well, that is a question to be answered at a later and more suitable time. For the present time however, I was still dim as to what lay ahead and I called Cardinal Amerpsand to my couch-side as our horseless carriage rocketed down the toll road at increasing speed. "Cardinal," I beckoned to him, "hath thou seen any omens which might persuade yourself to declare the ends of this journey?"
"Your Highness," Ampersand replied, "I know not what lie ahead. However, as you are of divine blood and I am of the holiest order, I believe that God will provide us with safe harbour and plenty of merriment." Well, I dare say I have never been so exuberant since my boyhood when I slew my first fox in the Yorkshire Dales! And so, as Plinny soothed my ears with his sweet voice and lyre, I drifted off to sleep but not before I bade him find my highness suitable entertainment whence I awoke.
And, whence I did awake, I believed I was still dreaming, for what lay before me was not some tavern or brothel, but a castle of grand proportions! "Plinny," I cried, "I fear I may have become feverish for I see before me a great castle with high walls and strong bastions! Where have you taken me?" I recoiled in horror, as the castle rose up before me, but Plinny, the saintly boy that he is, clamed my nerves. "Your Majesty, tis not a dream you behold; tis the evening's entertainment! By some magic I spied this castle along the toll road near the township of Lyndhurst, New Jersey. I inquired within as to the king of the castle and it is none other than Arthur himself! He has arranged a tournament in your honor!" Delighted I was! Plinny bade me make haste for the castle, for the tournament was about to begin.
Oh, how I delighted in sharing the company of the great King Arthur and watching brave knights joust for the hand of fair maidens. I have not seen such pleasures since I left mine own shores. However, a king is always cautious and I summoned my personal guards, the feared Westminster Coutiers, to accompany into the fortification. As we passed beneath the mighty barbican, I spied the name of the castle"Medieval Times! A placard below was emblazoned with the inscription, "Welcome! Fun for the whole family! Eat, drink and watch a joust just like you were in"Medieval Times!"
The royal party was escorted to our seating arrangements and offered the finest mead and ale! We were then present with hen and cabbage. Now this was a feast I could enjoy! But then, just as I tore open the ribcage of my hen, the lights, as if by God's hand, dimmed and fog filled the room. Plinny began to weep and held my kingly arm. "Quiet boy, " I scowled at him, "show no fear and ready your rapier, I fear this may have been a trap." Under my cloak, I gripped the handle of my sword and steadied my concubine Gewdeline's shaky hand."
Suddenly, from behind the barricades, rode"the Black Knight! His armour, black as death and his spear, long and pointed. Across his chest was emblazoned the crest of the Eagle, the symbol of my enemy, the Duke of Devon. Presently the crowd, which seemed to be over one thousand strong, fell deathly silent as the Black Knight began to speak. "Hello ladies and gentlemen, we're about to start the show. I just want to thank you all for coming tonight and please be careful on the stairs, they can get"" I could take no more of this treachery""Tis a Trap," I cried,"ATTACK!!!!"
The Westminster Courtiers rushed the arena and drew their mighty swords. "Step down from your horse!" Shouted my most trusted Captain, Sir Wellesley Brighton. The Black Knight faltered as he messed about with the reins but Sir Brighton wasted no time and struck the Black Knight with his mighty sword. The cur fell to the ground and before he could reach his weapon, which appeared to have splintered as if made of wood, glue and paint, Sir Brighton thrust his sword into the Black Knight's chest. Then, as if guided by God, the rest of the Westminster Courtiers drew their blades and hacked the Black Knights body to pieces.
It was when Sir Brighton thrust the Black Knight's dismembered head into the air shouting, "Victory for King Henry and victory for England!" that the crowd seethed with fear. Seemingly at once, they all rose and positively ran for the exits. What squeamish peasants, have they never seen a beheading before? All the lights were raised and, for the first time, I could clearly see the utter depths to which my deadly Westminster Courtiers had slew the Black Knight. No sooner did I begin to revel in our victory than a strange force of blue-uniformed men, with shining gold metals on their breasts, rushed the arena.
"Take care, " I shouted to the courtiers, "Tis the palace guards!" One would think that due to the lack of armour that the palace guards wore, my courtier's blades would pierce them easily. For all warriors know that a thick suit of armour, chain mail, gauntlets, and a helmet are a knight's best protection. Alas, it was not to be so, for the palace guards laid waste to my courtiers with mysterious hand-cannons which they drew from their hips. With my guards lying dead in the arena, I saw no option but to flee.
Safely inside the horseless carriage, I bade Steve our driver, to make haste down the toll road. Plinny sang a sweet lament for my fallen courtiers but I did not weep. For though they had died, they had died honorably; defending their King and country against my fiercest enemy. Brave courtiers, I shall declare a public holiday whence I return to England and all shall know of the day that the mighty and fearless Westminster Courtiers defeated the Black Knight of Devon at Castle Medieval Times of Lyndhurst, New Jersey! And as for King Arthur"I shall return and take my revenge; he should count his blessing he escaped this time"MAKE READY THE FLEET!
Where will King Henry, Plinny and the rest of the royal party go next week? Log on to find out or email me at suxatlife@hotmail.com with a suggestion!
Would You Rather...
Scenario: It's four AM and you're at home with some friends after a long night of drinking. No more bars are open and all the liquor in the house was drunk by "Beandog," your oversized and under-loved frat brother. You all crowd around the living room brainstorming ideas for the few remaining hours of darkness left in the morning. What do you do?
Inevitably, someone will say those magic words""Hey (your name), would you rather"" And with that simple little phrase the gateway to hours of entertainment has been opened.
Say what you want about beirut, asshole, or any other drinking game played at college and some of the more daring middle school parties, but Would You Rather, or WYR as I will refer to it, is king. Not only will you see the true depths or perversion, bad taste and depravity your friends will sink to in order to stump you, but you will find out that there is a little pervert living within you. Plus, nary is there a more competitive game on the scene. If someone comes up with a truly impossible scenario, he or she will be hailed for their insight. That, in turn, will set your mind spinning with thoughts about how you too could have some of that glory.
To those of you, those poor few, who have never played this incredible game, I will outline the rules as if I were a British person. The sport of WYR is a simple, yet delightfully intriguing way to knock about a few saucy hours after the pubs have all shut and all the birds have gone to their flats. Simply, gather a few blokes, sit on the sofa and present each other with increasingly difficult scenarios of which all must begin with the intonation, "Would you rather." You, the executor, are victorious if the contestant is stumped.
Now, I have been playing this game for longer than I can remember and, in that time, I have accumulated some of the best WYR questions out there. Some I thought of myself, some were posed to me. So, next time you find yourself sitting around with nothing to do, why don't say to your friends"
Would you rather"
*Smell like a fart all the time or drink a diarrhea milkshake (with 1%)?
*A bell go off every time you got a boner or never shower again?
*Have everything taste like boogers or have one eye?
*Kiss a dirty bum every morning right after you brush your teeth or know when you are going to die?
*Be invisible or be limitlessly rich?
*Fart every time you yawn or yawn every time you try to talk?
*Throw up every time you have an orgasm or have your genitals taste and smell like rotten eggs?
*Never taste anything again or just taste one thing all day long, forever?
*Be a pirate or a dinosaur?
*Have to tell all your neighbors you're a sex offender or walk around with a vibrator up your ass for a week (no, you can't turn it off)?
*Eat a dead squirrel or a live cow? (both uncooked)
*Change your name to Jeffrey Dahmer or Osama Bin Laden?
*Have to sit in every chair you see or pee your pants every time someone says your name?
*Have someone take a picture of you every time you take a shit and put it on the net or be cold all for the rest of your life?
*Have the flu forever or the chickenpox forever just on you chest?
*Fall down when ever you blink or have a permanent stubbed toe?
*Smell like a poop and know it or not know it?
And finally, the king of all WYRs, the one that cannot be answered or rationalized or justified in any way; would you rather".
*Hook up with your Mom or your Dad?
Of course, your friends will try to get you to compromise on your WYRs, but hold firm. Never give them an inch of ground or the WYRs are useless. Watch your friends squirm as they imagine life with a permanent stubbed toe or genitals that smell like rotten eggs. But, you must not lose yourself in this game for, when played for too long, you cannot sleep because you'll keep thinking of WYRs. Please, play this game responsibility and never say anything like, "would you rather bring your mom or your dad back from the grave?" to a kid whose parents just died in a car accident"or, "Would you rather have your skin back or your hair back?" to someone who just got severely burned in a structure fire.
So, I leave you with this to ponder; would you rather wake up to me everyday or kill yourself with a saw? Now there's a hard one.
Hey, if you have a good WYR, send it to me at suxatlife@hotmail.com and see if you can stump me!
Inevitably, someone will say those magic words""Hey (your name), would you rather"" And with that simple little phrase the gateway to hours of entertainment has been opened.
Say what you want about beirut, asshole, or any other drinking game played at college and some of the more daring middle school parties, but Would You Rather, or WYR as I will refer to it, is king. Not only will you see the true depths or perversion, bad taste and depravity your friends will sink to in order to stump you, but you will find out that there is a little pervert living within you. Plus, nary is there a more competitive game on the scene. If someone comes up with a truly impossible scenario, he or she will be hailed for their insight. That, in turn, will set your mind spinning with thoughts about how you too could have some of that glory.
To those of you, those poor few, who have never played this incredible game, I will outline the rules as if I were a British person. The sport of WYR is a simple, yet delightfully intriguing way to knock about a few saucy hours after the pubs have all shut and all the birds have gone to their flats. Simply, gather a few blokes, sit on the sofa and present each other with increasingly difficult scenarios of which all must begin with the intonation, "Would you rather." You, the executor, are victorious if the contestant is stumped.
Now, I have been playing this game for longer than I can remember and, in that time, I have accumulated some of the best WYR questions out there. Some I thought of myself, some were posed to me. So, next time you find yourself sitting around with nothing to do, why don't say to your friends"
Would you rather"
*Smell like a fart all the time or drink a diarrhea milkshake (with 1%)?
*A bell go off every time you got a boner or never shower again?
*Have everything taste like boogers or have one eye?
*Kiss a dirty bum every morning right after you brush your teeth or know when you are going to die?
*Be invisible or be limitlessly rich?
*Fart every time you yawn or yawn every time you try to talk?
*Throw up every time you have an orgasm or have your genitals taste and smell like rotten eggs?
*Never taste anything again or just taste one thing all day long, forever?
*Be a pirate or a dinosaur?
*Have to tell all your neighbors you're a sex offender or walk around with a vibrator up your ass for a week (no, you can't turn it off)?
*Eat a dead squirrel or a live cow? (both uncooked)
*Change your name to Jeffrey Dahmer or Osama Bin Laden?
*Have to sit in every chair you see or pee your pants every time someone says your name?
*Have someone take a picture of you every time you take a shit and put it on the net or be cold all for the rest of your life?
*Have the flu forever or the chickenpox forever just on you chest?
*Fall down when ever you blink or have a permanent stubbed toe?
*Smell like a poop and know it or not know it?
And finally, the king of all WYRs, the one that cannot be answered or rationalized or justified in any way; would you rather".
*Hook up with your Mom or your Dad?
Of course, your friends will try to get you to compromise on your WYRs, but hold firm. Never give them an inch of ground or the WYRs are useless. Watch your friends squirm as they imagine life with a permanent stubbed toe or genitals that smell like rotten eggs. But, you must not lose yourself in this game for, when played for too long, you cannot sleep because you'll keep thinking of WYRs. Please, play this game responsibility and never say anything like, "would you rather bring your mom or your dad back from the grave?" to a kid whose parents just died in a car accident"or, "Would you rather have your skin back or your hair back?" to someone who just got severely burned in a structure fire.
So, I leave you with this to ponder; would you rather wake up to me everyday or kill yourself with a saw? Now there's a hard one.
Hey, if you have a good WYR, send it to me at suxatlife@hotmail.com and see if you can stump me!
Summer Tips For Fat People
I have been fat for the better part of a decade now. It all started around 1996 when my waistline began to expand and my breasts swiftly outgrew my vertical vision, obscuring my feet forever. It is not an easy life, but it is the one I have to live.
Given that this is the internet and given that, if the Simpson's have taught me anything, fat people like computers, I would be willing to bet that there are a lot of fat people reading this right now. Who knows, maybe you're one of them? Take a look down your body, can you see the floor?...No?...then this is the article for you.
Of all the seasons in the year, summer is the worst for fat people. We can no longer hide our supple frames under layers of cotton and denim. No, we are forced to lay our hoodies and sweat pants to rest and confront the fact that we are now wider than we are tall. However, there are some tricks I have picked up in my 8 years since the great expansion and, like the mafia, I am here to help out my friends. Here are the summer tips for fat people.
1. Avoid the beach. Take a look in the mirror. What do you see? I bet you see a large, shapeless, pale body with spotty hair and, most likely, a stretch mark here and there. Do you really want to show that off? No, no you don't. Yes, you may like sand and salt water, but nobody wants to see your fat ass splashing around the waves and nobody wants to pull that harpoon out of you after the whalers nail you by accident. Let the beautiful ones have the beach"they let you have the library. Instead of going to the beach, try having a BBQ instead; you'll feel more comfortable around roasting meat than you will trying to hide those pesky he-tits.
2. Tan yourself. I know it may be difficult to work on your tan if you can't go to the beach, but there are plenty of other places to tan that flabby hide. For instance, you could try to convince all your stoner friends to let you borrow their grow lights for an hour or two each week. That way, you can achieve a solid base coat in the comfort of your own home. Or, try this; cover yourself in baby oil and stand in front of the microwave for a few hours. Sure, the cancer will hurt, but at least you'll look a little slimmer for all the ladies you won't be getting.
3. Avoid bars and clubs. Only fat people know the real reason we hate summer; the sweat. It pours off your head and down your chest; over your tee-shirt and down the crack of your ass. And where do you sweat more than in a crowded bar or club. Good luck hitting on girls when you look like you just went down the slip-n-slide. Try heading to a beach bar or an outdoor party; this way no one will see the sweat due to the lack of light and you'll be less likely to soak someone with sweat by bumping into them. Also, never dance"it is not meant for you. (Note: it is OK to attend the beach after dark, but, like a vampire, make sure you leave before the sun crests the horizon)
4. Do not swat at mosquitoes. You may be bitten. You may contract West Nile. But at least you won't look the fool by swatting the air for ten minutes. One of the great comic loves of this country is to watch fat people do physically challenging things: rollerblading, climbing things, tying shoes, and, yes, swatting mosquitoes. You may be large, but don't be the jester for your friends. You'll never hear the end of when, "Jay was trying to swat that mosquito and he was all like, falling down and shit and his shirt, like, came up and shit"that was fucking hilarious." Don't feed the stereotype.
5. Do not wear a Speedo. If you choose to ignore my warnings about the beach and go anyway, at least wear something befitting a person of your stature. No one looks good in a Speedo, especially you. Your fat gut will droop over the front of the Speedo making it appear as though you are wearing nothing at all. However, those behind you will be treated to the sight of your hairy ass crack just poking through the top. Please, for the love of the children, do not don this European nightmare. If you must go to the beach, wear a moomoo, garbage bag, or raincoat and save everyone the doom of staring at your bared flesh.
Now, I don't want you to be ashamed of your body. On the contrary, be proud of what you have accomplished. That gut, that flab shows years of accomplished eating and drinking feats and you should cherish it. You may envy the guys with the rock hard abs and no boobs, but what do you think will happen when the ice age comes? Huh? Yeah, they're all going to freeze to death when we, you guessed it, will still be sweating. To my fellow fatties, I'll see you in the living room watching TV and not, and I mean it, not on the beach this summer.
Given that this is the internet and given that, if the Simpson's have taught me anything, fat people like computers, I would be willing to bet that there are a lot of fat people reading this right now. Who knows, maybe you're one of them? Take a look down your body, can you see the floor?...No?...then this is the article for you.
Of all the seasons in the year, summer is the worst for fat people. We can no longer hide our supple frames under layers of cotton and denim. No, we are forced to lay our hoodies and sweat pants to rest and confront the fact that we are now wider than we are tall. However, there are some tricks I have picked up in my 8 years since the great expansion and, like the mafia, I am here to help out my friends. Here are the summer tips for fat people.
1. Avoid the beach. Take a look in the mirror. What do you see? I bet you see a large, shapeless, pale body with spotty hair and, most likely, a stretch mark here and there. Do you really want to show that off? No, no you don't. Yes, you may like sand and salt water, but nobody wants to see your fat ass splashing around the waves and nobody wants to pull that harpoon out of you after the whalers nail you by accident. Let the beautiful ones have the beach"they let you have the library. Instead of going to the beach, try having a BBQ instead; you'll feel more comfortable around roasting meat than you will trying to hide those pesky he-tits.
2. Tan yourself. I know it may be difficult to work on your tan if you can't go to the beach, but there are plenty of other places to tan that flabby hide. For instance, you could try to convince all your stoner friends to let you borrow their grow lights for an hour or two each week. That way, you can achieve a solid base coat in the comfort of your own home. Or, try this; cover yourself in baby oil and stand in front of the microwave for a few hours. Sure, the cancer will hurt, but at least you'll look a little slimmer for all the ladies you won't be getting.
3. Avoid bars and clubs. Only fat people know the real reason we hate summer; the sweat. It pours off your head and down your chest; over your tee-shirt and down the crack of your ass. And where do you sweat more than in a crowded bar or club. Good luck hitting on girls when you look like you just went down the slip-n-slide. Try heading to a beach bar or an outdoor party; this way no one will see the sweat due to the lack of light and you'll be less likely to soak someone with sweat by bumping into them. Also, never dance"it is not meant for you. (Note: it is OK to attend the beach after dark, but, like a vampire, make sure you leave before the sun crests the horizon)
4. Do not swat at mosquitoes. You may be bitten. You may contract West Nile. But at least you won't look the fool by swatting the air for ten minutes. One of the great comic loves of this country is to watch fat people do physically challenging things: rollerblading, climbing things, tying shoes, and, yes, swatting mosquitoes. You may be large, but don't be the jester for your friends. You'll never hear the end of when, "Jay was trying to swat that mosquito and he was all like, falling down and shit and his shirt, like, came up and shit"that was fucking hilarious." Don't feed the stereotype.
5. Do not wear a Speedo. If you choose to ignore my warnings about the beach and go anyway, at least wear something befitting a person of your stature. No one looks good in a Speedo, especially you. Your fat gut will droop over the front of the Speedo making it appear as though you are wearing nothing at all. However, those behind you will be treated to the sight of your hairy ass crack just poking through the top. Please, for the love of the children, do not don this European nightmare. If you must go to the beach, wear a moomoo, garbage bag, or raincoat and save everyone the doom of staring at your bared flesh.
Now, I don't want you to be ashamed of your body. On the contrary, be proud of what you have accomplished. That gut, that flab shows years of accomplished eating and drinking feats and you should cherish it. You may envy the guys with the rock hard abs and no boobs, but what do you think will happen when the ice age comes? Huh? Yeah, they're all going to freeze to death when we, you guessed it, will still be sweating. To my fellow fatties, I'll see you in the living room watching TV and not, and I mean it, not on the beach this summer.
Now You've Done It: To My (ex)Roommate
How could you? Of all the down-right, rotten things to do to someone in this world, why this? Why me? I mean, have I not been a good roommate to you? Have I not washed the dishes on my day? Have I not even vacuumed when I wasn't even asked?
I thought you were a cool person, I really did. I thought that, after three years, we really knew each other. And I trusted you"I trusted you with all my heart. But then you go and do this and erase that beautiful base we worked so hard to build. If you asked me three years ago if I thought my roommate would ever do this to me, I would have laughed at you and said, "I know my roommate. He's a good person. He would never betray me like that."
But I guess I was wrong about you. I guess you aren't the friend I thought you were. I guess that I should choose my friends more carefully in the future and not be so easily manipulated by bastards like you. I'm sorry I ever got involved with you; as a roommate and as a friend.
Looks like this is it for us. I would really feel more comfortable if you left the apartment. No, I don't want you to call. I'll pick up next month's rent. Yeah, I have the money; I was at work when you were doing this horrible thing to me. Oh god, what's my mother going to think?
You self-centered asshole, did you even think about the repercussions of your actions? No, I bet you didn't. You just went ahead with your little plan and now"now this. God, I would have expected this from my enemies, but never from you. Et Tu Brute, I say to you, Et Tu!
Wait, before you go, I just need some closure. I need to know what made you do it. What made you betray me. What made you change my away message from "at work" to "having gay sex with men." Why"why would you do that? No, I can never forgive you and the damage you have done. Goodbye.
I thought you were a cool person, I really did. I thought that, after three years, we really knew each other. And I trusted you"I trusted you with all my heart. But then you go and do this and erase that beautiful base we worked so hard to build. If you asked me three years ago if I thought my roommate would ever do this to me, I would have laughed at you and said, "I know my roommate. He's a good person. He would never betray me like that."
But I guess I was wrong about you. I guess you aren't the friend I thought you were. I guess that I should choose my friends more carefully in the future and not be so easily manipulated by bastards like you. I'm sorry I ever got involved with you; as a roommate and as a friend.
Looks like this is it for us. I would really feel more comfortable if you left the apartment. No, I don't want you to call. I'll pick up next month's rent. Yeah, I have the money; I was at work when you were doing this horrible thing to me. Oh god, what's my mother going to think?
You self-centered asshole, did you even think about the repercussions of your actions? No, I bet you didn't. You just went ahead with your little plan and now"now this. God, I would have expected this from my enemies, but never from you. Et Tu Brute, I say to you, Et Tu!
Wait, before you go, I just need some closure. I need to know what made you do it. What made you betray me. What made you change my away message from "at work" to "having gay sex with men." Why"why would you do that? No, I can never forgive you and the damage you have done. Goodbye.
Patrick On World Issues - Gas Prices
*Patrick is a 14 year-old Freshman in High School at Pinevail High. In this column, he weighs in on tough issues confronting the planet as only a pissy 14 year-old wannabe punk can.
Soaring Gas Prices
Sup, I'm Patrick but my bros call me P-Dizzle. Yo, sup with gas prices and whatever? It's so gay that you have to, like, mortgage your kid just to fill up your car and shit. I don't have a car yet but my uncle Toby said he'd give me his El Camino when I turn 16, so that's pretty rad.
It so, like, reflexative of our economy that gas costs so much. Like, other things cost a lot too. I go to this arcade called Pips and you used to be able to get 20 tokens for five bucks, but now it costs eight bucks. I was like, "yo, this place is so gay now," to my friend Chad. So now we go to Fun Bros. in the mall instead. But it's just like gas cuz soon Fun Bros. is gonna raise their prices and I'll have to game at home, which is so gay because my dad is a total fag about gaming. I'm like, "Dad, it's way of life," and shit, but he doesn't listen cuz he's all corporate and shit"I'm fuckin indie HARDCORE!
But back to gas and shit. It's just like Avril says, she's with a Sk8er Boi, which is phat cuz I skate and she's soooooooo hot. Dude, if we all sk8ed instead of driving then there'd be, like, no need for gas. But everyone is way too corporate to get on a board and rip. Not me though"I'm fuckin hardcore as shit!
Oh, and it's so gay how Bush is, like, fuckin with the middle Arab world and shit. I wanna be, like, "Yo Bush, dude, quit being a dick and shit." He's just like my older bro Steve. He's always messing my shit up and giving me wedgies and punching me to impress his girlfriend, Jen. Have you ever seen Jen, she's so totally bunk it's not even funny. Dude, I could get way better girls than that. My last girlfriend was this chick Suzy who I was really serious with for three weeks. Dude, she almost touched my dong one time. But then I was like, "Yo, this chick is going for my dong, she must be a slut." So I dumped her. Yeah, we were in love, but whatever.
I just get so pissed off "bout this gas thing sometimes that I think about killing myself. Dude, the world is a dark place and I don't see it getting any brighter anytime soon. One time I almost bought some aspirin that I was gonna OD on, but then I didn't have any money. That's why I wear black all the time, it's like to protest this gas thing or something"I dunno"give me attention. It's like, I'm so messed up in my head right now that I, like, turn to drugs for support. I've been smoking, like, 10 cigarettes a day and I had a beer at my friend's house last weekend"It's getting out of control.
But whatever, I party like a rockst*r but that doesn't mean I don't care "bout gas prices. Even though I don't have my learner's permit yet, it's affecting my life too. Like, the other day, I was like, "Mom, me and Chad wanna go see "Troy" at the multi-plex." But ma-dukes was all, "The Explorer is almost on empty, you'll have to wait for your father to get home so I can get the gas card." I was like WHAT? Shit man, this gas thing is making my life a living hell, dude. I don't know how much more I can take before I'm just gonna be like, "fuck it all, I'm moving to Colorado so I can skate and rip whenever I want!" For real, dude, for real.
"Patrick On World Issues" is a collegehumor exclusive but will be available for syndication purposes this coming October.
Soaring Gas Prices
Sup, I'm Patrick but my bros call me P-Dizzle. Yo, sup with gas prices and whatever? It's so gay that you have to, like, mortgage your kid just to fill up your car and shit. I don't have a car yet but my uncle Toby said he'd give me his El Camino when I turn 16, so that's pretty rad.
It so, like, reflexative of our economy that gas costs so much. Like, other things cost a lot too. I go to this arcade called Pips and you used to be able to get 20 tokens for five bucks, but now it costs eight bucks. I was like, "yo, this place is so gay now," to my friend Chad. So now we go to Fun Bros. in the mall instead. But it's just like gas cuz soon Fun Bros. is gonna raise their prices and I'll have to game at home, which is so gay because my dad is a total fag about gaming. I'm like, "Dad, it's way of life," and shit, but he doesn't listen cuz he's all corporate and shit"I'm fuckin indie HARDCORE!
But back to gas and shit. It's just like Avril says, she's with a Sk8er Boi, which is phat cuz I skate and she's soooooooo hot. Dude, if we all sk8ed instead of driving then there'd be, like, no need for gas. But everyone is way too corporate to get on a board and rip. Not me though"I'm fuckin hardcore as shit!
Oh, and it's so gay how Bush is, like, fuckin with the middle Arab world and shit. I wanna be, like, "Yo Bush, dude, quit being a dick and shit." He's just like my older bro Steve. He's always messing my shit up and giving me wedgies and punching me to impress his girlfriend, Jen. Have you ever seen Jen, she's so totally bunk it's not even funny. Dude, I could get way better girls than that. My last girlfriend was this chick Suzy who I was really serious with for three weeks. Dude, she almost touched my dong one time. But then I was like, "Yo, this chick is going for my dong, she must be a slut." So I dumped her. Yeah, we were in love, but whatever.
I just get so pissed off "bout this gas thing sometimes that I think about killing myself. Dude, the world is a dark place and I don't see it getting any brighter anytime soon. One time I almost bought some aspirin that I was gonna OD on, but then I didn't have any money. That's why I wear black all the time, it's like to protest this gas thing or something"I dunno"give me attention. It's like, I'm so messed up in my head right now that I, like, turn to drugs for support. I've been smoking, like, 10 cigarettes a day and I had a beer at my friend's house last weekend"It's getting out of control.
But whatever, I party like a rockst*r but that doesn't mean I don't care "bout gas prices. Even though I don't have my learner's permit yet, it's affecting my life too. Like, the other day, I was like, "Mom, me and Chad wanna go see "Troy" at the multi-plex." But ma-dukes was all, "The Explorer is almost on empty, you'll have to wait for your father to get home so I can get the gas card." I was like WHAT? Shit man, this gas thing is making my life a living hell, dude. I don't know how much more I can take before I'm just gonna be like, "fuck it all, I'm moving to Colorado so I can skate and rip whenever I want!" For real, dude, for real.
"Patrick On World Issues" is a collegehumor exclusive but will be available for syndication purposes this coming October.
My Summer Poem
Glorious summer, how fair thee be
Underneath the hemlock tree.
The sun beats down its golden rays
And in the air, a silky haze.
But not for all is this time
Known as enchanted and divine.
No, some will dread its advancing gloom
As one of toil and of doom.
What people, you say, could be so dumb
To hate this season full of fun?
To this I say, be not alarmed
For it is the fat ones who are done great harm.
While summer may seem full of joy
For every little girl and boy
The fat kids do not share this vision
And entomb themselves in their basement prisons.
While you play along the waves and surf
There are others locked beneath the earth
Avoiding the beach and the waves
Playing video games to fill their days.
While the sun may make you tan and fit
The fat ones could not give a shit
For them that sun is an evil fire
Sent to make them profusely perspire.
While you frolic wearing close to nothing
The fat ones remain completely covered
For stricken are they if all should see
Their supple widths and their double Ds.
And as you recline in the hammock
You may not realize how lucky you have it
Because the fat ones are so big and round
They would bring that hammock straight to the ground.
And do not deny that you have hate
For their bellies so wide and great.
You freeze in terror when you hear them call
"I'm coming in"CANNONBALL!"
Open your hearts to these tortured souls
And let them have the last few dinner rolls
Take pity on their supple frame
For you may be like them one day.
And when that day dawns on you
Never forget what you must do.
Leave the beach, the pool, the park
And watch TV in the dark.
Dedicated to all my fellow fat people sweating out the best we can.
Underneath the hemlock tree.
The sun beats down its golden rays
And in the air, a silky haze.
But not for all is this time
Known as enchanted and divine.
No, some will dread its advancing gloom
As one of toil and of doom.
What people, you say, could be so dumb
To hate this season full of fun?
To this I say, be not alarmed
For it is the fat ones who are done great harm.
While summer may seem full of joy
For every little girl and boy
The fat kids do not share this vision
And entomb themselves in their basement prisons.
While you play along the waves and surf
There are others locked beneath the earth
Avoiding the beach and the waves
Playing video games to fill their days.
While the sun may make you tan and fit
The fat ones could not give a shit
For them that sun is an evil fire
Sent to make them profusely perspire.
While you frolic wearing close to nothing
The fat ones remain completely covered
For stricken are they if all should see
Their supple widths and their double Ds.
And as you recline in the hammock
You may not realize how lucky you have it
Because the fat ones are so big and round
They would bring that hammock straight to the ground.
And do not deny that you have hate
For their bellies so wide and great.
You freeze in terror when you hear them call
"I'm coming in"CANNONBALL!"
Open your hearts to these tortured souls
And let them have the last few dinner rolls
Take pity on their supple frame
For you may be like them one day.
And when that day dawns on you
Never forget what you must do.
Leave the beach, the pool, the park
And watch TV in the dark.
Dedicated to all my fellow fat people sweating out the best we can.
You Took My Dare
-A few month's ago I asked my readers (that's you) to IM me and say Hi. I don't know why I did this. Perhaps I thought that I could hear some funny stories or figure out who was reading my stuff or maybe meet an exotic Polynesian girl who wanted to massage me. I really wasn't sure what would come of it. Needless to say, within two hours of posting that article, I got my first IM"then another"and another"and as I am writing this, I have 5 IM boxes open. Guess I should have thought this one through a little more.
-Now, I know what you're thinking; "What a fucking idiot!" But I beg to differ. I've had a lot of fun talking to you guys and it has given me something to do other than watching Reno911. So thank you for your time. However, before I go, I feel that I should break down this little experiment statistically because everybody loves statistics and, who knows, some of this may be in Trivial Pursuit some day (which is exactly what this experiment was).
-I have talked to over 4000 different people. Of that 4000, approximately 1000 went beyond a "Sup." Of those 1000 people, 900 had DoNe ThIs WiTh ThEiR iM nAmE. I have been called the following things on more than one occasion: stupid, retarded, evil, sexy, smart, delightful and The Christ. I have been offered illicit sex and/or sexual favors 43 times. I have cashed in on these offers 0 times only because no one would give me a ride to their schools. I have been invited to 29 parties in 15 different states, none of which I attended because my car is a piece of shit. And, I have come to learn that one of my articles was discussed in a theology class at a Catholic School (apparently, the teacher called me a heretic. All I want to know is, WHERE ARE MY FUCKIN ROYALTIES, HUH?)
-The best story I received was a tale of one young girl from the Midwest who shit her pants and passed out in her hallway where everybody could see her. Then her loving friends, one of whom I was talking to, took pictures before cleaning her up. How nice. Some other good stories include a young man who got a Hooters girl to sit with him AND buy him cheese fries and one of a young man who bit the top of his own finger off.
-Now, some common misconceptions about me which I have had to clear up are as follows:
1. I get girls. I don't know why, but a lot of you people think that I am a chick magnet. Believe me, nothing could be further from the truth. Yes, I have had my share of attractive ladies in my time, but I seem to have hit a wall recently. Have any of you people who think this seen my campushook profile? I believe the proof of my unattractiveness lies therein.
2. I get paid. Collegehumor does not pay me to write these little articles for you, so I have had to scrape a living off the streets: eating out of the garbage, finding migrant fruit picker work and catching lost pets for reward money.
3. I have fake breasts. Nope, they're all me, baby!
4. My column rocks. This is perhaps the most common message I receive and I must take some time now to right this wrong. My column does not rock, nor does it roll. Instead, my column prefers light jazz or adult contemporary. I've tried to tell it that no one listens to that stuff, but it just doesn't listen to me anymore.
-Some of the more memorable lines from my conversations are listed below:
*You must be 10 feet tall
*I killed a dog once"on purpose.
*I would pay you to sleep with my girlfriend.
*What would you say if I told you that I'm in love with you.
*Demons haunt my house
and finally"
*I'd eat your shit if you wanted me to.
-Strangely, all of these lines came from my roommate. But that is beside the point. The point here is what this experiment has done for me is to make the internet human. Sure I can look at humans doing all sorts of stuff on the net, but I have to pay for that. I never get to just sit back in my underwear and chat with them (yes, I am always in my underwear when I talk on IM). Actually, that's just some high-handed shit right there. What this has really done is to show me that all of you are just as sick, twisted, unstable, and disgusting as I am. I'm proud to call you all my friends!
-Now, I know what you're thinking; "What a fucking idiot!" But I beg to differ. I've had a lot of fun talking to you guys and it has given me something to do other than watching Reno911. So thank you for your time. However, before I go, I feel that I should break down this little experiment statistically because everybody loves statistics and, who knows, some of this may be in Trivial Pursuit some day (which is exactly what this experiment was).
-I have talked to over 4000 different people. Of that 4000, approximately 1000 went beyond a "Sup." Of those 1000 people, 900 had DoNe ThIs WiTh ThEiR iM nAmE. I have been called the following things on more than one occasion: stupid, retarded, evil, sexy, smart, delightful and The Christ. I have been offered illicit sex and/or sexual favors 43 times. I have cashed in on these offers 0 times only because no one would give me a ride to their schools. I have been invited to 29 parties in 15 different states, none of which I attended because my car is a piece of shit. And, I have come to learn that one of my articles was discussed in a theology class at a Catholic School (apparently, the teacher called me a heretic. All I want to know is, WHERE ARE MY FUCKIN ROYALTIES, HUH?)
-The best story I received was a tale of one young girl from the Midwest who shit her pants and passed out in her hallway where everybody could see her. Then her loving friends, one of whom I was talking to, took pictures before cleaning her up. How nice. Some other good stories include a young man who got a Hooters girl to sit with him AND buy him cheese fries and one of a young man who bit the top of his own finger off.
-Now, some common misconceptions about me which I have had to clear up are as follows:
1. I get girls. I don't know why, but a lot of you people think that I am a chick magnet. Believe me, nothing could be further from the truth. Yes, I have had my share of attractive ladies in my time, but I seem to have hit a wall recently. Have any of you people who think this seen my campushook profile? I believe the proof of my unattractiveness lies therein.
2. I get paid. Collegehumor does not pay me to write these little articles for you, so I have had to scrape a living off the streets: eating out of the garbage, finding migrant fruit picker work and catching lost pets for reward money.
3. I have fake breasts. Nope, they're all me, baby!
4. My column rocks. This is perhaps the most common message I receive and I must take some time now to right this wrong. My column does not rock, nor does it roll. Instead, my column prefers light jazz or adult contemporary. I've tried to tell it that no one listens to that stuff, but it just doesn't listen to me anymore.
-Some of the more memorable lines from my conversations are listed below:
*You must be 10 feet tall
*I killed a dog once"on purpose.
*I would pay you to sleep with my girlfriend.
*What would you say if I told you that I'm in love with you.
*Demons haunt my house
and finally"
*I'd eat your shit if you wanted me to.
-Strangely, all of these lines came from my roommate. But that is beside the point. The point here is what this experiment has done for me is to make the internet human. Sure I can look at humans doing all sorts of stuff on the net, but I have to pay for that. I never get to just sit back in my underwear and chat with them (yes, I am always in my underwear when I talk on IM). Actually, that's just some high-handed shit right there. What this has really done is to show me that all of you are just as sick, twisted, unstable, and disgusting as I am. I'm proud to call you all my friends!
People You Hate XI
-After last week's celebrity edition, it's time to return to our normal format. Yes, yes, I know we all love to talk about arrogant, untalented or annoying celebrities, but there are plenty of people to hate without looking to Hollywood. Without further ado, here comes the famous Hate List, bitter as ever!
-MINE:
-Super Summer Job: "So, Jake, what are you doing for the summer?" "Well Street, I'm working at this club down by the beach. I give backrubs to hot girls and put oil on them and stuff. Plus my manager says I should drink on the job so I'm more talkative. I dunno, I guess it's pretty cool." Fuck you, Jake"fuck you. Most of us spend our summers painting houses, mowing lawns or waiting tables, but not Mr. Super Summer Job. No, he's got a job picking out Hillary Duff's underwear or testing beer, the little shit. What's worse is he'll complain about his job whenever he gets a day off from rubbing down swimsuit models. "I hate my job, the hours suck, I have to be around all these girls all day so I can't be a guy, blah blah blah" Shut up you whiny asshole. Why don't you try pushing a 200 Lb lawn mower around instead? Take your job and shove it up your pampered asshole, you lucky bastard"I Hate You!
-"That's Gay": I like this song""That's gay." I think I'll get a turkey sandwich""That's gay." Do you want to go to that party""That's gay." Do you want to watch Will and Grace in our pajamas""OK." Is there anything in the world to you that isn't "gay?" This dude will denounce everything you could ever suggest as homosexual. I see, my shirt is gay"why? Because it likes other shirts of the same color? My rug is gay? Does it like dance music? I'm gay because I like peanut butter? What the hell is wrong with you? Can you think of a better way to express your disapproval of a choice I made than "that's gay?" For example, you could say something like "that sucks" instead. It's just as easy to say and it doesn't make you sound like the fattest tool on the planet. So, from now on, everytime you think about saying "that's gay" to me, why don't you just rip out a few pubes instead because that is what it feels like for me when you talk, you ass"you're so gay"I Hate You!
-Mrs. Mystery Farter: It is just you and me in the living room. We are alone watching Tv or a movie when a smell slowly creeps into the room. You say, in your innocent girl way, "Eww, what's that smell?" I don't know, maybe it was the silent fart you just let escape your ass? Why don't you just admit that you farted, huh? I do it too, in fact, everybody does. No, it's not that sexy or attractive, but don't try to pretend that you don't know where that smell came from. Since it's just you and me, and I didn't fart, I'm pretty sure you know the source of it. How stupid do you think I am? Do you think that I'm going to sit there and go, "Hmmm, that's a good question, I really have no idea what that smell is or where it came from. Maybe it was me?" Admit your guilt and we can get on with our lives. Until then, I will never trust you again, you smelly little liar"I Hate You!
-YOURS:
-Reader Sydney B. really hates: girls that bring their designer bags to the gym. You know who I am talking about, those bitches that won't let their precious Prada out of sight for more than 20 minutes at a time. Screw you, you anorexic money loving wench! Yes, everyone sees that your daddy makes enough money to by his little muffin anything she wants. Well if daddy has so much money, why doesn't he buy you some fucking fashion advice. Sweat pants and Louis Vuitton don't match! So next time you go to work out, toting your precious waste of money, remember, I hate you!
-Reader Jonathan D. really hates: The 8 Year Old Who Thinks He's A Thug: You may not have pubes yet, but you got your cornrows and your wife beater all ready to go. When I'm walking my dog, all the other kids my age on the street pet it like little kids should, but you pretend to backhand bitch slap it cuz you're a hardcore gangsta. Well guess what? You're 8. I'm 15 times your size, and I'll kick your ass ghetto-style if you lay a finger on my dog. You got plenty of years ahead of you to steal cars, sell crack rocks, and shoot people...but for now, you should go watch some fucking Teletubbies and then play Hopscotch or some shit. Just remember, in about 15 years you'll be surviving off of my tax money in jail....I hate you!
-Reader Adam H. really hates: Juice-Monkey Ex-Boyfriends. Yes, we all know you are a monster. Your terry-cloth jump-suit makes you look studly. The gold Precidia you drive must be a babe-magnet. With the obvious discomfort you're in every time you sit down, you've either on steriods, or living up to the shit I call you behind your back. Yes, your ex-girlfriend is now wanting to spend her time with me. How does YOU wanting to "Curb-stomp" my "faggotty ass", make your ex not want to go home with me again tonight? How is that going to put you in a good light? Fucking Idiot. Go to school. You're 25, work for peanuts, and live at home. You're destined for a McJob. Get some anger-management classes...and a life... fucking twat. I HATE YOU!!!
-Reader Missy really hates: Those fucking fags who think they are still soooooo fucking cool because they were mr. fucking popular in high school. Hey, I have news for you buddy, you graduated three years ago! No one gives a flying fuck if you were prom king or that you were voted best looking of your senior class anymore. Oh what? You were a pimp right? Hey doucebag I don't know if you've noticed but it doesn't take much skill to pick up fifteen year olds these days. All you gotta do is show them that you have a valid fucking drivers license! But the saddest thing out of all of this is that those fifteen year olds are the only girls you can still pick up and that valid driver's license is about the only fucking thing you have going for you! Get over yourself you FAG!...
I HATE YOU!
*(Author's Note: How does this Missy know so much about how to pick up 15 year-old girls"but more importantly, how come Missy has not let me in on the secrets?)
-My ex-girlfriend Julia, really hates: The people who signal to pass to either lane and fail to turn their signals off for about 1/2 hour really fucking suck! A couple of my friends actually move in front of these assholes and keep their blinker on in hopes that they may get the hint and turn theirs off, however, they do not. HEY ASSHOLE, THE PURPOSE OF SIGNALING IS ONLY MEANT TO BE TEMPORARY , SO TO ALL YOU OLD FUCKS OUT THERE, TURN THEM OFF WHEN YOU FUCKING CHANGE LANES, IT DOESN'T TAKE 10 MILES TO REALIZE YOU STILL LEFT IT ON. I HATE YOU!
-Reader Jordan R. really hates: The guy that when you're playing a game or sport, he sucks really really bad, but he just says he's having an off day and then you play with him again he still sucks. Then, you'll play 5 games 5 different days with him and yet he still sucks but he claims to be having a bad day. I'm sure we all know someone like this. They always brag about how good they are at a game or sport or whatever and then when you play with them they suck. You can have one bad day but not five fucking bad days in a row! Grow some balls and just admit that you suck!! I HATE YOU!!
-Reader Josh G. really hate: BadAss Car Alarm Guy: This fuck-head brags about his ultra expensive stereo system he put in his pile of trash ride and then because of this system he is forced to install a 9000 decibel car alarm to protect this shit. NEWS for you a car alarm doesn't do a damn bit of good when you don't respond to it at 4 fucking 30 Wednesday morning of finals week. Get a clue asswipe I hate you.
-Reader Lisa C. really hates: the "I'm So Fat" chick. At least half of all girls do this. They're always commenting on how fat they are or how they should lose weight. It's ironic, though, because most of them usually aren't that fat. Why do they do this? Fishing for compliments, perhaps? What the fuck do you want me to say? "Oh, Tiff, you are SO not fat... you look so skinny in those jeans!" Well, forget it, bitch, you're not getting any sympathy or compliments from me! Shut the fuck up and go starve yourself or go binge and puke it up, I don't really care, just leave me alone! Or, God forbid, do something to lose weight and get up off your fat ass and go for a run... maybe then you won't think look like a heffer because you'll be happy with yourself. I hate you!
-Lisa also hates: The Conversation-Butter... There's nothing more obnoxious than someone coming up to you asking, "What are you guys talking about?" during the middle of a conversation. Even worse, perhaps, are the people who eavesdrop on a conversation and interrupt you to inquire, "Wait... who did that?!" Stop it, you worthless fuck! If I were talking to you, you'd know it! Don't listen to my friggin conversations, but if you feel the need to, don't fucking interrupt me! I hate you!
-Reader Jaclyn really hates: The F-ing Food- Fibber : Ok we all know someone like this, its that girl who is skinnier than a starving child in Bulgaria , yet she always claims that she eats SOO much . Stop lying you piece of shit annorexic- if you eat so much how come when everyone else is chowin down on Papa Johns like they are about to stop making 'em you eat one bite and shockingly say "oh I'm full". Bull shit you aren't full, last time I checked we are all in college and no one gets filled up from one damn bite !!! - so stop Freakin pretending to be a heffer and just admit that Calista Flockhart is your #1 Idol !!!
-Reader Sean T. really hates: That one white guy in class "who-has-no-rhythm" sits there in hats, and bleaches his top of the hair blonde. Okay you pale hasty mother fucker, you don't have to tell us that your white and have no rhythm, in fact not all white people lack rhythm it's a fucking stereotype. Plus why the hell are you so proud about it???? Why do you scream with joy "I'm white and have no rhythm" nobody needs to know that asshole, and don't put your race down. Be proud of what you are, and by telling that you have many black friends doesn't mean that your not racist, you little racist fucker, the reason you have black friends is because you think its cool, and your Ecko sweatshirt doesn't make you urban you piece of shit. By using black people to give you social status is being racist, now take of your hat, shave your head off and show us that your not blonde, your burnet piece of shit that lacks rhythm. Just shut the fuck up, and don't say anything, and don't try to be sympathetic towards race issue in the United States"I Hate You!
*(Author's Note: White people are not allowed to be proud of their race"that makes them racist...funny how that works, isn't it?)
-Reader Diana really hates: bigger girls who wear their clothes many sizes too small. I'm tiny, and when I go shopping and there's only medium and larges left I just know that I'm going to see some fat ass chick wearing the shirt that I wanted, and her chubby gut will be hanging out of it. Girls that think flab is sexy piss me off. Lose some weight and wear your own goddamn size!
-Finally, Reader Cale K. really hates: Attention Sluts "Hey girlfriend! Get out! Get the fuck out!" and then they go up and give the other girl a hug even though they just saw each other earlier that day! Grow a fucking brain bitch! Everyone else at the party knows that your just screaming that to get attention so you think you look cool, and so everyone else says "No, how bout YOU get the fuck out!" Quit making yourself look like a total moron and say hello just like everyone else does you senseless whores! Get the fucking clue that not everyone at the party wants to that your saying hi to your girlfriend, so shut the fuck up...I HATE YOU!
-That's it for now, but join us next week when the famous Hate List will be in its 12th edition. Hey, if it was person, it would just be learning how to masturbate! Thanks to all of you who submitted and keep the hate coming my way at suxatlife@hotmail.com.
-MINE:
-Super Summer Job: "So, Jake, what are you doing for the summer?" "Well Street, I'm working at this club down by the beach. I give backrubs to hot girls and put oil on them and stuff. Plus my manager says I should drink on the job so I'm more talkative. I dunno, I guess it's pretty cool." Fuck you, Jake"fuck you. Most of us spend our summers painting houses, mowing lawns or waiting tables, but not Mr. Super Summer Job. No, he's got a job picking out Hillary Duff's underwear or testing beer, the little shit. What's worse is he'll complain about his job whenever he gets a day off from rubbing down swimsuit models. "I hate my job, the hours suck, I have to be around all these girls all day so I can't be a guy, blah blah blah" Shut up you whiny asshole. Why don't you try pushing a 200 Lb lawn mower around instead? Take your job and shove it up your pampered asshole, you lucky bastard"I Hate You!
-"That's Gay": I like this song""That's gay." I think I'll get a turkey sandwich""That's gay." Do you want to go to that party""That's gay." Do you want to watch Will and Grace in our pajamas""OK." Is there anything in the world to you that isn't "gay?" This dude will denounce everything you could ever suggest as homosexual. I see, my shirt is gay"why? Because it likes other shirts of the same color? My rug is gay? Does it like dance music? I'm gay because I like peanut butter? What the hell is wrong with you? Can you think of a better way to express your disapproval of a choice I made than "that's gay?" For example, you could say something like "that sucks" instead. It's just as easy to say and it doesn't make you sound like the fattest tool on the planet. So, from now on, everytime you think about saying "that's gay" to me, why don't you just rip out a few pubes instead because that is what it feels like for me when you talk, you ass"you're so gay"I Hate You!
-Mrs. Mystery Farter: It is just you and me in the living room. We are alone watching Tv or a movie when a smell slowly creeps into the room. You say, in your innocent girl way, "Eww, what's that smell?" I don't know, maybe it was the silent fart you just let escape your ass? Why don't you just admit that you farted, huh? I do it too, in fact, everybody does. No, it's not that sexy or attractive, but don't try to pretend that you don't know where that smell came from. Since it's just you and me, and I didn't fart, I'm pretty sure you know the source of it. How stupid do you think I am? Do you think that I'm going to sit there and go, "Hmmm, that's a good question, I really have no idea what that smell is or where it came from. Maybe it was me?" Admit your guilt and we can get on with our lives. Until then, I will never trust you again, you smelly little liar"I Hate You!
-YOURS:
-Reader Sydney B. really hates: girls that bring their designer bags to the gym. You know who I am talking about, those bitches that won't let their precious Prada out of sight for more than 20 minutes at a time. Screw you, you anorexic money loving wench! Yes, everyone sees that your daddy makes enough money to by his little muffin anything she wants. Well if daddy has so much money, why doesn't he buy you some fucking fashion advice. Sweat pants and Louis Vuitton don't match! So next time you go to work out, toting your precious waste of money, remember, I hate you!
-Reader Jonathan D. really hates: The 8 Year Old Who Thinks He's A Thug: You may not have pubes yet, but you got your cornrows and your wife beater all ready to go. When I'm walking my dog, all the other kids my age on the street pet it like little kids should, but you pretend to backhand bitch slap it cuz you're a hardcore gangsta. Well guess what? You're 8. I'm 15 times your size, and I'll kick your ass ghetto-style if you lay a finger on my dog. You got plenty of years ahead of you to steal cars, sell crack rocks, and shoot people...but for now, you should go watch some fucking Teletubbies and then play Hopscotch or some shit. Just remember, in about 15 years you'll be surviving off of my tax money in jail....I hate you!
-Reader Adam H. really hates: Juice-Monkey Ex-Boyfriends. Yes, we all know you are a monster. Your terry-cloth jump-suit makes you look studly. The gold Precidia you drive must be a babe-magnet. With the obvious discomfort you're in every time you sit down, you've either on steriods, or living up to the shit I call you behind your back. Yes, your ex-girlfriend is now wanting to spend her time with me. How does YOU wanting to "Curb-stomp" my "faggotty ass", make your ex not want to go home with me again tonight? How is that going to put you in a good light? Fucking Idiot. Go to school. You're 25, work for peanuts, and live at home. You're destined for a McJob. Get some anger-management classes...and a life... fucking twat. I HATE YOU!!!
-Reader Missy really hates: Those fucking fags who think they are still soooooo fucking cool because they were mr. fucking popular in high school. Hey, I have news for you buddy, you graduated three years ago! No one gives a flying fuck if you were prom king or that you were voted best looking of your senior class anymore. Oh what? You were a pimp right? Hey doucebag I don't know if you've noticed but it doesn't take much skill to pick up fifteen year olds these days. All you gotta do is show them that you have a valid fucking drivers license! But the saddest thing out of all of this is that those fifteen year olds are the only girls you can still pick up and that valid driver's license is about the only fucking thing you have going for you! Get over yourself you FAG!...
I HATE YOU!
*(Author's Note: How does this Missy know so much about how to pick up 15 year-old girls"but more importantly, how come Missy has not let me in on the secrets?)
-My ex-girlfriend Julia, really hates: The people who signal to pass to either lane and fail to turn their signals off for about 1/2 hour really fucking suck! A couple of my friends actually move in front of these assholes and keep their blinker on in hopes that they may get the hint and turn theirs off, however, they do not. HEY ASSHOLE, THE PURPOSE OF SIGNALING IS ONLY MEANT TO BE TEMPORARY , SO TO ALL YOU OLD FUCKS OUT THERE, TURN THEM OFF WHEN YOU FUCKING CHANGE LANES, IT DOESN'T TAKE 10 MILES TO REALIZE YOU STILL LEFT IT ON. I HATE YOU!
-Reader Jordan R. really hates: The guy that when you're playing a game or sport, he sucks really really bad, but he just says he's having an off day and then you play with him again he still sucks. Then, you'll play 5 games 5 different days with him and yet he still sucks but he claims to be having a bad day. I'm sure we all know someone like this. They always brag about how good they are at a game or sport or whatever and then when you play with them they suck. You can have one bad day but not five fucking bad days in a row! Grow some balls and just admit that you suck!! I HATE YOU!!
-Reader Josh G. really hate: BadAss Car Alarm Guy: This fuck-head brags about his ultra expensive stereo system he put in his pile of trash ride and then because of this system he is forced to install a 9000 decibel car alarm to protect this shit. NEWS for you a car alarm doesn't do a damn bit of good when you don't respond to it at 4 fucking 30 Wednesday morning of finals week. Get a clue asswipe I hate you.
-Reader Lisa C. really hates: the "I'm So Fat" chick. At least half of all girls do this. They're always commenting on how fat they are or how they should lose weight. It's ironic, though, because most of them usually aren't that fat. Why do they do this? Fishing for compliments, perhaps? What the fuck do you want me to say? "Oh, Tiff, you are SO not fat... you look so skinny in those jeans!" Well, forget it, bitch, you're not getting any sympathy or compliments from me! Shut the fuck up and go starve yourself or go binge and puke it up, I don't really care, just leave me alone! Or, God forbid, do something to lose weight and get up off your fat ass and go for a run... maybe then you won't think look like a heffer because you'll be happy with yourself. I hate you!
-Lisa also hates: The Conversation-Butter... There's nothing more obnoxious than someone coming up to you asking, "What are you guys talking about?" during the middle of a conversation. Even worse, perhaps, are the people who eavesdrop on a conversation and interrupt you to inquire, "Wait... who did that?!" Stop it, you worthless fuck! If I were talking to you, you'd know it! Don't listen to my friggin conversations, but if you feel the need to, don't fucking interrupt me! I hate you!
-Reader Jaclyn really hates: The F-ing Food- Fibber : Ok we all know someone like this, its that girl who is skinnier than a starving child in Bulgaria , yet she always claims that she eats SOO much . Stop lying you piece of shit annorexic- if you eat so much how come when everyone else is chowin down on Papa Johns like they are about to stop making 'em you eat one bite and shockingly say "oh I'm full". Bull shit you aren't full, last time I checked we are all in college and no one gets filled up from one damn bite !!! - so stop Freakin pretending to be a heffer and just admit that Calista Flockhart is your #1 Idol !!!
-Reader Sean T. really hates: That one white guy in class "who-has-no-rhythm" sits there in hats, and bleaches his top of the hair blonde. Okay you pale hasty mother fucker, you don't have to tell us that your white and have no rhythm, in fact not all white people lack rhythm it's a fucking stereotype. Plus why the hell are you so proud about it???? Why do you scream with joy "I'm white and have no rhythm" nobody needs to know that asshole, and don't put your race down. Be proud of what you are, and by telling that you have many black friends doesn't mean that your not racist, you little racist fucker, the reason you have black friends is because you think its cool, and your Ecko sweatshirt doesn't make you urban you piece of shit. By using black people to give you social status is being racist, now take of your hat, shave your head off and show us that your not blonde, your burnet piece of shit that lacks rhythm. Just shut the fuck up, and don't say anything, and don't try to be sympathetic towards race issue in the United States"I Hate You!
*(Author's Note: White people are not allowed to be proud of their race"that makes them racist...funny how that works, isn't it?)
-Reader Diana really hates: bigger girls who wear their clothes many sizes too small. I'm tiny, and when I go shopping and there's only medium and larges left I just know that I'm going to see some fat ass chick wearing the shirt that I wanted, and her chubby gut will be hanging out of it. Girls that think flab is sexy piss me off. Lose some weight and wear your own goddamn size!
-Finally, Reader Cale K. really hates: Attention Sluts "Hey girlfriend! Get out! Get the fuck out!" and then they go up and give the other girl a hug even though they just saw each other earlier that day! Grow a fucking brain bitch! Everyone else at the party knows that your just screaming that to get attention so you think you look cool, and so everyone else says "No, how bout YOU get the fuck out!" Quit making yourself look like a total moron and say hello just like everyone else does you senseless whores! Get the fucking clue that not everyone at the party wants to that your saying hi to your girlfriend, so shut the fuck up...I HATE YOU!
-That's it for now, but join us next week when the famous Hate List will be in its 12th edition. Hey, if it was person, it would just be learning how to masturbate! Thanks to all of you who submitted and keep the hate coming my way at suxatlife@hotmail.com.
One For The Kids; How To Lie About Cigarette Smoke
-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 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.
"Modern World, Ancient King III" by King Henry VII of England
"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
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