Mary Kolesnikova's Articles

College rules, but the thing about college that's worse than hemmoroids is having to write papers. No sweat, this will help you turn out something that could maybe pass for a decent paper if the teacher suddenly started taking LSD.

If you have one handy, you can even print your paper on an 8.5 x 11 LSD blotter. Really, if you can pull that off, that's the only step you need to take. If all your 8.5 x 11 LSD blotters are already spoken for, read on:

1. Wait until 3 hours before your paper is due. Everybody knows, this is when you get your best paper mojo going. But, you're saying, most papers are due sometime in the morning. Three hours before that is like 6 a.m.! Exactly. That gives you all night to basically get shitfaced, take shrooms and go to Taco Bell. The only other requirement is that you drink six Red Bulls before you start your paper. And no Sugar Free Red Bull, you pussy!

2. Start your paper right. Say your paper was on Charlemagne (he's some Canadian dude, retard), you will need to start your paper with: "My bitch Charlemagne had some big, swingin' balls." This will segue nicely into your discussion of his military strategy, because it takes balls to conquer Canada. What if your paper is on World War II? Still works. "World War II had some big, swingin' balls." Then start your discussion of the Holocaust.

3. It's not content, it's font that counts. Nobody's gonna tell you this, but I'm your homie, so I'll let you in on a little secret. In Teacher School, all your professors have a semester where they become fluent in Wingdings. They'll be so tickled that you're reaching out to them in their own tongue that it's an automatic A. It'll be an A+ if you bold and underline everything.

4. You have to have a classy sign-off. Switch back to that ol' Times New Roman for a second and really land your paper. Everybody knows another word for "conclusion" is "masturbation," and you don't want to jerk off your professor, unless she's smoking hot. So, skip the conclusion and make it simple and classy: "Your welcome for the knowledge, fucktards, stay skeezy!"

Which brings me to my final point. In order to succeed at life, please, please, please remember this tip: "Your" means "you are," and "you're" means "belonging to you." I can't believe how many people get this wrong.

Every now and then you'll wake up and not know where you are. In fact, you may not remember what you did for much of the previous night, either. Here are some quick tips to help you out.

1. Don't sit up too quickly. You may shake off all the beer cans that your friends have lovingly draped on your passed out body, or you may wake up the hideous, hairy woman (?) slumbering next to you. If you're alone and un-shamed, you still may get the spins, so lay low.

2. Go back to bed. You can't really figure out where you are when your head hurts this bad, maybe if you sleep for a few more hours you'll feel better.

3. Get up and look around. This is important. Here, you will need your best detective skills. Are you outside or inside? Are you in a place that you recognize? Is it a friend's dorm room or are you cruising on a barge in the middle of the harbor? Are you in a hotel? Did you pay for it? Have you killed a hooker? Again?! Check the shower. These are important things.

Sorry, that wasn't very specific. What I mean to say was - The Three Roads to Happiness: White Pills, Blue Pills and Red Pills.

I hope that cleared some things up for you. Man. I can't believe I messed that up. But, I am on pills. So maybe that explains some stuff.

The thing is, life is awesome on pills. People talk slower, your extremities feel further away, and naps just last a whole lot longer. Also, you can't be bothered with things like school, talking, or, you know, keeping your eyes open.

What's that? Your hands look like they're changing colors from purple to green and then back again? That's amazing! Give me some of those! I wanna see!

The beauty part is, the kind of pills that make you nap are just one kind of pills! There are pills to make you clean for seventeen hours, pills to make you horny for everything, pills that tell you to walk on rooftops and pills that help you realize that you are Flavor Flav.

Don't take these last pills in predominantly African American neighborhoods, though, if you are a white-ass cracker boy. If you get capped when you're on pills, you'll still be dead when you come off of pills.

So, there you go. Now that you know everything there is to know about pills, go ahead and get some. It's really easy. All you need to do is secure a sawed-off shotgun and take it to your local pharmacy, probably right around closing time.

You can pay the nice pharmacist with some bullets out of the barrel of your shotgun, and then you can just hop over the counter and help yourself. Look for some bottles that sound like they may have pills in them.

Dude, no I'm not. I'm not telling you to go rob a pharmacy. What's the matter with you, man? You need to relax. Geez.

That disembodied voice in my head is really pissing me off. I wonder if there's anything I can take for that. I should go check down at the pharmacy. Besides, I'm running out of some stuff. I wonder if that same pharmacist I gave bullets to last week will be there.

    According to speculation, Howard K. Stern had been keeping Anna Nicole Smith drugged up 24/7 just to make money off her. I don't know if she had any idea of what she was doing or saying for at least the past five years of her life.
    According to my mom, NASA killed Anna Nicole to take attention off of their crazy diaper-wearin' astronaut lady who claimed she was just having a "friendly chat" with the woman she tried to mace. Okay, mom.
    Well, I have to weigh in with a conspiracy theory of my own, but this time it's about Britney Spears.
    For the last billion years, Lindsay Lohan has been the fucked up Hollywood "it girl," the one everybody was worried about. Celebrity blogs kept a party watch of her, tracking how often she went out, especially after she checked in and out of rehab.
    After quitting rehab, I bet you my firstborn that Lindsay Lohan paid somebody to keep Britney Spears wacked out of her face Howard K. Stern style. Why? To take attention off Linday's failed attempt to stop drinking and doing drugs. Let Britney do it and steal all the negative publicity! Of course!
    If only I could get into a similar agreement with either of them. I'm going in to my boring-ass job and I could really use some methadone.
    "But hey," you say, "Britney was fucked up a long, long time ago. Remember Chaotic, her reality show with Fed-Ex?"
    "You're right," I'd reply, "I do remember Chaotic. In fact, getting ripped and watching Chaotic was some very good times. And please, don't call him 'FedEx,' that's just retarded."
    However, a woman with private jets and tons of drugs is wildly different than a woman with private jets, tons of drugs and two babies.
    Chin up, Britney. Your hair will grow back and your children will be taken away from you and you can start all over again. LIke it never happened at all. Maybe this time, try a woman. They don't impregnate you all the time and I hear you're into lesbians. Maybe you and Lindsay can reconcile, if you know what I mean.

    After-College Land is not a theme park. There are no fuzzy costumed characters. There are no souvenirs, unless you count all your empty bottles of Wellbutrin. Some people breeze right out of college into an awesome job where they can act like frat boys all day long. Some people hit a dizzying downward spiral and stay that way for years.
    Haha! Just kidding! Well, kinda. When some folks graduate from college, they get overwhelmed. They think they have to figure out their entire lives in about two weeks. Jobs, relationships, living situations and, you know, all those student loans.
    This can get a little overwhelming and send people straight off the deep end. No shit. I can't figure out what I'm going to wear today, let alone, you know, what I'll be doing forever and ever.
    Take some pressure off. Yeah, limitless choices are intimidating, but the idea can also be exciting as hell if you take it one step at a time. Figure out a job this month, your living situation next month, and start cruising for bitches the month after that.
    If you rush into something because you're freaked out, you'll hate it and then you'll be back to square one. Get to know yourself first and then you'll make better decisions.
    Like, should I work at this cheese factory? It pays bank. Well, you're deathly allergic to cheese. Maybe you should hold out for something less lethal.  Or, should I date this girl? She is always talking about her how often she poops and what it looks like when she does but I'm  terrified of being alone. I'd say, skip that one and hold out for a girl that always talks about giving blow jobs, and then follows through.
    In a lot of ways, life after college is like a theme park. There's a lot of screaming and barfing, but when that calms down, there's a lot of running around and a lot of fun. If you're aware of the screaming and barfing, you can choose to avoid it and cut straight to the fun.
    Life after college, just like the rest of life, is all about attitude. So what if you're broke, unemployed and smelling pretty ripe? Life is good stuff. Have a laugh, a beer, and see where that takes you.
   

    I told my boyfriend not to buy me flowers for Valentine’s Day. Why? Because if he buys me flowers, he won’t be able to afford taking me to Fresh Choice. That’s right. Fresh Choice.
    Fresh Choice because his stupid flowers don’t have unlimited helpings of bread pudding that I can top with unlimited helpings of chocolate ice cream and then sprinkle with limitless toasted coconut shavings. Flowers don’t have that. Fresh Choice has that. (Dear Fresh Choice, I am available for promotional appearances. Thanks.)
    Valentine’s Day is no big deal to me, and yes, I have a vagina and yes, I have boobs to go with it, and yes, they’re huge. I’m one of those fabled low-maintenance girls that you’ve heard about. I don’t care what I’m doing or where I am on special occasions as long as there is wine and food, preferably free food.
    One time I avoided quitting a job just so I could attend a company event with lobster and an overflowing open bar. Then I quit the next day.
If you’re dating one of those girls that drops cute little hits and puts a cute little vice around your wallet for Valentine’s Day, dump her. There are other, more awesome girls out there. Just because it is a holiday that chicks dig, doesn’t mean you have to shell out a pretty penny.
    However, if you are one of those guys that loves spontaneously surprising their girlfriends with flowers, diamonds and expensive dinners, dump her and call me. I know I said I was low-maintenance, but I could easily make the switch. Besides, she doesn’t appreciate it as much as a woman who has been wined and dined at Fresh Choice will.