It's the championships. I won't say anything to build this up. You know how important this is. Forget hotlinks. Forget the picture of the day. Man, this is it. This is our destiny. This is life.

Take a look around you. A decision this big won't fall upon your lap again. Fate is knocking at your door. Your mouse is like the Excalibur. It is time to determine the winner of America's Hottest College Girl Contest.

See? Told you I wouldn't build that up. Dude, VOTE.

It's always nice to see your friends make it big and we couldn't be happier for the three guys from MTV's Human Giant: Paul Scheer, Aziz Ansari and Rob Heubel.  We’ve known them for years and they’re still as down-to-earth and cool as they’ve always been. Tonight is their big night and I'm going to ask them some questions about the show. 

(dials Paul)

Streeter: Hey Paul, are you nervous about the big premiere tonight?

Paul: Hello Mr. Seidell, this is Paul's assistant, Rebecca. 

Streeter: Oh...Hi, is Paul around?  I had a few questions about the show.

Rebecca: No.  You can always call his publicist, Nate.  

Streeter: Oh, OK.  Thanks.  

(dials publicist)

Nate: Yell-o?

Streeter: Hi Nate, this is Streeter Seidell from CollegeHumor.  I'm an old friend of Paul's.  We used to watch Lost together every week.  I was wondering if you could put me in touch with him?  I have some questions about his new show.  I'm trying to plug it on the website.

Nate: Website?  I don't know if you heard yet, Peter, but Paul has a TV show coming out.  He can't waste time talking to geeks from the world wide website. 

Streeter: I hardly think that's fair.  Human Giant started out as a series of web videos so it definitely relates.  Plus, the website I work for is pretty popular.  

Nate: How many peeps we talking?

Streeter: What...?

Nate: How many peeps hit your geek-spot every month?

Streeter: Around six million, plus it's a very influential demograph...

Nate: No can do, homo.  Don't call me again.  If you absolutely must talk to someone, call MTV's PR department.  Number in three, two, one...347-2283.

(hangs up)

It’s my final day in Cancun, Mexico, as your official CollegeHumor Spring Break ’07 Correspondent. And, it is with great difficulty that I type this last entry. Literally.

Friends, I succumbed to the madness that surrounds me, and I am afraid to report that I am one of the fallen. Or, at least, one of the injured. Our last hours in Cancun were met with hook-ups, skinny dipping, and drunkenness. At some point last night, I dubbed myself the human Corona opener, and after launching the 30th bottle cap off by smashing it with my fist against a marble surface, I found myself with an injury, and now it is hard to type. I awoke this morning with a swollen right hand, and, inexplicably, a pink “Cancun” do-rag covering my hair.

Who am I?

I am one of the chosen few, that’s who.

If you’re lucky – yes LUCKY – enough to be injured on Spring Break, you are a legend. Fuck that asshole frat brother of yours who always steals your thunder when he breaks a tooth after a keg stand gone wrong. And, to hell with that dickweed who’s broken his nose 17 times in touch football games. Real men get injured on Spring Break, not on campus, and REALER men get injured in a foreign country on Spring Break, where medical care is only a twinkle in the eye of that nation’s domestic policy, paramedics are nonexistent, and everyone around you for miles in every direction is too drunk to even light the joint they’re trying to smoke.

You know how you have one computer for school work and emails and another computer just for hardcore pornography?  Well, things are much the same here at CollegeHumor.  You know the kind of videos we post here – people getting lit on fire, people lighting things on fire, etc – but do you know that we have another site where we post our personal videos?  It's called Vimeo and it's a lot of fun. 

So fun in fact, that Amir and I have been embroiled in a year-long prank war.  Being particularly proud of my last prank I've decided to bring it to you fine readers.  Enjoy me making Amir very, very uncomfortable! 

I need you to listen to me very closely. There's isn't much time. My name isn't important, but I'm a federal agent, and I was invited here by Kevin's roommate. You can check with him for clearance later—he's in the kitchen—but for now you're just going to have to trust me.

One hour ago an unidentified student managed to elude your doorman and made his way inside this party. A witness claims she saw a guest giving him a high five: I believed he had an inside man. I followed the suspected traitor into the bathroom, handcuffed him to the sink, and shoved a bath towel down his throat before he confessed that the unidentified student was a friend who was previously deported from the party for vomiting into Kevin's aquarium, and that he had conspired to smuggle him back in by telling the doorman the student was "with him," and that he was "solid."

I have reason to believe this student is capable of an even greater act of destruction than the aquarium defecation. As long as he's free nobody at this party is safe. And you need to know that I will do anything to protect this dorm, and that includes sacrificing everyone here, as well as myself. Do you understand? I SAID DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!

You've heard dozens of good pick-up lines, most of which can result in you finally scoring with that Hooters waitress who was "totally digging you." However, I prefer truly terrible pick-up lines. I'm talking about ones so bad they're a pick-down line, an opening so devastating that it will make its recipient cry tears of blood and shame. Here are some of my favorites:

"That shirt is very becoming on you...can I jizz on it?"

"Why don't you sit in my lap and we'll see what pops up? Probably my splintered femurs under your massive girth."

"If looks could kill, you wouldn't be the least bit threatening."

"Cum here often?" (pointing at her vagina) Mind if I do?

"Nice shoes, wanna duck?" (punch her in throat)

If there's one thing I hate, it's people who are different from me. And that includes all of those guys out there trying to impress the ladies with their lame, formulaic intramural sports. If you want to really make your mark, try one of my new variations on intramural competition. These new intramural sports will be found in schools across the nation by 2006 (as long as they find enough refs. Fucking blind-ass refs.) :

Text Messaging: Thumb your way to intramural glory. Each team has to has to type out a novel, first team to finish advances. This culminates with a "War and Peace"� 4-day battle royale in which one team is crowned the victor, and the losers go home dejected, not unlike the plot of "War and Peace."�

Autumn is a great time for theme parties, but some college students have trouble picking a good theme. Pajama Bros and Double-Teamed Ho's? That's racist, sexist, and pajamist. Try one of my cutting-edge ideas instead:

Everybody Gloves/Raymond - Everyone has to either wear gloves or dress as 1940's mystery novelist Raymond Chandler or contemporary short-story author Raymond Carver. This one can get PRETTY CRAZY.

Let Them Heat Cake, a.k.a. "Bake Not, Want Not." When guests show up for the party, make sure the cake is conspicuously absent. Guests will likely say, "Hey, where's the cake?" Tell them it's in the kitchen; they just need to put it in the oven. While they're gone baking, move the party to a different house. You don't need selfish complainers at your shindig.

Stripinata: Everyone loves strippers, but putting them in a cake has gotten a little passé. Instead, trying building an enormous piñata around the stripper. This should take several hours, but once you get it loaded up and hoisted to the rafters, it's totally worth it. Make sure the girls wear helmets and mouth guards. For extra points, convince your party goers that the stripper is in fact a new flavor of Now-and-Later called, you guessed it, "bloody stripper."�

Cookies and Scream: Serve only a single bag of E.L. Fudge sandwich cookies. When guests take a bite, squeal, "No.....not my legs!" in your best elf voice. This works better if you're a ventriloquist, but either way it generally saves more cookies for you.

Friday the Third Teeth AKA You can't handle the Tooth: The average human mouth has thirty-two teeth. You're going to need to lose one third, or exactly 10 2/3, of them to smile your way to success at this dental-themed party.

Oh how the Mighty have Stalin: Every partygoer should come dressed as his or her favorite historical dictator. If a current dictator arrives at the party, he should be dressed as a member of whatever group he's been oppressing. Where are August Pinochet and Slobodan Milosevic going to get a peasant-corpse costume? After they RSVP, it's not your problem!

Lou Slips, Sinks Ships: Remember your fat friend Lou who's always tripping? Get some friends together, take him down to the pier, split a keg, and dare him to do a jig on the deck of the nearest frigate. When he falls through the hull and into the briny depths, laugh and laugh. At the funeral, remind his mom that he "had it coming."�

The South Will Fries Again: Deep-fry several pounds of sliced potatoes. Buy several handles of Southern Comfort. When your guest arrive, say loudly, "I know what I think is Southern comforting: the eventual resurgence of all these Confederate war bonds I'm holding!"� They won't laugh, but they'll say, "Oh, yeah, the Civil War. Hm."� You've done your job.

A Nerd in the Hand is Worth Two in the Mush: Ever want to play a game of Duck-Duck-Goose where you knew you'd win every time? Try playing with your local dorks! Invite them over for a game, then proceed to beat them to the point of demoralization. When they're all in the "mush pot"� in the middle of the circle, declare your utter superiority and steal their shoes. That all of their shoes are Velcro will facilitate this effort. If dorks are not available, substitute geeks at a 2-for-1 rate.

Four-Year-Old Virgin: Round up a bunch of kindergardners and throw them in a ball-pit in the middle of a dance floor. When your friends arrive at the party, make fun of those stupid four year old virgins. "Whatsamatter Johnny? Couldn't get your dick wet in Pre-K? Go back to fingerpainting, faggot."� The kids will drool; that's defeat coming out of their mouths in liquid form. Featuring: Steve Carrell.