Places to Travel To

LONDON
Where it is: ENGLAND
What it is: A CITY
Why you should go there: SEE A BIG CITY. LISTEN TO A FUNNY ACCENT. WEIGH YOURSELF IN STONES.

THE OCEAN:
Where it is: OFF THE SHORE
What it is: A BODY OF WATER
Why you should go there: SWIM AROUND. MAYBE SEE A SHARK. SHARK PETTING.

THE SUN
Where it is: IN THE SKY
What it is: A BALL OF GAS
Why you should go there: GET A TAN. BRING THE KIDS. DOGS LOVE IT TOO.

DUBAI
Where it is: SAUDI ARABIA
What it is: A CITY
Why you should go there: DUBAI IS A PRETTY FUNNY NAME. YOU CAN SAY YOU WENT TO DUBAI AND PEOPLE LAUGH.

A HOLE
Where it is: YOUR BACKYARD
What it is: A HOLE
Why yo should go there: SO YOU CAN BE IN A BIG HOLE. AWESOME.

Christmas Gifts

HOT GIFTS TO BUY! Buy a blender! Blend up some shit! They'll love it. Turn around! Look in a store, you can buy more things, hot damn! Buying all over the place. Take your blender, throw it in the air! Wherever it lands, buy that too!

Got a cousin? Got two cousins? Maybe you have three cousins! Buy them all some chocolate. Buy them more chocolate! They'll be eating chocolate all the time! Fat cousins are good cousins for sitting on! Buy buy buy!

Your mom would love a loofah! Buy her a loofah! Showering moms all over the country want to lather up with a thing! Buy her a thing and also another thing! Do it again! Keep buying for God's sake.

Speaking of which, buy a Gift For God this holiday season! Fall down upon your knees in aisle three and burn a goat, letting the heavenly scent of consumerism waft up to His benevolent nose! Also buy him a universal remote!

Please buy. Oh for the love of everything please buy. I just want to feed my family. They already tried eating the decorative pillows in aisle six. Please. Buy my hair. I already sold my organs. Just buy. Buy yourself a pocket. Buy more things to put in it. Kill me.

Travelling Your Feelings

Sit down. Were you sitting when you picked up this article? Please, take a seat. Take a breather. Take some time. Read my words, and embrace them, and understand.

Do you sometimes feel things? I bet you do. You probably feel things a lot. And that's okay. Just breathe deeply. Feel those feelings. Let them rise up to the outside of your body and discolor your skin. Green is for envy. Orange is for love. Blue is for suffocation.

Stand up. You were sitting, right? Well, now stand. Turn around. Look around you and swing your arms like there is nothing about you but air. Walk to a wall. Do you see how far you have traveled? I bet it is a pretty long way. Most people don't just have walls hanging around. Be thankful for that.

Talk to me. Talk to the article that I am writing to you. Tell it your feelings. Listen, I wrote a song about feelings.

When you open up yourself
To vulnerability
Then you put on the shelf
Your indignity

Does the song make you feel better? Sing it with a guitar nearby. Let the guitarist know how much you appreciate hearing their music. Write them a song of their very own. Title it To My Guitarist. Swim through your emotions. Buy a frequent flier pass, because you will be coming back here all the time. Come back to feel your emotions.

Now everybody sit in a circle. Everybody. If you can, sit in a circle with the whole world. If you can't, that's okay. There's always next time.

Imagine that you are a train, riding through the valley of your emotions on rails made of rational thought and slave labor. Look out upon the grassy fields of yourself. Make a snow angel if it is snowing. If it is not snowing, then don't.

If you feel that you have not traveled your emotions enough yet, then sit down on some stairs and think about it some more. Then some more. Once you have it, keep thinking for a while. You wouldn't want to stop cold turkey. Listen, I wrote another song about feelings.

Bring your baby through the train
The train of your emotions
And the baby of your rain
And the rain of your explosions

I am always writing songs about feelings. Sing it with me. I can hear you not singing. Don't try me. I know your feelings.

Major Joke of the Week

JUMBO Theater Major Edition!

Tom: All right Jim, I've got all the planning done for the big theater festival. I just need you to okay everything.
Jim: Sounds good! Which plays have you chosen?
Tom: Well, I was thinking Anything Goes on stage one, The Comedy of Errors goes on stage two, and there would be Rumors on stage three.
Jim: What? I thought you had this all planned out.
Tom: I do! Didn't you hear me?
Jim: I expect to hear specifics from you!
Tom: Look, this is very easy. I'll start from the beginning. First, Anything Goes on stage one.
Jim: That seems a bit permissive. Shouldn't there be a play there?
Tom: There is!
Jim: But you're just saying that anything goes on stage one!
Tom: Exactly!
Jim: Now I'm confused. Just move on to stage two.
Tom: Well, The Comedy of Errors goes on stage two.
Jim: That's a good plan, but which one?
Tom: Which what?
Jim: Which comedy of errors?
Tom: The Comedy of Errors.
Jim: Yes! Which one should we put on stage two?
Tom: Um, The Comedy of Errors?
Jim: Yes! Don't ask me! You're the organizer! Don't tell me you haven't picked a play for the stage yet!
Tom: But I've already told you that stage two will have The Comedy of Errors!
Jim: But there are so many of them! If you don't pick one, stage two will just be anything goes!
Tom: No, that's stage one!
Jim: Augh!
Tom: Do you not like The Comedy of Errors going on stage two?
Jim: You know, people were telling me you didn't have anything planned for this festival, but I didn't believe the rumors on stage two!
Tom: Oh, that's because we've got Rumors on stage three!
Jim: What? What have you heard?
Tom: Just that we've got Rumors on stage three!
Jim: Not very interesting rumors.
Tom: Nonsense! We've got a good cast lined up.
Jim: So what play is on stage three?
Tom: I told you! We've got Rumors on stage three!
Jim: But you picked the play, shouldn't you know what it is?
Tom: I've told you Rumors!
Jim: So you're just leaving it up to hearsay? This is crazy! This is anything goes!
Both: Stage one!

Reviewing All Songs

Welcome back! It's week number 4,327 and we're still working our way through EVERY SONG EVER. Those A's are over and done with! Time for the B's to take it OVER! It's alphabetical, rockers!

B - John Luther Adams
This song is slow, so I didn't really have time to listen to it! I got a lot of songs to get through, here. Sorry!

Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa - Cocteau Twins
This unreleased song has been sitting on a shelf since it was cut due to just being three minutes of setting up the microphones and someone playing 'Johnny B Goode' on the guitar. But it was titled, so it's probably a song! I'm not sure, though, since I didn't really have time to listen to this one, either.

Baba - Bunky
This song sure looked good and all, but to be honest I have this list of songs to review and it's like super long so I can't really dedicate the time I'd like to each one. The first two notes were great, though.

Babaa - Bunky
I'm not actually sure this song exists, it's probably a typo on the list. But that's convenient, since I can move right on to the next song.

Baba O'Riley - The Who
Okay, I'm going to apologize here. I actually had the time to listen to this one, but I totally forgot to do it. My bad. No, really, my bad.

Baba O'Rileyaaaaaaaa - The Who
This one is a typo too. Definitely sorry about that. I was kinda crunched for time when I wrote the list, so I maybe made a few mistakes.

Zurvan - Sir Richard Bishop
And here's the last song on the list! Is that right? You'd think there would be some songs that start with C, or maybe even H. To be honest, I'm not really sure how you alphabetize things. Anyway, this song is pretty good. It's got guitar, or something.

Well, guess that's it for "Reviewing All Songs"! Come back next week for my new column "Counting Numbers!" I'll be starting at one!

Nick Bradish Scandalwatch

Tick tock, tick tock. That's the sound of the clock running out on Mr. Bradish's legendarily incompetent run as Student Body Vice President, one which rivals only Darth Vader act-alike Dick Cheney. At the very least we are relieved to know that you only have control of Reed College, rather than the country at large. The fact that this man is still in office betrays the apathetic nature of the school's impeachment board. Not only has Mr. Bradish shown unrepentant, endless contempt for even the notion of coherent and intelligible public service, but the scandals in which he has been embroiled display an arrogance towards the student body as a whole. How dare you, Mr. Bradish? How dare you?

Mr. Bradish's downward spiral began at the moment of his birth. Truly he is God's own mistake. But we were not able to truly realize the depths of his cowardice until the first scandal that erupted concerning the locks on the Student Union. The SU is the embodiment of everything noble and righteous about the democratic force of the student body. And you, Mr. Bradish, you locked the doors during scheduled events, ensuring that nobody would be able to get inside unless they were willing to lick your feet like a dog. You like holding the leash, don't you, Mr. Bradish? But I'm afraid slavery has long been outlawed, and your nefarious style of whatever you're doing that you call "leadership" is no such thing indeed. For shame.

But "lockgate," as it is known, only begins to plumb the depths of your infernal reign. And it is deep, Mr. Bradish. One could begin to dig through the human excrement of your administration in January and not finish until the last of the thesis notes are burning in a heap outside the library doors. One small sample of the feces that you call authority is the hundreds of dollars that you skimmed off the top of the student fund. "Quad cleanup," Mr. Bradish? The only thing you cleaned up was the student body bank account. While our beloved Quad still lies in ruins, discarded litter thrown everywhere, you sit like a king on your throne of inflated budgets and no-bid cleaning contracts for your buddies. Who could possibly argue that you even know what the word "fairness" means?

And this is only the beginning of the list that I could expound describing your indecencies, the indescrepencies you have committed while in office. Renting out the canyon to the homeless. Selling art theses for scrap. Silently taking control of the Quest board and forcing out all criticism of your tenure, pushing reasonable discourse to up-the-dial publications like The Pamphlette. In the sense of good decency and the only possible scrap of rational discourse in your tiny little brain, you must resign. Do you have any option left, Mr. Bradish? Can you make any argument for your continued eminence? I submit that you cannot. So resign, Mr. Bradish. After so long, so so long, finally execute the one propitous action that you can and must take. The honor of the school demands it.

Putting it In Context

The country has been rocked by news reports of inflammatory statements yelled by McCain/Palin supporters outside of campaign rallies. Racist statements, threats of violence, and accusations of terrorism are common in these situations. Both McCain and Palin have denied the bloodthirsty nature of their supporters, and many of the rally-goers have come forward claiming that the mainstream media has misquoted them in order to fabricate a story. Today we'll be talking with some of these supporters.

"It's horrible," says Amanda Cavers of Columbus, Ohio. "Ever since I showed up on television, all my Democrat friends are callin' me a racist! I was misquoted!" Breaking into tears, Amanda explained herself. "When I said, 'ain't gonna be no darky president of mine!' I went on to say that I was talking about the dark times ahead if Obama was elected. The liberal media is so unfair!"

James Forrester of Raleigh, North Carolina, tells a similar story. "All I said was 'He's a muslim! He's a muslim! Blast the sand demon!' Now those liberal elites in New York City can spin it any way they want, but I meant to blast him with votes, not violence." When asked if he thought Obama was a muslim, he replied, "Um, well, duh. Everybody knows that." He quickly added, "Now lemme make it clear, I don't hate muslims. I just don't want them worshipping their moon god in the White House."

Allegations of racism aren't the only thing surrounding these Palin supporters, though. Many times the mobs outside the convention centers have threatened violence upon Democratic protesters. According to Mike Keller, however, they didn't mean it. Keller started an organization called "We Meant It Figuratively, Stupid Liberal Media," which is circulating a petition to show how figurative all these threats have been. Keller could not be reached for comment, but his answering machine message told us to "figuratively chop off the figurative heads of any figurative Democrats [we] see."

Possibly the most lasting image of these rallies is from Carrie Atwood of Savannah, Georgia, who stood for ten full minutes screaming "terrorist!" at protesters. We got a chance to sit down with her. "Now look, I was just taken a bit out of context. All I was saying at the time is that those protesters were just bein' a little bit terrorist, you know? All standing out there with their signs. It's a terrorist thing to do. Now I'm not a racist, I just don't want a black man to be president! Is that so bad? Not only is he black, he has black friends, too! Now how terrorist is that? See? It's all perfectly reasonable once you get to talk to me more."

Slow Burn

I came home with the groceries on Friday to find that my house was on fire. My neighbor, a volunteer fireman on the weekends, was excitedly rummaging in the bushes near the burning corner. He noticed me, and grinned as he held up a cigarette butt.

“Yep, looks like this was your problem,” he said, and handed it to me.

“Thank you, Phil.” It was a Marlboro Red, the kind that I smoked.

“No problem at all!” He put his hands in his pockets and squinted at the blaze. “Looks like you’ll need someone to clear that up for you. Just give us a call tomorrow or Sunday. Be glad to come on out.”

“Thank you, Phil.” I walked up the steps to my door and went inside.

The groceries went in the kitchen and I lay down on the couch, in the living room, where I could see the fire. It had taken over the tall plant in the corner. The room was warm. I laid my arm over my eyes and took a nap.

I woke up several hours later to see that the fire had advanced a few inches into the room. Small flames licked at my overstuffed chair near the window. I pulled on the chair and slid it further away from the flame. Some of the fringe was blackened. I could have called the weekday firemen, but Phil was always so excited when the weekend volunteers got a chance. I could wait.

I unpacked the groceries in the kitchen. Brownie mix this week, for my sister, who had called me up and asked me to get it. She was coming over in remembrance of mom’s birthday. She always got so choked up over that sort of thing. Microwave popcorn in the top cupboard, cans of soup in the bottom. I opened my new box of cereal and took the milk out of the fridge. I always had a bowl of cereal before bed.

Saturday I woke up to the low roar of the flames in the other room. I got dressed and lit a Marlboro Red on the living room, taking it outside to smoke. The parts of the lawn nearest the house had turned black, and hints of brown fanned out towards the sidewalk. The corner of the house where the whole thing started had sunk a bit, the burned wood falling apart. If a hole opened, bugs would be able to get in.

From the porch I looked down the street as far as I could. There was Phil, dressed in his fireman gear along with a few of his buddies and the old minivan they had converted into a fire truck. He had a mobile in his hand, and he paced back and forth staring at the unringing phone as the rest of the crew sat by. I needed to remember to call him. My sister pulled up in her silver midsize sedan. I dropped the cigarette and crushed it with my foot.

She got out of the car with her large purse and was distracted by the flames dancing up against the front window.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“The house is on fire, Stacey.”

“Oh,” she said, “have you called the firemen?”

“I’m going to, today, Stacey.”

I motioned her towards the house. She switched her big purse from one shoulder to another and began rummaging as she walked. The doorknob was hot, and I put my sleeve over my hand to open it.

Inside there was only a slim walkway of unburnt floor leading through the living room. My overstuffed chair looked unsalvageable. I probably should have moved it further. Stacey followed behind me, sorting through the things in her bag and giving worried glances around the house.

“Um, did you already make the brownies? It smells like chocolate.”

I looked in the kitchen, and the entire room was up in flames.

“Looks like the brownies are gone, Stacey. Why don’t you put your things in the guest room?”
Stacey looked unhappy, but she carried her purse towards the extra bedroom. She called from the back, “This room is on fire! The bed is on fire! I can’t sleep in this room! What is going on here?”

I sighed. I hadn’t checked the back room. Stacey emerged.

“This is ridiculous. Why haven’t you called the firemen yet? Why is the guest room on fire? Why is the house on fire? This doesn’t make any sense. You don’t have any food, you didn’t get the brownies…”

“I got the brownies.”

“You let the brownies get burned up, what is wrong with you?”

She looked disappointed. She shook her head at me with her mouth gawking. She was going to get choked up like she always does. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I kept silent.

“This weekend was important.” She had the voice that she gets whenever she’s about to cry. I prepared myself for it to come. She reached into her purse again. “Here are some pictures, some new pictures I found in the attic at my place. I think that’s the last of mom’s pictures.” I reached for the pictures and didn’t say anything. She pulled them away.

“I’m not sure I can leave these here with you. I definitely can’t stay here with you.”
She walked towards the front door, pausing by the dining table.

“You’ve left the milk out,” she said, and finally her voice cracked and she began sobbing lightly. She reached for the door handle and recoiled. She used the fabric of her purse to guard her from the heat and opened the door. I heard the sound of her car starting up.

Sunday was uneventful.

On Monday I woke up to the sound of my alarm and the sense that I had forgotten to do something. The walls of my room were covered in small, licking flames. The place was unbearably hot. I had left the door of my room open, and so I looked down the hallway, which was entirely ablaze. I sighed.

Slowly opening the window next to my bed and unlatching the bug screen, I crawled out onto my dry, crunchy lawn. Across the street was Phil, sitting with crossed legs on the sidewalk, staring at my house with a look of betrayal on his face. I crossed the street in bare feet and pyjamas and sat down with him.

“Guess you forgot to give us a call,” said Phil. “That’s… that’s all right. Happens to the best of us.”

“Thank you, Phil.”

My house crackled. Sparks flew up, and smoke covered the street. We could feel the heat from where we were sitting. There was a great yawning sound, and at the same time the front window shattered, leaving bits of glass around the lawn.

“You know, I guess if you need a place to stay,” said Phil, “You can be at my place for a few days. I got an extra room, and, you know, until you’ve got a new place and all.”

“Thank you, Phil.”

The yawning sound repeated, and the main beam holding up the front door collapsed inward. The walls around it followed. One by one the beams fell, and soon, the whole building lay on the ground in a pile. Three days later, the fire ran out of things to burn, and died out.

World of Warcraft Boss Apprehended

World of Warcraft boss Azergoth was apprehended yesterday following a helpful tip from an intrepid adventurer. For ages, players of the popular online game have tried fighting the world dragon using street violence. Night Elf Warrior xXxDarkSHAdowxXx was the first player who, upon seeing the towering monster, had the forethought to call the police, who showed up on the scene ten minutes later to arrest Azergoth on charges of being a dragon.

We were able to sit down with xXxDarkSHAdowxXx recently. "Some people get into the whole vigilante violence thing. Not me. I believe in law and order. So I saw him and I was like 'holy shit' and pulled out my cell. My friends got pretty pissed at me afterwards because they wanted to fight him. You just gotta leave that stuff to the authorities."

"We've been trying to bag this asshole for years," said sheriff Donald Highland. "He's really been causing a lot of trouble in the area. Check out the list we have on him. Blowing fire on stuff, sixteen charges. Crushing things, two hundred and four charges. Not dropping good loot, five thousand and six charges. A real menace."

The sheriff's office was thankful for the tip. "For some reason we never really thought of arresting him. It makes a lot of sense, you know? We gave the guy who called a medal or something."

According to trusted sources, the medal did not give any particularly interesting bonuses.

This is not xXxDarkSHAdowxXx's first time assisting in bringing villains to justice. "I was the one who got Bowser brought in on kidnapping charges. Turns out he's more afraid of SWAT teams than he is of being jumped on. Oh, also Sephiroth. Turns out he hadn't been paying taxes. Bet he wasn't too happy about that summons!"

Azergoth was not available for comment, but his trial will be in the next month. Without a boss, World of Warcraft is scheduled to shut down by the end of the year.

Major Joke of the Week

MUSIC MAJOR A: Did you hear about the guy who heard a melody so beautiful he killed himself?
MUSIC MAJOR B: No! How awful!
MUSIC MAJOR A: The newspaper said he was a suicide Brahmer.

Video Games Not Nerdy Enough

Video games once ranked with Dungeons & Dragons, computer programming, and stalking as activities which embodied the soul of nerd culture. However, recent developments in the gaming industry have shown the medium moving away from its roots. Games like The Sims and Mary Kate & Ashley's Sweet 16 have experienced runaway success while being targeted to a wider audience, and many in the geek community feel left behind.

"I just feel like my culture is being taken away from me," said local dweeb Tyler Grokfin. Pushing up his horn rim glasses, he continued, "The Wii came out and I was all excited for light saber battles and casting awesome spells with a magic wand. What do we get? Babies Party. It's a game where you babysit a baby. It has minigames. This is just insulting." Tyler was interrupted when a passing bully pushed him down.

Not all dorks are resigned to disappointment. Spazlord Jared Thorpe began the organization Gamers For Games For Gamers from his living room. "This is an injustice! Those jocks and preps are horning in on what used to be mine! Now I know how poor people feel about gentrification." He continued, "What our organization does is we post on the internet about how nobody should buy these new games with fancy things like '3D graphics' and 'animation'! This is a war of information! Drive out all but the true believers!"

To see if there was a chance that the industry would double back on itself and begin targeting the pizzaface demographic again, we sat down with Electronic Arts CEO John Riccitiello. Electronic Arts has released many of the most popular mainstream games in recent memory, including the Madden series, Battlefield 2, and Caveman Ugh-Lympics. "Oh my god we have so much fucking money," said John. "Like hooooooly shit. Hahahahaha. We have so much god damn money I can't... I just can't fucking believe it. Hahahaha! HA! Look at me! Look, I'm laughing! Oh my god there is just so much money I don't even know what to do with it. I fed Chad yesterday. Not a guy named Chad, I mean the country! Filet-o-Fish all around! Would you like a car?"

After getting up off the ground, Tyler Grokfin expressed further worries. "Not only are non-nerds getting in on video games, now adults are doing it too! My mom just sits around playing Bejeweled now. She said to me yesterday, 'now we can play video games together! I want to try out that Fallout 3 game you were talking about. Isn't postapocalyptica fun? We can play together!' It's weird! I'm a nerd. I was playing video games to escape the world, but now everybody talks to me because they want Team Fortress 2 tips. Being a social outcast just keeps getting harder and harder."

The times ahead don't look good for the lameos who clamor for the old days when video games were relegated to dark basements. Indeed, it looks like the popularity of video games is only set to grow. What this means for greasegoblin culture is yet to be determined. All we know for sure is that somewhere out there, right now, a World War II veteran is levelling up in World of Warcraft.

Major Joke of the Week

A traveling salesman's car breaks down and he walks to a nearby barn to spend the night. The barn is owned by a psychologist, who says, "You can stay the night, but whatever you do, don't stick your dick in those three holes in the wall!"

The salesman agrees and lays down on a bale of hay. Soon enough, temptation gets the better of him. He sticks his dick in the first hole, and it feels wonderful! He moves on to the second hole and it feels even better! Excited, he sticks his dick in the third hole and suddenly his body seizes up in pain. He blacks out.

The next morning, the psychologist finds the salesman, his dick still in the third hole.

"What the hell is in these holes?" asks the salesman.

"Absolutely nothing!" says the psychologist. "But you've heard this joke before, haven't you?"

How to Cook

This is about cooking, all you people always want to eat and I'm like "Hey!!! Eat something you doofus! Just a little old doofus, that is what you are, doofus!" Eating! You do it.

You all always are asking me for food. It's people on the street, sometimes, asking me. I give them a cracker and say that they should learn to cook. And then I write an article so that they can learn to cook. I have written one thousand articles about how to cook. You'd think they'd learn sometime. What a doofus if you're not reading this. What a doofus!

If you want to cook, start out with some leeks. You go to the store and you buy some leeks. They're in the section with all the apples and oranges. Apples and oranges are the things that are red and green, and also the things that are orange. Then you put the leeks in a pot. Just try putting them in a pot while you're in the store, just to test it out. Does that work? You're on your way to cooking. Superstar!

Then you take the pot and you put it on a stove. Put it on the stove with your hands. Turn on the stove, doofus! It gets pretty hot. Learn about how hot it is. Go to school. Stay in school. Don't smoke cigarettes, either. Those are hot too.

When you have eaten the leeks, they are done. Then you have cooked. Try something else! Cook a souffle. Try it! Do it! Try cooking it! Make a souffle. You're a superstar! Everyone is always calling me on the phone, saying thanks for cooking! You bet I have cooked. You can bet your house!

Major Joke of the Week

Biology Major A: Oh man, I saw the best show on Metabolic TV last night!
Biology Major B: What was it about?
Biology Major A: It really went "behind the scenes" on how my favorite citric acids kick it!
Biology Major B: That's awesome! What was it called?
Biology Major A: MTV Krebs.

Why Being Sick Sucks: An Experiment

STIMULUS: "Hi, I have brought you some cookies!"
HEALTHY RESPONSE: "Thanks!"
SICK RESPONSE: "Aughhhghh"

STIMULUS: "Would you like to have sex? I am very attractive!"
HEALTHY RESPONSE: "Sure! Climb on top."
SICK RESPONSE: "Awuuuoghhhhoahhh"

STIMULUS: "We're going to Las Vegas for some questionable adventures. Want to come?"
HEALTHY RESPONSE: "Wow! And I just finished saving up my gambling nest egg!"
SICK RESPONSE: "Ohhwoooohhaughhhhuhhh"

STIMULUS: "Oh man, you look flush. Are you sick?"
HEALTHY RESPONSE: "Nope! I have just done some awesome drugs!"
SICK RESPONSE: "Ugghhhawwwoooooahhooowoowohhahhhaaaaaupphhhhhhag"

CONCLUSION: Being sick sucks.

Major Joke of the Week

PHILOSOPHY MAJOR A: I am lactose intolerant, and therefore if I drink this milk, I will die!
PHILOSOPHY MAJOR B: That's a valid argument, but... NO, DON'T DO IT! STOP!
PHILOSOPHY MAJOR A: Agggghhh!
PHILOSOPHY MAJOR B: He's gone! At least know we know that his "die o' lactic" argument was true.

One-Issue Voters

Greg, from Pennsylvania:
HIS ISSUE: "Personally I'm waiting for one of the candidates to come out in favor of digital clocks where you can, you know, subtract time when you set them so you don't have to go all the way around to set it back one minute."
WHO HE'S VOTING FOR: "McCain, I guess. I get the feeling he's a secret digital clock guy. He just can't bring it up with the general public because it's too unpopular."

Sheila, from Ohio:
HER ISSUE: "I can't bring myself to vote for a candidate who sets taxes too high, or too low. That's just wrong."
WHO SHE'S VOTING FOR: "Until I hear something about their proposed tax policies, I'm staying home election day. Why aren't they making this an issue?"

Thomas, from Florida:
HIS ISSUE: "I AM A VIDEO GAME PLAYER, A 'GAMER.' I WAKE UP AND PLAY VIDEO GAMES. I LIVE THEM. I BREATHE THEM. I VOTE THEM. THE DAY MY FINGERS STOP MOVING IS THE DAY I DIE. I HAVE HAD SEVEN HEART ATTACKS."
WHO HE'S VOTING FOR: "Ron Paul '08!"

Cheng, from Colorado:
HIS ISSUE: "Dams. More of them. We need more dams. Stop the water! Fuck the god damn water! How do you like those dams, water? Not so FREE now, are you?"
WHO HE'S VOTING FOR: "Reverend Wright. He's the only one who had it right. God dam America."

Candy, from Arizona:
HER ISSUE: "The only thing that drives me to vote is if the candidate is John McCain. It's immoral to vote for anybody else."
WHO SHE'S VOTING FOR: "Usually John McCain doesn't run, and so I don't vote. This year I was going to vote for McCain until one of my friends told me about this Obama guy. I guess I can bend the rules just this once!"

I'm the Barack

Kill the girls and break the world,
For I'm the Barack, I am!
Grind their bones with jagged stones,
For I'm the Barack, I am!

And now the fools elected me
To office of the pres'dency
Set them afloat to sink at sea,
For I'm the Barack, I am!

They thought I was kind, and gentle, and sweet
They thought I could walk without moving my feet
They thought I brought change, but what a surprise,
When I take off my mask and change 'fore their eyes!

"Muslim," they said, but they missed by a mile
So don't try to guess, it might take you a while
John McCain's bad, he campaigns kind of rough,
But he ain't got shit on the billy goats gruff!

And so this old, forgotten troll
Who sat upon the grassy knoll
Who rigged all of the Diebold polls
Who deadened Joseph Stalin's soul
Who melted down the northern pole
Who gave Glenn Beck his TV role
Who funded Mr. Uve Boll
Is ready to enact his toll;
I've risen up to take control,
And turn you all into "clean coal,"
For I'm the Barack, I AM!

Major Joke of the Week

ENGLISH MAJOR A: So somehow my favorite hen laid her egg right on the edge of the nest.

ENGLISH MAJOR B: Hm? Can you say that again? I didn't hear it.

ENGLISH MAJOR A: And when the egg fell, I was just in time to dive and save it!

ENGLISH MAJOR B: What? Why was the egg falling?

ENGLISH MAJOR A: Oh, let me start over with the egg's position.

To All Inferior Men: Real Sex

Missionary. Doggy style. Stand and deliver. Ugh, don't make me vomit. You may impress your tight-lipped string-haired liquored up floozy of that slab of mush you call a girlfriend, but don't come bragging to me on a Friday night just because you got her off the meth long enough to orgasm. No style. No style at all. It takes a man's man to submit to such tepid monotony, slathering your turgid pole with WD-40 and slipping it between two flaps of tresca - that's rotten cod if you aren't familiar with the social and cultural advances of the Russians. Then again, it takes a woman's man to just put in a little effort, to produce the sweet smells of dripping romance, delectable and aromatic enough that you might collect it to make a stock for soup tomorrow. In case you weren't paying attention, by the way, two sentences ago I just called you gay.

Because you have the reading comprehension of someone who watched Fight Club and then formed one, I'll tell you plainly: I'm a master of the sexual arts. With the daring-do of an acrobat and the dusky, masculine voice of a thousand hummingbirds flapping their wings to produce the English language, I sweep women off their feet and have them begging for more years after I've finished. They cry out - they want to call my name but all is in vain, for they do not know it. Instead they say "Oh God, oh God," and I find this very fitting. I am the lover who disappears when they turn away for even a second, leaving only a sense of longing. I leave an exhausted woman with the tired smile of satisfaction. I have thirty-seven children whom I have never met. All of them grew up to be kings.

And you wish to know my secrets? Of course you do. Such an oaf you are, to think that you can even lick my sweat off of the floor, to think that your penis is anything more than a primitive tool of reproduction, to think that your balls are worth even as much as the sack of pennies they resemble, to think that your seed is more than the rank poison, carried through the generations by pickpockets, con men, and cowards who would faint at the thought of defending a woman's honor. You disgust me. I am surprised that you manage to speak, as mangled and careless as your diction may be.

And so I will not help you. I will not help you because it pleases me to see you try so hard and to fail eternally, and I will not help you for I am a kind man, and maybe by my actions the world may be blessed by a lack of your offspring. So return, return to your hovel, that shanty that you call a home, hung low with dry rot and almost as many cobwebs as there are in your skull. Return to your girlfriend, and she will open her mouth to say hello, revealing her yellowing teeth and blackened gums so that you might lick off the collected bacteria like a proper parasite should. Return to your life, your day-to-day drudgery, sneaking out with other women so that you can be educated in all the varieties of diseased garbage, pretending that you have enough brain cells remaining for one more swig of cat's piss at the bar, knowing that your greatest contribution in life will be your gravestone, which will mark that any vegetables that grow nearby are not worthy of eating. Return, and return quickly, for I have fucking to do elsewhere.

Difficult Positions

FRENCH CENTRIFUGE: Partner A picks up Partner B under the arms and swings Partner B quickly in a circle. The force of the swinging will force Partner A's tongue into Partner B's mouth.

OLYMPIC DIVE: Partner A lays back with legs splayed. Partner B uses a trampoline or diving board to jump, and aims his/her mouth for Partner A's genital area. The impact is highly pleasurable.

SWISS ROLL: Partner A bakes a giant cake with him/herself inside of it. Partner B attempts to save the life of Partner A, who has just been baked in an oven. If Partner A is still alive, A and B have sex on top of the cake. Variation: Partner A is not alive. This is called a "California Roll"

PAREY-SAINT-CESAIRE: Partners A, B, and C hold hands and jump into a pool together. Partner A remains above the water, taking breaths of air and transferring them, by mouth, to Partner B, who then shares the air with Partner C with passionate open mouth kisses.

WINDY CITY: Partner A sits on top of a ping-pong ball which is situated inside a tube. Partner B blows into the tube as hard as possible, lifting Partner A up in a VERY arousing way.

TELEPHONE SEX: Partners A through G lay on top of each other, with A on top. Partner A humps Partner B in a precise pattern. B then humps C in the same pattern, and so on. When it gets to Partner G, he/she gets on top of the pile and continues.

THE KATHLEEN BEELER: Partner A acts like a HUGE SLUT FUCK YOU KATHLEEN.

Never Too Busy for Exercise

• Microwaving a burrito! Okay! Ten jumping jacks!
• Writing a paper! Type a letter, run a lap! Type a letter, run a lap!
• Doing your taxes! Lift a barbell for every social program you fund!
• Drinking coffee! Work those throat muscles!
• Spending time with your family! Bench press them!
• Committing fraud! Go skating while you go skimming!
• Taking your children to school! Carry them halfway and make them run the rest!
• Running on a treadmill! Do pushups on top of it! More exercise! More!
• Reading a book! Fuck the book! Time for extreme BMX! Never a moment's rest!
• Sleeping! Never sleep! Midnight is time for squats!
• Physical exhaustion! Work through it! You are never fit enough!
• Crying! No time for crying, loser! You're crying because you're not exercising! Keep going!
• Abandoning your family and friends to exercise! Do a chest press!
• The power is yours! The exercise gives you life! You are a God...
  
  The author was unable to finish this article due to death by dehydration while completing a marathon between each sentence. Our condolences go to his family, who will be too busy running hurdles to attend the funeral.

MAN DOG GETS YOU FIT

WOOF WOOF check it out. Saw this wussy, tryin' to step all over my muscles bein' all "hey I bet your muscles are even not the biggest muscles" but I was like "hey have you seen a muscle bigger than this" and flexed one right in his face and he was like "damn stop flexing that all in my face, it is too big for my face." SMACK DOWN. Some people maybe don't know what it is like to have muscles like a god fucking SHIT shit DAMN man DOG MAN DOG LIFTIN' UP CARS shit DOG and that is too bad. You ain't gotta be a little wussy all the time. Time to sit down for SCHOOL.

One way to get some muscles is to go around liftin' up things. Just be all "hey lady can I lift up your cat a few times, I need to be doin' some liftin'" and she is all "I don't know, my cat is pretty heavy" but then you lift up the cat and she is all "hot damn you are lifting my totally heavy cat, please put it down so I can take off my clothes" but then you keep lifting the cat anyway because there is some CAT LADY MAN DOG FLOOR BUFFERIN' GOIN' ON.

If you want muscles really quick you gotta be goin' around just punching things everywhere. Sometimes you see a police officer and the police officer is all "hey stop punching things" but then you're just liftin' one eyebrow at him, to get him all scared, and then you keep punchin' a building. Just punch that building. Punch the fucking god DAMN holy SHIT fucking BUILDING like a MAN DOG and the police officer is getting all scared some more even, even more scared than he was before, and then you just start yellin' and you keep punchin' the building and the police officer is all "wow hot damn you are punching that building" and then you keep punching the building until he takes off his badge and gives it to you. Another good way to get muscles is to be a police officer.

If you want even more muscles you just gotta stand on your head, then people come by and they say "look at that fool he is standing on his head" but then you are all "I am not standing on my head, pay attention I am holding up the world" then they are all "damn the world is heavy" but you are okay 'cause of your muscles. Just keep doin' that for a while and then your muscles get HUGE. People standin' around, singin' songs about THE DUDE HOLDIN' UP THE EARTH. They go all "oh the dude, the dude holdin' up the Earth, let's all be crazy on him" in tunes and then it is time for some CRAZY POUNDING and you are like "hell yeah."

That is pretty much all the ways you can get motherFUCKING super GOD fucking HUGE crazy DAMN FUCK MUSCLES so you can be all fit and be kicking men in the ass and they are scared because you have so many muscles and because you kicked them. Just don't try to have muscles as big as me because I will flex one right in your EYE and you can't handle that. STEP OFF WOOF WOOF.

Major Joke of the Week

LINGUIST A: The stress is on the first syllable.

LINGUIST B: No, the second!

LINGUIST A: I'm telling you it's the first!

LINGUIST B: No! "I think," therefore iamb!

Pullin' Fire Alarms

Welcome back! It's been a whole week and a whole lot of fire alarms so let's get goin'!

Started out Monday by walkin' down the street and dang if there weren't no twitterin', glitterin' fire alarm sittin' unpulled on the side of an office building. And may God call me a liar if I didn't lick my lips, roll up my sleeves, and slowly and seductively pull that li'l ol' lever down.

Mmm-mm! See those in-dus-try workers filin' out of that buildin'. Definitely recommend it!

Wednesday got another chance at a li'l ol' elementary school by the name a' Washington. Saw a chil'ren standin' there, suckin' on his tiny li'l thumb, jus' starin' at that big red throbbing fire alarm. What a pree-cocious tyke if I do declare. I leaned down to that boy n' whispered right in his ear,

"Hey there li'l boy, you wanna pull that lever over there, huh? Now why don't you jus' go ahead an' do it. Jesus loves a boy who pulls a fire alarm all nice n' smooth."

And what do you know, before you could say "mulberry bush" those halls were filled with screamin' munchkin tykes filin' their li'l ol' way to the exits. I ain't never seen such a sight in my blessed ol' life.

It's been a good week, 'cause the lord will provide doncha know. Now don't you readers worry 'bout me, I'm sittin' here with a cigarette in my hand right under the smoke detector and just havin' a grand ol' time. What a blessed ol' life I lead. I sure do love settin' off them fire alarms, maybe next time I won't even set the fires what go along with it!

Environment in Trouble AGAIN

Recent developments deep in the heart of the Amazon reveal that the environment is once again in jeopardy. That's right, again.

"Ugh," said prominent environmental activist Warren Thaid. "Again? I just replaced all my lightbulbs with flourescent. What does the environment want? A fucking kiss on the head and a tuck-in goodnight?"

Recent Gallup polls reveal that only Americans are less worried about the more recent environmental jeopardies.

"The environment is just so gol-darn needy," said local business owner Sheila Craven. "Oh, the environment needs this. The environment needs that. It's like those annoying kids who come around every week trying to sell magazine subscriptions. And I'll tell the environment what I tell them: I don't care if you're constantly in need of aid; I'm only interested if Paul Newman is on the cover." Paul Newman was not available for comment.

"The first time someone told me the environment was in trouble, I quit my job and traveled the country planting trees," said random bystander Jimmy Treepleseed. "But the last time? I bought a Hummer and ran them over with it. I'm tired of this shit."

This reflects a growing trend of apathy among Americans who just want to be able to strip the Earth of its resources and be done with it. Philosopher David Hachoo, author of the book "But Mom I Don't Want to Clean My Room," writes:

"Everything is just too much effort nowadays: recycling your paper, not leaving the car running overnight, turning off the television when you're done watching it. Who wants to deal with all that inconvenience? All this caring is boring. Just kill the planet already and get it over with. Come onnnnnn."

Thousands turned out last Friday in Washington for their "Let the Environment Die Already, Geez" march. Chanting "Where do we want to drive? Everywhere! When do we want it? All the time!" they swarmed the White House and forced the president to sign into law a bill making sure that people don't feel guilty for not helping the environment more.

"It's just common sense," said President Bush. "All that environment stuff just takes up too much of our time. That concludes this press conference, I'll now be taking Air Force I to the 7-11 down the street. Hot dogs."

Surviving the Economy

There's toothpaste in the lead and dead children in the streets. Decaying bastions of industry run wild, picking up cars and tossing them against buildings as they let loose their dying wails. So we all ask the most pressing question: what does this all mean for my bank account?

Thankfully, there are solutions. Professional analyses finds that the most secure and growing industry in the country is theft. Invest in a piece of businessman's garroting wire, wander the streets, and take down the guy who looks like he has the biggest wallet. A good way to spot them is if they're wearing big pants. BIG MONEY TIP #1: BIG PANTS -> ROOM FOR BIG MONEY.

Don't count out the service sector. There's always someone looking for top-notch service. Any of your orifices is pretty much an ATM and some random guy's dick is the bank card. BIG MONEY TIP #2: DICK IN -> CASH OUT. Remember, you're in the free market, and the solution to anything is deregulation, so don't demand condoms! Worker safety is for communists.

Despite financial insecurity, one area remains as strong as ever. That's right, it's time to book it to a third world country and just start oppressing the HELL out of those people. BIG MONEY TIP #3: POOR PEOPLE -> MAKE THEM POORER. You see, money functions on the concept of scarcity. So if you make other people more miserable, your net value goes up! Don't ask why, it's economics!

There's no excuse for being poor, not even "but I'm dead!" Which is what you will be if you're poor. And you'll deserve it. Fucking poor people.

The State of Axiomatics

IN THE DARK you see a fire. A fire in the darkness? But doesn't the fire make it light? Not this fire. This fire BETRAYS you. This fire makes you backwards. Let me introduce you to a little word I call "phlox." Phlox is the entirety of the way. The way of the fire and the way to REBEL against THE fire. You know it's time. Let me endure you for a little while longer. I will do so. You have a very pretty dress.

Axiom. Aziom? Axiom... atics. Red fire burning on the soles of the feet of your soul. Let me show you. There is a clock. That clock turns around every twenty four hours and controls the world. How else do you think the world turns? Trick question. The world doesn't turn at all. Scientists burrow into your mind at night and lay eggs. Descartes was the product of a violent Serbian uprising. You think you've heard it all but you've heard NOTHING. Do you love me? Not yet. You can't. They say you shouldn't. But you will.

The phlox axiom. You haven't heard it before. Nobody would let you hear it. But now you have. And now that you have you must never forget it, but you can't forget it, even if you try. Your head is knocking against my head. Stop. Stop hitting yourself. Stop hitting myself.

You must understand that I have to explain. Let me explain. Underneath every person's skin is a demon lurking to get out. We are only our skin. Everything else is an organ playing the song of the church. March to the beat of the church's drum which is your heart. Beating. Beating. I have tried to teach my message everywhere. But do they understand? Do you?

And let me say another axiom: the paper axiom. Understand that it is paper, and that is all that it can be. Paper cannot be anything else, anything else at all. That is why it is special. When you have a piece of paper you must never, ever throw it away. For you will be throwing away yourself. Do you see yourself on a piece of paper? You were a slave to the paper the first time you signed your name. Now it is too late. They say I wrote this article and it must have a joke in it. Okay.

Do you know what happened to the axiom? The axiom drowned. The axiom was me. Do you see?

LOLCats So Funny

"Oh my god," said Sophomore Casey Phriden, "I love those cats, they are so funny!"

Casey is simply on the verge of a new phenomenon, the "Lol Cats," popular in college dorm rooms and college posters everywhere.

"It's pretty simple," explained Junior Corey Spalding, "there are these cats, and they can't quite speak correctly. 'I can has'... anything! It's hilarious. It's the kind of joke you wait all your life for. It's the kind of joke that you wake up to find sleeping next to you, and even though it's pretty ugly by your own standards and maybe two years past its prime you lean over and you kiss it. You don't really know why. It's that kind of joke."

The LOLCats are the latest in a long line of jokes that never, ever get old no matter how many times they are told. Joke museum curator Caley Johnson weighed in.

"There are only so many jokes which survive past the first telling. This... this will be the swan song of the generation. Very nice! My name-a Borat! When people born in the late 80's and early 90's need something to unite themselves and prove to the younger generation that they are no longer hip, this will be it. But, there is one thing I must ask you," said Johnson. "And that is... do you know the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?"

Caley Johnson interrupted our interview by laughing for seven hours straight.

There is no shortage of appreciation for this iconic laugh factory. At the recent Reed alumni convention, many groups could be overheard: the 1980s graduates chuckling over "Where's the Beef?" the 1996 graduates finding new and incredible ways to signal "wazaaaaaaap" to each other, and the 1999 graduates gyrating their hips and beckoning "yeah, baby, yeah!" Finally, the 2007 graduates celebrated in their own small corner squeaking out "alumni cat is watching you drink" and smirking knowingly to themselves.

"I think it's clear," reprised Caley Johnson, "there's no end to this joke. It will just keep going on and on and on and keep being fresh and original every time! There may be a doubt about how long longcat is, but there's no doubt about this." Caley Johnson then stretched his mouth into a horrible reminiscence of its former self and proceeded to eat his own head. A haunting laughing sound emenated from what was once his lips. Two onlookers mumbled "cats" to each other and giggled.

Postcard from Thesis Hell

"Oh man," I say, buckling into my thesis safety seat. "What a bonerkiller."

That's right. Through all the hysteria, panic, and late-night naked thesis meetings with my advisor, one thing has remained constant: my thesis is a fucking bonerkiller. I'm sitting in a sauna with a bunch of other dudes, a boner comes out of NOWHERE and all I have to do is think "fall break deadlines" and BAM that boner goes the hell down. I try. I do what I can to maintain that boner, but there's no greater bonerkiller in the universe than my thesis and that is a tool to be wielded wisely and precisely.

You can't just drag your thesis into any sort of bonerkilling situation. You're talking with your grandmother and you get a boner? You're out of god damn luck, man. Kill your boner however you want, but don't include my thesis. My thesis has a bonerkilling power all its own. I won't have that being co-opted by any sort of hot-grandma action. The thesis is specific and well-defined, and none of that definition includes ANYTHING about grandmas.

What I'm trying to say is that doing a thesis is lame as hell. However, for all the times you wished you had a bonerkiller you will now have one. Just talk to your advisor and say "hey, I am not really interested in doing a thesis but I wanted a bonerkiller. Please just let me keep that part and never graduate. I promise to stick around the poolhall if that is a requirement." Then, if you ever need a bonerkiller, you are set for life. You could even meet the president. You could even write a book. You could even be a girl.

MAN DOG & WOMAN DOG

MAN-DOG RETURNS
WOOF WOOF comin’ at you from all sides, bringing a fuckin’ A GAME. You got to be tellin’ them crazy broads trying to show you UP. You ain’t gotta take any of that shit because you a MAN DOG hot shit MAN DOG WOOF WOOF.

Ladies all tryin’ to be all “hey you are not so hot in fact you SUCK” but you gotta put them right. You gotta be all checkin’ into a high price hotel and lookin’ out your window and yellin’ all “HEY YOU AIN’T GOT SHIT ON ME WOOF WOOF” then you pull out your DOG SALAMI and be all rubbin it up against the window bein’ all “HEY THIS WINDOW PRETTIER THAN YOU” and then the lady snaps her fingers ‘cuz she just got SHOWN.

Another way to show a crazy broad who be steppin’ on your god damn GAME god shit god DAMN be a MAN DOG is to get a stool and climb up on the table and take off your shirt and flex your crazy big muscles and then she is all “damn I did not know muscles could be that big” and then she gets up on the stool and she is ready to do some CRAZY POUNDING but then you push her off and she falls on the ground and you are like I am a GOD DAMN shit CRAZY fuck HOT damn MAN DOG DON’T STEP and then she is like daaaaang.

So basically you gotta be rememberin’ all this and then people everywhere gonna be all “damn that is the guy who is not afraid to show the ladies who try to be all crazy on him, I am going to go over to him and have some CRAZY POUNDING” and then you be like “hell yeah WOOF WOOF.”


WOMAN-DOG DEBUTS


WOOF WOOF It is time for you to be all stickin’ to your guns HOT CHICAS because it is time for a little lesson on how to keep off those fuckin’ men tryin’ to cop in on your LADY JUSTICE.

First you gotta get up, you gotta get up and you gotta look in the mirror and you say to yourself “GOD DAMN IF I AIN’T THE FINEST CHICA IN THE FUCKING WORLD LOOK AT THOSE CHEEKBONES I GOT CHEEKBONES LIKE A SAMURAI SWORD BECAUSE THEY CUT THINGS AND ARE WELL PLACED” then start rubbin’ your hands all over your cheekbones and men be all breakin’ down your door tryin’ to get at you and they say please and thank you like a nice man HOT DAMN.

NEXT you gotta walk down the street and you see a dollar on the ground and you pick it up and say “hey who left this dollar here” and everybody around you go all “shit this lady be all generous and kind, returning things that do not belong to her” and then you are having sex with them on the street and people pass you by and you say WHAT and they don’t know shit because you are BOBBING WITH A HOT ONE NEAR THE SIDEWALK.

And then sometimes you gotta dole out the LADY JUSTICE so you walk into a place, you walk right in and you go “hey what does a lady have to do around here to get some god damn mother FUCK holy SHIT service?” and when they say to wait a minute you just pull out a stereo and start dancin’ and kick their desk and they are like “stop kicking my desk” but you don’t stop because you are HARD CORE STYLE WOOF WOOF.

How to Reed-ify Your Music

It's the common state of every freshman on campus - your music sucks and you don't even know it yet! How sad. How can you expect to invite your quirky friends over for quirky tea and quirky crackers if you can't even play the right quirky music on your quirky Macbook? Red Hot Chili Peppers? Coheed and Cambria? High School Musical? You're going to have to do better than that.

1) OBSCURITY
You're coming from a high school where everybody listened to T-Pain and you listened to Pixies because you're such a fucking rebel. Well, now everybody listens to Pixies. What the hell are you going to do? You could listen to Neutral Milk Hotel but that shit got played out while you were still in middle school learning how to smoke. Boris? What the hell are you thinking, do you even WANT any friends who think of you as "the music guy"? And if you think The Mountain Goats are obscure you can just stop right now because you're worthless. You're absolutely worthless. Fuck you. Fuck you and take your little crybaby music and go take a shit in your own brain, because your head is already in the right spot for it (up your ass).
SOLUTION: Turn it back on those fuckers, it's time to break out the T-Pain.

2) IRONY
In high school you could get by maybe attending an 80's party every once in a while, dancing to Hall & Oates and calling it a night. No. Fucking. More. Here at Reed we have a fucking Troy showing every year. This is the Irony: Deluxe Edition. God dammit. You're barely showing your abject contempt for shit. You could hardly wear a trucker's hat without jumping in a big rig to blow the driver. What kind of irony is that? The next time you're standing on the side of the road making that "honk your horn" gesture you'd better take that fist and shove it in the tailpipe, and as you're being dragged along by the truck and your 70's television show t-shirt is being ripped to shreds you think about what a failure your life is before the truck explodes when it can't get rid of it's exhaust because there's a bigger piece of machine shit blocking the way: YOU.
SOLUTION: Nerdcore Hip-Hop. Let poor people know that their culture is without substance and their plight is worthy of ridicule. Get back at those T-Pain assholes.

3) TEPIDITY
In the end the bland shit that people listen to here is the same bland shit that everyone listens to everywhere else. Oh hey Reed College what is the greatest band of all time? Oh it's THE BEATLES. Great, thanks. I love fucking harmonies and three chord songs and lyrics so childish they may as well have been written by the band's average listener. I bet you have sex in the missionary position listening to Barry White and then get prepared for work with the complex melodies of Explosions in the Sky while you clean off your cock (if you are a guy) with the hole of the latest Radiohead disc. If there's any band that deserves to be covered in semen it's them, so it's convenient that they manage to do it all by themselves.
SOLUTION: I give up. Your ears aren't worth saving. God dammit I need a bath. Go listen to some Iron & Wine and then kill yourself.

The Pamphlette Summer Digest

You probably didn't get a chance to read The Pamphlette over the summer. That's what we call "betrayal." But we forgive you, and that's why we're creating this digest of all the most important stories that you missed this summer.

• The El Paso, Texas police force is under investigation after raiding a meeting of people with shaved heads and flowing robes drinking Kool-Aid. The head of Buddhist Monks Who Think Kool-Aid is Delicious Anti-Defamation League had no comment, insisting that we must be free of all comments if we are truly to understand the subject at hand.
• An obese man in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania sat down on a chair, causing it to break. According to a witness on the scene, “it was really fucking funny.”
• Approximately 13.5 million people all over the world died due to various causes over the course of the summer. When reached for comment, a guy with long hair in a black T-shirt chuckled and said “brutal, man.”
• Barack Obama agreed to play the lead in a new Broadway production of The Who’s Tommy. This move on the part of the candidate comes to many as a surprise.
“I never thought of myself as a performer before,” said Obama, “but I guess I caught the acting bug while pretending to be a liberal during the primary.”
The first run will open in New York this October. Obama’s experience being deaf, dumb, and blind is expected by election analysis to give him a bump among Libertarians this November, as well as pinball enthusiasts.
• Hot on the heels of this spring’s “pregnant man” story, a woman in Seattle, Washington became pregnant in June. She is scheduled for talk show appearances through November.
• Several records were broken at this year's Beijing Olympics, including "most racist analysis of host country," and "most comedians making easy jokes about 'rejected olympic events.'"
• Star of stage and screen Matthew Broderick did nothing of any interest.
“I guess that’s par for the course,” said Broderick, hanging his head and kicking a rock, stubbing his toe. “Aw, shucks.”
• Muncie, Indiana’s annual Opposite Day was a resounding failure.
• White supremacist leader David Duke began a career as a stand up comedian. His act contains five jokes, each one a pun on the phrase “white powder.” No tickets have been sold.
• The art world has been shifting in response to the new "child criticism" movement.
"I liked the Mowa Lisa 'cuz it looks like my mommy," said renowned critic Kimmy.
Not all artists have been appreciative of the new development. "I liked the idea when I thought it was about criticizing children," said painter Dana Lehey.
• Los Angeles high school trigonometry teacher Randall Munroe has found the world's lamest math joke.
"It's an honor to be widely recognized, especially in such a high competition area," said Munroe. "Get it? Widely recognized, high competition area? Height and width in an area? Ha... ha." He then tugged on his sweater vest and grinned nervously. "I've got a million of them."

Orientation Week Activities

Energizing Your Inner Unpacking Potential: Painting a Sculpture of Interrelational Gadgetry through Exotic Suspense
Everybody wants to find out a little about themselves, right? Come on a trip through your intergenerational mind-factors to find your shimmering inn-core inspiration zone, your "spiral orientation." Learn how you can become comfortable with your personal beauty rate countenance constitution presidency. Pizza provided.


Viral Marketing Class
Learn how to get customers to do your marketing for you! Students will be expected to teach themselves. $20 fee.


FREE FOOD
OH GOD DON'T YOU LOVE FREE FOOD? I SURE DO. COME HERE AND GET FREE FOOD. DID YOU HEAR THAT RIGHT? YES. THERE IS TOTALLY AN OPPORTUNITY FOR FREE FOOD HERE. ARRIVE EARLY SINCE THE ENTIRE SCHOOL IS EXPECTED TO SHOW UP. FREE FUCKING FOOD HOLY SHIT.


Being Yourself (Forever)
Afraid of the world at large? Want to make sure that you never hear an opinion that opposes yours? Come to this conference and we will make sure you never hear somebody else's ideas ever again. Other people have shitty ideas anyway. We guarantee you'll be the exact same person you were as a high school student until the day you die! Earplugs and methamphetamines provided.


Making Jokes About Your Major
Want to fit in at Reed? You'll need some ready-made puns about your major prepared to go at any given time. Available for all expected majors except Sociology, because there's nothing funny about that. Also at this seminar will be tips on how to complain about your workload.


Plays in Parks
Have you ever seen a good play in a park? Seriously? Don't say yes because you know you haven't. This play will be no different. But you're going to see it anyway because it's in a park, and because you feel bad for not watching enough live theater. Tickets are five hundred dollars.


Casual Bragging
You need to let people know how great you are, and part of that is not letting them know you're a braggart. Learn how to work your SAT scores into casual conversation. Maybe Steve Jobs didn't REALLY go here, but dropping that you went to the same school when talking with non-Reedies can gain you some points. Special guest lecturer Michael Phelps.


Learning to Smoke
Did you really expect to make any friends here without going through a pack a day? Sadly, smoking doesn't come as easily to some of us as others. Come to this seminar to learn the basics of lighting up, inhaling, and spending the rest of your life in a trailer wearing a loose Looney Tunes sweater.

Things I Have Seen

• Green leather
• The sun, from sixteen different angles
• A comfortable apartment under $300 a month – utilities included
• A system of measurement so precise it can count your failures
• A person who knew the meaning of a word I had just made up – that word was eigurfleck
• A comedy about the middle ages with no reference to the present day
• Blue leather
• My worst fear, which I had to confront after years of hiding – that fear was me
• Sixteen men riding horses in perfect unison who were not being filmed
• A little girl doing her algebra homework on top of a giant boulder on the beach – x was equal to five
• Pink leather
• A computer program which destroyed all viruses – and then itself
• An alcoholic grandson
• The clearest water that there ever was – it was air
• A cliff
• One hundred and fifteen movies, four thousand television episodes, and forty-five stage plays without Morgan Freeman in them
• Orange leather
• A candy so sweet that it was literally a pile of sugar
• The kid who was cooler than me in high school – he got married
• The future
• A bed so soft that it invites you to sleep in it ¬– and breaks your heart
• Fruit leather

Portland Man Breaks Laws

Guinness Book of World Records officials confirmed Thursday that Portland man Gerald Cotter has broken more laws than any other person on record.

“It’s just kind of been a hobby for me,” reports Gerald. “I got into it after taking two newspapers from the box after paying for one. That second paper is mounted on my wall.”

In order to qualify for the record, Cotter was required to provide documentation of all his accomplishments. He was able to produce video tape evidence of over thirty years of misconduct, including over six hundred cases of jaywalking and two hundred cases of trespassing on his neighbor’s lawn.

“But most of all, I like to think of myself as a bank robber,” says Gerald, who has stolen over three hundred pens from sixteen different area banks.

Gerald’s evidence caught the eye of county officials, who arrested him in late March.
“The policeman they sent was very polite. Shook my hand. I shook his hand really really hard – that counts as assault, right?” says Gerald.

Gerald’s interview was given at the Clackamas Jail, where he is currently being held for seven thousand consecutive five minute sentences.

On the Down Low

Check it, crimenobbaz. It’s crystal clear in the morning and there’s jewelry to lift, dog behinds to sniff, and tourists to grift. Take off that ski mask, that’s just the crime establishment forcing you to conform to THEIR standards of how and when to break the law. This right here is the new shit. The cutting-edge shit. This shit is so underground that half the time you aren’t even sure that if you’re doing is illegal.

•Find a lady with a real nice necklace on. If her neck ain’t shinier than the piping in your house then you need to MOVE THE FUCK ON. Look at her necklace and then go buy one just like it. Pay a bum fifty bucks to wear it around town. People will think the lady turned into a bum. This is slander for a new age, crimenobbaz.

•Floss your teeth really hard until your gums are bleeding. Tell children you got punched in the mouth by politicians then smile really hard. IT IS YOUR DUTY to create the next generation of revolutionaries!

•Hack into the RIAA computers and FORCE them to listen to songs that they don’t own. Break down capitalism at all costs!

•Go to the roof of a tall-ass building. Stay with me, stick with me on this one. Okay. Okay. Now take a yo-yo, that’s right, a yo-yo, dangle it over the side of the building. Let it drop. Be all “Oops! My bad. Looks like my yo-yo slipped!” People down below get hit on the head with a yo-yo. They’ve never seen anything like it. You are the alien force. CONFRONT ALL CONFORMITY.

•Hire a high-priced lawyer and run for public office while starting your own corporation. Use predatory court practices to sue your competitors to the ground. Get married and sleep around on your spouse. Ascend in the political spectrum until you are a cabinet member or a judge on the Supreme Court. When you are ready to retire make a public statement to show that you are really destroying the system from the inside because all along you have been BUYING ALCOHOL FOR MINORS.

God, Satan Choose Reed as Dueling Grounds, Nobody Cares

Sunday morning, a fire broke out in the Reed Chapel. Many passed it off as simply the result of an old, faulty radiator. However, further investigation reveals that these flames were markings of a breach from hell into the room.

“Yep, it’s definitely hellfire,” reported fire chief Tom Thickguard. “Smells like sulfur, and after it was put out it left behind an AC/DC album. It’s got all the signs.”

It is not uncommon for hellfire to appear in strange places, and the phenomenon usually indicates the appearance of Satan. According to Satan’s publicist, there was to be a public battle between God and the devil at the time. Reed students reported a disinterest in the event.

“Why would they fight there?” said Freshman Dean Carlisle. “Oh, wait, the chapel is a religious thing, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter. Causing damage to public property, such as starting a fire in the chapel, is a clear violation of common decency. Not at all in line with the honor principle. Start a conversation about the honor principle in your dorm.”

Allegations of the fight have been confirmed by representatives from God and Satan, as well as by Conference and Events Planning, who scheduled the event. This is the latest in a long string of failed appearances by the long-time rivals.

“This is unfair. I keep appearing but nobody shows up to watch. It's just like my last birthday. The flames get put out before we can get anywhere, and it's no fun. I wish I knew the name of the guy who invented the fire extinguisher,” said Satan. "I would have a word or two to say to him! Oohhh!"

“I AM ALL-KNOWING AND ALL-POWERFUL,” said God in response to the debacle. “LOOK FOR CONTINUED DEVALUATION OF THE DOLLAR. BRANGELINA WILL NOT LAST. THERE IS A CHILD CRYING IN AUSTRALIA. ALL MUST WORSHIP ME.”

The duo plan to reschedule their event, but are wary about garnering enough interest. This may indicate a downturn in general interest towards Satan and God, but both parties remain resolute that this is a trend that will soon reverse. Both were willing to vent their frustration towards the lack of interest.

“We chose Sunday morning so we could fight in front of a crowd, but your services don’t start at 4:15am. I was misinformed about this and I don't think that's very nice. We’ve tried to schedule several different times, but people always say that they have too much homework and can’t come. It’s frustrating. I sometimes punch a pillow when I'm frustrated” said Satan.

God reported, “GERMANS WILL BE ONE INCH TALLER NEXT YEAR, AND SALMON WILL NO LONGER TASTE GOOD ON BAGELS. JAY Z WILL RECORD THE SMASH HIT JAM OF THE SUMMER. SO I HAVE SPOKEN, AND SO IT SHALL BE.”

Despite the setback, the two remain optimistic. They plan to make individual appearances for a while, with God appearing in a special series of grilled cheese sandwiches and Satan teaching and inspiring children at a summer camp for the disadvantaged. They say they will return to fight for the crowd in 2009 in a world tour.

“I KNOW WHO INVENTED THE FIRE EXTINGUISHER,” said God in preparation for the 2009 world tour, “AND IT IS NOT WHO YOU THINK IT IS.”

Local Moist Towelette Goes a Long Way

When local Fred Meyer cashier Brenda Williams brought home a “Wet Ones”-brand moist towelette, she didn’t know what she was getting into.

“My husband had been on my ass for years to remove old makeup before putting on new makeup. I figured I’d try it today, and bought one of these,” she said in a recent interview.

After removing three years’ worth of layers of lipstick and eyeliner, Brenda decided the towelette still had some cleaning potential left, and set to work on her house.

“It was pretty amazing, I have to admit,” said Brenda’s husband Mark. “It can do all that cleaning, but it’s just a little towel. That’s what ‘towelette’ means.”
The towelette soon attracted the attention of neighbors, and the Williams family charged for its use.

“It’s a pretty sweet deal for us. We rent out the towelette and they can clean their silverware or their children or whatever. Then it comes back good as new and we rent it out to the next person. It’s all great, except for that one client,” said Brenda.
The Williams are currently being sued by one of their customers for marketing an unsafe product.

“They didn’t adequately warn us,” said neighbor Sheila Brown. “We used to have a dirt road leading up to our house. Now we have nothing. Do you know what it’s like to accidentally back your car up into the void? I’ve gone through three Camaros this week.”

Brenda will not comment on the lawsuit, citing legal issues.

Scientists, interested in how the moist towelette could clean so much, have requested a small sample. So far, they have been refused.

“Those science assholes just want to clean their test tubes and thick glasses and pocket protectors. Nerds,” said Brenda.

There has not been a response from the scientists yet, although one was seen leaving his office on Tuesday with particularly grimy glasses.

YOUR WACKY WEATHER

With Gene Silverman

What a day it’s shaping up to be! Welcome to my very first weather report as a newspaper columnist. After ten years in the local TV news biz, it’s time to make the switch. I'm wearing my Homer Simpson tie, and I'm all set to tell you what the weather is going to be like today!

I’m looking at the screen and all I can say is that it looks like rain, rain, rain in Portland for the next few days! You can’t see it, but I’m actually wearing a rain coat, and I’m inside! Isn’t that silly? An assistant just splashed me with a bucket of water. I'm sopping wet. It sure is going to be rainy!

But there’s good news for those of you in Eugene. Looks like it might be “heating up” for you very soon after a long winter! When I said “heating up” I struck a match, by the way. Just figured I’d mention that since I thought it was pretty clever. Yep! Pretty soon it’ll be so hot in Eugene that you’ll be playing “Ring” Around the Rosie! When I said that, I just jumped through a "ring..." of fire! Fire is hot, like the weather will be!

Over near the coast it looks like there’s going to be more and more wind. I’m writing this paragraph after jumping off a high cliff. If you look at me sideways it’s like the wind is blowing really hard! Boy, what a lot of wind there will be near the coast! Might be a day to stay “inside!” I brought a doll house with me for the fall off the cliff and now I’m trying to climb inside of it. Get it? Doll houses are supposed to be for dolls, not people!

One last thing, and that's to watch out for earthquakes in your area! Whoa! Earthquakes sure do shake a lot! Make sure you're shaking the newspaper while reading those last two lines. And that’s your weather for today!

Letters to the Editor

Dear The Pamphlette:
In response to last week’s “How to Cook With Sizzlin’ Drizzlins,” thank you! I tried out this recipe on my husband and he said that it was his best meal in weeks. I tried it on my boss and he gave me a promotion! I tried it on my state’s senator and he said he’d “never had drizzlins more sizzlin’.” I thought that was kinda lame but didn’t want to say anything at the time.
-Angela Frank

Dear The Pamphlette:
That review of the new Owen Wilson film, Drillbit Taylor was way off base. Owen Wilson has never made a bad film before and he certainly hasn’t stopped here. Clearly you’re missing the movie’s inner message about childhood involvement with the world of mercenaries. It’s a real issue, and Owen is a saint for tackling it. If Owen’s film is so bad, then where’s your film, huh? I bet you could never make a movie that good.
-Carl Weber

Dear Occupant:
Interested in BIG SAVINGS? Check out our magazine subscriptions! Time is only five dollars a year, and a year is a lot of Time! Country Living six cents an issue! That's even lower than home prices after the market fell through. Order subscriptions today - you may already be our BIG WINNER! Ten thousand dollars waiting for you! Respond now!
-Publisher

Dear The Pamphlette:
Okay, I admit, the first time I wrote in I hadn’t actually watched Drillbit Taylor. I’ve seen it now and it’s pretty shitty. Sorry about that. It’s sad that the film presented such a skewed portrait of reality. So uncharacteristic for the best actor of our time, Owen Wilson.
-Carl Weber

Dear The Pamphlette:
Your Obama article was a crock of shit! There’s no way that guy is under six feet tall. He’s 6’1”, 6’2” easy. I agree with you that tall people have been running this country for way too god damn long, but don’t let them pull the wool over your eyes! Obama is just another one of THEM. Tall assholes think they can tell me what to do. Here I am, the normal citizen, forced once again to write in Kucinich. It’s a travesty, I tell you.
- Grant Forester

Dear The Pamphlette:
After having watched Drillbit Taylor five more times, I must rescind my previous letter. This movie is the siren song for our generation. This film speaks like no other, and truly our master Owen is the leader for our time. I have already written twenty pages exploring the hidden meanings and references in the film, which is available for free on my website. Please read it, and I have faith that you will hire me as the new film reviewer over the close-minded philistine you have now. Thank you.
-Carl Weber

Donald Schauser: A Profile in Courage

Beloved local convenience store owner Donald Schauser, 56, died today in his shop. Schauser was known for his time served in Vietnam as a medic and for his “exact change only” policy.
His wife, Elizabeth Schauser, announced that his death was likely a result of complications from being shot several minutes beforehand.

“Oh my God, oh my God, what have you done? What have you done to my husband?” Elizabeth said recently in an interview.

Donald was born in Perryville, a small Missouri town of approximately 8,000. He met his soon-to-be wife Elizabeth and they planned to marry, but he was drafted in 1971. Before leaving, they exchanged promises to always stay together.

“He was so sweet when he was alive,” reported Elizabeth, rocking her dead husband’s head, “Oh, my Donald.”

Schauser returned from Vietnam a changed man. He had seen things that no man should see. He married Elizabeth and moved to Portland, Oregon, where he was forced to steal from local shops to support his wife and his family. Donald lived in shame every day, incredible shame. The kind of shame that attracts people interested in looking at the dregs of humanity. That's when Donald met a friend who would make life far more interesting for him.

“What? How did you know that? We never told anybody about the stealing. Nobody knew!” said Elizabeth in her interview.

Soon Donald realized that he could earn more by actually working at a convenience store than by stealing from them. After getting his conveniencer’s license he applied for a job. His dark past was over. Whitewashed. Everything bad was to be whitewashed for Donald Schauser. Donald's new friend knew that that was no good.

There was an evil little man lurking inside Schauser. One that desperately needed to get out. Only his new friend knew how to get him to do it, and he did. Donald began sneaking out late nights to go to bars, to sleep with other women. He would spend nights in small rooms with strange women in beds next to open windows that just about anybody could look through. His life was debauchery and incredible pain. It was truly the most delicious part of his story.

“Wait, don't I recognize you? Yes! You were the one who he met under the bridge! I always knew you were no good!” cried Elizabeth in exquisite agony.

And so Donald spent his years in drudgery and despondency, truly a prize for the connoisseurs of the human condition. Only recently did he begin to stay in more, to recant for his sins, to sit on his bed and recite to who he must have thought was nobody, “I love my wife; I need to make myself better.”

“Please, let me go. I promise not to tell anybody. Please just let me go, you’ve already taken my Donald,” said Elizabeth in the concluding words of her interview.

Donald’s death by a mystery assailant is likely the result of some admirer who wanted to make sure his life of misery was not tainted by the forces of redemption and regret. Truly Donald's best friend is also his greatest savior.

Ask Abby & Abby!

Advice for time travellers in the rough, with your hosts present and future Abby McGuile!

Dear Abby & Abby,
I made a small error and sent myself way too far back in time! Everything’s all oozy here and the insects are HUGE. The bug spray I brought doesn’t work on them. As I write this there’s a twelve inch leech sucking on my left leg. Ouch! What do I do, Abby and Abby?
-Bug Bitten, Time Shy

Dear BBTS,
Whatever you do, don’t kill them! That could alter the time stream and change the future. Last time that happened we ended up with Charlie Sheen. Get back in the time machine right now and come home before you mess anything up. Bring the leech with you. Once it falls off it makes a wonderful conversation piece.
-Abby & Abby


Dear Abby & Abby,
I invented the time machine a number of years ago, and ever since then people have been going back in time to steal my plans and invent it earlier than I did. It’s a real pain, and the patent office is so stubborn. What can I do?
-Patently Discouraged

Dear PD,
I’m afraid that we are legally unable to answer this question due to our currently pending patent on the time machine, which we originally invented.
-Abby & Abby


Dear Abby & Abby,
I went back in time and, well, I guess I have to admit it. I fell in love with our common ancestor. She has the most beautiful green eyes and she loves flowers, spareribs, and the copy of House of Leaves I brought with me. I know it’s technically incest, but what can I say? I dig the earthy girls. Is there anything I should be careful of in this relationship?
-Late Into the Eve

Dear LITE,
We’re very glad that you’ve found true love, but honestly the fact that you’re not only sleeping with your mother, but everybody’s mother, is a little creepy. Think long and hard about whether you’re willing to cross this boundary, because once you do there’s no pulling that fig leaf of shame off.
-Abby & Abby


Dear Abby & Abby,
I wanted to see my own death. I know, I know, "time travel tourist," but I was curious, so I went forward seventy years. What do you know, I'm still alive and kicking! So I go ahead another hundred years. I'm still there. I go forward another hundred years, and I'm still alive. What the hell, Abby & Abby? With these new fangled advances in medicine, a regular guy like me can't do a simple little thing like see his own death! Is that too much to ask? This country is going to hell in a handbasket.
-Crotchety and Still Alive, Dammit!

Dear CASAD,
Change is a tough thing to deal with, but the possibility of immortality is the sort of thing you just have to come to terms with eventually. It's tough for all of us, but you have to stop being so egoistic. You want to see yourself die. It's all about you you you! If you can't see yourself die, stop being so selfish and go see other things die. Abraham Lincoln is a popular destination, as is Pompeii, or the extinction of the dinosaurs. Hopefully you will get your fill of death.
-Abby & Abby

Four Days from Now: A Review

I just got out of my time machine. I just bought it like a week ago, and I have to say that I will be disassembling it very soon. What a bore! I was all excited to see the future, so I went four days from now. Whatever! No flying cars, no utopian societies. Just a bunch of fatasses talking about Ohbomba and Hillary whatever or something. I asked someone about the cure for cancer and they were all "Someday we hope there will be a cure. Scientists are making lots of advances and it seems like the technology is within our grasp." Whatever.

Our future is a failure. I couldn't even get a decent interview because people were like "it's Thursday, I'm busy." They weren't even impressed that I was from the past. I was all "I'm from four days ago, baby" at a bar and the girl just looked at my clothes and said "more like four DECADES." I thought it was a compliment at first but then she left the bar.

I was expecting some crazy technology advances, maybe some phasers or whatever. All they had were tasers. Laaaaame. Cool communication devices? I guess the iPhone was pretty cool but it was all plastic or whatever and it was totally not a robot. I was going to get one to bring back to me, but when I went to the bank to see if my account had gotten billions of dollars in interest while I was gone, like in Futurama, the bank lady was all "your balance is zero just like it was four days ago." What a gyp. I said that to her and she was all "that is a racial slur please do not use it." I guess the PC POLICE don't go out of fashion any time soon. Whatever. That's when I decided to come back to the present.

Before making the return trip, I met a guy who had time traveled from four days in the future to be there. I asked him what it was like eight days in the future and he said it sucked. Whatever. I stole his wallet. I couldn't wait until I got back so I wouldn't have to worry about global warming anymore.

Fun Home Art Projects!

Hello again! Break out the crayons, dive into the construction paper, and haul out the paint thinner, because it's time for a fun home art project!

This week is a little early for Easter, but the supermarkets don't seem to mind starting the celebration now, so neither do I! This week we're going to paint eggs! Doesn't that sound like fun?

Start out with an egg. Have your parents boil some water and put it in. Make sure that your parents put the egg in the boiling water. I remember my brother when I was young - he put the egg in himself. The egg got too hot in the water and was about to explode. My brother screamed - it was a yell which rocked our house to its foundation as he plunged his young forearm into the boiling water to grab the egg. Flesh dries in water - dries in its slow burn, char creeping over fingers and down to the hand, turning to dead black ash the skin up to the elbow. The pain made him squeeze the egg until it broke. Egg shell and hot yolk flew everywhere, raining down from the air onto his writhing body as the family came to his side just in time to see the last glimmer of his hope of becoming a concert pianist fade away.

Okay!

After the egg is hard boiled, drain the water, let the egg cool, and take it out of the pot. Don't eat it! If you eat it you will feel the shell splinter between your teeth, the gritty crackling sound as you eat that which is not meant to be eaten. Chalky shell coats and lightly cuts at your tongue. You will taste sand for days. One shard is stuck in the back of your throat. You cough. You hack. You can't get it loose as it stays there blocking your windpipe. You knew you weren't supposed to eat it. You knew. You knew but you did anyway and this is the thought that runs through your head as you cease breathing and fall to your knees, your vision beginning to black around the edges like your vision of the world did as you grew up and found nothing in adult life but disappointment.

Well!

Now you're ready to paint. Get some watercolors and a brush. Think of what you'd like your egg to look like and start painting. Keep painting. You must keep painting. Your brushstrokes move the room around you and for once in your life you find something over which you can have control. The brush is abrasive against the egg, and you hear a faint scratching sound. A picture on the egg is taking shape, but NO! The egg is too small for what you see, what you must put on the egg. So you throw the egg against the wall to hear it shatter. There is a dent in your wall from doing this every Easter since you realized that nobody will ever understand exactly what you're trying to say. They will always get it just a little bit wrong. Just a little bit because we are truly all our own island with our own lonely language which nobody else speaks. Take your brush and go to the dent and paint the face of the person who is most responsible for your torture. Here you will have painted the face of God.

And now you're done! Enjoy your egg.

A Tale of Two Bronxes: The Earliest Days of Hip Hop

The year 1969 is not usually thought of for its association with hip hop music. However, this was the year that Pete DJ Jones, a club DJ playing in downtown Bronx, first played two copies of the same record together and began a revolution. This new technique allowed Jones to isolate the break beat, the short instrumental part of a song with lots of energy, and repeat it. One song could be stretched out for long periods of time. This gave dancers a chance to find grooves and stay there.

The technique caught on quickly. In the South Bronx, Clive Campbell, a very young Jamaican immigrant who went by Kool DJ Herc, was throwing house parties. He began playing two copies of the same funk or reggae album and looping the break to keep the dance floor packed for hours. He termed the technique "merry-go-rounding." These parties were small (in lieu of a strobe light, they had a guy named Mike flip the lights on and off), but Herc began attracting a larger crowd around late 1973.

Herc's side of town is where hip hop culture truly began. Pete Jones played downtown disco clubs with an age limit and a high entry fee. Herc, on the other hand, was playing shows in the park and the aforementioned house parties. Anybody could attend these events, and everybody did. Herc quickly built a reputation as the best DJ in the area, and soon found himself playing to large crowds.

It was at these large parties that break dancing emerged. During these long instrumental breaks, dancers would clear an area and start doing intense dances, writhing around and moving with a new kind of furious athleticism. Herc dubbed these the "break boys," or "B Boys."

Herc's Jamaican childhood gave rise to another popular element of hip hop music - rapping. Herc would go to parties in his home town of Kingston and notice DJs "toasting," or calling out names and making chatter over the music to get the crowd excited. He brought this with him to New York, where it evolved to include the element of rhyming. As Herc's popularity grew, toasting and DJing at the same time grew to be too much, and he brought on Coke la Rock to rap for him, effectively making Coke the first hip hop MC.

Success such as Herc's is likely to bring competitors. In this case some of the notable opponents included founder of the Zulu Nation and ex-gang leader Afrikaa Bambaataa and a young underfunded electronics wizard by the name of Grandmaster Flash. Competition was fierce, and it was common practice to remove record labels and put decoy wires around your speaker setup so nobody else could steal your breaks or get their speakers quite as loud as yours.

Herc was still on top, and would often humiliate the other DJs by calling them out during his set or making fun of their stereo setups. If another DJ would refuse to stop playing when it was Herc's turn, he would simply drown them out with his incredibly loud system, which could be heard from blocks away. Whenever Herc saw Flash on the dance floor, he would turn off his system's highs and lows, leaving just the mids, to make fun of Flash's built-from scratch stereo setup which had no bass.

While Grandmaster Flash found little acceptance or success with his lackluster system against the competitive DJs of the South Bronx, he was able to work with Pete Jones and learn tricks of the trade which were otherwise closely guarded secrets. It was during this time that Flash developed the DJ technique which would thrust hip hop music into its second generation - the backspin, which would soon evolve into cutting and scratching.

The hip hop movement was in full swing by 1975, and a rift was growing. South Bronx partygoers were not fond of the different crowd Pete Jones catered to, nor the fact that he would sometimes play disco music, which was the popular radio music of the day. Herc described Jones' audience as “The bourgeoisie, the ones that graduated from the little house parties, you grown now you out your momma’s house. You puttin’ on Pierre Cardin now, you wearing Halston, you getting’ into the Jordache and Sassoon era.”

The rift came to a head one night in 1977. Pete Jones and Kool Herc were to have a DJ battle at the Executive Playhouse, a club where Herc would play often. Two of Herc's regulars, known as The Nigger Twins, had recently had a fallout with the DJ. They found his playlist for that night's battle and took it to Jones and Flash. Jones, who was set up to play first, played the exact same records which Herc was about to play. Dismayed, Herc was able to think fast and pulled out incredibly rare records and kept his edge.

The battle was going poorly for Jones, until some time during the night Jones stepped aside and let Grandmaster Flash play on his system. Flash used his backspin method in front of a large audience for the first time, and was able to display his magician-like showmanship. The crowd went wild, and Herc wasn't able to keep their attention any more. That night, Grandmaster Flash's name blew up, and he became known as one of the great DJs of the Bronx.

Herc's reputation was badly damaged, and his crowds shrank. Several months later he was stabbed after a fight in the same nightclub where the battle took place, and his career never fully recovered. Pete Jones retired in 1980 to manage his clubs. These two men had been the basis for one of the most important and quickly evolving musical genres of the last forty years. They developed the techniques, they developed the culture, and they got the next generation of DJs and MCs started in the right direction. Nobody since has had as much of an influence on hip hop music as the two original greats from two sides of the same city.

HOW TO BE A FUCKING MAN-DOG

WOOF WOOF SUCKAS it's me comin' at you with the ways you gotta be if you wanna get them bitches on Valentine's Day- male or female let's not be discriminatory here - into your fuckin' SACK for some CRAZY POUNDING.

You basically gotta be a guy with giant muscles all over your body and face goin WOOF WOOF at the ladies on the screen in a movie theater. People see that, they're all like "hell damn that's a guy I want to do some CRAZY POUNDING on my face. Excuse me my friends I'm going to go get some of that, someone hold my shirt and pants for me" MORE ASS THAN YOU CAN HANDLE.

Another way to be a man-dog is to go on the street and be all WOOF WOOF DAMN FINE at the buildings. People go all "yeah I like a guy who can appreciate some fine architecture, think I'll just go over to that guy for some CRAZY POUNDING." Then we all havin' sex on the side of the building. People look--people look and they give me that look and I'm like WOOF WOOF sucka you just jealous of all this I got right here. Yeah, I'm pretty hung, since you asked. Hung like flourescent lightbulbs: long, thin, white, and when it's goin' good there's a humming sound. CHECK IT.

The best way to be a god damn hot shit man-DOG MAN DOG SUCKA is to get on some sorta boat and go out and hang over the side and go WOOF WOOF LOVIN THE OCEAN then you dip your MAN DOG MAN DONG in that ocean and get some CRAZY POUNDING going on sayin' WOOF WOOF. Ocean be all waves and shit, that's me. I made those fuckin' waves. One time thing. Ocean calls me I don't call back.

So there you go, little suckas. Go be a little fuckin' man-dog and get you some shit on Valentine's Day but don't you ever step to me because I am the ORIGINAL and I fuckin' fucked that Valentine piece of shit and he don't come back round here no more. DON'T STEP.