Codependent Collegian

Her bundle of joy will have an equine moniker

(Ann Arbor) University of Michigan junior business major Erin Harrison, six months pregnant with her first child, said that she was so moved by the life and struggle of champion horse Barbaro that she will name her baby after the Kentucky Derby winner.

"Barbaro enriched us all in the brief moments that he flashed like a lightning bolt across our desperate world," she said. "It's only fitting that my child should bear the name of such a great American hero."

Harrison said that the reaction from her family and friends has been "really supportive," despite choosing a horse as a namesake for her child.

"My mom looked at me funny at first, but said that she understood why this was so important to me," she said. "My step-dad thought it was pretty cool, and he thinks I should give the baby the middle name of 'Seabiscuit,' but I think that's a bit too much horsey stuff. I was thinking of something more like 'Barbaro Capone Harrison' if it's a boy, or 'Barbaro Destiny Harrison' if it's a girl."

Harrison: dreaming of the champion within

Unfortunately, said Harrison, the child's father will not be a part of the birth of Baby Barbaro in a few months, reflecting a growing trend in the number of single mothers.

"Tre is not really into the whole 'father' deal, and he told me I could name the baby whatever I want, so really - I didn't even bother to ask him for his opinion," she said. "He's always trippin', and he don't want to just let it be, you know? Sometimes I'm like wrecking my brain, trying to figure out how we even came to this, how we even came about, you know? But me and Baby Barbaro are going to make it, just fine."

Labels: baby daddy, baby names, Barbaro

Left: A sample of the lethal linear first-order differential equations

(State College, PA) Penn State sophomore Grant Bradley passed away due to complications from the advanced mathematics course Differential Equations on January 28. He was 19.

Friends and family will gather to remember Bradley's life at a memorial service on Jan. 31, and an on-campus vigil is still being planned for the PSU community to gather in remembering the would-be engineer.

Bradley, who grew up with mathematical disabilities that put him at a disadvantage with other students, was not expected to progress past high school geometry, according to his mother, Judy Bradley.

"Boy, he sure did show the doubters a thing or two," she said. "Bradley never wanted to be treated as the 'LD student' or the 'math retard.' He was lucky to have friends that didn't see him as any different than themselves. But when he tried to do those differential equations, his brain just quit."

Left: A tutor tries for the umpteenth time to get it through Bradley's thick skull that it is impossible to directly find the slope of the tangent line to a given function

Bradley's roommate, Penn State sophomore Lee Byung, said he greatly admired the struggling math student.

"He never whined about his mathematics handicap, and instead looked toward everything with a positive outlook," Byung said. "Everyone who took the time to know him will tell you that Bradley had an aura of serenity, despite a complete inability to grasp symmetries and invariants, especially when the derivative of the unknown function at a certain time is given in terms of the values of the function at previous times."

Another roommate, Penn State sophomore J.D. Blanchard, echoed Byung's description of Bradley.

"Grant was an awesome individual, and I think we can all learn something from his life," Hicks said. "He always remained remarkably determined and optimistic about life, despite being a total spazz at math. I think that is very commendable because most of us would not be able to handle half of the adversity that Grant dealt with in his everyday life, especially using the Fokker-Planck equation to determine the time evolution of the probability density function of position and velocity of a particle. Grant really sucked at that, the dumb bastard."

Labels: differential equations, Math, Penn State

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This policy was last updated on 9 February 2007

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

Bunker on the brink of suicide during fall final exams

(Atlanta, GA)—Georgia State University English professor Matthew Bunker reached his breaking point at the close of the fall term, unable to cope with his immense grading load as well as the mounting committee work he must continually endure to attain tenure.

However, all of this changed earlier this month when Bunker had the startling epiphany that he could grade papers while occupying the lavatory, and thus “take a shit while reading shit.”

“I’ll tell you straight up, Billy — that picture of me about to blow my brains out on the commode is no joke,” Bunker revealed in an exclusive interview with the Codependent Collegian. “I was drinking six cups of espresso a day, grading every night until 3 a.m., and still couldn’t get my act together. Then, as if by accident, I took a small stack of quizzes into the bathroom one day when I had to unload a massive. The rest, as they say, is history.”

Bunker said that his new pedagogical approach has allowed him to reinvent himself as an educator.

“Before, I used to really toil over the D and F papers, wondering how I failed these young minds,” Bunker recalled as he loosened his paisley tie. “Now, I can just cut a fart, chuckle to myself, and let it go…my new mantra is ‘just pinch it off.’ It has a sort of metaphorical ring to it, don’t you think?”

And while some question the hygienic integrity of Bunker’s system, he remains committed to his newfound peace of mind.

“Yeah, my wife [Meredith] thinks it’s nasty, but she doesn’t have to deal with these brats,” Bunker yawned while stretching in his swivel chair. “If she had 70 customers pestering her everyday during her lunch break at the bank, she’d want to count their money with doo-doo fingers too.”

Bunker noted an additional benefit to his new grading method.

"There's never a problem anymore when some selfish bastard forgets to replace the roll," he chuckled.

Labels: excrement, grading, professors

Whittaker in an undated photo

(Columbus) Members of one of the few fan clubs of multi-instrumentalist and sometime Rolling Stones member Trevor Whittaker announced that they believe the enigmatic rocker faked his own death, pointing to "inconsistencies and half-truths" surrounding the circumstances of his alleged death.

"Only two people - other than police, hospital personnel, and the mortician - claim that they actually saw his body," said Kurt Rampton, fan club president. "Plus, press had been told that Whittaker was just "very tired" and went to rest in an unnamed London hospital. But, hello? There are no records of Trevor Whittaker in any London hospital."

Rampton noted that there was a four-day "blackout" that prevented Whittaker's close friends from getting at the principals and witnesses - and even Whittaker's corpse - for a close inspection.

"Even Trevor's parents and in-laws were prevented from seeing his body," said Rampton. "And just how many 'pneumonia' victims go with a closed casket? Answer: not very fucking many, dude."

Rampton and other members of Ohio State's only Trevor Whittaker fan club at a recent Stones convention

Rampton, who possesses all three out-of-print solo albums by Trevor Whittaker, said that Stones guitarist Keith Richards also believes in the death conspiracy.

"Keith was standing in the graveyard and he yelled that the grave was too short," he recalled, adding that he was about 60 yards away since he was not invited to the burial. "If anyone should know how tall Trevor was, it was Keith. I mean, the dude was 6'5", and he's in a grave made for someone about 5'3". If they are going to lie to us, you'd think they could at least get their facts straight."

Richards, contacted by the Codependent Collegian, said that he is "a bit puzzled" by all the peculiarities surrounding the reported death of Trevor Whittaker.

"If there was anyone that would have been likely to stage his own death - you know, getting a fake death certificate and paying off some fucking doctor - it would have been Trev," he said. "And to put a 15-stone bag of sand into the coffin and taking off for Brazil, only a guy like Trevor Whittaker would have been able to pull it off."

Labels: Keith Richards, Rolling Stones, Trevor Whittaker

(Ann Arbor, MI) University of Michigan engineering student Stephen Bednarik knew that "something special" was going to happen when he woke up this morning.

"It's like the hairs on the back of neck were standing up," he explained. "I could almost sense that I was on the verge of, like, a great discovery or something."

What Bednarik found, though, was a massive blackhead staring at him in the bathroom mirror.

"It started out as one of those painful zits that won't pop," he recalled. "I let it go a couple of weeks, and then this morning something said: 'Pop me.' So I just decided today was the day."

Measuring success, one plugged sebaceous gland at a time

Gathering a pair of tweezers, Bednarik succeeded in applying strategic application of pressure around the blackhead, causing the pustule to release a long stream of foul-smelling material from the pore.

"As I stood there watching this monster crawl from my face, I realized how lucky I am to be alive," he shuddered. "That... that... thing... was just inches from my brain. Thank God I chose today to blast it into oblivion."

Labels: acne, backheads, University of Michigan

Guest editorial by Dr. Lorraine Worley, psychologist and counselor

You were just trying to prove your point, commenting on a political bulletin board or someone's MySpace site, when it happened.

You got your ass viciously beaten by some trolling thug on the Internet.

The most important thing to remember is this: it's not your fault. No one deserves to get an Internet ass-beating, no matter how stupid their argument was.

Here are some suggestions on how to rebuild your life after a serious Internet bitch-slapping:

Embrace your pain: Initially, most Internet smackdown victims react with shock and disbelief. You may feel dazed, numbed, withdrawn and/or distant from other people. You may even want to cancel your Internet service. You may want to forget about what happened and avoid people or situations that remind you of the beatdown, but it is important to come to terms with your pain.

Handling flashbacks: There may also be times when you are preoccupied with thoughts and feelings about the virtual throttling. You may have unwanted memories, flashbacks, or nightmares about being handed your ass by some anonymous poster. This is completely normal.

Physical responses: Some Web curb-stomping victims have physical symptoms, such as sleep disturbance, headaches, and stomachaches. You may find that it is very difficult to concentrate on routine activities. You may also notice changes in your sexuality, such as a loss of interest in sex, avoidance of sexual situations, or a complete change in sexual orientation. It is important to remember that you are not alone.

Immediately after the ass-kicking: Go home, bathe, rest and recover with the love, support and acceptance of people who care. The worst thing you can do is keep this to yourself!

Aftercare: Seek counseling and support for dealing with the feelings of anger, rage, or inferiority that may arise weeks, months, or years later. Victims of Internet shellackings need professional therapy in order to re-emerge on the Web as healthy, well-adjusted contributors to virtual discourse.

Labels: ass-kicking, beatdown, Internet, smackdown

Cochrane has started a third box to document his drinking career

(Washington, DC) Georgetown University education major Tad Cochrane, meeting with Codependent Collegian reporters, displayed a collection of over 9,000 beer bottle caps, all packed away during the past three years.

The third-year student said that he has managed to save every cap from every bottle of beer that has "passed over these lips."

"Face it - I am, frankly, very studly. I have the face of a god, I'm the consummate party animal, and I am decidedly stronger than the average NFL linebacker," noted Cochrane. "I roam the world doing chivalrous deeds and shit, saving damsels in distress and flexing my pecs wherever possible. Along the way, I've consumed many a brew, and this collection documents my exploits."

One of the salient features of Cochrane's collection is the number of countries in which he has consumed bottled beer.

"I've got caps from drinking Dos Equis in Tijuana, Molson Brador in Montreal, and Red Stripe in Kingstown," he said, showing the relevant caps to reporters. "But even though I am a world taveler and all that, I'm still a regular guy, because I am a beer man. And bitches appreciate that, you know? Because i'm not, like, all full of myself drinking cognac or Drambuie or some faggedy-daggedy-doo liquor."

Cochrane also has a sensitive side, along with his malted masculinity

Cochrane, who calls himself the "King of Cerveza," said that his beer career has frightened away many a would-be challenger to the coveted throne.

"I'm so tough that I would even scare myself if I ever got scared, which I don't, because I'm the toughest person in the known or unknown universe," he boasted, finishing his fourth Bud Light before noon. "If some asshole tries to outdrink me, well, he's going to have a rude awakening, because no one - no-body - can outdrink me, the Duke of Beerdom. Many a lesser man has approached the throne, and every one skulked off, punk-ass crawling on the ground and acknowledging my supernatural drinking prowess. I reign supreme!"

Labels: beer, beer bottle caps, beer caps, studs

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

Danesco takes a Jello shot to numb the pain

(Boston, MA)—Boston College sophomore Mike Danesco knew this semester would be an uphill battle after being placed on academic probation during winter break, and resigned himself to a nonexistent social life in order to salvage his plummeting grade point average.

All this changed yesterday afternoon, however, when Danesco discovered his roommate of nine days, Mortimer Lewandowski, dead in their dorm room from an apparent suicide.

“Let me tell ya, nothing prepares you for finding a naked-ass dude slumped over a stack of architectural design textbooks,” Danesco remarked while puffing on a Marlboro Light. “It wasn’t pretty. But I take comfort in that policy of giving roommates straight A’s as a token of consolation. Besides, it couldn’t have happened at a better time—I’m taking abnormal psych this semester, and Professor Jenkins is a bitch, straight up.”

And while Danesco has not received official notification of his newly-earned dean’s list status, he maintains it will only be a matter of days before he receives a formal letter from the college imparting the good news.

“I totally understand why the school hasn’t told me about the grades yet,” Danesco reflected, folding some of his shirt laundry. “I mean, Lewandowski’s parents just flew in from Iowa this morning, so everyone is still crying and stuff. But after the funeral on Saturday, I should be top priority on the administration’s list. I mean, I’ve like, really suffered here.”

RIP Mortimer Lewandowski: 1988-2007

In the end, it appears that only time, that eternal consoler, can ease the weight of Lewandowski’s passing from the shoulders of his close friends and family.

“That faggy-lookin’ goth kid? Yeah, I heard he slit his wrists while jerking off to a 1993 issue of Hustler,” remarked Dan Carruth, a criminal justice major who lived down the hall. “I swear to Christ that guy wore a kilt last week to class. Can you believe that shit? A kilt in fucking January.”

Labels: academic probation, college life, suicide

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

LaRoche forgets a student’s name for the third time in 10 minutes

(West Lafayette, IN)—Purdue University mathematics professor Nick LaRoche thought his third year at the college would be a breeze: he has taught the gamut of introductory math courses, he retains a vast catalog of syllabi and dittos on his hard drive, and he even worked on a few emergency PowerPoint presentations over the holiday break for the days when he “totally fucking blanks it.”

Little did LaRoche know, however, that his studious preparations would all be in vain, since his performance on the first day of the semester demonstrated little else apart from his incompetence, disorganization, and complete inability to form a cogent English sentence.

“It all started this morning,” LaRoche huffed while rubbing his shoeless feet back in his office swivel chair. “My alarm didn’t go off until 8:17—my class was at 9, mind you—and Becky forget to buy coffee this weekend when she went shopping. It just snowballed from there: I couldn’t find my class roster, the dog refused to shit for like, at least 12 minutes…it’s a miracle I even found a parking spot when I got on campus.”

LaRoche's home office is like a still life of ineptitude

LaRoche’s humble hope that things would improve when he began his first class where unfortunately squashed within minutes.

“I took a leak right before walking into class, and I totally dribbled on my slacks,” LaRoche nervously huffed. “So let me set the scene: I go in there with no roster, no syllabi, just two textbooks and a new date planner trying to cover my pee-drops at five after the hour. Apart from some kid having an epileptic seizure and barfing everywhere, I can’t see how it could have been any worse.”

LaRoche remains doggedly optimistic that he can improve his tarnished reputation later this week when he delivers his first lecture on Pythagoras.

“I’m going out later today to buy some new ties,” LaRoche beamed. “I’m setting a new tone—one of professionalism and refinement. I can’t afford another semester of mediocre student evaluations. If I don’t get tenure this year, I’ll be back at Home Depot schlepping lumber 60 hours a week. Lord help me.”

Labels: professors, Purdue University

Keep your change to yourself - Isikoff is no one's bought bitch

(Granville, OH) News that his poor academic performance in the fall semester merited him academic probation status did not deter Denison University film major Brad Isikoff from maintaining his status as campus rebel.

"There are ways of fighting a system without anybody knowing how you're fighting it," he said, drawing a drag off a Marlboro. "And when I say 'fuck the system,' that means I won't work for it, to keep it alive and devouring human beings. It's not the first time people have engaged in economic protest, dude."

Isikoff said that, from a philosophical perspective, it is important to challenge "systemic entropy."

"Anything that gets the professor to keep himself cool while going from idle to almost-full-power as a crazed rabbit will fuck the entire system much sooner, and reduce the stability too," he said. "Private property is a human construct. The notion of property has very nice game theoretic properties. Without property, the division of labor is much harder, because people have no way to be sure that they are being rewarded proportionately to their work. So, fuck it all."

Isikoff's smokes are always stolen, never purchased

Isikoff said the Denison campus is "filled with wannabe anarchists and guerilla war chic."

"I can't listen to their annoying whines without gritting my teeth and stabbing my ears," he grumbled. "Screw their faux rebel image and would-be gangsta cool. You think you're any better than the 12-year-old girl next door with the Sum 41 shirt? They're a joke and so are you. Fuck off."

Labels: academic probation, Denison, rebels

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

Left: Cooper, stoned “right out his fucking gourd,” experiencing a vivid buttercup hallucination

(University, MS)—The Phi Beta Kappa fraternity at Ole Miss has always had a reputation for raucous, outlandish behavior, and the 2006 academic year has been no exception.

However, now that final exams have passed and students are back from break, the Phi boys have now seen their partying and chronic inebriation rise at the same alarming rate as their stress levels. And perhaps no member of the frat has shouldered this burden more than Cooper, AKA “Sir Trips-A-Lot,” the frat house’s excitable and friendly four-year-old collie.

“I’ve never seen a creature ingest more foul shit in my entire life,” remarked Kyle Preston, 22, a senior psychology major. “That dog ate like, three hash brownies and lapped up at least four spilt beers, and was still able to walk. And brother, that was on a Tuesday.”

Preston also revealed that some of Cooper’s cerebral voyages were involuntary, but that such illicit experiments were conducted all in the name of science.

“Chuck [Vickerson] bought an ounce of some righteous Kind Bud last Saturday, so that shit was on,” remarked Preston. “We must have blown at least thirteen or fourteen bong hits right into Cooper’s face, plus we are pretty sure he wolfed down a couple of tabs of Ecstasy on top of that. I know that may sound cruel to some of your readers, but you should see what Cooper did, man — he got into my girlfriend’s paint set and went Van Gogh up in this bitch.”


Left: A paw-print masterpiece by Cooper

Only time will tell if Cooper’s artistic exploits will inspire the rest of the fraternity to explore their artistic potential on a level beyond mere hedonism.

“Normally we just get shit-faced and throw the TV remote at each other’s balls, but this amazing dog has made me rethink everything,” intoned Robert Muldowsky, 19, a sophomore and newly-admitted rush. “Maybe we should like, form a band or start writing poetry when we’re all whacked out. I mean, it’s not like we’re gonna study. Fuck that.”

Labels: Fraternities, Ole Miss, Phi Beta Kappa

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial by Marc Thompson

Thompson navigates another wrong building

This isn’t supposed to happen on the second day of class. I mean, I got up early this morning, had two cups of coffee—hell, I even showered—and was totally psyched for my Intro to Sociology class. (I hear Professor Mischaw is a total fox!)

And now here I am, lost in the middle of Georgia Tech’s big-ass campus, with no fucking clue where HUM 309 is.


But really, the problem isn’t being lost. I get lost all the time. When Dave [Baxter, close high school friend] and I went to see Tom Petty in July, we spent two hours trying to find the freeway out of Atlanta. Granted, we had smoked an entire ounce of Maui Wowie in a Coke can bong, but still, the directions we got from that gypsy chick selling hemp necklaces were truly substandard. I’m digressing, but you get my point—these things happen.

Left: Hostile, shark-like classmates just waiting to strike

The real issue is that I now have to walk into a lecture hall 28…make that 29 goddamn minutes late, looking like a jackass in front of a zillion other people. With my luck, the only seat open will be next to some blonde goddess with an incredible rack, and my hard-on will make an audible clack on the underside of my desk.

And I’m glad that Georgia Tech hired Haseem here as their only work-study student at the campus information counter. This guy has the IQ of a porn star, and speaks less English than my great aunt Mabel, whose Alzheimer’s is so bad she shits in her wheelchair.

So if you see me wandering about campus, help a brother out. Just get me to the right building, and I’ll make it worth your while—there’s a frozen pizza and half a joint back in my dorm room with your name on it.

Labels: campuses, college, Georgia Tech, lost students

Guest editorial by Jeremy Parsons, last user of dorm toilet

There are times when all of us create bathroom funk that causes our roommates to become, well, a bit disgusted. We all eat bad combinations of food - like onion rings and cheap beer, for example - that bring about a wave of foul odors.

Then there are emergency situations, like what we have right now after I took a mighty dump within the confines of our once-pristine lavatory facility.

And dude - we need a biohazard unit in the john - STAT!

I know what you're thinking: "Come on, man - it can't be that bad. Can it be any worse than when our beloved but menstruating friend Amber left a funky used tampon in the trash, with the door sealed, over spring break, a smell so noxious it took weeks to remove it?"

And yes - it's worse than that. I'm talking deadly. I had to crawl out of there on my hands and knees, tears welling in my eyes from the acrid fumes that emanated from the depths of our toilet.

I am still tasting the bile that crept up into my throat, an involuntary response to a stench so vile, so putrid, so ...inhuman... as to defy logic and reason.

Thus, I implore you, friends - get some professionals here in rapid fashion, before the evil that lurks within our bathroom consumes every one of us.

Labels: bathroom, odor, stench

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

Left: McKenzie and Goddard— stroking one another’s beakers?

(Lexington, KY)—The life of a graduate teaching assistant at the University of Kentucky is a thankless, repetitive job, according to Terrance Williams, who splits his time between studying for rigorous seminar courses and helping sophomoric undergraduates complete their lab assignments for Chemistry 101.

This all changed a few short weeks ago, however, when two bodacious co-eds— Alicia McKenzie and Michelle Goddard— started to explicitly flirt with one another in the lab, thus infecting Williams with a recurring fantasy that the pair will “totally dyke out” during his observation time.


“At first I thought: this can’t be happening,” Williams revealed while gingerly rinsing a shoe box full of glass stir-sticks. “I mean, they started to pony-tail each other’s hair and shit like that. I assumed they were in a sorority together, but apparently they met in this class at the beginning of the semester.”

Williams continued to strongly assert that McKenzie and Goddard’s relationship was more than platonic.

“Dude, you wouldn’t believe some of this stuff even if I had it on film,” Williams intoned. “Last week, Alicia reached into Michelle’s pocket to turn her cell phone ringer off — and her hand stayed in there. For 15 minutes. Those two are always closer than a couple of mice in a shot glass."

And despite his fervent self-admonishment, Williams cannot resist the hope that the partners will engage in a “straight-up dyke fest” before the semester ends in December.

“Yesterday they came into Lab 207 during my evening shift,” Williams revealed in a mild whisper. “I mean, I don’t think they even saw me during that first hour —Michelle gave Alicia a fucking backrub because ‘the apron hurt her shoulders.’ Please. These chicks will be naked and finger-blasting on a dissection table before midterms, mark my word.”

Labels: Chemistry, dykes, lab partners

(Happy Valley, PA) Penn State sophomore Missy Brannigan thought that the symbolic ball drop in Times Square would usher in a new period of bliss for her.

Instead, Brannigan claims, 2007 is a year "just like the awful 2006" she left behind.

"I mean, as if it wasn't bad enough Matt asked Marissa out on a date behind my back, but I had to find out about it from super-slut Shannon, who couldn't wait to throw it in my face. I was so humiliated, I could have died!" she said of her New Year's celebration. "I mean he didn't even have the decency to break it off before he started fucking someone else. I can't believe I fell for the whole honesty routine. He got me, took his little trophy, added me to his collection and dumped me! I am so stupid."

Brannigan said that the efforts of her friends to console her were unsuccessful, though she "totally appreciated and stuff" their empathy.

"They were all like 'You're friends with that Meghan girl aren't you?" and I was all like "ummm does she owe you money or something?" if she does then... well NO" and then they were all like 'no it's just you're so HOT and noticed you and then I noticed you hung around with that Meghan one,'" she said, wiping away a tear. "And then I was all like 'OK, what can I do for you' and they were like 'a LOT of things... but you better tell Meghan she better not fuck around with Chad' and then I was like "OK" and they were all like 'See YOU later' And I was like 'yeah...hopefully NOT.' Well, what I was trying to say is congrats and stuff, but I was really confused. Anyway, if it's anything personal, like a sickness or something they could have told me in private! I could have just died."

Brannigan's mother is doing "everything possible" to help Missy in her time of turmoil

Efforts by Missy's family to help her cope with depression have also stalled. The purchase of a cat that Missy "really, really wanted" was not an easy decision for her mother.

"The shopkeeper wanted $2,500 for it. I could see paying that for a good handbag, but for a cat? I just wasn't sure," said Karen Brannigan. "But Missy kept pestering me. And it occurred to me that if I bought her the cat, maybe she would stop spending so much time and money at those stupid anime conventions. I keep arranging dates with perfectly nice young men with good employment prospects, and then she goes to a convention and brings home these makeup-wearing boys who spend all their time reading Japanese novels and playing Final Fantasy. I just don't get it, but we are always there for Missy."

Labels: anime, depression, Happy Valley, Penn State