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November 29, 2007

Babe, the Toilets Here at Penn State Are COVERED With STDs

Guest editorial by Jared Sherwood,
Penn State Class of 2010


Babe, I just got back from the Student Health Center, and I just can't believe it: I caught ANOTHER frigging STD from those nasty toilet seats here on campus.

Gross.

I thought it was bad enough when I came down with gonorrhea last year from the toilet seat in the student union. I should have known better than to go in the stall after that creepy-looking dude got out, but I guess I am too trusting or something.

But to wind up with a case of herpes from these damned dirty bathrooms? Un-FREAKING-believable, that's all I can say.

I think it happened last month at the Rec Center. I noticed something wet when I touched the toilet seat, but I figured it was just a little water. I guess it was really some slimy, herpefied ooze from some sex fiend. I even washed my hands, too!

The good news is that this is really not such a big deal, and my buddy - who's a pre-med major - says that it's almost impossible to pass it along after a week or so. After next Friday, then, we can get back to normal with our love life, just so long as you make sure you take a shower after. Turns out herpes is killed by hot water and soapy water!

And, if I were you: I'd avoid those skanky bathrooms. It's better to have to hold it than to catch an STD from a toilet seat, believe me!

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November 26, 2007

That Fart Smelled Like Dog Food

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
By Maggie Sinclair
Smith College Class of 2010


Sinclair: About to Spew from the Righteous Fumes


Jamie, I’m glad that we are strong, compassionate lesbian couple, and are brave enough to share our deepest thoughts and feelings with each another.

But honey, the fart you just cut at our weekly Campus Pride meeting smells like dog food, and I might just puke all over my hoo-ha.

Even though I’m a bit of a prissy girl, I’ll be the first to defend any lesbian’s right to not wear a bra, forego shaving, or even conform to gendered notions of attire. But you just farting like that in a room full of casual acquaintances—after eating God knows what all morning—has absolutely nothing to do with being gay. It is straight up nasty, and were I not still gagging from its sour stench, would probably ask if you ate a big-ass bowl of puppy chow for lunch.

Go ahead and munch that grape as if nothing has happened. After all, it’s not like your cute little dyke butt didn’t just emit an SBD nastier than a Doberman with a belly full of bad bologna and heartworm pills. We can all just sit here and banter about next month’s social event even though half of us are breathing through our shirtsleeves.

Jamie, I thought we had something special, and last night’s romp in the shower was one of the most sensual experiences of my young life. But the thought of seeing you naked—now that I know the true toxic fortitude of your corduroy-hugging bum—may put our next finger-blasting session into serious jeopardy.

So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going out in the hall to queef like a civilized person.

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November 21, 2007

Student Hopes He Arrives Home After Horror of Mom's Holiday Cleaning Mania

(Columbus, OH) Ohio State sophomore Kyle Reeger, speaking with Codependent Collegian reporters, expressed optimism that he has timed his return trip home to occur after his mother's annual "panic purging" of the Reeger home.

"My mom goes totally berserk trying to clean the house before the first guests arrive," he noted. "It starts Monday night of Thanksgiving week, and doesn't end until about 1:00 on Thanksgiving Day. I swear to God she gets crazier than a coked-up dog in a hubcap factory, and she doesn't mellow out until that third glass of Bailey's Irish Cream after dinner."

Reeger said that he has lined up "three foolproof excuses" for his late arrival to his parents' suburban Cleveland home.

"I have two friends calling my house Thanksgiving morning wondering if I made it home with my 'bad radiator,'" he chuckled. "And I plan to make sure I drizzle a little bit of antifreeze on the driveway, just in case she goes out to check up on the story."

The second-year engineering student said that his mother's "insane-o behavior" has grown increasingly worse over the past few Thanksgivings.

"She's always had this strange possessive streak. It started out with her 'special Thaksgiving apron," Reeger recalled. "When she found it, she would take it and growl if someone came near. She would refuse to drop it and the only way to get the apron away from her was to wait until she fell asleep. She's even bitten people when they try to come near her in the kitchen, just to ask if she needed help. Fact is, she scares me on Thanksgiving, dude."

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November 16, 2007

I Piss with Laser-Like Accuracy

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
by Chaz Murphy
University of Texas, Austin, Class of 2009


You know, we all have that special something that could be called our God-given talent. Some people are real brainy and good at taking tests, others are exceptional athletes, while there are some folks who are gifted when it comes to helping the needy.

But me, I piss with laser-like accuracy.

I first discovered this ability when I was in junior high. Somewhere around the seventh grade, whenever I had to take a whiz, I would stand a few inches farther back from the urinal than I had the day before. Maybe I did it out of boredom, or to make a game for myself—I can’t exactly remember. Pretty soon, though, I could hit that thing from six feet away.

By high school, dudes would make bets as I drank cup after cup of water at lunch, only to look on in amazement as I sat on the floor near the sinks and nailed the urinal cake dead-on.

I know what you’re thinking—I must have some monster dong, and a urethra so thin and narrow that you couldn’t even get a pencil tip in there. Let me assure you that my equipment is perfectly normal, if perhaps slightly larger than average, and this skill of mine is simply the result from years and years of patience, hard work, and the determination to pee on stuff from super far away.

So if you ever happen to be in the Austin area for some blues and brews, give a holler to ol’ Chaz. I’m performing nightly in the Winston House, about a block away from the dorms. And if you have anything you totally want a bro to piss on, bring that along too.

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November 12, 2007

Student’s Final Keg Stand Was One Too Many

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

Toomer in All of His Dionysian Glory


(State College, PA)—According to his closest friends, Penn State junior Braylon Toomer is the quintessential party animal, and has the uncanny ability to sustain a kegger into the wee hours of morning.

Unfortunately, Toomer’s final keg stand last night rendered him “sicker than one of those bald cancer kids on chemo,” and he must now endure the painful aftermath of his wanton revelry.

“Since we always get a keg, it’s hard to know what my limit is in cans or bottles, but a safe estimate is probably fifteen or sixteen brewskies,” Toomer quietly explained, holding an ice pack to his throbbing temples. “But last night was fucked up from the beginning. We started with shots of Jack because my roommate got a handjob from this smokin’ hot waitress in an Applebee’s bathroom, so I was half tanked before the keg even came out. But I’m pretty sure it was that last stand at 3 a.m. that did me in.”

Despite the brutal throb of a dehydration migraine, Toomer offered a poignant reflection on the ritualized fellowship of binge drinking.

“I’m an anthropology major, dig, so like, all civilizations throughout time have had their unique ways of coming together as a people,” Toomer explained. “The Navajo had the sweat lodge, the Romans had their public baths, and us Penn Staters get fucking ripped four nights a week. Unless of course it’s midterms—we tend to dry out long enough to bring our grades up.”

November 6, 2007

About Those Three Weeks I Missed…

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
By Candice Pinkerton
University of Delaware Class of 2010


Pinkerton: Cute, Smart, and Totally Failing


Hey Professor Richards, how’s it going? Are your classes going pretty well? I hope so. Anyway, you probably remember me—my name’s Candice Pinkerton, I’m in your Survey of American Literature class. I’m the punk-rock chick with a nose ring who sits in the back row.

Or I guess I should say USED to sit, because I haven’t to your class in three weeks. And even though I’ve missed a big essay and tons of quizzes and homework and such, I have a perfectly reasonable excuse for my absenteeism and would like to get back on track.

See, all of this started last month when my boyfriend Josh got kicked out of his band. He played bass with all these do-good Jesus freaks, and they finally got sick of his drinking and tripping and said he was a douche-bag lame-o who was always getting wasted. But since Josh has a horrible home life and no self-esteem, he took this as like, a major rejection of his musical talents and has really needed me to support him through this. So in a way, it’s like we’ve both had a death in the family. (Hey, that’s what you call a metaphor, right? See, I am learning a lot from you!)

This leads me to last week, when I totally planned to stop by during your office hours, but my mom called last minute with this horrendous toothache, and needed me to drive her to the dentist. Turns out it’s pretty serious, as she’s lost a filling and has some late-stage decay that is causing constant pain. And while academics are my top priority as a college student, you’ve got to admit that family should always come first.

So in sum, I hope you’ll see that my absences have been warranted by “real life” issues, and if you could email me back with all the handouts, lectures, and assignments I’ve missed, I’ll try to see you in-person as soon as possible. Which might be next week, now that I think about it, because I have a doctor’s appointment Thursday that will keep me pretty busy and stuff. Thanks!

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November 3, 2007

Important Thinkery

Inspiration ebbs and flows, and there is no point in bitch-slapping your Muse when she is fickle.

---Subcomandante Bob

"Importnat Thinkery" is an occasional feature on this site, and is usually indicative of a writer who has little to offer beyond a sentence. Pretty pathetic, really, but it's not like you are paying for this content, Bubba.

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