Codependent Collegian

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
By Professor Norman Tinsel, Indiana University

Tinsel: Those Pretty Blue Eyes? Full of Wrath!

Now that the spring semester is drawing to a close, most of us English types get pretty bogged down. And by bogged down, I mean we grade about 300 written assignments over a two-week span and drink ourselves to sleep while every whiny jag-off no-show miraculously reappears during our office hours to explain why they haven’t come to class in a month.

I can’t keep the secret any longer: I hate my motherfucking students, every single one of them, with their shitty grammar and text messaging and ability to eat three bags of Doritos in an hour and not gain a single pound.

And lest ye think this is merely the end-of-semester frustration talking, let me set the record straight: I unequivocally hate my students and hope they all die in a massive parking lot fire as they exit their final exams and burn like Dante’s gluttons in the inner circle of hell. Well, except for Ashley Mitchell—that girl wore low-cut tops even in February, and damn if I wouldn’t strap on some chaps and ride her like a sex pony.

But back to the issue at hand. It seems like my students are full of two things: questions and excuses. No one ever gives me a compliment on my Hamlet lectures or wants commend my recent book review. Instead, they just ask me inane bullshit that I’ve already answered in class, OR show up to explain why they’ve missed class, and then subsequently asked what they’ve missed.

Maybe I should retire. After all, I’ve been doing this for 27 years, and perhaps I’m at the end of my pedagogical rope. Or maybe the university should issue every prof a revolver with one bullet at the beginning of each term, with the understanding that he/she gets to shoot their worst student in the motherfucking head as an example to the rest of the rabble. I bet all these Brents and Ambers and Quentins and Britannys would straighten up real goddamn quick if that was the case.

Come to think of it, no they wouldn’t. God I hate these kids.

Labels: Indiana University

A Codependent Collegian Special Report

With credit problems plunging the national economy into free fall, financial chaos is beginning to affect college students around the country, and cash-strapped students are increasingly finding their already limited budgets further strained.

Penn State University sophomore Bradley Restall bemoaned the effects of inflation on dormitory necessities.

"Brother, this credit crunch is hella nasty, and what's worse: the liquor store ain't taking the POWER card any more," he said, referencing PSU's student debit card. "And my man Hassan [owner of Drive-N-Brew] is getting tight with the single Blunts, charging 75 cents for the same shit he was charging 50 cents for last week. Inflation is a real bitch, y'all."

PSU junior education major Valerie Upshaw expressed her unhappiness with university financial aid officials.

"They was all like: 'You can't use your financial aid on clothes from Hot Topic,' and I'm all like: 'Ummm, I can't go around campus like some skanky UN refugee,'" she recalled, pausing to text back a friend. "Just because those financial aid women are all a bunch of 60-year-old ugly skeezers with support hose doesn't mean the rest of us have to look like busted hoochies and stuff. This credit crunch is all like: 'oh... my... God,' you know?"

Kyle Eberhard, a Penn State freshman, noted that the nation's financial woes have hidden perils for college students.

"So you call up some bitch and want to get your freak on, but she's all about going to a restaurant first, and then she 'forgets' her wallet and shit," he said. "This credit crunch is messing with my macking, right? And you know the bitch ain't gonna pick no Del Taco or Burger King, you feel me? She's gonna be all about the steakhouse, and then be asking for dessert and appetizers and all that. I'd be better off just renting a hooker, plus I wouldn't have to worry about crotch crickets, like I got from this cum dumpster over at the Delta Gamma house. Shit makes me scratch just thinking about those creepy crawlies."

Labels: college students, credit crunch, Penn State

Guest editorial by Kevin Reese,
Ohio State Class of 2009

Dude, I am waaaay psyched! I don't know how, but some crazy Russian sex bomb is after me like she gots a bad case of de schlong fever, mon.

Check out the email she sent me:

Hi baby my name is anna. i love u boy and i want to meet u plz can u meet me otherwise can u give me ur email id plzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz im waitin for ur response. my friends say i am hot, email me for pics and i want to love you hours and hours baby. ciao, anna

I think she must be one of those hotniks over at the International House or something, 'cuz I delivered pizzas there last week. But you can tell that this bitch is ready to go and shit, 'cuz her reply email is even crazier, bro:

LovRboy, i got ur pics and U R SO HOT!!!! i want to CuMs in my pants when i see your sexy pics! send me ur cell and we can cHaT! i cant wait to sucks your HOT ROD!!!!! ciao, anna

Yes, mister, the Kev-o-Matic gonna be grinding some Petersburg Pussy 'fore the week is out, you feel me? I'll bet she's one of those Russian freaky maniac types, the kind who will do anything for a visa and shit.

Maybe she'll let you bring your video camera, and we can make some extra scratch filming her doing ass-to-mouth or something. Either way, there's a-gonna be some nasty doings in the dorm. Pronto!

Labels: email, Russian women

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

Todd: Prefers Her History to Be Decent, Please and Thank You

(Pine Bluff, AR)—Cheryl Todd, an eighth grade history teacher at White Hall Junior High in Pine Bluff, Arkansas, was mortified earlier this morning when she realized her filmstrip on the Holocaust contained brief frontal nudity.

“My cat Mr. Whiskers has the sniffles, so my lesson plans have been slapdash all week,” a visibly disturbed Todd explained while sucking on a Parliament menthol in the teacher’s break room. “This documentary came highly recommended from Rita [McGovern, who also teaches eighth grade history], so I decided to use it without screening it first myself. How was I supposed to know it showed show boobies and beavers and all those emaciated Jews with their privates hanging out? I’m counting my lucky stars—no pun intended—that none of those randy boys in the second row pulled their thingies out and masturbated right then and there!”

Todd expressed why she remains adamant about censoring instructional materials.

“These kids are hornier than parolees at a peep show,” Todd lamented. “In March I showed a PBS documentary on the Civil Rights movement. Did these sex-starved tweenies gain a deeper appreciation for Dr. King? No. Did they realize how brutal segregation was? No. Did they snicker for two whole weeks about the girl who had her shirt blown off by a policeman’s water hose? Absolutely. It’s a shame they don’t make a CD called “Sounds of the Holocaust” or something so I could just hit play and grade this teetering stack of quizzes.”

Guest Editorial by Paul Oberlin,
Penn State Class of 2011

I noticed the evil funk as soon as I walked in the dorm room, dude. The smell hit me like a faceful of battery acid, and you sit there like you don't notice anything? Jigga, puh-leeze!

To my nose, there's either a pair of rank-nasty tennis shoes or a bag of stale Fritos up in this bitch.

Now, don't get all righteous with me, brother. I'm not calling you out or nothing, just pointing out what is oh-so-obvious. Yes, I split town for a week, and yes, visiting my parents meant that I reconnected with words like "hygiene" and "chores" and "laundry detergent" and shit.

But something mighty foul is causing this stench, and it must be eradicated. Now.

Christ, the place smells worse than a boarded-up shitter with a backed-up sewer and a couple of open cans of tuna fish. Or maybe it's a backed-up shitter with a boarded-up sewer, I don't know. All's I'm saying, dude, is that this dorm is not fit for human habitation, let alone a couple of poon-chasing studs like us.

I mean, shit: this place smells like Vick's Vapo-Rub plus syphilitic queef plus an open quart of curdled milk, brother-man. You been deadly sick or something, chucking up half-eaten burritos next to your bed again 'cuz you're too lazy to walk to the john?

Last time I smelled something that wicked was when Tyler, this retarded kid in Sunday school, shit his pants and didn't tell anyone. Fuck!

Labels: dorms, Penn State