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May 29, 2008

Bathroom Blog Gaining Popularity with Shit-Minded Students

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

No Really—It Smells Like a Diaper Full of Indian Food

(Austin, TX) Pandar Omesh always knew his bowels were “ranker than most,” so when this semester’s final exams were followed quickly by hollow boredom, the University of Texas sophomore embraced a life-long dream: Omesh created a blog exclusively dedicated to his ferocious poo.

“Being a first generation Indian-American, my diet largely consists of curry junk my mom makes and carry-out from local pizza joints,” Omesh explained while cutting a prolonged fart. “I crap about three times a day, and the smell is so bad I have to have one of those aromatherapy candles I bought from a mall kiosk steady lit. After hearing my roommate bitch about the stench all semester, the only logical conclusion was to post my brown bombers online.”

And while many would be repulsed at the notion of sharing their personal waste, Omesh has gained a cult following among undergraduates nationwide.

“Straight up, bro, Dino Mirelli showed me a pic of that Indian kid’s shit last week, and it was nuclear waste green with little specks of orange in it,” explained Tim Platt, a junior at Oklahoma State. “I’ve shared that dude’s link with like, a billion people—I had no idea the human ass was capable of technicolor. It might sound lame, but when you really think about stuff like this, it makes you really appreciate the wonder of nature. That, and the fact you can’t actually smell Habeeb’s rank poopage.”

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May 14, 2008

I’m Sure Going to Miss Those Sluts Dyking-Out in My Bathrooms

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
By a Frat House

Can’t Get Enough of Girls Gone Wild…Literally

The past nine months have been glorious. Sure, I’ve witnessed all manner of sexual debauchery unfold on beds, the back lawn, and even under the foosball table, but my greatest joy remains watching vulnerable, drunken sluts dyke-out in my two rancid, pube-littered bathrooms.

But now that the academic year has ended, I must woefully endure three months of tame, predictable partying without the potential for a single lesbo encounter.

Don’t get me wrong: I’ll most certainly observe some hook-ups. Matt Foley—he’s the junior who lives in the loft—is dating Stacey Collins, so there’ll be a handjob by Tuesday if she’s the same Stacey Collins I saw lick grape jelly off Ian Keller’s balls during Greek Week. And Trevor McDonald might be a walk-on wide receiver in the fall, so that’ll drop a few panties between now and August as long as he doesn’t get another beer gut.

But the nights of stinking-drunk dyke-outs at 2 a.m., while one chick boldly slides her hands down the front of the other girl’s jeans even while some stranger’s Miller-puke still floats in the toilet is a scene that only lingers as a memory in these creaking eaves. Bravely I must endure the sweltering summer nights, where yes, there might be a few six-packs and some boob-grabbing on the couch, but the possibility of clit-on-clit action in the tub will remain an anxious hope for the fall semester.

Jesus Christ, it can’t come soon enough.


May 6, 2008

Nation’s Youth Pray Stolen Answers from Fall Exams Still Valid

A Codependent Collegian Special Report
By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

America's Best and Brightest: Reading Crib Notes Off Their Arms

As hundreds of American colleges and universities enter the proverbial dash to the finish line, a mood of finality descends upon the lush campuses of this great nation, with book buybacks, the sloppy packing of dorms and off-campus apartments, and an exhaustive end to late night cram sessions.

Yet for those who spent their semesters engaged in endless debauchery and neglected their studies, one bold hope remains: that the stolen exam keys from last semester are still valid for this semester’s exams, and will ensure a passing grade, however marginal.

“I spent $73 and my last dime-bag of weed on these biology answers, so old man Thompson better not have changed that fucking test,” huffed Jon Stottlemyer, a sophomore at Penn State University. “Seeing as Thompson’s showing early signs of Alzheimer’s, I should be in the clear, but still—I couldn’t identify the parts a cell if you had a sledgehammer aimed at my dick. Fo’ shizzle, bro, all’s I got is ADABBDACDBDACBCBDAABCAD. And that shit took me three days to memorize.”

Other students echoed this sense of trepidation, hoping their advanced cheating skills kept them from suffering a perilous grade point average.

“I’m not proud of it, but I let Trent McCormick touch my boobs so I could have his scantron from last semester’s History 212 final,” explained a visibly shaken Cynthia Polawski, a freshman at Texas A&M. “Trent’s a total creep-job, but if I don’t get a C in this class, my parents are gonna stop paying my tuition AND take me off their health insurance. What the fuck am I supposed to do—work at Hot Topic for the rest of my life? So maybe I shouldn’t have drank every night this semester, and maybe I should have spent more time reading up on the Peloponnesian War. But maybe if Trent wasn’t such a horny zitty fuck-bag, I would have these answers memorized already and not have to spend the next hour writing them on my purse strap.”


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