Codependent Collegian

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
By Collin Frankfort, Penn State Class of 2012

Frankfort: Embracing His Inner Feminist

You know, Penn State is one big-ass school. With so many buildings, majors, and campus events, it can be a daunting place to make friends and, dare I say, date someone new.

So that’s why I’ve discovered the best-kept secret around, and want to share it with all those other freshman bros out there who feeling shy: Gender Studies 101 is the perfect place to meet some hot-ass bitches.

See, Gender Studies is all about how we live in a society run by men and junk, so a lot of guys feel threatened by chicks sitting around bashing us all the time. But the truth is, most of these girls are secretly looking for a strong, confident man to sweep them off their feet and fuck them sideways on the futon while their roommate is in the chemistry lab. Plus, they really respect it when you say something smart in class, like how football is really just a form of dance and has nothing to do with bashing some fucker’s skull. They slurp that bullshit straight up.

Of course, you have to deal with the token militant lesbians who would love nothing more than to eradicate men from the planet. They wear army boots and have safety pins through their lips, and always wear militant t-shirts that they buy off eBay. After a while, though, you just start to think of them as other dudes, since most of them have beer guts and shave their heads.

So in conclusion, Gender Studies is a must-take course for your spring semester. There’s tons of smokin’ ass, and if you have the courage to maybe cry once or twice in class, and say that you really want to get in touch with your feminine side, and how you’re so glad your girlfriend from high school dumped you for being immature, and now you’re totally focused and grown up, and Eleanor Roosevelt would have made a great president had there not been a glass ceiling back in the day, you’re bound to have more pussy than you can shake your dick at.

Labels: gender studies

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

These Coeds Know How to Mourn

(New York City)—It was a somber day in the world’s most iconic city, as New Yorkers paid their respects to the anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks through an usually quiet demeanor, as if a hush fell upon these bustling avenues of commerce and fashion at the very thought of that tragic morning seven years ago.

That is, of course, with the exception of the students at Hofstra University, who commemorated 9/11 and “thirsty Thursday” with several randy games of powderpuff football.

“As a native Brooklyn girl, I know first-hand how horrible that day was,” explained a tipsy Sarah Langan, a freshman majoring in communications. “I mean, it was pretty scary for an 11 year old girl to watch that stuff on the news. That’s why we’re [hiccup] having this awesome powderpuff tournament—to celebrate America and junk. WOOHOO!!!”

Tom Roland, a sophomore majoring in political science, echoed Langan’s comments.

“Look brother, I know what you’re thinking—this is totally tasteless of us to get drunk at 3 p.m. and have these girls dress all trashy to play football on the anniversary of 9/11,” Roland patiently intoned. “But honestly, dude, the ugliest girl out here is like, still a 7 on the ol’ boner scale, and I’ve got seen enough thong and boob-jiggle to fill the spank bank for at least a month. God bless those troops fighting for our freedom over there in Islam.”

Labels: 9/11, Hofstra University

By Tre Jermain, FSU engineering major

My first go-around with my required differential equations course was highly unsuccessful. Straight up? I flunked that shit; no other way to say it. I fell behind about Week One and I never recovered, and by November of last fall I was completely fucked up trying to differentiate between linear equations, nonlinear equations, and even my own phone number.

But this semester is different, my friend. This is the year that I make differential equations my own personal bitch.

You see, I'm taking a new approach to Diffy-Q, as the graduate assistants call it. Before you can make differential equations your bitch, you must have a good, positive self-image, so the math will find you attractive.

You must take your differential equations into another world, a really special world where only the two of you exist, a romantic world, a poetic world. Sometimes this happens automatically with students and mathematical equations: if you've ever fallen in love, you remember what it's like to feel like you are the only two people who've ever existed. Other times, you have to create the mood: some soft music, a nice bottle of wine, and your Heweltt Packard 11C engineering calculator.

That's how it's going to be with me and differential equations this time.

And listen: never take your differential equations to the same place you'd go with your homies if you want to really understand this math. Take your equations someplace out of the ordinary, like a river front cafe in a nearby small town, a walk in the woods where you've previously and secretly stashed a bottle of champagne, two glasses and a blanket. That will make differential equations feel very special, and not like some cheap geometry proof that you picked up at the bar.

One me and differential equations get it right, the world ain't never going to be the same, you hear?

Labels: differential equations, Florida State University

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

A Pennsylvania Lad Ponders the Noose

(Washington, DC)—As the hazy dog-days of summer draw to a close, and families across the nation relish Labor Day weekend with all of its freewheeling pathos, America’s youth must ultimately turn their attention to the impending school year.

And for most youngsters, the prospect of ten more months of homework, standardized exams, and unfulfilled playground romance elicits a feeling that can only be described as suicidal.

“I just got a letter last week saying I have Mrs. Fowler this year,” lamented Ginny Williams, a fifth grader in downtown Cleveland. “She doesn’t let you draw or talk to your friends or do anything, and I heard from Stevie Mitchell who heard from Beth McDonald that heard from Terry Ginsberg that she stabbed a boy with a protractor last year for text messaging under his desk. What the heck! I might as well take some of mommy’s sleeping pills and hope I don’t wake up.”

Other youngsters echoed this sense of dejection and malaise at the prospect of returning to the classroom.

“Yeah, I know most kids are sad and all, but I have to repeat eighth grade because I got suspended for bringing my Boy Scout knife to school last April,” huffed an inconsolable Jimmy Owens, a native of San Diego. “I mean, think about it: I have to spend the next year of my life doing the exact same dittos I’ve already done. I sure bet Principal Dufus would feel pretty bad if I used that knife to slash my wrists in the tub like that neighbor lady we’re not allowed to talk about.”