tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-147319262024-03-14T11:49:42.426-07:00Codependent CollegianThe finest news from America's finest minds - offbeat, implausible, and prevaricative stories about life in and around college campuses.Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.comBlogger540125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-71975827272865720722009-06-02T12:44:00.001-07:002009-06-02T12:44:27.563-07:00Hey Readers<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SiWAWsSHC0I/AAAAAAAACe4/xc_Q12PDh5E/s1600-h/bob+7.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 297px; height: 322px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SiWAWsSHC0I/AAAAAAAACe4/xc_Q12PDh5E/s400/bob+7.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342817660277558082" /></a> Subcommandante Bob has been quite busy the last few months, in large measure due to some outstanding bench warrants and an aggravating, extended case of ennui. As a result, he has not updated the sites in quite a while, and it may be a few weeks before he gets the motivation to post new material.<br /><br />However, know this: Bob loves you, especially when you buy the first and subsequent rounds. Also, he'll get around to being creative real soon. Promise.Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-17440804897231866192009-01-16T19:23:00.000-08:002009-01-16T19:42:44.209-08:00Campus Love: Your Guide to Affairs of the Heart<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1170/1343/1600/Bellingham.0.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1170/1343/320/Bellingham.0.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><font size=1><strong>By Codependent Collegian Advice Columnist, J. Randall Bellingham</strong></font><br /><br />Hello again, love monkeys! It is I, J. Randall Bellingham, here to bring love to the loveless and give a smackdown to those in need of the proverbial smackdown. Judging from the J. Randall Mailbag, many of you in fact need to be beaten like Cheetos-covered throw rug.<br /><br />But I will dispense with the beatings, and I shall shower you with pearls of sticky wisdom from the Mojo of the Love Master. Read on, Jeeves.<br /><br /><br /><em>Dear Randall:<br /><br />My girlfriend Jenny and I are getting really close, you know, and I think I can talk her out of her pledge to remain a virgin until marriage. If you were in my shoes, what would you do?<br /><br />Steve in El Paso</em><br /><br />Dear Steve:<br /><br />First off, the Randall-man refuses to waste time with virginal women, because you could have done the four-legged frolic with two dozen hot babes in the time you spend trying to convince some sexually repressed virgin to do the mattress mambo. My advice: string along this mental case if you must, but find yourself a couple of chicks who actually enjoy putting the pickle in the slurpy sandwich. You'll be more relaxed, and Ms. Wedding Bells won't be playing cock-block any more. Backed-up spooge causes cancer, dude.<br /><br /><br /><em>Dear Randall:<br /><br />This really cute guy asked me to be his girlfriend three weeks ago, but he still hasn’t changed his status on Facebook to “In a relationship.” Do you think he's ready to commit to a relationship, or is he just playing me?<br /><br />Ashley in College Park</em><br /><br />Dear Ashley:<br /><br />Straight up he's playing you! What you need is a man who is totally into you and no one else. Look, you are young and beautiful and you have the entire world at your feet, so don't go back to this idiot. Come over to Randall's pad and we will have a chat; I will rub your shoulders and start working my way down to your feet and then back up, all the while making you feel like a real woman, like the tigress-in-heat you really are, baby. When we make love you go and I'll go - that's what it sounds like when we make love, my sexy bunny.Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-24428721294596198172009-01-09T19:42:00.000-08:002009-01-09T19:43:05.537-08:00Smell of Own Toilet "Reassuring" to Ill Coed After Kegger<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/RdeyBwEPe1I/AAAAAAAAAl0/6L0y7oqXVBs/s1600-h/puking.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/RdeyBwEPe1I/AAAAAAAAAl0/6L0y7oqXVBs/s400/puking.jpg" border="0" height="260" width="140" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5032686851762125650" /></a> (Columbus, OH) Ohio State sophomore Ashlee Herrington, speaking with <em>Codependent Collegian </em>reporters in her dorm bathroom, expressed relief at making it back to the comfort of her own bathroom.<br /><br />"I did have too much to drink," she acknowledged, suppressing a dry heave as she tried to recall her evening. "But I think it was all that sushi, Junior Mints, and salsa I ate before the fraternity kegger that really did me in. I'm a regular Anna Nicole Smith, except I'm not blonde and I'm not dead."<br /><br />Herrington, an early childhood education major, admitted that she is something of a "lightweight" when it comes to drinking, and this makes her a bit of an anomaly among her peers.<br /><br />"Ten, twelve beers and I'm just about toast," she said, pausing to gurgle out a mouthful of bilious vomit. "I hang with a bunch of big-time drunks, and I end up like this at least twice a month. You'd think I would learn, but I never seem to know when to quit, and the Kappa Alphas are known to spike drinks with syrup of Ipecac."<br /><br /><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/Rdez2QEPe2I/AAAAAAAAAl8/XDTZ-EnLT08/s1600-h/toilet+bowl.bmp"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/Rdez2QEPe2I/AAAAAAAAAl8/XDTZ-EnLT08/s200/toilet+bowl.bmp" border="0" height="145" width="105" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5032688853216885602" /></a><em>There's no place like the toilet at home, sweet home</em><br /><br />Making it back to her own toilet is an important weekend goal for Herrington, she said, wiping dried barf remnants from her cheek.<br /><br />"I feel really bad when I blow chunks in someone else's bathroom," she admitted, letting loose with another Technicolor yawn as reporters dodged the sloshing spewage. "Plus, it's pretty gross to stick your head where, like, twelve guys just pissed. My toilet is always clean, well-lit, and never judgmental, you know?"Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-68586536242339824942009-01-01T17:38:00.000-08:002009-01-01T17:56:41.424-08:00Innovative College Financing Methods<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SV10PzXY_zI/AAAAAAAACXE/e5RJXMuWavU/s1600-h/money.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SV10PzXY_zI/AAAAAAAACXE/e5RJXMuWavU/s400/money.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286509352438005554" /></a> <strong>Guest editorial by Paul Oglivie,<br />financial aid specialist</strong><br /><br />January is here and that means it's time for all you high school seniors to apply for college financial aid for your freshman year in college. Make sure that you take advantage of the downtime during the holiday break to plan, and you’ll be well on your way to financing your education.<br /><br />Here are some ideas for helping you finance your college education. Some of these I have personally used, while others have been used by friends of mine, but all have the potential to help you raise cash in this difficult time.<br /><br /><em><strong>1. Become a whore. </strong></em> Sure, you might get raped, beaten, or catch an STD, but everyone knows that college is about getting as much no-strings-attached sex as possible, so you might as well get paid. And guys? You can suck a dick or take one up the poop chute just as easily as can the ladies, and let's face it: it's a lot more lucrative to extort an extra $50 from a doctor or professor who is worried about people finding out they are gay. Just get drunk, gobble the goo, and rinse with Listerine afterward.<br /><br /><strong>2. Sell dope. </strong>Don't act like you never heard of the shit - you could be the go-to connection on campus for Ecstasy, weed, or meth, all the while pulling down $500 to $1000 a week in tax-free earnings, not to mention all the head you can handle from strung-out chicks looking for a quick fix.<br /><br /><strong>3. Run a numbers racket.</strong> Listen: college-age men are the number one growth industry in gambling, and there is no reason why you can't be the biggest bookie on your campus. You can run weekly betting sheets on sports year-round, plus you can start your own three-digit lottery. On average bookies clear 50 percent, and if you get big enough, you can hire a couple of high school kids to collect for you.<br /><br /><strong>4. Loan sharking, baby!</strong> Now, you need at least a grand to get started, but college students are horrible at balancing their money, and there is no good reason why you can't compete with the payday loan places. Just be willing to harass the shit out of late payers, and befriend a couple of big fuckers for the muscle factor. Hell, most shit-kickers will gladly beat the snot out of some deadbeat for a burger and a beer, especially if they are in roid rage.Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-71832274838820244382008-12-12T08:06:00.000-08:002008-12-12T08:10:47.250-08:00This Is the Dumbest Bunch of Fucktards I’ve Ever Seen<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SUKMpnI4l-I/AAAAAAAABv8/eOApVuatHTw/s1600-h/Exam.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 216px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SUKMpnI4l-I/AAAAAAAABv8/eOApVuatHTw/s320/Exam.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278936359740413922" /></a> <font size=1><strong>A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial<br />By Penn State’s Standardized Psych 101 Final Exam</strong><br /><br /><em>A Standardized Test With, Well, Standards</em></font><br /><br />Over the years, I’ve sure had some pea-brained knuckle-draggers take me at the end of the semester. I distinctly remember Wyatt Anderson in the spring ’05 term, who attended every one of Professor Stevenson’s lectures and still got an 11%. And of course, who could forget Tina McElerie last summer, who answered ‘C’ to every one of my true/false questions.<br /><br />But without a doubt, this fall’s twenty sections of Psych 101 are the dumbest bunch of fucktards I’ve ever had the displeasure to watch bubbling in their Scantron responses.<br /><br />Let me begin with a disclaimer: most folks aren’t fans of standardized tests. Hell, if I wasn’t one myself, I’d probably be prejudiced, too. We all know the old clichés—all a standardized exam does is test your ability to take a standardized exam, etc.<br /><br />But at a major university like Penn State, it’s imperative to have an instrument like me—an objective, fifty question exam that serves as the exit criteria for an introductory course taken by every Billy Q. Ballsweat and Sally M. Rottensnatch.<br /><br />Speaking of these little darlings, they averaged a whopping 61% D on my ass. These booze-battered nincompoops barely know the difference between Sigmund Freud and Carl Rogers. Hell, I heard Desmond Cooper muttering under his breath that B.F. Skinner “is that principal dude on The Simpsons…what the hell is he doing on an exam”? Newsflash, Desmond: you should have been a blowjob, you gunny sack of gorilla mung.<br /><br />Do you want to know why terrorists fly planes into our buildings and our economy is on the brink of a total meltdown? It’s because only 37% of American students in a psych course can define ‘psychology.’ That’s right: two-thirds of test takers got THE FIRST MOTHERFUCKING QUESTION WRONG. <br /><br />The answer, by the way, is “the science of human behavior and mental processes.” Pretty tough stuff, considering this was defined ON THE FIRST PAGE OF THE COURSE SYLLABUS. Thank god I’m only a test—if I was a professor with students like these, I’d need a fucking shrink.Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-26577846465112329592008-11-16T17:20:00.000-08:002008-11-16T17:33:46.157-08:00I Wish a New York Cop Would Sodomize ME<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SSDIMsO0hPI/AAAAAAAABvc/XtP0ykM8I_0/s1600-h/dude+3.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 330px; height: 330px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SSDIMsO0hPI/AAAAAAAABvc/XtP0ykM8I_0/s400/dude+3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269431684380787954" /></a> It seems like every time I turn on the news, there's another story about <a href="http://www.newsday.com/news/local/newyork/ny-nysodo075915867nov07,0,6499723.story">New York City cops sodomizing</a> a suspect. Whether it's slivered broomsticks, their metal flashlights, or just a good old-fashioned throbbing hunk of man-meat, there's like a non-stop sodomy-fest going on in the Big Apple.<br /><br />Some folks just have all the luck: why can't a muscular NYPD cop sodomize ME?<br /><br />I've tried hanging around cop bars to get sodomized, but the closest I've gotten to hot-and-sweaty reaming was a beat-down by an obviously homophobic sergeant from the 113 Precinct at a South Queens shot-and-beer bar. Now, I like it rough once in a while, but a broken nose and two cracked ribs is a bit over the top, you know? A simple "no thanks" or "get away from me, faggot" would have sufficed.<br /><br />But I digress.<br /><br />Then I tried making calls to 911 for police assistance, like the time I said I saw a strange man in the bushes. I waited naked for three hours in my rhododendrons, hoping a nice, ripped cop would "discover" me and sodomize me, thinking I was the pervert. But no: they never showed, and I wound up with a wicked rash from crawling around in the landscaping.<br /><br />I even tried lying naked in a cop car outside a Bronx diner while a cop was eating, but the fucker Maced me in the face and crotch. Bee-Jeebers! What exactly does a guy have to do to get a New York cop to sodomize him these days?Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-11051918647434674042008-11-01T05:20:00.000-07:002008-11-01T05:24:33.932-07:00Tracy, You’re Blowing This Abortion Out of Proportion<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SQxKMuEhHFI/AAAAAAAABvM/oV9V2CBGIxM/s1600-h/abortion.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 388px; height: 259px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SQxKMuEhHFI/AAAAAAAABvM/oV9V2CBGIxM/s400/abortion.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263663646875130962" /></a><font size=1><strong>Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial by Evan Frankfurt, Clemson University Class of 2009</strong><br /><br /><em>Evan and Tracy, During Their 37-Hour Romance</em></font><br /><br />Tracy, neither of us will forget that fateful night eight weeks ago when we made sweet love in the back of my Prius and then hit up Denny’s for some Grand Slam omelets. Sure, I have a few regrets—sticking my pinky in your ass was a bit rash, and I should have turned the new Metallica album off and put the radio on that smooth jazz station no one likes except when they’re fucking.<br /><br />But Tracy, the way you exploded when I suggested our most logical and affordable option was nothing short of immature—you’re really blowing this abortion out of proportion.<br /><br /><br />What exactly is your sticking point with this? I mean, it’s not like you’re Catholic and going to burn in hell forever while devils dance around a circle of flame and jab you in the uterus with their pitchforks. And it’s not like you particularly like kids, because that one time I wanted to watch “Jon and Kate Plus 8,” you said you’d rather punch yourself in the boob than watch that crazy family for a half hour.<br /><br />Are you scared that the procedure is going to hurt? As a life-long field hockey player, I’d like to think you have a remarkable threshold for pain. And as far as the cost, I told you that we could hit the Coinstar machine at the post office on our way to the clinic, so I got it covered.<br /><br />Abortions are a natural part of life, Tracy, and you should be grateful we live in the United States of America. Yeah, it might be tough for folks to get bridge work done or get physical therapy for a work-related injury, but damn if we Americans don’t take our embryo vacuuming pretty goddamn serious.<br /><br />So let’s plan on going Friday, Trace, since neither one of us has class, and we can be back in time for the Kappa kegger. <br /><br />And maybe, just maybe, if you take this all in stride like a big girl, we can hit up Denny’s afterwards for old time’s sake.Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-69996755998525238752008-10-15T13:46:00.000-07:002008-10-15T14:06:19.942-07:00Graduation Rates Appallingly Low for Nation's Beer Pong Athletes<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SPZaypRKQJI/AAAAAAAABu0/tOjmJv9074U/s1600-h/beerpong.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SPZaypRKQJI/AAAAAAAABu0/tOjmJv9074U/s400/beerpong.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257489441119420562" /></a><font size=1><em>Sure, they can nail the the arc and the fastball, but what about a diploma?</em></font><br /><br />Graduation rates for college athletes improved one percentage point to 79% over the past year, according to the NCAA's most recent Graduation Success Rates (GSR) survey.<br /><br />Yet one segment of student-athlete lagged far behind their basketball, football, and track peers: practitioners of the sport known as beer pong.<br /><br />“Certainly we are not where we want to be, and I’m disappointed in how we compare to some of the other sports,” noted Brett Killian, NCAA Beer Pong director. "It takes time to change what's expected of coaches and what's expected of beer pong student-athletes: we have to change the culture, not just grades."<br /><br />NCAA president Myles Brand praised the national figures, which showed that 78 percent of Division I athletes graduated within six years. 62 percent of men's basketball players graduated during that time, while 67 percent of BCS football players graduated. <br /><br />A mere 3 percent of beer pong athletes, however, managed to graduate within 6 years, a figure that worries Killian.<br /><br />"Straight up? I'm embarrassed,"he admitted. "These fuckers don't realize that there is more to life than beer pong. And while we're at it: what's with all this drink-and-dial shit with these idiots? Why do beer pongers thinks its OK to call someone in the middle of the night and share with them the pie-eyed truths that came to you after a half-bottle of Jack Daniels and seven keg stands. Like my dude Tre last week: shit-head calls me up and is narrating an episode of <em>The Simpsons</em> he's watching at 4:00 am, and then starts bawling about some hoochie who dumped him in 10th grade. As far as I'm concerned, beer pongers can kiss my ass."Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-75240765361386211572008-10-07T17:08:00.000-07:002008-10-07T17:11:55.341-07:00The Codependent Collegian Sucks My Ass<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SOv6bzLnqBI/AAAAAAAABuc/cm5yQ499Wx4/s1600-h/student+collegian.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SOv6bzLnqBI/AAAAAAAABuc/cm5yQ499Wx4/s320/student+collegian.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254568745760172050" /></a><font size=1> <strong>A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial<br />By Collin Franks<br />UCLA Class of 2010</strong><br /><br /><em> Franks: Using His Soap Box to Bash His Soap Box</em></font><br /><br />You know, I’ve been a long-time fan of this website, <em>The Codependent Collegian</em>. But lately, with its utter lag in content and lack of invigorating humor to get me through the school week, I gotta take this link off my blog, my girlfriend’s blog, and the blog I use to troll for tranny porn.<br /><br />I hate to say it, folks, but <em>The Codependent Collegian </em>sucks my ass.<br /><br />It didn’t used to be this way. No sir. Once upon the time this site was full of cutting-edge journalism, and had all kinds of exclusive stories about orgies, and talking dorm buildings, and about how the only person who washes their hands at the downtown Arby’s in Toledo, Ohio is the fucking retard guy.<br /><br />And when I’d run into my friends, and they’d say something like “Hey Collin, did you hear about the stock market dip?” or “can you believe these war casualties?,” I could look them proudly in the eye and say, “why no, fuck muffin, but I read an amazing exposé about the push-up bra this morning, and I must say that thing is some false goddamn advertising.”<br /><br />In conclusion, it’s high time for <em>The Codependent Collegian </em>to stop sucking ass like a refurbished shop-vac somebody picked up from the curb and get back to reporting the news.Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-74143963490428496352008-09-19T06:17:00.000-07:002008-09-19T06:20:57.253-07:00Gender Studies: A Great Place to Meet Hot Bitches<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SNOm5rqZZRI/AAAAAAAABuM/CoF33OUiZQk/s1600-h/student+gender.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SNOm5rqZZRI/AAAAAAAABuM/CoF33OUiZQk/s320/student+gender.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247721500720063762" /></a> <font size=1><strong>A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial<br />By Collin Frankfort, Penn State Class of 2012</strong><br /><br /><em>Frankfort: Embracing His Inner Feminist</em></font><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />See, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gender_studies">Gender Studies</a> 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-34788062763058940382008-09-12T07:33:00.000-07:002008-09-12T07:35:57.030-07:00Students Commemorate 9/11 with Drunken Powderpuff Football<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SMp-E6CampI/AAAAAAAABtk/3t_KTMg-oiY/s1600-h/pp+foot.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SMp-E6CampI/AAAAAAAABtk/3t_KTMg-oiY/s320/pp+foot.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245143338790328978" /></a><font size=1> <strong>By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor</strong><br /><br /><em>These Coeds Know How to Mourn</em></font><br /><br />(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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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!!!”<br /><br />Tom Roland, a sophomore majoring in political science, echoed Langan’s comments.<br /><br />“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.”Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-66455472562586542612008-09-05T08:12:00.000-07:002008-09-05T08:28:16.489-07:00I'm Going to Make Differential Equations My Bitch<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SMFMjJsV8-I/AAAAAAAABtc/O2xLlwoTGDY/s1600-h/student+3.bmp"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SMFMjJsV8-I/AAAAAAAABtc/O2xLlwoTGDY/s320/student+3.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242555608017007586" /></a> <font size=1><strong>By Tre Jermain, FSU engineering major</strong></font><br /><br />My first go-around with my required <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Differential_equations">differential equations</a> 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.<br /><br />But this semester is different, my friend. This is the year that I make differential equations my own personal bitch.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />You must take your differential equations into another world, a really special world where only the two of you exist, a romantic world, a <em>poetic </em>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.<br /><br />That's how it's going to be with me and differential equations this time.<br /><br />And listen: <em>never</em> 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.<br /><br />One me and differential equations get it right, the world ain't never going to be the same, you hear?Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-6871182469973245152008-09-03T12:31:00.000-07:002008-09-03T12:33:27.475-07:00Suicide “Viable Option” for Nation’s School-Bound Youth<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SL7mR86KhAI/AAAAAAAABtE/Afm465wA_L0/s1600-h/kid+sad.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SL7mR86KhAI/AAAAAAAABtE/Afm465wA_L0/s400/kid+sad.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241880212388086786" /></a> <font size=1><strong>A Codependent Collegian Feature Report<br />By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor</strong><br /><br /><em>A Pennsylvania Lad Ponders the Noose</em></font><br /><br />(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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />Other youngsters echoed this sense of dejection and malaise at the prospect of returning to the classroom.<br /><br />“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.”Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-71443865915153076752008-08-20T17:51:00.000-07:002008-08-20T17:54:40.793-07:00Important Thinkery<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/Ry0WZN2KDdI/AAAAAAAABak/VVEu2lwlF1Y/s1600-h/thinker.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/Ry0WZN2KDdI/AAAAAAAABak/VVEu2lwlF1Y/s320/thinker.gif" border="0" height="200" width="150" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128780173114215890" /></a><strong>I would totally trust John McCain to take a tough stand with those Viet Cong and Khmer Rouge fuckers. Totally.</strong><br /><br />---Subcomandante Bob<br /><br /><font size=1> <em>"Important 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.</em></font>Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-61187065794282710972008-08-12T22:19:00.000-07:002008-08-12T22:22:09.097-07:00These Olympics Are Tripped Out When You’re Tripping<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SKJvIekzhcI/AAAAAAAABsc/746g3E-BdAk/s1600-h/tooth.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SKJvIekzhcI/AAAAAAAABsc/746g3E-BdAk/s320/tooth.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233867908395009474" /></a> <font size=1><strong>A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial<br />By Owen Baxter, University of Toledo Class of 2010</strong><br /><br /><em>Baxter, Replete with Mustache Toothpicks</em></font><br /><br />Since my internship with the Toledo Zoo ended in July, I’ve had a lot of free time lately to work on my Pog collection, make prank calls from my sister’s cell phone, and mail boxes of dog shit to my former high school teachers. And yeah, like everybody else I like to drop a little acid now and then.<br /><br />Let me tell you something, brother: these Chinese Olympics are tripped out when you’re tripping.<br /><br />First, these games are in China, where they speak a crazy language that sounds like it’s from outer space. Last night I thought the entire Chinese gymnastics team was going to pop out of my TV set and melt my Zeppelin records with lasers from their slanty eyes. When you’re freaking out like that, the only solution is to drink a lot of Gatorade and watch the most mellow DVD you own. For me, the Sound of Music works every time.<br /><br />Then there’s the equestrian events. Holy fucking balls is that stuff messed up when you’re messed up. I thought this one chick from Sweden was like, an elf princess or some shit, riding a unicorn and brandishing a sword made of flaming vipers. I called my homeboy Mitch so he could come over and watch it with me, but he was already wasted, watching some weird show where hobbits rode talking mules through a minefield. <br /><br />So whether you’re watching field hockey played with a human skull or swimmers relay through a pool of Jello, these Olympics are fucked up when you’re fucked up, and I can only recommend it for the most experienced dosers. Speaking of which, can you spare a hit? I wanted to watch some softball later this afternoon.Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-78543449600000155692008-07-28T19:58:00.000-07:002008-07-28T20:13:19.685-07:00FSU Poet Fighting Urge to Use "Ho" and "Gay" in Lyrics<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SI6IRzoSHuI/AAAAAAAABsM/gFqn16ius9U/s1600-h/student+poet.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SI6IRzoSHuI/AAAAAAAABsM/gFqn16ius9U/s320/student+poet.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228266056922046178" /></a><em><font size=1>Greenbriar, stymied</font></em><br /><br />(Tallahassee, FL) <a href="http://www.fsu.edu/">Florida State University</a> sophomore Derrick Greenbriar, a creative writing major, admitted to reporters that his poetic efforts have lately been "majorly shut down" by his almost obsessive focus on street slang.<br /><br />"Part of this, no doubt, comes from listening to rap and hip-hop, but there's something really versatile about the word 'ho,'" Greenbriar insisted. "I mean it can rhyme with words like 'shore' and 'flow' and even a word like 'cold,' if you mumble a little. Still, most poetry professors - especially the women - aren't too keen on 'ho' showing up in my poems."<br /><br />Greenbriar said that the word "gay" also keeps popping in his head.<br /><br />"Besides the fact that it's a one-syllable word with hundreds of possible perfect rhymes, the word 'gay' also has a ton of different connotations," he argued. "Like, it could be used for 'happy' or 'carefree' or 'stupid' or like, well, dudes who like to take a sausage up the ass and whatnot. It's like the poet's best word friend, except for 'a-i-i-i-e-e-e-e-t,' which you can stick just about anywhere in a poem."Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-69401543903239781762008-07-22T13:25:00.001-07:002008-07-22T13:26:32.684-07:00Bro, I Wouldn’t Bang Nicole Kidman With Your Dick<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SIZCWxihNhI/AAAAAAAABr8/C6LKa-8kX7I/s1600-h/nicole+kidman.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SIZCWxihNhI/AAAAAAAABr8/C6LKa-8kX7I/s320/nicole+kidman.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225937376632714770" /></a> <font size=1><strong>A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial<br />By Bruce McAlister, Penn State Class of 2010</strong><br /><br /><em>Bruce & Shawn Bonding Despite the Kidman Tension</em></font><br /><br />Shawn, it’s time we faced the facts. I’m sick of your Nicole Kidman movies, the Nicole Kidman photo collage above your bed, and most importantly, your rambling about Nicole Kidman’s hotness when we’re both drunk at 2 a.m. and trying to watch reruns of M*A*S*H.<br /><br />Bro, I wouldn’t bang Nicole Kidman with your dick, let alone mine, ‘cause that chick is old, skanky, and Australian.<br /><br />For starters, isn’t she like sixty years old? I mean, my parents got a babysitter so they could go see one of her movies when I was in fifth grade. So who cares if she was pseudo-hot then? That was a fucking decade ago. I bet her snatch is like, full of cobwebs and that weird ashen dust that collects on Aunt Betty’s fruit jars.<br /><br />Secondly, Nicole Kidman has fucked at least a thousand dudes. I don’t really follow celebrity gossip, but every time I buy groceries I’m confronted with her ancient ass on some magazine cover drooling over another young dude. And didn’t she bang Lenny Kravitz? She’s gotta have more diseases than a bus station urinal by now. Ain’t no way I’d plunge that muff, even with your salami.<br /><br />Finally, if I’m gonna nail some non-American tail, I’m going with some exotic Brazilian girl who don’t speak a dime of English and whose skin tone is the color of caramel. That, or Heidi Klum’s smokin’ German ass—she could talk all Nazi while smacking me with a riding crop. Australians are the wannabe British of the world, but without the Monty Python humor. In other words, they’re like Canadians, but lamer. <br /><br />So in conclusion, Shawn, this Nicole Kidman obsession has got to go. Even if she showed up right now, all spread eagle, and I had your dick, I still wouldn’t raw-dog her balloon knot. Maybe a blowjob, but that’s where it ends. It’s a matter of principle.Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-23342416083735502582008-07-10T09:08:00.000-07:002008-07-10T09:10:22.115-07:00You Know How We’ll Save the World? By Getting High<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SHY0PI3YvlI/AAAAAAAABrc/QgFEVpokIj0/s1600-h/stoner.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SHY0PI3YvlI/AAAAAAAABrc/QgFEVpokIj0/s320/stoner.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221418252665142866" /></a><font size=1><strong>By Connor McHugh, Vermont Pot Head</strong><br /><br /><em>McHugh: Another Cliché Stoner for Utopia</em></font><br /><br />(Montpelier, VT)—Friends, we live in dangerous times. The war in Iraq, a tanking economy, poor healthcare, and an underachieving educational system are all the result of a failed political paradigm. That’s why a whole new generation of progressive neo-hippies like me are bold enough to say YES, we can change the world for the better. <br /><br />How are we going to do this? By getting high.<br /><br />Regardless of how exhausted I am from the previous day, I get up at the crack of ten and smoke a bowl. Now sometimes I’m still high from the night before and all I have left is some resin. But when I think of those kids starving in Mozambique or whatever, I know that I must rock the ganj as a political statement against oppression and the high price of gas. (I’m kinda between cars right now, so I don’t really drive, but gas prices are totally ridiculous.)<br /><br />Then I promptly stroll down to Capitol Grounds, the best coffee shop on earth, where I serve customers their preferred blend of java while politely engaging in socially relevant debates. At least I think I do—the first few hours of my shift are always a blur. Then Gabriel—he’s the Navajo dishwasher—fires up the bong right before dinner and, being a man who greatly respects religious ceremonies, I partake of the holy bud with him.<br /><br />But nothing I do makes a bigger impact than my open mic performances on Tuesday nights. My eclectic stylies are a mix between early Dylan, late Marley, and mid-era Tom Waits. I only have three songs right now, but when that crowd of thirteen people hears me tear through “Mary Jane Is the Mother of Us All,” they can’t help but to think about this presidential election, and taxes, and like, CHANGING THE FUCKING WORLD!!!Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-14590840481954353472008-06-24T12:35:00.000-07:002008-06-24T12:59:11.643-07:00Let's Return Bathroom Stalls to Masturbation<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SGFNc0tZwnI/AAAAAAAABrE/6rk19kiwVY8/s1600-h/student+002.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SGFNc0tZwnI/AAAAAAAABrE/6rk19kiwVY8/s320/student+002.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215535001052496498" /></a><font size=1><strong>Guest editorial by Kevin Jacoby,<br />Penn State University sophomore</strong></font><br /><br />One of the things I most hate about the modern world is the loss of traditional values, like how our politicians have all become crooked, or how families don't spend enough time together, or how some chick says she'll be a Facebook friend, but then she totally blows you off even though you listed her as "more than just a friend" and shit.<br /><br />Or like how the johns at the Pattee Library are no longer a good place to spank your frank.<br /><br />Take yesterday, for example. I'm in a stall on the fourth floor beating my meat like it's a piece of raw tenderloin when some fuckwad comes into the next stall. While I'm trying to dream about ramming Scarlett Johanssen in a schoolgirl outfit as she's bent over my mother's coffin, Dickweed in the next stall is all ruffling pages of his newspaper and shuffling his feet and shit.<br /><br />Mission-fucking-impossible, I say.<br /><br />Or the annoying idiot last week who interrupted my efforts to varnish my banister while shoving a freshly-scraped carrot up my ass. Dude sounded like he had the world's worst case of TB, hacking and wheezing and coughing up lung oysters and shit while I'm trying to blast 20 ccs worth of man-juice all over the toilet seat.<br /><br />No can do, Pablo, and fuck you very much.<br /><br />So, folks: either shit or git, as they say, 'cuz some of us are engaged in serious hand-to-gland combat, if you know what I mean. It's awfully tough to massage the purple-headed warrior if some asshole is talking on the celly while letting rip a nasty shart.<br /><br />Bathrooms were made for one thing, mister, and that one thing is taking Little Johnny dancing down at Knuckle Junction, you dig?Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-67364346121059171052008-06-17T15:27:00.000-07:002008-06-17T16:10:24.888-07:00FSU Student: Contents of Lanced Boil Were "Epic"<a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SFhAxnruEBI/AAAAAAAABqs/9wffcVZ-_G8/s1600-h/boil.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SFhAxnruEBI/AAAAAAAABqs/9wffcVZ-_G8/s400/boil.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5212987789891473426" /></a> (Tallahassee, FL) Recovering from a late afternoon boil-lancing, Florida State sophomore Kyle Yeagher told friends that he was "way psyched" about the pus and fluids that drained from a festering sore on his left thigh.<br /><br />"Dude: that fucking boil had more pus than a ward full of gangrene patients," Yeagher boasted. "And the shit smelled worse than a dead whore's nether regions, if you feel me."<br /><br />Yeagher, who opted to perform the lancing himself due to long lines at FSU's Thagard Student Health Center, explained his technique.<br /><br />"First I sparked this big-ass spliff to dull the pain and steady my hands, 'cuz it's actually really hard to jab yourself with an eyeglass screwdriver," he said of his chosen surgical tool. "Then there was this gushing sound, and like a quart of this gooey, nasty sludge came a-pouring out of my leg. Of course, it was like watching in slow motion since I was blasted out of my fucking pumpkin, which made it even weirder."<br /><br />Yeagher added that he is anxious to begin his next surgical project.<br /><br />"I'm about to go ninja on this foot wart that's driving me all Hannibal Lecter and shit," he confided to roommates. "But I'm drawing the line at genital warts, a-i-i-i-e-e-e-t? No way I'm jabbing Big Jake the one-eyed snake with a chunk of dry ice and shit - a man can only take so much."Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-23802000203117221002008-06-12T18:22:00.000-07:002008-06-12T18:24:31.846-07:00Student Rednecks Adopt Yosemite Sam as National Emblem<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SFHMJPiAFMI/AAAAAAAABqM/oVYAHriYK4E/s1600-h/yosemite-sam.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SFHMJPiAFMI/AAAAAAAABqM/oVYAHriYK4E/s320/yosemite-sam.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211170703004406978" /></a> <font size=1><strong>By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor</strong><br /><br /><em>Sam: Not Quite a Klansman, but Close</em></font><br /><br />(Lafayette, MS)—The American Redneck Student Society, commonly known as A.R.S.E., recently announced that its executive council unanimously voted to adopt beloved Looney Toons curmudgeon Yosemite Sam as their national emblem.<br /><br />“Billy, as southern white men, we have few voices in mainstream culture,” explained Walt “Mad Dog” Bixler, a spokesman for A.R.S.E. “In an age gone mad with the internet and microbrews and that colored man runnin’ for president, our organization felt it was time to reassert our identity and pride in all things mustache-and-revolver related.”<br /><br />Bixler continued to outline how the group’s commitment to “traditional values” helps A.R.S.E. gain increased membership and participation, even among on urbanite college campuses.<br /><br />“You’d think a bunch of flannel-wearin’ belchers like us would only attract the worse breed of community college flunk-outs and habitual sex offenders,” Bixler intoned between sips from his can of Natural Light. “But it simply isn’t the case. We have Dingleberries—that’s what we call our members—at every level of higher education, from Dartmouth to Yale to Georgia Tech, not to mention our home institution here at Ole Miss [the University of Mississippi] where we can boast of nearly a thousand members. And now with that rascal Yosemite Sam as our symbol, the sky’s the limit until we get sued for copyright infringement.”Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-63415694383196142182008-05-29T15:48:00.001-07:002008-05-29T15:49:24.774-07:00Bathroom Blog Gaining Popularity with Shit-Minded Students<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SD8yu7ZnHOI/AAAAAAAABp0/oW-Arg0gAF4/s1600-h/dude.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SD8yu7ZnHOI/AAAAAAAABp0/oW-Arg0gAF4/s320/dude.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205935476064066786" /></a> <font size=1><strong>By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor</strong><br /><br /><em>No Really—It Smells Like a Diaper Full of Indian Food</em></font><br /><br />(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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />And while many would be repulsed at the notion of sharing their personal waste, Omesh has gained a cult following among undergraduates nationwide.<br /><br />“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.”Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-77960405957174659852008-05-14T16:12:00.000-07:002008-05-14T16:16:13.126-07:00I’m Sure Going to Miss Those Sluts Dyking-Out in My Bathrooms<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SCtyUtOiGhI/AAAAAAAABpU/-Ly9VpOSxiw/s1600-h/frat-house-4-lg.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SCtyUtOiGhI/AAAAAAAABpU/-Ly9VpOSxiw/s320/frat-house-4-lg.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200375894792870418" /></a><font size=1><strong>A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial<br />By a Frat House</strong><br /><br /><em>Can’t Get Enough of Girls Gone Wild…Literally</em></font><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Jesus Christ, it can’t come soon enough.Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-14308290526804188172008-05-06T13:50:00.000-07:002008-05-06T13:52:48.845-07:00Nation’s Youth Pray Stolen Answers from Fall Exams Still Valid<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SCDE8kIkGAI/AAAAAAAABo0/fHGqLqXTrtU/s1600-h/Exam.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SCDE8kIkGAI/AAAAAAAABo0/fHGqLqXTrtU/s320/Exam.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197370514756343810" /></a> <font size=1><strong>A Codependent Collegian Special Report<br />By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor</strong><br /><br /><em>America's Best and Brightest: Reading Crib Notes Off Their Arms </em></font><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />Other students echoed this sense of trepidation, hoping their advanced cheating skills kept them from suffering a perilous grade point average.<br /><br />“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.”Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14731926.post-61773945936077396672008-04-28T12:55:00.000-07:002008-04-28T13:00:21.104-07:00Know Who I Hate? My Motherfucking Students, That’s Who.<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SBYshEIkF7I/AAAAAAAABoM/blYGq7XUUOg/s1600-h/prof+3.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Ouv7g5rNOLo/SBYshEIkF7I/AAAAAAAABoM/blYGq7XUUOg/s320/prof+3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194388166775412658" /></a> <font size=1><strong>A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial<br />By Professor Norman Tinsel, Indiana University</strong><br /><br /><em>Tinsel: Those Pretty Blue Eyes? Full of Wrath!</em></font><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />Come to think of it, no they wouldn’t. God I hate these kids.Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0