Codependent Collegian

Cochrane has started a third box to document his drinking career

(Washington, DC) Georgetown University education major Tad Cochrane, meeting with Codependent Collegian reporters, displayed a collection of over 9,000 beer bottle caps, all packed away during the past three years.

The third-year student said that he has managed to save every cap from every bottle of beer that has "passed over these lips."

"Face it - I am, frankly, very studly. I have the face of a god, I'm the consummate party animal, and I am decidedly stronger than the average NFL linebacker," noted Cochrane. "I roam the world doing chivalrous deeds and shit, saving damsels in distress and flexing my pecs wherever possible. Along the way, I've consumed many a brew, and this collection documents my exploits."

One of the salient features of Cochrane's collection is the number of countries in which he has consumed bottled beer.

"I've got caps from drinking Dos Equis in Tijuana, Molson Brador in Montreal, and Red Stripe in Kingstown," he said, showing the relevant caps to reporters. "But even though I am a world taveler and all that, I'm still a regular guy, because I am a beer man. And bitches appreciate that, you know? Because i'm not, like, all full of myself drinking cognac or Drambuie or some faggedy-daggedy-doo liquor."

Cochrane also has a sensitive side, along with his malted masculinity

Cochrane, who calls himself the "King of Cerveza," said that his beer career has frightened away many a would-be challenger to the coveted throne.

"I'm so tough that I would even scare myself if I ever got scared, which I don't, because I'm the toughest person in the known or unknown universe," he boasted, finishing his fourth Bud Light before noon. "If some asshole tries to outdrink me, well, he's going to have a rude awakening, because no one - no-body - can outdrink me, the Duke of Beerdom. Many a lesser man has approached the throne, and every one skulked off, punk-ass crawling on the ground and acknowledging my supernatural drinking prowess. I reign supreme!"

Labels: beer bottle caps, Bud Light, Georgetown University

Guest Editorial by Chad Pilfer, Georgetown University Class of ‘08

Pilfer: Esteemed scholar, oil activist, potential child murderer

You know, me and my Tau hommies had a bitchin’ Memorial Day weekend planned: buy a coupla forties, hit the clearance racks at Old Navy, and say hello to sweet Virginia Beach to gets our mack on.

But these goddamn gas prices are soaring out of control, and I’m so angry I could choke the fuck out of a small, helpless-ass infant.

Seriously, bro. Here in the nation’s capitol, it’s topped $3 for 87 octane. For you non-college bitches, that’s what we call on the street “the cheap shit.” Can you believe that? I can’t be putting no Iraqi desert mud in my ’99 Accord—not if I want her running right, that is. But with 93 octane almost $3.50 per gallon, I could strangle a toddler wearing footy pajamas with a wire hanger.

The problem is that when gas prices are illin’, it throws a playa’s whole budget all outa whack. Let me give you some examples. You ain’t gonna find these in no economics textbook, but they’ll do. Let’s say you and your bros want to have some fine-lookin’ ladies over to the Tau House. Shorties are ready and willing to spread, too. But you and your hommies only have $31.62 between the four of you, and you gots to get chips, dip, and two cases of Zima. Now imagine that exact scenario with the gas prices as stated above. Nigga, you feelin’ me yet?

In conclusion, this fiasco makes me want to squeeze a baby’s throat so hard it shit itself and died. We needs to come together as a people and like, demand our rights and stuff. Now if you’ll excuse my ass, I gots a biology exam to study for. Holla!

Labels: gas prices, Georgetown University

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

Hertridge: Clumsier than a drunken midget in a dildo factory

(Washington, DC)—Georgetown University freshman Chad Hertridge has never been a responsible fellow: as a child, he broke most of his mother’s good china, smeared Easter chocolate on the family Bible, and soiled most of his ‘school clothes’ while playing in the backyard.

Hertridge had hoped this streak of capriciousness would end when he began college, but sadly, he has lost all four of his course syllabi a record nineteen times, and is utterly unprepared for the midterms which begin next week.

“Holy fuck, I’m screwed,” Hertridge bemoaned while dousing a spaghetti-stained pair of slacks with pretreatment gel. “Dr. Rabkowski [professor of philosophy] is like, the meanest S.O.B. on campus, and I’m averaging three syllabi a week in his course. Hell, I lost my copy on the way from his office back to my dorm room. He’s probably killed an entire Albertan forest for me.”

The syllabus that just won't stick

Hertridge continued to explain how his “old tricks” from high school no longer worked in the collegiate setting.

“Man, in high school, I would just show up to class about 7-8 minutes early, ask some geeky chick what the homework was, and pound that shit out,” Hertridge remarked. “That don’t fly anymore, though. Hell, I can’t get anybody to even talk to me in my bio class. My lab partner said that if I speak to her again this semester, she would pepper-spray my ass. So much for that Japanese cordiality.”

Labels: Georgetown University, philosophy, syllabus