Codependent Collegian

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
By Bruce McAlister, Penn State Class of 2010

Bruce & Shawn Bonding Despite the Kidman Tension

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.

Bro, I wouldn’t bang Nicole Kidman with your dick, let alone mine, ‘cause that chick is old, skanky, and Australian.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Labels: Nicole Kidman, Penn State

Guest editorial by Kevin Jacoby,
Penn State University sophomore

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.

Or like how the johns at the Pattee Library are no longer a good place to spank your frank.

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.

Mission-fucking-impossible, I say.

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.

No can do, Pablo, and fuck you very much.

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.

Bathrooms were made for one thing, mister, and that one thing is taking Little Johnny dancing down at Knuckle Junction, you dig?

Labels: masturbation, Penn State

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 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

Left: McNamara struggles with group imbecility

(State College, PA) Penn State University history professor Kevin McNamara knows that his survey-level history students often come in with little prior knowledge of the subject, but the tenured instructor says that his Modern World class may be the "dumbest bunch of inbred feebs" he has yet encountered.

"Look: it's an intro course, so I am not expecting a whole lot, just the occasional nod of recognition, or a the slightest hint of awareness," he mused. "But the whole lot of them look like a bunch of drooling MRDD candidates, complete with the sort of imbecilic stare you might get from a retarded lawnboy or something."

Increasingly aware of the fact that his class possessed little in the way of intellectual awareness, McNamara recently introduced a new pedagogical technique.

"I started giving them patently wrong information, hoping that at least one student might question me," he recalled. "I had Austria-Hungary winning World War I, the Kaiser marrying Lillian Gish, and Woodrow Wilson being kidnapped by Sacco and Vanzetti. But nothing from these unblinking, obtuse cretins - they wrote down every word as though it were Gospel truth."

McNamara said that there is but one positive outcome in the "mass stupidity" exhibited by his class.

"Lecture prep is a fucking breeze," he admitted. "I pretty much just have to make the shit up as I go along, and these simpletons are none the wiser. Hell, thirty years of copious lecture notes serve no greater purpose that lighting a bonfire at the faculty spring mixer. And to think I get paid for this."

Labels: Penn State, PSU

Guest Editorial by Robert Blackburn,
Penn State Class of 2011

I have always been the only Robert Blackburn I ever knew. I grade school, junior high, high school - only me. When I worked for Starbucks, same story: just one Robert Blackburn in the company, and I had the robert.blackburn@starbucks.com email all to myself.

But I show up here at Penn State, thinking I would have my favorite email all to myself, and I find out that there is already a Robert Blackburn here.

Listen, bitch: this email name is mine, all mine. I did not register here and sink myself into debt just to find that I am now robert.blackburn2. That's right - I'm number-freaking-two.

That's the most jacked-up, smelly-ass, chicken-eating horseshit I have ever heard. Let it be known that I will deliver an apocalyptic beatdown upon you and your offspring should you continue to use the email name that is eternally my birthright, ordained by the Lord Jesus Christ Almighty Himself and communicated to me in a vision last week when I scarfed a couple mushrooms.

And if that also fails, may one thing be clear: there is only room for one Robert Blackburn at PSU, and that man is me. We are living in the End Times, when the Son of God shall return, when the righteous shall enter the Kingdom of Heaven, when sinners shall be condemned to eternal hellfire, and when Robert Blackburn gets back his name.

Amen.

Labels: Penn State, Starbucks

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
By Professor Daniel Wicklow
Penn State University

Wicklow: Peeved by Your Laziness & Boob-Ogling

Listen kid: I’ve barely gone over my syllabus for this course and you’re already dicking with your cell phone and eyeing the hot exchange student in the second row. And while I agree she has a smoking set of ta-ta’s, and my delivery is a bit dry due to a vicious hangover, I can tell that you’re already headed for Failsville unless you change your fucking act.

I just spent ten whole minutes going over my policies for attendance and late work. Did you catch any of it? Didn’t think so. See, the thing is, I get off on mentioning important stuff orally to see how dedicated you are as a student, and I haven’t updated this bullshit syllabus since 1998. That means you’re already way behind, and unless that cute little emo hoodie has a pussy under it, you’re out of luck when the first exam comes around.

But don’t think I’m a heartless guy, kid. In fact, I used to be a lot like you: thin, ambivalent, hornier than a Jack Russell Terrier who’s munched a spilt bottle of Viagra. But the fact of the matter is, unless you pay attention and fly right, your highest achievement will be making the hallowed status of Sandwich Artist at the local Subway.

So brush that greasy hair from your eyes, open up a goddamn notebook, and act like you’ve got some sense. After all, we’ve only been here for half an hour, and there’s three months left to go.

Labels: boob-ogling, Penn State

Ferguson (lower center) getting liquored up and horny with frat brothers at 2006 bash

(State College, PA) One member of the Penn State fraternity Alpha Tau Omega is hoping that his Greek brothers engage in a repeat of last year's "epic" New Year's bash.

Kyle Ferguson, a junior engineering major, said that the 2006 ATΩ festivities turned from "rowdy partying" to "serious sexing" as the night wore on.

"Now, straight up? None of us are gay," he told Codependent Collegian reporters as the fraternity house prepped for the party. "But some crazy shit happened last year, and I for one am pulling hard for orgiastic repirse, if you know what I mean."

Ferguson said the fraternity engaged in quite a bit of "M-M-M-F craziness" that heightened his sexual pleasure.

"Now, normally I wouldn't be found near another guy's crotch, but something about the techno and the Cuervo had us all stroking dick and slurping cock," he recalled. "But going at it with each other while we waited for an Alpha Sig slut to be free was the only thing between us and sexual insanity, you know?"

Most of the fraternity members, noted Ferguson, were "so falling-down wasted" that they can't remember all of the details of the night.

"But I've been waiting for this night for 364 days, and I remember everything," he boasted. "I never felt so alive as when I slid up next to [fraternity brother] Zeke and let him start ramming my ass. But it was cool, because after he drilled me, he went at it with [Alpha Sig president] Abbey Schmidt, so it's all good."

Labels: Alpha Sig, Alpha Tau Omega, Fraternities, Penn State

Guest editorial by Jared Sherwood,
Penn State Class of 2010

Babe, I just got back from the Student Health Center, and I just can't believe it: I caught ANOTHER frigging STD from those nasty toilet seats here on campus.

Gross.

I thought it was bad enough when I came down with gonorrhea last year from the toilet seat in the student union. I should have known better than to go in the stall after that creepy-looking dude got out, but I guess I am too trusting or something.

But to wind up with a case of herpes from these damned dirty bathrooms? Un-FREAKING-believable, that's all I can say.

I think it happened last month at the Rec Center. I noticed something wet when I touched the toilet seat, but I figured it was just a little water. I guess it was really some slimy, herpefied ooze from some sex fiend. I even washed my hands, too!

The good news is that this is really not such a big deal, and my buddy - who's a pre-med major - says that it's almost impossible to pass it along after a week or so. After next Friday, then, we can get back to normal with our love life, just so long as you make sure you take a shower after. Turns out herpes is killed by hot water and soapy water!

And, if I were you: I'd avoid those skanky bathrooms. It's better to have to hold it than to catch an STD from a toilet seat, believe me!

Labels: Penn State, STDs

Guest editorial by Cory Draheim,
Penn State Class of 2009

This bathroom on the second floor of the Paterno Library is really close to one of my classes, and I find myself spending a fair amount of time in it. Sometimes it is an diarrhea-type of situation, where I have to get to the john quickly, and other times I like to comb my hair and freshen up a bit, especially when it's hot outside.

But I get the feeling that people think I use this restroom a lot because I really want some dude's rock-hard cock stuffed in my mouth, like I just want to taste some anonymous stranger's musty manmeat and slurp down a load of hot jizz.

It's really not like that.

This bathroom is just about the cleanest and best-maintained facility on campus, and it is reassuring to know that a person has someplace decent to go for necessary business. At no time have I looked at some muscular guy in the john and wished that he would ram my quivering ass with his purple-veined trouser snake, filling me up with his hot dick and blowing his load on my naked back.

One of the best things about this particular bathroom is the cleanliness of the sinks, because in some bathrooms I am almost afraid to touch the soap dispenser and faucets for all the grime. This is important if someone felt really, really dirty and needed to wash himself free of the impure thoughts, like the kind where you wanted to suck off a football player while getting reamed by that guy with the moustache who always sits at the computer station next to the circulation desk.

Just so we are clear here: I do not want to swallow your cock in the handicapped stall while you shove your thumb in and out of my ass like a horny trucker's greasy shaft in the showers over at the Flying J Travel Center. I am just rinsing off my face and going back to the cubicle where I left my notebooks, that's all. Nothing else.

Labels: Penn State, restroom sex

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

Jacobs After Another Meth-Induced Arm Slashing

(State College, PA)—Penn State junior Matt McKinney was devastated to learn that after two dreadful semesters on academic probation, he would lose his dorm selection privileges due to his fledgling academic performance. And to add insult to injury, McKinney was informed just last week that his soon-to-be-roommate was of the worse breed: a freshman.

However, all of this changed when McKinney actually met his new roommate Patrick Jacobs, whose depression and drug use are so severe that an impending suicide may land McKinney on the Dean’s List.

“I used to think it was an urban myth—you know, your roommate hangs himself with a belt or something and you get straight A’s for the semester,” McKinney explained while alphabetically arranging his collection of pornographic DVDs. “But then I found a copy of the college catalog online, and damn if there isn’t a clause in there saying exactly that. God bless Penn State! Now if I can only keep this kid Patrick cutting himself when he’s high, I’m golden baby.”

McKinney continued to outline the benevolent outcomes of Jacobs’ mental illness and self-inflicted violence.

“Yeah, I mean, after we moved in he tried to talk to me about his dad smacking him around and stuff, and insinuated that there might have been some sexual abuse, but that means he’s only closer to doing the deed,” McKinney excitedly revealed. “Shit. If his old man pounds him in the ass, and every morning he’s downing enough dope to kill a pony, there’s no way he’ll make it to midterms. Maybe after the kegger this weekend I’ll make a noose and, you know, casually leave it on his dresser.”

Labels: meth, Penn State, suicide

Guest Editorial by Cole Jorgenson
Penn State Class of 2011

It's easy to get lost in the crowd at a big school like Penn State, where you are just another student, just another number in a portable database that some university dipshit will leave on a table at Starbucks for some bastard to steal and create a false identity with, running up ten grand in credit card bills and sticking you with the fallout.

At least that way I'd have some kind of life, like I was on my way to being a crazed outlaw or something.

But the only way I'll ever amount to anything is if I come down with some rare form of cancer, like Malignant Rhabdoid Tumour (non-renal), or Pheochromocytoma. If I developed an inoperable cancer like that, I bet they would hold one of those cool 5K Benefit Runs for me.

And you just know that hot babes would be willing to sleep with me, since I had just weeks to live. I could tell them I'd never slept with a woman before, and that I hoped to experience True Passion at least once before I die, and after they stopped crying, every one of those chicks would start with the crazy sex right there in the hospice room.

The University would probably name an entire fucking building after me if I caught one of those rare tumors. They would see how brave I was, hanging on for weeks after the doctors said there was no more hope, and the President of Penn State would take a picture with me, and then me and his 18-year-old daughter would get the freak going during the dedication ceremony, and she would walk back to the crowd with a tiny bit of my cancerated jizz on her chin.

It would be beautiful. Now all I have to do is find some way to get infected with cancer. Maybe I should spend more time around the Jake Gittlen Cancer Research Foundation, like that Jake Gittlen kid did. Hell, they named an entire Foundation after that dude, the lucky bastard.

Labels: cancer, college freshman, Penn State, Pheochromocytoma

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
by Wyatt Farina, Penn State Class of ‘09

Farina: Harder Than a Bristle Brush

You know, I’ve been home from college now for almost two months, and in that time I haven’t had a date, let alone blown a creamy load of nut butter in some chick’s snatch. And for a few weeks, I thought I could tough it out by pounding my salami to the softcore porno on my parents cable. You know what I mean—the shit that comes on Cinemax around eleven every night.

But I was wrong. This softcore porn isn’t getting the job done, and my balls are bluer than a Smurf covered in grape jelly.

Man, have you ever seen this shit? First of all, the attempts at plot are even worse than in real porn if you can believe it. Last night I saw one where ‘Tom’ and ‘Jessica’ were having marital trouble, and within three nanoseconds they’re at some exotic island retreat, go to see some high-priced shrink, and BOOM: a three-way crotch snarf-fest comes outa nowhere.

What makes these skin flicks unwatchable, though, is that you can tell these people aren’t even screwing each other. I’m no physicist, but when Pablo the Cabana Boy is sitting on some babe’s lower abdomen, a solid six inches from her cunt, and her legs are closed, and he’s gyrating like, back and forth an inch at a time, that’s not fucking. When I walked in on my roommate [Ben McCormick] doing Cindy Brewer doggy-style over the toilet, both of them drenched in sweat, and Cindy bracing herself with her left hand and mashing her C-cup tits with her right, and Ben had a few fingers jammed in her ass, and you could totally see Cindy’s pussy mucus glistening on Ben’s shaft as he roared back and forth, THAT was fucking.

So in conclusion, this softcore porno blows major midget-ass, and I need to get laid. If any of you Penn State shorties are feeling sorry for a brother, and want the best three minutes of your life, holla at your love machine, Wyatt.

Labels: Penn State, pron, softcore, softcore porn

Guest editorial by Josh Obelin, Penn State Class of 2009

We took our Geology final last Tuesday, and I know you are a busy person, but could you please - PLEASE - post our fucking grades, Dr. Jorgenson?

I mean, how long does it really take to grade fifty multiple choice tests and put a letter after our names on the university website? It's not like this is 1981, and all you had was a calculator with LED readout.

And since the system is real-time, I think it's pretty crappy that you are waiting until the last possible second to enter our grades. Hell, we even gave you good comments on those stupid evaluation forms - I bubbled in "excellent" for every category, you prick.

So here I sit, ninth straight day, hitting REFRESH every ten minutes, wondering if I passed your goddamned class, while you sit there in your cozy academic home, sipping a latte and taking perverse pleasure in keeping fifty human beings on edge.

And, by the way? I think you should still have to answer emails from us. I have sent you 3-4 emails a day for the past week, and you stopped responding after the first one. And that whole "grades will be in before the university deadline" garbage has to go, too.

Wait a second... DAMMIT! I just hit REFRESH and you STILL haven't posted our grades. I swear to God I'm going to get fifty angry students with pikes, torches, and pitchforks and chase your ass up the bell tower.

Also - can I get a letter of recommendation for the pre-professional program in education? Thanks a lot.

Labels: grades, grading, Penn State

Reeger, summoning the paranormal forces within

(State College, PA) Penn State sophomore Kyle Reeger, "hopelessly behind" in his studies, said that his last hope to pass all of his courses is to apply his nascent mind-reading skills during his exams.

"Listen - I haven't been to any of my classes in, like, five weeks or something, and I sold my textbooks for dope money," said the education major. "Unless some miracle happens, my extra-sensory perception powers are my only chance to get Ds or better."

Reeger said that he has exhibited telepathic powers "for as long as I can remember."

"When I was working at Wendy's in high school, people would come in and I could almost always guess whether they were Biggie Size people or not, even before they said anything," he recalled. "It was like God gave me a gift or something. My coworkers and managers used to get totally freaked out about my powers."

Left: Artist's rendition of how things will likely go down for Reeger in his Earth and Mineral Sciences 150 final exam

Reeger added that he and his girlfriend have been "working really hard" to hone his mind-reading skills over the past few days.

"Laura's all like: 'Guess what I'm thinking now?' and I'm all like: 'Kyle is a dork!' and she's all like: 'WHOA!' Then I read her mind about how she wanted to give me a blowjob, but she said she was really thinking about watching Desperate Housewives, which was still pretty close," he beamed, turning over a group of playing cards after a self-test. "My biggest issue is making sure that I sit near the really smart people in class. I don't want to be picking up on the brainwaves of some drooling moron. That would totally suck, wouldn't it, because you wouldn't know if you were getting primo test answers or not."

Labels: ESP, final exams, Penn State, telepathy

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

The brothers of Sigma Tau thwarting cancer, one blowjob at a time

(State College, PA)—When Penn State’s raucous Sigma Tau fraternity pledged to help the university raise funds for cancer research earlier this year, their commitment was met with surprise and admiration. For once, the administration thought, the proverbially rebellious Greeks would make a meaningful contribution for the betterment of humanity.

This all changed, however, when earlier this week the brothers of Sigma Tau held their first annual “Gang-Bang for Charity,” where paying revelers solicited group sex in the name of fighting cancer.

“Truthfully, I don’t know what all the fuss was about,” remarked senior Jon Bateman, a principal organizer of the event. “I mean, some people conquer cancer through prayer, or herbal remedies, or those little Petri dishes they got in science labs. We just put our own spin on things—two dozen Kappa whores sucked and fucked for three consecutive days. And brother, I think that $2,019 we raised speaks for itself.”

Sadly, Penn State’s Vice President of Student Affairs saw the situation differently.

“I cannot believe these idiots had a mass orgy on a soccer field and charged admission,” fumed Dr. Richard Conners. “Why couldn’t they have a bake sale, or wash cars like normal college kids? Now I have to explain to thousands of parents why they saw their sons and daughters on the evening news fucking like wild monkeys. Maybe next time I’ll call the state militia and have ‘em go Kent State on these little bastards.”

Labels: blow job, gang bang, Penn State, Sigma Tau

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

R.I.P. Tampon: 2005 (?) - 2007

(State College, PA)—When Tampon, beloved goldfish of the Sigma Kappa Tau fraternity passed away after two abundant years, his owners were crestfallen. The jacinth-hued aquatic companion had been with the Penn State Sigs through some unforgettable times, including the infamous "Exploding Dryer" incident.

But after their initial wave of grief subsided, the brothers knew they had only one choice: to honor Tampon’s death by throwing “the most bitchin’ kegger” Penn State had ever seen.

“Man, I remember the day we got Tampon like it was yesterday,” remarked a somber, if not sober, Brett Wilson. “It was a warm spring night back in ’05—my freshman year. We closed like, three bars and ran out of shit to do, so we decided to hit a 24-hour Wal-Mart and goof around. Me and [fellow Tau brother] Smitty ended up in the pet section; the rest, my friend, is history.”

The bereaved take solace in faith, fellowship, and binge drinking

Roland “Smitty” Smith echoed his compatriot’s heartfelt reflections.

“That fish was like, the heart and soul of this place,” Smith intoned after downing a cherry red jello shot. “One time this asshole stoner took Tampon out of the tank to stare at his scales up close—the guy was totally whacked out on acid. Anyway, our boy Tampon was out of the water for like, five whole minutes before Brett and I saw what was going on. We thought he was a goner. But sure ‘nuff, he just shat his stringy fish poop all over that stoner’s hands and went back swimming like it was nothin’.”

Asked if they would welcome another pet into their fraternity home in the near future, the Tau brothers seemed unable to see beyond their unfading grief.

“Another pet? Already? We lost a Tau brother, and that is something that isn’t taken lightly around here,” boomed a clearly annoyed Wilson. “I mean, maybe this summer we’ll talk about getting a ferret, or a dog with three legs, but tonight is about honoring a dear friend. And bonging some Coronas. It’s about that too.”

Labels: goldfish, kegger, Penn State, Sigma Kappa Tau

Left: Debnow hoping for a miracle, or at least all D's

(State College, PA) The spring semester has been a difficult one for Penn State sophomore Tyler Debnow, who is currently failing three of the four courses for which he registered.

"And I have a low D in physics," added the second-year engineering student, referring to the one course that he is not flunking.

Debnow's solution is a novel one: he joined the Campus Crusade for Christ, and is dedicating himself to Jesus in hopes of passing.

"Look, there is no way in hell - excuse my language - that mere studying will bring up my grades enough to pass," he said, noting that his lowest grade is 26 percent in Comp II. "I figure that Jesus will be able to deliver me from mine enemies, and defend me from them that rise up against me. Especially Professor Harris, who is one unrighteous checker of punctuation."

Debnow first learned of Campus Crusade for Christ on spring break in Daytona.

"Believe it or not, they were working the bars and the beaches to convert the partiers," he said. "I was lying on the beach, all fucked up on Ecstasy and Patron Reposado, when this CCC chick gave me a pamphlet. That was when it all made sense to me - Jesus could save my GPA."

The Way, The Truth, and The Last Hope for Debnow

Among the changes that Debnow has made include a daily prayer regimen and consultations with the Campus Crusade youth ministry.

"Oh yeah - I'm on my knees every day, dude, asking Jesus to deliver me from my sins and save me from the academic dean's wrath," he said, making the sign of the Cross. "And there's this hottie from CCC who is totally worried for my soul. If I play my cards right, I'll bag passing grades AND some virginal Christian booty. Amen to that, brother."

Labels: Campus Crusade for Christ, flunking students, Penn State, spring break

Guest Editorial by Jared Crenshaw, Penn State Class of 2009

Some guys, as they say, have all the luck.

Like that little kid named David from Malawi, for instance. One day he's crawling in the mud with a hundred other AIDS orphans, then BAM! Madonna adopts his lucky ass.

I wish that Madonna would consider adopting me.

Yeah, I know I leave my shit all over the dorm, but if Madonna was my mother I would put everything away where it belongs. I'd even sweep, for Chrissakes, although I'd draw the line at dishes. Hey - isn't that why she's got a butler?

Would you be my mommy? Please?

If Madonna adopted me, she wouldn't have any custody problems like with that Malawian goat-herder. My mom and step-dad didn't even notice I left for college, and my old man's such a drunken sot he could probably get bought off with three months' trailer rent.

If she wanted, I wouldn't mind Madonna dressing me up like a baby, and - unlike her Malawi brat - I'm all about the breastfeeding. I'll bet that kid is so hooked on the bottle that he could never take to the proffered breast, like I would. Mmmmmm!

Plus, let's face facts. Madonna is the Queen of Freak, and you just know she's going to want to get all Oedipal on a kid at some point. And let's just say that I got his toddler ass beat in that department. Bad.

So, I know you're out there reading this, Madonna. Call me, Mommy, 'kay?

Labels: adoption, Madonna, Penn State

Guest editorial by Kyle Richter, Penn State Class of 2008

It was a dark and stormy night (really, it was!) and I had just gotten off work at my job in the student union. I pulled my coat closer to me to keep the November wind out, and that's when I saw her: Angelina Jolie, sex goddess and Pitt-meat muncher.

She was standing next to my car, wearing nothing but a yellow raincoat and a pair of cheap WalMart flip-flops. I started to say something but she interrupted.

"Shut the fuck up and open the car door!" she screamed at me.

Oka-a-a-a-a-y, then! I unlocked my 1987 Honda and she got in, opening her coat and showing off her hot body.

"Let's do this," she muttered, unzipping my fly and pressing those lips on my beefsteak. She slurped on my business like she hadn't eaten in a week, and - if I hadn't whacked off in the john about 5:00 when I saw this Delta Phi babe walk by the food court where I work - I would have blown my load in about 12 seconds.

I lasted about three minutes before payday, and she greedily inhaled every drop of my spooge, making this weird grunting noise that sounded kind of like a gazelle choking on a wad of savannah grass.

I only know that sound from watching this shitty Animal Planet episode; it was like "hurnk! hurnk! hurnk!"

She got out of the car, turned around, and said to me: "Don't say a fucking word to anyone about this, ass-face, or I will come back and kick your teeth in."

And she meant it, too. But I figure: it's been three months, and if she was going to kick my ass, she'd have done it by now, because everyone in the Quad already knows about me and my blowjob from Angelina Jolie.

And, while I admit it was pretty cool getting sucked off by her, Angelina Jolie takes to a dick like a hillbilly gnawing on a corncob. I looked down afterward, and my shaft was black and blue, dude. Straight up, hand-to-God - freakiest night of my life.

Labels: Angelina Jolie, blowjob, Penn State