Codependent Collegian

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.

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.

By Codependent Collegian Advice Columnist, J. Randall Bellingham

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.

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.


Dear Randall:

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?

Steve in El Paso

Dear Steve:

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.


Dear Randall:

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?

Ashley in College Park

Dear Ashley:

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.

(Columbus, OH) Ohio State sophomore Ashlee Herrington, speaking with Codependent Collegian reporters in her dorm bathroom, expressed relief at making it back to the comfort of her own bathroom.

"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."

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.

"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."

There's no place like the toilet at home, sweet home

Making it back to her own toilet is an important weekend goal for Herrington, she said, wiping dried barf remnants from her cheek.

"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?"

Guest editorial by Paul Oglivie,
financial aid specialist

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.

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.

1. Become a whore. 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.

2. Sell dope. 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.

3. Run a numbers racket. 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.

4. Loan sharking, baby! 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.

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
By Penn State’s Standardized Psych 101 Final Exam

A Standardized Test With, Well, Standards

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Labels: standardized exams

It seems like every time I turn on the news, there's another story about New York City cops sodomizing 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.

Some folks just have all the luck: why can't a muscular NYPD cop sodomize ME?

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.

But I digress.

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.

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?

Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial by Evan Frankfurt, Clemson University Class of 2009

Evan and Tracy, During Their 37-Hour Romance

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.

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.


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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Labels: abortion

Sure, they can nail the the arc and the fastball, but what about a diploma?

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.

Yet one segment of student-athlete lagged far behind their basketball, football, and track peers: practitioners of the sport known as beer pong.

“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."

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.

A mere 3 percent of beer pong athletes, however, managed to graduate within 6 years, a figure that worries Killian.

"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 The Simpsons 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."

Labels: beer pong

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
By Collin Franks
UCLA Class of 2010

Franks: Using His Soap Box to Bash His Soap Box

You know, I’ve been a long-time fan of this website, The Codependent Collegian. 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.

I hate to say it, folks, but The Codependent Collegian sucks my ass.

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.

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.”

In conclusion, it’s high time for The Codependent Collegian to stop sucking ass like a refurbished shop-vac somebody picked up from the curb and get back to reporting the news.

Labels: Codependent Collegian

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

Frankfort: Embracing His Inner Feminist

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

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

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

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

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

Labels: gender studies