No no no no no, I got this. You guys don’t know what you’re talking about. No no no no, I’m fine. Really I’m fine, just let me talk. I study this stuff in school. Yeah I got to class, shut the fuck up, Rachel. The media covers this all wrong. It’s all just one big cover up. Yeah I actually believe that. Damn it Rachel just let me fucking talk–wait yo Adam are you going into the kitchen? Can you get me another beer? Hey, no, I was talking. I know I’m drunk but I still know what I’m talking about. As I was saying: this has been a problem throughout history. I mean look at the Civil War. Things don’t change, just you don’t hear people talking about it all the time, that’s why you don’t think it’s a problem, Rachel. Hey. I said I’m fine. It’s just one more beer. Fucking Rachel, am I right? You just don’t get it Rachel. You think all of the world’s problems will go away by just batting your eyes. Well that’s not how it works, Rachel. The media, Rachel. Read between the lines, Rachel. Things are not what they seem to be, just read a textbook. I just learned about all of this. Am I not making sense to you? This is cut and dry. I am drunk. I am not wrong, but yes I am drunk. Hey, no, don’t discriminate. You’re discriminating. That’s discriminating. I’m allowed to drink this beer. It’s all your fault, Rachel. Look at what’s happening here, Rachel. Look at what you’re making me do, Rachel. It’s all a big cover up. I’m out!
BY Fui Von Wiwii
Yesterday afternoon, I walked my wretched being down to our rustic old IHOP, looking only to drown my consciousness in viscous molasses of various colors and essences. However, upon arrival at the establishment, my gloom transformed into contempt as they try to shove their family-friendly, corporate, faux happiness down my tired throat.
I ordered their Create-A-Face Pancake to fashion my feelings of despair onto the canvas of a buttermilk pancake. However, they mistook my order, I suspect deliberately, and served me a Funny Face Pancake, the quintessence of mock euphoria; the edible personification of a barely legal porn star just trying to pay off debts.
Afterwards, I ordered their free stack of pancakes, hoping to forget the mistakes IHOP and I have made in the past. One bite put an end to that misconception. I broke down into tears, the porous flapjacks absorbing my tears with ease. The wait staff attempted to console my shattered soul, but nothing can mend me now. The only thing I could do was leave, never to look back at the ruins I have left in my wake.
7/10. Free pancakes are still free.
Bananas Are the Most Dangerous Fruit
BY James Manifase
I realize it’s a cliché to trip over a banana peel, but I recently learned that it’s a cliché due to being a realistic danger. Just last week I slipped over 3 bananas peels in the dining hall! That alone makes it far more menacing than non-slippery fruit, such as grapes.
Bananas are also curved in such a way that it can easily be pressed against a person’s neck and block their windpipe from the outside. I watched my uncle die in a domestic dispute when I was three years old. My aunt got angry and pressed my uncle against a wall and held a banana to his neck. I thought bananas were harmless until I watched the life slowly drain out of my uncle’s eyes.
To be fair, my aunt gave me the banana after the incident and it tasted mighty damn good.
Cantaloupes Are Far More Dangerous
BY Mike Baluta
The guy above mostly is sound and logical, but he appears to have forgotten about the one true terrible fruit. Cantaloupes.
Unlike bananas, cantaloupes grow on vines. Which means overripe cantaloupes will eventually detach from the vine and plummet to the ground. If you just happen to be leaning on the wall directly under the vine, your head will be assaulted by roughly three pounds of food. That’s enough to mildly annoy an eight year old child.
In addition, I have witnessed people slipping on cantaloupes, just as they do bananas. Since they fall to the ground naturally, the danger is greater, as more people will fall over them.
The lesson here, is don’t eat fruit. Fast food is both much safer, and cheaper!
Grow Out Your Fucking Hair
BY Stephen Galante
We all have that friend who has so much potential stored in the roots of their skull. That one friend who could walk among the greats with luscious locks springing next to their ears. I have this one friend who is this guy, we’ll call him Jim. My friend refuses to let his hair grow passed the first layer of his skin. His pasty scalp could be used to guide ships into docks at the midnight hour but instead he looks like a nearly shaved tennis ball when he returns from his barber. His hair, when seen, is a viscous jet black. It reflects the light in a way comparable to ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. A modern marvel constrained by the teeth of his set of clippers, further vandalized by the sharp edge of a razor and possibly a drunk and blind haircutter. I would love for his follicles to serve a purpose. A dark mane of hair against his pale skin would parallel classic symbols of balance and unity. His current tennis ball hair is just a crime against humanity.
I Need to Keep My Hair Short
BY Jim Rockland
On the other hand, we all have that other friend whose hair looks like it’s been growing since ‘Nam. By now it looks like a paintbrush from a first grade art class and the only treatment is to kill it with fire. That friend is me, I am Jim. You can kind of see what I’m going for, but everyone would rather I take an axe to it so we can stop staring. My hair gets tangled up in knots that even the Boy Scouts don’t understand. I constantly have change stuck in my hair due to people mistaking me for a homeless person when I don’t keep it close to my head. I could charge rent for the family of canaries taking residence in my curly afro. Basically when I grow my hair out, I look like a hairball made love with a tumbleweed that rolled around in shit. I look like a smacked ass. If Donald Trump’s toupee and a dingle berry had a test tube baby mixed in feces and piss that would be my hair grown out. That’s why I don’t grow it out, because I don’t want to look like a fucking pile of hairy turds.
BY The Bus Kid
Shaving this beard is a whole lot like breakup sex, and let me tell you why.
When you shave, it’s like trying new things–like when you stuck your finger up your soon-to-be ex’s asshole while she rode you reverse cowgirl–you can try new things with facial hair. Goatee? Fu Manchu? Go for it, because as soon as you leave the bathroom, no one will ever know you tried those most likely horrible ideas.
On top of that, the commitment that you’re ending is just like when you broke up with your girlfriend and you really didn’t get deeply involved with anyone for a while. The second you take off that beard, you’ll most likely never grow it out to the same extent until next November. Now I’m not saying you won’t go a few days here and there in between without shaving, just like how you probably get laid here and there after your break.
You remember after you broke up, sometimes you’d wake in the middle of the night and turn around hoping to see your ex’s face but instead seeing the vast darkness of the night, illustrating how lonely you were? Yeah, that new void is the same as when you feel your now bare, baby-smooth skin. Pretty depressing.
And finally, you completely forget how to impress people, back when you had a girlfriend, you didn’t have to impress others and you were content with it. But once you broke up, you were broken, single and worst of all boring. Well without your beard, you’re pretty much boring all over again. Time to hit the gym again you bare-skinned bitch.