Sunday, October 31, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
OK Res Life basically told us we were too fresh to sell in the Mods. Chafe. We'll be at 315 Foster St. (huge yellow house) all day. We're sorry this happened, we're sorry you have to get off campus to buy your ticket, but it'll be worth it. Trust me. Love you all and see you at Foster.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
I can't believe this happened. Do they understand how in demand Four Lokos are going to be around campus now? Not that they already weren't, but these things are officially worth their weight in gold now. So how long till they are outlawed? Are these things going to be what teenagers' parents find hidden under their kids' beds in the future? When we're 40 and tell our kids that we used to drink Lokey's before football games is that the equivalent of our parents now telling us they use to mess around with heroin before heading down to Shea Field? All I'm saying is savor every drop of this tasty gasoline before Barack and friends take it off the streets. If that happens, I'll promise you one thing: The streets of the Brighton/Allston community will experience their very own Boardwalk Empire.
P.S. How half-ass is this e-mail? No rules against it or like any specific symptoms. It's like a quick handout they forgot was due so they scribbled it on their way to FL132: Four Loko in Modern Society.
Why this concussion thing is becoming such a big deal now, I don't understand. Guys have been getting their cerebellums rocked for decades and now it matters? Anyway, I stumbled upon this photo on the cover of ESPN.com this morning. Yes, DeSean Jackson is a total fucking boss and has been consistently bringing in double digit numbers week-in, week-out for my fantasy team the past 2 seasons. Irrelevant. Look at the fucking chawski the physio on the left is milking right now. No that's not his tongue. That's straight nicotine going right to his skull. Forget Jackson, somebody make sure that man can walk straight and remembers where he is. Fingers crossed he didn't drive home after this bazooka.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
The senior class is on the brink of an achievement that has never been accomplished. Assuming (and this is a big assumption) that the football team beats Tulsa this weekend, the game against Utah will be our chance to break the record of most losses in a four-year period, previously owned by the Class of 1964. When we get steamrolled by Utah on Nov. 13, we will officially be the losingest class in Notre Dame History. That day will also be Senior Day, a day that the senior class is allowed on the field at the end of the game. The senior class should not walk onto the field, but storm the field in celebration of its four seasons as spectators in the student section. The senior class should show its thanks and appreciation for a record-breaking four seasons by storming the field at the closing of the loss to Utah on Nov. 13.
-The Observer, ND Student Newspaper
Although this article was clearly written by some anarchist liberal who is likely a part of the 3% of kids at ND who didn't go there because they watched their football games growing up, I was pretty taken aback by it. Arguably the NCAA's cockiest fans are celebrating a loss record? I know we've lost to them the past 2 years but I'd be lying if I said this didn't provide me with some consolation. The fact that it's happening while I'm still in college only adds to this experience for me. RV trips to South Bend on the 13th anyone?
Pop quiz, lady readers: What's one easy way to get on a guy's good side? Wrong, get your mind out of the gutter. Give him a study guide, and a thorough one at that. And/or text him answers non-stop during tests coupled with winky faces. There are few things a feline can do to make our days easier, the other ways are mainly sexual or laundry-related. If you're making a study guide anyway, why not just share it with one of your weekend poon-supply options? Maybe the inebriated sex the next weekend will be a little more passionate (I'll barf in the toilet this time, not on your desk.) Think of each bullet point you give me as one more thrust I'll give you. Is this prostitution?
Will I remember you giving me the study guide 2 weeks later? Unlikely, but you can bet your clearly-leaving-beach-season ass that somewhere in the back of my head I will know I'm fond of you. And yeah, come Thursday night once I've tossed back a few, I'm gonna let you know the absolute honest truth of what I thought of it. I'll praise you if your shit was detailed, and absolutely shred all over your night if it missed that section in Chapter 3 about fixtures of easements gained through express grants. You helped my grades, and in doing so showed you care about my academic career and overall future (that's why you did it right?). Thank you fair maiden of study guides, your sexy intelligence just got me at half-mast.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
How we haven't touched on this topic up to this point, I'm really not sure. Every group of friends has at the very least 2 kids who go strictly by their last name, whether they like it or not. I live with a kid whose first name I did not know until 3 weeks into our lease. Obviously once I learned it I wiped it from my brain and went on to calling him by his last name, but needless to say I was a little shaken to learn that he did in fact have a first name.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Before I go any further, let me just say that I’m completely behind the institution of sexting as a whole. Sometimes guys get embarrassed by lame, sappy shit they text girls. Here’s the deal: The only guys out there not texting gay shit to girls are gay guys. Text smiley/kissy faces, be nicer than you ever would be in person, say “God I’m just such a sucker for you when I’m drunk.” No longer should you have to shield your phone from a buddy so he doesn’t catch a glimpse of your “Can we pleassseee snuggle later.” Don’t think of sexts as words that hold actual meaning. Rather, think of sexting as a formula, a math problem with a solution. Say what works, say what produces results. Nothing embarrassing about results.
On weekends you sext before you go out, you sext when you’re out (not mandatory), and you definitely sext after you go out. Before you go out you might shoot off a couple “Are you going out tonights?” or a few “Will I see you laters?" Casual, platonic, effective. When you're out, sexting someone at a different party/bar, you may want to throw a “Why aren’t you here?” or a “Let’s play,” something along those lines. And when the night is winding down, in the 2 am – 4:30 am time frame, the real fun begins. Sleaze, sleaze, and more sleaze. This is when you’re gonna see “I misissss uyoouu,” “Cum cuddlleeee,” and “Immmmm lonellyyyy.” Just like the putting green is in golf, this is the sexting time frame where the cashes are checked and the legends are born.
Sext early and sext often my friends. I’ll be waiting.
P.S. Being able to sleaze on BBM is an unfair advantage and it's bullshit.
Now I love to hit the white pill around, but come on, none of us are ranked number 1 in Fairway Accuracy (unless Joe Durant is reading this blog). There comes a time in every round where you are going to have to deploy a search and rescue mission to find your fresh Nike golf ball. A golf course is usually the one place where you leave chafe at the door but somehow that sneaky bastard always finds a way to sneak on to the course. Autumn is upon us and the leaves are falling. The rough is now a battlefield with leaf mines scattered throughout. Just this past week look what I had to deal with (Figure 1 -->). 8 minutes and 43 seconds. That's how long it took for me to find my ball (numbers may or may not be fudged). All of that effort just so I could leave my next approach shot short and in the bunker (life is a beach I'm just playing from the sannnnnnd).
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
Ah, a classic chafe. Looking like a loner even when you’re really not. Theres only a few options for the kid who gets to Lower, or any other eatery on campus, before their friend. Obviously you’ve got to scan the dining hall to make sure the friend isn’t there. After receiving visual confirmation that your friend is, in fact, a lazy piece of shit, the time-killing methods are boring and of course chafing.
1. Double check your phone to make sure your friend said they’d be there at 1:00. (they did)
2. Pretend to be debating your choice of chips for 5 minutes or so.
3. Do the same with drinks.
4. Go to the bathroom.
5. Act like you're texting somebody.
And that’s pretty much it. Your friend has really fucked you here and you’re gonna look like a deer in the headlights if you don’t do one of the 5 options. If you bang out 3 or 4 of the options and THEN you get a text that says “leaving now, be there in 5” you have a license to get your food to go and ditch your deadbeat ex-friend. Leaving your buddies out to dry at Lower (or especially McElroy for all you self-conscious freshman turds) is a quick way to lose friends and earn a reputation as a two-faced, backstabbing lintlicker.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
5 minutes late
15 minutes of Kelly Slater'ing the web
10 minutes of note taking (if writing utensil is available)
20 minutes of texting (texting is batting .400 in every 50 minute class. By transitive property texting is as important as Ted Williams)
As you can see, texting plays a major role in each and every class. It not only helps you kill time, but it also keeps you in touch with your social network (shoutout to Zuckerberg).
Occasionally one of two things can go wrong for an in-class texter. You're either going to be stuck in a class in Carney that has 12 students (standard deviation of 2) or you're going to have a dickwad of a teacher that calls you out for being on your phone. If you find yourself in a small class (especially in which the desks form a circle), things may get tricky. Your teacher can usually see you if you try and text under the desk and they can definitely see you if you text over the desk. The key here is to either go with the no-look text, or to put your legs up and text from the lap. Use your knees as a shield and trust the video game dexterity in your fingers to relay what it is you want to say.
A teacher's best friend? No service. When you're "searching for network," you know you're fucked. Even if you do manage to find it here and there, you're whole game is thrown off. You just end up checking your phone more often than usual to see if texts are sending out or coming in, only making you more vulnerable.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Last week I lost a tin. A pretty full tin too, not the type I could just walk away from and move on to the next crop of leaves like nothing happened. So Johnny Utah and I scoured our house in ways that would make the stars of CSI take notes. But still no sign of the puck. I jokingly told him I had probably thrown it in the wash on accident. I think you know where I'm going with this. I'm still fuming about the incident and really don't wanna write anymore. R.I.P. Citrus, I'll never forgive myself for the negligent behavior that led to your untimely demise.