Stop Taking Pictures of Your Food

Next time, use snapchat

We need to get one thing straight: I don’t give a flying fuck about what you ate for dinner last night. Or a regular fuck, for that matter. So I don’t—repeat, DO NOT—want to see any more pictures of your goddamn food on my newsfeed.

That means you, study-abroaders. Oooh, look at you and your curry. Guess what, you puff of spicy flatulence? I can get delectable mostly-authentic cuisine delivered to the cozy warmth of the sorority house. You had to go to Europe. I’m sorry— who’s winning here?

UPDATED: How to Watch the Super Bowl

Act confused when informed that no team from New York is in the game.

The Game is here! After weeks of buildup and waiting, it’s finally time for the NFL Championship Super Bowl of Championshipness to Decide It All. You probably have some friends who are fans of either the New York Giants Baltimore Ravens or the New England Patriots San Francisco 49ers (those are the teams playing in it, ok?). And there’s a pretty good chance you’ll watch it with some people who are quite emotionally invested in this particular football pigskin gridiron matchup showdown game.

So, in our continuing series of helpful tips, we at The Ave want to offer a few suggestions on how to be as heinous as possible during any Super Bowl party:

• Wear the jersey of a team that isn’t playing and bring an #Occupy sign and rant about how unfair it is that 1% of the teams get 99% of the Super Bowl. Spout various anti-elite slogans, set up a tent, and grossly overstay your welcome.

• Ask loudly and repeatedly when the Puppy Bowl is on. Scoff loudly if anyone informs you that you’re at a Super Bowl party and proceed to attempt to take bets on which puppy will poop first.

• If the host asked everyone to bring a snack to share, make sure to bring plain pita chips with no hummus or dip. Proudly offer them up to replace the main meal and announce that you read on the Internet that pita chips are great for your colon. If anyone goes for normal, good-tasting chips you must glare at them and ask if they even care about their colon health.

• Declare repeatedly that you’re pretty sure the coin toss decides the whole game. Keep asking who won the coin toss and alternatively celebrate or start crying when you’re told.

Be sure to dress appropriately!

• Come absurdly prepared with stats, charts and play breakdowns. Repeatedly pause the game to show everyone what just happened and why it should have been anticipated by the defense. Act like this doesn’t make you the single worst human being ever.

• Complain that the halftime show isn’t gaudy enough. Demand more fireworks.

• At halftime, recoil in horror when Madonna start screaming and peeing with joy when Beyonce comes out. Ask if she’s a real human being or if this means “they have finally arrived.” this is the second coming. Weep openly.

• Attempt to start a debate about whether the two-minute warning should be introduced at the college level. Tell everyone what a difference it would make and unironically declare that Oklahoma would be national champs if there was a two minute warning. Use that as your sole piece of evidence.

• Tell everyone about every single bet you’ve made on the game a minimum of three times. Shout with disproportionate anger or joy every time you lose or win a bet. Try to get everyone else to cheer with you. Call it your DM fundraiser and accuse anyone not cheering of hating kids with cancer.

• If the game is close in the last two minutes, feverishly attempt to convince everyone to pause the game so you can watch the latest episode of Alcatraz Catfish. If they resist tell them they just don’t understand good television and laugh condescendingly.

• Get way drunker than everyone else and belt out every patriotic song you can think of for the entirety of the third quarter.*

• When the game is over, refuse to watch the trophy presentation because the trophy is named after Vince Lombardi and the Packers suck.

• Study for your Consumer Insight midterm for the entire game. In any quiet moment yell “social comparison involves seeing yourself through the prism of everyone else around you!” and then look around for confirmation. If others seem confused, inform them that your midterm is at 10 a.m. on Monday because your professor is a football terrorist.

Bring enough food for 12.

• Live tweet the entire thing. Tag a famous person in every tweet and act offended when they don’t promptly respond. Read every tweet aloud then ask everyone to check on their phones that the tweet sent. Giggle about every tweet you send.

• UPDATED for 2013: Accuse anyone rooting for the Niners of hating gay people and anyone rooting for the Ravens of being a murderer. Say you only root for the London Sillynannies because you aren’t a xenophobe.

Now, if this doesn’t seem to work you can always just try being a fan of Tim Tebow. That usually annoys people enough and is quite easy, assuming you have no moral compass or sense of goodness in the world.

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*This actually makes you the best person alive.

Hate a Random Country: Costa Rica

One of the numerous heinous individuals populating this tainthole of a country

A few weeks ago, a member of our presteinous (that’s prestigiously heinous, if you’re wondering) blog was approached at an off-campus party and asked if we would write an installment of our unnecessarily abrasive “Hate a Random Country” series on his home country, Costa Rica. The member of the blog, who was most certainly not Evander Jones, got down from the table on which he was exuberantly belly-dancing and happily agreed to have the article written. That being said, this article is not being written only by request – it’s being written because Costa Rica is home to a massive concentration of twatitude that can be rivaled only by the Seneca Falls Convention.

“Costa Rica” is a country similar to “Democratic Republic of Congo,” in that its name in no way reflects the country itself. Spanish for “Rich Coast,” Costa Rica is truly only rich in two things: Trees and tainthood. I’ll focus mostly on the tainthood.

Red, white, and blue!? BRILLIANT!!!

For those of us who don’t give a flying fuckstick about shithole countries like Costa Rica, it may be a surprise to learn that the currency in Costa Rica is the “colón” – presumably named for either the human colon or Cristobal Colón, a.k.a. Christopher Columbus. After all, who wouldn’t want their currency named after a raging cockbottle who exploited their people? For fuck’s sake, Costa Rica. You don’t see Cherokees running around paying with Jacksons, or Northwestern’s defense running around paying with Anyones. Worse yet, the abbreviation for the Costa Rican Colón is, surprisingly enough, CRC – an acronym that, to Northwestern students, encompasses nearly all the School of Comm’s limitless atrociousness.

Besides their poorly-named currency, the country with a president named “Chinchilla” boasts many more aspects worth scrutinizing. For example, its coat of arms is the feeblest display of culture I’ve seen since Kappa Sig went to the Shedd Aquarium. The image consists of several features:

Contrary to initial beliefs, this is not a 5th Grade Social Studies project

• A landmass.  Presumably representing Costa Rica, the landmass is a strip of land with three unnaturally phallic geographic features.
• Two bodies of water.  Divided by the landmass, they likely represent the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans.  Because clearly, Costa Rica is the only fucking country that borders two oceans.
• Two ships.  Likely representing the Nina and the Pinta.  Or the Nina and the Santa Maria.  Or the Pinta and Santa Maria.  Or maybe just two generic coming-to-totally-fuck-your-people-over ships.
• A banner over the top reading “America Central.”  Apparently, no one ever informed these dumbshits that it’s called “Central America.”

The only thing rivaling Costa Rica's lack of defense is the Northwestern secondary

Perhaps the most unique fact about Costa Rica is that they don’t have a military.  Yes, you heard me.  To show you the full impact of this absurdity, allow me to put it into perspective.  On Monday nights, the backdoor of the Keg is more protected than the nation of Costa Rica.  On weekend nights, Burger King’s line-forming traditions are more protected than the nation of Costa Rica.  Two hammered college students bumping uglies in the basement of ZBT are more protected than the nation of Costa Rica.

You know, you’d think that a country bordering Nicaragua and Panama wouldn’t look too bad. But Costa Rica did it. And to be honest, that’s the one feat of Costa Rica that honestly impresses me. The nation’s four all-time Olympic medals aren’t impressive. The national soccer team’s four visits to the World Cup aren’t impressive. But damn – those Costa Ricans sure do know how to make themselves look like dickbrains. Well done, Costa Dickbrains. Well done.