(via Vimeo)
Dance Marathon. If you’re reading this, you’re not doing it.* Welcome to the eerily apocalyptic Northwestern campus mid-DM. The only difference is that the people who constantly update their profile pictures and statuses are the ones who are gone, and as long as you don’t check Instagram you won’t see the stream of sweat and grime – until the Facebook albums go up. Not doing DM is great because all the people you don’t like on campus are in one big tent for a whole day, and you just get to run around!
I have faith in you, charity-less Ave readers. So our R&D team here came up with some alternative DMs for you to do over the next day instead:
Drunk Marathon – See here.
Derive Math – For the engineers/smarties out there, now’s the time to really see if Newton had his shit figured out. I also highly recommend looking into the Lagrange Multiplier Theory, a personal favorite.
Do Mushrooms – Continue reading
So you’re out at a party or a bar or hovering by the bar at a party, and suddenly a Calvin Harris song comes on and you feel some guy’s pelvis approach your ass and realize that you are being “danced” upon. Then comes there part where you must make a decision.
-Should I casually take a few steps forward like I didn’t notice the sudden proximity of his dick to my ass crack?
-Should I let him make out with me and get a free drink out of it? Maybe I’ll feel less guilty if I give him an OTPHJ. I can just say I was black out and don’t remember that.
-Should I take him home with me? I haven’t cleaned my room in a while, but maybe he’s too drunk to notice. My roommates might judge me though. Maybe we should go back to his place. Oh wait doesn’t he live with Continue reading
“Would I like to put my pee-pee in your hoo-hah? Yes please!” (via shutterstock.com)
Ah, winter in Evanston. I can’t think of a more romantic time and place to be. You probably met a bunch of new people during fall quarter when it was possible to go outside and be social without getting frostbite and dying in a ditch by the side of the road. Odds are, you banged some of those people. That’s pretty rad, dude. Congrats.
But then the frigid death grip of winter tightens its hold around all of our lives, and we’re forced to meet certain base human requirements with people whose numbers are in our phone. Of course, I’m talking about The Booty Call.
So how does one make sure they’re accurately conveying, in piss drunk-text form, the kind of wanton lust that so strikes us in these situations? It can be difficult to navigate, so I’ve gone ahead and compiled a list of the 10 most classic booty call texts of all time, complete with an analysis of each. Happy hunting. Continue reading
I think I’ve reached my limit. It’s been a fun ride but it’s time the rubber hits the road and I curb my drinking. I know I’m going to miss going downtown on Saturdays and hanging with Greg on Thirsty Thursdays, but I just don’t have time for that kind of stuff anymore. I’m finishing up my senior year and I know it’s time to buckle down to make sure I’m ready to graduate and get a job.
The years really have flown by. One night you go to bed at 5 a.m., a freshman with nothing to lose, and the next morning you wake up at 8 a.m., a senior about to step into the real world. It really hits you hard.
Mmmmmm privilege
Throughout my collegiate career, I have often noticed sober people’s unwillingness to grant that they are overprivileged, even though they may grant that drunk people are disadvantaged in society. While they may support assisting drunks and drunk rights, sobers often deny that they, as sobers, gain advantages from drunks’ disadvantages. These denials protect sober privilege from being fully acknowledged, lessened, or ended. Sober people are taught to see their lives as normal, neutral, and average, and also ideal, so that when they work to benefit others it is seen as work that will allow “them” (drunks) to be more like “us” (sobers).
Oh my, I seem to be rather intoxicated. I don’t recall this hallway being so long—or quite so blurry. My journey back from that delightful fraternity gathering was a trying one, indeed! Ah well, here we are at my dormitory. Room 204. Splendid. Now if I could just fit the key into the lock…hm, how peculiar my fine motor skills seem to be failing me at this moment in time. I suppose that 9th Jolly Rancher shot was not one of my brightest ideas! Ha! Ha! Wait…I think I hear my lovely roommate coming to my assistance. I should probably immediately notify her of my current state of intoxication!
Earlier this summer, Sherman Ave editors Ross Packingham and Sir Edward Twattingworth III interviewed Psychology professor and Allison Hall live-in Renee Engeln-Maddox at Sherman Ave Headquarters. If any cultural references seem slightly out of date, it’s because that’s what happens when we decide to wait to publish interviews for three months due to reasons.
Read Part 1 here.
The professor who will forever be remembered as “the one who couldn’t remember twerk or flabongo.”
———————————————————————————–
Packingham: When someone asks you what courses you teach, do you ever just go, “Intro to SIIIIIIKE!” and punch them in the genitals?
[silence]
Renee: If I’d thought of it…
Twattingworth: Follow-up, will you start doing that now?
Renee: Do I have to punch them? Cause that could hurt my back. What about like a kick? Or a knee? And I’d have to do the “SIIIIIIKE!” better than that. You need to get the “IIIIIIIII” a little higher.
I still haven’t learned how to throw these properly.
When I left for college four years ago, I (like most of you) imagined I would be immersed in an environment full of intellects on their journey to better themselves by furthering their education.
I was wrong.
I soon learned that going to college is really just a lot of procrastinating on the Internet and complaining about classes crammed between drunken weekends. And it was between two especially drunken weekends in the fall of my freshman year that I learned my first lesson: There are a lot of stupid people in this world, and many of them will be more successful than you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
Like you were drinking martinis on Dillo Day…
So you survived Dillo. Congrats.
But you should check the call log on your phone once you dig it out of the lakefill mud. You blackout-called a ton of people:
1. Your mom
She was out gardening on such a nice Saturday when she got a call from her least favorite child:
“Hi honey, how is your day?”
“It’s not just a day, mom. It’s fucking DILLO DAY”
“Did you say it’s Dildo Day?”
“No mom it’s Dillo, don’t you hear Danny Brown playing?”
Your mom listened, horrified at the screeching coming through her receiver, but thankfully your bad service made Danny Brown sound somewhat tolerable.
Sherman Ave 