10 Reasons Why You Should Apply to be a Writer for Sherman Ave

Everything the sun touches will be yours

10. You want to get involved on campus.
Sherman Ave is a great way to get involved, because… well…
…okay, there’s a reason this is number ten. But it sure is a hell of a lot better way to get involved here at Northwestern than joining a group of peppy undergrads who sing a capella covers of Yellowcard.

9. You aren’t currently a writer on Sherman Ave.
Realistically, you aren’t content with that. Join us, and we will imbue your life with meaning and satisfaction.

Ross Packingham as a child

8. The lifestyle.
Drugs, sex, and rock and roll. Except it would be more aptly described as alcohol, alcohol, and Bruce Springsteen. C’mon, all the cool kids are doing it. So is some twat named Evander Jones.

7. You love Morty.
We love Morty. Is that not enough? Just think about the man’s silky, silvery beard and how much you’d love to write articles about it.

6. Pseudonyms.
Everyone secretly yearns for a secret identity. As a writer on Sherman Ave, you’ll get the chance to not only have a secret identity, but to have a secret identity that offends at least 85% of the global population.

Warning: All new Sherman Ave writers must first pledge their undying love and allegiance to Pippa before they can start writing

5. You’re unnecessarily attracted to Pippa Middleton.
Join the club, champ.

4. It’s free.
We live in a world where nearly everything costs money – barring, of course, happiness. And while money can’t buy happiness, being a writer on Sherman Ave can bring you relative happiness from the heinousness and despair you thrust upon others. And if that’s not enough to warm the cockles of your frigid heart, just think of all the slampieces you’ll bag as a writer for this blog (unless, of course, you first have to explain to her that you are the true identity of somebody named “Sir Edward Twattingworth III”).

3. You went to Lyons Township High School.
We don’t know what it is about that place, but they manage to crank out more atrocious individuals than Octo-Mom would if she were boinking Fred Phelps.

2. You came to our informational meeting.
It was at Burger King at 1 o’clock on a Saturday afternoon. You wore a three-piece suit with a keyboard tie. We were visibly intoxicated. Don’t even try telling us you were just there for the food.

A graphical representation of the Sherman Ave community

1. The people.
Sherman Ave is an excellent group of people, who will do everything from drunkenly showing up to a house party dressed as John F. Kennedy and Marilyn Monroe to beaning you in the cranium with freshly-picked apples. The people who aren’t us want to be us. And the people who don’t want to be us are probably from one of the following countries: Latvia, New Zealand, Iceland, Uruguay, Brazil, Kyrgyzstan, São Tomé and Príncipe, France, or Costa Rica.

Hate a Random Country: Uruguay

The only thing that burns brighter than that sun is my hatred for this worthless excuse of a country

There are 12 nations in South America, and all of them are heinous. But there is one country whose unfathomable taintery exceeds even the regional standard. I’m looking at you, Uruguay. First of all, the stupid bastards broke the cardinal rule of country naming: Never use more than two U’s. Even those scrotum-headed assmuffins in Vanuatu figured that one out. Yet, the unforgivable frequency of that obnoxious vowel pales in comparison to the other obscene actions of Uruguay. In this educational essay, I will unveil just a few of Uruguay’s fatal flaws.

American are constitutionally obligated to not give a shit about soccer, but even we know you can't do that.

To find an instance of flagrant bitchdom perpetrated on behalf of the Uruguayan wasteland, we need not look back more than a year. In July 2010, Uruguay competed against Ghana in the quarterfinal round of the World Cup. The game stood at a 1-1 tie in overtime when Uruguayan Luis Suarez – a notorious twatpocket – used his hands to deflect a shot that would undoubtedly have gone in otherwise. Obviously, Suarez was given a red card for his blatant assholiness, and Ghana was allowed a penalty kick, but the penalty kick hit the crossbar, and Uruguay proceeded to score the go-ahead goal and advance to the next round. Thanks to the scarce forces of karma in the universe, Uruguay received a brisk pimp-slapping from the Aryan, dreamsicle-donning Dutch national team, but that doesn’t change the fact that Uruguay’s soccer team pulled one of the most pronounced dick-moves the world has ever seen. Yes, winning is good – but if you cheat, you’re not a winner. And if you cheat against Ghana, you’re just a complete cockfiend. The American soccer team was kind enough even to let Ghana win, because Americans are classy. If they had so desired, the American team could have handed the sub-Saharan nation the largest helping of ruthless beat-down that they’ve seen since – well, probably fairly recently. But a large helping of ruthless beat-down nonetheless. Uruguay should have certainly followed us down the high road, but instead, they decided to be raging doucheaholics.

Let's talk when your coat of arms doesn't look like a 6th grade social studies project

Another aspect of Uruguay that is intolerably bitchtastic is their coat of arms. If you’ve read my rant on the inherent inadequacy of Latvia, you probably think I’m hypercritical when it comes to Coat of Arms. Maybe this is true, but it’s not my fault that most coats of arms resemble the doodles of a mentally handicapped chimpanzee. Uruguay’s coat of arms depicts, among other things, a shield with four images. The first is a set of scales – an image that traditionally symbolizes justice, but in the case of Uruguay, just symbolizes the fact that they haven’t yet invented electric scales there. The next image on the shield is a castle on a hill hovering over a sea. I feel like there’s little to say about this, only that a coat of arms should contain items that are real. The American coat of arms, for instance, displays an eagle – an animal that’s pretty goddamn real (although not as frequently encountered as the Awk Hawk). The last two pictures on the shield are of a black horse and a brown cow – cool story. It looks like Uruguay – like most countries – has plagued itself with a coat of arms as unimpressive as Michele Bachmann at… well, anywhere.

In conclusion, it is imperative that we maintain the lowest possible level of respect for the nation known as the Oriental Republic of Uruguay. No, that is not a joke or a poorly construed racial slur – that is actually the country’s full name. It only makes sense, given that as much as 2% of the population is from the Orient, and the country’s cultural influence is almost entirely European. As I mentioned earlier, there are a mere 12 nations in South America, and if each one represented a line in “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” Uruguay would certainly be “Ten Lords a-Douching.”

–Ross Packingham

Hate a Random Country: Latvia

Predictably, most of these lesbian monkeys will become gym teachers

The most important thing to understand about discrimination is that you can’t spell it without saying “nation.” Conclusion? Unbridled xenophobia. Yes, we must realize the importance of hating other countries. I say this not only from a survivalist standpoint, but also because finding reasons to hate other countries is more fun than a barrel of lesbian monkeys. So, in a new series titled “Hate A Random Country,” I plan to expose just a few of the millions of flaws visible in every country that doesn’t rhyme with “Shmunited States of America.”

Seriously, what is this shit!?

Today’s victim: Latvia. Upon my extensive research of Latvia, I instantly noticed some very easily targetable facts about this piss-poor excuse of a nation (formerly Communist, significant population decline in the last 20 years, etc.), but I decided to dig deeper. The first aspect of this Eastern European cesspool that should be mentioned is the coat of arms. The figure features two indistinct animals (presumably dragons with tragic birth defects) holding a shield and breathing absurdly minuscule amounts of fire. The shield shows a sun (real creative, guys) and then two more dragonesque beasts, one holding a sword and the other pantomiming a pole dance (admittedly, the latter is pretty cool). All of this is happening under three stars (The Really Fucking Small Dipper is very important in Latvian mythology) and over a portion of a Christmas Holiday wreath (because clearly a small plant can support the weight of two gargantuan beasts) and a ribbon with the pattern of the Latvian flag.

Gag me already.

As long as I’m on the topic of Latvia’s flag, I should probably go ahead and talk about how much I detest it. Anybody who knows me well (or has by some triumphant circumstance found themselves in a room with me, alcohol, and Sporcle) knows that I don’t kid around when it comes to flags. Thus, it irks me to no end that Latvia’s flag is clearly modeled after the Austrian flag. I’m sorry, Latvia, but there’s really only so much you can do with three horizontal stripes patterned red-white-red. Furthermore, if you are going to copy a flag, why choose Austria? The only good thing that came out of Austria was indisputably canceled out by the myriad of bad things that came out of it.

The traditional Latvian breakfast

Are you not yet convinced of Latvia’s ethnic LOLability? Latvia’s only distinguishing Olympic successes have been in motocross. If someone was born on the day Latvia became an independent nation, they wouldn’t be old enough to drink. Only if everybody in Latvia had 5 clones would they have enough people to outnumber a nation made solely of the people who watched this video. Latvia’s mama is so fat that her BMI is measured in acres. I could go on forever about all the inherent flaws in the “nation” of Latvia, but I think it’s pretty obvious that Latvia is the Idaho of Europe. I’m just going to leave you with this last thought: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wN8kWlH3G3E&feature=related

Prepare yourselves, bitches

Tune in next time for an emotional smackdown on New Zealand.