Michele Bachmann Shudders As Gays Learn To Make Fire

God Hates Flags

STILLWATER, Minn. — After news broke that the Boy Scouts of America lifted its ban on gays in the organization, U.S. Representative and notorious corn dog gargler Michele Bachmann shuddered audibly this afternoon at the thought that America’s homosexuals would soon learn how to create fire.

“Uuuuugggghhhh,” reported Bachmann as she convulsed uncontrollably. “I just…I can’t believe that…uuuugggghhhhh.”

After a series of what she called “the gay shakes,” Bachmann was able to finally form a coherent sentence.

Santorum Quits GOP Race, Presumably to Sew Sleeves on to his Sweater Vests

"What is this 'science' of which you speak?"

Rick Santorum, a Republican “candidate” for “president” announced today that he’s suspending his campaign and effectively dropping out. This comes just weeks before a do-or-die primary in his home state of Pennsylvania. Trailing in the polls in the Keystone State (not the fun kind of Keystone, sadface) and increasingly concerned that Mitt Romney’s robot clones had found his location, it was time for Santy to call it quits. Yes, despite the support of these nine intellectual heavyweights, R-Seezy is leaving the race, and will now find himself with a vast quantity of free time. What will Lil’ Ricky do with it? Here’s his to-do for the rest of his life, probably:

Sew sleeves onto this sweater vests

SantoRUM became famous during the campaign for wearing sweater vests, the article of clothing that’s perfect for people with cold torsos and sweaty forearms. Although these sweater vests almost definitely single-handedly won him the Iowa caucuses, you can’t wear clothes like that in the real world without being punched in the esophagus. ‘Slike, other people can see you bro. Where are your sleeves? Did you forget them at the stupid store where you bought that sweater? HAHA! So yeah, he’s gonna need to sew those sleeves back on.

This timeless battle of evil vs. evil will probably be made into a James Cameron movie by 2015.

Not judge gay people

Despite his statements comparing man-on-man sex (or as it’s more commonly known, “sex”) to man-on-dog sex, Sant-O-Rama loves to declare that he does not judge gay people. He insists he doesn’t hold their sinny sinny sins against them, he just likens them to bestiality. Like a rational human being. Presumably, he’ll set time aside each day to bring gay people to his house and inform them he does not judge them for all their value-ruining immoralnessocity. He’ll probably just let them know pre-DUI Amanda Bynes style that there’s a higher power that will judge them for their indecency.

Hunt down and mortally wound the Devil

Have you heard the news?! Earlier in the campaign, R!ck let us all know that the devil is here! He’s in the America! He’s coming for us and our children and Pippa! We must stand guard with constant vigilance or Lucifer himself will come enroll our children in public schools! But fear not, good people; Richard Q. Santorum is here to find and repeatedly stab Satan until he bleeds to death. Thank God there is no longer a presidential campaign to get in the way of this important work.

Throw a wish in the well

THIS IS CRAZY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

There’s a chance, however small, that Mittens Romney will call Santorum maybe and ask him to be his vice president. With that in mind, Rick will be spending a significant chunk of the day throwing a wish in the well, but don’t ask him – he’ll never tell! What he doesn’t know, of course, is that if he reenacts too much of Carly Rae’s masterpiece, the guy at the end will be gay. In which case he’ll have time to not judge him! It’s like killing two birds with one stone, except without the violent murder of a living creature.

Re-enact the Hunger Games with the other GOP dropouts

Okay, if Rantorum can’t get this done, can someone else? Please? Literally, just imagine Michele Bachmann unleashing a hive of Tracker Jackers on Herman Cain as he binge eats pizza while Newt Gingrich smothers Rick Perry with his belly. Plus, there’s literally no way Jon Hunstman doesn’t win this one. Have you SEEN Huntsman with a bow and arrow? Yeah, me neither. But his name is HUNTsman so he’s totally at Katniss levels. THE BORING MODERATE ON FIIIIIIIIIRE!

Care for his ailing daughter

It appears that this, the most heinous of men, may have a completely unheinous and sympathetic reason for dropping out. The Ave sends nothing but the best of wishes, prayers, good vibes, karma, Avicii, pixie dust and Katy Perry to Bella and for a full recovery and long, happy life.

Things That Rock: Republicans

Good to see you again. Sorry that it’s been so long since I last made you laugh, but I’ve had a tumultuous couple of weeks. You see, ever since I stole away from my monastery in the middle of the night (no, that ‘Brother’ in my name isn’t random) armed only with a box of tagalongs Peanut Butter Patties and a pair of hook swords, I have been mercilessly pursued by a cadre of cyborg zombie ninjas hell-bent on forcing me back to the monastery where I would be forced to eat beets and contemplate Godel Escher Bach alongside the other monks for the rest of eternity. Hell no. But now that I’m safely holed up in a top-secret bunker located miles beneath Ayers Rock, I’m free to write another article!

I'll miss this woman.

Luckily for all you raging optimists, this one is about something that’s awesome, as opposed to something that’s terrible. Even better, it’s about a ‘diamond in the rough’ sort of awesomeness that can be hard to appreciate if you take it too seriously.* In other words: this year’s Republican presidential primaries.

The GOP candidates (or as I like to call them, Mitt & Friends) have been so ubiquitous in our culture these last few months that I’m sure your mind was assailed with a flood of images and quotes and feelings as soon as you saw those words. Maybe they’ve made you angry or sad or scared for the future of America. But hell, they were entertaining, weren’t they?

Yes they were. Especially once it became clear that turds like Michele Bachmann had no chance of making the cut, it was fun to kick back and watch Rick Perry metaphorically poop himself on live TV or listen to Herman Cain quote the Pokemon movie after his past as a serial rapist was revealed.

Here’s how I parlayed the possible terror of these primaries into something enjoyable: Imagine you went in for a routine dentist checkup. You expect it to be as routine and uneventful as it always is when you go in for these appointments every four years, but surprise! Your dentist finds deep rot in some of your teeth. A root canal’s the only thing for it. Shit, you’ve got a nonrefundable one-way ticket to of the most infamously painful procedures ever conceived by doctors. Begin the nervous freakout.

What else to say about the awesomeness of the GOP primaries?

That root canal diagnosis (and the crippling fear that accompanied it on your part) was Bachmann winning the Ames Straw Poll, or perhaps Perry’s entry into the campaign as a veritable behemoth of money and charisma and prayer, plus former pizza CEO Herman Cain making the cover of Newsweek as the candidate to beat. Former pizza CEO! It sure looked like America was headed for an extremely painful procedure, wasn’t it?

But then a few days later, after you’ve spent several sleepless nights tossing and turning over your fate, you get a call from your dentist. He forgot to tell you: they’re going to knock you out for all of it. You won’t feel a thing. And painkillers being what they are these days, you’ll be right as rain within 24 hours.

For me, that brow-wiping ‘wheeeeeeeeeeew’ moment was the poll, one of the first after Cain and Perry and Bachmann had risen and fallen in the ratings like the figures on a merry go round (only if those figures were stupid clowns instead of the usual beautiful horses), that showed Newt Gingrich in first place. NEWT GINGRICH! FIRST PLACE! Good God, this man once impeached a president for infidelity while cheating on his second wife with a woman who ended up becoming his third wife, and later explained his extramarital affairs by saying that they were “partially driven by how passionately I felt about this country.” Yes! And he was in first place to be the Republican candidate for president! I had been almost scared to laugh at the primaries up to this point, like meeting a guy at a party who keeps nonsensically rambling about Clarence Thomas, only you don’t laugh because you can’t tell if he’s joking or drunk. But now Newt Gingrich was in first place! Turns out that guy was drunk and joking! Commence laughter!**

In a gold-in-the-sand kind of way, or perhaps in a we’ll-knock-you-out-for-the-entire-procedure kind of way, that subtle change in viewing the GOP primaries completely transforms the experience from frightening to hilarious. Once you don’t have to worry about finding a house in Canada (my personal Bachmann contingency plan), you can enjoy these video compilations of classic Bachmann quotes (complete with music!) and laugh at the complete absurdity of the existence of ‘classic Bachmann quotes.’ Once you don’t have to watch professional people seriously debate the 9-9-9 tax plan, you can enjoy the ceaseless stream of ridiculousness that is Herman Cain. Once Rick Santorum wins second place in the Iowa caucuses and opens the door to all sorts of Twitter-ready remarks about how Santorum is being spread in Iowa, it’s nothing but joy.

The man loves to get some tail.

I loved these primaries. From a comedy standpoint, there really was nothing better. How can you not love a primary campaign that spawned a website devoted to showcasing animals with Newt Gingrich?

Unfortunately, it looks like we’re going to be stuck with Romney vs. Obama for the next few months, two rational, intelligent, and capable men locked in learned debate. Being the heinous renegade monk that I am, I don’t really know what ‘learned debate’ means, but I’m guessing there will be fewer Pokemon quotes involved. I don’t know what I’m going to do for reality TV entertainment. I mean, maybe you can sit through an episode of the Steven Tyler American Idol, but I certainly can’t. But then again, you’re probably a better person than I am, as evidenced by the fact that you’re not currently on the lam from a cadre of cyborg zombie ninjas.

——————————————————————————————————————————
*Much like the cinematography of Wayne’s World 2.
**And the systematic destruction of any shred of decency that remained in Fran’s.

Things That Suck: Coffee

Coffee: Sir Twattingworth's anti-heroin

Fuck coffee.

I feel like a stranger in a strange land. Not because I’m the protagonist of a Robert Heinlein novel, but because I don’t drink caffeine. I’ll pause a moment to let your mouths fall agape as you shout “WAIT WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTT.”

True story. I’ve never drunk coffee in my life. Okay, wait, there was that one time when I was a curious young four-year-old and my dad let me taste his coffee and I was so horrified that I jerked violently and spilled it all over my Charlie Brown pajama pants. But other than that I have usually abstained from the black stuff. And from Red Bull. And Monster, too. Fuck that shit.

Final exams may be over at Northwestern, but I know there are a bunch of other poor unfortunate souls out there who still have to cram months’ worth of learning into their skulls before exams. As a result they may, in all their mortal vulnerability, be tempted to turn to the evil that is caffeinated beverages. I am here to hold up my hand and say the same thing I would say to anyone planning to read Roberto Bolaño’s novel 2666: Don’t do it!

My body is like this temple, in that it is a temple.

That’s a picture of a temple. I included it in this article because, like the Baha’i Temple, my body is a temple. When I stay up till four in the morning writing a six page essay about what Henry David Thoreau would think about the Weather Underground, I do so simply on the sober strength of my own fucking willpower. I understand that if you start thinking about this metaphor, some obvious contradictions might jump out at you like the T-Rex face in my old dinosaur pop-up book. But I’ll remind you that most temples have alcohol in them. You can put wine into a temple without damaging it, and Christians have done so for ages. But something tells me that if you shot lightning at a temple to “give it energy,” you would really just blow up the temple. That’s my visualization of inserting caffeine into a human system.

Shoot a temple with lightning and it will never be intact again. Give me Red Bull and I will never sleep again. I have enough trouble as it is. The first time I stayed up past midnight on a day that wasn’t New Year’s Eve, it was all over for me. Once I crossed that threshold, it became impossible for me to ever fall asleep before midnight again. At night my productivity goes up, and I suddenly remember all the Grantland articles I wanted to read and all the episodes of Dragon Ball Z that I wanted to watch that I somehow forgot about during the daytime. Before I know it, it’s 2:30 and somehow the knowledge that I have to telemarket for three hours the next day doesn’t stop me from looking up YouTube clips of old Martin Luther King, Jr. speeches until my eyelids finally take executive action and shut themselves, only to be jarred awake hours later by an alarm just in time to swallow a mouthful of Cocoa Puffs before huffing it to my French class with all possible speed. No rest for the weary, and I am nothing if not weary.

I am not alone here. I have friends who drink coffee like it’s water. As a result, they go to bed at midnight and wake up at six every day. They think they’re fully functioning modern human beings. I think they’re more like zombie robots in danger of falling apart at any second. I don’t want to see that happen, so I’m finally coming out against the horrid black stuff.

She is hot. Coffee is awful.

That’s a subjective take on the general suckiness of caffeinated drinks, so I’ll throw in an objective approach as well. I feel like I shouldn’t have to mention this, since it is as inherently obvious as the blueness of the sky or the hotness of Kate Middleton, but caffeine is gross. Coffee is gross, and everybody secretly knows it. I’m not just talking about the people who pour mounds of sugar into their mugs to deaden their sorry souls to the fact that they’re drinking liquid poop. I’m talking about everyone. We all seem to have agreed to forget that coffee is disgusting, the way we all agreed to forget that George W. Bush was appointed President by the Supreme Court.

And not just coffee. Red Bull is gross too. I admit, I’ve tasted it a few times, and I’d sooner hang out with Michele Bachmann for a few hours than repeat the experience. But even if I hadn’t been capable of offering this personal testimony of awfulness, surely the list of ingredients – which looks like something Walter White might cook up in his basement to pay for chemotherapy – would probably be convincing enough. 4Loko actually tastes kind of good, but it’s illegal, so that’s a given. I won’t even talk about 5 hour energy drinks until they make better commercials. If my RTVF roommate could make a better commercial than the one you put on TV, you probably don’t deserve to exist, let alone be talked about in the valuable Internet real estate that is this website.

Would you rather drink coffee or eat poop?

I realize that this anti-caffeine argument is difficult. Sometimes the AP curriculum makes it seem as if the College Board just assumes that every AP student is injecting caffeine into their eyeballs (Either that or no one told them about the existence of time-consuming extracurriculars, but either way they’re a bunch of douchemuffins who gave me too much homework in high school). Then there’s the necessity of being a hipster in order to have any social currency in this hyper media-literate world. That means you need to read Pitchfork regularly and wear clothes originally designed for girls Europeans, but it mainly means that you need to spend a majority of your time in darkly lit indie cafes sipping black energy so you’re wide awake and prepared to unleash a shitstorm of ironic Tweets the next time Bon Iver releases a workout video. Caffeine has been so prevalent in our society for so long that we just accept it as a given fact of life. But the fact that people in the Eighties were accustomed to the idea of nuclear Armageddon didn’t make it okay. Nuclear holocaust is never okay, and neither is coffee, and don’t let Henry Kissinger tell you any different.

Society seems to have ordered its priorities like this:
1. Work
2. Sleep

But that is so, so wrong. Our society has forgotten the value of sleep. Let me tell you, there was one Saturday earlier this quarter when I slept until 3 pm. It was the greatest day of my life. We all need sleep to recuperate from the horrid heinousness of everyday life, and coffee prevents that. It sucks. Finals suck. Life sucks too. But you just need to get over it. Do it all natural or not at all, that’s my motto. Sleep well, my friends.

(And for those of you wondering about the fate of my aforementioned Charlie Brown pajama pants: They did not survive their encounter with coffee, and were promptly retired to the dustbin of history. The world is a worse place for it).

On Penn State and Scandal

What the fuck? Like literally. WHAT. THE. FUCK.

I assume by now you realize I’m talking about the horrific and in every way unfunny allegations coming out of Penn State and now Syracuse. While no one has yet been tried in a court of law, if even one tenth of the accusations made against these men and those around them are true then I am incredibly justified in saying WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THESE PATHETIC SCUM OF THE EARTH?

For those of you who don’t keep up with the newly created “alleged child rapists and molesters in elite college sports programs” beat, here’s the rundown. A football coach at Penn State is believed to have sexually abused at least eight boys over a forty year period, he was witnessed doing this, the witness reported it to his superiors, the alleged rapist retired, AND FUCKING NO ONE WENT TO THE POLICE TO TRY TO PROTECT THE YOUNG CHILDREN. Also, it is accused that a Syracuse basketball coach molested at least two ball boys over a period of 15 years, school officials may have known, AND FUCKING NO ONE WENT TO THE POLICE TO TRY TO PROTECT THE YOUNG CHILDREN.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Sir T-Worth, your use of caps is physically painful to me to behold.” To which I of course respond: “ARE YOU SERIOUSLY CONCERNED ABOUT HOW BIG THE LETTERS I’M TYPING ARE WHEN THERE ARE CHILD MOLESTERS AND RAPISTS RUNNING AROUND LOCKER ROOMS? UNREAL.”

Because honestly, this continues to be among the worst and most depressing stories I’ve ever read. The acts themselves are nearly unthinkable. The level of evil needed for anyone to do what Jerry Sandusky is accused of doing is certainly nearing Gaddafi heights. And as for the school and team administrators who may have known what happened and not only didn’t go to the police, but didn’t fire the man involved and allowed him to remain around the children, I have almost nothing to say. Except that you, in every way imaginable, sicken me to my very core. I have heard some of them say publicly and in private emails that they regret their lack of action, which is certainly good. This indicates to me that they do have a moral compass. But that moral compass was apparently more AWOL than Ronald Reagan during the Iran-Contra scandal.

Just when I thought this entire saga couldn’t make me hate the entirety of planet earth even more, Sandusky went and gave an interview to Bob Costas that left me physically quivering as if Michele Bachmann was once again leading the polls. He claimed it was just horseplay and that he was just innocently showering with 10-year-old boys (sidenote: I believe under the definition of “oxymoron” that sentence appears). Yet when asked if he was attracted to little boys, he couldn’t even bring himself to say no. Instead, he gave a rambling damning answer about “liking young people.” Again, this stuff is not for the weak of stomach.

Finally, I would like to once again advise everyone against reading the grand jury report on this. Three pages in and I was forced to stop before I passed out in a pool of my own vomit and tears. And for reference, I giggled through The Amityville Horror. This is so so so so much worse than a family being annoyed by ghosts for a month, turning on each other, watching a priest go blind, losing their minds, falling in pits of blood, being locked in their own rooms and having paranormal beasts befriend their daughter (retroactive spoiler alert).

In closing, every goddamn person who knew about these goddamn sex attacks and did nothing to prevent future ones should be required to go to every goddamn kindergarten classroom in America and personally apologize to every goddamn young child there.

5 Reasonable but Merciless Alternatives to the Death Penalty

This past Wednesday, millions of Americans were outraged over the execution of Troy Davis, a man convicted – with inconclusive evidence – of murdering a police officer in Savannah, Georgia. As the fairness of the death penalty is really drawn into question, we begin to ask ourselves: what other alternatives might there be to execution?

Watch yourself

5. Compulsory Residence in a Fundamentalist Conservative Colony
One possibility worth considering is the establishment of a prisoner colony. The automatic choice for location would be Georgia, given that it started as a prisoner colony, and has arguably been one ever since. The colony would be governed by an entity known as “The TetraDouche” – a council consisting of Sarah Palin, Michele Bachmann, Mike Huckabee, and Rick Perry. While prisoners would not be executed in the colony, they would be forever subjected to other atrocious fundamentalist policies, such as mandatory readings of the Gospel each time a prisoner gets an erection.

Fortunately, a week with Justin Bieber was ruled far too inhumane

4. Court-ordered Jonas Brothers tour
This option would force the convicted criminal to follow the Jonas Brothers on a national tour – not only to sit through their inconceivably rancid concerts, but also to travel with them on the tour bus. Some investigatory research has indicated that more Americans fear a Jonas Brothers tour than fear death, so not only would this alternative be more humane than execution (okay, that’s debatable), but it would be more effective in crime prevention. Furthermore, there is a decent chance that it would result in said criminal physically assaulting the Jonas Brothers, an outcome no one can deny secretly desiring.

They're the same fuckers responsible for Wiz Khalifa too

3. Lifetime Season Tickets for the Pittsburgh Pirates
I can only begin to imagine how inexplicably atrocious it is to be at a Pittsburgh Pirates home game. No one would willingly spend an entire evening sitting in a hot stadium seat while the raging cocklord sitting next to them drunkenly heckles the unsuspecting Blue Jays fans on the grounds that “Canadians can’t partake in America’s pastime.” What’s worse, it’s the Pittsburgh Pirates, so there is literally no chance that you’ll ever get to see the home team win. Ultimately, the only positive aspect of this punishment would be the opportunity to feast on the woefully sub-par concession stand food, which is only sold for 15-20 times the amount it costs to produce. And to put the icing on the cake, you’re living in Pittsburgh, so the likelihood of getting dateraped by Ben Roethlisberger is substantially greater.

Wait, is this a Wildcard?

2. Community Service at The Keg of Evanston
You might be thinking, “But the KOE is a jolly place! I love going there!” However, imagine being at The Keg and not being allowed to consume alcohol. Or popcorn. Suddenly, your run-of-the-mill Monday night fuckshow has turned into a night full of unmitigated self-loathing whilst observing others in their endless debauchery. On top of that, you’d be forced to engage in community service – picking up empty cups, preventing multi-generational couples from hooking up, politely asking obese Hispanic men to remove themselves from the stripper poles, etc. After 10-15 years of spending every Monday and Saturday performing these tasks, there’s no doubt that a criminal would truly regret the crime they committed.

A life sentence of beer pong and using Snickers wrappers as condoms

1. Pledging Sig Ep
Although it has been ruled unconstitutional on the grounds of “cruel and unusual punishment” by the Supreme Court, many still support this method of alternative castigation for perpetrators of heinous crimes (OH MY GOD WE JUST MADE LEGITIMATE USE OF THE WORD HEINOUS! HOLY BALLS! IT FUCKING HAPPENED!). Yes, engaging criminals in this form of punishment would involve activities that, under certain definitions, qualify as “torture,” but the long-term penalty would be much worse – a 25 to life sentence of unchecked doucheification. This result, while being worse than death for many criminals, is indisputably more just from a moral standpoint. Even Julie Andrews, a role model for many, firmly asserted that the fairest punishment for murderers and rapists is “an inevitable lifestyle of supercalifragilisticexpialidouchiness.”

5 Ways Northwestern Can Become More Popular Than Harvard

We can take these fuckers

According to Yahoo, Northwestern University is the second-most discussed university on the Internet, behind Harvard. First of all, I think that I speak on behalf of most Americans when I proclaim: “Fuck Harvard.” More importantly, however, WE NEED TO PASS THEM AND BECOME THE MOST POPULAR SCHOOL. This year, we managed a fair amount of publicity – when there weren’t exhibitionists fucksawing each other in an after-class demonstration, our university’s president was in Libya trying to capture Qaddafi. Who does Willie the Wildcat have to blow for us to be more discussed than Harvard? The following list presents some steps that can be taken to make Northwestern the collegiate Regina George.

He's just sitting out to lure our opponents into a false sense of security

5. Persa for Heisman
Northwestern quarterback and pimp-daddy Dan Persa, who will be a senior this year, is in the running for the Heisman Trophy. If he were to magically win, it would be a huge boost to our school’s publicity, but unfortunately, the odds are stacked against him. For one thing, he didn’t play in the season opener. So…yeah. Heisman winners generally need to have strong Achilles tendons, and as every morally devastated Northwestern sports fan knows, Persa injured his Achilles late last season when he was celebrating the incalculable cockslap he had just personally administered to the University of Iowa. But hopefully by our next game, PersaStrong will be back in to replace ColterMeh, thus reestablishing his claim to Heisman glory. Additionally, it would be ideal if the Cardiac Cats didn’t choke at the end of the season and then get demolished in the fucking TicketCity Bowl.

If we can beat BC in football, sporcle should be easy

4. Boost Sporcle Rankings
As of the week of May 8-14, 2011, Northwestern sits at a mediocre 8th place in the Sporcle college rankings, falling behind such shitpillows as Notre Dame and University of Illinois. It goes without saying that climbing the ranks of nerdiness would certainly get our name out there on the Internet. So I implore you, dear Wildcats, to Sporcle like no one’s watching. If this means staying up an extra half-hour every night to brush up on the Top 200 Harry Potter characters, then go for it. If this means studying Battles A to Z between classes, then go for it. If this means going for a new time record in Flags of the World every time you are flagrantly intoxicated, then contact me immediately, because we are probably soulmates.

Luckily for us, most kids here are already as awkward as Jesse Eisenburg

3. Start a Social Network
Presumably, one of the reasons Harvard was so popular this year was because of their recent publicity in “The Social Network,” the movie that recounts the story of Facebook founder and Harvard dropout Mark Zuckerberg. If a similar episode could transpire at Northwestern, our popularity would skyrocket, which begs the question: What could a new social network offer to distinguish itself from Facebook?

• A rating system that would allow you to estimate the level of collective inebriation in photo albums
• The ability to give someone a 3-day timeout if they’re either being too atrocious (sorry Sir Edward Twattingworth III) or inviting you to play Farmville
• A “Shut the fuck up you obnoxious angsty slutbitch” button
• A regulation system that only allows your relatives to send you a friend request if they are guaranteed to make inappropriate and/or oblivious comments on what you post

Bachmann lecturing on "money things"

2. Hire a Questionable Politician to Teach a Questionable Class
A surefire way to become more discussed on the Internet is to hire a famous politician as a lecturer. Ideally, this person will create lots of controversy on the interwebz, so the class they teach should be something that isn’t necessarily an area of expertise to maximize ironic effect. Here are some ideas:

• Hire Michele Bachmann to teach a course on Global Warming
• Hire Michele Bachmann to teach a course on anything
• Hire Christine O’Donnell to teach a Religious Studies class
• Hire John Kerry to teach an Acting class
• Hire John McCain to teach Human Sexuality
• Hire Dick Cheney to teach a course on Gun Safety
• Hire Nancy Pelosi and/or John Edwards to teach a course on Not Being Heinous
• Hire Ron Paul to teach a political science class

It packs one hell of a discharge

1. Something Greater Than The Fucksaw
One event that did score international publicity for Northwestern this year was the fucksaw – a motorized dildo used in an after-class demonstration for a Human Sexuality course. So how do we top the fucksaw? We make something stronger. What I propose is a contraption I call the “No-Mercy Nuclear Vibrating Device,” or the “Nukevibe” for short. Developed in collaboration with Northwestern’s nuclear science department, the Nukevibe uses the splitting of atoms to create astronomical amounts of energy – energy that is channeled directly to the G-spot. The device has been tested at FermiLab, and all test subjects thus far have died instantly from a pleasure overdose. However, once the device is perfected, there is no doubt that scientific notation will be needed to indicate the rate of orgasms per minute. Some after-class demonstration that’ll be.

I’m sorry I made fun of Rebecca Black

And it was fun, fun, fun, SO GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING FUN!!!!!

When Rebecca Black’s “Friday” video first debuted, I was among its harshest and most persistent critics. Even this esteemed website pounced on the unabashed heinousness of the video. I was quite proud of my ability to completely and totally eviscerate that power-tripping adolescent at any turn.

“Oh, today’s Thursday,” I’d say, a sly grin stretching across my face. “Wonder what day tomorrow is? Better ask that hoe Rebecca Black, amirite guys?!”

Got a laugh every time. And as Rebecca’s 15 seconds of infamy faded away, I worked tirelessly to resurrect it. I showed Brock’s Dub to everyone I knew.

“MY HAND IS A DOLPHIN!” I bellowed originally. My friends found it equally hilarious, I’m sure, so I continued to mock the video.

But the fact of it was, I was always mainly mocking the video itself. My hatred was never aimed at the girl involved; I assumed she was likely just a 13-year-old who had been sucked into the collective p-trips of her parents and that excruciatingly talented producer/rapper whose name I am too disgusted to Google. We’ll just call him Fat Usher.

So as I mocked and lawled and gleefully took part in the collective national destruction of Rebecca Black, I did it with my true hatred directed at the adults who had put poor Rebecca in that position. As her Good Morning America appearance demonstrated, while she is outrageously far from being a professional-caliber singer, her voice is not THAT horrendous. Anyone would sound less than prime while belting out the lines “my friend is by my right, heyyyy.”

Kids these days...

Yet today I regret that I did any of it. Even though I meant only to emotionally cripple her parents and Fat Usher — who I know were listening to my every critique, lips trembling — I must admit that I have contributed to the bullying of an adolescent girl from another state. And I had promised myself I would stop doing that.

That bullying culminated this week in the news that Rebecca was leaving her school and being home schooled due to the incessant teasing by her schoolmates.

This, my friends, is too far. If we have become a nation where untalented little children can’t spend thousands of dollars on music videos, post them on the YouTubez in the hopes of getting famous, and go on a nationwide tour of talk and morning shows without being teased by their peers, then we have lost all that makes America great! This kind of mean-spirited behavior is probably why Pippa Middleton is still British.

And I know what you’re thinking: “But Rebecca Black got to touch Katy Perry!” And while this is certainly true, it doesn’t mean that she isn’t still capable of having feelings. Russell Brand probably touches Katy Perry often, and it’s hard to imagine a world in which he doesn’t cry himself to sleep every night.

So, cut the crap America. Specifically, cut the crap you students of Rebecca Black’s school. There’s a fine line between good-heinous and bad-heinous, and those kids just obliterated the line like Michele Bachmann obliterates the line between hot and terrifying on a daily basis.

Amateur attempt at photoshopping with spare "bullying a 13-year-old time"

There are plenty of other things to do in life besides bully Rebecca Black. Like Photoshopping yourself into photos you weren’t originally in! Or tweeting with the hashtag #replacebandnameswithpancakes! Or listening to Demi Levato’s new song “Skyscraper”…you can just feel the pain in her voice.

But the bottom line is this: go live your lives Sherman Ave readers. Live them well and heinously. And for Yahweh’s sake, LEAVE REBECCA BLACK ALONE.

5 Ways to Cope With the Heat

Balls all over, is it hot outside or is it hot outside?! It’s a sad day when a mere 10-minute walk turns into a Hero’s Journey-esque adventure in which one must face great adversity and discover their true self. With this weather, the immediate instinct is to spend every day standing naked in front of your $15 air conditioning unit, but unfortunately, summer is also the time to have fun. Fear not! We have compiled a list of ways you can bypass the heat and still enjoy the season.

Java the Hut knew what's up

5. Invest in Slaves
Obviously the word “slave” has acquired somewhat of a stigma in the last few hundred years, but trust me, you will not regret this decision. Whether it’s getting your groceries or carrying you to a friend’s place, it will be exceptionally relieving to have your daily menial tasks performed by others. Worried about being controversial? There are still ways to be a slave-owner. For example, most college students are willing to enter in a contract of servitude, asking for nothing but free alcohol. Furthermore, your neighbors wouldn’t ever be suspicious of forced labor – they’d just assume you were getting a lot of action. If you can’t catch yourself a college student, try a younger child. Granted, child slavery is discouraged in many social circles, but the best part of slave children is that they’re your slaves and your children, and thankfully, our society rarely protects children from their parents.

Caution: Some drinks will make you look like a massive pansy

4. Drink
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my freshman year of college, it’s that drinking solves everything – macroeconomics finals notwithstanding. Russians notoriously consume copious quantities of vodka to cope with their frigid climate, so why can’t we do the same for our scorching climate? Worst case scenario, you drink yourself unconscious and earn yourself a trip to the cool, air-conditioned emergency room. Besides, if you drink enough, you can take the heat on headfirst and emerge victorious. The doucheriffic Heat Lords think they’ve got you beat, but they won’t know what hit them when you and your friends spontaneously skip to Burger King despite the outrageous temperatures. In this case, it’s about more than just surviving the heat, it’s about vanquishing it. If you’re looking for more pointers in this area, I’d consult the Dallas Mavericks; they know a thing or two about making the Heat their bitch.

Watch out for the Comm Majors

3. Skinny Dip
In most cases, the feeling of ice-cold water on the genitals is something that can only be likened to the Dementor’s Kiss. However, desperate times call for desperate measures, and desperate measures call for pelvic coolage (surprisingly not the long-lost brother of our 30th president). So next time you want to take a shower, kick it up a notch and go balls-deep in Lake Michigan. Don’t live near Lake Michigan? Not a problem, just go balls-deep in the nearest body of water. Caution to our readers in South America: If you choose to skinny-dip in the Amazon, for the love of God, be careful. Just be careful. Dear mother of God. Don’t urinate. Just don’t do it. Think of the children. No level of heat is worth sacrificing your junction (junk’s function). I don’t even want something of that horrific magnitude to happen to those taint-lovers in Brazil and Uruguay.

We hear she also has a thing for bloggers

2. Stalk Attractive People
For registered sex offenders like myself, the last few months have been absolutely clutch in that they have uncovered some of the world’s most attractive people. Think about it – a mere 6 months ago, the world was unaware of stunning babes like Pippa Middleton, Hope Solo, Casey Anthony Michele Bachmann Rebecca Black and anyone else who plays on the U.S. Women’s Soccer team. What better way to spend your summer than lounging in an air-conditioned place and learning every minute detail about the lives of these slampieces? For example, I have learned this summer that Pippa Middleton has admitted to being attracted to average-looking half-Jewish left-handed kids from Colorado – a category in which I fit into quite nicely. See, these are good things to know. You may call me things like “weirdo” and “rapist,” but…well never mind, you’ve got a point.

We're also pretty sure that this little bastard is responsible for U.S. Debt and ever single Haitian natural disaster

1. Blame Minorities for the Heat
As has been proven time and again throughout the annals of history, the best way to resolve any problem is by making it someone else’s problem. And the best part of this tactic is that any minority can work! Responsibility for any unfavorable happening is always easily placed on the backs of the Irish, Germans, Irish, Italians, Canadians, Irish, Latvians, or even the Irish. It may not lower the temperatures, but it certainly makes it easier to cope with when you can just angrily shout something like “GOD DAMN NEW ZEALANDERS MAKING EVERYTHING SO DAMN HOT!” Actively discriminating against said minority would be even more satisfying, but since it’s so stupidly hot outside, discrimination might tire you. However, if you heeded my first piece of advice, you should already have a whole army of slaves to go discriminate against minorities on your behalf.

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