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Tag Archives: motherfucker

Sherman Ave Interviews: Renee Engeln-Maddox (Part 2 of 2)

30 Sep

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  If any cultural references seem slightly out of date, it’s because that’s what happens when we decide to wait to publish interviews for three months due to reasons.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."

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.

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A Comprehensive Timeline of DM Emotions

10 Mar
Oh my god yes! ANOTHER HARLEM SHAKE DANCE!!!

Oh my god yes! ANOTHER HARLEM SHAKE DANCE!!!

A couple things that I had working against me going into DM: I slept like 4 hours a night the week before, and I had 5 cups of coffee the day of (yes I KNOW that you weren’t supposed to do that). I’m also so caffeine dependent that I might as well just take it intravenously at this point. So, like, dsklgjsiojklcxmv nerjeoijwsak. I am one tired motherfucker.

Block 1: I look around the tent. 30 hours in this bad boy. The feeling of “what the fuck have I gotten myself into god I really hate myself sometimes” comes on with the ferocity of an orgo midterm. The music starts. I bob my head with tepid enthusiasm. I should probably conserve energy. After all, it’s 30 fucking hours. I dance awkwardly. I realize that I’m not used to dancing in situations other than The Keg. I hate myself. It’s been 30 minutes. I have completely exhausted all of my dance moves. Ooh snack time! “All dancers with nut allergies please exit the tent.” Awkward, that’s me. They start playing music that people can get into (MY LIFE. WOULD SUCK. WITHOUUUUUT YOUUUUU) and this DM thing is kind of fun.

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5 Profile Poses That Are Worse Than The Music of Creed

9 Oct

I guess it could be worse.

Here at the Ave, we are devoted to promoting and disseminating positive images throughout the internet. Which is why it’s time you salty motherfuckers finally learned a thing or two about profile pictures. The following profile poses are to Facebook as the music of Creed is to all that is holy.

Duckface Mirror pics
If you are standing in your bathroom taking your own picture YOU SHOULD BE ABLE TO SEE YOURSELF LOOKING LIKE WHAT HAPPENED WHEN COURTNEY LOVE FUCKED A PLATYPUS. Same goes for this pose’s older sister, “Selfie From A Downward Angle,” otherwise known as the “Please Note That Contrary To Popular Opinion I Have Some Cleavage” shot.

Honestly, I don’t get it: society has put more effort into attempting to stigmatize the duckface and all its permutations than attempting to render urinal conversations between strangers dishonorable. And somehow it’s still a pervasive problem.

Head Tilt Hair Toss
Hey Head, can you please embody the sentiment of “I want so badly to be horizontal with you if you catch my drift that I might just fall over now srrrssssly though I’m rully off-balance”? Now Hair, subjugate the entire photo with your dyed n’ fried luster.  Okay, everybody look natural!

Kissing the Significant Other
You had to ask a third party take that photo for you. You literally subjected another human being to the sight of your slightly-less-than-moderately-attractive bodies pressed against one another in an outward simulation of affection. You posted that picture with the knowledge that most of your Facebook friends will become reunited with their long-lost lunches upon sight of this desperate attempt to document that you are indeed capable and worthy of love.

The only way that this is even slightly acceptable is if that photo is the documentation of the foursome about to take place between you, your lover, the photographer, and that seagull in the frame that’s clearly scoping you out. Otherwise, please go buttchug arsenic.

Skinny Arm
                  A) Used Seriously

OH MY GOD UR HAIR LOOKS ZOOO PRETTY

Use of the skinny arm is strongly correlated with use of Head Tilt Hair Toss. Use of the Head Tilt Hair Toss is strongly correlated with Everyone Thinks You’re A Dumbfuck Ass-souffle With A Lobotomy.

Just be careful, kids.

   B) Used Ironically

You’re encouraging them. Stop encouraging them.

Arm Around Badly Cropped Friend
You douchebag. That’s probably the only guy that had the cajones to be around you after The Cucumber Incident in high school sex ed, and you clearly don’t deserve him. Instead of appreciating his presence in your life, you decided that you look so damn good in that picture that you didn’t need him. Or maybe he was the good-looking one, and you realized that you pale in comparison. Whatever the reason, your subpar skills with the “crop” button make you look like a frattier and significantly less attractive Bethany Hamilton. Reevaluate your life, you stupid fuck.

Look, I get it. I’m a Sherman Ave writer; we love pretending we’re attractive too. But in all seriousness, stop spending all your funtime trying to look good on Facebook. Because you probably don’t.

Why Chet Haze is a Taint-Strudel

15 Mar

Now originally I had written a nice article exploring Chet’s recent tweets of his shirtless body and the mostly naked girl in the fuzzy background. I was totally set to make fun of him until I found this tweet stuck amongst his softcore porno instagrams:

I thought to myself, “Hey, is Chester M. Hanks being a nice guy, tolerant and supportive like his father?”

Then I realized I was talking about Chet Haze and the fact that he was just trying to boost his ego with pictures of his half-naked self to get followers. Apparently some Brazilians and Venezuelans are following him too, but the truth lies in the NU girls following him. Why are they doing it? “To see all the dumb shit he posts” is a pretty common answer by far. His pictures certainly beg for the attention of anyone posting in reddit.com/r/amisexy, and he certainly didn’t stop with the douche-mongering last Monday.

With hashtags like #kinetik (constantly plugging his management group, whose only real star is Chet himself) and #i<3ChetHaze (which doesn’t tag because of the inequality sign—awkward…), and the shame of not even being followed on twitter by his own father, Chet HAD to do something more to get followers.

So this happened:

And then this happened:

And then this happened:

It continues, but let’s not get too entrenched in his bizarre Evangelism. Before you get all crazy on me, I identify as a religious Catholic. But I also think tolerance is good and that there is a time and a place and twitter is NEVER the place to try some Evangelism, especially when you do nothing but contradict the shit out of yourself every day. Chet Haze has written NUMEROUS tweets about having sex, drinking, “getting wit the ladies,” and more. Sure, sex is fine, but I’m pretty sure Atheists have their own reasons for being so, and it’s just a rude thing to say that they are destroying society.

If anything Chet, you’re destroying life. Evangelism, last time I checked, isn’t supposed to involve calling people “Fucking fool[s].” Right now, you’re about as Evangelistic as Westboro Baptist, and those guys are incredible taint-strudels.

Then this happened:

Now, at first this seems like nothing, logical even, except that this is a misinterpretation of the bible. This idea comes from the verse about a sheep/lamb being led to the slaughter and opening not his mouth. I believe it’s from Isaiah 53, which is the 3rd Messianic oracle in the prophet Isaiah’s book in the old testament. That line is describing JESUS, the suffering servant. So in fact, you’re just being a lard-ass, because JESUS WAS THE SHEEP. YOU ARE A FUCKING IDIOT CHET. GO TO BED. (<– more about that in a bit.)

So the preaching self-righteous tweets went on for a while and then this happened:

Really? REALLY???

Then:

So Halima simply said “go to bed.” Good job at taking THAT tweet over the edge. And really? Lukewarm Mass of Mediocrity? Hardly. In fact, can we get that shit trending in the Chicago area? That would be great. Also, 15 hours ago would’ve been 2 am. You SHOULD go to bed. But then again, Chester, you were writing a 9 page paper for your Humanities 260 course with Morson and Morty. The same class that you sent out this email to the entire student attendance:

ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?

But then you realize, this has ALL been because C. Marlon Hanks decided that writing this 9-page paper has changed his life! You know why? He’s writing a paper comparing different translations of the Cain and Abel story. THAT DOES NOT MAKE YOU A CLERGYMAN.

Then:

I KNOW THIS GIRL. THAT IS SARCASM YOU FUCK.

THEN THIS. THIS IS THE GOLD:

NO, YOU SOUR ASS MOTHERFUCKER. GET OUT OF MY UNIVERSITY. YOU ARE NOT A NERD, YOU DO NOT DESERVE TO HASHTAG THAT. YOU ARE UP THIS LATE BECAUSE YOU ARE PROCRASTINATING. YOU ARE NOT A NERD BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT WRITING THIS OF YOUR OWN VOLITION. YOU HAVE TO WRITE THIS BECAUSE IT IS A FUCKING PROMPT. AS IN YOU WERE GIVEN TWO OR THREE CHOICES AND THIS IS THE SHITSTAIN YOU PICKED. GET THE FUCK OUT CHET HAZE.

I just want everyone to know that this is a $4.95 copy of a paperback bible that Chet only had to purchase because the class required it, which means his “Pray Everyday” shit has only been going on since the beginning of Winter quarter. You’re a really big spender, aren’t you.

YOU’VE BEEN CHET HAZED!

Why I’m transferring to Arizona State

24 Feb

Okay, so don’t think of this as a break up. Just think of it as a “see ya later pal,” aight? Because honestly, this isn’t about you. It’s about me needing to do what I have to do.

So here it is: I think I’m transferring. Probably to Arizona State. Sorry. But as I do in all breakups, and to make this much easier on you, I’ve compiled a list of reasons why:

How come the student-to-hot-tub ratio isn’t factored into U.S. News & World Report Rankings?

1. Warmth
Literally what the fuck is with this snow? I thought it was like April or some ish like that. Didn’t we kill Punxatawnee Phil? Seriously, this is some bull. But in the warm sands of Tempe, we find an oasis of warmth and sunshine. ASU is the perfect mix of a hot, beach-like climate with no humidity to totally ruin your hair. This warm weather allows for a minimum of clothing, something that you’ll soon see is a key point. This balmy climate has long attracted retirees and schleppers, so why not me? I’ve had it up to HERE with the cold weather! I’m getting’ on up, movin’ on out and sittin’ back down in a lawn chair next to the private pool I assume each ASU student gets.

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What to Expect on Gone Greek Night

3 Feb
Sorostitutes:
Part 1: Singing.  You know your songs. YOUR CHAPTER HAS THE BEST DAMN SONGS IN THE ENTIRE QUAD. Even if the lyrics seem like they were written by Tommy Wiseau, sing them with pride. If you sound stupid, you’ll sound stupid in solidarity. And let’s face it, stupidity in numbers is almost never shameful.

Those songs are the closest to hazing NU sororities will ever come. So if you’re uncomfortable, go chill with a sister elsewhere. Seriously. Nobody’s going to judge you because you don’t want to sing songs about how whorish you are. And it’s likely nobody’s going to notice your absence because you’re new and no one knows to ask where you are yet. So if you’re weirded out by weird lines or choreography, pretend you need to leave temporarily to go get special hypoallergenic tampons from Elder. Or something.

If you're presented with roses arranged like this, you may want to avoid the fratstar responsible for it.

If you’re awkward about receiving roses (like me), don’t put them down on a chair and pretend like you don’t have any (like me), because boys will think you actually don’t have any and they will give you more and you will have an awkward bouquet at the end of the night, and you will realize very slowly that it’s not because they find you attractive but rather because they see you have none in your hand and are either taking pity or priming you for a later hookup, and only you will know this, and you can’t/don’t explain that to any of your new sisters giving you the stinkeye because they will not understand and also because you kinda want them to think you looked especially hot and deserved the roses (no seriously I don’t know anyone who that happened to). If you’re kind of person who brags about receiving roses…don’t. In fact, drop now, you’re clearly obnoxious.


Part 2: Dancing.  
We’ll be saying this again on Dillo, but pace yourself if you’re drinking. Clearly the class of 2015 has issues with this (how many hospitalizations did you have fall quarter?) Don’t get super-trashed on the bus and be vomming on the dance floor the rest of the night, because you will probably get sent home, the Sober Sister sharing your cab will probably resent you, and the likeliness that you will hook up is literally nil. Also, treat your location with respect. You really don’t want to be That Guy.* Don’t make people hate you before you even finish pledging yet.

Gone Greek Night?

As I said earlier, you’re new and no one knows to check up on you yet. So find a buddy if you don’t want to hook up. That said, HAVE FUN. Remember those nights where you have to try to find someone who wants to hook up? Not tonight. Everyone’s single on GGN. Unless you’re not, in which case, don’t be a cheating bitch. Otherwise, go crazy, hon. If there was ever a night where you wanted to know how it feels to wake up in some random fratty’s dorm trying to remember whether the bra you were wearing matched your panties, and are they in the same location, and where that location may  be – go for it. You’ll be sharing stories later. Have a good one.

Or you could pull the Classy Ellie K move, which involves sleeping (no actually, just sleeping) in your awesome superchill super-cozy guy friend’s dingle, waking up sans hangover and going to the house because they have the best granola (which, unless you’re in my sorority, your house doesn’t have the best granola. Sorry).

So in short, don’t expect anything. Have a fun and safe time, represent your chapter- and most importantly, don’t get caught.

Pledges: Get ready to stumble! This is your chance to impress the ladies, sing your heart out and binge drink on a Friday afternoon. You’ll probably start your night pregaming with some brothers or just with your pledge class. Make sure to get absolutely crunk but not so bad that you can’t find the DG house. Once you’re done taking handle pulls in the daylight, you go sing to them fine sorority chicks. Usually, you’ll put their name in a song to make them all feel just so special and unique! Try “We found love in a __(sorority name)__-less place,” that should make them all love you.

NO SEX ON THE DANCE FLOOR, REGARDLESS OF THE LEVEL OF CONSENT

Throughout the night you’ll have roses to bestow onto all the bitchez you wish to make intercourse at. Try to give them out to your friends so that no one knows about your plan to make intercourse at the other ones. At some point in the night you’ll go to the house of the sorority you’re paired with for a nice meal. Eat dat shit. It’ll sober you up and allow you to remember the night (pro tip: Don’t shovel the food into your mouth as fast as you can and demand seconds, thirds, fourths, fifths, sixths and sixty-ninths. You’ll look like a pig).  Once the singing part is over, you can let loose and have some fun. Buses generally leave for the bar from the sorority quad near the house of the sorority you’re paired with between 7:30 and 8:30 p.m. Go to the bar. Take some awesome shooters with some awesome friends. Soak up each other’s awesomeness. Get kicked out of the bar. Hook up with some hawt girlz . BUT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON’T HAVE SEX ON THE DANCEFLOOR. PEOPLE REMEMBER THAT SHIT. That’s all I have to say.
Frat bros: Okay, we remember freshman year, right? Don’t do that shit. Keep it in control, bro. Just take a few shots, dance your ass off and DON’T HAVE SEX ON THE DANCEFLOOR. WHY HAS NO ONE FORGOTTEN THAT SHIT.  Other than that, your night has a lot less pressure. You just dress up, pregame and head to the buses. There’s a pretty good chance you’ll pregame at Cozy or some other fine BYOB establishment in Evanston. This is a great way to cover up your alcohol dependency but be warned: everyone else had the same idea and crowds are more than likely.  One final note: GGN isn’t really about you. It’s a chance for the new pledge classes to scope each other out, feel uncomfortable and try not to vomit. So have fun and get wild, but you should probably avoid bursting in during the middle of a song for a solo. I’m sure you sound great singing “Someone Like Gamma Phi” but everyone will be weirded out.

Other rule: Drink every time Chewbacca and Han Solo "have a moment"

GDI’s: This is not the most fun weekend for a non-Greek but that doesn’t mean you can’t find ways to make it interesting. True, there are generally no open frat parties Friday night (and few on Saturday) but that hardly means you can’t get schwastey. Try a drinking game! There are plenty of fun one, like battleshots or Mean Girls. I would advise STRONGLY against the Star Wars Drinking Game, in which the only rule is that you have to chug a handle every time there’s a surprising paternity result. Literally everyone will puke and/or die. So please don’t do it.
If you don’t want to sit with two friends in your dark dorm room (Green Cup, ya dig?), see if you can find a hoppin’ apartment party. Or maybe scope out some other bars for us and report back on which one should be the new Monday night destination. If you’re doing this, aim for a bar within walking distance of everywhere on campus that serves free booze and doesn’t card. Stripper poles are a must.

*That Guy behaviors include: vomiting in unsavory places, being a Motherfucker, destroying shit, vomiting in unsavory places, singing Nickelback songs

10 Events in World History That Totally Should Have Been Pregamed

2 Feb

There was once a time when history was regarded with reverence and esteem. Then the History Channel aired “Ice Road Truckers,” and since then, it has been hard for anyone to take history seriously. That being said, we still view history as an important part of our heritage that must be studied and understood. And by “studied and understood,” we of course mean “examined to establish which historical events would be funniest if all parties involved were shitfaced.” Here at Sherman Ave, history and drinking go together like, well, Mohawk rum and CVS-brand soda. Thus, we proudly present to you the 10 events in world history that totally should have been pregamed.

And you thought Northwestern students' Halloween costumes were offensive

10. The Travels of Marco Polo
As anybody who ever made the excruciating journey from the Keg to the mystical and foreign land of Burger King can attest, drunk adventures just tend to be more interesting than sober travels. Just imagine if Marco Polo had downed two bottles of wine before setting out from Venice! The young guido would probably embark on a series of raucous adventures throughout his travels, recording everything from his first encounters with Asian fusion cuisine in the land of Joy Yee to an ill-fated attempt to skinny dip in the Arabian Sea in an incomprehensibly ungrammatical text message sent to his roommate at three in the morning. The next day, Marco Polo would be way too hungover to feel dismayed by the revelation that, after being carried like three miles by his friends to the Yuan court, Polo used the sacred oil from Jerusalem entrusted to him by Gregory X to introduce the Mongolian Empire to waffle fries before promptly vomiting on Kublai Khan’s lap.

9. The Storming of the Bastille
On July 14, 1789, a bunch of disgruntled poor French people massed upon the Bastille, a large prison known for holding political prisoners. If you think about it, there are only three explanations for masses of people converging on a public place — they’re angry, they’re drunk, or they’re in the Jai Ho music video. Regrettably, seeing as the French were mostly angry in this scenario; they really should have been drunk. Simply compare the nature of angry public gatherings and drunken public gatherings. Angry public gatherings include Occupy Wall Street, Tiananmen Square, and Nazi book burnings. Drunken public gatherings include Snoop Dogg concerts, St. Patrick’s Day, and the celebration of Osama bin Laden’s death. You decide which you find preferable. Besides, A Tale of Two Cities would just be so much more interesting if Madame Lafarge was vomiting uncontrollably in every scene.

8. The Defenestration of Prague
Like anybody needs much provocation to drink in order to escape the infernal bleakness of Eastern Europe. But I usually do need to be at least a couple of shots of absinthe deep before I defend my religious freedom by shoving Catholics out of a third floor window into a pit of manure. Not to mention, a good pregame would have added a whole other layer to the term “getting shit-faced.”

Foam is beer!

7. The Crusades
Which Crusades? ALL OF THEM. ALL OF THE CRUSADES SHOULD HAVE BEEN PREGAMED. Okay, it’s like a road trip, but you can be as sloshy-slosh as you want, because you don’t have to worry about getting a DUI (unless the Holy Roman Empire stringently enforced horse-riding sobriety). Besides, there is no better instigator of belligerent shenanigans than Pope Urban II’s famous declaration, “God wills it!” That’s just asking to be misinterpreted for fratty purposes. Fifteen shots in an hour? God wills it! Eight consecutive kegstands? God wills it! Seriously, if someone walked up to me tomorrow and said “Hey, God wants us to get incredibly blitzed and then go ride a horse from Rome to Jerusalem,” I would instantly buy the necessary supplies. Then I’d probably proceed to buy a bible, to double-check the whole divine mandate thing.

6. Marx Writes the Communist Manifesto
Alcoholism becomes much easier when it’s supported by a good old-fashioned dialectical materialist ideology. A tipsy Marx after an unlucky game of Drunkopoly would undoubtedly replace his theories of Das Kapital with Das Boot, the class struggle with the timeless struggle for consciousness, and the stateless society the ideal of a pants-less society. His manuscript — hastily scrawled on the back of a cocktail napkin — would ignite rebels everywhere with its message, resulting in a series of idealistic revolutions calling for the redistribution of Miller High Life among the proletariat but rapidly degenerating into a dystopian shitshow of Adele lyrics in the gulag of Fran’s Cafe.

5. Hannibal Leading His Army Over the Alps
When I’m plastered, there are only two things I want: Guacamole and Elephants. I have some doubts about the guacamole rations in the Carthaginian army, but there were definitely some fucking elephants. They’re just so large! In that state of mind, it’s difficult to perceive objects larger than the distance between Burger King and 7/11. An elephant would just be mind-blowing. Furthermore, there are tons of fun activities to do in the Alps: skiing, snowboarding, sledding, making snow angels, having snowball fights with fellow Carthaginian soldiers, walking behind Hannibal and quietly muttering lines from “Silence of the Lambs,” etc. If someone just told me to march over an entire mountain range, I’d be pretty miffed, but if someone had me do a power hour and then said “Let’s go hiking!” I’d take the bait like a middle-aged housewife at Herman Cain’s mansion.

A thimblefull of tequila brings out her coquettish side

4. The Trial of Joan of Arc
Tensions might have ran high in the Rouen courtroom as the Maid of Orléans was tried for heresy, but that’s nothing a little Smirnoff chased by a slap can’t solve! If only the Bishop Cauchon had pregamed, the interrogation would have devolved from religious inquiry to a saucy game of “Never Have I Ever,” with questions mostly pertaining to Joan’s fantasies about the Dauphin and her penchant for cross-dressing. Joan of Arc will then famously proceed to declare to the courtroom, “I do not think I am in mortal sin, and if I am, it is for God and the priest in confession to know that I used the pages of Ezekial 23: 19-20 to roll the biggest joint Charles VII ever saw!” The trial would inevitably end with the pronouncement that the patron saint of France was “one righteous motherfucker” before burning her at the stake and cooking escargot over her smoldering ashes.

3. The Arrival of Cortez in Mexico
I’ll be the first to admit: When I’ve have too much to drink, I’m very friendly. Best friends are inundated with hugs, acquaintances are equally inundated with hugs, and the quiet Korean girl from my Econ discussion probably sustains a fairly serious spinal injury from the amount and magnitude of the hugs with which she is inundated. But even in all of my drunken affection, I very rarely greet a stranger and jump to the conclusion that they are the god Quetzalcoatl. There was that one time, but she had a very oddly proportioned face, and I couldn’t come up with any other explanation for it. Ultimately, Montezuma and his Aztec cronies should have heavily pregamed the arrival of Cortez, if for no other reason than to justify their absurd actions (just think if only Cortez had been entranced by the Aztec’s gold tequila rather than the golden buildings of Tenochtitlan). I’d have to be incredibly trashed to give a stranger the keys to the capital city of my civilization, even though I was once trashed enough to lock the keys in the car at 2:30 in the morning after drunkenly transporting a couch through several blocks of downtown Evanston.

2. The Construction of Stonehenge
Seeing as its pretty easy to build Stonehenge in the opening of Civilization IV, I can only assume that the Druids were pretty far gone when they built one the most complex monuments of the Stone Age. I mean, you’d kind of have to be three sheets to the wind to agree to lug 25-ton rocks from a Welsh quarry to some testament for the enterprising spirit of man. Assuming the Druids were drunk on mead, there are few explanations remaining for the memorial. My guess is that they either built a fast-food restaurant catering to students’ late-night culinary needs, or else a bar with a lax ID policy and stripper poles on the dance floor.

Drink every time a Russian model looks like this by the time she hits her mid-thirties?

1. Russia
You may not have ever thought to pregame an entire nation, but it seems like the only appropriate thing to do. I’d really like to isolate a single event in Russian history that needs to be pregamed more than the others, but that is simply a Sisyphean task. Conclusion: Nothing in or relating to Russia should ever involve sobriety. Therefore, instead of painstakingly listing every event in Russian history, I present to you: “History of Russia: The Drinking Game!”
• Drink every time Russia is invaded in the winter against the invader’s better judgment
• Drink every time a prominent politician is sent to a gulag
• Drink every time Brezhnev’s eyebrows appear in an intricate nightmare of yours
• Drink every time Putin shares an uncomfortably intimate moment with a wild animal
• Drink every time Tolstoy and/or Dostoevsky makes you lose faith in everything, LITERALLY EVERYTHING
• Drink every time Tchaikovsky tries to suppress his latent homosexuality
• Drink every time a Russian leader tries to expand executive power
o Drink twice if it’s Putin
• Waterfall from 1917-1991

Ross Packingham and Evander Jones

Culinary Dorm Corner: The Waffle-Maker

14 Jan

Life isn’t really that interesting in the dining halls at Northwestern. Sometimes you just need to grab it by the lady balls and find your own way to make it interesting. How can you do that, one may ask? Well let this Professor school you, motherfucker.

It can also double as a bludgeon

The secret is the Waffle Iron. This safety hazard will literally enhance your downtrodden life here. Say you didn’t get a bid at that frat/sorority. Put a waffle on it! Say your puppy turned one and crossed that boundary into doghood, but you’re studying for a 300-level marketing class eight states away. Put a waffle on it! Say you just found out that your roommate has an Asian AND a hammock fetish and insists on unabashedly having air-suspended sex with the more intelligent half of NU’s population should you come in at the wrong time. PUT A WAFFLE ON IT. It’s practically God’s gustatory band-aid for your stomach!

So here’s how you wrangle this beast:

You walk into the freaking dining hall WITH YOUR ID ALREADY OUT SO YOU DON’T HOLD UP THE LINE LIKE IT’S AN AIRPORT. Then you walk over to the main entrée station and grab a plate. Does that vegan sloppy joe station look good? NEVER. NOT NEXT TO A WAFFLE! Walk over to the waffle thing. Grab a cup o’ dat sweet sourdough batter shit. Pour it onto the waffle iron that could inevitably lead to several clumsily self-inflicted wounds and pour that deliciousness all up on that inefficient grid pattern. Follow the directions. That is, turn it a 180-degree spin and wait for the bell. Spin it back around and take the waffle off and put it on your plate. Now the fun begins.

What are you gonna do with that hot sexy waffle tantalizing you with its butter legs open and its square holes unfilled? Points for the extreme sexual innuendo? Only in my kitchen, bitches.

This is true art

Anyway, while it’s hot, you can adventure over to the peanut butter or the nutella and slather that shit on like your grandma puts on foundation and concealer. No one wants to see you come back with a lousy butter and maple syrup confection! THEY WANT ARTISTRY! CREATIVITY! CHOLESTEROL! Bring them something with caramel syrup from the ice cream station topped with soft serve and Trix for crunch! Bring them something with peanut butter and apple sauce! Bring them something with yogurt and fruit! Don’t be a waffle pussy, get in there and get primitive!

Happy Eating!

The Shoulder Thing

3 Jan

As a member of society with an available soapbox, I feel that it is necessary to warn you of a disgusting phenomenon in our society. This little-known gesture of disdain and douchiness has plagued middle schools for ages, but seeing its use among the heinously classy students of Northwestern brings me to my knees.

It is commonly known as “The Shoulder Thing.”

Imagine, for example, a group of friends have formed a circle. They are having a very deep and intimate conversation in which minds are being enlightened and lives are being changed.

A friend or acquaintance overhears snippet of said conversation and wishes to contribute.

However, the shoulders of persons A and B are too close together, and the new member cannot contribute to the conversation.

This is known as “The Shoulder Thing.”

Persons A and B are Motherfuckers because they can hear their friend knocking on the conversation’s door, politely requesting entry with his presence, and don’t move. Person C is also Motherfucker because he is physically looking into the face of the shunned and doesn’t say anything.

So much douchery is implied, and the Motherfuckers don’t even have the decency to outright shun the outsider. They strand him on the outside, disappointed and confused, like a freshmen girl calling Saferide at 3:27 AM when she finally thinks the line won’t be busy only to find that she’s too late and they’re no longer open, and now she’s either got to ask a frat bro she barely knows to walk her all the way south, go alone and risk running into the Smartphone Pirates, or hook up with a guy to get a place for the night.

Typically, circles of Motherfuckers will simply ignore the presence of the outsider, interrupting his stuttered attempts at contribution as if to say, “You are not worth the time it takes me to listen to your comment. You are not worth a momentary pity nod. However, my comment is incredibly important and significantly more valuable than whatever you are going to say.” Seriously, even Kanye, the most narcissistic of disruptive douchebags, was gonna let Taylor finish. Hell, Kanye even let Taylor start.

Here is an illustration of how to properly do The Shoulder Thing. As demonstrated, Persons A and B angle their shoulders so as to be enlightened by the insightful remark about to be made by their acquaintance.

You and your friends are tight. You are tighter than a hipster’s pants, tighter than a nun’s poontang, tighter than Kate Upton in an A-cup. We get it. The inside jokes are enough to make potential newcomers awkwardly excuse themselves from a conversation with a comment like, “I’ll be over there jerking off in your Apple Jacks, because it’s more visibly appreciative of my input.” You probably don’t like the outsider, or you’d welcome them. But you don’t have to be such a Motherfucker about it.

You must be the heinous you wish to see in the world.