16 Things Lorde Hasn’t Done

Yeah, this bitch counts her dollars on the train to the party.

She’s sixteen. You’re twentysomething. She has a chart-topping single, gorgeous hair, and more maturity than every MILF on Pornhub combined. You have a hangover. Congrats.

In the event you have to fight to the death in a round of NeverHaveIEver To make you feel better, here’s 16 things Lorde hasn’t done.

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: France

A Frenchman overcoming his existential ennui with wine, bread, and unbridled douchiness.

Have you ever had your testicles sawed off with a rusty butter knife at a Nickelback concert? Although that may sound like the worst possible fate one could suffer, there are over 60 million people in the world who suffer a fate much worse. I’m not talking about AIDS victims, I’m not talking about human rights violations – I’m not even talking about Cubs fans. I’m referring, of course, to the French. Those elitist semensicles are the physical embodiment of everything heinous about the world, which is a substantial claim, given that they inhabit the same planet as other notorious twatbarrels like Iceland and New Zealand.

I’d like to begin this exposè by clarifying one crucial point: The French did not help us to gain our independence. “Historians” may assert that the French came to our “rescue” in “boats,” but we all know that those were just patriotic pirates mistaken for Frenchmen because of their tragic speech impediments.

Don't be fooled by the buxom and idyllic French Lady Liberty

Now, where was I? Oh that’s right – I was talking about how France is the most pitiful heap of Le Scrotum upon which humanity ever laid its sorrowful eyes. The first point of scrutiny is their flag, which boasts the triumphant red, white, and blue color combination, just like the United States. Don’t be fooled, though – while the American flag’s colors stand respectively for valor, purity, and justice, the French flag is merely a white flag of surrender with red and blue bars symbolizing red wine and bleu cheese.

You can't sit with us! That's the second time this week you've worn pantaloons!

France’s history of “leadership” is also notably heinous. Ranging from Louis XIV (who held the title of “Biggest P-tripper” for almost 300 years until Sherman Ave was created) to Nicolas Sarkozy (the only attendant of the G20 summit who could easily double as a cast member on Jersey Shore), the presidency and monarchy of France were never lucky enough to see any George Washingtons or Andrew Jacksons take office. The most successful leader they had was Napoleon, who can only be compared to an atrocious illegitimate lovechild of Danny DeVito and Jim Cramer. Napoleon accomplished some things as a leader, but all of his achievements are effectively canceled out by the fact that his men killed Prince Bolkonsky. Fucker.

To be fair, it was the first French combat victory in quite a long time.

Another hilariously sad aspect of France is its athletic culture. Like most nations that are absolutely rancid, France’s national sport is soccer, or “football,” as known by Brits and hipsters. One of my personal favorite highlights in France’s history is the national team’s 17-1 loss to Denmark in 1908. I don’t think there’s really too much more I need to say here – I’ll just humbly point out how demoralizing it must be to get clobbered by a country whose Queen fucked her brother-in-law. However, an even more humiliating event in the team’s history happened in the 2006 World Cup Final, when Zinedine Zidane – someone who stands out as a douchegargler even among the French populace – found it necessary to blatantly headbutt a member of the opposing Italian team. And then they lost! That’s like being ass-raped and still getting pregnant. Better yet, when the French national team qualified for the 2010 World Cup, they didn’t even make it to the primary elimination round; they were bested by the national teams of Mexico, South Africa, and – I shit you not – Uruguay. That was certainly a gargantuan blow to their ego, but thankfully they have enough ego in just their waxed mustaches that it didn’t do any permanent damage.

Some pansy French guy, probably after finding out how fucking lame the 5th Republic is or something

If you’re looking for more reasons why France is innately inferior, the proof is in the crêpes. Remember that time we landed at Normandy and showed the Nazis that they were not(sy) going to win World War II, while the French were too busy cultivating their fucking grapes? Remember that time the French thought they were going to win the 4×100 swimming relay in the 2008 Summer Olympics, and then American bamf-stick Jason Lezak came from behind like he was Kobe Bryant (not a basketball reference)? Remember that time an American athlete with a trunk only half-full of junk (or half-empty, for all you private-part pessimists) went into France and beat them at their own sport 7 times in a row? Because I remember. So, to all Frenchmen and Frenchwomen (often a difficult distinction to make), I leave you with this last thought: Next time your flagrant self-centeredness convinces you that you’re the best country in the world, you can escargot fuck yourself.

Hate a Random Country: São Tomé and Príncipe

NASCAR hasn't quite caught on here yet

It is widely understood that island nations are the gingers of the international community. Under that model, the pitiful African state known as São Tomé and Príncipe is the global equivalent of Molly Weasley. Boasting a population slightly smaller than that of Boise, São Tomé and Príncipe, (henceforth to be referred to as STP, so I don’t have to type all of those goddamn accents) is a volcanic island chain off the coast of the prosperous, stable nation of Gabon. The country is technically a “Democratic Republic,” but it’s safe to presume that whoever told them they were a democratic republic is the same person who told Dr. Dre he was a doctor. However, since the atrophied remainder of my moral fiber prevents me from scrutinizing a country for its legitimate poverty and instability, I’ll just stick with my tried-and-true routine of scrutinizing a country for its culture and heritage.

Even a high James Franco could design a better flag than this.

We’ll start with the national flag. The predominant colors on the flag are yellow, green, and red; a ground-breakingly creative move on the part of STP. The only other West African countries with those colors are Ghana, Togo, Benin, Guinea, Guinea-Bissau, Mali, Senegal, Cameroon, and Burkina Faso. And you thought those nights of drunken Sporcle wouldn’t amount to anything. To add to the cliché color scheme of the flag, note that the flag displays a whopping two stars. First of all, since everyone’s thinking it: by default, the United States is 25 times better than this lamentable excuse for a country. Really, though, two stars? In the context of constellations, two stars can get you the left half of a belt or about one-third of a fucking spoon. In the context of kindergarten, the kids who wound up twenty years later with meth labs in their basement had no trouble getting a pair of stars on a spelling test. Even the hardly-picturesque Chicago night sky shines with more than two stars. Skeptics may conjure up horseshit excuses like “They represent the two islands that make up the nation,” but at the end of the day, the two stars are about as pathetic as Oprah Winfrey standing next to Pippa Middleton.

It's kind of tough when your soccer pitch is a fucking sandlot

As if the national banner didn’t shed enough light on the nation’s inherent rancidness, a little Wikipedia page called “São Tomé and Príncipe national football team”offers some more material. One fascinating table on this page revealed STP’s World Cup record; the words “Did Not Qualify” appeared so many times, you’d think Rosie O’Donnell was trying to run in the Boston Marathon. On several occasions, they even failed to qualify for the African Nations’ Cup – essentially, they got a rejection letter from a community college. Even more laughable are STP’s record games; in 1976, STP suffered an 11-0 loss at the hands of The Congo. That’s almost as bad as losing a night game to Purdue. On the bright side, there are two games tied for STP’s biggest win: the 2-0 decimation of Equatorial Guinea in 1999 and the 2-0 rout of Sierra Leone in 2000. However, after the magnificent 1999-2000 season, the glory days of two goals in one game became nothing but a fond memory amidst a sea of pimp-slaps from various Western African republics. STP’s next match is against the Republic of the Congo (yet another rival yellow-green-red flagged country) in November 2011 – who knows? Perhaps they’ll break a national record and win by more than 2 goals. But more likely, they’ll be curb-stomped into submission by the country that inspired “Heart of Darkness.”

This country is almost as disappointing as The Matrix Revolutions

It goes without saying that STP is a steaming cocksicle of a nation. Yes, it’s tropical and shit, but so is Brazil, and we all know how atrocious that place is. Any nation that prides itself on the number of stars that Ebert and Roeper would instinctively give a movie with Keanu Reeves, has never won a soccer game by three or more goals, and is located on a fucking island can count of being devoid of my adoration. So join the ranks, São Tomé and Príncipe – Uruguay, New Zealand, and dozens of other horrendous countries will welcome your unabashed taintitude with open arms.

Hate A Random Country: New Zealand

This sheep is literally the most coveted female in the entire country

It is common knowledge that New Zealand is an awful, awful place. But before I delve into the endless depths of why this feeble island-nation is lamer than a cross-breed of Christopher Reeve and Stephen Hawking (okay, admittedly this joke is tasteless), there’s one point I want to make clear: Yes, I recognize that Lord of the Rings was filmed in New Zealand, and yes, I recognize that Lord of the Rings is, for lack of a better term, the tits (to clarify, that means I like it). However, Lord of the Rings was not the only movie filmed in New Zealand. Cinematic shitmounds like Whale Rider, Mission Impossible 2, and Without A Paddle (literally the worst movie ever created that didn’t feature Nicolas Cage) were also filmed in that Maori cesspool known as New Zealand. Thus, we can all agree that any credit given to New Zealand for its association with Peter Jackson’s directorial hotness (not to be confused with his physical hotness, which is purely non-existent) is effectively canceled out by its association with scientologist douchecake Tom Cruise and proverbial assbasket Seth Green.

One does not simply walk into Mordor!

Another fundamental flaw in New Zealand can be seen in their sports culture. Primarily, it is crucial to note that the national sport of New Zealand is rugby, a sport known far and wide for its absolute insignificance. The national team of New Zealand is fondly referred to as the All-Blacks — a racial slur that is purely incomprehensible to me or any other member of the fine educational institution of Northwestern University. And even the famed All-Blacks aren’t that big of a deal; anyone one who has seen Invictus could tell you that. I’m sorry, New Zealand, but losing to South Africa in anything (except racial dichotomy, obviously) represents a severe absence of excellence.

Ooooh, featuring the Union Jack, how original.

Speaking of severe absence of excellence, New Zealand’s soccer team is also renowned for its habitual suckage of ass. I am a regular player of FIFA, as Evanston residents continually kept awake by my bloodcurdling shrieks of anguish and/or triumph can attest. In FIFA 2011, New Zealand is literally the worst international soccer team, taking the back seat to such laughable countries as Slovakia, Finland, and even France. Furthermore, the primary color of New Zealand’s jersey in soccer (and rugby, for that matter) is black. Is the color black featured on New Zealand’s flag? No. As if we didn’t already have enough reasons to detest this country, they are on the list of obnoxious countries that insist on representing themselves with a color not depicted on their flag (I’m looking at you, Netherlands).

I think I’ve made my point pretty clear. But just in case I haven’t, I’ll conclude with one last contention: Can we ever really respect a country whose demonym is a fruit? Case closed, Kiwi bitches.

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.