A Detailed Schedule for a New Years Spent Alone

This year, I will be spending New Years Eve at home by myself. This is not a choice I made willingly, nor is it the first time that I have found myself in this situation. It’s pretty much the same story every time I come home for the holidays – my friends hang around town for the first week or so, and then jet off to various destinations the day after Christmas, where they typically remain until well after the New Year. This leaves me with three options for New Years Eve:

1) Call up friends from high school that I’ve lost touch with.

2) Hang out with parents and parents’ friends.

3) Stay home alone.

Living Off-Campus: How to Feed Yourself And Not Die

Freshmen, tragically still dorm-ridden sophomores—as any upperclassman knows, living off campus is awesome. Having your own place means no flip-flops in the shower and rolling around naked on all the furniture being naked in the places that your dictatorial Philistine of a roommate has designated “not super perverted or weird.” There is, however, a very dark downside to getting out of North Mid-Quads or whatever shithole you live in, and that is learning how to feed yourself. Yes, today you may curse Hinman’s batter fried Pollock, but oh, just you wait until you’re

New Roommate From Westchester Won’t Shut Up About New York Bagels; Pizza

Moorehead, expounding further upon his top 5 all-time shmears

SAINT PAUL, MN — Macalester College freshman and Westchester County native James Moorehead will not shut up about the elite nature of New York City’s bagels or pizza, sources report.

“I don’t know, there’s something about a New York City bagel that you just can’t find anywhere else,” complained a wary Moorehead at his local Einstein Bros Bagels.  Added the Bedford native, “I think it has to do with the water or something.”

A first-hand account of Herman Cain’s visit to Northwestern

For those of you who have had the misfortune of not seeing one of the most trolled Facebook events of the 21st century, Herman Cain was brought to Northwestern by the College Republicans group on campus.  Immediately after hearing of this news, a vivid array of hypothetical situations fluttered through my mind, namely the lofty goal of dressing up in a pizza costume and rushing the stage.  There was never a shred of doubt that this event would be controversial, and there was only a minuscule shred of doubt that there would be a quote from the Pokemon movie; as I’ll explain later, that shred of doubt was unfounded.

Sadly, it wasn’t practical for me to violently pregame the event, thanks to midterms.  So instead, I just walked over to Fisk 217, the lecture hall I’ve historically associated with a balding Dutch man speaking in a monotone voice about Cap and Trade theory (we love you, Professor Hendrik “Mr. Potato Head” Spruyt).  As I sat down in my unnecessarily creaky seat, I was hit by a flash of genius:  I should live-tweet a Herman Cain speech!

Probably the most heinous live-tweeting since Evander Jones live-tweeted Space Jam

Regrettably, we were asked to turn off our phones before Mr. Cain took the stage, probably so they didn’t make noise when he sent dick pics to various young women in the audience.  It was sad to see my live-tweeting dreams be crushed, but at least they weren’t crushed as aggressively as Herman Cain’s campaign was.

After a quick video was unsuccessfully featured (it froze halfway and people really just didn’t seem surprised), the Category 5 HermanCain took the stage to roaring applause.  That was really awkward, because it indicated to me that I might be one of the only people who was coming to see Herman Cain ironically.

Four! I had four orders of Chicken Fries last night!

He started off his speech with some very rehearsed lines about dreams and success and other shit like that, which he performed as if it were a monologue from King Lear.  He then moved on to recounting his career — this took about twenty minutes, and was basically him power-tripping about his success in turning a profit on some Burger King franchises in Philadelphia.  He clearly doesn’t understand that we’re all well-acquainted with the most profitable Burger King location in the US, and couldn’t give two shits about any Burger King sites that aren’t automatically associated with the utmost drunken debauchery.

But things didn’t get really awkward until Cain starting discussing his actual politics.  The intellectual tension in the room could be cut with a knife, as everyone seemed to realize simultaneously that Herman Cain knows jack shit about foreign policy.  Among the most uncomfortable moments was when Cain proclaimed unequivocally that Germany lost World War II because they ran out of oil – a statement that, to his credit, probably goes over well with the semi-literate mountain people that attend Tea Party rallies.  However, right as the words came out of his mouth, there was a quiet buzz around the room, as everyone turned to their neighbor and whispered something along the lines of “That’s completely fucking wrong.”  He effectively dispelled any doubts of his knowledge by noticing this buzz and following up with, “Wait, am I thinking of the wrong war?”

At another point toward the end of his speech, he stated off-handedly that “the 9-9-9 tax plan will fix the economy.”  He didn’t bother elaborating on this whatsoever, but instead directed us to his website where, in his words, “there’s a five-minute video about it.”  We were all super convinced, and I’m definitely writing in Cain 2012.

Perhaps the most uneasy moment of the speech was when he talked about energy dependence, and loudly voiced his opinions that we shouldn’t be so reliant upon the “sheiks, shakes, and shikes” of the Middle East.  Following this statement, I viciously pinched my arm 1o to 12 times, convinced that this was actually just one of my many fucked-up dreams.  It wasn’t.

And then he closed with what we now know to be his favorite Pokemon quote.  Honestly, at this point I was in so much disbelief that I was temporarily paralyzed.  Like, I couldn’t actually move, I was just so transfixed by Herman Cain’s complete absurdity.

I didn’t stay for questions.

An Open Letter Apology to the Management of the Skokie, IL Chuck E. Cheese Franchise

Dear Management of the Skokie, IL Chuck E. Cheese Franchise,

Makes sense.

I wish to convey my deepest regrets and apologies for my behavior at your Chuck E. Cheese franchise last Saturday between the hours of 2:30 and 10:56pm. My odious behavior was a monstrous offense to the good name of Northwestern University undergraduates everywhere, and not befitting of my proud standing as a citizen of the United States, Democrat, AP Honor Roll member, Sherman Ave co-editor, Presbyterian, frat star, Chipotle VIP card holder, illegitimate child of Morty Schapiro and Brooklyn Decker, starting Wildcat Wide Receiver, Keg bouncer, Homo sapien, or Chet Haze hype man. Needless to say, I am tremendously sorry, and promise that such heinousness shall never happen again.

I understand that there is no proper way to apologize for the havoc I wreaked. More specifically, there is no proper way to heal the psychic trauma that all those fourth graders suffered as I used my 5,697 tickets as a garrote to assassinate the animatronic Chuck E. Cheese.  Let’s just say that mistakes were made.

The Kool & The Gang covers get them every time.

Overlooking the miserable gaffe your Technical Manager Jerry made by allowing a robot band that didn’t know one single Heart song to take the vaunted Animated Variety Stage, I apologize for my treatment of the band members backing up Chuck “The King of Cool” Cheese. Had I known about Mr. Munch’s decade-long battle with Type 2 Diabetes, I highly doubt I would have told the singer/songwriter/keyboardist/lard-ass that his cleavage looked like Israel Kamakawiwoʻole got a boob job. Nor should I have suggested to lead singer Helen Henny that her professional career as a shallow placeholder for the hopes and dreams of thousands of pre-pubescent girls can hardly be an adequate replacement to fill the void left by the existential fear of loneliness at the age of 37. In retrospect, I would also like to apologize for failing to inform Chuck that even while recovering from lung surgery, the Marlboro Man could probably do a better job than Mr. Cheese’s half-assed effort at “I Kissed a Girl.”

Look, when I heard that Chuck E. Cheese Pizza Time Theaters were safe places “Where a kid can be a kid,” I naturally assumed it meant “where an immature and inebriated 20-something can try to combat the steady rise of responsibility and daunting prospects of the adult world by making a complete ass of himself.” Well, apparently I was wrong.

I'll bet you anything you didn't wake up this morning expecting to read a Slobodan reference.

Luckily, most of the children in the Kiddie Area were too goddamn ignorant to understand what I meant when I informed my waiter that my pepperoni pizza tasted like somebody adorned a pizza crust with tomato sauce, the flesh of Old Yeller, and a finely shredded Slobodan Milošević turd. And for that we can all be grateful. I mean, in all probability those kids just thought “Oh look, that one guy who tried to pour Smirnoff into his Tropicana® Apple Juice while driving in the car simulator is really angry!” But that is neither here nor there.

I owe the management of the Skokie Chuck E. Cheese my sincerest apologies for accusing a Game Room attendant who looked eerily similar to Ben Bernanke of participating in a devious inflation plot designed to raise the token exchange rate to 700 tickets per one crappy Chinese-manufactured yo-yo, all while feeding my raging gambling-addiction with your glaring lights and free-flowing ticket dispensaries. Also, I apologize for failing to heed the numerous written warnings detailing the dangers of playing Chubby Bunny with the balls from the ball pit.

...............

When I walk into a Chuck E. Cheese Pizza Time Theater, I expect entertainment dammit. Not some Kafka-esque pageantry that reminds me of the bastard lovechild of Radioshack and Cirque Du Soleil. That being said, it was probably not the best decision to vent my emotions by lecturing all within earshot on the similarities between skeeball machines and the human bajingo or pretending I’m Dirk Nowitzki as I devastate eight-year-olds trying their luck at your infernal basketball games. I am sorry.

I do not, however, wish to apologize for setting mousetraps in every corner of your Pizza Time Theater to help with your “mouse problem.”

Sincerely,
Evander Jones
WCAS ‘14
Runner Up, George Washington Junior High 7^th Grade Geography Bee, 2005

p.s. Is Pizza Planet still open?

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.

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