How to Not Give a Fuck About Valentine’s Day and Still Get Laid: A Beginner’s Guide to Accidental Pussy

Aw, you and Marcus didn’t work out?

It’s that time of the year again. No, not Black History Month, though props to my dogs. It’s that time of year when it seems like everyone you know is either:

a) in a relationship with a human
b) in a relationship with a cat
c) in a relationship with their hand

But with Valentine’s Day finally behind us, everyone seemed to be able to put aside their differences and focus on one thing and one thing only: SEX. Fornication, coitus, nooky, whoopee, boinking, taking a roll in the hay. Whatever you call it, it’s probably disgusting. I’m gonna go ahead and assume that you, like most of Northwestern’s population, fell into the third category. Fear not, peasant! As always, I am here to help in times of crisis. Stick to my rules and in no time your dick will be sure to be worming it’s way inside many a skank.

Love a Random State: Ohio

I may be a tad bit biased, but Ohio is a pretty badass state. We fuck up pretty much every Presidential Election. We can’t make decisions on anything from street cars to abortion. We are some waffling motherfuckers, and I’m not talking about McGriddles. Besides being a political asshole, here are some other reasons you should bow down and worship my state of conception/birth/childhood.

The beautiful metropolis of Cleveland

1. Ohio is the 7th largest state by population.
Cincinnati is the 61st largest city in the nation by population.* Being mediocrely medium-sized takes all the pressure off being big. We may not have the hustle and bustle of New York or the flotsam and jetsam of Chicago, but we sure do have a lot of wide open spaces and corn. This makes for some great middle school field trips, like visiting an Amish farm and learning how to properly milk a cow or taking a spin on a tea-cup-death-trap-vomit-inducing ride while eating a stick of deep-fried butter at the local carnival.

2. Subpar athletics.
I may not be an expert when it comes to sports. I didn’t vehemently protest the NBA lockout, I do not worship Tebow born from the Virgin Mother, nor do I have any vague inkling as to what Royal Shrovetide Football is really all about. However, I do know one thing: If the Cincinnati Bengals were running in the Republican primaries, they would rank somewhere above Michelle Bachmann and somewhat below Stephen Colbert. They may suck at football and politics, but the Bengals have quite a record off the field. Since 2000, the team has a combined criminal record of 30 arrests, 8 DUIs, and 1 charge of “boating under the influence.”** I’m not really sure how this makes Ohio awesomely badass, but it does.

3. Larger than life Presidents.
We produced President William Howard Taft, the man who couldn’t fit in a normal bathtub. In fact, a bathtub fit for four men was installed in the White House just for him. I bet VP James Sherman had a pretty good time in there, seeing as he was a normal sized man. (That leaves room for three more people, for those of you who are still in Math 110).

O-hi-OH!!!!

4. Ohio is beautiful.
OK, maybe just Halle Berry is. Halle Berry was Miss Ohio 1986. At 19, Halle managed to lock down a state title and first runner-up for the Miss USA pageant. Pretty badass, Ms. Berry.

5. Badass motherfuckers in office.
Jerry Springer, host of The Jerry Springer Show, served on Cincinnati’s city council for three years, before resigning when Jerry’s favorite hang-out was revealed: a Kentucky “massage parlor.”*** But it only gets better: he paid his “masseuse” with a city check. It doesn’t get much classier than that. He was then elected the mayor of Cincinnati from 1977-1978. We obviously know how to choose effective leaders.

6. In Ohio, it is illegal to get a fish drunk.****
Need I say more?

7. Where art thou, Ohio?
There actually aren’t many NU students from Ohio. There should certainly be more Amish, chili-loving, politically frustrated, Midwesterners up in Northwestern’s business. However, this makes for some great feedback. Apparently, Californians have no fucking clue where Ohio is. My roommate thought it was near Iowa and her friend could swear she thought it was south of Illinois. I guess they don’t teach Geography in the Bay Area. As a loyal Ohioan and a college student with half my brain still intact despite raging alcoholism and mind numbing, drug-induced Sporcle competitions, I know exactly where Ohio is: right between New Mexico and Arizona. Right?

8. Home of Skyline Chili.
Although none of you Northside Prep trust-fund babies or LTHS fanboys have heard of Skyline, enlighten yourselves. Cincinnati’s definition of chili: chocolate (yes, chocolate) ground beef soup poured over spaghetti noodles and topped with neon yellow, synthesized, shredded cheddar cheese. Mouth-o-meter: fucking delicious.

9. Hipsterz.
Searching for the inner-sanctum of hipsterism? Look no further. Clifton, a small neighborhood on the outskirts of downtown Cincinnati, is a hub of culture and excitement. 98% of Clifton residents are Democrat, making us some badass, Obama loving hippies. 98% of us also love Indian food. Why? There are 7 locally owned Indian restaurants in Clifton. Step outside my house and take a good whiff of Saag Paneer and Chicken Curry. Yum. You can always find a homeless town troubadour belting out his love life with the aid of his trusty accordion. Besides musicians, we are also home to many other badass personalities, such as the mysterious bag man who, although he appears to be homeless, goes to the grocery store every day and picks up 3 lemons, a loaf of bread, and a bag of kitty litter. Meth lab, anyone? There is also the penguin man who yells at cars going over 25, the local business owners who all seem to be tangled in a Romeo and Juliet-esque love affair, and my personal favorite, the middle school drug dealers who hang out at the shelter in Burnet Woods after school. (Whoops, did I just blow your cover?)

Take a trip back in time

10. We have one of the largest Amish populations in the country.
Amish people are badass. Love the Amish, and eat their chicken; it’s free-range!

Needless to say, Ohio is a badass state. If this article has convinced you to pack up your Illinois life (or wherever the fuck you’re from) and move to Ohio, call my step dad. He’s a realtor.

——————————————————————————————————————————
*Sporcle. Yeah, I did it. I used Sporcle as a source. Try to censor that, PIPA.
**NKY Sports World
***Massage parlor = brothel
****Twitter

Hate a Random Country: Costa Rica

One of the numerous heinous individuals populating this tainthole of a country

A few weeks ago, a member of our presteinous (that’s prestigiously heinous, if you’re wondering) blog was approached at an off-campus party and asked if we would write an installment of our unnecessarily abrasive “Hate a Random Country” series on his home country, Costa Rica. The member of the blog, who was most certainly not Evander Jones, got down from the table on which he was exuberantly belly-dancing and happily agreed to have the article written. That being said, this article is not being written only by request – it’s being written because Costa Rica is home to a massive concentration of twatitude that can be rivaled only by the Seneca Falls Convention.

“Costa Rica” is a country similar to “Democratic Republic of Congo,” in that its name in no way reflects the country itself. Spanish for “Rich Coast,” Costa Rica is truly only rich in two things: Trees and tainthood. I’ll focus mostly on the tainthood.

Red, white, and blue!? BRILLIANT!!!

For those of us who don’t give a flying fuckstick about shithole countries like Costa Rica, it may be a surprise to learn that the currency in Costa Rica is the “colón” – presumably named for either the human colon or Cristobal Colón, a.k.a. Christopher Columbus. After all, who wouldn’t want their currency named after a raging cockbottle who exploited their people? For fuck’s sake, Costa Rica. You don’t see Cherokees running around paying with Jacksons, or Northwestern’s defense running around paying with Anyones. Worse yet, the abbreviation for the Costa Rican Colón is, surprisingly enough, CRC – an acronym that, to Northwestern students, encompasses nearly all the School of Comm’s limitless atrociousness.

Besides their poorly-named currency, the country with a president named “Chinchilla” boasts many more aspects worth scrutinizing. For example, its coat of arms is the feeblest display of culture I’ve seen since Kappa Sig went to the Shedd Aquarium. The image consists of several features:

Contrary to initial beliefs, this is not a 5th Grade Social Studies project

• A landmass.  Presumably representing Costa Rica, the landmass is a strip of land with three unnaturally phallic geographic features.
• Two bodies of water.  Divided by the landmass, they likely represent the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans.  Because clearly, Costa Rica is the only fucking country that borders two oceans.
• Two ships.  Likely representing the Nina and the Pinta.  Or the Nina and the Santa Maria.  Or the Pinta and Santa Maria.  Or maybe just two generic coming-to-totally-fuck-your-people-over ships.
• A banner over the top reading “America Central.”  Apparently, no one ever informed these dumbshits that it’s called “Central America.”

The only thing rivaling Costa Rica's lack of defense is the Northwestern secondary

Perhaps the most unique fact about Costa Rica is that they don’t have a military.  Yes, you heard me.  To show you the full impact of this absurdity, allow me to put it into perspective.  On Monday nights, the backdoor of the Keg is more protected than the nation of Costa Rica.  On weekend nights, Burger King’s line-forming traditions are more protected than the nation of Costa Rica.  Two hammered college students bumping uglies in the basement of ZBT are more protected than the nation of Costa Rica.

You know, you’d think that a country bordering Nicaragua and Panama wouldn’t look too bad. But Costa Rica did it. And to be honest, that’s the one feat of Costa Rica that honestly impresses me. The nation’s four all-time Olympic medals aren’t impressive. The national soccer team’s four visits to the World Cup aren’t impressive. But damn – those Costa Ricans sure do know how to make themselves look like dickbrains. Well done, Costa Dickbrains. Well done.

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.