Where Pintos are almost as rampant as cigars and political repression.
In lieu of the ”OH EHM GEE you guys look at all these pictures of my summer abroad, oh my gawd I’m having the most incredible adventure” Facebook album, I’ve opted to express my feelings on Cuba, a truly beautiful country, through a more heinous medium (wait let’s be honest I’m still posting Facebook pictures. The only reason there aren’t more is that the internet is slow as balls).
Cuba is incredible and different from anywhere I’ve ever been. I learned a shit-ton in five weeks, but I’m still very much an outsider. But my Spanish is better and I have an increased penchant for rum. My salsa moves, however, are still a work in progress. The hope is that after three more weeks I’ll look less like an epileptic chicken.
We live in the greatestcountryintheworld. Why, you ask? Because fuck you, that’s why Mr. Hypothetical Man who would dare doubt that the United States is the best country to exist anywhere in the history of everything. See that? That’s American Democracy and Freedom in action. I think I’ve proven my point.
Anyhow, I’m not here to discuss my patriotism. I’m not here to talk about the fact that I had my penis tattooed to look like the Washington Monument. And I’m certainly not here to discuss the time when Ross Packingham and I did two consecutive power-hours with Bill Clinton and Bruce Springsteen in the Oval Office. I’m here to talk about one thing and one thing only: Fuck France. Wait…No? I’m not here to talk about the fact that the French are the taint of the world? Really? But, we all know they are, right? Yeah? Okay then we’re good.
Okay, so apparently I’m here to talk about the dumbest states in America. Fine. You get off easy this time, you Parisian bastards.
Anyhow, even though America is the best country in the world, there are certainly some streak marks on the clean underwear that is the United States. I’m not saying the South should have seceded, I’m saying the South should have seceded (see what I did there? I can do that because this is America and fuck everyone else. God Bless this country!). However, though the South is the birthplace of stupidity, there are some students of Southern thinking that have surpassed the teacher. Here are the three largest hubs of fuckery in the United States:
This bear would be crossing into Canada right now if it weren't for all the spilled oil holding him down.
3. Alaska
Listen guys, I’m all for taking things from Canada that are rightfully theirs. In fact, one of my favorite hobbies is stealing things from Canada. I have a hockey stick, a barrel of maple syrup, and five moose in my closet to prove it. However, Alaska is one possession that I think belongs in the hands of those loveable losers.
You don’t think Canadians are losers? They don’t pay for healthcare. You don’t think those two things are related?
So anyhow, Canadians are losers – and so are Alaskans. Listen, I love snow as much as the next guy. I annually celebrate the day the freezing temperatures cause my testicles to recede into my body…like the French during a war (you fucks didn’t think I’d let you get away that easily, did you?). However, Alaska is just terrible – plain and simple.
Only Important Point: Sarah Palin. Only Alaska could produce this special brand of stupid. I mean, there’s stupid and then there’s “I don’t read because I’m busy shooting animals from a helicopter while looking for Russia as I have sex using a real bear-skin condom fantasizing about segregation” stupid. If your state is dumb enough to let Sarah Palin tell you what to do, you’re pretty fucking stupid.
Really? REALLY!?!?
2. Mississippi
Let’s start with the obvious: the state name is 11 characters long, and only uses four letters from the alphabet. That’s like if you gave me a house and ten different colors of paint, and then told me I could paint the house however I wanted. You suggested I use at least five of the colors, but nothing was mandatory. Then, I decided to defecate and wiped my feces on the wall. That’s what I think when I think Mississippi: a house covered in shit.
However, their name isn’t the only thing dumb about them — not by a long shot. Mississippi, in addition to being a shithouse, is one of the fattest states in the nation. Nothing against fat people, but if your idea of a carnival snack is deep-fried fried butter (that’s not a typo, that’s a crime against humanity), you should probably just start injecting nacho cheese into your bloodstream.
1. Arizona
I’m going to be honest here: this wasn’t even a competition. This is like a “Who’s the Blackest President?” competition. You can joke and pretend there’s not just one answer, but we all know the truth (It’s William McKinley). For those unaware of Arizona’s crimes against all intelligent thought, here’s a brief rundown:
-Martin Luther King Jr. Day: Martin Luther King Jr. was one of the most important and helpful figures to exist in American history. Making his birthday a national holiday should be a non-issue, right? Not if you’re Arizona. Yep, Arizona decided, on multiple occasions, that it did not want to honor Martin Luther King Jr. Day. And though you may think Arizona eventually came to the logical conclusion and realized MLK Day is a legitimate holiday, since it is celebrated there now – you’d be sadly mistaken. That type of idea is smart, and smart doesn’t fly in Arizona. No, to accept Martin Luther King Jr. Day, Arizona had to be threatened with never hosting the Super Bowl. That’s right. The only problem Arizona had with blatant racism is that it interfered with watching playoff football. I don’t have any more words for this. I don’t have a joke. Just let this actual fact sink in for a few minutes.
-SB 1070: Now that you’re done cleaning up whatever item you viciously threw at the wall, be ready to want to punch everybody. I’m sure most people have heard of Arizona’s recent immigration law, known as SB 1070, but for those who haven’t here’s a quick summary: The law requires that police check the identification of any person who they have “reasonable suspicion” of the person committing a crime. That doesn’t sound so bad. However, the law also makes it a crime to be an illegal immigrant in Arizona. Now let’s connect the dots: police can commander people who they believe may be guilty of a crime. Being an illegal immigrant is a crime. Well now, doesn’t that sound like police can interrogate you if they think you may be illegal? I may be from Arizona, but I’m not so stupid that I don’t understand that (though I can’t do algebra). That’s like if I told you I can arrest you if I think you committed a crime, then I make looking like you reason for thinking you committed a crime. I can’t think of any actual analogies for this because this is the dumbest possible situation possible.
Fuck you, Arizona.
-Arizona Says You’re All Pregnant: Did you know you’re already pregnant? You are in Arizona. In Arizona, pregnancy starts at the end of your last menstrual cycle. Though this concept has been used for dating the conception of children, due to the uncertainty of pregnancy tests, it has never been used for law, BECAUSE IT’S FUCKING STUPID! WHAT THE FUCK ARIZONA! WHY IS EVERYONE PREGNANT!?!? WHY ARE YOU SO DUMB?????? DAMN IT! DAMN IT! DAMN IT!
Well there they are – the dumbest states in the country. I hope you’ve enjoyed this as much as I’ve hated thinking about this. I’m never thinking about anything ever again.
Also like in baseball, there's usually a pitcher and a catcher.
There’s a question we all ask our single friends regularly, usually when they show up looking unkempt, worried, and possibly pregnant.
“How far did you get with them?”
This is a question that SEEMS like it would have simple answers. “I let him touch my vagina.” “I touched her vagina,” “We started to get naked but I ejaculated prematurely,” these are all reasonable responses. But, for whatever reasons, (mostly embarrassment) people never give these answers. Instead they rely on euphemisms, the most popular of which is “The Base System.”
Which would be fine, that’s cool guys, its totally fair to equate sex to baseball – they’re both exhausting team-sports that are hard to watch for more than ten minutes – and, just like baseball, I don’t really understand the rules. But if we’re going to use a base system, we need to have one common definition for all the bases. And right now, that consensus does not exist. Is first base kissing? Does tongue have to be involved? Where does tactile vaginal contact fall? Boobs? What about BOOBS?! WHO’S GOING TO TALK ABOUT BOOBS?!
Don’t worry, we will. And at great length.
Anyway, here are the two different ways you can interpret the base system. Which one is right? Sound off in the poll below.
FIRST BASE
Sometimes you can just guess...
Point, by Sad Bones Malone
First base inhabits this weird realm of ambiguity. Everyone understands that kissing is involved in some capacity, but this begs the question: “how much kissing?” We both agree that a peck does not constitute first base, but I feel that to actually get to first base, you have to be “making out.” There is an underlying expectation that there’s a little bit of hands, and a little bit more action than a single kiss. It should be a semi-extended duration that might involve a little bit of exploration. First base contains a whole host of operations — hickeys, ear-play, fondling — these are all entry actions to the sexual experience. And since first base is the entry way to the other bases, all these activities are constituted within first base.
Counterpoint, by Manua Hiki-Hiki
You have to be kidding me!? I mean, you have to do a little exploring in the land of the mouth to be considered “at first base,” but first base does not mean you have to be searching for the hidden realm of the esophagus. First base is an important step, but IT’S JUST THE FIRST FUCKING BASE!!! Using your definition as first base is like saying you don’t know anything about geography until you know the capital of Zimbabwe (you should really look into learning that though, as Harare is bomb as Hell). Next thing you’re going to tell me is that I have to be inside a girl’s pants to be at second base. Like, really? Really?!?
SECOND BASE
Although he's usually hopelessly out of breath by the time he rounds third.
Point, by Manua Hiki-Hiki
Actually, let me just preempt what I expect will be your naively asinine answer: There’s no way being inside a girl’s pants qualifies as second base. I have far too much reverence for the vagina to place it at such an easily accessible base. If a 500-pound bear-creature named Prince Fielder can make it to second-base in a game of baseball, then searching the mystical vagina cannot be second-base – because second base is PRETTY FUCKING EASY to get to. Want to know what’s not easy to get to? The Vagina. Therefore, those two things cannot be equivalent — it’s math. We all know the real second base: Boobtown. Boobtown is a very important step and deserves its own base. You cannot neglect boobs. Boobs are awesome. Getting to touch a girl’s boobs is like riding a bike for the first time: both are important landmarks in your life, both cause a big sense of accomplishment… and I ejaculated after both. All excitement issues aside, boobs are very important in the grand scheme of the “game of love” and deserve their own base.
Counterpoint, by Bad Bones Malone
Listen guys, I don’t want you to think I’m coming from the wrong place. I love boobs, and I have the upmost respect for boobs — in fact, some of my best friends are boobs. But if we only have three bases to work with, boobs aren’t deserving of their own landmark.
She just has... so much... you know... CHARACTER!!!
Because, as much as I like boobs, they aren’t even close to being equal the vagina. When a guy gets drunk and gets a little boob-gropey it’s “a little creepy,” when a man decides to go straight for vaginas it’s “a little bit of a felony.” Those lines are drawn for a reason, the vagina is simply far, far more important than boobs.
The fact that boobs don’t get their own base also has to do with the function of the base-system — it’s shorthand that can be used to denote romantic progress. And, while I’m sure it was nice, I don’t really care if you touched a girls boobs. We aren’t in junior high anymore. Boobs get touched all the time — and if you’re making out with a girl it’s not an unreasonable jump to assume you might have felt her up. If you’re using the proper definition of first base — my version — then you’ve already covered fondling anyway. Congratulations.
The first time you touch a girl’s vagina is important — it’s the first time you have a chance to let her fake an orgasm (laaaaadies), which as far as I’m concerned is the EXPRESS PURPOSE OF SEXUAL ACTIVITY.
So if you’re going to chart the progression of sexual activity, then you better fucking have a stop reserved for the first time you take an action that actually ends where you’re trying to go.
THIRD BASE Consensus: I think we can all agree here: Once the trouser dragon has entered the salivary sea, you’re at third base.
HOME Consensus: If you’ve solved the coital conundrum, you’re home.
The proposed base systems have been researched by many a student at Harvard, Princeton, and other places where these things never occur… and that is why we need your help. Vote in the poll below and help solve history’s second most important Trojan War (ahhh, get it? Trojan. Like the condom. SEX).
Christmas is the time of giving, as we’ve been constantly reminded by incomprehensibly cheerful Salvation Army bell-ringers and incomprehensibly bothersome commercials. (We get it, he went to Jared. Whooptee-fucking-doo.) However, there are times when giving is taken too far, and things just become awkward. To remedy this potential issue, we have drawn up a list of people for whom you definitely don’t need to buy gifts.
The greatest gift of them all
Your Last Hookup
Okay, so she was a good kisser. That’s fantastic. And she wasn’t as clingy as the last person with whom you hooked up, who you are pretty certain hired a private investigator to follow you. That’s even better. But this doesn’t mean your hook-up (let’s just refer to her from now on as “Jessica”) deserves a gift. With hook-ups, it’s just a slippery slope; one day you’re buying Jessica a moderately priced necklace, and the next day, she’s pregnant with your child. And not only do you now have to deal with that mess, but the necklace itself will only ever remind you and Jessica about those four and a half minutes of ominous, unemotional penetration. When it comes down to it, it’s just a waste of money.
Your TA
There’s no way to emerge victorious from this situation. I’m sorry, but a relationship built upon a foundation of discussions about GATT (or the Global Agreement on Trade and Tariffs, bitch) leaves no room for a thoughtful holiday gift. Besides, how would one ever know what gift to buy for their TA? The only thing I know my TA likes is asking incredibly vague questions and letting an inconceivably awkward silence simmer for 5 or 6 minutes until someone finally conjures up a bullshit answer. And that’s not something money can buy.
The Keg Bouncer
If you buy a Christmas present for someone, it implies that you have, at some level, a personal relationship with that person. Last time I checked, a “personal relationship” entails more one-on-one contact than seeing someone’s Wildcard on a bi-weekly basis. Otherwise a Keg bouncer would have more personal relationships than Herman Cain at a Victoria’s Secret.
Mitt Romney
The guy flip-flops so much you’d never have a clue what to get him. A pro-choice policy? A pro-life policy? You just don’t know. Besides, do Mormons even celebrate Christmas?
What do you get the man who owns every possible color of purple ties?
Morty Schapiro
This is a tricky one, because on the one hand, there is no one in the world that doesn’t owe Morty a gift. From Libyan rebels who President Schapiro helped when he killed Qaddafi to rural Congolese citizens who he helped when he permanently cured AIDS, Morty’s laudable actions have left no person untouched. On the other hand, however, there is nothing we can give Morty that he doesn’t already have. Unless you can somehow procure for him a restraining order from Sir Edward Twattingworth III.
Sir Edward Twattingworth III
We encourage all readers to avoid sending Christmas gifts to Sir T-worth because it will only perpetuate the unchecked power-trip around which he has modeled his life. Besides, I have it on good authority that he is already getting everything he wants – a Pippa Middleton blow-up doll and a beginner’s pole-dancing kit.
That Guy You Met in the SPAC Showers
This guy clearly does not need gifts from others. Remember that timeless holiday song? Twelve drummers drumming, eleven pipers piping, ten lords a-self-gratifying.
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.
Sherman Ave 