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Tag Archives: regret

New Locations for The Keg of Evanston

8 Feb

Can you fit stripper poles into Cozy Noodles?

Now that the initial shock of TKOE’s liquor license being revoked has mostly passed, the owners are probably thinking about what they should do with their lives. While fifty-cent wing Wednesdays does sound appealing, I don’t think that The Keg is going to be surviving on their lunch menu. Accordingly to the rulebook, The Keg isn’t allowed to reapply for a liquor license.

Except that all they need to do is just move to a new location and get a shiny new license! Problem solved. You just got pre-lawed. But where should the Keg’s new location be?? I have saved them the trouble of a popcorn fueled brainstorm session and narrowed it down to the four best locations to continue their crusade against Overlord Tisdahl.

Sheil Catholic Center
I’ve only been to this mysterious place once when I tagged along with the notoriously upstanding Sir Edward Twattingworth III as he gave blood. This establishment has the uneasiness of a midwestern retirement home and the excitement of Sigma Nu on a Saturday night. The clear solution to this problem is obviously big cups, popcorn, Dan Persa, and general debauchery.

Tisdahl’s Office
So Elizabeth Tisdahl, the mayor of what was formerly known as “heavanston” pre-keg shutdown, is a raging ho-bag. When Morty wanted to give every student a puppy, she stole all of his purple attire and threatened to bleach it until he cancelled all puppy-related plans. She is every iPhone bandit. She has a poster of Richard Nixon in her office. She was behind Community getting cancelled. TKOE might as well occupy Betsy’s lifeless office and add a little pizazz to her awful, popcorn-less existence.

Dance Marathon
There’s no better combination than promiscuity and charity.

That's not honey mustard on the floor...

Burger King
Count Von Tisdahl might as well have also revoked BK’s food license since without the Keg, Burger King is just that place next to Beck’s that always smells like gluttony and regret. I wonder if the owners of the most profitable Burger King in the US of A know what has just happened to their lovely establishment. Are people even going to go to BK anymore without The Keg? What will be the fate of the sassy security guard? The only way to answer these questions is obviously for The Keg to just move into BK and become a haven for overall heinousness. Can I get a shot and a big cup with those chicken fries?

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The Five Flavors of Motherfucker

16 Dec

Indulge your synesthesia. We’re categorizing the most unpalatable people.

An industrial-size salty motherfucker

Salty Motherfuckers
Let me take you back to the diving board at your local swimming pool. You’d jump, swim to the ladder or the edge, climb out, and then get in line, jump, swim, climb, repeat. There’d be a pretty regular line that formed. But then once, you’d do the sweetest cannonbellywatermelopener dive known to mankind — maybe you’d take a little longer getting out of the water, or you’d stop to bask in compliments from your mom. This is when the Motherfucker would strike. You’d just be getting out of the water when out of the corner of your eye you’d see the kid that jumped in after you swimming to the edge with the urgency of the Space Race, yanking himself out of the water, and powerwalking (or even running, the bastard!) with one greedy eye on YOUR SPOT in line, and the other greedy eye checking back to see if you were gonna try and polite-fight him for it.

As if that weren’t bad enough, if he stole your spot, he’d get on the board and spend ten minutes debating what kind of jump to do with his friends (who were probably hanging on the lane line), while inside you’re screaming, “Accept that any way you flip is going to end up as a belly flop, before I come up there and push you off!” At Northwestern, you can identify these bitchwaffles pulling the same maneuver in the stir-fry or hot cookie bar line. This is why they are Salty Motherfuckers: pouring salt onto a wound is not really dangerous in the long term, but it’s pretty damn agonizing at the time. It makes you want to throw that aforementioned metaphorical salt back into their beady eyes, because it is as harmlessly obnoxious as the Salty Motherfucker.

Even her hair-tests came back positive for motherfucker

Savory Motherfuckers
Hey, remember when Oprah Winfrey had a hissy fit because a closed store wouldn’t reopen for her? Remember when Oprah Winfrey took credit for giving away shit that wasn’t hers? Remember when Oprah Winfrey existed? Yeah. Believe it or not, there are people so pampered that they will throw a tantrum when the Pier1 cashier can’t cater to their every whim by returning an item without a receipt or after 90 days. These are the snarky suburban moms who turn PTA meetings into Attack of the Martyrs Episode III because Little Johnny Do-No-Wrong has excessive allergies, and therefore clearly nobody’s parents should be allowed to bring in homemade birthday cakes. Note to readers: if you are someone who complains about the preparation of truffle shrooms at five-star restaurants or demands compensation for the terrible injuries caused by eating subpar lobster, please put yourself down, because you are irreparably broken and probably in constant pain from your delicate sensitivities. I’d suggest that we make astronomically high maintenance a crime, but then we’d have to arrest them and listen to them complain that their cell wasn’t padded enough.

Proceed with caution, as it can be very difficult to discern the difference between motherfuckers and simple guidos

Sour Motherfuckers
They’re assholes and they know it. Anyone who is inexplicably, selfishly, mercilessly malicious should have both their tongues and their genitals removed without anesthesia. Humans have hearts. If you suck as a human being, you do not deserve to contribute to the gene pool for fear that your children will grow up to be the kind of Motherfucker that does terrible things to people without even having to rationalize them. Examples of Sour Motherfucking include using someone who cares about you, sabotaging someone’s lab, lying about an STD, ruining others’ reputations, and touching children where they should not be touched. To be clear: Tucker Max’s shocking shenanigans usually fall under the category of harmlessly unpleasant Salty Motherfucker. The despicable bitch that somehow wound up in your sorority who ran for Recruitment Chair so she could put the freshmen down is a Sour Motherfucker. It’s all about the motives.

Ross Packingham's image of the perfect woman

Sweet Motherfuckers
These are the breed of superhumans whose perfection we will never attain and therefore must criticize. They are effortlessly attractive, intelligent, accomplished, athletic, stylish, polished, and well-spoken. They do not trip over their words. They do not trip over anything. They are the parents who jog with strollers containing the adorably well-trained future polite society of Icelandic Snow Owl benefits. And you know they’re probably good in bed. Arguably the worst Motherfucker, these cuntmuffins won’t even give you the decency of visibly fucking you over so you can hate them. If you express your certainty that there is something “off” about them (the possibility that they are actually a robot), you will almost certainly be met with shock from the believers in the tenured reputation of the android, who will shun you as either insane or jealous. Sweet Motherfuckers are more like aspartame than sugar: fake, carcinogenic, and typically lacking in caloric content. Breathe, fellow fuckups of the world: at least we’re more idiosyncratic.

This Evanston Councilman hasn't smiled in over 17 years

Bitter Motherfuckers
The Evanston City Council says one of their most frequently asked questions is: “What’s up your ass?” Since they cannot diagnose it themselves, Sherman Avenue will: They are Bitter Motherfuckers, the species of Motherfucker so filled with regret that the only thing left for them to do is to ensure that everyone else ends up unhappier than Edward Scissorhands trying to masturbate; that is to say, as unhappy as they are. But it’s not limited to the former premed/prelaw students who resent that their focus and initiative (translation: staunch denial of their own humanity) during their college days allowed them a very comfortable life in WASP’s nests. Other Bitter Motherfuckers include Denny’s waiters, certain unsuccessful starving artists, and (understandably) anyone working in retail on Black Friday. The best way to deal with these Motherfuckers is to maintain high levels of happiness in spite of their best efforts. Yes, it’s hard to do when they’re busy removing kids’ rights to trick-or-treat, cohabitate like sardines, or party like it’s Y2K. But there is no better revenge than the confidence of knowing you have a hopeful future and a pleasant present. Schadenfreude, bitches.

Ask not what heinousness can do for you. Ask what you can do for your heinousness.

I’m sorry I made fun of Rebecca Black

14 Aug

And it was fun, fun, fun, SO GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING FUN!!!!!

When Rebecca Black’s “Friday” video first debuted, I was among its harshest and most persistent critics. Even this esteemed website pounced on the unabashed heinousness of the video. I was quite proud of my ability to completely and totally eviscerate that power-tripping adolescent at any turn.

“Oh, today’s Thursday,” I’d say, a sly grin stretching across my face. “Wonder what day tomorrow is? Better ask that hoe Rebecca Black, amirite guys?!”

Got a laugh every time. And as Rebecca’s 15 seconds of infamy faded away, I worked tirelessly to resurrect it. I showed Brock’s Dub to everyone I knew.

“MY HAND IS A DOLPHIN!” I bellowed originally. My friends found it equally hilarious, I’m sure, so I continued to mock the video.

But the fact of it was, I was always mainly mocking the video itself. My hatred was never aimed at the girl involved; I assumed she was likely just a 13-year-old who had been sucked into the collective p-trips of her parents and that excruciatingly talented producer/rapper whose name I am too disgusted to Google. We’ll just call him Fat Usher.

So as I mocked and lawled and gleefully took part in the collective national destruction of Rebecca Black, I did it with my true hatred directed at the adults who had put poor Rebecca in that position. As her Good Morning America appearance demonstrated, while she is outrageously far from being a professional-caliber singer, her voice is not THAT horrendous. Anyone would sound less than prime while belting out the lines “my friend is by my right, heyyyy.”

Kids these days...

Yet today I regret that I did any of it. Even though I meant only to emotionally cripple her parents and Fat Usher — who I know were listening to my every critique, lips trembling — I must admit that I have contributed to the bullying of an adolescent girl from another state. And I had promised myself I would stop doing that.

That bullying culminated this week in the news that Rebecca was leaving her school and being home schooled due to the incessant teasing by her schoolmates.

This, my friends, is too far. If we have become a nation where untalented little children can’t spend thousands of dollars on music videos, post them on the YouTubez in the hopes of getting famous, and go on a nationwide tour of talk and morning shows without being teased by their peers, then we have lost all that makes America great! This kind of mean-spirited behavior is probably why Pippa Middleton is still British.

And I know what you’re thinking: “But Rebecca Black got to touch Katy Perry!” And while this is certainly true, it doesn’t mean that she isn’t still capable of having feelings. Russell Brand probably touches Katy Perry often, and it’s hard to imagine a world in which he doesn’t cry himself to sleep every night.

So, cut the crap America. Specifically, cut the crap you students of Rebecca Black’s school. There’s a fine line between good-heinous and bad-heinous, and those kids just obliterated the line like Michele Bachmann obliterates the line between hot and terrifying on a daily basis.

Amateur attempt at photoshopping with spare "bullying a 13-year-old time"

There are plenty of other things to do in life besides bully Rebecca Black. Like Photoshopping yourself into photos you weren’t originally in! Or tweeting with the hashtag #replacebandnameswithpancakes! Or listening to Demi Levato’s new song “Skyscraper”…you can just feel the pain in her voice.

But the bottom line is this: go live your lives Sherman Ave readers. Live them well and heinously. And for Yahweh’s sake, LEAVE REBECCA BLACK ALONE.