I’m no political scientist. I have never peered over the edge of the fiscal cliff; my knowledge of U.S. foreign policy in Afghanistan is hazier than the only night I’ve ever been to the Deuce; and I picture the inner workings of the White House as strikingly similar to the Department of Mysteries in Harry Potter.
I am, however, a sucker for cool people doing cool shit. So SUCK IT, political ideologues – this election day, I’m gonna vote for Obama because he is both a PILF and the epitome of badass. Never mind that I believe in his straightforward adherence to old-fashioned democratic ideals – as in, equality in everything from universal health care and marriage to freedom of choice – or his defense of national parks, or the respect he commands internationally. That shit pales in comparison to his killer dirt-off-your-shoulder. The Obamas, ESPECIALLY Barack, are rad. Just like, super cool. Honestly, even if Obama was all, “Let’s just put Sasha and Malia and the dog in charge while I go surfing in Honolulu and smoke some weed,” I’d vote for him anyway. A cool president is worth a million jobs in the manufacturing sector.
You know what else is worth a million jobs in the manufacturing sector? Amateur poetry. And everyone knows that the best form of amateur poetry comes in snack-size haikus – traditional short-form Japanese poems that follow a 5-7-5 syllabic pattern. So without further ado, I present an artistic homage to my favorite prez’ campaign in a manner that’s about as political as a toy poodle.
On Michelle’s super-toned arms
Graceful, burnished, buff
Those arms could lift our nation.
Can I vote for them?
On Barack’s Rad Music Taste
Let’s contrast your tunes
– Kanye, Bruce, Aretha – Mitt’s: Toby Fucking Keith.
On the fact that he has a puppy named in accordance with said music taste:
You’re the First Dog, the Second Bo, the third chillest
White House resident.
On Weapons of Choice
In a real battle,
Your horses and bayonets
Would smash Mitt’s Big Bird.
On the book he wrote/dedicated to his daughters WHILE BEING A PRESIDENT
You wrote a FUCKING
KID’S BOOK about national
Heroes. Marriage me, plz.
Now that you’ve learned a little more about America’s favorite chiller firsthand – and gotten a little lesson in poetic brilliance along the way – I challenge you to come up with a haiku of your own about Mr. Barack! Challenge yourself and make it politically relevant. Better yet, make it dope.
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).
Columbus valiantly raping native lands so future government employees could get a sweet three day weekend
You know that feeling you get when you wake up on Christmas morning? Or, for Jewish readers, that feeling you get when you wake up on Tax Day? Well, when my alarm went off at 10 this morning, I woke up with a very similar feeling. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and – most importantly – it was Columbus Day!
First celebrated in the superlative state of Colorado in 1906, Columbus Day is the quintessential American holiday. While Christmas has too many European influences to be American, Halloween’s partnership with obesity makes it too specific to the Deep South, and the 4th of July is too close to Canada Day to be truly American, Columbus Day stands for all the true American values: land-snatching, tribe-subjugating, civilization-founding, and boats. It would be preposterous for our nation not to wholly dedicate this day to the recognition of our nation’s pure and righteous heritage. And yet – somehow, Northwestern University neglected to cancel classes today.
How can we honor the man when we can't even blow up an inflatable Charlie Brown to the size of Columbus' ego?
There are two reasonable conclusions to draw from this abominable crime. First, one could presume that Northwestern University lacks a fundamental respect for American culture and history. However, there is nearly limitless evidence disproving this theory – the least of which being a timeless photograph of heavily intoxicated Northwestern students reenacting the iconic “Crossing the Delaware” painting in a rural barn.
Therefore, the only plausible conclusion left is that Northwestern – and many other institutions that don’t fully recognize this sacred day (*cough* SOUTH DAKOTA *cough*) – fears that a grandiose celebration of Columbus Day might “offend” people like “Native Americans.” My response to this? Don’t let the myth of “political correctness” get in the way of celebrating our nation’s manifest destiny. We can just solve things the easy way: If the “indigenous” peoples are offended by our holidays, just offer them some basic incentives. Perhaps they would go for a summer home in Oklahoma? If that’s not enough, we could throw in paid travel expenses to seal the deal.
The man sure as fuck didn't spark genocide and imperialism for this "no school" shit.
In retaliation to this unspeakable trend of political correctness, I encourage all readers to act in the most Columbian way possible. Spread your syphilis to as much of your community as you can. Paint “Santa Maria” on the side of your car and trespass on every property you see. Govern the Dominican Republic. Some may call you irrational and most will just call you an asshole, but I will call you a patriot and a role model.
The legendary Tupac Shakur once famously stated, “I didn’t choose the thug dorm life, the thug dorm life chose me.” For several reasons, surviving dorm life can certainly be one of the most difficult challenges you’ll face your freshman year. While some things (ex: People vomiting outside of your room and covering it up with printer paper) are out of your control, the proper knowledge and expectation of what lies ahead can help equip you for a successful year.
Sherman Ave 