How To Liven Up Your Summer

The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you have spent more time walking around your house with your pants off than you ever imagined possible. It can all only mean one thing: summertime is here. Now, if you’re anything like me, spending six hours a day with your hand down your pants just isn’t cutting it (unfortunately, we’re not all thirteen and having your hand down your pants for hours is neither funny nor exciting anymore), so here are a few suggestions to make your summer more exciting.

Cats, meanwhile, seem to derive endless pleasure from sticking their tongue in their crotch.

1. Pick Up a New Hobby
Maybe you’ve always wanted to be a painter but have never had the time to work on your craft. Or maybe all of your Orgo homework has been interfering with your ability to build a replica model of the Northwestern Campus. Or maybe, just maybe, you’ve always wanted to test how long you could spend moaning in the massage chairs at Brookstone before a sales associate asks you to leave. No matter what your weird aspirations are, summer is the perfect time to explore them. Why spend all of your summer watching re-runs of Breaking Bad when you can start your own meth lab? (Note: Sherman Ave in no way supports or endorses the idea of starting a meth lab) From working on your guitar playing abilities so you can pick up that comm studies major that shot you down at the Keg during Reading Week, to teaching yourself Italian so you can pick up that comm studies major that shot you down at the Keg during Reading Week, to learning to breakdance so you can pick up that comm studies major who shot you down at the Keg during Reading Week – the possibilities are endless.

2. Get In Shape
For anyone who has ever been shot down by a comm studies major at the Keg (it was once dance, Julie! ONE DANCE!), you know it is important to be in your best shape to get through your daily life – and summer is the perfect time to work on that physique of yours. Unfortunately, when everyone returns to Northwestern, there will still be a month and a half until all warmth and life leaves Northwestern for its annual five-moth vacation – which means everyone will be forced to wear normal clothing. Yes, unless you want to look like that awkward kid wearing a t-shirt in the pool, you will have to go over a month without being able to don the traditional, body-blurring Northwestern attire.

Ross Packingham’s baby picture

3. Find Some Summer Lovin’
Summer is all about having fun and exploring, so why not have fun by exploring the body of a stranger? Now, Sherman Ave is in no way condoning putting your tongue in the mouth of a random stranger, because that mouth could very well be Ross Packingham’s – and that wouldn’t be fun for anyone. Despite the alarming possibility of this horrendous event, you should not feel hesitant to go out and get yourself some of that summer lovin’. This is especially true if you are going on vacation abroad – because nothing exemplifies immersing yourself in a foreign country like immersing yourself in one of their foreign tongues. Remember everyone: this is your last opportunity to hook-up with a state school student for at least three months – so take advantage of it.

4. Stalk the Northwestern Class of 2016
Did you know that there’s a Facebook group where current Northwestern students are not only allowed, but encouraged, to interact with the incoming Northwestern freshman? Did you know you can post horrible, horrible things in that group? You can. Have a few more self-gratification jokes you forgot to tell before everyone stopped caring? The incoming freshmen will find them hilarious. Maybe you never get enough likes on your status. Post it in the NU Class of 2016 – Get Involved group and the incoming freshmen will be so blown away by your intelligence, wit, and maturity that they will all like it. Remember: all incoming freshmen are naïve and suggestible – so be careful to not blow your one opportunity to take advantage of that.

Aw, somebody’s got a serious case of the fluff!

5. Read Sherman Ave
Maybe you enjoyed this article. Maybe you hate horses. Maybe you should call me …MAYBE! But whether any of those things is true for you, you can find something you enjoy on sherman-ave.com because we all share a common bond – a love of swearing, Morty – and penguins. In the end, isn’t that what this life is all about? Penguins, those adorable little bastards.

Point/Counterpoint: The Base System

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).

–Sad Bones Malone and Manua Hiki-Hiki

The Five Flavors of Motherfucker

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.