The Great Swan Purchase

In the spring of my sophomore year, Perry and I started a rumor that made its way across the entire campus.  It wasn't damaging to anyone's reputation, but it was quite ridiculous.

The rumor started like this ... It was a nice spring day and Perry and I were having lunch in the dining hall with a big group of people.  There were probably 12 of scrunched into one long table, chatting about the upcoming weekend, which was prospective freshman weekend--a weekend where prospective freshman and their parents come to visit the college.  It was a brilliant sunny day and after eating, everyone was looking out the windows at the pond that surrounds the dining hall.

Suddenly, a swan swooped over the pond and gracefully landed right into everyone's field of vision.  We'd all seen the swan before--it had been living in the pond for the last few days.  Our school's pond had never housed a swan though--a few ducks here and there--but never a swan, and people were genuinely excited about it.  Especially the stoned hippies--"whoa brooo, a beautiful creature from mother nature, he kinda even looks like Jerry Garcia if you look at him from a weird angle," you get the picture.

One of the kids at our table commented on how great it was that our pond--whose bottom was, and still is, filled with empties and other garbage--was now home to a beautiful white swan.  His statement caused my mind and tongue to run wild, Perry backed me up, and the great swan purchase rumor began:

Kid 1: That swan is so cool.  I love that it's living in out pond.  It's a gift from nature.

Me: Yes, it's nice to look at, but have you considered the financial and ethical implications of that swan?

Kid 2: What?

Me: The president of the college paid 20,000 dollars for that swan.  He bought it because prospective students and their parents are coming this weekend.  Then they injured its wings so it can't fly far enough away to leave the pond.


Kid 1: Wait, what?  No.  That can't be right.  Why would he do that for prospective students?

Then Perry jumped in.  He knew what I was up to.  He was like Van Damme in Bloodsport ... no hesitation, no fear, no mercy, a professional killer totally in the zone.

Perry: You didn't already know about the swan?  I thought everyone knew about the purchase of the swan.  What the hell happened to campus activism?  Anyways, the president bought the swan so prospective students and their parents will walk past the pond, see the swan, and then think "hey look at that magnificent swan.  This place is lovely, it's like a fairytale campus."  Then the parents will be like, "shit Jr., I'll pay 50 grand a year to send you to this place.  Wait, let me get my camera, pose in from of the swan."  Next thing you know, we have a bunch of kids enrolling for next year who before seeing the swan were only 'considering' even applying.


Me: Ya, the idea is golden.  I heard they crunched the numbers and calculated that the swan will get at least one or two prospective students to come to this dump.  Think about that, over four years that's like $200,000 a person.  If the swan convinces 5 people that this is a quality campus ... BAM SONNNNN it's like a million dollar swan.  Granted there are ethical considerations, like the livelihood of the animal itself, but the president doesn't care, he's a bottom line kind of guy.  The swan's pain is our gain.


Everyone at the table in unison: Wowwww.  That's crazy, that poor swan ...

The whole table believed EVERY word of our story.  Perry and I walked back to our dorm chuckling about the cock-and-bull story we'd just concocted.  But we didn't think much of it after that.

Until two days later.  While in the dining hall, we overheard some hippies talking.  "Dude, did you hear the president payed like 20 grand for that swan?  Ya, to get prospectives to come here.  But the messed up thing is, man, they injured its wing so it can't fly far enough away to leave campus.  It's really, really kinda effed up."  We turned around and looked back at who was speaking.  We had never even seen these dirty hippies.

Two days after that, a girl we vaguely knew came up to us to chitchat.  At some point in the conversation she threw in "hey guys, did you hear about how the president paid like 20,000 dollars for that swan, then like broke it's wing so it can't leave campus?"  "Nooo, really?  Tell us about it, it sounds like foul play me," we'd respond.

By day five we'd heard our story about the great swan purchase from at least 10 totally different, seemingly unrelated people each.  The story had completely rounded the campus.  It had economics kids debating cost benefit analyses of the swan purchase at lunch, and philosophy kids debating the ethics of animal exploitation at dinner.

The story of the great swan purchase culminated when the college newspaper wrote an article that debunked the rumor.  But it was too late, we'd had our fun.

Study Abroad Tips

A few study abroad tips from me and other people on the internet:

• As an American, you are allowed to talk twelve decibels louder than anyone else.
• If you get in trouble with the the government, your best bet is to threaten to tell the US government that there's oil there.
• Wearing an American flag t-shirt is not the wisest wardrobe decision.
• None of your friends will want to hear your study abroad stories when you come home.
• You'll never have this opportunity again, so feel free to waste as much of your parents money as you can.
• Pay extra for an imported Budweiser at any bar you go to, then scoff and say "best beer in the world," just to piss the locals off.
• No matter what happens, always have your dad's credit card number memorized.
• Sweatpants are not appropriate classroom attire in any country except America.
• “I am American” isn’t exactly an excuse for being ignorant and obnoxious, but the locals will accept your faults better if you say it.
• If you hear a shitty American song at a bar in , instantly become very proud of it and feel it represents your entire culture.
• Do not bring drugs.  Drugs are probably legal where you are going.
• Do not get in fights with the locals.  People in the third world have nothing to lose.  Literally.
• Don't be disappointed to see American fast-food when you arrive.  It doesn't make your experience any less authentic--you'll be eating there everyday after the first time you get food poisoning.
• In Spanish speaking countries, you can't get away with adding o to the end of every wordo.  
• Check you abroad insurance policy before you Run with the Bulls in Pamplona, or enter a Muay Thai boxing match in Thailand.
• You have a 75% chance of getting roofied.  Deal with it.

Interview With Duncan Birmingham

I recently did a Q&A with Duncan Birmingham, author of the awesomely funny blog Pets Who Want To Kill Themselves.  I thought everyone would like to hear what he had to say about blogging.  He's as funny over IM as he is in the blog, make sure to vote for his blog here for a South by Southwest Web Award:

me:  hi

i guess first of all, what gave you the idea for the blog?

 duncan:  lets play hardball

me:  ha ha exactly

 duncan:  the only holiday cards i keep on my fridge all year around are ones with pets on them. it got me looking for similar photos on the net. i came up with a funny title and just starting compiling them with captions. it seemed like the kind of thing that would go viral and luckily it did.

by pets, i mean dressed up pets in santa suits and reindeer antlers.

me: so you had a feeling it would go viral?

 duncan:  i did. i'm not a huge internet guy, but i have taken a few stabs at tossing something out there in hopes that it will go viral (see my Mr. Pickles sketch on my web page for example of not going viral). The title was really the key. It just sums up exactly what's funny about the phenom of dressed-up pets. Within 10 days the website was in New York magazine.

 me:  10 days?  wow, that's insane.

then the book deal came soon after?

duncan:  it did. i think because it's on tumblr where a lot of media-types are so it was very easy for them to spot it. you're familiar with tumblr?

 me:  ya somewhat.  i've used it a little bit.

 duncan:  yes, then i got calls about a book within a few weeks, founds a great agent and we did the deal pretty quickly.

the sad irony is that i worked on a serious novel for two years that i couldn't get published and then this silly thing fell in my lap

 me:  wow.  that's interesting.

did you track your site hits at all?

 duncan:  weirder still is that i don't have any pets (yet) and terrible with computers (as you can tell)

 duncan:  i use google analytics. i don't check often, but i probably get 20,000 on a great day when the site is in the press and on average 7000 viewers. i got 50,000 when the site was on the front page of the NYT in March

but 7,000 is the usual.

me:  wow.  that's a huge amount of traffic.  no wonder the book deal came through so quick

do you think being a writer helped at all?  i mean, the captions below are amazing and concise

 duncan:  i hope being a writer helped a little bit. i mean the captions usually make me laugh. it's not easy to look at your 50th photo of a dog wearing a backwards baseball cap and think of something funny to write. i like to think of it as a one-panel comic strip like The Far Side. but with more poop jokes.

i write screenplays in L.A. if i could think of a plotline, i'd love to do Pets Who Want To Kill Themselves the movie

 me:  if you could think of a plot, i think it could definitely be funny

has the blog helped your screenplay writing get noticed more?

 duncan:  i don't think so. i've been having a good year with screenwriting regardless. it is a fun icebreaker if a producer has seen the book at Borders and recognizes my name. then they think i "do it all"

duncan:  but it has been really fun. i've corresponded with people all over the world, made some dough and next month am going to southbysouthwest where PWWTK is nominated for best blog!

 me:  wow, that's awesome.  i bet you're fired up about that

the thing is hilarious.  i read it and crack up.  once i had my computer in class and was looking at it and just started dying

do you plan on trying to start other blogs with the blot-to-book idea in mind?

 duncan:  thanks buddy

 duncan:  i've tried to think of ways to do another novel but start it as a blog to gain a following first---but i just haven't come up with what i think is a great way to do that. i think it's hard to launch a fiction book from a blog. i have been thinking about doing a screenwriting blog that includes screenwriting tips with hollywood stories and so that's an idea that would have book potential. we'll see

 me:  that could definitely be cool.

i'd read something like that.

but i hear you about the novel thing.  you might as well try to figure something out though.

if nothing else, your website probably gets enough traffic that if you linked out, quite a few people would see it and maybe it'd get some buzz

 duncan:  i would hope so

 me:  that's pretty much all the questions i have

actually one more. what do you think are the main things that helped your blog take off?

you mentioned the title helped

 duncan: 1. the title that prompted people to want to at least click on the site.

 duncan:  2. the format.humorous photo/caption formst is a well-worn blog format that's easy to read and a fun escape from work

3. the fact that it has to do with pets which are second only to porn on the internet.

4. the fact that it took a fresh, twisted view on pets. instead of another "cute" blog

thats it, really

Ballad of the Mongoose Part I

My twentieth birthday was unforgettable.  My roommates Perry and James gave me a child’s Mongoose BMX bike.  It was a brilliant candy red and navy blue color.  It had an obnoxious horn and pink streamers on the handlebars.  But best of all, it had pegs on both the front and back wheels.  It was my Cadillac.  And even though it was a gift for me specifically, it was really a gift for all of us.

From that day forth, whenever all three of us would go anywhere together, we would ride the Mongoose.  I would sit in the driver seat and pedal.  James would stand on the back pegs, clinging tightly to my shoulders, and Perry would sit on the handlebars, usually smoking a fat cigar.  If it were night, Perry and James would both carry sparklers. 

Trips to the dining hall were the best.  The only route to get down to the dining hall was by taking a long, fast, highly trafficked walking path.  The horn came in handy on the path, and more than once we narrowly missed small girls talking on their cell phones.  On the way down we’d pass classrooms whose walls were big, open windows. 

While sitting in class and listening to a boring lecture, people would see three grown men riding one Toys-R-Us bike fly by at speeds of up to 20 miles an hour.  The Mongoose was meant for an 80-pound child; somehow it could sustain all 450 pounds of us three.  

 Balancing 3 men on the Mongoose was an extreme test of our physical dexterity.  We’d get a running start to make sure everyone was onboard.  I’d get maybe 10 pedal strokes before we hit the hill—the bike’s tires bulging out and rims scraping the pavement as we began our descent. 

Riding down the hill we chugged past afternoon classes, professors, and students like a freight train on the wrong sized rails.  Any crash would have meant instant hospitalization for all three of us. But I am a trained professional.

Upon arrival at the dining hall our phones would explode with text messages from the people whose classrooms we had passed.  If it were from a girl it would be, “you guys are so funny.”  If it were from a guy it would say, “you guys are jackasses, can I be the 4^th rider?”

I never really cared about transportation before the Mongoose—cars were to get from point A to point B, not for flash.  The Mongoose taught me that flash is good—if you’re trying to get somewhere, get there in style and have fun doing it.

Filthy Rich Offer Best Bargains

The Princeton Review recently released their list of America's best value colleges.  To figure out the rankings, they looked at 30 different factors in 3 areas: academics, costs, and financial aid.  How they figured it all out isn't that important.  What is important is the list that they compiled.  Here are the top 10 private college values:

1. Swarthmore College (Swarthmore, Pa.) 2. Harvard College (Cambridge, Mass.) 3. Wesleyan College (Macon, Ga.) 4. Princeton University (Princeton, N.J.) 5. Yale University (New Haven, Conn.) 6. Williams College (Williamstown, Mass.) 7. Rice University (Houston, Texas) 8. Massachusetts Institute of Technology (Cambridge, Mass.) 9. Amherst College (Amherst, Mass.) 10. Wellesley College (Wellesley, Mass.) Harvard?  Princeton?  Yale?  MIT?  At first this list astounded me.  I thought these places cost as much as 16 Hummers filled with platinum chains.  But I guess it all makes sense--these schools have more money than most small countries.  They give out full ride scholarships like condoms at a porn convention. Seriously, they're all crazy rich.  I've heard that Harvard's swim team trains in a pool filled with 100 dollar bills.  And that Princeton has Beluga caviar and Dom Perignon champagne in all the dining halls at all times, mainly for food fights and champagne showers.  And that Yale actually bought all of the blow in South America to stop their students from doing so much of it.  And that every graduate of MIT is awarded with a degree, a mink coat, and a Bentley with 22 inch chrome rims. I really should have paid attention and not slept through high school.  Maybe I'd be writing this from a Bentley while wearing a mink coat.  Oh well. 50 Cent.  MIT Class of '95

Most Ridiculous College Classes Ever

Here is a list of some of the dumbest college classes ever offered:

14. Learning From YouTube at Pitzer College-  This one is great because you don't get in trouble for watching YouTube in class.  In fact, it's encouraged.
13. Arguing with Judge Judy: Popular Logic on TV Judge Shows at UC Berkeley- In the afternoons when this class is held, Judge Judy is the only thing on TV.  So even if you ditch, you're still stuck with Judge Judy.  Is this some kind of sick joke?

12. Finding Dates Worth Keeping at Sioux Falls College- If you can't find a date in this class, I don't know where you can.
11. Alien Sex at University of Rochester- Ummm, what?

10. The Art of Walking at Centre College- You start by learning the C-Walk, B-Walk, G-Walk, Pimp-Walk, and all the other gangsteresque walks.  Then your final exam is a Parkour Course.
9. The Joy of Garbage at Santa Clara University- This class is a great excuse for why your room is such a dump.

8. Cyberporn and Society at State University of New York at Buffalo- Or as I like to call it, an A+ for perverts.
7. Maple Syrup at Alfred University- "We elves try to stick to the four main food groups: candy, candy canes, candy corns and maple syrup." -Elf

6. UFOs in American Society at Temple University- The professor was actually abducted by aliens.  He just stands in the front of the class and trips out about it for 3 hours a week.
5. The Science of Harry Potter at Frostburg State University- Who wouldn't take this class?

4. Philosophy and Star Trek at Georgetown University- I wonder if this professor is a Trekkie.
3. Underwater Basket Weaving at University of California San Diego- Synchronized swimming + arts and crafts = this class and awesomeness.

2. The Strategy of StarCraft at University of California Berkeley- Great, now your nerdy roommate has a legitimate excuse for playing StarCraft for 39 hours straight.
1. Alantis Morissette Appreciation Class hosted by Diane Stark, not for any real academic credit- Isn't this ironic?

If you're interested in finding more ridiculous classes, just go to the Brown University Course Catalog, search around a bit, and enjoy.

Cocktail Cuts

College students are poor.  That’s a given—hence the Natural Light beer, steady diet of Top Ramen, etc....  When you have no money, you do what you can to cut costs, from the simple—stealing food from the cafeteria—to the extreme—living in your school’s library like NYU’s Bobst Boy did.  There are, however, some things you should never do to save money.  Here is one of those things:

It was sophomore year, I was poor, and my hair was shaggy and gross.  I needed a haircut.  It was a Thursday night and I planned to wake up early the next morning and go to the local salon for a haircut.  But when I pulled out my wallet to do some quick budgeting, I realized I only had 20 spare dollars. 

Since the next day was Friday, I knew I would need weekend supplies—beer and pizza.  I started to run the numbers:

Beer- $15

Pizza- $5

Haircut- $20

I was 20$ over budget.  Something had to go, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be the beer or pizza.  I decided I’d have to continue to rock the dirty mop that had become my hair—until I was struck with a brilliant idea.

I had recently purchased an electric shaver to trim my beard.  Why couldn’t I use it to cut my hair?  I’d seen it done before—dudes on my floor would cut each other’s hair with electric razors all the time.

I yelled across the room at Perry, “dude, wanna cut my hair?”  “Oh HELL YA man,” he responded, “hold on though, let me have a couple cocktails.”  I didn’t know what to think of this—a liquored up rookie barber with a sharp, motorized object isn’t the safest combination, so I asked, “why do you need cocktails for this job?”  Perry’s response took care of my fears “oh, don’t worry man, the cocktails will steady my hand, trust me, I need to be on my game for this.” 

Perry slammed a couple cocktails, burped, and then announced proudly, “ok man, Cocktail Cuts is open for business.”

We went into the bathroom, I sat down on a stool, the electric razor was plugged in, turned on, and the Cocktail Cut began.  What follows is why I will never trust Perry with a sharp object again. 

I made sure the buzzing razor had a length guard on—I figured Perry would need the training wheels to help him cut my hair the right length.  “Ok man,” I told him, “just go over all of it with the guard on so it will be one length and we’ll be good to go.  Under no circumstances are you to take the guard off.” 

I felt halfway comfortable as Perry ran the buzzing razor from the front of my skull to the back.  But a minute or two into the cut, Perry started to bitch that the razor wasn’t chopping all my hair and that he wanted to take the guard off—apparently my $15 Amazon.com razor wasn’t strong enough to chop through my thick mop.  I didn’t care.  “No dude, you’re not taking the guard off.”

For the next ten minutes Perry kept going back and forth across my head, but it didn’t seem like he was making much progress.  Certain spots were cut to the right length, while others were still long—my head looked like a game of Tetris.  “Just keep going man, slowly but surely it will all even out,” I reassured him.

After five more minutes Perry became bored—what he thought would be a fun evening involving cocktails and a motorized chopping device was starting to feel like manual labor. 

I sat vigilant and unwavering as my mind drifted off and daydreamed.  Until I suddenly realized that at some point in my daydreaming Perry had taken the guard off the razor.  “DUDE WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” I shouted as I pulled my head forward to get it away from the unguarded razor. 

“DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT,” Perry yelled back as he lunged forward to continue the Cocktail Cut.  Mid-lunge his liquored up feet moved faster than his liquored up brain could process and he tripped.  The razor bashed into my skull.  I heard a loud BZZZZZZZ as I smacked the razor from his hands.  Then I felt my head in horror.

Perry had cut out a long, one and a half inch wide landing strip of hair, transforming it into pure white skull.  I now had a massive hairless white spot in the middle of my multiple length black hair.  I left Cocktail Cuts in disgust.  I would have demanded a refund, but Cocktail Cuts is a non-profit venture.

The next morning I went to a real haircut place.  I sat down, explained to the nice lady what had happened, asked if she could save my head, and took off my hat.  “Jesus Christ did he do a number on you,” the hairdresser said.  “I really can’t do anything but buzz your entire head. 

I left the hair salon with no hair, no money, and spent the entire weekend sober, pizzaless, and bald.  Some cost cutting measures come back to bite you on the ass.

It was a lot like this.  Click to watch.

Booze + Energy Drinks = Drunk

Here's a shocker from a recent scientific study--mixing booze and energy drinks gets you drunk.  Really?  You're telling me that mixing hard liquor with hundreds of milligrams of caffeine and chemicals may lead to intoxication?  Which may also lead to bad decisions?  Noooo, come on.  Ok, obviously this study brings no surprises, but here's what it had to say:

University of Florida researchers surveyed more than 800 college-age patrons leaving bars between 10 p.m. and 3 a.m. The participants were asked about their energy drink and alcohol consumption and then had their breath-alcohol concentration levels measured.
The 6.5 percent of participants who said they'd been drinking alcohol mixed with energy drinks were three times more likely to be drunk than those who consumed alcohol only. The average breath-alcohol reading for those who consumed alcohol and energy drinks was 0.109, well above the legal limit of 0.08, the study authors noted.
The researchers also found that bar patrons who mixed alcohol and energy drinks left the bar later, drank for longer periods of time, and were four times more likely to say they planned to drive within the hour, compared to those who drank alcohol only, according to the report in the April issue of the journal Addictive Behaviors.

Researchers estimate that about 28% of college students mix alcohol with energy drinks.  Many people say that Jager Bombs, Vodka Red Bulls, etc... are the nectar of the devil.  I've heard enough twisted stories that I'd have to agree.  You know, the stories that start with "So we were doing Jager Bombs ..." and end in "and then I woke up and I was face-down in a bush and I had lost my cellphone and it was noon and there was a dog licking my face."  But besides an unfortunate story or two, I think the worst thing that Jager Bombs have brought us, are dudes like this:

College Quotes #1

I'm going to start writing down some random quotes from college.  These two are from Party Boy:

"I was in no shape to be in public last night.  Much less dancing with the college president's wife, which I apparently did."  -Party Boy after a formal ball which the college president and his wife attend.

Party Boy: Um, dude?  Did you see me make out with (fill in the blank) at that party last night?
Me: Hmmmm, no man, I didn't.  Last time I saw you, you were dancing and singing to Third Eye Blind's "Semi Charmed Life."
Party Boy: I was dancing to 90s hits?  Oh no, I definitely made out with her.

It Takes More Time To Party Than It Does To Study

The USA Today is reporting that:
Nearly half of college freshmen who drink alcohol spend more time drinking each week than they do studying, suggests a survey involving more than 30,000 first-year students on 76 campuses who took an online alcohol education course last fall.

Students who said they had at least one drink in the past 14 days spent an average 10.2 hours a week drinking, and averaged about 8.4 hours a week studying, according to findings being presented today at a conference in Seattle for campus student affairs officials. Nearly 70% of respondents (20,801 students) said they drank. Of those, 49.4% spent more time drinking than studying. 

Actually, drinking was the most time consuming thing these kids did.  Here is how they spent their time:

1. Drinking- 10.2 hours/week
2. Studying- 8.4 hours/week
3. Exercising- 5 hours/week
4. Online Social Networking- 4.1 hours/week (that's fancy talk for checking out hotties on Facebook).
5. Social Networking- 2.5 hours/week (that's fancy talk for checking out hotties on campus).
6. Working for Pay- 2.2 hours week 

I'm not really surprised by the drinking numbers.  If you go out on Friday and Saturday night, you're bound to rack up 10 party hours a week.  And hell, as long as you get good grades, who cares, it's your liver.  The 8.4 hours a week studying is a little disconcerting, but oh well, if kids can get by on only 8.4 hours of studying a week, let 'em.

The most interesting numbers shown in this survey, however, are those that don't show up at all.  All of the 6 activities listed in the survey only add up to about 32 hours.  In general, people are awake 16 hours of each day, or 112 hours each week.  So if we take away the 32 hours that the freshmen reported boozing/studying/exercising/networking/working we are left with 80 hours.  That's 5 days of missing time every week.

We have a mystery here.  What are 50% of freshman doing with these 80 unaccounted for hours?  ALONE none-the-less, because social networking was already counted.  Here are my hypotheses:

• Eating- hence the freshman 15.
• Smoking Dope- explains why freshman walk around looking so confused.
• Sex- it seems probable enough, not sure if it falls under social networking though...
• General Bullshitting- this includes movies, reading, talking on the phone, and looking at dumb websites such as this.
• Class

Personally, I think it might be a depraved cycle of all 5 of the activities combined.  Example: a dude goes to class-1 hour.  The dude smokes dope after class- 1 hour.  The dude gets hungry after he smokes dope, so the dude eats- 1 hour.  Sixteen bowls of Coco Puffs later, the dude wants a lady friend.  The dude calls up a lady friend and they have sex- 1 hour.  Awkward post sex cuddling while the dude and his lady friend watch a movie (NO TALKING, that would be social networking)- 2 hours.  Repeat the cycle for 80 hours, add eight hours of sleep every 16 hours.

It seems feasible to me.

Submitted by F.J.

One time in college my friends and I had a party.  One guest who shall remain nameless went out in the front yard at two o'clock in the morning to make a phone call.  He was outside walking around and talking in my front yard, which I happen to share with my next-door neighbor.

My next-door neighbor saw him out there and thought he was a burglar, or just a sketchy person in general.  My neighbor decided that he didn't want this sketchy person in his yard, especially at 2AM, so he walked out his front door, and proceeded to chase my friend with a baseball bat.

He who shall remain nameless obviously wigged out--he's on the phone one minute, then the next minute he is being chased by a man with a large, blunt object.  The kid narrowly escapes my neighbor and manages jump into his car.  He throws his car into reverse and guns it.  He doesn't see the fire hydrant behind him though.

His car smashes the fire hydrant over.  The fire hydrant explodes.  My neighbor ends the chase and goes inside.  Next thing we know, the Cops are at the party, the Fire Department is at the party, and the Department of Public Works is at the party.  THREE LEVELS OF LAW ENFORCEMENT crash our party.  And my yard is a swamp.  I hid in my room the entire time.

10 Worst Analogies Ever Written

These were some of the winners from the Washington Post's "Worst Analogies Ever Written In An Essay" contest.  They were submitted by English professors.  From time to time, with a deadline breathing down our neck, we all write some bad turns of phrase.  But these take the cake:

• The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.
• McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty Bag filled with vegetable soup.
• The red brick wall was the color of a brick-red Crayola Crayon.
• John and Mary had never met.  They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
• Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
• Bob was as perplexed as a hacker who means to access T:flw.quid55328.com/aaakk/ch@ung but gets T:flw.quidaaakk/ch@ung instead.
• He was as tall as a six foot three inch tree.
• Her date was pleasant enough, but she knew that if her life were a movie, this guy would be buried in the credits as something like, "Second Tall Man."
• Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the center.
• He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pin hole in it.

College Friends do Vegas, I Fail Epicly

In college, people get deep into relationships and fall in love all the time. I was not one of those people.  I never fell in love in college.  Well, except for this one time:

This last summer me and 7 of my college friends reunited in Las Vegas for gambling, drinking, and general sin.  There were 4 guys and 4 girls, and we had an awesome suite that overlooked the strip.  We were ballin', or at least they were ballin'.  My night ended in emotional ruin.  Not to mention a lot earlier than I'd have liked.  Here's how it went:


8:00 PM: We leave our hotel and head to the Planet Hollywood Hotel and Casino. 

8:20: We get to the Planet Hollywood and stumble upon a party gem: Fat Tuesdays.  It's essentially a walk up, food court-like place that only serves frozen cocktails.  Think of a Panda Express in the mall, except instead of a row of different Chinese foods, the back wall is lined with 10 Slurpee machines that dispense yard-long, boozy, frozen cocktails.  This discovery makes us very happy and we step up to the counter.

8:25: After debating between a frozen margarita and a frozen peach belini, we ask the lady behind the counter which is the strongest drink.  "That'd be either the 180 Octane or the Cat 151 Hurricane," she replies.  "Ok, thank you, I will take a Cat 151 Hurricane please," I say.  She asks me what size I would like--a solo cup, a pilsner glass, or a yard long tube.  I tell her this is a ridiculous question and to please fill up the yard long tube.  After the tube is filled she asks me if I would like a $1 shot added to my frozen Cat 151 Hurricane.  "Yet again, you've asked me a ridiculous question.  This is Vegas, do it please" I reply.  All the boys get the same drink and we head to the casino.

8:35: We are stopped--the girls are hungry.  No one has eaten for 8 hours.  They suggest we eat before we get into the thick of the casino and drink our cocktails.  Everyone walks into a fast-foodish restaurant and buys food.  Except for me.  I calculate that my sugary booze concoction probably has around 1,300 calories.  That's enough to survive on.  I sip my frozen yard of cocktail while they eat.

9:20: We are at a roulette table.  I have finished my yard of cocktail.  The casino lady running the table--even though she is hot and scantily clad--is not friendly at all.  For this reason, I decide it will be fun to give her shit.  "Excuse me mam, what happens if the ball lands in blue?" I ask.  "There is no blue, sir" she replies angrily.  "OK.  Then please tell me the quickest way to make $1,000,000 by betting $5 at this table," I ask.  "That's impossible, sir." I continue to play roulette and harass her because the cocktail waitress is bringing us free beer the entire time we play.   Finally the casino lady goes on break.  As she leaves she calls us ass holes.  Guilty.

9:25: We take our beers and leave for The Flamingo Casino.

10:10:  On the way to the Flamingo, I see that Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville Bar and Restaurant is right next door.  I must go in.

10:20: There is only one thing I love more than Jimmy Buffet, and that's drinking frozen margaritas in Margaritaville while a live band plays Jimmy Buffet.  I order everyone frozen margaritas as I sing along to Volcano.

11:00: We leave Margaritaville and head into the casino.

11:10: We all go our separate way inside the casino--some go play blackjack, some play craps.  I decide to play slot machines.

11:15: I get bored playing slots and spot an amazing woman across the casino.  She's standing near some blackjack tables and I must talk to her.

11:20: I strut up and introduce myself, trying my best to exhibit the swagger of a younger Dean Martin.  Her name is Flo.  She is in Las Vegas celebrating her 39th birthday.  She is a skinnier, hotter, less lesbian version of Wanda Sykes.  We hit it off instantly.

11:25: She calls me sugar.  I fall in love.

11:35: I can tell she likes me back and we continue to flirt.  My friends show up to see where we should go next.  I tell them to go away.

11:50: I am definitely in love.  I decide to kiss her.  She kisses me back.  It is awesome.

11:55: Her friends show up.  They ask her why she is kissing a 22 year old Caucasian boy in the middle of a Las Vegas casino.  I explain to them that "it's because we're in love, duh."

11:56: They take Flo aside to talk some sense into her.

12:00: Flo returns and tells me that she must leave.  I protest.  She leaves.

12:02 AM: I am crushed.  I am an emotionally broken man as I go back to the hotel room to sulk, watch the Notebook, then go to sleep.

11AM-11PM the next day: My friends bombard me with hours upon hours of shit-talking for the Flo incident.  They think it is the funniest story they have ever heard.  I am the brunt of their joke.  I don't care, I am still in love.

Best College Character Ever?

Who is the best college movie character of all time? Click to watch the movie clips then vote on the side.

A. Bluto


B. Frank the Tank


C. Van Wilder

An Officer, But Not A Gentleman

Have you ever sat down for breakfast with a large, tattooed marine wearing only his boxers, a stained wife beater, a sideways trucker hat, patent leather dress shoes, and dress socks pulled to his knees?  I have, and I did this at a crowded family diner.



My friend Dale is a marine to the fullest extent—he’s actually a full blown officer in the marines.  The most commonly used words in his vocabulary are “Oorah,” “Semper Fi,” “Beer,” and any variation of the F word that pops in his head.  He’s built like a Pit Bull—short, stout, and his muscles bulge from his shirt.  Saying he has a strong personality is like saying that a nuclear bomb is “just a little bang.”  He speaks in a booming, Bostony, profane stream of consciousness.  Dale was born without a filter—whatever is in his head comes barreling out like a Mac Truck.

He’s one of my best friends and one of the funniest and most loyal people I’ve ever met.  He’s great wingman for almost anything—to talk to girls with, to roll to a party with, to play sports with.  But there are certain things you just don’t do with him.  Like take him to a family diner in his skivvys, for instance.

Perry, Craig, Dale and I stopped at the diner for a heavy, greasy breakfast after our school’s formal dance—a swanky ball in a sea side mansion that, for our enjoyment, had been filled to the brink with liquor.  It was the morning after, and we were all a little hungover.  Dale especially so.  Dale’s diner bonanza went like this:



10:30: We get out of Dale’s truck.  He’s wearing boxers, a stained wife beater, a sideways trucker hat, and to top it off, patent leather dress shoes and dress socks to his knees.  We ask him if he is actually entering the diner dressed like this.  “eh, f**k it, all I have is my tux and I don’t want to mess that up, so whatever, we’re going to be sitting in a booth anyways, no one will notice.”

10:35: Apparently Dale forgot about having to walk to the booth, because everyone in the diner cranks their neck to stare as the waitress leads us to our booth in the most populated part of the diner.  Three relatively together looking boys (besides the wild eyes and party hair from the night before) trailing a tattooed United States Marine Corp Officer—190 pounds of solid muscle that torques with each step, covered only by, literally, what was under his tuxedo the night before.  As we pass booths, elderly people shake their head in a “this generation’s screwed” kind of way, while parents shield their kids’ eyes.

10:40: We all order coffee.  Dale’s stream of consciousness instantly ignites—“SHIT MAN LAST NIGHT WAS GOD DAMNED AWESOME.  THERE WERE SO MANY BABES, EVEN CHICKS I USUALLY THINK ARE UGLY WERE HOT.  I WAS TRYING TO HOOK IT UP WITH THAT ONE CHICK, WHAT’S HER NAME? F**K ANYWAYS….” Every customer in the diner can hear Dale.  Everyone is staring at us—it’s a stare of loathing, fear, and disgust—these people literally want to kill us.  Perry, Craig, and I look back and forth at each other awkwardly, each too loyal of friends to tell Dale to tone it down.

10:45: The waitress comes back to take our orders.  Dale pipes up, “UH YA, COULD I GET SOME AHHH, SHIT LEMME THINK, TOAST, TOAST, I JUST WANT TOAST. OORAH.”

10:48: The waitress leaves.  “YO BOYS, I’M GOING TO THE BATHROOM, GOING TO GO THROW UP ALL THAT F**KING JACK I DRANK LAST NIGHT.  OORAH.” Every customer in the diner—good, god-fearing people that have been eating there for the last 20 years—focus in on Dale as he struts to the bathroom—puffing out his massive chest, flexing his tattooed arms, tipping his trucker hat like an arrogant general.  He is completely oblivious to the fact that people may find what he is wearing odd, or that they have heard every word he has said since we sat down.  The three of us still at the table divvy up sections of a newspaper and bury our heads in them, avoiding people's glances at all costs.

10:50: Our food arrives just as Dale gets back, missing his hat.  “OH HELL YA, MY TOAST.  OORAH.”  From then on he is dead silent, focused on his toast like a sniper.  But all good things must end.

11:00: Dale starts back up.  “DUDE, SO WHEN I JUST THREW UP IN THERE, MY F**KIN HAT FELL INTO THE TOILET.  THERE WAS ALL THIS THROW-UP ALL OVER THE DAMN THING.  BUT THAT HAT WAS COOL MAN, SO COOL, I’M NOT THROWING IT AWAY.  SO I FISHED IT OUT, RINSED IT OFF, THEN LASHED IT ON THE HAND DRYER TO DRY.  DON’T LET ME FORGET IT.  OORAH.  SO ANYWAYS, ABOUT THAT FU…” that’s when we cut him off.  People stare at us in horror as we say in unison, “dude, keep it down for god sakes.  There are families here.” “OH, SHIT, SORRY,” he responds, looking back and forth only to realize that every person in the restaurant is watching the Dale show.  Not to mention looking like they want to turn it off with a pitch fork.

11:01: Dale leans in and says, “Boys get the check,” and buries himself into a newspaper.

11:10: As we walk out, thinking we are all about to be followed, beaten, then tar and feathered in front of the local city hall, an old curmudgeon who had been giving us particularly angry looks all breakfast yells out, “hey, marine, you forgot your hat," with a chuckle.

That’s the thing about marines—Dale in particular.  No matter what they do, you’ve got respect and even like them at some level.

Advice For College Brian

Today, Thursday February 4th, 2010, my good college friend Brian became a father.

Brian is Perry’s brother in law.  He’s an extremely together guy—he’s happily married, has a great job, wears a suit to work, and is totally responsible.  Well, responsible most of the time.  Occasionally he acts irresponsibly.  These times are when Normal Brian vanishes and College Brian appears to college it out to the max.

When Normal Brian’s wife was forced to work late on any random Thursday or Friday, Normal Brian would disappear and College Brian would pay Perry and me a visit.  This became a bi-semester tradition.

Perry would get a phone call, “Yo dude, it’s College Brian.  I’m coming down, I’m on the road right now, prepare yourself.”

Thirty minutes later College Brian would burst through the door with a shit-eating grin on his face and case of Bud Light in his hand.  From there, he’d request that the beirut table be assembled.  When the game started he’d take a few practice shots, then proceed to completely destroy any hack that dared challenge him at Beirut. It was like watching Michael Jordan against a division 3 college bench warmer.  He’d reign supreme—no competition, while requesting gangster rap songs and shit talking the whole game through.

After he’d put all challengers to shame on the Beirut table, he’d request the bb gun be brought.  From then on he'd sit at one side of the room and blow holes in his empty Bud’s which he'd expertly placed at the other side of the room.  This amused him greatly.  Then, suddenly, his phone would ring, the room would go dead silent, and we’d all listen intently to his end of the conversation:
 “Hi honey—yes—yes—just visiting Perry and his friends—yes, its lovely, they are well—yes, ok—Ben and Jerry Phish food ice cream?—No problem—ok—love you too.”

His whole aura would suddenly change, like a werewolf metamorphosing back into a respectable business man.  Normal Brian was back.  “Gentlemen, until next time,” he’d say as he exited the room, heading back home to Normal Brian land.

College Brian is a legend, and his legend will live on.  But now that he has a newborn, I’m sure that College Brian will make far fewer appearances.  In his stead we have Father Brian, an even more together version of Normal Brian.  I am very proud of Father Brian and know he is here to stay forever (the kid isn’t going anywhere soon), but if College Brian does come back, rises from the ashes to create a College/Father Brian hybrid in order to college it out one more time, here is my advice to him and any college dude that fathers a child:

Across Room IM Convo #1

This is the first in a series of across room Instant Messaging conversations that I'll post. They take place between me and Perry when we were roommates. We were literally 10 feet apart from each other when these conversations would occur, but chose to use IM instead of our voices. I have a feeling this is pretty common among certain college roommates. Anyways:

Perry: I hope to god they have mashed potatoes in the dining hall tonight. You down for some mashed potatoes?
Me: I was born in Idaho, that's a ridiculous question. My livelihood used to depend on potatoes. I'll eat you under the table in a potato mash-off.
Perry: Bullshit, I've got heart and a burning desire for some mashed potatoes. I'm literally going to make you cry tears of shame in the mash-off.
Me: I once ate 4 large bowls in a sitting. You're going to puke tonight.
Perry: 4 bowls? Shit. You're right, I'm going to puke ... it's going to be like cement coming out of a cement mixer ... in your sheets nonetheless.

Your Professor Is Smarter Than You, Duh

To survive academically, always do what your professors say.  If you disagree with something they ask you to do, it's ok to question them, or suggest that you do something else.  But if they persist, never argue.  Take this scenario for example:

Prof: write a paper on AIDS.
You: that could be interesting, but you know what, I’ve always been much more interested in cancer.
Prof: write a paper on AIDS.
You: ok.

Here is why you should always back down: you’re paying thousands of dollars to take their class.  If you decide to be combative, or stand your ground on an issue, they can fail you.  I'm not saying a professor actually will fail you, but if you don't do an assignment how they ask you to, they have the ability.  If you fail a class, you essentially paid $5,000 for nothing, you have to take the class again for another $5,000, and your GPA drops, not to mention all that time you wasted.  Is some random paper or assignment really worth all that?

Which is why I’m writing this post.  In class, one of our assignments is to interview an entrepreneur and post the interview to our blog.  I did the interview, but explained I didn’t think posting it jived with what I’m going for with this blog.  He said post the interview.  I posted the interview.  He's probably right.

I interviewed Julia Segal, author of 3 of the funnies blogs ever: animalswithcasts JuliaSegal and ihatemyparents here’s what she had to say:

me: hello? juliasegalnyc: hey sorry I was just being lazy and weird about gchatting someone I didn’t know, thanks for getting the ball rolling! Ha. me: ha ha yup. sorry to be a pain in the ass anyways, so the deal is, i have this assignment where i have to have a Q & A w/ someone who has a successful business/blog. It seems like your blog gets some decent traffic, not to mention it cracks me up … so I figured I’d see if you’d be up for answering a few Qs juliasegalnyc: yeah, I haven’t check google stats in a while but I think I get from 6,000 to 10,000 unique hits a day. I can check. Ok fire away! me: ok, so first off, how did you come up with the idea and where did you want to go with it? juliasegalnyc: I had a blogspot blog, but it wasn’t the easiest to upload with etc. my friend suggested tumblr and I started just posting what I though people on there wanted to see, kinda arty hipster bullshit. It wasn’t that great, I realized as a comedian, i just had to post what I liked. I just wanted to get my name out there because I am bad at networking at parties and stuff. me: so do you see the blog as a medium to promote your stand up? and if you do, do you know if it’s helping? like as far as attendance at your stand up comedy gigs go? juliasegalnyc: I would rather be a writer than a stand-up but doing standup gets your work out there. I do get more shows now, but the funny thing is once juliasegal.tumblr was going I started two other tumblrs, animalswithcasts.com and ihatemyparents.tumblr.com they were just kinda fun little jokes to me, but animalswithcasts got a book deal from Chronicle Books, they came to me after seeing the website, so I have been doing less standup and have been trying to finish this book. me: wow, that’s awesome. i didn’t know ihatemyparents was you too it’s so damn funny so how did the whole blog to book deal work out. they literally just called you up one day? juliasegalnyc: thanks yeah, I literally just got an email from Chronicle asking if I wanted to make the website a book. I like doing thejuliasegal.tumblr site the most of course, but that one is a bit tricker to get a book deal through, I am hoping that one gets me a job basically blogging funny pics w/ funny captions, doesn’t everyone want that kind of job! me: wow so you have 3 blogs that get a lot of traffic. besides the book deal, do you currently make any profit from your ventures on the web? juliasegalnyc: No, I don’t advertise on any of them, I may be wrong about that, but from what I hear, google ads etc. only make you like 20 dollars a month, that just doesn’t seem like enough to make my readers have to look at yet another website with ads everywhere. Like I said I may be wrong. I hope I figure out a way to make money off at least juliasegal soon, I have started to notice buzzfeed, holytaco, college humor and other picture sites just taking my pics (even the ones I make) aand slapping their logo at the bottom and not crediting me, so hopefully getting the blog more popular will encourage sites like those not to step on the little people(little blogs) to get popular. me: ya definitely. so more or less you’d like to see books come from the blogs juliasegalnyc: I would like to get a job writing for a show or working for a blog, while coming up with fun books to work on. I have amillion ideas for blogs. me: ok got ya. well, one down! where do you get your content/pictures for your blogs? juliasegalnyc: Thats kinda a secret. I mean, I don’t go to funny picture sites to find them, that seems silly to me. I will say I love looking through peoples flickrs, and I look at lots of threads in forums on websites that other people don’t think of. Like car club websites that have photoshop contests etc. I used to do this thing where I would look up two random words and then just find a google image I liked, my brother and I had a tumblr where we did that, but we stopped updating it. I actually met my boyfriend because i emailed him after randomly finding his flickr page. oh and i make lots of the pics myself w/ photoshop. me: ok well i think that’s it. thanks SO MUCH for letting me bother you juliasegalnyc: no prob me: keep up the good work on your blogs. juliasegalnyc: thanks me: talk to you later

What a Racket

College isn’t getting any cheaper and we all know it.  But this year, and those that follow, will be particularly expensive.  Colleges around the U.S. are planning to hike their tuition rates higher than ever before.  The AP is reporting that:

Florida college students could face yearly 15 percent tuition increases for years, and University of Illinois students will pay at least 9 percent more. The University of Washington will charge 14 percent more at its flagship campus. And in California, tuition increases of more than 30 percent have sparked protests reminiscent of the 1960s.


We live in a world where without financial aid it is possible to leave college with a bill of over $200,000 dollars.  Seriously.  If you were to attend Sarah Lawrence College, which at $54,410 dollars a year is America’s most expensive college, you would pay $217,640 for your bachelor’s degree.  And that’s with no tuition increases.  Realistically, accounting for the national average of an 8% annual tuition increase, you’d pay $245,175 for a degree from Sarah Lawrence.



If you were to go on to, say, law school at Columbia University directly after graduating from Sarah Lawrence, the total cost of your education would be $507,072.  That’s a lot of money no matter who you are.

True, degrees do usually lead to higher salaried jobs, but if you were to pursue a masters degree in something else—something for the good of humanity—like social work, or elementary education, or decided to go pro-bono with your legal career, you’d be completely screwed.  The average salary of a teacher is somewhere around $42,500.  Try paying off debt of more than half million dollars on 42 grand a year and having food on the table.

Granted, the figures above don’t consider financial aid, scholarships, or parental funding.  But even with help from those three factors, education still carries a hell of a price tag.

Take my case.  Even after help from a hefty scholarships, some Uncle Sam financial lovin, and my mom’s generosity, the combined price of my B.A. and M.A. will cost me over $100,000.  That’s more money than I’ve ever seen.  And when I start to think about that sum of money, my mind trails off to all the sweet stuff I could have bought with $100,000 dollars.  Here is a small list of the could-have-beens that top my list:

• A Mercedes-Benz G Wagon (pimpin’ ain’t easy, but it’s necessary).
• Almost two trips to the top of Mount Everest (chicks dig adventure).
• 2,500 Red Sox tickets (that’s 34 years of glorious baseball).
• 150,151 Miller Lites (that’s enough beer to will to the grand-kids).
• 125,000 pounds of radishes (great vegetable, and affordable too).
• A semi truck (high bad-ass factor and also brings earning potential).
• 28,735 boxes of Count Chocula breakfast cereal (no explanation necessary).
• 320 acres of land in Box Elder county Utah (that’s a half square mile).
• 10 clowns to follow me everywhere and “clown around” for 10 days straight.

Suddenly those degrees don’t seem so sweet.

Stunningly Accurate

Click picture to enlarge

The Crazy Cafeteria Employee is Your Friend

There is a common theme to every college dining hall—there will always be at least one or two crazy employees on staff at all times.  This is an unavoidable fact.

My college was an exception to the rule.  We didn’t have one or two crazies, we had eleven or twelve.  Wackos literally ran the cafeteria.  Campus was two blocks away from a halfway house, and for some reason—likely tax breaks—dining services loved putting these nut jobs behind the griddle, salad bar, register, everywhere.



Most people would think that this is a bad thing.  I’m here to tell you it is absolutely not.  Aside from the occasional flip out and faint smell of Jack Daniels on their breath at 1pm, crazy dining hall workers are good people.  ALWAYS BEFRIEND THEM.

Crazies behave as if they have nothing to lose—including their job.  And crazy people generally lack friends, so if you’re nice to them and take a few minutes to chat them up, they really appreciate it, meaning that if you happen to want breakfast for dinner, or ten pounds of ice on the weekend, or a box of cereal for finals week, they’ll hook you up.  A normal person would never give away his employer’s property; it’s stealing.  But a crazy person will.

In my 4 year stint in college, the dining hall wackos I befriended gave me and a select few of my friends the following:

• 20 pounds of ice every weekend, 40 weekends a year, for four years.  20 pounds of ice is about $4.  Total economic value: $640.
• 3 lemons/limes every weekend, 40 weekends a year, for four years.  3 lemons/limes cost about $1.  Total economic value: $160.
• Industrial size bag of breakfast cereal (usually Frosted Mini Wheats), 10 weeks a year, for four years.  I’m estimating that a massive bag of cereal costs about $15.  Total economic value: $600.
• Ability to order breakfast for dinner.  A couple nights a month for 36 months.  Total economic value: priceless—there was no IHOP in town.
• Not having to get in the car and go to the grocery store/diner for these things.  40 weeks a year, for four years.  Total economic value: priceless.

That’s about $1,400 and a lot of time saved just by being nice.  And those are only the tangible benefits of befriending the cafeteria basket cases.  There are also intangible benefits—the conversations.  Stories from a deranged ex-con will always be far more interesting than stories from that geeky kid that sits next to you in chemistry class.  Which story’s beginning makes you want to keep listening:

1. “Today in plant biology …” OR
2. “This one time in cell block D at San Quintin State Pen …”

Easy, right?  Stories from nut jobs are entertaining 100% of the time.

Seriously, I can’t stress this enough, buddying up with the bonkers cafeteria worker is the smartest thing you could ever do.

I Learned More From This Than Macroeconomics 101

Click To Watch

Perry's Class Advice, Glorious as Usual

It was second semester of Sophomore year and classes had just begun. I was taking an Ethics class--your basic philosophy 101 where the class debates endlessly on topics like, "would you push a man off a bridge if you knew it would save 5 people?" Perry had taken the class the semester prior. Perry, Steve, Maliik, and I were driving to Home Depot for components to soundproof our rooms, so I took the time to ask Perry about the class.

Me: Yo man, so I had my first day in this random class I'm taking, Philosophical Ethics. Didn't you take that class last semester?

Perry: Yes, I did. Don't do it man, drop it. Seriously, that class is a crock of shit. All you do is go around in circles all day. You sit in class for two hours and leave without knowing what the hell you just learned. Honestly, I couldn't tell you one thing I learned in that class.

Me: You really think I should drop the class?

Perry: YA MAN. It's awful. You like sit there and everyone gets all heated about questions like, "if person A threatens to kill person B unless person B kills person C, is it ok for person B to kill person C to save his own life?" It's god damn ridiculous, not since Saw has there been an actual scenario like that.

Me: Ok, so I guess I'll drop it.

Perry: Wait, look, the only good thing I can say about that class is ... is ... um ... (2 minutes of deep silence passes, no one talks) ... don't take the class man.

62:38 Ratio of Girls to Guys? You sonofa....

When the good old boys from my rural Western home town would ask me how college was going I’d start with the usual B.S. I gave everyone—“oh it’s fun guys.  You go to class, learn very interesting and intellectually stimulating stuff …”  In the middle of my sentence the guys’ eyes would start to daze over, giving an unmistakable look of boredom, let down, and disappointment in me.  They expected me to be having the time of my life out East.

Despite their gaze, I’d continue, “the homework is fascinating, and the professors are brilliant, but besides all that, besides the school part, there is an actual upside to college to, you know,” their eyes would lite up, and they’d chuckle.

Then I’d give them the grit, what they wanted to hear: “there’s this thing called beer in college, gentlemen.  And its typically bought and consumed in large quantities, by everyone, all at the same time, which can result in some interesting situations.”  The guys would perk up, clinging to my next words like I was an archangel giving them directions to heaven.

I’d tell them a few stories here and there—dumb pranks my friends and I pulled to pass the time, particularly wild parties I’d gone to; all the fun stuff that happens in college.  And just as they thought my stories were done, I’d nonchalantly hit them with the grand finale: “you know guys, at my college there’s a ratio of 62 girls for every 38 guys.”

“YOU LUCKY SONOFABITCH!” they’d scream in unison, all the while grinning from ear to ear, kicking whatever was around while slapping me and each other on the back, like drunks at the Kentucky Derby.



Yes, for a young guy, a liberal arts campus can be mecca.  The female gender gap—the fact that higher education is comprised of more women than men—has been growing for years, and it’s treated the men well.  But, fortunately for you girls, the college relationship playing field has been leveled: according to the Washington Post, the female gender gap is now stagnant:

On college campuses, female undergraduates have outnumbered men and outperformed them academically for years, but a new report out Tuesday finds those gaps have stopped growing in key areas including enrollment and bachelor’s degrees.


So, to all us boys who recently graduated or are nearing graduation—congratulations, we were lucky enough to ride the crest of a beautiful wave comprised of 62 women and only 37 other guys.  And to all those young teens boys entering college in the fall, tough luck, but all waves must recede.