Codependent Collegian

Hey Readers

2009-06-02T12:44:00.001-07:00

Subcommandante Bob has been quite busy the last few months, in large measure due to some outstanding bench warrants and an aggravating, extended case of ennui. As a result, he has not updated the sites in quite a while, and it may be a few weeks before he gets the motivation to post new material.

However, know this: Bob loves you, especially when you buy the first and subsequent rounds. Also, he'll get around to being creative real soon. Promise.

Campus Love: Your Guide to Affairs of the Heart

2009-01-16T19:23:00.000-08:00

By Codependent Collegian Advice Columnist, J. Randall Bellingham

Hello again, love monkeys! It is I, J. Randall Bellingham, here to bring love to the loveless and give a smackdown to those in need of the proverbial smackdown. Judging from the J. Randall Mailbag, many of you in fact need to be beaten like Cheetos-covered throw rug.

But I will dispense with the beatings, and I shall shower you with pearls of sticky wisdom from the Mojo of the Love Master. Read on, Jeeves.

Dear Randall:

My girlfriend Jenny and I are getting really close, you know, and I think I can talk her out of her pledge to remain a virgin until marriage. If you were in my shoes, what would you do?

Steve in El Paso

Dear Steve:

First off, the Randall-man refuses to waste time with virginal women, because you could have done the four-legged frolic with two dozen hot babes in the time you spend trying to convince some sexually repressed virgin to do the mattress mambo. My advice: string along this mental case if you must, but find yourself a couple of chicks who actually enjoy putting the pickle in the slurpy sandwich. You'll be more relaxed, and Ms. Wedding Bells won't be playing cock-block any more. Backed-up spooge causes cancer, dude.

Dear Randall:

This really cute guy asked me to be his girlfriend three weeks ago, but he still hasn’t changed his status on Facebook to “In a relationship.” Do you think he's ready to commit to a relationship, or is he just playing me?

Ashley in College Park

Dear Ashley:

Straight up he's playing you! What you need is a man who is totally into you and no one else. Look, you are young and beautiful and you have the entire world at your feet, so don't go back to this idiot. Come over to Randall's pad and we will have a chat; I will rub your shoulders and start working my way down to your feet and then back up, all the while making you feel like a real woman, like the tigress-in-heat you really are, baby. When we make love you go and I'll go - that's what it sounds like when we make love, my sexy bunny.

Smell of Own Toilet "Reassuring" to Ill Coed After Kegger

2009-01-09T19:42:00.000-08:00

(Columbus, OH) Ohio State sophomore Ashlee Herrington, speaking with Codependent Collegian reporters in her dorm bathroom, expressed relief at making it back to the comfort of her own bathroom.

"I did have too much to drink," she acknowledged, suppressing a dry heave as she tried to recall her evening. "But I think it was all that sushi, Junior Mints, and salsa I ate before the fraternity kegger that really did me in. I'm a regular Anna Nicole Smith, except I'm not blonde and I'm not dead."

Herrington, an early childhood education major, admitted that she is something of a "lightweight" when it comes to drinking, and this makes her a bit of an anomaly among her peers.

"Ten, twelve beers and I'm just about toast," she said, pausing to gurgle out a mouthful of bilious vomit. "I hang with a bunch of big-time drunks, and I end up like this at least twice a month. You'd think I would learn, but I never seem to know when to quit, and the Kappa Alphas are known to spike drinks with syrup of Ipecac."

There's no place like the toilet at home, sweet home

Making it back to her own toilet is an important weekend goal for Herrington, she said, wiping dried barf remnants from her cheek.

"I feel really bad when I blow chunks in someone else's bathroom," she admitted, letting loose with another Technicolor yawn as reporters dodged the sloshing spewage. "Plus, it's pretty gross to stick your head where, like, twelve guys just pissed. My toilet is always clean, well-lit, and never judgmental, you know?"

Innovative College Financing Methods

2009-01-01T17:38:00.000-08:00

Guest editorial by Paul Oglivie,
financial aid specialist

January is here and that means it's time for all you high school seniors to apply for college financial aid for your freshman year in college. Make sure that you take advantage of the downtime during the holiday break to plan, and you’ll be well on your way to financing your education.

Here are some ideas for helping you finance your college education. Some of these I have personally used, while others have been used by friends of mine, but all have the potential to help you raise cash in this difficult time.

1. Become a whore. Sure, you might get raped, beaten, or catch an STD, but everyone knows that college is about getting as much no-strings-attached sex as possible, so you might as well get paid. And guys? You can suck a dick or take one up the poop chute just as easily as can the ladies, and let's face it: it's a lot more lucrative to extort an extra $50 from a doctor or professor who is worried about people finding out they are gay. Just get drunk, gobble the goo, and rinse with Listerine afterward.

2. Sell dope. Don't act like you never heard of the shit - you could be the go-to connection on campus for Ecstasy, weed, or meth, all the while pulling down $500 to $1000 a week in tax-free earnings, not to mention all the head you can handle from strung-out chicks looking for a quick fix.

3. Run a numbers racket. Listen: college-age men are the number one growth industry in gambling, and there is no reason why you can't be the biggest bookie on your campus. You can run weekly betting sheets on sports year-round, plus you can start your own three-digit lottery. On average bookies clear 50 percent, and if you get big enough, you can hire a couple of high school kids to collect for you.

4. Loan sharking, baby! Now, you need at least a grand to get started, but college students are horrible at balancing their money, and there is no good reason why you can't compete with the payday loan places. Just be willing to harass the shit out of late payers, and befriend a couple of big fuckers for the muscle factor. Hell, most shit-kickers will gladly beat the snot out of some deadbeat for a burger and a beer, especially if they are in roid rage.

This Is the Dumbest Bunch of Fucktards I’ve Ever Seen

2008-12-12T08:06:00.000-08:00

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
By Penn State’s Standardized Psych 101 Final Exam

A Standardized Test With, Well, Standards

Over the years, I’ve sure had some pea-brained knuckle-draggers take me at the end of the semester. I distinctly remember Wyatt Anderson in the spring ’05 term, who attended every one of Professor Stevenson’s lectures and still got an 11%. And of course, who could forget Tina McElerie last summer, who answered ‘C’ to every one of my true/false questions.

But without a doubt, this fall’s twenty sections of Psych 101 are the dumbest bunch of fucktards I’ve ever had the displeasure to watch bubbling in their Scantron responses.

Let me begin with a disclaimer: most folks aren’t fans of standardized tests. Hell, if I wasn’t one myself, I’d probably be prejudiced, too. We all know the old clichés—all a standardized exam does is test your ability to take a standardized exam, etc.

But at a major university like Penn State, it’s imperative to have an instrument like me—an objective, fifty question exam that serves as the exit criteria for an introductory course taken by every Billy Q. Ballsweat and Sally M. Rottensnatch.

Speaking of these little darlings, they averaged a whopping 61% D on my ass. These booze-battered nincompoops barely know the difference between Sigmund Freud and Carl Rogers. Hell, I heard Desmond Cooper muttering under his breath that B.F. Skinner “is that principal dude on The Simpsons…what the hell is he doing on an exam”? Newsflash, Desmond: you should have been a blowjob, you gunny sack of gorilla mung.

Do you want to know why terrorists fly planes into our buildings and our economy is on the brink of a total meltdown? It’s because only 37% of American students in a psych course can define ‘psychology.’ That’s right: two-thirds of test takers got THE FIRST MOTHERFUCKING QUESTION WRONG.

The answer, by the way, is “the science of human behavior and mental processes.” Pretty tough stuff, considering this was defined ON THE FIRST PAGE OF THE COURSE SYLLABUS. Thank god I’m only a test—if I was a professor with students like these, I’d need a fucking shrink.

I Wish a New York Cop Would Sodomize ME

2008-11-16T17:20:00.000-08:00

It seems like every time I turn on the news, there's another story about New York City cops sodomizing a suspect. Whether it's slivered broomsticks, their metal flashlights, or just a good old-fashioned throbbing hunk of man-meat, there's like a non-stop sodomy-fest going on in the Big Apple.

Some folks just have all the luck: why can't a muscular NYPD cop sodomize ME?

I've tried hanging around cop bars to get sodomized, but the closest I've gotten to hot-and-sweaty reaming was a beat-down by an obviously homophobic sergeant from the 113 Precinct at a South Queens shot-and-beer bar. Now, I like it rough once in a while, but a broken nose and two cracked ribs is a bit over the top, you know? A simple "no thanks" or "get away from me, faggot" would have sufficed.

But I digress.

Then I tried making calls to 911 for police assistance, like the time I said I saw a strange man in the bushes. I waited naked for three hours in my rhododendrons, hoping a nice, ripped cop would "discover" me and sodomize me, thinking I was the pervert. But no: they never showed, and I wound up with a wicked rash from crawling around in the landscaping.

I even tried lying naked in a cop car outside a Bronx diner while a cop was eating, but the fucker Maced me in the face and crotch. Bee-Jeebers! What exactly does a guy have to do to get a New York cop to sodomize him these days?

Tracy, You’re Blowing This Abortion Out of Proportion

2008-11-01T05:20:00.000-07:00

Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial by Evan Frankfurt, Clemson University Class of 2009

Evan and Tracy, During Their 37-Hour Romance

Tracy, neither of us will forget that fateful night eight weeks ago when we made sweet love in the back of my Prius and then hit up Denny’s for some Grand Slam omelets. Sure, I have a few regrets—sticking my pinky in your ass was a bit rash, and I should have turned the new Metallica album off and put the radio on that smooth jazz station no one likes except when they’re fucking.

But Tracy, the way you exploded when I suggested our most logical and affordable option was nothing short of immature—you’re really blowing this abortion out of proportion.

What exactly is your sticking point with this? I mean, it’s not like you’re Catholic and going to burn in hell forever while devils dance around a circle of flame and jab you in the uterus with their pitchforks. And it’s not like you particularly like kids, because that one time I wanted to watch “Jon and Kate Plus 8,” you said you’d rather punch yourself in the boob than watch that crazy family for a half hour.

Are you scared that the procedure is going to hurt? As a life-long field hockey player, I’d like to think you have a remarkable threshold for pain. And as far as the cost, I told you that we could hit the Coinstar machine at the post office on our way to the clinic, so I got it covered.

Abortions are a natural part of life, Tracy, and you should be grateful we live in the United States of America. Yeah, it might be tough for folks to get bridge work done or get physical therapy for a work-related injury, but damn if we Americans don’t take our embryo vacuuming pretty goddamn serious.

So let’s plan on going Friday, Trace, since neither one of us has class, and we can be back in time for the Kappa kegger.

And maybe, just maybe, if you take this all in stride like a big girl, we can hit up Denny’s afterwards for old time’s sake.

Graduation Rates Appallingly Low for Nation's Beer Pong Athletes

2008-10-15T13:46:00.000-07:00

Sure, they can nail the the arc and the fastball, but what about a diploma?

Graduation rates for college athletes improved one percentage point to 79% over the past year, according to the NCAA's most recent Graduation Success Rates (GSR) survey.

Yet one segment of student-athlete lagged far behind their basketball, football, and track peers: practitioners of the sport known as beer pong.

“Certainly we are not where we want to be, and I’m disappointed in how we compare to some of the other sports,” noted Brett Killian, NCAA Beer Pong director. "It takes time to change what's expected of coaches and what's expected of beer pong student-athletes: we have to change the culture, not just grades."

NCAA president Myles Brand praised the national figures, which showed that 78 percent of Division I athletes graduated within six years. 62 percent of men's basketball players graduated during that time, while 67 percent of BCS football players graduated.

A mere 3 percent of beer pong athletes, however, managed to graduate within 6 years, a figure that worries Killian.

"Straight up? I'm embarrassed,"he admitted. "These fuckers don't realize that there is more to life than beer pong. And while we're at it: what's with all this drink-and-dial shit with these idiots? Why do beer pongers thinks its OK to call someone in the middle of the night and share with them the pie-eyed truths that came to you after a half-bottle of Jack Daniels and seven keg stands. Like my dude Tre last week: shit-head calls me up and is narrating an episode of The Simpsons he's watching at 4:00 am, and then starts bawling about some hoochie who dumped him in 10th grade. As far as I'm concerned, beer pongers can kiss my ass."

The Codependent Collegian Sucks My Ass

2008-10-07T17:08:00.000-07:00

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
By Collin Franks
UCLA Class of 2010

Franks: Using His Soap Box to Bash His Soap Box

You know, I’ve been a long-time fan of this website, The Codependent Collegian. But lately, with its utter lag in content and lack of invigorating humor to get me through the school week, I gotta take this link off my blog, my girlfriend’s blog, and the blog I use to troll for tranny porn.

I hate to say it, folks, but The Codependent Collegian sucks my ass.

It didn’t used to be this way. No sir. Once upon the time this site was full of cutting-edge journalism, and had all kinds of exclusive stories about orgies, and talking dorm buildings, and about how the only person who washes their hands at the downtown Arby’s in Toledo, Ohio is the fucking retard guy.

And when I’d run into my friends, and they’d say something like “Hey Collin, did you hear about the stock market dip?” or “can you believe these war casualties?,” I could look them proudly in the eye and say, “why no, fuck muffin, but I read an amazing exposé about the push-up bra this morning, and I must say that thing is some false goddamn advertising.”

In conclusion, it’s high time for The Codependent Collegian to stop sucking ass like a refurbished shop-vac somebody picked up from the curb and get back to reporting the news.

Gender Studies: A Great Place to Meet Hot Bitches

2008-09-19T06:17:00.000-07:00

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
By Collin Frankfort, Penn State Class of 2012

Frankfort: Embracing His Inner Feminist

You know, Penn State is one big-ass school. With so many buildings, majors, and campus events, it can be a daunting place to make friends and, dare I say, date someone new.

So that’s why I’ve discovered the best-kept secret around, and want to share it with all those other freshman bros out there who feeling shy: Gender Studies 101 is the perfect place to meet some hot-ass bitches.

See, Gender Studies is all about how we live in a society run by men and junk, so a lot of guys feel threatened by chicks sitting around bashing us all the time. But the truth is, most of these girls are secretly looking for a strong, confident man to sweep them off their feet and fuck them sideways on the futon while their roommate is in the chemistry lab. Plus, they really respect it when you say something smart in class, like how football is really just a form of dance and has nothing to do with bashing some fucker’s skull. They slurp that bullshit straight up.

Of course, you have to deal with the token militant lesbians who would love nothing more than to eradicate men from the planet. They wear army boots and have safety pins through their lips, and always wear militant t-shirts that they buy off eBay. After a while, though, you just start to think of them as other dudes, since most of them have beer guts and shave their heads.

So in conclusion, Gender Studies is a must-take course for your spring semester. There’s tons of smokin’ ass, and if you have the courage to maybe cry once or twice in class, and say that you really want to get in touch with your feminine side, and how you’re so glad your girlfriend from high school dumped you for being immature, and now you’re totally focused and grown up, and Eleanor Roosevelt would have made a great president had there not been a glass ceiling back in the day, you’re bound to have more pussy than you can shake your dick at.

Students Commemorate 9/11 with Drunken Powderpuff Football

2008-09-12T07:33:00.000-07:00

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

These Coeds Know How to Mourn

(New York City)—It was a somber day in the world’s most iconic city, as New Yorkers paid their respects to the anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks through an usually quiet demeanor, as if a hush fell upon these bustling avenues of commerce and fashion at the very thought of that tragic morning seven years ago.

That is, of course, with the exception of the students at Hofstra University, who commemorated 9/11 and “thirsty Thursday” with several randy games of powderpuff football.

“As a native Brooklyn girl, I know first-hand how horrible that day was,” explained a tipsy Sarah Langan, a freshman majoring in communications. “I mean, it was pretty scary for an 11 year old girl to watch that stuff on the news. That’s why we’re [hiccup] having this awesome powderpuff tournament—to celebrate America and junk. WOOHOO!!!”

Tom Roland, a sophomore majoring in political science, echoed Langan’s comments.

“Look brother, I know what you’re thinking—this is totally tasteless of us to get drunk at 3 p.m. and have these girls dress all trashy to play football on the anniversary of 9/11,” Roland patiently intoned. “But honestly, dude, the ugliest girl out here is like, still a 7 on the ol’ boner scale, and I’ve got seen enough thong and boob-jiggle to fill the spank bank for at least a month. God bless those troops fighting for our freedom over there in Islam.”

I'm Going to Make Differential Equations My Bitch

2008-09-05T08:12:00.000-07:00

By Tre Jermain, FSU engineering major

My first go-around with my required differential equations course was highly unsuccessful. Straight up? I flunked that shit; no other way to say it. I fell behind about Week One and I never recovered, and by November of last fall I was completely fucked up trying to differentiate between linear equations, nonlinear equations, and even my own phone number.

But this semester is different, my friend. This is the year that I make differential equations my own personal bitch.

You see, I'm taking a new approach to Diffy-Q, as the graduate assistants call it. Before you can make differential equations your bitch, you must have a good, positive self-image, so the math will find you attractive.

You must take your differential equations into another world, a really special world where only the two of you exist, a romantic world, a poetic world. Sometimes this happens automatically with students and mathematical equations: if you've ever fallen in love, you remember what it's like to feel like you are the only two people who've ever existed. Other times, you have to create the mood: some soft music, a nice bottle of wine, and your Heweltt Packard 11C engineering calculator.

That's how it's going to be with me and differential equations this time.

And listen: never take your differential equations to the same place you'd go with your homies if you want to really understand this math. Take your equations someplace out of the ordinary, like a river front cafe in a nearby small town, a walk in the woods where you've previously and secretly stashed a bottle of champagne, two glasses and a blanket. That will make differential equations feel very special, and not like some cheap geometry proof that you picked up at the bar.

One me and differential equations get it right, the world ain't never going to be the same, you hear?

Suicide “Viable Option” for Nation’s School-Bound Youth

2008-09-03T12:31:00.000-07:00

A Codependent Collegian Feature Report
By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

A Pennsylvania Lad Ponders the Noose

(Washington, DC)—As the hazy dog-days of summer draw to a close, and families across the nation relish Labor Day weekend with all of its freewheeling pathos, America’s youth must ultimately turn their attention to the impending school year.

And for most youngsters, the prospect of ten more months of homework, standardized exams, and unfulfilled playground romance elicits a feeling that can only be described as suicidal.

“I just got a letter last week saying I have Mrs. Fowler this year,” lamented Ginny Williams, a fifth grader in downtown Cleveland. “She doesn’t let you draw or talk to your friends or do anything, and I heard from Stevie Mitchell who heard from Beth McDonald that heard from Terry Ginsberg that she stabbed a boy with a protractor last year for text messaging under his desk. What the heck! I might as well take some of mommy’s sleeping pills and hope I don’t wake up.”

Other youngsters echoed this sense of dejection and malaise at the prospect of returning to the classroom.

“Yeah, I know most kids are sad and all, but I have to repeat eighth grade because I got suspended for bringing my Boy Scout knife to school last April,” huffed an inconsolable Jimmy Owens, a native of San Diego. “I mean, think about it: I have to spend the next year of my life doing the exact same dittos I’ve already done. I sure bet Principal Dufus would feel pretty bad if I used that knife to slash my wrists in the tub like that neighbor lady we’re not allowed to talk about.”

Important Thinkery

2008-08-20T17:51:00.000-07:00

I would totally trust John McCain to take a tough stand with those Viet Cong and Khmer Rouge fuckers. Totally.

---Subcomandante Bob

"Important Thinkery" is an occasional feature on this site, and is usually indicative of a writer who has little to offer beyond a sentence. Pretty pathetic, really, but it's not like you are paying for this content, Bubba.

These Olympics Are Tripped Out When You’re Tripping

2008-08-12T22:19:00.000-07:00

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
By Owen Baxter, University of Toledo Class of 2010

Baxter, Replete with Mustache Toothpicks

Since my internship with the Toledo Zoo ended in July, I’ve had a lot of free time lately to work on my Pog collection, make prank calls from my sister’s cell phone, and mail boxes of dog shit to my former high school teachers. And yeah, like everybody else I like to drop a little acid now and then.

Let me tell you something, brother: these Chinese Olympics are tripped out when you’re tripping.

First, these games are in China, where they speak a crazy language that sounds like it’s from outer space. Last night I thought the entire Chinese gymnastics team was going to pop out of my TV set and melt my Zeppelin records with lasers from their slanty eyes. When you’re freaking out like that, the only solution is to drink a lot of Gatorade and watch the most mellow DVD you own. For me, the Sound of Music works every time.

Then there’s the equestrian events. Holy fucking balls is that stuff messed up when you’re messed up. I thought this one chick from Sweden was like, an elf princess or some shit, riding a unicorn and brandishing a sword made of flaming vipers. I called my homeboy Mitch so he could come over and watch it with me, but he was already wasted, watching some weird show where hobbits rode talking mules through a minefield.

So whether you’re watching field hockey played with a human skull or swimmers relay through a pool of Jello, these Olympics are fucked up when you’re fucked up, and I can only recommend it for the most experienced dosers. Speaking of which, can you spare a hit? I wanted to watch some softball later this afternoon.

FSU Poet Fighting Urge to Use "Ho" and "Gay" in Lyrics

2008-07-28T19:58:00.000-07:00

Greenbriar, stymied

(Tallahassee, FL) Florida State University sophomore Derrick Greenbriar, a creative writing major, admitted to reporters that his poetic efforts have lately been "majorly shut down" by his almost obsessive focus on street slang.

"Part of this, no doubt, comes from listening to rap and hip-hop, but there's something really versatile about the word 'ho,'" Greenbriar insisted. "I mean it can rhyme with words like 'shore' and 'flow' and even a word like 'cold,' if you mumble a little. Still, most poetry professors - especially the women - aren't too keen on 'ho' showing up in my poems."

Greenbriar said that the word "gay" also keeps popping in his head.

"Besides the fact that it's a one-syllable word with hundreds of possible perfect rhymes, the word 'gay' also has a ton of different connotations," he argued. "Like, it could be used for 'happy' or 'carefree' or 'stupid' or like, well, dudes who like to take a sausage up the ass and whatnot. It's like the poet's best word friend, except for 'a-i-i-i-e-e-e-e-t,' which you can stick just about anywhere in a poem."

Bro, I Wouldn’t Bang Nicole Kidman With Your Dick

2008-07-22T13:25:00.001-07:00

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
By Bruce McAlister, Penn State Class of 2010

Bruce & Shawn Bonding Despite the Kidman Tension

Shawn, it’s time we faced the facts. I’m sick of your Nicole Kidman movies, the Nicole Kidman photo collage above your bed, and most importantly, your rambling about Nicole Kidman’s hotness when we’re both drunk at 2 a.m. and trying to watch reruns of M*A*S*H.

Bro, I wouldn’t bang Nicole Kidman with your dick, let alone mine, ‘cause that chick is old, skanky, and Australian.

For starters, isn’t she like sixty years old? I mean, my parents got a babysitter so they could go see one of her movies when I was in fifth grade. So who cares if she was pseudo-hot then? That was a fucking decade ago. I bet her snatch is like, full of cobwebs and that weird ashen dust that collects on Aunt Betty’s fruit jars.

Secondly, Nicole Kidman has fucked at least a thousand dudes. I don’t really follow celebrity gossip, but every time I buy groceries I’m confronted with her ancient ass on some magazine cover drooling over another young dude. And didn’t she bang Lenny Kravitz? She’s gotta have more diseases than a bus station urinal by now. Ain’t no way I’d plunge that muff, even with your salami.

Finally, if I’m gonna nail some non-American tail, I’m going with some exotic Brazilian girl who don’t speak a dime of English and whose skin tone is the color of caramel. That, or Heidi Klum’s smokin’ German ass—she could talk all Nazi while smacking me with a riding crop. Australians are the wannabe British of the world, but without the Monty Python humor. In other words, they’re like Canadians, but lamer.

So in conclusion, Shawn, this Nicole Kidman obsession has got to go. Even if she showed up right now, all spread eagle, and I had your dick, I still wouldn’t raw-dog her balloon knot. Maybe a blowjob, but that’s where it ends. It’s a matter of principle.

You Know How We’ll Save the World? By Getting High

2008-07-10T09:08:00.000-07:00

By Connor McHugh, Vermont Pot Head

McHugh: Another Cliché Stoner for Utopia

(Montpelier, VT)—Friends, we live in dangerous times. The war in Iraq, a tanking economy, poor healthcare, and an underachieving educational system are all the result of a failed political paradigm. That’s why a whole new generation of progressive neo-hippies like me are bold enough to say YES, we can change the world for the better.

How are we going to do this? By getting high.

Regardless of how exhausted I am from the previous day, I get up at the crack of ten and smoke a bowl. Now sometimes I’m still high from the night before and all I have left is some resin. But when I think of those kids starving in Mozambique or whatever, I know that I must rock the ganj as a political statement against oppression and the high price of gas. (I’m kinda between cars right now, so I don’t really drive, but gas prices are totally ridiculous.)

Then I promptly stroll down to Capitol Grounds, the best coffee shop on earth, where I serve customers their preferred blend of java while politely engaging in socially relevant debates. At least I think I do—the first few hours of my shift are always a blur. Then Gabriel—he’s the Navajo dishwasher—fires up the bong right before dinner and, being a man who greatly respects religious ceremonies, I partake of the holy bud with him.

But nothing I do makes a bigger impact than my open mic performances on Tuesday nights. My eclectic stylies are a mix between early Dylan, late Marley, and mid-era Tom Waits. I only have three songs right now, but when that crowd of thirteen people hears me tear through “Mary Jane Is the Mother of Us All,” they can’t help but to think about this presidential election, and taxes, and like, CHANGING THE FUCKING WORLD!!!

Let's Return Bathroom Stalls to Masturbation

2008-06-24T12:35:00.000-07:00

Guest editorial by Kevin Jacoby,
Penn State University sophomore

One of the things I most hate about the modern world is the loss of traditional values, like how our politicians have all become crooked, or how families don't spend enough time together, or how some chick says she'll be a Facebook friend, but then she totally blows you off even though you listed her as "more than just a friend" and shit.

Or like how the johns at the Pattee Library are no longer a good place to spank your frank.

Take yesterday, for example. I'm in a stall on the fourth floor beating my meat like it's a piece of raw tenderloin when some fuckwad comes into the next stall. While I'm trying to dream about ramming Scarlett Johanssen in a schoolgirl outfit as she's bent over my mother's coffin, Dickweed in the next stall is all ruffling pages of his newspaper and shuffling his feet and shit.

Mission-fucking-impossible, I say.

Or the annoying idiot last week who interrupted my efforts to varnish my banister while shoving a freshly-scraped carrot up my ass. Dude sounded like he had the world's worst case of TB, hacking and wheezing and coughing up lung oysters and shit while I'm trying to blast 20 ccs worth of man-juice all over the toilet seat.

No can do, Pablo, and fuck you very much.

So, folks: either shit or git, as they say, 'cuz some of us are engaged in serious hand-to-gland combat, if you know what I mean. It's awfully tough to massage the purple-headed warrior if some asshole is talking on the celly while letting rip a nasty shart.

Bathrooms were made for one thing, mister, and that one thing is taking Little Johnny dancing down at Knuckle Junction, you dig?

FSU Student: Contents of Lanced Boil Were "Epic"

2008-06-17T15:27:00.000-07:00

(Tallahassee, FL) Recovering from a late afternoon boil-lancing, Florida State sophomore Kyle Yeagher told friends that he was "way psyched" about the pus and fluids that drained from a festering sore on his left thigh.

"Dude: that fucking boil had more pus than a ward full of gangrene patients," Yeagher boasted. "And the shit smelled worse than a dead whore's nether regions, if you feel me."

Yeagher, who opted to perform the lancing himself due to long lines at FSU's Thagard Student Health Center, explained his technique.

"First I sparked this big-ass spliff to dull the pain and steady my hands, 'cuz it's actually really hard to jab yourself with an eyeglass screwdriver," he said of his chosen surgical tool. "Then there was this gushing sound, and like a quart of this gooey, nasty sludge came a-pouring out of my leg. Of course, it was like watching in slow motion since I was blasted out of my fucking pumpkin, which made it even weirder."

Yeagher added that he is anxious to begin his next surgical project.

"I'm about to go ninja on this foot wart that's driving me all Hannibal Lecter and shit," he confided to roommates. "But I'm drawing the line at genital warts, a-i-i-i-e-e-e-t? No way I'm jabbing Big Jake the one-eyed snake with a chunk of dry ice and shit - a man can only take so much."

Student Rednecks Adopt Yosemite Sam as National Emblem

2008-06-12T18:22:00.000-07:00

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

Sam: Not Quite a Klansman, but Close

(Lafayette, MS)—The American Redneck Student Society, commonly known as A.R.S.E., recently announced that its executive council unanimously voted to adopt beloved Looney Toons curmudgeon Yosemite Sam as their national emblem.

“Billy, as southern white men, we have few voices in mainstream culture,” explained Walt “Mad Dog” Bixler, a spokesman for A.R.S.E. “In an age gone mad with the internet and microbrews and that colored man runnin’ for president, our organization felt it was time to reassert our identity and pride in all things mustache-and-revolver related.”

Bixler continued to outline how the group’s commitment to “traditional values” helps A.R.S.E. gain increased membership and participation, even among on urbanite college campuses.

“You’d think a bunch of flannel-wearin’ belchers like us would only attract the worse breed of community college flunk-outs and habitual sex offenders,” Bixler intoned between sips from his can of Natural Light. “But it simply isn’t the case. We have Dingleberries—that’s what we call our members—at every level of higher education, from Dartmouth to Yale to Georgia Tech, not to mention our home institution here at Ole Miss [the University of Mississippi] where we can boast of nearly a thousand members. And now with that rascal Yosemite Sam as our symbol, the sky’s the limit until we get sued for copyright infringement.”

Bathroom Blog Gaining Popularity with Shit-Minded Students

2008-05-29T15:48:00.001-07:00

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

No Really—It Smells Like a Diaper Full of Indian Food

(Austin, TX) Pandar Omesh always knew his bowels were “ranker than most,” so when this semester’s final exams were followed quickly by hollow boredom, the University of Texas sophomore embraced a life-long dream: Omesh created a blog exclusively dedicated to his ferocious poo.

“Being a first generation Indian-American, my diet largely consists of curry junk my mom makes and carry-out from local pizza joints,” Omesh explained while cutting a prolonged fart. “I crap about three times a day, and the smell is so bad I have to have one of those aromatherapy candles I bought from a mall kiosk steady lit. After hearing my roommate bitch about the stench all semester, the only logical conclusion was to post my brown bombers online.”

And while many would be repulsed at the notion of sharing their personal waste, Omesh has gained a cult following among undergraduates nationwide.

“Straight up, bro, Dino Mirelli showed me a pic of that Indian kid’s shit last week, and it was nuclear waste green with little specks of orange in it,” explained Tim Platt, a junior at Oklahoma State. “I’ve shared that dude’s link with like, a billion people—I had no idea the human ass was capable of technicolor. It might sound lame, but when you really think about stuff like this, it makes you really appreciate the wonder of nature. That, and the fact you can’t actually smell Habeeb’s rank poopage.”

I’m Sure Going to Miss Those Sluts Dyking-Out in My Bathrooms

2008-05-14T16:12:00.000-07:00

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
By a Frat House

Can’t Get Enough of Girls Gone Wild…Literally

The past nine months have been glorious. Sure, I’ve witnessed all manner of sexual debauchery unfold on beds, the back lawn, and even under the foosball table, but my greatest joy remains watching vulnerable, drunken sluts dyke-out in my two rancid, pube-littered bathrooms.

But now that the academic year has ended, I must woefully endure three months of tame, predictable partying without the potential for a single lesbo encounter.

Don’t get me wrong: I’ll most certainly observe some hook-ups. Matt Foley—he’s the junior who lives in the loft—is dating Stacey Collins, so there’ll be a handjob by Tuesday if she’s the same Stacey Collins I saw lick grape jelly off Ian Keller’s balls during Greek Week. And Trevor McDonald might be a walk-on wide receiver in the fall, so that’ll drop a few panties between now and August as long as he doesn’t get another beer gut.

But the nights of stinking-drunk dyke-outs at 2 a.m., while one chick boldly slides her hands down the front of the other girl’s jeans even while some stranger’s Miller-puke still floats in the toilet is a scene that only lingers as a memory in these creaking eaves. Bravely I must endure the sweltering summer nights, where yes, there might be a few six-packs and some boob-grabbing on the couch, but the possibility of clit-on-clit action in the tub will remain an anxious hope for the fall semester.

Jesus Christ, it can’t come soon enough.

Nation’s Youth Pray Stolen Answers from Fall Exams Still Valid

2008-05-06T13:50:00.000-07:00

A Codependent Collegian Special Report
By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

America's Best and Brightest: Reading Crib Notes Off Their Arms

As hundreds of American colleges and universities enter the proverbial dash to the finish line, a mood of finality descends upon the lush campuses of this great nation, with book buybacks, the sloppy packing of dorms and off-campus apartments, and an exhaustive end to late night cram sessions.

Yet for those who spent their semesters engaged in endless debauchery and neglected their studies, one bold hope remains: that the stolen exam keys from last semester are still valid for this semester’s exams, and will ensure a passing grade, however marginal.

“I spent $73 and my last dime-bag of weed on these biology answers, so old man Thompson better not have changed that fucking test,” huffed Jon Stottlemyer, a sophomore at Penn State University. “Seeing as Thompson’s showing early signs of Alzheimer’s, I should be in the clear, but still—I couldn’t identify the parts a cell if you had a sledgehammer aimed at my dick. Fo’ shizzle, bro, all’s I got is ADABBDACDBDACBCBDAABCAD. And that shit took me three days to memorize.”

Other students echoed this sense of trepidation, hoping their advanced cheating skills kept them from suffering a perilous grade point average.

“I’m not proud of it, but I let Trent McCormick touch my boobs so I could have his scantron from last semester’s History 212 final,” explained a visibly shaken Cynthia Polawski, a freshman at Texas A&M. “Trent’s a total creep-job, but if I don’t get a C in this class, my parents are gonna stop paying my tuition AND take me off their health insurance. What the fuck am I supposed to do—work at Hot Topic for the rest of my life? So maybe I shouldn’t have drank every night this semester, and maybe I should have spent more time reading up on the Peloponnesian War. But maybe if Trent wasn’t such a horny zitty fuck-bag, I would have these answers memorized already and not have to spend the next hour writing them on my purse strap.”

Know Who I Hate? My Motherfucking Students, That’s Who.

2008-04-28T12:55:00.000-07:00

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
By Professor Norman Tinsel, Indiana University

Tinsel: Those Pretty Blue Eyes? Full of Wrath!

Now that the spring semester is drawing to a close, most of us English types get pretty bogged down. And by bogged down, I mean we grade about 300 written assignments over a two-week span and drink ourselves to sleep while every whiny jag-off no-show miraculously reappears during our office hours to explain why they haven’t come to class in a month.

I can’t keep the secret any longer: I hate my motherfucking students, every single one of them, with their shitty grammar and text messaging and ability to eat three bags of Doritos in an hour and not gain a single pound.

And lest ye think this is merely the end-of-semester frustration talking, let me set the record straight: I unequivocally hate my students and hope they all die in a massive parking lot fire as they exit their final exams and burn like Dante’s gluttons in the inner circle of hell. Well, except for Ashley Mitchell—that girl wore low-cut tops even in February, and damn if I wouldn’t strap on some chaps and ride her like a sex pony.

But back to the issue at hand. It seems like my students are full of two things: questions and excuses. No one ever gives me a compliment on my Hamlet lectures or wants commend my recent book review. Instead, they just ask me inane bullshit that I’ve already answered in class, OR show up to explain why they’ve missed class, and then subsequently asked what they’ve missed.

Maybe I should retire. After all, I’ve been doing this for 27 years, and perhaps I’m at the end of my pedagogical rope. Or maybe the university should issue every prof a revolver with one bullet at the beginning of each term, with the understanding that he/she gets to shoot their worst student in the motherfucking head as an example to the rest of the rabble. I bet all these Brents and Ambers and Quentins and Britannys would straighten up real goddamn quick if that was the case.

Come to think of it, no they wouldn’t. God I hate these kids.

College Students Feeling Credit Crunch

2008-04-21T06:56:00.001-07:00

A Codependent Collegian Special Report

With credit problems plunging the national economy into free fall, financial chaos is beginning to affect college students around the country, and cash-strapped students are increasingly finding their already limited budgets further strained.

Penn State University sophomore Bradley Restall bemoaned the effects of inflation on dormitory necessities.

"Brother, this credit crunch is hella nasty, and what's worse: the liquor store ain't taking the POWER card any more," he said, referencing PSU's student debit card. "And my man Hassan [owner of Drive-N-Brew] is getting tight with the single Blunts, charging 75 cents for the same shit he was charging 50 cents for last week. Inflation is a real bitch, y'all."

PSU junior education major Valerie Upshaw expressed her unhappiness with university financial aid officials.

"They was all like: 'You can't use your financial aid on clothes from Hot Topic,' and I'm all like: 'Ummm, I can't go around campus like some skanky UN refugee,'" she recalled, pausing to text back a friend. "Just because those financial aid women are all a bunch of 60-year-old ugly skeezers with support hose doesn't mean the rest of us have to look like busted hoochies and stuff. This credit crunch is all like: 'oh... my... God,' you know?"

Kyle Eberhard, a Penn State freshman, noted that the nation's financial woes have hidden perils for college students.

"So you call up some bitch and want to get your freak on, but she's all about going to a restaurant first, and then she 'forgets' her wallet and shit," he said. "This credit crunch is messing with my macking, right? And you know the bitch ain't gonna pick no Del Taco or Burger King, you feel me? She's gonna be all about the steakhouse, and then be asking for dessert and appetizers and all that. I'd be better off just renting a hooker, plus I wouldn't have to worry about crotch crickets, like I got from this cum dumpster over at the Delta Gamma house. Shit makes me scratch just thinking about those creepy crawlies."

I'm So Going to Score with this Russian Hottie Who Emailed Me

2008-04-14T16:59:00.000-07:00

Guest editorial by Kevin Reese,
Ohio State Class of 2009

Dude, I am waaaay psyched! I don't know how, but some crazy Russian sex bomb is after me like she gots a bad case of de schlong fever, mon.

Check out the email she sent me: Hi baby my name is anna. i love u boy and i want to meet u plz can u meet me otherwise can u give me ur email id plzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz im waitin for ur response. my friends say i am hot, email me for pics and i want to love you hours and hours baby. ciao, anna
I think she must be one of those hotniks over at the International House or something, 'cuz I delivered pizzas there last week. But you can tell that this bitch is ready to go and shit, 'cuz her reply email is even crazier, bro:

LovRboy, i got ur pics and U R SO HOT!!!! i want to CuMs in my pants when i see your sexy pics! send me ur cell and we can cHaT! i cant wait to sucks your HOT ROD!!!!! ciao, anna

Yes, mister, the Kev-o-Matic gonna be grinding some Petersburg Pussy 'fore the week is out, you feel me? I'll bet she's one of those Russian freaky maniac types, the kind who will do anything for a visa and shit.

Maybe she'll let you bring your video camera, and we can make some extra scratch filming her doing ass-to-mouth or something. Either way, there's a-gonna be some nasty doings in the dorm. Pronto!

Teacher Horrified by Nudity in Holocaust Filmstrip

2008-04-12T13:31:00.000-07:00

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

Todd: Prefers Her History to Be Decent, Please and Thank You

(Pine Bluff, AR)—Cheryl Todd, an eighth grade history teacher at White Hall Junior High in Pine Bluff, Arkansas, was mortified earlier this morning when she realized her filmstrip on the Holocaust contained brief frontal nudity.

“My cat Mr. Whiskers has the sniffles, so my lesson plans have been slapdash all week,” a visibly disturbed Todd explained while sucking on a Parliament menthol in the teacher’s break room. “This documentary came highly recommended from Rita [McGovern, who also teaches eighth grade history], so I decided to use it without screening it first myself. How was I supposed to know it showed show boobies and beavers and all those emaciated Jews with their privates hanging out? I’m counting my lucky stars—no pun intended—that none of those randy boys in the second row pulled their thingies out and masturbated right then and there!”

Todd expressed why she remains adamant about censoring instructional materials.

“These kids are hornier than parolees at a peep show,” Todd lamented. “In March I showed a PBS documentary on the Civil Rights movement. Did these sex-starved tweenies gain a deeper appreciation for Dr. King? No. Did they realize how brutal segregation was? No. Did they snicker for two whole weeks about the girl who had her shirt blown off by a policeman’s water hose? Absolutely. It’s a shame they don’t make a CD called “Sounds of the Holocaust” or something so I could just hit play and grade this teetering stack of quizzes.”

There's Either Rank-Nasty Shoes or Stale Fritos Up in This Bitch

2008-04-05T12:55:00.000-07:00

Guest Editorial by Paul Oberlin,
Penn State Class of 2011

I noticed the evil funk as soon as I walked in the dorm room, dude. The smell hit me like a faceful of battery acid, and you sit there like you don't notice anything? Jigga, puh-leeze!

To my nose, there's either a pair of rank-nasty tennis shoes or a bag of stale Fritos up in this bitch.

Now, don't get all righteous with me, brother. I'm not calling you out or nothing, just pointing out what is oh-so-obvious. Yes, I split town for a week, and yes, visiting my parents meant that I reconnected with words like "hygiene" and "chores" and "laundry detergent" and shit.

But something mighty foul is causing this stench, and it must be eradicated. Now.

Christ, the place smells worse than a boarded-up shitter with a backed-up sewer and a couple of open cans of tuna fish. Or maybe it's a backed-up shitter with a boarded-up sewer, I don't know. All's I'm saying, dude, is that this dorm is not fit for human habitation, let alone a couple of poon-chasing studs like us.

I mean, shit: this place smells like Vick's Vapo-Rub plus syphilitic queef plus an open quart of curdled milk, brother-man. You been deadly sick or something, chucking up half-eaten burritos next to your bed again 'cuz you're too lazy to walk to the john?

Last time I smelled something that wicked was when Tyler, this retarded kid in Sunday school, shit his pants and didn't tell anyone. Fuck!

Earth Hour Proves Unsuccessful in Sophomore's Booty Quest

2008-03-30T06:58:00.000-07:00

Trombley: Tail-less once again

(Columbus, OH) Ohio State sophomore Chad Trombley thought that the climate change event known as Earth Hour might assist him in breaking his three-month period of unintentional celibacy.

"I was trying to play the 'sensitive green guy' angle," he told Codependent Collegian reporters. "Unfortunately, it appears that all the skanks at Kappa Delta just don't give a shit about the environment."

Trombley explained his failed seductive approach with the sorority sisters.

"Pretty basically, I reminded them that Earth Hour meant that all lights were off, and wouldn't it be great to make our own heat?" he said, pausing to pop a zit in the mirror. "But it was all: 'Ummmm, no thanks' and 'I have a boyfriend' and 'Ewww! Get away from me, you freak!' I guess the Kappa Delta sluts just want the polar bears to die off and shit."

Trombley has not given up on environmentalism as a tool in ass-tappery.

"There's always Earth Day," he noted. "I'm sure I can work the phrase 'plant a tree' into my macking. Besides, maybe I should start hitting up some of those Birkenstock-wearing 'Free the Planet' hotties over at the Quad. Since they like wood so much, I'll bet they can't keep their hands off the Chadster's pole."

I Know When to Say When…Once Puke’s Involved

2008-03-25T13:20:00.000-07:00

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
by Victoria Swanson, James Madison University Class of 2009

Swanson: Keeps Her Excesses in Check

College is a time of experimentation when young people experiment with new things and try to figure out who they are. Often this leads to extreme partying, where today’s social drinking or casual drug use can quickly become tomorrow’s substance abuse. That’s why I follow the motto “know when to say when” as soon as puke’s involved.

I can’t speak for anyone else, but I’m in school to earn good grades and eventually complete my degree plan. So if I have a major exam in biology, say, at 10 a.m. on a Tuesday, I know the night before needs to be spent making flashcards and reviewing my lecture notes. Well, until Bethany finishes the jello shooters and the Kappa guys come over and we play a few dozen rounds of peer pong. But at the first sign of vomit—and I’m very strict about this—I put myself to bed, even if it’s only 3 a.m. and the party is still going strong.

And being a woman of conviction, I follow this same policy on the weekends, too. If Ashley happens to land some high-quality Argentinean blow, and I ralph up an omelet Sunday morning after a 48-hour club-hop which may or may not have involved giving a bouncer a back-alley handjob, I know it’s time for some undisturbed rest and recuperation.

Sure, my peers may mock the fact that I’m a “lightweight,” or that I don’t “puke and pound” like many disciplined partiers, but I’ve worked too hard to let my education take a backseat. That’s why as soon as the vodka, diet pills, and stomach acid splatter my dorm carpet with the force of a volcano, I know it’s time to “say when” like a reasonable adult.

Jesus Would Want Us to Party Hearty All Easter Weekend

2008-03-22T14:12:00.000-07:00

Guest Editorial by Tre Drummond,
Penn State Class of 2010

Listen up: I've gone to church for a long, long time, ever since my parents had me baptized, so don't give me no crap about being a heathen or anything. Jesus H. Christ is in my house, you feel me?

And it is because I am down with the Savior of the World that I know that Jesus would not want us sitting around moping on the weekend of His death. He would want us celebrating His holy life and shit, and that means packing away at least a case of beer a day apiece on Easter Weekend.

Look - wasn't Jesus the one who turned the water into wine? If He wasn't cool with maintaining 24/7 buzzery, He would have turned water into Kool-Aid or orange soda or some other non-alcoholic shit.

And what about weed? You just know that Jesus and the apostles stoked some major bluntage. Why the hell else would they be eating crappy food in the desert, and not out working real jobs and shit? 'Cuz they were stoners, that's why. And Genesis 1:29 says it all: "Behold, I have given you every herb-bearing seed which is upon the face of all the earth."

Dude, even the Heavenly Father was all about smoking a fatty!

So, I propose that we remember the memory of Jesus Christ by getting as fucked up as we can and staying that way until, like, Easter Wednesday and shit. It's the least we can do to keep alive the legend of the Original Stoners.

Patriots Fan "Almost Through" Five Stages of Giref

2008-03-16T14:53:00.000-07:00

Yauncey's man-crush on Brady makes the loss even more painful

(Boston, MA) After watching his team lose in the Super Bowl to the New York Giants, longtime fan and Boston University sophomore Jared Yauncey fell into the depths of despair.

"It was worse than when my dog Trixie died," he acknowledged.

Seeking professional help for his grief, Yauncey learned about the heralded five stages of grief developed by Swiss psychologist Dr. Elizabeth Kübler-Ross.

"Clearly, I was still stuck in the denial phase, not wanting to believe that my beloved Pats could somehow lose to that... that other team," he said, still unable to speak the name of the opposing Giants. "I walked around for weeks with my 'Super Bowl XLII Champion Patriots' T-shirt, unable to come to grips with this tragedy."

Yauncey said that the next two stages - anger and bargaining - passed rather quickly.

"Oh, I wanted to punch Tom Brady in the face for about a week," he admitted. "And I begged, pleaded, and tried evry trick in the book to get God to let the Pats win in a do-over Super Bowl, but it was pretty clear after checking the sports pages every day that He wasn't listening to my grieving negotiations. The heavenly Fucker."

Yauncey added that he is "not quite ready" for Stage Five: Acceptance.

"I'm almost through the depression, which is Stage Four," he said. "But how do you learn to accept what has been stolen from you? I mean, that 18-0 start was etched in stone, like the Ten Commandmnets or something. During the depression phase, you will cry a lot. Crying is normal, and tears are healing. It's important to let yourself cry when you feel like it, even in the middle of a political science lecture or while playing World of Warcraft. Maybe your guild members will get pissed, but you have to be ready to move on to a new life and let the other life remain in the past."

Stacey James, My Heart Is Thine

2008-03-08T14:31:00.000-08:00

A Codependent Collegian Poetry Feature
By Markus Trufant, Boston College Class of 2011

Trufant: The Keats of the College Crush?

World, for too long I’ve pined in secret longing for Stacey James, the most bodacious hottie on campus. But no more shall I remain silent, jacking my raw Excalibur to pixilated camera phone pics that I’ve stealthily taken of her walking across the quad.

Today I broadcast my soul’s deepest desire to the cosmos and cast myself at fate’s altar, as this poem is the only way to adequately express my love.

To wit:

Stacey, bodacious Stacey
my loins quake at the very sight
of your ribbed halter top, and I must
penetrate your darkness
with my Excalibur.

Excalibur, countless nights
we’ve unsheathed for duty’s call
while you’ve partied off-campus
with that douche-bag Brent Harrison
and all those Sigma dudes who only want
your body, not your inner wonder.

I would bathe you in kisses, tears
and the mercury of my gonads
if only you’d return my earth-shattering
gaze, my look of adoration,
the splendor splendor splendor
of my aching want.

This hour until my last, Stacey Jacobs
this body, heart, and mind are yours,
every fibrous atom of my being
just to feel your wan, genteel hand
sliding warmly down my pants.

The Dopeman Better Get His Ass Here - Fast!

2008-02-29T15:54:00.000-08:00

Guest editorial by Patrick Sellik,
Boise State Class of 2009

Yeah, I know that Tino is your bud and all, and I know that he always gets his pokey ass here eventually. But I start work in a half-hour at the cafeteria, and there is no way in hell I'm going to get though a four-hour shift without some herbage.

So call him, text him, or do whatever you gotta do, Kyle, to get that stupid fucking dopeman here, and pronto!

I don't mean to bust your balls, dude, but have you ever actually worked in food service? How about in a mindless job like busing tables at the Student Union? Time in that shit-hole goes slower than book hour in special ed class, and the only way I'll make it through is if I am crunked out of my fucking skull.

And no: I am not going to settle for your last two Valiums, dipshit. I can eat those like Skittles and not get a buzz, even if I wash 'em down with cheap whiskey. Besides, the only way the rancid food in that place is edible is when I blaze up a wickedly fat Blunt. That, and Melissa at the cash register will probably give me a hummer if I split a joint with her.

24 minutes, mister, or else I am fucked worse than a blond-haired boy in a state penitentiary. Don't let me down, or Tino will have to meet by the front door or some shit, and that half-retarded, mongoloidal douchebag is about as as subtle as a fart in an elevator: "Hey, man, I got your weed, you got my money?"

Might as well get me a neon sign for campus police to arrest my ass when Tino's around.

Bro, There Ain’t No Shame In Bathroom Stall Whackage

2008-02-26T08:03:00.000-08:00

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
By Evan Greene, University of Miami Class of 2010

Greene: Dedicated to His Masturbatory Activism

You know, I used to feel really embarrassed when I used the fifteen minutes between classes to find an out-of-the-way campus shitter, slip a porn mag from my satchel bag, and pound out a monster batch of nut butter.

But bro, there ain’t no shame in bathroom stall whackage, because it’s just heeding the call of Mother Nature, like taking a mean whiz or dropping a monster deuce.

I remember my first time like it was yesterday. It was my freshman year, way back in the fall of ’06, and I got this stiffy the size of Idaho in my elementary statistics course. I was eying Tracie Crenshaw’s thong in the third row, and her ass, at least at the time, was the tastiest on campus. Next thing I knew, class was over and it looked like I was smuggling Toucan Sam down the front of my jeans. There was only one solution: I found the nearest restroom, hoped no one came in, and beat my meat like it owed me money.

For the rest of the day I felt a little weird about it, like when sometimes I jerk off to my hot second cousin Rita’s Flickr page and then see her at Uncle Dave’s for our annual Fourth of July picnic. I wonder if chicks have sixth sense about that sort of thing. Anyway, as I was saying, it occurred to me after a few bowls of Kind Bud later that night that stroking one’s trouser worm is just, you know, a part of life, and should be covered under the umbrella of acceptable bodily functions one can discretely perform in a public can.

So for all you bros out there who need to ease the strain of a tenacious boner between classes, just remember: the men’s room is your sanctuary. Particularly the one on the second floor of Hammond Hall—I swear, it’s like no one ever goes in there, and the toilet water is always blue and smelling good.

If You Want to Slack, It's Less Work for Me

2008-02-23T05:30:00.000-08:00

Guest Editorial by Dr. Louis Opfelt,
University of Dayton English Professor

I used to get angry when I would give an assignment to a class of 30 students, only to find that less than eight people actually bothered to complete the work. I would think to myself: "Damn! That's just rude!" or some such thoughts.

These days, I have come to the conclusion that slacking students are actually doing me a favor, creating less work for me to grade.

Take my recent annotated bibliography assignment, for example. The class had three weeks to find 8-10 sources and write a paragraph on each book. Only 11 people bothered to do the bibliography, which meant that my workload for the other 19 students consisted of marking a zero in the gradebook. The next seven turned in some shit that they cobbled together at the last minute that did not come close to the expectations, and four people actually looked like they did the assignment.

Essentially, these slackers reduced my workload by over 60 percent!

That's more time for me to watch a hockey game on TV, or to work on my book, or to sashay over to the Déjà Vu strip club and watch a hot girl-on-girl stage show.

Actually, I made up that last part about the hockey game. I don't much care for hockey, and would rather surf for Internet porn, but the point is this: I have a lot more time to myself now that I have come to the realization that college slackers are my secret friends.

History Prof "Mystified" at Overall Ignorance of Class

2008-02-16T18:59:00.000-08:00

Left: McNamara struggles with group imbecility

(State College, PA) Penn State University history professor Kevin McNamara knows that his survey-level history students often come in with little prior knowledge of the subject, but the tenured instructor says that his Modern World class may be the "dumbest bunch of inbred feebs" he has yet encountered.

"Look: it's an intro course, so I am not expecting a whole lot, just the occasional nod of recognition, or a the slightest hint of awareness," he mused. "But the whole lot of them look like a bunch of drooling MRDD candidates, complete with the sort of imbecilic stare you might get from a retarded lawnboy or something."

Increasingly aware of the fact that his class possessed little in the way of intellectual awareness, McNamara recently introduced a new pedagogical technique.

"I started giving them patently wrong information, hoping that at least one student might question me," he recalled. "I had Austria-Hungary winning World War I, the Kaiser marrying Lillian Gish, and Woodrow Wilson being kidnapped by Sacco and Vanzetti. But nothing from these unblinking, obtuse cretins - they wrote down every word as though it were Gospel truth."

McNamara said that there is but one positive outcome in the "mass stupidity" exhibited by his class.

"Lecture prep is a fucking breeze," he admitted. "I pretty much just have to make the shit up as I go along, and these simpletons are none the wiser. Hell, thirty years of copious lecture notes serve no greater purpose that lighting a bonfire at the faculty spring mixer. And to think I get paid for this."

I'm Not a Slacker: I Have Goal-Attainment Deficit Disorder

2008-02-10T16:14:00.000-08:00

Guest Editorial by Jayden Reischauer,
Ohio State Class of 2011

I know that many of my professors have written me off as your typical college loser, a person who skips every second class, who forgets important assignments, and who shows up at least 40 minutes late for every exam. And, to tell you the truth - I can see why you might think that I am just another idiot freshman trying to skate by on as little effort as possible.

Actually, though, I have this deal called Goal-Attainment Deficit Disorder (GADD), and this condition is what you might call a living hell. Sorry about the cussing.

GADD is characterized by an intense difficulty in focusing on deadlines, a remarkably short attention span, and a general sense that life is pretty much there for the living. Oh, plus the whole drinking seven days a week, smoking righteous amounts of Chronic, and seeking to plant one's love missile in the nearest willing vagina.

You probably haven't heard about this disorder yet, because most of us GADD sufferers live in shame, unwilling to go public with our inner pain. That's why I haven't been over to your office to explain the reasons why I scored a 7 out of 100 posible points on the midterm last week. Now that you understand this horror, I am sure that you will be willing to make accommodations for people like me, who have a 100-pound GADD necklace weighing us down every morning, keeping us virtually chained to our beds unless we hear the sound of a roommate stuffing herb in a toke stone.

Most mornings for a typical GADD patient are spent in a semiconscious, barely-coherent haze, while afternoons are often focused around distractions like Guitar Hero, World of Warcraft, or one of those cop shows on TrueTV. By the time the evening rolls around, most college offices are closed, so a GADD sufferer wanders the dark streets, knowing he's got stuff he should be doing, but powerless to take meaningful action since it's way past midnight, and winding up playing video trivia at the corner bar, hoping that 29-year-old barmaid with the two kids is good for a parking lot hummer.

Thanks for your sympathy, people, and together I hope that we can find a cure for GADD, or at least some way to raise a little fundage after the student loans get maxxed out.

Wallet Condom, Your Time Has Come

2008-02-07T20:17:00.000-08:00

By Derek Rochester
University of Maryland Class of 2011

Rochester: Harder Than a Frozen Ribeye

Wallet Condom, we’ve been through some amazing times together: senior prom, the freshman social last year, that awesome kegger last fall when Tina Higgins almost banged us but then started puking all over her own tits.

So with your expiration date less than a week away, I swear this pledge before man and God alike: I will lose my virginity this weekend, Wallet Condom, and it shall be with your stretchy goodness sheathing my member.

As a sophomore in college, I’ve had my fair share of sexual liaisons—over-the-panty clit rubs, backseat handjobs, and plenty of supple young boob suckling. But every time I come close to actual penetration, some ridiculous series of events happens, like the chick starts crying about her break-up with Brad, or we realize we’re late for a major exam, or my stupid mom calls and I have to answer my cell because she’s getting chemotherapy and the drugs make her hallucinate that I’ve died in a stampede or something.

But no more cock-blocks. This weekend, I will don the dopest threads, spray an entire can of Axe on my man-parts, and work the mojo until some willing vixen opens her meticulously trimmed snatch to my jizz viper.

To this end, Wallet Condom, I promise to assemble the perfect polo-and-visor combo that will yield us such voluptuous treasure. Oh my tattered and slightly oblong friend, I shall not fail again.

Dammit - My Distance Learning Class Never Gets a Snow Day

2008-02-01T16:36:00.000-08:00

Guest Editorial by
Larry Townshend, SUNY-Buffalo

Well, we got over a foot of snow today here in Buffalo, and every school in the area closed due to the inclement weather.

Every school, that is, except the Distance Learning program here at SUNY-Buffalo. These fuckers wouldn't cancel class no matter how deep the goddamn snow got, and they must think each of us has a fucking sled and a team of Huskies.

I know what you're thinking: "Larry, it's a DL class, dumbass!" The problem is, though, that these cable modems slow way, way down when it snows. I think the heavy weight on the lines or something is to blame.

Not to mention the fact that I left my textbook in the car, so I had to shovel a path just to get my shit for this class. I mean, I am just as likely to slip and fall in my driveway as I would be if I was walking to the bus stop on the corner, right?

And with all these pimply-faced eighth graders out of class today and hogging bandwidth to upload pictures of thmselves on MySpace and Gaia, my connection is slower than a special ed teacher on Quaaludes.

All's I am saying is this: when they make the decision to close schools, they should close ALL motherfucking schools, not just the ones that use the roads. We DL students have our own crosses to bear, and we sure as shit could use a day off once in a while.

My Learning Style is Ambivalence

2008-01-29T17:22:00.001-08:00

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
By Frances Ivers, University of Miami Class of 2010

Ivers, “Self-Portrait with Pencils,” a Crayon and Loose-Leaf Composition

Professor McMillan, I know it would appear to the untrained eye that I am a poor student, what with the slouching, the doodling, and even the occasional text message that I try to stealthily jot while you are busy writing stuff on the board.

But let me assure you that ambivalence is, in fact, my established learning style, and as a respected educator I hope that you can adapt your methods accordingly.

See, kids of my generation have all different ways of learning. Some people are really language-oriented, so they take extensive notes and rephrase concepts themselves in order to retain information. Other people are auditory, and tape lectures so they can listen to key passages later on when they’re studying for a major test.

But me, I’ve found that nonchalance, indifference, and a general disdain for classroom etiquette are the pathways to my academic success. Teachers in the past have remarked that my learning style is peculiar, and encouraged me to be more actively engaged, but nearly fifteen years with a respectable C- average speaks for itself.

So the next time you’re lecturing, Professor McMillan, and think I’m a total jerkass for sketching girl-dragons with huge boobs and flamethrowers in the margin of whatever handout you’ve just distributed, remember that ambivalence is my learning style, and I’m somehow retaining enough of your lesson to flub the next exam.

Asian Chicks Remain the Holy Grail of Poon on U.S. Campuses

2008-01-27T10:40:00.000-08:00

A Codependent Collegian Investigative Report
By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

As most colleges and universities around the United States have resumed classes for the spring 2008 term, one truth remains undeniably clear: Asian co-eds remain the holy grail of campus pussy due to their intelligence, mystique, and inexplicably consistent hotness.

Asian Co-eds: Delectable With or Without Chopsticks

“Dude, there’s like, four Asian girls in my English comp class, and they’re all different—Vietnamese, Korean, Japanese, and Heather’s from Laos or some shit,” remarked Brad Unger, a sophomore at the University of Delaware. “I say this because they all have different heritages and cultures, right, but all four of them are A students, and all of them are hotter than Heidi Klum slurping a pepperoni stick in slow-mo. Mark my words: when the weather changes in late March and all their hoodies come off, that class is gonna be Boner City.”

Part of this fascination with collegiate Asian women, it seems, is their flirty yet measured aloofness when engaging opposite sex.

“Look man, I’m not gonna lie—I’m a good looking dude and I get a lot of butt,” boasted USC’s NFL-bound quarterback John David Booty. “But I’ve had a major crush on this work-study girl Trish Okajima who re-shelves books in the library for three years, and it’s like, she could care less if I have to sneak emergency whacks in the third floor bathroom after our weekly chats together. We’ve talked so much Aristotle that I could write a goddamn dissertation, but she still won’t have coffee with me, let alone slurp my nut butter.”

Rich Olsen, a graduate student in Asian Studies at the University of Texas, echoed Booty’s exasperation.

“Who are these chicks fucking?” Olsen implored. “The have to fuck somebody. I’ve been studying Japanese for five years now, am constantly surrounded by gorgeous exchange students, and still the closest I’ve ever come to bagging an Asian chick was that time I smoked a joint of Maui Wowie and swiped my roommate’s porn collection when he was in jail.”

Professor Victor Walsh, Olsen’s academic advisor in the Asian Studies program at UT-Austin, offered his own prophetic assessment of the situation.

“The first time I saw Yoko Ono I knew I was smitten for life,” Dr. Walsh explained. “Now here I am, thirty years later, a pedantic, sexless scholar who just wanted some Asian hotness to jabber Cantonese while she spanked his ass. With the right blend of charm and booze any guy can bag a decent blonde or brunette, but Asian girls, man…you might as well chase the setting sun.”

Advice: Ask a Hardup College Freshman

2008-01-22T17:31:00.000-08:00

Guest advice column by college freshman Kyle Hofstrau

Dear Hard-Up College Freshman:

My boyfriend and I have been dating for three years, but I am not sure we have a future. Sometimes I wonder if we should date other people. What do you think?
-----Jessica in State College, PA

Dear Jessica:

Oh God oh God oh God oh Jesus H. Christ! Stay RIGHT fucking there! I can best give you advice in your dorm room, and if there is a God, please oh PLEASE don't let Jessica leave that room! Oh, and if you see me put something in your drink, you must be hallucinating, 'cuz I would never do something like put a Roofie in your Diet Coke. Straight up.

Dear Hard-Up College Freshman:

After sleeping with this guy at a frat party last month, I think I might have contracted herpes. I'm pretty sure it was this one Alpha Gamma dude, but it could have been a bartender I went home with over break. What should I do?-----Kylie in Ann Arbor

Dear Kylie:

I would give ANYTHING to have a girlfriend, even one with herpes or syphilis or even AIDS. I would never cheat on her, and I would do anything she told me. I would bring her flowers in the morning, chocolates in the afternoon, and even her Valtrex at bedtime. I would even lick your open sores if you asked me to. Please, please, please, PLEASE let me be your boyfriend!

Dear Hard-Up College Freshman:

I already have a girlfriend back home, but this hot biology major has been dropping hints about how she wants to totally nail me. Meanwhile, this chick's roommate is even after my package. I mean, I want to be faithful to Missy, but there's more action here than a saint could fend off. Help!
-----Mixed-Up in Berkeley

Dear Mixed-Up:

Are you freaking kidding me? Are you really just messing with my lonely ass? It's ben so long since I got laid that my dick looks like a BBQ Slim Jim, and you get to choose from THREE hotties? Fuck me, man. Just fuck me. I'm more pathetic than a 43-year-old, crack-smoking gangsta at the Grammys.

Damn You Straight to Hell, Robert DOT Blackburn

2008-01-18T14:41:00.000-08:00

Guest Editorial by Robert Blackburn,
Penn State Class of 2011

I have always been the only Robert Blackburn I ever knew. I grade school, junior high, high school - only me. When I worked for Starbucks, same story: just one Robert Blackburn in the company, and I had the robert.blackburn@starbucks.com email all to myself.

But I show up here at Penn State, thinking I would have my favorite email all to myself, and I find out that there is already a Robert Blackburn here.

Listen, bitch: this email name is mine, all mine. I did not register here and sink myself into debt just to find that I am now robert.blackburn2. That's right - I'm number-freaking-two.

That's the most jacked-up, smelly-ass, chicken-eating horseshit I have ever heard. Let it be known that I will deliver an apocalyptic beatdown upon you and your offspring should you continue to use the email name that is eternally my birthright, ordained by the Lord Jesus Christ Almighty Himself and communicated to me in a vision last week when I scarfed a couple mushrooms.

And if that also fails, may one thing be clear: there is only room for one Robert Blackburn at PSU, and that man is me. We are living in the End Times, when the Son of God shall return, when the righteous shall enter the Kingdom of Heaven, when sinners shall be condemned to eternal hellfire, and when Robert Blackburn gets back his name.

Amen.

An Open Epistle to the Douche Bag in the Back Corner

2008-01-16T07:57:00.000-08:00

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
By Professor Daniel Wicklow
Penn State University

Wicklow: Peeved by Your Laziness & Boob-Ogling

Listen kid: I’ve barely gone over my syllabus for this course and you’re already dicking with your cell phone and eyeing the hot exchange student in the second row. And while I agree she has a smoking set of ta-ta’s, and my delivery is a bit dry due to a vicious hangover, I can tell that you’re already headed for Failsville unless you change your fucking act.

I just spent ten whole minutes going over my policies for attendance and late work. Did you catch any of it? Didn’t think so. See, the thing is, I get off on mentioning important stuff orally to see how dedicated you are as a student, and I haven’t updated this bullshit syllabus since 1998. That means you’re already way behind, and unless that cute little emo hoodie has a pussy under it, you’re out of luck when the first exam comes around.

But don’t think I’m a heartless guy, kid. In fact, I used to be a lot like you: thin, ambivalent, hornier than a Jack Russell Terrier who’s munched a spilt bottle of Viagra. But the fact of the matter is, unless you pay attention and fly right, your highest achievement will be making the hallowed status of Sandwich Artist at the local Subway.

So brush that greasy hair from your eyes, open up a goddamn notebook, and act like you’ve got some sense. After all, we’ve only been here for half an hour, and there’s three months left to go.

These Handicapped Stalls Are Totally Inaccessible for Wheelchair Sex

2008-01-09T17:05:00.000-08:00

Guest editorial by Jerry Kowalczek,
University of Miami, class of 2009

Look: I know you all mean well and everything, what with these new wheelchair stalls you built in the Student Union and the Library. It must be ten times easier to take a dump, and those of us with limitations on our mobility appreciate even the smallest crumbs tossed to us by the abled.

But, tell me - just how do you think two people in wheelchairs can get the freak on in this 10'x8' space? If you ask me, these handicapped stalls are totally inadequate for restroom sex.

I would bet you five bucks that the designer of this coital nightmare has two arms and two legs that work as advertised. He probably drills his wife over the bathroom sink at least once a month, and nails her in their NORMAL PEOPLE SHOWER weekly. No problem for them.

Did it ever occur to Mr. My-Legs-Work-Just-Fine that the differently abled like to get a little sumpin-sumpin, too?

Probably not.

Christ, it's hard enough just to cram two wheelchairs in one of these stalls, let alone have a little room to drop trousers and maneuver a pair of MANGLED CRIP-LEGS into position. And just think about what we have to go through for a little oral sex, and think how this is about impossible in this cramped workspace.

And, while I'm at it: the next time y'all bust in on me when I'm trying to tap some crippled bitch's ass, the best thing to do is simply say "Excuse me." That's called being polite. You ever try to get your Johnson back into game shape after some asshole barged in on you, then ran out of the room laughing and shouting: "OMIGOD!!! Dude, get the digital camera!!!"

Talk about being limper than a lunch room french fry.

Academic Probation an "Undeniable Fascist Tool" to Campus Rebel

2008-01-06T13:47:00.000-08:00

(Granville, OH) Denison University film major Brad Isikoff, long a local outcast who epitomizes "one man's fight against the machine," decried as "fascist tactics" efforts to keep Isikoff on academic probation.

"Face it - the weapon of the dictator is never so much propaganda as the use of censorship," Isikoff declared to passersby. "Denison University hopes to silence me through academic censorship, proving that universities are just cogs in the worldwide fascist regime."

Isikoff described the university's decision as evidence of the "misery of global capitalism."

"Listen up - this process of capitalist restructuring, which has been underway for over two decades, but one aim: permanently destroying the established centers of proletarian power," he railed. "This so-called 'academic probation' is a thinly-veiled effort at attacking the core of proletarian revolt here in Granville. Even more bogus is the fact that persons sympathetic to the revolution - nmely my parents - are threatening to withdraw critical logistical and financial support. Way uncool, that."

The university's attempts to collect on last semester's balance, added Isikoff, amounted to "primitive fetishism."

"Denison's trumped-up 'tuition bill' is the classic example of fictitious capital: paper claims of wealth in excess of the total available surplus value," he noted. "And what does it mean when companies like GE and GM now earn more profits from their financial divisions than they do from production? Denison University is but a microcosm of the problems faced by the proletariat around the globe, and the sooner we torch this accumulative Leviathan known as Denison the better, I say."

The End Times Are at Hand, Y'all

2008-01-02T14:35:00.001-08:00

Guest Prophecy by
Kyle Renser, Ohio State Class of 2010

Yea, sayeth the Lord, for upon the Earth comes a cloud, a cloud that brings deception and delusion, a cloud that will cover the earth as end times approach you. Verily, I say, the Lord thy God foretells a time of woe and despair to begin next Monday, known by sinners as Spring Semester.

Destruction will soon be upon you, sickness will be upon you, and gnashing of teeth will be upon you. The Lord thy God sayeth that His wrath, as manifest in the hurricanes and earthquakes, caused you to tremble in fear, but you have seen nothing, for as in the days of old in Egypt I am about to raise My hand from the land, and the things that came then will pale in comparison with the misery ye shall receive as the term begins.

Think of the Holy Ass-Kicking USC delivered unto the Illini, and ye shall get a glimpse of that which awaits.

I say unto you touch not the unclean things, especially not thine crotch, touch not and enter not into the wicked world, but keep yourself clean from these things. For it is through cleanliness from the world and abstention from evil that you shall sustain you in this coming term, sayeth the Lord. Those who touch not the $4.00 pitchers at yon Big Kahuna's Beach Club and those who hide themselves from the Wet T-Shirt contests at yon Deja Vu will be those I hold close to My Holy Bosom, and who shall not flunketh out of school in this term of misery and woe.

Frat Brother Secretly Hopes New Year's Bash Turns Into Another All Night Cock Orgy

2007-12-30T09:34:00.000-08:00

Ferguson (lower center) getting liquored up and horny with frat brothers at 2006 bash

(State College, PA) One member of the Penn State fraternity Alpha Tau Omega is hoping that his Greek brothers engage in a repeat of last year's "epic" New Year's bash.

Kyle Ferguson, a junior engineering major, said that the 2006 ATΩ festivities turned from "rowdy partying" to "serious sexing" as the night wore on.

"Now, straight up? None of us are gay," he told Codependent Collegian reporters as the fraternity house prepped for the party. "But some crazy shit happened last year, and I for one am pulling hard for orgiastic repirse, if you know what I mean."

Ferguson said the fraternity engaged in quite a bit of "M-M-M-F craziness" that heightened his sexual pleasure.

"Now, normally I wouldn't be found near another guy's crotch, but something about the techno and the Cuervo had us all stroking dick and slurping cock," he recalled. "But going at it with each other while we waited for an Alpha Sig slut to be free was the only thing between us and sexual insanity, you know?"

Most of the fraternity members, noted Ferguson, were "so falling-down wasted" that they can't remember all of the details of the night.

"But I've been waiting for this night for 364 days, and I remember everything," he boasted. "I never felt so alive as when I slid up next to [fraternity brother] Zeke and let him start ramming my ass. But it was cool, because after he drilled me, he went at it with [Alpha Sig president] Abbey Schmidt, so it's all good."

I Will Exact Revenge for the Assassination of Benazir Bhutto

2007-12-27T09:41:00.000-08:00

Guest Editorial by
Tad Cochrane, Georgetown University

Listen up, y'all. What happened to former Pakistani head honcho Benazir Bhutto was some cold, cold shit, and I am just the person to send to Karachi and kick some terrorist ass. Put me and my posse on a plane today, and we will bag the killers by Tuesday, tops.

Sure, I'm just a college senior and all, but after sharpening my mad skills on World of Warcraft and Age of Empires, I am like some kind of freakish diplomat, sort of a cross between Condi Rice and the Terminator.

What's that, Raheem? You don't know nothing about nothing? KA-BLAM! And you, Abdul? KA-BLAM! KA-BLAM! KA-freaking-BLAM! Y'all gonna talk now? KA-BLAM! KA-BLAM! KA-BLAM! KA-BLAM! A-BLAM! KA-BLAM! KA-BLAM! KA-BLAM!

You see, I speak the only universal language of diplomacy.

And I think what really pisses me off about this is that Benazir Bhutto had some major MILF hotness about her, even for being 50-something. I would totally hit that, except for the fact that she's dead and all. And you know? If I was all Jägermeister-ed out, I would probably even do her hot corpse, that's how much of a Pakistani hottie Benazir was.

So, call me, Pervez Musharraf. I'm your man, and I work hella cheap.

Creative Writing Prof Endures Holidays Lonely & Unadored

2007-12-23T10:15:00.000-08:00

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

Childress Looking Away From You, Profoundly

(Boston, MA)—Robert Childress, famed novelist and professor of creative writing at Emerson College, should be relishing his time away from pesky undergraduates to share the holiday season his wife, two children, and his latest manuscript.

Instead, Childress finds himself “more dejected than a relief pitcher who's blown a big game in the ninth,” as he misses the cowering respect shown him by aspiring young writers in the classroom.

“At Emerson, I’m a big dog, if you know what I mean,” Childress remarked while taking a thoughtful draw on his pipe. “Not everybody around that institution has made the New York Times Review of Books, and I’ve done so twice. And sure, I miss naïve, horny 19-year-olds throwing themselves at me during my office hours,—but what I truly lament is the awed humility students seem to have in my presence because I’ve published some books.”

Childress further explained the sorts of admiration he has been shown in recent semesters.

“Random occurrences happens all the time, like when I had a philosophy student quote an entire page from my first novel and then ask if I believed in God,” Childress explained. “Or when a visiting art lecturer from France painting on homage to my work in her own menstrual fluids. Powerfully composed, I should say. But now, I just shuffle from grocery store to post office and back home again, and none of these Philistines know who I am. Goodness, I can’t wait for the spring term.”

I’m Like, Totally Going to Blast this Prof on MySpace

2007-12-15T12:07:00.000-08:00

By Gina Vickers
University of Michigan Sophomore

Vickers: An Enraged But-Her-Face

You know, I’ve totally respected Dr. Stoutmire this semester because his lectures are energetic, he shows all students the same degree of respect, and he never strays from his syllabus.

But since he gave me a D on my final essay of the semester, I’m totally going to blast his fucking ass on MySpace’s “grade your professors” section.

First of all, I have never gotten a D in my entire life, so how could I possibly get one now? Also, I’ve never missed a single day of Stoutmire’s class. Not one. And fourthly, I’m like…I always send him really nice emails when he gives awesome lectures.

So the only thing I can figure is that Stoutmire has been a closet dick-hole and secretly hated me all semester, and now he’s bringing out the claws since we did faculty evaluations last week and he can just be a vengeful prick now.

You know what bothers me the most, though? I turned that paper in a DAY EARLY. That’s right. Even with all these other kids skipping and giving excuses and being sketchy with their immaturity I got my paper in early. How could any good teacher punish that? Only Stoutmire could, and that’s why I’m going to be the bigger person and tell everyone on MySpace why he’s a fucking jerk and no one should ever take him ever.

Ugh. I need to go finish my laundry. Just thinking about how I spent a whole hour on that paper only to get a D makes me sick. Toodles!

A 6-Pack of Red Bull and a Handful of No-Doz Will Get This Paper Written

2007-12-12T14:01:00.000-08:00

Guest editorial by Ethan Geering,
Penn State Class of 2011

Yes, I know this paper is due at 9:00 am tomorrow SHARP, and I know that I really haven't done much in the way of RESEARCH yet, and I know that I was supposed to submit a ROUGH DRAFT and an ANNOTATED BIBLIOGRAPHY last month, but I'm feeling REALLLLLLLLLLY GOOD about my chances of cranking out this 15-page paper between now and tomorrow morning.

That's 'cuz I've scored the best two helpers a college student can have when it comes to crunch time: Red Bull and No-Doz.

I just washed down a couple more No-Doz 15 minutes ago, and I am totally ready to CRANK OUT DIS BITCH, Y'ALL!!!!!!! To mellow myself out and fine-tune my mind, I just ran around the Quad three times, too, so my heart is pumping and my adrenaline is flowing and I am ALIVE, MAN, ALIVE, and I am FOCUSED and DRIVEN and I have NEVER BEEN MORE EXCITED about anything else in my life.

Sorry, I had to fucking puke a minute ago, what with the stomach jitters from that massive influx of caffeine and the fact that I am still hung over from last night and I might still be tripping from those THREE HITS OF ACID I dropped and I haven't eaten since we went to Taco Bell yesterday and I also swiped/inhaled a couple of my roommate's Ritalin tablets and I keep forgetting to drink some water, FUCKING WATER, of all things to forget, right? It's not as though 80 PERCENT OF THE PLANET's SURFACE isn't covered with the shit, right, and humans are like 95 freaking percent water and all, so there's ABSO-frigging-LUTELY no reason I should forget about something as ELEMENTAL as water, except that water is really a COMPOUND and not an ELEMENT and I only know that because I stayed awake during CHEMISTRY in high school.

But it's ALL GOOD NOW, y'all, and the WORDS and IDEAS and THEMES and TOPICS and THESIS STATEMENTS are flying at me right now, I mean just FLYING AROUND MY HEAD, man, like a HIVE OF SWARMING BEEES and shit. Now all I have to do is CHILL for a minute and let some of those NUGGETS OF BRILLIANCE ferment.

I swear to Christ I don't know why all those PLODDING, MINDLESS DRONES spend weeks sweating over a research paper when they could be out there LIVING EVERY DAY LIKE IT'S THEIR LAST, instead of wasting all that time in LIBRARIES and READING BOOKS and looking up JOURNAL ARTICLES and UNDERSTANDING THE GODDAMN DISCIPLINARY LITERATURE and all that other shit they try to force down your throat, turning you into an UNCARING CORPORATE ZOMBIE as they STEAL YOUR VERY SOUL, dude, sucking the life out of you as surely as Dracula SUCKS THE BLOOD OF THE INNOCENTS.

You know what, dude? FUCK YOU TOO! I do my best work at TWO FUCKING AM, that's why I'm working late here, and you are totally BOGARTING MY MUSE with your endless whining about "needing sleep" and "turn off the light" and how you have an "exam at eight o'clock" and why don't you just SHUT YOUR PIE-HOLE, you frigging baby!

I'M AN ARTIST AT WORK HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!

Professor: 2007 Econ Students "Worst Ever"

2007-12-08T15:14:00.000-08:00

Left: Calderone in his OSU office

(Columbus, OH) Ohio State economics professor Scott Calderone, speaking with Codependent Collegian reporters yesterday, said that his economics students have "set a new low for imbecility," and that he fears for the future of the nation.

"Let's face it - any country that hopes to build for the future with the likes of the blithering twits that occupy seats in my classes is all but doomed," he noted. "On the whole, these morons are stupider than a ward full of lead paint-chewing head trauma cases, and more clueless than cross-eyed fans at a Wimbledon match."

Calderone said that the current semester's exams are full of "raving idiocy and widespread illiteracy."

"Eleven people on the last quiz tried to define the term Natural Increase as 'having sex without Viagra or Cialis,'" he mused, shuffling through a stack of papers. "And no less than thirty dweebs tried to describe Full Employment with answers on the order of: 'Like, having a job with a car and benefits and stuff.' I swear to God, one more term teaching these simpletons and I'll be ready for a bullet to the brain."

10-12 Hours of World of Warcraft is Good Exam Preparation

2007-12-03T14:33:00.000-08:00

By Bradley Shore,
University of Michigan Class of 2011

Look, I know that most of you in the fraternity and my dorm are convinced that I am some kind of World of Warcraft addict, but the truth is that WoW can totally work as a tool for exam preparation.

Take my Geography class, for example. Where else can I get such detailed information about Azeroth's two main continents, the Eastern Kingdoms and Kalimdor? If I wasn't playing WoW, I'd have no frigging idea that to the northwest of Kalimdor are the Azuremyst and Bloodmyst Isles, and Teldrassil.

Otherwise, I would probably have drawn a total blank on a question like that.

Or my Econ course, to which I must admit I haven't attended since mid-November. If I get a question on merchant capitalism, I am going to completely smack a grand slam with my knowledge of Herbalism, Mining, and Skinning, or the crafting professions like Blacksmithing, Leatherworking, Tailoring, Alchemy, Engineering, Enchanting, and Jewelcrafting.

Duh!

Sociology? I am totally down with information on Humans, Night Elves, Dwarves, Gnomes, Draenei, Orcs, Tauren, Undead, Trolls and Blood Elves. And after that nasty Corrupted Blood plague incident, I can answer any shit that my pre-med instructor can throw at me.

And really: just because I play WoW online most of the day does not mean I have an addiction- I can quit any time I want! I’m not addicted. I just choose to do it because I like it, and I just don't have anything better to do right now. So, could you do me a favor and just back off?

Gotta cram for finals here.

Babe, the Toilets Here at Penn State Are COVERED With STDs

2007-11-29T14:41:00.000-08:00

Guest editorial by Jared Sherwood,
Penn State Class of 2010

Babe, I just got back from the Student Health Center, and I just can't believe it: I caught ANOTHER frigging STD from those nasty toilet seats here on campus.

Gross.

I thought it was bad enough when I came down with gonorrhea last year from the toilet seat in the student union. I should have known better than to go in the stall after that creepy-looking dude got out, but I guess I am too trusting or something.

But to wind up with a case of herpes from these damned dirty bathrooms? Un-FREAKING-believable, that's all I can say.

I think it happened last month at the Rec Center. I noticed something wet when I touched the toilet seat, but I figured it was just a little water. I guess it was really some slimy, herpefied ooze from some sex fiend. I even washed my hands, too!

The good news is that this is really not such a big deal, and my buddy - who's a pre-med major - says that it's almost impossible to pass it along after a week or so. After next Friday, then, we can get back to normal with our love life, just so long as you make sure you take a shower after. Turns out herpes is killed by hot water and soapy water!

And, if I were you: I'd avoid those skanky bathrooms. It's better to have to hold it than to catch an STD from a toilet seat, believe me!

That Fart Smelled Like Dog Food

2007-11-26T13:03:00.000-08:00

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
By Maggie Sinclair
Smith College Class of 2010

Sinclair: About to Spew from the Righteous Fumes

Jamie, I’m glad that we are strong, compassionate lesbian couple, and are brave enough to share our deepest thoughts and feelings with each another.

But honey, the fart you just cut at our weekly Campus Pride meeting smells like dog food, and I might just puke all over my hoo-ha.

Even though I’m a bit of a prissy girl, I’ll be the first to defend any lesbian’s right to not wear a bra, forego shaving, or even conform to gendered notions of attire. But you just farting like that in a room full of casual acquaintances—after eating God knows what all morning—has absolutely nothing to do with being gay. It is straight up nasty, and were I not still gagging from its sour stench, would probably ask if you ate a big-ass bowl of puppy chow for lunch.

Go ahead and munch that grape as if nothing has happened. After all, it’s not like your cute little dyke butt didn’t just emit an SBD nastier than a Doberman with a belly full of bad bologna and heartworm pills. We can all just sit here and banter about next month’s social event even though half of us are breathing through our shirtsleeves.

Jamie, I thought we had something special, and last night’s romp in the shower was one of the most sensual experiences of my young life. But the thought of seeing you naked—now that I know the true toxic fortitude of your corduroy-hugging bum—may put our next finger-blasting session into serious jeopardy.

So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going out in the hall to queef like a civilized person.

Student Hopes He Arrives Home After Horror of Mom's Holiday Cleaning Mania

2007-11-21T11:50:00.000-08:00

(Columbus, OH) Ohio State sophomore Kyle Reeger, speaking with Codependent Collegian reporters, expressed optimism that he has timed his return trip home to occur after his mother's annual "panic purging" of the Reeger home.

"My mom goes totally berserk trying to clean the house before the first guests arrive," he noted. "It starts Monday night of Thanksgiving week, and doesn't end until about 1:00 on Thanksgiving Day. I swear to God she gets crazier than a coked-up dog in a hubcap factory, and she doesn't mellow out until that third glass of Bailey's Irish Cream after dinner."

Reeger said that he has lined up "three foolproof excuses" for his late arrival to his parents' suburban Cleveland home.

"I have two friends calling my house Thanksgiving morning wondering if I made it home with my 'bad radiator,'" he chuckled. "And I plan to make sure I drizzle a little bit of antifreeze on the driveway, just in case she goes out to check up on the story."

The second-year engineering student said that his mother's "insane-o behavior" has grown increasingly worse over the past few Thanksgivings.

"She's always had this strange possessive streak. It started out with her 'special Thaksgiving apron," Reeger recalled. "When she found it, she would take it and growl if someone came near. She would refuse to drop it and the only way to get the apron away from her was to wait until she fell asleep. She's even bitten people when they try to come near her in the kitchen, just to ask if she needed help. Fact is, she scares me on Thanksgiving, dude."

I Piss with Laser-Like Accuracy

2007-11-16T19:20:00.000-08:00

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
by Chaz Murphy
University of Texas, Austin, Class of 2009

You know, we all have that special something that could be called our God-given talent. Some people are real brainy and good at taking tests, others are exceptional athletes, while there are some folks who are gifted when it comes to helping the needy.

But me, I piss with laser-like accuracy.

I first discovered this ability when I was in junior high. Somewhere around the seventh grade, whenever I had to take a whiz, I would stand a few inches farther back from the urinal than I had the day before. Maybe I did it out of boredom, or to make a game for myself—I can’t exactly remember. Pretty soon, though, I could hit that thing from six feet away.

By high school, dudes would make bets as I drank cup after cup of water at lunch, only to look on in amazement as I sat on the floor near the sinks and nailed the urinal cake dead-on.

I know what you’re thinking—I must have some monster dong, and a urethra so thin and narrow that you couldn’t even get a pencil tip in there. Let me assure you that my equipment is perfectly normal, if perhaps slightly larger than average, and this skill of mine is simply the result from years and years of patience, hard work, and the determination to pee on stuff from super far away.

So if you ever happen to be in the Austin area for some blues and brews, give a holler to ol’ Chaz. I’m performing nightly in the Winston House, about a block away from the dorms. And if you have anything you totally want a bro to piss on, bring that along too.

Student’s Final Keg Stand Was One Too Many

2007-11-12T17:34:00.000-08:00

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

Toomer in All of His Dionysian Glory

(State College, PA)—According to his closest friends, Penn State junior Braylon Toomer is the quintessential party animal, and has the uncanny ability to sustain a kegger into the wee hours of morning.

Unfortunately, Toomer’s final keg stand last night rendered him “sicker than one of those bald cancer kids on chemo,” and he must now endure the painful aftermath of his wanton revelry.

“Since we always get a keg, it’s hard to know what my limit is in cans or bottles, but a safe estimate is probably fifteen or sixteen brewskies,” Toomer quietly explained, holding an ice pack to his throbbing temples. “But last night was fucked up from the beginning. We started with shots of Jack because my roommate got a handjob from this smokin’ hot waitress in an Applebee’s bathroom, so I was half tanked before the keg even came out. But I’m pretty sure it was that last stand at 3 a.m. that did me in.”

Despite the brutal throb of a dehydration migraine, Toomer offered a poignant reflection on the ritualized fellowship of binge drinking.

“I’m an anthropology major, dig, so like, all civilizations throughout time have had their unique ways of coming together as a people,” Toomer explained. “The Navajo had the sweat lodge, the Romans had their public baths, and us Penn Staters get fucking ripped four nights a week. Unless of course it’s midterms—we tend to dry out long enough to bring our grades up.”

About Those Three Weeks I Missed…

2007-11-06T13:04:00.000-08:00

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
By Candice Pinkerton
University of Delaware Class of 2010

Pinkerton: Cute, Smart, and Totally Failing

Hey Professor Richards, how’s it going? Are your classes going pretty well? I hope so. Anyway, you probably remember me—my name’s Candice Pinkerton, I’m in your Survey of American Literature class. I’m the punk-rock chick with a nose ring who sits in the back row.

Or I guess I should say USED to sit, because I haven’t to your class in three weeks. And even though I’ve missed a big essay and tons of quizzes and homework and such, I have a perfectly reasonable excuse for my absenteeism and would like to get back on track.

See, all of this started last month when my boyfriend Josh got kicked out of his band. He played bass with all these do-good Jesus freaks, and they finally got sick of his drinking and tripping and said he was a douche-bag lame-o who was always getting wasted. But since Josh has a horrible home life and no self-esteem, he took this as like, a major rejection of his musical talents and has really needed me to support him through this. So in a way, it’s like we’ve both had a death in the family. (Hey, that’s what you call a metaphor, right? See, I am learning a lot from you!)

This leads me to last week, when I totally planned to stop by during your office hours, but my mom called last minute with this horrendous toothache, and needed me to drive her to the dentist. Turns out it’s pretty serious, as she’s lost a filling and has some late-stage decay that is causing constant pain. And while academics are my top priority as a college student, you’ve got to admit that family should always come first.

So in sum, I hope you’ll see that my absences have been warranted by “real life” issues, and if you could email me back with all the handouts, lectures, and assignments I’ve missed, I’ll try to see you in-person as soon as possible. Which might be next week, now that I think about it, because I have a doctor’s appointment Thursday that will keep me pretty busy and stuff. Thanks!

Important Thinkery

2007-11-03T17:42:00.000-07:00

Inspiration ebbs and flows, and there is no point in bitch-slapping your Muse when she is fickle.

---Subcomandante Bob

"Importnat Thinkery" is an occasional feature on this site, and is usually indicative of a writer who has little to offer beyond a sentence. Pretty pathetic, really, but it's not like you are paying for this content, Bubba.

Student Finds Push-Up Bra "False Advertising"

2007-10-30T15:05:00.000-07:00

Left: Less than meets the eye awaits suitors

(Columbus, OH) Ohio State engineering student Kevin Paterson expressed to Codependent Collegian reporters his displeasure with a recent date in which the "false pretenses" of a push-up bra led him to "waste mondo time" with fellow sophomore Amber Pettigrew.

"Amber wore this lowcut T-shirt to our Calculus class with the words 'Love Candy' written across the front, and that push-up bra made her look like she was stashing a couple of tasty cantaloupes up in there," he recalled. "But five seconds after I got her top off I realized that Amber was flatter than a week-old beer. That's some scary biz, bro, and for a second I thought she might be one of those 11-year-old college whiz kids setting me up on a stauatory rape charge."

Even the late-night acquisition of a "first class hummer" could not assuage the disappointed Paterson.

"I'd been drooling and whacking all day over what I thought were some gi-normous hooters, only to find out that copping a feel with Amber was like wrestling my little brother," he grumbled. "There ought to be a law against this kind of deception, that's all I got to say. I felt like I had been ripped off. Overall it was a disappointing night after my eager anticipation. I may give her another go some time, but there are far hotter chicks to hit up who don't order all the expensive shit on the Applebee's menu, that's for sure."

Term Papers an "Eternal Source of Office Supplies" for Comp Instructor

2007-10-26T14:30:00.000-07:00

(Ypsilanti, MI) A hidden benefit to the mountains of term papers that must be graded by Eastern Michigan University composition instructor Shelly Preston is the simultaneous acquisition of paperclips, report covers, and binder clips.

"Some of these students really go all out to dress up their pathetic efforts at rhetorical competence," chuckled Preston, showing off her latest pile of useful office supplies. "I always return the papers with nothing but a staple, though. Some of this stuff is too expensive to be attached to an essay titled: 'Robert Frost - Poetry Guy.'"

Preston came upon the idea to uncouple valuable office supplies from wretched student compositions several years ago.

"I was in a rush to get out my CV and research portfolio to another college, and I couldn't find a decent report cover," she recalled. "Then I thumbed through some of the literary abortions on my desk, and I'll be damned if some hopeful cretin didn't use this faux leather report cover on her term paper. It was kind of like dressing Quasimodo in a tuxedo, but pilfering that report cover saved me an hour's drive and ten bucks."

To this point not a single student has complained about the missing supplies, added Preston.

"I think most of them are so embarassed about their complete lack of talent that they wouldn't get caught near my office, let alone ask about the gilded folder they stuck their papers in," said Preston. "The best time to clean up on office supplies, though, is at the end of the term. Not only do I collect a ton of supplies, but I don't even have to read most of that crap. I just count the pages and add five points to their average grades. Boo-yah!"

Gay Guy Wins Lead in Campus Production of “Guys and Dolls”

2007-10-24T18:52:00.000-07:00

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

Nance: Cum-Slurping, Light-Loafered Butt-Pirate

(Bangor, ME)—University of Maine sophomore Tim Nance was ecstatic to learn he won the lead role in the university’s winter production of “Guys and Dolls.”

Some in UM’s theatre company, however, feel that Nance’s selection has more to do with his sexual orientation than his talent for the stage.

“That Nance kid makes the queer dude from Will & Grace look like Sly Stalone,” remarked senior Owen McCormick, the troupe’s resident sound engineer. “I mean, he can kinda sing, and maybe he took a year or two of dance, but this is just another classic example of Professor Harrington’s typecasting. Mark my words: Nance is a straight-up diva. He’ll be bitching for a wireless mic by our second read-through.”

Those outside UM’s small enclave of thespians reiterated McCormick’s criticism of this casting selection.

“I’m not really the acting type, but “Guys and Dolls” is my mom’s favorite show, and after her bout with breast cancer last year, I figured I’d do this just for her—after all, I have a three octave range for Christ’s sake,” remarked Rick Langan, a music major and lead singer of the local band Burnout. “But as soon as my audition began, it was clear they wanted this flamer kid Nance. These theatre profs want the same eight people in every show—what a bullshit incestuous process. This musical is gonna blow worse than Chevy Chase’s talk show.”

Student Recalls Restroom Stall Sex Proposition "Nightmare"

2007-10-22T10:41:00.000-07:00

(Ann Arbor, MI) Cody Phillips describes himself as a "pretty tolerant guy," but a recent experience in the restroom of the Shapiro Science Library brought terror to the University of Michigan senior.

"I was in the middle stall when it happened: a foot came from under the dividing wall and bumped mine," he remembered, still visibly shaken by the encounter. "It was like one of those horror movies, you know? I had visions of getting ass-raped by some syphilis-dripping degenerates, like something out of Deliverance. Scary shit."

Phillips said that the unknown occupant of the end stall of the second-floor restroom was persistent.

"When the second and third foot-taps happened, I had this sinking, nauseous feeling in my stomach," he said, involuntarily cracking his knuckles. "I just knew that any minute this sick SOB was going to pull a knife, slit my throat, and have sex with my dying corpse."

In future trips to the Shaprio Library restrooms, added Phillips, he is going in with "backup."

"I figure if some of my bros come along, the toilet queers will be less aggressive," he predicted. "The last thing I need going into finals is dealing with a wicked homosexual-type rape. Something like that could totally mess up a dude, maybe turn him gay. And I am so completely not gay, it's not even funny. One time when this dude at a party grabbed my ass in the hallway, I almost killed him. That's how not gay I am, bro."

Let’s Take this Department Meeting Down a Notch

2007-10-20T05:12:00.000-07:00

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
By Dr. Ewing Kliphoffer, Professor of English &
Department Chairperson, Dickinson College

Kliphoffer: Wants to Keep This Party Going

Folks, it seems we’ve covered all of our agenda items in record time. We discussed the due dates for book orders, revised the old criteria for sick leave, and even agreed on what type of dry erase markers we want to order for next semester: those non-toxic ones that write nice and thick but won’t stain your trousers.

But since we have the board room reserved for another hour and a half, and there’s plenty of catered coffee and stale pastries left, I think we should take this department meeting down a notch and exchange meaningless banter for the next ninety minutes.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: hey, why can’t we just go back to our offices and grade? After all, it’s midterms, and getting a jump-start on the weekend would make us all feel better about our workload. Well, I’m afraid that’s not an option. We’re going to sit here and make snide jabs about the dean for a little while, or bitch about how the bathrooms on the second floor are never clean, or how that Richard Odenton kid we’ve all had is a frigging retard.

I didn’t wear my favorite Oxford-shirt-and-paisley-tie combination just to sit in my office and suffer through student reports on Walt Whitman. No sir. I know I’m not the most trim specimen of male faculty, but you must admit, I’m looking pretty doggone snazzy.

I hope that settles it. We’re going to keep this conversation going, even if I have to resort to that old chestnut about how the administration is under-funding our literary magazine. Keep chatting, people, and help yourself to another cup of decaf.

Kid Rock Reaffirms Status as Talentless Lout

2007-10-17T04:50:00.000-07:00

With the release of new LP Rock N Roll Jesus, Detroit musician Kid Rock said that he had but one goal in mind.

"It's no surprise that God shortchanged me in the department of talent, and I looked to Rock N Roll Jesus to cement my reputation as an artist devoid of any measurable skill," said Rock, who was born Robert James Ritchie. "With my lame samples, ill-suited covers, and infantile riffs and chord structures, I have accomplished all that and more. I'm making Vanilla Ice look like Paul freaking McCartney, y'all."

Rock said that some of his recent collaborative work made some industry observers question his reputation as an inept babboon.

"That duet with Sheryl Crow knocked a few people around, didn't it?" he chuckled, referencing the 2003 song "Picture." "But I'm back, y'all, with my utter incompetence and derivative inanity as forgetable as ever."

Rock added that fans need no longer worry about his brief forays into legitimate music.

"I know what my people want - music that even someone with a 32-IQ can drool along with," he said. "The world needs a benchmark for the lowest common denominator, and this talentless lout has reclaimed the crown. Boo-yah!"

Beer Cap Collection a Testament to Student's Manliness

2007-10-16T14:29:00.000-07:00

Cochrane has started a third box to document his drinking career

(Washington, DC) Georgetown University education major Tad Cochrane, meeting with Codependent Collegian reporters, displayed a collection of over 9,000 beer bottle caps, all packed away during the past three years.

The third-year student said that he has managed to save every cap from every bottle of beer that has "passed over these lips."

"Face it - I am, frankly, very studly. I have the face of a god, I'm the consummate party animal, and I am decidedly stronger than the average NFL linebacker," noted Cochrane. "I roam the world doing chivalrous deeds and shit, saving damsels in distress and flexing my pecs wherever possible. Along the way, I've consumed many a brew, and this collection documents my exploits."

One of the salient features of Cochrane's collection is the number of countries in which he has consumed bottled beer.

"I've got caps from drinking Dos Equis in Tijuana, Molson Brador in Montreal, and Red Stripe in Kingstown," he said, showing the relevant caps to reporters. "But even though I am a world taveler and all that, I'm still a regular guy, because I am a beer man. And bitches appreciate that, you know? Because i'm not, like, all full of myself drinking cognac or Drambuie or some faggedy-daggedy-doo liquor."

Cochrane also has a sensitive side, along with his malted masculinity

Cochrane, who calls himself the "King of Cerveza," said that his beer career has frightened away many a would-be challenger to the coveted throne.

"I'm so tough that I would even scare myself if I ever got scared, which I don't, because I'm the toughest person in the known or unknown universe," he boasted, finishing his fourth Bud Light before noon. "If some asshole tries to outdrink me, well, he's going to have a rude awakening, because no one - no-body - can outdrink me, the Duke of Beerdom. Many a lesser man has approached the throne, and every one skulked off, punk-ass crawling on the ground and acknowledging my supernatural drinking prowess. I reign supreme!"

Geek Flummoxed by Diagnosis of "Jock" Itch

2007-10-11T15:37:00.000-07:00

(Austin, TX) Craig Larsen doesn’t get out much, and the junior information systems major says he has “absolutely no athletic ability.”

“So how can I end up with a case of jock itch?” he asked Codependent Collegian reporters. “I mean, if I actually sweated or something I could see it, but I don’t even play Madden Football.”

Larsen believes that someone has purposely infected him with the fungus, which was confirmed during a visit to the UT Student Health Center.

“I don’t know how they pulled it off, but it had to be someone in my dorm,” he said, scratching his groin. “I think it might be [physics classmate Kyle] Massenheim, who’s pissed that my retrofitted, LINUX-powered motherboard outperformed his in a RAM test.”

Ex-girlfriend Tracy Phillips has been ruled out as a possible source of the infection, said Larsen.

“For one, we never actually made out, despite what I told everyone,” he admitted, gesturing toward a wall-sized poster of the young woman. “Besides, Tracy is a saint, and pure as the driven snow. The day that a goddess like Tracy carries a fungal infection is the day I turn celibate. Officially.”

English Professor Tired of Praising "Next Generation of Talentless Dolts"

2007-10-08T13:18:00.000-07:00

(Ames, IA) Dr. Patricia Helmuth has witnessed a "precipitous decline" in the abilities of her composition and creative writing students over the two decades she has taught at Iowa State University.

"We are witnessing the utter and complete collapse of the American society," she noted. "And we have come to a place in our nation’s history where the people our children should be able to trust the most - their academic advisors - are committing horrendous crimes against our young people by signing them up for creative writing courses when they are entirely without talent."

Helmuth acknowledged that geography might play a role in her gloomy assessment.

"Look - I know I am in freaking Iowa, okay - so don't remind me," she said. "But 'as Iowa goes, so goes the nation,' or some such tripe, and from what I see here in Iowa, things are looking pretty dismal. As a whole, this group of creative writing majors has less talent than a bucket of retarded clams, even if you spot them a catchy intro and a main character."

As a result, said Helmuth, she is now taking a "tough love" approach with her students.

"I tell them straight up: 'You have no talent, no future, and should hold no hopes of being a writer,'" she said, sipping a boubon on the rocks. "The quicker they get the hell out of writing, the faster they can salvage a career in nursing or something. God knows we don't need any more shitty writers, and I am determined to do my part to improve American culture. Boo-yah!"

These Meticulously Written Directions Are Confusing As Shit

2007-10-05T09:57:00.000-07:00

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
By Nathan Squire, University of Toledo Class of ‘09

Squire: Baffled By Clear, Concise Prose

Professor Matthews, all semester I have endured your writing assignments like a leper endures open sores oozing puss. I scratch and wail and thrash, but I’ve hung in there for over a month now, hoping you will ease up around midterms.

But this recent essay you’ve assigned, with its moderate four page length and meticulously written guidelines, has confused the shit out of me.

First of all, Dr. Matthews, look how obtuse your language is: “Choose a controversial social issue and compose a four-page persuasive essay that takes a stance based on credible research and your own personal views.” I’ve read that fucking sentence nine times—I said NINE—and still have no idea what you want. Is this a book report? Am I supposed to read something and then summarize it? Not all of us have a PhD in Smartness, professor—try to talk to us like human beings.

What is ‘controversial,’ anyway? When Rita Opal blew my roommate even though she was dating Evan Stoutmire, that was pretty goddamn controversial, but you don’t want a paper on that, do you? Cause sure as shit I could write four pages about that soap opera.

The assignment gets even more cryptic from here: “In addition to the four page length requirement, the other main criterion for this assignment is that you must cite three pieces of recent journalism to support your stance.” Jesus Tapdancing Christ, look who’s breaking out ‘criterion.’ You know, I’ve consulted at least two online dictionaries and still don’t know what that word means. And don’t even get me started on that ‘recent journalism’—is High Times considered journalism? Or the National Enquirer? Because frankly, that’s where I get most of my news, and given that you’re a stuffy pencil-neck professor who chuckles his entire drive home at the idea of confusing kids who are trying to get business degrees and make a living and maybe one day start their own hotel chain, you’ll probably say those fine periodicals are ‘substandard.’

So for an English professor, Dr. Matthews, you sure write crappy. While most other profs bark assignments in passing during their lectures, you give us these meticulously written handouts so we can spend hours and hours trying to figure out what the hell you want.

And after that, a guy can only turn to Miller Lite and Madden ’08 to ease his troubled mind.

Just Because I Hang Around This Restroom a Lot Doesn't Mean I Want a Cock in My Mouth

2007-10-01T10:36:00.001-07:00

Guest editorial by Cory Draheim,
Penn State Class of 2009

This bathroom on the second floor of the Paterno Library is really close to one of my classes, and I find myself spending a fair amount of time in it. Sometimes it is an diarrhea-type of situation, where I have to get to the john quickly, and other times I like to comb my hair and freshen up a bit, especially when it's hot outside.

But I get the feeling that people think I use this restroom a lot because I really want some dude's rock-hard cock stuffed in my mouth, like I just want to taste some anonymous stranger's musty manmeat and slurp down a load of hot jizz.

It's really not like that.

This bathroom is just about the cleanest and best-maintained facility on campus, and it is reassuring to know that a person has someplace decent to go for necessary business. At no time have I looked at some muscular guy in the john and wished that he would ram my quivering ass with his purple-veined trouser snake, filling me up with his hot dick and blowing his load on my naked back.

One of the best things about this particular bathroom is the cleanliness of the sinks, because in some bathrooms I am almost afraid to touch the soap dispenser and faucets for all the grime. This is important if someone felt really, really dirty and needed to wash himself free of the impure thoughts, like the kind where you wanted to suck off a football player while getting reamed by that guy with the moustache who always sits at the computer station next to the circulation desk.

Just so we are clear here: I do not want to swallow your cock in the handicapped stall while you shove your thumb in and out of my ass like a horny trucker's greasy shaft in the showers over at the Flying J Travel Center. I am just rinsing off my face and going back to the cubicle where I left my notebooks, that's all. Nothing else.

Subcomandante Bob Recommends an Excellent XML Site

2007-10-01T09:46:00.000-07:00

Those of you who have latched on to the phenomenon known as XML feeds need to check out the XML Aficionado blog. Created by Alexander Falk, the CEO of Altova - that, by the way, is the company that created XMLSpy - this blog will keep you informed of new technologies, trends, gadgets, and software development tools that you can use.

Alexander is also a huge Red Sox fan, so any Yankee lovers might want to pinch your nose as you enter the site. He also provides restaurant reviews and a wealth of useful information that will appeal to both geeks and techo-tards alike.

Student Is Given Extra Exam Time to Pump Baby Gravy

2007-09-28T09:37:00.000-07:00

A Princeton student must be given extra break time during a law licensing exam to milk his purple headed yogurt slinger, a New Jersey appeals court judge ruled today.

The student, Rod Johnson, had sued the National Board of Law School Examiners after it denied his request for more than the standard 45 minutes of allotted breaks during the nine-hour exam, which he will take over two days.

Johnson said he risked medical complications if he did not perform spooge reduction techniques every two to three hours.

"Pretty basically, when stiffage occurs, my brain cannot perform beyond the most primal of functions," he noted. "But after the pouring of the man chowder, it's all good. I think it's awesome that I'll be able to compete with the non-woodage students now, instead of having to contend with a spontaneous tent-pitching every few hours, surrounded by all those short skirts and pushup bras."

How Come Our High School Teachers Never Wanted to Sleep With Us?

2007-09-25T17:26:00.000-07:00

Guest Editorial by Caleb Norrington
Penn State Class of 2008

You probably heard about Karen Robbins, the South Carolina teacher who was jailed last weekend and charged with three counts each of criminal sexual conduct with a minor and committing a lewd act on a child.

It seems like a regular epidemic of these sex-crazed teachers, like every school's got two or three horny-ass MILFs banging every teenaged pecker in sight.

What I want to know is this: where were all these itching-to-bang teachers when I was in high school?

Back in the day at Theodore Roosevelt High School, we never had kinky Chemistry teachers or lustful Language teachers. No sir, we had 65-year-old Mrs. Tatum and her knee-high support hose, or that lesbian gym teacher Miss Freley. We couldn't get laid by a teacher if we looked like Brad Pitt and offered them fifty grand.

Except for Mr. Perry, the custodian, who was always trying to corner the work-study guys and "bump" into them with his boner right there in his pants. Yes, I must admit we could have gotten bent over a toilet in the boys' bathroom by Mr. Perry, but getting cornholed by a semi-literate pedophile ain't exactly my idea of "hot sex," you know?

So I end this missive with a plea to the teachers from all the nation's randy high school freshmen: If you are going to give it up to students, I say be sure to spread yourself around as much as possible. There's a whole generation of American boys just chomping at the bit for some teacher sex.

Rancid Fart Even Chases Its Maker Out of Dorm

2007-09-21T09:53:00.000-07:00

(Columbus, OH) The roommates of Ohio State sophomore Evan Ingersoll are used to the noxious fumes produced by the engineering major, but the rectal trumpet he blew Thursday night was on a "previously unimaginable scale of wickedness," according to witnesses.

"Sometimes he rips 'em so nasty they make your eyes water," noted roommate Josh Hartman. "Still, this one was epic, but in a really, really, bad way, like waking up after a hard night of drinking and finding out you just slept with your sister."

Ingersoll admitted that he was "kind of embarassed" by his rankness.

"Dude: As soon as the evil funk wafted up to my nostrils, I knew we were in some serious trouble," he recalled, visibly nauseous at the memory. "My head started this weird twitching, and it was all I could do not to blow chunks in the emergency exit."

Ingersoll, who attributed the anal tsunami to "a combination of Taco Bell and cheap beer," said that campus security warned him that future stink torpedos could bring administrtive sanctions.

"Hey man: it's not like I can control it or anything," he complained. "Sometimes you've just got to let it rip, to feel it gurgling in your loins, to feel it rushing out your sphincter, the sheer joy of being alive, you know?"

Grad Student "Shocked" at Appearance of Grey Pubic Hair

2007-09-20T14:25:00.000-07:00

Left: Courtier not pleased

(Ann Arbor, MI) While climbing out of the shower last week, Megan Courtier made a “life-changing” discovery: the sudden appearance of a gray hair in her nether regions.

The second-year sociology doctoral candidate confided her secret shame to Codependent Collegian reporters.

“I’m only 26, so there’s no good reason for this to be happening to me,” she sobbed. “I may never be able to be intimate with a man ever again.”

The particular location of the stray gray hair was especially disconcerting to Courtier.

“If it was on the top of my head I might never have noticed it, and it could have even made me look more professional,” she said, looking away. “But down there?!?!? Now I look like a wrinkled old whore.”

Courtier admitted that she was “clueless” as to her next moves.

“I’ve heard that two more will grow if I pluck this one,” she said. “And I also heard that the hair-color companies put a gray-promoting chemical in their dyes to make you have to keep buying more and more ‘Gray-B-Gone.’”

The hair problem has also strained her relationship with fellow Michigan grad student and boyfriend Matt Steenberg, said Courtier.

“Matt hasn’t even touched me since I showed him yesterday,” she said. “But there is no way I am going to live a lie. He’ll either have to love me for who I am or get the hell out.”

Bob Recommends Los Angeles Criminal Lawyers

2007-09-20T14:18:00.000-07:00

Subcomandante Bob knows that some of you, shall we say, do not always stay on the right side of the law. Still, just because a person has made a mistake, or has been unfairly targeted for prosecution, does not mean that one should go into court like a soon-to-be-slaughtered lamb.

The LA legal firm Kestenbaum, Eisner, & Gorin has lawyers with a combined 50 years worth of experience, and they specialize in defending criminal and DUI cases in Southern Californian courts. If you are looking for Los Angeles Criminal Defense Attorneys | California DUI Lawyers | Criminal & DUI Law Specialists, be sure to check out Kestenbaum, Eisner, & Gorin. These are some of the top legal minds in the business - including former prosecutors and a UCLA law professor - and they know how the system works from both the inside and the outside.

I Could’ve Totally Aced That Exam Had I Bought the Textbook

2007-09-16T17:48:00.000-07:00

A Guest Editorial by Devin Briar
University of Toledo, Class of 2010

Briar: Crusading Against the Tyranny of Textbooks and Sobriety

I’m a sophomore this year, which means I’m not playing by any of those namby-pamby rules anymore. I’m a man about campus, a budding scholar, and most importantly, a free-thinker.

And had I bought the textbook for Professor Maguire’s economics course, I could have totally aced that first exam he gave last week.

Let me first say that I didn’t bomb the thing. I earned a respectable 62%, which is still a passing grade. And secondly, everyone knows that Maguire’s lectures are straight-up chapter outlines, so why the hell should I dish out $119 when I’m gonna have a PhD summarize the readings every time I walk into class?

See, the bigger issue is that college textbooks are a scam. Publishers charge exorbitant amounts of money because, as they claim, it’s pretty expensive to produce a 743-page book with lots of color charts and graphs. Well, that may be true—but there’s an added fee for the interactive CD, and then the college bookstore adds their markup. By the time you throw in sales tax, you might as well have bought a triple-chamber bong studded with emeralds.

So if I just take meticulous notes in all my classes this semester, I can maintain a respectable 1.5 GPA without buying a single book. And as I’ve already said—it’s about standing up for what I believe in. That, and making sure I have enough cash to score some Kind Bud every Friday.

Opinion: I’m Sick of All These Chads and Ambers

2007-09-13T16:37:00.000-07:00

By Dr. Martin Dalloway, Professor of Communication
American University, Washington, D.C.

You know, I’ve been teaching for nearly thirty years, and I’ve always appreciated the rich diversity in student names. From Seamus to Shaniqua to that Charles Running Bear kid I had back in ’98, each name says something unique and special about its bearer.

But in recent years, all these friggin’ Baby Boomers keep giving their kids cutesy bourgeois monikers, and goddamn it, I’m sick of all these Chads and Ambers.

In any given mass communications course, I only have about 35 students. This semester I have four Ambers in one section. Fucking four! That means at 10 a.m., twice a week, I have to remember which Amber is a disgusting fat-body, which Amber has the nose ring, which Amber would rather fall on a sword than speak in class, and which Amber has tits the size of cantaloupes.

Whatever happened to Bernadette, and Gertrude, and Miranda? Sure, they’re a bit literary, but it’s a damn shame that the only place you can find such graceful nomenclature is in the slow-shuffled halls of a retirement home. Riley, Madison, Hailey—shit, why not just put a sign on your kid’s back saying “I was born in 1989 and care more about my hair than doing homework”?

And don’t get me started on these teenage guys. Jesus Tapdancing Christ. There’s Bret with one T, Brett with two Ts, all manner of Chads and Coopers and Ethans and Logans. I could puke last night’s halibut until my fucking balls retracted.

Here’s the bottom line: surely parents don’t want their child to be the gazillionth Billy or Liz in this world, but have some discretion. Stop thinking these Barnes & Noble name books will help you unearth some hallowed prenomen never before bestowed upon a child. Why not look into your family’s ancestry and pick a name with some actual significance?

Because honestly, if I have another class roster full of Calebs and Brittaneys, heads will fucking roll.

Sophomore Refuels ‘Spank Bank’ First Week Back on Campus

2007-09-09T08:29:00.000-07:00

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

Milligan: All Out of Material

(Toledo, OH)—University of Toledo sophomore Owen Milligan has endured a long and brutal summer due to his lack of contact with young women, which has reduced his masturbatory explorations to quick palm-jobs to whatever mildly erotic material he can unearth in his parent’s home.

Thankfully, Milligan’s sexual hell of “chaffed, stilted whacking” has come to an abrupt end, as his return to the university this week was greeted by a bevy of voluptuous coeds, all clad in the latest skank attire.

“Man, June was a breeze because I still had this vivid memory of Tracy Kiplinger passing out at the final exam kegger, when her left nipple totally slid out of her halter top,” Milligan explained. “But since my parents don’t have cable TV or the internet, I was in a world of hurt by July 4th. Do you know what it’s like to beat your meat to your little sister’s copy of Cosmo Teen? Sir, I don’t wish that shit on nobody.”

Toledo Coeds Prepare for Another Year of Stimulation

Mulligan’s reintegration with “hot coed ass” has not only reinvigorated his spirits, but also recharged his sexual potency.

“I know it’s just Toledo, but I swear—there’s more T&A crawling around here than Cinemax softcore,” Mulligan boasted. “And maybe if my parents weren’t such cheap fucks, I could have watched some Cinemax softcore and not come back to college with a boner the size of the Eiffel Tower.”

Talentless Freshman Has Nothing to Offer YouTube

2007-09-06T16:30:00.000-07:00

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

Left: Chambliss going stag at his senior prom last spring

(Ann Arbor, MI)—University of Michigan freshman Owen Chambliss has always been one to jump on internet bandwagons: ICQ, Instant Messenger, and MySpace have all suffered the wrath of his pathetic, stolid life.

However, the recent popularity of YouTube—an endless archive of streaming video—has rendered the no-talent Chambliss unable to participate in this year’s hottest online trend.

“Have you seen that Chinese dude shred through Pachelbel’s Canon on electric guitar?,” Chambliss sighed. “He was a fucking God. That guy is gonna have a record contract soon. Me, I cut myself flossing every night. I’m screwed.”

Chambliss added that he has "tried a couple of times" to put together an initial video.

"I thought I would film myself in my morning routine, but when I edited it there was nothing worth posting," he said, looking down. "Then my roommate was going to tape me jerking off to "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun," but I shot my load before the chorus."

Chambliss’ small circle of associates heartily concur that his life lacks cinematic zest.

“Sophomore year of high school he got it in his head that he wanted to be a jock,” remarked friend and fellow Michigan freshman Chester “Zitty” Daniels. “He’s 6’ 2”, 119 lbs., and has the hand-eye coordination of a drunken albatross. The JV practice squad ran a clinic on his ass that day — I can’t remember, though, if he broke three ribs or four. Shit, I wish I had a video of that.”

College Dropout Can’t Stand Smug College Kids

2007-09-04T15:14:00.000-07:00

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

Holster: On the Clock and Praying for Death

(Pittsburgh, PA)—Jordan Holster, a University of Pittsburgh dropout and local Wal-Mart employee, is described by many as “a disgruntled life-hating prick.”

But nothing riles Holster more than the first weeks of the fall semester, when he must endure hordes of smug college kids gregariously spending their parents’ money on dorm accoutrements and school supplies, and he has no choice but to ring them up.

“God I hate these fucking brats, and the Carnegie Mellon kids are the worst,” huffed a belligerent Holster as he chugged a Mountain Dew on his lunch break. “They get the most ridiculous shit imaginable—overpriced desk lamps with twisty necks, cheetah-patterned bean bag chairs—and act as if this crap were somehow essential to their college success. Please. Maybe if my parents gave me a Visa card with a ten grand limit instead of kicking me out of the basement when I turned sixteen, I’d have a philosophy degree and pair of wireless headphones too.”

Holster added that the most excruciating aspect of his job is bearing the indifference shown by attractive coeds when they choose his checkout register.

“I know I’m not the best looking dude on the planet, but some of these chicks are straight-up ice vixens,” Holster lamented. “No hello, no eye contact—I’m just the Wal-Mart monkey ringing up their tampons and Ramen noodles. I can’t freaking wait until midterms when these bitches start flunking out and need cash. Maybe when they’re filling out an application here, and I finally make assistant manager, they’ll think a little differently of ol’ Jordan Holster. Maybe then.”

Slacker Student Hopes Roommate’s Suicide Will Pay Off

2007-09-01T14:23:00.000-07:00

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

Jacobs After Another Meth-Induced Arm Slashing

(State College, PA)—Penn State junior Matt McKinney was devastated to learn that after two dreadful semesters on academic probation, he would lose his dorm selection privileges due to his fledgling academic performance. And to add insult to injury, McKinney was informed just last week that his soon-to-be-roommate was of the worse breed: a freshman.

However, all of this changed when McKinney actually met his new roommate Patrick Jacobs, whose depression and drug use are so severe that an impending suicide may land McKinney on the Dean’s List.

“I used to think it was an urban myth—you know, your roommate hangs himself with a belt or something and you get straight A’s for the semester,” McKinney explained while alphabetically arranging his collection of pornographic DVDs. “But then I found a copy of the college catalog online, and damn if there isn’t a clause in there saying exactly that. God bless Penn State! Now if I can only keep this kid Patrick cutting himself when he’s high, I’m golden baby.”

McKinney continued to outline the benevolent outcomes of Jacobs’ mental illness and self-inflicted violence.

“Yeah, I mean, after we moved in he tried to talk to me about his dad smacking him around and stuff, and insinuated that there might have been some sexual abuse, but that means he’s only closer to doing the deed,” McKinney excitedly revealed. “Shit. If his old man pounds him in the ass, and every morning he’s downing enough dope to kill a pony, there’s no way he’ll make it to midterms. Maybe after the kegger this weekend I’ll make a noose and, you know, casually leave it on his dresser.”

This Year I’m Totally Pissing in Some Chick’s Mouth

2007-08-27T17:19:00.000-07:00

A Guest Editorial by Warren “Keg Stand” Eustice
University of Toledo, Class of 2008

Eustice and His Homies: Drunk, Shirtless, and Strangely Horny at a Summer Festival

During my three years as a Sigma Tau brother at UT, I’ve bagged a lot of chicks. And I mean A LOT. From Asians to redheads to that smokin’ exchange student from Nigeria, I’ve poked my hang-down in a lot of snatch.

But now that I’m a senior, and the end to my college debauchery wavers on the horizon, there’s one major sexual escapade left to achieve: I need to piss all up inside some chick’s mouth.

I know what you’re thinking—“how could you possibly want to do something so demeaning and foul?” And for most of my life, I thought the same thing, too. But last spring, when Brad Parker from the Delta frat told me he blasted some Miller Lite wiz in Jenna Quinn’s skankified pie hole, and then showed me the hidden video footage from it, I made a solemn vow that my yellow showers would trickle down some hoochie’s dick-gagging throat, or I’d die tryin’.

True dat, it won’t be easy. It’s one thing to convince a babe to let you slam your salami in her butt, or let your thirteen year old brother stick a banana up her cooch, or even sixty-nine in a stall in the library’s third floor handicap-accessible bathroom, but it’s another thing entirely to piss in her mouth. But I’m up for the challenge, and my game plan is airtight: I’ll sport that new shirt I got on clearance at Aeropostale, get a little sobby-sobby about my ailing grandmother, and boom—nine shots of Yager later, my rancid piss is all gobbled up.

Yes, I have to overcome the whole "can't piss while you are woodified" dilemma, but I figure if I begin with a regular blowjob, and then all of a sudden start concentrating on my upcoming fantasy football draft, I can maintain enouugh hardness while letting loose with a half-quart of pressurized lemon juice.

So if you know any naïve freshmen, or any fine ladies who are coming off a rough summer break-up, send their mouth my way. I’m on the second floor of the Tau house, first room on the right. It’s the one with the unmade bed and Shakira poster.

Campus Love: Your Guide to Affairs of the Heart

2007-08-24T12:26:00.000-07:00

By Codependent Collegian Advice Columnist, J. Randall Bellingham

Hello again, love monkeys! It is I, J. Randall Bellingham, here to bing love to the loveless and give a smackdown to those in need of it.

I have been busy polishing the Mojo and penetrating into the abyss that is love, but enough about me.

You are here because you want to tap into my expertise, not to hear me boast about my conquests of many supermodel women.

Yes, there have been so many, and so many beautiful moments in which I have driven my pile-driver into so much forbidden supermodel territory.

But that is for another time.

Dear Randall:

I did something really stupid and I need your help. Last night things got kinda weird with Jenny and I. In a moment of drunken freaky lovemaking, I grabbed a jar of salsa - HOT - when I couldn't find the K-Y Jelly. Needless to say, we are both having some odd physical problems, and Jenny is really, really pissed at me. What should I do?

Sam in Palo Alto

Dear Sam:

My friend, they do not refer to certain anatomical regions as "tacos" for nothing. I suggest that a large bag of Tostitos and some Jose Cuervo might just be your ticket out of Tijuana.

Dear Randall:

I know that brothers and sisters are not supposed to, you know, "do the dirty," but my sister and I are both dropping suggestive hints that we could go there. What do you think? By the way, she is hot and of age.

Cooter in Tuscaloosa

Dear Cooter:

There is no inhibition that the right amount of cheap whiskey cannot overcome, and nothing the same bottle of hooch cannot erase from the memory banks. I say: Go for it. If nothing else, you will have plenty to keep a bevy of therapists gainfully employed for the next 20 years, and you guys might end up with one of those really scary looking mutant kids that you could put in the circus or something.

Warehouse Skateboards - The Finest Boards and Accessories

2007-08-24T12:14:00.000-07:00

Subcomandante Bob knows that many of you regular readers are skateboard afficianados, and he would like to recommend a skateboard website that is beyond comparison.

Warehouse Skateboards has the world's most comprehensive collection of cutting-edge and classic boards in more styles than you could count, even if you were some mutant freak with ten thousand hands. They offer skateboard components, complete skateboards, and boatloads of skateboarding accessories.

Among the top shelf brands that Warehouse Skateboards carries are Element skateboards, which can elevate your game to previously unheard-of levels. Best of all, you can use the website of Warehouse Skateboards to custom design a board that will have your friends drooling all over their retarded Abercrombie and Fitch polo shirts.

Impoverished Students Vow to "Swipe Everyhting in Sight"

2007-08-23T13:04:00.000-07:00

(East Lansing, MI) Tad Bowerman's student loans ran out three days ago, and the junior engineering student found himself in "desperate straits."

That's when he decided to go "all-out" on a process of full-scale acquisition of houesehold needs.

"It started when we crashed this hotel party last weekend, and we saw an unattended maid's cart," said Bowerman. "It was a free-for-all on sopas, shampoos, mouthwash, and about 2 dozen rolls of toilet paper."

Bowerman said that he and his roommate, Chris Jericho, have been on a "wild hunt" every night since.

"We hit the Wendy's on Grand River and waltzed out with two cases of crackers and a box of ketchup," he said, adding that the pair also netted "two sleeve" of napkins. "Then we drove past this KFC and hit the jackpot."

While the delivery driver was inside flirting with the day manager, Tad and Chris helped themselves to "shitloads" of frozen goods.

"We couldn't believe it - whole cases of chicken nuggets, french fries, and catfish filets," said Bowerman. "We might be able to get by on this until our summer refund comes."

Jerischo said that neither man believes that what they are doing is "theft."

"Listen - they got insurance for stuff like this," he said. "Besides with the money they have raped us over the years - we deserve a few freebies."

I’ll Be Paying These Student Loans Well Through Menopause

2007-08-21T18:54:00.000-07:00

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
by Heather Roland, Recent Clemson Graduate

Roland: Cute, Ambitious, and Enslaved to Debt

I’ve always been proud of the fact that I was the first person in my family to go college. And not just any college, either. As a business graduate from Clemson University, countless opportunities will open to me during the coming years as I embark on a career in the corporate sector.

Unfortunately, I’ll be paying these motherfucking school loans until my ovaries dry up like a bag of grapes on a hot Harlem sidewalk.

Having just finished my degree in May, I was relishing my first real internship with Bank of America this summer. True, the hours are long and the stipend is meager (to say the least), but I was finally able to get my own apartment and not lean so heavily on my parents for financial help.

Then this school loan bill shows up. Even after consolidation, these loan sharks want $219. Can you believe this shit? $219! I drive a ’91 Ford Focus, eat off-brand condensed soup most days for lunch, and these bastards still want a week’s pay every month. And don’t even get me started on the interest. Even with a fixed APR of 16.9%, I’ll still be cutting checks when my second marriage is failing and my boobs sag and I start crying a little each night that I stopped at two kids instead of having a third and maybe I should’ve run away to Spain when I was 18 with that stoner-poet guy I met at a Dave Matthews concert.

So thank you, debt hounds of America, for swelling my $35,000 degree to a quarter million dollars and financially crippling the next three decades of my life. Around the year 2034, when I go into counseling for the depression and hot flashes and such, I’m sending your asses the bill.

Death Looms Ahead as Classes Resume

2007-08-17T09:12:00.001-07:00

A Guest Editorial by Logan Williams,
Indiana University Class of 2009

It seems like only weeks since IU let out for the summer, and here we are, getting sickeningly close to the start of classes. True, we have ten days until we have to drag our depressed selves into an actual classroom, but the past two weeks have been filled with all sorts of quasi-academic crap that has bled into what remains of a dying summer season.

Death is stronger than we are, and we can’t prevent it. Therefore, whatever meanings exist must apply to the temporary period while we live, those remaining days before the start of the new semester.

Oh, we uncertain students are doomed to be seekers, always searching for a meaning to life but never quite finding that shred of purpose that keeps us from splattering our fucking brains all over the Quad with a rusty shotgun.

Yes, death looms ahead of us like a hangman’s scaffold being assembled outside the 12x12 window of a condemned man's prison cell, pouding nails an ever-present reminder of the precious few minutes we have before the noose of life breaks our fucking necks and we spend eternity floating around like one of those Bounce Fresh Linen Scent sheets that fell out of the laundry basket of a student on academic probation, blowing across the dorm parking lot with all of its softening and static-cling protection long since sucked out by the dryer that is life.

So you sit there listening to the horrific sounds of death around you - and I do mean horrific, so don't accuse me of an artifice like hyperbole - so you sit there with your drooling mouth hanging open because you can't believe what you're hearing from me, the sounds of TRUTH and LIFE hitting you smack square in the middle of your bourgeois face, and realize that there are now less than ten days left, brother, to make something of this impossibly short summer.

So what do you say? Would you rather hit Kilroy's Sports Bar or Scotty's Brewhouse tonight? Not that it really matters, given our inevitable deaths, but I hear Kilroy's is running a 25-cent Hot Wings special tonight, and I know the bartender, and she'll probably give us a couple of free beers, too, espcially if we leave her a phat-ass tip and stuff.

And there's nothing like that live pub trivia contest, matching wits against drunken imbeciles across the country, to make one forget about all that death shit.

The Innovative Tutors at SCORE!

2007-08-17T09:07:00.000-07:00

Subcomandante Bob has screwed up many things in his life, but one of the smartest moves he ever made involved his son, Bob Jr.

Junior, you see, was struggling with math and reading in school, and Bob turned to the experts at SCORE! Learning Centers to help Junior get back on track. They were able to help Junior improve a full grade level in reading, and almost two entire grade levels in math. When you need the help of an innovative tutor program, be sure to turn to SCORE! This was a sponsored post.

Nation’s Young Await Return to Caste System of Backpack Coolness

2007-08-14T18:41:00.000-07:00

A Codependent Collegian Special Report

By Billy Pilgrim, Codependent Collegian Rogue Editor

Once, it seemed, America’s youth could rest easy when July’s stuffy, languid afternoons waned and August came, with its shorter days and cool, open-window nights anticipating autumn. After all, the fall semester didn’t begin until after Labor Day, and there was always plenty of time to prepare one’s terms of surrender to the assorted confines of yet another school year.

Choosing the Right Pack: Popularity’s Vicious Game of Russian Roulette

But now that thousands of school districts across the country have inched their curriculums into the last week of August, many students are left scrambling to get the best clothes and supplies; and none is more precious than the backpack, which has become the hallowed barometer of student coolness on that ever-important first day of school.

“When I was in elementary school, I had all of August to whine and bug my parents for new school stuff,” explained Timothy Barthe, an eighth grader in downtown Seattle. “But our first day this year is the 23rd. Can you believe that? It’s a goddamn Thursday. That means I have less than two weeks to get myself a new Jansport or Nike, or this is gonna be another long year of kissing locker metal, I can tell you that.”

Other students reiterated Barthe’s anxiety over the impending school year and the heightened peer pressure for name-brand backpacks.

“Two years ago, Margie Pandernock graduated from middle school as the poor chubby girl that everyone threw chunks of meatloaf at during lunch,” sermonized Vicky Sandoval, a sophomore in Lewes, Delaware. “But that summer, she lost like, twenty pounds and when we all came back to start high school, she had a $90 Puma bookbag that you can only get through mail order. Now she’s co-captain of the cheerleading squad and was ranked seventh on Wyatt Cooper’s famous list of Lewes High Hotties. Coincidence? Um, I think not.”

So as the liberty of another summer draws to its fateful close, students across America are left to whimsically reminisce about their backyard adventures, and at the same time, suffer the impending malaise of schoolyard conformity.

“Dude, I’m gonna be a senior this year, and I’ve had the same stupid monogrammed L.L. Bean backpack since I was twelve,” huffed Jon Grummer, a native of Austin, Texas. “These next ten months are my time to shine, but I don’t even know where to begin: do I get one of those elaborate hiker jobs with all the extra straps? Or should I go urban, and get one of those messenger bags? Man, after this nightmare, applying to college will be easier than feeling up Rachel Wilson. And let me tell you from experience—that chick stuffs.”

Bob Recommends a Parental Resource Site

2007-08-14T07:17:00.000-07:00

Subcomandante Bob knows just how hard many of you folks work at teaching kids about money, and he is proud to recommend a new site that offers tips on this important task.

Chores and Allowances is a blog site dedicated to helping parents try to find answers and information about teaching kids and teens how to manage their money. The site offers full-length articles and shorter posts with tips to help your thick-skulled urchins get a clue about the bitter pills that await them later in life with regard to that Leviathan: M-O-N-E-Y.

Mom "Unimpressed" With Son's YouTube Exploits

2007-08-13T15:02:00.000-07:00

(Los Angeles, CA) The mother of UCLA freshman Matthew Spielmann expressed discontent with her son's recent Youtube productions.

"I know he's a college man now, but is it really necessary for him to post videos of his roommate going to the bathroom?" asked Catherine Spielmann. "There are some things the world does not need to see, you know?"

A video that Mrs. Spielmann found particularly "shocking" involved a keg party, green dye, and an edema.

"Why someone would film another student, well, shooting green liquid out their buttocks is beyond me," she said, shaking her head. "He certainly didn't learn that sort of behavior here, let me tell you."

Spielmann hopes that Easter weekend will be an opportunity for her to impress upon young Matthew the need to show greater restraint in his filmmaking.

"I can yell all I want on the phone, but when he is home Matthew can't hide," she said. "You know, is it too much to ask that he post videos from when we went to the circus in 1992? I think a lot of people would watch something like that." Mary Winkler

Bob Reminisces about Bermuda

2007-08-13T14:53:00.000-07:00

One of Subcomandante Bob's all-time favorite getaway destinations is the lovely island chain of Bermuda. Bob once spent an entire month on Bermuda, living on the largesse of friends and friends-of-friends, although many of the memories of that particular trip have been eroded due to excessive synapse destruction.

There are many Bermuda attractions worth investigating, but Bob prefers to spend all of his time in Bermuda on the beaches. There, alone with nature and scantily-clad women, Bob can meditate on the most important things in life, most of which involve rum and romantic negotiations. Best of all, there are still a few Bermuda hotels that have not permanently barred Bob from visiting, and in general Bermuda remains a place in which customs officials will not immediately bounce Bob back into the plane, unlike, say, St. Croix.

Student to Switch Major to the Same Thing as Hot Chick He Saw at Bursar's Office

2007-08-11T16:29:00.000-07:00

Left: Witten is smitten

(Columbus, OH) Junior education major Kevin Witten, admitting he has been "something less than diligent" in his Ohio State courses, announced to roommates that he is switching majors.

Adding to the collective confusion was the basis for Witten's decision, which hinged solely on the attractiveness of a female student in front of him in the lengthy OSU Bursar's office line.

"Something special happened there, something that no one can ever take away," he mused, still basking in the "love rays" of the chance meeting. "We connected in a way most people never experience in their entire lifetimes, me looking down her shirt and her reading some stupid book."

Witten recalled an "incredible moment" when he realized the pair were destined for each other.

"The physical and spiritual attractions had already been made. Well, at least on my end," he acknowledged. "The mental attraction happened when she turned around and asked if she could borrow a 'writing utensil.' A writing utensil! 'Damn,' I thought to myself, 'this chick's got a body AND brains.' I could see our future together: late-night karaoke to Nickelback, rainy day games of Texas Hold'Em and long afternoons of Frisbee golf on the Quad."

When pushed for details, Witten admitted the relationship still "needs work," but he added that he is willing to make the necessary sacrifices.

"She had her hand over the top of the paper, so I could only read three letters of her last name: I-N-E," he noted. "But I know that she's taking ECON 110 on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so I should be able to track her down. And she's still got my pen, so I have an in right there. The important thing is we are meant for each other, and I can't remember a day in my life where I was so absolutely sure of my decision."

Bob Recommends Reading Tutors

2007-08-11T14:54:00.000-07:00

Subcomandante Bob has not always been a marginally employed, self-destructive lowlife. There was a point in time when he was a fully-employed, self-destructive lowlife, and he took seriously his role as a father to young Bob Jr.

One of the smartest things Bob ever did was to stop using girlie magazines as curricular materials for Bob Jr., and instead turned to SCORE! The reading tutors at SCORE! bring talent and compassion to their work, and Bob Jr. showed marked improvement in his reading skills as a result of working with these fine folks. This was a sponsored post, but don't let that stop you from checking out SCORE!

Religion Is Like, a Total Scam

2007-08-08T10:24:00.000-07:00

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial
by Maggie Fletcher, Philosophy Major
University of Toledo Class of ‘08

Fletcher: Hot and Bothered Atheist

First of all, let me say that I’m totally a person of faith. I have faith that the sun will come up tomorrow, I have faith that The Gap will always have a tight-ass pair of size two jeans on clearance when I need them, and I have faith that Stacy Thomas will try to steal my boyfriend again this fall semester because she’s an uber-slut.

But I don’t have any faith in religion, because it’s like, a total scam.

Have you noticed that most churches, synagogues, and mosques ask their parishioners for money? Seriously. If Rabbi Schwartz is so connected to Yahweh and stuff, why does he have to hit up “God’s chosen people” for twelve grand for a new roof? And another thing—how come a good Jew can’t get a better contractor bid on a roof? My parents put a new roof on their summer cottage last year and it only cost three thousand bucks.

And don’t get me started on the Catholics. The Vatican is like, the Smithsonian of World Oppression. They have more artifacts, documents, and sacred treasures than most state museums combined, but every time I go to mass with my boyfriend, they pass around that collection plate like they got a brother who needs bail money because this is his third DUI and he knows he has a drinking problem and will go into therapy but right now he totally needs the cash and don’t let mom and dad find out.

Protestants are just as bad, though. Most ministers in Toledo are considered full-time employees, which sounds great—“doing the Lord’s will,” all that jazz. But most of them are married, have kids, and how much do they actually work? Um, try three hours on Sunday! And who pays their salary? I rest my case. So the next time Pastor Robinson hits you up for a few canned goods for the church charity drive, feel free to take a few from his kitchen, because you paid for that shit.

So in conclusion, be a free thinker. God is a nice idea, but just like a pain-free wire bra that doesn’t dig into the underside of your boobs, he’s a total myth.