Points in Case - The Fine Print of College Life

15 Reasons Why You're Not Attractive

Ashley Solomon — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 20:29:06 -0500

Two weekends ago, at a friend's party, I also found myself in the middle of several awkward moments involving a very unattractive man. From the moment he screamed, "Hey redhead! What's yo name, redhead?!" I knew it was fate. I knew I was not going to be able to escape. After several attempts to catch my name, he tried to woo me by making very low pterodactyl noises an inch from my face.

Top Ten Places Sex is Overrated, Part 2

Andrei Trostel — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 05:08:38 -0500

« Back to Top Ten Places Sex is Overrated, Part 1

5. While Driving

The movie The Chase comes to mind whenever I think of anyone having sex AND driving. There go Charlie Sheen and Kristy Swanson barreling down the road being chased by every cop in the world it seems and they simply have no other place to do it than right there in the car going a hundred miles an hour.

Why didn't you get off at that exit?Seriously, the only thing more ridiculous than this is Henry Rollins playing a police officer, for crying out loud. I've seen you people drive and frankly you can't even do it when NOT texting, so what on earth gave you the idea you could actually have SEX while driving?! It's awkward, impossible to control your vehicle, and just shouldn't be even attempted for the sake of every other driver out there.

I wouldn't even suggest "road head" because if it's particularly good then you run the risk of running off the road during the climax. Besides, how would you drive, get a blowjob, AND text all at the same time? Because god forbid you miss a text.

So while all of us have actually heard our significant others scream, "OH! OH! OH! OH! GET OFF AT THE NEXT EXIT!" let's just agree to not get so literal about it while operating a moving vehicle.

4. In the Great Outdoors

Everyone has a "sex in nature" fantasy. Ever try it? Not as natural as you thought, right? Sex in nature is good in primal urge theory but in reality ends up being very different than what you thought. Sharp rocks in your knees/ass, tree bark abrasions, sticks in places there shouldn't be sticks, and bugs—lots and lots of bugs. Even something as simple as a frolic in the grass can be frightfully uncomfortable and off-putting since blades of grass have this way of itching every hair follicle on your body.

"UNLESS... you let me have a go."A blanket can go a LONG way in making your nature romp more enjoyable but then that almost kills the whole going natural, spontaneous, outdoor sex fantasy, doesn't it? Sex in a river or lake is usually cold (one word: shrinkage) and there is that whole water killing the lubrication issue again. Sex in a field is usually insect ridden—ants, bees, mosquitoes, you name it! Something about sticky bodily fluid excites the insect world almost as much as the idea of having sex in nature excites us. Sex in the woods is always fraught with abrasive discomfort, plus there's that uncomfortable moment when that small creeper guy pops up from behind a tree and exclaims, "I'm the Lorax and I speak for the trees, which you seem to be FUCKING ON as much as you please!" Talk about your mood killer!

3. In the Hay

"Hay, let's go in the house instead."I grew up on a five acre farm in Washington state, which means I know a little about boredom, nature, and hay. Hay is not only incredibly itchy, it's also sharp as hell. Having a roll in the hay is about as comfortable as rolling around in shards of glass that have been treated with allergens. Imagine going to your local allergist and getting a scratch test covering your entire body. Even if you aren't allergic to hay (which I am, gee I wonder why) it is also terribly unforgiving when it comes to puncturing your skin. You might as well have sex in a blackberry bush or on a bed of nails.

Furthermore, do you people have any idea what kind of vermin live in a giant pile of hay, inside a barn? Disgusting! If having sex on top of a pile of hay that is sprinkled with rat, mouse, bat, pigeon, and owl shit while being skewered by sharp grass is your idea of a good time, then I say go for it. However, if you absolutely must live out your Teri Garr, Daisy Duke, or whatever farm girl fantasies you may be having, please make sure you pack your EpiPen and disinfectant for your fantasy barnyard adventure.

2. On a Plane

Ladies and gentlemen, please remain heated.The Mile High Club...otherwise known as I've fucked in a honey bucket! Have you ever been in an airplane bathroom? It's a flying porta-potty, nothing more. There's more room in a used coffin than an airplane bathroom and the smell in the used coffin is probably better. Doing the deed at 35,000 feet amounts to playing a game of vertical twister (mostly clothed, mind you, due to time constraints), while both of you are doing your best impressions of a contortionist ninja in a very small box.

(whispering) "You put your left foot on that wall, your right one on the door without opening it. I'll put one foot IN the toilet and the other on the ground. You can rest your ass in the sink, but don't worry, no one EVER uses it to wash their hands. Oh and if you feel an explosive wet feeling, that is more than likely the faucet accidentally turning on and spraying you, because there is no way in hell either one of us will actually enjoy this enough to cum."

Hardly enjoyable to say the least! Furthermore, just before you two made this attempt, the 400-pound guy in seat 27A WRECKED the place with projectile diarrhea. Now the two of you are quite literally doing the nasty in there, just so you can brag about it to your friends? Jesus Christ, people, I've held it on six-hour flights just to avoid that shithole (an accurate description if you think about it).

The only way this isn't completely disgusting and uncomfortable is if you happen to be rich enough to own your own private jet, complete with sleeping quarters. Then you can brag about being part of the Mile High Club with some amount of pride. Otherwise you might as well be bragging about jumping into a porta-potty hole with your partner, because that's all I hear when you talk about it. If you just want to say that you have done it, simply go smoke a bowl and then get laid. Then you can say you got laid while being high as fuck and your sky high sex story will still be somewhat linguistically true. At the very least, you won't be in physical therapy or have hepatitis for the rest of your life.

1. On the Beach

Talk about getting caught in the sand trap...You know how when you go to the beach and lay out that huge blanket ever so carefully so that sand doesn't get anywhere on it? Then one nano-second later that entire blanket seems to be covered in sand? Well that's just the start of your beach fantasy, a nice bed of sandpaper.

To say that this sexual adventure is going to be rough is the understatement of the year. Sand has this amazing way of getting everywhere, and as soon as you throw bodily fluids into the mix then PRESTO you instantly turn into a giant piece of coarse grit sandpaper. Actually, I suggest building up to your beach romp by heading over to Home Depot and picking up some actual coarse grit sandpaper and switching it with your toilet paper for a few weeks. That way you might just build up enough scar tissue to be ready for sex on the beach, otherwise known as "turning your skin into bloody hamburger."

The best is when women want to do it in the actual surf! I think this is every girl's chick flick fantasy, at least from what I've been told. To which I always reply, "Have you ever had your vagina sand blasted before while someone was trying to drown you?"

Yes people, I am a dream killer, it's just what I do. Did I mention that sand gets EVERYWHERE?! Hell, you can't even keep it off of a towel or blanket that you put down for a picnic at the beach, so what makes you think you can keep it out of your crotch in the surf? Unless you have some desire to build a well-packed sand castle in your uterus then you're better off, ladies, just waiting until you get back to the beach house for your sexual notion at the ocean. Incidentally, there is a word for having sex in the surf: it's called DROWNING! It's almost like you ladies have never actually been to the ocean before. The break of the waves are constantly changing, so lying in one place is not only impossible due to the tidal current, but you are quite literally having sand deposited everywhere imaginable. Beaches are deposition landforms, meaning the actual sand is being deposited onto the beach by the water. Now imagine thrusting large amounts of that sand inside you while drowning, and there you have it.

Sex on the beach, in the surf! Anytime anyone tells me they've had sex in the surf, my first thought is that the guy is a premature ejaculator. I mean, come on, you tell me? Just how quick do you have to be to have sex in the surf, which is ever changing, and not drown or be dragged out to sea before the woman calls out, "Okay fuck this! This is NOT what I had in mind!" Like a jackrabbit on speed, that's how quick! Was being fucked by a jackrabbit on speed while having sand stuffed into you like a taxidermy trophy and being drowned REALLY your number one fantasy? I know that mine certainly wasn't having all the skin violently sanded off my penis while inhaling large amounts of salt water before being eaten by a shark that was attracted to all the blood in the water.

8673

Paul Frank — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 14:49:08 -0500

I have to get something off my chest. I have this secret that I'm supposed to keep a secret my whole life, for my own protection. I'm not supposed to tell anyone. So it's just me and this secret, staring each other down.

But I cannot live like this, with this secret forever held deep inside of me. I feel so..I don't know, shady, I guess. Like I'm not being truthful with anyone. If I can't tell my family, my best friends, or even my priest this secret, then what does that say about who I am as a person.

I'm going to reveal this secret right here, right now. I need to. After I tell the internet, hopefully a weight will be lifted off my shoulders, as they say. Hopefully my life will be changed forever, as they say. Hopefully I'll be able to achieve an orgasm, as they say.

My PIN number is 8673.

There, I said it. That's my real fucking pin number.

Now, I know what you're saying, you're saying, Paul, is that your REAL pin number I bet you made up 4 random numbers cause this is a comedy article I get that and also once you put something on the internet its there forever?

Or you're saying, Paul, I have the exact same PIN #, maybe we should fuck! Well, I don't believe you, but okay, fine, let's fuck.

What's the significance behind 8673, my pin number? There is no significance. I think they gave it to me as my default pin when I opened my first checking account, and it stuck.

Now I use it for everything, debit cards, credit cards, passwords, NFL score predictions.

I'm not even going to change my pin after this article, probably another thing you were thinking.

No, it's me and 8673 for life. I am no longer ashamed. I feel free. Now I have no deep, dark secrets that I will take to my grave. Oh, wait, there's that ONE, but that's between me and me.

My Organs and I Drive to Denver

Casey Freeman — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 23:30:48 -0500

(Scene: KC drives in his complete chick magnet Ford Focus on the highway during rush hour Denver traffic.)

BRAIN: Oh my God this is fucking awful! I'm fucking freaking out man. Look at all these cars and how fast they're going! Give me a fucking Valium.

JUNK: Why is this drive so boring? Can't we just get a job closer to home?

KC: No, because there aren't any jobs in Boulder. Mostly because we don't want to run into—

MOUTH: "Nice fucking turn signal you fucking shiteating fucktard!" Hands, give the signal!

HANDS: How do you like that middle finger? You big dummy. That'll teach you to cut people off.

JUNK: Icy Hot always feels so good, then sooooooooooooo bad. Why is that?
BRAIN: Maybe because it's not designed for wieners.BRAIN: Seriously guys, we're going to get in an accident. Lets just take the bus, that way we'll never have to drive again. I'm so scared.

JUNK: We're never going to meet a chick on the bus.

BRAIN: And you expect to meet a chick while you're driving a fucking Ford Focus.

JUNK: You never know. Maybe there's some porn site like Bang Bus, but it's called Monster Trucker Fuckers. And these chicks with giant cans drive around in Bigfoot or Grave Digger looking for hot fucking dudes like us to fuck on TV.

BRAIN: That is by far the dumbest thing you've ever thought.

NOSE: Plus, the bus smells like cheap vodka, sweaty failure, and pee.

JUNK: Eyes, start scanning for monster trucks driven by hot sluts.

EYES: Giving it my full attention.

KC: Holy shit, can you please fucking watch the road. With Brain freaking out like this and only having four cylinders of engine power, I need you all to fucking listen and behave.

EYES: Hey look, there's that big yellow Jenga thing. Are we ever going to figure what that is?

HANDS: I'll text everybody I know in Colorado. Just a second.

KC: Seriously! Texting while driving in bumper to bumper 80 miles an hour Denver traffic??!? What are you thinking?

BRAIN: For Christ's sake. I'm going to melt down if you don't do something to help me.

HANDS: Fine, I'll just turn on the radio.

EARS: AAAAAAHHHH!!!! Fucking Phil Collins! Turn it off! Turn it off! I'm losing my will to live.

(Hands changes the station)

JUNK: Awesome, NPR. Well, I can feel myself wither.

BRAIN: Look, honestly, I need this. If you want to try jerking off with Icy Hot again, I'll let you.

JUNK: Icy Hot always feels so good, then sooooooooooooo bad. Why is that?

BRAIN: Maybe because it's not designed for wieners.

JUNK: Why haven't they made a porn called "The Pleasure Principal"? It'd be about this school full of nympho whores run by this really strict principal named, um, me. We should probably copyright this and make a million dollars so we could quit driving to Denver.

BRAIN: Wouldn't "The Pleasure Principal" be about a psychologist? You know, because of the theory by Sigmund Freud?

JUNK: Holy shit you're so fucking annoying. The movie is about a principal in a school. Duh. Look at the title.

BRAIN: Well, actually the original title is "Pleasure Principle."

(Traffic looks like it's stopping again)

KC: Feet, hit the fucking brakes! Now!

FEET: Oh fuck, which pedal was it again?

BRAIN: The middle one you fool!

FEET: That's right. I always forget that.

(Feet stomp the brakes—the car miraculously doesn't hit the car in front of it)

KC: What the fuck was that all about? Seriously now, gang. Pay attention!

BRAIN: I don't know if I can take much more of that. I need to relax.

JUNK: I know how we can relax.

BRAIN: How?

JUNK: RJO.

BRAIN: And what the hell is that?

JUNK: Road Jerk Off.

BRAIN: And how the hell could rubbing one out help me right now?

JUNK: Well, you know after we beat one down, everybody feels better.

EYES: But playing with ourself without porn? That's like caveman shit.

JUNK: We used to do this all the time. It will be like middle school again, but we're driving not looking at the same drawing of Rogue on the Jim Lee X-Men poster. And then maybe that monster truck chick will see us. Or Brain can imagine us getting road head.

BRAIN: Road head is scary. It's so hard paying attention to the head and the road.

JUNK: But get this, we're getting road head while the chick drives. So we just sit in the passenger seat.

BRAIN: You know, that is pretty awesome sounding.

KC: I'm not fucking around here. We HAVE to pay attention to the road. Look, that guy's got a flat tire and that lady is just looking at a piece of roadkill. We need to watch the highway because nobody else does.

JUNK: Look how strung you are dude. If we just RJO, we'll be chill. Plus, you don't want all the folks at your new gig to think you're a tightass. Think of how a quick RJO will loosen us up. This commute sucks and makes us cranky. Maybe we'll be less pissy around the hot chick at work after doing a few one-handed pull-ups.

KC: He does have a point. We're all on edge because of this fucking drive. Hands, do your work.

(Scene: Five minutes later—still in the car.)

JUNK: Now that was fucking awesome. Too bad the windshield washers are connected to the car, I could really use a squeegee.

BRAIN: You know, I feel better too.

EYES: Yup, it looks like we're in a ditch.

KC: This was exactly what I was talking about.

BRAIN: Just chillax man.

KC: I just crashed my car!

BRAIN: It was a piece of shit anyway.

EYES: Um, it looks like a cop is coming to talk to us.

BRAIN: Oh fuck.

KC: Please Mouth, don't say anything stupid.

MOUTH (to cop): "Good day officer. You're probably wondering why my pants are off, I'm wiping my stomach with an American flag tie, and I'm listening to Hannah Montana's Greatest Hits...."

The November 1st Walk of Shame

Marcus Terry — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 07:16:27 -0500

Ahh Halloween. I love it so much. The only night of the year where girls can go out in the outfits usually reserved only for the bedroom. Outfits that if parents even knew they owned would cause mothers everywhere to sob uncontrollably and fathers' heads to explode and rain down upon the ground in a flurry of rage and where-did-I-go-wrong shock.

Halloween Headaches 2.51

Casey Freeman — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 17:05:40 -0500

Halloween Drunk Comment

"Her friends should tell her to have some decency." -- James

Another Halloween has come and gone. Luckily, I survived. But here's my second-day review of Halloween.

Best Example Of Not Taking Your Own Advice Part 2

Again, I dressed up like a lesser-known character. This time, Montgomery "Scotty" Scott from the Starship Enterprise. I fielded a lot of the same questions, "Where are your ears Spock?" Or "Make out with any green chicks today Captain Kirk?" Alas, this country is full of fucking illiterate heathens. But I did get an excuse to talk in a crappy Scottish accent again (I pretended to be Braveheart a few years ago). I also shaved my face completely for the first time in nearly eight years.

Least Humorous Nerds

I saw a Captain Kirk and Spock, but they didn't even register my existence. Granted, Scotty is just the chief engineer and they're the captain and the second-in-command science officer, but still, at least salute back you fucking dickheads.

My Favorite Costume Couples

I saw one couple each wearing giant pieces of bread on their backs, and the boy was dressed in all brown and the girl was all red. Then they kissed to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich - it's so cute I barfed.

I also saw a Cruella De Vil with two skanky dalmatian chicks on leashes. That was pretty hot.

Dumbest Costume Accessory

Rollerskates. Now, I'm a RollgerGirl and Boogie Nights fan, but I've seen way too many girls bust their faces or their asses trying to drink and rollerskate. This year, on top of three RollerGirls I saw a Terry (the gay Nick Swardson character from Reno 911!) and he nearly crushed crowds of people. Sure, it's a great costume, but you put way too many people at risk. Of course, watching people fall over is funny though.

Dumb But No Dumber?

Seriously, I saw a Lloyd Christmas but no Harry Dunn? What, you couldn't find the baby blue tuxedo and another friend? They could have been great together.

Creepiest Maybe Accidental Costume Prop (Tied)

Was Little Miss Muffet really pregnant? Or did some spider cum down inside her? If so, why the hell was she out at a bar?

Or...

Some dirty pirate hooker painted an amazing goose egg on her head. Oops. That wasn't fake, somebody accidentally headbutted her. Looked creepy as hell though. And painful.

Costume I Wish I Would Have Done

I really just didn't give a shit this year. I didn't try. I spent twenty bucks and borrowed another from my brother. Sorry.

Most Seen Costume

I saw a lot of Lady Gaga's, Cruella De Vils and a few Wolverines. There were a ton of Lt. Dangles from Reno 911! Surprisingly, I only saw one Joker, which I thought would be all over the place. And only one Obama. Come on people! Did political satire die?

Best Costume

The second night was a tough one, because I was much more critical. I saw a lot of great stuff though. Two cops at our bar wore some pretty cool mustaches. Humpty Hump made an appearance. There were guys from Tool Academy. I saw a cowboy riding a gorilla (complete with stilts).

But my favorite of the night was a spot on Billy Mays - the OxyClean guy. He even yelled a lot. That's pretty awesome.

Costumes I Will Do Next Year If I Remember (but won't becasue I never remember to read my own old stuff)

Hulk Hogan, Pee Wee Herman or Peter Pan.

Until next costume season, enjoy the rest of the year people. Remember to play dress up as much as possible to prepare for Halloween 2010!

What were your favorite and least favorite costumes of the year?

Halloween Headaches 2.0

Casey Freeman — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 16:33:51 -0400

Halloween Drunk Comment

"My eyes are tired from looking all over the room." -- Bossman

I'm back to reviewing Halloween costumes and experiences. Since today is actual Halloween, I'll make a sequel in a day or so.

Halloween rocks. Everybody likes to play dressup. Except for that one friend of yours who just complains. Even fat girls (and lardass boys with titties) find ways to enjoy this great holiday. What's not to like? People enjoying themselves in costumes, candy, slutty chicks and copious amounts of drinking. Maybe even sexing if you're lucky.

So, on with it.

Best Example of Not Taking Your Own Advice

I worked "Pirate Night" at my bar and came as the Dread Pirate Roberts from "The Princess Bride." Most people kept asking why I was Zorro. If I just made my costume for the lowest common denominator I wouldn't need to explain anything.

Always A Good One

I really like Super Mario Brothers costumes.

Ultra Nerd Shout Out Props

Monty Python and the Holy Grail costumes - complete with coconuts for horses.

My Favorite Couples Costume

Papa Smurf and Smurfette. Hopefully they don't get cancer from the body paint.

Worst Slutty Costume

I Dream Of Genie sluts. Those silk robes are not flattering. Nothing wrong with the sluts though.

Best Slutty Costume

There's just nothing wrong with being slutty.

Best Costume Or Just Fucking Douchebags?

At the restaurant where I ate before my bar shift, some Yankees fans made a huge ruckus (and there wasn't even a game on). Yelling, whistling, swearing and screaming. Were they really Yankee fans or overenthusiastic Halloween character actors? It doesn't really matter, they were fucking dickheads.

Costume I Wish I Would Have Done

I was thinking of wearing long underwear and a black stallion t-shirt and not combing my hair so I could be Charlie Kelly from "Always Sunny."

My Favorite Costume (Thus Far)

Plaxico Burress. Some guy had a Giants jersey, sweatpants, pistol and a gunshot wound on his leg. I cracked up big time.

Halloween Double Feature: Top 5 Sexiest Male and Female Vampires

PIC Staff — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 20:22:00 -0400

Top 5 Sexiest Female Vampires
By Andrei Trostel

Nothing says Happy Halloween like sultry vampiric vixens. Us straight guys really only watch vampire movies and shows for one of two reasons: the occasional scantily clad hottie, dressed in all black, that you know for a fact will ravage you and suck you dry without giving it a second thought; or the idea of actually being an eternally young, hot, powerful vampire yourself and seducing, taking and having whatever woman you desire, who is left powerless simply by the superior strength of your mind.

Top Ten Places Sex is Overrated

Andrei Trostel — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 20:01:42 -0400

We've all seen it in the movies. We've all fantasized about it. Hell, some of us have even gone out and tried it for ourselves. I'm talking about that super sultry place to have sex, that in your mind seems sizzling and amazing, but in reality, because of logistics, is not all you built it up to be.

I'm not saying these places can't be done, because they absolutely can and have been tested. And I'm not saying that you shouldn't try them just for bragging rights and the ability to mutter, "Been there, done that" when the location comes up in a sexually charged conversation. What I'm saying is that what you might think would be hot, wet, and wild, usually turns out to be uncomfortable, difficult, and awkward.

Let me just save you some time and many weeks in traction by listing, in descending order, the top ten places sex is highly overrated.

10. In a Hot Tub

It's just not all it's quacked up to be.Relax people, this is number ten so it has to be somewhat debatable at least. Sex in a hot tub is not only a cliche but also highly overrated.

First of all, I was a lifeguard for many years and thus know a little about optimal chlorinated water concentrations...oh and people fucking in bodies of water too. For instance, did you know that the amount of chlorine in a hot tub is higher than that of a swimming pool? Not just because of higher water temperature and the ease of bacterial growth, but because of the sheer magnitude of germs left behind compared to a swimming pool, due to various activities.... Yuck! Doing the freak nasty in a hot tub pretty much accurately describes the experience on a microbiological level: freaking nasty!

Spa sex is nothing else if not extremely HOT though. I'm talking about raised body temperature, sweat dripping, oh my god I'm going to die of heat exhaustion, HOT. You know how you sometimes get really overheated from hot steamy sex and feel like you might just catch flames at any moment? Well imagine starting out at that temperature and then going at it in a hot tub, thus doubling the heat index. Hot is an understatement!

One more thing my little aquatic delinquents. There is this stuff during sex that actually makes things easier logistically, maybe you've heard of it? It's called lubrication. Well you might think that being in water is about as lubricated as it gets, but you would be painfully wrong to say the least.

9. In the Shower

Stick it, test it, stick it to 'em!I know, I'm losing all of you by starting at the top and working my way to the good ones, but that's how these lists are done. You might think that the shower is a good place to lay some pipe, but ironically it isn't. Shower sex is difficult at best.

First, the quarters are usually cramped, unless you live in a house with a particularly spacious shower. Second, it's slippery as hell and unless you have worked out the whole height differential equation perfectly between the two people involved, it usually means there is heavy lifting involved. Don't get offended ladies, you ALL count as heavy lifting when it comes to sex. I know women like to think they're light as a feather but even if we're talking about a 100-pound wisp of a girl, it isn't easy to hold you up in the air for any length of time. Especially the length of time it takes to make this shower rendezvous "satisfying" for everyone involved.

Plus, there's that whole water lubrication issue to contend with again, and I don't recommend keeping an emergency bottle of KY in the shower for use in a pinch--you just may, one day in a haste to get to class, end up with the strangest hair day imaginable when you grab the wrong bottle to use as shampoo. Save everyone a pulled muscled or a shower slip concussion and just shower together as foreplay, then have sex afterward, then shower together again, then....you get the idea...rinse...repeat.

8. In the Movie Theater

Let's all go to the lobby...together?My parents owned a movie theater growing up and I was the projectionist for a very long time, which means I developed excellent night vision. That's right, everyone reading this from my hometown, I saw you buttering each other's popcorn in our theater, and what's more, you failed miserably at it.

I haven't found a movie theater seat in my entire life that I would ever classify as "comfortable." So to say that movie theater sex is uncomfortable would be a "Paramount" statement to say the least. It is "Universal" that if you want to make your dinner and a movie date have a happy ending then it is best to leave that for after the show. Movie theaters are not only dirty and rank but do you know how often some kid eats too much candy and popcorn and ends up puking all over those chairs? Gross!

In addition, it isn't like the rest of us don't know what you're doing back there. You aren't some super sexual ninjas, you know. While you may think it's all exciting and dangerous to have sex in a theater, you really aren't fooling anyone and you might as well just take it out to the lobby since you're actually just exhibitionists at best. "Touchstone" isn't meant as a suggestion, people, so please stop trying to turn the "Fox" you brought to the theater into a "Triumph" right then and there, thus ruining everyone else's cinematic experience.

7. In Front of a Video Camera

One night in Paris64.This is one of those places that definitely falls under "highly overrated." There is a reason actors, actresses, porn stars, etc. get paid to do what they do. It is their JOB to make it look good, and the amount of production that goes into making sex look good is actually quite mind boggling.

As much as you like to think you are all hot and sexy during your "dance in the sheets," you really look like a light sensitive epileptic at a Pink Floyd laser show having a seizure on top of someone else. Why you would want to film that and then watch it from the outside is beyond me.

You know why I know this doesn't work? Because I have the internet, that's why. How many sex tapes have hit the internet without the "stars" actually sanctioning their public release? Why would you potentially want to be one of those people? Sure, everyone thinks it won't happen to them until [insert almost anything here] happens and POW! You are now the latest viral video, forever. Is it just me or do all these internet sex tapes of "sexy celebrities" bear an amazing resemblance to a couple of dead fish fucking in slow motion?

Turn the camera off people and leave this to the professionals, because trust me you DON'T look as awesome as you think you do.

6. In the Car

They might not thank you for rear ending them like this.Sex in the car is one of those teenage pastimes that is really just about the fact that you can't possibly be doing this activity at home with your parents around. As soon as you leave home for college, this is also an activity you should promptly leave behind as well.

Parking the Plymouth in the garage may work as a euphemism, but actually having sex in the Plymouth is really just awkward and uncomfortable. I don't care where you are in the car: back seat, never enough room; front seat, even less room; in the cargo area of an SUV, better, but amazingly hard and not as level as you originally thought. Anyway you cut it, cars aren't designed for comfortable sex.

Fortunately for you, they invented this amazing thing called a bed that works really well. That's right, people, if you can drive your car then you can drive to a house with a bed, a hotel with a bed, someone's dorm with a bed, just about anywhere with a bed. If you're looking for uncomfortable yet mobile sex then by all means be my guest, but don't come (likely for the ladies during uncomfortable sex) complaining to me if you end up in traction for weeks.

Continue to the Top 5 places »

The Ancient Fighting Style of the Angry Black Woman

Alex Boonstra — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 18:45:49 -0400

Yo, my name's Tiquasha Jackson. If there's one thing I've learned from growing up on the rough streets of anywhere black people live, it's that anywhere black people live it's a rough street. Ever since White Flight, black people have been popping up in more and more rural areas, infecting the neighborhood with drugs and crime. And while the basic techniques of self-defense might work against purse-snatchers and trench-coat-flashers, black people have genetically evolved to a more dangerous level of attacker. Not only do we blend into any dark background, but our eyes have a clear eyelid membrane to protect us from mace and pepper-spray. Also, today's Air Jordans not only contain the proper ankle support needed to scale 10-foot fences, but also have thick rubber soles to protect us from Taser attacks.

When you find yourself enveloped in the fiery hell that is black culture, you need a way to defend yourself. As proven by Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcom X, simple reasoning and rationalization will only get your ass shot (may they rest in peace, brotha). No, the only way to survive in this harsh world is to throw all caution to the wind and fill yourself with hatred and chaos. While other fighting techniques require achieving a high level of physical and mental strength over the course of many years, the only way to defend yourself from the motherfuckas of the hood is to become bat-shit insane—and that only takes a day or two. That is why I am here to help you learn how to fight like an Angry Black Woman.

The Angry Black Woman fighting style has been as much of black culture as fried chicken and hating white people. In times of confrontation, all logic is pushed aside and two grimy bitches are forced to physically battle. Whether your baby's daddy be sleepin' with another hoe, or some bitch be dancin' too close to you in the club, the Angry Black Woman fighting style is a universally accepted approach to conflict resolution in black culture. And while black brothas carry guns and knives, their female counterparts carry a much more deadly weapon: bottled rage. If unleashed, this anger can be focused into a tantrum of thrashing manicures and high heels. I am here to teach you how to defend yourself against this lethal wrath, and how to develop your own style of Angry Black Woman.

Unlike skinny-ass white bitches who are all talk, black women are one of the deadliest forces in the world, second only to hurricanes and European soccer fans.The first step to survival is recognizing your surroundings. Is there loud, violent rap music playing? Are there people "walking it out" and "pop, locking, and dropping it"? These dance mating rituals are common amongst black people, and getting in the way of them could end fatally. If you find yourself surrounded by jiggling booties, drinks, and two-steps, you know to keep your guard up.

In time the atmosphere of blunts, crack rocks, and grape soda will bring everyone to a "crunk" level of aggression, and the angry black women in the crowd will begin to emerge. They can be spotted by their unprecedented ghetto haircuts and supreme level of confidence, a skill unknown to the skinny, whiny, white woman. Similar to peacock feathers, these ghetto black hairstyles are a way of flamboyantly exhibiting female individuality during these mating rituals. Other traits include an excessively disproportionate ass bouncing around, accompanied by a protruding belly and sagging tits.

While other fighting styles include silent attacks and devious schemes, Angry Black Woman is very blatant. This is good, because it allows others to pick up on the signs of an arising scuffle and prepare accordingly. The fights could break out for a number of reasons, ranging from someone stealin' someone else's man, to spilt Kool-Aid. Whatever the case, the Angry Black Woman fighting style fits a defined progression of anger before exploding into a rampage of chaos.

The first sign you will pick up on is the yelling. This incoherent screaming can be heard for miles, and is a warning to all other hoes that they had better back off, lest they want an altercation. But the shouting is nothing more than belligerent rambling, consisting of sentence fragments and the word "Fuck." Sayings like, "Oh, I'ma smack dat bitch!" and, "Oh no you didn'!" will be repeated over and over during the first stage of Angry Black Woman. It is during this time that you should take note of the nearest exits.

Unlike skinny-ass white bitches who are all talk, black women are one of the deadliest forces in the world, second only to hurricanes and European soccer fans. Eventually, the yelling will escalate to the next stage of combat, in which the black women will prepare for confrontation. In order to properly whip her opponent's ass, the woman must remove her jewelry, shoes, and heavy clothing, making her more aerodynamic and dexterous in the melee. If you plan on participating, remove your earrings, necklace, and bracelets, all while continually yelling threats. If you are wearing high heels, take them off and hand them to a friend. Similar to Roman gladiators and Spartan warriors, you are now ready for battle.

In contrast to other fights in which the two opponents circle one another in the arena, the Angry Black Woman style is all about power. And few things are scarier than a full-grown black woman charging at you with claws drawn. In a true clash of force, the two or more fighters will blitz towards each other, resulting in an explosion of brawn in the center of the fracas.

In this pandemonium of anarchy and hatred, there are many different moves black women use. If you can recognize the following types of attacks, you will stand a better chance of survival.

The Hair Grab

Without her shoes, a black woman's center of gravity is severely thrown off. Upon colliding into a fury of fists, women will grab onto anything they can for stability. This typically results in both women clutching each other's hair with one fist and wailing upon each other's heads with the other. Alternating blows will occur until one girl fails to remain balanced without her shoes and falls to the ground.

One thing that should be kept in mind is that many black women have hair extensions, weaves, or even wigs. Ripping out a women's hair is a surefire way to rack up points during a brawl, and the pain associated with ripping out a weave is enough to make a full-grown woman pass out.
The Spit

Using bodily fluids to defend oneself is a technique used by many animals of prey, and is no exception in the Angry Black Woman fighting style. When one woman finds her limbs entangled and is unable to physically hit the other, she will resort to spitting large wads of saliva into the other's face, not only humiliating them, but affecting their ability to see. If used correctly, the spit could render your opponent blind.
The Claw

This is the most aggressive of attacks, named after the claw-like appearance of a black woman's fingers. Outfitted with long nails, one swipe of this powerful hand could dig deep into the skin, drawing blood and ripping out more hair. Remember, the more hair you pull out of her head, the less of a ghetto haircut she will be able to display in the future.
The Arm Maul

If one does not have the proper fingers for the Claw and finds herself on the losing end of a Hair Grab, she can resort to psychotically flailing her arms toward her opponent, hitting whatever lies in her path. This charge is typically used upfront, as each woman is desperate to lay the first blow to her foe. It can also be used as a last resort, in an attempt to take out your rival before she knocks you the fuck out. The only downfall of the Arm Maul is that it leaves your head open to counterattacks.
The Shoe Smack

In the turbulence that is an Angry Black Woman fight, many bitches will be entering and exiting the maniacal mosh pit, either catching their breath or healing from a painful smack while others continue to fight. Occasionally, before jumping back into the vortex, some women will grab a shoe they took off and use it as a weapon. Sharp heels can be used to stab a challenger, and long straps can turn the average shoe into a medieval ball and chain.

So there you are, immersed in a massacre of weaves and fake nails. Eventually, the two of you will lose your footing and the duel will move to the ground. Normally, both fighters would be allowed to stand back up for the fight to resume, but this is hardly a normal fight. In Angry Black Woman, a fight on the turf turns into a ground-and-pound that would make UFC fighters flinch. The grappling involved in a ground skirmish shows the versatility of this fighting technique, and the level of intensity is increased with every dangerous second the fight remains on the ground.

You've come this far, and if you plan on knocking this skank-bitch out, there are a few things to keep in mind.

Show No Dignity

Perhaps the one thing that separates Angry Black Woman from other combat methods is the lack of dignity both fighters show. Just because this fight has moved to the ground doesn't mean you have to worry about getting dirty. In times of such ferocity, the one who pauses to fix her shirt is the one who gets knocked the fuck out.
Rip Off Her Clothing

While rolling around in the filth of a dance floor or neighborhood sidewalk, you are going to lose your firm grip on this bitch's hair. Not to worry, because once the fight has gone to the ground, a different objective arises: to rip every possible article of clothing off of your opponent. Loose tassels, long sleeves, and necklaces are fair game in this tug-o-war, all while maintaining a consistent barrage on the back of her head. Extra points if you manage to make one of her tits pop out.
Kick Her While She's Down

Perhaps the only benefit of keeping your shoes on is the ability to kick once the fight has gone to the ground. Sharpened heels can cripple a rival, and legs can typically reach further than flapping arms. That, and kicking an opponent while she's down ensures that you have suppressed enough character to win this fight.
Execute the Head Smash

Equivalent to the Fatality in Mortal Kombat games, the head smash is the ultimate finishing move to this fight. Once you have endured the entire battle and left your foe a crumbled ball of half-naked worthlessness, the head smash is the climactic finale. Simply grab what is left of your opponent's hair (if all the hair is gone, palm that bitch's head like a basketball) and use it to smash her face off the pavement. This conclusion to the fight shows everyone that you are the boss, and that you will inflict permanent brain damage to anyone stupid enough to challenge you.

Congratulations! You just won your first Angry Black Woman duel! You can now survive in the harsh crusade of black culture, keeping your reputation up and also working your way to Head Bitch In Charge. Just keep in mind that every fight will be a different battle and that in order to truly be the best you need to practice all the time. Maybe find a nappy-headed hoe who will let you smash her around a bit, or join a gym that allows you to spar in heels. Learning to battle under different conditions in different scenarios will ensure your strength.

Whatever the case, know that Angry Black Woman is a very serious technique and is not to be practiced negligibly. It is my hope that with this guide, Angry Black Woman will become a way for black culture to rise up from the ashes and show those other martial arts who's the head bitch in charge.

Yeah that's right bitch, I'm talkin' to you. Oh what did you just say?! Oh no you didn'! I'ma smack dat bitch!!

My Organs and I Return... From the Dead

Casey Freeman — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 15:00:00 -0400

(Scene: A dark hospital corridor near the morgue. Orderlies run around trying to figure out why all the body bags are moving and what all the banging is from the corpse cooling machine. A body covered by a sheet moves into the shot. Then it sits up revealing the incredibly handsome [but alas, dead] face of everybody's favorite person in the world: KC!)

BRAIN: Must get brains!

KC: Brains!

MOUTH: BRAINSsssssss!

NOSE: Brains.

HANDS: Brains.

BUTT: Brains.

GUT: BRAINS!

EARS: Brains.

JUNK: Wow. With all this rigor mortis, it's like having a permanent boner! Bring on the dead chicks!

BRAIN: Brains!

KC: Brainnnnnns.

JUNK: Come on... everybody? This blows.

END

10 Fun Facts About Cliff Lee!!!

Xavier Holland — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 00:29:24 -0400

10. Cliff Lee doesn't actually have any friends. When pressed, he gets flustered and claims that "Mavis Beacon" is his best friend. Despite this, he still types with two fingers.

9. Cliff Lee once promised his children a new pet. On the appointed day, instead of visiting his local pet store or shelter, he changed the homepage on the family computer to icanhascheezburger.com. "It's like getting a cute new pet every day!" he told his disappointed children. This will still be the happiest day of their childhoods.

8. Cliff Lee TiVos The Jeff Dunham Show and Secret Girlfriend.

7. In his younger years, Cliff Lee stood around New York City accosting passersby and asking if they had "5 minutes for Greenpeace." He didn't need the money (there is no money), and he didn't give a fuck about Greenpeace (there is no Greenpeace): he just really like irritating the fuck out of New Yorkers.

6. Cliff Lee "doesn't get" the show It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Cliff Lee thinks the show has potential, if only they would just all be nice to each other.

5. Cliff Lee was born in Arkansas.

4. Cliff Lee regularly confuses Phillies shortstop Jimmy Rollins for first baseman Ryan Howard, and Ryan Howard for a janitor named Marcus. There is no janitor named Marcus.

3. Cliff Lee is going to be Michael Jackson for Halloween. So clever and so original! Oooh, what about the Joker? He can't go wrong, either way, Cliff Lee thinks.

2. Cliff Lee always orders dressing on the side at restaurants and then just dumps it all over the salad anyway. Well, if you were going to put it on the salad anyway, Cliff Lee, why get it on the side? Why?

1. Fuck Cliff Lee.

Life is Tweet

Xavier Holland — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 18:57:00 -0400

Just doing some catching up. If you're not already, you should totally follow PIC on twitter:

http://twitter.com/PointsInCase

If you think, wow, that's really funny, but I wish it had more ramblings about baseball and impromptu rap lyrics, feel free to follow me:

http://twitter.com/NomChompsky.

A random sampling of thoughts I've tweeted that you probably haven't seen:

Putting things on Facebook but then trying to make a "limited profile" is like wearing a short skirt, fishnets, and a chasity belt.

I love Outback trying to sell buying a moderately priced entree at a chain restaurant as "doing something exciting."

There are people in the world so crazy that bread can not help but appear to them in the form of God.

Do Clown Cars run on laughing gas?

"L'enfers, c'est les autres"—written by a man who spent his life around theater people.

Word of the day: thenspiration. Otherwise known as "it sounded like a good idea at the time..."

Do rock bands pretend to be regular people? Is Motley Crue at home playing DMV for Xbox 360?

I used to be an "emo cutter" kid. It was less about hurting myself than going to Bright Eyes concerts and stabbing floppy-haired whiners.

Stoned Candy Adventure

Casey Freeman — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 21:11:09 -0400

I'm a paranoid smoker. Mostly because I worry that everybody knows I'm high. But the fact is, everybody does know I'm high because my eyes get big, I laugh at everything, and I constantly look around at stuff or get distracted by shiny colors. Also, passersby catch wind that I'm stoned because half the things I say are, "Holy shit I'm so high." Needless to say, I don't venture into public very often after I blaze.

On this particular evening, I smoked some weed. Then I decided I wanted candy. My roommate, Jewels, wanted cigs. So we jumped into my vehicle, The Skull Bus, and cruised down to the local supermarket. Dig, people?

KC: Oh, do they have those flavored Tootsie Rolls in there? Like lime and vanilla? I heart those.
Jewel: Are you seriously a guy?I'm not a bad driver, but when I'm high, I drive like an octogenarian on the way to a butt doctor appointment that I don't want to go to. Luckily, the grocery store lies just about a mile away.

And that's where the adventure starts.

As Jewels and I approached a curve in the road she pointed to some apartment building and said, "My boyfriend never wants me to walk to the grocery store alone because of this neighborhood. People are getting killed there all the time."

KC: Really?

J: Yeah, there's a murder there or some crazy drug house bust every so often.

KC: Well shit. Thanks for telling me that before I moved just down the street from it.

J: Oh, it's not that bad in our neighborhood.

KC: Holy shit!

I kind of screamed yet whispered.

J: I told you, our neighborhood isn't that bad.

KC: No... (I motioned to the three cops and German shepherd searching the boulevard.) What the fuck is going on?

J: I told you, there's murderers out there.

KC: Tonight?

J: Maybe. Who knows?

KC: Why are we whispering? We're in a car.

J: Good point. Should we still go to the store?

KC: I really want some candy.

J: Me too. Fuck this murderer.

We coasted down the block with our eyes peeled for cops, cop dogs, or somebody running from both. I pulled into the parking lot, but the weirdness didn't quit there.

KC: What the fuck is that semi doing here? What's underneath those tarps? Could somebody have stolen a tank or a Transformer robot or something and that's why the dogs are sniffing for him?

J: If there was a tank or a Transformer robot or something else don't you think they'd have a little more security than just three beat cops and a dog? There'd be, like, ninjas and stuff.

KC: Oh yeah. Good point, Jewels.

We entered the scared King Sooper's and traveled straight to the candy section.

J: KC, I need you to remember one thing for me.

KC: What's that?

J: Daytime cough medicine for my boyfriend. Got that?

KC: No, because I'm really high and I'll forget in five seconds.

J: Can you please promise to remember?

KC: No, just get the medicine first while I look for candy.

Thus we split up and I spent my idle time searching for the perfect candy. Do I stick with the standard Mike & Ikes? Or do I go with more exotic fare, such as Swedish Fish? Variety is the spice of life, but I don't like things too spicy.

I examined the variety of gummy stuff, jelly beans, and gummy jelly things.

Then a pitch-black devil shouted my name so loudly my eardrums popped. Or perhaps the message the demon delivered ruptured my auditory system.

J: Hey KC, do you think Daytime Severe Congestion would work or Daytime Multiple Symptoms would be better?

KC: Jesus Christ, woman! Don't sneak up on me like that!

J: Um, you've just been staring at the candy for about five minutes. I even asked you if you like Dots or Good & Plentys more.

KC: Oh yeah, I forgot about that. I like Dots more because Good & Plentys taste like candied Jagermeister. What's your question?

Jewels massaged her temples as my stupidity became contagious and started giving her a migraine. Then she held up two boxes.

J: Severe Congestion or Multiple Symptoms?

KC: Um, I like the blue box the best.

J: Seriously?

KC: Yep.

J: You're an idiot. Have you found your candy yet?

KC: Nope, I'm still deciding.

J: How can it be that hard? I'm getting these gourmet chocolates and this giant four-pound bag of Tootsie Roll stuff.

KC: Oh, do they have those flavored Tootsie Rolls in there? Like lime and vanilla? I heart those.

J: Are you seriously a guy?

KC: Yes. But I can't figure out which candy I'll want to eat. I don't want to get too much, because no matter what it won't be enough. So if I just get a little bit of everything, I won't send my self into sugar shock or give myself diabetes. Plus, candy hangovers are the worst.

J: Your argument is so idiotic, yet so beautifully illustrated. But the faster you pick, the faster we can actually EAT candy.

KC: Fantastic point. A blast from the past with Gummi Cream Frogs and, um, Giant Chewy Nerds.

As I walked to the self-checkout stand I saw Brach's bulk candy, so I decided to snag a few pieces to round out my sweets purchase.

Since I drove, Jewels decided to pay for everything. So first I looked at Halloween costumes until she asked me to get some fruit punch Gatorade.

KC: I hate that stuff!

J: It's for my boyfriend.

I walked to the Gatorade aisle and dropped off the grossest flavor. Jewels looked a little distraught. She pointed to the Brach's.

J: How the fuck do you ring this in?

KC: I don't know, it should have one of those produce codes, like for oranges, turnips or, um, oranges.

J: When have you ever bought a turnip?

KC: I don't know. Never. I think they're a root vegetable though.

J: I know what they are, but you obviously don't. But seriously. What should we do with this stuff?

KC: I was going to say "steal it" but that guy is watching.

J: Why didn't you say so? He can help us.

So the checkout guy tried to remember the number. We typed in about ten different numbers. He couldn't remember if the code was "7191," "7171," or "123456789." But we tried all of them and a few in between. Then our non-savior grabbed another dude, and then he punched in some numbers, but it wouldn't work. Finally, they left us to look for the manager on duty, who obviously wasn't on duty.

KC: I don't really want that shit. I figured I'd spend fifty cents on some weird candy. Let's just leave it and leave.

J: We can't just leave! We put these poor guys through hell looking for your stupid candy's stupid bar code. That is a dick move.

KC: So what? It's also dick to not have the fucking barcode on the thing.

J: KC, besides your mom, has anybody you ever known ever bought this stupid Brach's bulk candy.

KC: Fine.

So after five minutes of shopping and a quarter of an hour of waiting for the right price number, we finally paid and left. I stared at the military-looking semi trailer. Were there two things-that-looked-like-tanks on it before or were there just three? I shrugged, knowing if there was a giant robot attack, I'd probably hear about it, or finally meet a giant robot and make him my best friend.

We started driving and all the cops were gone. When we arrived home, Jewels' boyfriend was still sick, but I found two unwatched Netflix DVDs. So I sparked another bowl and watched some movies.

The moral of the story: candy cures everything.

Unironic

Xavier Holland — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 13:07:49 -0400

BOOM! The poem(ish) is weeks old, the song years old, but it's all fresh to you! Plus, people still misuse "ironic" more than they use it properly, so it's all good!

Unironic

A too-young girl used a fake id,
Got in anyway 'cause she's pretty.
It's spilling a dry martini,
It's being alone when playing Wii,
It's not really that ironic, if you think about it.

It's like rain on the day of the parade
Only you don't care because it's a parade
It's finding out she's not a hooker when you go to pay,
These situations are entirely plausible.

A lot of people are scared to fly
Statistically, it's riskier to drive
But it's not as feared, I wonder why
Then I looked up "availability heuristic"
And thought, "hmmm, interesting."
And not particularly ironic, no.

On your wedding day it pours and pours,
The sky is filled with moldy spores,
And you think "that's why we had it indoors."
This is called foresight, and is helpful if you live in Seattle.

Sometimes good things happen,
Sometimes bad things happen,
Many times these things are interesting, or strange
It is, in fact, quite likely that many unlikely things will happen.

It's lying to your boss about why you're late
It's putting in your contacts for a blind date
It's getting a spoon when you would really prefer a fork, but it's OK because you're eating pie
It's buying overpriced All-Star tickets
Only to see it end in a tie
Ironic isn't really the word...Maybe unfortunate. Should we go with unfortunate? How about, "unfortunately coincidental."

It's like rain on the day of the parade
Only you don't care because it's a parade
It's finding out she's not a hooker when you go to pay,
These situations are entirely plausible.

Sometimes good things happen,
Sometimes bad things happen.
"Unfortunately coincidental" isn't that catchy, is it.

Bright Ideas and Grand Thoughts, With Your Internet Host Paul Frank

Paul Frank — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 00:59:54 -0400

This is the last time I talk about the 2000's, and don't worry this isn't a political statement, but how have we not found bin Laden yet? You have to be extremely talented to hide from the whole world. That would probably get pretty lonely. Sure, it's cool at first, you got a whole cave to yourself, no parents or infidels around. But I think it would get old after the first year or so. Seriously, I can't even find a room to rub one out in without my grandma, my priest, and my 3rd-grade teacher walking in, and this guy successfully hides from 6 billion people for 8 years running. Also, how is it the DIXIE CHICKS were the first people to realize that Bush was an idiot?

I will kill myself if I ever wear a Snuggie to a football game along with my whole family, and proceed to obnoxiously high-five each other and "raise the roof."

The best part about adopting a kid from a third-world country wouldn't be the fact that it's another in a long list of similarities between me and Brad Pitt, and it certainly wouldn't be the fact that I'm making someone else's life better, a suffering child who missed out on their basic rights as a human being because of where they were born. No, the best part about adopting a kid from a third-world country would be that when times get tight and things get rough, you can feed that little kid like 3 pellets of rice and they won't complain. They're used to it. You probably wouldn't even have to cook food for them, they could just have it raw.

I have a new hobby: pretending I have swine flu. I mean, come on, if someone tells you they have swine flu, you take their word for it. And walk away from them as quickly as possible, hoping you didn't breath in when they were talking. As I walked out of a bar last night at 2:30 in the morning, I coughed really loud without covering my mouth and said "fuck I really wish I didn't have swine flu." The two girls nearest us outside the bar freaked out, one screaming "don't share it with us!" The look on their faces was priceless, but I have a feeling they would've really lost their shit if I told them about my imaginary herpes.

If I ever get to tour a Holocaust museum, I'm going to walk in, take a deep, deep breath and say "this is where the magic happens."

Whenever I see someone who's Facebook relationship status is "In A Relationship" but then it doesn't say anything after that, I instantly know that relationship will eventually fail. Because it means either you don't want people to know who you're dating for some fucked up reason like you're ashamed, or because your significant other doesn't have Facebook. And let's face it, people who don't have Facebook have to be batshit crazy. Like, seriously, like Jeffrey Dahmer crazy. (Writer's note: Jeffrey Lionel Dahmer is less crazy than those people. He's got a Facebook page and you can become his fan here.)

I think my biggest fear in life isn't being morphed into myself as a baby permanently, and going through life not being able to say anything or scream for help without people thinking I just need a bottle or to be changed (which I do); my biggest fear in life is giving a presentation in front of a class, where it's like a Powerpoint or something, so I have to load it up off my flash drive and everyone's watching the large projector screen as I'm getting ready and I have some porn on the flash drive too and everybody sees it.

Why are drug addicts always so crabby? If I got to do heroin all day, every day, I would be the happiest person on the planet. I would be beaming constantly; overflowing with happiness. I'd probably start volunteering at the local soup kitchen. I'd start liking children and appreciating our existence on this wonderful planet and shit like that.

Well now we know why David Letterman is slightly funny: he's always just had sex. Anyone can be all giddy and silly and cocky and start making fun of everything if they've just had sex. The sad part, besides the whole thing, is that now I can no longer say "well, if David Letterman can't get laid in this recession, then I sure can't."

I've realized my whole life I've paid more attention to pleasing my dentist than my friends or family. Because no matter what, even if I get no cavities, the dentist always makes me feel like I'm a dick and I killed someone. The victim? My enamel. The murder weapon? Plaque. The accomplice? Sugary sodas.

I Eat My Pringles with a Fork (and Other Equally Absurd Poems)

Ralph Jones — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 00:47:58 -0400

I Eat My Pringles with a Fork

I eat my Pringles with a fork
...I don't know why I do it.
The crisp is broken straight away,
The fork just goes right through it.

Most people pick their Pringles up
And simply guide them in
But mine, they fly all over town
And hit me in the chin.

Halloweenus Asstastic Extravaganza

Fugly Slut — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 21:04:24 -0400

Dear Fugly,

I find Kim Kardashian's ass to be alluring, yet a disgusting blob at the same time. It seems to be attractive under those sexual pencil skirts, but whenever she's at the beach, that mysterious rump is covered beneath a sarong. Just what is going on under there? More importantly, do I want to know what lies beneath the fabric?

Fugly, my question to you is this: Where do you draw the line between a nice round, shapely ass, and a fat disgusting ass?

Love Always,
Peter

Dear Peter,

Fugly knows a thing or two about delicious heines. Fugly's gentleman callers are always itching to know what's cooking beneath Fugly's chiffon underskirt... or maybe they're just itching from Fugly's fleas... or Fugly's five o'clock shadow (down there—the little man in the canoe is surrounded by thick foliage).

Fugly's asstastic rear once caught the fancy of one Mr. Evil Knivel. He parked his motor scooter in the crack of Fugly's rump after jumping over Snake River Canyon. To celebrate his historic stunt, he put his snake in Fugly's canyon. For some reason he made Fugly put his helmet over her face.

So to answer your question, Petar, clearly Fugly's ass is a delicious meat feast, but a disgusting ass would be anything that hangs over three feet and has over 17 bullet holes.

Love,
Fugly

Hey Goblin Tits,

Last night, after a nice mixture of PBR, Mad Dog, and THC was flowing through my blood stream, I made out with the most horrendous-looking female in history. Obviously this mixture of toxins didn't go very well. What should I be guzzling so that I can hook up with hot chicks?

Hugs,
Sal

Well hello there Sal,

Back in Fugly's youth, at St. Chatterly's Prepatory School, the school girls used to call Fugly "Sal." It had nothing to do with my name, rather it was a acronym for "Soggy Ass Labia." Those evil youths would chant, "Die soggy, clam, die" and pelt Fug with hard brown stones... or was it goat stool? Fugly doesn't remember. One horrible evening the evil pre-teens strapped hams on Fugly's back and left her young, shivering carcas in Coyote Ravine during our menstruation awareness retreat. Sigh, Fugly just wants some nice friends. *Fighting back tears*

Enough about me, Sal. Sometimes, after consuming a heaping vat of bathtub gin, even Fugly herself will romance an unsightly, Glad-bag-wearing vagabond or two, or three, or five, and a basset hound... mmmm, dog slobber.

The trick to landing a hottie every night is to lick hallucinogenic toad bellies so everyone appears to be attractive, even if they really look like they just climbed out of the bell tower. Keep an extra toad on your nightstand for the morning.

Happy Clam Hunting!
Fugly

What's up Fugly?

How do you approach someone at work and let them know you want to sha-bang-bang them without getting fired?

Kisses,
Martha

Dear Martha,

That's a tricky pickle. Fugly has been fired from many a job for performing "lewd acts" gainst co-workers.

One Halloween, a nude Fugly seductively mounted the copy machine in a pair of fun, flirty cat ears (Halloween is the only time Fugly can expose her tail without ridicule). Fugly waited for the boss, Mr. Johnson, to come in so I could leap atop his salami. Unfortunately, he dropped dead and faceplanted in Fug's lady folds. Fugly told the staff that he ate some bad cheese. I guess Fugly was too much sexy for him to handle.

This Halloween Fugly's going to pour a gallon of ether in the punch bowl at the Points in Case Halloweenus Extravaganza and ravage the unconscious body of Andrei Trostel.

Best,
Fugs

My Alter Ego: The Black Wolf

Scott L. Goodyer — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 18:31:44 -0400

Dear Diary,

His name is the Black Wolf...

You only call him that when he puts on his black vest and sexy shades.

Walking down the street behind his shades, he undresses you. With the shades off, he's too shy to make eye contact.

Entering into the forest, he disappears from sight.

It's in the forest, alone for hours, that he practices his dance moves.

He moves hard and fast. He starts to slow down but that's when he always spots the wolf in the distance...he looks away and dances harder!

Taking a break, he climbs a tree and sits up there for an hour...thinking about life. The break ends with a howl out loud. If the Black Wolf is alone in the forest and howls out loud...does anybody hear it? Or was it all in his mind?

The school dance is next week.

From a dark corner, the Black Wolf always watched the dance alone...but this time around, he will slowly step out into the moonlight...

and people will hear his howl.

Heroin, Handel and Tom the Bomb J.

Xavier Holland — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 18:18:16 -0400

I know I haven't posted much (or anything) for a while. I have my reasons, which aren't really important. Suffice to say I didn't post for a while, I have a couple things to put up, so hopefully you should hear more from me in the coming weeks.

It IS good to know that even when you haven't posted in a while, Google has a habit of popping this place up at inopportune times. Like job interviews. Where instead of discussing your qualifications, you instead discuss why your interviewer disagrees with your tips on Getting Laid Without Being a Dick. His argument: just be a dick. Persuasive stuff, from an internship I didn't wind up taking: It's never a good sign when your prospective boss's argument against being a dick pretty much boils down to: "Ok but how bout being a dick?"

It was at this time that I strongly considered a bunch of pseudonyms, but they were quickly discarded for a number of reasons: "XHHatfield?" Too pretentious. "Tucker Max"? Too clearly a fake name. "Paul Frank?" Isn't that a serial rapist?

In the end, I decided just to keep my own name. For better or worse. Though I might not do any more pieces called "I Sell Drugs" for a while, unless I'm interviewing in Baltimore.

Anyway, the actual point of this post: while thumbing through the internet, I came across a slew of interesting facts:

Beethoven was raised by an abusively alcoholic father who domineered him from an early age, and ended his life nearly entirely deaf to the point he avoided idle conversation.

Proust spent the last three years of his sickly-life essentially confined to his bedroom.

Van Gogh was reported to have suffered from syphilis, earlessness and, towards the very end of his 37 years, a severe case of shooting himself in the chest.

Maybe a career in the arts isn't exactly all it's cracked up to be.

This could very well be an egregious cherry-pick, but there seems to be a pretty high corrollation between being a person of note and being either a) absolutely insane, b) utterly miserable or c) both. There are even a bunch of modern parallels: sure I want to be a famous rapper but how do I get street cred? My distaste for weightlifting and aversion to forcible anal penetration make jail a less-than-attractive option, and a recent physical uncovered a latent allergy to gunshot wounds. I can't be a rock star—heroin makes me gassy and leather pants make my thighs sweat. I'm hard-pressed to find famous creative-types whose lives sound like anything less than exercises in self-loathing.

Except George Handel.

Handel seems to not only have avoided being thoroughly beaten for no reason as a child, he was, by most accounts, a generous, affable, happy adult. I'm sure he's by no means alone in this, but the more you read about famous people, the less it seems like it's impossible to be influential, happy, and noble. At least in a way that I would find appealing: as an obvious example, Thomas Jefferson himself was a terrible cook and regularly picked up the phone with the phrase, "You got Tom the Bomb J. what does your mom say?"

In conclusion, some famous people were also mean or unhappy.