Needless to say, it’s been a pretty sick summer with enough Bud Light Limes, bikini tops, and body shots to drown a herd of midgets.  Still though, I’m kind of looking forward to school starting again.  I’m not saying I’m excited about getting back to class. (Do I look like a homo?) It’s just kind of annoying how people in Des Moines have no idea of how much ass I kick back at school.

Sounds crazy right?  I mean, I go to a pretty big school that was ranked #3 best party school, #5 hottest chicks, and #1 most awesome. [Editors note: The final ranking has not been verified.]  Yet somehow the semi-cute cashier at Ross hadn’t heard about Phi Theta Kappa’s epic St. Paddies Day foam/lingerie/jungle cat party.  I made a joke about the time we ruined the Lambda doucher’s winter formal with a bunch of marshmallow Peep’s and bag full of ferrets and she just giggled and gave me her number.  Where’s the respect?  Where’s the appreciation for what I’ve accomplished?

Yesterday I was at Big Al’s Booze Barn stocking up for the weekend and I said, “Man!  I haven’t seen this much Keystone in one place since the ‘Jeza-bong’ died,” and Al just asked to see some ID.  I couldn’t believe it.  Does he not know about the female mannequin I converted into a double barrel beer bong named Jeza-bong?  Impossible.  They did a story on it in “The Daily Wildcat!”  How could he miss that?

Nowhere is this ignorance of all things Chad more obvious than the pain-in-the-balls internship my uncle set me up with at First Fidelity Bank.   From the amount of disrespect I get there, you’d think they’ve never even seen an Intra-mural championship t-shirt.  Everyone’s like, “Hey Chad, spreadsheet this.  Hey Chad, expense report that.  Hey Chad, corporate memo this.” And I’m like, “Did I hook up with Tifani Rodgers in the library bathroom (twice!) just to turn around and take orders from you people?”  No I did not.  I don’t understand how my uncle – a PTK alum – could hook me up with this gig but forget to inform his employees that they were working with the guy who was voted “Most Likely to Be Will Ferrell” by West Des Moines High School.  Maybe he doesn’t even know.

I’m not usually one to blow my own horn, but sometimes I feel like I have to.  Every time I go with B-Rad to a high school party, I feel like I’m in that Toby Keith song.  You know, the one that goes, “I’m not as cool as I once was, but I was cooler once than you’ll ever be.”  My little brother and his friends think they’re sooo badass just cause they can shotgun half a beer without puking.  Come on! I was routinely executing 96-hour mid-week benders before they were out of middle school.  Kids these days…am I right?

Now you can see why I can’t wait to get back to my campus kingdom.  Des Moines is a fun town and all, but I prefer to spend my time with people who appreciate how many Cuervo shots it took to get my picture on the wall above the bar at Dirty Phil’s.  My dad says I have to get a 2.0 this semester or he’s cutting me off and yeah, that’s gonna be a real bitch, but, hey, at least I’ll get to pour raccoon pee on the new pledges!  There isn’t an internship or GPA in the world that can get you respect like that.

With my recent migration from Chicago to California many aspects of my post-collegiate life have changed significantly.  Not only did I trade gang violence for illegal immigration and political corruption for political incompetence, I also went from living with four guys in an enormous house (read: trash can) to living by myself in a tiny apartment (read: walk-in closet).  This transition has been difficult.  There is no longer an endless supply of toilet paper in the bathroom down the hall.  Quandaries like, “should I eat three of my roommate’s four remaining eggs and be regarded as considerate or eat all four and hope they forget they ever had them?” are no longer relevant.  Since the cable bill is no longer being split five ways, I now have to think twice before ordering “Confessions of a Shopaholic” twice in the same weekend.  The list goes on.

I feel like that old dude in Shawshank who gets released on parole but ends up killing himself because he missed prison so much.  I’m not suicidal or anything, I’m just having a difficult time adjusting to a life of functioning appliances and insect-free beds.  I’ve been institutionalized and I’m sure I’m not alone.  With that in mind, my third post-collegiate survival guide will provide pragmatic rules for navigating the trials, tribulations, and emotional traumas of solitary living.  If you are married (i.e. taking the easy way out) you can go ahead and stop reading now.

1)      Put some pants on.  I know you don’t have to, but do it because you want to.  You will go days on end without meaningful human contact.  Pants are all you have left.  Thanks to advances in modern science, pants are one of the few remaining things that separate us from monkeys and lower-form humans.  With movies like Dunsten Checks In and Mighty Joe Young becoming increasingly prevalent, this won’t last long.  Enjoy your remaining connection to the human race while it lasts.  Put on some pants.

2)      Standing shirtless in front of the kitchen sink eating a raw hotdog does not count as “dinner.”  Sure it’s delicious, but can’t you at least microwave it first?  Why not chop it up into some ramen or mash it up with some Corn Flakes or something?  Sit down.  Put a shirt on (I feel weird having to tell you to put clothes on for a second time).  Use some sort of utensil.  The fact that you have the social life of a toddler doesn’t mean you have to eat like one.  Get a hold of yourself, man.

3)      Talking to yourself and/or yelling at made-for-TV movies is normal and acceptable behavior.  Talking to your appliances and lunch sandwiches is not.  I agree the toaster did a commendable job of toasting that bread.  You don’t have to thank it.  That’s what it’s there for.  Similarly, that PB&J knows it will be delicious when you have it for lunch tomorrow.  You don’t need to tell it how excited you are about eating it.  It, unlike you, is not struggling with an unfulfilled love language.

4)      It’s okay to go through the drive-thru twice because you were enjoying the first “conversation” you’d had all day.  It is, however, considered good form to order something different on the second lap.  This way, the girl at the window can make herself believe it was an honest mistake –for the third day in a row.

5)      Facebook can be a healthy diversion and welcome reminder that you used to have friends.  There are, however, some unacceptable activities.  These include: going back to September 2006 and reading everything posted to your wall in the past three years, creating a fake profile and using it to post comments on your wall about the “bitchin time the gang had last weekend,” and “liking” anything.  (Note: this is more of a general exhortation for all to follow.)  Some additional rules: You should not use Facebook if you’ve been drinking (or crying).  You should not get on Facebook if you are within 100 miles of your high school yearbooks.  Facebook should never be visited within 24-hours of watching “Can’t Hardly Wait.”  Remember, some people can handle their Facebook; you cannot.  Restraint is the only way you’re going to survive.

Alright, alright. I gotta “analyze” a poem. What the hell does that mean? I’m not an analyst, I’m a Phi Theta Kappa, bitch! Arggg… Whatevs man, let’s just get this done so I can go watch Anchorman with my frat brothers.

TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME
by Robert Herrick

Virgins huh? Alright, alright. I like where your head is at Robbie.

GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying :
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.

I guess this guy plants flowers or something to get virgins to like him. So I guess he’s saying, like, you better get that flower to that virgin chick before it dies or she’s gonna get with some other dude with a flower that is all alive or whatever. Good call with the flowers Robster, I’m gonna use that.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he’s to setting.

Here he’s talking about smoking out I think, based on the fact that he says higher. Also, since he mentions the sun I’m gonna go ahead and say this dude is a 4:20 supporter. The last two lines are about doing the nasty, I’m pretty sure. It’s a race to get the freshman virgins every semester. Really liking this Rob guy. He speaks my language.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer ;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Man, this part reminds me of this one time we were hazing this total sissy frosh pledge, and right when he was about to start crying we made him drink some goat blood. Pushed him over the edge into baby-crying. I heard his dad tried to sue the school. Totally not PTK material.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may go marry :
For having lost but once your prime
You may for ever tarry.

Okay dude, this guy lost me here when he said “marry.” I’m never getting married unless I can somehow marry myself. You know my motto: “Why buy the cow if you can buy milk at the grocery store?” I don’t care who Tarry is or how hot she is right now, she’s gonna get fat eventually and I’m not going to waste my “prime” on that.

In conclusion, me and Robtastic were on the same page, but then he performed a Rob-erry on me and stole the broness from this poem in favor of being whipped. Two thumbs down.

PTK 4 Lyfe!

CHAD

This is Part 2 of an infinite part series.  You can read Part 1 here.

1)      If (and by “if” I mean “when”) you find yourself in a job you do not love, it is important to ensure your work performance never rises above mediocre.  Doing above average work typically leads to more work being sent your way, and that is just the thing you are trying to avoid.  Also, you want to avoid any company that lists “developing our people” as one of their values.  “Developmental opportunity” is business jargon for “a way to get your underlings to do more of your work without having to increase their pay.”  You just paid $100,000 for a college degree; you’re as developed as you’ll ever be.

2)      When looking for a slackable job it is important to find a company with the most suffocating, complex, and ineffective bureaucracy.  You need to find a company where it is more difficult to get fired than it is to get hired.  This can be ascertained by asking your interviewer the following question: “If I come in to work every day wearing only a Snuggie and do nothing but send emails of co-workers’ heads photo-shopped onto the bodies of farm animals, how long will it be before HR is allowed to fire me?”  If the answer is longer than eight weeks, you’ve got yourself a keeper.

3)      It is impossible to judge the age of people between the ages of 18-35.  The miracles of plastic surgery and the ravages of underage alcohol and tobacco consumption have created a twilight zone where any girl at any bar could be someone’s prom date or a cougar with three kids.   IDs should be checked before engaging in conversation or buying drinks.

4)      When choosing a roommate, the single most important characteristic to look for is the person’s level of comfort with a disgusting living environment.  Find a person with a lower tolerance for filth than you have and you will never have to wash a dish or vacuum a floor.  Ever.

5)      Similarly, if you have neighbors who value things like “neatly-trimmed lawns,” “curb appeal,” and “property value,” you’ll never have to mow.   Let the grass in the front yard grow high enough to block sunlight from the second story windows, and the lawn will magically mow itself.  As with most things, if ignored long enough, they tend to just work themselves out.  The same principle applies to unsightly rolls of old carpet left in the front yard for months on end.

“They’re always talking about farts and burps,” said Sandra, “and a couple times I’ve talked to Doug on the phone while he was going to the bathroom, but this is the first time one of the boys has actually farted in front of me.  It’s kind of flattering.”

While Sandra has long answered to traditionally male monikers like “brah,” “broseph,” and “duder,” it wasn’t until she made an off-color joke during a visit to Lincoln Park Zoo’s primate exhibit that the guys realized she was one of them.

“Sure I was revolted at first,” said longtime friend and self-proclaimed “man’s man,” Rick DeHowseur, “but I was too proud of her to let her see my disgust.  It felt good knowing that Sandra can finally relate to us.  The world could always use one more male and we’re happy to accept ‘Randy Sandy’ as one of our own.”

A quick scan of Sandra’s Facebook profile reveals how deeply the male influence has worked itself into her lifestyle.  Her interests include “being hardcore,” “kickin a** and taking names,” and “breaking balls.”  Her favorite movies are Fight Club, Boondock Saints, Superbad, and “anything with Jessica Alba.”  Her favorite quotes are an off-putting assortment of Family Guy, and South Park sound bites.

“This has been a long time coming,” said Miss Williams. “I’ve always been kind of a tomboy, and it seems silly for me to be excluded from things just because I was born without a penis.”

As “one of the guys,” Sandra can now look forward to watching 4-6 hours of ESPN every day, eating Taco Bell at all hours of the night, and ascribing numerical value to the attractiveness of passing females.

While she is pleased with her admittance into the inner sanctum of masculinity, Miss Williams seems unwilling to acknowledge a downside of her new status.  Namely, her permanent removal from the pool of datable co-eds. Sandra brushes off this allegation; claiming instead they are just “having fun and making sure things don’t get weird.”

Her male cohorts, however, stammer and shift awkwardly when similarly questioned.  Some are “focusing on their studies,” others are “too much man for her,” one even likened Sandra to a sister or semi-attractive cousin.

While her romantic options are looking slim, Miss Williams is excited about new doors that could be opened.   “I just want the guys to be completely comfortable around me. There’ll be times when I can tell they want to say something awful but they can’t because I’m there.  I guess it’s thoughtful of them to try to protect me, but I’m really hoping that they won’t feel the need to hold back anymore.  I can handle it.”

That picture on the front page is copyright of TBS (very funny).

Witnesses report that Thompson had just finished regaling the gathered crowd at Fellowship Baptist’s 4^th Annual Singles BBQ with an engaging tale of a dorm prank involving his roommate, some traffic flares, and a bath tub full of grape Jello, when a look of utter helplessness overtook his face.  Friends watched as Thompson shuffled over to the grill and spent the rest of the evening quietly downing jumbo franks and Dr. Thunders.

It was not until days later that Thompson finally broke the news to those close to him.  Apartment mate Jack Wells expressed sadness, but not surprise.  “He’s been slipping lately.  I’ve heard a few repeats over the past several months, and he’s even started telling other people’s stories as his own.  This is a day we’ll all have to face, but it doesn’t make it any easier.  He still has so many years ahead of him.”

In an emailed statement to The Talking Mirror, Thompson expressed regret that he had somehow only managed to compile two years worth of stories during his five undergrad years at The University of West Virginia.  “My kids are going to think I’m a complete lame-o,” said Thompson.  “But, then again, without any charming tales of youthful antics, I’ll probably never be able to convince a woman to join me in holy matrimony.  So maybe the kids won’t be a problem.”

Thompson blames his high school girlfriend, Sudoku, and Japanese anime for his shortage of sufficiently amusing anecdotes.

Thompson (far right) and friends, just moments before the incident.

A letter, in response to this previous one.

Dear Sir/Madame,

Having received your objectionably accusatory, alcohol-soaked correspondence nearly a week ago today, I have thus seen it fit to provide you with a declarative defense, to be presented to you before the scrutinous gaze of the benevolent public, or, “they.” I trust that “they” will, in their pluralistic corporate sagacity, rend from me the violent vilifications which you have unjustly thrust upon me. “They” will see, after an objective investigation, that our quarrel has arisen from that dark, evil place that keeps Amy Winehouse in dire straits: misunderstanding.

Indeed, sir, I have spent much of my “sober” time at the gatherings which we both attended mocking you and your antics. I believe, however, that your accusations lack true empathy. You say that at once, you’ve “been” me? Then how can you blame me for wanting to openly mock the interpretive dance that you did to “My Heart Will Go On” by Celine Dion? I realize that was fun for you, but for the sober bystander it was nothing short of an awesome spectacle.

You misinterpreted the spirit behind my commentary; I am not against you. Rather, I am completely for you. It is not from judgment or jealousy that I make note that “you are drunk,” it is with the temperament of an enthusiastic spectator. As if to say, “you, my entertainer, are drunk! Thank you!” I enjoy your drunkenness as an ancient Roman at the Colosseum, an observer that is eagerly giving you the thumbs up! Please, continue to urinate on yourself while asking that overweight blond if she wants to fly to Vegas for a shotgun wedding! I am loving this. You see, you lovely inebriate, you are the jester of my court. I come to this bar, sober for some reason or for none, and you shine for me like bright star in the middle of the dark, humorless vacuum of space. Amidst over-confident, testosterone drowned fight-starters and sloppily desperate, inarticulate bar-babes, there you are: the silly, giddy, performer-drunk.

I never intended to be a parade-rainer; nay, friend, I gladly contribute to your continued abuse of alcohol! Feeling the waves of liquid courage beginning to ebb? Please, alert me post-haste! Here, take these three shots of tequila with the utmost of import! I wouldn’t want you to lose your “inspiration,” your “natural bravado,” the spirit you have garnered from the spirits. Your dancing is fantastic, the quality of a professional. All of the women you’re talking to are interested in hearing about your future career as a stuntman. Your lack of fear and complete confidence is in no way dependent upon or in direct proportion with the number of Long Island Iced Teas you consumed earlier this evening. You are a champion, and I implore you to continue to be such.

The statements of mine which you questioned in your letter were all in the spirit of joy. Say them to yourself as exclamations of happiness: You are drunk! You are so drunk! You are out of control! I can’t believe you! You are crazy! You see? I say these things with excitement, readily offering to you a congratulatory slap on the back as you march confidently into the center of the breakdancing circle. I am sorry that I might have misrepresented myself, but please understand, sir, I am on your team.

With the utmost of care and sincerity,

Sober Guy

Christians, like Mary Davies, just can’t understand this derision. “Why can’t students accept the world the way God created it?” asks Davies, a library fiend and senior at Calvin. “Are we really to think that our plans for creation, or the poor, are better than God’s?”

Irate students march through campus expressing their displeasure with the increase in student activism.

After a recent student rally apparently seeking to save someone named “Darfur,” students protesting student protests created a scene warranting the attention of the Campus Police. As the rally moved from the quad to an outdoor acoustic bonfire session, many students held up signs saying: “Who made you God?” and “Jesus: ‘The poor will be with you always.’”

Seniors even orchestrated a chant more high pitched and angst ridden than your typical emo song. According to witnesses, Davies yelled out over a mega-phone “What do we want?!?” to a response of “Stability!!!” and Davies would again yell “When do we want it?!?” and the crowd would, again, yell “Whenever!!”

So impressed was the crowd with its coordinated yelling that it soon began singing a medley of songs in a round, including that one song where the men go “Let us adore” and then the women go “Let us adore” and then the men go “The everliving God” and then the women, again, go “The everliving God” and then the men again go “And render praise” and then the women, in a higher voice, go “And render praise” and so on. They also did most of Counting Crow’s Hard Candy album (except for that one song that goes really fast and the other one that cusses and those five that talk about alcohol).

Eventually, the whole protest was broken up after a student club called “A Piece of Peace” began throwing 4 day old bagels at the students protesting student protesters. According to a Piece spokesman, the group was enraged that the students protesting student protesters were not protesting protests more peacefully.

However, the courage of these Calvin Christians has inspired similar protests on campuses around the country.  Students hope that their marching, picketing, and organized chanting will bring an end to the sinful dissension of their peers and pave the way for the status quo to continue.

Graciously submitted by an anonymous donor. Former diaper model, current recreational pharmacist, future minor deity in the Hindu pantheon.  Envied by men, desired by women, and universally loved by mother’s with daughters, this donor wishes you only to know of their passion for all things Martha Stewart.