If you think it would suck to be an impoverished child in a third world country tasked with slaving away to make sneakers or overcoats for the first world, imagine being a starving child tasked with making penis shaped pool floats or assless chaps for the Western World. You don’t have toilet paper or dinner, but some chick in Milan has the leopard print negligee you spent 10 minutes embroidering. Read more…
Anyone who knows me knows I love animals. Most especially men, puppies and penguins, but generally, I have nothing but affection for all animals. That being said, I can’t ever imagine wanting to use the services of Revenge Crabs dot com, a site that promises to help you get revenge on your not-so-loved ones by shipping colonies of public lice you can infest them with.
First of all, I think the site’s pricing is a bit exploitive: $298 for some bugs? Puh-lease. There are much cheaper ways to get an STI just four of five blocks west of FroGro. Getting heartbroken/emotionally unstable people to spend what is, for many, nearly a week’s pay on pubic lice strikes me as a little sketchy.
Further, though the site promises that infesting someone with pubic lice is legal in all fifty states, I can’t imagine a breakup situation in which giving the ex pubic lice would be strategically advantageous. No matter what they did during the relationship, you will always be the immature dick who infested them with crabs. Good luck getting mutual friends to “side” with you after that one.
If you really can’t resist the urge to bestow someone with a venereal ailment, I suggest you check out Giant Microbes, a site that sells plushy, stuffed microbes. They’re cheaper than your own pubic lice colony and you’ll only be kind of an ass if you gift them.
Ever wonder if playing the guitar outside your crush’s dorm could be considered flirtatious? The folks over at Am I Flirting? a blog dedicated to helping you figure out if your wayward glance or awkward joke about his biceps are flirtatious say “absolutely”. They had this to say to in response to chump who wrote in asking “Am I flirting if I play the guitar in her general vicinity?”
This question is older than time, older than Dire Straits, and almost as old as guitars themselves. If that guy on the steps of his apartment building or out on the campus lawn just wanted to practice some Jack-Johnson-ass modern rock hits, he would do it in his room. That’s not going to happen, though, because that destroys his chances of being able to casually refer to a passing girl’s body as “a wonderland” without getting spit on.
If that guy is you, you should be aware that you’re emitting a semi-spherical aura of flirtation. Casting a wide net has its pluses and minuses. Plus: if you’re talented and not obnoxious, you could potentially strike up some good, productive conversations. Minus: if you’re either a horrible musician or a really skeevy individual, EVERYONE CAN HEAR YOU. The moral of this story is that flirting is hard work, which means you might have to actually practice music and/or basic hygeine before you take your game out in public. Read more…
At 14, I was moved to enter into a “relationship” with an unattractive, socially awkward geek in my “Modern World Literature” course almost exclusively because he repeatedly complimented me on my humorous and insightful analysis of Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart.
At that point in my life, there was little I wanted more than general recognition of what a wunderkind I was; I was happy to trade in my singleness for frequent reassurances of my genius.Since then, I’ve watched friends exchange their bodies and hearts for sexual pleasure, social advancement, flowers on important holidays, an apartment in the Princeton University graduate housing complex, assurance of their physical attractiveness and help getting over a particularly painful breakup.
Obviously, no one is going to engage in behavior/a relationship that they don’t think is going to benefit them in some way. When love and dating are so explicitly tied to material/social interactions can we really say that we “upstanding romantics” are really all that different from streetwalkers? Read more…
Just in case the fear of birthing the next Hitler isn’t enough to inspire you to wrap it up, let me introduce you to MakeMeBabies.com—the website that can turn your worst nightmare (or very creepiest daydream) into a jpeg reality. Though I have not used the site to create images of children I have any chance of conceiving, I did have a delightful time digging up cute photos of anthropology-superstars Franz Boas and Lewis Henry Morgan.
You submit two photos (one of you, one of your partner) answer some questions about whether you’d like a boy or a girl and voila—freaky composite baby photo.
A person’s Erdős–Bacon number is the sum of one’s Erdős number—which measures the “collaborative distance” in authoring mathematical papers between that individual and Hungarian mathematician Paul Erdős—and one’s Bacon number—which represents the number of links, through roles in films, by which the individual is separated from American actor Kevin Bacon. The lower the number, the closer an individual is to Erdős and Bacon.
I was reminded of the “Erdős–Bacon number” recently when a friend who goes to school in NYC called me excited to report that she was fairly certain she could trace her gonorrhea back to a famous New York socialite/actress.
Another friend at Colgate was delighted to report that she’d recently bagged a man who was the ex-boyfriend of a “big name on campus” hottie. The guy’s (considerable) looks, brains and wit were irrelevant when compared to the fact that a mere two months ago he was in a relationship with one of the most popular/attractive/succesful women on campus. Read more…
Up until about 3 hours ago, I was fairly certain that the habit of nicknaming potential love interests, which I gleefully engage in with a few select friends was relatively anomalous—a blip of puerility on a campus dominated by proper noun maturity. Not so! After chatting with a male friend it seems that this practice is more widespread than I’d originally suspected. Apparently, there are women running around this campus who are, unbeknownst to them, best known to the brothers of one fraternity as “Tasty Panettone” and “Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever.”
Where’s the appeal in slapping asinine labels on people who already have perfectly functional first names? I think the major/obvious benefit to actively practicing nicknamizationalism is that it lessens the need for discretion when talking about one’s personal affairs. While it’s entirely inappropriate to bound down Locust loudly discussing your desire to fellate John Doe, it’s only mildly unbecoming to chat away about how you’d love to do it like Adam and Eve in Book IX of Paradise Lost with “Procopious VF XVII.” Read more…
I’m always encouraged to read about academics with a public appreciation for sex, sexual healing, lewdness, nudeness or porn. It means there’s hope for my post-Quakers and Shakers career. One favorite is Tom Lehrer, a math professor (MIT, Wellesley, faculty at UC Santa Cruz)/songwriter. Wikipedia lists the following reviews of his music:
“Mr. Lehrer’s muse is not fettered by such inhibiting factors as taste.” — New York Times
These are a lot of the same criticisms I’ve heard about my humor. Not too surprisingly, as far as I’m concerned, Lehrer’s song on smut (though not unsubt-le) is a delight to listen to. Hear for yourself.
Recently, a friend who’s had his life “changed and revolutionized” by The Game suggested I research the 1995 book The Rules. Written by Sherrie Schneider and (semi-recently divorced) Ellen Fein, The Rules is a depressing and perverse collection of weird advice and silly mantras aimed at helping women trick and manipulate a man into marriage by playing hard to get. Most of the criticism about the book seems to stem from the fact that it’s one, big, antifeminist manifesto.
Though I didn’t really read it all the way through—one can only spend so long flipping through stuff one has no intention of buying in Barnes and Noble—my biggest problem with the book’s philosophy is not that it’s inherently antifeminist, it’s that I think it’s full of good old-fashioned terrible advice. As far as I can see, The Rules would be more appropriately named How to be a Vapid and Emotionally Unavailable Bitch. Deliciously idiotic tidbits after the jump.
Amber’s (very drunk) new best friend: “I just don’t know what to do, he’s so sexy and I’ve told him I’m not the kind of girl who wants a relationship, that I’m only looking for casual sex, but I don’t know if he even wants to fuck me. But I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You can’t advise me; you don’t even know who I’m talking about.”
Amber’s (very drunk) new best friend stumbles into wall. Amber (maybe a tish intoxicated) and Amber’s (very drunk) new best friend hang out by the wall.
Amber (maybe a tish intoxicated): “Actually, I do know who you’re talking about. He’s got some nice facial hair, but…”
Amber’s (very drunk) new best friend: “Ohmygod I know! I want to pet it and rub my face against it!”
Amber (maybe a tish intoxicated): “Carpet burn? As for your other point, I’m a loudmouth and a sex/relationship blogger for the DP, so I practically have a PhD in dishing poorly substantiated advice about sex/love/dating. Be careful, I say unto thee! Almost every time I’ve tried to act ‘liberated’ and had a ‘no strings attached hookup’ with someone, it’s because I secretly want them to realize that I’m the lady they want to date. My friends try this a lot too. It never works, and it’s a bitch to deal with afterwards.”
Amber’s (very drunk) new best friend: “Yea, I guess you’re right, but I would make such a good girlfriend for him! Don’t you think we’d be the cutest?”
Amber (maybe a tish intoxicated) repeatedly bangs head against wall
Recent Comments