thewhitehouse

Everybody loves a hero

sharingtime:

My friend told me the following story about his fraternity at a liberal arts school on the east coast. I have no idea what to make it of it, other than to note that human nature is a funny thing.

A guy in his frat, we’ll call him John, was extremely introverted. He had a hard time talking to women.

Not surprisingly, John was also a virgin in his 20s, despite being surrounded by drunk sorority girls.

The frat decided to help get him laid, but with a few rules. They wouldn’t tell John they were doing this (for obvious reasons) and they wouldn’t hire a prostitute.

They would just improve his social value.

At every party they threw from that point on, they would chant “Mule Cock” when he walked in. All the guys would laugh hard at his jokes, give him high fives when he walked by and talk him up to all the girls they’d meet.

After years of being unsuccessful, it took exactly one week to get him laid.

This sounds like some sort of urban legend, but my friend swears it happened at his frat. It also sounds like the rejected plot of an 80s movie.

I don’t care if they’re a virgin or not, but I am pretty sure we should do this.

alex

Nothing ever gets written here, and that makes me sad.

Plus, no one ever joined. Fuck them.

Watching Battlestar!

WOO! Yeah! HAHAHA! YEAH!

|3r4\/\/1!

I improved greatly at the great bloodsport that consumes the herd. I used to be an weakling, a speck easily flicked. Now! fear me brethren, I have been blessed—blessed upon by basic skill. And he lives! to fight on.

A final thought, before an uneasy rest under a sharp moon; I don’t intend insolence… but I wish a scrap—a match!—with my lord.

And finally.

alex

Vociferous.

At the party on Friday, I got into a discussion with several people about the word “vociferous.” I said that it means: “In a loud voice; offensively loud.” They said I was wrong, but I was so right. Take that, drunk people.

vo·cif·er·ous (v-sfr-s)adj. Making, given to, or marked by noisy and vehement outcry.

vo·cifer·ous·ly

vo·cifer·ous·ness

andy

Dustin and Andy: A Discourse in... Something.

Andy: Hey man! I haven’t seen you since elementary school! Still living in Lincoln?

Dustin: Yeah, actually I did a stint in the unarmed forces, so like, after that, I got all jaded and stuff and moved to LA to start my dog grooming/talent scouting agency. After having a lucid affair with a gold-digging collie (trained to sniff out and dig up gold), I decided that Jesus was my homeboy and moved back to the backwaters of Milwaukee. There I discovered that you don’t need Jesus to do heroin, and decided that my uncle was right, I WAS too gay for Milwaukee. So yeah, now I’m back in Lincoln.

Dude, remember Mrs. Chakakhan? She was SOO weird!

Dustin: And, I had no idea you were a cubs fan/ besties with my math teacher.

http://www.math.unl.edu/~s-adelegg1/

Andy: Yeah, Anty and I go back. Way back. I remember the deep, rough butt massages that he would give me. Also, the occasional butt message. Weirdly, I dated Mrs. Chakakhan after my dad was done dating her. I can’t blame him for the smells he stained onto her, but I can blame him for the smells he stained on me. Anyway, she’s a great woman and I’ll never forget: her penis.

I’m glad you’re back in Lincoln. I was thinking of moving back in 1983, but then I realized: that was 25 years ago and now my sense of time is eternally borked. I tried having a little talk with my sense of time, but I was late to our meeting. I don’t mean to be rude, but that image of me was taken at a very poor time. I had just escaped from Anty’s “‘I touch you there, hard!’ Closet” and that Cubs shirt was the only garment I could find that would cover all of my new wounds. My thick, sopping wet new wounds that just love to be called bad names. Luckily, I found him just in time for a photo op. His last photo op.

andy