Comedy Corner

Not to many of you knew it, but I have been spending the last two weeks of my summer at my grandparents’ house in Holland, also known as “The Netherlands.” My time here as been well spent, and by “well spent” I mean that I want to go home now. All the other times I’ve been to Europe I’ve gone to Italy or France and now it sucks. Instead of being able to lie out in the sun all day it’s rained all week and the most exciting thing I’ve seen is a windmill that makes wheat. You know what else makes wheat? Massive factories in the Midwest that don’t require pussy wind.

But my least favorite part of coming to Holland is dealing with my spoiled cousin Justine. My cousin is so annoying that I’ve actually complained about her on my last trip to Europe, but this year is so much worse. Since she lives a few blocks from my grandparents, I have to hang out in her room and play with her toys. Every day. You see, Justine is an “only child,” and the readers of this site know how much I hate those kids. Only Childs are created when the parents are too much of pussies to deal with a second child, so instead they spend 80% of their finances making sure that the first child is the best. The result? Spoiled assholes on “My Sweet 16” crying because their parents didn’t buy them the BMW M6 convertible in pink.

Justine is only seven years old, so I don’t blame her for craving attention. In fact, I’m not as mad at Justine as I am at her parents, my aunt and uncle. It’s not her fault that she screams and whines and annoys everyone around her to the point where they give in to her demands, it’s the fault of her parents for allowing her to think that’s the proper behavior. In my family, whining for a toy would get you one thing: smacked in the face. Have you ever been smashed in the face with an elbow? I’ll tell you one thing: it’ll make you care a lot less about the G.I. Joe Fighter Jet with retractable wings.

Justine’s parents wouldn’t dare hit her. They don’t even yell at her. Hell, I’d be damned if they’ve ever parented her! They’re essentially her bitches. Justine gets whatever she wants one way or another, simply by screaming at them. You see, when you only have one child, you want to make sure that that child loves you unconditionally. Whereas other parents have a second or third child to give their attention to when one claims to “hate them,” the parents of only childs have to make sure that their offspring never consider hating them. So, when Justine wants to stay an extra 10 minutes in the playground when dinner is already on the table, all she has to scream is “I HATE YOU DADDY I HATE YOU!” and the father is suddenly in defense. He doesn’t want his child hating him, so what can he do to fix it? Well, I guess another 10 minutes on the jungle gym is okay if it makes her stop hating you, right? Wrong. Your daughter has just made you her bitch, and you can just stand off to the side and watch her go down the slide while your dinner gets cold, you spineless bastard.

Justine never gets disciplined. Her parents are scared to discipline her for fear of her hating them. Instead, they justify her tantrums with bullshit excuses. “Oh, she had to wake up at 8:15 this morning, that’s why she’s really grouchy.” No, your daughter is grouchy because she’s a spoiled bitch who is given whatever she wants. Grow a pair and tell your daughter No.

Does anyone else remember the Clean Plate Club? It was an exclusive group that you wanted to be in, and you could only join if everything on your dinner plate was gone. And I mean eaten, you couldn’t slip your extra ham to the dog or else you were rejected at the door by the Clean Plate Club bouncer. And everyone in the Clean Plate Club got dessert! But only if you were in the club. If you weren’t, you had to sit with your dinner plate in front of you and watch as everyone else sucked down their Creamsicles while you stared at the broccoli in front of you. No Clean Plate Club; no dessert.

Well apparently the Clean Plate Club was bought out by an asshole with only one child, and he changed the name to It Doesn’t Matter How Much Food Is Left On Your Plate Because All You Have To Do Is Complain And You Automatically Get Dessert Club. Out of the two weeks I was here, my cousin didn’t finish a single meal. In fact, she didn’t even have to eat the food that she didn’t want to; my grandmother individually picked the mushrooms out of Justine’s lasagna while the rest of us simply picked around them. Yet at the end of dinner, after all my food was eaten and Justine’s plate looked like Nichole Richie had just picked at it, we all got the same amount of dessert. And if Justine wanted more ice cream, she just had to complain and boom—she would have seconds.

My anger reached its limit last night when we were at dinner. As a side, we had french fries. In Europe, it is custom to put mayonnaise on your french fries, potatoes, etc. The night before we had potatoes, so there was a very small amount of mayonnaise left. Aware of this, my sister got the tube out and finished it off, only getting enough for maybe three or four fries. Justine then parades to the table and demands mayo. She refuses to eat without it and runs away from the table crying. CRYING. This child is crying because she didn’t get a condiment she wanted.

Well guess what happened. Justine’s parents took half of my sister’s mayo and gave it to Justine, who wasted it all on one fry and then ate her other 20 plain. Outraged at what had just happened, I decided to write this post.

Shit like this would never have happened in my family. Ever. Not only because I wasn’t an only child, but because my parents are pussies who play to their children’s pathetic needs. You know what would have happened if I had left the dinner table in a tantrum over mayonnaise? My dinner plate would have been emptied into the toilet and I wouldn’t have been allowed to eat. My parents took no bullshit from anyone. I specifically remember having timeouts so long I could feel my chin-hairs growing. You know my father’s favorite line? “Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about.”

I think my parents favorite form of discipline was the wooden spoon. If me and my brother started bickering or if I was being stubborn, my mom would get a look on her face that meant business. She would grow silent and rush to the kitchen, where I would hear her open a drawer, rummage through cutlery, and slam the drawer shut.

Run.

I would scamper anywhere I could find. Behind the couch, under the coffee table, or into my room, I would scurry for safety, but not before my mom got a few good smacks on my head with the tool. To this day I never look at a wooden spoon the same. My dad, on the other hand, would use only his hands, which he managed to transform into amazing weapons of discipline. Whether it was a few smacks across the head a tight “Grab and drag” of my arm down the hallway, I would be yelled at if I was late to dinner, cried over something idiotic, or even thought about acting spoiled.

I’m glad my parents hit me, too. Because I see now what would have happened to me if I hadn’t. I see kids my age crying over spilt milk and getting whatever they want. My girlfriend was also hit, and because of that she doesn’t take anything for granted. You definitely won’t see her bitching about wanting more mayonnaise. That might be because she hates mayonnaise, but you get the point.

Because Justine was never beat or yelled at or even contradicted, she has become the world’s biggest bitch. At age seven! She thinks she can control everyone and if they don’t do exactly what she says, she gets upset. Here is a conversation I overheard between her and my sister who were playing “pretend”:

Justine- Pretend that you’re my mom and that I’m the prettiest girl in the world. Pretend that I have to go away to camp. “Goodbye mother, I’m going off the camp.” Now say ‘how long will you be gone?’
My sister [emotionless]- “How long will you be gone?”
Justine- “Just two weeks.” Now say ‘Two weeks?! That’s so long!”
My sister- Two weeks, that’s so long.
Justine- Now say that you want to come with me.
My sister- “I’m going to have your father go with you”
Justine- NO SAY THAT YOU WANT TO COME WITH ME!
My sister- “I want to come with you”
Justine- “No, I want dad to go with me”

Whenever I call Justine out on her bitchiness she ignores me. On multiple occasions I’ve asked “Why are you being so mean?” only for her to turn her back and walk away. Luckily I’ve leaving tomorrow so I’ll no longer have to fight the urge to shove my foot down her throat. Kids like these should be shipped off to a military school where they are shown how to respect people older than them and realize that the world doesn’t revolve around them. Hopefully I won’t see my cousin for another 10 years or so, but I suspect I’ll see her on a future episode of “Sweet 16.” No doubt she’ll want a car filled with mayonnaise.

I was reading one of my favorite comedy sites the other day when I stumbled across an article about ideas a writer had but never really completed for whatever reason. One of them that caught my eye was “Building The Perfect Woman,” and I liked the idea. I figured if he wasn’t going to write it, I’d give it a shot. In a past post I gave you my list of the three hottest women, but that was where it stopped. I never considered which celebrity had the hottest kneecaps or finest eyelids, or what combining them would look like. Also, I figure that the girl world already has John Cena and Orlando Bloom, so constructing the perfect woman would only level the playing field.

I guess we’ll start from the bottom:

To being we’ll select feet, which I believe are obsolete because only podiatrists and men with weird fetishes like feet. Also, most women take such good care of their feet that it doesn’t matter whose you pick, but for the point of argument I’m going to take Missy Elliot’s because any feet that was withstand that much weight without exploding must have super powers.

Next are the legs. For those I chose Paris Hilton. No, I didn’t choose her legs just because they’re easily open-able (swing and a miss), but because it was the only part of her I could choose. When selecting legs, you don’t want thunder thighs that will take up an entire seat, but you also don’t want scrawny little twigs that snap if you rest too heavy a purse on them. Paris Hilton has no attractive qualities besides her legs, but only if you give them a thorough cleaning before-hand—maybe it’s just me but I think everything on Paris appears sticky.

I chose the waist of Victoria Beckham, not only because she was the 5th hottest spice girl but because I wanted to go European. In a country of fake tits and nose-jobs, Posh Spice has continued to amaze us with her slim body. Granted, the rest of her appearance is butt-ugly, which is why we’re only stealing her waist.

For the butt I didn’t think twice about Shakira. If you’ve watched any of her music videos and seen her spin her ass around like she was winning a pillow-fight you’d agree with me. Shakira appears attractive until she opens her mouth and her Columbian vocal chords punch you in the face. Nothing against the Latin-American culture, but I think a woman rolling her R’s and talking to me in the same language my Spanish teacher cursed at me for six years is unattractive. Also, Shakira is 31 years old, so I thought we should include her on the list before all that beauty starts sagging.

For the stomach I took Briana Evigan, also known as the girl from Step Up 2: The Streets. Although the movie was lacking (it’s unbelievable how producers think they can make a movie sequel successful by putting “The Streets” at the end of it and making it more “hood”) the six pack of Briana was amazing. My girlfriend and I joke about how if she works hard enough, she could get a stomach as hot as Briana’s but we all know that’s not true because Briana doesn’t order four sides of french fries every time she goes out to eat.

Continuing up we reach the controversial part of the woman: the breasts. A woman’s boobs are very personal and private, which is why talking about them is so fun. Chesticals play a major part in a woman’s appearance, and selecting from the array of celebrities seems like searching for a needle in a haystack. Luckily, I was a kid brought up on music videos and the internet, so it didn’t take me long to decide that Maria Carey’s “display” was good enough for our lady. They’re big enough to be seen without needing to be pushed and smashed and Wonder-Braed, but not too big as to scare young and timid men. Other substitutable chests include Halle Berry in Swordfish and Courtney Cox in The Longest Yard.

The face of this perfect woman (who, while writing, I have decided to name “Christina Harmony White”) I went with Jennifer Love Hewitt, but I substituted her eyes for those of Megan Fox. I’m still waiting for the day when Megan Fox gets really angry and lasers shoot from her eye sockets and burn a hole in the wall. Jennifer Love Hewitt, on the other hand, has the puffy, rosy cheeks and quaint nose to tickle any man into a good mood.

Next: hair. In a girl I either like my hair straight as a board or unpredictably wavy, but for the benefit of all men I went with Lindsey Lohan’s old hair. In movies like Mean Girls and Herbie: Fully Loaded most guys couldn’t follow the plot due to the distracting attraction of Lohan’s luscious hair. Unfortunately, she then cut it, dyed it, and became lesbian, making her the only celebrity in American history to become less attractive when seen kissing another girl.

Lastly we must select Christina Harmony White’s personality. Anyone who is my close friend knows how much I hate girl’s personalities, and at first I was considering choosing the die-hard, freedom-fighting, baby-stomping mentality of Chuck Norris to fit our Perfect Woman, but the decided against it because even though a woman who could kick my ass is attractive, a woman who could shove a telephone pole through my appendix isn’t. So I went one step down from a combative man: a lesbian. These women don’t care about what guy likes them or if they’re being used for sex, they just want to have short hair and drive SUVs. So I chose our Perfect Lady to have the funny and peppy personality of Ellen Degeneres. Not only is Ellen funny and positive, but she has her own TV show.

So, after sampling a little bit off of every hot woman, let’s see what Christina Harmony White would really look like:

Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.

The other day, my co-workers and I were discussing a topic that normally takes place in a bakery: who is the hottest “Austin Powers” Girl? Now for those of you who haven’t seen the three “Austin Powers” Movies, the girls are:

Elizabeth Hurley from “Austin Powers: International Man Of Mystery”

Heather Graham from Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me

Beyoncé Knowles from “Austin Powers in Goldmember”

Now obviously based on looks, most guys would agree that the order goes Beyoncé with Heather in close second and then Elizabeth in back, but my co-workers and I also factored in humor and acting skills. Comically, the order was changed to Heather (who was 2nd in both categories), Beyoncé (who was the worst actress since Tom Cruise, but whose beauty is unprecedented), and then Elizabeth Hurley (who, although being a model and actress, was put into last place because she’s British). Now personally I would get with any of these actresses in the blink of an eye, but that’s not what we’re talking about here. Because although this conversation with my co-workers is one that ignites between any teenage crowd watching the Austin Powers series, this one sparked a new question. Although to call it a question would be like calling Hitler “a little bit racist”; this question was more of an undeterminable debate amongst the human race.

The question is, of course, who is the hottest girl alive? Now before you do some stupid assuming and yell out “OMG I WUD TTLY DO MARIAH CAREY! LOL!” let me explain the rules. The qualifications for these girls is that they come with “no strings attached”—that is, while considering the woman, you pay no attention to her personality, background, or past boyfriends. We are going by the idea that you were knocked unconscious and forgot any celebrity gossip in the past and you were looking at these girls for the first time. Also, the women need to be semi-famous. When I discussed the topic with other girls, I got dumb responses like “There was this cameo by a man in Sex and the City and his mom’s niece in the show was the most gorgeous women I had ever seen.” They don’t have to be big names; they just have to be recognizable names. Lastly, I know that when it comes to the looks of women there are different types. So in order to make things easier, I will split the competition into three categories, which I will describe here as stages of Britney Spear’s life:

The Goody-Girl

This is the girl who you would keep around just because she’s an angel and keeps you out of trouble. You know that with this girl your relationship would never hit a rough spot and everything would be easy sailing. Her looks are based more off of clear skin and cute smile than anything, and you know that if you were to play with her it would include fewer condoms and more Barbie dolls.

The Bad Girl

This is the girl who could probably kick your ass. You don’t dare pick a fight with her because it would result with you on your back crying Uncle. You keep her around because her fierce attitude scares you in a way nothing else can. You would gladly fight a bear or wrestle an alligator than forget your one year anniversary with this girl. After playing around with this girl you’d need three shirts on so no one sees the scars on your back.

The Psycho

This girl could undoubtedly kick your ass, and she has the spiked bracelet to prove.
There’s really nothing attractive about this girl, other than the always sexual idea that if you were to upset her she would slit your throat. In fact, the only thing keeping you with this girl is the fear of your dick being thrown out of a moving car into a field. To prevent yourself from being chopped up and kept in a freezer, you stay with this girl and endure the excruciating and terrifying sex, all-the-while begging that someone spots the Morse Code S.O.S. you’re flashing with your phone. Playing around with this girl would unquestionably involve whips, chains, leather dominatrix suits, and you crying like a bitch.

After much debate and talking with other girls, I feel that I have safely come up with my decision for the hottest girl ever: My girlfriend.

Hahaha just kidding, here are my real candidates for the hottest girl in each category. They are as follows:

The Goody-Girl—Jessica Alba

I feel that if I were to share an apartment with Jessica Alba, the worst thing she would ever do during our 15 years together is overflow her cereal bowl. And even then she would thoroughly apologize and immediately clean it up. She is arguably the cutest thing since Furbie, and probably listens when you ask her to be quiet—something Furbies are yet to do.

My Runners Up: Jessica Simpson and Jennifer Aniston.

The Bad Girl—Megan Fox

The piercing color in this girl’s eyes is enough to make a grown man cry, and her body is enough to have him coming back for more. I feel that if Megan and I ever shared an apartment together, she’s get the bigger bedroom and my bedroom, forcing me to sleep in the closet. We would watch whatever channel she wanted to watch, which would most likely be wrestling or dirt-bike racing. In an interview with Maxim, Megan admitted that she “really enjoys having sex,” a thought that makes more than hope rise in many men (swing and a miss).

My Runners Up: Courtney Cox and Angelina Jolie

The Psycho—Carmen Electra

Carmen Electra is one of the hottest girls alive, but I’d be too afraid to tell her for fear of her whipping a razor from her titties and attacking me. In fact, I’m a little scared that she’s reading this now, finding out my personal information and a planning to kill me in my sleep. The things I would do to this girl are enough to send me to confessional, and the things this girl would do to me are enough to send her to jail.

My Runners Up: Lil’ Kim and Rosie O’Donnell

I would be glad to know what you think of my girls, and I encourage everyone to try to answer to unanswerable question. Do you agree with me? Who are other potential Runner Ups? My co-workers and I dare you to answer the question. If you think you have a good idea, just leave a comment. I probably won’t read it for a while though; I think I have to fix things with my girlfriend.

Due to my crazy schedule and my sudden development of a “life,” you may have noticed that I’ve been posting less and less and less. It’s not because I don’t enjoy writing (I still chose to write during class instead of taking notes), but because I have so much other important shit to do (working, coaching, masturbating, etc.), to which writing comes after. In order to explain to you why I don’t have time to write anymore, I have—ironically—written an entire post about it.

1. My work. Believe it or not, I enjoy my work. I have friends who work with me and I meet new people every day and get to joke with complete strangers before never seeing them again. One time (at band camp . . .) I met this guy who wanted to know if our New England clam chowder was any good. Stunned that he had never tried clam chowder, I asked him where he was from, and he replied “D.C.” You know when you hear one thing and your mind immediately goes crazy and makes connections? Well this is the thought process I went through:

Trying to sound smart, I fired back “State?” only to realize that I had just asked if Washington D.C. was a state. Embarrassed, I joked with the guy about my IQ of 4 and gave the guy his food. Luckily, I’ll never see him again.

Because I enjoy my work, I don’t mind working a lot of hours. I would roughly 25 hours a week, which is a fair amount of time for a 16-year-old kid. Money-wise, I make bank, and it also prevents me from becoming mind-numbingly bored at my house. Before I worked, I would go straight home from school, sit on the couch, and watch TV until 7:30 when I would eat dinner, and then watch more shows until bed. Now, I come home from school, get ready, and work until 10:30. When I get home I’m far too exhausted to even think about comedy.

2. My memory. Part of writing and performing comedy is being able to remember long subjects and punch lines without the assistance of anyone. This is also true for thinking up topics to write about. At one point I carried around a notebook in which I would write down every funny thing I thought of, but that got really annoying when I filled up an entire notebook and then it got wet and all my work was lost. After that, I tried remembering stuff, but that was very difficult because I have the memory of a retarded 80-year-old. I would think of something funny while at school, forget it by the time I got to my computer, and then remember it the next day at work. This seriously crippled my writing style. Unable to remember an on-going theme or joke, I started writing my posts in one sitting instead of multiple sessions, and my work became smaller. Also, writing posts in one sitting requires free time, and although I still have 163 hours off work, most of my time—and memory—is dedicated to my life-engulfing girlfriend. Hmm, I wonder what the next number on the list is going to be about . . .

3. My life-engulfing girlfriend. As many of you know, once you get a girlfriend you are forced to become tough and masculine, and apparently writing posts about Pokemon and Tough Guys Wearing Pink doesn’t qualify. To quote one of my best friends, my girlfriend has “changed me,” both emotionally and comedic-ly. Emotionally, I have become more controlled, and instead of doing what every other guy does when a hot girl walks down the hall—stare at her chest without her noticing—I have learned to stare at her chest without her or my girlfriend noticing. It’s a big change, but I think I can handle it.

When I didn’t have a girlfriend, I would spend a good portion of my weekend nights inside with no friends to talk to. Either all my friends would be having a “girls night” or they would all be drinking, but for some reason I would wind up at home with no plans. And when caged in the uneventful constraints of your house, you start to find ways to ventilate your boredom. Some people watch TV, others listen to music, and some viciously masturbate to late-night Girls Gone Wild commercials. Whatever the way of liberating (swing and a miss) your boredom, it’s what works and what feels good. Me? I would write stuff. I would write whatever. Sometimes I would be listening to a song and decide to write a parody of it. To this day I have over a dozen parody songs written, and I would gladly make a CD that would turn me into the next Weird Al Yankovic; the only problem is that I can’t sing, which, apparently, is a major part of making a song.

But six months ago, I entered this thing called a “relationship” in which I have “responsibilities” and “commitments.” And although there are laborious chores that I have to follow (walking her home, making her happy, remembering her birthday, blah blah blah), it is overall worth it. The good news is that I always have plans on a Saturday night, but the bad news is that I’m too busy hanging with her to write superior posts. To show you how much more important my girlfriend is to me, I have created a math-like equation of my priorities:

4. My viewers. Turns out that my website isn’t just a small thing for me and my friends anymore. When I first started posting, I got probably 100 views a week on this site, and they were all from kids younger than me who laughed at words like “duty” and “lubrication.” I used this to my advantage and posted about whatever I wanted, namely, Sex Drugs and Rock & Roll. Now, my viewers include my 7th grade History teacher, my girlfriend’s militant father, both my parents, and a teacher at my high school. Although I don’t think that my comedy is intended for these people, I am flattered that they would take time out of their busy schedule. Unfortunately, this also restricts my writing to broad subjects that don’t zoom in on my life. Since I live life with a “Do or Die,” “All or Nothing” attitude, my stories are both inappropriate and unacceptable in the eyes of these people, some of whom have the power to end my life metaphorically and literally. Without readers and censors like this, my writing would be comparable to Tucker Max, but since I have to dance around these people, my posts lowered to the inappropriateness of a touchdown celebration (which, thanks to T.O. have become oddly obscene).

I have made a promise to myself, as well as you loyal readers, to continue posting, and I promise that I will get back up to a post a week. Since I am going to college for journalism, writing all the time can only benefit me. In 6 years you’ll probably read an article by me in Rolling Stone talking about something goofy like abortion or politics, and you’ll know that it was this website where it all started. You can say to yourself “I knew that kid before he was a big shot.” And although this site has started my writing, I hope to further my education at a college. Preferably D.C. State.

Nearing the end of my junior year I have started looking at colleges. And since my GPA is in the negative numbers, my standards are pretty low. I’m certainly not going to an Ivy League School, but I’ve also avoided drugs long enough to stay out of community college.

When considering what college you want to go to, there are numerous things you want to consider: Does the college support your major? What is the size of the school? What are the surrounding towns? How many kids apply and are accepted every year? What division are they for sports? What is the teacher/student ration? What much is tuition? Could you in there with your current GPA? How will your SAT scores affect your chances?

I have most of my decisions down: I want a school of 4,000-8,000 students surrounded by a large town that offers majors in communications and journalism. The school should be Division III for sports and demand an average 3.0 GPA. With those things considered, I’m looking at Keene State College in New Hampshire, and I took a tour there a month ago.

When I got to Keene, we all sat in this room and the baseball coach gave us an overview of the school’s offerings, criteria, and surroundings. He informed us that the Keene mascot is an owl (because when envisioning a vicious and relentlessly killing animal, you immediately focus on nocturnal birds) and that the town surrounding the college was where the movie Jumanji was filmed. The coach then went into complicated school terms like an integrated curriculum and a four-point system, so I zoned out and let my dad ask questions.

One thing I liked about the coach was that he referred to everything as an “entirely different animal.” Instead of simply saying “I’ll talk about that later” or “that’s another story,” he would always say “that’s an entirely different animal”:

Parent- How would internships help your life after college, does it allow you to get a foot in the door or is it simply necessary to gain credits?

Coach- Some classes, specifically education classes, demand internships as you reach the later semesters. I’ve heard of communication majors doing brief summer internships which have transformed into their career, but that’s an entirely different animal.

After watching the coach talk for a while I began to think a question in which this catch-phrase in the answer would actually work:

Parent- Are students allowed to bring pets into their dorms?

Coach- There have been students who have had a goldfish and a hamster in their dorms. My junior year I had a friend who bought a housecat for his suite, but that’s an entirely different animal.

The coach let us go and three girls toured us around the college campus. The tour mainly consisted of parents asking questions relating to when they went to college (“Where would students put their record players?”) while the kids stand around and awkwardly eye one another. The girls showed us around the campus where every building had an eerie relation to the team mascot. There was the “Night Owl” café; the “Owl’s Nest” convenience store; and the “Hoot And Scoot,” the Keene equivalent to fast-food. There stores were nice, but my favorite restaurant was the campus barbeque wing restaurant, Hooters. (swing and miss)

Choose a team mascot is a very serious issue on college campuses. Every year students go to college considering the location, population, and tuition, but never the mascot. The result? They major in political science at an Ivy League school, but play baseball for the “Madison University Belly Button Rings.”

When selecting a mascot, the safest category to choose from is animals, specifically predators. Lions, tigers, bear (oh my!) and cougars are all mascots that inject fear and terror into their opponents. Similarly, big aggressive birds are intimidating. Eagles, hawks, falcons, etc. all work, specifically if your Sunday night game is against the Harrison College Field Mice.

A bad category for mascot selection is anything to do with people. The Indians, Warriors, Minute Men, and Pirates are all embarrassing to your campus. No one wants to play the California University Foot Soldiers, and the South Trent Trojans are just degrading. The image of an Indian is even worse because the Indians started out with all of North America and would up defending plantations in Ohio. Trojan in a type of condom, and the Minute Men have trouble pleasing the ladies. (swing and a miss) The only exception is to name your team the Gladiators, but that only works if your home field looks like the coliseum and your mascot is Russell Crowe .

Keene State was a very nice college. It had exactly what I wanted: a communications major, a psychology minor, and hundreds of beautiful women. With the ability to communicate to women and read their minds, I’d be able to get dozens of attractive women. I’d tell you what I’d do with those girls, but that’s an entirely different animal.

I just want you all to know how amazing Yahoo Answers is. When I write a post, I try to make cultural references that all can relate to. Unfortunately, my mind is too littered with song lyrics and baseball statistics to remember anything useful, so I tend to get my answers via sophisticated research:

“MOM!!!! Who’s the Red Sox fan that paints the big baseball on his belly?!!?”

“WHAT?!”

“There’s a famous Red Sox fan who paints a big baseball on his beer belly before going to games. I think he has season tickets and he was in some baseball video game!!”

“No, you can’t have any video games!!”

“UGH NEVERMIND!!”

In the beginning I would turn to my buddylist, IMing my friends with random questions like “Do you know another word for broadcasting?” or “What was the period before the Precambrian Age?” This got old fast because my friends are as uncultured as I am, so their answers consisted of “I think I read something about that in Rolling Stones,” or “I can’t talk, I’m looking at Facebook bumper stickers.”

For a while I was so frustrated with my lack of research that I stopped trying to make cultural references altogether. My posts were bland and lame with no creativity at all. I took all my rage out on nominal things such as Goths or Crocs. Then I discovered Yahoo Answers, and my whole life changed.

My question arose when I was zoning out one day in school and got the “Saved By The Bell” theme song stuck in my head. I then thought of this online video I watched in which they mocked the making of stars by filming the kid who “recorded” these famous these songs. The video starts off with a young shy kid stumbling awkwardly into a recording booth, the music playing, and him suddenly bursting into song (of course since this was a comedy spoof, the actual theme song was playing while this kid mouthed the words, but that only added to the effect). Determined to watch this video again, I went hunting for it. After a long and tedious search of 5 minutes on Google and youtube, I gave up. I knew I couldn’t ask my mother because the most recent video she’s watched was The Lion King, and my father was out of the question because he is the least cool person you will ever encounter. With nothing else to turn to, I remembered Yahoo Answers and thought I’d give it a shot.

The whole process was very easy, I made an account, got a new yahoo email address, and was able to ask a question. My question was as follows:

Can someone help me find an online video?
“I know that searching for a specific video is like finding a needle in a haystack, but I watched one months ago and I was wondering if anyone has a tactic for pin-pointing a video, or if they just know what I’m talking about. The video is a spoof on one of those big-fame-ruins-good-people ideas, and in the film a kid is hired to sing theme songs to sitcom shows. I believe he sings the intro to “Saved By The Bell.” Of course, the character isn’t really singing the song, and he is simply lip-syncing the original recording, which adds to the comedy, but you get my point.

As the video continues, he becomes notorious for his amazing theme-song-singing talents, and–like all famous people–does drugs. I don’t really remember how the video ends, all I remember is the star stumbling into the recording studio, obviously intoxicated, yet still singing an amazing duet with a girl before passing out in the booth.”

The good thing about Yahoo Answers is that in order to ask a bunch of questions, you need to answer a few. This means that people who use the site on a regular basis or to make friends are desperate to find questions to answer. And once you ask a question, people who are also on the site immediately see it. Eager to answer first and earn “points,” they jump right on your question and answer what they know. This means that within 20 minutes of answering your question, you have a response. Unfortunately, I had a retard respond to my question, and his answer was:

“Try You Tube they have all kinds of videos”

Youtube? What’s youtube? I’m sophisticated enough to use the internet to watch movies and contribute to question-asking websites, but I have no idea what the biggest video-sharing site in the world is. Thanks for the advice dumbass.

I figured that I’d give the site another chance and ask another really difficult question, one that my mother couldn’t. My next question concerned the baseball fan I was talking about:

Who Is The Red Sox Fan With The Baseball Painted On His Belly?
“One of the biggest Red Sox Fan is the infamous guy with the baseball painted onto his beer belly. I think he was even in the introduction to a video game, does anyone know his name?”

Literally 10 minutes after answering this question, I had three responses saying “Kyle B.” Hesitant, I searched him on Google and his picture appeared.

I was amazed. I was shocked. I was awestruck by this amazing technology. I could literally ask this site anything and they would know it. To test the theory again, I asked an extremely vague question that I already knew the answer to:

Ludacris Music Video?
“I’m looking for a music video of Ludacris that I caught the end of while channel surfing. In the video, he was rocking a baby cradle with a girl in it and basically doing alot of sexual stuff with women.”

This question was hard because in nearly every Ludacris rap video—let alone every rap video—there are “blinged out” rappers disrespecting women. The only hint I gave in his question was that he was rocking a baby cradle. Despite the elusiveness of the question, five minutes after posting I had two responses telling me the video was Missy Elliot’s “One Minutes Man.”

I am astounded by Yahoo Answers and I suggest you use it right now. Ask it any question you want, and you’ll get an answer. Unfortunately, the answer won’t be from me, because I’ll be watching The Lion King.