Seriously, how can I get off this thing?  I’ve been getting these emails for like six months now ever since I put my name on some list at the events fair.  I’ve never even been to an Outing Club meeting.  I mean sure, rock climbing and kayaking sound great, but I just don’t have time for this stuff.  How can I take my name off the list?  I just don’t understand why I’m still on it.  Don’t they, like, go through it once in a while and get rid of the people who never show up or something?  I’m getting sick of deleting these emails.  I already get enough crap from the stuff I am involved in, I don’t need… Oh, great, here’s another one!  I don’t care about your exec board elections, I don’t even know who these people are!  Ugh, will someone please take me off this listserv??

In the never-ending quest for more diversity, Northwestern has finally won. Pop open the Champaign, sake, unfiltered water—whatever your culture does. It’s time to fucking celebrate.

Listen to this class breakdown and try not to be over-fucking-whelmed by the diversity rainbow. 30 percent Native American, 25 percent African American, 15 percent Asian, 10 percent from countries that haven’t even formed yet.

… Let me pause to give you a second to clean off whatever you just jizzed onto your screen…

5 percent Caucasian, 3 percent South American Indians who have not yet encountered civilization, 2 percent Bora-Bora, 18 percent other.

I have no idea what we are going to do with all this diversity, but I love it.

Just think: the class of 2015 is going to make all other classes look racist by comparison. To those not in the class of 2015, you should feel as guilty as a Japanese nuclear power plant. Political ads and the Disney Channel don’t have shit over Northwestern’s diversity pita-pocket.

With great diversity comes great responsibility. Starting in 2012, we’ll be instating a rule that groups of students walking around campus can’t have more than two people of any one ethnicity. I want Northwestern to be in a constant state of admission-pamphlet-picture-readiness (APPR). If you are in a picture with at least five different races, please tag me. Maybe tag me as the sun because I’m fucking shining glorious equality on you all.

So, Northwestern, we have vanquished the invisible hand and replaced it with one of every color. You know, when you mix all the colors together, you get black—and what looks more diverse than that?

The Debate Team Deserves a Party!

By Clare Roth

OH HELL YES we gon’ party. (Like it’s our birthdays, gonna sip Barcardi like it’s our—wait, hold up those are the lyrics right? Yes? No? That shit was my jam back at the 7^th grade parties)

As you will see by the end of this debate, the answer is clear that we, the winning Northwestern Debate Team, should have a party.

I’ll break it down for you. We never have anything to celebrate.  When is another opportunity like this gonna come up again? After our fifth consecutive weekend away from anything remotely resembling social interaction? Let’s face it, our lives are the reification of what the nerd protagonists in shitty teen movies worry will occur if they don’t lose their V-cards by graduation. We don’t get life-wins often. Let’s not let it slip away.

And do you know what else?  Guess what I got us? Fuckin’ Peppermint Schnapps! A whole half-fifth of it! Do you know what that means? WE’RE GOING TO GET MARGINALLY TIPSY. And Holmes has got that weird DJ set up with the tiny disco ball and light set. It’ll be just like the frat parties. Conditions are perfect.

Now think of the impacts: touching girls’ butts and yelling uncontrollably. 1. You can (accidently) brush right past them in a party setting. It’s so awesome. 2. We can shout and make sense whatsoever. I mean, that’s pretty much what we do in round anyways… but this time we can say shit like “fuckweasel” and “bitchtits” with NO repercussions.

I rest my case. Peppermint schnapps + a couple of double-X chromosomes in the room + old school Usher and R. Kelly =  bitchin’-est time ever.

Resolved: No.

By Andrew Schneider

Okay, this has gone on long enough, assholes. See this right here? Robert’s Rules of Order, bitches, and I’ve got the chair. Now what’s this I’ve been hearing about a party? Oh, sure, it’s not every day that you win a national championship, and it’s certainly not every day that you win a national championship for the fourteenth time, but may I remind you all that we did not become national debate champions by going out on weekends! Now cut the crap, get back to Slivka, and work on your arguments! Make me believe that Governor Walker is a fascist!

What’s that, you say? Just a tiny party? An itty-bitty shindig? What could possibly go wrong? Discounting the fact that our last BYOB party was derailed when fifteen kids brought battle-axes, do any of you even know where to get alcohol? ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t!

Oh, listen to this, everybody! Charles “knows a guy”, do you? Too bad the chair didn’t recognize your ass, Charlie. But my foot’s about to, so you’ll shut the hell up if you know what’s good for you. (Oh, and strike Charles from the minutes, would you? Thanks, Eric, you’re a lifesaver.)

Oh, ‘fer Christ’s sake, James, not you too! Yes, I know you’re 21, but need I remind you that the last time you got buzzed, you came to practice and presented a stirring, passionate defense of Muammar Gaddafi? Too bad we were debating J. Michael Bailey!

Okay, okay, tell you what; I’ll meet you halfway. Wednesday night, no alcohol, and an Adam Sandler movie. Not enough?!? Fine, Fine, FINE!

I’ll bring the kettle corn too.

What can I say? You make a pretty convincing argument.

I was walking down the street this afternoon when I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a puddle of water. Something seemed a little off– My coat. Even though it was on. As in I was wearing it, and it was not off. But it seemed off. Does it look bad on me?

It’s a plaid coat. I’m told plaid is in style, and that it brings out my hazel eyes. Is this true?

It has a poofy fur collar that matches my hair. The fur is light brown, just like my hair. That’s good, right?

Every time people pass me on the street, they smile. I assume they smile because I look so good. But is it because the coat doesn’t look good on me? Tell me the truth, please. I’m a man. I can take it.

I admit that the zipper on my coat is broken. It only zips up half way. So when I have my bright yellow scarf all spread out trying to protect me from the wind, that might look a little silly. Should I get a new scarf?

So my question for you is this: does this coat look good on me? Or does it look bad on me? What I think I am really asking is, will you buy me a new coat?

Hey, Chris, wassup? Excited to hang out later? Oh, Jesus, dude, don’t call it a fucking playdate- ’cause we’re not sixth graders anymore, that’s why! Huh, what’s that? Your parents won’t let you go to the mall by yourself? Jesus Christ, dude, we’re thirteen! They can’t tell us what to do! And we sure as hell don’t need them! Now grow some fucking balls, call your mom, and demand that she drive us to the mall!

You need to be more like me, man: independent! Like, last week I was at the pizza place with Tom and suddenly my mom calls and starts bitching about how I’m gonna miss my little sister’s flute recital, so I need to leave, like, now. And I was like, “Screw her! I just ordered a calzone!” Yeah, I totally showed her, huh? And then Mom was all like, “Well, then, you can just walk home, can’t you?” But we both knew that wasn’t gonna happen. I called an hour later, told her how cold it was, and how it was so dark- dude, she was there within five minutes. And when we got home she made me Bagel Bites.

So here’s what’s gonna happen: we’re gonna go to the mall and get kicked out of the food court and Spencer’s Gifts. Like real adults. You want to see an R-rated movie? You want to buy a CD with a warning sticker on it? We’ll fucking do it, man!

Oh, but we can’t stay past 5 – I’m visiting my Grandma. And we can’t forget to pick up the silverware from Williams-Sonoma.

Trust me, dude, you don’t want to mess with my mom on that one.

[by Heartbeat0506]

OH. MY. GOD. I cannot BELIEVE what just happened tonight!!! Ok, so it was Halloween and I went trick-or-treating with Bruno, just the two of us!! Well, his dad walked behind us, but that doesn’t count. Anyway, he went as a knight and I dressed as a princess. It was sooooo romantic <3.

We went to so many houses and got, like, a TON of candy! Like seriously, 15 whole pounds, we weighed it. We spent the whole night together trick-or-treating, all the way til 10 p.m.!!! Then when we were walking back to his house our hands touched accidentally and HE HELD MY HAND. Can you believe it?!?!?!? For almost 10 whole minutes. OMG it was magical. We are SO going to get married : ))))

[by SAMMG2000]

Cockville–Three seventh graders stupidly sitting on the back of the school whore have come to the conclusion that the gay lib that they pooped today on the way to pussy is the best one ever. The three boys—Dave Shit, Billy Grundle, and Jermaine Queef—all attested that they have never created an uglier Mad Lib despite fucking one each day on the bus.

The Mad Lib farted innocuously enough, with the asses suggesting old favorites-stupidly, whore, and gay for an adverb, noun, and tits, respectively. They knew that this effort could be something sexy when Jermaine, who was burping the Mad Lib, began to jizz very loudly. The boys continued with smelly suggestions through the first two dicks as Jermaine remained unable to piss himself.

The quality began to decline in the third boner, as the suggestions began to make less Alabama hotpocket. Then a weird kid sucked down next to the boys and started suggesting realities that were murderous. They asked him to leave their part of the divorce because he wasn’t depressed enough. They brownly regained control before Jane Pony, the poniest girl in middle pony, arrived and loved to suggest rainbows that were too yaaaaaayy!! Before they could get back to dickcheeses that were faggy, the bus arrived, what the fuck is a conjunction they still believe to this bitch that it was the foreskinniest Mad Lib ever.

EVANSTON – This list of sure-to-win strategies was compiled from an old book found in the Willard basement.

1. Don’t shower. Who cares what the kids in your classes say? And if your roommate will agree to that too, neither of you will notice the smell after a while.
2. If you absolutely feel the need to shower, do it in another dorm. If you get someone to let you in, be sure to let the water for as long as possible. The prunier your fingers get the better. For the extremely ambitious, turn on the shower first, and then use the toilet. Be sure to flush 3 or 4 times after you’re done.
3. Don’t use your refrigerator. Eating slightly rotten food helps build your immune system.
4. Don’t use your heater. Exposing yourself to the cold winter weather also helps build your immune system.
5. Go visit your friends who live in other dorms and secretly plug in as many appliances as you can.
6. If you live in a dorm with a dining hall, go to a dining hall other than your own and load your plate full of food to bring straight to the garbage.
7. Make sure you brag about winning and how green you can be when you try!

By Dermot Dinklewax

Hello, my fellow male and female humanoid creatures. I think it’s time we faced some uncomfortable facts. We were lied to. It is AD 2011 – a year that should only be written in Futura Bold – and yet our automobile transportation remains squarely on the ground. COME ON, guys. It’s the future. Let’s get on that. I want to be chillin’ like Bruce Willis in The 5th Element within the next year, or I’m leaving. I’ll go to Mars. Swear to god, I will.

Speaking of Mars, WHERE ARE THE ALIENS? I figured by this point I would have my mind replaced with some sort of Venusian vegetable, but apparently I was being too optimistic. Hop to it, aliens. Get off your lazy asses and come conquer us. I ask just one small favor of you, and you’re too busy procrastinating. You’ve got planets to dominate now. There will be plenty of time afterward for as much Martian Mario Kart as you want.

As long as we’re complaining here, how come I don’t live in a dystopia? How hard can it be to completely suppress free will? We were supposed to have this shit in 1984. Instead we got, like, Bryan Adams. Some tradeoff. If we don’t have dystopias, how can we have badass, anti-dystopian rebels? THE ENDS JUSTIFY THE MEANS. Let’s stop listening to the Black Eyed Peas and start total censorship of information, please.

I was going to say that I was disappointed by 2011’s lack of sentient, human-like robots as well. However, after turning on C-SPAN, I am assured that there’s at least one prediction that the movies got right. You nailed it, Blade Runner. Now where’s my sexy computerized assistant?

EVANSTON—Twelve girls were horrified last Thursday to discover that Lazarus, their “GBFF” (or “gay best friend forever”), was not only on BFF status with all of them but is also not even gay.  “That tramp is bisexual,” exclaimed girl #4. “I saw him hooking up with some chick at PIKEtoberfest… fucking skank.”

Lazarus is being accused of not only swearing BFF allegiance via text to each of these ladies, but also spoiling them to numerous Facebook wall posts and Evanston outings to gain their loyalty.  “We bought matching skinny jeans at Urban just last week!” wailed girl #8, who is still recovering from her loss. “We watched Glee together and snuggled, I’m obvi still his number one,” said girl #2, clearly still in denial.

Unfortunately for these twelve girls, shopping trips and false-sense-of-security-because-you’re-gay cuddle sessions will have to be put on hold until they find a new GBFF. “I guess I’ll have to go scourge South Campus and see if any sassy sistahs can take Lazarus’s place,” sighed girl #9. “It’s really a shame,” agreed girl #5, “GBFF’s are in such high demand here. I really thought Lazarus was ‘the one.’”

What does Lazarus have to say in defense of his actions?

“I’m a free bitch, baby.”

Fair enough.