September 30th 5:28pm - Semi-harmless/Mischievous Pranks

Section 1:
Result: Victim Panics/ Becomes Scarred

Title: Baby’s Daddy
Victim: Male – could be more than one

1. Wait until the calendar rolls around to Father’s Day.
2. Hand-pick an incredibly lucky one – or few – (friends or family members) that tend to sleep around a bit.
3. Create an e-mail account at any free e-mail service provided. Use all fake information. Input a female’s name, birth date around the same age as said victim, and a city of residence where you know victim had one-night (could be two-night) relations with someone he’s no longer in contact with.
4. Compose e-mail. Something like this:

Dear Sam,

Father’s Day is in a week. Remember that crazy night in Vegas last year? Well, I wasn’t going to tell you, but because it’s Father’s Day soon I thought you should know. Little Sammy is now 18 weeks and he looks dashingly like his daddy. I don’t expect anything from you, but I just thought you should be aware that you have a son.

Happy Father’s Day,


Potential Outcome: Lawyers may be contacted. You may be accosted once friends determine it was you.

Title: Oops - Pregnancy
Victim: Ex-Lover(s) or Parent(s)

1. Decide if you want to play this always-appalling joke on someone you’ve slept with, or with a parent whose brain you want to temporarily disable. Or both.
2. Prepare a speech. Or, at least an idea of what you are going to say.
3. Approach victim in person, take his/their hand and say you need to tell them something. Make them sit down. If met with resistance, force them to sit.
4. Look him/them in the eyes. Try to make your eyes plead. I don’t know how to do this myself, but just mentally tell yourself to make your eyes plead. Your eyes might comply.
5. Sigh deeply.
6. Slowly inform him/them that you are pregnant. Yes, you’re sure. You checked. No, you don’t know yet what you’re going to do.
7. Do not smile.
8. Do not laugh.
9. Look serious.
10. Look scared. Again, I’m not sure how to accomplish this one. Tell your eyes to look terrified.

Potential Outcome: Loss of voice. Loss of ability to breathe. Inability to form thoughts. Incapability of constructing sentences or words. Silence. Fainting. Anger. Yelling. Screaming. Disappointment. Frustration. Lecturing. Disowning. (I swear when you tell him/them you’re just kidding, it was a joke, you will have the same potential outcome as five minutes prior, but it will be blended with relief. And possibly joyous celebration.

Section 2:
Result: Victim is a bit Infuriated, but Admits the Amazingness of the Prank

Title: Beach in Yard
Victim: Anyone with a front yard

1. Opt for a victim with a front yard. Grass is preferable.
2. Acquire a truck. This can be by loan, steal, or beg. Whatever works.
3. Raid parents’ garage for beach articles. This includes but is not limited to: beach towels, lawn chairs, colored plastic shovels, hats, a picnic basket, playing cards, a colorful umbrella, sandals, empty beer cans, etc.
4. Journey to beach with shovel-clad helpers. Shovel sand from sand dunes into bed of truck.
5. Fill truck with sand.
6. Drive to victim’s house in dead of night when nobody is awake, or dead of day when nobody is home.
7. Unload sand. Cover all grass areas (or cement, depending) with sand.
8. Set up beach apparel on sand as if actually at beach.
9. Leave front yard looking as if at the beach on a nice day.

Potential Outcome: Rage at the almost-certain destruction of grass. Confusion at beach-like-front-yard. Feelings of awe directed at whoever initiated geniusness.

Title: Car for Sale
Victim: Anyone with a car – can be multiple persons

1. Determine victim. Preferably someone with an excellent sense of humor.
2. Study victim’s car. Be able to ascertain what make, model, and coloring it is.
3. Open a site where you can advertise for free. I’d suggest Craigslist, but any free, high-traffic site works.
4. Write an ad concerning the sale of the car. I would suggest something along these lines:

Posting Title: 740iL silver BMW-great condition-basically stealing
Posting Description: I have to move to Europe in two days and can't take my baby, my car. It's in perfect condition, and to ensure that it sells in such a short amount of time I'm asking $10,000 OBO. I would never normally sell, but it doesn't make sense to ship it over. It's an automatic, has a sunroof, CD player, heated seats, automatic rotating side mirrors when you reverse... basically anything you could ever want. Please contact me as soon as possible.
Contact information:

5. Conduct an online picture search based on car’s details.
6. Input images identical to victim’s car into advertisement.
7. Ensure that you type in victim’s personal contact information so interested buyers will be contacting him/her instead of you.

Potential Outcome: Exasperation at volume of calls and e-mails. Declining to speak to prankster for awhile. Fury at the fact that people now have his/her personal contact information. A good laugh concerning how confused they felt the first couple calls and e-mails.

September 29th - Male Porn

A few years ago my two female roommates and I came to the glorious decision to play a practical joke on our exceedingly homophobic basketball-playing male roommate. We drove to Castro Street and entered the first convenient store we could find. I believe the business was entitled “Open Hole,” or something of the sort. The three of us instantly bee-lined for the magazine section. There were no People, US Weekly, Cosmopolitan, or any of the publications one would generally deem “normal.” Instead, there were: All-Boy, All-Man, Blueboy, Boys & Toys, Bound & Gagged, Flesh4Men, and more. There were blue, black, and red covers, all with assortments of naked men in suggestive (slash raunchy) poses. In intervals of giggling and gagging, we flipped through a few magazines. We purchased four, resolved against buying a cookie in the shape of a penis, and exited. Our male roommate was gone when we returned to our apartment. We dedicated the next hour to posting, hiding, and placing male porn throughout his room and belongings. Pictures of men fondling each other went into his school books, picture frames, and on his walls. Men sucking on other men went into his shoes, jacket pockets, and drawers. Men holding themselves and staring darkly into the camera went inside his hats, behind posters already on the walls, and on his room doorknobs. There were men thrusting, men touching themselves and each other, and men donning diverse accoutrements in the forms of piercings, cock rings, and devices I can’t even guess at the names of. We hid them in his bed, in his dominoes box, in his playing cards. He came home to hundreds of pictures adorning every part of his room. He tore apart his room but still found them for months afterwards. I swear there are still some he hasn't found.

September 26th 5:16pm - D-1

Note to All College Athletes: The Things I've Learned in Four Years:

Top Ten Things to Avoid When in the Weight Room:

AKA DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES OR FOR WHATEVER REASON DO THESE. It's just a bad idea. Learn from my inexperience!

1. Swinging dumbbells in circular motions in an attempt to wake yourself up. One of the dumbbells will inevitably connect with one of your fingers. You will bruise and then lose your thumbnail. You may hit and seriously injure someone.

2. Hanging weights from your waist and trying to complete a pull-up in order to show off your massive muscles. The opposite effect is accomplished when you can't do more than one pull-up without any weight.

3. Not checking to ensure sufficient weight is on the rear of the back-extension machine before suspending yourself in the air by resting the backs of your heels against the appropriate bar, your hips against the suitable ledge, and leaning forward. Without weight on the end, you will plummet towards the floor head/hopefully arms first.

4. Putting uneven amounts of weight on the bar in an effort to build up one side of your body over the other. This will throw off your balance. You might fall.

5. Placing a leg strap below your knees to force you to expend effort in keeping your legs apart, then stepping onto a balance board with a weighted bar on your shoulders, and trying to complete a "jerk" lift motion while maintaining balance and staying upright. It is hard. There are easier methods to exercise those muscles.

6. Increasing the speed on the treadmill as much as possible to see just how fast you can run.

7. Trying to undertake box jumps with your eyes closed.

8. Talking about anybody's drunken hook-up the night before. All college coaches/instructors/trainers have the hearing abilities of a Noctuid Moth/mouse/dolphin. They take classes on overhearing conversations. It's a pre-employment requirement.

9. Writing inappropriate comments and pictures on the Strength and Conditioning coach's white board. He will retaliate. You will not be able to lift a water bottle to your mouth without pain for a week.

10. Walking through the weight room flirting with someone when blunt objects (i.e. medicine balls) are being violently thrown between partners a short space apart.

* Arriving at lifting the morning after an inebriated night is forever a bad idea. When the entire team does so it is even more troublesome. When you start working out, you sweat out the alcohol from the previous night's antics.
Another prerequisite of being hired on a D-1 athletic staff: a shark's sense of smell. They smell any and every minuscule whiff of alcohol.

September 25, 2008 5:15pm - Crow Catastrophe

At a soccer tournament one weekend when we were about fourteen, the absence-of-parents had yet to become procedural. The troupe assembled for this particular weekend varied from winery owners, doctors and lawyers, to broods of small children, to dads that ran up and down the field's sideline as the ball traveled. One weekend one such father intently watching the occurring game sprinted the length of the field countless times as the ball journeyed, bouncing between the battling teams. Head turned sideways, he surveyed the game as he ran. I happened to glance over as he went dashing into a trashcan, which ensued in a rotating, tumbling image of white limbs and gray plastic. I doubled over on the field in laughter.
Anyway, back to the weekend in question. I and a handful of girls were kicking a soccer ball in the hotel hallway. Typically the hotel front desk clerk arranged so all the people involved in one team would room near each other. This, I have to imagine, was to benefit us as well as the hotel management and other guests. We were loud, raucous children with a knack for disorderly conduct. At the ripe old age of twenty-two that I now am, I know I wouldn't want to stay in a hotel near our delinquent fourteen-year-old selves. We tore through the hotel playing hide-and-seek. We forged small-sided soccer games in the hallways and the hotel grounds. We used our siblings as parental distractions. Eventually, we realized the parents collectively employed alcohol consumption as their distraction from their wild, free-roaming children.
Anyway, back once again to the weekend in question. We lazily kicked the soccer ball down the hallway, seeing how many times we could ricochet the ball between the walls and still get it to the teammate twenty feet away. Someone was able to achieve the highly-impressive count of six when another teammate came hurling towards us yelling maniacally with riotous blue eyes and disheveled hair. She came to an abrupt halt a few feet away. She stared at us. We stared back. Someone asked what the hell happened. She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly.
She proceeded to tell us that she had been standing outside the hotel waiting for her dad to park the car when suddenly she was accosted. The top of her head was clawed and her face beat with wind. She saw black feathers and could feel talons digging into her scalp. She screamed and galloped a few feet crazed-madwoman-status before she reached above her head, grabbed at the bird, and hurtled it into the side of the hotel. She told us she continued shrieking. She ran through the hotel doors screeching, into and through the lobby yelling, leapt up the stairs, screaming, ran through a few hallways, still yelling, and then stopped when she found us. We dissolved into hilarity. Once we could speak again without laughing we went on an expedition to find the site of the crow/raven/blackbird (we're still not sure which) molestation. There was no mark on the wall. We did find some feathers, however. Our bird-accosted teammate kept one as proof.

September 24th 5:20pm - Loonybin

I played soccer for a club team throughout my childhood. We traveled to games in a decades-old Volkswagen van. It is quite possible it embarked on its life journey in the 70’s. The one sliding door didn’t open, so all entering and exiting of the vehicle was accomplished through the two front doors. Three of the six windows didn’t move, and there was no air conditioning. The van’s exterior was painted. When I say painted, I mean spray-painted in some indistinguishable swirling and splotches of color. The only discernible feature on the box-on-wheels was the word “Looneybin,” painted in loopy, cockamamie lettering. The music system (i.e. the radio) didn’t work. We compensated with a battery-powered boom-box blasting music, persistently accosting our driver’s (who oftentimes our coach) ears.
Those were the days when the majority of my teammates’ family vacations had coincided with wherever we were required to play over the past ten years. We had been playing soccer for a decade, and the parents were tired of coming to the twelve tournament weekends a year while the coaches were obliged to. A very lucky few selected parents would travel with the team, while the rest saved their time and money and devoted a bit of their constantly-busy lives to their other children (sorry other children).

Driving endlessly to some tournament in some god-forsaken city in some record heat, we stopped at some gas station. On this particular trip, there were five of us in the bench seats, and our coach sat shotgun while one of the dads drove. Our heroic driver departed from our wobbliness-on-wheels to walk inside to pay. The six of us remained behind. I, my coach, and two of the other girls gazed out the window at the adjacent van. It appeared to be brand-new. It sparkled in the sun. Through the tinted windows we could barely distinguish those new small pull-down televisions emerging from the ceiling like angels from the heavens. They emanated colored light. I sighed. The passenger side window was open and the sound system appeared to produce from a C.D. There were no on-air commercials. Wiping the seat off my forehead, I imagined such commodities as air conditioning and cup holders. This new van was a work of genius, a deity.
Abruptly, our van rolled forward, driving. I heaved my head frontward, tearing my eyes from the van-trance. Our coach lurched from the passenger seat to the driver’s, throwing his hands on the wheel and hurdling himself into the seat with a yelp.
One of the girls behind me started giggling and asked what we were doing. As it turns out, the new shiny van had clutched us in such as trance that when it started driving we thought our Loonybin had been moving forward. Really, the van had simply been pulling out of the gas station.

September 23rd 5:45pm - My Younger Years

Lesson: Come Up with More Believable Lies

(If at all avoidable, never lie about these things. Learn from the experiences of one who should have discovered earlier in life that lying to the parents rarely works):

* “But I did feed the cat!”
This works until your parents demand you show them where the cat bowl is. Wandering around in the dark saying, “I swear I put it right here,” isn’t as successful or believable as one would think.

* “I didn’t spill the crystallizing rock on the Oriental rug and then turn it around and move the couch over it so you wouldn’t notice.”
This will not work if you were the only one home.

* “Well, I certainly don’t know where the 4th of July flag cake went. Ask someone else.”
Before denying this, look in the mirror to ensure frosting isn’t lingering on your face.

* “Why would I wipe green paint on the white couch? I’m the oldest. I’m not that dumb.”
This was, in fact, because I was too lazy to retrieve a paper towel or take the oh-so-long trek to the sink. But rest assured, it was many many moons ago. I’m slightly less lazy now.

* “My sister bit my arm! Punish her!”
This will not work if you are sizably larger than your younger sister, and therefore have a substantially bigger mouth. And had bit your arm yourself.

* “I didn’t pick all the dried wax off the candlestick and leave it on the table and then try to set it on fire.”
With this one, my mom put me, my brother, and sister in time-out in the bathroom until one of us admitted guilt. The awful little people that we were, my brother and I convinced my sister she must have done it and forgotten about it.

* “I didn’t leave the gate open. The dog escaped some other way.”
If your mom actually saw you commit said crime, she probably isn’t going to trust that you didn’t.

* "Yes I went to the movies. But I did not make color copies of all the bills my sister had, cut them out, and then replace them in her dresser drawer when you refused to give me money to go. I... borrowed the money from... a friend?"

* “But we were just lying on each other, we weren’t actually doing anything.”
Ya… this never works. Especially if your shirt is off. Slightly hard to deem innocent.

* “He spent the night on the couch in my room, not in my bed.”

* “I didn’t pee in my bed last night. A drunken boy definitely didn’t pee in my bed with me in it and then leave this morning without cleaning it up. It’s beyond me how this could have happened.”

September 22nd 9:15pm - Oh, Sleep

I am the lowly, inconsequential new hire in the office. I have slightly more significance than a paper clip. We are both of about the same use, except I gain minuscule points by added versatility. However, I have to reason that the paper clip obtains magnitude with its constant, everyday use. I cannot manufacture such a claim. I awoke this morning groggy and weary, unreasonably irate at the sun’s presence on my face. As if I should mourn the existence of the sun!
I dragged myself to work, visibly struggling, consumed by the thought that I should overcome my aversion to the taste of coffee and just drink it. I might actually stay awake in meetings. I walked into the office kitchen, my eyes glazed over by lack of sleep. I gazed at the water dispenser. I glared at the coffee pot brewing hot on the counter. I gazed. I glared. I shrugged. I filled my glass with water. And thank the good lord in heaven that I did. Devoted to the solitary thought of my exhaustion, my eyes were open (barely), and I walked zombie-style towards the kitchen’s exit. I rounded the corner, only to bound into the air, yelping. In my panicked frenzy the amply filled glass of water tumbled out of my hand and directly onto the chest of one of the Development Directors in the office. The poor unsuspecting soul had merely been walking into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. I, in my painfully-low-access-to-brain-cells-state, had been frightened by (god forbid) another human body. His face registered shock as the iced water drizzled down his chest onto his pant leg. I can only imagine one of the ingredients in his facial expression was due to his attempt at placing who this easily-scared girl with the crazy eyes was.

September 20th 8:45pm - YouTube It!

One of the most amazing things I have ever seen:

Tina Fey as Sara Palin on SNL

September 18th 10:09pm - The Magic Bullet

I used The Magic Bullet for a few months… and then, one early evening, four of us congregated into our tiny kitchen while I combined fruit, juice, and ice into the ever-delicious unity of a smoothie. Four human bodies plus Magic Bullet resulted in cramped, restricted kitchen quarters. Consequence: margaritas. And Trader Joes. After a few rounds of cheap tequila mingled with cheap tequila mix (a few frozen strawberries thrown in for good measure didn’t add quite the desired effect), it was unanimous: trip to Trader Joes to get dinner food. Also undisputed: compose yet another round of margaritas to entertain us during the one block struggle (however rewarding) to Trader Joe’s. Four of us (I, one of my roommates, and two guys) undertook the exodus. Spirits high, clear plastic glasses (compliments of The Magic Bullet) full = brilliance. We tromped across the street and entered TJ’s. One of the guys procured a shopping cart, remarked that it just wasn’t big enough, and we embarked on our grocery shopping adventure. We hurled carrot muffins, juice, yellow squash, garlic, bagels, bread, and frozen food into the cart. We tossed in herbs, potatoes, bruschetta spread, pita chips. In went milk, eggs, cheese, peppered tortillas, dragon fruit. We trekked up and down every aisle at least once. And then our haven: the food sample stand: cheesecake. The four of us saw it and scampered, dashed, and scurried for the stall to see who could get there first. Limbs fled as people dodged out of our way. Our arms fluttered as we elbowed our way to the front. Once the mad frenzied rush was no longer necessary, we dawdled by the booth, generously (and so considerately) helping ourselves to second and third portions. The flavors zinging through my mouth: margarita, cheesecake, margarita, cheesecake. When kindly asked to step away, we moved on to more significant life factors. Next stop: alcohol aisle. The questions darted from our heads to our mouths and into the public atmosphere. What alcohol should we get? How much? Should we get one bottle? Two? Three? Four, one for each? What should we buy? Wine? Beer? Hard alcohol? How much? And what kind? And how much?
We stood deliberating in the predominant walkway with our overflowing shopping cart, red mouths (from the margarita mix), and half-full glasses. Someone suggested something and we laughed. What were we getting again? And how much? A half-case of wine or a handle? Two 12-packs of beer? What are we doing? After forty minutes and almost-drained glasses we couldn’t refrain from expressing our mirth in the form of loud, raucous laughter and articulations. Within a short span of time the alcohol aisle was deserted… with the exception of the four of us. We continued our troublesome behavior. Just as we were draining the last dregs of our drinks, a manager cautiously approached. We still hadn’t decided on the drink of choice. He gently informed us our conduct was, in fact, driving customers away. They hadn’t sold any alcohol in the past twenty-five minutes. Would we please make our selection and be on our way? It took us another five minutes before we settled on… some kind of alcohol...

September 17th 10:20pm - Peak Pleasures or Blender

I never watch infomercials. And I'm pretty much narcoleptic. I fall asleep anywhere without warning at essentially any time of the day. It becomes quite inconvenient when I'm in a conference with only one other person. Or in front of a class presenting a group project. Or grocery shopping.
Anyway, I was falling asleep (reasonably: on the couch this time) when my body abruptly jolted out of its dead-to-the-world slumber and sat upright. My eyelids unbolted. I was awake. I was witnessing a fantasy. An infomercial of inconceivable powers. The Magic Bullet. Twenty-one pieces of divine plastic apparatus. I could chop onions, mince garlic, and grate cheese in less than ten seconds. I could blend a smoothie in seven seconds. Tomatoes, onions, and pepper = salsa in five seconds, spaghetti meat sauce in six seconds, guacamole: five seconds, egg salad: four seconds, scrambled eggs: six seconds, margaritas: nine seconds. All for the exceedingly affordable price of two for $100. A dream come true. I wanted it. I had to have it. I ordered it. Fifteen days, three missed FedEx deliveries, and a thirty-minute-turned-sixty-lost-minutes drive to the nearest FedEx warehouse later, I had it. I owned The Magic Bullet. Upon arrival at my apartment I immediately made myself a seven-second smoothie. Aside from a few remaining chunks of frozen fruit (one of which I choked on), the smoothie was perfect. I situated the variety of pieces in our one kitchen cupboard and felt fulfilled. When my roommate strolled in the door I accosted her with my joyous announcement:
"I got The Magic Bullet," I broadcasted, a smile decorating the entire width of my face.
"Oh, that's cool," was her response.
"I'm so excited! I can do soooo much with it," I crooned.
"Good for you!"
"It's so versatile. I didn't know they made things like that so adaptable!" I happily proclaimed.
"Really? I didn't either."
"Ya, it can even do things like garlic," I said, ecstatic.
"I don't even know how that would work," my roommate responded with a perplexing look.
"I know! And everything it does only takes ten seconds! At most," I intoned.
"Damn. That's impressive."
"You have no idea. It's amazing! You can use it any time you want."
"Uhhh, thanks. I think I'll just leave that to you though," she said.
"No, really, I got it for the house," I pronounced, plopping down on a chair.
"Umm, thanks, but I really think that's your own thing."
"Well, whatever, you can use it any time you want," I replied. "It makes smoothies in seven, well... maybe eight seconds. And guac in five seconds. It really is amazing!"
"Wait. What the hell?" she asked.

The entire length of the conversation she thought I had been referring to a dildo.

September 16th 7:58pm - Slave Labor

If I've learned one thing since I began working in 2003 (quite an eternity ago), it's that unpaid internships=slavery. I interned for a senator, wrote over two hundred letters in her name, and was never even graced by the woman's presence. I had to research her beliefs and aspects she supported and hope that in writing the letters I was appealing to her point of view. I worked there for four months. In that time, I answered phones, wrote letters, researched the views of constituents in her district, went to meetings, helped organize conferences, and I walked out of there with a pedometer and one free lunch. Slave labor!

September 15th 10:58pm - College Quotebook Continued

Once again, compliments of my fabulous friends:

- “Today I learned how to make duck calling sounds with my hands. I could be a millionaire in the hunting industry.”

-“We live for the nights we can’t remember with the friends we’ll never forget.”

-"Your mattress is in the hallway again.
“Oh no, that was my New Year’s resolution!”

- (Two females): “I don’t know why, but all the weirdos are attracted to me!”
“At least you attract weird guys. I attract weird girls.”

- “If he were an animal, he’d be a kitten.”
Kara: “And what animal would you be?”
“I’d be a white tiger. Because I’m vicious and I’m beautiful.”

- “Tell that guy to give you your glasses back so he doesn’t take them.”
(Rising from the dead): “Give them back, you didn’t even eat me out!”

- “Canada has the second biggest Chinatown in the United States.”

- “I don’t like balls. They’re concave.”

- “Who used my nipple hair conditioner?”

- “My motto: blacked out, eat me out.”

-“These 5 inch heels never gave me blisters until I ran four miles in them.”

-“My motto: I like ‘em young and hung.”

-“Happy almost Cuatro de Mayo anniversary (referring to last year’s quarto de Mayo molestation).
“Thanks. I’m buying her a muzzle.”

- (Heckling #9 on the Davis baseball team): “Hey #9, your mom like Iams or Pedigree?”
“Iams – for a healthier coat.”

- “Can you pass the Jujuboobs?”

- “I thought you were supposed to call me you slank!”

- “...Let me introduce! Sush and the samwiches! Sush, tell them about the samwich maker!”
Sasha: “All I saying is the samwich sush maker is a square... and my house the samwich maker... the samwiches and the square and the samwich maker!”

- (Halloween) -“Oh, look, it’s Shrek!”
The Hulk: “You single-handedly ruined my night, I’m the Hulk.”

-“Osama, I love you more than dirt!” I love you more than Jesus loves dirt and Jesus really loves dirt!” (One of our friends was dressed up as Osama Bin Laden for Halloween)

-“Pretty people...”
“Pretty people what?”
“Speak good.”

- “Here’s to being single, seeing double, and sleeping triple.”

- “Stop smoking booze.”

- (Talking about going to a party): “Yeah, I coughed up blood last night so I don’t think I’m gonna come.”

- “Hey you big dog. I’m hammered. Let’s get mammered!”

- (Leaving voicemail for a friend): “Hey – we just wanted to... hey! Get your ginormous cowboy hat out of my eye!”

September 12th 10pm - College Quotebook Continued

* “Good news, bad news.
Good news: I look hot.
Bad news: I’m drunk.”

* (Drunk girl dragging a very religious boy into the bathroom the night she molested him): “I’m going to give you the best five minutes of your life.”

*(On how, while observing a knee operation Hot Doctor squirted her with blood and pus from the patient’s knee): “He squirted me with blood. We are forever connected.”

* “Tell everyone to pee on my face if I pass out by 9.”

* “Does anyone have any tweezers? There’s a few toe hairs I need to take care of.”

* “You know you’re an alcoholic when you think about having kids just so you don’t get carded.”

* “I feel like every time we say we aren’t going to drink much, we get trashed.”

“I feel like every time we say we’re going to get drunk we end up getting trashed.”
“Maybe we’re alcoholics.”

* “She's sweating!”
“Your vagina smells.”
“At least I got laid.”

* “Does anyone want to go to an art showcase with me tonight?”
"I’d rather stare at a wall.”

* “Usually soccer has taken out the frustrations of life. Now, I use life to take out the frustrations of soccer.”

* "He looks like Ben Affleck with down syndrome.”

* “My nipples tell me I’m cold but I really don’t think I am!”

* (One of our friends completely hung over looking like he just got run over by a semi): “I look pretty.”

* “I hate dirty little midgets.”

*“What a sweet release.”

* (Compliments of one of our friends - mostly in reference to beer pong):
“How unlucky are my bounces.”
“God you’re ugly.”
“God gave me a gift. He said, ‘Drink.’ I said ‘okay’”.
“I am so superior.”
“You’re not even good.”
“Try looking at yourself and playing.”
“I love myself.”
“At least I have post-up moves.”
Go throw it in Daddy’s cup.”
“God I’m beautiful.”
“What a tender toss.”
“You’re a sober player.”
“God you’re hideous, how do you sleep at night?”

* (Looking in a sink at Kell’s): “Someone lost a lot of make-up.”
"That’s puke.”

September 11th 7:45pm - College Quotebook Excerpt

Freshman year of college my friends and I started The Quotebook. i.e. absoulutely ridiculous, hilarious, why-in-god's-name-would-you-ever-say-that. And it ensues: compliments of my friends (and a very few are from me):

* “They didn’t give us the smart genes damnit, but they gave us the cool ones!”

“How are you chugging so fast?”
- “Because I’m a boy!”
- “But if I’m a boy... then Q's a man.”
Q: “I’m not a man, I’m a gorilla.”

* “You know soccer has taken over your life when the field is in your beer.”

* "You have the coolest light. It looks like a really hard nipple.”

* “I need a locater for my life.”

*“Whales have the largest penises...
“No, elephants do...”
“No, wait, what are those black things... Africans.”

* “You guys are such cute little muffins. I could just bake you at 375 degrees.”

* “You’re just tipsy? You’re a better man than I.” (girl speaking to girl).

* “Oh we have to kneel? Is this the Japanese league?” (playing a drinking game while kneeling)

* “When I get drunk I like to touch things with my mouth.”

* “Just put it in your mouth and let it go down and you’ll be fine.”

* “What? Jail? Well, maybe I had a sip.”

* “I’m gonna wear jeans, but only because all my sweats are dirty.”

* (After someone farted): “It smells like someone just ate a rat and then farted it out.”

* “My boobs are bigger than Kara’s. At least I got that going for me!”

* (About starting her period on Valentine’s Day): “God must hate me.”

* (On Valentine’s Day - another friend): “God must be single.”

* “Tequila, the water of Mexico.”

* "For your graduation present, we’re gonna put Kara in a cake and she’s gonna pop out with only duct tape on.”

* “Size doesn’t matter... at least to Kara. Ask her!”

* “Ya, he liked my big toes.”
- “...And that’s why we don’t talk to him anymore.”

* (About spending money to straighten her hair and it got ruined because she went on a Slip-n-Slide inside a house’s hallway): “A well-spent $200, huh?”

* “I have really cute nipples!” (and then she proceeded to flash the roomful of people).

September 10th 10:40pm - You Know You're in Italy When...

My brother and I were watching television in Italy. Some crazy thing in Italian, you know. A commercial appeared. A man was situated in the foreground, fully clothed. Behind him, a clear shower door revealed a woman, nude, in the shower. Her sizable breasts hung, unobscured by the shower door. Her fingers grasped her hair, massaging her scalp and running through her long, dark tresses in lengthy, fluid motions. The camera panned closer to expose her bending over to retrieve what I can only imagine must have been conditioner. My brother and I exchanged like expressions. The commercial's attention returned to the man. He smiled evocatively into the camera. A slow, suggestive smile. His lips turned up, his eyes flickered, his lips leisurely parted to expose his too-whitened teeth. He grasped the edge of his pants and tweaked them from his waist. Holding them away from his body with one hand, he looked down. He smiled while assessing his goods. He then looked up. A slow, suggestive smile into the camera. He held the camera's gaze before rotating back to the transparent shower walls appearing as if plunked into the middle of a living room. Then the tag-line scrolled across the bottom of the screen. And a milk carton floated, suspended. It was a milk commercial. Only in Italy!

September 9th 11:59pm - The Top Text Messages Currently in my Phone

1. "Well, I got drunk, missed my flight, won't leave Texas until tomorrow morning. In L.A. now sleeping in airport in Texas tonight." (What this text fails to mention is that he made my roommate drive him to the airport at 6am to catch his flight to Costa Rica. Apparently drinking in a bar at that time in the morning is not advisable... who knew??)
2. "Today I went to the beach, fed alligators, and drank in a car wash. I love Hurricane Gustav!"
3. "If Hurricane Gustav destroys us we are going to make shirts that say, 'I got Gustaved in New Orleans.'"
4. "I'm a fucking admin assistant for this really small internet company. I get paid shit. I'm either going to have to become a stripper or get married for money right now."
5. "So I just found out I was break dancing on the kitchen floor naked the other night. I discovered this only when I saw the pictures."
6. "Let's just say I got shitty last night and threw up on a taxi driver's head and was showered in bed by 9.

September 8th 10:35pm - Lunatic Van Driver

The past couple of years I resided on a relatively busy street in San Francisco. Friends arrived at our apartment armed with booze, smiles, and lecherous moods. After pre-gaming a bit (and by a bit, I mean hours), we exited the apartment, almost falling on the descent down the stairs. Stomping our ill-fitting heels, alcohol in hand, and voices raising, we ran onto the street to flag down a cab. There were seven of us. One taxi arrested its motion only to yell, kick us out, and speed off, dust particles darting into the violent wind once he realized seven of us desired to get in his four-passenger car. Forty freezing, barren minutes elapsed. One of my friends took it upon herself to flag down commodious vehicles appearing to hold legions of passengers. She succeeded. An old Volkswagen van rattled to a stop. We crowded around, hands rubbing forearms, forcing friction to assuage the cold. We looked at the ramshackle buggy with motor. We shrugged at each other. Eyebrows raised and lowered. The driver agreed to drive us wherever we desired. We nodded. Someone pulled the handle of the sliding door and, creaking in protest, it opened to reveal an outer-worldly unparalleled universe. Rocks tumbled over the ledge. A dim lime green light illuminated from some undefinable source betrayed the existence of undefinable shapes, some of which resembled boxes. We looked up for any cabs. There were none. One girl sat shotgun, completely disconnected from the back of the van into which we gathered. During the ride a box tipped over, divulging masses of plastic horses. The kind my siblings and I played with as children. They varied in shape, size, and color. One was missing a head. The van twirled around a particularly rough bend, toppling a bag. Bones and resulting screams scattered. Eventually the hell-hole screeched to a rest and we tumbled out, falling on each other in desperate attempts to exit. I got a knee in my back and a slap in the head during the mass exodus. Limbs flailing, we threw each other out of the abyss-on-wheels and scampered for the club door. We later saw her walking a dog down the street.

September 7, 2008 9:30pm - The Male Bible

The Male Bible
Compiled by various persons of the female sex
Read It, Learn It, Live By It - If you're a man

The 10 Commandments
Events and Appropriate Actions to be Take

1. You should at the very least text message (if not call or more) a girl you care about on all the major holidays/celebrations. For example: birthdays, Valentine’s Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, etc. If you are unsure as to whether it is a major holiday or not, be on the safe side and call her anyway. She will feel like you care.
2. On birthdays and major holidays you should give presents. The major inexcusable ones: birthday, Valentine’s Day, Christmas, yearly anniversaries. On the others you do not need to get anything but something small is always nice and appreciated.
3. Random gifts are not necessary, but, again, are good. Thus, if you see something in a store that you know the girl would like, get it and give it to her just to see the look on her face and in her eyes.
4. If you are at a loss concerning what to get a girl, there are always the basics, classics, cop-outs, etc. Girls like flowers, personalized stuffed animals, chocolates, jewelry, and cd’s that have been made for them. If you desire to buy jewelry, take another female with you to help. This can be a sister (or female relative in your case), friend, family friend, etc. Men generally are terrible at picking out jewelry.
5. You should, however, also consider the female as a particular being with certain likes and dislikes. Think about her habits. What does she do with her time? If she is athletic, go to a sports store and look around. If she likes music, go buy her cd’s, something to hold them in, et cetera. The same goes for everything else: likes cats: get her a cat, or cat toy if she already has a cat; drinks a lot: something to do with alcohol; likes a certain television show: a season of that show on DVD; enjoys art: go to an art store and see what your options are. I hope you get the point.
*Another hint: if you are of a more attentive disposition, then actually (God forbid) pay attention to what she might like. For example, if you are shopping with her and she comments on something in the window of a store, take a mental note and go get it for her at a later date. Similarly, if the significant other sees an infomercial on tv and comments on what a wonderful thing that would be to have, acquire it for her without her knowing and surprise her. Women appreciate this and it always results in something good for the male. Also, shopping does not always have to be done in the few days prior to the event. If you discover a gift that she would appreciate, buy it and then store it, to be given at the next appropriate gift-giving opportunity.
* Finally, concert tickets, away weekends, wine tasting for a day, overnight trips, etc. are always great and do not require you actually going to a store and finding something.

Social Events

6. Progressing to other matters, I will now discuss parties and behavior towards the girl at such events. Never do you ignore the girl. If you insist upon socializing with friends and not the object of your affection, then at least acknowledge her existence. For example, when she walks by, grab her, hug her quickly, pinch her, anything to let her know that you care.
* If you feel comfortable enough with it, a girl commonly enjoys having a guy’s arm around her. Girls like public displays of affection. Guys in general do not, but girls do. So attempt to do something. For example: put your arm around her for five minutes, whisper in her ear that you are going to go talk with your buddies, smile, maybe a kiss on the cheek, and then wander off.
7. Girls talk. Do not tell a girl’s friends anything that you would not want her to know. As you are speaking to a friend of hers, imagine that every detail that you tell the friend will get back to the girl. This can be construed to work in your favor.

Commandments of a Physical Nature

8. Girls like foreplay. They like the massages, the tickling, and the laughter that precedes the more physical moves. Do it.
9. Girls like to be touched. One of the most sensuous areas of a woman is her breast. Breasts can be fondled, lightly massaged, and the nipples can be brushed with fingertips. For that matter any part of a woman can be lightly run over with fingertips and it will make her quiver in anticipation. That is what any man should want.
10. After a while, sex can sometimes gets monotonous. Sex toys can and should be utilized. Various forms of edible massage oils are suggested. Anal beads are not.

September 6th - Highly Inappropriate!

What would you never want to call a black person that starts with an N and ends with an R?

And, compliments of Robin Williams:

"I love women's gymnastics. Or, as I like to call it, Chinese daycare."

September 5th 5:55pm - Passion?

A few years ago I was in Tahoe at a friend’s parents’ vacation home. The owner… we’ll call her Kate… had been the love interest of another friend of ours… we’ll call him Brett… for a little while, and he was with us, along with twelve other kids our age. We got a bit too inebriated one night. Kate fell asleep in bed and awakened a few hours later. She rolled over to face the edge of the bed, reached down, grabbed a deeply-slumbering male off of the floor, and forcefully hauled him into bed with her. She ignored his very-sluggish bewilderment and began heavily kissing him. He reciprocated in the amorous actions. She twirled her fingers in his hair and moaned, “Oooh, Brett.” When his hand stroked her arm she sighed, “Brett, that feels so good.” He drew her closer to him. Response: “Oooh, Brett,” accompanied by a low giggle. At this point Brett leapt from the bed, yelled, “Fuck this!” and exited the room, pillow in tow. Brett had been sleeping on the other side of Kate and had been roused by her ardent activities. Kate immediately stopped kissing Mystery Man and sat up. “Brett?!” she yelled into the night. And then she attacked Mystery Man. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded, “And what the hell are you doing in my bed?”

September 4th 8:05pm - Car Catastrophe

I was running slightly late this morning. Just a few minutes behind my standard last-possible-second-I-can-leave-and-still-arrive-at-work-on-time. Driving down Oak, an incredibly busy street, suddenly my car began violently shaking. I’m talking 8.7 on the Richter earthquake scale status. It trembled, it quaked, it shuddered. The cd player ejected the playing cd. My cd holder on the visor rocketed cds through the car. One hit me in the arm, another fell onto my lap, one collided with my head. My car swerved back and forth, paralleling my leans to avoid the flying weapons. They bounced off the windows and steering wheel. I pressed the flashers and managed to progress a block across two lanes of traffic. Cars honked and veered, narrowly avoiding my quavering car. It jiggled to a stop in a gas station parking lot. I emerged from the offensive vehicle in sunglasses, a long skirt, short-sleeved shirt, and heels. My right front tire had no air in it. It constituted a heap of rubber. I had been driving on the rim. I consulted the cashier. He informed me he couldn’t help me, but wished me a very kind good luck with a dismissive wave of his arm. Another man approached me clad in painter uniform and said he would change the spare for $20 so I wouldn’t have to call and wait for someone to appear. I thought this logical. If he could do it fast I might potentially make it to work (almost) on time. I accepted. When painter-turned-savior observed I had some full wine bottles in the trunk, he inquired if I could throw in one for good measure. I consented and he inched along minutely faster. By 8am I left, a fifteen minute drive to work. Five minutes later I entered the freeway, jammed with early-morning traffic. And then my car started violently shaking. It trembled, it quaked, it shuddered. Again. No flying saucers this time, but the outraged car movements were identical. I pressed the flashers. Again, cars honked and swerved. Angry car horns erupted. Yells and screams embellished the otherwise-still air. I survived the lane changes and descended from the freeway to downtown San Francisco . I halted as soon as possible. Coincidence: the chosen place of rest happened to be in a bus stop. I sat, took a deep breath, and watched as a cop car pulled in behind me and a policeman emerged. He swaggered up to the car, hands gripping belt buckle, as I stepped out. He notified me parking in a bus stop results in a ticket over $300. I notified him something was wrong with my tire. We walked around the car and observed the tragedy. The spare tire was in two pieces. The tube had completely disconnected from the inner metal (observe picture). The tube rested on the ground. The cop whistled and asked if I had AAA. Thank the parents, I do. I called AAA, the cop left, and I sat in my car with the emergency lights on as busses braked to the side and then vroomed away. Eventually the tow truck arrived and drove me, my damaged car hauled behind. At the tire store the experts informed me my tires all needed to be changed and they were surprised at my lucky survival. They were astounded I hadn’t noticed how appalling the tires were. “Didn’t you realize they’re bald?” they asked. As if I look at my tires. As if I even know what a bald tire means. As long as it drives, I don’t really pay attention. 1 new set of tires: $413. My bank account: $295 (payday is tomorrow). I was standing on the sidewalk talking animatedly to my friend Kate recounting the morning’s debacles. A man with wild white hair and gnarled knuckles snatched the phone out of my hand, ended the call, and shuffled away. I stood, momentarily immobile with mouth gaping. I jogged five steps and caught up with him.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” I asked.
“There are angels,” was his inspiring reply.
My response, “Oh dear god.”
“Yes, angels…” he said as his eyes rested, unfocused, a foot above my head.
I didn’t want any of that nonsense. I seized my phone and walked away. This time I returned to the inside of the tire shop. I entered work two hours late.
The kicker: I just passed a mirror. My forehead is peeling from constant sun exposure this past weekend, and my lip is sun burnt!

Sidenote: This is the end result of the spare tire. If that tells you anything.

September 3rd 5:09m - Canine Calamity

By 6th grade I had grown a few inches so the hefty rotund body I sported in 4th grade had expanded. Every ounce of my corpulent mass wasn’t concentrated solely in my stomach. Instead, my weight was distributed a bit more evenly throughout my body. I could, in fact, run as opposed to walking the mile. I was never truly aware of my weight until 3rd grade when the “fat” kid in school held up my jacket in front of the class, asked who the owner was, and proudly announced it was too big even for him. 3rd grade was also the year we obtained a dog. We obtained a yellow Labrador puppy. She liked to run. With three kids in the house and constant chaos, the door was constantly being left open. The dog constantly looked for an escape. If the front door was left cracked open for a millisecond she would sprint out, full speed ahead, ears flopping and tail wagging. Freedom. Mom would look at her brood of three and ask me to go run after the dog. I always obliged. I chased after the puppy through the neighborhoods and hills encasing our home. Bent over, hands on knees, face red, unable to breathe, I ran after that dog anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour and a half at least a couple of times a week. Well, by run I really mean I attempted to incorporate a bounce into my step so as to give the appearance of doing something slightly more intensive than walking. The dog was an escape artist. One day she fled without anyone aware of her getaway. The house phone clanged, Mom answered, and I heard her exclaim, “Oh no! I’m so sorry, I’ll be right up.” The dog had settled upon a jubilant run through the vicinity that had turned roguish when she noticed a white truck adorned with a painting logo in front of a house with a door that was ajar. She had darted inside to find a painter on a ladder with an open container. She collided with the ladder, paint erupted into the air, painter screeched as he plummeted to the ground, and paintbrushes were strewn about, trailing paint from where they had initially been hurtled into walls and on furniture. The tin paint can clanged, irate, against the floor, and footsteps resonated through the house as the family rushed to see what the clatter was. The dog radiated happiness as she heard people approaching (she was a fantastically friendly dog), wagged her weapon (aka tail) in anticipation of welcoming humans, and thus knocked over another open can of paint. It seeped onto the rug-covered wood flooring.

September 2nd 8:10pm - Sheep Show

In 6th grade a classmate invited me and my friends to her house for a birthday party. She lived in what is affectionately deemed “The Country.” Her parents had a lot of land and a lot of occupants on said land. These included a few horses, some sheep, chickens, and, if memory serves, a llama. The party occurred near Easter time, so arts and crafts for the day consisted of decorating hollow egg shells with yellow dyed cotton balls, colored construction paper and markers to somewhat resemble baby chickens. I failed wildly at this task, as four other girls and I became engrossed in another (perfectly logical) project: chase the sheep around the yard in an attempt to corner one. We ran back and forth, to and fro, in circles around the yard. Every time we managed to isolate one sheep from the other five, it would bleat, violently swing its head around, alarm playing in its eyes, and leap off and away. The five of us would shriek, run a few steps clear of the sheep, and then persist in our quest, once again harassing the sheep. Eventually, we did manage to corner a sheep. My friends and I advanced, slowly, in an arc, the sheep retreating until against a corner of the fence. Hands out, crazed smiles on our faces, we progressed, lessening the space between ourselves and the two-hundred-pound wooly beast before us. The sheep swerved its head, assessing the situation. The situation being, of course, six 6th grade girls walking empty-handed towards a weighty, dim-witted animal with no reverence for what young girls might consider fun. The sheep glanced at us, terror reflecting in its eyes. I watched as the dirty white mass at least twice my size soared through the air towards me. And then I was on the ground on my back, looking up in shock at the sheep’s face less than six inches from my own. Its eyes yellow, its ears upright, its elongated snout hovering above me, it exhaled and my nostrils were accosted with a semi-pungent grass scent. The sheep’s front hooves were on my chest (this might have been painful except that I had absolutely no breasts to boast of), and hind hooves on my thighs. It raised its head, bleated loudly, the noise echoing in my ears, and bounded away, hurdling itself towards the other sheep some distance away. Immediately my friends swooped down upon me to find me laughing. In no way was I damaged. However, I do believe (I hope, at least), my brain became slightly more intelligent that day. I’m hoping some brain cells were knocked into my head with the fall.
Disclaimer: no animals were harmed in the schematics of our mission. Harassment was solely in the form of chase-and-yell. No rocks were thrown, no sticks were wielded, and no rabid attacks by humans on sheep occurred.

September 1, 2008 11:30pm - Bar Fight?

Friday night my two roommates and I came to the always-genius decision to drink copious amounts of alcohol, then go pre-game at a friend's house, and only then disembark for the bars. By the time we arrived at the bar I was drunk. My eyes go Asian-slit status after a few too many drinks and the bouncer noticed my eyeball non-existence immediately. He allowed some of my friends to penetrate into the oh-so-desirable bar, but when it got to my turn, he refused.
"You can't go in," he informed me, and crossed the bulging biceps that comprised his arms.
"Well, why not?" I asked the three hundred pound muscle looming before me. I crossed my arms.
"You're drunk," he said.
"Everyone's drunk!" I retorted.
"I can't even see your eyes," he said.
"I'm Asian," I said. He laughed.
"You're so drunk I just can't let you in."
"Yes you can!"
"No I can't."
This cyclical succession persisted back-and-forth six times. I finally decided it was prudent to push him a bit. So I did. I pushed him (very gently) as I said, "Let me in!" He didn't even twitch. My efforts were completely useless. He laughed at me and then pushed me. I reeled backwards, regaining my balance after a few staggering steps, ran back to him and announced, "See, I didn't fall over, I'm not that drunk!" He informed me my reactions were ridiculously slow. "They are not!" I said. With a hand on either side of my face he softly patted the sides of it back and forth a few times. My head obeyed the might of his fingers and bobbed from side to side in between his hands. Reaction: I reached up and did the same to his face. I then fixated on the concept that boxing this enormous man in front of me with the almighty power of entry was a good idea. I pranced around, shifting my weight from foot to foot thinking: float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. I started jabbing my fists out at him. "You want to box? Let's box!" I said, brandishing my fists around like a possessed banshee. That's when more people arrived in line behind me. Result: muscleman oh-so-generously granted me access to the entry of the bar, and I had a good story to tell the next day.