Comic Relief

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          If you happen to read comic books, or even if you’ve never read one but you happen to have gotten a papercut from a radioactive trade paperback then you’ve heard of The New 52.

 

          

Oh I get it, his t-shirt has a cape attached. That's less ridiculous than spandex.

It’s not really new anymore because it started in September of 2011, and much like the disaster a decade before, it shook America to its core, and it was an inside job. What DC Comics (the guys responsible for Batman and Superman) did was attempt to transform all their comics to catch up with current trends.

You see, dark and gritty realism is cool.

           

Pictured: cash cow dark and gritty realism

I was all for this at first. I love dark and gritty like fat kids love wearing their t-shirt in the pool so no one makes fun of them. I’m a huge fan of comic book writers like Warren Ellis, Neil Gaiman, and Alan Moore, and they’re all different kinds of twisted. But then they crossed the line with Lobo.

       

 Basically, he's a ripped KISS fan who hates colorblind KKK members

This is Lobo. He’s a guy so badass and over the top he’s the only survivor of his entire race. Not because a natural disaster destroyed his homeworld like some pussies we know (looking at you, Superman), but because Lobo killed everyone else on his planet with his own two hands. He rides a space-motorcycle across the cosmos, wreaking havoc and pretty much shooting peoples dicks off just because he got drunk and he feels like it. He’s my favorite character in DC comics. Or at least, he was, until this happened.

       

So, now he's some sort of fishman/TRON: Legacy hybrid? Seems legit.

This is dark and gritty realism. No more over the top 80’s hair, no more space motorcycle, no more punching space-KKK people in the face with chains, no more fun.

This is when I understood I don’t want all my media to be dark, gritty and realistic. Dark and gritty has its place and when it’s well done, it’s amazing. Hell, Transmetropolitan by Warren Ellis is one of my favorite comics ever and it’s set in the most bleak future I’ve ever seen in fiction. But, Transmetropolitan remembers it's a comic; it has fun. The main character has a gun that makes people shit themselves, for christ’s sake.

          

I would literally trade my eyelids for one of these.

At the end of the day, comics have a tradition of fun. While you can have completely serious comics and they can be incredible (Neil Gaiman’s Sandman, for instance) there are some characters that aren’t meant for that. Batman is dark, gritty and realistic and everyone’s known for years that if they want dark and gritty from DC Comics, Batman is where to go. However, DC’s endeavor is to make every title dark, gritty and realistic. Instead of creating a tightly knit universe with a strong theme what DC has produced is just...boring.

          

Oh good god, they hired Rob Liefeld. This cannot get worse.

There is no room for fun with The New 52. There is no room for a character like Lobo with no limits on his debauchery and broad antics of ultra-violence. There’s no room for the bright, sunny Metropolis where Superman solves all our problems with a single punch. There’s no room for Green Arrow to… I don’t know what Green Arrow does, reads Shakespeare? Combs his beard? Emails other superheroes the meeting minutes so he feels like he has a purpose?

"Ooooo, let’s do a dark and gritty reboot of Green Arrow," said someone who wasn't immediately shot.

 

I argue that we can have it all. We can cover Gotham in darkness and wallow in gritty realism until we smell like hobo puke and still have room for bright Metropolis, Lobo’s insane extraterrestrial pogroms and Star City’s complete worthlessness. Dark, gritty and realistic is the trend but does DC have to forsake the bright innocence of the past in order to follow the trend, or can a company with at least 52 titles make room for fun, for over the top, for a universe populated with unique characters instead of 52 Batmans?

On the bright side, Gotham would be cleaner than an obsessive compulsive's fingernails

The dark and gritty reboot is a cliché now. Every reboot is dark and gritty. Comics are a viable art form with as much potential for personal and social influence as any other but I argue reducing them all to monochromatic, shadowed narratives is just as insulting as regarding them as children’s fair and writing infantile storylines. I want variety. I want Lobo, Superman and Batman. I want funny, stupid, light, upbeat, or even crazy sometimes. I want a choice and DC isn’t giving me that anymore, so the only decision I have left is to find something else to read.

          

Don't even get me started on you.

Marky Mark 4 Lyfe

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Mark Wahlberg is a god. He was Dirk Diggler in Boogie Nights, the only man who survived The Departed and he didn’t let any old men suck his dick in The Basketball Diaries (Spoiler alert: a man sucks Leonardo DiCaprio’s weiner in that movie).

But how could we forget he was also the man who brought us this.

“Good Vibrations” by Marky Mark and The Funky Bunch. Mark Wahlberg is a savage beast with pecs you could iron your slacks on. Why did he need the help of this mysterious “Funky Bunch” to make a song?

No, they look really comfortable with him.

The answer: Because this song had too much soul for even Mark Wahlberg to handle.

Let’s “break it down”, as a white guy from Boston would say if he wished he were black.

0:01 – Okay, I love the synth-snare intro. Mark Wahlberg obviously decided that real drums were for pussies and that Casio had the beats that really speak to the youth culture.

0:05 – “Yeeaaahhh, can you feel it, baby?” Wahlberg moans like he’s talking on the phone while taking a dump. Is he trying to seduce me/ What am I supposed to be feeling? Does he really know me well enough to call me his “baby?” Is he talking to a real infant? If so, he got his “baby talk” and his “I’m going to molest a newborn” tones mixed up.

0:09 – Marky doesn’t wait for my answer, or else he can read my mind because his follow up to the above question is “I can too.” What are Mark Wahlberg and I both feeling? He sounds out of breath, which is normal for Wahlberg who delivers every line of dialogue like he just sprinted 3 blocks and barged into the room, but with female “ooh”s in the background it sounds like I’m sandwiched in a threesome with Mark and Serena Williams

0:10-0:22 – The viewers seem to be peeping through a set of venetian blinds as a woman undresses in front of a shirtless Wahlberg. I feel like a pervert. Then a group of dancing negroes (that’s what they were called in the 90's, right?) appear on screen while Mark’s voice urges them to “come on, swing.” Are the Funky Bunch his slaves? If not, why would they take orders? That seems like a terrible form of collaboration.

0:34 – A slightly smaller version of Aretha Franklin dressed in Liberace’s castoffs belts out “It’s such a good vibration” while Mark Wahlberg tapes his hands in preparation for what appears to be a boxing match. What is the good vibration? Is this what I was supposed to be feeling earlier? What kind of sex toys does Mark like to play with?

0:49 – “Yo,” Mark speak-raps angrily, “It’s about that time.” What time? Time for you to start the fucking song? Yeah, we’re basically a minute in and all you’ve done is moan a couple sentences.

0:51 – “…to break forth the rhythm and the rhyme.” Ohhh, that’s what time it is. Okay, since it’s that time you should probably leave and let a black person take over this song. You’re white, you have no rhythm, and rhyming “time” with “rhyme” isn’t exactly poetry.

0:56 – “I wanna see sweat comin’ out your pores.” What? Why do you want to see that, Mark? Are you aroused by that or simply urging me to exercise and maintain good cardiovascular health?

1:00 - “Strictly hip hop, no I ain’t singin’ this.”

You’re not singing this, Mark? Then who the fuck is? This is your song but you’re telling us that you’re not even performing in it. That’d be like me saying “This is my house but none of my stuff is there and I don’t ever go inside.”

1:02 – “Bringing this to the entire nation. Black, white, red, brown, feel the vibration.”

I think you’re a racist, Mark. “Red” is not a politically correct term for an entire group of people. I also notice you left out yellow, very interesting…

1:10 – Look at these clips of Mark boxing while wearing a backwards cap: poetry in motion. It has nothing to do with the song, but it captures the essence of douchebaggery.

1:16 – Once again we’re peeping in on a woman stripteasing for Mark. We’re voyeurs and Wahlberg looks at the camera like “You should stop peeking through these blinds if you want to keep your teeth.” I think I got a half-chub.

1:19 – WTF, Mark Wahlberg is curling cinder blocks attached to some sort of pole. Are you telling me he has a punching bag, a speed bag, and all the other proper boxing equipment but won’t splurge on real weights? Come on buddy, that just seems unsafe.

1:25 – No, he has real dumbells, but I guess lifting cinder blocks gives you more street cred than giant metal plates with standardized weights designed for safety and complete training.

1:27 – Wait, he bench presses real weights. Why does he use the cinder blocks for curls? Mark Wahlberg’s workout makes my head hurt, something that must happen to him every time he tries to read.

1:30 - “Vibrations good like Sunkist” Wait, is this an orange soda commercial? Are you getting paid to mention these brands in your song? What’s next? “I’m vibrating like I’m made by Trojan, Decaffeinated Lipton White Tea is my favorite love potion?”

1:32 – “…made me want to know who done this.” You did, you idiot. This is your song.

1:38 – “I'm here to prove to you that we can party on the positive side and pump positive vibes.” Wait is this song about sex toys or having an upbeat attitude? Is the guy who went on to play a heroin addict, a prostitute, and a professional thief about to preach to me?

1:44 – He’s fully clothed! Can you keep your shirt on for more than two seconds, Mark? Let’s see.

1:46 – No, he cannot.

2:00 – Now Mark Wahlberg’s having sex while the lady sings the chorus. You couldn’t wait until the song was over, Mark? You need counseling. Why is there a naked lady in this video anyway if it’s about being positive instead of kinky sex?

2:03 – I’m glad Mark keeps the bandana tied to his head during sex. I was worried we wouldn’t be able to identify him as a tool while he rams his tongue past her tonsils.

2:08 – You dropped the cinder block weights, mark, and they broke. See how unsafe they are? Someone could be injured by a chip of concrete! What have you learned?

2:09 – Mark tells someone named Donnie D. (part of the mysterious Funky Bunch, perhaps?) to “break it down,” we are treated to synth spasms for the next 15 seconds; it sounds like music to seizure to.

2:28 – “Donnie D's on the back up. Drug free so put the crack up.” Does this mean that the mysterious “Donnie D” is backing that ass up and Mark is asking him to bend over and put his crack (ass cleft) into the air? I like to think so.

2:35 – “I'm anti d-r-u-g-g-i-e my body is healthy And rhymes makes me wealthy.” Well now you’re just bragging, Mark.

2:40 “And the funky bunch helps me to bring you a show with no intoxication” Are they his sponsors? Is the undercurrent of the song that Mark is a recovering addict and his friends are helping him keep his urges under control?

2:42 -  Oh god, he just said “Yeah” again. This time to the woman he just boned. It seems slightly more appropriate, but still creepy.

2:55 - Is now a good time to mention the people t-bagging puddles of water? I think so.

2:56 - Wahlberg’s porking his lady again and his cohorts dance under bridges. Is the message that Mark is good in bed because he works out and stays off drugs? So far I like this theory the best.

3:01 -  watch this bit over and over. The fat lady waves her arms like the melting witch in “The Wizard of Oz” while screeching “sweeeeet sensation.” I want to see this second of video every time I wake up.

3:05 – “Now the time has come for you to get up.” I’m watching your music video, Mark. Do you want me to get up and walk away from this piece of art? Please say yes.

3:10 – He punches the hell out of the thing that looks like a body pillow filled with fiberglass. With all that dust in the air he’s gonna be so itchy tomorrow.

3:16 – “I command you to dance.” What the hell, Mark? I thought you were cool, trying to keep me off drugs and get me to take up boxing as healthy stress relief. Now you’re commanding me. I’m a terrible dancer. You don’t want to see it. Trust me.

3:20 -  Oohhh, I love the piano part. It’s sounds as if Scott Joplin was reincarnated without any talent and when looking for the one last thing to push him to suicide, decided he’d work with Mark Wahlberg on a song.

3:31 – Why are they dancing in puddles when dry ground is literally 5 feet away? Do you know how unsanitary those puddles are? They could have hobo urine in them.

3:46 -  Those women are humping the ground! Why? And look closely at the ponytail flip from the one on the far left, that is how you flip a ponytail, goddamit.

3:48 – Now the guys are doing it too? Are they doing what Marky said and “Putting that crack up?”

3:51 – That man just did a somersault right into a puddle! Now he’s gonna track that mess all over the carpet!

3:57 – I’m pretty sure Aretha Jr. Is getting tasered there. This is worse than the Rodney King footage!

4:01 – I swear to god he’s doing Shaq Fu.

4:04 – That girl is repeatedly banging her genitalia into the concrete… and she’s loving it. I think Mark needs to drug test these dancers.

4:11 – Mark has a shirt on in this shot! 3 to 1 he’s shirtless the next time they cut back to him.

4:14 – No way, he has a shirt on for two consecutive shots. This has got to be a record for him.

4:26 – There we go, I’d almost forgotten what Mark looked like without clothes for the 20 seconds we didn’t see him stripped to the waist.

At least he solved that problem on the album cover.

The Best Driving Playlist Ever

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I’m not gonna say I’ve been everywhere and I know everything, but I know everything. As a Vigilante it’s my duty and right to be better than you, righter than you and keep my butthole tighter than you.

Music is my expertise (just like everything else). I’ve taken many a roadtrip and ever since my early days fumbling behind the wheel like a nervous freshman trying to open his locker on the first day of high school, I’ve been on a quest to rock out as hard as possible while I drive.

You want to take a long haul across a country, spitting rubber, swerving around deer and seeing if you can pee in an empty Gatorade bottle while you’re doing 85? Check out some of these sweet tunes. If you happen to die from a groin tear because your balls are pulled too far to the walls, give the devil this list when you see him and say it comes from the Vigilante.

The Ultimate Roadtrip Playlist

1. Home Sweet Home - Motley Crue

2. Cells (Instrumental) - The Servant

3. Thunderkiss ’65 - White Zombie

4. Sometimes - Miami Horror

5. Ramblin’ Man - The Allman Brothers Band

6. Hair of the Dog - Nazareth

7. Portions for Foxes - Rilo Kiley

8. The Trooper - Iron Maiden

9. Hold On - Tim Armstrong

10. Red Barchetta - Rush

11. Big Empty - Stone Temple Pilots

12. Running Down a Dream - Tom Petty

13. Up in Smoke - Holly Springs Disaster

14. This Year - The Mountain Goats

15. Radar Love - Golden Earring

16. Here I Go Again - Whitesnake

17. Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress - The Hollies

18. The Jazz Police - Gordon Goodwin’s Big Phat Band

19. Prehistoric Dog - Red Fang

20. Mrs. Robinson - Simon & Garfunkel

21. Driving Home - Hot Water Music

22. Going Mobile - The Who

23. Sister Christian - Night Ranger

24. A Real Hero - College (feat. Electric Youth)

25. Space Truckin’ - Deep Purple

26. Trouble Man - Marvin Gaye

27. Born to be Wild - Steppenwolf

28. Thunder Road - Bruce Springsteen

29. Cemetery Gates - Pantera

30. Bohemian Rhapsody - Queen

“Where Should I Poop?” A Guide to CSULB

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What activity are human beings most private about? If you said sex, you’re wrong. If you said pooping, you probably just read the title of this article and I’m not giving you any credit for that answer. Even if you’re the most private person, you share sex with at least one individual: the one in your bed. I’ll bet you don’t share pooping with them. Fact: I’ve never pooped within earshot of anyone I’ve slept with.

          

Pictured: 6 places I've pooped.

I want to be in a private place when the E Street Band comes rolling down Thunder Road but I’m a college student. My breed is often crammed into dorms, houses and apartments like Katrina victims in the Superdome. In addition, I spend the bulk of my week on a college campus that plays host to over thirty thousand students. Combine these facts with a genetic inheritance that has left me with the metabolism of a jackrabbit, and I’m left with a lot of instances where dookying a shooter in one of CSULB’s over 300 restrooms (a figure I have entirely fabricated) is a must.

A freshman let loose on this campus, wet behind the ears and with a hard night of drinking behind him doesn’t know that beershits hit hard and fast. When the downtown push comes there’s no time to inspect the facilities, find them wanting, and leave. You have to know where to poop, when, and for what reasons. That’s where I come in. in Fall 2008 I came to CSULB with a humble goal, to test as many of the men’s restrooms as I could and pass my knowledge down. Without my expertise this fictional freshman could be left spawning a sewer trout in that bathroom near LA2 that smells like the homeless man who sleeps there on weekends. Knowing what to avoid is almost as important as knowing where to go.

The following facilities are judged with emphasis on the dual virtues of cleanliness and privacy. My expertise only extends to men’s rooms. I apologize to the females, but I’m sure you appreciate my decision to forgo testing the women’s facilities.

USU 3^rd Floor – Northwest Corner: With its central location this is one of the best spots on campus for a ‘tween class Cosby-drop. It’s cleaned like little cookie elves scrubbed it with tiny toothbrushes and there’s a chalkboard in the stall so you can leave messages for the next customer. Yes, you heard me right. I said “stall” singular. There is only one stall in the bathroom and it comes complete with its own sink and mirror. This means you can check your hair or see if you’ve got a bat in the cave without anyone else witnessing. No, I cannot guarantee complete privacy in this restroom because there are two urinals beside the stall. If you’re a real private type you can put the proceedings on pause while someone takes a leak. That’s not possible when there’s another dude in the stall next to you. In that case you guys are mates until one of you is done (I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, but you can never exit a stall at the same time as the man who pooped next to you. Doing so would put a face to the bowels, destroying precious anonymity). The downside is that cell reception is terrible on the USU’s 3^rd floor, so you won’t be getting any text messages. I take it as a gift of isolation, an island of solitude in the midst of all the hustle and bustle, but I’m a romantic. If you cannot be away from your phone and want this level of class, try the new Hall of Science.

3^rd floor LA5 – If you’re on upper campus and you don’t have time to get all the way to the USU you might be tempted to use LA5. It’s a big building, certainly not as much of an earthquake hazard as LA2, so it should have some decent facilities, right? Wrong. There’s a reason the 3^rd floor men’s room in LA5 offers some of the best privacy on campus, because you run the risk of catching hepatitis the second you set foot in there. It looks like it was hosed down once in the 1970’s and since then has only been maintained with duct tape and chewed gum. It’s the type of restroom you see in horror movies where someone gets stabbed with a rusty railroad spike through a gloryhole. I once spent a solid 15 minutes in this restroom and not another soul entered. It was like having my own restroom, like being king, but I’d rather be a peasant in paradise than the ruler of a kingdom of shit. The SPA building on lower campus holds a similar disadvantage.

ET Building 1^st floor – Great bathroom if you’re on lower campus for that Rec class you’re slumming it in. It has ritzy light blue tiles, cleanliness, and relative privacy for a public restroom. Complete with warm lights and a lack of the shiny surfaces that make public restrooms so uninviting, it feels almost homey. However, there are as-of-yet unverified rumors of a one-occupant bathroom with a lockable door in the nearby DESN building. I’m sure most students haven’t visited either of these buildings because they lie in that no-man’s land of low structures across the street behind the SPA and that’s a crying shame.

The Library – Not to be confused with “club lib,” a fictional and idiotic place where sorority girls go to pretend to read before finals, the library is an atrocious place to poop. Not only is every floor’s crapper plagued with an abundance of foot traffic that renders even the most outside chance of privacy unattainable, they all smell like a mixture of old urine and the beach. This stench is due to the university’s waterless urinals, which are the single worst feat of engineering since mesh condoms. In addition, students use the hallway outside the restrooms for loud phone conversations, forcing you to hear their most intimate conversations while you wonder if they can hear every squeak and gurgle your own body is making. My advice is head to the nearby Macintosh building instead. The restrooms in MHB are surprisingly cozy, as long as you’re willing to brave the strange looks from faculty when you dip in just to evacuate yourself. LA1 is not a suitable alternative. It is a building with restrooms so atrocious that some have two doors, in order to make escape easier. You might as well drop your trousers in the middle of class because you will receive no privacy or sense of inner peace. Don’t be that guy. Understand your plight and fight it with knowledge.

             

This is what too much fiber will do to you.

I believe evolution is to blame for the secrecy with which humans poop. I’m no scientist, but it’s obvious that in the wilderness one would be very vulnerable to predation while pinching out a growler in the high grass. I would be in no position to fend off a bear with my pants around my ankles, regretting that breakfast burrito. Why a bear would be on campus, much less in the bathroom, isn’t the issue. The crux of the matter is that we feel vulnerable when we poop. We’ve all wondered who was here before me? or how long has it been since this toilet was cleaned? and that can suck the wind right out of one’s sails. I’m calling for an end to this tyranny imposed by low standards of cleanliness and complete lack of privacy. We have to take back pooping from the jaws of savagery. A man’s time in the restroom is a chance to loosen his belt and meditate on the meaning of life. That, or you can text the girl you were with last night. Just don’t let her know you’re pooping. That’d be weird.

Roethlisberger? More like RAPISTberger

As you all undoubtedly know by now, there is a rapist playing in the Super Bowl.

And I’m not just referring to the things that occur at the bottom of a dogpile.

The rapist in question committed his offences off the field and is riding that ability to exploit holes in defenses all the way to the top. Ben “I’d tap that” Roethlisberger is the starting quarterback for the Pittsburg Steelers

“Alright guys, let’s run the Hook and Roofie on 3! ... Hook and Ladder! I said Ladder!”

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Ben Roethlisberger is a bad man! A four game suspension isn’t enough for the things he probably did that were never proven in court. Surely someone as intelligent as you, Dear Vigilante, must hate his guts too.”

Wrong.

Football is entertainment, and I want Ben to get into the theatrics. Embrace the bad boy image, but in a badass way, instead of coming across like a little bitch (I’m looking at you, Lebron.) I want Roethlisberger to raise the public’s hatred of him to an absolute pinnacle, so he can win and rub the Lombardi trophy in their faces like he’s smashing a puppy’s nose in its own shit.

Ben needs impromptu press conferences, preferably ones where he’s wearing a t-shirt displaying the portrait of a missing child and a caption underneath reading, “I know where your kid is, but I’m not telling you.” Here are a few key phrases I think he should pepper into these interviews to get the bad vibrations going.

“At this point the Packers should just bend over and prepare to take what I’m dishing out.”

“Aaron Rodgers chugs more dick than that sorority girl I have handcuffed to my bed.”

“I’m going to molest the Packer’s secondary.”

“If I win the Super Bowl I can get away with anything at the after-party, right? Like, you guys will just look the other way?”

“Mark Sanchez’s mom is a total MILF. Get a few shots in her and I bet I could get to third base. Who am I kidding? I’d make sure I rode that all the way home.”

“So, hypothetically, if I rape AJ Hawk’s wife that’ll get two NFL players pissed at me since she’s Brady Quinn’s sister? Hypothetically, of course...”

“This game will be even more fun than betting on the dogs at Mike Vick’s place.”

“Sorry I was late for the interview, guys, I was just watching ‘The Last House on the Left.’ Fuckin’ great movie, am I right?”

Don’t get confused and start thinking I’m a Steelers fan or anything, I’m not. I just love a good controversy, and to see someone embrace it for once would be more fun than a barrel full of smaller barrels. The world doesn’t have enough villains, or even people who are cool enough to make jokes about themselves. Right now Ben just looks like a douche-nozzle for trying to make everyone forget about his transgressions. I’d much rather see him flip off the Green Bay fans when he’s running out of the tunnel or ram the penalty flag down a ref’s throat. Pro Sports needs a bad boy, and what kind of person is worse than a rapist?

The only glimmer of hope I found for my vision was from the press conference after the AFC title game. When asked about the Packers, Roethlisberger snapped “Pack her? I barely knew her! I swear she said she was 18!” Sadly, I think it might’ve just been a reflex.


The Spring semester has started, the Vigilantes are back.

Go Green: Go Turn in Your Testicles

The College Survival Guide - Part 4 - When's Naptime?

Class: I’m putting class right after partying and its playmates because this is the closest they’ll ever come to coexisting in your college experience. College courses are a massive game of chicken, in which you compete with your peers and instructors over who can retain interest in the subject for the longest period of time. Here are three simple rules that, if followed, will minimize your work load.

True Genius

1. Required Reading is a suggestion. Most College professors lack teaching credentials or even basic communication skills, if you really think they’re going to be able to correlate a course between reading material and a lesson plan, you’re wrong. Instructors prefer to ramble about their own opinions and favorite parts of any subject, simply regurgitate those into tests and papers and you’re golden.

Metaphor for the collegiate student/teacher relationship.

2. Office Hours are for brown-nosing suck-up bitches who are more adept at rimming their teacher than performing any given task. If you want to waste more time talking to the lady who makes every historic event a leaping off point for feminist diatribe you’re either masochistic or so desperate for grades you’d suck shit off of broken glass for an A.

Pau Gasol: Philosopher, Saint, Caveman, Seal Rapist.

3. When life gives you lemons… outsource them to a lemonade factory. Find friends, friends with talents. Put up with these “friends,” pretend to like them. Then when it comes time to write that term paper you’re “not good at writing research papers” or “terrible at making Powerpoint presentations.” A good “friend” will assist you, and you will subtly dump the work load in their lap and you can text-flirt with that girl you fingerbanged last weekend. With any luck, you can get through college while only doing half the work for your required classes, and still pass.

You’re welcome.

And really, I just wanted to include a random picture of Pau Gasol.