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Monday, May 29, 2006

Well-deserved images of fecal horror

Well, there's another AIM virus out there. I received an IM from a screen name I'd never talked to before, so I immediately responded with 'go to jayloden.com and fix that.' I stopped myself from adding 'you moron.' Consider it a late New Year's resolution to stop letting people know when they're stupid.

Then I checked the mystery screen name's profile and I noticed that it belonged to a girl that stood me up 2 years ago (plans that she made) then continued to never speak to me. At least until her computer resumed communication between us with a hello virus link. What a bitch.

I should have said, 'Go to (disgusting picture of woman pooping on her own face) and download the AIM fix.'

Then she'd click on that link hoping to get the scary virus off the computer she doesn't understand only to see well-deserved images of fecal horror.

(Chris's, where there is air conditioning and food.)

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Ghost Rider vs. Ghostwriter

There's a Ghost Rider movie coming out. Looks like Nicholas Cage will play the comic book character with a flaming skull head who fights for justice.

Did anybody ever see that show Ghostwriter on PBS in the early 90s? A cast of ethnically diverse urban children solved mysteries with the help of Ghostwriter, a ghost that could communicate by moving letters around. Ghostwriter was depicted as a dot and some lines.

Anyway, I think the two should fight. They sound alike and that bothers me, so naturally one of them has to die in combat.

I've even prepared a visual aid:


Looks to be epic.

(Bed.)

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Friday, May 26, 2006

Comcast = 1,000 poops

Comcast has decided that my house isn't worthy of internet access, so I won't be on AIM until further notice. So once I'm back online, I'll be able to be away from the internet again, and then the blog will be chuggin' along again. Then I'll delete this post, because there's no good reason to have an archive post that says "I'm gone." Nobody's going to say "You see that post about him not having internet? That was a good read."

In fact, nobody's going to say anything along the lines of "You see that post?" because nobody reads this.

Except you.

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Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Second alarm versus vomiting

I was sitting here, wondering what I write my away message about, when I got to thinking about what would happen if I turned off my alarm at 6am, set another alarm for a little later (but set it for pm instead of am), then slept in and didn't get to work at 8am.

I figured I'd call into work and say I was throwing up all morning, but I don't like to lie, so I thought about making myself vomit into the toilet upstairs so that when I called in sick and talked about throwing up I could do it honestly.

Then I started gagging in my chair just thinking about the scenario, getting ready for tomorrow morning's hypothetical vomit party, when I figured:
Maybe I'll just set a second alarm right now.

If I can take a mental detour that ends with me throwing up early (as opposed to on time, which is somehow much better), it's not worth it. Second alarm it is.

(Bed.)

This happens almost every morning. I set an alarm that's overambitious, giving myself two hours to get ready for work. Ideally, I'd wake up, eat breakfast, do some situps, take a shower, then leave for work early.

To date, I've never done this.

Instead, I wake up, set an alarm giving me another 30 minutes of sleep, then I wake up, set another alarm, then finally wake up an hour before work, shower, put pants on, and go to work hungry and running a little bit late.

This would, of course, be fixed if I would just get fired.

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Monday, May 22, 2006

You can strangle people

My 12-year-old brother rented the video game adaptation of The Godfather. In it, you drive a car around, take missions, and gradually increase your standing within the crime organization.

'So it's like Grand Theft Auto,' I told my brother, who shouldn't even know what Grand Theft Auto is like.
'No, it's completely different,' he said, taking great offense to this accusation.
'Oh really? Then what makes it so different?'
'You can strangle people.'
'Yeah, Grand Theft Auto was really missing the option to strangle people.'

We argued a little after that, but to date the strangling-oriented gameplay is the best (and only) difference he's been able to find between The Godfather and Grand Theft Auto.

I don't know what this says about kids today, but you should probably hit them just to be sure.

(Fishbowl 'til 11:30.)

I watched my brother strangle half a dozen people in that mafia-heavy GTA clone, and I'll be damned if he wasn't smiling like it was Christmas Day and he was forcing protection money out of jolly St. Nick.

My brother also loves basketball games where you play as bling-wearin' urban people. For example, there's NBA Ballers, a basketball game where you can buy SUVs and mansion to further your basketball career...somehow.

Anyway, I'm thinking that someone could capitalize on both the urban sports market and the strangling market with - wait for it - Latrell Sprewell's Basketball Choke Party.

This would be the ideal place for me to post a photoshopped image of the fake video game, but I have work tomorrow morning. So...yeah.

Not the best ending to a blog entry.

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Monday, May 15, 2006

I should be kicked out of Facebook

The creator of a Facebook group becomes its administrator. When the creator leaves, any member can become the new admin and edit information about the group. It is possible for anybody to join these admin-less groups and edit all pictures and group descriptions. That having been said:

I should be

kicked out

of Facebook.


(click the images to see them full size.)

To date, one group's been restored (with complaints) and the grandma blowjob group now has an administrator, but she hasn't changed the group back. Probably because she does unspeakable things with her grandparents.

(Bed.)

The fantastic part about doing this is that if I leave the groups after editing them, there is nothing tracing me back to the crime.

Except, of course, when I post a confession in my goddamn blog.

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Sunday, May 14, 2006

Hot piece of bass

During last night's drunken shenanigans, I gave Amy a call and tried to say sweet things to her:
'Amy, there are a lot of fish in the sea, and I'm glad I've got you. All those other bitches are just minnows. You're a hot piece of bass.'

Of course, that's me remembering it while sober. When I actually said that (the pun was spontaneous, by the way), there's a chance I only mentioned the concepts and butchered the delivery. I could have said:
'You're the only fish I want to have sex with.'

And, knowing Amy, she would have laughed. Best fish to have sex with, indeed.

(Giving Mom a card.)

I bought my mom flowers from Farmer Jack (I am classy), then when I gave them to her she said, "Oh, they're so pretty" and pulled them toward herself. Then I realized that I'd forgotten to remove the price tag, so I pulled the flowers back so I could remove it.

"Oh yeah, hey, look at these flowers. They sure are nice. I'll get them ready, you find a vase."

You have to let your mom feel like she's worth the world, not just the $29.99 you spent on flowers at the grocery store on your way home.

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Saturday, May 13, 2006

Using the L-word with her mother, too

I went shopping for Mother's Day cards today, and since I try to be a good boyfriend, I got a card for my girlfriend's mom, too.

However, there was a problem: A vast majority of Mother's Day cards say, 'I love you.' Am I at a stage in my relationship with my girlfriend's mom where I feel comfortable saying 'I love you'? What if she doesn't love me back? Have we known each other long enough? We haven't even had sex yet!

So I'm thinking I'll cross out 'love' with 'like' so things don't get weird. Only downgrading verbs is weird enough, so, fuck. I guess I'll just settle for a less serious card that features a bad pun as its punchline.

(pants.)

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Friday, May 12, 2006

Identity theft, Pac Man, and you

Did you know that IDENTITY THEFT can happen to anyone, especially YOU?

IDENTITY THEFT allows HACKERS to view and even CHANGE vital information about your life, such as your CREDIT CARD NUMBER, your SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER, and your BIRTHDAY.

By using HACKER COMPUTERS, the hackers can take your information from COMPUTER SERVERS and become YOU. After that, they can break up with your boyfriend on your behalf, as well as sleep with everybody to make YOU look like a SLUT.

Eventually you will have to fight the HACKERS who have STOLEN your identity to the DEATH because there can be only ONE.

Scientists can perform tests to determine if a person is YOU or your IDENTITY IMPOSTER, but all of these tests involve putting things in your butt.

(Work, Angell 7:30-11:30.)

Moms, like women, don't understand computers. That's because moms ARE women. That is just one of the many revelations I have in my brain right now.

That statement is not entirely unfounded. If you have lived in Ann Arbor in the past 4 years and at any point you have had a vagina, then there's a 26% chance I've helped you with your computer. Don't blame me for my sweeping generalizations; blame both your girl parts and numbers.

Whenever there's an article or news report on technology, the wording in it usually implies that computers are scary spook boxes. This is because the news has to speak to everybody (include both moms AND women), and often that means using phrases along the lines of, "Hackers hacked into the computer mainframe and took all the files."

Then they cut to a clip of someone playing Pac Man. "Those dots are your files. The yellow thing is hackers. Those ghosts? We don't even know, but eyewitnesses have reported that sometimes they turn blue."

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Thursday, May 11, 2006

Spoiled bitches, the C word

You ever watch something on TV out of pure hatred?

I stumbled upon My Super Sweet 16 on MTV last night. The show's called that because rich girls celebrate their 16th birthdays in a super sweet kind of way. However, they could convey a more accurate sense of what the show's about by calling it Spoiled Cunts Obsess Over Petty Shit (or SCOOPS, because I just accidentally made an acronym.)

One girl asked her dad to get Eminem for her party, then thought her dad actually got Eminem (she asked her dad if her guest was from Detroit and her dad said he wasn't telling.) Then when some random guy performed a song he wrote for her, she started crying.

Then her dad got her a car that cost more than my college tuition. At the end, she summed up the evening by saying tearfully, 'I got a car, and I am, like, a totally new person.'

Apparently New Car + Cunt = New Person and not just Mobile Cunt.

(Saucers.)

I know a lot of women don't like the word "cunt," but if you were to watch this girl use her catchphrase, "that's juicy," not only would you start throwing around the word "cunt" like it's a frisbee at a Sunday picnic, but you'd start to hate white people.

Now, I'm as white as the night is not, and I saw this girl go "Oh my God I love that expensive French dress! Too bad I can't get it. I thought Paris was known for fashion," and I was ready to join the Black Panthers.

You see this overly elaborate birthday party and you think, "GODDAMN IT WHITE PEOPLE JUST GET A CAKE." Or at least I did, but I'm notoriously pro-cake.

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Beep beep dinner is ready beep

The apartment I lived in last year had a smoke alarm right next to the kitchen. Whenever anybody made a hot meal (e.g. grilled chicken, pot roast, microwave popcorn) our smoke alarm would go BEEP BEEP DINNER IS READY BEEP. It was more of a food alarm.

But this year, oh yeah, life is great! I can burn chicken all I want, because the smoke alarm is far away from the kitchen! In fact, we don't even have smoke alarms! How sweet is that?

But no, seriously, I'm checking our ceilings and I don't think we have smoke alarms. At all. Not even a coal mine canary in the foyer.

I'd be ok with the canary system. If the bird stops singing, it means maybe someone forgot to take a pizza out of the oven. I can understand dead birds, but not overzealous smoke alarms.

(Bed.)

I may not have mentioned this before, but an obscene portion of my readers are obnoxious middle schoolers. We're talking screen names like xxSk8orDiixx, FallOutBoi7238 and AIM profiles that link to the most obnoxious, Good-Charlotte-mp3-autoplays-upon-loading Myspace pages you've ever closed.

So, naturally, I want them to stop enjoying my "comedy" and go finish puberty. In front of a moving bus.

But if they won't do that, the least they can do is stop reading my stuff, and I figure the best way to do that is to allude to obscure facts about canaries. Soon they'll think, "Hmm, where's the butt humor? Use a swear, internet man," and then never IM me in broken English again.

However, I just referenced pubes, and pubes are HILARIOUS, so I think I just accidentally won them back. Pubic hair cancels out coal mine canaries.

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Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Henry, Lord of the Thermostat

Whenever I consult, I'm going to keep a log of the types of questions I get. On Monday, almost half of them were office-supplies-related.

Another popular question was: 'Can you change the temperature in here? It's really cold!' And you know what I want to say to that?

'Yes, lady, I can change the temperature because I am HENRY, LORD OF THE THERMOSTAT, but I love it when it's so cold that my balls retreat to the middle of my abdomen, so it looks like you're just going to have to check Facebook while icicles form on your mustache.'

People also ask for pens a lot. That makes me wonder if they came to the computer lab completely unprepared. 'I need a pen because I have nothing. Will you wipe my ass?' Drawing a swastika on the plush dinosaur pen looks better and better every day.

(Roving, 8am to 6pm.)

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Tuesday, May 09, 2006

Beware AIM viruses, Myspace users

So there's a new AIM virus. Just like other AIM viruses, it messages everybody on your buddy list with a clever trick so that they click on a link and get infected themselves. But what do these links look like?

They usually say something like, 'should i add this 2 facebook or myspace http://picture.viruses.net/aids'

While many of your friends may randomly IM you and immediately start talking about pictures, I've found that the best way to avoid this virus is to not talk to anyone who mentions myspace.

Did you know that myspace has led to more ass bangings than adopted orphans?

Think before you click, unless you want a virus to ass bang your computer.

If you think your computer has been ass banged, go to jayloden.com/AIMfix.exe for a virus check and hot myspice pix.

(Work.)

Seriously, jayloden.com has the first half of the solution if you got an AIM virus. The second half is not clicking on stuff without checking where the URL goes.

The third half is not using Myspace.

The fourth half is a math joke or something.

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Monday, May 08, 2006

Boner-inspired philanthropy

A while back a magazine on campus covered Hurricane Katrina. It said the usual 'Wow, this sucks' type of stuff. However, this jumped out at me and punched me in the face:

The person on the cover happened to be a really hot chick. The first thing you see on this magazine isn't the front headline or the price tag, but the sexy lady posing on the front. So you think 'hell, that's cool' and pick it up.

Then you look at the rest of the cover and you see the headline is something like, 'THIS GIRL HAS NOTHING LEFT' and you're like, 'aw, shit, I'm a bad person.'

Is that the angle this magazine was going for? 'We're covering a natural disaster. Let's find the sexiest survivor and put her on the cover. The best way to get people to read about national tragedy is through the human boner.'
'Start scouring the wreckage, photographers! We want women who are sad, but not so sad you don't want to fuck 'em!'

(Bed.)

I didn't have room to say this, but the next thing you think after reading the cover is, 'She can stay at my place. Nudge, nudge.'

And that's fine for you to joke about while on the other side of a magazine, but if you were to say that to her face, she'd probably want her homeless-and-less-sexy family to stay at your place, too. What began as a slight erection ended with you hosting Katrina survivors on your futon. Thanks, Magazine Whose Name I Forgot But I Swear Really Exists.

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Sunday, May 07, 2006

...and then a boner!

Tonight I went to the Improv Inferno. There were a couple good jokes, but most often the punchline was '...and then a boner!'

I also rearranged my room, and before I was done I was really mad at myself. Why the hell didn't I do this sooner? This must be how guys feel after they cut off their ponytails. 'Wow, what was I thinking? I was living the life of an asshole.' That reminds me, I need a haircut. You might, too.

When my foreign housemate is speaking German to her friends, I look a couple inches below her mouth. Alas, no subtitles.

...and then a boner!

(bed.)

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Saturday, May 06, 2006

Don't ask me about being a graduate yet

So now that I'm graduated, the big 'I don't know you very well, but I want to talk to you anyway' question is 'How's it feel to be graduated?'

However, it's summertime, so this is a bad question to be asking. I wouldn't be in class anyway, so it's not like being graduated has any effect on my life right now.

Pretend for a moment that your friend Dave just got fired from his job on a Friday. On Saturday, you give him a call and say, 'Oh man, what's it like not having a job? Must be really weird, man. What are you going to do with the rest of your life now?'
But the thing is, Dave doesn't work on Saturdays anyway. He sleeps in and watches TV in his underpants, so his routine hasn't changed. Your question was too early. Ask him on Monday.

So I know you may be giddy to ask me about what being a college graduate is like, but I don't know yet. Ask me about it in September.

(Kroger.)

If you couldn't figure it out, I'm like Dave. Only he watches cartoons in his underpants, and I watch cartoons in the nude. On the communal couch in the basement. While slathering my body in other people's peanut butter.

I hope the summer subletters read this.

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The Grandpa Loop

Tonight, on our way to dinner, some friends and I bumped into an older guy I know. He told us about the library where he works, only soon things went awry.

'Did I ever tell you about this thing one time?'
'No, let's hear it.'
(he tells the story, then a minute later)
'Did I ever tell you about this thing one time?'

Uh oh. We've fallen into a Grandpa Loop.

This man's memory has been kicked in the face by his arch nemeses: Old Age and Living Through the 70s. If he'll repeat this information once, there's a chance he could repeat it forever.

You ever program your graphing calculator to repeat 'balls' or 'farts' by making it loop back to the same thing over and over again and it won't stop until you turn it off? That's kind of like what God did to this old man's brain.

And that's why you should never talk to old people.

(Bed.)

Here, try it with your own graphing calculators:
Lbl 2
Disp "farts"
Goto 2

Now go outside.

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Friday, May 05, 2006

Swastika dinosaur pen crime deterrent

Today in the computer lab I found a green pen with a plush dinosaur at the end of it.

This is great, I thought. When people ask for pens, they get the green dinosaur pen. They won't leave with it, because it's big and goofy. That way, we keep our pens and needy users will look like the assholes they are.

So when my coworker Jenny came in for her shift, I showed her the pen. 'Oh, cute!' she said.
'Yeah, who would want to leave with this? This could be our new loaner pen,' I said.
'I'd leave with it. I think it's great.'
Well, this presented a problem, so we thought of ways to prevent dinosaur pen theft. Then it came to me:
'Let's draw a swastika on it.'
'What?!'
'Yeah, if the dinosaur has a swastika on it, users won't steal it because people will think they're in the nazi party.'
Jenny didn't like the idea, but that's ok. I'm going to get rich selling Dino-swastika pens.
(Sangria, tacos, etc.)

I'm glad I found a way to turn swastikas into a good thing. Sure, there was the Holocaust, and dude, that totally sucked, but now when you see a swastika, you can think to yourself, "I better not steal!"

Also, if a card-carrying nazi borrows a dinosaur pen, we are fucked. The swastika dinosaur pen is just screaming, "If you hate minorities but LOVE dinosaurs, steal me!" I know for a fact that I'm going to have to buy a dinosaur pen and draw another swastika on it if we lend one to an anti-Semitic paleontologist .

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I'll help you scan documents, fix your life, etc.

Last summer while working in the computer lab, a woman asked me if I could help her scan some documents. While we waited for the scanner to scan 30something pages of a pdf that was probably already online, this woman started asking me for advice.

For example, she told me she caught her man in bed with a bisexual woman, and she asked me if she should believe that he's not in love with her, and if love can overcome this.

I hope this summer that this lady has all sorts of oddball shit going on in her life. I hope her boyfriend has sex with a varsity girls softball team and she walks in on him and twenty high school seniors.

Then I hope her man convinces her that they're all just friends, and that she needs to get to the nearest computer lab to talk about her problems to a guy who just wanted to help her scan some fucking documents.

(Work, 7:30-11:30.)

I like how she referred to him as "her man." That type of lexicon is usually reserved for oppressed women dressed like beekeepers. Or women that hang out in da club. Ya know, the big booty bitches.

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Thursday, May 04, 2006

Endangered Animal Sex Train

Amy was an extra in a feature film, she just doesn't know what it's about. The director had her look at a watch and sigh while waiting for a train. This is all we know about the plot. Aside from that, the movie could be about anything:

Setting: Train station
GUY 1: The train is late.
(Amy looks at her watch and sighs.)
GUY 2: I know. I need this train.
GUY 1: Me too. I haven't had sex with an endangered animal in a long time.
(Amy looks at her watch and sighs.)
GUY 2: I sure could go for some hot bald eagle action in my pants.
GUY 1: How much longer must we wait for the train that allows us to have sex with endangered animals?
(Amy looks at her watch and sighs.)
(A train pulls up with ENDANGERED ANIMAL SEX TRAIN written on its side. Mooing, quacking, and that sound a dolphin makes can be heard.)
GUY 1: Let's gangbang a manatee.
GUY 2: Shotgun blowhole!

(Work, 8-6.)

Before you start fact checking my jokes, know this: I deliberately chose quacking and mooing as the animal noises for the train. This isn't common knowledge, but endangered animals are very quiet. You ever hear a panda say, "Don't shoot me please. I have much to offer the world"? Of course not. They're all dead from being quiet little bamboo-lovin' bitches.

Also manatees don't really have blowholes. Someone fact checked that joke, but while they were technically correct, they were also technically a wang.

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Shit of varying buoyancy

Tonight I watched about two dozen people drink dirt and wood chips.

Beer pong is an awful idea if it's outdoors. I don't care if it's gameday and you're the biggest football fan ever: you're still throwing ping pong balls onto the ground and then dunking them in water. That is not cleaning. That is moistening.

Tonight the beer had both floaters and sinkers. All red cups contained shit of varying buoyancy, and people were still all drinky-drinky because HEY FREE KEG BEER.

So I hope you all enjoyed it, People Across the Street, because you just got tuberculosis from beer mud.

(Bed.)

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Wednesday, May 03, 2006

Rich people live in the sky, with God

While in town, my grandparents took me shopping at Nordstrom. This is a store designed to make people feel poor. I saw fuzzy, multicolored clownskin sweaters go for over a thousand American dollars in this store.

So naturally, when you are shopping for something, they assign an old white man to follow you around and tell you what looks good on you (everything, you handsome devil, you!).

I was waited on literally hand and foot while these people put shoes on my feet and told me which pants looked good on my ass. Not once did these people appear to be down-to-earth people, as you may know that only poor people live on Earth. Rich people live in the sky, with God.

(work, 8-6.)

The salespeople never cracked jokes. I'm not sure if that was because they weren't allowed to or because there was no humor left in their wrinkled, decaying caucasian bodies. I have a feeling if I were to demand platinum cufflinks covered in diamonds and then platinum again, these men would have just politely said, "I'm sorry, sir, we don't carry those. Could I offer you a Swedish taint massage while you try on those khakis?"

I don't know if taint massages actually exist, but if there's any culture I trust with my taint, it's the Swedes.

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Tuesday, May 02, 2006

Vaginal cream from Grandpa

When my grandfather heard that I had dry skin, he left to retrieve a tube of cortizone cream in his suitcase upstairs. Minutes later, he returned to give me a tube of cortizone cream, only it wasn't regular cortizone cream.

It was vaginal cream. My grandfather had vaginal cream.

'It's great for jock itch,' he said.
'This is for vaginas, you crazy old man,' I thought.
'Thanks,' I said, putting the vaginal cream in my pocket and wondering why he didn't use non-vaginal cream for his dry skin.

Most grandparents just shower their graduated grandchildren with hugs, checks, and alumni t-shirts, but my grandfather went the extra mile and gave me cream for a vagina. Thanks, Grandpa!

(Work 'til 4ish.)

For the record, I love the shit out of my grandparents.

Also, this would have been a great way to call me a pussy. However, Grandpa's at that age where calling people pussies just isn't cool anymore. Plus he said "I use this stuff myself" which kind of ruins any "Here's some vaginal cream, you vagina" jokes.

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Adding cleavage to your sweatshirt

Today I saw a girl wearing what appeared to be one of the dumbest outfits I'd seen since St. Patrick's Day.

This girl, presumably in a sorority (their minds and menstrual cycles tend to synch up), was wearing a navy sweatshirt and sweatpants. And that's fine. The 'I just rolled off a random mattress and went to class' look is fine if you're a dumb whore.

However, she'd cut the top of the sweatshirt so that the neck was huge. The now-gigantic neck then fell to the side, exposing her left shoulder and making her look like an absolute clowntard.
'Hey, what's this sweatsuit missing? Ah yes, an exposed shoulder and/or cleavage. Better get out the scissors, because I'm a moron.'

(Bed.)

In case the earlier comment about St. Patrick's Day is confusing to non-college-students, allow me to explain how that holiday works on campus:
College students, usually of the white and rich variety, wake up at the crack of dawn to drink alcohol. The women in this group tend to wear the goofiest crap just so they can say they're wearing green. Guys tend to not deviate from the standard green polo or t-shirt, khakis, green beads, and obnoxious green hat. Women are allowed to get creative, and this is when things go awry.

This year I saw a girl wander into a pizza place sporting a sideways ponytail, a baggy white t-shirt with a green and orange design, green sweatpants, and slippers. She looked like an asshole, but then again she was drunk, so she was stumbling around like an asshole, too.

Hell, the girl from St. Patrick's Day could have been the girl I saw today, but I've come to a point where I can't tell sorority girls apart. There could be just one sorority girl making an ass out of herself who can just run really fast to create the illusion that sorority girls everywhere do dumb shit, when in fact it's just the one speedy one.

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