Note: This column was written during my sophomore year at the University of Wisconsin-Superior, and published in the Promethean.
I’d like to apologize for the title of this piece. “The Steaming Poop” is not in any way a literal term, it is merely an old-style journalism phrase meaning “news.”
I’d now like to apologize for insinuating that this column has news.
Since this is a college, and since the fourth word that comes to mind when I think of college is learning, I’m going to share what I learned over spring break.
—Don’t open the diswasher when it’s on.
—Sending in poloroids of everything you bought in the last year doesn’t qualify as an appropriate way to file your taxes.
—Gymnastics and glue-sniffing do not mix (learned from personal experience).
—Vaccuum cleaners have trouble sucking up beer.
Have you ever been dumped like a pile of worthless, cheap, unfornicated, homely, filth-ridden sewage from the poo dumpster at the zoo? (Note: “poo dumpster” is fun to say) If so, here’s a bit of fun for you. I have decided to provide my readers with the real meanings behind the overused “I’m dumping you” phrases that your girlfriend/boyfriend might have said.
*Line: Let’s be friends.
Meaning: We’ll both never call one another, and will badmouth each other to our friends.
*Line: There’s someone else.
Meaning: There’s no one else, but I’m sure as hell looking.
*Line: It’s not you, it’s me.
Meaning: It’s you, your friends, your family, and generally everything except me.
*Line: I don’t want a relationship right now.
Meaning: You’re ugly, and you have a big fat head like a basketball.
*Line: I don’t have time in my life for a girlfriend/boyfriend.
Meaning (from girls): I don’t have time in my life for a guy who collects firearms, plays Nintendo, and breaks wind in front of my parents.
Meaning (from guys): I don’t have time in my life for three girlfriends, so I have to get rid of one of them– and you’re it.
*Line: I need time for me right now.
Meaning: I’m going to go sleep with anything that moves.
My dad took a business trip to Las Vegas a few weeks ago. I never thought much of it, until I stopped and asked myself “Who the heck takes business trips to Las Vegas? Exactly what kind of business is my dad involved in? There is only one reasonable explanation for it– my dad’s a pimp. Yes, it’s true. I always wondered why his glasses are gold and his tooth fillings are silver, and now I know why. I questioned my father about this thing of his, this “pimpdom,” but got nothing but jive talk. I asked my mother about “dad’s side income,” and she said “Damn boy, I can’t keep up with the fly funky rhythms of your father! He’s phat, and let’s leave it at dat– word to your mother.” I thought the last line was a bit strange, coming from my mother and all. I guess I’ll just have to live with it. For everyone’s own good, here’s an educational piece.
Signs that your dad may be a pimp:
—Gold rims on family station wagon.
—Large and unnecessary use of jive talk around the house.
—”Grand Funklord of USA” t-shirt.
I was writing a letter to a friend this week, and it really got me in the mood to write letters…this week. Hmmm. Perhaps I do need a copy editor. Anyway, I decided to write a bunch more letters, even to people I didn’t really know. Here’s how it turned out.
I was extremely upset ot find out that we had school on St. Patrick’s Day. I am Irish, and have the fat, pudgy head to prove it. How dare you disgrace my somewhat legitimate heritage by making me go to class! How am I to cook the haggis? How am I to pick the four-leaf clovers? How am I to get disorderly and drunken? I can do none of these things when forced to attend classes until 2 p.m. Anyone from Ireland will tell you that a traditional Irishman is drunken by noon! Thanks to your university, I will be shunned forever by my family, and left alone to cry in my bowl of Lucky Charms. I hope you’re happy.
I’m going to get your Lucky Charms,
Carson Daly is a stiff. I know it, and you know it. After hearing him try to say the phrase “I am down with these funky rhythms,” and then hearing him use the word “rad” (circa 1988), I decided to write you this letter. I hope you will take my idea into consideration. If you decide not to fire him, please shoot me in the part of the brain where pictures and sound come together to form understanding. Thank you.
Happily awaiting a headwound,
Dear Carson Daly,
Seeing that MTV probably won’t fire you, I have decided to instead send you some tips on how to not make me barf while watching you. Step 1: Nobody uses the word ‘rad’ anymore, and if anyone were to ever bring back the word ‘rad,’ it sure as hell wouldn’t be you. Step 2: Don’t make it so obvious when you read the cue cards. Try and make people believe that you’re smart enough to think up your own comments. Step 3: Dump Jennifer Love Hewitt and give her my address. Step 4: Wipe that goofy “I’m on T.V.– that’s way cool” look off your face. Thank you for listening. I hope that someone will read this “long letter with the big, big words” to you and help you understand.
Happily porking your mom,
I’m sorry. I can’t believe I just wrote “happily porking your mom.” Now I’ll never get that job working for Nickelodeon.
I’d now like to end this issue’s column with a bunch of
s p a c e f i l l e r.
Errors: Last issue, I claimed that SAB threw condoms at people. They are actually not even involved in safer sex week. To be honest, I also got the week of the event wrong. To be completely honest, I don’t even know what sex is. All I know is that it involves Barry White music and a lot of liquor. If you have any more information, please let me know.