Ramblings - Paul Ryan

I don’t want to be the poo guy anymore

September 28, 2001

Note: This column was written during my final semester at the University of Wisconsin-Superior, and published in the Promethean.

Paul Ryan, Columnist

Any of you who have attended school here at UWS and read this newspaper know that normally I write about poo. Yes, the column may not start out talking about poo, or end with comments or random memories regarding “poo-like” events, but much like a flaming paper bag on your doorstep late at night, you know that there is indeed at least half a shoe o’ poo inside.

On second thought, how about we just forget we read that first paragraph. Okay, good.

Read full post… »

Either way, I’m sick of being the poo guy. I refuse to be “pootastic” or “pootacular”. I will not be “poolicious” any longer.

One may think it would be cool to be the poo guy, but believe it or not, there are major downsides. For instance, it’s annoying when I drive around campus, and people scream, “Hey! Poo guy!” Granted, it is airbrushed on the side of my moped and matching pink helmet, but that doesn’t mean I want the whole campus to know.

And another thing, please don’t insult me by calling me “poo boy”. I’m all man, be it a poo sort of man or not. The next person to call me “poo boy”, “poo moppet” (bet you didn’t know poo guy was a walking thesaurus, did you?), or “little poo” is going to get poo slapped twice in the latest kung poo style.

It’s also very hard to get a date when you’re known as the poo guy. Hard to believe as it is, most classy women around here don’t want to be known as “the chick who’s dating the poo guy”. And without a date, I’m forced into poonogamy. This poonogamous lifestyle of sitting around by myself on the cold nights of winter and the sometimes even colder nights of summer (damn lake effect) make a man a little desperate. And in desperate. And in desperate times come desperate measures, so I’m saying right here and now that I don’t want to be the poo guy anymore. From now on, I’ll never write about poo again. Next column, I’ll write about something different, like leprechauns who train monkeys to play backgammon for whiskey.

On another note, I drew a picture of my Uncle Phil with my left hand. Wanna see?

(Photo missing)

I’m glad you enjoyed that. I’m right-handed, so it was hard.

Anyway, back to the issue at hand. Here’s an example of a date I went on last month:

Hot Nude Woman: This is a lovely dinner.

Muscular, Irresistable Paul: I know. Hardees really is a wonderful place.

HNW: I’m so glad we only had to push your stalled car over flat land.

MIP: What do you mean we?

HNW: Oh, that’s right. You sprained your legs during football practice in eight grade, so I pushed while you steered.

MIP: Yeah. Sorry for leaving the car in park the whole time.

HNW: That’s okay. Three miles isn’t that far anyway.

MIP: Say, can I ask you something?

HNW: Sure.

MIP: Are you wearing spacepants?

Random Guy: Hey! Pooooooo guy! Poooooo! Hey! Hey! Poooooooooooo!

And just like that, my suave, flattering and cleverly original pick up line is ruined.

So that does it. I’m done. No more. From now on, no more poo guy. Instead, call me “Guy i’m slightly frightened to be seen talking to in public”. And for you ladies, remember that Hardees is open 24 hours in this fine town.

« Hide entry

12:13 pm |

Permalink |

0 comments

Chancellor Julius Erlenbach: hot or not?

May 9, 2001

Note: This column was written during my senior year at the University of Wisconsin-Superior, and published in the Promethean.

Paul Ryan, Columnist

Man, am I pissed. Really pissed. Okay, I thought that for my last column, it would be really funny to harass our chancellor, Julius Erlenbach. So I posted his picture on a website called hotornot.com. Basically, this website lets you post your picture so that others can rate how “hot” you are.

So I thought it would be really, really, REALLY funny to post Julius’ picture and see what people rated him at.

Obviously, a staff member pointed out to me that it would be unfair to just post Julius’ picture. In order to do it right, I would also have to post my picture on the site, and make it into a contest of sorts. I figured that since most of the people on this website are teenagers, he wouldn’t stand a chance. I was wrong.

Read full post… »

12:04 pm |

Permalink |

0 comments

Please stop discussing my magnificent ass in public

April 25, 2001

Note: This column was written during my senior year at the University of Wisconsin-Superior, and published in the Promethean.

Paul Ryan, Columnist

Please. Stop. Please stop. I know my creamy white Buttocks are superb, but please stop discussing Them in public. They’re talked about in buses, trains and electric motored auto-mo-bile cars. They’re admired from afar, middle range, light strength binocular range, and even up close. If I should ever have to come to a sudden stop, many a people would find themselves getting a face full of my splendid Ass.

Yes, my subtle yet striking and delicious-looking Bottom is indeed a finely crafted machine. It gleams with a polished shine, almost smiling at you as you stare at It. Those of weaker mental strength often weep when in Its presence.

Read full post… »

When I break wind with my finely-tuned instrument of perfection, It sounds like a small symphony orchestra is performing a favored piece for the son of a king. The odor released is not the reek of sulfur and oat bran excrement that your subpar posterior produces, it is more like the smell of crisp, virgin wildflowers sitting next to freshly-baked cornbread on an oak table cleansed fully with lemon pledge on a pleasant Sunday morning.

When I release flatulence, people beg me to produce yet again, so that they may capture it in a jar for later enjoyment.

Sometimes rosepetals will shoot from my magnificent farting Ass, with my sublime twin Moons rippling in unison. Women want a piece of It, and men want to be like It.

My goodness. These columns are becoming rather long and ridiculous, aren’t they?

My brilliant Extremity-Ass can sometimes blind children on sunny days. Those with heart conditions or in other areas of poor health who wish to see It should only do so by poking a hole in a piece of construction paper and watching Its shadow. Al Roker and George Kessler often use It to predict the weather.

I do not use dirty socks or rolled up balls of toilet paper to make Its shape more appealing, like you do with yours. My polite and courteous Arse’s thick candy-coated shell and firm but relaxing interior cushioning provides the comfort and protection one would normally only expect from the seat of a limousine, or the middle of a finely fluffed pillow.

Sweet mother of crap, just how long is this blasted thing?!? How long is a novella? Is it officially a novella yet? Hmmm…a novella about my ass. A novella about my magnificent, sparkling and superiorly intelligent ass. I like it. You haven’t seen it done before, have you? If someone else has an “ass novella”, I certainly don’t want to bother with it. Oh well, no matter.

If you were to ever serve drinks off my wonderful Laderiere (Note to self: learn how to spell “laderiere”), your mother would surely insist that you use coasters.

So you see, my Butt is indeed a thing to be marveled at. Not like your ridiculous tail, which is lopsided and filled with dingleberries. How could you dare to compare? My Ass could surely kick your ass’ ass. Your discolored, unnaturally sagging colon cushion is outdated and unwanted, much like wooden eating utensils and rotary telephones. Mine wouldn’t even be a regular utensil; It is the “spork” of the modern world.

For shame, doubters of my arse! Shame…on…you…all!

« Hide entry

12:00 pm |

Permalink |

0 comments

Vote me, Paul Ryan, as your next Student Senate President

April 11, 2001

Note: This column was written during my senior year at the University of Wisconsin-Superior, and published in the Promethean.

Paul Ryan, Columnist

Yes, yes, I know what you’re thinking. “Paul Ryan as Student Senate president? You’ve got to be kidding!” Well, I am not.

Granted, I haven’t really filled out the needed petitions or put my name on the ballot, but vote for me anyway. This brings me to my campaign slogan:

“VOTE FOR ME, STOOPID!”

Read full post… »

Please notice the ever-important all capital letters and bold/italic lettering, which shows that the slogan/message is indeed truly great and important. Also notice that I spelled the word “stoopid”, with two “o’s” instead of the normal “u”. It shows I am zany, despite my articulate and proper nature.

Now, I don’t know much about this “presidency” bit, but I’ve been told that one should have issues. Seeing this, I have put together a list of things that will come to pass when (not if, when) I am voted Supreme Grand Central Sucka of UWS.

These “issues”, which will not be voted on by anyone but me (that will be the first thing I make legal), may not be stolen or used by any other candidates. This means you, Steph Hilton. You may have stolen my idea for a pornography reading room in the library last year, but this year you will not be allowed such tricks.

My issues are as follows:

*Anyone found cheating on their boyfriend/girlfriend/particular date for that evening will be ignored, but any woman cheating on me will be hung nude by their ankles in the RSC for picture taking.

*Any professor found scheduling a class before 10 a.m. will be woken by those very students just as many times during their next vacation period.

*Three words: keggers in Crownhart.

*Instructors Bruce Kasden and Todd Kneeland will be named “Grand Poobah Chancellors of UWS”. Current Chancellor Julius Erlenbach will be traded to the University of Michigan for their football team, and his office will be replaced by a “Tilt-o-Whirl” machine.

*Current senate president Chris Voltke will work together with a monkey on rollerskates (a monkey that wears a beanie, of course) to find new ways to get me women. Whippings will occur if any of their ideas involve the words “Stargate” or “just try harder.”

*The UWS cheerleaders will be forced to defeat me in mud wrestling (not just one of you, all of you…individually) in order to attain segregated fee funding. All other organizations will battle for funding through a campus belching contest, hosted by the late Burl Ives.

*If I lose any of the mud wrestling matches, the entire idea will be thrown out. Funding will return to the normal procedure, except that the salaries of SUFAC members will be determined by the student organization that receives the least funding from them.

*Anyone that doesn’t agree that my mom is “the keenest mom around” will be injected with the herpes virus.

*After declaring war on the neighboring WITC and pillaging their goods, services and other resources, we will then begin to overtake other small community colleges in the area until we are strong enough to overtake UMD, which is filled with heinous bastard children.

So vote for me. Your future depends on it, you butthole.

« Hide entry

11:56 am |

Permalink |

0 comments

Please try this at home

March 14, 2001

Note: This column was written during my senior year at the University of Wisconsin-Superior, and published in the Promethean.

Paul “Disco Afro Drunk” Ryan, Columnist

Hello you Irish freaks! Grab your booze and gather ’round, for today, in honor of St. Patrick’s Day, I’ll be drinking heavily and answering fan mail from hideously unattractive UWS people like yourself!

Now obviously, trying to get a UWS student to actually write a letter to the editor would be about as successful as trying to rewrite the President’s entire State of the Union speech on an Etch-a-Sketch while rolling down a bumpy hill in a big rubber tire. So because of this, I have only received one letter. Others may say it’s because this column sucks royally, but people like that usually end up mopping up poo for a living, so never mind them.

Read full post… »

Either way, today’s letter comes from UWS junior Jamie Bunt, who I have known for years, but avoid because of her intense body odor.

Dear Paul,
I disliked your last column, “A conversation with my roommate’s dog.” It was stupid. You are stupid. I do enjoy your hair, though. It looks to have texture similar to that of a Nerf Turbo Football. I imagine touching your Nerf Hair (patent pending) would bring me great joy, much like the kind Bill Cosby must feel when sticking a Jello Pudding Pop in his ear.

Miss Bunt then recommended that I “go stick my face up my ass.”

Well Jaime, I’m here to tell you that I did just that. I did what you said. I stuck my entire face up my ass. I thought it to be a rather strange request at first, but upon trying it, I found it to be quite invigorating!

Granted, sticking one’s face up their own arse may sound like a lengthy and disgusting task, but with proper hygiene and a jar of crisco, it can be a fun and educational experience with little trouble or clean up.

In fact, I had so much fun with it that I spent my entire weekend doing nothing more than sitting in the living room, sticking my own face up my ass. By the way, does anyone have an open room for rent? My roommates kicked me out.

I didn’t even have time to do my homework assignment, and on Monday, when I told my professor why I didn’t have it ready, he said he already knew that I had my head way up my ass! The craze is spreading like wildfire!

So thank you, Jaime Bunt. Your hobby of shoving your face directly up your own booty has made my week very stress-free and full of flavor.

Moving on, since St. Patrick’s Day is coming up soon, here’s a little drinking game you can play, called the “Me Irish Paul is Uglier than me Irish toilet” game. If you’re a guy, anytime you see a girl that would not date Paul Ryan, you drink. If you’re a woman, you must simply drink until I seem attractive. Needless to say, all parties will be trashed five minutes after starting. So try it today, and remember to buy more crisco next time you go to the Piggly Wiggly. Good night!

« Hide entry

11:52 am |

Permalink |

0 comments

‹ Previous