All-Time Popular Content

How to Get Through Life in 10 Stages

Jonathan Marine — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 16:38:27 -0400

"How to" lists are extremely popular in all forms of modern day media, from internet humor columns like this one to the blogosphere to popular home and gardening websites. Read More »

Drunken Drive-Thrus

Alex Bash — Wed, 15 Oct 2008 19:14:03 -0400

After a night of drinking, I often find myself going through various fast food drive-thrus. But occasionally, I find myself going through other kinds of pseudo-drive-thrus, some of which lead to spinal leakage, others to bruised pelvises, and a few undoubtedly are sold out of everything except large orders of tow-trucks pulling stolen cars out of ditches. Read More »

Seven Epic Drunk Dials, Round 2

Alex Bash — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 23:21:02 -0400

Due to high ratings, a serendipitous seven "favorites," and the overwhelming number I have to choose from, the Seven Epic Drunk Dials are back for Round 2. Read More »

How to Be a PIC Writer

Points in Case — Fri, 30 May 2008 23:30:12 -0400

By contributing writer J.B. Hour

So you want to be a PIC Writer, do ya? I’ll bet you do. I remember sitting where you are right now (not literally, but in front of a PC nonetheless) reading the hilarity on PIC and thinking, “Wouldn’t it be great if I could be funny, too?” Then I started thinking that if you mesh “wouldn’t” and “it” together when saying it out loud, it sounds like “wouldn’t tit.” Then I started thinking about tits, looked at some on the internet, and decided I should write funny articles.

The problem was, I didn’t really know how to begin writing the funny. Sure, when I’m around a group of people, I’m the funniest person around, hands down. Everybody flocks to wherever I am and they hang on my every last word, gasping for air as their bellies ache and their mouths stretch open a little wider to let out a little more laughter. So, naturally, I sat down at my PC and had a conversation with myself. It went like this:

Me: Hey Brain, start with the funny. Make the hands and fingers do that typing thing so I can get on PIC.
Brain: Well, what should I write about?
Me: Hey Brain, I don’t know, that’s why I fucking pay you.
Brain: You don’t pay me shit, bro. How about college roommates?
Me: Sounds good, but it needs some work. Can you talk about the differences between living with guys and girls?
Brain: You heard the man, hands. Fingers, start the typing.

I figured I’d save you the headache of arguing with your brain, and give you some instructions on how to become a PIC writer. Pay attention, I’m only going to go over this once.

Go To College

Don't Be Really Old

It’s an easy place to start. It’s easy because not only will your friends do the dumbest shit this side of the Milky Way galaxy, but you will, too. And, after they do these things, you can humiliate them on the internet. When I was in college, all out hilarity ensued on a daily basis. From daring each other to eat the “super hybrid chilis” grown in the cafeteria garden, to dousing the Indian kid’s hat with water and freezing it, there was plenty for me to write about now. If you haven’t already read about Randy Spellner, you should. He was my college roommate my freshman year.

Don’t Get a Job

Getting a job is useless, anyway. There are plenty of things you can do to pay off your college loans, car payment, car insurance, rent, cable, internet, and cell phone bills. Also, if you have any actual alternative ideas in order to do so, I’d like to hear them. And don’t comment that I should sell my body. I don’t want to sell drugs either, pothead. Getting a job will only get in the way of writing funny, witty, and influential articles for PIC. Having a job means you have less time to conjure up stories, or participate in dubious activities which will later serve as a basis for the next front page article.

“Study” Other PIC Writers

It’s a good idea to know what PIC readers like. Take a look at some other writers’ articles and read the comments. When you can, be sure to name drop some of the more popular PIC writers’ names in your articles, like Nathan DeGraaf or Nick Gaudio, so Court can link to either their blog or one of their funny articles. Court has probably already linked the above text to the time Nate wrote this exact same article. If you don’t believe me, click the link above. If you can, rip off a topic another PIC writer has already written about, but call attention to the fact that you ripped them off while making fun of yourself. This way, they can’t get mad at you for ripping them off. The last thing you want is to end up on the receiving end of a verbal onslaught from Nick Gaudio in the comment box.

Create an Online Persona

This is important, because to be honest, you’re probably too boring a person to be successful on PIC. Chances are you’re the only person on the face of the earth that thinks you’re funny, too. That’s okay, though. You just need to create an angle. A “character” if you will. Something that will make you seem interesting, with a unique point of view. Maybe you hate woman because you’re ugly. Maybe your dick is little. So instead of stalking women and burying them in the nearest rock quarry after you’ve raped and killed them, you can proclaim your extreme hate for them on PIC instead.

Also, when I said rock quarry, what I really meant were forests nowhere near any rock quarries. Don’t check rock quarry’s, there’s nothing there.

Write a Good Bio

One of the first things Court asks you to do when you submit an article for the front page is to write a short bio about yourself. There are two schools of thought about how to do this. They’ve probably been debated and argued over for years.

The first is to be arrogant, self-righteous, and cocky; that’s the approach yours truly took. Write about how awesome you are and how you’ve banged a bunch of women. Shit, tell everybody you’re the Mayor of FuckingAwesomeVille, USA. Anything that will make you look like a badass is good. This portrays you as a role model for all college students and cements your place as a folk hero.

However, you could always go the other way. Making fun of yourself and your lack of motivation, as well as the fact that although you’ve graduated from college, you’re either homeless, or living with your parents shows that you’re humble, and you can relate to the average/below average college student.

Make a List

Whatever you do, just turn it into a list. Almost every article on PIC is a list. Just think of something that would be super cool to do, and just start writing down reasons you should do it. You could even write reasons on HOW TO do it. For example, How to Survive College Without a Helmet, How to Not Get Laid, How to Organize Your Buddy List, and finally, How to Be a PIC Writer (you’re already here). These are just a few examples of the BEST lists available on PIC.

And, they’re fucking funny, too.

Submit Three Articles at a Time

It’s the law of averages people. That’s why there are three strikes in baseball and California. Chances are, if you swing three times, you might hit a homerun. Besides, if you submit three of your shitty articles at one time, Court might feel bad that you spent all of your time writing and publish one on the front page—after he adds the funny, of course. At least that’s how I did it.

Follow these simple rules and you’ll be on your way to stardom and up to your ears in more pussy than you’ll know what do with. Or, you’ll just write funny articles for PIC while you’re at work, without any of the stardom or pussy. I guess it just depends on how funny you are.

Picking Them Games Like We Know What We're Doing

Nathan DeGraaf — Fri, 26 Sep 2008 17:27:06 -0400

Due to my hectic schedule, Nikki the Bartender, Scotty the Handicapper and I had to do our NFL picks via email. When I sent Nikki the lines, she responded:

"Hey Nate - Remind me please, does the plus mean they have to win by that number and the minus that they lose by that number? Read More »

A Letter from Your Unborn Fetus

Points in Case — Fri, 30 May 2008 23:30:24 -0400

By staff writer Paul Frank

DISCLAIMER: I did not write this article, your girlfriend’s unborn fetus did.

Hey bro! Hey, can you hear me? It’s me, your unborn fetus! Well, technically your girlfriend’s unborn fetus, but I’m still half yours! You’re like a father to me, bro. I mean that. We go back a long time. Like two terms or something. I don’t really know pre-birth age measurements, but I think it’s like dog years or something. Whatevs.

Just wanted to drop in to tell you it’s totally cool if you abort me, man. Don’t even worry about it. Don’t even give it another thought. Just drive this girlfriend I call home to the neighborhood abortion clinic and abort the shit out of me. No big deal, bro. You and me and cool. Nothing will change that, not even a cheap abortion from a guy who failed out of dental school the first year.

Now listen, I know your girlfriend’s probably all like, “What if he’s the next Einstein?!” but trust me dude, I’ll just be the next Cryin’-stein. Get it?! No? Well…you know, ‘cause babies cry all the time and stuff? Oh, you DO get it? Sorry, I can’t hear very well…my ears aren’t fully formed yet (one more reason to abort me, right, dogg? Just kidding, nobody uses “dogg” anymore).

Anyway, dude, we already know that E equals MC squared, so another Einstein wouldn’t do the world any good. Plus, that’s just boring math science shit. We get enough of that in school, right, Broshua?

"Bro, she's right, but please don't let things go this far. The longer you wait, the more it hurts."

Just the other day my fetus friend was tellin’ me, before he went to the great fetus pile in the sky, that an abortion is fun. He said they give you painkillers beforehand, a sucker when it’s done, and the whole thing is just one big party! Whooooooo!! Yeah! Fucking abortions!!

Dude, I told your girlfriend to get me some pizza without the dough the other day and she totally did!

Question, Brothaniel: What kind of abortion do you think you’ll get on me? ‘Cause I’m down for whatever, swear to Criss Angel Mindfreak! Back alley abortions are uber cheap, but a little dangerous. Real abortion clinic abortions are expensive and the doctors are stuck-up, but it’s reliable and clean. The ol’ hanger to the vag is like probably the best way to do it, I’m thinkin’. But, whatever, bro. Your abortion. Just be gentle, please. Haha, just kidding—I’m not a pussy!

Hey, have you ever seen Friends? That show fucking sucks hard!

Well, I have a lot of time in here, so I decided to write up one of those gay pro/con things of getting an abortion vs. not getting an abortion.

Pros:

No baby.
Cheaper.
Don’t have to tell your parents you got your girlfriend pregnant.
It’s an experience.
Makes for a good story at your wedding.

Cons:

I don’t know.
None, I guess.
Can’t really think of any.
Dude, seriously, wasn’t Friends like the #1 show in America? How is that possible? That shit was fucking horrible! Just terrible. Un-fucking-believable.
None off the top of my head.
I won’t get to go with you to that kegger on Saturday.

So dude, go tell your girlfriend right now that I said it’s cool. Say, “Come on, doesn’t the fetus get a voice in this? He just wrote me a letter practically begging me to abort him.” Dude, I swear, she’ll drive to the abortion clinic, get that abortion, and then have some wicked sex with you afterward. There will still be some of me in there too, haha! Sicccckkkk.

Abort me, bro! Do it! You don’t want some stranger crawling around your house, crying, shitting himself, crying some more, pissing himself, and lookin’ all ugly and shit! You already have your girlfriend for that! …ZING!!! High five! Wait…I don’t have hands.

P.S. It’s so cool being in here. I mean, your girlfriend is hot as hell. I’m lucky as fuck to be inside her vag! Who would’ve thought, dude! I’m in your girlfriend’s pink more than you! What the fuck?! Work on that, bro.

P.S. I mighta just been groggy or something, but I swear I saw another dude’s dick in here. You might want to ask her about that.

Double P.S. It looked black. But I’m not sure, Brotholomew.

P.S. Dude, it’s really not as cool as you’d think being in a vagina 24/7. It smells and I’m near piss like all the time!

P.S. I’m not sure how pregnancy works, but I’m probably not technically in her vagina anyway…maybe I’m in her uterus or something. I don’t know, I didn’t major in pregnancy! Alls I know is I have a good-ass view of her vaginal region, and that view is very nice, my friend, very niiiiiiice (yeah, I was already here when you guys watched that DVD).

Fixing the Economy: Shoot the Hostage

Nathan DeGraaf — Mon, 22 Sep 2008 16:59:31 -0400

Keanu Reeves has a tendency to overact but the American people still love him anyway. We love him as much for his cheesy displays of unintentional comedy as we do for... well, anything else he may have done for the good of cinema. This is not our fault. There's no accounting for taste and all that. Read More »

My Organs and I Wake Up

Casey Freeman — Tue, 22 Jul 2008 16:54:32 -0400

(Scene: KC is asleep in his hip Pee Slope apartment.)

EARS: DUDE, THERE'S A NOISE! DUDE, THERE'S A FUCKING NOISE!!! STOP IT!!!

KC: What is your God damned problem Ears?
EARS: There's a fucking noise!

HANDS (pointing to alarm clock): Right over there! Read More »

The Collegiate Guide to Surviving Hurricanes

Points in Case — Fri, 30 May 2008 23:45:01 -0400

By staff writer Nathan DeGraaf

I've been through three hurricanes, lost power for a combined ninety-seven hours and spent four deliciously drunk days wandering the streets, dodging downed power lines, and eating anything I could find that was a) warmer than me and b) didn't bite back. In the process, I have learned quite a bit about hurricane survival. So, because I am a helpful and earnest young man, I will share what I have learned with you...provided you aren't the asshole who took the last case of Bud Light from the University of South Florida Exxon during Charley.

Some people (and by people, I mean land-owners) will tell you that you need the following to survive a hurricane: a gas generator, plywood, bleach, a supply of water, candles, batteries, dry goods and a first aid kit. This is all well and good if you have a family or a house to protect, but for the average single male (renting) you really only need the following: two bags of ice and a cooler, one case of beer, a car with a full tank of gas, a carton of cigarettes and $200 in cash. You need the gas so you can leave, the cold beer so you can stay, the cash because debit cards don't work when there's no electricity, and the carton of cigarettes in case you run out of cash. (I have traded cigarettes for food, candles and porn over the course of the last six weeks.) Of all the aforementioned items, beer is the most important, so naturally, we need to spend a paragraph or two exploring its tasty grandeur.

Beer is your best friend. Without it, you will be forced to face the reality that you have no electricity, no running water and no emergency personnel to prevent you from murdering your neighbor (who has a generator and won't share). If you stay drunk enough, you can enjoy the hurricane, but beware: once the power goes out, you need to make sure that you’re buying quality beer. And by quality beer, I mean warm beer. Allow me to explain.

Careful not to flood your house party with too many uninvited guests.

It's a simple equation: the beer gets cold (in the store's refrigerator), then gets warm (when the power goes out), then gets cold again (in your cooler), then tastes bad (in your mouth). After a power outage, you must make sure that you buy only beer that has never been refrigerated. This way, you will not have skunky beer. Also, do not believe any clerk when they tell you that their beer either did not get warm or never was cold before the hurricane. Hurricane deductibles are expensive and these bums will do whatever they can to make a buck. And believe me, if you're dumb enough to purchase it, they're smart enough sell it to you. Jerks. Anyway, once you've purchased your warm beer and cold ice, it’s time to find a party.

Hurricane parties are great because they combine the free-for-all mentality of a major kegger/barbecue with the gloomy proposition of certain death. If you are a man, this is an amazing opportunity for you to get laid. Women, believe it or not, get really scared in life-threatening situations and develop a longing for companionship. Drunk men, pretty much, get horny in any situation. So, during a hurricane party, everyone wins. Also, you men can feel free to be extra-bold because no one can kick you out of a hurricane party, lest the kicker-outer risk your death as a burden on his conscience.

Me: Okay, fine. I'm leaving. But if I die in this Category 2 storm, then it's on your head.
Guest 1: That's like, attempted murder, Kicker Outer.
Guest 2: Yeah dude, you don’t want him to go.
Kicker-Outer: Alright, you can stay, but if I catch you with my wife and sister again…

But hurricane parties aren't the only parties during a hurricane. After the hurricane party, before the power comes back on, and after the necessary cleanup from the storm blast, it's time for the bad meat party. During a bad meat party, you and all your powerless neighbors get as much Charcoal and beer as you can find, throw together a neighborhood worth of grills and eat risky meat until you vomit.

The woman's job during a bad meat party is to inspect each piece of meat with her upturned nose and decide what smells worthy of the grill. The man’s job is to grill and eat all the meat while the women eat pop tarts and mutter helpful sentences to each other like, "Can you believe I'm sleeping with this schmuck?"

And that's really all there is to it. Hurricanes are much like college: If you stay drunk enough, throw enough parties, and get on enough girls, you barely notice that the storm (or the school, for that matter) is even there. Remember, success is always measured in the wake of destruction.

My Organs and I Go to Work

Casey Freeman — Mon, 18 Aug 2008 08:37:26 -0400

(KC rides the luxurious subway to Midtown during a beautiful NYC morning.)

NOSE: It smells icky.

JUNK: Eyes, check out that girl's ass. Yeah, yeah. Good. Brain, save it. Oh look, she's turning around. Get ready to... Read More »

An Open Letter to That One Congress Dude

Nathan DeGraaf — Thu, 02 Oct 2008 15:35:15 -0400

Dear My Congressman:

Hello, Mr. (or maybe Mrs.) Congressman. My name is Nathan. And I live in your district. I'm sorry I don't know you by name but the thing is, just looking at you people gives me the willies something fierce so I never bothered to look you up. Y'all are like personal injury lawyers but with less scruples and no souls. Except for Ron Paul. Read More »

My Organs and I Go on a First Date

Casey Freeman — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 23:46:27 -0400

(The scene opens in KC's Luxury Pee Slope Apartment. He's giving a pep talk to his organs.)

KC: Okay gang, I've got a date with this really hot chick. Can you please, please behave for me tonight? I don't need another, "Um, I forgot your name but can I get a high five and could you pay for my beer?" date night like last time. Dig it? Read More »

An Attempt at Sensitivity

Points in Case — Fri, 30 May 2008 23:36:41 -0400

By staff writer Nathan DeGraaf

About three years ago, I lost a friend in an accident. Well, I wasn’t the only one who lost him. A whole bunch of living people lost him, including his friends and family. He was easily the funniest human being I ever met, and the thing is, he never really knew it. People all over the state of Florida loved to hang out with him; many cops let him slide without tickets; girls let him into their lives (and pants) quicker than even he could believe. He was just, for lack of a better term, lively. He was the kind of guy who, upon his arrival at a party, could lift the mood of a room full of people. When he entered a room, you could just feel the “Cool, Joe’s here” vibe throughout the party. He was that much fun.

Anyway, he’s dead.

The other day, I had dinner and drinks with his mother, a woman named Candace who had genetically handed-off to Joe his smile and wit. She’s always been a great lady, always pushing me with my writing and comedy and telling me (unlike my family and friends) not to waste my time with a career but to have fun spreading (what she considers to be) my “gift” throughout the world.

After our fourth drink, she removed a Chinese food menu (with pen ink all over it) from her pocket and gave it to me. I read it at the table and I damn near cried. Then I read it again and I laughed my butt off. It was a note written to me (that I never received) back when Joe and I were living in a crappy studio apartment in central Tampa. Since Candace loves reading my stuff on PIC, I figured I’d try to get Joe’s letter up on the site.

Anyway, without further ado...

Dear Nate:

We’re three weeks away from moving to bigger and better places with smaller and better smelling people, and I just wanted to get this on paper because it’s funny and cool and because it shows a prime example of why I loved living with you.

Back in January, you were getting freaky when I was trying to sleep and you weren’t polite enough to leave out the video recorder so I could capture your lousy, lazy excuse for rough sex, you loud ass, melodramatic SOB. So I spent a few hours wandering some of Tampa’s rougher neighborhoods so you could fuck. Don’t say I never did anything for you, you long-haired son of a sheepherder on acid. At the time, I was hoping she would give you VD—not the serious kind, the kind that would go away with a few shots of penicillin and allow me the privilege of telling every slut you know that you picked up gonorrhea from a Gulf Coast whore.

Anyway, while I was out walking, trying to make sense of why your skinny ass had someone to fuck and I didn’t (I chalked it up to the fact that I have higher standards than you—what’s new?), a bum pulled a rusty .22 on me and tried to take my wallet. While that stupid gun was pointed at me, the following thoughts went through my head, all at the same time: "I’m not dying over eighteen bucks, I’ll bet that gun doesn’t work, if I die, at least I won’t have to do my final paper for Collins; fucking Nate gets holed up with a whore while I brave this shit fuck town to give him some privacy, ah fuck it, let’s die, what’s life worth anyway? Shit, give him your money. It’s good karma."

So I gave him the eighteen bucks, and the next day, you came home from class and said, laughing while talking (which you always do and which I have finally grown accustomed to): “Dude, some dumbass bum pulled a rusty .22 revolver on me and tried to rob me. I fucking grabbed the gun and bitch slapped him. Check it out. I made over two hundred bucks. Drinks are on me tonight.”

As we drank that night, I never let you know the truth about that bum with the rusty revolver. You never told the story again because I guess you felt bad about stealing from a bum—or maybe you were just drunk and forgot you did it. At any rate, the subject was never again breached. I never got my eighteen bucks but I did get my karma.

During one of our wine-drunk rap sessions, you once asked me why you’re not a nice person—whether it was environmental or genetic? And I said that it didn’t matter really because you won’t change. And I was right, but not completely.

You see, people like you may not be nice or especially kind, but they can recognize when a gun won’t fire and who needs a bitch slapping. If there was no one like you, there may be no way to ensure that the nice guys in the world get what they deserve. In short, you’re Karma’s Asshole. You’re there to keep people in check, to let them know that life is humor and that every action has a consequence.

So it’s best to do nothing at all.

Pleasure living with you bro. Now crack that best-sellers list.

Your favorite sausage smells,

Joe.

Student Video Game Therapy

Points in Case — Fri, 30 May 2008 23:45:04 -0400

Student Video Game Therapy

By contributing writer Mike McGoldrick

Email |

Have you ever had the feeling that you just want to club the next person you see with a blunt object? Ever been within a heartbeat of pummeling a housemate over some minor quarrel? Or maybe you feel the need to cry but the tears just won’t come out? We all have our buttons, and at some point, idiots push them and we need to vent. Some people have diaries. For those of us who aren’t gay, or just pathetic, there is an alternative choice that most have never even thought of. What is this magical wonder of the psychological world? Video games.

Ever notice how the idiots you know who play video games all day are the most relaxed and laid back people in the world: nothing bothers them, their blood pressure resembles that of a calm river, and you could burn their favorite shoes in front of them and they’d just keep playing Xbox. The secret is pretty simple; video games are a student’s therapy.

But not just any video games. You have to be scientific about this stuff—specific games for specific moods, my friend. It would do no good to play hours of Final Fantasy if you’re irritated with your boyfriend/girlfriend, because, let’s face it, that game will make you think harder and eventually explode. A video game should coincide with your mood, like how a bouquet of flowers has a meaning depending on whatever expensive-ass colors you buy (goddamn flowers). So without further adieu, I give you the emotion-video game list.

Just like the 4th of July except you get to kill your friends instead of maiming them!

Mood: Sad
Game: RPG

The RPG game is short for Role Player Game. Basically, you take control of some piddly little character and exercise your right to do whatever the hell you want with him. If you’re in a sad mood, even depressed, these games are great. You can play for hours on end and forget all your troubles. Games like Diablo II, Warcraft, Age of Empires, and so on. The real fun in these games lies in the trouble you can get into with your little shit disturber. When playing a game like Empires, why not crush some insignificant little village or civilization for no reason? Or wage war against some neighbor because you want a better view of the coast? It’s pretty fun, in a pathetic sort of way. But hey, you’ll forget all about your troubles.

Mood: Pissed Off
Game: First-Person Shooter

This is a no brainer. The or first person shooter, or FPS, is the ultimate kill-em-all-ask-questions-if-you-run-out-of-ammo-later type of game. I highly recommend Counterstrike, Quake 2 or 3, Doom 3, and Unreal Tournament 2003. The insane gore, violence, language, and speed will expel all murderous tendencies within a half hour, leaving you free to rejoin society as a well balanced individual. This way, you can leave your sick and twisted side at the computer desk where it should be. Playing online with these games allows you to lay the smack down on poor, unsuspecting bitches in cyberspace who just wanted to go online to kill time at work, or between classes. Nobody knows anyone, and no one cares. Feel free to shoot them in the face.

Mood: Very Happy
Games: FPS, Strategy, Sports

Being in a good mood makes it harder to discern what games you would be best suited for. Some would prefer to keep shooting others, while some might want to play Rollercoaster Tycoon and overcharge some dumbass tourists. But most play sports games. Hockey, Football, Soccer, and Car racing games are the most common types, since you get to be whatever fantasy player or team you want and stack any team to win everything. EA sports makes some sweet ones, FIFA, NHL 2005, NASCAR, Golf, etc. are all pretty sweet. These games will keep you in a good mood for awhile, and are great ways to kill time between class, or study breaks, or until the beer gets there. Also, they’re easy. Repeat very easy games to play. In fact, Tiger Woods golf is so easy, a drunken 8 year old could get par on every hole without much trouble. Everyone should have at least one of these games in their collection.

Mood: Bored
Games: Pointless Time Killers

Everyone has been here. You’re sitting around, bored, either alone or with a friend, with hours to kill. Since no self-respecting student would crack open a book and learn if they didn’t have to, video games are the obvious choice. Probably the most popular time killer is the Tony Hawk series. There’s really no point to these games, but they’re tricky and time consuming. You can even start contests with your friends to kill more time and create some fun (if you’re so inclined). Also, there are the sports games with team options. Most hockey, football, and soccer games allow you to play in some kind of dynasty mode where you trade players, build a team, play all the regular season and playoff games, and so on. This is a great way to kill a whole day if you have to.

In short, we students need our video games. They keep us sane and balanced, which keeps us from committing more felonies and petty crimes than we normally should. It should be the duty of every decent parent to buy their budding young academic a game system or a good computer for this exact purpose. Otherwise, the terrorists win. AND YOU DON’T WANT THE TERRORISTS TO WIN DO YOU?

Email |

I Never Should Have Agreed to be in this Poison Tribute Band

Jake Klocksien — Wed, 01 Oct 2008 23:39:29 -0400

I've done some crazy stuff in my life. I'm no daredevil, but I've certainly done some things in my life that I'm not so proud of. I've had friends whom I had no business being friends with, I've had more than a few poor business investments, I obsessively TiVo every episode of Jon and Kate Plus 8, and I never finished high school.

But this one has got to take the cake. Read More »

Global Warming Does Not Exist

Points in Case — Fri, 30 May 2008 23:30:08 -0400

By staff writer Paul Frank

Global warming! Global warming!

If that got your attention, you’re probably a liberal. If that didn’t get your attention, you’re not reading this right now. So the only people who are still reading this are those who push the global warming myth. Those who can’t afford a car, so they attribute them to causing astronomical, absurd climate problems. Those who don’t take showers and smell like incense and sweat. Those who know all the answers to our problems, but can’t set down their 6-foot bong long enough to pick up a voting ballot or a job application. Global warming is the pussy’s way of whining, “I’m too hot, but it’s not my fault, it’s society’s fault.”

Instead of reaching for a fan, the hippies reach for an argument, coming up with a bogus term called “global warming.” Now, I could point to the recent blizzard our town just received and call that proof enough that global warming doesn’t exist. But I’m not some dumb, racist Blue Collar TV viewer, so I’m going to use hard, concrete, black…science.

First off, the melting of the polar ice caps is a supposedly “strong” piece of evidence that supports global warming. Let me throw a year out for you: 1914. Still don’t get it? Let me throw a ship out for you (like God did with this one): the Titanic. It ran into a floating iceberg! Ice has been melting since before we had cars. Ever left an ice cube tray out after using a couple cubes because you were too lazy to put it back? Notice that the next day, your hungover ass found that ice cube tray completely melted…in your air-conditioned home? Ice melts anywhere, in any condition, in any temperature (well, not in temperatures below freezing, but whatevs).

"*GURRRUGUGURUGGLE* OH MY GOD, you asshole! You said you were gonna tell me when you were about to blow!!"

Now that I’ve refuted the melting of ice caps argument and owned you, let’s move on, shall we?

Another argument from the global warming pushers (that’s not the only thing they push, if you know what I mean) (…they’re gay) is that factory pollution is also bad for our ozone layer. Okay, so first you attack the long, round tailpipes from cars and now the immense, erect, brown smokestacks poking out from factories. And you say that these emissions are penetrating and hurting the delicate “ozone.” Are you gay or something? Nothing wrong with being gay, just keep your sexual preferences and your scientific arguments separate, alright? Thanks. If you don’t understand the symbolic imagery, double entendres, and homosexual leanings there, you’re not educated enough to even be arguing for one side or the other.

Global warming has become even more topical lately, and it’s all started with a fucking movie. Is that what it takes to get you liberals interested in anything? The concept of global warming has been around for a long time, but it takes a movie to get you Al-Gore-worshipping cunts active, at least on message boards and conversations with any passer-by who will listen at your family’s Thanksgiving get-together.

Just because Al Gore was almost president instead of the guy you love to hate, George W. Bush, doesn’t mean he’s going to change the world. Clearly, he missed his chance when he accepted the loss to George Bush. Fuck, I believe Al Gore won that election, too, fair and square, he’s just a pussy for not fighting more for the win. Shit, the claims about global warming that you take as gospel come from the guy who claimed to invent the internet! Some people still call him Vice President Gore. If you’re gonna do that, I assume you mean the vice president of spreading bullshit and lies.

In conclusion, I just owned you. You probably saw An Inconvenient Truth, wet your pants, and now cry wolf about global warming. You probably do the same thing every time you see a documentary. Same shit happened with 9/11's Loose Change, I’m sure. You people make me sicker than Michael Moore does. But only because there’s more of you than there are Michael Moores. Everyone’s pussies got all wet because of Fahrenheit 9/11, but not anyone who mattered. People of stature could see that Michael Moore probably eats all the time, is probably spoiled and whiny, and thus got annoyed with him. He ended up being more detrimental than beneficial to the liberal cause, ultimately costing John Kerry the election and giving us four more years of George W.

Anyway, back to the conclusion at hand: I have refuted every argument the global warmers throw at us good, God-fearing, hard-working individuals. The melting ice caps and the car and factory pollution claims ain’t got shit on fact, bitch. Fact beats scissors, paper, rock, and hippies. Lastly, I showed you that not only would I be more inclined to believe conspiracy theories from Arty the local neighborhood bum than Al Gore, but just because something’s in a documentary doesn’t mean it’s true.

Editor's Note: Not convinced? Try reading J.B. Hour's "Global Warming: The REAL Article" and get your shit blown for real.

Seven Classic Movie Archetypes

David Nelson — Fri, 20 Jun 2008 00:26:21 -0400

Well, summer has arrived, and that can mean only two things: the launch of PIC 2.0, bringing joy to the comedy-starved widows of Tajikistan, and the start of blockbuster movie season. Read More »

Disturbing the Greenpeace

Points in Case — Fri, 30 May 2008 23:30:00 -0400

By contributing writer Kevin Chang

Say hello to Greenpeace’s newest employee.

Now I know what a lot of you are thinking when I say Greenpeace. And yes, I might have joined ranks with pseudo-militant hippies and enviro-freaks for the pussy, but that was absolutely not my primary reason. In my outrageous search for a summer job, I applied to be an office supplies cashier, a front desk manager at a hotel, a substitute teacher (I have absolutely no credentials for such a position), and a retail salesman. I was turned down from virtually all of them.

Really Office Depot, you don’t think a student from an Ivy League school could maybe spruce up your sales staff a little? Or Excel Motels, maybe my proficiency at speaking the English language could have brought a much sought-after skill set to your front desk staff which seems to be composed almost entirely of Filipinos and middle-aged Mexican mothers?

So, it came down to two jobs: Greenpeace and a children’s clothing store. Quick note: I don’t care about the environment and I hate children. The pros and cons were carefully weighed.

Working for Greenpeace would mean a lot more work but a lot more pay. However, will twelve dollars an hour replace the dignity of having to beg for six hours a day? Excuse me ma’am, do you have a couple of minutes to help me save the world? Also, please give me your credit card number in the street so we can keep sending out boats to the G8 summit to be run over. Thanks a bunch, you’re really doing a lot to help save the environment.

Money makes the world go 'round. Recycle your bills with Greenpeace!

On the other hand, a position at the local children’s clothing store would mean a) having to work with stupid half-people who can’t yet communicate clearly and b) curbing my cursing and general rowdiness around the workplace. But it’s air-conditioned. And if you’ve ever worked on the streets of Chicago in ninety-degree weather for more than ten minutes you’ll know why that makes a huge difference.

Unfortunately for Greenpeace, I’m kind of a mercenary, which means I’ll ask people to sign up for a newsletter about cock piercings if you pay me enough. And you know what, after working three days trolling the streets for environmentally friendly and like-minded people (and naïve people who don’t fear handing out all the information necessary for identity theft to some random guy on the street) I have to admit I think I made the right choice. Not because I’m doing my part to help make the earth a better place to live, but for all the crazy fucking people I meet. This black guy is unintentionally the funniest person working at Greenpeace. After training with him for five minutes he started expounding on the woes of living in Chicago.

“No one understands me, mang.”

“Whatever do you mean,” I asked politely.

“People don't understand my interests,” came the answer in a slow drawl that stereotypes black people.

Which begged the question, what interests were these?

“Man, I wanna learn to SALSA.” If you were to type the way he talked, the word would be bold, in italics, and 93-point font. Oh, right… close enough.

Anyway, in just three days of working for Greenpeace I…

...accidentally tried to sign up a retarded person. She didn't look retarded from far away, but up close her eyes were empty and, you guessed it, retarded.

...made friends with three lesbian couples. I love lesbians, and they love me. You can tell me that girls can hold hands and just be friends, but like Stiffler in American Pie 2, I know in my heart they make out with each other in their spare time.

...got a huge black woman to stop and talk to me by saying, “I'm as charming as I am good-looking.” For some reason I have a lot of luck with black women. I specifically target fat ones figuring they would want a reason to stop moving.

…struck up a conversation with a woman outside of McDonald's, ran through my bit and then after a minute asked her, “Does this sound like something you'd support?” She replied, “No, but I'll listen.” I laughed and found that bit of honesty was the most refreshing part of the day. It almost made up for not showering in more than 12 hours.

...saw the girl with the skinniest face I have ever seen in my life. I'm not kidding when I say her face was literally no more than 4-5 inches across, and at least a foot long. From far away I saw her and swore that it was just that she was a block and a half away. As she came closer and closer, nothing changed about the proportion of her face. I was appalled and fascinated at the same time; she looked like she had been squeezed through a hose. I stopped her so I could examine her up close.

...saw a really old man walking and wished him a good day because I figured he wouldn't have many left. He was fucking old. He stopped and we talked a bit about global warming and how he didn't believe it was real. He told me he was 92. I told him it was a problem that wouldn't affect our generation, but would affect our children's generation and their children's generation. He retorted by mumbling, “I don't have children so it don't matter.” Again, refreshing.

...met a bunch of pissants and rugmunchers who think that the proper response to, “How'd you like to save the world today, sir?” is “I like pot too much,” “I hate Greenpeace,” and “I'm a Republican; I don't care about the Earth.” I'm not politically active but I hate ignorant people way more than I care about the planet.

...gave my number to two girls, both named Alice, which just goes to show you that coincidences are stupid and mean nothing. And also that people named Alice will never call you back. This has yet to be confirmed but I'm fairly certain it's true.

...saw a woman with one eye. Of course I asked her to sign up.

This might be the funniest job ever, and begging aside, I’m having a lot of fun. So if you’re stopped by an Asian guy wearing a Greenpeace shirt, stop and chat.

He’s as charming as he is good-looking.

The Crazy Chick Sex Gauge

Nathan DeGraaf — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 00:01:00 -0400

Jake: Dude, that girl is crazy.
Nathan: Like, "slash your tires after the breakup" crazy or "pray after sex" crazy?
Jake: The first one.
Nathan: That ain't so bad. Read More »

The Golden Rules of IM

Points in Case — Fri, 30 May 2008 23:37:01 -0400

By staff writer JD Rebello

"The most important document to emerge from a computer since the Ten Commandments."
-Steve Case, Former Chairman and CEO of AOL

Introduction: You've seen the phenomenon. During the semester, at least 75% of your buddy list is online. Then winter break hits and your buddy list is hit by an apparent bubonic plague. Because IM is so popular among us college kids, it is befitting that we should set forth a list of rules, nay commandments, to abide by. So here, in no particular order, is the prevailing IM Dogma.

I. In your AIM profile, there's no need to throw in loads of advertising space about your girlfriend/boyfriend/horse. Granted, I may be a jaded, single fool, but when your profile looks like this:

Baby, I love you. I love you. Oh baby I love you
and miss you. See you soon. I love you. Baby, baby.
[Insert rows of nonsensical IM kissy-faces]

It's just annoying and disturbing. A subtle message is fine, but if you use either MUAH or those god-awful AIM faces (more on those in a sec), then AOL should spike you and you should be forced to communicate your rampant I LOVE YOU's through smoke signals you utterly whipped prick. (And that goes for you dickwads with the "Taken" Buddy Icons. Go fuck yourself!)

II. Please stop with LOL. Only about .4% of people actually "Laugh out Loud" and they are retarded. And don't give me this ROTFLMAO (Rolling on the floor laughing my ass off). I'd actually like to see you try this just so you can snap your neck as you fall out of your chair. Good. Nothing to LOL about now, is there?

III. Don't IM just to say "HI." Talking on AIM is the fast food equivalent of actual conversations. Keep the messages short and sweet. I assure you, you are not that interesting of a person. And if you were, why am I talking to you behind a keyboard and miles of bandwidth?

IV. You don't have to IM someone every time they are online. Nobody is that interesting. The average person spends more time wiping their ass than talking to their parents. No one can be conversational every time you IM them.

V. Stop with these oblique away messages like "Not here", "Away", "Gone", or using an AIM face. If you had to shit, fine. Tell us, we're concerned for your well being. And for the love of god don't use the default away message: "I am away from my computer right now." Don't you get disappointed when you see that?

VI. If you are talking on a cell phone with someone and IMing that person simultaneously, you deserve the impending radiation cancer.

VII. Don't ever send more than 5 messages in a row to someone. All that beeping could give someone a brain hemorrhage. It sounds like a damn Star Wars movie on my computer!

VIII. Stop using AIM faces. This is the lowest point of human interaction. It is more evolved to go to your friend's house and throw your own shit at their face.

IX. If someone sends you a link or a song to download, you are not obligated to ever visit that link or download that song. Making a suggestion is fine, but don't pester them about it for days to come. You are interrupting their porn time.

X. Blocking someone is about the cruelest thing you can do to them. Worse than murder. So if someone pisses you off, don't block them. Ignore them. Fill them with doubt as to whether you are still at your computer. Blocking is basically the Agent Orange of AIM abuse. Savagely cruel, use only when necessary.

XI. One "Bye" is all that is needed to end a convo. Too many convos drag on and on like the first hour of Pearl Harbor. They look a little like this:

Homo69: Ok man, later.
Buttfuk27: Yea, take it east.
Buttfuk27: easy*
Homo69: Yeah I will
Homo69: Later
Buttfuk27: Later, dude
Homo69: Goodnite
Buttfuk27: Oh hey
Homo69: Yeah?
Buttfuk27: Did you finish your paper?
Homo69: Yeah
Buttfuk27: Oh okay, cool
Homo69: ok, seeya later
Buttfuk27: Yep, bye
Homo69: Bye
Buttfuk27: Night

Previous message was not received by Homo69 because of error: User Homo69 really left this time.

XII. Don't try to describe your looks in your screen name. If your screen name is SexyGurl25, and you look like the love child of ALF and Carrot Top, that's false advertising. Besides, it really isn't nice to trick MegaStud21, who is actually a 40-year-old unemployed bald man that installed a webcam in your shower while you were at class.

XIII. Girls, it is not necessary to make your profiles look like the lost works of Emily Dickinson. A couple of clever lines is fine, but honestly, no one's turning to your profile as their daily source of sonnets.

XIV. Don't just type "yea" to your friend when you have nothing to say. I understand the flashing IM is intimidating, and a lot of people need to have the last word, but the "yea" is basically IM code for: "I have lost a lot of interest in this convo, and was kind of hoping we could just drift apart peacefully."

XV. No more than two numbers in your screen name. Three is okay, but only if it's to signal your birthday. It's already hard to remember what you decided to call yourself online, we really don't need the first 100 digits of pi. If your SN is: Queef67483857, just shorten it to Queef67. Or just Queef. I can't imagine too many people picking that one, it's too honest.

XVI. Don't type "BRB" then drive to Mexico. BRB has a 10 minute window. After that, it's away message time. AOL should install a feature that will automatically send gay porn to all your friends under your name once your comp is idle for 11 minutes after a BRB.

XVII. You can tell the mood a person is in by how much they type. Example:

PeeWee12: Hey, man.
Meat10: Yo, what's up, dude?
= Happy

PeeWee12: Hey, man
Meat10: Hey
= Melancholy

PeeWee12: Hey, man
Meat10: Go fuck yourself.
= Not happy.

XVIII. Don't put quizzes in your profile. What is the goal, exactly? To figure out who is your most prolific stalker?

XIX. If the Internet kicks you off, and then you sign back on, it is your duty to re-start the convo. I don't know why this is, but if the other person IM's you with "kicked off?" they are obsessed with you.

XX. If someone sends you one of those IM's that say you must IM 10 other people, in order to save a child dying of leukemia in Indonesia, drive to his house and beat him to death with his own keyboard. Then, take a deep breath, and go check your email.

More Golden Rules:

The Golden Rules of IM, Part 2 »
The Golden Rules of Manhood »