Hoegaarden? Maybe three...

As I sit here, sipping on the wonderful nectar that is a Hoegaarden Belgian Wheat Beer, I realize that the stars have aligned yet again and presented me with a topic to write on. I have a myriad of stories to tell, many of which revolve around exactly what college was to me: a Ho Garden.

Notice the number of beers. Keep this on your noggin.

In any garden, especially that which is full of ho’s, there are many different varieties of species. In college’s case, there are fat ones, skinny ones, insane ones, depressed ones, attention seekers, trolls, slam-pieces, dime-pieces, and one that I happened to encounter three times: those that enjoy coitus in groups of three. (Ironic, I know.) Yes, I have participated in three threesomes.  College is the best time of anyone’s life to experience with things, and I am pleased to say that I did that. Unfortunately for me, two of these threesomes were of the devil’s variety, meaning my buddy and I double teamed a chick, and the one with two females… well, let’s just say they certainly weren’t slam-pieces. Yeah, these were a combo of troll and insane. For now, I will elaborate on my experience with the females, the other stories will come in due time.

I receive a text at approximately 2:40 AM. I’m slam-bastered, talli-wagged, and henceforthed. The text says that “the athlete” (yep, here she is again) and her friend would like to do it weird style, essentially, a little menage-a-trois. Obviously, I hop on over to their pad, as they are roommates, where I find them strumming a ukulele and giggling amongst each other. They say that the night hasn’t gone their way and they are horny and ready for some Bonefish-style sack wrasslin’. It takes me a while to urge them forward to a bedroom, but once we get there, things are going way smoother than I anticipated. So smooth, in fact, that once they’re both naked and laying beneath my loins, I say “Damn, who first?” To which the fatter, smellier one eagerly replies. Classic. From here, the tri-coitus is like regular sex but more fun, even with uglier girls, because there’s new positions and awesomeness to explore. I’m not trying to get people to wank it here, so I’ll leave it out. (Except if you ever have a chance to get double dome and don’t, you’re a regular Lance Bass.)

After session one is where the highlight of this tale takes place. The ukulele comes out. The laptop comes out. Chat roulette is entered in the web browser. Multiple scrolls through people on webcams commence, all astonished that we are naked, a group of three, putting ourselves online for the world to see… with a fucking ukulele. It was funny at first, until there was a dude stroking his dolphin across the interwebs, but displayed on our screen. The girls think that it will be fun to let him direct us, like we’re some type of fucking pawn on a chess board with sexual organs on display. He instructs them to touch me in certain ways, and they obey. Big Brother was watching, and they gave in to his ways. But not me, my friends!!! I am strong, both at heart and at mind! At first this was a humorous gag, but after about a minute of this absurdity, with my soul 70 percent removed from my shock-afflicted body, I exited the browser and regained any bit of dignity I had left. Big Brother would not be watching me today. No, sir.

                Then we did round two.

                Always your boy,

    Thaddeus

Kill Fuck Marry, Pt. 2: Strategy

I know all of you spent the weekend getting too shitfaced to stand up straight, let alone preserve the memory of my last post regarding KFM. So let me refresh your memory: Kill Fuck Marry has been around since the dawn of Mankind and El Tigre is the spawn of retards. That’s about it.

Now that we have gone through my thorough refresher of last week’s post regarding the History of KFM, I am gonna drop some more knowledge for all you wannabe bros out there. This post is devoted entirely to the strategy behind the game KFM.

I am going to break this down in the most simple way that I can as I like to keep my posts short and sweet. We are going to evaluate “Kill” “Fuck” and “Marry” individually and deliberately to fully understand the implications and opportunities that come with each option.

KILL

Now this is by far the most straightforward option in the game. The kill option should be used for one of two scenarios – for a girl that you genuinely hate, or just the girl that doesn’t make the “fuck” or “marry” cut. In one game, it might be understandable for you to kill a perfectly attractive individual because she just isn’t as hot as the girl you would fuck or as domesticated as the girl you would marry. Don’t get down on yourself for choosing to kill a hot/nice female – who you choose to kill is 70% a result of the other 2 people, rather than the girl herself.

FUCK

This brings me to the most complicated section of the game. Without a doubt, the girl you choose to fuck can be for a variety of reasons that I could never dream to cover in a single blog. So I am just going to convey my one and simple rule to all you schmeebs reading my blog right now: when confronted with a game of KFM, just be prepared to justify your decision of who to engage in coitus with. Whether it be a hate fuck or you decide to bang your ex’s best friend to get back at her – there are a variety of reasons why you would want to fuck a girl. Just be prepared to defend your assertion. If given a choice to fuck a really hot girl who sucks (not even in a cool way) or a girl who is decently attractive but really cool – I personally am a big believer in hate fucking the shit out of the hot bitch. Let some other dickbrain kill her.

But before I go on to “marry,” I feel as though I need to make a disclaimer about what I mean by “hate fuck.” I am not talking about beating a girl up while bumping uglies; rather, hate fucking is about demoralization. Spray your boner juice in her eye. That’s always a great go to. But be creative. There isn’t one defined way to hate fuck, just go with your instincts.

Marry

This one is more complex than you may think. You gotta take into consideration all the things that go into a marriage: finances, sex (you would have to have sex with this broad a few times at the very least), domestication, and general personality. My ideal “marry” candidate is someone who I can make me a grilled cheese while simultaneously giving me a blumpkin and raking in some money from the trust fund her parents set up for her. Unlike the other two categories, for me, this requires the most well-rounded candidate. You can fuck a deaf, dumb, and blind chick who happens to be very hot. You can kill a hot chick who is a total bitch. But to marry a girl, you truly have to take a combination of factors into consideration. In my experience playing this game, I have found that most guys seem to have a set group of females that exemplify the traits for the “marry” category. Even though I’m not trying to tie the knot anytime soon, I’ve got a solid 4 or 5 women that go into the “marry” category 95% of the time that they are in the game.

In summation, “Kill Fuck Marry” isn’t just about making the hottest girl “F,” the “nice girl” “M,” and the ugly one “K.” Its about making a decision that defines you. Take this game seriously. Your father, your fathers father, and your fathers fathers before him played this game and they played it with pride. Unless you are a Tard. Then your ancestors just sat in the corner and drooled while the real bros talked about doing the horizontal tango.

Trust me, I’m a Doctor.

-Dr. Red

P.S. – Sometimes you should consider letting Tards play KFM with you. It can be fun to see what kind of fucked up logic these dickbrains come up with. Great example: El Tigre would rather fuck a dude than marry a girl that won’t lick his butthole.

Homeless or Retarded?

Mr. Froman's earlier post analyzing the "Would you rather shart or vomit randomly?" sent me on a tangent of "would you rather" scenarios. One presented to me by a friend of me warrants further analysis. He asked, "Would you rather be homeless or retarded?"Before we move forward, I want to present the conditions for both scenarios. Homeless, in the context of this article, refers to the following conditions:

1. Lacking a home
2. Living in an urban area
3. Having a few homeless friends
4. Being of average intelligence
5. Being largely unaware of the benefits of having lots of money. I understand all homeless people probably wish they had a home, but they also probably don't realize all of the smaller benefits of being wealthy.

And for retarded, the conditions are as follows:

1. Being far below average intelligence
2. Having a home and all of the benefits of a completely normal upbringing
3. Having friends of normal intelligence
4. And, for those of you who have family members or relatives who are actually mentally challenged, as I do, this is not about them. Its about that "retarded" friend everyone has.

As we go on, I will be referencing my retarded friend in order to present my argument. From here on out, my retarded friend will be referred to as "El Tigre."

Under the aforementioned conditions, I think both being homeless and being El Tigre have their various pros and cons. As for being homeless, the cons are rather obvious. First, you are without a home. Second, you see people on a daily basis more well off than you. The benefits of being homeless, though, are more surprising. Being homeless would mean a lack of any sort of unnecessary material possession. While this seems like a negative, I think that a homeless person is far more appreciative and understanding of the blessings of life. Also, as I mentioned before, homeless people are generally unaware of the finer things in life. Ignorance is bliss.

El Tigre, though retarded, does lead the life of a normal person. Because of his upbringing, he can go to college, have friends, and get a job. All of these things seem to overwhelming tip the scale in El Tigre's favor. In the same way, however, that a homeless person consistently sees more well off individuals and is reminded of their poor socioeconomic status, El Tigre is surrounded constantly by those more intelligent, and is reminded of his poor intellectual standing within society. Therefore both El Tigre and the homeless man experience similar self-depreciating effects as a result of just living.

El Tigre does come with additional cons though. While most people wouldn't insult a homeless person for being homeless, many people, in fact most people, will insult El Tigre for being stupid. This, on top of the constant recognition of more intelligent life forms around him, can make life even tougher for El Tigre than a homeless person. Now, accounting for the fact that El Tigre has a normal life and family to fall back on, I think that the negative mental impacts of social interactions between El Tigre and a homeless person are about equal. In addition, if El Tigre happened to walk by a homeless person holding a sign that said "Need money for food" while reading a newspaper, El Tigre might realize that even the homeless man can read and write, causing the scales of social happiness to tip toward our homeless friend.

Going back to the point I made earlier, though, for most homeless people ignorance is bliss. While aware they are homeless, they are generally unaware of the many small spoils of the wealthy life, and for that reason it doesn't particularly upset them. El Tigre, though, while presented with all of the many finer things in life, may struggle to gain the same appreciation for them as his friends of average intelligence.  This could lead to a whirlpool of self-loathing and the inability to even coexist with others of normal intelligence,  or even the sprouting of an unsightly cowlick.

Also, the living accomodations of a homeless person vary greatly by geographical location. While this can be a negative or a positive, the downsides of being retarded impact El Tigre regardless of location. A homeless person can escape the cold, but El Tigre can't escape his intellectual inferiority.

For this reason, I would choose to be homeless instead of retarded. The ability to read, write, comprehend ideas, communicate with others, and close doors, for me, presents a more fulfilling life than one filled with jokes going over my head, people wondering how I got where I did in life, and generally not really having idea or appreciation for what the fuck is going on.

Kill Fuck Marry, Part 1: A History

               Some may call it juvenile. If you are a feminist, you probably label it barbaric. But if you have a soul and enjoy a game that both challenges you intellectually and makes you fully evaluate your status as a poon-slaying bro king, then you obviously have played your fair share of “Kill Fuck Marry.”

                Since the dawn of mankind, bros have existed for one reason and one reason only: to pack boxes and create little bros that will carry on your legacy. Do you honestly think that there weren’t cavemen who competed with other guys over the hairy cavewomen? Obviously they hadn’t invented fake boobs, Brazilian waxes, or blumpkins yet – but they still were on a never ending hunt for that ever-elusive dank poontang. As such, it only makes sense that these dudes obviously gathered around the fire at night with some dinosaur haunches roasting and debating whose bitch was the best lay. It was here that Kill Fuck Marry was invented.

                Now it is important to make the distinction between the cavemen who played this game and the cavemen who didn’t. You may ask your self: “Dr. Red, why would this matter?” Well, listen up dickholes because I’m about to drop some serious knowledge on your dome. There were 3 different types of cavemen back in the day:

1)      The Man: this guy was down to hunt and fuck. Nothing else. You think this guy got poon? Of course he did. He never knew about eating pussy because he never had to. Just BJ on BJ on BJ. When he brought back that freshly butchered Wooly Mammoth leg, the bitches of the tribe/village/group would be all over this guy. The Man would only fraternize with other guys who fit his description, and in these groups KFM truly became a game that exemplified competition and intellectual strength. Bros are descendants of these Gods.

2)      The Pussy: This guy was too busy gathering herbs (not even the cool kind) and flowers to get pussy. Even in cavemen time where all you had to do was look at a girl to get her on her knees, this guy couldn’t score. If you know someone in PETA , the Occupy Wall Street Movement, or someone that lives in France, there is a 99% chance that they are descendants of the Pussies.

3)      The Tard: This guy was just drooling in the corner, but one day the Man started  enjoying his company because he is funny to laugh at. As a result, he gave him food and even gave him a woman from time to time. It is from this charity that the Tard was able to procreate. If you have a friend that is literally too dumb to close the door behind him, spell “straight,” “blonde,” or prefers getting his asshole eaten out over having sex, he is most definitely a descendant of a Tard.

Now that you have that little history lesson, I can move on to the evolution of KFM. The bros that invented the game (the Men from above) finally figured out that they needed to compete with other Men about whose girl was the best looking or was the best lay. The rest is history. One guy said some bitch was so ugly that he’d rather kill her than fuck her and then another dude said that marrying the broad would be better than killing her because her ability to clean up the cave was prime. Even back in the day, Men knew that a woman needed to be in prime cooking/cleaning mode in order to be a good wife.

Throughout the years, this game has held on to its original and true goal: bros competing with other bros to establish whose got the best taste in women. Now I’m gonna make a disclaimer here: a lot of the time, bros will disagree on who’d they rather KF or M. Its important to keep an open mind to other bros opinions (although a true bro knows that he is right 100% of the time), because KFM can lead to some genuinely funny conversations.

            Coming up next week will be an in-depth analysis of the strategy behind this ancient sport. Until then, keep on fucking.

The 10 Dumbest Athletes Around

I’m Cape Cod Paul. I love sports and hate dumb people and women (is that redundant?). Here’s a list of my 10 dumbest athletes of all time. In addition, I listed 4 athletes who I think get the most unfair media criticism.

10 Dumbest Athletes

Mark Mcgwire/Barry Bonds/Jose Canseco – Steroids ruined one of the most glorious eras in baseball. The great home run chase of our childhood is forever tainted by these fucking sacks of meat. All three of them are huge cowards and fucking morons. Barry Bonds, in addition to being a cheating sack of shit, was also a huge douchebag and notoriously terrible teammate. Chalk it up to ‘roid rage I guess. What makes these guys some of the dumbest athletes ever, in addition to some of the biggest cheaters, is how they tried to cover it up. McGwire answered every question at his grand jury hearing with “I’m not here to talk about the past.” Yes you are, Mark. That’s the point of the trial. You’re a moron. You are only there to talk about the past, no one gives a shit about your washed up future. Canseco followed it up by writing a book shortly thereafter about how he injected McGwire with steroids. Now, Canseco plays in an independent minor league that doesn’t drug test because he has failed drug tests in every major American and Puerto Rican baseball league. The fact that they have tiny dicks and can’t talk about breaking one of the greatest records in sports, though, is pretty adequate justice.



Dwight Howard - As we are currently in the midst of the Dwight Howard trade saga, this selection probably needs little explanation. This past spring Dwight signed a waiver committing himself to the Orlando Magic through the upcoming season. As soon as this past season ended, Dwight asked to be traded to the Brooklyn Nets. As he belongs to the Magic for another season, because of the waiver Dwight chose to sign, they don’t need to trade him until they get a good offer. They didn’t like the Nets offer, and now Dwight is frustrated. He continues to dominate ESPN and Sportscenter with his gargantuan body and tiny brain and I think I speak for everyone when I say I hope he gets traded to Europe.

Freddie Mitchell – Many of you may have forgotten about “The People’s Champ”. It all began when Freddie made a catch in the 2003-04 NFC divisional playoffs against the Packers on 4^th and 26. The next season, after a divisional playoff win against the Vikings where Mitchell scored two touchdowns, Mitchell said, “I just want to thank my hands for being so great.” Mitchell cemented his stupidity 3 short weeks later in the 2004-05 Super Bowl, making one catch for 11 yards after calling out Patriots safety Rodney Harrison before the game, claiming not to know any member of the Patriots secondary. After the game, Bill Belichick said, “All he does is talk. He’s terrible…I was happy when he was in the game.” If that isn’t insulting enough, “The People’s Champ” was cut from the Eagles and became a substitute teacher. Not intelligent enough to teach, FredEx opened a barbeque restaurant as a front to sell weed. He was recently indicted for tax fraud. I just want to thank karma for being so great.

Adam “Pacman” Jones-

• 04/23/2005 – Drafted Sixth Overall by Tennessee Titans
• 07/2005 – Charged with felony vandalism at a nightclub (For those of you not too familiar with NFL police report lingo, nightclub = strip club)
• 10/2005 – Forgets to meet Probation Officer, sentence extended
• 03/2006 – Marijuana Possession charge
• 08/2006 – Spits on woman at strip club, charged with disorderly conduct and public intoxication
• 10/2006 – Spits in another woman’s face, same old same old
• 02/2007 – Was making it rain at a “nightclub” and was in the midst of a shooting, suspended from NFL for entire 2007 season
• 08/2007 – Debuts as a member of “Team Pacman” with Total Nonstop Action Wrestling. Yes, you read that correctly, he wrestled professionally.
• 01/2008 – Sucker punches stripper in the face
• 10/2008 – Gets drunk and fights his own bodyguards, earns suspension for another entire season

If I counted right, that’s 8 crimes in years. Need I say more?

Andre Dawson – On the list for one reason and one reason only. He (in)famously said “I want all the kids to do what I do, to look up to me. I want all the kids to copulate me.”

I could’ve sworn Sandusky said that.

OJ Simpson – Innocent

Big Ben Roethlisberger – I should preface this with the fact that I hate all Steelers players and fans. In 2006, Roethlisberger crashed his motorcycle in downtown Pittsburgh. Not only was he not wearing helmet, but he didn’t even have a Pennsylvania motorcycle license. After a few more years as an incredibly overrated quarterback, Roethlisberger was accused of sexual assault. While one instance of sexual assault won’t land you on this list (here’s looking at you, Kobe Bryant), Roethlisberger was again accused of sexual assault not even a year later. This, coupled with his decline in performance on the field, coined the slogan, “Throwin’ picks rapin’ chicks.”

Plax - I thought everyone had seen 8 mile.

Metta World Peace – First, there was the Malice at the Palace. After the above event and some uneventful NBA seasons, changes name to Metta World Peace as a representation of his newfound amicable temperament. Then he did this.

Morris Claiborne – Entering the 2012 NFL Draft, Claiborne scored 4 on the Wonderlic test. For those that are unfamiliar with the test, it is scored out of 50. That is an 8%. Claiborne needed to pull a Derrick Rose and get someone to take the test for him. Try the test here. If you don’t score above 10, remove yourself from the gene pool immediately.

4 Athletes who take too much unfair media criticism

John Daly – Everyone hates on him for making statements like this, “I want to gamble and I want to have a few drinks now and then. Basically, it (trying to stay sober) had taken over my life, and I was miserable. It's like I've said before, there's no way I'd never drink again." He gambles and drinks, sounds like a bro to me

Mike Vick – Too many athletes have done way too many worse things for Michael Vick to get shit on the way he does. He messed up, paid his dues to society, and got out. That’s how our country works, and if you don’t like that, leave.

Mike Tyson – I know I know, he sounds retarded and bit off a dudes ear. You could definitely make the case that he should be on the above list, but this is too great.

Pete Rose – If you couldn’t tell from my description of the steroid abusers above, I really hate the people who cheated the entire game of baseball out of its best record. Pete Rose was a terrific baseball player, and made one bad mistake. If any steroid using record breaker makes it to the hall before Pete (likely to happen) baseball is fucked forever.

Ricky Williams – The guy got tired of football and decided he didn’t want to ruin his body playing football. He followed his heart. And his heart told him to smoke weed and teach yoga. I don’t know if you’ve seen his ESPN 30 for 30 (if not, do it) but the guy would casually smoke upwards of 17 joints with his three friends in one sitting. That’s unreal, even by the standards of the Pukey contributors, who, being bros, smoke a lot of weed.

Take it sleazy, CCP out

Would You Rather...

The other day, a co-worker posed an interesting hypothetical question that I have subsequently analyzed to death (when you go on a 21 hour streak of doing absolutely nothing at work, these are the type of things you spend your time doing). He asked, “Every time you sneezed for the rest of your life, would you rather shit your pants or throw up?”

First things first, I need to clarify the parameters of this question. In this instance, “shit your pants” constitutes a moderate shart. One where a small amount of poo sneaks out and essentially stains your undergarments but lacks the size and consistency of a standard stool. For instance, if you were standing when the sneeze occurred, you may not even notice the fecal matter in your drawers, but upon sitting down the presence would be undeniable. When it comes to the vomit, it would be roughly the size and length of a vomit after being drunk, full and shotgunning a beer, where the vomit is mostly just the last beer that went down, and maybe a little bit more. Nothing gut wrenching or overpowering, but still a significant vomit. Finally, multiple sneezers, people who sneeze more than once almost everytime they sneeze, should be treated as standard one time sneezers. So each sneeze session would constitute one shart or one boot. However, if the sneezes total more than 3, bonus sharting or vomiting will ensue, with each additional 2 sneezes leading to another shart or boot (4 sneezes = 2 shart/vomit, 6 sneezes= 3, etc). This takes into account allergy season and must be considered.

Ok, now that I have laid down the ground rules, it’s time to start the analysis. When this question was first posed, I quickly declared I’d prefer the vomiting option. As a male college student, vomiting is something I am inherently used to. In my prime (sophomore year, the first peak of every college guys career), I would probably be booting at a minimum two nights a week, with a maximum of 5. With such experience, the act of vomiting does not bother me all that much and a few a day (I probably sneeze on average 1.75 times a day) would be manageable. I have not sharted nearly as much, not to say that I haven’t. One time I did walking to my house from campus, right in front of the sorority dorm. Oh, yeah and I was going commando due to my natural inability to do laundry more than once every month. It was miserable as I had to squat-run home a moderate distance, hoping nobody would walk behind me. That experience put the fear of shart in my heart, and I hope to never deal with that again. Other side advantages I thought of the vomiting options: getting out of work for being “sick” would come in handy if one were to sneeze-barf in front of co-workers or bosses. The smell of the vomit could be easily concealed with some mints or gum or even a stash of mouth wash, unlike a shart, which is an undeniable odor. Who wants their friends, family and coworkers knowing they shit themselves on the reg?

After some thought provoking discussion with some friends, I think I may have been swayed to the other side. One, the constant vomiting could possibly lead to some malnutrition and weight loss issues (which I guess would be a plus for all the insecure ladies out there). Second and more importantly, the vomit would be very hard to conceal and would be pretty embarrassing in many situations (i.e. job interview, first date, sex, your child’s baptism, an AA meeting, when your wife asks you how she looks, etc). A shart, however, would go unnoticed to the untrained eye. The smell probably wouldn’t be overpowering right away, and with some odor-preventing adult diapers, could be essentially untraceable. The adult diaper possibility is a game changer in my mind, as it will properly contain the poo, keep the smell manageable and gives some more flexibility in how much time you can take before you change.

Without the adult diaper, I would probably stick with the vomiting, just because it’s much more socially acceptable to throw up than poop yourself as a grown man, but they exist and must be considered. However, everything in the adult diaper/sharting world would not be gravy. First, studies have shown that you are 100% more susceptible to diaper rash when you are wearing diapers as opposed to when you are not. Nobody likes rashes, especially near their nether regions. Babies hate them, so I think there is an innate human hatred of diaper rashes, meaning they suck for people of all ages Second, I am not too familiar with adult diapers, but I imagine they are just baby diapers sized for old people. This would mean they would probably make sounds and be puffy. A wise observer would be able to notice the adult diaper. Being caught wearing adult diapers would be just as embarrassing as being caught shitting yourself, given the transitive property (shitting yourself all the time = everyone making fun of you and hating you, wearing adult diaper = shitting yourself all the time. Therefore: wearing adult diapers = everyone making fun of you and hating you). Finally, poops are meant to be cherished and enjoyed in the privacy of one’s own home or stall. The constant sharting would probably instill a phobia of good farts and poopig which no adult male wants.

In the end, both scenarios would suck. While I am still sort of torn between the two, I would probably have to go sharting, simply because of the ability to conceal them with an adult diaper. Like all the greatest questions posed by philosphers, leaders and societies throughout the history of mankind, we may never discover the true answer to this question. It shall remain a mystery until death. I don’t believe in an afterlife, but if I did, I would hope to rise to heaven and be greeted by Jesus. I would then ask him this as well as other questions that have tormented society for  years (What came first, the chicken or the egg? Should you stand or sit when you wipe your ass? How about fold or scrunch the toilet paper? And so many, many more).

Shartfully yours,

Abraham Froman