I'm Afraid of Squirrels

written by the vassar comikaze

The roots of my fear can be traced back to third grade. I was playing Mario Kart with my friend Sebastian when I noticed that the thumb he used to hold down the a-button had an abnormally short nail. I asked him what happened, and he explained that he was walking down the street eating a hot dog when a squirrel jumped on his hand out took a bite out of his thumb. Naturally, my bullshit alarm went off. I’d heard enough wacky stories by then about Olympic ping-pong playing cousins in Maryland to know a lie when I heard it. But then he bolstered his claim with irrefutable evidence; he asked his mom to back him up and she did. I was stunned. It had never occurred to me that a squirrel would front like that.

Fast forward seven years, and I’m working as a counselor at a sleep away camp. It’s about six in the morning when I feel something hit my back and wake me up. I turn around to see that a squirrel has perched itself on my shoulder: I freak out, the kid’s flip a shit, everyone is screaming and scrambling to get the fuck out of there while my friend and I are trying to hit this thing with a broom stick. We were like Agent Smiths trying to whoop Neo’s ass, and just like in the Matrix he was fucking us up. He sprung from bed to bed like The One, leaping over our brooms and causing me to emit girlish shouts of city kid fear.

Thankfully, I made it out of there alive. Not so thankfully, I hate being around squirrels and this campus is infested with them. I just don’t trust the little bastards. They’re jittery, they make creepy sounds, and they eat nuts god damn it. If this was Oregon Trail I’d shoot them for four pounds of food and feed them to Hezekiah. But this isn’t Oregon Trail (it’s never Oregon Trail!), so instead I have awkward moments with them when I walk to breakfast in the morning.

I’ll be half awake, strolling along when a squirrel jumps out of a garbage can and lands two feet from my shoe. He’ll just stand there eyeing me, contemplating whether or not he should make the secret squirrel call that summons his brethren to rush my ass. I swear to God they can tell I hate them. Sometimes they even look over their shoulder and give me an evil look, gnashing their teeth. But that’s only when no one’s around. Why can’t they be more like the groundhogs? All groundhogs do is waddle around looking for a good time. Could you hate this? Fine, he looks like he’s conspiring. But the groundhogs here are nice, I swear!

Getting back to squirrels; I hate them, I wish squirrel cancer on them, but the sad truth is that they’re not going away. We’re helpless to stop them. The one thing we can do is make their days here less pleasant. Now, I’m not proposing that we all gather in the quad and have an old fashioned squirrel beating. But if you could throw a stick at them every once in a while, I wouldn’t judge.

The Problem With Pubes

written by the vassar comikaze

I was twelve years old and had to piss like a racehorse. I ran up the three flights of stairs to my apartment, opened the door and made a bee line to the bathroom. Pulling out my prepubescent weewee in the nick of time, I aimed, fired and let the juices flow. When the last drop had dribbled out, I reached out to flush when I noticed something strange. About an inch above my dick, there was a single black pube as curly as a pig’s tail.

Since that day, hair has become all too common a sight in my nether region. It’s not Robin Williams status, but I definitely have more than I know what to do with. For girls it’s easy; if it ain’t on the top of your head, get rid of it. (My apologies to all you hairy vaged Valeries out there, but the fact of the matter is that I know ZERO men who prefer a bearded clam to a shaved pussy.) For men, things are not so easy. We’ve got more hair in more places, and struggle with what exactly is just the right amount of manscaping.

Let’s start with the bush. Any guy who has let that area go without a trim for a while knows that you simply can’t leave it alone. After a few months, your crotch will undoubtedly start to resemble Eugene Levy. Worse, your wang will look way smaller when immersed in the dense forest that is your pubes. Au natural is not an option.

On the other end of the spectrum, you can’t just shave it all off. I don’t know if you saw Watchmen, but staring at Dr. Manhattan’s dick for three hours taught me that a penis without hair is just silly (especially when there are four of them and they’re bright blue). True, your dick is going to look a lot bigger. But as someone who has taken the plunge and shaved it all off before, I can assure you that it’s a mistake. After shaving, a colony of red bumps sprouts up, making you wonder if you’ve contracted dicken pox. When the hair finally does grow back, it itches like a motherfucker; you’ll spend more time scratching yourself than Tyrone Biggums.

What’s a guy to do? For what it’s worth, my strategy is to trim it every month or so. My dick isn’t naked, but it isn’t wearing a down jacket either. I feel pretty comfortable with how I handle this area, but when it comes to neighbors Mr. Ass and Madame Grundle I’m about as clueless as anyone.

Fear is my biggest obstacle in these two areas. I can’t see what the fuck I’m doing down there and I’m afraid I’m going to accidentally stab myself in the anus with a pair of scissors. I don’t know what would be worse; the excruciating pain or explaining to my parents why a foreign object is up my ass. Even if I manage to avoid catastrophe, odds are I’m going to cut the hair unevenly. The best case scenario is that it looks like the work of a retarded barber college. For this reason I generally avoid these areas, taking care of my taint only if it’s absolutely necessary.

When it comes to a man’s hair, I acknowledge that I’m no Giuseppe Franco. But with the lack of clear cut standards to follow, is anyone?

In Pursuit of the Everything Bagel

first guest post today. written by jackie wayne

As I sit here listening to my 90’s R&B playlist (consisting of Boyz II Men, K-Ci and Jojo, and Portrait), I contemplate the ratio of white to black students on the Vassar Campus. I don’t know the actual numbers, but anyone who has set foot on the campus realizes that the ratio definitely favors honkies. Without delving into a socio-economic discussion about the reasons for the lack of diversity, I’ll give you the real reason: this school isn’t attractive to African American students. Vassar is a haven for rich white people who, judging by their clothing, wish they were a combination of lumberjacks and Peruvian lama herders.

During the first week of school, the administration made an effort to acclimate the freshmen to the “diversity” of the campus with various fun (in comparison to a Barbara Streisand concert) activities and discussions. Clearly, there’s sexual diversity here: there are the ten sports fans, the lesbians by necessity and the people who have adopted the Prince symbol as their sexuality. This is all well and good, but we’re seriously lacking in the ethnic diversity department.

So how can the school fix this, you ask? It can’t. Vassar has tried to diversify the campus through a need-blind admissions process. To give you an idea of the administration’s success, picture a sesame bagel with four poppy seeds on it. Vassar has failed. It’s up to us, the student body, to effect this change by being less unbearably white. I doubt that many African Americans want to spend their collegiate career around a bunch of hipster trust-fund babies…does anyone? So how can we be less white, you ask? It’s quite simple. Just follow these three steps:

Step 1: Before you go outside, look in the mirror. If you look like a homeless person or a member of the band Good Charlotte (same thing at this point), rethink your outfit. Take off the plastic body armor and the Burger King King-Hat that you got at your 8th birthday party. No one is asking you to wear a tuxedo, but is your personality that weak that you have to get people’s attention with your faux-hobo garbs?

Step 2: Learn how to dance. It doesn’t have to be good dancing, it can even be a little silly as long as it goes along with the beat of the song. There’s nothing worse than trying to dance with a girl and being knocked over by a skanking jackass trying to get everyone’s attention. What has the world come to when a man can ruin a classic booty-shaking song such as Usher’s Yeah feat. Lil John and get away with it?

Step 3: Stop listening to MGMT and eat less mayonnaise. The next time you are lucky enough to bring a lady friend, dude, or donkey (I don’t judge) back to your room after a party, throw some D’Angelo on the stereo and make passionate love to the rhythms of bass drum.

Maybe you think I’m being too judgmental of my fellow (white) man. Well, suck it. I’m embarrassed by the image that hipsters give this school and this generation. Hopefully the hipster will soon find a new trend to mindlessly follow.

Maybe I'm Being Anal, Butt...

written by the vassar comikaze

I was sitting in class today and really had to fart. One of those farts that you know is going to be loud, potentially wet and smell like low tide. I should mention that I cannot bring myself to pass gas in class. I’m terrified that I’ll let one squeak out one day, drawing the eyes and laughter of everyone in the room. With this scenario in mind, I squirmed around in my chair to hold the noxious fumes in. I even rapped on the desk to make noise should I slip up. After about thirty seconds of this, the need to let rip subsided and a meltdown was averted.

Holding it in has become all too common an occurrence now, as almost anywhere I fart is a public place. I’m in college, and that means whenever I use the bathroom I’m typically doing my business mere inches from about two other people. To make matters worse, the bathrooms are coed! I don’t want to shit in front of girls, and I don’t want to acknowledge that girls shit. It’s an awful situation. Since people are always in the bathroom (some of them girls), I cannot fart as loud as I want to. Even though they usually leave before I come out and show my face, I’m afraid I’m going to get out of the stall before they leave the bathroom, and they’ll know who laid that ghastly fart. So I muffle my farts to the point where they’re sbds, and squeeze out my turd in peace. I’m pretty sure my colon is going to explode one day if I keep holding farts in like this. The irony is that I’m trying keep myself from being embarrassed in front of people who have the bathroom etiquette of a monkey with explosive diarrhea.

Consistently using a public bathroom has made me bitter towards my fellow man. It’s one thing if I’m using a Mcdonalds bathroom. The scum of the earth is using that thing. I’ve gone in before and literally seen a hobo bathing himself in the sink. To expect that bowl to be clean is just silly. Frankly, if there isn’t a dead rodent in the motherfucker I’ll be pleased. But at Vassar College, a place where people pay fifty-grand for tuition and thus all come from at least somewhat affluent backgrounds, I expect pristine terlets. Fuck it, I want butlers in there holding hot towels so I can better clean my stank-ass shit hands. Instead, the toilets are encrusted with piss, pubic hairs clinging to the surface. Now I ask you, what person does not wipe the seat after sprinklin’ when they tinklin’?

More repugnant are the people who have the audacity to not flush after dropping a major deuce. Flush your fucking dumps! I don’t care if it’s a two flusher, three flusher, or you need to poke it with a stick; get rid of it! I’d be mortified if I left a linkin’ log in there for the entire world to see. Some people have no shame. One time I saw an entire roll of toilet paper in the toilet. A roll of fucking toilet paper! I could have used that to wipe my ass !! Thanks to you, the maintenance people, folks who literally clean up our shit, have to fish that out of the toilet.

I’m not asking my fellow students to be like me and hold in their farts around others. All I ask is that you show a little common courtesy and take care of your dirty business.

And the Microscope Goes Further Up Obama's Ass

written by the vassar comikaze

Unless you eat too much tofu to watch mainstream media, you've heard about Barack Obama's Special Olympics remark on the Tonight Show. In case you didn't see it (or are too lazy to click the link), he said his most recent bowling game was "like the Special Olympics or something." Obviously, saying that kind of thing on a popular television show when you're the motherfuckin' PRESIDENT is unacceptable. It's really more of an act of stupidity than insensitivity. When you say shit like that, you might as well beg every advocate for the disabled to rain down on your ass like those flying monkeys from The Wizard of OZ.

As stupid as his comments were, I can't help but have more respect for the guy. Granted, it's fucked up to make fun of the handicapped. But how many people can honestly say they've never even giggled at the notion of the special olympics, never laughed at Sean Penn's "full retard" performance in I Am Sam, never made a Christopher Reeve's joke (did you know his name used to be Christopher Walken)? If you haven't, then good for you... you fucking liar. We all say insensitive stuff from time to time in our close circles, Obama included. The only difference is that he said it to everyone in the world, and he's the President. His remarks, while stupid, reinforced the notion that he's a regular guy we can all relate to. He's smoked weed, he's glued to his blackberry and actually has a sense of humor.

After this mishap, I'm sure he won't make the same mistake again, but you're cuckoo bananas if you think it means it's the last time he'll EVER make an insensitive joke. The only way I'll lose respect for him is if he manages to be idiotic enough to fuck up like this again. Here's one way that could happen:

Washington, March 22nd 5pm.

Obama: I'd just like to take this opportunity to apologize for my unfortunate remarks on the Tonight Show. What I said...it was absolutely retarded of me. I can be a real mongoloid sometimes, and it causes me to slip up like that. There are a lot of decent, hardworking, drooling retards out there that did not deserve to suffer my insensitivity. The lone bright spot of this whole ordeal is that these brave invalids can't vote, so I have nothing to worry about come 2012. Thank you, and god bless America.