Bumpers on Lane 1

The average bowler looks a lot like the average sex offender. They’re either skinny with unsettling facial hair (think Michael Cera in twenty years), or obese poop factories. These are athletes that have no business near an athletic facility of any kind. Considering the sport's finest can't be differentiated from the sport's worst on sight, bowling is a pretty accessible sport. Any retard can do it. And do it they do.

If there’s one thing the mentally challenged enjoy more than a happy meal, it’s bowling. I’ve literally never been to an alley that didn’t have at least one off in a corner somewhere. That the game appeals to them isn’t entirely surprising. Bowling is easy, involves colorful balls, and as alluded to before, the alleys are such a freak show that the challenged folk fit right in. When they aren’t rolling gutter balls and doing naughty things with the ramps, they generally chill, distract me at the arcade, and wander around. Sally was a wanderer.

I don’t know Sally personally, nor do I know her actual name. I met her about ten years ago at Bowler City in Hackensack, New Jersey. My dad and I were sitting at the table near our lane having nice, greasy bowling alley burgers when Sally came over. She was five feet tall, two hundred pounds, and had a very fat, red face. Needless to say, she was clad entirely in denim.

What attracted her to our table was the hamburger that my sister had left unattended while she bowled her frame. Sally stood at the head of the table, staring down at the burger. My dad and I looked at each other and shook our heads.

“Hi, how are you?” My dad was polite.

Eyes still on the burger, Sally stuck out her fat, wet tongue and licked her lips. Before we could react, she snatched the burger with her chubby hand and clutched it to her chest.

“Mine.”

My mouth hung open. I couldn’t believe it.

My dad kept his composure. “Sweetie, you can’t take that. It doesn’t belong to you.”

Sally stared at my dad, her slack mouth hanging open. With the utmost indifference, she took a huge bite of the burger and walked away.

A few seconds later, my sister came back to the table. “Where the hell’s my burger?

“A retard took it,” I said smiling.

My Dad was laughing out loud.

So you see, retards can be productive members of society after all.

Jimmy the Asshole - Part II

Part I



When I got back to my dorm I was rip-shit mad. I punched the side of my wall ‘til my neighbor came in and complained. She was all, “Stop punching my wall! I have a test tomorrow you psycho!” I was like, “Bitch, don’t you know how to knock?” and I smacked her in the titties. But even that didn’t cheer me up. Like I said, I was rip-shit mad. I knew the only thing that would make me feel better was some vengeance.

I looked up the librarian’s address on the internet and biked over at three in the morning. It was a pretty nice place for a librarian, lawn and everything. I took a deep breath and pumped myself up. It was game time.

I broke in through the window and landed in a box of kitty litter. Shit was everywhere. “Shit,” I thought. “That gives me an idea.” I crept up the stairs to her bedroom and slowly opened the door. She was in a big bed, fast asleep.

I turned on the lights. “Wake the fuck up!” She darted up out of her bed, caught sight of me and yelled.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!”

“You know exactly what I’m doing here.”

“Get the fuck out of here!”

I threw two handfuls of cat shit at her face and she fell back onto the bed. I ran up to her cat shit stained head, crouched, and cut a big fart. I call it the Garfield.

There was a huge bang at the front door. I heard the sound of footsteps bounding up the stairs. Suddenly, the door flew open, I was on the ground, and a Doberman pincher was biting my sac. “Hands behind your back!”

What the fuck’s going on? Find out next week in the thrilling conclusion!

N.A.'s Diary of a Concerned White Boy

Guest Post: Written by N.A.

I've been noticing a lot more black skateboarders roaming the streets of New York City lately, and I honestly can't help but worry a little bit. Skateboarding is one of the few sports white people still dominate, but most white skateboarders are too busy smoking weed and not washing their hair to even be thinking about the chocolate apocalypse that is coming their way.

Let’s look at who’s been at the top of so called “white sports” in recent years. Golf: We got Tiger Woods destroying all these country club, mayonnaise eating, visor wearing white fucks. Honestly, the only slave left in this country is Phil Mickelson, and Tiger Woods owns him. Tennis: We got Serena and Venus Williams wreaking havoc, hitting balls twice as hard as Anna Kornikova can suck them. Serena and her ass could probably beat the best two white chicks in a doubles match. Swimming: Sure, Michael Phelps is wrecking shit now, but what happens when Usain Bolt gets overheated from running, jumps in a pool, and suddenly realizes that if he wanted to, he could lap Michael Phelps worse than I can lap a girl in Koopa Troopa Beach?

Based on the state of other sports, it’s really only a matter of time before white folks lose their edge in skateboarding. Tony Hawk better take his kids out of elementary school ASAP and train their asses 24/7. I don’t want to have to watch Woody Harrelson's decrepit ass star in "White Men Can't Ollie".

Female Runner Has Balls

On 9/10/09, it was reported that South African runner Caster Semenya, winner of the 800 meter event at the world athletics championships, has balls. Semenya is what’s known as a hermaphrodite: a person with both male and female reproductive organs.

When informed that she had internal testicles, Semenya said “I fully embrace my status as a hermaphrodite. With both balls and a cooch, I am unstoppable. All hail Semenya!”

As the first known Hermaphrodite in the history of the sport, Semenya’s case is a difficult one for the world running board. Arthur Landrum, Head of the Board, released the following statement to the press: “We are taking Semenya’s case very seriously. In the end, we have do what’s best for the sport, and unfortunately, this may not necessarily be what’s best for her. Him? Herm.”

The five running fans in the world are eagerly awaiting the board’s decision.

Taking A Break

The Vassar Comikaze has been put on hiatus.

As much as I’d like to keep posting, I’m too busy with finals to write anything that would be worth your time. New posts will start going up as soon as the fall semester begins (end of August).

Thanks for your comments, for reading, and most importantly, thanks for letting me bitch to you three times a week.

See you in August.

Vegans Are Douche Bags

written by the vassar comikaze


When I was six years old, my grandpa took me and my friend out to the school yard for ground ball practice. We pounded our fists into our gloves, eager to work on our fielding. After about two minutes, our enthusiasm turned to sheer horror as my grandpa hit baseballs at us with all his might. They ricocheted off the concrete school yard’s surface and whizzed past our heads at mach 3.

Another time, he pulled me aside from a family gathering and said, “You know what I need? Some nice, crisp, iceberg lettuce. Have you ever craved lettuce?” Needless to say, my grandpa is a pretty nutty guy. I don’t think there’s anyone else in the world that has the capacity to crave lettuce… except of course for vegans.

I haven’t met many vegans, but the one’s I have met are self-righteous douche bags. I’ve consulted some friends on the matter, and they too only know vegans to be ass-clowns. Vegans care about animal rights, support local farmers and eat healthy: Why is it that they, of all people, are consistently such royal pricks?

The problem with Vegans is simple - they are completely out of touch with normal people. In order to get a meal that meets their requirements, they either eat at a vegan restaurants or shop at a vegan specialty store. They go to these places almost every day. As a result, they spend far too much time with other rich, white vegans. They then get it in their head that what they’re doing is right and what the rest of the world does is wrong.

To “enlighten” others, they make pamphlets such as this, only succeeding in demonstrating how out of touch they are. I don’t care if you’re selling hundred dollar bills for a nickel: There is no way you’re going to sell anything (especially something as unappealing as a vegan lifestyle) if you show potential customers images of chickens being force fed and pigs collapsing in their own puke. Maybe you’d realize that if you interacted with normal people once in a while; meat-eating people.

Instead of making me want to become a vegan, this pamphlet made me hate vegans. It’s vegans that showed me the horrifying images and Mcdonalds that gave me a medium thirteen with a coke. Besides, it’s not as if eating chicken means condemning ol’ Clucky to a long, painful death. If anything, it’ll be short and excruciating.

There is no way I’ll ever become a vegan. The mere thought of eating tofu for the rest of my life is enough to give me stomach cancer. I’m a man - I like to eat steak.

Proper Headiquette

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