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Wednesday, May 31, 2006

Cooking Time!

A Turducken. Take that word apart and see what you come up with. Go ahead, try to decipher it. I was perplexed at first. And apparently so was, but google has about two thousand plus pictures. This research made me, an arguably intelligent person with a tase for all brands of humor, to believe that some people are just fucking dumb. That is why, I have decided to prepare a side dish for these people, you know, to go along with the turducken and "cocalemonoffee," or Coca Cola mixed with lemon juice and coffee (it looks and smells a lot like a hot bathroom filled with steaming diarrhea.) I call this intermetzo a "fetiflowerube."


One (1) fetus, such as below.

Five (5) dozen flowers of choice, dependent on preference and taste.

Pubes. Tons and tons..of pubes. Pubes are, in fact, the main ingredient. Just because the fetus might be bigger than your clump of hastily removed pubes, and the flowers seem to be the more dominating presence, this tasty little treat is completely dependent upon bushels of coarse pubic hair.

I cannot stress the importance of the pubes.


With the fetus and approximately three quarters of the flower of your choice, use your blender to mix the two together. Add some water. Save the remaining quarter for garnish. After mixing on high for approxiamtely three hours, to avoid chunks, place the now thick liquid into a large, square tupperware container and freeze until solid. Take out approximately three to five minutes before serving, and sprinkle, surround, and engulf the block of fetus/flower/water delight with pubes. (if added flavor needed, use Lawry's seasoning salt to kick it up a notch.

Now, you can wow your guests any time with this easy to make meal. Go to your local bird house and slaughter those fuckin birds! Then, with cola, lemon juice, coffee beans, a fetus, flowers, and pubes-ENJOY! Thank God that some people think about how to please their taste buds in new and exciting ways.

Serve this Turducken with fetiflowerube and steaming hot Cocalemonoffee, and voliah! A gourmet in no time! For comments or success stories on this great recipe by Frank, e-mail us and let us know!


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Friday, May 19, 2006


So many people are probably stopping dead in their tracks when they see that one word listed above. You know what word I'm talking 'bout bitch.
Whether it is fueling an argument, making the pizza taste better, getting you hammered, or is just a damn good drink to sip on, beer is an American love that is sure to last. Who cares the girl you had sex with last night has Sasquatch hairy arms and sagging teets? Who cares that the DUI you were issued is probably going to ruin your life? Who cares that you woke nestled tightly in between two of your best friends naked? (you pervert..) Sure, it makes some of us fat, but who really cares?

We are a fat country, and there isn't much else to be said. We are always in some sort of war, we have drug problems, gang violence, constant discrimination against everyone, and a plethora of other problems in this country. But when the bitching stops and the dust clears, a gay, black, white, gangster, "druggie," and a rich guy could all be in the same bar, drinking the same beer.

Sam Adams, Bud Heavy, Bud Light, Bud Ice, Natty Light, Natty Ice, PBR, Miller, Coors, Heineken- just to name a few of thousands- are all simple little beverages that are accountable for so many glories and defeats in this country. Some use it to get the courage to finally talk to that special someone. Others use it to take the sting off of a practice punch so that if they get destroyed in the fight, it won't really hurt until tomorrow. Whatever it is being used for, Beer is the omnipresent liquid moving behind the scenes, ensuring that one day beer will unite the free world into peaceful harmony.

Now, I could make this article go on and on and on about all the stories beer is responsible for, but half of them would be taken care of thanks to a little show called COPS. Many of you reading are people here in Memphis, and some of you stumbled onto this site by accident, but either way you know you were trapped by the one word title of this article. Because it is the one word that makes your girlfriend's nagging disappear, your debt fade away, and that headache turn to memory. It is the one word that stops your internet crusading at work. It is the word that is responsible for countless pounds of gained weight. It is the one, the only: Beer.

End Transmission.

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Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Disabling Fraternity Stereotypes

Being a brother of a fraternity myself, I constantly come in contact with doltish fools who have preconceived beliefs regarding nearly every aspect of my life, even if I don’t know them. They see my Greek-lettered shirt and think, “Wow, movies like ‘Animal House,’ ‘Sorority Boys,’ and ‘Old School’ have really taught me everything I need to know about THAT guy.” So I say to people like that, “Please eat shit.”

The truth is Fraternity men such as myself are great people. In fact, a survey performed by me and of me only states that 100 percent of those surveyed (only me, in case you didn’t catch that) find Fraternity men to be the single greatest body of organisms in existence today. That is why, my friends, I have decided to disable a few myths for the public.

1. Fraternity Men are Drunkards
This is a blatant lie with flagrant disregard for our feelings. Who cares that every now and then someone “falls asleep” while consuming an alcoholic beverage or two? The reason this is myth is simple: Some fraternity men have been very concerned with our economy in these times of war. Upon hearing that great American companies such as Budweiser, Natural Light, and the mighty Pabst might be in financial danger, these brave men sported their Greek letters proudly at the gas station, letting everyone know that they were supported the national economy out of the good of their hearts.

Above: war wearied patriot fallen in the line of duty

2. Fraternity Men harass overly drunken people
While this may not be a myth of all fraternal organizations, it is definitely so where I come from. But once again, this is not true. This is slanderous, offensive, and very hurtful. Yes, we may take a marker or some food or other random objects and cover each other with those things while the victim is asleep, but why call that person a victim? They are not! The reality behind this myth is those people are willing, faithful brothers allowing those fraternity brothers majoring in different forms of art to practice on them (this is non-sexual, get your minds out of the gutters). These brave and heroic brothers realize that without them submitting their faces to the mercy of another’s sharpie, there might not be a future Matisse or Monet.

Above: Selfless hero furthers another’s chance to become an artist

3. Fraternity Men are Womanizers
While you would think we would embrace this myth, we do not. This might be the single most emotionally painful name for us to be called. Yes, we do love women very much, but do we use them? No! We treat women as they should be treated. Like the drunken princesses they are, stumbling through our houses, asking for a cigarette and lighting the wrong side, stopping up our toilets by dropping the whole roll of toilet paper, eating whatever scarce amount of our food they can collect, complaining that what they just ate will in fact make them gain twenty pounds, etc. The truth is, ladies, we love that. When I come home from being at my girlfriend’s house all night only to find six or seven drunk girls dry humping each other and comparing bare breasts, it is then that I realize why I chose higher education. I needed to learn more not just from books, but also from the magnificent creatures known as “women.” Stamping around our homes like bratty toddlers that need a diaper change makes me understand my Dad’s favorite saying: “If women didn’t have a vagina, they’d have bounties on their heads and would be dead by morning.” I guess I still don’t get it like he meant for me to.

Above: every man's dream

Now, I realize all of the above might not be true for EVERY fraternity at every university, but hopefully I helped to clear some of our names in at least a few areas. But now I leave this liberating keyboard, for now I must pass out, get drawn on, and wake up next to a girl that could quite possibly turn into a Level 5 clinger.

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Thursday, May 11, 2006

Here Comes the Fun

Summer is almost here. Skanky and respectable college girls everywhere are bringing out the miniskirts and the famous lime/white/angel pink colored “brat” shorts that each ass cheek hangs so deliciously out of. Guys bringing out their wife beaters, flip-flops, and the dreaded popped collar polo. With all of these classic signs multiplying and appearing more and more often, only one word that means so much comes to mind: summer.
When we were young, it was a long and cramped car ride to the beach, collecting seashells, and sleeping in late. When we started growing up, it was hanging out with friends by the pool and begging your parents to let you take an “innocent” road trip filled with pubescent lust and lots of masturbation. And now, it is everything one could hope for.

Here is a compilation of gathered individual definitions of what we call “summer.”

1. Beer pong tournaments that leave the victors spinning with delight.
2. Awkward hookups that smell of stale beer and that throat burning cheap vodka she carried around like a trophy the night before.
3. The girl in the skirt that “forgot” to wear panties sitting in your lap.
4. Making sure the girl from #3 realizes you are going commando in fishnet shorts.
5. Losing a farmer’s tan to even better crisp, red sunburn that flakes.
6. Losing your keys and finding them in your door.
7. Parties that don’t get busted.
8. Parties that do get busted.
9. Carding (asking for ID) any girls that walk into your fraternity house. Damn lawsuits.
10. Waking up the next morning and realizing you still have two and half months of the bad things you did the night before.

Yes, all of these things are great. But what is it that sets summer apart from winter break? Spring break? The three or four days for Thanksgiving? I believe that the continuous phenomenal weather, coupled with completely randomized sex partners, severe alcohol abuse, starting/continuing a criminal record made just for you, “experimentation” hours being extended, no classes, and the countless MTV shows consistently displaying half naked skanks dancing on the most undeserving bastards ever all serve to better our opinion of the term “summer.”
So crack out the hunch punch and set up the condom bowl. Because whether you like it or not, summer is coming. I will be sunburned. I will not remember being in the sun that long. And I can assure you, you will know when my wrath has been initiated, because I will be the guy being ushered away, only to trip in vomit and get even more angry when you laugh. This is my promise to you, America.
Happy Almost Summer.

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Friday, May 05, 2006

Mailing List

wanna fuckin know when i fuckin post shit, fuckers? then fuckin e-mail me dipshit. fuck.
send a blank fuckin e-mail to, and it will fuckin be done.

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