Studying Abroad

In addition to Dean Jtoy's list of courses for this coming quarter, I'd also like to propose a Study Abroad option. This idea came upon me when one of UG's prized students sent me this instant message from Sevilla a few minutes ago:

"haha. so i just fucked a guy and he's sitting right here. but he's spanish, so he has no idea what i'm writing!! haha!
gotta go now. just wanted to tell someone. love ya mucho mucho mucho!!!!!!"

Not only does this comment prove that someone has already begun her work on the catalogue of courses listed by Dean Jtoy, but it also demonstrates the dire need for us all to go to Spain (or anywhere but here) and get laid. In the wish of finding our own "Spring Awakening," I would like to list the possible study abroad options that lay before us. We may not all be able to go to Cabo for Spring Break with everyone and their mother in a sombrero, but we can at least find a way to go on vacation indefinitely while our parents or schools pay for it. On that note, here are some of the possibilities I am pleased to announce are available for students and faculty at the University of Guantanamontrose.

1. Shrooming in Hermann Park with friends visiting from Austin.
2. Cruising at the Bark Park with Professor Tim.
3. Getting black out and fucking in a pick-up truck bed with commentary by Mal via webcam.
4. Tubing down Buffalo Bayou with the Bringer of Lulz.
5. Living vicariously through Tour Guide Ray and Chancellor Steven's european and Thailand facebook albums.
6. Exploring the room of bathtubs through the midget door at Notsuoh's with Avsters.
7. Visiting Adam and Patrick in Austin for SXSW.
8. Stealing a plane and flying to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. Oh wait, too late...
9. Stealing a plane and flying to Duke to visit Jtoy.
10. Hijacking one of those rockets on display at NASA and flying on it to the moon. Or maybe just Seville...
11. Selling Sasquatch (or the pink, sparkled, assless chaps Justin stole from me because he's clearly sexually frustrated and in the closet) and using the money to visit Evelyn B in Amsterdammy.
12. Yarwell and yarwell.

Applications are due by March 31st (a special someone's birthday;) so start your essays!

Mixology 101

The Cement Mixer



I know what I'll be ordering for JPatt this Saturday at Boondocks...

Fuck Dubai

I hate Dubai. It is the most disgusting place on Earth. Any city that submits to a culture that oppresses women, gays, poor people and simultaneously harbors terrorist capital should not be making a living on the most ornate and ostentatious development of sin and pleasure since Las Vegas. Where on Earth is all their money coming from? I know it's not oil (only 6% of GDP according to Wiki;) so clearly, it's from terrorists. Am I the only one who sees this? They're sucking Westerners in to gamble, drink, and fuck prostitutes; then they allow and even support organizations that later will fly jet liners into our office buildings. 

Why the fuck do you need to go to Dubai? To see a flat desert that's been drained of oil? To shop at the biggest Prada store in the world? To go fucking skiing?! I do not get it. Dubai sucks!!! I'm so angry right now!!!

GRRRRRR!!!

done.

I was tagging various labels to this post when I realized that maybe Dubai isn't so bad... I mean, I basically can tag any label to this post because Dubai is so fucking redic. that it works. Ugh. I lose...

I.D.E.K. About Last Night

Okay, the most recent post by Hallie really does propose an interesting concept in rationality and morality becoming a core value for instruction at UniGuantanamontrose. As for Tim's Mission Statement, I'll file that under "good decisions" for the moment.

So after reading about Hallie's most recent toils and troubles, I feel much less shameful about the mayhem that I partook in. In Hallie's defense there were many other "going ons about the party" that should be shared.

1. We played Dreamphone in a Lion King tent. The only thing that kept us from being 8 year-old girls was the fact that we were getting drunk and leaving said tent to smoke cigarettes every 15 minutes.
2. Jtoy showed up to the party and already had a concussion.
3. Steven's entire street ended up at the party at some point. His nearest neighbors (a gay brother and a lesbian sister) came to the party at 1 am with dates.
4. They then returned again at 4 am for more.
5. A random guy from across the street showed up at 3 am carrying 2 forties and suitcases. We thought he was moving in, but it turns out he just had an early morning flight to Costa Rica and didn't want to bother trying to sleep.
6. There was only a 20 minute period (somewhere between midnight and 1) during which "Circus" by Britney Spears was not being blasted from the stereo.
7. Even though Britney Spears was being blasted, the entire first season of "My So Called Life" never faded from the TV.
8. JPatt went to bed at 1 am and slept through the entire party. Even so, her camera now has no less than 304 pictures from last night, 148 of which are of me playing twister.
9. Three different people threw up in the kitchen sink. After cleaning the first two incidents, I just decided to let the third run its course. This is the moment at which I owe Jtoy a shout out for being a good maid. Future career possibilities are boundless for us both.
   
10. Okay, maybe this list does not need to continue...

Anyway, we here at UniGuantanamontrose may swear we're not crazy, but perhaps we really are...

Puke Crotch gets a midnight kiss

New Year's Eve is a pretty fucking depressing holiday, if you ask me.  Not only are you required to make out with someone, but it has to be at a very particular moment.  If you don't, then it's like breaking a mirror and you get seven years of bad sex, or seven years of no sex, or something involving sex and not involving orgasms.  You can send yourself flowers on Valentine's Day (what? don't judge!), but you can't make out with yourself on New Year's.

This year I gave up on the whole tragic idea of a midnight kiss. I figured I could tongue a bottle of Svedka at the big moment, which seemed like a pleasant alternative when compared to watching other people suck face in the oh-so-romantic glow of the sparklers and fireworks.  

I had almost forgotten my kissless fate when some dashing boy from years passed asked me to introduce him to my 'hot friends.' Doesn't everyone within a mile radius of Uni Guantanamontrose know that all my friends are gay men or taken or taken by gay men or making out with gay men?  

Drunk, feisty and slightly defensive, I asked, "What the fuck is wrong with me?"  That's when the deal happened.  The kiss deal.  I say 'deal' because we shook on it. 

I should mention that this was quite an amazing deal because I may or may not have puked on this person's crotch when I was sixteen and riding passenger in my own car.  To be fair, it was more in the center consul than his crotch.  This might have resulted in me getting nicknamed 'Puke Crotch', which was pretty unfair considering what that suggested versus what actually happened.  

The kiss itself I don't really remember.  It was pleasant and brief, I recall that much.  I was wearing blood red stilettos.  I made sure not to fall.  I also made sure no one set my hair on fire, because oh god does that shit smell.  Don't fall, and don't catch hair on fire: those were my two thoughts.  After the sparklers burned out, we parted ways.  

It's common knowledge that you don't make out with someone who puked near you, not to mention on you, even if it was over six years ago.  You just don't make out with Puke Crotch.  So I can only attribute what happened to a New Year's (or maybe a a late Christmas?) miracle. 

Yes, basically my New Years started with a miracle of Jesus.  How was yours?