After a long and stressful day, there’s nothing like a sip of your favorite beverage to help soothe your soul. For freshman girls, no other premium malt beverage can match the delicate taste and subtle flavor of a bottle of Smirnoff Ice. Robert Pattinson, of Twilight fame, prefers to quaff a tall glass of AB positive. But for me, all other drinks taste like a mixture of antifreeze and turpentine when compared to the closest thing we mortals have to the ambrosia of the gods: a Peanut Butter Cup Smoothie from the Maté Factor Café.

Some people debate politics. Some people debate religion. Some people debate whether or not it is justifiable to spend $40 for a Johnny Cupcakes t-shirt. Fortunately for our generation, these questions have been answered for us by greedy, conniving marketing executive fat-cats for MTV. In case you are still wondering, the answers are Ross Perot, Pastafarianism, and no, of course not, it’s a fucking t-shirt Matt. However, there’s one great debate that is so controversial, so crucial to the health and well-being of society that it continues to tear friendships apart and make babies cry. I’m talking about pirates versus ninjas. Journey along with me to make sense of the gritty, sordid and, at times, erotic history of this argument.

It was the night of the second Orgo Prelim, a test even harder than the lap of a shopping mall Santa. In fact, it was so hard that they actually modeled Viagra off of the exam. I returned home after the test clutching my posterior, which was sore from the violent act of domination the test delivered to my ass.

When I arrived home, I decided to make my famous Bathtub Toast to help ease the pain. I was about to climb into the tub with the toaster when something that sounded like a goat giving birth stopped me. After all, I couldn’t go to the big Carbon Atom in the sky while listening to what seemed to be the dying squeals of a pig in a slaughterhouse. I went down the hall to investigate.

St. Patrick’s Day is almost here, and that means three things at Cornell: green vomit, pretending to have an Irish ancestor and Dragon Day. That’s right — Dragon Day is this Friday, March 13.

Love is undoubtedly the most powerful force on Earth. Lovers have been known to schlep all the way from East Buffalo Street to Balch just to swap bodily drippings and infect each other with whatever microorganisms they might be carrying. Love compels otherwise logical and intelligent women to trample each other to death outside of bargain bin wedding dress sales, stuff themselves into Wonder­bras, and deny the existence of farts. Even more remarkable is love’s ability to transform the most rugged of men into eager lapdogs whose sole purpose for existence is to debate whether or not Jay is being faithful to Whitney on The City. By the way, if you ask me, Jay is totes playing Whitney and is going to hook up with Danielle next week.

It was an ungodly hour on a Saturday morning. Not even Satan was awake yet to perform his rounds. As I bolted upright in bed, beads of sweat poured down my forehead, despite the subfreezing temperature in my poorly heated room. I sprinted to the bathroom hoping to find sweet relief. What I found, instead, was a smoldering nightmare. I was about to realize exactly why you shouldn’t eat Burger King’s latest Angry Whopper.

Every once in a great while, when civilization teeters on the brink of the most terrible annihilation and bleakest ruin, one man — or woman! — emerges, bearing a gift for mankind with power so great that it contains the potential to rescue humanity from the throes of destruction.

When early man cowered defenselessly in the face of untamed nature and the merciless elements, Prometheus stole fire from the gods and delivered it to the mortals. When the Israelites were lost in the desert after fleeing Egypt, they suffered chaotic unrest until Moses presented them with the written law of the Ten Commandments. In modern times, when the cold masses of athletic event spectators huddle together for warmth, they are given ... the Snuggie! The Snuggie?

Here’s a riddle for you. What do you call a twelve-year-old male in a middle school classroom? If you guessed “a kid with an awkward boner,” then you’re right! Testosterone has a way of awakening the beast up to 20 times a day, usually for no reason at all. For pubescent guys, hard-ons are a lot like herpes outbreaks. They always pop up at the most inconvenient times, and they’re really hard to get rid of.

Ever since that historic moment when God instructed Abraham, the founding patriarch of Judaism and the ancient Israelites, to circumcise himself as a sign of their covenant, Jews have been at the forefront of wooing the ladies. It’s not our fault that, as a collective people, we get more action than a sorority house toilet after dinnertime. It’s in our genes.

The nation stands together in silent vigil today as Mississippi Governor Haley Barbour has declared an official state of emergency. A catastrophic outbreak of the obesity epidemic has devastated the third time Fattest State in the nation. The National Guard has implemented emergency procedures including barricading all roads into and out of Mississippi in order to quarantine the state. Fully 32.6 percent of Mississipians have been diagnosed with the disease, and hundreds more become afflicted each day. "We’ve got a long way to go. We love fried chicken and fried anything and all the grease and fatback we can get in Mississippi,” said Democratic state Rep. Steve Holland, chairman of the Public Health Committee.