A few weeks ago, I wrote a column about how Asians only hang out with each other. There was a warm and fuzzy message in the end about why we develop friendships in the first place. Plus it was a relatively light-hearted article with sprinkles of humor, mostly making fun of myself and how ridiculously stupid I can be from time to time. I thought it would be relatively easy to swallow. But then I forgot Cornell doesn’t encourage its students to have a sense of humor. I mean, laughter? What’s that? Is it defined in this textbook?

Thanks Oprah. We give you one job — drop by Denmark with the O-Team and use your magic to bring the 2016 Olympics to Chicago. One job! And what happens? We get eliminated in the first goddamn round of voting. Somehow Tokyo beat us out for third place despite the fact that they planned to fund the Games by expanding the scope of their dolphin-hunting industry to encompass all adorable marine life.

One of the most satisfying and interesting pieces of literature I have ever read is a twofold manifesto concerning an important part of the Mexican language: its curse words.

Octavio Paz, the Nobel Prize recipient for Literature in 1990, wrote a 30-page essay about the verb chingar — I guess the closest thing in English would be the verb “to fuck” — which happens to be one of the most insightful pieces of Mexican philosophy and psychology I know.

I read it together with Carlos Fuentes’ chapter on the same topic in La muerte de Artemio Cruz (The Death of Artemio Cruz), for a high school class. Both of these literary pieces started what I would possibly call my language reformation.

Renting season is upon us. I know this because every day now, I get interrupted by at least two groups of clueless freshies looking for their first real home as they parade through my room.

They gawk at my spotless décor, all the while exclaiming to themselves how well-decorated everything is and how, “It’s absolutely perfect! We’ll take it!”

Only they never do. Or else the tours would cease.

Kirk Cameron is headed towards a college campus near you.

Cameron, the one-time star of television’s Growing Pains, has planned a rather unique commemoration of the upcoming 150th anniversary of the printing of Darwin’s The Origin of the Species. Along with of a cadre of volunteers, Cameron plans to distribute 50,000 copies of a “special edition” of the Origin on the campuses of the “top 50 universities.” Its “specialness” is due to its introduction, that details, among other things, “Adolf Hitler’s undeniable connection to the theory” and Darwin’s “racism,” “disdain for women” and “thoughts on the existence of God.”

As self-proclaimed “moderns,” we often immediately brand the claims attempting to “debunk” evolution as sheer lunacy, the work of fundamentalists whose world view is entirely incommensurable with our own.

You may think of the president as the “boss” of Cornell University but, believe me, I have many to whom I “report”: de jure, the Board of Trustees and de facto, the students, faculty, staff, parents and alumni of Cornell.

He just didn’t see it coming. As University of Florida hero and legend Tim Tebow looked for the open man, Kentucky’s defensive end blind-sided him, knocking Tebow to the ground in an oh-that’s-gotta-hurt kind of way. To make matters worse, as the 2007 Heisman winner fell from grace, the back of his helmet slammed into the knee of his own offensive lineman, Marcus Gilbert. Tebow lay motionless for more than a few seconds, and the 70,000 plus faithful of Gator Nation fell silent. As the American hero was finally carted off the field, the TV cameras captured him heaving his breakfast into a bag. But not to worry, Gator faithful, Tebow’s concussion shouldn’t keep him out too long, and he’ll probably be back for Florida’s next big game.

Depicting the President with a Hitler-stache is all the rage these days. During a recent health insurance forum in Dartmouth, Mass., a young woman asked Congressman Barney Frank why he supported President Barack Obama’s proposed “Nazi policy” of universal health care.

“Ma'am,” the congressman replied, “trying to have a conversation with you would be like trying to argue with a dining room table.” He asked, “On what planet do you spend most of your time?”

Had her mic not been cut off, the young woman might have replied, “Prison Planet” — the name of an anti-Obama website and online community helmed by talk radio host and professional conspiracy theorist Alex Jones.

OK, so that’s not exactly true, which may be why the children’s book of the same name didn’t do nearly as well as its predecessor. Still, peeing is of great importance — it is number one, after all — and there’s probably a lot that you do and don’t know about it.

For example, you might not know what gives urine its particular color, but you most likely know that public urination is acceptable for dogs and not for humans. I could start off this column with some humorous personal anecdotes, but I don’t want to be scolded for “unprofessionalism,” so let’s just dive right in:

My pee is yellow

The sex columnists in the past have usually focused on the crazy things they have done in the bedroom or their own sexual mishaps. Not me. Today I’m writing about what no man on Cornell’s campus wants to admit happens. That’s right, it’s time to talk about erectile dysfunction. One would think from Viagra and Cialis commercials that penis fail only happens to middle-aged men. You’re wrong. It’s about as prevalent at Cornell as dinosaur jokes or apples.

In my experience, there are three distinct types of penis fail:

Type One: The Drunk Dick