September 11, 2008

Of Dubious Taste and Questionable Humor

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Dear Everyone,
If you’re reading this column, you already know. Someone with an immense lack of foresight and an obvious thirst for disaster (WHATUP JULIE?!) has given us the honor of sharing our debatably humorous antics and postulations with all of you. Be forewarned: it’s likely that we may be the only ones to find ourselves so hilarious, along with a smattering of others with dubious taste and questionable humor (JUL-AY!!! WUTUP?!).
In the interest of full disclosure, we’ve assembled a collection of the events, phenomena and social interactions by which we’ve been particularly amused during our past few weeks trolling the streets of Collegetown, including absurd cat calls (“Hey baby wanna come play some chess?”), misguided pick-up lines (“You look like Fiona Apple! It’s a compliment! Come on, let’s go up to my room and check out my iPod!”) and embarrassing drunk texts (“yuore so spicyy! lets sexxxx”) for your entertainment. Or ours. Prepare to laugh. A Lot. Or not so much maybe.

R: I’m already laughing.
R: Why?

On the subway last weekend, R spotted vapid girl and blahblahblah boy (occasional blogger for Bob Loblaw’s Law Blog) discussing a recent incident involving a novelty cup. “So, she like wanted me to buy this drink so she could keep this special cup thing. And I was like, ‘But that’s not what I WANT to drink.’ So I told her that,” said vapid girl, failing to appreciate the significance of said novelty cup. Blahblahblah boy, nodding, responded, “You’re at the top of the list. And she’s at the bottom.”
Having no idea what list they could possibly be referring to, this got us thinking … what list? Can we have a list?

R: Yeah!

So we made one. To begin with, rewind two weeks to a certain Saturday night before a certain party. Our friend W is texting whatshisface to lubricate her entrance to said party, so to speak. Failing to find the super-fun times, W made a quick exit, only to be met with a text from whatshisface, a text that will go down in history as the douchiest text to ever drag its filth from one blackberry to another: “You’re too poor to talk to me. Chino.”
First of all, notwithstanding the fact that our friend is not from Chino, or the Valley, or Compton, as his stream of texts would have you believe (Wikipedia: “cities in California with low GDP”), but if she were, would this render her unworthy of Señor Douchebag’s time? Clearly not, as made evident by his final text: “But seriously. Come over now.”

Is anyone else really confused? What did whatshisface expect her to say? “Oh pleeease, whatshisface, save me from my poverty slash let’s make out!” Bottom of the list.
In general, the bottom of our list belongs to those individuals who only drink Voss water, “accidental” waist and butt touchers anonymous, coat thieves everywhere, and of course, those who still cling to that schoolyard mentality of hair pulling and cunt punching.

R: I’m not writing “cunt punch.”
R: I’m really married to cunt punch.

But we digress.
So we know what you’re thinking: Not a very listy first column, guys. Well, have a little patience, because Weeds is about to come on and we may be out of ideas. But as the weeks go by, we promise to share with you our many encounters with Cornell’s bottom feeders and (hopefully)
a few awesomes as well.
In turn, we ask you all, in the friendly words of whatshisface, to “step up yoyr game” and keep the absurd cat calls, misguided pick-up lines and embarrassing drunken texts coming.

R: Should we read this from the beginning at some point? See if it makes any sense?
R: No.

So we didn’t. Nor did we complete the 800 words we were assigned. Feel free to doodle.

R: You know both of our names start
with “R.”
R: Fuck.

Rabia Muqaddam and Rachel Gevirtz are juniors in the Colleges of Arts and Sciences and Agricultural and Life Sciences, respectively. All The Characters Are Fictional will appear alternate Thursdays.Their doodle space may or may not.