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Illinois Seniors Show Initiative in Extra-Curricular ActivitiesMay 12, 2003 |
Northbrook, IL Girls Gone Lord Of The Flies Plucky young high school graduates share the sheer conformity of a good-old fashioned feces-inclusive hazing. ccompanied with shock and outrage expressed by nampy-pamby New Age P.C. thugs across the country, the world learned last week of a group of ambitious and driven Northbrook, Illinois high school girls who take a genuine interest in school spirit and extra-curricular activities.
The "powderpuff football" game held Sunday, May 4, took on a decidedly un-powderpuff nature when the senior girls corralled the juniors into a group and began to splatter them with mud and human feces as part of a friendly hazing tradition. How they knew it was human feces and who identified it was not available information and asking the question only brought angry scowls from Cook County officials.
All girls involved reportedly knew the game would involve a hazing of the future seniors, ...
ccompanied with shock and outrage expressed by nampy-pamby New Age P.C. thugs across the country, the world learned last week of a group of ambitious and driven Northbrook, Illinois high school girls who take a genuine interest in school spirit and extra-curricular activities.
The "powderpuff football" game held Sunday, May 4, took on a decidedly un-powderpuff nature when the senior girls corralled the juniors into a group and began to splatter them with mud and human feces as part of a friendly hazing tradition. How they knew it was human feces and who identified it was not available information and asking the question only brought angry scowls from Cook County officials.
All girls involved reportedly knew the game would involve a hazing of the future seniors, but crybaby juniors alleged they had no idea the level of cruelty would be so high. Apparently kids today only know about initiation what they see on family-friendly high school shows like Seventh Heaven or something. This reporter would suggest girls on their way to a future initiation view fine hazing films like Full Metal Jacket or A Few Good Men. All in all, a typical end-of-school ritual gets a few more bruises and broken bones than planned, but anyone worried about our teens being slackers who let the future of America dribble down their legs while they watch Seventh Heaven found the news of the harsh initiation quite refreshing.
But the reaction of the PTA-whipped local school board and county officials? Criminal charges have been promised for the outgoing seniors involved in the incident. One group, however, has not lost perspective on the incident: Former Glenbrook North High School alumni.
"Sure, everybody knew what happened the last week of school," said Mitzi Burbank, class of 1993 and president of the Glenbrook North High reunion committee. "But everyone looked forward to it, like a rite of passage. Well, the juniors didn't. But they looked forward to it when they were seniors, the year after. It was tradition, and it was just so incredibly important to the students. Well, the seniors."
Class of 1995 Glenbrook North graduate Cindy DeSousa agreed.
"Oh, yeah, it was hell getting through it. I don't think we had any feces involved when I went through 'the gauntlet'… l'see, eggs, whipped cream, silly string—no, I think they missed the feces. But it sounds like a real sharp idea. Those girls really wanted to stand out from past classes!"
Other graduates, while admiring the girls' severe hazing, aren't admiring the incident's severity. Like Sue Gorton, class of 1955.
"I suppose it was bad, by today's standards," said Gorton, "but we had real wars and bloodshed back then, too. Hell, I know three or four juniors who didn't make it to senior year after their initiation—two went missing and one had a severe head injury that kept her in a coma until Woodstock. And we didn't just limit it to incoming senior girls either. We would haze some of the black students as well. They didn't go to our school, but that didn't mean we couldn't haze them."
Current Glenbrook North student and Class Treasurer Taylor Wick expressed support for the hazing as well.
"It's important to the social order to keep the hazing alive. If we don't have traditions to mark the change from underclass to ruling class, then it all starts to fall apart. Pretty soon people wouldn't even care what part of town you live in or what kind of clothes you're wearing. You know what they call that? Anarchy." the commune news also applauds the Glenbrook North hazing, and certainly hopes if video got out of our hazing ritual on Bludney Plud people wouldn't make us quit doing it every Friday evening. Ivana Folger-Balzac is a commune correspondent and occasionally belts people as part of a secret hazing ritual known only to her.
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 May 21, 2007
Boy, Does All Your Favorite Music SuckThanks for offering to let me borrow anything from your CD collection, Joey, but I really have to decline. It's nothing personal, it's just that all your music sucks major wank.
I know most people get all offended when I say that, but c'mon: It's not like it's your fault you don't know good music from the sound of a rhino fart. You were just raised by a torturously dull family and surrounded all your life by automatons who eat what they're served without asking any questions. Some of us manage to break out of that mold and question the mundane garbage surrounding us, but if the most people don't, that's hardly something they're to blame for. But don't worry, because you happened to have hit on a music whiz, and I'm going to spot you while you flex your non-mainstream muscles.
We should start with the easy stuff, of course. Everybody's heard of Pirate's Cove, so let's just go back that far—please tell me you've heard of Pirate's Cove? I mean, I don't see how you could call yourself a fan of '90s grunge rock, as I know you do, and not know it all started with Pirate's Cove in 1985, and their top 100 hit "Chest Pains." Of course you do. I mean, if Cobain had never heard that—well, fuck, I don't need to tell you that Nevermind is a direct song-for-song answer to that third Pirates album. But maybe that's starting too simple. Not trying to insult you or anything.
You can't really fully understand what Pirate's...
º Last Column: I'm Finally Coming Around to Shaved Vaginas º more columns
Thanks for offering to let me borrow anything from your CD collection, Joey, but I really have to decline. It's nothing personal, it's just that all your music sucks major wank. I know most people get all offended when I say that, but c'mon: It's not like it's your fault you don't know good music from the sound of a rhino fart. You were just raised by a torturously dull family and surrounded all your life by automatons who eat what they're served without asking any questions. Some of us manage to break out of that mold and question the mundane garbage surrounding us, but if the most people don't, that's hardly something they're to blame for. But don't worry, because you happened to have hit on a music whiz, and I'm going to spot you while you flex your non-mainstream muscles. We should start with the easy stuff, of course. Everybody's heard of Pirate's Cove, so let's just go back that far— please tell me you've heard of Pirate's Cove? I mean, I don't see how you could call yourself a fan of '90s grunge rock, as I know you do, and not know it all started with Pirate's Cove in 1985, and their top 100 hit "Chest Pains." Of course you do. I mean, if Cobain had never heard that—well, fuck, I don't need to tell you that Nevermind is a direct song-for-song answer to that third Pirates album. But maybe that's starting too simple. Not trying to insult you or anything. You can't really fully understand what Pirate's Cove is all about until you know about Sheen and Glue Galaxy. But that goes without saying. A lot of people will tell you that Sheen sold out when they let Ivan Parkichov use that song in his movie Badgrarov, but in their defense, that movie was only supposed to play in the Soviet Union, so they kind of got tricked when it was released to Finland and Norway, too. Yeah, they're not as pure as a band like Bruntshot, but they're a guilty pleasure. Anyway, if it wasn't for their electric pop and the high tenor of lead singer Justin Vincent, Pirate's Cove would probably have sounded like a complete Glue Galaxy knockoff. Like the world needed that! What's that other band you like? Green Day? Yeah, I suppose they're alright. I mean, alright if you've never heard Hot Chalk. Can you say Green Day completely stole every fucking thing from them? I mean, Chalk even has a song called "Church on Sunday," you telling me that's a coincidence? If that Green Day guy isn't totally copping Chalk lead singer Eddie Ward's singing style, I'll eat my entire 8-track collection. Oh, I suppose you listen to CDs? Vinyl? That's even worse. It's been proven that 8-tracks can carry up to 15% more ambient room sound in any recording. I can't even hear a fucking vinyl record anymore without wanting to jam my fingers right through my ear drums, it's fucking blasphemy when you can hear all that room sound missing. I guess my ears are just more sensitive than yours. Oh, I remember now—you like the Strokes, right? I like the Strokes, too. Well, I should say I liked the Strokes. Back in 2000, before they sold out and released that album and shit. Don't get me wrong, I'm just saying they're the kind of band who sounds fucking awful when you commit them to a pressed recording. But I still like all those original bootleg live recordings I heard before anyone had heard of them. Now they're just a pale imitation of their former selves. If you really like the Strokes, you've got to hear this new band I've been listening to—Carnal Rule. They're like the Strokes if they had never given up and just decided to play that shit they play now. Believe me, in six months, nobody but me will have heard of this band. That's the purest proof I need that a band is better than anything anyone else is listening to. º Last Column: I'm Finally Coming Around to Shaved Vaginasº more columns
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|  September 29, 2003
Dueling BanditsNo one wanted it to come to this. Sure, if you checked with Arvelyn, or my other ex-wife, several of my children, or anybody on the commune staff, a number of them may have wanted it to come to this. But no one I like wanted it to come to this: A duel to the death.
I have besmirched the name of Boguslaw Sadowski, and it's no small feat to besmirch his name, given he's a dirty red con-man, heartless thug, and general bad cookie. But the time for words has passed, at least until we resume the slander trial. I for one won't wait that long. The duel is ten days from now. One of us will be dead by the time that trial rolls around, making it a lot easier case for the other guy. Though the survivor will get stuck with court costs, that's no free lunch.
The besmirching in question began two days ago, when I came home to find Boguslaw Sadowski in my home, talking to my wife in that unintelligible Russian blather they both know. Mob boss and Sting-lookalike Yogi explained to me Boguslaw would be moving in for the next few forevers, or until he could find his own place. Well, something snapped in me, good people, probably a couple of lower vertebrae, and I lost another inch in height. That I'm used to, but being made a fool of in my own home, and being completely aware of it, that's something I'm not. As if to make things worse, I noticed Boguslaw, talking to Felchyana still, make the international hand symbol for asshole, which I won't share with you decent...
º Last Column: The Return of Boguslaw Sadowski º more columns
No one wanted it to come to this. Sure, if you checked with Arvelyn, or my other ex-wife, several of my children, or anybody on the commune staff, a number of them may have wanted it to come to this. But no one I like wanted it to come to this: A duel to the death.
I have besmirched the name of Boguslaw Sadowski, and it's no small feat to besmirch his name, given he's a dirty red con-man, heartless thug, and general bad cookie. But the time for words has passed, at least until we resume the slander trial. I for one won't wait that long. The duel is ten days from now. One of us will be dead by the time that trial rolls around, making it a lot easier case for the other guy. Though the survivor will get stuck with court costs, that's no free lunch.
The besmirching in question began two days ago, when I came home to find Boguslaw Sadowski in my home, talking to my wife in that unintelligible Russian blather they both know. Mob boss and Sting-lookalike Yogi explained to me Boguslaw would be moving in for the next few forevers, or until he could find his own place. Well, something snapped in me, good people, probably a couple of lower vertebrae, and I lost another inch in height. That I'm used to, but being made a fool of in my own home, and being completely aware of it, that's something I'm not. As if to make things worse, I noticed Boguslaw, talking to Felchyana still, make the international hand symbol for asshole, which I won't share with you decent folk here.
That was it, I was incensed. I grabbed the nearest thing I could and threw it at the mad Russian, a bucket of confetti I keep on hand for emergency purposes. At first Boguslaw was delighted, then he realized the intended insult and was driven into a mad rage. He threatened to cut off the fingers of all my living children in response, which I laughed off—if he's got that sort of time, good luck to him, right? Then he decided it was more effective to pick me up by the ankles and hang me out my own window.
Well, I've been hung out windows by better than he and didn't bat an eye, but the insult of doing it to me in my own house, in front of my non-English-speaking wife, and revealing my unsightly ankles to the whole world. Boguslaw Sadowski made an enemy for life that day, good people, and the difference now is I told him to his face. I slapped him with a glove I keep for duel challenges, and it left quite a welt, being a rubber surgical glove. I then pulled it taut and snapped it in his face, and his eye has been bandaged ever since—hopefully that will effect his aim quite a bit. Since we are dueling in ten days, as I aforementioned.
You all know I am not afraid of death, when it is happening to someone else. In this case, though it comes for me, I will stand proud against it. Boguslaw Sadowski may fire an endless barrage of bullets in my direction, though technically that will be against all the rules of the duel, and I will not falter. If he tries to kill Felchyana and Camembert and Lee, I will not weaken. If he kills my ex-wife Arvelyn I may even send him a nice thank-you note and an FTD bouquet. But whatever happens, no matter how logic argues with me, I will not back down from this challenge.
For I have been insulted with an obscene hand gesture by a man who barely speaks the language, good people. And some things defy common sense. Rok Finger are one of those things. º Last Column: The Return of Boguslaw Sadowskiº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Yawn and the world yawns with you. Fart and you fart alone.”
-Dr. FilbertFortune 500 CookieStop taking it so personally when everyone tells you how ugly you are. At least you're getting noticed. That breakfast cereal you made out of Tic Tacs sure has helped your breath, but next week our crystal ball shows a diagnosis for cancer of the everything. They say dogs are a good judge of character, and even dogs don't like your screenplay. This week's lucky Tims: Tiny Tim, Spazzy Tim, Him Tim, Tim and Tim Again, Phantom Tim, Tim Saved in a Bottle.
Try again later.Least Popular April Fools' Pranks| 1. | Entire world repopulated with talking dogs while you slept | | 2. | Autistic cousin did your taxes for you, but it turns out he's a music savant | | 3. | You're CNN's Kidnapper of the Week! | | 4. | Woke up covered in 200 glued-on toupees | | 5. | Anal rape | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Red Bagel 7/11/2005 A Fistul of Tannenbaum, Chapter 15: Knight on FireEditor's Note: Last chapter, Jed Foster was blown back through time, which is not a sexual euphemism. He landed in the time of King Arthur, 20 A.J.D., and was befriended by Sir Punkrock. But on the way to the castle, Jed produced a lighter and was accused of being a male witch. Now, prepare for the hitting of shit against the fan…
Jed was bound to a pole in the ground in the least enjoyable way. The heartless rabble, who only seconds before Jed was pitying, now piled kindling at Jed's feet, with complete disregard to his expensive shoes.
"You can't burn me as a witch, you fools!" shouted Jed. "I'm a werewolf!"
But his lie was to no avail, as the villagers thought he was talking in a strange dialect that sounded exactly like...
Editor's Note: Last chapter, Jed Foster was blown back through time, which is not a sexual euphemism. He landed in the time of King Arthur, 20 A.J.D., and was befriended by Sir Punkrock. But on the way to the castle, Jed produced a lighter and was accused of being a male witch. Now, prepare for the hitting of shit against the fan…
Jed was bound to a pole in the ground in the least enjoyable way. The heartless rabble, who only seconds before Jed was pitying, now piled kindling at Jed's feet, with complete disregard to his expensive shoes.
"You can't burn me as a witch, you fools!" shouted Jed. "I'm a werewolf!"
But his lie was to no avail, as the villagers thought he was talking in a strange dialect that sounded exactly like different words in English. The villagers were basically idiots.
"You told me not that you were a witch, Sir Gen-General!" said Sir Punkrock. He shook his head and clucked his tongue. A tinny echo came out of his knight's helmet. "What kind of king makes a witch a knight? Not the good kind, I'd bet."
"Listen, you fuck," growled Jed, "you've got to stop these villagers. If I'm burned alive I'll never be able to live until I'm 103. And history will be changed. The consequences could be disastrous."
"I suppose that's possible, but they're quite an angry mob," said Sir Punkrock. "I'm not really in the mood to get in their way. I guess you'll have to help yourself."
Jed frantically tried to chew through the ropes binding him, but his neck couldn't reach around his back without a great deal of pain and killing him. He succeeded in chewing through his beard, but that didn't help him at all. He again implored the people.
"Please! Find your mercy within and cut me free!"
"Mercy? Mercy?" said a repetitious man, pointing accusingly. "We have no mercy for the likes of you! A male witch—it's nasty! And that explains perfectly why you can produce fire and why you wanted to help free that female witch!" The man felt the need to repeat the facts because he secretly worried he had rushed the prosecution on weak material evidence.
"Burn the witch!" shouted a truly ugly man.
"You mustn't burn me!" Jed again screamed. "I'm from the future! I come from a time much better than yours, where we can make fire with small devices and watch TV with digital signals. I came back in time through magic. I'm not a witch!"
"Oh. You should have said that originally," said the ugly man, helping to untie Jed from the burning pole. "You'll have to excuse our fervor. We get very mob-like when we see things that aren't easily explainable. But good luck with the time-traveling thing."
The lead prosecutor mob guy pointed to the original witch, a fire already lit under her. "And this hag? She is a fellow time-traveler, one of yours?"
"No, she is probably some witch," said Foster, pocketing his lighter once again. "If you don't mind, I've got to book. Sir Punkrock… we are to go to the castle now?"
Sir Punkrock had been reading a baudy limerick, and didn't hear. But he pulled it all together and escorted Jed, who he thought was named Sir Gen-General, to the castle of Arthur, King of England and Everything. This time, they were not interrupted.
A large man in shining golden armor came forward from a decorative throne. Everyone bowed to him and called him their king. He carried a mighty sword they all called Excalibur, and on his shield was embossed the name "Arthur." Jed could tell by the man's swagger he was someone very high up in King Arthur's court.
"Good sir knight," said the unknown man, "I am Arthur, King of England and Everything."
Next Chapter: King of England and Everything   |