I apologize, my journalistic integrity somehow ranked lower than making fun of Jcak this issue. It turns out he did not see three boobs. Here, he can tell it better:
you got some wrong information buddy. i didn’t see three boobs i saw part of a boob. fernie got flashed by some hot chick. i would have seen three but i was about a second late on all accounts. damned my bad sense of time.
The Ind e-Pen
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Introduction:
===============
This week was chock-full of entertaining fun. Yep, being couped up in a car for 56 hours, seeing a tropical paradise, not getting any girls to flash me… you know, the usual. But enough introduction, I know what everyone wants: Hard-Core Pornicular Lesbian Action!!!
… unfortunately neither my roommate nor myself know what Pornicular is, so we’ll have to settle with some random trite moments of my life:
A Cinderella Moment
So there I was, walking back from Lunch one Sunday evening (still wearing my nail polish from the sex toy party the day before), when I saw a black fuzzy slipper in the hallway. Just lying there, as if it were making a run from whatever chump had decided to let it get away. I stared at it for several minutes, trying to think of something that my mind had hinted at, but hadn’t run on. Something familiar… something about a fairy tale. But then I thought: nah, there are no chumps in fuzzy slippers in fairy tales.
Not in the daytime at least. Maybe late at night, when all the beautiful princes and longing beauties are out clubbin’, maybe then the chumps come out. Or maybe the beautiful princes (note: they aren’t handsome princes. To be in a fairy tale, a guy has to be more dainty than the woman he wants to seduce) who don’t get the hot broads (that is to say bathing beauties) are the chumps. But now they wouldn’t very well have slippers, would they? Unless they were REALLY dainty. And in that case, I doubt that they would want even the most narcoleptic of beauties… if you catch my drift.
All of this ran through my mind for ten minutes before I realized that I had a perfect Cinderella moment going on. I could just pick up the slipper, get my trusted esquire, and go through all of the dorms in the village asking girls to try it on. Unfortunately, I don’t live in a village, girls don’t randomly try on slippers, and my esquire is on strike. Still, though. I did go around through all of the dormitories and asked every girl that answered whether or not the slipper was hers. I didn’t think, though, that if it were, and she had two evil steproommates, that she might not be able to speak up. In fact, I probably got her a beating by just coming around so close to her without saving her. Oh, well… There’s always next time.
Wow. I hadn’t thought about that. It’s hard to concentrate on things like that when you’re in a tropical island during spring break… but you wouldn’t be interested in that, now would you?
Going South
In this case, I’m not going to write about my insanely timed trip to South Padre Island, Texas. I’m not going to talk about me leaving at 3:30 in the morning (right when I was planning on going to sleep), I’m not going to talk about the 28 hour drive, the two days I spent there, and the 34 hour drive back. And I’m not EVEN going to mention the fact that everyone but me was flashed at some point during the trip. Here let me not mention that my good friend Jcak got to see not one, not two, but three separate beeb (the plural of boob, right?). Nope, not going to mention anything about that, or about the talking coconut, the drunk girls, the rickety bridge, and the lighthouse. I’m not going to touch on how the two other people that were with us either had a tampon in their butt (without noticing it) or met a girl, fell in love, said goodbye, and were heartbroken all within three hours.
None of that is even going to come up. Nor is the fact that I ditched a week of school and possibly ruined my registration status for next semester. I’m not going to discuss how I came back and everyone came up to me wondering just what drugs I was on. I will, however, discuss my date last night:
My Date Last Night
That’s right, I went out on a date. And not one of those sad, sympathy dates either. No, this was one of those “I won the girl at an aution” dates. Which is, I hear, how Harry met Sally.
The day I came home from my inadvertent trip to Texas, I went to a fundraising auction to bid on my friends. And I did. So we went on a date with the coupon that they provided us. Wow– I so thought that that story would take longer to tell. Oh, well.
One last thing:
Good Jorb Mickey DePalma with your well-timed e-mail. You win a free Pix Capacitor.
Last Week’s Question: Did Gabe even send out an e-mail?
Last Week’s Answer: Yep, on March 15th at 10:30 in the evening, approximately 4 and a half hours after the sunset. Very soon after the chariots in the sky started burning brightly against a velvet blanket.
This Week’s Question: How many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop?
The Ind e-Pen
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Introduction:
===============
Today my good friends, we return to normalcy (oh, how I hate that word). That’s right, today, fateful readers, I go undercover, in drag, to find out just WHAT I’m missing out on. See the topic entitled Lingerie. Oh, and sorry about the last two weeks. Spring Break really busted me out of my routine. I hope Gabe did a good jorb. I’d hate to resort to something that PETA would get mad at me for–
Lingerie
Look: that’s me before I heard about this– “Sex Toy” party… See how calm I look? See how I’m not dressed in drag? See how I’m not consumed all day and night, wondering just what goes on in a “Sex Toy” party? Isn’t it so sad?
Look at me now: I still have the pink nail polish on from the “party.” I can’t stop thinking about what I’m going to tell my psychologist (Sigmund Freud, you might have heard of him). And I feel obsolete. How did this happen, you ask?
Well, actually it was fairly sudden: I heard about a party, decided that nothing was going to stop me from finding out what went on in one, borrowed a brassier from a friend (along with a dress and some sandals), had another friend paint my nails (after I horribly messed up painting my toe nails), and had still another friend do my make-up and hair.
Now I was ready for anything. Now I could face two dozen girls with no problem. Oh, no! Someone’s walking down the hall, HIDE!!
Turns out it was just the overly conservative girl down the hall– I don’t think she likes me much anymore–
Oh, man– how would I ever get the nerve up to go into a room of nothing but girls if I couldn’t even let One see me? Easy: you just go so far that it’s easier to keep going than to go back. It’s how I get myself to ask out, poke, and/or talk to strangers.
So I walked in, concealed behind my female friend Adelay. I had hoped on going the entire party without being spotted as a guy. I almost lived up to that, too: I lasted about one one-thousandth of a second. After that, everyone in the room laughed at me.
If only it had just stayed in the perpetual state of me being laughed at by girls. I could have tolerated that. It happens to me all the time. (– Oh, man. I should rest before I go on. That’s so depressing–)
But no, it didn’t stay like that. It suddenly became this really blush-filled evening of what boiled down to an X-rated power-point presentation. It wasn’t a party, it was two saleswomen trying to get girls to buy things for their pleasure– if you know what I mean. Because I sure don’t. They were selling things that I didn’t think fit Human bodies! And now, to curl up in my bed and shudder the night away– guys, we’re obsolete– sooo obsolete…
A Roswellian Encounter of the Third Kind
Once, in my youth, my parents told me that they were getting separated. To console myself in the wake of this pseudo-trauma, I decided to buy the entire first season of Roswell (a t.v. show that rocks the kazbah) on credit. That was a week ago. So far I have seen 22 shows that were each 42 minutes (and gone back and seen five episode commentaries). You do the math– but let me do it too. I like math. Lets see– 924 plus 210? 1000 minutes– which divides into just over 18 hours. Yikes.
So ask me if I’ve gotten any homework or Pix Capacitor stuff done. Okay, don’t bother. The answer is no. I am wasting sooo much time. Oh, well. At least I’m almost finished. Now all I need to do is finish watching the complete series of the Critic. Oh, how I wish I were kidding. Now I’m obsolete AND I have no life… I’m turning into Chuck Norris. Yikes.
One last thing:
So nobody wrote in for last week’s question. First time ever, wow. Nobody gets a free Pix Capacitor. Oh, well. Did Gabe even send out an e-mail?
Last Week’s Question: In what ways is Gabe the coolest (and/or cutest) advice-giving beaver?
Last Week’s Answer: Ha ha! I get it! You guys were trying to tell me something! Ha!
This Week’s Question: Did Gabe even send out an e-mail?
The Ind e-Pen
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Introduction:
===============
This is Gabe the Beaver filling in for whoever sends these silly e-mails out regularly. I wish I could tell you, seeing as he IS my direct boss, but quite frankly, I never cared about company politics anyway. What he wanted me to tell you was that he was bogged down with his personal life and his work was messed up. What can I say? He’s a nincompoop. In any case, I will gladly (for a paycheck) write this silly little e-mail and fill you in on his life up until now. Remember, this isn’t Gabe’s life, this is that other guy’s. Okay?
Oh, and if he asks, say that I sent it out first thing Monday morning. It would look really bad if he ever found out I spent most of the day with his woman…. Hey, I like blow-up dolls too!
On Where I Was
Last week officially began the Indiana University of Pennsylvania’s Spring Break. My plane left from Pittsburgh International Airport at 7:30 so I, being a stupid ignorant human, decided to wake up at 3:30 and leave. Wait, that’s not true, I never actually went to sleep. Humans can’t wake up at will, you know, so we revolve our lives around loud noises and our schedules (which we make ourselves… yeah, I can’t understand it either. And, as far as you know, I’m human).
So, after leaving the Hooka (or Hookah, or Chukkah) Lounge (actually called the “Sheesha King”), I came back to my dorm and watched a movie about a paranoid schizophrenic with multiple personalities who beats himself up and messes up his own life. I believe it is called Fight Club. The movie ended and I, being a stupid human, didn’t know what to do. So I left for the airport, driving my automobile with my opposable thumbs. Ah, it was great!
Except for the times that I got lost, of course.
In any case, I finally arrived back home in New Mexico and sent out that last e-mail.
About what I did:
I spent most of the week with my human friends doing human things like gnawing on wood and building dams (hey, that’s what Al Gore does!). Not much happened that would make a coherent, inoffensive story. Not that my stories are usually coherent or inoffensive, but this week was especially confounding.
And the trip ends how?
This issue of the Pix Capacitor is going to have an article that briefly touches on my fun misadventures with getting out of New Mexico. Here let me take it a step further and bring up some of the details of my trip.
Okay, so I woke relatively early that morning. In time to shower and pack for my flight. When I finished, my human parents called me in to the living room and told me a whole heck of a lot of stuff I didn’t want to hear. Remember kids, when you hear the words “I have to tell you something,” RUN!!! This one was a double-whammy though. It had the “and it’s very hard for me to say.” Which is always about the time you say, “no, no, no, get away” and hope you hear the news through a less trustworthy source later on.
Anyway, my parents and I went to eat before we drove to the airport. After an awful check-in process, we said our tearful goodbyes. They went crying home and I went whistling all the way until the metal detector. This was about the time that I had to take off my shoes and be patted down for weapons. Naturally, they didn’t find anything that posed an immediate danger to any male pilots, so they let me go…
… straight into the smallest plane in existence. A plane that could easily break the Guiness World Record for most people cramped into the smallest place going at the fastest speed in the highest place without visibly exploding. After an hour of this we arrived in Phoenix (which is West of New Mexico).
After a two hour lay-over, they told us that the plane was overbooked and asked if we wanted to stay in the desert an extra day. A few camels and a desert ocelot took the offer, but none of us humans did. Which is why they had to choose the most unattached people to stay. I pretended that the Gatorade bottle I was holding was a baby and they left me alone.
The four-hour plane ride to Pittsburgh (which is East of New Mexico) was uneventful and uncomfortable. In other words, it went as good as it could have gotten. Then we arrived. Then, several minutes later, most of our luggage arrived. With my luggage in tact, I walked to my car and, using my opposable thumb, pressed the “unlock” button on my car keys. Nothing happened. So I opened my car and pressed the power unlock button… nothing happened. So then I tried turning on the car. Nothing happened. I had accidentally left my dome light on during all of Spring Break. My battery was dead.
I asked a half-dozen people for jumper cables before someone informed me that there was a 24 hr. jumping service at the airport. Naturally the phone number was not posted anywhere IN the friggin’ airport. Fortunately, I did get a hold of them and they did give me a jump.
That was when I shifted my car into gear, found the highway I needed fairly quickly and drove off into the night– for 22 miles in the wrong direction. Then I backtracked to Pittsburgh, got lost in Pittsburgh, found my highway, and was stuck at 35 miles per hour for an hour before I finally arrived at IUP– in time to miss the shuttle bus and have to walk a mile to my dorm carrying all my luggage.
Oh, and what my parents told me that I didn’t want to hear? They’re separating. I was the first person to know– you guys are the second through 38th. 
If you think that me saying that is bad, wait until Pix Capacitor…
One last thing:
Good job to Celeste Bocchicchio for kicking the proverbial ass with her answer. It was so good it was probably right. The boss is odd like that. In any case, she gets a free Pix Capacitor (assuming it’s not up to me to send them). Good job.
Last Week’s Question: What’s my excuse for being late and where am I?
[Celeste's] Answer to this week’s question: You are drinking malt liquor with leprechauns in new brunswick and the e-mail was late because you had to get a perm before you went.
This Week’s Question: In what ways is Gabe the coolest (and/or cutest) advice-giving beaver?
The Ind e-Pen
+++vol+1++BT+10+++Introduction:
===============
I have an excellent explanation for the lateness of this e-
Mail. It’s a great explanation. Not like last week when I
Had nothing better to say than, “my prostate just exploded.”
Okay, so that turned out to be a lie, but now I’ve really
Made up something great. So great, in fact, that if I
Even STARTED to explain it to you my head would explode. And now, on to my e-mail:
An adventure to lift your spirits.
Picture this: it’s last Friday, and I’m still angry at what I accidentally did last Thursday
(accidentally singing the Nations of the World to a coffee shop, then asking a cute girl for her
number and having her give me the Mayo Clinic’s 24 hr. hotline instead) To cure my self-hatred, I decide to drive to Wal-Mart (the New Mexican alternative to therapy. Interestingly, it’s just as effective).
I buy myself some Spongebob Squarepants socks (note: this is a blatant lie to make myself seem dorkier than I really am. What I actually bought was Spongebob Squarepants boxer-briefs) and drive back to my dorm to console myself in nautical nonsense. Unfortunately there is no parking available, so I just park in the 24-hr. tow-away zone. I figure I’ll move my car in the morning.
I’ll refrain from talking about the next day here, but let me just give you some all-around,
probably unrelated advice: Never ask out a girl you run into in a gay rights rally… you think I’m
kidding.
It wasn’t until Sunday that I had the time to move my car. Which, if you haven’t guessed it by
now, wasn’t there. Somehow, it had been towed away during the 48 hours in which I wasn’t watching it. It took me two hours and $60 to get it back, and all the time I wondered why I had to.
What if I figured out where my car was and I broke in and stole it back. What would happen? Could they really arrest me for stealing MY Own Private Property? And the breaking an entering thing? Aren’t I justified if I’m getting my own stuff back? Isn’t that fair? Oh, well. I’m just ticked. Don’t worry about me, though, I’ve got a porous, yellow, and absorbent cartoon character to console me.
Ooh, a window Seat!
So I recently rode in a plane, right? Here, I will skip discussing the 3 hour wait to get INSIDE
the airport. Because what if, in discussing it, I accidentally release some information that might
help potential terrorists? We can’t afford that! Our country is already in Code Pink, right? Code Periwinkle? Code Off-White? Code Fool’s Gold? Code Robin’s Egg Blue? Code Macaroni & Cheese? Code Mahogany? I could go on with this. I’m in Crayola’s website right now (www.crayolacrayonssuck.com)
Anyway, I ended up getting on the last surviving plane from the 1922 World’s Fair. A plane that was so unsturdy and short that it didn’t reach the gate. A plane that was so bad, there were medical release forms available in the cabin (which was conveniently hidden behind rubber ducky shower-curtains). It was okay, though, because I had a window seat, or so I was told. This was one of those planes where there’s approximately one-third of a window for every seat. Indeed, my seat was more of a wall-seat. Maybe a shell-seat. But it’s okay. It could have been worse. I could have had to sit next to the wing(s) or propeller… That would have been bad.
One last thing:
Congratulations, yet again, to Starlit C. Hill for being the first to answer last week’s question.
She gets a free Pix Capacitor for her troubles (don’t you just love how I advertize it like it’s
something desirable? Ha ha! I’m good).
Last Week’s Question: What is Jim Carrey’s best movie?
Acceptable Answers: Dumb & Dumber, Liar Liar, Ace Ventura, Bruce Almighty, The Majestic, The Truman Show, and Me, Myself, & Irene.
Unacceptable Answers: Once Bitten, Earth Girls are Easy, The Mask, Ace Ventura 2: When Nature Calls, Batman Forever, and the Cable Guy.
This Week’s Question: According to the Introduction, what’s my excuse for being late and where am I?
If you don’t know, look at it again.