3 to 5 business days

A lot can happen in three to five business days. Packages can travel halfway around the world, foot-high snow piles c

an evaporate back into the parking spot from whence it came, me and my brother could hit level fifty in Call of

Duty. Anyways, my point is that three to five business days is a pretty long period of time, especially when the countdown

starts on New Year's Eve, and New Year's Eve falls on a Thursday. While at this point actually testing positive for the chlamydia virus is much more

of a symbolic q tip up the dick hole than physical, and while understanding that I did not spread the virus to anyone,

there is still a feeling of anxiety pushing forward with regards to the wait for the test results. Now, why would I be

anxious? Is it because of the stigma that comes with actually contracting the clap? Is it the fact that I can't have

sex for a month, which isn't nearly as far of a stretch from the standard as it sounds? Is it

the fact I would tell my parents, and have to deal with awkward lectures that would

put the typical anti-alcohol lecture to shame? There really isn't a good enough reason for

me to be this anxious about the results of the test; normally I'm the type of person who can block anything out

if I try to.
What comes to mind as a

conclusion for this anxiousne

ss is the lack of a precedent set before me. None of my friends in either the 201 or

the 215 have ever had a scare of this magnitude- a scare

that's more than a hunch. Can't ask the family either- I'd probably end up on the front page of the Bayonne Times if

I started asking family members under the headline "Once-Promising Teenager

Contracts Chlamydiafrom Cum-Dumpster at Pennsylvania College." The only sources of

true knowledge I have are the Internet and Mr. Waktola at

Planned Parenthood. I guess the deeper lesson that I've

learned from this besides the obvious "make sure you wear

a bathing suit with mesh if you're swimming in nuclear acid" is that I, by being incredibly forward with my

issue, might be able to help a friend or family member who is unsure about testing. So, in conclusion, if you're scared

about something that could be sexually transmitted, come talk to me.

The Girls of Summer

Ah, summer- the season of no classes and wonderful asses barely covered. Summer tends to be the season of love as people are half-naked already, and the no-pants dance requires far less effort (although boners tend to rip through mesh of male bathing suits.) Also, any song with the word summer in it is both incredibly happy and probably stuck in your head. These are the girls of my summer.

Emily ThinksMyNameIsTim: Tim is not my real name - it may be the name of the infamous Tim Allen, one of the few men who was capable of shooting a show within a show. At least one whole hour of your life has been wasted watching Tim Allen talk to a taller, wiser man, whose face is never seen but whose wisdom led a generation to keep fixing things in front of studio audiences. Much like our time as a whole has been wasted, so was a night in the life of poor Emily, who happened to be in a room of people whom I introduced myself to as Tim. Later that night, we decided to start sucking face during the tail end of a shitshow night, and my true identity was never discussed nor dissected. Two days later, I am sitting on the couch with my parents watching something besides Home Improvement when 215-IFORGOT-TOSAVE-HERNUMBER calls me, asking for Tim. Eventually, my parents figure out what is happening, and have continued calling me Tim once in a while for a laugh
Nursey- I met a wonderful nurse at the hospital when I checked my grandmother into the emergency room. She had great poise- she did not flinch or get mad when my grandmother called her a cocksucker and a motherfucker for the heinous crime of attempting to draw blood from a hospital patient. She excels at things related to her job, and also provides a lot of unintentional humor through the fact that she is an immigrant. You don't realize how living in America influences you until you tell an immigrant that you're going to see Toy Story 3, and she asks what the first two are about. Also, Filipino women have by far the funniest drunk ramblings of any race and gender- I dare you to understand 50 percent of the words coming out of her mouth after approximately three shots and three beers.

Meat- Aptly named because of the years she's spent trying to climb on my meat, as well as the surplus of meat surrounding her ribcages and essential organs, this girl has finally figured out that while my chances of going on an actual date with her and playing sober make-out are very slim, if she is in the same location with me after approximately fifteen beers, her chances improve exponentially. With this knowledge, drunk texting has become her go-to move. It's always nice to know that a 200 pound girl wants you through drunk texts like the following "Hiiuiuiuiuiuiu i misted ou todat com overrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr" However, the premiere pratfall of Meat is that her views on premarital sex are skewed by the simple fact that she was an accident at birth, which obviously genetically dispotions her to become pregnant upon her first try at the not-Immaculate Conception.

The Ex- While people date a vast amount of girls in their life, the word "Ex" typically brings to mind either the most recent or the most crazy former lover. Fortunately for me, the two are one and the same, so I don't have to deal with that confusion. What I do have to deal with; however, is that feeling of walking into a party that your ex is at before seeing her. 75 percent of the room, ranging from your friends to people who know all of the facts about your life despite only sharing one five minute conversation with them ever look at you like there is a knife sticking through your chest. The girls who are friends with the ex-girlfriend turn and start whispering, and any hello that would normally be recieved with a conversation is instead a whispered hi that is not heard, yet understood through the principles of mouth-moving. Then, walking through the party, the ex is finally found, and a death stare is thrown out, her eyes attempting to burn a hole in your soul for making the unforgivable mistake of breaking up with her during her ascent to insanity, instead of supporting her through the crescendo. After that, an awkward hello is exchanged, and hooking up with any girl at the party who knows your ex exists and used to date you becomes Mission Impossible

The Furniture List

Once upon a time, a furniture list used to exist on the wall of my own house. The furniture list was a tally, at the time, of every girl who had either made out with three of the members of Team La Salle or had sex with two of us. The idea from that list stemmed from the notion that like furniture at a party, everyone gets a turn with these girls. Of course, writing the furniture list on the wall made most of the females on the list cease to continue being furniture.

Furniture on Furniture

This brings me to my point of conversation for the day- should one avoid girls who friends have had success with? Here comes a list with all the pros and cons I can think of
Reasons to avoid furniture

• In the current homophobic time we live in, no one wants to taste one of their friend's saliva when they're making out with a chick
• If you don't like getting made fun of, then you should avoid furniture at all costs- it's literally one of the easiest jokes to make.
  
• In the interest of avoiding sexually transmitted diseases, one should avoid the especially easy girls which make up the majority of anyone's furniture list.

Reasons to sit on the furniture

• Past successes/failures is a great indicator of future results. The same logic that you use to watch an Adam Sandler movie because you know it's going to be funny can be applied to the furniture.
• You can use your friend's experience with the furniture to your advantage- for example, if three of your friends have gotten this specific piece of furniture to make out with them by dancing with her to Spanish music, then you already know to cue up your Noche de Sexo and get ready.

Final Verdict:
Girls who are willing to let themselves become furniture, for the most part, are good females who appreciate what your team has to offer. This, combined with the lowered difficulty makes this a lay-up for me- the furniture list should represent a bucket list for your team until one decides its time to date the couch.

Common Sense Amendment 1 - The Virgin Decree

(If I were king and tyrant of America for one week, these are the type of laws I'd pass. Laws that focus on providing universal benefit without hurting anyone, as well as laws that provide me with a sense of purpose for having passed them.)



(The first song I heard after losing my virginity- here comes a funny story. I was in the car with my girlfriend at the time driving to Rite Aid within fifteen minutes of our first trial run at being adults because she was convinced she was pregnant. Being the savvy sixteen year old that I was. I told her to get a pregnancy test from Rite Aid, with full knowledge that even if I hit a lead-off home run, that the test would come back negative. Of course it did, and that day my brother and I learned how to read a pregnancy test. This song was the first one on the radio.)

Losing one's virginity is a wonderful experience that often turns traumatic due to the circumstances it falls under. It symbolizes a welcome to the adult world in an experience that cannot be matched - imagine if your high school graduation was only ten minutes long, and ended in an orgasm. With this rite of passage into adulthood often comes intense feelings for the person whom with this experience is shared.

This is where a major problem lies - while the virgin is feeling this dizzying array of emotion, if his or her partner is not a virgin, then the experience is significantly less of an emotional pulley on the second party. Oftentimes, this leads to an emotional split between the two parties even if their relationship were fully functional before then. This problem does exist, and can be proven simply by the overwhelming amount of references to it in our modern culture.


(One of the defining movies of the late 1990's and a spawn of roughly a million sequels all starting with the word "American," American Pie focuses on four high school kids attempting to lose their virginities before they graduate)


(Still, in 2011, movies exist about the chase of that elusive first bang. This movie, Virginity Hit, focuses on the same plot, with a modern twist as the main character's best friend/half brother records the quest in its entirety on his camera and posts it on YouTube.)




People are especially vulnerable in the moments before, during, and after losing their virginity. In my own personal experiences, I've seen a person punch a hole in the wall because a funeral delayed his first coital ordeal one day, a female cry during the act of losing her virginity because her grandmother was watching her from heaven and wouldn't approve, and another female asking her partner to marry him within three minutes of the short, sexual encounter.

Because of the importance of this adventure in the development of oneself, and the ease of manipulation presented by the innate, unavoidable vulnerabilities one presents around this period in his or her life, I would pass a Common Sense Amendment stating that virgins can only lose thier virginity to other virgins, both as a protective measure for both parties involved as well as a provider of hysterical stories as a result- we've all seen American Pie.

Charities that Actually Suck: Make-A-Wish Foundation

I'm sure you've seen one of these fantastic Make-A-Wish videos, one in which a terminally ill child gets to meet an idol of theirs in exchange for the right to continue being just as terminally ill. Most charities exist to serve one of two purposes- either to improve the life of a suffering people, or to raise awareness about an unnoticed problem in the hopes that public sentiment carries the solution to the problem. Rather than aim for one of those two goals, the Make-A-Wish foundation reminds you that there are terminally ill children that exist, and gives them one fun day in an otherwise terrible life. Seriously- a charity with 230 million dollars in assets exists without putting a single dollar towards research or any sort of solution hunt. It's the Ponzi scheme of charities- sponsored under the Disney Corporation, its outreach to attain celebrities and famous athletes to grant a wish is impossible to match. These famous people aren't the ones who are doing anything wrong- most make many of these types of visits without the publicity of the Make-A-Wish foundation.

However, whoever came up with the corporate design for this charity intended not to improve the welfare of the world, but rather the publicity of itself and its supporters. While at first I decided I hated the Make-A-Wish foundation solely because their efforts are produced and directed as if every wish were a Hollywood trailer, actually looking up the foundation just managed to make me feel stronger about this. This is because its financials and mission statement reveal what the foundation actually is- a really expensive feel-good publicity stunt.

As can be seen by this pie chart displayed on their front page, 16 percent of all money that enters the company goes towards the advent of more fundraising. Hidden in the program services portions of their expenses is a 25 million dollar "public support" expense (12%), which in actually just means more marketing and self-promotion. This means that for every twenty dollars you donate to the Make-A-Wish Foundation, roughly six dollars goes towards self-promotion, while the rest presumably goes to the 18 cameramen and 11 photographers watching a sick kid have a catch with Derek Jeter. Most notably, the company itself makes zero donations towards research or large-scale awareness programs.

This Calvin and Hobbes strip concludes this rant much better than I could ever.

Bringing Blogging Back

I'm gonna start blogging again for the entire summer, at least once a day, and I'm going to get rich, famous, and blowjobs from this blog- just watch. Every blog post will have an appropriate song preceding the post, giving my ardent fanbase something to listen to while I rant and rave about whatever I want to write about.



Goals of re-establishing the Last Bastion of Hope

Becoming a better writer- by forcing myself to blog, things such as my prose, sentence structure, and most notably spelling should improve as practice makes perfect.

Forming opinions- By putting time and effort into an attempt to prove a point, the point itself either becomes more validated through argument, or seems stupid when put into paragraphs.

Creation of an online persona- Through multiple blog posts, eventually certain themes will arise. For example, I am positive that within my next five blog posts, I will reference the awesomeness of LeBron James at least twice, if not more.

Last Bastion of Hope

My mother made a Facebook. This revealed a couple of things that I did know about life.

1. Generational uncomfortableness. Everyone knows this feeling, even if it's probably not a word in the psychological dictionary. It extends past you doing things you don't want your parents to know about into other mainstream facets of life. Grandmother with a cell phone, mother trying to pop lock and drop it at a high school graduation party, anytime a old person attempts to play a video game, things like that.

2. Your parent asking you to be your friend on Facebook is the summit of this generational uncomfortableness. Everything from seeing the question mark next to his or her face, knowing that there will be a call in forty eight hours asking you how to plug the camera cable into the computer, as if USB port slots magically move around the computer every time to the frantic untagging of pictures screams generational uncomfortableness.

3. I take terrible pictures. I'm not Stu D. Muffin or anything in real life, but my Facebook pictures are horrendous. Why must I smile as if I just received a blumpkin in every single picture?

4. I need to write on this blog more. This blog is the Last Bastion of Hope, never to crumble under the fears of generational uncomfortableness.