Tag Archives: mustache

Sherman Ave Freshman Guide: Burgwell J. Howard

9 Aug

NOC_Burgie_L

Background: Originally a solemn drifter making his way across this great nation’s network of railroad lines, Burgwell J. Howard was converted to Assistant Vice President for Student Engagement in Student Affairs at Northwestern University in 2012 after hearing that his roommate and Eskimo Brother Morton Schapiro could hook him up with a real sweet gig for a few months if he needed some beer money. Burgwell, or “Burgie” as his friends and fellow teamsters affectionately call him, is now a beacon for smile aficionados and hosts the annual university-wide diversity listserv email blast.

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#GetFuckedBC

14 Sep

You never forget your first time.

Hello there.

Are you a BCS team from an automatic qualifier conference? Are you traveling to Evanston in the near future? Are you the Boston College Eagles!?

If so, then on behalf of the Northwestern Wildcat football program and the 250 or so bored students from the Greater Chicagoland area, we cordially invite you to get fucked.

First off, let us begin by complimenting the entire BC defense on how well your faces have recovered from the monstrous welt Kain Colter’s schlong gave you in last year’s season opener.* We’re mostly just impressed that you came back for more after that thorough 24-17 dicking.

Doesn’t the Catholic Church have some sort of policy against the bestiality you are about to endure at the mercy of Venric Mark and the Northwestern wide receiver corps? We always knew that Jesuits were pretty chill about that sort of thing, but still.

Regardless, it’s kind of rude for Notre Dame to seek an injunction against the HHS mandate just so Boston College football won’t be able to receive the sexual health care it will need after getting so totally fucked by NU this Saturday afternoon. It’s not like Notre Dame was going to need any help beating you guys anyway.

Speaking of sensitive religious topics, stop trying to inquisition us.

We know we were once called the Fighting Methodists and all, but nowadays most of our students are either Jewish, godless socialist Democrats, or Markwell. Fitzwizardry isn’t heresy, and with the exception of your defensive backs, nobody’s getting torched this Saturday. Give it a rest, and spend less time trying to impose canonical law with the arm of Chase Rettig and more time getting fucked.

The only thing more depressing than being the third best college accessible via the T will be Chi Chi Ariguzo’s physically and emotionally damaging defense. The only thing more unsettling than Frank Spaziani’s mustache will be how Ifaedi Odenigbo methodically destroys everything you hold holy — starting with Doug Flutie and ending with Tip O’Neill, Scott Brown, and Matt Ryan — in an assault that transcends the boundaries of time, space, and party politics.**

Simply put, Pat Fitzgerald the Fighting Methodists will fuck you worse than the sexual trinity Karl Rove administered to BC Law alum John Kerry in 2004.

Last week, we made a promise and came through. This week we are proud to make another such guarantee.

Get Fucked BC.
———————————————————————————————————————
*My second dick slapping joke in as many weeks. I’m gunning for the record set by Brother Jürgen Taintsdorf in the infamous summer of ’06.
**Seriously, are you guys good at doing anything else besides playing quarterback or serving in Congress?

To stay updated on this weekend’s #GetFuckedBC campaign, follow us on Twitter and like us on Facebook and look for the intoxicated heinouses shouting ‘Get Fucked BC’ Saturday afternoon at Ryan Field.

Summer Bucket List

29 Jun

This dog doesn't know how good he has it.

Only three weeks after leaving Northwestern for Summer vacation, and you’re already bored as hell. By now, I can only assume that the allure of your unpaid internship at the Wichita Falls Times Record News has started to wear off, you’ve realized that your friends from home are no longer interested in your stories of hedonism and debauchery that pale in comparison to a standard Tuesday evening in Champaign, IL, or you’re just desperately missing everything about being at school for the first time since Kindergarten. That is why, as your faithful and spectacularly humble servant, I have compiled my very own Summer Bucket List, in an attempt to shake off my own Summer doldrums while simultaneously inspiring our readers to perpetrate majestic acts of grandeur over the break. Please bear in mind that if you suffer any sort of egregious harm due to my suggestions, I cannot be held responsible. But if you happen to get laid as a direct result of my sage advice, you know who to thank.

I mean... seriously?

Get Kicked Out of a Museum
Northwestern already has a great history with some of Chicago’s finest museums. And who doesn’t love to spend their Summer evenings in the Art Institute, escaping the sweltering heat by loudly discussing the monochromatic tendencies of Postminamilism or the intricate details of the sexual connotations Salvador Dali found in lobsters and telephones? I sure do. But one of these days I’m going to snap, and if I’m going to be forcibly escorted from a museum, I want to make sure it happens in the most badass way imaginable. Dressing up as a mummy in the Field Museum’s pyramid, taking an axe to a Rothko, or fishing for a shark in the Shedd Aquarium all sound pretty good to me. But I have nothing against leaving my dog’s excrement in the MCA as art, wearing a lab coat in the Adler Planetarium and assuring everybody that the sun will be extinguished next Friday, or getting drunk with a Chimpanzee at the Brookfield Zoo, just as long as notoriety ensues.

Oh, sì! Conjuga los verbos para mì!

Seduce a Professor
Summer at Northwestern is a magical thing. Boredom and loneliness coalesce into a formidable cyclone of pure libido, and nobody is safe. Perhaps Summer School professors are particularly susceptible to this phenomenon, especially when their students are charming, witty, and strapping young lads who tend to spend their time writing self-indulgent posts on the internet instead of playing outside. Here’s how a hypothetical situation might play itself out between the clumsy, yet affable, student and his Spanish professor:

El Estudiante: Hola. Estoy teniendo algunas problemas con mi tarea. Puedo obtener instrucciòn adicional despuès de la clase?

La Profesora: Por supuesto! Nunca notè que bello de una sonrisa que tienes, y lo sensible y tranquilizador que eres. Estoy ruborizada?

El Estudiante: Es el calor del amor. Venga, vamos a navegar en el Lago Michigan, mientras leìa la la poesìa de Neruda.

La Profesora: Dios mio!

Kick-off My ASG Student President Campaign
As ASG Student Body President, I would work tirelessly to bring an inter-campus zip line to Northwestern, replace our football team with the starting lineup of defending Lingerie Bowl Champions the Los Angeles Temptation, put a keg in every dorm room, and a segway in every garage. I will also work hard to meet student demands for a grow house in Tech, the extension of formal recognition to the Merpeople living in Lake Michigan, and the construction of a border wall between the University and the City of Evanston. Most importantly, however, I will not rest until my bill declaring Morton “Morty” O. Schapiro as “Supreme Master of the Universe” and endowing him with plenipotentiary power over the Galaxy is passed by the United Nations. What better time to get the jump on my fellow opponents for next year than during the summer?

It would be like dining with the Ghost of Hookups Past

Eat Lunch at The Keg
Doing so would be in direct violation of the only two rules that govern The Keg: Never go when sober, and never go when it’s bright enough to see the floor. Even the notion of entering the Keg through the front door fills me with fright. But how can I resist such temptation in the face of unparalleled danger?

Skinny Dip in Lake Michigan
This might be a difficult challenge, considering the regrettable dearth of cheap booze and impressionable friends over the summer, but a challenge that must be surmounted nevertheless. The Snowpocalypse is over, Summer is here, and the time is ripe to brave the Evanston Police and an E-Coli outbreak for the blissful few seconds when I can freely wade into Lake Michigan before my love apples turn into kiwis. I like to remind myself that there is no federal law against nudity, and channel the notable nudist President John Quincy Adams while I free myself from the physical constraints of modern life. I am also willing to provide a sizable reward for anybody who can supply me with a dependable cure for shrinkage.

Using sophisticated computer technology, this is a graphical representation of what I would look like with a mustache

Grow a Mustache
Being clean-shaven and presentable is sooooo passè. And there’s no chance in hell I can grow a full beard. The solution: a compromise. Maybe if I just focus all of my hair-growing power on my upper lip, I can valiantly return to class in the fall sporting facial hair with the tenacity of Burt Reynolds and sex appeal of Geraldo Rivera. As Walter Cronkite proved, all you need is a well-groomed and bristling ‘stache to gain cred in the world of journalism. But then again, when it comes to journalistic street cred, I think Sherman Ave’s doing alright.

Get the Blog Back Together
Check.

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