If App Descriptions Were More Honest...

I recently hopped on the iPhone bandwagon after years of claiming I never would. I’m ashamed of myself for being a conformist, but I’m an eighteen year old girl. Obviously resistance to a sleek device with a responsive touch screen and unlimited selfie-taking potential is futile. As a user of less than a month, I’m still a relatively new addition to the Cult of Apple, but I’m learning pretty damn quickly what it’s all about. Take apps (that’s the short form for “applications” if you’re over the age of sixty) for example. In just a few short weeks, I’ve already learned to look past what Apple claims these memory-zapping things are in order to encourage sales and to see their true colours. For the most part, their real purpose is a far cry from what you’re initially led to believe, and I feel it is my duty as a global citizen to bring this ruse to an end. Listed below are some of the most popular apps du jour, a description of them taken straight from the App Store, and a revised description that I feel is closer to the truth. Warning: what you’re about to read may shock and disturb you. But it probably won’t. I just thought I’d say that to build up some suspense.

App #1: Instagram
App Store description: “80 million users love Instagram! It’s a free, fun, and simple way to make and share gorgeous photos on your iPhone. Pick from one of several gorgeous filtered effects or tilt-shift blur to breathe new life into your mobile photos. Transform everyday moments into works of art you’ll want to share with friends and family.”
How it should really be described: #Show #your #peers #that #you’re #artsy #as #fuck #by #slapping #a #filter #on #a #mediocre #picture #also #if #you #want #more #likes #and #followers #show #cleavage #and #use #a #lot #of #obvious #hashtags.

App #2: Pic Stitch
App Store description: “Pic Stitch packs a simple design with a powerful editor to give you everything you could possibly want to make your photos simply amazing. Use Pic Stitch to create a before-and-after sequence, combine great photos of each of your kids, or produce a photographic series.”
How it should really be described: Make your Instragram photos that much artsier by combining multiple images into one big, filtered masterpiece! Ideal for when you’ve taken multiple selfies and can’t decide which one you like best.

App #3: Angry Birds
App Store description: “The survival of the Angry Birds is at stake. Dish out revenge to the greedy pigs who stole their eggs. Use the unique powers of each bird to destroy the pigs’ defenses. Angry Birds features challenging physics-based gameplay and hours of replay value. Each level requires logic, skill and force to solve.”
How it should really be described: The plot of Angry Birds makes absolutely no sense, but it’s probably some sort of political allegory. You will use absolutely no physics in the playing of this game, but you can pretend you do by saying the word ‘trajectory’ a lot when explaining it to your friends. Excellent for enabling procrastination and pissing off animal rights activists.

App #4: Shazam
App Store description: “Identify songs in as little as 1 second, preview or buy the track, get streaming lyrics, YouTube videos and more.”
How it should really be described: Shazam: because sometimes, you don’t catch enough of the lyrics to search them on Google.

App #5: CNN App for iPhone
App Store description: “Stay informed with the latest headlines and original stories from around the globe. Follow up-to-the-minute reporting with breaking news alerts and live video. Lead the conversation by sharing news and dig deeper into the stories that matter most to you.”
How it should really be described: Downloading the CNN App for iPhone is the perfect way to pretend you’re more informed about current events than you actually are. If you’re seeking to impress someone, just open it up, make a pensive face and hope that they look over your shoulder. Fool proof!

App #6: Words With Friends
App Store description: “Words With Friends- the game more of your friends are playing than any other word game! Experience for yourself why more than 20 million people are addicted to the word building, triple score seeking, chat bubble sending goodness of Words With Friends.”
How it should really be described: Words With Friends (which could be more accurately referred to as "Words With Strangers On The Internet") is basically just Scrabble, but waaaay cooler because it’s electronic. Half of the fun is trying to figure out what crude words are actually permitted. (Note: Dick is one of them.)

App #7: Snapchat
App Store description: “Real-time picture chatting is finally available on iPhone! Snapchat is the fastest way to share a moment with friends. You control how long your friends can view your message- simply set the timer up to ten seconds and send. They’ll have that long to view your message and then it disappears forever. We’ll let you know if they take a screenshot! Build relationships, collect points, and view your best friends. Snapchat is instantly fun and insanely playful. Show your friends how clever you can be and enjoy the lightness of being!”
How it should really be described: Aimed at high schoolers, Snapchat is the perfect app for sending naked pictures with a slightly reduced risk of having them forwarded to everyone in the recipient’s contact list! Knowing that someone has taken a screenshot of your risqué image is obviously enough to prevent it from spreading around, so go right ahead! There’s NO way it can go wrong, right?

App #8: Facetime
App Store description: I couldn’t find a description for Facetime in the App Store, probably because it is viewed as an iPhone “essential” and is already installed when you purchase the phone. Lame.
How it should really be described: Want people to know how hilarious and/or adorable you and your friends are? Facetime provides you with the perfect platform to take supposedly candid pictures of you and your homies making goofy faces, accidentally pouting and smouldering at the camera or having a totally genuine and not staged laugh together, all mid-conversation!

App #9: I’d Cap That
App Store description: “I’d Cap That takes your normal photo and selects the perfect, most hysterically crude caption and slaps it on top. If you don’t LOL right away, refresh the caption for optimal hilarity. You and your friends will have an absolute blast capping your pics. Never before has anything ever made you laugh this hard.”
How it should really be described: Most likely created by a frat guy, I’d Cap That is occasionally funny but is mostly just a lot of jokes about sexual acts involving the butt. Must be inebriated for optimal enjoyment.

App #10: IMDb Movies & TV
App Store description: “Find showtimes, watch trailers, browse photos, track your must-see list and rate your favorite movies and TV shows!”
How it should really be described: We’ve all been there: you’re watching a movie and can’t figure out who that-one-guy-who-looks-totally-familiar-and-must-have-been-in-something-else is. Fear not, IMDb Movies & TV has got your back! Search the title of the movie and scroll through the cast until you have an AHA! moment and are finally able to sleep at night.

App #11: Keek
App Store description: “Millions of users love Keek! It’s the fastest, easiest way to watch, record & share video updates on your iPhone.”
How it should really be described: Facebook and Twitter not enough for you? Wish people could know what you’re doing LITERALLY all the time in vivid detail? Then Keek is the app for you! Take videos of yourself doing shit that no one really cares about and share them with your friends, they’ll probably only be mildly annoyed by it!

App #12: Fruit Ninja
App Store description: “Fruit Ninja is a juicy action game enjoyed by millions of players around the world, with squishy, splatty and satisfying fruit carnage! Become the ultimate bringer of sweet, tasty destruction with every slash!”
How it should really be described: If you enjoy mindless fun and getting fingerprints all over your screen, you’ll be a big fan of Fruit Ninja! Hours of smeary fun.

App #13: Temple Run
App Store Description: “From the makers of the award-winning best-seller Harbor Master comes the most exhilarating running game on the App Store. Test your reflexes as you race down ancient temple walls and along sheer cliffs. Swipe to turn, jump and slide to avoid obstacles, collect coins and buy power ups, and see how far you can run!”
How it should really be described: Temple Run is a lot like every other game for the iPhone, except people get super competitive about it for some reason. Download Temple Run now and try to get a high score so you can screenshot it and brag to your friends!

And there you have it. I think we can all agree that if I was in charge of the descriptions in the App Store, the world would be a better, more honest place. There would be peace on Earth and climate change would be resolved. Omg, that gives me the best idea: I’m going to go take a selfie of myself looking thoughtful and Pic Stitch it with a satellite image of the Earth and Instagram it with a caption about “being the change” and a bunch of ecofriendly hashtags!! Man, iPhones are just the bee’s knees! But let it be said: I will NEVER get a Mac. Unless they go on sale… Then I’ll consider it.

Slutty Halloween Costumes That Shouldn't Exist: 2012 Edition

Halloween is something that means very different things to people of different ages. To children, it signifies free candy, itchy costumes, and being forced to visit cranky old neighbours who may or may not secretly be evil warlocks. For parents, it entails dropping major billage on costumes that will be destroyed in a matter of hours, making sure kids don’t fatally wound themselves in the process of pumpkin carving, and heavy drinking. In between those two extremes is a form of Halloween that takes the costumes of childhood and the alcohol of parenthood and melds them into one big clusterfuck of inebriation and wardrobe malfunctions. This, my friends, is the Halloween of our generation. In the words of Cady Heron (the protagonist of the classic Lindsay-Lohan-before-she-went-cray flick "Mean Girls"), Halloween is the one time of the year when girls can dress up like sluts and no one can say anything about it. A truer statement has never been uttered. The spectrum of whorish attire available today is pretty impressive to be honest. But unfortunately, for every clever display of skankitude out there, there's a fucked up costume based upon something that should never, EVER, be made slutty ready for purchase just seconds away, and these are the ones I'll be focusing on today. I’ve taken the most cringe inducing costumes I could find without crossing into that weird part of the internet that can’t be unseen and listed them below along with images for your viewing pleasure and descriptions of why I find them so horribly wrong. I also added puntastic pick-up lines that I felt would be appropriate to anyone in the costumes because… Well, I just like puns. You should know that by now! Anyways, here we go...

Offender #1: Slutty Beetlejuice
See it yourself: http://www.buycostumes.com/Beetlejuice-Secret-Wishes-Adult-Costume/803342/ProductDetail.aspx
Frighteningly bad pick-up line: “Say my name ;)”
Why it shouldn’t exist: Beetlejuice isn’t a sex symbol nor should he ever be. Anyone who is attracted to a girl in this costume would appear to be into necrophilia, pleather and bad haircuts, and as such is probably not the kind of guy you want to be reeling in with your seductive ensemble. Unless you’re into that kind of stuff… In which case I’m mildly uncomfortable with the fact that you’re reading my blog.

Offender #2: Slutty Elvis
See it yourself:
http://www.partycity.com/product/adult+sexy+elvis+costume.do?sortby=ourPicks&pp=60&size=all&navSet=116871
Frighteningly bad pick-up line: “You’ve got me all shook up ;)”
Why it shouldn’t exist: No one should ever have to utter the phrase “Elvis, for the love of God PLEASE get your tits out of my face!” under any circumstances. I know the guy got kind of fat towards the end of his life and hey, there’s nothing wrong with an old dude having man boobs, but that doesn’t mean that I want to be “hound dogged” by the image a girl in a low cut, bedazzled jumpsuit wearing a Pauly-D level amount of hair gel.

Offender #3: Slutty Freddy Krueger
See it yourself: http://www.partycity.com/product/adult+miss+krueger+costume+-+nightmare+on+elm+street.do?sortby=ourPicks&pp=60&size=all&navSet=116871
Frighteningly bad pick-up line: “I bet you’ve seen me in your dreams before ;)”
Why it shouldn’t exist: Freddy Krueger is a creepy old dude in a tacky sweater and a weird fedora type thing who enjoys killing teens (who for some reason lack really basic survival skills) in their sleep. If that was an eHarmony profile, something tells me the guy would not be swimming in women. But okay, maybe turning it into a slutty costume for girls will make it better! Let’s see… Tacky sweater… Weird fedora… Air of pedophilia… Nope, still not sexy. Maybe try being slutty Jason Voorhees instead: wear the mask and nothing else.

Offender #4: Slutty Clown
See it yourself: http://www.buycostumes.com/Giggles-The-Sexy-Clown-Adult-Costume/803075/ProductDetail.aspx
Frighteningly bad pick-up line: “I’ll take you to the greatest show on earth ;)”
Why it shouldn’t exist: The name of the costume is "Giggles the Sexy Clown". If that's not fucked up, I don't know what is. But the real reason I despise this costume is runs deeper than this: I just really, really hate clowns. I’m convinced that all their makeup and wigs and freaky big shoes are used for the sole purpose of covering up the pure evil that lurks within them. No sane person is THAT happy. Also one of them squirted me with one of those stupid fake flowers when I was five and I still resent their entire race because of it. Just sayin'.

Offender #5: Slutty Panda
See it yourself: http://www.spirithalloween.com/product/la-playful-panda-adult-sm-md/
Frighteningly bad pick-up line: “Want to see my bamboobs? ;)”
Why it shouldn’t exist: Pandas are adorable and shouldn’t be corrupted. Simple as that. Also Ling Ling would be ashamed to witness such a disgrace and NO ONE fucks with Ling Ling.

Offender #6: Slutty Gnome
See it yourself: http://www.partycity.com/product/adult+sexy+gnome+costume.do?sortby=ourPicks&pp=60&size=all&navSet=116855
Frighteningly bad pick-up line: “Hey baby,*insert generic innuendo here*, gnome what I’m saying? ;)”
Why it shouldn’t exist: Gnomes are supposed to be jolly, rotund, and bearded. Does the statement “Yo man, I got with this really hot gnome last night!” sound right to you? No. Gnomes belong exclusively in gardens and in Travelocity commercials. Please keep them out of bars and the bedroom.

Offender #7: Whatever the fuck this is.
http://www.partycity.com/product/adult+galactic+beauty+costume.do?sortby=ourPicks&pp=60&size=all&navSet=116855
Frighteningly bad pick-up line: I honestly can’t think of one since I have yet to figure out what the hell this thing is supposed to be.
Why it shouldn’t exist: It looks like a hybrid of a seamonkey and a stripper and will undoubtedly haunt my nightmares for years to come. Seriously though, what the hell is it??

Offender #8: Slutty Edward Scissorhands
See it yourself: http://www.partycity.com/product/adult+edward+scissorhands+miss+scissorhands+costume.do?sortby=ourPicks&pp=60&size=all&navSet=116871
Frighteningly bad pick-up line: “Don’t let looks deceive you, I’m VERY good with my hands ;)”
Why it shouldn’t exist: Like with the Beetlejuice costume, anyone dressed up as slutty Edward Scissorhands just isn’t going to attract the right kind of people. The fact that the same pleather boots are featured with both costumes speaks volumes, as does the fact that Tim Burton directed both movies and is arguably the creepiest dude ever. If all of that isn’t enough to persuade you that this costume is a horrible idea, please just pause for a second and think about how challenging it would be to use the bathroom while wearing those gloves.

Offender #9: Slutty Catman (from KISS)
See it yourself: http://www.amazingpartystore.com/storefront/productdetail.aspx?idproduct=93974&idcategory=3169
Frighteningly bad pick-up line: “Want to rock and roll all night? ;)”
Why it shouldn’t exist: Cover up the model’s head. Now uncover it. Now cover it again. Now uncover it again. It looks like someone popped the head off of a Catman doll from the 80s and stuck it onto a limited edition 50 Shades of Grey Barbie. It just ain’t right. On that note, if 50 Shades of Grey Barbie is an actual thing I genuinely fear for today’s children.

So ladies (and cross-dressing gentlemen), when you’re hoe-ing it up before whatever costume extravaganzas you may be going to in the near future, please keep this list of atrocities in mind. If you happen to be putting one on, think twice. Then three times. And if you still think it’s a good idea please contact me so I can peer pressure you into being a slutty cat or something instead. Happy Halloween!

Frosh Week: A Survival Guide

I’m writing this on my death bed. Okay, I’m not quite “dying”, but I’m currently swaddled in four layers of blankets and sipping gingerale through a straw while sobbing softly to myself and I’d say that’s a pretty close equivalent. On the bright side, my voice has taken on a degree of hoarseness akin to that of Christian Bale’s Batman and listening to myself talk is wildly entertaining, but I still feel like shit and can’t bring myself to get out of bed which is no fun at all. How did I come to be in this horrible condition, you ask? Medical officials claim that I am simply a victim to some sort of virus or bacterial infection, but I see through their lies. I know that the root of my demise can be traced back a few weeks to a very distinct series of events: Frosh Week. Many stronger individuals than I have been defeated by the power of Frosh Week, and its capacity for evil should not be underestimated. It’s pretty much impossible to get through the ordeal without any sort of collateral damage to your liver and/or your dignity and you’ll probably spend 4-7 days washing body paint and/or beer and/or shame out of your hair afterwards, so it's really no surprise that I'm currently sick as all hell. However, despite any negative after-effects, the experience was totally worth it. Frosh Week was a GREAT time, and I would totally do it all over again if given the chance. I just had the misfortune of going into it without any advice to guide my actions and as a consequence I'm now ill as fuck (and not in the cool rapper kind of way either). But fear not, future froshies: To help you avoid my fate, I have called upon my experiences as well as some of other people’s in order to concoct a survival guide to Frosh Week. If you commit these rules to memory, you’re sure to emerge from the week with grace and poise intact. Or at the very least, without dying.

Survival Tip #1: Drink lots of water.

This survival tip is number one for a reason. Drinking water is the single most important thing a froshie can do, and sadly it is often overlooked. If you’re too busy to fit some nice agua into your schedule, my advice to you is to invest in one of those awesome hats that have cupholders and easily accessible straws for your convenience and to slap a couple of water bottles into that bad boy. You’ll be glad you did when your friends are all hungover on the first morning and you wake up feeling like P-Diddy. Also, a hat that's functional AND stylish? Sounds like a winning combo to me!

Survival Tip #2: Practice good hygiene.

I wasn’t kidding about the whole “4-7 days of washing off body paint/beer/shame” thing. Frosh Week is a messy, messy experience. It’s probable that you’ll spend a considerable amount of time covered in a thin layer of sweat that might be yours, but most likely belongs to some large hairy guy who accidentally brushed up against you and lingered for a few uncomfortable seconds. Or maybe that was just my frosh experience... I'd like to think I'm not the only one it happened to in order to dull the mental trauma it has caused me. Anyways, unless you want all the filth of Frosh Week to be absorbed through your pores to the extent that no amount of deep cleansing will ever be able to remove it, daily showers are a must. Also if you happen to be the large, hairy, lingering guy, PLEASE START USING DEODERANT. That is all.

Survival Tip #3: Don’t hook up with shady characters.

When you combine a whole bunch of rowdy young people, a whole bunch of alcohol and a lack of adult supervision, hookups are inevitable. If you choose to play the field during frosh, make sure to use good judgement. Look out for red-flag phrases such as “Chris Brown is my role model!”, “Does this rag smell like chloroform?” and “I have candy in my van.” when talking to potential mates. Also take note of less overt warning signs. If a guy has his shirt unbuttoned more than halfway and smells like he just took a bath in a pool of Axe body spray and pure musk, chances are he’s a douche and you should stay away. Female sluttiness can also be easily ascertained, in this case based on missing objects. If she’s lacking an earring, a shoe, or clothing in general, you should probably avoid her for the time being (or forever). And remember: beer goggles are real. Exercise caution at all times.

Survival Tip #4: Use protection.

While I’m on the topic of avoiding shady characters, another important Frosh Week survival tip is to protect yourself during any "sexy time" you may have. Since I can’t think of anything more to say on this topic without turning this into a middle school sex ed lesson, I’m just going to list a bunch of creative ways to say “Use a condom” for your amusement. Ahem: “No glove, no love.” “Sheath the sword before you duel.” “Wrap the salami so she doesn’t become a mommy.” “Don’t be a chump; use a rubber when you hump.” “When in doubt, shroud your spout.” “You can’t go wrong if you shield your dong.” "Don't be silly, cover your willy." Etc, etc. I could go continue, but I’m sure I’ve already disturbed you enough for one day. Moving on!

Survival Tip #5: For the love of god, shut up for once.

The amount of yelling that occurs during Frosh Week is absolutely insane. Between cheering to showcase school spirit, trying to be heard over loud music and participating in drunken screaming matches (yep, those happen) a froshie’s vocal cords take a lot of abuse. I learned this lesson the hard way, and as I mentioned earlier my voice is now shot to hell and I may have to don a mask and cape in order to give purpose to my new-found raspiness. My advice to you? Become the asshole with the airhorn. Regardless of what school you go to, your Frosh Week will possess at least one guy or gal who, for some reason, brings an airhorn to every event with them and makes sure EVERYONE is aware of their presence. At the time, I didn’t understand the purpose of my Frosh Week’s airhorn posse and just found them really fucking annoying, but in retrospect they were actually geniuses. I bet they all have normal voices right now… Sneaky bastards. So yeah, when you’re buying the hat to hold your water in, see if you can kill two birds with one stone and get one with a built in airhorn. I’m sure those exist somewhere. That somewhere is probably Japan.

Survival Tip #6: Try to maintain a balanced diet.

I didn’t understand how the Freshman 15 could be an actual thing until an event happened during Frosh Week that will likely haunt me for the rest of my days. I awoke in my dorm room one morning after a night of froshing to an eerily familiar scent. It was the smell of… Peanut butter? Yeah, definitely peanut butter. And… Chocolate? Oh god. I groggily sat up and rubbed my eyes, confused by this aroma, and that’s when I saw it: a trail of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup wrappers leading from my beanbag chair to my bed. I stared in horror, not believing what I had done, but after searching my feelings I knew it to be true (someone better catch that reference). And I was not the only one to find themself in such a horrible waking nightmare. Even individuals with willpowers of steel caved into late night cravings for McDonald’s or KFC (affectionately refer to as “Dirty Bird”) during Frosh Week. While it may very well be impossible to avoid the throes of grease-soaked temptation during the week, my advice to future froshies is to at least attempt to choke down a couple of carrot sticks or a salad every once in awhile so you can feel slightly less guilty about all the McDoubles and popcorn chicken you ingest. I’m sure your mommy would tell you the same thing.

Survival Tip #7: Phone memos are your friend.

Chances are you’re going to meet a whole bunch of new people during Frosh Week. Some of them will be easy to remember. Others will not. To avoid an awkward incident where someone who you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen before comes up to you on campus and starts chatting away as if you were best friends, leaving you standing there nodding and smiling while silently panicking and trying to figure out who the fuck they are, make a memo in your phone and write down the names of people who you don’t think you’ll remember along with a brief description of their appearance and where you met them. Review it when you wake up the next morning and SHAZAM! Awkward encounter avoid. And yes, I did just say shazam. What of it?

So there you have it, a sure-fire plan for surviving Frosh Week. May it serve you well. Unfortunately, I have yet to come up with a sure-fire plan for surviving the rest of first year, but I swear I'll start working on it once I'm fully recovered. Can't a sick girl catch a break? Gosh!

I'm totally writing the next 50 Shades of Grey.

I leave for university in three days. THREE DAYS. Considering the fact that I’ve taken naps which exceeded that amount of time, it’s safe to say that I’m currently under about as much stress as a minivan used to transport a support group for the morbidly obese. Since I’m still at the stage where putting off packing seems like an okay thing to do (it’s totally not, but I’m over it), I’ve spent the last few days doing what I do best: procrastinating by watching shit like America’s Next Top Model, drinking a lot of caffeinated beverages and painting my nails. But I’ve tossed something else into the mix in an attempt to have a hip topic to discuss whilst meeting my new university peeps (lord knows I’ll need the help considering the fact that I just used “hip”, “whilst” and “peeps” in the same sentence): I’ve started reading 50 Shades of Grey. If you seriously don’t know what 50 Shades of Grey is by now, please remove your head from your ass and go look it up on Amazon. I’m not explaining what it is because I already had to deal with the trauma of purchasing it from an elderly cashier at Indigo and I really don’t want to relive the judgement. Anyways, I’m not that far into the book, but I’ve read enough to reach the conclusion that I could TOTALLY write this shit! If you weren’t already aware of this, I make a whole lot of terrible, corny jokes, and since 50 Shades of Grey is 90% cheesy pick-up lines (the other 10% being food porn, mild alcohol abuse and strongly worded emails) I figure I’ve got what it takes to pen the next big erotica romantic bestseller. I realize that in order for my novel to become wildly successful and make me immense amounts of money, I’m going to need to strike while the metaphorical iron is still hot and start it ASAP. I’ve already drafted a list of preliminary ideas in the form of puntastic synopses. They’re all pretty damn good if you ask me, but I’ll let you be the judge. Read on!

•50 Shades of Clay: A famous sculptor and his young prodigy embark on a romance far more heated than any kiln. She came to learn the art of pottery. She ended up learning so much more.
•50 Shades of Hay: A rancher’s daughter and a lowly stablehand begin a torrid love affair behind barn doors. But will he be able to “reign” her in for good? Giddy up, indeed.
•50 Shades of Cray: Two dangerous patients in an insane asylum meet while waiting for frontal lobotomies and discover a spark that no electroshock treatment could ever replicate and no straitjacket could ever restrain.
•50 Shades of Flay: Two budding culinary students must cope with the stress of working under Iron Chef Bobby Flay. You know what they say: If you can’t handle the heat, have sex in the kitchen.
•50 Shades of Whey (Protein): Two bodybuilders find themselves drawn to each other’s primal grunts and profuse amounts of sweat while occupying the same weight room. Will their hearts prove to be their strongest muscles of all, or will their training prove to be futile?
•50 Shades of Sleigh: The North Pole can get pretty cold during the other eleven months of the year. Santa and Mrs. Clause have to stay warm somehow…
•50 Shades of Tupee: Something involving Donald Trump. I haven’t hammered out the finer details yet.
•50 Shades of Billy Ray: A mulleted country star relies upon an underaged white-trash groupie to mend his achey breakey heart. When the trailers a-rocking, don’t come a-knocking
•50 Shades of Filet: An epic romance starring that one chick from Ni**as In Paris who orders the fish filet. Or two people in a fishing village, once again I haven’t worked out the finer details.
•50 Shades of Kay: Rival jewellers embark on an intense quest to run each other out of business, but soon find themselves engulfed in the throes of passion. They say every kiss begins with Kay. So do some other things.
•50 Shades of Eh: Two Mounties in the Canadian Rockies must work together to capture a moose poacher with a diabolical plan to deprive the nation of maple syrup. What happens in the Great White North, stays in the Great White North.
•50 Shades of LOL JK: Two internet trolls meet after simultaneously invoking Rule 34 in a Doctor Who forum. Will they end up a living testament to Rule 63, or will they be #ForeverAlone?
•50 Shades of Heyyyy: It started with a sloppy drunk text. It ended with a love story for the ages.
•50 Shades of Oy Vey: Rumor has it that Mordecai Goldenberg is pretty fly for a rabbi. This Hanukkah, he’s setting out to prove that statement very, very right.

You’re totally itching to get your hands on those books right now aren’t you? I have a way with literature, I know. But unfortunately you’re going to have to wait until I snag a publishing deal with Oprah, I’m sorry to disappoint. If it’s any consolation I’ll totally sign your copies with a heart or an eagle or something badass like that next to my name to make them special and catch you more money when you inevitably sell them on eBay. Anyways I must be off, I have a bestseller to write. I’ll try to remember you little people when I’m famous!

You date like you drink.

I’ve always fancied myself to be a bit of a matchmaker. It all started back in grade three when I passed a Crayola-artwork-adorned love note from one of my friends to the object of her affections. The two went on to have a lasting relationship of three whole days and even almost held hands at one point, so I think it’s safe to say that I helped them find true love. Admittedly, I haven’t really been on my matchmaker A-game since those fateful days, but it’s totally not because I’m bad at it or anything; I’ve just been taking a brief ten year hiatus to hone my skills. And I think it’s paying off: whenever I watch Millionaire Matchmaker on Slice, I ALWAYS call whether or not the couple’s dream date will result in a successful relationship within the first five minutes. If that doesn’t scream “expert!” to you, then you probably have something wrong with your ears and should really see a doctor. Anyways, while on a recent Millionaire Matchmaker bender, I realized that the majority of the places people go in order to meet potential luvas as well as the majority of the places people take said luvas on dates have one thing in common: alcohol. “EUREKA!” I cried, frightening my elderly dog and both of my parents, for I had just had an epiphany. If people drink a lot on the dating scene, why not take advantage of that when gauging who’s a suitable mate? After some extremely scientific research and philosophical pondering into the very nature of love, I managed to draft a list that, if taken into careful consideration, pretty much guarantees you’ll be gettin’ some when you leave the bar. The list not only provides brief descriptions of the type of person who generally orders each specific type of drink, but also what kind of drink the member of the opposite sex most suitable to said person would be most inclined to order. So read on, singletons, and prepare to fall in love.

Disclaimer: I used hetero couplings in this because I love members of the LGBTQ community too much to stereotype them based on their drink choices. But I feel straight people are fair game. Let’s be real, we had it coming.

Disclaimer 2: I might have made most of my scientific research up… YOLO?

FEMALES- If she’s drinking…

Beer in a bottle: A laidback, no fuss kinda gal. In rare instances a beer bottle girl may actually know about sports or be able to belch impressively, but I wouldn’t test her on either of those to the point of annoyance because she could probably whoop your ass. Perfect Match: The guy drinking a tall boy.

Beer in a can: She likes the taste of beer and is somewhat low-key, but not low-key enough to risk having a bunch of bottles break in her brand new Kate Spade tote. Perfect Match: The guy drinking whiskey on the rocks.

Beer in a red plastic cup: This girl probably doesn’t actually enjoy drinking beer and most likely got it for free from a guy trying to get in her pants. On the bright side, she’s thrifty. On the not so bright side, she’s clearly not opposed to getting roofied and that’s a slight cause for concern. Perfect Match: The guy drinking wine he stole from his parents.

Wine: If it’s red, in a glass and sipped at slowly, she’s a classy broad with a vast knowledge of 18th century poets or something equally befitting to a well-bred female. If it’s white and sipped a little faster, she’s still somewhat classy, but in more of a “If I take off my top in the hottub I’ll pretend it was an accident” kind of way. If it’s pink and sparkling and she’s downing it from the bottle, she’d like to think she’s classy but will probably end up passing out on the party host’s bathroom floor before midnight. Perfect Match: Depends on the type of wine. (See male descriptions for each wine’s match)

Vodka: Having a vagina and drinking vodka kind of go hand in hand, so it’s a bit hard to judge these girls. Female vodka drinkers can choose any one of a vast bounty of fruit flavoured, cleverly named mixed drinks and thus essentially any chick can find something that floats her metaphorical boat in the world of potato-derived alcohol. However, if she foregoes the mixed drinks in favour of shots, one thing is clear: she’s setting out to get drunk and make some bad decisions. If you’re lucky, you just might be one of them! Then again, so could that creepy guy lurking in the corner wearing an Aquaman t-shirt. Perfect Match: The guy drinking beer out of the bottle.

Rum: Female rum drinkers are generally former vodka drinkers who, after overdoing on more than a few occasions, find themselves overwhelmed with nausea at even the slightest mention of the USSR or any words that end with -off. With this in mind, a rum drinker may very well be a binge drinking wild child, but a binge drinking wild child who’s slowly on the way to reform. Perfect Match: The guy drinking vodka.

Whiskey: Two words. Daddy. Issues. Perfect Match: The guy drinking beer out of a red plastic cup.

Tequila: A tequila-drinking girl loves to have herself a good time. She’ll probably flirt with you ruthlessly as she does shots and promise you a good time, but if you take her home with you there’s a 50/50 chance that she’ll end up throwing up on herself at some point and spend the rest of the night crying. Perfect Match: The guy drinking Jagermeister.

Smirnoff Ice/Mike’s Hard Lemonade/Bacardi Breezers: She’s too young for you, bro. Perfect Match: The guy drinking Four Loko.

Gin: I’m like 90% sure that no one drinks gin… Hipsters maybe? Yeah. Let’s go with that. Perfect Match: The guy drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon and wearing flannel.

Cristal: She’s either dating Drake or Kanye West. Perfect Match: Either Drake or Kanye West.

MALES- If he’s drinking…

Beer in a bottle: Beer is to males as vodka is to females. As far as bottles go, they’re equivalent to the classic fruity mixed drink that every girl is down with. This guy could be anybody. Perfect Match: The girl drinking a fruity mixed drink.

Beer in a can: A real guys’ guy who probably enjoys shotgunning, funnelling and doing manly things, but will proudly proclaim “I love you, man” to one of his bros while drunk and maybe even tear up a bit in the process. Perfect Match: The girl drinking beer from a bottle or can.

Beer in a red plastic cup: He’ll probably get drunk enough to break several valuable objects and yell a lot of sexist remarks. He also sees nothing wrong with frats. Gross. Perfect Match: The girl drinking whiskey (Daddy. Issues.)

Wine: There are two possibilities here. If it’s a one-time thing where he bought the wine because it was on sale, stole it from his parents or was given it as a gift, he enjoys saving money. If he actually likes it and drinks it frequently, he probably owns multiple blazers and/or turtlenecks and has a penchant for quoting Chaucer. Perfect Match: If he’s the first kind, the girl drinking beer out of a red plastic cup. If he’s the second, the girl drinking red wine out of an actual glass.

Vodka: Whether he be straight, gay or anything in between, he’s comfortable enough in his sexuality to drink what is often classified as a “bitch drink” in order to get drunk without having to ingest something that tastes like death. Kudos, man. Perfect Match: The girl drinking rum.

Rum: He might secretly be a pirate. I’m (almost) kidding. Perfect Match: The girl drinking white wine.

Jagermeister: You don’t drink Jager to get a little buzz on. You drink that shit to get belligerent. A Jager-drinker will get drunk to the point of becoming really red, stumbling around and throwing up in weird locations that they think are hidden, but will deny that they’re actually drunk until they’re in bed with a bottle of Gatorade the morning after. Perfect Match: The girl doing tequila shots.

Whiskey: This dude probably enjoys country music and owns at least one shirt with the sleeves cut off. He likes to think of himself as a modern-day cowboy, yet is incapable of riding a horse. Perfect Match: The girl drinking pink sparkling wine out of the bottle.

Four Loko: He’s too young for you, gurl. Perfect Match: The girl drinking Smirnoff Ice/Mike’s Hard Lemonade/Bacardi Breezers.

Gin: I still can’t think of a group of people who actually drink gin so I’m just going to go with hipsters again. Perfect Match: The girl wearing thick rimmed glasses and an “ironic” t-shirt.

Cristal: He’s either Drake or Kanye West. Perfect Match: Big booty bitches.

So next time you leave your house with the intention of combining romantic interactions and heavy drinking, I advise that you keep this list handy. It’s totally basically kind of almost not really guaranteed that you’ll find your soulmate. And hey, even if you don’t, just have a couple shots and I’m sure you’ll feel better. Cause drinking totally solves everything, right? … Uhh here’s this just in case: http://www.aa.org/?Media=PlayFlash

The Seven Deadly Sins As Seen On TLC

I’m a sucker for low budget TV shows. Shoddy filming, ever-present white noise and questionable plots all add up to hours of entertainment in my mind, so naturally I’m drawn to the eccentric programming of TLC. I remember watching the TLC of old during my childhood, back when it was a channel made up of one part baby shows, two parts makeover shows, and 79 parts Ty Pennington from Trading Spaces. But alas, gone are the days when footage of happy newborns and ugly people becoming less ugly were enough to keep people occupied for hours on end. Things have been shaken up, and the programming has been entirely revised. I assume that this change was the result of a conversation at network headquarters that went something like this:

Head Honcho 1: “Man, our ratings have really gone to shit. Our film crews have restraining orders from 107 international hospitals so the baby schtick just ain’t happening. And is it just me, or has Ty’s hair lost some of its spike?”

Head Honcho 2: “I’ve noticed it too. But fear not, I have an idea!”

Head Honcho 1: “Do tell!”

Head Honcho 2: “This chick a couple states over just popped out a kid in a Walmart bathroom and claims she had no idea she was pregnant. I’m going to make a show about it!”

Head Honcho 1: “Wait, she didn’t know she was pregnant? How would you not know that?”

Head Honcho 2: “She was totes fat.”

Head Honcho 1: “Ah. That explains it. But wouldn’t airing such a pointless show compromise the integrity of our network? ….Haha!”

Head Honcho 2: “LOL! Thank god we live in America.”

The two men then proceeded to do a freeze-frame high five while “America, Fuck Yeah!” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IhnUgAaea4M) blared in the background. And on that day, a whole new roster of poorly conceptualized shows was born.

I was going to just do a loosely formatted analysis of the shows that I found to be the most mind-bendingly dumb, but then I had an epiphany. My parents forced me to go to church almost every Sunday for 14 years of my life, and since the only thing I’ve gotten out of it at this point is that I’m really fucking allergic to Easter flowers, I figured I’d integrate some of my knowledge into this. And so, to introduce you the magic of TLC, I’ve chosen seven shows and attached each to the “deadly sin” it portrays. Sidenote: Mom and Dad, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry for being a bad Christian. I’m like 90% sure there’s a bible kicking around somewhere in my room though, that counts for something right?

Sin Number 1: Pride- the desire to be more important or attractive than others, failing to acknowledge the good work of others, and excessive love of self.

The Show: Four Weddings

Four Weddings is 60 minutes of wedding porn. To all guys reading this, I should probably clarify that wedding porn is not something on cable TV that you’ve been missing out on. It’s just footage of people’s weddings, and in girl world it’s a genre of porn all by itself. The premise of the show is that four brides attend each other’s weddings and rank them in terms of their food, venue, dress, etc. The winning bride and the poor soul she managed to drag onto the show with her get a complimentary honeymoon and the other three are left to bitterly return home with their new husbands and presumably file for divorce. So where does the pride come in? Every single one of the brides thinks that her wedding is the best thing that has ever happened and ever will happen to anyone ever. High budget castle wedding with an immaculate reception? Best ever. Average church wedding with a warm, homey dinner? Best ever. 7am wedding in the middle of a leech infested river that results in at least one death? Best. Ever. In addition to thinking their wedding is the Holy Grail of marital ceremonies (church knowledge! Wait no, is that just Monty Python?), the brides are also completely ruthless in their evaluations of each other’s weddings and refuse to give credit where credit is due. A waiter can literally flambé their meal in front of them and they’ll still complain that it’s cold. When it comes to docking points, ANYTHING goes. Clearly this show has pride written all over it. Also pride rhymes with bride so it seems legit.

Sin Number 2: Envy- resenting another person who has something that one perceives themselves to be lacking and wishing the other person to be deprived of it.

The Show: Say Yes to the Dress

Ah, Say Yes to the Dress. More wedding porn! SYTTD focuses on brides in search of the perfect gown for their special day. With the help of a team of flamboyant staff members with viciously pencilled on eyebrows, ordinary girls are transformed into princesses, tears are shed, and their parents are awkwardly forced to shell out obscene amounts of money because they’re on TV and don’t want to look cheap. Now that all seems innocent enough, but there’s one more aspect that gives the show its signature sass. Each bride brings a group of friends and family with her to help her in her dress selection journey, and man, shit gets UGLY. On almost every episode, one of the bride’s single BFF’s or siblings turns down every dress simply because they’re bitter about the fact that they’re not the one getting married and really bad at showing it. Sometimes their criticisms are accurate, like when someone who is approximately half boob tries to go low-cut and looks like a hooker. But other times their comments are a bit more of a stretch, ie. “It’s too white.” “I don’t like the location of that crystal, it should be a half millimeter to the left. “ “The train makes your asscheeks look asymmetrical.” Generally, this leads to an unhappy bride crying and leaving the store empty handed, possibly to seek balanced asscheeks through surgical means. The moral of the story is that no matter how unflattering a dress is, envy is an even less flattering look. Oh, and that when you go wedding dress shopping you should do it on TV in order to manipulate your parents’ wallet.

Sin Number 3: Gluttony- the over-indulgence and over-consumption of anything to the point of waste.

The Show: My Strange Addiction

My Strange Addiction is a weird ass show. It focuses on people in the US who have, you guessed it, strange addictions. Of course when I say “strange”, I really mean “batshit insane”. I actually think the network wanted to use that term as well, but admittedly “My Batshit Insane Addiction” doesn’t have the same ring to it. Anyways, the addictions range from collecting life-sized dolls to sleeping with a hairdryer to eating a deceased spouse’s ashes. But regardless of what their addiction is, these people are FIENDS. Doll guy has his creepy “girlfriends” all over his house, hairdryer girl risks burning down her house and killing her children every night just for a little hot air, and ash-eater carries around an urn with her and just snacks all day long. And they’re not the only ones. These people are EVERYWHERE, depleting our natural resources of weird shit like life-sized dolls and the stuffing in couch cushions (yeah, people are that weird). In order to save the world from this excessive consumption, I have a plan: creating a new show, “My Strange Addiction: Rehab”, hosted by Dr. Drew. Now THAT would be good television! I should totally contact The Doc and see if he’d be down to get a proposal in the works…

Sin Number 4: Sloth- laziness and indifference.

The Show: Hoarding- Buried Alive

This show stresses me the fuck out because I’m claustrophobic, so I’ll leave it at this: Nothing says laziness and indifference quite like losing multiple cats and finding them dead underneath piles of boxes years later.

Sin Number 5: Lust- excessive thoughts or desires of a sexual nature.

The Show: 19 Kids and Counting

19 Kids and Counting is exactly what it sounds like. The Duggars are a married couple who have nineteen kids. NINETEEN KIDS. And as the title suggests, they’re still making babies like nobody’s business. I’m sorry, but if I had nineteen kids, I would STOP COUNTING. The Duggars are opposed to using any form of birth control due to religious beliefs, and while I don’t want to criticize them on said beliefs, I will criticize them on the fact that they are old and need to stop popping out babies ASAP. It’s hard enough for people with more than one biological sibling to have to live with the knowledge that their parents banged multiple times, but imagine being a Duggar and having 18+ siblings. Ew. Gross. No thanks. Pretty much every episode of the show starts with Mama Duggar announcing that she’s been blessed with yet another child, and now that some of her kids are grown up they’re having babies left and right too. It’s like they’re breeding an army. Oh, and did I mention that all of their names start with J? I personally can only think of like 8 J names, two of which are Jesus (alternate pronunciations). If running out of J names isn’t enough of a reason for the Duggars to stop spawning offspring, I have one more factor for them to consider. They have like 10 daughters. All of these daughters will turn into teenagers. Said teenage girls will be around each other all the time. Have fun when they all PMS at the same time!

Sin Number 6: Wrath- inordinate and uncontrolled feelings of hatred and anger.

The Show: Cake Boss

You’d think a show about a family who owns a cake shop would be full of heartwarming moments and kind words. Cake Boss quickly proves that notion to be very, very wrong. These people THROW DOWN. It’s essentially Jersey Shore with less smushing and more actual Italians. On every episode, without fail, there is at least one confrontation between two members of the cake shop staff, ranging from stern, finger wagging “You better shape up!” speeches to screaming matches that start for no apparent reason and always end with a cake being broken and Buddy Valastro (the infamous Cake Boss)’s large eyebrows knitting together in anger. The scapegoat for the majority of these conflicts is Cousin Anthony, a well-meaning young guy who’s just trying to move up in the cake delivery ranks. In some sort of never-ending power struggle, he and Buddy himself frequently get into spats that involve a lot of yelling and poorly orchestrated pranks (think buckets of flour rigged to spill when a door is opened). Unfortunately, my inner Paula Deen takes over whenever I watch the show and I just end up staring at cakes the whole time and eating sticks of butter, so I’m not entirely sure what the arguments are about. But oddly enough, I’m totally okay with that.

Sin Number 7: Greed- a very excessive or rapacious desire and pursuit of wealth, status, and power.

The Show: Toddlers and Tiaras

“A dolla makes me holla honey boo boo child!” If that line does not strike any semblance of recognition within your mind, please take a minute to search “honey boo boo child” on YouTube. I’ll wait for you....

For you rebels out there who stuck it to the man by refusing to go on my YouTube quest, all you need to know is that the person who proceeds to holla in the presence of a dolla is actually not a prostitute, but a little girl who possesses all the sass of Queen Latifah in a predictably scripted romantic comedy. And she’s not alone. A small army of tiny, spray tanned pageant contestants are featured in every episode, and dollars do indeed make them holler. They spend months snorting Pixy Stix and doing shots of Mountain Dew while their overweight mothers (who clearly aren’t living vicariously through them or anything) run through dance numbers that are really only suitable for strippers or the cast of Glee, all in the hopes of winning a giant cardboard cheque, a rhinestone-encrusted tiara that could easily impale someone, and a title along the lines of “Miss Supreme Deluxe Special Gorgeous Angel Beauty Diva” written on a sash. It’s madness, madness I say! …Actually no, those are pretty sweet prizes. Anyone have a child I can borrow?

So that’s TLC. Only in North America, folks. I realize I should probably do some sort of recap right about here, but you’ll have to excuse me, I off to compose an email to Dr. Drew. Please enjoy once more, for your listening pleasure, “America, Fuck Yeah!” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IhnUgAaea4M

High School: 4 Painfully Embarrassing Years in Retrospect

People always say that the high school years are the best days of your life. I graduate from high school today. I have two dominant thoughts about this:

1) Holy shit, I’m basically an orthopedic-shoe-wearing, online-dating-profile-making adult.

2) If those were the best days of my life, the rest of my life is going to suck SO hard.

I know a lot of you probably loved your high school experiences. For four years you get to live “young and wild and free” (unless you have really strict parents or are a 30 year old trying to obtain your GED for the 12th time). If you’re a girl you can generally pull of midriff-baring shirts and if you’re a guy the majority of your hair is still on your head instead of on your back and that’s something that should be cherished for as long as possible. But I can’t be the only one who found that despite some of the great memories that we gather in high school, it’s a pretty fucking awkward four years. Don’t get me wrong, it had its moments, but for me 90% of them were super embarrassing. It all started in grade nine…

Grade 9

No matter who you are, you were probably not at your prime in grade nine. Even if for some unfair reason you somehow managed to be both charismatic and abnormally attractive at the tender age of 14/15, you were still a grade nine, and no one carries that label gracefully. I for one was the epitome of all things that make grade nine such a bad year. In addition to the fact that I looked like pre-weightloss Jonah Hill in a wig (as you may have heard me mention before), I had glasses and braces and thought that buying brown yoga pants and trying to bring back mood rings couldn’t possibly be bad ideas. Oh, how wrong I was. Every time I see a picture of myself in grade nine, I just want to send a message through the time-space continuum begging my young self to stop wearing Birkenstocks with sweatpants and to take a damn shower for once. In addition to all of that aesthetic misfortune, I also had an irrational, crippling fear of grade twelves. I think it might have stemmed from watching too many bad 90s sitcoms, but I was convinced that at any given time a group of Regina George lookalikes would stuff me into a locker, laugh maniacally, and leave me there to suffocate. I would be left there all day until after hearing my sobs, a friendly janitor would come and rescue me. Naturally we would become the best of friends and I would teach him to read and eventually inspire him to acquire his high school diploma and go on to lead a wildly successful life, but this would all be at the cost of me being shoved forcefully into a locker. I know that sounds far-fetched, but I was SO convinced it was going to happen. I vividly remember walking into the girls’ washroom during my first week of school and seeing three grade twelve girls grooming themselves at the mirror, causing me to let out a squeak of fear and haul ass out of there. I cut down my water intake for a solid 2 months after that simply to avoid any similar encounters. Over time I came to terms with the fact that my underwear wasn’t going to be confiscated and hung on the flagpole and actually became comfortable with my surroundings. However, this wasn’t necessarily a good thing. On to grade 10…

Grade 10

I like to refer to grade 10 as “The Body-Spray Year”. Why, you ask? Go into any hall that houses at least five grade tens in between glasses and take a nice, deep breath. You taste that? A nice combination of musk and vanilla that makes you both gag and choke simultaneously? That, my friend, is body spray. I don’t know what it is about grade tens, but they go NUTS for that shit. I clearly remember investing in something that was supposed to smell like cake (because of course a hefty 15 year old would want to smell like cake) and basically bathing in it every day. And I wasn’t the only one. People kept what resembled entire pharmacy perfume aisles in their lockers. Not just girls either, but guys too. After finally discovering deodorant after smelling like onions left out in the sun for all of grade 9 (Seriously grade 9 boys, personal hygiene. Learn it. Love it. Embrace it.), many of them decide that if making themselves stop smelling like a sweaty donkey is good, walking around in a cloud of cologne must be WAY better. Of course by cologne, I mean Axe. Fun fact for all of you guys out there: The Axe commercials lie. Using an entire bottle of Axe body spray over the course of an hour does not make me want to rip off my clothes around you. It just makes my allergies flare up and I get all sneezey and my eyes puff up and that really doesn’t get me in the mood. The other main component of grade 10 is the immense self-esteem boost that comes from no longer being a grade 9. In some cases grade 10s manage to remain humble, and big ups to them. But a lot of the time, grade 10s end up thinking they are, pardon my outdated slang, “the bomb diggity”. They strut around the halls in small packs, wafts of body spray trailing behind them, rocking their short-and-Uggs combos (or pants around knees ensembles in the case of guys) like the swagnificent individuals they are. It wouldn’t be a big deal in most cases but sometimes it just gets a little out of hand. On more than one occasion I’ve been hurrying along to class only to run into a large group of grade 10s walking down the hall in a horizontal formation that resembles a game of Red Rover. There’s literally NO way to get around them, so I generally just mumble a gruff comment and force my way through with my backpack. I’m pretty sure a lot of them think I’m a huge bitch for this, but I really just want to get to class five minutes late instead of ten. I have standards you know! By the end of the year, grade 10s generally get taken down a few pegs from being knocked over while holding hands with their friends across the hall or having someone yell “OH MY GOD STOP WITH THE PERFUME I HAVE FUCKING ASTHMA” at them. But a word of advice for next year’s grade 10s: You ain’t the shit if you smell like it. On to grade 11.

Grade 11

I like to think of grade 11 as the token hipster of the high school years. It’s a year of self-discovery; since you’re no longer a junior, you’re free to do your own thing and get judged slightly less for it than you would have in the past. I for one expressed my individuality by purchasing way too many ironic graphic tees from the men’s department at Urban Outfitters and experimenting with a middle part. I’m pretty sure the combination resulted in me bearing a slight resemblance to Rosie O’Donnell, but that’s beside the point. I was also really set on getting a blue streak in my hair throughout the entire year, but for some reason didn’t end up getting it until the beginning of grade 12. I know I’m delving into another grade here, but since my blue hair mishap was a reflection of the grade 11 I still was at heart I feel I should mention the sheer sense of rebellion I felt upon getting it and how quickly that feeling died once people started making jokes about me looking like Avril Lavigne. Thanks for crushing my spirit, guys. Anyways, grade 11 is the year people are most likely to invest in a high quality Nikon or Canon camera and to take artsy pictures with it in a field and upload them to Facebook in an album with a clever title. I have an entire folder on my computer comprised solely of badly taken pictures of flowers and tree bark that testify to this fact. Above all, grade 11 is characterised by starting to figure out what you want to do with your life. There’s a good chance you’ll toy with the idea of at least 14 different careers throughout the course of the year, and by the end of it the only conclusion you’ll draw is that you want to make a lot of money or that you want to marry rich. And that’s totally okay! As of today I’m not even in high school anymore and that’s still the only conclusion I’ve drawn. But then again, I know I’m destined to marry someone famous so I’m not too worried about supporting myself financially and might not be the best person to take advice from. Anyways, there’s probably more I could say about grade 11, but it’s kind of underground. You’ve probably never heard of it before. (That was a hipster joke. Just in case you were wondering.) So, uh, grade 12?

Grade 12

Grade 12 is somehow both the most intense and the laziest year I have ever experienced. The entire first semester is one giant whirlwind of university applications and stress-induced acne, while the second can be accurately summed up by the simple sentence “zero fucks given.” When grade 12 starts, you actually have to put down on paper what you want to do once you graduate and apparently becoming a princess or a superhero isn’t a legitimate answer. And that’s all sorts of terrifying. Things that used to matter start seeming dumb, looking good for example. Once you hit grade 12, formfitting clothing seems like a sick joke to you and sweatpants and hoodies become your very best friends, regardless of the weather. I can’t even tell you how many times I contemplated buying a Snuggie and wearing it to school with some sort of belt in the hope that I could pass it off as a stylish oversized dress. After you get all your post-secondary plans in order, however, the senioritis kicks in HARD. It becomes physically impossible to do anything productive and you find yourself using stupid catchphrases like “#YOLO” on a regular basis in order to justify your inaction. Actually that might just be Drake… I’m not sure, I’m not very hip. Anyways, by the end of the year you basically feel like you’ve already graduated and going to school 5 out of 7 days a week just isn’t a realistic goal when you could stay home and sleep instead. And exams? LOL, that’s a good one! I have the utmost respect for anyone who actually manages to study for second semester exams in grade 12. It’s just not doable. I napped and ate for a week straight when I should have been studying for exams and I’m totally okay with that (#YOLO?), and I know a lot of other people did the same. When there’s bigger and brighter things on the horizon like a summer of sleep, moving out and heading to uni it’s impossible to focus on silly little high school.

...Okay, I might have lied about that last part. Now that I’m officially leaving high school, I’m finding it way too easy to focus on it. The past four years have absolutely flown by. I feel like just yesterday I was hiding from grade twelves in my ugly brown pants and meeting some of my best friends for the first time. As awkward and embarrassing as some of my experiences were, I’ll always remember every single one of them fondly. And I hope it’s the same case for anyone else who’s graduating, even the people who I resent for going through grade nine gracefully. And you know what? Even if those were the best years of my life, maybe the rest of it won't suck THAT hard. Anyways, this got emotional real fast so I’m just going to go practice walking in my commencement shoes even though I’ll probably trip on stage either way. But before I go, here’s a profound song about graduating that seems quite fitting today. Haha, just kidding! It’s that one song by Vitamin C. Happy graduation everyone! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0HDM3eYp4KQ

The Ten Commandments of Facebook

Facebook (or as elderly individuals call it, “The Facebook”) is both a blessing and a curse. It’s great for keeping in touch with people or being a stalker without having charges pressed against you, but it is also home to many pitfalls. I was on “The Twitter” yesterday and came across an intriguing Trending Topic: 10 Facebook Tips. After thinking about it for a while, I came to the realization that people do A LOT of stupid things on Facebook. I know that no one should have to cater to the interests and opinions of their friends while doing their thang online, but nonetheless there IS a set of unspoken social conventions that relate specifically to Facebook that everyone really must adhere to in order to make all of our lives better. You can tell it’s important because I was just forced to use a run-on sentence to sum up my feelings. And I don’t like run-on sentences. Anyways, are you new to the Facebook world? Well, as a congratulatory gift for finally crawling out from that rock you’ve been stuck under for the last decade, I have prepared a list of the Ten Commandments of Facebook. Read on, take notes (probably by hand since you’re clearly not tech savvy), and memorize these rules if you don’t want your social networking peers to hate you.

1. Thou Shalt Not Share Thine Own Profile Picture

I can’t remember when “Likes” became a thing on Facebook, but people go NUTS for those bad boys. I think they’ve become a sort of status symbol, and some people will really do anything to ensure that their photos, posts and links receive an adequate amount. One popular method that is often employed in order to gain more likes is sharing your own profile picture. For those of you who are unfamiliar with sharing, it basically makes your picture pop up on your friends’ homefeeds again and again until the image is all but burned into their retinas. Sharing other people’s stuff is totally okay, and if you’re really that set on breaking the triple digits on that new selfie of yours you could probably just get your friend to share it and pretend they’re just a nice person. But repeatedly sharing your own? Not okay. No matter how many likes or comments you get from it, you still shared your own picture. Even if you really do look awesome in it, it’s embarrassing.


2. Thou Shalt Not Send Needless App Requests

Once upon a time when everyone clearly needed a hobby, there was a thing called Farmville. Farmville was a Facebook app that allowed people to make quaint little virtual farms and pick cute little virtual crops. A part of me will forever be convinced that by playing Farmville we were somehow controlling agricultural endeavours in Third World countries, but that’s a story for another time. Anyways, the point here is that Farmville was hot shit at the time, and it wasn’t uncommon to receive several requests for the application in the span of a day. Alas, people eventually realized that virtual farming was a new low for society, and the trend stopped. Facebook apps were all but forgotten, and one would expect that app requests would stop too. But no. To this day I still get requests to be a waitress in someone’s virtual café or to kill a guy in some sort of mafia war, and besides confusing me about where the line is drawn between real life and the internet it’s just plain annoying. When I go on Facebook and see a notification I get excited and think that I might actually have friends for a minute, but when it turns out to be an invitation to beat someone’s score in Snake my dreams are dashed and I’m left heartbroken. So while I wish you all the best in whichever online career path you choose to pursue, please don’t ask me to help you with it. Unless you make up for it by writing on my wall so I can feel good about myself.


3. Thou Shalt Not Shove Your Relationship Down People’s Throats

There are many different types of Facebook couples. Some are acceptable, and some are just not. I’m going to focus on the two extremes of FB couples for the purpose of this post. On one hand, there’s the super-lovey-dovey-probably-going-to-get-married-in-a-couple-years-and-call-each-other-stuff-like-Snookums couple. These are the people that take pictures of themselves holding a baby and say they’re preparing for their future, post on each other’s walls every five minutes to say they miss each other even when they’re together, and in the most severe circumstances, even share an account. Gross. There’s nothing wrong with being in love and wanting people to know about it, but there’s a point where people just start praying you break up so they don’t have to deal with you anymore. Speaking of break-ups, that brings me to the second kind of Facebook couple: the jaded-exes-who-viciously-chew-each-other-out-in-statuses-and-posts-and-make-everyone-else-uncomfortable. The only thing worse than the crazy in love couple is the couple who ended on a bad note and don’t care who knows it. It’ll generally start out with subtle sass, but over time it can escalate into full on virtual brawls about someone being a slut or someone having a small dick. It’s funny initially but when it gets to the point where someone threatens to pull a shank on their ex-paramour a line is crossed. So please, if you’re dating someone and happen to both have Facebook, just pretend you don’t know each other.


4. Thou Shalt Not Fish For Compliments

Let’s be real here: Facebook is an opportunity to post flattering pictures of yourself in order to pretend you’re actually good looking when in reality you look a little bit like Steve Buscemi in a wig. It’s a well-known fact. But every once in a while, someone will try to pretend that they aren’t aware of this, and post a photo with a caption like “Ugh I’m so fugly.” in the hopes that someone will be quick to disagree with them. They don’t actually think the picture is ugly. Come on now. No matter how valiantly they try to project the image that they just needed a “temp” picture and just so happened to be hanging out in a ballgown with their hair curled when their webcam accidentally went off, we all know that they probably spent hours scrolling through hundreds of selfies before they found one that perfectly portrayed their ability to smize while looking off to the side mysteriously. If you didn’t like a picture, you wouldn’t post it to Facebook. So instead of fishing for compliments by insulting yourself, just do what most teenage girls do and caption it with a Taylor Swift lyric instead. And if you ever catch someone in the pursuit of compliments? Just answer their “I’m hideous!” with a “Yeah, you are.” Problem solved!


5. Thou Shalt Not Post Attention-Seeking Statuses

Before I begin, let me clearly state that I am a total supporter of freedom of speech and don’t think people should have to censor their thoughts. But I’ll make an exception for Facebook. Most things are a-okay: corny jokes, university acceptances, the occasional video of a cat doing something funny. What isn’t okay? Posting a status that sounds extraordinarily depressed and/or angry and then refusing to answer people when they ask what’s wrong. If you’re not doing it because you genuinely want help, chances are you’re just doing it to spark people’s curiousity and get some attention. And that ain’t cool. What if someday someone is actually extraordinarily depressed and/or angry and actually wants to talk about it, but people ignore them because they assume it’s just another underhanded reference to the heartbreak of being RNR’d? It’s like the boy who cried wolf. But with song lyrics. And sadfaces.

6. Thou Shalt Not Upload A Boob Picture and Get Mad When People Comment On Your Boobs

Let me set the scene: It’s a Wednesday night; you’re super bored and somehow you wind up on Facebook. As you scroll down your feed, you notice that a lot of people have been commenting on someone’s profile picture change, so you decide to check it out. Click. WHAM, BOOBS. Oh, and there’s a face somewhere in the upper left corner. Huh, didn’t even notice. Almost every single picture that is at least 60% boob will be accompanied by the following series of comments:

Commenter: Tits.
Person in Picture: Haha.
Commenter 2: Tittaaaaayyys!
Person in Picture: Um…
Commenter 3: b00bz.
Person in Picture: Cut it out guys, I’m not that kind of girl.
Commenter 4: Rack city bitch.
Commenter 2: Rack rack city bitch.
Person in Picture: Stop it! You’re all so immature.
Commenter 6: ( . Y . )
Person in Picture: OMFG I HATE ALL OF YOU.

Generally the conversation will end with boob-girl giving the commenters a stern lecture about how they’re creepy and gross, and then proceeding to share the photo at least five times just so everyone knows how classy she is. Poor little thing, I bet all she really wants is for someone to comment on her radiant smile and political activism! Ha, I’m funny. But seriously: if you’re going to expose the girls on the internet, be prepared to handle the consequences. An alternate solution is investing in a collection of turtlenecks and scarves. Both could work.


7. Thou Shalt Not Use Hashtags

Self-explanatory. Don’t do it.


8. Thou Shalt Not TyP3 LyK3 Thi$

I’ll accept poor capitalization. Heck, I’ll even accept the occasional misuse of your and you’re or there, their, and they’re. But when people $t@rt t@LkiNg LyK3 Thi$ I Lo$3 mY MiNd. Fact: Typing like that for the sake of this post may have caused me to lose an IQ point. Combining what were perfectly normal letters and symbols into something that bears a resemblance to Wingdings might be a little bit impressive, but it doesn’t make you look cool or artsy. It makes you look illiterate and it hurts my eyes to read unless I put my glasses on. Correct me if I’m mistaken, but I’m pretty sure no elementary school teaches kids to write using @ signs for a’s and $’s for s’s, so why in the world would you ever do that? Perhaps there’s a modified keyboard out there that I haven’t heard about yet, but until someone shows me one I’m just going to say if people don’t start typing in a legible fashion, I will force feed them alphabet soup until they change their ways.


9. Thou Shalt Not Poke


I don’t know why poking exists. I really, really don’t. Can you think of any possible circumstance where virtually jabbing someone with your index finger would be appropriate? No. It can’t be a “we’re in a fight” thing, or the word would have been punch. It can’t be a “Hey, just so you know I’m still around! Why aren’t you answering my texts?” thing because people have walls and inboxes for that. I really hope it’s not a flirty thing like some people seem to think it is, because let me tell you: nothing is less flirtatious than some middle aged man who has no mutual friends with you sending you a “Poke”. I speak from personal experience. So since poking will never accomplish anything other than putting you on a pedophile hotlist, just don’t do it. Maybe Mark Zuckerberg will take the hint and give us a “Punch” option instead.


10. Thou Shalt Not Rage At People For Lurking

There are few things that make less sense than getting angry at someone for lurking you on a website that is essentially built for the express purpose of lurking. I can’t count the number of times I’ve mentioned seeing something on Facebook and received either a snide “Wow, you creeper.” comment or a look that is usually reserved for convicted sex offenders. The most commonly accepted way to react in this situation is to mutter “It was on my home feed…” and attempt to rapidly change the topic, but you know what? Why apologize? I’m sorry, but if you’re going to publish your stuff approximately 9 times in the span of 5 minutes in order to make sure everyone sees it, chances are people are going to lurk the shit out of it. I know I’ve lurked, and I’m not ashamed. I, Hannah White, am a Facebook creep. And I am damn proud of it. We need to stop kidding ourselves: EVERYONE lurks Facebook. Chances are that some kid you went to day camp with when you were eight knows more about you than your current friends do and there are people out there who you have never met but who know your name, all because of lurking. That’s the beauty of the 21st century: People are creepy as hell, and it’s slowly becoming okay. So next time someone mentions your status update from a couple days ago or an awkward snapshot of you in someone’s album, don’t give them sass. Just remember the time you went through someone’s 104 profile pictures in one day, and move on. Unless they know really weird details about you like your dog’s birthday or your cousin’s middle name. That is not common lurking, and you should probably contact the cops.


So there you have it. The Ten Commandments of Facebook. I know they’re a lot to take in, but don’t worry: if you can’t handle them, there’s a nice little home for you on MySpace.

KONY 2012: The new Justin Bieber.

Unless you’re living under a rock (in which case I’d really love to know how the hell you have internet access), you’ve probably heard about a little something called “KONY 2012”. Or perhaps “#KONY2012”. Or even “that super long YouTube video that made your mom all emotional”. Now before I begin to talk about this hot topic, I need to state that this is NOT me taking a stance on the KONY 2012 controversy. I’m not endorsing it, and I’m not criticising it. I’m just pointing out a rather startling pattern that I noticed today. What is that pattern you ask? Well in case you didn’t read the title of this (for shame!), KONY 2012 is the new Justin Bieber. Sound far-fetched? Questioning my intellectual capacity like that one commenter who I offended with my critique of the Swiss Chalet holiday commercials? Completely understandable. But hear me out: I think I’m onto something.

Similarity 1: It all started with a video.

For those of you rock-dwellers who aren’t familiar with either Justin Bieber or KONY 2012, let me give you a brief description of how they shot to fame. The Biebz was(is) just a Canadian preteen hangin’ out in his hometown of Stratford, Ontario, when videos in which he exhibited great musical prowess went viral on YouTube. Some Hollywood hotshots took an interest in him, he recorded a single, and BOOM he has his own nail polish (I’m not even going to lie; I own one of the shades). He has now achieved international fame, and all thanks to a video. KONY 2012 is an initiative run by the Invisible Children movement, which was relatively unheard of until (wait for it…) a video they created went viral. Through the power of social media, KONY 2012 became a household name literally overnight. Maybe JB’s rise to fame was slightly more gradual, but you have to admit it: a resemblance is there.

Similarity 2:It’s a love/hate thing.

When things become as famous as Justin Bieber and KONY 2012, people are bound to talk about them. And naturally, people are going to have extremely different opinions. This phenomenon has surrounded Biebzy (I’m trying out some new nicknames) from the start. Many people (predominately individuals who have ovaries and are under the age of 12) just can’t get enough of the Canadian Cutie (…..) and will continue to support him until the inevitable day that his voice drops and/or he actually gets someone pregnant (coincidentally, this is also the day my wildest dreams come true). But of course, he has his share of haters, and well, haterz gon’ hate. For every preteen squealing JB’s name, there’s at least one rotund middle-aged man kvetching about how he represents the downfall of society on his YouTube channel. The case is much the same for KONY 2012. When word first began to spread about KONY, most of it was good. People were stoked to make a difference through the magic of social media, and everyone loves saving kids. But low and behold, a short 24 hours later, popular opinion has split in two. People have begun posting links that criticise Invisible Children for questionable use of funds and promoting the slaughter of children (?). It looks like it just might turn out to be the most debated topic since someone first questioned the authenticity of Nikki Minaj’s ass. So whether your pro Biebz or anti Biebz, a KONY lover or a hater, it’s plain to see that this is yet another thing they share in common.

Similarity 3: They’re EVERYWHERE.

I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s impossible to go a day without seeing or hearing about Justin Bieber. It’s honestly like I’m being haunted by the ghost of his flippy hair from days of old. Open any magazine: Bieber. Turn on TV: Bieber. Facebook? Bieber. Twitter? ALL the Bieber. The guy gets around. KONY 2012 is a newer craze (like I said, it happened overnight) but it felt like everywhere I looked today, I was seeing the hashtag. BBM, Facebook, Twitter, the news, in the hallways of my school, there was no escaping it. Love it or hate it, you have to admit that Invisible Children can sure run one hell of an awareness campaign. While KONY might not yet have its own perfume or Silly Bandz, like the Bieb it too has inspired its own line of merchandise, and people are buying it. I give it a week tops before KONY 2012 support bracelets replace those weird balance bands that people insist make them more athletically competent as the hot new thing in wrist accessories. And let’s not forget the posters. While JB’s posters are predominately glamor shots of him pretending to have street cred and those favored by KONY 2012 are mostly artsy takes on the concept of propaganda, those bad boys cover walls all around the world like tacky wallpaper in an old folks home. Like I said, they’re EVERYWHERE.

Similarity 4: The fan base.

I don’t want to stereotype, but in order for this argument to work I’m going to have to a little bit. Who are most of Justin Bieber’s biggest supporters? Teenage girls. Who’s doing everything they can to get involved with KONY 2012? Teenage girls. Both Biebz and KONY 2012 seem to have an extraordinary power to inspire them to action. Sure, in the case of KONY that action is one of social activism whereas with Bieber it’s generally squealing and whipping training bras at a stage, but their impact is undeniable. So undeniable that even celebrities have taken notice. Bieber counts Usher, Kim Kardashian and Taylor Swift as fans, and he’s even won the Disney approved heart of Selena Gomez. KONY is being supported by stars like Rihanna and Olivia Wilde, and given its viral nature the list is just going to grow. Like Bieber Fever, KONY 2012 is sweeping the world at a rapid pace. Will people remember them? Well in all likelihood, history students 100 years from now are going to think Bieber Fever is “that one plague that wiped out all those people during the Renaissance”, but the KONY initiative might very well be remembered as one of the first big cases of social networking being used to support a charitable cause. Regardless of the controversy of the actual cause, it’s pretty cool how fast a topic can spread through the use of technology. And it’s also hilarious to watch people flip-flop between being pro and con.

In conclusion, I think it’s plain to see a connection here. I for one wouldn’t be at all surprised to hear that the Invisible Children documentary that started it all was released in theaters in stunning 3D. I might be crazy for seeing these similarities, but even if I haven’t convinced you, there’s still one big message to take from this post: If Justin Bieber ever gets involved with the KONY 2012 initiative, the world might explode.

Exam Personalities

January is one giant hangover of a month. After the marathon of festivities that is the holiday season ends with the shitstorm affectionately referred to as New Year’s Eve, everything really seems to go downhill. People get sick, the weather is gross, and it’s pretty much impossible to go an entire day without someone preaching about their resolutions (I’m glad you’re all striving to improve yourselves, but I’m way too lazy to join you and would prefer not to be guilt-tripped about my inaction). As if all of this wasn’t enough, January is also the time of the year when semestered high school students everywhere are forced to contend with a cruel slap in the face in the form of exams. I’m sure some people out there aren’t fazed at all by the prospect of having to remember 3+ months of information about body systems, quadratic functions or verb conjugations, but from what I’ve witnessed it’s enough to make most people a little edgy. After calling upon my observations from the many exam weeks I’ve had to endure throughout the past four years, I’ve compiled a list of the top five “exam personalities” that come out at this time of the year, or as others may refer to them, “five bat shit crazy methods people have for coping with stress”.

Personality 1: The Terminator

Most commonly seen: In the library reading 107 pages of handwritten, colour-coded notes.

Everyone knows at least one Terminator. These are the people who thrive during exam week; they were BORN ready for that shit. Most Terminators start studying at least a month before they actually need to, and don’t stop until someone has to physically pry their notes out of their cold, robot hands. While I totally respect Terminators for their dedication to their studies, a part of me can’t help but be completely terrified of them. There’s just something a little unnatural about committing an entire textbook to memory, and let’s be real: no one wants to be reminded that their study habits are complete garbage in comparison to someone else’s. So, Terminators, do us all a big favour and please, go get obscenely drunk.

Personality 2: The Recovering Drug Addict

Most commonly seen: Double-fisting Red Bulls and looking sweaty.

The Recovering Drug Addict (RDA) is characterized by symptoms similar to those found in (you guessed it!) drug addicts going through withdrawal. Constant shakes, night sweats and jumpiness are frequently seen amongst the RDA population, as well as occasional vomiting and the desire to spontaneously curl up in the fetal position. RDAs also have a tendency to develop a small dependency on caffeine as a way of coping with their stress, which really doesn’t make things any better (the only thing more dangerous than an antsy, shakey person is an even antsier, even shakier person who has to pee a lot). If you suspect that someone you love may be an RDA, a sure-fire method to test your theory is to greet them with a simple handshake. Palms clammy? Grip weak and tremory? You, my friend, have found yourself an RDA. Help them to make it through their troubled time by surrounding them with gentle music and soothing colours. They’ll thank you for it someday.

Personality 3: The Question Master

Most commonly seen: Roaming the halls looking for a specific teacher several hours before school.

It’s not unusual for people to have questions before exams. It’s helpful to have things clarified or to gain some sort of idea about what you’re being tested on, there’s no arguing that. But Question Masters take this notion to a whole new level. Question Masters have been known to come into class with a page full of questions every single day of the week leading up to exams, and usually insist on having them answered in front of the whole class at really inopportune times (ie. When the teacher is reviewing a really hard concept). Every once in a while they’ll ask something that everyone else was wondering about, but most of the time their questions are either a) Not even remotely relevant to what’s on the exam b) Really confusing c)In a foreign language or d) Downright stupid. The point of questions is supposed to be to make things make sense, and their questions usually do the opposite. Their hearts are in the right place, but if worst comes to worst, no one will blame you for tuning out whenever a Question Master raises their hand.

Personality 4: The Sloth

Most commonly seen: Napping.

Out of all the exam personalities out there, the Sloth is easily the least productive one to adopt. Unfortunately, I am a complete Sloth. Sloths like me fail to function like normal human beings during exams, and instead go into a weird state of near hibernation. Any clothing that isn’t made of fleece, spandex, or a breathable cotton-poly blend becomes completely out of the question, and baggy garments with hoods are preferred. No matter how much sleep Sloths get at night, they can’t help but take frequent naps during the day, and often find themselves waking up in a nest of blankets with no prior recollection as to how they got there. The mind of a Sloth is generally groggy and disoriented, causing them to put off any and all forms of studying until the last possible moment. This undoubtedly comes back to bite them in the ass, but hey, at least they have a solid week of laziness to show for it.

Personality 5: The Pregnant Woman

Most commonly seen: Crying whilst destroying a bag of chips and/or tub of icecream and/or rack of ribs.

In a similar fashion to the Recovering Drug Addict’s resemblance to, well, a recovering drug addict, the Pregnant Woman exam personality is eerily comparable to that of, well, a pregnant woman. The Pregnant Woman is a hot mess during exam week. Due to their great emotional instability, they are prone to violent mood swings and frequent outbursts of tears. They also stress eat like no others. No food is off limits to them, and if you try to keep them away from their culinary coping mechanism of choice? God help you. While it is more common for females to take on the Pregnant Woman personality than males, it is not unheard of for guys to sob over a quart of Ben and Jerry’s when stress has gotten the best of them. A piece of advice? DO NOT FUCK WITH THEM. THEY CAN AND WILL DESTROY YOU. And besides, hasn’t anyone ever told you that it’s disrespectful to be rude to someone who’s with child? Gosh.

Hopefully you were able to relate one or two of these personalities to someone you know, or maybe even yourself. At the very least, I hope reading about them has brought a tiny ray of joy to your post-exam recovery time. And if it hasn’t? Good news: Tomorrow’s the first day of February, and the January hangover is coming to an end!

2011: A Year In Bad Jokes

The beginning of a new year is the perfect time to reflect on the past, embrace the present, and plan for the future. It's also the perfect time to get embarrassingly drunk and throw up on a new, presumably sparkly outfit, and to set goals for self improvement that are guaranteed to fail by March. God bless. In order to celebrate the dawning of 2012, I decided to look back on the wonderfully awful year that was 2011 and utilize my painfully bad sense of humor and the handy dandy interweb to summarize some of the biggest highlights. Brace yourselves folks.

Warning: The following jokes are really, really bad. I use the term "joke" very loosely.

Warning 2: Seriously? You're still going to read them? Are you dumb?

Warning 3: Yep, it would seem that you are in fact dumb. I feel bad. Oh well. Here they are.

William and Kate finally got married after years of courtship, inspiring the fairy tale dreams of young girls everywhere. I’m happy for the couple and won’t make fun of them, but I will point out the fact that Princess Beatrice’s hat totally looked like a uterus.

Charlie Sheen was urged to seek medical attention after reportedly banging enough seven-gram rocks to kill Two and a Half Men.

Justin Bieber’s rise to stardom resulted in many people from his hometown contacting the tabloids with stories from his childhood. The stories were from 2010.

World Hide-and-Seek Champion Osama Bin Laden was killed by the US, but their battle is not over. 7 horcruxes remain.

The Apple iPad achieved wild success despite having a name that makes it sound like a high tech feminine hygiene product.

Jessica Simpson was one of many celebrities to announce a pregnancy. Members of her family have requested that people refrain from referring to it as a "bun in the oven", as they don't want her to spend the next 9 months wondering if it's a baby or a loaf of bread.

Amy Winehouse became one of many celebrities to die tragically young due substance abuse. Listening to her song “Rehab” is now really fucking awkward.

Rebecca Black became famous after releasing a song in which she struggles with great internal conflict over two seat options in a convertible. For the sake of humanity, I pray she never winds up on a half empty bus.

Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries' elaborate wedding proved to be a waste of money when they divorced after 72 days. Sources close to the family claim that the marriage failed due to the fact that Kim Kardashian realized that her husband was someone who would marry Kim Kardashian.

Tragically, Michelle Duggar miscarried while pregnant with her 20th child. Fortunately, her family has been comforted by statistical evidence that 15% of all "Your Mom" jokes still refer to her.

"Kim Jong Il" is now "Kim Jong Dead."

Chances are you cringed at least three times while reading those and may have broken out in hives. But hey, I told you I'm not in any way funny, and THAT'S what you get for ignoring my warnings. Anyways, Happy New Year everyone! May all of your futile resolutions provide you with temporary hope for the future.