Pigs at the trough

Pigs get a bad rap; slovenly, large, swinish, piggish, dirty, crude, unkept, boorish, bullish - the English lexicon does pigs more than adequate justice.

But it's not the prized even-toed ungulates glorified in farm life that so much concern me. Rather, it's their less than fleet-footed and not so distant fugly female relations that chagrin me.

Perhaps I've gotten ahead of myself. Allow me to explain;

Finals week for any student is stressful. Distractions abound, as do deadlines. Natural proclivities find many searching for quiet, comfortable study space. Assuming you're lucky enough to find one that doesn't smell too unbearably like microwaved, ass crack chinese cuisine and the odious, unmistakable staleness of miasmal body odor, it's only natural to dig in and settle down.

So when someone noisely engulfs a salad bowl of hummus in under ten minutes you can't help but reach for the mallet that unfortunately still hangs in the garage.

"Oh myyyy god, I'm so posting this one on facebook - just, just because, it's so you, so your new profile pic! ahhhh hahahahahahahaha"

Raskolnikov sought license to kill; I've sought and found, now hand me the taser, a book, a sharp pencil. Anything.

There was Babe, and then Pigs began to appear in Memorial Union, dressed to kill in sweats, uggs and faux-studious glasses, toting the freeze dried bulk section of Costco in blaring, bleeding "Save Darfur" bags, dispensing advice on life, college, politics, Krista's new boob job, and of course, your study habits.

Really, it is Pigs that make a trough, not the other way around. Music blasting (indie import/ boyband no less), tongues wagging, Pigs through and through.

Oh and they'll read this (most likely not, but given that they were a) white, b) "socially-environmentally-ethically-morally-historically-fashionably-sexually aware" and c)excited to "sip jasmine tea beneath cozy covers [I kid you not], they could be trolling the blogosphere right now) and deride my chauvinistic, callous castigation of their feeding hour.

Please, sip your jasmine tea and smolder in your Boston College or Oxford sweats, but don't bother typing or responding, at all.

I mean, you're so obscenely obnoxious there's no need.

Thanks, betch.

Greenhouse Porn?

Location, location, location - every weary, cokehead producer's mantra. You'd think that reinforcement breeds habit, but sadly, movies are still filmed in the Midwest. If any concessions are to be wrung here, at least most movies aren't filmed in the back of a van, or the back of a restaurant, or the back of a school, or (insert random, deserted urban location) - as porn is.

Because what is to stop the great pornstars of our generation from silver screen fame? What do they not have that Coke Holmes does? Appeal? Hardly; troll any 18-69 year old male's history and appeal is categorized sytematically.

Indeed what porn lacks is a conscientious appeal to higher philanthropic virtues; Bill Gates has dollars for Darfur and Bono only sings in the presence of despondent, destitute children, yet porn is devoid of wholesome (well, not entirely true) content.

What porn needs is a set, a location, that communicates organic, sustainable, healthy sex - green is the new pink. What better place than the greenhouse?

With its glassy exterior and brightly lit interior, full exposure is guaranteed. Moreover, with average temperatures of 85 degrees, "actors" won't need to work hard for that authentic look!

Looking for something intimate? - try the backyard, English country estate model.

Group scene? University greenhouses are expansive facilities and usually stocked with diminutive, absorbed science types just waiting to break out sexually!

Oh and the puns - such a needed change from the weary plumber adages, or construction worker "drill" lines.

Al Gore got rich off of climate change; why can't porn stars?

Natural Selection, revisited

"Somebody has just compared you with one of her friends and thinks you are more entertaining. 2 hours ago"

Shit, this means several things: one) I can feel better about myself; two) whatever I do from now until the day my facebook account is canceled will always be more entertaining than whatever sad sop I beat out; three) regardless of what I'm doing, at least I'm not categorizing, organizing and ranking my friends by arbitrarily comparing one picture to another.

Facebook is the 21st century's classist's nostalgia for social darwinism.

Because you're no one if you aren't ranked higher than 5th on "most attractive," "most likely to succeed" and "smartest."

But if Mark Zuckerburg is such a savvy, urbane dude then why aren't there categories for "biggest tool" or "most likely to become addicted to meth/pregnant"? I don't want to share my honorary title with 890 other users, let alone be lumped together in the same category with the co-winners of "biggest camel toe" - at least give me some dignity if others can't have any.

So who the fuck are you? You're being compared right now.

If you'd like I'll rank you myself; leave your name and a decent picture and who knows, you just might be in the running for "most chins."

No this isn't an Abercrombie page

A little clarification.

Blogs are for bitches

Did I say that loud enough? OR SHOULD I USE ALL CAPS?

Blogs are for bitches. Skanks. Sluts. Wombats.

Here's a real world analogy for you to choke on: blogs are cyber dildos for the lonely, frumpy, Rav 4 driving woman buried deep in your heart.

Now I'm sure the rarefied, jasmine tea types are typing feverishly on their sleek macbooks to vilify my virgin post, making painstaking attempts to denounce what is for all intents and purposes a sensationalist publication.

Please, I'll play the pariah. I'll take your artsy, disjointed photographs - ineffectual quests for intellectual depth - and wipe my unflattering ass with them.

Oh and you're going to flag me? You're going to blow the whistle on my shenanigans?

Don't flatter me.

Because blogs are for bitches.

And this isn't a blog, this isn't written by a bitch. Do you see any conscientious appeal to an omniscient audience? Can you find any posts about "cute new cruiser bikes" or "sundresses?" Where are the smiley faces and abbreviations and acronyms? Bitch, please, this isn't a blog.