An Open Letter to ESPN

Dear ESPN,

            I think we should see other people. It’s not me, it’s you. I stayed faithful despite your ignorance of hockey. I still tuned in even when your one-track mind obsessed over Brett Favre and Tim Tebow. Fuck, I stayed even when you manufactured reasons to still talk about Tebow. I could honestly go on for days about what’s wrong with you (Rachel Nichols, cough) but I’ll spare you. 

          Now, however, you’ve gone too far. You've hired Frank fucking Caliendo to Sunday Countdown. That has to be a joke, right? Wrong. ESPN hired a goddamn COMEDIAN to an analysis/coverage show. When Caliendo is inevitably horrible at his new job, no one should be surprised because he sucked at his old gig too. I’d rather watch the creepy blue suit, bearded fantasy football guy’s commercials on loop than see Caliendo take bad twitter-esque (bad jokes in bad taste) commentary behind an ESPN desk.

            How can ESPN get away with this bullshit? They’re the only ones in the business. ESPN is king in the sports world. NBC is trying to horn in on the action with the NBC Sports Network but unless you love hockey and cycling exclusively, then you’ll be flipping to ESPN eventually. So who am I kidding? I will inevitably come crawling back to Scott Van Pelt (One of the few ESPN guys who I legitimately respect and enjoy) and Sage Steele. I will undoubtedly check Adam Schefter’s twitter feed for breaking football news and I will still turn on Sports Center every morning (because everyone knows that blue Powerade and Sports Center is the best hangover cure). Even though every major sports league’s television network does an infinitely better job, I will stay faithful to ESPN because I am a college student (re: baller on a budget). 

          So I’ll cling to your 30 for 30’s and your “This is Sports Center” ads and remember the good old days. I’ll hold on to the web gems and memories of Erin Andrews on the sidelines every fall Saturday. I’m ashamed of what you’ve turned me into, of how you treat me. So I’ll see you tonight, ESPN, probably after midnight when you are my only option. Please be gentle. 

-Don Vito Broleone 

You're Killin' Me Smalls - The Holiday Hangover

There's few feelings that compare to getting to come home for Christmas break after a week of finals fucking your shit up. You're excited to see friends, family, possibly a 30 pound cat who snores so loud he keeps you up at night. Whatever, to each his own. On the way home you realize there are home cooked meals and a giant cozy bed in the near future that can just make a person down right giddy, but once December 25th hits shit tends to go south. 

Spreadin' that holiday cheer

We all get "the holiday hangover." (Props to my main bitch for coming up with that one.) You know that feeling come Christmas day after 2pm once all four of your stupid adult presents are opened and the spirit of Christmas has decided to peace the fuck out. Your family is no longer that sweet, loving, funny group of people you missed so dearly but those inconsiderate fools who keep demanding you not come home stoned out of your mind and eat all their food. Suddenly having the ability to not curse after every other word because seemingly impossible. Then mom and/or dad feels the need to comment every day about how you curse like a sailor, I mean c'mon cut me a fucking break.

Part two of this horrendous holiday switch-a-roo is when your "friends" from high school also become strange and less exciting. I put the word friends in quotes just to clarify that we all see those people from high school we have absolutely zero interest in communicating with and yet are completely fascinated with them because you've been Facebook stalking them all year watching their weight gain progress until they've hit the point of no return, the bad part is everyone has this notion that after high school you're all bff's. False. Back your shit up Shamu, I have enough friends I can't stand I don't need your fat ass taking up more of my newsfeed.

The good news for all you bitches is New Years Eve is on it's way and who doesn't love an excuse to make some horrendous decisions? Especially when drunken debauchery is followed by a list of absolutely ridiculous resolutions about how you're going to be a better person and stop fucking that person who's name you still can't remember. Don't be dumb. You're still a total dick, and chances are when we all crawl back to Oxford you'll dial up whats their name and fuck em like it's 2012.

Peace bitches.

You're Killin' Me Smalls/Style: No Homo - The All-Nighter

          The all-nighter. The ultimate broner shrinker. Let's face it: academics, unwisely, have taken a backseat. You've spent your weeks previous punishing your body with one too many Naturals, Netflixing endlessly, texting that blonde smokeshow from that one class, and generally not giving a damn. In a drunken stupor, you check your iCal--big mistake--and see that glaring project, that inescapable midterm. You're toast.

          The all-nighter, much like drinking to excess and poor dining habits, is a collegiate classic. It is ingrained into our minds and our repertoire; we pout, we shout "Never again! I will not procrastinate!" but, like herpes, that shit always comes back.*

"Who says you can't do it all in one night?" Sounds like a challenge.

          As you head to King, you check your bag, stocked as if it's December 31, 1999. You have a can of Skoal, a pack of Camels, copious amounts of your favorite caffeinated sugar water, and a bloodstream so full of prescription stimulants that Charlie Sheen would blush. The big question, however, is how to dress for the occasion.

          I am positive many of you have heard the phrase "Dress well, test well" and, while the only thing you are testing is your ability to avoid Facebook and Twitter, you are nonetheless against greater odds. The thought of sleep. The painful hunger. The drowsiness. You need to be up to the challenge, and there is no better way to fight the good fight than a well-constructed outfit.

          Sure, there will be kids who argue for comfort. These kids are the ones to show up in ratty lax shorts, a three-day-old t-shirt, and a hat. My best advice? Avoid it. As I construct this, it is 6:45 AM and I have been awake for the greater part of a day and a half. I'm rocking loafers, chinos, and a button down. I am both confident and sound, complete with a certain attitude comparable to peacocking. The kid who showed up comfortably is drooling on his MacBook while I pound out problem sets and silly articles like this. I'm in for the kill with my eye in the sight and finger on the trigger.

          In essence, my advice is such: preparation is key and Lord knows a bro loves to dominate, hence the need to dress accordingly. Plus, if you get fucked, well, at least you looked good.


          -Sandy Brofax 

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*Sandy Brofax is STD free. Hey, ladies.




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You're Killin' Me Smalls - Miami's Toilet Paper is Shitty

If my body is a temple then my ass is a throne.  If you have ever been around campus when “natures called” than you probably have gone through the same painful agony I endure on a day to day basis. 

                Miami’s toilet paper is shitty.  Where do they get this crap? I’m not even sure you can call it toilet paper.  I don’t even think it’s one ply.  It’s like that super thin tissue you use to wrap presents.  And last time I checked no one’s was requesting that they get a wrapped fudge factory for their birthday.

There are a few acceptable instances when one should
invest in quality: watches, cars, education and toilet paper.

                But seriously, even if I was lucky enough to fart bubbles and crap rainbows this toilet paper still wouldn’t even be able to do its job.  So in order to get enough tissue to satisfactory do its intended job you have to use half the roll and fold it like its one Sadako’s paper cranes.  Even after all that trouble you’re hit with a paradox.  Now that you have sufficient supplies to do your job its time for moment of glory.

AHHHHHHHH  SHITTTTTTT!!!!

Was that stuff made out of sandpaper?  It just felt like the Brawny Paper Towel Man forcibly ripped off my stalls door and pillaged my hiney with his ultra absorbent 12 ply quilted specialty.  My nether regions cry out in 1000 tiny sorrowful voices.  I was just violated by compressed pulped wood.

 If you ever find yourself in Miami’s bathrooms and you can hear gentle weeping coming from the stall it’s me and now you know why.

-Double Bro Seven 

You're Killin' Me Smalls - Freshmen

Dear Freshmen,

Hello and welcome to Oxford, OH, home of our illustrious Miami University. Over the next four to six years (victory lap, anyone?) you will quickly grow to love our sleepy town in which Natural Light flows like wine and the dimes flock like the salmon of Capistrano.

With that being said, as I am now a senior, I cannot help but reflect on my freshman year. Did I wear cargo shorts? Did I fumble and stumble awkwardly around older students? Did I ever look so painfully clueless? The answer to each of these is a resounding no … hence the reason I write for this fine establishment of bright minds, Miami of Brohio.

Triple-A Sect: Defined. 

Regardless, in that aforementioned moment of reflection, I thought of constructing a list for the budding bros and dimes of our fine university—to inspire, to guide, to mold. People and things can always be improved, so hopefully one of the following points will help you grow from a doe-eyed plebe to a stone cold bro.

1. Wardrobe items to immediately eliminate from your wardrobe: flip-flops; cargo shorts; graphic t-shirts; any apparel from the Triple-A sect (Abercrombie, American Eagle, Aeropostale); stupid necklaces; messenger bags; high school apparel.
2. As a note on the last item, a high school shirt is fine; your varsity letter jacket is not. You think anyone, especially that gorgeous brunette you’re currently slurring at, cares you were quarterback? I know I don’t.
3. This deserves a note in and of itself: take your lanyard and throw it in the trash. Or make a noose.
4. Do not travel 35 people deep uptown on a Thursday night. You will get yelled at and you will deserve it.
5. Oh, and regarding getting places: Miami Metro? Are you serious? Suck it up and walk. Bros love to walk—it gives us a chance to see our fellow bros, our ladyfriends, and to just generally peacock.
6. Do not come to my off-campus party. Unless one of my bros directly invited you, you are not welcome. I will kick you out.
7. If you hold cash out at a bar, I know two things: one, this is your first time with a wristband; two, you are an asshole. Learn how to order a drink properly, lest I take your money out of your hand.
8. Quantity over quality. Only a freshman would prefer a nice six pack to a stone cold 30 rack.
9. The doors of King Library close at 11:00 PM. Expect to hear many laughs as you somehow ignore this rule.
10. Until you rush and you pledge, you are still a GDI. Tone down the frattiness, alright?

Cheers,

Sandy Brofax

You're Killin' Me Smalls - New King Cafe Employees

This is straight inaccurate. Always more crowded than this picture.
Take off the rose colored glasses, Miami website. 

          It's the second day of school and I'm assuming only day two for the new employees of King Cafe. If they've been working there for any longer than two days then they are incompetent as shit. The line is always brutal but now you have to factor in the new kid being like, "A bag of chips? So I just...scan it?"  Ya bro, scan it, swipe the card and keep the line moving. Of course, there's the King Cafe mom who is there to coach and guide the young grashoppers while they learn the complicated ins and outs of a cash register. She's basically their cheerleader, "You'll get it next time. You're doing great." No, he's not doing fucking great because he tried to swipe that girl's card backwards. Twice. It's not the machine. It's you. 
          Then there's the freshmen who act like they've never ordered at Starbucks before. The menu is literally in front of your face. Plus, you've had the entire time you've been in line to figure out what you want and dig your lanyard out of your backpack, so mix in a little efficiency next time, some of us are more important than you. And if you're one of the ones who orders a super fucking complicated coffee with an Italian name you can barely pronounce with two shots of this shit, shaken not stirred, wait until the employees have mastered the fundamentals before throwing a 400 level coffee order at them. By the way, wrote this on my phone while waiting in the line. All I wanted was a Gatorade. 

You're Killin' Me, Smalls - Scrooge in May?

          For the last seven years I have caddied at a private country club near my home. This past weekend I double bagged (carried one bag on each shoulder) for 54 holes in the blistering heat. This was for a two day tournament called the "Captains Cup", where two members are paired up as a team and duke it out on the links for the lowest team score.

          After carrying two bags totaling over 80 pounds (which is well over half my own weight) I have scabs on both of my shoulders and sunburn that painted my skin red. I don't usually whine about how bad it hurts, but 54 holes in two days is a lot of golf.

          So you'd figure that at the end of two days, in which I did an outstanding job, that my golfers would tip me. You would be wrong. I made the base pay, which is $80 per 18 holes, adding up to $240 for the weekend. Other caddies were bringing in between $300-$360. It isn't that I'm a worse caddie, it's that I got a pair of miserly scrooges.

          On the 12th hole on the last round, my golfer remarked how tiring it was for him to play this much golf in one weekend. Excuse me? YOU'RE TIRED!? I never realized how hard walking around is...

           So you're thinking to yourself "Shut up, that is good pay for such a stupid job". Yeah it is good pay, but these guys are millionaires. Nobody at this club makes less than 7 figures a year. It really wouldn't be that hard to tip an extra $20 per round, considering they use Washington's to wipe their butts.

          All I ask is that if (when) someday you become a wealthy country club member, please tip your caddie.

Gem/You're Killin' Me, Smalls - Old Hookups

Wish I had a crocodile in this situation. 

          So you're home for the summer, you spend your days slaving away as a roofer or a camp counselor or at some unpaid internship but at night, you rage with your high school friends. It's a throwback every night and it's awesome. Until the girl(s) you used to hook up with show up. If you're on friendly/good terms with them, then theres no problem and honestly only good things can come from that situation. In fact, that is one of the bet situations you could be in. You catch each other up on your lives, you fall into the same jokes, the same routine, next thing you know her shirts off. What a gem. But if things didn't end so amicably then you're in for a real fucking treat. You can do the awkward dance where you two avoid each other all night (where she probably ends up getting sloppy and cryscreams at you for the rest of the night anyway.) Sorry ladies, but we rarely do anything wrong in these circumstances. Guys are usually the ones playing it cool. We would rather ignore you're (most likely annoying) ass to keep having a good time but for some reason that never works. God forbid theres a confrontation of the situation. Have your buddy help you out with this one, "Oh you didnt hear (pun intended) that he went deaf at a Nickelback concert?" (have him insult you to really bring her home (pun not intended, avoid the victory lap at all costs with the crazies)) "yeah, he actually went to a Nickelback concert, what a fucking idiot right?" A situation so shitty we had to bring up Nickelback? Shit, bro. 

You're Killin' Me, Smalls - #Hashtags

Wow, I wish I was as cool as these guys. Obviously they're
Twitter #seasonedvets

 Twitter is fucking great and I probably abuse my ability to tweet from multiple devices but that is not the issue here. Hashtags can be prime in adding a couple laughs to your tweet. They can sum up our feelings about something, provide witty commentary and so much more. A well used hashtag will instantly up your twitter game but what I cannot stand is the people who have two full sentences in a hashtag. Cmonnnn no one wants to read that shit. 10 times out of 10 someone will call you out for "#longesthashtageveraward?" which itself is pushing the length boundaries. Keep the hashtags short and witty and we dont got a problem. 

You're Killin' Me, Smalls - Packing

Having my shit this organized was a pipe dream. 

Cardboard boxes and trash bags have taken over my room and my life. I started with the notion that I was going to pack everything into neat, organized containers. Yeah, that lasted for about five minutes, if that. Stuffing things into shoddily put together boxes and random trash bags with no concern whether nasty cleats are going in with clean clothes or dishes. Bedding got bunched in with shoes and ties while hats went with books and electronic shit. There is no system and unpacking when I get home is with out a doubt going to be worse than packing. After all, shoving things into a box is never as hard as taking things out and putting them where they belong. I currently don't know where my DVDs and video games are but they aren't in plain sight so I'm hoping they made it into a bag. Then there's the debate of whether or not to keep the random shit I've acquired this year. Do I need the second orange pumpkin for Halloween next year (yes) and should I hold onto all the Arizona cans me and my roommate have hoarded this year (maybe not). All the costume-y junk that I used at random theme parties obviously are getting thrown in a box but do I really need these notebooks?(nope). The packing tape I have won't stick to shit and we wasted the bubble wrap I had (you would've done the same thing, don't judge) and I can see things on my desk that need to be packed but I physically can't get to them because of all the shit piled in between. Oh, and I still have one more final tomorrow morning, did I just pack my books? Shit. 

You're Killin' Me, Smalls - People Telling Me They Have a Final

Look, I can't do this. I told you already, I have an exam tomorrow! Can you understand that? God damn, this is bullshit, I got an exam tomorrow!

Apparently, someone has an exam! How'd you know? 

You're Killin' Me, Smalls! - Rain. Constant Rain.

          I Am Jack's Complete Lack of Surprise. It rained today. Again. It's supposed to rain again every day this week. 70% chance of precipitation. Every day. Awesome, right? I am unimpressed with Mother Nature. Man, she's a bitch this week. 

You're Killin' Me, Smalls - Graduation

Alcoholism, senioritis, whatever you want to call it, is kicking in for the class of 2011. Whether you're praying for your degree or graduating magna cum laude, you're all barreling towards the trashcan/mind probe-less real world thinking, "do I really have to leave?" Whether you already have a job lined up or you're handing out your resume to every suit you see, congratulations. We'll be sad to see you go, class of '11 but I'm expecting a three week bender from you all. See you uptown, bros. 

Is it just me or are there some pretty obvious sexual undertones here?

You're Killin' Me, Smalls - Spring Problems

The Formal Gardens: So pretty, yet so deadly with
their insane amounts of pollen. 

          I fucking love spring. Warm weather always equals day drinking, the prerequisite to golf, maybe a little frisbee and obviously, more drinking. Everything is turning green and campus no longer looks like a dead, brown abyss. Classes are wrapping up and summer is within reach. What's not to love? 
          First off, rain. 40% chance of showers? I risk it and go coatless and it pours as soon as my class gets out. 20% chance of rain? You can't fool me, Mother Nature, I'm bringing a god damn coat this time. Then obviously it's sunny all day and I'm carrying around a stupid fucking coat when I don't need it. And then there are the showers while it's still sunny out. That is like the biggest slap in the face from nature. An actual rainbow full of skittles couldn't make up for taunting me like that. 
          Second thing, flip flops, you sons of bitches. Nothing is more annoying (lies, the two not hot Kardashian sisters are much more annoying but other than that...) than the sound of flip flops. Girls (and guys) are so excited about warm weather that they bring out the flip flops and slap around campus all day, every day.
          Last thing, allergies. I don't have them but it seems like literally everyone else on campus does. With the ridiculous amount of pollen in the air, every preson you pass on campus is sneezing, sniffling or has some variation of hives. It's just gross when you're walking behind someone and they sneeze so much that you know you're just inhaling everything that just spewed out of their nose and/or mouth. 
          Mother Nature is a bitch and Spring is the proof. She can't just let us enjoy a natty on the porch without consequences. Bitch move, Mother Nature, bitch move. 

You're Killin' Me, Smalls! - Texting

Rager at Trudy's obviously. 

          I have nothing against texting itself, I just hate when people suck at it. Here are some things that piss me off beyond belief. First thing, when you're texting someone and you're having a quick back-and-forth conversation. You each send responses back so fast it's like you're a part of the World Texting Championships (Or whatever they're called. Side note: Really? This event exists? Ridiculous). Either way, you're clearly having an ongoing conversation and so you send your response then your texting counterpart doesn't reply for a painfully long 20 minutes. Such a small thing to get pissed about but it drives me crazy. Second thing that makes me want to throw my phone at your face is the feature on BBM that says whether or not I read your text. I reserve the right to ignore you. Dumb questions and annoying texts will be ignored and I will not be sorry. 
          I haven't actually used the phone aspect of my phone in a long, long time. However, if you suck at texting or you abuse the knowledge that BBM provides you with I'm going to call you every time I have a quick question or just want to talk. And honestly, that might get more annoying than you sucking at texting. Either way, sucks to suck. 

You're Killin' Me Smalls! - Dividends at Noon

          Get out of class at the Farmer School of Business and you're hungry as hell because you've been organizing your stock portfolio like a boss so you think, "I'll grab a sandwich at Dividends." Too bad it's noon. Good luck trying to fight through the sea of polos and blue Vineyard Vines vests to get in line. And if you're lucky enough to even get in a line, theres no way to tell if it's the right one. You've probably been in the sushi line instead of the sandwich line the whole time. Your sperrys will get stepped on, you will get hit by almost every backpack and god forbid you're standing near the drinks because all of a sudden you're taking orders from every meek kid too shy to say 'excuse me' to grab a Fiji water. It seems like every sorority girl on campus is in the salad line right now but you're not complaining and its not like you're going to buy a salad anyway. And once you've made it through the preppy mosh pit that is Dividends, once you go to pay you expertly choose to go in the "scan it yourself" line, a pro move unless you get an FSB rookie ahead of you. They always seem to forget to press "Pay Now" and just keep swiping their ID over and over, obviously getting nowhere. Ok, champ, you've finally made it through the hell that is Dividends at noon, now where are you going to sit? The Commons is constantly full and those kids have probably been staking out the tables since their 8 am so you'll most likely have to end up settling for a bench in an awkward hallway. Awesome. 

Farmer School of Business: DIVIDEND$ from Denise Spranger on Vimeo.

This is the fairytale version of Dividends. I don't think I've ever seen Dividends run that smoothly. (sidenote: the soundtrack from this video comes out soon, cant wait)  

You're Killin' Me, Smalls! - The Last Arnold Palmer

The Last Arnie

One left. One single tall boy of perfectly mixed relaxation in liquid form left. The problem isn't just that once I take it, I won't have any left. The problem is that my roommate won't have any left because it's his. I could take his last Arizona and enjoy the perfect beverage and deal with the consequences later or suffer now and have to walk all the way to MacCracken Market. Life is so hard. Another annoyance? My roommate belongs on that show "Hoarders." He keeps almost all of his old Arizona cans and builds mini fucking pyramids on top of our fridge. It's like he never had Legos as a kid and now feels like he has ot make up for his lost childhood or something. Every time I close our fridge they either shake making a noise so obnoxious there are literally no words to describe it or they all come crashing down like the Berlin Wall. 

Modern Art? No. 

          Now J.D offers his wisdom and extensive knowledge of the legendary Arnold Palmer. 

"I'm sure he had his hobbies"

You're Killin' Me, Smalls! - Facebook Polls

          So it took, what, half an hour for those Facebook polls to become annoying as shit. At first, it was fun. You saw you could make a poll and instantly tagged your bro in a poll asking who in your circle of friends is the biggest jabroni and you all laughed for a second and then the fun was over. My newsfeed has been bombarded with non-stop poorly worded questions and people will.not.stop.answering. Do they know that it doesn't matter? Your state will not get a shiny medal for having the most votes for "WHICH STATE IS BEST???" on a Facebook poll. (Also, don't get excited that your state has more votes than another when your state has an obviously larger population.) I'm just sick of Zuckerberg sticking us with this kind of shit. 

The Results? No one cares. 

You're Killin Me, Smalls! - Hats

Now I have nothing against hats whatsoever, I rock the backwards cap everyday all day. What really annoys me are the people that wear hats just to match their attire. You all know exactly what I'm talking about. Those people that wear their big green polo and have a Jets hat to match it or a purple button down and they wear a Colorado Rockies hat just so they match. I wear a hat because I watch sports and I support my team, I could careless if my hat color coordinates with my attire. But I do love calling them out on it, next time you see someone wearing a hat that just matches their attire a little too well; ask them a question about their team. Put them on the spot and watch them cringe as you fire questions they can't answer.

You're Killin' Me, Smalls! - Taking Off Noise Canceling Headphones

Yeah, I wear noise canceling headphones that make me look like an idiotic DJ with little to no experience. Do I wear them walking to class or at the library? Uhh, absolutely not. Do I wear them in my dorm while my roommate talks about his project that I care so little about that I start to channel Dr. Cox and fight the need to go into a re-he-he-heeallllly long rant? Hell yes. The fact that I wear these Bose big dogs is not the problem. The problem is taking them off to suddenly experience noises in my room I barely acknowledged or even heard before Bose-ing up. My AC is louder than the house music that this proverbial shitty DJ plays. My Microwave beeps louder and more annoyingly than my morning alarm (I didn't think it was possible) and this classic Miami red brick dorm building is creaking more than a wooden house built during the civil war in a tornado. I may have gotten a little carried away with that analogy but if you have not had this experience I need to convey to you the horror.