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Davis, California

Sunday, April 14, 2024

Weenie columns, part II

Writer’s block is a real bitch, let me tell you. The last time I was genuinely creative was when I made a model house built entirely of restaurant-style Tostitos and Que Bueno! cheese.

Bear Gryll’s arch-nemesis is Lion Stove.

I went to the Lego store in Arden Fair Mall (to get a limited edition Lego chef who has a piece of chicken the size of his head) and got more dirty looks from suburban moms than that one time I celebrated my 18th birthday at Chuck E. Cheese’s.

In the third grade I used to call people “butt-missile” if I wanted to insult them. Instead of warheads, I envisioned a world where smooth, taught buttocks would descend from the heavens and destroy all that is holy. To this day, when I insult people, I’m usually content with leaving them perplexed.

I was always the kid who had the obese Tamagotchi.

Jennifer Beeman, the former director of the Campus Violence Prevention Program who inflated rape numbers and embezzled a shitload of money, has a Facebook profile. As of last week, it’s a picture of her FarmVille with a massive American flag strewn across her lawn. So that’s what she was doing all day.

Professor Oak in Pokémon Red/Blue has an actual set of Pokémon coded that was left over and never exploited. He’s got a Tauros, Exxegutor, Arcanine, Gyrados and a starter opposite yours. All of his Pokémon are in the upper 60s. I always knew Professor Oak was a badass.

My friend Matthew Ong has been playing this game called “Trine” where you’re a wizard who draws squares that turn into treasure chests. Man … I wish I was that kind of wizard. I’d be rich as fuck.

My New Year’s resolution is to dress like a hipster. Implicit in that resolution is to not be obese so I can fit into skinny jeans because I don’t think they have size 44 Lucky Jeans. My first order of business, however, is getting horn-rimmed Ray Ban prescription glasses. Apparently, the “trapezoidal” Ray Ban’s convey an air of “danger” and “manliness.” I think they just convey a sense of asshole hipster, but who am I to talk?

One time in eighth grade my dumbass Social studies teacher singled me out in front of the entire class for double-dipping Alan Keegan’s Civil War-era cracker and jelly concoction. I almost cried in front of the class. Fuck you, Mrs. Marks. And fuck your stupid recipe assignment. You’re a horrible teacher. And you’re fat as fuck. You should stop quadruple-dipping.

I was watching “Dr. Phil” one day and there was this male chauvinist whose name was “Dick Masterson.” I then proceeded to envision his evil nemesis: Pussy Apprenticedaughter.

I was sitting next to this short girl in SciLec during the last o-chem lecture this past fall quarter. I was, as usual, breathless because the desk juts directly into my rather large abdomen. But that’s not the joke. This girl starts texting her friend the most mean, hurtful shit I’ve ever seen written about me since I was like in sixth grade. She tried to hide it, but I was luckily taller than four feet, so it was easy for me to see what she was typing.

Her first message to her friend: “There’s this really fat guy sitting next to me with huge elbows and I can’t breathe.” What does that even mean? Huge elbows? How the fuck can somebody have huge elbows?! Then her second text was killer: “This dude also smells really badly … somebody please save me.” Ouch. No comment on the smelling. Regardless, I had this undeniable urge to write a note to her that said, “Hey, thanks for insulting me. My grandmother just died today, and your little messages were just the cherry on top of my day.” Instead, I just went home and cried myself to sleep with Christina Aguilera’s “Beautiful” playing on loop.

If you’ve got nothing to do at 8:30 a.m. this Friday, then listen to DAVE KARIMI’s interview on KDVS with The Aggie’s own Jeremy Ogul for some big guffaws. Or, if you still think he’s a racist, you can e-mail him at dkarimi@ucdavis.edu.


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