Michigan State - Issue 14 - 4/18/2013

The Black Sheep

FR EE ... st like on er mes s o sin g n 4/2 wi 0. th

• a college newspaper that’s actually about college •

Volume 8, Issue 14 • 4/17/13 - 4/24/13

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cooking weed with cody on weed Cody Manthei wrote this Jesus Chronic Christ, it’s 4/20 again! Time to sit back, roll up forty-seven joints, turn on some “Party in the USA” by newlydiscovered reefer lover Miley Cyrus, and just chillax your brain right out of your ear holes.

As if 4/20 wasn’t chill enough already, it’s on a Saturday this year. We all know that for every other person in the world it’s just another Saturday, but for us stoners -- well, actually I’m not a stoner, due to the fact that Mother reads my articles from time to time. Hello, Mother! But for you stoners this is a momentous Saturday. Unfortunately, you’ll probably do what you do every Saturday: smoke weed and play Mortal Kombat.

But for those of you who want to venture out of the methodical world of bongs and blunts, why not try baking the most delicious pot brownies that have ever graced your quivering, cottonmouthed lips? I’m talking about penetrating fudge that doesn’t melt, but trickles to every hidden nook in your mouth, almost causing you to choke and die before taking you on a one-way trip to Flavor Country. I’m talking like, life-affirming, transport you to another dimension where pocket watches are still a thing and you’re the frontman for R.E.M., even though you’ve never really left your couch. I say this from experience, as I’ve just consumed four of these aforementioned heavenly delights. Just as Jesus spread the word of God, so shall I spread the word of Kush Christ and bestow this recipe upon you, dear reader.

You’re going to want to start with making the perfect oil. I prefer peanut oil, but if you have an extreme nut allergy I would try something else—maybe soil? No, wait, soy oil? Wait, that can’t be right. And I’m sure it’s not Castrol synthetic oil, because I think that goes in your car. Guttersnipes, I forgot to get my oil changed yesterday. Maybe I’ll get my tires aligned as well, I mean, I’m going to be at the same place anyway; it won’t take too much longer. Plus, the Buick has been pulling a little to the right. Yeah, I’ll do that too. Self-note to Cody: align tires.

What were we talking about? Oh, right, brownies. For the batter, I choose one that has a good mix of chocolate and vanilla to symbolize a harmonized balance. You know, “balance” is kind of a funny word if you think about it. I always want to spell it with two “L’s”, because I think “ball,” but I know that’s not right.

You don’t say “ball-ance,” although, I think I could appropriately mingle in a society where that was a thing.

How’d your batter turn out, folks? Mine is great, sticky... buttery… it feels like my hands might now be a permanent part of this keyboard. Jesus, are we all cyborgs now? Am I a cyborg!? Wait, nope, false alarm—if that was true that drink of water would have scrambled my motherboard. Oh no, Mother! Stop reading!

A Romantic Evening with Stephen Hawking Although robots can’t feel love, they can sure fuck.

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You’re going to want to preheat your oven, say, six notches? I don’t know—every oven is a little bit different. They’re kind of like fingerprints—most people have them, but they’re vastly different from one another.

Now, once you pull your brownies out of the stove—wait, the stove is the one on top and that is not where your brownies should be. They should be in the microwave, covered in butter—weed butter. And make sure that you put the weed in the butter—that way your nut allergy won’t go nuts! See that? With the nut thing?

Just a little joke for a joke paper—wait, am I writing a joke on papers or a paper on jokes for class? Whatever, pretty sure my professor tokes up on the reg.

what'’s inside

So your Boss saw you Naked It’s not sexual harassment if you never knew the policy!

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And there you have it! That’s how you make the best pot brownies on the block. These bad girls will put you in another world, man.

Did I tell you to pick peanut oil? That’s what I use, but I don’t want your allergies to go “nuts!”

Just thought I’d leave you with that little joke, everyone. Enjoy responsibly, and probably don’t eat five. Whoa, I’m just now realizing the appeal of the National Geographic Channel.

This has been Cody Manthei’s Cooking with Weed with Cody in Cody’s Kitchen With Weed.

Top Ten: Ways to be Outdoorsy Shockingly, seeming outdoorsy is as easy as literally shooting fish in a barrel.

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Meet The Staff campus manager Justin Gawel Advertising ManagerS Andrew Meggert, Daniela Pittiglio Nicole Maks, Danan Thomas, Andrew Rickerman Writers Alex Everard, Cody Manthei Phillip Keller, Hannah Borland Zoe Kremke, Garrison Rassmusen Andrew Rickerman, Zach Wyrzykowski, Jess Martinelli, Meg Enter, Halie Woody Thomas Stewart, Michelle Danaj distribution manager Garrison Rasmusen social media manager Alex Everard

pR Team Crysta Harper, Adelaine Lazzell Kelsey Roseman, Jordan Sweat photographers Bailey Paskiewicz, Leslie Spector campus director Quinn Myers owner Atish Doshi Questions? info@theblacksheeponline.com Advertising? ads@theblacksheeponline.com 608-712-0900

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theblacksheeponline.com

A Romantic Evening with

Stephen Hawking

Halie Woody wrote this It’s quiet, breezy, and beautiful as the sun sinks into the Lake Michigan horizon. Finally alone, this evening will be one that my date, Dr. Stephen Hawking, and I won’t soon forget. He and his spaceage chair glide up next to me on the boardwalk, I feel his lifeless feet touch mine, and I instantly start to melt like an aroused ice cream sundae. I’ve never felt so jittery on a first date, maybe I’m just worried about potential complications, his massive intelligence, or that I won’t be able to keep up with his legendary sexual libido.

The chair has thrown a wrench into my plans, as he left the sand treads back at his apartment.

No matter, I’ll just carry him down to the blanket and chairs I’ve set up—it’s no problem, he’s only about thirty-five pounds when he’s detached from his robotic companion. With no voice computer, I’m realizing that he’s truly a strong, silent type. I truly find myself enticed by the enigma, not the mysteries of quantum physics like he studies, but just the question of how soon can I pop this skirt off and let him study my black hole. I’m in luck, Dr. Hawking is all business, and in no less than five minutes he’s giving me those unmistakable, deadpan “fuck me” eyes.

I gather him back into his chair lift and begin the journey back to my hotel room. I’m riding on the back of his chair like I’m a musher in the Iditarod. The whole way there Dr. Hawking is telling me everything he wants to do to me at that sensual pace of four words per minute. Combine that with the vibration from the gravel road and the excitement of dangerously riding at nearly six miles per hour, and I’m on the verge of flooding the road with enough wetness to short-circuit this whole contraption. Stoic, Dr. Hawking presses on, as if he knows he is teasing me.

We return to the room and he begins resisting my advances, just sitting there, looking off into the distance. I pour myself a glass of wine and pour another down his tracheotomy tube. Now, sufficiently loose and limber, Dr. Hawking’s metal throne belts out Al Green and he says in his most playful voice, “Spread ‘em.”

Now Heisenberg, I understand your principle, but there’s going to be no uncertainty about the location of my particles—you’ll find them all buck-naked spread out over Dr. Hawking’s chair in about ten seconds. I’ve never had sex on a wheelchair before, but I’m just going to, well, roll with it.

I’m working that crusty cock in a most sensual, Neo-Luddite artisan handjob that, ironically, the tech-savvy Dr. Hawking is loving. That, or my stroke has given him an actual stroke. He commences the moaning sequence on the computer and then initiates the intimacy program. His voice thunders and tells me about the “Big Bang” he’s about to unload on me. Promptly, I rip off his Dockers, face the floor, and jam that hot log of pure energy into my docking station while gripping his chair with my legs in a deviation of the wheelbarrow.

I don’t know if we began traveling at the speed of light, but it felt like time no longer had meaning.

The g-forces his chair was exerting were unreal; several times I thought I was destined for whiplash at various points of my body. It could have lasted three minutes; it could have been three days, but when he finished in a series of robotic grunts I knew I had truly been taught a lesson by Dr. Hawking himself.

I gave him a kiss goodbye, both of us knowing that we were not destined to meet again on this plane.

He rolled out of the room as I thought to myself, “For a turbo lover he sure drools a lot when he kisses.”

Preparing for a Visit from Aunt Flo Tbs staff wrote this It’s the end of another Saturday night. You’re climbing the stairs to your apartment door while holding the hand of your sweet and loving girlfriend. You briefly juggle your keys, finding the lock without too much difficulty. The bolt clicks and the door presses open. Slow and weary, your girl makes her way to the bedroom and calls for you to join her. You assure her that you won’t be long and stumble into the bathroom.

You turn on the light and reach over to your toothbrush but accidentally knock her birth control pill case into the sink.

Looking down at the case, you see three empty rows and a foreboding bottom row of chalk white capsules. Your vision tunnels, and your skull pounds. How could you have forgotten?

You’ve haven’t even started taking a single precaution! Looks like enjoying a pleasant Sunday brunch and an evening Twins game will have to give way to putting up with Aunt Flo’s dreaded arrival. There’s no time for sleep. It’s time to prepare.

You turn your quickly sobering eyes to the toilet, searching for the hidden landmines to disarm. The rim is caked with monthold urine delicately sprinkled with pubic hair. The gloves come on and a thorough, long-overdue rim job commences. When finished, you exit the bathroom, but not before mindfully letting the seat down.

Then you walk out into the living room. You see half-empty cans and bottles strewn about the counters and stovetops, pizza slices beginning to grow a second layer of discolored toppings, and a sink overflowing with dishes. The sound of bags rustling, dishes clinking, and cans clattering soon fill the walls of the apartment. Once the clutter is removed, you check the

fridge. A few McDonalds ketchup packets and a package of greening provolone are all that can be seen. Aunt Flo will be arriving quite soon, and she is never late. Because you know she cannot start her day without a double helping of GrapeNuts, you throw your jacket on and venture out for provisions.

You enter the House of Hanson just a few blocks down. Knowing Aunt Flo suffers from frequent cramping, you grab some hand warmers to alleviate the pain. She also has a penchant for salts and sweets. You spot a jar of brine and a Whitman's Sampler.

They ought to do the trick. With the inclusion of a pint of milk and a family-sized box of Grape-Nuts, you pay for your goods at the counter. Bags in hand, you briskly back to the apartment, dawn encroaching behind you.

With a gentle turn of the key, you slide into the living room as discreetly as you can. There stands Aunt Flo, waiting for you.

You meekly cast your gaze towards the floor.

“Where have you been?” she asks. The trap has been set. You say nothing and move past, averting your eyes from the red steel gaze. Once you’ve reached the kitchen, you pull out the box of Grape-Nuts and the pint of milk and set them on the table. You collect a bowl and spoon from the drying rack. She shuffles over to you in silence and takes a seat at the table.

As you prepare her bowl, she looks up at you with her stonelike eyes.

“Stop!” she says firmly, signaling to stop the flow of milk, “Don’t drown the bastards!” While she slovenly devours your humble offerings, you sneak backwards into the bedroom,

where your dearest is sleeping peacefully.

You gently wrap your arms around her and whisper, “Aunt Flo is here.”

“Did you get the pickles and chocolate?” she asks in drowsy voice.

“All they had was brine.”

She turns over, delivers a kiss and says, “You can get the pickles in the morning.”

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Top 10 Ways to Be Outdoorsy Chicks “go wild” for rugged, manly men who dedicate their time to climbing mountains and shooting various things. But let’s be honest: if you’re like the average college guy, you’ve spent most of your time here on homework, alcohol, and drugs, and comparably little time on good old-fashioned adventurin’. So, how do you convince everyone that you’re a regular Henry David Thoreau?

10.) Wear your North Face jacket to class: Nothing says, “I just explored that CATA bus so hard, ladies” like a sexy brand name on your shoulder and the facial sweats of being too hot, yet too cool to take off your coat.

9.) Have sex on your lawn: Much like the rite of passage that is dropping a deuce in the woods, you haven’t actually been outdoors until you’ve come outdoors. She’ll know how much you really love the woods once you show her the wood underneath the stars of East Lansing, while pretending that the flashing red and blue lights are actually the Aurora Borealis.

8.) Carry a hunting knife at all times: Real nature men never know when they may have to, like, skin a bear or something. Look sharp and be prepared; those Red Cedar ducks might get out of hand on a Tuesday afternoon.

So Your Boss Saw You Naked: Now What? meg enter wrote this Congrats, young Padawan, somehow you managed to weasel your way into a college job with little responsibility and even less selfrespect. That right there is called the beginnings of the American Dream. Don’t fret, you don't yet work in a cubicle in a job that makes you want to drown your sorrows in the finest liquor an entrylevel employee salary can buy. There’s much self-degradation to be accomplished before your pubes turn gray.

Making out with someone in college is the real world equivalent to shaking someone’s hand, so it follows that stripping down and hooking up comes more naturally to our black, fornicating souls than does sleeping through a Monday morning recitation. And, because Spartans are just that classy, there comes a time when you might accidentally, or intentionally, find yourself naked with your boss. With any variety of intra-office banging, finger-blasting, or artisan handjibbing comes the aftermath in the form of creepy awkwardness and unwanted pats on the back. Follow these expert tips and you will be well on your way to not getting fired. We… “promise.”

First and foremost, awareness is key. Therefore, gossiping to all your fellow employees about the night of tapping that corporate booty and dipping your pen in the company stink is essential to your workplace survival. After all, how else is everyone supposed to know the real reason you got that raise? Exactly. Assert your manliness or femme fatale demeanor by going into explicit detail about your boss’s genitalia, so everyone knows even your superior is no match for what you’re packing. Seriously, is there a better way to instill corporate fear than chanting about your sexual exploits for all to hear?

So what about when you file those TPS reports incorrectly and are forced to meet with the

7.) Go “hiking” on campus: Because taking the bus or driving is for non-environmentally conscious pussies. You probably didn’t even know about Baker Woodlot and the migratory bird sanctuary at the southeast corner of campus, did you? Well, now you do, and you can tell girls about how you hiked this “totally gnarly” half-mile trail littered with vomit and used condoms.

6.) Take a trip to Cabela’s: Not only will you be able to buy a new North Face because your old one is covered in, uh, mud and fish guts after last night’s frat party, but you’ll be able to act like you know something about hunting rifles.

5.) Visit the Student Organic Farm Stand: If you’re looking to be a more of a hippy, earthy outdoorsman, you can always purchase a few green onions to go with your Jimmy John’s.

boss? For the ladies, showing up in a negligee and kitten ears is always a solid option, and, for the dudes, slap on that banana hammock that outlines your sack ever so sexily. Go get sexy and pound some shots in the office restroom before the meeting to insure you’re ready for another trip to pound town. There’s always the off chance your boss will tell you how inappropriate your behavior is. This simply means he or she wants it more and you should assert yourself, which is your cue to deliver the heartiest of ass smacks.

Come on, everyone knows “sexual harassment” is just a fancy, bureaucratic term that was made up to make everyone in the office who is not getting laid feel better about themselves – way to ruin another thing, have-nots.

Lastly, written communication is crucial. Next time you have to send your boss an email about that time you had to leave work early because you had the “flu” and were definitely by no means hung-over and barfing your brains out, make sure to fill it with flirtatious little messages such as “Those were awfully tight pants you were wearing today” or “Your glorious tits were, as always, glowing beautifully under the fluorescent office lights.” This will assure your priorities are clear. After all, the paper pushers in HR deserve to have something entertaining to run their eyes over the next time your file is updated.

Face it, hooking up with your boss can only help you in the long run. Power dynamics are an instant boner. Who wouldn’t want to be spanked and reprimanded for their work performance at the same time? And it’s not like anyone ever got into any trouble for having sexy time with an employee. That whole Bill Clinton thing was a total fluke turned misunderstanding anyways.

Oh, with that scandal in mind, make sure you wash your work clothes after your corporate coital time. Nothing says “fire me” like a jizzstained blouse.

4.) Join a student environmental organization: Obviously, you really care about stopping climate change if you’re willing to dedicate 7:00 p.m.-7:30 p.m. on Wednesday nights to an RSO meeting. Hey, you might even get arrested at a protest, and chicks love that shit.

3.) Listen to country music: Country musicians are known farm boys and hunters. Simply listening to Luke Bryan, Toby Keith, and Kenny Chesney sing about drinking, crying, and sorority girls will make you 80% more rustic (but also 90% more likely to watch Fox News).

2.) Incorporate words and phrases like “lake effect” and “deciduous” into every day conversation: Being one with nature also means understanding the highbrow scientific terms that describe it. Don’t know what these things mean? Doesn’t matter, the drunk biddies you’re spitting game at aren’t going to call you out.

1.) Post Nat Geo pictures on Facebook: So you’ve never been camping in your life? That’s okay. Post pictures of the Northern Lights and the Appalachian Trail to your profile, because just knowing that these things exist screams “outdoorsmen.”

Hannah borland wrote this

From the Streets

[PartyPics]

Got a question you want us to ask?

FTS@theblacksheeponline.com

What's your favorite euphemism for sexual intercourse?

“Bumpin’ uglies.”

- Travis W., Senior

“Making whoopee.”

- Rob N., Senior

“Pound town.”

- Kelley S., Super Senior

send your party pics to pics@theblacksheeponline.com

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page 7

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To the “Friend” That Everyone Hates tbs staff wrote this Hello, “chief.” This is your conscience speaking. Just kidding, your conscience hates you too much to alert you about what needs to be said. And, frankly, what needs to be said is this: nobody likes you.

Yes, you know who you are. You’re the friend that always shows up unannounced, late, and always playing catch-up to the rest of the friend group. It’s no mystery as to why you’re always unannounced either.

Newsflash—you weren’t invited and it was intentional; stop acting like your presence is a pleasant surprise. The only surprise that your friends are going to get from you is the stress-induced peptic ulcer that will inevitably show up from all the times they had to deal with your high level of suck.

Sometimes you house the feeling that you might not be as well-liked as you like to think. These hints can pop up from anywhere. Perhaps after walking into your “broseph’s” apartment last Friday, the constant torrent of “Go fuck ya’self ” for forty-five minutes was an omen that you were not to be there. Perhaps the slashed front tires on your Malibu, the crudely drawn picture of you being sodomized, and the note stuck in your windshield saying “Eat dick and die!” illuminated the point.

Regardless of how subtle or obvious the signs were, instead of branching off and finding a new group of friends to be berated by as any normal person would do, you instead have decided to overcompensate your current friends with gifts in hopes that they will love you based on how large your wallet is.

Are they hungry? A fine sesame chicken dinner from Rice Kitchen should buy their love temporarily.

Are they going to see a movie without you? Suggesting you purchase every ticket in the theatre will surely find you to be an accepted part of the friend group and not desperate in any way whatsoever.

Sadly, though, your wallet can only stretch so far until ma and pa find out you’ve spent half your life savings on an eighty-gallon fish tank and fast food. You’ve simply bought temporary affection and permanent disrespect.

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Do you care to know what happens when your presence isn’t gracing the friend group you know, love, and obsess over? They mock you. They make it a personal goal to bring you down when you are around them and to further the demolition of your character when you are elsewhere. Whether they are meeting up at the cafeteria for dinner or worshiping Lucifer within a pentagram, mocking remarks will be made about you constantly. They love to hate the love you have for them.

Although you might cry and regret everything you ever did (or bought for them) if you found out, just remember; you are the main thing keeping your friends together. Yes, they enjoy talking about your fat ass squeezing into yoga pants. They love interacting with your relentless “Happier than a newborn puppy” mood. And do you know why? You are the glue that keeps your sorry group of “friends” together. Every activity they share is either with you or avoiding you. Regardless of how much they loathe your existence, just take solace in that without you they’d all be dead by now, or at least lonelier.

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WED, 4/17

Happy Hour: 3P.M. - 7P.M.!

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Labatt Blue Light Thirsty Thursday Pub Crawl $1 Beers!

3P.M. - 8P.M. BURGER BASH $1 Burgers $1 Fries 1/2 OFF Drinks (excludes top shelf liqours) 8P.M. - Close: Ladies Night w/ DJ KING $2.50 You Call It's, $2.50 Miller Lt, Coors Lt, Rolling Rock Bottles, $3.50 Long Islands $2.50 Soco Lime & Kamikaze Shots

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$1 Beers Every Thursday!

$3 Domestic Bottles $3.50 Flavored Vodka $3 SoCo Limes and Kamikazes $3.50 Captain Morgan

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MON, 4/22

GSSD #1 Dollar Deal Day $1 Hot Dogs, Soda and Ice Cream Sandwiches

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TUES, 4/23

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WED, 4/24

Happy Hour: 3P.M. - 7P.M.! $3 Corona & Sol, $2 Rolling Rock Btls., $4 Dirty Corona Btls., $3 Shot of Well Tequila, $6 Marg./Daiquiri Mini Pitchers 9P.M. - 2am: $3 Single Call Drinks & Tequila $4 23oz Domestic Draft, $3 Flavored Vodka Bomb Happy Hour 3P.M. - 7P.M.: $5 Domestic Pitchers, $1 Off All Wines, $3 Single Wells 9P.M. - 2am: $6 32oz Mini Buckets (exl. Red Bull), $1 off all Draft Beers, $3 Flavored Vodka Bombs, $3 Soco Limes & Washington Apple Shots 11am - 4P.M.: $3.50 23oz Domestic Drafts | Bloody Mary Bar! Happy Hour 3P.M. -7P.M.: $1 off all Kraft Beers, $3.50 23oz Domestic Drafts 9P.M. - 2am: $1 off all Kraft Beers $3 23oz Domestic Drafts

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9P.M. to 2am: $3.50 Dbl. Well Drinks, $4 23oz Domestic Drafts $3 Shot Special, $2 Kamikaze Shots WING WEDNESDAY! $.45 WINGS! Happy Hour: 3P.M. - 7P.M.!

9P.M. to 2am: $3.50 Dbl. Well Drinks, $4 23oz Domestic Drafts, $3 Shot Special, $2 Kamikaze Shots

page 10

theblacksheeponline.com

Documenting Addiction:

The Dark Side of Smart Phones tom white wrote this Each day, countless students succumb to a horrific form of technological dependence, known colloquially as “being a huge knob job constantly on a smartphone.” It’s an epidemic rapidly approaching levels of douchery unheard of since frat boys started saying “flow” all the time. It has even surpassed the dangers of the great “YOLO” overdose of 2011 that inspired countless regrettable decisions resulting in the rise of ultra-chlamydia, an abundance of the never-appropriate Mississippi Two-Tap, and listening to Drake without feeling embarrassed. So, for the sake of freedom, we decided to bring this narcissistic trend to light by documenting a day in the life of an anonymous every-girl, who we will refer to as “Courtney Smith.”

Courtney is one of the many oblivious jackasses rarely seen without her face buried in an iPhone. Ironically, reaching Smith was surprisingly difficult. Repeated attempts at introducing ourselves in person were ineffective, as Courtney will not hold an actual conversation. Even our phone calls, stress-inducing enough, were ignored with such steely determination it made us feel like a drowning woman trapped in a car, begging Ted Kennedy for help. Apparently, Courtney is “Only about the t’s: #tweetNtext.”

Not even a journalistic donkey punch to the back of Smith’s head could break her focus on Temple Run. A potent combination of text messages, DM’s, and threats to read the op-eds of The State News aloud eventually grabbed Smith’s attention and she consented to be the subject of our exposé.

We have transcribed our notes from the day to raise awareness about this evil social disease and hopefully bring an end to it. Sure we could focus our superior journalistic powers on ending poverty, but that’s a bit overrated, we’ve got money on that whole “global warming” kerfuffle working itself out, and world peace is for socialists. This is a cause that needs your complete attention and effort. If we band together, we can put a stop to these phone addicts and their shitty ways once and for all.

8:32 a.m.: Subject wakes up. Instead of starting her day, subject checks Facebook and considers “liking” the following status: “Turnt up to the MAXX at Rick’s last night with the Get Fre$h Crew!!! Gave a chick the business with the ol Mississippi Two-Tap in the bathroom #LayinThaLumber.” After twenty minutes, subject decides not to. Holy Chronic Christ, this is going to be a long day.

9:55 a.m.: Subject appears to be ignorant to the fact she is not alone on campus as she barrels down the middle of the sidewalk, looking up from her phone less often than Rosie O’Donnell following a trail of gravy.

Countless innocents are forced to dodge this self-absorbed missile, and one longboarder dies after swerving

and falling into the Red Cedar where swamp monsters and a hungry Derrick Nix devour him. Goodnight, you sweet longboarding prince—this world cannot hurt you anymore.

2:06 p.m.: Subject sits at table eating lunch with three other socially oblivious individuals in silence, browsing their phones for pictures of Joe Biden’s face photoshopped onto pineapples. Subject attempts verbal communication for the first time today with a random. No one responds and the crushing silence resumes.

We feel a bit of our soul die.

5:42 p.m.: Subject spends entire class period taking selfies attempting to get her tongue-out smile “just right,” before wondering out loud if she is a dillrod. Our hopes of her developing self-awareness are destroyed after subject remembers she was going to re-blog a peanut butter sculpture of Garfield on her Tumblr, and abandons the train of thought faster than philosophy majors giving up hope to land a real job.

Shortly afterwards, sitting in a small dark room, the subject began reorganizing her apps. After the tenth hour of this activity we were forced to terminated the operation. Exposé over, journalism should never be this hard.

Readers, put down the phone. One day Google will put them directly into our corneas and temporal lobes, but until that day arrives, be a real human being.

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page 11

the black sheep mobile | for iphone & android

bartender of the week Stephanie b. Harper's Age: 20

Dance club or dive bar: What’s a dance club?

Major: Advertising Relationship status: Boyfriend Nickname: Sugar Tits Bar pet peeve: Customer demanding service and not knowing their drink order.

Best bar sing-a-long: “Closing Time”

by Semisonic

the drinking game:

Hangover cure: Gatorade What would you say to the police to get out of a public intox ticket: Cry Favorite liquor: Ketel One Describe your typical customer: Poor college student (inconsiderate b-holes).

Craziest place you’ve hooked up: Women’s study lounge in The Union

Worst thing you’ve done sober: Farted in class and blamed it on the deaf kid.

What's the best line someone’s used to score a free drink: Nice cans

Personal theme song: “Pirates” by Jenny Owen Youngs. I love Pizza Hut!

recipe for disaster:

Booze Ball

Grilled Cheese Pizza

The only thing better than drinking cold beer and eating a hot dog and peanuts on a nice spring day is watching dudes spit tobacco while playing with their balls—er, baseballs.

Don’t just watch the fun. Take this game outside and get drunk. It’s officially booze ball season.

Like when Robb Stark married the Frey girl, securing The Twins for the North, this is an unholy union of two unlike things. Will this work out better or worse than the wedding? Let’s hope it’s better.

What You’ll Need: Four kegs and a Wiffle ball and bat.

Number of Players: At least 20.

Level of Intoxication: Good luck trying to run the bases after this.

How To Play - Split up into two teams.

- Set up the kegs in a baseball diamond and have each player on one team stand in the typical baseball positions.

- Before any player bats they must chug a half cup of beer.

- After chugging, the batter tosses up the Wiffle ball himself and tries to hit it. If he can’t hit a fair ball in three tries, he’s out and must drink for five seconds.

- If the player hits a single, he must do a five-second keg stand when he gets to first base.

- If the player hits a double, he must do a ten-second keg stand when he gets to second base.

- If the player hits a triple, he must chug a beer when he gets to third base.

- If the player hits a homerun, he must do a fifteen-second keg stand when he gets to home.

- If the player gets thrown out or tagged before he makes it to a base, he must chug half a beer, and he is out.

- Once three outs have been made, teams switch sides.

- The game continues until nine innings have been completed or a team reaches a predetermined score.

The Game Ends When: The kegs run dry or the players are as bad as the Cubs. You suck, Darwin Barney!

download our app for all of our drinking games!

What You Need: 2 slices of bread, 4 ounces of pepper jack cheese, crappy pasta sauce, pepperoni, butter.

Cook Time: 10 minutes Fatty Factor: If you can convince yourself to eat less than three, you’ll survive to see morning.

Let’s Get Baked: -Place a skillet on a burner set to medium.

-Butter one side of each slice of bread.

-Layer the other side of one piece of bread with pizza sauce and pepperoni.

-Shred the pepper jack cheese on the unbuttered side of the other piece of bread.

-Place each piece of bread butter side-down onto the warmed skillet.

-2-3 minutes later, place the pepperoni side of one slice onto the cheesy side of the other slice of bread.

-Flip the sandwich each minute for 3-4 minutes, or until the cheese is melted.

Unlike a potent mixture of sugar, carbs, protein and cheese to help you power through your day. Without it, you’d pass out from hunger, and passing out just isn’t the same as willingly taking a nap.

Hungry for More? theblacksheeponline.com

Blows up (The camera glides in to focus on the crew, all sitting at the NBA on TNT table. Shaquille O’Neal on the far left, then moving right to Ernie Johnson, Kenny “The Jet” Smith, and finally Charles Barkley. Ernie shuffles paper and looks up into the camera, while the others glance at each other from the corners of their eyes, giggling and taking sips from their mugs.)

Ernie Johnson: Welcome back to the Sprint Halftime Report.

I’m Ernie Johnson and with me as always are Shaq, Kenny, and Charles. So if you were watching last week, and we know you weren’t, Charles was having a little bit of fun at LeBron’s expense, talking about his receding hairline and the fact that the headband had been inching backward through the years.

And who knows where it will be-Charles: Come on home.

Ernie: And basically you were encouraging him to shave, to come on home...

Charles: Come on home, shave your head like every other balding black guy.

Kenny Smith: (waving at camera) Ay LeBron this ain’t me.

This ain’t me LeBron!

Ernie: (laughs uneasily) Well, we decided we couldn’t let that go alone, and so we decided to ma-Shaquille O’Neal: ERNIE YOU OFF THE CHAIN!

The NBA playoffs begin April 18th, and we couldn’t be more excited. Two months of professional playoff basketball? Fantastic. But we’re more excited for two months of the NBA on TNT frat house yukkin’ it up and slapping Charles Barkley’s face on obese ladyfolk. Never in sports history has a studio analyst crew gotten away with 30 seconds of analyzing, followed by 20 minutes of grab-assery. However, their hijinks came to a screeching halt one night, while broadcasting a relatively meaningless Hawks-Nets game. TNT pulled the broadcast from the air, but The Black Sheep DVR’d it, and recorded it on paper for you to witness.

By: Quinn

Charles Barkley: If he keep denying his hairline is receding it’d be like a dead terrorist denying he ain’t in heaven.

Shaq: (pulls tie up in the air to resemble a noose) OOOOOOO! Ernie: (snarkily) Even though we’re in the south I don’t think any racists will be hanging you any time soon, Shaq.

Shaq: (stares angrily at Ernie) Kenny: (stares angrily at Ernie) Charles: (stares angrily at Ernie) Ernie: (worryingly looks off-screen at the producer) Kenny: (walking off the set) Yo Ern, let’s talk about basketball.

Let’s talk about basketball.

Shaq: Look when I drink water like this (takes long drink of water, bulges his eyes at Ernie) it mean that water too hot!

Charles: If LeBron’s headband keep moving back further and further, and eventuallyKenny: Not me LeBron! I got no part in this!

Charles: Eventually that headband gunna pull his eyes back and he’ll look Asian. Like he got a Mandarin hat on, practicin’ tai chi instead of basketball.

Ernie: Guys, hold on, let’s take it down a notch...

Shaq: What Ern, you gonna lynch me?

Shaq: (stares angrily at Ernie) Kenny: (off stage) The fuck Ernie?

Charles: (stares angrily at Ernie) Kenny: (runs back in impersonating a “jet” with a Jeremy Lin jersey on) Rook at me! I’rm ReBron James! I have tiny penis!

(A photoshopped picture of Charles Barkley and Asian-looking LeBron James kissing in a dojo appears on the screen.)

Ernie: (his bowtie spinning) Can we go to commercial! I don’t know what the hell is going on!?

Shaq: YO THE ONLY WAY WE CAN STOP THE HEAT IS TO DROP CHARLES AKA A “FAT MAN” MIAMI LOL. (Kenny is off camera, but his mic broadcasts him taking “heavy polls” of Cognac in the green room) Shaq: (putting papers on his head) REBRON JAMES! (Sound guy plays stereotypical Asian chimes)

(A picture of Charles Barkley-looking atomic bomb dropping over Miami appears on screen. The room falls silent. All the panelists look shocked, except Shaq, who is spinning in his chair) Ernie: ... Ok, well, with that we will bring you back to the action. Hawks lead the Nets 51-43.

the

Madlib

A Frolfing Adventure What started out as a ___1___ ___2___ quickly turned into the weirdest day since Saturday at ___3___, when Jonah took all that/those ___4___ and found some girl in ___5___ furry boots to give him a ___6___ massage and then rode her around like a ___7___ until the sun came up.

Anyway, Jonah and I went out frolfing at noon with a 6-pack of ___8___ and a bit of ___9___, I had my iPod blasting some ___10___ and we were having the time of our lives. We got to hole nine, but it wasn’t the same hole nine we’ve played since we were freshman.

We squinted our already squinty eyes and saw a ___11___ wearing a ___12___and holding a glass of ___13___, gesturing for us to come closer. When we froze, he started coming closer.

“Hi there,” the creature cackled, not unlike that fat chick from ___14___ who’s legit stalking me. “Why don’t we jump into my… tunnel?” Suddenly a tunnel full of ___15___-smoke and ___16___-colored confetti appeared.

“A tunnel? That’s the best you could think of?” said Jonah, that ___17___.

The creature was suddenly sitting on our shoulders between us. He handed us his drink, and we drank. The next thing we knew, we were dancing to ___18___ and grinding on girls wearing ___19___, but they were so sexy. We were smiling like ___20___ was giving us ___21___ and dancing our asses off.

When we came to, Jonah was poking me on the shoulder and I stopped dancing for the first time in who knows how long. We were on hole nine, with a rather large crowd of ___22___ watching. “Dude, what the hell just happened! I think that weird thing slipped us some ___23___ and we just tripped out for hours!”

“Bunch of ___24___, it’s only 12:30!” someone shouted, as we stepped aside to let everyone play and to drink some of our beer.

“We’re going to have to get some more of that ___25___,” said Jonah, and we cheersed.

1) Positive Adjective 2) Weekday 3) Music Festival 4) Drug 5) Bright Color 6) Body Part 7) Mammal 8) Shitty Beer 9) Wacky Weed Name

10) Female Pop Star 11) Creepy Animal 12) Fancy Piece of Clothing 13) Fancy Drink 14) Freshman Dorm 15) Type of Herb 16) Jewel 17) Body Part 18) EDM artist

19) Cheap Clothing Store 20) Hot Female Celebrity 21) Sexual Favor 22) Slang for Hippies 23) Party Drug 24) Word from #21 25) Word from #8

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