
Reason one: They don’t have to worry about poor cell phone service or dropped calls.
Reason two: Their mommies don’t enforce curfews on them.
Reason thr….Oh I give up. I’m not jealous of the homeless. It was just a joke. I like to make jokes. Even when they’re not funny. Because that’s even funnier. Sometimes. Isn’t it!?
I am frequently an irreverent person on paper. So what? It’s really fun. You should all try it sometimes, instead of being so … uptight. And by “you,” I mean everyone who criticizes my columns. You people bore me.
When the WSN magically becomes the New York Times, I’ll magically stop writing silly columns about sleeping in the park and spring break and beer, etc. But as long as it’s a college newspaper, someone has to entertain the college student that lives deep down in all of us. My critics have these thick shells of pretentious journalistic expectations, but I’m going to keep pounding till I crack those shells. Metaphorically. No actual violence.
A guy named Jake emailed me today saying this: “In 4 years of dealing with the WSN, that was the only really good article I’ve ever read. Thank you very much for that.”
My irreverence will live on for guys like you Jake! Even though … I probably only have two columns left before graduation.
P.S. If any outsiders (non-WSN staff) actually read this, please write a mean or nice comment or something. I’m just really curious if this thing actually gets any traffic.
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When the little hand gets to the 2, run for your motherfucking lives.
Folks, we’re on the verge of a national disaster. If you haven’t been stockpiling a 2-month supply of Campbell’s chunky soup and Wheat Thins in your cupboard, you’re going to die an emaciated fool, much like Mischa Barton.

People say WSN isn’t objective? Hah. It doesn’t get more objective than this: “…eccentric freelance timekeeper, standing just under 5 feet.”

Sure, Pedro there might’a been born in the U.S., but don’t he look just like all them crazy illegal immigrant fellas? If I saw him comin’ up the path, I’d be liable to aim muh shotgun at him until he could provide some sorta identification.