Author: Norstrin

Only not. Not in Chicago. It may be called the Windy City but that has less to do with the weather than with the politics. Chicago weather has two seasons: too hot to fuck and too cold not to fuck.

I can think of only three cities that are even remotely as cursed as Chicago weather-wise: St. Louis and New Orleans for the heat, and Buffalo for the cold and blizzards.

The last first: Buffalo doesn’t fucking matter. If MTV finds it worthy of a frat Real World then it isn’t worth another sentence.

St. Louis is about as humid as Chicago, but that’s irrelevant. It has no bbq or other food scene for that matter (hell, its best known beers are made by Anheuser-Busch). Except for its sports teams which are perennial contenders and have great fans, no one could give two shits about it. Although Wash. U. St. Louis is a good school. So it’ll get props for that. But that don’t signify for anything.

New Orleans? ‘Nilla, please. It’s a pimp’s town. A certain respect has to be given to any town where Snoop Dogg can walk around for a few hours with a handheld camera (I won’t ask and don’t want to know about the other hand) and walk away with fat stacks of cash and enough porn to make Seymore Butts smile.

But Chicago is supposed to be the “City That Works.” It’s a fucking miracle that shit gets done here (although I’m sure nepotism and bribery have a lot to do with it). See, it’s par for the Chicago course: anything–and then some–for a buck.

But goddamn if I’m going to whistle while I work in this weather (although college ain’t work a’tall). For fuck’s sake, I ride air conditioned public transportation, but I barely get off the L platform and I’m soaked more than the limo upholstery in Assgasms.

I mean. I don’t look at porn. I don’t even know what it is. Porn, what’s that?

Look! Over there!

Sleep has got to be the devil’s most fiendish plot. Few things feel as good as putting your head on that pillow, closing your eyes, and letting the dreary damnation of the day slip away.

But you always pay for it in the morning.Insomnia is clearly the better deal. At least you know you’re going to feel shitty, but you get that second wind.

No. With sleep you drift off and it’s all good times. You get that warm feeling. And then the sky begins to lighten. And then you’re ripped from sleep by the noxious blarings of your alarm clock like an aborted fetus from a womb.

No.I’m not bitter at making procrastination an art form. Writing 1,000 words in 4 hours–admittedly wasting 2 hours cheating on the paper with the Internet like Hugh Grant with a cheap call girl–isn’t bad. No, the bad part is getting the assignment at the beginning of the term and then waiting until 14 hours before it’s due to start any work on it. Then staying up ’til 3 a.m. to get the fucker done. And then being so wired from all the no-doz, jolt, and double shot espressos that you can’t fucking fall asleep.

No, wait, the worst part is the fact that the paper had to be written about Saul Bellow.But then again, better to be a college student than just about anything else.

Holy shit, that makes me feel better. My life is infinitely easier than almost everyone else’s. Ha.

Rants? I should be in raves, bitch. Now where’s my pacifier?”

Some people will tell you baseball is our National Pastime. Our naptime, if you will. Other people laugh at these people and say it’s football. We can all laugh at people who think soccer is even a sport.

Nay, they are all wrong (except for those of us who laugh at soccer). Public Urination is indeed our National Pastime.

It’s not a privilege; it’s not a right; it’s a fucking doodie, I mean duty!

What greater joy is there than unzipping one’s pants in broad daylight in order to partake in the warm pleasure of a golden stream darkening and scenting ground that will be seen–and almost as importantly, smelled–by numerous passers-by. I say there is none!

Chicago Cubs fans know all about public urination (as does Southsider Raygun). They are perhaps the scholarly experts on the subject: technique, history, social significance. They know so much about it the city had to pass a law limiting the dissemination of such knowledge via graphic display.

Swearing is legal, but pissing on brick is not. Go figure.