Why Men In Sweaters Are The Tops
by Ginger Deegan



I can already smell the cherry blossom buds and taste the free Rita's Italian ice. Spring is upon us!

After months of cursing mother nature for being a flat out bitch, I think she finally wants to get back in my good graces. She must know how much I love spring dresses and my adorable - yet functional - rain boots.

So all should be well, right?

Sadly, no. Because while this change in season brings me much happiness, it also comes with much sadness. I must say goodbye to men in sweaters.

[a pause for everyone's "this sucks" realization sighs]

No, this isn't a piece about how to make men sexier. If that was the goal I would focus entirely on superficial yet wonderful qualities men should possess, such as having beards, speaking foreign languages, and always keeping wine and cheese in the fridge.

Men in sweaters are just the tops.

I really shouldn't need to elaborate on this because it would be a waste of time, like trying to explain why pancakes are really THE best drunk food ever. Its just how it is. But alas, I'll humor you all...

Sweaters transform a boy into a handsome, smart, and funny man. Men in sweaters (bonus if they are soft and/or have an argyle pattern) demand attention, and attention they will get.

Sweaters for men are like tights for ladies: the best way to show off that bod during those harsh winter months. They are dressy but not in the douchey I put on yet another blue stripped button-up shirt way. They scream Yes! I do care enough about how I look to take the extra 2.5 minutes (.5 minutes picking said sweater up off the floor and 2 minutes putting it on the "fresh" cycle of the drying machine) before going out!

It isn't just about sex appeal. They have the ability to alter someone like my brother – who thinks donning Jansport tees is the height of sophistication - into a productive member of society. With a sweater on, he looks less like someone who spent all day playing WOW and watching Netflix and more like someone who spent merely an afternoon playing WOW and watching Netflix.

Dear sweater-hating men: I know what you are thinking. Sweaters are too constricting on the holiday pounds (you're still carrying in March). Sweaters are only for men who watch GLEE. Sweaters don't show off my awesome (what I hope says) "hope" Chinese symbol arm tattoo.

I would like to say something to these men, however. My mother taught me a valuable lesson as a child: you can't rationalize with irrational people.

I guess it's time for me to just accept the spring/summer man dress code of oversized, ill-fitting Polos and would be funny if I didn't have to see you wear it every week graphic tees. The horror.

For those of you who are visual learners, I leave you with two images.

Image 1: Rando men in sweaters hanging out and being cool with other fashionable pals

Image 2: Rando man, who can't even muster up more than a half smile, in an oversized polo. Alone.

The Chase Happened: An Epitaph
by Christo Armstrong



The unconventional lifestyle has always appealed to me. When I was 8 years old, I dreamed that one day my brother and I would grow up to become surfing trash collectors/private detectives. The hours, the union pay, the adventure – could life really be any more awesome?

Charlie Sheen’s acting career alone tears “unconventional” a new orifice. I mean, he simultaneously jumped out of a Jeep and off a bridge while he was high (on life or angel dust) in Navy Seals.

His personal life is the stuff of legend.

The Chase is possibly the finest movie that Sheen has ever done. And that's because it is entirely autobiographical. In fact, he is playing his future self. Weird, yes. But as ridiculous as it sounds, it’s completely true.

You see, back in the late 80's, Patrick Swayze and Charlie Sheen uncovered a time machine that was buried on the set of Red Dawn. It was with this time machine that Sheen traveled to the year 2011 to peer deep into his future, finding himself there as he is today. When he returned to 1994, he decided to tell the story of his future life. The Chase was produced shortly thereafter.

Here’s a taste (spoiler alert):

The movie picks up in the future-past, as Charlie Sheen is coming off a tranny-coke bender after filming several Two And-a-Half Men episodes. He has lost his short term memory and is disoriented. He comes to in the parking lot of a mini mart after a quick nap in the VW he stole from some asshole (the frightened Four Seasons valet who insisted that, no Mr Sheen that’s the wrong car, your Porsche will be brought around shortly, I assure you). As any great Thespian would, Sheen quickly adapts and assumes a John Rambo meets Neo character - the ultimate stoic bad ass with hint of charm - because chicks f’n dig it.

Composing himself, he enters the convenience store and is greeted by a pair of star-struck police officers who begin whispering to each other. Aggravated, he attempts to avoid them, interrupting only when they chant “Quack, Quack, Quack,” as he insists that it was in fact his brother Emilio who played the coach in The Mighty Ducks, not him. One officer presses him for an autograph for his daughter, telling Charlie he was pretty funny in Major League.

A hush falls upon the room as Sheen cringes.
“What did you say?” he asks.
They pause.
“I am Major League, Mother Fucker!”

Sheen pulls out a revolver and holds it to the clerk’s temple, catching the now wide-eyed Officers off their guard. He makes sure to grab some cigarettes and Bubblicious from the display by the register as he takes his exit, gun in hand. He stuffs super-foxy Kristy Swanson (owner of possibly the sexiest short haircut of the 90's, or ever) into a red BMW, hot-wires it (with his cock), and heads to the highway for some quasi-flirtatious banter, vigilance, and sex.

Shortly thereafter, Sheen is pursued by a string of police cars. Accompanied by a camera crew in the car directly behind him are Officers Henry Rollins and the chubby principle from Billy Madison. The movie then turns to an episode of COPS meets the OJ Simpson helicopter chase footage, which fills up the remaining 80 minutes of feature-filmy goodness.

Anyway, you can probably guess the ending from what you've seen on Fox and Friends. But if not, it's also available instantly on Netflix.

"What did eLI WHITENY INVENTED?"


The joy and sadness of Google predictive searches

Pancakes Are a Meal Best Served to Those with Alcohol Poisoning
by Patrick Dolan

Y ou remember that time. Saturday morning, around 9:30 am, you’re doing your childly duty and sitting in front of the TV. You just jackknife power-bombed your younger siblings for the remote because—damn it—you wanted to watch Thundercats, not Doug!

Your parents stroll into the kitchen in what seems to be a particularly good mood (let’s pretend we're still foolish children without a nose for booze, and that we don't know why that smile is actually on their face).They announce matter-of-factly “How about pancakes?"

HOLLLLLLLY SHIT! YES! PANCAKES! PANCAKES!

They never want to make pancakes! All that work, all that mess to clean up. And who wants to deal with flour? Not me. Cartwheels, back flips and faux-karate moves from all members of the wild brood soon ensue. You might even have gotten down on your knees and thanked the Lord for this blessing. For it is only once or twice a year that pancakes are bestowed upon His humble servants!

To this day even, all of us, every one of us, we still feel excited when somebody says "Hey, how about pancakes?" You can’t help but feel excited.

And then the inevitable let down. Anything that happens this infrequently (which your parents treated as a reward) must be Divine Intervention, right?

WRONG, FRIENDO!

Anyone over the age of 16 knows this: only a night spent drinking heavily until at least 3 am produces such an appetite for pancakes. I mean, what's a stack of pancakes, really? A plate of bread with little liquid sugar on it? I dare you right now go get that loaf of wonder bread you bought for sandwiches (for when you finally start bringing your lunch to work) and tell me that stack of bread is not pedestrian at best.

Next time you're in the mood for some breakfast, perhaps next Sunday, head over to the local diner/International House Of Overatedbreakfastfoods. Take a look around and see who ordered straight pancakes.

Nobody over the age of 12 orders straight pancakes. And if they do, Breathalyze them immediately.

Well, I suppose this deserves some background


by Patrick Dolan

This column is the culmination of a drunken idea we had back in college: to capture the savant wrapped in an enigma that is The Berber Experience.




In short, our beloved friend Berber had a tendency to work his ass off over the summer, make a ton of money, then come back to college and spend said monies on expensive things nobody could possibly want (but that were also impossibly awesome). You'd expect him to go online at 4 am, ignoring that Organic Chem. lab report of which he still had another 30 pages to write, and meet you at breakfast to announce the impending arrival of something you never contemplated.

Eventually, all these items mysteriously disappeared into a rift in the time/space continuum or were smashed into thousands of pieces after falling off his Saturn on the way to the shore.


Throughout this column, we plan to bring you examples of things Berber would buy--thanks to extensive and completely unproductive Internet searches. We'll share stories that allow our valued reader (giggles to self) to accurately capture this cultural genius of our generation, a man ahead of his time, a modern day Andy Warhol without all the creepy shit. And there are stories. The real magic here is that while we knew him as well or better than anyone else during those years, we’re not always sure where the truth to these stories ends and the fiction begins.

Enjoy the ride, we sure did.

Happy burt day Berber.

Songs My Dad Likes



by Chris Armstrong


The high point of any trip to the supermarket with my family was being trapped in the backseat of my mom's maroon 94' Volvo station wagon as we all jockeyed for control of the radio dial. To the victor: a soundtrack of their choice for the entire ride. Everyone had their favorites. Here’s a list of tracks you could count on hearing when my Dad controlled the cassette deck. Love 'em or hate 'em, they’re chuck full 'o dad wisdom.

10. Evil Woman - Electric Light Orchestra
9. Carry on My Wayward Son - Kansas
8. Hot Rod Lincoln - Johnny Bond
7. Bad, Bad Leroy Brown - Jim Croce
6. Pianoman - Billy Joel
5. Blinded by the Light - Manfred Mann
4. Come Sail Away - Styx
3. Cat's in the Cradle - Harry Chapin-Carpenter
2. Paradise by the Dashboard Light - Meat Loaf
1. Born in the U.S.A. - Bruce Springsteen

A tip of the hat to those white tube sock rockin', fannypac sportin', BlueBlocker wearin' dudes with mustaches who we call our Dads.

Bonus: