Posts by Jacko:
You bet your ass we have pancakes, and we’ll sell them to you too. Just take a look at that price on the menu. You pay that price and we’ll sell you those pancakes and you’ll eat each and every one with your mouth. And I don’t want to hear any complaints coming from your table because our pancakes are the best in the business, and if you have a problem with that well then you shouldn’t have paid for them. We even throw in the silverware for free, plus tax. We’re talking forks knives and spoons, that’s a three for one that’s second to none. So just sit back and tuck that napkin into your handkerchief hole because this is going to get messy faster than you can say maple. Oh you didn’t think we forgot about the syrup, did you? Our pancakes aren’t complete without our special sticky sauce, made fresh in the United States with extra calcium for your bones. Just slather that syrup in between those cakes and let Mother Nature do the rest. She’s a feisty fiend but she makes a mean stack of silver dollars. And we only pay her minimum wage! That’s economics at work, my friend, and if you’re not demanding what we’re supplying then you’re missing out on the finest flapjacks this side of the Pacific. Not that I have to tell you twice. Just one bite and your taste buds are going to be pinching themselves to make sure they still have fingers. But take heed of the heat! They aren’t called hot cakes for nothing: just ask the blisters in your buccal cavity. Those are burns of the third degree, and no amount of ice water can take the cotangent of that angle. You can kiss your breath goodbye because your throat is swelling up like batter on the griddle. Make sure you try one last piece of pancake before the sweet embrace of death ships you off to Satan. These savory saucers are so tasty they’ve been called homicidal by a jury of my peers! Looks like I’ll be joining you shortly, my perished patron.
Brace yourself, because this might be too much AWWW to handle!
1. This sweet picture of Evelyn and Alex Rossdale, with their kids Carlos and Alison, after their third month in the Goldbergs’ Poughkeepsie, NY attic.
2. This ADORABLE photo of single mom Caitlyn Wendel and her three children after a hearty dinner of breadcrumbs and the belt.
3. This cute snapshot of Ling and Manuel Fernandez, after they found out they would be attic prisoners of Old Man Bennington for at least another year.
4. THIS. ALL OF THIS.
5. This perfect pic of the McDavid-Chen family, celebrating the new addition of a lightbulb to their hellish suburban prison in the upstairs dungeon of a Bethesda, Maryland colonial.
OMGOMGOMG. Feels = TOO MANY.
–KS ‘16, graphics AD ‘19
3. 4. 5. 6. 7.
1. You sleep in the same room together every night.
You share a one room double, so you sleep in the same room every night. If that doesn’t mean you’re bonded for life, we don’t know what does.
2. She gives you space.
She avoids being in the room when you’re there, and often asks you to leave when her boyfriend Jeff comes over. Which is pretty much every night. When she sees you in public, she rarely acknowledges you. She has a totally different set of friends that you don’t know at all. Because even BFFs need space some time.
3. You share everything.
You know how she always takes your pita chips without asking? That is just so you guys because you are so tight.
4. You have the same favorite foods.
Would two people that weren’t meant to be besties forever both like cheese pizza? Um… we think no.
5. She knows your class schedule.
She knows you have a 9L, but still listens to Friends without earphones until the early hours of the morning. But it’s totally chill, because you guys are likethisclose.
6. You know everything about each other.
Well, you know everything about her. Because you read her journal.
7. You tell each other everything.
You tell her you think the commitment issues Jeff expressed on the night of 9/23/15 might be a relationship red flag. She asks you if you read her journal. She calls you a fucking creep and says she hopes you’d die. Which is completely fine, because BFFs are honest with each other!
8. You have the same sarcastic humor.
Remember when she told you those cool purple pants made you look like a fat whale and she thought the way you decorated your bulletin board with pink twinkle lights was really tacky and she hated you as a roommate and she wished you would fail Orgo so you could leave this school so she and Jeff could have the room to themselves? Besties love to joke like that. LOL!
9. When you send her this article about being BFFs forever, she doesn’t respond.
You know each other so well you don’t even need to express it in words. Its almost too perf.
Late Monday night, an anonymous group of students distributed hundreds of flyers promoting an online business selling apparel featuring the College’s now-abolished “Dartmouth Indian” mascot. The act coincided with yesterday’s observance of Indigenous People’s Day and was seen as a hate crime disrespecting the school’s Native community. For those contemplating a similar act, we at the Jacko weighed your options.
So, you think you want to commit a hate crime? Let’s weigh your options.
Yes I do!
- You’ll be spending time and money on a cause you believe in (racism)
- Some white people will like you more
- You’ll upkeep old traditions of racism and misogyny
- You can simultaneously destroy the rainforests and any credibility you had as a good person
- It’s a great opportunity to reassert your unearned privilege in a public manner
But what if I don’t?
- You’ll have to see all people as human beings deserving of respect
- You’ll have so much printer money you might not use it all by the end of term
- Somewhere, a bigot might go shirtless for a lack of racially insensitive mascot tee shirts that you could’ve provided him with :(
- Cackling in the shadows won’t feel as authentically evil
- Your racist uncle won’t be as proud of you
This place is really going to the dogs. [shakes head sadly]
In my day, we didn’t touch the fire, we got to at least third base with the fire. [melodious sigh]
The Russell Sage Hyphen? We called it the Hymen. [shakes clenched fist at blood supermoon]
Way back when, “Orgo” stood for “Orgasm.” It was still the hardest class. [winks aggressively]
We used to head over to good ol’ Dirty Cowboy for our caf-fiendish fix, if you know what I’m saying. [waggles eyebrows passionately]
In the glory days, “Topside” and “Sarner Underground” were names of sex positions. [flailing stomp]
8 Ball Hall once fit hundreds—nay, thousands of balls! [sobs emphatically]
This place is really going to the dogs. [shakes head sadly]
ROCHESTER, NY— Audience members at Whore City’s long-awaited Rochester stop on their 2015 tour confirmed that Tony Peters, 48, demonstrated raw and admirable honesty when asked how he was doing tonight, Rochester. When the thundering applause after Whore City’s opening number, “Slut Parade,” died down, Peters boldly asserted: “To be honest, not so good.”
Crowd members recounted that he then proceeded to delve into the heart-wrenching story of his recent divorce. His sad tale drew kind-hearted sympathy from those around him as increasingly more surrounding concertgoers graced Peters’ shoulders with gentle hand-pats, offering reassuring words such as “hang in there, man,” as he continued to bare his soul. A lone tear reportedly rolled down the bassist’s cheek as Peters confessed that his 7-year-old daughter has begun to refer to her mother’s fiancé as “daddy.”
“I’ve usually keep my feelings about the divorce to myself,” says Peters, “But there was something about Whore City’s earnest concern that made me want to open up.”
Sources confirm that at time of publication, Peters was discussing his credit card debt with the Target employee who’d asked how she could help him.
I get it, son. When I was your age, I didn’t like to eat my vegetables either. But think about it from my side: parenting is hard. I don’t like reprimanding you. You know I don’t. Trust me, I don’t want to pull out the box of Japanese Sand Cobras from the garage and toss them at you one after another in the hopes that you’ll catch them successfully instead of succumbing to the soul-searing, horrific pain of their venomous bite. But if you don’t eat right, I have to parent you, because that’s my job.
Look, Charlie, I took time out of my day to make you dinner, because I care about you growing up with a healthy, nutritious diet. Which is why if you don’t take a single bite of those peeled and boiled organic California carrots, I’m going to have to start repeatedly hurling toxic and aggressive East Asian serpents in your direction, hard and fast, until you start getting serious about finishing the meal I made for you.
Don’t tell me this is unreasonable; my father used to punish me the exact same way, and his father before him. It’s the first parenting lesson you’ll find with the unexpected discovery of a blood-spattered Byzantine scroll in the attic and its enclosed runic teachings. Everybody knows that. And I’m not even throwing three at a time, like Granddad did. Only one! What’s unreasonable is the fact that you don’t seem capable of taking a few more bites of a perfectly adequate side dish to your barbecued chicken.
I think I’m a pretty cool dad most of the time. Remember when I let you and Ethan spit into the fountain at the outdoor plaza downtown that time? Or when we went to the 10 o’clock showing of The Expendables? Your bedtime was past midnight that night! Your mom would never allow that. But it was awesome, because it was “Guys’ Time.” And I love Guys’ Time! Which is why I don’t want it to end at the split-second insertion of cobra fangs and subsequently painful and potentially lethal envenomation that could arise from this manner of scolding.
I’m not going to say this more than once: just please, eat your carrots, Charlie. Don’t let Ethan’s memory be in vain.