Another short story by Peirce Stern.

PART I

“Tonight is going to be fabulous, “ Jacob Winchester thought to himself, “I’ll wait until after hors d’oeuvres to have everyone killed.”

Tonight’s entre would be steak tartar mixed with ripe endive and topped with a lemon pesto sauce, the wine would be a lightly chilled malbec. Jacob felt a cool rush as he walked out of the foyer and onto the veranda where the party was starting. As he took in the panoramic of his humble abode, he felt the sudden need to sit down, as it was overwhelming for most people. A 36,000 square foot modern/colonial mix, the house was developed sequentially by six different architects before it acquired the right level eccentricity that was befitting to Jacob’s needs. The porch overlooked the glorious fountain, which had an island in it, which housed another fountain. The food would not disappoint; the chief was a paygrade above Prussian royalty, and the Prussian royalty at the party were quite aware of this fact.

He had stocked the ball with life’s biggest disappointments: offspring, family, and friends. It is common knowledge that the rich often see opportunity quickly, and with all its most beautiful subtleties. Well, Jacob Winchester was no exception. There were skeletons in the closet that needed to be dealt with. They had gone too far this time, and no amount of pleading or free stock options would make up for this situation.

Jacob had sat at the head of the table by chance, though it would have stretched out for him if he hadn’t. His son was talking useless dribble.

“What you really need to be investing in is ethanol.” Accident Winchester asserted, “when we run out of oil in 1980, all of our cars will be running on it.”

Jacob laughed to himself on pondering his son’s name. It served as a helpful reminder of how he came into the world.

“And take all of your money out of DEC, it just doesn’t care about its people. Organizations that don’t care about people are doomed to fail. Above all nations is humanity. Isn’t that right dad?”

Jacob sat silently across the table with a smile on his face. Perhaps he would get to bash his son’s brains out with one of his Callaway Drivers before the poison took hold.

The hors d’oeuvres were just about ready to come out when screams came from inside the estate. “Well,” Jacob said, “you get what you pay for.”

The butler was dead. He had apparently sampled some food.

The district judge was in the corner alternating between vomiting, laughing uncontrollably, and sampling his own personal stash of pharmaceuticals. He was an upright official, with a reputation for being righteous in the war against drugs. It was decided that calling the paramedics for the butler could wait until a certain someone managed to pull himself together.

Jacob should have been fairly unhappy at this point, but the ripples on the water in the fountain sparked his memory and he was transported back to the events of the previous night that cheered him up.

PART II

Jacob was rowing a boat in the gentle calm of the night. It was 3 in the morning, just the right temperature, a full moon and a shooting star overhead, all perfectly reflected in the water. He was in the grand fountain humming a catchy tune. Unfortunately there was another person on this boat who was not as appreciative of music as Jacob would have liked.

“You know Ed, sometimes you’ve really got to enjoy the little things in life.” Jacob said.

“FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!” the passenger protested.

“Yes well I’d imagine that those restraints aren’t quite what you had hoped for, and I’m sure that the concrete blocks aren’t too comfy either.” Jacob laughed, he was in an exceptionally good mood as of late, and this was only the beginning.

PART III

That was when the entre finally came out. Apparently the butler had had an allergic reaction to the strawberries hidden in the hors d’oeuvres, so the chef gave the go ahead for the next course.

As people began to sample from the other secret ingredient of the night, Jacob decided to break from his regularly reserved manor.

“I had quite the interesting experience last night,” Jacob began, “and I thought ‘what a better way to end this party than with a good story.’”

“Aww dad.” Accident fawned, “What happened?”

Jacob resumed, “Around midnight last night I got up and answered the door, and you wouldn’t believe who was there.”

“Who was there?” said the ever so pleasant Margaret Thatcher.

“Ed, The district attorney.” Everyone began drinking water quite awkwardly, so Jacob continued.

“He asked if he could come in and we got to talking:

“Ed? What brings you here at this ungodly hour,” I asked.

“Ah, nothing important. Some weather we’re having.” He said

“Yes, it is unusually nice, ”I responded.

“Now Jacob, some of your family and friends contacted me earlier, saying that there were a few skeletons in your closet that needed to be dealt with, and that it might require some legal attention.”

“Is that so?”

“I know – I was just as surprised as you, and I know that this is stupid and inappropriate especially at this time of day, I’m sure that someone is pulling my chain. But unfortunately we both know that if I don’t investigate certain matters fully, than I’m just leading myself up to a shit-storm of personal liability.”

“that’s completely understandable,” I said supportively.

“Do you mind if I have a look around?” Ed asked.”

“I said no, that’s quite alright with me, and if there is anything that I could do to make your job easier don’t hesitate to ask.” The partygoers were surprisingly docile, and Jacob continued his story in intricate detail: How they walked all around the house talking about the stock market, the old days on varsity football, and Jacob’s favorite magazine ‘Cigar Aficionado.’ But then the pair got closer and closer to the back side of the attic cubby hole, and the closet around the corner.

“Ed opened the door and was quite surprised to find actual skeletons in the closet. He had the funniest look on his face when I knocked him unconscious with the back end of a hunting rifle.” This part, the audience didn’t quite expect.

Jacob faced the adorable little girl to his right hand side and put it in terms that she could understand, “There were 4 big ones and 6 little ones in the closet.” He then redirected to the rest of the group, “It was a Jewish-Nazi affair in the war, and it made me a hell of a lot of money. I’m surprised that none of you could have kept more discretion over something as little as my ultra realist Halloween ornaments from last year. I’m sorry to admit that you’ll be leaving me with quite the mess to clean up tonight.”

Margaret Thatcher coughed. Apparently red was in this season; it was spattered everywhere.

I don’t even know where to begin.

First and foremost, I want to thank all of the people who came out to the First Annual Fistula Free Charity Date Auction Ball! We raised over $1,500 for the Fistula Free Climb and had a lot of fun along the way. Everything went really smooth thanks to the hard work of our team and the help of the brother of my house, Phi Kappa Psi, the sisters of Alpha Phi sorority and the Fistula Free Climbers.

Fistula Free Climbers before the Auction

The best part was the actual auction itself. People really got into the bidding process and we had some exciting bidding duels throughout the night. As the MC, I had to yell the whole time in order for people to hear, but it was well worth it anda lot of fun.

The best part for me was running around making sure everything was going well and making quick decisions when things are not or when someone has a question. I felt so alive and excited seeing all the people attend the event and making sure that they were taken care of. I’m really proud of how our team came together and think that this is only a small step towards the great things we’ll do on Kilimanjaro.

As for the question I’m sure you’re all asking yourselves, I had 5 people staying over in my room for the Net Impact Conference (will get to that in a minute) and the resident Puma (See: Young Cougar) Amber, bought your truly for $40. Oh, and check out the rest of the pictures here.

"Do I see $20?"

A short story by Peirce Stern.

PART I

Pedro swept the halls of the natural history museum while humming a catchy tune. He was all alone tonight and didn’t have to worry about being interrupted at an awkward moment.

All the other workers had called in sick for the night, perhaps because of the sudden pandemic that seemed to be sweeping other nearby businesses, or perhaps because of the monumentus fútbol match scheduled for 9:30. As it turns out, the local soccer team was among the most popular in the nation, and was celebrating its 100^th year anniversary. It was going to be the match of the century. It was going to make history. It was going to instigate a riot later that night.

Safe from the ravishes of the upcoming festivities, Pedro couldn’t help but feel left out and particularly stupid for having been the last person to fake a horrible illness. Well, he was stuck at the museum now, and he was determined to make the most of it.

Pedro swept by the stairs, by the whale, by the stuffed nightingale, and by the prehistoric creature with a surprisingly well preserved 8^th eye. He walked up and down the exhibit awing, as always, at its depth and diversity. There were 3 floors for Pedro to clean, all on his own, and each had hundreds of displays. All of them dead and boney.

The natural history museum was in fact the 3^rd largest in the world. As a consequence, at any given time it could only display 20% of its inventory. The rest was stored in the gargantuan basement below the museum, and this portion was rotated with current exhibits in some arbitrary and capricious way that is beyond the scope of this book.

It was at some point around 3 in the morning that Pedro grew tired of the upper floors and decided to take a break, tapping a soccer ball around playfully in the lobby. A few minutes later Pedro groaned. One failed maneuver flipped the ball in the air, and it swiftly proceeded down the stairs into the stale and crusty basement. The basement was filled with twists, turns, and cobwebs, and freaked Pedro out so much that he commonly held his rosary before entering it.

If he only knew.

After descending into the darkness, Pedro flipped a switch and could clearly see that his ball had not gone far. He could also clearly see that a light was out. He put the ball at the foot of the stairs, grabbed a new bulb, picked up the mop and sighed. Break was over.

Pedro traversed the basement, mopping the floors, sweeping the cobwebs, and polishing the doorknobs. He followed the serpentine corridor where it led and eventually reached the end. Before he turned back, he gave the door at the end of the corridor one little polish. The knob moved. It never moved. It was always locked. Pedro looked around for a second, making sure he was still alone, then continued to turn it all the way and open the door.

An ungodly smell greeted him on the other side. He peeked in, then gasped in horror. The smell was more intense now, the room was covered with a rusty brown paste, like a steel wool sponge in water too long. Holes dotted the walls. That was when Pedro spotted it. The mound in the corner.

PART II

Raul Marque was the Head of Anthropology at the Universidad. He was rummaging over old notes and enjoying the afternoon when the office phone rang. It was the curator of the natural history museum.

“I have job for you,” the curator announced. Three days time, the museum needed an exhibit on the Indians that lived in the southern part of the country. The trip would be all expenses paid, and he would be rewarded handsomely. Raul asked what the job entailed.

“We need someone to procure the bones of some members of the Angabee tribe,” the curator answered. “Would you like the job Mr. Marque?”

Raul debated it in his mind briefly; he didn’t know if it was appropriate for him to leave work on such short notice, but he could really use the extra money.

“I’ll do it.” He said.

The next morning, Raul Marque shipped off for the Angabee tribe. It was a four-hour flight, followed by a three hour off-roading adventure. He was greeted by the Angabee people, and participated in a variety of festivities that night before going to bed. There was dancing and music and food. A child of the Angabee people made him a basket. He was very pleased, and his thoughts gravitated towards a sweet sort of peace before drifting into unconsciousness in his tent. He awoke to a call from the curator.

“Have you found someone willing to show you the tribe’s burial site?” he asked. Raul responded with bad news.

“Yes, but there is something that you should know.” You see, the Angabee people had an unusual quirk which rendered the job unmanageable. A little routine, which they perform at everyone’s funeral. It begins with all of the common traditions, the mourning cloths, the speeches, but then it gravitates toward something more Gregorian. It ends with the cremation of the dead.

“I’m sorry sir, but there are no remains to be had. From dust, to dust the Angabee choose to return.” Raul quoted overused aphorisms.

The curator certainly did sound concerned for a while; but as it happens, he was not one to stay despondent for long. He could always think of alternate solutions to brighten his day.

“Raul, I’ve got a new job for you.” He said. Raul listened intently and both were happy with the proposal.

The next morning Raul announced that he needed 20 volunteers, men, women, and children, to come with him and participate in a study. In return the tribe would be rewarded with cash and shiny bracelets. It wasn’t hard, the Angabee were an amiable people, always willing to help a friend out.

The 20 volunteers were shipped back to the museum in white vans. Raul went with them and talked with them on the way. They arrived at the museum at night and everyone was unloaded at the garage. On entering the lobby, the guards guided Raul to the curator’s office.

“You’ve done your job. Here is your money. You may go now.”  the curator stated flatly.

“I’d actually like to help out with the study if that is at all possible, I’ve grown rather fond of the Angabee people.” Raul said. Silence fell over the curator’s face.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible.” The curator said. “If you thought that I would go empty handed on this you are quite niave. You see I’ve made other arrangements.” He paused and looked over the top of Raul’s head.

“Guards,” he said, “if you could be so kind as to take Mr. Marque back to his car, and to direct our guests into the basement. We are ready to begin.”

The guards with guns guided the Angabee people forward with a kindly hand and a gentle tone.

As Raul was escorted from the premises, the curator’s final words echoed in his ears, as the guns sounded in silence

“We have our bones, Mr. Marque, we have our bones.”

MILRSO is a very important organization at Cornell University: the Minority Industrial and Labor Relations Student Organization (MILRSO). MILRSO offers social, academic, and pre-professional support to its members by organizing programs throughout the year that strengthen professional skills, academic excellence and foster a sense of community within its membership.

One area that MILRSO is passionate about is the recruitment and retention of diverse students at Cornell. Every year our organization celebrates multi-cultural heritages and international arts by producing the largest fashion event at Cornell during our Diversity Hosting Weekend. The show is estimated to cost over $20,000 and attracts thousands of viewers. Because it is one of the most popular show on campus, it also allows designers, performers, and models from all types of backgrounds to have the opportunity to gain exposure.

This year’s show was even bigger. The theme was called Sensual Revolution. “Revolution” in light of the changes our country will embark with the arrival of a new biracial president (economically, politically, and socially).”Sensual”because we ask for glamour, fun, sexy yet tasteful, very creative, and unique pieces. But most of all we encourage designers that are truly passionate about fashion.

This year we had the following designers:

Bomopregha Julius

Mayra Elizabeth Alatorre

Lauren Elliott

Laquana Bramble

China

Rachel Young

and numerous designers that contributed as a group representing County College of Morris (CCM), a community college in Randolph, NJ.

Performers:

Glowsticking Club

Phenomenon Step Team

Teszia Belly Dancing Troupe

CCSADE

Sabor Latino

Urban Blaze

There is something about the macabre that is unusually fascinating to people of this generation. As surely as we, the youth of today, become desensitized to the sex and violence, so too do we become less and less susceptible to the blood and gore found so easily on primetime TV. Just as shows such as Gossip Girl, 90210, the O.C., and One Tree Hill ride on their portrayal of sexual escapades, so do shows such as Bones, Fringe, C.S.I., House, and Heroes ride on their take on explicit content.

Take for example, Heroes who in its first season commanded a consistent audience of millions. Of course, the show gained popularity with its portrayal of the special powers we all wished we had, but Heroes had a charm about it that made it enjoyable. The characters were fresh, the plot felt driven, and the twists and turns, unpredictable. I mean, Clare only tried to kill herself one or two times before the infamous scene where Clare, “dead” on an autopsy table, wakes up with her chest split open, ribs and innards exposed, and pushes her skin together as her muscles and tendons reattach before the viewer’s eyes. Then again, who can forget the infamous Sylar scenes that end with cut open heads, missing brains, and blood stains on the ground. Yes it is disgusting, but at the same time, these scenes are what make Heroes well…Heroes. If every time a character dies the camera pans away to some obscure corner and we hear but never see, what fun would the show be? Sure at times the plot is enough, but the blood and gore made the show more lifelike; as powerful as these heroes may be, these explicit scenes made them human again.

Heroes being one of the only shows on NBC that is not devoted to humor represents NBC’s take on this growing trend. FOX however, is of course the media tycoon of blood and gore. Fox prefaces just about every show with a warning of DSLV (drugs, sex. language and violence) and a stern reminder that viewer discretion is advised. I don’t know about you, but bring on the letters, the more the better. For some reason, the best episodes are always the episodes with more graphic content; perhaps it has to do with writers not being afraid of limitations and the subsequent creative freedom allowed their vision to be brought to life. Take the pilot episode of Fringe which allegedly set back the network a whopping $10 million. Was it worth it? I certainly think so. Every scene seemed a keg in a machine with the combination of special effects, never overpowering. Sure watching an entire airplane full of people have their faces melted off is disgusting, but isn’t it exciting to see such an emphasis on visual entertainment? Perhaps only the superficial in me was excited, but Fringe has continued to excite and delight this dark side of me. Fringe, being unafraid to have exploding heads, spontaneous combustion, and parasites, oh the parasites everywhere, manages to get me to the edge of my seat. I know for a fact, I am not the only one who finds these scenes enjoyable. The hugely popular House for example has scenes with eyeballs popping out, maggots crawling over burned flesh, and fecal matter dripping out from a patient’s mouth; once again these scenes leap into the realm of explicit content but the alluring factor remains. These scenes are certainly not instrumental to the overarching plot of the show but they add that spice that keeps the episodes interesting.  Similarly, Bones, which never fails in its ingenious portrayal of human remains, manages to make the show less about the blood and gore, and much more about the characters. These explicit scenes continue to add to shows giving them each a uniqueness but at the same time, a certain predictability that has maintained viewers like myself.

Of course, in many cases these explicit scenes may seem unnecessary and in some ways I agree. If the show itself does not possess that spark of ingenuity, then the explicit scenes can do little to augment. I tried my hardest to continue to enjoy Heroes, telling myself, each episode would get better, but I am not afraid to admit that Heroes sucks balls now. While the explicit scenes still abound in Heroes (please, Sylar’s little point and slash routine is so 2006) the show has lost its charm, its originality, and now seems nothing but contrived, over dramaticized, and boring. Indeed, this shows that the scenes do not the show maketh, but instead, only in place to augment the already in place creativity that is necessary for the show to be enjoyable. I will argue that these explicit scenes are overall positive, somehow paradoxically making the grotesque into something that is beautiful. These scenes add freshness and excitement, but only if the shows themselves reciprocate. A good example of this is Bones, now entering its 5^th season. While Bones has not become as hugely popular as other media giants such as House, it continues to delight viewers with its quirks, charms, and its dead bodies. Fringe too, with its scenes of mass murder, has every potential to become a media giant and staple. I hope that like me, you will be able to find the beauty behind the gore.

As great as Cornell is, there is something that I find irking beyond all end: the internet. Sure it fast and accessible, but with the 15GB billing threshold, things are quite frankly, horrendous. Currently, for every MB over the threshold, I am to be charged $0.0015. While this may seem like a resonalby small amount, my tirade has become less about the money and more about the very idea. Compared to my peeps over at UC Berkeley who have a threshold limit of 12 GB per week, Cornell’s internet policy leaves much to be desired. Sure College is foremost, a place to learn; there is little time for the plentiful distractions the internet has to offer. While I do not play online games or download insane amounts of music, I do watch my TV show online. Thank God for Hulu; of course, this cuts into my usage, consuming what little money I have in my pockets. I can understand setting the limit to deter massive file sharing and pirating of music and movies, but for those of us who indulge in a little internet television here and there, the internet threshold is like a deathwish. Especially with the onslaught of returning shows and premieres, I fear I will continue to lose money ever month. Just how much TV do I watch? Enough to nearly pass the monthly threshold the 4 days of August that I spent here at Cornell.

Of course, I have heard that the old threshold billing level was 5 gb, and perhaps the new implementation of 15 gb is a big step for the university. However, with the recent advent in legal sites for TV shows online, 15 gb becomes too much of a hassle, especially with the sporadically updated Internet Usage Tracker. Indeed, I was informed that I had reached 95% of my allowed limit after I had already gone over. Thanks for nothing.

15 GB would surely be enough as people insist and I agree; of course this would only be possible if nothing other than homework was done on the computer. Raise your hand if you do that. Oh no takers? Just as I suspected; who nowadays actually does that? It is ridiculous to in a sense, to charge for the free time one should be able to enjoy just sitting there, vegged out to your favorite shows. While I do agree that file sharing and other illegal activities should be monitored, it should not be at the expense of perfectly legal activities. If however, individuals  As a result, I propose two changes. First and foremost, the GB allowance should be set at 40 GB/month, about 10 GB per week. Secondly, a new updated tracker that is not only more user friendly, but also, more accurate. While it is undeniable that money exchanges hands somewhere along the line, I believe it will most certainly be money well spent.

Welcome to the Bubble

I stare blankly at my computer screen. www.facebook.com. I continue to refresh the page, as minute-by-minute, new statuses are updated and my key to the outside world is revealed. “Kanye, what are you doing to Taylor? Lady Gaga is bleeding on stage!” It has come down to this pathetic action of my relying on friends’ statuses to keep myself updated on life outside the bubble that we call Cornell. All time low, right here.

Welcome to Cornell University, where students are transported to a secluded community, full of vibrant culture and and develop an immunity to the outside world (with the exception of swine flu.) Yet, when over 13,000 students are kept inside this tight-knit bubble, how can we possibly manage to remain aware of what is occurring in the outside world?

Little did I know that the day I left my comfy abode in New York City I also lost my connection to current news updates, Hollywood gossip, or even new hit singles.  No longer can I turn on the radio while I drive to school, nor is it rare that I have the time to turn on VHI or CBS News. Without these outlets we once utilized every day, how can we stay tuned?

This is where I step in. I, like thousands of other incoming freshmen, entered this institution searching for a warm and welcoming community, where I could escape into a world of independence and education. I am here to inform you, the student body, of what escapes us on a daily basis—the minor changes in the plot of a cheesy TV drama as well as the major catastrophes taking place around the world.

Sure, many students bookmark Perez Hilton’s site or the New York Times online edition, but multiple others sink deep into a sea of ignorance, incredibly surprised by each and every bit of breaking news they seldom hear. Did you know that Ellen Degeneres was appointed Paula Abdul’s replacement on American Idol? Are you aware of health care debate that has been heating up over the past month? The answer for most of you is probably ‘Negative.’

We are definitely preoccupied with the world on Cornell’s campus—working hard and playing hard, but this isn’t summer camp. It is still vital for us supposedly well-educated students to keep ourselves informed.

I’ll try to inform you all about the happenings of the outside universe, whether it’s the latest trend in fashion or assassination. We are Cornellians, yes, but that should in now way prevent us from being informed and cultured adults.

By Lindsay Rothfeld

Turn on VHI for a few hours, and I promise you will recognize at least one former child star on the screen.  Fame meant great things for actors in the 80’s, yet many of those young hopefuls have now been diminished to nothing more than struggling reality stars.

We all remember Saved by the Bell’s star Dustin Diamond (Screech) and Home Alone’s Macaulay Culkin (Kevin); yet, where have these actors gone? Both of these actors have suffered the fate that many child stars are subjected to—the categorization and recognition for that one amazing role they played. Who could ever picture Culkin as anything more than a child mastermind left alone over Christmas, or Screech as a character cooler than a goofy geek? We can’t, we won’t, and we simply don’t want to- and for this reason, most child stars struggle to remain stable as they age.

Yes, there are the occasional outstanding actors, such as Neil Patrick Harris or Sarah Jessica Parker, who surpass the obstacles others face, but many others like Danny Bonaduce (The Partridge Family) fall vulnerable to risky lifestyles.

Just recently, Bonaduce created a new reality show I Know My Kid’s a Star, its premise being a competition for young entertainers desiring child stardom. This ridiculous show displays Bonaduce’s humongous struggle, and the depths that parents and children will go through to gain so called fame is unbelievable and sickening.

Dustin Diamond, who also was publicized for sex tape scandals and extreme debt, has found his place on reality television. In that way he as succeeded in destroying any warm or fuzzy feelings of nostalgia we have towards him. In fact, he has joined multiple other child stars on shows such as Celebrity Fit Club and The Surreal Life, which literally throw a handful of burnt out celebs into the same environment. Entertaining? Pathetic? Insane?

This new celebrity reality genre, coined “celebreality,” has invaded VHI, and continues to display the inescapable future many child stars are forced to accept. Whether they begin to sell their own possessions, start invading the party scene, or join the latest cast of a VHI reality show, these actors starve for the attention that was once offered to them so easily. Anything to keep their names in the press, right?

According to the Slope Radio show “Sex and the Slope,” guys and girls on this campus are at war.  The guys argue that the girls are over-rated sluts that think they’re hotter than they are–the girls argue that the guys are scumbags that were losers in high school, but think they’re cool now because they joined a frat.

Instead of picking sides in this battle of the sexes, I opted to offer some insight into what we can all do to make the Cornell social scene less of a warzone.

To the Girls:

Let’s face it: Cornell has an exceptionally high skank to not-skank ratio.  What bothers me is when girls do skanky things and are later surprised to find out that people think of them as skanks.  We can all agree on certain actions that seem somewhat skankish—shortage of clothing, table dancing, hooking up with multiple guys over the course of a weekend/night/few hours (this list is not exhaustive, but it’s a good place to start).

Now let me be very clear: it is not the skankiness that I am criticizing.  If that’s your idea of a good time, rock the table like it’s your stage and blame your lack of clothing on the oh-so-warm Ithaca weather.

But, as the night winds down and the buzz wears off, don’t get offended when people call you a skank.  Embrace your skankiness.  You earned your title—wear it proud.

To the Guys:

The guys I meet at Cornell can be very easily separated into two distinct groups: the typical “Animal House”-esque frat boy or the emotional wreck.  I’m not sure which is worse.  While I certainly don’t care how sick you did in your beer pong tournament this past weekend or how many beers you shotgunned with your bros, I care even less about how madly in love you were with your ex or how you “just weren’t good for each other.”  These conversations kill my buzz and lead, quite frankly, to the female equivalent of “going limp.”

To Girls & Guys:

I want to know who developed all these rules about playing hard to get and not looking too desperate.  People swear by these hook-up guidelines that say they have to wait until the other person texts them first or flirt with someone else to make the other person jealous.

What is the point?  All of this just leads to both parties getting pissed off and not getting any action.  Let’s just agree to stop beating around the bush and start being straightforward.

Moral of the story:  If you want to roll around in the sheets with someone, just text the time and place instead of trying to feign indifference.  Everyone involved will be happier and will burn more calories.

Until next time: Let the battle of the sexes rage on!

Author: Buttercup Baby