SMOKE A BLUT!!1
The Game (Honey Flavored)
9/10
by Guy Scrivo
International rap superstar The Game recently came out with his own brand of one-dollar cigars to be sold at corner stores nationwide. Some stores might charge you up to $1.29, depending on what hood you’re in.
The cigar itself is made by Garcia y Vega, the company responsible for the two-dollar cigars in glass tubes you see at most gas stations. Years ago, Ghostface Killah would swear by Garcia y Vega’s cigars. However, not everyone is a hip-hop star with dough rolling in from all sides, and most smokers would be hesitant to shell out two dollars on a blunt wrap. Thankfully, The Game rolled to the rescue, making a deal with the fine folks at G&V cigars to create his own allegedly “slow-burning” cigar with a “Cameroon wrapper” meant to be peeled and hollowed out. What exactly is a Cameroon? Well, according to Google, it’s a country in East Africa. Frustrated, I then looked up “Cameroon tobacco” and found out that Cameroon is a company that specializes in its own breed of tobacco that apparently tastes different. Not that people actually care about the cigar’s insides.
Due to its mighty outer leaf, The Game is supposed to be peeled like a Dutchmaster rather than cracked like a Philly. It comes in a multitude of flavors, but I chose to stick with the industry-standard honey. One flavor was simply titled “Sweet,” which is confusing in its vagueness, but I’m sure it tastes much better than the “Salty Hell” flavor I saw next to it.
Once all is said and done, The Game truly is nice and slow-burning. It tastes good, too, though the taste isn’t why you would buy a The Game cigar. You’d buy it to look impressively gangsta, as you well should.
I would compare The Game to a traditional Dutchmaster honey-greenleaf. Unlike plain honey, the greenleaf Dutches have strong outer leaves that seem to help the cigar burn slower. I would say that if you roll your Game properly, it will burn slightly slower than a Greenleaf Dutch, though I haven’t exactly held any experiments using the Scientific Method of Sir Francis Bacon or anything, so don’t hold me to that.
Madden ‘07 is supposed to be statistically the most popular game of all time, but I think it had better watch its back with The Game hiding right around the corner in your bodega. You won’t regret purchasing your Game, so feel free to stock up. They look fancy too, so you can feel like a big, obnoxious cigar asshole if you bite down on it like my pompous old literature teacher would do at the front of class.
DRINKING WITH PARIS HILTON
Paris Hilton - Paris
9/10
by Erin McCarthy
Paris Hilton: Amateur porn star, B-list movie actress, picture book author, reality TV celebutante, and last but not least, perennial partier. In August, the über-blonde heiress added pop starlet to her pink Swarovski encrusted belt. I know it, you know it, and she definitely knows it: what it really takes to make it into TRL’s top ten is bleached hair and at least five tabloid covers a month. Still, maybe I’m not giving Paris a chance, so I’ve come to a fair compromise. I will not only listen to her album, I will hear it in its appropriate environment. As I write this, I’m about to press play, turn out the lights, turn on my cheap, ten-dollar disco ball, and drink copious amounts of vodka.
I’m just finishing my first drink, and “Fightin’ Over Me” is on. I better get another one in before the song reaches halfway. I’m going to need it. The beat is lamer than a hollow leg, and the piano melody is monotonous. In between Fat Joe and Jadakiss’ rap solos, Paris drones on in a neverending chorus about how all the boys fight over her because she’s so sexy. Don’t waste your money on this single. Just go out and buy an Us Weekly and you’ll get the same story for $3.49.
I’ve had four drinks and “Turn It Up” is playing. The beat isn’t bad, but her obnoxious moan comes on, snowballing into a whimper of “That’s hot.” Her singing isn’t as awful as I anticipated. In fact, it’s better than her speaking voice. I think that she wrote the lyrics—they’re about taking her clothes off. Come on, Paris, we’ve all seen your home video; your naked ass is old news. Really, Ms. Hilton is only a backing vocalist as the true star of this song is the smart pop beat of her producer, Scott Storch.
Six drinks in and I’m feeling more relaxed. Maybe a leeeetle drunk. “Stars Are Blind,” her first single, is oh-so-happy, happy, happy. The reggae beat conjures a vision of lying by the pool of a tropical Hilton Hotel with buff, tan men in Speedos splashing about and serving me cocktails. The lack of lyrical depth in this song is refreshing. I mean, who needs lyrical depth anyway? It’s so complicated. Actually having to decipher the lyrics? Like, whatever!
Paris Hilton’s CD is easily the best album of the year. Maybe, like, ever. I just bought ten more copies on Amazon with my Daddy’s credit card and I’m going to give it to my roommates and friends as presents! Some critics might say this is just the sing-a-long version of her supposedly shallow social life, but they’re just jealous. Paris Hilton has made a career out of fun! That’s hot! It’s totally inspiring me to do that long-anticipated post-club drunk dial to my hot ex-boyfriend. If he doesn’t call me back after my fourteenth one-ringer, I’ll sing “Stars Are Blind” into his voicemail and send him a copy of Paris’ album! God, this CD feels so good drunk! WOOHOO! SPRING BREAK AT THE PARIS HILTON!!!
CUM UNDONE
Peaches
9/10
by Elina Vaysbeyn
Saturday, July 22, Irving Plaza opened its doors to one of the most controversial female artists of our time. Peaches (a.k.a. Merrill Nisker) burst onto the stage wearing an Arabian head dress and a leotard. She spat, screamed, and cooed obscene lyrics into the mic to an electro backbeat and vigorous applause.
Peaches’ lyrics are electrifying in their obscenity: “You like it when we play hardcore, the panty-war, then you get pussy galore.” They exalt women as sexual volcanoes filled with the kinkiest lava you could imagine. She playfully encourages promiscuity, as per “Two Guys (For Every Girl),” “I U She,” and “Fuck the Pain Away,” as well as various other songs. Peaches advocates sexual freedom and expulsion of sexual mores. Preaching to a predominantly female audience, she expounds that there is essentially no such thing as a sexual orientation; women and men need not be restricted to individuals of the opposite sex. Her lyrics defend the right of a woman to let her pussy do the walking, talking, and thinking.
At the concert, Peaches and the Herms played all our favorites including “Hot Rod” and “Operate.” In a low, suggestive voice, she rapped “AA XXX” to a bass-filled techno backbeat, substituting it for some harder electric guitar jamming in “Rock Show” (my personal pleaser). “Downtown,” a hit off the new album Impeach My Bush, sported a light pop-filled sound and a confident message, “Cause I wanna take you downtown, show you my thing.”
During the concert, Peaches climbed off the stage and appeared on the upper-level, giving high fives and showering her fans with attention. She proceeded to strip down to a bra and panties (always a crowd pleaser). A giant phallus was brought out, standing behind Peaches as she serenaded the crowd to hard rock riffs and new wave electronica. The phallus soon fell, and faux paramedics and a stretcher were delivered to take care of the fallen blow up toy when Peaches declared, “There is an injured penis on stage!”
Her performance culminated in a dancing duet with the Eagles of Death Metal. They played up to her femdom seductress persona and appeared captivated by her feminine charms. Impeach My Bush had a much harder guitar-fueled edge than her previous releases. Less dancy synth and more thrash, it nevertheless lived up to her infamous reputation. Irving Plaza was just the right venue for Peaches, whose number of faithful devotees is not yet enormous. A variety of people comprised Peaches’ fanbase that night: emo boys with black nail polish and a deeply personal current of relation to her crossdressing message (“Boys Wanna Be Her”) and dominatrixes in leather corsets. Though I’ve heard she has used more elaborate props on stage, the concert was spicy and unique.
WOOT, WOOT!
Woot.com
7/10
by Ryan “Moss” Yaeger
A $7,000 projector for $3,000?! Woot!!
Woot.com is an online store of sorts, offering items with their slogan “One day, one deal.” Each day at midnight, central time (that’s 1 a.m. EST) Woot puts a new deal on their website. This item remains as the sale item until the following day, or until their stock is sold out.
Woot offers a wide variety of items ranging from $1,700 widescreen LCD HDTVs to ten-dollar frog-shaped water leak detectors. Customers are limited to a maximum of three items in any particular “Woot” (the term coined by its followers as a shorthand for the daily deal). You can gauge how many items are left by the “I Want One!” logo; if it bounces, there are less than ten percent remaining in their warehouses. However, regardless of the item’s price or the quantity ordered, Woot’s shipping cost is always five dollars.
Periodically, Woot.com explodes with a “Woot-off,” a special mode in which their “One day, one deal” slogan is thrown by the wayside. At these times Woot puts up an item until it sells out (or 12 hours have passed). After an item sells out, a new item is put up. This is repeated for an unnanounced amount of time, though according to their website it can last for 24-72 hours. The last Woot-off featured 57 items, ranging in price from $4.99 PS2 controllers to $499.99 Pentium 4 desktop PCs.
Woot also occasionally offers an item known as the “Bag of Crap.” This grabbag of sorts generally features typical dollar store items, although a certain number of bags include various expensive electronics such as MP3 players. These bags sell for one dollar each and are highly sought after, despite the risk of getting, well, crap, such as a NASCAR hat or a wall calendar of famous warts.
Woot has also launched a beta site at wine.woot.com. As one may expect from the address, this site offers couplets, trios, and quartets of various wines at discounted rates, although the deals here are weekly as opposed to daily. There are some restrictions on the shipping due to the alcohol laws, but as long as you are present, sober, and able to prove your age at the time of receipt, you should have no problems getting drunk cheaply or impressing your next date with a bottle of fine Zinfandel.
However, there are some things to be wary of. At high traffic times, the Woot servers can prove unreliable. This can lead to dropped orders or even a total site crash, a problem that is particularly prevalent during Woot-offs. Additionally, one must be wary when deciding to make a purchase. Items at Woot are not always new; some are new without original packaging, and others are refurbished items. Everything sold comes with a warranty, but for opened or refurbished merchandise this is usually only a 90-day grace period, which may prove problematic if your refurbished $3,000 LCD projector bites the bullet on day 93.
Also, if you’re in the market for a specific item, you may never find it. If you know exactly what you want and where to get it, you may be better off ordering elsewhere. If, instead, you know you want an MP3 player or a wireless router and time is not an issue, watch Woot with your fingers crossed.
All in all, if you’re looking for a steal on electronics (or just are interested in cheap gizmos and gadgets), keep checking Woot.com daily for their latest deal. Watch your credit card limits, and happy Wooting!
IT’S ALL ABOUT ORAL
Colgate 360
10/10
by Elina Vaysbeyn
William Addis invented the first toothbrush prototype in 1780 in England, though many ancient civilizations believed in cleaning their teeth long before that. The toothbrush has evolved since that wooden handled harsh apparatus. Our toothbrushing hardships have subsided. Now, we have some of the best dental hygiene in the world.
What if I told you that there was a new invention? Something like a modern toothbrush but with its powers magnified ten-thousand-fold? Something that could make you moan with pleasure while brushing your teeth every morning and (hopefully) night? The Colgate 360 (available in purple, blue, green, and pink) revolutionizes oral hygiene. It makes your gums tremble with anticipation. Clinical results indicate that this amazing product reduces up to 40 percent more plaque than the leading brand-name toothbrush and removes up to 96 percent more odor-causing bacteria. Its “comfortable, raised rubber ribs,” “widegrip thumb area,” and “unique tongue cleaner” are just some of its highly praised attributes. The last time I hooked up with someone I definitely checked his bathroom for the Colgate 360. Who knows the last time he cleaned his tongue? I shudder to think of it.
The 360 is a miracle of humankind. It’s a toothbrush with superhuman abilities. The thin, rubber, cilia-like extensions massage therapeutically against the inside of my cheek, touching my gums, cleaning my mouth like it has never been cleaned before. Sometimes I lock the door of the bathroom while I finger the gel thumb grip, slide some toothpaste on that puppy, and dive into ecstasy. Bubbles of toothpaste form a volcano in my mouth, reaching the corners of my lips, as I thrust it against my tongue, getting it cleaner and cleaner. The tightly packed circular bristles in the middle provide even more oral stimulation. They’re long and thick and firm, and just the right size for my mouth. That’s something that’ll never go limp in the heat of the moment. The way it fits in my hand, like it was custom made—I just want to grab it and tug at it as it slides around in my mouth. The soft rubber encasing the firm bristles is what really does the trick though.
As I sit in front of my bathroom mirror, door locked, breathing heavily, pumping it in and out and in and out, I know that when I’m done, there will be no better satisfaction. The 360 will fulfill you in ways you didn’t even know were possible. It will be your companion, your friend, your guide, and so much more. If you thought the vibrating electrical toothbrush was great, then you’ll really love this. It may not run on batteries, but it sure does run the show. It’s comforting to know that beneath that toned, hard exterior, there’s a real toothbrush just waiting to touch you in all the right places.
THIS ISN’T YOUR PARENTS’ VODKA
Stoli Blueberi
9/10
by Jack Niejadlik
Stolichnaya has unveiled its latest in the ever-growing line of flavor-infused spirits, and it is quickly becoming a favorite among bartenders and bar-goers alike. There are not many blueberry-flavored vodkas on the market, and you definitely don’t need to be shitfaced to down a chilled shot of Stoli Blueberi. The experience is far from regrettable and not unlike sex: the first time, you have some apprehension, but you are also overcome with curiosity. It hurts just a little bit, and alright, in the morning you might walk with a limp, but before you know it, you’re back for more.
From the moment the glassy and sharp blueberry-infused vodka glides over your tongue, your senses will be sending you their thank you notes. The stuff smells like a blueberry that’s been cured in sugar. Suspicions from the vodka’s fruity aroma are confirmed in its crisp aftertaste, finishing clean and fresh, comparable to a bite of a blueberry muffin (soaked in vodka, of course).
When mixing with blueberry vodka, avoid juices with overpowering flavors. Pineapple juice is out of the question. Same for tart and citrus, and eighty-six the cranberry or orange. Try to imagine what blueberries are normally paired with in the non-alcoholic realm, and then try to recreate that.
For example, fruit salad flavors can come alive with splashes of watermelon vodka or peach schnapps. Compliment the clear spirit with Sprite or 7-Up. The effervescence will really spruce up an otherwise flat cocktail. A small amount of berry fruit juice or punch could help as well. College is all about experimentation, so go out and try different combinations. I still prefer to drink the vodka chilled, as a shot, straight up.
If you’re not Polish, Russian, or Irish, or would generally prefer drinking battery acid instead of taking a straight shot of vodka, then by all means, mix your liquor. The blueberry flavor is in no way overpowering, but it makes its presence known nonetheless. It’s like the fat, smelly kid in gym. He doesn’t really talk much, so it’s easy to forget about him, but every once in a while, you catch that waft of what smells like mayonnaise and cheese doodles, and your appetite is gone quicker than a freshman JAP’s dignity at a frat party. In other words, the subtle nature of the blueberry flavor makes it a little tricky to mix, but thank you nonetheless, Stolichnaya, for bestowing upon us vodka with the flavor of one of the most underrepresented but surprisingly delicious fruits: the blueberry.
