“I’m Right. You’re Wrong.” is an advice column especially designed to help University at Buffalo students. So, if you have no one else to turn to (and I mean absolutely no one) drop off your question in our personals mailbox or email us at askgeneration@gmail.com. If you’re lucky, your question just might show up in the next issue.

Q: How do I get my band in the Battle of the Bands?

TJ: Well, you missed the boat on this year’s extravaganza. If you’re interested for the next BOTB, the SA handles most of our school’s fine entertainment. Send a demo to their offices and hope for the best. Maybe one day, your own face-melting guitar riffs can pulsate the floor of the Generation office. Chances are, you’ll make it. Seriously, you should’ve heard the crap they let in.

C: There’s a complex formula, primarily based around the number of ways your band’s name breaks the conventions of the English language. Juxtaposse, for example, not only goes with the classic “spell your name slightly wrong” approach, but also puts a word into another word. Top marks. Most of the rest of the bands could only pull off sentence fragments. So all you need is a fresh name…something like “The Masturbatones.”

Q: I really enjoy sex with my girlfriend, but it seems like she’s more experienced than me. Any new moves I can pull off to impress her?

TJ: I really don’t know. Perhaps Charlie can clear up this quandary.

C: If your girl is aggressive in the sack, the only manly thing to do is return that aggression several-fold. Penetrate her from behind, in the classic “Doggy Style,” the position that will always be sequenced third in any porno you ever watch. The “method” of penetration matters not. Once she’s all revved up to about 6,500 rpm, extend your right arm and rotate clockwise in a windmill motion off to the side of your body. After three rotations, at which point your extremity should be more of a blur than a solid object, plant your outstretched hand resolutely—and quickly—onto her extended rump. Howling will most likely ensue. You, my friend, have just given your lady “The Tornado Slap.” Time it right, if you know what I mean.

Q: I just got a paper back from my history class and the teacher gave me a zero because I didn’t “cite sources.” What is this and how do I do it?

TJ: Citing sources is making some kind of note, either within the body of your paper, or as footnotes, about where you obtained your information. If you don’t do this, your professor has the right to assume you plagiarized your work and can fail you. You’re in college and making stuff up about the Fertile Crescent isn’t going to cut it anymore.

C: I think this has something to do with nylon, rope, and bracings…were you guys talking about Ben Franklin or something?

Q: Whenever I go to a party people are playing beer pong, but when I step up I suck. What cans I do?

TJ: I’m probably not the best person to ask because I too suck at beer pong. Instead of wasting precious drinking time flinging little balls into cups, I promote a round of keg-standing. Honestly, what’s a better way to spend an evening then upside down with beer shooting down your throat? Have fun kid.

C: When I came to college, I was bad at beer pong. Horrendous. Without skill. A travesty. My friends wouldn’t even want to play on my team—I’d ask and everyone would sort of shuffle their feet and mumble about how beer tastes better out of a bottle. So I spent the summer break in Siberian Beer Pong Camp. Run by former members of the KGB, it was a grueling 12-week course that tested me to my physical and mental limits—all on the icy, forever-frozen Siberian tundra. By week ten, I was sinking medicine balls into thimbles from twenty meters away. So practice might make perfect, but I recommend you just load up on stimulants and flip the table in a rage when you lose. That’s how the Ruskies roll.

Q: What’s the quickest way to make some cash without doing anything too illegal?

TJ: You can sell just about anything on eBay, except your soul. I know a person who tried that; eBay swiftly took that auction down.

C: I once sold my liver for plane tickets. It’s a long way to Siberia.