Yo assholes, where the hell is the space where I write the personals? I can’t write it over advertisements.

EV: Hey, dipshit, go to the fucking website, generation.buffalo.edu, and the personals submission box will be there, staring you square in the face. We’re trying to be conscientious of the environment around here, so we don’t use the paper personals anymore, but it’s turning out to be the worst idea we’ve ever had because now we get a daily barrage of emails from dillholes like you asking where the “personals space” is.

AB: Yo, motherfuckers gotta get paid, son. Without all of these awesome advertisers, we can’t afford to give the quality entertainment that we’re known for. Do you really want us to do a ten page issue with nothing but Literary? Cause I’ll do it, I’ll fucking do it. Without advertisements, we don’t get paid, and if I’m not getting paid, I’m not getting laid, and let’s face it, with the recession and all, prostitutes are demanding a pretty penny nowadays. Or crack. And I’m alllll outta crack.

So I was banging this girl doggy style, naked, on top of the covers. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught my roommate watching me. I shrugged it off, but when I finished, I heard some motions coming from my roommate’s bed. What should I do about this masturbating pervert?

EV: Well, you kind of have to decide whether or not you want to let your roommate in on the action. Obviously, you were okay with being watched while you were banging your chick, considering you didn’t even bother to pull the covers up. So, I don’t think you can blame him for feeling liberated enough to jerk his banana. In fact, I think what he did was fairly tame compared to your hedonistic rollicking.

AB: If you are that concerned with keeping your roommate from masturbating, you are un-American. Why do you hate my country? This is the land of the free, and home of the brave. Purple mountain majesties and shit. If you thought Francis Scott Key was talking about the War of 1812 when he mentioned the rocket’s red glare and bombs bursting in the air, you are certainly wrong. Dude loved to cum.

What’s up with all the painting on campus? Does the university really want to get me that high on the way to class?

EV: I don’t know, do they? I sure hope so because I’m running out of cash and my dealer doesn’t take credit, and the shakes are just gettin’ worse and worse every single day. I’ve had nothing to eat but beans and the occasional piece of cardboard in like two weeks, and my poop’s starting to look like hospital apple sauce.

AB: Yes.

How do you get out of a speeding ticket? I was busted doing 89 in a 65, and well, now I’m a little scared.

EV: You can’t really get out of it, per se, but you can go to court to fight it. They usually reduce the ticket at least a little bit. You know, speeding is kind of fucked up towards everybody, even people you don’t know— that couple crossing the street, those boys riding their tricycles. It pays to be safe. And, as a perpetual pedestrian, I feel like a bull’s eye target, so I get personally peeved about drivers going too fast. Hold your horses, okay?

AB: I’ve talked myself out of tickets by claiming I was late to my birthday party at Lasertron and even once for “being really in the zone, officer.” Don’t forget—when the going gets tough, the tough gets sucking.

All semester I’ve been working at a new job. The job sucks, and keeps me at all hours of the night, and all weekend. The job is sometimes fun because I like some of my co-workers, but it’s seriously impeding my partying and preventing me from getting sufficiently laid. But it’s really good for my resume! So I’m torn. Should I quit the job and have lots of sex? Or suck it up?

EV: Quit screwin’ around and get back to work, Michelle. Those features aren’t gonna edit themselves. And besides, saying you work for Generation gets you real laid, put that one on your resume.

AB: Michelle? Michelle Matthews? Senior Generation editor Michlle Matthews? Sex or work, eh? I think we can kill two birds with one stone, here. You, me, and an inflatable kiddie pool on the terrace. I’ll see you in five; I need to pre-game my cock a tad.