Philosophy: Nobody Cares

Nobody cares about philosophy. Oh wow, nobody cares. Nobody cares at all. If they say they care they are lying because not one person cares about philosophy. They say they care because they are one massive, gigantic, humongous tools who listens to Boards of Canada and cried at the end of The English Patient. They are that person and society doesn't care about them- just like how society doesn't care about philosophy.

The misconception that people actually care about philosophy has run rampart for far too long. Since the beginning of recorded history. It started with Socrates and him thinking people actually cared about what he thought. To illustrate this point I tried to read the Socrates Wikipedia entry but I fell asleep while reading it so there you go- that's that. Virtue and knowledge and arguments about nothing? He even said "I only know that I know nothing." What the fuck does that even mean!? On top of that, why should anyone even care about how Socrates knows nothing? You know what Socrates did all day? Socrates lounged on the steps of the Parthenon spouting nonsense to a bunch of middle-aged white guys with their dicks out. That's it. You know, Socrates probably had some kid out there, some wife, maybe a dog and a nice big front yard, hey maybe his grandfather lives there too! Sounds like a great life, right? Except there's one problem. A toddler walks up to his mother and says "Where's daddy?" He asks with those big blue eyes shining with unshed tears. She wraps him up in her arms and said "Daddy's not coming back, baby, daddy's not coming back."

What comes next is the people in Athens thought it was all such bullshit that they put Socrates to death. That's how little they cared about what he thought, they cared it drove them to homicide.

Socrates is dead! That was that- no more philosophy and things went back to normal and people went on living their lives without examining what their lives really meant or something.

Except not! Except people wrote everything they said down and talked about it all the time. What the fuck, people? Why do you do this to the world? I don't understand why you build schools to train people to be pretentious tools nobody likes. If I wanted to hang out with pretentious tools nobody likes I would go to a Bright Eyes concert, I don't want to have to see them at school. Why does the university I attend have to be a training ground for obnoxious dickwads? Explain that to me.

Solution? Package away all self-professed philosophers and ship them someplace nobody likes. Like Detroit. Or Canada. This is America. This country was founded on the basis of not giving a shit about philosophy. You know why the pilgrims left England on the Mayflower all those years ago? Because they were sick of self-righteous, pretentious tools nobody liked telling them what to do and what to believe. The only philosopher worth anything, William James, had only one thing to say: Choose whatever philosophy you want and then chill out about it. It's all chill, bros! Let's have a beer! He definitely said something like that, and you know what? He's right. If I have to listen to one more person discuss what the nature of 2+2 is then I will go on a murdering spree. Who cares what the nature of virtue is. Jesus. This is a real conversation I participated in with my philosophy class last year:

BIG TOOL IN CLASS: You know there's a 2000 page proof on why 2+2=4.

ME: (sniggers.)

TEACHER: What, Kate?

ME: That sounds like a colossal waste of time.

TEACHER: Why do you say that?

ME: Because it's useless. It's a useless document.

TEACHER: You used an interesting word there, Kate. Useless. What is the nature of that word, do you think? What is useless? What constitutes what is use-full as it was and what is use-less.

UGH. JUST UGH. Nobody cares. Not one person. Go away and leave us all be.

An Open Letter to NFL Quarterbacks

Dear NFL Quarterbacks,

Why are every single one of you idiots? Is it because of the concussions and the consistently getting hit in the face and knocked on the ground in a heap of overweight defensive linemen? Is that it? Because you guys parade around doing such stupid shit, and it's not just one of you. It's all of you. So, here you go, NFL quarterbacks, on the day after the Super Bowl my message is this: Stop being so fucking stupid.

1. Aaron Rodgers

Dear Aaron, good job winning the Super Bowl! That was awesome. Then the NFL gave you a super gay shiny red car. That's pretty cool too. You can prowl around in that supes cute brand new cherry red Camaro and catcall bitches. And then those said bitches will be certain of your large penis. As if they weren't certain after you won the Super Bowl, they are now, you dog you. This is a great week for Aaron Rogers penis! Now, everyone knows it's better than Brett Favre's penis. You are totally able to have sex with whoever you want to. Yet you pick Vanessa from Gossip Girl. Vanessa. The worst celebrity ever. She looks like Eli Manning except with longer hair and skimpier clothes. You could have had anyone, Aaron, anyone. This is inexcusable. That is why you are my first example of quarterbacks who make poor decisions. You represent their proclivity to bang annoying celebrities. If you're going to bang a celebrity (which is a bad idea, think Tony Romo circa dating Jessica Simpson. He just sucked.) then at least have it be a decent celebrity. Like, hm, maybe somebody on Law and Order? Not Gossip Girl? Want better advise? Just date a model. Much hotter and much less annoying. Models don't say much, they just look awesome. That is why Tom Brady won MVP- because his wife is Gisele Bundchen and I'm pretty sure she doesn't speak English- she just bangs him and makes him sandwich after sandwich. Would Jessica Szohr do that? No, she would just smell like farts and drunk cry about how her dad beat her and didn't love her why did he never love her? Boo.

2. Mark Sanchez

Mark Sanchez, you are a beautiful man thing. I made you the background of my brother's computer once and he didn't change it because even straight men know you are a beautiful man thing. You aren't even a man, you are a beautiful work of art sent down by the gods in heaven for the good deeds of Mother Teresa. You could be anything. You could be president. I would vote for you for president. Even if I found out that you were illiterate I would still vote for you because good looks are more important than smarts. Yet, you do things to piss me off. It's all just very sad. I just have one question, Mark. You could have sexual intercourse with whoever you want to and you choose a seventeen year-old girl? Why? That's just a lack of judgement. A poor lack in judgement. I know teenage girls are hot and all but you can still a bang a teenage girl who isn't in high school anymore! Mark Sanchez, if the NFL fines you for this (which they probably will because the NFL hates all fun) then you deserve it. You could have sex with whoever you want to! Whoever! Ugh! I don't want to have to get a fake ID that says I'm 17 to bang you.

3. Ben Roethlisberger, you made the same mistake as Mark Sanchez except for one distinction. You probably couldn't have sex with whoever you wanted. You're an incredible quarterback but you also kind of look like a Neanderthal.

See Figure 1.1:

You see what I mean? While this is no means a deal breaker, I'm sure roughly 65% of women would still have sex with you because you have won three Super Bowls (although not yesterday's) there is still a good 35% who wouldn't bang you because you look like Ambomidable Snowman. Don't worry though, Ben, you showed them. You're totally richer than anybody who may think you look like a mentally-challenged Big Foot! And, being a quarterback, you are basically an American Hero. So, don't feel bad. That being said... I know you may have some lingering insecurities from before you were an NFL quarterback millionaire. When you were an awkward teen at Big Foot Junior High. Maybe that is why you sometimes date rape girls. I don't know! I don't know the mind of someone who sometimes gets girls slobbering, vomiting drunk and then attempts to have sex with them. Maybe there is a deep, underlying reason that has to do with your mother or father or walking in on your uncle having sex with a twelve year-old boy- I don't know! What I do know is that you shouldn't do that. Partly, because it is slimy. Partly, because it is against the law. But mainly because you really don't have to do that to have sex with women. There is still that 65%. There is some girl out there who will soberly (or tipsy, that's okay) give herself up to you. It will be great and there's a decent shot she'll be attractive. So, whether it be in the bathroom of a TGI Friday's or in your mansion- you don't have to slip anything into women's drinks to have sex with them. In fact, if you keep doing that you may fall out of favor with Mike Tomlin. Then with the NFL. Then nobody will want you. Where will your millions and American Hero status go after that? Arena football? Who will have sex with you then? That 65% will dwindle substantially. Don't let that happen, Ben. Get a therapist, work through your problems, stop pounding painfully drunk chicks and keep playing football!

4. Michael Vick

Michael Vick, You run very fast and that's so cool! But then you kill dogs! Don't kill dogs! Putting the moral reasons aside, you know how much PETA is going to bug you for the rest of your life? If PETA started throwing blood on me I would not be very happy at all. That would be so annoying. PETA is so annoying and they will keep bothering you. Just don't fight dogs. People don't like that. It makes you look like kind of a prick. You went to prison though so I guess you learned your lesson. Just run very fast. People will forget about the dog thing. Then maybe one day you can get a puppy and you can name him Yoshi and you and Yoshi will have grand old times and you can rough-house (but in a fun, playful puppy/human way, not a Spike Lee way) and have long walks on the beach and hopefully Yoshi won't die in a barn somewhere covered in the blood of a Great Dane and thirteen Vietnamese gangsters. Hopefully.

5. Brett Favre, Point end case.

LEAVE BRETT FAVRE ALONE

I didn't want to post this because I, for the most part, am against sexual harassment in the workplace. If a dude I worked for sent me pictures of his penis I'd probably want to pin a lawsuit on him too. That being said, I wouldn't wait four plus years to cash in. Also- I probably wouldn't attempt to sue if said client was a professional athlete and I was a massage therapist. Finally, I also probably wouldn't if that same professional athlete has been sued for the same crime just a few months ago and has been under constant criticism and scrutiny for said crime for the past six months. When I first found out about Brett Favre's dick pix I was enthralled. Brett Favre is obnoxious and this is funny and his dick is small and that is delightful. But now. Now. I am fucking sick and tired of people suing Brett Favre. I'm sick and tired of reading about Brett Favre. I'm sick and tired of thinking about Brett Fave. I am just sick and tired. And I know I am not the only one. So now it is up to me to make a plea to the masses- LEAVE BRETT FAVRE ALONE.




I want to start off by saying this: So a professional athlete sent you a picture of his dong? As if that hasn't happened before? Isn't it more funny than anything else? It's pretty funny! That'd be the highlight of at least my week. Talk about a story for cocktail parties! But say you don't have a sense of humor. Say that's the truth. Well, honestly, if you decide that you want to be a massage therapist for professional athletes you should be aware that they're most-likely going to try to bang you. Because if there is anything anybody knows about professional athletes they are insanely narcissistic overpaid bros with too much testosterone and an overwhelming sense of an entitlement. That's just a given. So, if you decide massage therapy for the NFL is the life for you, then you should be aware of the hazards of working with such a breed of douchebag. It's unfair, yes, but that's just how the world is.

Secondly, I hate this trend of suing anybody and everybody who pisses you off. I love America but I hate this part of America. A law suit is supposed to be if a person incurred damages toward you as a direct result of said person's actions and the situation demands equitable remedy for said damages. Or something. Basically, a lawsuit is about bringing justice to a crime someone has comitted toward you. Ideally, it's not really about money it's about upholding the law and bringing justice to the guilty. Yes, you should be recompensated for damages but in theory it's about upholding the law.

Unfortunately, all anybody cares about is money. I'm sure that's what this massage therapist wants. I, on the other hand, am of the position that Brett Favre has paid the price for all of his wanton sexual deviancy. If there is any person I would not like to be right now- it is Brett Favre. I would not be Brett Favre for all the money in the world. The man has been humiliated before the entire world! His pathetic voicemails and pictures of his tiny wrinkled penis can be viewed at any time by anyone. Whenever I type in "brett favres dick" into Google, the first 100 results link me to pictures of his dick. Isn't that punishment enough? What if that happened to you? What if when you walked down the street every single person knew of your worst indescresions? That'd be horrible! I mean, the guy has had an incredible twenty-year career but what are we talking about at the close of such an impressive NFL career? How much of an pervy asshole he is. And sometimes about his methhead sister. If you wanted justice for Brett Favre taking advantage of you then let me be the first one to tell you- justice has been served. Let's say life was the 2004 film Mean Girls and Brett Favre was Regina George, then these women would be the poor little Lindsay Lohan character. Well, guess what- Brett Favre just got hit by the metaphorical bus of the internet, and you're popular again!

What I'm trying to say, victims of Brett Favre's penis is this- Celebrate! Go out and treat yourself to some expensive shoes and go out for a night on the town with your girlfriends! Celebrate girl power because girl power won out here. Brett Favre is a sad, imasculated fool reduced to crying in public because of harassing you. Yeah, that's right, you. Do you think Brett Favre is going to text any more pictures of his dick to massage therapists? Yeah, I thinkl he learned his lesson there. You don't need a gossip blog or a lawsuit to confirm that you have won- you just have. You already have. And you'll know that forever. And so will all of us. Women 1: Brett Favre: 0.

In conclusion- leave Brett Favre alone. I know sexual harassment is wrong and so does everybody else. Let Favre hobble back to whence he came and allow him the last little shred of dignity he may have. Allow him to go fall down in a heap of his own feces in some podunk corner of Mississippi as he takes perscription Xanax and watches reruns of the Golden Girls. Allow him that. Because, like I said, justice has been served.

On Independence Day: July 5th

In anticipation for the buzz surrounding a possible sequel to Independence Day (the best movie ever made) I have dedicated this post to Russell Casse. If it wasn't for you, brosk, we wouldn't have kicked all that alien ass. Payback is a bitch. RIP Russell Casse: An American Hero.



Well, you did it America, I mean World, you did it. You banded together and launched a simultaneous attack on the alien invaders and you killed them. Good job, World, you saved the World. On this day, our Independence Day, we humble humans with our puny technology beat out telekinetic aliens I once heard described as "like locusts. They're moving from planet to planet... their whole civilization. After they've consumed every natural resource they move on." Pretty scary, huh? Well, not anymore, World, because you kicked their ass. Jeff Goldblum loaded some spyware on their computer, and after several pop-ups proclaiming "CONGRATULATIONS! YOU JUST WON A BRAND NEW IPAD" their computers blew up and with it all of their defenses. And then you nuked them, World. You nuked them and it was awesome. There was dancing in the streets celebration on the steps of the pyramids as the aliens spacecraft crashed to the Earth in a flaming, impotent heap. We had lived. The aliens had not.

What now?

Before anybody knew what to do the aliens had already destroyed several cities. New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, Moscow, London, Paris, Houston. They're all gone. Destroyed. Houston! What will the Earth do without Houston!?!?!? If every economic stronghold left in the world is destroyed how do you expect to rebuild a global economy? What do we do now? Ah, the aliens are dead, guess I'll go back to work at... Oh, wait. Currency is useless now. Best case scenario: we're about to enter a global economic and political reconstruction the likes of which we have never seen before in recorded history. Worst case scenario: Worldwide panic and systematic murder of one another in resulting chaos.

Yeah, the aliens are gone, but so is the stock market. Not only that but several worldwide cities are now graveyards of twisted, burning infrastructure. Do you think FEMA knows what to do? FEMA is shitting it's pants right now! And that's If FEMA is still even there, seeing as it was in Washington D.C- which no longer exists by the way in case you were too busy dancing on the steps of the pyramids to realize. How do you expect going about rebuilding a country that's population is mostly dead or trapped under smoking rubble? I don't think the New Deal is going to solve this impending economic depression. World War III is not going to float all our economies.

Besides that. Do you know how that smoking rubble got there in the first place? Well, let's look back on the events of yesterday. Giant alien spacecrafts opened up their primary weapon and shot a beam of weird laser energy and then uhh, ah hell, I'll just show you:

WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT? No! Seriously! What was that? I've never seen anything on Earth do that! It's a nuclear bomb times 1,000,000. That had to be radioactive. It's a giant cloud of fire! There's no doubt that was radioactive. So, basically, on top of everything else we're probably going into a nuclear winter because, even though I'm no expert, that seems like the likely product of giant cloud of fire caused via laser beam. Moreover, let me remind you once more that this didn't happen just in a couple cities. This happened everywhere. If there is one event that's going to trigger massive and devastating climate change it is this. Not to mention remember all those alien spacecraft we sent hurtling toward the ground engulfed in flames? Remember those? What were in those? Probably nothing good. Probably not something you can find on the periodic table of fucking elements. How are we supposed to clean something up when we don't know what it is! Not to mention, it's stupid to think that there aren't any alien survivors. There definitely are. Yes, giant aliens with tentacles and telekinetic powers are roaming around the Earth, pretty pissed off right about now.

Basically, World, this is not good news. On an economic level, it's bad news. On a societal level, it's bad news. On a environmental level, it's bad news. On a basic human health level, it's bad news. Bad, bad, bad news. So, the question is. What do we do now? How do we continue to survive as a race. Because after the huge victory of defeating the aliens I am not ready to die of radiation-induced lymphoma. Nope. Not me. I'm an American! And this is our Independence Day! I am not about to die via the extenuating circumstances of an alien invasion. I don't know about you guys, but fuck the aliens. Fuck those guys.

So, what now? I'll tell you what now, World. We take those bastards for all that their worth. We take those fancy-shmancy alien scientists down at Area 51 and we make them fix those goddamn spacecrafts. We did it for Will Smith and Jeff Goldblum's alien taxi cab- we can do it for those giant circular thingies. We fix them. All of them. And then what? I'll tell you what, we get the fuck off this rock. I didn't even like it anyway, fuck Earth, man. I don't want to be here, its small and cramped and filled with deadly radiation. There's gotta be somewhere better and I'm getting out while the gettin's good. Where do we go, you ask. Well, I'll tell you where we go. We move somewhere else, to another world, another civilization. We take all it's resources and technology and move on. We'll get stronger. And we'll continue doing this for the rest of eternity. We will survive, World. Because that is what we are. We are survivors. We kicked alien ass before and, goddamnit, we will do it again. We will band together once more! We will be like locusts! Moving from planet to planet! Our whole civilization! After we've consumed every natural resource we move on! Because that's what we do, humanity, we kick alien ass. Forever and always.

Investigative Report On The Wizarding World.

Upon first glance it's easy to detect what the downfall of the Harry Potter Wizarding World was- Voldemort, of course. An evil, tyrannical psychopath has a destructive effect on a civilization. However, once you probe deeper into the inner-workings of such a clandestine society like the magical world in Great Britain you begin to see the complex latticework that allowed one random nose-less dude to reek havoc upon millions (Thousands? Hundreds? Everyone seems to know each other in the wizarding world. Do they have a Census? I doubt it.)

I'd like to begin this analysis by stating that the Wizarding World has put themselves on a higher plane than what they like to call "muggles" or non-magical beings. No magic?! People who use cars! Hah! And Cell Phones! What?? They don't even use wands. It's astounding to wizards that since we tiny folk can't use magic we have to resort to using airplanes to get from place to place (instead of popping into or out of existence whenever we pleased), or actually developing a practical currency (massive circular discs of gold is not a practical currency. What is your economy based on anyway, Wizards? Is it free market? It seems like all of your economic growth stems from a single street of shops in London. Most of which serve exclusively candy and ice cream). All of these things make these so called wizards feel better than their non-magical counterparts. The word Muggle even has a hard "g" sound which makes it sound a lot like "niggers" or "faggots" which happen to be racial slurs, if you didn't know. Even the wizards who find it in the goodness of their hearts to take pity upon we lower beings and shower us with kindness are still acting out segregation (keeping your existence a secret from the rest of the world = segregation) and discrimination. Not only that but they look at non-magical beings with a gross fascination (Muggle Artifacts Office. Case in point.) While the more conservative wizards actively punish muggles, calling them "mudbloods" and torturing them and so on and so forth, non-radical wizards just treat muggles as a cause much like the ASPCA. Sad, unwanted, pityable albeit cute creatures who once in a blue moon they'll adopt.

How very kind of you, wizards! I know, it sucks so much that I actually have to get up and get the remote instead of flicking my wrist and having it levitate towards me. Oh, wait, you guys don't have TV, do you? Bummer. There is one thing, however, that we muggles have figured out (albeit through trial and error) that you fancy wizarding types can't seem to grasp which results in your entire society living in constant fear of a terrible and gruesome death. Democracy. Yes, wizards, this is something you lack.

Let's talk about the Ministry of Magic. The entirety of the Britain magical world is run by a bureaucracy that is duly-appointed by a small group of rich aristocrats. Ministers of Magic do not get elected, they get appointed. This Ministry is formed of several departments, each strictly regulating how a wizard or witch goes about living their life. There's a department in this ministry that's sole purpose is to monitor your fireplace. The fireplace in your private home. As if that's not enough they put a trace on your child so they can monitor their activity too. And The Department of Mysteries? That department exists solely for keeping secrets from the general public. At least in America we try to hide we have one of those. Any sort of legal system in place in the wizarding world is run- for the most part- by biased elderly rich men, and then the Ministry needs to hire employees (with who's money? Taxpayer money? Who on Earth would pay taxes if every time a auditor came by you could pop out of the country?) to make sure their entire existence is kept secret, and if someone breaks that they need to pay the consequences and possibly go to prison.

Ah, the Prison System. The prison in the Magical World is on a small island and it's called Azkaban. Sounds like Alcatraz right??? Oh, yeah, except in our prisons we don't employ phantom guards that suck out the happiness of everyone imprisoned. That sounds like a violation of human rights to me. Let's put aside things like the Death Penalty for a second and examine the fact that if you waterboard a prisoner in the muggle world, for even a few minutes, it's a crime worthy of the Hague? However, in the Wizarding World nobody seems to question that the Prisons are guarded by demons, who suck your soul out through your mouth. Not only that but they have flimsy allegiances! At any second they may be release everyone from prison and join the enemy.

The enemy. Evil Lord Voldemort. Could this sad, evil, monster perhaps be a product of the flawed, undemocratic bureaucracy that brought him up? The Wizarding World: An elitist society with an absolute leader and a clear intelligentsia. How is it that a violent reactionary could POSSIBLY arise from that sort of society? Wow. Gosh, you know, this is beginning to sound a lot like Russia. You know what happened to Russia? They revolted and half their population died. Furthermore, for the better part of a century Russia was led under fascist, virtual martial law. Gosh, Wizarding World, sounds exactly like what happened to you. I wish there was a group of teenagers who would have killed Joseph Stalin before he could kill 35.5 million Russians. I guess everyone isn't as lucky as you.

Perhaps, Wizarding World, you should get off your magical high horse and really take a look at yourselves. Perhaps, all these angry, radical terrorists that seem to crop up in the thousands are a reaction to the undemocratic, pretentious and unforgiving society you have put in place. I'm sure if you read this investigative piece of journalism you will just think "Oh. Poor Muggle. She doesn't understand anything! She can't even do magic! How pitiable!" Poor us. Poor Muggles. Yeah. Well. Listen up, dickwads, how about we drop a nuke all over Hogsmeade and we'll see what you do with your wands then.

Perhaps if for some reason the Wizarding World dropped their (basically) government run news publications and actually produced some worthwhile bipartisan journalism my words would reach someone. Perhaps if the best investigative journalist of your times wasn't Rita Skeeter (ours isn't Kitty Kelly, Jesus, get a journalism school, Wizards) and perhaps if the only alternative media source, The Quibbler, wasn't written by a veritable crazy person (and probable drug addict) this piece of journalism would matter. Maybe, if this was a piece of investigative journalism in the 60s maybe I could have done something, but now. Now. Drunk with power after destroying evil by recruiting children to do your dirty work, my words are just dust in the wind.

A Letter to Latin

Dear Latin,

You think you’re really fucking funny, don’t you? It’s hilarious to have fourteen different words for the verb “go” isn’t it? I bet you think you’re smart too. Because apparently having five different declensions, three genders, seven noun cases, four verb conjugations, six tenses, six persons, three moods, two voices and two aspects makes a language really scholarly. I’m sure you think you’re hot shit because Ceasar spoke your language. Well, guess what? Ceasar was brutally murdered by his best friend. Latin, I fantasize about hitting you over the head with a baseball bat and watch the blood ooze out of your cracked skull. I think about pulling your fingernails out one by one, watching you scream out in pain over and over and over again and I laugh. If Doc Brown pulled up in his Delorean and told me to hop in I would set that puppy to 300 B.C. and murder your pregnant mother so you would never see the light of day. You see what you’ve reduced me to, Latin? A borderline psychopath with homicidal tendencies. You think you’re the mother of all languages? You make me sick. You make me want to move to Germany so I could speak a language that has nothing to do with you, and I’m Jewish, so that’s a pretty high order of hatred- making a Jew want to move to Germany. The only pleasure I get from your existence is that you’re dead. Yeah. You’re dead. You can think you’re smart and funny and cool but the truth is- nobody speaks you anymore except for Catholics, and guess what? Nobody really likes Catholics. So, Latin, I guess my point is- you’re not funny, rot in hell.

Love,
Kate Shapiro

Five Awesome Things To Do At Bars

Have you ever gone to a bar and went, well this is boring. Yeah, me too. But I got over it, mainly by adhering to these five great activities to do at bars. Here are five things to do at bars to assure that you have the most exciting Sunday at 3:00 AM ever!

1. Convince a fully grown adult to do a jagerbomb. Usually, after college the jagerbomb falls to the wayside. A shot of Jager and some Red Bull? That is the unsophisticated sort of drinking done by frat boys and scantily-clad women at some Lacrosse party at Duke. That is the unsophisticated sort of drinking that is followed by a stripper gang-rape scenario that makes your Gender Studies class like totally awkward for the next four months. Thank you very much, but I'll take my white wine spritzer instead. It's hard to convince a hard-working professional to do a jagerbomb but it is possible. Step One: Make sure they are already sort of drunk (white wine spritzer number four) Step Two: Engage them in some sort of witty banter. Maybe make a joke, or a fake reference ("Did you see that man over there do a jagerbomb? Classy, huh, right? HAH.") Step Three: Challenge them ("You should do a jagerbomb. IRONIC, right? It would be so hilarious.") If this doesn't work, which it will, because fully grown adults love irony then you can resort to Plan B. Which maybe should be your Plan A solely for the comedy. Plan B: If they still won't do the jagerbomb then you say "Okay, fine, lets see what the rest of the bar thinks." Then you go around and take a poll of the entire bar on whether this person should do a jagerbomb. Rally everyone together, and publicly shame them into doing the jagerbomb. Either way, that jagerbomb is going to be drunk and it's going to be entertaining.

2. Play a Drinking Game With That Drunk Guy Asleep In The Corner. Ah, drunk guy asleep in the corner. You are there, day and night, lurking, half asleep in the corner. You try to stay awake, but you just drank too damn much. Your appearance might change but there you are, slumped in a chair, surrounded by your friends, your friends who have forgotten you. I haven't forgotten you, drunk guy. I haven't forgotten you. So, you and a friend sit near the Sleeping Drunk Guy, but not too close. Sit at least five feet away. Train your eyes on him. Under no circumstances should you look away. Every time his eyes flutter open or he twitches a bit to the side, take a drink. There are two warnings about this game though. 1, Sleepy Drunk Guy may completely lose consciousness so the game could get boring fast. 2, Sleepy Drunk Guy may completely gain consciousness and catch on the game and get mad at you for using his current sloppy state as entertainment. Things might get belligerent fast.If all goes well though, you'll be drunk and giggling the entire night.

3. Find a French guy. He's allusive but he's there. Just look for a thin mustache, a cardigan and an air of pretension. Tell him to "Speak France." If he does, buy him a shot, if he doesn't, he's a dick, so start berating him with questions about France. ("Do they have houses in France? What about paved roads? Is there electricity? Why do French people smell so funny? Do they smell funny in France? Who is King of France these days anyway? What do they call French Fries in France? Do they call them Freedom Fries? That's what we call them in America. How accurate was the movie Moulin Rouge?") This can work for any foreign country actually, and most regions of America too.

4. Get People To Make Out. Hey! You! Come on! Make out! It'll be fun! Yeah! HEY-O! It's easy to get people to make out. Mainly because everybody wants to make out. Especially when they're drunk. What is great about drunk people is that they will make out with basically anybody. No man, woman, child or dog is off-limits to the drunk person. This activity has a 100% success rate. It may take some time but they will make-out and it will be epic. And usually disgusting! What you do is find a group of friends. A herd is best, congregated in a corner, huddled over empty beer bottles. Go over to them and find one person. Become friends with them. Ask them about their life. Ingratiate yourselves to them. Form a camaraderie. Migrate to an adjacent group of people with completely different characteristics. Maybe the person you found was a young hipster chick, and you walk over to some slightly overweight bros, or some late 30s aging businessmen, or really drunk Asians. The possibilities are endless. Then just point blank ask them to make out. Just go for it. They'll appreciate your directness. They want to make out. They totally already do. You're just a catalyst. Hey, maybe they'll get married and love each other forever. Or maybe it'll just be a lone hook up with maybe a boob grab. Either way, it will be hilarious. Also, funniest hook-ups: people in the army.

5. Most likely there is a TV with some sort of sports game. There will be one avid sports fan. At least one. Probably a group. Every sports team has a rivalry, right? Find out what that rivalry is and milk it. Say there is a Yankees/Red Sox game on and you are in New York City. Start talking about the Red Sox as if you had no idea they were Yankees fans. You don't even have to know much about sports. In fact, it's better that you go about this with an air of ignorance. "Wow, the Red Sox are pretty good this year, aren't they? Who pitches for them? Either way they're pretty good. I think they'll go to the World Series. Probably win it too. What a great franchise." The sports fan is already annoyed with you at this point but he won't push you away. He will try to correct you. The sports fan will always try to correct your world view. Keep feigning ignorance, you can even say "This isn't a Red Sox bar?" The great thing about sports fans is this: they just want to fight with you. Fighting with sports fans is fun because they get completely worked up over sports. Sports! They're not even playing the sports! Yet, they will still come to blows over said sports. I have once watched nine Phillies fans beat the shit out of a guy in a Yankees shirt. Most likely, these sports fans won't punch you, but they might. If they do: Run. Or fight back. If you're a girl you can just show them your boobs and you're back in their good graces. It's up to you. Either way it will be one memorable night.**

You may read this and say: "Kate, why are you using other people for your own entertainment." Because drunk people want to be used. They want to be used by other drunk people for entertainment purposes. And that is beautiful. It is beautiful that we can all come together on a Friday or Saturday night (or a Tuesday afternoon) and let loose are inhibitions! It's a testament to human beings that we can be so comfortable with other people. Drunk. At bars.

**By the way, Phillies fans are the best fans ever. They just want to fight each other, vomit on the field, get tased for running onto the field, and drink a lot in the daytime.