Fashion Alert: Bathrobe Chic

Bathrobes have never really been in vogue. They've never really been out of vogue either. They just are, you know? Fucking trippy.

But that dynamic really only exists in your domicile. Robes are a fact of life in your house. The latest reports from fashion epicenter Hughes Hall suggests that now, robes can be worn outside your living space. Furthermore, these robes are to be worn exclusively. Fashionista Sam Whatshisname elaborates:

"Dude, I fuckin' love sports. Sometimes, me and my bros just chill all day, watch "the game". That's bro-speak for whichever game is on, regardless of sport or team. But chyeah, I'll just spend the whole day in front of the tube in a robe, balls out. Check it.

Sports."

Style-wise, any robe will do. You can go for the wool, or microfiber, or cotton, or silk. Flannel? Velour? Terry? Waffle? If that's your prerogative. They're great for just watching the game, or hanging out in stranger's rooms, or going for some late night noms. So let your man meat hang loose. Or something. But by no means is that just a gentlemen's fashion, so ladies, take heed: while you cannot partake in ball-hanging-outing, this is not the new golf. Robes are great for vacuuming, or cooking, or using the latest Cosmo tip to please your man (I prefer the S-touch). Hmm. This sounds a lot like what you do normally, and those are typically done in home, where robes were already acceptable... This is quite a connundrum. Perhaps it is time for a women's revolution --

LADIES! THRUST OFF YOUR BRAS ROBE TOPS, A SYMBOL OF MALE OPPRESSION. THIS PHALLUS-LOVING MANOCRACY MUST BURN FROM THE GROUND UP.

And do your part to help the economy by buying a robe from the nearest box store.

Evil Humans Kill Geese

155 Humans seen leaving the crime scene.


NEW YORK, Jan. 16 -- Quackers McQuack was just a goose like any other, taking off for his morning flight. McQuack and four other geese would not make it to their destination that faithful morning however.

The bodies of McQuack and two other geese were discovered in the Hudson River disfigured, almost beyond recognition. The bodies of the other two were not found and are still missing. This violent attack on geese by Homo sapiens, now being called the "Hudson River Massacre" has created outrage throughout the goose community.


"We will no longer stand idly by as these Homos continue to murder our people, one by one," said Harvey Goosestein as he took a shit on a local soccer field. "These Homos have always been trouble."


Some Geese have begun to arm themselves and are calling for the death of the man responsible for the gruesome attacks, veteran pilot Chelsey B. Sullenberger III.

A memorial service will be held for the Hudson 5 this Sunday and will most likely wake you up with their fucking quacking or whatever it is that they do.

Editor's Note - Regarding Timestamps

Okay, so our fairweather contributor and Chief Technological Adviser, Mr. Nick, has sent me the following notice regarding my admittedly unhealthy obsession with post sequence integrity:

"Tell that all of the contributors to watch the time stamp on their post. they can do this by clicking on "post options" in the lower right hand corner. On the left hand side, they can set the date and time so that it publishes after posts that have been already published. They can even set it to a future date so that it will publish automatically at said future date. These posts will appear with the label "scheduled" until they are published. also, the title looks weird to me as well. I can come over tomorrow and try to fix it."
-Nick Krosse

Henceforth, all posters who are currently saving posts for editing are strongly encouraged to make sure that their time stamp is revised to a time after any and all subsequently published posts. Simply follow the directions above.

Readers are still also encouraged to continue browsing through the archives for articles that may not have been published during their first, second or fiftieth read.

Keep it smendling,

Joseph Pulitzer Jibbleton
Editor-at-Large, err, Obese

Death Metal Grunge Apocalypse - The Red Panda

I believe it was the Death Metal band, All Shall Perish that said, “My ever-waking contempt for our sick way of life steals from me any last hope for us as a species.” Perhaps they would have had a different opinion if they were an Ailurus fulgens otherwise known as the Red Panda. The small mammal, slightly larger than a house cat, lives in the Himalayas in Bhutan, southern China, India, Laos, Nepal, and Burma. When asked whether or not the Red Panda enjoyed living in Asia one responded, “It’s great. It’s like the best thing ever. We eat Chinese food everyday and watch Kung Fu. Everyone’s nice here because we are so cute and fluffy.” “And red like communism,” another Panda quickly added. Although this adorable, furry animal resembles a raccoon and shares the name “panda” with the Giant Panda, it is, in fact, not related to either. The Red Panda belongs to its own independent family, Ailuridae. Like the Giant Panda, the Red Panda feeds mostly on bamboo and has a false thumb that is an extension of the wrist bone. Currently, it is the mating season for the usually solitary Red Pandas. The season spans from late December to the middle of February. We’ve gone to a Red Panda on-line dating service to find out what the average Red Panda female is looking for in a mate. Furryfox182 is looking for “An adorable fluffy male, with a long tail and black eyes” she likes “late night bamboo munching and long walks in the mountains.” Sadly, the charming Red Panda is classified as an endangered species. No reliable numbers exist for the total population but it is very threatened due to the fragmentation of its natural habitats, their small numbers, and their food specialization needs. All Shall Perish may say that, “As a species lost [they] watch us dig our grave our own fucking grave.” However, it is the Red Panda’s grave that we are actually digging. Ending with a ray of sunshine, this has been Death Metal Grunge Apocalypse.

Curious Epicurean

Today I went to TDR for lunch and witnessed a Bon Apetit employee, eating a cup of noodles in TDR.  This means that someone who cooks the food that we eat, would prefer a cup of noodles, therefore proving the theory that cup of noodles is better than any food offered at TDR.

Riddle Me This, Batman

Slower it wins,

Hide, race or swim,

It’s housing is guaranteed

And it confounds RD’s.

Get Like Me

If you have it you don't need it. If you need it you don't have it. If you have it you need more of it. If you have more of it you don't need less of it. You need it to get it and you certainly need it to get more of it, but if you don't have any of it already to begin with you can't get any of it to get started which means you have no idea how to get it in the first place do you? You can share it, sure. You can even stockpile it if you'd like, but you can't fake it. Wanting it, needing it, wishing for it...the point is if you've never had any of it, ever, people just seem to know.

So then how do you get like me?

You can't.

Seriously. Don't even try. You think you can be like me, but you can't. Only the select few ever hope to be like me and you're just not cut out for it. Stop trying and give up, because the more you try the worse you'll be. Girls don't want you, hell they don't even want to be near you. You think you got bros, but they don't care for you either. You think you can share it, stockpile it together, but you can't; none of you had it to begin with and no matter how many of you there amassing nothing is still nothing. You're nothing.

Get like me.

Editor's Note - Panic Over. Return to Browsing.

Yeah, it turned out that our Asian Correspondent unintentionally, yet nevertheless maliciously corrupted our precious omniblog. Do not be alarmed, all is back to normal, with a few minor changes. You are now all free to browse without the threat of oppression by Japanese overlords.

In other news, I can't change the order in which posts come out. A bunch of us here at JNS have a writing process that involves multiple drafts posted to this blog. The draft is logged as an original post, and so some articles will appear retroactively before other articles, due to the discrepancy in final publication. As I cannot currently change this feature, it will rest upon you, our loyal and oh-so-dispensible readers, to double check through the archives every so often in order to see any newly published articles that had been commenced previous to more recently viewed postings.

You're welcome.

Harro from Japan - Why Japan is rearry the greatest country in the worrd

Since the US of A won its independence from the isrand empire of Britain, it has made the farse craim that it is the greatest country in the word. That craim I must argue is farse and rame. Japan is actuarry the most superior country on the pranet. Japan invented samurai and ninja we arso own the sushi. Without sushi a country cannot consider itserf to be civirised. Arso why is it that you round-eyed fucks use your inventions of the fork. A fork is such a rame invention. Why do you need metar when you can just take two pieces of bamboo cut into rittre pieces? Arso America is furr of fat ass razy mother fuckers. We Japanese eat a baranced diet of fish, rice, more fish, more rice, and an occasionar dog thrown in here and there. Furthermore Japan has fucking hot tubbing monkeys. That’s right monkeys that sit in goddamn hotsprings and chirr. You asshores don’t have anything that comes even crose to that. Rong rive the empire of Japan.
-Mr. Roboto.
p.s. Pearr Harbor Two is coming.

Editor's Note - 2 Quick Announcements

1) The Omniblog seems to be down for some unearthly (or rather, extremely earthly) reason. If you are reading this, then it's either been fixed, or you have the keys to internet victory. Either way, there's reason to celebrate, but if it's the latter, e-mail me at bestsodaever@gmail.com before you pop the champagne. So far, mine seems to be the only computer not to be completely flipping a shit upon viewing the page, and even then, the title's gone all fancy-funky.

2) Once you are able to see this, you may also notice that there are several new posts, but interspersed among the older posts. This is because of the odd posting protocol that blogger sets as default. I haven't looked into it yet, but I might just be able to change this, if it makes things easier for you, our loving and adoring readers, to follow. If not, I will be sure to update. In the meantime, please take the time to scroll down and enjoy the hard work recently fine-tuned by our wonderful contributors.

That is all.

AU Book Store Now Hiring

Common Sense Not Needed



Back in my day, bookstores were run by people who cared. Now it seems that people at bookstores just don't care about their jobs enough to, oh I don't know, actually do them. This is even more upsetting since my day was only just a few years ago (I lied on my profile page and made myself 2 years older).


Aproximately 7 days ago, on the evening of January 9, 2009, I sat myself in front of the computer and ordered my books off of the AU bookstore. My reasoning was I would most likely be able to collect my books now and get them when I get to school rather than waiting for classes to start. Unfortunately, I was unaware that the people at the bookstore aren't sure of what a book order actually is so from now on, I will refer to it as a "shit order", because all I received was shit.


So today, I (or rather, Jeff) wrote a pretty nasty e-mail regarding my "shit order" asking "where's my shit" and "make it happen." How they responded was not with books, but rather the complete opposite: a list telling me the books are back ordered.


I didn't buy this shit for a second. As I'm feeling a little lazy right now, I think I'll let the email I sent them tell the rest of the story...



After recieving your e-mail and saw that 5 of my books were suddenly back ordered, I decided to go ahead and do your job for you. I walked down to the bookstore (this took around 2 minutes, I walk slow) and entered to the sound of the Bee Gees playing. I can't recall the song now, but trust me, it was definately them. Even while I was enjoying the sweet sounds of the Bee Gees, I was still able to locate 4 of the books that were "back ordered." This process took a whole 5 to 7 minutes. Walking up the steps towards the register, I bumped into some good friends of mine, so naturally, we conversed for a good 4 to 5 minutes. I then excused myself and purchased the books that were supposedly back ordered.Now, by applying basic math skills, we can see that it took me 14 mintues to recieve my books (at most). So you see, I no longer have any need for this order that, so far, has taken you at least a week with no end in sight. So thank you anyways.

Sincerely,

Marcopher


P.S. If you ever need helping collecting books for an order, call me up.

Truth/Untruth

Does truth exist. It seems that the existence of truth is not possible. due to the inherent unconscious subjectivity of all sentient beings--especially humans. However, now that we have come to the conclusion that truth cannot exist, we must ask, is it then true that truth does not exist? Oh, and in case any of the preceding was unclear: Penis (but not more than twice).

The Ambiguity Contest

The children are dead

At least in their heads

They could be waking

Or asleep in their beds

 

Crowded Exile - An Adventure in Banking

To commit to solitude is no act of passing whim. Even short respites from collegial contact are not taken simply as exercises in amusement. They are the last resorts of a stable and functioning mind, or they are the immediate fallback of a wanting and anxious state of being. In any case, the act is not as simple as wanting to go for a walk in the park ... it boils down to either a need for fresh air or a commitment to that accursed dog. Any other people walking in the park should be held with immediate suspicion and reported to the authorities.

So when I went to the bank yesterday, I was trying to be as sociable as possible, lest droves of Magisterium agents descend upon my erstwhile pleasant afternoon.

But the creeping sense of despair and isolation that normally accompanies a Wednesday afternoon could not be evaded. Nor could that hollow introspection that normally accompanies a trip to the bank be stifled. It seems that the deities of misfortune were conspiring to bake me cookies... of disaster. As I traversed below the overcast sky, my thoughts slipped to a light paranoia akin to the passing forbidden sparks of a depressed/oppressed worker slave living in a dystopic dictatorship.

And then it slipped further, as I contemplated the futility of carrying on with finances in a world where wage slavery ostensibly creeps into every life. I mean, seriously - when hard-working con-artists like the late dear Mr. Madoff are subjected to the same horrifying stiflings that every horrid corruption of the working class world experiences from God's glorious wrath, humans have transgressed that sacred line between just and lust.

As an aside note, I saw the Great Martyr while driving around once. As all of his enlightened followers now well know, he has been exiled to the sordid confines of Connecticut and Westchester County, NY. While on my Thursday outing last week, he pulled up beside me. His face was weary with carrying the burden of man's sins. I reached out to share in his pain, but he cast my hand asunder, modestly and unassumingly informing me that I must carry on where he left off.

And so, now wandering straight into the concrete wall in front of me, I emerged from my inward thought stream. The bank teller asked me what I was smoking.

Oh great, I thought forelornly, now I have to make conversation, like a true American.

I asked him how much he received for remuneration on Columbus Day. He flatly told me that he didn't speak Aramaic.

Plebeian.

I then swiped the deposit receipt from him (at some point during my mental travels, I must have subconsciously carried out my errand) and went on my sad, sad way. At least I won't have to leave the confines of my blog for another few hours. In the meantime, I shall find solace in my crowded exile.

_____________________

The Cremaster Cycle

Mutton Chops Are Delicious

As I sat in class today contemplating the back of the chair in front of me, a revolutionary thought passed through my head:
What's with the shocking dearth of mustachioed fellows in the highest echelons of government?
Back in the Glory Days of our Magnificent Republic, elaborate, dare I say flamboyant, facial hair was a must have for any serious political aspirant. Think of the white whiskered elegance of William Howard Taft. Or even the slovenly goatee of Grant, which, in its own way, gave off the musk of decrepit grandeur that exemplified this man's much maligned administration. Whenever I'm feeling down I just conjure up an image of Chester A. Arthur and his resplendent mutton chops. Then of course, we have TR and his perfect handlebar. Need I say more?
Sadly the glory days of facial hair are long gone. Personally, I blame that good-for-nothing Ivory Tower cloistered academic Woodrow Wilson. At the treaty of Versailles, Georges Clemenceau, David Lloyd George, and even Vittiorio Orlando all sported facial hair. No wonder the trio felt Wilson did not understand the European perspective - he refused to even grow a simple goatee! But alas, for some reason this gross emasculation of our national leaders has continued unabated since the days of Wilson. Not one President since that time has dared to let even a five o'clock shadow show. Beards, in fact, have become a sign of entrance into the political wilderness. Just consider the cases of Bill Richardson and Al Gore. Both waited until they were wallowing in defeat to grow truly awesome facial hair. What an outrage!
But a new day is dawning in Washington. Obama's change mantra may not include a personal devotion to a hairy face, but his likely replacement in the Senate, the great Roland Burris, is sporting quite a mustache. It is imperative that Roland Burris, who would be the only member of the Senate to have facial hair, be seated. Any further obstructionism by Harry Reid and his cohorts can only be seen as a blatantly facialist attempt at keeping the Senate clean-shaven.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, will NOT stand.

Curious Epicurean

So my column is devoted to the strange and obscene happenings involving food on this campus.  This includes anything that happens in the Terrace Dining Room, more commonly known as TDR, the Tavern, that smelly curry place etc etc.  Oh also the McDonalds on campus because the craziest shit happens there, I'm pretty sure it's because all the people working there are on crack, no offense.  I might also extend my comments to restaurants and other similar establishments in the DC area. I might elaborate on the quality or quantity of the food and or the persons involved in the consuming of the food.

So to start off I would like to share a story about the one of the only times that I have gone to the McDonalds on campus.  First was when I tried to get some breakfast.  I believe it was almost eleven o'clock, I bit late for breakfast I will admit but nonetheless it still wasn't lunch.  So I ordered a bagel, egg and cheese.  The woman at the register looked at me strangely and said, "Well we only have one..."  She then continued to just stare at me until I said,"Well can I have it?"  Still she kept staring and then said, "Well yeah."  Maybe she was saving that sandwich for someone I'm not sure, but in the end I was the one with the sandwich.  

Another time I went later at night, to get some ice cream.  My friend and I were the only ones there and the man at the cash register was acting more than strange.  First when we ordered he gave us the craziest grins, he is the one with the random braids all over his head making him look all the more insane.  He then while making our McFlurries shouted, "I just cut myself with  a key!" He then started laughing.  We then ran away.

The Tetris Riots

Letters to Tetris Online Customer Support





I was never that big on tetris. Organizing blocks neatly seems more like a job for people with OCD and foreign construction workers. However, the semester break felt dreadfully boring and I needed to do something more than watching war. After watching so many war movies, I began having flashbacks, and so, I searched for a cure until suddenly, I found one. In the following days, I became stricken with Tetris fever (its like jungle fever but involves far fewer black women*). The disease became so bad that I eventually took the top spot on the leaderboard.




The bad news comes next. For some reason, Tetris Friends, the Facebook application that I inject inbetween my toes to satisfy my Tetris fetish, doesn't seem to load here on campus for reasons unbeknowest to anyone. I suspected laziness at the Tetris Friends headquarters may be responsible and I set off to find out why my Tetris dealer decided to blow me off. The following is a series of e-mails between myself and the wonderful people at Tetris Online Customer support.

To Tetris Online Customer Support:

dude, tetris isn't working. it won't load for myself or anyone else. If it doesn't work soon, people might riot here. Please help, I'm worried I might not survive this riot.

Yeah, I realize that e-mail reads as though I'm high on something(I'm not), but at the time I didn't think they'd actually respond to any email, especially one as dumb as this one. But to my surprise, they sent a response in which they try to help me through my Tetris problems. For the sake of keeping your interest, I'm not going to bother showing you the e-mail they sent (they told me the same old delete your cookies shit). I decided to respond in order to see just how far I could string these people along.

Dear Tetris Online Customer Support,

My name is Kit Kitchner and I am replying on behalf of Marco. I was Marco's roommate until last night when a mob, which formed due to the tetris outage, dragged us both out of our room. At some point, we were split apart and I never saw him again. I was saved by SWAT, fortunately, before the mob could cause me any harm. Marco, however, wasn't so lucky. The police found his body today and his head has yet to be located.

I am currently going through Marco's email messages and responding to his close friends and family. To those that knew him well, Marco was an avid fan of tetris, which is why I decided to respond to you. You see, for Marco's Funeral I want people to be able to play Tetris Friend's during the funeral service. The problem is that Tetris Friends fails to load. I fear that this problem may not be fixed before the funeral and a riot may occur. I worry SWAT may not respond as quickly as previously and I will be laid t o rest next to Marco. Please try your best to resolve this problem, if not for myself, then for Marco, may he rest in peace.

Thank you,

Kit Kitchner

For those of you still reading, 1)why?, 2) if you worked at Tetris Online Customer Support would you honestly take the time to respond to an e-mail like this? As it turns out, its actually a very boring place to work at because, yes, they have very little to do other than respond to obvious fake e-mails.

A group meeting at Tetris Online Customer support Headquarters




TOCS responded back with every effort to show sympathy through text.

Dear Kit,

Could you please access Tetris Friends from Firefox (http://www.mozilla.com/en-US/firefox/) to see if you’re encountering the same issue? We just want to check if it’s an IE problem or a setting in Marco’s computer.

Thank you.

Our condolence to Marco.

-Tetris Online Customer Support



I am sincerely moved by TOCP's continuous attempts to aide my Tetris problem and, at the same time, try to comfort me after my loss. I press on and send another e-mail, this time, from Kit Kitchner's own e-mail address.

Dear Tetris Online Customer Support,

I doubt you, the person reading this letter, is the same one whom received my and Marco’s previous letters concerning the lack of Tetris available at our residence. In this case, I will just fill you in the small details. On the evening of January 11, Marco sent an email to customer support in hopes of fixing the problem that plagued his Tetris Friends: the game would not load. Marco received a reply the following day with a list of options he could take in order to alleviate the problem. After 3 frustrating hours, Marco failed to fix the Tetris Friends problem. At this time, a mob formed outside the room screaming for Tetris Friends. The crowd soon turned violent and Marco was killed during the ensuing riot.

For his funeral, I wanted people to be able to play Tetris Friends, which I’m sure Marco would have wanted. I had hoped the problem could have been fixed by the time of the funeral but once again customer support’s advice to pray to the Firefox, as they called it, only allowed me to make contact with a deceased man named Raul Eduardo. Raul was born in 1910 and, as you probably figured out yourself, knows nothing about computers. He will, however, make an excellent primary for my research paper on The Spanish Civil War (the one from 1936, not 1820), so thanks for that. Anyways, I happened to explain to Raul what Tetris is and he is now eager to play the game. I fear he might join the unruly crowd now forming outside my building. I would really like if this new rebellion will not receive help from the undead. Any new ideas on fixing my problem and preventing genocide?

Sincerely,

Kit Kitchner

P.S. Please fix this soon. Our doors won’t keep the mob out for long.

It looks to me that the good people at TOCP no longer seem interested in my dilemma considering they have stopped answering my emails. I'll try to update this story later hopefully with a response or some more emails I've sent but most likely I've grown bored with this.

*In fact, it includes absolutely no women of any race

Editor's Note - About the Title

Oh, why hello there. Welcome back. I suppose I should explain the title of this blog, which has drawn both questions and praise from readers. You'll likely notice the pun on Kibbles & Bits, but it goes further than that. While we here at Jibbles n' Shit approach most perspectives in a similar manner that the dog food satiates a wide variety of canine preferences, it also goes beyond the ordinary window frames that accompany even the most common of essays found on the interwebs.

You see, unlike the dog food, which offers that variety as modifications of the same brand, Jibbles n' Shit is like different dog food brands altogether forming a kind of gross mix that happens to taste great on tortilla chips. Trust me.

The world is a wondrous and changing place, ranging from the grand glorious jibbles of Oz, to the downtrodden shit of tomorrow. Dog food or no, we are on the verge of a new tomorrow, and this blog will serve that new world order.

And that reminds me - this blog, in general, stands firmly opposed to popular dog food brands. Only homegrown dog food fresh off the farm is conducive to proper puppy care. But we'll leave further speculation to our fluffy animal columnist, Ghost Captain.

Credit for the title goes to our Asian correspondent, Mr. Roboto. Be sure to send your flowers and stalker notes to him, not the publishing HQ. That is all.