Jenkins explained, “For years I was suffocating in my room up there—I lived just a few feet away from my parents. It was awful. But then I realized, ‘I live in America!  I shouldn’t have to deal with this! I should be independent!’ That’s when I decided to move to the basement, where I can stay up as late as I want and I don’t even need to look for a job. To top it off, Mom says that since I’m on my own, I only have to eat half of my vegetables at dinner.”

Tyrell’s parents, who, after much deliberation, have decided not to accompany their son on his life-changing trip to the basement, are proud of their son. “I’m glad he’s finally moving on,” said his mother, Mary Jenkins. “We were so worried about him. He didn’t have a job, he wasn’t making any money, he hadn’t even brought a girl home in six months! But now, just look at him, he’s made real progress. In just a few more years, he might even move up to the attic to start a family.”

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See our previous slideshows:

We’ve Found Waldo.

What is Sarah Palin Writing on Her Hand?.

Stern Goes Plateless.

Though the outhouse draw went largely according to plan, the event did have a few snags. Specifically, two of the draw groups were split over the course of the draw. “There’s nothing better than hanging out in the bathroom with my girlfriends—it’s why I came to Synergy. Now, I’m stuck in outhouse seven with Suzie Thallows.  ResEd seriously needs to reform the outhouse draw process,” said Synergy resident Jenny Rempel.

I’m Joe, but you can call me the “Police Blogger.” No, that’s not what my friends call me, it’s just what I call myself. This is my first blog post, so excuse the typos and ramblings.

Normally, in the paper you see the police blotter, where you read all the crimes. But I’m the police blogger–I give you the crimes and then I give you my opinions.

Let’s begin: Yesterday at 3:15 p.m., a Macbook was stolen from Hewlett 200 from some girl Carli. First off, Carli, seriously? Everyone knows Stanford students are hungry for extra first generation Macbooks. Plus, the report says you didn’t have a lock and are not actually sure that you lost it and that it might still be in your dorm room under your bed. I think what we have here is a case of the “I need to be more responsible”s.

Ok, next up: Last week in Mirrielees, a recording device was found in a bedroom. First off, creepy. Second, really? Ok, guys, if you are looking for recording space, I have this friend who does a really great job, he’s really professional and he can record your band for cheap. He’s done a bunch of local bands before–I’ll give you his number.

Last: Another day, another bike crash outside the Post Office. What can I tell you guys? Helmets is the name of the game. Let’s act like grown ups.

After several weeks of writing a column, I have been called “self-righteous masculinist,” “playa,” “pimp,” “thoughtless man-whore” and “shallow,” to which I proudly plead guilty.

You’ve got me pinned; I’m your stereotypical guy who thinks of nothing more than sex (specifically every six seconds, that is), and I’m here to tell you that we’ve been persecuted for far too long.

People may claim this is the age of sexual liberation, where you can go around talking about blowjobs and orgies and bestiality all you want, but I am living proof that this is simply not true. I won’t even tell you what happened the last time I started talking about my forays into bestiality.

We men, when we go out, we are just trying to claim our god-given right to the blowjob. The only thing we ever think about is boobs and vaginas and boobs and asses and vaginas and boobs. Yes, women of the world, you’ve got us figured out. Boobs.

All we do is read ESPN magazine to find out about the latest sex positions and drink beer to find enlightenment on the best pick up lines. This is our life.

And if you are a man who goes out just to get a simple blowjob every night, only to come back with a hug, I challenge you. I dare you to say no to these Stanford girls who tease you. Traumatizing studies have come out recently, revealing that a majority of Stanford men have been involved in a life-altering tease. Many of these men have never recovered.

You may think, “This can’t happen to me,” “This is Stanford,” “I’m a nice guy” or other similar thoughts, but I assure you, these teasers walk amongst us. They may look like your average girl, but trust me, these women are vicious. So BE CAREFUL PLEASE!

To discuss your forays into bestiality, e-mail flipside@stanford.edu.

At first, Messner reacted with panic to the realization that she was a chronic rationalizer, but after a few minutes, she started to calm down. “Actually, when I think about it, I don’t rationalize all that often,” she thought to herself. “Besides, almost everybody I know does it, so it definitely can’t be that big of a deal.” By the time Professor Walton started talking about repression, Messner had forgotten the whole incident ever happened.