by Andrew Piskai
Our dearest Punch Bowl subscribers,
Well, it finally came.1 I’m not talking about the new season of 24 either. I am officially a Punch Bowl
communist columnist2 which proves one thing: this humor magazine has been going really downhill.
Though some religious zealots3 see having a column as a God-given right, a sort of manifest destiny if you will, I see it as my Columnist Manifesto destiny. So when the guys at Punch Bowl told me to start a
commune column I didn’t even know what a commune column was.4 Irregardlessly, I knew my grammar were up to the tasks. Besides, education is overrated.5 Sidney Crosby didn’t go to college, and then boom: pro-hockey star. And what about Lebron James? These former straight-out-of-high-school rookies just go to show you that you can be anything if you’re famous enough. I may be young6. I may not know the ins and outs7 of running a commune column (WTF! TYPO CITY!!1), but I do know one thing: stripping.
Anywho, I guess you’re wondering who I am. Ok, I’ll bite.8 My name is Andrew Piskai and I tell people I came here to pursue a career as an engineer (Choo-Choo! Am I right? LOLZ). Actually the real reason I came to Penn State is because I love Joe Pa…like a lot…like more than a friend. I also love cuddling, warm bubble baths, and rainbow-powered tricycles. In my spare time I—just kidding, engineering major, remember? If you think that sucks, try being a Sixers fan. Then you’d be accustomed to sucking as much as me9. In any case, my point, convoluted as it may appear, is that we are basically the same person. (By the way, do you want to be roommates next year? No? O. Yeh alright, me neither.) As I was saying we’re like twins, but not like the weird Olsen ones (you’d TOTALLY be Ashley though). For you see, I, like you, hate eating dining hall food, attending 9 AM classes, and white people. See? We’re totally meant for each other10. I can say with 103% certainty that this marks the start of a beautiful relationship.
In honor of the start of our passionate lovemaking via the internet box as well as the most recent holiday, I wrote you a poem expressing how I truly feel about you:
As we crouch behind the food carts,
I break out some candy chalk hearts.
With that gesture promptly starts
A throbbing dance of naughty parts.
Like the risk of being shot,
The winter air affects us not,
Since we have heat ‘cause I’m so hot
But most of all ‘cause you’re on pot.
Treat me right like I’m the boss
And all will surely not be lost.
For if it’s me who you accost
I’ll let you taste my Hemo sauce.
Was it as good for you as it was for me? I spent like 15 ½ hours writing it. For real girl.
Catch you in two weeks hotcakes,
A. T. Piskai
1 No, that’s not what she said.
2 They’re interchangeable.
3 I’m talking to you Hillel.
4 In fact I’m still kind of fuzzy on it…email me? firstname.lastname@example.org
5 I’m sorry Penn, I didn’t mean that.
6 Then again I may not be *wiggles fingers* woOOoOoOO
7 See footnote 1.
8 But I mean, only if you’re into that kind of thing.
9 Ok, that she did say.
10 Seriously let me know if you want to room together.