You Wouldn't Call Your Country A Cunt, Would You?

In this RUTGER the cool frat bro breaks into a smooth jazz club--of which there were an abundance throughout Fort Collins. (Okay, so maybe I didn't leave my dorm room much, but surely there was one smooth jazz club somewhere?? Acid jazz...?)

"C'mon! Everyone start clapping! Even while I get pelted with naners and toaster ovens (where do we keep the toaster oven?)!"

That's true dedication to a bit when you're getting snowed under by projectiles. Maybe this frat guy should have been our president instead?

"Heel to the chief!"

Okay, maybe that doesn't make a lot of sense. But I'd like to see YOU cobble together some jokes and throw them at people, day after sole-crushing day! Or is this humor getting too arch? 

Next Week: Dancing leads to lewd dancing. Lewd dancing leads to lewd suicide.