"Look at this when drunk"

Found this gem from late Junior year on my phone. Great advice, save for the 3rd one down.

Move Over Upton: My New Desktop Background

So this is the oldest person in the world at 115. You're welcome. 

Or sorry, depending on how you see it. 

Makes you think hmm maybe there's a reason we're not supposed to get past 85?

Imagine what she sounds like...

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The Opposite George Cover Letter

Maybe because it’s the 33rd personalized cover letter you’ve meticulously crafted, maybe it’s because your brain can’t handle Adderall at 2am quite like it used to, but as you carefully position the job description window and your résumé to fit along side your blank Word document, you say, “Fuck it, I’m gonna give these assholes something to read this time.” 

—And so begins the opposite George cover letter. You start it off with an attention-grabber, just like your teachers taught you to. Granted, it was 5th grade and a creative story about a talking toucan (Pixar I’m coming for ya!) but hell, you’re going to make sure this prick at HR reads this last-goddamn-resort top to bottom. “Dear Gary in HR,” 

 It’s a long shot, but you give it a one in ten this dude’s name is Gary. 

 “Honestly, you probably want to be reading this about as much I want to be writing it, but market price for addy is a helluva lot steeper when you’re buying it off little high school twerps back home, so I except your undivided attention.” 

 Yeah definitely not getting this job. Gary’s a stiff; no way he condones prescription drug abuse. 

“I think I saw your company’s posting for this position somewhere online, but between the newspaper cut-outs my mom leaves by my cereal while muttering under her breath something along the lines of ‘piece of shit,’ and my ex-slam Facebook-ing me links to posts on LinkedIn and Monster.com, I tend to lose track of where I came across all these career ‘opportunities.’ I write ‘opportunities’ in quotes because let’s be honest Gary,” 

 Seriously doubting his name’s Gary. 

“…my application was tossed aside the minute you saw it was emailed from my dharma_initiative815@yahoo.com email account I’ve had since high school.” 

Did we ever find out what the Smoke Monster was?

“The only ‘opportunity’ this is, is the opportunity for you to feel high and mighty by dismissing my gravely under-qualified résumé so you can postpone the stark realization that you more closely resemble the traits of Toby Flenderson from The Office than you do a suitable father to your son that your estranged wife, probably a ‘Dolores’ or a ‘Skyler,’ resents you for turning gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

Hopefully Gary picks up on the subtle Seinfeld references and pulls a ‘Steinbrenner.’ 

“Though being my 33rd cover letter, give or take five, I still have no idea what the proper format expected from qualified jobs seekers is, but you know what Gary?”

Is pausing for effect limited to speeches?

“I am not a qualified job seeker—on paper. (Nor am I mentally unstable, I promise). What I am is a recent grad from an expensive institution who will do whatever is reasonably necessary to grow this company’s value while making a buck for myself. Evident by my unwavering attempts at finding a job despite excessive and demoralizing rejections,”

Like seriously, I thought Target was supposed to be a sure thing.

“…my motivation does not run out, nor will it if you offer me this job.”

Gary didn’t offer me that job.

Study Abroad 101: (Intro to what doing speedball must feel like)

It's Thursday night. You just finished classes for the week because like a smart college kid you keep your Friday's free. You're passing through the student center, thoughts occupied by what mixer to buy with Flex, when a certain advertisement on a bulletin board catches your eye. Just when you thought college couldn't possibly get any better, it does—cue discovery of studying abroad.

Convincing your parents was no problem at all: "Of course you can go honey, it will be a great cultural experience!" Which in your head that translates to, "It will be a drunken barhopping, Euro clubbing, hook-up fest." The only thing Pops didn't spring for was you flying first class. But you're like fuck it; I'll be like Denzel in Flight, drunk on that plane anyway.

The rest of the semester you really buckle down and focus on training. Not brushing up on foreign languages. "Dov’e la birra?" is easy enough to learn. No, training is going out an average of 4 nights a week, going out HARD. Overseas, you'll be going on 10, 11, 12 night drinking streaks! You're not even going to survive the 'Opening Tour' if you don't train your liver, first. But if it does give out, grazie Dio that there's free healthcare across the pond.

Finally, the embarkment comes. You failed all your finals just in anticipation. But don't worry, classes abroad are such a joke the former Jersey Shore cast could ace them…well, pass. (And if you’re aiming for A’s while taking classes in a foreign country, do us all a favor and get Taken).

Anyways, arriving in Europe is like a dream come true. You and all your friends got this dumb grin on your faces for like a week straight. Also, if they're not even your friends now trust me, they'll immediately become close ones soon. You see the sights during the day and, if you're smart, you scout out potential bars and clubs. Though, if you're really really smart, you scout out nearby mini-marts and grocery outlets so you can pregame the bars in your tiny ass rooms. After, of course, your live-in family cooks you a feast fit for Adele and Jessica Simpson, all the while forcing wine down your throat until your teeth get stained purple. 

But as for the (post) pregaming: in Italy you can pickup a fifth of Absolut for 9€... like $12. Or, you can buy a single Red Bull and vodka at the clubs for 8€... which (according my online bank statement) will set you back $11.32. ‘Merda!’ <—This means “shit.” But at least at bars in Italy at least it's customary to not tip!

But, eventually classes do start...which hardly affects anything. Trust me, there are worse things than being hungover in class. Staying in the night before, for example. Or hooking up with a tranny. (Don't ask). But anyways, on one of your weekend trips you swiped a barf bag off the plane and stashed it in your school backpack. Problem solved.

You soon learn that really the only tough thing about studying abroad is budgeting. Well that and dealing with the occasional non-English speaker (the nerve). Unless your parents are too lazy, or rich, to actually figure out conversion rates and make your bank account look Swiss-worthy, you're going to have to budget yourself. You'll save the souvenir buying till the last week, eat cheap ass Doner Kebabs twice a day, pregame the bars, and scrap the fancy restaurants for fixed-price unlimited wine and pasta joints. It's way more fun being inappropriately loud and drunk with 15 other friends anyways. 

Now personally, I have no shame going to a McDonald's every once in awhile abroad. It's not everyday you can buy a beer with a Happy Meal. But tourist beware, for some likely socialist-related reason foreign fast food is expensive as hell, so save it for when you're either homesick or simply can't handle one more friggin' pannini: "Um, come si dice ‘condiments?’"

But sadly, after weeks or months or even a year of your foreign occupation, the fact that "la dolce vita" won't last forever hits you like, well, the guy that sings "Forever." It's a strange feeling because while you are excited to get back to the land of peanut butter, large showers, and air conditioning you know that you're going to be too poor to come back abroad until after like 8 years of employment. You know you made great friends from Boston though you're from Seattle, you know that cursing in English again just won't be nearly as satisfying, and no matter how hard you try, you know you'll never be able to relive the greatest time of your life. Hopefully you wait ‘til you get home to cry, sentimental pussy... Arrivederci stronzi!

[Shout out to Gonzaga-In-Florence Summers 2011 & 2012]

Day 2

So basically I sometimes write funny stuff for websites, in the past I've done CollegeTownLife and TotalFratMove but tried to dissociate myself from the former because all their other content just started turning super shitty, and as for the latter I've graduated college and simply don't really feel like writing in that TFM-tone anymore. I'm trying to get in with PostGradProblems, a sister site of TFM. Just finished up a few interview questions I emailed Tucker Max, a post-grad himself:

"...as you are a former self-proclaimed douche-bag, what are your thoughts on current douche-bag, Phil Mickelson, winning the British Open?"

He told me in an email that although he's super busy, if the questions looked good he'd get back to me. I don't think he's going to get back to me.

But yeah so I plan on putting the enormity of my writing and general thoughts that I don't send to a publishing site here. So if you still wanna follow the Joints and Cheese blog, you won't be disappointed! I'll most likely post articles I write for #PGP on here first, generally it takes them a day or so to review them, and I don't like having to wait to see what people's general reactions are to my articles.

So this next post is an article about Studying Abroad. It's funnier than this post was, I promise.

"Hi, My Name Is"

You don't know me, but I go by DHoov206 mainly because I'm stupid enough to think that having such a slight pseudonym would be enough to give me a veil of anonymity. Having had the 'privilege' of meeting an FBI agent two days prior to my college graduation swiftly curbed that naïvety. So one of the original bloggers of "Joints and Cheese" happened to be a long-time friend of mine, and he left this blog to me, as sadly he passed on July 19, 2013, when I asked him if he wanted to keep posting for Joints and Cheese. 

"Lowkey fucked-up..."

There's a lot more where that came from. Anyways he and his friends, I suppose due to their incredible ability to both apply to and then receive offers for grown-up people jobs, no longer had time to maintain Joints and Cheese—so here I am.

My hero!

I don't have much more to say other than keep your eyes out for my next post because then you'll know what you're getting into by keeping "Joints and Cheese" alongside your bookmarked tabs of Facebook and RedTube. Jews are the manifestation of God's wrath on the sinners of the world.

The fuck did that come from?

For now I'm getting pretty tired and so this might be deleted in the morning when I realize that my (hopefully non-addictive) sleep meds don't induce humorous writing quite like finals-cramming amounts of Adderall do, but keep your eyes out (I already said that) and I'll get at you tomorrow. Keep gettin' turnt up out there.

And no, I don't know what that means.