Shyzer.com

This wasn’t originally what I had planned on uploading right now, but when Hannah alerted me a few hours ago to some certain footage she held in her possession, I made a managerial decision and bumped this to the top of my To Do List.

A few days ago I spoke of a movie I was partaking in where the video class on campus filmed three International students more or less making complete asses out of themselves. Of course, the minute I get my copy of that tape, it will be uploaded here on Shyzer for all to laugh at me. But that’s not what I have for you today. You see, at yesterday’s shoot, a free keg was provided. Even though it was only barely after the crack of noon on a Sunday, I’m never one to turn down free refreshments. It’s simply rude. So as I got ready for the first shoot, I snagged a cup, scribbled Goob across it, and filled it to the brim.

The shoot lasted for almost 10 hours.

Needless to say, by the end of it, I was a tad inebriated. When I stumbled off the bus and into the corridor, I made a beeline for my room, but was caught off guard and spotted by a few of my mates here. As luck had it, Hannah was one of said mates and Hannah is the owner of a sweet little digital camera that can also take high quality movies.

I think you can guess what happened next. - I hope you downloaded it while you could, because the video is no longer here!

Ever since the success of the Shyzer Shuffle video, coupled with the fact that I want to start adding weekly videos here on Shyzer if at all possible if I can figure out how to film them, I figured I’d test out Windows Movie Maker and see how it works. In reality, this was more of a time for me to test and make sure I could get the conversions, compressions, and watermarks done corectly and so far, they all seem to work perfectly. So if you want more videos, be sure to let me know in the comments / tagboard and maybe even leave a few requests.

Oh, and one last thing. Tempe is my fan, who I’ve not only named, but who has more of a personality than some actual humans I know. Some made fun of me for loving and caring for Tempe and actually tried to seperate us. He was kidnapped from me last month and held hostage until the criminals (ie. Hannah) finally felt bad and released him. Our reunion was quite tearful.

As promised, here is the first of my many assignments that are due in the next 7 days. I told you I wasn’t joking when I said I was determined to have some fun with these things.

Aboriginals and Education

As stated in the Title of this post, the Current Groin Grabbingly Count is 1. I hope to hit 5 by the time this is over.

While watching an Aussie footy game last week, I saw a commercial for The Ring Two that said in 2002, The Ring was “the one that started it all.” Started what all exactly?? People going to see The Ring? Hard to argue with that I guess…

Is there anything more frustrating that an 0-11 slump at the plate? I think not. In fact, I have twice as many stolen bases as I do runs scored this season. And my runs scored total is higher than my hits total. Ouch. At least I can still catch the ball with blinding brilliance.

And finally, now that it is May, the “Four Essays That I Don’t Give A Shit About” countdown has officially begun. Starting around May 10th and lasting until the 20th (I actually have no idea about those dates. I might want to investigate that a little more in depth), I have four essays due in four different classes. But seeing as how I don’t care about them and want to have a little fun with them, I am going to pull what my friends and I call a Psych AP. What is that, you ask?

During my senior year of high school, one of the AP courses I took was Psychology. It was one of the fairly newer AP courses offered and because of that, my high school had yet to adequately filled the teaching position. So, when my classmates and I discovered that we were being taught by someone who had recently graduated with an Interior Designing Degree, I tossed all aspects of being studious outside the proverbial window. Why study and pay attention in class when our teacher was simply reading out of the book to us? I could do that on my own time, and so I dedicated the semester to having fun in the class.

As exam time quickly approached, my teacher openly wondered aloud how I would pass the exam. My test grades consisted of low Bs from which I managed to pull off simply by reading through the chapters 30 minutes before the test, which meant that I was retaining absolutely nothing in my memory bank beyond two hours. But I was not worried, for I was confidant in my abilities to not only wing through something I didn’t care about, but to wing thought it with style. Goob Style.

The day of the AP exam finally had arrived in mid-May and as we filed into the library, I sat down at my alphabetically assigned seat next to my good buddy Fellner and began chatting with him. My lore for having done just an hour of studying was known far and wide by this point and we discussed how in the world I thought I’d be able to pass this baby. I wasn’t worried about the multiple choice section since I knew I could pull that off somehow, but instead it was the essay section where my qualms lied. It was broken down into two essays, with each essay having two possible questions to choose from. It was pure luck of the draw in this section and the house had the advantage.

At the mid-way point, we received a few minutes break while the multiple choice portion was collected and the essays were distributed. I whispered over to Fellner in the next cubicle that now was the time of reckoning as we were about to find out what kind of essays we had to choose from. As the teachers told us to begin, Fellner chuckled and wished me luck as we both tore open our packets.

I scanned over the first two questions and distinctly remember thinking “……………Oh shit.” Deciding that I might have to bullshit the first essay, I decided to skip ahead to the second essay and try to answer that one first. I flipped a few pages, found the next set of questions, and again distinctly remember thinking “Wait….I thought Pavlov was the dog’s name! You mean he was the psychologist? Then what was the dog’s name?!” Apparently, Lady Luck was not smiling down on me that day.

So, seeing as how I had an hour and a half of mandatory silence to write two essays I didn’t even understand the questions to, I did the natural solution. I started whispering to Fellner about how fucked I was. Of course, this didn’t help his predicament any because he was actually trying to answer his questions, but it made me feel better, if only for a few minutes. But I soon found myself not only extremely bored, but receiving the evil eye from the teachers who saw me talking and not writing, which is when I arrived at my glorious decision. I’d just start writing. Not about the questions or even psychology, but about whatever came to mind. And for the next hour and twenty minutes, I wrote more babble than I ever have in my entire life.

I wrote about how retarded my psychology teacher was, about how fun my classmates were since they enjoyed my goofiness, and about how I wanted to know the name of Pavlov’s dog. I wrote about my top five favorite Simpsons episodes and about how Fellner was stifling his giggles over the fact that I was writing about the Simpsons on a Psychology AP exam. I wrote every single funny knock-knock joke that I know (all three of them!) and about how the Mariners were off to a hot start that April (This was in 2001, the year they would go on to win 116 games.) In fact, I filled page after page of random nonsense, right up until the point where the teacher pulled the paper out from under my pen. I’ll never forget the last few sentences I wrote, because I described how the bell had just rung, how the teachers were telling us to stop writing no matter what, how I was being yelled at because I was still writing about how I wasn’t supposed to be writing, and how a teacher started marching over to me to take my essay away from me. The last sentence was something along the lines of “Oh no, here she comes! Damnit, okay, I have to go, but remember, if you didn’t laugh at least once during this essay, your soul is dead! Oh shit, here she is! Nooooooo,” which was followed by a pen streak running all the way down the page since I refused to lift my pen as she pulled the essay away from me.

Needless to say, my friends and I had a great laugh for the next few months about how I had treated the exam. A few people didn’t believe me, but I had Fellner as my witness since I had continually kept giving him a hushed play-by-play as I wrote my babble. In fact, I would to this day give anything to be able to read that essay again. It might be some of the best coherent, balls-to-the-wall writing I have ever compiled. If only there was a way to get my hand on it…

Anyway, I went ahead and made plans to take Psychology during my second semester in college since I had no chance of passing the AP exam. I had taken a few other AP courses that year, and so when the results became available in July, I phoned in to see what I had made. The grading scale was on a system of 1 to 5. Five was perfect, four was good stuff, three was adequate, two and one were failing. So you can imagine my surprise when I heard

…blah, blah, blah…Psychology. Three. Blah, blah, blah…

Wait a minute. Did she just say I made a three? A THREE? I PASSED? WHAT????? To this day, I still have no idea how I passed. I like to think it was because I made the person reading over my essay smile and laugh. I like to think that my essay broke up his monotonous day of reading pointless after pointless essay about emotional development and children’s stress limits and guys named Pavlov who in the great realm of things were talking out of their asses. I like to think that it was my pure randomness and goofiness that let my grader say, “Oh fuck it, I’ll give this kid a three!”

And this, my friends, is pulling a Psych AP. I don’t plan on spending days in the library doing research for a topic I care little to nothing about. I want to have fun with these essays. I want one of the essays to contain “Flanders Sucks!” in each paragraph and also contain the phrase “groin-grabbingly delicious”, a la Homer when he becomes a food critic. I want one essay to contain a scanned drawing of one of the pictures my little sister has drawn me. And of course, I want to have enough facts in my essays to make sure I pass, which shouldn’t be hard enough given that all I need is a 50.

The melding of fun and facts should be an interesting venture. I’m actually kind of looking forward to it.

During the “Let’s all figure out what in the hell is up with the Google ads” campaign last week, I stumbled across an interesting site to say the least. While testing the ads on Shlyrics, I came across an add for an Alien Abduction Preventive Device. The site boasted such claims as:

The Alien Abduction Preventive Device is guaranteed for LIFE. Should you or the holder of the Alien Abduction Preventive Device be abducted 110% of the purchase price will be refunded. You can and must protect yourself and your loved ones from ALIEN ABDUCTION!

Being the ever-so-curious person that I am, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to investigate this site, so I clicked one of the many three links on the site. Upon further inspection, it appeared that the protection device was nothing more than a little pin with a line through a space saucer. Seems effective enough to me. I mean, just because an advanced race can conquer space travel, anal probing, and the mysterious of women (I’m just guessing on that last one. Hopefully somebody can figure them out), then a little copper pin would be more than enough to thwart their plans.

Still not sold? Okay, well then let me furnish you with some of the details of the guarantee.

Details of guarantee furnished with the Device.

See? Isn’t that enough to make you plop down $6.75 of your hard earned cash? And besides, if you do happen to get abducted, remember that you are getting not only a full refund, but an extra 10% back. That’s 52 cents my friends. I’d almost want to be abducted just to get my grubby hands on two quarters and pennies.

Seriously, who in the hell would buy this? Any person who purchases something like this with the realistic hopes of being protected from aliens needs to be rounded up and placed in the desert. That way, if the aliens ever do come down and demand a few heathens to sacrifice, we can point them out west and tell ‘em that we’re one step ahead.

It looks like Shyzer has its first ever, very own, self-produced video. It runs about 1+ minutes and it is of myself, Waynus, and Clayster doing our dance that was actually renamed during filming to the Shyzer Shuffle. (you even get to see the thought process that leads to me saying “Shyzer shuffle….hey, I like that!”) It’s basically a variation of The Twist. All you do is twist faster and further to the point where it looks like you are retarded and makes your muscles cramp up within a few seconds. We all love it, mainly because it’s ours. I’m gonna tweak the video a bit tonight (basically brighten it up) but I thought why not just go ahead and throw it up here for all to see now before perfecting it.

As I was working on the film, I realized something else. Unless you have ever met me in real life, I don’t think Shyzer readers have ever heard my voice. Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think I’ve ever uploaded a sound clip of myself talking and therefore, everybody is now able to hear how I talk. I’d like to add that my voice is actually deeper in real life. Anyway, here’s the clip (please right click and “save as”)

If the film doesn’t run on your computer, please let me know and tell me the error it gives you. I know I’m completely jinxing it by saying this, but I think I have it so that anybody should be able to view it. If it gives you a codec error, it means you haven’t been keeping your computer up to date…shame on you!…so you will have to go out and download the newest codec, which is only a Shyzer search away if you use the search function over there. I included a link to the latest codec in a post last month, so go dig that up and have a look.

And please, let me know what you think. If I even get one “hahaha, that was great” comment, there will be plenty more to come.

ONE LAST THING. I call my mom “mother” in the clip. I think the last time I called her that, I was 15 and trying to impersonate a stuck up snob. I have no idea why I called her mother in this clip.

First off, I would like to register my extreme disappointment with MovableType. It supposedly has a feature where I can type and upload a post and categorize it as “future.” I then enter in the time and date and when that rolls around, the post will automatically become public. There was supposed to be a post uploaded Friday morning and then another uploaded this morning. As you can see, neither uploaded. So I’m going to trash the one that was to run today, replace it with this one, and run the Friday one tomorrow. Piece of crap MT…

I’m now back home and prepared for my trip. My apartment in Columbia is cleared out and all my stuff is packed up and ready to go. God I’m so nervous / excited. I spent Friday night here at the house with my dad, his girlfriend, and my brother just hanging out and telling old stories of crap we pulled in our younger days that always bring a smile, no matter what. Waynus and I stayed up until 0300 (yes, I’m forcing myself to get in the habit of using military time.) before getting up at 0500 to go to the Flea Market. The only reason I tell you of this is because we managed to shoot some decent footage of ourselves acting like complete assholes / 12-year-olds, so if I can ever figure out how to get my computer to recognize my camcorder, I’ll upload them to Shyzer. Chong happened to be back in town for one final week of training, so of course I went out with him and all his friends from work to Greenville. Much fun was had, even more beer was consumed, and I somehow managed to drive back to his house before crashing on his couch. A very fine sendoff with my bro if I do say so myself.

The Goob Experience also ended this afternoon. In case you’re too lazy to click the link, I’ll let you know how the bidding turned out:

Un-fucking-believable doesn’t even begin to describe that. At the start of the auction, I told many people that if it sold for $10, I’d be happy. Well, right now, I am 11.250 times as happy as I would have been. I called Waynus right before the auction ended today and we watched it go from $50 to $112.50 in a matter of minutes. I wish I had written down some of the quotes from that conversation so that I could add them to the ones below, but rest assured that “Holy fuck” was uttered many times. I had no idea who mighty320 or mystericbidder was, but I knew that I would at least be able to learn the identity of mystericbidder. Oh how very wrong I was. But first, here are some of my favorite quotes that I had enough sense to write down after they were said so that I could put them here on Shyzer

“He only bid $21?! What a pussy! Who the fuck!?” - Fellner, commenting on Boston Matt raising the bid by one dollar at a time.

“I am hoping someone will buy it for valentines day…..for me” - Different Andy, not the one who bid on the experience.

“This guy must have a tiny dick. I mean, if you were that scared to bid against me, we are talking minuscule penis action.” - Fellner, talking about Boston Matt, but before we knew it was him.

“WELL, now we’re really throwing our hat in the game. Now we’re really shaking it up, making it interesting with a big $23.50″ - Fellner, and I bet you can guess who he’s talking about.

“I might have to dip into my savings. My kids won’t be able to go to college because I bid too much on the Goob Experience. I’ll have to get some money wired to me from Switzerland.” - Still Fellner, although this was by far the most sarcastic I’ve ever heard him talk and I was rolling.

“I want to know who the fuck this person is. Now.” - Fellner upon learning he’d lost the bidding war.

“Jesus christ man, $112.50. I’m gonna sell my fucking soul on ebay” - Dave

“That is at least 2 hookers, maybe 3 if you get grungy female extras from the first mad max” - Andy, the one who bid $10.

“I feel like I haven’t earned it. No, I actually feel like I’m being taunted by this person. I want to know who it is!” - Fellner, upon learning the experience had been donated to him.

If you read the caption after that last quote correctly, then you’re probably sitting there going, “Donated to Fellner? Huh?” Well, when I received the e-bay form saying the auction had been sold, alarms immediately went off when I saw the address was 123 Main Street, New York, NY 10108. I quickly contacted the buyer and began drafting an e-mail to e-bay to complain when I got another e-mail. Mystericbidder had already sent the money to my Paypal account. Stunned, I went ahead and transferred the funds to my bank account and within a few minutes, I received an e-mail from the winner. They sent me they AIM name (which was something like Mystery9798750890987647 or whatever) and we began to talk. They asked to remain anonymous and said that they wanted to go ahead and invoke Item #11, which was the potpourri section. I asked what they wanted and they replied with “I would like you to donate every item to that roebuckrunner fellow, except for Item #3 (the pizza breadstick recipe). I’m interested to see what that tastes like.” I asked why they wanted to do this and they told me that it was a reward for his valiant bidding efforts. They said they love e-bay simply for the thrill of the last minute bidding and thought that my auction was so funny, they felt like bidding.

So, as it turns out, Fellner “won” the experience, even if he doesn’t feel like he earned it. In fact, he thinks I’m the one behind this, but I can assure you that I have no role in this whatsoever. I was paid, I had the conversation, and I was asked to make sure they remained anonymous. Craziness if you ask me. So, if you feel inclined to wish me a happy birthday today, please make sure you send the same message to Fellner. His AIM name is USCFellner or if you don’t have IM, you can do so here in the comments. But either way, all Happy Birthday requests need to make their way to him one way or the other!

I am now off to try and get this camcorder to download its files onto my computer, work on Shlyrics, and give the “cast” section a much needed update before heading overseas.

Oh, and Jaime, thank you again. Thank you so, so, so, so, so very much. That was awesome of you.

Tonight was…wow…yeah, tonight was simply wow. It’s 4 AM and I’m just impressed that I’m sober enough to type this without massive typos. But tonight…seriously…wow. Kick. Ass.

[edit]Apparantly I made a few phone calls as well last night. To anybody who received one, I’d be very interested in hearing just what in the hell I said to you, so please IM me and let me know. [/edit]

Just a little side note before I start. Not a single quote in this post was made up. My laptop was turned on at the time of this event and I quickly grabbed it and began pounding out the quotes verbatim just to make sure that when I came back to type this post, I didn’t exaggerate. That’s right, as the events unfolded, I was thinking of Shyzer. Anyways…

A week or so ago, Waynus and I were forced to share a bed at our aunt and uncle’s house since they were in the process of buying a new spare bed. We didn’t mind at all, but it did lead to the occasional mid-night blanket tug-o-war match for supremacy of the covers. Plus, the Berlin Wall of Pillows we constructed only lasted a few minutes before we both started beating the crap out of each other for attempting to inch it towards the other person, thereby securing more lebensraum for our bodies. However, there were times before our struggles when we both shared the bed peacefully. Every night we’d lie there, me reading my book and him talking on the phone, and not utter a single word to each other. It was bliss. Yet, there was one such occasion where I not only threw down my book in disbelief, but ended up getting out of bed, having a complete meltdown, quizzing a tenth grade girl to the brink of tears, and then yelling at her in rage.

Some of you may remember this post I made last summer about the stupidity of one of Tommy’s friends. Well, he failed to learn that stupid people are, well, stupid and so he continues to associate with this bimbo. As I was just getting to the good part of Fail Safe, I heard the following phrase come out of Waynus’ phone.

So you’re in California? Is that on the other side of the country?

Immediately my brain was livid. I couldn’t believe my ears and yet at the same time, I remembered my previous encounter with South Carolina’s very own Jessica Simpson, and so I knew that this was not out of the norm for her. The minute Waynus heard it, he squeezed his eyes shut knowing I was within earshot. My emotions pleaded to just let it go and continue reading, but I couldn’t. I simply couldn’t.

Goob: Wait a damn minute. What the hell did she just say?
Waynus: Nothing! Nothing! Just let it go!
Goob: Oh hell no, give me that damn phone.

I made a swipe to grab the phone, but Waynus jerked it out of my reach and went into damage control. He claimed it was an honest mistake, one that anybody could have made at 0300. “Okay,” I said, “Let me give her another geography question. Ask her how many states there are.” Waynus looked at me for a second before sighing heavily. He knew the exact same thing I did. The answer would be anything but correct.

Waynus: Um, Catherine, let me ask you a question. How many states are there in the U.S. My brother is just wondering because he doesn’t think you’ll know.
Stupidest Tenth Grader In America: Fifty-one! HA! GOTCHA! I bet he didn’t think I’d know that, so just tell him to back the fuck off!

I went absolutely apeshit. Gotcha? Gotcha? GOTCHA?!?! YOU GOT IT FUCKING WRONG! Waynus almost lost it upon viewing my reaction. I jumped out of bed, grabbed a handful of pillows and tossed them across the room. Our baby cousin was sleeping in the next room and Waynus was trying to muffle a hysterical outburst as I grabbed one of the pillows and screamed into it. I finally looked up and just shook my head.

Waynus: Look, maybe she just doesn’t know geography. Everything you’ve ever asked her had to do with geography. Ask her something else!
Dumb Retard: Ask me about current events! I keep up with the news!
Goob:…….Fine. Let’s see here…. Okay, name either country we’ve invaded in the last three years.
Dumb Retard: Oh geez, this is hard. It’s one of those I countries, right?
Goob: Waynus, I swear to God if I ever meet this girl, I may strangle her on the spot.
Waynus: Give her another question! Those middle eastern countries are easily confused!
Goob: Okay, what just killed a bunch of people in Asia? I’ll give you a hint, it was a natural disater.
Dumb Retard: Hell if I know….
Goob & Waynus: IT WAS A FREAKING TSUNAMI!
Dumb Retard: Oh, that’s like a wave or something, isn’t it! I know that from Johnny Tsunami!

I was speechless. This had to be a horrible joke. How could somebody be this retarded, honestly? I wanted it to end and yet at the same time, curiosity and rage had formed a strange mixture that made me want to see just how stupid she was before making sure she never passed on her genes to a future generation.

Waynus: This has got to stop before you kill somebody.
Fucking Moron: NO! I want to prove to him that I’m not dumb.
Goob: Haha, good luck with that. Okay, how about a few history questions?
Fucking Moron: Yeah, ask me something about history! That’s my second best subject in school!
(Waynus whispering to me): Please, ask her something easy. I don’t want you to kill her.
Goob: Catherine, who fought in WWII. Anybody. Name any damn country that fought in the war and what side they were on.
Fucking Moron: America and somebody…didn’t we fight the Jews?!
Goob & Waynus: WHAT?! DIDN’T WE FIGHT THE JEWS? WHAAAAAAAT?
Fucking Moron: Common guys, this is really hard. Ask me something common.

I felt sick. I’m not joking. Even my stomach, upon hearing her response, threw its hands up in protest over her stupidity and threatened to rebel. My knees suddenly felt weak and my head was spinning. Didn’t we fight the Jews? Yeah, we fought the Jews. It was that Anne Frank bitch who started the whole thing by making bagels in her local banks. Luckily we had our good buddy Hitler around to help us coral them up into nice bed and breakfasts in Germany and Poland. Jesus, my eight-year-old sister even knows that Germany was “the bad guy” in WWII.

Goob: I can’t go on. This is just too much. She’s actually made me sick.
Waynus: Wait, I’m sure she can answer one question, can’t you Catherine? Here, I’ll give you the easiest one I know. Who was the first President of the United States?
Never Needs To Procreate: Um…I’m really tired. I don’t know.
Waynus: Oh Jesus Christ, I can’t talk to you anymore tonight Catherine. You don’t know?! You’re an idiot! Goodnight.

I pray that our bodies never enter the same room in real life. Even though I’ve never tried prison food, I already know I have no desire to eat it for the rest of my life.

A friend of mine asked to see the Ashlee Simpsons video clip of her being booed at the Orange Bowl the other night, so I figured I’d just post it on here in case anybody else wanted to see it. So here it is (right click and save as) for anybody that wants to see it. I found it hilarious that 70,000 absolute rival fans who just moments before were battling it out with one another over the game realized that Ashlee Simpson sucks ass and that they should join together in booing her. Maybe there is hope for this country.

Oh, and just in case your computer doesn’t show you the video, you need to install the latest codec for your computer. (And might I add, if this is the case, shame on you! Keep your computer updated!)

Don’t ever let it be said that I don’t care about Shyzer. Just as I was leaving Spartanburg, I learned that Shyzer had been knocked out. I thought for a minute who could help (and who I could trust with all my different passwords) and I finally realized that my little brother Clay was best suited for the job. After locating him at one of his friend’s house, he dropped everything he was doing and came home just to help me. Now that’s True Love. Needless to say, things are back up and running here at Kramerica Industries Shyzer.

As most of you already know, I’m heading to Australia soon to study for a few months. As exciting as this is, it does bring with it certain unwelcome pains in the ass, such as hunting for a new roommate to take over my apartment lease halfway through the school year. The search started in early November and while there was been a few Maybes here and there, nothing real substantial has come to fruition yet.

About a week ago, I received a call from Mike who inquired about the room. He was a recent college grad who had just been accepted into USC’s Graduate program and was looking for a place to stay next semester. I was in the process of giving him all the details when he cut me off and said he’d take it. I was flabbergasted and immediately told him I’d start letting everybody know the place was no longer available. He asked if he could drop by and sign the papers the following Tuesday and we agreed to talk around noon that day so I could give him directions. I couldn’t tell which one of us was more excited. Him for having found such a “sweet-ass, bitchin’” location or me for finally having found a warm, living body to take this $375 rent off my hands every month, including January!

Tuesday rolled around and he called just as scheduled. The conversation went something like this:

Mike: Hey dude, what’s up? I’m leaving my place now, so let me go ahead and like get some directions so that I can come check out this awesome digs of yours!
Goob: Aight, well how do you normally come into town?
Mike: Uh, like from US 20 South.
Goob: US 20 South? Where the hell is that? Okay, well then how do you normally get to I20 or I26?
Mike: Where? I’ve never heard of those. I’ve got to admit I’m new to that area, so we might have to go a little more general here.
Goob: (Confused at this point since Columbia pretty much only has I20 and I26). You’re new to the area? I thought you said you’ve been into town before. You did visit USC at least once before you agreed to go to Grad School here, right? How did you get into Columbia then?
Mike: What the hell are you talking about, dude? I’ve never been to Columbia.
Goob: Oh for the love of God. Okay, what is the nearest heavily populated city you live by? Atlanta? Charlotte? What the hell state are you coming from?!
Mike: Dude, I live in San Francisco.
Goob: (It’s finally dawned on me.) Ahhhh. Okay, well if you still want this apartment, the commute to your USC is gonna be about 5 days or so, depending on how fast you can drive.
Mike: What?!
Goob: I go to the University of South Carolina, you moron. I take it you are going to the University of Southern California? Did you not notice that my craigslist ad was placed under Charlotte? And did you not read the University of South Carolina I have in parenthesis next to USC in my ad?
Mike: Oh, you are shitting me! Dude, I was like so stoked to find a place so cheap right next to campus man! I just figured you screwed up and placed the ad under Charlotte instead of Los Angeles. Damn it, now I have no fucking place to live!
Goob: Yes, because Charlotte and Los Angeles are so commonly confused. Smooth move bud. Good luck finding a place.

And they claim to be the smarter USC.