1. Paris Hilton would own one (in a miniature form, of course)
2. Jersey Shore would feature one…
They call him Dino-WOWW
3. We would probably elect one…
4. Taylor Swift would be interupted by one…
5. Leo would romance one…
Every year Phroth releases a Valentine’s Day Phollegian featuring a collection of hilarious cards for the holiday. Here you can find all the Phroth Valentine’s cards from the past few years to download, share and give to your friends!
Click to enlarge!*
*that’s what she said.
Happy Valentine’s Day! Don’t forget to pick up the newest copy of the Phroth Phollegian at the HUB all this week. You can also pick up copies at our racks in the HUB, Thomas, and Willard Buildings. If you’re looking for back issues of Phroth or the Phollegian, stop by our office in 221A HUB and ask! We’ve got plenty!
Twas a crisp autumn day back in 1997 and like any third grader, I was in my room playing video games on my SNES. The game was Mortal Kombat II, a game that I had never beaten. Now if you never played this game, Mortal Kombat II was an intense fighting epic that allowed you to battle vicious foes in a tournament to the death. If you have, you remember it was hard as fuck! The lives were limited and the opponents were numerous. But the worst part about it was that even if you performed flawlessly against the playable characters, once you reached the sub-boss Kintaro you were screwed. Despite countless attempts to defeat this colossal fiend, I was always overwhelmed by his sheer brute force. Words cannot even describe how tough Kintaro was.
Kintaro even has badasses like Sub-Zero pissing in their pants
Let me put this into perspective for you non-nerds out there. Fighting against Kintaro is like fighting against the Rancor from Return of the Jedi, except instead of being Luke Skywalker, you’re C-3PO. Still too nerdy? Okay, fighting Kintaro is like fighting a muscular douchebag, and you’re Snookie. However, on this particular crisp autumn day, my luck had turned for the better. Like usual, when finally faced with Kintaro I was disgracefully defeated until only one life remained. But then something magical happened…I was victorious! I had defied all odds! I had beaten Kintaro! The heavens above were smiling down at me. “I’m the coolest kid in the world!” my third grade self stupidly shouted. I was finally going to face the final boss, the evil tyrant Shao Kahn.
Not to be confused with Chaka Khan
It all came down to the final round. My palms were sweaty. My knees were weak. My arms were heavy. My mom was preparing spaghetti…but alas! I was defeated!! After months of playing this godforsaken game I had lost! The final boss Shao Kahn wasn’t even as tough as his four-armed predecessor, yet he kicked the living crap out of me! No words could describe my anger. Unfortunately, my third grade gamer rage instinctively kicked in, as I yanked on my SNES controller with the ferociousness of a cocaine-deprived hooker, sending the system flying with it. This was bad news for me. For you see, my parents were content with placing my television on a cheap, plastic Fisher Price bookshelf. The kind of Fisher Price bookshelf that can only support about 20 pounds, wobbles, and can easily be tipped over.
Pictured above: bad parenting
Naturally, the utter power from my third grade wrath was enough to get the shelf off balance. And as it started buckling, the television it was carrying went crashing down towards my head. At first everything seemed fine. It appeared to only have grazed my head and stood right at my feet. Naturally, my young instincts told me to check the TV and SNES first, which were both fine. All was right in the world. Unfortunately, I had a slight sting around my scalp. After rubbing my head with my hands, I was lead to the shocking conclusion that I was bleeding profusely. Blood had completely covered my hair and hands. Now I wasn’t exactly Rambo back then, so my fit of screaming and crying immediately caught the attention of my mom, who immediately drove me to the hospital. I thought I was going to die. “Now I’ll never grow up to be president,” I idiotically thought to myself during the ride to the hospital. But as it turns out, the injury, although memorable, was nothing life threatening. Despite the bloody head, the scratch wasn’t too deep and I got away with needing only three or four stitches. The doctor then proceeded to call me a “little pussy.” I guess the moral of the story is that Mortal Kombat II is an extremely difficult game.
Stick to Street Fighter, kid
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By Matt Radlow, Phroth Phest Director
Penn State is having a “Name Me” contest (Penn State, always with the clever contest names) for the new Science Student Center. Here are a few of our suggestions:
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By Jeremy Popkin and Desmond Nathanson
When MTV’s Jersey Shore first aired, it was being hailed as the final slide in humanity’s descent towards complete moral bankruptcy. The show, which follows eight boozed up, orange tanned, self-proclaimed “guidos” and “guidettes” as they fuck and fist pump their way through a summer at the Jersey Shore, was being considered the final nail in our society’s coffin, as if a combined eight seasons of Flavor of Love, I Love New York, and Rock of Love hadn’t already left America’s cultural landscape a barren, lifeless wasteland. But as our media outlets and middle-aged housewives gnashed their teeth over this virulent excuse of a television show, a much bigger threat in MTV’s programming schedule was able to slip by completely unnoticed. A show that is much worse and much more offensive than any hour spent glorifying slicked hair and twentysomething women getting punched in the face. A show called My Life as Liz.
MTV: Telling you what to like since 1981!
My Life as Liz is a new scripted comedy that follows its titular character through her last year of high school. Liz is your average daydreaming, skinny-jeaned teenage hipster. While once just another giggly, blonde preppie, the series’ first episode finds Liz shortly after her glorious transformation from bland conformist to open-minded thrift store wallflower. While it’s never exactly specified what spurned this metamorphosis, one can easily assume it involved a bag of weed and a My Chemical Romance album. And though Liz is happy with her new identity, her wacky hair dying ways frequently draws the ire of the resident popular girl, because apparently whoever is writing this show still thinks high school is an eighties movie.
In addition to being the creative and independent snowflake she is, Liz is also a hypocritical bitch. She seems dead set on rebelling against the narrow-minded ignorance of her small Texas town by preaching the value of accepting people for who they are, yet she can’t seem to go two minutes without complaining about the fact that all the girls in her school are bleach blonde and fond of the color pink. Apparently wearing ironic t-shirts and shopping for clothes well below your family’s economic means is an appeal to a higher authority.
Left: Wrong. Right: Right!
At its core, My Life as Liz is the most manufactured, corporate piece of garbage since the Black Eyed Peas. An advertisement for the show bills it as one for “the comic book convention goers, the live action roleplayers, [and] the hopeless romantics”. Now, let’s get something straight. MTV wants absolutely nothing to do with live action roleplayers. They wouldn’t go within ten feet of a live action roleplayer. If they were forced to sit next to a live action roleplayer on an airplane, they would alert the nearest stewardess and politely ask to have their seat changed. And you know what? Live action roleplayers want nothing to do with MTV. People who dress up in chainmail armor and go to a public park to beat each other with foam swords would literally not be caught dead watching MTV. So let’s call this show what it really is and that’s MTV trying to cash in on the geek chic craze. They’re a little late to jump on the bandwagon, seeing as how Juno was two years ago, but seeing as how Michael Cera is still a certifiable movie star I guess they figured people still eat up that awkward, nerdy lead character bullshit.
MTV wants nothing to do with this guy.
The transparency of the show’s soulless manipulations is due in part to its failure to succeed at the two things it sets out to do, which is to provide MTV with a unique half hour of comedy and connect to an audience outside the network’s usual mindless teenage girl demographic. The problem is that MTV hasn’t been relevant to anyone other than the sort of people who watch The Hills since the mid-nineties, and the network forewent their ability to produce genuine scripted comedy when they cancelled Clone High. The only thing the show manages to do is supplant one brainless audience for another, the kind who think individuality is achieved through a wardrobe from the Salvation Army and an iPod full of terrible music.
But the show’s biggest crime, and the reason it is so much more of an insult to audience’s intelligence than eight Italian-American stereotypes attempting to bring back hedonism as a legitimate lifestyle, is its desperate attempts to pretend it’s something it’s not. My Life as Liz is just as shallow and trivial as Jersey Shore, yet has the audacity to claim that it’s totally different from the networks usual showcasing of douchebag pseudo-celebrities. The show, despite its protests otherwise, is just another case of MTV trying to sell teenagers an identity, only this time it’s Converse sneakers and Lykke Li instead of UGG boots and Taylor Swift. At least the cast of Jersey Shore are fully aware of the fact that they’re nothing more than shot pounding morons, and don’t make any claims of having a genuine personality or legitimate emotions. There’s something admirable about that level of honesty.
Besides, Jersey Shore actually makes people laugh while it’s tearing apart America’s moral fabric. If MTV is intent on hollowing out America’s youth culture and filling it with vapid materialism, the least they can do is keep us amused while they do it.
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By Jeremy Popkin, Staff Writer
1. Jersey Shore on MTV
There is nothing about this show that isn’t fantastic. From the overblown personalities and hairstyles to the improper use of the word “classy” (i.e. “at least wear a thong bikini…that’s a little more classy”) and nicknames like “Snookie,” “JWOWW,” and “The Situation,” Jersey Shore has something* for everyone**.
*in this case, “something” refers to: chlamydia, syphilis, herpes, genital warts, and a rollicking good time.
**unless you’re the kind of “everyone” who only watches MTV reality shows to watch girls getting socked in the face.
2. What the Hell is Wrong with Nick Arcade?
Did Nickelodeon have some sort of screening process that rooted out the dumb motherfuckers so as to make sure nobody won anything other than all those copies of Encyclopedia Britannica?
Phrothie Says: If there is no scientific research that bad 90’s haircuts (i.e. “The Flattop”) and stupidity are linked, look no further than this video. You’re welcome, science.
3. Let Us Identify the Faggots and Then Inform Them of Their Status
“As to the initial step, it is a relatively straightforward one, as there are a number of telltale signs to distinguish the faggot from the non-faggot, i.e., you, me, your bros, etc. For instance: if he is wearing sports paraphernalia from a team other than the team we favor; if he is wearing clothes that are not sports-related at all; if he is holding a book or, worse yet, reading it. We must be mindful of whether he has faggoty hair or clothes or appears to be in the presence of faggots exhibiting these traits.” - (The Onion)
Just moments after this article was published, the writer was awarded the key to the city of Philadelphia.
4. Unrelated Captions
(http://unrelatedcaptions.com)
Old MacDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O!
5. Keanu Reeves, Reporter
Keanu Reeves: Not acting since at least the mid-80’s.
6. In the Hierarchy of Bloopers, Fishing Bloopers are King
Murphy’s law in action. Right here. How did this guy even get a show? Sure, he knows his stuff…but he’s gonna kill everyone on set in the process!
7. Kid Licks Pole on a Dare, Inevitable Occurs
God fucking dammit, Timmy! Didn’t “A Christmas Story” teach you anything?
8. To the guy in my closet, you don’t have AIDS
“BTW, you might still want to get your self tested since my wife is a dirty whore.” –(Craigslist)
Oh, Craigslist, how did we function as a society without you?
9. Dumb Women Pushes Fire Button
Hilarity ensues.
10. An animated video of Patton Oswalt’s “Christmas Shoes” Joke
How do you improve a joke about a man masturbating to women’s shoes? Create an animated visual of it.
Jersey Shore, Pa Overrun with Guidos
JERSEY SHORE, Pa.- Jersey Shore mayor Mark Lehman announced the town officially has a guido problem during yesterday’s town hall meeting. The announcement was made after several hundred complaints were given by town residents.
“Those boys and their fake tans, pink popped collar shirts, cheap cologne, and shitty techno music are ruining this town,” said Jersey Shore resident Ted Stewart, who was present at yesterday’s meeting. “We need to do something about this quick. I’d rather burn in hell than become New Jersey Jr.”
Mayor Lehman said Guido sightings are a common occurrence in his town, especially during spring break season, when many college students confuse the small Pennsylvania town with the Jersey beach, but Lehman has noticed the number dramatically increase this year.
“I don’t know what it is, but the guidos just aren’t going away this year. Usually they stick around for just a day or two, but they aren’t leaving. You can’t even walk down Main Street anymore; it smells like a cheap French whorehouse. It’s terrible,” said Lehman.
“I don’t know what everyone’s problem is. I just put the directions into Map Quest and this is where it took me. We’re all just trying to chill, understand what I’m talking about, broski,” said Rutgers junior Vince Fortelli.
To alleviate the problem, Lehman said that all bottles of Axe Body Spray, hair gel, and Asher Roth albums will be moved to nearby Williamsport. Until the problem is solved, Lehman recommends residents stay indoors and not look directly at the guidos’ neon orange skin, which is known to cause blindness.
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by Andrew Cass, Phroth Staff Writer
