I don’t really like to pay for things. Especially things that make you forget your night and possibly vomit on your friend’s shoes. So when I go out, I like to employ whatever means necessary to get as many free drinks as possible. I have found it is surprisingly easy.

Thursday night, a dear friend and I decide to go to PYT, a newish bar at the Piazza. We’d never been, but I’d heard good things. We walk in, take a quick look around, and order our drinks. When I put the money on the bar, the bartender says the dudes at the other end of the room had taken care of it. They were two very large fellows, who didn’t look like the types to have any interest in hipster girls like us. As the night progresses, these dudes end up buying us about seven drinks all from across the bar. When we get ready to leave, we realize they’ve already gone, so no awkward obligations needed to be declined.

The next night I find myself at a topless bar somewhere in South Philly. It’s 2 AM, the room is dim and the crowd sordid. When I’m asked why I’m not drinking, I lament that I can’t afford the four dollar beers. Almost immediately, my friend hands me a large vodka cranberry.

By Saturday, I’m in Brooklyn, hanging at Union Pool. A guy who was at the same party earlier that night notices me and we chat for a while, him offering to get me a drink. This time, I politely decline, since a boy is already at the bar buying me a beer. All in all, I didn’t spend any money on drinks this weekend, while managing to have a great time. So what advice can I impart on those who’d like to drink for free? I’ve noticed a few simple tips which will help keep your wallets full and blood alcohol levels high.

First, guys love to buy cute girls drinks, probably as much as we like to receive them. It’s an ego boost for them, and a great story to tell their buddies. Send over a wink or a flirtatious wave, and make sure to giggle about him to your friends. They rarely expect you to do anything more than go over and thank them, so don’t feel bad about accepting the drink. Secondly, you never have any money. Ever. What I mean by that is, whenever someone asks if you are drinking, always say you’re broke. I find this works almost 100% of the time. If the people you are with are too broke to get you a drink, get new friends. Also, you should also make sure you look cute all the time, and that all your friends are attractive. Guys don’t want to buy girls drink when they are sloppy looking or already have beer guts. And can we blame them? Make sure you sit at the bar and not in some secluded corner. You want people to see that your glass is empty and you could use another. If there is a dance floor, get on it and show the crowd your moves. You won’t embarrass yourself, I swear.

So good luck my little alcoholics, and Godspeed!   You’ll be getting drunk for free before you know it.

Imagine a Saturday with you and your best friend, the girl you’re always going out with. On most nights when the two of you are at the bar, it’s nothing but trouble. I mean, it always starts innocent enough. You just want to dance and have a good time. You aren’t looking to meet anyone, and you’ve got no one on your mind. But somehow, after all those dollar PBR’s, you find that you’ve suddenly succumb to a frenzied haze. It’s 1:30 on a weekend, and you’ve got no one to hook up with. You start scanning the room for the random guys who’ve stuck around and size up the cutest one.

While this is happening, your best girl is furiously texting her crushes, who are busy or aren’t texting her back at all. After letting their rejection settle in, she starts drunk texting her ex about how much she misses him and might even go have a little cry in the bathroom stall. You’ve locked in on Cute Dude have begun chatting him up. The DJ stops playing for the night so you move your conversation out onto the street. He’s not nearly as cute as he was in the dank bar, but he’s enticing you back to his place with some expensive alcohol he’s got in his freezer.

Meanwhile, Best Friend walks out with smeared mascara and declares that she’s going over to some random guy’s house, because he’s the only one who responded to her belligerent texting. She hails a cab and trips on the curb while getting in it. You ride your bike back to Mediocre Looking Dude’s place for a no thrills one night stand. And the next morning over brunch, you and your best friend trade horror stories and swear you are never going to drink again.

BUT WHAT IF ALL THIS COULD BE PREVENTED?

I’ve come up with an ingenious idea, which might solve the problems of our dear city. Remember the chastity belt? That archaic device which was used by the chauvinistic men of olden times to keep their women from being promiscuous? Well, I think it’s time we bring it back, with some new added features for the 21st century. Think of it. A simple device, obviously not made from the uncomfortable metal that was used previously. It would have a lock so dudes cannot get into your pants, especially when you drunkenly think it’s a good idea. A little pouch to put your cell phone, so after one too many you won’t start texting all your exes and current crushes illegible nonsense. And a small carabineer for keys, but of course not for your own- you would hold your Belt Buddy’s. Maybe there could even be a small combination lock on the carabineer so that you can’t be tempted to giving your girl her keys back when you’re too wasted.

It’s obvious that when girls have a single’s night out with too much to drink, it’s going to end in disaster. So let’s stop the nonsense, and the embarrassment. Sure, it might be a little awkward at first, but you’ll get used to it. You might even start to enjoy it after a few months without crappy one night stands and leaving your cell phone in cabs. Trust me, there’s nothing wrong with not making a mistake on a Saturday night. In fact, I’m wearing my chastity belt right now.

BY BRIDGET SOPKO

When I was in high school, long before the days of hooking up at Temple parties and dive bars, I lived near Lehigh University’s campus. Lehigh is known for its overwhelming Greek life and frat parties, and being 17, I was somewhat naïve to it all. A friend of mine, who attended the university, had this little ritual that he liked to perform every Saturday and Sunday morning.  He would go out onto his front porch with a megaphone in hand. As hung-over girls stumbled by, still wearing their ‘asking for it’ outfits from the night before, he would shout at them:

“Walk of shame, ladies. Walk of shame.”

Now, five years later, while no brazen college boy has ever gone so far as to embarrass me through a megaphone, I certainly know how those girls must have felt. The trouble is- the walk of shame is nearly unavoidable. You stay at someone’s place, and the next morning you find your outfit disheveled, makeup smeared and your hair knotted into an unmanageable mess. You’re stumbling around the streets of Philadelphia aimlessly as you attempt to find your bike, or the car you’re pretty sure you parked in a tow away zone last night. The events of the evening are hazy, and that guy you went home with is probably not going to call. Every person you see on the streets is throwing you disgusted looks, and you know exactly what they’re all thinking. God forbid you have to stumble into a bodega for some water or cigarettes. The smirk left on the faces of anyone you’re forced to interact with isn’t worth the hydration or nicotine.

So what’s a girl to do? While we could stop hooking up with random guys, or bring overnight bags to their houses, I propose a much funnier solution. Just don’t ever sleep over. A friend of mine once told me that she never stays at anyone’s place. Why? She doesn’t want to have to wake up in the morning to the sun shining sweetly on a boy’s face. The stark morning realization of where you are, and how disgusting the guy’s place is, just isn’t worth it. Truthfully, by the end of the night, I’m usually sobered up and ready to pass out in my own comfortable bed.

I wonder why girls stay over at people’s places altogether. I suppose it’s a combination of a few things. It’s not very safe to walk the streets of Philadelphia late at night. If you took the subway, they won’t be running at three in the morning. You might not be able to sober up enough to venture back to your apartment. And of course, you might just want to cuddle a hot dude.

But is it worth it? Do the pros of waking up reeking of morning breath and booze perfume outweigh the cons? I suppose like many things, this is a choice that each woman must make for herself. In the battle of Walk of Shame versus Late Night Awkward Bail, I choose to bail. Sure, it might be cold out, and the streets might be filled with drug dealers. But going home and getting to wash my face and put on some pajamas? That beats being passed out uncomfortably on some snoring dude’s broken futon any night.

Dear She,

For the past year I have seen this girl walking across campus. And everytime I do, I stop and stare. One day, on some random and glorious morning, I randomly see her walking through campus. It’s cliche (and corny), but Iswear time slows down. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve almost been run over crossing the street across 13th because of her. The problem is: I want desperately to talk to her, but I can’t find a reason. As I graduate in December, I can’t wait for fate to step in and do my job for me. If it’s not meant to be, that’s fine, but I don’t want to be old and gray thinking “What if?”Any advice?

Dear Lazy Romantic,

Wow, you need to grow a pair. The attempt at this is simple.
You stare at the girl every day. You’re lucky she hasn’t noticed you long enough to think you’re a freak. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you stay well hidden behind the trees.

The best case scenario is you continue to stalk her long enough to find out even one person she talks to. The chances of her knowing someone that you know are very high. Find out from friends of friends where she hangs out–go there, “accidentally” bump into her, and then you will see if you have a shot. This being the less-cowardly attempt at stalking; and hey, there’s always Facebook.

Live up you’re last year of college, kid. Stop depending on fate and use the excuse that everyone goes to the same parties weekend after weekend. Put the small confines of campus-life to good use, there are only so many place she could hang out.

If all else fails, you could just continue to watch her cross the street, maybe even try to snap a photo…but please, watch for on-coming traffic.

Dear She,

Me and my girlfriend fuck on a constant basis and it’s pretty good. Fuckin’s like the best part of what we do and I happen to think I’m pretty damn good at it. So, one day we get drunk at one of her friend’s parties (the kind where chicks bring their boyfriends to have “fun” and introduce) and we’re playing a game of “Never Have I Ever”. One of the chicks starts staring at my girlfriend; in that “you know what” kinda way. Suddenly, the bitch says: “Never have I ever… had an orgasm.” I’m drinking, the chick ext to me is drinkin, the guy in front of me is drinkin… but guess what? My girl ain’t drinkin’. When I asked her about it, she says she never came before, even with me. For 3 months since, we’ve been trying and nothing works. The bad thing, though, is that it’s starting to take a toll on our relationship. I don’t know what to do.

Dear Inadequate Performer,

1. Pick up some light reading: Idiot’s Guide to Giving an Orgasm

2. If you are seriously asking me how to give a girl an orgasm you don’t even deserve to be writing me. Maybe your BIG ego has been getting in the way of you successfully turning on your girlfriend—”she never came before, even with me”….really?

Dear She,

My girlfriend and I have been dating off and on for the past year and I love her. Even though we’ve been through a lot of bullshit I still find myself drawn to her and loving her more and more. Recently, however, I went to a show at the First Unitarian and hadn’t eaten all that day so I stopped by at the Mix which is right next to it. I sat down and minded my own business, but suddenly I became floored by the waitress working that night. It was the kind of thing where it’s not just the beauty of the person, but their aura. She could’ve opened her mouth at any moment about anything and I would have listened to every word. This is something I haven’t felt in a long time. And, I know this is wrong, but I didn’t even feel this way when I met her. The fact is, though I love her. I can even see myself settling down with her for the long run (my girlfriend that is), but ‘m scared. If I do stay with her, am I just settling? Or am I sacrificing the one good thing in my life for a chance that could end in nothing. I feel terrible, but I have to figure something out. What the fuck am I supposed to do?

Dear Distraught & Lovestruck,

This perplexed situation only gives way to one possible answer. No matter how much you may feel you love the person you are with right now, any span of time could change that. If you feel you are “settling” in any way I’d say you have a right to play the field, so to speak.

This does not mean breaking it off with your current girlfriend to get with anything that walks. But you seem like a pretty decent fellow (after all, you go to concerts at First Unitarian), I wouldn’t expect that out of you…

Only by experience can you understand what you need to do. And if your lack of experience with what else is out there says hit the road–then listen. Just be prepared for the consequences. If you realize you aren’t, don’t go through with it.

I’m sitting alone right now… in my boxers, downloading episodes of Scrubs along with random TV shows from the BBC, and more sadly, checking my Facebook every 5 seconds. Biologically, there are a select amount of “dependencies” that could prove potentially fatal if one were try and quit the habit. The list includes: heroin, various opiates, sleep inducers such as rohypnol (commonly referred to as a ruffie); others are more sneaky like alcohol, love, and Facebook. Well… Facebook and love haven’t made it to any specific scientific list yet, but they should have and that’s what I’m here to prove; the combination of unrequited love and Facebook can prove to be a shattering yet inspiring motivation to stalk your ex-lover and possibly leave to fatal incident.

This is the situation I was in yesterday. My girlfriend (we’ll call her Persephone, but “bitch” for short) left me for a big horse with no name. I call him a horse because he has no name (and may very well be one). Anyway, she was gone. I will remind you now that love is an addiction; in that, like heroin we’re always looking for the feeling of that first high. Ever wonder why that girl won’t stop screwing around with her asshole ex? If it was her first, now you know. (If it wasn’t, then she’s a crazy bitch so get rid of her!) Back to the point, heroin is deadly when one tries to quit it cold turkey. Or worse, as in my case, if someone takes it from you (It’s hard to imagine someone on the corner offering to suck a dick for a love letter or some sort of affection, but that’s about the only length people haven’t gone to to find love when it’s lost). Have you ever seen the desperate look in the eyes of a dying addict? It’s the same stupid look I have on my face right now and the same mopey, desperate gaze of depression you’ll see if you walk past me on campus. “What the fuck is wrong with that guy,” you’ll say. “I don’t know, but I wanna sex yo’ body,” says the horse with no name (this is all just my illusion of how they might speak to each other).
So, how does this have anything to do with FaceBook? FaceBook is the portal to the unflinching terror that is inconspicuous solitude; a loneliness that creeps upon you like in itch in a place that would make your mother uncomfortable if she ever caught you scratching it in public. FaceBook has an unsightly way of showing you that you are
 alone, but hinting at the fact may not actually be by yourself; that you do have friends. It makes you feel like someone cares enough to comment about that time you got drunk before Senior Prom, forgot to and ended up spending it at ColdStone Creamery or the time you didn’t do shit all Summer Freshman year, but have pictures to show it.
That being said, I am, at my present point: sitting in my boxers, downloading old episodes of Whose Line, and staring at my profile. My options are waring thin: I could try and do some actual homework and pass my classes for once, masturbate, or stare at my ex-lover’s profile. But, out of fear the latter would end up with the former or the former would end in the latter I decided to vent my frustrations elsewhere.
[30 mins. later]

I’m still here… except this time my raspberry sorbet that I had saved for a special moment (with Persephone) was gone. I had to swallow the tears as well… I sat down, convinced that of the 100 something channels we have that nothing really was on TV and got some very much unnecessary face time with facebook. My intense urge to check her profile and see what guys had been talking to her on her profile was slightly hampered by frost bitten tongue (Damn you Häagen-Dasz!), but… WHAT”S THIS?! She’s written on the wall of some guy. Who is he? Probably, the horse, of course… “Oh, no,” I whisper into the cave that is now my hollow heart. The last piece of my sanity shatters as if the clumsy dinner guest of loneliness knocks over its fragile frame. I’m fucked; well, more than likely, she’s fucked… many, many men. There’s no telling the countless hours between her and “the horse” spent in bed; sweating with a passion I feel we may have never had. But that’s the thing: my mind is telling me these things and the more I listen the more my curiosity slowly dissipates into what most police would categorize as Delusional Intimate Predatorial Stalking; or… what I like to call boredom. You know, either way.
And so begins my adventure into Facebook stalking. Are you tired of hiding in the bushes or staircases? I mean, what better an outlet to follow your “loved” one with? It basically brings the bushes straight to you! Listed below are a list of things to do to remedy the fever that may occur should an ex decide to detoxify your love.

• Friend EVERYONE he or she knows……..E  V  E  R  Y  O  N  E!
• If her mother has a Facebook (yes, they do), friend her and become better friends with her than you are with your ex. Then, he or she will never get rid of you. Make it awkward at Thanksgiving when she invites you to carve the turkey.
• Send her/him malicious bumper stickers about how love sucks or how you’re better off.
• Friend the person they’re dating.
• Send invites to events that don’t exist (i.e. Party. Location: My Pants.)
• Make up fictional people or objects and friend them. This one can be hard if your ex is not the kind of person to friend anyone that friends them. Also, get creative with this: Creat a profile like “Brooke N’Hart” or “C. Ryan O’veryu” and in the ‘About Me’ put “Our dead love”
• Poke her. Poke her constantly.
• Post a picture of you and her as your profile (WARNING: this highly dangerous and may cause attention to your position; it is the equivalent to her finding that camera you placed in her bedroom)

There! You see that guy?! Over there. There’s a crowd full of white people walking toward the city; laughing and being happy with their Urban Outfitter or American Apparel  clothes and their “hip” sarcasm. Somewhere in that crowd is usually a random (some call it “token”) black guy. Can you see that tan, mocha-caramel skinned god holding hands with that ivory chick with the blue hair? Oh yeah….. now you see me. Well, that’s me. I’m the guy in the movies you don’t really understand is there. You ask yourself: “Where are all of his black friends?”. What sucks is that, in real life, the same can be said of my situation. The only difference is: they usually stick the black guy with a token black chick to make the perfect token couple. This is where my problem really is: I only date white woman.

It started as an accident. I guess you can attribute it to my fondness for vanilla ice cream over chocolate; something about chocolate was just too much. Vanilla was mild and less temperamental; plus, if you add a bit of chocolate you can get the best of both worlds (I love that line in bars…if I actually went to them). You see, I’ve never been one to discriminate, but even as a child I came to enjoy the swirly goodness from the love sundae of my chocolate love to a scoop of vanilla. In pre-school, I grew up around a bunch of white kids; so who could blame me for my estrangement up til then. The confusing part came after; when my mother decided to take me to an elementary school in the middle of the ghetto. Yet, after years and years of school in this terrible place nothing could cure me. This lasted me throughout my life, filled with phases of different women: I had a black girl phase (and I’ve got scars to prove that one), a Latina phase (I can’t say much other than Brazilians get mad if you don’t know they speak Portuguese and that there were a lot of surprises from my Bordiqua ladies that included changing diapers… Shout out to all my mamis who ain’t actually mommies), and a miscellaneous stage (diversifying, if you will: anywhere from Indian to random parts of Eastern Europe). Even after all of this, white woman kept coming back up.

I can’t figure it out. No matter how hard I try to get with someone brown I just end up dating another white girl. I think it has a lot to do with culture separation. The gap between where black culture is at and where I’m at are two different places. I mean: when is the last time you heard a black girl talk about how good Joy Division is, or how awesome the last Radiohead concert was, or even the last time they saw a good movie by Wes Anderson or Michel Gondry? The majority of what makes a person attractive is that connection and a basic understanding of that person is essential for that connection to take place. It makes it so much easier if there is a common ground on which to establish said connection.

Now, this is where it gets tricky. Even if I can find a girl who’s not white to get to this point, there’s still a fundamental flaw that arises in relationships: women are crazy. Black, white, purple you’re all fucking nuts, but the truth is that this may be what attracts us to you. What man doesn’t want danger and adventure? And what’s more dangerous than telling your girlfriend she might need to lose some weight when she’s clealrly PMSing (c’mon… guys aren’t that stupid. It’s adventure. In the back of our mind, we’re thinking: “Can I get away with it?”)

To my African queens, I’m sorry. To white women, you are to black men like me what it may be like if kryptonite were as addictive as crack for Superman, but with the same destructive power. However, the truth is, there’s not much real difference between race as far as love goes. The fact is, women are beautiful and intelligent creatures and if you waste your time trying to be with everyone then you’re going to let the good ones walk away. I mean, if you’ve tried every flavor in a pack of Starbursts, the bottom line is: it’s still candy. What makes that flavor special is what it means to you… and, you have to buy the candy flowers, remember it’s birthday, remember the day you bought it, take to eat, etc… shit. It looks like I’ve convinced myself of how wrong I was.

Suppose I do find the right woman it doesn’t matter what she looks like. I can’t wait to find her and make her the happiest woman on this earth. When that time comes I will do whatever it takes to make her feel loved and keep her feeling as independent as possible while still letting her know I’m there (flowers, considerate gifts, etc.) and I hope to meet every expectation she could create in a man they love…….

Until then, though if any Asians wanna get at me, contact the editor…

Update: All of these articles are satire…