#today's assignment

Undearwear, underpants, underoos, underclothing, undergarments, skivvies, intimates, lingerie, boxers, briefs, panties: whatever you call them, they're the stuff most of us wear under our main 'fits to keep our most private of parts in check, but their purposes and forms are greatly varied. Underpants let you keep wearing that same pair of jeans until they can basically stand on their own without the crotchal region being a disgusting mess. They protect your delicate netherparts from the insanely chafey seam that pops up in the crotch of almost every pair of pants sold in stores. If you're a dude, they keep your bait and tackle supported during physical activity, and allow you to stow it somewhere somewhat less conspicuous when you unexpectedly want some other kind of physical activity. There are even expectations handed down to us by mothers about never leaving the house without clean underwear on, lest you get in an accident. I suppose the good news is that if paramedics or other medical practitioners have time to judge your skidmark situation, your injuries must not be that serious, so congratulations on your clean drawers.

Guys have it relatively simple when it comes to choosing their base-layer situation: boxers, briefs, boxer briefs. As a lady who sees a dude in his underoos on the daily, I am partial to the boxers or boxer briefs. Boxers have a nice casual feel about them that feel like possibilities for the day are endless. Maybe we're going to go skateboarding or play basketball, but maybe we're just going to sit around all day watching the new season of Arrested Development on Netflix. Maybe you're going to take me out to a fancy lunch, or kite-flying at the Berkeley Marina, or to the city to dick around. Maybe we're just gonna kick back and get it on all day. ENDLESS POSSIBILITIES!

Boxer briefs are cool, too, but feel like there's an extra layer of sophistication, which I'm willing to attribute to the fact that I don't think I've ever heard of a dude under 20 wearing boxer briefs. They are innately the most "grown up" form of underwear. Also, Calvin Klein puts a lot of his models in them, which means they are obviously very stylish and mature. Boxer briefs are cool because they show a little more silhouette of your entire downstairs situation- not just the front, but the rear view, too. A lot of what gets missed in boxers is revealed in boxer briefs, so they're also the hottest of the undergarment options for dudes.

Briefs are hands down the worst. I am sure there are some women or guys out there that dig a dude in briefs, but I do not get it. Briefs are the underwear of little boys and old men. It is impossible for me to look at a guy in briefs and take him seriously. They get saggy in the butt and the balls, they show off your "bikini" line (which normally isn't even a thing you have to think about with dudes), and they have a strong association with Stand By Me. You know, the scene with the leeches in the swamp? Super hot, right? OH NO. NO IT'S NOT. There is just nothing about a thick cotton pubic pouch that works out.

Ladies have way too many options, to the point that if I were to go into all of them, we'd be here all day talking about underwear and at some point it's bound to get weird. All I know is that when I first got into the market for real grown-up skivvies, I had to study at Victoria's Secret like I was preparing for some undergarment bar exam. High waisted vs. High waisted bikini, g-string vs. thong, low-riders vs. boy cut, and more. It's entirely overwhelming for a girl who just wants some basic shit to protect me from my pants and keep me from looking like a granny when my husband catches me in them. Is that so much to ask?! It sure feels like it. Now, because I am creature of habit, I have discovered a brand, a cut, and a fabric, and I will not waver. There are a few pairs of sexy fun time undies that lie in wait, but are completely non-functional as daytime underoos. Plus, if I follow mom's advice, I don't need to be cut out of my pants on a stretcher in a pair of black satin panties with a lace ass.

Back in the day, Facebook was the intellectually pretentious version of the kids’ table at Thanksgiving. You needed an active .edu email address to join up, and while it was sad because all of your high school friends who were working at the drug store couldn’t join the merriment, it was safe from people like your parents. Unless, that is, your parents are those “perpetually enrolled in college” types, in which case the pain I am about to describe has been your entire existence and this piece does not apply to you. But it was safe from prying eyes; an internet orgy of angst, meals eaten and blurry pictures of toga parties. And we liked it that way.

But somewhere along the line, Mark Zuckerberg got greedy (see The Social Network) and he decided we needed to open it up to everyone. And for awhile even this was acceptable. It meant your 26 year old buddy who lived in his mom’s basement and had just gotten fired from Jamba Juice had a way to follow along with the life he could have had. This was great! You could trade stories from home and the road, but it was basically your age group. And then out of nowhere, anthropologists are still trying to pinpoint when the first Aunt Linda joined, your family got on board. No, not your age-appropriate siblings. The old people. And they came in droves.

It was a way for them to reconnect with their old friends, plan high school reunions (suck it, classmates.com!), share pictures and stories of their grandkids, and inform each other of their new, horrific health problems. Sure you knew they were there, but they did not seem to share your awareness, and life was good. But then one day, your aunt added you. Some of you might be experiencing PTSD just recalling that moment, and I would love to tell you it will all be okay BUT YOU KNOW IT’S A LIE. That moment was the beginning of the erosion of a social network so powerful it will never be stopped. Because it started with your aunt, but then it became your uncle, and then your cousin and before you knew it, your parents were showing up in your “suggested friends”. It was just a matter of time before they put their bifocals on and saw that a sidebar even existed, and better yet- you were the star!

Now your inside jokes and inappropriate pictures are no longer the well-kept secrets of your adult life. They are posted on your wall for your entire family to be dismayed and befuddled by. Occasionally one of these posts will garner a well-intended but wholly inappropriate comment from a family member, which only serves to egg your friends on. The stakes are ever more serious, and there is nothing you can do about it. Even the sparse status updates you do provide in order to say, further your comedy career, become the basis of an internet family reunion. I knew my use of Facebook was a lost cause when my mom used a post I wrote letting people I now had an email list to wish my nephew a happy first birthday. Why there? Why then? Because two days prior my brother-in-law, and father of said nephew, posted an encouraging comment. Simply seeing his name on the day of my nephew's birth triggered an irresistible impulse in my mother to shower her love on the young man. If only there were a more appropriate place for such a sentiment to be expressed... surely none of you have any ideas to offer?

So this is where we stand. Originally born as a place to showcase the darkest depths of your soul, Facebook is now a constant reminder of who you come from, and what you will inevitably become. Well played, Zuck. Well played. At this point all there is to do is have some kids of your own, get them a smart phone and hope that you can one day troll them hard enough to end up on Failbook.org. Best get to knockin' boots, but keep it to yourself unless you're cool with the constant nagging about where are my grandkids taking over every aspect of your life.

Onychomycosis, or nail fungus, as it is more commonly known, is an infection that can target any of your 20 (give or take, depending on what life has offered you) nailbeds at any moment. According to entirely accurate, user content driven Wikipedia, it affects anywhere from 6-8% of the population, who are all obviously dudes. In reality it likely affects closer to 25% of the population, but 17-19% of sufferers live in communities that only have smokin' hot female podiatrists and they are embarrassed to reveal their hideous feet. Good call, gentlemen.

  After all, how serious could nail fungus really be? It's not like it's possible to die of disgusting! So your nails are flakier than a fresh croissant from the most authentic Parisian bakery, no big whoop. Who cares if they're so florescent green it looks like you let your 4 year old daughter "paint your nails" with a hi-lighter? That one peeling off from the base to the tip? Snakes shed their dead cells in thick layers, why can't humans? Well, while it might not kill you, toenail fungus is a real pain to make disappear, and once you have it, you might have a frenemy for life. BUT CAN IT HAPPEN TO ME, DOCTOR?

  Yes. Yes it can. Especially you. The one who thinks it's acceptable to wear the same pair of socks 12 hours a day, 3 days in a row without washing them. Normally I make my guests take their shoes off, but with those stank puppies, I'm happy to make an exception. While it's definitely better for me to have a muddy swoosh imprint on my white carpet than smell what your socks are cookin', you are now seriously screwed. Shoes are the Studio 54 of toenail fungus: they're dark, full of damp air and packed so tightly the friction is almost pleasurable. When you're out trying to stay in shape at the gym, walking the halls of your high school after hours wondering where it all went wrong, or just getting some goddamned work done for once, your shoes are hotbeds of fungi getting funk-ay. In other words, your shoes are trying to kill you.

  But Aly, isn't this all a bit much? Hey, it can be as simple as an inconvenience, and as serious as amputation or death. Think of all the situations you experience during your day, and how many of them require you to have your toes smashed into your kicks like some sort of salty fish packed into a tin can tightly to ensure maximum fish in minimum space. Once you get the fungus, unless you can take a few weeks off to work to sit around in your house on a shoe-cation, you're constantly putting them at risk of reinfection. There are a billion different ways to strike back at this ailment, which is both great and terrible news. If they had found an effective way, you wouldn't have need for 2 different formulas of oral medication, an anti-fungal lacquer, and a multitude of topical applications to exist in the market. Even the most extreme treatment- surgery- isn't guaranteed to work. Yep. After having your nail surgically removed and the area cleaned up by a medical professional, that whore of a fungus can still return, for she is a stubborn mistress.

  As far as the death thing, it was kind of an exaggeration, but not entirely. People with diabetes and poor circulation are exceptionally liable to have fungal infections, especially in their toes. If this infection becomes bad enough or goes untreated, it could enter the bloodstream and lead to gangrene, which can lead to death. So while we've had a lot of fun tonight with toenail fungus, let's end it on a serious note. I urge all you guys and gals out there to keep your eye on the ball. Of your foot, and then look up and make sure your toes and nails are healthy, smooth, and free of cuts and cracks. Because while I would hate for you to die, I would hate it even more if we were together at the pool and then I looked down to see your 10 (give or take) hideous foot-talons. 

Mr. Charles Ramsey of Cleveland, Ohio. What a interesting month it has been so far for this man. Okay, first a little bit of background. in 2002, 2003, and 2004 three different young ladies vanished from the face of the earth, or, as investigators thought at that time, caught a case of dead. Those three girls were Michelle Knight (21 years old at time of disappearance, 2002), Amanda Berry (16 years of age at time of disappearance, 2003), and Gina DeJesus (14 years old at time of disappearance, 2004). The horrible rotting pile of scrotum scabs barely passible as a human that pulled off this 9-11 year kidnapping and multiple rape and restraint against will and assault and what i can assume to be the smallest penis in the known universe, Ariel Castro. With a name like Ariel Castro all I can picture is a mermaid with a burly beard and a Cuban cigar, but he doesn't stack up to figments of my imagination. This is the scum, this man is a human on the outside but a demented demon on the inside. The scariest part, everyone around knew him and never thought twice about his morals. He was able to fool countless neighbors and if not for this hero, Mr. Charles Ramsey, he would still be living out his ludicrous fantasies for who knows how long. Well now that I have vented some of my anger toward Anal-Wart (that is Ariel's name for the rest of the post), on the the hero part.

May 6th after Ramsey traveled via bicycle to the local Mickey D's for a Big Mac and had returned home to eat, he heard some white broad screaming and crying like someone was dying. He dashed outside holding onto the Big Mac, thats good food right there no need to waste, he saw that his other neighbor had ran toward the screaming as well but could talk the screaming lady down due to a language barrier. The hollering woman was stuck inside Ramsey's next-door neighbor's house and had been for 10 years now. Without question the two grown-ass men kick the crap out of the door until the lady was able to crawl out with her 6 year old daughter (who had been birthed in that house). After escaping the Temple of Doom, she asked to call 911 and told them her name, Amanda Berry, and that there were still more captives held up in Anal-Wart's home-sweet-home. After some frantic banter with two different 911 operators (one of which was reported to have hung up on Berry) the Po-Po were on there way. After everyone was rescued and Señor Psycho (new name for Anal-Wart) was arrested, Mr. Ramsey was interview by local and national news. He quickly became an internet hero and was praised and meme'd by many. My favorite interview has got to be a tie between Anderson Cooper's interview where Ramsey told Cooper regarding reward money "ya know what, give that money to them [the victims], as you already know I got a job." and the phone interview with Snoop Dogg were Ramsey told Snoop that he was going to kick the crap out of Anal-Wart and that Snoop should be present for that event. Now because this is the age of information many people have found and posted that Charles was convicted of domestic violence in 2003. He has since served his sentence in jail and not repeated any of those offenses. People can change and by the way he was so quick to help a woman who he thought was merely a victim of domestic violence at first I feel that he has cleared his name. Now I think it is time for McDonald's to get off there cop orate high horse and give this man the "Free Big Macs for Life" card. He endorsed their product while also saving some lives. Here is to you Mr. Charles Ramsey.

My actual topic is: "A world where gravity is powered by a giant polar bear on a stationary bike at the North Pole. But the bear is getting sick," but it felt extreme trying to fit all that in my header. So let's get to it, shall we?

You guys, I have terrible news. As we ALL know, the Earth's gravitational pull is powered by an enormous polar bear pedaling a custom Schwinn stationary bicycle connected to the Earth's core by a series of cables installed eons ago by sentient bacteria, working together like a team of ants that teach at MIT. The energy transferred by this tireless ursine's pedaling is all that has been keeping us grounded for the entirety of human existence. Countless gallons of a top-secret salmon flavored Gatorade have been consumed by our gravitational hero as he worked without ceasing to ensure we didn't float off aimlessly into the stratosphere, but CNN is now reporting that Albeart Einstein has fallen ill with a rare case of Bear AIDS and is losing his ability to keep the bicycle going.

It seems that some years ago, during an Elf Basketball Association All Star weekend, there was an orgy centered around Albeart where copious amounts of egg nog, the real kind, not some bullshit you get in the dairy section for children, were consumed and things got a little out of hand. No one is sure whether Al contracted the virus through a hypodermic needle used to inject heroin between his paws or from Santa, who we all know gives a "gift" to more than just the children on Christmas Eve, but regardless of the source, Albeart is fading at an alarming rate.

If it were possible to find another gargantuan bear capable of pedaling a bike connected to the Earth's core, then we would have less to fear. Unfortunately, Albeart is a carry over from prehistoric times and bears of his size are now only found in books of North Polean mythology. People of Earth, we must find a way to save Albeart. Our life on this planet depends on it.

In order to save Albeart, and in that ourselves, we must find a cure. That is why I am starting the Bike Across the World for Life Saving, or BAWLS. Each rider that cares about BAWLS enough to participate will be raising money to fund scientists that are working 24/7 to discover a treatment to keep Albeart alive. In the meantime, the Gatorade factory has gone into hyper-production of the salmon flavored beverage Al holds so dear. They are asking all fishermen to please donate their hauls in order to keep up with the demand necessary to fuel Albeart through this difficult time.

To learn more about the Bike Across the World for Life Saving event or support a rider, please call 1-800-SAVEAL. If not for yourself, then for the children.

“Click, clack, click, clack.” You wouldn’t think that such a simple sound could turn men on but if that repetitive, hard sound is coming from a pair of high heels snug on the footies of a lady, you can bet it is at least turning me on. Women’s shoes come is an uncanny amount of styles. My favorite of these being high heels, pumps, wedges, etc I love ‘em. High heels came in countless forms prior to the shapes and styles we are used to today. Egyptians had some of the earliest shoes that could be traced the now-a-days boner inciting stilettos. Only royal “Mr./Mrs. I’m-super-important” jerks got to wear them, and for (what historians assume) ceremonial purposes. Well, royals and butchers that is, though butchers used them for much gnarlier reasons, to wade through the blood and carcasses. Skip a few millennia and the Turks made things called chopines, ranging from 7-8 inch heels all the way to a retarded 30 inch heel which often required either a cane or A SERVANT to assist with F***ING WALKING! After that silliness got the chop Frenchies were playing around with the idea of heels, though they were not as functional as today’s heels they certainly beat the hell out of those ass-crazy Turks. Seeing as the sewing machine wasn’t invented yet all these shoes had to be hand made, which was the height of tedium. This prompted the creation of the “straight shoe” or as I like to call them the “OUCH!” shoes. See, these “straight shoes” were made to be able wear them on either foot so that shoe makers didn’t have to create two patterns per pair. Seriously, that had to hurt. Heels went through crazy amounts of good and bad media through their birth in French fashion. Hell, puny lil’ Napoleon even banned them to show equality (personally I think he may have needed a pair to look anyone in the eye). Other parts of Europe caught on and so did the good ol’ U.S. of A. We weren’t as embracing as Europe at first, the stick-up-the-ass puritans banned them and burned chicks that wore them to attract men claiming those poor broads were witches. Eventually ‘Merica straightened out and build their first heel factory in 1888. Since then, an insane amount of attention in fashion has been paid to the leg and ass lifters. Fetishes were born, subcultures were founded, but even more important (in my opinion) they were accepted by more and more women. I’m a huge fan of a woman in heels. I doubt I will ever be able to shake that. I know it most likely has more to do with the cheek lifting power rather than the rich historical importance but now that you know a little bit you can play it off cool and intellectual. Hey intellectual is usually favored over drooling and stuttering. Listen ladies, I’m not saying you should exclusively wear these foot murdering shoes, but now and again why not don a pair, you know, for history. Yeah, history, that’s it, history.

Crunch! Or rather, Snap, Crackle, and Pop! When it comes to breakfast there is but one word necessary that need be mentioned: cereal. Go ahead, doubt me, i brought facts up in this piece. Close to a third (31%) of all American breakfast eaters chow down on the old childhood classic more frequently than any other breakfast food. "Mmmmmmm tastes good M***** F*****!" I can hear Sammy Jackson yelling every morning over a hearty bowl of Cocoa Pebbles and some black coffee. If you fall under that category of bowl and spoon traditionalists, like me, then you (on average) consume 10 lbs of cereal a year. The average cereal box is only between 12oz-20oz, making us seem like we may have a problem. The way I like to look at cereal, especially the sugary 'bad for you' brands, is it's breakfast, and breakfast should be your biggest and most calorie, sugar, and fat filled meal to fuel you through your day without getting fired from your job for napping because you were tired from not eating breakfast and while you were asleep someone stole all the merchandise… I digress--that is for another time. Back to the fun of the morning crunch. My favorite cereal when I was a small child was a little know ditty by that creeper Puritan fella Quaker by the name of Quisp. My first encounter with this cereal was when I was growing up in a mobile home park in Union City, California. I know this sounds redundant, but we were quite, um let's say 'on a low budget', so we frequented such fine grocery establishments as the Grocery Outlet. On one typical visit, strolling through the cereal/other boxed goods aisle, I come across a bright blue box with a strange cartoon alien that seem to have one of those propeller hats fused to his head printed on the front. I asked my mom to try it, and seeing as most cereals in that store were about one dollar, she granted me my request. I loved that damned cereal. Upon sitting down to write this, I did my normal researching for stats and whatnot, but then I looked up Quisp and found two things: 1. a youtube video of an old commercial for Quisp that really focused on calling the cereal an "ENERGY CEREAL" (http://youtu.be/8bUSt-JQdPg) and 2. that I can order some straight off of the Quaker website (http://quakeroats.elsstore.com/view/category/209-quisp/). I get paid in like 2 hours, I'm 'bout to order that so fast! Since I haven't been able to find Quisp in many years (nor did I look due to a near-fatal case of lazy) I have found many other cereals that satisfy the little fat kid deep in my soul. Blueberry Muffin Tops by Malt-O-Meal, Reese's Puffs Cereal by General Mills, along with many others and countless gallons of every percentage of milk available helped shape this lovely round belly of mine. I don't know what you are filling your bowl with, but if you are pouring a bowl at all we can be friends. So crunch on, my friends. Keep the childhood and sugary breakfast nostalgia alive, fight on through boring day jobs with the energy of Wheaties or Cheerios! Now stop reading this nonsense and get back to your bowl, that prime product is going to get soggy.