December 15th, 2010 by The Bull
Originally Posted: November 8th, 2004
So I’ve been seeing this girl for a little while, and the other day she tells me that I should be giving more back to the young people in my community. I explained to her that I give back all the time but she informed me that having sex with high school girls really doesn’t qualify. Read the rest of this entry »
December 15th, 2010 by The Bull
Originally Posted: October 25th, 2004
First of all, let me say I am a lifelong Red Sox fan. And as I’m sure many others can attest, choosing to be a BoSox fan is the equivalent of repeatedly smacking your own scrotum with a hammer. It seems like nothing ever goes right for Boston. Read the rest of this entry »
December 15th, 2010 by The Bull
Originally Posted: October 7th, 2004
Love is a very strong word. Think about it. There are probably very few things in your life that you actually love. For most of us, the word “love” is used when defining our feelings toward a family member like a mother or father. Read the rest of this entry »
December 15th, 2010 by The Bull
Originally Posted: September 24th, 2004
Here at the University of Maine we have many different students with many different interests. And contrary to popular belief, this university does well to accommodate as many of those interests as it can. For students that love athletics, there are numerous sporting events to attend, and if you enjoy participating in sports, there are many different intramurals you can join. For the gym rat, UMaine has the Latti Fitness Center. For the bookworm, there is the quiet confines of the 3rd floor at Folger Library.
These various activities not only pass time, they also help students blow off steam. Now with this being said, all of the aforementioned activities are fine, but like many of you out there, I blow of steam by getting myself quite royally shitfaced.
You see, I’m an old school drinker. I don’t really need a time or place nor do I need a rhyme or a reason to drink. If I go to a bar I don’t care what it looks like. Hell, I’d pound beers in an outhouse in the back woods of Veazie if I had to.
Which brings me to my point. I think college kids have become way too “pussified” when it comes to drinking. Nowadays college kids need a bar that’s “clean” or that is “up to fire code.” This was never more evident than last year at a bar in Old Town called No. Ten North Main. On one fateful Thursday night during the fall semester, the men’s bathrooms were out of order, forcing many of the male patrons to piss into buckets. The next day, there was a angry buzz rolling around campus. Everyone was bitching and moaning. I overheard one guy complaining because the place smelled “like stale beer and urine”.
Are you friggin’ kidding me? Have college kids as a whole turned into complete and total pansies? A bar that “smells like stale beer and urine?” Welcome to college dude. Hey hard-on, you better finish your Smirnoff Ice so you can run home and talk to your internet girlfriend.
Not to mention this is No. Ten we are talking about people. It ain’t exactly the high roller suite, is it? I don’t know about you, but I don’t expect four-star restrooms at a place with firearms mounted on the wall. I went in there last Tuesday and 62-year- old woman nicknamed “Shit-Stain” bought me a beer – we’re going out again Friday.
It’s just like my dad used to say when I’d complain about mom’s cooking: “Somewhere in Africa, son, there’s a starving kid who would kill for that meal.” Well guess what people? Somewhere in Africa there is a little kid who would kill just for one shot of Jagermeister to coat his little, albeit bloated, tummy. And do you think this kid would complain if he had to drink his little shot in a dive bar? Hell no. He’s used to sleeping in a structure made of turd and twigs. To this boy, the No. Ten would be like the Ritz Carlton.
I’d like to rekindle an old college term that has died out over the past few years: booze hound. You see the word booze means, of course, alcoholic beverages. The word hound means, a dog used in hunting, especially when hunting by scent. Therefore, a good booze hound can sniff around and find the best parties. A booze hound loves to hunt for drink specials, and he or she knows what to do when he finds them. Most importantly, booze hounds don’t complain, even if they have to sleep outside or drink from the toilet.
I hope to see many of my fellow booze hounds out at the bar this semester. Maybe you can sit down and have a few drinks with me. And don’t worry about paying – we can just put the drinks on Shit-Stain’s tab.
Travis Cowing is performing at the Sports Arena in Bangor on Friday, Sept. 24, if you want to heckle him, or see his tiny penis.
December 15th, 2010 by The Bull
Originally Posted: September 13th, 2004
Years ago, I popped out of my mothers vagina as a cute bundle of seven pound, three ounce joy. As I got older, my body grew from a tiny, delicate infant into what it is now: a flabby lard of feces. My point is that over the years of my life my body has grown, whether it be physically or mentally. However, there is one part of my body that, for whatever reason, has not seemed to get any larger since birth: my penis.
Yes, like many of you guys out there I have been blessed, or cursed if you will, with what I tend to refer to as an “infant peter.” In other words, my talleywhacker is minute. In fact, I’m not even sure if the small strand of flesh I have can be classified as an actual “penis.” I think the term “enis” would be more appropriate.
As you might expect, having an infant peter has really caused some embarrassing problems throughout the years. In school they used to call me “Travy Tiny Wang,” and when a girl gives me oral sex, it looks like she’s trying to blow up an inner-tube. Moments like these have been more than a little detrimental to my self esteem.
I can’t seem to pinpoint the problem either. I asked my mom if their was sort of accident at the hospital, but she claimed their wasn’t. And I know my tiny willy wasn’t hereditary because my dad’s wonker is fairly decent size. I know because he used to get drunk every year at the family barbecue and do a thing he liked to call, “helicopter rescue.”
I’ve tried ways to cure the problem with pumps and pills, but they don’t seem to work. I’ve even thought about surgery but the way I figure it, no girl ever touches it anyhow. Hey, there’s no sense in buying a Lamborghini if your just gonna’ keep it in the garage.
Yes, having a little penis has made my life tough from time to time. However, I write this column not for pity but instead I write these words to inspire hope for people who share my burden. I write this column for those of you out there who have shoved a tube sock into the crotch of your pants. I write this column for all the guys who used to take showers at school wearing shorts. I write for all of you out there who have looked down at your tiny, flaccid manhood and said, “Why me?” I say we stop being ashamed of what God gave us. I think it’s high time we showed the world a thing or two, even if that “thing” is only 1.5 inches erect.
Hey who cares if your Johnson is small, that doesn’t mean you can’t walk with a little confidence. Ladies dig on a dude who carries himself like he has a 12-inch dong. Who cares if you’re eleven inches short of a foot long, you can still look the part.
You can even try some tricks to help make your schlong look respectable. First of all, any guy with a small peter should be shaving his pubes. Now guys, you don’t have to go Brazilian on junior, but a trim will definitely help. You’ll be surprised how much bigger you’ll look after you shave your Harry Potter.
So I say it now guys, let our tiny penises be a burden no more. We have lived in fear for too long and that must change. As individuals we are just guys with tiny peckers, but when we come together as a group we are a force to be reckoned with. Let us no longer stuff our pants with tube socks or shower with our undies on. Let us stand together, with our tiny penises in hand and scream once and for all, “Yes! It is the motion of the ocean.”
Travis Cowing got kicked out of Sea World for flogging the dolphins.
December 15th, 2010 by The Bull
Originally Posted: April 5th, 2004
The University of Maine’s men’s hockey team is headed to the Frozen Four. And with them, they carry the hopes and dreams of the thousands of Black Bear fans. These hopes and dreams being, of course, a national championship. So on Thursday Black Bear fans young and old alike will travel to the Fleet Center in Boston or simply tune into their radios and televisions at home in hopes of seeing the Black Bears of Maine triumph.
However, there will also be a very special group of fans watching vigilantly as the UMaine hockey team takes the ice: the puck sluts. You see, puck sluts have always been a favorite topic of mine in the past. But as time passed over the last couple of years it seemed that puck sluts became extinct – similar to the dinosaurs. Nobody really knows the reason behind the momentary extinction of the puck sluts, but experts believe that many years ago a large meteor may have struck the Alfond Arena, wiping the puck sluts off the face of the earth.
Then, as the Black Bears started piling up regular season wins, the puck sluts began to show up again. And what started as random sightings of puck sluts soon became a familiar occurrence. Yes, soon the puck sluts started showing up to games together in large groups, or as experts call them “sluggles” – like a gaggle of geese, only sluttier. They seemed to appear out of nowhere, like the movie “Field of Dreams.” Instead of appearing from stalks of corn, the puck sluts popped up from behind bleachers and seats. And making their way down to the glass surrounding the rink, a bit drunk and a lot horny, they watched doe-eyed as their favorite player skated magically around the ice.
You see, for years I have been watching the puck sluts closely. I’ve done extensive research on their migration and mating habits. I guess that after my numerous years at this institution I have become somewhat of an expert on puck sluts. I consider myself similar to Sigourney Weaver’s character in “Gorillas in the Mist.”
Yes, it has given me great joy to watch the puck slut population grow back to where it should be. After all, it would’ve been a travesty to this year’s team, and every team hereafter, if puck sluts weren’t with us anymore. I mean, what other reason is there to try and win? For the love of the game? A sense of self pride? No way. All those things pale in comparison with a good ol’ puck slut.
And what would you tell those future hockey stars if there were no puck sluts anymore? Somewhere right now there is a 6 year-old scoring 15 goals a game in the Little Squirts League, who can’t wait until he’s old enough to play for his favorite team, the University of Maine. Try telling that same little tike that he’ll be a superstar one day, but no sluts will be there to adore him. Yes folks, that would’ve been a sad, sad day. And for that I thank you puck sluts. I thank you for showing the gumption and gusto to support your college team. You may not realize it yet, but you just made a young kid’s day.
And to the members of the hockey team, I say good luck and if you don’t want to win for yourself, then win for all those puck sluts that love you. And after all, like the voice said in the “Field of Dreams,” “if you win it, they will come.”
Travis Cowing is currently working on his graduate thesis, “The History of Puck Sluts.”
December 15th, 2010 by The Bull
Originally Posted: February 23rd, 2004
As of right now, four people are being indicted for their involvement in a steroid operation that supplied many athletes with anabolic agents. It is speculated that between 2000 and 2003 the company known as BALCO supplied athletes in the NHL, MLB and other professional organizations. BALCO has also been found guilty of supplying anabolics to Olympic athletes.
Among those indicted is the trainer for baseball slugger Barry Bonds. While Bonds has had no comment other than he “feels sorry for his trainer and good friend,” he has been shadowed by recent questions of his own steroid use for the past few years of his career – an allegation he vehemently denies.
Steroid use has always plagued many professional sports. Former NFL great Lyle Alzado claimed he not only used, but abused, steroids during his prolific career. And just in the past two years former pro baseball players Ken Caminiti and Jose Canseco said they too used the muscle-building drug during their playing days.
Most of the professional organizations test for steroids. Even the MLB Commission has agreed to random testing after it found that more than five percent of their players tested positive.
However, there is one group of athletes that has managed to avoid steroid testing. I am writing this column to inform you of a travesty that is, and has been, occurring in sports for years. The problem: kids at the Special Olympics are using steroids. Now I know what you’re thinking: Why would Special Olympic kids take steroids? Well that is the beauty of their ploy. Because we as a society don’t think a “special kid” would ever take steroids, we have never bothered to test. Because all the other professional sports have been taking heat for steroid use, the Special Olympics has managed to slip in under the radar.
I attended the Special Olympics last year – as a spectator – and what I saw appalled me. There were definitely more than a few kids “on the juice.” I saw one Special Olympian run a 50-yard dash in just over 23 minutes. He shattered the old record of 31 minutes. Now, if that isn’t a sign of something fishy I don’t know what is.
While watching the Special Olympics, I watched one record fall after the other. I saw a huge 55-pound bench press and unbelievable long jumps that were well over 2 feet. Clearly many of these athletes were “chemically enhanced.” And I will say that the men weren’t the only ones “juicing”at the event. I saw a couple of women who were probably using as well.
But my biggest surprise came during lunchtime. I saw one athlete sitting on the bleachers waiting for his mother to bring him a hot dog. When she returned, hot dog in hand, the athlete screamed at her because she had put relish on the dog. The mother politely asked him to stop screaming and he answered by grabbing the hot dog and heaving it onto the playing field. ‘Roid rage? I think so.
In defense of the Special Olympics, I will say that I saw no clear-cut evidence to steroid use. I scoured and spied in the locker rooms but I saw no signs of steriod use or drug paraphernalia. If these kids are “juicing” then they’re doing it very discreetly. When I asked some of the athletes about steroid allegations, however, they ignored me and tried to change the subject.
Hopefully I have opened your eyes to the widespread problem of steriod use. Perhaps if word got out, we could put a stop to steroids running rampant in the Special Olympics. Maybe we can at least get the committee to randomly test some of their athletes. But maybe the committee already knows, and they let this behavior go on to boost ratings and attendance. It’s a question we may never get the answer to. Now I know why these call these athletes “special.”
Travis Cowing is a man that has no moral fiber or personal boundaries.
December 15th, 2010 by The Bull
Originally Posted: February 2nd, 2004
I know that it’s still a few weeks off, but Valentine’s Day is quickly approaching. I currently live in fear and depression because I know that each passing day brings me dreadfully closer to “V-Day,” which in my opinion is far and away the worst holiday ever invented.
It seems to me that for the past 10 years – since I realized that all girls didn’t really have “cooties” – each of my Valentine’s Days have gotten progressively worse. For instance, I remember my first true love, Trudy Trembelhorn. Trudy and I were inseparable. We spent many a homeroom together discussing important topics like homework and episodes of “Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.” During computer class we could be found playing “The Oregon Trail” together. It was a fun game even though Trudy usually would die from dysentery.
Yes, our relationship was going great and it just so happened that our one-week anniversary came on Valentine’s Day. I decided to spring for a nice gift, so I took my allowance down to the five ‘n’ dime and searched for a nice present for Trudy. It was there that I found the ultimate gift: a Rambo survival kit. Now I know it sounds stupid but you have to trust me. The kit came with a black headband, a survival knife complete with compass, and a necklace with a green amulet on it.
You see, the movie “Rambo: First Blood Part Two” was big back then. In the movie, before Rambo’s girl dies she gives him that same necklace to remember her by. Yes, I was going to give Trudy that necklace of mine. I was going to be her John Rambo. The next day in gym class I walked over to her as she sat on the stage. I looked down and reached into my pocket to get her necklace. When I looked back up, Trudy was passionately kissing Danny Skuzinsky, a student who we was nicknamed “Skuz” because of his penchant for eating earthworms. When I got home I flushed Trudy’s necklace down the toilet. I kept the Rambo survival knife but it broke two days later. I guess the knife was cheap – just like that whore Trudy.
Ever since that dreadful day I have had a rotten opinion of Valentine’s Day, and don’t tell me that I haven’t tried. Just last year I bought my girlfriend roses and chocolates for Valentine’s Day. How did she repay me? A case of crabs. And I’m not talking about the kind you find on the menu in Bar Harbor. But hey, I guess when you hump every dude in Androscoggin Hall you’re bound to catch something.
I know I am not alone in my loathing of Valentine’s Day. I’m sure every man and woman out there has his or her own rotten memories just like I do. But, just because you don’t have a significant other doesn’t mean you can’t have fun on Valentine’s Day. I say get out and enjoy yourself. Head out to a bar and get hammered with other people who are just as single and ugly as you are. Because you are single, you can stumble home and pass out in your bathroom with piss and shit in your pants. Hey, who’s going to care.
Me? I’m going out on Valentine’s Day, but I won’t be partying. No, I have a score to settle. I’m putting on my Rambo headband and piecing my survival knife back together. That’s right Cupid, I’m coming for you. Well, right after I apply my crab lotion.
Travis Cowing is a lonely and bitter man who is performing at Russells in Bangor on Feb. 8.
December 15th, 2010 by The Bull
Originally Posted: October 30th, 2003
So I’d just like to inform you all that I got dumped again last week – and yes, by a woman. It seems that she felt I was a bit too immature. Apparently “mature” human beings don’t come home drunk, get naked in the bathroom, and push their shoe around in the toilet bowl – all the while making tug boat noises. In her defense, I can assure you this wasn’t my first act of “Teddy Tugboat” but I’m fairly certain this may have been the straw that broke the camel’s back. Well, it was either that or the whole “cat shaving incident.”
I think this breakup may be a bit more difficult than the others because Amy was the first non-inflatable girl that I really cared about. We got along so well. She had the best personality and a very kind heart. And boy, was she beautiful. She had the nicest cleft palate you have ever seen.
I laid in bed last night and tried to figure out what went wrong, not only in this relationship, but in all the relationships I’ve had in my life. After hours of contemplation I came to a startling conclusion: Amy was right. I am immature.
Then I began to think about a lot of other guys I know who are in a similar predicament. Many of you out there are also single because women don’t like your level of maturity. Time and time again, nice guys like us are passed up because we don’t “act our age.” Well guys, you’ll be happy to know that I’ve figured out a solution to our problem: we’ll date high school girls. Who says we should raise our level of maturity to meet that of these high class college women? Wouldn’t it be easier to sustain the same maturity level and just date younger girls? I think so.
Dating a high school girl will be perfect. First of all, high school girls are still sweet and innocent. They’ve probably only been with a couple of guys, unlike most college girls who have been banged around more than Tyson’s speed bag. High school girls still have their youth and good looks. Meanwhile, college girls are buttering their hips trying to squeeze into those old jeans from high school. No one has informed them they have put on a solid 45 pounds and are tipping the scales at well over a deuce.
And you know what, high school girls try to dress nice. They keep up with the changing times of fashion and always try to look trendy. College girls, on the other hand, think pajama bottoms and an old sweatshirt look “fly.” The sweatshirt, by the way, that contains sauce stains from last night’s delicious Hot Pocket.
But be prepared, guys, because people will say all sorts of vicious things about you and your high school romance. But who cares? You’ll be in love and that’s all that will matter. So what if she’s a bit younger than you. Who cares if you’re reading Shakespeare and she’s reading “Teen Beat.” So what if you’ve had your license for 10 years and she just got her permit – you don’t need a permit for love.
Well I gotta be going everyone. I have a hot date tonight. I’m taking a very hot high school junior to a movie. Hopefully the movie isn’t too long because I have to have her home early – it being a school night and all.
Travis Cowing is currently applying for the crossing guard position at Orono High School.
December 15th, 2010 by The Bull
Originally Posted: September 18th, 2003
For the past couple of years, I have traditionally started each fall semester by writing a column about the dos and don’ts of going to college. So this year I have again decided to follow suit and give you some advice. However, to break up the monotony, I have decided to try something a little different. Below I have given you a few terms and their meanings: a dictionary if you will, to help boost your college vocabulary. Feel free to look them over and don’t worry – there won’t be a test after.
Nippleballer: A “nippleballer” is a guy who works out at Latti fitness center, or any other gym for that matter, and wears apparel that doesn’t cover his nipples and/or his scrotum. Meaning, if you wear tiny tank tops and teeny shorts, you’re a “nippleballer.” Don’t worry – if you wear spandex shorts to the gym, you’re not a nippleballer – you’re just a giant hard-on.
Beav-sneaker: This one applies to girls who work out wearing very tiny shorts. You’re not quite as bad as a nippleballer, but be advised: With every rep you do, guys are trying to catch a peek at your beaver. Note: I’m not talking about the animal that chews on wood and builds dams.
Close-Proximity Ass Kisser: or C-PAKs as I call them, sit right in the front row during every awful, boring lecture. A C-PAK always has a few dumb-ass questions for the professor, which makes the class go even longer than it should. C-PAKs never miss a class and they are rarely ever late. While you’re fighting off a hangover, C-PAKs feel “just great” because they “don’t ever drink.” So, if you decide to become a C-PAK yourself, just remember one thing: C-PAKs get good grades but everyone f*cking hates you.
Sportyscrewer: A sportyscrewer is a chick who will only have sex with athletes of UMaine. Meaning, if you don’t toss the pigskin or lace up ice skates, you can consider her pants sealed. Synonyms: Puck sluts, turf toys and dugout hoes.
Phone Jack-offs: A Phone Jack-off is a guy/girl who has a boyfriend/girlfriend living far, far away. He/she will not go out and have any fun because he/she feels the need to talk on the phone six hours every night. Phone Jack-offs say things like, “we’re going make this long distance thing work” or “she would never cheat on me.” Get a clue boys and girls. Meanwhile, she’s a freshman down at Clemson getting railed by every dude on the defensive line. It’s time you hung up that phone and went out and got yourself a piece of ass.
Jelly Shirts: This is a term I use for chicks who like to go out dancing or partying wearing a “belly shirt.” Belly shirts look very cute on a girl with a nice flat tummy, but there are more than a few girls out there who should have stopped wearing a belly shirt about 45 pounds ago. Listen honey – I’m proud of my gut too but I don’t parade it all over the damn town. So unless you plan to make a sandwich, put your jelly away.
Wack-jobs: This is a term used when a person masturbates in his/her roommates bed, usually because they have the only room with a DVD player. Example: When you go home for the weekend to do laundry, chances are very high that your roommate will pull a “wack-job.” Don’t laugh. It does happen.
There you have it kids: a few must know terms for higher education. Think of them as “Cliff’s Notes for College.” I have to be going because I have a date tonight with a sportyscrewer. I told her I was on a dodge ball scholarship. Hopefully I get lucky with her because I’m getting real tired of pulling “wack-jobs.”
Travis Cowing is looking into expanding his every day vocabulary by becoming a member of the Oxford-English Dictionary editing team.
