Canada

There I was, spending my night like I’ve been spending a lot of nights lately; playing The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess. I had just finished the Temple of Time, which was possibly my least favorite Zelda dungeon I’ve ever played. It’s boring, repetitive and tedious. I spent most of my time going through the same puzzles, which were far too simple and straightforward. Also, considering its late stage in the game, the boss was far too easy. After finishing off the temple I ran around for a while to snatch up a few heart pieces and such while pondering some of the reasons that I disliked it so much. That was when my phone rang. I was a bit surprised to see that it was Sarah calling because it had been a while since we last talked, so I quickly wondered what it was she could want before answering it. This is pretty much how the conversation went:

Me: Hey, what’s up?
Translation: Hey, what’s up?
Sarah: Hey, not too much. What are you up to tonight?
Translation: Hey, I’ve got quite a bit going on. However, I know you never do anything or participate in social functions. You're doing me a favor.
Me: Not too much.
Translation: I probably haven't done anything in well over a week. I can’t be sure because it's hard to tell time without events or a schedule to help keep track.
Her: Megan and I are going to Canada and Ashley was supposed to drive us but she bailed so I was wondering if you could drive us back?
Translation: Get your shoes on. You’re crossing international borders soon.
Me: Hmm, I don’t know. I don't really see what's in it for me. Seems like work...
Translation: It's late and I’m kinda tired. Plus I’m playing Zelda...
Her: Well, you have had my Wii for a couple months now and I’ve let you borrow it for free.
Translation: Seriously. Put your fucking shoes on or I’m taking the Wii.
Me: Well, I am using it right now, so I guess I kinda owe you.
Translation: Yes, masthta.

After I had gotten off the phone and acknowledged that I am, in fact, a little obsequious bitch, I got my shoes on and fortunately remembered that I would need my birth certificate to make it over the border so I found that. She called me when they got to my house and as I got to the door to go outside, Sarah was standing on my porch with a large flag pole that I was told to store in my house as it may look a bit suspicious going through customs. I put it in my basement, which is where it still resides as she has yet to take it back, while she went back to the car, and once I walked outside I was instructed, through a series of vague hand signals, that I was supposed to go around to the back of the car on the driver side. I did so, got into the car, and realized that Sarah’s friend, Steve, was also going with us. I had met Steve once before on a night when Sarah, her brother and I all went out to a club. My interactions with him are not completely aware to me as some of the night was apparently removed from memory as the result of a few regretful drinks I decided to have that night. However, from what I could remember, I did recall that he was pretty cool and had a brilliant sense of music, which was quite fortunate for me, as he was responsible for choosing the music that we were listening to when I entered the car. He was playing music off of his iPod and, although I didn’t recognize barely any of it, I enjoyed almost all of it. We stopped at Meijer before getting onto the expressway so that Steve could purchase a Father’s Day card (this happened the night before Father’s Day). Steve, Sarah and I all went in while Megan stayed in the car. He quickly found a card and shortly after having a quick laugh over a certain someone’s attempted suicide, I received some spectacular news concerning a couple people that I vowed revenge against at a party a couple months back. The details must remain secret (in case someone actually reads this), but basically they did my work for my by ruining their own lives.

As we were walking back to the car I began to prepare myself for the musical bliss that I was sure Steve would continue to supply, but that luxury proved itself to be only temporary since Megan had commandeered the radio while we were inside. I was then forced to brace myself for the onslaught of inexplicably popular modern music which followed. I unhappily endured the noise for the rest of the drive to Steve’s house in Detroit, not too far from the Ambassador Bridge, so that Steve could drop off the Father’s Day card and also get his birth certificate. He also brought back a couple text books, which become important later in the story. After running that errand we headed to the bridge.

Once we get to the customs officer at the border, Sarah is talking to her and answering the questions that they normally ask. Then, when she asks if we have anything to declare, she says no, but Steve decides to pipe up for some reason. He announces that he has several textbooks currently in his possession including, but not limited to, a Japanese language book and a book on how to write an essay to get accepted to a grad school. As Steve made himself look more and more suspicious, I forcibly avoid panic and instead convince myself to enjoy the humor of the situation. She then asked a question that could have lead to catastrophe; when she inquired if any of us had any weapons, Steve, who is almost a black belt, nearly replied “yes,” in reference to his hands. Thankfully he avoided that urge, but we were still asked to pull aside in order to be searched. As we began to pull away to the customs’ office, I began laughing quietly while Sarah and Megan asked Steve, “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Once we had parked in the designated area we were asked to exit the car while they searched it for items of interest. We were then told to go into the custom’s building, where we had to give our identification and such to someone and then we had to wait in another room for a bit. Sarah was becoming noticeably panicked, while I maintained my traditional insouciant demeanor. However, if I had a standing bench warrant for my arrest, as I later learned she had, I suppose I may have been a bit more apprehensive toward the situation. Although, I don’t know if I’d be trying to cross the border under those circumstances either so I can’t imagine it ever becoming a problem for me. Regardless, after waiting for ten minutes or so we were informed that we were free to leave, and so our trip to Canada continued. While driving across the bridge Sarah and Megan joked around with Steve about things he should avoid while going through customs. I briefly consider the potential hilarity to be enjoyed by shackling Steve (he’s black) and claiming him as a slave on our return trip across the border but I decide not to share this thought with everyone else since I don’t know him very well and there was a myriad of reactions he could have to a statement such as that, a solid majority of which could be devastating to my well-being (remember, he’s nearly a black belt, and may actually be by this time).

Once we got into Canada and reached the main strip we found a parking garage and then started walking around to find an acceptable establishment to enter. Being a person who rarely partakes in excursions such as this, I was a bit surprised at the scene. I’ve rarely seen streets so packed during the day, let alone when it is nearly 1 A.M. The ladies finally decided on a club called Woody’s Outhouse. As we walked up to the doors there were a couple bouncers, one of which, a rather tall and large man, told us that the cover was $3 for girls and $5 for guys. However, when I passed him he said that it would only be $3 for me, possibly because he sympathized with a fellow “big ‘n fluffy person,” or perhaps because he recognized me as the unfortunate hapless soul who agreed to come with great reluctance and would later be responsible for these soon-to-be drunken teenagers. Or maybe he just thought I was a girl. No matter what the reason, Sarah paid for me anyway, so I really didn’t care. Before we even got inside I recognized a noise similar to that I had heard a lot of in the car and I, once again, greatly disapproved of these sound waves forcibly entering my ears. Once inside I discovered dozens of people “dancing” to said noise. The reason for the quotes is because I don’t consider what those people were doing as dancing, but I realize that my opinion does not align with the opinions of most. Also, I’m not clever enough to think of another word to accurately describe it. Personally I consider the engagement in such activities more appropriate while under the dominion of psychotropic drugs much more potent than alcohol, but hey, that’s just me.

The girls quickly made their way to their bar and ordered and drank quite a few potions while I cautiously discerned my surroundings. Steve, meanwhile, had managed to disappear. Soon after they decided that they wanted to “dance” and tried to coax me to do the same, which I had no desire of doing given the absence of the aforementioned drugs. No, I had decided long ago that I was there merely for observation. I did agree to escort them to the “dance” floor, where I remained for several minutes, standing awkwardly in a sea of movement around me, to better perceive the experience. Then I decided to take a seat at the bar and grab a drink for further reflection, which lead me to several realizations.

As nearly anyone reading this will be aware of, I haven’t had the greatest luck in regard to relationships, due in part to a deep-rooted insecurity dating back to even before my first serious relationship which tends to cause problems. And then there’s my reprehensible desire to try to chase after the women I’ve lost. I was recently guilty of such stupidity once again just a couple months ago when I started seeing one of my ex-girlfriends for, arguably, the third time. We had not been talking for several months prior to this when she decided to initiate a sabbatical from our radio silence and called me. After things went south once again after only a month or so, I decided that I was correct in thinking that I shouldn’t be associating with this person for several reasons. Immediately following that was a major, but short, depression that ended when I made myself realize how much better off I had been since we had stopped communicating. But in the past couple weeks I’ve been thinking about her once again which has caused a minor clandestine sadness, but being at that club reminded me of the pivotal differences that made us so incompatible. I’ve obviously been unaware of her actions since we stopped talking, but back when we dated she went out occasionally. This night made me realize how appreciative I am not to be involved with someone who willingly participates in activities such as this, regardless of frequency. I guess I share the same feelings about dance clubs and the inclination to feel like a “hate camel” as Bill Hicks.

While I was thinking about all of this, I was also doing a cost comparison of the Coke that I had gotten from the bar. I believe that they served it to me in an eight ounce glass, filled mostly with ice, so I’d make the generous estimate that there was actually only about four ounces of Coke in the glass. That drink had cost me $2. Based on my estimation that the glass actually only contained roughly four ounces, after some simple arithmetic, that would mean that Coke cost roughly 50 cents an ounce. Now, I would imagine most people would compare the cost per ounce of that drink to perhaps a 20 oz. Bottle or a 2-liter since those are common volumes that Coke can be purchased in. I, however, decided to compare extremes. I had gone to 7-11 earlier that same day with my friend, Mikey, and he filled something called a Team Gulp, a one gallon red monstrosity whose name implies that it is meant for several people, perhaps a “team,” but he has been known to tackle the challenge himself. I own one of these myself, which has fondly earned the nickname of “Truth,” while Mikey’s goes by the epithet of “Justice,” but I had forgotten mine at a friend’s house a few weeks back and still hadn’t gotten it back yet so Truth did not join us on this journey. For those of you who are a bit rusty on your customary unit conversions, one gallon equates to 128 ounces. That is 16 times the amount of liquid that could potentially fit into the glass I was drinking from at the bar, and around 32 times the amount that was probably actually in the glass. Subtract a few ounces for ice and not filling it all the way to the top, and we’ll say that he actually only put about 116 ounces of pop in it. He paid 99 cents for this, plus tax, which came to a total of $1.05, which is the same price as freedom. He actually only paid $1 because the cashier just took five cents out of the penny tray to avoid having to make change for $2, but just to make it a more accurate comparison, we’ll say he actually paid the whole price. So, assuming that he had 116 ounces of pop and paid a total of $1.05, by dividing the price into the volume, we get approximately 0.00905, which would mean that he actually paid less than one cent per ounce. Now, dividing that price into the estimated 50 cents I was paying at the bar indicates that the Coke I was more than 55 times more expensive than the pop from 7-11. And this was without even having any alcohol added to it. I, once again, acknowledge that I am a little obsequious bitch, and then I move onto other thoughts.

(Note: I may be wrong about the price of the Coke at the bar. It may have actually been $4, but decided to give them the benefit of the doubt in order to avoid mistakenly making a greatly exaggerated comparison.)

When I realized that I was doing a mental cost analysis of a beverage, I knew I was bored as hell. Then I heard a most amicable sound; it was the unmistakable tune of “Sweet Home Alabama,” and once I had taken a moment to ensure that it was in fact that and not Kid Rock’s atrocious plagiarism “All Summer Long.” This was the first song that I could actually recognize as music since the last song Steve had chosen in the car. Unfortunately, the victory was short lived, as the DJ decided to mute the song whenever the words “sweet home Alabama” were being sung so that the drunken blob of people could all simultaneously screech their own rendition of the lyrics. The song was also cut off quite short, only having been on for a minute or so, before being replaced by more noise that I believe goes by the name “Soulja Boy,” or some ridiculous nonsense like that. The girls returned to the bar to have a couple more drinks and they were quickly accosted by to guys that had been standing near the bar for a couple minutes. They talked for a little while and the guys bought them all a few rounds before returning to go flail their bodies about on the “dance” floor. It was then I realized that I had been reduced to deafly watching soccer and baseball (two sports I don’t like) highlights in a Canadian bar while sipping on an exorbitantly expensive Coke. For the third time I acknowledged myself as a little obsequious bitch and decided to try to make the best of it. I feigned enjoyment while watching sports replays, hoping that this would trick myself into thinking I was actually having a good time. This plan failed immediately, and instead I just sat there and was forced to listen to some of the “music.” It was then that I devised the theory that most modern music had been haphazardly scrawled across blank pages of sheet music by Helen Keller.

The girls returned not too long after with their newly attained admirers, who bought them a few more drinks. Now, before this night my suspicions about nightclubs had only been postulation, but based on the circumstances of the people I was with and their actions I had attained confirmation and I composed this definition: Nightclub - a place where outside relationships seemingly don’t exist and the bounds of fidelity are stretched to their very limit. I wonder about what kind of borderline infidelities my ex may have committed while I was her non-boyfriend while she was out, with complete male strangers using her as the equivalent of a glorified, human humping pole. Then, once again, I feel relieved for having been removed from that situation.

Thankfully by this time it was approaching closing time which meant I would soon be able to leave the wretched place. The girls were still “dancing” so I decided to order another Coke. It was at this time that I had the good fortune to look down at the floor and see a Canadian $20 bill and, since most people had already left the bar, I assumed that the person that dropped it was already long gone. I picked it up, ordered my Coke, and when I tried to hand the $20 to the bartender, he waved it off and walked away. Within moments I had found $20 and gotten a free Coke. I felt like I was being rewarded for the suffering I had volunteered myself to endure. I finished off my Coke and then me and the gals headed out to find Steve, who had apparently escaped off to a pizza shop. Along the way I got to witness the dichotomous effects of alcohol; Megan and Sarah had been reduced to drunken blabber while two guys were yelling at each other on the street, one screaming at the other “Go back to fucking Michigan!” It was strange to see blissful honesty an arm’s length away from ignorant rage with both scenarios being a result of the same substance.
Once we had found Steve I generously offered to treat everyone to McDonald’s with the money I had found before leaving for The States. After we finished eating we headed for the tunnel back home which, as it turned out, was extremely busy. Megan complained about having to pee the entire half hour that it took to get through the damn thing, and when we finally did we luckily breezed through customs and stopped to let her go to the bathroom. After that both Megan and Sarah were asleep which allowed Steve to exercise dominion over the music we listened to, which I greatly enjoyed. His musical tastes can be described as nothing short of wonderfully eclectic. I had the pleasure of experiencing music spanning nearly every genre and style and made me realize how disappointingly narrow my knowledge of music is. The remainder of the trip was spent in this fashion, with Steve providing the music and me grooving to it, until arriving back at Oakland around 5 or 6 A.M. where I was finally able to get some rest (but decided not to sleep and instead jotted down some notes about the night that I wanted to write about; in retrospect, not the best choice.)

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Summary only...

The WRIF Rock Girls... and the reasons they don't deserve your vote.

As you may or may not know, WRIF holds an annual contest to find a WRIF Rock Girl. On the extremely unlikely chance that someone reading this is not one of my close friends from the Metro Detroit area, WRIF is the closest thing to a rock / metal radio station in the area. They play a fairly balanced amount of classic rock and more modern rock spanning the last several decades. They've been doing this contest for three years, and the 2008 contest has been underway for a little while now. The way it works is they hold auditions at various events at bars, malls, etc. Each prospective contestant is interviewed and then 32 girls are chosen. Then the system becomes democratic. Each girl gets her own page on the WRIF web site and then listeners can check out each girl and cast their vote for who they think the next WRIF Rock Girl should be. The voting occurs in rounds: the top 16 vote getters move onto the second round, and then the contestants are halved once again to 8, and then down to 4. In the final round, consisting of the top 4 of the original 32, the girl with the largest breasts is crowned the champion.

Now, I enjoy democracy, what, with the voting and all. However, I don't know if it's the best way to go about holding a contest such as this. Although the contestants are permitted to make appearances at WRIF events during the contest to try to suade people's vote, there isn't a whole lot that can be done and the process is inherently unfair. That is why I propose a different method, one that will determine a victor based on skill and determination. After auditions are held and the Thundering 32 are chosen, the first task would be to weed out anyone who isn't committed enough by making them do something that would be considered by most to be humiliating. Here's my idea: each girl must head out to the streets and beg for change wearing only a potato sack. They will be allowed to choose their own location to do their begging, but must remain 300 yards away and out of sightline from every other contestant. Their names will be randomly drawn from a hat to decide the order in which they get to choose their locations. They will not be allowed to inform people that they are taking place in a contest. Instead all the girls will be assigned an embarrassing reason that they must communicate to the people they are asking for money from. For example, they may be suffering from severely backed up colons and must raise the money to have a vital operation performed to effectively unclog the blockage. The girls will not be allowed to accept increments of more than $5 from any given person. They will not be allowed to initiate contact with men in an attempt to get money from them, although I don't know how many guys would want to touch a girl that has just informed you that her ass is about to explode unless you give her money. Remarks from perverted men claiming that they think they know a way to relieve her intestine (use your imagination) must be met with a smile and a chuckle. Each girl will have a person appointed to monitoring them to make sure that they do not cheat and for safety reasons. The first 16 girls to collect $100 will move onto the next round. The other 16 will not be notified that they have lost and will instead be left on the street until they collect $100 or quit.

The Scandalous 16 then move onto the next round which is a triathlon taking place in Downtown Detroit. First up is the People Mover Endurance Contest. Every girl will be given the money she made from the previous round and then be made to wear expensive jewelry and given a can of bear mace with only three sprays left in it. However, they will not be aware that there are three legs to the race and will instead only be told that this round consists of the People Mover Endurance Contest. This way the tough ones will still have their bear mace for when they really need it. They will be placed on the People Mover at 4 P.M. on the night of a Detroit Red Wings playoff game. This will ensure a lot of traffic on there. The girls will not be allowed to leave the People Mover for ten hours for any reason, and then they will all be released at 2 A.M. By that time the second section of the triathlon will be in place; a Paperboy-esque obstacle course consisting of hobo hurdles, bum blockades, aggravated assault alleys and forcible rape ramps. The girls must make their way to the end of the obstacle course where twelve cars will be waiting (remember, there are 16 girls). Each girl must hijack a car and then make her way through the driving portion. The first part is to test their actual driving skills. They must navigate through a small pylon course, which will be difficult considering the car they stole will presumably not have breaks. Then they must weave around vehicle thieves that are released from prison for the sole purpose of this contest. The girls that did not make it in time to get a car will also be brought to this part of the course so that have the opportunity to steal one from one of the remaining competitors. After finishing the driving course, the girls must race to the Manoogian Mansion. When they reach the driveway they will be supplied with a new can of bear mace and the first eight girls to utilize this mace against the Detroit Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick will be advanced to the final round.

The final round will be much less complicated than its predecessors. The remaining Exulted 8 (assuming that many survive the previous round) will be placed into a large, clear plastic container with a starved syphilitic goat that is high on PCP. After the goat slaughters all eight of them and comes down from his PCP trip, he will be treated for his syphilis, the video will be posted on youtube, and the goat will be horned the WRIF Rock Goat for the year.

But, unfortunately I'm not in charge of the contest procedures, so let's get on with the article.

Each girl's page contains irrelevant information about her and a short video taken at her audition telling people why they should vote for her. The information provided about each girl is as follows: Favorite Animal, First Car, Best or Worst Date, Biggest Fear, Describe Yourself In 3 Words, Favorite Sport, and A Little Known Fact About Yourself. I don't see how any of that information pertains to being a Rock Girl at a radio station, but who am I to question the validity of the process? I mean, I certainly can't dispute the fact that describing yourself in three words is the best way to depict who you are as a person. No one can. But I was just kind of thinking that it might make more sense to have a question about music, bands, etc., because it seems just a bit more applicable to me. Anyhow, now that you know how it works, now it's time to tell you a little bit about each girl and why you shouldn't vote for them.

(Please note that I'm lazy so at the time of this writing the contest is already in round two, so the contestants have already been cut down to 16.)

Annalicia

Upon looking at her picture, I was immediately intimidated by her gigantic and shiny earrings. Her appearance does not communicate to me that she is someone that would be suitable for a Rock Girl position. She listed her favorite animal as "Puppies because they are small and soft." I could point out that it's a bit illogical to say that puppies are your favorite animal because they're actually dogs, but instead, let me ask you this. Do you know what else is small and soft? Donald Trump's penis, and no one wants anything to do with anything that can be associated with that. Hell, for all I know, that thing might even eat Puppy Chow. She also says that she hasn't "had a worst date," which is also illogical. She may not have had a bad one, but she's had a worst. Her last mistake was saying that soccer is her favorite sport because "it helps get anger out." Unfortunately for her, there is a correct response to that question: hockey. And a good thing to get anger out is to make fun of complete strangers competing in radio contests...

Carly

Carly's favorite animal is dogs because "they are a girls best friend!" Lies! Last I checked, my penis was a girl's best friend. She claims that her worst date was when a guy took her to Subway and then made her pay. Listen woman, Subway is a fine restaurant, and if you women want equality so much then maybe you should start paying us in advance for sex. When asked to describe herself in three words, her response was, "Determined, Witty." Apparently she's not determined or witty enough to think of three words to describe herself. Not surprisingly, she got the sport question wrong, saying that she likes "Detroit Pistons Basketball" because it's "entertaining with sexy men." Wrong again. She then goes on to say that something that most people don't know about her is that she has two guitars and knows "how to rock out any song that rocks! Of course this is on guitar hero." I do not feel the need to mock this as it does a sufficient job of doing it on its own. And then there's her video...

Once again, I feel like she does a satisfactory job of making fun of herself with her "rock your world" comment and her wink and point technique. But what really bothers me is her claim that she can kick anyone's ass in Guitar Hero. I present to you, Exhibit A.



I hope you like having your mind scrambled.


But I doubt you need to possess prodigious talent such as his. Hell, I could probably beat her. And she keeps bragging about having two guitars, but I doubt she's ever played two at the same time like I have.




I can dual-wield guitars.


Cristy

Of all the girls, Cristy will probably be the most difficult one to convince guys not to vote for. She is the veritable "Tits McGee" contestant and, to me, by far the most attractive. However, I must stress that you are voting for someone to be a representative of a rock radio station; you're not voting for what girl you would most like to bury your genitalia inside. Having said that, let's get to the bashing...

She says that dogs are her favorite animal because she has two and they are her "babies." I can only assume that she means that in a very literal sense which would imply that canines have sprung forth from her presumably fertile womb. The fact that she only has two is kind of disturbing; there are generally more than two puppies in a litter. This woman is irresponsible. She was either too negligent to keep all of her bastard dog babies alive, or she's been having unprotected dog-sex without considering the consequences and was forced to put a few of her children up for adoption because she couldn't support all of them. Is that the kind of person you want to be your Rock Girl?

She says that her best date is "dinner and a movie at home," which is great for me, because if she were to ever go out with me, then she would perpetually be on her best date ever, as my life consists merely of eating and watching television. This gives me a kind of demented hope that a girl like her could ever like me. I'm willing to look past the fact that she is from Florida, has puppy-children and a canine bestiality fetish; I can learn to live with that. However, she immediately decimates those hopes by saying that she is scared of basements. Fucking basements! For those of you unaware, I live in a basement, and her fear of my dwelling has the potential to cause some issues with our relationship. We also have very differing opinions on an issue that I hold very dear; the number 3. When asked to describe herself in 3 words, her response was, "Sassy, Sexy, Rock Star." I'm sorry, but I just can't see myself being with anyone whose views about the numerical system do not align with my own.

Her favorite sports are wrong as well. She likes motorcycle road racing and basketball, neither of which are acceptable answers to me. To reiterate her slutnificance (thanks Mikey) she informs everyone that she is a pole dancer.





She thinks she should be the WRIF Rock Girl "because I can down a dozen hotdogs without breathing faster than Kobayashi."

(Note: After she demonstrates her pole dance, I was forced to render myself unconscious due to empathized embarrassment by repeatedly bashing my head on my desk, so the above quote is simply speculation.



For the right offer, she can beat the bear as well.


Heather

Unfortunately, there aren't a lot of things to complain about here. Her favorite sports are cheerleading and basketball, the former of which is arguable and the latter is just incorrect. There is a very easy way for her to win my vote, though. Her fears are "tornados and clowns." If she wants my vote, all that I ask is that she be placed in a trailer with Bozo in the path of a tornado. I think that would pretty much clinch her victory.

However, there is a major problem. She said that her best date was going to a "My Chemical Romance Concert." One would generally find a statement such as this on a court-ordered testicle revocation form. Unfortunately for Heather, the WRIF's motto is "Everything that rocks." Not "Everything that desires cocks." You know that thing they have where they make a lot of noise for a few minutes that's titled "I'm Not Okay"? Well, I can relate a lot to that song, but only when I hear it, because that's generally when I'm not okay. Know what else isn't okay? The noise they make. I've got more, but I feel like I've spent enough time not making you laugh.

No. That's a bad Heather. No vote for you.

Jamee

Jamee says her "worst date was when I went on a blind date to REO Speed wagon..." Her worst date was going to a fucking REO Speedwagon concert and she's trying to become the WRIF Rock Girl?! Blasphemy!

(Note: to maintain my status as a respected journalist, I feel it necessary to point out that the above quote was taken out of extreme context and the reason it was her worst date is because "the guy didn’t even have tickets so we left..." But still, she should have been satisfied just being in a close proximity to those gods of rock!)

After her date took her to what I can only assume was a rockin' awesome concert, he then took her to dinner. She goes on to say: "He didn’t eat so I had to pay for my own food. He got road rage on the way home and still expected a kiss!" Well damn woman, you expect him to pay when he's not even eating? I still maintain that it's time for women to step up and chip in on this whole prepaid sex shenanigans. And if she had done her proper duty as a woman he would have been too busy enjoying a cherry pie with homemade crust to have gotten road rage. It's science; you can't be hateful when you're eating pie. Her failure to comply with this simple procedure leads me to believe that he deserved a lot more than a kiss at the end of the night.

Predictably, she does not declare hockey as her favorite sport, claiming instead that it is baseball.





Please, people, don't trust her! She's trying to convince people to put faith in the Tigers. All she's doing is setting up people for devastation.

Jenna

Her first car was a "99 Camero." Do I really have to say anything about that? Do you really want to vote for someone who can't even spell the name of the car she drove? Her best date was going to a Kid Rock concert. All I have to say about that is that I saw Kid Rock (or at least what appeared to be Kid Rock) turn into Neapolitan Ice Cream in a movie one time. I was ecstatic.

She claims to be fearless. I wish to test this statement. I submit that she be lathered in honey recently attained from a bee's nest. Then a hockey helmet is placed on her and, after both she and the bee's nest are shaken furiously, they are both tossed into a cage containing a hibernating black bear. A professional golfer will tee off several times directly into the black bear while "It's Raining Men" as performed by the Weather Girls is blared at the proverbial Spinal Tap 11 volume. Don't ask me why it should be that song, it just should be.

Oh, and her video...





I'm so glad she informs everyone of what her perfect date would be and says she just needs a date. It's almost as if she's trying to use her sexuality and appearance to her advantage by making it seem like she might date you. Yes, you! Right there! And it's a good thing that she has this medium to tell everyone that she needs a date, as I would imagine that it is a terrible strain for her to find a guy that would want to drink beer with her on a boat while she's wearing a bikini. I can't even imagine her struggle, but I'm willing to take one for the team here by offering myself up to go out with her under these circumstances. Just a few minor negotiations: replace the boat with my basement ('cause I don't have a boat), replace the beer with some liquor ('cause beer is disgusting), and replace the bikini with nothing ('cause the bikini might get in the way of her breasts).

Jennifer

Surprisingly, there isn't a lot to dislike here, but that doesn't necessarily imply that there's much to like. She says that her favorite animal is her "Yorkie-Poodle Daisy because she is loveable and crazy." Yeah, well, depending on who you ask, Charles Manson has those same qualities, and we all know how that turned out. She chose baseball as her favorite sport over hockey, which is cause for immediate disqualification in my book. She says that " Most people don’t know that I have an identical twin sister." Now this concerns me a little bit. She essentially has a body double that she can utilize to her advantage when she doesn't feel like working. She can just send her sister out, who I assume is kept in a cage in a basement, like the Olsen triplet.

She does manage to provide the first of several (as you'll see) Freudian slips.





In case you didn't know, it's supposed to be the "Exotic 8," but she's welcome to be in my Erotic 8. I have one of those on MySpace.

Kate

Kate is from Lincoln Park. Now, if you're going to hail from a city that (at least almost) shares a name with a rock band, then it should be Godsmack. I mean, how awesome would that be? "Where are you from, Kate?" "I'm from Godsmack, Michigan." And then she would punch the person in the temple and run.

Kate says that her favorite animals are goats because "they are chill" and if you have one then you don't have to cut your grass. Well, Kate obviously not be aware of the The Childhood Goat Trauma Foundation, or she just likes the thought of children being maimed by wild mammals. According to that web site, which I can only assume is 100% factual, "over 6000 people are traumatized by goats in the United States alone." Scary shit. And Kate wants you to be one of those people.

She complains that her worst date was when she went bowling and her date got really stoned and sat in the back the whole time. I'm almost positive that he smoked the marijuana for medicinal purposes, because if it wasn't then that would have been illegal and saying otherwise would be speculating that he is something other than an upstanding citizen. In essence, she is mocking cripples.

She says: "My favorite sport is Baseball, basketball and hockey because I like to hang with my friends, have a tall boy and watch some games be played." Aside from being unaware of the difference between the plural and singular forms of words, she came pretty close on this one. She did mention hockey, but she mentioned it last. But what most interested me was her mention of a tall boy. I happen to be a tall boy, and I've love to hang with her and her friends for some games, if you know what I'm saying. (If you don't, I'm saying I'd do her.)

In her video she discusses her immense musical talent.





No way! She can play "Smoke on the Water," "Brain Stew," and "Silent Night" if she tries really hard! What a coincidence, so can my penis and Billy Bob Thornton's character in Sling Blade!




Karl Childers likes his Brain Stew with them French fried potaters.


Kristine

Kristine's favorite animals are squirrels for reasons she does not explicate. She simply says that they are a favorite among her friends because of an inside joke they share. Oh, well, thanks for making all of us feel left out of the loop. She says her best date is "beer, pizza and lots of laughs." Ohhh, so close. The correct answer is "sex, pizza and lots more sex." But I can offer sex as a consolation prize.

Apparently something that most people don't know about her is that she likes to make people laugh. Wow, I don't think I've ever heard of anyone who likes making people laugh because, personally, I like eating newborn babies and then drinking the tears of their mothers, not unlike the Patagonian evil spirit Keron Kenken. The prospect of attaining joy by bringing joy to other had never crossed my mind. My baby-flesh filled mind.

And then, of course, there are her videos.





So, she enjoys hunting, or as I usually call it "killing Bambi's helpless mother." After giving reasons why you should vote for her there is a fairly long pause, as if she forgot who she wants you to vote for. And now on to her next video...





Now, a lot of these videos are reprehensible, but so far this one seems like it may be the most shameless. After reiterating that she enjoys slaughtering defenseless animals, she says that her favorite movie is Borat, and then she proceeds to shriek for a short duration and tell a blatant lie by saying "you're never gonna get this!" Then she asks you to vote for her "so you can get this every day." It appears as though she is pointing to her genitalia when she says this, which makes me wonder what exactly it is she's trying to give us. I always thought you only had to get an STD once, and then you just had it after that. No need to renew your subscription on a daily basis.

Krystina

Her favorite animals are dogs "because they are fun to play with." I feel no need to repeat it, but I think by now we all know by now what else is fun to play with (my penis). Her best date was essentially looking at lights while walking around in the wintertime and drinking hot chocolate. She said, "It was cute because he thought of it himself." It's almost as if she's saying, "ahh, look. He had a though, how adorable?" How difficult is it to think of that date? Hell, even I could have thought of that. When asked to describe herself in three words her response was, " Sarcastic, Athletic, Fun!" I'm pretty sure at least two of those were meant to be sarcastic.

In addition to perpetually having the same facial expression, Krystina also enjoys soccer. Well, I have a suggestion for her; go back to Europe where they love that sport and then tell everyone that she likes soccer. Then she will presumably be torn limb from limb and then beaten with said limbs for calling it that. And now enjoy another verbal slipup.





Geez, all these people want to be in my Erotic 8 and I don't even know them.

Sarah

This one's a bit of a toughie. She claims to "love hockey," but she quickly ruins it by saying that she likes "Detroit Basketball" as well. She says she is scared of the Wizard of Oz munchkins, although I can't imagine why. They certainly didn't haunt my nightmares for weeks or anything. She is apparently one of those people that uses the word "love" very liberally, as illustrated by her video, in which she says it three times rapid fire.





Now, either she is aware of a word that both Google and I are unfamiliar with, or she meant to say "sporadic" as one of the three words to describe herself. If this is true, then that would imply that she occurs at unpredictable and random intervals. If that's the case, she sounds a bit too unreliable to be an efficient Rock Girl. I mean, you can't just have some chick appearing out of nowhere whenever she feels like it like a fucking electron.

Sherry

Her favorite animal is the zebra because she loves that they are "so different" like she is. Well, isn't she just a precious little snowflake? She is scared "of not knowing the future events of this world," so she's probably a snowflake that lives in constant fear and probably shits herself whenever she hears a blender turn on. The three words she used to describe herself were "rocking" and "giver." It appears that she's such a generous giver that she gave her third word to Cristy. She says that most people don't know that she "burp(s) like a guy." I think it's about time that women realize that this is not sexy at all. Just stop it, all of you. Despite her saying that her favorite sport is football, there is, inexplicably, a picture of her wearing boxing gloves and holding a hockey stick.




Thief!


She obviously stole this idea from Aaron Downey, who I believe pitched the idea of replacing the original hockey glove with boxing gloves to save time back in 2005. Aaron Downey is seen below in a more current uniform (thank God) being restrained by a referee while another referee shields his presumably unconscious opponent.




God I love hockey.


Her video isn't doing her many favors either.





Now don't get me wrong, I enjoy her misfortune, but I'm pretty sure this article is funnier than that story, and that's saying something.

Stacy

Stacy's favorite animals are "Pomeranian dogs because they are super fluffy and cute." Aww, well, how cute? Does anyone know what eats Pomeranian dogs, because they're my new favorite animal? She's never owned a car and one of her fears is driving. Do you really want a Rock Girl that needs to depend on one of her parents for a ride to the station to make events? I mean, really. Come on. Her best date was going to Vegas for a week and her worst date was going to Paris because "they" lost their "suite cases." What?! You consider going to f-ing Paris a date?! No. Being taken out to see Smokin' Aces and then to a French restaurant is a date. Those are vacations that had best guarantee at least nightly sex. I'm sorry, but she seems just a bit too high maintenance for this position. I mean, pretty soon she's going to start demanding a chauffeur and requesting the station to hold events in Belgium and shit, and we don't need that. Her video is a little alarming as well.





She says her "normal job, bail bonds, it's what I do." Because of people like her, we have dangerous malefactors like Kent roaming the streets.



This man is obviously crazed.





For those of you unaware, there is a hilarious and wonderful story behind this picture.


And prepare yourself for yet another Freudian slip.





My Erotic 8 is starting to look a bit full. Pretty soon I'm going to need to find a hack to make it the Erotic 16.

Tara

She says her "best date is going to the zoo and spending time with each other" and her worst is "arguing with each other in public." Well, let me ask you this; why can't you have both? I've had some great times fighting with my significant other at the zoo (or, what I'm thinking about changing it to, my "signifi-cunt," for obvious reasons.) Her favorite sport "is basketball because it is the most interesting and pumps you up!" No, no it's not. It's not interesting and it doesn't "pump you up." Hanz and Franz pump you up!




Ve are going to pump you up!


On her page there is a picture (that I was too lazy to include here) of her holding an Atreyu hockey stick for some reason that eludes me, but she's holding it all wrong. You've gotta get a firmer grip with that left hand and work the tip a little more. And now time for another shameful video.





Luckily, I don't want her to make me over.

...

Now this is where things get a little weird. The event that inspired me to write this was a MySpace bulletin posted by my friend telling everyone that she knew someone that made it to the original 32 and a few reasons why people should vote for her. After checking into it a little bit, I completely agreed, but after doing some more extensive research I became a bit conflicted because I actually found another girl that I felt might also be suitable. So, this is the part where stop being a mean-hearted, sarcastic bastard and show a little positivity.

Jacqueline

Here she is, the girl that started it all. Her picture was the first thing that struck me because she looked completely different from all the other girls. She has the appearance of a girl that's into the rock scene. She likes snakes, which is pretty badass. And, unlike almost every other girl, she said her favorite sport was hockey because it's exciting and "unpredictable." Hockey being unpredictable is true, at least to an extent, unless you're Nicklas Lidstrom, in which case you know what's going to happen before it even happens. Her best date was going to a goddamn Red Wings game! Her favorite player is Jiri Hudler. Now, I love Happy Hudler and all, but he is far from my favorite player. However, he is not a very well-known player, which shows that she actually follows the sport at least a little bit and isn't just throwing a random sport out. There really isn't a bad thing I can find to say about her, and I've looked. She even customized her wardrobe and put some little guitars on her shirt and her name on her shorts. How fuckin' sweet is that? And she has one of the few videos that actually helped her cause.





Holy shit, local music?! God, she supports local music more than the fucking WRIF does. Her second video is even pretty good, with the exception of calling it the Erotic 8...





As soon as I saw her and read her page, I was assured she had my vote, but I was mistaken.

Nicole

Nicole doesn't have the same Rock Girl look that Jackie has in her new picture, but she did a bit in the old one (new ones were posted at beginning of this round). She likes sloths, which is damn sweet. A couple of my friends and I have an inside joke about sloths dating back to about third grade. We devised an epic story about a sloth after we saw one in a video at school. She seemingly has a sense of humor based on the reason she gives for liking sloths: "have you ever seen them move? Seriously, it’s hilarious look at YouTube." Her best date was going to a Motley Crue concert, which is way better than My Chemical Romance. She's scared of fish, which I just think is kind of funny. Her favorite sport is football, but for mostly the right reasons: "because of beer, tailgating and all the hot players!" So basically she likes the sport because she gets to party and get drunk beforehand. The "hot players," however, are unacceptable. Now for possibly my favorite part of her page, her little known fact: "Most people don’t know that I love to cook! Seriously and I’m pretty good too!" I think I'm falling in love. And her video, oh my god!



I just came a little.


She has pet rats, which is almost as cool as liking sloths. She went to Specs Howard, so she actually has experience in this field. Oh, and she says she loves to cook and she's good at it. And she makes awesome pie! Probably cherry pie with homemade crust, too!

Excuse me for a moment, I need to go grab a box of tissues.

...

Now is the time to spread the sentiment of democracy. Everyone, it's not important who you vote for, just that you vote (sadly, that's probably the funniest line in this whole article). And please think for yourselves.

Now that I have finally finished this damned thing and wasted far more hours of my life on it than I should have, do me a favor and for the three of you that might actually read this, leave a comment. Tell me who you think should win and why. Be creative and give a suggestion for how you think the process should work other than voting. Anything will do, really.

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