Category: From the Mind of Wiley Jack

By Jack Wiles

Columnist

Well, after a semester of presenting you with my thoughts weekly, this is my last word before I graduate. (I hope, I’d really be embarrassed if I stayed another year.) To close out, I’d like to share an embarrassing story from my childhood and an embarrassing story from my college days. Let’s see what has changed.

As a child, around the ages of one to three, I used to dislike taking showers or baths. Who wants to get wet if you don’t have to, right? My super hyper, pesky little self would annoy my parents and run from them when they tried to make me bathe. My parents came up with a creative, fun way to get me clean. Their solution: call me Mr. Naked, a high-flying superhero who happens to be nude. I think there was an intro song, and definitely a chant involving the words “here comes Mr. Naked!” that would get me to strip down and sprint down the hallway to the bathroom. Once I was wet, it was done, and bathing was a breeze.

As a college student, around the ages of 18 to 19, I really enjoyed taking showers. Often times, I would take them in the evening before dinner if I hadn’t gotten to it early in the day or if I just felt dirty. One evening, a few members of my first-year hall decided that it might be a humorous prank to take my towel from the bathroom while I was in the shower. At first, when I realized there was nothing between my genitals and the open air for my commute back to my room, I freaked. After I realized there was nothing I could do but be a man and essentially streak, I booked it down the hall, covering as much as I could to my room. I can’t even say I was upset about it after. In fact, it was kind of fun.

As you can see, little has changed with me over time, and that’s how it should be. Respect your inner child–your inner clown–and have fun with life, especially when you’re young. The University has provided an incredible experience, enlightening me both academically and socially. As many of you know, I will be heading to the greatest city in America next year. This, obviously, is Cleveland, Ohio. I will try to be hot in Cleveland just like Betty White, but I can’t hold any promises. Guys, as my great uncle always says, it’s been real, and it’s been fun. But, it hasn’t been real fun. Thanks for reading. Wiley out.

By Jack Wiles

Columnist

Three years in a row I have attended Anchor Splash, which is an excellent philanthropic event run by the Delta Gamma sorority. Every year there are kids doing stupid things, making fools of themselves and people are yelling all sorts of humorous things, often obscenities. It is a most excellent event, perfect for college students and for a good cause. This is what the University wants. However, I realized something when there this past week that makes my mind pull a complete 180 … and now I dislike it.

Why am I looking at dudes in little to no clothing, and girls all wearing one-pieces? There is something seriously wrong with this, my friends. While a guy in a banana hammock is pretty funny, every girl in the pool wearing a one-piece makes me want to cry. After realizing this, I was totally baffled, and couldn’t get this pressing issue off of my mind. Why would girls do this? At night, girls are constantly trying to out-perform other girls with skimpy dresses and shirts that let the midriff pop. Now, when these girls are given the opportunity to sport the bods they worked so hard to perfect for Spring Break, they cower in the corner in a swimsuit that an elementary school girl would wear.

“Wiley, you’re being too harsh; the point of Anchor Splash is not to gawk at girls!” is what some girl is definitely going to say to me. To this, I have a retort: why should you get to gawk at dudes in Speedos? This is an unfair situation. Sure, the male body is more utilitarian than the female body. Unless your name is David and you were sick at slinging stones at big dudes, the male body is used far less frequently for art than the female body. This point in itself should be enough to convince you ladies to rock what you’ve got. Show off those natural curves in an itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka-dot bikini. You’re in college, probably with a body in its peak condition. You are a well-sculpted machine. Love your bodies, and show them off to those guys in the stands. We will thank you later. 

To the guys out there in nut-huggers and coin purses, I really don’t care if you wear them, but you should join my cause. It’s not right that you are putting it all out there for the world to see when you get nothing in return. Woodrow Wilson once said, “Leadership does not always wear the harness of compromise.” Luckily for you boys, you were in a harness of compromise on Thursday night at Anchor Splash. It was around your waist.

By Jack Wiles
Columnist

I remember when I was your age. Oh yes, back in the times when sliced bread was a penny a pack and cheeseburgers grew on trees. These were times when President Hoover himself handed me mush on the side of the street just so my stomach didn’t implode. You think I’m joking, youngsters, but in reality, I feel old.

Last weekend I turned 22. Twenty-two is a birthday that people celebrate because it’s a birthday, but in reality it is only the passing of a second in time. You see, many other birthdays have significance. For example, when you turn five it just so happens to be the year that you can count the same amount of years that you have fingers on your hand. Don’t lie, kids always take a picture when they are five with one hand held high, displaying their pudgy little cake filled fingers with pride. Then there is the 10th birthday, when you can do this with both hands. This one is particularly epic. At 13 you are a teenager, at 16 it is particularly “sweet,” and at 18 you can buy cigarettes and porn, have intercourse with people older than you and drink in certain areas of Canada. This is the second-most epic birthday. Also, every birthday before 21 is cool because it is one year closer to 21, which is by far the best birthday. (If you don’t know why you’ve never read my column, or been in public.)

But 22? Bullshit. From here on out, every birthday you experience your bones get weaker and your life more boring. Now, you are getting closer to working a day job. You are approaching marriage, which means as a male I will never make an independent decision about life again. As a female, it means that you may have to have a … oh no, I don’t even want to go in that direction. (Poor females, I really wish for their sake that they could lay eggs like birds.) Next thing you know, you’re joining the AARP and getting discounts on coffee at 6 a.m. at McDonald’s. Sounds like I’ve got a lot to look forward to.

Well, luckily for you readers, this article is coming to an end. This isn’t because I’ve reached a word limit, or even finished with my depressing rant on getting old. No, I have to stop writing because I need to take my medicine, read the paper, and make a bowel movement. I guess that’s what happens when you get old.

By Jack Wiles

Columnist

Sunday night, I realize there is an event on television that I would like to watch. Unfortunately, this event is only offered on pay-per-view. Luckily, my nerdy engineer side emerges from somewhere deep inside and I find a live stream of this event on the Internet. It’s WWE Wrestlemania 28. My life has not only been changed for the better, but for the best. Professional wrestling is the best thing to happen to America since we gained our independence.

There are many reasons to love the WWE. I would like to focus on the ones most applicable to University students.  One very important thing must be made very clear before I get into the details: the WWE is not real wrestling. The wrestlers are not actually having a physical competition; they are performing a show. This show requires a great deal of athleticism, strength and showmanship, but it is not a real wrestling match. I really wish I didn’t have to say that, but I feel like there are a lot of people out there that have never even heard of the WWE (or they’re just idiots). This is why I write about it. I’m sure they’ll pay me later.

The first thing to do to enjoy these spectacular events is pick a favorite wrestler. There are many superstars to choose from, all from different backgrounds and with different strengths and weaknesses. Like 7 foot, 441 pound behemoths? The Big Show is your boy. I go for the suave, yet flashy underdog Kofi Kingston. There is also an Indian wrestler named Jinder Mahal … or, you could go with the classic choices like The Rock or John Cena. There are millions that would join you on those options. Whoever you pick, you have to act like he or she (oh yes, there are divas who wrestle too) is the center of your world. You have to yell, cheer and really get into the big hits and the drama that happens backstage. Nobody beats your superstar.

The best thing about the WWE, however, would be going to a live event. Of course, University kids would stick out like sore thumbs, so you have to suit up in very hick-like clothing and WWE apparel. You also must bring a funny sign to hold up to get on TV. For example, I enjoyed seeing the sign “If Cena wins we riot!” You have to yell, react to all big hits, have aggressive banter with other fans and go all out. If you do this, drink lots of beer, and of course have a designated driver. I guarantee it would be a good time.

WWE Smack Down is coming to Wilkes-Barre, Pa. on May 22. This is two days after graduation, and y’all better believe I’ll be in attendance. If you want to join, we should gather a large group of University students to take it over. Tweet me about it, @improvize. 

By Jack Wiles

Columnist

Last weekend was epic. It was House Party Weekend and I am happy to say that it was the best one I’ve been a part of in my four years at this institution of higher learning. This is because of Super Saturdays, and in this special case, Super Fridays. It took me four years, but finally I think I have discovered the secret to fully enjoying these days of backyard drinking: elevated surfaces.

There is no better way to show off your obviously annoyingly fratty attire and croakies than standing at a higher elevation than everyone. A table, a hay bale, an elevated porch or even your buddy’s shoulders, it doesn’t matter. You must be above everyone else or you are not having the best possible time. It also helps to point to everyone you see while singing along to the song currently playing in order to draw more attention to yourself. Next, a catch-phrase is essential. This phrase must be repeated over and over again and spoken at a very high volume. A few I heard this weekend were “let’s go,” “let’s get tropical,” “killin’ it,” “done,” “somebody’s got to do it” and my personal favorite, “tits out for the boys.” Beware, though, this phrase has a zero percent success rate and is almost guaranteed to affect women.

Another thing that helps the situation while on this elevated surface is adjusting your drinking vessel to something unusually large. It doesn’t matter if you are actually drinking this amount of alcohol or not, but it is important to look like you are. My standard choice is a bottle of champagne. What is excellent about this apparatus is that it’s also a workout in disguise. Lifting that bad boy from your waist to your mouth to the air in celebration of your last sip really tones the biceps. However, nobody wants muscle imbalance, so you have to switch hands quite often. The best option, though, is to have two of them. Scientists and researchers across the world have called this action “double fisting.” Not only does this make you look cooler than everyone, but it also motivates others to go harder, which will have the end result of some funny stories to tell your kids one day.

Lastly, while doing all of these things is extremely fun, awesome and the perfect way to go about a Saturday, don’t live in the house that hosts these types of parties. That is, unless you are actually an animal of the pig variety, because your home will become a pig sty. My house is called “The Shithole.” Try tellin’ that one to your kids.

Jack Wiles

Columnist

Spring break! I’m super pumped for it, as are many of us on campus. Ever since people made plans, I’ve noticed quite a few humorous things going on and being talked about. I want to focus on one: lookin’ good for the ladies.

I will be heading to Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic, probably as you are reading this. I’ve known about it since last semester and ever since then I kept telling myself I was going to lose a few pounds before the trip. You see, I’ve got this thing a few of my friends call “skinny fatness.” If you’ve read my previous article about B-League basketball, it is blatantly obvious that I never go to the gym, or even try to exercise. Considering the infrequency of my workouts, the amount of beer I drink and the foods I enjoy, there’s no way I’ll ever rock a six-pack. If we’re going to continue to describe our stomachs as ways that alcohol is packaged, mine is not a keg, for I am certainly not round. I’d say it is more like a Franzia wine bag. The only difference is that if you slap it, wine doesn’t come out. I hope.

Regardless of my physique, about a month ago, I started eating less, eating healthier, and maybe doing some form of exercise about twice a week. These are huge life changes for me. After maybe three weeks, things were going well, I felt my belt start to loosen, and the wine bag was slowly draining. After seeing some results, I slacked off a little bit, but for the next two weeks I probably maintained a slightly better appearance. I was content with the little progress I made because it was progress. Celebrate the small victories in life and you will always be happy.

As I write this, there is only one week to go. There’s no way I can reverse this now. I can probably do what I normally do and not gain back anything in a week, right? I was incorrect, my friends. Taco Bell started to taste great, I’m eating a brownie right now, and there’s gravy smothered chicken awaiting me directly to my left. The wine bag is back. But hey, I don’t care; at least I’m not tanning and waxing my chest like some of my friends. So I’ll rock my wine bag in Punta Cana, and I’ll have a great time doing it. Ladies beware, the wine bag is comin’, and it’s going to be hard to resist.

By Jack Wiles

Columnist

Society as a whole is rapidly deteriorating. I can see it on the television screens, online, in the eyes of our youth, and on college campuses. I will provide an example of each.

First, we have television. When I was young, “TV-MA” didn’t even exist. Once it did, any show rated inappropriately only came on air after 11 p.m. As I write this, it is 8:30 p.m. and “South Park” is on Comedy Central. Currently, Cartman is attempting to crap out of his mouth. Oh, there he goes, he did it. I’m not a father yet, but one day I hope to be, and that is not something I would want my 5-year-old to see because he was flipping through channels. Next thing you know little Johnny will be trying to show off to his buddies by crapping out of his mouth. Great job, society.

The problem with the World Wide Interwebs these days is that there are scams and nudity everywhere. The Internet provides us with “scamudity”: scams and nudity. Pretty much every 12- or 13-year-old these days has a Facebook account. There are ads on the side of Facebook that feature some type of scandalous woman inviting users to “meet hot singles today.” Now, I’d like to think that my 12-year-old son would like to meet hot singles at some point in his future, but he should wait a while and not do it online, where he may meet some creepy 40-year-old man. Great job, society.

Our youth: the key to our future, the gateway to a civilized society. Have you seen these little punks lately? They roam the streets destroying things and respecting no one, as if the world were a post-apocalyptic garbage land, like Mad Max, beyond the thunder-dome or not. They went from boxing each other to UFC fighting, from soapbox derby racing to full speed chicken races in stolen cars. Next step: fights to the death. Great job, society.

And finally, the most serious one: college campuses. The kids in college today are animals. Even at higher institutions of learning like the University, there are “young adults” drinking too much, abusing drugs left and right, fornicating everywhere and burning things to the ground. They are being unsafe; turning what they think is a social life into a spiral staircase that leads to their demise. We have to take a stand and stop this life that college students lead. Disallow all parties, raid the entire campus and eradicate Greek Life forever. Great job, society.

By Jack Wiles

Columnist

Lately there’s been a great deal of  anger around this campus, and admittedly I myself have contributed. To counteract this ornery, negative vibe that recently has been seeping from the walls, I have begun to think about the things that I love. So, for this week, here is another list: The I Love List.

1. I love rodents. I don’t care what anyone says, the Rodentia order of mammals are the cutest animals ever. They are also extremely unintelligent, which makes them easy to manipulate. If you put one in a cage, watching it run a wheel makes anybody’s day.

2. I love processed foods. Why would you want a natural cut of steak when you can eat meat from a gun or a can? Processed foods never go bad, have additional seasonings and come in shapes we’ve all learned about in geometry class. Plus, who hates hot dogs?

3. I love Bernie Mac. R.I.P, bra’.

4. I love warm leather. I no longer have leather seats in my vehicle, but when I did and it was sunny out, I couldn’t wait to sit on a hot, sun-covered seat. It’s kind of like getting a hug from somebody who is for some reason much warmer than your ordinary individual.

5. I love “The Color Purple.” Danny Glover and Whoopi Goldberg work very well together, actually. I’ve never read the book, but I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing the Broadway version as well. The actual color isn’t bad either, the royalty used to wear it proudly.

6. I love cheap Mexican beer. Dos Equis, Modelo? Nah, son. I want some Sol or Corona Light. That’s what real men drink, and they drink it outside. Roofs are for wimps.

7. I love sitting with legs crossed. When I say this, I mean with my right foot on my left knee, keeping legs fairly open. I feel poised, confident and relaxed all at the same time. Add arms behind the head and you’re all gravy, baby.

8. I love rice. Pop a little bit of soy on top of these lovely grains and you’ve got yourself a great meal. I also am a big fan of beans, and they serve as an excellent accompaniment. Rice is gluten-free as well.

9. I love lamp. (I totally stole that from a movie.)

10. I love America. USA: the land of freedom, of justice, of hope. Golden plains make up its abdomen and scenic coastlines grace its extremities. Canada is our hat and Mexico our beard. We’ll put a boot in your ass, and kick it at the same time. Uhmurrica.

I’m in a good mood now.

Jack Wiles

Columnist

The typical “Bucknell girl” has multiple personality disorder. For those of you without a PhD in psychology, this is a serious concern. It has taken me four long and arduous years to gain anything remotely close to an understanding of this creature, and this is what I have compiled.

Personality 1: The in-class “Bucknell girl”: Here, she is attentive, constantly scribbling down notes and sitting with good posture. Never will she disagree with her professor, and if she disagrees with him, it is because the teacher is encouraging disagreement, so she’s still technically agreeing with him. If the “Bucknell girl” went out, had a boy over or was too busy having a passive-aggressive pillow talk with her roommate the night before, she is wearing a baseball cap. Oh, and leggings, a sweatshirt and UGGs. (Typically black, gray and brown, respecively). She conveys to her peers that she truly cares about the world, politics, her classes, etc. She is responsible and would rarely do anything wrong.

Personality 2: The “Bucknell girl” after dark. Here, she is dressed up. Whether it is in the theme of the night, or a “dress,” she is scantily clad, leaving little to the imagination, trying to look hotter than all of the other girls that are out that night. Just like the in-class “Bucknell girl,” the nighttime girl often incorporates a table into her routine. While the in-class girl is studying on it, the night time girl is dancing on top of it, double-fisting mixed drinks. She is hammered. Nighttime girl has no problem cursing loudly, dancing suggestively or being completely inhibition-free. She also may head back to a male’s bedroom … but I’ll leave that for Stacey Lace to cover in “Sleeping Around.”

There’s a reason girls get better grades–-they have figured out how to beat the system. They can be complete idiots at night and have fun just like guys while Personality 1 does their homework for them. It’s like they have a clone that does school for them. The “Bucknell guy” is not good at hiding that he is hungover or doesn’t care about the class while in class. ­He often stupidly disagrees with the professor and loudly talks about what he doesn’t like about the professor while standing right next to him. Generally, the “Bucknell guy” is honest, brutally honest in fact, so much so that he can come off as a dick. But he’s not a dick. He also does not have multiple personality disorder, but maybe he should. “Bucknell girls,” you’ve figured it out; you know how to win here. Have some pity on us guys, we’re just simple people trying to make it out here on these hard, hard streets.

By Jack Wiles

Columnist

The last two weeks of writing this column I have exaggerated things in an attempt to induce laughter from your gullible little bodies. This week, shit gets real. From this pathetic and embarrassing story, I hope that you readers leave feeling sorry for me and go do something to change your lives for the better. It’s motivation time, son.

I was never a great athlete–-I’ll be the first to admit it–-but I could be decent at times and I played some sports in high school. Basketball was one that I dabbled in. When a group of my friends made a B-League intramural basketball team, I hopped on board very quickly. It’ll be fun! Some good exercise with my friends! Hoo-rah! Wiles, you sir, are incorrect. Little did I realize that B-League basketball was actually like training to become a Navy Seal … in Death Valley … with a large three-toed sloth affixed to my back.

Layup lines were easy. I even made a few jumpers in warm-ups, so I got on the court with more confidence than Tony Stark. After about three trips up and down the court (that’s six if you count in one-way trips), I was huffin’ and puffin’ like I just gave birth. When I looked up too quickly, everything got blurry and I felt like I was going to faint. Let me pause and remind you that we’re playing uncompetitive B-League basketball. I’m the first sub out and I can’t even stand on the sidelines. I have to wait until the second half to go back in. I played maybe a third of the entire game and I felt worse than Lance Armstrong felt when he had one of his balls removed.

I got back to my house, started coughing a lot and vomited. Projectile, disgusting, I’m sorry you have to read this part, barf … from 14 minutes of B-League intramural basketball. I never do any exercise, never work out, eat unhealthily, etc. Readers, let me tell you, this will change. This must change. I’m hopping back on the court right after I finish writing this column. I’m changing my diet; hell, maybe I’ll go on a little jog every once and a while. Baby steps are crucial. I hope you do the same. Be healthy and take care of your bodies, because let me tell you … puking after a B-League basketball game is straight up embarrassing.