Eugene Improv

Presenting to everyone the very first video of Eugene Improv.

Eugene Improv: Time Loop

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Soap: The Silent Killer

So you’re in the Science Library studying like a tool for tomorrow morning’s exam and then it hits you like a sack of dead puppies; eating two Chipotle queso burritos was an overall bad choice. Throwing small Asian women and computer science majors aside, you slide tackle into the men’s bathroom and kick down the stall door. Ass cheeks make sweet love to the hepatitis infested toilet seat until they shamelessly spew feces forth from a seemingly endless black hole. The Sloan brand toilet smokes a cigarette and tell your ass cheeks that she’ll call you later but really has absolutely no such intention, so you give her best friend genital warts and she starts whining about her “poor broken porcelain heart” (this is not a metaphor. Also, that whore deserved it). All this occurs in about 3 minutes and 15 seconds in human-time, which leaves just enough time to wash your hands and incur a fine on the textbook you checked out. You try to adjust the tap but it fucking breaks off on the “cold” setting and just to put the proverbial icing on the shit-cream cake the broken soap dispenser ends up dispensing all over your new watch. Since you’re quite possibly the most socially inept kid on campus, you commit social suicide and sniff your forefinger. But something is wrong... very wrong. Your hand does not smell like any of the normal scents of feces, bile, scrotum-juice, fungus, blood, rust, or nail polish remover; it smells like an onion that’s been eaten, metabolized, defecated, eaten again and then vomited all over another onion that’s already been marinating in a can of onion paste. For the rest of your godforsaken day inside of the library studying for 11 consecutive hours, your hands will smell of subterranean roots. The upside? There isn’t one, aside from the knowledge that everyday your hands will reek of onions not only when you’re in the Science Library but also when you use any of the bathrooms on campus. That’s right folks; nearly every single bathroom on campus uses the same shitty brand of soap the university buys from third world Costco-knockoff stores for a quarter of a cent per gallon. But hark, there is salvation and I’m willing to tell you that it resides within the walls of Carson.

Are you ready to feel UNCOMFORATBLY ENERGETIC? Then try some of the newest and most hip "supplement beverages" that are guaranteed to make your genitals more infertile than a pan of powdered eggs.

Max Velocity

This drink is so ENERGIZED it'll have you running around like a daycare-bred toddler on a sugar rush. The can even has a fucking cheetah on it, that's right, a goddamn CHEETAH, and I think we both know that cheetahs are FAST AS HELL. The gnawesomeness doesn't stop there; simply carrying a can of Max Velocity instantaneously creates an aura of douchebaggery and assholiosity that can only be trumped by the words "legit" and "dank". But nothing gets me wetter than the Max Velocity color scheme: the crimson reds that ominously forecast the shade of my urine after consumption and egg yolk yellow shaded text created in Microsoft Paint. So next time don't settle for your grandmother's energy drink, pick up max velocity and start your day off right.

Amp

It's soda, it's an energy drink, no...it's Pepsi's failed attempted to compete with Red Bull! I know what you're thinking right now, and it's "Oh Aryan, I just don't know what to do! I morally can't bring myself to drink energy drinks because of all its nasty contents, but I crave the taste of fermented 711 slurpees." Well dear readers, there IS an answer! Amp Energy sneakily places itself among Pepsi sodas in vending machines and hides so you can guiltlessly chug loads of taurine at the expense of your colon, but not your conscience. Amp is perfect for the casual energy drinker who enjoys a few jolts now and again, but for the experienced users Amp might be considered too much of a "pussy drink" compared to the usual 3 straight mocha shots laced with Red Bull, much like appletinis are inferior to tequila. As a drink after a delicious bean burrito, Amp might be the best choice, but as Shakespeare once said "THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE"...or maybe that's Highlander...

Red Bull

Austria, once a nation plagued by jokes like "Austria-Hungary? More like HUNGRY AUSTRIA, AM I RIGHT?" now has become the distributer for the most successful source of advertised energy since cocaine. Riddled with fame and fortune the Red Bull corporation doesn't earn its title for nothing, at least you'd think. Red Bull-toting cronies somehow overlook the foul aftertaste of cow-urine after a sip of Bull, and continue to buy and buy the damn thing until finger twitching ensues. I will admit that Red Bull has some pretty amusing commercials and that the taste does remind me of my previous life as a bull milker (contrary to popular belief a bull milker's life a LONG and HARD one indeed), but they are just too god forsakenly expensive. To be honest, Red Bull is probably the best energy drink out there unless of course your taste buds have habituated and you need something stronger, in which case you should just start snorting coke. On the bright side sucking some guy's dick for crack is much more socially acceptable than doing it for Red Bull. My verdict? Do crank.

My Anaconda Don't Want None Unless You Got Puns, Hun

So it's a weekday in the afternoon and I'm om-nom-nom-ing some college cafeteria food with some British guy that smells like a rusted bicycle frame and his extremely hairy friends. I made some small talk over chicken-tenders, and arrived at the conclusion that WWII was due to Hitler's inability to grow non-parellelogram mustaches.

After discussing who would win at a "NOOOO" contest (Arnold Schwarzenegger or Darth Vader), I peek out the window and see some woman putting boxes into a UPS truck. One thing leads to another and a pun was born.

"Wow, look at that beautiful delivery woman."
"She looks like she's 45"
"But I bet she knows how to handle a package"

If you laughed at this pun, then
I dedicate this picture to you:

Quote of the Month

"I just witnessed a girl say "tomo" as an abbreviation for "tomorrow"... I think I might just have to lay down and die right here."
~Julia W.

Dracula: Bad-assery to its fullest

Holy Friggin' crap!

If that was a cereal, I'd buy it. But you bet your ass Dracula wouldn't, even if it is part of a complete breakfast. Plus, he doesn't like holy things; they remind him of his past as an underprivileged choir boy. It's really a melancholy story, but for the sake of being concise I shall summarize: once upon a time there was a Tranny (that's shorthand for Transylvanian for those that are uninformed) choir boy named Dracula that was good friends with a Priest at the nearby Cathedral. They were REALLY good friends. They would play Risk at each other's houses all the time, ritually followed by a quick round of Excitebike on the NES. Each time Dracula, or Tight Britches McGee as they called him in the religious community, would win and his Priest friend would get super pissed at Dracula and...must I elaborate? Yes? Ok I will! Yea, basically Dracula would keep dominating Excitebike until his friend the Priest would get uber angry and then punch a hole in his wall which was made of concrete, in turn storming out of Drac's Castle disparaged more so at his own ineptitude than the humble soon-to-be Prince of Darkness. No one was raped in the making of this nostalgic reminiscence.

There is one piece of advice I'd advice my reader's to take, don't be misled by the spin the media puts on vampires! They don't have bouts of anger, nor does their blood arbitrarily seep from their listless bodies, nor do they perform constant drunken fellatio with each other all the time, those are things that women do...not cold-hearted men like Dracula (please, no angry feminist emails).Dracula and his bloodlings are nothing like what you'd see on television shows such as Buffy the Vampire Slayer (which, to my chagrin, has NOTHING to do with undead metal bands) and contrary to public broadcasting propaganda, The Count does not sit around like a flaccid wiener counting pennies and sand dollars and shit. No, no, no, Dracula is not like that at all. First off, although it may seem that Dracula has a lot of time on his hands, him being immortal and all, he actually has a very hectic daily schedule filled to the brim with events ranging from opulent wine sampling to putt-putt golf to biomedical research to his mandatory daily orgy. Oh you didn't know about the orgies? Hell yes, you heard right. True badassery. Oh, I may have already mentioned this, but just for the record, Dracula is immortal. You don't see any games called Immortal Combat do you? He cannot be harmed, aside from a few hard to come by items like holy water, crosses, fine silverware, garlic, onions, mirrors, bibles, the sun, light in general, churches, and Jesus Figurines. Ok, so maybe that is kinda a long list, but think about the orgies, man! It's all worth it! Damn, I really wish I was a vampire right now.

American Cesspool

If you haven't already been exposed to a Sonic Drive-In, it is a shit hole. It's almost the epitome of everything wrong in American society. There really is NO way at all to cover up how much this fails at life, even a child with down-syndrome will know enough not to go near what is arguably the highest concentration of persons with diabetes in one space outside Key West, Florida.

Imagine if you will, you're hungry and you pass by various fine establishments disregarding the other passengers in your vehicle until eventually you spot what looks to be a new avant-garde form of dining. You pull the car up to SONIC DRIVE-IN! You may be asking yourself at this moment what in hell is a Drive In? Well, it's basically a parking lot with a drive-through menu on each parking space, where you can order as many edible carcinogens until your heart is content or stops beating.

WOW, how original, Sonic has taken a Drive-Through commonly seen in almost every fast-food joint and stipped the concept of its original purpose; speed. Now instead of zipping in and out of a Drive-Through with haste, you now must park your car, order, and EAT IN YOUR CAR. Yea, that's right, you have to scarf down that half-pounder with cheese, shake, and tatertots like a greasy Alabama trucker, all items being conveniently rested on a tray that attaches to the edge of your side window.

How did the entrepreneur of Sonic even think of it? It's as though he went through a drive-through and said to himself "Oh screw this shit, I'm hungry NOW" and ate an entire goddamn sack of food-stuffs before the cashier window even gave him back his change.

If you're trying to portray the role of "uncivilized piece of shit", I suggest you head down to Sonic immediately, where you can not only be served by zit-faced teens on roller skates but also escalate your status from "sniffling lazy shit" to "portable garbage disposal"

Aye capitain, the flagship of capitalism sets sail with a poop-deck full of lard-ass consumers. Yarggg.