Dudes - the moment has arrived: we need to pay to renew the site. What is everyone’s feeling? It’s been two whole years.

SUPER HOMOEROTIC UPDATE: Mairk’s full photoshoot of Saul and Pierre is now available here. Unfortunately there’s no nudity, but I wouldn’t exactly call it "Safe For Work" unless you work with Noah at the GLBT outreach center.

    Well, we are happy to say that our classy little number of a website can now add “Mysterious Twins” to its list of gossip topics – a list formerly limited to such perennial favorites as “Flacidity In All Its Forms,” “Fatness: The New Thin,” “Girls – What’s That Word Again?” and “How To (Not Get Not) Sick From Whiskey.: Yup – you read correctly. The always-ready cameras of our newly-appointed Creative Director, Moustache Mairk, caught Saul’s lackluster twin brother, Pierre, as he ventured onto Hanover turf for the first time since ever.

    A little background on this disburbing revelation: As most of you probably don’t remember, Saul sidled into the hallways of Hanover High School back in 1997, fresh from serving a fifteen-to-life stint in ‘Scoma. Little did anyone know that Saul – eager to take advantage of the enhanced shoplifting that HHS’s proximity to the Co-Op provided – made his move with such haste that he left behind his maladjusted twin, Pierre, whom he cautioned never to venture beyond Route 4 for fear of discovery and subsequent disgrace. Fast-forward more years than we can count, and we have Saul – an apparently upstanding and successful member of the Dartmouth community. Little did he know, as he prepared to leave for his on-campus office last Friday, that much more than his day would be interrupted when a vengeful Pierre roared back into his life on a rusting Kawasaki motorcycle that was older than both of them combined.

    As can be seen, the two environments have had dramatically different effects on the brothers’ lives. We hope you enjoy browsing through the results – whether you prefer your vests made of cheap black leather or fine Merino wool, there should be something for everyone.    

There are upstanding citizens right in your community that are former Marines. They, too, have gone on to a level of success that they often attribute to their time spent in the Marine Corps.
- Marine Core Website

         Last weekend, as I cooked dinner in Gabe and Tim’s kitchen for the 17th day in a row, I found my cellphone mysteriously “powered down” and idle, unable to receive calls or texts from my legions of fans or harem of sex-obsessed, trust fund-buoyant girlfriends. I quickly powered up, ensuring that I would be “in the loop” for another high-octane night on the town as one the major players in New York’s young, hip “in” crowd.
        With a beep and a purr, Moonphone alerted me to new correspondence. 11 voicemails! My phone had been off for only an hour. Was someone dead? Did I get a job? Did Noah participate in a gangbang?
           I soon learned the answer to all my questions was simply the timely updates of my favorite Special Forces Reconnaissance Marine. Never leaving me out of the loop, I was immediately up to speed on all of the afternoon’s events.

        The first message was an important newsflash from the week’s hottest gossip. Knowing the full-scale importance, Max took the time out of his busy work schedule to clue me in. Pay close attention to the soothing hold music as he takes another call.

         Luckily for me, Max was dedicated to the story, and wanted to rehash the details once more to make sure that I knew just exactly the sort of example Noah was setting as Max continues to reintegrate himself into the civilian world.

       Turning the topic to himself, Max then asked a few favors of his friends in New York. Just some simple “intel” that would ensure his new love interest wouldn’t be straying too far from the cave.

        As my new messages ended, my first saved voicemail reminded me that times had not always been so “stable” for young Max, and that problems with girls had extended beyond them being in other cities where he wasn’t sure of their whereabouts or activities with other men.

        As we can hear, the extensive, life-threatening tours in Iraq and Afghanistan have allowed Max to celebrate his return to American soil with enhanced confidence, the luxuries of capitalism and the support of lifelong friendships.  Sleeping on a naked mattress in the attic of a condemned townhouse, enjoying the intellectual company of asexual couch monkeys living on a diet of bong smoke and Nattie Light, Max has found that leaving a world of berkas, grenade launchers, and communal showers has enabled him to progress as a human and an American.

God Bless the USA.

Given our constant and obsessive preoccupation with homosexuality in all its forms, I decided to go ahead and jot down a few lines imagining what we would be like if we all woke up one morning to find ourselves gay. Would we be the same? Different? Less fat and narcissistic? Or would we be even pettier and bicker more than we already do? The possibilities are both endless and intriguing to people with as little going on in their lives as us. So – wriggle into your tightest pair of Diesel jeans, shake up a nice cold Appletini, and consider this post a kind of alternate universe, where everything is the same except for our sexual orientations. (And by alternate universe, I mean five years from now.)

Alex: Would become obsessed with a guy, pursue him until he broke up with his boyfriend, and then lose all interest. Would smoke weed, get really paranoid, and wonder if he was actually straight. Would shave his chest. Would get drunk and send dirty, dirty text messages to different guys. Would spend hours each day on the phone with Saul, complaining about guys.

Noah: The gang-bangs he is so fond of would have one extra guy (meaning 4) and one less girl (meaning 0). Would finally lose interest in Tiffany, since her curvy feminine body would hold about as much sexual appeal to him as a block of marble. Would tea-bag guys even more than he already does. 

Mike: Would be exactly the same – completely asexual. Might switch cigarette brands to some sort of Slims. Would giggle and ask Courtney to get a sex change or at least a strap-on.  

Baker: Would wear lots of bright spandex on his forty-mile bike trips. Would shave his entire body. Would keep going out with his girlfriend so he could ask her about fashion tips and get her opinion on the guys he brought back. Would put his dental career on hold and move to San Francisco, explaining to his dad that he had to ‘sow his wild oats’ while he was ‘young and shapely.’ 

Max: Would quit his job at the gym, move to New York, and work at a Chelsea sauna instead. When he cuddled with his pillow at night he would call it Long Dong Steve or Big Ted instead of Tracy. Would continue to have extended periods of bitter sexual frustration, interrupted by brief drunken flings with dudes who weighed far, far more than he did. Would break up with his imaginary girlfriend and begin dating an imaginary boyfriend instead, who would also have been a dance major in college. Might eventually become a ‘bear.’  

Smalls: Would pose for all those magazines that they put high up on the top shelves at truck stops. Would look at himself in the mirror and call himself a ‘huge faggot’ and then go out and chase cock all night. Would work out even more than he does now. 

Saul: Would wear black t-shirts even tighter than the ones he currently wears. Would wear the leather pants Gabe got him constantly, rather than just at costume parties and by himself at night. Would grow a permanent pencil-thin moustache. Would spend hours at a time on the phone with Alex complaining to him about guys. Would run for president of the Dartmouth LGBTQ society and try to make Speedos and tuxedo vests mandatory attire for all members. 

Draper: Would hit on every guy with a pulse.

Gerber: Would wear tight pants, sweater-vests, and pink button-down shirts all at the same time. Would cook dinners with less carbs. His tattoos would get racier. Would pierce tongue and nipples and listen to lots of R&B. Would still continue to dance a lot. 

Tom: Would give up joints and get really into poppers instead. Would quit Canoe Club and go to work as the pool boy at the Super 8. Might paint his car lime green or Strawberry or get really into interior design. Would develop a taste for ‘clubbing’ and as a result get over his phobia of any city bigger than Enfield, NH.  

Tyler: Would move into Pappas’s bedroom and turn the extra room into a Pilates studio. Would trim his goatee, retire the hat, and use lots of hair gel instead. Might even ‘frost his tips’ while he was at it. Would open Hanover’s first all-male discothèque on the island and name it the Man Lounge or perhaps The Cockpit. Would turn the party barge into the flagship of a gay cruise line.  

Pappas: See Tyler.

Tim: Would continue to date his girlfriend just to throw everyone off. Wait a second…

      
Gabe: Would have long relationships with attractive younger guys and then go into a tailspin when they left him for someone else. Would get even more cosmetic surgery. Would quit HBO, switch to Showtime, and pitch them the male version of the L-Word. Would continue to live with Tim. Would go to Thunder Down Under on his frequent Vegas outings and tell anyone who asked that he had been at Scores. Would get even more cosmetic surgery.  

Mitch: Would move back to Hanover, sit in his hot tub, and wave at everyone who drove past while sipping a Peach Bellini and smiling from ear to ear. Would tell Caroline he never actually enjoyed the sex. Might or might not shave his beard. Might possibly get a job as a cocktail waiter or steward on Tyler’s cruise line. Would wear really short cut-off jean shorts 12 months a year.  

SK: Would immediately buy a toupee. Would move to Asia and commence a series of sweaty, sordid affairs with every teenage boy he could get his hands on, provided they wanted to make a quick buck. With that kind of love life, why come back to America at all?

Sean: Sorry, some things just wouldn’t happen. Sean being gay is one of them.

Sutton: Would hook up with TONS of dudes. Would have even bigger muscles. Would go to tanning salons when the weather was too cloudy to lounge poolside on Rip Road. Would funnel more Stoli Vanilla than any guy in town. Would ice Mike whenever Mike called him a ‘homo,’ which would be constantly.  

Mairk: Would become a promiscuous little slut. Would turn his parent’s basement and big screen TV into a makeshift movie theater – the kind where you don’t just watch the movie, if you know what I mean. We’d probably all come over, not tell any of the girls that we used to be friends with, and think it was awesome that it was a sausage-fest. 

        Here’s a little tidbit from Mairk, our number one Western Correspondent. Using his unique style of prose (bad spelling and grammar coupled with confusing sentence structure) he explains one of Smalls’ recent exploits.

"For your amusement, this is the business card of the 40 year old chick that Smalls had been banging for the past few weeks maybe months I’m not quite sure. He recently broke off ties with her after long debate.  How did he break off ties with her you may ask? Well he did what any of us would do, he took her up on a  free birthday dinner, got hammered on the fifth of Jack she bought him, fucked her in her kitchen, then snuck out her bedroom window and drove home shit faced."

       Thanks Mairk, you’re doing your pairt! Maybe Max would be interested in this WOMAN if she’s still single. From what I hear, he’s into "fit ladies."

If you haven’t noticed it already, Wish We Weren’t Friends is back from Spring Hiatus. Read Below for a more in-depth explanation of our recent failures to keep you informed.

       Lying in bed last night dreaming about the sex trade in Eastern Europe, my phone began to ring annoyingly on the bedside table. The caller ID read Brian Venti.
        I answered and heard the familiar sounds of a loud bar in the background and promptly hung up, thinking that it was a run of the mill drunk dial or pocket dial that I’ve become used to with a name that starts with A.
       Then it rang again. Could this be serious? Brian and I hadn’t really talked for months, and now two calls in one night. Was someone dead? Was his internal ass disorder acting up? Was he going to marry that skank from Lebanon?
       But the news was bigger than anything I could imagine. It was earth-shaking, ground-breaking, doughnut eating news. 

         Questions raced through my head. What did this girl look like? Had Mairk been dancing? Did she dip Cherry Skoal? Was Mairk a good kisser? Did he get a hand job it in the back of his Saab? Was Mairk getting more than me?
         Way to go Mairk. Making out with a girl. It only took you… on second thought let’s just stay positive on this news for a while. This calls for a full report!

When real life forced the out-of-control Tim to grudgingly pull up his pants and return to New York after his four-day Ohio binge, he did so with a giant camera full of “artistic” black and white pictures documenting the weekend’s lustful liaison. Upon landing, Tim sped straight from LaGuardia Airport to the Columbia computer lab in order to develop the sordid images he had taken without delay.

We hear that after developing the pictures at the lab, Tim rushed back to his 125 Ainslie Street residence and promptly scanned them into his computer before uploading them to his other half’s Facebook account, where they can currently be viewed. Among Tim’s inner circle, the story was met with shock and disbelief before the obvious truthfulness of the torrid affair sunk in, and it is believed that as many as fourteen Colla stock-holders leaped to their deaths after guessing what financial news the market would bring. The general attitude seemed that even for this shameless sexpot this latest news is just plain too much. 

Our source tells us that Tim was heard in his room on the phone lustily muttering, “I uploaded the photos, but you have to tag them, baby.” When asked to comment, a close long-term friend of Tim’s sadly replied, “I just don’t understand. We’ve been asking Tim to develop pictures he took back in October 2006, and he does these in an hour? What did we do wrong?” Tim could not be reached for comment as he has stopped accepting non-Ohio incoming calls.

We think that Tim has to accept the fact that he is out of control and should seek help for this degenerative behavior. This weekend’s events are the most disgraceful and shameless display that Ohio has seen since the Kent State shootings in 1970. 

It was a normal night at 125 Ainslie St in Brooklyn. Tim, Anya and I were sitting around the TV, and of course ALEX was there. Sweet. He had invited himself over again (he has his own keys now…a scary thought, I know) and had initiated some sort of fart or poop discussion. Here’s how it went down (all 100% true):

Alex: When I poop I’ve been wiping blood a lot

Tim: Awesome!

Gabe: I have a huge penis.

Anya (apparently a hemorrhoids expert): That means you have hemorrhoids!

Alex: It usually comes on my 21st-27th wipe of the day.

Gabe: That’s disgusting. I have a huge penis.

Tim: I’m really bad at contributing to this website.

Anya (a definite hemorrhoids expert): It comes from straining. You have hemorrhoids, Alex.

Alex: Shit.

Gabe: That sucks. I have a huge penis.

So there you have it folks. Make your own conclusions, but it seems our friend Aldo is taking a little ride on the Hemorrhoids Express. Here’s to a long voyage!

(click to enlarge)

Steamy Brooklyn Love Triangle Busted!

Last week the Ainslee Street house in Williamsburg, Brooklyn was the source of a sordid dinner-table debacle when various participants discovered that food wasn’t the only thing they had been sharing. Apparently none other than motorcyclist-turned-moper Timothy C. had been passing himself around like the decedent dessert that the diners never reached!

We hear that everything was going fine until talk turned to former Colla roommate Max the Marxist (not Max the Marine), who before setting out for the Far East had performed some very un-Communist shenanigans with Ainslee Street inhabitant Sanya* the year before. Tim’s current squeeze – present with a friend – commented how bad that encounter must have been, meantime having no idea that Tim and Sanya shared a history that went a bit beyond being “just roommates” in the same way that Wet Hot Nurses IV is not just about the nation’s health-care system.

“Well,” retorted Sanya to this jibe, “he was better than Tim!”

Our source tells us that during the shocked silence that followed, the look on the two-timing Tim’s face was “unbelievable… like nothing I’ve seen before.” Dinner crashed to an extraordinarily awkward halt, and we hear that Tim slept alone that night – for once!

We think that it’s about time! Cats love coming out of bags, and this one had been clawing and scratching away for quite some time. If you think that not telling your girlfriend about the time you rogered your roommate is clever, then maybe smoking weed in fourth grade wasn’t such a hot idea after all. Now all Tim has to do is come clean and admit that him and (other roommate) Gabe do more in that hot tub than just cuddle.

* Name changed to protect privacy