FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

WWWF is happy to announce that after a long delay it is finally getting into the magazine publishing industry. Although this news may not come as a surprise to its bored and indifferent readers, it was naturally assumed by everyone that the initial foray would be purely pornographic, aiming to entertain readers with such possible cover features such as:
  
•    Dave Does Dallas
   
•    How To (Kind of) Have Sex While Floppy

Special travel editions, such as
•    The San Fernando Valley on $5 a Day

And of course the long-awaited Bedroom Profile
•    STANDING PROUD
Corporal Max: Always Outweighed, Never Outdone

However, WWWF’s first full-length magazine series will instead focus on the lucrative smokeless tobacco market. Lacking the creativity to produce its own original format, the magazine will simply do what its contributors did in any high-school physics test and leach off its more-intelligent neighbors instead.

Thus, instead of the Wine Spectator, we give you the heavily-plagiarized but otherwise unaffiliated Dip Spectator, a magazine devoted exclusively to the kind of tobacco that makes its home between gums and lip.

Please feel free to send in ideas for articles over the coming weeks.

Out of desperation for content, Dip Spectator will cover any product at all – just so long as it is guaranteed to give its users incurable lip and mouth cancer within twenty years.

Happy reading, and happy dipping!

Who said we here at WWWF need to have mature rebuttals?

Just when we though this website couldn’t get any better - Alexis circulates old photos of Gabe’s drunken face-smash that cost his family two cars and a summer home. This has nothing to do with anything other than it will create a legion of anti-Gabe commentary, therefore making the group’s collective satisfaction skyrocket.

Unlike other, lazier blogs who take the day off, we’re committed to continuing to feed your need for social belonging throughout the holiday season. (Although, ironically, this is the first post here in weeks.)

Most of you have tucked your tail between your legs and shacked up with your parents, and for those of you who have, enjoy having to smoke reefer by your bathroom window, enjoy drinking at the Canoe Club with people who were in middle school when we graduated, and enjoy reliving your glory days on the new field turf at HHS during the alumni match tomorrow.

If you’re striking it out on your own this Thanksgiving, let it be known in the comments where you are and what you’re up to. Your fearless admin and his girlfriend found another orphaned spirit and are pulling a three-man Thanksgiving in Evanston, IL, where we recently enjoyed our first snowfall.

Look forward to hearing from the rest of you,

But not really,

Happy Thanksgiving,

-WWWF.

I apologize if my language gets a little sloppy as I breathlessly type this post, but this news is so exciting, I just have to get it up as quickly as possible. Not so quickly that I can’t pause to point out the fact that I just said "I just have to get it up as quickly as possible." Tee hee!

Just moments ago, one of this site’s founders contacted me to ask me to work on the site. I was thrilled! It’s been more than two months since WWWF has seen new content, and we’re going to get rolling again. Sadly, this was not the case. He simply wanted me to remove all instances of his last name from the site, further distancing himself from it.

Lame.

Alex offered to pay me to not do it, but by then I already had, and it was a huge pain in the ass, and I love spite as much as the next guy, but I wasn’t about to change it all back.

Anyway, I have no way to end this post.

That’s the man on the left, Max. Still want to kick his ass?
   
    For all the sexual self abusers and recovering addicts out there that adore our site so very much, we wanted to shed a little light on one of our more prominent phantoms from the abundantly entertaining Wish We Weren’t Friends Comment Section. Random but effective "Handleberry" has chimed in with a few overlooked gems, only burdened by his flinty, mediocre nickname.

Here was his opening during the Alex/Saul Feuds of a Century post that no one clicked through to fully read:

His second jump into the fray was less attracitive to the peanut gallery, but upon further review seems both insightful and informative on the true nature of this online community:

"Alex,
Poppers are pills. As is “I just popped a lot of pills and my penis has ceased to function.” God, how much dick did Tim have to suck (gladly) to get you into Columbia? How did you get more than a 0 on the reading comprehension section of the SAT?"

Most recently,  in response to an email I forwarded him on the subject that Rory first mentioned about our hometown being the No. 2 rated place to live in this hairy, perverted, shameful nation, Brian once again performed admirably.

 "Also, the criteria for this year’s list have changed:
  ‘For this year’s list we focused on smaller places that offered the best combination of economic opportunity, good schools, safe streets, things to do and a real sense of community.’

Your town houses Dartmouth.  So the schools are amazing, the only thing unsafe about the streets is puddles of vomit and the "things to do" consist of a night class in the techniques of Nan bread baking and a discourse on 18th century German philosophy.  i.e. Gay, gay, gay.

Had the criteria been, "Towns where asshole banker dad’s overspend on houses so their white children can grow up hot and care-free all while enjoying one of the better sandwich shops in the universe and involving themselves in an annual rite of passage dubbed Baker’s Biker Bonanza.  Plus 2 Gazebo’s and tons of Milf-age."  Chatham is number one, "hans" down.’ "

————————————————————————

With this triptych of lingustic art I dare say this man’s talents in the art of wasting time on the internet are truly second to none. Except Rob.

Anyways, check out the comment section. Comment! It’s where all the unprotected sex happens.

Wait, you said Nan was gay? 

Hey assholes.

In an attempt to stop the top image of the previous post from being the first thing a visitor sees when they check out the website, I though it would be an appropriate time to update everyone on the current status of things.

As I’m spending most of the summer two towns north and one town east of our old digs, Alex and Saul have been doing most of the posting themselves with relative success. Alex has a doozy in the on-deck circle right now with a bunch of (allegedly) hilarious voicemails, but sadly the MP3s he uploaded don’t work, so it’ll have to wait until he returns from Germany.

In the meantime, we’re still open to any content sent our way. Since making Noah an official author of the site, he’s contributed nothing. Awesome.

By the way, we had an LC party last night. Where was everyone? The Sage-line didn’t ring once.

Top Eight Alex/Saul Fights Of All Time: 

When setting out to write this novel encyclopedia post, I originally intended to compose a long-winded preamble leading up to it, or possibly transform the basic facts into a three-volume epic poem. But then I realized that everything here speaks for itself with a voice much louder and more annoying than anything I could attempt to give it. Ever since the cruel and fickle English alphabet decided to make them locker-partners throughout high school, Alex and Saul have had a relationship comparable to Mt. Vesuvius and Pompeii – they get along just fine when one of them is not in the midst of a hideous fiery eruption.

After moving in together for a year of domestic bliss in Manhattan, the bets began flying furiously as the best handicappers this side of Vegas tore their already-thinning hair out trying to set odds on which of the two ‘roommates’ would develop BWS (Battered Women Syndrome) and murder the other one in his bed first. But, somehow, they emerged just fine, assuming of course that you define “just fine” as follows: Alex had moved hundreds of miles away, they hadn’t spoken in two months, and a bizarre, spectacle-wearing, weed-smoking young fellow named Sharrif was living in Alex’s room.

 This post was not an easy one. I had to delve through town records, unpleasant memories, and conduct various oral histories trying to come up with the most memorable battles in the last ten years. But, like a diver triumphantly emerging from a sewage tank with the pearl necklace that was drunkenly dropped into the toilet at a cocktail party, I finally came up with a list that I am fully confident represents the best moments out there. And after all four major television networks rejected this pitch as a reality show, there was nothing to do but put it on a website, where it is sure to be read by all six of the people still bored and pathetic enough to actually return to our page. So, brace yourselves! And remember that when these two go at it, they make a Mairk/Rory fight look like two baby doves reclining in a bed of jasmine and lilac petals while cooing at each other. 
 

And so, with no further ado, I give you the TOP 8 ALEX/SAUL FIGHTS in history*.

*History is defined as the day in 1997 A.D. that Saul moved from the Mascoma to the Hanover school district, put on his baggiest pair of pants and his biggest silver earring, and spent a year sharing a neighboring locker with Alex, where the two didn’t say a word to each other the entire time.   

(more…)

    Rumors of Saul’s potential return to the website have been flying all over the blogosphere, so Wish We Weren’t Friends has decided to make an official announcement regarding this global issue.
    After months of bitter, stubborn stewing as a response to perceived slights, miffs, and UNvitations, members of this website have reached out to Saul in hopes of bringing him back fulltime. After all, where would we be without his epic self-deprecations, adventurous facial hair patterns, raging homoeroticism, and breathtaking gossip columns?  Don’t forget his insightful prognostications of each of our values as human beings.
    At first, locating Saul was the most difficult task. Reports came in that he was seen around the Upper Valley with “an unidentified older man”, and Pappas suggested that he had actually turned gay. Other sources indicated that he had begun to dress like an adult, donning Italian sport coats, black tee shirts and tight, dark dungarees. 
   This information fit nicely with his decision to cut off all communication with me, his 34 year-old lesbian partner. As a result he was comfortably off the grid, free to blitz his new Dartmouth friends, attend cocktail parties filled with academics and cheese trays, all the while attempting to forget that he had fully exposed himself to a stranger only a few short months ago.
    Oh how Wish We Weren’t Friends has suffered: terrible enthusiasm, unreliable posting, horrible writing. Not a Photoshopped picture to be found!   
    Fortunately for you, dear reader, Saul will make his triumphant return. Heavy coddling has successfully convinced our poet laureate to once again participate. Gone are the times of famine and stench. It is a brand new day and a brand new era for this, the best website on the planet.
    Welcome back to Wish We Weren’t Friends.