REPORT: White Man Not Thrown Off Airplane For Suspicious Behavior

LONDON, U.K.–A spokesperson for Virgin Atlantic Airlines, Ltd. confirmed this morning that a white man who was acting suspiciously during transatlantic Flight 10 from John F. Kennedy Airport to London Heathrow Airport was not escorted off the Airbus 330 red-eye.

Eyewitnesses report that the man, whose identity was not disclosed, began acting erratically soon after he boarded the aircraft. “He started slapping his hands on his thighs really fast and loudly while he was listening to music from the in-flight entertainment system before the plane took off,” said Tamara Atkins, a native New Yorker who was traveling to London on business. “When I saw that I thought, maybe I should say something about it to one of the crew.” When questioned further, Ms. Atkins said that she watched The Sessions on her seat-back TV and slept instead, but she was nervous the whole time.

“It was really bizarre,” confirmed a college student who said she sat across the aisle two rows behind the man. She also reported that exchanging quizzical glances and nervous laughter in response to the passenger’s strange behavior helped break the ice between her and the stoic eastern European woman sitting in the window seat next to her.

The man, whom passengers described as 5’10, very thin, pale, and with long brown hair and a scraggly beard, reportedly unbuckled his seatbelt while the fasten seatbelt sign was still on and made an alarming gesture while listening to a Bob Marley album on the in-flight entertainment system shortly after taking off.

“He raised both his hands and looked up, as if gesturing to some sort of god,” said Phil Watson, who was seated behind the man. Mr. Watson, who was returning home to London after attending his cousin’s wedding in the Hamptons, stated that he made an effort to ensure his and his fellow passengers’ safety by craning his neck to stare intently at the man from his seat as the suspicious passenger walked at an alarming clip up and down the aisle several times over the course of the seven-hour flight. Mr. Watson said that he took extra precaution by tapping the shoulder of his friend seated across the aisle from him while the strangely behaved man was out of his seat and stating solemnly, “We should at least mention it to [the flight attendants].”

While no Virgin Atlantic flight attendants responded to requests for comment, other concerned passengers seated in the vicinity said that Mr. Watson did not take such action.

Other passengers reported feeling nervous as they watched the man take his jacket off and put it back on at least four times during the flight and leap out of his seat and walk alarmingly fast to the front of the plane as soon as the fasten seatbelt sign turned off after landing at London Heathrow.

Passengers’ conjectures on who the man was differed. “I thought he might have been, you know, special needs,” said Phyllis Hawthorne in a lowered voice, who sat in the center aisle with her young grandson and the strange passenger. Others credited the man’s atypical behavior and thin figure to possible drug use. All passengers interviewed, however, agreed that if the man’s complexion had been about four shades darker, the airplane would have made an emergency landing almost immediately.




If you just opened this like I told you to, tie yourself down to whatever chair you’re sitting in, because this blog post is going to be a rough fucking ride.

For those of you that have your heads resting on your desks, which apparently is the majority of this school, we have been FUCKING UP in terms of writing our Dean’s Date papers and general studying activities with our academic careers. I’ve been reading tweets on tweets about people LITERALLY being so fucking LAZY and so fucking UNPRODUCTIVE. If you’re reading this right now and saying to yourself “But oh em gee Liz, I’ve been going to the library so much this week!”, then punch yourself in the face right now so that I don’t have to fucking find you on campus to do it myself.

I do not give a flying fuck, and your professors do not give a flying fuck, about how much you fucking go to the library. You had one and a half weeks to fuck around, and today is NOT, I fucking repeat NOT ONE OF THEM. These remaining days are about pulling your papers out of your ass, and that’s not fucking possible if you’re going to stand around and go to Starbucks and not write. Newsflash you stupid cocks: PAPERS DON’T WRITE THEMSELVES. Oh wait, DOUBLE FUCKING NEWSFLASH: WE’RE NOT GOING TO GET OUR PAPERS DONE IF WE FUCKING PROCRASTINATE, which by the way in case you’re an idiot and need it spelled out for you, WE FUCKING PROCRASTINATE A LOT SO FAR.

This also applies to you little shits that have talked openly about taking a nap in your bed WHILE YOUR PAPERS ARE UNWRITTEN. Are you people fucking retarded? That’s not a rhetorical question, I LITERALLY want you to email me back telling me if you’re mentally slow so I can make sure you don’t go back to your dorm. If someone openly said “Yeah I have an 8-10 page paper and a 12-15 page paper left to write but I’m just gonna watch the new Kristen Wiig SNL real quick”, would you let them? WOULD YOU? No you wouldn’t, so WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU LET YOURSELF DO THAT?? ON SUNDAY NIGHT?!! First of all, you SHOULDN’T be participating in leisure activities, I don’t give a FUCK if you slept for three hours last night, if you have a cold, or if you have your period. YOU DON’T STOP. YOU. DON’T. STOP. WRITING. And you ESPECIALLY do fucking NOT go on Facebook.

“But Liz!”, you say in a whiny little bitch voice to your computer screen as you read this blog post, “I’ve been single-spacing what I have so far and putting the author’s name and page number in my footnotes, doesn’t that count for something?” NO YOU STUPID FUCKING ASS HATS, IT FUCKING DOESN’T. DO YOU WANNA KNOW FUCKING WHY?!! IT DOESN’T COUNT BECAUSE YOU’VE BEEN FUCKING UP AT TIME MANAGEMENT TOO. I’ve not only gotten texts about people being fucking DUMB about their priorities (for example, being stupid shits and writing a blog post and saying stuff like “durr what’s my two papers waiting for me to write?” is not fucking funny), but I’ve gotten texts about people actually getting a full night’s sleep. A full. Night’s. Sleep. ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID?!! I don’t give a SHIT about your circadian rhythm, YOU WAKE UP GODDAMN EARLY AND DON’T SLEEP UNTIL LATE, HAVE YOU NEVER HAD A DEAN’S DATE? ARE YOU A FUCKING FRESHMAN? Or are you just so fucking dense about what it means to be a successful student that you think being a healthy normal member of the human race is going to get you anything better than a B+? Well it’s time someone told you, NO ONE FUCKING LIKES THAT, ESPECIALLY OUR FUCKING PROFESSORS. I will fucking cunt punt the next person I hear about doing something like that, and I don’t give a fuck if you SOR me, I WILL FUCKING ASSAULT YOU.

“Ohhh, I’m now crying because your blog post has made me oh so so sad”. Well good. If this blog post applies to you in any way, meaning if you are a little asswipe that is reading this instead of writing your paper or if you’re a weird shit that actually goes outside during the day, this following message is for you:


I’m not fucking kidding. Write them. Seriously, if you have done ANYTHING I’ve mentioned in this blog post and have some rare disease where you’re unable to NOT do these things, then you are HORRIBLE, I repeat, HORRIBLE PR FOR THIS UNIVERSITY. I would rather have 40 readers that are productive, efficient, and not fucking procrastinating than 80 that are fucking procrastinators. If you are one of the people that have told me “Oh nooo boo hoo I can’t write my paper because I’m not caffeinated”, then I pity you because I don’t know how you got this far in life, and with that in mind get some fucking coffee and stop being a goddamn cock block for your own success. Seriously. I swear to fucking God if I see anyone being a goddamn boner one hour before the Dean’s Date deadline, I will tell you to get your shit together even if you say you’re trying. I’m not even kidding. Try me.

And for those of you who are offended at this blog post, I would apologize but I really don’t give a fuck. Go fuck yourself.



EDIT: In case you thought I was batshit/brilliant enough to come up with this myself:

What It Sounds Like When Boys Play Video Games Part II

This time, I’m at my sister, Jessie’s, apartment watching Jordan, my 31 year-old brother-in-law, play Call Of Duty Black Ops. The place and people are different, but I have remained annoying.

Me: Aren’t you just going in circles?

Jordan: How the fuck did he kill me? It’s a load of horse shit…Define circles. Am I treading the same ground over and over?

Me: Yeah. Are you?

Jordan: Simply, yes. Killing the same people over and over again? Yes.


Me: What’s the point?

Jordan: To win.

Jessie: You have to occupy the flag for the longest amount of time. And there’re three flags.

Me: Oh. Are you playing on a team?

Jordan: Yeah. I get put on a team with others. 

Me: How come you don’t talk to them?

Jordan: My headset doesn’t work, and also I don’t speak their language.

Jessie: They’re also five years old sometimes. When Jordan doesn’t turn the speakers off for them you can hear them chatting–

Jordan: You can also hear their like babies crying in the background.


Jordan: What are you listening to? It’s like Coldplay gone shittier.

Me [listening to Myth by Beach House on a Songza playlist]: It’s called Dream Pop.

Jordan: Mando-pop?

Me: What?

Jordan: Mando-pop? Canto-pop?



Me: Olympia (their cat) pooped.

Jordan: Can you taste it?

Jordan: That was a crap shot.


Jordan, weakly: Time to get paid, boy.



Jordan: Shotcha in your penis!

Drunk People Freestyle Rapping

The following is what I transcribed after Paul and Matt came back from the Street and decided to freestyle rap. It doesn’t matter if you know them or not. The rhymes are all that matter.

Paul: Put your hands up. Wave ’em. I’m ’bout to start.

Paul: My name is Paul. Kim Possible. Let me tell you something–I’m fucking Egypt. I cut the Nile. My liver, it has bile, bitch. Breakin’ down that fuckin’ food, I’m feel in good. I’m tryna fly to that fucking matrix bitch. But you know what? You a snitch.

Matt: Chillin’ here with this poopin’ penguin. High school bitch, 2011. That door is open–

Paul: Keratoconus. We own this. We flying to the highest height on us. Cuz I’m fighting with this disease. I’m trying to figure out how I got to this place. I had a Myspace.

Paul: Leather gloves. From above. I luh deez bitches, they give me hugs. Tryna fly to the highest mountain peak. But you know what? We gonna freak a leek. Drip up down, pussy wetter than ever.

Paul: Tryna be the best that I can be. But my grandmother, she from Tennessee. She said she don’t know what to do with life. I said it’s all about that strife.

Paul: Who needs a hug? Who needs a bug? Who needs a fuckin’ dick in they fuckin’ lugs? Put ’em in your uggs. I love you cuz I’m ug.

Matt: This kid. He’s bout to pee. You know what? Be me. That’s some words of wisdom. We trekking up on that internet, words of lizdom. Yeah she’s writing, writing up that blog.

Matt: Liz is this shit livebloggin. You know Paul on the street? Them bitches he be floggin’. Across the ass, in that booty he got the mass.

At this point, Paul interrupts to ask Harry to tie is shoe so that he can go to the bathroom, and, sadly, the freestyle session comes to an end. 

What It Sounds Like When Boys Play Video Games

I was going to sit in a study room by myself, listen to “Fuckin’ Problems” by A$AP Rocky, and study for my exam tomorrow, but instead I found something way more fun to do. I’m sitting in my neighbors’ room, again, while Riley plays Far Cry 3 and Harry lies on his bed watching from afar. The only video games I’ve ever played extensively have been the Sims and Pokémon. I’ve tried playing Halo and Grand Theft Auto a couple of times but never really got into these kinds of video games because I got too nervous and my hands got too sweaty, so I ended up annoying Riley with a bunch of questions.

Here’s some excerpts of what it sounded like:

Me: Is that guy dead?

Riley: No. He’s just a druggie.

Me: He’s really creepy-looking.

Riley: Yep.


Me: Who’s Daisy?

Riley: One of your friends. The story is that you were skydiving, you’re a college guy, and you skydive over this island and they kidnap you and now you’re in the middle of this conflict and you have to find all your friends. It’s pretty dumb, but that’s not the point.

Me: So do you play different stories? Cause just now you were in the tundra. Like with the tiger?

Riley: No that wasn’t snow. It was beach. It was just nighttime.

Me: Oh.

[he comes across a sick woman lying in a bed]

Me: *gasp* Is that Daisy?

Harry: Shoot her!


Me: Why do they call it Far Cry?

Riley: I dunno.

Me: Maybe it’s like a far cry…

Riley: …from home?

Me: Oohh.

Riley: Yeah that might be it. This guy is sketch. I’m calling that he’s poisoning her.

Me: Yeah def.


[wild boars emerge and Riley stabs them]

Me: They’re not gonna hurt you!

Riley: Nah they bite.

Me: Are those organs?!


Me: This is why you don’t go skydiving.

Riley: This reminds me of Taken. But like way gnarlier. Daisy’s goin’ HAM.

Me: Why do you think this doctor has kids stuff all over the house? Like why does he have a kid’s bed? Do you think he had a family and then he killed them?

[I am ignored]


Riley: Oh shit.

Harry: Oh what’s that?

Riley: A tiger. I don’t got no ammo! I just shot a fuckin’–dude these are tapirs. From the video? I’m hunting them! C’mere you little piece of shit! [stabs a tapir] Yeahh.


Me: Who’s that?

Riley: Some slut.

Me: Why’s she just standing there?

Riley: I dunno.


Me: What would happen if you just like…drove the car into a tree?

Riley: I dunno. Let’s find out!

[nothing happens]


[more boars emerge and Jason (the character you play as) stabs them]

Riley: Yeah. Makin’ bacon.

[Jason makes a disgusted noise as he collects boar hide]

Me: Jason really needs to sack up. It’s a frickin’ pig, come on.

Riley: I know! Hopefully later in the game you become more of a badass.

[Jason makes another grossed out noise]

Riley: Jason, shut up. He’s such a pussy.


Me: Do you ever get to see what Jason looks like? Is he hot?

[Riley pulls up the character profile page]

Me: Oh yah.

Riley: Yeah? You’d hit that?


[Jason happens upon a hang glider]

Riley: What is this, hang gliding?

Me: Woah! Are you gonna do it?

Riley: Uh, yeah.

[gets on hang glider]

Riley: Neat-o!


…And not a lick of my notes was studied tonight.

On Misplaced Waste

The following post is dedicated to the exposure and shaming of people who vomit/defecate in inappropriate public places and leave their mess to be cleaned up by someone else and the celebration of the people who do not.

It is almost impossible to encapsulate the intense emotions I experienced when I entered the bathroom in my hall last night and surveyed the carnage after the initial feelings of shock have worn off, so I won’t try. Instead, transcribed below is the word-for-word text conversation I had with a friend who has seen his fair share of unwelcome surprises in his dorm’s bathroom and the weirdly formal e-mail I sent my RCA.


Me: Ok so [my roommate] told me someone vommed and the vom spreads to multiple stalls

Me: And I saw a little bit of it when I went in and it just looked like yknow a regular streak of vom

Me: And I didn’t want it to smell so I just went to go put some Clorox wipes on it to cover it up idk

Me: Then I push open the door to the second stall

Me: Start dry heaving, because I’m not sure of [sic] the material on the floor and the seat is vomit or shit

Friend, being helpful: I bet it’s diarrhea

Me: Oh my god

Friend, being mature: Poooopy

Me: It actually might be.

Me: I ran back to my room coughing and gagging ugh I hate people

Me: Should I send an angry email??

And below is the e-mail I sent my RCA:


Dearest [redacted]-

It has come to my attention (by first-person witnessing, unfortunately) that there is a disgusting amount and spread of vomit/unidentifiable human waste in the 2nd floor women’s bathroom of Blair 8. Seeing as this is clearly unacceptable, inconsiderate to our custodian, and just plain unhealthy, I’m writing to you in the hopes that you could send an email around to the residents/possible culprits urging them to clean up after themselves and reminding us all to contain ourselves as best we can in dire times such as the one one of my hallmates evidently experienced tonight. It is also possible that the offender was a guest of one of the Blair 8/9 residents, in which case I would hope their host will take it upon himself/herself to take responsibility.

After speaking with some of my male hallmates on this topic, it has also come to my attention that one of the regular patrons of the men’s bathroom on our hallway has a seemingly incorrigible penchant for vomiting in one of the sinks.

I’m sorry that this topic has to be the bulk of the content of my email to you. I want to thank you for your warm presence in the dorm this year, and for your attention to this email.

Best wishes to you and yours,

His kind response, if you were curious:

Subject: Re:

Thanks for the heads up Liz. I’m sorry that your bathroom’s in such a bad state. You’re completely right, of course – it’s unacceptable both for the other people in the entryway and for the custodians. I’ll send out an email to the people in the entryway. Hopefully it won’t happen again. If it does, though, we can take further steps.


After this grueling experience, I couldn’t help but recall times in the past when people have recklessly abandoned their waste in inappropriate places. Like the time last year when my entrymate threw a pregame, during which one of her guests became so inebriated that one of my roommates opened our door to him, dick out, peeing on our door. This same night, someone (presumably the door-urinator) also attempted to expel their vomit out of a second floor window in the stairwell, only for it to be blocked by a window screen and somehow drip down the ledge, onto the floor, and down the stairs (!), leaving a trail of chunks of what were clearly poorly-digested chunks of bacon (?!) all the way down to the basement (?!?!).

This crime scene, including the drip marks on our door and sticky puddle of dried urine next to it, lasted for at least four days and inevitably gave rise to a heated discussion on our entry Facebook group, in which residents urged the pregame hostess to take responsibility for her guests’ destruction (construction?).

One resident’s post:

If someone wants to step up and claim responsibility for the state of our entryway I will be happy to help that person thoroughly clean the entryway. but it is fucking disgusting in here and I dont want my mom to have to walk on some college kid’s vomit and piss when she is helping me move out this weekend. Again, im not trying to point fingers, but we’re effectively college sophomores now, and we should be mature enough to own up to our own mistakes, and resolve the situation and move past it.

An excerpt of the hostess’s response:

‎1) I have been trying to figure out if anyone knew anyone here who may have done it since Sunday. 2) I started cleaning it myself this morning. 3) If you were all such “mature sophomores” you’d realize upperclassmen puke everywhere all the time and the janitors clean it up, were in college. You’re lucky you saw this only once or twice this year. 

To be as fair as possible, I should note that the hostess went on to say that she had recently heard some troubling news about a family member’s health, so she had been preoccupied that week.

Clearly, however, the claim that “upperclassmen puke everywhere all the time and the janitors clean it up,” is no excuse for the perpetuation of this type of behavior and is, thankfully, not factual, although my recent experience makes me begin to doubt that.

And so my message to you is this: if you find yourself about to be sick, please try to contain yourself. Do the right thing and do what I did during frosh week: bring your trash can into the bathroom to vomit (?), get locked out of your room without pants on in the process, and sleep on your neighbors’ window seat for the remainder of the night. If you find the urgency of your situation has prevented you from taking the tactful, logical steps I took, please do the right thing and at least try.

Try taking a note from the girl my dear friend Melissa and I encountered in a bathroom stall while on “safety patrol” during eating club formals weekend last spring: vomit on the floor while sitting on the toilet, see the error of your ways, and attempt to clean up your regurgitation with your bare hands, performing for others a sort of dance, framed by the floor and the bottom of the stall door, of just your hands fruitlessly swiping at a vomit-covered floor, like two malfunctioning window wipers.

The poor girl meant well, and I like to believe that deep down, beneath the lapses in judgment such as those my hallmate, the door-urinator, and the door-urinator’s hostess experienced, we all do.