I just got back from a week in France, and for the pleasure of our faithful reader, I have decided to share everything that I learned (in pictorial form).

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They might not have homosexuals in Iran, but they have them in France.

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In France, they totally love American brands!

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In the case of an emergency, French people prefer to surf downstairs.

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The best part of this sculpture is how it is not homoerotic at all.

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French people are so dumb… Look, they actually use letters on their clocks!!! LMAO!!! omfg have they not invented numbers yet there or something?!? lolz!

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At Pere-Lachaise cemetery, Oscar Wilde’s huge grave is covered with lipstick marks. Apparently France is full of fag hags.

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And Jim Morrison’s grave is… wait a second. Hundreds of girls worship the grave of a dead gay author, but this is all they do for Jim fucking Morrison? There should be naked chicks having lesbian threesomes on his grave all day, every day. Come on France, what the hell.

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Elsewhere in the cemetery, I found the earliest known depiction of a Dirty Sanchez.

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I spent a long time in the cemetery. Luckily, they had plenty of these convenient port-o-potties!

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I don’t know how French people feel about interracial marriage, but I do know how they feel about interracial cat marriage. Me-ow!

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The Mona Lisehh… She’s a 5, at best.

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I think I figured out why those Parisians are feeling so romantic all the time…

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In France, ANYONE can be a street performer.

So last night Ryan and I ventured all the way uptown to prestigious Columbia University; more specifically, its “sister school,” the all-female Barnard College. We went up there for a midnight sorority-house panty raid, but it turned out that my friend Samantha was also throwing a party, so we decided to go to that instead. The theme of the party was “White Trash” and boy did people live up to it.

The place was crowded, which normally would be cool, but in this case sucked because the entire party was situated in a “common area” which was basically a hallway between bedrooms. Ryan realized it was a fire hazard and was going to cite them (he’s a junior firefighter on the weekends), but a nice young lady took him back to her room and “explained why it wasn’t.” That’s what he told me, anyway.

So we were standing around awkwardly at the party for a while, and then an old friend of mine named Allison Torres showed up. She was Playboy’s co-ed of the week once and does a lot of modeling; I hadn’t seen her in a while. So that was cool, but this one guy kept talking to her and doing the weirdest stuff. Ryan and I couldn’t quite put our fingers on it… and then we realized: He was a PUA.

A PUA is a pick-up artist, someone who follows the stupid advice of creepy weirdos like “Mystery” (the host of VH1’s “The Pick-Up Artist”). I have a lot of experience with this, because one of my best friends is an ardent devotee of PUA methods. From reading this friend’s blog, I learned a lot about PUA terminology: “DHVing” is Displaying Higher Value– making a girl think you are a worthwhile catch. “Negging” is casually criticizing a girl to make yourself seem superior to her. “HB __” is a ranking scale for Hot Babes… HB 8.0 = a hot babe who is an 8 out of 10.

So Ryan and I were watching this d-bag talk to Allison, and he’s pulling it all out. He negged her, making fun of the artificial highlights in her hair. He DHV’ed by mentioning that he has natural highlights in his (PUA and metrosexual are sometimes nearly synonymous).

But what really made it clear that he was a PUA was the fact that he was “peacocking.” Ryan mentioned it too in his post: The guy had little additions to his outfit that made him look “unique,” and in PUA theory, would make girls more interested in him. He had a necklace, but he also had a black sweatband on his wrist. Why would you need to wear a sweatband to a party, you ask? Because you are an asshole. I am sure of this because my PUA friend always wears the exact same kind of sweatband whenever he goes out.

Thankfully, it seemed that the peacocking did not truly impress. As shocking as it may seem, perhaps following the PUA code to a tee does not really help you get more girls. Just look at Ryan: He’s just a regular, nice guy who is a part-time junior firefighter, and he gets ass like crazy.

And in case you were wondering, here’s a pic of the guy from last night:

I know what you’re thinking, and no, this post is not going to be a Tom Clancy-esque tale of deceit, espionage and tragic love. Oh wait, actually it is.

The other night, I was at this stupid crappy bar called Fat Baby. Because if there’s one thing I want to think of when I’m going out to meet girls, it’s babies. Actually, this was the very same night that Ryan’s fake I.D. got rejected (I told him they wouldn’t believe his name was McLovin’).

We were sitting in the back of the place on a comfortable couch. By we, I mean me and 4 ladies. Yes, the ladies do loves them some Dave Ganin. By loves, I mean invites along because they feels bads for him.

Anyway, there were a bunch of scroaty frat-boy douche bags standing around in the back on what was presumably a “dance floor,” holding drinks and pretending not to be discussing which girls they could most easily date rape. Along with these seven or eight sunken-brow-ridged pieces of shit was one girl, or as I call her, Sleeper Cell.

S.C. was apparently some sort of double-agent brought in by the guys, possibly paid by them, to help them meet girls, and then presumably date rape them.

S.C. walked over to where we were sitting, and said hi to the girls. She then started moving her body awkwardly and yelling, “You guys should get up and daaaaaance!!!!” Being girls, the group I was with was unable to resist. They got up and quickly began dancing in a circular-shaped fashion. No sooner had they stood up, that the “wolf pack,” responding to the scent of blood, began amassing at the perimeter, stalking their prey. Somehow, S.C. was nowhere to be found, having returned to the side of one of the guys, presumably the alpha male of the group.

But S.C. was thwarted. Despite the efforts of some of the bros, who clumsily introduced themselves with a handshake on the dance floor, the girls eventually sat back down. S.C. would not take no for an answer, though.

S.C. began dancing with one of the guys, who I call “Limbo.” The reason? His idea of dancing is doing the Limbo with no stick. He awkwardly stuck his pelvis forward and dropped his head backwards behind him, practically to the ground. The funniest part of this was when they played “Lean Back,” because he kept losing his balance and almost falling over. True story.

S.C. danced with Limbo for a few moments, and then went to work. This time, she took a more direct approach, and violently pulled one of the girls I was with, Shaunna, who was sitting down at the time, up and onto the dance floor. Shaunna was nice enough to dance with the two of them for a few seconds. Then S.C. walked away, leaving Limbo alone with her. She immediately looked around at us for help, as Limbo moved in, trying to grind with her. Luckily, his head was so far back that he could only see the ceiling, and he did not realize he was actually about 5 feet away from her. Shaunna sat back down, and Limbo went off to slip a roofie in someone else’s drink.

Well, another year of college has come to a close (unless you’re in Stern like Phil… Have fun by yourself during finals month, nerd!). And now that Ryan and I have moved back home for the summer, we are going to be making all of our updates on NotRoom8s.com. As soon as Ryan gets that up and running. You’re on that, right Ry?

Anyway, to commemorate the occasion, I have decided to make a video that sums up our experience living in the 26th Street dorm this year. Enjoy!

Apr 10, 7:08 PM EDT

Stern demands maternity test in Anna

Nicole case

By DAVE GANIN
Associated Press Writer

NASSAU, Bahamas (AP) — In a shocking move Tuesday night, Howard K. Stern, former lawyer of Anna Nicole Smith, has demanded that a maternity test be performed on Danielynn Smith to determine whether he is, in fact, the baby’s mother. Stern, who learned just hours earlier that he was not the baby’s father, made the surprise announcement in a press conference outside his home in the Bahamas.

        “I am 100 percent certain that I am Danielynn’s biological mother,” Stern stated. “And I will not give up until I have proven it.”

        After first dismissing Stern’s legal action to force a maternity test, Bahamian officials eventually agreed to it, after realizing that they had never actually tested Anna Nicole Smith’s DNA to prove she was the baby’s mother. “We really dropped the ball on this one,” said Bahamian Royal Police officer William Moss. “I can’t believe we never once thought of scientifically verifying her claims.”

        When questioned on his motives, Stern denied that the baby’s inheritance is a factor in his decision. “Sure, $500 million sounds like a lot to some people. But remember, I’m a lawyer. I wipe my ass with 500-million-dollar bills. Plus,” he went on to state, “I’m not going to keep a cent of it for myself anyway. What? Why do you need my signature on that? You have my word. Isn’t a lawyer’s word good enough?”

        The Bahamian police, along with Danielynn’s biological father Larry Birkhead, have established a shortlist of possible mothers who will be tested. These include Howard K. Stern, Zsa Zsa Gabor, Anna Nicole Smith, and someone Birkhead referred to as “Jess, this chick who works at the Wal-Mart by me… No, I don’t remember her last name. It was just a one night thing.”

        When asked whether he had ever had sex with Larry Birkhead, Stern reflected for a moment, then stated, “I can’t comment on that at this time. All I will say is that I have always considered him handsome in a boyish way. And he has great eyes. Pretty, blue eyes…”

        Judge Larry Seidlin has ruled that Stern will be allowed to maintain custody of Danielynn until the maternity testing is concluded. “I could not, in good conscience, take away this baby from what is possibly her mother at this fragile time in her life,” the Judge said, wiping away tears.

        Stern vowed to fight for permanent custody of Danielynn if he is indeed proven to be her mother. But he also issued a Stern warning. At his press conference, he stated, “If the maternity tests are not conducted in an efficient and transparent manner by the Bahamian officials, I will be forced to call in Associate Counsel Maury Povich.”

        Larry Birkhead, though cooperating with the Bahamian investigation, expressed his dismay in the renewed uncertainty surrounding the case. “I seriously can’t believe this sh*t,” he said. He added, “F**kin’ Bahamians. And can somebody tell me where the f**k I can buy some good weed around here?”

        Anna Nicole, real name Vickie Lynn Marshall, could not be reached for comment.

Stern (left), and Birkhead.

Trader Joe’s is a classy place. It’s not a supermarket, but it is a super market (I hope you’re reading, Trader Joe’s CEO… That has “Slogan” written all over it). They are purveyors of fine wine, organic dairy products, and an assortment of weird hippie food. They are also racists.

Normally I wouldn’t be thinking about Mexicans while walking on 14th Street besides when I pass P.C. Richard & Son Appliances and see the sign for “Affordable Dishwashers.” But today was different.

Trader Joe’s had a display on their windows which showcased a landmark and an animal from different countries. The first one was the Statue of Liberty, and a bald eagle flying. The second one was the Taj Mahal, and an elephant. But the third one was the one that caught my eye: Mexico’s greatest landmark? Aztec temple. Mexico’s national animal? The pinata.

Yes, the pinata. Rather than having an actual, biological species like they did for every other country’s display, Trader Joe’s decided that the national animal of Mexico is the pinata.

Now I’m the first to admit that when you beat a bald eagle to death with a bat, what you get out of it is not nearly as fun and tasty as what comes out of a pinata. So I’ll give that to Mexico. But at the same time, I can’t really fault Trader Joe’s here. I’ve been trying to think of another animal from Mexico all day, and the only thing I could come up with was the Chupacabra– a mythical creature which most people don’t even think exists.

(An artist’s rendition of the Chupacabra)

But at least we know that pinatas, on the other mano, DO exist. I saw one myself at my cousin Dylan’s 7th birthday party last month. I’ve never seen one in the wild, though.

So next time you see a Mexican, you can thank him for keeping pinatas off the endangered species list all these years. We can’t say the same about the bald eagle. And Mexicans, next time you pass a Trader Joe’s you should stop in and say thank you, because thanks to Trader Joe’s, we now know that your greatest cultural achievement was built thousands of years ago by a civilization of indigenous people, and your greatest national animal is a small, rainbow-colored frilly horse made of candy. Like this one:

(An adult male pinata)

P.S.– If you understand anything it says under “Meta,” you are officially a nerd.

Hi everyone. I have something important I’d like to say: Ryan’s post, though thorough, does not represent the view of all creators of room8s.com. I personally find his attitude toward women reprehensible. His simplistic, male-chauvinistic opinions are damaging to the years of effort it has taken to finally make women the equals to men that they deserve to be in our society. Just as there are some bad apples which fall from every tree, i.e. those girls who only consider financially well-off men to date, there are still plenty of colorful, blooming, fresh fruits to choose from. And consider the number of men who take looks into account when determining a potential mate; clearly, men are guilty of shallowness at least as, if not more, often than women are.

In contrast to Ryan, I really think girls are great. Take my girlfriend, Amy, for example. I love her so darn much. (If you’re reading, hi baby!! I love you!) When I think of all I have learned from her, the emotions that we have shared, and the common experiences that have entwined us both, it just brings me to tears. I’m not afraid to cry.

So in conclusion, I hope that all of you out there will not take Ryan’s comments about women at face value. Because I truly respect women. I believe that they are smarter than men, better smelling, have more common sense, and above all, are always right. Especially about that thing that we had that fight about last night.

-Dave

This could’ve been based on a true story if anyone from our apartment ever got a Valentine.

Dave tries to steal some of Phil’s special pants.