Number 27

Number 27 - Whittier College

Founded in 1887 by The Religious Society of Friends (Quakers for your irreligious scoffers), this school exists today as the safety school for those lame-ass Cali bros who hit the long board and gravity bong too much in High School to get in any school that people will hire you out of. Whittier is set up much like any Harry Potter-esque institution would be; rather than fraternities or sororities, they have a multitude of secret societies with totally non-nerdy names such as The Orthogonian Society, The Sachsen Society or my favorite, The Arthurian Order of the Knights of Pendragon. I had to pull the sword from the stone to get these pictures, but here, here and here are photos of this very secret society's most popular members. The only alumni worth noting is none other than Tricky Dick Nixon himself, which again, is a very tell-tale sign of the type of high-class, ethical, morally-conscious, non-losers that accept their admissions letter along with a "pre-approved Capital One Credit Card" and "Free penis enlargement formula" spam mail. The rest of their alumni have gone on to do great things in society, such as fixing nasty potholes on the 57 Freeway, frying amazing animal-style double-doubles and best of all, "gettin loads" dropped on them by Nick Manning in some beat-up, one-story in Chatsworth.

In terms of intercollegiate athletics, Whittier fields half as many sports as my high-school and competes in the SCIAC, a league made up of other foo-foo colleges where kids drive BMW's and cry when they masturbate. They have been pretty competitive over the years in both football and "lax" but are not known for their athletic prowess. However, the point of this diatribe is not to comment on what a dump of an overall school this is (although its still fun to trash) but to show everyone what emblem they chose to emblazon the front of jerseys, the sides of helmets and the ass-cheeks of the drunk, bet-losers on their campus. Ladies, gentlemen, labradoodles and Canadians, I present the Poet:

All the guys at the Manhole love the size of my pen

You would figure that a school founded upon the time-old tradition of Quaker Oatmeal would naturally showcase some beefed up farmer or bricklayer, maybe even a rugged housebuilder, putting their pride in the hundreds of years of hard work that built them their religion and a reputation for satisfying breakfasts everywhere. What they chose instead was to honor of the memory of John Greenleaf Whittier, a man who has the name of a serial killer and the stare of a convicted child molester. I actually think a photo of a bearded baby-banger would have been more terrifying than the piece of shit they came up with. I mean look at this thing! I love his Barry Melrose mini-mullet, constipated face, his Mickey Mouse sized hands and gloves, his giant cleated, Puritan-style buckle shoes (for when they play those pesky Presbyterians in English rules football!) with no socks (unsanity, as it can create corns and the gout) and couple all this with an outfit that is every shade of purple but straight. My favorite touch may be that he is prancing off to "battle" with a giant pen and book rather than a sword and shield. Ahh, I see what you're doing here, with your subconscious symbolism. Well I am going to tell you something right now Whittier College. Give that man a sword, shield, suit of armor, Panzer tank and he will still cry from his boyfriend's bitchslap.

The school's next move was to create an anthropomorphic version of this silly little bastard and let him roll around the sidelines of whatever LARP Game or World of Warcraft LAN party was currently happening on campus.

Tri-tip hat with douchey feather accent courtesy of Ed Hardy

Whaaaa-whaa-whhhaaat? Let's continue down this sad and lonesome road by building a mascot out of brown Zubaz pants and purple slippers while giving him a giant armful of balloons for him to pass around to all the cute boys in the class but none of the icky girls. That smile is just asking for Kimbo Slice to pop out of whatever dumpster he is sleeping behind and punch him right between googly, crossed eyes. I'm glad to see that they are spending University funds to hire an athletic director who apparently huffs airplane glue out of gym socks during the "slow, intimate moments" between huffing Freon from plastic grocery bags. Uh-maze-ing.

In a last ditch attempt to rectify their mistakes (and rectums) the school chose to recreate their mascot and enter the modern century, ones where Quakers shun them and 99% of California doesn't even realize that this is a college in their state.

Come to me little one. Yessssss...that's it...don't be scared...

So let's recap. We went from child-molester (original namesake) to awkward moron (purple cleats) to giant-headed mongoloid (fruity pants above) to this child-molester (completing the circle of life). This guy looks like someone's creepy uncle with a man-tan in a Halloween costume and at that point of drunkenness where the next one will cause him to 1) puke and fall over or b) sing "Sweet Caroline" by Neil Diamond until he is thrown out of the party and into a drainage ditch.

As you have seen, this college simply cannot get it right, no matter how many times they try. They should just go with the Quaker Oats man holding a bowl of delicious Banana Nut Bread oatmeal and allow everyone to find respect for them for their respect of the food pyramid. Lucky for us and our senses of humor, they will continue to exists as the Poets and produce failed writers, actors and crystal meth addicts all over greater Los Angeles.


Until next time...Seeyah!


What I'm laughing at right now: Eric Cartman singing "Pokerface."