Michael Ian Black has a way with words - and a way with fingers it seems. At least he did 20 years ago, according to this series of letters he wrote to the first girl he ever fingerbanged.

Dear Emily,
Still no word from you. I feel like maybe we got off on the wrong foot right from the get-go, and I'd like to try to make it up to you.

Let me start over, and if you still don't want to write back, I will definitely understand.

(Starting over):

Dear Emily,
Hi! How are you? This is Michael Ian Black. We went to camp together a long time ago. In fact, we kind of "dated" one summer. Pretty funny, huh? I don't know if you remember me or not, but I definitely remember you. In fact, I have many fond memories of walking around the lake with you, playing knock hockey with you in the canteen, and also finger popping you.

The truth is, you were the first girl I ever fingered, and I still think about it all the time. Please take that as the compliment that it is intended to be, and not as anything "weird" or "creepy."

(Believe me, I could easily see how receiving a letter from a 35-year-old man reminiscing about fingering a 13-year-old girl could be construed as inappropriate. It was DEFINITELY not intended that way)

Anyway, if you get a moment, I'd love to hear all about your life. Do you like dogs?

Your Friend,
Michael Ian Black

Read the rest of Michael's fingerbang letters at Cracked. Huh. Never thought I'd type that sentence.

(Each week, David Maize shares his favorite feature of a college humor magazine.)

Webshots, like any free-membership photo site, is an enormous reservoir of poorly composed shots taken by 16-year-olds. This week, Rahul Sharodi of the Pennsylvania Punch Bowl shows what it would be like if it hosted fine art. See the rest here.

(Ed: Photo caption sic, natch. Ah, the Ivy League...)

(Each Friday, David Maize shares his favorite feature of a college humor magazine.)

After a week of high-profile crimes in New York, I'm starting to think people need to be reminded of what's illegal. This week the crew at The Columbia Jester lays down the law:

Sixth-Degree Perjury: Casually announcing to your common-law spouse that you spent last night watching Court TV with a glass of Ernest and Julio Gallo Hearty Burgundy, when in fact you were watching phone sex commercials while drinking Malibu Caribbean Rum with Natural Coconut Flavor.

Third-Degree Breaking And Entering: Building a life-size replica of someone else’s house, painstakingly recreating every detail of the architecture and interior decorating, and subsequently breaking into it under the cover of night and stealing all the duplicate valuables.

Ninth-Degree Car Theft: Putting a car on blocks, hotwiring the engine, and letting it run until the mile marker is about to change to the next mile.

Eighth-Degree Murder: After unsuccessfully trying to revive a heart attack victim for thirty minutes, giving up and shooting him when unable to bring him back to life.

Read the rest here.

Here's the first post in an ongoing series featuring content from our nation's college humor magazines. This week Matt Henick of the Stanford Chaparral expounds on meat.

Ode to Sausage

Intestinal lining
Filled with meat, fills me with joy
Bursting at the seams, too much insides for the outs
You arrogant fool, you know your insides are sweet
And outside tight. Stretch! Stretch!
Let me stuff you, some more can be fit
Teetering on the line, burst not sweet one.