This column can be bought

Bob Patrick

Your parents killed your credit card after spring break, and the $20 grandma sent you for your birthday now belongs to the local liquor store. When the only thing left in your wallet is that Trojan from senior year and an expired Blockbuster membership, you’re left wondering how to generate some fast cash.

After you have exhausted every possible scam that would allow you to somehow convert your food plan money into cash money, you still find yourself broke. Unfortunately, I can offer you no advice on how to solve your money problems. I mean, unless you want to get a job. When I found myself in need of some sweet moolah , I sold my column space to whomever wanted to place an ad. If you want to display a personal message, advertise, or you are simply trying to circumvent a restraining order, this is perfect for you! Anything goes in the Bob Patrick classifieds!

Tony Civilly:

Let me know if you need a ride to the AA meeting.

— Jack

Bob Patrick:

Your column sucks the root! Nick Moose’s column is fifty times better. Without his stuff, the Stater would be devoid of low-brow humor and endless masturbation references. Learn how to be funny, Patrick!

[email protected]


I love you more than anything in this world, and I want to be with you forever. Tara, will you marry me?

— Art

KEGS AND K-9’s PARTY!!! This Friday at 9999 College St. All dog owners are invited to bring their special companions to enjoy some beer and that special brand of camaraderie that only dog owners share!



— Tara

To the police:

You’ll never catch me ass heads! Kiss my car-stealing ass.

— The guy who stole two cars last night from the mall parking lot

To the blonde who puked on my shoes at the bar last weekend:

Did we have a connection? I feel like we did. Call me, and maybe we can get coffee. 330-555-3000.

— Greg Beall

Looking for that special someone? Jewish? The largest Jewish singles network!

To whoever keeps defecating in the trash can instead of the toilet on the third floor bathroom of Prentice Hall:

We don’t know what your deal is, but you are disgusting. We don’t know who it is for sure, but we have our suspicions. We are going to expose you, trash-can dumper!

— Angry residents of third Prentice

RUSH PHI GIGMA YUPPA! Brotherhood, Service, Abercrombie.

To the guy I hooked up with the second weekend of March:

I took you back to my house on Summit after we made out at Ray’s. You left your hat at my house, and I would like to meet up with you so I can give you your hat back. I am also pregnant, and it’s probably yours.

— The girl in the green shirt

Girl in the green shirt:

Keep the hat.

— Anonymous

Bob Patrick is a junior political science major and a columnist for the Daily Kent Stater. Contact him at [email protected].