Writing a column every few weeks isn’t as easy as you think: trying to find time to write in my busy schedule, between making endless cups of cappuccino and ignoring my schoolwork in favor of eBay auctions. Wait — you don’t think it’s easy, ‘cause you’re all too lazy to even try. Sissy whimps.

So anyway, I ask my best friend what to write about. (A move I may live to regret.) His answer: “cows.” Why the hell cows? “I don’t know, but they are funny looking, have big tongues and smell bad.” Pause for effect, “And they’re fun to tip over.” Did I mention that he goes to the University of Vermont. And he’s an engineering major. This might have something to do with it. So here you go Jess, I’m going to try and teach the el-lame-o Long Islanders about cows.

For starters, cows are funny looking, have big tongues, and smell bad. The only thing that smells worse than cows is cow crap. And in Vermont, they spread it on fields. Not with rakes, but with big sprayers. That’s right, they mix it with water until it’s almost a liquid and spray it into the air, where it falls on the fields. And on your car as you drive by, and the house a half-mile away, and the neighbor’s dog in the next county.

And no, just because I grew up in Vermont doesn’t mean that I own cows. I live in a house, in a nice little neighborhood, just like you. Only without the gangs and smog. In fact, I’ve never even milked a cow! But that doesn’t stop you all from asking these ridiculous questions every time I admit that I’m from the Green Mountain State.

I got so fed up with the cow questions once that I actually retorted with, “Have you ever even SEEN a cow?” Know what your brethren said? “I saw one in the Bronx Zoo once.” The Bronx Zoo!? What the hell is a cow doing in the Bronx Zoo? It’s not like it’s an exotic animal, it’s a freakin’ cow! Only in New York City.

So a few more myths to dispel. Pumping a cow’s tail will not get the milk out, although it will probably get you kicked. Brown cows do not produce chocolate milk, contrary to what your mother told you. And cow tipping is not the national sport of Vermont. I only know one person who’s ever done it, and such huge amounts of alcohol were involved that I find it hard to believe she could even walk, much less sneak up on a 700 pound animal and push it over. More likely, she knocked over her boyfriend and didn’t know the difference.

So now you know. Cows. Not just a dietary supplement. Maybe I can even get the editors to publish a picture next to this column, just so you don’t mistake a cow for your boyfriend.

Brent Pennington is a sophomore English major.