In their final column, R and R take some questions from the people that matter to them most, Anita Boyfriend and Mike Hunt.

R and R recount for all their many loyal readers.

R and R discuss a problem everyone faces: Karens and Snails.

To whom it may concern: We are two graduating seniors from Cornell, majoring in Gobbledygook and Blahblahblebloo, respectively, and we’d like to recommend ourselves for the positions of Assistant Member of the Domestic and/or International Workforce. As masters of karate and friendship, we have successfully fought the night man and become champions of the sun. Let us take you inside our world.

“The taste of life comes from the spice of our feelings. Sweet, bitter, sour.. You would never be a burden, instead your love gives me strength. I can't know the state of your mind, so I am letting you know what mine is. If you read this, remember that I am expecting you to take the steps, you know why. Come, give me your hand, and we will hug. Time doesn't wait.

After a two-month hiatus, still lacking any thoughts about anything interesting or significant, we turned to the obvious wisdom mecca of the top 40.

Flashback: It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. The year was 2007. The place, here. And two newly sororitized girls awoke in a haze. Where specifically they were, we cannot say, and whence specifically they were, we cannot say either. Except that it was a Tuesday morning, they were outdoors (?) and sobriety managed to elude them. Nothing new. Those days it was drunk on the reg, yachts on the reg, poppin’ caps on the reg, stealin’ cars on the reg, run-on sentences on the reg …

R: that’s enough.

We’ve been doing a lot of thinking about “things.” All these things, like the environment and health care and people on the street getting diseases from monkeys and pigs and birds. Who’s the weirdo that’s been touching all these sick animals? We mean, come on. They’re sick. They’ve got problems enough as it is.

So, not too content with how “things” were going, what with the temperamental economy and our joblessness and sleeplessness and everyone else’s crazy competitiveness, we decided to take happiness into our own hands the only way we know how: eating! With all these kids killing each other with guns and knives and forks, we thought, why not put all this cutlery to better use? Like, to eat pie. So we made a pie. And we think you should make one too!

The world is a big fat mess full of even huger fat messes. Things are flooding. It’s getting hotter but the weather is getting colder (weird!). Our genes are conspiring against us. Bitches are mad broke and we’ve been watching over 10 hours of Law and Order a week. Multiply that figure by five and you approach the number of hours a week we spend a-drinkin’.

Disclaimer: What you’re about to read is really, really gross. If you’re a weak-stomached pansy-ass, this is about as far as we recommend you go. Better luck next week, pansies-ass-pansies. You’ll have to get your superfuntimes another day.

So here goes. The other day, R and R went to the gym as they occasionally do after apple festivals, and they were feeling pretty good. One R took to the treadmill while the other R mounted her usual weird-elliptical-treadmill-hybrid-thing and began to ...

R: WORK IT!