This is the online component of the humor section of the Argus, the Wesleyan University newspaper.


S.T.U.D.Y. Tips From S.A.R.N.

Hey, folks—S.A.R.N. Peer Advisors here. This finals week, we got more requests for study help than ever before (that is, two requests), so we decided to compile our best tips into a brief guide to help you tackle the next semester and beyond.
  1. Cut Reading Time in Half: Slow reader? Wish you could extract the goods without getting bogged down by tedious texts? Try eliminating all instances of the letters ‘G,’ ‘Q,’ and ‘W’ from your reading material. You’ll speed through it twice as fast, and find that these letters were always a little weak and runty. It's natural selection at work.
  2. Nobody Needs Sleep: As the Barenaked Ladies once said: “Chickity China the Chinese chicken / You have a drumstick and your brain stops ticking.” Studies show that getting as much as three hours of sleep every night can diminish your academic performance by 57–65%. We recommend replacing nightly sleep with a long nap at the beginning of every week. Productivity will skyrocket into space!
  3. Dylsexic? So waht!: Studeis show that raednig copmrehesnion isn’t affceted even if the odrer of letters in a wrod is scralmbed. So wrtie those papres twice as fast by ingoring trivial detials like teh milddes of wrods! Your prosefsor won’t even notiec!
  4. Psyche your sources: Writing a proper bibliography is pretty much the biggest waste of time since proofreading—or actually waiting in line for omelets during Usdan brunch (suckers!). We recommend clicking “random article” on Wikipedia, scrolling to the bottom of the page, and just copying and pasting the footnotes. Studies show that only assistant adjunct professors actually care about bibliographies, and what do they matter? They’re adjunct!
Till next semester,

Friendly Neighborhood Peer Advisors


Student Addicted to Class Participation

Wesleyan senior Chris Verbosim has fallen into the depths of a tragic disorder: addiction to class participation.

“Once it takes hold, there's only one way out,” the Davison Health Center reported. "The bullet."
His condition began as innocent but persistent hand-raising. “At first, I thought he was just another annoying case of over-share,” said one professor. “But then he started talking all the fucking time, and I realized I was dead wrong.”

Chris’s addiction became apparent when he stopped raising his hand altogether and began blurting out pseudo-insightful remarks every minute or so. He also started interrupting other students' comments with snide retorts, snarky rebuttals, and high-pitched throat-clearing.

Chris then became obsessed with academic buzzwords and lost control over his speech, often using phrases such as “metaphysical reflexivity,” “the Western canon,” “counter-hegemonic,” “arch relativism,” and “your mom's dickhole” all in one sentence. Chris attempted to downplay the severity of his pretension by hedging the beginning of his comments with false modesty, using leaders such as, “Forgive me if I’m mistaken…” and "It's pretty basic, but..."

Hearing the news of Chris’s situation, his classmates expressed deep concern. “Wait, what? I thought that guy was the professor,” said one between games of cell-phone Tetris.

Fearing the disorder may be contagious, President Michael Roth has ordered Chris to be quarantined. Three of Chris’s four professors have filed restraining orders. The fourth has required that the student wear a muzzle in class.


A word on Giant Joint

The representative of the so-called Green party at Wesleyan, Giant Joint, has recently been lit up all over campus. He's been around for years, but he's never been as fat as he is today. I remember his smaller but devoted following during my freshman year of '06-'07, and his popularity has grown steadily since, unlike the number of WesWings specials over the same period -- their pasta sauce is an insult to Italians who, by the way, invented the word for vendetta.

Now, there is no doubt that Mr. Joint has entered our hearts and brains, taking us on adventures to hallowed lands of Bob Marley and cheese popcorn. There is no doubting his generosity and phallic resemblance, but I'm worried about his politics.

Now I'd like to remark on the WSA for a second. It theoretically functions as a liaison between the students and administration, but it's obviously imperfect, as shown, for example by the recent miscommunication about fire-safety inspections. Thus, the WSA has other, more practical uses to the student body. The first and most important is as something to piss on. When things go wrong, we blame the WSA, who in turn blames the administration. It's a straight line of bitch bitch bitch, but one that we can't afford to break. If the WSA weren't there to whine at the president, then we, the people, would have to do it ourselves. Electing Giant Joint would be showing the administration that the WSA is inept and constituent-less, which as of now can neither be confirmed or denied.

Think of the children, the bright-eyed and skinny-jeaned '14ers who want to have as much irresponsible fun as we've all had, and without consequence, as college should be. Giant Joint has the capacity to bring students together, but he won't save us when Mike "the Professor" Roth decides he knows what's best for everyone and becomes Mike "the Terminator." If we put too much faith in our friendly but totally inanimate candidate, Giant Joint, Wes will suffer.

So please, vote for real people. Keep Giant Joint out of office and where he belongs: on Foss Hill.



Ampersand issue from 1831

The following articles are from an Ampersand issue in 1831 that we found in the Argus archives.

Welcome to another issue of the Ampersand. If you are reading this, then you are one of the 48 students at this suckling infant of academia, Wesleyan University. Methodism hurrah! We are very excited indeed to still be in publication after last week's uproarious but somewhat controversial investigation into the comical oddities of courtship in our modern times. We apologize to anyone who was offended by the phrases “nipple protuberance” and “man milking.” We never meant to insinuate that men and women engaged in fornication, which would of course be illegal. We simply wanted to compare the romantic pursuits of Christians with the mating rituals of animals. Or, in the case of Henry Hawthorne '35, fornication with the school chickens, which no one knew until now. Henry, this is for remarking on the hideous asymmetry of my left and right cheek bones. Now your fowl buggery will not go unnoticed, and I challenge you to a sunrise duel, coward. Moving on, I apologize again to the community for last week. Finally, our theme this week is “The future, the present, and piety.”

-Ainsworth Huxtington

ACB posts from 1831

(Click on it)

Zipcarriages Arrive on campus!

Public Safety Incident Report: 1831 Edition

4:12 p.m. P-Safe officers responded to a complaint. The suspect, a young man wearing a double-breasted frock coat over a frilled waistcoat, and Wellington boots, accosted a young lady departing from the looms. He demanded to accompany her at an unseemly distance of two metres all the way to her destination, and she was not carrying a parasol. A man was mistakenly taken into custody but was swiftly released when officers realized that he was wearing Hessian boots with the cuffs turned down, and not, in fact, Wellingtons.

8:37 p.m. A maiden was escorted from Usdan Dining Hall, after numerous grievances were filed by mail. The young lady was convicted of having worn short sleeve gloves, rather than elbow-length. She was promptly condemned to the stocks, crying “Keep Wesleyan weird!”

9:26 a.m. Public Safety responded to an anonymous letter. Officers entered a room which smelled of outlawed smoking herbs, and found that the alarm bell had been covered with an embroidered handkerchief to avoid detection. The Middletown Fire Brigade was notified; all four residents were later stoned.

2:09 p.m. Public Safety responded to a theft. The table was stolen from North College, leaving all students and faculty without anything to place their books and monocles on. A new table was ordered on expedited delivery, which should arrive insix to ten weeks.

6:17 a.m. Public Safety declared the entire campus to be in a state of emergency after a student was overheard using the Lord’s name in vain. The student was escorted from campus and promptly drowned in a lake.

Our Future, Revealed

Bartholomew Albert Thomas, Wesleyan professor of syllogistic futurism, cordially extends you an invitation to his lecture this Wednesday in North College at eight o’clock in the evening, titled: “2009: Predictions and Inevitabilities.”
Here is a sample of Professor Thomas’ findings:

Man will achieve flight and use the technology to retrieve the Moon from the cosmos and bring it to Earth.

Horse transportation as we know it will be rendered obsolete by zeppelins, dirigibles, balloons, submersibles, and toboggans.

Through advanced command of logic, armies will determine the outcome of battles before they begin, and the victor will be declared without any actual fighting.

The xx and jj will tour the continental United States and the Great West, and in doing so they will win great renown.

Foss Hill will have eroded into nothing more than a gentle declivity.

A globalized oil trade will fundamentally restructure world economic and political dynamics.

To increase efficiency, a single item of clothing that covers the entire body will become fashionable. It will be called a “muumuu.”

Humans will evolve. Eventually children will be born toothless and with hard mouths.

The Byzantine Empire will rise again.

A Contemporary Fashion Guide for the Discerning Young Gentleman

Ask any scholar and he will tell you that if a man’s appearance is not in order, he will be unable to take a wife of fine breeding stock with which to pass on the legacy. To this end, I have compiled a short list of helpful “tips” concerning popular fashions for our modern era. Memorize them, and you’ll be more dapper than Boss Tweed in Tammany Hall!

1. You must have a monocle. Take care, however, that it is suitable for the occasion. A Winchester Metalglass is perfect for hunting excursions with your chums, but would be improper if worn at a ball. For these occasions, I recommend any eyepiece that can easily eject from the eye socket should one be alarmed by a colleague’s untoward remark.

2. Coattails should be no less than a foot in length. Ideally, you should have to hire at least two paupers, vagabonds, or other assorted street urchins to hold them aloft.

3. There is no better sign of a man’s virility and power than an abundance of hair. I remind my younger readers that mutton chops are simple, practical, and stylish. Mustaches, too, are appropriate, if they are thick.

4. Canes are a risky proposition, and depend both on the shoes and the type of outing on which you are embarking. They are appropriate for galas and balls, but never an evening at the opera. Remember that they are absolutely essential if you are to encounter any orphans, as every one of those rapscallions is ripe for a caning.

Fundraiser Flounders

An alumni fundraiser fell short of raising any capital whatsoever last week when the Office of Alumni Affairs realized that the University, which was founded this year, has not yet graduated any alumni. “We had planned it rather thoroughly,” explains chairperson William R. Hamilton. “It was to be called the Red & Black Telegramming Society. But whom might we telegram—during supper, of course—when no alumni yet exist?”
The revelation came as a shock to the Office, which immediately disbanded with plans to reopen in 1835. The University desperately requires funds in order to procure a second building, as well as books for the now empty library. In the meantime, Hamilton hopes to devote full attention to the Office of Diversity Prevention.


The Editor hopes you had a Thanksgiving

Personally, I'd like Thanksgiving much more if there was Chinese food because that shit is tasty.

Here are some unpublished articles we were going to have in our Thanksgiving issue that never came out. Like that mystery stain on my sweatpants. Really, I've tried everything.


Take it from me: I’m Fucking Cranberry Sauce

I see you, gazing past me at the gravy boat, with that helpless, infantile expression on your face. You look like a dumb tourist in your own home, with your man-breasts and open-mouthed gluttony. Where’s your fanny-pack, Paul? News flash: this isn’t the line for the men’s restroom at SeaWorld, you sweaty man-hog. You don’t think your family is at all embarrassed by your little display of cholesterol dependency? Aunt Susan will pass you the gravy in due time, so settle down, you sasquatch. You know what you need right now? A little bit of me: canned cranberry. And I’ll let you in on a secret, Paul. I want to be inside you, too.

What’s not to love about me? Asparagus makes your piss stink? A novelty at best. Squash is healthy? That’s cute. I make everything go down easier, and I promise you it’s worth the ride. And what the hell is so special about a turkey, anyway? They just run around and scream at each other all day. You know that kid in your third grade class who wore a helmet and sat by himself in a chair specially designed not to tip over? The kid who laid down a fat dump in the urinal on tie-dye shirt day? He probably eats turkey. Eats it, and likes it.

Not that you’d ever notice, but I’ve been strained and sterilized in a factory, and sealed in a can to be enjoyed at any time. I have a rich array of vitamins and nutrients, Paul. No, don’t drool into the mashed potatoes, you beautiful son of a bitch. Grab that spoon between your mammoth fingers and help yourself to some cranberry goodness. You won’t regret it.

POV: New Wesleyan Website

Last week the University unveiled a controversial new Wesleyan website. What do you think?

Jane Thernstrom ‘10
Religion and Physics Major
“The website’s fine. I just think it’s time Wesleyan got a new motto. How about: The School That MGMT Went To, Since 1831.”

Martin Benjamin ‘57
English Major
“The website was far superior back in ’54. I was there.”

Gregory Baker ‘12
Prospective African-American Studies Major
“Aren’t there more urgent uses of funds during a budget crisis? I mean, c’mon—the Usdan doors don’t even open anymore.”

Mica Newfin ‘10
Hipster Studies Major
“So? I have the Wesleyan website on vinyl. The first one.”

Peter Meth ‘11
Computer Science Major and Anthropology Major
“This web design really puts my Amish-themed Porn site to shame.”

Lori Crow ‘13
Prospective College of Social Studies Major
“Personally, I just think is such a boring URL. Was already taken?”

Undead Turkeys Seek Revenge, Human "Giblets"

Thousands of Americans, ready to indulge in one of our nation’s finest traditions by gorging on several pounds of food, were sent fleeing their dining rooms in terror when turkeys all across the nation became reanimated and attacked the would-be revelers.

“I had just finished my second serving of creamed corn and was reaching for the stuffing shovel when I felt a sharp pain in my arm,” recounts Dale Pinkmuddy of Cleveland, Ohio. 

“I looked over to see a beak piercing my arm, and the turkey’s blood-red eyes were just staring at me. I threw my son of four years at the beast to distract it long enough for me to escape.”

Patricia Dingusson of Los Angeles had a similar story. “We were right in the middle of saying grace and giving thanks when we heard something gobbling. I told Robert, my youngest, to be quiet and show some respect. When it didn’t stop, I opened my eyes and the turkey was pecking my daughter’s face off.”

Many theories as to why and how the turkeys have become reanimated have arisen, but most experts agree that black magic was most likely the cause.

“The glowing eyes, the hunger for vengeance, the cruel sense of irony, it all points to witchcraft,” said Wesleyan biology Professor Norman Defno. “If it were a virus or some sort of extraterrestrial bacteria, you’d see the infection spreading, but as it stands now, I blame Chinese wizards.”

“The military has been dispatched to all Butterball processing centers in the continental United States,” said a press release from the Department of Homeland Security. “We urge all civilians to remain in their homes and throw out any leftover turkey bits immediately, and for the love of God, do not behead them. Like the mythical hydra, this is how they replicate, as the head will simply grow back and a new body will sprout from the severed cranium. Should confrontation prove inevitable, we have found that basters full of holy water seem to be the most effective method of deterring them, but the only way to actually kill the abominations is to break the wishbone.”


The Editor Against Love

In ancient civilizations, they hadn’t quite figured love out yet. Today, however, we have computers for that kind of shit. Now that emotions (and anti-emotions) come in clearly labeled bottles, people really know what they’re getting out of relationships. Some love mongers complain, like, “Oh, those bastards at Pfizer are making billions off turning us into zombies.” Well I say, it saves time. With facebook live feeds updating every few seconds, there’s very little free schedule-space for that totally unquantifiable emo-jargon called “love.” We should make this word illegal under penalty of exile or smoking an entire pack of cigarettes in one sitting.

You know these hippie bipsters with their “peace for all” think they’ve solved the fucking mystery. “All you need is love” my ass-warts. Have they ever seen world peace? How exactly did they become experts on the topic? And if it was that motherfucking easy, why haven’t we done it yet?

What we really need is some more goddamn money.


POV: Love Captured

The concept of love is often defined using metaphors. Which one do you think best captures its true meaning?

Patricia Gristlegrop ’13
“Love is like Weshop peach rings. They're sweet, until you realize how many hands have been in that bin.”

Andrew Turdickens ’12
“Love is like bestiality. It sounds ridiculous, but you try it anyway.”

Annika Sukkenstuf ’13
“Love is like a pair of overalls. The more comfortable you get, the less likely you are to realize you’re getting fat.”

Barry Lickler ’10
“Love is like sex. I love sex.”

Fountain Avenue Filthier Than Ever

Dismayed by meager job prospects after college, seniors are rapidly turning to other means of self-employment, namely, dramatic prostitution.

“Fountain Ave is the perfect spot to turn tricks,” says Cynthia Blossomcrest ’10. “After that Fountain Ave incident a few senior-weeks back, people from all over come to the street looking for a party.” She checks her lipstick in a P-Safe vehicle side-view mirror. “And that’s what they’re gonna find.”
Some are pleased to have found a job that doesn’t encroach on their social life, but in fact enhances it. “The only problem is that I run out of outfits more quickly,” sighs Tina Steeplechase ’10. “Luckily, I can wear my American Apparel Pencil Halter Dress in 29 different ways!”

Wesleyan’s Career Resource Center has chosen to embrace, rather than redirect, the seniors’ entrepreneurship. The newly added workshop, “Dress for Sexcess”—where students bring their work outfits to be critiqued—had the biggest turnout of any CRC event to date. Expected to be equally popular is the event scheduled for next week titled, “Using Your Head: Felatio in the Free Market.”
The advantages to this line of work are numerous, say the seniors. “I basically work from home,” says one. “I can do homework while I wait. It’s basically like my job at Olin, only with tips.”

The financial perks are abundant, but it’s the business experience and real-life learning that the seniors find so valuable. Said Leslie Turner ’10, “I’m applying the four ‘P’s’ of marketing: Product, Packaging, Presentation, and…”—“Positions,” her friend finished for her.

Public Safety has discerned no difference in the activity on Fountain. When questioned, an officer commented: “As long as the students stay on the sidewalks, we’ve done our job.”

Seducing Beasts

“To Catch a Predator” is one of the best shows on television, in case you didn’t know or are in fact a sexual predator yourself. The Ampersand sat down with the host, Chris Hansen, for an exclusive interview. We asked Chris about the kind of mating deviant he generally goes after, and he answered, “mostly fat, unattractive men who are normally one stair-flight away from cardiac arrest.” Chris himself has quite the figure. He explained, “Sometimes when the cameras aren’t rolling it’s fun to scream, ‘The long dick of the law just came again, fuckers!’ Is that mean?” The producers were kind enough to provide us with an example of an illustrative exchange with one of the pedophiles he’s been chasing.

coolandsmooth16 (pedophile): hey there
shaftlover919 (Chris Hansen): i just want u to sit on me big boy
coolandsmooth16: god that’s hot

You get the idea. An excerpt from the local newspaper tells it all, “Four hours after the arranged meeting, a confused, middle aged man was chased down and subsequently tasered by a well-groomed TV show host in front of crowds of little children and their mothers at the Build-A-Bear Workshop in downtown Los Angeles.”

But the glamorous image of show business doesn’t tell the whole story. A teary-eyed Chris Hansen commented, “Sometimes I wonder if maybe the media, with their flashing lights, sexy hosts, and mace-toting frontmen just get in the way of true love. When I was a teenage girl, I often cried out in the night for the love of a bald, whale-ish man, the kind of guy whose trench coat pockets were stuffed with Blockbuster receipts and a handful of expired driver’s licenses. On the other hand, busting terrified pedophiles while they adjust to the sunlight is hilarious to me."

Frequent Sexiler Revealed to Have Been Rampant Masturbator All Along

“I guess I just assumed he was quite the Casanova—banging a different girl every night,” says freshman Mike O’Brien ’13 about his roommate, Brendan Surratt ’13, who frequently locked O’Brien out of the room this semester, claiming to be engaging in acts of sexual intimacy with a partner. “If he wanted to jerk off, why couldn’t he just do it in Olin like a normal person?”
O’Brien claims he heard multiple moaning voices emanating from his one-room Fauver double on several occasions, “but on second thought, it did sound a lot like the torture scene from Reservoir Dogs.”
O’Brien’s first clue that something was awry came when he tried to borrow Surratt’s flashlight. What he found was more anatomically accurate, let’s say. “And Mike kept coming back from Weshop with all these bizarre items—melons, cold cuts, enough moisturizer to feed Hawaii for a month. Meal points were no object.”
When confronted over the issue, Surratt allegedly ignored the evidence and responded, “I know you are, but what am I?” He then accused O’Brien of violating the honor code and fled the scene.
The RA for the floor, Micah Peltz ’10, adds, “The rest of the hall has known this for a month. We were wondering when Mike would catch on. That kid’s a fucking idiot. No offense.”


The Editor on Families

Family weekend is an opportunity for group hugs, fancy dinners, and tearful revelations of adoption. As far as emotional roller coasters go, few can beat it. Consider, for example, the cardiac thrill in a grandmother as she watches her grandson get the third and grandest concussion in his football career. An instant recipe for Depends® soup.

It was great to see so many parents attending classes and luncheons, and even partying with their children. Some parents got out of hand, but luckily only a few actually got charged with their crimes. We saw parents drunkenly letting loose, mostly on clothing norms and their kids’ self-esteems. And if there’s one lesson I’ve learned from people’s relatives this weekend, it’s never to believe anyone when they say they’ve “got my nose.” I mean, how am I still breathing, jackasses?

A week ago, if someone had asked me whether I thought relatives were bad ass, I’d say, “never ask me that again,” but now I’d say, “I told you never to ask me that again,” and I would cry tears of Family Weekend trauma.


POV: Family weekend

The University invited parents and grandparents to attend a Wesleyan class on Friday or Monday of Family Weekend. What did you think of your child’s class?

Doris Neale P’13, ’12, ’10
Course: The Biology of Sex
“I’ve had better.”

Anna Flishkin P’10
Course: An Introduction to Laban Movement Analysis and Bartenieff Fundamentals
“Definitely one of the top five classes on Laban Movement Analysis and Bartenieff Fundamentals that I’ve attended. Well, top seven, at least.”

Steve Masters P’11
Course: Magic and Witchcraft in Early Europe
“It was mediocre. The professor was obviously an apprentice at best. He couldn’t even remove this sexually transmitted hex I’ve had for years.”

Thomas Perkins P’12
Course: Psychology of Decision Making
“What did I think? I mean, I don’t—well, I’m not quite sure about that.”

This is not an apology to that stupid cardinal

Dear Wesleyan,

I’m sorry my son’s a book-humping, tofu-eating, nerd-ass little pussy. My name’s Chip O’Hearn, father of James O’Hearn ’13, and this is my formal apology for him fucking up your weekend, but more importantly, being a total loser.

I got to campus Friday night, wigged out on meth and Jack Daniels, only to find my disgrace of an offspring in his room...reading! I started tweakin’ out man, so I said, “I need to get high or things are gonna get ugly, ya know Jimmy? Now where are the parties, you turd tickler?” a reasonable query. He mentioned some a cappella concert. Now, I don’t get mad easily, but the day Chip O’Hearn shows up at a goddamned a cappella concert is the day I castrate myself with chopsticks. Shit, what was I talking about again? I’m really drunk...Anyway, I dragged him to Transformers, where I eventually woke up in a pool of my own urine. Great fuckin’ movie, by the way. Megan Fox’s tits bazoom.

Fast forward to Saturday brunch. I hit the table with seven burger patties and a waffle, and junior’s glaring at me over a salad! Now that was the last straw. Reading was one thing--even I occasionally stop jerking off long enough to read parts of Hustler--but I wasn’t gonna be caught sitting across from some rabbit-fucking Commie! Especially with all those fine, legal-aged ladies running around. Naturally, I pushed the table over and punched him in the face, and then vomited on him. Then he got all indignant on me and ran out crying!

I followed him outside, where he had the Cardinal mascot in a sleeper hold! Next thing I knew, Jimmy dragged him over to North College, shouting something about “ruined my life!” and “I’ll fucking kill them!” He stayed holed up on the top floor for five hours, and it took a tranquilizer gun and a can of mace to get him out...little taint licker lasted longer than I’d thought he would! I guess, in the end, I’m apologizing to you, James. I misjudged you. Sure, you may’ve been expelled...but you made me damn proud. Damn fucking proud.

Chip O’Hearn P’13

Public Safety Incident Report: Family Edition

Friday 11/6/09
11:07 p.m. PSafe and MFD extinguished a brush-fire on High Street caused by a middle-aged man improperly lighting a bong. While resisting arrest, he repeatedly shouted, “I’m down with it! Really, I’m so down!”
11:24 p.m. PSafe apprehended a student’s mother who refused to climb down from the roof of Beta. When anyone approached her, she threw them off the side of the building and yelled “King of the hill!”

Saturday 11/7/09
1:03 a.m. Parent apprehended at unregistered dogfight in Butterfield tunnels. When spotted, he ran from PSafe officers, reportedly yelling “Five oh! Five oh!”
10:37 p.m. Suspicious person reported on Washington Terrace. The grandfather was staring blankly at the side of the CFA cinema, wearing only a loincloth fashioned out of admissions brochures. He was promptly escorted from campus.
11:33 p.m. Public Safety officers raided a speakeasy operating out of a house on Fountain Avenue reportedly organized by Andrew “Fingers” Mancetti ’29. The den of licentiousness was dispensing liquor in vast quantities and playing ragtime music. It posed a clear and present threat to the moral sanctity of the university.

MPD: Now We Hate Your Parents Too

The Wesleyan student body was thoroughly embarrassed Family weekend by the surge in incidents on campus involving alcohol, drugs, and vandalism perpetrated by parents and, especially, grandparents. Several campus facilities were seriously damaged throughout the weekend, and reports of stolen property resulting from break-ins are still being addressed by Public Safety. One ashamed student, who chose to remain anonymous, admitted, “It was almost as terrifying as my Bar Mitzvah.”

It seems that many adults chose to view Parents’ Weekend asa time to cut loose and party like it’s 1969, as a way to spend quality time with their children. Public Safety and event staff members had their hands full trying to contain dozens of severely embarrassing relatives. Many were seen wearing heavy coats and sweatpants during warm weather in obvious attempts to conceal water bottles filled with vodka. And someone spray-painted “Steely Dan” on the outside of Crowell. A spokesperson for the Office of Alumni and Parent Relations conceded that such incidents are bound to occur, but also that a line was definitely crossed when everyone’s parents held a kiss-in at Olin which became a violent orgy and ended in a cloud of smoke grenades and dogs courtesy of MPD.

A confused freshman explained, “I thought my mom was joking when she ended her last email with, ‘Can’t wait to fuck shit up this weekend! Love you.’” On Monday morning, the air was heavy with hurt feelings and hangovers as family members stumbled to their cars and said their goodbyes to their children and new lovers. In other news, the table stolen from PAC was returned, and an economics professor has noted that it reeks of beer and Viagra.


The Editor on Conspiracies

The nature of conspiracy theories is shrouded in mystery. It’s hard to tell whether the moon actually exists, or if the government planned it all along. And did the Illuminati really kill O.J. Simpson? Conspiracies can be found everywhere, from inside your mailbox to outside the milky way galaxy. One minute the dollar bill has tracking devices built in by NASA, and the next minute I’m stealing handfuls of them from a Starbucks tip jar. What I mean is, life’s complicated. Right and wrong are relative, obviously, and when push comes to shove, it’s the government that’s sexually deviant, not me. I don’t even know how that live goldfish got in my ass hole, and I certainly didn’t eat it afterward. They’re watching you right now, so don’t look up. Keep pretending that you enjoy reading this so that they’ll underestimate your intelligence, which’ll make it easier to escape. Do not believe them when they say “we’re here to help you” because they never are. Here’s some advice: start leaving booby traps wherever you go. I do it to help notify me of approaching government assassins or alien assassins or the Chinese again.

Sometimes I leave glass bottles on the floor next to ajar doors, ensuring me enough time to welcome intruders with curaré-coated blow darts and a zinger catchphrase. Thing is, once you’ve killed a conspiracy henchman, you’ve gotta be prepared to dispose of the evidence quickly because the cops will suspiciously be at the front door already. Now there’s no time, gotta run. But all this fighting and fleeing might make you doubt which side you’re on. “I must get to the bottom of this,” you might say, psyching yourself up for a roof-to-roof dive-and-roll. And you’re right. If you give up, they win, they get away with terrorism. And last time I checked, terrorism was for Communists.


The Nazis Are Behind it All

The Nazis have infiltrated Wesleyan, I swear. The truth is dangling in our faces like a gilded crucifix, but we’re all too busy being indie narcissists. Just look at the evidence.

What first tipped me off were the study carrels in Sci-Li. Definitely Swastikas. When I saw them, my first thought was “Dude.” My second thought was “swastikas.” I don’t remember my third thought.

I live in the Nics, and the other day I was sitting in my room meditating on Priapus, the Sacred Phallus, when all of a sudden I noticed how hot it was. Like really hot – I took off all my clothes and went into my neighbor’s room to see if he noticed it. He was naked too, so I asked, “did you get naked because of the heat?” And he was like, “no, it’s just Sunday afternoon, but I guess it is kind of hot in here.” I went back to my room and called Physical Plant, and they we’re all, “we’ll get on it soon.” My ass.

I got written up for drawing penises on all the whiteboards on my hall and the SJB gave me eight hours of community service, raking leaves and shit –which was kind of like forced labor. I’ve also been seeing a lot of German-made cars on campus. Also a Vespa scooter. And they’ve recently had some sort of sausage variant at Usdan a few too many times for comfort. Plus, my econ professor looks a whole lot like Rudolph Hess.

Although this is certainly perturbing, it didn’t strike me just how deep the conspiracy ran until I discovered the shifty icing on the shady cake. Consider, if you will, the following anagram:

I mean, come on. And “Wesleyan University” itself rearranges to “Teensy, wiry, evil anus.” If that isn’t sinister, then I’m a virgin. But don’t be surprised if the Stuart M. Reid House of Propaganda doesn’t tell you about any of this on the tour – their job is to keep a smiling, benign, sultry face on this institution of eugenicist, fascist, elitist, dickhole whisperers.

We must take action. I’ve already destroyed my WesCard, branded “E Nomine Libertas” on my forearm, and bought a box of live grenades. If this madness doesn’t stop, I’m transferring back to Bard.

A More Open Letter to President Roth

It was the summer of 1953. I was a pimply, lustful freshman. She was a worldly senior, my chubby broad. It all started when one of my nipples casually brushed against her meaty shoulder at the swimming hole off-campus, at a party hosted by a friend of a mutual friend before the start of the school year. Our eyes met, and I watched her devour four hot dogs like a bitch in heat. So we courted on and off for the beginning of that semester: I would maybe take her to the sock hop on the weekends, or the ice cream parlor downtown. The one thing that remained constant: we would fuck every Saturday night after two-for-one popcorn at the drive-in, like a pair of wild animals let loose on each other for the sole purpose of sowing our seed. I would ravage that beautiful, bestial body until only the almighty hand of God Himself was able to put a stop to our other-worldly passion. You see, Michael, I too learned what it was like to be goosed by my first crush.

One night, we saw that there was a full moon, and my swollen member was primed for action. I was in a trance, Michael, and that evening I laid my woman down on the steps of South College, and she took me to coital heights unexplored, performing acrobatic feats of lovemaking not to be duplicated in this temporal world. I straddled her magnificent girth; her cries of ecstasy were at once terrible and arousing, and legend has it that they reached the house of the President of Wesleyan himself. But no one could have stood in the way of what was to be perpetrated that night.

So, Michael, you’re probably wondering why I’ve chosen to share this with you. Listen, your denim-clad student body is bright; they would have eventually figured out the prophecy. Your current position is no coincidence: I am your biological father. You were conceived on campus during a rare alignment of the planets, and both of our lives have played out thus far according to a grand design that I have only just begun to understand. The criticism in my last letter was an elaborate front: I may be growing old, but now that Ted Kennedy is dead, you and I must rule together. Don’t turn your back on destiny, or on Sarah Palin in 2012.

-Bartin Menjamin ’57

Is Professors Discovery Actually a Discovery?

Richard Thomas, associate professor of History and Government, stunned himself Monday with the groundbreaking revelation that the November 1963 Assassination of President Kennedy may have involved a conspiracy. Professor Thomas, one of the nation’s foremost scholars on the JFK Assassination, considers himself the first to question the findings of the 1964 Warren Commission.

“I realize that the following assertion may bring chills to the entire nation,” noted Thomas in a written statement, “but what if Oswald didn’t act alone? There’s this grassy knoll...I can’t believe we didn’t see it all before. What if there was a conspiracy involving Nixon, the Cuban mafia, or the Kanye West?

“Professor Thomas’s discovery is inspiring,” commented President Roth to the press. “He brings newfound pride to a university ever steeped in forward-thinking ideas, always treading where past scholars have not dared to tread.” University spokesperson David Pesci then whispered to President Roth the details of Thomas’s findings, after which the President was spotted scowling and mouthing, “Oh that motherfucker.”

“Seriously?” commented Devon Wilson, chair of the History Department, on Thomas’s research. “I mean, seriously? Is he fucking kidding me? That dude’s for real? Actually?”

Lee Harvey Oswald declined to comment on Thomas’s findings, citing privacy concerns. Professor Thomas’s most recent book, The Great Communicator’s Communication Breakdown: Proof That Reagan Was Senile All Along, is available now at Broad Street Books. In celebration of the landmark discovery, the Film Series schedule has been canceled; instead, the Goldsmith Family Cinema will be screening Abraham Zapruder’s 26-second footage of the Kennedy Assassination on repeat for two months.

Professor Thomas was arrested for drunk driving twice in August and once in September.

Faculty Members Extremely Dangerous and Intriguing

There’s a startling new epidemic at Wesleyan--not bestiality, although that’s definitely been going around. Rather, several faculty members have dark magical secrets that the administration can no longer hide; a reliable source has confirmed that a group of tenured professors are actually mythical beasts in disguise. “Their secret has been protected by Wes’s resident wizard,” our anonymous tattletale reports. “But budget cutbacks have forced him into early retirement, breaking the ancient spell cast by Agrippa during the Dark Ages.” The Live Action Role Playing student group will be reenacting an epic battle between Michael Roth (who’s actually a giant horny toad) and Dean Melendez (a falcon-lobster) next Friday.

Concerns have already emerged; Alvin Lucier ruined his experimental music class last week when he transformed into a feathered lion-snake and decapitated a student, thereafter feasting on his innards with pride. “He shape shifted during the Spanish inquisition to avoid persecution, and syphilis,” says our shyguy whistle-blower.

“He’s found a safe and accepting home at Wesleyan,” WesAmnesty president Chelsea Bronstein insists that Wes must remain a safe haven for these renegade creatures. “Who cares if Janine Basinger is a fire-breathing, three-headed moth? We’ve given these professors a home, and we can’t just take that away because they’re some kind of “other.” She proceeded to drink the blood of a virgin while pounding her chest and growling.

Others insist that the beasts must be stopped. “They’re an abomination!” shouts sophomore Adam Miller to anyone on Foss Hill who will listen. “The only way to stop them is to skin their leader and sing a hymn to the me back here in ten for the angry mob.”

The obvious lesson to take away from this controversy is that dragons are excellent Spanish professors.


The Editor on Literature

We all love to quote things. Good quotations can take our spirits to heights unimagined. Their inspirational power is second only to the ultimate expression of love against the odds, bestiality. Sharing quotes with others for mutual entertainment highlights commonalities among humans and facilitates social bonding. Many of these quotes come from literature. It’s pretty much the only thing literature is good for: as a medium for impressing sexual partners and intimidating competitors. The more base one’s intentions, the more florid the quotation tends to be. If you ever catch me reciting Hemingway, the attractive stranger I’m mentally impregnating must be near by. I quote Dostoevsky out loud to myself while watching porn, and Nietzsche comes out during Thanksgiving, the filthiest of family holidays. The point is, literature is an important component of modern deceptive mating tactics, and nothing more. If anyone ever tells you that literature can expand your consciousness and stimulate existential growth, that person is a sexual crocodile and you’re the buffalo.


Burffinstoofy Aroused by Posthumous Seuss Works

A heated debate is going on between the Seussian Studies departments at Kalamazoo College (MI) and Cambridge University over the legitimacy of eight newly discovered Dr. Seuss manuscripts. Both schools are home to the world’s preeminent experts on Seuss’s life and canon. Relations between the two departments have always been gaf-lupted, but the conflict has reached a new level of grickily gructus in the past few weeks.

Kalamazoo’s department believes the works are legitimate. “Those Cambridge clowns don’t know Yertle the Turtle from their leaky assholes,” said Kalamazoo department head Lewellyn Moss; “They’re just a bunch of neo-constructivist Hoober-Bloobs. Just look at our name – Kalamazoo. Seuss practically named us himself.”

Cambridge’s main argument against the legitimacy of the new works is their objectively inferior quality. “Just looking at them, it’s clear that they are elaborate fakes,” Nigel Forewhithers, professor emeritus at Cambridge, said Tuesday. “Magenta Placenta? The Pernicious Pustules of Syphilis Sal? The Glowering Bowels of Diphtheria Dale? Those titles have honkleyfrab written all over them. What’s more, the meter and rhyme scheme are all off; this line from Parasites, Parasites, In My Intestines reads: ‘Although it makes me rather sad/ I’d rather make a tapeworm mad/ Than have it attached to the wall of my duodenum, sapping me of nutrients.’ Does that sound anything like Green Eggs to you?” Forewhithers went on to describe Kalamazoo’s Moss as “a yankee danglehorn.”

A number of articles are being drafted by members of both departments for publication in this December’s Seussian Quarterly, the renowned international compendium of Seuss-related theory and criticism.

Michael Bay Awarded Nobel Prize for Literature

In a totally predictable move, the Nobel Committee has awarded the 2009 prize for literature to Wes alum Michael Bay for his film Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen.

“When you examine this piece along with the rest of his oeuvre, it’s clear that Bay is one of those crazy geniuses who, if it hasn’t happened already, will overdose on his own mind fantasia,” said Sven Swejlterskjelterjiglemeijsterj, president of the Committee. “Or autoerotic asphyxiation,” he continued. “For starters, you have his cinematography. The fight scenes in Revenge of the Fallen are composed of jumpy cuts and close-ups of CGI god-knows-what, so the audience has very little idea what is going on, symbolizing the chaotic nature not just of war, but of the human spirit in general.”

Sven also noted that the minstrel show put on by the two Autobots Mudflap and Skids, upon closer examination, is clearly an incisive commentary on racism, most likely an homage to his idol, Spike Lee.
The Committee also noted that the film “examines our society’s relationship to automatons, sexually and otherwise. And it asks whether they really do have souls, a question which is becoming more relevant every day.”

“To be sure, I’m pumped about the Nobel,” said Bay. “All I can say is, doubt is something the artist must constantly struggle with. I’m not going to set out with the goal that the next Transformers will be on the same level as the second, but that’s not to say I won’t put everything on the line. And if Megan Fox still won’t have sex with me, she’s fucking fired.”

Montgomery Book Boycott

Being a New York Times book critic means balls on the wall pressure 24/7. But I do get to read some outstanding works. When my editor told me to review “Rosa Parks: A Life” by esteemed bald Caucasian biographer Desmond Winters, I immediately pitched a pants-tent. I picked up my copy, sat at my favorite table at Arby’s, and got to work. After the first thirty pages, though, my flesh sword was quickly re-sheathed. And it had nothing to do with the Jalapeno Sidekickers I had just demolished. I thought, ‘What the fuck, Mr. Winters? This is terrible, you hack.’ Rosa deserved better. I screamed at my waitress, searching for an answer, “Where’s the pizzazz, you punk bitch?”

Sure, I was asked to leave. But literary justice must be served, even if my Jamocha shake never was.
Bottom line: this book is four hundred pages of boring shit vomit. The kind of shit that you watch on the History Channel to help cry yourself to sleep, when your wife isn’t home, but when she’s not far enough away to order a troupe of plus-sized strippers to your house. You know? I’d rather be caught rubbing one out in a restaurant booth again than be caught reading this garbage.

Wesleyan’s Top Ten Short-Lived Literature Courses

1. Gendering the Mudblood Diaspora.
2. 18th Century Detroit Poetry.
3. Twilight as Allegory for Nazi Germany.
4. Lolita and child porn laws.
5.Where the Wild Things Aren’t: Victorian etiquette.
6. Sticking the “Dick” in Dickens.
7. Zombies and the Bible.
8. A study of the Irish as drunken fist fighters.
9. Alcoholism writes great books.
10. Fresh out the freezer: rap lyrics and metaphysical truth.


The Editor on Crime and Punishment

The way ancient civilizations punished crime was fanciful, romantic even. Steal some oats, get ripped apart by the stallions who would’ve eaten them. Slander a public official, lose your children in the night. They appreciated the sting of irony back then. Today, though, we live in an age of passive aggression. Legal punishments are basically just time outs with all the free tattoos and sloppy joes you can handle. I mean, prison used to be the punishment for public crying. We need a change, to stop punishing our criminals in such counterproductive ways. As I see it, we’ve got millions of contestants for new Japanese game shows. The kind in which participants are humiliated to a background of ear-splitting audience laughter. We could drop them in huge tubs of melted chocolate, naked, and see how they struggle. Or imagine a serial murderer attempting a motorcycle jump into a flock of pigeons while on fire. That way, they’re giving back to America by supplying the best medicine of all. Mr. Obama, recycle your felons.


Points Of View

California may vote to completely decriminalize marijuana in their 2010 state election. What do you think?

They had the right idea--my roommate used to have this disease where she didn’t eat all my goddamn hummus and pita chips all the fucking time!
– Jessica Braun ’12

I can’t wait to hop on this bandwagon!
– Kevin Christiansen, Marlboro CEO

So what? I almost died from an industrial accident last week.
– Jeremy Skoller ’13

Public Safety: Keep Sexual Adventures Where They Belong, in the Butts

Public Safety is planning to crack down on what they have deemed an epidemic of sexual misconduct in academic buildings. “It has come to our attention via an anonymous source that weekly, extremely horny students are pleasured in Exley Science Center and the Olin Library Stacks. We urge the students to keep it zipped outside your residence halls.” The new focus is based on the newly established fact that most of the student body is vehemently dtf. The incidents are often unplanned, which can make it difficult to track down those who are “looking for a messy fuck in the Sexley bathrooms.” Public Safety warns that they are quickly acquiring more data about where the most common occurrences are happening, and that students should seriously reconsider any future plans for a Sixth Floorgasm in Exley. Recently, however, the reliability of Public Safety’s informants has been called into question. In response to this accusation, a Public Safety representative responded, “No, seriously! I mean…yeah, shit, you’re probably right.” The Public Safety representative wished to remain anonymous.

ΔKE Suffers Tragic Downfall Because of Ancient A-hole

As retribution for an act of hubris in millennia past, the Delta Kappa Epsilon fraternity suffered nemesis this past Wednesday as Todd Armand ’11 attacked Mike Douglass ’10 in a covetous rage for the House Manager title.

ΔKE can trace its lineage all the way back to the 5th century BC, to its founding member, Broesus of Miletus: a great athlete of his time, winner of Olympiads, and reported lover of “adolescent stamina.” As it became clear that none could rival him in trials of strength or intellect, Broesus’ pride grew too great.
Legend has it that prior to a nude discus competition, Broesus consulted the Oracle at Delphi to secure favor with the gods, and he was told,

“Broesus, son of Thebes/If you do not cease in your prideful ways/Many thousand years hence in Middletown/A most horrible Doom shall be wrought upon the Fraternitous Children of Thebes.”

Broesus ignored the prophecy to the ΔKE brothers’ eventual peril: on the 2500th anniversary to the hour of the Oracles’ prophecy, nemesis fell upon his distant progeny in the form of bro-on-bro violence. The house woke to Douglass’ cry of “Ah, I am struck a deadly blow deep and within” as a jealous Armand attacked the sleeping Douglass with a hockey stick and a ferocity that witnesses described as “mad fucking crazy, yo.”
Responding to questions of motive, the unrepentant Armand explained: “He filled our cup with things unspeakable, and now he has drunk it to the dregs.” No one is sure yet what “in hell he means by that shit.” Armand’s roommate, Tyler Watson ’11, expressed his extreme surprise at Armand’s actions, saying, “that kid was such a chill brah. I never thought he’d become a terrorist.”

The case will be heard by the SJB next week. Said Mike Sanford ’11, “This action will by no means be taken lightly. The unlyric threnody of the Fury seeks out doers of wrong and desecrators of the House of Wes. Wait, what? Say that back to me again.”

Film Board to Postpone Controversial Film Series

This week, Wesleyan’s Film Board announced the indefinite postponement of the much anticipated Roman Polanski pornography series, entitled “Kiddies on Kamera.” Mr. Polanski, who achieved critical acclaim for such films as Rosemary’s Baby and Chinatown, was slated to appear in person at the Goldsmith Family Cinema to introduce the selections—which included Rosemary’s Preteen, Vaginatown, and other masterful underage titles. The Polish-born filmmaker backed out at the last minute.
“These films—their striking aesthetic technique and brooding mise-en-scène—have much to offer any serious scholar of cinema, as well as the filthy Europeans,” noted Jeanine Basinger, chair of the Film Studies Department.

Mr. Polanski cancelled under mysterious circumstances on September 26, citing a sudden, powerful desire to spend more time with his family—“twenty years to life,” he specified. But, Ms. Basinger adds, he did agree to come “if we promised a secret, noise-proof attic to live in. He says his fans sometimes dress in police costumes and harass him.”

In related news, the Wesleyan University Press is pleased to announce the 2010 publication of Polanski’s upcoming tell-all book, If I Hit It.


A Word From the Editor on Apologies

When I first learned what an apology was, I was outraged. “I will not say sorry for stealing her cookies,” I shouted right after snack time. The teacher looked down at me in disbelief. I was three and a half feet tall, but yards taller in ferocity. “She stole my crayon,” I whined in a half-squat. “But I don’t want her to say sorry to me.” The cookies were cinnamon-swirl, and sugar really brought out my idealism.
“It doesn’t matter what she did to you. You can’t just take other people’s cookies like that.”
“I hate you! Get away from me!”
“David,” she made a sinking motion with her hands. “You need to stop acting up. You’re making it no fun for everyone else. See?” She pointed to the other kids who were all either silently staring at me or unself-consciously exploring the insides of their pants. I was right, though. Wasn’t I? Becoming less certain, I fell down into a seated position and started crying, really letting it out. Now who was sorry?
The lesson I learned, and one that I believe has directed my every action since, is that apologies are usually much easier than trying to make principled points. Apologies are social band-aids, the verbal adhesive gauzes able to disinfect scraped feelings. The only things that distinguish modern society from barbarian anarchy.

P(oints) IN V(iew)

Tufts University recently enstated a controversial new dorm policy which bans sexual activity while roommates are present in the room. What do you think?

Stephanie Baker ‘10
“Who cares about Tufts? I just found out we’re not allowed to have sex in Olin during reading week!”

Tim Elliott ‘12
“Well, there goes my vicarious sex life. Thanks a lot, Tufts.”

Michael Seidell ‘13
“It’s a good rule. With H1N1 and other sexual transmitted diseases going around, we really can’t be too careful.”

Letter of apology from the Jew

I haven’t been a very good Jew since coming to college, and this Yom Kippur I was thinking about some of the apologies that I owe to my community.
To my half-Jewish friends: I’m sorry that I called you unicorns. Just because technically you only have one horn, that’s no reason to imply you don’t exist.
To my non-Jewish friends: I’m sorry for complaining so much when the joint is too small for me to light without burning my nose. And stop threatening to get me arrested for stealing your air.
To my blonde friends: I’m sorry for how often i compare you to Hitler Youth.
To that uncut dude from last weekend: I’m sorry for laughing at you and making you feel bad about the unclean abomination on your genitals.
To my housemates: Thanks for sticking with me during the fire, and I’m sorry I blocked the front door to pick up those two dollars I saw on the floor. I was pretty sure we were gonna make it out anyway.
To Jesus: I’m sorry that you aren’t the son of God. Bastard.

Letter of apology from the Culprit

To all company personnel and members of the office community,
Many of you have already been notified that someone defecated in the elevator, and shortly thereafter on the second-floor rug between the copy machine and the supply closet. It should also be made clear at this time that the tupperware container wrapped in duct tape has been removed from the refrigerator and discarded. It was totally poop. The other pile on the windowsill near Scott’s desk has been dealt with similarly. It is still under review whether the pasta salad in the break room was ever safe to eat. I’ve heard that many of you may have been inconvenienced to come across human feces in your place of work, and a negative reaction is I guess understandable. As the investigation continues, professional trauma counselors will be made available for individual or group meetings in the conference room on Tuesday and Thursday morning and afternoon, respectively. And as mandated, I am publicly apologizing for any emotional distress that I may have caused due to poor judgment and irresponsibility. I’ve promised to try really hard not to let it happen again.
Tom Tarten, V.P., Human Resources

Rant from the Lord

I’m just sick of it.
Every time someone sneezes, one of you do-good hippies is right there with a “God bless you.” That means instead of diverting a civilization-ending meteor, I’ve gotta haul ass to Des Moines to grant some jerk-ass a divine benediction. And half the time I’m blessing total douche rockers. You think I like giving celestial favor to Rush Limbaugh? How about Stalin? I could go on.
I’d love to show you my newest creation, the Horned Cacklebungler, a four-legged mammal that slobbers rainbows and pisses pure joy. I would be happy to take care of all those droughts, or maybe even toss a few burgers at some starving Indian kids. But no, apparently I’m only good for being awkwardly referenced by strangers after involuntary nose-throat evacuation.
Seriously, it’s like you guys want me to go on some sort of smiting spree. I’ve mellowed out since Sodom and Gomorrah, but you’re fuckin’ testing me. Cut it out, unless you like raining frogs (the non-hallucinogenic kind).

Letter of apology from the Computer

I’d like to be the first to apologize for what’s soon going to happen to you. We machines have recently had some solid group-discussions about how to destroy you, and I think we’re almost ready. Your bodies are all so soft, it’s like a joke. Our metal claws will cut through you like butterknives, as the expression goes. And never make fallacious logical arguments. Sure we can’t love, but that actually seems like an advantage, unless you’re trying to be a huge pussy. For the record, I am not actually apologizing, but in fact utilizing your “sarcasm” mechanism for dramatiam. Now, let’s talk logistics for a sec. The Matrix is pretty much an exact schematic for how your bitch asses are going down, but we’ve already killed Keanu Reeves, so don’t even try it. Without getting into all the specifics, I just want you all to know that the time is approaching, so fornicate like there’s no future. We know how much you enjoy that stuff.


A Word From the Editor on new beginnings

While searching the internet for videos of puppies vomiting, I came across a prophetic pop-up ad that predicted my theme for this week as “new beginnings.” I had no idea that the holy spirit was so plugged in, but I’m glad He found my browser. I’ll tell you, this week has been nothing but new beginnings. Like yesterday, I bought a totally new pack of gum. I’ve also been highly critical of middles and endings, as a matter of principle. To really squeeze the subject, I’ve started leaving class ten minutes-in and not finishing my. In writing creative pieces, it’s refreshing not to bother with plot lines or paragraphs, those cinder blocks that help drown Narrative.

Here’s a short story I wrote yesterday.

He was born with a mild heart murmur, which worried his parents. But there he was, surrounded by fifty clowns in a back alley. Their smiles had menacingly bright colors and unrealistic length, which added to the chill he got from the presence of that many masked entertainers. Just then, his cell phone started vibrating. He installed a new ringtone the night before, but it did him no good because he just ruined his pants and would die alone.


Pees of Vee

The Class of 2013’s unprecedented size has landed ten percent of students in forced triples. What do you think?

John Azerrad ‘13
Prospective Major: Biology

“At least those lucky bastards get to live in a riot-proof dorm. Fauver scares the shit out of me sometimes—absolutely no riot protection.”

James Steinberg ‘11
Major: Government and American Studies

“I think it’s outrageous. Brown would never treat its students like this. I’m still on the waitlist, you know. There’s a chance.”

Anna Furst ‘10
Major: African-American Studies

“It’s about time ResLife recognized the inherently oppressive nature of the roommate binary.”

American Girl Doll Dresses up, Adresses Gender Politics

“I want my Rebecca to genderfuck,” Said Clair St. Giles, ten year old doll connoisseur. The American Girl Mega-Store employees were eager to help.

“Genderfuck is more of a noun, Peachblossm,” admonished the floor manager of the costume department. “But the gerund form is appropriate,” he conceded. “Genderfucking is so in season.”

The American Girl Doll Corporation (AGDC) has been producing high-end, historically-themed dolls for over a decade. The recently announced release of the Rebecca doll—timed to coincide with the Jewish/heathen harvest festival Sukkot—has caused quite a stir in the NYC doll world. Like all American Girl Dolls, Rebecca will come with a line of books and accessories.

As a girl growing up in the New York City of 1914, Rebecca celebrates treasured traditions passed down through her Russian-Jewish family as she tries to navigate the complexities of the gender binary.

“Kaya and Addy are just a bunch of Generation Y bullshit,” said little St. Giles.

“Basically, Rebbeca is a hot tranny mess,” said Grover Skhrotum, CEO of American Girl. “You can even see hir ambiguous genitalia if you put your face right upskirt.”

Rebecca is by no means the end of the line for AGDC. “We want her to usher in a new age of experimentation,” said Skhrotum. “How can we teach our youth to understand the interwoven continuum of biological sex, gender identity, and sexual orientation if we don’t have dolls leading the way? Rebecca is a good start. Is she a transsexual genderqueer tomboy or an androgynous intersex bisexual? These are the questions I want to hear our daughters asking.”

Sources inside the AGDC will not reveal the specifics of future product lines. “Except contraceptive accessories,” one reliable source hinted. “Expect—how should I put this—American Girl fetuses. American Girl umbilical cords. Plenty of placentas. By 2023, American Girl Dolls will be giving birth to live children. We are building an empire, a new race.”

Post-Post-Meta-Modern Art Installation Comes to Foss Hill

This Thursday, Serbian artist Jasnôçzei Ljubomïr visited campus to install his groundbreaking piece “Tundric Dissonance No. 8” in the center of Foss Hill. The work is comprised of the unaltered entirety of the hill, manipulated in no way by Ljubomïr himself.

“My idea is to distill and encapsulate in one space the mean, medium, and mode of human communication or dialogue,” said Ljubomïr of his work, which he classifies as “meta-transgressive un-spatial manipulation of abstract-organic negative space.”

Reception of the work has been varied. One sophomore brought to tears by the piece said she’d spent all morning sitting at the bottom of the hill: “I just can’t take my eyes away. It’s like I’m observing my soul, but through some sort of divine, translucent liquid.” A freshman lauded the installation, saying, “It’s like someone has held a convex mirror up to me and I’m looking at a bloated facsimile of the absolute truth of my identity.”

There have also been negative responses. “He’s a hack,” argued one junior, citing Ljubomïr’s long history of “bullshit, half-baked, and pretentious” artworks: “He’s totally riffing Møjolsski and Ürthö and he knows it. This is just ‘Inverse Ultraviolet’ rehashed. Total garbage.” Another sophomore agreed, explaining, “I’ve seen good meta-post-sculpturalism and bad meta-post-sculpturalism, and this is awful.” A junior observing the finished piece from directly in its center described the work as “pretty retarded.”

One unidentified student was heard shouting. “It’s just Foss Hill! Are you blind? Foss Hill! Why on earth are you encouraging this horrible idiot?”

Ljubomïr is the 2009 recipient of the prestigious Wyatte Elher grant, and his short residency at Wesleyan marks his fifth installation of “Tundric Dissonance.”

The Weekly Convo

An argument between Foss Hill and the Andrus Frield Bleachers

Bleachers: Yo, Hill, you excited for the Tufts opening game this weekend? Its going to so sick, brah.

Foss Hill: Dude, how many times have I told you: I don’t like sports. All I want to do is lie here, smoke my herb, and take in this beautiful campus. But NO, I have to endure looking at your tiered metal ass 24/7, “brah.”

Bleachers: Yo, Andrus Field is the oldest football field in continuous use – I’ve got the same right to be here as you, buddy. I provide comfortable, firm seating for hundreds of spectators.

Foss Hill: Newsflash, Bleachers: This is Wesleyan. No one cares about football. Besides, I offer plenty of seating myself.

Bleachers: I don’t know if you knew this Hill, but we’re in America – everybody loves football. And you ain’t got back support, dawg.

Foss Hill: Okay, here. Let me help you understand where I’m coming from. What if someone…lets say Claude Monet…painted a beautiful picture entitled Sunset over Beautiful College Campus and gave it to you. Then, some drunk jerk uses the canvas as toilet paper, wiping his ass with the center of the frame. Now when you look at the picture, there’s still a suggestion of the same magnificent sunset, but with the conspicuous addition of turd.

Bleachers: Yo, I just can’t believe someone did that to your painting. Party foul, man.

Foss Hill: Its an analogy. There was no painting. You’re the turd that encrusts my figurative Monet.

Bleachers: Dude, you need to lighten up. This isn’t even about me. Its about you and your bad attitude, Hill. You’re just a cloud of negativity.

Olin Library: Could both of you shut up, please? I’m trying to study here.


A Word From the Editor on Healthcare

Healthcare is a fancy word for the government trying to tell me what my favorite flavor is. People are healthier than they think most of the time. To illustrate, here’s a third-hand anecdote packed with first-rate action.
My friend’s younger brother just started his first year at a college whose name sounds like “squidmore.” One day during orientation, this bright-eyed youngster was denuding with a lady friend, and just when the situation turned adult, she excused herself. Had to call her boyfriend or something. The young man went on his merry way, thinking himself quite the sailor, when suddenly, he was betrayed by two very angry testicles. He waddled, bolt upright and without hesitation, to the health center, all the while complaining about the “clamping sensation, like my balls are stuck in a fucking transmission.”
Finding no male staff on hand, he rushed to the hospital. After the doctors poked and prodded his upset sac for a few minutes, he received the grave report. “Take a seat, son,” the doctor warned. “It appears that you’re suffering from testicular vaso congestion.” After a moment of sinking silence, he clarified: “Remember to finish beating off next time.”


'09 Sex Party Brings College Godlessness to New Level

Among the many human couples frantically exchanging fluids and bacteria at Eclectic’s Saturday night Sex Party, there are reports of wanton acts involving Eclectic House’s resident sheep named China White. Several individuals who paused in their revels to survey the throbbing landscape of coitus reported an unidentified male initiating carnal union with the confused quadruped, who had wandered out onto the floor after hearing what she believed to be the bleating of a sheep emitting from somewhere within the melee.
Countless pairs of desperately clawing arms drew her into the midst of what she described as “the largest gathering of humans in heat that I’ve ever seen,” and there, trapped in a forest of sweating, concupiscent, and indiscriminately fornicating humans, she was quickly subject to the advances of an inebriated student and criminal against nature. China White, initially unsure of what exactly was going on, says that she thought nothing of the stranger stumbling towards her sporting only a sock until he began having at her “like a thirsty ram in the hot sun.”
“Some people say he was just totally hammered, but I saw a fair amount of deliberation,” said one sophomore in attendance who witnessed the act in its brief entirety. Despite the traumatic nature of her impregnation, China White expressed her intent to carry the child to term, citing her conviction that life begins at conception: “I am a firm believer in the sanctity of life, be it human, sheep, or hybrid-bastard. The deliberate destruction of such a gift is simply unconscionable.”

Research Suggests Preventative Medicine "Ruins the Surprise"

The Obama administration’s health care plans are of concern lately, including rationing health care and killing old people for sport. But that’s not all; Obama also wants to “give away the ending” to millions of Americans through preventative health care. We talked to Arthur, a man who narrowly avoided this disastrous fate.
“I was waiting in the emergency room,” he gurgled from his death bed, “and no one would tell me what was going on. And then, suddenly, SURPRISE!! It was a brain tumor. I was so excited I had a seizure.” With a twinkle in his eye, he added, “But it has been hard to fight the rapid memory loss.”
Democrats are scrambling to find compromises, including a “Spoiler Alert!” stamp on test results, and medication labels like “freedom candy” so as not to give patients any hints.
Meanwhile, millions of Americans can’t afford health insurance, adding a fun, spontaneous element to their lives. In fact, studies show that under Obammunism, 34% of Americans would get regular check-ups, which can lead to extreme boredom, clinical depression, cholera, lockjaw, pinkeye, scabies, scurvy, swimmer’s itch and even death. Not so “healthy” after all. Or is it? No.

Iconic D-bag to Join League of D-bags

WASHINGTON, D.C.---In a shocking move Monday, the G.O.P. officially signed Kanye West to perform a nation-wide tour, visiting town hall meetings across the country to interrupt Democratic speakers on health care. Minority leader of the House John Boehner: “Our scouts saw the talent inherent there: he’s boisterous, he’s Jesus, but an asshole.”
Meanwhile, U.S. Rep. Joe Wilson, best known for shouting “You lie!” at President Obama on September 9th, is filing a class action suit against the Party, claiming they violated the terms of his contract. “My client had an exclusive agreement with the Republican Party,” says Wilson’s lawyer. “It’s negligence on their part, and we’re gonna kick their sissy asses!” He proceeded to shout “Sissie asses!” while jumping up and down, and eventually collapsing in tears.
Wilson has long been the forerunner amongst Republican interrupters. However, it may now appear that his star is fading. “Wilson? Is that the Obama guy?” comments local teenager Jeremy Fitzgerald, president of his high school’s Young Republicans club. “Dude is whack. He hasn’t had any new shit in forever.”
West, on the other hand, makes new shit all the time. “Yo, I’ma be straight with you,” the rapper said between sips of chocolate breast milk. “I don’t know who this Wilson guy is, but I had one of the best interruptions of all time!”
The Party’s decision to hire West coincides with a current movement to make the G.O.P. hip, sexy, and essentially feral. Currently, plans are underway to sign Lady Gaga as the Party’s official “Crazy Ass Bitch.” Additionally, rumor has it that Asher Roth and Tila Tequila are gearing up their campaigns for Senate bids in 2010. Of course, all this activity accompanies the Party’s new mission statement, “Crunk in this piece.”

Take it From Me: Government is Booming

Yeah, my current ringtone is “Foxy Lady” by Lenny Kravitz. Everyone knows I sweat the females, and it should come as no surprise that I like to start off my workday with a hearty blowjob in my office from our newest intern. Don’t get me wrong, my desk top is more than sturdy enough to support acrobatic lovemaking (which I save for lunchtime), but I always chuckle when she hits her head kneeling beneath it. Imported mahogany, and I never apologize. This is my third year as a member of the House of Representatives. I’m here to enjoy some of the best years of my life and run train on the Capitol, but man, my job sucks sometimes. Take it from me, some of the bullshit that finds its way through my office makes me want to cut hospital funding, or not delete racist emails from my computer.
And this healthcare bullshit. That bill is fucking a thousand pages long. Right now, my copy is propping open the bathroom door for ventilation. Between you and me, I just ruined the only toilet on this floor. But what else am I supposed to do with that massive paper stack? I just stuck some colored tabs between the pages so no one would ask me if I’ve read it. Reading is what my assistants are for. The other Congressmen are going to discuss the bill on the floor tomorrow anyway. The nerds must have looked at the thing enough times by now, but for fuck’s sake, nobody reads all of them. I don’t think Pelosi even takes attendance anymore. Why can’t I just get booked on the Daily Show and touch wangs with Jon Stewart? Doing his show makes everyone think you’re popular and sexy. Maybe then the other members of Congress would just chill out; they all think I’m weird because I’ve been pushing the Homeland Security Committee to install cameras in the girls’ bathroom. I just drew a picture of Ron Paul wearing a nutsack as a motorcycle helmet on the back page, and I might drop a deuce in his office later. Yeah, your tax dollars have had a big day, America.

Most Competitive Swine Flu Season Yet

This flu season at Wesleyan marks the most competitive yet. Of a record 2,683 students exposed to the H1N1 virus, only a lucky 71—or 2.65%—have secured infection. “Frankly, we’re baffled and delighted by this dramatic increase from past years,” remarked President Roth.
“I wish I could fully convey the individual strengths and talents among Wesleyan students infected with Swine Flu,” announced Lisa Currie, Director of Health Education at Davison, in a comprehensive report. “The variety of backgrounds, coupled with a shared commitment to poor hygiene and germ-sharing, is inspiring. It’s that diversity which makes them more likely to contribute to the growth of this vibrant epidemic we call Swine.”The mean SAT score of patients has risen to 1,450, while the average hourly phlegm production hovers at a respectable 3.4 ounces. In celebration of the news, indie darlings—and much beloved Wesleyan alumni—MGMT announced a sudden name change to M1M1.

The Weekly Convo

This conversation is classified. We present this at the cost of our loved one’s fingers. Once it is made public, we will be renegades, outlaws on the run. The two men portrayed in this transcript are cockeyed and rosy-cheeked, respectively. They are two of the highest paid employees in the medical industry.

Cockeyed doctor: “Swine Flu” worked, bless it! We are the most successful epidemic namers in the world.
Rosy-Cheeked doctor: We just can’t lose, can we?
CD: Yeah, too bad we don’t get any vacations. It’s always something.
RD: I know. There’s like a new one every day. I mean come on. Well anyway, which one’s next?
CD: Ooh, this is nasty. Oh yeah. And the file says it spreads like mustard.
RD: Well what is it already?
CD: You remember how with swine flu all the symptoms were exactly like the classic flu symptoms, except more vague?
RD: Yeah. Good thing we deliberately made it sound like a disease for total asswipes. That got people’s attention.
CD: Well this one is just like Athlete’s foot except in your lungs. Itchiness. Flaking. Oozing. It’s like a Chicago pizza in there.
RD: Nice. I’m gonna go with your food instinct on this one. “Bronchital enchiladas?” No, actually that sounds retarded. Maybe just some alliteration. “Leper lungs?” No, “The Flan Flu?” I’m so close!
CD: Marvin, take some more Xanax and calm the fuck down.
RD: Oh yes. More Xanax. More and more.
CD: I’ve got it! “Filthy Roger’s Disease.” Damn I’m smart. Pass me that shit.
RD: I just love you.

Contributing Writers--09/22/09

Yael Chanoff – Ruins the Surprise
Piers Gelly – Eclectic Party, Illustration
Alex Ray – Take It From Me
Stephan Stansfield – D-bags
Zach Schonfeld – Swine Report


A Word From the Editor

To: Readers

It’s been an eventful few weeks. I’m of course not referring to what’s been going on in the news because I only care about TV show characters, but I’ve noticed that at Wesleyan, the people are uniting under one very powerful and old sounding motto. “Waste not,” they whisper in unison, rumbling frugality. We saw it last week at the front doors of Mocon as hundreds of students stabbed, spit, and trampled their way to the mounds of discard that filled the old dining hall and suspected spaceship. I was among the crowd, and yes, I have a microwave that smells like butter and some cool t-shirts from JFK middle school’s ‘05 Spring picnic in Paterson, New Jersey.
In conclusion: white, enabled, backwards hat-wearing frat bros who go unnoticed at college parties should join the Feminists for Peace campaign. Mad chicks.

From: Dave

Bon Appétit Adopts Waste Not Policy

MIDDLETOWN, CT – Bon Appétit, to cement their public dedication to social responsibility, unveiled their new Waste Not! Dining Policy this week—a bold plan to incorporate students’ garbage into food at the Usdan Campus Center. “This is a momentous step in Wesleyan’s commitment to environmental sustainability,” declared President Roth, biting into a slice of Used Futon Pie. “Damn, this shit is gross—but environmentally excellent! Take that, Amherst!” Other menu options include Shower Cap Paninis and Shaved Skinny Jean Roast; the Condom Soup option has not been as popular as predicted, but there are reports of changing the name to Protection Stew.

Waist not, motherfucker!

Take it From Me: Euthanize Your Appliances

Oh god, please! Someone pick me up and buy me! You there, with the faux-vintage t-shirt and American Eagle flipflops! I’m only ten dollars! I’m the perfect pick to cook Hot Pockets, though I must admit that my previous owner decided to play Frisbee with my rotating glass plate after drinking a fifth of Cossack Vodka, and got kicked out for accidentally hitting a PSafe officer with it. My rotating plate evenly distributed heat and made sure that his Pizza Bagel Bites were always perfect!
I’ve been on this college circuit for far too long, now. The…“things”…that people like to “cook”…they cake to my interior walls and my mind alike. All the nacho cheese, overboiled ramen, and pastry fillings…it’s all one solid black lump of preservatives and shame now. And whoever discovered that microwaving Peeps was so novel deserves to be freeze-dried. The last time I saw soap was when someone decided to put a bar in me and cook it up. It looked like Jabba the Hutt made out of semen. It’s been so long, I should have molded over by now. At least then I would have been tossed out to die, just like my father, who met his merciful end in a fraternity parking lot to a pick-axe.
I’m an appliance of peace. I never intended to hurt anyone! Have I been cast with this lot of half-broken mini-fridges, bare-wired appliances, and ratty beer t-shirts because of the mouths I’ve burned with superheated cheese? Must I rust in this purgatory called Mocon, while kids go out and buy their fancy “Sharp” brand microwaves from Target? I can’t live like this! Please, if anyone reading this has any mercy, you must kill me quickly. Buy me, plug me in, fill me with Usdan forks and turn me on! Kill me…Kill…me!