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


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.