Also, please enjoy the torrid dialogue written by Ampersand Editor Emeritus David Wolovsky ’10.
—Piers, Benjamin & Zach
“Well, Dennis and I have been getting pretty involved lately,” explains your mother. “Also, his daughter and her fiancée said that they want to have some time to themselves this Christmas.”
“It’s just not Christmas without Dennis’s famous southwest coleslaw,” reports Dennis as he places the plastic container on the platter in the center of the table where the roast beef is supposed to go.
“The secret ingredient,” he discloses, “is bacon.” Dennis wants three things for Christmas this year: his new heartburn medication, tougher immigration legislation, and your mother’s thighs. She punches his shoulder teasingly and you avert your eyes as her attempts to sexily nibble his ear result in her licking his sideburns. “How’s Barber College going, Cowboy?” teases Dennis, who makes it up to you by showing you his tattoo of a Harley Davidson motorcycle above the words, “Spring Break, 1976.”
Over dinner, Dennis talks about the dry cleaning company that he runs with his older brother, that time he went to Miami, and how he’s happy for his ex-wife, despite all the raw shit she put him through. “So Cowboy,” he asks you, “got any special lady in your life?” “No,” you say tersely, prompting him to reassure you about how it will all work out, how you’re a good looking kid, and how forlorn he was after his wife left him, only to find a beautiful new woman who lets him do things his old wife never would.
“I want you to know that I am in this for the long haul,” Dennis says after dinner, tipsily readjusting his Santa hat, “never turn back, that’s my motto.” Maybe it’s not so bad. At least your mother seems happy. But Dennis’s breath smells like Pepto Bismol and you’ve never really felt like a Cowboy. Nonetheless, Dennis understands what you’re going through. He’s a child of divorce himself and, hey, he turned out pretty good.
Dirk: Dude, are you going home, or what? I’m gonna stay here and it’d be cool if I could move our beds together and make a king.
Champagne: Yeah right. Your bed is like a salad bowl. Fuckin’ gross-ass hipstard.
Dirk: Oh yeah, right. Blame the hipsters. As USUAL! [Pushes his black, thick-rimmed glasses up his nose]. You know, it’s a good thing I’m not a hipster, or I’d consider beating your ass right now.
Champagne: With those straws for arms? And you ARE a hipster. Just admit it, you FUCKING hipster.
Dirk: What d’you mean?
Champagne: Your glasses. Your skinny torn jeans. Your flannel everything. Your Madmen style side-part, and the mustache. Come the fuck ON about that mustache.
Dirk: Whoa man. Don’t rag on the stache, bro. I can’t stress enough how much I will teabag you if you talk about my facial hair one more time. And would a hipster wear a huge chain with a dollar sign on it all the time?
Champagne: You’re disgusting.
Dirk: YOU’RE disgusting. This whole fucking country’s disgusting.
Champagne: I’m gonna pack a bowl.
Dirk: So, is it cool if I push our beds together?
Champagne: Pay me $100.
Dirk: Are you kidding? I don’t have that much money. I can barely pay for college and weed.
Champagne: You’re an upper-class white kid. Stop pretending your parents aren’t giving you money to spend.
Dirk: You are so presumptuous. And racist. It makes me sick. I’m just gonna push our beds together anyway once you leave.
Champagne: OK. And I’m gonna steal $100 from you.
Dirk: Yo, lemme get a hit?
“You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“There’s no way it’s that huge!”
“What thoughtful commentary on the effect of mass media on male body image!”
Johnson’s colossal johnson, disproportionally large for his scrawny 5’6” frame, aggravated and astonished members of the class. Hecklers railed the student for his obvious exaggeration, and those who did not shield their eyes or stare intently at their feet insisted that he prove such endowment.
Johnson conceded to the requests, pulling down his pants to reveal an appendage of gargantuan, inhuman, what-the-fuck proportions. Hecklers choked on their claims, others on tears, and the demi-Priapus led the CFA after tucking it back into his sock.
Johnson received a D for “Damn” on the project.
“At first we were pretty pissed about the conidentiality breach,” said a North College oficial. “But Wesleyan has no secrets. The only one who’s going to be in trouble is that albino turd, Ass-ange. Get it? Like ‘ass.’ ”
On Thursday, the leaks were disseminated to the ACB and WestCo listserv, where they met with derision and ironic detachment, respectively. Assange has been “bumming around” campus since early this week in the hope that Wesleyan’s reputedly radical student body will recognize his contributions to apolitical anarchy.
Students, however, seemed unperturbed by the majority of the leaks, alarmed only that Bon Appetit has been substituting tofu for seitan in an effort to cut costs.
“No embezzlement, no problem,” said Helen Ingalls ’12.
“DGAF/talk to the hand,” said Eli Meixler ’13.
Among the documents released was the entire contents of Medievalist Gary Shaw’s hard drive, which comprised a 2006 Chanukkah wishlist and a cell phone photo of the Sutton Hoo mound. Shaw expressed interest in receiving another Anglo-Saxon dictionary and a then-recent Tracy Chapman release.
PSafe has nevertheless issued a red notice for the elusive Australian, who they currently suspect to be taking refuge in the basement of the Beta fraternity house. In a campus-wide email, PSafe Director Large H. Collider cautioned students that the presence of the INTERPOL fugitive has “renewed [their] concern about illegal and unsafe behavior on Beta’s premises,” and encouraged the community to remain vigilant as long as the “palefaced bitchbicycle” is at large.
Pierce Brothers, the company that supplies the campus with fair trade coffee, will leave Wesleyan along with kingpin Piers Gelly ’13, who runs the company with his two younger brothers, Bennett, 17, and Clement, 15.
“Even though I’m really busy with my homework and robotics club, I still find time to help my brothers produce delicious, ethically harvested coffee,” said brother Clement, who is currently a sophomore at the American School in London.
Piers and his brothers began their foray into fair trade coffee production at the respective ages of 12, 10, and 8. On an ecotour of Borneo with their parents, the Gellys were inspired by the warmth and vivacity of the local coffee growers.
“It was really inspiring to see how they made their coffee with love,” said Bennett, who is the power forward of his high school’s basketball team. “After that trip, I could never really look at Starbucks the same way.”
Since becoming disillusioned with traditional coffee offerings, the Piers brothers have provided a wide range of all-natural brews, including the Twix Latte, the Chai Charger, and the Salty Ivan.
“Ivan was a coffee picker we met in Ecuador,” said Piers, who does not drink coffee. “Ivan was salty, but he was a really sweet guy.” Piers chortled as he recalled the irst time Ivan showed him and his brothers the proper bean-crushing technique in the Jipijapa area, Manabí province. “We really learned a lot from that guy.”
Piers and his brothers are sorry to be leaving the campus without adequate coffee.
“You can drink coffee at Espwesso if you want to drink poop,” said Clement.
Bennett interjected, “People at my high school and at Piers’ college agree that our coffee is the greatest.”
Pi Cafe, for the time being, will only serve the disappointing sesame tofu wraps made by rival brother trio, the Gracchus-Gibbonses.
“We will continue to make sesame tofu wraps,” said Morton Gracchus-Gibbons ’11. “Please start buying them.”
Ultimately, the absence of Piers and his brothers from campus will hit students—hard.
Upon hearing the news, Becca LaFollette ’14 tried to suppress her rage.
“Now which trio of brothers will furnish my daily Fogbuster™? Where else am I gonna find coffee that is 100 percent organic, 100 percent fair trade, air roasted, and kosher certified?”
Piers and his brothers will return in Fall 2011.
As the ageless cedars stand resolute in the face of autumn and winter winds begin to whisper along the Sea of Marmara, we find it appropriate to note a few of our modest achievements.
Thus far, we have:
— Ushered in a renewal of enterprise reporting and rigorous database analysis in campus journalism
— Appointed the first Ampersand Ombudsman (from the Old Norse umbuðsmann)
— Re-popularized basketball jokes
— Given due exposure to crawling and other non-walking lifestyles
— Abstained from the delicate topics of gender identity and sexual orientation
— Refrained from defaming Michael Roth
Seagulls circle the masts of ships and the slim peaks of minarets. The late-day sun draws a world of steam up from the currents of the mighty Bosphorus. A turbaned spice merchant leads a line of chained African eunuchs to the bustling caravansari, through the crooked streets of the Bazaar. The murmur of cloistered women emits from a chink in the wall of a seraglio; they will never leave the harem, their gilded labyrinth of pleasure.
We wish you a safe journey home and a cornucopia of plenty during this harvest season. And let us give thanks for all that is, all that was, and all that will come to pass.
With utmost sincerity,
Your dear friends Piers & Benjamin
Dreary afternoon, Prologue i-xxiv; William, Justine, and M. Krempe die of ringworm, 1;Victor lonely, narrates chapter of The Inferno in full, 5-27; “It was a dark and stormy night…” Also, some lightning, 31; Realizes that due to inferior craftsmanship, project will have permanent stitch-marks, also eight feet tall, green, 32; Painstakingly teaches monster to speak, results typical of uncommitted foreign language student 37-109; Monster discovers literature, confines himself to library, 115-178; Description of insufficient lighting in library, 116; References to Paradise Lost, 150-162; Monster decides John Milton is a “phony,” 162; Victor fails to notice Elizabeth, 190; Elizabeth weeps, stares out window, 191-207; Monster goes to town, unfulfilling conversation with cobbler, 210; Monster refused seating in luncheonette because he is “colored,” 215; Monster lonely, Victor lonely, 217; Elizabeth lonely. No one notices, 218; Victor plans female monster, monster overjoyed, 220; Victor: “Psyche!” 221; Monster burns Victor’s library, 225-240; References to Paradise Lost, 240; Victor: “I’m not angry; I’m disappointed,” 243; Monster and Margaret picnic in country; sexual ellipsis, 255; Descriptions of Nature, 260-327; Monster learns to play clarinet, seeks Victor’s approval, 330-361; Elizabeth weeps, 380; Margaret: “I, the miserable and the abandoned, am an abortion, to be spurned at, and kicked, and trampled on,” 422; Margaret: “No one notices me!” 435; Elizabeth weeps, 436; Monster cast in Wicked as Scarecrow, 490.
straightforward story. Basically, when the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock hundreds of years ago, they realized that they were
totally unprepared for life in America. Luckily, the Native Americans invited the Pilgrims to their harvest festival. Historians imagine that it probably went something like this:
Native American: Hey, I hope you enjoy our delicious harvest festival. We don’t always have enough food to feed ourselves, but we’re totally willing to share with you out of the kindness of our hearts. After all, the land doesn’t belong to anybody, and its crops shouldn’t either.
Pilgrim: Hey, thanks! I can’t wait to eat your food, steal your land, rape your women, viciously subjugate your people using firearms, give you diseases like smallpox to which you have no immunity, kill the animals you feed off of, fight several wars with you, burn down your villages, constantly drive you onto smaller and smaller parcels of land, and ultimately attempt to make amends for killing off 95 percent of your people and relegating you to a lower social class by giving you small areas on which you can make casinos and fight amongst yourselves about who is native enough to reap the profits, and all because your religious views haven’t developed in the exact same way as ours!
Native American: Wait, what did you just say?
Nowadays, celebrating Thanksgiving is pretty easy. You get together with your entire extended family and eat a ton of very specific food items. These include:
Cranberry Sauce — It looks like a can because it came out of a can. The red color represents the spilt blood of the indigenous.
Corn — Squanto, an English-speaking native, taught the Pilgrims how to grow corn by burying fish. The corn then helped Pilgrims survive and kill natives. It symbolizes the white man’s triumph, and should not be eaten by vegetarians.
Stuffing — Proof that turkeys are, in fact, made of delicious bread filling. Should be eaten slowly while contemplating the meat-grain continuum and discussing the food pyramid as an inaccurate representation of the food groups.
Gravy — Liquid fat. Will doubtless be poured over everything.
Mashed Potatoes — A nod to the Irish potato famine.
Oysters — Delicious, but not served at Thanksgiving. Godspeed.
Turducken — Key/uck/icken
Turkey Roast — Should be eaten.
Following the feast, you sit around and try to avoid hearing for the sixth year in a row about the time that Aunt Jean saw the back of Woody Allen’s head when she went to New York City in 2004, while the vegan tryptophan slowly and mercifully puts everyone to sleep on the couch in front of the television.
The roof of Judd Hall serves as an unlikely perch for campus’s one remaining competitive falconer, Nimrod Levy ’12. Levy’s prize falcon Achashverosh can triangulate the whisker movements of a field mouse from six hundred feet.
Levy is the finest falconer in the NESCAC league, having defeated Coxsackie College, Slippery Rock University, Amherst, and Williams in September and October.
“Achashverosh is my second falcon,” says Levy. “I had to dismiss my other falcon, Hester, when he became embroiled in promiscuities. I knew the whole while that all he wanted to do was find mates. I brushed his feathers every day, and I even took him to the pigeon-man in Meriden when he was sick and he couldn’t fly, and see how he repaid me?”
Falconry is a sport that dates back to the Western European fiefdoms of the late Middle Ages, where the violent pageantry of the
lordly hunt was an archetypal motif in tapestry and poetry.
“Achashverosh is totally the shit,” Levy continues. “He brings me the most squirrels of any falcon I’ve had. Squirrels make a great stew. He knows how to skip out on the mice, because mice only please him, not both of us.”
Levy says he keeps a low social profile at Wesleyan, since he would likely be skinned alive if it were discovered that he has been
secretly cooking squirrel stew in the kosher kitchen. However, between his lonely room in 156 High, his perch, and sexually frustrating Tomb parties, he has begun to express desire for a human mate of his own.
“If any girls just want to, you know, cuddle or whatever, you know where to find me,” says Levy. “I have bird seed.”
Women’s Lacrosse Captain Bruce Duncan ‘12 Named NESCAC Player of the Month
In many respects, women’s lacrosse captain Bruce Duncan ’12 is no different from the rest of her teammates. But unlike them, Duncan spent the first 21 years of her life as a self-identified male. Now, after overcoming extraordinary odds, she is being honored as NESCAC’s female player of the month.
“Discovering I was a woman was, uh, pretty life-changing,” said Duncan, who sports a full beard. “It was just like, bam. Maybe the whole reason I’ve been staring at girls’ asses my whole life is because, like, I secretly wanted to have one.” Duncan, who had previously been a substitute on the men’s lacrosse team, eventually confided her gender confusion to men’s lacrosse coach Max Grillo, who strongly encouraged Duncan to embrace her identity.
“Bruce was never a great defender,” said Grillo, “but I knew he’d make a damn fine lady-defender.”
Wesleyan Athletics Director Jackson Danielson was at first hesitant to make an exception to the biological sex rule, after Ashley Greene’s tragic mishap on the 1992 men’s football team. “Greene died,” Danielson said. “But I saw that Bruce could really hold her own out there.”
As Duncan began the rocky transition into womanhood, the athletic community provided her with unquestioning support.
“My life changed a whole lot,” said Duncan. “Except I knew I wasn’t gonna be one of those girls who shave their pits and stuff. Also I’m a lesbian.” Duncan graciously declined any separate locker room accommodations.
From these humble beginnings, Duncan has built an illustrious career as a lacrosse star; she now leads the league in goals, yards, interceptions, and manglings. NESCAC’s board remarked upon her “extraordinary transition” in their commendation, praising her relatively quick adaptation to the rules of women’s lacrosse.
“Growing up I was always told not to hit girls,” said Duncan. “But now it’s okay because I am one. Groin shots don’t work as well as they used to.” Duncan has since been informed that no form of physical contact is permitted under the rules of women’s lacrosse.
At 6’3 and 200 pounds, Duncan is one of the biggest girls in the conference, but her teammates would never think to exclude her from Girls’ Night Out. Last Thursday was Cosmo night. Bruce thought they were tasty.
Bruce’s friends do not see him any differently.
“When he plays lacrosse, he’s a girl,” said Stieg Larsson ’12, “but when he’s hanging out with us, he’s just another dude.”
Bruce’s team is glad to have her. “People may give Bruce shit, but this is our best season yet,” said teammate Becca
Tompkins ’13. “We need more girls like Bruce.”
Rather than character, the meat and potatoes of typical Second Stage productions, “Wesleyan vs. Amherst” submerges itself in a ruthless commitment to action. Easily the most ambitious Second Stage project since “Shoot the Duke,” the student body has embraced the play with near-ubiquity. The Saturday matinee drew an unprecedented contingent of alumni and parents.
A small-college play at heart, “Wesleyan vs. Amherst” does not quail in the face of big themes: homoerotic obsession, negation of self, identity and conformity, violence and submission, and humans reduced to numbers. Performed in the round, the actors were constricted to a white rectangular grid painted onto the grass, with abstract pronged/phallic structures at each end.
The action centered on the fraught exchange of a single object: a misshapen pigskin vessel that characters alternately
cradled like a small child or hurled like a live explosive. This dichotomy of violence and tenderness, a clear comment on social media in a post-oedipal society, prompted enthusiastic audience investment in the plight of the characters, most of whom were dressed in identical red, white, and black attire, with bulky shoulderpads and helmets. The line seemed blurred between the
actors and the raucous audience.
I would attempt to chronologize the events of the play, but this would defeat the sensual experience of the theatergoer. The director, who also acted in the play — dressed in black slacks and a white-and-black striped button- down — actually encouraged people to keep on their cell phones, cameras, or video cameras, which made way for a flurry of pictorial and video documentations of the performance, now available on YouTube. The internet does wonders for entertainment.
If there was one negative thing that could be said about the performance, it would be that it was terribly inaccessible. Not until halfway through the third act could I truly suspend myself, and even then, I still felt lost in the hubbub of everything. The
director, whose name I don’t have — I was unable to attain a playbill — seems to lack a sense of, or appreciation for, tone. Though it is an essential thing to pave the way for new, innovative, and experimental works such as “Wesleyan vs. Amherst,” the one-dimensionality of this play made me feel, at times, as though I were watching a sports match. The director manages traffic effectively, but the play’s scattered structure and lack of a strong focus on its central character deprive it of forward momentum.
Last year, “Shoot the Duke” taught us what “injury” means for the individual. This year, “Wesleyan vs. Amherst” teaches what “defeat” means for the collective.
“It’s all about the love,” he said. “Girls just love the way I wield a foil or a 33-inch sabre.”
Girls across campus concurred.
“There’s something so erotic about men in fencing gear,” said Marsha Cooley ’11. “You feel so safe because they can defend you.”
Although they are not as brolic or imposing as actual recruited athletes, the fencers are largely known as the biggest ladykillers on campus.
“You’d assume that they’d be really nice, but if you really think about it, they’re trained to locate your heart and stab it,” said Sarah Mills ’14. “Ten times out of ten, that’s exactly what they’ll do.”
They may not qualify for NCAA Fencing, but it seems that WesFencers joust a mean bout of love.
“The University is proud to announce this athletic accomplishment to the entire Wesleyan community, and that we think it is unquestionably athletic in nature,” commented Director of Media Relations David Pezzi. “We think it involves balls or pucks or maybe something else.”
“Go Wes,” Pezzi added, shrugging.
“We’re proud to have sports at Wesleyan, because it shows that we have sports and we’re proud,” concurred Vice President of Student Affairs Mitch Whale. “Also, did anyone else see those weird sticks with the nets at the end?”
Popular New York Times film critic A. O. Scott reportedly witnessed the unidentified athletic event, which he praised for its subtle ambiguity.
The &mpersand will now print in the Argus on Fridays. It will be available to read online 9am - 2pm Tuesday through Thursday (excluding national and religious holidays).
In other Sports news, check out this beautiful header.
& those t&&th.
University officials, parents, and community members are once again objecting to Wesleyan’s raucous Día de los Muertos celebrations.
“It’s the same thing every fall,” complained Brian Roberts, a resident of Fountain Avenue. “They make candy skulls, they offer marigolds to the spirits of their ancestors, those damn shrines pop up everywhere. A big group gathered outside my house, talking and praying. I almost called the police.” With participation unusually high this year, the community had begun to question the university’s traditional practice of turning a blind eye to the celebrations.
El Día, which occurs every year on the second of November, has always been popular among young people because
of its affecting synthesis of Christian and indigenous spirituality.
“They go fucking nuts,” said Haggis Bert, a Wesleyan Public Safety officer. “We have to triple Indian Hill patrols so they don’t leave brooms and weird little cakes everywhere.” The cakes are pan de muerto, a sweet egg bread that traditionally accompanies El Día festivities.
Cakes or no cakes, the holiday has grown considerably in recent years, perhaps fueled by ‘goth’ culture or the popularity of large parties. “Yeah, we had a Muertos party,” said Brian Goldstein ’12, a Psi Upsilon brother. “People dress up in costumes as calaveras [skeletons] and we’re all like, who makes the best tamales? It’s awesome. We actually had a Día de los Angelitos party the night before to amp things up a bit,” he said, adding, “That got so out of hand.” According to some reports, Psi Upsilon honored at least five hundred dead people by the end of the evening.
“Traditions really vary,” said Allie Doherty ’14. “Adults are always like, ‘this is so out of control, look at all this skull
worship,’ but that’s only a few people acting stupid and ruining it for everyone.”
Public Safety noted that the hundreds of candles, tequila bottles, and ofrendas left on High Street were not just the work
of a few miscreants.
Doherty argued that the tequila was ceremonial in nature. “Please,” she said, “El Día isn’t about getting drunk. We’re
just trying to do right by our ancestors.”
Middletown resident Gus Sherman contends that El Día has become a force for evil. “When I was a kid we had a little Día de
los Muertos get-together,” he said. “Nothing big, mind you. Now these students travel in packs, carousing, telling anecdotes about the deceased. It’s despicable.”
“I heard about CollegeACB.com while researching Harvard’s social scene,” Sorkin said. “My new screenplay, The Gossip Site, also
explores how young, bitter men are able to use the internet to appeal to the dark side of human nature.”
The new film will follow Frank Peter, a Wesleyan freshman who takes a small message board and expands it into a national gossip empire.
“Frank’s a fascinating character,” Sorkin said. “He understands everything about human nature. The question is whether or not he’s actually that much of a cad.”
In one scene, Peter’s girlfriend breaks up with him, leaving him with nowhere to turn but his website.
“Frank posts a heartfelt confession of his heartbreak,” said Sorkin. “But the only replies are ‘2/10,’ ‘GTFO prefrosh,’ and ‘Nice try, Mytheos.’ It’s only when Frank personally experiences the anarchy and scorn of the ACB that he begins to understand the responsibility he holds.
Peter does not believe the film will affect his reputation. “I’m untouchable,” he says.
The Gossip Site will go to production later this year, with The Social Network director David Fincher at the helm.
“It’s going to have a lot of stylized night scenes,” said Fincher.
The Ampersand is the official organ of the Wesleyan Spartacist Tendency. Our mission is to consolidate a democratic workers’ center in order to prosecute total war against the ruling bourgeois clique in North College and their running dogs in the WSA. Ours is an international, revolutionary, proletarian publication informed by a scientific interpretation of Wesleyan University’s historical trajectory towards socialism. Death to the bourgeois reformists at Ostranenie and the revisionist utopians of the Hermes.
We won’t be there for parents’ weekend. It’s not that your stepfather Gordon and I wouldn’t love to be there—you know what huge Bill Cosby fans we are. And it’s not that we don’t want to see you. It’s that we just don’t want to be seen with you.
All the other parents will be meeting their children’s friends and taking their kids out to nice dinners. But somehow (call it mothers’ intuition) I doubt you’ve been doing too well in the “friends” department.
And do you realize how mortifying it is for us when you have to ask for dairy-free meals at restaurants? Seriously, who can’t handle milk? It’s milk, Colin. Babies drink
God, I need a drink.
What shirt are you wearing right now? You’re wearing the Comic Con 2010 shirt, aren’t you. Jesus Christ, Colin.
I noticed the Weird Al poster isn’t in your room at home anymore. There also seems to be a suspicious lack of anime bullshit on the walls. You brought them to hang in your room, didn’t you? I know you don’t want to hear this from your mother, but that’s no way to get girls. Why don’t you try out a sport? Maybe a sport that isn’t “ruining your parents’ lives”?
Damn your asthma, Colin!
Sorry, that was Gordon. He’s had a little too much to drink. No, Gordon wants me to tell you that he is not drunk. In fact, he’s “never seen more clearly in his whole goddamn life, Linda.”
I hope you’re not too upset about our not coming, sweetie. I just really don’t think we’ll be able to make it this year. Also, we’re visiting your brother Rick at Brown that weekend.
Hugs and kisses,
FourLoko is an alcoholic energy drink that costs very little. With ten distinct flavors, it’s the malt liquor equivalent of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. And it is the high point of your child’s week.
“I did Blue Raspberry last week,” said Your Child ’14, who has been looking forward to this moment since his hangover wore off at approximately 4:35 last Sunday. “Tonight I’m drinking the Orange flavor.” Well gee, you think, maybe it’ s not that bad. It’s not as embarrassing as crack or vodka-dipped tampons.
“It fucks you up!” said Your Child as the neon colored liquid seeped down his shirt.
Where did you go wrong? Why does your baby boy now turn to that canned fluorescent nightmare on a weekly basis? Maybe you shouldn’t have let him drink so much soda. Maybe you shouldn’ t have used a needle to keep him from wetting his bed.
“Wanna come back-a to my room,” Your Child told Some Girl ’14, “we’ll listen to dubstep, lookit my penizz….”
Well, there’ s really not much you can do about it now. You’ re not about to take the kid out of school, not after the ordeal it took to get the little bastard in. This is the direction society is headed in now, inching toward the inevitable tumble of Western civilization in the year of our Watermelon flavored malt liquor, 2012Loko. You’ re just going to have to get used to it. Here, try this. It tastes like kiwis, if kiwis tasted like refuse and disappointment.
Your Child ’ 14, vomiting, is unable for comment.
In interviews last Saturday, Richie Starzec Freshman testifies: “There is very little
commotion for me with which to occupy myself here during the course of fall break at Wesleyan,” he said. “Everybody’s going away, to home and other places, but my house exists in so far away a locale, that I can’t bring myself to receive transportation to this locale of which I mentioned before so vigorously.”
As it demonstrates with Ms. Starzec, many students see zeself being in unsmiling dilemmae as regards to the certain pickle of the vacant figure of activities, parties, and other on-campus incidents, especially after a certain instance of nighttime swallows campus whole and refuse to belch and vomit.
“The ground assigns a definitive aura, however hazy and unkind, though foggy, of,” said Adriin Brandi Freshman, “death.” “Especially when Wellesley hits fall break,” she affixes to her statement that was previously made prior to the instant she made her current statement, thank you, Adriin, the interview is now over.
“Eat, sleep, blaze; it sums up to equal my mid-October,” PERSON DID NOT WANT TO BE IDENTIFY.
Overall, regardless, people, most students some teachers delight in the prospect of the
return of the winters. But in subsequent autumns most campus denizens suspect a more
confident quality of longer Octobers due to camp’s remoteness control.
Let’s get that remoteness control.
Let me rephrase. I propose that the recently fallen perennial wooden entity (hence referred to as“Arnold”) manifests its phallic symbolism by positing a hyper-eroticized Other to the flaccid foundation of Summerfields (hence referred to as “Frank”). I propose further that this grotesque sociopolitical foliage-troll—“Arnold”—renders its post-linguistic meta-discourse by forging a grueling post-ideological dialogue with beloved grey-haired “Frank” cashier Susan.
“I knew that damn thing was gonna fall,” Susan tells me, her baby blue eyes alight with the anarchistic byproduct of de-systemized normative construction. “It glared at me, all ugly and ready to crack.” She scowls, her brow furrowed in neo-pedagogical instability. “Points or meal, hon?”
How poetic, then, that our nutrient-sucking phallic friend engendered its own gruesome demise— what I term its “meta-ontological collapse,” of body and of spirit, of bark and of biomass—in the etymologically charged public sphere that is the Butterfields Courtyard. How telling that its homonormative de-edification of the self manifested an ugly ideological counterpart in the seedy throng of frothy, foaming Public Safety officers reporting to the scene.
And, finally, how fitting that its veiny, throbbing, forest-dwelling member blocked Butterfield
access just as its sordid, infective, post-normative meta-presence blocked access to a perceived sort of ideological homeostasis between “Frank” (hereby referred to as “Summerfields”) and “Arnold (hereby referred to as “that goddamn tree”).
This, I propose, is no ordinary tree disaster. This is fierce socio-erotic sabotage.
Be Involved: In addition to being both inventor- and editor-in-chief of all Wesleyan news, Yagle also heads 90% of clubs on campus, her favorites being Students Anonymous, the Antianticruelty Society, Students Against Naysaying, the Club Club, the Bear Cub Club, and the Wesleyan Spirits. According to Yagle, a full schedule is a student’s best friend. “If you’re sleeping, you’ll end up sweeping… my kitchen floor for a living, you lazy bitch.”
Be Proactive: Not only does Katherine Yagle get things done, she gets them done early. Like, really early. She has received six diplomas worth of credit by finishing assignments for every course that is, was, or ever will be available. She has invented and completed three majors. Yagle is also preparing to teach a course this spring: “An Interdisciplinary Approach to Eyebrow Piercings and Power Walking.”
Be Creative: With no time for research, Katherine Yagle has successfully Mad-libbed every paper she has ever written. Her senior thesis, titled “The Effect of Purple Boogers on Education in My Pants,” will be published by Random House next year.
Be Unavoidable: According to Yagle, students should begin networking early. Whenever possible, befriend prominent faculty or alumni, and anyone who looks like a future CEO, politician, or the offspring of somebody famous. Yagle adds, “When you meet someone who would look good in a suit and may shit cash, attach yourself to them. Grasp them firmly in your bloody talons, and never, ever let them go. Follow them to their classes, parties, and to the bathroom. Who really enforces restraining orders anyway? Sink your teeth into them.”
With methods like these, Yagle is bound for success. She’s only a junior, but her plans for the year include getting EMT-certified, building a media empire, and bearing a strong, healthy son. If that doesn’t work out, she’ll probably open a Yagle’s Bagles shop in Middletown.
“This semester’s been kind of a wash,” said Dean Louise Brown. “Some people feel okay about school. They read and write what professors tell them to. But many students feel aimless. They don’t care about their classes and sometimes they don’t want to go to them.” After talking about her October plans to have a few dinner parties and spend more time with her dog, Brown added, “Everyone could use some time to figure stuff out.”
Both professors and students have welcomed the change. “My syllabuses have been kind of a slog,” said Professor Timothy Nelson of the Government Department. “All September we’ve been going over ethical justification of war and its application to Balkan conflicts, and I can’t help but think, ugghhh.” Physics Professor Natasha Bethem agreed, saying, “I wish I were in bed. My feet were so cold this morning.”
The sudden hiatus presents a problem to upperclassmen with research projects, particularly in the sciences. But that’s not a big deal. Henry Wu ’11 said, “So my bacteria die. What does that really matter, long-term? There’ll be more bacteria. Better to go home, see some people, catch up on Mad Men. I haven’t been to the doctor in a while.” The prevailing attitude seems to be that there’s more to life than
Wesleyan, and that’s all too easy to forget.
The administration stresses that things will be better than ever when we come back. Some class material will be sacrificed, but only the unimportant stuff. “This won’t happen every year,” Roth said. “The University just thinks, having felt it out, that we should press the reset button, so to speak. Take a nap. Have you seen the foliage this autumn? Have you woken up in an orchard and eaten an apple straight off the bough? Now you have time. We all have time.”
“I just figured, you know, why not try something different while I’m abroad?” Bristol explained to close friends and family. “Why not create a venue through which I can share thoughtful multicultural insights, like how hot my host brother looks without a shirt, or how low the sinks are in France?” Bristol’s familiarity with French culture is already “pretty much magnifique,” she says, as evidenced by her enthused participation in last semester’s “Tour de Franzia” night.
The 19-year-old Boston native has not yet settled on a name for her blog, though brainstorming has yielded some promising contenders. “My top choice right now is Bitch in Bordeaux,” she revealed. “It’s sort of ironic, `cause I’m not actually a bitch, haha. But I kind of like the idea of A Broad Abroad, because, like, I’m going abroad and also I am a broad.”
“Or at least my uncle says I am. But he also eats Cream of Wheat with a fork and knife. So whatever.”
Bristol admits that her blogging experience is a bit thin, but says frequent contributions WesBreasts have given her a solid familiarity with Tumblr. “I haven’t had my own blog since, like, eighth grade,” Bristol recalled wistfully. “And that was just a Xanga site where I posted my favorite Evanescence lyrics.”
“I’ll try not to post Evanescence lyrics on this one,” she added, grinning. “But no promises.”
The concert, which took place at the Memorial Chapel on High Street, asked for an optional donation to the Kampala Children’s Centre, a Ugandan orphanage. Once it became apparent that Beyoncé and her cohorts would not perform, people began to ask for their money back.
“When I heard Destiny’s Child would be playing a concert in September, I was even more psyched to come to Wesleyan,” said Keelin Ryan ’14, during the show. “But what a let-down.”
Joan Cooper Burnett, the designated Protestant Chaplain at the university, said that at the beginning of the concert she had been hopeful. “Even an hour before the concert began, people were lined up all the way down High Street in order to get seats; I thought, finally, something we’re doing, it’s getting people’s attention. But,” she added mournfully, “after two songs, people just started leaving.”
“The Chapel is simply not large enough to house the number of people who planned to attend the concert,” Mother Burnett said, “but as dissatisfied customers started to leave, more room opened up inside the hall. And yet, almost as soon as the new people entered, they left. So what ultimately happened was this rip tide effect with the people going out saying ‘It’s not Destiny’s Child, don’t go in there,’ and the people coming in just too eager and not listening and trampling over everyone else. It was utter pandemonium.”
Once it dawned upon the large crowd outside that they would not get to see a revival performance of “Say My Name” or “Bootylicious,” people began to riot. One unidentifiable junior shouted, “I came to see Destiny’s Child, not orphans!” A small group of sophomores wearing DC apparel — including shirts, headbands, and sweatpants — were weeping in a huddle.
Inside the concert hall, the pandemonium was even greater. In the middle of the second song, students started hurling tomatoes and apples at the orphans who were dancing on stage and the performance eventually had to be cut short.
After the concert was halted, one child testified to a university reporter: “This is even worse than Uganda.” Another child replied, “No, it’s not.
The Usdan-specific earthquake was really poor timing for Linus’ band practice in rehearsal room 101. The band members have been seen roaming around the wreckage aimlessly, along with five Bon Appétit managers and two students dragging a Fast-a-Thon sign through the debris at their feet.
Jacob Weinstein ’13 said, “This is a real blow to people trying to keep kosher this semester. Really what it comes down to is that, before the fire, there was a place to get kosher food ready made on campus. Now there isn’t.”
The response from the freshman class has been mixed. Jared Taylor ’14 of WestCo said, “When you think about it, it’s going to be a real treat to be able to reminisce about this in three years. Like honestly, I hear people talking about how cool MoCon was, like what the fuck is that? Anyways, in three years, it will be our turn.”
After the embers cooled, a handful of students were seen rummaging through the wreckage, salvaging what they could. Smith Holzberger, ’11, said, “Its really a take all you can carry deal. Now that we don’t have Usdan, those white plastic plates and yellow cups have really become a hot commodity. It’s not like you can walk in and take
new dishes whenever your old dishes get dirty. There are a limited number of them now. I just scored two plates and a bowl.”
With the loss of the main campus dining center, business at WesWings has really picked up, and reportedly Pi has seen a promising stable flow of people as well. Pi Manager Karen Harris said, “It’s really lucky that we didn’t seem to lose any customers. We still sell about 12 sandwiches a day, thank god.”
The WSA, which previously held meetings in the Usdan Center, will be meeting on Foss Hill until they can find another space. Nandita Krup ’11 confirmed that they will be sitting in a large circle on the hill, but could not speculate as to whether or not they will be bringing guitars.
“If people are in the right mood, they just might bring them. It's really too early to tell,” she said.
Campus officials say that there will be an eating event for hungry students and faculty at 12:30 and 7:00 in Summerfields daily. Light snacks will be provided.
Well, fellas, here we are. Down by 50 in the Super Bowl. It’s raining naked pictures of me, and the other team is made up entirely of fig wasps (Agaonidae) with Barack Obama’s
face. I don’t think I need to spell just how bad the situation is. I know that the thousands of disappointed fathers in the bleachers are beginning to get that familiar look of silent judgment, but you know what? We can turn this around.
Because you know what we’ve got that they don’t? Heart. The other team may have
the head of the president and stingers the size of small rhinos, but we’ve got spirit. Also, I’m pretty sure some of you might be anthropomorphized badger-people, so I think we can work with that.
I remember I had a talk with my seventh-grade math teacher once. Well, I say my seventh-grade math teacher, but really it was a lion with her voice that was about to eat me. But before she did, she told me something that stuck with me to this day. She said, “Don’t put it there! You’ve got to let it boil for a bit before you serve it!” I think we can all learn something from that.
Geez, I guess I’m getting a bit too sentimental, huh? I can tell you Phillip Seymour Hoffman doppelgangers are getting bored. Okay, here’s the plan: That camp counselor I had three years ago whose name I can’t remember, pass every chance you get. If we don’t keep the ball moving, then the fig wasps will just swarm all over you. Hot chick from
physics, hold off on the blitzes. It’s hard to tackle a swarm of sentient insects. Also, put some clothes on.
Hoffmans, I need you to step it up on defense. You and the badger-people need to form
a brick wall, got that? If you can, try and goad the wasps into a penalty so the ref will eat them. Remember, t-rexes can only see movement.
Okay, guys, this is it. If you’ve got any questions, just direct them to Assistant Coach Mega Man, because my teeth keep falling out and I need to find my pants. And be sure to get plenty of water. Don’t worry about the penis-shaped bottles, I’m sure that doesn’t mean anything. Now let’s get out there and win that trophy that looks like my naked mother!
Abolish TuiTion - ChAnge WesleyAn’s FighT song To Alvin luCier’s “i Am siTTing in A room” - rebuild moCon To be used For iTs originAl purpose As A Flying sAuCer - leAd WesleyAn’s seCession From CorrupT “uniTed sTATes oF AmeriCA” - CleAnsing CenTers - replACe Free Condoms WiTh FerTiliTy pills - insTiTuTe mAndATory one Child poliCy As requiremenT For grAduATion - replACe CurrenT Courses WiTh TeAChings oF Wisdom oF hoWArd soosAn Klugguh, lord oF The sKies
VOTE FOR ME OR FACE ETERNAL NIGHT
- If the bed begins to creak, try Reverse Cowgirl.
- Olin’s right next door; when the lighting’s right, students in 3A thesis carrels have a direct view into your room. Pose accordingly—your exposed member is prime inspiration for that kid writing his thesis on Meteorological and Glacial Ablation Controls in Norway.
- Sorry about the closet stench. I guess I was just never all too comfortable using a gender-neutral bathroom.
- Rumor has it Michael Bay ’86 occupied this room during the 1982–83 school year. As a proper tribute, please be sure to masturbate to the Transformers soundtrack at least twice a week.
- That peephole in the wall is perfect for watching the girl next door as she watches Gossip Girl and eats Beef-A-Roni.
- Don’t mind the badgers.
There you have it—you’re practically living in a palace! Enjoy your time in the good ol’ 403.
Hugs and kisses, Zach
The first few weeks for the freshmen went by without a hitch. Everyone became friends, but no one was quite sure my this particular group of freshman had been selected for residency in 200 “Minority House” Church. However, a few weeks into school, the true meaning of “Minority House” became apparent.
“Everyone was hanging around one night, playing pool and stuff, and we were blaring music,” said Robert Kownacki ’14. “Typical stuff for us, really. Weezer, Foo Fighters, MGMT… but then the next song came on, and it was “Big Poppa” by Biggie. I think we all felt like someone should change the track, but people suddenly started nodding their heads along with it, rapping with it even. Before I knew it, the whole house was drankin’, smokin’, straight west-coastin’!”
At that moment it became clear that 200 Church in fact houses the small minority of Wesleyan students who enjoy rap music. Every night since, the floor level of Minority House has been a grotto for hip-hop enthusiasts to bathe in the likes of everything from Cameo to NWA. (Am I allowed to say the ‘N’ when I say ‘NWA’? You know what it stands for, right?) It’s no secret Wesleyan students can’t “Fight the Power” when 200 Church residents “Bring the Noise,” but some university officials “Don’t Believe the Hype.”
“Whenever someone’s peeking into the girl’s locker room, it’s Minority House,” said Fran Koertig, Director of Residential Life. “Whenever half the campus reeks of marijuana, it’s Minority House. Whenever empty kegs are thrown off the roof of Allbritton, it’s Minority House!”
Because of 200 Church’s growing notoriety, Public Safety has been making frequent visits to the house in search of contraband related to rap music, including automatic firearms, purple drank, and cocaine.
“They thought I was a donut; they tried to glaze me,” said Alexander Lewis ’14.
The residents of 200 Church have made their intentions clear, stating that there is no party like a 200 Church party “‘cause a 200 Church party don’t stop!” This funkadelic, supa-fly locomotive of a party house is full-steam ahead on a collision course with no end. It might be best for everyone to just “let it be.”
We at the Ampersand know how tough it is for gentlemen to pick out outfits. If you’re ever unsure how to best express yourself through your clothes and accessories, here are a few helpful hints that apply to literally any party scenario:
- Girls love wolves howling at the moon. Wear a wolf t-shirt anywhere on your body and watch the ladies come running. Be sure to quote Wolf Blitzer, carry your favorite Tom Wolfe novel and talk about your plans to go WWOOFing next summer.
- One word—Headband. Another word—TWO headbands.
- Do you want to convey that you’re a sensitive, artsy type? Why not wear a beret? Or why not wear a beret… and nothing else? After spending the week working out at Freeman, there’s no better way to show off that rockin’ body of yours while still showing people that you’re totally alternative. (Did we mention that the beret should be hanging on your dick? It should be hanging on your dick.)
- This next piece of advice is strictly for those who play the didgeridoo. If you don’t own/play the didgeridoo, stop reading right now:
All right didgeridudes, here’s the deal: As soon as there’s a lull in those fresh “party jams,” start blowing away on that hollowed out piece of wood of yours.
Wesleyan is a school that appreciates diversity and different cultures, so the other students at the party will no doubt embrace your attempt to share your culture. In no time at all you’ll have “heaps” of new “mates” and attention from a whole bevy of “sheilas.” But be careful not to play so loudly that P-Safe is called— that’s a major didgeriDON’T.
“Not much is known about Balltothighitis,” said Joyce Walter, the director of the Health Center. “I don’t fully understand it, but as far as I know there’s no cure yet.”
According to the report, the disease seems to manifest only in males and is typified by a sudden, highly uncomfortable fusion of the scrotum to the upper thigh. “Imagine testicular torsion crossed with straddling a pommel-horse coated in glass shards and angry she-hornets,” said NYU epidemiologist Gregor Nutte. “It really sucks.”
Secondary symptoms include swelling, stickiness, and bilateral thigh chafe. The symptoms come and go seemingly at will; one student complained that he thought his symptoms had gone away late on Wednesday evening, only to have them return suddenly on Thursday afternoon.
“I was walking up Foss Hill with my new friends Jenna and Emily,” the student said, “when it hit me for the second time. I’m not gonna lie: I had trouble walking, and it was embarrassing. I mean, Jenna and Emily just had no idea what I was going through at that moment.”
Other boys who caught the disease did not escape with just embarrassment. At least two move-in volunteers were so surprised by the symptoms that they dropped what they were carrying and broke their pinky toes.
“It’s a real problem,” said Walter. “The only potential cause I can find for this epidemic is the heat and humidity. Since Hurricane Earl came through, there’s been an appreciable decrease in the number of boys coming to the Center.”
On the tentatively titled “Wacky Booty-Call Tuesday,” the office encourages students to choose another student from a radically different circle of friends with whom to flirtext, sext, and eventually perform a “wacky booty call.” Mark Romberg from OSA says the first two Tuesdays of this event have been a resounding success.
“I can’t describe to you the joy I felt when I saw a young flexual woman early this morning, stumbling home to Open House from Fauver, her flannel barely buttoned,” he said. “Already I feel the sense of community here has gotten much stronger. The amount of people wearing those big black-framed glasses at the football game last week was simply remarkable!”
Others do not feel such strong attachment to the new theme-night. Chaz Birmingham, deputy captain of the baseball team, found the differences between him and his new Tuesday Friend impossible to get past.
“What really got to me was that she wanted to play dubstep while we were hooking up. I mean, Marvin Gaye I can deal with. I can even get my groove on to electroclash. But I draw the line at dubstep. I mean, a man hasta have a little dignity.”
“Personally, I don’t like it,” said Thaddeus Schwartz, an Eclectic resident. “Call me weird, but it’s just too easy to remove running shorts, t-shirts, and sports bras. I just mastered the art of speedily undoing a belted romper and now I feel like I’m back in the little leagues.”
WHAT YOU BROUGHT TO COLLEGE BUT DIDN'T NEED:
- Your little brother: Sooner or later, he’s going to find out that this isn’t a camping trip, the tarp under your bed isn’t a tent, and your roommate isn’t a bear. Also, this’ll mean you won’t have to keep all your food suspended in a cooler in the middle of the room.
- Your 4500 cubic centimeter scale model of Vienna’s Westbahnhof Train Station: Yes, it’s very impressive the way you knit the tiny uniforms for the tiny conductors and yes, it probably could get you all the chicks. But the fact is it simply takes up too much space for you to display your Ferris Bueller diorama.
- That many condoms: Come on dude, get real.
Of course, there’s also the possibility that there’s
STUFF YOU WILL NEED BUT DIDN'T BRING TO COLLEGE
- An Elvis-shaped whisky decanter: Who doesn’t want to drink from the neck hole of the King?
- A sense of self-worth: At some point, you aren’t experimenting with your sexuality. You’re just a slut.
- A tub of mayonnaise, a three-legged stool, and a pit bull that answers to “Vinny”: Believe me, these are going to come in handy in a big way.
- Ask if you can go to breakfast in your pajamas.
- Tell them you’re having trouble flushing the toilet.
- Ask if babies are born from the butt.
- Ask if there is a truancy officer.
- Ask them to put calamine lotion on your infected nipple piercing.
- Never lower your hand at a hall meeting.
- Say loudly that you believe that spectra of gender identity, sexual idenitiy, and biological sex are acutally cycles, i.e. if you become too gay, you get straight.
- Pucker your lips whenever in their presence: they won’t know if something is wrong or if you’re doing it on purpose.
- Ask if you can do crunches in your room, or only in the athletic center.
- Practice your keytar.
- Ask, “Is unlocking a door like sex for a key?”
- Turn hir peephole around so you can watch ze in hir room.
The 33 Chilean students arrived on campus almost a month early for Chilean Student Orientation, a special program designed to acclimate the Andes-dwellers to life in Middletown.
Due to the Summer Session’s use of other facilities, the students were housed in Deep-Deep-Down 4, a disused section of the West College dormitory. Seismic activity caused by a high-decibel Buru Style rehearsal collapsed the poorly maintained underground residence hall. Luckily, the students had congregated in the main room to practice their colorful indigenous weaving techniques, and the small common area was spared by the cave-in, which crushed over 90% of livable space. Rescuers spent several days trying to determine whether any students had survived. After inserting a thin pipe into the subterranean area, University officials communicated with the trapped students and learned that all 33 were alive and boisterous. One official said the rowdy noises emanating from the cavern suggested the students were having a Chilean party.
Isaac Thompson ’12, a Residential Life orientation worker, has emerged as the group’s spiritual leader. He has organized a small secular chapel and leads the group in daily, extra-hot Bikram yoga sessions. Thompson, in an e-mail, joked that he thought his “forced-triple freshman year was bad haha” but added, in all seriousness, that he would be demanding a great deal of overtime pay. The group has voted in rules governing communal eating, gender-neutral bathrooms, and quiet hours. Sexile etiquette is still being negotiated.
WesCo’s listserv has already generated dozens of ideas for lifting the trapped students’ spirits, including a benefit concert and the delivery of medicinal herbs through the three-inch hole that provides food and water. On Sunday night all the Chilean students received a text from Wesleyan Student Assembly vice-president Ben Firke, which read, “don’t worry guys. help is on the way. –re-elect Feiring/Firke.”
The WSA has commented that in the wake of this tragedy it would be disrespectful for University officials to enforce the new open-container policy.
- 200 Church: Better known as “Minority House,” this program house is located “on the greens, close the Usdan library,” or maybe “like, across from the Bayit, but I could be very wrong.” 200 Church are “generally really nice guys who are very tight.”
- The ACB: The what?
- Butts: The Butts are “where people who are generally neutral and quite honestly, awesome live.” Offers a “well-knit community.” Bonus: “you get to meet upperclassmen.” Note: if you don’t live in the Butts, you will meet zero upperclassmen, neutral or partisan.
- Class of 2014: They chose Wesleyan for “the University Major and the campus-wide downloading network.” They’re passionate about “guitar, existentialism, the history of film, nature as both a solitary entity and an environmental issue, and fucking party.” And this is sooo shameless, but you should check out my music/film blog at http://theboyandcolors. blogspot.com/
- Fauver: “If you like sleeping, DON’T COME TO FAUVER. If you like to party and football and stuff like that, that’s the place for you.”
- Queer Life: There is none. “The LGBQ disbanded like 2 years ago.” Sorry.
- Usdan: Main campus library, next to Minority House.
- Wesleyan: “A crazy unique place where everyone has such interesting hobbies and passions.”
- Wesleyan College Republicans: “An active student group with a lot of big plans for the fall, and there are some really great opportunities to get involved.” Their plans may be really big, but the thread has zero replies.
- WestCo: “Everyone smokes weed there.” “Not everyone smokes weed there.” “Everyone smokes weed there.” “Not everyone smokes week there.” Regardless, “I am on bended knee thanking the powers that be for granting me a much-coveted spot in this highly sought-after, magical place.” Everyone smokes weed there.
- Ze Who Must Not Be Named Day: “It’s just some getting crazy, loose, and taking drugs kind of uh . . . celebration?”
Map of Wesleyan: