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Amanda Palmer Visits Campus, Joins Cheese Co-Op for Nostalgia’s Sake

Amanda Palmer ’98 wasted no time reliving her carefree college days last Friday: within an hour of arriving on campus, the Dresden Dolls’ frontwoman had signed up for the Wesleyan cheese co-op “just for nostalgia’s sake.”

“This really brings me back,” reminisced the performer, sampling fresh Cato Corner Farm “Womanchego” cheese on the lower Usdan couches, tapping her foot along with a Buru Style practice session. “Ah, college. Those were the days.”

“I was sitting right here in Usdan when I wrote ‘Coin-Operated Boy,’” Palmer added, sighing in delight. “Moodle was down that day, so I opened up GarageBand and wrote most of our first record.”

Palmer also insisted on a visit to her old freshman year room, Fauver 208.
“She just barged in when I was trimming my back hair,” said current resident Matt Timmons’ 15. “Like, kinda lame.”

According to Timmons, Palmer excitedly took credit for a stain in the room’s carpet.

“That was me!” Palmer reportedly exclaimed. “I spilled my Mojito Mamba Odwalla there in 1995!”

“Like, no,” Timmons clarified. “I splooged there.”

“Fuck the Pussycat Dolls, man,” Timmons shrugged.

Amanda Palmer's Ninja Gig at Eclectic

War with Russia Would Be “Exactly Like A Video Game,” Says Professor

According to Government Professor Richard Price, a war between the United States of America and the Russian Federation would play out exactly like a video game.

“Basically, we’d be up Shit Creek,” Price explained.

Price has never actually been to Russia, but he is able to claim many hours of “extensive internet research” and Call of Duty to support his assertions.

“These games are based on literally hours of research, so it’s safe to assume that what they portray could really happen, like when you chase that guy over a waterfall in a dinghy,” said Price.

Price is dubious about the United States’ fate should such a conflict materialize. He acknowledges the superiority of America’s military power and estimates about two months between the start of the conflict and reaching the Kremlin. And that’s when things get tricky.

“At that point,” he explained, “the only thing standing between us and victory is the one thing that can defeat us: Putin.”

Citing the Russian prime minister’s propensity for being portrayed “like a Bond villain” and the fact that he is the only world leader with his own judo move, Price postulated that Vladimir Putin could very well be the final boss that eats away all of the United States’ quarters, figuratively and literally.

“He’d be like the final boss of Killzone 2 but, like, times a hundred,” warned Price. “Teleporting all over the place and using a knife, then whipping out a huge gun that deals massive damage. I could see him easily exhausting our war effort right when we’ve made it to the finish line. And this is all assuming he doesn’t have cybernetic augmentations by this point.”

Price noted that the deciding factor of the war will be whether or not the Japanese are ultimately persuaded to fight alongside us.

“If we could enlist their mecha battalions and legions of pretty-boy swordsmen, we might be able to turn the tide and defeat Putin,” Price said. “But even then, it’s up in the air.”

POV: Dewey Dell

International Student Wakes on Wrong Side of Bed

Amelia Bedelia ’15, an international student hailing from Not America, woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

“This country is fucked,” Bedelia said after the incident. “Am I losing my marbles? No, wait, they’re in my other pants.”

Bedila reportedly woke upon the wrong side of the bed at approximately 4:15 a.m. She suffered minor bruising and immediately sought out her Residential Advisor, Lucy Britt, ’14. Britt told her not to “cry over spilt milk” and went back to sleep.

“I just don’t know what is going on anymore,” Bedelia said. “In my country, spilling milk would be not only a waste, but a dishonor to my entire family. And what does that have to do with my fractured nose?”

During the few weeks that she has been in America, Bedelia’s eccentricities have led to minor altercations. During International Student Orientation (ISO), she allegedly released a rabid cat in her Nicholson dormitory.

“I mean sure, I let my cat out of the bag during ISO, but the poor thing was in a bag. Have you ever spent eight hours in a bag on a trans-Atlantic flight? I didn’t think so.”

According to friends, Bedelia is adjusting with difficulty.

“She’s starting to lose it a little, struggling to deal with jet-lag and with foreign idioms,” said her roommate Millicent Herf ’15. “But I think she’s a good fit. I mean, she’s going through a linguistic crisis, but at
this stage in the game, the ball is totally in her court.”

As a result of her friends’ support, Bedelia seems to slowly be getting a grip on life at Wesleyan.
“I’m learning a lot,” Bedelia said. “I stopped jumping guns and touching the bases at Andrus. Plus I haven’t bitten the hands of any Usdan staff this week.”

Added Bedelia, holding onto her second floor balcony, “I think I just may be getting the hang of this.”

Michael "Sloth"

Confessions of a Usdan Deli Worker

You think you can just tell me to “make [you] a sandwich?”

I’m disgusted by the institution-endorsed entitlement of Wesleyan boys like you, whose woefully inadequate sandwiches have led to the creation of the godforsaken Usdan deli station to which I have been assigned.

“Make me a sandwich” is a phrase loaded with connotations. It is a trigger word in my personal history, and in the history of female oppression. When Catherine of Aragon was asked to make a sandwich, she punched Gregory de Casale in the scrotum. Virginia Woolf was once asked to make a sandwich and she waded into a river —

Hey, come back here!

I have repeatedly asked the Usdan staff to reposition me so that I will never again hear a male deliver this infernal command. But at the panini press they derided me with calls of “Squeeze it good!” At the Mongolian Grill, they shouted, “Char my meat!” The Grazin’ station was okay, butI didn’t particularly like standing in that part of the kitchen. So here I am at the sandwich station, and my contract stipulates that I am “not licensed to cut bread,” so do not even think about asking.

Despite his role in the phallocentric technocracy, perhaps I should make like Harry Truman and “get out of the kitchen.” But alas, I am a female, and so eternally damned to stand here.