A satirical publication by The Badger Herald The belly of Vilas
Kinda independent since 1895
dirtybird.wisc.edu
April Fools Day, 2018 (± a week)
E H T F EO N I L T ON R F E TH M O R F S T R O REP DJ Phallus MOTHER OF TWO In the morass of a meme war, who you should count as your ally and who you should count as your foe is always unclear and shifting. Where one moment you may temporarily befriend the College Republican out of necessity to defeat a sudden Minnesota Gopher insurgency, you’re never safe from betrayal. Tragically, this is the reality of a meme war and is often hidden from normies among the no-mans-land beneath the “Read More” button in the comments. The battleground, “UW-Madison Memes for Milk-Chugging Teens,” is pockmarked with these skirmishes. Take a scroll down the Facebook page and you will travel back in time, seeing in reverse the great memers and their causes rise from defeat into supreme dominance, only to see them reduced into obscurity just as quickly as their short-lived ascension. As a reporter on the frontlines, it is difficult to fully grasp the enormity of the war, as the fronts across which the war is fought are many and new factions seem to appear out of thin air like ghosts. The clash that occurred when massive numbers of QQ partisans were forced to defend their establishment’s bottom-tier Chinese food from a guerilla effort orchestrated by those carrying the banner for Paul’s Pel’meni and its unremarkable Russian dumplings is a perfect encapsulation of this war’s futility. Jack Bryant, advancing the cause for QQ’s styrofoam con-
tainers filled to the brim with tasteless noodles, delivered an infamous blow to Paul’s Pel’meni’s troops with a simple image of the eatery’s small balls of potato and/or beef. “Are you a homeless dog? Does this look good to you?” prompts Bryant’s low-effort post, amassing roughly 300 likes from people who think Happy Wok is authentic Chinese food. If it weren’t for Karim Nassef’s powers as moderator of the meme page and his capacity to rally disparate forces around a cause, QQ’s would have easily dispatched with Paul’s. But, with only a humble Harry Potter meme, Nassef and his comrades nearly tripled Bryant’s total likes, momentarily stalling their inevitable defeat. For soldiers of the war, the conflict was shattering and made it nearly impossible to return to a normal life. Most troubling for them is coming to the realization that someone who you sit next to on the bus or in class – or someone you might even count as a friend – could choose to not only eat out of necessity but also enjoy food a starving raccoon would turn its nose at. For objective reporters of the war, the reasons for the conflict are so useless, stupid and absurd that they invalidate the concept of war itself. Of course, rational people will agree Paul’s Pe’lmeni is miles better than QQ’s, but war in its most pure form is irrational and distorts reality. In between moments of strife, however, the meme-war can expose the raw connections tying mankind together. Like the Christmas truce during WWI when opposing trenches across the Western Front paused their fighting to solemnly celebrate Christmas as one, a meme war can similarly
bring together mortal enemies when the exhaustion of endless warring and the beauty of chance intersect. Such a moment happened recently when Lori Berquam, the vice provost for the Division of Student Life and a God-tier milk-chugging meme, announced her resignation from the university.
R A W E MEM
The fighting, between socialists and libertarians, Gophers and Badgers, B-schoolers and literally everyone else, suddenly stopped for a few beautiful moments. Harmonizing, the memers all cried, “Don’t go.”
Opinion: Commuting To Class From The James Becomes Too Difficult When Father Has Taken The Carriage To Go Fox Hunting Quentin Beaufort II You’ll Be Hearing From My Lawyer About This Having an 8:00 AM lab is absolute drudgery. In the winter, waking up in darkness only to remember such a terrible commitment sours my morning like no other, knowing I must leave the warmth of my bed into the bitter winter winds on the way to class. But few things could worsen this commute more than leaving my modest apartments at The James and entering the stable only to realize that father has taken the carriage on a fox hunting holiday for the week. I know the struggles of student life all too well: late nights spent poring over manuscripts at the library, putting off group projects to binge watch Molière’s L’ecole des Femmes, or being so broke that you can’t even afford an 18th century ebony inlaid Florentine cabinet for your apartment’s billiard room. A lot of adults hardly seem aware of the sacrifices students make – I, for example, took up my chambers at The James instead of troubling my uncle, the Viscount Montboissier, to stay at his nearby estate. These sacrifices make it all the more insulting when father takes the sporting carriage off for a fox hunt without so much as leaving a word with
my valet. How am I supposed to get to class? Walking might seem a feasible alternative, but the sidewalks on the way to class are jammed with idiot farmers and merchants, and it is beneath my pedigree to be seen with such common folk. One might suggest I ride the bus,
ten trip has spoiled my week, leaving me cooped up in my apartment until his return. All I can do to stave off this dreadful boredom is play my harpsichord, water my ferns and rearrange my collection of ivory figurines. I cannot even have company over, as The James’ wine cellars ran out of Rémy Martin Louis XIII two weeks ago. The City of Madison ought to invest in better transport, or at least have carriages available for short-term lease for residents such as myself – I shouldn’t have thought that a struggling student would be put through difficulty like this.
“Without my carriage, there is simply no feasible option for me to get to class”
but every time I have tried, the callous moron at the helm refuses to drive me exactly where I want to go, even when I offer him a sterling silver luncheon spoon from my own collection as payment. One might also think I could ride my own horse to class, but I mustn’t expend Percival’s strength before the Epsom Derby in May. Without my carriage, there is simply no feasible option for me to get to class. Father’s rot-
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