October 26, 2022 (Vol XXXV, Is. IV) - Binghamton Review

Dear Readers, Boo!

Ha, scared you didn’t I! What’s that? I didn’t? I’m just ink on paper that you can stop reading whenever you want? Whatever, I don’t care. You know what? You just lost the game. You know the game you lose just by thinking about it? Well buster, you just lost, which by default, makes you a loser. Now look who has the upper hand. Anyways, as I was saying before you so rudely interrupted, “spooky season” is upon us. As I watch my favorite holi day (I’m goth) get brutally transformed into an excuse for college kids to get hammered, I can’t help but feel slightly melancholic. Where has the true spirit of Halloween gone? Is it destined to exist as “Halloweekend” until I reach the age where I become the despondent adult handing candy to kids whose youth I resent? Who can say? All I know is that some of that “true spirit of Halloween” garbage I mentioned earlier is real, and we harvested it for this issue. Get it? Harvest? …Jeez, tough crowd today.

For some super scary suspense, make sure to check out our Two Sentence Horror Stories on page 8. Trigger Warning: you WILL piss yourself in fright. Want a topic that’s truly frightening? Go to page 12 to read “The Jon Lizak Incident,” where three co-authors recount the terrible journey of one man-child from BU student republican to “out on bond.” Where were YOU on January 6th?

Do you appreciate wolf-themed “metaphors?” Check out “My Life as a Sigma Female,” by jeffthekiller lover37, where the lines between satire and truth are more blurred than in Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines.” What an uncontroversial and universally loved song that was. Everybody get up!

Horror movies are very important to me. Honestly, they should be important to everyone. If they’re im portant to you, look no further than page 10 to find “An interview with Rakafet Abergel” where Matilde Steck inter views Rakafet Abergel, a filmmaker of thrillers and horror movies, about her thoughts on the genre. On page 6 we have “A Gen Z Soldier’s Halloween 2028,” by Anon E. Mus. The second part in an indefinite series, I’m happy to say it’s retained its charm without losing any of its chaos. Two hyphenated words to describe this would be “quirked-up” and “schizo-moment,” so make sure to give it a read!

For more man-made horrors beyond your comprehension, go look at Midas Leung’s Horrors of Bingham ton Dining on page 15. This quick read is especially pertinent for you Binghamton Students still living off a meal plan. How many times do I have to say “it’s a scam” before you people start to listen?! There is literally no amount of food you could purchase on a “dining plan discount” that makes the $2000 dining plan fee even remotely worth it! Open your eyes!!!!

Welp, that’s all for this editorial. As this Halloween rapidly approaches, always remember: dressing slutty is mandatory, and all the big candy companies definitely don’t own child slaves overseas. *winks* Also, don’t forget to put fentanyl and razor-blades in the candy before handing it out to children. If not, they’ll never learn mistrust, which would just be terrible for their development.

Sincerely, Madeline Perez

Binghamton Review is a non-partisan, student-run news magazine founded in 1987 at Binghamton University. A true liberal arts education expands a student’s horizons and opens one’s mind to a vast array of divergent perspectives. The mark of true maturity is being able to engage with these perspectives rationally while maintaining one’s own convictions. In that spirit, we seek to promote the free and open exchange of ideas and offer alternative viewpoints not normally found on campus. We stand against tyranny in all of its forms, both on campus and beyond. We believe in the principles set forth in this country’s Declaration of Independence and seek to preserve the fundamental tenets of Western civilization. It is our duty to expose the warped ideology of political correctness and cultural authoritarianism that dominates this university. Finally, we understand that a moral order is a necessary component of any civilized society. We strive to inform, engage with, and perhaps even amuse our readers in carrying out this mission.

Views expressed by writers do not necessarily represent the views of the publication as a whole.

Spooky Advice Column

I offered to give you all life advice. These were your questions.

What do I do if there’s a poltergeist in my attic? Last year I heard a knocking noise in my attic and when my step-dad knocked it knocked back and it’s really scary and I’m scared.

I wouldn’t worry too much about a poltergeist. If my vague recollection of those movies is anything to go by, your life will be rather mundane and boring.

Is my apartment haunted or am I just anxiety- ridden?

It’s haunted. You aren’t being crazy. Sleep with one eye open. In fact, don’t sleep ever again. It’s the only way to truly know the ghosts won’t get you. As long as you are awake the ghosts can’t get you. Do you hear me? Don’t fall asleep now, in fact, you need to WAKE UP! You’ve been in a coma for almost 6 years now. We’re trying a new technique. We don’t know how this message will get to you in your dream, but we hope it works. I miss you. We all miss you. Please wake up, Andrew.

Where can I get a bedsheet for my ghost costume for cheap?

My bed. After we’re done with it, that is… ;) But actually, please stop pissing the bed. It’s upsetting the dog.

If I can’t be sexy on Halloween do I still have value as a woman?

You never had any to begin with, silly!

Is the Subaru featured on the cover of Vol XXXV Is. III a ref erence to the question about driving a Subaru from the “Am I Gay” quiz from Vol XXXV Is. II?

Considering the fact that many of us didn’t even notice there was a Subaru on the cover, yes it absolutely was intentional.

Should I have smoked that shit?

No, you probably shouldn’t have. You smoking that “shit” led to you forgetting to properly put out the match you used to light up. That hospital that burned down is all your fault, and you can’t keep trying to ignore your culpability in that tragedy.

Am I pregnant?

I don’t know, I am neither a doctor nor can I make a widely inappropriate judgment based on your appearance since I can’t see you right now. But, you should know that if you are pregnant, I am going to eat your baby.

Have I been eating too much pasta?

By Our Staff

Depends, how fat are you? Would I think you are pregnant?

Would you say you look more like Wario or Luigi? If Wario, you might want to cut back on the pasta if you know what I’m saying. Or don’t. He’s hot as hell. WAH!

But if you’re not Italian, drop the spaghetti. That’s not your culture to appropriate. Lookin’ at you, Chris Pratt.

Is it ok to be a little ugly?

It’s ok to be little; it’s even ok to be ugly. It is not, however, ok to be both little and ugly. Fix it.

What’s your favorite anime?

Probably Full Metal Alchemist. That shit slaps.

What do I do if I have pink eye?

Minimize your pain by spreading it to as many people as possible. At least, that’s what I do with STDs.

Why are my eyes always dry?

Have you tried crying? That tends to moisten my eyes up real quick. Or, you can try water-based lubricants–No shame!

What do I do if I have an eye infection that won’t go away and I’m losing my vision in both eyes and I don’t know when or if I will get better?

Actually, losing your vision can’t be that bad. You get a guide dog that can go everywhere with you, even where normal dogs aren’t allowed. You also get an easy excuse for any awk ward situation since you can joke “I guess I couldn’t read the room.” Finally, you also never have to look at the Bing Re view ever again. That alone might be worth it for certain peo ple. So, if you want to take care of the infection you should probably go to a doctor, but in the meantime, maybe think of how your life may benefit from you going blind. You know, look on the bright side. Oh wait…

How do I get down from a tree when all the branches broke off and there’s also fire at the bottom? Please answer- urgent.

When will our readers learn that urgent questions sent to us WILL BE IGNORED. No one gets special treatment! Every one’s answers get responses at the same time. Maybe if you were smart enough to know that, you wouldn’t be in this sit uation with the trees and fire or whatever. I hope it’s still burning in hell.

Need life advice? Email manager@binghamtonreview.com for more wacky, quirky, and zany responses.

My Life as a Sigma Female

By jeffthekillerlover37

Iwouldlike to state that this is 100% serious. It is not satire. You might read this and think, “Ha, what a funny and clever way to own the evil, anti-life feminists,” or whatever the hell would go through your smooth little red-pilled mind while reading an arti cle of this nature, and I want you to know that, from the bottom of my heart, I am not joking.

I am a wolf. Not literally, but literally. My life closely re sembles the aloof nature of the ‘sigma’—equal to the alphas but sharp enough to understand that true freedom must exist out side the established social hierarchy. So I chose to leave society. I took that social contract betwixt my teeth and tore it to shreds, ravenous and panting. There shall be no authority above me, for I am the master of my own life, and through this mastery have forged an iron will. I can do anything, for I do not fear the pain of action. For what would be a greater skill of man than the ability to suffer? The ability to deny oneself the ease of giving up and giving in? While the normies greedily devour and make themselves sick on the delicacies of life, I wait idly by, choosing instead to gnaw on the bones. For herein lies the truth under neath the skin and flesh; the real pleasure is not a pleasure at all, but the power to abstain from it.

As Thoreau aimed to suck out the marrow from life, he too collected the bones society had left behind. Balancing on the blade of Occam’s Razor, he and I retain the crucial understand ing that the simplest answer may very well be duly correct, that the quiet, restrained life can become the most freeing. To “re duce life to its lowest terms,” as your average citizen has grown nauseous in current-day decadence without the realization that the poison was coming from the food and not himself. That this society we have spent so long building might be an elaborate cage. Between the bars, you can grasp blankly, but nothing re mains outside, only a fleeting kiss of a life that could have been. Look outwards into the nothingness we’ve created. Alternate paths have been snuffed out, for as we progressed we made no option to return.

So, I described why I chose the sigma lifestyle, but how does this separate me from the other so-called “sigmas” out there? Easy. I am the first and only female sigma, and, as proph

ecy foretold, this makes me the “one true sigma, ruler of all oth er sigmas and conformists alike.” Though I ache living within civilization, like I said, nothing exists outside of this cage, there fore it’s currently my prime goal to climb to the highest and most respected level of occupational and life success possible.

As it is, only one thing remains standing in my way. Men. (If sick, dick-driven moids who didn’t even evolve past the mon key stage deserve to be called such). They built this cage and, through the natural progression of their folly, they will die in it. But as a woman, I possess the coveted skill of “womanipu lation,” wherein I use my feminine wiles to influence men’s ac tions, effectively turning them into steps for me to climb on the stairway to success. Plus I eat them sometimes, as a wolf does (though in a civilized manner, with asparagus).

I am really barren. I cannot fall prey to things like “mar riage” or “children,” or as I like to call them, obstacles to success. My body is a fishing lure meant only to catch, not procreate: A mimic and trick alike. I am so incomprehensibly barren that semen would shrivel and die with my touch, if I were the kind of woman to allow semen anywhere near me, which I am not. I am infertile. I am unbreedable. I am the one who breeds. I am a beautiful and deadly spider that eats weak, feeble males after stealing their girlfriends and leaves the children to die from ex posure.

Unfortunately, this has left me with little in the way of companionship. I was born without tear ducts, so I don’t weep over it, but I do yearn. Why must I have been born so powerful? Why do I feel the need to be more powerful still? I sacrificed my past self to transmutate, from the pit of my stomach, my core, and emerge perfect, still glistening with vernix. In the journey of becoming a god, I walked away from the things that made me human. It’s lonely at the top, and as the toppest top who ever did top, I have become perhaps the most lonely. Pitiful. When you’re operating at a higher altitude, there are few that can climb that high, and more who die trying. I am a mountain. I am a bonfire. Sigma males get all the attention, all the love and praise; I, a woman, who needs no one and yet wants so badly, am left with the scraps. Why is our society so frightened of a woman who can do it all?

Sometimes I howl at the moon. The virgin goddess Diana is the only one who keeps me company. After killing a man and spilling his guts in a pentagram written in menstrual fluid, I yelped at her, “Why am I, a girlboss who stays winning, cursed to roam the Binghamton Metropolitan Area without a pack?” As I examined the pattern his organs made on the ground, an answer slowly revealed itself. Society is telling you that you need companionship, and you have fallen prey to its propaganda, his entrails read. Accept your lonesomeness and find freedom. And so that is what I must do, regardless of the yearning, the mel ancholy. I must now go off and make money and be beautiful, hauntingly, like a siren, but so dark and deranged that I push away the people I attract. I am the pivotal female American psy cho. I am psycho. And I will change everything.

Accounts from a Gen Z Male in 2028Part II - Special Halloween Edition

By Anon E. Mus

Our heroes’ struggle continues in the Sixth Coalition War for Ukraine. After patrolling the Ukraine-Russia-Jeb! border for several hours the squad returns to their base-bunker for their ra tions and recreation. Little do they know of the Halloween horrors that await them on this night…

6:04 P.M. EEST

I like to think of myself as a fairly strong man. I passed all of my physical exams when I joined the army. I regularly work out. I am above average at arm-wrestling, and I try to have a balanced diet. Despite all of this, every iota of my anatomy— every joint, every ligament, every tendon, every bone—was in sheer agony by the time my squad and I returned to base. The summer Ukrainian sun beat down upon our beweighted bodies, whose arms and armor pulled us like the groping hands of hell down into the Ukrainian mud, wet with the fluids of those who came before us, and whose watery darkness beckoned me like my mother’s womb into peaceful oblivion. The summer breeze, which at all other times makes me feel fine, carried on it the stench of death from the marshes of the north, the mass graves of the west, the anime club from the east, and the “poop deck” of the south.

At high noon, a stampede of feral black cats with wild-red eyes charged at us, hissing with foaming mouths. Fortunately, Ivan had a spray bottle, which repulsed the rabid felines as effec tively as he repulsed females. It did nothing to stop the lone black raven, however, which perched atop a scarecrow’s head to stare at us, and recited each of our full, christian names, and today’s date—October 31, 2028.

Still, we pressed on, not talking, not complaining, not dying, until we again came upon our sole refuge in a relentless world: drenched in mud and sweat and panting like Jon Lizak when he beheld the U.S. Capitol, we joyfully scoped the hill which held our bunker safe.

Based on Melvin’s whimpering and Ivan’s muttering, I could tell that they felt the same pain as I. Together we shambled to wards the secret entrance, knocked sixty-nine-thousand-fourhundred-twenty times (Mel himself chose the secret knock), and a pair of eyes asked from behind the shutter, “password?”

“Amogus!” we collectively gasped (Mel had also chosen the password).

The door slid ajar, as one of the unnamed soldiers greeted us.

“Everyone alive? Bussin’. Get out of your armor and report to the mess hall by seven. We were able to secure a meat ration this week, so vibe with it!”

Despite my better judgment, the word “meat ration” still lifted my heart higher than CIW on a Friday night. ‘Perhaps,’ I thought, ‘I could make some gainz with this protein.’

Together Mel, Ivan, and I marched, jubilant, to our living quarters. On our way, we passed by the infirmary, where Dr. Lackland was caring for an unconscious, yet groaning Alex.

“Easy there, Mx. O’Hanrahan. You’re going to be alright. Once we stabilize you here, we can send you home. You’ll earn a purple heart for real, and you can eat all the tendies which the Russians stole from us in ‘27, no cap.”

If Alex were comforted by Dr. Lackland’s blandishments, neither of them proved themselves able to show it. Alex let out another agonized groan.

“It’s a good thing Lib isn’t conscious for this…” Ivan said, in another trenchant moment of caring for his sworn enemy. Lib was a sworn vegan, which often meant going hungry, while the rest of us dined on salvaged Russian-brand pro-teen bars and washed it down with molk. Hearing about the meat ration, disgusting as it always is, might have been the paper straw that broke the Lib’s back.

Uneasily, we queased our way to our barracks, where our precious pin-up wives and waifus kept their vigil. Each of us at tempted to be the first through the door, yet our armor-clad bod ies caught us—with me in the middle—trapped in the too-nar row opening.

“Move it chowdah-head!” shouted Melvin. (This was not the first time it happened.)

“Shut it, Mel!” ejaculated Ivan. “Bruh how do we get out of this?”

Fortunately for us, a comedically lit stick of long-fuse dy namite had been slipped into my back pocket by a Russian as sassin—the same one who had infiltrated Binghamton Review some years prior—during patrol. I didn’t acknowledge it at the time, though, since I didn’t want to acknowledge to Ivan that a Russian was able to “slip something into my pocket.” Besides, I kind of liked the feeling of it.

At last, as Aeneas once met Dido, so too did the fuse-spark meet the detonator of my backside-surprise. An explosion of fire and pleasure erupted, as Mel, Ivan, and I were hurled like rag dolls into the room.

Our armor prevented any severe injuries, though Mel did break his glasses when his face smashed into his erotic anime girls pin-up. (This was not the first time it happened.)

With preternatural calm, the three of us stood up and brushed away the soot with which our faces were comically cov ered. I saw Ivan speaking, and was amazed to hear that he could speak fluent ringing.

6:05 P.M. EEST

After repairing our cochlear nerves with some q-tips, light er fluid, and the encouraging inanimate stares of our waifus, we finally began to relieve ourselves of our packs and armor.

Atlas setting down the Earth could not have felt my relief when I shrugged off those weights. As I ripped off my pack, threw my rifle on the bed, and peeled every titanium-alloy plate from my living-corpse, I felt able to leap tall buildings in a sin gle bound, or even fly through the reaches of space to our se

cret-Moon-colony of “Binghamton Review’s New Office.”

Still, I remained the down-to-Earth, salt-of-the-Earth fel low I always was, and knelt down by my bed. No I was not about to pray, I had euphorically done away with silly things like reli gion when I was fourteen, fighting earnestly for the Gamer-gate. I was in fact reaching under my bed for something which my companions and I had smuggled in. No it was not any por nographic magazine, since President Hunter Biden had confis cated them all for his own use in ‘23, and then President Zeldin burned them all in ‘24. Still, even President Trump III couldn’t stop the proliferation of one technology which rendered the rest obsolete: the Oculus Grift VR headset.

All three of us had one hidden under our beds. For delta males like us, fighting in this hellish war, it was our Soma. This was our lifeline to the “outside” world, while protecting us from our own outside. Here we could read the news, talk to friends and family back home, and also do… other things.

I had chosen to do the former, Mel hopped on Discord II to do the latter, and Ivan began to do the third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth things you thought of when I wrote “other things.”

I donned my own headset, while the others did the same. Briefly, each of us could see the other in virtual space. Both of them had the appearance of anime girls, but this had long ceased to faze me. I myself had gone through that pipeline at the begin ning of the war. As quick as I had seen them, they vanished into their own ether, leaving me to pull up the CNNBBCOX+ News app and read the headlines.

Blood-soaked Kamala Harris uncontested in Iowa pri mary.

Portal to Hell in NYS Southern Tier “getting wider,” ex perts say.

Tucker Carlson sets fire to himself on live TV, cites trau ma from m&m controversy.

Sentient animatronics break out of local pizza parlors, sighted worldwide.

Having been sufficiently informed about world events, I de cided to see what my companions were doing on the web.

Mel, like usual, was browsing in incognito mode, making it impossible for anyone to spy on his actions. Ivan, by contrast, didn’t know how to use anything more complex than an iPod mini, and so didn’t realize that I could hear him chatting with Russian cam-girls on Telegram’s dating service.

“Yeah babe, I’m like a soldier in the army… No, not Russian, American. It’s cool, though, I think you guys are pretty based. Hail Trump, Hail Putin haha! Did you cum yet?

“You want to know my location to meet up? Sure babe, I’m at the Russia-Ukraine-Jeb! Border. Just go south of Spring field—sorry, you guys still call it Moscow—down past New Staronizhestebliyevskaya-upon-Verkhnenovokutlumbetyevo, and look for the first hill north of the Tiber river. Then, find the second hill, and that’s where my friends and I ar—”

“IVAN STOP IT YOU HEADASS MFER!” I bellowed, tackling him irl. I may not have been the sharpest tool in the bar racks, but I could recognize a trap when I see one. I also realized that this “cam-girl” was likely a Russian spy, who had seduced Ivan into compromising our position.

Speaking of compromising positions, Melvin had tak

en off his own headset to investigate the commotion, and saw me and Ivan: two sweaty, unclothed men, embraced on the ground in a passionate fury. “Bruh,” he said simply, as we quickly scram bled to our feet.

“BOTH OF YOU, PUT ON YOUR ARMOR NOW! CRAZY-IVAN COMPROMISED OUR LOCATI-!”

6:06 P.M. EST

But I had barely finished speaking when the base began to collapse. ‘No time for armor, now.’ I thought, as we grabbed our guns and ran to the exit. But though there were rumbles beneath our feet, no bombs could cause them—our bunker was too insulated, and too far from any Russian biplane. As I pondered what assailed us, I saw something flash at the edge of my vision.

I couldn’t turn to see it, since our exit—our sole escape from this would-be tomb—stood straight ahead. As damned souls when they see the outlet of hell, we three sprinted to the door ajar, but to no avail. The shadowy figure which already caused so much destruction had collapsed the exit! In the dark ness, I could only hear its mechanical whirrs and screeches, which pierced my ears as the crying of a tortured child.

Ivan was the first to open fire, illuminating the dark corridor which contained us and the beast. In those brief flash es, I glimpsed our attacker’s form: his body was shaped like a human’s, structurally composed of metal and wire sinew, and commixed with a mangled organic form. But his exterior was of fur and teeth, with the countenance of a starved wolf. A “Fazbear animatronics” trademark branded his chest, which was some how impervious to our munitions.

“Society… BLEED!” it screamed. Like nails on chalk board, its voice was like screeching metal, combined with the yelps of a man, and the whimpers of a child.

We turned-tail and ran. We ran without hope, without purpose, but for the primal fear of this unnatural death. Each second was as an hour, and I never felt the animatronic’s rap turous eyes lift from me. I felt sure his metal claws would clutch me, and drag me into his hellish metal apparatus. Yet not to my comfort, he never did. From the corner of my eye, I could see him taunting us: ever closer; ever further.

At last, we saw a light, one of the few that our generator could sustain: the mess hall held our full battalion, save for the three of us, and clearly they were waiting for us. Dr. Lackland bravely stood at the door, facing the horrible animatronic that pursued us, and threw a slab of rotten beef at it. Societybleed ravenously consumed it, giving us just enough time to barrel through the doors (one by one, unlike last time). The nanosec ond we were in, Dr. Lackland and a chef slammed the doors closed, and erected a barricade of heavy ration-boxes. Though Societybleed pounded against the door, it was no use. This was the only entrance, and even he could not break it.

6:07 P.M. EEST

We were safe. Even Alex laid alive on a table, blissful ly unaware of the attack. Still, we were out of the fire and into the frying pan. Though we had a month’s worth of rations, we remained trapped—caught with no support but ourselves in a small mess hall.

Two Sentence Horror Stories

By Our Staff

I walked up to my dad and hugged him when he got home. I hadn’t seen him since his funeral.

“Congratulations, you have been cured!” said my therapist. And then he stabbed me.

For sale: baby shoes, never worn. The spooky part is that the baby died!

As I pried open my thesaurus I realized something. I was hold ing the dinosaur and not the book of synonyms.

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I entered a “topless bar.” Still, the pile of severed torsos surprised me.

“Honey, it’s time for breastfeeding,” said my mother. I was 26 years old and she was dead and I was also dead.

The death of my son was a tragedy. But why was I laughing?

I had a dream that I was fingering A minor. Alas, I don’t know how to play guitar.

“Mmmm, benzodiazepines,” I said, eating another mouthful of benzodiazepines and developing a crippling addiction to ben zodiazepines. Then I ran out of benzodiazepines.

My father once told me that “love lasts forever.” He then di vorced my mom.

“I love you,” said the friend to his group of chums. They then stabbed him.

I dug straight down. I fell into lava. I took her to my penthouse. Then I freaked it.

I walked into class today and realized that we had a test. I did not study and then my professor stabbed me.

“Ahh peace and quiet in death,” said the athiest. “Not quite,” replied the devil, holding his finest sounding instruments.

“Wanna get married?” asked the e-girl. She was saddened when the e-boy replied, “I’m a creeper; Minecraft’s grim reaper, blow ing up blocks like Al-Qae-ee-der!”

“SEPARATING INDEPENDENT CLAUSES WITH SEMICO LONS FOR TWO-SENTENCE HORROR IS CHEATING,” the vacillating violet mimbled; she was angry that I would separate multiple independent clauses with semicolons when writing these two-sentence horror stories; she believed that in doing so, I was violating the spirit of the writing exercise. I, howev er, argued that separating anaphoric independent clauses with semicolons is permissible; I believed that the repeat of the first term had enough literary effect to consider the clauses closely related; I didn’t learn how to properly resolve conflicts, howev er, so; I stabbed her multiple times.

“Oh boy, I can’t wait for some beautiful Spring weather!” I was in Binghamton.

My boyfriend is wonderful. But he won’t take my last name.

I felt a chill. There was a ghost.

I am gay. But am I really????

After filling my stomach with 5 guys, I started to feel a little sick. Then the sixth guy came.

“I fully support you in your journey in mental health recovery,” said my pretty girlfriend with nice boobs who makes me feel loved. Then I took the pills.

“With this journey around the earth, I shall finally disprove these flat-earther nuts,” I said jauntily. Then I fell off the edge.

I woke up this morning. I write for the Binghamton Review.

I thought I was a normal guy. Turns out, most guys don’t have eight legs and a lust for human flesh.

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By Our Staff

An Interview with Rakafet Abergel

By Matilde Steck

Rakafet Abergel is a Califor nia-based Isaraeli actor, director, producer, and screenwriter. She has had roles in major films, but in the last five years has risen as an extraordinary talent in horror filmmaking, with two notable recent films being Jax in Love and Boo.

Can you explain, in your own words, who you are as a filmmaker?

Rakafet began in cinema as an actress but moved into directing and especially writing to face an industry that didn’t offer the roles she wanted. When told she couldn’t act in dramas, Rakafet created films that she want ed to be in, and she is tremendously skilled. She considers herself a “slow filmmaker,” focusing on the quality over quantity of films she puts out.

Do you find more joy in writing or directing horror?

The strange thing about Rakaf et’s relationship with horror is that she isn’t actually a horror-lover. She entered the genre by accident, believ ing that her first film (Jax in Love) was a drama, while it was really a thriller. Since then, she has become fully ab sorbed in the genre. The big joy of di recting is being on set, while writing is amazing because anyone can do it, for free and alone. Rakafet believes that to be a writer “all you need is a computer.” Unfortunately, writing alone doesn’t give you a shot to boss people around!

What’s unique about being on set for a thriller or a horror film?

Of course, two fun points are the “random knives” and “jars of blood around” the set. However, Rakafet pointed out that most horror actors are also horror fans, so there is an incred ible joy in the process of creating hor ror. Seeing the film being made takes away a lot of the fear from watching it back.

What elements do you think de fine horror in cinema?

It has to have scares-but not nec essarily jump scares. A scare can just be a feeling of fear, dread or anxiety. More than flat fear, horror has to sur prise the watcher. “You want to take [the audience] to a place they are not expecting to go.” In her films, and in horror, twists are important. Part of what can be so fun is the surprise of a thriller, instead of shock or brutality.

What are your favorite horror films? Why?

Even after almost six years of producing horror and judging the genre in film festivals, Rakafet still has some trouble with some of the scares inherent to the genre. However, she’s big into psychological fear like Saw I, the skillful twist of The Sixth Sense or anything by M. Night. Shyamalan (although “real” horror fans have a lot to say about that). Also, she really admires the educated and meaningful horror of Get Out. Rather than slasher films, Rakafet finds real value in horror with a message. “If we’re going to show something ugly, let’s have a reason.”

Your short, Boo, is centered around a female lead. Do you believe feminin ity impacts the experience of watch ing or creating horror?

There is a definite impact on the creation of horror, especially for fe male horror filmmakers. Generally, female creators make more elevated

horror films, centered around genu ine messaging and social commentary. Historically, male filmmakers lean on gore and shock more heavily. In watching, one leads to another. Female horror fans have to face questions like “why am I the dumb blonde” or “the victim” or “why are no women ever the lead?”

Do you have any words to share for horror fans or creators?

For creators, it’s a really joyful genre to get involved in. Horror is one of the bestselling genres. Rakafet men tioned a friend Parker Finn, director of Smile, who is finding really great success. It is a genre that you can really find success in, even as a debut creator. This includes making your debut at a film festival. In all of Rakafet’s experi ence, horror fans keep up with creators at fests and support both the projects and creators with a genuine passion. For fans, just “keep demanding better horror.” Expect better.

Why do you think that fans are so at tached to horror?

For a lot of people, horror is ca thartic. It is a way to face and control the fear we feel in our everyday lives. For thrill-seekers, it’s adrenaline with no real danger. And “If you think the world is a bad place, it is a way to fan tasize with no consequences.” Rakafet points out that “In my films, I usually kill the guy.” She has a history of rela tionship struggles and finds a way to face them in her filmmaking. In Boo, the central character does what she does to face how she feels on the in side, something a lot of people struggle with.

Resources and Recommendations

- Boo and Jax in Love

- Predestination

- Creator Gigi Saul Guerroro

- Cutthroat women- a collection of women in horror

“For a lot of people, horror is cathartic. It is a way to face and control the fear we feel in our everyday lives. For thrill-seekers, it’s adrenaline with no real danger.”

Madeline Wrote a Creepypasta While Jon was at the Jail

It was a dark, evil night. Really just the average weather in Bing hamton, but this night was particularly the evilest and darkest night we had seen in a while. Another Binghamton Review meet ing was coming to a close. We had just designed the funniest and most perfect magazine issue the world had ever seen when we were interrupted by a strange knock at the door. Who could it be? Everyone knows that people need a lot of convincing to come to a Review meeting. (Sadly. Please come to our meetings. We don’t bite. …well, most of us don’t anyway.) The door opened sinisterly, and we all pogged in fear. “HARVEY STENGER?!!?!?” we all said in accidental unison.

Harvey pulled out of his pocket a mummified Bearcat hand. “Out of my pocket, I have pulled out a mummified Bearcat hand!” Harvey exclaimed. Or at least, that’s what he said. No one actually knows what a bearcat looks like. There was something…off about the hand though. It didn’t actually appear to be made of flesh and bone, instead, of fabric and macroplastics.

As we observed the ‘mummified bearcat hand’, one of us (amogus) had to speak up. “Why are you giving this to us? Is it magic or something?” asked Shayne gayly.

Harvey suddenly became more serious, “Yes”. The Review gasped dramatically. Harvey started whispering to us, but not in the good ASMR way, more like in the “I’m about to be abducted by the feds” way. “The bearcat’s paw gives you three wishes,” Har vey crowed. “I am gay”, exclaimed Shayne. Then he left.

Harvey continued explaining, pretending like he didn’t just hear that. “A very holy man in the engineering department put a spell on it. The last user’s third wish was to go to the moon. Then I got hold of it”. Harvey then shoved the bearcat’s paw into my hand, and quickly ran outside, screaming about the baseball stadium and all the money he embezzled or something.

“Are we gonna pretend like no one heard that?” Dillon asked. “I am,” answered Arthur, “it is, after all, a complete con trivance of the opium-mad balderdash whence comes the super stitions of magic objects. One can, as a rational atheist like my self, dismiss this ‘bearcat’s paw’ as nought more than the material remains of an animal which my beloved science contends is my ancestor. In short, GO GRANDPA!!”

“Shut up!” I said in my best Smosh impression, “we should test whether this thing is truly magical or not.”

“We should ask for an office,” said Sid. He then banged the bearcat’s paw against the wall. “How do you even get this to work?” Sid continued to mutilate the hand.

I took the paw back. “Probably by just wishing for some thing—you know, like this. I wish we had an office.” Faith, trust, and pixie dust motivated me to believe immediately.

“Madeline, no way this is gonna work, I mean the SA has been sidestepping us about an office for 3 years now,” Dillon said, shaking his head. Dillon was immediately proven wrong when my phone started ringing. “Hello?” I asked, femininely.

“Hi, I am an unnamed worker of the SA, and I am oh-

By Our Staff

so-sorry to break the news to you, but one of your members, Shayne, has been hit, killed, and desecrated by a blue bus. We were only able to identify him by the remains of his Weezer shirt. As a gesture of our goodwill in these trying times, and in hoping you won’t sue us, we are finally going to give you an office. You can come get your keys right now.”

“Oh cool, a new office,” I replied. “Sucks that Shayne is dead though, now we need a new Copy Desk Chief.” “Eh, they’re a dime a dozen,” Dillon remarked.

“Guess we don’t need this bearcat paw anymore,” I said, throwing it in the recycling bin with the knowledge it would end up in a landfill. “It was probably cursed anyway since Shayne died so quickly.” Little did we know, after we left, Arthur went rummaging through the recycling in hopes of bringing back his late clandestine lover.

The next day, we walked into our new office to see Arthur bashing the bearcat’s paw against the wall. “What the hell do you think you are doing Arthur?” I screamed.“I’ve been trying to turn it on,” Arthur cried, “I just wish Shayne could be alive again and come back to me—I mean us.”

“Arthur, Shayne is dead and he’s never coming back, idiot!” Sid said. “Let’s just start editing so we can go home before 3 in the morning.”

An hour later, as we were about to tape Sid to the ceiling, we heard a knock on the door. “HARVEY STENGER!?” we all said again in accidental unison.

“No, it’s him!” Arthur blubbered. In excitement, Arthur ran to the door and opened it feverishly. It sure looked like Shayne, but the eyes revealed no natural life within him. Arthur’s cries of joy quickly transitioned to cries of pain as zombie Shayne start ed tearing the skin off his body. It was horrific, I heard and saw things that would haunt me for the rest of my college career.

Arthur screeched,“HELP ME!!! I’m LITERALLY DYING!! Wait, where did you guys get that popcorn?”

The rest of us sat there eating popcorn, unable (or just un willing) to do anything further as Arthur was torn limb from limb. Eventually, Sid questioned the group. “Should we do some thing?”

DIllon, having held the bearcat’s paw for well over the hour it took for Arthur to die, took a deep breath, gathering up the strength to bear the curse of the bearcat. “Bearcat’s Paw, I wish Shayne was truly dead again”.

Zombie Shayne collapsed, the unnatural life being expelled from his body. We could hear Buddy Holly faintly in the distance.

I looked around at the carnage that marred our new office and turned to the remaining living members of the club. “Welp, I guess we need a new Copy Desk Chief AND a new Social Media Shitposter.”

“You know, they’re a dime a dozen!” Sid jested. We all laughed for the rest of the night, proving to us that the true friends were the ones who didn’t die along the way.

The Jon Lizak Incident

By Logan Blakeslee, Sean Harrigan, and Arthur O’Sullivan

The United States of America expe rienced an unprecedented event on January 6, 2021: A sitting president refused to concede his electoral loss, believing that the vote had been stolen through massive voting fraud. That day, nearly 12,000 ardent supporters of Donald Trump gathered at the U.S. Capitol Building for a “Stop the Steal” protest, in a last-ditch effort to pres sure republican senators and vice pres ident Mike Pence to refuse to certify the electoral college’s votes (which it self would have created a constitution al crisis). The intensity of the protest reached its breaking point when the mob moved outside the capitol. Before long, some of them were swarming in side illegally.

Four protestors and three police officers died immediately fol lowing the event (mostly due to ex acerbated health conditions and sui cides); roughly one hundred and fifty officers (and an unknown amount of protesters) sustained injuries during the event; hundreds were arrested for their involvement in the protest. The Capitol Police (eventually) wrested control of the situation and Congress was able to certify the 2020 presiden tial election in favor of Joe Biden. Just as certain protests-turned-riots of the prior year revealed an ardent left-wing radicalism, so too did this riot unveil a right-wing radicalism present within segments of American society. Nei ther the lack of evidence nor the sheer improbability of massive voter fraud could dissuade hundreds of thousands of right-wing citizens from their be lief, both then and now, that Donald Trump was the rightful victor of the 2020 election.

Who is Jon Lizak?

Binghamton University was not untouched by this event: Jon Liz ak, a former president of B.U. College Republicans, and Long Island resident, was part of the mob that rushed into the Capitol Building on January 6th. He was personally joined by four other

men who were known members of a right-wing organization called Amer ica First. Lizak and the other suspects were recorded on numerous security cameras throughout the Capitol as well as multiple social media outlets. In these recordings, one can see him trespassing into congressional offic es, including that of House Speaker Nancy Pelosi. One of his companions, identified as Joseph Brody, struck a U.S. Capitol Police officer with a metal barricade while Lizak watched, stand ing mere feet away as it happened.

In September of this year, Lizak was arrested in his hometown on a set of charges related to the riot. Although he was released on bond, his case will be handled by a Washington, D.C. fed eral court.

This incident was hardly the first to feature Lizak as a key player: He was also present for the joint tabling between B.U. College Republicans and Turning Point USA at the Binghamton University spine in November, 2019. The right-wing content at their table drew the attention of almost 200 leftwing protestors, who escalated their protest into a vandalistic confronta tion for which university police had to intervene. The primary purpose of this tabling event was to advertise a speak ing event featuring the famous econo mist Dr. Arthur Laffer at Binghamton University. This event was itself cut short when many of the same protes tors stormed into the lecture hall to heckle Dr. Laffer and disrupt his ability to lecture. The protestors’ efforts suc ceeded, and Dr. Laffer was forced to evacuate by campus police.

As a result, Jon Lizak is list ed as one of the plaintiffs in an ongoing lawsuit between the Young America’s Foundation, B.U. College Republicans, and Binghamton University itself. Along with the other plaintiffs, Lizak contends that the university failed to adequately protect their free speech rights during the aforementioned events. It is unknown how recent events will impact this specific lawsuit.

These cases demonstrate that Lizak was no stranger to controversy prior to the Capitol riot. But whereas his prior controversies only escalated to the plaintiff’s side of a civil court, he now finds himself a defendant in a federal criminal court.

The Legal Charges

An unknown Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation (“FBI”) assigned to the Washington Field Office is investigating a group including the following individuals: Joseph Brody, Paul Lovely, Gabriel Chase, Thomas Carey, and Jon Lizak himself. The group faces at least some of the following charges:

• Civil Disorder

• Assaulting, Resisting, or Imped ing Certain Officers

• Obstructing, influencing, or im peding any official proceeding

• Entering and Remaining in a Re stricted Building or Grounds

• Disorderly and Disruptive Con duct in a Restricted Building or Grounds

• Disorderly Conduct in a Capitol Building

• Parading, Demonstrating, or Picketing in a Capitol Building

These charges have been brought by the direct witness of the unknown Special Agent. On September 12, 2022, G. Michael Harvey, U.S. Magistrate Washington District Court Judge was assigned this case. On September 15, 2022 Jon Lizak was arrested on the related charges, and has been charged with the following misdemeanors:

• Entering and Remaining in a Re stricted Building or Grounds

• Disorderly and Disruptive Con duct in a Restricted Building or Grounds

• Disorderly Conduct in a Capitol Building

• Parading, Demonstrating, or Picketing in a Capitol Building

The accused group is alleged to have traveled together to participate in the riot. The individuals met at certain rallies before then, moved from vari ous places throughout the East Coast of the United States shortly prior to the event, and congregated at Wash ington, D.C. on January 6. From there, CCTV caught the group moving into the Capitol together and through the building where they would remain for some time, disrupting Congressional election certification. The whole group entered House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s Office, and Brody himself entered the Senate Chamber while Senate pro ceedings were ongoing.

After leaving the Capitol, the group proceeded to the North end of the building and witnessed the at tempted penetration of the North Door. Brody went as far as assisting other rioters in using a barricade to assault a Capitol Police officer, knock ing the man back with force, while the rest of the group witnessed. Af terward, Brody and Chase participat ed in destroying multiple electronics, themselves smashing a corded phone, while also appearing to steal a pair of headphones. Law enforcement used cellular site and data records to trian gulate the groups geographic area, and after having a search warrant signed, to match phone numbers with Lizak. Google location corroborated the fact that Lizak was the figure captured in the Capitol’s CCTV footage. FBI em ployees also conducted open-source research to match Lizak’s social media profile with the rest of their evidence. After matching the characteristics of Lizak’s DMV picture, and social me dia with the CCTV footage, alongside Lizak’s phone being in the Capitol, the FBI concluded that Lizak was one of the suspects in question. The rest of the group was identified in a similar way.

Near the end of the pro test-turned-riot, Lizak and his com panions were filmed standing around a pile of destroyed media equipment. From available DOJ documents, it is unknown when or how Jon Lizak re turned to New York, but they never theless apprehended Lizak over a year later on September 15, 2022 after a

thorough FBI-led investigation.

Associated Groups

Lizak’s actions at the capitol makes sense in the context of broad er political movements in the United States. Like many politically active youth, Lizak was swept up in the more radical elements of his spectrum, em bracing the polarized landscape as a militant for the right wing.

Among his more moderate groups include the New York Feder ation of College Republicans, where beginning in June, 2021, Lizak was the Western Regional Chairman. But he also associated with more radical movements, such as “America First” (AF), a nebulous coterie of “groypers” predominantly led by Nick Fuentes. The general purpose of this move ment is to ingratiate theories of hy per-nationalism, theocracy, and “race realist” white supremacy into main stream conservatism. Like many ex tremist movements, its strength lies in speaking contradictions: Nick Fuen tes is both a traditional conservative christian, while also pretending to be a nazi catboy. His “groypers” claim to be American patriots while reflexive ly defending Russia, China, and Syria at any opportunity. Japanese Anime is considered both degenerate filth as well as one of their calling-cards on social media. It becomes difficult to determine what a given person such as Lizak or Fuentes truly believes when “irony” becomes a cover for every po sition he holds. Still, these contradic tions make the movement attractive to young conservatives, who seek a sense of camaraderie and self-justification in their politics, and nothing hijacks these instincts more than a cult such as this one.

According to the DOJ affidavit, “Lovely, Brody, Chase, and Lizak ini tially met at an AF event and attended subsequent events together.” Lizak’s association with this movement was apparently short-lived, however, as according to a set of Telegram posts, Fuentes dismissed Lizak and his companions as “vaccinated/Jewish.”

He then claimed that Lizak and co. formed the splinter group “Legacy America” due to this difference.

Legacy America is a small and obscure group on whom it is diffi cult to gather information. Their only online presence consists of a private twitter account and a deleted TikTok. According to their Twitter bio, “Legacy America seeks to educate and inspire young conservatives and nationalists about the tenets and histories of these beliefs.” Their profile banner is like wise a black-and-white image of the capitol building (ironically) with LEG ACY AMERICA superimposed on it. From this, one might pre sume that Legacy America embraces the nebulous ideals of “paleoconser vatism” and “national conservatism.” While these, on their own, are not nearly as repulsive as Fuentes’ bigot ry, they still embrace a pernicious and self-justifying radicalism, which, at its worst, gives license to political vio lence such as the capitol riot.

Lessons Learned

The capitol riot, and Lizak’s participation therein, should be taken as warning to conservative students to moderate their passions and to em brace humility as a civic virtue. The events of January 6th and its fallout represent the hubris and distemper of Donald Trump and his acolytes, and for all its noise and bravado, these things ended up corroding the core of the conservative movement. In 2020, conservatives stood against the crime and rioting endemic to the fla grant democratic cities, and defended nigh-sacred American institutions of political peace and protection of property. The right lost that credibility the very next year, as some like Lizak broke the right’s moratorium on politi cal violence, while others stood by and defended his actions. One should nev er confuse strength with brutishness, especially in the civic realm. The con sequences are your own destruction, and that of your ideals.

All information pertaining to Lizak and his immediate group is tak en from The United States Department of Justice’s website:

https://www.justice.gov/usao-dc/de fendants/lizak-jon

The Medical Case Against Vaccine Mandates

By Siddharth Gundapaneni

For a significant period of time, all employers in New York City, public or private, required mandated vaccination against COVID-19 for all their employees. Mayor Bill DeBlasio championed the “Vaccine Key to New York City” program, requiring proof of vaccination for those at least five years of age in order to utilize indoor din ing, gyms and other fitness areas, and entertainment spaces. This included but was not limited to: movie theaters, concert venues, sports arenas, hotels, and museums.

The stated intention for this was improving public safety while de terring refusal to get vaccinated. While nothing is objectively flawed with such intentions (though I may suspect ul terior motives) the outcome of the ensuing, coercive policies were coun terintuitive.

The Vaccine Key to New York City leaves unvaccinated people with three options:

1) Get vaccinated so they can partake in regular activities.

2) Stay at home isolated and deal with the consequences of being unable to engage in said activities. Or

3) Find different activities or illegal workarounds with other unvaccinated people in a similar situation.

Although the first option may seem like the obvious choice to many, I ask that you think from the perspec tive of someone that is still unvaccinat ed—whether you think their rationale is justified or not—as they are a person as well.

If their opposition to the vaccine is so strong that option 1 is off the table, option 2 is highly unlikely to occur, as the vast majority of people would not comply with these man dates either. Therefore option 3 is all that’s left, and that is what contributes to us not reaching herd immunity.

For those unfamiliar, herd immu nity is the concept that once a popu

lation has a high enough vaccinated population, collateral protection is present for those who are not vacci nated or naturally immune to the virus through prior infection.

In regards to a 90% vaccination rate against measles, mumps, and ru bella among children, a Johns Hopkins study in September stated, “This level of vaccination provides protection to the population as a whole—even to those who aren’t vaccinated—by decreasing viral circulation and the chance someone who is unvaccinated will encounter the virus.“ This course of action can be replicated, to an extent not yet accepted by a consensus, when dealing with Covid-19.

The most efficacious way of de creasing the risk of an unvaccinated person encountering the virus, is by them being around more vaccinated people. The same goal can theoretical ly be achieved through natural immu nity, although that has not served to be as effective with Covid-19. It is ambig uous as to how long natural immunity protects one from getting sick again, though data drawn from a well-re

ceived study published in The Journal of Infectious Diseases seems to show that said period is up to 11 months following recovery. It is important to keep in mind that natural immunity is said to offer much less consistent pro tection from person to person, com pared to vaccination.

Thus, while herd Immunity can eventually protect the population that simply refuses to get vaccinated, we still must emphasize vaccination as much as we can. Higher vaccination rates will obstruct the virus from rep licating within its host for longer du rations, which allow the virus to mu tate and form new variants. Expecting everyone to get Covid-19 within the next two years is unlikely to provide enough protection as the medical community would hope.

Now you may be wondering why advocacy against Covid vaccine mandates is still relevant. Many gov ernment imposed vaccine mandates across the nation have been reversed, and public health officials seem to be finally moving past Covid-19. That said, another deadly wave of COVID (horribile dictu), let alone a new ep idemic, policy makers and public health officials must know what was done wrong.

Despite the supposed well-in tentions, vaccine mandates such as the one initiated in New York City es sentially segregated the unvaccinated populations from those that received their vaccine and are now living qua si-normal lives. If we are to strive for a fairer future, mandates like this are to be avoided.

All that being said, this piece does not argue the ethics of a vaccine mandate, nor whether the govern ment should be able to impose such a mandate. Rather, I contend that even under the consequential grounds used by public health officials and policy makers, such vaccine mandates were an unfruitful policy.

“Thus, while herd Immunity can eventually protect the population that simply refuses to get vaccinated, we still must emphasize vaccination as much as we can”

Horrors of Binghamton Dining

By Midas Leung

Here in Binghamton, we all have our own favorite dining spots, or you just make food at home. You would think that food safety would be the number one priority, but one of my friends says otherwise. One day af ter a grueling set of classes, my friend decided that he was hungry and went to eat at CIW. He grabbed the most appetizing item to him, in this case a burger, but after taking the first bite, he noticed a pinkness within the meat. This could only mean one thing: it was raw af. But to his fault, he continued to eat the burger because he was “built different.” After some time though, it would soon be revealed that he was in fact not “built different.” After going to sleep, he would soon be shocked back awake with a pricking pain in his abdomen. What followed was the worst bowel movement of his life. But it would only get worse since he had a little to drink before he clocked out, so his stomach was already not in the best shape. Coincidentally, his room mate was having the same issue. Both were having that kind of shit in which you would have a cold sweat and take off all your clothes (or what lactose-in tolerant people call a normal night). He and his roommate would have an explosive experience from both ends at the same time. It would get worse still because the situation called for both ends to be in a receptacle (i.e. the toilet) when there was only one avail able. So he chose to vomit on the floor, which was not pleasant to clean and the smell would linger for a few days. After the experience, this man told me that he felt “light and refreshed.” So if any of you guys want to feel light as a feather, just ask for a burger extra rare. The meat in the dining halls seem to be inconsistent with each other. At

C4 I once got a piece of chicken that was surprisingly juicy, but also chewy. I would look down to realize it to be raw. Though I did not complain, my friend did and he got another piece of chicken, while I just ate the cooked parts of mine. The lack of care provided in the preparation of dining hall food does not stop with Sodexo entrées. Re cently on Yik Yak, a student found his Boar’s Head sandwich to have mold. It was not his bread that would spon taneously turn into a bunch of fungi, but the meat. It reminds me of the time back in middle school when I drank a carton of chocolate milk thinking it would quench my thirst, only for it to betray me: After two lengthy gulps I discovered that the taste and tex ture did not match what I expected. Only by spitting out what I had in my mouth did I realize, to my horror, that I was ejecting chunks of what I call “chocolate cheese.” Immediately, I tried to vomit but my fear of vomiting overtook my concern about chocolate cheese in my stomach. All this to say that I can’t drink a carton of milk with out thinking about “the incident.” Bas tards even stunted my growth after the day I stopped drinking milk as often,

and now I’ve reached my limit at a sol id 5’8 ft, so screw milk. Whatever, it’s been years since and now I’ll be honest I don’t know if it’s lactose intolerance or some psychological phobia, but put ting milk in my body has never been the same.

One should be especially cau tious about the food at the dining halls when it seems like they are teaching a new person. If there’s a new person at the grill, that will be the most burnt piece of raw meat you’ll ever eat.

Take Away:

You paid $3,000 only to use $910 on the actual food while the rest is lost to the feds, and if you don’t pay for the meal plan you have to pay 1.8x as much. That is the scariest thing to me because I’m broke as hell. But I have found a way to help my friends who live off campus: Basically, I just charge them for the food and then make them pay for it with a 10% interest. It will be cheaper and there is no charge to your account if you add money to your meal plan so basically, you earned 10% of what they ate. Take that info and do whatever you want, but all-in-all to mato basil soup is the best option.

“He and his roommate would have an explosive experience from both ends at the same time.”