Volume 110 Number 3 by Gargoyle Humor Magazine

Volume 110 No. 3

Table of Contents

Volume CX, Number 3 Winter 2019

S TA F F

Jenny Ghose . . . . . . Censorship Starts with Crew Socks Molly Miller . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . How Embarrassing Fiona Tien . . . . . . . . . . . . . Penis Potato Brianna Kucharski . . . . . . . . . . . I Mean I Guess Colleen Hillard . . . . . . . . . . . . Playing Hooky Michael Rosenberg . . . . Neither Snow nor Rain nor Heat Max Lee . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . HOSTILE TAKEOVER

Isabel A. Hedin-Urrutia . . . . . . . . Corn Syrup Minister Margaret Trudeau . . . . . . The Gum Underneath Your Desk

Sabrina Corsetti . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Lion or the Lamb Marjorie Gaber . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Light Side of the

Shannon Zheng . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Greasy Queen

Nathan Slaven . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13-3 Reasons Why Noah Luntzlara . . . . . . . . . . . . . Oswald’s Bear Ranch Connor C. Davis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A Perfect World Apryl Fox . . .

Reporting from Genesee County, MI

Jessica Tinor . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sea Salt & Vinegar Chips Hannah Groenke . . . . . . . . March, September, November Duncan Reitz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Chalkboard Dust Natasha Pietruschka . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Crew Socks

Connor Davis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Abandoned Wheelchair

Jacob Katzman . . . . . . . . . . . . . J.D., Street Performer

Jeremy Ritz . . . . . . . Button Holes with Loose Buttholes Sam Zylstra . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Buttchugging NyQuil Direct all complaints, comments, submissions, and proclamations to

The Gargoyle Lipsey Student Pub Bld 420 Maynard Ann Arbor, MI 48104

gargmail@umich.edu ~ Visit us at: www.gargmag.com

This Page

That Page

Orgasmus

Tinkle Pickle

Fappy Bird

Bros & Buttplugs

Corn on the Knob

Portable Enema

Cum Cylinder

10.

Microaggression

11.

Other Red Meat

12.

Vegan Twinkie

13.

Jumbo Lip Gloss

14.

Baby Machine

15.

Emergency Limb

16.

Semen Sausage

Winter 2019

OBITUARY

A Celebration of Death Gargoyle Humor Magazine, Entire Staff (1997–2019)

ragedy struck last Tuesday night at 420 Maynard Street when a freak accident took the lives of 22 innocent college students associated with a student publication known as the Gargoyle Humor Magazine. The entire staff was trapped in the office while it was being bulldozed by a greedy, inconsiderate Student Publications Board. They had been planning to expand the building but failed to recall the existence of the Gargoyle and the fact that the magazine had an office in the precise location that was going to be bulldozed. Jamie Christian Rosenberg, renowned Gargoyle expat residing in and writing from his home in Traverse City, has also been labeled Missing in Action and presumed dead after mysteriously disappearing while writing a piece titled “Ten Ways to Prevent ED On A Bender.” Anyone with details about his disappearance should call 269-425-0782, a new toll-free Jamie McClellan search hotline. Max Rosenberg, future Editor-in-Chief of the Gargoyle, was not present at the meeting but was also tragically taken from this Earth after being so painfully sober for so long that

JOIN GARGOYLE HUMOR MAGAZINE Current Open/ing Positions: EVERYTHING All are welcome to our weekly meetings on Tuesdays @6pm Lipsey Student Publ. Bldg. (420 Maynard St)

Learn more at gargmag.com or contact us at gargmail@umich.edu 4

he actually overdosed on sobriety. Due to dwindling attendance at meetings, several other key members weren’t present during the massacre but were lost for other horribly tragic reasons. Editor-to-the-stars graduate Michael Ghose suffered a simultaneous stroke, aneurysm, and heart attack while performing extreme high-pressure improv comedy with the University of Michigan’s most exclusive non-performing improv troupe, The Aughts. Content Editor Colleen Rosenberg, studying abroad at Disney University in Florida for the semester, drunkenly got into a fight with the man dressed up as Mickey Mouse and emerged victoriously but fatally wounded. Layout Director Fiona Rosenberg made the layout for this issue so fire that she literally burst into flames. One would hope that one or two writers or artists would survive this disaster, but every single member was gruesomely taken from this earth. As we can see, life isn’t always fair. Sometimes, people are taken from us in the prime of their lives. Sometimes, people are taken from us when they would have gone on

䄀爀攀礀漀甀椀渀琀攀爀攀猀琀攀搀椀渀愀渀礀漀昀琀栀攀昀漀氀氀漀眀椀渀最㼀

to accomplish so much. Sometimes, people are taken from us when they would have gone on to become presidents or heads of industry. This has been an incredibly painful and impactful loss for the entire University of Michigan community. We have interviewed some students about their absolute heartbreak. “I’m always in a lot of pain. But I can’t say that I know what the Gargoyle is,” sophomore Mary McJenkins noted. As one can tell, the entire university community is suffering from the devastation of this loss. We hope that the Gargoyle will continue to publish in the future, but we know that after suffering from pitiful attendance and viewership for generations, it most likely will not. The University of Michigan community and the entire world laments and mourns this incredibly tragic loss. Their beings were lost, but their spirits live on in their works, which you can find in Mason Hall and other racks around campus. Rest In Peace, sweet queen. The Official Gargoyle Funeral will be aired at 9 AM this Saturday on CNN and all other networks around the world.

There's the American Red Cross, there's Michigan Blood, and then there's the

IRON MAN CENTER FOR BLEEDING No Cookies · No Juice · No Band-Aids

To give us everything you’ve got, you have to give us everything you’ve got ɭơ ˊȶʠ òz- ȶǉ Ŕȍȍ ʋǠơ ɢȶȟɢ ŔȥƎ ƃǫɭƃʠȟɽʋŔȥƃơ ȶǉ ƎȶȥŔʋǫȥǌ ŹȍȶȶƎࡴ ɭơ ˊȶʠ ázòòF7 ʋǠŔʋ ɢơȶɢȍơ ǌơʋ ɽʋǫƃȇơɭɽ ǿʠɽʋ ǉȶɭ ɽǠȶˁǫȥǌ ʠɢࡴ þǠơ zɭȶȥ ¡Ŕȥ -ơȥʋơɭ ǉȶɭ %ȍơơƎǫȥǌ ǠŔɽ ɭơɢȍŔƃơƎ Ŕȍȍ ʋǠơ ʠȥȥơƃơɽɽŔɭˊ ƃȶȟɢȍơˉǫʋǫơɽ ȶǉ ƎȶȥŔʋǫȥǌ ˁǫʋǠ Ŕ ɽǫȟɢȍơ ŔɭɭŔˊ ȶǉ ɢǠˊɽǫƃŔȍ ŔȥƎ ȟơȥʋŔȍ ƃǠŔȍȍơȥǌơɽ ƎơɽǫǌȥơƎ Źˊ ơˉɢơɭʋɽ ʋȶ áčòq ˊȶʠ ʋȶ ˊȶʠɭ ǠʠȟŔȥ ȍǫȟǫʋɽ Źˊ Źɭǫȥǌǫȥǌ ˊȶʠ ʋȶ ʋǠơ Źɭǫȥȇ ȶǉ ƎơŔʋǠ ŔȥƎ %Fĵ¶¥7ࡳ zǉ ˊȶʠ ɽʠɭʽǫʽơ ȶʠɭ ƃȶʠɭɽơ࡬ Ŕ ʋơŔȟ ȶǉ ʋɭŔǫȥơƎ ȥʠɭɽơɽ ˁǫȍȍ ɽƃɭȶʠȥǌơ ǉȍʠǫƎɽ ŔȥƎ ȶʋǠơɭ ȟŔʋơɭǫŔȍɽ ǉɭȶȟ ˊȶʠɭ ŹȶƎˊࡳ čȥȍǫȇơ ʋǠơ ĭ òþFbč èơƎ -ɭȶɽɽ࡬ ʋǠơ z¡-% ʠɽơɽ ơʽơɭˊ ɢŔɭʋ ȶǉ ʋǠơ Ǝȶȥȶɭ࡬ ǌʠŔɭŔȥʋơơǫȥǌ ˊȶʠ z¥þF¥òF ˁơǫǌǠʋ ȍȶɽɽ ơʽơɭˊ ʋǫȟơࡳ

Simplicity bȶɭǌơʋ ǉǫȍȍǫȥǌ ȶʠʋ ǉȶɭȟɽࡳ ĵȶʠɭ ȟơƎǫƃŔȍ Ǡǫɽʋȶɭˊ ŔȥƎ ŹȍȶȶƎ ʋˊɢơ Ŕɭơ ȥȶȥơ ȶǉ ȶʠɭ Źʠɽǫȥơɽɽࡳ ¶ʠɭ ɢɭȶƃơɽɽ ǫɽ ɽǫȟɢȍơ࡫ ǫǉ ˊȶʠ ɢŔɽɽ ȶʠɭ ʋơɽʋ࡬ ˁơ ʋŔȇơ ˁǠŔʋ ˊȶʠ ǠŔʽơࡳ FȥƎ ȶǉ ɽʋȶɭˊࡳ Quality ¶ʠɭ ɭǫǌȶɭȶʠɽ ʋơɽʋ ȶǉ ȟơʋʋȍơ ŔȥƎ ˁǫʋ ơȥɽʠɭơɽ ʋǠŔʋ ȶȥȍˊ ʋǠơ qF þqzFòþ࡬ ȟȶɽʋ bFèþz F ƃŔȥƎǫƎŔʋơɽ Źơƃȶȟơ Ǝȶȥȶɭɽ࡬ ŔȥƎ ʋǠŔʋࢬɽ Ŕ ǌʠŔɭŔȥʋơơࡳ Legality þǠơ z¡-% ǠŔɽ Źơơȥ Źʠǫȍʋ ʋȶ ˁǫʋǠɽʋŔȥƎ ʋǠơ ȟȶɽʋ ǫȥʋơȥɽơ ȶǉ ǉơƎơɭŔȍ ŔʠƎǫʋɽࡳ zʋ ǫɽ Ŕ ࠀ߿߿ऻ ȍơǌŔȍ ȶɭǌŔȥǫ˖Ŕʋǫȶȥ࡬ ŔȥƎ ʋǠŔʋ ǫɽ Ŕȍɽȶ Ŕ ǌʠŔɭŔȥʋơơࡳ Iron Man Center for Bleeding, LLC

Fuck Ohio State, Give Us Your Shit Today! Now Accepting: èơƎɽ ĭǠǫʋơɽ áȍŔʋơȍơʋɽ áȍŔɽȟŔ ¡Ŕɭɭȶˁ čɭǫȥơ òơȟơȥ ¡ǫɽƃࡳ òȶȍǫƎɽ

Winter 2019

Victors 2023: Application Essays

By Jacob Katzman

he new school year is fast approaching, which means the University of Michigan will soon welcome thousands of new Wolverines to our great campus. The Gargoyle has obtained, with the help of a trusted baseball bat and resultant broken fingers, the application essays of some of the top candidates for the class of 2023. When reached for comment, President Mark Schlissel said, “The University of Michigan is a prestigious institution with a history of academic excellence stretching back over two hundred years. The students invited to join our community are among the finest in the nation.”

Reflect on your interest in pursuing a career in medicine. Medicine is the art of helping, and this is what has drawn me in. As a child, I didn’t just eat hamburgers, I enjoyed them with Hamburger Helper. It really helped improve the flavor. At the Chinese buffet, I always helped myself to seconds. On Squam Lake last summer when my father was drowning, he screamed, “Help me you son of a bitch, I’m going under!” I even spent a stretch helping our president learn the Russian expression for, “Vladimir, I will do anything, just don’t show them the picture.” I found the experience helpful, to say the least. Last week, there was a riot in Providence, and when the police were occupied, I helped myself to a flat screen TV from Mr. Parker’s appliance store right after my brother helped me break a window with a most helpful tire iron. Now as I approach adulthood, I reflect on my future helping the less fortunate while I walk down the sidewalk, avoiding eye contact with the starving homeless people camped out under the bridge. I can’t wait to start college, so I can get to work helping solve problems like answering clichéd application essays! Admission decision: Admitted

If you could only continue doing one of the activities you have listed in the Activities section of your application, which one would you choose? Why? I love Calculus. It's really my calling in life. Why can’t everything else be as simple and straightforward as Calculus? Day and night I sit and do math problems for personal enjoyment; it’s what gets me out of bed. Truly, I am amazed at my own math abilities. Even my girlfriend is impressed. She loves two things: the fact I can solve Calculus problems with ease and kittens. While she sits, making sandwiches for the homeless shelter, I stand in the yard contemplating what to do with the stray cat I tied to the fence. I draw my pocket knife as I decide its fate and my mind shifts to limits, then infinity, no, the slope, or maybe the slope is indeterminate? There is a wonderful serenity I experience when solving math problems. Calculus calms my soul. Just yesterday when I got stuck on a difficult derivation during math class, I started throwing chairs around the room, one of which set off the fire alarm, promptly clearing the entire school building. I regained my composure by calculating the rate of change in which my classroom cleared out while I was being referred to the school psychologist. My Calculus skills are so fantastic and I have won numerous awards. Some of the greatest mathematicians, like Ted Kaczynski, have attended U of M. My future will also be bright if admitted to Michigan! Admission decision: Admitted early action; Presidential Scholarship

What are the unique qualities which attract you to the University of Michigan? When I was born, my father lifted me up, looked me straight in the eyes, and said, “Son, one day, you will be a Buckeye.” Though I haven’t actually visited the campus, I already feel like part of the Ohio community. My entire family attended Ohio State, and now it’s my turn to take up the Buckeye mantle. I can already picture myself rooting for Urban Meyer in Buckeye Stadium, then hanging out on the Oval. I am also drawn to Ohio because of the superior academics. Ohio just feels like home to me. Addendum: Applicant’s cat stepped on his keyboard before he pressed submit. Please disregard prior submission and see the attached essay. When I was born, my father lifted me up, looked me straight in the eyes, and said, “Son, one day, you will be a Wolverine.” Though I haven’t actually visited the campus, I already feel like part of the Michigan community. My entire family attended Michigan, and now it’s my turn to take up the Wolverine mantle. I can already picture myself rooting for Jim Harbaugh in Michigan Stadium, then hanging out on the Diag. I am also drawn to Michigan because of the superior academics. Michigan just feels like home to me. Admission decision: Admitted; recruited to the football team on athletic scholarship

A Formal Breakup Letter By Isabel Hedin-Urrutia Dear Dominique, I’m writing this letter not because, like a good person who “genuinely” cares about others, I want to spare you pain and help you feel better about the fact that I’m breaking up with you. I’m writing this to you because I think it makes me look like the better person in this conflict, and I feel like I deserve that position seeing as I’ve been on a bit of a high horse lately. This saddle is soft and cushy and I can see all of your flaws from up here, if I so deign to lower my upturned nose slightly and peer past my stirrups. However, this lofty steed doesn’t stop me from telling you that it’s not me, it’s you. It’s so fucking you. You see, we are just wholly incompatible. I’m 19 and barely escaping institutionalization due to constant involvement in terrifying family dysfunction, and you are 22 and still unironically like “Tik Tok” and use hollowed-out human skulls instead of actual dishware. I find it slightly disturbing that you saw one tweet on my switter about my recent UTI and saw fit to voice to me how you felt this was evidence of me “crying out in pain” for help with my deep-set psychosexual trauma. Even you have to admit, that’s a bit of a Hot Take. You would also express concerns about me “victimizing” myself in response to me confiding in you how depressed my recent estrangement from my father made me feel, even though we spent two hours reading all the pamphlets you got from inpatient while I sat close to you on your blood-drenched couch trying to hint that I wanted you to kiss me. The only thing I was “crying out in pain for” was for you to touch me, rotting next to you in a pile of gently quivering, horny anguish while you read word for word aloud a document titled “Controlling Your Violent Impulses.” Even as a Psych major, I am profoundly skeptical that therapy can do for mental health what marijuana cannot, and I indulge in both. You, however, don’t, and it shows. If you took three seconds between telling me I have a “substance abuse” problem and raving about how stressed leading your University Death Cult is making you to take a hit off of my Megatoke 5000, you wouldn’t be reading this breakup letter right now. And you’d also feel way more chill. All of the above-mentioned things, while a little quirky, aren’t evidence of fundamental character flaws. Your penchant for keeping around constant reminders of your exes, however, is. I’m not the jealous type, but you have a necklace made out of your ex-girlfriend’s teeth! You kept her liver! And other various organs of hers. I mean, to me, that just seems like a sign not only that you’re not ready for the level of commitment that I am, but also that you’re a tad hung up on the past. What was so great about her anyway? I’ve got a perfectly functioning, healthy liver, just ready for you to vivisect from my body and hang above your headboard. It just makes me feel as if you don’t see me as an equally capable sacrificial partner. I was completely willing to support your worship of the mysterious and wrathful Ancient Ones. I even chanted in Sumerian with you while we raised the vengeful dead from the cemetery across Mosher-Jordan Hall and commanded them to consume the plush flesh of the terrorized freshman class. But you couldn’t even remember after me telling you three times that I write for the Gargoyle? To me, that just says that you’re not truly invested in understanding my interests and the many facets of my personality, and subsequently, not truly interested in me as a person. Look, you’re an intelligent, philosophical, appropriately-homicidal person. I really admire how committed you are to burning fascists at the stake and your passion for quasi-Sapphic 17th-century Russian poetry. I just don’t see things working out between us, romantically, and I’m a little bruised from your callous demeanor toward me to even really feel comfortable being friends. But who knows! Maybe give it some time and we could get together for coffee or Black Mass. I’m confident that you’ll be able to find another cute lesbian, maybe this time one who enjoys country music as much as you do. No offense but…ew. That’s just a little too weird for me. Sincerely, Izzy

Winter 2019

(S)exoplanet Tinder ™ Profiles

By Nathan Slaven

ave you ever wanted to date a celestial body? Looking for a dating app where you won’t get catfished or sent unsolicited dick pics? Try (S)exoplanet Tinder ™ today! Find hot, single planets and stars near you, or even cold planets or binary systems if you’re into those sorts of things. (“Near you” is relative. Most matches will be dozens to millions of light years away.) Join today and go from a lonely loser to a casanova among supernovas faster than you can say “Choke me daddy. Choke me with your atmosphere of sulfuric acid.”

Winter 2019

Dear my readers, Yes, it is I, Judith Butler, author of such positively received books as Gender Trouble, Bodies That Matter, and, more recently, Giving an Account of Oneself. And yes, apparently she does write in the beleaguered third-person, referring to herself at the beginning of an open letter published on her website and later to be signed by herself. All of these things, like the inscrutable acts of individuation happening daily which serve to define the pre-critical formulation of an ego-identification which the oppressed undulate through their anti-pre-antagonal-learnedness to unreify their material status towards freedom, are the performances which create my famous style. A common piece of criticism I encounter is that I often bring up tangential issues without then doing the necessary work to address them. Others say my writing is too elliptical to be read by my audience, but neither of these complaints is the subject of this letter. No, this letter is about theft. In much of my work, I write about the importance of undoing the social fabrics which have grifted us, recognizing that it is the condition of meta-stability in a society acting through docility whereby what is expedient for those in power is offered as reward for those yet indecisive about how to orient their actions, in terms of value, regard, and ultimatude. Yes, in Gender Trouble, I did write about the concept of “trouble” being imposed upon us from the outside, paradoxically leading to trouble being actualized in any course; that we should obey being prompted by avoiding trouble, ignoring the trouble which it does cause. Some punk scenes have embraced this ethos characteristically, and it is this anti-establishment sentiment which satisfies me deeply. Many a Sunday morning have I woken up in my Bay-side cottage quite content that my tenure at Berkeley has been as successful as it has been, but I digress. Recently, I have noticed many of my books being stolen from bookstores, libraries, and personal collections. Please stop. When you steal my book, I don’t get paid. And when I do not get paid, how can I be expected to be able to write more? You are causing quite a stir which I do not appreciate: trouble is, of course, to be riled up, but kindly redirect your efforts to those pedestrian writings of Nussbaum or Bordo. Their writings are second-rate, and theft from them would do well to discourage their future proliferation. If you do not refrain from stealing from me, please understand that I, too, can provoke trouble. Trouble is, of course, the name of my retained attorney who excels at “fucking a bitch up” with his briefs and massive 22” pythons. Thus, I reiterate, please do fuck off. Sincerely,

Judy B PhD

Artwork By: Shannon Zheng Writing By: Connor Davis

I guess you gotta be careful what you wish for. Or realize that the grass isn’t always greener. I dunno, I’m a dog, not some wordsmith. We’re just trading in one cage for another. I beg and I piss the everloving-fuck out of some carpet and finally, my owners take notice, so along we go to Targé to buy some organic bananas. But I can’t go in, no, I gotta stay here. Maybe I should just die: I finally get what I asked for and it’s shit. And if everywhere you go smells like shit… Still locked in this damn cage. It’s a better view, I gotta give ‘em that. How long have they been in there? Must be at least a few hours by now. I mean, they drove here in this cage, so they gotta come back to it eventually. Fuck it. Just leave me in here since I sure as hell don’t need you. Just gonna put me back in the crate anyway. Where are the kids when you need ‘em? Everybody leaves, no exceptions, sooner or later, and I don’t want ‘em. Hey! Hey! Hey! Yeah, you fucking monkeys! Let me out of here, I know you can see me! Oh, if only I had some thumbs. I saw how they unlock my crate at home, I just can’t do it. I bet these thumbers could lemme out if they gave a shit. Probably for the best they leave— fuuuuuuuck you!

Takes too much energy to keep up hope. It’s like you make me wanna run but leave me in this thing. Where’s this gonna go? I’ve been stuck in here for days. I should just dookie all over your fucking seats already. Man, why’d you even adopt me? I didn’t ask for this. I had balls. Don’t get a dog just to leave him alone. I used to be free, in that rescue, free in my own way. I was excited to leave. Should’ve known it’d be a disappointment. I had a daughter.

Jesus. Just come for me already. Bring me back to my dog bed, and let me die.

Winter 2019

Rip Your Juul In Style!

Winter 2019

These Things That Block the Night

by Apryl Fox

he monsters were there. They were everywhere. But the worst part of being a monster was the fact that you knew the change was coming—as, a matter of fact, it couldn’t be put off or halted. That it was going to arrive like a gust of wind knocking at someone’s door at 2am in the morning, sounding like an intruder or a neighbor seeking help. Yes, the monsters were there—and they weren’t few and far between, either. Johnston Railey saw one while he stood in his pajamas at his bedroom window, looking out at the abyss that was the night. No stars shone in the brilliant darkness. A great black curtain swept the entire world, dimming everything, including lights from other houses. It was as if nothing existed between him and the darkness. He gulped. The monsters moved closer. One came closer even still. His parents were close by. He could hear them breathing. He imagined they were both asleep in their great big bed, dreaming their adult dreams, of cocktails and food. One night he looked out his window. Something lumbered towards him. He screeched and jumped back, covered his mouth with his eyes open wide. He didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was a magic beast. He was going to find out. Looking behind him, he went forward and jumped out the window onto the soft grass. It was spring. A spring rain had fallen earlier in the

night, and the water shimmered on the grass like diamonds. He let out a shout of joy and covered his mouth again. He knew he was going to be in trouble if the thing found him. But he wanted to see what it was. His curiosity got the better of him and he walked forward a little ways, somehow finding himself tiptoeing on the soft grass, and walked quickly down the street. The giant thing stood in front of him. Johnston stared at him, his mouth dropping open. “You look so cool!” he said without realizing it. He knew he should have ran away, but he didn’t, awkwardly kicking a stone with his foot, ashamed he wasn’t reacting the way the monster was used to. “What are you?” he blurted out. The thing let out a great burst of laughter. “I am,” he said, “a gargoyle. See?” He

demonstrated by producing two large wings, and the wingspan was about eight feet wide in each direction. “Wow!” Johnston exclaimed, jumping back a step. “Can I, can I fly on your back?” He gulped, realizing what he just said. The gargoyle shrugged. “Sure!” he said. “I don’t see why not.” “How am I,” he started to say, the creature bent over his great back and leaned toward the boy. Johnston cleverly jumped onto his back. He laughed out loud. “This is fun!” he cried, spreading his arms wide to let in the wind and the oxygen. The gargoyle lifted his great wings, and there was a movement of wind and the gargoyle turned his great head and rose into the air and started flapping his wings. He began to fly. He flew over the city and an ocean. He flew over a vast lake and wide open plains. It felt as if they were flying forever before the gargoyle landed back at the boy’s house after midnight and he jumped off the gargoyle’s back. “Thank you,” he simply said, and jumped up and down because it was the greatest experience of his life. He stopped and studied the gargoyle as if seeing him for the first time. “What is your name?” “Gargoyles have no names,” he explained. “We are simply called monsters.” “Your name is not monster,” he told him. “Your name is Flyer.” Johnston turned and crawled back into the window to his bedroom. When he closed his eyes, the moonlight floated in his window and the gargoyle was gone.

“The giant thing stood in front of him” 14

THE END

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DEAR READERS, We would like to take this space to share a new development at the Gargoyle. Although we get numerous article submissions every semester from complete strangers from around the world, we have never, in truth, received a letter to the editor from anyone, student or not. This changed in the Fall of 2018, when we received the below message from a man who only identified himself as "Likhan Sobscraip". While we have reason to believe that this is a pseudonym, it is a fitting enough name that we will continue refer to him as such. Likhan emailed us a fascinatingly unintelligible letter intended for the editor and insisted in no unclear terms that we publish it. Shocked and delighted, we immediately agreed to do so. But before we sent out that acceptance email, we took pause. Who was this person? Why did he want this so bad? It felt as though something was happening right under our noses, so we threw Likhan a curveball to see if his facade would buckle under scrutiny: we added a few conditions to the acceptance. More details of this correspondence and the fruits that it bore will be revealed in the next issue. But for now, enjoy the first email in the Saga of Likhan: Sincerely Mr. Gargmail, I am very excited and surprised when discovering your publication is a feature on the humorous list to my local website. Not often we can read American magazines here. I found the article laughter and delightful and many of them even gave me a lot of laughs. I was so excite to find place of your magazine with a letter to editor. I thought “If I send a letter to the editor, and they print it out, I’m very famous and even in my village will be celebrate.” Will write and have a humble little of me; I told everyone with my friends and he told me that it was quite good if I said it myself. So here's a joke: "knock Knock," "who have?" "Pablo." "Who's Pablo?" "Pablo, can you go?" Two firefighters were walking down the street and one person said to the other, "Your shoelace" to look at. But it was a fire. I hope you like my jokes and they may be for you and your readers to laugh a lot. Greetings, Likhan Sobscraip

Winter 2019

MARK

SCHLISSEL

MARTIN A.

PHILBERT

JIM

HARBAUGH

WITH

JOHN F.

KENNEDY

AND

SOON,

YOUR DUMB ASS

“THE FUNNIEST THING THEY TOLD ME IS THAT I WAS GOING TO HAVE A JOB AFTER GRADUATION”

[NAME REDACTED BY THE U.S. MARINES]

“I CAN’T TALK - I HAVE THREE MIDTERMS AND FOUR FINALS THIS WEEK”

FIRST SEMESTER FRESHMAN

“A REAL WASTE OF SIXTY THOUSAND DOLLARS”

OUT-OF-STATE SOON-TO-BE DROP OUT

“A MAGICAL EXPEREINCE“

MARK SCHLISSEL

“IT BROKE ME”

THIRD-YEAR ENGINEERING STUDENT SPENCER JENKINS

LITTLE

MISS

MICHIGAN

A STUDENT ON THE VERGE OF A BREAKDOWN