Table of Contents 1. Live On The Inside 2. This Page 3. That Page 4. This One Costs Money Volume CIV, Number 3 Spring 2014
S TA F F
Nico Pigg . . . . . . . . . . . . . Indigenous Peoples, OH Daphine Zhao . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Steven Gawking
5. For Eerily Adult Children 6. Paul Blart? 7. More Like Paul Fart
Caleb Nusbaum . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Oy Bae
8. For Eerily Childish Adults
E.A. Chavis . . . . . . . . . . . . Will Wright 4 Cash
9. Rueben Goldberg
Neal Jackson
. . . . . . . . . . Stillborn Mario Brother
Alex Boscolo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . CEOscolo
10. We Ruin The Classics
Courtney Carroll . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Trowel Knight
11. ART
Luke Collard . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Flirtinski
12. Register To Vote
Mike Flynn . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Absentee Dad Jenny Ghose . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Thumbs Sideways
13. Satan 2016
Sydney Glide . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Womandibular Arch
14. Top Secret
Nikki Horowitz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Blinks in Public
15. Philosophy
Ellen James . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Octember Baby Andrew Keating . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Oldgrounds Sarah Kimmel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Harbought For Cheap Jeremy Kruman . . . . . Charmander? I Hardly Know ‘Er Max Kuang . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . LuchaDoorman Ben Leigh . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Imperial April James Mackin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . UMMA Cum Laude Molly McGaan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tom Petty Larceny Chris Seeman . . . . . . . . Boulevard of Intact Nightmares Simone Shemshideni . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Big in Vegas Fiona Tien . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Memes at Night Direct all complaints, comments, submissions, and proclamations to
The Gargoyle 420 Maynard Ann Arbor, MI 48104
gargmail@umich.edu Visit us at: www.gargmag.com
Copyright © Gargoyle Humor Magazine 2014
16. Sweet, Bro
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ide l G y e Sydn If he becomes addicted to “The Girls Next Door”, he’ll probably want a den to watch it in. If he gets a den, he’ll want to buy a zebra print sectional couch. Once he is comfy in his sectional couch, he’ll want velvet paintings to look at. While taking in fine art, he’ll crave a cigar. Once he has a cigar, he’ll need a lighter. If he has a lighter, he’ll try to light his cigar. It won’t light when he’s underwater. If the cigar doesn’t light, he’ll have to find another vice.
I
f you give a shark a cigar, he’ll want a 14 carat gold ashtray. Once he has an ashtray, he’ll want a smoking jacket. If you give the shark a smoking jacket, he’ll probably ask for it to be monogrammed.
The trial separation will probably turn into a divorce. If he gets a divorce, Rhonda will get the zebra print couch. If he loses Rhonda, she’ll take the children with her.
Once he has his jacket, he’ll attract a tiger of a shark named Rhonda.
When she takes the children with her, he’ll probably have to pay child support.
If he marries Rhonda, she’ll say he looks like Hugh Hefner wearing that jacket every day.
In order to pay Rhonda, he’ll have to sell the velvet paintings, the smoking jacket and ashtray.
Once he learns about Hugh Hefner, he’ll become addicted to reruns of “The Girls Next Door”.
Fall 2015
If he finds another vice, he will lose his wife and financial stability.
Don’t give a shark a cigar, or his life will be in shambles.
5
Welcome To
2015 I stared across the bar at a Holiday Inn Express in Cleveland. I glanced at my watch. 11:07 a.m. I sipped my scotch, drumming my fingers impatiently. I was a bit hungover and a bit nervous, so I needed a little Hair of the Dog to calm my nerves. He should be here by now, I thought. He said he would be here. No sooner than I thought this, a hand tapped on my shoulder. I turned around to see a tall figure looking down at me. He was a heavyset man in a security guard’s uniform. Below his beady eyes and nose was a bristly mustache, the kind that was either a really good fake mustache or a poorly executed real mustache. “Hi there. Andy, I presume?” said the man. “You presume correctly,” I responded, standing up and extending my hand for a handshake. “Is the car out front?” “Where we’re going we don’t need cars.” “And what was your name?” “You can just call me Kevin.” He shook my hand. “Everyone’s Kevin where we’re going.” …………….
“Yes, but technically I’m the Paul Blart from Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2”. The man looked as if I had insulted his mother. “Why of course there’s a difference! They’re entirely separate films! Jeez, you might as well try to compare Hotel Transylvania to The Dilemma! Have you even seen the second Paul Blart movie?” “Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.” This seemed to aggravate him further. “You mean to tell me you’re covering the biggest Kevin James convention in the upper Midwest and you haven’t even seen one of his canonical works? What are they teaching in journalism school these days!?” I opened my mouth to tell him my only training was through an online correspondence course on Upworthy, but my better judgment intervened. I decided to remain silent for the rest of our journey. …………. We passed what must have been fifty security guards as we entered the building. I imagine only three or four of them were employed by the Cleveland Convention Center; the rest were various interpretations of the Paul Blart character. A few had fashioned quaint homemade segways out of cardboard.
Trotting down the street in the hot Cleveland summer air, beads of sweat ran down my face like the condensation on an ice cold Miller High Life. My source, however, was perfectly content. He stood atop a segway, which he insisted on riding at all times to remain “in character.”
My source, who still insisted on being called “Kevin,” led me to a group of individuals gathered around a refreshments table in the corner of the vast convention room. I stood at an appropriate distance as he greeted the group with hugs and handshakes.
“So, um, what’s this event again?” I asked, jogging beside the man. Having been sent on assignment to cover this event, I already knew the broader details. Still, there was something to be said for getting the story firsthand.
After pleasantries were exchanged, my source introduced me to the group. I shook hands with all of them. There were three men and one woman. The three men were dressed as Kevin James from The Zookeeper, King of Queens, and Grown Ups 2 respectively. The woman was married to the man dressed as Grown Ups 2 Kevin James. She, a slim AfricanAmerican woman, had donned a false beard and Hawaiian shirt as part of her Grown Ups 1 Kevin James costume.
“KevinCon. The largest Kevin James enthusiast convention in the upper Midwest,” replied the man as his segway plodded over the cracks in the sidewalk. “Everyone comes as their favorite Kevin James character.” “So you’re Paul Blart: Mall Cop, then?”
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“Hi, I’m Andy,” I said, cordially. “I’m bad with names, so make sure y’all go one at a ti–“ Before the words left my mouth, I realized the mistake I’d made.
Before the words left my mouth, I realized the mistake I’d made.
“We’re all Kevin,” said the slim woman. “Everyone here is named Kevin.” ………… After attending a 105-minute panel on Kevin James’ performance in I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry, I made an excuse to break away from the group. I needed some time to transcribe my notes. I also needed a drink. As fortune would have it, there was an open bar, tucked between the King of Queens interactive exhibit and the entrance to the Pixels screening. I showed the bartender my event pass. “Jack and Coke, please,” I told him flatly. I rifled through my notes from the Chuck and Larry panel. A professor of Gender Studies from the local college had called it “a heteronormative yet organically original approach to the modern family.” Absolutely nothing fit for print. “This your first convention?” the bartender asked as he handed me my drink.
the bartender, emboldened by the alcohol coursing through my veins. I turned to her. “I’m Andy by the way.” Once I got past her jarring costume, I found her oddly charming. We talked about politics, books, art, and the grand questions of life. Mind you, these topics were all discussed specifically as they related to Here Comes the Boom. We talked and talked as the hours slipped away. Before we knew it, it was 9 pm and the convention was over. As we walked out of the Cleveland Convention Center, I asked her where she was staying. “Oh, just the Cleveland Holiday Inn Express.” “Same. I’m in room 7202, which room are you staying in?” Her smile turned to a devilish grin beneath her wellgroomed mustache. “Same.” I guess the bartender was right. I guess KevinCon really was about love.
“The first I’ve ever seen like this,” I replied, taking a long swig. I motioned for him to pour me another. “They’s good people, most of ‘em,” said the bartender. “At least they ain’t doin’ sex stuff at this one.” …………. I talked to the bartender for about an hour, slamming back Jack and Cokes until his shift ended. Having worked several years at the convention center, he was a wellspring of information about these people. (Coincidentally, there are actually two KevinCons at the Cleveland Convention Center, one for Kevin James and the other for Kevin Smith). “Most of ‘em just want to a part of somethin’ ya know?” he told me. “KevinCon ain’t really ‘bout Kevin James or Paul Blart or any a’ that.” “Really,” he said, pausing and exhaling through his nose, “I think it’s about love.” …………. As I was about to leave, I looked to the end of the table and saw the figure of a beautiful woman ordering a drink. I couldn’t see her face, but I knew it was gorgeous. I sat down beside her. “Allow me to pay for the lady’s drink,” I told
Fall 2015
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Scouting For Men -- Local Man Scout Leader Skips Out REPORTED BY JENNY GHOSE
N
EWBERRY VILLAGE—In recent weeks, Man Scouts of America has come under fire by critics for allegedly leaving one group of men unattended in the forests of Luce County, Michigan. Man Scouts of America, the nation’s most “wholesome” adult-malebased development group, has since denied this accusation. While the organization refused to issue an official statement, an executive board member, Mark E. Housenberg, stated, “An internal investigation is being conducted to figure out what really happened without any of the antiman agenda so common in the media these days.” The group of men in question belonged to various families in Luce and Chippewa County. It is thought that they were abandoned by their Man’s Man Leader after a week of camping. At the time, they had been learning to apply for mortgages and apply deodorant. One Man Scout required hospitalization and is currently in critical condition after attempting to place a travel-size stick of deodorant inside his rectal cavity. Two more Man Scouts were seen by crisis counselors for panic attacks. The attacks were trigged when their mortgage bankers asked
them to consider how the long term equity of their home could affect their wives and children. “Man Scouts often have trouble grasping commitment and the fact that they can’t escape it,” noted Dr. Katy Macklin, one of the crisis counselors who had provided the Man Scouts with treatment. “They’re really quite fragile, in both mind and ego. I find it incredible that any Man’s Man Leader could skip away guiltless, with total disregard for the helpless scouts they left behind.” Tony Kinglin, the only Man Scout who escaped the situation unscathed, offered insight about the events that transpired after the scouts discovered that their Man’s Man Leader had abandoned them. “Well, the four of us, Marcus, Joe, Evan, and I, were a little suspicious the night before when Harry, our Man’s Man Leader, didn’t come back from the woods. He said he’d ‘be right back,’ so we set up the fire and toasted marshmallows and recited the Scout Oath without him. “When we woke up the next morning, Harry was still gone. So we searched around and found his car missing. In its place, all we found was a pint of UV Blue and some soiled trousers with Man Scouts brochures in the pockets.” “We knew he was gone for good and we were scared as hell. We didn’t know how we’d gotten there. We didn’t know the Wi-Fi password. We didn’t know how to make our asses stop smelling. It was chaos. End Times.” While details are hazy and a thorough investigation is currently underway by county police, Tony remains hopeful that his fellow Man Scouts will recover in the near future and that a decent explanation awaits him to explain Harry’s disappearance.
Scout Oath (Man Scouts) On my honor I will make an attempt to do my duty to Homer Simpson and the IRS and to do life the Man Scouts’ Way; to put bros before hoes at all times; to keep myself just slightly overweight, obsessed with football, and heterosexually straight.
Artist’s Rendering.
8
Collegiate Poetry Sonnet 18 (For My Reflection at the CCRB) By Bill Shakesbeer Shall I compare me to a summer’s day? Thy delts art lovely and could bear more weight.
Genital Injury
A Threesome Deffered
By Shady Broke
By Lameston Blues
There once was a man from Ann Arbor
What happens to a threesome deferred?
A World Renown Pubic Hair Barber
Do I nut up, Like Ron Jeremy in the sack?
When his allergies bother him
Or do I head for the border like OJ and never look back?
Cause ‘mirin myself is totally not gay:
He’ll still give your cock a trim
No homo bro, shit yeah I’m fuckin’ straight.
But if he sneezes it’ll look like Pearl Harbor
I see me in the mirror watching me;
Do I lack the skills required? Or is it the hand of fate that mires my desire? Maybe it just shrivels like an ancient toad.
This muscly man’s own gaze it does not stray;
Or does it explode?
I blush, forsooth, the thought that I should be: This is Just to Say
Me (myself ): my own Man Crush Monday
By William Carly-Rae Williams I have watched
“Nope” is the Thing with A Busy Tail
the shows
By Emily Dickinson
that were in
“Nope” is the thing with a bushy tail
the play queue and which
That perches by my door And looks my way for bagel scraps A junky trying to score This chubster wants a 19th chin A squirrel too fat to climb No handouts for this tree vermin No weasel, not this time 10
you were probably The Red Uber
saving
By William Carly-Rae Williams
for a date
So much depends
Forgive me
Upon the red Uber car
they were hilarious
Glazed with vomit
so fresh
Beside the white girls
and so edgy
“Selfia Plath”
A GLIMPSE INTO THE ARTIST’S PERSONAL LIFE *alternate title: “Shoulda Chosen Econ”
sify las l c Wi l ial r t es res rat ter erb ert inv d o fo for
Declare your major: B.S. Ecology and Evolutionary Biology
Fall 2015
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The 9 different types of Hillary Clinton
Billary Clinton
By Daphine Zhao
Killary Clinton
Chichillary Clinton
Stillary Clinton Distillery Clinton
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Chillary Clinton
Dillary Clinton
Gillary Clinton
Illary Clinton
Fall 2015
13
TOP SECRET
Internal Memorandum on Our Readers Here at the Garg, we’re always looking for ways to improve our reader experience and recently we’ve decided that with that goal in mind, we should get to know our readers better. Our focus group noted we weren’t really sure how to get to know our readers. We were going to talk to folks in the Diag, but jeez, talking to people can be so uncomfortable. Surveys have sample bias, and that just seems confusing, so we decided to go for the most straightforward approach: watch a Garg stand and spend a day following the first person we saw pick up a magazine.
9:35 A.M.
We saw a pretty average looking guy - brown hair and medium height wearing jeans and a TCF hoodie - pick up a magazine as he walked by the Garg stand in Mason Hall. He looked at the cover, half-chuckled, folded the mag, and shoved it in his pocket. Do people really read our stuff in the morning? That just doesn’t seem like a good idea at all; it’d probably be healthier to wait until 6 or 7 or at least eat something before reading.
10:07 A.M.
This guy just walked into a Physics 140 lecture in Weiser and we took seats directly behind him. He appeared to have forgotten about the magazine until he reached into his pocket for his phone. He opened it and looked at the stinger, he looked confused; I don’t think he got it. I guess he was intrigued though because he proceeded to flip through the rest of the magazine. He completely skipped all the longer written pieces - who could blame him at 10? - but read the comics and some of the shorter stuff. He quietly laughed at a dick joke, seemed to smile and linger on a comic, but mostly just looked confused. He looked up the definition of a word on his phone at one point.
10:20 A.M.
He seems to have totally forgotten about the magazine, he shoved it into a pocket of his backpack where he was keeping some old tissues. The magazine didn’t really fit until he removed some of the old tissues and an empty water bottle, placed the magazine in first, then put the tissues and water bottle back in the backpack pocket.
11:02 A.M.
Our subject has shown a level of planning and thoughtfulness we wouldn’t have given him credit for. He emptied out the full pocket of his backpack that he was using as a sort of mobile trash-can. Our subject has surprised us; he appears to have remembered that he needed to empty the garbage out of his backpack for pretty much the entirety of a Physics lecture. Are all of our readers so neat? Maybe the Garg improved his mind, or maybe he just really wanted to get it the fuck out of his backpack.
11:10 A.M.
We’re gonna keep following this guy because we want to know more about him. What kind of impact did the Garg have on his life? Is he going to be OK? We feel kind of responsible for him.
12:00 P.M.
Rob, as we have come to know him, attended an uneventful Psych 111 lecture. He seemed bored, sat near the back, and spent a period of about 15 minutes intently texting. We were afraid he might spot us, so we didn’t sit directly behind him this lecture, and as a result we were unfortunately unable to read his actual texts as he sent them. We believe these observations might reveal something about Rob’s character; while he was unable to present even a limited amount of attention to the lecture discussing the nature of humanity, he appeared to be entirely mentally absorbed by his conversation. Could it be that Rob has a trait of the great poets? Does he long to experience rather than analyze? Guys, do we use analyze or analyse? Would he rather be blown by the wind than find the words or equations to chart its path? Did the Garg fail him here? Did our hastily slapped-together content not provide the depth of expression Rob required? Were we the last stop on his fruitless quest for a publication that could give him the meaning he longed for?
12:13 P.M.
Rob entered Mojo with the apparent intention of eating at the cafeteria. He met a girl on the stairs down to the cafeteria and she made a joke about him surviving his morning lectures. It wasn’t a bad joke, pretty subtle considering she came up with it on the spot. Maybe we should see if she wants to write some stuff. I don’t think he got her joke though, he got the same half-confused look on his face as when he was reading the Garg, then smiled anyway and said he might not have made it through the lectures without the texting to break up the monotony. They enter the cafeteria but we are unable to follow because none of us have a meal plan.
12:40 P.M.
We lost Rob... He’ll probably be fine, and anyway, we did find out what people like: simple inappropriate jokes using only small words.
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Philosophy by Nico Pigg, editor-in-chief
H
ello friend, I hope you’ve enjoyed our first Gargoyle of the year. It’s traditional for the editor in chief to write a short section in the first issue of the year about a topic of their choice for you, the reader, to skip over. Usually this topic would be something related to the Gargoyle as a magazine and institution. However, despite the crisp autumn air and changing leaves lingering about like a lazy college student’s metaphor for aging, I haven’t been thinking much about being a senior, or how the Garg has changed over the years. There’s really only been one subject on my mind of late, seemingly without rhyme or reason, but some dum-dum gave me space in a publicly dispersed periodical to write whatever I want, so here goes. The past few weeks I’ve found myself lying in bed at night thinking hard about a California man with frosted tips and a taste for adventure named Guy Fieri. You see, Guy Fieri is one of this country’s few remaining bona fide superstars, a man whose appetite for life is matched only by his appetite for Mengele-esque experiments in meat/cheese. How is it then, that Fieri is known to many only as the butt of a cheap joke, a dank meme to be chewed up and spat out? How can a prince be seen only as a jester? Guy Fieri is nothing short of a national treasure, but the mouth breathers of the internet can’t let a man have his dignity. Don’t believe me? Let’s talk stats right now. 2007. Our hero is just a hardworking
28 year-old restaurateur with a degree in hotel management from Fresno State. A savvy producer for the Food Network senses a spark of brilliance and Fieri is invited to the cast of The Next Food Network Star season 2. Fieri wins the hearts (and stomachs!) of America and is elected as our Next Food Network Star. He dined on the competition, drove in to fame, and dove straight into the zeitgeist. This is the center of Fieri’s charm. Guy is a man of the people. Shit, his name is Guy. How much more down to earth can you be? There is no false elegance, no manufactured grace here. In an age where we are being told that we should strive for sophistication in the everyday, the crazy diamond of Fieri shines on. We are talking about a man with children named “Ryder” and “Hunter”. Guy’s sunglasses are more often on the back of his head than his eyes. This is the real America apotheosized into the heavenly kingdom of cable food programming, and that I think, makes us uncomfortable. It is easy for us to mock what we cannot understand. We cannot deny Fieri’s charisma, but he challenges our notions on whether it is in good taste to show a Smash-Mouth lookalike having oral sex with a pulled pork sandwich on daytime television. We allow Guy to host national game shows and advertising, the rare breakout from the food-television scene, but there is heaping dollop of cognitive dissonance in our perception of this star. How do we explain to our children why Mr. Fieri is pouring tequila on his fried chicken? Who will explain to them what “Donkey Sauce” is? I think that the internet’s mockery of Fieri is
our pressure release valve. As a nation we love someone who we probably shouldn’t, and so we need to mock him to mask our shame. We shit on his restaurants and dress up as him for Halloween and write erotic fan fiction about him and Bobby Flay, but at the end of the day we love him. And that’s why he’s still around. He has staying power; something about his funk makes us keep coming back for more. While Tyler Florence lies in a shallow grave in some Applebee’s parking lot, Guy is still drifting from Flavortown to Flavortown. Maybe the reason I’ve been thinking about Guy lately is because I see some of him in the Gargoyle. Sure, Guy is more mainstream than us, but we both exist to oppose expectations. Our purpose is to defy what sound judgment dictates. There are people that say that we shouldn’t exist. Some folks say that a man selling sirloin burgers from a cow forcefed Keystone Light, with a barbeque sauce I.E.D that explodes in your mouth, is a crime against humanity. Some say that publishing a Pokémon made out of human genitals, just because of a cheap pun, is wrong. I say fuck ‘em. I hope that you enjoy the rest of our Gargoyley offerings this year. It has been a strange pleasure being on this magazine for the past four years. Kind of like blowing a really big booger, or a prostate orgasm. I really can’t say how I ended up here, and there is absolutely no way that my time at this publication was a sound professional decision, but I had a lot of laughs, I met some great people, and I learned the difference between RGB and CMYK coloring. If you laugh at the things in this magazine, I urge you to come to a meeting some time, Fridays 6pm 420 Maynard St. I did once and it’s been a hell of a ride since. Spay and neuter your pets. -N.P
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Fall 2015
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