Volume 104 Number 1

IMAGE AREA 7.25” x 9.5” FINISH SIZE 8” x 10.25” TOTAL + BLEED 8.5” x 11”

Table of Contents 1. Gargoyle Defeats Truman 2. This Page 3. That Page Volume CIV, Number 1 Fall 2012 Ross Warman . . . . . . . . Senile Old Lesbian Brett Sandler . . . . . . . . . . Probably Uncircumcised Max Smouha . . . . . . . . . . . Gentleman Enthusiast Michael McCrindle . . . . Ready For The Desert Samantha Trochio . . . . . . . . . . Ghana-rhea Francisco Guzman . . . . . . . . . Local Tough Guy Kat Tomchuck . . . . . . . . . . Oshkoshmygosh Alexa Borromeo . . . . . . . . . . Bro Romeo Kyle Clark . . . . . . . Once Had Scurvy Peter Eldred . . . . . . . . . . . . . Melon Felon Jason Gong . . . . . . . . Sexually Sanctioned Margaret Hitch . . . . . . . . Hitch Em’ High Neal Jackson . . . . . . . . . . . Old Man Jenkins Kyle Landgraf . . . . . Trail Mix & Match J.J. Lundy . . . . . . . . Pissed Off, Pissed On Sohia Kaplan . . . . . . . . . Study Quips Megan Mockeridge . . . . . . . . . . Nazi Pixie Beiatrix Pedrasa . . . . . . . Super Saviour 64 Nico Pigg . . . . . . . . Nico-Roman Wrestling Jacob Rosen . . . A Jew in King Arthur’s Court Caroline Schaper . . . . . . . . . . Deez Nuts Ben Schlanger . . . . . . . . Bigtime Panty Sniffer Blair Scott . . . . . . The Blair Scott Project Michael Stephens . . . . . . . . . Balls Deep Natalie Voss . . . . . . . . . Vel-voss-iraptor Phil Wachowiak . . . . . Ontological Nightmare Kat Wilson . . . . . . Making Them G’s 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 2012

4. Filosofy 5. Trader Ho’s 6. Vote Gargoyle 7. Quick Fixes 8. Not Safe for Print 9. Journalism is Kewl 10. It Gets Weirder 11. It Got Weirder 12. Painfully Quirky 13. A Class Ass 14. Fresh Meat 15. Best Case Survival Guide 16. Slippery Slope 17. Rope n’ Grope 18. Young Birds, Private Eyes 19. Pork Horizon 20. Yelp for NELP 21. Rush SIGMA DUDE 22. The Finest Swill 23. YOLO 24. Uncle Garg

Philosophy

BY ROSS WARMAN, EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

G

reetings and welcome to another year at the University of Michigan, and another year of the Gargoyle. Throughout the Gargoyle’s more than 100 years, there has been an on-and-offagain tradition of the editor-in-chief writing a philosophy for each issue. The subject and the style of the philosophy has always been up to whomever is in charge of the magazine at any given time. At times, this has led to previous editors discontinuing the philosophy section, referring to it as “masturbatory”. But is masturbatory really such a bad thing? This leads me to the subject of my first philosophy: dildo factories.

For those of you familiar with the Gargoyle, this subject will come as no surprise. The pages of this fine magazine have been strewn with various phalluses, both flesh and rubber, for many years. However, today’s subject comes from outside the pages of the Gargoyle. A good friend and co-worker and I sat down to lunch after a particularly rough day on the job. Amidst the incoherent ramblings of overworked and overtired twenty-somethings, he said something remarkably profound: “Whenever I get sad, I think about dildo factories.” After pausing for a moment, he proceeded to explain.

“Think about it. Dildos exist. Rubber penises. That’s funny enough on its own. They’re mass produced, which means that someone has to make them. That means that somewhere, there are factories. Where people sit and make penises. It’s probably somewhere in Asia for cost reasons. That means there’s probably a bunch of old Asian women somewhere making dildos. That makes me laugh.”

Maybe it was the sheer exhaustion of the day, but this was arguably the 3rd most profound statement involving rubber phalluses that I had ever heard. It’s a statement that resonates with me today. Everyone needs their own dildo factory, something that

makes them happy. For some, it’s football. For some, it’s politics. For some, it’s God. But for me, it’s the Gargoyle. Whenever I feel down and out, when I feel crummy, I think about the Gargoyle. I think about the fact that there is a group of people out there who come together to create something bizzare and wonderful. I think about the fact that I get to work with people from all over U of M who are united by a goal to bring comedy and laughter to an at times over-serious campus. I think about the fact that I get to write about dildo factories as my mission statement for the next year as editorin-chief. Above all, I think about how much I love this publication and the people who make it great. So if you’re feeling blue, why not let the Gargoyle be your dildo factory for the day? You won’t regret it.

A Companion Thought

BY BRETT SANDLER, EDITOR-IN-BRIEFS

We have a tradition at the Garg, maybe you have the same one, in which we greet each other with offensive and obscene insults. It’s a creative exercise, since you can only call someone a “horse diddler” or a “shit fucker” so many times, but the important part about how we hail each other is that it means “come in, be yourself.” We dispense with formality because one, it’s fucking arbitrary, and two, it’s limiting. To me, calling my friends “piss goblins” reminds me that there’s little point in getting upset about minutiae; we all put up with insult-sized inconveniences throughout the day, so why not be blunt and laugh about it? We’re all in college now, we’re getting older, and more and more of us are finding out what real problems are. Don’t bother stressing yourself unless it’s for a damn good reason.

What I’ve learned from writing for the Gargoyle is to chuckle at the bullshit and shove more under my umbrella of humorous, innocuous, and unobjectionable events.

Anyways, enough babble. Turn the page, get to the good stuff.

4

Shop at Garg-Mart!

BY MICHAEL STEPHENS

Chocolate Chip Cookie Grilled Cheese It’s the worst intergenerational conflict to hit the American home or court room since 8-tracks v. iPods: the case of Dessert After Dinner v. Dessert Before Dinner. Thankfully, Oscar Debbie now offers a delicious compromise: dessert stuffed with dinner! The ice cream sandwich ain’t got nothin’ on this complete culinary delight. The only thing it will give you more of than trans fats... is smiles.

Also available from Oscar Debbie: Burrito Baked Brownies and Mostacholi Milkshakes!

The Passion of the Christ: The Video Game Now you can bring all the fun of the last days of Our Lord and Savior™ into your own living room! This genre-bender contains elements of mystery, action, platformer, and rhythm games. Play as Jesus, hunting for clues to solve the mystery of who ratted you out; the Romans, button mashing to nail Our Lord and Savior™ to the cross; Peter, making your way through the streets of Jerusalem and denying knowing Our Lord and Savior™ at every turn; or Satan, trying to tempt Our Lord and Savior™ with your sweet music using the included dulcimer and lute controller attachments!

The whole family can even join in with multiplayer minigames like Don’t Drop the Cross!

OFF! Incest Repellant Are your family members’ untoward advances really starting to “bug” you? Do you have a frisky father, salacious sister, or concupiscent cousin who makes family get-togethers feel like foreplay? Then you need OFF! Incest Repellant! One spray will send those horny goat weeds packing like Ryan Seacrest at a bikini model convention. Contains a blend of natural anaphrodisiacs including marjoram, coriander, camphor, soy, and Rosie O’Donnel’s musk. Also, lots of DEET. Gary Coleman’s Body Bumpit Has your stature left you feeling a little down? A little under the weather, maybe? Does it feel like you’ll never see eye to eye with your peers, like you just have diff ’rent strokes? Well, whatchoo talkin’ bout, Willis? Now you can ensure that the only time you’ll hear your friends say “dwarf ” is when you’re watching Snow White, thanks to Gary Coleman’s Body Bumpit! Now you too can be as tall and voluminous as Snooki’s hair with the best celebrity-endorsed fashion accessory since the Chuck Norris Action Jeans! The Body Bumpit will leave you feeling confident and beautiful, like you just stepped off a medieval torture rack! How does it work? We can’t reveal that while the patent is still pending, but we can guarantee it’s not a medieval torture rack, or your money back!

Disclaimer: Gary Coleman Body Bumpits Inc. is not liable if our product is in fact a medieval torture rack.

Prostitutes Hey you! Do you like sex? Do you like no-strings-attached sex? Do you like no-strings-attached sex with total strangers? Do you like no-strings-attached sex with total strangers who are probably willing to perform whatever depraved act your Marquis de Sade-rivaling imagination can conceive of ? Then prostitutes might be your cup of tea! Prostitutes are just like any other girl you might take home from the bar, except there’s no risk of clinginess or commitment!

And, if you knock her up, it’s not your problem, because there’s no goddamn way your seed could produce a child tough enough to survive her nuclear apocalypse of a womb! Prostitutes are like getting free sex with no hassle, whenever you want it! Except you have to pay money for it! They’re the greatest thing since sliced bread, and a whole lot easier to stick your dick in!

Fall 2012

5

THE GARGOYLE vs.

POLITICS L

ike any respectable publication, the members of the Gargoyle are highly aware of current events in the world of politics.

And like any good politician, all of our thoughts on the subject can be summed up on a single page. Enjoy.

THE MIDDLE EAST •

ABORTION •

•

•

“Get this baby outta me! Ack!” That’s a quote from my wife. You ever been kicked in the gut for 2 damn months? Don’t get me wrong, I’m a family man, but that’s only until my wife’s got a little frankfurter boiling in the pot. She gets ornery as all hell, always crying when I ask her if she wants to play freeze-tag and demanding “why aren’t you at work?!”

Remove all funding for Planned Parenthood! They have clear connections to the centuries old secret society the Knights Templar, also known as the Üterati. This is explained in the upcoming Dan Brown thriller “The O’Keefe Code.”

The Gargoyle believes that abortion is a terrible waste of human life--we’re losing tons and tons of human mass every year that could be used to end world hunger.

THE ECONOMY •

•

•

We will stimulate the economy manually, with a rhythmic emphasis. It’s a delicate maneuver, but with enough practice and a strong index finger we can all learn how to make ends meet with a “reach-around tax evader.”

Once the economy is properly stimulated we can drive home an economic boom by repeatedly filling tax loopholes with gobs and gobs of reform. I expect explosive recovery.

Washington bureaucrats think they can stimulate the economy with just their mouths, but at the end of the day they need to roll up their sleeves and plunge in with a hands-on approach.

•

•

HEALTHCARE REFORM • • •

•

•

We’ve really been fucking up here. When I stroll about various immigrant towns, all I see is disappointment-we are not impressing immigrants anymore. Ellis Island needs a major overhaul and so does Coney Island. Why not combine them? I’m talking rollercoasters right after you hop off the boat. Elephant ears and green cards.

Now that’s America.

I’ve had it with these motherfucking snakes on these motherfucking planes trying to sneak into our motherfucking country and sending money back to their motherfucking snake families.

There’s a great place across the border, a little mom and pop outfit, and they’ve got the best enchiladas for only 10 pesos. Can’t be beat!

The grape cough syrup my mom makes me take is gross!

Yucky to the max! And more Spongebob Bandaids!

You know what a “dine-and-dash” is? I basically do that, but with chemotherapy.

Anything worse than a paper-cut will result in an immediate mercy killing, a la competitive horse racing.

GAY RIGHTS • •

Gay shit is cool as hell. I got like ten or fifteen gay friends and straight-up they are a good time. Fuck off with these kinda questions After years of research, our undercover agent says that “gay stuff is only gay if you enjoy it”

THE ENVIRONMENT •

IMMIGRATION •

I cannot understand the long and drawn out conflict that we’ve had to endure in the middle east when the eagles simply could have dropped the ring in Mt. Doom, or shit, the Ents could have barrelled through Mordor. They’re fucking huge. Also, why the hell do you need a guide to find a giant fucking volcano. Fuck Gollum.

We need to open up a diplomatic dialogue with Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadeinejad immediately!

Perhaps over coffee, maybe a light pastry? He should be comfortable if we’re to make any progress. Do you think he’s seen Sleepless in Seattle? He could be my Tom Hanks. What? He’s got a rugged beard and a chest like a bear. He doesn’t wear ties, that’s hot! Seriously, am I the only one who thinks he’s hot?

The UN desperately needs leverage to enforce their nuclear sanctions.

• •

My grandpa keeps talking about his war-knee, says it’s been acting up lately. He says that not only the climate, but the times are changing. I’m inclined to agree.

“Expect a cold winter, but a strong spring harvest.”

- Farmer’s Almanac We are against natural disasters of any kind.

Next question.

GUN CONTROL • •

Guns are tired of being mistrusted and want to voice their struggle. No regulation without representation!

For too long guns have not had enough say in controlling who they are handled by. I mean, it’s their bodies--they deserve to have a say in who gets to squeeze out those explosive loads.

While searching for evidence of WMDs, the Gargoyle staff discovered the Daily’s secret burial ground for failed pieces. Pieces so terrible, they never saw the light of print. Until now that is...

How to Tell a Ladybug from a Roly-Poly

By BRIAN LEIGHEY

Whoa! What’s that creepy crawler on your pencil?

Is it a ladybug? Is it a roly-poly? Could it be something completely different? If these questions are on your mind, rest assured, the Daily has got your back. Daily reporter Brian Leighey has been talking to professors in order to investigate exactly what the difference between ladybugs and roly-polies is.

Is Denmark a Country?

By NEAL ERIKSON

Are you sure Denmark is a country? Like it has to be a country, doesn’t it? It’s where Romeo and Juliet took place. Or is it like a part of Norway maybe? Wait, is Norway even a country? Don’t they have some sort of United Kingdom type shit going on in those northern European viking countries? And what about the Dutch? Why isn’t it a part of Duitsland (Scandinavia)?

Why does Europe suck so bad? Denmark?

Do Squirrels Have Penises?

By NEAL ERIKSON

We all know the furry and loveable creatures that grace our campus, but do they actually have penises?

I for one have never seen one. To con�irm my hunch I asked my roommate, a biology major.

“Do you think squirrels have penises? Like, have you ever seen one?” I asked.

“I think so,” he replied. “Most species need penises to reproduce, you know?”

I do know.

So there you have it. Squirrels most likely have penises. Myth busted.

8

Memes: The Future of Comedy

By NEAL ERICKSON

2012 has seen some incredible moments: from the nomination of Mitt Romney as the Republican presidential candidate, to something that seems pretty important happening in Syria, but most of all, 2012 will be remembered as the year of the Meme (pronounced meh-meh, or alternately, mee-mee). A meme is characterized by a picture of a pop culture icon or a silly face with bold block letters that . . . okay it’s hard to describe, but it’s like totally hilarious. Like there’s this one called “High Expectations Asian Dad” and it’s this picture of an asian man that’s always getting upset that his kid didn’t get an A. Or “Socially Awkward Penguin” which is a silly penguin that isn’t very socially adjusted . . . just trust me here, they’re totally funny. Not since Dane Cook has the comedic landscape of our country been so drastically shifted.

From the Daily: Fuck Off, Neal It has recently come to our attention that a certain overexcited and untalented freshman has been �looding our of�ice with portfolios and applications as well as emails inquiring about said portfolios and applications. We were able to ignore these frantic submissions at the beginning of the semester, but now they are bordering on creepy and neurotic. This freshman seems to be oblivious to subtle rejection, so I must be �irm and honest. The truth is, we don’t want you, Neal.

You are fucking annoying, Neal. So stop sending us your shit, Neal.

Michigan Daily Readers Vote On Handsomest Daily Editor Michigan Daily readers have come together to tell the world just how handsome our editor is. Yesterday a visitor walked in and remarked “Ryan Gosling?! I didn’t know you were a student here!” Nope, that’s just our robust leader whose white, shining teeth illuminate the pages of U of M’s �inest publication.

Viewpoint: Technology Sure Moves Fast!

By BETHANY DUNHAM

We here at the Daily are consistently impressed and amazed by Man’s technological prowess. Seemingly every year new products come out. There didn’t used to be an iPod or even laptops, and look at the world now. I can see roughly 12 technology devices just from where I’m sitting! Imagine that! Do you ever text? What a convenience it is!

Opinion: Slavery Was Fucked Up

By ARTHUR MILLER

You know what’s unbelievable? Slavery. A lot of people don’t know this, but slavery was fucked up.

Straight up, it’s not cool to do that to people, dogs OR horses. Slavery is literally the worst thing you can do.

I tried to bring this up in my history class, “Excuse me professor, but don’t you think slavery was fucked up?”

He told me to raise my hand. Well you know what professor, slaves couldn’t even raise their hands so fuck you. I took my views to the Diag, asking fellow students “don’t you think slavery was really fucked up?”

“Ya, I do.”

“I de�initely agree, there isn’t a single part about slavery that you could say isn’t shitty” “You know slavery is still a huge problem right?

It’s not over, like, not at all.”

Evidently, people just don’t get it. Slavery was and still is really fucked up and I can’t believe that students at such an esteemed university as U of M aren’t more pissed. We need to �ix this, we need to tell the world just how fucked up slavery was and erase it from the history books!

Viewpoint: We Must Protect Women

By NEAL ERIKSON

We must protect women on this campus, no matter what it takes! They’re vulnerable, much like a turtle. Have you ever seen a turtle? When a turtle get’s �lipped on its back, it can’t �lip back up. Women are the same; that’s just science! We men must protect their soft �leshy underbellies from angry predators such as badgers, hawks, and the white slave trade.

Fellow gentlemen, women on this campus are far away from their natural habitat. With the presence of larger predators and dwindling supplies of Diet Coke and Vodka, their lives are frequently endangered. Furthermore, they are unable to grow their own winter coats and coupled with rapid temperature change, women naturally require a symbiotic relationship with a man. They do so by molting their regular clothing, revealing a brightly colored, tightly �itting second skin. This is done in order to attract a male protector, who offers his high-school lacrosse sweatshirt as part of the mating ritual.

Men, it’s time to stand up and be real men. There are too many men on this campus who are willing to take advantage of women. And too many cyborgs sent here from the future to kill the mother’s of future resistance movements. Being a real man means protecting your women. And being at least 54% human. Everyone knows that.

Women, you deserve a man who respects and appreciates everything about you. Like your hair. Oh god, your hair. So perfect. Women, wear something that makes men get to know your mind, not your body. Also, wear something that protects your solar plexus and temples, the two most vulnerable parts of the body. Also, wear a hat, it’s cold out. Get a pap smear twice a year once you turn 18 or become sexually active. Don’t swim for an hour after eating. Has anyone ever seen a woman? I certainly haven’t.

Fall 2012

9

I

’m a man’s man, have been for some time. I got a tough, gritty beard, and horse calluses all up and down my thighs.

What I’m trying to say is that I can ride with the best of ‘em. Ain’t nothing like the wind in your hair and a horse in your crotch. But I wasn’t always this way. No sir, I admit that I was once as doughy as a baker’s bosom. I couldn’t grip a rope, much less shoot a man dead for looking at my wife. Aye, things were different before I met Coyote Heart. Now I don’t have time to tell you about all of our exploits, although I’m sure you’ve heard of a few. The Texas Railcar Switch of ‘72 or perhaps the Great Mississippi Almond Heist to name a couple. For now, I’ll simply tell you how we met.

I was a boy at the time, couldn’t have seen more than 13 years, couldn’t have seen more than three or four boobs. My Pa and Ma were simple folks, honest Americans. We raised cats and dogs, which didn’t always turn out so well, but we got by. Didn’t have no brothers and my sister didn’t seem to care much for me. She was always crying and had a mighty picky diet to boot. Wouldn’t touch a thing except milk, couldn’t even say my name... I never did understand her, but we’re blood and that’s what counts.

I was living in Virginia City, Montana, a little, but soon to be big mining town. My pa called it “the great western gold hole.” It was a bitter afternoon, terribly hot and the winds were blazing. I

could hardly walk about town, what with all the sand in my eyes and what’s more, all the sand that’d crept into my underpants. That’s something most of us western men won’t tell you, but everybody’s got a little sand-crack. It hadn’t rained in days and I only had one pair of shorts. These were rough times.

I was headed to the schoolhouse when I hit a rock, tripped, and somehow launched a turd from my pants. I looked up and felt my heart seize. I’m no ball player, but when I see a turd fly, I can tell where it’s gonna land. Unfortunately for me, my wayward shitpebble was arcing perfectly up and over towards Johnny the Cat, the meanest man in town. Some say he was abandoned as a babe and raised by mountain lions, some say he was born on the hottest day of the year during a freak thunderstorm, and yet others reckon his mother was uncommonly clumsy, that she dropped him a lot, probably every day. For me, it didn’t much matter. What I knew was that you didn’t tussle with the Cat and come out lookin’ clean.

The turd hurled through the air and landed smack on the Cat’s shoulder. He rose slowly, shook it off and calmly turned towards me. He started to walk and I froze. I couldn’t move my legs and my mouth had gone dry. I figured I was done for.

“That your turd, boy?” He began. I couldn’t make my mouth move, I just sat there gasping and trying to say something, anything.

“I said, was that your turd, boy?” He repeated. “Ain’t no one else here, so I figures thats gotta be your turd. Now you’ve gone and ruined my nice shirt, how’re you gonna make that right?”

I didn’t know what to say so I started whimpering, crying and having a temper tantrum. I swore up and down that it wasn’t my turd until he cut me off with a right hook. I musta flown five or six feet back, landed with a dull thud. My head swam and at first I thought I was hallucinating when the man I would come to know as Coyote Heart stepped over me. He walked with a confident gait, the beads on his skirt tapping out a delicate melody, his balls gently knocking out the bass line.

I managed to speak, “Are you an angel?”

He replied in a heavy, punctuated voice, “I am all fucked up on mining fumes.”

“What does that-” “Quiet now. I’m going to have a talk with this man what attacked you. I’m gonna look him right in the eye and kiss him into submission. Then I will tell him how he is going to die.”

Johnny the Cat was not to be ignored. “Who the fuck are yo-” and before the Cat could finish, Coyote caught his words in his mouth. They embraced and the kiss seemed to last for hours, days, but merely seconds in the end. Hope swelled in my chest. Maybe, just maybe, I was gonna make it out of this alive.

The Cat pushed Coyote away and began to spit, “What the fuck was that!?! The hell was in your mouth?!”

Coyote smiled and drooled a little, “Sorry cactus flower, I’ve got a little peyote tongue.”

By now a couple of the locals had come out to watch. They smelled blood, Coyote smelled like a riverbed, and the Cat smelled like my turd.

Coyote made his challenge, “Be gone stranger. The boy’s with me... always has been.”

The Cat replied by charging Coyote, his fists cocked and his brow furled in rage. Coyote swayed left, the Cat pounced again, Coyote fell right, straightening his body and tripping the Cat. Livid at his inability to land a hit, the Cat rose fuming, his knees seriously scraped. Before he could muster another attack, Coyote

Fall 2012

Heart sprang forward, forking his middle and index finger to deliver a blinding shot to the Cat’s eyes. He continued the onslaught by using the Cat’s own fists to deliver a series of slaps and punches to his head until somehow, and I still don’t fully understand it, but Coyote Heart got hold of a cream pie to deliver the finishing blow. The Cat lay unconscious, his face covered in cream while the townspeople cheered Coyote Heart. He didn’t seem to notice.

Coyote sat down next to me and offered me a pull from his water pouch, which I cautiously took. He swayed a bit, straightened himself, and turned his head towards the setting sun.

“You may call me Coyote Heart,” he said to no one in particular.

I pulled myself up off the ground and thanked him, “Thanks for saving me Mr. Heart, I don’t what the Cat woulda done to me if you hadn’t come!”

“Hmm... Indeed. You see, it’s like this, the Cat is much like a dog and when a dog bites you in the dick, that’s good luck. A dog never bites the same dick twice. Remember that son.”

“I think I understand... like lightning?”

“Exactly like lightning. You’re quick, also like lightning. I could make use of a boy like you.”

I was flabbergasted, “You mean... you’d let me run with you?!”

Coyote nodded.

“Well, then I gotta get home and grab my knapsack!” I exclaimed.

I took off at full sprint, energized by the new life that awaited me. Life was about to get plenty exciting! Then I saw the smoke.

Then I heard the howls. I couldn’t believe it... my house was on fire and surrounded by wild dogs. I saw my family inside, then I saw the tornado fast approaching in the distance.

Anxiety crept up my back, freezing my body in place. I felt Coyote’s warm hands on my shoulders.

“Coyote... what can I do?!” I stammered.

Coyote held a hand to his forehead and peered into the horizon, “Ride it kid... ride it.”

And we ran towards the whirling winds.

11

What Your Favorite Wes Anderson Film Says About You

BY PETER ELDRED

N

o doubt you’ve seen at least a few Wes Anderson films. Or maybe you haven’t. Regardless, if you’re going to attend the University of Michigan, you’ll need to pretend you’ve seen all of them. Multiple times. An hour on Wikipedia will fill you in on the plots, but you’ll be missing the subtext. Not the subtext of the film, of course. Wes Anderson doesn’t have subtext.

What you need to know is how to read the fans themselves. Simply ask “So what’s your favorite Wes Anderson film?” Then judge accordingly.

Bottle Rocket You liked Wes before he was cool. You’re also, evidently, on a first name basis with him.

Rushmore You appreciate the classics, and Jason Schwartzman thanks you for that, because you make up the entirety of the Bored to Death audience.

The Royal Tenenbaums You like crying over the injustices that probably only you understand or something. I don’t know. I think you’re just perpetually hungover and cry too much.

The Life Aquatic You’ve got the schematics for Steve Zissou’s sub on your laptop. You’ve been spec-ing out a build of it and watching prices on Newegg ColorfulImprobableSubmarineStore.com for the last two years. You’re totally going to pull the trigger when that next batch of student loans clears.

The Darjeeling Limited You’re easily distracted by bright colors and have misguided taste in movies.

The Fantastic Mr. Fox You’re often found in the corner of the kitchen at parties lamenting that “Pixar just isn’t quirky enough, ya know?”

Moonrise Kingdom Did you see this when it was at the Michigan? I totally saw it when it was at the Michigan. It’s so cool how we have, like, all these opportunities to see indie cinema, right? Oh… You saw it in limited release over the summer while at your parents’ in New York…? Get the fuck out of my house!

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN

MEN’S GLEE CLUB

153RD ANNUAL FALL HILL CONCERT

November 17th 8:00 PM Hill Auditorium

12

ummgc.org twitter@ummgc facebook.com/ummgc

Fall 2012

13

A Freshman’s Guide to Ann Arbor L

ook, being a freshman is rough. The Gargoyle understands that. There’s a lot of stuff we all wish we had known when we were freshmen, like where the best parties are or how to masturbate without waking up your roommate. Thus, the Gargoyle compiled this handy guide to help you navigate your early college experience. Enjoy.

BY KYLE LANDGRAF

Solicitors

If a young freshman hopes to survive on campus, then they must deal with these caring, personal space invading individuals swiftly and without mercy.

Dominance is the most important thing to remember when encountering solicitors. Simply spot the largest one, march right up to him/her, and beat the living shit out of them. This will instantly establish your dominance over whatever their cause is, from promoting campus activities to stopping needless violence. Your primal display will likely catapult you into “alpha blowjob-getter” status with your female classmates (probably).

The Diag Washboard Guy

Despite ongoing rumors purported by upperclassmen that he’s some sort of university researcher, the Diag washboardguy is actually a paranoid delusion seen only by incoming freshmen; a symptom of inhaling too much campus air. Particularly brave students have walked close enough to him and his off-beat musical ramblings only for him to crumble into a pile of used napkins and twigs. He can also be summoned by saying “Harvey” backwards three times into a mirror.

Squirrels

Commonly believed to be one of those cute, kitschy things associated with Ann Arbor, Sciurus carolinensis truly represents a major threat to incoming freshmen. Known for their “Tonka Truck” size, aggressive behavior, and being so goddamn adorable that Elmo masturbates to them, it is estimated that 70% of campus crime is squirrel-perpetrated. A recent study has confirmed that 67.8% of all college roommates are actually a family collective of squirrels impersonating a human. This phenomenon is quite puzzling as campus dining halls rarely serve nuts, though it does explain why your new roommate is so “weird.”

Bicyclists

As a result of special legislation back in the 60’s, it is Ann Arbor common law that bicyclists are socially superior to anyone who walks to class. Therefore, they are allowed to zip past, clip, and rubber roll (a variation of curb stomping) your inferior ass and you damn well better appreciate what they’re doing for the environment.

Also, any bicycle with a card in the spokes totally sounds like a motorcycle, so be careful that you aren’t fooled.

People Who Walk in the Opposite Direction As You

Ann Arbor is a bustling city full of people, often times people who are walking right at you. Oh god! Here they come, walking right at you! They don’t even look at you! What will you do? You have 3 options: 1. Move out of their way like a little bitch and begin your hormone therapy 2. Do the awkward “direction changing dance” with them 3. Walk directly into them, even if they’re holding 50 porcelain babies The choice is yours, but if you choose options 1 or 2 you are a pussy and we won’t like you anymore. Think hard about that, pussy!

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Trip Wires

No one knows exactly how or why Ann Arbor is riddled with trip wires, but it is. As such, incoming freshmen should expect to constantly fall down wherever they go. Some conjecture Mary Sue had installed them early in her tenure, possibly so that students always have to look up at her from the ground, or perhaps that constantly looking down for trip wires distracts us from on-campus smoking.

Yoga

Long thought to be a cult like scientology or living in a co-op, it turns out that Yoga is actually some form of slow, pretentious, white people exercise. Initial forays into their establishments reveal that it is hot, sweaty, and not at all sexually suggestive.

Avoid at all costs. There are better, more effective ways to open your inner eye, such as purchasing the T-800 XL “Pylon” vibrator ($19.99) from the safe sex store.

Parties

These should be avoided. You should not be experiencing anything at these sex-filled funtraps. Get back to your studies! Your mother is disappointed! She has a lot invested in you! For a fun alternative, visit a SAPAC meeting or join the Gargoyle.

Homeless People

These lovely “shower-impaired” individuals represent not only the bohemian caring culture of Ann Arbor, but also the very real epidemic of graduating with a “liberal arts” major. A bit behind the times, Ann Arbor’s homeless do not seem to understand that students today wear headphones, don’t carry change, and “totally have to be somewhere.” That being said, the homeless are still full of fascinating mysteries. For instance, where do they get all of those tiny American flags? Do they still carry bindles? What did they think happened at the end of Inception? Only time will tell. On another note, the Gargoyle has heard from our uncle’s friend Randy that he totally saw a homeless guy once begging then he turned the corner and got into a limo. Just saying…

Fall 2012

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Book Review

I Dropped the Soap

A Homoerotic Romp through the American Penal System By Ben Dover filth,” as the New York Times put it, I present an excerpt from the memoir below so that one may decide for themselves:

A

mong critics like myself, there is often much discussion of the socalled “great American novel”. Names like Twain and Joyce are bandied about with fervor as though shuttlecocks in a match of intellectual badminton. But what is nearly always left by the critical wayside is the question of the great American memoir.

Angelou’s I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings and Jameson’s Confessions of a Traveling Gypsy seem to close the metaphorical book on the subject. What makes a memoir quintessentially American?

But more so, what makes an American?

Hardship? Diversity? Ambition? Or purely citizenship? All of these things, and, of course, that unnamed, ineffable flourish – a paralyzing fear of the unfamiliar.

By now it must be clear to most readers the subject I’m taking such lengths to circumnavigate: Ben Dover’s recent, masterful memoir I Dropped the Soap. I must admit here that this review is largely a point of posterity for this publication.

By now, Dover’s book has seized both the critical and popular literary world with a grip even fiercer than that of its author’s final embrace with his dying lover at the work’s conclusion. Here I will cease to be coy. Soap is without question the greatest memoir, and possibly the greatest American publication of the last three decades.

Without question the greatest – or perhaps more accurately loudest – criticism of Dover has been his oft-shocking style. Many have come away from Soap offended, even nauseous, but lest some readers be dissuaded from receiving Mr. Dover’s “back-of-the-theater blowjob

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“October 23rd – the first time Julio entered me – we were in the prison showers, frothy from soap and grime and passion. He slid over to me on the slippery tile, then slid, gently at first, into my love hole. At first, I was overcome by fear. Then by the bubbling dribble of my Catholic repression slowly building and swelling, into a fantastical eruption. When Julio forced his hand around my front and slathered a moisturizing conditioner onto my heaving chest, I welcomed his caress, and eagerly moved to shampoo his scalp. I knew then, that it was love.”

Many have found such passages as this, littered liberally throughout Dover’s book, as crass, dismissing it as mere erotica.

When I read it, however, I find it difficult not to feel a deep penetration of my own self – the pure warmth of that love shooting through me and oozing out of every orifice. I challenge any intelligentminded reader to feel any differently.

Claiming otherwise would be like, to quote Mr. Dover, “ramming me in the ass, but also in the brain.”

In the past I’ve received complaints from readers that I don’t directly address the content of the books in my reviews, but instead “dance around the narrative meat of my subjects like a horde of coked-out Swedes around a DJ booth.” My detractors’ mixed metaphors aside, I think it fitting in this instance to acquiesce, considering the circumstances – namely Soap’s widespread international popularity in what might be referred to as the “mass market.”

I Dropped the Soap chronicles the rise, fall, and redemption of its author, Ben Dover. After a meteoric rise to wealth in the stock market, Dover gets slammed with what he wistfully refers to as “a roundhouse-butt-fuck from the long, slim dick of the law” – tax evasion and possession of narcotics with intent to distribute. Dover pulls no punches about his past, however.

“I was young and dumb and harddicking anything that moved. Who has time for taxes when you’re knee-deep in supermodel sliz!? You know what I’m saying? Yeah, yeah! Wreck that pussy! I wasn’t going to sell that coke, though. Cops had that all wrong. I was doing so much coke it was coming out of my dick. When they took me in this bodacious lady cop cuffed me real tight and I thought I was gonna blow my shit right then and there.

Turns out the court blew me out, or rather they gave me to the prisons and let the penal system handle that itself.”

The remorse in this passage permeates the reader and continues throughout Dover’s account. At times the particulars seem almost too painful to confront, and a change in vernacular is employed. Notice the cadence, the diction, the very flow of the excerpt above and contrast it with Dover’s scene in the shower. The shower scene has a beauty and passion to it – a reluctance to commit, but equally a pride.

When Dover writes about his youth, though, it becomes rough, guttural, and so sexually charged that it might move Joyce to blush. As Vonnegut so famously used time travel to come to terms with the horrors of Dresden, Dover tackles the shame of his past life metaphorically, through the poetry of innumerable stained hotel sheets.

Prison is rough for Dover at first.

The first month he calls “Rapetober,” in a clever twist on the month’s actual name.

Soon, though, he notices that things have become less hostile, noting only later that this must have been due to the influence of his tough-as-nails cellmate Julio. Julio was an inner-city youth with eleven siblings.

At age fourteen, while coming home from his after-school job at the Jewish deli, he was attacked by some neighborhood kids.

After killing two of them and severely shaming the third with verbal abuse, Julio was arrested and thrown into prison with a sixteen year sentence. Dover met him on year eight.

Over the next year, the two’s “sloppy, over-ripe, lustful love” developed into a bond so deep they became the first homosexual couple in the state of New

York to marry in prison. The union was quickly overturned and swept under the rug, explaining the distressing lack of documentation of the event, but the sentiment is nonetheless touching. Tragedy strikes, however, on November 13th, 2011, when Julio is shiv-ed, shanked, stabbed and knifed in the Riker’s Island exercise yard.

Dover recounts the horror: I saw Julio hit the ground, bleeding out of all the wrong holes, and I froze. His bare, glistening chest was losing its caramel sheen to the crashing waves of crimson erupting from his neck. I dropped to the ground and cradled his head in my lap. He gurgled like a newborn and smiled. I forced my arm around his chest and swept the blood down his body like a cascade of soapy shower water – the body I knew every inch of so well it could have been my own. We locked eyes one final time.

Then he was gone.

The death of Julio, or the death of love itself ? A difficult question to approach after reading Mr. Dover’s book. “Why love at all,” he posits, “if it can be ripped away so

violently at any moment with the flick of a crudely sharpened shoelace?”

It’s not all bad for Ben Dover, though. When he was released, he found that the Apple stock he’d been hanging onto his entire life had skyrocketed in value. It could be then argued that Dover lived the American dream to its fullest. He lived, he earned, he made mistakes, he loved, he lost, he had a lot of sex, and then by pure luck he retired early and sidestepped the hardships of finding employment as a convicted felon in a struggling economy. I don’t know about you, but that’s the life that I want to lead. And I don’t give a damn who knows it! I’ll leave you here with the final paragraph of Mr. Dover’s memoir: “Yeah. I had some guys sneak their laundry up my chute. What of it?”

There is so much to say about “Soap” that cannot be contained in a single review, and I find my faculties as a critic outpaced by the depth of Mr. Dover’s memoir. As such I invite you all to procure a copy of my book, “I Dropped It, Too! Meditations on Ben Dover,” available in May.

DD

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Fall 2012

17

GARGOYLE WORLD

NEWS

Vol. LXIX

NASA Finds First Genderqueer Alien!

AMERICA’S MOST HONORABLE NEWS SOURCE

SHOCKING PHOTOS OF

CHICKS WITH DICKS

18

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2012 united nations international year of cooperatives

“This is exactly what my pictures were so desperately lacking.

Thank you, Instaham!”

- Literally Nobody

A Guide to Literature Programs at U of M

BY MICHAEL STEPHENS

T

he prestigious University of Michigan is prestigiously home to many prestigious programs, offering its prestigious students a prestigious plethora of prestigious activities to prestigiously choose to occupy their prestigious summer vacations with, if they’ve not been condemned to the hellhole known as summer classes by the merciless unrelenting pressure to graduate and not run themselves or their loved ones further into bone-shattering debt. This includes many literature programs, sponsored by the English department. Only the New England Literature Program is publicized at all, however, as the result of a Battle Royale between the programs’ directors during a Jefferson Starship concert in Toad Suck, Arkansas (Author’s note: this is a real place). But The Gargoyle hates censorship like a mongoose hates automated walkways at airports, and so we hereby wish to make you aware of the existence of these many fine programs.

PROGRAM

LOCATION

NEW ENGLAND LITERATURE PROGRAM

Raymond, Maine

OLD ENGLAND LITERATURE PROGRAM

York, Glouceser, or the court of whatever lord might provide safety and food in exchange for an oath of fealty

CHURCH OF ENGLAND LITERATURE PROGRAM

London, England

NEW ENGRISH RITERATURE PROGRAM

Chinese Sweatsh Lowell, Massachusetts

THE ENGLISH PATIENT LITERATURE PROGRAM

NEW JERSEY LITERATURE PROGRAM

NEW ENGLAND LITERATURE POGROM

Abandoned Italian monastery, Libyan desert

A giant slab of turnpike that somehow passes for a state

Behind the Iron Curtain

AUTHORS STUDIED

OTHER ACTIVITIES

40 students, ~15 staff

Thoreau, Emerson, Hawthorne, Dickinson, Frost, Stevens

Hiking, Camping, Art, Music, Journaling, Swimming naked with your teachers

100 students, 1 monarch, ~40,000 bubonic rats

Chaucer, Milton, Dante, Malory, some words and pictures Lancelot carved into the round table

TIMEFRAME POPULATION

Spring Semester

10th - 16th century AD

Farming, Trade apprenticeships, Whorehouse field trips, Public beheadings, Avoiding the black death

1534 - Eternity

26 million students, 44 staff, 0 popes

Father, Son, Holy Ghost

24 hours a day, 7 days a week, no lunch break

1 billion slave labor ers students, 1000 overseers staff, 1 honorable chairman program director

Praying, Flipping off the Pope, Mandatory marriage annulments, Getting married just so you can get annulled

Books for burning, not reading

No

1 Hungarian cartographer, 1 French-Canadian nurse, 1 British couple, hundreds of Nazis

Ondaatje

Crashing airplanes, Shooting down airplanes, Overdosing on morphine, Winning every academy award

Approximately 8 million awful drivers

Snooki, the Jersey Devil, the ghost of Jimmy Hoffa, Carl Sagan

Turned against the Jews

Hitler, Pontius Pilate, some other assholes

WWII

Longer than you want it to be

19th-20th century AD

Driving like an asshole, making music, eating in diners, mispronouncing their own state’s name, GTL, Fist pumping

Basket weaving, carpentry, condemnation/ damnation at the Nuremberg Trials

B

Sigma Dude Bar Crawl Itinerary

ar

Crawl 1

Listen up bros! Welcome to Sigma Dude, the radest pack of Paulʼs and Jerryʼs this side of the Huron! Itʼs summer 2012 and you know what that means: BAR CRAWL!!!

Last year we fuckinʼ raged! Iʼm talking Garbage Water shooters, drinking at the lumber yard and playing Red Rover in the law quad. My jeans still have grass stains!

Tonight weʼre gonna fuck Ann Arbor! Strap on your bitch magnets and finish that tallboy, itʼs time to fuckinʼ drink!

□

Wake Big Jeff up (check the roof first).

□

Have Dad make a late night beer run.

□

Steal some fuckin’ library books.

□

□

Drink some fuckin’ beers, snort a few lines of Adderall off the M. Rockin’.

Meet back at the Dude Den for a rousing game of foosball.

□

Shots! Then prowl Ann Arbor for nerds! Free t-shirt for whoever breaks the most glasses.

□

Protein bulk at the Pita Pit.

□

Make humping motions in front of the Safe Sex Store.

Say ‘BOO YAH’ a lot.

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Parking structure? More like party structure! Silly string fight on the roof.

□

Bedtime! PSYCHE!! Nobody’s going to bed until the pillow fort is done!

□

Finish pillow fort.

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Carbo load at Noodles & Co.

□

Pre-game at Bean’s house.

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First stop: Charley’s! Pound back a couple Cranky Janitors and see who can fit the most fried pickles in their mouth. Last year Dirty Don did 6!

□

Get Big Jeff home before curfew.

□

Sleaze on over to The Blue Lep for $2 Urinal Bombs.

See if you can snap an upskirt or three. Free t-shirt for the best upskirt!

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Head to Cantina for Sigma-Dude-aritas

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Trust falls in the alleyway behind Amer’s.

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Wine Chug at The Earle!

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Ted is liver-lifemates with one of the cooks at Back Room so we can totally party in their kitchen. Don’t get burned!

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Necto! Request “Thriller” and make the pledges do an elephant moonwalk.

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Break into the post office so Greg D can mail his Mom a late birthday card.

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PIZZA!!! Head on over to NYPD and see who can drink the most beer using breadsticks.

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Butthole Tag.

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Can’t forget Rick’s American Cafe! Whoever drinks the most Week-Old Dental Dams gets a free t-shirt. See if you can get a girl to give you a Turn-Around Sally.

□

Rock like 6 shooters then distract the bouncer so we can sneak into the Women’s bathroom.

□

Drink until we think it’s the 50s, then panty raid at the League!

□

TP Slow Tom’s house. It’s also his parent’s house!

Fall 2012

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Drink Recipies & Activities Tired of the same old forties and fifths? Sick of drinking every time some asshole on TV says a key word? So are we. Thatʼs why weʼre proud to introduce the following Sigma Dude certified drinks and drinking activities. Grab a dude, grab a bro, and get to drinking!

Cranky Janitor

Mix equal parts gin, tonic water and pepper. Garnish with a loose pubic hair

Sigma-Dude-aritas

Mix three parts tequila (100% agave a must), two parts fresh lime juice, just a hint of lemon zest (trust us!), 1 part Cointreau (do not waste your time with Triplesec), then lightly coat the rim with bath salts.

Week-Old Dental Dam

A mid-winter treat! Mix two parts kahlua, two parts tequila, one part rum, five parts Dr. Pepper, and gargle well.

Shake well with black ice and serve warmed. (Freezer burned soup may be substituted if black ice is not available).

The Discerning Gentleman

Scoff at the bar’s whisky selection and head outside for a fine cigarette.

On the way out, grab someone’s drink indignantly.

Urinal Bomb

Equal parts grenadine, blue curacao, and rum.

Top with Red Bull and a small, decorative plunger.

The Flaccid Fanny

Pour yourself a cup of white wine when you get home and vent about that bitch at work.

Engineer’s Challenge

Hop on the Commuter South and take a shot at every stop.

Charity Drive

Get a glass of water from the bar. Pour that shit out, but keep the ice.

Now walk around and bump into people. First one to fill their glass with spillage gets a free drink.

The Thump

Eat two burritos from BTB, drink 8 margaritas, then try playing basketball.

The Careful Camper

Kick back in the great outdoors, maybe put your feet up, then enjoy a fine merlot with a straw.

The Carter County Cosmo

Pull up your overalls and put on your drinking vest. Mix equal parts triplesec, lime juice, cranberry juice, and 97% isopropyl alcohol. Down the thing in one go, then punch out your right molars.

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Famous Quotes “If you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best.”

Fall 2012

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