Volume 103 Number 4 Spring 2012 by Gargoyle Humor Magazine

Table of Contents 1. Rube Schmoldberg 2. This Page 3. That Page Volume CIII, Number 4 Spring 2012

4. “Cultural” Calendar 5. Mail 6. Safety by Leslie Nielsen

Jacob Rosen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Rick’s MVP Megan Mockeridge . . . . . . . . Racist Daughter

Dylan Box . . . . . . . . . . . . . Beat Shaq

Nikita Desai . . . . . . . . . . . . Gender Is An Illusion Ben Schlanger . . . . Bush Knocked Down The Towers Kat Tomchuck . . . . . . . . Chuck Tomkat

Michael Stephens . . . . . . . . . #1 Dildo Salesman Neil Banchero-Smith . . . . . . . . . . . . Bottom of the Rung Julia Braid . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Owns A Gun David Carr . . . . . . . . . . . . Auto-Erotic Inspiration Kristen Cleghorn . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pitch-Catcher Rob Davis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Famous Redditor Peter Eldred . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fucking Hates Horses Francisco Guzman . . . . . . . 20 to Life For Pun Abuse Margaret Hitch . . . . . . . . . Only Smokes The Dankest Sean Kermath . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sex Offender Michael McCrindle . . . . . . . . . . Has a Girlfriend?!? Brandon McDole . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cubed Comedy Rubin Quarcoopome . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Magnum P.I. Brett Sandler . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Piss Dungeon Max Smouha . . . . . . . . . . Has A Very Clean Hole Sam Trochio . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bearded Lady Mart Van de Wiel . . . . . . . . . . . . Finger in a Dike Natalie Voss . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Vick Voss Ross Warman . . . . . . Seriously Killed A Guy Once 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

7. A Second Page Has Hit the Piece

8. Dicks and Dames 9. But Mostly Dicks 10. Fine Dutch Imports 11. Silent or Deadly 12. Bird Jokes 1-5 13. Bird Jokes 6-9 14. Post-Post Racism 15. Suck It ACLU 16. Burning Desire 17. Bird Jokes 10-18 18. Gargoyle Supporters 19. Hanged Like A Horse 20. Horses Murdered My Mom 21. Big Gay Wizard 22. sfomeone Plea se hlepp 23. we Havse a SeRIus Probl 24. Race Carr

Ann Arbor

March - May

“Cultural” Calendar BOATS! Something to Do: Conquer the River Yearning to be Pocahontas for a day? Well if penis-tucking doesn’t sound like your cup o’ tea, Gallup Canoe Livery might be the answer to the problem. The Livery provides canoe and kayak rentals for a day of “adventure”. Experiences include fun, spilling your personal belongings into the river, and chafing. A ride down the Huron River is a great way to test you and your friends’ ultimate fears of water and sewage. Once your journey is completed, you’ll have the satisfaction of achieving something outside of a computer screen, and a better excuse for why your right arm has more muscle than your left. The river trip is 2.5 miles long, just long enough to keep your interest, while not making you feel like you’ve done any physical exercise of any kind. If you brought along some wimpy friends, or plan to spend some more time in the surrounding park after your voyage, there is a café at the Livery that hosts some predictably overpriced Zingerman’s Coffee and Baked goods. Gallup Canoe Livery is located on the banks of the Huron river surrounding Ann Arbor, just south of North campus and just off of Fuller Rd.

COMICS! Somewhere to go: Vault of Midnight Friday, April 20 Doors at 9pm. $5 ARBCO Presents: Mazinga, Counter Cosby & Suicide by Cop Friday, May 11 Doors at 9pm. Nate Higley comic and poster art show! Come to the Vault Ultralounge and see and purchase original comic book and poster art by Nate Higley! Limited edition comic and poster will be available for purchase. Stay and listen to the live music of Versificators (one night only), Bedroxx,A-bomb and Dick Jones. Complimentary refreshments. $3 / 18+ only (sorry kids!)

STARS! Something to See: Planets and Carl Sagan Museum of Natural History Planetarium Show Five bucks gets you a comfortable seat, powerful air conditioning, and a beautiful and possibly educational way to kill 45 minutes. There are various shows are at various times, so you can go whenever is good for you. There are far worse ways to spend an hour. I know it sounds like a great place to be high, but we are not suggesting any illegal activities at the planetarium. And we’re certainly not telling you to do drugs, and then go to the planetarium. That’d be irresponsible.

MUSIC! Something to Hear: Atlas Sound New Beats Happening presents Atlas Sound with special guest FTHRSN and DJ set by Subvader. Atlas Sound is the critically acclaimed side project of Bradford Cox, the singer of Deerhunter. FTHRSN is a local ann arbor artist who has been featured as such high-profile music blogs like the FADER. Subvader is also a local dj. Tuesday April 10th and the Michigan League, doors at 8pm Tickets available at MUTO and online Student: $10 (discount applies only if bought in person at muto) Regular: $15

Mail Direct all hate mail and suspicious parcels to The Gargoyle 420 Maynard Ann Arbor, MI 48104 or gargmail@umich.edu Visit us on the internet: www.gargmag.com Dear Mom, Crazy day today! One of the higher-ups came to me (me, can you believe that? Right there on the assembly line and he came right up to me!) and made me put on a business suit and follow him to a meeting. I just had to stand behind him and his colleagues and nod somberly like I understood Chinese. You have no idea how important I feel right now! And they gave me a handful of M&Ms for my trouble! Zhang and Jeffy are going to be so jealous when I get back. It’s a good thing I saved an M&M for each. Oh fiddlesticks! I forgot to save one for Jeffy’s wife. How inconsiderate. And her with a little family on the way and everything…

Dear Mom, Today I received word that I’ve been awarded an internship overseas! I don’t actually remember applying to this place, but I’ve been awfully busy with my applications lately and I must have forgotten. It’s a Chinese factory called Foxconn, and this place seems really legit. The internship is unpaid, but I get to make iPads! I ship out this Saturday. Wish me luck! Dear Mom, They weren’t kidding when they said ship out! I’m on a boat! A big one! In a crate! Good thing I brought plenty of snacks. Sorry to end this entry so quickly, but there isn’t a lot of light so writing is kind of tough. I’ll just hang out with my new friend Jeffy. He’s a rat, I think! Dear Mom, I’ve arrived at the “compound,” as they call it. I can already tell I’m going to make a ton of new friends. I’ve got seven roommates, after all! Zhang is my favorite, because he’s the only one that speaks English. He’s such a kidder! Earlier he told me to “run!” and “get out! It is trap!” I rolled around on the dorm-room floor for about ten minutes. Zhang isn’t around much, though. He spends a lot of time up on the roof, looking at the nets. They’re there so a big klutz like me doesn’t accidentally fall off in one of my big, silly laughing fits. Zhang’ll be fine though. He’s got a great deadpan delivery! Oh hey, will you look at that. It appears that Jeffy has followed me from the boat. Also, he seems to have taken a wife. Good for him.

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Dear Mom, Yesterday, wouldn’t you know it, Zhang fell off the roof ! Lucky thing for those nets after all, I guess. He must have had one big laugh riot up there, cause he was still going at it when they pulled him down. Tears in his eyes and thrashing about! It’s like how I get when I watch Adam Sandler movies! In other news, I’m a little concerned about Jeffy’s taste in women. Yesterday I caught his wife trying to eat one of her children. I smacked her on the nose and sang her the “don’t eat your young” song that I always sing my rabbits at home. I hope that teaches her a lesson about responsibility. Young Clarence will always have that limp, though. Dear Mom, Zhang isn’t allowed to handle knives in the cafeteria anymore, on account of what a big butterfingers he is with knives and soldering irons and broken shards of bathroom mirror. That sure must be embarrassing for poor, old Zhang! Buttering his toast with a fork! Just kidding. We don’t get butter here. There’s a lard block on Wednesdays, though. Jeffy sure loves him some lard. Dear Mom, My internship has been cut short! The form I received gave as its only explanation “political pressure,” and what does that even mean, really? I feel a little bit sad, being robbed of the full internship experience, but I’ll never forget all of the great pals I’ve made. I forced Jeffy to promise to send a family Christmas card each year, but the joke was on me! He’s Taoist! Zhang said he would keep in touch. I think that’s what he said. He was lying face down on his bed laughing into a pillow. He does that a lot lately! I wish I was in on the joke! It’s been quite a trip. And I’m confident that the skills I learned here at Foxconn will serve me well in the high-stakes world of Kinesiology!

This story begins like so many others: over a dame. I was behind my desk, fifth shot of scotch in me keeping me warmer than a fur coat from Macy’s. Discount aisle. A knock on the door almost knocked my fedora off. Business? This late? Must be something serious, I guess. I put out my cigar. Gotta quit. Can quit. Anytime I want. “Ya gonna come in or keep knocking?” In she strolled. Red pumps. Red dress. Blond hair glowing like the sun on a hot day. Global warming’s a bastard. She had looks to die for. Breasts to fight for. An ass so evil I reminded myself to go to confession as soon as I could. But an eternity in brimstone for another peek would be worth it. She introduced herself as Ms.Kansas St. James. Her sister was missing, and she needed my help finding her. “And that’s why I’m here, Detective Bonerhard.” “Too formal. Call me Testicle.” “Right. Testicle. Can you find her? She never came back from her job at the Grease Pole.” “That joint? Shit.” The Grease Pole was the shadiest joint in Phallus City. Fights started up all the time. The bartender called it a slow night if less than five people died. It was never a slow night. “Can I find her? Ms. St. James, here in Phallus City, you tickle the right sack, you can find anything.” I grabbed my coat and showed her out. Detective Testicle Dick Bonerhard was on the case.

The Grease Pole was greasier than usual this night. I had been huddled in a booth in the corner for hours, talking up leads on the St. James sister. She was popular there. A real looker, like her sister. She cooked fried chicken in the back. Kissed each drumstick before she tossed them on the fryer. Her personal touch. Drove people crazy. Caught salmonella a few times. My most trusted contact entered the bar. Blue Ballson. Close friend. Closest you can find in this crazy little city of ours. He sat across from me. “When you grow a beard, Blue?” “After I saw your mother for the first time in the light of day.” “Fuck you.” I took another swig of vodka. I enjoyed our repartee. “Blue, I need info. A missing dame. Louisiana St. James. Blond. Attractive. Fried chicken cook. Works here. Know her?” “Yea. She’s gone? Damn. Cute girl like that...in a hard city like Phallus...” “Still time. We gotta find her.” “I have been hearing rumblings around. About an attractive new girl who smells a bit like fried chicken. I think...Clitoris Mulroonery has her.” I put my drink down. My cigar flame went out on its own as soon as he mentioned Clitoris Mulrooney. That bald bastard. The cruelest villain in the city. He prided himself in being hard to find. In reality, however, he usually stayed in the same general area. A local boy. He had a soul patch. Like a douche. “Still the same headquarters?” Clitoris Mulrooney did not fear The Law. “Yep. Above the Panera Bread. Behind

the O’Keefe painting.” Clitoris Mulrooney often paid cops off with liquor and Slim Jims. Policemen’s kryptonite. “O’Keefe painting? Too much of a dick to hide behind a vagina.” “Couldn’t agree more, Testicle. You going after her?” “Yeah. I’ll be back soon. If you don’t hear from me tomorrow, call the cops. Inspector Uri Thra is the only damn clean oﬃcer left on the force.” I grabbed my fedora. Wiped the barbecue sauce from the brim – damn good wings – and left the bar. A shootout in Clitoris Mulrooney’s private luxury apartment above Panera Bread would not be the best case scenario. Can’t imagine surviving against him and his crew of angry stiffs. Would smoke me. Each had a Thompson. Loose definition of the word “excessive”. Always shot first. Like Han Solo. Gripped my Beretta hard in my right hand. Hidden in my trenchcoat pocket. My best friend. Nathaniel Gun-Bullet Castrate. He served me well. Didn’t talk much. Awful loud when he did. Awful loud. Took a few minutes to find the secret entrance. Behind a potted plant. A button. I pressed it. Painting swung open. Clitoris Mulrooney and a cadre of men were already waiting. Cameras. There must have been cameras. Just like Gaga’s house. All over again. “You been watching me, Clitoris?” “Every move, Testicle. Know you’re armed. Know you’re looking for...her.” Louisiana St. James. She strolled in casually,

and took a seat next to Mulrooney. Spitting image of her sister. She put an arm around him. Kissed him lightly. I couldn’t believe it. “You...you weren’t kidnapped. You ran. To Clitoris?” She looked at me coldly. Piercing blue eyes. “I was sick of fried chicken.” “Watch your mouth. Fried chicken is delicious.” “My sister sent you, didn’t she? So overprotective. Always has been. Ever since Daddy St. James beat up those babies in the park. But you can’t leave... “You can’t tell her I’m here. She can’t ever know.” Clitoris Mulrooney signaled to his men. “Make him dead. Hard.” I dove out of the way. Fusillade of bullets ripped past me, eager to turn me into human swiss cheese. Lactose intolerant all my life. Gun was drawn already. Fired a couple shots. Hit a few guards. One dove in the way of Mulrooney. Loyal. Stupid. Dead. “Louisiana! I promised your sister I’d find you! I keep my word!” “Screw you, gumshoe! I’m never going back to the Grease Pole!” Situation was grim. One bullet left. Dozen baddies standing. Mulrooney wounded a bit. Still kicking. Still shooting. Still pissed. No getting out of this. No happy ending. No chance in he–wait a minute. Corner of the room. Against the wall. A propane tank. Mulrooney only liked clean-burning fuels for his burgers. Fact. One bullet left. No second chance. No missing. Whispered a small something to myself before I leaned out of cover and took aim. “C’mon, Bonerhard. Make it count.”

Spring 2012

More comics by Mart the Dutchman at www.gargmag.com 10

The Diary of Ann Frank A Selection from the Gargoyle Book Club BY BRETT SANDLER

here’s no point in hiding my opinion; The Diary of Ann Frank might be the best novel of all time. At times painful, at others moving, and yet still playful. Ann guides us through the fascinating journey of puberty. The story is set during a period of war, but Ann’s clever style is timeless; this could be present day or the Korean War. There are hints of a time period, however vague, such as in the following passage: “Dear Diary, I was remiss to stay home from school today, however I had the most intrusive cold. Getting out of bed was akin to running several miles, yet I did manage to write for some time. My father has still made no hint as to whether I will receive the black or the white iPhone for Christmas. Ann.” An innocent beginning soon turns to horror as the war police lay siege to her home. Ann’s family, convicted of five thousand years of war crimes, escapes to a local restaurant and hides upstairs. They put a bookshelf in front of the staircase to allay suspicion. The majority of her diary describes the following years spent in hiding, such as the diﬃculty of coming of age in an attic. For example, Ann recounts the awkwardness of growing and the pain of being gangly in an enclosed space. Her parents, in a rare moment of mirth, named one of the rafters “Ann’s headboard” due to the Ann-shaped dent she made. Ann’s period often brought strife to the family. Stuck in a small space, they had no idea what to do with her during these leaky times. Furthermore, how could her parents explain her changing body without

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movies or props? She describes these struggles week at a time. “Dear Diary, My ‘friend’ came again for a visit today. I am speaking metaphorically of course, since we are in hiding and contacting the outside world is expressly forbidden. Ann.” Most writers tend to focus on the raw emotion and power of The Diary, but there are a number of places in which it falls through the floorboards. Spelling and grammatical errors, for instance. Where did Ann learn English? Did she? Is this a translation? A number of questions remain unanswered. The ending, however, is beautiful. Beautifully ambiguous. Although we have no definite indication of what happened or why she stopped writing, she does provide us with the following entry: “Dear Diary, What a vast and inscrutable creature the future is. Who would have thought that in only two years time I would become so much prettier than my sister. She has terrible skin. Changes like these are not something one can predict, yet I cannot help but let my thoughts wander five, ten, even fifty years from now. If my parents do not dissent, perhaps I will marry a gentile. Ann” As the diary comes to a close, one notices a distinct change in Ann’s tone. Boredom leads the mind astray, and it was at this point that Ann made her foray into amateur erotica. Biographers have theorized that upon parental discovery this

led to a two week grounding. Her final entry reads as follows: “Diary, Grounded? Ya, okay Dad. We don’t even get cable in this fucking place. Whatever, I’m not gonna say a damn word for two weeks. You see, I thought what I’d do was, I’d pretend I was one of those deafmutes. That way I wouldn’t have to have any goddamn stupid useless conversations with anybody. Ann” An angsty digression from her earlier style, but I guess that’s what captivity does to a person. The final lines are sadly illegible, obscured by a sketch of James Dean fingerbanging her in the stairwell. Thus, unlike Ann, we finish The Diary of Ann Frank unsatisfied, yet excited for the recently announced sequel.

nce upon a time, there was a little red hen who lived in a dorm. She was friends with a lazy dawg, a loud chick, and a scum-sucking bottom-feeder. One day the little red hen found some seeds on the ground. The little red hen had an idea. She would grow some weed.

The little red hen asked her friends, “Who will help me grow the weed?” “Not I,” barked the lazy dawg “Not I,” chirped the loud chick. “Not I,” said the scum-sucking bottom-feeder. “Then I will,” said the little red hen. So the little red hen grew the weed all by herself with some hydroponic lamps that she stole from her “Practical Botany” course.

When the weed had grown, the little red hen asked her friends, “Who will help me dry the weed?” “Not I,” barked the lazy dawg “Not I,” chirped the loud chick. “Not I,” said the scum-sucking bottom-feeder. “Then I will,” said the little red hen. So the little red hen dried the weed all by herself. When all the weed was dried, the little red hen asked her friends, “Who will go with me to the head shop to buy papers?” “Not I,” barked the lazy dawg “Not I,” chirped the loud chick. “Not I,” said the scum-sucking bottom-feeder. “Then I will,” said the little red hen. So the little red hen trekked all the way to the head shop and back, carrying the heavy plastic bag all by herself.

The tired little red hen asked her friends, “Who will help me roll the joint?” “Not I,” barked the lazy dawg “Not I,” chirped the loud chick. “Not I,” said the scum-sucking bottom-feeder. “Then I will,” said the little red hen. So the little red hen rolled the joint all by herself. When the joint was ﬁnished, the tired little red hen asked her friends, “Who will help me blaze this joint?” “I will,” barked the lazy dawg “I will,” chirped the loud chick. “I will,” said the scum-sucking bottom-feeder. “Fuck oﬀ!” said the little red hen. “I will.” And the little red hen smoked the joint all by herself.

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BY FRANCISCO GUZMAN

he was absolutely stunning, that Jessica Albatross. All my life, my mind had been filled with Blue-footed Boobies, Rough Faced Shags, and even the occasional Cock. But Jessica, through her pure white beauty, cleansed my soul of those terrible old impurities. Her long, elegant neck, snow-white complexion, and those tail feathers, man don’t get me started on those tail feathers. Oh man, those tail feathers… I wanted to approach her, but I had chicken feet. I mean, even if I did have a squawk with her, she was simply so high above me that she would never dive to my level. All I could do was watch her with eagle eyes and hope she didn’t mark me as some kind of predator. What could a loon like me hope to offer someone as elegant as her? Just thinking about her was a flight of fancy. I stayed perched at my stool staring at the bottom of my glass, taking pecks at some fries, thinking about how much of a wash tonight had been. I was molting a little, too. Not one of my better weeks. Yet, right when I was ready to call it and head back home to roost, in came my wingman. Goose was the greatest wingman a guy could ask for. Thanks to him I‘ve scored some serious swan. Still, I wasn’t sure if even he’d be able to help me out this time around. “Come on Mal! You’re the best! Remember those Great Tits? Haha, yeah you remember. God that night was for the birds. All you have to do is show your colors, extend your wings and she’ll be in your nest by the end of the night.” “Alright, but what should I say?” “Uhh… I don’t know… ‘hi’?” Goose was always a great confidence boost, but he really soared with his words. Regardless, I decided it was time for me to fly. I racked my brain for the best pick-up line I could come up with, but being the bird brain I was, the best I had was the stupid falling bit. “Are you hurt?” Jessica craned her neck toward me and replied in the most beautiful song I have ever heard. “From what?” I had not been prepared to get this far. I had no choice but to continue my fowl attempt. “When you fell from heaven.” “Yeah, terribly, I nearly clipped my wings”. “You know, I have been called a ducktor before. I could take a look at what’s bothering you.” “Maybe, but how do I know you’re not just another quack?” She had me there. Specifically because I am not now, nor have I ever been, a licensed doctor. However, I could still diagnose the butterflies in my stomach… That was the last time I let Goose take me to an exotic restaurant. “Because I sing like a lark.” …I’m a loon. I could sooner get my medical degree than develop a singing talent. Luckily, Jessica saw past my silly attempts to be as cool as a canary. She laughed in a way that melted my heart. It may sound silly, but when I heard her laugh, I knew that instant I was going to marry that chick. I could see our future. We’d build a nest together and raise our beautiful hatchlings. Then one day they’d fly on their own, and we’d go to the south to live out the rest of our days in warmth. The Americrane dream. “I like you. The name’s Jessica, Jessica Albatross. Why don’t you buy me a drink and perch down next to me?” “And that, kids, is the story of how I met your mother.” “But daddy, you still haven’t told us where babies come from.” “Uhhh… the stork.”

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Peopleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Food Co-op invites you to... Local Food to the Rescue A Talk by Joel Salatin

Tuesday, April 24th at 8pm Michigan Theater Tickets available through Ticketmaster.com

216 N. Fourth Ave. Ann Arbor, MI (734) 994-9174 http://peoplesfood.coop

n a far off land there once lived a commune of unicorns and horses, living side by side in relative harmony. They trotted, skipped, and pranced with only the most minor of squabbles arising between them. One unicorn, however, was troubled. “Look at them over there, eating hay, being stupid, shitting while they walk,” Von Twinkles remarked to his closest cohorts, Serenity and Aurora. “Stupid fucking horses.” “Twinks,” Serenity protested, “we shit while we walk too.” He shot Serenity a sidelong glance, which, having eyes on the sides of his head, took very little effort. “We shit rainbows!” “I think what Serenity is trying to say is that while horses are stupid and eat hay and shit when walking, which we do as well, to be fair – with much more grace and far less waste – there isn’t much we can really do about it, is there?” Aurora said. “Besides, they’re nice enough equines.” Von Twinkles snorted. “Nice enough is irrelevant. They are inferior and a blemish on our otherwise utopian paradise. Call a meeting, boys. Unicorns only.” “Where at?” asked Aurora. “What for?” asked Serenity. “In that field over there. Next to that delightful pile of my rainbows. Under the tree.” Von Twinkles replied, nodding to the west, “I have an announcement to announce and a proposition to propose.” Aurora and Serenity politely ignored Von Twinkles’ verbal redundancies and diligently began spreading word of the meeting.

They’re a scourge! Shitting in our fields, taking up space, poisoning our bloodlines! How many pure unicorn children are left? Those equine whores are stealing our unicorn males with their filthy wiles and wide hips and warm loins and…” “Actually,” interrupted Sapphire, “horse ladies are pretty great, filthy wiles and wide hips and warm loins notwithstanding. Female unicorns are kind of, well, creepy. I don’t know about everyone else, but even though their wiles are just as filthy and their hips are just as wide and their loins might actually be slightly warmer, that horn is, well, unnerving.” “It’s like a big phallus!” Electra piped in. “Like, bigger than my actual phallus, honestly. It makes me uncomfortable.” “You aren’t seeing it!” argued Von Twinkles. “They’re everywhere! They’re destroying our community! Those stupid fucking animals! Everywhere I look I see horses. I even see them now!” Von Twinkles was, of course, adding this for dramatic effect;

A few hours later Von Twinkles sat splayed under the large oak tree, surveying his growing audience. It was a grand gathering. It seemed everyone important had arrived: Sapphire and Starburst and Electra and even Mystique. However, the most important unicorn was absent. Von Twinkles jumped to his hooves. “Where’s RU?” he bellowed. “He said he was busy.” Serenity offered gingerly. “Doing what?” “Eating lunch. Then taking a nap.” Von Twinkles approximated a growl, which was really more of a huffy snort, but was still clearly indicative of his aggravation. “Very well, we’ll begin without him. My brothers and sisters, I come to you today to announce that all is not well with me. I feel that there is a sickness growing inside of our community. One of stupidity and ignorance and poor hygiene that threatens to eat our glorious society from the inside out like so many bales of rough, disgusting hay.” Von Twinkles paused, sweeping his eyes across the crowd. This, for the sake of convenience, involved his turning sideways. A murmur spread through the crowd, starting on either side with Aurora and Serenity, respectively, and meeting at the center accordingly. “What is this threat you speak of ?” inquired Starburst. “Horses!” Von Twinkles bellowed. “Those stupid, fucking horses!

Spring 2012

however, just at that moment a large group of horses ambled over the hilltop and trotted up toward the gathering, led by Buttercup and Admiral, the hot young couple among the horses. Their son Fred followed close behind. He was special. Super special. Von Twinkles neighed loudly and perhaps overdramatically in surprise. Three of the horses in Admiral and Buttercup’s entourage ran away, startled, in opposite directions. Fred tried to run in both directions. “What did I say? Stupid fucking horses!” “That isn’t very nice,” said Buttercup. “I eat glue!” shouted Fred. “Cannibal!” yelled Von Twinkles. “All of them, filthy cannibals!” Admiral reared up on his hind legs and neighed loudly. “The boy eats paste, Twinkles. Not glue. Paste. It’s flour and water. He likes the way it feels on his teeth. Kind of tongues it around in his mouth. I actually tried it one time myself. Not a bad sensation, to be honest. I’d recommend everyone at least give it a whirl. You know, to see if you’re into it. Not hard to make, really. Just flour and water.” “Shut up, you long winded horse bastard! Now, I think it’s clear to everybody what has to be done. For our species, we must kill the horses!” Von Twinkles then reared up on his own hind legs, which happened in slow motion. It was less dramatic, but there isn’t really an off switch for that. Meanwhile, Fred began licking the rainbow pile. “This is absurd, Twinkles. We’ve been nothing but courteous to you.” argued Buttercup. “I thought you liked us.” Von Twinkles snorted. Mystique, a well-respected member of the community came forward. “Now, to be honest, I don’t know if I agree with you about all of this ‘horses sullying the bloodline’ business, and I do confess to finding lady unicorn horns a little bit creepy – sorry darling – and can certainly understand why one might go after those sweet, warm lady horse loins. I like the cut of your jib, though, Twinkles, and I think we should all hear you out on this horse killing business. I propose we get RU’s opinion on the whole genocide proposition and move forward from there.” “Seconded.” Starburst added. Admiral, Buttercup and the other horses present huddled together for a moment. “Fine.” Admiral announced. “Responsibility Unicorn has never been anything but responsible. We’re sure he will come to a reasonable decision on the subject. That decision, of course, being that you shouldn’t attempt to kill us all. That seems like the only reasonable and, of course, responsible

decision he could make. For example, this one time my co-worker Cheryl brought a box full of crushed peanut donuts to work. I had a donut, of course, because donuts are delicious. I did some more work, nose to the old grindstone, then I got hungry again. Now, mind you, Buttercup and I have been dieting together. We’re still in pretty good shape, but you can’t let your guard down. So I shouldn’t really have had another donut, but I really wanted one. When I got to the donut, though, Responsibility Unicorn was there, and he said ‘You shouldn’t eat another donut! Be faithful to your wife!’ which was great advice. It was very responsible. I didn’t eat it. That unicorn… responsible as always… anyways…” And Admiral continued along these lines until Responsibility Unicorn was summoned and arrived. Responsibility Unicorn stood under the tree next to Von Twinkles, having been filled in on the situation, and pushed his glasses further up his face. Responsibility Unicorn was the only one in the commune with glasses, because he was the only one with a PhD. “So you propose that we should hang these horses?” he asked. “Yes, that is exactly what I propose. All of them. Immediately!” Von Twinkles responded. Responsibility Unicorn plopped his rear on the ground, legs splayed, and sat thinking for some time. He looked ridiculous in this position, but he was Responsibility Unicorn and the others in attendance knew he would do what he damn well pleased. After several minutes he stood back up and cleared his throat. “You should hang one of the horses, I think. So that we can see if it can be done.” The other unicorns stomped the ground in agreement. Fred, deeply and perpetually confused, stomped as well. Von Twinkles pointed a hoof at the young horse. “Hang the defective one!” he shouted. “That’s ridiculous! He’s just a child!” pleaded Buttercup. “Let me handle this, honey,” Admiral said, stepping forward, “What my darling love is saying, Responsibility Unicorn, is that it wouldn’t be very responsible to go about hanging children from trees, would it? Now I’m not too hot on this whole ‘hang a horse’ thing, but I can understand where you’re coming from concerning science and all. Really I just think you should reconsider the whole child thing, though. Respectfully of course.” Responsibility Unicorn rubbed his nose with his hoof. “You’re right,” he said, “the boy isn’t fully developed. His neck isn’t a fair sample of the horse population. In the name of science I

have to veto your well-intentioned suggestion, Twinkles.” “Then why not Admiral?” Twinkles offered. Responsibility Unicorn approximated a shrug. “Any adult male horse will do.” Buttercup shouted and neighed and stomped in dismay while Aurora and Serenity left to procure a rope. Then she slumped down on her rear and wept. Fred didn’t understand why she was upset but nuzzled his mother anyway. His breath smelled like rainbows. Within an hour’s time the noose had been tied – a painstaking endeavor involving a number of dexterous tongues. The unicorns were impatient and decided to forgo building gallows. Instead, Von Twinkles would act as executioner. Admiral would stand on Von Twinkles’ back with the noose around his neck and Twinkles would step out when the time had come. Buttercup looked on in horror. Even Fred knew something was amiss. Other horses had gathered to watch and gnawed nervously on gnarled hooves. The time came. Admiral dropped. And flailed. And flailed. Minutes passed. “Even, I can tell you this isn’t working,” said Admiral, “I have a very strong neck and honestly I’m not really feeling any strangulation. Not only is it a strong neck it’s also a slender neck. That’s what Buttercup says she likes about me so much. A big, strong neck to protect her with. And hooves. Have I told you about my hooves? Well, I guess you have those too. But look at them. We only have two toes, guys!” “Cut him down.” Responsibility Unicorn ordered before beginning to walk back toward his house. The attending unicorns complied, climbing up on each other’s backs with a knife in mouth. Von Twinkles raged and kicked the Oak tree and scattered the rainbows to and fro. “That’s it? We just cut him down? My beautiful dream over before it began?” Responsibility Unicorn turned around and again approximated shrugging. “I guess you’ll have to burn them.” The unicorns stomped and stomped and stomped in feverish approval. “WAIT!” Responsibility Unicorn shouted one last time. “Remember the fire safety tips I taught you.“ And the blazes burned all night.

You’re a college student, correct? And you’re reading a Gargoyle, I see. So, I’m assuming you’re a drinker. If you’re a pot smoker, allow me now to refer you to Stuart Vandenbrink’s Guide to Buying Bananas or Jacob Rosen’s Guide to Leaving the House. You’ve probably learned by now that as great as it is to drink every night, vomit bile in the early morning, and amble bleary-eyed to class, it can be an awfully expensive habit. That ten hours you’re pulling at your shitty dining hall job isn’t meshing well with your passion for the sauce, and that’s where this guide comes in. You CAN drink on a daily basis without breaking the bank. You CAN wake up every morning feeling like an escaped gorilla just tried to drown you in a pool of its piss. You CAN watch the entire run of Entourage over the course of six booze-fueled marathon sittings. You CAN do all of this if you follow one basic tenant: Lower your goddamn standards! There’s a reason, other than the government conspiracy, that the homeless drink Thunderbird. That shit fucks you up and costs, like, two bucks. And it tastes like turpentine. Everything in life has its tradeoffs, and the land you’re about to enter uses quality as a sacrifice in a quantity summoning ritual. That’s really all there is to it, but to get you started I’ve compiled some recommendations and tips.

THE BASICS

As painful as this may sound to you, if you want to really drink cheaply, you won’t be drinking beer. At all. The average “cheap” beer – for our purposes anything available in quantities of thirty – is around 4.2% ABV. The cans are twelve ounces, which comes out to 360 ounces of 4.2% ABV liquid. Nowhere on campus, I guarantee, can you find a thirty rack of beer for under twenty dollars out the door, and to be more realistic you’ll be spending something like twenty-three dollars all together, including deposit. Return on deposit won’t factor into our equations, because, ideally, you’ll never be sober enough to drive your cans back to Meijer. This results in a cost of 6.4 cents/oz on 4.2% beer. Not bad, right? Contrast that with the forty of Camo Silver Ice I’m currently drinking. It’s forty ounces at 9.0% and I bought it for $3.07. Take a second. Do the math. 7.6 cents/oz. But let’s factor in the difference in ABV. A multiplier of .4667 if you’re following along. 3.5 cents/oz. Puts the 6.4 of your “cheap” Pabst to shame. Say no to beer. You now have three best friends: wine, forties, and fifths. They’ll treat you right if you learn to endure their various… ticks.

WINE

Obviously not all wine falls into the category of absurdly cheap. In fact, I’ve heard there are bottles that people will pay tens of dollars for. I’ve never actually drank one, so it’s probably all liberal poppycock.

You’re looking for the boxes, the jugs, and the low-end bottles. Boxes and jugs are cheapest at a proper grocery store, where, due to less stringent liquor laws and taxes, they are often heavily discounted. A box of Franzia or a jug of Carlo Rossi can go a long way. Wait for a sale and buy in bulk. Also, wine, unlike beer, will always have a percentage attached somewhere on the box/jug/ bottle. Never forget to factor in the ABV of the wine when buying, as it’s all going to taste pretty average, regardless. In my experience, cheap whites hold up better than cheap reds, and you can never go wrong with a dry white like a Pinot Grigio or Chardonnay if you’ve got a taste for the white. SPECIAL TIP: The Beer Depot on Fourth Ave and William’s has a number of closeout deals on wines, including a near`` continuously running “buy three bottles for $10” sale and a number of 1.5 liter bottles – they’re actually called magnums, but that name is fucking stupid – on an endcap in the back for $5 a pop. Don’t bother with wine under 11.5%. Pussy.

FORTIES

I could write an entirely separate guide ranking forties by taste, price, and strength, but for our purposes let’s make one thing clear in that discussion and move on. If you want the best forty, buy Olde English 800. It isn’t the strongest, and it’s not the cheapest (in fact, it’s one of the most expensive), but it’s the best. Mickey’s

and King Cobra make decent alternatives. Some people believe the Cobra in King Cobra is spelled with a K. Those people don’t know the alphabet. This isn’t Mortal fucking Kombat. When it comes to forties, you’re mostly looking for a high ABV. This will almost always fall into the high gravity variety of malt liquor. Camo, Steel Reserve, and Olde English High Gravity are all solid choices. Some are worse tasting than others, but in the end they all have a taste that can eventually be acquired. Trust me. These high gravity forties tend to be a bit more expensive, generally a hair past $3. Don’t ever spend $4 or more on a forty. And never buy a forty of something that isn’t malt liquor. You lose all credibility rocking forty ounces of Bud Light. And that shit’s like, 4%.

LIQUOR

All right, we’ve all drank some boxed wine and experimented with a forty or two. Yeah, it seems gross, but that just comes with the territory of those particular drinks and our particular circumstances. Now comes the point when you really, truly need to lower your fucking standards a bit.

Spring 2012

You know Popov and Rich and Rare? Of course. Guess what? Those aren’t cheap. Those are midrange. Yeah. Here’s the liquors you’re going to buy if you really want to save some cash. Figure out your own mixers. I’ll recommend 88 cent Meijer pop. Or “soda,” for you asshole out-of-staters that get too fucking worked up about Michigan vernacular. Whiskey: Canadian Hunter or Ten High. That gives you a choice of both Canadian and Tennessee whiskey. Both are hard to find in campus liquor stores, but they’re a few bucks cheaper than your R&R standby and, honestly, taste better. Vodka: Crystal Palace and Crown Russe. They vary in price by about 20 cents. It’s all vodka, and all vodka is bad. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. In the morning at least. Rum: Castillo Silver. Don’t drink cheap spiced rum. The lowest you should go is the Admiral. Admiral Nelson. Clear rum will go into anything. Drink away. Also, rum blows.* Tequila: Don’t drink Tequila.** Vermouth: Now this is a fortified wine the government didn’t create. Want proof ? The film Groundhog’s Day. Andy MacDowell’s favorite drink is a sweet

vermouth with lime. Yum. Costs about $4 a bottle. Triple-Sec: Now we’re in sad territory. Drink what you can get, dude. Also, cheap. Bitters: What? I want to make it clear, this isn’t how normal people do or should drink. This is how you binge drink often and on a budget. I go to the bar on a Friday night too. I mix my cocktails with Maker’s Mark and I order Old Rasputin. That’s good booze. But you’re a college student. You want to cozy in with some highoctane fuck-up juice on a Tuesday night so you can finish your four-page paper on feminism in Shakespeare, but you’re low on cash. And now you know how. You’re fucking welcome.

*It comes to my attention some people like rum. You should try to avoid drinking with said people. Unless that person is on vacation on a tropical island or a mysterious drifter with nothing to lose. **Don’t drink Tequila.