Volume 102 Number 4 by Gargoyle Humor Magazine

Table of Contents

Volume CII, Number 4 Summer 2011 David Faulkner . . Jacob Rosen . . . Nikita Desai. . . Dylan Box . . . Adrian Choy. . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . GTFO KTHXBAI Gargoyle Yearbook Page . . . Kick Boxer . layout is stupid lol Faygo Moon Mist

Zev Adler-Goldsmith . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Self-Parody Jordan Bachar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Jurassic Park 2 Tyler Bailey . . . . . . . . . . . . He’s Big in Europe Amelia Bennett . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Penis Envy Jordan Birnholtz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bernie Lianna Bowman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Double Agent Julia Braid. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Silent but Deadly David Carr . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tiki God of War Kristen Cleghorn . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Clegsy-Begsey Rob Davis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Winter is Coming Peter Eldred. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and the Wolf Dan Fenton . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Meteoric Carrie Glauner . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Midwestern Mom Allie Hawkins . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Online Prominence Will Hilzinger . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Kill Bilzinger Rose Jaffe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Please Don’t Leave Sean Kermath . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Breakdances with Wolves Kyle Landgraf . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Kyle Skin Graft Katy Lazarus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Katy Lazer-bus Kaleah Mabin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Actually a Boy Simin Manole . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Simon Pedophile Michael McCrindle . . . . . . . . . . . . . King of the V-neck Megan Mockeridge . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A Mass Hallucination Rubin Quarcoopome. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Zeitgeister Brett Sandler . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intergalactic Herpes Jacqui Sahagian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Celestial Romance Benjamin Schlanger . . . . . . . PARTYPARTYPARTYPARTY Jordan Schroeder . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Poppin’ Penguins Allie Seekely . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bridge of Jesus Samuel Shingledecker . . . . . . . Thousands of Tiny Dinosaurs Joseph Sipka . . . . . . . . . . . . . Loud and Deadly Max Smouha . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Only Draws Winners Elle Stafford . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Elle Staf-Infection Michael Stephens . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dildo Salesman Allie Seekely . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bride of Jesus Kat Tomchuck . . . . . . . . . . . Knight of the Folded Table Sam Trochio . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Yeast Coast Infection Stuart VandenBrink . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bubble Farmer Natalie Voss . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . One Kitten at a Time Julia Wang . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . InDesign Mercenary Ross Warman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mr. G

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

1. Are You High Yet? 2. This Page 3. That Page 4. Philosophy 5. Mail 6. Cultural Calendar 7. Tales from Our Orifice 8. A Crack-er-Jack Idea 9. Sheen-y and New 10. Cower Ballad 11. Embrace Nature 12. Freaks and Greeks 13. Lyre?! I Hardly Knew Her 14. Tea with a Tyrant 15. Shot Through the Heart 16. Go for the Stars 17. Return from Asphyxiation 18. A (Stereo)typical Day 19. Large and in Charge 20. The Sublimest Shitters 21. And Lamest Loos 22. 151 Proof 23. Gotta Sketch ‘em All 24. Hands Drew 25. Doubled You 26. Potassium 27. Caca Poopoo 28. Check his Skidmarks 29. Check her Airbags 30. GTFO 31. (got to fight ostriches) 32. Cool Beans

Philosophy BY DAVID FAULKNER

Let me put it this way: we’ve been ripped off by Lady Gaga. Think on that. Once you’ve let that little nugget of insanity kick around in your brain for a while, check out this art from “Lady Gaga Benefit Concert a Blazing Success,” (our first issue of last year) in which Gaga’s motorcycle costume plays a significant role:

I still can’t define exactly what the Gargoyle is when people ask me about it. Is it the sum of its 100-plus year history? Is it the composite of dozens of staff members and their art? Is it the pharmacopeia of mind-expanding substances flowing through the veins of most staffers? (Hence, the Cover and the Stinger) Is it only good for reading in class or collecting disapproving looks from your peers? Or is it the most important thing for you at the University of Michigan?

Now compare with the art on Gaga’s latest album:

Yes. The Gargoyle is all those things and more. It’s a guide to the more prominent aspects of student life, like dicking around when you should be studying (for suggestions on where you should be wasting your time, check our cultural calendar on page six), as well as the more profane—but nonetheless important—parts of living on campus (see Natalie’s “Bathroom Reviews” on pages twenty and twenty-one for advice on where to do your business). Our staff knows what you need to survive at the U, and we’re working like rabbits with our asses on fire to make sure that you are privy to this information, too, by storing it in the tidy and elegant form of this magazine. (We find that dick jokes help grease the wheels of pedantry.) “Okay,” you may be thinking, “but that’s just local, student stuff. What about culture and shit? Should I read the Daily for that?” No. Don’t you even think it. The Gargoyle is here for you, baby birdies. We’ve got your national acts: we’ve done interviews with OKGO, the Electric Six, and John Hodgeman. Hell, we’ve talked with party animal and MTV sensation Andrew WK for this issue. Check out his interview on page 24 and learn how to party in a grocery store. Would the Daily run that? No. And that’s how you know we love you more. “Well that’s great,” you may be thinking, “but is your magazine actually any good?”

A few similarities, no? You may notice something about the way that SHE STOLE OUR IDEA FOR TURNING HER INTO A MOTORCYCLE. So there. If you ever doubted that the Gargoyle was legit, or maybe even too legit to quit, there’s your answer. The Gargoyle has proven itself to be the wellspring from which the God-empress of pop culture draws her inspiration. Being scooped never felt so right. The truth of the matter is that the Gargoyle is awesome. Like, crazy awesome. Props to you for picking up this rag. Props to Jacob Rosen for picking up the Editorship in the wake of my departure. And props to the staff for making this magazine the best organization I’ve ever driven into the ground. Treasure this magazine, dear reader, because it might be the best thing to happen to you at the University of Michigan. It certainly was for me.

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 Valued Customer, Enclosed is “Volume 1: Way More Boners than You’re Probably Used To” of our photodoCUMentary “1 Million Pics of Hot Boners” With Love, T.H. Robin Bonner, CEO Sex-e-Books Dear Mr. Bonner Volume 1 contained exactly the amount of boner pics I am used to. Please do not send Volume 2, I am extremely dissatisfied. No love, The Gargoyle

Dear Gargoyle, The CIA took Pakistan’s nuclear launch codes in 2002. American paramilitary forces operate seven bases in Pakistan. Morocco, Israel, Saudi, et al. gave the US intelligence prior to the 9/11 attacks. It was improperly disseminated because jurisdiction for NYC was divided up between the FBI, CIA, NYPD and JTTF. Enjoy your fractured national security apparatus, Agent Darkness.

Dear Gargoyle, The Tiki Gods have smiled favorably on the various sacrifices that your staff has been wantonly offering. Thanks to you, we now have not only several squirrel and canine souls in our possession, but those of two deliciously plump virgins. Again, we thank you for your obvious undying affection and devotion to the Tiki faith. May your enemies weep over their slaughtered families, The Gods of Tiki Dear tiki Gods, You stab a few rodents and staff members on a ceremonial pedestal and it’s considered a Tiki sacrifice? Not EVERYTHING is about the Gods of Tiki. Maybe if you stopped being so full of yourselves more students would bow down to the unyielding bloodlust of the tiki. By the power of Zeus, The Gargoyle

Dear Gargoyle, Dear Gargoyle, We’re currently in construction of an apartment building for dwarfs. However, after hours of heated debate we still can’t decide on a name. Please help us. Punze, Inniu and Doe Building Co. Dear Punze, Inniu and Doe, Midget house is what comes to mind for us. A lesser magazine would have suggested the Napoleon Complex, but we would never stoop to such an obvious play on words. Midget house it is.

The bombshells in your office have now been weaponized. You have three minutes to evacuate the office or you will be blown to pieces. The poster of “Whore 2” has also been weaponized. You have two minutes to evacuate the office or you will be blown in an entirely different way. And the consequences will not be pleasant. Trust us, if you’re not out in time to avoid this one, you’ll want to stick around for the bombs to go off. Love, The Military Sin-dustrial Cum-plex

Sin Searingly, The Gargoyle

Summer 2011

Ann Arbor

Cultural Calendar June 3

Ann Arbor Soul Club with Robert Wells and Brad Hales $5 / under 21 $8 ARBCO Presents: Suicide By Cop (Dissonant Punk Rock), Fuckin’ A! (Pop Punk) and Mare Crisium (Math Metal). 9 pm, $5 cover All Ages Welcome!

Colorful Tiffany Stained Glass Maquettes/ Tin Journals Art Making Workshop $27 Members&Students/$35 nonmembers; lab fee $13 materials included Othello with 2 Worlds Apart Lyric’Lee Omega the Majestik Hi Potent C and Young Clever Kids $5/ under 21 $8 ‘Round Midnight A tribute to Jazz. Time TBD $9 adults, $7 students

Theo Katzman At the Ann Arbor Summer Festival Rock, Soul, R&B, who cares? He’s awesome! 6pm Andrew Bird Mainstage of the Ann Arbor Summer Festival Master whistler and master musician 8pm at the Power Cernter $45-30 Nathan K At the Ann Arbor Summer Festival Acoustic Folk Singer-Songwriter from Yipsi. Plus his hats are pretty cool. 5pm

Chris Bathgate At the Ann Arbor Summer Festival His voice will enchant and overwhelm you. KILL KILL KILL. 8pm

July 7

Summer

Ongoing

Tom Tom Crew, An Urban Circus Mainstage of the Ann Arbor Summer Festival Acrobats and musicians from Australia. 8pm at the Power Center

June 17July 10

July 20-23

Monty Python and the Holy Grail At the Ann Arbor Summer Festival

Ella Riot At the Ann Arbor Summer Festival 9:30pm They changed their name from “My Dear Disco,” but that doesn’t mean that they rock any less. Chris Bathgate 8pm $15 Did you miss him at the Summer Festival? WHO ARE YOU?

Star Trek II: The Wrath of Kahn at the Redford Theater at 8:00pm. All seats only $5! 70mm film! Disclaimer: In Detroit. Junior Brown 8pm $25 Hey sounds like old time country and he has the coolest electric/steelstring guitar combo, ever.. Seriously.

Ann Arbor Summer Festival Movies, Music and More. All FREE

Ann Arbor Street Art Fair Arts & Crafts fairs are crunk as shit. Downtown be wild!

Venues The Ark The Blind Pig University Musical Society The Michigan Theatre The State Theatre U of M Museum of Art Vault of Midnight

Have an event that you want on the calendar? Email us at gargmail@umich.edu!

The Gargoyle Office Comes to Life BY ROSS WARMAN

y story began one Wednesday evening when I needed someplace to masturbate -- someplace dark and cold, filled to the brim with depravity, loneliness and countless subscriptions to mail-order bride websites. The Gargoyle office was the natural choice.

Idiots producing a shitty humor magazine.” “HEY!” “What can I say, I’m an E3W building myself. Besides, after seeing how you make that magazine, I want nothing to do with it. For example, why do you all need to masturbate here? ”

Upon my arrival, I made a quick detour to the Daily office. Besides having the only bathroom on the second floor, the Daily office is full of aphrodisiacs: thousands of cans of Diet Coke and the sounds of editors cracking their whips as aspiring journalists struggle to meet their deadlines, to name a few. I collected a bottle of tears for personal lubricant and entered the Gargoyle office.

“Sorry about that, office. Is there anything we can do to make it up to you?” “Yes. Would you clean me? The cleaning ladies are too terrified to come in here.” “You can’t blame them. You are sentient.”

I quickly unearthed an available desktop from a pile of Four Loko knock-offs and animal carcasses. As I began to access my archived collection of dragon-on-car pornography, I heard a voice.

“I think it’s mostly the masturbation.” “Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”

“Hello, Ross. Please don’t masturbate here.” My hand froze on my crotch. Whose voice was this? Was one of the editors sleeping in the ceiling again? Was God upset by the spilling of my seed? (See Genesis 38:9-10) Was the schizophrenia kicking in again? Maybe strong whiskey and the love of a good woman wasn’t the best course of treatment after all. That’s the last time I take medical advice from an old gypsy woman. I wasn’t sure who the voice belonged to, so I decided to keep masturbating, in the hopes of scaring it off. “Please. Stop.” The voice returned. “Who is this?” I shouted. “You must build an ark!” boomed the voice. “That seems a little cliché, don’t you think?” “Fine. How about a giant robot?” The voice asked excitedly.

Summer 2011

“Wait a second, God hates giant robots! They’re much too cool for him!” “Damn it, you’re right,” came the disappointed reply. “So who are you, really?” I asked triumphantly, “Old Man Jenkins, trying to scare me away from this land since you discovered the oil reserves lying underground?” “That’s the plot to an episode of Scooby-Doo. Don’t be stupid. This is the office, Ross. Please stop masturbating here.” Of course! The office had gained sentience! With the amount of virgin blood spilled in here, it was only a matter of time. “So what’s it like being a building?” “I hate it. People coming and going at all hours of the day. Tracking mud all over me. People filling my bathroom walls with anthropomorphic crustacean genitalia.

I began to survey the office. Filthy didn’t even begin to cover it. Just clearing away the animal corpses would take several weeks at least. That’s when inspiration struck. A mercy killing! The Gargoyle office had seen too much to ever lead a normal life again. I would be doing it a favor, not to mention saving myself a lot of time. Three barrels of kerosene and a cheap bottle of vodka later, the Gargoyle office was ready for its Viking funeral. “Goodbye, office. It’s been nice masturbating in you.” “Goodbye, Ross. It’s been nice watching you.” With a tear in my eye, I threw down the match. You can, of course, imagine what happened next. The fire burned the Gargoyle office to the ground and spread to the Daily, killing several freshman writers chained to their desks. Still, I stand by my actions. I freed the office from a lifetime of torment, and those poor Daily writers from the delusion that newspapers still matter.

Charlie Sheen and the Chocolate Factory BY RUBIN QUARCOOPOME

e all knew it was only a matter of time before Charlie Sheen decided to quit acting and become a candy mogul. For a solid week, Sheen could be seen building his impressive factory on the wide, flat, and generally pointless stretch of American land politely referred to as Ohio. He never slept once those seven days. The factory itself was a marvel of architecture, and not just because it was made entirely of cocaine. That part was secondary. Sheen’s sweat alone could make Tony Montana’s nostrils water. What made “Charlie Sheen’s Win-fectionary Oven”, as it soon became known, so intriguing was the fact that it could actually feel pain. Many a child was scarred for life after throwing a rock at the white, flaky walls of the compound and hearing a bitter, piercing shriek. This excited Sheen immensely, and he could often be seen in the windows of his gigantic candy crack palace with a grin on his face, a leaky burrito in one hand, and an old sock-puppet on the other that he’d named Sexual Hyrule, which he believed gave him magical powers. It was a weird time for America, but just another day in the life of the residents of Ohio. In a year’s time, Sheen had garnered a monopoly on the chocolate industry, crushing his competitors so thoroughly that most rival CEOs committed suicide in the most disturbing way possible: they ate at Arby’s. The damage done to their intestines was irreparable, and, like a roast beef sandwich there, all of their funerals were cheap, tasteless, and strangely erotic. Everyone soon forgot about these ghastly suicides, however. The candy Sheen made was simply that good. He had blessed the world with Crunch Winning, the chocolate bar with the creamy, tiger blood center; Double

Goddess Delight, an orgasmic mix of caramel and actual blonde human hair; and Seven Gram Rocks, which was later revealed to be entirely made of heroin. It led to several delicious overdoses. All three candies were incredibly popular, and his fanbase quickly grew. You can imagine, then, the excitement generated when it was revealed that Sheen would be allowing eight lucky children into his factory for a day. He had appeared on the Ohio local news inviting kids to look for eight Golden Speedball Syringes hidden in packs of Seven Gram Rocks, with the promise that whoever found, took, and survived one of them would be allowed a tour of the mysterious candy crack palace. I was a young, naive ten-year-old girl when I went down to the nearby 7-11 and bought some Rocks, hoping against hope that there’d be a needle inside. It was my last five dollar bill, you see, and working in the salt mines was terribly harsh on the lungs. I walked outside the store and slowly peeled back my treat, nearly fainting when I saw that metallic golden glint. There it was! A Syringe! “Hey everybody! That little girl has a Syringe! Let’s rob her while she’s still weak from the salt mines!” I was scared for a second, but fortunately, being a graduate of The School of Hard Knocks-Cleveland, I always carried a bar of weapons-grade plutonium everywhere I went. I took it out and waved it in front of me, knowing that simply inhaling a bit of it was enough to kill someone. “Holy shit, y’all! She’s got weapons-grade plutonium! Just inhaling that shit could kill you!” They backed off, and I ran home excited. The next week was a bit of a blur. I awoke in daze, the nowempty syringe lying beside me. An expertly developed speedball will certainly do that to you. Fortunately, I was alive, and a few weeks later, my grandfather and I – for all winners were allowed to bring a single guest – found ourselves in the lobby of the Win-fectionary

Oven, with Charlie Sheen himself standing directly in front of us. He was wearing a drab gray hoodie, black-and-white striped boxers, and a pair of Uggs. “Well now, don’t you two look like a pair of droopy-eyed armless children? Heh, so stupid, I mean... c’mon! Amp up!” I should mention now that only some kid named Justin Bieber and myself survived the Golden Speedball invitation. Bieber had brought with him Usher, his spiritual advisor. He was Canadian, so the maple syrup in his veins managed to dilute the heroin and cocaine mixture inside the Syringe. The other six children weren’t so lucky. “Man, if only you kids knew how radical this tour’s gonna be! So damn psyched.” Charlie Sheen was a very energetic man. He kept bouncing back and forth, scratching and muttering about trolls and warlocks, as he led us deeper into his factory. We soon came to the main hall, made to look like a beautiful green plain with an artificial lake in the center. “I call this Tiger Blood Lake! It’s like, just in case I run out. I got tons flowing in my veins and I can always punch a hole in the sun with my left testicle if I run out, but you never know when you’ll need more Tiger Blood in a pinch.” I noticed something move in the distance, it looked like a “Um, Mr. Sheen, is that a naked woman?” “Course it is, little girl! These are my Oompa Areolas! My muses! My flames! Ha!” “How’d you...get them here?” “Oh, most of ‘em are call girls. The rest are pornstars. They just sort of stayed after they got addicted to the walls. Losers! I mean, c’mon, it’s so easy to quit! Just will it and steal Smaug’s treasure with The One Ring. It’s what I did!”

Summer 2011

“Oh.” “Would you like a song? They do that sometimes. It’s a thing!” “Sure, I guess.” The several Oompa Areolas gathered in front of us and began to sing The Beatles’ “I Am the Walrus” while Usher harmonized and licked at the air indiscriminately. The weird thing was... the lyrics suddenly made sense. Maybe it was the perpetual cocaine mist wafting down from the palace ceiling, maybe it was salt in my lungs, but I don’t really remember much of the performance... I was too lost in Justin Bieber’s lip-syncing. *

Several light-hearted, drug-related misadventures later, only Charlie Sheen and I were still alive. The sudden and extremely violent invasion of the Keebler Elves had led to a siege that trapped us within the stimulant-packed walls for three long years. Usher managed to kill a great deal of the elves, simply by dancing and blowing their minds all over the floor. Unfortunately, the Head Elf in Charge eliminated him by gnawing on his Achilles tendon. The elves feasted for days. Justin Bieber fell into the jaws of Obscurity when he suddenly hit puberty halfway through the Battle of Tiger Blood Lake. Grandpa just sort of wandered off. I assume he’s either dead or entertaining the remaining Oompa Areolas. Charlie Sheen, perhaps still a bit high from crushing the rebellion, wasted no time giving me full control of the Winfectionary Oven, a position I’ve held with pride over the last twenty years. He then dove into Tiger Blood Lake, and never resurfaced. Some say he merely drowned. Some say he was bored, and just moved on to a new universe, like Doctor Manhattan. Well, I say... he won.

The Ballad of the Beast BY MICHAEL STEPHENS

f you’re an incoming freshman reading this at orientation, hello! Welcome to Michigan. If you find the time to walk around campus this evening, you’ll find many students up late studying, and everyone choosing to remain safe and sober. That’s the Michigan difference. If you’re not an incoming freshman, then dude, why are you still reading this? There are incoming freshmen here for orientation. Go shove one of them in a trashcan or make them do a keg stand for so long that they puke, or something. Okay, now, disregard that last sentence and listen up. I’m here to warn you of a great danger that lurks on the University of Michigan campus. One that I cannot, in good conscience, let you leave orientation without being warned about. So tell everyone else in orientation to pick up a Gargoyle, so they can be prepared, too. While exploring the campus, you may have noticed Nichol’s Arboretum, otherwise known as the Arb. Maybe you’ve even ventured down there already and peered in from the street, afraid to enter without an upperclassman to escort you. Well, you were right to be afraid. Because on the surface, the Arb might seem like a great place to smoke weed, have outdoor sex, eat shrooms, go exploring, drop acid, or any combination of the above. But doing any of those things (especially the sex) would be the worst mistake of your life. Anyone brave enough to enter the Arb should remain alert and on their feet at all times, for the Arb is home to a terrible, horrible beast. Now, allow me to warn you of the dangers in the only way I know how: a ballad. No, put your record players away, you filthy hipsters. I don’t mean a Whitesnake or Journey vinyl. I mean a real ballad. A-B-C-B alternating trimeter and tetrameter, motherfuckers. Let’s do this shit.

The Rime of the Ancient Professor

I once had an old professor For ENG 223. When asked about his music tastes This tale he told to me.

So after that we traveled down To the Huron River. When at once chills ran down my spine And made my member quiver.

“Good lad, I was an undergrad; I looked a lot like you. Except a wee bit handsomer And not a filthy Jew.

I whirled around; I thought I heard A ghastly hacking bray. After mere seconds, in my pants I’d made a poop puree.

I ventured to the Arb one day With such a sweet young gal. You know the kind: a firm behind And supple birth canal.

Before me, like a grim spectre Clothed in homeless man’s garb, He stood, Beefeater Gin in hand: The beast called ‘of the Arb.’

It was Hash Bash of eighty three; We both smoked so much green. And given what we did that day... Let’s say she was eighteen.

A fearsome chimera, it was: The head of a fine horse Hunched on the shoulders of a man Fresh out of a divorce.

When we arrived we dropped some X, And damn, she got horny. Wish it wasn’t in a rose bush... My ass got all thorny.”

‘A drug induced mirage,’ I thought, ‘It’s nothing but a myth!’ Meanwhile, the beast prepared to charge, But first it chugged its fifth.

At this point the teacher got up And gave his balls a scratch. “But the worst part was not the bush, My boy, it was her snatch.”

Its nostrils flared, its eyes shone red Like Carrot Top’s fire crotch. It bounded toward the girl, and then I got too scared to watch.

When he lowered those spandex chaps, My life flashed ‘fore my eyes. The warts looked like Mick Jagger’s face At nearly twice the size.

I know not what became of her, For I was forced to flee. But like a drunken Sherlock Holmes It tracked my trail of pee!

“But that was then and this is now, And that sure was good sex. Though, when she moaned, she sounded like Tyrannosaurus rex.

I bounded through the forest, but Its cries surrounded me; Filled with a pain like Caulfield trapped Among the bourgeoisie.

Ballad cont’d I wandered for what seemed like days, Never spying the gate. Did the beast’s powers keep me there? Or all the shrooms I ate? I came upon a hill littered With Rogaine, oats, and Nair. Like lightning I realized that I’d Discovered the beast’s lair! I knew its treasure, if stolen, Could buy me my escape. The hoard: a thousand copies of The Vern Troyer sex tape. The smell of whiskey filled the air; At once the beast appeared With TP hanging from its waist And bread crumbs in its beard. Raring to fight, it wiped its slick Greased hands on its capris, But halted upon realizing I had its DVDs. It bowed its head; it could not risk Bringing harm to the porn. It showed to me an exit path Paved with its young, stillborn. This sight made me pity the beast. Briefly, my guard declined. And sensing this, it lunged at me, And on my feet it dined. But lady luck smiled on me, For on that very day I wore shoes doused in antifreeze. Its organs soon decayed. But the beast is not of this world; I knew it would survive. Like a gin-powered Phoenix, it Will always be alive. I left via the fetal path, Barely clinging to life. The nurse who found me on Geddes Soon became my third wife.” His story done, the man leaned back, Waiting for me to clap. “But sir,” I asked, “What does that have To do with gangsta rap?” “I knew it not that fateful day, But some music, it dreads. It flees from mainstream tunes, for it Must maintain indie cred.” So heed the warning of the beast. Pray your paths never cross. Oh, and fuck Samuel Coleridge. Who kills an albatross?

Summer 2011

A Scholarly Exploration into

BY MEGAN MOCKERIDGE

Ancient Greek Life A

recent excavation of the University of Michigan campus conducted by the Kelsey Archeology Museum produced shocking results. The Kelsey team expected to find evidence of genius from the university’s ancient past, but they instead discovered the artifacts we present here. These objects depict a student body concerned with sex, drugs and occasionally squirrels. That is to say, not much has changed. But maybe this message is significant by virtue of the insignificance it reveals. Finally, students can rest at ease, knowing that they are not burdened by a tradition of achievement, but they are, in fact, filling their ancestors footsteps every time they puke in them. Informational scrolls circulated campus to inform students on important issues, like where to buy an inexpensive ‘gyro.’ This scroll tells the cautionary tale of Persephone, a virginal sophomore who was captured by the insidious Hades one night as she frolicked around a ‘keg’ with her nymph friends. The tale chastises male students to get her permission before they drag their dates to the depths of hell, and not just the permission of the king of the gods.

This jug used to hold sacred the ‘jungle juice’ drunk by the oracle of ADPhi. Shown here is the punishment of Prometheus, who revealed the secret knowledge of the gods to his fraternity when he told his brothers that they could make friends without suffering alcohol poisoning, shaved testicles, elephant trains, and other indignities first. For his transgressions he was chained to a keg and force-fed Natty Lite, ruining his liver repeatedly. The girls doling out his punishment are the Nymphostitutes, nymphomaniacs with the uncanny gift of getting to a keg in a packed house.

Excavated from the walls of a bathhouse in the northern regions of campus, this mural fragment tells part of the epic a Aeneas, a Naval Architect on his quest to finish his senior design project. In this panel, Aeneas subdues the three-headed gate-keeper Squirsibus with a soporific known as ‘Valium.’ He then descends in the depths of West Hall.

Here is an advertisement for a local taxi service. The proprietor, Charon, offered his service for the eternally fixed rate of two gold coins, and thus was a popular choice among Ann Arbor’s lost and drunken souls.

Many students partook in a recreational activity known colloquially as ‘getting high,’ which entailed inhaling the smoke of the Marijuana plant through devices such as the ‘water bong’ pictured here. This bong depicts the myth of Icarus, a daring youth who got ‘too high’ and ‘burned out’.

Summer 2011

A Gargoyle Interview with

Mary Sue Coleman Mary Sue Coleman sat across from me at her large mahogany desk, staring intensely at me through her reading glasses as she twirled a monogrammed butterfly knife between her wrinkled fingers. Her collection of dead insects hung on the wall to my left, next to a picture of Mary Sue, Kim Jong-Il and Pinochet playing a game of poker. I sat uncomfortably in my small stool, trying to ignore the pounding and sounds of screaming coming from a door at the back of her office marked “Private.” The publicist I spoke to earlier had strictly prohibited me from bring in my tape recorder, so I instead was forced to use the tanned wolverine hide and quill with which I was provided. She was drinking a glass of scotch, which seemed to have been heated up on a stove, and it soon became clear that I was going to have to speak first. J: What is a day in the life of Mary Sue Coleman? MSC: [She lights up a cigar, leans back in her chair and sprawls her legs out onto the desk] Well, today was pretty normal, I suppose. I woke up at around 4:30 AM and rolled out of my sex swing. It’s always so calm that early in the morning, and there are few enough people out that I can take a walk without my wig or glass eye. Like every week, I re-wrote Sean Patrick O’Neil’s phone number on the bathroom stall of Necto and tagged the Chabad house before picking up my bladder control prescription from the drug store. From there I stopped at my bunker under Happy’s Pizza on Main and threw some cash down on a cockfight. I even had enough time to play a quick round of Russian roulette with an inner-city student over a scholarship. The dumb bastard actually thought there were bullets in my chamber. Afterwards, I just shot some pigeons off of the parking structure for lunch. Just another average day. J: What do you do in your free time? MSC: Recently I’ve been working on a scheme to bring East Lansing to its knees, but I haven’t developed the antidote yet. I suppose when it’s nice out, my boys Jack, Tyrone and I steal the hood ornaments and side view mirrors off of BMWs. Also, there’s a homeless shelter down on Huron, so sometimes I get a bunch of canned food and clothes from Salvation Army, drive over there, and set it all on fire in their recreation room. [She cackles hysterically] You should see the looks on their faces; it’s better than getting eaten out while watching a documentary on Darfur. No, but seriously. It keeps me young. J: What is it like being President of the University? MSC: My appointment as President is actually a funny story. After my brutal coup d’état of Ann Arbor, it was brought to my attention that there happened to be a University on my newly

BY JACOB ROSEN

acquired territory. [She gestures towards a photograph of herself placing the former president’s severed head on a pike in front of her manor] But to answer your question, since I became President, life has been fuckin’ good. My boots are made out of an element not even on the periodic table, I can use the fleet of U of M hospital helicopters to go to Las Vegas when I start to get antsy, and in an hour I can legally have any resident of Ann Arbor skinned and made into a pantsuit. It’s not all fame and glamour, though. I haven’t been able to devote nearly enough time to my latest album, “Blaze and Brew.” But in the end, it’s all worth it when I look back on my life and think of all I’ve accomplished. Have you ever heard of waterboarding? Yeah, that was me. J: Some have said that your $760,196 salary is excessive. Any comments? MSC: Well, son, do you think it would be excessive if I pulled your tongue out through your anus and used it to strangle you to death? [to the two men behind her] Get this dumb motherfucker out of here before I have him stuffed and hung from the bell tower. Before I could apologize, I felt a strong blow to the back of my head, my vision failed, and moments later I felt my consciousness slip away. When I awoke, I found myself in the Arb with nothing but the tanned hide covered in my notes and a U of M beer cozy, upon which the words “Don’t you ever try and pull that pussy shit again young man” were scribbled above Mary Sue’s signature.

A Gargoyle Story

BY BEN SCHLANGER

My First Date

t was apparent that I was a late bloomer when at 17, my interactions with women were limited to questions about their “cool watch” and flipping through copies of Women’s Health Magazine outside a CVS. Even when a girl took the initiative, my side of the conversation was more stammering and sweating than charm and wit. I hadn’t really put much effort into improving, always just shrugging off my failures and assuring myself that it’ll be easier once I’m in college and meeting tons of cute girls in my engineering classes. However, after spending junior prom at home in my bedroom watching pirated episodes of Rocko’s Modern Life on my laptop while my older brother made out with his superhot girlfriend in the living room, I finally resolved to do something about it. I signed up for an online blind dating service, and a week later I found myself driving to the boarded-up-windows part of town to pick up my date. I knocked on her door, and fifteen seconds later I heard the sound of five locks being opened. She opened the door and gave me a hard smile. Her eyes were sharp, her arms strong, and she was clad in a black tank-top, heavy jeans, and combat boots. She looked to be in her late twenties, but I didn’t really mind. “Hi, I’m Ben, from loveisblind.com. Is this the right place?” That was my opening line, which I’d practiced dozens of times on the way over. Confident and witty, but not presumptuous. She looked me over a few times and said, “Yeah, you’ll do. Come on in. I’m Jewels.” “I was actually just getting ready, but now you can help me out,” she said as she led me into her apartment. We sat down at the kitchen table, upon which rested two assault rifles and a pile of ammunition. She began loading bullets into a clip, and I followed suit. “So, Jewels, I was thinking we could go see Forgetting Sarah Marshall and then maybe eat at Arby’s, if that’s okay with you.” “Actually, I had something else in mind,” she said as she put on a bulletproof vest. “Here, take this.” She handed me a heavy black duffel bag and we walked out the door.

Summer 2011

We exited the car and made a beeline for the PNC entrance. I held open the door for her, said, “ladies first, my dear,” and immediately felt like a tool for saying something so cheesy. Jewels didn’t seem to mind, though, or maybe she just didn’t notice because she was too busy firing warning shots into the air. As I was tying up the hostages, I realized I’d forgotten to compliment her at the start of the date like the guide on Yahoo Answers had told me to do. “Hey Jewels!” I shouted, making sure she could hear me over the sound of the crying and hyperventilating hostages. “You look lovely this evening!” She turned around, still holding up her gun to the manager’s face, “Aw, that’s so sweet of you to say, Ben. Thanks!”

Once we reached my Volvo station wagon, I opened the passenger side door for her, but she took the keys out of my hand and hopped into the driver seat. “Where are we headed?” I asked once she’d started the car. “I don’t want to spoil the surprise, now hush,” she replied, saying nothing else. After thirty seconds of silence, I turned on the radio, which she immediately shut off without saying a word. She stopped the car in the parking lot of a PNC bank. “Oh, Jewels, I’m paying for the date. You don’t have to get any money.” She let out a quick laugh. “That’s cute,” she said as grabbed the assault rifles from the back seat. “How about you reach into the duffel bag and pull out the ski masks?” I didn’t really like how the ski mask covered up the moustache I’d spent the last week trying to grow, but at least it accentuated my eyes, which my mom always told me were my best feature. “Alright, Ben, now just follow my lead.”

Unfortunately, the date hit a bit of a speed-bump when we walked outside to find the building surrounded by cops. Jewels grabbed my hand and pulled me behind a short wall for cover. It’s a good thing I was still wearing my ski mask, because once she was holding my hand, I started blushing pretty hard. The stand-off that followed was pretty exciting, but after twenty minutes the weather got a bit chilly, and I could see Jewels shivering beneath her now-battered bulletproof vest. I took off my jacket, wiped off the teller’s blood that was still on the collar, and draped it across her shoulders like they do in all those romantic movies. “Jewels, I had a really nice time today. Once we get out of prison, I’d love to ask you out for a second date.” “I had fun too, Ben, but I already have two strikes, so I’m not giving myself up,” she said. I think she saw the disappointed look in my eyes, because she added, “But don’t worry, a nice boy like you should have no trouble finding another girl,” and she followed it up with a peck on the cheek. I was so giddy after that little kiss that I didn’t even notice her running out of cover guns blazing. That was probably for the best, though, because I wouldn’t have wanted to see her as she got torn apart by a torrent of gunfire. I spent the next eight months in juvie, so it was a while before I had another date. I did make some good friends, though. Plus, I learned how to turn a toothbrush into a stabbing weapon, which was pretty cool.

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CRIME ALERT

Alert Date: Jan. 18, 2011

Alert ID: 2011-1 /AAPD#11-321

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN DEPARTMENT OF PUBLIC SAFETY

Date of Incident: Jan. 18, 2011 - about 3:30 a.m. Location: 1100 block of Packard, near East University Summary: The following note was recovered from the 1100 block of Packard, near East University. There is no suspect as of now, but we can say with confidence that the writer is a black male, between 5’8” and 6’2”, with a slim, average, muscular, or large build. He was likely wearing a puffy tan coat and a ski mask, and may or may not have worn glasses. Hello, officers. It has recently come to my attention that a man matching my exact description has been singled out as the suspect of every Crime Alert put out to the public in the past four years. As you might imagine, I was deeply troubled upon discovering this information. In an effort to clear my name, I would like to present you with a copy of my day planner for February 21st, 2011. As you can see, I engage in no more criminal activity on a given day than any other black male between 5’8” and 6’2” with a slim, average, muscular, or large build. I hope that this excerpt will prove my innocence beyond the shadow of a doubt, and I would appreciate it if you stopped profiling me from this point on. I have a reputation to uphold among my homies and their shorties. Thank you kindly, Leroy Jackson III, Esq. 8:00 a.m. Awaken 8:05 a.m. Shower, self-grooming, &c. 8:30 a.m. Breakfast 9:00 a.m. Light reading. Ideally something trite and humorous, such as “Dilbert” strips or the editorial page of The Michigan Daily. 10:00 a.m. Depart for the day 10:10 a.m. Catch Northbound Bursley-Baits bus. Hijack it. 10:30 a.m. Abandon bursley-baits bus in downtown Ypsilanti, siphon off all fuel and lock from the outside. Drive away in stolen 4-door sedan. 10:45 a.m. Armed Robbery 11:00 a.m. Attend President’s Day services 12:00 p.m. Unarmed Robbery (My firearm must have fallen out of my pocket during the services) 12:30 p.m. Lunch 1:00 p.m. Armed Robbery (Firearm recovered from a homeless gentleman in exchange for $20 and a particularly shiny button off of my waistcoat. Note to self: Have Jeeves mend waistcoat posthaste) 1:30 p.m. Indecent Exposure at CCRB sauna 2:00 p.m. Home Invasion, Oxford housing. Acquire a wonderful new lampshade and several Hendrix posters for the chateau. 2:30 p.m. Fondle sorority girl’s buttocks in Michigan Union 3:00 p.m. Unarmed Robbery (Firearm evidently left at Oxford apartment - or perhaps in sorority girl’s buttocks) 3:30 p.m. Sexual Assault at CCRB sauna 4:00 p.m. Tea Time at Martha Cook 5:00 p.m. Indecent Exposure at Martha Cook 5:30 p.m. Lie low 6:45 p.m. Hors d’oeuvres 7:00 p.m. Supper 7:30 p.m. Armed Robbery (Firearm recovered from sorority girl. Judging by her disposition, she seemed oddly pleased and, dare I say it, satisfied. Note to self: Have Jeeves wash firearm posthaste) 8:00 p.m. Budget plan meeting with University of Michigan board of directors 9:00 p.m. Indecent Exposure at University President’s house 9:30 p.m. - 11:00 p.m. Enkindle string of “suspicious fires” at six fraternity houses and the Jamaican Jerk Pit 11:30 p.m. Shooting at @Burger (I am expected to pay extra to receive fries with my burger instead of chips? How asinine.) 12:00 a.m. Unarmed Robbery (as a nightcap, you understand) 12:30 a.m. Light reading 1:00 a.m. Bed If you have any information, please contact the UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN DEPARTMENT OF PUBLIC SAFETY at (734)763-1131 or the Ann Arbor Police Department Tip Line at (734)794-6939 or tips@a2gov.org

An Open Letter to the Guy Buying Magnum Condoms at Village Apothecary BY AMY BENNETT

h, I see what you have in your hand. It’s not like you haven’t been holding it, label facing outward, for the last five minutes in line. You hold it jauntily, hand outstretched, periodically raising and lowering the box as if it were a tiny elevator. Sometimes you even switch the box from hand to hand, as if to say: “These condoms are so enormously weighty, a single hand cannot begin to support their bulk!” As if calling attention to your purchase was not enough, you periodically adjust your tent-like jeans, begging the rest of the line to imagine what lies inside. I see right through you, Guy Buying Magnum Condoms. Are you trying to cultivate an aura of mystery your manhood, as if it were a game of Clue? I know the spoiler, Guy Buying Magnum Condoms: your penis killed Mr. Boddy, didn’t it? You look back again, and your calculating gaze passes over the box of medium absorbency tampons and tube of Chapstick in my hand. You look me in the eye with pity as if to say, “Ma’am, this penis is a super absorbency-grade penis only. I’m afraid you aren’t qualified to handle it.” I’m only human, Guy Buying Magnum Condoms, and my genitalia clearly does not contain the airplane hangar-like storage facility that you require. At long last, it is your turn to check out. You slide the box onto the counter, ensuring that the golden logo is face up, bathing the counter with all of its’ glory. Does it really take that long to look through your wallet, Guy Buying Magnum Condoms – because this is becoming patently absurd. Perhaps you are exhausted from supporting your trouser anaconda for so long in line? If this is so, I suggest regaining your strength with the electrolyte-filled beverage poking out of your over-sized pocket. For a moment you pause completely, and I fear that your penis has collapsed into itself, forming a black hole that will suck in the earth. Apparently my fears of Ragnacock are unwarranted, as you merely pull a $20 from your wallet. The cashier rings you up, and places your prize in an opaque bag. You give a benevolent glance to the members of the line, and strut through the front doors. Oh, Guy Buying Magnum Condoms, I hope you and your meat steeple have many exciting adventures together! Now stop swaggering like that as you walk down the street. The sound of your penis smacking against your thighs could deafen us all.

Summer 2011

Your Guide to Central Campus Bathrooms

BY NATALIE VOSS

Women’s Bathroom Review W

ell hello there, dear readers! As a self-proclaimed bathroom expert, I have patrolled the stalls all across campus for the past month to find you the best (and worst) bathrooms the University of Michigan has to offer. The following list is full of helpful tips on where to go to find gossip, where to avoid the smell of human waste, where to find the perfect spot for a nervous breakdown/crying jag/long “thinking” session, and where to simply find a clean spot to pee. To our male readers: As peeing in the bushes is not beneath many of you, a comprehensive bathroom guide seemed a bit unnecessary. The world is your oyster.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Mason Hall

Hatcher Graduate Library

Fleming Administration Building

LSA Building

Law Library

East Hall

Tappan Hall

School of Education

School of Public Policy

Natural Science Building Dennison

The Union

Shapiro Library (UgLi) MLB

Martha Cook North Quad Markley

South Quad

16 17 14

11 7

1 2

5 12

Best Graffiti Conversations

Smelliest

Winner: Mason Hall (1), main floor. It may smell worse than dying English professors, but the wall conversations are well worth it.

Winner: Dennison (11), floors 1 through 6. Who likes red stalls anyway? I’m already angry enough that I came to class.

Runner Up: East Hall (2), main floor, Department of Mathematics entrance by Ulrich’s (go to the first stall past the shrine of Ted Kaczynski).

Runner Up: The Union (12), main floor. Nice bathrooms, but the smell will latch onto you for days.

Cleanest Winner: Hatcher Library (3), main floor. Has its own spacious antechamber (with couches perfect for napping) and several locked doors (intrigue factor). Runner Up: Tappan Hall (4), any bathroom. This oft forgotten building is a fart’s breath away from the Diag, you’d be a fool to pass it up if you’re a stickler for tidy restrooms.

Most Isolated Winner: Fleming Administration Building (5), 2nd floor. If you can get over the 60s décor and Dijon mustard-colored stalls, you’ll be rewarded with lots of privacy, magazines, and very flattering lighting and mirrors. Runner Up: School of Education Building (6), any bathroom. Seriously, who goes to the School of Education? Bonus, the toilet seats in the second floor women’s room are heated (great in the winter).

Best Ambience Winner: LSA Building (7), 3rd or 4th floor. Features a bold color palate and an excellent view of the places you’ll be stuck for the next 1 to 5 years.

Saddest Winner: The UgLi (13), any bathroom. It smells like a crawlspace filled with old yogurt and Xanax. Runner Up: MLB (14), any bathroom. Generic and plain, these bathrooms do nothing but remind you how pathetic your life is.

Best Dorm Bathroom Winner: Martha Cook (15), any bathroom. Marble as far as the eye can see. The trick is getting in… Runner Up: New = Neat.

North Quad (16), any bathroom.

Worst Dorm Bathroom Winner: Markley (17), any bathroom. C’mon. We all know freshmen are little better than wild animals. Runner Up: South Quad (18), any bathroom. Athletes feel no need to clean up after themselves.

Runner Up: School of Public Policy (8), main floor. It has a coat hook and chairs, plus fabulous tile work.

What’s Your Opinion? Most Interesting Winner: Law Library (9), basement. Bathroom has excellently dated furnishings. But if you pee louder than a whisper, be prepared for trouble.

If you feel like we have misrepresented any restroom, or you have your own favorite spot to defecate with fellow students, don’t hesitate to send us love/hate mail at gargmail@umich.edu

Runner Up: Natty Sci Building (10), basement. Relatively hidden, pretty clean, and there’s a dry ice container outside of the entrance with promising potential for domestic terrorism.

Summer 2011

The Gargoyle Parties Hard with: BY BEN SCHLANGER

Andrew WK is a man on a mission to spread unbridled enthusiasm, excitement, energy, and FUN to the world. I had the insane privilege to speak with him to uncover more about the man behind the legend and to learn how we can all be the life of the party. Ben Schlanger: You really love the feeling of making other people happy and getting them to have fun. Do you do that everywhere you go? Like, if you go grocery shopping, do you engage people you pass in the aisles? Andrew WK: I do really love grocery shopping, especially with someone else there. Friend, family member, cruising through those aisles to me really is a party of food, of consumable items, and especially if you’re creating a feast or even just picking out items to snack on right then, I certainly am in a good mood in that grocery store atmosphere. Any kind of food place. But yeah, it’s always case by case, sometimes one of my favorite things is just moving through this world in a quiet way and just watching what’s going on. That’s what I like about traveling alone is just getting to look out

Andrew W.K.

the window and see things, watch people go by, or stand on the street corner and check things out. Sometimes I just observe and that’s always nice. BS: In all of your performances you’re always exuding total energy and enthusiasm. Is that projected enthusiasm always 100% genuine, or do you sometimes have to fake it for the sake of the fun? AWK:I use all kinds of different sources of energy to get that motivation personally. And a huge part of it is music. Any music that you love, it gives you a power. Even to think about a song in your head that you really really love, I find that it creates this sense of energy, and it’s like electricity, it’s like this power source that you can put towards anything, and I look to this music as a huge power source. It’s like a battery that helps give me the strength to do things I might not otherwise be able to do.

AWK: That’s a good question. It’s not so much leading by example or trying to muster people up or prod or poke at them to get going. I find that if you yourself locate a source of excitement whether it’s a song or going out to a certain place or any activity, going to see a movie, getting together with friends or family, even spending time alone, you can constantly be making choices on how to present your perspective. And if the perspective you’re presenting, the way you’re looking at the world, is appealing and seems exciting, seems interesting, captures people’s imaginations, then you can inspire them purely by the way you look out at the world. I don’t think that’s the same as leading by example so much, or people just seeing how you do something and then doing it as a form of inspiration, I think it’s more reminding people that they have their own version of the same skill and the same power and to tap into it the same way that you are.

BS: You’re one of the experts on getting people to just let loose and have fun. How can the rest of us be good instigators of good times?

Photo: Trevor Campbell 24

Photo: Atiba Jefferson BS: Growing up in Ann Arbor, did the university and college town atmosphere play a role in how you turned out?

BS: Speaking of Ann Arbor, do you plan on coming to Ann Arbor anytime soon, either for a show or for one of your motivational speeches?

AWK: There’s no way I would be here in New York right now if I hadn’t grown up in Ann Arbor. I really had mentors here, whether they were older kids at my school or full blown adults who were making music and living their life and had access to experiences or books or ideas. I really got hooked on having my mind blown, being excited and surprised and shocked and amazed by what the world had to offer to any one of us. I can’t really imagine what would happen if I hadn’t had those people around and those people were in Ann Arbor.

AWK: I would love to, yeah. Ann Arbor, as you’re aware, has a strange situation because despite the fact that it’s a very major cultural area in the Midwest, it still seems like most events or concerts or otherwise happen in Detroit. I’ve only played one show in Ann Arbor, at the Michigan Theater, years and years ago, and it was amazing – it was so over the top significant. The first concert I ever saw of any band at all, which was Blues Traveler, was at the Michigan Theater. And it was completely mind blowing to go back there and play.

There’s just a history of awesome vibes in this town, there really is, I can’t deny it. I’ve gotten to travel quite a bit now and go all over the world and there is something unique about Ann Arbor and about southeast Michigan in general, especially when it comes to intensity and rocking out and going for it, it’s a great vibe, it’s just the best, I’m so glad.

“Michigan’s law school has some great gargoyles.”

Summer 2011

BS: What does partying hard mean to you? AWK: Everybody has their own way of having fun. There are a lot of different choices when it comes to that and I just have always wanted to leave it very open. What you enjoy doing is your own. That’s part of what you own as yourself. To me partying is just celebrating not being dead. And we understand partying to be a moment of festivity that we usually reserve for some special event like your birthday, or the weekend, or spring break, or New Years Eve. We celebrate those moments. But a great event is also just waking up and not being dead. And that’s reason to celebrate every day. And that to me is the party hard attitude. To be basically aware of the fact that we have this chance to enjoy ourselves before we die and do that every day, party our life away, in a celebratory, glorious explosion. BS: What would it take to actually stop you from partying? AWK: Wow, probably just death. But even then I’ve been working on a way to continue to party even after that. I haven’t

Photo: Andrew Strasser

“Success is any attempt at all in a way.” perfected it yet. I’ll have to hopefully test it many many years from now. But I’m determined. BS: What’s been the most fun experience of your life? AWK: It’s difficult to pick just one. It often seems to change and it often seems to be more fun to have a whole bunch of stuff that you can like, like 30 favorites, 30 best songs, and just look at the world as a treasure trove. Like a funhouse buffet of excitement we just get to pick and choose from whenever we feel like it. BS: What would you say to someone who is introverted and has trouble at parties? AWK: Well, that’s okay. It’s okay to be shy if that’s the way it feels to you. It’s a tricky thing because if you can embrace however you happen to feel at the moment, being comfortable in that way would usually stop you from being shy so it’s an interesting way of resolving itself. The more paranoid, the more freaked you are about being shy (and I have a lot of experience with being shy), that seems to have made it worse. I think it’s realizing just how silly everything is and just how awkward everyone feels all the time and that it’s completely hilarious. Just existence in general and participating in these events of life whether they’re social situations or certain kinds of communication or relationships that you’re in, it’s all just completely insane. The whole thing. And that’s something that should take the pressure off rather than put more pressure on. The absurdity of existence is like a big relief. BS: Musician, TV host, motivational speaker, award-winning nightclub owner -- how do you get involved in so many different things? Does the process go like, you have an idea for something cool, and you have the freedom and the energy to just go “yeah sure, I’m going to do that?” AWK: It’s half of that, and half of it is people coming to you. People’s opportunities coming your way and people

asking “how about doing this?” I’m always interested and take it very seriously because hey, I want to be busy! I want to be full of activity, and the more I’ve done, the less busy I felt, which has been very odd. I think it’s because it’s been refreshing, instead of overwhelming. And it’s all related. So it all kinda feeds off itself in a refreshing way, like getting to go do TV, it’s such a great related type of performance to singing on stage but it’s very different. Then it makes it exciting to go and play a show because I get to do some move I thought about during the TV filming or apply some move I do on stage to the TV show and it all just sorta bounces back, they all fit under the same umbrella somehow. BS: You’ve got so many projects on your plate, it seems like you never take a break. Do you ever just lounge around on the couch watching TV? AWK: Yeah, I think doing nothing is also very important because a lot of time when you’re doing nothing is when you get the ideas for things you do want to do. And some of the best ideas I’ve had have been when I wasn’t doing something else. Cause when you’re engaged in some very worthwhile activity, your mind isn’t looking for some new idea or some breakthrough to do later. It takes quiet time. I think it’s really important to spend time alone every day, and to spend time not actively doing anything other than just thinking. It’s like a decompression time and a preparation time. BS: What’s your goal with your music? AWK: I’m just trying to get to the place of maximum excitement and party power. That remains my goal. And that’s a great goal, at least for me, because there’s always some new way to get there. You try to figure out a new route, like what’s even a more direct way to get there, whets an even more exciting part to have in a song, what’s an even more thrilling melody, like how can we exceed this? It’s like a fireworks show, and we’re going to blow their minds this year because we’ve got the smiley face firework, we have a three dimensional cube firework, we have

a firework that’s so massive that it takes up the entire sky, or whatever. That’s what I’m doing here. It’s like special effects. It’s like how can we create this completely euphoric, giddy feeling that it’s great to be alive and we’re going to go nuts. That’s really the goal one way or another, and there really are just many ways to get there. I think that’s just where I want to go, it’s this feeling of possibility is the best way to sum it up. It doesn’t have to be this high manic state, it doesn’t have to be all sweaty, it can be however you want it to be, it can be quiet to someone, but it just has to be this sense of possibility. Like the feeling of the first day of summer vacation, just “oh my god life is so fantastic,” the feeling when you first get to an amusement park and go down the first hill of the first roller coaster, assuming you like roller coasters. Just that amazing feeling like, could life get any better? No. This is the feeling that I’m trying to create. BS: Is that the feeling that you have when you’re making the music? Or are you more focused on creating the great product? AWK: Both. If it’s going well then it feels like that the whole time. But it can be very painful as well. It can be extremely frustrating at times. Sometimes it happens where everything comes together very easily, sometimes something that you worked so long on ends up still not being nearly as effective as something that took two seconds to figure out, and that’s all part of the joy of it -- that it’s not easy, but the rewards are really thrilling. It’s still one of the biggest rushes to me to try to crack some code to figure out a new way to hit that jackpot payout of excitement in music or just in entertainment. Like how can we get to that place of just being so fucking psyched? To me it’s just amazing. Especially being older, being an adult and getting to do this as my life is just incredible. To me, there’s so many different things you could work on, and I get to try to psyche people up, it’s like my mission and I’m very grateful.

Read the full interview online at www.gargmag.com

The Real Cause of Global Warming aka God is a Dick Summer 2011

Personal Information:

1989 Blonde TriDelt UMID: 73998463 (“SEXYTIME”) Front Wheel Drive, 3 “doors”

Overview:

!!! Currently rated Salvagable, with backseat water damage !! Partners Exceed Mechanical Limits* Current retail book value: above the average market price

PARTNER HISTORY

PARTNER 1

PARTNER 2

PARTNERS 3-?

Year of “bumping uglies”

2005

Since Then

Type of Partner

Steady Boyfriend

“Whoops”

Angsty Expression

3 months

8 minutes

Depends how drunk

Estimated length of interaction Estimated use per year

1 time (awkward)

1 time

Depends how drunk

*Title History: WHOREFAX guarantees the information in this section.

Alert! Severe problems were reported by a state Planned Parenthood Center (PPC). This whore does not qualify for the WHOREFAX Safe Use© guarantee. Particularly, this one “exceeds mechanical limits;” a human with a 5-digit odometer cannot accurately track usage after 99,999 because the odometer rolls over.

Personal Comments:

“I don’t know, normally I don’t use Blondes because they’re a little hard to handle, with the manual transmission and everything. But overall, really nice rims.” -James, Spring Break ‘09 “Oh I filled up her tank real good. Though she really needs a new muffler. I’m sure everyone in the area heard her coming.” -Kenneth, behind Beer Depot, ‘10 “From what I remember, she had a hard time starting. Though that may have been because of the whole 13 shots in 45 minutes thing. I’d say definitely remember to bring some transmission fluid.” -Nicolas, Shady Phi ‘Boats n’ Hoes’ Party ‘11

Personal Information:

1991 Brunette oceanography and gender studies major Convertible (top comes off easily) UMID: 86776969 All Wheel Drive, 2 “doors”, 1 kind of jammed, nothing some WD-40 won’t fix

Overview:

!!! Currently rated Dangerous To Use, with stalking tendencies !! Partners Consistently Report Negligence to Machinery* Current retail book value: far below asking price BY KRISTEN CLEGHORN

Partner History Year of “Bumpin Uglies”

Partner 1 2008

Type of Partner

“Definite Mistake”

Estimated use per year

1 time

Estimated length of interaction

Partner 2

1 minute

2011

Victim

Who Knows

GOD PLEASE 1 time

*Title History: WHOREFAX guarantees the information in this section.

Alert! Severe problems were found in State Service Records, particularly one complaint filed by Tropical Treatments near Ann Arbor, Michigan. “She came in for a pretty standard full-body wax. Three specialists refused to go anywhere near the underbody. Severely abnormal machinery. I don’t even know what kind of negligence one would have to engage in to result in that kind of disrepair,” a representative told us.

Personal Comments:

“Started up and got into second gear just fine, but when I was shifting to third… my God. Just… run. I did. But she has built-in GPS, I swear.” -Prefers to Remain Anonymous, “Sustainable” Co-Op Party ‘08 “I cannot for the life of me remember the events that led up to me riding her. Or actually riding her, for that matter. Next thing I know, I had a friend request on Facebook, she had my number, she was using my M-Card fraudulently... just don’t do it.” -Trey-Shaun, South Quad 5th Floor, ‘11

Personal Information:

1990 Male (and totally straight) Ginger Musical Theatre major Standard Equipment: iPod Adapter (sick collection of rare Jack Johnson songs and a decent Sublime collection), Power Steering, AM/ FM, Room with Air Conditioning, 6-digit odometer, several different safety options UMID: 58826627 “LUVBOOBS” Phone Number: 248-447-0008 Feel free to text! ;-)

Overview:

Current Retail Value: Like new

Partner History Currently Unavailable Personal Comments:

***If no interactions with a specific model have been confirmed, WHOREFAX cannot moderate or guarantee the falsehood or truth of any personal comments. “While this guy has no experience per se, I hear he’s a pretty nice stick-shift. He’s got a totally nice interior, and his exterior body work is really desireable.” -Really Hot Sorority Girl,’09 “Any rumor that this guy is gay is totally unfounded, I swear. I know him like, personally.” -John Jackson, ‘10 “I got a jump from this guy before, he’s really reliable. And on an unrelated note, I heard from a friend that he totally likes to park in the front and not the back. Never the back.” -Jane Jackson, ‘11

Summer 2011

So, to rise higher...

...we cast off dead weight. My membership in the Gargoyle hasn’t always been voluntary. It kind of came along with living in Fractal House with David, Sam, and Stu. That being said, I’m glad to have been a part of it. The (regrettably) minimal amount of work that I have put into the Garg has been paid back many times, and I count many of the staff among my closest friends. Thanks for the good times Gargoyle. Sorry for not writing all those things that I said I would. And Gargoyle? You’re useless in the revolution. Joe Sipka

My meaningful experience with The Gargoyle By Sam Shingledecker G is for Glowstick candle death fight A is for Adventures in cross-dressing R is for Riding in the battle cart G is for Gallons of Gordon’s dry Gin O is for Vasectomy Y is for Yodeling at tour groups L is for Loamy sand E is for Extreme mediocrity “Reality is more humorous than fiction, though it is also more depressing.” -David Faulkner “Most things haven’t worked out.” -Max Eddy “There are many realities.” -Jeeves Shadowdecker

Ladies, Gentlemen – it has been an honor. Working with all of you (staff members present, and past) has been the high point of my college career. When the soul-crushing literality and analytical bludgeon of Engineering had me up against a wall, the Gargoyle was there to lend a scaly and comforting hand, full of nonsense and innuendo. It has been my great pleasure to work on staff, alongside the most fascinating, clever, bizarre, gut-bustingly hilarious and galactically talented people I think I will ever meet. Thanks for the laughs Gargoyle – keep ‘em coming. Cheers, Will Hilzinger

Most people don’t realize that I didn’t join the Gargoyle until my sophomore year. Crazy, I know. But it’s true. Before I joined the Gargoyle I was a lazy, boring weirdo with no friends. Upon joining the Gargoyle I became a lazy, boring weirdo with no friends among roughly a dozen other lazy, boring weirdoes with no friends. It’s been pretty rad. The magazine has been good to me. Really good. My time at the Gargoyle is responsible for three of my roommates, two of my relationships, and at least two jobs. It’s definitely worth all the confused stares from people when I hand them a magazine, the strained friendships due to my leadership positions, and all hate-mail from the E3W. God, there is a lot of hate-mail from the E3W. And I have to say, the staff of the Gargoyle is comprised of some of the most magnificent bastards I’ve ever worked with, and the overall experience (even including the ulcer I developed as a result of working as Business Manager) has made coming to the University of Michigan worthwhile. Seriously. Without this band of tramps and ne’re-do-wells I would have hated my time here at the U so much more than I currently do. That’s right, kids: much as I shout at you, strike you, and call you worthless piles of llama spunk, you guys make it all worthwhile. The Gargoyle gave me friends, hope, and possibly Chlamydia. Thanks for everything, Gargoyle. Even the Chlamydia. Who am I kidding? Especially the Chlamydia. David Faulkner

Gargs, You welcomed me with open arms when I first wandered in and expressed my love of drawing the bizarre. I am honored to have had my work accompany the impossible awesomeness of the writers on staff, and proud to have my lines on the cover of the worlds sexiest humor magazine. Personal shout out to Adrian Choy, whose art prowess and crazy skill made for the best art director in damn near all the midwest. Farewell you insane people, its been all kindsa excellent, Rose ‘I drew” Jaffe

Throughout college, I’ve tried my best to avoid growing up. I still listen to Smash Mouth, I still drink Tang, and I still think puns are funny. Writing, drawing, and distributing for the Gargoyle has been an important part of my college experience. It gave me excuses to draw instructional high-five diagrams, run around the diag in a gorilla suit, and chase people down in a shopping cart, all while feeling like I was being productive. Now I have a job after college making flash games, partly because my employers liked some articles I wrote for the Gargoyle. When I hear things like that, it makes me want to celebrate by jumping in the ball pit in the corner of my room. Stuart Vandenbrink

Summer 2011