Volume 109 Number 4 by Gargoyle Humor Magazine

Issue 109 No. 4

SPRING 2018

Table of Contents 1.

Keep ur Shirt On

This Page

That Page

Botched Piercing

Mercury

Low-hanging Fruit

Jenny Ghose . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Kremlin Bott Molly Miller . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Open Jar of Vaseline Fiona Tien . . . . . . . . . . . . . *insert funny dead joke* Colleen Hillard . . . . . . . . . . . . coup de foutre Michael Rosenberg . . . . . . Open-Bar Funeral Carly Francis . . . . . . . . Kid Who Pulled the Fire Alarm

Another Day

Another Dick

Friendship Magic

Sarah Hall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dating Your Dad

11. Bright Lights Big

Marjorie Gaber . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Chosen One

12. Horse Meat

Brianna Kucharski . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Presidential Pubes

13. Orgy-porgy

Ella Horwedel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mystery Misty Man

14. Butterfly Rager

Ben Leigh . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Light Side of the Moon-

15. Dinklebop

Volume CIX, Number 4 Spring 2018

S TA F F

Jeremy Kruman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tickle Me Elmo Nathan Slaven . . . . . . . . . . . . . 255 255 255 and nerdy Sophie Mirza . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28th Amendment Sarah Neff . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Reggie’s Campaign Manager Max Lee . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Why do you put gum in your hair? Duncan Reitz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Blumpkin Spice Jamie McClellan . . . . . . . . Why do you put gum in his hair? Natasha Pietruschka . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Teeny Alex Boscolo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Super Teeny Connor Davis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Abandoned Wheelchair 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

10. Veni Vidi Vici

16. Snail Toes Crawl 17. Moldy Cactus 18. Curled Toenails 19. Mama’s Diary 20. Fremdschämen 21. Asphyxiation Kink 22. Soft Spot 23. Naughty Spot 24. Bear Poetry

Spring 2018

Art by Duncan Reitz 4

FRESHMAN YEAR

BY JAMIE MCCLELLAN AND ART BY BRIANNA KUCHARSKI

EXPECTATIONS

REALITY

Back in high school, you dreamed of being able to take classes that actually interested you. You figured you would make it to class more often than not. You hoped you’d keep on top of your readings, actually take notes during lecture, and have lively, well-informed discourse in your discussion sections. You thought you’d need multiple highlighters and different colored pens to organize your notes.

Now that you’ve arrived at college, you realize that your entry-level courses are just more bullshit you don’t want to do. You haven’t been to a lecture in a month because hey, they’re all recorded; you can watch them before the exam and then not have to take notes. You only vaguely remember the last reading you did a month ago, and you haven’t said a word in discussion because there’s that one kid that essentially talks with the GSI the whole time. The only thing you have left to write with is a pen you “borrowed” from the guy sitting next to you in your last lecture, and you’re currently avoiding the hellish journey to your 9 A.M. even though it’s already 9:11, but you keep telling yourself you’re not that late because of Michigan time.

You’ve always been told how you’d make lifelong friends in college. After orientation, you had a whole group chat of new potential friends. You knew for sure that once kids got to college, they’d mature and wouldn’t act like they did in high school. You fantasized about all of the clubs you would join and all of the parties you’d go to.

You’ve been here for a few months now and, besides a few kids in your hall who you only know because they say hi every time you pass, your social life isn’t really panning out. Your orientation group chat has been dead since welcome week, when you sent the message, “where’s the party at!?” The kids here are just like the ones in high school, only now they have the added confidence of the greek life social ladder behind them. The last party you went to was just a sweaty mess of bodies packed into a house with a keg of whatever cheap light beer the host barely bothered to buy. You decide it’s probably for the better because you’re behind on homework and your social anxiety wasn’t going to let you go outside anyway

You spent hours in Bed, Bath, and Beyond picking out new dishes and decorations. You ignored the fact that your roommate hadn’t responded to your email introducing yourself. In fact, you were excited to not have to answer to anyone about what you eat, what you wear, and what your room looks like.

You can no longer see the floor through all the dirty clothes, there’s dirty dishes everywhere, you’re running out of clothes, your sheets are dirty, and you’re out of blue bucks and quarters. You shower less and less because the bathroom is allll the way down the hall, or if you share a bathroom, it’s become a literal biohazard at this point. Your roommate speaks very little English but the one thing they haven’t failed to convey is they REALLY don’t like you.

Spring 2018

Art House Type

40 HP

Dingle Dongle

Length Soft: No. 9 Length Hard: No. 9

Weird arthouse porn star. His pornos aren’t really pornos as much as they’re just arthouse films.

Beneduke Cumbersnatch

Length Soft: Taped Length Hard: Still Taped

Porn star who goes to every shoot in drag. Tries to tuck and tape before every shoot.

Pose Meaningfully

Pretending to be a Woman

Incorporating “Revolution 9” into Cumshots

Attempting to “Flick the Bean” During Takes

75 HP

Civil Type

Stonewall Jackson

Length Soft: 4” Length Hard: 6.5” No boys, this isn’t the confederate general. Stonewall Jackson is a whole ‘nother kind of general. Unlike the real general, I bet that you’d love to feel his rifle.

45 HP

Drag Type

Food-Fucking Type

60 HP

Pita Predator

Length Soft: Baguette Length Hard: Bun

Porn star with a penchant for fucking food instead of men.

Thoroughly Entrenched

“Right in My Salad?”

Pardon

Food Gang Bang

Unsatisfying Type

10 HP

Manley Pointer

Length Soft: 1” Length Hard: 3”

Small-dicked porn star who only does fetish porn. Convinced that his member is huge.

Grower, Not Shower Type

99 HP

Ronald Jeremiah

Length Soft: 4” Length Hard: 12” This guy doesn’t look like a porn star. He’s short, he’s bald and he’s generally just hard to look at, but that’s only on the outside. Once you get his pants off, you know why he’s in the industry.

“You Like My Enormous Cock?”

“Click Here If You Want a Huge Cock!”

“Safety Pin” Dance

Reliving The Glory Days

Unwanted Type

25 HP

Fleshly Schlesshly

Length Soft: n/a Length Hard: n/a

He’ll fuck your ass and your tongue.

Standard Type

50 HP

Eric Johnson

Length Soft: 3.5” Length Hard: 6”

Standard porn star. Can only do missionary. Average dick.

Tongue Tornado

Missionary

Eating Tons and Tons of Ass

“Was it as good for you as it was for me?”

Spring 2018

An Honest UH

ello there, and welcome to University of Michigan! This is the diag. As you power walk from class to class, people here will pester you about religion, human rights, or the worst of all: fun facts. Follow me to our undergrad library, called the UgLi. It’s open 24 hours a day, leaving exactly 0 hours a day without filthy students for someone to properly clean the place. Plenty of power outlets are available for you to use in the last 2 days before your exams to be on Facebook, drink your Red Bull, and Snapchat about it. Our next stop today is University Health Service. After kissing 50 people in your first two nights or eating at the dining halls, your odds of contracting mono or Norovirus are

at an all time high. A shameful walk into the health center followed by a 30 minute wait, and you will realize just how much you screwed up. Continuing our tour, we get to the Central Campus Recreation Building. On January 4th, after winter break is over and everyone wants to fulfill their new year’s resolutions, this is the perfect place to come to. Stand next to the treadmill, take a photo, and post it to Instagram. I believe the gym is open on other days of the year as well, but I’m not sure. Follow me now to the Washtenaw frat district. Here is where you can drink the night away, completely forgetting about that looming exam on Monday. Hopefully this won’t cause another UHS visit. After this students break off into

Tour

Written by Þ-e

2 groups: the “dude an Uber is only 10 bucks” and the “dude an Uber is 10 dollars no way.” We will follow the route of the second group to our last and final destination: CC Little. During the day, there is no problem waiting for a bus, but at night is when it gets really fun. See, nighttime is inherently a scarier and colder time, so the only logical thing is for busses to run less frequently. Yes, at night you might have to wait 20 minutes for the bus to arrive. Once again, thank you for joining me on our campus tour of the University of Michigan. We can’t wait for you to come here once you find out that the Ivy Leagues rejected you.

Brought to you by the fucking weather

GREAT SPOTS TO STUDY ON CAMPUS!

(1) Hatcher Graduate Library (2) North Quadrangle

1 8

A M : U S T I CAL A R F presented on Natty Ice

Overture (To the tune of “Seasons of Love” from Rent) 4 million six hundred sixty five thousand six hundred seconds So many parties and beers and girls lost 4 million six hundred sixty five thousand six hundred seconds That’s how long we were shut down From Zeta to Theta to Sigma to Beta Pi From parties to formals to champagne shackles From hookups to scoring Chad hasn’t lost his virginity 4 million six hundred sixty five thousand six hundred seconds How do you measure all the things lost Male bonding and hazing and all those fun things What about beer? What about natty light? What about paddles? Measure with those

One Day More (To the tune of “One Day More” from Les Miserables”) One day more Another day ‘til our first term party This never-ending road to legitimacy These men who seem to blame us for Some ambulances and roofies One day more I didn’t live last semester How could I live without my brothers? Tomorrow that will all be changed We’ll be able to haze our pledges One more day until the storm Will we ever be sober again? One more day until the party

Spring 2018

I was born to tend the bar One more day ‘til I lose it That’s just what you think, dumb Chad But we’ll stick it to Schlissel The time is now! The place is here! One day more! One more day to revolution We will stick it in her ass We will reject all those guys who come to our door without girls Master of the house! You pledges must bow down It’s my time to shine and punish you for none I’m a big fucking senior I had to go through your pain Now it’s finally time to strut and haze you just like I was hazed

I Believe (To the tune of “I Believe” from The Book of Mormon) Ever since I was a child, I tried to be a bro… But what happened? My father was in Theta Pi So what happened? It was supposed to be all so exciting, to be drinking with all my bros To be hooking up with slutty girls — oh, I got so very close I’ve always longed to be a brother, even despite all the hazing This was the time for me to step up, but then Schlissel banned us A president who bans all the frats What’s so scary about that? He’s just a tiny balding Jewish man And we’re some big, swoll frat brothers Now I must be a complete pledge; I can’t have even one shred of doubt! I believe! That the actions of the frats were noble I believe! That the ambulances and rapes and stuff

were all rubble I believe! That my brothers and I are hot shit here, bro! I am a frat bro! And a frat bro must believe A frat bro cannot believe partly - he must believe in it all My problem was doubting Logan’s will instead of standing tall He told all us pledges to have some faith, but not before bending down And receiving his paddle on our asses and let our pants down! I believe!

Frat Houses Are Alive (To the tune of “ The Hills Are Alive” from The Sound of Music) Frat houses are alive With the sounds of puking With blood alcohol levels soaring to new heights Trying to fill pledges with everclear Harassing women who don’t want to hook up With homoerotic behavior That we call male bonding We wrestle and paddle and sometimes even kiss But that’s just how we get closer, bro Frat houses are alive To the tune of “Humble” It just shows you that They don’t even know rap The only thing we know is icing and chugging We’re failing out of school But it’s ok because our families have a few Big trust funds that will keep us going

Spring 2018

ALLEN BRIMBLES GIVES ABRAHAM LINCOLN A DIAGNOSTICS TEST

{+followed by exclusive access fanfiction written by a 12-year old girl on the internet}

llen lead the tour group to a stool in the center of the showroom. “Alright, everyone. Form a circle around me. Or an ellipse or a square or whatever; I don’t give a fuck.” Allen was fond of showing off his ability to walk backwards, so only now did he notice that Abraham Lincoln was completely naked. “God dammit. Who’s in charge here?” A tech rushed forward. “Why the fuck isn’t he wearing any clothes?” Allen asked. “We… uh… thought it would dehumanize him…?” Allen sighed. “But he is fucking human. This isn’t Westworld, dipshit. If it was, we’d all be dead in a few weeks. Jesus. Just get him something to wear.” The tech nodded and rushed off. Allen turned back to the group and smiled. “Sorry about that. The DoL has a real stick up their ass when it comes to psychologically augmenting employees. In a few years this whole place will be AI-operated. Anyways, back to the main attraction. “Exit stasis mode,” Allen said, and Lincoln snapped to life. “Good morning, Mr. Brimbles.”

“It’s actually 3 pm. But thanks. Abe, these folks are from HappyHappyGoodTime Entertainment™. I’m giving them a tour of our historical roleplay selection.” Lincoln frowned. “Roleplay? You don’t mean what I th–err… Of course!” He got up and went over to shake a visitor’s hand. “Greetings, Mr. …Yu. Can I interest you in some True Facts™?” Mr. Yu shrugged. “Okey-dokey. True Fact™ #1: Until the Second Civil War, I was the only president to be in office at the same time as another president.” Lincoln waited for a reaction and received none. “True Fact™ #2: I’m tied with LBJ for second-tallest president, after Kanye West. Don’t google that.” “Does he have any actual features?” Mr. Yu asked. Allen frowned. “Sorry, I don’t follow.” “Our company is looking for something a little more… entertaining.” Allen nodded. “We can work with that. Hang on, I’ll get karaoke mode set up.” Mr. Yu shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. I think we’ve seen enough.” Allen rushed to cut the group off from the door. “Gentlemen, please. Our units are actually

The following was written by a 12-year-old girl on the internet and not me ( Nathan Slaven) because even an amoral Asshole™ such as I have standards.

incoln laid a hand on his shoulder. “Do you want to be my John Wilkes Booth? Cause I could really use a load to my back.” No response. “I may have freed the slaves, but you can still be my master.” Nothing. “The Chinese Exclusion Act wasn’t passed until 1882, so even if you’re only into historically accurate role pla—...” “I’m Korean, you racist prick.” “Oh. Does casual racism turn you on?” “No.” “Cool. I can work with that.” “It doesn’t.” Allen seemed unsure what to do. He muttered “fuck it” and disabled all of Lincoln’s presets with a short, low-pitched sequence of buzzes. Lincoln thought for a moment. “They say you’re stealing our jobs, but I’ve still got one job for you, if you know what I mean.” “I don’t.” “A blowjob. I meant a blowjob. I thought that was obvious. Noted.” Mr. Yu seemed to attempt to think of a

comeback, then gave up. “Oh no, Yu getting mad?” Lincoln asked. “I’m actually a pretty successful rapper, you know. Check out my Soundcloud.” One of Mr. Yu’s co-workers whispered something to Mr. Yu, who waved Allen over. “I think we actually do have a position for this product in our lineup. We’ll take twelve.” Lincoln woke up strapped to a chair with a bag over his head. It was ripped off. (The bag. Not his head.) Mr. Chen appeared over Lincoln’s shoulder and grabbed him by the cheek. There was an angry white man with a hammer standing across from them. “Please. What is this? Why are you doing this?” Lincoln said. “You know what you did,” the angry white man with a hammer said. “Actually, he doesn’t,” Mr. Chen said. “We can reprogram him if you’d prefer.” The angry white man with a hammer shrugged. Wound up and swung. Splat.

incredibly easy to reprogram. Just give me a minute, and I’ll make sure everything’s to your liking.” Allen sprinted back to Lincoln and whispered “Get sexy or get incinerated.” Lincoln stiffened. He put on his best Kit Harington impression and was interrupted when the tech sprinted back in with a suit and stovepipe hat. The tech froze. Allen pushed him back outside the showroom and slammed the door. Mr. Yu was losing his patience.

DANTEâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S FOUR CIRCLES OF A FRAT HOUSE _________________________________________

Spring 2018

My Meeting with Mark Schlissel

written by Connor Davis

ou may know him as a president, an educator, a friend, a father, or yourself, depending upon who is reading this article. You may know him as an enemy, a target, or a bastard member of the fearsome “Them” which opposes the righteous “Us.” But who is the man behind the suit? Is there a man inside that gigantic persona which follows him? Could any mere man bring snow days or Harbaugh to campus? Could any mortal controversially handle the burdens he bears, or (mis?)handle a torrid affair with Dick Spencer? After having been invited to attend a “Fireside Chat” with Mark “Please don’t call me Schnitzel” Schnitzel, these were the questions I wrestled with leading up to my encounter with the Big Schlis on campus, in addition to “Can you give a fireside chat without a fire? Without having polio? Does Schlissel secretly have polio? Why would Schlissel be afraid of going public with his condition? Are the regents who really run this operation opposed to Schlissel’s sign of weakness? Why would they have elected a man they find disgusting? Is 2018 really accepting enough of handicaps if our very own President feels the need to hide behind pretend barriers of health?” Some questions might just not have an answer to them, but for the sake of investigative journalism, let us proceed.

my hand and asked him if I could give him my business card, which he obliged. I stood up and went to shake his hand, but hesitated since I wasn’t sure how contagious Polio is. As a journalist for the Gargoyle, I had no choice but to push past my fears and risk a life in a wheelchair. Worst case, I could always lead my own Fireside Chats. After I had risked life and limb touching the hand of a leper, I reached into my breast pocket and pulled out my wallet. I felt so embarrassed as when I opened my wallet, six condoms spilled out onto the floor between us. “Oops,” I said, having just made a classic first date faux-pas “those are for later.” Would he buy my explanation? The unflinching eye contact we held told me no. “Just kidding, Daddy don’t use rubbers.” Stone Cold Schlissel did not react. Did he hear me? He did not even mention how dangerous it is never to use contraceptives. Surely, as an advocate for safe sex, I would have to ask him about this later. But first, I picked up the condoms, fished out my business card crudely cut out from loose-leaf paper and handed it to him. It read:

“Who is the man behind the suit? Is there a man inside that gigantic persona which follows him? Could any mere man bring snow days or Harbaugh to campus?”

If anything, he looked puzzled at what was happening to him. But he kept the dignified grace of a head of state who has to humor our 45th president at a G-20 conference. Trying to mask how mortified I was, I headed back my seat. Was he at least impressed I have a magnum dong? Would he ever call? [editor’s note: as of Feb 17, Schlissel has not called. If you are reading this Marky, it’s been more than 3 days, you don’t have to play it so cool.]

Connor Davis Student, lover, cuddle buddy ;) [phone number redacted]

This was the second email I received inviting me to participate in the Fireside Chat. The first one I had ignored, fearing an insincere administration which didn’t actually want to hear my voice. But after receiving invitation number two, I was convinced. Nobody hits up an uggo twice in a row. So, eagerly, I responded “yes” and got to work. The invitation said that our President understands we are busy with class, and with the meeting being at 4pm, we should feel encouraged to wear whatever casual number we were wearing. This is classic counterintelligence, a mark of a clever man. Why would he encourage me not to dress up? Is this a sign that I should in fact dress up? Clearly I had to be bold. After all, if I wanted to get to the bottom of who Schlissel noumenally is, I couldn’t be wearing my quotidien panties. We’d have to break out the good stuff. So, I took Schlissel’s hint and left class early to get changed into my Sunday’s best. Unfortunately, I had forgotten to rent a tux, and on such short notice none were available. All I had left was a suit reeking of alcohol from a bender the weekend before. It might not be James Bond, but it would do. So I tied my favorite electric blue tie around my head and headed for the Pond room in the Union. We would have our encounter.

Schlissel then fielded a question about how to listen to underprivileged urbanos or something. To be honest, I wasn’t really paying attention. But how Schlissel spoke was beautiful. It sounded as if Jupiter himself were bullshitting, and boy is Jupiter a gas giant. At one point I did hear Schlissel mention that he was “surprised” that the student body thought he had a lot of power in being able to affect change. Instead, he said he was “mostly a figurehead.” What a respectable move by a politician to recognize the limits upon his authority. Immediately, my hand jutted up to praise him for this. Senpai recognized me to speak, and I told him I respected his self-limiting. I asked him as a figurehead if he agreed he has the ability to promote messages, and he nodded. I asked him to take a stance on the abortion debate, to which he refused. Understandable, as it was an unfair question: having polio is one strike already, to admit to being pro-death in the abortion debate would be career abortion. So, I asked him if he cared about sexual education. He said he did, so I told him of the survey conducted last night between me and my roommate, which concluded that all participants “get laid pretty regularly and know how to use a condom.” But since the study had a limited sample size, we didn’t expect the results to generalize. So I whipped out a banana and a condom, and asked him if he would demonstrate how to put on a condom. He said he would not do any demonstrations.

As I arrived, I looked around the room to see my classmates woefully underdressed. Not one person wore a gown, though Schlissel himself was rocking what must have been a Vera Wang suit. What can I say, the man has class. As the meeting started, he mentioned that he had a bad memory for names, so we should feel comfortable saying whatever we wanted to. This wouldn’t do, as I needed to make a mark. I raised

Wouldn’t? Or couldn’t? Does Schlissel know how to put on a condom? How does he have only one daughter if he doesn’t? Is he impotent and they had to adopt? I ask you to please respectfully refrain from speculation—just because he is a public figurehead doesn’t give us the right to pry into his dead bedroom. He did say that sexual education was an issue for “middle and elementary schools.” What? According to Wikipedia,

elementary schools are for kids “age 4-11.” Has our President gone on record of having supported teaching 6-year-olds about the birds, bees, and rusty trombones? I’m sex-positive, but even that seems too early. Why would we deprive kids of their sexual innocence that early? Slowly, I found out about who the man Schlissel really is, and I can’t say that I liked what I saw. But to be sure, my father always taught me to be slow to anger. To be clear, we ought to email him, the regents, and the university for an official position before advocating that Schlissel supports the hyper-sexualization of kids aged 4-11.

“I felt so embarrassed as when I opened my wallet, six condoms spilled out onto the floor between us.” Whatever his position is on children having sex is, I still had a job of sexual education to do. If Schlissel wouldn’t do it, I would have to. So, while Schlissel responded to a question about the advantages finance kids have in Ross, I pulled out a condom and tried to unroll it over the banana. Alas, either the condom was expired, or I put it on wrong, since it broke almost immediately. I displayed this Trojan failure to the room by holding up my banana, as to suggest that this represents, in a university student population of 50,000, about 1,000 unwanted pregnancies. Sure, Schlissel might be okay with aborting all of those babies, but even that is inefficient, if not irresponsible. We need a better solution, but Schlissel merely continued on, unimpeded, about how he could relay the finance information onto the Regents. But I felt I needed to continue my mission in sexual education. What happens if your condom breaks? Even if you can’t have PIV sex, blowjobs are still a viable option! Thus, I peeled off what remained of the condom, and sensually peeled the banana, still aiming for eye contact with our Daddy-in-Chief—I figured as long as I was demonstrating blowjobs as a good alternative to unsafe sex, good technique requires both delicacy and eye contact. Continuing in my safety project, I flicked my tongue on the tip and began to rub the raw banana on my face. Royster E. Harper and I made eye contact while the banana was square on my cheek, and though I

felt awkward, I understood it was my duty to continue. I began to fellate the banana, going so far as to deep throat it. I was gagging while Schlissel addressed community building, either unaware or unimpressed. How many deepthroats has he watched? After a few minutes, as a lesson to the guys not to be impolite, I finished up and swallowed the banana. Schlissel continued on about how to build those communities. After about a 10 minute refractory period, I pulled out another banana and one of the six Magnum condoms I carry around in my wallet at all times. Another lesson that my Scoutmaster taught me: be prepared. I opened up this golden package with my teeth, pinched the top to allow semen to collect at the tip of the banana, and unrolled the lubricated condom down the firm banana until I reached the base. This banana was ready for penetration. I held up my banane protégée to the conference, a shining example of safe-sex-to-be for 5 minutes at least. I made sure to fluff the banana since you don’t want your condom contents to get mushy before or during penetrative sex, since it risks harming the fit of the condom. In the concluding minutes of the meeting, our figurehead asked the room if there were any remaining questions. I raised my hand and asked if Schlissel would not be willing to put a condom on a banana, if he would at least be willing to hold a cloaked one for a picture to display within the Gargoyle. “That is not a real question. Next,” he responded. Not a real question? But racially biased SAT questions are? I’m sorry if being in the pockets of Big Abortion means one has reason not to prevent unwanted pregnancy, but these are the questions our readers want and, dare I say, need to get answered. If not by him, then by whom? If I can’t think of Schlissel while touching my penis putting on a condom, who can I think of ? Unfortunately, my elementary school didn’t teach me these things. What does this say about Schlissel the man? I think it is still unclear, and these questions I have asked will continue to go unanswered. I encourage you to fill in for me under the Schlissel administration. Having challenged the interests of the powers that be, it is unlikely I will be asked to return. Does Schlissel have Polio? Why does he want elementary school kids to learn about sex? How can we explain him standing idly by in the face of unwanted pregnancies if he is not receiving campaign contributions from pro-death donors? I invite you to get to the bottom of this: mail your questions, concerns, and grievances to gargreaders@umich.edu, as this investigative reporter has been stifled.

Some parts of this garg issue were brought to you by...

Spring 2018

‘TEEN Dating

Written by Jamie McClellan

How Far Can I Go?

If you’re wondering when a good girl should refuse her man, look for these indicators to tell you just how risqué to be with your boy Class Ring: If he’s given you his class ring, congrats on going steady! Now you’re ready to commit to making eye contact with your sweetheart! Football Player: If your guy made varsity, looks like you’re ready for heavy petting! (Make sure to wear a sweater with your school’s letters to add texture and really drive him crazy!) Leather Jacket: If your boy sports a black leather jacket, you better be ready for some transatlantic love. Try french kissing to really knock the socks off your bad boy.

Dress for the Occasion

Follow these tips to make sure your outfit sends the message that you’re a virtuous young lady who knows when to say “No!” Hair: Pulled Back in a high ponytail to display confidence and chastity Top: Wear the thickest sweater you own to preserve your womanly curves from men’s prying eyes Skirt: Make sure your dress hides your ankles. Bare ankles are the first signal immoral boys look for in promiscuous women Shoes: Plain coloring, tan or black. Any other colors indicate loose morals Any heel indicates you’re down to go to town, a message any pure woman should avoid.

Illustrations by Carly Francis

P.D.A.

Public Display of Affection

Do’s & Don’ts

DO Kiss Standing Up Kissing standing up is the only way to kiss without giving your guy too many... ideas. Don’t let boys fool you; kissing vertically is the only MORAL way to lock lips with your lovebird. Remember: “stay vertical, stay virtuous, but sit down and he’ll try to go to town.”

DON’T Kiss Sitting Down Kissing sitting down is an invitation to immoral arousal. Avoid locking lips while sitting at all costs. If your man tries to lay one on you while cuddling at the drivein, tell him to lay off! You’re not that type of girl.

DO Keep Your Fingers Together Keep your fingers together to remind him that you keep your legs together! Keeping your fingers together is the only way to protect yourself from diseases like the clap, the snap, impure thoughts, and other dangerous illnesses.

DON’T Interlock Fingers There are only loose fingers on loose women. Letting his fingers violate the dignity of the sacred space between your fingers is just plain EW!

Spring 2018

A Not-At-All Comprehensive List of Alcohol and Porn Pairings (So you can get wasted off your dick while you get your dick off)

Written by Max Lee and Jamie McClellan

Wine with NPR You’re classy and a bit boring. The wine goes down as easily as the opening tune to All Things Considered. (https://tinyurl.com/y8w3f47z)

Craft Beer with Dominatrix Porn You secretly long for a woman to put you in your place, but instead continually seek out nice artsy girls to disappoint in bed.

Everclear with Child Sex Slave Porn You’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel now. You don’t care about taste or what anyone thinks of you. But watch out—the cops might not be able to police what you drink, but they sure are able to police what you watch.

Lean with Lil Pump Imitation Porn Enough said. Scotch Neat with Incest Porn Your daughter took your money for tuition and her Greenwich Village apartment, but now she only talks to you when she needs more money. Wouldn’t you like to have her back in your arms? Mimosa with Brunch Menus Voyeurism porn where the setting is all the places Derek won’t take you after an evening of disappointing missionary sex.

Communion Wine with Missionary Porn Hey Father Brown, how’d we know that we’d find you here? If you’re knocking back chalices full of Christ’s hemoglobin this Sunday, boot up the old modem in the church community center and set it to incognito mode. Really knock yourself out, Father.

Natty Light with Interracial Porn Daddy never let your first girlfriend on the yacht, but you still yearn for her dark touch, not to mention all those times those damn libtards got in your face screaming about equality. Wouldn’t you like to stick it to one of those juicy, hot, urban beauties? Jungle Juice with College Freshman Penetration Compilation Celebration This really brings you back to your college days. Ahhh, freshman year. Sarah had just gotten to campus and didn’t have her fake yet, so she pulled down her shirt to get into Skeeps.

Brandy with Stepfather Porn The cat’s really in the cradle now. Oh little boy blue, you started drinking brandy because you thought that it would impress your dad, but he still doesn’t love you. Pop open a bottle and turn on “Cat’s In The Cradle.”

STEPPING ON THE M IN 2018 BY NOAH LUNTZLARA AND MICHAEL ROSENBERG

veryone knows the superstition that you fail your first blue book exam if you step on the M. But this superstition is getting less and less relevant as blue books fade out of common use. So here are some alternative superstitions we’d like to see become a thing: If you step on the M: Every toilet seat in your hall’s bathroom will be perpetually covered in piss • You’ll believe someone when they tell you Dinosaurs is a blow-off class • • • •

•

You’ll become Scooter Kid Your roommate will kill him/herself and you won’t get free tuition You’ll spend 4 years at the university without ever gaining any clear idea of what you want to do with your life, and once you’ve made a decision, you’ll find that the requisite skill set is entirely disjoint from the skills obtained through your major. Furthermore, you will fail to grow as a person because you will have sunk all your time into work that you will find to be nearly worthless in retrospect You’ll get hit by a blue bus

Some cultures like specificity with the preconditions they put on their superstitions, e.g., if you wear an article of clothing that contains both wool and linen, you’re going to hell. Here are some extra-specific superstitions to consider: If you step on the M... ...when it’s raining, your shoelaces will be wet for the rest of the year • ...during a home game against State, you’ll be shoved into a couch and burned by sundown • ...in below-freezing temperatures, your foot will stick to the metal and you’ll owe an eternal debt to • • • •

whatever weirdo group pries you off ...when it’s snowing, you’re actually probably fine; you can’t really see the M under the snow ...on Christmas, Santa won’t come starting your freshman year ...at freshman orientation, you’ll drown in the reflecting pool

What if you regret your choices and can’t bear living with the consequences? Well in that case, If you’re cursed from stepping on the M, you may lift it by... ...sparking a doob in the stairwell of a substance-free dorm • ...abstaining from alcohol for one Thursday • ...getting hit by a blue bus • ...playing the MSU fight song on the bell tower • ...passing your first blue book exam • We’re not sure which of these myths will catch on, so it’s up to our readers to decide. For votes, questions, or comments, please spam us at gargreaders@umich.edu with the subject line “SEE ATTACHED FOR MY OPINION”.

Spring 2018

AND SO, TO RISE HIGHER WE CAST OFF DEAD WEIGHT Hannah Lahti

(senior "farewells")

During my time on the Gargoyle’s mailing list, I never contributed anything. I went to a mass meeting during my first semester at U of M, and it seemed like a lot of work so I never went back. One time, I spent almost two whole minutes putting my name in as “deez nuts” on a Doodle poll to let them know that I was available for magazine distribution on the Diag from 4-4:10 AM. That was the most effort I’ve ever put into this magazine aside from reading it and writing this thing. I feel happy knowing I’ve made such a negligible impact on the Gargoyle’s success. My fondest memory of being on the mailing list is checking my email in a professional setting, accidentally opening an email that contained a picture of Jesus giving Satan a blow job, and changing the tab so fast that nobody noticed. Probably. I have thoroughly enjoyed my time contributing nothing to this magazine, and I will cherish these memories for many years to come. (In all seriousness, the Gargoyle is awesome, and if you’re on the fence, I would highly suggest doing something. I have no idea what you would do because I didn’t do anything, but there’s probably lots of stuff and it’s probably fun.)

Ben Leigh

Sarah Neff

Sarah Neff doesn't trust you or the horse you rode in on. She has the worst attendance record known to man, and her very existence has only been confirmed in rumor. She spends all of her time drawing bad fan art or playing Dungeons & Dragons, and so she will probably go down in history as the shittiest cryptid ever. She's decidedly not funny, but has enjoyed being allowed to contribute to the Gargoyle for the past two years anyway. 22

Full disclosure: my time at the Gargoyle was not very consistent. That being said, and despite my actions, I really fucking love the Garg. I remember joining my freshman year. The first meetings were intimidating and, for a while, I didn’t say anything. Nico was the editor, and he had an idea for an illustration of a gargoylemoses leading a bunch of cats through a desert. I said I could draw, and I was shocked when he let me do the cover. This was the beginning of my inability to submit anything on time. Seriously, I don’t think I was able to deliver a single piece on time. Sorry about that. To this day I can’t stand any of the covers I made for the magazine. Yet, what they represent for me transcends their poor aesthetic qualities. The Gargoyle is a place of opportunity where one can manifest their most depraved ideas. Although I feel regret about being such an inconsistent member, I doubt I would change a thing. It’s a fucking weird place, and I’m happy to have contributed. Thank you, Gargoyle.

Dear all: Most of you at the Gargoyle don’t know who I am. You don’t even know that by strategically sleeping with your Editor-in-Chief in 2016, I have infiltrated the Garg headquarters and gained access to the Twitter account. Since then, I’ve been making your followers uncomfortable at every opportunity, and no one has noticed or cared. Here are some examples of my work:

I hope you all have enjoyed my long-standing, silent devotion to this organization. It has been a pleasure using this magazine as an outlet for my useless, too-weird-for-the-realliterary-world creativity. And if you ever forget your password, I’m just an email away.

Claire Denson

Back in high school, I attended a forensics tournament in Ann Arbor. It was on that fateful day that a few of my friends and I discovered a stack of Gargoyle magazines in Angell Hall. Immediately after opening that issue of the Gargoyle for the first time, I had two simultaneous and equally important realizations: 1. 2.

Carly Francis

Well, here’s goodbye. In my senior year, I managed to join the Gargoyle as an art contributor, draw mediocrely, and (oddly) become an Art Director. It has been an honor reviewing fucked up illustrations, creating sexual drawings, and trashing Trump all at the same time. Even though one year is a short time, I really have grown to love this magazine that a mere 0.1% of this university reads. Glad to entertain that 0.1% of you, though. Well, it’s time to go, and nothing says “I’m leaving and becoming an adult" like drawing an orgy on the diag for the last issue.

Spring 2018

This is fucked up. I want in on this.

Upon coming to U of M, I signed up as soon as I got the chance, and the rest is history. In my time at the Gargoyle, I wrote a few articles here and there, but I think that where I really excelled was in showing up sometimes and telling everyone about how I am diabetic1. I always looked forward to weeks where my schedule wasn’t too crazy, because coming to Gargoyle meetings was just so much fun2. It was great to just be able to take an hour out of my day to sit down, hear some hilarious ideas3, say some stupid shit in response, and then remind every person within earshot of how diabetic I am4,5.

Jeremy Kruman

To everyone at the Gargoyle, thank you. This has been a blast, and I’m going to miss being a part of it. I will hold on to my fond memories of my time with the Gargoyle for as long as I remain diabetic6. Insulinlessly, Jeremy Kruman 1. Which I am, by the way. Type 1. 2. Probably on par with talking about my diabetes. 3. Fat JFK 4. Completely. I am completely diabetic. My pancreas does not produce any insulin whatsoever. 5. I also enjoy telling people about my diabetes while standing up, and sometimes for more than an hour. But never less. 6. There is no known cure for type 1 diabetes, and I will therefore cherish these memories forever.

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GOD SAVE THE SCHLISSEL