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VANITAS
O
kay, reader. I know what you’re thinking. An issue about the human body? What is this, “ESPN The Mag: The Body Issue, 2016”? I’m afraid it isn’t, though that is a perfectly normal thing to think. Sure, many of you know this issue is about the body, but fewer people know that this issue is actually also about everything. I know that’s probably overwhelming, and although there are really only about 200-300 words of actual Traditional American Comedy in this issue, I like to think those 200-300 words pretty much sum up Human Experience and the rest of the issue functions as amazing Alternative German Comedy that has been translated into English.
So. Let’s rewind. When the Lampoon approached me about editing an issue, I was extremely taken aback. Me? Lampoon? Give me a break. Get out of here. Go on now, go. Begone. But they were persistent. They needed me to edit this issue, and they needed to give me over $50,000 to do so. Having just had my third son in as many years, I had to take the money. Why am I so sought after as an issue editor? Beats me. I did do that issue of Scientific American about atoms. You know the one. That was a huge issue. At the time, SA needed someone who could sift through tons of scientific papers, because atoms are basically the building blocks of all science. Anyway, the issue was a bestseller and their funniest issue yet. I think I only missed out on Time Person of the Year because 1) it’s weird for Time Magazine to give the Person of the Year prize to someone who made a magazine that is way
better than Time Magazine (media bias) and 2) Ebola happened that year and it would have been weird not to give it to the people who basically stopped Ebola. I came in second that year but I like to think that if the Ebola fighters actually didn’t capably fight Ebola, I would have won and also would have easily survived Ebola.
Anyway, I’m getting off premise. The premise of this Vanitas is that “this issue is about the body” and it’s motivated by the fact that I’m making fifty grand to write it. Otherwise I’d be hanging with my friends and not sitting under some sort of busy overpass writing this. I hate that this overpass is the only place in the world where I can write without having a breakdown. So now, keep in mind, the body, which is what this issue is about, basically does everything. All events are populated by bodies, and bodies are full of atoms but you can read more about that in my WIRED Vanitas (I also edited WIRED’s issue about atoms). Experience? The self? It’s all related to the body. Right? Right? I’m actually getting word it isn’t. In which case, I’ve messed up big. I will need you to rip out the final third of this issue actually. But before you read this issue, I should probably tell you how to read it. So, in short, this issue syncs up pretty well with any Boards of Canada album, so you should have that on while reading. Another question I’m anticipating is “did you write all of these pieces in this issue and just put arbitrary letters under them as pseudonyms?” No, of course not. Another question is “are you lying to me, and are you, Mark Steinbach, the whole Lampoon, and you
THE HARVARD LAMPOON
just make a whole masthead and announce new members and do all those in-jokey pieces to throw us off the scent that this is actually a crazed oneman operation?” That actually is true. The work I do is amazing—but sometimes painful, too. Anyway, wow guys, we had a blast making this issue! Everyone was contributing ideas 24/7 and oftentimes I’d be like “okay folks, let’s take our feet off the gas for a day, shall we?” Constantly going over bits, taking stock of bits, delineating between bits and gags, and figuring out the best ways to get those riffs and gags onto the page. It’s an art, not a science—but I’ll leave that part to the art board! As I said earlier, please call or text me at (781) 454-8666 if you have any problems with this issue. I worked on it from dawn to dusk and think it is great.
MVS
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January 2017
VOL. CXXXXI No. 1
BOARD OF EDITORS Mark V. Steinbach ’17, President Rachel J. Stromberg ’17, Ibis Thomas B. Waddick ’17-’18, Narthex Camille K. Jacobson ’18, Treasurer
L. C. Scherlis ’18 H. L. Daniels ’18 D. R. McDonough ’18 B. J. Strathmore ’18 M. A. Skerrett ’18 L. D. Lavrova ’19 T. Ninh ’19
S. A. Eggers ’17 Y. Zhang ’17 R. M. Zurawicki ’16-’17 H. S. Betts ’16-’17 C. H. Stone ’17 A. S. Bowman ’17-’18 K. A. McCawley ’17 J. T. Bramante ’18
Alex R. Cohen ’18, Blot Alice Ju ’18, Sanctum Ava E. Violich ’18, Sanctum Scott W. Roberts ’19, Hautbois Liana A. Spiro ’19, Hautbois Andrew N. Adler ’17, Sackbut Brooke A. Bourgoeis ’17, Sackbut Gabriel J. Appel ’17, Librarian Chase C. S. Wonders ’18, Nave BUSINESS BOARD David P. Frankle ’18, Business Manager Nestor Maslej ’17, Advertising Manager Lyle B. Dershowitz ’17, Circulation Manager C. Thariani ’17 B. Y. Lema ’17 O. Mawloud ’17 Elmer W. Green, 1897-1977, Grand Curator ISSUE EDITOR Mark V. Steinbach
ART EDITOR Alex R. Cohen
The Harvard Lampoon is published five times during the academic year by The Harvard Lampoon, Inc. Principal office 44 Bow Street, Cambridge, MA 02138. Third-class postage paid at Cambridge, MA. U.S. subscription: $20 for five issues. Overseas subscriptions: call for rates. Postmaster: send address changes to Harvard Lampoon, 44 Bow Street, Cambridge, MA 02138. © 2014 Harvard Lampoon, Inc. All rights reserved. Reproduction in any form without written permission is prohibited, although we have no clue why anyone would even want to attempt it. Office Phone: (617) 495-7801. Cell: (562) 980-2026. URL: www.harvardlampoon.com. The Harvard Lampoon cannot consider unsolicited manuscripts, unless you were contacted last September about the Deadline, in which case, we are expecting you. The Lampoon is a registered trademark of The Harvard Lampoon, Inc.
I
BIRTH
SUITE I: BIRTH
BIRTH
OBGYN: Push, Mrs. Ferguson, push! Ray: Honey, you think you can go a little faster? Beth: I’m going as fast as I can. Ray: Not fast enough if you wanna see the new James Bond movie in 20 minutes. Beth: Let’s see it when I’m not in labor. Ray: I already bought tickets. I guess I can go alone. Beth: But you’ll miss your son’s birth. And I’ll miss the movie. Ray: If you hold him in ‘til I get back, I promise I’ll see it again with you. Beth: In your oath you said we’d raise a family and see new spy movies together. Ray: I never anticipated a situation like this. Beth: Well now you have to choose: James Bond or your wife. Ray: James Bond. He’s never sweaty and gross like you. Beth: That’s because he’s never given birth. Ray: If he did, he’d do it in a tux. Baby: (is born, cries) Ray: Oh my god, he’s beautiful. Beth: What’re we going to name him? Ray: Bond. James Bond 29: Last Chance to Die. Ferguson. Beth: It’s perfect. HBF
MY BIRTH
Here are some things that might happen when I am born.
— The doctor accidentally gives my parents the placenta and throws me away. My parents raise the placenta for 4-5 years before they realize their mistake. However upon meeting me they immediately give me up for adoption due to my cystic fibrosis. — The doctor thinks I am conjoined twins but really my penis is just an exact body double of me. The doctor separates us, leaving me incapable of ever having sex. However my penis-double-of-me has his own penis, and he regularly picks up girls to have sex with them (which I cannot do). He is six inches tall. Despite all this, we grow up together and are very close friends, until years later he commits an unforgivable but unrelated betrayal. — After I am born, they put me in the hospital nursery. The nursery is too crowded and I end up rolling over and kissing a baby of the same gender, which is gay. — The soft spot on the top of my head never closes but instead grows even more pronounced. The schoolyard kids compete to throw candies into it and when it rains I have to repeatedly thrust my head downwards to empty it out. If I forget to do this the birds will bathe in it. I am allergic to birds, as they cause me to grow a scalp rash that is even more enticing to birds. — I come out shriveled and raisin-sized. Little do my parents know, all they need to do is put me in water for an hour and I will grow back to normal. They eventually figure this out but I am 17 years old and have already missed out on critical social skills. — As I am born, my dog tries to run away but he has no legs and he’s just sitting in my yard. AJ SWR
THE HARVARD LAMPOON
SUITE I: BIRTH
UMBILICAL CORD My umbilical cord can be a bit of a nuisance when I’m playing catch and I accidentally grab it and throw myself 30 yards and try to stand up only to step on the cord and tumble into a nearby manhole where I am trapped for a day, but I usually keep it taped to my chest so it’s not too bad. The other kids in my grade call me “Navel String Nathaniel,” which is weird because my name is Charlie. Sometimes Mr. Henry calls me Cordy in math class. Mr. Henry is the janitor, but he has a key to all the classrooms. At lunch there is a table just for kids who still have their umbilical cords. That means I have to sit with Sarah, and she’s like a 4. Plus, she’s already dating Brian. He thinks he’s a hot shot just because his cord is longer than mine.
of blowing around in the wind, I decided to turn my umbilical cord into something positive. Now, the cord has started to improve my love life. The other day, I saw Jessica (the hottest non-corder in 10th grade) just as she slipped on a patch of ice. I threw her my birth cord, and she caught it before hitting the ground. She held on a little too long for it to be platonic. It helped me again at Jonathan’s party last weekend when I accidentally dropped a pencil down my cord. Everyone started chanting “U cord, U cord, U cord.” So I grabbed everything I could find and shoved it down my umbilical cord: paperclips, staplers, printer paper. Now that I think about it, it was mostly office supplies. Mr. Henry popped into math class today to call me Cordy, but instead of crying for two hours I stuck a notebook down my cord to impress him. He realized that it was actually pretty rude to come into class and make fun of me every day for three years. It turns out he was just jealous.
I never get to hang out with the older kids either. They always tie my navel string to my shoelaces and my shoelaces to the flagpole. I recently hit rock bottom at the top of that pole. After a long night
HJH
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SUITE I: BIRTH
ARTIFICIAL INSEMINATION Sharon: Honey, it’s time we told you. We are both your Moms. Margret: You’re half of Sharon’s egg and half of mine. Sharon: (tears up) You’re fully ours. Jimmy: How is that possible? Aunt Selda: Jimmy, you’re old enough to know the truth. Jimmy: Is it about my father? Who is h— Aunt Selda: I am also your Mother. Margret: Sharon used Aunt Selda’s mitochondria in her egg. Sharon: You’re the three of our little baby.
Uncle Felix: Hey buddy. Jimmy: Uncle Fel—Dad? Uncle Felix: No. Aunt Felix. And Mom. Jimmy: Wha— Uncle Felix: Remember Aunt Selda’s mitochondria? Half of it was mine. Sharon: The baby of the family. The family’s baby. Jimmy: Is this why my eyes are 30 colors? Margaret: No you got that from your Dad’s side. Cousin George: Jimmy we need to talk. Jimmy: You’re my Mom too? Your ribosome melted into my egg or some-
thing? Cousin George: What are you talking about? Jimmy: Oh, never mind. Everyone was just saying— Cousin George: My lysosome melted into your egg. Sharon: He’s lying, sweetie. He’s just trying to fit in. Margret: We’d never let George’s DNA anywhere near you.
— Excuse me? — Oh my god, I really messed up. Does this make me racist? — Yes it makes you super racist! — Jesus, I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what to do with this baby now. — …Does it still bounce? — It is the bounciest baby we have ever made. — Why don’t I go ahead and take that baby then.
— Really? — But that doesn’t mean I don’t think this whole situation is super fucked up! — Of course, of course. My apologies again. I think I’ve learned an important lesson today. — Cool. If anyone needs us, we’ll be on the roof.
HLD
EUGENICS — Looks like your baby came out of the eugenics machine beautifully. — Doctor, that is a white, blonde, blue eyed baby. How could it possibly be mine? — That’s what the instructions said. Was that not in your order? — No! That doesn’t make any sense. Why would I ask for that? — I don’t know! I just assumed you wanted... you know…
THE HARVARD LAMPOON
ASB
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II
LIFE
Chapter I The human body truly is incredible! For instance, I just vomited what is unquestionably beef even though I’ve been vegetarian for two years. CHS
STRANGE BODies
A MAN WITH A LIMP AND THREE GLASS EYES
Who am I? I’m the guy who sits in the bar all day and waits for some tall dark and handsome hero to come along, so that I can offer some guidance with my tootle-lootin dialect. I’m the booter-tooter man. At least that’s what all the fellers down here at the bar in Tomaloke, New Mexico call me. A real ham is what I am. Yessir, you would know me by my short stature, graying hair and missing jomper-chompers. When anyone of interest rides into town they usually come plop their hind-legs about four seats down from me at the bar. This is the perfect distance for me to look over with my glass eyes and ask them what in the hell a stranger is doing in these parts. These heroes turn to me and usually say something witty (one just threw up on himself), then call me “old-timer” and take a drink from their whiskey. Now this really tickles something inside of me (not sure if it’s sexual or not). I tell them about all the kidnappings of pretty girls that been happenin round the town lately. Or the pass just out of town where old five-legged Sam uses his five legs to rob you of your valuables. Or any sorts of bruh-haha (if you don’t know what that means you can go on and piss up your plumpie). These stories aren’t true, I just love tellin em’. I’m just an old coot who plays his part in something greater than me. These strangers usually get in a real fuss about these kidnapped girls and start riding off into the nearest sunset. But never in the sunset that leads to five-legged Sam. Nope seems like every one of these damn heroes wants to go rescue some fair maiden. I just don’t get it. Five legged Sam is a real problem around these parts accounting of his seven appendages, but none of these strong-jawed strangers will get within a mile of him. BWM
HUMAN BODY FACT: It takes more muscles to do the famous “Heil Hitler” salute for which the Nazis were known than it does to smile. MVS
THE HARVARD LAMPOON
CHAPTER I: STRANGE BODIES
CHIMNEY SW
EEP
The human body truly is incredible! For instance, mine is a prison.
Chimney sweeping is what I was born to do since I have no arms or legs. GJA Doctors called my missing limbs a pity or a travesty, but my parents called them chimney brush slots. I was put to work immediately. All the other kids have to use both hands to brush, the suckers. I brush everywhere that I walk or climb or exist. I’m the most popular chimney sweep in London – not only do I have the most brushes, but I do it for free. Partly because of a love of the trade, but mostly because they refuse to pay orphans. Good sweeping starts with the uniform. I wear only a dirty cap, marking me as a grade-A sweeper and a quadriplegic. Once in the chimney, other kids waste time with two-handed brushing or suffocation. Instead I wriggle upwards while waving my arms and legs and convulsing. I got better than the older kids by studying the inchworm, nature’s chimney sweep. I may have the mind of a 9 year old, but I have the lungs of a much unhealthier 9 year old. My least favorite days are when the constable is about. He’s always after us street kids – not to grope us or anything. That was the last constable. This constable just wants to see us rot in prison. I always rely on my brush-feet to carry me to safety; I don’t need to be faster than the constable, I just have to brush faster than the other kids. While I am always the fastest brusher, the other kids can actually run, so I always spend the night in prison. The fluttering of my brushes in my escape attempts leave the cell impeccably clean – every time. My brushing skills come from my training. I was dropped into my first chimney as a baby, and whatever chimney-cleaning secrets didn’t come naturally to me were very quickly learned as I tumbled down that chimney. This was a rite of passage. What fell into that chimney was a baby, but what emerged was a man, covered in soot. We don’t know who that guy was, but I emerged right after him, a limbless baby covered in soot – and a damn-good sweeper. JFAR
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STICK LEGS
SUITE II: LIFE
It’s the bottom of the 9th and things look bleak for the Riceville Riverdogs. But wait, who’s that daintily stepping up to the plate? It’s Stick Legs Johnson! The crowd goes wild. He struts carefully up to the batter’s box with the swagger of a designated hitter and the rickets of a champion. The first pitch zooms by as Stick Legs delicately digs his cleats into the dirt and breaks both of his ankles. Strike one. The second pitch bounces twice before slowly rolling over the plate. Stick Legs checks his swing and dislocates his hip, flashing a toothy smile at the camera. It’s a ball! The pitcher winds up and delivers a two seam fastball to Stick Legs’ right shin, immediately shattering it. It looks like he is trying to take advantage of Stick Legs’ one weakness: two seam fastballs. But Stick Legs refuses to take his base! He just looks at the pitcher and lets out a chuckle that all but says “I’ve never been on a trampoline.” The pitcher is nervous. The crowd is roaring. Stick Legs is immobile. Hold on a second Stick Legs has dropped his bat. My God, he’s got his right leg in his hand. He winks at the pitcher. The next ball comes in right over the plate and Stick Legs swings his hamstring for all he’s worth. The fans go nuts when they hear that sweet, sweet crack of the femur. Everyone in this stadium knows that ball is outta here! Riverdogs win! Stick Legs is crawling slowly towards first base, smiling like a mutilated goofball. The crowd storms the field and everyone gets a chance to swing Stick Legs around by his legs and sing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” The last person throws him over the right field wall, to where he belongs. The Hall of Fame. HJH
ART RESTORATION COMIX BY JTB
THE HARVARD LAMPOON
CHAPTER I: STRANGE BODIES
COSTUME PARTY —Hey Brenda how’s it— jesus christ dude! —Ha ha fooled ya. Don’t I look just like her? —You’re wearing her skin. —Yeah I decided to go all out this year. —Take that off. Where is Brenda? —Relax dude she’s fine. It’s just a joke. —I don’t get the joke. —Isn’t there a whole saying about “Don’t judge a man until you’ve walked two moons in his skin?” —Yeah but— wait, no pretty sure it was moccasins. —That can’t be right. —Yeah it’s walk two moons in his moccasins. How does that make less sense than skin? —Oh jeez you’re right. Man, I feel pretty dumb now. —Yeah please take off Brenda’s skin. —Well I’m gonna leave it on for tonight since it’s my costume. But man do I feel dumb. SWR
SILVER SPOON I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. Doctor: What the fuck!! Whaaaat the fuck! RJS
GRADUATION CARD To my son, on the day of his graduation:
Son, all the success you need is inside you. You’ve got fire in your belly and ice in your head. You have earth in your toes and wind in your legs. You have gold in your ankles. Graduation is scary, but remember that you have adjectives in your bronchial tract, and those adjectives are Great and Cool. You’re going to succeed at whatever you put your mind to, because you have the Encyclopedia Britannica Volumes A-M in your frontal lobe and N-Z in your tongue. You have the body of a tiger in your shoulders. You have that tiger’s soul in your hip. You have smaller fingers within your fingers. It’s just fingers all the way in. One great big finger fractal that you’ll use to grab success. And you’ve got your mom and me in your thighs. Always remember that. MAS
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SUITE II: LIFE
WOMAN FEELS PAIN FOR THE FIRST TIME by David Frankle Lampoon Staff Contributor
This is the joyous moment inspirational Michelle Huang’s life free of pain is over. Tearful Michelle’s wish to feel pain for the first time was granted after a lifetime of pain-free existence. The 34-year-old, from Sacramento, California, was born with a rare congenital insensitivity to pain, although her other touch-senses remain intact. After undergoing a gene-therapy procedure last month, Michelle had an agonisingly pain-free four-week wait to find out if the operation had been a success. But as doctors and researchers proceeded to subject greatful Michelle to increasingly-intense torture mechanisms, ranging from needles stabbed into her toes to the medieval
rack, Michelle’s tears of anticipation turned to joyful tears of pain. Michelle happily exclaimed after the procedure was over: “Today has been the most intense and overpowering experience of my life, and I’m still in (literal) shock now. Although getting stabbed in the toes with needles was great, my favorite part has to be the boiling water dripped slowly all over my body. I have to learn to recognise what these feelings, described to me for so long, are, as I build on them and increase my range of pain-sensations. Feeling pain for the first time is so emotional. I can already see how my life will change. I can’t stop crying, literally.”
David, Great piece! Love to see you writing. What am I looking at here? - SWR
ANATOMY My dad leveled with me and told me that unless I learned about female anatomy, I’d get nowhere in life.
Her: Not if you can only spout facts about bowels. Me: Female skeletal muscles may have a lower maximum output, but they also have the advantage of recovering faster. Her: Oh. Oh.
At lunch:
In the bedroom:
Me: (leaning over) Hey. Your colon is statistically longer than mine, which means it’ll take you around 43% longer to digest that sandwich. Her: That might be the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.
Her: Maybe start us off? Me: Well, females tend to have verbal centers on both hemispheres of the brain, whereas— Her: Yes. Now get your dick out. Me: My what?
In the hall:
ARC
GOLD TEETH - When was the last time you brushed? Your teeth look terrible. - Uhhh, my teeth look awesome. They’re all made of gold. - Right, but they’re rotting. You need to be brushing and flossing twice daily. - Wow. Okay. Damn it. I came here to impress you, doc. I thought you’d be amazed. RJS
The human body truly is incredible! For instance, you can rack ‘em.
Her: Listen, I don’t feel comfortable meeting up with you later. Me: What? Why?
ASB
THE HARVARD LAMPOON
MR. GOOF
CHAPTER I: STRANGE BODIES
Mr. Goof knows you want to have a good time at your birthday party. Mr. Goof guarantees that, with his bouncy castle-shaped body and your love of anthropomorphic party equipment, you will have a good time. Since you are six years old and he is immortal, Mr. Goof will need you to sign a few papers to make sure he’s in the clear, legally speaking. You and up to four friends can bounce on Mr. Goof at once, provided that you remove any footwear. The feeling of your soft, tender feet touching Mr. Goof’s body will ensure he remains fully inflated at all times. Do not put your feet inside of Mr. Goof’s mouth. He will explode. The explosion will not be fatal, but it will be disgusting. Mr. Goof knows this isn’t that kind of party. However, Mr. Goof does do those kinds of parties if any adults or mature teens are interested. As an ageless being, Mr. Goof has experienced every possible pleasure existence has to offer, yet longs for the one thing he can never have: death. If you rent Mr. Goof for three hours or longer, he will sing “Happy Birthday” to the rhythm of your bounces. If you rent him for six hours or longer, Mr. Goof will let you put his feet inside of your mouth. If you rent him for an entire day, Mr. Goof will turn you or one of your family members into a bouncy castle and then explain how he isn’t blessed with eternal life, but cursed with it. According to his contract, Mr. Goof has to be paid in cash, but, if it were up to Mr. Goof, the joy he brings to children would be payment enough. But, seriously, no credit cards. So what are you waiting for? Add your name to the list of historical figures who have bounced on Mr. Goof today! Previous bouncers include Moses, Cleopatra, Jane Austen, Saddam Hussein, and, no judgment, Roman Polanski. Bounce on! NSG
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WIN-WIN
By the end of today, I’ll either be the first man with a fully functional robotic implant, or the first man to die while eating a computer. GJA
SUITE II: LIFE
BODY HIGH - Dude, the body high on this LSD is wild. - Both of your legs have been severed. RJS
MY PERFECT WOMAN Body? Ten. Face? Eight. Legs? Yes please. Eyes? You betcha. Skin? Everywhere. Joints? Double. Genetic defects? Everywhere. Lungs? Double—no—triple. On this I will not budge. MAS
ARM TRANSPLANT -The wait is over Mr. O’Connell, we found an arm for your transplant. -Thank God. I need to hug my wife. NM
BODY-SHAMING
The worst part of being body-shamed is when you are not that fat but many people are calling you fat. The worst part of being body-shamed by your doctor is when he says, “You have leprosy...” and you’re like, “I know, Doc, tell me about it,” and then he’s like “I’m not finished!” so you think that he’s about to tell you that the cure has been found, but it turns out he actually wanted to say, “You have leprosy….. you freak!” and also he sends you off to a leper’s island. Life in a leper colony is honestly not that bad because when you’re only surrounded by lepers, it’s just the new normal. This is why it sucks that the doctors call us every day to remind us of our leprosy diagnoses, and that also whenever planes fly over the island they always skywrite, “LEPERS = FREAKS” even if they are just regular passenger planes. We don’t get much mail here on the leper’s island except a weekly subscription to Nature, Cell, Scientific American, The New England Journal of Medicine, The Lancet, The Annals of Internal Medicine, and Forbes. Anyways, no good news yet for us, though the latest issue of Forbes happened to mention that leprosy had been cured 80 years ago. AJ
BODY BY STEINBACH – Hi, welcome to Body by Steinbach. We’re here to get you in shape. – I would like Steinbach’s gorgeous nape, please. – We can absolutely do that for you. ASB
THE HARVARD LAMPOON
Chapter II
BODIES AT WORK
NEW PARTNER A cop’s #1 belief: I’m not gonna be the jerkoff that shoots his own partner. I live and breathe this mantra, and I repeated it before, during, and after shooting my five partners. Accidents happen, but the Chief isn’t so understanding, so for my next assignment he gave me Joe, a partner made of wood. What bothered me about Joe was not that he was made of wood, but that he was a newbie, fresh out of the academy. The academy doesn’t teach anything worth a damn these days, especially not how to evade bullets, as my five pardoned felonies have shown me. Also Joe was made of spruce, the meekest of woods. Our first night on the job we got an easy call: routine gang shooting. I got one hand on the wheel, one hand on my radio, one hand on my gun, bada-bing bada-boom before you know it I’ve shot Joe 36 times. And what did this maverick do but survive all of that and then flop out of the cruiser, his spruce frame knocking out every gang member as he fell. That’s when I knew that we’d make a good pair and that the municipality shouldn’t let me still have a gun. The crimewave goes down and concussions go up. I get a custom ejector seat installed in our cruiser, so Joe can smack into ne’er-do-wells and enforce the law. It’s basically a baby seat covered in sawdust with a big spring under it – my design. Joe’s wooden torso gets covered in all sorts of medals – they really detract from his gunshot wounds. He’s gonna make a great wooden detective, maybe even chief. So pretty soon the Mrs. wants to meet Joe. He comes over, brings us a lovely casserole, but the wife isn’t expecting him to be made of wood. She loses it, screaming and running around everywhere. I shoot a look at her and some bullets at Joe. We take our meal outside, without her. Nobody disrespects him while I’m around and under federal scrutiny. I ask to meet Joe’s family – turns out he’s got none. He doesn’t even have a home, just spends his nights alternating between a security guard and a mannequin at this one clothing store. I try to comfort him, show him that his partner is all the family he needs. “It’s alright that you don’t have a family,” I tell him. “I probably would’ve shot them anyway.” JFAR
THE HARVARD LAMPOON
CHAPTER II: BODIES AT WORK
MAGICIAN For this next trick, I need a volunteer from the audience. What’s your name? Ok Harold, this is a perfectly normal deck of cards. I’ve never seen this deck of cards before. Are you following? Harold I have no idea where this deck of cards came from. Are you following, Harold? Good. Now I’m going to ask you to pick a card. Don’t you dare show me that fucking card, Harold. Great, just remember the card and slip it back in the deck. Not on top. Now Harry—mind if I call you Harry?—have you ever been to New York? My favorite part about New York is the pizza. What kind of pizza? Misdirection pizza. Check your pockets Harry, you idiot. Yep, apples. Sixteen of them. Surprised yet, Harry? Eat them. Eat the apples. What’s in the apples? Puzzle pieces? Solve the puzzle. Alright Skinny Head—you don’t mind if I call you Skinny Head do you?—it’s been 45 minutes and you haven’t solved the simple jigsaw puzzle. You started with the middle pieces, you absolute buffoon. Let me just finish it for you. No, stay on the stage. Sit down. Ok it looks like you broke the puzzle because now I can’t solve it. It was supposed to be a key to the chest that’s been behind your ear this whole time, you unbelievable dunce. Luckily, I have a spare. Open the chest, Rat Legs—I hope it’s ok that I call you Rat Legs. Come back. Get over here. It’s just that your legs…I mean it’s uncanny. What’s inside the chest? An embarrassing photograph of you eating a chicken wing? Look at the sauce stains on your shirt. The two of hearts! Give Goat Lips a round of applause!
BASKETBALL COP
After failing the police entrance exam, I took a job refereeing basketball. While the players may call me referee, I think of myself as a basketball cop. Each morning, I put on my stripes and kiss my wife goodbye. This could be the last time I see her. If the ball hits me in the right spot, I’ll go blind. Today I’m patrolling Edgewood Private High School — the rowdiest beat south of Peckham Park. I stay away from these conflicts when I can, but my sworn duty to protect and keep score comes before my desire to not get yelled at by wealthy parents. Five minutes later, I’m speeding through town in my unmarked 1996 Yaris. A cop car pulls up next to me and I give them the nod. Their car is black and white and so is my shirt. We both know rules are never grey. I arrive on the highly polished Maplewood scene. Looks like the Riverbank Apaches are trespassing on the Edgewood Crows’ school zone, expecting to throw down and throw balls. I read the players their rights: “You have the right to two 20 minute halves. Any timeouts you call can and will be used to stop the clock.” Five minutes into the game I’ve caught an 8-12 (a carrying infraction), a 10-13 (a double-dribble violation), a 2-10, a 7-20, and so on. I’ve invented and memorized all these codes. The Apaches have invaded the Crows’ territory, when someone falls to the ground. An assault. I waste no time calling an ambulance and sectioning off the crime-scene with basketball tape I bought at a party store. The victim tells me he’s fine. Clearly he’s in shock. Now, I gather witness testimony. Everyone seems to agree the assailant is Player 16, but I can’t be too sure, so I line up each player in a school hallway and interrogate them one by one. After a two-hour investigation, I’ve determined the identity of the assailant. Player 16. Just as I thought. I’d bring Player 16 into custody myself, but I’m still on duty. So I call the police to take him away. “Thanks ref,” says the cop as he cuffs the felon. “Officer,” I correct him. “Huh?” he asks. The final score: 0-0. The laws enforced: 100%. HBF
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SUITE II: LIFE
SPIDERMAN - Hey, Spiderman. - (bites man) - Ow! What was that? - I gave you Spiderman powers. You have to be Spiderman now. - I can’t be Spiderman; I manage a hedge fund. - When the last Spiderman bit me, I was also hesitant. But now I’m having a blast. - Then you keep being Spiderman and I’ll keep building assets and not being Spiderman. - I want to try other things though, like going to meetings. And getting paid. - Is that why you’re looking through a dumpster? - Yes, I’m hungry. - Let’s get you a burger. - I don’t need a burger; I need you to fight crime. - I’ll just donate money to the police force. I have a lot. - Donating money doesn’t let you do this… (shoots web) - That’s cool, but I doubt webs are as useful as risk arbitration. - You can’t swing around New York with risk arbitration. - No, but my Bentley goes pretty fast. And everyone can see my supermodel wife riding shotgun. - You can still drive your Bentley as long as you do it dressed as Spiderman. - Hmm… I bet my hedge fund buddies would get a kick out of seeing me in that dumb costume. - I think it’s pretty neat. - It’s dumb. I bet it’d even put the Superman pajamas Phil wore on April Fools to shame. - I’m not sure that’s the right attitude, but here you go. - Are you always naked under there? - It doesn’t breathe at all. - Ew. Is that a rash? - Turns out I’m super allergic to latex. - (puts on costume) Good thing I’m not. - Allergies come with Spiderman powers. HBF
THE HARVARD LAMPOON
CHAPTER II: BODIES AT WORK
FIREFIGHTER I’d be the best fireman east and west of the Mississippi if it weren’t for my one weakness: I can’t slide down the pole. I’ll be hanging in the station when the chief’s voice booms over the intercom: “Fire alert! To the pole!” Everyone zooms down like it’s a piece of cake. I run and jump towards the pole, but suddenly I get this crazy head rush. My vision fades, I get pins and needles in my legs, and my arms go limp. I crash into the pole and fall three stories. My firefighter exams were a piece of cake. Drink from the fire hose? Easy. Sit on a candle for three minutes? Done. Then I got to the pole. I latched on with my legs and, wailing like a banshee, spiraled rapidly down to the floor. At least that’s what I was told after I came out of my coma. I probably would’ve failed if I hadn’t backflipped a fire truck over a burning building. Even more humiliating is the fact that every room in the fire station is connected by a pole. There are no doors, so I am forced to fall screaming into every room that I enter. Last week some idiot left the toilet seat up and I fell in from the floor above. Do you know how humiliating it is when people pee on you while you’re stuck in the toilet? Yesterday was the biggest orphanage fire of my career. I arrived on the scene and sprinted into the flames, quickly dodging poles and finding orphans. I tucked all fifteen of them under my arms and ran through several walls towards the nearest exit. A single pole stood between the front door and me. I charged at it head first and was immediately knocked unconscious. But the pole budged just enough to support the crumbling building. Everyone was saved, and my coworkers threw me a party at a strip club. I spent way too much money. HJH
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STALIN’S PHOTO EDITOR When I met Joseph Stalin my family was surviving on cheese wheels and regular wheels. He rescued us from that dump and put us in a gulag. The food was worse, but we got to know each other better. Soon he offered me a position as photo editor for the Communist Party. Communism and photos hadn’t been invented at the time, but that was the easy part for me and ol’ Joe Stalin. My job was to edit out people Stalin didn’t like, and boy were there a lot of people Stalin didn’t like – mostly traffic cops and Jews. I loved my job, and I loved Stalin for saving me from starvation and having to take care of my wife and children all the time. To show my love, I stopped editing people out and started editing myself in. According to history books, I was Stalin’s right hand at every convention, and according to his baby pictures I was both of his parents. No woman, child, or minority was safe from Stalin. Every newspaper showed people bowing to him for mercy, which was nice to see, as bowing people were easier for me to edit. Even the spires of the Kremlin got my face on them for looking at Stalin funny. Things were great – I’d thank God, but I replaced him in the Bible long ago, so I guess I thank myself. Soon the time came when the only two people in Russia were me and Stalin. We got to spend so much time together – we danced and picnicked and I carried his child, just like in all our family photos. But Stalin found someone else to purge: himself. He’d gotten too big for his britches, had his hand in every political pie, and word on the street is that he’d been sleeping in the bed of Stalin himself. Stalin wasn’t having any of this, so he told me to edit him out of his photos, so he could finish the rest. With tears in my eyes I cut him out of history, and all 7 billion photos. Now I look up at all the propaganda posters in the street and see my own face – and in my face I see Stalin.
GRAVY MINE Most towns have lucrative coal and oil industries, but Argleton, West Carolina, has the most profitable gravy business east of the Mississippi. No one really knows how so much gravy got underground but everybody’s got some opinion. Personally, I follow the Methodist belief that when God fed 5,000 people, he made too much gravy and needed to store the leftovers. We don’t know what flavor the gravy is, either. But after the Chicken vs Turkey riots, we decided to stop asking questions and simply agree that our oozing brown mystery sauce was delicious. Argleton’s been a town devoted to making gravy for quite some time. I come from a long line of gravy miners myself. My great grandfather was the famous B’hoy Joe, killed by the great gravy gusher of 1885. Since I was a little kid, I’ve been following his footsteps, chipping away at sediment and hoping to strike gravy. Though I’ve been mining for years, I still find the job as exciting as ever. Just the other day, I thought I’d hit a cranber-
JFAR
ry deposit when a blushing burgundy puree started to seep through the walls. I later found out it was just blood from a cave-in above, but my brief moment of ignorance was the best moment of my life. I emerge from the mines at the end of each week, smelling of sweat and bird. My hard work is rewarded with ten scoops of mashed potatoes imported from the East Carolina Potato Factory. It used to be just two scoops, but the establishment of the Gravy Miner’s Union (the GMU) really improved workers’ benefits. I could spend my mashed potatoes at the company store, or I could use them to dilute the mineral rich gravy that, in addition to being Argleton’s best and only export, is the main food source for citizens who have not yet undergone heart-disease-puberty. Everything besides gravy is a commodity in Argleton — no town this abundant with meat juice can be expected to have water juice, too. I cherish the days when it rains, although water can be overwhelmingly sweet when you’re only used to drinking gravy.
THE HARVARD LAMPOON
HBF
CHAPTER II: BODIES AT WORK
FLIGHT SIMULATOR Welcome to Flight Simulator 3. Acclaimed by the New York Post to be “so horrendously realistic you won’t be able to stop telling your wife ‘welcome to Minneapolis’ for a week.” I will be your electronic guide for the first few flights you make with us. Now before you are many twisty knobs and buttons. There is a big flashing red button that takes up about half the console to the right of you. Ignore that button. Accidentally put the plane in gear and jerk forward. A baby is crying and you’re pretty sure it knows you don’t know how to fly. Get jitters and ask the flight attendant where the bathroom is. Remark that this is your first time flying and you always getnervous at the thought of heights. Throw up in a first class barf bag. Wheel the whole drinks cart towards the cockpit. Pretend to spectacularly choke on the in-flight applesauce. Lie in the aisle until you realize that no-one believes you. Make your way to the cockpit, alcohol cart in tow. Now accuse the most ethnic looking man on the plane of being a terrorist in the attempt to have the air-marshals stop the flight. Damn, of course the ethnic guy is the air marshal. Sit down in your chair and look to the white face of the co-pilot. Scream something about engaging the warp thrusters and absolutely slam that big stick towards the control panel. Stab-yourself with the broken shards of a hundred mini alcohol bottles and scream into the intercom for a doctor. Oh God, push the big red button, do it. Fulfill your destiny you coward. Wake up tied to a chair in Cincinnati. Thank you for flying Flight Simulator 3. BWM
The hardest job in the world is being one of those people who had to build the Great Wall of China for no compensation and you died while building it so you got buried inside the wall. The second hardest job is being a mother. MVS
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DISPATCHES FROM THE
DOCTOR’S
— Look who it is, doc! Haha! It’s me—your favorite hypochondriac! — Uh, hey Kevin.
OFFICE
— Now, okay. You know how I get. Neurotic ‘ol me. But I think there’s “something up” with me. — I mean, yeah, I’m sure.
In order to avoid being drafted into
— And it’s for real this time. Now hear me out. And
the Vietnam War, I enlisted voluntarily. I
don’t laugh.
guess something about my lab coat and
— I will not.
stethoscope screamed doctor, even though
— Promise?
that was just seventies fashion. Before
— Yes.
I knew it I was in a C-130 on my
— So, okay. I think there’s something weird going
way to doctor boot camp.
on with my arms.
It was mostly standard mili-
— Yes. Kevin. We’ve been over this
tary stuff: surgery while crawling un-
so many times. You have legs for arms. It’s a huge issue.
der barbed wire, rectal checks while parachut-
— Interesting.
ing, delivering babies while assembling our
— Yeah.
M15s. We’d be woken up in the middle of
— So basically what you’re saying is…
the night to assure our drill sergeant that
— Your legs are where your arms should be, yes. MVS
weird thing on his testacles wasn’t cancer. It later turned out to be cancer. Luckily in those days the military couldn’t afford to reject anyone so we packed up our camo scrubs and shipped out. Life on the front lines wasn’t easy for me, what with my allergy to napalm. But I made do with the help of my friends, Scalpel and Nurse O’Malley. They were there with me, shooting VC, healing civilians, and vice versa. Mostly I’m just happy I was in the Army and not one of my friends in the Air Force. It’s almost impossible to properly vaccinate troops from an F-15. The problem with Vietnam was how hard it was to tell who I was supposed to heal through the fog of war. Sometimes I’d a%ach prosthetic legs to a whole Charlie unit before I realized. The memories of those enemy soldiers smiling at being able to walk again still haunts my nightmares. But it was war, and I was just a doctor trying to follow orders. MAS
THE HARVARD LAMPOON
CHAPTER II: BODIES AT WORK My doctor shut off the MRI machine halfway through the scan, trapping me in the plastic tube. I lay there alone for hours until they needed to use it again, when the door of the machine opened and an old man in a hospital gown slid slowly into me. He was very polite and joked, “Wo-oh, don’t mind me!” And I said, “Okay, sorry, that’s fine,” but at the same time his balls were on my face. AJ
—Good morning. I’m here for my complimentary birthday surgery. —Oh, of course. What would you like replaced? —I was thinking if a surgeon on call today could open me up and replace my appendix with like, a potato, or other root vegetable if you’re out of potatoes. Squash. Parsnip, a raddish. No yams, though. I fucking hate yams. —Right this way. EIG Me: Doctor, I’m not feeling so good... Doctor: What’s wrong? Me: (throws up a tiny, bean-shaped tumor) Doctor: (catches tumor easily in hand) So what are your symptoms? AJ
—I just wish there were a way I could…repay you. For treating li%le old me. —Insurance will handle all of that. SWR
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THE HARVARD LAMPOON
Chapter III BUTTING HEADS ARC: I don’t want this issue to be ALL dick jokes… MVS: Alex...Alex...gotta give the people what they want... MVS
TALES OF THE FLESH
BUTT - Oh my god are you okay, Jeet? - I think I just...I think I just ate a butt. - What? Man, I just watched you eat that thing on your plate. There’s no way it was a butt. - Dude I swear I feel it in my mouth. - Oh yeah, what’s it even feel like? - What do you think? It feels like a butt. - Well if there’s a butt in your mouth then let me see. - I can’t even do that, it’s all stuck in me throat. - You swallowed the butt? - Yeah, I’ve eaten the butt. CCSW
SEX POSITIONS Get ready for another co-write from your favorite dynamic duo, AJ! — The one where the legs are up and head is down. But then the head goes up, but then goes down, up, down, up, but then up again, down. — The “79”: I crouch in an extreme extended backbend; my penis points outward, in the opposite direction of my sex partner’s open and waiting mouth.
THE FIRST THINKERS The First Man to Think: – (thinks) Whoooooo?
— I lie in bed and yell, “SCOTT! SCOTT! SCOTT! SCOTT! WHERE ARE YOU! SCOTT! SCOTT! SCOTT! WHERE ARE YOU! SCOTT! SCOTT! SCOTT! SCOTT!” — The “Top Gun”: I am on top and I repeatedly spit a series of bullets onto my partner.
The Second Man to Think: – (thinks) Wheeeeeere? The Third Man to Think: — (thinks) Whaaaat. The Fourth Man to Think: — (thinks) There’s just...there’s no way...no way... The Fifth Man to Think: – (thinks) Wheeeeeen? The Sixth Man to Think: — (masturbates) MVS ASB ARC RJS LAS
— I lie in a sunlit field erect for all eternity so that my penis acts as a sundial, but the numbers of the clock are slightly misaligned so that the time is always off by around 30 minutes. Also I get sunburnt on my dick. — I sit on my hands until they become numb. All my circulation is cut off and my hands succumb to flesh rot. At the hospital I have sex with a male nurse. AJ
THE HARVARD LAMPOON
CHAPTER III: TALES OF THE FLESH
INQUISITION ROMANCE
RETRO KICKS - Woah! Are those – - The new PF Flyer Retro Jams? Yeah. - The same model “Shooter” Jay Finley wore? - Same model? They’re the exact same pair. - No way! Is that his autograph on the side? - No. No, it is not. - Are you sure? - I am certain. - No, but there’s definitely something there. - Let’s just forget it, okay? - I mean, it looks like it says something. - Okay, fine, it’s-it’s a semen stain. - Wow, that’s...well that’s just uncanny, man.
—Witch!!!! —I love it when you talk dirty to me. —Torture her! —How did you know I was into that? —(takes me into the dungeon) —The playroom again? I’m so lucky! —(ties me up) —Oh yeah. —(whips me) —I’m loving this. —(puts me on the rack) —babe —(burns me at stake) —(in the throes of ecstasy)
DRM
AEV
PENIS FLYTRAP —Hey Mark, I came up with this new idea for a piece for your issue. —Oh yeah? Let’s hear it. Love to talk piece ideas. By the way, I hear you’re recently going through a tough break-up, and I just wanted to say, I think you’re doing really well. —Thank you. I think so as well. Anyways, my piece idea is “Penis Flytrap.” —I don’t get it. —It’s like a Venus Flytrap, but with penis. —I still don’t get it. —Mark, baby, work with me here. The piece practically writes itself. Penis flytrap. —Ohhh. I think I get it. You mean, like this? (unzips pants) —What the fuck!! Whaaaat the fuck! —Ok Alice. Please write this piece for my issue. AJ
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GEORGE WASHINGTON Father, If you are reading this, then I cut your precious cherry tree in half, then in half again, then into chips, and then I lit it on fire and spit on it. I know I promised you I would never do those things in that order, but boys will be boys. It pains me to write you this since my hands are so blistered. I knew how much you loved that tree – more than the other non-cherry trees or myself. Mother was barely a week passed before you started fawning over that cherry tree. Does it warm your bed as she once did? The sex must be awful. You must think me mad to suggest romance between you and the tree. Why else would you spend so much less time with your newly-teenaged son? I could’ve been your cherry tree. You could have watered me and I would have covered myself in so many cherries. The moment you carried that tree home I knew I hated it. It left its black stains on every one of our belongings and lives that it touched, and I’m not just saying that because I’m racist. The carpet was so filthy with soil that I had to hack it up and toss it out – not unlike how I hacked up your cherry tree and then burned it with so many matches. I’ve run away. I’m free to do everything that that tree kept me from doing. I want to get my wooden teeth pierced, and have casual homosexual relations. I’ll find a woman – beautiful and hunky, with firm muscles and a strong jawline and a full head of beard. She definitely won’t be a tree though.
The human body truly is incredible! For instance, there are 10 different dick shapes.
-George JFAR
Anonymous
Awkward CVS Encounter ME: (putting condoms on conveyor belt) Beautiful weather out. CASHIER: Condoms, huh? ME: (embarrassed) Yep. CASHIER: Are you — ME: Yeah. I’m going to eat them. MAS
THE HARVARD LAMPOON
Chapter IV Gym Milestones
FEATS of STRENGTH
911 Call - Yes, ambulance. My friend’s unconscious and his head’s
bleeding. I’m at Stockwell Skatepark. - The ‘Well? Love that joint. You boys tearing up the half pipe? - Yeah. My friend just attempted a 1440 flip. - Off the hook, man. Mad props. - I nailed a 360 Hardflip just before it. - Then what are you calling me for, little man? You got it down! - My friend. He’s unresponsive. - Oh. Yeah. Any broken bones? - His leg like, snapped behind his body. - Know the feeling. You tried snapping it back? - Just did. I think I broke it more. - Same thing happened to me on the half-pipe a few years back. To my neck. - You skate? - Duh. I’ll be heading to the ‘Well after work if you wanna stick around. - Sorta depends on what happens with my friend but yeah I’ll probably be here. - Then you can see how a real 1440 flip is done. - Rat’s ass you can do a 1440 flip. - Straight up. Not everyone can do it without shattering their legs though. - Come skate on down and do it then. - I’ll be there in 10. You’ll hear the sirens.
—I bench 140. PR. —I sprint around the gym complex, six treadmills strapped to my back. I complete the circuit in under a minute and cool down by rappelling up the rock wall, no hands. —I perform a variety of trust exercises with my business partner on a Stairmaster set to maximum incline. —I fold myself into the shape of a paper crane. —I plug my nose and cannonball into a pile of chalk dust, then perform a stunning routine on the parallel bars. —I squat 300 and do not unsquat. —I am deaf from the blood rushing through my skull, but I nonetheless swing my beautiful daughter in a spiral above my head, grunting at her to hold on. —I lie down on my back to slide off a treadmill going 10mph. I am propelled into the wall.
BJS
RJS
Hercules - Buddy, I heard you showed those Spartans last week! - Sure did. They agreed to cede Cyprus back to Greece. - What’d you do? Put the Ottoman in a suffocating headlock? Knock his head off? - What, no? We sat down, and negotiated. - (pointing to bicep) Negotiated with this baby, eh? - There were no fists, just discussions. - (air punching) You the man Herc! - It’s Hercules. - Last month I heard you snapped the Persian king’s skull with your fingers. - Listen, I can do most of my work by just talking. - How much?
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- Excuse me? - How much can you curl with those pistons? - I am a talented and supremely skilled diplomat. - (outrageously flexing) Diplomatic with your pipes, maybe. - I’m going to leave. - Hold on, wait. I lost a medallion under that uh…huge boulder. - You told me the same thing yesterday. - Huh. Weird. - You really lost it? - Alright no. Maybe you can flex though. Just once? NM
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Rob Dyrdek You know how they say you don’t truly know a man unless you shower with him? Well let me tell you about my first shower with MTV’s Rob Dyrdek. We turned up the heat on a crazy game of skate ball, where you shoot soaps into the shower hoop on a skateboard. Rob was about to smash another dunk when he slipped and his skull cracked open and his brain shloshed onto the shower floor. I was so grossed out I vomited in his open wounds. I scrubbed some veins and leftover bone flakes off his triple X flathead b-board while Rob just laid in bed all day getting surgery. During recovery, when his bulldogs Meaty and Beefy wanted to visit, I had to bring them. But Rob didn’t even want to talk. He only wanted to “do tricks.” When the nurse wasn’t looking he changed the angle of his bed seat using a remote control. “Rad, ya?” “No Rob that’s not rad,” I broke to him. “You did cooler stunts when you didn’t have crippling physical impairments.” I looked into his eyes, which were now on his chin after facial reconstruction. He seemed serious. “Tomorrow I’m going to toss up a piece of grape jelly and catch it in my mouth,” he said. I said that sounded cool, but in truth I looked at his face and couldn’t see a mouth. I went back to visit Rob later that night. He was in high spirits and seemed to be improving. “I made up a crazy new trick. Nurse’ll freak when she sees this. It’s called The Shweeet Baby Flame.” He poured a little chicken noodle soup into his IV. “My arm is on fiiiiya!” I alerted the nurse, who actually seemed pleased he got some sodium in his system. In the middle of the night I got a call. Rob was in critical condition. I rushed back to find him wearing some cut up sheets in the shape of a snap-back and pudding cups over his eyes. “Time for one.. last..stunt..” he said. He wheeled his rolly bed a few inches to the left, then one to the right, one to the left. And one more inch to the right. The trick was complete. Rob smiled and his chin eyes closed forever.
The Body of a Dancer
HLD
The best body for a dancer to have is a body that is very, very flexible. The babies born with their legs bent all the way up and tied into a knot around their heads those babies will be the best dancers. Also, those babies are often dead. There are many stretches you can do to increase flexibility. The main one is the stretch that is winding your body around a long stick and then leaving it there for several hours. Many dancers do this three to four times each day. The time left in between the stretching? That’s dancing time. Dancing is always better when you are flexible. For example, if the dance you want to do is a dance where you swing your arms around your head in a small circle, you can instead swing your arms so far out from your head and so fast that they are impossible to stop, and you literally have to stop your dance and relax your arm muscles and just wait until the momentum of your arms runs out before you can move on to the next part of the dance. Beautiful. LAS
THE HARVARD LAMPOON
CHAPTER IV: FEATS OF STRENGTH
Blackbeard King: Blackbeard, you sunk my fifty best ships. Fifty lashes! Blackbeard: Bollocks! Nothing scares Blackbeard, King of the Seven Seas! Polly: (Squawk) I waded into a clam pool. Worst mistake of me life. King: What. Does your duck have scurvy? Blackbeard: Argh, she’s a parrot! She’s remembered me every word for thirty ye— Polly: (Squawk) They smiled at me, the devils. Dead, but…still so alive. King: I see. Fifty lashes! Beside a tub of clams! Blackbeard: Ha. Well. Nothing scares Blackbeard, King of the Se— Polly: (Squawk) They’re on me toes, mama! They’re lickin’ me nails! King: You hunt the Kraken but fear the mollusk? They don’t even bite. Blackbeard: Er, they bite! They tore into Blackbeard with
their monstrous fangs. Polly: (Squawk) They suckled me chest with their teeny gums. King: Fifty lashes, plus two clams to gargle his nipples. Polly: (Squawk) Two clams is bad. Three clams is hell. King: Did I say fifty? I meant three hundred fifty-seven lashes with a clam whip to his nipples. Blackbeard: Now that seems excessive. Polly, why don— Polly: (Squawk) I had a nightmare. Me wife birthed a pearl. Blackbeard: Deep brea— Polly: (SQUAWK) Me biggest fear is drowning in well of chowder. Blackbeard: Wait! Kill me parrot—she’s senile! Polly: (SQUUAAWK) Where’s me ink? I’m going to tattoo a little clam on me testicles, for protection. Blackbeard: Or kill me. King: Order! It’s settled then: 500 years imprisoned in a giant clam. Would you like to bring your bird? Polly: (Squawk) (Flies away)
LAST DAY AT THE ZOO
SVG
After serving as head zookeeper for 25 years and chief hunting assistant during a disastrous week-long rebranding attempt, I was finally hanging up my boots. While my days of curb stomping misbehaving animals were over, my days of reminiscing about the curb stomping had only just begun. As I walked into the zoo for the very last time, my arrival was met with loud cheers from the gorillas, the sign language equivalent of loud cheers from the more intelligent gorillas, and enthusiastic snaps from the super-intelligent gorilla who dabbled in slam poetry. I felt pretty disappointed because I thought the gorillas might do something special for my last day, rather than just giving me their usual welcome. However, my sour mood didn’t last long once I realized that such blatant disrespect warranted at least three curb stompings. The goodbye lunch my coworkers organized also helped. During the afternoon, I went around to each exhibit one final time, telling the animals what I really thought of them. Since only the good animals were left, I told them that they were all amazing, especially when paired with a full-bodied red. They all howled with laughter because they knew I was just kidding. “We would obviously pair better with something more fruity,” the super-intelligent gorilla signed sarcastically. Out of all the things I was leaving behind, I would miss our light-hearted banter the second most. Before the day drew to a close, nostalgia got the better of me and I stopped by the first enclosure I ever cleaned. I remembered fondly how it took all night to get the area spic and span, but even so, throwing that party had been totally worth it. Just to think, if it weren’t for those tiger tranquilizers, I would’ve had the clarity of mind to just shoot the leopard when it broke free from its chains and started mauling party guests. But thank god I didn’t. Otherwise, curb stomping would still be regarded as some deranged thing only real sickos do, instead of the widely accepted zoo-keeping practice it is today. NSG
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SUITE II: LIFE
Thank You To the City of Boston, We did it. We brought a title back home when we were the only ones who believed in us, and we were only saying that to be nice. The media said we couldn’t do it. The rules of the game said we couldn’t do it. But, technically, the laws of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts did not say we couldn’t do it. So we did it. We biologically engineered a basketball super team. We would like to thank you, our fans, for supporting us, and you, Dr. Kuznetsov, for making us into actual superhumans. Without you, none of this would have been possible. We mean without Dr. Kuznetsov. We probably still would’ve broken the record for most full-court dunks even without sell-out crowds. But still, we appreciate the fans. There were a lot of times we wanted to call it quits along the way. When Trey died on the operating table as we tried to give him a third arm made up of smaller arms. When Juwan broke his chin-arm in preseason. When Tomlin, our sixth man who was, in reality, just one giant arm, became sentient and really messed up the team’s chemistry. But through it all we stuck to our guiding principle: “Arms win championships.” And all along the way, Boston stayed behind us, like the second pair of eyes surgically implanted into the back of D.J.’s head. With the league’s best fans and loosest definition of “human being,” there was no way we could lose. So this is us saying Thank You, from the bottom of our arm-hearts to yours.
Business Meeting -Nothing more stressful than a bad day on the markets. Get me Jackson. -I knew you’d need my help, sir. I have an excellent plan. -Jackson, I don’t want to see numbers. -What do you want? A model? Coffee? -You know what I want. -I don’t…I don’t do contortions anymore. -I need the tranquility, the serenity. -No, after Shanghai, I told myself never again. -Just give me one backbend. -My model is projected to increase reve nue streams twofold in the first month. Twofold! -Revenue is finite. But the haunting pleasure of seeing a contortion? That lasts forever. -I am a Stanford MBA. -I stopped reading your application after contortionist. -This is insulting. -No, choosing not to use your flexibility, God’s greatest gift, that’s insulting. -Come on. I’m not that talented. -You are incredibly talented. -Am I? Fine. Go to my car and get me a trunk. The smallest trunk. NM
THE HARVARD LAMPOON
DRM
CHAPTER IV: FEATS OF STRENGTH
“The Baby ”: I’m a little baby who has just been born on the dance floor. then rise from the fetal I position and proceed to do many spins.
in chains. I do several in a very large box covered r floo ce dan the o ont t “The Houdini”: I am brough r at the end of the night. removed from the dance floo n the am and box s thi in dances
“The Home Run”: I make my body very straig ht and have a big man swing me as a baseball is tossed at my face. “The Inverted Rockettes”: Me and my buddies line up and assume handstands, then lift and kick our arms in unison.
d put your hind someone an be d an st u yo re using g whe I do it to someone alk”: I do that thin t W bu e s, rs m Ho ar r an ei M th oplace e they ’re “The Tw that your arms re nd on all fours lik ch ou su ar ts lk pi r wa ei th em r th arms unde , and I make ey have four legs my legs so that th a horse.
“The Spew”: Pretty simple, I drink a ton of water, jump around, then just start spewing.
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III
DEATH
SUITE III: DEATH
Funeral We are gathered here today to remember Adalbert W. Stevenson. Adalbert was born somewhere around 1850-1870. According to many of his dearly beloved he underwent puberty very shortly after leaving the hospital. By the time the stagecoach had made the 14day journey to the family house down the road he was a grown man. Adalbert never sold a cow in his life or even pretended to know what they look like. He was a rootin’ and tootin’ bar brawler but he had a soft and squishy inside. He had a soft head because he underwent puberty before his skull’s plates had time to fuse together. While on earth he was a member of all the best clubs and societies. The resident afterlife expert has confirmed the widely believed rumor that he has made it into Special Heaven. There he is a member of all the best clubs and societies. He was widely traveled, taking part in trips to all over Africa and the New York countryside where he observed many of the natives’ customs. His accounts shine a great deal of light on societies so far removed from civilization. The book was very nearly published, but after reading the publishers realized that it was filled exclusively with sketchings of the naked chests of native women. He unfortunately didn’t write any accounts about his travels to Africa. He loved many women in his time but most of all the suspiciously attractive and syphilis-free Allie. He loved Allie with a passion that could not be breached, whether by time or space. Although a succession of European wars did a pretty good job of it. When his Spitfire crashed in the desert he hallucinated so wildly about Allie he accidentally became engaged and subsequently married to his copilot Roger. They honeymooned in the south of France. After reaching the ripe old age of twenty-six, Mr. Stevenson died spectacularly in his bed. He is survived by a great deal of children who adore him. He is also survived by a few children who really couldn’t be bothered by him. BWM
THE HARVARD LAMPOON
SUITE III: DEATH
Witnesses
Ranking the 5 Stages of Grief Based on Sexiness
1. Anger (Yes! Obviously the sexiest stage. Get angry!) 2. Bargaining (I love this. Lot of push-pull. Defiant, almost dangerous. Very sexy.) In 1964, Kitty Genovese was 3. Denial (Sexy in a weird, cerebral way. Hard to explain but certainly stabbed to death in front of 38 sexy.) eye witnesses who did nothing to 4. Acceptance (Kind of lame and predictable. No thanks.) help. 5. Depression (Pathetic and actually gross.) KITTY: Oh my God, he stabbed me! MVS Help me! WITNESS 1: Oh shit. Someone should call the police. WITNESS 2: Not it. I steal the blood diamonds - all of them. My house isn’t safe; WITNESS 3: Not it. nowhere is safe. So I take the diamonds to work, in a large WITNESS 4: Not it. bag that sits by my stool on the assembly line. It’s a normal WITNESS 5: Not it. day. Normal except that I slip a $30,000 blood diamond WITNESS 6: Not it. into each of the silicon breast implants I’m pumping WITNESS 7: Not it. filling into. The diamonds are gone by the end of WITNESS 8: Not it. the day. Gone. I go home that night and I am safe. WITNESS 9: Not it. Twenty years later, I propose to Nancy. We marry in WITNESS 10: Not it. June; three months later she gets her first pair of WITNESS 11: Not it. implants done. Boom. Two diamonds. Implants WITNESS 12: Not it. redone the following year. Four. Six. Seven, WITNESS 13: Not it. because one of the breasts became infected. WITNESS 14: Not it. Nine. Eleven. Eventually we’ve recovered all WITNESS 15: Not it. 230 diamonds. I buy Nancy a nice pearl WITNESS 16: Not it. necklace, and then it’s off to the Swiss WITNESS 17: Not it. Alps for a life of luxury. I take a bath WITNESS 18: Not it. in the diamonds. They are sharp and WITNESS 19: Not it. I cut myself, but it’s okay because WITNESS 20: Not it. I understand that my life must WITNESS 21: Not it. include pain to make the joy WITNESS 22: Not it. meaningful. Perhaps one day WITNESS 23: Not it. they will cut me more and I WITNESS 24: Not it. will die. I think of this and I WITNESS 25: Not it. feel no emotion. WITNESS 26: Not it. WITNESS 27: Not it. LAS WITNESS 28: Not it. WITNESS 29: Not it. WITNESS 30: Not it. WITNESS 31: Not it. WITNESS 32: Not it. WITNESS 33: Not it. WITNESS 34: Not it. WITNESS 35: Not it. WITNESS 36: Not it. WITNESS 37: Not it. WITNESS 38: Not it. WITNESS 1: Not – ah shit. Alright I’ll call the police. WITNESS 2: (checking pulse) She’s dead.
The Perfect Crime
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SUITE III: DEATH
Transubstantiation According to doctrine, invoking the words spoken by Jesus Christ at his Last Supper will physically transform food into his real-life flesh and blood. My priest friend Will just learned this and won’t stop doing it with our recently deceased friend, Chandler. Me: O’Henry’s doesn’t feel the same without him. Will: I know my brother, I know. Let me buy you a pint. Me: Thanks mate. To Chandler. Will: “Aye lemme cop some of those mac ‘n cheese bites, real quick.” Me: (spits out Chandler’s blood) Me: I want to cry but the tears… the tears just don’t come. Will: We all grieve in different ways, my child. Also, I started popping that popcorn you wanted. Me: Wait no I never said I wanted— Will: “Hey now, this place does mac ‘n cheese bites right!” (popcorn bag fills with Chandler’s head and explodes inside microwave) Me: I’m just afraid those were his last words.
Will: Child of the Lord, I got you this can of nuts. Me: No you’re just gonna turn them into Chandler again. Will: I mean it this time. No more pranks. Me: Alright but don’t pull anything funny. (toy snakes shoot out from can of nuts) Me: Haha okay, I’ll admit you got— (Chandler’s fingers shoot out from the mouths of the toy snakes) Me: It’s our fault. We shouldn’t have let him drive home that night. Will: Hey. Hey. It’s not our fault. You remember what he said— Me: Don’t say it. I want to eat this sandwich. Will: He said— Me: Please, dude. I paid for this. Will: Okay but remember how he said— Me: Stop. Will: … Me: … Will: … “The mac ‘n cheese bites any good here?” Me: (coughs up chunks of Chandler’s abdomen) SWR
POMPEII COMIX
THE HARVARD LAMPOON
SUITE III: DEATH Hey guys, before we head up into the sky and get diving, let’s talk about safety risks. Although here at T.J.’s we want everyone to have the most righteous time possible, every so often, someone will die. Statistically speaking, that someone could be three out of five of you, which doesn’t look good since you’re only a group of two. If you want to back out now, be my guest. I totally get it. However, if the prospect of death only makes you want to skydive more, and I hope it does, I’d like to talk about T.J.’s Funeral Home.
T.J.’s Skydiving Utopia
T.J.’s Funeral Home specializes in all skydiving-related deaths. Let’s say your parachute malfunctions and you slam into the tarmac at 115mph. Or maybe it works fine but you left it back in the plane. Either way, last thing you want is some bozo embalmer who’s never seen a corpse as flat as a pancake before. Here at T.J.’s, we know what works best: mounting you like a cardboard cutout and inviting mourners to snap a farewell pic with your cadaver.
The Flesh and Blood Piece
If your terrified facial expression makes people uncomfortable, don’t worry—we’ll just cut out your face with some scissors. At first, your son might find this upsetting, but once he realizes the therapeutic effects of placing his head inside your facehole, he’ll wonder why we didn’t cut it out sooner.
ASB: You’re the worst editor ever. MVS: Now why do you say that, Alec? ASB: You never let us write anything meta. MVS: Well, meta-jokes usually aren’t very funny, that’s all. Are you planning on writing a meta piece? ASB: What’s it to you? MVS: Are you making this conversation into a meta meta piece about meta? ASB: Maybe I am. (Winks at camera) Italic letters: (winks at fourth wall) The Unmatched Wit of Samuel Clemens: (approves) You: (sighs) Someone cooler: (laughs) Me and MVS: (friends forever)
However, maybe a regular funeral sounds a little tame. After all, you’re someone who has “Lived life to the X-treme” inscribed on their gravestone. For a few thousand bucks extra, we’ll give you a funeral in the sky. Just imagine: your wife scatters your ashes mid-freefall, your brother delivers a eulogy that consists solely of backflips, and your father-in-law gets pushed out the airplane on “2” even though the instructor said he’ll count until “3”. At the end of the day, T.J.’s isn’t so much a funeral home as it is a celebration-of-life center. Whether you died doing what you love or what your therapist suggested as a way of confronting your fear of risk-taking, your death should be a party. Because if your family and friends are having fun, it’s less likely they’ll charge T.J.’s with manslaughter.
ASB
NSG
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SUITE III: DEATH
JESTER IBIS BLOT IBIS: Christ, Jester. What’s wrong? JESTER: My jester’s cap is stuck on my head. Like it’s fused onto my scalp. IBIS: Want me to pull on it? JESTER: With your bird wings? Ibis, you have bird wings. No. Now fly away, would you? IBIS: Can you stop being such a jerk right now? I’m being nice to you. JESTER: I have a cap appended to my head. My hair is braided into the lining of the cap. IBIS: You’re a Jester. You have a jester’s cap on your head. It makes sense. Now chill. JESTER: I can barely lift my head. The cap is so heavy. My neck...it kills. [BLOT ENTERS] JESTER: Ugh. Blot. BLOT (to IBIS): Um. What. What’s his deal? IBIS: He’s mad about his jester’s cap being stuck to his head. BLOT: He’s always freaking out, this guy. IBIS: Seriously. JESTER: Uh, can we focus on the problem at hand? I think my neck just broke. IBIS: It didn’t. You’re just being dramatic. JESTER: Ibis, shut up, you literally have bird bones. IBIS: Oh come on, man... JESTER: Could kill you so easily... IBIS: What the fuck? Is that a threat? JESTER: I’m just saying... IBIS: What? What are you saying? JESTER: Like maybe if you keep asking questions…
IBIS: You’re literally threatening to kill me, Jester. BLOT: He’s not. JESTER: I’m not. IBIS: You literally just said if I ask another question you’re going to kill me. JESTER: I didn’t say that. IBIS: You...did. JESTER: Whatever. IBIS: I hope that jester’s cap never comes off. JESTER: Well, you might get your wish ‘cause my skull has officially fused with the cap. IBIS: Good. That makes me happy. I feel good about that. BLOT: Guys, come on. Stop fighting. Jester, you’re being so mean to Ibis. JESTER: She just said she’s happy my skull is merging with the metal base of my jester’s cap. BLOT: That was wrong of her for sure, but you’re also being a jerk. IBIS: Yeah, Jester. You are. You’re mean to me. Your death threat jokes hurt me. BLOT: Now, Ibis, you aren’t exactly off the hook. You just wished pain on Jester. IBIS: It was a joke. I was razzing. I like to razz, sue me. JESTER: Well it hurt. IBIS: Fair. [LONG SILENCE] BLOT: Jester, to be honest, the cap looks great. IBIS: Yeah, you really should calm down. You look amazing. JESTER: Do I? BLOT: Yes.
THE HARVARD LAMPOON
JESTER: Well. I still want it off. Can you pull it off, Blot? You’re strong. BLOT: If I try to do that, I’ll potentially rip your entire head off. JESTER: I don’t think you will. BLOT: I definitely will. JESTER: Just one tug. Let’s see it. BLOT: No. Let’s just lie down, shall we? Rest our necks. IBIS: That sounds good. JESTER: I dunno... BLOT: Lying down will be very good for you. JESTER: One tug. Please. IBIS: No. Jester. Come here. It’s fine. [JESTER, IBIS, and BLOT lie down] JESTER: I guess I feel better. IBIS: I’m happy about that. BLOT: Yeah, great to hear. JESTER: All that said. we will need to get this cap off when we get up and also I don’t know if I can get up. BLOT: It’ll be okay I think. IBIS: Yeah, I’m not too worried. JESTER: You guys might have to carry me home. BLOT & IBIS (in unison): We’ll carry you home, definitely. JESTER: Awesome thank you. BLOT & IBIS (in unison): Aaaabsolutely, dude. Of course. Consider it done.
MVS
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS UNCREDITED ART
thanks
MVS would like to thank
Chimney Sweep/The Body of a Dancer: AEV
staff (of Tommy’s Value), staff (of the Lampoon), ARC for the visuals, and his own flesh and blood.
Gravy Mine/Awkward CVS Encounter/ The Perfect Crime: LAS Sleeping with the Fishes Comix: KAM
ARC would like to thank
Woman Feels Pain for the First Time: GJA
a partially-unknown plurality of staff, MVS for the writtens, RJS, DPF, TDK, SAE, JTB, and the circle of life.
Apocalypse: SAE Cover/layout/all other uncredited art: ARC
ANNOUNCEMENTS Ma Lampy appends eight new seats to her huge tandem bicycle: Akshar Bonu ‘17-’18 of Manila, Philippines and Pforzheimer House, Shaun Vijay Gohel ‘18 of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and Dunster House, Thomas Donovan Keene ‘18 of Sarasota, Florida and Leverett House, Juan Fernando Arenas Restrepo ‘19 of Norwalk, Connecticut and Mather House, Haskell Bram Flender ‘19 of Los Angeles, California and Adams House, Hillman James Hollister ‘19 of Marblehead, Massachusetts and Kirkland House, Brian William Mott ‘19 of Walla Walla, Washington and Dunster House, Nicholas Stephen Grundlingh ‘20 of Cape Town, South Africa and Canaday
SHE also rings her CUTE Little handleBAR bell
And then tells the following people to pedal faster, or else: Alice Ju ‘18 of Frankfurt, Germany and Kirkland House, President ; Alexander Robert Cohen ‘18 of Manhattan, New York and Dunster House, Ibis ; Ava Eugenia Violich ‘18 of Boston, Massachusetts and Mather House, Narthex ; Camille Kit Jacobson ‘18 of Manhattan Beach, California and Leverett House, Treasurer ; Theodore Ninh ‘19 of Essex Junction, Vermont and Mather House, Blot ; Scott William Roberts ‘19 of San Diego, California and Adams House, Sanctum ; Liana Anneke Spiro ‘19 of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and Adams House, Sanctum ; Juan Fernando Arenas Restrepo ‘19 of Norwalk, Connecticut and Mather House, Hautbois ; Hillman James Hollister ‘19 of Marblehead, Massachusetts and Kirkland House, Hautbois ; Gabriel Jandali Appel ‘17 of Santa Monica, California and Quincy House, Sackbut ; Curtis Henry Stone ‘17 of Boston, Massachusetts and Quincy House, Sackbut ; Lily Claire Scherlis ‘18 of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and Dunster House, Librarian ; Haley Louise Daniels ‘18 of Westwood, California and Lowell House, Nave ; David Philip Frankle ‘18 of Los Gatos, California and Eliot House, Frankle ; Thomas Donovan Keene ‘18 of Sarasota, Florida and Leverett House, Advertising Manager ; Thomas Bailey Waddick ‘17-’18 of Waltham, Massachusetts and Adams House, Circulation Manager ; Mark Vincent Steinbach ‘17 of Burlington, MA and Leverett House, Vanitas .
for Scott William Roberts ‘18 and Liana Anneke Spiro ‘18 as thanks for their service as Hautbois in the fall of 2016.
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