S SI IMM PP LL YY
C C LL AA S SS SI IC C
DUCKHAM ARCHITECTURE & INTERIORS
w w w. k e n t d u c k h a m . c o m
53 Central Avenue, Needham, MA 02494
781.449.4109
W
PLAY PING OUTSIDE WITH OUR ULTRADURABLE TABLES
WEATHER-RESISTANT & SHOCK-RESISTANT
DISCOVER ALL OF OUR PRODUCTS
us.cornilleau.com
TY
RAN AR
LOVE WHAT YOU DO AT
now hiring jobs.wegmans.com 1093667tmg_Recruitment_NowHiringHarvardLampoonMagazine.indd 1
4/23/20 2:00 PM
cal
VANITAS Dear Judging Committee for the American Society for Magazine Editors, I notice you have not been receiving my letters. I can not emphasize enough how much I respect your work, despite the fact that my letters were all addressed to a fictional individual whom I created with the intent of confusing your mailman such that he simply delivers your award to 44 Bow St to avoid finding the home of “Emoji Jones.” Without your magazine awards, we would not know what magazine is good. And for that, I am grateful. I see that the most recent winner of your Ellie, which seems to be the Oscars of written fiction in periodically printed publications, was The Paris Review for “Under the Ackee Tree,” by Jonathan Escoffery. I’m gonna be honest, I checked it out, and I would really direct you to “Adelbert” by HLD ‘18, which is provably from where Jonathan ripped his little story. Sorry, I let my emotions get the best of me sometimes. I harbor no resentment. In fact, I’ve sent you (Mark Schoofs, Editor-in-Chief of Buzzfeed, head of the Ellies committee) this magazine to your personal address (510 Gordon St, Encino, CA 91316) as a gesture of peace. The truth is that I am heartbroken that the Lampoon’s quality has never been validated with an award. In fact, the majority of recent press we have gotten has not been validating at all. That is why I have created this entire issue for your consideration. That’s right, only one copy of this issue exists, and it’s in your hands, Mark. All I can hope is that you will see in the Lampoon what the Oscars see in white people. I want you to flip through this magazine, personally curated for the American Society for Magazine Editors and the things they like to do / talk about (awards), and I want you to say: “Wow JLG. This thing is full of anthrax. Why did you do that?” That’s pretty much all I have to say, Mark. And, in the unlikely event of a freak clerical error which results in this issue being distributed to our entire readerbase, I will leave our 750,000 paying subscribers with one piece of advice: whatever it is that you want to do with your life, whatever you’re afraid of, whatever’s holding you back — never tell yourself it’s because you’re not good enough, not talented enough, not intelligent, not beautiful or important — it’s because you don’t have an award like I soon will.
JLG
April 2020
BOARD OF EDITORS Maxwell A. Gay ’21, President Gavin. P. Lifrieri ’21, Ibis Lia R. Kiam ’21, Narthex Marie A. Konopacki ’21, Narthex
S. W. Roberts ’19-’20 T. Ninh ’19-’20 B. W. Mott ’19-’20 S. Wu ’20-’21 J. T. Ball ’20-’21 M. R. Perusse ’20 A. Chen ’20 I. M. Gibney ’20
Y. Ji ’21 L. G. Fadiman ’21 O. Jain’20 F. S. Shanel ’21 A. M. Peiken ’20 E. H. Sevilla ’20 J. L. Gilbert ’21 P. K. Stoller ’21
Vol. CXXXXIV No. 4
J. P. Wolfe ‘22 Y. M. Chamieh ’21 V. I. Nutting ’21 E. B. Chenevey ‘22 J. S. Roberts ‘22 S. K. Lam ‘23
N. A. Araya ’20-’21, Blot Lucas. E. Graciano ’21, Grass Kate. N. Rachesky ’22, Sanctum Mike M. Miller ’20, Hautbois Grace. Y. Shi ’22, Hautbois Juan F. Arenas R. ’19-’20, Arenas John L. Nugent ’21, Sackbut Zachary D. Goddard ’20, Goddard David J. Lynch’20, Nave Nicholas S. Grundlingh ’20, Vanitas Jack G. Stovitz ’20, Vanitas BUSINESS BOARD Nicholas G. Jaeger ’21, Treasurer Dash P. D. Wasserstein ’22, Business Manager Adam S. Levin ’22, Advertising Manager Adiya A. Abdilkhay ‘22, Circulation Manager T. Donovan Keene ’18-’20 B. J. Falk ’20 S. H. Henson ’20 J. D. Wasserstein ’21
M. Eczacıbaşı ’20 P. T. Magahis ’21 B. L. Weber ’21 A. E. Harper ’20
Elmer W. Green, 1897-1977, Grand Curator ISSUE EDITOR Jakob L. Gilbert ART EDITOR
Josephine S. Roberts The Harvard Lampoon is published five times during the academic year by the Harvard Lampoon, Inc., and is not responsible for the sale of rhino carcasses commercially. We are not sure why people think that. Principal office is 44 Bow Street, Cambridge, MA 02138. Please do not come by asking for rhinos, we don‘t have any and never did. U.S Subscription: $20 for 5 issues, $35 for 10, $50 for fifteen, and the rest are free. The skull of a rhino will cost you $450 dogecoin. .Overseas subscriptions: call for rates, we love a good rate call. Postmaster: send address changes to Harvard Lampoon, 44 Bow Street, Cambridge, MA, 02138. © 2020 Harvard Lampoon, Inc. All rights reserved. Reproduction in any form without written permission is prohibited, unless you really want to. Phone: (617) 495-7801. Fax: (617) 495-1668. URL: http://www.harvardlampoon.com/ The Harvard Lampoon cannot consider unsolicited manuscripts, or anything for that matter. The Lanpoon is a registered trademark of the Harvard Lampoon, Inc.
The year is 2004. It’s Friday in 2004. You head to the Blockbuster in 2004 with your dad to rent a movie. You’re near the candy and Dad is over by the X-rated movies. He’s going to pick something out for him and Wendy to watch after you go to bed. Life is good. It’s not great, but it’s good. Suddenly, you hear Dad crumple to the ground. He’s seizing up. “My arm! My arm!” He says, as if crying about it is going to help. You put your fingers to his forehead. He’s bone cold. “Dad? Dad? Dad?” You’re shaking him to make sure you’ve got the right dad. He‘s dead, but it‘s no time to mourn. It‘s time to save face. “Alright everyone in Blockbuster, this is a hold-up!” You shout, grabbing your Dad’s gun from his ankle holster (he was an air marshall who had been suspended for applauding too loudly during an in-flight movie). Waving the gun, you move the customers to the back of the store. You ask for a shopping cart and Lyle, the store clerk and a real people pleaser, is the first to defect to your cause. “You want the Red Vines? Take the Red Vines,” Lyle says, making you feel… making you feel like what you want matters? Like your dad is dead but now you have Lyle and you have these hostages and you have Red Vines, even though you don’t really like Red Vines cause they’re like bootleg Twizzlers but Lyle seems like a real tastemaker so you go with it. “Yeah, I’m taking the Red Vines,” you say, putting a handful in your mouth at first but as the hostages start to spaz a little you eat faster and get pretty sick. Lyle, always the consistent accomplice, steps in: “If you need to vom, just go out back. I can take care of things here.” He lines up the customers one-by-one and explains to them how Blockbuster‘s 4 movies for $3 business model is technically profitable, buying you time to go out to the dumpster to throw up. You think about how Lyle is the real hero today, not you. As you spew entirely unchewed Red Vines into the dumpster outside of the Blockbuster in 2004 you see the garbage can is filled to the brim with unopened DVD copies of Marmaduke. What the fuck? That movie doesn’t come out for six more years. You go back inside to tell Lyle there’s a gold mine of unreleased dog comedy waiting out there and you’ll cut him in for half. But when you go to tap your dead father’s gun on the window of the Blockbuster what happens? The door is locked. Blockbuster has gone out of business. Permanently. MAG
Hey, here‘s your award for getting into Harvard:
You did really good, champ. Those homeless people you almost saved in 10th grade would be proud.
HAMILTON This is the real story of something that occurred to me in 2008. John Weidman ‘68: I hear we have a talented musician in the crowd? Lin-Manuel Miranda and 8-year-old-me stand up at the same time. Lin-Manuel Miranda: Oh! 8-Year-Old Me: (chuckling) I’m so sorry. (gestures towards piano) Please. Lin-Manuel Miranda: (laughing) No, little guy, why don’t you... 8-Year-Old Me: I insist. Lin-Manuel Miranda: (looking at my parents) Oh, okay8-Year-Old Me: I’ll just go after you. You can go first, Lin-Manuel Miranda. Lin-Manuel Miranda: Okay. Lin-Manuel sits down at piano. Lin-Manuel Miranda: Just to preface this, I’ve been doing a lot of research into-8-Year-Old Me: Alexander Hamilton. Yeah, me too. Just play the song and I’ll go next. JLN
THE 2015 MISS UNIVERSE PAGEANT STEVE HARVEY: COLOMBIA! (Miss Philippines hugs Miss Colombia. Tears stream down Miss Colombia’s face. Ever since she was a 5-year-old girl in Atioquia who solved cancer, winning an award based on her looks and ability to juggle three batons was her dream. Crowd claps politely.) STEVE: Wait, wait, everyone… this is very unusual, but... I have to apologize. (Crowd erupts in cheer. They paid to see this.) STEVE: Wait wait. Now just hold on just one second, just wait. There’s been a mistake. (Crowd goes crazy. Fuck Miss Colombia.) STEVE: The mistake is that this whole event feels like a patriarchal commodification of the female form. (Dramatic pause from Steve. Audience boos, where’s our Moonlight moment? Steve owns the chaos.) STEVE: Like...me? Come on… I’m Steve Harvey! Who made Steve Harvey the judge of beauty? This guy? Me? Steve Harvey? (Miss Colombia starts to cry. Miss Philippines consoles her. Harvey feigns shame, but sneaks a glance at the crowd, they’re shouting “Steve is a feminist hero! Steve is a feminist hero!” He lets out a smile. He lives for this shit.) STEVE: Aw, man! I’m not a -- I mean, if you say I am -- but I really am just a regular -(Steve acts like he doesn’t have a fully prepared speech on gender theory. Miss Colombia stares at Steve, hoping he’ll take back what he said about the profession to which she dedicated the last 25 years of her life, but our man Stevey-H tilts his thumb down coliseum-style, then up, then back down, while the crowd screams bloody murder.) STEVE: Now wait, wait just a second. There’s been another mistake. (Crowd whoops, even more heartbreak. Front row stands up and salutes Steve, chanting “Women don’t deserve awards! Women don’t deserve awards!”) STEVE: The mistake is that Miss Philippines won. I misread the card. My bad, Colombia. JLN
BAD DAYS - When Dad broke out of jail and decided to hold his second family hostage instead of ours. - When my computer got switched to German but my keyboard stayed in English. - When I tried to invest in Motorcycles (MTCY) but ended up investing in Motorcycles.com (MTCL) and made negative money. - When my high-blood pressure prevented me from playing in the Super Bowl, as well as every other game of the NFL season, college ball, and making my high school team. - When I put my head out the passenger window on Highway 101 to feel the wind and broke my collarbone on a dog going in the opposite direction. The dog was fine. MAG
COLLEGE JANITOR
If all the Boy Scouts in the world got together they could stir up some real trouble. MAG
- Hey. YOU! Stop right there. - Can I help you? - Yeah, you can stop mopping and start explaining what you did to my white board. - I noticed some numbers and lines while cleaning and solved The Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer Conjecture after mere moments of postulation on the function of elliptic curves. - You wrote over the plan for next week’s game against Milbury U. - I didn’t notice. - You.. didn’t.. notice. You were too busy mopping our floors to see we were a football school, huh? - I’m… I’m so sorry. I was caught up in the math and--- You were caught up in the math and ruined our chances at a double-touch down. Do you know how long we’ve been scheming the double-touchdown? - Years? - Years? Well, no, a few weeks. The best weeks of my life, though. MAG
How long have you been unemployed? Uncle Buck: That’s an incredibly personal question. Me: I’m just asking because I’m in charge of the U.S. Census this year. Uncle Buck: Oh right. Can you tell me what I put down for marital status again? Me: You told me to check other and write in “autofellatio.” Uncle Buck: Nice. Unemployed 9 years. LRK
MALL SANTA Beep. Beep. Beep. 5:15 AM. I sigh. I brew my morning coffee and catch up on the news — just drone strikes and coups. Not really my speed, if you know what I mean. I get in the car: a couple lefts, a couple rights, a couple k-turns, u-turns — I mean, who the hell even knows what they’re doing nowadays, am I right? NPR’s playing a special on Donald Trump. God, what an absolute hack job that guy is. He just gets me so worked up. But I can’t stay frustrated; I’ve got another long day playing Santa Claus at the Freehold County Mall ahead of me. I pull into my reserved parking spot just 100 yards out from the main entrance. Pretty sweet perk if you ask me. 15% off the kiosks, too. But I don’t do it for the benefits, or even the pay; the pay isn’t particularly good, especially now during the dead of summer. I do it because I love what I do, and not everyone can honestly say that to themselves. “What’s up, Reggie?” I holler at the cologne kiosk. “Not much, Trent! How bout you?” Angela, from the trinket kiosk, says. “Oh—Oh, I was talking to R—I’m doing well. Oh, I mean, not much! How bout y—I mean, Happy August!” Jesus. I’m not on my game today, I think. Better step it up before I talk to these kids about Christmas and presents and, if I’m lucky, their hopes and dreams. By the time 7 AM rolls around, the mall is empty. Typical. I consider taking out my iPhone and opening up the Sudoku.com app. No, Trent, I think. You are a professional. Would Santa be playing Sudoku Trent? No. No, he wouldn’t. I start thinking about what Santa would do if he was here when I see two parents and a gargantuan child walk up in my direction. I really can’t overemphasize how massive this kid is. 6 foot 5, maybe 6 foot 6, muscles up the wazoo. You’re probably thinking of a pretty bulky twelve-year-old right now, but I want you to imagine someone three times his weight and four times as muscular, and this kid would still beat the living shit outta whoever you’re thinking of. I’m serious. He looked like he went to the gym three times a day to eat every patron there. He approaches, and all I can think is that this kid is literally gonna break my knee. I’ve got a bad knee as it is, tore my ACL playing high school ball down in Manasquan. Scouts said I had I real shot of playing D-1 before that happened, too. He sits down on my knee and I swear to God I hear a crack or two. I wince, but I keep a poker face; that’s just life as a professional. “What’s up, Dikembe?” I say with a chuckle and a wink. This kid makes an expression that all but says “Look old man, I do not have the first clue who Dikembe Mutombo, world famous basketballer, is.” Damn. “Ho, ho, ho!” I chortle. “I’m sorry, Dikembe is one of my best friends up in the North Pole!” Phew. I mean, say what you will about me, but I play a damn good Santa. “Uhmmm,” he says, and I shit you not this kid has got the absolute deepest voice I’ve ever heard. Like, it would truly would shake a school bus for orca whales. “I’d really love a well-fitting sweater,” he says. “Jesus, good luck,” I say before I can stop myself. God, Trent, are you kidding me! How could you be so god damn stupid! The boss is not gonna have this. This is unprofessionalism at its absolute fucking finest. God, what am I gonna do? I have bills to pay. Water, electricity, you name it. Oh, oh God… “Ok, thanks so much!” he says with a grin and scampers off to his parents.
JPW
ZDG
SHARK TANK U.S.S.R. Host: Welcome to Shark Tank USSR. Alexei: Privet, sharks. Today I am asking for 0 rubles in exchange for 100% of company. PKS AN ALTERNATE BLACK-MIRROR-TYPE UNIVERSE WHERE PEOPLE CAN ERASE THEIR MEMORIES TO REWATCH THEIR FAVORITE MOVIES AND TV FOR THE FIRST TIME
ME: (touches brain button) JUDGE: Not guilty! ME: Yes! Go OJ! JLG
There’s no more gazpacho in the cupboard. - What? - There’s no more cans of gazpacho in our cupboard. The hell am I supposed to eat? - I don’t know. I’m not in charge of all the shopping in this house. - Yeah, alright. - Alright then. - Alright. - Alright. - I could use some gazpacho though if you’re going to the store again soon. - I’m not. - Alright. - Alright. MMM
J. ROBERT OPPENHEIMER SIGNS AN NDA - You understand that after you sign this document you cannot discuss the Manhattan Project with anyone under penalty of death, correct? - Yes, I understand. (signs) - So, Mr. Oppenheimer, nuclear fission. Is it p o ssible? How do we do it? - (silence) - Mr. Oppenheimer? - (does zip-lipping motion, throws away key) - Oh... Oh. Shit. NISH
ANSWERING MACHINE – (pickup) Hello? – Doc?! Is that you? It’s Billy. – The Doctor is in! What’s up? – (angrily) What’s up? The fuck do you mean “what’s up?” Look, man I don’t think it’s cool that you decided to deliver the news that I have syphilis to my answering machine. – What? – I live with my mom, and–. – Speak up, I can’t hear you? – (louder) Yeah, I live with my mom and she heard about the syphilis over the answering– – (laughing) I’m just kidding. I totally got you. This is just an automated message on my answering machine. Leave me a message and I’ll be sure to get back to you. GPL
I‘ve always wondered about telephone poles. Like, who put those there? Why? MAG
P RK CHESS “Five dollars a game?” the hustler asks. “Fine,” I sigh. I usually charge ten. “You must be some kind of chess master or something!” I say, knowing full well that he has been working towards grandmaster certification for three years to no avail. Now I’m living rent-free in his head. I’m even cheering him on, he has never felt so appreciated. Probably why he’s not charging rent. “You got no clue what you’re doing,” he sneers, gesturing to the chess pieces I am haphazardly stacking into a pyramid. “Could we switch seats? Yours looks comfy,” I ask. He agrees, now I’m playing in his superior position. Dude made a far more intricate pyramid. The hustler goes on the attack: “Life is a lot like this here chess. You and me, we are pawns. In a – wait, that’s checkmate?” It’s not, but I’ve written “That’s Checkmate” in bubble letters diagonally across the white chess squares, and, for what it’s worth, the man can read. JLN
CRYOBANK WAITING ROOM - First time? - Yeah. Gotta pay rent somehow. - (scoffs) Rent? Look around, kid. What do you see? - Shit, bunch of hotshot Ivy League educated lawyers, I guess. - Wealthy men. Impactful men. What else? - Everyone six foot or up. Perfect bone structure. Genius level IQ. - (kicks up feet) You think they need this money? - I guess not. - Money is everywhere. Find me another place to ejaculate in the company of this many great men. JLN
My favorite part of donating sperm is knowing that behind that one-way glass there are twenty or so doctors and nurses cheering me on. MAG
OPERATION ENDURING FREEDOM George Bush: Good afternoon. On my orders the United States military has begun coordinated attacks against Al Qaeda terrorist training camps and the dune buggy production factories of the Taliban regime in Afghanistan. Dick Cheney: Sir, talk about the oil George Bush: And I promise you that we will soon own all the dune buggies that Osama has kept from us. Dick Cheney: Sir, the oil…. George Bush: We need their oil to run our dune buggies American People: *cheering* BWM
SAM THE SNAIL
Announcer: We’re here post-race at the Wiscosin State Track & Field Finals with Sam the Snail, the all-district sprinter from Snailview High. Sam, what’re your thoughts on that race? Sam the Snail: I don’t know what happened. Announcer: You got burned, Sam. Sam the Snail: Why were there leopards? Announcer: There are always leopards, Sam. This is States. Sam the Snail: There were, like, wolves and cats. How am I supposed to beat leopards? Announcer: It’s a State Track Meet Sam. All winners are invited to participate. Sam the Snail: The whole school came. They made a banner. Announcer: Well...that was Sam the Snail. Back to you Johnny. Johnny: Now we turn to the long jump, where a piece of coral will attempt to out-jump a frog. Sam the Snail: I could’ve been a lawyer. MAG GPL
When you‘re eating at a restaurant, shake your head at the waiter every time he comes by. He‘s not going to know what the hell is going on. MAG
HOW I MET MY WIFE I had been talking to this woman in front of me while we were waiting in line at the grocery store and a few things started to sound familiar. Too familiar. Especially when she started telling me about her husband. He wets the bed every night because he oozes ranch dressing at the top of his REM cycle. Check. He wrote the book on interspecies masturbation. Check. He was my surrogate. Double check. He once called me a fritter for scratching without sniffing. Check mate. He knows how to speak yibbin. No check here but hella respect. His signature dance move, the rodeo shaker, became the official dance move of our house. Check please! Once I realize it’s me, it’s game over. I’m circling her at this point and can hardly keep from caressing her rear cheeks. She’s loving it but she still can’t be sure…is it? Yes. It’s me baby. Remember those days at the beach house when we would pretend to be our dads and engage in passionate love making? The time you testified in court against me for being an unknowing accessory to the crime? When the US government and I both sued you for hate speech against the Island folk? When we got our sentences to overlap—me one year, you life. God, I love the legal system. LRK
If you‘re ever on the run from the law, don‘t ever get into a chase. That‘s how they catch you. MAG
2020 INTERNATIONAL VIDEO GAME AWARDS ACCEPTANCE SPEECH Oh, thank you, really thank you so much. This award...it truly means so much to me. Well, it looks like they’re playing me off now, but… In some ways, life is like a video game. You collect experience, and, eventually, you get a reward (holds up trophy) (tremendous applause). You know, if this were happening in my video game, there’d be someone in the audience plotting to take this from me right now! (laughs) (squints eyes). Well they’re playing me off now, but I just wanted to reaffirm that of course this is not one of my video games, as this level of VR tech doesn’t even exist yet. Something like that would be (takes out laser blaster) award...winning… JLG
HI, BILLY MAYS HERE FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE, WITH AN IMPORTANT MESSAGE FOR THOSE YET TO BE JUDGED, WHEREUPON I PERSONALLY WAS DAMNED TO HELL, IT’S PRETTY SCARY DOWN HERE BUT BOY DO I HAVE JUST THE PRODUCT FOR YOU. I WANT TO TALK TODAY ABOUT THE “SMOOTHIE HEAVEN” SMOOTHIE BLENDER. IF YOU ARE LIKE ME, WONDERING HOW I AM BROADCASTING THIS INFOMERCIAL, WHETHER THIS HELLFIRE BEHIND ME IS A GREEN-SCREEN OR IF THIS IS WHAT HELL IS LIKE, THEN YOU WILL NOTICE THAT THIS BLENDER REALLY FINELY BLENDS THE BERRIES AND FIBROUS FRUITS YOU’RE ADDING INTO YOUR SMOOTHIES. DING DING DING! DO YOU HEAR THAT? THOSE ARE THE BELLS THEY RING WHEN IT’S TIME TO LINE UP AND GET SLASHED IN THE FACE WITH A RAZOR BY A DEMON. YOU KNOW WHAT IS PURE HELL? GETTING CHUNKS OF FRUIT IN YOUR SMOOTHIE AND HAVING TO CHEW THROUGH THEM. BE RIGHT BACK THOUGH. “SMOOTHIE HEAVEN” BLENDERS USE BLADES SHARPER THAN THE ONE YOU JUST SAW ɢ’ǟȶɦǟʀʍǟʀ USE ON ME, BUT INSTEAD OF BLOODYING UP MY FACE, YOU’RE GOING TO GET AN INCREDIBLE TASTING SMOOTHIE. MY OPINION? THAT’S THE BEST OF BOTH WORLDS: A BIT OF FEAR, A LOT OF SMOOTHIE, I’M BILLY MAYS. FOR FOUR EASY PAYMENTS OF $19.99 AND ONE DIFFICULT PAYMENT OF SOUL THE “SMOOTHIE HEAVEN” BLENDER CAN BE YOURS FOREVER, AND REALLY, THINK ABOUT THE WORD “FOREVER“ AND WHAT THAT MEANS TO YOU, BECAUSE I SURE DIDN‘T. IF YOU PURCHASE THE “SMOOTHIE HEAVEN” BLENDER BEFORE I FINISH SPEAKING AND REPEATEDLY BLINKING S.O.S. IN MORSE CODE, I’LL THROW IN: — DOUBLE THE BLADES: TWO TIMES THE SMOOTHNESS. NOW THAT YOU’VE HEARD ABOUT THIS DEAL, YOUR SINGLE-BLADE SMOOTHIES WILL BE TOO THICK TO SWALLOW — LOOSE BLADES: TOSS THESE BLADES INTO THE ACTUAL SMOOTHIE, BLEND EM UP — A SPATULA: FOR YOUR GRILL — IF YOU’RE LIKE ME, YOU YEARN FOR THAT FEELING OF ETERNAL PEACE, A SECOND CHANCE AT GOD’S FORGIVENESS FOR YOUR SINS, THEN THE “SMOOTHIE HEAVEN” BLENDER CAN GUARANTEE—IT’LL—YOU’LL ALWAYS FEEL—IT...it blends well. I‘m Billy Mays. KNR
KIDS CHOICE AWARDS And here we are at the 2004 Kid’s Choice Awards, where kids are the ones with the power! Without further ado, it is time to name the best musician… And the kids have selected Jack Black! Look at that, he’s getting slimed! Well that’s not a surprise to anyone, Jack Black is a great musician with a hilarious sense of humor. Moving right along we go to the best lead actor…Jack Black again! This is highly unusual, two slimings in one day, who would imagine?! Looks like he’s having a bit of difficulty getting off the stage with all that slime on him. Ooh, and he takes a tumble down the stairs. That’s gotta hurt. He’s writhing in pain there at the bottom...well, while he gets some medical attention, let’s get to our award for best supporting actor—and you would not believe it if I told you that Jack Black wins again! This time for supporting himself as the lead role in School of Rock! He’s limping up the…uh-oh! Looks like the slime has lubed up the stairs, and he, as you just saw, slipped and fell back to the bottom. Hard. What’s that? Jack, we won’t go on without you. No seriously, we’ll wait. Alright get on up here. He’s just laying down on the stage because he’s a little tuckered out from the repeated falls, folks. Here is your award Jack–AND HE GETS SLIIIIIIMED! No way Jack is coming back from that one! No seriously, he was laying on his back and it looks like a lot of slime got in his mouth. This stuff is toxic. While Jack foams at the mouth let’s get on to our next award. This one is the–—The Jack Black Honorary Jack Black is Back Award. Wow...there seems to be a miscount because there is a 4-way TIE BETWEEN 4 JACK BLACKS?! SLIME HIM!!!!! GPL
EONE A RETELLING OF JAWS BY SOM WHO HAS DEFINITELY SEEN IT y big shark. Everyone Jaws...yes. Jaws is the story of a ver have seen it, perhaps knows that. Especially those who movie starts by the sea even too many times. Right. So the be expected, selling shore, where someone is, as would in Jaws, the name of the sea shells. Life is always like this town. FSS
HOSPITAL VISIT Nurse: Doctor quick, we’ve got a patient in critical condition! Doctor: What’s the situation? Nurse: Ambulance just brought him in — looks to be a drowning victim. And it’s… Doctor: ...Nurse? Nurse: … It’s… Doctor: Spit it out dammit, he’s dying! Nurse: … iiiiit’s Jack Black! Kids Everywhere: Wooooooooooooooooooooo! Doctor: (chuckling) Haha, alright kids. Well, you heard ‘em Nurse. Remove his breathing tube and IVs. Let’s slime him. JFAR
ANY QUESTIONS? - (raises hand) - Yes, Max? - Uhhhh… so when you observe from the… From the point of… the incident (coughs)... there was a... In the scene of the... climax? When the character, Ham let...ton… Hamleton... And they were…their political… Narrator was like... Have to do when the… and you know the…. Then you unders tand that when…. The lesson is learned... (coughs) …. You know? - ... - Teacher? - Jesus Christ. What were you tryi ng to say there? - Bathroom? - Oh, okay….. No. MAG
A TASTE OF MY OWN MEDICINE Most people don’t believe this, but my job wasn’t always swindling terminally-ill people into buying terminal-illness-curing licorice pipettes. Flash-back to the good old days about two or three days ago, and I‘m basically sitting around with my cat, Mittens, and eating licorice non-stop (since that‘s the only thing that makes me any income, by helping me detach from the fact that I write lyrical poetry). Everything changes the day I have a tragic overdose in Dylan’s Candy Bar and develop severe allergies. Goodbye Mittens. “Am hungry. Anything helps,” I write to the publishing house as my last desperate attempt at a haiku. Dylan “Candy Bar” Guy, town mobster, intercepts the cardboard haiku just as I had planned. “I‘m gonna make you an offer you can‘t refuse,“ he seductively whispers into my ear as he hands me heaps upon heaps of licorice pipettes. I accept immediately. No fool ever lived to see another day after refusing pipettes from the Candy Bar. Is selling licorice pipettes to the terminally-ill really fulfilling? Let’s just say eating them was more fulfilling, but I got yelled at after taking my first bite of a cancer arm. Flash-forward to the not good old days, now, where I, having just forgotten that I am bathing in water, not licorice cream, took a big sip. Infection had already begun to wither me out when one of the terminally-ill men I‘ve swindled comes to my house and tries to force my pipettes down my throat, asking how does it taste now. Fuck. Licorice. “It‘s so delicious,” I whisper my last haiku before the world turns dark. “That was my last haiku before the world turns dark.”
I never had much use for illegal drugs, other than selling them for money and having a good time. MAG
SUNDAY SCHOOL Welcome, children. So, our pastor died and you all are now terrified of the same thing happening to you, yes? That fear might have been exacerbated by you overhearing me say, “Thank God the pastor is dead and there’s no heaven so there’s no chance I’ll ever see him again.” Well, it’s your fault for eavesdropping during my mirror rituals. A lot of you have asked me to explain why God allows us to die. Well, it’s kind of like...ever see your mom chuck out that box of Legos you played with as a kid, maybe you haven’t played with it in years, but you felt like you might play with again? Yeah, that’s sad, like death — but now I have the box of Legos I’ve always wanted. Death is God’s version of housekeeping. You mop, He floods. Sometimes God will deep clean and wipe out a lot of humans at once. So that’s why your grandma died, Jesse. She was like garbage to God. By the way Jesse, your mom’s going to pick you up early today. Something bad happened. It might be hard to wrap your mind around this, but personally I’m grateful that God cleans house. Or else we’d have a Sunday School class, like, three times this size. I know God created everything in his image, but creations are disposable. I threw out all your macaroni portraits of Jesus. AMP From time to time, the tree of liberty must be watered with the blood of tyrants and patriots. JFAR
SPIDERMAN 4: FACING DEFEAT INT. THE DAILY BULGE -- DAY PETER PARKER places a stack of PHOTOS on JAMESON’s desk. JAMESON Parker, you son of a bitch. I name it, you photograph it. What’s your secret? PARKER Secret? Oh...no secret, boss. Just...just a good photographer, I guess! JAMESON That’s amazing. And I pay you nothing? PARKER Nothing, sir. JAMESON In-fucking-credible, Parker. Listen to me. I need a picture of Spiderman holding a camera. PARKER A...a camera? I can’t afford another camera… JAMESON Why would you need another camera, you half-brained idiot doofus? Just snap the shot next time you see Spiderman holding one! PARKER Right, right. INT. PETER’S BEDROOM -- LATER PETER has established an ELABORATE SERIES OF MIRRORS in order to snap a picture of himself holding a CAMERA in his SPIDERMAN OUTFIT. PETER I’m...gonna have to tell him. JLG
CRYING IN THE RAIN And I mean yeah they can’t see you cry in the rain, but shit right through your pants? People are probably going to figure out what’s going on. And no one is going to argue that if you cry in the rain people will know, but cry and shit yourself during sixth period English a couple of times? Pretty soon word will get around. Just to prove my point, take the example of someone shitting themselves at Denny’s, going to the bathroom to freshen up a bit and the moment they step out of the restroom boom they shit themselves again... let’s just say that everyone will find out. BWM
FEMME FATALE She walks into the room and grabs my attention. Or maybe she grabs my hand. I’m shaking now. No, we’re shaking. Hands. Her skin feels exactly like skin. And against my skin, it feels like more skin. A wetness starts to form down there, in my palm. This is common for me. She introduces herself, and I immediately forget her name. Her power over me frightens and excites me, and immediately I forget her face. And where I am. I order a drink, and introduce myself to a beautiful woman sitting next to me. She tells me we’ve met before. VIN
BEST PICTURE But just what a year for movies! All my friends tell me, they tell me George Clooney, you love movies more than anyone else I know! That’s why I became a little worried when the Redbox machine around the corner from me was hit by a car — would this mean the end of movies? But I was just told backstage that is not the case. Without further ado, the award goes to... (Clooney’s speech comes to a halt as a Production Assistant runs across the stage. His shoes squeak in the quiet auditorium. Wheezing with effort, he whispers something in George’s ear. George nods in understanding and the Assistant begins to run back to stage left. Halfway, he stops, turns, and runs back to Clooney, whispering once more into the actor’s ear before finally exiting the stage.) Okay I’m getting word from (Clooney looks to the Production Assistant, who is wringing his hands and sweating)... this Janitor here that the true winner is somewhere in this stack of cards… I’ll just read them off and you tell me when I get to the right one. *Ahem*--Spongeman: The Firebombing of Bikini Bottom. (P.A. shakes head no) Peppa Pig explains what Parents do at Night? (P.A. shakes head no) Blegh… why is this card so sticky? Okay… Wrinkley, the Sewer Clown. (P.A. shakes head no) Your winner is… Catbus: Ticket for Two! (P.A. shakes head no)
Bourne Stupid? (P.A. shakes head no) My Sister Sets Her Hair on Fire… by Billie B. (P.A. shakes head no) Frog goes squish, by Billie B. (P.A. shakes head no) Dogs, Breastfeeding. (P.A. shakes head no) Love? (gaining confidence) The winner this year was love (P.A. shakes head no) The Frosty Machine Singalong: Your first day at Wendy’s. (P.A. gives the thumbs up) There you have it, the winner of Best Picture! BWM
THOUGHTS I HAD WHILE LOSING AN OSCAR TO MY SIAMESE TWIN - I should at least win “Best Actor in A Supporting Role” for this. - He’s not method. I’m in his head. He just says he’s method so he can get away with that accent. - He doesn’t do his own stunts. I feel all the pain. - He requested his own trailer. His own trailer. - He’s lying. He did have a speech prepared. In it he specified 5-10 seconds of tasteful crying. - No award can ever come between me and my twin, but Jesus Christ I wish it would.
MAG GPL JLG
2009 VMA AWARDS I know you‘re all really mad at me, but please, I am Kanye, I can see the future, so you gotta take into consideration that in ten years time, Taylor Swift will be ten years older, that’s a fact, cancer will still be around, also fact, and this “MTV” shit will be made obsolete by something called YouTube, where you post moving pictures which you will not understand the way Yeezus does. I’ll be a billionaire who makes Christian music, and ironically you will look back on this moment when I had a breakdown in front of a 17-year-old girl and a full stadium, and you will be very nostalgic for my current mental state. Buy Bitcoin.
JLN
PAPER BOYFRIEND Are you dissatisfied with your non-Paper Boyfriend boyfriend but you can’t put your finger on what you don’t like about him? Put your finger on his not being made of paper, and say hello to the love of your life. This month, print out the 42-page PDF that is Paper Boyfriend and turn the page on your old life. This is where I‘m obligated to say that if you download an old PDF version you‘ll get HIV. It’s as easy as 1, 2, 3 through 75 steps to assemble Paper Boyfriend. We give you guidelines for where to cut and leave certain decisions, such as circumcision, to your discretion (do the circumcision). Want a skinnier boyfriend? You can do that! Almost anything is possible. What is not possible is a 3D Paper Boyfriend because that would require 3D paper which does not exist. Now comes the most difficult part, putting your Paper Boyfriend together. There are many ways to do this. Some people prefer to leave their Paper Boyfriend spread out on the flat surface. Others cut along the human-boyfriend-shaped dotted lines, glueing the parts together as indicated. Yet others staple the sheets together as a packet. Most couples celebrate the completion of this stage with hours of elaborate lovemaking. In our experience, the best 2D sex position is flat, cold missionary. Or really really folded up. Due to an increase in demand and a decrease in the price of paper we are offering a major discount to our repeat Paper Boyfriend customers. If you’ve used our service over 100 times, then you qualify for an even greater discount on slightly thinner paper. VIN
If there were laws for dogs they‘d probably stop messing around all the time and get to work. MAG
IDIOM TRANSLATIONS The elephant in the room Your mom standing in a room. Piece of cake Why your mom looks like an elephant. Biting off more than you can chew Advice you should give your mother if she wishes to no longer resemble an elephant. Going on a wild goose chase When you’re chasing domesticated geese but then someone tells you they are wild. LRK I want the kind of love you only see in a romantic comedy film, specifically from 50 First Dates, where the love of my life wakes up every morning forgetting the previous day and I have to convince her that I’m really Adam Sandler. MAG
Every few times I go to the dentist I give him a good bite while his fingers are in my mouth, just so he knows not to mess around in there.
MAG
– What started out as a frankly disgusting case of unbelievable obesity had snowballed into a horrible carnival of flesh and fat––declared a historical landmark some thirty years ago––named Jake Gilbert. Ever since the reanimated corpse of Ronald Reagan had recovered from having his Alzheimer’s cured and decided to run for what he thought was a second presidential term, electricity had been strictly forbidden. The Gipper––terrified of electricity because it reminded him that he was scared of electricity––had decreed that the clean-burning cholesterol produced by Jake’s engorged glands was to become the nation’s only source of nighttime illumination. In the intervening years, Reagan’s Alzheimer’s had progressed and his intelligence briefings had mostly become reminders of the slight fluctuations in the attractiveness of the Joint Chiefs, his major achievements (being a Hollywood actor, being a former Hollywood actor, personally starting the AIDS crisis by participating in a blood drive, etc.), and how the city was powered (the soft cream cheese lining the guts of minor topographical feature Jake Gilbert). And, in his infinite dementia, President Reagan decreed that Jake Gilbert was to be awarded the first edible Medal of Honor for bravely weighing what no man’s weighed before. The only space large enough to fit enough of one of Jake’s limbs to pin a medal on him was the Lincoln Memorial Memorial Theater, built where the Lincoln Memorial had stood before it was tragically destroyed to make room for a theater. Designed to house the wild crowds that came to see the beloved improv troupe T.L. Acronym get shot at by Navy Seals every time they failed to “yes, and” while doing a realistic Irish jig, it was the city’s largest arts and recreation space––if you don’t count Congress (ha ha). Or was it? It was. On the morning of the–– – Hey, sorry to interrupt. I’m just wondering if this is all supposed to be one long line or something or if you want me to come in, maybe?
– I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are, but I need you to leave. – Ok, gotcha, sorry. I’m just the other character in the dialogue, and I was just waiting for my turn. – Not a dialogue. You’re in the wrong folder, friend. This is prose, and you’re making me lose my train of thought. Where was I? – Jake’s going to get the medal for being fat. – Right. Yes. Of course. On the morning of the Celebration of Blubber, Jake’s bloated bulk was rolled–– – Right, OK. Sorry to interrupt again, I just think I’ve been assigned to this piece because it’s formatted like a dialogue. Because it opens with a dash. – I don’t know what you’re talking about. – The piece starts with a dash. So it seems like you’re just a character in a dialogue talking. – Oh. Yeah. I guess it does. You’re right. – I would just really appreciate it if you could get rid of the dash so that I can be cleared to leave. Instead of waiting around on this piece and then… you know… – Dying once it’s finished? – Yeah, dying once it’s finished. – I don’t know what to tell you, buddy. I’m just the narrator. I’m not in charge of editing. – Right, I know, but... come on. You and I both know that one word from the narrator and the issue editor’s going to–– – Look, man. Listen. I know you characters have a hard time understanding this stuff because your life spans are so damn short. But I don’t make editing decisions. Like, if I could controlled ediitng, do you think I would have misspelled the word “editing” right there? – I mean it did seem like you manipulated the editing to make a point just then so, yes? – Hmm, yeah. I can see how you’d think that. – Great so you’ll he– – Wait for you to die. Yes. I’m going to wait for you to die. NISH
STREET FIGHT Biker #1: You shouldn’t have knocked that drink out of my hand in there. Now you’re gonna pay. John Blade: There’s going to be two sounds. Me hitting you and you hitting the floor. Biker #2: Tough words from a guy outnumbered three-to-one. John Blade: The third sound is going to be me reaching into your pocket, pulling out your cell phone. Biker #1: My cell phone? John Blade: I’m going to guess passwords until I figure yours out. This will take a while. Biker #3: Fat chance you’ll guess mine. It’s random numbers. John Blade: The key is to not start with 0000 and work forward. It’s to start in the middle at 5555 and work in both directions at once. Biker #1: Man, I’m going to punch you whether you have my phone or not. John Blade: The fourth sound is going to be me calling your son. Biker #2: I don’t have a son. Biker #3: I have a son. What’re you going to say to my son? John Blade: I’m not going to say anything to him. I’m going to do this (whistles Cat’s Cradle), and then he’ll be my son. Biker #1: Enough talk! Let’s brawl. John Blade: I’m going to take him ice skating. I’m going to show him how to kiss girls. Biker #3: HEY! NO! That’s our son you’re talking about. John Blade: I really think you’re not going to like the fifth sound. Biker #1: Oh, and just what might that sound be? (raises fists) John Blade: This fifth sound, meathead: Nononononono! Please don’t hit me! PLEEEEASSE! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean what I said about your son! I’m sorry! I just took a little drink I’ll buy you a new one please please please don’t hit me----I’m pre-diabetic!! Biker #1: Jesus, John Blade. Calm down, man. We won’t hit you. John Blade: You mean it? Biker #1: Yeah, we just got all worked up over the drink. It’s nothing. Don’t sweat it. John Blade: That’s what I thought. (swings, misses, knocks himself out) Biker #2: Hey, what the hell was that John Blade? Biker #3: That was a coward move, John Blade! John Blade: (running away) Tell your son to call me! MAG
TOP LAMPOON PIECES THAT WOULD BE RUINED BY CELL PHONES Wright Brothers (by EIS, from Words of Our City #) Okay, soooooooo basically Wilbur wouldn’t have had the fight with Orville, because if Wilbur had a cell phone then he could’ve just called the plane company?? And also he could’ve had a sick crossover with Alex Graham Bell and Alex wouldn’t even have to invent the telephone because it would already exist in the universe of the piece?? Heist Movie Notes (by ASB, from Dessert Island #) UHdoyyyyyy, if the Team Leader had just pulled out his iPhone in Line 8 of Heist Movie Notes he would have learned that the term he was looking for was “dramatic” irony and not “situational irony,” and then he could’ve Twitch-streamed the heist and then I would have personally SWATed them and the BANK WOULD STILL HAVE ALL ITS MONEY. Art of the Password (by PKS, from HEY YOU YEAH YOU QUIT PULLING MY LEG #) UMMMM, HELLOOOOO? EARTH TO PKS, CAN YOU READ ME PKS? BUDDY? 1PASSWORD ON APP STORE??? Manners and Customs of Ye Harvard Studente (by FGA, from The Harvard Lampoon Vol. 1 No. 1) We begin in Memorial Hall. The gentlemen of the esteemed freshman class gather their foodstuffs into their fine cloth pouches and scurry about, seeking a perch upon which they may shove their faces into their pouches and eat without use of their hands. It’s a simpler time. No cell phones in this time. Just good old fashioned comedy. Really makes you think. JFAR
DEAR FRIENDS AND FAMILY, As many of you know, I’m about to die from my inverted esophagus. This does not concern me but what does have my attention is my tendency to spill secrets in my sleep, which I assume will only exacerbate upon death. So, I‘m writing to take preemptive measures. Oscar: When you left work early for your son’s baseball game but you were really going to check out the cute boys on his team—don’t worry about it. I won‘t tell anyone. Joyce: I’ve heard from multiple sources that you were the one behind the infamous Cod Scare of ’78. I want you to know that it only took me a few months to find all the heads and other chunks, so no need to keep looking. No evidence, no crime. Bradley: I know that you were the one who broke into the courthouse in ’92, but of course it was only to testify in Nanna‘s trial for shaving people’s cats and only returning the fur. For this, I forgive you. Nanna, two life sentences was not enough. Nanna: I was the one who told everyone about your ingrown tail. I was the one who made up the cheer, “Nan was never fertilized!” I was the one started the rumor that you had never seen your own genitals. Luckily, I felt much better when I learned that all of this was true. Doesn’t mean I’m sorry. And guess what? It was also me who told everyone that your kids couldn’t fit through your hole when you gave birth because it was too sticky. Lotta different ways to skin a cat, Nan. Fuck you. Phew! Feels good to get this all out before the big day. Also, I’d like to invite you all to my birthday next week. Nan, I know you may be busy recovering from donating your right-side-in esophagus to me, so please don’t come.
COWBOYS vs ALIENS Cowboy: (loses at Russian Roulette) Alien: Earth is ours, boys. Alien 2: Why did they put cowboys in charge? The End JSR
TV SALESMAN Bread the TV Salesman started the day like any other: with a hot cup of coffee and a curse to his mother for being too short. He strolled into the store, Tommy’s Shop ‘n Save TVs, a quarter past 9 with a hankering to make some sales and an even bigger hankering for his favorite snack, buttered toast. On that day the first customer that came in was a dog. No, not a dog of a man, but a real dog kind of dog. He sauntered on in and asked to buy a TV. Bread wasn’t fazed; this happened at least once a week. He reached into his desk, looking smug, and pulled out his trusty “TVs are NOT for dogs” sign. Bread watched, his know-it-all smile slowly melting away as the dog continued to look unphased. He turned the sign towards himself and beheld in horror that the “NOT” was crossed out. As it turned out, TVs were for dogs. It is this moment that his acquaintances typically point toward as the outset of Bread’s insanity. Indeed, his mental decline was immediately apparent to all coworkers and family members – and all who met him afterwards readily attest to the horrific, inhumane aspect of his gaze and frequent propensity for low, dark mutterings and violent outbursts. This case having been brought to our attention by Bread’s now estranged sister, our medical committee began a full-on investigation into the former salesman. It was our finding generally that the dog incident instigated such a dramatic shift in Bread’s worldview as to render all faculties totally and irreversibly altered. We cannot confirm the nature of his rumored wild nightly experiments in the attic of his old house, but we can attest to their frequently cited production of otherworldly voices and the foetid odor which has ignited such unrest and unease in the neighboring community. But our report must invariably come to events of the 25th of May, the culmination of our dealings with that insane man – if man he truly was. We entered through the unlocked front door at 4:15 in the evening, calling out but to no response. Hearing a commotion in the kitchen, we ran up the two flights of stairs with a nervous excitement to find Bread in the most horrific state of affairs. To this day I do not know if what I saw was the truth or some twisted machination of that mad sorcerer. All I can write is what appeared to me that fateful afternoon and hope that it conveys some semblance of reality. For we rounded the corner and discovered Bread making the toast snack which so propped up his previous lifestyle – only instead of buttering the toast he was buttering the front of his own body. Upon espying our party, the raving mad man let out a shriek such that has never before and should never hence be heard by human ears. Our stunned reaction allowed the daemon a brief window of opportunity for his escape; this expression being especially pertinent as he made a mad dash towards and ultimately jumped through the then-closed kitchen window. Most aspects of this unsettling character remain a mystery following his death, but if anything, I can further attest to the fact that bread always falls butter-side down. ZDG
Hey Shlomo Piontkowsi, Harvard Lampoon subscriber living at 51 Gordon St, Boston, MA! We got your letter about how much you liked JSR’s piece, Cowboys vs Aliens, on the page before this one. So here are a few more for your enjoyment!
Cowboys vs. Nature
Cowboys vs. Self Cowboy 1: Crazy weather we’re having. Cowboy 2: (takes his medication) Cowboy 1: (gone)
Cowboys vs. Society Random Guy: Why are you wearing that hat? Cowboy: What the...
Cowboys vs. Person Person: The person I am is Obama. You wouldn’t beat up Obama now would you? Cowboy: You don’t really look like Obama… Person: Trust me, I’m Obama.
Cowboys vs. God God: How did you get in here Cowboy: I—I have no—where am I? God: Dude, you need to go, now. Cowboy: How? I want to but how? God: Seriously we — oh, shit (all of God’s cows get loose from their cages) Cowboy: I can handle this, God (lassos all the cows to safety) God: You know what Cowboy? You’re alright. Cowboy: Thanks God.
The year is 3021. Humanity has been nearly completely wiped out by an army of self-aware chimpanzees. The final surviving group of humans makes a supply run once a month from the nearby, dilapidated Whole Foods in Washington D.C. The Earth is taking back what was once hers. Trees have grown through cars and vines cover most buildings. It’s beautiful. Sometimes one of the survivors, Natasha, a 12 year old girl whose parents were killed by a massive orangutan named Boog, sneaks onto the roof of their hideout and stares at the stars, wondering how things got this way. A single tear falls down her cheek and she reaches to wipe it, knocking over a pile of pee bottles (they have to pee in bottles because the apes can smell the pee and will find them). The bottles fall to the ground and her heart drops as the sound echoes through the streets. “OOH OOH AH AH!” She hears the sound of twenty or so apes ululating (look it up) on horseback stampeding down the abandoned streets. She has no time to run. She says a quick prayer and accepts her fate. The leader ape approaches her and they lock eyes. His soulful yet menacing glare meets hers and she sees... could it be? She sees fear in his eyes. He’s not looking at her...it’s...it’s something behind her. Cowboy: Where can a guy find a saloon around here? Leader Ape: OOH OOH AH AH! Cowboy: Woah. Slow down there, partner. Leader Ape: Oh, my apologies.
Cowboys vs. An Entire Canadian Hockey Team Cowboy: (loses at hockey) Canadian: Eh, it’s okay, friend. You did great. Try again. Cowboy: (loses again) Cana-
JLG JSR
JESTER. IBIS. BLOT. The Jester tried his best, and that’s what counts, he supposes. Sure, when the Jester entered the competition, he was doing it ironically. Or, not ironically, but, he was certainly doing it as a joke. Or, not as a joke, but he definitely didn’t really want to win. Or, he wanted to win, but only because he wasn’t supposed to. Or, he was supposed to, but he wasn’t a “winner.“ Or, he was a “winner,” but he wasn’t like winners. He was better. Or, he wasn‘t better, but he was going to choose the next winner, and they would be better. Or, if he never got to choose a new winner, he still, at least, wasn‘t like winners. Or, maybe he was like them. Maybe they were better. Maybe he was worse. The Jester thought a lot about these things. The truth is, the Jester must have wanted this the whole time. Otherwise why would he have competed? I mean, he could‘ve done anything. Or, so he thinks. JLG
Up Next,
THE ME AND MY LOVERS#
^this is what all of you look like to me JSR
CREDITS Miss Universe - AAA All Uncredited Art - JSR Layout - JLG
JLG would like to thank... everyone who helped make this happen, sorry they‘re playing me off now! JSR would like to thank... the girl reading this ;) to
Five of Ma Lampy’s Offensive Old Tweets Resurfaced and they are… Josephine Sullivan Roberts ’22 of Chevy Chase, MD and Adams House, Hautbois, Posy Kaleta Stoller ’21 of La Jolla, CA and Mather House, Librarian, Dash Philippe Delacroix Wasserstein ’22 of New York, NY and 1075 Massachusetts Avenue, Goddard, John Laszlo Nugent ’21 of Washington, D.C. and Lowell House, Perusse, and Adiya Abdilkhay ‘22 of Astana, Kazakhstan and Winthrop House, Navetum.
FUEL YOUR FALL Essential energy to elevate your everyday life.
@CELSIUSOFFICIAL
CELSIUS.COM
cal naturale
EGG DONORS NEEDED Hopeful parents could use your help growing their family. STARTING COMPENSATION: $12,000 APPLY AT: WWW.GIFTEDJOURNEYS.COM
818-505-3026 HELP@giftedjourneys.com
SHEPARD FINANCIAL
Financial evolution starts with knowing how you relate to money. Your financial nature is the key to greater wealth & health. Find your financial paradigm with us.
naturale shepard-financial.com
• TRAVELFOOD CURATED WINES•
HARD-TO-FIND WINES. HANDPICKED BY US. CHERISHED BY YOU.
TRAVELFOOD.COM YOU THINK IT, I PRINT IT!
Jovannie Deisgns brings your ideas to life.
naturale JOVANNIE.NET
A One-of-a-kind entertainment experience.
jilliansbos ton.com
naturale
cheek ymonkeybos ton.com
You’re drinking more. Now drink better. The neighbors who buy our grapes are famous, but we’re not. Discover the limited-production, hand-crafted wines from Oakville Ranch’s organic mountain vineyards. The greatest little winery you’ve never heard of….
naturale
OakvilleRanch.com
www.mythologydistillery.com
cal
naturale
HUNGER has no limits .....and neither do we naturale FENWAY 14 Kilmarnock St., Boston
BRIGHTON 370 Western Ave., Brighton
PRUDENTIAL 53 Huntington Ave., Boston
naturale
naturale
naturale
Experience Brazil in Boston
Fire-Roasted Meats Carved Tableside • Seafood Options Market Table & Feijoada Bar • Distinctive Group & Private Dining Available Award of Excellence – Wine Spectator • America’s Top Restaurants – Zagat
Lunch, Dinner, and Weekend Brunch
naturale
200 Dartmouth St. | Boston | Copley Place | 617.585.6300
© 2020 Fogo de Chão, Inc. All rights reserved.