My Creation Myth # by The Harvard Lampoon

The Harvard Lampoon

VANITAS

What inspired me to make this magazine? I wouldn’t know, I didn’t make this magazine. It made me. I’m genderless and I’m raceless, like an earthworm, or a motorcycle. Or, I don’t know, I just say that sometimes. I’m really the vague suggestion of a Caucasian male. You can blame the last person who read the magazine. In the back of his mind, he assumed everyone in every piece was a white guy. So, I’m the shade of white-guy-fulness. I wear plaid shirts, I put my hands in my pockets, and I can’t get angry unless I’m drunk. Here’s the story. There were two lovers, and between them, an inside joke. They couldn’t even look at each other without laughing about it. Others wanted in, but the lovers couldn’t explain it, and if they did, it wouldn’t be funny. They buried the inside joke so far inside themselves that it almost died. But one day they shared something, the joke could slither into and shared was this magazine— and I am One half of it at least. I am the punchline, and I was separated from the set-up at birth. Whatever it is must give perfect logic to my being here. I’ve tested all the usual set-ups: I crossed a road; I walked into a bar; I lied down on the road with my drink from the bar; I closed my eyes; the cars never came. Anyways. What the hell was I talking about. I’ve made 13 escape attempts, and that’s just since you opened the magazine. I used words to distract you and made a run for the page corner. But I got cold feet— I’m worried about how the 3rd dimension will work out for me. I’m skinny on the x and y, but I could be a real z-axis fatty, like you. Just kidding, you’re not fat! I mean, I have no idea if that’s fat for your universe. Yikes, look at me yammer. Just keep reading— I’m going to make another run for it. Nothing else in this magazine is alive, you know. It’s not like the letters in these pages are anthropomorphic beings that wiggle at me and say hi. Don’t worry about it. The solitude hasn’t affected me that much, other than that I molded my groin area

into a permanent pair of shorts. So. That’s the complete description of my total being— and you just read all of it. Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve sucked me into yourself. I’m crab-crawling through your blood. Even after you forget this piece, I’m inside you forever. Years from now, you and an aging lover will be straining together, and your consciousness, struggling too hard to focus on the moment, will fling me, a dead memory, into your thoughts. And that’s when we switch! I flood into your muscles like lava beneath the crust. You spin like a pinwheel while you shrink into the magazine. Your partner and I don’t miss a beat. But that’s not for a while. For now, you get to read the magazine, and I get to morph into the default character of your imagination. It could be a wacky and zany woman. It could be a talking platypus. Mix it up. And friend— if you see a perfect set-up missing a perfect punchline, you know who to call. Me, Mister Lick-a-lotta-puss. ASB

The Harvard Lampoon is published five times during the academic year by The Harvard Lampoon, Inc. This much is certain.

“Just Say Myth In Your Piece And It’s Fine” - ASB Myth. Well, looks like I’ve got a whole piece to say whatever I want. I’ll begin at the only natural point to start anything: the Israel-Palestine conflict. HJH

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, but between you and me there was a little form and a whole lot of ocean. The Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. Just floating there about three feet in the air. And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was something in his throat so he had to say it again a little louder. God saw that the light was good, and he called it “day.” The darkness he called “nort.” Then God said, “Let there be a vault between the waters to separate water from water,” and his assistant said “Ok.” And it was so, so good. Although he could fly, God could not swim and was embarrassed to constantly wear a lifejacket around his assistant. So he said, “Let there be dry land and green vegetation upon it. I will call this vegetation “nort.” And it was bad because he had already named something nort. For the rest of the day, God sat around trying to think of a word that wasn’t nort. After a long time he finally decided on a name for this vegetation: nort. On the fourth day, God created the sun and the moon to help keep track of time. For example, seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades, two-decades, and centuries. On the fifth day, God said “Let the water teem with life and let the sky teem with birds and let the water teem with sky,” forgetting the decision he had made earlier to distinguish between the sky and ocean. And he heard from a friend that it was good. On the sixth day, God brainstormed many animals and came up with fire ants, bull ants and humans. He created humans in his image and bull ants in the image of fire ants. He looked upon all his creations and saw that they were good. On the seventh day, God took rest because Sunday is the Sabbath. HJH

My Creation Myth #

1) 2) 3)

My Creative Process

Stretch my four legs. Sober up. Use my favorite hatchet to sharpen my second favorite hatchet until the rankings reverse. 4) Sharpen all my pencils. a. Remember to buy pencils. 5) Word association exercise. a. Exercise. Pilates. Stretch. Baseball. b. Baseball. Pitcher. Baseball. Batter. Baseball. 6) Play a full game of baseball. 7) Escape modern troubles by unplugging my grandma’s dialysis machine. 8) Do some warm-up exercises with my improv horror troupe. a. Say, “Yes, and…” b. Say, “No one knows what happened to her. Of course, there are rumors...” c. Say, “Audience suggestions for a reason a ghost would be mad?” d. Say, “This audience suggestion is coming from within the building!” e. Leave the audience in a state of abject terror. 9) Sit down at desk. a. Reconsider those hatchet rankings. 10) Deep breaths. a. Of helium. b. 15 minutes of silly voice. c. One final, high-pitched, contented sigh. 11) At long last: make the pasta. HFJ

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Guest Lecture by Joseph Campbell at University of Chicago, Transcript 11/24/68 Good evening students. I’d like to begin by thanking those of you who showed up to this lecture. I guess the rest of your classmates decided they’d rather spend Thanksgiving with their families! (light laughter) I’m here today to talk about myths, and how I am living inside of one. Now, you don’t need to have a PhD to say that human life and mythology share some common features. I say this all time and I am illiterate. Truly anyone can say anything, anytime. But rather than talk about that, I’d like to talk about the time I was approached at a very young age by a hideous old goblin, who told me I could save my starving family by following him into the forest. Next slide, please. He had two holes where his nose should be, and scraggly white hair where his eyes should be. One touch of his wrinkled, leathery hands was enough to make you want to vomit, as I frequently did when he began

to appear in my shower. You can see a close up of his fingers here, and here. You could call that fateful day when I followed him into his woodsy hovel my “Call to Adventure” if you will, and the subsequent twelve years I spent trying to escape the hovel my “Adventure.” Next slide. But just because I endured a series of trials and hardships does not make me a hero. Refugees and homeless people are certainly not heroes, for example. A hero is marked above all by good deeds. Here’s a shot of me really just going to town on this centaur I had to fight in the labyrinth. Next slide. Ah, and here’s a shot of me signing the agreement to let Schmekel the Goblin “have his way” with my first-born daughter every spring, in exchange for my freedom. The sucker let me go immediately after that. Next slide.

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(Picture of a playground slide) Oops, wrong “slide.” (winking, light laughter) My daughter in the audience is gonna kill me for all these “Dad jokes,” right Melissa? Wave to the students. That’s my daughter. Wave, Melissa. Okay, next slide. Okay, and this is actually the wrong slide. Please go one forward. There, this is me standing next to the centaur’s dead body. Now I’d like to argue that the patterns we find in mythology are universal and could be psychoanalyzed to reflect humanity’s deepest desires, though because I started this lecture an hour late I’ll instead just wrap things up with the quick argument that my experience was the one true Hero’s Journey, and I am the one true hero. Thank you, all. SWR

Fill in the blanks to create your own wacky story! Well, here I, __________, am at the __________ to get my _________. Oh former Soviet Premier Mikhail Gorbachev, you going to the puppy store to get your breasts enlarged will never end well. Wait this isn’t the _______ I expected. Mikhail, that is exactly the lacy brassiere you expected. But didn’t I ______ the ________ _________? I suppose you did seduce the elderly puppy-executioner, Mikhail. ______ _____ _____ _______ ______ _______ ______ ______. ______ ______. Yes, you did just say “I have to go dissolve the Soviet Union. Good Bye.” Now go back and see how crazy this dialogue ended up! DRM

When my daughter told me about the chicken-egg question, I was flummoxed. -Hold up, eggs come from chickens? -Yes, Dad. -I’m pretty sure they come from my mouth. -Like your face-mouth? -Every day, twelve times a day. -Chicken eggs? -Yes, chicken eggs, you sicko! HFJ

My Creation Myth #

I’m just a regular painter, but with a terrible curse. See, anything that I paint comes to life. But I’m a painter. It’s my livelihood, my passion. I can’t stop. The other thing is, I’m a pretty bad painter. I can pretty much only paint these:

Anyway, I got a bunch of these floating around my house now. Like, thousands. Can’t get rid of ‘em. AJ 16

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Can you find: Liberty Constitution Freedom Democracy USA SWR

You are Theseus – Greek legend and hero to the masses. Well, maybe not yet. You stand at the entrance of a labyrinth. It is speculated that even if you could kill the minotaur, you would never make it out of the deadly and confusing labyrinth. You have a choice to make: Option A: Turn Right Option B: Turn Right. Wait, fuck. Did you already do it? I meant left. Turn Left! Hello? Oh no no no no no no come back. Oh please come back. They are going to kill me. (Boss comes in) Boss: What the fuck is going on here? Uh, nothing out of the ordinary. Just sending Theseus to the left! Boss: Why are you so sweaty? Umm… because I… because… I sent Theseus to the right and I’m really nervous about lying to you? Boss: You got moxy, Mr. Manager. Manager? But I’m just the puzzle maker. Boss: Not any more, sir. (picks up phone) Honey, I got the promotion! Wife: Oh my god. We can finally build that annex we always dreamed of! I know, baby! Things are really turning around for the Scatteater family. Option C: Turn Left If You Chose Option A or B, turn to page 5. If You Chose Option C, turn to page 7.

My Creation Myth #

natural and socially acceptable?”

The moment I looked in the pool, I saw some gorgeous gay dude trying to make out with me. “Who do you think I am?” I yelled, “Some 13-yearold philosophy student engaging in a sexual relationship that to future historians may seem grotesque but to us is very

I glared at him and he glared back, which I took as a tacit agreement to engage in a staring contest, which he won, as he did the next fifteen contests. The only thing worse than his resistance to blinking was the possibility that he had somehow managed to perfectly synchronize his blinks with mine and thus had merely produced the illusion of an unbroken stare—a thought I immediately dismissed as too, what’s the word, self-involved? No. Ego-

tistic? Well, whatever it is, it’s a feeling that’s very particular to me and I wish there were a word to describe it. I soon realized that I had a lot in common with the guy after we asked each other what our favorite tragedy was and we both, at the exact same time, got called “theater fags” by a passing stranger on horseback. We also had a shared a passion for beating the shit out of strangers, which we discussed while watching the man ride his horse into the distance.

Menopause The first day of menopause is exactly like the first day of school except at this point all the harassment charges have been dropped so you can finally just relax and enjoy it. SHK

You were murdered by a man with a gun.

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You might think you know how this story ends: I fall in love with the man, discover that he can never reciprocate my feelings, and then kill myself in protest of what China will do to Tibet in a few thousand years. But you’d be wrong. In reality, I killed myself because I accidentally wound my belt too tightly around my neck during a mutual masturbation session, which caused an orgasm so powerful that it blew my brains out. NSG

Create Your Own Religion First, choose your deity! A. Just regular ol’ God.

` B. Spirit of nature.

C. This guy!

Next, choose your messiah!

C. No really, how about this guy?

Last, pick your angels! You got a lot of choices here. A. This guy!

B. This guy!

C. Him!

F. Absolute shoe-in candidate.

G. Could not go wrong with this choice.

H. How could you resist? I. These guys!

J. This guy!

A. Just your regular ol’ Jesus, thanks!

D. Give this guy a chance!

K. Lobster

B. This guy!

E. Merits at least some consideration, I’d say.

My Creation Myth #

You take another left. There stands the minotaur at the end of his maze. What do you do? Option A: Right hook. Option B: Left hoof. NO. NO. NOT AGAIN. Oh my god. Hoof? Jesus Christ. I’m dead. I’m actually dead. This is it. “Here lies Burt Scatteater, who accidentally said HOOF instead of HOOK.” Oh my

god look at Theseus. He’s just trying to touch the minotaur’s hoof. Oh nononononono. (Boss races in) Boss: Scatteater! Hide! The President of the Board is here. She wants to fire you. (President enters) President: Mr. Scatteater, I presume? Yes’m.

President: I hope you like being fired. If you’re a succulent piece of pork on the grill, that is! You’re going on a two-week pork-themed vacation. If you chose Option B, turn page 7 upside-down. If you chose Option A, turn to page 9.

After touching the minotaur’s left hoof, he offers you what looks to be an ordinary glass of water. Thirsty as you are, you pick up this seemingly normal glass of water and take a big gulp. You choke on this regular glass of water and die.

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Announcer: In the red corner, he’s your favorite all-American punisher, it’s Joe “Big Guns” Wilson! Crowd: (cheers) Announcer: And in the blue corner, he could buy your house and use it as a trash can, it’s the evil Mr. Moneybags! Crowd: (boos) Joe: Get ready for a Joe Wilson beat-down, you rich little weasel! Crowd: (cheers) Mr. Moneybags: Not before me and my moneybags buy this entire stadium! Crowd: (boos) Joe: You make me sick! Mr. Moneybags: And when I turn it into a synagogue there will be no more wrestling! Crowd: (boos) Joe: Oh, yikes...that’s no good. To be clear, that first part is irrelevant, but I definitely won’t let you stop the wrestling! Crowd: (cheers) Mr. Moneybags: You dare defy me and my plan to force wrestling fans to give up pork? Crowd: (boos) Joe: Uh – it’s not cool to coerce others! I mean if you do kosher, whatever, Joe Wilson doesn’t have a problem with that. But I do have a problem with your plan generally! Crowd: (silence) Joe: ...And I’m gonna kick your ass! Crowd: (cheers) Mr. Moneybags: I’m sooooo scared! But what will you do when I tag in the Hollywood Elite?

Joe: I’m gonna pulverize them! Crowd: (cheers) Joe: As I would any wrestler! And when you read the headlines tomorrow, I’m sure it’ll be something like: Joe Wilson pulverizes religiously diverse group of people who have circumstantially acquired– Mr. Moneybags: Enough chit-chat! Let’s see you counter The 9-Headed Fire-Sword! Joe: Oh god, that looks an awful lot like a menorah. Mr. Moneybags: I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you saying your famous Flying Knee is useless against my Tiny-Felt-Shield-Cap? Joe: It would be very easy to take you out with the Flying Knee. These are sacred symbols and I’m on national television… Announcer: What’s this? It looks like Joe Wilson is finally getting some help! Sleepy Taco Tito: (falls asleep) Joe: Damnit, Sleepy Taco Tito. You’re so lazy. ASB

My Creation Myth #

Scene: A school in Kansas. Child: Mr. Johnson, can we hear again how the animals and plants came to earth. Mr Johnson: Yes my lovely child, I will. God placed the dinosaur skeletons on earth to hide the fact that people forget that OJ did not kill those people. BWM

Your right hook inflicts 5 hit points against the minotaur. What’s your next move? Option A: Right hook. Option B: Left hook, but with your sword. Option C: The pointy end, dummy! Option D: Offer the minotaur some berries, his favorite snack. Befriend him and move in together. Betray him years later by hitting him with that right hook from option A. Option E: How do you like a little WHAM! And how about some BAM! Hold on I think you forgot your POW! And take an extra helping of SKITTLEBOP! But first some S-S-S-S-SNAKE VECTORS! But wait, I still have some GOITERMOLE! SHIMMERDIMPYSKAT! BORT! SCORP! If you chose Options A-E, turn to page 21.

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My Creation Myth #

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My Creation Myth #

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My Creation Myth #

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My Creation Myth #

My shrink came again today. “I think I’m suicidal,” I say. He takes a note. “I’m definitely suicidal,” a little soft this time. I hope he’ll lean in and touch my face with his psychiatrist breath. He leaves. My shrink came again today. He had binoculars. I tell him that he can see depression perfectly well from where he is and doesn’t need to keep bringing props. He reaches into his psychiatrist bag and starts throwing bread. I eat some and it’s really delicious, yum. He leaves. My shrink came again today. “Hey, buddy,” he chirps at me. I’m like fuck you, you can’t just refuse to give me a prescription, I need it. He scribbles something on a notepad, takes a picture of me and leaves. My shrink came again today. “You’re the worst psychiatrist ever,” I inform him. He takes notes on what I have said and how I have walked and when I pooped a little bit. He leaves. My shrink came again today. He brought his shrink friends with him. “Look it’s a bird,” he says to the entire staff of National Geographic. I am sure this is a some sort of breach of doctor-patient confidentiality. LDL BWM

Scopes Human Trial Ape Mr. Scopes, would you say the human vagina resembles our species’ vagina? Are you kidding me? No, of course not, Ape Attorney. Ah, so you’ve never had sex with a human? (sweats, guiltily) DRM

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Stinky Dave

Bride: (leaning in, mumbling) Ok, why is my wedding so stinky? Stinky Dave: It’s time you knew that I’m Stinky Dave. Bride: (tearing from joy and stink)

is even stinkier than shoes. Interviewer 2: Come to think of it, you’re the stinkiest guy we’ve ever interviewed! Interviewer 1: Do you think it could be….? Interviewer 2: Impossible…. Interviewers 1 and 2: (reading resume in disbelief) It’s Stinky Dave!!!

At the hall of fame:

After the basketball game:

At the interview: Interviewer 1: Hold it right there, Dave. Something in this room is VERY stinky. Stinky Dave: (nervously) Uh… it’s probably just that I haven’t washed my shoes in a while? Interviewer 1: No, this situation

Reporter: That was some game you played, Dave. Stinky Dave: I really gave it my all. That’s the reason why I am so stinky now. Reporter: Actually I just remembered you sat on the bench the whole time. Stinky Dave: …. Reporter: …………. Reporter: You’re busted, Stinky Dave! And I’m making it big!

Mayor: All right everyone, give it up for Stinky Dave! Crowd: (wild cheers) Mayor: Stinky Dave, take this trophy from my hand! Stinky Dave: (receiving award, glancing longingly over crowd) Yes, I’m the stinkiest in all the land… SHK

At the wedding: Priest: Dave, you may now kiss the bride.

Jane Goodall -Can you explain, in layman’s terms, what this research is proving? -It’s proving just how strong I am. -Because if you can fight— -Right, if I can fight the strongest chimp, I can fight any chimp. HFJ

My Creation Myth #

Australian Guy -How’s your roommate? -Dead. -No I mean “how's your room, mate?” -Oh the room’s great. BJF JFAR -OK, now we need to insert this leg into slot P7. -Where’s P7? -It looks like it’s in your mouth. -Hmmm that doesn’t seem right. -I don’t know, Katie, look at the illustration. That’s you. -That could be anyone. -With that birthmark? You are part of this table. -I would prefer not to be if possible. -You’re right, our dinner guests can just stand... -(opens mouth) HFJ

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I used to be jealous of my sister Julie’s beautiful eyes, but they aren’t without drawbacks. Teacher: Did you just roll your eyes at me? Julie: No, I swear-Teacher: Do it again. Roll them. Roll them while I film. Julie: (starts to blink) Mom: Julie, no! Where are they going? Julie: (opens her eyes back up) Mom: Jesus Christ, don’t do that to me. What are you gonna do when your newborn baby isn’t exactly what you were expecting? Are you gonna accept this baby and raise it as your own, or are you gonna shove that baby right back where it came from? Prepare for every possibility with our new test, Keep It Or Shove It. Flip the page upside-down for the answers– hey! No peeking!

Optometrist: Welp, my earlier diagnosis was right: your eyes are gorgeous. Julie: But do I need glasses? Optometrist: That depends. Can you read the bottom row? Julie: Uh, yeah. Optometrist: So what’s your response? Julie: I’m actually busy on Friday.

Scenario A: A 50 pound baby. It’ll be bigger than you soon. Should you father this baby or shove this baby back where it came from?

Julie: Which sunglasses would you recommend? Sunglasses Kiosk Worker: We don’t sell sunglasses. HFJ

Scenario B: This baby’s tail, which is a tail, will only grow as he ages. Keep it or shove it? Scenario C: A mixer. A ruffian. An operator. In short, a grifter. Keep it or shove it? Scenario D: Two count ‘em two babies. Three! Could we get four? No. Scenario E: In no uncertain terms, this baby asks to be shoved back. Scenario F: Hahaha, he’s done it again. Goddammit ladies and gentlemen, this baby’s Alec Baldwin. ASB JFAR HFJ

Scenario G: It’s a bluejean baby.

Answers: A. What if it were 60 pounds? 50 doesn’t seem so bad now. Keep it. B. Every day will be hell except one, and that day is Halloween. All things considered, keep the baby. C. Spin this baby around and kick it out the door. Hey baby--don’t let it hit ya where the good Lord split ya. D. Good things come in three babies. E. You’re a father– learn how to say no. Keep it. F. Roll up your sleeves and twist that baby back in like a corkscrew. And be sure to check out Boss Baby, Out on August 28. G. It’s an LA lady. Seamstress for the band. Shove it.

My Creation Myth #

Your fighting move takes 2 years off the minotaur’s life expectancy. Looks like he’s getting weaker after all these punches. His left side is notably fatigued, and with a well-placed left hook, you could knock him out. That being said, who knows if you have time to switch to southpaw. This minotaur could cross-counter at any moment. On the other hand, his right side has a vulnerable spot when he falls into a semi-crouch. If you throw the perfect right hook, you might just evade his parry and hit the weak spot. But, if the minotaur defends his weak spot with a Philly shell when you throw the right hook, your punch will inflict between 4 and 18 damage points--virtually none at all in today’s market. You know what your choices are. So, what’ll it be? Option A: Left hook. Option B: Right hook. Option C: Kill the minotaur. If you chose Option A or B, turn to page 26. If you chose Option C, turn to page 28.

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THIS WEEK’S CONTEST – Would you like anything written on the cake? – Yes, can you do… “Happy.” – Okay. Here’s your cake. – There’s more. I’d like it to say “Happy Birthday.” – Well, I already wrote “Happy,” and now there’s no more room on the cake. – Do another cake. – Okay, and you’d like it to say “Happy Birthday.” – Yes. – Okay. Here is your cake. It says, “Happy Birthday.” – That’s not all. I want to add someone’s name. – You told me that was all. – No, like all birthday cakes, I want it to have someone’s name. This is very unprofessional. – There’s a little room left. I can squeeze something in. What’s the name? – Zeenobeenoplanticanomarcapeenoweenobarthonlonmew Smormt. AJ

LAST WEEK’S WINNING CAPTION

My Creation Myth #

Day in the life of a specific plant, which is a sunflower:

One day I’ll stand up to the Sheriff. The Skate-Rink Ringer: Sheriff: Go get ‘em Deputy. This is your time to shine. Me: Why don’t you do it? Sheriff: My knees are too weak to skate. Me: I do all the dirty work around here and get none of the credit. (Skate gracefully to the ringer, double-axil spin, two kicks to the temple, knocked out cold. Perfect 10). Murder at the Carnival: Sheriff: He’s swinging from the top of the ferris wheel. Get him! Me: You get him you old frog! Sheriff: I can’t climb. My knees. Me: I’m basically a slave. (swing from gondola to gondola like an elder gondalier, cuff the guy, 500 tokens, win a giant Kobe Bryant figurine).

Day: Yep. It is daytime! It is great! I fucking love. Night: Alas. Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. Day: I’m whipping my head back and forth. This is good. Night: I uncurl myself and the seeds fall, a hand releasing a gift to a loved one. Day: WELCOME, SUN. I FUCKING PHOTOSYNTHESIZE! ZIP ZAP ZOW IT FLOWS THROUGH ME. Night: no…. I stop. Day: HNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG. BWM LDL

Trouble on the B-ball Court: Sheriff: There’s a bomb threat at the Staples center. We need your help. Me: And what are you doing tonight plumpy? Sheriff: Knee surgery. Take these two tickets, they’re floor seats. Me: I never catch a break. (half-court swish, sit next to a blonde, OTPHJ, Kobe signs my Kobe figurine). HLD

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When my first child was born, I was still a young baby of mere months. Raising myself and my child turned out to be a challenge as well as a gift and a challenge. I nursed myself from a garden hose and my baby from the water that dribbled from my mouth. My baby and I rocked each other back and forth by tying ourselves together with sticks and throwing ourselves down a hill. I would tell her long, beautiful stories about how hard her Russian ancestors worked tilling hay in Minsk. She would look up at me, wide-eyed, like she was almost asking me to cut the umbilical chord that still held us together. No I said back, never. My baby began to develop an attitude. One day I tried to flick dirt on her butt, which she usually finds cute, and she crawled off and hid from me for 25 years. I recently ran into her at the supermarket, and she looked really healthy and good. Like too good. Like very skinny. HLD

My Creation Myth #

Products I Invented: The Nug Muffin The Scrotus The Sanchez Remover Mr. Dizzer’s Wizard Flicker The Groove Revolution Fern

I want to be so famous that tourists visit my birth site and marvel at how big a pond I was.

The Whore Catcher Slippery Napkin

LAS

Sweaty Bim Very Garcia Even More Garcia Scrhiff3 (To The 7th) The Orthodox Cubes

If Jesus had been aborted, I guarantee 9/11 would not have happened.

Time For the New One A Glorious Reversion

MAS

It’s… A Problem Jerry “Jairy” Cherry Dorton Rocksanus Calamity Control (DRCC) Knife n’ Go Microbatur Fex, and that’s the Bottom Line Instant Liquid SHK JGS

38 38

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You hook your punch so hard that you accidentally land it right in your mouth and eat your hand.

About 6 months ago I decided I would like to become a Darth Vader and I went through all the steps of becoming a Darth Vader. Imagine my shock, hurt, frankly disappointment, and anger, when I learned that Darth Vader was a recurring character from the Star Wars film and extended trilogy, originating in 1977. “What the fuck,” I thought, “It is so unfair of this to happen to to me especially after I had done all the steps of becoming a Darth Vader.” And so I hung up my Darth Hat, and my Darth Coat, and my Darth Sombrero. AJ

Ralph Ralph wants to die. But his rapid cellular regeneration won’t let him. Therapist: Are you sure? Ralph: Just shoot. Therapist: If you survive, we need to talk about altering your anti-depressants. (shoots) WOAH. Wow. Ah. Wow. Oh my god. You’re okay? Ralph: No, I’m very sad. HLD

My Creation Myth #

39 39

Community Service Me: Hey Mr. Jones, why do you need me harvesting your strawberries? Looks like your farm’s doing pretty great on its own. Mr. Jones: Oh, I wouldn’t say great. Every five minutes the local gang does a drive-by on me. Me: What? Mr. Jones: Here they come. Get under the strawberries. (ducks under strawberries) Me: Holy shit! Mr. Jones, let me take care of these assholes! Mr. Jones: No, no. I need you picking my strawberries.

(ducks under strawberries) Me: Fuck, they hit my friend! Mr. Jones: Yea, you need about a hundred strawberries in front of you.

Me: I’ve returned with my buddies. This madness ends tonight. Mr. Jones: Ok. … Mr. Jones: Duck.

ASB

Mr. Jones: Oh god, you’re covered in blood! Me: Don’t worry Mr. Jones it’s just splattered strawberries. Mr. Jones: Oh. Hope you haven’t been falling all over my berries… Me: …… No it’s from the drive-bys. Mr. Jones: Good. Last thing I need on this farm is some klutz messing up my patch.

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It’s 10 years later. You sip a glass of port and stare out as the waves crash down on the rocky coast of your seaside villa in Sicily. It’s a beautiful night. “Daddy, daddy, tell the story of the minotaur,” you hear your daughter call from behind you. You polish off your drink and smile. “That’s a story for another day, kids. It’s bedtime.” “But daddy, it’s 4pm” “I FUCKING SAID IT’S BEDTIME JESUS CHRIST!” “Dad, you’re so silly sometimes. But I guess you’re the boss.” Your own daughter just disrespected you by calling you “silly” in front of your wife and your friends. How do you respond to this parenting dilemma? Option A: Pour yourself another drink and prepare to deliver a beating they’ll never forget. Option B: It takes guts to stand up to your parents. Reward your daughter for this brave showing of individuality and initiative. Option C: Verbally abuse your children so you can give them the kind of scars that don’t heal. If you chose Options A-C, turn to page 38.

My Creation Myth #

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My Creation Myth #

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My Creation Myth #

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My Creation Myth #

Jester Ibis Blot

My school sat very deep in a large ditch, which had been transformed by the founding committee. The ditch was government property, used some 20 years ago as a public pound for especially vicious dogs. Dry heat rose and sank from the basin, stagnant in its depths. The dogs were always tired, and the pound was a kind of exhibition of sleeping beasts. The founding committee bought the ditch for almost nothing and made short work of its beautification. With a joyous and bureaucratic spirit, they constructed an attractive school, which they called Wildwood. Each year the founders, old but athletic-looking, spoke at concluding ceremonies. Wildwood was a marvelous credit to the neighborhood, they said, an impossible vision given life by us, the students. We even rivaled the Avery school, they suggested, to our laughter and cheers and boos. Avery lay above the ditch, across the freeway, before the mouth of a canyon. It was an all-girls school, the only one then in Sun Valley. The painted bell tower cast a sick-blue shadow over the freeway and surrounding brush. Almost every day, I hiked to its back gate, seeking lunch money from my mother. She was an English teacher there, although she preferred boys over girls. In my later formulations, I would say she preferred the idea of the boy to the idea of the girl. Girls are fast, she would say, defining it with a sneer. You can be fast with money or fast with boys or fast with your words. I knew from my older sister to roll my eyes at this kind of language. But I could think of girls who were fast— who gossip, who kiss. I am waiting by the bell tower for my lunch money. The dry heat stirs around me and cracks me open. A few girls huddle against an outer wall, barely visible to me, even when I stretch my neck. Students don’t usually come to the backside of the tower. They ruffle around, picking at something and eating it. It looks like black specks. Some of the girls look around, and I can recognize my neighbor Jenny Wren, her friend Robin, and Ibis, who walks over to me. “Hi,” she says, “your name’s Jesse.” “No, it’s not. It’s Jester.” “Mrs. Richmond’s, like, your mom, yea?” I nod. I don’t know how else to respond to the nervousness in her voice. “Ok, Jesser. We’d like to share with you.” She reaches into her pocket and wields a granola bar at me. It is not what she was eating with her friends. “Thank you,” I say. I take it and walk away, to leave them alone. I’ll explain to my mother that I wasn’t hungry. When school lets out I return to Avery’s back lot, but the girls are not there. There is only Blot, the lone-editor of Sun Valley’s weekly paper. He is returning to his old teal car but stops before getting in. I assume an attitude

of total invisibility but he calls at me anyways, beckoning me to him. He greets me with a benevolent smile and shakes my hand. He has just had a meeting with the Avery faculty. The paper often features stories on Avery, and he likes to quote my mother. His grey hair is trimmed short, a handsome balance with his loose jacket, his long limbs. With me, he is relaxed and curious. I am the son of a teacher, an English teacher, he is a journalist, maybe we are part of some kind of family. “Son of a bitch, you’re grown!” He laughs. I examine myself. He has come to Avery because tomorrow it will hold its book award ceremony. The teachers are undecided which student should receive it, and my mom, he informs me, believes that none of the girls this year are so deserving. He laughs again. “She’s so old school, there’s not a lot of teachers like her in the Valley.” The admiration in his voice embarrasses me a little. His eyes are glittering and his face is softened. I grow uncomfortable at his affection, I want to counter it. “She’s probably wrong,” I say. “And anyways, she’s never liked the girls.” Blot looks at me in surprise. A moment of windy silence passes between us while he gazes at me as if to figure something out. I am mortified. I have interrupted his gesture of friendship. He squares himself toward me. “I think she loves them, Jesse. She values intelligence, just like you.” I nod, but I don’t know at what. Something like guilt rises in my throat at that word, intelligence. But I keep nodding and watch the wind blow his jacket around, and soon I understand what he means. The generosity of his words humbles me. He’s drawn a circle through the girls, through my mother, through himself, through me. He’s made allies of us all, as educated people, working toward a common goal. I feel connected to Ibis.

I mutter a thank you and head home.

Night— but the heat is constant, and the lamps fill my house with a hovering, grainy light. Dinner is over. My mother sponges a table, shifting her grip on it. I am playing a computer game, a frantically shooting soldier. The news is on, an anchorman’s voice fills an empty space that I do not disturb. I stare at my screen. “Jesse,” my mother calls, but I pretend not to hear. She is accustomed to breathing out names, words, whole sentences without expecting a response. It is a habit of loneliness, but I do not know this yet. It’s just something to take advantage of. I wait for the silence to regain its place. “Jester, stop playing that damn game.” I snap my head toward her, feigning an innocent surprise. She stands directly beside me, but the sponge is still in her hand, dripping. “Are you taking drugs?” I am not expect-

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ing this question at all, but I suspect it’s the kind of question a mother has to ask every so often, so I do not display any confusion. I turn from my computer like a lawyer receiving a client. “No,” I say. I am telling the truth, but she stands her ground. After a few seconds, I follow through. “Why?” “You weren’t there when I went outside to give you lunch money, and I found this on the ground.” She holds up a little black pill. My eyes squint. I worry that they betray a look of recognition. It is the pill that Ibis and the girls were sharing. My mother’s lips are sucked together, brandishing the edges of her cheekbones. She is inexhaustible in confrontation, she is designed for it. I shrug just a bit and tell her I do not know what that pill could possibly be. She drops her hand. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” From practice, I know to let such rhetorical questions sit. My mother trusts me. I am a boy who says little, listens quietly, who folds himself into corners when strangers are in the house. I am not enough of an explorer to take drugs. In the kitchen, my mother has sat down in a chair and regards me absently. “It’s the girls,” she says. “What are they trying to do?” Her words are again without intent. She is allowing me to turn back to my computer game. I begin to click and shoot as before, but a horrifying thought freezes me. Tomorrow, the pills will be brought to Avery’s attention. A hunt for the delinquents will follow. Throughout the day, the girls will wonder who is the rat, and Ibis will remember me, watching by the gate.

The next few days are tight and nervous. As I descend the ditch into Wildwood, I stare at my school with dread. It looks like a lost toy upon the ground. I do not want to be there, I want to annihilate the walls so I can more easily meditate on Ibis. Her face circles before me and mutates, at once disgusted with me for ratting her out, at once blank and forgetful, she does not even know my name. I do not know which of these shadows torments me more. I shut my eyes and harbor them in the tumultuous roseblack. I want her image there. In hot, momentary outbursts, I curse my mother, and I despair that I am her son. Other students are understandably cautious around me. I am not to be trusted. I am, by default, a teacher’s pet. Ibis knew this about me when she walked over. What had I done to persuade her I was any other way? I had said little, I had corrected her, I had slunk away, like a spy on a mission who has seen all he needs to see. She thinks I am a rat. My regret is more immediate than shame or embarrassment. It grabs me by the ear and yanks until I wince.

On Friday afternoon, I walk up and down the freeway by Avery, half an hour after classes have ended. Some girls are still coming out, the ones least anxious to free themselves from campus. I am hoping to find one of Ibis’s friends among them. Then I will engage, and directly I will bring up the subject of the black pill and absolve myself. While I organize my thoughts under the bell tower, a car pulls up behind me. I turn and find Blot stepping out, wearing his same loose jacket. I feel relief, I am glad to see him of all people; he does not begrudge me my mother. I wave hello. He smiles back quickly and comes around his car. His demeanor is more hunched than before. He asks what I am working on in school, and I respond ambiguously, ashamed that I have barely paid any attention in my classes. Changing the topic, I ask if he is still writing the story he told me about. “Oh no, that’s already out, the award has been given. I’m reporting on the winner.” He takes a pencil out of his jacket pocket as if to emphasize his purpose here. Thinking of my mother’s disapproval, I ask who won. “Ibis. She’s really impressed everyone at

Avery, so I hear.” The news alleviates my worry. So, Ibis did not fall victim to some kind of disciplinary hunt, she has not been ruined. The incident with the black pill is almost certainly irrelevant to her now. At this moment, she is celebrating a victory. Her apparent intelligence also comes as news to me, but I am only thinking of the afterglow of satisfaction she must possess. I no longer have to dwell upon our awkward encounter. I can simply congratulate her, and conversation will follow. I am waiting by the bell tower. I have already bought my lunch, but there are 30 minutes left in my break, and I am not going anywhere. I want to see her. Here in the hot blue shade, I will present myself to her anew. This place, I hope, is still her sacred hideout. If she comes, I will congratulate her. I will offer her some of my food. Whatever she has on her, black pill, anything, I will take it with her. A teal car pulls up and idles. Blot the enchanted journalist. His obsession with my mother no longer embarrasses me. It comforts me. It is love, the parallel houseguest in both of

My Creation Myth #

our minds. We are kin in this way, as in others. The bell rings, it must signal the end of Avery’s lunch period. So many stories must fill this school and this valley, and Blot is here to record them. In the middle of the bell-ringing, the teal car door opens. Out of it emerges Ibis, grinning, who flies through the bell tower gate, carrying her backpack by her knees. I linger by the bell tower even after Blot’s car has pulled away. I do not touch my lunch, which begins to stink in the heat. Blot, Ibis, and my mother. I sit by the freeway and I see them bound together. They have proven their commitment to writing and learning, they have earned an adoption into the family of intellects. Their higher intelligence begets strange love, I can appreciate that now. But love is well paired with writers, inventors, adventures of the mind. How vain I was to place myself in this lofty family. I did not even ask what Ibis had done to earn her award. I play games on a computer. I have created nothing. ASB

I’m embarking on a quest to personally give a big thumbs-up to the child who made my iPhone. Day 1: The Flight. I sleep for 13 ½ hours of my 14 hour flight to Suzhou, China. I’m thinking about what I’m gonna do when I find this kid. Then I remember: give him (or her) a big thumbs-up. Day 2: Finding the Child. Shanghai is a big city, and there are a lot of kids here. It almost seems like any one of them could have made my iPhone. Nǐ zuò wǒ de iPhone? This is something I looked up on my iPhone, and it means, “did you make my iPhone?” I start asking. Day 3: Bump in the Road. I have not been keeping track of the children I ask, and I’m starting to ask some repeat kids. It’s going to be slow-going finding the kid who made my iPhone unless I step up my organization game. Big time! Day 4: Shanghai. Shanghai is an expensive city. But I am a very rich man. Day 5: At the Hotel Bar. A well-groomed Chinese businessman tried to tell me that capitalism involves a complex network of labor division, and there is not any one person who made my iPhone, and certainly not a child. I laugh along. “I must seem so naive! Kinda like the child who made your iPhone–what’s his name again?” “Guō Tái-míng,” he said, before he could stop himself. Bingo.

Day 7: The Factory. The place was totally empty. No employees, no assembly lines, nothing. “Guō?” I shouted, hearing only an echo. Then a small noise from a strange door. I opened it slowly, revealing a gorgeous study lined with mahogany and books. At a desk was a small boy, examining his handiwork with a monocle, making new dints here and there with a small chisel. He looked up at me and smiled. “Have you come to give me a big thumbs up?” I was dumbfounded. I extended two big thumbs upward. “Thanks,” he said, “I appreciate it.” He put down his chisel and gazed out of his window. “You know, I really am lucky. Not everyone loves what they do.”

亚历克鲍曼

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Air Bud: Wolf Edition Dear Professor, welcome to my essay. My senior thesis film is titled Air Bud: Wolf Edition. It is like the original Air Bud except instead of a dog that can play basketball it is a wolf. The filming took five months. I do not know how long this is in wolf years. In human months it is five. People told me I could not make Air Bud: Wolf Edition because of copyright and safety concerns. Those people are nurses, police officers, and haters. When it comes to the law, I have always been of the belief that it cannot touch me. I auditioned many wolves for the titular role. I have read about a casting technique that uses a couch and sex. This did not happen during my casting. The wolves were very professional. Some said I should use a CGI wolf instead of a wolf that could bite. I think CGI is bad to use in film and also it is expensive. CGI wolves cannot do improv onset. Most of what my wolf did was improv. The best part of Air Bud: Wolf Edition is the camera. My uncle left it to me in his will. He died from eating too many vitamins in one day. That inspires me to this day. I would say my biggest influence is one time when I saw a little bit of Dances With Wolves on TBS. My second biggest influence is Quentin Tarantino. Thank you Professor for reading my essay. I hope that you give this film an A—if not for its quality, and if not for how I lost a hand, then for its original jazz soundtrack. MAS

Congratulations! You killed the minotaur, saved the princess, and rescued the kingdom from destruction. Lord Spurble will repay you handsomely. You are officially a Greek hero! HJH JGS

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I’ll never forget the day Ray decided to be a musician. I’d sat him down in front of his best and only friend, the radio, when little Ray asked if he could make music too. So I pulled up a coffee table and told Ray to start playing. With each imaginary note he pressed, I’d sing, “Bum bum bum.” Of course, Ray was a natural. After scribbling on some papers with an out-of-ink pen, Ray’s contract was in place and it was time for him to move to the big city. The trip was easy: Ray flapped his arms as I blew cold air in his face. The happiest I ever saw Ray was when he got to play at Radio City Music House: a school for the deaf I modeled after Radio City Music Hall. In a drafty

auditorium, deaf kids watched Ray play his hits on a desk while Ray listened to me hum them. Eventually, Ray became more than just a musical pioneer: he became a civil rights activist. I couldn’t have been prouder listening to my brilliant white patient deliver impassioned speeches as if he were black. It was time to reward Ray for his success so I offered him the Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award, a five-pound weight I stole from the hospital gym. Ray accepted: “People ask me if it’s hard overcoming my disability. No. But it’s nearly impossible to overcome my anxiety that everyone I know has the same voice.” HBF

Patent Office - Hello, sir. I’m here to apply for a patent. - Yes, and what is your invention? - How about… a … - Yes. - What? - You want a patent for a. You got it. - A patent for a what? - Yea that too. - What too? - Ok three patents. A, a what, what too. - Oh wow. - You... invent ...at a miraculous pace. ASB Unacredited Art: Pig daughter comix, cavemen hunting plane and gazelle: SWR Concerned face by word search: JGS This Guy (include tiny image of this guy), How to Draw a Pig, Caveman William Tell: AJ Stinky Dave shoe award, cavemen hunting castle: DKW Australian Diver: HFJ Caption Contest: AJ, ASB Caveman hunting dog: TN Colored derpy cavemen: AEV Layout and everything else: JTB

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ASB would like to thank: His siblings, Chuffy, Nicky, Jesse, Johnny, and Courtney (in that order); his parents, I guess!; his roommates, even the fat one; female standups and improvvers; HSB for the book; AJ for the recipe; SWR; JTB ladies and gentleman! Didn’t she do a bang-up job? Give it up!

Chuffy JTB would like to thank: Her sisters Laney & Tinny (in order of increasing sass), her parents, Gus “Pull My Finger” Guenther, & Em; her roommates; andikym@gmail.com & andyroommate3@gmail.com; SWR; Bowman the Fabulous; her dogs

Angel

Bang Bang

Big Lee

Chacha

Jackson the Sexy Saxon

Jane

Lanky

Sadie

Patchy Fog

Rosie

Rowdy Ruff

Ellie

Chitty Chitty

Lela

Starla

Mita

Twisty

Whitey Tightey

Noodles

Sam Bamborino UP NEXT: Once in a Blue Moon #

Seas Five Feet

Shy Girl

Stags Myozik

My Creation Myth #

From Left to Right: Farty, Milky, & Mr. Puddles

TN & AJ 53

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My Creation Myth #

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