The Sets in the West # by The Harvard Lampoon

The Harvard Lampoon

Sets in the West # Rolling. And… action! Howdy, viewer.

(VANITAS)

Welcome to set. I mean Sets in the West #. Wow, I am so nervous. I didn’t realize that this was going to be broadcast live, and I am so glad to find out that it will not be. Instead, I am being told, my words are being furiously transcribed by a team of production assistants who, as I speak, are turning them into the bonafide print publication you now hold in your hands. Pretty crazy, huh? You probably thought print died out a long time ago. Well I am here to tell you it did. In this, the month January, the year 2018, print is a long forgotten relic of the past. Which reminds me of the real reason why I am being paid to speak to you today: the past, and the future, and distance, as time, and the reason why I am being paid, today. Five more minutes? Okay, great. So what you are about to read has a lot to do with the west, and the promise of what lies over the horizon, both of which have captivated the human imagination for millenia. Also, movies, but don’t worry about that too much until later. Take a look at the sun. This has a lot to do with that, too, and I want you to know what I am talking about before we get too deep into things. Anyway-- Cut! What the hell are you doing? this. Not me. What are you doing - What do you mean? switching forms in the middle of the - The west? Horizons? Movies? What piece? How is that going to look in kind of half-assed introduction is post? this? - We are going to cut this in post. - It is exactly what you asked for. All of it. A walk-and-talk. A meet-and-greet. A - Even the part about the transcripsilver tongue to seduce the sitions? rens of the silver screen. - Especially that. - Cut the shit. There are - Well… am I still goa thousand hungry hasing to get paid? beens in this city - Unfortunately, just waiting for a yes. Contractuchance to take a ally, we still stab at this. If have to pay you are you. not going to - Now you’re take it seriousspeaking my ly, the door is language. right there. - Great. - Right where? Are we done - Behind you. here? - ... - One hun- Like two pagdred peres back. cent. Just - Ohh. (flipping let me know back a page.) when you are (flipping forward rolling and we again to this will bang this page.) Is that how next one out. I got in here? One take, I prom- Get the fuck out of ise. my sight. - What? No -- Listen, you ruined Hello and welcome to the Sets in the West #. Please silence your cell phones. And please, enjoy the show.

(TBW)

The Harvard Lampoon

February 2018

BOARD OF EDITORS Alice Ju ’18, President Scott W. Roberts ’19, Ibis Ava E. Violich ’18, Narthex Camille K. Jacobson ’18, Treasurer B.W. Mott ’?? N. S. Grundlingh ’20 H. F. Johnson ’17-’18 S. H. Kiam ’18 P. E. de Sa e Silva ’19 K. D. Firester ’19 D. K. Wexner ’19 N. A. Araya ’20 J. G. Stovitz ’20 S. Wu ’20 T. A. Flodman ’19

A. R. Cohen ’18 A. S. Bowman ’17-’18 J. T. Bramante ’18 C. C. S. Wonders ’18 D. R. McDonough ’18 B. J. Strathmore ’18 M. A. Skerett ’18 S. V. Gohel ’18 H. B. Flender ’19

VOL. CXXXXII No. 2

M. J. Kassabian ’19 M. G. Marshall ’19 J.T. Ball ’20 A. Chen ’20 I. M. Gibney ’20 M. M. Miller ’20 M. R. Perusse ’20 L. G. Fadiman ’21 Y. Ji ’21

Teddy Ninh ’19, Blotbut Hillman J. Hollister, ’19, Sanctum Liana A. Spiro, ’19, Sanctum Juan F. Arenas R., ’19, Hautbois Lydia D. Lavrova, ’19, Hautbois T. Donovan Keene, ’18, Sadbut Lily C. Scherlis, ’18, Librarian Haley L. Daniels, ’18, Nave BUSINESS BOARD David F. Prankle, ‘18, Frankle Thomas B. Waddick, ‘17-‘18, Circulation Manager B. Cohen, ’19 B. J. Falk, ’20 I. A. Jasper ’19 S. H. Henson ’20 Elmer W. Green, 1897–1977, Grande Curator ISSUE EDITOR Thomas B. Waddick

ART EDITOR Pascale E. de Sa e Silva

The Harvard Lampoon is published five times during the academic year by The Harvard Lampoon, Inc. Principal office 44 Bow Street, Cambridge, MA 02138. Subscription: $20 for five issues. Overseas subscriptions: call your mates. Postmaster: send address changes to Harvard Lampoon, 44 Bow Street, Cambridge, MA 02138. © 2014 Harvard Lampoon, Inc. All rights reserved. Reproduction in any form without written permission is prohibited, but I am flattered you would ask. Phone: (617) 495-7801. URL: www.harvardlampoon.com or www.setsinthewets.net. The Harvard Lampoon cannot consider unsolicited manuscripts, telescripts, or postscripts. The Lampoon is a registered trademark of The Harvard Lampoon, Inc.

Sets in the West #

“

‘Burn Out barely scraped the top but he was soft like crème brûlée and digging didn’t come easily unless he had the light of day.’ The line had been rattling around in Ibis’s head for longer than he could remember. In fact, if he thought hard enough, it was the only thing he could remember. But he still didn’t know what it meant. “I’m sorry. This is no way to begin. Nobody cares too much about this kind of stuff and even if they did, this would be no way to begin. Let me go back to the beginning of today. “Today didn’t really begin; it just kind of emerged from an endless night. At least that’s how it felt when we washed up right where you are standing now. “Blot was the first to

notice. She had always been the most observant. ‘That’s a bridge,’ she said. And she was right. Immediately in front of us was a big fucking bridge. “‘Is it…’ I asked Ibis. ‘No.’ ‘Oh.’ ‘Yeah.’ “Usually Ibis and I had a better back and forth. But like I said, it had been a long night. I say ‘had’ because at that moment the sun rose like a big, bloated balloon face from behind the bridge. “‘It’s the moon,’ Blot said, and we sat down on the bank of the river. “‘What else do you have to do?’ Blot asked Ibis. ‘Nothing,’ Ibis replied. ‘Are you excited?’ I asked. ‘I guess,’ Ibis lied. “Ibis had been looking forward to this for a long

time. In fact, it had been the only thing Ibis had been looking forward to for as long as he had been alive. ‘It’s not that far away,’ I offered. ‘We’ll visit twice a year,’ Blot promised. “‘I know,’ Ibis said. ‘Just promise me you will only tell them the good things,’ he asked. ‘I don’t remember anything else,’ I said. And it was true. I had sustained a lot of head trauma over the last seven years. “Then without anymore warning, Ibis flew off. ‘That’s east!’ Blot and I yelled. But it was too late. He was gone.

“That’s dark, Jester.” “No. I don’t think it is. Overly sentimental, maybe. But definitely not dark. But you know, that’s kind of how I feel most of the time now, sentimental. I guess it’s my one flaw: not realizing that I have many flaws.” “So what now?” “I guess it’s kind of like that guy said. If you put a bridge in the beginning of the story, then by the end of the story you better have fired a gun into your head on that bridge.

“Or, I don’t know, I’ll “‘What now?’ Blot probably go west and try asked. I didn’t know. get famous or some‘Nerf gun war?’ ‘No,’ she thing.” frowned, disappointed. And we continued to sit TBW there under the balloon man sun.”

...

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M FA

I’ve been a child actor for quite some time now, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, I forgot it because of the brain trauma from when I fell off that ski lift. Channel 26 in Oregon, News at Night, maybe you saw it. I’ve played all the classic children’s roles like the back of my hand and then some: “distressed child trapped in mall fountain,” “young girl who locked herself inside a grizzly bear,” “Kid, age 11 trapped inside condemned ammunitions factory on demolition day, rescue mission costs city millions.” But no doubt my most famous gig was that time I got on NBC for getting trampled by all those horses at the Kentucky Derby. Man, what an audience that was! But I’m hoping to break out of the world of reality television, or as my parents call it, “Martha I swear to god if you get stuck in something one more goddamn time we’re not paying for the medical bill,” and into true dramatic acting. My acting journey certainly won’t be easy. Especially because my parents said Uncle Earl will have to take a break as my acting coach for about 10-14 years with no chance of pa role. Pa must be a great role, for him to work 14 years on it! But even without an acting coach, or an uncle, I’m sure one day my face will be on all the screens, and not like last time when I got stuck in that well, or the time before that when I got stuck in the same well. My time down in that well taught me to never stop believing, both that I would make it in Hollywood and that the hundreds of snakes biting me were not poisonous. Even when the doctors insisted I was wrong and needed antivenom immediately, did I give up? No. I told them to move a bit to the left so that the cameras could get a better view of the world’s next Audrey Hepburn! Even when I found out those cameras were hallucinations, did I throw in the towel? No! Even when I found out the towel wasn’t there either?! Not on my hallucinated watch. My first big break into the sphere of drama is coming up this weekend at my school play, where I’ll be playing “Offstage Dead Tree” in Pirates of Penzance. I’m so excited I can hardly sleep, ever, because of my violent night terrors. But, if all goes well, I’ll rise straight to the top of the film industry faster than this cold, rising, well water. MMM

Sets in the West #

TV SHOW

The Benson Bundle was a show that featured a re-married couple and their newly combined family. EP. 1 — DIVORCE Mr. and Mrs. Benson get divorced and quickly remarry other people. Then they remarry more people. Everybody stays in the house. They have a few kids out of wedlock and Housekeeper Maria moves in with her six adult sons who each run a daycare from home. EP. 3 — GOODNIGHT Each Benson wishes the others goodnight. No time for commercial breaks. EP. 4 — BENSON BUNDLE OF JOY There’s a new baby in the family. We don’t know who the father is or who the mother is or where the baby is. EP. 6 — PROM A bottle episode. It’s prom at Delta High, but the older kids can’t leave — they’re stuck at the bottom of the sleep pile. B-plot: Tommy, Tommy #2, Also Tommy, and Long-Haired Tommy get new names. EP. 12 — LOVE A-plot: The Bensons realize they planned two weddings on the same day. B—Z plots: 25 of the kids have their first kiss. Some of the Benson Bundle has to sit in the studio audience. EP. 15 — ADJUSTING Cassie has to learn to share her room with twelve step-sisters. The rest of the Bensons learn if everyone stands and breathes in unison, they can all fit in the house. EP. 20 — SEASON FINALE The Benson Bundle becomes the first show to accurately portray demographic breakdowns in the US — 1,269 black characters, 1,638 Hispanic, 353 gay (88 of whom are closeted), and one pedophile. TAF

POST COLONANAL Guy 1: Glad I had my cancerous colon removed! Guy 2: Congrats! Are you feeling up for it now? Guy 1: Yep, I’m ready to do some post-colon anal. Guy 2: And here I go– TBW: Alec. ASB: What’s up Tom? TBW: What the hell is this piece. ASB: It’s the piece you wanted. The post colon anal satire. TBW: That’s not what I said. Guy 1: How does it feel without the colon, guy? Guy 2: Not much different! TBW: Can you two pause for a second? Guy 1: Uhhh. ASB: Take five, guys. Guy 2: Is this piece still happening? ASB: Yea, just having some business talk. Be back in five, we’ll pick up where we left off. TBW: No you won’t. ASB: Tom, what’s the beef ? I’m doing what you said. TBW: I told you to write a piece about surfing dogs. ASB

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HLD

SOUTH SIDE AQUARIUM HOTLINE

-Hello, is this the South Side Aquarium Hotline? -Yes sir, what’s your emergency? -I want to pet an eagle shark. -Let me check on that for you sir. KAREN? KAREN? KAREN? KAREN? DO WE HAVE AN EAGLE SHARK IN THE TOUCH TANK? IS THERE AN EAGLE SHARK IN THE TOUCH TANK?? AN EAGLE SHARK. E LIKE EAGIN. S LIKE SHARLP. EAGIN SHARLP. IN THE TOUCH TANK? No sir, it’s dead. -Oh. Well is there a sea anemone? -KAREN? IS THERE A SEA ANEMONE IN THE TOUCH TANK? SEA ANEMONE. LIKE SEANMINENI. JUST PUT YOUR HAND IN THE TANK. UNDER THE PISTON SNARL FISH. P LIKE PILMP. S LIKE SHARLP. F LIKE BUH-BIM JIMP. I’M SORRY I MEAN F LIKE FUH-FIMP JIMP. PILMP SHARLP FUH FIMP JIMP. PUT YOUR HAND ON ITS BACKSIDE IN ITS TINY HOLE. Sorry sir, the last sea anemone is dead. -At least there’s a piston snarl fish there, yeah? -No sir it died too. -But I just heard you saying— -Just now. It just is dead. -What can I see at this aquarium then? And fast? -Karen’s hand is stuck in the snarl’s deep hole. -On my way. HLD

Sets in the West #

Connect all the dots to find a hidden Sets in the West picture: 1

FIZZO

Enter Tom Hassidy, the best shot in the West. Tom Hassidy spits out his chewing tobacco and shoots the wad mid-air, splitting the wad into three separate chunks. Each chunk lands into three separate spittoons. (Beat of silence). - We’re tired of you gun slingin, belt bucklin, pretty pants in showboats! We want Fizzo! - Yea! Gimme some Fizzo! - Hey, I’m sorry you guys that was really more of a one-time thing… - (chanting) FIZZ-O! FIZZ-O! FIZZ-O! - I can’t believe I’m doing this. (Tom Hassidy adorns clown nose, becoming Fizzo the Clown) HeGehGeh Geh- HEY Guys! - Oh my god his character work is impeccable! (town showers Tom Hassidy with money) - (Hassidy pies himself in the face and begins piloting a horse and buggy. Still blind from his pie, Tom Hassidy crashes into the nearest saloon.) - Hey, that saloon cost me eight-thousand dollars!— - I would pay nine-thousand dollars for Fizzo to break myyyy saloon. - (Hassidy’s clown nose falls off during the crash. Beat of silence as the crowd thinks Fizzo is dead). - What th– you killed Fizzo! You monster! (Crowd begins furiously looking through wreckage for Fizzo’s body). - Sure there’s no Fizzo, but at least there’s Tom Hassidy, Baron of the West! (twirls revolver around finger) Pretty cool, huh? - (Silence). - (Tom Hassidy adorns another clown nose and shoots a revolver from between his legs like he’s peeing bullets). - He is risen, hail Fizzo! JTB

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Balloon Man

I was on a walk in the park when I first ran into the balloon animal hustler. His scam was classic. First he’d make you a balloon snake for a dollar—then he’d suggestively offer you a blowjob for ten. No one could resist his magical mouth after watching that snake inflate. As he jumped out of his bush, I tightened my belt and prepared for the worst. “Can I make you an animal, pal?” Shit. He was a siren among the middle-aged park moms watching their kids play on the swings. “Any animal is yours. One dollar.” Blowing up so many balloons in the crisp autumn air put a toll on his chapped lips. I knew that if he made that damn snake, I’d become his chapstick. I had to stall. “Snakes for one dollar. Worms for one dollar!” Shit. I hadn’t thought about worms. We were playing 4D chess and he was 5, no, 6 moves ahead of me. “I’ll have a monkey. Take my money.” Monkey? My god, I’m a genius. I slide him a crisp Andrew Jackson and he slides me back 19 crisper George Washingtons. Good luck trying to make a mammal, balloon man. Then, a small smile appears in the corner of his mouth as he pulls out dozens of saggy balloons. I had fallen right into his trap. He begins furiously blowing and twisting and turning the balloons into a complex series of animal parts—wait no, is that a double helix? Cytosine and guanine? My god, he is playing the role of creator. The squeals of latex pierced my eardrums as ribosome-like blobs began reading the DNA and translating it into proteins. People fell down in awe. Others due to their severe latex allergies. One cell, two cells, four cells, fuck. Balloon man was done twisting; now he watched his master piece unfold. The cells formed a fetus, which rapidly developed into an adolescent monkey. The balloon monkey whispered into my ear: “I’m not done yet.” He began to shed his balloon hairs as his tail disappeared with a loud POP! A bead of sweat dripped down my nose as he began to walk on two limbs. He reached a hand out to me and—what’s that? Opposable thumbs. Dozens of children became atheists that day. At last, there I was, looking at balloon man in balloon form. “You win,” I say, unbuckling. “That enough blowing for me today,” said balloon man. “Disagree,” said balloon balloon man. MRP

Sets in the West #

MICHAEL DANZIGER PAID FOR AND IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT OF THIS AD. NOT AUTHORIZED BY THE HARVARD LAMPOON OR ITS EDITORS. SETSINTHEWETS.NET

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Sets in the West #

The Harvard Lampoon

Sets in the West #

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AIRPLANE

Black box recording from the cockpit retrieved from flight 2169 9:24am: Hey man, you my co-captain? Nice dude, sweet stuff. So here’s the deal, this is actually my first time flying. Ever. Didn’t even realize it took two people to fly this thing. I’m not sure how I ended up here but don’t you worry my dude. I was told once that when you learn, you never forget, like riding a tricycle, which I also never learned how to do. But I got you bro. 9:33am: Good morning passengers, this is your captain speaking, welcome to flight 2169, (laughter) with service to-Miami Beach. Whoa, Miami Beach? Land of both kinds of body shots? Looks like I’m starting spring break a little early, in September! Let’s roll my dudes. 9:52am: Passengers. I’ve been told there’s a beverage service with complimentary soft drinks and alcohol for charge, but you know what? Y’all get drinks on me, so start poppin’ those 5 oz Fireballs and let’s get this party started! We goin’ to South Beach Baby! It is here where we believe the pilot found the alcohol cabinet and used a passenger’s suitcase to break into the cabinet. He then proceeded to take all of the red wines for himself, and dispersed the rest of the alcohol to passengers who “looked a little stiff ” 10:15am: Oh yeah so, here’s the skinny, there was supposed to be food service on this flight, but I showed up early, tried some of it, and then ate all 180 prepared meals. Don’t you guys worry though, it was delicious. 10:29am: Uh, co-pilot? Mind if take control of steering for a while? My big bro always lets me do it in his Trans Am. It is here where we assume the co-pilot said “No.” Which prompted the pilot to whisper “don’t be a bitch” in the co-pilot’s ear, making him cry, turn inconsolable, and thus relinquish control of the craft to the pilot. 10:57am: Alrightyyy party animals, a flight attendant just told me one of y’all complained about the rowdiness of this flight. Please shut up. We’re cruisin’ past optimal buzz and heading straight to faded. Lets gooo! Also, we will be landing in either 10 or 55 minutes. 11:09am: Sorry bout that wicked corkscrew nose dive we just did, fell asleep for a bit there. But don’t worry, I’ve just downed some hot water and a pack of olives so I’m rallying. 11:16am: Shit dudes, anybody catch that landing? Nothin’ but grass. 11:24am: Can anybody give me a ride back to the hotel? I probably shouldn’t be driving. MGM

First Rodeo You want to start a rodeo but don’t know how. Here’s what you need to do: - Find a place to put the rodeo that has a lot of space. It’s going to get hot. Real hot. People will be wearing shorts or be on fire. The animals will need shorts too. You’ll need a lot of space, but more shorts. - Start saying things like ‘yee-haw’ and ‘horse-shoes.’ They need to know that you're one of them. Say these as often as you can. This is your first rodeo and you want to make a good impression. - Your rodeo needs a theme. Every one of my fifty-thousand rodeos has had a theme. Mostly rodeo themed. Pick a theme and go with it. If you want to switch mid-rodeo you only have one shot. You have a two minute window after the clowns read poems about their moms. If you think it’ll take three minutes, I wouldn’t risk it. This is the rodeo. Bad things can happen. - You need to take care of the animals. The bulls are always pissed about being in cages. But we know it’s just for the attention. Let them be in front of a cheering crowd. People know the deal. If we keep the bulls happy, they won’t go start a rodeo of their own. You do not want the competition. - Now that you have finished your first rodeo, you are omnipotent. Nothing ever again will be your first rodeo. You know how to do everything. Do more rodeos. Feel the power. I’ve done fifty-thousand, but I want you to do more. I need a successor, and that can be you. TAF

Sets in the West #

TOWN LAWS

I. No soldier shall, in time of peace, be quartered in any cabin without the consent of the owner, unless they’re ‘Ole Ricky. ‘Ole Ricky is allowed to sleep wherever he wants. It’s his religion. He is an “insomniac.”

II. Okay, there’s one more thing about ‘Ole Ricky. No one is allowed to make direct eye contact with him except the mayor. He is highly territorial of the ‘Ole Barn and protective of its many horses. III. The town well is closed on Sundays and holidays. I mean, ‘Ole Ricky’s got a well you can use during this time, but you’ll first have to ask him a riddle—one that challenges him, but one he can definitely answer. For a list of recommended riddles, see ‘Ole Ricky. IV. Jaywalking is highly illegal since ‘Ole Ricky loves speed and camouflages his wagon. For this same reason, the city will do its best to post his whereabouts. He has many decoys of himself hidden throughout the town, so do not be alarmed if there are hundreds of possible locations listed. V. No nudity, no exceptions. VI. Okay, yes, ‘Ole Ricky is always naked, but he was grandfathered in on that one. He was also grandfathered in on the rule about not being able to fold a piece of paper in half more than 8 times. VII. Every citizen must pass a swimming test or wear a permanent flotation device at all times. ‘Ole Ricky is known for pranking the beavers near the town lake—dozens of people drowned the last time he replaced their huge dam with a toothpick. VIII. In the event that ‘Ole Ricky is about to die, we must all evacuate the town, immediately. He has hidden dynamite everywhere, but mostly inside of himself. MRP

Small Town

couple times a year, we visit my wife’s hometown for Thanksgiving. It’s the cutest little town this side of out that way. They get zero tourists a year; no one’s a tourist when everyone’s your friend. Spend a few minutes downtown, and you’ll end up with a basket full of cookies and a chest full of hug. If you’re looking for a road loaded with entertainment, Maple Street is the better option of the two, what with its view of the moon. And if you like corn mazes, you’re in luck. The town’s surrounded by cornfields that’d probably be pretty tough to navigate if you wandered into one. But you shouldn’t go for the entertainment, especially if you want music, which has been missing in the town for over 40 years. You should go for the people. Sincerity is something those folks keep for their whole lives, like virginity or a coffee can full of two-dollar bills. They’re positively dripping with kindness and local ooze. It’s only a flight and a pump trolley and a hay ride away from walking distance. It’s a day trip when you consider that it’s always day there. So give her a visit. I say so what if the local paper’s printed on corn husks? So what if all the town’s structures are held together by the humid breath of chit-chatters? So what if citizens get stuck shaking hands when their oozes fuse together? You show me a better city, and I’ll show you a town that doesn’t even know cities exist. HFJ

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Sets in the West # Hi Reader, connect all the dots to find a hidden Sets in the West message written just for you:

How I worked my way to the top of the studio... I’m stumbling around looking for a bathroom anywhere in this city and I accidentally walk into the President of Warner Brother’s office. “Here for the interview?” he writes on a piece of paper as he finishes his snow cone. At that point the poop was coming out whether I wanted it to or not and I decided his desk was the best place for it. “You got moxie, kid” I say, thinking he would say it too and we’d both say it in synch. He abruptly stops eating his snow cone and puts it in his briefcase for later. “If you think that even came close to being a display of moxie… then you have gravely underestimated how impressed I was by that.” He starts sucking on the ring pop he’s been wearing and writes “you start in the mail room tomorrow.” It was Saturday. So there I am working in the Warner Brothers mail room. Keep in mind that in 1932, basically the only mail being sent to movie studios was full size pianos. Luckily it was 1994, so a lot of the pianos being sent were the smaller electronic ones. Suffice to say, surrounded by nothing but pianos and having hours of free time every day, I get really good at stacking the pianos into a Piano Mountain. I keep stacking and stacking the pianos, until suddenly they’re taller than the President’s office. And now, since I can get higher up than him on my pianos, that means that technically, I can see him masturbating into his slurpee machine through the window. The blackmail works perfectly and he gives me his job. Slurpee machines are strictly forbidden on the Warner Brothers lot. JGS

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New New Sheriff “There’s a new sheriff in town!” said the sheriff. He was the 28th sheriff to say this. This was too many sheriffs.

the author of this piece was a Latino gymnast but SWITCH (pronounced: SWEETCH) “Lonestar” is copyright NBC, so SWXTCH this sentence is terminated.

A duel. “This town ain’t big enough for the both of us.” Also, it wasn’t big enough for the 28 of us! Also, the town was Los Angeles babaaay. Also, Los Angeles had shrunk considerably, or else it would in fact be big enough for 28 people, easily. Also, I won the duel.

Sometimes, there are so many sheriffs that...that...uh.

It was a one horse town, a.k.a. one horse in the town no not in the town it is the town. One horse town. Are you following? Too many sheriffs and we all live on a horse. I’m kidding. It was one whore’s town. I mean this whore was so good she basically ran the place if you get my meaning. Headcount. 28 -1 (remember the duel) +1 (and the horse) = 28 people in the town of Los Angeles. Sorry, tiny Los Angeles. It seems like you don’t need to know these things but you do. Let’s talk about a girl now. I’m trying to hook-up with her but we don’t say “hook-up” in this time and place we say something different like “wrassle-fuck.” I have several psychoses that prevent this young lady from “wrassle-fucking” me. One of them is that I’m fixated on the number of sheriffs in this town. Don’t worry about the girl or the “wrassle-fucking”. Just remember the sheriffs. Wait, actually you need to remember “wrassle-fucking” for this next part. The sheriffs. (Sigh) From time-to-time, we wrasslefuck each other. Suddenly mean old Lonestar came to town, but we couldn’t get a shot at him because SWITCH Lonestar was a tumbleweed but SWITCH “tumbleweed” is an offensive term for a Latino gymnast but SWUTCH

It’s time to reduce the number of sheriffs again. Calls in a drone strike. Okay it’s coming. Sorry for the wait. Once the drone strike kills some sheriffs we’ll have new material. Ah, here it is. Oh no, the drone missed! The bomb overshot by a mile, and landed in the ocean. It is sinking now, down into the depths (Don’t follow the bomb, stay in the town). The bomb is tipping back and forth among the coral branches as it gently falls, displacing the fishies (No, come back to the town. The bomb is not relevant.) Clink clink clink, never exploding, just sinking. A blind manta-ray swoops upon it, then slips away. (Come back, come back. You’re too far underwater. You’ve forgotten, you’ve forgotten the world.) Then, totally undisturbed, the bomb explodes. Weird! For my entire life everything has been normal but two milliseconds ago I just realized everything is NOT normal like there’s a fuckton of sheriffs and somehow I have drone power and are those related? Could those be related? What are the fucking rules? That’s an insane question to ask of life right? I shouldn’t like, have to consciously think of the rules? But right now I’m like, is it left-foot then right-foot? Is that the rule? I’ve forgotten all the rules. Okay here’s the quiz for this piece. Don’t blame me if you blow it, I told you to remember stuff: Q. There are too many _______ in the town. Q. A blind manta ray would not ________ in the wild. Q. Wrassle-fuck? How about fuck. Q. Los Angeles would need to be ____ square inches to be properly tiny. ASB

Wild Bill Hickok’s name gets less cool with every word. HFJ

The editors sincerely apologize for the mistake in the previous connect-the-dots message. It has been corrected below. Connect the dots to find a hidden w message written by the Lampoon staff specifically for you:

Sets in the West #

Women of the West No one ever talks about the Women of the Western Frontier on the Men of the Western Frontier chatroom I run, except for the women. Unfortunately it’s supposed to be a men’s only chat, so I am forced to kick them off and delete all of their posts. This is extremely disappointing to me, because I believe that it is vital to acknowledge the women of history so that we can identify their descendents and punish them for the actions of their great-grandmothers, and also because I believe that gender is not a binary, but rather a singularity. As we know, throughout history there have been exactly three women of importance: Rosa Parks, my mother Susan, and my grandmother Susaan. But actually there have been many more, whose real names we will never know because they had to adopt male pseudonyms in order to be allowed onto the chatrooms. Here are all of them: SALOON SALLY The only thing Sally was better at than emptying a shot of whiskey was filling that glass right back up with sweet sweet breastmilk. Sally’s breastmilk was between 22% and 29% alcohol by volume, depending on how close you were to the holidays. All of her children died in infancy. MISSISSIPPI MOLLY Molly drowned crossing the Mississippi because she wasn’t quite tall enough to make it across. Luckily her husband was tall enough, and so he was able to double back and make sure she was all the way dead. Unluckily she was only most of the way dead, and her husband, overcome with emotion, shed a single tear which fell into her mouth and caused her to drown. PONY EXPRESS POLLY Polly was the best female rider of the Pony Express until she was discovered to be a man, Paul Everett (“Paul E.”). Compared to the male riders Paul was still pretty fast, but it wasn’t long before the steroid scandal broke and he was forced to retire.

LAS

The Harvard Lampoon

Louisiana Purchase

Knife to a Gunfight

A lot of historians think the United States negotiated one of the best deals of all time when they purchased all 828,000 square miles of the Louisiana Territory from France in 1803 for a price of less than three cents an acre.

Things that are worse than bringing a knife to a gunfight.

Jefferson: Forever will our great nation now be endowed with the gifts its liberty naturally bestows upon her, the Providence of craggy mountains— (Advisor shakes his head) Of rolling hills…? (Advisor does the ‘so-so’ hand motion) Of sweeping vistas that… (Advisor nods encouragingly) Look out onto shining lakes and pine forests, full of the finest— (Advisor does the ‘slow down’ hand motion) Deer? (Head shake) Boar? (Head shake) Woodland marmots…? (Advisor gives a thumbs-up) Woodland marmots. We have purchased forests full of woodland marmots. And (reading from his notes) a large area that is said to have great corn-growing potential. May God bless this country.

- Bringing a knife to a gunfight but remembering at the last second that you actually did have a gun in your car - Bringing a gun to a gunfight but showing up several days late so the gunfighting arena is already empty - Bringing a big knife to a tiny knife fight - Thinking that what really matters is the size of the dog in the fight - Bringing a really big dog to a gunfight - Bringing 3 buds to a plus one gunfight - Getting a 10 yard penalty for having just way too many knives - Bringing a gun to a knife fight and losing to the King of Knife Fighting, the Grand Champion, the Silver Swinger, the Bad Boy, the Limpest Locket, the Bad Girl, the Most Likely to Succeed, Thomas. - Fighting a knife with your bare hands to settle a years-old argument about whether or not you can legally fight a knife and then getting arrested for illegally fighting a knife. HJH

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Sets in the West #

What I Love About Horses

What I love about horses is the way they kill. In the West, if you aren’t killed by a horse, you might as well still be alive. Here’s a list of ways I want to die. Being dragged behind a horse. Being tied between two horses and having them run in opposite directions, pulling me apart. Being tied between two horses and having them run at each other, head-butting me. A twelve-horse pileup on a peaceful country road. Riding a horse off a cliff so I don’t get caught by the horse police (I’d rather die with the wind on my face than in horse jail). Jumping off a cliff made of horses. Losing a duel with a horse. Being shot with a horse gun (this is the Wild West term for when a horse gives birth). Sentenced to death on the electric chair by a stern horse judge. Dying of natural horse causes as an old man, surrounded by my loving horse children and my totally banging twentysomething horse wife. Being crushed by a falling horse piano. MAS

Goin’ West

- Goin’ west, huh? - Yessir. I reckon I just need a fresh start, an open land where I can build myself a new life, free from the sins of my past. I’ll always appreciate what ya done for me, Reverend, but this ain’t the place for me. No. (Pointing). That’s out west. - That’s east. - I know that. I’m takin’ the long way. (Rides off into the sunrise). DRM

The Harvard Lampoon

CARDINAL DIRECTIONS MNEMONICS Everyone knows the mnemonic Never Eat Soggy Waffles for the cardinal directions of North East South West, but for some reason nobody ever remembers my mnemonic for the all the directions on a full 32 point compass: No, Nobody Beats Eggs Naturally Normally Except Nasty Egg Beating Neighbors. Nothing Eats Necks. Even Beasts Eat Early New Eggs Every Beautiful Night. Eggs! Ephemeral Booties Slide Exhaustedly, Slowly Every Saturday So Eggs Beat Eggs. Seriously, Eggs. Someone Else Besides Sally Should Seriously Eat Some. Big Eggs Should Stylize By Weggs. So Small Weggs Suck. Weggs Beat Small Soups Whenever. Seriously, Weggs. Buy Weggs. Wednesday Someone Wet Will Buy Some. Weggs! Woah. But Nobody Worries Normally. Why? Nobody Will Buy Weggs. Nobody Weggs. Need Weggs? Buy Weggs. Now Wax New Weggs By Napalming Neighborhood Nails. Will Nobody Buy Weggs? DRM

TREATS -I’m gonna explode pa! Straight explode! -Shut up Jimmy I can't hear plain silence -But someone took my eclair pa -Your eclaire??? Yur prolly sittin on it son -No I checked my butt -Well I did not eat it, that's for sure -You didn't eat my eclair? My buttery flakey doughy shell with chocolate pudding filling? My enormous chunk of delicious chocolate dough with frosting on top? My ooey gooey--I do remember seeing that now son but I would never touch it, now I would never -Chocolate so thick it ran like mud in the Mississippi?? -Oh yeah I do remember I ate that right up, that was a delight -Youz is really hurt my feelins HLD

COW BOY -When I was born I suckled at the sweet teat of my Mother’s udder next to all my siblings. My siblings are Burt, Bean, Sal, and Bimpy. I am Cow Boy. -I had to repeat the second grade because I had trouble with spelling. -My least favorite word is marinated steak. My second least favorite is Burt. Burt is sometimes mean to me. My third least favorite word is death. -Once while I was sleeping, Burt snuck up behind me and yelled Boo very loudly. This was very frightening. Burt had never said anything but Moo before, and has not said anything but Moo since. -Burt, I whisper quietly into night. Burt, we never talk anymore. Do you remember how we used to stay up and talk for hours? Do you remember? -I don’t says Burt. -Silence, then, -Moo -Moooooooo00 -It is lonely to be a Cow Boy LAS

Sets in the West #

WAGON

The whole family had a part to play when we traveled on the Oregon Trail. My mom was in charge of directions, I was the left wheel, and my 12 brothers and sisters made up the rest of the wagon. My dad was drunk. As left-front wheel, our entire wagon rested on my steady shoulders, lower back, upper thigh, feet, head, repeat. At first I felt like one of those cool Egyptian pallbearers, but now I’m realizing why they all died horrible deaths. Ever since birth I had been my family’s left wheel. I was happy, but dreamed of meeting my family -I was told I had two sisters forming our wagon cover but couldn’t be sure as I was told by the voices in my mind, caused by that big rock back in Missouri and every subsequent gigantic rock, and my imaginary friend drawn

on the axle (my brother’s penis). But if I wasn’t the left wheel, what could I be? The right wheel? A back wheel? That was just unrealistic. The position we all envied was the horse (grandma): sugar cubes, horizon views, acknowledgement from our father’s whip. She had a strong jawline and a kind heart. We learned a lot on the journey. We learned how much whiskey it takes to make my dad stop whipping us. We learned how to go hours, sometimes more hours without water. That was about it. When we got to Oregon, I was full of pride and infections. My father stepped onto a patch of land and exclaimed, “We’ll make this our new home.” I silently took my position as roof panel #2. MMM MJK

THE PIONEERS The pioneers were the last true men to walk to the earth. Hair on their chest, axe in their hands, songs in their hearts. Real rough and tumble fellas, with their strong arms for swinging and climbing, slapping down yankees and yanking on slap sticks. They could tie a knot faster than you could say, “Well oh well, look at that bullfrog.” And they could say that faster than you too. The pioneers walked on firm legs, delicately

balancing and somersaulting their bodies throughout the air to the amazement of hundreds of screaming fans. They could go for weeks without a drink of water, years without a wink of sleep. They could craft a risotto in 15 minutes and you could bet your ass it would come served as a side dish to a port wine reduce filet. Come to think of it I have no idea who the pioneers were or what they did. What were they, some kind of bank? MMM

The Harvard Lampoon

Manson

Family

g an gettin m a f o the xample omen do Classic e w e il h w edit all the cr ork. actual w HFJ

Blue Jeans

Sets in the West #

was trying to put on my blue jeans this morning, but that was pretty hard since they were snakes. Once I got my snake pants on, however, it was smooth sailing. Normally, my pants would just be pieces of cloth covering my private parts; but now my pants can slither around and eat things. Only drawback, sometimes my snakes see a squirrel and chase after it–so to keep my pants on, I have to run after the squirrel just as fast as my snakes do or else I’m naked. It’s hard but also good exercise, plus when my snakes eat it tickles; and–really easy fix if my snake count gets low, I can just walk around the park and snakes always add themselves to my horde. For upkeep, the snakes practically feed themselves: their favorite food is dog meat, but we usually can’t catch anything since my horde of snakes is so loud, so I just paint a dog butt on my front and dogs sniff single-file straight into my snake-mouths. Yum. I’ve added a rattlesnake to my collection, he’s also been impregnating all the females. Curious to see how this develops. It’s developed, and the snakes have started laying their eggs in my mouth. It’s amazing, I’m going to be a momma!– Sure, as a man it’s impossible for me to even imagine what life is like as a woman, or to experience the unique joys of motherhood; but, when my snakes hatch out of my urethra, I know I’ll have the invaluable per-

spective of what it’s like to go through childbirth. Unfortunately, I didn’t really think through how my snake pants would affect my work life; I was a snake charmer. And I had to quit because every time I started playing, my snake pants would just dance off of my head. But, thankfully, I now work at the zoo where they have me stand still and let people look at my legs. Who would’ve thought, what started off as a purely transactional relationship – snakes helping me with all of my pants needs, me helping them with all of their snake needs – look what it’s made me… What can I say, I’m a proud poppy. JTB

Levi Strauss Back in ‘49, we all went prospecting for gold, not knowing the real treasure was right in front of us all along: the invention of blue jeans. First we were suspicious of old Levi Strauss, because prospectors didn’t take kindly to new ideas, and absolutely hated Germans. But after we saw how cool he looked in his ripped black skinny jeans with a chain going from his belt to his wallet, Levi Strauss had us eating out of his hand. Then, once he had climaxed from that weird kink, he’d sell us jeans. They were terrible for kneeling by the stream and digging through silt until our fingers bled, but they were great for showing how rebellious we were. In the end, though, the whole prospecting thing was a real ripoff. I only found, like, two golds. MAS

The Harvard Lampoon

Connect all

1849

the dots to reveal a h in the We idden Sets st themed picture!

A reﬂection on my life and all that it entailed, in this the year of our Lord 1849:

The Good -Graduated from second grade as the youngest member of my class. -Turned sixteen. -Became the new school-teacher after the old school-teacher, Anne McCallister, came down with a nasty case of smallpox. -Learned about this newfangled concept called “long division” that is mighty popular across the river. -Decided instead to add “smallpox avoidance” to the school curriculum instead of long division. It is not working.

The Bad -Father left our family to pan for gold in California. -No one in our town knows where “California” is. -Father is dead now. We are unable to divide his assets between ourselves, including his 300 dosages of the “smallpox vaccine.” -We’ve decided to give all 300 to the person with the most smallpox: Anne McCallister -Sources indicate that California is probably very far away.

The Ugly -Anne McCallister when she started the ﬁrst smallpox epidemic. -Anne McCallister when she started the second smallpox epidemic. -Anne McCallister after recovering from smallpox both times. -Anne McCallister after I hired some of my second-graders to jump her for starting two smallpox epidemics. -Anne McCallister after she overdosed on opioids. LGF

Sets in the West #

Itinerant Gunslinger There is no justice on the frontier. So I move from town to town, laying down the law myself. It’s night when I ride into Pleasantville. But a gunslinger always arrives at dawn, so I leave for a few hours and come back. The rising sun casts light on the foul settlement. I can now confirm its foulness. Pleasantville’s a town so rotten, even the sand tastes sour. “Howdy, ground-licker,” a townsman greets me. “You gonna catch the church congregation later today?” I’d tell him that if Church’s Congregation of Outlaws are reducing Pleasantville to mayhem, he can be sure I’ll catch ‘em. But a gunslinger almost never speaks. Instead, I grunt for five minutes. I get word that Church’s Congregation congregates in Pleasantville’s church. So I set it on fire. Gang members come running out, burned by flames and defeat. Part of me wishes I’d done this before they recruited women and children. Still, the lingering ash is a testament to freedom, liberty, and justice for all. But apparently Pleasantville has a sheriff who doesn’t see it that way. He gives me the worst “thank you” ever: a jail sentence. Waiting for my trial, I realize my only chance to restore justice is to demolish Pleasantville’s judicial system. Luckily there’s only one sheriff, so it shouldn’t be too hard. At my trial, I challenge the sheriff to a duel, thus invoking gunslinger’s law. No one has heard of gunslinger’s law because it doesn’t exist, so the sheriff has no choice but to accept. I propose a time: high noon. The sheriff can’t make high noon so we settle for eleven-thirty. Little does the sheriff know I’m the fastest gun in the west. In the time it takes him to walk seven paces, I’ve taken my full ten, purchased two cigars from a shop-keep, chosen a plot in the Pleasantville cemetery, dug the sheriff ’s grave, telegrammed his immediate family, smoked one cigar, ridden to another town and freed it, smoked the other cigar, and emptied half a dozen shots into his back. The townsfolk’re so grateful, they put posters of me all around town. I want to read what they say, but gunslingers never know how to read. The only thing gunslingers know is how to shoot guns, and ride off into the sunset, justice restored. But it’s sunrise now, so I leave riding my horse backwards. HBF

Eastern Statesman One problem with the old west is that it doesn’t have my grandfather in it. He’s a true, blue Eastern statesman. -He works in garbage disposal but is paid in profit share. The profits are lumps of garbage -He didn’t vote for Reagan but Reagan did, in fact, vote for him. It was a show of support for the working class, but the working class could not afford tickets and they heard it got a little slow in the second act -He says he “likes the cold,” but what he really likes are the little pudding cups the nurses give him during baths to soothe the frostbite -He says he “likes Eastern woman,” but in truth he has never met a woman from anywhere. He inseminated my grandmother when he had a schizophrenic attack and thought she was a police horse -He has a great love in his life, and it’s literature. That’s a pet name for his great books collection, which is what he calls the room in his house where he stores masterworks of fantastical comp lit. Masterworks is his sweet little name for a cylindrical profit container of garbage lumps -He doesn’t have a house, per se HLD

The Harvard Lampoon

HOW TO BECOME THE

ALPHA COWBOY

—Every time someone tries to spit into the spittoon, intercept it with your mouth. Toss it up and down a few times, juggling it with your tongue, then swallow. —When playing a game of billiards, hit the balls such that they form a perfect line. Mumble to your opponent, “Hmm–I thought that number looked familiar,” and whistle Elvis’ “Love me Tender” as he realizes the balls spell out his mom’s social security number. —Replace the illustrations on the WANTED poster with mirrors, and watch everyone sweat. —If you’re riding your horse and notice a fellow cowboy needs a lift, offer him a ride. Have your horse give birth to that pony it’s been holding in, and have him ride the little steed back into town as you talk about how you can see little holes in the top of his hat from your vantage point. —Whenever there’s a bank robbery, enter with your hands up and make a deposit for $100. Take a lollipop from the front desk and walk out, saying: “It’s like taking candy from a baby.” The robber will be so thrown off that he’ll ditch all the cash and take the lollipops instead. Too bad you just took the last cherry one. —If you notice that a rival cowboy has any tattoo, birthmark, or scar, go to the blacksmith and order a custom iron model of it. Brand your cattle with the metal, and every now and then lasso your rival cowboy in public, saying “Woah there missie you’re far from home—Oh, sorry, I just saw your marking and, well, you can understand my confusion.” MRP

THE LIFE OF A COWBOY I was only five years old when my grandpappy taught me how to shoot a gun. “Pull the trigger and end my suffering,” he begged me, holding the barrel to his head. And I did. A year later, my father gave me my first horse, for going to school. It was dead, and I had to drag its lifeless body eighty miles to school every day. This was because I lived in a very rural area without a bus that I was allowed to bring dead horses on. All the kids made fun of me, since I didn’t fit in with them socially. Also, because of my unorthodox views on assisted suicide. As a teenager, my job was to herd cattle. I spent a lot of time chasing cows, because they liked to play tag. When I was out there in the fields, I loved to sing songs about home on the range, like “Take Me Home, Country Roads” and “Yakety Sax.” I will never forget the day that I turned 18 and became a man, as it marked the end of a very long stretch of hormone treatment culminating in gender reassignment surgery. I had to perform this surgery to finish my medical school education, which is in my opinion the mark of a true man. On my birthday, father gifted me his old whip, signifying that he was going to retire and I would take over the family business of being a dominatrix. The whip was 100% human leather, which is to say that humans made it, out of cow leather. Later, I met my wife at the local general store, where I was buying extra-small condoms and she was buying one huge dental dam. I knew our relationship would never work out, because of the differences in our interests and races. She was a Native American, and I was a racist. You have to understand that this was a different time when everyone was intolerant, so for me to have been considered a racist back then meant I was extremely, extremely racist. Anyways, my wife didn’t like how I always called her “Indian,” telling me that the proper term was “Ashkenazi Jewish.” I knew my father would never approve of our marriage, as he did not believe straight couples should marry until everyone had the right to marry. Sure enough, our romance soon ended after she died of dysentery. But not immediately afterwards. Yes, in those days, my home was on the range, and my house was repossessed by the bank during the Asian financial crisis of 1997. I lived in Kansas at the time; this is just to give you some temporal context. I worked during the day, and at night I cut loose at my favorite watering hole: a big pool of dirty water by the broken Exxon pipeline. All in all, I’ve loved being a Cowboy, and I especially loved bringing the Super Bowl trophy to Dallas in 1972, as a deliveryman. AJ

Sets in the West #

The Dust Bowl F

ootball is not what it used to be. During my golden years, AKA the Great Depression, we were all in it for the brain injuries. My own greatest hope was to achieve the American Dream: play a phenomenal game of ‘ball and pass away shortly afterwards. Everything about football was more intense back in the day, especially in my home state of Kansas. Our field was the entire Dust Bowl. Our quarterback Pete was a small tornado we recruited after our original quarterback died in a different tornado. Our football was a football stuffed with dust. That was mostly an aesthetic choice. The biggest game of my life ended in a ten-person pile-up. A windstorm was touching down in the next town over, and 60mph gusts were whipping up our dust-field. Pete was even quieter than usual, which was unsettling. The other fellows were struggling as well: our running-back Marvin had Dust Lung, which is like pneumonia but with more dust, and our wide-receiver Thom had a nasty case of Dust Cancer. That was our name for normal cancer. Before the game, my father said to me, “Son, you know what you have to do.” He meant die and lighten the financial burden on my starving family. More than anything, I wanted to make Father proud—but despite my best efforts, I failed to kick the bucket during the consecutive football seasons of ‘34, ‘35, and ‘36. I spent the 1937 season in a coma, but unfortunately recovered just in time for the 1938 season. The shape of my head would never be the same, and neither would Sunday dinner. While I was in my coma, I had this brilliant dream: in it, I run through the dust, kicking up clouds of the stuff with my feet. This other fellow charges towards me, head-on. We both lower our skulls and prepare for the Moment of Impact, fingers crossed that it will be gory and slow. I close my eyes. My parents and siblings cheer in the stands. “Blood!” my kid-sister yells. “We want blood!” A quiet prayer slips past my lips—and dust slips in, like it does every time I open my mouth. The other runner is ten feet away now, five, two—one. “End my life,” he shouts, death-lust thick in his raspy Dust Lung voice. We miss, though, somehow. In the stands, each member of my dream-family sheds a single grimy tear—and I will have to eat dust for dinner. That’s not a punishment, though. That’s just daily life in the Bowl. LGF

The Harvard Lampoon

Eulogy of George G

ood morning everyone. I know we all loved George. And I know most of you guys probably don’t know me, but George and I go way back, I’m talking like 15, maybe 16 days. I remember the first day I met George. I pulled up next to him. “You know how many of these bad boys exist?” I said. “Who the hell are you?” he replied. “One million,” I said. Referring to my Chevrolet Impala. “Guess you could say I’m one in a million,” I told him. That’s when George punched me, fracturing my jaw and causing me to speak with a lisp the rest of my life. But now my wife can’t divorce me, because you just can’t divorce a man with a lisp. I love that man. I got to know George pretty well over the next few weeks as I sued him for medical bills. I dropped the assault charges though, because that was a hell of a left hook. Turns out George was a pretty cool guy. We got drinks a few times, sometimes over breakfast. We really bonded over our love of To Catch a Predator, we even thought about trying out for the show a few times. I realize now that I actually totally forgot I was suing him. That sneaky guy! Think I could snag some of that life insurance payout? This isn't about me, this is about George and how he is dead. Hm, George talked about his family a lot, I think he really liked them. Well, not everyone. He would go on and on about how much he despised his wife Julia. How he couldn’t stand being with her, and she reminded him of his 2nd grade teacher the way she ate her morning lasagna. So I’m really happy to see her here in the front row. Love is truly something special. Julia, don’t give me that look, he was going to divorce you in a few weeks anyway. Wait a second, is that John right there behind you?! You were like George’s best friend! Oh man, did George ever get to tell you that your son is actually his? No? Pity, just goes to show that the best time is always now. I’m going to wrap this up because there’s a 12 hour sale of Dr. Scholl’s shoe inserts going on at Walgreens across the street and I gotta get there before they run out of the ones with the super cool green gel. I guess all I want to get across is that George was my best friend. Some would say he was my only friend but I’m not one to count. The man knew how to cover up an abortion better than anyone I’ve ever known. And he could make killer mocktails with alcohol. In fact, drinks are on me tonight at O’ Hannigans! To George! MGM

Sets in the West #

The Last Man in Town

Like most western towns, Tumblegrass, Wyoming slowly emptied out due to limited employment opportunities and a bout of dysentery that ravaged the population. I reckon I survived thanks to my retirement savings and because I stockpiled all of the medicine from the town apothecary. Soon enough, I was the last man in town, and I was determined to keep it runnin’ as smooth as the diarrhea that flowed down our streets. I took on near every job in town: farmer, banker, cowboy, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, that fella always playing old-timey piano songs in the corner of the saloon, elected official, monarch, Shah, and prostitute. We desperately needed sanitation workers but that job was beneath me and I refused to outsource jobs from the hardworking folk of this here town. Every morning I ride into town on a horse (me) and sweep the streets. This takes most of the day as the streets are made of dust and diarrhea. Then I “montage” by fixing up the town (lifting a heavy beam, patching a hole in the roof, cheerfully painting a wall, planting a flower in the windowbox, etc etc). At sunset, I destroy it all so I have something to do tomorrow. The highlight of my day is when I go to the town bar. The ol’ bartender keeps me company. Our interactions go something like this: Me: Gimme the usual, Sal. Me: (15 second delay as I run to the other side of the bar) Coming up. You look depressed, Sal. Me: You don’t know me. (drinks 3 ales and 10 shots of tequila) Bandits often sneak into Tumblegrass, occasionally to steal our mass reserves of gold but usually to steal the town’s rich character. As sheriff, I’m forced to incarcerate them, as judge I’m forced to try them, and as lawyer I’m forced to defend them. They always get off, much to the pleasure of the lawyer and to the disappointment of the town-hanger. We also get settlers from time to time looking to repopulate this great town; I kill them immediately (Tumblegrass is notoriously unfriendly to outsiders). MJK

The Harvard Lampoon

You see things on the hot road. Ever wonder what those things could mean? WATER This is not really water, just a mirage caused by refraction. If you think you’re seeing water, you’re highly suggestible. SNAKES But the snakes see water. They hurry to the road to play in it, jump rope with each other in its summer heat. You’re happy, wave as you pass by. CAR This is your own car, speeding down the Arizona freeway. You swerve for the wind in your hair; you swerve around the snakes on the road. I SEE ANOTHER CAR Two cars! That’s high traffic! Turn back! Warn the snakes! SNAKES Smashed flat. HOT ROAD Your face is pressed to the road and dead snakes, tears dripping out, tears mixing with the water, you can finally see the water now, tears joining water to make a river, lake. Now Arizona’s irrigated. You’re a hero. LDL

1. The normal way. There goes the bus, dark rusty metal and dark tinted windows. That is unmistakably a bus. Goodbye bus! We can’t see it anymore because it is behind a taco restaurant that is transitioning into a Chase bank. 2. From behind the bus. These kid are trying to write “honk if your horny” in the back window, but they don’t realize they have to write it backwards in order for me to read it. I’m honking anyway. 3. From under the bus. Looks like we got a stowaway, hanging onto the bottom of this bus. Thought you could hitch a free ride didn’t you? Come on, get out of there. Wait–it’s just a pipe. False alarm. I think I fucked up this bus. 4. With my eyes closed. I’m trying to imagine one as hard as I can, but it’s just not coming. The last thing I looked at was a car. I’m trying to turn it into a bus with the power of imagination, but...sorry, all I can see is a car. 5. From the bus’s perspective. WOaaaWOaaWOaaa! (I’m assuming its eyes are on the wheels.) 6. With the wisdom of old age. What a beautiful bus. 7. No grandpa. It’s me, your grandson. 8. But...I don’t have any grandchildren. Who are you? And where the hell is my bus? 9. Nurse! Get in here, he’s having another episode. 10. Ok, listen quickly before they take me away. Buses are a government conspiracy. They stay in one spot for hours and then they teleport immediately. The windows are TV screens that simulate passing landscapes. We have the power to teleport! 11. From inside the bus. No. Please don’t put me inside the bus. Buses suck. ASB

Sets in the West #

When I side-swiped that clown car in the parking lot… Four hundred bodies flew out of the front windshield. Two hundred flew out of the side window. Another thousand geysered out of the sun roof, and one squirted out of the exhaust pipe. I had killed every clown in that car. All 12 million. I didn’t know what I had done… Oh my God, what was going to happen to me? I just killed 12 million people, but–when I looked around, no one was arresting me; they were all just clapping and thanking me for wiping out the clown “problem.” What the– I just committed a clown genocide. I went to my priest to confess, but when I sat in the confessional, he just gave me a big thumbs-up. I was so angry, my anxiety and eczema were getting so bad, I had to turn myself in—I found the nearest police station and put out my wrists to be handcuffed, but the officer just slapped a $20 bill in my hand and said, “more clowns next time.” I handcuffed myself and walked to the nearest courthouse; I walked into the witness stand, and I began telling my story. Once I got to “Clown car–” the judge began whacking the table and dialing her friend on the cell

phone, as I sat, asking politely to be arrested. All she could get out was, “heh, the clowns– Oh my God, heh, heeeeeh– Wait, hold on a second. Whew. Okay. Clown– Pffthtllppt.” Then the jury came in. They revealed they had acquitted me of all charges, even though I had plead guilty on all counts.— By God, how many clowns did I have to kill before someone put me in jail? “This many?!” I asked, killing a stray clown. The jury laughed and shook their heads no. “This many?!” I shot another one. The jury started doing spit-takes of their drinks on each other, into the air, into each other’s mouths. “This many?!?!!” I shot another. The jury nodded their heads yes; and they sentenced me to 99 years in prison. That was the number, 12 million and three. JTB

Alright kids, you’re in prison for two reasons: because the public school board drastically slashed the field trip budget, and so I can teach you how to not end up in jail. I was just like you guys once: white, a thirty-four year old mother of three sons, carrying around two cups of mysterious liquids. “Do you want a drink?” I’d ask strangers. “Pick a cup.” They’d choose and I’d throw it at them and post a secret recording of their reaction on the internet. Hey, you! You think that’s funny? It was. It was so funny. Cups of Surprise was an online hit with 157 views and counting. Statistically that means at least one of you is a fan; I’ll stick around later for autographs. The thing about throwing cups of liquid at people is that it’s technically not illegal so long as it’s not urine. But the fame got to me, as did the FCC. “If filming people without their consent is illegal, then lock me up,” I’d always say, and I was surprised how quickly they did. MJK

The Harvard Lampoon

Coors

Reader, a placemat for you! Cut out and place on table before reading.

gonna find a better cinch around here. And he says listen, I don’t give a fuck what you do in your spare time, and here In 1994, Coors Brewing Company went he gestured to the mountain of needles door-to-door asking loyal drinkers just behind me, but I know a shit cinch when why they loved America’s favorite Rocky I see one. Look, and he tosses me one, Mountain beer so much. look at this shit here, and I turn it over in my hand and I can see it’s rusted with “In 1982 I was living in Peral- blood and like some dried-out skin or ta, New Mexico. Peralta’s a little suburb maybe it’s a little bit of plasma or flesh, south of Albuquerque. Go down on the I don’t know, and he says these fucking 25 and then keep right when it turns into things keep clogging up. And I say you’re the 47 at Isleta Pueblo. Can’t miss it. I killing them faster than I can make them, was a gearhead—heroin, not cars—and I and then he laughs, really laughs, ho ho moved there for the gear. ho, and says that’s funny, and says ok ok, I also worked in an auto shop. you’re alright, just figure it out, I want This was right smack dab in the better cinches by the end of the week. middle of Albuquerque’s oil boom and I spend the whole week freaking I made the cinches that attached these out, trying to figure out how to make huge drills to the front of cars. The cars these cinches work. I tried everything. I were used to plow into protestors. And tried making them bigger, smaller, wider, then the drill was used to make sure you tighter—nothing works. Every time I really killed them. And also to kinda tested one of the different prototypes, ‘make a point.’ It paid really well. the same thing happened. Did you know It sounds complicated, so I’ll that eyeballs never really ‘pop?’ Like no explain it simply. Imagine you are a matter how much pressure you apply to car. And imagine this… salt shaker is a them, they stay a circle. To be sure, I perprotester. Ok. So you’re driving into this formed 400 separate tests. salt shaker and oh no, you knock it over So the boss rolls up again and and a little salt spills out. Now you want he says you fucking druggie, you piece to make sure all the other salt shakers of shit druggie, and then drags me—if and the pepper shakers and the napkin you think I’m skinny now—to the back of rings and all the forks and the knives just my shop and kicks my ass. Then he sits saw what you did, so you, here, give me down next to me and says I’m sorry, I’m your fist, no it’s fine, just give me, thank just stressed out, this whole town is shit, you and yeah, there, you’re just smashing turns out the oil here isn’t even that good that salt shaker and now all the salt has so we’re gonna shut down the wells. After spilled out and everyone has seen it and all that, all those protests, I ask him, and now no one wants to be a salt shaker. he says yeah, and then he laughs and That’s as simple as I can explain it. kinda shrugs, and says he gets paid an I made the little wedge-like thingexploration fee not a delivery fee, so he’s that attached these drills to the cars. In fine, more than fine actually, anyway, just the morning I made like 40 of them and kinda sucks for Albuquerque and hands then I shot up in the afternoon. And me a beer and says here, put that on your when the sun finally went down, I also face, that’ll stop the swelling. It was an shot up. ice cold Coors.” One day the boss comes out to me and says your cinches are shit. I GWN ‘16 say fuck you, they’re not, where are you

Four Corners

Sets in the West #

If you lie: a) down at the Four Corners, your body will be in four states at once. b) to the mafia, your body will be in four states at once.

37 II Four Corners It’s the only place where you can be in all four states at once: solid, liquid, gas, and Colorado. LGF

HFJ

Four Corners III corner corner corner corner MRP

Next Page!

The Harvard Lampoon

Interesting hypothetical: if a baby were born right in the middle of the Four Corners, how gross would that be? Four Coroners

Fun fact: If you stand with one foot in each of the Four Corners then you’re a mutant who has grown two extra feet.

Cyril Wecht, Jennifer Coate, Edmund Power Flynn, Kerry Benninghoﬀ For all our expansion, I’m glad we’ve kept the Four Corners just as we found it, a miracle of nature.

MRP

It's awful unkind that Colorado just sits there with mountains to spare while Arizona continues to deal with the large hole. HFJ

Hotel California In 1976 the rock band The Eagles released their hit song ‘Hotel California’ about a hotel you can check into but that you can’t leave. Here are some of their first draft ideas about the things you can and can’t do at Hotel California. Your Room Each room is full of cockroaches that you can hear and smell but that you can’t see Room Service You can order room service but all the food is cockroaches and you cannot eat them Shower There is no soap or shampoo. Also the shower ﬂoor is one giant cockroach that constantly shifts under your feet. The Bar The bartender is a giant cockroach. The Gym You are a cockroach but all of your limbs are too small, so you cannot lift any weights. The TV The pay-per-view is all free, but you cannot get off to cockroach porn. DPF and DKW

Sets in the West #

Musical Chairs

One day we were mid-round of musical

chairs when my kindergarten teacher quit to become one of those circus ringmasters who exploits orphans. On her way out the door she left the music playing and said the winner would be line leader. My class has been walking around chairs for the past 12 years without breaks or eliminations. Our desire to stop walking is only trumped by our desire to become line leader. At first things were civil; we walked around chairs in the day and slept-walked around them at night. We listened eagerly for breaks in the song that played on repeat: Send Me on My Way by Rusted Root. But the breaks never came, nor did our parents. My classmates who were once my greatest friends became my greatest opponents. The iPod became my Master. The Master would grant us line-leader status if we became his loyal followers. The crayons and paint we ate for sustenance turned our poop red, which we used to paint tribal markings on our bodies. As we walked, we prayed, as we prayed we punched each other. When we were bad the Master punished us by denying us a basic education for

over a decade. When we were good He rewarded us by playing Send Me on My Way by Rusted Root. As time passed we outgrew our kindergarten clothes, and nudity led to liberation which led to masturbation. I had to choose between my love for a girl on the opposite side of the circle or the Master; I chose my Master. That same day, the Master rewarded my choice with a visitor: a man with mops and other cleaning supplies. He walked in the room and asked, “How long have you been here?” “Send Me on My Way,” I responded, as I was never properly taught English. After looking at the mass of naked teenagers, he wordlessly stripped and accepted his place in our circle. Soon we were walking so fast we wore down the school’s tiles and ended up five feet underground. There we found the true meaning of musical chairs: asbestos. And then one day, the music stopped; the school had been decommissioned for years and the electricity was being shut off. We removed a chair and continued playing in silence; it’s what the Master would have wanted. MJK

Dr. Frankenstein -Dr. Frankenstein, I heard you have enough reanimation serum to revive one last person. -Yes, indeed—the corpse of my all time favorite musician, Frank Zappa. -Well, you see, my beloved sister, she just passed away… -Uh... -I know this is asking a lot but... -Uhhhh... -Do you think you could get Frank to write a song about her? -Sure! -Cool, thanks! JGS NSG

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’ll never forget the summer I road-tripped to Hawaii with my two best friends. While it started out as a surf trip, we ended up learning a heck of a lot about ourselves. Skip, Benny and I were just some knuckleheads from SoCal when we packed our bags and set out to catch some serious barrel. While we had our fair share of fun, this adventure was anything but smooth. I mean, we really had no idea what in the world we were doing. Our first hiccup came pretty early on when we threw our boards in the trunk of the car and drove straight into the Pacific Ocean. Benny was the first to pass away. He knocked his head pretty good on the windshield when we plowed into the ocean at 60 miles per hour. We always loved making fun of Benny for his huge head. You could could stuff a few grapefruits in there! Skip was in critical condition after his seatbelt jammed and he nearly drowned. Luckily, we got him to the hospital really quickly. Unluckily, he was

beyond saving and died soon after our arrival. In hindsight it was a totally doofus move to throw the car into sport mode and floor it right into the ocean, but how could we have known that? We were kids for crying out loud. Years later, it’s always fun to look back on that trip and think about where we are now. As I explained earlier, Benny and Skip both died because we drove our car into the sea. I’m now a successful accountant with a wife and three beautiful children. Sure, I live a good life. But sometimes I find myself staring out the office window at the breaking waves and craving the feel of the surf wax beneath my toes. Sometimes I think of calling up Skip and Benny to see if they want to shred one last time, until I remember that they both perished on account of us plowing into open water with our car. HJH

Sets in the West #

Brigham Young In 1844, Brigham Young debated against Sidney Rigdon for control of the Mormon Church. Rigdon: Behold, my people, I have God on my side. Young: Oh man. All I have is my great-great-great grandson…THREE TIME SUPER BOWL CHAMPION STEVE YOUNG! (Steve Young trots out, the crowd goes wild, a woman faints from tuberculosis) Rigdon: How is this man any reason you should be our new leader? Young: Let me answer your question with another question. Whose seed threw for 35 touchdowns and only 10 interceptions in 1994? Rigdon: I don’t see how any of that is relevant. Young: That’s it. Throw the football, Steve. (Steve Young tosses a tight spiral to Jerry Rice. Touchdown San Francisco. 49ers win 31-28. The team carries Brigham Young on their shoulders out of the stadium and straight out west to found Salt Lake City. Touchdown Church of Latter Day Saints.) DRM

Unattended Luggage The LAX TSA would like all travelers to know that unattended luggage will be destroyed. There has been a spike recently in the amount of unattended luggage. Our incinerator is firing around the clock. Please don’t buy plane tickets purely for the reason of bringing bags of compost into the terminal. You’re taking tickets away from people who actually want to travel. As a compromise, we have placed compost disposal units outside of baggage claim. Compost does go into its own incinerator, but it’s not nearly as nice. It’s downright gross. Yes, watching something go into the incinerator is the coolest thing we have ever seen. But if you show up to watch, we’ll just give your stuff back. One patron filled her bag with explosives to make the incinerator more exciting. This was dangerous, and moreover, very silly. Her bag was returned. To the man who brought in sacks of confetti, we don’t believe for a second that you planned on going to Hawaii. Airport patrons continue to leave bags with things they think will look sweet in the incinerator. It’s now commonplace around the terminal to find unattended bags stuffed with lava lamps, tie-dye shirts, and flowers. If you want to know the thing that’s sickest to put in the incinerator, trust us it’s not flowers. But that is close. Many families come to the terminal bags fully packed for a week long vacation. After hearing about our incinerator through standard airport-gossip, they demand to have their luggage chucked in. This is not a substitute for a vacation with your children. If you really feel passionate about putting things into our incinerator, applications for a job can be found at the front desk. There are already thousands of applicants. TAF

The Harvard Lampoon

Sets in the West #

The Harvard Lampoon

November 22, 1963 E

veryone in Dallas had been counting down, and it was finally here: the day they watched the President’s head explode. When he arrived, the President stood up in his convertible and said, “I don’t know, folks. Maybe my head shouldn’t blow up.” Boos from the crowd. “You want it to explode?” Cheers. “Louder!” The President put his hand to his ear while dodging the first bullet. He was making them earn it, and they loved him for that. “Brains. Brains. Brains,” the crowd started to chant. Those who weren’t chanting had popcorn in one hand and an official Zapruder camera in the other. “We could do this another time though!” the President shouted. The crowd was loving him even more. “Bones! Bones! BONES!” The First Lady was going nuts. The confetti cannons were blasting, the music was blasting. Each song was about the President's head blowing up, and each song was more patriotic than the one before and after. Mr. President pretended to sing along while he was sweating bullets and dodging more bullets. During his solo he sang, “Think of a world / with no exploding Presidential heads. / That world could be / America.” The crowd was full-on rioting. Mosh pitting with everyone in rubber masks of the President’s head exploding. “Boom goes the head! Boom goes the head!” More people inside his convertible than out. “Folks. I can’t do this. I can’t have my head explode today. Oh god please don’t let me die this way. What about my kids and—” Then his noggin went kaboom and everyone cried. The dads saluted. Most people yelled in unison. They danced. They laughed. Then they went home, excited to do it all over again next year. TAF

Sets in the West #

Junior MasterChef

Question

Me: (yawning) Woah, uh. Hey kid. Patrice: Hello Chef. Me: What are you doing in my kitchen? Patrice: Chef, today I’ve made a pickled ganache with a strawberry nut reduction. Me: We only do the show on set, dude. How’d you find my address? Tomás: Hi Chef, presentation is sloppy only because I couldn’t get the crusted nut brittle set in time. My apologies. Me: Shit. Did people, like, see you guys enter my apartment without your parents? This probably looks so bad. Clarisse: Chef, I decided to do a play on a traditional panache nut reduction and fire-based the nut with raspberry. Me: Wow Clarisse that looks amazing. How old are you? Clarisse: Five. Me: Oh fuck. (Knock knock) Me: Listen, you guys are all amazing chefs and I can’t wait to see how you grow throughout the season but you gotta hide cuz if you don’t I am in big trouble! Police: Open up! Me: Hello officer. Police: We received a noise— oh wow! You’re that host guy! Me: Yep, hahaha. Sure am! Police: Hey, I’ve always wanted to know— who teaches those kids how to cook so goddamn well? Me: I don’t know. Some kids are just talented I guess. Police: Ain’t that the truth. Well, I’ll be leaving you alon— Clarisse: I know you said stay in the closet but your meal is getting cold. Me: … Police: … Me: … Police: Clarisse you fucking cheater.

-Hey man, quick question: do you think Spiteful Ray maybe killed my brother in the face? -What? No way. -It’s just, my brother did get killed in the face pretty bad. -I know Spiteful Ray, and he’s not someone who does that. -I was only thinking because he did it before… -What, like a decade ago? Cut him some slack. He was in his forties then. -Yeah, you’re probably right. -I’m definitely right. Spiteful Ray would hate to hear you even suggest this. -I guess it wasn’t very chill of me. -Not chill at all. -Gosh man, I’m really sorry. HFJ

ASB

Connect all fifteen dots to reveal the hidden Sets in the West picture that will unlock all this issue’s secrets:

The Harvard Lampoon

Hardy Boys Long after their teenage years, the Hardy Boys were still helping with mysteries. Mr. Spitz: Thank God you boys are here. Somebody is trying to take my Babe Ruth ball. Joe: Is it insured? Mr. Spitz: Well, no. Can you find out who’s trying to take it? Frank: We sell insurance now. Frank: Maybe they burned it down for the insurance money. Joe: Fire Insurance has some pretty swell deductibles. Ms. Graff : Really? I’d love to see the numbers. Joe: I thought you might. Frank: Someone could probably get a Novelty J54 claim for a burnt ball, even it wasn’t theirs. Joe: Only person with coverage that good would be Ms. Gaff. She’s got the Pacific Plan. Mr. Spitz: That makes complete sense. You solved it, boys! Frank: That is a great policy. The Pacific Plan is our best value besides the Lunista. Joe: I personally prefer the Capway filing system over Lunista. Frank: But Lunista is better for Schedule K-1s. Mr. Spitz: Boys? Joe: At the expense of Benefit Riders and MSA. Frank: Capway covers MSA? Joe: And True Defilated Measure Suits. Frank: I have trouble with those. Maybe I will switch to Capway. Joe: You should. Chet: (is so fat that he gets stuck in the doorway. Says he doesn’t need help. Turns sideways and destroys frame) Hardy Boys! Someone broke into the old paper mill! My jalopy’s right outside! TAF

Judge, Jury, and Executioner - ...and now that I’ve got you, I’ll be your judge, jury, and executioner. - Wait, so I’ll still get a trial? - Of course. And I’ll be your attorney. So, what’s being arrested like? I’m also the court reporter. - It’s a little confusing. - Back off ! No questioning my client. Let’s talk shop. Did you do it? - Are you my lawyer right now? Or the judge? - Ahh! You caught me! Okay, now I’m your lawyer. - Okay. How am I getting off ? - First, you weren’t read your Miranda rights by that moron waste-of-life cop. - Which was you. - Plus, you can call a mistrial because the judge and your lawyer have been drinking. - I think I’m going to leave. - Shh. We need to be quiet. The bailiff is about to speak. All rise for honorable Judge Murray. Let me tell you right now, Judge. That man is guilty. I object, your honor. He has no evidence. Oh shut up Jack, we both know he’s headed to the clink. He’ll go to jail over my dead body you son of a bitch! TAF

Sets in the West #

Defense Attorney – Take a seat, Mr. Simms. You came to the right lawyer, I’m undefeated with sexual assault. – Hi. Umm. That’s great. – You seem nervous. Listen, it’s a classic “He Said, She Said” case. Those women can’t prove you laid a hand on them. – No, I believe you. I’m just...wondering why you’re inside of that giant plastic ball? – What, this? The SafetySphere? It’s nothing, ignore it. – It makes me a little unsettled– – Come again? I started rolling away. – Well, uh...did you put yourself in that thing because you thought I’d sexually assault you? – Preposterous! The Sphere is simply how I get around! – I saw you outside of it with your last client. – First of all, I’d appreciate it if you stayed in the waiting room. Some people might feel weird if you’re creeping around my office. Not me of course. – I wasn’t creep— – Second of all, I was shaking hands! How can I shake hands if I’m inside this thing? – Okay, why don’t you and I shake hands right now? – Oh, please. Now you’re just...That’s silly talk. – Go on, get out of the sphere! – Exiting and entering the Sphere is an enormously complicated process, involving various pulleys, contortions, and math equations. Frankly, it would bore you. – Okay. Whatever. – Simms, you’re my client for chrissake! I have complete confidence that you did not solicit 82 secretaries for an over-the-cubicle handjob. And not for one second do I buy that picture of you trying to roofie that woman’s air-conditioning. Now, look me in the eyes. – I can’t really see you through the plastic. – Yea, well I bought the thickest one they had. Anyways: I trust you. Do you trust me, Mr. Simms? I mean can we finally get down to business? – Yes, I trust you. – Good. – And I’m sorry I doubted you. I’m just so desperate, and you’re such a good lawyer... – Haha, easy Simms, you’re turning on that famous charm. Before I know it I’ll be out of the Sphere, and then I’m sitting on your lap, and then……let’s just keep it professional, shall we? – Of course, I didn’t mean– – First item of business: how’d you like to buy stock in SafetySphere? – ...stock? – See if you can follow me here. We will defeat these charges, and we will get you back on the streets. – And once that happens... – ...these babies are gonna sell. like. hotcakes. ASB

The Harvard Lampoon

President Nice Guy R

ichard Holton, our first Nice Guy president, eased out of the womb on December 24, 1921, giving doctors plenty of time to go enjoy their Christmas. His first word was a smile. The warmest of five children, Richard quickly gained a reputation as a kindness prodigy. While other toddlers struggled to form full sentences, Richard was able to say things like, “How was your day?” and truly care about the answer. Despite his résumé’s focus on other people’s accomplishments, Richard was admitted to college with a scholarship as generous as he was. He entered school excited to learn, but professors soon asked him to skip class. It was hard to teach over all that applause. Richard majored in Compliments and graduated top study-buddy in his class. He won a national debate championship after agreeing to disagree with his opponents. Senior year, he was

elected homecoming king, homecoming queen, and dean. His last name was officially changed to Nice Guy after a census taker was blown away by his patience. Out of humility, Richard insisted that his name be changed back to Holton. When his court appeal was denied, Nice Guy graciously accepted the result. After making his local congressman blush to death, Richard became Representative Nice Guy. Voters elected him unanimously, undeterred by his youth and stated disinterest in the position. By the end of his first day on Capitol Hill, all politicians belonged to one party. He took the second day off to donate organs. In November 1955, he gave his famed speech, “You All Seem Wonderful, But I Would Like to Retire, Please.” The American people knew

CALIFORNIA FALLING OFF INTO THE OCEAN

THE BIG ONE

PROS Easier to run coast-to-coast for charity We might all learn about ourselves in the process Opens up the NL West for the Rockies Not so much noise from people reading the Hollywood sign aloud Las Vegas becomes a beach town Olympia becomes the beach town A teen in a Hollister shirt once mocked me Unconsumed wine ages profitably forever underwater Teaches smug Alaska not to hang off edge like that Shifts Democratic party power from West Coast to ocean floor Generates gnarly splashes Tech bubble becomes less of an issue Eliminates fear of California falling into the ocean in the future Creates lots of content for Oscars “In Memoriam” tribute Hollywood lore becomes maritime lore U.S. becomes more aerodynamic CONS My DVDs are in Santa Barbara HFJ

LA has 500+ earthquakes a day. It’s just a fact of life here. There’s always earthquakes. But when the big one came, no one was prepared. That’s because the big one was a massive halt to all earthquakes. Not a single person knew what to do. When the earthquakes stopped, a lot of people just got up on top of their desks. People were falling over in the streets. They couldn’t remember how to walk without the constant vibration of the San Andreas Fault Line. No one had it as bad as the people with Parkinson’s. The shaking had stopped for us, but for them it kept going. That’s how they all found out they had Parkinson’s. We Angelenos went to do the only thing that seemed right: we organized by the ocean to commit mass suicide. But then, right in the nick of time, the earthquakes came back, after only half the city had drowned itself. The city rejoiced! After a terrifying earthquake-free hour, we all went back to work. JGS

Sets in the West #

it was time for President Nice Guy. He refused to run a dirty campaign or any campaign at all. He became the first candidate to openly endorse his opponent. By mid-July, they called off the election and gave Nice Guy the White House. The sitting president was thrilled; Nice Guy personally helped him move out. The defining move of his presidency was remembering everyone’s birthday. Not wanting to hog the spotlight, he resigned after three weeks. President Nice Guy’s reverence for foreign nations was reflected in his decision to move to one. But the voters were wise to his kind tricks, and they elected him to 14 more terms via write-in ballot. He died at the age of Young at Heart while attempting to tunnel out of the White House. HFJ

The Drought Man: Look, all I’m saying is if California was really in such an “extreme drought” right now, why am I running sprinklers 24 hours a day, every day, directly onto my driveway? Department of Water Resources Oﬃcer: I don’t know sir. That’s why we are asking you to please, please stop. MMM

The Harvard Lampoon

JAMES DEAN’S FINAL PERFORMANCE

I was fortunate enough to witness James Dean’s final performance. It’s Friday evening on Route 466 when I see “One-Speed Dean” tearing down the highway, a brilliant act of rebellion against the conservative social norms of the 25-mile-an-hour speed limit. Insulted by Dean’s post-adolescent virility, a nearby Ford zooms into the intersection. Any sensible adult would stop, so Dean accelerates. He smashes into the Ford with the confidence of a man who is not about to smash into a Ford. The collision launches Dean’s Porsche cartwheeling through the air. As the wind elegantly caresses his quaff of amber hair, Dean removes a pack of unfiltered chesterfield cigarettes from his t-shirt sleeve and places one loosely between his puckered lips. The dashboard bursts into flames, offering him a light. The Porsche tumbles back to the concrete road. Like Dean, its disheveled appearance is alluring. Dean looks so natural in his sports convertible — the car, flattened and engulfed in flames; Dean, hunched down in the seat and fused to it. Once he’s finished with his cigarette, Dean

shoves his hands in his pockets, twists his neck 270-degrees, and gazes at the sunset. The mikado rays illuminate his trademarked squinty-eyed expression. Perhaps he is in a state of placid contemplation. Perhaps he is trying to prevent his melted eyeballs from draining out his eyelids. His face says so much by saying so little. As the final drops of pure testosterone leak from Dean’s wounds, he begins to weep. The ability to move from cool disinterest to raw emotional vulnerability is not something they teach at The Actor’s Studio. Like everything else, death comes naturally to James. He makes relinquishing consciousness look so effortless. So authentic. An iconoclast and a trendsetter, Dean inspires an entire generation of disenfranchised teens. As soon as news of his final performance gets out, youths everywhere are smashing into each other, clambering from the wreckage, and racing off to buy slick red jackets. HBF

Spielberg: John, I was looking over your score. Williams: And? Spielberg: I don’t think all of it sent... I only got like, three measures. Williams: It sent. Spielberg: Do you really expect an audience to listen to the same two notes for two hours? Williams: Just trust me on this one. Spielberg: Can we at least change it from ukulele to something like, I don’t know, ominous? Williams: Leave the music to me, Steven. Spielberg: You’re getting paid millions of dollars for this, could you at least– Williams: Leave. The music. To me. MRP

Sets in the West #

Make a Wish

Los Angeles Metro Rail

B-list celebrities never ever get called upon for the Make-a-Wish Foundation. So I started a charity to ask terminally ill children to give back and let a B-lister experience what it feels like to be wished for. We are the Makea-“Make-a-Wish Foundation”-Wish Foundation. Just recently we had an 8-year-old with leukemia wish for William H. Macy to come visit him. All day we got this kid to say nice things to him. “You got a pilot about a gay dad? That’s great, Bill. It’s just really hard for me to talk because of the catheter in my throat.” Even if only for a few hours, this kid was able to make William’s career anxieties totally vanish. Last week, our friend Charlie wished for B-lister John Turturro, who was actually busy working. Some important test results were coming in for Charlie. Luckily, the doctor had good news: just this one time, he was going to let TV’s William H. Macy read Charlie the results. We’re not a perfect non-profit, and not just because we don’t qualify as a non-profit. But if I may brag, we get some damn good kids. The look on Bill Macy’s face when he hears he’s about to visit the same kid Will Smith visited a month earlier. Like a little kid on Christmas morning. “What did Smith say when he walked in? I have to say exactly what Will Smith said. I’m going to adopt this dying kid because Will Smith visited him.” It pains me to say this, but a few days ago, actor William H. Macy was feeling pretty sad. As soon as we heard, we got him into a room with Lymphoma Derek. Derek didn’t make it through the session. It’s most of the reason we picked him. As Derek started slipping away, he muttered, “I love my family so–” I stopped him. “His gay dad pilot didn’t get picked up.” Derek looked away, picked up his head, and with his last breath called out, “I love William H. Macy.”

Once the LA metro rail expansion is done, people from all over the city will have an easy way to get anywhere in Los Angeles, which concerns me.

JGS

ME: Excuse me, do you know which stop lets off at Griffith Park? BLOOD: You’re wearing blue. ME: Wait, do blue jeans count? I’m not— CRIP: Back off. He’s with me. ME: I promise you I’m not. PORN DIRECTOR: That’s right. He’s with me. ME: Yeah. Wait, no. PORN DIRECTOR: I like your look, kid. ME: Please stop. MOVIE DIRECTOR: I also like your look, kid. ME: Ok that’s actually kind of enticing. MOVIE DIRECTOR: Is nudity on the table? ME: No. TALENT AGENT: It is for the right price. ME: I feel very uncomfortable being naked. GIRL WHO LIVES ACROSS THE CITY FROM ME: I like your look too… ME: Hi. Wow. I’d never have met you without this metro rail. This is great. GIRL: I hope you’re comfortable getting naked for me! ME: Hahaha. You’re so forward! Sure, let’s go over to your place. GIRL: No I mean now. ME: Oh. GIRL: Like, get naked right now. JGS

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JGS

Alcatraz

Days I Wish Would Never End

The worst part about being at Alcatraz would be knowing you’re that close to San Francisco’s acclaimed culinary scene.

That night at the 5th grade Halloween Dance when Patricia Maloney kissed me, and then my family got a lot of money because it’s illegal for teachers to kiss students.

HFJ

MMM

Sets in the West #

NY vs LA Dear Reader,

If you’ve made it this far into the magazine, then you must be an aspiring comedy writer who hates respects the Lampoon and wants to see what you’re up against in the industry. Fuck you. Unless you are a woman or a minority or flamboyantly gay -- then please, let’s be friends. We’re not that different, you and I. We both grew up masturbating to Weekend Update, I suppose, and we both have strong opinions re: Tina Fey’s contribution to the White Feminist Movement. Anyway are you graduating soon? In case you have trouble deciding between moving to New York or Los Angeles, I’ve written out a little cheat sheet to help you pick :) Good luck! And if you get the job at SNL instead of me I will kill myself by jumping off of 30 Rock and it will be your fault. But let’s write a pilot together!!!! NY

Tall buildings Diverse city of immigrants Statue of Liberty

Buildings? Haha I’ve never been Steve Harvey lives here Isn’t there another statue of liberty on the west coast? Like a slightly smaller one, I’m prett y sure There are a total of three writing jobs that open up every year There are a total of three writing jobs that open There are many writing jobs available constantly up every year but they are all writing the small talk between Steve Harvey and the families Subway is always really crowded Everyday there are hundreds of people dancing on the highway ramps and you have to swerve around them, if you hit one the music stops and everyone has to go home and start again Subway is always really crowded Everyday there are hundreds of people dancing on the highway ramps and you have to swerve around them, if you hit one the music stops and everyone has to go home and start again People sometimes bump into you on the sidewalk If you hit Steve Harvey then you become the heir :( to his fortune but you must look and act exactly like Steve Harvey for the rest of your life, you must split your time 50/50 between the studio and those sweet, sweet freeway ramps, and you must live for the Fued LAS

Tornado Fear

Wise Words

That my house will be lifted off the ground and dropped into a town with higher property taxes.

Conventional wisdom tells us that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. I guess the sun is pretty conventional. I’m kinda disappointed.

HFJ

NMF ‘15

The Harvard Lampoon

Taxi Driver To prepare for his role in the movie Taxi Driver, Robert De Niro drove a real taxi for a month.

We Are the World To raise money for relief efforts, popstars gathered to record the song “We Are the World.”

– Take us to the hospital! Her water just broke! Producer: Thanks for coming, Mike. – You talkin’ to me? Michael Jackson: Happy to help! What’s the plan? – What? Yes, obviously! Producer: Once Bruce is done with his line, you just – Ok. Just let me figure out how to make this thing go need to sing the entirety of “Beat It.” forward. Michael Jackson: But isn’t this for Africa awareness? – Forward? Producer: Sure is, buddy! Thanks again. – Ok, so that’s Red Sc are Michael Jackson: Then maybe I should sing the spethe windshield In L A , cial fundraiser song. wiper, not the ing comthe “Red Sca gas. Producer: It’s way depressing. But for any munists. It wre” wasn’t so but we thing. We we as that non much that a – Are you “Beat It” is a hit! e ll r b lood. e too scared re like virgin of us were. the writers w Robert ere ble Michael Jackson: Is everyat we n Vinega The red bloo of the pain t s. Virgins w Th edev De Niro? And th r? Or would d on the newo do any thin ho wanted ther really bled one doing this? g ou at was – And this t it. An at first blood, the scathat just– fuck white sheet. ab Producer: No way, “Beat d r H y u s o c p the sh par t. w a ASB is definitely eet. I d do you wash red of the It” is your song! idn’t kn the glove ow. Noit out? body d Michael Jackson: I just compartment. id. want to do the – Please please hurry. – If she’d stop screaming so loud Africa song like everyone it’d be a little easier to figure out how to drive this thing. else. – She’s crowning! Producer: No one else – Did she just pee on the seat? is. Bruce’s line is just, “La– It’s birthing fluid! dies and gentlemen, ‘Beat It!’” – Oh man am I just in for it. This is not my cab. Michael Jackson: Then why’s everyone here? – Do you even have a cab license? Producer: They’re big fans. – I do not have a car license. Cyndi Lauper: Go Michael! JGS Ray Charles: Play “Billie Jean!” Producer: Welp, sounds like you’re doing two songs! Get ready to dance! Michael Jackson: What? The mic won’t even pick up dancing— Producer: You here to help Africa or not? Michael Jackson: (Stretches Moonwalking muscles)

Nicole Kidman -It’s always been a dream to have my own Hollywood Boulevard star! (applause) -Watch your feet, Ms. Kidman. -Why’s the sidewalk cracking like that? -Looks like we built on a huge ant colony. -Is this a bad sign? -In terms of luck? Yes. In terms of actual danger posed by the ants? Also yes. -Good god. They’re stacking to form one giant ant. -Make no mistake: this city is theirs now. -Maybe they’ll show us mercy if I bow before them. -I can pretty much guarantee they won’t. HFJ

HFJ

Sets in the West #

Lottery Money

The Last Cowboy in L.A

Most idiots lose their lottery money less than a year after they get it. Here’s how to not just keep your $640 million of lottery money but make even more of it.

-You’re the last cowboy in L.A., huh. -That’s right. -Wow, that’s amazing! You sure live in the nicest neighborhood and woah there! You’re rolling up weed in a 100-dollar bill! -I’m bored, kid. -Shit, you’re really making a 100-dollar bill joint. Wow that’s burning up fast, and now you’re pulling out another, yep, 100 dollars again, just saw the number, holy-I miss the good old days, kid. -Right, I understand, but it’s kind of hard for me to sympathize when you’re smoking 100-dollar joints and also riding many horses at once and each horse is in a multimillion-dollar car-I get lonely, kid. -You realize that, from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve built yourself an actual physical pedestal out of horses and multimillion-dollar cars. And did I mention, 100-dollar-I think about, just disappearing, kid. -OH. I mean, ok, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to- I’m sorry. -I think about just, giving crazy directions to my cruise ship and going on a 45 year cruise, you know? -Jesus Christ, I’m sorry. I just, didn’t know.

Step 1: Purchase a low to mid-tier NFL franchise for $300 million. Use remaining $340 million to become a middle school principal. Create a reality TV show taking the middle school’s eleven best football players and watch their heads get knocked in in the NFL. Then enroll the football team’s eleven smartest football players in the middle school and watch the shit get kicked out of them by middle school math. Step 2: Spend $639,999,999 building a Dollar Store around China. Buy China for $1.00. Remove Dollar store, sell China. Step 3: Fake another moon landing, only this time have Neil Armstrong say things like, “buy low, sell high,” and other macroeconomic principles to stimulate the economy. Step 4: Build a time machine and buy a gun. Go back and time and kill Hitler, steal Hitler’s wallet. You just made 50 Reichsmark. Step 5: Walk into a gas station. Bet the cashier $350 there are at least 7 countries in the world that end in “–stan.” (there are). Do this at every gas station in Northern Texas. Step 6: Computers keep getting smaller and smaller and phones keep getting bigger and bigger. Go to the future where they have solved this problem. JTB

LDL

Academy Awards Actress: (opens envelope) “Dear Mom, camp is even more fun than I hoped!” Audience: (standing ovation) HFJ

My Tour of LA Me: Hi there, follow me! You know, LA isn’t just a city. It’s more like a dream, the collective dream of millions of people. Pulls plug. Every building in LA sparks and flickers before simultaneously vanishing. Person 1: Oh my god. Person 2: We’re...we’re free. Person 3: We’re finally free. ASB

The Harvard Lampoon

Ghost Town Ghost: Boo Town: Aaaah!

Ghost Hunters

DPF + DKW

chool’s out, plan is a go. It’s officially Halloween. My parents think I’m sleeping over Jimmy’s, his think he’s at Paul’s, Paul told his parents that he’s, “at mine,” and Craig is bringing the flashlights from his orphanage. Craig is late to our meeting out behind the playground. “What you don’t have a watch either, Craig?” Jimmy says. We laugh and realize that this is the best time of our lives. We cherish it. Paul shows us the ectoplasmic gun he built out of decals and his dad’s Mangum .45. I hope it works as well on ghosts as it did on Craig’s foot. It starts to get dark, and children wearing all sorts of colored costumes take to the street. When the gang war finally stops we begin trick-or-treating. My pillowcase is filled to the brim with chocolate and everyone loved the army man costume. Nobody really understood Craig’s, Dracula with a gunshot in his foot costume, but that was okay because he didn’t have a pillowcase anyway. A fog of mystery is in the air as we approach Old Man Vanderhoot’s abandoned mansion, and also a fog of water vapor. Out in the distance, or is it 10 feet away, a wolf howls clichély, startling us. We always were terrified of the French. “Do you really think we’ll see the ghosts of the Vanderhoot’s,” Paul nervously queries as we pass by ghostly rows of geraniums lining the driveway, and two ghoulish abandoned cars which were in spookily pristine conditions. Climbing through the open window, we notice a light on upstairs. In fact, we can even make out the sound of the television running. The ghosts are definitely here, and even in this abandoned house they have managed to wield electricity. Ghost Electricity. All of a sudden, ghost footsteps come pounding down the staircase. Paul shoots two waves of plasmic energy at the phantom and it evaporates into a heap on the floor, releasing weird, red, ghost blood. Two more ghosts rush down after the first, screaming and wailing their otherworldly chants in modern English… Ghost English. Paul sends the other two ghosts back to the spirit world from whence they came with two more perfect shots. Looks like all that time spent playing violent video games wasn’t as bad for him as everyone said that time that he got diagnosed with severe epilepsy. We leave the abandoned house as heroes and accomplished ghost hunters and Craig, who couldn’t make it through the window. A pizza delivery man even gives us a large pie on our way out the door and complements our house. How could he possibly know what our houses look like? Still, it was a nice gesture— word must’ve travelled fast that we saved the town from those ghosts. The next day our parents tell us we can’t play outside anymore because a murderer is loose in the neighborhood, up at the top of the hill near Vanderhoot Mansion. Spooky, spooky stuff. MMM

Ghost Town II Ghost: Boo Cast and Crew of Ghost Hunters: Awwwww yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh LAS

Sets in the West #

Ragtime Gal

Neighbors

Here are the original lyrics of “Ragtime Gal” Hello, my baby Hello, my honey Hello, my ragtime gal Oh, my baby Where is the latrine Wowee do I have to go soon My ragtime gal sells fruit preserves My ragtime gal is down to hang out She gets ice delivered in sawdust Let me go through my twelve ragtime gals: One ragtime gal plays the piano The second does not The third has big boots that swallow her up The fourth does not The fifth ragtime gal is my grandmother, who is dead The sixth is someone else The seventh sleeps on a big mushroom The eighth is in a pond The ninth, like the fifth, is dead The tenth ragtime gal has not been born The eleventh ragtime gal has a weird ear thing The twelfth ragtime gal is you, my fans The best part about [Borat voice] my ragtime gaaaalll Is how loud she can yell

Man: Hey there neighbor, just moved to town. Neighbor: Howdy. Man: Say, you interested in coming to a party at my house tonight? Neighbor: Sure, what's there to expect? Man: There'll be some fuckin, fightin, dancin... Neighbor: Cool what do I wear? Man: Doesn't matter, it'll just be the two of us.

MAS

ASB

CKJ

Opposite Me To understand something, you have to define it in the context of its opposite. So I set out to understand myself by finding my opposite. Me: Nice to meet you. Opposite Me: Go fuck yourself. Me: Excuse me? I’ll show you who can go fuck himself ! Opposite Me: Easy, I’m just being opposite. Me: Oh, I get it. “Fuck you too,” opposite me! Opposite Me: Ouch. Me: No! I’m just– Opposite Me: My organs are external and my vagina bleeds inward.

Giving Finley the Biscuit My favorite movie is Giving Finley the Biscuit. When the thing starts out Finley’s all like “Wham! bam! Where the fuck is my biscuit?” Cut to the next scene and there’s the biscuit. Yum! Actually, now that I’m really thinking about it there are lots of biscuits. The damn things are everywhere—on the floor, in every shelf, all over the air, and, you guessed it, all over Finley’s eyes and mouths holes. Cut to the next scene and literally everyone is asking to give Finley a biscuit. We’re talkin Mom, we’re talkin Jill, we’re talkin Aunt Fern, and we are even talkin Rosé. Then, Finley’s girl comes out of the hidden staircase to give him the Ole Whoopsie Daisy. Nice. Unfortunately, something I forgot to mention is that Finley dies of asphyxiation due to all the biscuits that are blocking his nasal cavities. At the end of the movie Finley’s dad comes out naked to address the audience. The fourth wall breaks as a result of his huge peenie-weenie. SHK

The Harvard Lampoon

Sets in the West #

The Harvard Lampoon

Sets in the West #

The Harvard Lampoon

Sets in the West # TBW would like to thank PEdSeS, LAS, HFJ, HJH, GWN ‘16, NMF ‘15, EWvS ‘14, ZEW ‘14, all the buds that have lit out for the territory ahead of the rest, all those still here at home, and his families. PEdSeS would like to thank TBW, LAS, HFJ, HJH, TN, SW, KDF, JTB, and the de Sa e Silva/Kim family.

UNCREDITED ART (IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE)

FAME - PEDSES BALLOON MAN - JTB REAGAN - PEDSES AIRPLANE - MRP STUDIO - TBW HORSE - NAA WAGON - PEDSES ICE SKATE MAN - LDL EASTBOUND TRAIN - LAS HOT ROAD LAYOUT - TBW CAMPER - TBW COORS PLACEMENT - TBW DINER LAYOUT - LAS SURF TRIP- TBW PEEING WEAST - NAA BREKENRIDGE REVIEW - HFJ MARQUEE LAYOUT - TBW As the sun sinks below the horizon, new stars appear in the East: Liana Anneke Spiro ‘19 of Philedelphia, PA and Adams House, President; Hillman James Hollister ‘19 of Marblehead, MA and Kirkland House, Ibis; Brian William Mott ‘19-‘20 of Walla Walla, WA and Frankle House, Narthex; David Philip Frankle ‘18-‘19 of Los Gatos, CA and Mott House, Treasurer; Sabrina Wu ‘20 of Ann Arbor, MI and Dunster House, Blot; Nicholas Stephen Grundlingh ‘20 of Singapore, Singapore and Currier House, Sanctum; Jack Gabriel Stovitz ‘20 of Los Angeles, CA, and Currier House, Sanctum; Myles Grant Marshall ‘19 of Kingwood, TX and Kirkland House, Hautbois; Michael Maximilian Miller ‘20 of New Windsor, NY and Dunster House, Hautbois; Henry Farley Johnson, ‘17-‘18 of Sycamore, IL and Lowell House, Sackbut; Sean Henry Henson ‘20 of Portland, OR and Mather House, Sackbut; Dylan Reilly McDonough ‘18 of Worcester, MA and Dunster House, Librarian; Sophia Hahn Kiam ‘18 of Manhattan, NY and Lowell House, Nave; and Benjamin Cohen ‘19 of Buenos Aires, Argentina and Adams House, Business Manager; Brendan Julius Falk ‘20 of Canberra, Australia and Quincy House, Business Manager; Haskell Bram Flender ‘19 of Los Angeles, CA and Adams House, Circulation Manager; Teddy Ninh ‘20 of Essex Junction, VT and Dinsmore Court, Circulation Manager; and Alice Ju of Kronberg, Germany and Kirkland House, Vanitas.

UP NEXT.... Young+Misunderstood#

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