The Grass is Greener # by The Harvard Lampoon

THE HARVARD

LAMPOON The Grass is Greener #

Grass is Greener #

The Harvard Lampoon

Grass is Greener #

The Harvard Lampoon

Grass is Greener #

The Harvard Lampoon

CAL NATURALE

The Harvard Lampoon went to SXSW and still finds all movies equally good. First prize goes to Aaron Katz for his film “Gemini.” Second prize goes to Renee Zhan for her animated short “The Chicken Man.” Congratulations to our winners and nominees, and we’ll see you again next year!

June 2017

VOL. CXXXXI No. 4

BOARD OF EDITORS Alice Ju ’18, President Alex R. Cohen ’18, Ibis Ava E. Violich ’18, Narthex Camille K. Jacobson ’18, Treasurer

S. A. Eggers ’17 Y. Zhang ’17 R. J. Stromberg ’17 R. M. Zurawicki ’16-’17 H. S. Betts ’16-’17 A. S. Bowman ’17-’18 K. A. McCawley ’17

A. N. Adler ’17 B. A. Bourgeois ’17 Nestor ’17 J. T. Bramante ’18 C. C. S. Wonders ’18 D. R. McDonough ’18 B. J. Strathmore ’18

M. A. Skerrett ’18 L. D. Lavrova ’19 S. V. Gohel ’18 H. B. Flender ’19 B. W. Mott ’19 N. S. Grundlingh ’20

Theodore Ninh ’19, Blot Scott W. Roberts ‘19, Sanctum Liana A. Spiro ’19, Sanctum Juan F. Arenas R. ’19, Hautbois Hillman J. Hollister ’19, Hautbois Gabriel A. Jandali-Appel ’16-17, Sackbut Curtis H. Stone ’17, Sackbut Lily C. Scherlis ’18, Librarian Haley L. Daniels ’18, Nave Mark V. Steinbach ’17, Vanitas BUSINESS BOARD David P. Frankle ’18, Frankle T. Donovan Keene ’18, Advertising Manager Thomas B. Waddick ’17-’19, Circulation Manager C. Thariani ’17 L. B. Dershowitz ’17 B. Y. Lema ’17 O. Mawloud ’17 A. Bonu ’17-’18 Elmer W. Green, 1897-1977, Grand Curator ISSUE EDITOR Curtis H. Stone

ART EDITOR Ava E. Violich

The Harvard Lampoon is published five times during the academic year by The Harvard Lampoon, Inc. Principal office 44 Bow Street, Cambridge, MA 02138. Secondary office: that would be pretty cool. Third-class postage paid at Cambridge, MA. U.S. subscription: $20 for five issues, $35 for ten, $50 for fifteen, fifteen times fifteen two hundred twenty-five. Overseas subscriptions: call for rates. Postmaster: send address changes to Harvard Lampoon, 44 Bow Street, Cambridge, MA 02138. © 2017 Harvard Lampoon, Inc. All rights reserved. Reproduction in any form without written permission is prohibited but that doesn’t make it not the sincerest form of flattery. Phone: (617) 495-7801. Fax: (617) 495-1668. URL: http://www.harvardlampoon.com. The Harvard Lampoon does not print unsolicited manuscripts. The Lampoon is a registered trademark of The Harvard Lampoon, Inc.

Va n i t a s At the time of writing this, I have been diagnosed with the cancer of the tongue. About a month ago I noticed a stiff green slime growing on the left side of my tongue, and unrelatedly this morning I got cancer. By my own estimates, and those of my chemotherapist Abe, I will die at the end of this Vanitas. It seems only right that I should use my last moments to do my favorite thing that I always do: write pieces for the Lampoon magazine. While it might look as if I wrote next-to-nothing in the past two and a half years, in fact the pieces I submitted daily were routinely deemed too controversial for their avant-garde secularism and their dated stereotypes. I promise all the stereotypes in this issue will be fresh and succulent. Isn’t it ironic that I, a man with no vices aside from hourly bong rips, licking used needles, exposing my lips to the sun, and making fun of cancer patients, should end up with cancer? It just goes to show something. So why an issue about green? It probably stems from my early childhood. My (non-biological) mother always told me, “Curt, if you’re ever out of socks I will go to the store right away and buy you socks, no matter where I am.” Note: my mother is green. In a last-ditch attempt to get into Jew heaven, I have also decided to dedicate myself to the environment, which is the defining issue of our time and if you don’t agree with me you’re a piece of shit. So, I’m excited to announce that if you recycle this issue instead of throwing it into the usual trash can, you will be mailed a personalized thank you letter on this cool green paper from a rare tree I drove to extinction. The greatest irony of all is that I was born with a form of colorblindness that specifically filters out green, meaning I won’t be able to see my own issue. The cancer actually cures it, but it won’t kick in until a few years after I’m dead. There’s also a bunch of great easter eggs in here for people with green eyes—see if you can spot them all! As I write this, I can already feel my tongue getting weak. I probably shouldn’t have chosen to write this by dipping my tongue in ink and dragging it along a page, giving myself numerous paper cuts on my more numerous tumors, but alas, it’s the only way I know how. You may now consider me dead, but please still refrain from making mean comments about me if I’m in the room. I hope you enjoy yet another Lampoon issue about money! CHS Grass is Greener #

of simple mean comparison. In all cases, the after crash dummy variable suggested a large drop in daily returns. In the cases of SPY and the Russell 2000, this drop was statistically significant. The regressions for XAL and the Dow Jones may have not been statistically significant, but their large negative coefficients are supportive of an adverse effect on daily returns. The large standard deviations of our indexes makes it difficult to draw a statistically significant conclusion; however, the consistently negative coefficients and significant results for SPY and the Russell 2000 lead us to conclude that air crashes do have a negative effect on the wider markets. Since available literature on the topic consistently finds only industry-specific effects, and comes exclusively from decades ago, we suggest that the post-9/11 social environment has contributed to an economy-wide shift in responses to air disasters. We name this the Ditmarsch-Stone effect. This result holds for the recent plane crash that killed Jester.

JESTER IBIS BLOT

IX. Jester picked up the newspaper. “14 Planes Crash All Over the World.” Well, shit, thought Jester. His stocks were totally fucked. Then he remembered he was on a plane, and it had been flying suspiciously low for a long time. Frantically, he threw open the emergency exit, said a prayer, and jumped out. His cap caught a tree on the way down, and he remained stuck there until a bird came and pecked at his balls and penis. They never regrew, and he bled out in the tree. Needless to say, the plane was just on its descent and landed safely. X. Jester was resting peacefully in his bed when it began to “stretch.” It was as if someone were pulling on it from all sides, stretching it like a spider web. Jester panicked as the web got thinner and thinner, and then began to spin. Every point in the room rotated rapidly around the bed until all Jester could see was a horrible vortex. It swallowed him whole. XI. Jester was enjoying lunch with Blot. They didn’t eat together often, and when they did it was usually by accident, but they were old friends and Jester always enjoyed talking to her. A point of disagreement came up, and they talked it through. Jester spoke carefully because he knew Blot was easily upset, and was conflict-averse and likely wouldn’t show it if she were offended. They never completely agreed, but overall things seemed to go well. Jester thought the conversation was interesting, and didn’t actually care much about the actual point. They finished eating and both smiled and said bye and then Jester went to his room. Minutes later, Jester heard chanting outside his window. He opened it up and there was an angry mob of his friends gathered there, out for blood. Poor Blot, thought Jester… I know she’s going through a lot... The mob formed a human ladder and came in Jester’s window and disemboweled him. XII. Jester had just given the gladiator fight of a lifetime. He had gone in as an underdog, but had fought his heart out and given everything for the entertainment of the masses. All that was left was his fate. He looked up at the emperor and saw it was Ibis. Joy illuminated his soul. His best friend was up there, and would save his life! Ibis frowned, and gave a big fat thumbs down. XIII. Jester had a huge crush on Blot, which was weird because Jester was definitely probably gay. Most of them time, Jester ignored his crush because Blot clearly knew and didn’t like him back. One time, Jester could have sworn Blot was going to kiss him or something, but he got super nervous and ran away and realized it was a misreading of the situation. Later, when they were swimming together, Jester started to drown. Blot was right there with her back turned and just had to extend her hand to save him, but he was nervous to call out because it might seem like he was just doing it because he liked her. At one point, Jester could have sworn Blot saw him drowning out of the corner of her eye and did nothing. Either way, he drowned. XIV. Jester was incredibly lonely. He also had this cool toy in his room and no one to show it to. One day when he was looking sadly out his window, a stranger across the street smiled and waved at him. Jester jumped up in ecstatic surprise. He threw the toy out the window in the hopes that the stranger would like it and then maybe like him too. Just then everyone in the entire world walked by. Ibis yelled out “hey everyone, get a load of this!” and they all laughed at Jester. You pathetic idiot! They were right. Jester was so embarrassed and sad that he killed himself (by eating a poisonous mushroom).

I. Jester needed to get to dinner with his mates in a few hours. For some reason he always felt nervous on days when he had dinner, even though it was always fun. Of course, he couldn’t even imagine what it was like to be hungry. He paced around his room, taking deep breaths. He cracked the window to get some fresh air, poked his head out, lost his balance, and fell tumbling four stories to his death. II. Blot handed Jester the silver dispenser. “Sip, don’t gulp!” said Blot. Jester wrapped his lips around the spout and pressed the lever. He got sudden sniffing death. III. Jester closed his eyes. A giant puffy clown with angry eyebrows sprung forward and shoved the silver dispenser in his face. He threw his eyes open so hard that they flew out of his skull. He died a few hours later, from complications in the eye surgery. IV. Doctor Blot (shaking his head): I’m afraid Jester has a bad case of sudden sniffing death. Ibis (frantically): Isn’t there anything you can do? Doctor Blot: It’s called sudden sniffing death, lady. Jester: (dies of diarrhea) V. Blot was driving the U-Haul, which had plenty of gas, at an indisputably reasonable speed. “Hey Jester! Pass me a Cintron, willya?” “Sure thing, Blot, my man!” Jester reached into the case to grab Blot a tasty warm energy beverage but found it was empty. “Uh oh, I’m sorry man—it looks like I chugged them all…” “No worries! We’re almost in the Big City anyway.” Blot turned back to wink at Jester. “Hey, keep your eyes on the road!” Jester teased. The van crashed, but it was the other driver’s fault, and even though Jester died it was hard to feel bad for him because he was just sitting in the back of a U-Haul without a seatbelt. VI. Jester was at the top of an Aztec-style pyramid in the middle of the desert. No one around for miles. In a puff of smoke, an electronic keyboard appeared in front of him. He didn’t know how to play the keyboard, but he tried it anyway just because. Bum! Bum-bum bum-bum ba-dum bum, Bum! Bum-bum bum-bum ba-dum bum, Bum! Bum-bum bum-bum ba-dum bum, Bum! Bum-bum bum-bum ba-dum… Suddenly he was wearing sunglasses and there were crazy colorful lights and lasers all around. He played the sickest show, all through the pitch-black night, with no audience. When it was all done he fell to his knees and cried until he got struck by a wandering ball lightning, obviously dying. VII. This takes place in the same universe as the classic piece Alumni Message Board (“Clam Hands”) by GWN ‘16. Jester isn’t in that piece, so he’s de facto dead. But coincidentally the character Max Finocchia from the piece, long after the events depicted in it, went to jail for strangling a guy who looked just like Jester to death. VIII. Overall our results demonstrated that stocks do somewhat crash with planes. The simple comparison of mean demonstrated that, for all indexes, an air disaster does coincide with a large reduction in daily returns. However, due to the large standard deviations associated with this test, none of the results were statistically significant. The regression of returns supported the results

XV. Jester found his way upstairs and H’d the B. And somebody spoke and he went into a dream. He died in the dream, which means he also died in real life!!! XVI. Jester had finally made it to the gates of heaven. To be honest, he never expected to get there, and yet... here he was. Saint Blot smiled and nodded, which in heaven means “open up those gates, God!” The gates swung beautifully open, and Jester strode in. But right behind these gates was another set of gates. And behind those… oh my God! It was gates everywhere. Gates gates gates. Jester looked down and saw that he was a gate. Goddamn! He closed himself and locked it, which is like dying for gates. XVII. Jester had been feelin’ pretty goo’ for a while, he realized. He knew he hadn’t always felt that way, but for whatever reason it was very difficult for him to access the memory of what it was like to feel really bad. A song came on that sort of reminded him of it, but not really. I guess all there was for Jester to do was just laugh and shrug! The shrug threw out his neck real bad, and made it impossible for him to turn his head in time to see the arrow from Blot’s bow. XVIII. Blot: You feel good? Jester: Yeah! Blot: Ha! I pity you. It’s important to feel bad. I feel bad for you for not feeling bad. Jester: … Blot: You can’t feel actually good without feeling bad. Jester: I mean, I guess I see what you’re saying, and I sort of agree, but on the other hand… Blot: (unsheathes claws, claws her own face and Jester’s) XIX. Jester was fishing out in nature—one of his absolute favorite activities, which everyone knew about him. He pulled up a huge fish, one of the biggest he’d ever caught, and slapped it onto the rock next to him. The fish was pretty pissed. “Think about it, if that was you just there, and you were just swimming or doing whatever it is you always do, and some sort of giant creature you could never have fathomed before just yanked you out of your whole existence.” Jester’s eyes welled up with tears. The fish was right. “I’m so so so sorry,” Jester pleaded. He understood the fish now, but there was no way to take back what he had done. He gently returned the fish to the water, but he felt as if something had changed. He would never eat fish again, only beef and chicken. Which was too bad, because he had a genetic disease that could have been prevented by eating more fish protein. It wound up killing him one day when he was playing with his son, Jester Jr. XX. Doctor Blot (pulling curtain): And here he is… your new son! Ibis: AAAAAHHHHH!!!! (Jester turns his head slowly toward his mother. He opens his eyelids, revealing two small pieces of glass where his eyes once were. He smiles slowly, showing rows of glass squares instead of teeth. He sticks out his tongue, which has a piece of glass embedded in it.) Jester: Hiiiiiieeeeee Maaaaaahhhhmmmmm! (Jester’s head slinks off his body) XXI. *Now batting for the Boston Red Sox: Jester!* The crowd roared. Jester, you rule! Marry me, Jester! Jester smiled. Heh. He tipped his cap to the adoring fans. Blot, trembling from the mound, threw one right down the middle. Jester grinned, swung, made contact, felt his arm bones pulverize, stumbled awkwardly forward, fell face-down in the dirt, got kicked like a kickball by the catcher (Ibis), rolled toward Blot, knocked her over, rolled into the outfield, got kicked again but harder by

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an outfielder, flew out of the stadium, went into space, bounced off the moon, hit a spaceship, met an alien, soared alongside a shooting star, broke the sound barrier, broke the color barrier, broke up with his girlfriend over the phone, got kicked by an alien baseball player, reentered Earth’s atmosphere, got impaled on a cactus, and died. Home run! XXII. Oh crap! Jester had forgotten about dinner! With his mates! He had already smoked weed! He would be way too tired to make it to dinner! Let alone give a funny toast! He had to go buy an energy drink! On the way to the store he got run over by a van! INTERMISSION. Please take a break and go read another piece in the issue. I suggest “Libyan Flag” by Nestor. At this point I will also mention that one of the entries in this Jester, Ibis, Blot serves as the “decoder” for reading all the others. Which one is it? I’ll never tell. XXIII. The year was 3000. Human life had been prolonged indefinitely by technology and medicine, and world peace had been achieved. A large meteorite struck Earth, destroying the planet. Jester’s post-body was flung through space. He felt no pain, other than the incomparable emotional pain of seeing his home explode, worse than any physical pain except a kick in the nuts. He was the last living post-human (as far as he knew). He floated through the vast emptiness for an eternity and more. He stared often at the silver button on his post-shoulder. The “escape” button that would terminate his brain function. But he never pressed it, out of paralyzing fear of oblivion. He forgot how to speak then invented and forgot a hundred new languages. He imagined that his floating post-body became a meteor, and he smashed through several Earthlike planets, wiping them out just like his old home. He went insane and then went sane again ten thousand times. His mind became the focal point of all torture and suffering in the universe, then melted into Nirvana, then went back to the torture. Then in one instant he found life. He floated softly toward a welcoming planet with human-like inhabitants. His mind was clear and hopeful, as if he were a child again. He extended his arm. The aliens bared their bloody teeth. XXIV. Jester knew exactly how he would die: he had been diagnosed with a slow but certainly fatal illness. He would spend the next several years battling it, receiving false glimmers of hope, and ultimately losing. He dedicated his remaining life to recording his thoughts, which were not actually valuable or even consistent. He felt lucky, in a way, to have the privilege of knowing how it would all end. He turned on the TV and saw a dictator. He decided to turn it back off; life was too short to worry about politics. But the transmission was interrupted: This message is transmitted at the request of the United States Office of Civil Defense. At 1:22 Pacific Time, a nuclear… Jester went into a panic. He looked around frantically for a moment then froze. The nuke hit. XXV. Jester and the Devil Comix Panel 1: Jester and the Devil (Blot). Devil: “Pushing this button grants you one extra year of life… but it kills all your friends and family.” Panel 2: Jester: “Wow, that’s tough, but ok. Wait—this isn’t a test, right?” Panel 3: Devil: “It is not.” Panel 4: Jester pushes the button. Panel 5: Devil: “That was a test! You chose to kill your friends and for that you must die!” Panel 6: Jester makes shocked face. XXVI. The year was 2069. The Artificial Intelligence scientists were ready to unveil their latest work: a new super smart computer that would make itself smarter at an incredible rate. Its name was B.L.O.T. (Binary Long Operator Terminal). Five minutes later, B.L.O.T. had cured all disease. Five later, it had effected world peace. Five later, it wiped out all life, and especially Jester. XXVII. Jester was at breakfast: his second-favorite meal of the day. He hadn’t slept in six days, and had only had “help” staying up for three of them. He tried to blink but was too tired. He lifted a forkful of hash browns to his mouth and forced himself to swallow. The taste was so bad it caused him to vomit his own stomach right up onto the table. Then his stomach vomited again and he got to see it happen, which was weird. He died on the toilet that day because you can’t poop without a stomach. XXVIII. Jester lay in his deathbed, surrounded by his best friends Ibis, Blot, and Edgar. “Did you guys like me?” he managed. All three nodded fervently and said yes, of course they liked him, they were his best friends. But something about the way Edgar nodded didn’t seem very legitimate, which kind of pissed Jester off. “Why did you nod like that?” “What do you mean? I just nodded. Normally. Here look I’ll do it again.” “That’s a bullshit nod. Look how Ibis and Blot nod.” “Not everyone has to nod the same way. It’s just a nod.” “Fuck you.” Jester expired. XXIX. Tabitha Mornintoya: Oh, Ryan! Ryan Mebelly (believing himself to be a bale of barley): I’m not Ryan, I’m Barley. BARLEY CONSCIOUS. (Enter SCOTTISH MAN) Tabitha Mornintoya (happily): Oh! And who are you? SCOTTISH MAN: Hey, I’m Frank. (Long pause. TABITHA and RYAN become angry and turn toward SCOTTISH MAN) SCOTTISH MAN: Oh. Oh right, I mean, uhh, I’m Bagpipe Bill! Wooooooooo. Billy Bagpipes over here. Yeah. (Audience boos. Booing continues, growing louder and louder, becoming deafening and unbearable. JESTER bolts upright) JESTER: Holy shit holy shit holy shit. What the fuck was that?! BONO: Shit, this is some strong acid. JESTER: Oh my God, I can’t believe that entire world took place inside an acid trip in Bono’s van. (The van crashes, and it’s the driver (Steven Tyler)’s own fault) XXX. Today was Jester’s favorite holiday, the one with the bunny and the hidden eggs and the Times Square ball drop. Jester had just met his idol, Ibis, for the first time. Ibis had brought a bottle of raspberry wine for the holiday celebration. Jester was somewhat of a raspberry wine virgin himself, but decided to give it a try. Before he knew it, he was feeling all wacky and loose, and an hour later he was screaming and laughing in his idol’s face. Somehow this was intended to impress Ibis, but it ended up having the opposite effect, and Ibis walked out of the room forever. Jester passed out on the couch. He woke up exactly two years later, just in time for the ball drop and the now-canceled egg hunt. Standing right over him was his other idol, Blot, holding an unopened bottle of raspberry wine. Springing up from the couch, Jester grabbed the bottle and glugged it down. Next thing he knew, he was feeling all wacky and loose, and an hour later he was rubbing Blot’s belly and telling him how much he loved him. Soon enough, Jester passed out on the couch, and in the morning the work guys came and blew up the entire room with him inside. XXXI. Blot and Ibis hadn’t seen one another in years, and decided to catch up over the third best meal of the day, lunch. Both had found relative success since they last spoke, and both were deeply jealous. Neither of them could take pleasure in anyone else’s success, and both of them above all loved placing blame, pretending that their own problems were simply attributable to the inferior thinking and actions of others. That said, they were both good, or at least not any better or worse than anyone else. For an hour or so they nodded and pretended to be happy for one another. All the

while, Blot was thinking nasty things about Ibis, and Ibis was thinking even nastier things about Blot. When they finished eating they shared a handshake and a tight, insincere hug. They were about to leave when Jester happened to stumble in. “Ayyyy, hey guys!” he exclaimed. Blot high-fived Jester reluctantly. Ibis winced and rubbed her temples. “I gotta run, guys, but let’s catch up soon!” Jester said, stupidly, before the three old friends parted ways. Jester walked out and got run over by a car, which got run over by a plane, which got run over by a van. “I hope nobody blames me for this shit,” thought Ibis. “Why did he stumble into this restaurant if he wasn’t gonna eat anything?” wondered Blot. XXXII. Jester, Ibis, and Blot were in a concentration camp. Jester had gotten ahold of the execution list, and found that his name was right at the top. Carefully, he smudged the ink so that the name would be illegible and then returned the list to its place. The morning Jester was scheduled to be killed, the prisoners all stood in a line as the Nazi officer paced up and down. Jester fidgeted nervously. Ibis stood apart from the rest of the line, frowning to herself as always. “Ze next van of you ve shall keel eez...” Jester’s heart raced. The Nazi paused for a moment, then a sly smile formed on his face. “Ibees, do you remember who vas ze next van on ze killing list?” Ibis furrowed her brow. “Vas eet... Jesteer?” Ibis twitched a little. “Yes, it was definitely Jester. Take him away.” XXXIII. All thoughts are equal. This thought is equal to the previous one (and not just because they are literally paraphrased versions of one another). Saying “I love you” is the exact same thing as saying “the voices tell me to bomb children.” People have genes, experiences, preferences, but ultimately anything anyone thinks is no different from anything anyone else thinks. This was Jester’s reasoning, though he recognized that the thought that all thoughts are equal is itself equal to all other thoughts and therefore worthless. Still, he thought it was kind of a neat thing to say, so he tried to say it to a girl he liked. He got one word in before he started st-st-st-st-stttttt-stuttering real bad, to the point where it made his head vibrate and shake violently until... he EXPLODED! XXXIV. Jester had been feeling terrible for the past few weeks. Nothing bad was happening to him, and he wasn’t even really having sad thoughts, he just felt bad. It wasn’t purposelessness, since nothing ever had any purpose for him. He’d just be sitting in his bed minding his own business when suddenly he’d start feeling sad or scared or anxious, physically, for no reason. Whenever this happened the only thing he could do to feel better was read the Book of Nightmares. He read the terrible book cover-to-cover every night for over a week. Sometimes he would read just the nightmare words individually without trying to understand the sentences. Sometimes he did this while listening to his favorite happy music. One day when he was feeling especially bad, the book wasn’t in its usual spot. He yelled to his roommate. “Hey man did you move my Book of Nightmares?” No response. Jester got up and turned to go into his roommate’s bedroom. He swung the door open and stepped inside, but instead of a floor there was a huge icy cliff and Jester tumbled through the frigid air for a minute, screaming. Finally he landed, miraculously intact, and also definitely dead. XXXV.

XXXVI. Jester died or whatever but look I just want to say if you’re a comper and you’ve read this far in this Jester, Ibis, Blot, great job. But like... damn. For what it’s worth if it were up to me you’d get on staff this semester. Honestly, give me a call, I’ll put in a good word for you in the social comp. If you’re thinking “social comp???” that’s a good sign—that means we definitely still do the social comp. If you’re some kid on the Lampoon reading this like ten years from now, stop reading and go have fun upstairs in the castle! Being on Lampoon is fucking great! XXXVII. Jester: (laughs) Wouldn’t it be funny if I died by choking on this piece of pizza? Ibis: Can you just shut up about all the ways you could die for one s— (Jester chokes on a different piece of pizza) XXXVIII. Jester was busy typing up a bunch of ways he could die, for publication in his issue of the magazine he wrote for. Just then, he realized he had forgotten something. But what could it be? Something big… something… important… Oh, yeah! It was that he was Hawaiian in 1941 and today was the day of Pearl Harbor! A-fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. XXXIX. Jester was walking down the street and got shot in the back of the head by an angry robber on the run. XL. Doctor Ibis: I’ve got good news, two bad newses, and one more good news. Jester: Ok, lay it on me! Doctor Ibis: The good news is they cured your cancer. Jester: That’s swell! Doctor Ibis: The bad news is the cure won’t be available until tomorrow and your cancer will kill you today. Jester: Darn… Doctor Ibis: And the bad news is I’m not actually a doctor. Jester: Darn… Ibis: The good news is the thing I said about the cure is still true even though I’m not a medical professional; I just read it in the news. Jester: WA-HOO!!! XLI. Action Detective Jester: A-ha! My arch nemesis! Well I’ve finally got you cornered. Action Detective Jester: Don’t you see it, you fool? You’re talking into a mirror: your arch nemesis is yourself! Action Detective Jester: Noooooooo! Action Detective Jester’s Father: I am also a mirror... a mirror into the future. The Good Man: I love you all. The Bad Man: I love you all… for your money. The Good Man and the Bad Man: We are one and the same. Talking Mirror: I cannot reflect myself, I can only see the outside. Oh, what a shame! Pee: I am the waste from your penis. Poop: And I the waste from your butt. Pee and Poop: We are one and the same. Box Jester: Is this what life is? Is that what life always was? Music gets louder. Gun Jester: I am a gun now... but what happens if I pull the trigger? Bang! Silence. Blackout. Curtain. Bigger curtain. Applause. Curtain. XLII. Lunch time! XLIII. Dinner time. CHS

Grass is Greener #

Interview

Part 1: Behavioral and Fit (Manager enters, running. Boss whispers in his ear while Manager nods fervently.) Manager: Ok, here’s the situation: Boss wants you to show him the Ol’ Razzle-Dazzle. Applicant: I don’t know quite what you mean? Manager: You know, the Fraz-ma-taz. Give him some of that Twirly-McWhirly. Boss (over intercom): Sass! Me! Up! Part 2: Meeting the Team Applicant: So, what does a typical day look like for you? Manager: First thing, I meet with Boss. Make sure to Double whammy ‘em, Bamboozle ‘em, give him the Troozle-eh. Nothings good enough if you’re not Paroozin ‘em. (Singing) Nothing!!!! Is worth the dime. After that, I meet with the client to go over earnings and show them the Flim Flam Flambulous. Part 3: Technical Assessment Applicant (to the beat of the drum): (Lying face down on the floor, lifts legs towards shoulders and gives a slow wink like he’s Babydoll Sue. Gives the Ol’ Razzle-Dazzle.) Manager: Pretty good…. Boss: But not great. Coda After hours. Boss enters with top hat and dancing cane. He Pitter Patters about before Tip Tap Paddy Wapping his way on over to the single spot light. With slender leg and pointed foot high in the air, delivers an emotional rendition of The Jimtown Jimboree. The sound of a single slow clap is heard, which soon grows into a hearty applause. The office lights turn on to reveal a room full of Applicants clapping and weeping. Happy birthday, you Rag-time Rascal. SHK

The Harvard Lampoon

Mad

Thank you for taking the time to meet with me today. As you know I am very mad. I’m so irredeemably irate all the time. I know this may come as a shock, but I’m probably gonna reach my breaking point soon. I’m probably gonna blow my stomp. As you can imagine, this is so so unpleasant for me. I spend most of my days drop kicking all my possessions, punching my own teeth in and watching my family eat dinner from afar. Which brings me to a sad side effect of my anger—I’m so starving all the time. My son secretly brings a bowl of green peas to the backyard after supper’s over. But I’m so mad at this point that I kick him in both shins and stuff the spilled peas up my butt hole. The kids are growing up before my eyes. But no one would know it after I got so mad I painted over the height chart with pig’s blood. Gina is grossly tall, so people actually still notice that. Obviously, my wife hates me. She thinks I’m a monster. Every time I think she wants sex from me I angrily pull out a video camera and threaten to sell her body on the internet. I’m seething all the time but my figure is so thin and good looking because of the hunger. If I get fat I will certainly lose it.

Orphan

I never wanted to live in an orphanage. But when both my parents died tragically of old age and I needed an excuse to get away from the missus, what other option did I have? I kept my wife’s farewell card short and on the back of my dad’s funeral program. I explained that, as an orphan, I had to live in an orphanage or else the government would send me to prison. I told her how I couldn’t go back. Not after my awful experience teaching those inmates how to read. Knowing my wife’s first instinct would be to adopt me, I hightailed it to the one place she couldn’t go: within a 2000ft radius of Gene Hackman. It was rumored that the actor had secretly moved to Phnom Penh to escape his obsessive fans, and the “Hack File” under my wife’s pillow confirmed it. With my belongings in a bindle and my body in the wheel-well of a Boeing, I headed to Cambodia. Life in an orphanage was tough. My bed was a plank of wood, my dinner was plank of wood, and my roommate turned out to be Gene Hackman. Since we

were both terrified of my wife, I thought we’d get along great. But he was your typical Hollywood snob, always saying things like, “Sleep on your own damn plank of wood!” and “Your wife couldn’t have burnt down my house without an accomplice. It must’ve been you.” Over the next few months, I bonded with Piseth, the one kid who refused to listen to Hackman’s stories (he was very deaf). Unfortunately, our friendship soon turned sour as we began to vie for the attention of prospective parents. Piseth tried to impress them with his good manners. I impressed them with my ability to hear. They eventually decided to adopt Piseth, but not before I adopted him first, out of spite. I started to miss home. I needed to get out of the orphanage. I tried to adopt myself, but realized I had wasted all my money on Piseth, having gone all out on decorations for his birthday party. It looked like we were stuck in Cambodia, but that was okay. I may have lost my old life, but I had gained a son. NSG

Magnetized

I was in a freak accident at the magnet factory where I ended up drinking a gallon of radioactive molten lead. It gave me cancer, but it also made me a magnet for all things made of lead. I walked back to my neighborhood. All of the old poisonous lead paint on the houses came flying towards me. The neighbors rejoiced. I was a hero. Then all of their lead pipes were ripped out of the ground and sucked towards me. After that I was at worst a villain, and at best controversial.

CCSW

There’s this one guy who lives on my street and he must have ingested some lead because he got stuck to my body. I could tell he was terrified because he was screaming in agony. Also a lot of perfectly sharpened lead pencils were hitting him. Then I walked by the old neighborhood pile of bullets. They began to whiz towards me, but not in a cool action scene way. More of a “my body’s surface area is getting completely covered in bullets” type of way. No one could help me get the bullets off because they were all

Grass is Greener #

running away from what looked like a bullet monster. Unable to see where I was going, I walked right into the abandoned lead paint warehouse. They don’t keep paint there anymore, but the teenage pranksters who lurk in the rafters dumped lead paint all over my bullets. I wandered back outside and was immediately shot at by the police. What would it do? I was already covered in bullets. It actually ended up creating some sort of chain reaction effect that made the gunshots deadlier. JGS

Fertility___ (Musings of the first fertile robot.) I’m proud to be the first to experience motherhood—the gift of life! It’s just that I wish they hadn’t given me the whole experience. Yesterday when I was being presented to the international panel of inventors for the first time, I experienced the “rotixatory voluntation,” so to speak. I knew it was happening when I heard my fibrilator start up. Suddenly it was too late: my Xi87V gauge clips had come undone and the ganteseum malactisate started glorping out of my florntal diflexitors. The zorm was everywhere. At that point all of my blorphons had expanded because of the blorofoxin. Long streams of vercose floragorazorm started wrapping themselves around my posterior glorons. I was also starting to smell my own clootribator, which was honestly super embarrassing. Then, some blood came out of my hoo-ha. Look: I know I’m not the first girl to get her florixialate in public and to get sorfranthrilax all over her brand-new Manganese-Alloy frame, but I’m definitely the first robot girl to have it happen. The worst part was, none of the inventors really understood what I was going through since they’re all men. SHK

Spa There’s nothing more stressful than life. Thankfully, the spa’s there whenever I’m tense, as long as I’m tense during spa hours. The spa has relaxing sounds like moving water, or moving air through a pan flute. They even put cucumbers over my eyes so I have something to look at. They offer me a glass of pristine island water, but I can’t accept because I’m allergic to glass. The whole thing makes me feel like I’m in Hawaii. That spa I visited in Hawaii had a similar locker room. I put on a soft towel and leave my formal towel behind. From the masseuse’s first touch, I go limp on the table. After the handshake, it’s time to begin the massage. She can tell from my back that I’m stressed, and she can tell from my back tattoo that I love pirate culture. While she massages me, the grand-masseuse massages her. My stress becomes hers, and our stress becomes his. He has a masseuse of his own, and so on, all the way back to that crying man in the corner. He’s unfathomably stressed and always will be. At the end of the day, they get the oil off my skin by hosing me down with lotion. I look 20 years younger, and I’m only 19. As for the other patrons, I can’t even recognize them because I spilled candle wax in my eye. Even though I have to leave, I always take part of the spa with me: Karen the masseuse. I hide her inside a stolen wicker basket, which I hide inside a stolen ficus, which I have Karen carry out. The spa owner is too relaxed to report the theft. I vanish in a puff of steam. HFJ

The Harvard Lampoon

The Story of How

Animals

Gullimber Rumpkin: A genuine, good-natured lad with a can-do attitude. Comes from a wonderful family. Thinderfonx: Quiet, pensive, deep thinker. Just call his name, and he’ll get you out of trouble no questions asked. Thanks, Thinderfonx. Dinktown Dornbush: Dornbaby! There will always be a special place in my heart for this guy after all our romps in the swamps. Memories to last a lifetime. Vornix: Is an arthropod, roams the jungle, really loves leaves. Overall, what’s not to absolutely adore? The Dorsent: Can’t say enough good things about this guy. And, without a larynx, neither can he! Give us a smile, Dorsent! The Roobinstorf Dinderfunk: Wanders around wet, marshy lowlands without any life ambition. Would be nice if you would give him a pat once in awhile, but that’s up to you. Norbin: Winner of the “Most Improved Animal” for four years in a row. Congratulations, Norb! Sparkling ‘Noceros: Have known of this species before he was even on the field guide. Yes, we are friends. How do you know him? SHK

Weed Became Illegal Weed cures cancer and is magic. Science has proven that everyone should toke it every day--so why is inhaling it punishable by death? As it turns out, weed has history going all the way back to the 1900s, when it was invented by slaves who were just too damn sober. To understand the history of weed, you need to know about one man: Derek Peter. He’s a weed historian. And he would probabaly start by telling you about Ben Franklin. When Ben Franklin wrote The Constitution, he based it around one simple rule: no slaves. This idea was left behind when he wrote the American Constitution, but he did include a clause banning the feeling of being super baked. And have you ever wondered what dank green crop Old Man Franklin’s farm grew? Corn. The story gets even more twisted when you meet John Rockefeller. Before him, everyone was building their houses out of hemp paper, and using hollowed-out bricks as bongs. Johnny flipped the script, and that’s how we got the brick trains we all ride today. It was only when one of these trains crashed into the White House, killing hundreds, that people began to reconsider weed’s illegal status--maybe death was the real problem. So there you have it: weed’s history is as interesting as the history of cars or books. And if the voters turn out this November, it’ll finally be illegal to die. CHS

Shrunk – I can’t believe we accidentally shrunk ourselves, and are now stuck in the middle of your grass lawn, which may as well be a forest to us, given our new size. – Listen, I can’t believe it either. But it’s real and it’s happening, so stop commenting on it. – We’ve traveled for 27 days, and to get how far? 4 inches. At our normal size, it would take a second to travel that far. Maybe less than a second. – I don’t have my size-ray with me, there’s nothing we can do about it, let’s just keep moving! – Hey look, a housefly. What was once trivial to my eyes has been made manifest as a phenomenal beast, with a proboscis that could impale me like a shish kebab, and compound eyes like 20 planets. Funny what happens with a little change of perspective. – Stop talking. Just hide! – Luckily, hiding behind a blade of grass is surprisingly easy when you’re less than one grass wide. Now I’m thinking, “I could live this life. Yea, I could be small forever.” – Christ! Are you going to help me get back to normal size, or are you just going to describe the situation over and over? It’s not complicated, ok? We were big, now we’re small! I get it! – Of course I’ll help. I found a pot outside, so let’s build a fire and get cooking. – How long will it take to heat the pot? – 12 years. – Finally. Progress. ASB

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Factory Tour - Anyways, here’s where we make the slime that goes into Dr. Pepper. -… - Oh my god, you’re not the corporate bigwigs I was supposed to tip off. -… - You’re that 5th grade class I was supposed to give a tour to. -… - And you had no idea. -… - That Dr. Pepper was made of slime. -… -… - (fat kid in the back) When do we meet Dr. Pepper? SWR

Windows Ad - You’ve gotta help me out, I just took some pills and I don’t know what’s real anymore. - Alright, where are you? What do you see? - I’m on a grassy field. There’s a lot of clouds. No, wait I’m inside somewhere. That’s the windows background. I’m looking at a computer. - OK, where are you? What else do you see? - Now I’m looking out the window. I see a grassy field and some clouds. - Are you sure you’re not just looking at the computer again? - No. - You could be literally anywhere right now. DPF JFAR

Mob Succession - Tony, I assume you’re here to ask who will take over my position as mob boss. - Actually Dad I was here to tell you— - Ishmael the beggar is now boss. - Wait what? The hobo who sleeps outside the restaurant? - He has exactly the old-country ideals this organization needs. - Dad, he’s not even related to you. And I helped you murder 35 people. - Ishmael is the son of a weaver, can you believe it? - But I took out the Marino family for you. One 35-way intersection, one accident, no survivors. - Well Ishmael would never kill 35 people. - But Dad, you told me to. “Scour the city and spill the blood of the Marino pigs,” you said that. - What a nasty quote. Nothing like Don Ishmael’s many folksy quips and parables. - You can’t let Ishmael sit in your chair. He’s filthy – I think his nails are entirely made of mold. - Those nails let him weave 7 baskets in 3 hours. Crazy, right? It’s crazy he can weave that fast? - Well I don’t see how baskets will help him peddle drugs or wipe out families. - Oh, did I not mention each basket holds 1 gallon? Do you know how much that is, Tony? - Yes Dad that’s 7 gallons. - Every 3 hours! Ishmael, he is so humble about it. We could run the world with that kind of output. - No Dad. And I originally came to tell you that the police are here for us. - In the middle of Ishmael’s inauguration? Why? - The killing of 35 people and resulting traffic disruption. - What about Ishmael? Is he safe? - He isn’t complicit in mass-murder. - Then the Familia is safe. - We’re going to prison for life. - All the world will fear the Morettí Basket-Weavers.

JFAR

The Harvard Lampoon

Pet Peeves The following are a few of my pet peeves: —When I’m doing sex and the whole neighborhood calls out, “Stop doing sex because you are so good at it!” —When I am being born and my mom says I have to be less drunk. —When I yell, “WHO’S PAYING THE BILL” at the restaurant and everyone applauds. —When death is but a warm iced tea. —When I ask Blarnt for a penny for my thoughts. —When I can barely see the babbling brook over the tall, green grasses. —When I walk my sweet body down to the market and….YES! they’re out of figs. —When the fat red dogs run my way. —Blarnt —Fart —When I got nothing but the girl on my back and a shirt to call my own. —When we’re all itchin’ and scratchin’ (and jamming to the beat). —When I whisper, “can someone give me a hand” to the employees at the hand store. —When I finally take a shower and everyone won’t stop calling me “Mr. Drip-Drop” —Honestly, I love raisins so much. SHK

Watching The Game Brian: What’s the score? Derek: It says right there on the screen. Brian: I know I’m saying I can’t see it so I want you to tell me. Chaz: Hey mind if I join you guys? Brian: Sure Chaz, take a seat. Derek: C’mon, it clearly says that the score is 55 to— Chaz: AWWWW YEEEEAAHHHHHHH. Derek: Hang on, what the fuck Chaz, why is the couch so wet all of a sudden? Brian: Did you just pee? Chaz: Aw naw dude, just enjoying the game. Brian: (touching the cushion and smelling his hand) Dude, I think this is pee. Chaz: AWWWWWWW YEEEAAAAAHHHHH. MMMMMMFFFFFFFFFF THAT’S GOOD. Brian: Stop it! You’re clearly peeing! Chaz: Aw naw naw naw naw dude. Derek: The entire couch is soaked. Chaz: Alright gotta go. Catch ya boys later. (gets up and leaves) AJ SWR

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The Strike

I remember the day the barbers went on strike. We’d asked them to take just a little more off the top, and they said they’d had enough. It didn’t seem like a big deal at first, but on my way home I tripped on my beard. I could barely see through my bangs and had to crawl the rest of way on my belly. A few days later, we were all as hairy as cavemen and we all lived in caves. The demand for shampoo skyrocketed. We were practically bathing in the stuff. A barrette bubble formed, then popped, then formed again. “This bubble will never pop!” we said. And we were right. Anytime anybody went outside, they had to tie their hair to their bed so they could get back home. Of course, nobody could cut their hair free, but this wasn’t a problem because everyone’s hair was growing a mile a day. It was a state of emergency, so we turned to the people we entrust with our lives. Then we remembered the barbers were on strike, so we were forced to rely on elected officials. The president made an address, but then an identical pile of hair jumped up and said he was the president. “It could be either one of them!” a third man exclaimed, before declaring himself president. He made a good point; I declared myself president too. After that, things started looking up. I liked being the president, and so did everyone else. I made a new friend every day until I realized I’d been talking to the same person. He was a sweater. Then, as suddenly as it began, the barbers’ strike ended. Fifteen minutes later, things were back to normal. Everyone was once again free to get as many haircuts a day as they pleased. As a matter of fact, I’m getting a haircut right now! GAJA

The Harvard Lampoon

Teammate

Just because I’m a girl does not make me any less a valuable member of the baseball team. Naturally, because of my gender, I play the game a little differently. For example, when I run, I must hold each of my large, pendulous breasts to prevent them from dragging across the field. This job requires both hands, so unfortunately I am unable to hold the bat. Coach always suggests I swing a teat or two around my neck, but I try not to because, understandably, the noise is just too distracting for the team. My favorite position to play is shortstop. When I see the ball coming my way, I turn around to catch the ball firmly between my large, rippling buttocks. Gripping tightly with my anus, I then project the ball powerfully back to the pitcher. After the sanitizing crew has finished up, the action continues. Girl power! When Coach calls water break, all the guys jog to the coolers. Meanwhile, I stimulate my uterus to induce labor for the growing embryonic mass that I have implanted using found samples of my teammates’ semen. My water breaks. Drink up, boys. At the end of the game the team meets up again in the locker room to celebrate our victory and shoot the breeze. Usually, I’m the last one to arrive because I have to lug my two huge duffel bags filled with menstrual products (one clean, one used). Luckily, by the time the guys hit the showers, I have already showered in my own coating of hormonal secretions. Score. Being a girl in sports is great for me but not for the baby. SHK

The Green Party

The platform of the Green Party is as reasonable as it gets. Here it is: 1. Trees should not have the right to vote, haha.

Now I’m not usually one to get political, but I would like to make a quick pitch for The Green Party. The reasons I’m doing this are obvious—the two-party system has failed us time and again by promoting partisanship under the guise of advancing a so-called democratic republic, and also a few nights ago I had a six-hour drug-induced seizure in which two tiny aliens named Dingle and Dongle strongly encouraged me to support the Green Party. Most people believe that the Green Party is only composed of total whackjobs. But as Dingle, Dongle, and their friends Carp, Snarp, Arp, The Dorpus Lump, Woop Job, ™, The Arbitrator, Strikethrough, Pikachu, Mr. Mime, Grubhub, Haha Okay, Thegrand Canyon, Larb Salad, Tomato Jefferson, Tiddlytaddly, File As An Independent, Smallman Thomson, ZZZ Tap, Merwermermermermanwermanwarmarwermerperwermerberson, Alright Alright Alright, Dimplebutt, Decipher Code, Haha Notanalien, Hyperlink, Mozzlog, Dogdogdog, Berb, and Mr. Tom told me, The Green Party is the only sane political affiliation one could have.

This one is pretty simple. No one in the Green Party, and I mean no one, certainly not me, believes that trees should have the right to vote, haha. Why even bring it up then? Haha. 2. If there were to be a gigantic berry descending slowly toward earth, every person has an equal right to suck on the berry for the sweet juices. This also pretty much explains itself, but for anyone who really doesn’t get it, basically, if there were to be a gigantic berry descending slowly toward earth, and I’m not saying there necessarily is right now, but just saying that if there were, for example, a humongous blackberry coming at a reasonably slow pace toward earth, then everyone should equally have a chance at sucking it. This is just common human decency. AJ

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Proposal

A successful relationship is about listening. That’s why, when my longtime girlfriend started hinting at moving things to the next level, I took her to a fancy Italian place and proposed that we recreate the spaghetti scene from Lady and the Tramp. “Wait—so you’re not asking me to marry you?” she stammered, repeating the exact same thing she had said last week when I accidentally proposed to her sister. “Why would you think that? I never even gave you a ring!” I replied, gesturing to the clump of pasta I had just removed from an engagement ring-box and immediately realizing how she might’ve thought that. This made me feel like a real asshole—a big, fat, stupid, ugly, good-for-nothing, down-on-my-luck, misunderstood, shy, sensitive, too-pure-for-this-world capital-A retArd. And I felt even worse when I saw that the pasta had gotten all tangled up and somehow managed to spell “MARRY ME” in huge capital letters across the table. However, my girlfriend soon began to perk up, and after a little extra cajoling, agreed to recreate the spaghetti scene. “You know, you might just be the best thing that’s ever happened to me” I said, staring lovingly into her beautiful blue blouse. “Now hold this camcorder while I let the dogs out of their cages.” It took over fifty takes to nail the scene, but that was to be expected. After all, the dogs were first-time directors, and I kept spitting out my pasta because it tasted like a disgusting mix of flour, eggs, water and salt. It was all worth it though. When we finally kissed, I felt an incredible rush of happiness—mostly because our lips had created a pipeline that allowed me to suck the pasta from my girlfriend’s mouth into my own, but also because I was in love! After that I proposed and she said, “No.” NSG

Billie Joe Armstrong is the Singer of Green Day Monday in the Life of Green Day 9:00 a.m. - 11 p.m. Billie Joe Armstrong’s a man of his word. Tuesday in the Life of Green Day 9:00 a.m. Band meets for practice 9:05 a.m. Billie Joe Armstrong wakes up on a golf course. 9:05 a.m. Billie Joe Armstrong does good golf shot. 9:05 a.m. Billie Joe Armstrong is a complicated man. Wednesday in the Life of Green Day 11:30 a.m. Doing chores around the house! 11:35 a.m. “Haha that’s a lot of dust!” 11:45 a.m. Billie Joe Armstrong has been missing for one week. 12:00 p.m. “Achoo.” Billie Joe Armstrong is winded. 12:01 p.m. Billie Joe Armstrong has a seat. 12:01 p.m. Billie Joe Armstrong finds a nice cornfield. Nap nap. 11:59 p.m. Green Day group chat: billie? Thursday in the Life of Green Day 1:05 p.m. Billie Joe Armstrong! Friday in the Life of Green Day 10:00 a.m.. Text for Billie Joe Armstrong: hey man 10:01 a.m. Text for Billie Joe Armstrong: miss u :( Saturday in the Life of Green Day 9:00 p.m. Billie Joe Armstrong goes to see hip band, “Green Day” 9:30 p.m. Very drunk. This is not Green Day. 9:31 p.m. No wait maybe this is Green Day.

Janitor Breathlessly, he approaches a locker. He has stood by unhelpfully for many years as students were stuffed into these puppies. It makes him wonder. The locker is slightly ajar, coaxing his fantasies out of their dark recesses (the weird lump on his neck). Ever so delicately, he extends his left foot into the locker. His confidence increases. He places his right hand in the locker. Then his head. His elbows. His torso. Ankle. Pelvis. He slams the door shut and is immersed in darkness. He closes his eyes. As his bare arms brush against the cold metal, a shiver of euphoria courses through his body. After a few seconds it becomes more of a seizure, and he bangs his head pretty hard on the coat hook. He’s ok.

Sunday in the Life of Green Day 9:00 a.m. Billie Joe Armstrong is a complicated man.

Suddenly, he hears voices outside. How long has he been in there? Apparently all of summer vacation. A moment too late, he realizes that he forgot to put up the “Caution: Wet Floor” sign. He listens helplessly as, one by one, every student in the school slips and falls into a gigantic pile. Surely he will be fired, if not for this then definitely for throwing out a perfectly good mop.

JFAR LDL

HJH

The Harvard Lampoon

R.P. Ellis I have penned this letter in response to the Dai-

ly’s recent cartoon. The suggestion that I’m a big cat in a suit with a monocle smoking is not funny. Admittedly, the image of a large cat in a suit was amusing. Cats do not wear suits. But I cannot be that cat. I am not a cat or very fat. It is therefore an illogical cartoon. A cat is not fit to lead the world’s largest oil conglomerate, even if it was very intelligent. This however does not appear to be the case. The large cat has decided to bafflingly store bills in his ears. My money is invested in non-taxable securities. They are in the Bahamas, not my ears and would be if I were a cat. The dimensions of the cat’s impossibly spherical upper body slanderously imply that I am a grossly obese cat. I regularly walk. So more realistically, I am a slightly overweight cat. But fundamentally, I am human, not a cat. Next, I want to address my large paw, which appears to hold America. My paw which is a hand, is large, but not that large. I am very sensitive about my hand. Do not joke about it. Moreover, I could not be smoking Mortello Cigar. As a cat, I lack opposable thumbs necessary to handle cigar cutters. But in reality, I would never be seen with such shoddy tobacco. I have a reputation to maintain, in the hypothetical feline community. My trousers are not made of $1000 bills. This is ridiculous. Paper cannot be washed. More significantly it would irritate my fur. I know from experience, that it irritates my skin. And if a $1000 bill did exist, they would not include a caricature of Roosevelt’s face, dirtied by oil. Since I enjoy a good hearty laugh, let me suggest a cartoon.Perhaps, me, next to my heroes, business tycoon J.P. Morgan, George Washington and philanthropist Father Theresa entitled “titans of history.” Regards,

R.P. Ellis Nestor

Lawnmower

Want to stop mowing your lawn like a quivering pussy? Then shut the fuck up and buy the GRASSFUCKER 5000. Now, instead of bending over, opening your ass, and letting the grass make you its bitch, you can cut it like a real man should. Oh, and one more thing. Fuck you. Heard enough? Too fucking bad. The GRASSFUCKER 5000 uses whips, maces, and all kinds of sick shit to send that grass back to wherever the fuck it thought to come from. It only took the GRASSFUCKER team 4,999 tries to make a lawnmower that wouldn’t kill the user right fucking away. The patent

office took one look at our fucking blueprints and choked on their own balls. They’re dead now. So if you’re looking for some kind of lame-ass government approval, go get a lawnmower from Tampons “R” Us. Looking to buy? Our phone number is 1-800-GOFUCK-YOURSELF and our website is grassfucker. com/you/have/never/made/a/woman/climax. If you’re the kind of swinging dick guy who’s giving it to his wife eight times a night and fifteen times on holidays, you’ll know where to find us. If not, well, Home Depot sells the perfect tools to kill yourself with. Happy mowing, you leach-covered blob of fat and disappointment. MAS

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Prison Ship

Running a prison ship isn’t as glamorous as TV shows like “Glamorous Prison Ship” make it out to be. People need to see that first and foremost it’s a business, and like any other good business I need to keep my employees close and my patrons sequestered. This is why I evade all my taxes and burn all my lifeboats. As a child, my father saw my genius one day when I put my prison toys on top of my boat toys. He encouraged me to follow this passion, and his encouragement increased when he saw how well I could suppress sea-based toy riots. We like to keep our inmates entertained. Tuesday is “Bingo” night, where we give the inmates Bingo sheets filled in with crimes, and they fill in the ones they’re in for. The winner gets a lovely fruit basket and 5 years added to his sentence. Losers get the same. Wednesday night is “Tuesday” night, where we pretend it’s Tuesday and play the game some more. It was tough finding a good chef who I didn’t immediately imprison. I met Raoul at a charity event. His father introduced himself and went in for a handshake, but I went in for a handcuff. Raoul saw where

I was coming from, and agreed to be my chef. Meat lovers enjoy our fine selection of fish and sea fowl, and vegetarians enjoy a night in solitary. This is a prison ship, not a prison cruise. All of the inmates live below deck, and each of their rooms is just a smaller prison ship. Every room is labeled “The Brig”. We thought this was funny. Despite the accommodations, we still get some escapees. Surrounding the ship are 76 large walls, each on a dinghy. I suspect that the escapees somehow fashioned sophisticated climbing devices from seagulls and lard, but Raoul thinks they just swam under the walls. Whatever the explanation, I like to imagine that those prisoners tasted freedom and then went off to make their own prison ships. Owning a prison ship is at least as enjoyable as owning a prison or a ship, but it’s definitely way less federally regulated. Could you imagine the Feds taxing an ocean-based prison? Raoul and I would be ruined. JFAR

Where Does Weed Come From? We all know “weed.” But did you know the same plant you smoke with your uncle came from—of all places—Mexico? Smoking weed carries all sorts of cultural and ethical baggage, and if you aren’t careful with it, you might be a racist. It all starts with a process called photosynthesis. Mexican botanists plant weed crops and expose them to sunlight, which is what gives weed its famous yellow color and beefy smell. When the plants are tall enough to pick, the Cartel comes in and kills all the botanists. They don’t even take the weed; that’s the kind of mean motherfucker we’re dealing with. Then these cute birds come and pick up the weed and carry it under their wings, to another weed field even farther away. A few months later it gets picked up in really big trucks from the CIA. After that, buying weed is as easy as going to your local CIA store and asking—just be careful they don’t send you to jail!

CHS

Pet Bread

The hardest part of being an old man was that he was terribly lonely and nearly dead. To solve at least something, the old man decided to bake himself a pet. He decided to bake a pet bread. When the 45-minute timer dinged, the old man took the bread out of the oven. The bread came out looking warm and GOLDEN. Pleased, the old man smiled at the bread. The bread smiled back and its crust cracked a little. “Ooh, just the way I like it,” said the old man. “Thanks,” blushed the bread. The old man clipped a collar around the bread and the bread, after resisting slightly, accepted that. The old man set the bread down. The old man’s mind looked and found a pack of extra thinly sliced turkeys’ breasts. “I love sandwiches,” said the mind to the old man. The old man went looking for a knife. LDL

Every Time I Go To Chipotle

Server: Black or refried? Me: What? Server: Bean type. Me: Green beans? Server: What? Me: I’m leaving, this is confusing. MVS

Phineas Gage

Phineas Gage was the railroad foreman that survived an accident in which a large iron rod was driven through his head. LADY: I don’t think the rod will fit into the restaurant. PHINEAS: (Pretending to dangerously fumble rod) Have to be careful, don’t want it to slip and go through my head. LADY: Watch out Phineas! PHINEAS: Gotcha. LADY: So you’re the famous Phineas Gage? PHINEAS: Yessir, disfigured, but still handsome. LADY: That’s very clever. Is that the actual rod? PHINEAS: Yessir, disfigured but still handsome. LADY: Are you okay? WIFE: Do you need a fork Phineas? PHINEAS: (smiling) WIFE: No Phineas, please, we’re eating steak. PHINEAS: (smiling more intensely, looking at rod and back at steak).

EnviroMan Movies

Nestor

EnviroMan In this classic origin story, Daryl Green was just another boring millionaire playboy stuck in his dead end job as an executive at Standard Oil. But when the supervillain Frackster promises natural gas for all, Green must step up to save the day and Standard Oil’s profit margins. Daryl Green is: EnviroMan. EnviroMan II: The Fall of Enviroman EnviroMan is riding high after saving the Earth from Frackster by running him over with an H2 Hummer. But when coal physicist Tyson King is directly exposed to coal smog gaining dangerous super powers, he becomes the Koal King. Knowing the damage coal can do to the Earth’s atmosphere, EnviroMan sacrifices himself and 200 endangered white tigers to destroy the West Virginian coalfields. DRM

Grass is Greener #

CrystaL Ever since I started carrying around this huge crystal, people have been pretty jealous of me. Me: (heaves huge crystal out of my leather waist pouch and lays it on the ground) Me: (sighs deeply) Just another day of carrying around this huge crystal, I guess. AJ

The Harry Potter and Spongebob # Harry Potter: Delivery for 100 gallons of penis ointment! Spongebob: Th-that can’t be right! Not for me! Harry Potter: Says for a “Mr. Squarepants” right here. Spongebob: Who would prank me like this? Squidward: Heh heh.

Spongebob: Harry, you have some spinach stuck in your teeth. Harry Potter: Can you get it out for me? Spongebob: (puts mouth on Harry’s, creates vacuum, sucks spinach out) Harry Potter: Thank you, Spongebob. Harry Potter: Doc, you’re sure this surgery is 100% safe? Dr. Squarepants: Of course. Now where did I leave my chainsaw… Harry Potter: Spongebob! Spongebob: Happy birthday, Harry! All your friends are here. Harry Potter: Spongebob, you know my birthday was last week! Spongebob: I thought that was Hagrid’s birthday! Spongebob: I love you, Harry. Harry Potter: I love you too, Spongebob. SWR

Blind Person

It’s really hard describing colors to a blind person, but it’s even harder to sit next to the love of your life while he doesn’t even notice you. Um. Okay. Colors. How do I explain that. Okay, you know, like, lettuce? Like lettuce and broccoli and stuff. And tennis balls. Balls. Fuck. Now I’m thinking about your balls, and how I’d like to have them in your mouth. Not that you would ever… but would you? Because of the accident with the acid, and all that. New track. It’s like when you have a big piece of gum and-- fuck. Now I’m thinking about a big piece of dick, and how I’d like to chew that right up. Mmm. Long-lasting flavor. Have you ever felt a brick? Fuck. Now I’m thinking about feeling your brick. Yeah, that’s a totally different color. Ignore bricks. You know money? Not European or Canadian money or anything. American money. The kind I can use to buy a little bit of your time… But not the new stuff where they add blue to the big bills. Blue balls. You know that feeling? You wouldn’t, if I were around. No, that wouldn’t make any sense to you. You know the acid that your ex-husband threw in your face? Hey, fuck that guy! I would never do that to you. There we go. Now you get colors. AJ MAS

The Harvard Lampoon

WHY I WISH I WAS A GREEN BOY INSTEAD OF

A BLUE BOY

I was born a blue boy, but my whole life I’ve wanted to be a big green boy. Green boys get to be funny and fun and exciting, while as a blue boy I am constantly let down by my unfortunate blue-boyness. Green boys get to look like well fed grass and count money and pick up girls and say “boo-yeah daddyo” while us blue or tan boys are left saying “bowwow fippy” in an ironic way that is un-fun. When I was born like a boy is born my family had great hopes that I would be born, if not a green boy, then at least a yellow-green or sea-green boy. I too had great hopes as I was being born that I would be a green boy. But as I looked down to my feet I was very disappointed to find that they were the feet of a very blue-boy, a dark blue boy at that, even under the florescent lights of the supermarket parking lot. My parents hoped that, while born a blue boy, I would mature muave then maybe even travel clockwise along the color-boy-wheel settling at a nice light-yellow boy. But as of writing this, I am still very much a blue-boy. I am prone to blue-boy things like crying and not being able to enjoy certain fruits and not having any pets and not being able to drink a beer in one whole gulp. Sometimes if I look in the mirror and really think big-green boy thoughts and say to myself that I’m green like green pea soup I can see myself almost as a green boy, definitely a lighter blue boy. Every month in the mail at green boy houses come letters from the government with compliments like “wow, has a green boy ever been as green as you!?” and “as a green boy myself, I am shocked by how like a fresh spring vegetable you are. You are as green as a really relaxed green frog that is sitting on some nice green moss.” Us blue boys get passive aggressive death threats from our neighbors.

Freaky Friday - Well, mom, now that we’ve switched bodies, I think we both learned a lesson. - I sure did. It’s not as easy being a teenage girl as I thought, honey. - Yeah that, and Chinese body-switching curses apparently don’t change state statutory rape laws. DRM

When green while blue can please workers at in the ice hatred and

boys go to the fish market they can get wild caught Alaskan tilapia boys have to stick our hands in the ice and ask the workers if we have some farm raised Chilean tilapa. We blue boys are also the the fish markets so we are actually making ourselves put our hands and beg ourselves for the farm raised chilean tilapa. This is self is unhealthy and just part of being a blue boy.

Green boys get to go to dances with all the girls that they’ve picked up and admire how much they look like a fresh-spring roll in the big mirrors at the Ritz. Their dates always know that the green boys will say nice things and that they will be a very handsome couple with the green boys because green is the color that is very complimentary. Meanwhile us blue boys are not at the dances. We are thinking about Fourier socialism and being unhappy and smoking cigarettes and thinking about how under Fourier socialism it would only be fair that the green boys get a bigger slice of the pie. BWM

Space Dog Comix By AJ

Grass is Greener #

Kermit

Hey Everyone i just wanted to send out a house- wide email to alert you of a Special problem that has come to my attention and that is Kermit the green muppit frog is hiding somewhere and I think he means to do us har m. I cant say when exactly Kermet gained entry to our house but i can say for sure that hes here to do something very very bad. He Seriously wouldn’t be here if he didn t have a nefarious plan. About 430am last night I was playing with my pipes tryin to solve a problem with the toilet flushing directly into the sink. When I heard A nois e, as scary as you ever heard. I know that noise anywhere. it was Karmit. He scurried behind my radiator which keeps my room warm n toasty. I was to scared too finish my pipes, so it keeps flushing and I have nowhere to wash my dish. Please respons with your own typed letter put on a thumbtack under this letter in the laundy room. Thanks and happy Holiday.

St Patrick

St. Patrick is known for banishing all the snakes from Ireland into the ocean. Patrick: Give me your longest potatoes. Old man: But those are the most nourishing. Patrick: It is God’s command that I practice banishing the snakes. Old man: Fine. Patrick: (throws all the long potatoes into the ocean) Old man: Patrick, we cannot find a single potato in our fields. I’m afraid we will perish. Patrick: (goes to the field for three months, returns with a snake) Patrick: I’ve found something! Old man: (wearily) A snake? Patrick: Even better. Old man: Thank God. We are saved. Patrick: It’s a four-leaf clover. Neat, huh? Old man: (dies of starvation) AJ

MAS

Old Time Baseball

The 1905 Chicago White Sox were a happy bunch that gave each other a lot of funny nicknames. Take a look at some of those names and the explanations behind them:

“Shoeless” Joe Jackson (left-field) - he was too poor to afford shoes as a child, so even into adulthood, he got used to not wearing them at all. Mordecai “Three-Finger” Brown (pitcher) - lost two fingers on his pitching hand as a result of a thresher accident. Tommy “Typhoid” Turner (first-base) - formerly, three-toe Tommy, also a result of a thresher accident, contracted typhoid fever in the 1905 typhoid fever epidemic. Jason “Typhoid” Thompson (second-base) - had no nickname prior to contracting typhoid in the 1905 outbreak. Dean “Three-Finger Typhoid” Samuels (center-field) - was diagnosed with typhoid fever but was left with three fingers on his left hand, in an unrelated non-typhoid incident. Sammy “Mega-Typhoid” Stallone (right-field) - attempt to nickname self Stallion failed when he contracted a really bad case of typhoid fever and died. Typhoid Tobermory (catcher) - had no nickname, was legally named Typhoid. “Healthy” Harry Klop (bench) - only player on team to not get typhoid, which led to years of merciless and cruel bullying from resentful teammates. Eventually died from tuberculosis.

Nestor

The Harvard Lampoon

Lucia or Carly

I can’t decide who I want to date, Lucia or Carly. Pros for each:

Lucia

ck way ba e h t l l t go a eeth tha t c i t n a - Gig aint like a p roat h r t o l e o h o t c to e teeth g ggshell s e a e c r a n i h tures - Teet kup den c a b s a r-H om ove r f t u o g ushed missin en get p t f o h t e - Te g crowdin HAR D ps - Chom

MAS

Carly

- No te eth - Gum sa a marb s smooth as le - Tongu floor e has m room t ore o flop a r - Mout ound h cause n is echoey beo sorb th teeth to abe soun d - Sad a nd lon gi those p early w ng for hites

Pirated Photshop

Welcome to Photoshop! Here are some images I created using files on your computer to teach you how to ‘shop. - In this photo, I turned everyone’s sneakers white and I removed all the spinach from the laces. - Here’s a photo of a green dog, except I photoshopped a mustache onto it. - Here, I covered someone’s face in a nude photo with a logo I designed in Microsoft Paint. - I found this photo of a person whose face is really small but his head is really big. I removed his acne scars and made his head even bigger. - You can watch my version of the Harry Potter series, where I traced each frame in Photoshop and made Mad-Eye Moody’s eyes look in the same direction. - This is a photo of your face that I took on your webcam. I cleaned up your eyebrows. - This is a photo of me hacking into your computer that I took just now and didn’t edit because I am perfect. - This is a photo of the dead body of a man still thought to be missing, but I shopped you into the image holding the camera and taking a selfie suspiciously. - This is a photo that I found in your porn folder of a prison shower scene with your face already edited in, actually. - I went through your system and read your private files to get a sense of who you are as a person. - I made you a stronger, more secure email password. It’s -- dammit, I forget what it is. - I switched your operating system to one that’s newer and completely different. Coded it myself. The thing with this new operating system is it can’t run Photoshop, so I’m just gonna uninstall Photoshop for you. Please let me know if this guide was helpful! TN

Grass is Greener #

My Dream

- I’ll just have a Shamrock Shake. - Nope. We don’t have that. - What? But it’s March, I thought every McDonald’s— - (smiling) Because we just call it a shake here. Welcome to Ireland, laddy. - (eyes welling with tears) - Shamrock Shakes for all o’ ye! (wheeling out kegs) On the house! SWR

The Beam

- New guy! Come eat lunch with us. - I think I’m fine on the ground. - Nah, man. You’re a construction worker now. Get on up here. - Greg fell off to his death, like, ten minutes ago. - That’s what happens out on ol’ steely. - You guys aren’t even sitting on it. You’re hanging off. - Lunchtime tradition! Yum. MAS

LIZARDS

Life as a lizard is good. But life as the Geico Gecko, well that’s the shit. While a normal lizard lies on a rock soaking up sunlight to warm its cold-blooded body, the Geico Gecko lies by a pool in Boca soaking up the sunlight to build up a nice base tan for his next shoot. And you bet your ass he’s complaining to the manager when the poolside attendant blocks his sun while bringing him his fifth banana daiquiri. Now, if the Geico Gecko were your typical lizard he might, say, be able to regenerate his tail when he forgets his dominatrix’s safe word. Instead, he spends pocket change on a $15,000 procedure to have his new silicone tail fitted with a cupholder. Now the attendant won’t get in the way of his sun while bringing his eighth banana daiquiri. The average Malagasy Giant Chameleon blacks in face deep in a pile of cocaine at most twice a year. The Geico Gecko is not the average Malagasy Giant Chameleon. On the contrary, the Geico Gecko never blacks in face deep

The Cream

- New guy! Come eat lunch with us. - I think I’m fine on the ground. - Nah, man. You’re a milk boy now. Get on up here, onto this cow here. - Greg fell off to his death, like, ten minutes ago. - Yep, into the milk, yep yep. - You guys aren’t even sitting on her. You’re swinging back and forth on her udders, stretching them so thinly that the flesh is going to snap any moment now, gosh those udders are like three feet long each now, poor cow, poor poor bessy, they do make good swings though, looks fun I guess, but man oh man that cow is in excruciating pain I’m sure. - Lunchtime tradition! Yum. LAS in a pile of cocaine because molly makes him feel more alive. And sometimes the Geico Gecko just needs to feel something. Scientists tell us lizards don’t have tear ducts. Well send those scientists right back to the lab because the Geico Gecko cries almost every morning when the sun rises over the ridge behind his condo and throws a harsh light over everything he’s become. No, the Geico Gecko is definitely not your run-of-the-mill lizard. But every once in a while when he’s sitting on that ledge in the harsh light of dawn questioning if anyone would even miss him, he thinks about being a normal lizard: about attracting a mate via pheromones rather than via one-dollar bills; about licking his own eyes instead of his own nipples; about feeding on insects, not banana daiquiris. But then the attendant brings him his first mango daiquiri, and he thinks: Yeah, my life is the shit. DRM

The Harvard Lampoon

Game Show

Host: Hello, America! And welcome to another round of: Name! That! Lover!, the only game where YOU name the lover for a chance to win some sweet, sweet lovin’! For our first lover—most here may recognize her simply as the chiquita with the run-around rear. However, this lover is far more than that—she’s got an inverted hip, several sports equipments, and a fourhole mole to boot. Audience: NAME! THAT! LOVER! Contestant: Um, is this someone I know? Host: Ah, unlucky. The answer was actually: Doris Silberstein. On to your next clue—No one can sniff on your lips like this girl. No one is better at kneading those breasticles. No one has the arms of the penguin and the heart of the fish. She’s a servant to your body and to mine. Can you name that lover? Contestant: Is it Doris again? Host: The answer to this one was actually just “the lover.” Finally, our third lover—All I can say is, she’s the mucus lady! Contestant: (with streams of mucus flowing from all pores, wiping mucus brow with tissues, mopping up pool of mucus at feet) Ok, I know this one. This one is me.

Plants

In order to get a 5 on your AP biology exam you must know how a plant is. Once you get to know plants, you will realize that they are complex, majestic creatures and not stupid little sticks that remind you of a skinny guy with leaves on him. Besides the stem, the most important part of any plant is photosynthesis. The process begins when sunlight hits the leaves of plants. This is a tough concept, but a helpful trick is to think of that time your neighbor threw a hose and it hit your face. In this case your face is a chloroplast and the hose is one unit of sunlight. Once sunlight is absorbed, the energy is used to convert water and carbon dioxide into glucose through the Calvin Cycle. Cycles are complicated, but a cool life hack is to picture a cycle like the time you got stuck in the spokes of your dad’s bike and he rode all the way into town. Each time your penis hit the ground you completed one cycle. That is how sunlight becomes glucose. Finally, this glucose is used as a reagent in a process called cellular respiration which creates ATP. ATP provides the energy which allows plants to do those things they are always doing. Perhaps a better illustration of the concept is when your uncle used ATP to pretend to be straight for 49 years. This never happens to plants of course because they have shorter lifespans and are not gay. HJH

Host: And the answer was…….DORIS “THE LOVER” SILBERSTEIN! SHK

Grass is Greener #

U F O

— Hey, look over there! I think that’s a UFO! — Where? — Behind you, in the distance. — Oh, that? That’s not far away, it’s just small. (reaches — Uh… what?

over and grabs the UFO)

Tiny alien: Hello. AJ

Every summer, the brothers of ΔΨΩ go on a retreat to Chainsaw Lake, but this last trip was complicated by murder. This event will forever be known as...

Tango at Chainsaw Lake The

You got 50 brothers in one cabin and of course Kyle is the one who doesn’t finish his beer. That was when we suspected he was dead, but more importantly that was when we knew he was out of the frat. The knife through his heart might have tipped us off more if that weren’t just a normal thing we did at Chainsaw Lake for fun. Hell, his jersey wasn’t even the bloodiest in the room. That honor belonged to Bryce “The Rice” muthafuckin Johnson, the local serial-murderer. So we try to find who killed Kyle, since he also killed our buzz. We knew we had to keep the operation secret to not alarm the locals. There hadn’t been a major crime or explosion here since back when the place was called Chainsaw Elementary School and Rare Bird Sanctuary and Lake, and that had been days ago. I take the helm as lead investigator. Eddy takes on the role of 2nd lead. Bryce goes off to do his own

thing. We begin with Kyle’s room, which is so full of unfinished beer that it’s a wonder I didn’t kill him sooner than I did. Wait, whoops. Anyway, next we eliminated suspects. We knew it couldn’t be Richard because he was our frat dog. And it couldn’t be Dog McDoggins because he was dealing with crippling depression. And it couldn’t be Lenny on account of his one arm being smaller than the other, like a sort of vestigial arm. We’re actually still not sure it wasn’t Bryce but we’ll take his word on it. And it couldn’t be Tom because he’s gay. That left us with 43 brothers without excuses or alibis, so it really spared us a lot of trouble when we ruled it a suicide. With the investigation finished, we crowded around Kyle, teary-eyed, and finished his beer—together.

LIBYAN FLAG Don’t let the fact that Libya recently changed its flag distract you from the fact that it was once just green. Yup. For almost forty years, Libya’s flag was a green rectangle. You can look this up, I am not joking. For the sake of the Libyan people, which I am sure are great, I wish I was joking, but really I am not. Sure, if you are a fan of the color green, than the Libyan flag was a big moment. Does it get better as color than completely being one country’s flag? Probably not. But between you and me, I know a lot of green fans, big green fans, in fact I myself am a bit of a green fan, and I can tell you, they, we all think the flag was a mistake. If anything, the flag makes green look bad. It’s a great color and not its fault that it was used in such an embarrassingly uninspiring way. I mean, if you want to sabotage a color use neon, which is objectively disgusting. Why green? The conventional schools of thought say lazy designer, religious symbolism, whatever. If you ask me the real reason was spite; the creator wanted to give a big middle finger to the colorblind. You can hate the flag, but if that’s the case, at the end of the day, you just have to respect that passion.

Nestor

JFAR

Little Green Army Men

Online Quiz

Take this short quiz and see if we can guess where you were born! How do you pronounce Mayonnaise? A: May-uh-naise B: Man-uh-titz C: Carb-Jelly-o-h What do you call the small lobsters that you find in rivers? A: Craw-dads B: Craw-my-dad-says-that-the-state-of-Oklahoma-might-take-ourfarm-if-the-rain-don’t-come How would you address more than two people? A: Y’all B: Youse C: Goose D: Hey you sons of bitches get away from my irrigation pipes. What do you call a drive-thru store where they sell guns & alcohol? A: That sounds very illegal. B: The reason I haven’t left my car in weeks. C: Tommy’s in Bixby Oklahoma. Next to the dust factory. What do you call clouds? A: Clouds B: So many gooses. Where did they all come from? There is not enough bread in this world for the horde that blocks the sun. C: It’s been hot for so long here in Oklahoma. The farm is dried up and paw is scared. We’re all scared. The dust is always coming. Results: Hey there fellow Okie! BWM

Boutique Counter - Excuse me, come close. I need a word. - Certainly miss. What can I do for you? - I have sort of, an odd request. - Certainly. - It’s—it’s just that, and I do feel a bit bad asking— - Go ahead. - Is there anywhere private I can go to, ya know… - I must admit I do not. To what? - To...to try on this blouse? - Wha— - I’m so fucking scared to bare my breasts. HLD

Dad: Charlie! Why aren’t you playing with the toys I got you? Son: I put them back in the box. They’re not fun to play with. Dad: Nonsense. I played with army men when I was a boy and you will too. Son: But Dad! Dad: You’re gonna play with them and you’re gonna like it. (opens box) Army Man 1: Top o’ the marnin’, Charlie! Army Man 2: Aye, Charlie, back from cryin’ in mumsy’s bed! Army Man 3: Wos this? Is pretty boy raddy fer another peggin,’ is he? Army Man 4: Hee hee hee! Charlie’s a little pansy boy with lads on his mind! Army Man 5: Ye can fack right off, Charlie. Army Man 6: Go find a little tree by the brook and hang yerself, Charlie. Army Man 7: Hidey didey do! What a pussy! Son: See, Dad? They always do thi— Army Man 8: Didja bring yer boyfriend with ye, Charlie? Army Man 9: Go on an’ fack yerself, Charlie. Army Man 10: A wee little fairy boy with soft hands, that’s wot Charlie is. Army Man 11: Ho ho ho ho ho! He’s rammin’ ye up the arse, Charlie! Army Man 12: Quit takin’ it like a fairy boy and fight back like a man, Charlie. Army Man 13: Ye got twig arms, Charlie. How ye gonna throw a punch with twig arms? Army Man 14: How ye gonna slit yer wrists with twig wrists, Charlie? Army Man 15: Oy, Charlie! Suck a dick. Army Man 16: The lassies don’t like “sensitive” boys, Charlie. Army Man 17: Lookey here! Charlie’s cryin’ like a wee idiot! Army Man 18: Run off an’ play yer little pity song elsewhere, Charlie. Army Man 19: Why don’t ye go jump in a well, Charlie. Army Man 20: I’ll show ye the pot o’gold if ye kill yerself, Charlie. Army Man 21: Hee hee! Charlie! Ho ho ho! Do it! Army Man 22: Hidey didey haw haw! Charlie! SWR

Case of the Stolen Items The

I was driving around in my squad car with Mrs. Breckenridge on the hunt for her stolen items, when we stopped to pick up my new partner Bruggs from the pawn shop. Mrs. Breckenridge pointed at Bruggs and said the man who stole the items looked exactly like him. I wrote down, “man, dressed in police clothes.” I wanted to write down age, but this was my first day and I didn’t want to insult Bruggs by guessing too old. Bruggs seemed nice enough, even though I was hoping my partner would be one of those police dogs. At a stoplight, I asked Bruggs if we’d get to meet any of the police dogs. He punched me in the face and told me to shut up and drive. The light was still red, so I slammed it in reverse. Bruggs was pleased, but Mrs. Breckenridge had somehow become concussed. This case was getting more complex by the minute. It turned out our car had slammed through the back of a restaurant. It was a sandwich shop called “Sal’s,” suspiciously

owned by a guy named Sal. Sal didn’t seem like the type of guy to steal items. More of a “concerned about getting license and registration for an insurance claim” type of guy. We booked him just in case. I wish we’d done that after he made us sandwiches ‘cause it took him two hours to make them with his hands cuffed, in our handcuffs. We tossed Sal in the backseat with Mrs. Breckenridge. She’d just come to, and was yammering something about a hospital. It seemed like a longshot, but we decided to check it out. Traffic to the hospital was terrible, so Bruggs called ahead to ask if they had seen any stolen items. They hadn’t. I told Mrs. Breckenridge she could stop screaming about the hospital now. On the way back to the station, we stopped by Bruggs’s house, where he showed me his collection of stolen items. And then it hit me: items… stolen items… I still hadn’t eaten my sandwich! I sprinted to the car and scarfed it down. I told Sal that he made a damn good corned-beef, and also that he was going to go to prison for a long long time. GAJA

The Harvard Lampoon

Legal Weed

Just Got To Heaven -

St. Peter is here Jesus is Here Much better than earth But what’s this? Zero gravity Awesome! And makes sense because we’re so high in the sky :) Hold up If we’re here for eternity won’t there be some kind of problem with bone density? Just something I heard about once. Ok great we’ve got treadmills to stay fit. And Astronaut Ice Cream. WOW This is great.

HSB

Motion Sickness - Oh my god I think I’m gonna puke! - We need to continue the security briefing, Mr. President. The Chinese launched the missile. - Bleuughhh! Gluuuuuughhh! - Just say the word and we can retaliate. - Hreeuuugh!!! Bleeeeech! Bloooooo! - Alright. Let’s wipe them off the fucking map. SWR

I can’t wait for the day when weed is legal in 27 states. Cop: Hey, pass me that jay, brutha! Me: Uh… Cop: C’mon, this is Alaska! It’s all good! Me: Let me just pull up the list again... Cop: Oh, no need to do that. Me: Wait, yea—it’s legal here! Happened yesterday. Cop: It is? Damn, thought I had you. Me: Haha, that’s why I check. Time to toke! Cop: There we go—you’re under arrest, buddy. Me: What? It’s legal in Alaska! Cop: This isn’t Alaska. It’s Texas. Me: Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I’m so high. ASB

Scuba Diver

There’s no feeling like journeying hundreds of meters into the deep. But if there’s one thing you have to know about scuba diving, it’s the giant squid. One of our roles as scuba divers is to make sure the sea is safe by ridding it of all these slippery creatures. If you come across one, please hold it up above your head and we will remove it from the sea immediately. The deep blue does make up 71% of the earth’s surface, but if you factor in the giant squid, it’s probably only 50%. It is unclear whether this is because they are so abundant, or so giant, but either way that is too much squid. If we do nothing this number will increase until the sea is nothing but tentacles. Whilst giant squid are 99% water, it is useless if all of the ocean is inside of them. As we descend lower the pressure will increase. You’re just gonna have to deal with that, because the biggest and most astonishing squids are down by the sea bed. You’ll know you’re close to one when you start having a hemorrhage. Do not panic if you see a giant squid. You won’t. They dwell in complete darkness. Before we expel it from the ocean, you must confirm with your touch that it is in fact a giant squid. If it is smaller than two double-decker busses, it is just a normal squid, which is fine. Even when a giant squid tries to kill you, do not kill it back. The rage you are feeling is called “el fiebre de esquid,” and does nothing but send dead squid remains to the sea bed, exacerbating the problem. If you do find yourself in the coils of a giant squid, just relax. At this point you’re already done for. Sense the enormous tentacles constricting your body and embrace them. There is beauty in this symmetry of life: you came into this world in your mother’s arms, and you will leave it in the grasp of a giant squid. This is a warrior’s death; the way all divers dream of going. BJS

Grass is Greener #

Classroom Announcement

Waste Treatment

Dear EPA:

I am writing from beneath the manhole at the corner of 54th Avenue North in Petersburg, Florida to inform you that I am appalled with the state of the waste treatment system in this city. I first noticed the issue on Monday at 3:15am EST in one of the main sewer lines. Something about the septage seemed slightly off, and sure enough my skin was covered in hives after swimming around in the pee and poop for just a half hour. I know what you’re thinking: “He must be allergic to poop.” Trust me, I’m not allergic to poop. Not only is this extremely unsanitary, but also unfair to people like me who have things to do such as breaststroke through a sea of scat. It is hard enough sneaking out of my house in the dead of night, covering myself in warm butter and wriggling through one of the holes in the sewage drains, and now on top of that I have to deal with unsightly rashes on my body. How do you expect the guys at work to respect someone whose skin can’t handle a little poop dive?

Teacher: Children, little Alice has something to tell you all. Alice: (shuffling nervously) My parents are mo— Children: (laughing) Your parents are mooing? So your parents are cows? Ha! Alice: (flustered) No, my parents are pe— Children: (laughing uproariously) Your parents are pee? You have peepee parents? Ha ha! Alice: (tearing up) No, my dad is go— Children: (falling down laughing) Your dad is gonads?! Ha! Gonads gonads gonads! Alice: (openly crying) MY DAD IS GOING TO JAIL FOR SECURITIES FRAUD. (silence) Children: (rolling on the ground) YOUR DAD IS BLOWING THE MAILMAN WHO’S AN IMMATURE DOG?! HAHAHA! HAHAHAHA!! Teacher: (wry smile) Now, now, children. AJ

And then there’s the fact that the pipes in the sewer look like they haven’t been replaced in years. They are so rusty and decrepit that I wouldn’t be surprised if nearby soil was rendered infertile or if someone tried to surf on a piece of wood and they slipped and cut their penis. Angrily,

Jim Ruthers

HJH

Rivalry The Lakers-Celtics rivalry of the 1980s revived America’s dual pastimes of sports and bitter hatred. It made every child in every driveway say, “When I grow up, I want to be an NBA player’s agent.” But in truth, it was much more than a basketball game—it was a seven-game series of basketball games. Sports enthusiasts watched in bars across the country, wide-eyed orphans watched on TVs in shop windows, and store owners closed early just so they could shoo away the orphans. The 1984 Finals consumed the country in a way not seen since the 1984 Semifinals. The winner wouldn’t just be champion for a year; they’d be champion for an entire leap year. It was as close as sports can come to a heavyweight boxing match. Boston’s offensive strategy centered on scoring. Their goto was Larry Bird, #33 on the court and #1 on unlicensed Celtics jerseys. Bird sliced through the Lakers’ defense like

a chef who was great at basketball. For Bird, a championship represented a chance to thank the fans for clapping so much. But more than that, it was a golden opportunity to be in a parade. The Lakers, for their part, were the other basketball team involved. While the Celtics’ style was run-and-gun and pick-and-pop, the Lakers were more stick-and-move with a little father-daughter-dance thrown in. They dunked so often their hand sweat rusted the rim, leading to the ’84 L.A. tetanus outbreak. In the end, the Lakers were overcome by lockjaw and Boston’s strategy of airing movies on the Jumbotron. The streets of Boston were flooded with celebrating fans and aimless orphans. Celtics players attempted to dump Gatorade over their coach’s shoulders. He resisted, as a similar celebration had burned him at a chili cook-off. HFJ

The Harvard Lampoon

Drug Deals Gone Wrong

Guy: Hey, you got the stuff? Me: (stabs him in the chest) Guy: (incoherent burbling as blood comes out of his mouth and he falls to the ground) Me: Oh my god sorry, I thought this was a different thing. Uh, here’s your weed. (doorbell rings) Me: (opens the door in lingerie with a ball-gag in my mouth) Guy: Uh… you got the stuff? Me: (voice muffled by the ball-gag) Ohmf mymf god sorrymf, uhmf here’s your weedmf. Cop: Hey, you got the stuff? Me: Yeah I do man. By the way is that a badge? Cop: No. Me: Okay here it is. Cop: You’re under arrest. Cop: Hey, you got the stuff? Me: Hey man, you can’t fool me again. I don’t know what “stuff” you’re talking about! Cop: Oh no, you got the totally wrong idea! I’m not a cop, I’m just wearing a blue shirt. Me: Oh my god, sorry, man! Yeah can’t be too careful these days. Anyways, here’s the stuff. Cop: You’re under arrest. Me: (smacks self on forehead) Ahhh-doooyyyyy! Me: No. No sir I do not have the stuff! Cop: Relax man you’re already in jail. I’m not a regular cop, I’m a warden. I just wanna get high. Me: Oh, haha, ok. Here it is. Warden: You’re under jail-arrest, which means you get to go free. AJ MVS

Dance Battle Yeah I was there on Raspberry Street when it all went down. Deaf Daniel and Blind Rob had a dance battle in front of everyone. The DJ hit the music and pointed to Deaf Daniel. Deaf Daniel was like, “What? Why are you pointing?” Everyone was scrambling for paper and pen to tell Deaf Daniel to dance. The whole time, Blind Rob’s screaming, “Is he dancing? Hello? Is he dancing?” Pretty soon the crowd is so big that the cops show up. The Raspberry Street cops are notorious for their love of dance and notorious in a weird way for their fascination with the deaf and blind. Blind Rob has wandered 3 blocks away. He shouts out, “I’m just going to assume it’s my turn to dance now!” He’s never seen what dancing looks like, so he just starts punching some guy in the face. It’s rude to stop a blind man from dancing, so the guy just has to stand there and take it. Deaf Daniel sees the crowd going nuts, he sees Blind Rob dancing, and he can’t hear anything ever.

There’s a bumping hip-hop beat playing. Deaf Daniel rips off his tear-away sweatpants and starts doing the most beautiful waltz we’ve ever seen. Before long there’s a new challenger: Noseless Tony. He gets out on the floor and just does a series of farts since he has no idea how inconsiderate this is. Painless José isn’t going to let Noseless Tony outdo him, so he starts dancing by eating scorpions. But, that’s nothing compared to Temperature-Insensitive Justin. He brings it all home with the crowd favorites. Suddenly all the greats join in: Colostomy Bag Ron, Half-Retarded Toby, Hairless Mary, Fully Retarded Frank, Tuberculosis Teddy, Victor the Narcoleptic, Too Many Hands Diane, and Very Disabled Michael. Then out of nowhere, Deaf Daniel and Blind Rob are dancing together. It’s the most amazing dance duo. The crowd goes wild. The music ends. The trophy goes to Two Legs “Hip-Hop Maverick” Travis. JGS

Grass is Greener #

Brain Soup Kitchen It all started when I turned 26; I was having a midlife crisis. As a 26-year-old, I really didn’t have the means to buy a shiny, sporty convertible, or treat myself to Bosley hair restoration. Instead, I decided to try volunteering after my parents told me to get out of the house. Nothing makes you feel better than seeing people who are shittier off than you, that really gets me going.

My buddy Roberto had just made some of his dank Ghirardelli edibles, the closest you can get to farm-totable. I bought a big batch off him and brought some into work, leaving them in my cubby. Later that week, I ate one of those things before my shift and the next thing you know, I put the entire pan out for the homeless in place of the usual pudding du jour.

That’s why I decided to check out this soup kitchen right across from the head shop a few weeks ago, and my first time volunteering was great! I had few, if any, responsibilities, I got free meals out of it whenever I wanted, and the homeless people smelled markedly better than how I expected them to. I hit the jackpot—I didn’t even have to wear one of those gay hair nets!

Chatting up the homeless, the brownies seemed to be a hit. Until the next meal that is. When I came back from a smoke break to serve dinner, hordes of them were angrily waiting for their food and demanding seconds and fifths. We ran out of food in a matter of minutes, and I was solely to blame. They slowly crawled over the counter into the kitchen moaning like zombies, and I was stoned out of mind and just froze up.

After a few times though, I realized that the job could get pretty boring and could use some spicing up. You know, like a one-way ticket to Flavor Town? The next day I went, I ripped the bong really hard before I came in, and I mean like diamond-hard, I’m talking 14-yearold dick-hard. I took a massive milk shot, and thought to myself, what goes better with milk than some dessert? That’s when things went downhill fast.

Luckily, the high schooler working with me at the time was much fatter and slower than I, so I thought as fast my mind would allow and pushed him to the ground, watching them tear into his blubbery flesh from a safer distance; olav ha-sholom. While I might have been laid off from this soup kitchen and was culpable for the death of an A-student, the moral of the story is to always double-check what strain of ganj you’re buying. TDK

Fears My psychiatrist recommended I write these down

- Getting all red skittles when there isn’t a promotion happening - Watching my clone catch the perfect wave, knowing that I would have shredded it exactly as he did. - Having a paperweight that is a balloon. - Eating a sandwich in the park and seeing a swan that looks like me - Vacuum cleaners making me eat the dust-bag when they get full. - Putting the bread on the inside of my sandwich. - Going snorkeling and seeing two fish reproduce. - Two exhibitionist fish following me up on the beach to my towel and continuing to reproduce. - Running over the only cat that knows sign language. - Falling in love with a handsome spy, being killed in odd ways. - Trying to catch the door when it’s closing but is not quite there yet. Missing so violently that I slam right through the glass. BWM

Janitor

Breathlessly, he approaches a locker. He has stood by unhelpfully for many years as students were stuffed into these puppies. It makes him wonder. The locker is slightly ajar, coaxing his fantasies out of their dark recesses (the weird lump on his neck). Ever so delicately, he extends his left foot into the locker. His confidence increases. He places his right hand in the locker. Then his head. His elbows. His torso. Ankle. Pelvis. He slams the door shut and is immersed in darkness. He closes his eyes. As his bare arms brush against the cold metal, a shiver of euphoria courses through his body.

After a few seconds it becomes more of a seizure, and he bangs his head pretty hard on the coat hook. He’s ok. Suddenly, he hears voices outside. How long has he been in there? Apparently all of summer vacation. A moment too late, he realizes that he forgot to put up the “Caution: Wet Floor” sign. He listens helplessly as, one by one, every student in the school slips and falls into a gigantic pile. Surely he will be fired, if not for this then definitely for throwing out a perfectly good mop. HJH

The Harvard Lampoon

Ecoterrorist 6:00 a.m. in the morning, I’m in the bathroom, water running. Running a little much, I know. I’m just about to turn it off when suddenly the door bursts open. “Damn draft!” I think, but as I run to close the bathroom window, I get abducted. I’m led to a coffin shaped tank of water and then to a kiddie pool. “You’ve really done it this time, buddy,” whispers my kidnapper. I immediately recognize my best bud, Fred, and then close my eyes again. When I finish blinking, I open my eyes. Fred prods me forward. “It was only running for a minute,” I whisper, repenting and lying. I can’t tell whether he heard me- Fred’s already in the kiddie pool and wading quick. He turns around to yelp if I knew my water wasting could have filled this pool? He seems genuinely concerned. Fred is wading in only bits of water and scraping himself hard on the pool sides. “Fred,” I say, in consolation. I pull every bandaid I have off me, and I put the bandaids on Fred’s bloody scrapes. Fred cries for a little. Sees the water levels haven’t changed. Climbs into my waiting arms. “If you’d stuck around inside my bathroom,” I say, “we could have filled this pool a million times over.” Probably during the time I had the water running, I reflect but then don’t say “probably during the time I had the water running” out loud. LDL

Red LighT, Light I pulled out of the parking lot, narrowly scraping the side mirror of an ambulance and killing the patient inside. I put on my hazards and tried to take a breather when Donny pointed out I was stopped in a handicap spot. I slunk down in my seat so this wheelchair girl who was passing right then wouldn’t see, and then I drove around town all slunked down like that so it looked like I was a baby, so it looked like an infant child a baby was driving. Donny thought that was pretty good, and I said I wouldn’t stop until his seat was wet, if he knew what I meant, and then he pissed himself from vesicoureteral reflux, his condition, and not from laughing. HLD

Burger Challenge Here it comes. 2 buns, 6 pounds of beef, a whole bottle’s worth of barbecue sauce and no vegetables. They say third time’s the charm, which means one more stroke and I’m dead. But if my last 16 attempts to complete the Lard Barn Burgernator Challenge didn’t kill me, why should this one? The paramedic Lard Barn hired after my second stroke explains that’s not how it works. “You can only be revived from so many clinical deaths,” he pleads. It’s a pretty reasonable point. Unfortunately for him, the brain damage from the first stroke destroyed my ability to reason. The 10-minute countdown begins. I take my first bite. My body feels like it’s on fire, but that’s just my normal reaction to Lard Barn’s signature “Fire Sauce”. I take my second bite. I think my brain just exploded, which is my normal reaction to having a stroke. I try to stay positive. Every bite is one step closer to a place on the Burgernator Wall of Fame. Not that I’m not doing it for the fame. At this point, my motivation is way more psychologically complex.

After 2 minutes, my speech starts to slur, making it increasingly difficult to slam my fist down and yell “Who’s the man?” after each bite. By the halfway mark, the entire right side of my body has become numb, which really takes the edge off the brain explosions. With only 3 minutes left, half the burger unfinished and the world fading into darkness, I finally decide to throw in the towel I use as a napkin, thinking that if I’m going to die, I might as well do it in style, with my face covered in various kinds of juices. Eventually, the manager hits the Lard Gong to signal time’s up. The paramedic comes over to my table. He checks for a pulse. “Time of death: 7:39pm,” he declares, which is a fun bit Lard Barn does whenever someone fails the Burgernator challenge. Then he checks my pulse for real. “Time of death: 7:40pm.” As my spirit leaves my body, I realize that true happiness isn’t getting your photo on some wall because you ate a very large burger in a short amount of time. No. True happiness is receiving a free t-shirt because you were able to eat two of them. NSG

Grass is Greener #

Breathing

— Hey (gasp) guys (gasp) how (gasp) are (gasp) you (gasp) doing? — Why are you talking and breathing all weird? — I (gasp) have (gasp) a (gasp) medical (gasp) condition (gasp) where (gasp) I (gasp) have (gasp) to (gasp) consciously (gasp) remember (gasp) to (gasp) breathe (gasp) or (gasp) else (gasp) I’ll (gasp) die. — Bet you can’t even recite “From Clee to Heaven the Beacon Burns” by A. E. Housman. — (incensed) Oh (gasp) yeah?! From (gasp) Clee (gasp) to (gasp) heaven (gasp) the (gasp) beacon (gasp) burns, (gasp) the (gasp) shires (gasp) have (gasp) seen (gasp) it (gasp) plain, (gasp) from (gasp) north (gasp) and (gasp) south (gasp) the (gasp) sign (gasp) returns (gasp) and (gasp) beacons (gasp) burn (gasp) again (gasp) look left (gasp) look (gasp) right, (gasp) the (gasp) hills (gasp) are (gasp) bright, (gasp) the (gasp) dales (gasp) are (gasp) light (gasp) between, (gasp) because (gasp) ‘tis (gasp) fifty (gasp) years (gasp) to-night (gasp) that (gasp)God (gasp) has (gasp) saved (gasp) the (gasp) Queen, (gasp) now, (gasp) when (gasp) the (gasp) flame (gasp) they (gasp) watch (gasp) not (gasp) towers, (gasp) about (gasp) the (gasp) soil (gasp) they (gasp) trod (gasp), Lads, (gasp) we’ll (gasp) remember (gasp) friends (gasp) of (gasp) ours, (gasp) who (gasp) shared (gasp) the (gasp) work (gasp) with (gasp) God, (gasp) to (gasp) skies (gasp) that (gasp) knit (gasp) their (gasp) heartstrings (gasp) right (gasp), (gasp) to (gasp) fields (gasp) that (gasp) bred (gasp) them (gasp) brave, (gasp) the (gasp) saviours (gasp) come (gasp) not (gasp) home (gasp) to-night (gasp): Themselves (gasp) they (gasp) could (gasp) not (gasp) save, (gasp) it (gasp) dawns (gasp) in (gasp) Asia, (gasp) tombstones (gasp) show, (gasp) and (gasp) Shropsheer (gasp) names (gasp) are (gasp) read; (gasp) and (gasp) the (gasp) Nile (gasp) spills (gasp) his (gasp) overflow, (gasp) beside (gasp) the (gasp) Severn’s (gasp) dead, (gasp) we (gasp) pledge (gasp) in (gasp) peace (gasp) by (gasp) farm (gasp) and (gasp) town, (gasp) the (gasp) Queen (gasp) they (gasp) served (gasp) in (gasp) war, (gasp) and (gasp) fire (gasp) the (gasp) beacons (gasp) up (gasp) and (gasp) down, (gasp) the (gasp) land (gasp) they (gasp) perished (gasp) for, (gasp) “God (gasp) save (gasp) the (gasp) Queen” (gasp) we (gasp) living (gasp) sing, (gasp) from (gasp) height (gasp) to (gasp) height (gasp) ‘tis (gasp) heard; (gasp) and (gasp) with (gasp) the (gasp) rest (gasp) your (gasp) voices (gasp) ring, (gasp) Lads (gasp) of (gasp) the (gasp) Fifty-third, (gasp) oh, (gasp) God (gasp) will (gasp) save (gasp) her, (gasp) fear (gasp) you (gasp) not: (gasp) be (gasp) you (gasp) the (gasp) men (gasp) you’ve (gasp) been, (gasp) get (gasp) you (gasp) the (gasp) sons (gasp) your (gasp) fathers (gasp) got, (gasp) and (gasp) God (gasp) will (gasp) save (gasp) the (gasp) Queen.” — I think you said “Shropsheer” instead of “Shropshire.” — Oh (gasp) you’re (gasp) right (gasp). I’ll (gasp) do (gasp) it (gasp) again (gasp). “From (gasp) Clee (gasp) to (gasp) heaven (gasp) the (gasp) beacon (gasp) burns, (gasp) the (gasp) shires (gasp) have (gasp) seen (gasp) it (gasp) plain, (gasp) from (gasp) north (gasp) and (gasp) south (gasp) the (gasp) sign (gasp) returns (gasp) and (gasp) beacons (gasp) burn (gasp) again (gasp) look left (gasp) look (gasp) right, (gasp) the (gasp) hills (gasp) are (gasp) bright, (gasp) the (gasp) dales (gasp) are (gasp) light (gasp) between, (gasp) because (gasp) ‘tis (gasp) fifty (gasp) years (gasp) to-night (gasp) that (gasp)God (gasp) has (gasp) saved (gasp) the (gasp) Queen, (gasp) now, (gasp) when (gasp) the (gasp) flame (gasp) they (gasp) watch (gasp) not (gasp) towers, (gasp) about (gasp) the (gasp) soil (gasp) they (gasp) trod (gasp), Lads, (gasp) we’ll (gasp) remember (gasp) friends (gasp) of (gasp) ours, (gasp) who (gasp) shared (gasp) the (gasp) work (gasp) with (gasp) God, (gasp) to (gasp) skies (gasp) that (gasp) knit (gasp) their (gasp) heartstrings (gasp) right (gasp), (gasp) to (gasp) fields (gasp) that (gasp) bred (gasp) them (gasp) brave, (gasp) the (gasp) saviours (gasp) come (gasp) not (gasp) home (gasp) to-night (gasp): Themselves (gasp) they (gasp) could (gasp) not (gasp) save, (gasp) it (gasp) dawns (gasp) in (gasp) Asia, (gasp) tombstones (gasp) show, (gasp) and (gasp) Shropshire (gasp) names (gasp) are (gasp) read; (gasp) and (gasp) the (gasp) Nile (gasp) spills (gasp) his (gasp) overflow, (gasp) beside (gasp) the (gasp) Severn’s (gasp) dead, (gasp) we (gasp) pledge (gasp) in (gasp) peace (gasp) by (gasp) farm (gasp) and (gasp) town, (gasp) the (gasp) Queen (gasp) they (gasp) served (gasp) in (gasp) war, (gasp) and (gasp) fire (gasp) the (gasp) beacons (gasp) up (gasp) and (gasp) down, (gasp) the (gasp) land (gasp) they (gasp) perished (gasp) for, (gasp) “God (gasp) save (gasp) the (gasp) Queen” (gasp) we (gasp) living (gasp) sing, (gasp) from (gasp) height (gasp) to (gasp) height (gasp) ‘tis (gasp) heard; (gasp) and (gasp) with (gasp) the (gasp) rest (gasp) your (gasp) voices (gasp) ring, (gasp) Lads (gasp) of (gasp) the (gasp) Fifty-third, (gasp) oh, (gasp) God (gasp) will (gasp) save (gasp) her, (gasp) fear (gasp) you (gasp) not: (gasp) be (gasp) you (gasp) the (gasp) men (gasp) you’ve (gasp) been, (gasp) get (gasp) you (gasp) the (gasp) sons (gasp) your (gasp) fathers (gasp) got, (gasp) and (gasp) God (gasp) will (gasp) save (gasp) the (gasp) Queen.” AJ

Etymology of Music Genres Hip Hop Bronx youth would gather at block parties after watching their favorite cartoon, The Bugs Bunny Show. Inspired by the carefree nature of Bugs, the rhythmic youth sought to make hip beats that Bugs could hop to. Blues Popularized by American singers down on their luck that loved The Smurfs. They sought to portray a world in which everything, like the adorable Smurf creatures, was blue. Rock Inspired by The Flintstones, several young artists sought to make guitar-based music that matched the energy of Fred Flintstone and the fictional town of Bedrock. Rock and Roll Artists took the aforementioned elements of rock and increased the influence of the rolling of Fred Flintstone’s car. Jazz Early 20th century black American artists created the genre characterized by improvisation, syncopation, and forceful rhythm. They often played in the nightclub owned by Myles Jazzenoff. Jazenoff’s son would go on to be a writer for Scooby-Doo. ANA

My Thoughts When Listening to Eiffel 65’s “Blue (Da Ba De)” Yo listen up here’s a story About a little guy that lives in a blue world I like where this is going. And all day and all night and everything he sees Is just blue like him inside and outside I could imagine this presents a lot of obstacles to living a normal life. Blue his house with a blue little window Haha, he gave his house a blowjob.

Athough on all official documents Hell has 9 layers, there is actually a 10th layer to Hell for all the people who die in kitchens. This layer is known as Tugboat City and pretty much just has these guys who like say “tugboat city” at you; however, completely separate from that is this other thing called Kitchen Hell. Kitchen Hell is an eternal punishment reserved only for chefs who were evil to the world, as well as for those who didn’t use exclusively kosher ingredients. Think of the worst kitchen you’ve ever been in, and that’s probably not a very good approximation of Kitchen Hell because there’s very little chance you’ve been in a kitchen with the kind of pots that anthropomorphize and dump their scalding hot contents onto you. Once cooking was invented, Kitchen Hell started filling up with all kinds of wacky characters and disappointed regular people. One chef earned himself a spot here for cooking and eating both of the guys he lived with. He still lives in Kitchen Hell today. He is everyone’s roommate.

And a blue corvette Ok, that’s pretty tight. And everything is blue for him and himself And everybody around ‘Cause he ain’t got nobody to listen to I feel so lonely sometimes... I’m blue da ba dee da ba die… Holy shit, what am I doing? I’ve slowly turned away from friends and family in pursuit of material things and the external validation of promotions to jobs I hate. I’m too afraid to face the fact that I don’t matter in this world and my impact will ultimately be negative - if anything. Fuck, I don’t even think I’ve ever fully addressed my feelings about Jennifer’s death. I too am blue (da ba dee da ba die)... ANA

Kitchen Hell

You might be wondering if there’s a Kitchen Heaven. There isn’t. But if a chef in Kitchen Hell cooks an absolutely perfect meal, then they get sent to an even worse part of Kitchen Hell for trying to be better than everybody. There is only one known way out of Kitchen Hell. If you kill yourself in Kitchen Hell, you come back in Tugboat City. Still, that’s tough, because in Kitchen Hell your skin is made of pans. But if you do succeed, then you’ve got yourself a one-way ticket to Tugboat City, Population: “Tugboat City”. JGS

Grass is Greener #

The Harvard Lampoon

Ma Lampy hits the blunt and hallucinates: Scott William Roberts ’19 of San Diego, California and Adams House, Ibis; Hillman James Hollister ’19 of Marblehead, Massachusetts and Kirkland House, Sanctum; Lydia Denisovna Lavrova ’19-20 of Ames, Iowa and Mather House, Hautbois; Theodore Ninh ’19 of Essex Junction, Vermont and Mather House, Blackbot; Thomas Donovan Keene ’18 of Sarasota, Florida and Leverett House, Adbut; David Fhilip Prankle ’18 of Gos Latos, California and Eliot House, Prankle She then passes it (on the left) to 10 new friends: Henry Farley Johnson ‘18 of Sycamore, Illinois and Lowell House; Sophia Hahn Kiam ‘18 of New York, NY and Mather House; Benjamin Cohen ‘19 of Buenos Aires, Argentina and Adams House; Pascale Elizabeth de Sa e Silva ‘19 of Bellevue, WA and Adams House; Kalia Deborah Firester ‘19 of New York, NY and Quincy House; David Koppel Wexner of Columbus, Ohio and Cabot House; Nicole Angela Araya ‘20 of Pasadena, CA and Cabot House; Brendan Julius Falk ‘20 of Sydney, Australia and Quincy House; Jack Gabriel Stovitz ‘20 of Los Angeles, CA and Currier House; Sabrina Wu ‘20 of Ann Arbor, MI and Dunster House

Grass is Greener #

CHS thanks AEV, AJ, MVS, SWR, GAJA, , his comp directors, all of his friends and parents, Lauren, Duke, and the Harvard Lampoon. AEV thanks CHS, SWR, ARC, CKJ, GAJA, AJ, TN, DPF, and the art board. Uncredited Art: Goldilocks Comix, Smokin’ Crayons: PEDSES Clowns, Haircut: SW Pepes: JTD ‘16 Cover/Layout/Everything Else: AEV

John H. ONeil gibson Sotheby's Selling homes near Harvard for over 20 years Harvard Lampoon 617-308-5638 - The john.oneil@sothebysrealty.com

Up Next: Dead of Night # Break of Day #

Grass is Greener #

The Harvard Lampoon

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The Harvard Lampoon

Grass is Greener #

The Harvard Lampoon