University of Chicago Humor Magazine: Issue 6 by The University of Chicago Humor Magazine

The University of Chicago

HUMOR MAGAZINE Issue #6 Spring 2014

If there ever was a time for massive amounts of cocaine, George Washington thought grimly, this would be it.

The University of Chicago Humor Magazine meets to discuss & write literary humor on Thursdays at 8 PM somewhere in Harper. All are welcome! To find out more, subscribe to our listhost, humormag@lists.uchicago.edu. You can also follow us on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter. And for exclusive e-content, check out our website, uchumormag.com!

The University of Chicago Humor Magazine, Spring 2014

The University of Chicago Humor Magazine Issue #6 Table of Contents Spring 2014 University of Chicago Humor Magazine, The

Why the Domestic Product is Gross

Trainsongs: Songs by Train Performed by Trey Songz

Precious Moments

Fun Facts

More Magical Products from the Makers of Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavor Beans

Kirby the Pirate, Landlocked and Pissed-Off

Life in Corporate America

Turn Up (the Volume)

Sam-I-Am: The Story of One Man’s Identity Crisis

A Metalhead’s Brother’s Guide to Subgenres of Metal

Carole’s Lament

Condense your thoughts! Condense your soup! Condense your life! C! C! C!

Cooking in the Wilderness with Ronette

The 50 Best Ways to Dally While out on a Promenade

Welcome to the Aquarium

Selections from “Dicktators”

Horse

The Descent

Going for the Gold: a Paean to Peein’

How to Make Your Orgasm Sound More Like A Firetruck or Ambulance

20% More

The University of Chicago Humor Magazine, Spring 2014

Precious Moments

rs. McLaughlin went up to the board and coughed up a small ball of phlegm, spitting it onto the floor and rubbing it discreetly into the carpet with the heel of her lime green Croc. The class sat silent, trying their hardest not to incur her manychinned wrath once again. On the bulletin board, last week’s construction paper turkeys sat silent as well, their googly-eyed gaze downturned and regretful. Those googly eyes had never been shaken. No names had even been written on their rightmost tail feathers, a blatant breach of elementary school custom. The turkeys were a sham. Mrs. McLaughlin had made them all herself so the parents would have something pretty to look at once report card pickup rolled around. She kept a Folger’s tin full of rulers displayed prominently on her desk. There were wooden rulers, metal rulers, neon-colored plastic rulers with Hello Kitty and Spiderman on them. They had both inches and centimeters, but they had never been used to measure anything more than how much pain a child could endure. Mrs. McLaughlin was an old-fashioned woman and she had specifically decided to get her teaching license in Arizona because of their old-fashioned approach to corporal punishment. The Man wasn’t going to tell her how to run her court of hell. The children were obedient now. Very obedient. Intolerably obedient. Mrs. McLaughlin looked at the rulers as a professional golfer would look at her irons. A midweight aspen Wescott would do the job nicely. But first, she needed to extract some in4

Alex Filipowicz

tel.

“Look alive, you little bastards!” she shouted with a Nixonian flourish of her jowls. “It’s time to read your compositions to the rest of the class! Who’s got the balls to go first?” The children remained silent. The clock ticked. An ice cream truck could be heard through the open window. The smell of chocolate carried on the desert wind. A Schnauzer barked off in the distance. “Timmy, your parents just got divorced. Now that you live in a broken home, care to tell everybody what you’re thankful for this Thanksgiving?”

Timmy stared at the wide-ruled sheet of paper on his desk. He had written the heading mechanically, no longer able to connect his name, grade or school to any real identity. Beyond that, the page lay blank. “I wasn’t able to finish,” he muttered. A grin spread across Mrs. McLaughlin’s face. She had been waiting for this setup all morning. “Just like your mom and the poolboy weren’t able to finish before your dad showed up?” Something inside Timmy snapped. Memories flashed of his father taking the violated foam pool noodles out back and setting them

The University of Chicago Humor Magazine, Spring 2014

on fire, sobbing as he watched the flames burn his failed marriage to ashes. Mrs. McLaughlin knew no bounds to her mockery. Timmy lurched out of his chair, weaved around the row of desks and barreled towards the front of the room with the speed of a heatseeking missile and the finesse of an aardwolf. Mrs. McLaughlin’s bulbous eyes grew wide, considering for the first time the very real possibility of a third-grade insurrection. In the back of her mind, she also considered getting a warm bucket of coleslaw after work and spending a nice evening at home making derogatory comments over Xbox Live. The class let out a collective gasp as Timmy wrapped his arms around Mrs. McLaughlin’s bristly legs and tackled her to the ground. Not a moment passed before he was back on his feet, grabbing the Folger’s tin off her desk. “Arm yourselves, comrades,” he yelled, tossing the rulers to his classmates. “Don’t you even dare!” She was no longer thinking about the coleslaw. “Don’t you even dare! If you try anything, I will personally see to it that all of your favorite toys will be taken away by Mexican drug cartels.” The children were not intimidated. Half of them had already lost their toys to the cartels. “I realize now that we must stand up to injustice in all of its forms,” said Jessica, twirling her pigtails articulately. Timmy slid a chair under the doorknob and the rest of the class gathered around the fallen behemoth, rulers in hand.

“My parents work in a crowbar factory,” a squirmy boy in a SpongeBob shirt offered. “I think my mom packed one in my lunchbox today. She says she never knows when I’ll need one.” Mrs. McLaughlin started crawling away. “We’re all upset but that might be taking things a little far, Boris,” Jessica admitted. “Only use rulers,” Timmy declared. “Let the punishment fit the crime.” The children began to strike Mrs. McLaughlin. She scrambled towards the window like a ground-dwelling piñata, grunting out the occasional obscenity between thwacks. Despite their best efforts to keep her contained in the room, Mrs. McLaughlin’s three-hundred-pound form pushed through the students’ western flank and squeezed through a conveniently-sized bay window, landing on an even more conveniently-placed pole-vaulting mat that had been left there by Mr. Du-

rango, the physical education teacher, after he decided to go for a smoke halfway through setting up gymnastics practice. The classroom was on the first floor, so the children had no difficulty following her into the desert outside. A flock of dark, bald-headed birds watched the obese woman clamber through the hedges with mild curiosity. “Turkeys!” Sarah squealed excitedly. “Those are vultures, you idiot!” Matt countered. He had had a crush on Sarah since first grade. “You’re both kind of right,” Julio said. “They’re actually turkey vultures.” Julio’s aunt was an ornithologist, which gave him some clout in the matter. Timmy ran faster than the others and the rest of the class eventually slowed to a halt, realizing that this was his battle to fight. Timmy caught up with Mrs. McLaughlin and rained down blows

Fun Facts Did you know that if you laid out all the blood vessels in your body endto-end, they could wrap around the earth two and a half times? -Fun Fact

ack over by the school, Matt blew a raspberry and the other kids laughed.

Ben Constantino

your arm and put it next to a party sandwich, they would be about the same length? Did you know that if you put your lungs, liver, and pancreas on top of each other, they would be id you know that if you un- about as tall as a cat? spooled your small intestine, it Did you know that if you put all would reach from here to the nearest your muscles into a big pile, they ocean? would look like one giant meatball? Did you know that over your lifetime your respiratory system goes Did you know that if you used all through enough air to fill a Whoop- your blood, you could literally paint ee Cushion the size of Asia? a town red? Did you know that there is Did you know that if you used enough marrow in your leg bones to just the white blood cells, you could paint your bathroom? stuff a Beanie Baby? Did you know that if you had two Did you know that if you took off hearts, you would live forever and be

with his aspen Wescott ruler, practicing his multiplication tables out loud. When he got to 3x9, he stopped and snapped the ruler in half, throwing it to the ground in disgust. He turned around and started to walk away. The turkey vultures left their perches and flew into the sky. Mrs. McLaughlin was sobbing now. “Please don’t leave me to the vultures!” “To answer your essay question, I could have said that this Thanksgiving, I’m thankful I’m a more merciful person than you. But now, I’m not so sure. I’m starting to think the cruelty of the desert rages inside both of us. The scorching hot days, the freezing cold nights. The fight to survive before all else. The instinctive need to pick on the weak when they are the most vulnerable. When it comes down to it, are we really anything better than the vultures?”

able to run as fast as a cheetah? Did you know that you could fit your eyeball into the hole of a bubble wand? Did you know that you could stack an Oreo into your spinal column? Did you know that your pelvis is a Frisbee? Did you know that your hand bones are just a bunch of little ribs? Did you know that lymph nodes are made of Laffy Taffy? Did you know that you could use your trachea as a hot dog bun? Those are some fun facts!

The University of Chicago Humor Magazine, Spring 2014

More Magical Products from the Makers of Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavor Beans

ertie Bott’s Every-Destination Premium Travel Package We’ll whisk you away to such romantic locales as Paris, Rome, London, Idaho, and the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. Lose yourself in the sight, sounds, and smells of every sewage treatment facility and strip mine in the world. And see a lot of empty ocean. It’ll mostly be empty ocean, honestly. Bertie Bott’s Every-Odor Axe™ Body Spray Turn a good girl bad with this sexy scent. Or turn a bad girl good. Or turn a girl into a horse. Magic! Bertie Bott’s Every-Size Tampon Variety Pack You’re a busy witch who doesn’t have time to let her period say Petrificus Totalus. That’s why you choose Bertie Bott’s Every-Size Tampons— they’re magically coated to expand

and contract randomly, occasionally I Don’t Know, Like, a Lollipop That providing maximum comfort and Has Broken Glass in it or Something. security. Designed by men! Who Fucking Cares? What, do you think we respect Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavor Milk you? We can literally sell you people Milk that usually tastes bad. Our shit-flavored jelly beans. And you number one seller! know what? You’ll eat them. You’ll eat them and you’ll fucking like it. Bertie Bott’s Every-Episode Simpsons Season Six DVD Bertie Bott’s Every-Product Extreme Relive all your favorite moments Valu-Pak with Springfield’s first family, as well The ultimate deal for any Bertie as every other moment ever captured Bott’s Super-Fan! Contains all the on film, with this handsome DVD above products and so much more– box set. Enjoy classics like “Tree- including Bertie Bott’s Every-Target house of Horror V,” the Zapruder Midrange Missile Defense System, film, the episode of Full House where Bertie Bott’s Every-Texture Komthey meet the Beach Boys, and “Bart bucha, Bertie Bott’s Every-Ailment vs. Australia”. Plus, discover never- Unmarked Bottle of Pills, and Berbefore-seen treasures—home mov- tie Bott’s Every-Flavor Beans For ies, people taking video when they Her. And, psst, if you eat the whole meant to take a photo, Dan in Real thing in thirty minutes or less, you Life, and over 800 hours of static. get a free t-shirt and a spot on our Bertie Bott’s Every-Customer Wall of Shame! Order now!!!

Kirby the Pirate, Landlocked and Pissed Off

oardwalks of the Jersey Shore are paths paved with memories of magical summer memories. Many a Fourth of July, first kiss, and joyous childhood have seen the well-worn planks of this seasonal holy ground. Backdropped against the serenity of the ocean blue, little Billy Willkins is about to discover one of his most treasured childhood memories when he meets one of the many costumed pirates that ignite the imaginations of children. “Ahoy, Mr. Pirate! Arrrg! Would you like to join me crew in search of buried treasure?”

Amelia Soth

Mark Hassenfratz

“Fuck off, kid.” Wait, what the fuck was that? Look at him, he’s crying his eyes out. “Hey narrator? Bite me. Oh, I bet you thought I’d open with, “Arrrr” or “Ahoy, mateys,” but I didn’t. Why? Because that’s a stereotype that makes sweeping generalizations about pirates. It’s fucking offensive. And while I do have a hook for a hand, it’s due to a childhood accident, not a shark bite. And this eye patch is only temporary for my pink eye. Asshole.” What kind of person is so terribly mean to a little kid?

The University of Chicago Humor Magazine, Spring 2014

“Yeah, mister,” said Billy between sobs. “Why do you gotta be so mean?” “My name’s Kirby, and I’m landlocked and pissed off.” “Oh, I know Kirby! He’s the brave little puffball from Ninten-“ “Jesus Christ, you too? Anytime I tell someone my name, they think I’m named after that pink fucker. Well, guess what? It was my father’s name. And his father before him, and his father before him. Not the father before him, though. I think his name was Eduardo. It may not be as scary as ‘Blackbeard,’ but it’s mine

goddammit!” Billy began to cry, despite the narrator’s efforts to console the child. Billy, perhaps Kirby may be able to tell us why he is so angered. “Yeah, Kirby. Use your words.” “Leave me alone kid. Get lost or I’ll shove my foot up your ass.” Your real foot or your peg leg? “See? This is the kind of stereotyping I was talking about! Yes, I have what some people call a ‘peg leg,’ but the politically correct term is ‘wood-derived balance and mobility assistance device.’ ” Well, maybe instead of being such a grump to Billy you could explain why you’re so mad. “My aquatic transport ran into an incident which rendered it permanently in repairs.” Really. Because that sounds like a lot of euphemisms for you’re shipwrecked here. Did you not hear my intro about how serene the ocean is here? You must be a really shitty captain. “Did you not hear my intro tell-

ing you to bite me?” anything to get it!” “That’s really too bad about your “I don’t think you’re terrifying,” pretty boat, Kirby. But at least you said Billy. “I think you’re cool. You’ve landed somewhere fun, right?” travelled all over this great big world Billy’s right. It’s a place of wonder of ours. I bet you have some stories and magic. about your adventures, I’d really like “It’s a place of overpriced pop- to hear them.” corn and whiny shits like this kid. I “Really?” asked Kirby. been eating corndogs for three days and lost “Convince me,” he said. But Briall my money trying to an had already conned Vince and win the knock down the milk bottle game. didn't feel up to doing it again. This is total bullshit.” “Golly, yes,” replied Billy. For fuck’s sake, he’s crying again! “Sure, I can tell you all about the Do you just get off on crushing kids’ open seas…” dreams? And it was then that Kirby real“A little bit, yeah.” “Why are you so mean, Kirby?” ized that the real reason he was land“I’m a fucking pirate! We’ve been locked and pissed off was not that he transitioning into the modern era was a crappy ship captain, or that and the pitfalls that entails with of- people were not politically correct fensive assumptions about the pirat- in the terms they used to describe ing lifestyle that you and Billy have pirates. The real reason was that he done nothing but perpetuate and ap- was crippled by loneliness, and that propriate this whole time, but we’re Billy’s companionship was all he— still the terror of the seas! We roam goddammit, Kirby! Don’t throw him the seas in search of treasure and do off the pier!

Life in Corporate America

“

Joy Ndukwu

Why did the chicken cross the chicken that we’ve been raising for 3 line?!? Well, I don’t know Julie, years?” why did you let him out?!?” “I was tired! Alright? I blinked! “Me??? Why did I let the CHICK- Yeesh, give me a break with the posEN OUT??? Well, I just—I never— sessives, okay? ‘Our chicken. You humph. Why don’t you just pin it on lost our chicken.’ It’s not like it was me a little louder, huh? Just let the your workshop at the retreat! I was whole office know, how ‘bout that?” the one who got assigned to the egg. I was the one who approached you The two young women circled each at lunch. And, as I recall, you almost other, breaking eye contact only backed out, said that it was too much to glance down at the small circle commitment and that you were just where the chicken is supposed to be. trying to find your way. Said you weren’t sure if you knew how to be “I cannot believe you let the chicken a part of a team. But I believed in go. I mean, this is just so typical of you and I gave you a chance that you you. I go to the bathroom for five weren’t even willing to give yourminutes and you manage to lose the self. I built this partnership from the

ground—” “Oh, don’t you even dare start on this—” “I did build this partnership, Jan, and you know it! I provided you with emotional support all these years. I’m tired now, Jan. Can you see that? I’m emotionally drained. And do you know who did that to me?” “No, I don’t know who did this to you, Julie, but I can take a guess.” “You did, Jan, you did this to me. But you know what, I’m willing to put this aside because right now, there is a chicken loose in this building, and whether you accept responsibility or

The University of Chicago Humor Magazine, Spring 2014

not, it’s got to be found.” Jan nodded solemnly, her eyes glazing as fond memories swept across her mind. All the memories with Julie, the chicken, her mother pushing her on the swings. Everything was coming back and Julie could tell. Julie had seen this look before; it always came before the flood. But Jan couldn’t afford to drown right now. What they needed was an ark. What they needed was the chicken. The chicken provided more than employee camaraderie, it provided the glue that congealed Jan and Julie’s bond. When the chicken crossed the line into the corporate jungle of cubicles and the distant sounds of a copy machine, it forced Jan and Julie to acknowledge the holes in their re-

lationship.

“Next time, let’s get a parakeet.” Still in position, the women locked eyes again and this time, they smiled. The two hugged across the circle, chuckling at Julie’s bad sense of hu“Oh Julie, what are we doing?” mor. Classic Julie. As they crossed a “Well, you’re yelling at me and I’m line through their bad blood, a shadjust trying to keep a clear head on ow appeared, hovering above one of the cubicles. The chicken had been my shoulders.” present the entire time. She knew “I’m sorry for yelling.” what she had to do, and she did it with grace and poise, as always. “I’m sorry, too. I can’t believe we let Bringing colleagues together is her our friendship become so dependent specialty, and she does her job well. on a chicken.” The chicken clucks one last time before leaving for good, but the women “Yeah.” don’t hear her. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. She disappears in subtle “Jan?” flash of neon green, much akin to “Yeah?” the laser of a copy machine.

Turn Up (the Volume) W

hen I stepped into Ye Olde Foghorn, it was early in the evening. The place was buzzing with the happy hum of people who were, themselves, buzzed. One particularly red-faced man was having a jolly good time, it seemed: every so often he would let out a thunderous laugh—“HO, HO, HO!”—and his belly would shake, a little like a bowl full of jelly. It was just that kind of joint. A live band on the small stage off to the side struck up an exploratory chord. Feedback squealed throughout the room, and the hum of conversation swelled a little to be heard over it. And I was just standing there, wineglass in hand, enjoying the insistent tootling of the tuba octet, when a man barged through the door in a clearly agitated state. He gripped me unceremoniously by the shoulder. “Listen, we’ve got to get everyone out of here,” he said. 8

Katie Leu

“What? Why?” I asked. “Spread the word! We’ve got no time to lose!” he yelled in response, then disappeared into the crowd. I tried to process what the man had said, but it was too loud in the bar to think. A low persistent hum began in my ears. I took another swig of wine instead. “What was that all about? Do we need to evacuate?” asked the woman next to me. “Possibly, but I’m not sure why.” “It sounded pretty urgent. I think we should start spreading the word, just in case.” “Yeah, maybe we should tell people, but what if it’s a false alarm? Isn’t that kind of like yelling ‘Fire’ in a crowded theater?” “Holy shit, maybe there’s a fire! I’ll go call the fire department.” She disappeared into the crowd as had the man before her. By now Ye Olde Foghorn was in full swing. The room was packed

The University of Chicago Humor Magazine, Spring 2014

with people laughing, greeting their friends, and dancing uncontrollably. Over by the bar some sports team was playing on the TV and a rapt audience encircled the screen, sending up raucous roars of delight and disappointment at alternating intervals. The big red-faced man had gotten so tipsy that he spontaneously burst into song (something incoherent about partridges and pear trees) and was ordering round after round of peppermint schnapps for everyone in the bar. “And to all a good night!” he roared, before toppling over from sheer intoxication. The low humming noise in my ears intensified, and now there was a bit of a high-pitched whine to it as well. I wondered if I was starting to go deaf from all this racket. But before I could get too concerned about this, something clipped me hard on the shoulder. It was the agitated man again, who seemed intent on doing injury to my clavicle. He said

something to me that was indistinct but clearly irate. “What’d you say?” I asked. I was having a hard time hearing anything—maybe I really was going deaf. Or maybe it was because the wail of a fire engine siren was approaching, rising above the high-pitched ringing in my ears. I watched as firefighters broke down the door and looked around in befuddlement. After a few minutes of confused yelling, they left, but not without dragging the big red-faced man with them for some medical attention. “Hey, so why exactly do we need to evacuate? I’d kind of like to know,” I said to the agitated man. “What?” he said. Or did he say “Butt”? Like I said, it was hard to hear. I repeated my question, at three times the volume and in a higher register. I nearly hit a high C. “Because in a few minutes, a pla—” he began, but his voice was swallowed up by the blaring of the tuba octet, which had decided to start in on a rousing rendition of The Star-Spangled Banner, played entirely in unison by all eight tubas in the loudest, most patriotic dynamic they could muster. They’d also inexplicably been joined onstage by a heavy metal band. I focused intently on the man’s lips as they worked frantically, hoping to understand some of what he was saying through lipreading, but the only information I gleaned was that he was in dire need of some ChapStick. He finished his diatribe and looked at me as if to say, “Got it?” I hadn’t. So I did what any person trying to carry on a polite conversation amid extenuating circumstances would do: nod and smile. The low hum in my ears had turned into a noise quite like the dull roar of machinery, edged with the high plaintive wail of lost human souls. I shook my head—this was getting downright apocalyptic. But the agitated man seemed to hear

the noise too. And as the sound increased in intensity, he became more and more agitated. “The crane’s about to flash!” he shrieked, as the sound got louder. “What?” I bellowed. That didn’t make any sense. “The pain’s about to clash!” he howled, frothing a little. “What?!” I screamed into his ear. The clamor in the background, as if to outdo my heightened volume, increased about 50 decibels. He hollered back at me—I saw his throat clench and his face contort, spit flying from his mouth—but I had no clue what he’d said, or even if he’d heard what I said. No more distinct sounds could be heard—all was a sea of undifferentiated, deafening noise. The floor beneath us began to rumble. As everyone scrambled to grab the nearest protuberance for support, something huge and white and cone-shaped punched through the wall, sending a shower of glass shards and splintered wood raining down on the hapless tubaist who had been unrelentingly trying his darndest to pay proper tribute to the Stars

and Stripes. In a matter of seconds the 747 had mowed through the length of the bar, crushing tables, glasses, and people under its spindly sets of wheels before crunching to an ear-piercing halt. The roar of machinery gradually subsided, until the only sound left was the awful, inhuman screeching that seemed to be coming from inside the aircraft. The cabin door opened and the screeching became nearly intolerable. A haggard man clutching his ears, presumably the pilot, tumbled out and crumpled on the floor. “Rock-a-bye baby...on the treetop...” he wheezed, before passing out. Those of us who had gathered around him suddenly had the presence of mind to search for the source of the noise. Cautiously, armed with a few broken glasses and one intact handle of peppermint schnapps, we peered into the cabin of the airplane. The cabin of the 747 was filled with seats. Each and every one of those seats was filled with a baby. And each and every one of those babies had filled its diaper.

The University of Chicago Humor Magazine, Spring 2014

A Metalhead’s Brother’s Guide to Subgenres of Metal

eath Metal Instrumentally, death metal usually features a more prominent bass section than other genres of metal, as well as tending to utilize a very low vocal range. Its lyrics are largely about death and the afterlife. However, death metal’s most consistent trademark is that it is only ever played by bands consisting solely of dead corpses. Dark Metal Similar in its musical style to death metal, dark metal’s lyrical concerns tend more toward the subject of curtains, sunglasses, tinted windows, and off switches on light bulbs. Also, it is only ever played in pitch black venues. Seriously. I once took out my phone in a dark metal concert to check the time, and I was thrown out of the concert because of the light from my phone’s screen. Doom Metal The performance of doom metal in any context will inevitably rip open the thin sheath between our world and the Netherworld, leading to the imminent destruction of the human race by an army of Zombie Spider Demons from Hell. Coming this summer. Rainbow Unicorn Sunshine Metal By far the darkest and most savage of all genres of metal, rainbow unicorn sunshine metal is said to be so intense and mentally scarring, even a single verse could viciously rip your soul from its fleshy cage. Great for parties. Post-Metal The term “post-metal” can actually refer to two different genres. One of these genres is mostly concerned

Cameron Vanderwerf

with the promotion of the concept of a public postal system. This genre enjoys its greatest popularity in undeveloped countries that lack postal systems. It can also refer to the genre of metal written largely by postmodern authors like Thomas Pynchon and David Foster Wallace. This genre currently consists of zero songs.

against the World Health Organization, who claimed that such a large amount of core in one place was unhealthy, but the case of “World Health Organization v. Bloody Shamwow” ultimately fell in the band’s favor.

Progressive Metal This genre of metal heavily features the pan flute, and its main lyrical Grindcore Grindcore is characterized by growl- feature is the promotion of higher ing vocals, blast beats, and incred- taxes for the wealthy and equal maribly short songs with lyrics that are riage rights for gay couples. often focused on gore and violence, though sometimes the lyrics can be Cello Metal political. Grindcore, in contrast to I swear this is a real thing. For real. death metal, is often very chaotic, The Wikipedia article on heavy metand lacks the standard use of time al subgenres says: “Cello metal is a subgenre of heavy metal charactersignatures. ized by the use of cellos, as well as other bowed string instruments such as the violin and viola, as primary instruments.” I don’t know about you, but I think that shit’s hysterical. Heavy Metals Chromium, cobalt, nickel, copper, zinc, arsenic, selenium, silver, cadmium, antimony, mercury, thallium and lead. Dance Metal Usually played at clubs and outdoor Metalcore raves, dance metal features a strong Like grindcore but more…metal? beat and a time signature that’s smooth and easy to groove to. Dance Applecore metal’s most defining feature, howThe middle part of the apple that ever, is its eternal nonexistence. mom says not to eat, but I eat it anyway. Metallic Metal The shiniest of these subgenres. Corecore Corecore began in Britain around Rusty Metal 2010 when grindcore band “Bloody The least shiny of these subgenres. Shamwow” removed the grindy part from their songs and added more Silver Metal core. They faced a long legal battle The second best of these subgenres.

The University of Chicago Humor Magazine, Spring 2014

Carole’s Lament T

o tell you the truth, sometimes I cry knowing that Alice isn’t real. Alice McKinley, Phyllis Reynolds Naylor’s 25-book, 3-prequel fieryhaired girl-woman creation, my everything. It all started with that first book, The Agony of Alice. I’ll never forget the day I first picked that book up. You see, I had tried and failed many times before because the book was a liquid. I used to pack it into my book bag to bring to school, carefully poured into a 750ml thermos, and remove it for silent reading time, unscrewing the lid from the thermos and dumping its contents into my eager hand. “Carole’s wet herself!” they’d point and laugh. If only they knew. Soon I went to the bookstore to buy the other books in the series, hopeful that, since I was unable to grasp the contents of the first book, I might be better able to grapple with the prequels or a later, shorter book. I was even hopeful that one of the books might be a solid. No such luck, however; the bookstore proved to be stocked with only the wateriest of literature. Because I was still eager to own the books, I took the bookstore-provided funnel and water bottles and siphoned out as exactly as I could the liquid corresponding to the 27 Alice books not in my collection (plus an additional copy of The Agony of Alice, since the school carpet had been particularly absorptive the day before). $220.77, or 19.8 liters total. I trudged home with my barrel and poured out the reading material into my bookshelf and went to bed. The next day, I made an attempt to read the books I had purchased, equipping myself with a large pan and a turkey baster. I slowly extracted the first Alice prequel, Starting with Alice, and dripped it into my pan. “Could this work?” I thought,

Emma Goehler

as I began to read. Unfortunately, I had made the grave error of having taken a shower just beforehand, and I noticed that my hair was dripping into the book and then, alarmed at this observation, I dropped the pan in shock, thereby launching the contents of the book all over the floor. “A great failure,” I said to myself as I reached for the sponge in shame. Such was my existence for several months. It was only on that first cold day of winter that I thought to myself, “Hey, I bet if I get that tall man who lives next door to help me move my bookshelf outside onto the porch for a few hours, I could get all of my liquid books to freeze into a state in which I can hold them without having to cup my hands and then worry about sentences slipping through the cracks between my fingers, watching them drip onto the ground and wondering what I am missing out on until finally I go get a sponge and try to reabsorb the sentences but then they jumble with the remainder of other spilled sentences leftover from the last time I used the sponge leaving me with new paragraphs which are totally incoherent.” So I walked over to my neighbor’s house, rang the doorbell, stood shivering for a minute waiting for someone to come to the door until I was finally greeted by the tall man who lived there. “Hello,” he said. “I am the tall man who lives next door. Do you need help moving a bookshelf onto your porch for a few hours?” “Yes sir,” I told him, and we walked back over to my house together. He walked into my room and asked me where the bookshelf was

so I pointed and he went ahead and picked up the bookcase without even looking. He put one hand on the side of the bookshelf and one hand under it and tilted it toward his body, arching his back. His lifting motion was so powerful that some of the pages splashed out of the bookshelf, staining the carpet as they fell. “Wow,” he said. “I did not real-

He walked 1000 miles and then just fell down at my door. I’m pretty sure he’s dead. ize that the books on your bookshelf that I mysteriously knew you needed moved to your porch for a few hours were liquid.” “They are,” I replied. The tall man took the bookshelf outside and set it down. I sat down inside in a chair facing the window facing the porch so I could watch the books freeze. Nine hours later, convinced that the books had adopted a solid state, I went out with an icepick and chipped out the block of ice which approximated the location of The Agony of Alice. I took the block of ice out of the bookshelf into my hands, eager to begin reading. Of course, as it sat in my hands, it began to melt. I was only fifteen pages in when sentences started to drip off of my hands again. It didn’t matter, of course; I had fallen madly in love with Alice McKinley and the awkwardness which pursues her life. After going through three separate sponges, I finished the novel, and, to tell you the truth, I cried. I’ll never forget that day, but I’ll also never be able to read the book again because I can’t tell the sentences apart from my tears.

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CLASSIFIEDS HELP WANTED Seeking baby pigeon, 3”-6” tall, with an enthusiasm for 17th century naval warfare. Some programming experience preferred but not required.

EGGS DONORS NEEDED Chicken or duck preferred. Please no hard-boiled.

Are you a young, attractive, intelligent woman looking for a stable relationship? Then stop looking at classified ads! They’re the cesspool of humanity. Also, please date me.

I’m a magnet enthusiast looking for someone who isn’t a magnet enthusiast, with the hope that “opposites” really do “attract.” I will never share my interest in magnets with you because then that pun wouldn’t work as well.

Tennis Ball Seeking Owner Stuck in grass – Been a week Please come get me Field behind the tennis courts I love you Happy birthday, my schmookums! Here is the birthday ad you requested in the least read, cheapest advertising space I could find.

Young couple wanting to start family and looking for a surrogate. Preferred that said surrogate has personality that is puppy-like in nature and cat-like in charm.

THANKS

FOR

I’m a 29-year-old college dropout, Furry and occasional heroin dealer. I’m looking for someone to tie me up in a folding chair and speak to me disparagingly about my life choices, like a twentyfirst-century version of A Christmas Carol. Bring your own ghost costume.

HAPPY

I love you, Ham.

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YEARS

Cooking in the Wilderness with Ronette

pisode 4

Welcome back, folks. Tonight, I’m going to try the batch of animal crackers we made together in episode one. They’ve been baking in the sun for three afternoons, so they should be ready to eat! I hope yours turned out well! Let’s get this taste test started! It would appear, as it turns out, that the animal crackers still taste quite a bit like dirt. But, no worries, friends, we’ve just got to run a few adjustments to the recipe and we’ll be on our way. There are always second chances in the kitchen! That’s a lesson I’ve come to learn over the years. Now, I’m going to be using the materials around me as substitutes for some of the items, as I mentioned earlier, but you all are more than welcome to use whatever variation you have handy in your kitchen or wilderness spot! Let’s get started! You’re items: 1. 2. 3. meg 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

going to need the following 2 ½ cups all-purpose flour 1 tsp baking powder 1/8 tsp freshly-grated nut1/8 tsp mace 12 tbs unsalted butter 1 cup sugar 1 egg 1 tsp vanilla extract

As I said, since I’m baking these in the wilderness, I’m going to be making a few adjustments to the recipe, but I want you to feel free to use whatever you have handy near you. There are no mistakes in the kitchen, folks. As long as no one dies, there’s always a second chance. MasterChef Gusteau taught me that when I studied under him in France, and I believe that to be true today, folks. Alright, now, since I have none of these ingredients available, I’ll be

Jen Capocy

tweaking the recipe to suit my locale. knife. This process is still ongoing. I’m reiterating this story, now, simIn place of flour, baking powder, and ply to reaffirm the potential dangers sugar, I’m going to be using dirt. I of wilderness cooking and prevent have it in copious supply here in the injury to those following my steps! wilderness, and I’ll just need to dig some dirt from the top layer of soil Now, because I also do not have any to mix for this recipe. We’re current- butter or eggs, I’m going to spit into ly experiencing a drought here, so my mixture of dry ingredients. I will the soil is quite dry and flaky—per- spit enough to lightly coat the dirt fect for a grainy flour substitute. and wood chips, then use my hands to mix the ingredients. Add enough Now, because I don’t have any nut- saliva so that everything in the mixmeg or mace, I left it out of our pre- ing bowl is slightly damp—we need vious attempt at this recipe. Because the liquids to bind the ingredients we had nothing to cover the taste of together. I’ve found saliva works our starting dirt, we ended up with well—especially because, as I dehyanimal crackers that did mostly taste drate, the saliva and sweat adds a like dirt. To avoid that today, I’m much-needed saltiness. going to be adding in some wood chip flakes. I’m going to dice them into small pieces with my Swiss Army knife and then blend them into my dirt When the ingredients are approprimixture. I hope they will add a sub- ately mixed—and here, use common tle smokiness to the final crackers sense to eyeball the proper mixture: and really cover some of the natural we want the dry ingredients damp, dirt taste that was so problematic for not swimming!—we’re ready to start our last batch! putting the dough into our molds. I took the liberty of hand-whittling If you’re following my version of this some giraffe-shaped molds during recipe, I suggest getting your wood the 3 days since we last saw each chips by scraping up the trunk of a other, so I’ll be using those for this tree—please don’t climb to the top, second batch of cookies. You’re more to avoid accidents. As you all know, than welcome to use a metal variety I previously felled a tree prior to epi- if you have it available! sode one, in an effort to carve myself new mixing bowls (which are beau- Once you have dough in each contiful, I might add). Unfortunately, I tainer (I used my fingers to do the forgot to yell “Timber” and the tree scooping! Don’t be afraid to use what ended up crushing both my legs and you have available!), all you need to trapping me under its enormous do is place your tray in a high, unweight. I’m bleeding quite profusely, covered area and allow it to bake in and my axe, unfortunately, has also the sun. We’ll taste test them togethbeen misplaced. So, it seems I’m er! See you next time, folks! trapped quite indefinitely—in the 3-day wait while the crackers were pisode 5 baking, I attempted to free myself from the tree, using my Swiss Army Welcome back, folks! I just checked

With an expert’s tongue, I examined the soil.

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our animal crackers from yesterday, and, they’re still drying out and not yet ready to eat. But, because I’m quite dehydrated and am weak from blood loss, I thought I would take a break from trying to saw my way out of my entrapment and give a few snack tips while in the wilderness. As you begin to starve to death, you start to notice most items around you as possible food sources and things of nourishment. Eating handfuls of dirt, though, can really parch the throat and isn’t the best taste for a refined palette. But, it does stave off death and can be, under the right circumstances, quite filling as we wait for our food to bake.

pisode 6

The animal crackers are still not dry. I am becoming slightly impatient, as my dehydration is quite advanced. I am no longer able to produce any saliva. And my blood has thickened quite grotesquely. I am no longer bleeding, but the blood seems to have only clotted because it is too viscous to move freely throughout my body. It seems clear now that I am going to die. I only hope I will be able to taste test our animal crackers before this happens.

I’m also a big fan of wood chips. They are chewy and have an interesting, subtle flavor. I do want to urge you to really chew them! They can be a choking hazard if you’re not careful and I’m an advocate of safe wilderness eating! If you feel your snacks are too dry, especially as your dehydration and heat exhaustion increase, you can find creative ways to add liquid into the mix! I have found a colony of some sort of wood-living creatures in my tree. At I’ve come to regret my previous use first, I thought they were the Keebler of saliva. I’m now no longer really Elves, coming to bestow magic on able to produce any of that, given the our animal crackers. Then I realized drought and my dehydration, so, this that would be fucking crazy, folks, time around, coating the wood chips and was likely my exhaustion and in spit is not really an option for me. dehydration speaking. In place of my saliva, I’ve begun dipping the chips in the pools of blood I’m not sure what species of insect around my legs. In the shade under this is, but, I’ve found them to be the tree, these pools have not dried quite delicious. I recommend tryout—they have soaked into the dirt ing the local inhabitants if you are in some places and simply congealed also trapped under a tree in a similar in others. They make an interesting situation. These are purplish in colsauce dip—the flavor is slightly me- or and have a number of legs. They tallic, but, in combination with the may be causing hallucinations, but, wood chip’s smokiness, they make a that’s really pure conjecture, because fascinating snack that I highly rec- it could be blood loss and my other several problems causing these as ommend. well. In any case, I certainly recomI hope you enjoy my snack creations! mend the fauna. I’ll see you all tomorrow! 14

The University of Chicago Humor Magazine, Spring 2014

Although, I do believe they have also taken up residence within my leg, as I can feel small squirming movements within my wound. This is less than desirable, but, I am eating most of their family, so I can’t exactly fault them for the infestation. I hope all is well, folks. If I’m still alive tomorrow, we should be able to taste test our delicious treats together!

pisode 7

Welcome back, folks. The animal crackers are dry! I’m quite excited to try them, so let’s get this taste test on the road, friends! This batch is not quite as crunchy as the previous batch—they didn’t bake quite as long as the last set, so this texture difference is to be expected. I think that the salt from my sweat and saliva also contributed to this change. Now, they do still taste quite a bit like dirt. The wood chips didn’t really add flavor, but they did add to the texture. They are quite lumpy and rather chewy. I’ve begun dipping the giraffe necks into my blood sauce and the metallic taste complements the dirt and wood quite well. Sprinkling the tree bugs on top really completes the meal. I’m quite proud of our success here, tonight, folks! We certainly improved on our last batch. These don’t have the same basic, dirt taste of our first attempt. They certainly taste of dirt, still, but in a much more subtle and complex way. This is a food to be proud of, my friends! Gusteau would applaud us all! Well, thank you for sticking with me through this trying time, friends! I urge you to keep trying new wilderness recipes and to remember that there are no mistakes in the kitchen. It was a pleasure cooking with you all!

Welcome to the Aquarium

Dave Wilson

ear Fish,

Congratulations! It’s my pleasure to grant you admission to the Tucker Family Aquarium’s seventeenth cohort. This is no small accomplishment. The Tucker Family Aquarium is an extremely competitive place. An extraordinarily select group of aquatic animals are chosen for admission, and even fewer leave. In fact, no one leaves. Our retention rate is a staggering 100%. Don’t worry though—that’s certainly not because our fish are lazy. No, quite the opposite. Every day in the Tucker Family Aquarium will bring exciting new challenges. You might even call it a struggle for survival. Whether it’s a lack of oxygen, wildly changing temperatures, or other conditions that one could only expect a volcanic tube worm to survive—life in the Tucker Family Aquarium is a test like no other. That is, if you’re able to survive the upcoming treacherous journey there from your pet-store tank. You’ll have to endure nine grueling hours isolated in a plastic bag transportation unit as the Tucker Family Aquarium Admission Committee personally tests your determination to live. Get ready to survive a bunch of stirred up little kids clamoring over you as you exit your current tank, a four-hour-long Tucker Family sponsored soccer game, and a lengthy trip to Olive Garden, all in a three-cubic inch test of grit. And that’s before you even meet your tank-mates. Our specimens are handpicked to form the most rigorous aquarium in modern fishkeeping. Indeed, the 17th cohort will be a particularly astonishing group of organisms. You’ll be swimming, competing, and mating within an ecosystem that only a crazed, intoxicated god could concoct. Of course, diversity is the norm here at Tucker Family Aquarium, and so you’ll be put head to head with lifeforms from across the world. But, you might not know that in an innovative decision, the Tucker Family Aquarium just this moment decided to become a salinity neutral tank. Exploring our waters, you’ll now routinely run into animals from the Pacific Ocean, the freshwater Amazon, and perhaps even the Dead Sea. Beyond geographical diversity, though, we also strive for equal representation across food chain classes. Unlike other aquariums that are only practical for the privileged semi-aggressive angelfish, we make sure to combine defenseless minnows with giant cod, some wicked piranhas, octopuses, cool-looking jellyfish, fish from Finding Nemo, a baby alligator, and some weird crabs. I hope you’re prepared to fight for your life from now on. A school of fish as extraordinary as ours demands the best in aquarium amenities. The Tucker Family Aquarium prides itself in offering only the coolest-looking aquarium on Earth. We use gravel that glows in the dark combined with water dyed blood-red for a dramatic visual appearance. Instead of the usual boring kelp and other dumb underwater plants, the Tucker Family Aquarium is loaded with carnivorous Venus flytraps and cactuses. Of course we offer classic aquarium structures such as ancient temples open for your exploration (which is strongly encouraged), but we also combine these with newer technologies such as an animatronic Spiderman. In our aquarium, you will never be bored (unless you don’t interact with any of the stuff which would result in your immediate expulsion from the Tucker Family Aquarium). Once again, congratulations on such an accomplishment. We look forward to your arrival, even though you’re not moving that much right now and we’re kind of regretting granting you admission in the first place.

The University of Chicago Humor Magazine, Spring 2014

This quarter, the University of Chicago Humor Magazine had a Call for Submissions. Below are some of our favorite entries. Look out for other Calls for Submissions in the future for your chance to be published! Alternatively, you can come to UCHM meetings (see p. 19 for details), and have the publication of your humor guaranteed!

Selections from“Dicktators,” by Joshua Harris

Oh George Bush, my Lil George Bush

Oh that manhoodless Napoleon

Don’t you see you’re not so brainy?

He of Gaul and so much gall

You thought there were WMDs in Iraq

He’d have taken over all the world

But Dick was just yanking your Cheney.

If he only had the ball.

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Horse by Joseph Beutel

Mitchell Horse walked into the same bar he’d gone to every night for two years. “Why the long face?” The bartender called out. “Shut it, Jim,” Horse shot back. “You’ve been telling that same damn joke ever since I first came here.” The bartender chuckled, “It still makes me laugh.” Horse slid onto the stool across from the bartender. “Yeah, well, get me a bottle of Colt 45 and some whiskey on the rocks, and maybe I’ll be laughing too,” he said. While the bartender poured the whiskey, Mitch looked around the empty bar. “Busy night.”

The Descent by Mina Myers

The bartender raised his eyes while he put the opened bottle of beer on the counter by the glass of whiskey, “Well, it’s Tuesday night, Mitch.” The bartender started wiping down the bar with a rag. Mitch looked into his whiskey, took a drink, and put it back down. “What’s bothering you, Mitch?” The bartender said, eyes still focused on his rag. Mitch looked up at him. “Well, no offense, but what am I doing here? Why am I here on a Tuesday night?” “Beats me.” “Well, I’ll tell you,” Mitch said. The bartender stopped scrubbing the table and leaned on the counter to look at Mitch. “You see, I think I always made the right choices. I always did the cautious thing. I went to school, I got a good job. I never took any risks. I never was in any

danger.” “That sounds good to me.” “I just don’t think I ever really sowed my wild oats, you know?” “Oats? Well, Mr. Horse, if—“ “Damn it, Jim, I’m being serious.” “Alright.” Mitch looked into his glass and swirled the whiskey around a few times. He looked back up at Jim, who was starting to scrub the bar again. He looked at the cut over Jim’s left eye. It sliced into his eyebrow just slightly. “Jim?” “Yeah, Mitch?” “How did you get that scar above your eye?” “What, this thing?” Jim paused. “I was in a car accident back during that bad winter in 2006. You know how icy it can get here.” “Huh.”

just introduced him to Arcade Fire1 and after listening to Funeral and Neon Bible he believed they were really onto something great. Bruce Springsteen had, of course, heard of Arcade Fire, and thought them to be “a bunch of whiny Canadians abusing folk instruments.” Rather than criticize the future president for his poor taste and lack of patriotism, Springsteen says, “Yeah I think they’re great,” smiles, and shares a look of sympathy with Michelle and her two daughters that does not go unnoticed by Barack.

Still believing Arcade Fire to be the Greatest Thing and wanting to redeem himself, the President brings them up again after a rally at the Midway Plaisance with fourth-year Sam Jones. Sam uses this opening as an opportunity to offer to make Obama a mixed CD of music he thinks the president “will really dig.” The president is excited by this, and tells Sam to mail the CD to the White House, giving him the secret “Attn:” that would ensure its direct delivery to him.2

Three days after the rally Obama re2010-10-30 20:32 Obama Tries ceived Sam’s mixed CD. It contained Again your standard college rock, with nothing too obscure (Sam Jones was, af1 Sasha and Malia gave this music recommendation ter all, a poli-sci major). Among the to their father jokingly after he begged them for new bands that made the cut were Belle to listen to. The two girls are, in fact, rather well and Sebastian, The Velvet Under2008-11-02 18:08 Obama Tries Too bands known locally as prodigies of underground rock music Hard critique. Before Obama was elected into office, Sasha ground (whom the President had of After the handshake, Obama is excit- and Malia hosted a very successful late-night radio ed to share with Bruce his knowledge show on WHPK. The influence the first daughters had 2 Reporters contacted Sam a few months after The Inshaping Chicago’s underground music scene is cur- cident asking him if he regretted giving the President about what he believes to be cutting- in rently being studied by third-year ethnomusicology the mixed CD. He responded with: “only immediately edge new music. His daughters had student Kate Williams. after, when I realized what I had done was illegal!” On November 2, 2008, two days before the 56th presidential election, Barack Obama is captured shaking hands with the legendary Bruce Springsteen at a rally in Cleveland, Ohio. The events that followed are less known to the public eye.

The University of Chicago Humor Magazine, Spring 2014

course heard of but “never really got into”), Weezer, The Black Keys, The Smiths, and his [Sam’s] current obsession: Grimes. The President immediately bought the full discography of each band on the CD and spent every moment not in meetings devouring the sweet tunes. While he found all of the bands fascinating and innovative, The Smiths’ painfully truthful lyrics really resonated with the President. His new obsession soon started to creep into the workplace. 2011-02-01 10:30 The President Meets With His Cabinet The president and his cabinet have a heated debate regarding foreign policy. Questions to which nobody really has an answer are tossed, drop-kicked, and granny-thrown around about what exactly must be done in Egypt. Suddenly the president stands, holds up his hand with his palm facing outward, and sings:

a way to describe what he is smelling Barack and the Obamacares too pertinent without dishonoring the President and, by extension, the country. Barack & Roll seriously? “Sir?” The President lets out a heavy sigh America taken and slowly raises his eyes to Brian’s. “Do you ever feel like you’re just liv- The Secularists let it go already, Dave ing from dump to dump?” Obama is relieved of his duties in January 2017. In the months immediately following his presidency, Obama really takes to the music scene. He visits indie record stores, reads all the right music publications, and goes to underground shows wearing jeans, a hoodie, and a latex mask of the recently inaugurated Paul Ryan. He was even able to impress Sasha with his reference to Mammary Glands— one of the last bands the girls interviewed during their time at WHPK. In August, Barack decides to form his own band.

“I am huuuman and I need to be loooved. Just like everybody else does.” 2017-08-31 20:00 Barack Holds Auditions 2013-07-25 15:35 The President “OK. Thank you *reads clipboard* Has a Deep Moment Bill. That was great. You may very After delivering some remarks at the well be the master of reverb. Tell me, Jacksonville Port Authority (JAX- do you have any classical training? PORT), Obama excuses himself to No? Well, you see, what I’m lookanswer the “call of duty”3. As usual, ing for is the perfect combination of Secret Service agent Brian ____ experimentalism and virtuosity. Do waits outside the bathroom as the you play any jazz? Well I’m sorry; President takes care of business. I’m afraid I need someone who’s a bit more multi-faceted. I’ll call you if we “Hey Brian!” ever need an opener.” “Everything OK in there, Mr. President?” Finally, Obama puts together his “Come here.” band. He was able to pull in two un“Sir?” believably talented ex-members of “Come in here. I need to ask you congress and one very stoked Meg something.” White. Brian enters the bathroom, attempt- 2017-11-23 22:30 Obama and His ing look as professional and noncha- Band Try to Come Up With a Name lant as possible. He tries to think of 3 call of nature

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Heads of State c’mon guys that’s not all we are Suga Daddy bingo 2018-1-07 23:22:44 Barack Writes a Song, Finally Thinks of the Word that Had Been Escaping Him For Days “Fuck!” 2018-3-22 01:13 A Very Stoned Suga Daddy Rolls Into 7-11; Barack Gets Excited About Candy “Hey guys! Look! They have HiChew! C’mere you have to try this. What? No! It’s not commie candy4; it’s Japanese. Yes, of course I’m going to pay for it. Just come here and try it.” 2018-7-28 21:22 Barack Tries Psychedelic Drugs ***THE REMAINDER OF THIS DOCUMENT HAS BEEN CONFISCATED BY THE NATIONAL SECURITY AGENCY. ANY ATTEMPT IN PUBLISHING IT WILL RESULT IN SOME SERIOUS SHIT. YOU ARE BEING WATCHED.*** 4 In September 2018, after the disbandment of Suga Daddy, Barack would start a short-lived experimental electronic project under the name Commie Candy. The only EP released by CC is featured weekly at the gay bar Düsseldorf in Tallahassee, Florida. Larry the bartender-DJ’s personal favorite is “Michelle Ono,” which he remixes differently every week.

Meet the Writers Ben Constantino founded the University of Chicago Humor Magazine in the Fall of 2012. He hates the Shady Dealer. Dave Wilson came here a number of years ago with one mission: to complete the fiction course requirement of the English Language and Literature degree program. After countless failures, forgotten friendships, and lessons learned, he remains motivated as ever in this singular obsession. Jen Capocy has a very tenuous and strained relationship with microwaves, a penchant for explosions and general arson, a deep-seated and purely irrational fear of sea creatures, and a fantastic sense of rhythm. Once, she fell from an apple tree and directly into a thorn bush. Her sense of humor has been appropriately dark ever since. This is the illuminated tabletop Alex Filipowicz with 27 hand-painted three-dimensional kittens playfully perched on presents and peeking around the pumpkin patch. Makes the perfect addition to your home or garden. An advanced microchip amplifies human speech frequencies above background noise so that spoken words are clearly audible, while eliminating up to 99.9% of airborne bacteria, mold, viruses, pollen, and allergens without making a sound. Employing the same pulsed light technology used by the professionals, can cut through 107.58’ sq. of grass in only two minutes but is also gentle enough for use on the face, bikini line, and underarms. Carrying case included. Powered by the included AC adapter or two AAA batteries. Emmma Goehler is a hostile third year majoring in Fundamentals: Condescension and Rudeness. She is the three time recipient of the Eyeroll of the Month award and is currently working on a book titled Morons: The Intersection of Idiocy and Idiocy in My Life. In her spare time, she likes to glare and whisper mean things about you to other people. Mark Hassenfratz is a first-year from New York majoring in English because he enjoys disappointing his mother. Mark also writes for UChicago’s irreverent newscast, The Marooned, and gets his ass kicked on a regular basis at the Krav Maga club. He hopes to be one day reincarnated as a dog. The Chelsea Leu is the finest frigate in the Royal British Navy. Three-masted, fully-rigged, and equipped with lots and lots of cannons, the Chelsea Leu has served Her Majesty in naval skirmishes such as the Battle of Trafalgar, the Mexican-American War, and World War II. She was last seen rounding the Cape of Good Hope in search of booty. Katie Leu crawled out of the swamp three million years ago in search of a better life—or at least a dry place to store her stamp collection. She didn’t succeed, but at least she evolved some sweet-ass opposable thumbs. Joy Ndukwu is a great fan of washing her hair, watching bad teen movies from the 1980s when her roommates are gone, and general malaise. Oft a confused, bumbling mess, she generally carries the appearance of Bridget Jones if she somehow gained access to Carrie Bradshaw’s closet and chose only the weirdest pieces. Amelia Soth is more a Goofus than a Gallant. Uncredited: Lauren Petersen, Cameron Vanderwerf All original artwork was done by Alex Filipowicz.

We would like to thank Andrew Cunningham McLaughlin, Malynne Sternstein, In-Print Graphics, and the Student Government Finance Committee at the University of Chicago.

The University of Chicago Humor Magazine, Spring 2014

“The University of Chicago Humor Magazine is like a fine boxed wine: absolutely disgusting.” “I used this magazine to line the bottom of my birdcage. Thirty-six hours later, my cockatoo was in rigor mortis.” “I found all six differences!” “Ken T. from Milwaukee, here. Do NOT read this magazine if you have a pet rock!!!” “I left the ‘Goofus and Gallant’ section feeling extremely ethically confused—was that supposed to happen?” “Extra-extraordinary.” “Defi-

nitely worth the crippling psychological damage.” “Fuck Goodnight Moon!” “Magazine? More like SWAGazine!” “Buyer Beware! This so-called ‘Humor Magazine’ gave my

twelve-year-old son a rash and he almost choked on one of the staples. He’s not very popular at school and he tells me that the Missouri-shaped inflammation on his forehead cost him his one shot at true love. I tried to contact the sellers to have them resolve the issue but NO RESPONSE! I give them four stars out of five because I like the picture of the ham on page 12.” “Having lovingly caressed and fondled every page of this issue, I can verify that the University of Chicago Humor Magazine is at once passionate and tender.” “Very few pictures, yet equally as boring as National Geographic. 0.5 stars.”