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I remember my first day at Harvard – in my nerdiest glasses and my most shoulder-y suit, I skipped off to my first meal. “This is it,” I thought. “My first test. Act cool. Don’t mix up the soup spoons and the tea spoons. Don’t put the iPod in the toaster.” I looked around me, to see how everyone else was doing. Instead of bright, young faces, the people looked worn out. Beat down. Wheelchaired. Slowly, I realized I was somehow in a nursing home. As I looked at one old woman, I realized we were not so different – both of us had no idea where we were. But we were also tired. As a teen, I did it all. I became fluent in foreign languages, found a new element, and delivered my own baby – which I then graciously donated to charity, anonymously. Winning all the time was dragging me down. Mostly because I insisted on constantly wearing every medal, all my ribbons, and one shockingly heavy crown. From the moment I was born – mind you, with the longest umbilical cord the doctor had ever seen – I had tried to be the best. I was burnt out, and so were most of my Harvard peers. Take my roommate. “You should have an issue about overachievers, failure, and the pressure to succeed,” she once told me. And as I set her thesis on fire for outsmarting me, like a phoenix, my issue was born from the ashes. Yes, the paper is recycled because I care about the environment, so don’t feel bad about leaving this on the ground or using it to choke a seagull. So here’s an issue tailored specifically to my readers and subscribers: for the 60% that are Harvard students, an issue about peaking early and failing to succeed. For another 39% – the firefighters – an issue about fires. For the last 1%, the deceased, an issue flammable enough for funeral pyres. An issue hot enough to melt your eyeballs. An issue short enough for us to afford.

BURNOUT #

MEB

December 2007

Vol. CXCVII, No. 4

BOARD OF EDITORS Ross E. Arbes ’08, President Maureen E. Boyle ’08, Ibis James A. Powers ’08, Narthex Hayes H. Davenport ’08, Treasurer J. T. Lu ’08 N. H. Stein ’10 W. B. Bailey ’08 R. R. Rojer ’09 G. M. Schabb ’09 D. N. Ashwood ’10 J. B. Owen ’10 Robert I. Padnick ’09. Navebut Justin G. Hurwitz ’07-’08, Hautbois Matthew K. Grzecki ’10, Hautbois Emmet F. McDermott ’09, Sanctum Christopher R. Schleicher ’09, Sanctum Jared S. Gruszecki ’09, Librarian Sakura M. Christmas ’07-’08, Blot

BUSINESS BOARD MacDonald C. Bartels ’09, Business Manager Edward R. Sherrill ’08, Advertising Manager Samuel W. Teller ’08-’09, Circulation Manager M. B. Hess ’09 M. C. Allison ’09 Elmer W. Green, 1897-1977, Grand Curator Joseph F. Hickey, Curator ISSUE EDITOR Maureen E. Boyle ’08 ART EDITOR Sakura M. Christmas ’07-’08

The Harvard Lampoon is published five times during the academic year by The Harvard Lampoon, Inc. Principal office 44 Bow Street, Cambridge, MA 02138. Third-class postage paid at Cambridge, MA. U.S. subscription: $20 for five issues, $35 for ten, $50 for fifteen. Overseas subscriptions: call for rates. Postmaster: send address changes to Harvard Lampoon, 44 Bow Street, Cambridge, MA 02138. © 2007 Harvard Lampoon, Inc. All rights reserved. Reproduction in any form without written permission is prohibited. Phone: (617) 495-7801. Fax: (617) 495-1668. URL: http://www.harvardlampoon.com. The Harvard Lampoon does not accept unsolicited manuscripts, even manuscripts on pink paper. Even manuscripts from strikers. The Lampoon is a registered trademark of The Harvard Lampoon, Inc.

jester. ibis. blot. As Ibis stared at a blank screen, wondering what this section was actually for, Jester looked over her shoulder, sipping a ‘Gansett. “I remember brighter days,” he said, “Days when I had never gotten a B+, days when there was free pizza for no reason at all. Now we have to write things, write funny things about actual Afghani refugees, in order to get free pizza. Things were so different then.” In came Moneybags, cash falling out of his pocket and Berryline dripping out of his mouth. “I can’t pay anyone back,” he said, setting most of the cash on fire. He was right. They were all just too tired to calculate the impossible debts – tired from QR classes, figure skating lessons, and woman shopping at Hillel.

Suddenly, an ex-con came busting out of the closet. “Why didn’t you use the door handle?” said Moneybags, crying softly into a bag of jerky. But that ex-con never played by the rules – not when it came to laws, nor when it came to basic things, like his age. “I used to be a beautiful composer, and now look at me,” he said, sadly ramming his piano over and over again into more doors. Ibis’s heart sank as she looked over to the Innocents, the mere children. They should be outside playing, she thought (mostly because one of them was getting fat). But even she knew it was too dangerous for them in this world of gold

stars and baby Einsteins. And besides, there were far too many planes in the sky that day. What had happened to them? Was it the years of schooling? Oppressive parents? That bottle of whiskey that came in the casket that one time that they weren’t allowed to open? The celebmarathon 2k7? Just then, in came Blot, fresh with some wood he cut from the Harvard forest. “Let’s build a fire,” he said – or so everyone thought he said, since one could never be sure. Everyone simultaneously lit a match and began to speak. And Ibis had her answer.

MEB

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Locker Room Secrets

- I’ve got something on my mind, Dave. - I’m listening. - I want to tell you this in confidence, though. Man to man. - Of course. You’re my best friend, Mikey. - And I don’t want to hear any shit about why I’m wearing this dress all of a sudden. We just came back from football practice and instead of changing back into my jeans and a t-shirt, I changed into this dress. Is that okay? - Sure man, what’s on your mind? - I already know what you’re thinking: look at this guy, my best friend. I thought I knew him. And now look. He’s putting on…hold on…he’s putting on lipstick right now. Like some sort of girl. What gives? - Listen, Mike. I don’t know what’s going on. You know I’m your best bud. I don’t care what this is about. I’m here for you. - See? This is all too much to take in at once. I guess you shouldn’t have come here like you always do after practice to see me like this, your friend, waiting to adjust his panty hose right in front of you just so you can see how much he’s really changed. - Alright, man. I can see this isn’t a good time to talk. I’ll see you later. - And tomorrow I’m going to come to football practice like this, or maybe I’ll change into a different outfit, with heels this time. Is that okay with you? - Yeah, sure. I mean, I’m not entirely sure that’s a great idea, buddy. But whatever you want. - Fine, then I’ll go barefoot. How’s that? Or maybe I’ll wear these tiny flip-flops here. - Okay man. If you think that’s a good idea. I just think the guys might…well they might make fun of you, Mike. I have to be honest with you. - Why, Dave? I’m the quarterback. Look at me. I want you to look at me right now. I’m the star fucking quarterback.

EFM

THE HARVARD LAMPOON

Dear Dr. Sharon, I am writing to you regarding my son Brandon. Ever since he was little, he has always loved football. Game after game he would watch on the television on Sunday afternoons, neglecting what little homework he had as a first-grader, impressing Garrett, who was quite a fan himself, having quarterbacked his Division II college team to a 5-6 season, capped by a near upset of the third best team in the league. Soon enough, Brendan was going to games with his father, first high school games, then a college game on Thanksgiving, then his first pro game when he turned 12. At this point, I was more than happy for Brendan, a boy who previously had very little interest in anything, often bouncing outside on our in-ground trampoline for hours on end, a blank stare on his face, the occasional piece of bark vaulted into the air. But when he asked to join the local Pop Warner team, the Quiverton Eagles, I, being the stereotypical nervous mother, immediately refused, even broke down and cried at the thought of my son, my little Brenny, getting hit on a play before which he forget to put in his mouthpiece and losing all of his brand new, pearly whites. But Garrett, having started playing when he was seven, said he’d be fine, that he might even get stronger this way, both mentally and physically. Still, though, I was more than a little worried. I mean, how many kids without legs do you see playing football these days? Not many, definitely. When I attended the first practice, I found out why. He was horrendous. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t run a single lap or line up or even play because league regulations explicitly state that all players must wear leg pads and make no mention of people without legs, probably for good reason. It was more that I don’t think he’d be good if he had legs, even if those legs were super fast. Like at the end of one play, when a kid tossed him a pass? He flat out dropped it, like a brick, like his hands were coated in butter then dipped in failure and moisturized with inability cream. Or when the coach told him, fondly, “I love your effort and I want you to help me call the plays,” he couldn’t remember a single one. He kept forgetting what play was called and instead made them up on the fly, which, as you can imagine, caused myriad problems, not the least of which was that the plays he called were the exact opposite of the new plays his coach had just installed, so, in essence, he caused the team to unlearn what they had just learned. Or later, when the manager kindly asked him, “How would you like to be in charge of handing the players cups of water?” he kept overfilling the cups, like he didn’t know when to stop, which actually makes some sense to me, as our kitchen does feature a Noogenstein Automatic Cup Filler. The worst thing he did was probably at the end of practice, after the scrimmage, when all the kids were shaking hands, and even shaking his hand, at the very back of the lines. Not only did he spit in his hand, which, don’t get me wrong, was awful, but, as he stumbled away on his metallic torso bottom, he raised both hands in the air, as if to give a double wave to his new teammates, but instead flicked everyone off, really hard, like in an arrogant way, as if to suggest that he was the king and all the others were minions, and then promptly hopped into the back of our station wagon, helmet still on.

As of now, I don’t really know what to do with him. He still loves football, is still on the team, but Garrett went to another practice last week? Same thing. In fact, I think he does the flicking-off thing multiple times now, often starting practice with it, like an opening routine. And he’s really bad, even worse than before. He sucks at throwing, catching, and now carrying, as he’s begun to fumble on a troublingly frequent basis. His nickname used to be Legless Wonder; now it’s just The Fumbler. What should I do? Have you ever seen anything like this?

Thanks,

Sheila Frisby MKG

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Gym Class When I reflect on why I hated school so much, my gym teacher always comes to mind: “Alright class, gather round. Now I’m going to teach you the most difficult football maneuver you’ve seen yet. Jared, it’s your turn to help me demonstrate. Oh, come on, don’t look so nervous. Just because you haven’t caught any of my throws – even the really slow lobs or the one time I handed the ball to you – doesn’t mean you can’t do this. However, keep in mind this does involve some very complex movements, so the slightest error will make you look goofy and uncoordinated in a very embarrassing way.” “Now, is everyone paying attention? I just want to make sure that everyone is watching Jared as closely as possible.” “Okay, Jared, start running to that cone out there. No, not the close one. It’s the very, very far one, way past the end zone. Girls, see how he’s waving his arms daintily from side to side as he runs? This is what I mean when I say you’re running like a girl.” “Here comes the throw. Just keep your eye on the ball and I’m sure everything will work out. Here it goes . . . and . . . oh for God’s sake, come on. You’re supposed to use your hands! Wait . . . is he crying? Oh, he’s seriously crying. Class, I’d like to remind you that you’re being graded on how well you pay attention to this.” JSG

Texting Comix

by CRS, RIP Art by SMC

THE HARVARD LAMPOON

Lobsterboy Comix

by CRS, MEB

Art by DNA

To Catch a Predator A middle-aged man enters a house. Man: Hello? Girl: Hey, come on in! I made cookies! Man: Hey, before I take any more steps, I just want to say I’m not here for sex. I want to make that very clear. I just set this up so I could meet Chris Hansen, my lost half-brother. I’ve tried reaching him over and over again through NBC but I can’t get past his assistant. Girl: What are you talking about? Aren’t you excited to be my first? (gets naked) Man: (sadly unbuttoning shirt) I’m never going to meet Chris. JGH

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ave you ever heard the saying “Your Education is Priceless?” Here at Lincoln Technological Institute of Technology, that price is negotiable, starting at just $28.99. Just read what some of our reasonably satisfied alumni have to say about our programs. “By taking advantage of Lincoln Institute’s two-for-one deal, I studied to become an interior designer, and got a bonus PhD in neuro-surgery. Watch out brains, here I come!” “Lincoln helped make all my dreams come true. My horrible, horrible, illiterate dreams.” “I got my degree while I was sleeping. How?” “I thought this place was just a run-down old factory, but then I found Lincoln Institute Founder Jim Brodsky sleeping under a tarp in the cellar, surrounded by buckets of his own waste. He offered me a degree in Finance if I agreed not to alert the police.” “At Lincoln, I got my degree and my photos developed in an hour.” “If I could describe Lincoln in one word, it would be ‘obsequious.’ Keep in mind that I haven’t seen a dictionary or a thesaurus in my entire life. I am the Head Professor of English here at Lincoln.” GMS “The athletics at Lincoln are sub-par.”

ello, Mrs. Gardner? It’s Felix from the admissions office at William and Mary. Hi. How are you? I’m great, thank you. Yes. I’m actually calling about your son Eric. Yes, yes we received his application. I just had a few questions. Uh-huh. Well, your son claims in his essay that he struggled with extreme obesity growing up. Yes. He weighs three hundred twenty pounds? Okay. And he’s…? Five-eight? Right. Yes, he did mention how he was very sad and often turned to food for comfort. I agree, it is very sad. I don’t think it matters that he also wears glasses, but thank you, Mrs. Gardner. I’m going to write that down. Yes. Well, Mrs. Gardner, the thing is he also claims to be his school’s star sprinter. Right. On the track team. Yes. The fifty-meter dash? Wow. Okay. He is actually on the track team then? I’m just trying to verify because some applicants exaggerate their successes and…yes, terrible, I know. I just don’t see how—Eric just won the state title for the fifty meter? Wow. Six seconds? Hold on. Our track recruiter here is giving me the thumbs up. I think I’d actually like to see Eric run myself, though, if that would be okay. To make sure, you know. Hold on. Our track recruiter is actually shaking his head and telling me that’s not necessary. Okay, well, that’s that then. Congratulations to you and your son. We hope to see you next fall.” EFM

THE HARVARD LAMPOON

Test-Maker 1: Look everybody, I’ve made it so there are four Bs in a row. Test-Maker 2: Can we do that? Can we put four Bs in a row? Test-Maker 1: We can do whatever we want. Look, I’ll make the next answer B as well. Test-Maker 2: No. No, I don’t think we should. That’s too many Bs in a row. Test-Maker 1: Oh really? Watch this. (makes the next three answers B) Test-Maker 2: Why are you doing this? Test-Maker 1: Because we can. (makes the next three answers all B) Test-Maker 2: You’re power hungry! Power hungry I say! Test-Maker 1: I’ll make the whole test Bs if I want. Every answer B. (The Master Test-Maker shoots Test-Maker 1 in the back of the head with a gun) Test-Maker 2: Oh my God, what did you do that for? Master Test-Maker: He did too many of the same letter in a row. Every test-maker wants to, but knows they shouldn’t. Test-Maker 2: So you have to -- ? JGH Master Test Maker: You have to put them down.

In 2005, facebook.com creator Mark Zuckerberg faced allegations from his former employers, Cameron, Tyler, and Divya of the social networking site Connect U, that he had stolen their ideas. Cameron: Mark! We need your design skills for our new idea! Mark Zuckerberg: Okay, great. Tell me about it. Cameron: It’s a social utility tool to network at colleges and places of business. Maybe high schools, even! Tyler: You can have “friends,” like in real life. Divya: And you can FIND friends by clicking on these common interests. Cameron: But no pictures. Tyler: Yeah, no faces. MEB CRS Divya: This is a site about connections.

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HARVARD UNIVERSITY HEALTH SERVICES UNIVERSITY HEALTH PLAN WAIVER FORM 2007-2008 ACADEMIC YEAR PAGE 1 OF 3  I understand that by waiving the University Health Plan (UHP), I will not be covered medically by the University for the 2007-2008 academic year.  I understand that over the course of the year I will be at risk for several deadly diseases, and that, statistically speaking, 35% of students become ill during the course of the year. 

I understand that unless I have been sick lately, I will probably be in that 35%.

 I understand that because I will have waived the UHP, the University is not required by law to help me if I want to see a doctor, or even if I am bleeding and knocking repeatedly on the emergency room door.  I understand that by waiving the UHP, I am affirming that I have my own health insurance provider, regardless of how medically knowledgeable they are or if they have the secret cancer potion that the doctors at Harvard invented yesterday.  I understand that by signing below, I am affirming my awareness of the story of Ben Porbet, the 18-year old boy who DID waive the UHP, just like I’m doing right now, and then contracted tuberculosis in December. Because he waived the UHP, the University doctors couldn’t help him, as much as they wanted to, and, more significantly, as much as he wanted them to. Because he waived the UHP, not only could Harvard not hospitalize him, it couldn’t quarantine him, which resulted in the infection of 1300 other students. Fortunately, those students WERE covered by the UHP, so they’re doing just fine right now, maybe even better than before. As for Ben, let’s just hope he doesn’t make the same mistake again, if there is an again, if there is such a thing as reincarnation, none of which would matter if he had just used the UHP.

Signature ________________________________________ Date _____________________

MKG

THE HARVARD LAMPOON

h 185 Englis r – r o d Hum Humo Wit an is of British Analys ny t’s Fun Why i sagree. here di s r e t c ny. o chara The tw ments are fun edy m o u C o y ee The at is it Disagr pe of h y t t a h : Sir, w hat. Man 1 ng? aring a at, i e r a w e t o w h n are ir, I am not wearing a S : 2 n it Ma are g on funnier e : If you ou are wearin h 1 t , n e a M ty disagre hat is i n re they never stops. e o h t m then w d? , e t a h T gah ea pe this your h f I am wearin ld? ts. I ho e g o I c : r Man 2 e my head is ead is cold o m ur h how co ther yo . e h W : Man 1 ide the point s beside the es ti not is b don’t think i ery much the I : s 2 i it v Man I think . r i S , apoint temper it t a h w . e ar hat point o not c am asking w it d I : 1 Man is. I ! ead if What? ur head ng on your h rrot?! i ture yo r a a p e A w are n my is you at. arrot o p h a a g t n o is n weari : I am oks Man 2 arrot lo a p a t . a d hea ring w wh ot wea : I kno Man 1 ou, Sir, are n dy my like an your head. hat on n a o t g o n i r r r pa wea : I am it! t is a Man 2 admit i dmitted a u t o s . y u d j o a he ! S But he : Ah ha rt. o s Man 1 e h t of othing hat. dmit n a I : 2 Man

JGH

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It’s the biggest night of my life. The high school talent show. After failing senior year multiple times to get more chances of winning this thing, I think this is finally the year. The year I win glory. Glory and a $10 gift certificate to Chili’s. I’m going to buy an Awesome Blossom and eat it all by myself because, goddamn it, I deserve it. As chairman of the talent show committee, I was the one who bought the gift certificate anyway, so it would save the time of filling out the reimbursement form. I take the stage. My original composition begins to play. I start rotating my ribbon wands above my head and I’m ready. My pelvis begins thrusting wildly, like the pelvis of a man who doesn’t respect social norms. My leotard sparkles with the fire of a thousand suns. My father looks on from the audience with a scowl that seems to say, “I respect your choices.”

I’ve completed 32 pirouettes. A new record! Wait, no, it couldn’t be—33 fucking pirouettes! Now a chassé and three pliés. Then one, slightly anti- climactic pirouette. The crowd is going fucking insane. Many girls are throwing their bras onstage. The prepubescent girls are throwing bra-equivalents on the stage. Mainly scrunchies. A single tear rolls down the cheek of Jake Underhill, the captain of the football team. “What am I doing with my life?” he asks, “Maybe all along… I was the lame one.”

Winning seems within my grasp. The verdict emanates from the loudspeakers, “And our champion is… Kelly Clarkson!” I’m disappointed, but I understand. I go to shake her hand but she has already taken the microphone. “I cannot accept this award,” she says. “I cannot accept it knowing that one man truly outshone me tonight in his grace, elegance and his fiery dancing style.” My ears perk up. “Michael Flatley, come out here! You truly are the lord of the dance.” Tears roll down my face as I watch him jig his way in. He looks so beautiful in that tiara. So, so beautiful. That could have been me. CRS

THE HARVARD LAMPOON

Sales pitches from Talent America, an agency that represents child actors: “Your son has potential. He just needs to harness it. That’s where we come in.” “I know you want what’s best for him—and what could be better than pursuing his passion? So no more school. And we’ll need to apply a permanent layer of shine to his skin. For auditions.” “Your son is about to grow facial hair, and that’s a problem. But maybe for you, it’s a good thing. Like if you want your son to be a booth-monkey. Pardon me, that’s the industry term for voice actor.” “We’ll do it with a combination of screw-based bone therapy and medicine. Smallening medicine.” “You know, things don’t always go as planned. What you need now is a cage. And we’ve got cages. Big ones, small ones, cold ones, ones with a spike. This one you can surround with concrete and bury under your garage. Who would find that?” JBO

Studies have shown that people tend to eat more when they are alone. It’s unfortunate that my parents strategically used this knowledge when my sister had anorexia. Sister: Mom? Dad? I think I want to talk to you about something. Dad: Not now! It’s dinner time! Go to your room and eat alone. Sister: I think I may have a serious problem. Dad: You need to be alone. Now and for the foreseeable future. NHS

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According to 911, a bunch of fake calls from little kids inconvenience them and prevent dispatchers from dealing with real calls every year. 911, however, also inconveniences many little kids. Call from (315) 794-1065, Tara, age 6 Tara: Fire! Fire fire! Dispatcher: Awwwww. Arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t you cute? Tara: 911! Dispatcher: (laughs) No, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m not 911. My name is Tina. Can you say Ti-na? Tara: Fire! Dispatcher: Is this one of those fake calls? Because there could be something real happening out there, like a cat. An injured cat. Tara: Smoke! Dispatcher: Oh yeah? What are your mommy and daddy going to do when they hear you called 911? (Aside to other dispatcher) Get over here and listen to this one. Adorable.

THE HARVARD LAMPOON

MEB

1. Walk, don’t run, to the nearest exit. Alternatively: run, don’t walk, to the furthest exit. 2. Try to refrain from yelling “fire,” which will only add to the general confusion. Instead, yell “There is a fire in this building right now.” 3. Keep your priorities in order: loved ones first, then belongings, then liked ones. 4. Stay low to the ground. You’ll avoid smoke, which rises, and you’ll get to see the world from the perspective of a large ant. Sort of a freak ant. 5. In the event that your clothes ignite, stay calm. You don’t your need clothes anyway: you’re in a fire! 6. Remember, a fire extinguisher is not a toy. Then again, you might not have much time left. Go crazy. 7. There’s no need to tip the fireman who saves you. In fact, just so he won’t feel uncomfortable about it, ask him for a tip. If he doesn’t give you one, tell him you don’t believe in heroes. 8. When it’s all over and the smoke has cleared, you shouldn’t make light of the incident unless any of the following is true: a) no one died, b) some people died but they were evil, or c) some people were disfigured but they fall in a moral grey area.

NHS

On December 1, 1958, the Our Lady of the Angels School in Chicago caught on fire, killing eighth-grader Matthew McCabe, who was also the school’s best note-taker. Recently, his class notes were recovered: 12/1/58 US History 111 Notes The Louisiana Purchase was finalized in 1803 President Thomas Jefferson bought it for the small price of $15 million dollars The result was the opening of the Mississippi River This improved quality of life in the Midwest Trade Transportation There’s the fire alarm Everybody out of the building, I’m sure it’s just a drill Oh my God—it’s not a drill! Hurry children, it’s getting closer! I guess that’s everyone MKG

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Football Recruiter Here are a few excerpts from a football recruiter’s letter of recommendation to the admissions committee of a college: “Joseph Lipnitz is the fastest quarterback I’ve ever seen. I tried to go ask him a few questions after practice but he was gone by the time I made it across the field. Unfortunately, I didn’t anticipate that he would run off like that at the last moment. Just when he saw that I was coming and holding out my arms for a hug.” “Big Joe said he’s never heard of Finkleton’s Community Technical Institute. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘I can get you a scholarship.’ ‘What is that,’ he said, pointing to my hand, ‘a handful of singles?’ But it wasn’t. I had some fives in there, and a shit load of pennies.” “Joseph Lipnitz. Star. This guy can really throw a football. For example, into the stands where I’m standing with my binoculars, or at my car when I’m driving slowly alongside him, taking notes. Wherever Joseph Lipnitz goes, he takes his duffel bags full of footballs with him.” “Here’s another thing: Baby Joe Lip can take a shower in less than five minutes. ‘Nice throws out there. Ever think about going pro?’ I asked, giving him a towel. He stumbled back. ‘You were waiting in my locker this whole time?’ My eyes got watery. ‘Don’t you see?’ I said, ‘You’re in, Baby Joe Lip!’” “I walked Joseph Lipnitz across the parking lot to his’87 Civic. ‘You’re going to be the new face of football,’ I said. He shook his head and smiled, dismissing me bashfully with a wave of his hand. As he drove off, I couldn’t help but think that my life would never be the same. Then it hit me: the check that I wrote him for a billion dollars would probably bounce.” EFM

THE HARVARD LAMPOON

JGH

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“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for flying United Airlines. I would like to take this opportunity to inform you that both our left and right wings are on fire. We believe in the airplane business this is known as “burnout,” but we’re not entirely sure. Most of the United Airlines staff is on a work-release program from federal prison. Please feel free to ignore the imminent danger and enjoy our in-flight movie: Under the Tuscan Sun. I know, I know, the plane is on fire and everything, but that Diane Lane – I could watch her in just about anything, you know what I mean? I don’t know if our plane is going to be crashing for the entire 113 minutes. As we descend to the ground in a fiery wreck, please feel free to scream and flail your arms about. You paid full price for your seat and this is your right. If you are a business class passenger, enjoy a complimentary hot towel as you scream and flail. But before you do so, please think of the children. Cover their eyes and ears with our emergency blindfold-earplug set and direct them towards the lollipop that has fallen out of the compartment in front of them.

“A few days ago, a fellow came to me with a problem. ‘My marriage is on the rocks,” he said. “My job is going nowhere. And soon I’m going to be incinerated in a comet just like everyone else.’ But is that a reason to lose hope? Certainly, these are trying times. One cannot turn on the television without seeing a countdown clock on every channel, or turn on the radio without hearing it read out second by second. One cannot go to the supermarket without looting and setting things on fire. One cannot go to the Forbidden Zone without murdering people with a chain. One cannot go to the bank, the theater, the library, the park, as all of these places are filled with “goodbye” orgies. In summary, the most important thing to do right now is to stay Christian.” JBO

If you look to the right of the plane, you will see the lovely skyline of— Wow. There goes the right wing. At least we still have— Jeezy Chreezy, there goes the left. I guess this is just one of those days. Those days when you know you are definitely going to die. They won’t even be able to have open caskets at our wakes. At this moment, I feel like we’re all family. Even that woman with the birthmark-face in 13E. I bet if we all jump at the second before the plane hits the ground, we’d make it out of here okay.” CRS

THE HARVARD LAMPOON

FamousLastWords “This is your pilot speaking. I suppose now might be an appropriate time to mention that, given recent profit losses, we at Central Airlines are recouping costs by serving double-duty as both commercial airline and sky-writing airline. I don’t know if you knew that when you bought your ticket. I’m going to go ahead and assume you knew. That would be a pretty big thing not to know. For those unfamiliar with sky-writing, it’s when a man pays a pilot to perform near-impossible airplane stunts—loop-deloops and suicide drops and the like—so that words can be written in the sky that the man could have just said or written down on paper. I’m sorry if I sound bitter. It’s just, I always wonder whether dotting the lowercase I’s and J’s has been worth the lives and planes. That said, we’re nearing Butterfly Bluff, Iowa to help out . . . let’s check the names . . . okay we’ve got a Joe, that’s great, very simple, only one level-nine suicide drop, and Joe will be proposing to . . . oh no, Hijii! Oh boy, really bad. Everyone please fasten your seatbelts. You may soon feel like we’re crashing, particularly when the plane flies straight down through its own smoke, but just think how good this plus sign is going to look.”

RIP

It’s true that we live in a post-9/11, post-Virginia Tech world. And things will never be the same. But doubtlessly there is some horrible tragedy yet in our future, and we should savor the fact that we still live in a pre-that tragedy world. NHS

“Hello and welcome aboard flight 382. I’m your pilot, Marvin, and today’s my first flight. By now your bags should be under your chair and your seatbelts should be tied in the strongest knot you know. If you have a problem, mention it to our flight attendant. That’s also me. I’ll be walking up and down the plane every so often when I get bored. To take your mind off things during take off, I have a solution: relax and think how much worse it must be to be a pilot, sitting up here next to all these buttons, half of which are in numbers. While you get to sit back enjoying a complimentary beverage, imagine you’re me, up in the cockpit, trying to figure out which levers make the wings flap. I’ve got sticky notes all over the cabin to remind me what to do, and as you’ve noticed I’ve drawn pictures on the first-class seats in case I panic and forget how to read. Let’s look at a few...wear my pilot hat...oh, I forgot to pull the wheels up, didn’t I? Well, I can probably land this thing without wheels. Like a twenty ton bird. Something to ponder on the ride over: what are the odds that two planes hit each other in the sky? I bet it happens more than you’d think, because there’s no one to come down and say it happened. But like a silent tree crashing in a burning, twisted metal forest, if no one’s there to hear it, does it count?” MEB

BURNOUT #

hen you’re a cover girl, life isn’t as easy, breezy, or beautiful as you’d think. Sure you get to fly on private jets and date celebrities, but you also have to deal with people constantly telling you how beautiful you are. Some of these people are ugly. And you have to treat them like they’re not ugly. Cover girls stay thin by a strict regimen of pilates, the strategic removal of the heaviest organs, and a new workout called HyperDrive. This is pilates on a fighter jet. However, it’s important for a model to stay properly nourished. If I ever feel faint on a photo shoot, I can always take a puff from my VogueTron-5000, an inhaler filled with carbs. As a supermodel, I get hit on by hundreds of guys every day. It’s so exhausting that sometimes I wish I wasn’t so pretty. Like my friend Nicole. I’m always telling her how jealous I am of her plainness. I think it boosts her self-esteem to know that a supermodel is jealous of her. I like to tell her that one day I’m going to cut my hair and cut my face and the two of us can pretend we’re sisters, ugly stepsisters. Nicole works at a job where she helps people. One of the biggest difficulties of being a supermodel is being in the constant glare of the public eye. If you lose 5 pounds, they call you anorexic. Gain 120 and they label you “corpulent-chic.” Lose that weight and suddenly you’re “the model with a lot of loose skin.” What do you want from us, America?

THE HARVARD LAMPOON

CRS

Fears

John: You know what I’m really afraid of? Chris: What? John: Getting kicked in the balls. Will: Yeah, me too. Chris: You know what I’m afraid of? Commitment, man. How do just stay with one woman, waking up every day next to the same woman, every day of your life? You never sleep with anyone else. Will: If you really love her, I don’t think you’ll mind. Chris: Yeah, but what if she goes to work one day – and she works in like, a tire factory, man. She’s working overtime at a tire factory, and she’s so tired she falls asleep. Inspecting the machines was too expensive, they said. Too expensive for my wife. John: She gets burned, bad. Real bad. Will: Yeah, her ears are gone. Chris: And you can’t divorce her, even if you wanted to before. Or you look like the monster. Will: Scary, man. John: Scary. [silence] John: Sometimes I’m afraid one of my balls is just going to – poof! - pop.

CRS MEB JBO

America’s Next Top Model

If I had to guess, this is what goes on at girls’ slumber parties...

Girl 1: Is everyone ready to talk about the fashions? Girl 2: First I need to use this device to style my hair. Girl 3: I love hair devices. Girl 1: I too love simple machines. Girl 2: So and so is the cutest. Girl 1: Want to compare periods? Girl 3: Action and adventure disinterest me. Girl 2: I prefer talking about horses. Girl 3: Our bodies are developing faster than those of our male peers. Girl 2: Rats, I think I might be pregnant. Girl 3: Me too. Girl 1: Me three! Girl 2: Just kidding. I can’t get pregnant. I’m sterile. Girl 1: We all are.

Tyra Banks: Two beautiful, beautiful girls stand in front of me. But I only have one picture in my hands. And that picture represents the girl who will continue in the WBB running to become America’s Next Top Model. We have Emily, the girl who doesn’t take good pictures and is awkward in person, but has so much heart and so much autism. So much. And then there’s Ashley, the girl with near-professional modeling skills but little-to-no autism. [pulls out picture of girl] Emily, you are still in the running towards becoming America’s Next Top Model. Ashley: [uncontrollably crying] Emily: [continues to stack blocks in corner] CRS

When I finally quit my personal trainer, it gave me time to reach my ideal body goals. Me: Well hello, Mr. Fit. Fancy seeing you in the eating store. Trainer: Daniel, oh my God-- Daniel, is that you? Me: I know, this haircut makes me unrecognizable. Trainer: It’s not that, you’ve just gained a great deal of weight. what have you been doing? Me: A lot of cardio, really. Like a whole lot of ankle circles. Some dynamic calf stretches. Trainer: I’m only asking because I don’t think it’s healthy to put on this much weight in such a short time. Me: Two hundred pounds of solid muscle, see? Enough to give a man diabetes. Trainer: Jesus, I thought you were on a meat-only diet. Me: And the carb-only diet. I’m on both. Trainer: Those stretch marks...they’re permanent, Daniel. Please, I’ll even train you for free. I’ll train you right now. Me: I know why I didn’t see results with you, Mr. Fit. You didn’t tell me about supplements. Trainer: Please, whatever you’re on-Me: Horse vitamins.

MEB

Detective: All right, I know you didn’t see your attacker’s face, but I’m going to see if you can pick him out of a lineup by recognizing his voice. Man: I’ll do my best. Detective (to lineup): Okay guys, starting with number 1, everyone say the line “Get on the ground and spread your legs.” Number One: Get on the ground and spread your legs. Number Two: Get on the ground and spread your legs. Number Three: Get on the ground and spread your legs. Louis Armstrong: GeeeeeeeeVictim: Him. It was that guy. Detective: Are you sure? Man: Yes. Louis Armstrong: Bippity bow wow wow! Man: He...he can’t see me, can he? HHD

THE HARVARD LAMPOON

She came into my office, looking like the “after” picture in a weight loss commercial. “I need your help,” she whispered. In fourteen years of P.I., I ain’t seen nothing like this. Hair down to her waist, and legs up to her waist. I didn’t know how I could help this broad. Not with her looking at me with both eyes like that. “You look nervous,” she said, as my sweat dripped into a puddle on the floor. “I’m fine, sugar,” I answered, my water-soluble suit slowly disintegrating. “Maybe you can help me. I’m selling suits,” she cooed. It was like she was an angel, and I was a naked P.I. with a terrible rash. A stress rash. “My God,” she purred, “You look like you need a hospital.” I moved closer. “And you look like you need a person in a hospital.” It was so hot in there that my body seemed like it was on fire, and whatever wasn’t on fire, it itched. I touched the suit she was selling with my sweaty hand, and then, with the sweaty back-of-my-knee. It didn’t disintegrate. I wondered what other elements the suit could withstand. Fire? Probably. Air? Maybe. Wind? For the second time in my life, I closed my eyes and wished for a hurricane like the one that killed my parents. I loved her, her and her suits, but it was time to call for backup. There’s an old P.I. rule that says when you get that feeling in your gut, the next person to walk in is the murderer, and although she was the third person to walk in my office, that just reminded me that I make the rules. I looked at my hands, which suddenly seemed far too big for all the buttons on my cell phone. As she left, I wanted to wave goodbye. But then she’d know about the hand thing. MEB

BURNOUT #

Albert Life Lessons When I was little, I would take the wings off a dragonfly and then glue those wings onto another dragonfly so instead of having four wings it would have eight. It couldn’t fly or anything after I did that. But I kept doing it until, after several years, the dragonflies stopped coming to the lake. Even though this still confuses me, I came to learn that fewer wings is better. Orville Wright, plane inventor EFM

James Brown Before his death, James Brown was known as “The Hardest Working Man In Show Business.” He was never busier than when he was recording his final album. Producer: James, you’ve been in the studio all week! Are you sure you’re not working too hard? James Brown: No, but thanks for asking. I’m actually almost done mixing this last track, just have to fill in the drums and the woodwind parts. Producer: Wait, you play drums? You play all these instruments? James Brown: No, but I’m working on a couple of computer programs that can produce musical sound effects and lay multiple tracks simultaneously. Producer: That’s amazing! No wonder you’re in the studio so much! James Brown: Well, I don’t work on music all the time. This studio doubles as a free clinic and one-room schoolhouse for at-risk youth. Anyway, what can I do for you? Producer: Just wanted to tell you that a reporter was here to see you. Reporter: Hey James, we’d love to hear about the new album. How ‘bout an interview? James Brown: Of course. Just so you know, when you turn the cameras on I’m going to act like a fucking retard so all of the nation’s disabled will have a hero they can look up to. That okay? Reporter: Sure thing, James. James Brown: Great. Wait a second while I give myself a retarded haircut and put these fake herpes sores all over my face. How does this purple robe look? Does it look stupid? My dick is hanging out, right? Okay, good, I’m ready. HHD

THE HARVARD LAMPOON

Einstein famously said that if he had known his work would lead to the atomic bomb, he would have been a shoemaker instead. Woman: Excuse me, sir? Einstein: Yes? Woman: These shoes you made me are terrible. My feet are in constant pain. Einstein: But according to my calculations— Woman: Your calculations are wrong! Einstein: I’m sorry. I... I just wasn’t cut out for this work. Woman: Do you even know the first thing about making shoes? Einstein: I’m trying, madam. I try to concentrate on shoemaking, but I’m constantly distracted by thoughts about the fabric of the cosmos— Woman: What’s your name? Einstein: Albert Einstein. Woman: Well from now on, the name ‘Einstein’ will be synonymous with incompetence. Einstein: I’m sure you’re right. Woman: Do you remember my nephew, who you made shoes for? He tripped running from a mugger, and was hit by a passing vehicle. Einstein: Because of the shoes? Woman: Yes. Einstein: How can I live with myself now. Woman: Also, the driver of the vehicle was wearing your shoes. Einstein: Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? Woman: Well you can start by giving me a refund. Einstein: Certainly, madam, though I’m so broke I don’t know what I’ll do. [sighs] Where did I go wrong in life? [A man comes running in.] Man: They’ve just discovered the nuclear bomb! Woman: The inventor is sure to make millions. Man: [to Einstein] Hey, aren’t you the one responsible for all the foot cancer? NHS

BURNOUT #

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efore he faced IBM’s Deep Blue in the world famous “Man vs. Machine” chess match, professional chess player and surly Russian Gary Kasparov prepared by practicing against some lesser adversaries: Television: “First training match won in a fairly convincing fashion. Beginning to realize that inanimate home appliances lack strategy and competitive drive, as well as the general ability to move chess pieces. Feeling pretty invincible at this point. “ Toaster: “Opponent makes a critical mistake while attempting a Siberian Triple-Reverse. Victory puts me on the track towards success.” Shoe: “Another loss. Not a fluke. Shoe was very intelligent. Reebok.” Mirror: “Draw.” GMS

At Sunny Valley Genetic Engineering, we like to give out this pamphlet to prospective parents of leap year babies, the most special babies of all. Do these babies exist in real life? Yes, one out of every million babies is born on a leap day, even though there should technically be a lot more. This leads experts to believe that many leap year babies are in hiding. Where do these babies come from? When a man and a woman love each other very much but one of them is lying, a leap year baby is born. How old is my leap year baby, really? Some parents like to count every four years, while others like to count every one. The smartest parents make sure leap year babies don’t know they have birthdays at all. Are there any famous leap year babies? Sure. Here are one or two notable leap year babies: Thomas Edison, most presidents, and every Dalai Lama. What is the average life expectancy of a leap year baby? Up to a thousand years. MEB

THE HARVARD LAMPOON

e: Happy Birthday! Friend: Thanks man. You remembered. Me: Of course. Look, I got you something. Friend: Oh. You didn’t have to -- what is this? Me: Open it. Friend: It looks like a lab printout. Me: Go ahead and open it! Friend: What…is this? Me: Look familiar? Friend: No. Me: It’s your genetic sequence! Friend: How…what… Me: Surprised? It’s a mapping sequence of your own DNA! Friend: Dave, how did you do this? Me: I pricked you while you were sleeping. Friend: Jesus Christ. Me: Look, it even has a list of all the diseases you’re predisposed to. Friend: … Me: Happy Birthday, man! WBB

How jury deliberations went before forensic science was invented: Juror 1: So, what does everyone think? Juror 2: I don’t know. I mean, they did find those hairs in the victim’s bedroom. Juror 3: Yeah, but we don’t know if they’re his hairs. Juror 2: But what about the blood they found on the gun? And the blood stains on his jacket. Juror 3: I wonder if the blood on the gun is the same as that on the jacket? Juror 1: Let’s vote. Juror 2: Okay. MKG

BURNOUT #

Moses

Everyone knows the story of how Moses spoke to the burning bush. But do you know how it really went? I was there:

- AAAAAHHHHH HELP ME HELP PLEASE GET SOME WATER - What’s going on? Is there a person in there? - NO PLEASE I’M ON FIRE FIND SOME WATER AAAAAHHHH - But this is a desert...there’s no water around here. - AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH - Can you feel pain? - OH MY GOD YES AAAAAHHHHHHHHH - I don’t know what to do... - WHY ARE MY BRANCHES NOT TURNING TO ASH? SHOULDN’T THEY BE TURNING TO ASH? CAN I NOT DIE? - I’m sorry...I’m really sorry about this. - OKAY, wait, wait...it’s starting to subside a little bit...I might just be getting used to it, but it feels like the fire is dying down a little. - It doesn’t look like it’s dying down. It looks exactly the same. - It does? My nerves are probably dying. That’s probably why it doesn’t hurt as much. Does that mean I can die? - I don’t know. - I hope it does. I really hope that means I can die. HHD

If God had a sexual relationship with a mortal woman: God: So…like…what are you in the mood for? Woman: How about I take…this off. God: Your legs and armpits -- they’re so hairy! Woman: This is how you made me. God: No, a woman’s legs should be smooth. Woman: But you chose to have hair grow onGod: Go shave. It’s disgusting. JGH

Ghostbusters Ghostbuster 1: I can see the ghosts across the room! Ghostbuster 2: Yeah, we’re really gonna fuck up some ghosts! GB1: I’m gonna suck up a ghost into this vacuum cleaner thing! GB2: Yeah, let’s show those ghosts who’s boss! Head Ghostbuster: Okay team, activate your ghostbusting— Grandma, is that you? Grandma: Don’t bust me, Billy. Don’t you remember your Grandma? Head Ghostbuster: I thought you were living in Florida. Grandma: I died in my sleep last night. It was the diabetes. Head Ghostbuster: [activating vacuum cleaner] I’m so sorry Grandma. Grandma: You were always my favorite grandchild. CRS

BURNOUT #

Music Video Commentary My fans particularly like this video, and I often find myself discussing it with them. We’ll have a long conversation about many aspects—why some things work well, why others are very great. In the end, they often say the same thing: “As a music video director, you must be rich.” And that’s something to think about, especially when you watch this. I go into a shoot with one goal: capturing reality. Sometimes that reality is the way a singer crawls through the room in her house that is filled with steam and is where her tiger lives. In other cases, it’s about showing exactly what would get an uptight businessman to finally rock out—a band destroying his possessions. I want to show the world as it is. Do you see that car? That’s what a shiny thing looks like.

You get some pretty crazy requests. But in the end, all musicians want the same thing: a video where they “face off” against themselves. It’s my theory that every artist has two people inside—one, the type who walks around a club with an inquisitive but sort of mean look; the other, the type who does that with different clothes and slightly different hair. It goes back to one of life’s big questions: what would you do if you met a person who looked exactly like you? As you see at the end of the video, you would drag race them. Drag race them until their car spun out of control and exploded. I’ll finish with a message. To the kids interested in making their own videos, remember this rule: try to imagine how an angel looking down from Heaven would see things, specifically, if it had vision that could zoom way far in and focus on single people. That’s more or less what we’re trying to show.

THE HARVARD LAMPOON

JBO

Excerpts from the Rand Mining Corporation Information Pamphlet “If an unplanned mine collapse occurs when you are near a deposit, quietly continue to work until you have obtained its ore. Then, take a look at your surroundings. Are the rocks small and loose, like a burial mound? Or are they large and sturdy, like a stone tomb?”

“This is quarrying. Gather the ore together and shift your body into its most protective form—heavier people flat on top, lighter ones curled tightly around. “ “Warming your shack with coal? Next time, buy it with Mine Money, the new salary option from the Rand Mining Corporation. It can be used at the coal depot. Mine Money: what you are paid with here.” “To our museum staff: Rand’s American Mines exhibit is about tradition. Employees will be given one pickaxe, one headlamp, and one canary. If this is an exhibit, where are the visitors or exits? Good question. “If you’re in the director’s office asking for a raise, shhh! There’s a baby sleeping. A baby who will die without one thousand pounds of medicinal gold per week. And I’m sorry, what did you want to talk about? I was just thinking how much I want my child to live.”

“Trapped here? No. The bear traps are solely to keep bears out.” JBO

BURNOUT #

. . . Tampons

Cashier: Tampons? Guy: They’re for my girlfriend. Cashier: Sure. Hold on a sec. I just need to check the price. Guy: They’re $11.99. I already checked. Cashier: Hm. The guy in charge of price checking isn’t responding. Strange. That’s the first time in seven years since he started working here that he hasn’t answered me for a price check. I guess I’ll page the manager. Guy: Over the loudspeaker? Cashier: Yeah. Of course he won’t know what product I’m talking about unless I mention specifically what it is that I don’t know the price of. The tampons. Guy: They’re $11.99. Just…can’t you use the barcode? Cashier: The barcode machine is broken. You’d think the most advanced barcode system in the world like we have here wouldn’t randomly break down like it did today, you know? The only way to find out the price is to ask the manager over the loudspeaker because he could literally be anywhere in the store. Guy: Please don’t. Cashier: Or maybe this pretty girl over there knows. I’m sure she would know. Do you know her? She looks about your age. Guy: No. Cashier: And her cheerleading outfit says Jefferson High School on it, just like it says on the gym uniform you’re trying to cover with your hands. Guy: Please, I already checked the price. I double-checked the price just in case this happened. Cashier: Hey. That looks like the football team over there. They’ll definitely know. Guy: They’re…they’re punching a kid just because he bought pimple cream. Cashier: Wow, looks like you’re right. You really should have thought twice about buying these, man. EFM

Discontinued Merit Badges Firewalking Purging Foreskin possession Teepee detonation Warmongering Freefalling Caste-ascending Octaroon detection Clerking

THE HARVARD LAMPOON

HHD

Brothel

Few know about the unique lodging ordinance in the State of Arkansas that deems any dwelling with six or more unrelated females living together a brothel, or how the day after is inception, Officer Mel Barnaby was the first government official to enforce this new law. Officer: Hi, ladies. I was just walking by your house here and I saw your cat run outside while the door was open. I brought him back for you. Megan: Oh Officer Barnaby! We can’t thank you enough. Amy: That naughty Nibbles, always trying to sneak out while we aren’t looking. Lauren: And to think, I was knitting here right by the door and I didn’t even see him run outside! Paige: We ought to be more careful. Jenny: Officer, would you like a piece of fresh apple pie that I just baked? Officer: Oh, no thank you. I should be on my way. You five girls have a nice day. Annie: [entering] Hey guys! Guess who bought matching cardigans for everyone? Officer: ….Oh. My. God. This isn’t a house, this is a brothel! Jenny: What? What are you talking about? Officer: Don’t you play dumb with me you moderately sized group of prostitutes! I know what’s going on here. Annie: How can you accuse us of that? You know me; I baby-sit your children every Saturday. Officer: Sorry, I can’t understand your crazy whore-talk. You know, I used to know the girls who lived in this house. Lauren: But you were here yesterday and you didn’t accuse us of being prostitutes then. What the hell is going on? Officer: Save it for the judge, lady. Wait one second, you wouldn’t happen to be in any way related to one another would you? Amy: No, why? Officer: Unit 52 to dispatch, I’m going to need backup. You’re not going to believe it…it’s whores. Six of them. GMS

BURNOUT #

CURSE OF THE CURIOUS WALLET “Any

new

models,

friend?”

Another day, another trip to the wallet store. My collection was almost perfect. So why did I keep coming back? That’s when I saw it—a curious wallet unlike all the others. “Sir, you…you don’t want that one,” stammered the shopkeeper. “That wallet is made from the skin of a man. That wallet is cursed!” But I wasn’t listening anymore. I was shoving money into the shopkeeper’s hands, and also his mouth. The message was clear: “I’ll let my money do the listening. One human leather wallet, please.” “That guy must have been crazy,” I thought as I drove home. “Curses aren’t real. And if they were, wouldn’t I be the one giving them now that I own this?” So I started believing in curses a little bit. Mostly when I looked at the side with the lips. When I woke the next morning, I laughed. Still in one piece. So it was straight to the country club.“Friends,” I began, reaching into my pocket, “I’d like to propose a toast to the wallet I’m about to show you.” And that’s when it happened: I realized my pocket was empty. I tried to squish down, so it looked like the guy next to me had been talking, but it was too late. “Remarkable,” said another diner. “And I thought the closest thing to an invisible wallet was one made of diamonds—oh, like this.” The sound of applause filled the room. So the curse was real. There was no time—I rushed out to the car. I had to find the man who had sold me that loathsome object. And when I did… And there it was, just sitting on the seat. It had slipped out of my pocket. So the curse was fake. But as I stared at it, I started to feel strange. And suddenly, I realized that the shopkeeper was right to call this wallet cursed. Human leather is just too slippery. Losing wallets is a big enough problem already, why add to that? And because it’s rare, it’s also expensive: almost the cost of a real human being. Finally, it has a distinctive and sickening odor. There had to be a better way. I knew that. But how could I think of it with the constant stream of dogs coming up to me, sniffing feverishly at my pocket, desperate for a single lick? There were always a few following me, even when I wasn’t carrying the wallet – the smell had saturated my thighs. One problem had become two. But they gave me an idea. And that is the story of how leather came to be made from animals. JBO

THE HARVARD LAMPOON

W A R I wonder what it would sound like if sports announcers announced war battles too: “One man from one side comes up, shoots another guy from the other side. That guy dies. The one who shot him keeps going forward until he’s shot by someone from the other side. That guy kills another guy before getting killed. The guy who shot him is immediately killed by a land mine. The land mine also kills six other people. Another guy somewhere else uses a gun to shoot someone else. That same thing happens two more times, very quickly, and then, all of sudden, a guy shoots a guy. He dies, but not before shooting someone else. That person dies. A tank pulls up and a man steps out. Someone shoots him.” MKG CRS

Osama bin Laden’s success at eluding U.S. troops is partly a result of the names of the most recent U.S. operations: Operation Cave Search Operation Valley Search Operation Hole in the Ground, to the Right of the Big Cave Operation Jesus, How about that Abandoned Warehouse? Let’s Check That Operation Look in the Big Cave again, 8:30, Tonight

MKG

BURNOUT #

Credits

Ma Lampy welcomes her seven newest future failures: Alexander Alfred Taubman ‘09, Jessica Lindsay Fleischer ‘10, Artemisha Storm Goldfeder ‘10, Natalie Claire Jacoby ‘10, Kate Sweeney ‘10, Kevin Phelan Bartley ‘10-’11, and Alexander Meir Rohr ‘11.

Issue Editor: MEB Art Editor: SMC Cover: DNA Layout: SMC, MEB, JAP, ERS Spot Art: RRR, JTL Photoshop: CRS, JGH

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Few recording artists have mastered the art of creating music without knowing a note like Yanni has. Thanks to computer technology, Yanni has been able to create some of these classics. Secret Vows Seven minutes of pure, unadulterated static. Yanni explains that the melody can only be heard by certain breeds of dog and those with a slightly less evolved inner ear. Dare To Dream Yanni finally decides to sing a song himself. The result: a twenty minute, mainly unintelligible solo which, at times, directly plagiarizes parts of the Gettysburg Address. Rainbow Yanni says that each of the notes in this song represents a color of the rainbow. There are four notes in the song. The genius, Yanni, admits he is colorblind and partially deaf. Throwing Sand at Cats Using sand, Yanni induces two groups of cats to fight. Yanni catches it all on tape and makes millions by adding cymbal. Sunset Never has one song used the “Applause” setting on the keyboard for seven minutes straight to such effect.

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Rainy Day At first, one hears the soft fall of rain. Then, a clap of thunder. A startled scream; a softer scream. That scream is Yanni. In the Garden Using a mere laptop, Yanni somehow creates the sound of four women singing harmony in Latin. Yanni just laughs. “I have no idea,” he says. “I have no idea where I am.”

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