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Happy Holidays
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Harvard Square COOP 1400 Massachusetts Avenue The Shops at Prudential Center Cambridge, MA 02138 800 Boylston Street • Boston, MA CRUISIN' 02199 FOR BURGERS # 800.892.4982 • vineyardvines.com
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I remember when gasoline was only $2.99 a gallon. Adventures came cheap back then, and we didn’t have to worry about global warming because the ozone layer had already gone to shit. We were all living for the weekend, when we could hop in our cars, crank up the smooth jazz, and joyride off in the general direction of a sunset. None of us had a care in the world, aside from the federal deficit and the occasional pang of white guilt. But hey, I’m not here to speak in generalities. I’m here to tell you a made-up story about myself. It was Saturday and there was nothing on television except old porn reruns. My family had accidentally gone on vacation to Europe and left me behind, despite the fact that I had all of their luggage and passports and was the only one with a valid pilot’s license. Bored and alone for the first time, I decided to make myself a snack. But this couldn’t be just any snack—it had to be a snack for the ages. Specifically the dark ages, as I had not yet learned how to operate a microwave. With a flourish, I gathered all the food in the house and threw it away. Fuck, I thought. It was only then, as I resigned myself to starvation, that I remembered the prophecy. Legend told of a treasure so vast and shiny that it had to be buried underground, hidden from the sun’s damaging UV rays. Those who beheld the treasure were stricken with polio, and those who didn’t were vaccinated at birth. My uncle, who gave his life in a treasure-related street race, once wrote the following on a napkin from T.G.I. Friday’s: “Behind every great man stands a great treasure map.” I had never put much thought into those words, and I wasn’t about to start now. 6
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With nothing else to do, I headed up to the attic to start alphabetizing my stamp collection. They were all filed under S for “stamp,” but every so often I liked to go up there to check on them and test the adhesive. Maybe it was the hunger pains, or the fact that I finally put prescription lenses in my scuba mask, but for the first time, something in the corner of the attic caught my eye. It was a portrait of my uncle—not the way I knew him, all wrinkly and pale; this was from when he was young and black. Apparently he neglected to mention that he had one of those magic portraits that stays young forever while your body continues to age. On a whim I checked behind the portrait and found a treasure map, just sitting there like an idiot. Other than the realization that my family had abandoned me, this was the biggest discovery I had made all morning. Without a moment’s hesitation, I pocketed the treasure map, climbed out the window, shimmied down the rain gutter, stepped in a puddle, hosed off my shoes, went inside to blowdry my feet, checked my email, met an old friend for coffee, and then ran next door to Lunchbox’s house. Now for those of you who don’t know, Lunchbox is my oldest friend and a notorious amateur sleuth. He was once featured prominently in a play I wrote about him called “Dr. Detective, MD,” which in hindsight was a little too heavy-handed in its indictment of HMOs. But middling reviews notwithstanding, if there was anyone who could help me interpret the crazy arrows on this map, it was Lunchbox. “You got too many Xs on here.” Lunchbox was right, as usual. We were raised on the idea that treasure maps had only one X, and this treasure map was breaking every convention in the book. Another convention it was breaking was that treasure hunting was supposed to be easy. “Well what would you have me do?” I asked. Lunchbox gave me one of his patented smirks. “Say no more,” I grinned. I’m pretty bad at reading people, but I was reasonably sure we had just decided to visit every X on the map until we found the treasure. A great idea, but no small task for two guys who had never seen the inside of a school. No, it was time to assemble the crew: Corndog, Viper, Paulie, Gay Paulie, Stretch, Lobo, and Farmer Dan. I would take a bullet for any of these guys, load it into a gun, and fire it at someone as a last resort. So Lunchbox and I hotwired a minivan and headed downtown to the mall, where most of our friends lived. We found them in the food court, snickering as they filled ketchup packets with organic ketchup. “What are you guys doing here?” they asked in unison. “It’s an adventure,” I said. “Treasure map, minivan, the whole deal.” Lunchbox sneezed as if to emphasize my point. “If we don’t find the treasure by midnight, it will turn into a prince,” I added, remembering a secondary clause of the prophecy. Nothing else needed to be said. The guys got up and followed us out, pausing only to clear their trays as a reverse prank. The first stop was the drive-thru at Burger Chief, which if you can’t tell from the name, is a Korean-owned hovel riddled with bullet holes and famous for its customer service. Destination One if you’re looking for a teriyaki chicken sandwich, but a quick survey beneath the loose floorboards revealed nothing more than additional seating. Disappointment set in as we ate our collective body weight in chili cheese fries. Next up was the beach boardwalk, or as we liked to call it, a place that had no treasure. After that we hit the drive-in theater, the stickball field, and even the bowling alley, and each time we came up empty no matter how many holes we dug. We thought our dry spell had ended when Viper found a briefcase under lane 23, but it turned out just to be filled with regular money. Eventually, we had to call it quits. The state fair was closing for the night, and the skeeball booth had run out of plush toys to give us. We got our hands and faces stamped at the exit, then slowly trudged back to the shuttle that would take us through the shantytown to Parking Lot K. After dropping everyone off, Lunchbox and I ditched the minivan at the old railyard and began the long trek home on horseback. A sad story, yes. But not one without a moral. What our young minds couldn’t comprehend was that there never was any treasure. The whole thing was an elaborate ruse dreamed up by a legion of child millionaires. Using their limitless resources, they snuck into my attic and replaced my family’s priceless treasure map with one they had downloaded from Mapquest. I think they also might have kidnapped my family. It didn’t matter though. That Saturday adventure brought the whole gang closer together (except for Paulie and Stretch, who were never formally introduced). We didn’t care about buried treasure; no one does. The fun was in the search. The real treasure—the kind that lives on in your heart and enriches your soul—was already locked in my safe deposit box. BUS CRUISIN' FOR BURGERS #
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February 2011
Vol. CXCX, No. 2
BOARD OF EDITORS
Courtney G. Bowman ’11, President Benjamin U. Steiner ’10-’11, Ibus William C. Schaub ’11, Narthex
K. P. Bartley ’10-’12 D. K. Sonoiki ’13 C. F. Frazier ’11 P. A. Gordon ’11 I. M. T. Bethel ’11 J. D. Adler ’12 K. A. Escobedo ’12-’13 K. M. Neylan ’12 S. A. Levin-Gesundheit ’11 I. V. Pierre ’12 B. W. K. Smith ’12 Lillian Yu ’11, Nave Pedro M. de A. V. F. de Moura ’09-’11, Bizbut Andrew R. Dubbin ’12, Sackbut Zachariah P. Hughes ’12, Hautbois Kathryn C. Ryan ’13, Hautbois Allison L. Averill ’12, Sanctum Charles A. Sull ’12, Sanctum Owen T. L. Bates ’13, Librarian Jonathan P. Finn-Gamiño ’12, Blot BUSINESS BOARD Yi Cai ’11, Treasurer Tony W. Wang ’11, Advertising Manager Daniel L. Liss ’11, Circulation Manager
A. M. Rohr ’11 L. B. Hawkins ’11 E. M. Sobel ’12 J. M. Harel-Cohen ’13 L. A. Sassoon ’13 Elmer W. Green, 1897-1977, Grand Curator ISSUE EDITOR Benjamin U. Steiner ART EDITOR Joñathan P. Finn-Gamiño
JESTER IBIS BLOT Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Jester was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover vice. At that time the city was still nothing more than a few adobe huts surrounded by an interconnected series of motorways. The world was so recent that many things lacked names, and in order to indicate them it was necessary to invent words at random and put them in airquotes. Every year, on two separate but equal occasions, a band of colorful carnies came and assembled their tents at the heart of the village. With great fanfare they set up a variety of games rigged to make you lose, rides rigged to make you vomit, and petting zoos rigged to make you pet animals. Everything cost two tickets. Jester was still a boy the first time the carnival came to town. He had never seen a carnival before, and didn’t know how to behave around circus types. After all, these guys had been swallowing swords and operating Ferris wheels for years. But as soon as he laid eyes on that mirthful scene—the flashing lights, the men on stilts, the antique rollercoasters, the autographed drink tables, the vaguely Flemish tents, the churro stands, the clown parades, the beer fountains, and the house of mirrors—he was smitten. “Dans tes bras c’est mon destin,” he whispered under his breath, more out of obligation than anything else. Who was he to argue with tradition? Jester had managed to find some kindred spirits the previous week at the art conclave, so they decided to join forces and hope for some kind of group discount. As it turned out, there were no discounts to be had without a coupon, but Jester didn’t mind. He was the sort of jester who was content to just hang out on a couch somewhere, and he reveled in the opportunity to get some of this fresh air everyone was always talking about. The carnival was indeed majestic, and as soon as he walked through the turnstile Jester felt overwhelmed. It wasn’t that he lacked sufficient culture to appreciate such a spectacle, but a few years of intramural basketball was hardly enough to prepare oneself for the rigors of a misshapen hoop. He tried his hand at billiards,
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, $5000 for an autographed picture of a cat pooping on a baby. Overseas subscriptions: call for rates. Postmaster: send address changes to Harvard Lampoon, 44 Bow Street, Cambridge, MA 02138. © 2011 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 cannot consider unsolicited manuscripts, as we are unable to read. The Lampoon is a registered trademark of The Harvard Lampoon, Inc.
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but couldn’t help feeling encumbered by the sheer number of balls, not to mention holding that unwieldy stick. Even the hilarious bluffing game proved challenging for Jester, despite the fact that he knew the rules. Before too long, our hero wandered off in search of refreshment. Armed with a deep-fried Dr. Pepper and a smile, Jester sojourned back to the fairway with a renewed sense of purpose. Suddenly, as he was weaving his way through picnic tables full of rowdy tourists and stoic locals, he spied an old peddler sitting behind a comically large shrub. Next to the peddler was one of those feat-of-strength games with the mallet and the bell. Jester couldn’t remember what those were called, but he was intrigued. As casually as he could manage in his pinstriped suit, he approached the aging carny. “How many tickets?” he asked, unzipping his fanny pack. No answer. Then, without making eye contact, the old man noiselessly placed the mallet in the young boy’s hands. It wasn’t the heaviest mallet Jester had ever held, but it was close. Upon further inspection, he remembered he had never held a mallet before. Beads of sweat rolled down his back and into his butt as he raised the mallet high over his head and brought it down on the thing you hit with the mallet. The little metal part sailed upward toward the bell, stopping short in the “wimpy” section, which was pretty good for a first try. The peddler snatched the mallet back with surprising agility, then directed Jester to a clipboard where he could write his name and physical address. Soon Jester found his friends and told them his tale of woe and skullduggery. He led them back to the shrub, which retained its comical size, but the peddler was nowhere to be seen, nor were the rides or games or any other people. The carnival had vanished, leaving behind a shitload of trash and confetti in its wake. Jester and his pals had no choice but to head back home and get some Chinese food. For days afterward, Jester lay awake thinking about the carnival. It was unclear why he wasn’t getting out of bed for classes or meals, though one can assume it was a testament to the fervor with which he had been consumed. And it wasn’t just the grandiosity
of it all. Jester loved rides and funhouses as much as the next jester, but what really squeezed his lemon was the feeling he got when he harnessed the power of the mallet. He resolved to visit the carnival again the next time it came to town, and to work on his upper body strength in the meantime by doing fifty pushups before every shower. And so it went for the next few years. The carnival would keep coming to town, right on schedule, and Jester would keep showing up to swing that mallet. His compatriots continued to escort him there, but he could tell their enthusiasm was waning, like the way a bird gets sick of a birdhouse full of peanut butter. And who could blame them? You can’t keep going to the carnival all the time if you don’t love carnivals, as the saying goes. Eventually they lost interest altogether, and Jester had to start using public transportation. He was alone again, spurred on by this bizarre game and the optimistic but ultimately disconcerting fact that he kept reaching the “hot shot” level without actually hitting the bell. For a variety of reasons that for the purposes of brevity would not be appropriate to mention here but were not wholly unrelated to the bi-weekly grind, Jester decided to seek his fortune in the big city. Fortune in this case refers to free soda and reimbursed subway fare. He worried that maybe he would lose his edge with the carnies, but at the end of the day Jester couldn’t pass up a chance to share an elevator with the Great Clown. Besides, free fucking soda. Eventually, though, Jester had to say goodbye to the real world’s uncaring embrace and re-enter what is hyperbolically referred to as the fray. He wasn’t getting any taller, so he figured he’d give the old mallet game the old college try one last time before the old swinging arm came loose. Jester was a natural athlete, after all, despite his appearance and demeanor. On the day of the carnival, Jester was careful to eat a balanced breakfast. He knew that breakfast was the most important meal of the day, even when it occurred at 3 PM and consisted of lunch foods. As he crossed the threshold into tentdom, he was firing on all cylinders, which to the untrained eye looked like a series of muscle spasms. Jester
ignored the rib sandwich cart and marched straight over to the feat-of-strength area. After waiting in line for a few hours, he chalked his hands, grabbed the mallet (which at this point felt like an extension of his body), and clubbed the shit out of the machine. He knew without looking that his moment had finally come. He could feel it in his bones, and also the bell made a sound. The old peddler came forward off his perch, took Jester’s hand, and led him away into the shadows behind the gift shop. After a treacherous but fairly boring hike, they came to the epicenter of the carnival: a giant tent. The old peddler turned to Jester. “Welcome to the tent of the yellow shitbird. Do you know why you’re here?” Jester thought for a moment. “Is this where you guys keep the prizes?” The peddler chose to ignore Jester; clearly this was not his first clambake. “This is our member’s only tent. You have successfully completed the feat-of-strength test, which means you have what it takes to become one of us.” With those words, the old peddler flung open the tent flap, and Jester was rendered speechless by the proverbial cat. What Jester saw defied description, so let’s just move on. That was the day everything changed. No one had ever thought Jester would amount to much, and now he had steady, gainful employment. Not only did he get to help rig the games that had once frustrated him so greatly, but now he could drink energy drinks on tap and eat for free as long as it was Stonehearth. When it was time for the big anniversary festival, Jester got to stand by the door. But what really brought the carnival to life was its incredible cast of characters, from the freaks to the slightly older freaks. There was the Strong Man, the Bearded Lady, the Incredible Shrinking Man, and The Lady with Two Vaginas, just to namedrop a few. And of course there was Sad Kid, who wasn’t really sad so much as mentally unhinged. Buckwheat, a friend from another life, was always around to make sure Jester felt comfortable, generally by reminding him to check whether the machine was on. Everyone knows the story of when Buckwheat went diehard, but Jester knew a different story: the one where Buckwheat was in a
bubble and he had no hands. Then there was the Human Animal, who would let you pat her on the head, and an instant later would gnash her teeth furiously at a misplaced comma. She was also known to throw a punch or two, but only because of her xenophobia. Wallace Pippman was the carnival accountant and a generally lovable guy. “Fuck a dick,” he would always say, regardless of situation. Those words were like music to Jester’s ears, almost as much as Grand Funk Railroad was like music. Another constant presence was The Great Mustachio, a hack of a magician and a prince among thieves. Jester could still remember when Mustachio had to slap his knees in order to perform a trick, before he discovered spiders in his family tree. It wasn’t long until Jester felt like he’d been a carny all his life. He found his calling guessing people’s weights, and could usually get a bigger tip by noticing their haircuts as well. He felt like he lived at the carnival, even though technically he had an apartment somewhere nearby. Gradually, new townsfolk would wander unsuspectingly into the carnival’s grasp, and Jester found that he actually had something to teach them. For example, don’t pee in the vat. The only thing that bothered Jester was that he sometimes felt like he cared too much. He still didn’t understand why he loved the carnival so dearly, although a lot of it probably had to do with rides that gave him an adrenaline rush while he was sitting down. When Jester was dead, would the next generation be able to keep pulling all the right levers and putting the right amount of syrup in the snow cones? After thinking about it for all of February and most of March, he decided that they would. All that was left for Jester to do was fall in love a few times, and then it was time to go. BUS
With permission from her parents, Ma Lampy opens her very own lemonade stand in the hopes of swindling these nine neighborhood bullies: Chloe Kathryn Goodwin ’12, Noah Jacob Madoff ’12, Joseph O’Meara Masterman ’12, Tyler Brigham Faux ’13, William David Goulston ’13, Andrew Paul Francis Karn ’13, Robert Andrew Knoll ’13, Renée Elizabeth Rober ’13, and Victoria Rachel Black ’14 She then gets a job driving an ice cream truck, and while on her route, uses a baseball bat to knock over the mailbox of the 136th Executive Board: Charles A. Sull ’12 of Akron, OH and Adams House, President; Jonathan D. Adler ’12 of Hunting Valley, OH and Winthrop House, Ibis; Jonathan P. Finn-Gamiño ’12 of Sebastopol, CA and Adams House, Narthex; Allison L. Averill ’12 of Seekonk, MA and Adams House, Treasurer; Andrew R. Dubbin ’12 of Miami, FL and Adams House, Dubbin; Kevin M. Neylan, Jr. ’12 of Westfield, NJ and Adams House, Sackbut; William D. Goulston ’13 of Los Angeles, CA and Dunster House, Hautbois; Victoria R. Black ’14 of New York, NY and Stoughton Dormitory, Hautbois and Circulation Manager; Damilare K. Sonoiki ’13 of Houston, TX and Currier House, Sanctum and Nave; Robert A. Knoll ’13 of Belmont, MA and Currier House, Sanctum; Owen T. L. Bates ’13 of Tacoma, WA and Winthrop House, Bates; Kathryn C. Ryan ’13 of Portsmouth, RI and Adams House, Blot; Courtney G. Bowman ’11 of Hollywood, USA and Winthrop House, Vanitas; Daniel L. Liss ’11 of Scarsdale, NY and Cabot House, Business Manager; and Andrew P. F. Karn ’13 of East Greenwich, RI and Adams House, Advertising Manager. Welcome to the Internet age.
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Eddie Bomb I come up with the Game Over screens on most of the video games you play. If you don’t play games, a GO screen is when you lose and the thing that you’re playing ends, shuts down. But usually you have a chance to continue by clicking a button. But so one day I was in my study making up a GO screen and my son comes in and asks me what I’m doing. I said making a GO screen. He said the cat ate something and is coughing. So I go to investigate and the cat is dead by this point. So now like I can’t help but think if this were to be a GO screen, there would be some metallic sound and then my vision would fade to black and giant irreducible letters would bloom on the empty screen and query the player, Continue? Then the phone rings in the kitchen. It’s my wife Karen. Leave Me Dead Space was a game where the little sound bite that came up during the GO screen was a ringing phone, and not the stylized cell phone ringtone but the thumping boom boom your grandparents knew, when twelve households shared one phone line and you could listen to your neighbor’s conversations (party line!) and find out about block parties.
I loved Leave Me Dead Space for several reasons. Number one was that the guy you met up with to snipe people was named Eddie Bomb, and I knew a person at work named that. The second was this: once you reached a certain level, you could stop playing the game and there would be like an autopilot option if you just wanted to relax and watch Eddie Bomb get everything in order. And so I would sit, light breeze, sun, me inside with Eddie looking for scum and corrupt judges. It made me so proud when Eddie called to me, good job you’re really killing keep it up keep killing. It was a blessing because that summer I had decided to drop out of school and thought what do I have left? The game became a fascination. I looked up the names of all the designers and got down with them. I lived with one for a while. I told him I made GO screens and he thought that was so cool. He said did you go to school for that. I told him no not originally. All through that year Eddie Bomb would run through my dreams. I had racked up a huge total score and was looking forward for the sequel to come out. That was so fun waiting for that game, and playing every day to get away from the simple boredom that ruled our lives.
There are a lot of theories floating around about why they invented the television, but mostly I think it’s because people were sick of watching the radio. BUS 10
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KPB
Bitch-Seat for XBoX Bitch-Seat is a game designed for people who are tired of making their own decisions. Below are the consumer reviews: --”Bitch-Seat is out of control. Finally!” --”I’ll admit that at first I was aggravated I couldn’t steer left. Then I was relieved. Relieved, and grateful.” --”Is there anything more relaxing than sitting on the sofa with a beer in one hand and a bowl of popcorn in the other? You don’t have to hold the controller, but you can.” --”I like pressing ‘jump’ ten seconds after the motorcycle jumps. With Bitch-Seat, I can take as long as I want. --”I’ve never had to make a life-or-death decision before. Bitch-Seat is a great way to prolong that streak.” --”You can’t even control which color your bitch-seat is. The cheats only decide which CEO will decide for you. You can pick yourself, but it’s not entirely accurate.” --”It’s addictive. I got my whole family into it. Instead of sitting silently watching TV, they watch me wave the controller, and together we shout, ‘It doesn’t work this way!’” --”I met my wife playing Bitch-Seat on the internet. We didn’t play against each other, per se. With Bitch-Seat, it’s more like you play for internet strangers. I liked how fast she moved me.” --”I was terrified, shocked, and nauseated. Then I realized. I had just blown up an entire city, and it wasn’t my fault. For once in my life, it wasn’t my fault.”
Think you can handle Bitch-Seat? Get in the back, bitch. CGB
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COOKIN’ AND CHATTIN’ WITH MISS CATHY Cathy: Welcome to Cookin’ and Chattin’ with Miss Cathy, and thanks for tuning in! I’m pleased to announce that our regular contributor, Rebecca Smith, is back from her leave of absence. What will we be cooking today, Rebecca? Rebecca: I thought I’d make a nice tenderloin and dedicate it to my son, Thomas. Cathy: Sounds great! How is little Tommy by the way? Rebecca: You don’t know? Thomas…he passed. That’s why I was away. Cathy: Oh my God, I thought it was because you were pregnant. Rebecca: I have no children. Cathy: I am so sorry Rebecca, I had no idea. Look, there’s no pressure to do the show if you’d like to stop— Rebecca: It was a car accident. Drunk driving. Cathy: —but if you are going to continue would you mind saying what you’re doing as you’re doing it? Rebecca: I just keep thinking about the time Thomas had a sip of my wine, thinking it was apple juice. “This tastes bad,” he said. He was 11 then. Cathy: It looks like she’s going heavy on the garlic, but balancing it out with—what it that? Nutmeg? Rebecca: When did it start tasting good? When family dinners became lame? Maybe if my husband came home on time they wouldn’t have been so lame. Cathy: My condolences Rebecca, really, but could you please explain to us what you’re doing? Rebecca: Here, I’m chopping garlic to sauté the steak in. The police said he was probably high on marijuana as well. Now I’m boiling some water with just a pinch of salt. I don’t understand how I missed his cries for help. Cathy: Teenage culture is lethal these days. It smells delicious. Rebecca: Thank you. Now I’m melting butter. I shouldn’t have made him come home that night. Cathy: I’m so sorry. Rebecca: Now we’re just waiting for the butter to melt. CKG
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SKYMALL I was on a plane the other day and I found this catalogue that I wrote. N.E. Ware Golf Surprise Ever wanted to break out of a boring meeting and just whack a few on the 8-hole? Lighten up the mood with Golf Surprise, the latest in N. E. Ware’s Sports Surprise Collection. The Greencore EcoLight flashes I’D RATHER GO CLUBBING whenever a good time on the links is needed. Comes with irons and wedges, reusable caddy, and four glasses of wine for treasured friends. Foreign Encounters Head Mask The secret of spicy Rio! Revolutionary new technology brings a touch of the mysterioso to the bedroom. Try it on your head and watch the sparks fly! Try it on two heads and re-enact Botticelli’s “Lover’s Tango.” Put on head. Remington Steele Box Set One-of-a-kind box set of the hit show “Remington Steele.” All seasons—we’re talking aired episodes. Great for watching! Bonus features: every episode of “Remington Steele,” DVDs. Magellan Horizons Deluxe Money Clip Most money clips don’t work. Magellan Horizons Deluxe Money Clip works. Features: stainless steel. Not included: money (pictured). The Handheld Electronic Game This small box has input buttons and an output screen for playing game. Sometimes the game is Words, sometimes it’s Trails. Sometimes you can play Ants. Games included: Words, Trails, Ants. OTLB
SCRIPT SUMMARIES The Haunted Tree This is a story about a family, the Hendersons, who move from the city to a rural town because of a job change. Die, Die, Die! When the movie opens, three friends are finally graduating high school! Great characterization. Lucifer This is a movie about a couple that loves each other. Strong beginning. Bunker Hill: The Greatest Battle A script that takes place in England about a king. Halloween X In the latest Halloween movie, the killer is dead. As Maria says on page two, “We have nothing to be afraid of now.” The Death of Peter Peterson A movie about a normal guy’s normal life. Ring, Romance This is a movie with two non-overlapping stories: one about a girl, the other about a guy. CFF
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HOW I SPENT MY SUMMER VACATION: - Masturbating to nothing in particular. - Masturbating to one very specific image: Pat Sajak. - Avoiding jury duty. - Masturbating during jury duty. - Christmas shopping for Australians. - Defiantly wearing coats. - Fighting homelessness at its source: homeless people. - Fighting homelessness at its source: homes. - Celebrating Christmas in July and celebrating July in August. - Jumping off bridges because that's what my friends were doing. - Counting to 10, very slowly. - Doing everything in my power to ensure that this Fourth of the July will be the last. Sorry--this Independence Day. Obviously there will be another Fourth of July even if these attacks succeed. - 2 hours of incredible sex, 400+ hours at a minimum wage job to pay for it. - The same way I spent the last ten years: in a coma. - Learning to speak Italian and ride a motorcycle, for when I move to Italy and become a thief. - Finally getting around to reading War and Peace backwards. - Getting rid of the tan lines on my dog. - Setting the record for the world's largest hamburger, then realizing I'm all out of ketchup. - At summer school, trying to pick up bad chicks and get my dick wet, if you follow. - At summer school, skipping Algebra to wet dicks. 14
- At SummerCon 2010. - Soaking up enough sun to last me through Autumn. Then wringing that sun into airtight bottles. - Protesting the eventual end of summer. - Deciding to get pregnant. - Deciding to get bagels. - Figuring out dry ice. - Falling in and out of love with the Olympics. - Disguising myself as a record heatwave and killing 141 elderlies in Spain. - Getting down. - On the worst family vacation ever because I had no local currency or family. - On the set of Seinfeld. - I don’t know, but I spent it all in one place.
THE HARVARD LAMPOON
My Interview With The Sex Icon By Maxwell Earnst
It is 9 o’clock in the morning and I have just received word that today I will be interviewing Macy Jean, the global Sex Icon. I tell my wife the news and she instantly grows insecure. “Whatatatatatatatatatatatatatata???” she asks. She is a Zulu. “Macy Jean, dear,” I explain, “The…. uh…”, I try to gesture with my hands but the idea is too complicated, “Uh… Nevermind. I gotta go.” I wave goodbye. She is beginning to understand waving. And so my day begins. ----
PART I. INFERNO
New York City. The city where Satan goes to get one last blowie from the hooker from hell before he dies. All around these streets I see DEATH. “Hello Mr. Earnst, can I offer you some DEATH?” My friend Joe asks me this question every morning. “Hi there, Joe,” I retort. Dead cement. Dead bricks. Dead men. “Oh my God! Joe! I think that man is actually dead!” But he is not dead. He is just napping on a cold, lifeless bench. “I hate life,” I tell Joe. “I hate it too.” But Joe doesn’t know what it means to hate life. He’s the kind of death fan who watches national disasters on television and cheers. I’m the kind who watches them from the stands and then roots for the other team: the humans. I tell him this. --- “Taxi cabs always remind me of dying.” I say to the cabbie. “Ayup.” “Might have something to do with how I saw a man die in a taxi cab once.” Scoured the city for days looking. Bound to happen occasionally in a city of this size. “Where to, boss?” The cabbie asks me. Nobody will love him then. Not after he dies. --- I exit the taxi and there she is waiting for me. Macy Jean. The beauty of our age, imbued with a holy grace. “Arooooooga!” I chant as I approach her. “AROOOOOOOOGA!!” ----
“Do you want to do me now?” Macy giggles girlishly. She is the sexiest woman I have ever seen. “I mean do the interview? I’m so sorry. I honestly meant to say interview.” She is very embarrassed. “Either one’s good with me!” Macy giggles girlishly. I am on form today. “I mean let’s throw in a fucking handjob or two while we’re at it!” I quip. Slowly, I make the double-handjob symbol with my hands. Macy has stopped giggling and I look directly at her, eager to keep the conversational humor alive. “Let’s fuck.” “Please Mr. Earnst let’s do this interview now. ” “Of course.” --- In the next seven hours I learn everything there is to know about Macy Jean, the Sex Icon. Macy’s story started in 1986, when her parents had sex with one another. In her early childhood Macy would sometimes wear no clothes whatsoever, and during these years her parents likely had even more sex. Macy grows coy when I broach this subject. Her big break came in June 2003, when she developed a timelessly beautiful face and grew breasts. “After that point it was smooth sailing,” she recalls. But then came adversity. In 2008 a difficult situation threatened to destroy everything Macy had worked so hard for. Thankfully it resolved itself. Now Macy is back at the top, and she aims to stay there for a long time. “I will be beautiful forever,” she claims. “But not necessarily sexy.” I ask no questions. ----
PART III. PARADISO
“Cabbie! Take me to my apartment pronto! I just had a great day!” “Sure thing, Mr. Earnst!” I burst through the door and my wife is there waving at me. I tell her all about my awesome day! I sense my wife is not content. Immediately I realize how stupid I am being. “But she’s not as beautiful as you are, honey.” And I mean it. Even though Maxim Magazine ranked Macy Jean the #1 Sexiest Woman In The World for the last four years in a row, they ranked PART II. PURGATORIO my wife #1 this year. Things are still pretty bad now, but they definitely aren’t “I love you, baby.” I say. I make love to her because that is as bad as before and I get the sense that they might get really really the only way I can convey that I love her without the interpreter in good soon. I record this musing in my notebook. the room. “Maxwell Earnst?” Macy rises to greet me. --- “Or am I… Dante Alighieri?” I whisper to myself. But now Maybe heaven and hell are not huge realms within the is no time for these epiphanies. I am the fucking street poet God of earth’s physical atmosphere. Maybe angels don’t actually live in the streets, and most of my text messages are minor gitas. But now clouds, and demons don’t actually live in caves. Maybe heaven and it’s time for a different kind of writing: conversation writing, where hell are actually microscopic spaces, thinner than strands of hair, my pen is my mouth and vocal cords and body language, and the and every day they get lost because we wash our hands. Or maybe piece of paper is the specific social situation I find myself in. “It’s God is a cute little squirrel that skillfully leads us away from these time for a conversation masterpiece now, Maxwell,” I tell myself. microscopic hells without us even noticing. But that squirrel doesn’t “What?” care if we notice or not. He just wants us to be happy. Perhaps there “Shut up. I’m doing the fucking talking here bitch.” Imare many Gods, and if so every one of them should have a statue. If mediately I regret my callous words! Macy is taken aback. “Err… we do not worship these statues then the Gods will get angry and excuse me,” I apologize. No conversationalist is perfect. we will have to go to war. CAS
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Must Reads This Summer The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald If you haven’t read this one already, go on amazon.com and order it this second! Taking place in the fictional island paradise of West Egg, New York, the novel is full of vintage beach parties and jazz-age relaxation. This book will be great if you’re someone who enjoys spending summers unwinding, taking long reckless drives, and lying about your identity. This is one novel about the American Dream that won’t give you nightmares. Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace Nothing says fun-in-the-sun like footnotes. Trace the engrossing trajectory of a main character coping with addiction and alienation while you stretch out and listen to the ocean. At 1,200 pages this novel can weigh down picnic blankets. Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad Make even the most boring summer-getaway exotic with this classic thriller, set on a river in a jungle. Although there may be some doom-and-gloom sections about mankind being inherently wicked, the whole story takes place on a boat filled with men, similar to South Pacific. The framed narration will remind you of how fun beach volleyball is when played by a group of friends. The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky Sick of abruptly walking away from conversations whenever the Brothers K is brought up? Well luckily for you it makes the perfect beachside read. I know what you’re thinking: Shivvvvvver…Russssssia. But it’s only make believe! Uncle Tom’s Cabin by Harriet Beacher Stowe “How could a book about slavery be fun-in-the-sun good timey reading?” you ask. This novel’s witty dialogue, combined with its historical significance and page-turner style make it a must read for anyone looking to cut loose, get some sun, and learn about our nation’s most shameful legacy. Spoiler alert: this book contributed significantly to America’s bloody Civil War. The Wasteland by T.S. Eliot EEEEEK!!!!!!!!!!! A POEM ABOUT GHOOOOOSTSSSSSSSSS!!!! Best to avoid this one. CAS ZPH 16
THE HARVARD LAMPOON
Sometimes I worry my Mom just laughs at my jokes because they’re hilarious and not because she loves me unconditionally. JOM
Flag Burning It all started back in junior high when the cool kids wanted to fit in with me. In those days to be cool you had to burn and to be me you had to burn flags. First were the decorative flags. Flower flags, puppy flags, flags that said “Welcome Brian.” We were stealing flags from each other’s grandmothers’ front porches and from our own grandmothers’ flag emporiums. Soon those first, innocent, flags led into more dangerous territory. I still remember my first American flag, the stars and stripes disappearing one by one into the greedy flames of my Mexican bonfire. By the time I hit high school I was burning American flags every day, multiple times a day. I’d sneak out to the parking lot in between classes, whip out my lighter and a miniature flag from my personal stash and burn a quick one behind the bleachers, all while making out with a girl. The Fourth of July was like a holiday for me. But by Labor Day, the typical American flag just wouldn’t cut it. I got a thrill out of the stuff that was harder to come by, Civil War stuff from the Second Battle of Bull Run. We all know what happened to the Civil War: it ended. So too did my flag phase end, but not until after I burned down the Smithsonian. ALA
Beach —Welcome to the beach! How may I help you? —Yeah could I get a hot spicy scone please? —What do you think this is, a fair? This is a beach! —Oh, OK. —Surprise! We’re actually an undercover fair. Scones are over there. —Oh, OK. Thanks. OTLB
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Steel Drummer Boy [A tourist family disembarks from a cruise ship in the Alaskan port of Skagway. A rugged frontiersman beckons them towards a mud-splattered Jeep. In the background, a preteen boy lurks in the shadow of a Totem pole.] MORGAN FREEMAN VOICEOVER On Friday, June 24, 2011 one boy will emerge from five, going from streets to beats, without ever leaving the streets. [Cut back to a tourist family disembarking from a cruise ship in the Alaskan port of Skagway. A rugged fisherman beckons them towards a different, miniature, cruise ship. In the background, a preteen boy lurks in the shadow of a Totem pole with his trusty steel drum.] Cue Caribbean Gospel Choir with steel drum accompaniment. Cue bald eagle. FREEMAN V/O Following in the noble lineage of Katherine K. Davis’ “The Little Drummer Boy,” and Nick Cannon’s Drumline, a new generation of boy and drum will rise to the top… [A tourist family plants an American flag on the summit of Mt. McKinley. The mom hands her camera to a woman in a wheelchair for a quick group shot. Behind them, the steel drummer boy rolls out his sweet tropical rhythms.] FREEMAN V/O …and to the occasion. [A young couple is getting married on a beach in Antigua. In the audience, a teenage boy, second cousin to the bride, is watching a Royal Caribbean commercial on his iPhone. In the commercial, a family disembarks from a cruise ship in the Alaskan port of Skagway. The resolution is pretty low but it is safe to assume that the steel drummer boy is stationed just outside the shot.] FREEMAN V/O But can he make it in the big city? Cue politically charged reggae. [A tourist family disembarks from a cruise ship in the Alaskan port of Skagway. The steel drummer boy is right behind them, the mother’s windblown hair flapping across his face. Suddenly, an Incan pipe band comes out of nowhere, setting up a booth directly in front of the protagonist and breaking his concentration. They are not even playing live. Their pipes are on a table next to their boom box. The tourist family buys their CD.] FREEMAN V/O Or will the big city make it in him? [The steel drummer boy confidently boards Royal Caribbean’s Miracle of the Seas from within the dark confines of a blind man’s duffel bag. In the next shot, he stands at the prow of the ship with his drum, a tear rolling down his face. He slowly and reverentially taps out a version of Sinatra’s “New York, New York,” that is impossible to hear above the ship’s powerful motors.] ALA
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Swenson Copier 10300CX Instruction Manual For Spanish instructions, please see next page, ¡Manuál de Swensón! If you are reading this, you are the proud new owner of a Swenson Business Copy Machine. Or perhaps you have just stolen a Swenson Business Copy Machine. Or maybe you are reading this manual in the Mechanical Manual Archives of Scottsdale, Arizona. As you begin the daily fun of using your Swenson Machine, you should familiarize yourself with this manual. But first defamiliarize yourself with all other manuals. We at Swenson understand that your business has spent valuable resources to acquire this copy machine—money that would have otherwise gone towards hiring a guy who would come to your office and copy everything by hand. That’s why we guarantee that in six months, you’ll be so satisfied with your Swenson Machine that you won’t even remember what it cost. And neither will we. It was an arbitrary number and we didn’t write it down. Notice that the entire device is controlled by two incredibly simple knobs. Because their functions are so intuitive, the knobs are unlabeled. Take any document—an important legal contract, for example. Load it into the tray. To scan the document, press the left knob three times. To shred the document, press the left knob two times. To shred and then scan, press the left knob as many times as you can. If you want the Swenson Machine to instantly order $1,000 worth of Swenson Toner, press the right knob once and you will be billed automatically. We hope you enjoy your Swenson Machine. Also we are legally obligated to tell you that a duplicate copy of everything you scan will be sent to Swenson Headquarters, so please don’t photocopy your butts unless it’s an emergency. JDA
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My neighborhood is very competetive. It’s no longer safe to drink a cool, tasty cola to
get over the sweltering heat. One person starts drinking a soft drink alone, the next thing you know people are drinking in groups. Local gatherings become neighborhood cookouts, neighborhood cookouts become dick-measuring contests, and dick-measuring contests become violations of state decency laws. It began a few months ago, around June. Ed Harrison pulled up in his Ford Bronco with five pounds of beef patties and a shotgun, and people started asking questions. Ed had just beaten Jim Baker for head of the City Council, and Baker wasn’t none too pleased. “I’m none too pleased,” he’d say to passersby. “None too pleased at all.” The following week, Baker pulled up in an armored truck, with 12 pounds of beef brisket, an AR-15, and a grin the size of Texas. They went on and on, and by mid-August, Harrison was flying over the county in a 757 that was retrofitted to drop live cattle. I’m not sure who won, to be honest; if you ask the people who weren’t hit by falling cattle, they’d probably say Harrison. If you ask the people who were though, well—I’m not sure who they’d say. They just kind of make this howling sound. DKS
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Sometimes I dial the wrong numbers on my phone. I put 2s in when I’m not supposed to. 3s are a real headache to remember. I confuse them a lot with 4s. The other numbers are pretty easy though. Like 5s are easy. 5s I’m great at.
I don’t get it, man. Why aren’t phones smarter? So I put a 2 where a 6 should be. I still want to call Pizza Hut. When I give Pizza Hut 10 dollars they give me a pizza.
If we can learn anything from hobos, it’s that a bag attached to a stick never goes out of style. BUS
PVM
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Businessmen —(shuffling papers) Son, this is one helluva third-quarter. —Thank you, sir. —You do know I think of you as a son, right? —Thank you, Father. —Let me state the ways you impress me: business-savvy and athleticism. —Very kind, Papa. —You can play toe-to-toe with the big boys. —I learned from the best Pops and that’s you. —But that doesn’t mean you make me proud. —Would never assume so, Dad. —My respect cannot be bought and I think you are a coward. —Fair enough. May I ask one question? —It better damn well be good. —Dad, was this all a test? —(slight hesitation) Yes. —And did I pass? —(hands over keys to motorcar) What do you think? —I got the big promotion woohoo! —Woohoo! —This is great! Yay yay yay! —Yip hip yip hip rah rah! High Blessings. —High Blessings. OTLB
Excerpt from
The Altitude Hunter “The mountaineer hung, dangling off the face of the snowy crag by his fingers. He peered down. It was a five-kilometer drop to a death by ice tsunami, or ice, or some extra cold mixture of the two. He tried to tighten his grip, but you can’t really do that with finger pads. They slipped a little in his anxiety sweat. Now he was hanging by his nails, and those weren’t sharp, but manly. Dangerously manly, in this situation. He held the ice axe in his other hand, but he just couldn’t muster the strength to bury it in the snow. Suddenly, he remembered James Van Der Beek. He hadn’t really thought about that actor in a while. He was never a fan of Dawson’s Creek, though sometimes he watched it with his sister while waiting for Roswell. Then it hit him: If James Van Der Beek can star in Dawson’s Creek while giving an MTV Movie Award-winning performance in Varsity Blues, I think I can manage this one thing. The mountaineer raised his ice axe over his head and drove it home.” CGB 22
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My Nature Adventure
Eager to escape suburbia and explore the wilderness, I gathered my belongings and journeyed into the backyard of my estate. This was it, I thought. Goodbye civilized world. Hello gardeners, tending my hedges. I wandered thirty yards into the grounds’ posterior before finding my designated campsite, marked out in sagebrush and with a sign that read “beware of sprinklers.” Rejecting the nourishing confines of my estate’s many lodgings and guesthouses, I settled on a tented residence—a traditional, do-it-yourself camping shelter—which my butler had kindly assembled that morning. A few hours later, I began to search the vast acreage of my property for edible things. I overturned rocks; I raided the mini-fridge; I overturned my campsite. But it was to no avail. Weary in spirit and hungry in stomach, I felt tempted to throw in the camping towel if not my whole set of camping bathroom linens. That’s when I discovered it deep in the yard: my salmon pond. Coming upon its shallow waters, the pond seemed almost like an oasis except more amazing because, let’s face it, they don’t make oases like they used to.
From a nearby shed, I procured my antique fishing rod, which was somehow in mint condition despite never being used. After dropping my line in the pond, I closed my eyes and waited. When several minutes passed and no salmon had taken the bait, I adopted a new fishing strategy: return to the campsite and wait for my hunger to go away.
Night fell, and in the spirit of a real pioneer, I assembled a campfire with just one match, some gasoline, and a couple of servants. Indeed, I was completely transformed by my nature adventure. Within a day, I had acquired the physical prowess of a very strong dog. My five o’clock shadow had become eleven o’clock muttonchops. Thereafter, with the sky still a dark shade of black, I decided to return home, guiding my path by the North Star and the light of my living room. Why did I end my nature adventure? Perhaps it was that I had finally become at peace with the outdoors, or perhaps there was a late night talk show I refused to miss—I could not say for sure. WDG
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Cancun “This is going to be the best spring break yet!” I chirp. Only the best crew of buds in the world stands around me with backpacks full of grain alcohol and real U.S. passports. I punch our itinerary into my iPortal—so you know we’re getting the sickest deals at off-the-hook prices. I hit COMMENCE EXPERIENCE. The Earth shakes as space-time is unhinged into four separate dimensions. Out of the rift emerges a mini-black hole, so we decide to enter it. Singularity is reached. We transmute through the multiverse. This is when the iPortal reconstructs us with patented technology. The sand between our toes is the last packet of information to be extracted. Ah, sunny Cancun! Gregg is our first mate. He throws each of us a tallboy of Foster’s, like we discussed. Gregg is our first mate because he loves Foster’s. You see, Foster’s is Australian for beer. Gregg can get free Foster’s because of his dad. A sombrero approaches on the head of a migrant worker. “Hola and welcome to the beaches of Cancun! You must be hungry from initiating your experience. Would you like a: taco? (A) or a: nachos? (B)” This hat presents a fork in the road, leading to two different life paths. Only one leads to success, but the other is about the journey. The sombrero buffers a little. “You have chosen nachos with cheese sauce (Original Recipe). Proceed to your right and enter Casa del Lobstermann’s for one plate of food nachos.” Rex gets a little worried. “Only one plate? Hey bro, we’re going to need at least one dozen plates, two for each member of our clan.” The sombrero has already downloaded, though, so Rex is just wasting our experience. A new upgrade is available for your iPortal. Click yes to install and restart? I cannot believe my eyes. A big chromium pop-up blocking the beautiful sights of our tailormade Cancun experience (read: blocking some pretty tang badonkadonk). Trent karate-chops the NO THANKS button. No sooner does it shatter into a million shards than a cute little lady walks up. “Seasons greetings! Do you nastyboys like catching rays?” She definitely wants to cyber. Zeno takes this one. One thing you gotta know about Zeno, he’s a master. “I want to kiss you right on those two lips.” Mama chica smiles. “Sounds rad! Would you gentlemen be interested in either: tequila belly shots? (A) or: nachos? (B)” Her boobs are so big they pixelate a little. “I want to put my finger in your ear.” “You have selected nachos without cheese sauce (a.k.a. rock n’ roll-style). Credit or Visa CreditRewardsPlus+?” A critical upgrade has installed on your iPortal. Restart now? Remind me later? The girl frowns. “Sorry, this Lobstermann’s experience requires a direct etherwave connection. Press YES to reboot your experience? (All multiverse points will be lost.)” No! Don’t do that! Please stop it computer. Your iPortal is now restarting. Are you sure you want throw away your fresh Lobstermann’s? But it’s too late. Suddenly we’re back in my parents’ three-bedroom mansion with my fucking sister. Total Lobstermann’s Saved—You have saved zero plates of Lobstermann’s nachos and one cup of The Lobster’s Own non-alcoholic tequila drink. My friends and I agree: this experience was two-and-a-half stars. We have to give it three because the iPortal rating utility sucks. OTLB
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Props Hey family, friends, co-workers, As many of you know, I used to work in the movies as a props guy -- I bought and handled the props. I was such a good props guy that Danny DeVito wrote it into his contracts that I had to be the props guy for all the movies he worked on. Thanks Danny! As such, I bought a lot of 3/4-life-size props to include in the shots: 3/4 guitars, Coke cans a little bit smaller than normal, four inch dollar bills. This way Danny looked life size in comparison! Danny is very short. Now that I’m retired I’ve got some time to think about props. I’ve also been looking at a lot of websites. There are pictures of men with their penises out next to different things: rulers, measuring tapes, yardsticks. This tells you how long their penises are. Four inches, six inches, five and a half. That’s when I had a thought about what to do with all the props I’ve got in boxes in the basement! Here’s the deal: I’m selling my 3/4-life-size props. First off, you get a piece of Danny DeVito memorabilia. Secondly, you have things that you can put in pictures you take of your penis. Next to my four inch dollar bill, your four inch penis will look six inches! I’m sure this is cheaper than pills. Let me know if this sounds interesting, Al IMTB
Divorcee When my wife left me, I didn’t know what to do with myself—she was also my secretary and had taken my entire week’s calendar with her. I had no idea when I was getting coffee on Friday. I don’t remember why I first fell in love with Melissa, or Renee, or whatever her name was. I remember she was beautiful. Tall, or medium height. I don’t remember the specifics of her facial features, but I do remember her having some. We had many of the difficulties you’d expect of an interracial marriage—people stared at us on the street, the kids got picked on, I thought she was beneath me socially. Despite these issues, we got along terribly. A lot of divorces have one breaking point, or final straw, but I don’t think ours did. If I had to pick one moment, though, it would probably be last year when I forgot her birthday, or the year before when I totally blanked on Christmas. DKS
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Top Amusement Park Rides, 1930: The Shaking Box Spinning around Sound pictures Popped Corn JOM
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CARNIVAL DATE
-Dude, I’ve got a major problem. -What is it? Where’s Jenny? -She’s in the bathroom. -Did the plan work? -That’s just it—Jenny is afraid of heights so I can’t take her on the Ferris wheel. -No! There goes the whole plan! -I know, I know. Invite her to the carnival. Take her on the Ferris wheel. Kiss her when we’re at the top. -I guess we should have seen this coming. She did leave gym class early that day we climbed the rope. -And her dad was killed in that high-flying trapeze accident. -Wasn’t that— -Right after her mom fell off an observation deck at the Grand Canyon? Yup. -Yeah, so it’s a pretty deeply rooted phobia at this point. -We probably can’t get her to overcome it in the next half hour. -That’s right. In 30 minutes they stop the rides for the big fireworks show. -Damn—I’m trying to get a kiss here and now I’ve got to deal with fireworks. -I’m sorry, man. It wasn’t meant to be. What are you going to do now instead of the Ferris wheel? -We’re heading over to the Tunnel of Love. She’s been asking to ride it with me all night. -Well, maybe you’ll get her at next year’s carnival. -Who knows if she’ll still be available. She keeps talking about how she’s ready for a boyfriend. -That’ll be one lucky guy. JDA
There’s an old saying where I come from. It’s not a great saying, but then again English was pretty different back then, and most of those vowel sounds don’t exist anymore. BUS CRUISIN' FOR BURGERS #
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Whenever I see a blind man holding hands with a beautiful woman I always think to myself: what a waste. I could be holding hands with that blind man. CAS
Summer Plans - Hello there Kevin. - Oh hi Mr. Fisher. How are you? - Fine, fine. Doing fine. Just fine. Very fine. - Great. - So… junior year of college… a big year… an important year. Tell me: what are your plans for the summer? - Well I haven’t actually— - Because you know we’re hiring interns down at The Burger Bun. - Interns? You mean for the corporate side? - “Corporate side?” By which you mean what, exactly? - You know. Keeping track of finances, doing invoices. That sort of thing. - Invoices? What is that? - A list of goods and the prices at which you sell them… don’t you keep sales records? - Oh heavens no. - Then how do you know if you’re actually making money? - Money? Down at The Burger Bun we make burgers. - Yes but when customers order burgers what do they give you in exchange? - Oh all kinds of things. Other burgers they bring from home. Seeded buns. Pickles. - How do you pay your employees? - Condiments, mostly. Look maybe this job isn’t for you. KMN
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Song of Summer It was the summer of 1999, and the entire nation was grooving to Smash Mouth’s “All Star.” Citizens who weren’t grooving to “All Star” would have been considered treasonous, but even the most violent anarchists loved “All Star.” But of all the millions of people who went and bought the whole album, it was me that Astro Lounge really spoke to. Everything I did that summer had a track off the album I associated with it—“Can’t get enough of you baby?” That summer I couldn’t get enough of any baby.
I’ve never been more scared than when my friends left me alone at the beach, buried up to my neck in sand with the tide coming in. “Shit,” I thought, “if I don’t die soon everyone’s going to know about my gills.” RAK
Now it may have been over a decade ago, but it’s because of Astro Lounge that I remember who my best friends were in 1999. They were Greg, Paul, Kevin and Steve. And I’m talking Steve Harwell. Yeah. That Steve Harwell. Lead Vocalist of Smash Mouth. In a summer I might have wasted, Smash Mouth opened my eyes to a world with so much to do and so much to see. They asked me challenging questions like “what’s wrong with taking the back streets?” They taught me about the hole in the satellite picture, a lesson I will take with me to the grave. If you asked me how many times I listened to “All Star” that summer, I couldn’t even say because it was so many times. But if you asked me how many times I went outside that summer, I would say a confident “three.” ARD
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THE HARVARD LAMPOON
authentic Japanese cuisine since 1984
1105 Massachusetts Ave Cambridge, MA 02138
617.492.0434
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NEED A LAST-MINUTE ANNIVERSARY GIFT?
WHERE TO EAT? COME TO THE GRILLE IN QUINCY IT IS A STUDENT RUN PROFIT MAXIMIZING BUSINESS WE WILL LEARN HOW TO MAXIMIZE PROFITS THROUGH YOU. “HELLO CONSUMER STUDENT”
“HELLO STRANGE VOICE”
“WHAT IS THE MATTER?”
“QUINCY GRILLE IS STAFFED WITH WORKER STUDENTS AND IS OPEN UNTIL 4AM TONIGHT”
“IT IS DECIDED.”
“IT IS LATE AND I AM HUNGRY”
“THEN IT IS DECIDED. I SHALL EAT IN QUINCY GRILLE.”
JOIN THE SPIRIT OF YOUTHFUL ENTERPRISE AND
BUY MORE CHICKEN, LATER 36
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AT THE MOVIES
On the Road…Again? Harold Perelman
As award season approaches, expect a new crop of Oscar bait to roll into your local cinemá. Aside from the usual foreign flicks and Holocaust weepies – Schindler, party of 6 million? - the top contenders are usually celluloid versions of books you were supposed to read for your high school Lit class. The latest offering from director Brian Levant (Jingle all the Way, Problem Child II) falls squarely into this last category, and proves just how controversial, frustrating, and ultimately rewarding film adaptations can be. It took fifty-five years for Hollywood to adapt Jack Kerouac’s On the Road. Though Frank Coppola and Gus Sant were once rumored to be attached to the project, studios balked at financing such arty fare. Things came together when Levant, fresh off the box-office success of The Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas, secured a green light for the film and changed the title to the more existentially provocative Are We There Yet? Levant made another bold choice when casting the lead role, choosing Ice Cube of the rap ensemble [African-Americans] With Attitude (NWA). Mr. Cube is an unusual choice to play Jack Kerouac, but no more so than nine-year old Ayesha Childress in the role of Allen Ginsberg. Are We There Yet? has a premise that will be familiar to anyone who knows Kerouac’s novel. A swinging black Lothario must leave his sports-collectable business and drive his girlfriend’s two children across the Pacific Northwest after unspecified engine problems leave her stranded at the Vancouver International Airport. But the superficial plot is less important than the deeper philosophical questions raised, sometimes obliquely, by a talking Willie Mays bobble-head with the voice of Tracy Morgan. The resulting film is far from perfect. Aside from a single fart-inducing burrito, the movie contains none of Kerouac’s bold drug-related content. Cube’s interaction with the children is realistically tense, but too often ends with him being hit in the groin by a frisbee. And as the prostitute Lupe, Jay Mohr doesn’t even try to speak with a Mexican accent. Are We There Yet? is not a film one “gets” on the first viewing. References to the films of Antonioni, Godard and Kurosawa are so subtle that they are non-existent. But despite its complexity, Are We There Yet? has moments of sheer emotional power. I’m thinking of the truck-stop bathroom scene, or the montage near the film’s end, which demonstrates the most effective use of a Baja Men song since Levant’s own Snow Dogs (adapted from Jack London’s Call of the Wild). So is the movie better than the book? It’s different, that’s for sure. Not all fans of On the Road will appreciate this radical interpretation. And there will be some people who think that Are We There Yet? is a step backwards for Mr. Cube after the Friday trilogy. That’s for the Academy to decide. Maybe the most important question is not “which is better?” or even “are we there yet?” but “who are we, and where are we going?” WCS
FIRSTS COMIX by RAK + IMTB
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TAXI
Me: 278 Homewood, please. Driver: Okay. I am going to take Vine there because Fairweather is closed. Me: Sounds good. Driver: No. It is not closed, but it is very very busy. So, I am saving you money. Me: Thanks! Driver: [Honks] See? I wish the man ahead of us were going faster, so I could get you there faster. Me: Okay. Driver: What is he doing? Tell me, why is he turning so slowly? Look—the meter is off. That man turns so slowly, I have turned the meter off. Me: [Sleepy] Hmm. Driver: But now he is gone, so I turn the meter on. There’s a system, and I stick to it. Me: [Asleep] Driver: [Honks] Hello back there? That was for you. See—look. Wake up! Look! I am cutting in front of these people for you. Me: Thank you. Driver: Now we are going very fast. Me: Okay. Driver: Every time we stop, I will let you call my wife and tell her I think she’s a fat piece of shit, to make my life harder. See, I am not cheating you! Me: I don’t want to do that. Driver: Fine. I will do that. Me: [Sleepy] Hmm. Driver: And I will give my wrist a cigarette burn. Me: [Asleep] Driver: Now we are stopped. Good God I wish we were not stopped. CGB
DMV - Hello sir. Here to renew your license? - Yep. Just turned 21! - Ok well let’s have a look. Address still 500 Wychwood Road? - Yes indeed. - Eyes still hazel? Still male? (chuckles) - Uh yep. All that info should be the same as before. - Still 5 foot 8? - Yes sir. - Well you know I can… fudge that one a little. If you want me to.
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- No, no. Sixty eight inches on the dot. - Look Organ Donor, five eight is no good. Too short to be hired by the big firms; too tall to ride the bumper cars with a partner. Are you the tallest short man or the shortest tall man? Average equals invisible. What you need, my friend, is a trademark. - Oh my god.You’re so right. Make me six foot two. No—four foot three. Seven foot eight! - That’s the spirit. - And put that I have facial hair. “Lots of interesting facial hair.” Write that somewhere. KMN
THE HARVARD LAMPOON
I’m Bobby Hofstra,
best-selling kid author of books like “How to Talk to Your Friends” and “How to Talk to Your Dog.” It isn’t news to any of my readers that I already know how to talk to everything. I’m eleven years old and I’ve been publishing for over ten years. I write about what everyone my age thinks about—making sure bullies don’t make you eat dirt; finding places people can’t see you throw up the dirt. Being a kid is about slowly learning what it means to be a grown-up, and being a grown-up means not eating too much dirt. Being a grown-up also means writing books. Here’s an excerpt from my newest release, in which I go over my critical process: “I watch people doing things and I say things about the things they’re doing and my Mom writes it down so my Dad can type it up later.” There are many more excerpts from my 13-page book. Here is one of them: “Girls like smart boys, but more than any type of person, girls like presents. If you can’t afford presents with your allowance, sometimes you can become a very successful author and then you can give yourself as many allowances as you want.” Thanks for buying my books you guys. See you in college. -Bobby ARD
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CRIPS
FAQ
What is “the Crips”? The Crips is a group of guys (and girls) in Los Angeles who enjoy spending time with one another. Each Crip brings his own unique flair to the organization, and that’s what keeps the Crips fun! How do I join the Crips? Come to an Info Session! These will be held every Saturday at 2 pm, starting April 16th. The path you take will be up to you and your Clown (formerly ‘Crip Overlord’), but every Crip starts off as a Crips Candidate (Crip Kid). How many people can be in the Crips at once? This question really depends on how determined you, the candidates, are and how many betray us to our enemies, both of which fluctuate on a yearly basis. The 2010 Census states that 13,000 people self-identify as Crip, but this includes inactive members. What are the chances that I will die in the Crips? There is a high probability you will die in the Crips. Where are the Crips located? South Central Los Angeles, between the “Blood Disciples” (La Cienega Blvd) and the “La Raza” (they’re by the nation’s largest Carl’s Jr). Is that where Tommy’s Famous Wings is located? Yes. Can I get to Tommy’s Famous Wings without being on the Crips? It’s possible, but it’s easier if you are a Crip. That having been said, don’t just join the Crips for wings! We can tell when you do this. Are there other chapters of Tommy’s Famous Wings in a different part of town or state? There is only one Tommy’s Famous Wings. You can find it by walking to our Los Angeles headquarters and then walking five steps to the right. Why doesn’t Tommy’s Famous Wings deliver anymore? Simply, it became too dangerous. Are the recipes of Tommy’s Famous Wings online? Yes, but to access them you must type in your Crips ID number. Do I have to know how to shoot a gun to be a Candidate? Don’t worry about that! We understand that not everyone begins at the same level. On the first day, we will split off into three groups based on experience. We look for a lot of things in Crip Kidz, only one of which is gun-confidence. We also look for fast-learners and improvers! As a Candidate, will it be OK if I go to Tommy’s Famous Wings, even though I have not yet accomplished all the tasks? You will receive a 20% off coupon for Tommy’s Famous Wings that you can reuse whenever you visit, so long as you are still in the running! Great. Do I have to bring anything to the first info session? Nope! Just remember: Don’t wear your pants too low for now, caps are fine but hats are not, roll in at a smooth 40 mph, no radio until you get the hang of things. We can’t wait to meet you! CGB
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THE HARVARD LAMPOON
ROPE
SWING
For me, summer was not about my family’s nice lake house. It was not about not being allowed to invite friends whose tough economic backgrounds made them strong, or about me not knowing anyone like that. Summer was about one thing: my rope swing. As soon as we got to the lake house I’d grab the swing and run to the lake, trading my worries about math and science classes for worries about whether a coniferous or deciduous tree is sturdier to swing from or whether the picnic basket I’d packed had enough graph paper to plot the swing trajectory. Finding a spot was tough. I’d see a good tree, but it wouldn’t be close enough to the water, or I’d swim all the way to the middle of the lake before remembering how trees work. When I found the perfect one, I’d rush to tie on the swing before it could run away. Then, I’d swing. As I sailed out high over the water, I kept my grip firm, my legs in an athletic bend, and my voice in a girly shriek. “Still got it,” I thought as I neared the water, my body stretched out as flat as it could. Looking back on those days, gold-colored with sunshine and outbreaks of lake fungi, is like looking back on any great one-sided relationship. I could tell the swing anything, and in return it would vibrate ever so lightly. In time I learned that was it’s way of saying it was being chewed on by a raccoon. You might think it’s weird that my best friend was a swing rather than the usual dog or slide. You might think I loved it too much. But I never once asked it to strangle and replace my parents or any love thing like that. It’s just I had so many special times on that swing, most of which included using it to swing into the lake. JOM
SLEEPAWAY
CAMPS, 2983
Space Camp – Have you ever wanted to learn about physics and the universe? Study the fabric of the cosmos with our dedicated staff, who lead campers through a range of fun activities. Parents, this is a great chance to get your kids exposed to space early by sending them there. Campers will spend between 8 and 10 weeks aboard one of our cozy interstellar transport vessels. Parents can take advantage of this free time and ‘empty nest’ as creatively as they see fit. Due to time dilation, these weeks will feel like several years. Cost: 475 living units / week Basketball Camp – Improve your game by understanding basketballs at the subatomic level! We’ll go through quarks, quasars, neutrinos, and the famous Higgs-Boson-Boson. Cost: 230 soul units / week Tech Camp – A great way for kids to improve their technical skills in basketball. Cost: 400 dollars / week DKS CRUISIN' FOR BURGERS #
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Chloe’s Famous Diner This month everyone has been saying that it’s hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk and I’m thinking “oh yeah? Prove it.” So that’s what my new diner, Chloe’s Famous Diner, has set out to do. The world is my oyster, and Bow Street between Plympton and Linden is my frying pan. What is on the menu? Eggs however you like ‘em! Scrambled has proven to be tricky though because the egg just sort of keeps spreading until there’s a thin layer covering a large area. Most of it gets stuck in the sidewalk cracks and after that happens there’s very little I can do. And I don’t know what “poached” is so please do not ask for that either. Is this sanitary? Heat kills germs, basic science buddy. Don’t be embarrassed though, this is a very common question. Where should I sit? Unfortunately you too will be resting on the sidewalk. Be careful, it is very hot! Please come check out Chloe’s Famous Diner. BYOE. CKG
My Restaurant I thought of a restaurant theme. Every item on the menu has a different literary pun. For example, for dessert you can order Bananas Foster Wallace. I haven’t figured out any of the other items, but I can’t be expected to do everything for this damn restaurant. CGB
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THE HARVARD LAMPOON
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German Cuisine and Etymology
The Frankfurter Derived from the German city of Frankfurt, this is a seasoned, smoked sausage meant for eating.
The Weiner Named after the Austrian city of Wein, the Weiner is a frankfurter and should be treated like one. Limburger Cheese From the Ducky of Limburg, this bold flavored dairy product is a friend first and a food second. Or is it the other way around? No, yeah it’s the other way around. The Berlinburg This dish is about friendship. The two of you have many similarities, but it loves you just as much for your differences. It’s like a brother to you, a step-brother—so the possibility of something more is always just below the surface. Contains three meats. Allemagniker Have you ever liked someone more than just a friend? You don’t want to jeopardize what you have by saying something, but doing nothing is just killing you inside. Eventually you make a move and he’s totally into it! You kiss awkwardly but somehow you wouldn’t have it any other way. The Allemagniker, from once German-occupied Paris, is a food you two could eat together. Stuttgartschnitzel You’re at medical school in southern California now and he’s finishing up his dissertation at Oxford. You chat on the phone every other day or so, but sometimes when he calls you just let it go to the machine. You try to feel something, anything, but you’d rather be outside on the quad playing Frisbee than indoors hearing about Markovian projections. You’re human, and the average human enjoys a Stuttgartschnitzel. Klösenin You’ve just broken the news to him—it’s over. He’s crying as he’s known to do, and the sight is objectively unattractive. His head is on your lap and your mind is elsewhere. You’re trapped in this chair for the foreseeable future—a Klösenin would really hit the spot right about now. German Chocolate Cake A tangy French soup with emotional maturity. BWKS
Mugging Etiquette for Victims If your mugger is blind, go easy on the guy. Let the mugger feel your face to figure out if you are rich or not. It especially helps to be able to count the teeth. Cut your mugger some slack on the weapon. Don’t be insulted if he has no knife or gun and he just went into this with his fists. Poverty is hard. Knives can be dangerous, especially if you have to feel both ends to know which is which. And guns can be expensive and tricky to aim. Traditionally, if you have fewer than forty dollars in your wallet, you throw in your watch. Don’t tell a blind mugger that you don’t have a watch — he can hear it ticking. If a mugger happens to have a guide dog, please don’t touch or feed the dog. The dog is working and should not be bothered on the job. The mugger isn’t going to remember your face. Why remember his? SAL-G 44
THE HARVARD LAMPOON
Great Drugs To Try During Summer Vacation Marijuana Also called weed, pot, grass, sloppy oregano, and shrub, marijuana is great for making a great time a little more chill. Some positives are that pot is non-addictive, so you can smoke it five times a day, every day for years and not worry that you’ll get hooked. I recommend marijuana as a summer drug because lighting up a fat splif with your girl on a steamy July night will make you realize new things about the world, like how distance really works. The downside to pot is that it sometimes makes you afraid of the wind. Mushrooms Sometimes called magic mushrooms, ‘shrooms, trippy toadstools, and shremp, mushrooms make great colors seem even greater, and great friends even taller. Mushrooms are from the earth, so they’re totally non-addictive. I stood next to a creek behind my house for a few hours, but because of ‘shrooms it was an adventure in an incredible forest that lasted for what felt like years. The bad part about mushrooms is they’re grown in cow shit, but whatever, people drink milk all the time and that’s not a big deal. Ecstasy Ecstasy, or X, is the perfect summer drug if you’re aiming to spend your vacation dancing at cool raves, or if you’re just looking for a way to make hallucinogenic sex less boring. A lot of people say ecstasy is addictive because once you’ve tried it you never want to live without it, but that’s not true at all. The trick is to just spice up the normal world by making sure you’re ingesting small amounts of X at all times. Crush a little in your orange juice, glaze your steak with it at a potluck, or just huff some from a trusty bag. The only downside is the bowel-loosening terror that will envelop you if you ever stop having enough X in your blood. SLX-47 This stuff just hit the streets, but my buddy Román told me people are calling it slux, 47 heaven, leapfrog, musk, or moom juice over by Fairaway Avenue. Not sure exactly what this stuff does because I’d had a little angel-dust laced with ketamine before taking a toot of it, but one thing is for certain: it definitely isn’t addictive. Truth be told my heart started beating so fast I had to sit down for a couple of hours and re-learn counting after even just a taste of this stuff. Coming down from slux was the worst experience of my life, that’s why the ample recuperation-time during summer’s dog days make now the perfect occasion to try some before it goes mainstream. Cocaine This stuff gets a bad rap, mostly by people who have never tried it, or tried it for a few years but let a couple downward spirals bias their opinions. Cocaine is an all-purpose kind of drug, provided your purpose is to feel like god for half-anhour. You can put cocaine in joints, use it to liven up a shot of heroin, or just to take the edge off a three-day slux binge. Plus it’ll help you lose weight for bikini season, and give all the popular kids at school a reason to start hanging out with you. If you only do one drug this summer and then continuously for another decade, let it be this one. Not addictive. ZPH
Cosmopolitan June 2010 Editor’s Page
We would like to retract an assertion we made in our May 2010 article “The Top 100 Sexiest Places to Have Fun Summer Sex,” #13 – Ferris wheel car. This was an irresponsible and dangerous suggestion. Ferris wheels cars tend to oscillate to the extreme, and they go very high. Even the most adventurous cosmogirl should not have sex in a Ferris wheel car. The editors mourn the loss of Cosmopolitan subscriber Becky Friedman and guest. CKG CRUISIN' FOR BURGERS #
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Skateboarding Remembered Skateboarding was everything in the late 70’s – the reason I woke up every day, the reason I slept on an inclined ramp. Once you got on a board you couldn’t get off, since back then we still thought you had to buckle in. Some people said we were just surfing on land, but we couldn’t hear them with the wind hitting us in our faces and oncoming traffic hitting us in our bodies. Soon we had boards that could traverse any surface on earth, provided it was paved and protected from wind erosion. We lived for that pure adrenaline of stepping on a board and immediately falling backwards in a cool, backwards way. The sport exploded. Kids were inventing tricks like the “kickflip,” in which you smoke pot then rotate the board in midair, and the “heelflip,” in which you smoke too much pot to perform a kickflip. You weren’t cool unless you could ride a board and you weren’t really cool unless you could ride more than one at a time. We would look for swimming pools to empty and skate in. Then we’d look for empty pools to fill and soak in after a long day’s skate. This was before we wore helmets, and way before we wore them while skating. Cops chased us, but we were younger, faster, more ready to die, and most of our dads were lawyers. Mostly, it was about rebellion. We wore our jeans tight, our hair long, and only conditioned it every other day. We grinded down handrails instead of going down stairs the usual way: sliding down handrails on your butt. We didn’t care what you thought unless you were a cute girl, or an ugly girl driving us to the Burger Shack. Unfortunately, those times were short-lived. Some grew up and got real jobs as skate-park attendants and skate-park drug dealers. Others became super famous and forgot what the sport was all about: sticking it to the man and living with our parents. JOM
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THE HARVARD LAMPOON
I will never forget the day I learned to ride a bike... I was just your average boy living in a China Town tenement. “We need to make money or the family will starve! Quick Ling, take this rickshaw and figure out how to move people around the city, even if they do not want you to. You must help us live the American dream.” That is what I said to my son Ling. The next day I went to Central Park and taught myself to ride an American bike with a basket, diverting myself from the horrors of the Great Depression. Later that day they moved the rest of my family to an internment camp but not me because I rode away super fast. “I’m
going to miss them,” I thought to myself sadly, “oh man, a downhill. Hooray!” The next day I bought myself a brand new basket. Only one thing - in the basket was a baby! “You are my Moses,” I said embracing a new religion and a new child. “You shall be in charge of the bell. I love you little Moses.” And just like that I had a family again. But as unexpectedly as little Moishe came into my life, just like that he was gone, dead from a disease that has many known cures. I was very mad and said keep the change pigs I am never eating here again. Now you can see me riding my bike across Europe, mourning the loss of my baby blue basket and my baby blue baby, blue because of how dead he is. If I happen to win the Tour-De-France I will refuse the trophy because these wheels don’t stop for nobody no more as long as I keep my foot on the gas and hot air in the balloon. KMN CKG
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the title of my piece is called running a gas station hello have you ever run a gas station? do you know what it is like to walk around town looking for the cheapest gas so you can make yours one cent less? there is an oil crisis and all the rigs have stopped slurping oil; so instead of slurp slurp slurp it’s slurp {} empty {}. this particular gas station is nothing to write home about, with people loitering outside and 12 pumps. do you think the person behind the register cares that you are late? lottery tickets are designed just to get you in the store, 9/10 of the dollar is sent to the companies. energy drinks are now more profitable than traditional sodas, and although this does not come as a shock, it actually shocks me that drinks like cherry cola have run the land when they have a pitiful amount of caffeine and nobody buys them except the .1% of the population who considers it their “thing.” KPB
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THE HARVARD LAMPOON
Summer Love By any reasonable standard of distributive justice, Hank’s Grub Shack and Chow Stand had seen its fair share of summer romances. Ocean Point locals would joke and say things like, “I wonder what Hank makes more of; hamburgers, or summer romances?” or “Hot enough for ya [here at Hank’s, the boardwalk food establishment which is a popular hang-out and date spot]?” For his part, Hank had been dead since 1978. The new owner was foreign and his culture considered many things to be taboo. Pre-marital group sex in a burger and falafel shack bathroom was one of them. And so the Immigrant-American exercised what he mistakenly thought to be his Third Amendment right and freely spoke his opinion. “No Sex in Bathroom,” he put on a piece of paper, which he in turn put on the door to what had become known as the “Sex Bathroom.” He returned to the Shack and Stand kitchen and threw a new batch of burgers on the grill. Finally, the life he’d always dreamed of was within reach, the life that had seemed impossible ever since staggering numbers of people started using his bathroom for ritualistic sex. At first he ignored the clues, which in retrospect, should have told him that an average of seventy-nine individuals per day were having extremely loud sex in his bathroom. First, there had been the sound coming from the Shack and Stand bathroom, which had been undeniably loud and sex-sound-like. It all seemed so obvious now. But at the time, could he really be blamed for having not wanted to admit, for being unwilling to accept, that he lived in a world where people would wait in line for up to three-and-a-half hours just to have sex in a bathroom with a stranger randomly selected using a complex card-based system? (These were the rules, as best as he could surmise from message boards and fan blogs that he found online). But he was fundamentally an optimist, and hoped that his children might live in a better world than he did, a world in which people didn’t insist on having sex in your public restroom and wouldn’t call your house late at night, sometimes to ask for you to unlock the bathroom door, sometimes just to say that they had broken the lock and were already having sex. The next undeniable warning that he had managed to deny for over two months was a precipitous drop in paying customers at the Grub Shack and Chow Stand. Even as the number of participants in, the volume of, and the potential liability associated with the bathroom sex climbed to dizzying new heights, the owner of the Shack and Stand persevered. He had come to America to sell burgers, and so he convinced himself that this goal was technically not incompatible with thousands of people having sex in a bathroom that just happened to be twenty-feet from his kitchen. At first, his business had boomed. “Hey Hank, grill me up a burger,” the customers would say. “I’m about to have sex in your bathroom.” “Please do not have sex in my public bathroom,” said the restaurant owner. “Please, please do not do that in my bathroom.” “And extra pickles, Hank.” “Your burger will be ready in three to seven minutes. Please try not to have sex in this restaurant’s bathroom.” “Thanks Hank!” came the response. “I’ll be in the bathroom.” His name wasn’t even Hank. Before long they stopped buying his food. The Shack and Stand owner tried to not let this upset him. Just because a person liked to have sex in a fast food restaurant bathroom didn’t mean they had to like fast food. But how then could he explain the McDonald’s bags he kept finding near the makeshift outhouse the people in line used while waiting for the other bathroom, the one for sex? What about the Taco Bell wrappers? How was he supposed to feel now that he had found all four Burger King-issued Shrek the Third collectable cups inside his own, struggling fast food restaurant? How had it come to this? Though he had learned to appreciate Ocean Point, USA, he could not overlook its many flaws. The traffic; the wet T-shirt contests; the sandcastle building contests, which though less obviously disgusting than titty soaking competitions, still contradicted the small town’s presumed collective spirit; hybrid sandcastle building/wet T-shirt contests so perverse you just had to see them to understand them. In his home country all these things were banned or, in the case of sand castle building, heavily taxed. But in America, you had a God-given right to declare them your God-given rights. Still, the Shack and Stand owner loved his new country too much to tell his customers that they could not use his bathroom to fulfill their unspeakably disruptive sexual fantasies. People had come to depend on him and his semi-private bathroom. On Sundays the bathroom was a popular hangout spot for the afterchurch crowd; Monday was Ladies Night; Tuesdays were crazy; Wednesday was Top-40 Night, and drew a young crowd; Thursdays saw a lot of travelling salesman; Fridays had been Latin Night, but were now Trivia Night; and everyone came on Saturday, probably for the half-price wings. America. Burgers. Summer. Freedom. All these things came together in the Shack and Stand bathroom, along with horny bikers, Japanese businessmen, bi-curious sorority sisters, adulterous senators, second cousins, freelance prostitutes, bucketlisters with fistfuls of Viagra, sexually active rabbis, geeks on prom night, MILFs against drunk driving, not to mention plenty of hard-working citizens who just wanted to fuck and, one time, Ray Romano or someone who sounded a lot like him. The Shack and Stand owner finally understood.. Yes, people refused to call him anything but Hank. Yes, his burger business had failed and his falafel venture had fared even worse. Yes, someone had already ignored the sign and was having sex in the bathroom. But after all it was his bathroom, and maybe that was something to be proud of. WCS
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Lifeguard “Help! Help!” she screams, flailing in the surf. I jolt awake and throw my tanning board aside, opting to tan passively for a bit. Through my binoculars I pick out the facts: Fifty yards out, water’s choppy, girl’s twenty and flails like a pro. Hurriedly, I run the calculations. The time for thinking ends. The time to save a life began minutes ago. I’m almost ready to put sun block on my nose when the unthinkable happens. “Excuse me,” a large man remarks, “but I think that girl is drowning out there. Aren’t you the lifeguard?” I try to play the deaf card, but more people come over until a small mob surrounds my tower, all of them incredibly versed in sign language. My sunglasses are already off, so the blind card’s out the window. Time is running out. I put my hands up to my mouth and make a birdcall, the last ditch emergency signal. “You need to save her!” they shout, writing the plea on impossible-to-ignore dry erase boards. “But wait a second,” observes the learned professor, heeding my call in the nick of time, “Is it really justifiable to demand that our friend the lifeguard risk his own life to save another?” The crowd murmurs in puzzlement as he continues. “One might argue that in making the call that a rescue is too dangerous, he preserves a life exactly as a lifeguard is expected to; the only difference is that the life is his own.” “This chair is really high up,” I add helpfully. That night, the professor comes back around to check on me. “Thanks again for the help, Doc,” I say, handing him a beer. “I always get frazzled when they start shouting.” “Don’t worry about it,” he smiles back. “That’s what you pay me for.” Off in the distance we can hear the girl still flailing, but the tide has pulled her out far enough to take the edge off her noise. “That is some buoyancy she’s got there,” he notes, still nursing his lager. “Yeah,” I reply. “Maybe I should’ve saved her.” RAK
Reasons I Won’t Be Participating In The 2012 Summer Olympics Polo Competition Whenever I start training for polo, I end up turning over and going back to sleep. CGB 50
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Hitchhiker I’m a hitchhiker, walking along the side of the road. You drive past and my thumb is out. This means I’d like a ride, but also that I think your car is just alright, not worthy of a full thumbs up. You pull over because I’m going your way. As long as we’re riding together, I might as well tell you about myself, so I get to talking. You probably want to know how I ended up like this, hitchhiking on the side of the road and more importantly, changing all your radio presets. So I start from the beginning. My father was a virulent anti-Semite who made a living selling yarmulkes. He ran a small shop in the Jewish part of town, the “suburbs” he called it. His customers would say, “Thanks for the yarmulkes, these are terrific.” He’d shake his head, muttering, “Typical.” I know what you’re thinking—get to the part where you become a hitchhiker. Get to the part where you and I meet and I tell you about my life. I say relax, I’m getting there and it’s the best part. But first I tell you about how I lost my fortune. One day, a man I meet tells me about this thing called email—this was in the early 1990s—and how it would change everything. He says since everybody’s going to be sending all this electronic mail, they’re going to need electronic stamps. He asks me to invest, so I use up all my savings on e-stamps at 33 cents apiece. You can probably guess how that ended up. My business partner stole my share of the estamps, and now he’s cashing in on every goddamn gigabit. Meanwhile I’m so broke that when I want to use the internet, I’m forced to use the computers in the public library, where email is free. So now I’m hitchhiking along this road, hoping to find a lawyer to help me recoup my losses. But enough about me. Let’s talk about you. Let’s talk about you and your family, and how you’ll explain to them that I’m coming to dinner and that yes, of course I’ll spend the night. JDA
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Squire Hardwick,
Mr. Griswald and the rest having asked me to write down the particulars of Bo-back Island, excepting when they became most afeared, I here take up my pen in the year of grace 17— and write them a letter of decline. The Squire coming to see me and ask again if I would do so, I said I might think on it for his treasure share. He gave me a shilling, and I said I would. I remember him as if it were yesterday, the man with the cheek scar and the cheek scar scar. Before he came to the Inn he was crying in the streets “Rum! Rum! Rum!’ which struck as a good idea so I had a glass. The man was called Green Beard, so told, but I don’t guess that was even half of his Christian name. Green Beard drank rum during the day and “life juice” during the night, but the bottle was one and the same. He always told me if I saw a man with a wooden leg I should ask him where he got that leg, because this was a good thing to know in the buccaneer life. Then one evening his old crewmates came for him: Red Dog, Sea Dog, Black Dog, and Dog. They having asked him for a map he said, “Which map?” Having said the one with the treasure he said, “Which treasure?” Having stabbed him he died. They went upstairs smashing and wrecking havoc and generally going over the whole place, so I knew they wouldn’t hear if I dragged Green Beard outside and took the treasure map from his breast pocket. I looked at Green Beard a moment having hoped that someone would come around and bury him if I left him here. It was a shame, I thought. He would have really liked to die of drink. I supposed I ought to tell Squire Hardwick, because he probably liked treasure. That grand personage saying he would have to ask Mr. Griswald, and Mr. Griswald saying he would have to ask Mrs. Griswald, and the séance being performed, and Mrs. Griswald saying yes, we set about getting a crew together. Having the option of ruffian crew or nice sailor crew, Squire Hardwick had to decide: should he put enough food for everyone on the ship, or not? Choosing the latter, we shipped off with the ruffian crew and a few skinny cats. I sensed a mutiny when the crew started whispering one day while they bound and gagged us. Squire Hardwick shook and said, “Mmmn! Mmmn!” but I couldn’t understand him when he spoke this way. The crew told us to go and dig up the treasure while they drank on the ship. This was their first mistake: thinking we were good at digging. Their second mistake was not having clearly demarcated lookout shifts. We wouldn’t have nearly gotten the treasure off the island if we hadn’t left most of it behind. The Squire was getting awful fatigued so I told him he ought to take a break from digging for treasure and dig for another treasure. The Squire and I waited to set off until the sun was high in the sky so it would get in the buccaneers’ eyes and they mightn’t see us. We rowed our little rowboat of treasure away from Bo-Back Island stealthily beneath the cover of some birds. Having got a ways out, I turn to the Squire and say, “Sir, do you know the way back to England?” “No, young chap,” he said. “Indeed I do not.” CFF
The best part about water-parks is we all suspend our judgment for long enough to ignore all the pee in the water and just have a good time together. ZPH 52
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Family Photo Ok everyone, I want you to line up in height order. This is going to be so cute! Tall people in the back, and maybe rest your chins on the shorter people. Oh that is precious! Ben, put your chin on your sister’s head. Ok great. Ladies, smooth your dresses and clasp your hands behind your backs. Dad, hold this magnifying glass like a detective. Alright, we’re going to do one more, but this time I want you to sit in a semicircle around Grandma and Grandpa. Happy anniversary, you guys! Everyone stare intently at them, but smile like you’ve just had a piece of pie. I’ll need you to smear this jam on your lips. This one is going to be a little trickier. I want to get a shot of everyone jumping for joy, lined up in alphabetical order by last name. Most of us have the same last name, so let’s also line up in weight order. No Gabe, you’re a little guy—go to the left side, with the dog. Margie, you’re going to want to be all the way to the right. The far right. Everyone jump on the count of three as soon as Margie gets to her spot. Is there time for one of just the guys shaking hands? Come around to the other side so we get the sun hitting the lake behind you. Now squat way down so you get a light-halo. Come on, I’ve seen you squat more than that! You should be straining your legs. Perfect, now shake. And remember, do it like you’re complete strangers. This is going to be a goofy one, so I hope everyone has their rubber chickens and electric hand buzzers. I’m kidding of course; we’ll bring out the props in a few minutes. How about we get one cousin lying across all the other cousins? Don’t forget to stick out your tongues! Now everyone wave your hands, but not at the camera. Act as though there is a camera in the sky and it’s hurtling towards you like a meteor. I’ve arranged these ladders into a tableau. Everyone find a rung and pose as if this is the first time you’ve ever breathed pure oxygen. BUS
TV Commercial
What’s this gigantic, plastic rifle in my hand, you ask? Come on man. Didn’t you see the logo? It’s the Gooze Blaster 4500, the latest in Jamgear’s new line of super soakers. Check out the blaster’s shell. The lightweight frame makes blasting possible in any arena. Blast in your backyard or blast your sister in her bedroom. She’s putting on makeup, wearing dresses and boom—you just goozed her in the eye. Now that’ll leave a mark! With a clear body for total gooze visibility and a custom handle for targeting, the Gooze Blaster 4500 is a blast. But don’t take my word for it. Try it out with our 2-week trial offer. If you don’t like it, jam out with one of our other blasters or mix it up with some store credit. Just be sure to rinse your rifle thoroughly prior to exchange. “Wait a second,” you’re thinking. “How did we come up with the Gooze Blaster 4500?” Well, we got a bunch of really smart scientists in a room, gave them access to our super secret soaker technology, and blasted them with gooze. They were sticky for a week. Gross! Don’t wanna gooze alone? Upgrade to our brand new value pack and make the 4500 fun for the whole family. That’s right. When you buy any Gooze Blaster, you’ll get a second blast cartridge free of charge so that dad can join in on the fun. Take that gooze, dad. Take that gooze all day. Don’t let your buds beat you to the punch. Get your Gooze Blaster 4500 today, and send them to the cleaners. Blast on, brother! WDG CRUISIN' FOR BURGERS #
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ROADTRIPPIN’: A TRAVELOGUE
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“Hey, what a great car...for driving to soccer practice.”
“Everyone quit your squabbling. We’re going to New York, the birthplace of prostitution.”
“New York? Fuck this, I’m leaving.”
“Without that extra weight we’re making great time.”
“Hold on, I have to take a piss.”
“Hurry up dude, that piss is taking forever.”
“Oh shit, dinosaur attack.”
“The city that never sleeps. Now I get it!”
“Look, there’s a Friendly’s family-style restaurant.”
“Yeah fuck sightseeing, let’s go to Friendly’s!”
“Ahh, that’s more like it.”
“No slouching at the dinner table!”
“Sorry, I just get so excited when I eat at Friendly’s.”
“We all do.”
Friendly’s, Where Friends Go for Food.
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THAILAND RIVER CRUISE ★★★★☆
Review by JetSetter123 (42 Contributions) This is a pleasant three-hour cruise down the Mekong River. The crew was very friendly and met us at the dock. Their English was poor, but they understood “Beer” after we spent many minutes gesturing. It turns out they don’t serve any, so bring your own. The cruise itself was peaceful and scenic. Some passengers snorkeled at one point, but I would advise against it because the boat doesn’t stop. The Thai are, if nothing else, very efficient. They drop you off in a market in the the old part of town where the streets are teeming with young kids, so make sure to bring some candy to give to them! Comments
Comment by GlobeTrotter10 (17 Contributions) My whole family had a great time on this trip. Definitely recommend it if you’re in the area! JetSetter123 was right about the kids, they absolutely loved the candy we brought! Was this comment helpful? 57 1
Comment by FearOfFalling44 (2 Contributions) This was my first time in Thailand, but I’d come back again just to give sweets to the kids. This cruise is a must for any first, second, or third timer in the area! Was this comment helpful? 44 1
Comment by Concerned87 (22 Contributions) As a former Peace Corps Volunteer, I know first hand that the distribution of candy, treats, and presents to children in developing nations is a bad decision. It only creates an expectation of Americans that puts other tourists in danger of harassment and theft. Please discontinue this practice! Was this comment helpful? 0 29
Comment by StarGazer242 (10 Contributions) Tip to future travelers: stock up on gummy candies! Chocolates melt :( Was this comment helpful? 38
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Comment by DoctorTravel911 (31 Contributions) Chocolates DO melt! Was this comment helpful?
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Comment by Concerned87 (7 Contributions) Seriously you guys, enough with the candy! Did anyone see the NYT article about the American couple who was assaulted in Cambodia just a week ago? Read it now, if you haven’t already. The author agrees with my point from earlier: your behavior creates an expectation that, when not met, causes innocent Americans to be harassed, robbed, and even peed on. This needs to end! Was this comment helpful? 0 52
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Comment by LuggageLoaded8 (20 Contributions) Costco sells Starbusts in competitively-priced fifteen-pound bags! Was this comment helpful? 19
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Comment by TravelTim2 (9 Contributions) Concerned87, stop down-voting everything - I want to pee on YOU. Was this comment helpful? 101
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MAKE SURE YOU TEND A GOOD GARDEN
SOUL GARDEN
BWKS
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Rules of My Treehouse: 1. No girls allowed!!! 2. Sluts welcome. OTLB
First World Problems The cashier’s window at the drive-thru is too high, and I have to figure out whether the attendant is going to bend down, or if I’ll have to open the door, or how I could have forgotten that this happens every time. Wireless internet keeps getting faster and faster, hardly leaving a guy any time to sit back, relax and ponder what kind of porn he’d like to watch today. Sometimes bottled water tastes too good. ZPH
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CREDITS: Main Layout: JPFG Additional Layout: BUS, JDA Ad Layout: APFK Ibis Inklings - Lampy Collective Sailboating, Suburban Adventure - NJM Hawaiian Postcard, Amusement Park - IVP Quincy Grille Ad - CAS Soul Garden Ad - CAS + JPFG Travelogue - BUS
ON DECK:
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BUS thanks AJM, ARP, PDL, MLF, CGF, MEB, HHD, JSG, RIP, GMS, and MKG. He also thanks (in order of attractiveness) WCS, KPB, CGB, JPFG, AMG, PVM, KMM, CAM, NHS, JDA, ALA, OTLB, ARD, YC, CFF, DNA, and AMR. Beyond that, BUS thanks the 1124 group, Sactown, the Bay Area and back down, Dizzy, Harriet Knight, Mast Gundamin, Messhall, Iron Beetle Talkies, and Barry Steiner, who came up with the issue title pro bono. BUS does not thank anyone who ever believed in him.
JPFG quiere dar las gracias a KAE, IMTB, KCR, PAG, IVP, RER, NJM, ARD, JDA, BUS, el resto del personal, JFH, Celebration #, The Plastic Beach, Rohnert Park, Great White, y su madre, su hermana, y sus gatos. Más que todo, JPFG quiere dar las gracias a Isidro y Ana Gamiño. CRUISIN' FOR BURGERS #
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Enjoy the bounty of New England at The Fireplace. We buy from local farmers and fisherman, mushroom foragers and artisanal cheese makers. Lunch • Brunch • Dinner • Catering Dinner: Sunday-Wednesday from 5 to 10pm, Thursday-Saturday from 5 to 11pm. Lunch: Monday-Friday from 11am to 2:30pm. Brunch: Saturday and Sunday from 11am to 2:30pm. WEEKLY Live Music Wednesday: Jazz, Thursday: Latin 9:30 to midnight. No cover charge.
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