NONSENSE HUMOR MAGAZINE’S guide to
TRAVEL
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horoscopes by Anthony Bourdain PISCES
You've been listening to too much of that newage folk bullshit music, Pisces. Pull yourself together and jam out to some serious rockand-roll. Guns and Roses. The Ramones. Iggy Pop. Put on your record player and just tune out. Maybe, if you feel so compelled, indulge in a bump of heroin. Then describe it to me. Please. Just this once, kid. For me.
ARIES Aries, you have too much fire in you. Invest in a warm glass of sake. Find yourself in that sushi joint I told you about in Shibuya. Tell the chef that Tony sent you. He, and only he, will know what to do. Don't cringe when he serves you the sea urchin: that blessed, slithering, raw uni. You've had worse in your mouth, I'm sure.
TAURUS
Get your dick out of that French duck press, Taurus, because it's time to stop fooling around. You're stubborn, but you're losing your grip. No one wants to hear you bitch about your sexless marriage. Man up. A nice glass of a well-aged scotch and maybe some rare filet will ease your troubles.
GEMINI
I once fucked a pair of twins on my first trip to Australia. They were tan, well-oiled, and gorgeous. I still buy them a beer or two whenever I'm in Sydney. It'll be a good week, Gemini, if you play your cards right. Keep it up, you sexy, multi-faceted devil. You too, deserve a beer.
CANCER Stop your crying, Cancer, and get yourself a stiff one (heh) at your closest dive bar: the one with the oldest strippers you can find. Your problem is that you're a vegan. Order a thick cheeseburger and have a good jerk in the bathroom stall. The big one. Don't flush.
LEO
Leo, you warm-hearted lion, you. You mean well, but honestly, your efforts just aren't cutting it. Take a nice day all to yourself on the beach and keep a freshly-muddled caipirinha in your hand at all times. No beach? Too bad. Draw a bath. What? I enjoy the small things in life. What of it, cocksucker?
VIRGO
It has been a stressful week, Virgo. Keep your cool. Take a long stroll to the walk-in fridge and have a good primal scream, like the one your father had. In there you will find a nice package of pancetta. You know what to do from here, big boy. Grease up and slither behind the bar to grab a shot of whiskey from that barmaid you've been trying friskily to fingerfuck. Maybe snort a line off her ass.
LIBRA
A hard worker, you are, Libra. Your business aspirations, however, will fail this week. Consider a side hustle in something less than legal, perhaps. Indulge in those sensory pleasures you have long denied yourself. Chase the dragon, kid. Chase it real good.
SCORPIO How many more of them are there? Three? After this? Fine, but the next round is on you guys. Who's next? Scorpio? You're known for your devilish charm, Scorpio, but you really gotta start taking it easy. Sometimes, you need a little – how should I say – aromatherapy. A spliff in Amsterdam, perhaps?
SAGITTARIUS
Weary traveler Sagittarius, it's time for you to leave again. Be spontaneous. I would suggest Malaysia or the Philippines. Last time I was in Malaysia, I got a hand-tapped tattoo of an uroboros. Follow suit. Ask for extra beef in your bowl of noodles, and when your hosts offer you their locally brewed hooch, don't be a pussy.
CAPRICORN You're a ruthless bastard, Goat Man. Mmm,goat. Ever tried goat kidney? Delicious with a cold glass of..what was I saying? I'm fucking starving. They haven't fed me yet today, and I'm getting a little fucking grumpy.
AQUARIUS This week, Aquarius, expect to...wait a second, Guy Fieri is an Aquarius? Fuck horoscopes. Fuck you all. Fuck. You. All. Fuck. You. All.
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Buses vs. Limousines 2016 was supposed to be the year we finally got some answers; God knows we came into it with enough questions! "Will the city of Chicago ever see a winning Cubs team?” (As it turns out, yes). "Should the city of Cleveland just burn to the ground and start fresh?” (As has always been true, yes).
"Will the city of Flint ever have clean water?” (Uh.)
It seems that for all those questions that were answered, even more puzzles, conundrums, and points of contention came flying out of the woodwork. I think by now you know where we're going with this, so let's just get it all out there in order to start 2017 off on the right foot. We need to figure out once and for all which is better: Buses or Limousines?
Buses Sturdy, powerful, stout, uncouth; often yellow, sometimes not. A distinct look that says, "Crawl inside me, filthy children, but don't stand up! I have no leg room, not even for you! I have no seat belts! I have no guard rails!” Limousines Long, slender, sleek, hushed; often either black or white, sometimes pink if girl or gay. Tinted windows; mysteries inside. A shrewd design; phallic yet flat. Buses Top speed of 87 MPH (source: 1994 thriller Speed starring Keanu Reeves, Sandra Bullock). Limousines Top speed of 104 MPH (source: Uncle Rodney). 4
Buses Driven by emotionally calloused men; publicly utilized by physically calloused men, as well as other disadvantaged castes. Limousines Driven by emotionally calloused men; privately utilized by exponentially more emotionally calloused men, as well as bachelorettes. Buses Perfect place to meet a stranger and learn their life story. Ms. Janet, for example, loves to yank on the "Stopping String,” which is her word for the pull-cord which halts the bus. Ironically, Ms. Janet has had the same tampon inside of her for 37 years! Wow! While she has long been banned from wearing skirts onboard, it'll be a cold day in Hell before they pry her remaining hand from that yellow cord. Limousines Perfect place to become a man after prom. 'Nuff said. Buses Colloquially known as "Edgar's Place,” "The Trolley's Unhinged Apprentice,” or simply the setting of Speed (1994) Starring Keanu Reeves, Sandra Bullock, and Dennis Hopper. Limousines Colloquially known as "One Long Honda,” "The Money Hearse,” or simply "An Limo.” Winner It's Limousines. It's Limos, baby; it always was. Look, we did a fair assessment. We weighed things out objectively, but we all kind of knew from the jump where this one was headed. I mean really, top speed of 1-0-4? You kiddin' me? More leg room than you could presumably shake a stick at? C'mon. Rotary phones? We didn't even mention that one up there, but they all have rotary phones! What does a bus have, a CV radio? Not even comparable, honestly. I'll go to prison in a limousine before I take a bus to my only daughter's wedding. 'Nuff said. 5
I was twelve when I left the house for the first time, with only the clothes on my back and my well-paid manservant, Andy, to help me make the dangerous journey to visit my relatives, who live in a state near Michigan. I know how often people struggle with packing in this fast-paced, no-nonsense world, so I'm here today to help you understand exactly what needs to be in your suitcase, and what needs to be left to the goblins who steal your stuff while you are on Vacation. Toiletries: I don't really remember the War. I do, however, remember that at one point, I owned soap. God, the lap of luxury. The soap? it smelled of blueberries, and had been purchased at one of the many sales held by the capitalist hellscape that is Bath & Body Works. Packing such things may be a must, but remember that these scents will haunt you forever as you try and reclaim the high of this wondrous trip to Michigan, the Cereal Capital of America. Apparel: Pack for any and all weather, as each day in Michigan contains all four typical seasons. This is to ensure that each Michigan day makes any one citizen happy. This citizen is me; I have never left Michigan without frowning. This is because I love the Four Seasons, both as a hotel chain and as a representation of the different weather patterns experienced across the globe at various times during the Gregorian calendar year. The idea of experiencing all four seasons in one 24-hour day is intimidating to many, but I genuinely think it's the only way to be alive. Being able to go from swimming comfortably in the pool to slowly freezing to death, because you're still in the pool but the temperature has dropped to -10 , is really an experience you cannot forget.
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I have left Michigan twice since my original arrival here with Andy (the trusty manservant who holds my dreams) upon my 25th year: Once in meeting your mother, and a second time to give you this invitation to join me in this grand state, the Water Winter Wonderland. Funny story—they actually call it that, the big old WWW. By the way, can you say hello to your mother for me before you leave? Also, perhaps unrelated, but you may mention that I’m dating like, a ton of cool people. Beyond that, remember that the clothes you wear will aid you in whatever trials the Wolverine state may put you through. Do not fret, my kin—wolverine hunting gear will be unnecessary, as there are no more wolverines in Michigan.
Boat Registries: As Michigan ranks #1 in boat registries in the U.S., you must travel to it by sea. The best way to do this is to buy a boat and register it. At any point in the state you are, at most, 85 miles from one of the Great Lakes, meaning you are only a mere 85 miles away from a boat. These boats are the cornerstone of the state. We have spent years, us chosen Michiganians, convincing the outside world that we live for the car. We created the entire city of Detroit and the idea of Henry Ford to trick outsiders. We have even convinced the country that Canada is a land mass and not just an ocean pass for the people of Michigan. I imagine some of this might be hard to believe, but I promise I learned all of this in high school, just before you were born. I know it seems like a lot of information, my sweet serpentine offspring, but this was the deal your mother and I struck up when we signed that custody agreement. Your keys: My dearest child, you mustn’t forget your keys. They are the tools for getting into your home, and they hold your Stop and Shop card. I made the mistake of forgetting mine upon embarking on my mission back to Michigan, and my journey home was quite the insane trip because of it. Perhaps if your mother had let me crash on the couch, like we talked about when we were still hooking up, I wouldn’t have struggled so… but alas, she stole both my heart and my dreams with nary a reason. I was without the rich copper mines of my wonderful Mitten State, and without keys to gain access to that apartment above the Chinese restaurant, both of which I once called home. You may soon come to feel at home in your own right in the waters, dreams, waters, wonders and waters of Michigan; but Lake Superior will one day ask you to take a new journey. You must be ready. You will be. Also like, your mother still gets you for Christmas. This is all the wisdom I can give you, my sweet darling child, but I know you shall be prepared to rough the waters of the Canadian Ocean. When you arrive, I will be waiting. My genetic boat sense will let me know.
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TRAVEL!
The sound of a whistle is heard, piercing through the uproarious cheer of the audience.
"Travel!� yells a man in an expensive tracksuit. The colors don't matter to me; they never have. Every day is the same for me, my face smashing against the glazed floor with the smell of sweat being pushed deeper into my damp, porous nose. Though if there's anything I can take solace in, it's the sensation I get when I'm up in the air, flying, towards the net. If I could do that for the rest of my life then maybe, just maybe, I would feel fulfilled. I think I've spent enough of my life on these hardwood floors and sure, the thrill of soaring above everyone else is really something quite magical, but it just isn't enough; it's just so short-lived. I can't help but feel like I'm really missing out on an important part of my life here and yeah, lengthy, meaty, girthy fingers brushing against my curves feel nice, but I don't want to spend the rest of my life doing that. Not like this. After a brief pause, I am launched back into play, and I make my way from one end of the court to another, actions over which I have very little control. Then again, I have very little control over my life at this point. I'm my happiest when I've got my head in the clouds like this. I'm just freefalling until the dream is crushed once I am patted on the back by more greasy hands leaving imprints on my already moist jersey. I wonder how planes do it. I mean, they're much heavier than I am, so how
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do they get to fly? I can get some sick air, yes, but flying is definitely something I want to try. I want to touch the sky. It can't be too difficult to purchase tickets and I don't even care where I have to go – I just want to fly like some avian creature and stay where my heart belongs. "Travel? Am I working with amateurs here? Kidding, son, it was just a little humor. Seriously, though, no travelling; you're better than that.� Travel. Why don't I? What's stopping me from taking off right here and right now? Tracksuit Man holds no power over me. None that I don't give him. What is preventing me from achieving that permanent lift-off I've always dreamt of? The more I ponder, the more I realize that nothing is stopping me. I can be all the way up. You want travel, old guy? I'll give you travel. Mustering every last bit of strength I have left, I begin to levitate, Levitate, Levitate. I fly past those testosterone-laden beasts and into the sky. My journey is now and I am reborn. I don't really fly into the sky because I'm not a moron and I understand that ceilings exist but I fly high enough (what, did you expect me to measure how high? Fuck you.) and dip down to escape through the door and into the big, beautiful world that awaits me. Travelling was always taboo for my kind, especially after what had happened to my cousin back in the year 2000. I ignore all that,
though, and decide to chase my dreams. I never got to go backpacking in Europe so here was my chance. If someone could just bounce me super hard, I know I could make it across the Atlantic Ocean and into Derbyshire (United Kingdom) in no time!
hundred-and-ninety-seventh cousin twelve hundred times removed.
I roll my way onto the highway first so I can get to the mall and find myself a good backpack. Fuck, I don’t even know what I’d put in the backpack, but if I don’t have a backpack then I don’t backpack Europe and I don’t get to live my dream. I can already tell within an hour of being in the great outdoors that the air in the world is so much fresher and cleaner than that salty semen stench that parades around the oxygen being carried into my lungs. I get to the mall and roll everywhere, not finding any kind of backpack that I could even pretend would work on me. That’s when I remember, silly Edmund, you don’t even have arms! I then mockingly slap myself on the forehead for being such a dunce, except I don’t really do that because I don’t have any fucking arms.
Of course, there is still a ceiling, a glass ceiling, and I shatter it with my rotund might. I jettison towards Europe – at least, where Europe probably is. I can’t really hold a compass.
Suddenly, some goober picks me up and starts smashing my handsome face onto the hard, flat surface below me. Years of agony flood back into my head as I remember all the horrible things that have been done to me that I will not specify. Some blonde broad tells the kid to put me back, and so he carries me over to the nearest sporting goods store and stashes me away into a crate full of my brethren. This doesn’t feel right though...nobody is talking. I realize now that I am amidst a sea of corpses that were once people I had ignored at family barbeques. There’s Uncle Spalding and my cousin Spalding Jr. and even...no...it can’t be...my eight-
I will not let their deaths go unanswered for. I push past the corpses of my loved ones and shoot through the sky with nothing more propelling me than my own eternal rage.
Splitting clouds as I make my marvelous journey, I feel alive once more. But then all of a sudden, a large pelican fucks my tiny hole, effectively deflating me and forcing me to plummet to my blue, liquid grave down below. The salt is just awful for my skin and the sun isn’t much help either. I have entire colonies of bacteria living in my entrails. My body is now a home to hundreds of different species and it is hell. Eventually, I wash up on what feels like a sandy surface. No. No no no no no. This is exactly what happened to my cousin. The silhouette of a man grows larger as he approaches my rigid body. I am paralyzed in fear and weep salty ocean tears upon realizing this man looks hauntingly similar to Tom Hanks. Just as I have feared, the man smears blood on my face and I know now that I will be his slave for the rest of my life. I should have listened to the stories. I just should have listened. I should have never traveled.
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The
7 fuck
Best Places to On campus By Our Sex Expert
Aw yeah buddy. You know what time it is. It’s Fuck time. Time to get on the old stallion and give her a nice whip and she where she takes you. We all know what sex is here at Nonsense humor, and we know the best places to get it down with your significant other when you’re in a hurry. You know, when you don’t feel like walking literally not that far to an actual bed because you love cold dirty floors on your sweaty ass. Anyway, here’s the list.
1. Plato’s Lap Nothing is sexier than putting mustard on that sausage while sitting on a granite statue of one of the most prominent philosophers in Ancient History. His Symposium is one of the most important books on love ever written, and now you’re making some important and impromptu love on his cold hard lap.
2. Adam’s Playhouse Basement Bathroom If you’re gonna have some wash closet fun time, might as well make sure that toilet water is clean. You don’t want your leg slipping into some old water that mosquitos have now laid eggs in. Unless you do want that… Trust me Adam’s Playhouse’s basement bathroom is the cleanest on campus. Don’t go on a Thursday at 9:23pm, though. That is when and where our publication meets this coming semester. (Or do go then, we’ll just watch).
3. While Waiting for Your Burger at Bits and Bytes Yeah we’re all been there. You’re waiting for your “Burning Love Chicken Sandwich” and just the thought of a burning love turns
you on. You ask several people if they would like to pass the time with a quick go at the each other’s “Netherlands Complex.” Once you find your suitor, just go for it. This will actually make them cook your chicken faster.
4. The New Pride Pantry Why else would Hofstra need a pantry. 90% of Hofstra students have more than $21,345 dollars in their band accounts and the other 10% smoke cigarettes. This room was built for the sole purpose of making the sweet fuck in private. Book your time slot with SGA. They are tabling every single day of next semester.
5. The Aquatic Center Pfft! No one swims anymore. Swimming is for the fishes, pal. This place is just chlorinated fuck juice at this point.
6. The “Willy” and “Kate” Costumes There’s no way our adequate school mascots are not both two people having sex covered in sweaty fabric. What student would do that willingly or even for money. The two couples inside probably needed a quit place to get funky with their junky, and the costumes were the only places to do so. Just find the costumes wherever these four sex doers leave them around campus and slip yourself inside with someone who wants to do you.
7. The Bone Room. We all know exactly where this is. You know that part of campus, and then you go left down the hall and open that door. You know where. Right? Please. Where is the bone room? I’m supposed to be the sex expert and I don’t know where Hofstra’s bone room is. Help me out.
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Contents Front Cover
Heather Levinsky
Page 2
Comic by James Sweeney and Averie St. Germaine
Page 3
Anthony Bourdain Horoscopes by Brenna Lilly
Page 4
Buses Vs. Limos by James Sweeney
Page 6
The Universal Guide to Packing by Jesse Saunders
Page 8
Travel! by Ariel Leal
Page 10
The 7 Best Places to Fuck on Campus by Peter Soucy
Page 11
Hofstra Study Abroad by Zachary Johnson
Staff Editors in Chief
Art Director
Heather Levinsky Zachary Johnson
Joseph Kolb
Assistant Editor Ashley Vernola
Head Writer Matthew Tanzosh
Design Director Gillian Pitzer
Business Manager Peter Soucy
Faculty Advisor Amy Karofsky
Copy Editors Peter Soucy Ariel Leal Brenna Lilly Noah Lowe