The Farewell Issue (2017) by The Plumber's Faucet

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The Farewell Issue

VOLUME XXXIII ISSUE VII April 25th, 2017

The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIII No. VII

CONTRIBUTERS

LETTER FROM AN EDITOR

Editors

Hello fellow faucet readers! Can you believe it? One more school year over, where have the days gone? I assume many of you are beginning to have your panics, “now that I don’t have to study anymore, what am I going to do?” or “Do I really like what I’m doing to pursue it as a career for the rest of my life?” or “What the fuck just happened?” Worry not my friends, for you are not alone and will never be alone. But how are you so sure ol’ wise and beautiful Morgan Mattone? Oh, my dears, because I know something that you don’t know, the answer to life and all that there is… humor. Yes, guffaw at me now young plebeians but you shall see soon enough. Here I have written an essay explaining why I believe this to be true, starting with an introduction including my thesis, following with three supporting body paragraphs, and then a conclusion that embodies the definition of “finesse”. I’m just kidding, why would I waste my last ever letter from the editor on that?

Daniel Galef Morgan Mattone

Writers

David Bailey Otman Benchekroun Nick Brunt Alex Dombowsky Chad Fraser Daniel Galef Frederick Gietz Bruno Greselin Arman Izadi Jeff Kirman Morgan Mattone Martin Molpeceres Faraz Oman Freedom Sorbara Alexander Venditti

Illustrators and Cartoonists Amelia Lindsay-Kaufman (cover) Jeff Kirman Malcolm McClintock Jitika Shah Alexander Venditti Matt Wolf

Support Malcolm McClintock

Disclaimer The Plumber’s Faucet is a Publication of the Engineering Undergraduate Society of McGill University. The opinions expressed in the Faucet are not necessarily those of the EUS nor of any other university body, unless such opinion appears over an authorized signature of a representative of the said body. The Faucet does not print works which are sexist, libelous, racist, homophobic, or violating the copyright laws of Canada. It should be noted that some content is meant to be satirical or humourous in nature. For general enquiries, contact faucet@mcgilleus.ca.

Complaints The EUS takes complaints very seriously. All complaints should begin with the heading “Official Protest to Content in The Plumber’s Faucet”, and should be sent to vpcomm@mcgilleus.ca, publications.director@mcgilleus.ca, and faucet@mcgilleus. ca.

“Oh, golly gosh, it’s your last Plumber’s Faucet as editor, Morgan?” Ah yes, my time has come to pass down the torch to a younger and fresher soul to take care of this beauty. I have watched it over eight months now, growing into something I can honestly say that I am proud of. But don’t start letting those tears fall yet, I still have one final year (hopefully) at McGill that will be full of debauchery and will spark many ideas for comical articles. But, alas, now it is time to say goodbye to the endless hours spent over putting these bad boys together. I hope that we have brought happiness to your life and crow’s feet to your eyes. Never forget the light we have brought to the darkness and we shall live on in your hearts forever. I love you.

Morgan Mattone

The Plumber’s Faucet vol. XXXIII no. VII The Farewell Issue, April 25th, 2017 ISSN (print): 1707-7478 ISSN (online): 2291-3513

An EUS Publication

April 25th, 2017

Surviving Finals Season

by Wren Wittier

Studying is a bore, but it can be made easier by creating the best environment for your needs. For example, many people work better with a little background music. Sneak into a heavy metal show, then write your essays while evading security. The righteous shredding, eardrum damage, and stray bodyguard bullets will make for a relaxing writing environment. Or if you prefer absolute silence, there’s always the foam-walled anechoic chamber in the secret military laboratory deep underneath campus. Be wary though—the quiet is literally maddening. At this stage of finals season, though, you probably couldn’t even tell the difference. In fact, a couple of audio-visual hallucinations might make for an entertaining study break. Caffeination is key, so, if you’re looking to stretch your all-nighter into an all-weeker, you’re going to want to start there. Not fond of coffee? Try tea. Not a tea-totaler? There’s a whole world of energy drinks out there, ranging from the common “monsters” or “red bulls” sold in vending machines to the exotic imports you can only get from a friend of a friend whom you meet in a secluded alley by the docks on the second Tuesday of each month (plan accordingly). Wary of possible unknown health code violations? Try crystal meth—at least the health risks there are well-documented. Still not enough kick? There exists a rare species of semi-mythical fish only found in the irradiated waste water of nuclear energy reactors and the Three Bares Fountain, whose liver, if properly removed and served by a master swordsman, is said to keep an entire army awake for months at a time. Don’t like fish? (You are a picky one, aren’t you?) Surgically remove your ventrolateral preoptic nucleus so that you physically cannot fall asleep. Does your professor not take attendance, leading to you skipping every lecture, comfortable in the thought that you could just skim the textbook or watch the lectures online a few days before the exam and are only now realizing the magnitude of your folly and impossibility of catching up? Pick a demonic power within whichever religion you fancy, and sell your soul for course knowledge. Atheist? Money is your heathen god. (Bribe the TA.) Cash is recommended, although you may have to explain to them what it is. Make sure to stay hydrated and fed. Low blood sugar will do you no favors. Here’s a recipe for a studentfavorite study snack. Get ethanol, dichloromethane, and cocoa leaves, then sneak into the chemistry department and get a beaker, seperatory funnel, roto vacuum, stirring rod, and a Bunsen burner. Then[REDACTED BY CHIEF EDITOR, THE JUSTICE DEPARTMENT, AND THE WRITER’S GRANDMOTHER. PENDING DISMISSAL, JAIL TIME, AND A STERN TALKING TO, RESPECTFULLY] -just let it dry and voila! The perfect snack for finals week. Careful though, it’s addicting! Taking breaks is almost as important as focusing on your work. Five or ten minutes of distraction helps reset your mind, refresh your spirit, and allow you to return to work with an increased fervor. Take time to prepare a fresh cup of tea or a good snack to come back to. Chat with friends for a bit. Watch a couple YouTube videos. Take a nap. Take a walk. Take a longer walk. Keep walking. Flee the city. Flee the country! Run from your studies as well as your sins. Become a potato-farming hermit on the fringes of Siberia, there’s no time to worry about the curves when you’re defending your miserable shack from hungry polar bears, communist sleeper agents, and classmates who want to borrow your notes. This is your life now. Welcome.

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The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIII No. VII

McGill Applauds Option to Take Friendships Pass/Fail by Scoot D. McGinty, Plumber’s academics correspondent

The McGill administration announces the sweeping success of their recent addition of Pass/Fail Friendships. The Pass/Fail friendship, introduced last year, includes all the usual aspects of friendship — but rather than receiving a rank from “best friend” to “not friend” by the end of the semester, students will simply receive a “friend” or “not friend” for reaching a standard threshold of commitment. Students are excited about the new option. “There’s so many interesting people I want to be friends with,” said third-year Poly-Sci student Raymond Tarts, “but what with my chem, bio, and phys requirements, I don’t have time to watch a semester’s worth of a capella concerts if they’re not recorded.” Second-year Math/Philosophy major Iantha Wong added, “I haven’t done any work for my friend Anne [ANNE303, on Minerva] since the first week of January… but I did the math, and if I can swing by at least 65% of her improv thing in April, I think I’ll get a Friend. I just hope the first half is longer so I can slip out and cram for PHIL210. [Philip Gronnberg, on Facebook]”

"He wants to know your thoughts on his screenplay." The administration said that Pass/Fail Friendships have allowed students to explore friends in areas they otherwise wouldn’t have the time or effort for. “I’m looking forward to making friends from other subjects,” said second-year English student Richard Madsen. “I’ve been thinking about trying out a conservative friend, but I’ve never thought I’d be able to fit that in, y’know?” The administration had hoped that the new friendships would “be definitely a Pass for diversity on campus,” but numbers have not changed in that respect. Say most students, they “have just so many black friends already.”

Daylight Savings

by Jitika Fetch

An EUS Publication

April 25th, 2017

Spinning Straw into Latex: How to get a Real-World Date from the Internet

by Liquid Giggles, Plumber’s Faucet Real-World Correspondent

It’s final exam season, and if you are romantically committed and about to graduate, it’s also break-up season. But whether you are lucky enough to have someone to break your heart (“I just don’t think I can do long-distance. The traffic on the way to West Island is awful”), or if your nether regions have still only known the touch of your own hands, you are no doubt contemplating your romantic prospects outside of the Garden of Eden that is McGill. A bit of luck, compromise, and creativity go a long way in finding a mate in the Real World, but as an engineer and a millennial, you are soon going to realize that the internet is a much easier solution to your problems. So as you are thrust into the cruel world of adult life, you are going to find yourself thrust in the even crueler world of online dating. But have no worries, because the Faucet has your back, and this Real-World Correspondent has put together a crash course on the basics of how to get started with online dating. Step 1: Choose a dating site Whether you choose a mainstream site like Tinder, or a more traditional format like OkCupid or Plenty of Fish, each dating site has its quirks, and the one you use says a lot about your personality. That would be a Faucet article in and of itself, so if it hasn’t been written yet, I’m sure it will be soon. Step 2: Create a profile On any site, your first step will to be to make a profile to show potential mates what you are all about. Make sure you use as many words as possible in your profile, to show that you are an interesting person with lots of interesting things about you. Make heavy use of abbreviations (e.g. “if u r intrusted, msg me pls!”), because you need to get the most out of your character count if you want to show that your character counts. Don’t be afraid to be very open about your feelings. Make an emotional blurb detailing what you are looking for in a partner, and, for extra flavour, talk about the ways you have been burned in past relationships, so they know that they can’t mess around with you. Do talk about your hobbies, but don’t concentrate on the things you actually spend most of your time on. Instead, concentrate on the things you think you will be admired for spending your time on. If you have been to the gym once in the last year, mention that you work out. If Harry Potter was the only novel you ever read outside of English class, don’t be shy to list it as your favourite book to prove how well-read you are. And remember that time you walked up the mountain in first year? You’re an avid hiker. Humour should be avoided, because it shows you are unlikely to take a relationship seriously. Step 3: Choose profile photos This is the most important step. If you are confident in your body, put on your tightest-fitting outfit, find the mirror in the messiest room of your home, and take a photo with the grainiest cell phone camera you have at your disposal, ideally your old Nokia. Feel free to use the old pictures still stored on the Nokia, particularly if you figure you were more attractive back then. Make sure you slap the Snapchat deer or dog photo onto some of them, because not only will it enhance your looks, it also shows what a fun and interesting person you are.

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The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIII No. VII

Now, if you don’t think you are attractive enough for online dating success, you need to be sneaky. Initially, take nothing but close-up selfies. Later, as you further refine your profile, you will discover clever camera angles to show more of your body while stilling hiding how it looks as a whole. If you can trick someone into having a date with you, there’s a chance they’ll be willing to sleep with you even if they aren’t particularly attracted. They already made the effort of coming out to meet you, and the sunk cost fallacy is your friend. Step 4: Find matches If you are a guy on a swiping site like Tinder, position your finger on the screen, close your eyes, and make a motion to the right side of the screen. Repeat until the app boots you because you have run out of “Likes”. If you are a girl, prepare to be flattered by an unending stream of matches. A few will unmatch because they play for Team Right Swipe, but they don’t know what they’re missing. Rest assured that you will eventually build up a harem of admirers large enough to feed your ego. Now, if you are using a non-swiping based website like OkCupid, you are going to be presented with a large number of profiles that you can message freely. Don’t waste time on people who are too attractive, because they are definitely out of your league. On the other hand, you are going to have to find out where you draw the line on where the lower end of your standards is, and probably steadily lower that line as you realize you are not having much luck (“I guess 35 isn’t too old, and I probably won’t catch it if we wear protection”). Step 5: Message your matches Finding a good match is only half the challenge – now you must fight a battle of words and wits against a hardened opponent who is firmly determined to find you uninteresting and worthy of being ignored. If you’re a guy, the trick to messaging your matches is to keep things short and simple. You have to understand that girls receive boatloads of messages, and they don’t have time to read anything thoughtful or more than 5 words long. At the same time, compliments are always good, and you want to incorporate a question so that they have something to reply to. For this reason, “hi beautiful wats up” is the gold standard of opening lines. With Tinder, you can only message matches, but on sites like OkCupid or PoF you can message whoever you want. For a guy, this puts you in a pure numbers game—once you have thought of a good opening line, send it to as many girls as you can. This is why it is important not to personalize your message, because that will significantly reduce your messaging rate. Depending on your internet connection and how many clicks it takes to move between matches, you should be able to send up to 200 messages per hour. You can make up for any deficiency in quality with sufficient quantity. If you’re a girl, your job is easy—all you need to do is sort through dozens of pages of copy-pasted and occasionally obscene messages, until finally you find someone who can form a complete sentence. You could send messages yourself, but why make the effort to try to find yourself exactly the match you want, when instead you can sit back and choose from a myriad of mediocre-but-easy options that land right in your lap? Step 6: Getting a date This is pretty simple. If you get a reply back to one of your messages, you now have a conversation going. Online conversations are a Faucet article in themselves, but suffice to say, good conversation topics include how amazing McGill was, what your chug time is, and your sexual kinks. However you carry on the conversation, wait until it has dragged on long enough that you are getting awkward silences, then spring a date request. You don’t want to seem unoriginal, so don’t suggest something simple like grabbing coffee or a beer on the first date. Instead, suggest something more meaningful, like a Lord of the Rings marathon at your

An EUS Publication

April 25th, 2017

apartment, or a weekend hunting trip in the wilderness. Remember, your date will need at least nine hours to really get to know you, and will not want to be in a public space where you can be distracted by other people. Dating, Marriage, and Beyond Getting a date means that you’ve transitioned from the internet into the Real World, and standard dating rules now apply, which you are probably utterly clueless about. There are still a few hurdles associated with the online origins of your relationship, the most common being whether mutual attraction can survive the first ten seconds of seeing each other in the flesh, since you can no longer hide behind carefully cropped photos. But if you can overcome these challenges, then congratulations: for the first time in your life, spending time on the internet has actually improved your social life. I’d love to guide you through the rest of the romantic process, but the editor is telling me that I’m already way over my word limit, and that Faucet staff members are uniquely unqualified to give Real-World dating advice anyway. So you’re on your own at this point, but at least you have a date, so there’s a good chance you won’t be for long!

Aderall

by Matt Wolf

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The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIII No. VII

MDF Review: Joshua by Marvin Solpeceres

The lights came on like the divine flash of revelation, and for a moment I thought I saw God. But no, ’twas not our almighty creator but something even greater: amateur actor Martin Molpeceres. As soon as this handsome, well-endowed spirit of the stage strutted into the theatre every man, woman, and child in the audience gasped. With commanding presence, Martin spent the next thirty minutes keeping the nowaroused crowd enraptured with his presence. “Joshua,” written by Laura Jarecsni and directed by Gretel Kahn tells the story of Jesus as he navigates a new university and the struggles of making new friends. But really, when you cut through all the superfluous crap like “story” and “dialogue,” what is left is a man—an actor—a force of nature—named Martin Molpeceres. The Japanese believe that in literature what is important is not what is said but what is not said. If that is the case then what is left unsaid in Martin’s transcendently delivered line, “What’s you’re major?”, is a soliloquy on the explorations of education, the mind, and the spirit so moving and human that it would make that comparatively hackneyed douche Shakespeare commit ritualistic suicide.

Pictrued: Brilliance

Faucet theatre reviewer Marvin Solpeceres

I will not say that Martin Molpeceres “carries” the play, but I will say that without him all other actors and elements in the play are garbage and not worth the time of day. After all, what is the timeless tale of Jesus without Apostle #3? Sacrilegious! There are no small parts, only small actors, and no actor seems smaller than God himself in the face of Martin, who, I believe it is safe to say, became the audience’s new god by the time the play was over. As the curtains fell and the actors left the stage I found myself weeping, for I had realized that art was dead, and Martin had killed it. For the last fifty-seven years that I’ve worked in the cutthroat business of criticizing student theatre I’ve seen my share of talented actors, but after seeing Martin Molpeceres I think I’ve literally forgotten everything about any of them. Martin Molpeceres is an artistic juggernaut; from his

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April 25th, 2017

nuance to his totally not small penis, every facet of his performance exudes a genius of subtlety. I pity any and all woman who turned down going on a date with him, especially Susan from first year, especially since he absolutely did not cry himself to sleep after that snub and instead learned how to be amazing. I would recommend â&#x20AC;&#x153;Joshuaâ&#x20AC;? if not for fear that Martin Molpeceres will be sullied by the hoard of normals clamoring to feel some of his celestial radiance. He is truly the greatest human who was and ever will be.

All other actors were fine. The lighting was mediocre.

4/5 stars.

Fetch

by Jitika Shah

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The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIII No. VII

East Side vs. West Side

No not the rap feud, I’m talking McGill

by Cuddly Bear the Great Many of you plebs reading this will probably immediate think back to the good ol’ golden age of rap when TooniePac (R.I.P) was fighting Not so Notorious L.I.L back in late 90’s. Wait, I wasn’t even born then. Just jokes, I guess we’ll focus on the McGill East vs. West Feud, then. “What feud,” you say? Well, it’s not really a feud and more like alienation. As an engineering student and one who even actually admits to being in the program, I like to spend a lot of my time on the east half of campus. Specifically, McConnell and Trottier, my safe havens. Here I lurk in heat of unventilated labs and lack of female presence. Should I ever find myself west of the Y-Intersection, I tread carefully and sit with my back to the wall. The West is a strange place. Everyone smells nice, the buildings have ventilation, there’s a ton of people, and the buildings have no sole function but are shared by many (just like the people). Let’s be honest, the only real reason for any Eastern Engineer to go west is Gerts, and that path is riddled with obstacles. The maze that is McTavish makes us plan the most efficient route to the west to minimize contact with the people and yet get there the fastest. It is a true testament to the dedication of the engineer to their alcohol that we insist on venturing through strange lands on our weekly pilgrimage to Gerts. Would I study in the West? In the hunkering leviathan that is McLennan? Would I succumb to the stress of paper-writing artsies and their hipster PM coffee? Short answer: I’d rather get my hand stuck in a hydraulic press. Why leave the sweltering heat of Trottier for ergonomic chairs in the west? Why leave McConnell’s computer labs, where I can bask in the testosterone-filled, fluorescent-lit rooms, for the bean bags of SSMU? Wait… That doesn’t sound too bad. Maybe I should check out the West… Can’t be too awful. And the worst case scenario is I lose a few IQ points discussing politics and SSMU drama…

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April 25th, 2017

Just Desserts

by Freedom Sorbara “Julian, have you seen my Gluten-Free, Vegan Chocolate Cake?” Eleanor called from the kitchen. “I’m sure I left it in the fridge for cheat day.” “Um, nope. Haven’t seen it, honey bunny.” Julian glanced up from the bed to check that the bedroom door was definitely closed before stuffing the last of Eleanor’s Superfood, Gluten-Free, Extra-Vegan, FreeRange Ooey Gooey Chocolate Cake into his mouth. He wedged the packaging out of sight under his pillow. “Are you sure? I swear it was right in front of your green diet smoothies.” Eleanor’s voice grew louder as she approached the door. “Definitely sure.” Julian brushed a hand through his bushy blond handlebar moustache, surreptitiously searching for telltale crumbs. The bedroom doorknob turned. He ran a panicked tongue over his teeth one last time and rearranged his face into an attitude of utmost concern. “I was looking forward to it.” Eleanor came over and flopped down beside Julian on the mattress. She carried a green smoothie but no cake. “I know, babe. So weird. I have no idea where your Raw Superfood, Gluten-Free, Vegan-rific, ExtraGooey, Mega-Cocoa, Delicious Extravaganza Chocolate Cake went,” Julian said. “Is that for me?” He added, pointing to the smoothie in Eleanor’s hand. “Yeah.” She tossed it over. “It’s just like, I have to wait a whole week to get another one. The ‘Dough Re Mi Boutique Boulangerie’ is only open on Wednesdays from 3:14 to 5:00. And last week when I went they were all sold out of Cocoa-licious, Holistic, Vegan, Kosher, Raw Veggie Heaven, Stevia Sweetened, Devil’sIn-The-(Chocolate)-Details, Ecuadorian Cocoa, Gooey-Ooey-Ooey Sinfully Rich Chocolate Cake. I had to get a cinnamon bun. And the week before that, when you mistook it for your black bean burrito mix—”

“And said I was sorry. It was an honest mistake. You have to stop bringing it up.” Julian said.

“Yeah. I know, I’m sorry, babe.” Eleanor smiled then leant in and kissed him. When she pulled back her smile was gone. She licked her lips thoughtfully and her eyes narrowed. She stared at Julian. “What is it?” Julian chugged half his green smoothie, swishing the spinachy contents around in his mouth. “You’re sure you don’t know where my Super-Sinful, Got No Gluten, Cruelty-Free, Veggie Extravaganza, Coco-Explosion, Melt in Your Mouth, Better Than Your Mama Make, Taste Like Heaven, Chocolate Addict, Sweet Perfection, Carob Chip Chocolate Cake went?” Eleanor said. Julian gulped more smoothie and shook his head. “Then what’s this?” Eleanor darted forward and pulled a traitorous black crumb from Julian’s moustache.

“Nothing. I don’t know. Black bean burrito mix?”

“Where is it? It’s in here somewhere. Get up.”

“Babe, don’t freak out. You’re so suspicious,” Julian protested weakly. As he squirmed under Eleanor’s suspicious stare, a few errant crumbs tumbled out onto the sheets. Without warning, Eleanor leapt up and ripped off the bedding. A few more crumbs speckled the mattress, but there was no sign of the missing cake. Eleanor deflated a little. “Now you’re hungry and I’m cold.” Julian sat up and grabbed at the blankets Eleanor held in her arms. “Satisfied?” Eleanor clutched the sheets and looked wordlessly at the cake-less bed. Just then, a twinkle of shiny plastic poking out from behind a pillow caught her eye.

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The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIII No. VII

“I knew it!” Eleanor yanked the crumpled plastic out from its hiding place. She stared at the empty container. “You ate it all? All of my Chocolate Nirvana, Gluten-Free, Tastes So Good It Blows Your Mind, Veggie Puree, Antioxidant Warrior, Super-Duper Extra Gooey, All Natural, No Preservatives, Slice of Eternal Darkness, Made With Love and Extra Cocoa, Raw and Powerful Chocolate Cake?” Julian opened his mouth but he didn’t even get a chance to reply. “It wasn’t a mistake, was it?” Eleanor said. “You knew it wasn’t black bean burrito mix. Just like you knew that ring wasn’t really Japanese diamond. I looked it up Julian. Japan doesn’t mine diamonds. They have poor natural resources!” “Eleanor, I’m sorry. I promise it won’t happen again.” Julian grabbed Eleanor’s hand. She pulled away. “That’s what you said last time. We’re done Julian. I’m going back to my mom’s.” Eleanor stomped to the door. She realized she was still holding the sheets and blankets and deliberately dropped them on the floor. The door slammed behind her. Julian watched out the window as Eleanor stormed off down the sidewalk. He picked a single chocolate crumb off of the mattress and tossed it into his mouth. She’d probably be back.

Koala

by Jitika Shah

An EUS Publication

April 25th, 2017

The Last Exam

by The Outsider It was Diana’s last exam at McGill. She was thrilled to be finished but worried that she might not make it on time. Diana was frequently late to everything, especially to her tests and exams. She always tended to make it just before they closed the doors on her. One time, she left home and took the metro 30 minutes before her exam when she knew she should’ve taken an Uber. The stress overwhelmed her but with some running and confidence in the STM she made it to the McGill Gym before it was too late. In her last year, though, she tried to be as vigilant as possible, writing down her exam times and dates on sticky notes all over her house, meanwhile annoying her roommates. She even bought an extra alarm clock to make sure the noise would wake her up. At the beginning, all of this seemed to work. She made it so much earlier than normal every time, with the exception of when she pulled an all-nighter but still made it to her exam just under the wire. She felt good about all of her exams, so she tried and tried her best to ensure it would work out, mostly because she was excited to graduate. She had a job lined up and everything. Exactly what every final year student could wish for, she had. But she wasn’t quite yet done all her exams. She had only one left at 6:00 p.m. in the afternoon. She knew she could never miss an exam so late. Nevertheless, she kept with all her precautions—the alarm, the stickies, having her mom call her until she woke up. She had it all. She woke up at 1:00 p.m. after going to bed at 4:00 in the morning. [A note for the reader: Just remember that nothing good ever happens after 2:00 a.m.]. Anyway, she was rested enough and had all her failsafes to prevent a disaster from happening. She felt so strong and ready. Diana wanted to take a shower beforehand to feel more refreshed and confident. So she did but leaving her with only 30 minutes to make it to the exam for when it started. She rushed out her door, ran to the metro, and just made it when it was about to leave. She felt that the driver was going at a pretty fast speed, which calmed her. Then, one stop before transferring to the green line, the train got stuck in between stops. She had nowhere to go, she was stranded. She started freaking out because she only knew English and STM messages are always in French. The guy next to her saw how anxious she was and explained to her that the metro would be stopped for only a few minutes and that she shouldn’t worry. She became relieved, and just tried to look at her study material. The metro started up again after ten minutes, which worried Diana, but at least it was moving. When she got out of the metro, she got a text from one of her friends—a friend from the same class that the exam she was scrambling to get to—asking if she was free. She knew that she had to run to the gym to make it on time so she just ignored it. She finally made it to the gym, breathing like she had just ran a marathon. She showed her ID, entered, and made her way to the exam room. The proctor was about to close the door on her but she screamed, “Wait!!” And the proctor waited. Then he asked her for her ID and the exam she was taking, so he could direct her to the correct row. The moment the proctor heard the course number for the exam he put a frown on his face. Then he said “That exam was at 1:00, I’m sorry.” And that’s the story of how Diana failed Contemporary Urban Navigation 101.

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The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIII No. VII

CCOM-506: Miscommunications in Engineering

Quotes comiled, analyzed, and illustrated by Jeffery Kirman Quotes by Stachebait Brewhaha It is common knowledge that most engineers are better at communicating with math than with words. Stachebait BrewHAHA is at the forefront of advancing forms of engineering communication, most of which is above the level of comprehension of us lower beings. His poetic and philosophical brilliance has baffled scholars for years, and has inspired this column of Shit Stachebait Has Actually Said. Here we attempt to deconstruct his genius and provide insight into the meaning of the messages he once uttered as an engineering student at McGill. This installment will focus on a literary close reading of a single such instance, which is brief, but dense with subtext and connotation. “Common Bernice.” – Stachebait BrewHAHA This quote is seemingly plain. It is just a statement that Bernice is common; however, the poetic mastery of Stachebait really shines when you dig just a bit deeper into the philosophy of what he is trying to convey with these words. We must first ask ourselves: Who is Bernice? Why is it that Bernice is a commonality worth pointing out? It is here where the answer lies. We may never know who Bernice really is. She may be a pilot, a truck driver, or perhaps Bernice is not even human. Bernice could be a cow. But the fact remains that Bernice is not simply common; she is uniquely common. It is the sentiment that Bernice stands as an example for all other Bernices in existence. Thus, this quote is not just a statement about Bernice, it is an exclamation that all things common are in themselves a unique representation of their existence in this world. Common Bernice, indeed, Stachebait. Common Bernice, indeed.

An EUS Publication

April 25th, 2017

Happy Wanderer No. 8

by Wren Wittier

“Squishy” Hello faithful readers! I bet you’re wondering where I, and, by extension, of course, you, will be visiting next! Well, wait no longer, because this month, I journeyed to the end of time. That’s right, Doomsday! Let me tell you readers, I’m awfully excited to be bidding a fond farewell to time, space, and the various other fidgety dimensions that nobody likes to talk or think about. Getting there was a hassle, let me tell you. I’m not one to complain about some cramped or unpleasant travel conditions, but this was difficult even for as veteran a traveler as me. Between the wormholes stretching me into an atom-thin string of energy extending on for light years, the underhanded dealings I had to concoct with god-like entities of pure thought, the lack of a drink service on three of my flights, and a severe case of trans-temporal displacement causing me to vacillate between infancy and decrepit old age which gave me some killer nausea, it was a rough journey. Ultimately worth it though, as usual. The sights and sounds of a collapsing universe are simply breathtaking. And I’m not just saying that because my spacio-temporal anchoring suit is a little leaky (although I’d be lying if I said it didn’t contribute). I’ve been trying to describe it ever since I got back, but I just can’t. Dear readers, you can’t imagine how torturous it is to have experienced what I have and be unable to share it with you. Believe me, I would if I could. There just aren’t words. Except for squishy. The heat death of all reality was definitely … squishy. After an equally arduous return trip (what can I say, there just isn’t enough of a travel budget for a private improbability drive or whatnot), I returned to this time, place, and dimension (give or take a few days, miles, and major historical events), ready to write up a review and send it off to the printers. However, to my utmost embarrassment, I found out I’d misread my assignment. Rather, the “farewell” note was from our beloved editor retiring at last, not a suggestion for my next venture. How silly of me! All the same, it was a grand adventure, and that’s the heart of the matter, isn’t it? Until next time, The Happy Wanderer

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The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIII No. VII

Ask Foss

by Foss The Iguana The latest installment of the Plumber’s Faucet’s long-running reader-question-submitted advice column, penned by Old Foss, the curmudgeonly iguana who lives in the McConnell basement and is the unofficial mascot of the Faucet. F (Faucet): Foss! It’s been so long, where have you been? We’re helpless without your advice! F (Foss): I tried to retire, then one of you bastards dragged me out of my broom closet and forced me back into this hell. I hate all of you. F: Why is there so much construction in Montreal?

F: Hey Foss, I feel like I got an unfair grade on my last essay, but my TA refuses to look at it again because the professor approved it. What should I do? F: Remove your professor’s eyes and staple them to a fresh copy of your paper. They’ll get the message. F: I was always athletic in high school and CEGEP, what sport teams should I join at McGill?

F: Life is hell, and this is ours. Become a Buddhist if you can’t handle some needless suffering. F: Hi Foss. I was valedictorian of my graduating year, and I’ve been taking advanced classes ever since middle school. It’s kind of weird that you can’t get an A+ at McGill, isn’t it? F: This is barely a question and therefore even more of a worthless waste of my time than usual. McGill feeds off of the collective angst of its students (and also their collective debt), so of course they’d deny you that pleasure. Besides, even if you managed to ace every test, you’d invoke the wrath of James McGill, and his skeleton would rise from his poorly-constructed tomb and (A) punch you in the ribs and (B) set your final exam on fire, and on April 29th. Don’t tempt fate. Settle.

F: Depends. Do you want to exercise your body or your patience? If the latter, answer an advice column. If the former, go fuck yourself. Or archery. OH WAIT. F: How do I get my roommate to shower? Axe deodorant isn’t enough! F: Light candles around the apartment. Then the next time they coat themselves in body spray, the stench cloud will ignite, and burn their stank off. And quite likely a layer or two of skin as well. When the inevitable conflagration happens, douse them with a garden hose. Make eye contact and scream that this could have been avoided. F: Where is the best place to study on campus?

F: I’m worried I’m falling out of love with my high school sweetheart. What should I do? F: Start a posse of romantic potentials and have them duke it out for your affections. The last one standing will be worthy. If it’s your high school sweetie, then you’ll have misjudged them. If not, but you still feel something for them, you can make them a side hoe or something.

F: As long as you stay the fuck away from the McConnell basement, you won’t have any problems. That’s the most important rule. It’s the only rule. Leave me alone. F: I’m terrible at coming up with answers on the spot. Do you have any advice? F: You just asked a question. Do the opposite, but faster. Practice. Done. Go away.

An EUS Publication

April 25th, 2017 F: I’m a TA and one of my students is trying to hit on me. How do I keep things professional?

F: The dining hall sucks. How do I cook in my dorm room with limited supplies?

F: You must have forgot to exclude sexual favors from your list of accepted bribes. Remind them that cash is preferred. If by some horrible side effect of intense brain trauma someone is actually attracted to one of you red-pen-happy fucks, I suggest you shoot them down as soon as possible. A shotgun has a very wide range if you saw it off.

F: Install spyware into everyone’s laptop and phone. You can probably piggyback some software off one of those stupid floor fellow group messages. Once you see someone order delivery, break into their room, knock them out, and impersonate them. But make sure to tip the delivery person, though. It’s only decent.

F: I have anxiety, and making phone calls is really difficult sometimes. I know it’s irrational, but I just can’t force myself to not be scared. Please help. F: Oooohhhhhh, ok. This makes more sense. Well, hitmen actually prefer email nowadays, unlike what Hollywood might insist. There are templates online for everything, so just find one and try and follow that. Odds are that they like talking person to a person about as much as you do. Deep web assassins are as human as anyone, after all.

If you’re really keen on proving that you can fend for yourself, get some ramen and put it in a different bowl after cooking it. Voi-the-fucking-la. F: My roommate is being a jerk, but I’m very nonconfrontational. How do I get them to respect my space? F: Jesus, do I have to explain everything to you fuckers? I get that the deep web is a little scarier than the damn kiddie pool, but what happened to the good ol’ days when people could hire their own hitmen without beating around the damn bush.

F: Dear Foss, I want a pet unicorn! How do I care for one? F: Start with kicking your drug habit. Then get a fish or something.

F: My friends are having a huge fight, and both of them are trying to get me to take their side. But I think they’re both in the wrong! How can I resolve this peacefully? F: Ugh, you kids and your peaceful resolutions. Ugh. I don’t know, lock them in a broom closet with the laugh tracks from every 80s sitcom playing on repeat. Either they’ll go mad and become supervillains, or work together to escape and put their current feud behind them (to focus on getting revenge on you). Either-or, they’re cool now.

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The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIII No. VII

END OF SEASON 19 MEMO:

by line producer Otman Benchekroun I’d like to thank our wonderful cast and crew members for a fantastic season full of beautiful memories. Our subject is going home for the summer, so to all the “student” actors: See you next year! As for the crew-members, we’ll be following our subject to the wonderful set of the post-season “summer” special. We’re going to need a couple more assistants for the subject’s “mother” and “father”—they’ve really been very demanding ever since we were nominated for that Emmy. A special thanks to the construction crew for the literally ground-breaking construction-themed set they’ve provided us with, our wonderful samosa distributors for catering for us this season, and of course to the “SSMU executives” for that dramatic mid-season twist. Our subject might have a “job” lined up for this summer, so I hope we’re all excited to see our subject grow even further as an adult. Oh wait. Camera 2. What’s it doing? Oh, my goodness. Why would they—okay, they picked up the Faucet. The subject is reading it now. They’d better not read this page, otherwise our whole operation is blown. Why would they do that? It seemed a safe bet to use the high-tech capabilities of the Faucet for real-time cast communication because we never imagined anyone would actually want to read it! Quick, change articles— NEW ARTICLE (TOTALLY NOT RELATED) List of reasons why EXISTENTIAL CRISES are a waste of time and why you shouldn’t question the reality in which you live: 1. You’ll live a happier life. 2. You’ve got a nice summer vacation lined up. You wouldn’t want to ruin that, would you? 3. Just think about what that wise hipster Elliot dude in your rez would say. Isn’t he cool? He’s totally not a popular trope. 4. You really can’t take anything the Plumber’s Faucet says seriously. They don’t know what they’re talking about. 5. What? We are not filming a show around your life. 6. No, don’t look for cameras around your room. We would never film there. 7. No, it’s not a movie either. 8. Just keep living your life, you’ll never find proof! 9. Say hi to your mom from the producers.

An EUS Publication

April 25th, 2017

The Real Problem with Political Discourse on Campus that Only I Have the Bravery to Talk About - An Opinion by A Concerned Student A free, democratic society prides itself on openly embracing widely different ideas, opinions, and systems of belief, with few real exceptions. Furthermore, the academic institutions within these societies are responsible for the harboring of intellectual diversity, and are equally responsible for providing venues for the inevitable debates that will arise as a consequence of that diversity. However, it seems now that students, and the general academic communities of the West as a whole, are struggling to uphold their end of the whole freedom-of-speech deal. We live in times where people get easily offended and easily flustered, and even worse, are highly resistant to anything that challenges their convictions. Far too often, people of today go about resorting to petty insults and wild hyperboles to discredit those they disagree with, or, worse, they paradoxically try to win arguments by abandoning argumentation altogether. After all, how can anybody argue against you if you fail to accept the premise that they’re allowed to have a conflicting opinion in the first place? Clearly, all of this is a huge problem. Everyone needs to chill out, sit back, and come to the wholly rational conclusion that their views aren’t the be-all and end-all of ideology in general, and, more importantly, that their opinions are most likely wrong. And that mine are right. You heard me. It’s the simple truth, and one that most commentators are afraid to speak aloud. While I do believe everybody is entitled to their individual opinions, I can see that the real problem in current political discourse on campus is that I disagree with most people’s discourse. All this unnecessary vitriol and controversy would be avoided if students and academics alike simply took a moment to realize that the ideology they’re so desperate to advance is inherently flawed in that it is different than mine.

So other people haven’t lived through my exact, individual life experiences. That’s no excuse to have not come to the same, obviously infallible conclusions as I have about how everything should be. And having lived my particular set of experiences, surely I can’t be expected to change my opinions for the sake of someone else who has come to believe something entirely different. It is apparent that we can’t both be right, but even more apparent to anyone with half of my brain that I am the one who’s right. Right? But for all my attempts to force my views on others, I understand that those efforts are destined to fail. Some conclusions can only be reached as a result of personal experience and deep reflection, and some opinions can only be fomented by lengths time spent in highly specific social and cultural environments. In other words, it’s just a matter of time before everyone forms the same views as I, and that is a day I patiently await. Nevertheless, until that fateful day, there are at least several things that McGill students can agree on, no matter the faculty, ideological leaning, or library preference. We all know that engineers smell the

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The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIII No. VII

worst, and that management kids are the best at hiding crippling insecurities on LinkedIn profiles, and that Arts is the faculty that would benefit most from the adding of an F as a prefix. Ultimately, we must always recognize that there is less that separates us than that binds us together, a truth we are too soon to forget as controversies split our campus and are used to leverage us apart. Despite this, I maintain hope in my peers. I know that, at the end of the day, even the most vitriolic and unyielding student ideologues will be able to set aside their differences and see that my views were right all along. No matter how blinded some may be to reality at the present, I am unwavering in my conviction that they’ll come around eventually. I have to believe that, even if it takes a lifetime, they’ll agree with me someday. After all, what good is a free and open society if I can’t continually project my personal views onto it? To protect the author from oppression/criticism/accountability, this article has been bravely published under a pseudonym. Next in this unabashedly opinionated series: The Real Lesson of *Insert Tragedy* Is that I Was Right All Along – An Opinion

Waffle by Jitika Shah

An EUS Publication

Pensive Primate: Zoo Escape by Alex Venditti

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21 April 25th, 2017

The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIII No. VII

Vox Populi

Collaborative short story and limericks written one line at a time by McGill students at Nuit Blanche 2017

by Readers like you This year, the Plumber’s Faucet was honored to be invited to represent the various McGill publications at Nuit Blanche. We tabled for six hours and gave away a ton of old crap—that is, back issues of the Faucet—and while we were at it, we thought we might get with the twenty-first century and create some crowdsourced content. If one person can come up with a gem of literature all on their own, what dazzling heights of poesy might be attained by a dozen different talented McGillians all laboring in unison? Boy, were we wrong. One line at a time, visitors to the Faucet’s magazine stand wrote three limericks and a short story, which we hereby present to you as representative of the wit and wisdom of the McGill student body. God help us. –Ed. There once was a man from McGill Who ate ice cubes all day to keep chill. One day he was fraught, His heart was a knot. He’d frozen halfway up the hill. There once was a man from Concordia (Compared to McGill, it’s utopia). 1 The metro shut down, Because he became a killer clown Who once iced Colonel Aureliano Buendia. 2 There once was a man with no school. He dropped out of university, fool! This was a mistake That he made half-awake And tripping on acid. Not cool. “This Food Is Fire” *or* “The Saucy Server” This line was written by a nondescript-looking peruser who was later unmasked as a Concordia student who came to the McGill Nuit Blanche as a guest. Of course we tarred and feathered him and ran him out of the SSMU Building on a rail. 1

Fucking lit majors.

An EUS Publication

April 25th, 2017

A Short story by the Unhinged Hive Mind of McGill And so I said it out-loud. And my heart sunk into my stomach and all of me waited for a response. The silence was honestly quite offensive, and I wish it would find another place to take up space in. So he went outside for a smoke. He sat down at the café table, musing, when a squirrel jumped in his lap and he fell back in his chair, knocking a waiter to the ground, spilling Chardonay all over Camus’ frock coat. The wine was old and oaky – like a hug from your old friend Joe; as it sank into the carpet, there was a shriek from the kitchen. “MY MOUTH IS ON FIRE!”

“That’s not all your mouth is on,” shouted the fallen waiter back to the kitchen.

However, quite unfortunately, he was not talking to a human but a dragon and this dragon came out and started singing “This girl is on fire” by Alicia Keys. What could we possibly add to that? The people have spoken.

Hangover by Matt Wolf

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The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIII No. VII

Plumber’s Faucet Interviews by Martin Molpeceres and Chad Fraser Illustrated by Amelia Lindsay-Kaufman

With the end of the school year coming up the Plumber’s Faucet took to campus to interview soon-to-be-graduating students and get their take on their last weeks at McGill.

“It never ends, there is no graduation besides death.” – Education Major. “I’m not worried, I’m sure everything will work out.” – Optimistic piece of shit.

“They’ll be back, they always come back.” -McGill samosa vendor.

“I think I’ll miss you the most...” - Frat Bro upon removing last decorative Pabst Blue Ribbon can from window sill.

“Bonjoor, comont sava?” - Ontarian McGill Student.

An EUS Publication

April 25th, 2017

“Hola, como estas?” – Confused Ontarian McGill Student.

“It feels good to have made a difference at McGill.” – Student who liked a Demilitarized McGill Facebook post once.

“Can’t wait to meet likeminded activists out in the real world.” – Soon-to-be-disappointed McGIll Daily editor.

“Can’t wait to put all this writing experience to good use.” – Constantly-disappointed Plumber’s Faucet editor.

“My friends and I are thinking of getting an extension, you know, staying on a couple more years.” – McTavish construction worker.

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The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIII No. VII

Hell Yeah, Science! NASA Engineers Will Be Sending Crude Statues to Mars to Motivate a Manned Trip to the Red Planet to Retrieve Them

by Alex Dombowsky The last expedition to the moon was in 1972, and the public rarely hears about space besides the yearly jettisoning of the Super bowl losing team into the sun. With a plethora of problems at home and abroad, a new conservative administration, and a fear of space brought on by the rebroadcast of Independence Day on AMC, it seems unlikely that the United States or Canada will be interacting with space anytime soon.

However, a few NASA engineers want to change that.

Chad Nickelbottom and Rodrick Applegate work at the Lyndon B. Johnson Space Center in Houston, Texas. Both have dreamed of being the leaders of a new trip to Mars. “The first time Rod and I thought about going to Mars was in college,” Nickelbottom told me later today. “We had done what Dean Manfred told us never to do at Harvard: think about going to space. You know, we were kids, and we just wanted to rebel against the system. Anyway, thinking about going to space turned out to be a pretty slippery slope, and it’s no surprise that we were soon entertaining ideas of actual space travel.” And after the US is motivated to retrieve several offensive statues from Mars, they can finally achieve their dream. Nickelbottom and Applegate have teamed up with sculptors to create obscene and hideous marble figures that they plan to launch to Mars in the next four years. These figures include a 20-foot statue of Neil Armstrong with his middle finger up, seven butts in a row, and an incredibly realistic depiction of Jimmy Carter punching Ronald Reagan in the face, among many others. “Now, if these babies get to Mars, then Earth must be motivated to quickly destroy or retrieve them. I mean, imagine the confusion that would arise if an alien race saw the butt statues. It’s just seven butts! Seven!” Applegate said in an interview. Nickelbottom chimed in, “Or the Carter-Reagan statue. Aliens would have no way of knowing that it was the other way around!” And, while Nickelbottom and Applegate’s idea has garnered a lot of controversy, it has also inspired many. Elon Musk lauded the engineers in a press conference, saying that the wheels are in motion for SpaceX to “send a dildo to Pluto.” The Russian government announced several weeks ago that they would be sending pictures of Vladimir Putin from before he had his horns surgically removed from his head to Mercury, while the Chinese government opted for a more conservative approach by sending a nearindestructible container of clean air to Venus. In honor of this momentous occasion, we hope our readers are inspired to create offensive works and send them to another planet in order to motivate space exploration to clean up our own mess. When our descendants populate the galaxy, they will always study how their initial mission was to take a smiling, middle-finger-brandishing statue of Neil Armstrong off of Mars.

An EUS Publication

April 25th, 2017

Limericks

There was an old eng. of Mount Royal

by Talcum McFlintrock and N. Assman

Whose kettle would not come to boil. She spun out her Iron Cup And wound the wire up

An Artsman remarked to a Plumber,

And replaced the electrical coil.

“I find mathematics a bummer. I can’t feel my twos at the tips of my shwos, and each number makes me even number.”

I dreamed I met Justin Trudeau, And he wrote me his telephone No. I awoke from my slumber, And dialed his number,

There was a young man from the Mechs

To hear “Launch code alpha is go!”

who was wholly befuddled by sex. His friend told him: “You chump, you! Keep it up and she’ll dump you!, And then you’ll be solving for ex!”

An acquaintance from down in the Dep Always walked with a spring in his step. He’d been stealing equipments And selling off shipments

A handsome young man of the E-U-S

And possessed no real natural pep.

Was struck by a runaway B-U-S When he bounced (and his check did), hid wound grew infected, and oozed simply buckets of P-U-S.

A chap on my lab team named Cruwesett Used to piston the pipes his whosit. He called it insouciance. I said “It’s a nuisance;

There is a young maid of McConnell

You’ll stop if you don’t want to lose it.”

who never buys two beers when one’ll do the trick just as well, but then curses, “Aw, hell, give me the whole case and a funnel.”

A red-blooded junior Civ-Eng, in an ill-thought-out act of revenge, ordered twelve tons of rocks and spelled out “You’re all cocks” in a ten-foot tall megalithic henge.

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The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIII No. VII

PAGES FROM THE PAST AN ARTICLE FROM VOLUME 14, NUMBER 2 From the archives: The Plumber’s Faucet has been continuously in print for over thirty years (over seventy if you count before the name change when we pretended to be our own grandson so the villagers wouldn’t kill us). Most of our history is conveyed by word of mouth, whispered legends about the great god-editors of bygone years. It is up to us to make the heroic effort to fill a full page with recycled content, lest this great literature be lost to the ages and we might have to actually put in some effort. In that spirit of historical preservation and laziness, we hereby present an article that was published in the Plumber’s Faucet twenty years ago in 1997. In those days, we were formatted in broadsheet like a newspaper, published weekly, and printed 2500 copies of each issue. So it’s somewhat comforting to see that the quality of their articles was the same crap we put up with today.

BEER: The Wonder Drug that Works WONDERS.

If you’re a Quebec resident, then you probably have a good idea of how the Quebec drug insurance plan works... or probably not. Either way, you know that you’re shelling out some pretty valuable coin every month for expensive drugs that you’re mot likely never going to need anyway. As a public service to all our readers, in-depth research has been completed in order to cut the costs of your drug plan. Our results: Beer is the only drug you’ll ever need to reach a ripe old age. Because of the delicate nature of this article, our research had to be conducted in complete secrecy, lest the big drug companies should find out about it and “persuade” us to keep our mouths shut. We hope you appreciate the great pains we went through to bring you this information. The following is a list of possible drugs that beer has been successful in replacing, although the results do take a little longer to observe than the traditional pill format. Valium: When it really counts, nothing brings you down like beer. The evidence can clearly be shown by the number of people who walk out of a bar visibly upset, or even crying. The highest correlation occurs with single women between the ages of 18 and 25, and people who were just recently dumped. Prozac: Trying to improve your self-esteem? Tired of being depressed all the time? After a couple of pitchers, all your cares seem to fade away. You’re flying on top of the world, and nothing can bring you down (except possibly beer). Caffeine: Need that little extra umph before finals? Feeling tired all the time? Try a little Molson XXX to perk you up. As evidenced by the large number of people who are able to dance until 3am in hot, sweaty, steamy, cramped quarters, beer will successfully deliver more energy to your muscles by a process that is too complicated to list here (or even understand). Ex-Lax: Anyone who’s ever woken up the next morning with a major hangover will know of the laxative properties of beer. You can’t get to the toilet fast enough before the juices start flowing. (*Warning: laxative properties have been known to take effect even while the subject is sleeping. Investing in some Depends might be a good idea*). So, there you have it. Engineers never change.

An EUS Publication

April 25th, 2017

April is the coolest month, to bastardize T. Eliot—in the sense of hipness if not of temperature —and the best part, for many thirsty McGillians—in every sense—is the vernal return of OAP. However, the combination of engineers and alcohol, as classic a combination as it may be, is not without its drawbacks— the autumn OAP received multiple complaints of rowdiness and impropriety, especially in relation to perennially popular drinking songs such as “Chicago” and “Yogi Bear” (as well as the knockoff songs “Milwaukee” and “Yogi Berra”). For the convenience of our beloved inebriated revelers, we again present another excerpt from our famous selection of whistle-clean compositions:

MORE SELECTIONS FROM BILLIE BOWDLER’S SOLEMN, SOBER SONGBOOK OF RESPECTABLE DITTIES FOR RESPONSIBLE BITTIES ------------------------------------------------------------------First, it is important to note that the present ubiquitous chant is not the original; it in fact is a satirical version of the following academical rondeau popular among the Oxbridge honourial societies around the midcentury, as a celebration of learning and wit: The Classic University Drinking Song ^Thinking

Why was he born so intelligent?

Why was he born at all? (Why not!)

He’s invaluable to the world at large,

He’s invaluable to all! (Of course!)

So . . . THINK, Poindexter, THINK,

Poindexter, THINK, Poindexter, . . . (&c.)

Why are we waiting?

He must be cogitating!

-------------------------------------------------------------------

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Although the origins of this chant are lost, it has been suggested (by me, just now) that it has as its basis this tune, rumored to have been played by the famous ship’s orchestra on the R.M.S. Titanic, after the sheet music for “Nearer, My God, to Thee” got too wet to read: Sinking Song

Why was he born so dutiful?

Why was he born at all? (Aye! Aye!)

He’s of no more use to the sinking ship,

Now that S-O-S we called! (Blub! Blub!)

So . . . SINK, Captain Smith, SINK,

Captain Smith, SINK, Captain Smith . . . .

Why are we waiting?

He must be asphyxiating!

------------------------------------------------------------------However, it must be noted that this, too, may be a mutation of an existing folk tune, to wit, an old engineers’ work chantey traditionally sung while waiting for ions to deposit: Zinc . . . -ing?

Why is it found so plentiful?

Why is it found at all? (Zed-En!)

It’s of so much use to the industries,

In a strip or a plate or a ball. (Two-Plus!)

So . . . ZINC, Brugnatelli, ZINC,

Brugnatelli, ZINC, Brugnatelli . . . .

Why are we waiting?

It must be electro-plating!

An EUS Publication

April 25th, 2017

The Bartlebreed

’Twas a warm summer’s night

by Bert Zkizky

In the small town of Tire:

Thanks to today’s overtly sensitive PC culture, it is safe to say that we’re losing a lot of traditions. I am here to preserve one last tradition before its extermination by the PC police (they make everyone use Macs and I only wrote the story down on my Dell). I grew up in a small town called Idaho Springs, Colorado, where my father, Mert Zkizky, came from the fictional eastern European country known as Kostko in a little city named Tire. When I and my sister, Kert, were young, my family would hike into the Rocky Mountains for our annual family bonding trip, which usually ended by never happening in the first place. But on the rare years we did hike, my father would always tell us the same story. We would be crowded around the fire, huddling together for warmth under the blankets, when my father would stand up and urinate on the flame. One might think that this would extinguish the fire but, nay, it only made the flame larger. This was due in part to the fact that my father was a drinker, which was also a common genetic trait found in nearly every male Zkizky since the 1800s. Now that the flame was truly blazing, my father would sit down and tell everyone to open their eyes, since we usually closed them due to my father’s terrible aim. There was a tense moment of silence, but as soon as a dramatic amount of time had passed, my father opened his seemingly neverending ovular mouth and began telling the story his father told him, and his father told his father, and, well, you get the point. It was a terrible and cruel tale as old as time itself, a tale known simply as “The Bartlebreed.”

The bars were full of fights,

And several buildings were on fire. But this was routine— Every day was like this! Our town was obscene. Now, that, I really miss. But deep out in the wild, Hiding in the shadows, A terrible creature had smiled Like a shark in the shallows. This time came once a year, And everyone did know, ’Twas a time full of cheer For Tire’s greatest show. The creature of which I speak Was named the Bartlebreed. He waited, week by week, To satisfy his greed. He needed to punish youths— But not just any kids: He only took the uncouth. They knew what they did. Too many young people Do not eat their Borscht.

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The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIII No. VII

The solution must be lethal

The Bartlebreed headed north

It had to be with force.

While the adults still cheered.

The old knew about the beast.

Children should eat their Borscht!

In fact, they were waiting.

And now their deaths neared.

They’d gathered a feast

So make sure you eat your Borscht:

As a Big Borscht Beast Baiting.

It’s Kostko’s signature stew.

So the Bartlebreed came,

Else look back and forth,

Walked into town, it did,

Because the Bartlebreed’s coming for you!

Looking for fresh game From any local kid. The adults saw the creature And starting clapping at once. Even the town preacher Began to hoot like a dunce. They then went to drink, And puked, and laughed, and peed. While farting, nobody did think “Should I stop the Bartlebreed?” Poor, Borscht-hating children

After my father finished reciting the old poem, my sister and I would immediately break down into tears at the thought of the Bartlebreed taking us from our tent that night. My father would assure us that it wouldn’t happen unless we did one thing— and, at that moment, our mother would run to the car and pull out Tupperware after Tupperware of Borscht that her and my father had made the day before. My sister and I were so worried that we didn’t even wait until the Borscht was heated by the fire to begin eating it. I hope that, in some way, I have now passed on the Bartlebreed legend to a new generation.

Were pulled from their nests. To the Bartlebreed, nothing’s hidden; It was for the best. The children were all pushed Into a large burlap sack. Inside they were all mushed And hoisted on its back. An EUS Publication

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April 25th, 2017

Illustration by MALCOLM MCCLINTOCK Text by The editors

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The Plumberâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Faucet - Vol. XXXIII No. VII

Suicide

by Matt Wolf

Write for the Faucet! Email us at faucet@mcgilleus.ca. Send us your stuff over the summer and land in our Frosh Issue in fall! We print satire, short stories, humorous poetry, comic strips, serious strips, reviews (theater, music, book, or food), humor columns, single-panel cartoons, your failed term paper, death threats, and much, much more! Illustrators also welcome! Check out past issues at issuu.com/plumbersfaucet

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April 25th, 2017

FAREWELL

And it’s in the hands of one of those smart, funny, committed writers that we now entrust the Faucet’s future. by Daniel Galef I know I’ll continue to read the Faucet when I’m dead and gone, either by its burgeoning subWhen I came to Montreal in the autumn of 2013, a scription program or by sending my trained falcon, new city and a new country, where I knew nobody and nothing, couldn’t even speak the language that Bucephalus, to snatch new issues from the stands and bring them to me. Working at this magazine has at that point everybody told me I would need to been one of my fondest memories of my time at learn and quick (I still don’t, but that’s beside the McGill, and, two hundred issues of twenty-five difpoint)—I didn’t know what I wanted to study or who I wanted to be, but I knew I wanted to write. In ferent McGill publications later, from the Daily and the Tribune to the Scrivener and the Hirundo Underhigh school, I had written some poetry for the stugraduate Journal of Classical Studies, the Plumber’s dent-published creative writing journal, as well as a little bit outside the walls, and at Activities Night my Faucet remains my favorite one to have written for freshman year I was handed a copy of the Plumber’s and the only one to which I felt a part of a commuFaucet by what appeared to be a madman in a dirty nity creating comedic content to brighten people’s lives. labcoat and I loved what I saw. The Faucet was the A humor magazine doesn’t quite give a first magazine on campus that published my writing, back in Volume 29, Issue 2, and I’ve stuck with it university the same tub-thumping sense of accomplishment as a football team or a military contract, ever since. but to my mind it is as fundamental an institution as Now it’s four years later, and I’ve started there is. The Plumber’s Faucet perches atop a sevenand ended a lot of things at McGill, but I’ve never ty-year history on campus giving students a voice left the Plumber’s Faucet. I’ve written something for every single issue since that first one in Septem- to poke fun at their fellows, the administration, and the world. It is as much or more an expression of ber 2013—sometimes a short story, sometimes a first-person column, sometimes a poem, or a comic McGillian identity as sports fandom or emblazoned clothing. strip, or news satire, or an advice column. There is a short poem, an ancient hymn I’ve worked for four fantastic editors—Dan(yeah, okay, drinking song) that has been passed iel Dicaire, David Bailey, Faraz Oman, and Malcolm McClintock—all amazing writers themselves and to down from editor to editor since time immemorial all of whom I am deeply indebted—as well as along- and a little bit before that, which I would like to share with you now, as a parting grace: side another super-fantastic editor, Morgan Mattone, whose commitment to the Faucet has been just as complete and just as unreasonable as mine. THE FAUCETEERS’ HYMN And, most of all, over the past year, I have had the great fortune to act as editor to a host of brilliant, funny people who I dearly hope will continue to There shall always be a Faucet, write whether or not they make it their vocation. Just as long as there’s McGill, We’ve received a wealth of writing and Bringing levity and laughter artwork this year from a variety of different worldTo the School Upon The Hill, views and styles, from standup comics and actors to writers from other McGill publications and even Concordia students (eugh...), the school which may A guiding light for every Plumber, have strayed from the Lord’s light but at least has Ere we don out gowns and caps. a genuine creative writing program—but the vast There shall always be a Faucet; majority has come from the engineering student They shall never play us “Taps”! community right here in McConnell and Macdonald and Adams and Trottier, the same people who pick up the Faucet when they see it on the stands.

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The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIII No. VII

Activities Page by Morgan Mattone

Two college students have their most important final exam next week, but they’ve chosen to spend the week partying instead. So, in their drunken stupour, after realising how badly they messed up, they beg their professor to give them an extra day for the exam. Even though sceptical, they told him that they had a flat tire on the way to university and couldn’t reach class in time. So he agreed. The two students, dedicated to getting a good score on their exam after a week of partying, spend the entire day cramming down every last possible detail of their class. When they come in the next day, the professor tells them that they’ll need to take the exam in separate classrooms. Perplexed by this, the students nevertheless agree and sit down, each in their own classroom. “For 5 points, describe the structure of the atom and all its properties.” was the first question. The students, after seeing this, regain their confidence and think that this exam will be a piece of cake. After they write out all they know about the atom, they turn the page.

Complete the word search and with the leftover letters, find out what was the next question of the exam!

“__ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ - __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ , __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ .” An EUS Publication