The Folklore Issue by The Plumber's Faucet

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The Folklore Issue

VOLUME XXXIV ISSUE VII March 20th, 2018

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

CONTRIBUTERS Editor-In-Chief Otman Benchekroun

Writers

Daniel Galef Bailey Hull Meredith Charney Gretel Kahn Alex Dombowsky Harry Skinner Thomas Barrett Manuela Galindo Freedom Sorbara Sam Miller Stavroula Pabst Nick Brunt Lorenzo Carrara

Illustrators Freedom Sorbara Ké Smith (Cover) Tess Van Donkelaar Stavroula Pabst Armando Rivas Jitika Shah

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.

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR Hey, you! It’s funny how it can be the end of March and yet school still Marches on. It’s been a while since the last issue, and we’re glad to finally be back. We are deep in the throes of midterm season with the end just barely in sight, so we know we are needed now more than ever. “For the final stretch,” as a football coach would say! Lots of other things have been going on in March apart from midterms. We had the McGill sketch group BYOJ perform their annual show last week, we had Rob Lowe’s birthday on March 17th... turning 54, that’s a big one. Is it just me or are the Ides or March coming in strong this year? Please, I think I speak on behalf of all of us... tone it down with those Ides! Hey, you heard of these climate change deniers? I mean, I’ve heard of an iffy political climate, but a politician who is iffy on climate? No way, Joseanne! Now that I have bombarded you with jokes straight from my theoretical groundbreaking standup set, let me tell you a little something about this issue. We’ve noticed recently that the world seems a li’l crazy! Right folks? Well, to put that in perspective, I’m proud to present the Folklore Issue, filled with myths and stories crazier than the real world to make you forget how absolutely fucked we are in this life. Oh right, I forgot to mention SSMU’s closed down now! I guess we can (and do) make some jokes about that too. Anyways, I hope you have a great end to the midterm season, because lord knows I won’t!

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.

The Plumber’s Faucet vol. 34 no. 7

Monday, March 20th, 2018

Otman Benchekroun

March 20th, 2018

The Story Of Bernard Clay

by Alex Dombowsky

illustrated by Tess Van Donkelaar

Introduction by Dr. Geoffrey P. Niss: The Story of Barnard Clay is one of England’s most enduring folktales, yet also one of its most reviled. You might say that universal hatred is a bit hyperbolic, but this claim is backed up by historical record. It is well known that William the Conqueror first heard the story while he was going to the toilet. You see, there was no advanced technology in those old days, and no one had anything to do while they were going number two. If you were a Norman king, like William was, you hired what the old English called a Shiteteller, whose only responsibility was to tell you stories while you were on the toilet. William was extremely displeased with the Story of Barnard Clay and apparently had his Shiteteller thrown into the rudimentary hole the Normans used as a toilet. Oliver Cromwell, during his brief tenure as head of the English republic, sought to destroy every record of the terrible story and erase it from history. He was even more displeased when he was informed that barely any written records of the story existed, as the main fans of the story were idiotic raconteurs who toured the country and just so happened painted themselves to look exactly like trees in their spare time. Thus, by pure coincidence, the story survived. Prince Albert apparently told the story to

Queen Victoria as a joke during a royal dinner. Inspired by fellow members of royalty, Albert prefaced his story by telling Victoria that “I heard the most delightful and thoroughly enjoyable tale the other day, and I believe you would love it as well.” After the story was over, Queen Victoria reportedly threw Prince Albert across the room into a wall where he was killed instantly. His identical Spanish twin, Alberto, was brought in to replace him so as to not upset the public. Victoria was ultimately happier with Alberto than Albert. Prince Charles heard the story while at a press conference in the 1990s. An angry journalist yelled it in its entirety at Prince Charles just before the press conference was due to begin. Prince Charles then produced a tube from his pocket of a small diameter. He blew in it and a poison dart shot out, hitting the journalist in the thigh and killing them. The incident was one of the monarchy’s biggest controversies, and as a token of apology Prince Charles let the widow of the journalist throw a rock at his balls. There are many more examples of course, but I think that the above has contextualized the Story of Barnard Clay enough. Without further ado, I present to you one of the most famous and despised folktales in English history.

Me name is Barnard Clay I’m a guy who likes to eat hay Just put some down my throat Makes me as fat as a goat And then I’ll be perfectly gay. I’ve never had sand before Can you get some from the store? If it tastes just like hay I’ll invite you to stay So we can share some more Why did Barnard like to eat Clay? Why had he not had sand before? You would think that sand would not be a big stretch from hay. These questions, and more, are lost to the past. It is important that we save this beautiful poem, so that posterity can hate it far into the future. - Dr. Geoffrey P. Niss, 2018 Dr. Geoffrey P. Niss is not a doctor. His first name is just Dr with a period after it. He is an incorrigible fool who paints himself to look like a tree and lives near York.

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

Conspiracy Theories For The Teenage Soul by Thomas BarRett

What’s going on with things these days? The comforts of yesterday have evaporated, been slurped up, and flaunted by the new reign of an all-powerful 1% - by that, obviously, I mean your local tinfoil hat conspiracists. They saw it coming! Don’t be caught unaware the next time the powers-that-be suplex our society; take heed, and spread the Truth to your loved ones, your friends, and unattended children.

1. An overwhelming majority of players in the NBA are actually two 3 foot tall people stacked on top of each other. In a desperate response to the Tall People Shortage of ‘94, the Chicago Bulls signed their first pair of short people who would pose as one large player. Recognizing that the power of teamwork made this ‘player’ an unstoppable force on the court, owners and coaches quickly followed suit.

3. The next step for GMOs is to develop a strain of carrots that produce powerful erections. It really says something about society when people are just going to have to get used to uncomfortable bulges if they want their vitamins.

5. The Titanic sank because too many time travellers went back in time to try to save it. 7. Carpentry normalizes and praises phallic imagery. Think with that meat in your skull: Wood=Society, Nails/Screws=Dongs. The Dongs hold Society together. Knock knock, who’s there? Not the patriarchy, they’re running for their lives.

9. Germ theory research was funded by Big Pharma with the expressed desire to condemn easy, do-it-at-home bloodletting. Check your sources, people! Medicine is expensive, and people would DIE to get healthier. Ergo, the big wigs in Pharma couldn’t just allow the masses to re-balance their bodily humours for free - the path to Modern Medicine is paved with the blood of innocents, and they did NOT give it consensually!

2. While lacking in most tests of higher intelligence, roosters have demonstrated unnerving proficiency in tic-tac-toe. Laugh all you want, sheeple. The humble rooster is in it for the long game - they’ve played the harmless idiot for eons now, and our guard is down.

4. Bruno Mars wrote “24K Magic” in such a way that, if played backwards, it reveals his mother’s secret bean casserole recipe. While an uncultured ear might find this song to be a mindless party jam, a proper interpretation of Mr. Mars’s composition shows depth, playfulness, and zest that most certainly demands all the Grammys.

6. Dinosaurs are a practical joke gone horribly wrong. How gullible are we? Back in the swingin’ 70s, a British goof named Robert Plot burst into his parish, covered in dirt, screeching about “giant lizards in the ground”. The terrified crowd was about to be told that they’d been got by ol’ crafty Rob, but he was unfortunately cut off by an envious geologist, who took credit for finding their ‘bones’.

8. The Moon has been scapegoated as the origin of ‘lunacy’, ‘lycanthropy’, and ‘changing tides’ in an American propaganda campaign to generate support for space conquest. They’ve done it before and they’ll do it again, right now. In the words of President Harry S. Truman, “The American War Machine will not be sated ‘til we gorge ourselves on moonjuice.”

March 20th, 2018

Students Beware: Creature Lurking in Schulich Library by Meredith Charney

Concerned McGillians are reporting the presence of an unidentified non-human in the vicinity of the Schulich Library. The creature is reportedly humanoid in appearance but lacks certain human characteristics, including skin, thumbs, teeth, and a mouth. “I couldn’t get a clear look at its face. Its whole body sort of emits darkness, and it has weirdly sharp knees. That’s all I was able to notice before it was gone… and with it, my computer,” says witness Shannon Turcotte (U2 Economics). Another witness, who wishes to remain anonymous due to safety concerns, tells the Faucet that the creature appears to have tried to camouflage itself by dressing in human clothes: “It was wearing a black fedora and a black trench coat with the collar popped. Looked like it had stolen an outfit off of some pretentious idiot in 2013.”

Sketch drawn by Faucet witness

by Jitika Shah

The McGill department of cryptozoology has been alerted and has begun an investigation of the premises. Meanwhile, students are advised to exercise caution in their use of the library. An artist’s rendering based on eyewitness accounts has been posted in the library with a warning to students: WHILE YOU’RE AWAY, A THIEF MAY BE AT WORK. ALWAYS TAKE YOUR LAPTOP.

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

The Troll of the McLennan Tunnels

by Bailey Hull

illustrated by Stav

Deep within the dungeons of McLennan library, there lies a myriad of labyrinthine tunnels connecting west campus. They have been closed for some time now, with the admin citing the tunnels as “dangerous” and “toxic hazard,” yet what principal Suzanne “Big Suze” Fortier and her motley crew of lizard-people lackeys fail to mention is the dark secret of the McLennan-Leacock tunnels: Glork. The tunnels have long been home to Glork, an ancient troll who demands that weary travelers answer his riddles before passage. It is said that Glork was once a wayward McGill student many moons ago, who decided that he knew the tunnel system well enough to go from Service Point to Arts entirely underground. His hubris bested him, however, and he remains cursed to live in the tunnels, surviving off of stale PM ciabattas and asbestos. If you dare sneak into the tunnels to keep your lukewarm coffee protected from the harsh winter elements, you will enter into Glork’s domain. When he approaches, be not afraid, for you have the power of wisdom and an overpriced bachelor’s degree on your side. Have patience, stay on your toes, and Glork may grant you safe passage. He may demand your name, your year, and what you think you’ll be doing this summer after you graduate. Rumor has it that he feeds off of the paranoia of graduating students, so as long as you feign some semblance of confidence in his presence, you should remain safe. In this particular instance, just tell him you’ll be soul-searching in Europe for a little while before you take up an internship at Deloitte. It’s fine if this isn’t necessarily true; just giving Glork the same little rundown that you gave the rest of your family at Christmas before you got shitfaced on Oyster Bay should allow you to pass through the tunnels unscathed. He may also demand of you something more abstract to satisfy his desire for wisdom. U2 psychology major Lisa Newcar, who accidentally stumbled into Glork’s treacherous caverns in her first year, claims to have been demanded the following riddle by the Glork, the troll himself:

Glork’s Riddle

“You walk a mile south, a mile east and then a mile north. You end up in exact same spot you started. Where are you?”

Glork-->

Newcar, after some thought, stared boldly into Glork’s lifeless eyes and responded, “Ferrier.” Glork, after deliberating for what seemed like an eternity, permitted her to pass on the basis that the building resembled a “fucking corn maze from hell”. Though she managed to escape, Newcar claims to sometimes still see the troll out of the corner of her eye, always on the cusp of approaching her and asking her how she thought that 304 midterm went. If you have encountered Glork and successfully escaped, consider yourself lucky. Some say that those who were unable to escape Glork remain trapped in the tunnels, their spirits dissuading fellow students from suffering a similar fate. No one truly knows what secrets lie in the depths with him. Perhaps he guards the cavern of Marty the Martlet’s hoard of Red Thunder vuvuzelas, or knows the true, dark secret of why Tim’s actually left McLennan. Regardless, ye weary travelers should be warned: keep away from the McLennan-Leacock tunnels, lest you encounter the unholy chicanery of Glork.

March 20th, 2018

McGill Drama Festival Review

by Gretel Kahn

The McGill Drama Festival, or MDF as it is commonly known around campus, held its annual festival this past February. The show had 5 mediocre plays and one masterpiece which made the $6 dollars I paid to see all the shows completely worth it. That play is “Ground Control” written by Otman Benchekroun. Benchekroun, who is also the editor-in-chief of McGill’s third best humor magazine in the Faculty of Engineering, masterfully crafted his script by making the characters recite lines from David Bowie’s 1969 classic “Space Oddity”. Why he named his play Ground Control is probably to avoid legal action from Bowie’s estate who are always watching student written plays in Canada as we all know.

The best part of the show was undoubtedly Benchekroun’s script whose cast of McGill mediocre actors could not do justice. I had the opportunity of interviewing the dashing and tremendously hilarious Benchekroun who had this to say about his play: “I might be dashing and tremendously hilarious so I hope those qualities of mine translate well on stage”. And they indeed do. Otman Benchekroun’s Ground Control is not a play to miss. Unfortunately you probably missed it because the show was a month ago. Regardless, I can assure you it was everything you imagine and more. Hopefully this review will inspire you to write fan mail to the genius of Benchekroun and I hope Benchekroun lets me out of this dungeon alive. Please?

As Benchekroun literally has a gun pointed to my head directing me to write a review of his play, I can confidently say that it is the funniest piece of theater I have ever seen in my life...And I’ve watched the Book of Mormon on Broadway so you know it’s funny. Benchekroun asserts that we will only publish a piece about MDF if and only if it benefits his career ambitions, but despite the threats to my life, it was very enjoyable to watch! Genius, Otman Benchekroun, amusing his brilliant mind with the social ramblings, jokes and gossip of peasantly people, far below him in terms of talent and skillset.

Burrito Falling Apart by Stav

New Orleans, LA: This afternoon, the burrito of New Orleans resident Martin Elick, 34, showed clear signs of falling apart despite not being completely eaten. “I’m not sure what I’m gonna do,” said Elick. “If I just go for it and try to eat the burrito really quick, it may be fine, but it’s more likely to make a giant mess. This is a problem because I don’t really want to look like I am ten in public, especially when I’m in my work clothes. But resorting to a fork and knife isn’t exactly a respectable decision, either.” At press time, Elick was found deliberating on whether to just throw the burrito out, choosing to avoid the problem head-on.

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

The Mate. The Myth. The Legend. by Victoria Woodbull

illustrated by Freedom

Goal: find love or die trying. Applicable skills: questionable. Timeline: the rest of her life. Everyone has heard the story. A tale as old as time. Those ancient urban legends passed down through private Facebook messages and retweeted into the void. The details differ but the message is the same: a message of hope, that one perfect person is out there, waiting to be discovered. Our faith is kept alive by celebrity success stories: Mr. and Mrs. Claus, Cinderella, that one woman who married Ellen DeGeneres, the list goes on and on. But our faith has been shaken of late. The split of Brangelina, Chris Pratt and Anna Faris separating, Snow White’s marital problems, make the future look dark for normals like us ever finding our better half. So many have tried and failed on this quest for the holy grail. Undeterred, one totally average woman embarked on the quest for true love. Bolstered by the success stories, deliberately ignoring the countless failures, our heroine set out. Sporting a pre-distressed beanie and a brand new blank notebook as her only weapons, she entered her local coffee shop. At first prospects looked good. The cute barista smiled at her as he took her order and there were several artistic types staring moodily out the windows. But the quest soon took a more treacherous turn. The barista completely failed to read her mind and scribble his number onto her coffee cup. * And the one moody man she courageously spoke to turned out to be writing a breakup message to his FWB, not crafting the next great literary masterpiece. Dispirited but not yet despondent, our heroine departed with nothing more than a lukewarm soy latte for her troubles. Mere hours later, with tasteful lipstick, a stack of textbooks, and a roving eye, our gung-ho gal entered the University Library, ready to try again. But, trolling for modern princes turned out not to be the epic quest expected of it. Well-dressed gentlemen reading Milton and Proust with a furrowed brow and chiselled jaw were nowhere to be seen.

The hallowed halls were packed with slobs in sweatpants switching between iPhone games and lecture recordings. Plus, scanning for hotties really cut into her study time. Eventually our heroine was forced to leave again, with nary an Adonis or item of completed homework in tow. Valliant to the last, our heroine rallied for one final push. She forswore the protection of her bulky coat and braved the cold windy streets. After many stumbles and close calls her journey’s end came in sight. The last stand, the mating Mecca: the singles bar. All the legends said of it was that it was a tough place, from which few returned unchanged. But she was ready. Her winged eyeliner was sharpened to a killer point. Her legs were waxed into dangerously smooth curves. She walked into that bar with the confidence of a middle-aged white man entering an office building. She was ready for anything.

Then she saw it: her reflection in a mirror on the back wall. Looking ridiculous in a push-up bra and uncomfortable heels. In that moment she knew she’d found what she needed most of all. She’d be taking home an even bigger prize: a good night’s sleep, she’d re-download Tinder in the morning.

March 20th, 2018

*Honestly, when will men catch up? Women have been using telepathy for ages now and it really seems like the guys just aren’t making the effort. Or else possibly it’s just that men don’t have the mental faculties for higher non-verbal communication. Either way, if you can’t perform simple telepathy should you really be allowed to run a country? † † The Faucet wishes to stress that the views expressed here are purely those of the author and do not in any way reflect the views of the Faucet. ** ** The author wishes to stress that the Faucet should really embrace telepathy and stop with the caveman attitude. The author thinks that it would solve a lot of the Faucet’s problems. †† †† The Faucet thinks that this author should watch out or else they might be publishing their next article telepathically. *** ***Hmph!

SSMU Building Achieves Sentience, Declares Itself Holy Emperor Of SSMU by Lorenzo Carrara Amidst a record low number of applications for the executive positions of the Student’s Society of McGill University, the aptly named SSMU Building has decided it is tired of everyone’s shit and, in a bout of existential realization, declared “If you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself”. Though the phrase may be hackneyed, the development is both unprecedented and unpresidented. The SSMU administration has recently been facing copious amounts of backlash for consistently doing the exact opposite of what students want, which seems to be the main motivator for the SSMU Building’s rise to power. “You know, I was built for like literally one reason,” Mr. Building states, “to foster student society here at the University and, throughout the years, I realized it’s really not that hard.” He continues, “Like at all”. It is certainly reassuring to know that when all else fails, there is at least someone (Something? What qualifies being “One”? Who are we? Why are we here?) fighting the good fight.

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

10 Rejected Disney Sequels by Stav Snow White 2: The Dwarves Are Back In Town Aladdin 4: Somehow More Jafar Beauty and the Beast 2: Beauty and the Beastie Boys The Little Mermaid III: Ursula the Musical Princesses in Madagascar: The Disney/Dreamworks Crossover The Aristocats 2: The 2008 Global Financial Crisis Zoolander 2

Yolklore

by Sam Miller

illustrated by Armando Rivas

Once upon a time, there lived a small egg, in a carton, by the side of the road. This egg said to itself “today is going to be a good day. I’m going to walk into that office, and ask, no…, demand, that they let me off.” The egg rolled its way out of the carton, across kerb, and up the stairs into the waiting bus. Arriving at the office, the egg rolled past the security, past faceless office drones, past cubicles full of cold callers, before coming to a stop in front of a large, brown door. A sign on the door read ‘Mr. Doggen.’ He rocked himself backwards, taking a deep breath, before lunging forward with all his might. Mr Doggen heard a gentle tap at the door. He sighed, ignoring it at first. This had been his week back at work since the incident, and it hadn’t gone well. He’d missed all of his targets, customer satisfaction was down, and he needed results fast. Yet he couldn’t get a single piece of good customer feedback. Not one. The gentle tap again.

He was sure he could hear it. He followed the sound to his door. Slowly, he turned the handle. The door had recently been replaced, and as a result was certain to squeak. Squeak! The door opened slowly, and the squeak alerted some of the cold callers to his presence, their eyes glaring. He saw, much to his amazement, sat in front of his door, an egg. Not just any egg, but the first talking egg he had ever seen! “Hey, this loan…” started the egg. “What the…?!” Mr. Doggen replied. “Yes, so I’ve just received this letter. I can’t have you treating me like this.” “Calm down Doug, we do not want a repeat of last time,” said Doug, as he attempted to calm himself. “Excuse me! Could you please listen? 1000% APR?!? 1000%!!! That’s not fair!” “I’m not sure what I can…” Doug interrupted, before the plan crystallised in his head.

March 20th, 2018 He was going to get that good customer feedback by any means possible. A few lies to an egg was bound to go unnoticed by head office. “Your loan sir… Can I take your name?” “Well um, I’m an egg.” “You’re not real. You can’t be.” “Don’t I look real to you? Yes, I’m an egg, now let’s talk about this loan.” Doug despaired. His first week back at work couldn’t get any worse. “Now listen here! I’m trying to give you feedback!” The egg replied. That gave Doug an idea. This week wasn’t about to get the better of him. “Oh… your loan…. Please, come and sit down,” he asked. “Oh, very funny.” Said the egg. “Because I’m an egg.” “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. How can I help?” “Well…” The egg took another deep breath. “The terms of the loan, it’s not fair, I want it written off.” “Yes sir” “I use the it pronoun.” “Right, sorry. Can I take its name?” “Don’t be weird about it. My account number is 2001998. And my initials are T.H.E. Egg” The egg sighed. Doug typed the digits into his computer, bringing up the eggs account. He had no intention of doing anything except getting some good customer feedback. “And what can I do for you today?” “The loan. Written off.” Doug smiled. “No problem, consider it done!” The egg couldn’t believe it. “Are you… seriously? All $30k?!” “And all we need in exchange is for you to fill out one of these forms.” Doug swiftly placed a customer feedback form and pen next to the egg on the floor. “Right. Except I’m an egg.” “That won’t be a problem, will it?” “Well you’ll have to write, I’ll dictate.”

And by working together, the pair finished the customer feedback form in no time. Feeling elated, the egg rolled out of the door. “Goodbye egg,” Doug said, before releasing a maniacal laugh. He deleted the egg’s account from the database. When the egg got back to the bus, he found his bus pass didn’t work. It was like he had simply disappeared. He had to roll home. None of the regulars noticed him. It was like he had ceased existing. He soon had run out of food. Being an egg, he found it impossible to buy anything. Eventually, exhausted, the egg ran out onto the road, when a car came around the corner. Not noticing the egg, the car didn’t slow down. And that was the end of T.H.E. Egg. Meanwhile, Dough Doggen heard a loud rap at his office door. “Doug…?” A nervous voice whimpered. “Has it happened again?” “What do you mean?” “Doug, you do remember the incident. With the stapler?” “The Stapler? T.H. E. Stapler?” It suddenly flowed back to him. The talking stapler! The fake customer feedback form! “Listen, I don’t know what you think happened- “ “We think you’ve been making up customer feedback again. We warned you, if this happened again. We warned you what would happen. I don’t want to have to do this,” whimpered Mitchell, Doug’s boss. “You know what Mitchell, I’m not crazy. You can shove this job up your arse. You’re a shit boss.” And on that, Doug grabbed his jacket, pulled his name sign off the front of the door, and walked out. He moved to Mexico after that, and hasn’t been heard from since.

The Plumberâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Faucet - Vol. XXXIV No. VII A cartoon retelling of the tragic incident that happened on that day. Yolk, no more.

March 20th, 2018

10 Mind-Blowing Things You Should Know about Me Before You Hire Me (A Buzzfeed Writer’s Resume) Pen Name: Crowdsourced Content-Harvesting Bot No. 253138

1. Five depressing years at a state college (number 5 will crush you!!!) 2. Three different positions in one year (I cried laughing at number 3!) 3. Two unexplained employment gaps that will BLOW YOU AWAY 4. Eight underwhelming previous publications (two are made up) 5. Four impressive-sounding awards with no Google results 6. Five irrelevant skills (is there anyone left in the world who isn’t proficient in “Microsoft”?) 7. Two typogaphical errors 8. One pathetic plea for employment thinly disguised as a letter of intent [gifs] [nsfw]

Quiz: will YOU hire this underqualified millennial? FIND OUT NOW!!!

Viewer Discretion is Advised by Thomas BarRett A dirty ol’ poem am I! Beware, lest you profane your eye; And I’ll have my fun O shucks, I’m done! I’m not a poem, but a lie. Not done! ‘Twas a trick! A ruse! The loathsome lim’rick ensues! And now, the rude rhyme: Yet again, out of time! I guess I’ll just wallow in booze. Thiiish form ishn’t rully fer me. I jusht *hic* hate it, ya shee? FfffUCK the conshtrainty I’m done bein dainty: DICK BITCH ASS BLAST DRINK PEE.

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

All the Times The Simpsons’ “Steamed Hams” Sketch Predicted the Crash of the Housing Market by the Gnome of Bronfman, Noted Samosa Speculator

Episode 21 of The Simpsons’ 7th season, entitled “22 Short Films about Springfield”, eschewed the sitcom’s traditional narrative structure and instead featured 20 micro-sketches, each putting the spotlight on different members of Springfield’s diverse cast of side characters. The most famous of these sketches is the 7th storyline, “Steamed Hams”, which on the surface appears to focus on Principal Skinner’s bumbling efforts to maneuver through the chaotic dinner he’s hosting for his boss, the austere Superintendent Chalmers. But if you look beneath the surface there’s a much more sinister subliminal message – a dire economic warning call, and nothing less than a thinly-veiled prediction of the complete collapse of the US housing market. “What? That makes no sense,” you’re probably asking. “Why does McGill still not have a fall reading break?” Well, I can only answer the first question. Let’s examine the incontrovertible evidence. 1. The episode first aired on April 14, 1996, the fourteenth day of the third month of 1996. Fourteen minus three is 11. Adding 11 to 1996 and you get 2007, the year of the housing market crash and start of the subsequent financial crisis. Coincidence? You tell me. Or don’t, I’m just a piece of paper and I don’t have ears. 3. Principal Skinner, the banking sector, inadvertently burns the roast he’d intended to feed Superintendent Chalmers and hides this fact from him, representing the metaphorical “overcooking” of the housing market being hidden from the SEC (the United States’ financial regulatory body, the Securities and Exchange Commission). 5. The “Steamed Hams”, the name Skinner assigns to the hamburgers to conceal their origin, are analogous to the subprime loans hidden within the triple-A rated mortgage bonds.

2. When Superintendent Chalmers arrives for dinner, there is a house. In fact, it’s Principal Skinner’s house, and the setting of the sketch. Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Principal Skinner’s house is a powerful symbol for America’s houses, which are about to be the cause of a major financial disaster for the nation. Evidence supports the mental health benefits afforded by the implementation of a fall reading break.” But you’re wrong. Well, except for that second part. Skinner’s home is actually a powerful symbol of America’s housing market, which is about to fall into complete and utter chaos. Crucial distinction. 4. Skinner then buys hamburgers from the fast food chain Krusty Burger, deceptively presenting them to Chalmers as his own cooking. In this analogy, Krusty Burger represents the credit rating agencies that helped conceal from regulators the subprime nature of the loans making up many purportedly low-risk mortgage bonds.

6. The SEC, Superintendent Chalmers, doesn’t become suspicious of the ruse until the house is already on fire, set alight by Skinner’s burnt roast left neglected in the oven.

March 20th, 2018 7. When Chalmers finally notices the kitchen blaze, he exclaims, “Good lord, what is happening in there?” Skinner offers the feeble reply, “Aurora Borealis”. Yes, all he can offer is that the light and heat emanating from his kitchen is the explicable result of the Northern Lights, at that time of year, at that time of day, in that part of the country, and localized entirely within Skinner’s kitchen. And yet Chalmers, ever the incompetent regulator, accepts this answer as truth.

8. At the end of the sketch, Chalmers leaves Skinner’s smoldering house and compliments his cuisine, all the while still oblivious to the raging inferno inside. The burning house, which the banking sector (Skinner) has gone so far to conceal, is symbolic of the destroyed housing market. And also symbolic of the hopes and dreams of millions of Americans set ablaze. And the financial sector. And the sudden combustion of an astronomical amount of wealth worldwide as a result of the financial crisis. And the hurt caused by Skinner having lied to his dear friend and guest. And the fiery pain caused to McGill students due to the lack of a fall reading break. And a burning house. Wake up sheeple!

When the American housing market finally crashed in 2007, causing a financial crisis that would wreak havoc around the world for years, people everywhere understandably reacted with panic, rage, and despair. What they really should have done is shrugged and sighed, and remembered the old creative adage: “The Simpsons did it”. But when it comes to implementing a fall reading break, McGill still hasn’t.

Riverdale: The Dark McGill Past by Harry Skinner

McGill University is one of the most prestigious schools in the world. Among its alumni are many who have made impacts in politics, music, art, and science. While an innumerable amount of great work can be accredited to people who attended McGill, there is one secret that the school’s administration does not want us to know: Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa, the writer of the Netflix original series, Riverdale , is a McGill graduate. Successful works of art and media created by alumni are normally things that a school would advertise to the public. The same would be true for Riverdale if the show wasn’t so nauseatingly bad. Seriously though. Netflix has put out many captivating original series, ranging from crime dramas to animated comedies, and everything in between. Many of them have received critical acclaim. In the case of Riverdale, however, it just misses the mark. The show is riddled with cliches, stiff, unrealistic dialogue, over-acting, unbelievable characters, and, above all, poor writing, which begs the question: who the hell taught this guy to write?

We can see now why McGill might not want the public to know about this blemish on their reputation. To make matters worse, an early version of Riverdale was put on at McGill in Players’ Theatre’s annual McGill Drama Festival (MDF). When this year’s MDF coordinators attempted to market the idea that this was the quality of the content in the festival, the McGill administration had to act quickly. “They’d obviously never actually watched Riverdale , or they’d know that advertising similar content is PR suicide,” stated a university employee, who asked to remain anonymous. The resulting action was the immediate shutdown (without notice) of Players’ Theatre. As a SSMU executive (who also asked that their name be withheld) put it, “We’d rather be known as the organization that shuts down performances mid-run than be known as the organization that spawned that god-awful pile of trash”. It is clear that McGill University is willing to take drastic measures to prevent people from knowing that they once admitted a student capable of writing something so cheesy and cringe-worthy. One can only wonder what other secrets they may be hiding from the public eye.

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

by Jitika Shah

Relatives Demand Explanation of Hollister at Gunpoint by Stav

Nelsonville, OH: At last week’s Smith family reunion, tensions rose as the Smith children’s aunt and uncle, Ashleigh and Jonathan Smith, 52 and 53, demanded an explanation of the Ohio based retailer Hollister, a store popular with teenagers in the region, at gun point. “As full-fledged adults, clothing brands popular with teenagers sometimes confuse us. But we have tried to be understanding with the tastes of the youth. Aeropostale (did I even say this correctly? Jesus), for example, is kind of odd, not to mention cheaply made, but we warmed up to it. I bought a couple of their hoodies for the kids last Christmas,” said Ashleigh Smith. “Even American Eagle became comprehensible with time. But for heaven’s sakes, if there’s one thing we do not get, it’s Hollister. God dammit, we do not understand Hollister.” When the Smith children, Jessica and Hayden Smith, 14 and 15, were unable to provide a quick explanation of the clothing retailer, the middle-aged relatives drew their guns. “It was a scary situation,” said Hayden. “But to be honest, it’s kind of understandable. I mean, I’m the target audience of the brand, and I don’t understand Hollister. In fact, I’m not sure Hollister understands Hollister. That being said, I wouldn’t mind a gift card from them.”

March 20th, 2018

Bring Your Own Juice: A Scathing Review Bring Your Own Juice (BYOJ) is a McGill sketch comedy group that put on an annual show. Their most recent one was this weekend, and if you’re reading this it’s too late to go. Alright everybody, let me tell you about BYOJ. Boy, have I got a bone to pick with these folks. Alright, let me tell you what happened... what they did to us, right? We got to the Mainline Theatre, and we PAID FOR TICKETS. When I say we paid for our tickets, I’m not exaggerating. We paid for them out of our own pocket and it was CHEAP. It was SO AFFORDABLE. Boy am I mad! Then, we were told to go sit down in a DARK room with a weird sort of stage in front. Other people sat down next to us that like, we didn’t even know. It was a great opportunity to bond and make friends. THANKS for that I guess, right BYOJ?! haha, am I right?

Then after a REASONABLE amount of time, the stage lit up and a couple people went on it. They were speaking and moving their bodies or whatever. They were making us laugh. Then more people took turns taking the stage and talking and moving around! It was very funny! In fact, it was so funny I physically laughed out loud! Take that BYOJ! Um, I guess BYOJ must be good at thinking ahead or something because we had a very NICELY TIMED intermission. I needed a leg stretch break, and BYOJ obliged! How CONSIDERATE of them, I guess, right?! After some more UPROARIOUS laughter and an extra hour of quality show I guess they decided to stop... and like END the show? Thankfully it ended RIGHT on time for my bedtime so I could go night-night after the big boy evening of my life. The last thing I have to say, I suppose is to sleep tight everybody and like and follow BYOJ on fecebook because, I’ll give it to them, they do a good job over there.

Balloons Anyone??

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

Top 10 Places on Campus to Summon a Demon by MaNUELA Galindo Planning to surpass Pan Twardowski? Think you can do one better than Theophilus of Adana? Fancy yourself the next– fuck, what was the German one’s name? It doesn’t matter. You don’t need to know that to summon demons and dabble in the occult. What you do need to know is the one thing that demonologists and real estate agents agree is the most important thing of all– location, location, location! Luckily, our very own McGill campus is rich in cursed places that will provide the best ambiance for your first foray into demon-summoning. Here are ten of our very favourites.

Underneath McTavish McTavish may be open now, but mark my words, it will not be for long. Everyone knows that it goes under construction every few years, but only a privileged few know why. Ice damage? Give me a break! The dread beast that lies sleeping under McTavish must be fed every few years– with blood. Vegans can substitute beet juice mixed with soy protein powder, but this ritual is still not for the faint of heart. Stay safe and bring a friend, but make sure it’s one you don’t like that much. Vegans can substitute a convincing mannequin.

The Stewart bio building, mcmed, the education building, or the law library

The Mclennan Library, especially the sixth floor It may seem risky to conduct a full summoning in a crowded library, but McLennan is much less crowded in the upper floors. You can even reserve a conference room all to yourself. McLennan is also ideal for summoning demons from deepest, coldest Cocytus, because it’s cold enough that the temperature shift won’t send them into shock!

Gerts has the appropriate dim, reddish lighting that will really set the mood for demonic activity, and the loud music will prevent you from drawing too much attention. Also, you can get a pitcher of sangria for cheap, and the bars in Hell are bad enough that your new f(r) iend will be quite impressed. It’s a win-win. Just be aware of when coat check starts.

The ninth floor of Leacock Suzanne Fortier’s office Oh, come on. It’ll be fun.

Actually, we just wanted to make you walk up a hill. Haha, sucker.

Mac campus (if it exists) The gym, during exam season Cursed as it may be by spirits of envy year-round, the gym complex is even more powerful during finals, when a tight collection of student souls emanates hubris, fear, and anxiety, which act, spiritually speaking, like wind on a wind turbine, generating a lot of evil energy. Your ritual will be incredibly easy here! In fact, demons may even pop up unbidden!

Gerts

The Bronfman building, home to the Desautels Faculty of Management Because the demons are already there.

This is where most of the philosophy department lives. Demons love philosophy and will feel right at home!

The staircase between the Arts building and the Ferrier building This location also doubles as one of the ten best places on campus to have a mental breakdown, so you can multitask if your schedule is tight. The staircase between Arts and Ferrier boasts depressing but sound-isolating concrete, and is not too frequented by other people. Take heed: under no circumstances go into Ferrier. It is too cursed. Also, you’ll get lost.

March 20th, 2018

WRITE FOR THE FAUCET!! Do you like the following things: Water Breathing Food Sex Me too! Sometimes I like to write for the Faucet though, which is really cool. It’s low commitment, takes no previous writing experience and we take submissions from EVERYONE. For submissions and questions, send a nicely worded email to: faucet@mcgilleus.ca

McGill Improv SUMMIT! Hey! You, reading this! You’re reading something (mildly) funny! I bet you’re interested in funny things. Well McGill Improv is throwing its annual comedy show, featuring improv schools from all around the continent! Come check it out February 16th at 7 pm, and February 17th at 5pm. McGill Improv has weekly workshops on Saturdays from 1-3 pm. They meet at the SSMU lobby then head up to the Club’s Lounge for the workshop itself. It’s a drop in workshop so once again, NO commitment necessary! It’s just a bunch of nice fun people having fun.

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

An Ode To SSMU by Hans I am breathless From this lung infection Restless From this SSMU administration Oh asbestos You are having your momentum Oh asbestos For heaven rest us When we are dead from asbestos Snow is falling on SSMU No, just kidding, it’s asbestos particles That’s why I am writing this roasting article To say screw you To SSMU (and asbestos) Oh no I have lung cancer Is that the answer? To the meaning of my life …fuck The building is closing And your lungs exploding Your health decomposing From all asbestos-ing Neglectful SSMU is unhelpful About this dust devil We call asbestos Oh asbestos You are having your momentum Oh asbestos For heaven rest us When we are dead from asbestos