The Festive Issue

the plumber’s

FAUCET Vol. 29 no. 5 • December 2nd, 2013 Trigger Warning: Fun

The Festive Issue

2 the plumber’s FAUCET the plumber’s Masthead Mr. and Mrs. Clause Daniel Dicaire David Bailey Elves of the Layout Workshop David Bailey Daniel Dicaire Faraz Oman Regular Reindeer Adam Pickersgill Amanda dos Santos Daniel Dicaire Daniel Galef David Bailey Hadi Sayar James Austin

Engineering Undergraduate Society of McGill University

Artsy Red-Nosed Reindeer Alexandra Foty (Cover) David Bailey 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. the plumber’s FAUCET vol. 29 no. 5 Monday, December 2nd, 2013 ISSN (print): 1707-7478 ISSN (online): 2291-3513

Letter from the Editors: Well, it’s almost finals, and with finals comes procrastination. Since you’ve already viewed every single picture of cats on the internet, you should be thankful that the Faucet has come out just in time for the festive season.

You know what else is fun? We hid a special secret message in this issue, made up of every nth word in the articles. You need to guess n and find the phrase! Am I bullshitting you? I don’t know, but it looks like I just bought you a couple more hours of procrastination.

Thank me later.

Exams are pretty stressful, but you need to put things into perspective. The worst a failed exam will do is put you back a year. And since McGill is fun and Quebec tuition is relatively cheap, what’s the big deal?

And McGill’s unofficial transcripts are really easy to modify, so GPA doesn’t matter that much either.

In other news, DisnE-Week kicks off January 8th, and it is sure to smash any sobriety-related resolutions from the week before.

Now, the departments are pretty competitive about E-Week, and there are conflicts of interest when it comes to EUS Executives, E-Week coords, and people in other non-departmental positions, who may try to abuse their power to support thier department.

We urge them to restrain themselves, no matter how much Mechanical is winning by.

After all, Mechanical is by far the rowdiest and drunkest department around, with the fastest drinkers, the cleverest schemers, the quickest athletes, the proudest spirit, and a strong E-Week pedigree. And anyone who registers for the mech team is sure to have the best time, whether they are actually in mechanical or not.

Nevertheless, when mechanical is inevitably sitting on top of the scoreboard, it is important that no one take it too hard. 2nd is pretty awesome, and E-Week is all about having fun.

On another note, if you are interested in joining the mech team, talk to either me or Dan, and we’ll get you in contact wit the right people.

-DD & DB

Trigger Warning: Editors

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Trigger Warning: Charity

Engineering Shaves the Day Left: Shave to Save participants (from left to right): Asa Davis, Gabriel Petrella, Graham Pinchin, Nicolas Westgate, James Austin, Morgan Grobin, Bryan Gingras, Carlos Marin, Zachery Oman. Not pictured: Emmet Austin, Reid Hadaway, Joe Hayek.

Right: Giant thermometer shows how much money was made

Shave to Save at Apocolypse Blues Pub Raises over $1200 for Canadian Diabetes Association Last Friday, the 29th of November, saw the last Blues Pub of 2013 come and go. Hosted by the Plumber’s Philharmonic Orchestra (or PPO), the event was by all measures a roaring success. The afternoon kicked off with Rowdy Day Blues Pub from 2:00 until 4:00, where patrons lined up to spin the fabled “Wheel of Misfortune” and completed fun, silly tasks to earn themselves a free beer. Then, from 4:00 onwards was Apocalypse Blues Pub, during which over 70 cases of beer were sold. Several hundred dollars of profit were raised, all of which is to be donated to Team Diabetes in support of Dianne Ferguson. A PPO member and the EUS’ very own administrative manager, Dianne has committed to walking a marathon in spring 2014 as part of Team Diabetes, which is the national activity fundraising program for the Canadian Diabetes Association.

One thing in in particular made this semester’s Apocalypse Blues Pub truly exceptional: a one-night Shave to Save fundraising campaign that far exceeded all expectations.

The event, initiated by PPO member Graham Pinchin, sought to raise money for Movember Canada. Participants volunteered to shave their heads at different fundraising goal levels, displayed on a large fundraising thermometer.

When each goal was reached, the thermometer was updated accordingly and the committed volunteer was shaved on the spot.

As the campaign continued and more money was raised, new participants volunteered to commit to shaving as well, adding new milestones to the thermometer and creating extra incentive to donate.

Remarkably, over $700 was raised in the last two hours alone.

By the end of the night, over $1200 had been raised and 12 different heads had been shaved. PPO Chief Morgan Grobin, who committed at the $900 mark, was among the participants who had their heads shaved that evening. “I’m really proud of everyone who stepped up to raise money,” she said, “especially the several volunteers who weren’t PPO members and had their heads shaved.” Rowdy Day and Apocalypse Blues Pub are just two of the many events that the PPO runs annually, contributing to their total of over $10,000 donated to charity every year. None of these events would be possible, though, without dedicated and committed volunteers such as those that made last week’s Shave to Save such an unexpected and exciting success.

-James Austin

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Ask Tribaholic Because EVERY question desrves an answer

by Tribaholic Question: Dear Tribaholic, I have had a drug problem for some time now, and I think it might be beginning to interfere with my job.

What can I do? -Anonymous Answer: Well the advice for this is simple! First, don’t admit to ANYTHING. Deny, deny, deny. It sounds like they have no conclusive proof that you have drug problem, and are probably just picking up on some irregular behaviour. So calm down on the drugs, save them until you’re not at work or a work function, and do them on your own time! Remember, it’s not a problem unless you think it’s one.

Question: Dear Tribaholic, My boss found out about a little problem of mine, and he’s already demoted me and I think I might get fired! What’s a good form of emergency damage control? Reply ASAP, please! -A Troubled Torontonian Answer: He already found out!

That’s too bad, but never fear, not all hope is lost! First, you need to own up to it, and talk about how you’ve moved passed it. This shows maturity on your part, and that you are a new, honest man. Then, by talking about how it’s all in the past, you can show him that these are PAST mistakes, and PAST transgressions, and have no effect on your current status. After all, committing a crime has no effect on you AFTER you’ve committed a crime, does it? You need to live in the here and now, and show the new man you have become.

Question: Dear Tribaholic, I think I’m stuck in a vicious cycle or something. I started drinking to help curb my weight problem, but it only got worse. Then I started smoking crack and getting involved with drug dealers and street gangs.

That got me in a little bit of trouble with my family and friends, and now my wife’s acting distant. That started me binge-eating again, and I don’t know what to do! -Orb Dorf Answer: Orb Dorf, you have really messed it up now! That is one hell of a cycle! Stay at home, with your family. Treat yourself to an allyou-can-eat pussy buffet in order to shore up your home life. Then, let everybody know that you’ve taken these steps to work on your personal issues. Next, move on to your diet. If crack ain’t working, I recommend some mild mixture of amphetamines and the “Atkins” diet.

You already have the drug dealer connections! Finally, try to reduce stress in your life. For example, have a little bit of vodka while you’re driving to take the edge off. It’ll help you stay safe on the roads.

Question: Dear Tribaholic, Today I shoved a woman to the ground while fleeing from the press asking me tough questions. Earlier, I flipped another woman off and sexually assaulted a few members of my cabinet. I was lampooned on a bunch of TV shows and I just might have become a really humiliating internet meme. What’s an average Joe to do in this situation? -Fob Rord Answer: Well you could try….

No that wouldn’t work. Well you could always just... wait, you don’t own enough hamsters. Ummm... you could just compare your situation to the Invasion of Kuwait, and hope people just dismiss you as senile?

One thing to always keep in mind is to never give up hope! You have the ability for a comeback deep inside of you. Just stick to nothing but meat, pussy, and speed diet, and everything is going to be coming up Dorf!

Trigger Warning: Art

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Faucet Obituaries

by Adam Pickersgill Milton Gates

Dead at age 3 months, 14 days.

After three months of sturdily defending against bikers and creating magnificent congestion amongst pedestrians, the Milton Gates have passed away in the night.

Though the gates were only on this earth a short time, their legacy will last for years through social memes and inside jokes. Raise your Blues Pub drinking vessel and share a moment of silence for these formerly impressive bastions of security.

The last shits given about school by U4 Student Emily Atkins Expired after 4 years, 2 months

Emily Atkins, an Electrical Engineering student in her fifth year, had her last vestiges of caring about school laid to rest earlier last week. The cause of their passing was medically determined to be Senioritis. Her ambitions and drive to do well in classes had been steadily decreasing for some time, as is characteristic of the long and painful process of Senioritis. At one point, Emily was a very fastidious student, attending all lectures and tutorials well into her third year. Emily’s motivation will be fondly remembered by many, and envied by others.

U2 Student Max Entali’s sole knowledge of a secret studying spot Perishes after only 1 month and 5 days

Max Entali, a U2 Student in Chemical Engineering, was excited going into exam season knowing that his knowledge of the study space in the Atrium basement belonged only to him. However, such was not to be, as Max quickly realized this knowledge was hardly unique to him, as the wave of students cramming for exams and rushing to finish final projects crashed over the limited seating of his favorite study space. Cause of death was determined to be suffocation.

U1 Student Aaron Richardson’s hopes for a good GPA Dead at age 1 year, 3 months

Aaron Richardson, a U1 Civil Engineering student, recently lost all hopes of a good GPA after receiving his midterm marks for his first course in statics. His hopes of a 3.6 or higher we strong ever since Aaron earned an A in FACC 100 back in first semester. One year and two finals seasons later, Aaron’s hopes have been crushed for at least another 6 months.

6 the plumber’s FAUCET Trigger Warning: Humour, Jokes, Christianity, and Satire

HOW THE SMOOS STOLE CHRISTMAS

THE HOLIDAYS! A Yuletide Tale of Political Correctness for Better and for Worse, after Seuss

by Daniel Galef ‘Why are you taking our Christmas tree? WHY?’

~Little Cindy-Lou Who, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Dr Seuss ‘Liberals really hate that. Bad for the environment, or something.’

~An imaginary liberal, ‘Five Reasons Liberals Hate Christmas,’ Ben Hart

It was Christmas, and all through the halls of Miggil, You could feel Christmas cheer, You could feel Christmas thrill, Hanukkah was over, The Solstice was done, And now it was Christmas’s time to have fun.

All the students were dressed up in red and green felts, And were hanging novelty mistletoe on their belts.

The Artzies and Plummers, The Prophs and the Soots, All were singing their carols and playing their flutes.

Every Martlet and Redman was having a ball, But the Smoos down in Smooville weren’t cheering at all, For the Smoos HATED Christmas; They hated it so!

They hated St Nick and his gay1 ‘Ho Ho Ho!’2 They hated his reindeer,3 They hated his sleigh,4 They hated Christmas Eve and they hated Christmas Day.5 They hated the joy and they hated the cheer, But, above, all, they hated the whole time of year.6 Homophobic.

Derogatory to sex workers.

3 Enslavement of noble beasts by a ‘superior species’ is animal cruelty.

4 The replacement of the native Inuit qamutiq seeks to usurp the place of the First Nations.

5 The birth of the historical Jesus, if he existed at all, has been placed with little degree of accuracy to sometime between 7 and 2 B.C., that is, Before Christ (?), and historians tenuously estimate sometime between January and July. No written evidence for the modern date exists before the third century.

6 The Gregorian calendar, instituted by Pope Gregory XIII, is inherently Catholic and thus a heavily biased social construct. Furthermore, the entire concept of a solar cycle is built upon a quirk of astrophysics and the accident of our placement in the universe. It is a heliocentric fallacy that unjustly marginalizes potential extrasolar life forms.

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And the Grump of the Grumpies, the King of the Smoos, Was old Fudd D. Duddy, who knew Christmas was Bad News.

He sat on his throne and he tugged at his beard, And he muttered ‘It’s happening just as I feared!

The trees and Movember moustaches are trimmed, The cups full of rum-heavy eggnog are brimmed!

If we are not cautious, If we are not careful, This Christmas Miggil might become something CHEERFUL!’ Then a green little grin spread across the King’s face, and he steepled his fingers and started to pace.

‘We’ll censor the censers, We’ll corral all the carols!

We’ll not let the Dons don their gay apparels!

To jolly St Nicholas we’ll give no quarter, Heck, we’ll take out an ironclad restraining order!’

Just then, through the doors of the throne room there came a stumbling, bumbling Phrosch.

‘WHAT’S YOUR NAME?’ The King of the Smoos bellowed, his finger an isthmus.7 But the drunken Phrosch only replied: ‘Merry Christmas!’

‘How DARE you say “Christmas”!’ cried old Fudd D. Duddy, ‘It’s racist and creedist — listen to me, buddy, To be fair and PC you must stop all that rot: Here is a list of things that you Cannot: You Cannot in public discuss your religion, You Cannot be merry, not even a smidgen.

You Cannot impose your ideals on another By assaulting them with insults like ‘God Bless You, Brother,’ ‘Merry Christmas,’ ‘Happy Hanukkah,’ or any such fluff, No, you Cannot do any of this silly stuff!

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No, it doesn’t work, but can YOU think of anything else that rhymes with ‘Christmas’?

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8 the plumber’s FAUCET So tear down the tinsel and finish the food, Before you are seen and before you are sued.

If a Jew or a Hindu should see this elation, The first thing they’d do is begin litigation!’

He huffed and he puffed and he turned a bright red, As visions of court cases danced in his head.

And the King thundered on about Eurocentricity And Western ideals, and subconscious duplicity, Respecting your neighbor’s beliefs without judging (While maintaining his own staunch position without budging), About checking one’s privilege and opening one’s mind, But he never said anything about being KIND. But the Phrosch didn’t tremble, The Phrosch didn’t quake, For the Phrosch could be happy, for happiness’ sake.

He knew the old King’s words were only intended To keep anybody from being offended.

He pitied the King, And he pitied the Smoos, For he saw that they all had the worst kind of Blues.

They thought to keep everyone happy, it’s best To keep everyone sad, so they’d be like the rest.

He saw they were scared of appearing elitist, And were scared any reference, even the sweetest To a culture or creed that might could be construed As not Universal would get them all booed.

‘Diversity’ their watchword, they shunned its effects, And the plethora of differing beliefs it projects.

They were all about tolerance when it came to democracy, But suppressing expressing belief is hypocrisy, When suppressing belief in itself they abhorred!

In the midst of this tirade, the Phrosch became bored.

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‘But the world isn’t like that!’ the Phrosch cried. ‘Oh NO! People just aren’t like that!

(The good ones, I know.)

Suppressing expressing’s oppressing, depressing!

Repressing is hardly impressing!’ Digressing, The Phrosch scolded the King, And the King was astonished!

In his high position, he’d never been admonished!

He mumbled a protest and looked at his feet, And grudgingly, Grudgingly, Acceded defeat.

And the Phrosch left the King, but not without insisting The Smoos find (as opposed to on what they’d been subsisting) A new target of hatred, A new victim for the offensive.

King Duddy looked thoughtful.

King Duddy looked pensive.

Then, after a moment, the King of the Smoos Looked up and mumbled, ‘How ’bout the Jews?’

‘Happy Boxing Day Eve, Happy Feast of Anastasia, And Day of Awareness of Wernicke’s Aphasia, Happy Takanakuy, for conflict resolution, And happy anniversary of the Taiwanese Constitution!’

The King heard him exclaim, as he walked out of sight, ‘Happy Malkh to the Nakh, And To All A Good-Night!’

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Jaywalking the Road to Perdition “If jaywalking is a cause worth dying for, what else would you be willing to do?”

The final chapter in the story of the Godfather of Jaywalking

by Liquid Giggles

In the days after Atia’s death, I was somber but resolute. I had lost what I held dearest, but I held onto my sanity for the sake of our son Jay. Nevertheless, I was deeply shaken, and I needed to get away for a while.

For a year, I walked the roads of the world’s most famous cities, from Mumbai to Dubai. Mumbai was a pleasure, as its hectic and busy streets provided exciting jaywalking opportunities, and I felt at home with a people who hardly knew that jaywalking was an offense. Dubai was sobering though, as their strong jaywalking culture was being newly repressed by the authorities. In other countries I found that jaywalking was not illegal at all, while in places like LA you could get a $200 fine for taking your foot off the curb.

When it came time for me to return home to Montreal, I was worldly and wise in the ways of the street.

I knew how roads were crossed all over the world, and was looking forwards to applying these lessons in Montreal.

Sadly, Montreal was a changed place when I returned. As in Dubai,

the police force had started to crack down on jaywalkers, and was issuing fines as ruthlessly as if they were dealing with double parkers at Tim Hortons. In fact, they even had undercover cops to catch the more experienced jaywalkers. In my year of travel I had been pondering what I would do with my life after the loss of Atia – when I returned to Montreal, it was immediately clear that my purpose was retake its streets for pedestrians.

I started out small, writing articles denouncing the new jaywalking policies in various Montreal newspapers. For the Gazette, I wrote of poor police resource allocation in a city with bigger fish to fry. For Metro, I described pedestrian’s rights and freedom of movement. In the Faucet, I explained that jaywalking makes it faster to get to class, meaning you can wake up later.

And for the Daily, I spun tales about anti-jaywalking laws being oppressive social constructs instituted by cis-gendered white males to expand their imperial designs into the streets as an act of micro-aggression against minorities who make up a portion of the pedestrian population.

My voice was heard everywhere, and though the authorities did not relent, I started to gather a following of similarly-minded citizens who wished to free the streets. Though their hearts were in the right place,

I saw that my flock was inexperienced in the subtler aspects of jaywalking, so I became their mentor.

Online instruction gave basic tips for crossing the streets and avoiding the fuzz, while in-person training sessions were provided for a select few who wished to learn the finer nuances of the art of jaywalking from a master jaywalker like myself.

While I was arming my flock with my secrets for spotting undercover cops and weaving through traffic, I was also raising my son, Jay. He had learned to walk, and was already crossing side streets against the lights. I insisted that he look both ways and avoid the busier streets since he was young, but I could see that Jay was a chip off the old block.

For all the momentum my jaywalking movement was gaining, I could see that the authorities would not let up. It was obvious that I needed to be a bit more ambitious.

That’s when I came up with the tuition plan.

Because the Quebec government was bleeding money to pay off the mob, they had decided to implement a modest tuition increase for university students. The change wouldn’t have caused much of a stir normally, but I had some tricks up my sleeve to take advantage of the situation. I wrote inflammatory articles about the right to free education and I planted some of

Trigger Warning: Staples

In the last installment, our hero honed his jaywalking skills while courting the love of his life, before a cruel twist of fate led to her death.

Her dying wish was for our hero to make the world a better place for jaywalkers.

the plumber’s FAUCET my jaywalking protégés in student associations to raise trouble. In no time at all, the streets were flooded with angry young people insisting that post-secondary education is a right. And as they marched down the streets, I marvelled at the sight of tens of thousands of jaywalkers. Better still, the courts became clogged and the police force (the greatest foe of jaywalkers) became an object of scorn.

Unfortunately, this grand scheme brought out the kinks within the jaywalking community. The protests were a convenient platform for the Anarchists in our organization to reveal themselves. A true jaywalker is passionate and believes the art is a political statement for the rights of pedestrians. But Anarchists just like to defy authority and stir up trouble, and don’t mind disturbing traffic or confronting police officers.

The Anarchist jaywalkers led the car-flipping and window-smashing wings of the student protests, which was counterproductive for the jaywalking movement.

I argued vehemently against these maniacs, until my main-

stream jaywalkers finally severed ties with them. When they continued their offences, we declared war for the good of the jaywalking. At first, each side would attack by tipping off cops about the other sides’ favourite streets to cross. But they went too far when they got the police to watch the street by my son’s preschool, and I decided that it was time to escalate. I don’t want to talk much about the sort of things we did for the cause in those dark times, but suffice to say, pedestrian fatalities escalated sharply for a couple months.

Because the jaywalking war was becoming increasing violent, we lost track of the protest movement and the student mobs died away.

The increase in pedestrian fatalities also reversed some of the progress made from the tuition protests, as the authorities blamed the deaths on jaywalking. But it was necessary, and after the last Anarchist was sent to sleep with the asphalt, my organization emerged larger and stronger than ever, and I was both respected and feared.

To regain momentum, we initiated an act of revenge against the Quebec political establishment. After our little civil war, it was time for the authorities to tear at each other from the inside. We tipped off the media about widespread corruption in the construction industry, which brought an end to the careers of the many of the poli-

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ticians who had supported anti-jaywalking policies.

The turmoil in Montreal city hall opened the way for us to make inroads into the political system. We were able to plant jaywalkers in strategic positions in new and rising parties, as well as to fill vacancies in old parties. Their mission was to chirp the party line, but to do everything in their power behind the scenes to defend the rights of jaywalkers, until such time that there were enough of them to come out publicly.

Through our newfound political influence, we were able to plant jaywalkers in the police force, the courts, and law firms, effectively making members of our organization immune to jaywalking laws.

I personally could jaywalk right in front of police stations without a single officer daring to give me so much as a warning.

And that is where our movement is now. The jaywalkers control Montreal behind the scenes, and our influence grows every day. Montrealers are not yet ready for an official jaywalkocracy, but by the time the next election rolls around, we will be unstoppable.

And that is my story. I started as ten year old running a light to get home for dinner, and became one of the greatest jaywalkers in the world.

I have lost loved ones to jaywalking, and have done unspeakable things in the name of the cause, but as the streets become freer, I feel no regret.

I am the Godfather of Jaywalking, and I walk where I please.

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Flight of Fancy: Understanding the Airport

by Set Phasers to Pun Trigger Warning: Animal Picture Twice a year there is a mass student exodus from the McGill Ghetto to the Pierre Elliott Trudeau International Airport, as thousands headed home so that they can eat something besides Pita Pit and samosas. It’s a chaotic time with long waits for taxis and a flood of University Hoodies. Some of us travel domestically, some cross borders, but almost all of us encounter awkward moments as we wait to sit down in a metal tube that violates gravity with an odd combination of aluminum, jet fuel, and tiny bottles of vodka.

No matter which airline you want to lose your luggage to, you can usually book online. When you buy your ticket, make sure you lose it before the rush out the door to grab a cab at 5 am. Last minute panic is important, as coffee at the airport is the same price as your ticket, and you want to feel awake.

After you survive your latest experience with a local taxi driver, it’s time to take your first step into the wretched hive of scum and villainy.

Follow the handy signs for where to drop your bags (never to be seen again) and get your boarding pass, because the next stop is everyone’s favorite: security. Normally, you can survive the wait with only a few small provisions, but if you are travelling between December 22nd and 27th, go ahead and pack a tent.

When you finally arrive at the security checkpoint, you will be

expected to throw out any liquids you have with you. Don’t worry, they are available for purchase in the terminal for only double the price. You will then meet some very nice people wearing rubber gloves.

If you feel that you haven’t gotten any in a while, you can always get these TSA agents to give you some action. My go-to phrases for cases like these are: “It can’t be that hard to sneak something onto an airplane,” and, “Do you know when the drug dogs are coming by next?”

If you enjoy it, don’t be too clingy they know who you are and where you live, so they’ll call you if they felt the same connection.

You’ve finally arrived in the airplane terminal. Your flight is probably late anyway, so now is a great time to do some shopping. The duty free is a great place to pick up some cheap liquor, as long as you are crossing the border or don’t mind jail time. There’s also a plethora of magazines at your disposal.

If you want to make it into the mile high club, here’s where you start.

Display your sexual confidence by selecting any of the fine porno magazines that they have sitting just behind USA Today. Show this to as many potentials on your flight as possible, and don’t let initial disgust throw you off.

You may have the fortune of sitting next to another McGill student. They may ask you what you are studying, or what year you’re in, in which case, try to resist the urge to sing Godiva’s hymn. The acoustics just aren’t right at 35000 feet. Calmly tell them that you’re in engineering, and resist the temptation to laugh when they tell you how cool art history is. If they seem interested in talking about why you study engineering, you can end the conversation at any point by talking about how the Diesel cycle is totally better than the Otto cycle. Once in a while, your closest passenger will be a fellow engineer, and in that case your only worry is whether they can beat you in a chug off.

Typical security screening line

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Less Time for Thinking, more Time for Drinking : Gift Giving Guide

by Amanda dos Santos

For the...

Why not...

Ke$ha’s Penis-Shaped Jewelry

Casual significant other

The only way to give shiny bling without it spelling lifelong commitment. Proof that Ke$ha wasn’t lying about her genius-level IQ.

Shittens

Roommate

Upgrade your shared bathroom with wet wipe mittens and add luxury to all your pooping sessions.

Winestein Because wine glasses always seem to break. Every engineer could use something with a little more structural integrity.

Peer

Tech-savvy significant other

Reddit Silver Have you seen the price of gold lately? Unaffordable! Gift your Redditor a little something special without going into debt.

Shit You Made in the Lab

“Awww, you made this?”

Yes, yes I did, over the course of my undergraduate degree. Here’s a heart that looks like your butt, and a C-Clamp, just for you.

Long-term lover

One you’re seducing

Edgy friend

Matlab Code

Make it plot hearts, or a batman logo, but nothing says I want you like Matlab.

American Apparel’s Menstruating Vagina T-Shirt This exists. That is all I have to say on the matter.

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Adventures of Trottier Man- The Assignment

by Woody

ETA: 13 Hours

ETA: 8 Hours

It’s 7 pm and Trottier Man, having given up on P=NP for now, finds himself at a table and decides to complete something more his speed: his Computer Paradigms and Electronics assignment. His complete overload of work and more interesting things have caused him to neglect that assignment till the last minute.

The pile next to his workstation has increased in size as an obscene number of cans and empty chip bags litter the table. Sweating like a pig, Trottier Man continues to stare at his nearly blank sheet of paper as he attempts the second question.

Having said that, he is still fully confident about his ability to finish the 12 questions before the 8 am deadline. Surrounding himself with his usual arsenal of Cheetos, Red Bull and Guinness, he draws out a blank sheet of paper and begins writing. He writes down the date and his name, then his Crackberry™ begins to vibrate. Picking up his aged cellphone, he notes a sad and awful truth: there are dollar beers at Peel Pub tonight.

He takes a deep breath, and bangs his head on the table.

Suddenly, inspiration hits. “Google must know the answer to this one,” he mutters as he opens his laptop. He types the question word for word into the search bar.

ETA: 7 Hours and 57 minutes Having given up on Google, he decides to trust his friends’ judgments on Facebook. “I mean Sean must have done this ahead of time right? Clearly he’s got, wait Nila went to NY?” he asks as he begins to browse through her pictures.

ETA: 6 Hours ETA: 11 Hours A bag of Cheetos in hand, Trottier Man continues to stare at the first question in deep thought.

Trusting Occam’s razor, he decides to go with the answer that has the least assumptions that he can think of: Yes. He quickly jots down that single word and moves on the second question.

Miraculously on the 3rd question, Trottier Man reaches for his next Red Bull and puts it to his mouth. It is empty. He throws it behind him and reaches for another, spilling its contents on his assignment as he does so.

ETA: 3 Hours Trottier Man is unconscious on his assignment; the obscene

amount of Red Bull ingested having clearly caught up to him. Drooling on his paper and his hand in an empty bag of Cheetos, he suddenly jolts awake.

ETA: 1 Hour Trottier Man is rushing to answer the last 8 questions on his assignment. The pencil is a blur as it quickly flies across the empty pages of his stack of paper, filling up pages and pages of formulae at blinding speeds. He no longer cares for the simple problems of man as he has reached a higher state of being. Nothing can stop him from completing this assignment, these formulae are nothing in comparison to his … “Oh god, I have to pee!”

ETA: 5 minutes The T.A. prepares to close the door to his office and leave as Trottier Man sprints across the hallway in a mad rush to hand in his assignment. Assignment in hand, he tackles the T.A. to the ground and quickly hands it to him before sprinting away. The T.A. slowly gets up and looks down to see a package of drenched Cheetos-encrusted papers. The letters “T.M.” can be seen spelled out across the top in sharpie. Annoyed, the T.A. sighs: “This was due last week.”

the plumber’s FAUCET

15

16 the plumber’s FAUCET

Poetry from the Pot

Trigger Warning: History

Once again, we bring you another taste of the Plumber’s Pot, the often-controversial McGill engineering paper that went too far and got itself banned from campus back in ‘88. They had some questionable content at times, but they also had some really good stuff, like the piece below:

The Engineer (with apologies to Carl Sandburg)

by Peter W. Egan

Bomb Builder for the World Card Puncher, Counter of Ergs Player with Atoms and the Nation’s Scapegoat Trivial, Vital, Placid Students of the Big Trade School They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen you kill sheep from forty miles away with the latest nerve gas And they tell me you are tasteless, and I answer: Yes, it is true for who else would wear a plaid sport coat with a paisley shirt to a Bobby Vinton concert And they tell me you are boring and my reply is: On the faces of your dates I have seen the marks of creeping horror as you begin to itemize the components in your latest Heathkit And having answered so I turn once more to those who sneer at these my fellow students and I give them back the sneer and say to them: Come and show me another minority group with lifted head snickering so proud to be assured of a solid twelve grand and a box in the suburbs* Flinging quite printable curses amid the toil of studying night upon night, bursting with determination or devoid of imagination Counting Calculating Slide Ruling Balancing Coming, Multiplying, Conquering Under the credit load, chalk all over his hands, laughing with Dow-Jones Under terrible burden of quantum mechanics, laughing when he can Laughing even as an hysterical NASA man laughs who has just pushed the wrong button Bragging and laughing that under his skull is the know-how, and under his ribs the cavity of fate Laughing? *and you can take that any way you want it** **or get it