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vol. 46 no.4 • Wednesday , Feb. 8, 2012
The Hunting Issue
Plumber’s Masthead
Letter from the Editor Loyal Faucet Readers,
Editor-in-Chief Neil DenToom Writers David Bailey Neil DenToom Daniel Dicaire Arjun Ghai Matt Guttman Michael Hunt Daniel Keresteci Zac Moreland Ben Share Nicolas Vendeville Becca Weber Illustrators David Hanna Padina Suky
Disclaimer The Plumber’s Faucet is a publication of the EUS. The views and opinions expressed within are soley that of the authors and do not necessarily reflect those of the EUS or the McGill Faculty of Engineering. For more information, questions, and comments please contact faucet@mcgilleus.ca the plumber’s FAUCET vol. 46 no. 4 Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Welcome to a new year and new semester with so many ridiculous and great things going on, you’ll barely be able to handle it. I’m probably vastly underestimating your skills and resilience, but still, that’s fair warning for when the Engineering world proceeds to blow your mind. In only one month, it seems like we’ve already tackled enough for the year: we already took the trash out once, made the bed twice and ate a piece of fruit. Most of us still haven’t found out what all our professors look like and we’ve written three midterms, but that’s another story with its own ending. If for the past few weeks you’ve been clutching a pineapple, pondering whether you want to be an over-achiever, it’s probably time you ended your pineapple-carrying ways and got back in the loop. The Faucet’s a good place to start. You’re probably a little less horny than you were during the first week back. “What? How does he know?” you might ask. Well, your mom’s not the only mom who decided that salsa lessons would be a fun gift for their favourite child. Turns out that having the moves like Jagger (pronounced Hagger with the Spanish accent) can give you an edge on the competition. Also, it could just be that you got your full dose of Viking while it was in the air for Viking E-Week. More shenanigans were seldom seen in the same number of days. Speaking of competion, our very own amazing Eng Games team decided to rally everyone and come out in the top two in Québec. And, speaking of rallying, the icy massacre that is broomball has begun to take lives and virginities -- two very disposable things in the heat of the game. So, now that you’re valuing your life a little more, we now have to make you aware that we’re allegedly sitting here in our last eleven months on this spinning blue and green marble (Wikipedia 2012). I think it’s time for a bucket list. Valentine’s Day is just around the corner, so that’s as good a time as any to cross off some of the more “creative” items on the list. I hope we’ll also inspire you to learn to responsibly lose, then regain your money, to offend people effectively, to try your salsa dancing on roller skates and mainly to avoid the Queen’s route too often traveled. Looking forward to another semester with you and a great Faucet crew, Enjoy this issue and your Golden Valentines,
Neil DenToom, Editor-in-Chief
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V-Day: An Engineer’s How-to Guide by Daniel Dicaire
Ladies! There’s a sale on shoes at the Eaton Centre! Go! Now! Good, they’re gone. Now I can talk to you guys in private. You might be aware of an upcoming “holiday” known as St. Valentine’s Day, in which we men have to navigate the intricate social tendencies of those without the MAN-gene. Sadly, many will fail. But, regardless of your Facebook relationship status, this will serve as your guide to romantic success this fourteenth of February. First of all, to those who have gained a partner, congratulations. Your first challenge will be planning your date. You should absolutely, positively make sure that chocolate is involved. Seriously, Count Chocula is really popular among the ladies. It has something to do with magic I’m pretty sure. Juliette & Chocolat is a relatively unknown little restaurant, so feel free to show up that night without a reservation. She’ll love it. When the night arrives, she will undoubtedly ask if her outfit makes her look fat. IT’S A TRAP! She is testing your sincerity. Any woman who asks you about her appearance is just trying to make sure that you value her concern and carefully consider the situation before responding. The longer you take to think about your answer, the more considerate and caring you look. Vernier callipers and tape measures always spice up an evening. Bring them to dinner too, so you can compare her
measurements to other women in the restaurant. At the conclusion of the evening, before saying good night, thank her for the wonderful evening. Finally, stop by CopiEUS and ask for a part time job to cover the bill from that night. I mean DAMN. Now a word to my single gentlemen audience, never give up! I totally have your back. I’m going to assume the people reading this are from some non-engineering department, because let’s face it, engineers have sex appeal like no other force on Earth. We at the Plumber’s Faucet won’t hold that against you (today). Your first objective is to find a single woman. That should be simple enough as they seem to be followed by pleading men with tape measures at Juliette & Chocolat. You then have
to deal with the soul crushing fear of rejection that accompanies the approach of any woman you seek to ask on a date. The best solution for this is to ingest 17-26 alcoholic beverages immediately before the conversation. If successful, you can begin to apply the award winning techniques outlined above. Should you fail, keep trying. There is only a medium-sized chance that you are unlovable. There is, of course one other route you can take. It’s advisable because all successful human (and non-human) interaction only needs your cursor to be in the top-right position. Conveniently, the demo is released February 14th. Make your choice, gentlemen!
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Better Know a Department: Economics by Ben Share Who: People too socially awkward to make it in the business world... but still want to be in the business world for some reason. What: Topics include ways to get people to pay for your shit, methods that other people (but not you) use to make money, and ways to convince people to pay you a salary without having to explain to them what exactly it is you do. How: By writing and re-writing a seemingly endless supply of publications, economists always seem to want someone to pay them, so that they will no longer be burdened with the secrets of how to get rich. I don’t understand how, if they all know how to make money already, they would need someone to pay them before they start actually doing it, but there is a lot I don’t understand. For instance, I do not know why, when I called some “fucking Kanook syrup chuggers” they got all bent out of shape, since all you Canadians seem to be able to do is dick around on the ice and put maple syrup on things, but I digress. My theory? Economists are all full of shit, and have convinced us that they have other sources of income other than the salary we pay them, or the books we buy from them, or the magazines....you get the idea. Why: Fuck if I know, I want to build shit when I graduate.
Departmental Drinking Game: The rules are simple and always the same. Fill a discreet container with your liquor of choice and attend a lecture in this department. If your professor says the word “profit”: 1 sip. If your professor uses the words “stocks,” “bonds,” “demand,” or “synergy” (because why the fuck not?): 2 sips. If your professor draws, or makes reference to, a graph: 2 sips. If the graph’s axes are not actually labeled: double up. If your professor suggests an implausible, totally idealized scenario: 2 sips. If you’re learning about supply and demand again just using a few fancier words: ½ sip so it doesn’t get too expensive too fast… If your professor checks the stock market and says something vague about it that no one in the class understands: 3 sips. If your professor is able to explain, in one sentence, what they did for a living before teaching, bottle that shit and sell it, you just discovered the formula for endless money!
So, in closing, I don’t think anyone really knows what the fuck it is an economist does, but I think Bob and Doug McKenzie said it best: “eh-conomics? Oh, that’s how you decide what to do with all your empties you can’t fit in your truck.”
Bestiality: A Love Story (continued on 18) by Becca Weber
Once upon a time there lived a boy. He was an ordinary boy--from a happy family, well-mannered, of average intelligence. But this boy was also a special boy -- at least, he had very special interests. A main interest of his was livestock.
He had grown up in a city, far away from the many creature comforts that nature provides -namely sheep. So, when this boy, we’ll call him Evan, was accepted to Queen’s University, he was filled with nothing but glee--finally
he would be able to live out his life’s goal of cohabitating with sheep, for that was how everyone got their rocks off at Queen’s! They took the phrase “animal husbandry” to a whole new level in that Kingston university.
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Roller Disco with EEC! by Zac Moreland Engineering at McGill is kind of like a mullet: business in the front, party in the back. So what better way to pay homage to mullets (and Engineering), than to rock out at a badass roller disco? I don’t even know if mullets and disco are from the same time period, but it doesn’t matter. In this totally awesome, once in a lifetime event, your charisma and grace will be put to the test as you battle it out against gravity to perform intense roller dance manoeuvres. Testimonials: “I brought that bitch to roller disco. Bitches love roller disco!”
-Ed Wuncler III
“I used to roller disco across the country, but then I took an arrow to the knee.” “I was clumsy and slow before roller -McGill Security disco… Then I cruised around in the Pussywagon and killed ninjas!”
-Uma Thurman
“They see me rollin’, they hatin’ – but that don’t mean nothin’, I’m lovin’ that roller disco!” -Chamillionaire
If you want to come (you do), come find us at our table in McConnell by Frostbite, or send us an email at eec@mcgilleus.ca. Tickets are $15. We will be meeting in the common room at around 6:30PM, or you can meet us there (8931 Avenue Papineau). Date: Saturday, February 11th, 8:00PM
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A Tale of 200 Vikings by David Bailey Once again, E-Week has come and gone. Over 200 participants of this year’s Viking E-Week invaded the streets of Montreal in a festival of promiscuity, alcohol, and intense interdepartmental competition. Pitchers were emptied, clothing was lost, and friends were made (if for only an evening in many cases), as Montreal stood in awe of the Aggression and Strength of the McGill Engineers. Congratulations must go out to ECSESS, who were the E-Week champions of 2012 – the ones who performed best in the week’s competitions. They were a shining example of how engineers are hard as fuck – the type of people who can dance and drink deep into the morning, yet still get up for a 9:00am alcoholic breakfast to start another day of debauchery. Not that the other departments didn’t demonstrate these admirable qualities as well. MAME was a very close second, CEUS came in a respectable third, and deeds of Viking valour were performed by all departments. The Nordic revellers gave their all, and in many cases showed their all, in their quest for E-Week glory.
Viking E-Week featured a daily breakfast, complete with bacon, pancakes, coffee, and “other beverages”, to prepare participants for day activities. These included a scavenger hunt and a design competition, where hastily constructed “longboats”, replete with sails and cup holders, raced across lower field (or just got stuck in the snow). Slap cup, beer pong, and 3-Man tournaments were held during the day, and there was also the Risk Tournament and beer mile. Kudos to the participant who ran half a kilometer outside in his boxers during the beer mile – you did your department proud. Of course, the most popular events were the night events. These were all preceded by a Blues Pub pre-drink, since there were conveniently scheduled miniBlues Pubs every day of the week. Over the course of E-Week, we
had an 11 stop pub-crawl, a toga party, a Century Club, and the legendary Bus Trip to Nowhere. Points were given for rowdiness and nudity, and there sure was an abundance of those commodities. Did I mention that the gender ratio was great? There were actually more lady engineers than men at a lot of events, destroying a negative engineering stereotype and making nudity more enjoyable. D u r ing these four sloppy nights of drunkenness, promiscuity, and bar dancing, records were broken, hook-ups were made, and locals were left in awe. It’s difficult to describe the energy of the insane rowdiness during each night event. I know people who aren’t in engineering who say they found E-Week a lot better than MUS’s over-hyped Carnival. At the risk of sounding a bit sappy, one of the best things about E-Week events is all the great people you meet. The bonds you form with your boat-race op-
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ponent, or with the people you enjoyed a hangover-curing breakfast with, last well beyond E-Week. I love the drunken debauchery of EWeek, but I also think it’s great how many people I got to know in those 4 days of raw engineering spirit. Now, I’d like to make a special mention of Century Club, which was held at La Boîte à Karaoke. This year, it was held after Three Man Tournament and Blues Pub, which by themselves had caused many a person to seek comfortable places to nap. For those unfamiliar with Century Club, it is an event where one tries to drink 100 shots of beer in 100 minutes, taking a shot every minute when the song changes. That’s no easy task when you have been staying well hydrated for hours beforehand. It turns out that it was no challenge for the engineers. A total of 150 four liter pitchers were consumed at Century Club. Let me repeat that. 150 four liter pitchers! That’s 600 L of beer! It means that the average person drank 4L (more or less - I was in no state to count the number of people), which is quite impressive after Three Man and Blues Pub. There’ve been crazy engineering parties at Boîte before, but the respectable record of 77 pitchers (made during Pub Crawl two days earlier) was absolutely annihilated that night. The bartenders had to pull the coordinator of the event aside to tell him the count, because they had never seen anything like it before. Naturally, that was quite an interesting night - as
rowdy as I have come to expect from engineering events. E-Week wrapped up with the legendary Bus Trip to Nowhere, which this year was to Chateau Du Lac, the finest watering hole in Hudson. Several busloads of engineers headed out into the night, away from the tender buxom of the city and towards a town where few McGill engineers had drunk before. A great time was had at Cha-
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teau Du Lac, and between dancing and boat races, the engineers brought an epic week to a glorious conclusion. And that is the story of EWeek. The drunken escapades of the engineers shall be sung about in sagas for generations to come. Of course I have more stories to tell, but it’s probably best if a lot of things which happen at E-Week stay at E-Week.
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The Not-So-Sexy History of Valentine’s Day: Dead Goats & Beheaded Priests by Matt Guttman
Are you single? Tired of feeling alone and worthless on Valentine’s Day? Maybe you’ve got a significant other, but don’t feel like shelling out two weeks of beer money for some stupid flowers and a crappy dinner just so you can get laid. In any event, we all hate Valentine’s Day and wish we could smother the son-of-abitch who invented it, don’t we? Well friends, read on to discover the miserable self-esteem-hating, beer-fund-thieving, sex-depriving maniac who’s responsible for our collective misery. Let me be your guide through the 98.7% accurate, not-so-sexy history of Valentine’s Day. • 1013 BC – The festival of Lupercalia is first observed from February 13th-15th. It is dedicated to Lupa, the shewolf goddess who was said to suckle the infant orphans of the world. Yum. • 726 BC – The Romans adopt the festival, which began with the sacrifice of two goats and one dog. Two lucky youths were then led to the sacrificial altar where they smeared each other with the goats’ blood. This is the first record of a sensual Valentine’s Day massage. The sacrificed animals then had their skin removed and turned into thongs called februa (that’s right, February really means goat-skin thong
dipped in blood). People would celebrate by running through the streets naked and slapping anyone who stood in their way with the leather straps. • 654 BC – The first record of women deliberately standing in the path of the naked thongslingers, as it was believed that getting smacked with the sacred skins would help them get pregnant and ease the pains of childbirth. Makes sense. • 69 BC – The romans conquer France, bringing the celebration of Lupercalia with them. Here, “The Lottery” was born, a ritual where the names of virgin maidens were placed in an urn and drawn by young men. When a man drew a girl’s name, they would become lovers for the year. Think of it as an ancient and awesome version of “Seven Minutes in Heaven.” • 212 AD – Enter Saint Valentine, or rather, Saints Valentine I-III: I. A Roman priest who defied Emperor Claudius and performed marriages for young lovers in secret. He was beaten with clubs and stoned by the authorities, but when that failed to kill him, he was beheaded. II. A bishop of Interamna (for those not versed in ancient Italian geography, that’s
about 50 km from Rome) who supposedly loved children a lot. Sounds familiar… He was jailed, and it was said that children used to throw flowers and notes into his cell. Creepy. While awaiting execution, he fell in love with the jailer’s blind daughter. Also creepy. He sent her a final letter before his death, which he signed “from your Valentine,” a sickening phrase that seems to have stuck. What an asshole. III. A martyr somewhere in Africa. Who gives a shit? The bottom line is, whichever one was the real St. Valentine, we can rest easy knowing that he died a horrible and painful death. Finally: • 314 AD – The pagan ceremony of Lupercalia is banned following the conversion of the Roman Empire to Christianity, but the Church needs something to replace it with, lest the masses get bored and revert to slapping each other with bloody goat skins. Who better to make people forget about dead goats and increased fertility than a festival celebrating a bunch of dead priests? And thus, Valentine’s Day was born. Seriously, what the fuck?!?
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Dear AUS, We nice Faucet people have decided to lend you a courtesy and hopefully make available a certain wayward sum of $12 000. To facilitate this, in addition to our donation of the above bill, we will ensure that we absentmindedly forget to log out of our uPrint account long enough for you to make another 119 copies. Try to hang onto it this time, -The Faucet
by Daniel Dicaire
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Discover the “Crystal Phallus” by Neil DenToom Has it ever taken you an entire semester to finally finish with your erection?* Well, McGill knows all about that.
But, don’t you hang your head in your loneliness, no, chin up -you’ve discovered something that very few people know about.
In September, we returned from our little paradise vacaction to find McConnell redecorated with yellow tape and some nail whackers’ red carpet to the elevator with the new avant-garde plywood walls. Then, they had the nerve to make us detour around rather than go directly from Mc to Mac. Why would they do this to us? Finally noticing that something was a little weird? Suspenseful yet?
But, soon, you might think of inviting more people to experience this Phallus of yours. Before putting it out there to the masses, just be aware that it’s not going to be quite as special once everyone starts going up and down all over your Phallus.
Well, instead of fixing the everpresent hole in the FDA hallway wall, they decided to build us a stairway to heaven (insert heavenly-pitched choral tone -- then stop it abruptly). To give them (whoever that is) some credit, they did make a relatively nice structure, but it’s squeezed in the final square inches of our engineering side of campus where no one has reason to go. Picture a fully loaded three-man couch. Now picture your horizontally endowed friend trying to
prove there’s room for four. Finally, picture this couch in the arms of two garbage men carrying it from the dirtiest alley in the ghetto into the truck. But, it’s a nice couch. Whether it’s a brilliant idea or not, this mysterious place needs a name. For something so glorious and bold, the Crystal Palace would do, but palaces tend not to be secret and hidden. It’s almost like little Jimmy’s first inconveniently timed spelling bee up at the front of the class - when you’re wearing sweat pants, you grab anything from a globe to the girl in the front row to hide that little guy.
If this is your current dilemma, the end is in sight: the Faucet’s “promiscuity encouraged” Blues Pub is coming up right before St. Patty’s on March 16! *
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So, the only appropriate name is clearly the “Crystal Phallus.” A slightly darker colour scheme might have been more appropriate for a five-storey phallic structure; however it’s acceptable as long as it’s not for compensation and there’s no correlation between storeys and inches. When you first start enjoying going up and down the Phallus, you will likely be doing it by yourself.
Horny Mail-order Bride tells the Faucet about her great expectations for the night of Valentine’s Day.
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Broomball: Hockey’s not quite as good-looking, but still very much do-able, if slightly fatter friend by Daniel Keresteci
You may have noticed the poor excuse for an ice rink, the so-called “Iron Rink”, which was recently constructed on Lower Field. This “rink” is built every year by the EUS for the purpose of the Engineering Broomball League. Broomball is an odd sport. It takes its core concepts from hockey but does away with all the exciting bits like pucks, skates, speed, and talent. What remains is truer to the vision of what hockey’s original founders at McGill must have envisioned: a bunch of player’s haplessly falling over each other on the ice in a fruitless attempt to whack an object in the general direction of the net. Broomball is usually described as hockey with all the skill taken out of it. Player’s wear shoes instead of skates, they hit a ball in place of a puck, and they hit it with brooms (long pieces of wood with a mallet at the end) instead of a stick. With grip deficient boots, an unruly ball, and an ill-formed broom-head, lateral movement and stick handling become very difficult. They also make it very likely that you will make a complete fool of yourself regularly as you completely take yourself out - alone in the corner - while trying to change directions and completely whiff on the ball when you get a wide open chance to score.
In spite of this, broomball is actually extremely fun because the chaotic and unpredictable play provides many surprises and laughs. Also, everyone is about the same skill level, so all team members feel like they are contributing. Broomball really doesn’t care for all the technique, finesse, or playmaking of Hockey. Its general strategy for everything is to whack the ball forward when the opportunity presents itself and to occasionally throw out a big hit on some poor sucker with their head down. It’s a welcome respite from the intellectually stimulating environment of engineering. Sometimes all you really want is to have a good time, have some fun, and hit a ball every once and a while when it rolls in front of you. In that sense it is kind of like hooking up with Hockey’s not quite as attractive and slightly fatter friend. Sure, playing Broomball doesn’t make you into a sports stud, but it’s a good break from your studies, it’s easy to pick up and play, and it’s a lot of
fun in the short term - just not the kind of thing you want to do year round. Plus, it’s decent enough that not only will your buddies not make fun of you for doing it, but they’ll even want to join in! If you are interested in playing Broomball, the league is going on right now. Email sports@mcgilleus. ca if you want to get on a team - paid referee positions are also available. Regardless of what you may infer from this article, I actually love Broomball. I’ll see you out there on the Iron Rink!
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The Lord of the Swears: One Swear to Rule Them All by Michael Hunt Fuck. Hell, Christ, bastard, twat, bollocks. Rim, ram, God damn, son of a bitch, shit. I hope I got your attention, because that’s an important part of what profanity does. Unfortunately, most of these words lose their shock value because of overuse. Only in formal situations do these words cause a stir – like if Obama called someone a “fucking goat-rimming twat” in his State of the Union Address. Today, only one true swear remains. It is an ancient English swear which even now is not spoken on television, and which still has the power to shock the av-
erage man and woman. I speak of the almighty cunt. I suppose a little history lesson might be in order. The word cunt has been around for at least 800 years. The earliest known written use is in a manuscript from 1230 which refers to a street in a red-light district of Oxford as “Gropecunt Lane”. That makes it one of the English language’s oldest words, an honour it shares with fuck (one of fuck’s earliest recorded usages was a man known as “John le Fucker”, alive in 1278).
Cunt is seldom enough used that for a lot of people, it takes a long time for them to realize it is a swear. When I was a wee lad, I started to learn toilet words like “poop” and “pee”. I quickly worked my way up better words like “stupid” and “idiot”. Soon after, I got hooked on the hard stuff. I learned “shit”, and “bastard”, and
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“asshole”, which all made me feel pretty bad-ass at the time. Eventually I found out about “bitch”, which didn’t lose its shock value for years. Then, finally, I learned “fuck”. At the time, I believed it was the ultimate swear word. I knew that there were some other non-Canadian swear words like “bollocks” and “wanker” which I wasn’t too familiar with, but I was confident that nothing could get worse than fuck. Maybe I’m just not very observant, but I went quite a few years thinking no word was more offensive than fuck. A couple of times I considered the possibility that somehow there was another level of profanity, but I realized that believing a pipe dream like that was like pretending there is a more depraved group of people than those sheep-raping Golden Gaels. Eventually however, I started to notice the word cunt being used in movies and television shows every so often. It took me a while, but I finally started to understand its significance – that cunt is the supreme grand master of swear words. I had finally found the Atlantis of profanity – it was like discovering Santa was real years after losing faith in him (but without all the potential for a sappy Christmas movie). These days, now that I know cunt, I reserve it only for when I want to be especially insulting. I
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“Babies” Valentine’s Special!
9:00pm Every night until Valentine’s Day You’ll see: - Hundreds of HD clips in 3-D - The quick method
- How to do it alone - Training programs - Job opportunities Enjoy!
do this not because I myself find it offensive, but because it is a powerful word and I want it to stay powerful. Fuck was like cunt not too many years ago, but because of overuse, it has lost its ability to truly shock. If we wanted to, we could be cunts and use it in every other sentence. When I start hearing it all the time, I will know it has gone the way of fuck
and lost its power after an 800 year reign. I propose that we do whatever we can to preserve the word cunt. Use it sparingly, and only when you really want to shock someone, otherwise it will be gone with nothing to replace it. Maybe you shouldn’t put the pussy on a pedestal, but you should definitely put cunt up there.
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“Les is More” by Nicolas Vendeville Les Moneybags, the ruthless and cunning head of McGill University’s financial department, may not be a household name, but he happens to be the most influential figure at McGill. Before he took office, McGill foolishly paid for two-ply toilet paper, functioning lights in classrooms, indoor heating, and salt for the sidewalks. Les cut these luxuries and thereby saved McGill thousands of dollars. Mr. Moneybags was then able to wisely reinvest this money into his pet project, a money pool that he can swim in every morning before work.
As the money pool started to deepen, Les continued to innovate. He noticed that at campus events students were drinking French wines, champagne, and Belgian beers. “Enough is enough!” Les was reported to have said when he heard of this Nero-esque decadence. He hastily replaced these inferior foreign imports with highquality local beer, Boréal. However, the money pool was still not filling up as quickly as Les would have liked. “It’s insulting to
expect me to swim in a mere 3 feet of pearls and Spanish gold.” But Les is no stranger to adversity. Once again he worked his Midas touch and hatched a plan to raise tuition fees by $1500 over the next five years. Students were so thrilled by this measure that they gathered outside the James Administration building to celebrate.
The Department of Philosophy will now represent Ancient Greece and High Times. History & Political Science have settled on Jack Daniels whiskey and Wikipedia. The dry-handed and tearyeyed students in Engineering will be taken up by Vaseline and Kleenex. The naming rights to the faculty of Dentistry will be bought by British People and Lil Jon.
Moneybags believes that his latest stroke of genius will prove to be his masterwork. His idea is to sell the naming rights of different departments to companies. “We name our buildings after rich people, why not do the same for faculties,” he said through the wisps of smoke emanating from his artisanal Cuban cigar. He then handed me the sheet of potential corporate sponsorships. Here are the contents of this document: Business and Management will be adopted by Canada Goose jackets and Lululemon pants. Continuing Education will be sponsored by Viagra.
The Faculty of Arts will be brought to you by Starbucks, American Apparel, Macbooks, prescriptionless glasses, clichés, and irony. The Department of Psychology will now proudly carry the name of Charlie Sheen. The pizza-faced Math and Physics majors are now funded by Neutrogena and Clearasil respectively, while the nocturnal trolls in Computer Science will be going with Red Bull and Pizza Hut. Finally,
Literature
will
be
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Eng Tunes & Rhyme Time by Arjun Ghai brought to you by Mad Libs; Medicine by the board game “Operation” and Biology by the game of “Life;” Phys Ed. by Shake Weight; Music by dubstep; Pharmacology by Flintstone Vitamins; and Chemistry by Mentos and Diet Coke. The remaining departments will be funded by samosa sales until a suitable bidder steps forward. The phone rang. It was Tom Cruise inquiring about the naming of the Faculty of Religious Studies. Although I had hoped to question him further, Mr. Moneybags had to lead me out of his gilded office. But before he closed his door he called out to me. “Remember kid, Les is more!”
Engineering Drake – Forever It probably means nothing to y’all Understand work must be done by me So I don’t plan on sleeping at all I want this sh-t forever man, ever man, ever man I’m shutting sh-t down in the hall And telling every girl she the one for me And I ain’t getting any this fall I want this sh-t forever man, ever man, ever man [Drake] Last name laid First name never Like eng exam sked, I ain’t nuttin’ to f-ck with Started off hopeful, but thanks to the all-nighters Altos and Boustan know me on a first name basis A Lion in the jungle of code, Leo Sked infers we got more class, we know! Snacking right through exams, kilos If I was at the club you know I failed, emo Drop an assignment, that shit read like A1 Arts kids work be reading like VH1 Markers want my name beside the X like Malcolm Everybody wanted an A, I did it without fun Yah brotha, I’m about my business Connecting all the dots you would swear I had a netlist Girls in Trottier seeming like the Loch Ness Valentine’s Day same old, we bitchless Bitches.
Roses are Red Violets are Blue I’m in Trottier Where are you?
There once was an engineer named Fred Roses are Red He wished he got more head Violets are Blue To a strip club he went Engineer ask you? So much money he spent I pity the Foo But he was still too ugly she said Roses are red, Roses are red, Violets are violet, But dead ones are black, Think it’s messy down there, I like motorboats Feel free to style it And you have a nice rack
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The Wonders of Wikipedia Strike Back by David Bailey With Viking E-Week behind us, you can be sure that many a Wikipedia article will be written about how for a week, the world stood in awe of McGill Engineering glory. In the meantime, here are summaries of a couple Viking and alcohol-themed Wikipedia articles which will make you yearn for those rowdy days of E-Week.
Ragnar Lodbrok and Lathgertha Wikipedia lists Ragnar Lodbrok’s occupation as “Viking raider”, and, as the great Viking Hagrid the Horrible would say, “ ‘e was a thumpin’ good one at that, ‘e was”. Ragnar “HairyBreeks” Lodbrok did a lot of raiding and pillaging in his time, especially on holy days to catch his enemies off guard. He was known as the scourge of England and France, and he even managed to capture Paris at one point. (And in case you’re wondering, breeks are a type of trousers) Now, Ragnar wasn’t just a fighter – he was a lover too. While helping fight off a band of Swedes, he fell in love with Lathgertha, a maiden warrior who was the Viking equivalent of Uma Thurman (who killed Bill). Hairy-Breeks went to Lathgertha’s house to ask for her hand, but he was attacked by
her guard dog and guard bear. He speared the bear, strangled the hound, and married the woman. However, he divorced her a little while later so that he could fight off an infestation of venomous snakes in Sweden to win the hand of a Swedish princess. This was when he earned his nickname, because he was wearing hairy breeks while fighting the snakes. This may have been to prevent them from biting his legs (snakes on a Dane). Lathgertha took the divorce with good humour, and after marrying another man she came with an army to help Ragnar win a civil war. Later in life, she would murder her new husband with a spearhead hidden in her dress so that she would have all the power of chieftain to herself. As for Ragnar, his life came to an end when he was shipwrecked in England and thrown into a pit of venomous snakes (oh, the irony). However, his sons would avenge his death 25 years later when they conquered parts of England, including London, with the Great Heathen Army. And that is the story of Lathgertha and Ragnar. Though the sagas about their lives were probably embellished a little, they were actual Vikings who lived the Viking dream. They were horny, wildly successful, and oozing with aggression and strength.
Puzzle Jug When your professors want you to think, they dangle the promise of “grades” as an incentive. As I learned from Wikipedia, there used to be much more effective ways to get people to use their heads. Somewhere in the 1300’s, in England or France, the puzzle jug was invented. The puzzle jug had a series of holes around its neck which made it very difficult to drink from without spilling. The game was to bet someone money that they couldn’t drink without making a mess. The solution to this little puzzle was that there was a hidden tube going from the spout, around the rim, down the handle, and opening near the bottom. To
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My Valentine’s Experience Adlib
by Zac Moreland
drink, you had to suck the tube like a straw. Sometimes you would put your fingers on other holes which had to be closed off before any liquid could be sucked. After learning about the puzzle jug, I don’t think I’ll ever bother with Sudoku again. Educators worldwide could learn a lot from the genius of this invention.
Brennivín and Hákarl
Here are two fine examples of Viking cuisine. Brennivín is Iceland’s national drink, and similar liquors are popular in Sweden and Denmark. It’s made with fermented potato mash, flavoured with caraway seeds, and it is referred to as “Black Death”. It has a fairly
standard 37.5% alcohol content, and is associated with such recreations as alcoholism. Ironically, Brennivín is often used as a chaser. Icelanders use it when they eat hákarl, the manliest food on earth. Now, how could this “hákarl” be manlier than something like bacon? I’ll tell you how: It’s English translation is “fermented shark”. What’s ballsier than that? Hákarl is made from the Greenland shark, which is normally poisonous, but is edible after being fermented and dried for a few months. The catch is that it has a terrible smell due to high ammonia content. The taste is supposedly not as bad as the smell, but Anthony Bourdain still said it was the worst thing he ever ate and Gordon Ramsay puked after eating it. As you might expect, hákarl is associated with hardiness and strength. So now you know how to eat like a Viking. Take some poison meat, put some chemicals on it for a few months, then eat it and wash it down with “Black Death”. No wonder people found the Vikings intimidating. To determine how your Valentine’s Day plays out, fill in these words and grab a friend to rewrite them in order in the story on the next Page!
Verb (acting on a person) __________________ Worst gift you’ve ever received __________________ Verb __________________ Body part __________________ Adjective __________________ Location __________________ Noun __________________ Verb __________________ Body part __________________ Something you wouldn’t like to find __________________ Adverb __________________ Song title __________________ Article of clothing __________________ Body part __________________ Integer, between 1 and 120 __________________ Something that needs to be assembled __________________ Something you wouldn’t call your grandmother __________________ A person’s name __________________
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Bestiality: A Love Story (continued from 4) by Becca Weber He could barely contain his happiness; he chose to attend a summer-long orientation so that he could be with the objects of his greatest fantasies before the school year even began. A few weeks into the summer Evan began to worry -- what if he could not find a sheep who would fall in love with him? He also had to decide between graceful ewes and stately rams. Also, he figured it would be best to stay away from the less-developed lambs, if only for legal purposes and to keep head-butts from overprotective parents to a minimum. One day, early in September, Evan could not sleep, so he took a walk through the main pasture at sunrise. He had still failed to capture the heart of any sheep that he met in the summer months,
and had become very pessimistic about fulfilling his love for the animals. Evan suddenly heard a bleat, then another, louder this time. Following the sound, he turned around and laid his eyes on the most beautiful ram and ewe pair he had ever seen. Lo and behold, they were coming his way! Although the sheep already seemed interested in him, Evan was glad that he always kept a bit of special grass in his pocket, just in case he had an encounter with a pretty ewe or two. He beckoned to the approaching pair, holding out the grass in his palm in the “come hither” manner that Queen’s students learned to perfect during their special summer course. The sheep finally came to him, close enough so that he could read their tags; their names were
Dahlia and Parsons. Evan couldn’t believe his luck. He had heard of this revered couple but had never seen them -- he had heard from older students that these two sheep were famous for their performance, on and off the pasture. Dahlia and Parsons ate Evan’s offering, signaling that they were ready to begin. Evan laid down on the emerald turf and he, Dahlia, and Parsons spent the glorious morning exploring new worlds together. The sheep guided Evan through; although they could not speak to each other, everyone managed to understand precisely what was going on. Over an hour later, the trio collapsed on the grass, exhausted from their pursuits and happily drifted off to sleep. Dahlia and Parsons were Evan’s firsts, but they would certainly not be his last.
The Adventures of Trottier Man by Neil DenToom
It was another wintery day around Trottier as Trottier Man fired together a program to make McGill Security obsolete. In fact, it was one of the coldest days to be felt. He understood what this would feel like because he had accurately mentally scaled the outside temperature with the computer screen’s temperature variations on the weather network as it displayed sun versus snow or a -27 versus a -17. As Trotman worked, his eyes wandered from his computer screen
as they did approximately once per week. Usually he never saw anything but the backs of people’s heads, but this time, he saw the backs of people’s heads and a neon pink poster that read: “Love is in the air. Bring your date to the Pink & Red Party or risk being alone forever.” This didn’t sit well with the six Red Bulls in his stomach. He had full intentions of reproducing and spreading his genes throughout the world to continue his legacy. Wasting his genes was not an option. Trotman had two weeks.
To the Internet he went (he was already on it, but back to it he went!). The sites: “Malaysian Matchmaker,” “Lovely Liberians,” Chat Roulette, Facebook and “Role-Playing Russians” were his weapons of choice. He even devised a way to talk to a real person through the automated pop-ups. It wasn’t easy going considering minimal real stories and popular conversation topics make it up to Trottier. Chatting about virtual weather didn’t even cut it. Many chatroom doors slammed in his face.
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Right when Trotman was about to throw in the towel, he found one last site called L00kin&4luv that had so many viruses, everyone in the room got sick. He found JenerussLuver65 right then and there. She agreed to come to the Pink and Red Party and meet him with a sign with his name on it. There is no feeling quite like true Internet love and knowing that you get to spread your genes! At the party, Trotman cruised through the crowd and saw every person totally coupled. Feeling hurt and lost, he looked more closely at one girl forcefully making out with a 2nd year Comp Sci kid. In her hand she held a crumpled “Trotman” sign. Curious to see who this JenerussLuver65 was that betrayed him, he looked closer still and was taken aback. “Mom?” he said.
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McGill to Start Charging Rent at James Admin by Daniel Dicaire
Due to the unspeakably high demand for occupying JAB, McGill has put forth a plan to cover the increased tuition costs for low income students. The administration has submitted a request to the city of Montreal to convert JAB into a residence for university students, charging rent for each student who enters with a protest poster or sign. The volume of “occupiers” means that rates can be kept low, and still eliminate McGill’s deficit. The proposed rent will be tiered based on the level of annoyance. Rates start at just $1 per hour for a silent student, $2 per hour if they
My Valentine’s Experience by Zac Moreland This Valentine’s day, I’m going to ____________ a beautiful woman. Here’s how I plan to do it. The first thing I’m going to do is have the PPO bring her a ____________ in class. Then, when she comes out of class, I’ll corner her and tell her that if she doesn’t be my Valentine, I’ll ____________ her ____________. Isn’t that ____________? Once she agrees, I’ll take her out on a romantic date to ____________, where I’ll shower her in ____________ and ____________ her ____________. Once I get her back to my place, I’ll push the ____________ off of my bed and lay her down ever so ____________. I’ll serenade her with the sweet tune of ____________, and remover her ____________ with my ____________. Then, ____________ minutes later, I’ll romantically say to her, “That ____________ isn’t going to make itself, ____________.” This plan is so foolproof, even ____________ could pull it off.
possess for Guy revenue and $12
signs, and $88 per hour Fawkes masks. Projected is somewhere between $9 Billion per year.
This project is not without its costs. In order to support their primary demographics, the facilities must be updated. A minimum of three Starbuck’s Cafes are to be built on alternating floors of the building, along with Che Guevara T-shirt vendors. The ventilation system will also need to be modified to handle the increased particulate matter associated with so many stoners in one place. Finally, an Apple retail outlet will supply all of the critical life support equipment that is every human being’s right. That is just the start. McGill plans to advertise the residence by circulating autographed pictures of Stephen Harper in the SSMU lounges and changing the name of JAB to “The Conservative Party of Canada Head Office.” Should this plan get city approval, analysts predict McGill’s primary source of revenue will shift from tuition to Artsy Rage. Thirty years down the road, McGill will have the capital to buy Québec, and threaten the United States for global dominance. It is important to note that this will not affect engineering students whatsoever.