EUS Election Results You voted, and you were heard. Here are the results of the 2005 EUS elections. President: Maria Mastorakos VP Services: Kate Gardner VP Internal: Alexandra Bishop VP External: Catherine Pollock VP Academic: Yunlu Shen VP Communication: Billy Denman SSMU reps: Elizabeth Munroe and Kristina Huss
“I do not regret the things that I have done, but those I did not do.” ome gather ‘round children. I wish impart my knowledge to you so that you may benefit where I have faltered. What entitles me to this grandeur status you ask? Nothing, other than the fact that we put this damned paper together on my computer and I always get to look at it last before we go to print. Therefore, I will make horrible abuse of my power and take the front page for my own personal agenda, vendetta, rant, rave, roar, bitch, piss, moan and just about any other form of blathery I can fathom. I will also defy all literary convention by randomly introducing new, nonsensical words such as blathery. Hmmm… shit, I just looked it up and blather is actually a word. Nevermind then. As I was saying, the purpose of this article is to allow you to see five years of McGill university through my eyes, and in doing so, walk away with some knowledge of how to live life (or at bare minimum how NOT to live life). Before continuing, please read the disclaimer below.
Cat food is not an acceptable meal supplement. I don’t care if you’re preparing it in a Bordeaux marinate, or smothering it in grey poupon, that shit was designed for Fluffy, not you or I. The point here is that nutrition is important. I started my first year in rez, which was a convenient transition. We had meals during the week, but were to fend for ourselves on the weekends. This allowed me to eat borderline sanitary food during the week, and experiment with my culinary arts over the weekend. Several fire alarms and a few hours of blindness later, I started to get the hang of it. I began to do away with ramen noodles, KD and alphagetti. I learned that cooking can be fun, easy, rewarding and oh so tasty. (see page 11 for a few recipes) The key is to cook for your roommate and then guilt them into cleaning up. Become a true master chef and start cooking for ladies at your place. Granted this has gotten me nowhere, but I’ll just bet someone could make it work.
Disclaimer: This is my life, it is not yours. This is my opinion, not yours. These are my actions, not yours. This was my pain, not yours. These are my pictures, not yours. My body endured this, not yours. My mind walked this path, not yours. My knees suffered this, not yours. My liver survived this, not yours. This is the world through my eyes. For the love of God and all things sacred, don’t make these things yours.
“Ok I’ll just have one” are the most infamous last words ever. McGill Security has no authority unless you Drinking is not a bad thing. Normal human beings drink to be more sociable, to show them a McGill ID have a good time, to relieve some stress, and to get their mind off things. At Intrinsically tied to the drinking point is the long times during my university career, it appeared as though I was drinking to arm of the law. A lesson here is best taught practice projectile vomiting on statues. Albeit I can count the number of times through a fictitious example which of course I’ve puked on one hand, however this simply meant that when I drank, the never happened. When urinating off the roof of booze stayed with me. I may or may not have been kicked out of a bar for the arts building, it is best to speak to security falling asleep on a pool table. I may have more than once woken up with an in a drunken New York accent. Play the, ‘lost unidentifiable woman on my arm. I seem to recall jumping off a staircase while out of towner’ role that must have taken a wrong drunk and finding myself in crutches for 4 months. However, it is completely turn at the Ferrier building and somehow ended fictitious that I walked into blues pub naked and drunk off my ass; I was relatively up on the roof. Bonus points if tell him you’re sober for that moment. The key to drinking heavily is to always have friends to trying to get home and HORRIBLY drink with. A good example was my 20th birthday. I had a solemn crew of around 30 out whom had all mispronounce an obviously French street (De decided to purchase prairie fires (I’ll tell you when you’re older) for my birthday. The night was ended mayonnaise?). when Bram bought a tumbler full of tequila, which I mistook as water. Now, I’m not sure how I got home, but luckily, a note was left which my roommate, Jesse, received. It read: “Jesse, Shane may be dead. Love his friends.” It’s not that professors hate everyone… they just hate you. Think logically. In any given class, someone almost always gets an A. Therefore, the theory that professors simply dislike students simply does not hold. Professors are at University to teach. After all, from attending McGill for nearly five years I can tell you flat out that the most important concern of McGill’s administration is their students. While I attempt to shorten my nose, I’ll finish by saying that if professors logically must like students there is only one possible explanation. Since you, just like myself are no doubt a complete genius, the times in which we obtain bad marks, are simply situations in which our professors hate us. I therefore urge you to take pity on your professors and their petty trickery. Someday they will see our true genius and regret ever holding ill refute against us.
You Haven’s Lived until you: I can get A’s without studying, and I can get C’s by working hard. For a long time this one baffled me. I’ve worked my ass off in certain courses to get by on the edge of my seat. I’ve treated other classes like a math competition with an arts student and pulled out with an A. Again, this could tie back to my previous point about hate; however I feel a deeper agent is at work. What we must realize is that some things just hit us, and others just hit us from behind. In every exam situation someone is always getting screwed, the key is to hope that you’re the one on top. Deadlines are merely suggestions. Everyone’s a pushover. Ask and ye shall receive.
-Date a waitress from your favorite bar -Go to the casino and learn that your friend has a gambling problem -Collect for charity wearing 20 cm long aluminum claws -Steal a keg of soda from a club (and have no idea what to do with it for 3 years) -Shave your friend’s head in his sleep -Five numbers, one night… good luck -Wear women’s underwear at a party -Carry $5000 across campus in a backpack -Join a male synchronized swimming team (www.eus.mcgill.ca/pictures/synchro_boys.avi) -Host your own pirate radio station (WFUQ will never die) -Chug a beer at an 8:30 calculus class -Win a national engineering competition with a presentation revolving around Baywatch -Loot a supply room at a ship yard in Halifax -Be the ‘shooter girl’ at a party -Mud wrestle in the remains of the broomball rink -Sing in a metal band -Host a party with your closest 4000 friends
Women are the creation of Satan designed to steal Christmas from baby Jesus and punch furry woodland creatures in the gut. Now, let’s get one thing straight. It’s not that I have a problem with women; it’s that they seem to have a problem with me. As I am however infallible, the issue must therefore spawn from their extra X chromosome. They refuse to be categorized or labeled and we can’t tell the good ones from the bad ones. There is something about women that reaches beyond the grasp of a male’s train of thought. I personally think that this is all just a fun game they enjoy. Meetings are every second Wednesday to discuss the latest flaws in the male persona and exploit new ways to torment us. Women seem to be a greater mystery than all of the world’s hidden secrets combined. Aliens may exist. The lost city of Atlantis may not be a myth after all. The never-ending universe may just have an end. However, women are an uncertainty which shall forever remain a mystery.