The Frosh Issue by The Plumber's Faucet

The Plumberâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s

VOLUME XXXIV ISSUE I August 29 2017

The Frosh Issue

Faucet

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

CONTRIBUTERS Editor-In-Chief

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR Did you know that cucumber is a fruit? Neither did I. Yet everybody somehow makes it their business to rudely remind me that tomatoes are fruits whenever they get the chance. Yes, we get it, tomatoes are fruits, okay? We’ve known this since the 90’s. People still like to act like it’s some kind of friggin’ big deal. Now cucumbers on the other hand... cucumbers are a novelty. Who would have thought that something so green, something so long, something so thin could be a fruit?! You know what else is green, long and thin? The Grinch. Now, if the Grinch were a fruit, I think we’d all want to hear about it thank you very much.

Otman Benchekroun

Writers

Alex Dombowsky Freedom Sorbara Clay Maracle Kiana Brett Zoe Middleton Ismail Benchekroun Claire Edrington Arman Izadi Nick Brunt Daniel Galef Otman Benchekroun

Illustrators

Kiana Brett Tess VanDonkelaar(cover) Ké Smith Max Sterry

Special Thanks Morgan Mattone Malcolm McClintock

Disclaimer

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

Complaints

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

1707-7478 2291-3513

Anyways, enough about politics. Hi, I’m Otman Benchekroun and as the new editor of The Plumber’s Faucet, I’d like to welcome all you would-be woodpeckers to this martlet mascotted school; it’s going to be a fun time, especially if you like samosas, pain, samosas, self-hatred, samosas, tears and... did I mention samosas? This issue is already filled to the brim with advice and tips on how to survive the oncoming slaughter perpetuated by your major, so I’m just going to give you this: Don’t take yourself too seriously, the most important thing you could lose here is your sense of humour. In first year, you’re your own worst enemy and a sense of humour is often a sweet saviour from yourself. The Plumber’s Faucet is a magazine that is dedicated to the cause of humour and comfort. So if you’ve had a difficult day, perhaps due to an essay you still need to vomit onto a page, or maybe because of some sort of issue involving a plantar wart, it’d be our dream if you could sit back, relax and get a kick out of our silly publication. In this month’s issue, we’ve had a lineup of bizarre writers submitting their pieces. As usual, we have our Happy Wanderer sending us his monthly column. I think he’s exploring alternate dimensions now! We basically have an encyclopedia on McGill culture, as well as a mythbuster dedicated to quelling the rumours you’ve no doubt heard in your frosh gatherings. Let us not forget our debt to Froshman, the saviour of this year’s frosh. Our beloved mascot Foss the Iguana answers several FAQs. He has a girlfriend now! Good for him. All this, and more... hidden within this week’s Faucet!

Otman Benchekroun An EUS Publication

August 29th, 2017

An Introduction to McGill Culture

by Alex Dombowsky

2: Flood Girl Greetings, incoming McGillians! I’m sure you’re Practically a modern McGill legend, Flood Girl remains incredibly overwhelmed by your first few days in an important part of the collective undergraduate Montreal, from hearing French spoken along with consciousness. Like many ancient civilizations, English, to experiencing a low drinking age, to McGill also has a flood epic. Legend has it that the seeing your first cyclist getting hit by a belligerent ghost of James McGill was unsatisfied with the taxi driver. However, you’ve made it to McGill contemporary behavior of McGill students on and you must be indoctrinated into our unique his campus, thus he decided to wipe the slate university culture. While I personally think clean by flooding McGill and starting from a torturous contraption straight out of A scratch. Before starting the deluge, howevClockwork Orange would be more efficient er, he chose one student who he considin immersing yourself in what makes McGill ered to be an embodiment of everything McGill, this article will have to do until I McGill stands for: the aforementioned get enough funding through Kickstarter Flood Girl. While the rest of the campus (please donate to McGill Freshman Oriwas filling with water, McGill let Flood entation Clockwork Orange Machine). Girl escape from the flooding unWithout further ado, here are some harmed so that she could restart the important elements of McGill culture university. She slid down McTavish, of which you must be informed. evading the worst of the waves. Archaeologists claim that there’s 1: OAP no evidence that such a girl even You will probably hear a existed, let alone a flood, but lot of praise for OAP during the legend still remains alive at your first week of university, McGill. so this is an important one.

3: Gerts

OAP stands for Only About Pretzels, and it is Montreal’s biggest pretzel festival. Held on the McGill campus, this festival is the last time for McGill students to eat pretzels before the remaining supply is stored in Suzanne Fortier’s vault and becomes her only sustenance during the long winter months. The vault is opened in the late spring, where McGill students can clear out the last of the winter pretzel supply. Only About Pretzels is one of my favorite events on campus and I make sure to visit every year!

Gerts ‘till it hurts! Gerts is the name of a physical challenge that many McGillians attempt but at which few succeed. The game starts by waiting in line for a surprising amount of time. The line doesn’t seem too long and it isn’t outside in the freezing cold, so it can’t be too bad, right? Wrong. As the fatigue sets in and your vision goes blurry from alcohol withdrawal, many challengers fail here. But the worst is yet to come. The remaining challengers are herded into a small room that seems pretty nice. Challengers are tempted with playing pool at the nearby table but the line to participate is impossibly long, and they are fed pitcher after pitcher of delicious yet painful Sangria which dulls their senses and demotivates them. At the same time, “Careless Whisper” is repeated over and over again on the speaker system. The remaining challengers give up here, electing to get four hours of sleep before hiking to Leacock in the morning.

Printed at Copi-EUS

The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIV No. I 4 : Samosas Even in your first few weeks at McGill, you’re bound to see several samosa venders. Even if you are tempted to fork some cash over for some food, you must remember the mantra your floor fellow taught you: do NOT buy samosas. Nobody knows where the samosa venders even came from and the samosas themselves are said to give you strange and supernatural side effects. Samosas and samosa venders have been around since James McGill first set foot on the bulbous lump of snow that would one day become lower campus, but their allegiances and—even worse—their supernatural nature has never been explained.

5 : Marty the Martlet Marty is our adorable mascot. Everybody loves a good old Marty sighting on campus. However, do not insult his feathers. As many McGill students have learned the hard way, Marty can be provoked quite easily if you comment on his feathers. Usually he utters his trademark catchphrase—“Time to open a can of whoop-ass Alfred Hitchcock style!”—and then begins violently attacking the insulter. Few students get out alive. So, remember, while Marty is an extremely great mascot, don’t make light of his feathers!

Well, I would say that this is a good introduction to McGill culture. Yes, it was a bit longwinded, which is why I must once again stress that you should donate to my kickstarter. Also, it would really help me out if you found my Patreon too. Anyway, happy orientation!

McGill Myths: Debunked by Freedom Sorbara

Now that you know the important traditions in McGill culture, the Faucet feels it has a responsibility to ease your minds about certain pesky rumours of which we have heard rumblings in many-a-parties. We sent our very own Freedom Sorbara to insubstantiate these follies.

Mayan blood sacrifices in the tunnels below Leacocock

Rumors have been circling that a Mayan death committee has been sacrificing froshies in McGill's underground tunnel system. However investigators could not find anything to substantiate this claim. This reporter could not even find a half decent witch coven willing to go on record at the university. In fact, McGill ranks as one of the least active in terms of occult and supernatural clubs and extra-curricular activities.

Secret password grants unlimited free beer at undisclosed locations near campus The endless student quest for cheap alcohol is alive and well in this preposterous myth. Wishful students whisper about dimly lit dive bars where a few code words and a knowing nod can score free drinks for life. Alas, this is categorically untrue! Thorough and lengthy investigation has most certainly not turned up a simple secret handshake- I mean complicated password. Absolutely none of the bars tested gave anyone at the Faucet any free beer at all! In fact students are discouraged from even attempting to investigate this myth for themselves. We pronounce this myth very false and extremely dangerous!

The Faucet investigation declares this campus myth to be false. Hopeful sacrificial virgins and aspiring ritual leaders are advised to look into west coast schools, which have seen some real progress in supernatural recognition.

An EUS Publication

A McGill prof gving a lesson to his students in Leacock B-36. This is nothing out of the ordinary and is of no cause for concern.

August 29th, 2017 Mascot Marty predicts frosh length

Much like the legendary groundhog, the McGill mascot is said to come out on the first day of frosh to predict the length of the season. Legend has it that if the red bird sees his shadow he will be scared straight and buckle down for the semester. If not, he parties on. I am sure many freshmen are crossing their fingers hoping for a few cloudy days, allowing them to continue making poor life decisions well into mid-September. Faucet investigations have yet to prove the validity of this myth. Staff will be keeping a close eye on Marty and updates will follow.

Bug-eyed aliens inhabit the lower reaches of McConnell.

This one is true. Trust us, we've seen them.

Guess Who’s Back

by Wren Wittier

Hello dear readers! Once again, I journey to places unknown, faithfully documenting my adventures for all of you back home. This illustrious magazine has come under new management, and in that spirit, I’ll be documenting some other new beginnings! My first stop was to a brand new restaurant down the street. I must say, they’re sure to become one of Montreal’s hot spots in no time. So welcoming! Although, to be quite honest, I think they’ll need a bit of time before they’re able to really get with the fast- paced world of food service, as when I ordered my appetizer, they were still in the process of putting down the deposit for their kitchen space. Still, every business is a little shaky when they first start out, and I’m sure once they start cooking that the food will be divine.

At first he seemed unaware of his new status, but once I explained the principles of inheritance-through-murder that was the law of his new lands, he was delighted to learn that his hastily flung spear had killed the (former) Forever King of The Bleak Precipice. “I’m just so happy, I’m just a farmer during the off season you know?” he said, “So yeah, this is a huge break, easily the best raid we’ve conducted in..” Sadly, the interview ended there when a member of the (Enemy? Allied? Shifting alliances are so complicated) cavalry proceeded to themselves be crowned via long sword. I would have followed to document this even newer crowning, but unfortunately both sides were mounting charges and I’m not one for mosh pits. My last new beginning before I had to return to the office to greet our new editor was especially fun. The one new beginning that unites us all: the birth of the universe. The short answer is that it was indescribable. The long? I saw the infinite reaches of time and space compressed into a single speck, and in a single instant. It was eternal and it was fleeting; it had the simplicity of a child’s drawing, but at the same time it held every nuance of sense that the soon to be born universe would develop in time. I wept tears, of joy or horror I no longer remember. Perhaps they were the same thing in that moment. You just had to be there. I walked back into the offices just in time for donuts and a morning briefing, a new initiative our editor put in place. This might just be my favourite new beginning so far! Until next time, The Happy Wanderer

Next, I had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of new royalty. Quite the auspicious circumstance, as new royals aren’t made every day. The battlefield wasn’t the best place to conduct an interview, but between the flights of arrows, Ragar the Bloodthirsty had time to answer a few questions.

Printed at Copi-EUS

Ragar the Bloodthirsty, taking a much needed break

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

Don’t Get Your Hopes Up Children

by Tater Toddler

You got in to McGill. Oh joy. You got the email and there were tears or self-righteous smirks of Oh I knew I’d get in’s. You packed your stuff, comforted your parents, acting like they’ll miss you, and left for university in pursuit of “adulthood”. Now you’ve done frosh and you think, wow! College is great. I can drink (#fukYeaQuebec), I can go out as late as I want, I have friends all around me, there’s so much to do blah blah fucking blah. Let me tell you something, froshie. You better hold on to this year so tight your knuckles break. If you’re in rez, be that stereotypical asshole who only hangs out with their floor. If you’re out of rez, be that stereotypical asshole who always brings it up early in conversations and does extracurriculars to fill that void of loneliness. Make a buttload of friends you’ll probably never talk to in later years. Do big events and join many clubs so that when you inevitably lose those friends you’ll have outlets to make new ones. Join your student society (departmental or faculty if you have the balls) so you can power trip on your peers and act like you have an actual serious position and not some unpaid bullshit that controls student money that you throw around. Join a design team in hopes of making your CV look nice by having practical experience in a university that has the most theory-heavy programs thanks to its fetish for research.

Alien Planet

by Zoe Midddleton

You land on the alien planet. Everything is very hot, everyone is drinking. You check your phone and see your calendar reminder : Find Apartment, 10am August 31st. You glance surreptitiously at your surroundings. You notice red brick homes and mattresses, mattresses everywhere on the street. Your search begins, and you search long and hard. It's too hot, and too humid. The Cicadas buzz, the bike bells ring, and the driver's swear better than anyone you know. You're tense, you're shaking, you need to get a glass of water from Second Cup. You stand up from the curb, sidestep a cyclist who’s ducking and weaving their way down St Laurent, and then the sound hits you.

What I’m trying to say is, do all this while you can, because one day you’ll realize McGill might not be the pillar of knowledge and virtue that everyone told you it was. It might not be an infallible institution that caters to its students’ every whim. One day you’ll realize that dealing with McGill is a lesson in and of itself. You’ll realize you weren’t smart or gifted at all and that was only the illusion of highschool/cegep/whatever bullshit you did before McGill. You’ll realize that professors are better researchers than lecturers and most of them don’t care if you failed by 0.5%. You’ll realize that maybe it’s not so easy to take 18 credits, be in a club, a design team and have a social life after all and maybe you’ll tell yourself “oh I’m taking an extra semester to work” and end up taking two more. Yeah maybe you’ll realize that that’s called growing up. And that’s the greatest thing McGill will ever teach you. Humility, hard work, life smarts, sociability, time management, stress management (or failure of) and most of all maturity. These are the true outcomes of a McGill degree. Not a piece of paper that says you wasted 4+ years of your life. But hey it can’t be that bad. We have beer though….#Sux2Suk

“Engineers know how to get you wet!” yells a chorus of tie-dyed Adidas barrelling down the block towards you. “Engineers will dominate!” screams a different mass from the other end of the block. You look to your left and hear whistles. You look to you right and smell Axe, to your left and someone is playing drums on someone else's ass, to your right and someone is crowdsurfing, now everyone is stomping on the sidewalk. It's thunderous. You hear a boom. Rain. It's pouring down. The spell is broken. Face paint drains from the war lines on many faces. The crowdsurfer dives for an umbrella. Flipflops squelch. The crowds part and you notice a poster tacked to the door of Second Cup: Roommate Wanted/Recherche Coloc.

An EUS Publication

August 29th, 2017

Froshman Saves The Day Again! by Wren Wittier illustrated by Ké Smith Due to the unfortunate incident involving the Old Champlain Bridge, the New Champlain Bridge, and three fishmongers in Old Port (discussed in last week’s issue), the flow of alcohol into Montreal was temporarily delayed. This, of course, almost spelled disaster for colleges all across the island, and more so this week than any other. The hallowed traditions of frosh week were in danger of complete ruination. Months of planning went out the window as organizers were left with a plethora of exciting party opportunities, but none of the blessed liquid that is the lifeblood of the yearly festivities. Then, miraculously, a savior appeared. Froshman! The mightiest partier in the land arrived with customary flair, kicking open a door to the sound of a dubstep remix of “Welcome to the Jungle”. From his endless backpack he pulled barrels of wine, liters of liquor, and, of course, kegs by the dozen. Tables emerged from the earth and sprouted red solo cups filled with beer that could never go flat. Further documentation proved difficult as everyone within 10 meters of Froshman got their blood alcohol levels raised 0.02% at a minimum.

When asked for comment, McGill frosh leaders had mixed reactions to Froshman’s arrival. “Well, we could have had fun just with the activities we planned y’know? It doesn’t have to be all about alcohol,” said one deluded organizer. The rest of the frosh team is currently under scrutiny for violating the core principles of frosh “Froshman always attends the parties that need him the most,” explained another, “He’s always there with us, really, and only shows his hand when we truly need it. I had faith that he would arrive.” This is a standard reaction from a Frosh Cultist, one of many new religious movements that sprung up in the wake of what they call a miracle. “His powers are directly tied to the amount of bad decisions being made, and he wishes to become a god. Wake up people! The more we party the stronger he-”, this last interview was cut short as the interviewee was suddenly knocked out by an errant beer pong ball. No physics majors were sober enough to explain if that was actually feasible, so it was taken at face value. Whatever the case, Froshman’s efforts have ensured that the pre-semester festivities would continue as planned. At the time of publication, he’d returned to his Frathouse of Solitude, but is expected to return and watch over us all as we party the night away.

Printed at Copi-EUS

The Plumberâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Faucet - Vol. XXXIV No. I

The Day-to-day Life of a McGill Student By Max Sterry Monday

Tuesday

Wednesday (Post Cafe Campus)

Thursday (Post Gerts Sangria)

An EUS Publication

BP BABY

Blues

blues

water

blues

Friday (Pre Blues Pub)

blues

August 29th, 2017

The Nine Circles of Frosh

It is often said, to paraphrase the famous Chinese proverb, that ‘the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step’. Seems to state the obvious, doesn’t it? Well, the message of this ancient phrase is to remind us that even the greatest of achievements (and journeys) can have the simplest and most fundamental of beginnings. At McGill, we have a similar phrase with the same meaning: ‘the journey of engineering frosh begins with a single beer’. As an incoming McGill student, you are at the start of a journey. It is a long journey, and a challenging one, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. It may seem like it will last forever, but more likely than not, it’ll be over before you know it. No, I’m not talking about your degree, but rather frosh itself. First Circle: Academic Orientation This is where it all begins. This event is wisely placed first, since academics will be the last thing on anybody’s mind for the next few days. At least the faculty can say they tried. In more important news, no one really knows what to expect from frosh at this point. That’s not a bad thing. Second Circle: Concert Night The first night of frosh is best described as a lightning gearshift from nervous unfamiliarity to uncomfortable overfamiliarity. Third Circle: Montreal Crawl The exciting novelty of a bar crawl is soon drowned in Sleeman Honey Brown. Fourth Circle: Toga Party You’ll never be able to look at your bed sheets the same way. Wash them twice. Fifth Circle: Beach Day You chant all the way to the beach until your liver reminds you how you should be feeling. Sixth Circle: Return Bus from Beach Day Dehydrated, hungry, and sunburnt after a two-hour wait for a bus back from beach day, you begin to doubt whether frosh really is the “greatest thing ever”. You’ve definitely felt better, that’s for sure.

by James M.

Fortunately, you won’t be alone. You have your peers beside you, fellow froshies in the exact same oblivious position as you, and your beloved leaders, who’ve been through it all before and are just crazy enough to be going through it all again. Nothing can really prepare you for the experience of frosh. It is different every year, for every faculty, and for everybody. Nonetheless, as you descend into its depths over the course of four days, frosh will probably go something like this.

Seventh Circle: Scavenger Hunt You amass a lot of points, and find many things, with the exception of (in no particular order) your phone, wallet, keys, or self. Eighth Circle: Concert Night 2 It feels as though you’ve aged years since academic orientation, and you’re not sure how to feel about that. You begin to realize that frosh can’t last forever, and the truth behind the biggest lie you’ve been told all week: beach day is, in fact, not every day. Ninth Circle: The Centre of Frosh As frosh draws to a bittersweet close, you look back on your fond memories of the past few days with a smile on your face. Then you remember that classes start tomorrow, classes for which you certainly aren’t ready. But maybe it’s about time for some challenges that aren’t boat races. Frosh may be over, but that frosh spirit of friendship and fun is something that’ll be difficult to forget even once you realize you have 9 midterms in the same week of October. And that’s what McGill is all about.

Printed at Copi-EUS

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

Rejected Frosh Themes By Seymour Butz

And now, a report from our top-secret SSMU insider, Seymour Butz Vampire Frosh While SSMU was initially intrigued by this choice, they decided that the vampire ship has officially sailed and it’s no longer topical enough. Further, the committee unanimously agreed that cherubic first years already went for the neck enough, and didn’t want any theme that would cause the neck wounds to increase from mere bruises to bite marks. Besides, the new students will have their blood sucked by tenured professors who rely on the these fluids for eternal life so they can continue collecting their guaranteed salaries.

Circus Frosh Circus Frosh was another potential choice, as the options for costuming varied vastly. However, two factors eliminated this from contention. For one, while “clowns” was an intriguing outfit possibility, the SPVM’s continued conflict with the city has completely wiped out local store’s stock of any pants that would be appropriate for such a disguise. Further, breathing fire was, for safety reasons, out of the question, and projectile vomiting doesn’t have the same panache to it.

Semi-Formal Frosh SSMU rejected this because of the inherent contradiction in the name.

Board Game Frosh While also a possibility, the kibosh was put on board game frosh due to the potential protests over the fact that Monopoly promotes gentrification which would undoubtedly draw the ire of the editorial board of the Daily.

Game of Frosh Game of Frosh, while sounding like a slam dunk, was eventually nixed for a variety of reasons. For one, first years certainly don’t need a reminder that winter is coming because it’s just about the only thing they’ve heard from anyone they’ve told that they were planning on attending McGill. Also, SSMU was worried about the prospect of decapitations or incest abounding during the event. Politics Frosh Topical and thematic, politics originally appeared to be a surefire winner. However, this quickly unraveled in simulations. The Greek and Italian groups wouldn’t stop asking for free beer, the English kept attempting to run away from the rest of the European groups, half of the Americans kept kissing the feet of the Russian group while the other half of the Americans shouted and screamed and wrote scathing op-eds for the New York Times, and finally, the Canadian group, while comprised solely of beautiful individuals who marched in pride parades and hung out with celebrities, nevertheless approved a plan to lay pipes under SSMU and suck valuable liquids from Gerts’. Willy Wonka Frosh SSMU decided this made absolutely no sense, and quickly shot it down. They’d have to be crazy to have let an idea like this go through. Trashy Frosh Redundant. Social Media Frosh The committee liked this idea, but when they dug down into it everything seemed a lot more fun and interesting when covered up with elaborate filters, and certain people kept oversharing about every miniscule tidbit of their lives. And so, the jury is still out on Frosh this year, but no matter what they call it it will probably be exactly the same as last year.

An EUS Publication

August 29th, 2017

Anthropologists Speculate What Life in the McGill University Ruins Would Have Been Like

By Alex Dombowsky Montreal. For years the ruins of McGill University have been a mystery to anthropologists and archaeologists alike. The ancient campus, located in the middle of downtown Montreal, is a showcase of classic architecture. John Krantz, an anthropologist from New York University, gave us a short tour of the archaeological wonder: “Standing in the middle of campus, you can see many structures we believe were once buildings. Over here on our left, ancient records show us that this was the Leacock Building.” Krantz pointed to what looked like a block with dozens of small windows. “On the right, we have the Burnside Building. Look at how amazingly rectangular it is. The accuracy of the measurements and angles is a testament to the intelligence of this ancient people.” Krantz then walked past the ruins of the McGill library, to a long stretch of overturned stone that sloped up to Mont Royal. “We’re not quite sure what this is yet, though there are a few schools of thought. For instance, I believe that this might have been a dump for the garbage of ancient McGill residents. A landfill, if you will. Others believe that it could have once been a road, though the stone’s consistency is closer to rubble than a street.”

Absolutely stunning. The McGill society must have been pretty advanced then. “Oh, very. We can see the general population broken up into different social groups. There was inherent tension between those that aligned themselves with arts and those that aligned themselves with science. This tension may have been the cataclysmic event that destroyed the civilization.” We pointed at a note that showed there was a faction of McGillians belonging to both arts and science. “Oh, that. We’re not sure exactly what they’re all about. But frankly, based on some records, they didn’t know either.”

We can see the ruins, but what would life here really have been like? What was the typical day for a McGillian like? “Actually, it was a lot more boring than we might think.” Julie Johansson is an archaeologist at the University of Toronto. Her main area of research are the ruins of McGill and she visits the ancient campus regularly each summer. After her latest dig Johansson has come up with a several ideas about McGillian society. “They were, for one, stressed. We know this because we’ve found small traces of snack food all around campus. Furthermore, ancient records found in the ruins of MacLennan Library show us that citizens were attending in record numbers. This can only suggest that McGillians had, well, a lot of work.”

The picture painted of ancient McGill is obviously not completed, though through the work of Johansson and others we can finally begin to piece together what life may have been like in the ruins. The future of this research remains bright, according to Krantz. “I’ve heard of a genetic experiment involving cloning that involves the McGill campus. Scientists have found that mosquitos trapped in the sticky alcohol residue on the bottom of table-like objects found at the OAP site harbor McGillians’ DNA. In short, we can clone them.” We inquired about the sticky residue on OAP tables, but Krantz only has this to say: “Based on my research that residue might be ancient McGill’s greatest invention: the stickiest adhesive on earth.”

What did the ancient McGillians do for fun then? “Well, based on the weather in Montreal we can assume that most of their time was spent preparing for the winter. We do know, however, that many McGillians congregated at a religious event known only as OAP. OAP was a mass sacrifice held on the lower field you saw earlier. There was lots of music, ribaldry, and revelry. Alcohol was usually served.” Johanssonn told us. Well, what exactly did the McGillians sacrifice? “Our records have only come up with one word, though linguists haven’t found an English translation: ‘froshies’.”

Printed at Copi-EUS

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

Prof Gone Rogue by the McGill Muckraker

Last Thursday night, acting on an anonymous tip about some suspicious sponge cake, campus security broke down a dorm room door in an undisclosed McGill residence. Inside, officers found Dr. Francisco John Smith-Frisniacle, tenured professor of Neo-Antisocio-Political Anthropology at McGill University, surrounded by large quantities of stage makeup and man-bun wigs. “I only found it suspicious because he was eating the sponge cake.” Officer Foxx McSuperspy*, who was at the scene, told this reporter. “I mean to each his own. I’m a big fan of guy-liner myself, but it’s destruction of evidence, plain and simple.” After extensive testing, the sponge cake was deemed by the Biochemistry Department to be delicious, but non-toxic, and was cleared of all suspicion. Not so for Smith-Frisniacle. After investigation, it has come to light that the seventyfive-year-old professor had been posing as Science Frosh leader FJ ‘the Fudge’ Friznik. Smith-Frisniacle had already begun the subterfuge, with several pregame events around campus. The ‘Brofessor,’ as he has been dubbed, took froshies to play beer pong in the law library after hours and is even rumored to have helped students find cheap second hand text books ‘under the table.’ Campus security refused to comment, but put out a brief statement promising that the extent of the professor’s misconduct would be fully investigated.

An anonymous source from within McGill administration has leaked that Smith-Frisniacle is being pressured to resign his position. This incident has prompted calls from the public for greater transparency on the subject of staff activities. Officially, McGill has not taken any disciplinary action against Dr. Smith-Frisniacle, but the dean’s office has put out a statement condemning him for his ‘unprofessional conduct.’ Further public action is expected in the near future. Although McGill administration has been quick to disavow his actions, not everyone is coming out against Smith-Frisniacle. One of the disgraced professor’s froshies was quoted as saying that “Fudge was pretty f**ing chill!” and even observed that “his chug time was, like, pretty decent, bro.” Several students have credited him with a hangover cure that is almost miraculous in its restorative properties. Clearly Smith-Frisniacle’s stunt is a divisive issue on campus. It remains to be seen whether ‘the Brofessor’ will emerge from this scandal a hero or a pariah. At the time of publication, Smith-Frisniacle could not be reached for comment. However, his TAs are standing by him amid this controversy and say that they will finish out the semester. Smith-Frisniacle’s accomplice, who called in the bogus cake tip in an attempt to up Fudge’s street cred, is still at large. If anyone has any information regarding this person please contact campus security. *Name has been changed at the request of source and has no protective purposes whatsoever The Legendary Bro-fessor, ready to get back in action for this year’s frosh.

An EUS Publication

August 29th, 2017

Conversation Between James McGill and his Friend

For those of you who don’t know yet, James McGill is buried in that green patch of grass in front of the Arts building. When they dug him up some time ago, we found out he was accidentally burried with someone else, presumably a friend of his. The following was recorded by our very own Faucet medium, Spook Ghosterman. MCGILL ...Mike? MIKE Yeah? MCGILL What are you doing? MIKE Oh, this? I just thought we could liven the place up a little. What do you think, white paint or black paint? MCGILL Oh yeah, nothing livens up a place like black plaint... where did you get the paint? MIKE ...the Arts building. MCGILL The Arts building!? You know we’re not supposed to leave during the day! MIKE Why are you so mad?! We’re in this coffin together, you saw me leave AND come back like thirty minutes ago. MCGILL ...I wasn’t paying attention. MIKE What could you possibly have been distracted by?

MCGILL If you have to know... I was daydreaming. MIKE ...Daydreaming? of what? MCGILL Don’t change the subject, Mike! You know it’s prohibited by the spectral treaty ofMIKE You don’t change the subject! You were daydreaming!? That’s fantastic, I didn’t know ghosts could daydream. MCGILL ...I didn’t know either. MIKE In fact, I’m pretty sure it said in the manual that we don’t daydream. MCGILL What, the manual by Vladimir Spectre and Galileo Ghoul-ilei, what do they know! MIKE What did you daydream of? MCGILL ... there was a rainbow... MIKE And? MCGILL Dragon...flies. MIKE Is that dragonflies or a dragon and some flies? MCGILL And there were... big... giant... MIKE Slaves?! MCGILL ...Seriously?

Printed at Copi-EUS

MCGILL (CONT’D) You’re bringing that up right now? Again? When are you going to drop that? MIKE What? That you owned slaves?! Probably never, why would I? You fucking owned slaves. MCGILL You don’t have to bring it up everyMIKE And by the way, this daydreaming thing... I know it’s bullshit. Okay? You can drop the act. MCGILL Well how dareMIKE Oh this is classic James McGill, trying to sound like he’s daydreaming so he can feel special! Oh, no, being a ghost isn’t enough for big rich Mr. James McGill, he’s gotta be the only ghost that daydreams too! MCGILL I WISH I WAS NEVER BURIED WITH YOU. MIKE IT’S YOUR OWN FAULT FOR FOUNDING THIS STUPID SCHOOL! MCGILL GOODNIGHT, ASSHOLE. YOUR PAINTING SUCKS. MIKE In that case I’ll make it white paint... your favourite colour, right? MCGILL I said goodnight!

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

By Peter PEwley I have heard it said in these hallowed halls of learning that proper preparation is essential to a successful academic career. I have also heard it said that “It’s cold as Hell today, eh?”, “The answer is always C, even on true/false questions,” and “The McGill Daily is a well-respected, well-written publication whose editorials are considered and balanced.” My point being, of course, that you can’t believe everything you hear, and, when it comes to lecture theaters, neither can you hear what you’re supposed to believe. Academic advisors and mysterious old fortune-tellers you don’t remember telling your name will insist that you must plan your course by planning your courses. Having thus far in life hirpled by academically by dint of charm, luck, and WolframAlpha, I decided to try out this unorthodox method for myself, and record the results as an experiment. First, I skimmed the master list of courses offered and built up a three-year schedule, balancing interesting-looking electives with classes working toward my major. To do this, I soon realized I would have to actually choose a major. This proved more than a minor issue, and, employing the classic decision-making method of a Post-It-covered dartboard and a blindfold, I discovered I was destined to major in the back of my roommate’s head. When he got back from the hospital, I asked his advice in my conundrum. Interpreting his spirited reply literally, I decided to pursue a career in theology focusing on themes of katabasis in Dante’s Inferno, which I preferred to his alternate suggestion of Experimental Autosexology. In its early stages, this course of action seemed ideal, especially in comparison to my previous method, which had consisted primarily of choosing classes whose course codes sounded naughty or taught by professors with alliterative initials (I’m looking at you, Professor Percival Peterson Peeves—you were terrible and barely deserved those chili peppers on RateMyProfessor). It was only when the semester actually started that I realized that every one of the classes I’d chosen occupied the exact same timeslot.

Many lecturers in the modern or early modern era try to help students out by recording lectures, or at least posting notes or lecture slides so that scholars can be attentively enrolled in the class without ever having to en-roll out of bed to start learning. Unfortunately for me, the theology department is more than a little set in its ways (last year, two overambitious TAs who tried to show a professor how to use an overhead projector were burnt as witches on the Mount Royal Cross), and class material would not leave the class. But disparate times call for disparate measures. The only way to watch all of my lectures was to perch atop the Y intersection flagpole with five telescopes focused on the five relevant windows of the Arts, Redpath, Burnside, McLennan, and Macdonald Buildings, and take furious notes using my prodigious self-taught lip-reading and shorthand abilities. For the first month of class, this worked almost satisfactorily. Well, it wasn’t exactly a catastrophic failure. Nobody died. Very few, anyway. But then construction shakeups led to room changes. Professor Prodromus moved his class to the McIntyre Medical Building, which was a bit far even for my trusty spyglass. Professor Paraclete moved as well, to 688 Sherbrooke all the way at the southeast corner of campus. Professor Presterjohn relocated to a windowless bunker two miles beneath the Siberian steppe. And as if this weren’t enough, the kicker came when Professor Parasol decided it was too sunny to properly teach and closed his blinds, and Professor Proboscis grew an enormous moustache which made it impossible to see his lips while he was speaking. I despaired, for I was damned. But then a brilliant idea occurred to me, complete with a spontaneously generating cartoon lightbulb. I would need six electric eels, a false beard, five tape recorders, the Holy Grail, and a hypersonic aluminum-powder-fueled shcramjet drone fitted with an omnidirectional reconnaissance camera. Fortunately, I had all of these items lying around the house. But was there enough time . . . ? Stay tuned for the thrilling conclusion of Peter Pewley’s academic escapades in next week’s show, or maybe the one after that, or maybe we’ll just leave this off right here.

An EUS Publication

August 29th, 2017

Frosh is Tomorrow and Smith is Anxious.

by Smith

Smith is looking at his computer screen, blank with the exception of fourteen words. He had never been a big fan of groups, but he also didn’t particularly enjoy loneliness. He had a list of regrets from his uneventful four years of high school, all having to do with ‘not’ having done something. You see, Smith – much like any boy – is a special boy. He knows a great deal of things. - He knows everyone is an ass. - He knows he is sweet and shy and cute and nice and funny. - He knows he is an ass. - He knows his self-awareness makes him mature. - He knows he must be the better ass. - He knows the asses smile and laugh. - He knows he does neither. - He knows he is lonely. This all complexes him. Frosh is tomorrow and Smith is anxious. He doesn’t like it when people are fake – which is to say when they misrepresent their identities in the interest of making friends with others who subsequently misrepresent their identities in the interest of making friends. This setup is unfortunate, but it is the only way. What Smith is most afraid of is that he must do the same. He is shy and cute and nice and funny and an ass and he must partake in this pretending because he, like every other child, wants friends. So tomorrow morning, he is going to shower, brush his teeth, put on his nice T-Shirt and his nice shorts, ask some people where they are from and what they are studying, smile, hear a joke, chuckle, make a joke, and accept the consequences.

Clive the Page Five Guy

Clive has a contract with the Faucet wherein we had to run ads for his company , Clive the Page Five Guy. It specialised in printing the fifth page of any book. From what I gather, the company has met its end and for some reason this asshole Clive won’t release us from our contract, so I guess we have to run this “ad”. Hello, I guess I’ll introduce myself. My name’s Clive, and to be honest with you… I’ve seen better days. The company went under.These days, most books are printed with all the pages in which they’re written, not just the fifth one, which is the page I specialised in. If I’m being honest with myself, I’d say it’s also because I wasn’t very good as a leader. I may have forgotten to fill out a couple tax declarations. The employees left as soon as they could. Things with Sherry aren’t going very well, either. We’ve been seeing this counselor for a while… I think it’s hurting us more than anything else. Sherry insists we keep going though, so I figure I should play along if I don’t want to lose her too. She’s so over me. I can just feel it.

I got home early the other day. Before entering, I caught a glimpse of her through the window. She looked so… serene and relaxed. As soon as I walked in, by the clouded look in her eyes and her forced greeting…face blank with masked disain… I knew that this was the best part of her day and that I’d ruined it by making myself a part of it. My mom’s having health issues too, or at least that’s what she left me with on my answering machine. She got a couple X-Rays last week. I haven’t called her back yet, but with my family’s health history, I’m willing to bet on the “big ol’ C”. I don’t like talking to her very much because I can feel the dampened pitch of pity in her voice like a torrent of waves crashing right into my self-esteem. She has a knack for asking me the exact combination of questions that make me cry. They’re normal questions, but so… precise, so accurate, as if she were scraping my mind with a scalpel, extracting the tumour of my own self-hatred like a surgeon would. Unfortunately, this tumour always seems to grow back. I’m hoping the new editor of this magazine honours the contract we made and at the very least keeps me on page five. I need this. Thanks for listening. -Clive

Printed at Copi-EUS

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

Wax Me Up When September Comes by Hairyet

What a dilemma. I could wax my legs tonight. Or I could do some writing. I’ve been meaning to write lately. I keep pushing it back though. Finally, after a few crazy weeks of work and Montreal summer fun, I have a little bit of time, but now I’m at a crossroads. Do I once and for all sit down and commit myself to turning my ideas into a physical written thing? Or do I sit down and rip from their very follicles the little hairs plaguing me from my ankles to my crotch? There’s a submission deadline tomorrow so I should write and edit as much as I can tonight to finally submit something concrete instead of just telling myself and everyone around me “I’d really like to start writing.” For once I could turn a passion for comedy into a hobby and who knows what could come after? Buuut… I’m leaving for a friend’s cottage tomorrow night for one last fun-in-the-sun summer weekend. And well… people go swimming at cottages… people swim in bathing suits at cottages… girls swim in bikinis at cottages… bikinis are tiny. Miniscule. Why did I even buy this thing? I’m pretty sure when I tried it on at the store I had to work hard to imagine my skin hairless and think “Oh yeah this will look super hot after I shave!” trying to look past the dark clouds looming from my armpits and the spiders trying to crawl out of the stripy overly-colorful bikini bottom, not to mention the blurry fuzz all over my legs. And yes, I could shave again tonight, but spending 4 days at a cottage means itchy stubble will soon appear and who wants to deal with that? For me this weekend, it’s waxing or bust, baby. Sure, I could have planned this ahead of time and done my writing yesterday so I could wax today but if there’s one thing that sure as hell won’t change with this new school year, it’s my love of procrastination and the productivity (read: panic) induced by a 24-hour deadline (Disclaimer: do your homework ahead of time, kids. Also, don’t do drugs. Also, get enough sleep. Also, call your mom already. She’s dying to know how your first week of school is going. When do you graduate? Your brother already has…) It sucks that I’ve cornered myself into a situation where I have to choose between bettering my intellectual and creative self by writing something… or waxing my legs. Why do I have to wear a bikini anyway? What if I don’t want to be 92% naked? Why isn’t that a thing? If I wear board shorts it’s all “Ew! What is she hiding down there? She’s probably so embarrassed by something gross!” So, if anything, it’s better to be proud and act like “Yes! I am a hairy human! So are you, Courtney. I know you wax your mustache!” Confidence is sexy right? That’s all our mothers really wanted us to learn when they let us walk around in middle school looking like non-color-coordinated awkward tom boys. I’m not talking the cool tom boys who can play sports and are super strong and confident. We’re talking weird girl in boy clothes playing with bugs instead of joining the soccer game. Well this weird awkward girl-child/almost-adult-now (Oh god how do I pay for hydro again?) wants to be attractive and fit in with the other girls! There’s a fine line between wanting to feel confident and sexy and wanting to smash the patriarchy and burn it straight to the ground, you know? On the one hand, I want to be like “Hey y’all check out this silky smooth bod! Oh yeah! Let’s go swimming like the slippery sex-dolphins we are!” so there’s a voice in my head (damn you, societal pressures) that is often humming “I’m your Venus! I’m on fire! Your desire!” But on the other hand, that voice doesn’t matter. Right? Even if you don’t conform to other people’s beauty standards, they’ll see the beauty inside you! Right? We’re all gross on the outside, aren’t we? We all poop, for crying out loud!

An EUS Publication

August 29th, 2017

What will Your University Experience Be Like? By Kiana Brett

Take the quiz to find out!

Changes are afoot. You’ve been accepted to University. It’s new and exciting but the anxiety is also mounting; what to expect? Take the quiz and find out. The following statements are based on real things that Freshmen just like you have said. On a scale of 1-5 indicate how much you agree with the following statements. 1 being “not at all” and 5 being “totally that’s me!” 1) It’s okay for my mother to drive a total of six hours each week to do my laundry. Afterall, I’m a very busy person. _________ 2) My prof is young (under 40), wears his clothes a size too small and spends most of the class stroking his chest. I think that this is hot, and I want him to “wife me”. He says “ummm” and I say “mmm”. ________ 3) I failed my first essay. Ridiculous. Doesn’t the prof know who pays his salary? _________ 4) I always like to use my whole brain. Hence, when I am smoking the ganj, I like to have debates with others. They don’t usually participate. Damn I’m smart! _______ 5) My $1200 computer broke today. I have an essay due in a week so I immediately had Mommy and Daddy buy me a new one; same model. Turns out the first one wasn’t even broken. Oh well. ________ . 6) I view class time as more of a suggestion. Shopping time on the other hand, now that’s mandatory! ________ Total: . Find your score and read the blurb to find out what your University experience will be! Score: 5-10 You’re in the clear. University is never a breeze but by the end of it your head will still be attached! Score: 11-20 After a rocky start in your classes you’ll be fine. Just don’t mention your prof’s salary when you complain about the mark on your first essay. Score: 21-30 Where do I begin? Score: 31+Darling, do yourself a favor and hire a tutor. Or two. Or five. Definitely five.

Printed at Copi-EUS

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

AskFoss! New School, New You Edition For all newbies who haven’t heard of me yet, it’s about goddamn time. My name is Foss the Iguana and I’m the Faucet Mascot. Some things you should know about me: I like nice walks on the beach, drinking tap water straight from the fountain, and making love to my super hot girlfriend Tracey. I grew up on the unforgiving streets of Montreal, and was hardened by my dealings with the impossibly unorganized McGill administration. I graduated from McGill in 1987, with a major in InterReptile relations. I guess when it comes to matters of McGill, I’m what you would call a veteran. Ask me anything! (Except about armadillos, fuck those guys)

Q: Foss, I’m worried about fitting in at McGill. I wasn’t that popular in high school and I’m worried that this’ll continue in university?

Q: Do you have any suggestions on how to keep a 4.0 GPA? I’m looking at medical school in the future and I know it’s competitive.

A: Kid, no one cares about cliques or any other high school bullshit. You’re all too busy running around figuring out calculus and pretending to be “responsible adults” to bother with that. You watch too many coming of age movies.

A: I’m an iguana not your academic advisor. Based on the people I have to talk to for this column, never drop below 5% blood caffeine level, kiss ass like it’s your minor, and don’t be afraid to ask for help. If enough students pool their money they can amass a decent enough bribe.

Q: Dear Foss, I’m on a meal plan, but I have a few dietary restrictions. How can I ensure that I eat a healthy and nutritious amount given the frequently limited options I find on campus?

Q: Can I move in with you? Housing is so expensive! A: Fuck. No. Bad enough I have to deal with lost engineering students, I don’t want anyone else living down here. If you’re that desperate, the raccoons are always looking to split the rent on a dumpster.

A: I feel you kid, they’re always touting accessibility and other buzzwords, but it’s hard as hell for a herbivore to find leafy greens around here. I sneak into Stewart Bio to eat their experiments when Seriously, any of you come down here for longer the pickings are slim in the McConnell basement. than five minutes, I will go komodo dragon on Or you could try the occasional cricket, whatever your ass. floats your boat.

An EUS Publication

August 29th, 2017

Club Promotion Section Are you funny? Do you want to be funny? Do you want to make a group of friends that will quite literally provide you with happiness and love through the good times and the bad? Do you like being asked rhetorical questioons without the chance to answer them? Then McGill improv might be for you? We really don’t know. We’re just a group of friends that like to hang out and do improv together. No need for auditions, all levels are welcome, nay, encouraged. Some of us think we’re funny but it’s probably just an illusion perpetuated by the rest.

We meet Saturdays at 1p.m. in the SSMU lobby. Join us on facebook “McGill Improv Active Members 2017-2018” for updates on our first workshops. You can also send us an e-mail to be added to our listserv: mcgillimprov@gmail.com

Have you ever had one of those weeks when you wish you had something calm and relaxing to look forward to? So have I. You should check out the Film Society. We’re a McGill club that meet weekly to watch a movie of our choice. We have post-film discussions, sometimes popcorn and a couple great screening rooms. Let’s not forget to mention, members of the Film Society sometimes win free raffles for film merchandise as well as pre-screening tickets for up and coming movies. Like our facebook page “The Film Society” for more info on screenings and outings, or send and e-mail to mcgill.film.society@gmail.com to request being added to our listserv.

If you’re ever interested in having something published, especially something slightly humorous, don’t hesitate to contact us, The Plumber’s Faucet. We accept submissions from everyone. Send us an e-mail : faucet@mcgilleus.ca Like our page on Facebook for updates on each issue!

Printed at Copi-EUS

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

A Forgotten McGill Cheer by Alex Dombowsky Everyone has a favorite McGill cheer, from the official McGill cheer to the Anti-Concordia Cheer and—well, I’m not in Engineering so the list basically stops there. However, what our duplicitous administration doesn’t want you to know is that there has been a cheer locked away for years. Since the many statutes of limitations have expired for the crimes this ribald cheer inspired, it has finally been deemed safe to be released to the public. And now, ladies and gentleman, I present to you a cheer so horrible that it will make you squeal in fear, so offensive that you’ll wish you were illiterate just so you wouldn’t have had to read it, and so raunchy it makes comedy shock jocks like Andy Samberg perturbed.

I’m a syrup boy I’ll drink it all the time And when I want some joy I’ll step right in line To have some syrup poured Right into my mouth And when I do get bored I’ll travel North not South! McGill is the school For all the syrup boys. ya wanna be cool? Grab some syrup, doy! Just open up the top And pour it on down. Looks like you can’t stop You’re a syrup boy now! It’s incredible to see just how far we’ve come.

An EUS Publication