The Black Sheep
Fr e on e... th like e s th tr e ee co t t uc his he tim s y e o ou f y fin ea d r.
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Volume 2, Issue 6 4/18/13 - 5/1/13
summer survival
Oliver Cross wrote this
As the academic year winds down it’s necessary to begin planning your summer. If you are an actual person, you’ve known what you’re going to do since February. If you are like me, you have absolutely no clue and are frantically searching for at least semi-gainful employment. Either way, the vast expanse of time that is your summer away from school is brimming with opportunities. You could get a job and earn some money for next semester; Natty doesn’t buy itself. You could take a couple classes and squirrel away some extra credits to make life a little less depressing fourth year. You could travel and see the world, or watch Travel Channel and eat Fritos until you become Adam Richman. The choices are endless.
going to get one, but let’s imagine for a second that that isn’t true. Internships are great for resume building and networking, and sometimes offer a point of entry for a field you’re interested in. The only real downside is that most internships are unpaid. That is not a typo. You will lose money at your internship after accounting for commuting and meals. They’ll tell you that experience is its own reward or whatever. They are lying to you. Money is a reward. Experience is experience. There is a reason that the cashier at Bodo’s threw a steaming cup of BoJoe on me when I tried to pay for my bagel with “experience.” When you’re eating free thin soup for the thirteenth meal in a row next semester, you’ll be wishing you had experienced a salary.
Having an enjoyable summer vacation is pretty hard to screw up. The easiest way to manage this, however, is picking a shitty summer job. Sure, folding khakis at the Gap for 15 hours a day sounds manageable to you now, especially after cramming for that stats exam last week, but try and imagine what your mindset will be in a month. The last thing anyone wants to do during the summer is work harder than they did all year, and taking a lousy time-evaporating job is the surest way to guarantee you will non-sarcastically pine for that 9 a.m. psych lab.
Assuming your desire for indentured servitude, uh, internships, has soured, what are you left with? You could always recertify as a lifeguard and continue living your twelve year old self’s dream job while living for free with your parents back home. That wouldn’t be so bad; a little money in your pocket, some cancer in your skin, and an increasing appreciation for the miracle of chlorinated water could do you some good. If that doesn’t appeal to you, you could stick around Charlottesville and get some shifts at Coupe’s while you take a summer class or two. The only downside there is that you might be a little lonely with everyone gone, but there’ll be plenty of townies on the railroad tracks willing to share a 40 if you get too lonely.
So, now that menial retail jobs are out of the picture, what about an internship? If you don’t have one by now, you probably aren’t
If you see a horse, you’re doing it wrong Just get dressed up and party, that’s it!
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If your financial security is relatively stable, you could try and convince your parents that travelling all summer is worth their investment. If you can swing it, this is a pretty enviable way to spend your summer. You’ll come back to school with a ton of cool stories and pretentious knowledge, thereby making you a conversational Hakeem Olajuwon. Everyone will be dying to hear what Amsterdam is really like and you’ll be happy to tell them all about it. Eventually though, your act will wear thin. Pretty soon your friends will notice that your Norwegian paramour’s name has
what'’s inside
changed from Becky to Catherine to Svetlana and the potency of the edibles you tried has increased exponentially. Unless you’re confident that your embellishments will remain consistent, be wary of sharing your “awesome, life-changing” experiences. With an open mind and a can-do attitude, you can turn any situation into the summer of your dreams. With that out of the way, we’re done. There’s a Man Vs. Food marathon starting and I’m almost out of Fritos.
Top 10: Ways to freak out a tour group
It’s Fwhinals Time
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page 13
These prospective students need a healthy dose of reasonable doubt.
Ohhhh are you having a haaard time???
contents page 6:Advice for Advisors
Questions? Comments? Compliments? Insults? info@theblacksheeponline.com
page 6
Everybody needs help!
page 6: Facebook official THe intricacies of the delicate yet crucial topic.
pages 7: from the streets who would play you in a move of your life?
page 10: NBA on TNT Blows Up
Table of
The announcers yukkin’ it up take it too far.
page 11: We Interview: A Colorado Budtender It turns out you can’t be high all the time to run this business.
page 12: Bartender of the week Fifths of alcohol, camping and TK tandy from St. Maarten cafe don’t mix very well.
page 12: Drinking Game and Recipe for Disaster Booze and Balls? Grilled Cheese and Pizza? Oh yeah, we’re livin’ large.
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The memorization of all maps in the entire Mario Kart franchise. “Tilda’s kartography was so sound she knew the secret jumps at Wario Stadium and Wario’s Gold Mine.”
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The
Top 10
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Ways to Freak Out a Tour Group
As the nice weather graces Cville with its presence, so do hordes of prospective students dressed in their best to try and make UVA reciprocate their love. Here are the top 10 ways to make sure they maintain a healthy dose of reasonable doubt about Mr. Jefferson’s university.
If You See a Horse, You’re Doing it Wrong Spencer Schloss wrote this Here at Jefferson’s university we pride ourselves in being lovely southern gents and belles. But when the horses come out to play for Foxfield in April, all manners are shoved aside and replaced with pastel apparel splattered with spilled booze. Before I attended UVA I heard rumor of this “Foxfield” race, but I was perplexed as to how an entire community of college students could be coerced to come clad in Lily Pulitzer (may she rest in peace), Vineyard Vines, and obnoxiously oversized floppy hats to saddle up and watch horses run around a track. As an ignorant prospective student I knew there must be more to this phenomenon…but what? Ah yes, simply an excuse to dress up and get hammered during the day. A fitting alternative to a darty—people can only fall off a frat house roof every so often. Upon arriving at the Foxfield Races it all made sense. What better way to spend the day crammed in a tiny plot with minimal food, frat guys spilling all over their seersucker shorts, and the sun beating down to dehydrate you even faster than the alcohol will? If the mimosas at 8 a.m. weren’t enough, don’t be afraid, there will be plenty of other liquids to help lead you into a drunken stupor. As you stumble around from plot to plot with your bubble necklace and Croakies bouncing around your neck, remember, the object of this equestrian game is to not see a horse. If you see a horse, you’re doing it wrong. Why would one ever go to a horse race to see a horse, when instead she can pose for pictures pretending to be a horse? Isn’t it better to neigh and gallop over to the port-a-potties to boot n’ rally for the ultimate darty of all dirties? And what of the obnoxious man who derives the most sensual of
pleasure by wearing a shirt with a silk screened horse face so all the girls can stop, point, and scream: “OMG guys, look! We did see horses at Foxfield!” After you have done severe damage to both your liver and dignity, stolen a Vineyard vines whale hat, and passed out in a plot car, there comes the time for the biggest challenge of the day: finding your bus. Upon exiting the bus you made a mental note to remember the exact location, but as luck would have it, the excitement of horses (or lack thereof) and hops prevented your ability to memorize, and now you are most decidedly lost in a confusion of preppy drunk clones in the same predicament. Drunk 1: “Yo, I think it was the white one.” Drunk 2: “Dude…they’re all white!” Consequently, you all end up hovered around a bus that is most definitely not yours. You wait for a mildly sober peer to direct you to your respective bus. Your buddies will ask: “So, did you see one?” And the high fives ensure as you assure them that “Psh, no, of course I didn’t see a horse.” Clearly, the fun does not stop when you load the bus. On the bus there will be people that did not ride the bus, people you have never seen before, sloppy post-Foxfield makeouts, failed attempts to stumble to the bus bathroom resulting with puke traveling up and down the aisle every time the bus makes an abrupt stop, and of course, more drinking until you eventually pass out and dream of all the horses you never saw.
10.) Talk loudly about something wildly inappropriate: Whether they want to or not, tour goers are going to eavesdrop on whatever tasty morsel of a conversation you’re having while they listen to filthy lies about our dining facilities, so make it count. If you aren’t talking about horse tranquilizers or something you heard go down in a library bathroom, you’re doing it wrong. 9.) Shout a backhanded invitation: Like the guy who (according to Overheard at UVA) told a group to enroll since we “need more virgins” (classy), give an off-putting reason to join the Hoos. 8.) Leave a present for the tour group in an obvious place: Much like the winner who shat on the bookstore stairs, you have the right to make a statement for all to see, so go ahead and drop those trousers in the name of tour disruption. But don’t stop there! UVA is all about overachieving, so don’t be afraid to up the ante by leaving something really show stopping, like one of your limbs. 7.) Ambush some stragglers with an anecdote: Go ahead and talk about that riveting internship you got on the Hill shredding papers, or that volunteer program you’re paying to do in Monaco this summer-- you’ve finally got an unwitting audience! By milking it for all it’s worth, your storytelling will alert the student that we aren’t as cool as Playboy might think. 6.) Give wrong directions: If aforementioned stragglers get lost and ask for directions to Peabody Hall (as all those unoriginal posers do), send them to the depths of Alderman, where they will surely be persecuted by the pedants who dwell in the McGregor room for making the mistake of breathing too loudly. 5.) Holla at the MILFs and DILFS: Equal opportunity is the name of the game, and while catcalling at parents targets the typically ignored demographic, it’ll be plenty uncomfortable for students who wish they had inherited the genes. 4.) Indulge their fantasies and expand upon them: After overhearing a prospective student suggesting a quick stint to our hallowed steam tunnels in the middle of the day, it has become clear that our traditions are misunderstood enough to be exaggerated and twisted for entertainment value. Suggest that a student streak with something lodged in a particularly sensitive orifice or to invite the head of their intended major to do the same. 3.) Display the other side of UVA Playboy and Buzzfeed don’t talk about: Bring to light the especially studious, who suffer from borderline rickets. Kill two birds with one stone: close the gap on the vitamin D deficiency and let the students know that not every UVA student embodies the “work hard play hard” attitude everyone preaches like it’s gospel. For every superstar who is rocking a hangover by Tuesday, there is someone who spent a week surviving off of Greenberry’s leftovers and printer ink. 2.) Fake a crime: Take inspiration from Amherst’s ninja tour ambush and maybe even take it to the next level to give these dreamers a dose of reality. Orchestrate a fake mugging or car chase, but make sure not to get too crazy make it look like you’ve committed some sort of academic indecency. Honor code about everything, you monster! 1.) Mention ABC’s recent shenanigans: Nothing makes students want to attend a university like living under the constant threat of persecution for indulging in some social lube. Don’t forget to dramatize the recent dorm scare; authority mixed with privacy is uniquely horrifying to the all-star caliber of students we admit here!
A. Madrigal wrote this
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theblacksheeponline.com
Advice for Advisors Oliver Cross wrote this Spring in Charlottesville is a bright, optimistic season. Sundresses and shorts emerge from their hibernation, self-assured sunbathers drape themselves on any unoccupied patch of grass, and gaggles of impressionable youths traipse through Grounds on student tours wondering why they even bothered filling out those other applications. As spring settles in, the fog of Seasonal Affective Disorder abates and lifts the collective spirit tenfold. Not even the looming specter of finals week can harsh the collective vibe. This newly rediscovered verve comes at a very important time in the academic year. Not only are final exams quickly approaching, next semester’s classes need to be enrolled in and academic advisors need to be met with. Or do they? The academic advisor position is very strange. On the surface, it seems to yield great weight and importance. The first meeting with your appointed advisor can be a very nerve-wracking experience. This is a man or woman steeped in the culture of the university, a gatekeeper to the doors of knowledge and learning you aspire to pass through. At this point in your college career, which is to say the “pre-med” or “pre-comm” phase for 99.95% of UVA students, you are desperate for the wisdom and guidance this advisor shall surely provide. After exchanging pleasantries and getting down to business, you leave the meeting ebullient, supremely glad to have such a sagacious elder to lead you. Next semester you reconnect with your advisor to resume the process of shaping your malleable putty future into a crisp stack of Benjamins. As you enter your advisor’s office, warm remembrances of your previous encounter pulse through your veins like a nerdy narcotic. This bookish nirvana, however, is disrupted when you realize your advisor has forgotten both your name and academic
interests. You chalk this gaffe up to their busy schedule, possibly even blaming yourself for not making a strong enough impression. As you fill your advisor in on your exploits this past semester, you forget whether you pulled an A in biochemical engineering or an A+. Seeing as your advisor has undoubtedly pulled up your SIS profile in anticipation of your meeting, you ask for clarification. The blank stare that greets you could sail a million ships, if ships were powered by lack of comprehension. You leave this, your second advisor meeting, with a very different feeling than your first. This advisor, once unimpeachable, is beginning to show signs of wear and a bit more mileage than you’d expected. While SIS can be an intimidating website, it certainly isn’t rocket science. You were pretty hung over last time you registered for classes and you figured it out. Each successive semester your meetings become less and less meaningful, and the concept of an academic advisor makes less and less sense. This is not to say that academic advisors are bad people. By and large, they are upstanding faculty members and want only the best for their advisees, but there is a limit to how much one person can truly care about their many subjects. Academic advisors tend, through no fault of their own, to cause more headaches than Survivor Hour at The Biltmore. Now is not the best time of year to fit in yet another meeting and you can’t even remember whether their office is in Monroe or Minor. Despite the dubious relevance of these meetings, God help you if you miss yours. Academic advisors can singlehandedly ruin your best-laid scheduling plans with an illtimed and inexplicable ”hold,” turning you from confident man to tremulous mouse.
Facebook Official Spencer Schloss wrote this
In a perfect world academic advisors would be able to answer all of your questions, from the inscrutable details of your major declaration procedure to the current status of your area requirements. In the real world, they are hard working professors who, understandably, have better things to worry about than you. If I had a credit for every time the answer to my questions was, “Check the website,” I would have graduated before Poe got here. As winter has passed into obsolescence, so too has the idea of an academic advisor. My free advice for the University is to send mandatory meetings the way of El Jaripeo’s liquor license and let us come to our advisor if we have any questions. On the slim chance they don’t take my amateurish unsolicited advice and we still have to go, just remember the guiding ethos of our founder Mr. Jefferson: no 8 a.m. classes.
Has it come to the point when Facebook determines whether or not we’re in a relationship? Are you not dating until it’s Facebook official? Is the eLove Armageddon finally here? Technology has whelmed today’s youth dating world to the point when those mired in Cupid’s darkest fantasies no longer know whether they’re flirting, dating, married, or just hooking up. Yes, social media has turned us into loveless drones who are no longer able to effectively communicate our emotions. Instead of smiling when we’re happy, we send an emoji to Marissa as she sits directly across the table from us at the Pav. Oh no…you accidentally sent it to Mark from physics…What does a smiley emoji mean when you send it to a boy you kinda, sorta are interested in, maybe? Did you just ask him out? Does he think he’s coming to your date function now? Is he going to think you want him to ask you out? Will he know it was an accident or will he assume that you’re pregnant, want two daughters, a dog named Daisy, and a comfortable colonial home in the suburbs just outside DC? Technology, what have you done to our social skills? The new normal has spiraled down from talking to potential lovers in person, to speaking to them on the phone, chatting with them on AIM, texting, tweeting, to Facebook chat and the good ol’ wall-to-wall. These days we’re scraping the bottom of the communication barrel, looking for any means to convey our longing for one another. Now, to insinuate major flirting you can just poke your crush with the click of a button, no physical
contact necessary. This is considered big gun stuff. Does flirting incognito behind the walls of the interweb really count as flirting if no one is there to see it? Well, we have eleven tagged pictures together, and our friendship picture is us kissing…so we’re dating? Wrong. It’s nothing. This returns us to the notion of being Facebook official. When you definitively declare your status to the world after your now-lover-buddy forces you to change your relationship status in the back of a dark bar, then the world will know to stop their wandering eyes. Until then, you and your “significant other” are subject to the catcalls of strangers and free game for any solo date-functioners. Hey, they don’t know that you’re off the market, and cannot be blamed for their attempt to “get some.” Clearly, technology has become an integral part of relationships. Will we ever return to a time when boys and girls actually spoke to each other when they were in the same room? Or are we doomed to reach a point where we won’t even know we’re being proposed to until we receive an engagement request on Facebook? It’s a sad fate that technology has cast upon us, so maybe next time you need a date for your southern belles and drug cartels function, quickly stop constructing that Facebook message before she can see the three dots pop up on her screen that indicate you are typing to her, ask that prospective date in person if she wants to be the belle to your cartel, and help return us to a time when people actually carried on conversations in person.
From the Streets
[PartyPics]
Got a question you want us to ask? FTS@theblacksheeponline.com
Who would play you in a movie of your life? “Emma Stone.” - Ida
“Robert Downey Jr.” - Christian
“Marlon Brando.” - Alex
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Blows up The NBA playoffs begin April 18th, and we couldn’t be more excited. Two months of professional playoff basketball? Fantastic. But we’re more excited for two months of the NBA on TNT frat house yukkin’ it up and slapping Charles Barkley’s face on obese lady-folk. Never in sports history has a studio analyst crew gotten away with 30 seconds of analyzing, followed by 20 minutes of grab-assery. However, their hijinks came to a screeching halt one night, while broadcasting a relatively meaningless Hawks-Nets game. TNT pulled the broadcast from the air, but The Black Sheep DVR’d it, and recorded it on paper for you to witness. By: Quinn
(The camera glides in to focus on the crew, all sitting at the NBA on TNT table. Shaquille O’Neal on the far left, then moving right to Ernie Johnson, Kenny “The Jet” Smith, and finally Charles Barkley. Ernie shuffles paper and looks up into the camera, while the others glance at each other from the corners of their eyes, giggling and taking sips from their mugs.)
Ernie Johnson: Welcome back to the Sprint Halftime Report. I’m Ernie Johnson and with me as always are Shaq, Kenny, and Charles. So if you were watching last week, and we know you weren’t, Charles was having a little bit of fun at LeBron’s expense, talking about his receding hairline and the fact that the headband had been inching backward through the years. And who knows where it will be-Charles: Come on home. Ernie: And basically you were encouraging him to shave, to come on home... Charles: Come on home, shave your head like every other balding black guy. Kenny Smith: (waving at camera) Ay LeBron this ain’t me. This ain’t me LeBron! Ernie: (laughs uneasily) Well, we decided we couldn’t let that go alone, and so we decided to ma-Shaquille O’Neal: ERNIE YOU OFF THE CHAIN! Charles Barkley: If he keep denying his hairline is receding
it’d be like a dead terrorist denying he ain’t in heaven. Shaq: (pulls tie up in the air to resemble a noose) OOOOOOO! Ernie: (snarkily) Even though we’re in the south I don’t think any racists will be hanging you any time soon, Shaq. Shaq: (stares angrily at Ernie) Kenny: (stares angrily at Ernie) Charles: (stares angrily at Ernie) Ernie: (worryingly looks off-screen at the producer) Kenny: (walking off the set) Yo Ern, let’s talk about basketball. Let’s talk about basketball. Shaq: Look when I drink water like this (takes long drink of water, bulges his eyes at Ernie) it mean that water too hot! Charles: If LeBron’s headband keep moving back further and further, and eventuallyKenny: Not me LeBron! I got no part in this! Charles: Eventually that headband gunna pull his eyes back and he’ll look Asian. Like he got a Mandarin hat on, practicin’ tai chi instead of basketball.
(Kenny is off camera, but his mic broadcasts him taking “heavy polls” of Cognac in the green room)
Shaq: (stares angrily at Ernie) Kenny: (off stage) The fuck Ernie? Charles: (stares angrily at Ernie) Kenny: (runs back in impersonating a “jet” with a Jeremy Lin jersey on) Rook at me! I’rm ReBron James! I have tiny penis! (A photoshopped picture of Charles Barkley and Asianlooking LeBron James kissing in a dojo appears on the screen.)
Ernie: (his bowtie spinning) Can we go to commercial! I don’t know what the hell is going on!? Shaq: YO THE ONLY WAY WE CAN STOP THE HEAT IS TO DROP CHARLES AKA A “FAT MAN” MIAMI LOL.
(Sound guy plays stereotypical Asian chimes)
(A picture of Charles Barkley-looking atomic bomb dropping over Miami appears on screen. The room falls silent. All the panelists look shocked, except Shaq, who is spinning in his chair)
Ernie: Guys, hold on, let’s take it down a notch... Shaq: What Ern, you gonna lynch me?
Ernie: ... Ok, well, with that we will bring you back to the action. Hawks lead the Nets 51-43.
Shaq: (putting papers on his head) REBRON JAMES!
we interview: A Colorado budtender Now that recreational use and sale of marijuana is legal in Colorado, weed dispensaries have been popping up everywhere. All you need to legally grow and sell weed is a measly little piece of paper from the government, it’s that easy! We sat down with one such self made man, “BlaisOne,” who went from regular old, cereal-eatin’, Netflix watchin’, maybe occasionally illegally weed growin’ stoner, to a savvy, suit-wearing, legally growing and selling weed business man. By Quinn The Black Sheep: How did you get involved in this business? What were the stages from having the idea to sitting in the store and making a living? “BlaiseOne” the Budtender: I’ve been close to the business my whole life. I started growing around 13. With the medical legalities popping up I came to Denver about three years ago, and started working for local dispensaries. I can’t say there was much transition from seeing the doors open to where I am now. I guess as of now most of us are kind of in limbo, just waiting for recreational to take over. It will take the ceiling off all our businesses and allow us to operate like everyone else. TBS: If you own the business, do you recruit new workers? And what do you look for in an applicant? BlaiseOne: I don’t own it. Don’t really want to yet either. We hire from within, either good friends or quality patients. We look for a true enthusiasm in the industry, as long as you have the ability to learn and as long as you’re enthusiastic about it. TBS: What’s the most-untrue stereotype of a budtender? BlaiseOne: Contrary to what most people think, most of the time we are not medicated when at work. TBS: In light of recent marijuana legalization in other states, do you think it will take long for the rest of the country to follow suit? What is your opinion on current legalization laws? BlaiseOne: I think it will be many years before the federal government overturns this one. There’s too much money in the pharmaceutical companies. Plain and simple. Oh, and god forbid we make some gasoline out of hemp... Fuck our government. TBS: Does your business cook the edibles in house, or do you buy them from a bakery? And how does a marijuana bakery start up? BlaiseOne: To start up you have to have a MIP (Marijuana Infused Product) License. And a certified health inspected kitchen. We used to make our own (and they were ridiculous) but started outsourcing after they made the kitchen law. We didn’t have the means to open a real kitchen for it, so we sold the license. TBS: Do you sell the marijuana directly to customers? If so, have you ever refused to sell to someone?BlaiseOne: I personally do not – I only grow. But we refuse sale to anyone we think is reselling. TBS: Do you get any “employee benefits”? BlaiseOne: Well let’s just say everything from seed to sale is on 24hr cameras monitored by the state, so not in the way you’re thinking. And technically you cant have/give for free. So let’s just say when I purchase anything for myself from the storefront it usually only costs a penny. TBS: Are you worried about the DEA/FBI because Marijuana is illegal under federal law? How does that legal grey area work? BlaiseOne: I am not. We are currently within our legal number of plants within the state of Colorado, and are compliant on everything we do. I don’t think the feds have any interest in us. TBS: Are there routine inspections of your crop? BlaiseOne: No. TBS: What do you net from an average plant? What are the expenses you have to take care of? BlaiseOne: Average plant nets 6 oz. worth about $1200. We currently pay out about 50,000 a month in expenses. Rent, payroll, electric, soil, nutrients, bug spray, etc. TBS: How does the marijuana community decide on names for new strains? Is there any sort of advisory board or do people just smoke it and come up with something? BlaiseOne: There is an actual Swiss seed bank, and to get a phenotype listed and named you have to provide something like 500 stable seeds and some other stuff. But I doubt anyone does that. Some of the older strains have made a good name for themselves, and the newer names are usually growers crossing strains and making up new names. TBS: Funniest/weirdest name of a product? BlaiseOne: Earwax. TBS: How does the cost of legal marijuana compare to buying it illegally? BlaiseOne: Depends on your state, but equal or cheaper. TBS: Have you ever had a problem with people trying to break onto your property and steal your crops? BlaiseOne: Our dumpster gets broken into once a month. Which is silly, like we would throw the good stuff away... Other than that everything has been cool. TBS: What’s the worst part, and the best part, of your day to day workings? BlaiseOne: Worst part is moving thousands of pounds of soil up to the second floor, then back down when it’s used. Growing dope shouldn’t have to be this physical. TBS: Do you have a getting high “routine”? BlaiseOne: I only vape now. O-Pen Vape is the way of the future. If you’re still smoking weed you need to get with the times. TBS: What’s your perfect sandwich? BlaiseOne: Cheeseburger with a fried egg and French fries on it. Bam!
the big three
entertainment-y things to keep your eye out for.
The Lords of Salem Opening April 19th
The residents of a creepy apartment complex in Salem, Massachusetts are visited by a 300-year-old coven of witches. The dreadedblonde who is certain her neighbor’s apartment is haunted might just be tweaking, but you can’t deny the negative vibes she feels coming from Apartment 5. Written and directed by Rob Zombie, this film will at least give us the willies.
Pain & Gain Opening April 19th
A trio of bodybuilders in Florida get caught up in an extortion and kidnapping scheme that goes terribly wrong. Really, when do any of those things go right? Based on a true story, Pain & Gain stars Mark Wahlberg and Dwayne “Can You Smell What the Rock is Cooking?” Johnson, as well as some cute comedic relief from Rob Corddry and Rebel Wilson.
Phoenix - Bankrupt! Out April 23rd
This French alternative rock band that scored mainstream recognition with their hit 2009 album Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix, are back with their fifth studio album. Fans of their past work might be taken aback by the sounds of Bankrupt!, which the band says is something more experimental than before. Check out their first single “Entertainment” (which still sounds pretty poppy to us).
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bartender of the week TK Tandy St. Maarten Cafe Best beer: Legend Brown Ale is my favorite, but the best is Jefferson Reserve Bourbon Stout. Favorite drink: Witchdoctor and Grateful Dead. Least favorite drink to make: Amaretto sour, or the Butterfinger.
What’s your best drunk story: Camping, each of us had a fifth, and I was fine until I tripped right outside my tent and fell face first into jagged rock. If you could bartend anywhere, where would it be: The Virgin Islands. Who’s your guy crush: Jean-Luc Picard
Weirdest drink order: Pickle back, a shot of whiskey and a shot of pickle juice. What’s the worst patron: A guy that sits at the end of the bar and says, “Hey buddy!” or other rude people. Who’s the best patron: The one that pays for everyone else’s check and doesn’t split it.
the drinking game:
Favorite night of the week: Sunday, all the cool people come out on Sundays. What days do you bartend: Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday. If you could delete part of the world, what would it be: Sweden, just pick a side!
recipe for disaster:
Booze Ball
Grilled Cheese Pizza
The only thing better than drinking cold beer and eating a hot dog and peanuts on a nice spring day is watching dudes spit tobacco while playing with their balls—er, baseballs. Don’t just watch the fun. Take this game outside and get drunk. It’s officially booze ball season.
Like when Robb Stark married the Frey girl, securing The Twins for the North, this is an unholy union of two unlike things. Will this work out better or worse than the wedding? Let’s hope it’s better.
What You’ll Need: Four kegs and a Wiffle ball and bat. Number of Players: At least 20. Level of Intoxication: Good luck trying to run the bases after this.
What You Need: 2 slices of bread, 4 ounces of pepper jack cheese, crappy pasta sauce, pepperoni, butter. Cook Time: 10 minutes Fatty Factor: If you can convince yourself to eat less than three, you’ll survive to see morning.
How To Play - Split up into two teams. - Set up the kegs in a baseball diamond and have each player on one team stand in the typical baseball positions. - Before any player bats they must chug a half cup of beer. - After chugging, the batter tosses up the Wiffle ball himself and tries to hit it. If he can’t hit a fair ball in three tries, he’s out and must drink for five seconds. - If the player hits a single, he must do a five-second keg stand when he gets to first base. - If the player hits a double, he must do a ten-second keg stand when he gets to second base. - If the player hits a triple, he must chug a beer when he gets to third base. - If the player hits a homerun, he must do a fifteen-second keg stand when he gets to home. - If the player gets thrown out or tagged before he makes it to a base, he must chug half a beer, and he is out. - Once three outs have been made, teams switch sides. - The game continues until nine innings have been completed or a team reaches a predetermined score. The Game Ends When: The kegs run dry or the players are as bad as the Cubs. You suck, Darwin Barney!
download our app for all of our drinking games!
Let’s Get Baked: -Place a skillet on a burner set to medium. -Butter one side of each slice of bread. -Layer the other side of one piece of bread with pizza sauce and pepperoni. -Shred the pepper jack cheese on the unbuttered side of the other piece of bread. -Place each piece of bread butter side-down onto the warmed skillet. -2-3 minutes later, place the pepperoni side of one slice onto the cheesy side of the other slice of bread. -Flip the sandwich each minute for 3-4 minutes, or until the cheese is melted. Unlike a potent mixture of sugar, carbs, protein and cheese to help you power through your day. Without it, you’d pass out from hunger, and passing out just isn’t the same as willingly taking a nap.
Hungry for More? theblacksheeponline.com
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It’s Fwhinals Time A. Madrigal wrote this Finals are rolling around and you know what that means: the deluge of complaints about finals is about to rain down upon your head with an overwhelming quantity only comparable to the plethora of Nike running shorts seen in warm weather. Almost worse than finals themselves is the sudden death of all topics of conversation besides final whining, or “fwhining.” It isn’t a new phenomenon; people love to complain about everything. High school drama, Snapchatting, and the national debt are among the most common at UVA. However, when finals roll around, all anyone can seem to do is insist on voicing their complaints on an event intrinsic to the college experience. Tweets, status updates, dramatic groans, and self-righteous texts abound to make sure you know that your friend is living in hell. Conveniently enough, this hell comes with all the comforts of a first-rate public university, such as climate control, wifi, snacks, and indoor plumbing (although some choose to forgo that privilege). Fwhiners will plug every e-hole searching for an audience for their grievances, despite the fact that the finite amount of sympathy on the Internet is allotted to actual problems, such as the loss of a family member and handicapped puppies. This creates a vicious circle, one where fwhiners will make increasingly dramatic statements on increasingly obscure media outlets until eventually they just shut up and study. While finals season is an understandably stressful time, people tend to take things too far by claiming that they are “LITERALLY DEAD” or “LITERALLY DROWNING IN A MORASS OF MY OWN SHAME AND PISS,” leading to responses such as “If they are using ‘literally’ correctly, I’m very concerned” and more commonly “Shut the fuck up.” Along with these melodramatic complaints, a classic and somehow typical behavior is for students to swarm the library and barricade themselves from civil society. They claim that they have to cram and only being at the library for a time period sufficient for a trip to Disney Land will help them pass these exams. The obvious response to this is “Nope.” Although an outsider would assume that students who have been in a class for a semester would have a general sense of what to expect, these students know that their last hope is to create a barrier of grime to withhold all this studying until the very last test, when they can baptize themselves in Burnett’s or something similarly caustic, like battery acid.
Pizza
For students who still know how to feed and bathe themselves, Alderman and Clemons become a place to avoid after the first reading day, as the air begins to ferment around the library campers. The
gift of cheap delivery in Charlottesville soon turns into a curse as people leave their cold lo mein and eggplant parmesan out, leading the scent to mix with the sweat and misery of other students. Inevitably, one can almost see waves of green stench emanating from the buildings. Eventually, this marathon of studying eventually turns into a competition: How intense are you? It becomes a race for bragging rights to take back to your hometown to crush your friends in a competition over who is “more college.” And what could win over “I smelled so bad from studying so hard that I began to hallucinate from a combination of my stank and sleep deprivation”? Of course, we’ve all heard of stranger things go down on Grounds, but few as inexplicably glorified as stopping basic hygiene and social graces. But just like going on a run through Grounds in the snow, it will continue as long as there are other ‘Hoos around them to be impressed by their finals stamina. Just try not to breathe through your mouth.
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The "how high?" flowchart
the madlib: a frolfing adventure What started out as a ___1___ ___2___ quickly turned into the weirdest day since Saturday at ___3___, when Jonah took all that/those ___4___ and found some girl in ___5___ furry boots to give him a ___6___ massage and then rode her around like a ___7___ until the sun came up. Anyway, Jonah and I went out frolfing at noon with a 6-pack of ___8___ and a bit of ___9___, I had my iPod blasting some ___10___ and we were having the time of our lives. We got to hole nine, but it wasn’t the same hole nine we’ve played since we were freshman. We squinted our already squinty eyes and saw a ___11___ wearing a ___12___and holding a glass of ___13___, gesturing for us to come closer. When we froze, he started coming closer. “Hi there,” the creature cackled, not unlike that fat chick from ___14___ who’s legit stalking me. “Why don’t we jump into my… tunnel?” Suddenly a tunnel full of ___15___-smoke and ___16___-colored confetti appeared. “A tunnel? That’s the best you could think of?” said Jonah, that ___17___. The creature was suddenly sitting on our shoulders between us. He handed us his drink, and we drank. The next thing we knew, we were dancing to ___18___ and grinding on girls wearing ___19___, but they were so sexy. We were smiling like ___20___ was giving us ___21___ and dancing our asses off. When we came to, Jonah was poking me on the shoulder and I stopped dancing for the first time in who knows how long. We were on hole nine, with a rather large crowd of ___22___ watching. “Dude, what the hell just happened! I think that weird thing slipped us some ___23___ and we just tripped out for hours!” “Bunch of ___24___, it’s only 12:30!” someone shouted, as we stepped aside to let everyone play and to drink some of our beer. “We’re going to have to get some more of that ___25___,” said Jonah, and we cheersed.
Meet The Staff campus manager Jakob Scheidt Copy editor Katrina Margolis Advertising Manager It could be you! Apply now! Writers Oliver Cross, Spencer Schloss Annie Plotkin photographer Lindsey Lucente distribution manager Heather Lister Social media manager Julia Winn
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Disclaimer
The Black Sheep in no way promotes, encourages or supports binge drinking, and/or under-age drinking. This newspaper is designed for entertainment purposes only and does not recommend attempting anything printed in this publication. Please drink...responsibly and legally.
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