The Black Sheep
FR EE ... Lik ew th ea e l rin ibr g ar dia y! per si n
• a college newspaper that’s actually about college •
Volume 3, Issue 8 11/29/12 - 12/5/12
theblacksheeponline.com @blacksheep_vcu
The Republic of Virginia J.T Stockton wrote this
It’s like being thrust head first into a period of tension and bad hygiene, a period of division between wannabe whitecollars and lazy assholes. The Civil War ended almost 150 years ago, and with it so did the dreams of successful secession. Apparently, some elementary school teacher neglected to inform some 90,000 former pupils in Texas, and their ignorance has led them to repeat the violent decisions of our past. Texas has petitioned the federal government to secede from the union. They’re not the only state, though - as a matter of fact, all fifty states have petitions underway to begin the secession process. Obviously this is just post-election bluster, like those people that say they’re moving to Canada or joining a coven that their buddy Moonbeam is starting (Ed. note: You can take my wand from my cold, dead wizard fingers). With all this secession talk, it gets the mind wandering and meandering through the terrible “what if” sagas of our mind. That is to say, what if Virginia became an independent country? Oh, the possibilities: Military badass? Check. Virginia already has one of the biggest naval ports in the country, so becoming a military powerhouse would be a no brainer. We could easily become that arrogant country that messes shit up just because. Picking on timid North Carolina could become our nation’s favorite pastime. It’s the ex-American way. No matter the feds would take back most of the navy, we could build our own! We have steel and, iron… and stuff, right? YEAH! ABC stores would, of course, be non-existent. Alcohol would flow as freely as exposed clap on a transient sex worker. Street vendors would work 24/7 to curb the competition in selling liquor. Gas stations would hire delivery drivers to satisfy all customers, young and old alike, who didn’t feel like traveling to refill their cabinet full of God’s brown drinking water. Would we continue to be granted our rights? Would we still be granted equality, and all the other stuff we fight so hard for? We guess, but the real concern is if weed will be legal-
How the Mitt Sold Christmas A political twist on a Dr. Seuss classic.
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ized. That’s all we really care about - that and the right to take over West Virginia and be whole again. Come back home, baby, we’ll treat you right. Look at all the weed, gasoline, and navy boats we have. The fact that we live in a day and age when secession is still a relevant word shows how divided we’ve become as a nation. Texas wants to secede from the union, and Austin wants to secede from Texas. When did we become so bipolar? When did we become so utterly ugly as a country that the only thing that ties us together is deadly natural disasters?
what’s inside
Top Ten Tips for Stretching Your Holiday Shopping Budget
Europe looks good about now, and Europe has bad teeth. We here in Virginia will remain part of the union, either fortunately or unfortunately, and that means we will continue to deal with the baboons in congress and the things they do, or attempt to do. Most psychos end up in insane asylums, in the U.S psychos petition to secede and people listen to them. You got to love this great country of ours, where you grow up in Latin America, move to the U.S in a cattle car, and create a revolution for the sheer fun of it – and it latches on. Praise the lord and pass the ammunition.
The Ugly Sweater of your Dreams
Because turning out your pockets like a hobo isn’t going to work for two Decembers in a row.
There’s a gem hiding in those liceinfested thrift store racks.
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contents page 5: Spreading Chanukah Cheer
Questions? Comments? Compliments? Insults? info@theblacksheeponline.com
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Because what american doesn’t like playing with fire, eating deep fried foods and gambling?
page 6: o-rated The Black Sheep asks an important question: are you having too much sex? No, wait, come back.
Table of
page 7: from the streets if you could have sex with any Disney character who would it be?
page 11: We Interview: Nick Waterhouse California boy makes “old school” rhythm and blues cool again.
page 12: Bartender of the Week Jason, from metro, and his sweet beard are ready to make you a drink.
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word of the week quipster:
A person who uses outdated phrases in an attempt to be amusingly ironic.
“What do you mean you think I sound like an idiot? Well how ‘bout you just go talk to the hand, ‘cuz this face don’t wanna hear it?”
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How the Mitt Sold Christmas
theblacksheeponline.com
Alex Everard wrote this Mr. Romney sat atop Mount Mitt, with his iPhone 6 and tightly-knit polo sweater Staring down at America, those dimwits and forty-seven percenters He plotted real hard, he plotted with malice—just how to avenge those who cast the wrong ballot He could buy all their businesses, flip them, and sell ‘em for profit! He could drown the whole country with his Marvelous Money Faucet! Alas, it struck him—an idea of pure gold Mitt would steal all their toys and sell China the molds! Yes that would surely ruin this holiday season For all the middle-class kids and blue-color heathens He strapped his dog to the roof of his Porsche Down Mount Mitt he flew, screaming, “Romney SELLS Christmas, of course!” He broke into the houses with their measly two stories And stole the twerps’ toys to reap all the glory He was almost finished, just one more house to rob ‘Twas a house in Detroit, and Mitt laughed ‘til he sobbed “HA! This place; what a terrible city! Would have gone bankrupt underneath Ole Mitty!” He waltzed right in, without even having to knock And said under his breath, “LAWL, too poor to buy locks!” He took all the toys, but as he readied to dash Little Billy Bluecollar appeared, covered in trash “What are you doing, mister? Aren’t those my toys?” Mitt relied on debate strategy to remain calm and coy
“Oh no, little boy, I’m getting them fixed! Only the Chinese can mend this PlayStation disc!” Billy seemed suspicious, but Mitt said, “Blame Obama!” Then he drove his Porsche home and prepared for the drama Christmas Day he awoke early, laughing and stumbling “Oh boy, I can’t wait to watch the middle-class crumbling!” But that didn’t happen, much to Mitt’s confusion Americans seemed sad, but not disillusioned “Oh well,” they all sighed, “Looks like another recession.” “We lost all the toys, but we won’t lose the lesson.” They gathered around the tree in Rockefeller Center And began to sing songs with cheer and great splendor Just then, they say, while we ignored the worst for the best Something strange happened beneath Mitt’s money vest His heart began beating, and beating quite fast His heart beat so much it began to gain mass! It grew and it grew until it could grow no more! Then Mitt shouted, with a tear, “It’s not your fault that you’re poor!” He jumped in his Porsche and down Mount Mitt he shot Throwing toys and wads of money at every spot The kids began yelling, “It’s Ole Mitt, he’s back! I knew he’d fix our toys without any flack!” “Yes, kids, your Ole Mitt saved the day! And I fixed all these toys the American way!” He made it rain in New York, Chicago, and Tennessee He made it rain on ‘dem kids from sea to shining sea But he made sure to stop in Detroit before he left To see Billy Bluecollar and give him the rest
“Here you go, Billy, enough for a billion new games,” And Mitt handed little Billy all the money from Bain “Wow, Mister Romney, that’s millions of dollars!” “Just say thank you, Little Billy, and fix your blue collar.” And with that, he was gone, back up to Mount Mitt Where he still lives lavishly, but learned quite a bit Yes, as the story goes, as all the history books say Mitt Romney’s small heart grew six sizes that day.
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Spreading Chanukah Cheer! Alex Edelstein wrote this It’s almost that time of year again. Leaves are falling off the trees, wreaths are hanging on people’s doors, and Macy’s Christmas decorations are already out. And by “time of year,” we mean Chanukah, not Christmas. Over the years, the Festival of Lights has been transformed by the “American” Christmas. Kids now get lots of presents, have Chanukah bushes, and believe in Chanukah Harry. These are just a few of the major changes that the Jewish faith has embodied in the last few decades. But as of late, America has been experiencing a lot of changes: There is a black president, legalization of gay marriage in many states, and the ability to use marijuana recreationally in a few states. So why can’t candy canes symbolize the spears used to make the menorah in the old temple, wreaths symbolize the “magical” bowl of oil that lasted for eight days, and Santa Claus be the new Chanukah Harry? It’s time for a change, America. These days Christmas has become more of an American holiday than a Christian one. Grocery stores give out candy canes to little children at the checkout counters, banks and other institutions take the day off, and winter break is scheduled around it. Every American in one backwards way or another celebrates Christmas. So in this day and age, why not do the same for Chanukah? Dunkin’ Donuts could easily have blowout sales on jelly-filled donuts, toy stores could sell dreidels at two for the price of one, and grocery store clerks could hand out gelt (chocolate coins) instead of candy canes in the checkout lines. This idea of commercializing Chanukah isn’t something new. In 1994, Adam Sandler tried to get nonJews to sing-along to his “Chanukah Song.” You know, the one about Goldie Hawn and the Three Stooges that took the world by storm for about two weeks. Then people forgot about it. In 2010, the Maccabeats, a group of Yeshiva students, released “Candle Light.” It was a cover of Taio Cruz’s “Dynamite” with the words changed to recount the story of Chanukah. Again, faded away in a short time. The Jews need to realize that a less direct approach is key. It’s all about hiding your religion in plain sight. Switchfoot does it, Relient K does it, and despite their best efforts so does Mutemath. The key is to make the music so catchy that no one cares. The next time you put up a nativity scene for Christmas you should blast some Matisyahu instead of “I’m Dreaming of A White Christmas.” Your neighbors will thank you.
But we’re getting away from the true point of Chanukah. It’s a time to celebrate the survival of the Jewish people, the miracle of the oil, and the love of our family. So break out those deep friers, let your children play with fire, and gamble away your holiday money with a dreidel. From a secular perspective these traditions are awesome. Because realistically, what American doesn’t like playing with fire, eating deep fried food, and gambling? So the next time you are walking around during the Holiday season and see a Christmas tree missing a star, don’t be afraid, climb on up there and plant a Star of David and spread the word of Chanukah. Besides, most people won’t even know what that is anyway. Happy Holidays.
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theblacksheeponline.com
Holiday Shopping Budget
The economy has been improving lately, but it’s still brutal, especially in Richmond. If you’re finding yourself increasingly short on cash but you don’t want to seem like a cheapskate, The Black Sheep has devised 10 ways to keep people from realizing exactly how broke you are. 10.) Re-gift: Have a copy of Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing still wrapped in cellophane? Star Wars beach towel gathering dust? Don’t let that stuff go to waste. Wrap it up and give it to someone. As long as they’re not the ones that gave the gift to you, you’re in the clear.
O-Rated
daniel park wrote this
Dear Sex Fiends, Put this paper down now if you’re not ready to face the truth, because I’m telling you in advance that there’s a massive load of honesty that’s about to hit you in the face. One’s dampening like Hurricane Sandy and the other’s erecting harder than the CPA exam. The babymaking playlist is on, and a split-second before you make your next move to Sisqo’s “Thong Song,” you wonder, dammit, do I really have to do this? If you’re at the point in your sex life where boning strangers and/or making love to your significant other feels like just another day at work, you, fiend, are in dire need of a vacation. Ever since Adam and Eve rubbed stuff under the sycamore tree, the tiresome task has slithered its way to a dreaded, unforeseeable category we all know as “overrated.” Yes, overrated – like Tim Tebow, The Beatles, IPAs, the Winter Olympics, Notre Dame football, and Joss Whedon. Your first reaction to this might be of disbelief. “The Black Sheep is printing a bunch of nonsense! Sex is awesome! I love sex! As a sex-haver, I am offended!” Relax. Hear us out, and see what you have to say afterwards. Face it, sex is boringly redundant. When we were kids, our math teachers made us fill out the multiplication chart every day for five minutes. That’s what the horizontal polka eventually starts to feel like too: a routine, a stupid procedure. It’s obvious you’re just going through the motions, people, especially for all the scumbags who have whispered the same old moans and grunts in their partners’ ears since 2006.
Women, stop toiling away at the same antics in the bedroom since losing your precious virginities; you’re still making the same faces and doing your best impersonation of Mariah Carey in the video for “Emotions.” It’s not fooling anybody–if you didn’t know, you’re welcome. Fake moaning reminds most guys of professional wrestlers throwing styrofoam chairs at each other and wincing in pain. They made it look so real. In much the same way, it’s totally rigged: both WWE wrestlers and women are always trying to get more money out of you with their theatrical nonsense. For those who practice abstinence, kudos. Your future spouse will love to go down on such a fresh pack, if you know what we mean. Imagine the moment you carefully untie your wife’s wedding dress, or when you rip off your husband’s button-up shirt on the honeymoon. That romance makes all us sex degenerates cringe. It’s totally new, though, like discovering you can put potato chips on a sandwich, or learning about the free electric stapler at Cabell. It’ll be over fast but hey, who cares? The sex-a-holics, they look at it the same: he’s had six ex-girlfriends; you’ve had nine extra boyfriends. In bed he’ll execute all the special little moves he’s picked up over the years, and you’ll do the same with the freaky shit your exes loved to see. And with all the money in your account that is being invested in birth control pills, condoms, sex toys, bananas, vibrating dildos, porn flicks, ice makers, lube, hospital check-ups, alcohol, and blood drawings, you might want to think twice the next time a penis goes into any old vagina. Until next time, save yourself a few extra bucks and the mental anguish of joyless sex -- go on some real dates (picnics, fishing, anything outside a bar/your bedroom) with your significant other, and give your bodies a rest.
9.) Have less friends: Honesty is important, so this holiday season, maybe get a little raw with your friends. Some of them have annoying laughs, some of them steal your stuff, and some of them keep collecting your hair in little jars around their room. Tell them, and maybe you’ll have fewer people to give gifts to! 8.) Start a “Secret Santa” event: The bigger, the better. Instead of buying gifts for eight people, now you only have to buy a gift for one person! Plus, think of how little effort it’ll take if you only have to figure out what one person wants, and then buy them something worse because they won’t know who it’s from! 7.) eBay stuff: It’s like the world’s largest garage sale. Just make sure it’s “lightly used,” no one wants a vintage t-shirt with pit stains. The best part is that you don’t even have to leave the house. 6.) Make things: This is for the creative types; no one really wants a macaroni necklace. If you can sew, knit, paint, or even just sing, it’s a good way to give a gift without spending any money. Not creative? Make coupons for chores! 5.) Pawn your stuff: Need cash? You don’t really need two gold chains, or furniture, or a refrigerator. Think of all the space you’ll free up! 4.) Buy gift cards and under-load them: A gift card’s a gift card, right? As long as you’re handing them a physical gift card, it doesn’t really matter that you only put $5 on it (and spent $3 of it already). 3.) Leave town and claim you had a psychotic break down: “Yeah, sorry I didn’t get you that DVD box set that you wanted; the doctors described it as a ‘fugue state’. I wandered around Iowa for three weeks. I don’t even know how I got to Iowa!” 2.) Hand them a copy of The Black Sheep signed by their favorite comedy writing staff: Find us on Twitter and we’ll do it up! Let them hold a piece of comedy writing history. Frame it, even. We’re the funniest people that’ll sign something for you. Please provide Sharpies and the name of the person to whom you would like it personalized… and pay us $30, each. 1.) Pretend to have a significant lifestyle change: People tend to not notice that you haven’t given them any gifts if you tell them that you converted religions/came out of the closet/started a holy war against Shafer. They’ll be so invigorated by your positive lifestyle choice that they’ll shower you with gifts instead.
vcu Staff wrote this
From the Streets
[PartyPics]
Got a question you want us to ask? FTS@theblacksheeponline.com
If you could have sex with any Disney character who would it be? “Prince Charming from Snow White.” - Sarah H.
“Definitely Anastasia, she was a babe.” - Deigo V.
“Aladdin.” - Cindy
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The Ugly Sweater of Your Dreams Lea Ann Butcher wrote this So you ate too much at Thanksgiving dinner, your jeans barely buckle, and your shirt is a little too tight. Don’t fret, fatty. There’s no use in stressing over how much you weigh right now, people. We have exams coming up, and these academic exercises provide us with far more important means by which we can waste our time than slaving away over the treadmill. With Christmas break nearing, we have to use every last minute of our free time to have fun. Remember, December always has the best parties. And really, what student doesn’t love the traditional ugly Christmas sweater party? And who doesn’t love winning? You love both, so think of what your kindergarten teacher wore around the holidays, multiply that by ten, and you’ll have something to aim for. If you’ve never attended an ugly Christmas sweater party before, start by looking at pictures of Christmas parties past. Here you will find embarrassing photos of friends and family wearing sweaters that they thought were cute at the time. Ha, no. Conjure up some ideas by making a list of what you want your sweater to have: working bells, mentally challenged reindeer with googly eyes, dandruff snowflakes collected from your hippie neighbor, and felt decorations are all musts. Great, you have your inspiration, which, by the old axiom, means you’re 90% of the way there. Good thing this is only 10% physical, too. If you’re getting winded on your trip to Salvation Army or Goodwill…soon you’ll be going to the big ugly Christmas sweater in the sky. Both of these locations stock ridiculous attire year-round. Remember to keep your choices Christmas-oriented
though, because if you can stay focused there are some seriously repugnant holiday sweaters out there that’ll get you noticed. The only issue here is that there are racks and racks of clothing at these stores making it nearly impossible to find a good score without fighting tooth and nail against the hordes of other college students looking to out-ridiculous one another. Rumors is pretty much a warzone this time of the year. If you really want to take things to the next level, recruit your friends and pick a Christmas theme. Each of you could dress as a reindeer. Rudolph on Ritalin. Dasher and Dancer on dope. Comet on coke. Tailor your outfit to be the most messed up reindeer you can slap together. You could try the same concept with the elves, snowmen, or any of your favorite Christmas characters. If you’re really looking to be avant-garde in Christmas regalia, find a way to incorporate other religious beliefs into your sweater. A big ole’ menorah in the back of Santa’s sleigh will earn you major brownie points amongst the other menschs in the crowd. Once you have your sweater, have your D.D. bring you to the local craft supply store and pick out the most outrageous decorations that you can still see clearly through one open eye, and start hot-gluing them upon your sweater until you have a Frankenstein-esque creation that would have Mary Shelley shitting her pants in terror. This is the best part of the adventure, letting your creative side run free. Make your own naughty Christmas scenes, throw a Kwanzaa mixer on there, or just have Santa as a shotgun-toting lunatic—it’ll happen once he gets tired of those damn ungrateful kids.
And when you roll up to the crowd in your fuzzy regalia, be sure to own it. No one’s going to find you funny if you’re staring at a corner and people can’t see Mrs. Claus being bent over the workshop table by her hubby. Think of your sweater as your inner child’s refrigerator art—it may look shitty, but you love the little scamp for his gusto, so you show it off. Good luck, and may the most horrendous sweater win! Oh, yeah, you may want to pay for that hideous article of clothing before you start Scotch Taping fuzzy balls to it.
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A Party, Carol
(Apologies to Charles Dickens) By: Brendan
T
he show was dead to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The DJ spun haplessly while the security looked onto the vacant dance floor happily. Carol had been to shows like this before, and she knew this one was dead in the water. Oh! But she was a pill-addled sound hound, Carol. She would chase MDMA with ketamine, washing down her cocktail with simultaneous hits from a nitrous tank and a bong. For this Carol was well-known in the rave scene, notorious for her love of intoxicants. Bros and hoes alike would recoil at the ghastly visage of dilated pupils and an ear-to-ear grin. But what did Carol care! It was the very thing she liked. To thrust herself into a crowded pit, with all human reckoning at a distance. She had a dozen hits of acid in her back pocket, a hitter rod, a gram of pure molly, a few bumps of coke and all the beer she could convince these loser boys to buy her. Just then Rob Crotchitch—a freshman whom Carol regularly saw at these events—scampered up. “You holding?” He asked, hopefully. “I suppose you’re not.” Carol uttered out of the side of her mouth. “If you have a hit—anything, I’ll take it.” “I don’t.” Crotchitch looked despondent, “Well, if anything does turn up, don’t forget about ole’ Robbie.” “Right,” Carol said as Rob scampered back into the fog-heavy darkness. When Carol was certain Rob could no longer see her she dashed to the restroom, set on getting her fix. Locking the stall door behind her, Carol fished in her pockets for her stash. “Get my drugs, will you, Rob?” she muttered under angry breath, “Not on my watch.” With that she swallowed everything in her possession, certain to enjoy her night alone. As she exited the bathroom Carol was shocked to see Rob Crotchitch. “What were you doing in there, Carol?” It was more accusation than question. “None of your business, Rob.” The interrogation continued, “Well then, what’s that white stuff under your nose?” Carol knew she was had. Choosing to drop any pretence of innocence, she came clean. “Yeah, so what? They’re mine. My drugs, my body.” “I’ve—I’ve,” he stammered, jaw on the floor, “I want to take psychoactives and go on adventures in my mind. I want to dance with pink elephants and talk to toad princes, and you, Carol, you’ve taken that away! A bad trip, that’s what I hope you have!” Rob danced back into the darkness. Carol stood for a moment in silence before letting out a cackle, certain to stare at a wall while contemplating the universe’s deepest secrets.
S
ome hours had passed by, loud music crawling over Carol’s body as she danced, blissfully unaware of
her surroundings. Then, in a moment her vision began to tunnel to a pinpoint. “Stay calm,” Carol thought to herself, “Keep breathing, you’ve been through this before.” Sure enough, the darkness retreated from her vision. Standing before her now was a small girl. Carol was concerned, muttering, “Little girl, what are you doing here?” “What are you doing here?” said the girl. Carol was growing suspicious. “I’m allowed to be here, you, on the other hand, it must be past your bedtime. Let’s go find a sec—“ “No Carol,” the little girl said, “what are you doing here? I’d guess a fair amount of MDMA, definitely some cocaine, and…acid?” Astonished, Carol replied, “How…what?” “Carol, I’m not a child. I’m the Ghost of Parties Past. I’d like to show you something.” Before she knew it, Carol’s vision was again narrowing, pulling back to reveal a sunny day in the back yard of her parents’ house. “Is this - ?” “Yes Carol, it is,” the ghost assured her. “And this isn’t just any old day. It’s July 30th, 1999.” “My seventh birthday?”
or something?” Carol snapped her head back at the Ghost of Parties Present saying, “That’s me!” before hearing it echo behind her moments later. “It most certainly is, but look again.” Carol did, and her shock slowly turned to embarrassment. She was staring blankly into the distance, muttering nonsense to an illusion no one else could see. Behind her were boys and girls pointing, sniggering, mocking a girl destined for YouTube shame.
“Like I said, two hours. I’m not going to let this wedding go to shit because you can’t get your head out of your own ass.” Carol’s mind started racing. She’d like to have gotten married a little earlier in life, but she couldn’t object to this. “Yes, the name’s Robert Crotchitch.” Her heart sank. She spun around to confront the Ghost of Parties Future.
The Ghost of Parties Present whispered, “This is what you defend?”
“Just what in the hell is this? There’s no way I’m marrying fuckin’ Rob Crotchitch.”
“I don’t have to answer to anyone, get me out of—“ Just then her vision began to go dim before snapping back. She turned her head intending to confront those standing behind her laughing. Instead, there stood a withered old woman taking a drag off of a cigarette.
“I know you’re not, just watch.” Soon enough out strolled a young 20-something woman. Beautiful, tall, lithe, she walked up to Robert and kissed him softly. Rob looked mildly distressed.
Just then a small girl ran outside, flitting left and right giggling, smiling, with cake frosting covering her face.
“A
“Baby, I’m not supposed to see you until the ceremony.”
“Mom, look! Butterflies!” The young girl squealed.
“I’d have thought you’d have this figured out by now,” the woman ashed her cigarette on the floor.
“I know,” the model said, “but I just wanted to say again…”
“Well, can you just do the vision thing so we can get this over with?”
“I know.”
The ghost looked sadly at Carol. “Yes, your seventh birthday. Look at how carefree you are. Hopped up on nothing more than sugar and irrational love of butterflies, you’re enjoying life. No drugs, no beer, no vague nihilistic sense that everything is for naught.”
nd who the hell are you?”
“Certainly.”
Tears were welling up in Carol’s eyes but she fought them back, defending herself. “Yeah, but things are different now. Life’s different—it’s harder, I have class and work and things are just…different now.”
Moments later Carol found herself at the doorstep of a large mansion. Perfectly-manicured shrubs nestled up against an ark of a house. She turned around to see a driveway lined with unpronounceable Italian cars.
“Yes Carol, they are,” the Ghost of Parties Past said as Carol’s vision again began to tunnel.
“This doesn’t seem so bad.”
A
The Ghost of Parties Future agreed, “You’re right, let’s head inside.”
s Carol regained her vision there was a boy of her age dressed in a white collared shirt and black dress slacks standing in front of her. “And you are?” she asked flatly. She was getting the hang of this. “I’m the Ghost of Parties Present.” “I supposed you’re taking me to see some more butterflies or something, right?” Carol was getting annoyed. “Show me that everything’s still wonderful if you’re willing to just…I don’t know, be a moron who lets out her inner child, or something?” The Ghost of Parties Present remained calmly distant, “No Carol, I’d just like you to turn around.” She did, just in time to see an oddly familiar face saying, “…know, be a moron who lets out her inner child,
Carol and the apparition winded through endless hallways for what seemed like hours, never running into another soul. Finally, Carol heard some conversation in the distance.
Carol looked at the ghost, “What is the meaning of all this?” The Ghost of Parties Future lit up another menthol, sucking in a lungful of smoke. “Earlier tonight you denied Rob Crotchitch anything. Hurt, he left. Walking home he had an idea—a way to improve distribution models for pharmaceutical companies the world over. He threw himself into the idea. By the time he was 25 he was already worth hundreds of millions of dollars. He sold, retired early, and lives his dreams, all because you chose not to give him a hit of acid.” “But—“
“What? No. I said I needed you to make sure the roses were delivered this morning.”
“There’s no buts about it, Carol. While you burn out, he burns bright. You helped him get to where he is, no doubt, but he doesn’t owe you a damn thing.”
Carol smiled, she loved roses.
Carol was beginning to panic, “And what about me?”
“Listen, they need to be here in two hours or I’m simply not paying for them.”
“Not a damn thing…” the words rung in Carol’s ears as her vision again narrowed. When she came to she was lying in her bed. It was morning.
And he’s assertive. Carol looked at the ghost and smiled. The ghost looked grim. “Let’s keep walking,” she said. Soon they turned a corner. A man in his late forties continued to argue over the phone.
“I’m never doing drugs again,” she thought to herself. Moments later she sucked a hit of weed from a bowl, intent on napping away last night’s nightmare. “Well, no more drugs, starting tomorrow.”
the interview
nick waterhouse
Nick Waterhouse, a self-described California rhythm and blues man, knows his roots, and he funks the fuck out of them. On tour in Europe, he happily answered some of our questions about his breed of music. By: Brendan The Black Sheep: When it comes to songwriting, how do you approach it? Nick Waterhouse: I’ve found that some songs begin as larger, vague conceptions, like a fog, where I have this blob of rhythm and sounds, as well as concept or theme. Then I have to squint harder through the fog to figure it out. It’s almost like attempting to “remember” the parts, like I’m remembering something I never knew. It’s very close to the feeling of waking and trying to recall specifics of a dream. Once I’ve sorted that out, I find it’s often the rhythms that come about. I’ll have a rhythm or drum part with notes that often follow those in my mind. It’s the same with fragments of words. Some songs have lines that are years old that I’ve scratched somewhere that take on a different dimension. The material on Time’s All Gone, much of it was being prepared for live performance while I was developing it, so I would approach my musicians and say, “Drums, repeat this bit.” Then I’m having the bass do a figure that makes sense, or giving people chords to fall under. It’s really adding layers and layers after that, and following the changes I had mapped out before involving other people. TBS: When you’re recording a song does it have to be perfect before you’re happy with it, or do little flaws add a certain amount of honesty to the music? NW: Strangers tell me I make really over-perfect music, and strangers tell me I make really flawed music. What I will say is that I refuse to do anything until I feel it’s right, and only I know what that is. I really believe in an organic approach to performance and recording, but having high standards. TBS: You obviously have a lot of R&B/soul influences, how did you get interested in that kind of music? NW: People talk about how language works in the brain, and what your “native” inner voice is thinking in. I always heard things like Van Morrison, BB King, John Lee Hooker, Aretha Franklin, soul or R&B, whatever you’d like to call it, growing up. I also heard a lot of those sounds reflected in things that were rock and roll, whether it was Elvis Costello, Tom Petty, Kinks, Stones, whatever. You know, when you are 15 and you are fantasizing about performing “Daddy Rolling Stone” in a sweaty club, and not about winning a baseball game, or shredding guitar, or driving off in a new Mercedes with a babe, it’s the sort of a personal truth that might tell you where your heart is. TBS: Do you ever worry that your music may be -- for lack of a better term -- too old school for modern listeners? NW: I only worry about it when people want to talk to me about it. I really didn’t care when I made all the music you hear on the record. I really, really didn’t care because I am a modern person and I was making something that made absolute sense to me in the present -- which really had nothing to do with eras, and had a lot more to do with combination of personality, artistry, and craftsmanship. TBS: The “Some Place” video looked like it was a riot to make; any good stories come out of it? NW: The best part of that video was the fact that we ran out of fake champagne bottles in the rental limo scene, and had to do take after take of me with the real deal. By the end of that shoot it was definitely beyond method. TBS: For something like that video, is it actually fun to do, or is it work making it look like that much fun? NW: It is work unless you’re getting drunk. But then you’re drunk on champagne, not my favorite feeling, and having to continue shooting as your buzz wears off and the headache sets in. TBS: Your brand of music translates really well to a live show, but what’s your approach to live music? NW: Every song is a case-by-case basis, and should be performed as such. To me, one disconnect I have noticed is that I cut much of my album very live, so people are thrown by how much I manage to get the same sound in a live setting, almost as if they’ve been conditioned to expect less. The thing is, all the recordings were sung and played 110%, so if you get that live feeling, you shouldn’t feel cheated. TBS: What do you think is the best thing to happen to music in the last 10 years? NW: The internet. TBS: The worst? NW: What everyone did with the internet. The continued perpetuation of the same methods under the guise of liberation. Pitchfork is essentially the Castro regime of music culture -- they represent the largest potential promise of a new kind of society that became a dictatorship as bad as or worse than the one it replaced. TBS: What band did you like as a child that that today you’re like, “Really, Nick? Them?” NW: Reggie and the Full Effect. Adolescence was very confusing. TBS: If you could have a mythological creature as a pet, what would you choose and why? NW: Easy. Mermaid. It would be like I had Bimbo’s 365 club floor in my living room. Slightly erotic, not much cleanup. I’m really an ocean person at heart.
the big three
entertainment-y things we’re all excited about.
Killing Them Softly In Theaters November 30th Based off the 1974 novel Cogan’s Trade, this gangster crime film stars impossibly sexy Brad Pitt as a professional enforcer who investigates a heist that occurs during a high-stakes, mob-protected poker game. Assumedly lots of crime and shady business happens in-between the all star cast, featuring actors continuing to get rich off of Italian stereotypes, James Gandolfini and Ray Liotta. Award season, here they come!
Catfish: The TV Show Monday, December 3rd at 11pm on MTV Nev Shulman’s TV show brain-child (inspired by his own online relationship gone awry) showcases yet another couple who’ve developed a supposedly very real online relationship and are mad in love. In this episode, two young people are fittin’ to meet IRL after two years of hot and heaving texting. Will it be a catfish, or will it be true love?
Ke$ha - Warrior Out December 4th The glittery passed-out Princess of Pop seems to be turning a new leaf on her second studio album, Warrior. Coming off of a spiritual journey where she “just needed to play with animals,” Ke$ha came back to record a magical album that finally shows her relatively decent pipes. Listen to her lead single “Die Young,” and check out her Bob Dylan cover of “Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright” to hear those impressive vocals.
page 12
theblacksheeponline.com
bartender of the week jason c. metro Favorite drink recipe: An improvised dark and stormy, a dark rum or Captain Morgan mixed with Crabbies Original Alcoholic Ginger Beer (a real man’s dark and stormy). Favorite Shot: Jameson “I Dare You” recipe: Hand grenade - Bacardi 151, peach schnapps, and cranberry juice. Personal Theme Song: “Black Betty” by Ram Jam Life Motto: “Bartenders are real life rock stars.” What’s your guilty pleasure? World of Warcraft Ever met anyone famous? Not really, I’ve worked events sponsored by Red Bull for Dave Matthews Band and The Neptunes. If you could hook up with any celebrity who would that be? Either Olivia Wilde or Rashida Jones.
the drinking game
The Name Game Sure, you may know a guy named Jeff or Dan or Bill, but who cares? They’re not famous. This game is a veritable who’s who of fame and fortune. So, yeah, you should know some celebs stepping into this. Or Jack Daniels. He’s nice too. Number of Players: As many Jane and John Does as you can fit at the table. What You Need: Beer, access to a celebrity gossip website. Intoxication Level: Robert Downey Jr., Danny DeVito drunk. How to Play: - The game begins with one player saying the name of a famous person. - The player to go next must say the name of a different famous person whose name begins with the first letter of the last name of the famous person just said. - While a person is thinking of a name they must be drinking, but if they are unable to think of a name they must finish the drink. To save yourself from this, bluff names can be made up, and if no one notices then the game continues. - Aliases may not be used. For example, “Ghostface Killah” would not be an acceptable answer, but “Dennis Coles” would. - Play goes on until beer runs out. - Below are additional rules added to spice up the game: - If a name is said that has the same letter for the first and last names then the direction of the game changes. - If someone says a single word name such as Usher or Raewkon then the next person is skipped. - If someone says a triple name, such as Sarah Jessica Parker, then everyone must drink. The Game Ends When: You start naming cast members from Weekend at Bernie’s II. (Terry Kiser!)
download our app for all of our drinking games!
Most ridiculous thing you’ve seen on the job: “When I was working as a security guard, there was a big girl on a little guy having sex in the bathroom stalls. They were sitting on one of the toilets, when I went in to kick them out she wouldn’t leave. She put her arms up against the stall walls and said ‘No not yet!’ and kept going. Another time, this guy just started peeing in the middle of the dance floor.” Ever hooked up with a co-worker? Yes, but not here at Metro. What’s your biggest pet peeve while behind the bar? In general people who expect you to listen to them but won’t actually listen to you back. When I’m at work it’s really annoying when people order their drinks backwards like “Can I get a Coke and rum?” instead of “rum and Coke.” What’s the best way to get your attention on a crowded night? Make eye contact with me and look like you’re ready to order by having your way of payment out.
Recipe for Disaster
Ooey Gooey Chocolate chief Brownies There’s nothing better than the good old-fashioned brownies that grandma used to make. Well, unless you mix some pot in it, too! Don’t let your conscience or DEA relative stop you from deliciousness. Waking and baking has never been so easy or tasty. What You’ll Need: 1 ounce unsweetened chocolate, 2 cups of pot butter, 2 cups white sugar, 3 eggs, 1 teaspoon vanilla extract, and 1 cup all-purpose flour. Cook Time: 35 minutes. Fatty Factor: Eating these might cause you to eat more brownies, you fatty fat. Let’s Get Baked: - Preheat oven to 350 degrees. - Microwave chocolate and pot butter in large bowl on high for 2 minutes or until butter is melted. - Stir until chocolate is melted. - Stir in sugar, eggs, vanilla, and flour. - Spread in greased 9 x 13 inch pan. - Bake for 35 minutes. You should bring these to your family’s Christmas dinner. Wouldn’t you love to see grandma ripped out of her mind? Sure, your mom would be upset, but seriously, can’t we, like, all just chill and get along?
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page 13
The Black Sheep Christmas Wishlist Dillon McLaughlin wrote this
For the next month greed takes hold and we demand that our loved ones supply us with material possessions. We call this “holiday cheer.” Since we’re human (mostly) on The Black Sheep staff, we too are susceptible to holiday cheer. Which means that you, dear reader, are going to have to pick up the slack on what our parents and grandparents can’t provide. It’s a short list, so don’t worry, you shouldn’t be any more in debt than, say, the feds. 1.) The iPhone 5: We’re busy, like all the time. So when we need to get some emailing done, ain’t nothing better than an iPhone. The big screens really help with procrastination, like when our deadlines are coming at us like a freight train and we decide to download Angry Birds: Star Wars instead. 2.) Chocolate: Preferably Cadbury. Most of our meetings focus on analyzing the consistency of a bar of chocolate. What a lot of people don’t know is that density and melting point vary from bar to bar. The only reason that the melting point is listed as 98.6°F is because that’s the average temperature. In reality, the melting point can range from 96° to 99°. We have literally dozens of spreadsheets from this semester alone. As it happens, our stockpiles are quickly running out and we’re getting desperate. Two hundred pounds should do the trick. 3) Cash: We’re broke here. This isn’t exactly a paying gig, and, while we’re having a good time doing it, it’s not sustainable. We’ve had quite the memorable run-in with financial misunderstandings. So your donation could go a long way to preserving the life of a The Black Sheep writer. For only $20 a day, our lifestyles of whoring, drinking, gambling, and occasional writing can go uninterrupted. For $25 a day, you’ll cover our rent. We’ve fallen on hard times, so every little bit counts. 4.) All expenses paid trip to London: Across the pond is where satire really took off, and we’d love to get back to our roots. You’ve probably heard of guys like Chaucer, Shakespeare, and Rochester, and we’re big fans of theirs. Problem is, we haven’t got the cash (see number 3) to fund the trip we
want. But here at The Black Sheep, we’re big believers in the generosity of man, so we’re sure you can pick up the tab on this one. It’s not that much. We’ve got a staff of roughly fifteen and if you figure it’d cost about three grand for each one, that’s only about $45,000. If each reader throws in maybe $250, we’d be leavin’ on a jet plane and not sure when we’d be back again. 5.) Shopping spree at Dick’s Sporting Goods: All our writers love exercise. Or, more specifically, being really into it for three weeks before abruptly stopping and playing video games for hours at a time. If there’s one thing we’re really good at here at The Black Sheep, it’s making resolutions. A shopping spree at Dick’s would do wonders for us. We’d never run out of impulsively-bought exercise equipment to ignore. Hopefully you can find it in your heart to not be a selfish bastard this holiday season. So come on, fork it over, we have to go exploit grandma in an hour.
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All nighter l i brary Drinking game You’ll be stuck in the library for the better part of this week. And if you’re not stuck in the library, you’ll be thinking about how you should be in the library studying instead of “taking a break before the next exam” by taking shots of absinthe up the keister. Never fear, with The Black Sheep’s Library Drinking Game, you can pull an all-nighter in the library while taking a booze break at the same time! No more guilt for you, it’s all good grades from here on out!
8 p.m. – 11 p.m.
3 a.m. – 5 a.m.
Take a drink for every fleeting feeling of confidence you have. Take a drink every time you think “I’ve got plenty of time!” Take drink when you think about regulating your caffeine intake. Take two drinks for every video you catch yourself watching instead of studying. Take two drinks every time you catch yourself deep in the random acquaintance area of Facebook. Take five drinks when you realize you’ve been here three hours and haven’t even opened your book.
Take a drink after “one chapter down, nine to go!” Take a drink when you realize you’re the only person in the library. Take a drink when it’s time to get another coffee. Take a drink when you have to “Just get up and walk around a little bit.” Take two drinks when you forlornly look out the window for twenty minutes. Take three drinks while having acidic, molten coffee craps. Finish your drink when you start heading home, then turn around and GET BACK IN THE GOD DAMN LIBRARY.
11 p.m. – 1 a.m.
5 a.m. – 8 a.m.
Take a drink when you finally open your book. Take a drink every time someone comes and goes from your table. Take two drinks if you decide you’ll concentrate better in one of those cube things. Take two drinks every time library security walks by. Take two drinks when you spend 10 minutes organizing iTunes. Finish your drink if you start spending more time asking around for Adderall than actually studying.
Take a drink when you decide it’s nap time, again. Take a drink when you hit snooze, then flip everyone off for glaring at you because your phone just blew up. Take two drinks when you write a “Genius sentence, the real kicker to this paper, the one that solidifies an A” but it’s the only sentence you’ve written so far. Take two drinks when a librarian tells you not to lean back in your chair. Finish your drink when you think “I studied drunk so that means I have to take the test drunk. Because science.”
1 a.m. – 3 a.m.
8 a.m. – test time
Take a drink when you think “Being drunk in the library is actually pretty fun!” Take a drink when you wake up with the pages of your book stuck you your face. Take a drink for every other person sleeping in the library. Take two drinks to wash down the third bag of Hot Cheetos you just bought from the vending machine. Take two drinks every time you start sweating. Take three drinks when you “accidentally” start looking at porn. Finish your drink when you start crafting a sob-story excuseemail to your professor.
Take a drink when you think “fuck school, man, life is for livin’”. Take a drink when the sun comes up. Take two drinks when an overwhelming, albeit false sense of accomplishment washes over you. Take two drinks when you realize there have been other students soberly plugging away for three straight days. Take three drinks when you see someone else from your class. (Four if they’re drunk too.) Take five drinks when you start walking to the wrong final. Finish your drink when your professor grants you permission to miss the final. Really finish your drink when you realize you now have to kill your grandma.
the crossword
in the year 2000
Across 3) One of the official Olympic mascots was a native bird. 7) He lost to George W. 8) 2000 marked the start of a new this. 9) Sean Parker’s website that got sued by Metallica. 12) The fastest selling rap album of all time happened this year, by this white boy. 14) John Mellencamp received a Doctorate of Music from this university. 19) N*SYNC set a first-week sales record with this album. 20) This show gave us a glimpse into some ballin’ pads.
10) These Olympics were down under. 11) This country got second at the Olympics. 13) This pop princess won Best New Artist. 15) The Academy Award for Best Picture. 16) The Razz for Worst Film, starring Will, Will Smith. 17) Had the sketch “In The Year 2000.” 18) This artist changed his name back from his former unpronounceable symbol.
Down 1) This team won their third straight World Series championship. 2) This city won the Super Bowl. 4) This lady-focused TV channel launched in February. 5) Cory’s universe ended this year. 6) This artist won a record 8 Grammy’s in one night, tying Michael Jackson’s 1984 record.
Answers
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