SHOCK VALUE
A SATIRICAL PUBLICATION / FALL 2014 VOL I ISSUE I / Your student fee
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LET THE SNACKS KUM TO YOU. @CuseSnackWagon
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TABLE OF
CONTENTS
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editor-in-chief sarah schuster managing editor mónica bermúdez assistant editor ally thibault sheriff content manager nicolas sessler deputy content manager ryan o’connor design consultant abby legge copyeditor kerry wolfe photographers nicola rinaldo & zachary kummer illustrators anna knighton, nicholas padula, Conor donachie southern jew erik benjamin illuminati consulting matt bosworth pun master joey dawson yung awkward allison gasparini emo demographic consultant hannah mesches tech support ronak nair undercover feminist caleb rudge daddy issues rachel sandler freelance pooper patty terhune
sup betches, Ever since I was little, I dreamed of running a magazine. While other girls were picking their noses and reading Anne of Green Gables, I snuck copies of Mother Jones in my geography textbook and wrote dark poetry in my journal. In junior high school, my ability to interpret current events using pop culture references quickly gained notoriety, and after publishing my investigative piece, “The Lunch Food Fucking Sucks,” it was no surprise I received an acceptance letter into the best J–school in the country. Then I got here, and what the fuck? Not a single publication covered the issues that matter. I could see hundreds of lost souls like me, craving a snarky published voice to echo their own. I had to save them. So I did. Welcome to Shock Value magazine. As the gatekeepers of cool, we’re not afraid to tell you how it is. Independent, anti-authority, and completely school-funded, we bring you the content you never knew you needed. Here, you’ll find our ruthless analysis of things we love and hate, the only correct opinion about SU’s smoking ban, and uncensored coverage of King Syverud’s reign. Assuming you have the mental capacity to read more than 140 characters, turn the page—I dare you. Yours, Peggy Summers
emotional support sara zadrima special thanks to: melanie stopyra models: annemarie menna, shaye melon, victoria pineda, caley wildermuth
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thekumquatteam@gmail.com www.sukumquat.com @SUKumquat
WHO YOU KNOW HERE om mani graduated from the California School of Buddhism. You’ll find her meditating on Fridays at 1 p.m. in Hendricks Chapel. In a past life, she was a sea sponge, and in her next life, she aspires to be a sloth. She possesses three different personalities. One of them drew the art featured on page 9—she doesn’t know about the other two.
When roc wavvy iii isn’t shrouding his bland personality in a false sense of mystery, he’s contemplating how that ass got in them jeans. His true passion is culture blogging, although it might actually be contemporary art, or maybe Kombucha. He doesn’t know—he’s not much of a thinker. Read his opinion piece on SU’s smoking ban on page 7.
bezelbop zorgenblog is an extraterrestrial. Her spaceship crashed on Earth 253 years ago, and although she was able to reconstruct it, she fell in love with underground hip– hop and wrote our music review on page 9. Despite her appearance as a painfully average-looking human girl, she’s made entirely of salami and copper wiring. In the end, she just wants to learn how to love.
scott photography is a renowned MPD student known for his documentation of hot females at Juice Jam. He’s responsible for more sorority girls’ profile pictures than any other campus photographer, boasting over 100 likes for each masterpiece. He recognizes he will probably photograph weddings for the rest of his life, but he’s going to live it up in college while he still can. See these pictures? © 2014 Scott Photography. All Rights Reserved.
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SICK OR DUM?
SICK: DUM: SHOCK VALUE MAGAZINE
YIK YAK: All the upvotes in the world won’t make us care that you’re fingerfucking your Netflix queue. #HEFORSHE: Gender pronouns? It’s 2014. HIKING: Why go outdoors when a Newhouse alum can get paid to reproduce it on TV? AARON SORKIN: The Oscar winning screenwriter alumni didn’t go to Newhouse. ANY MATERIAL THAT IS NOT HEMP: Hemp is love, hemp is life. THE NFL: Contemporary gladiators hurting themselves, and each other for thousands of screaming humanoid potato chips. SCHOOL SPIRIT: You’re playing right into their hands. Right into their money-grubbing, orangestained, greedy hands. SKIN: We judge each other based off of it. No one is comfortable in their own. Let’s just chop it all off. PASTABILITIES: “Oh, sure mom and dad, let’s go to Pastabilities for dinner. That way we can wait outside for a table like a family of enslaved corporate sheep!” BEER PONG: Did you even ask if you could borrow the crafts table? Yeah, that’s what I thought. CARS: If the universe wanted us to move that fast we would be born with engines instead of hearts. THE SUN: Get the fuck out of here. THE OEDIPUS COMPLEX: My good looks came from my father. COUNTRY MUSIC: A fundamentally Christian genre that makes me wish I were French even more than I already do...ugh. UNDER-THE-RADAR FARTS: Flatulence happens, people. Own every part of your body. TECHNOLOGY: Last time I checked, Apple still hasn’t made a gluten free iPhone so… SPOTIFY: Lack of proper artist royalties is why America fell from power. PROTECTED SEX: Worst case scenario I make another me, which doesn’t sound like a problem. VOTING: The universe is still expanding, and you expect me to believe that my ‘vote’ can actually make any change? CUTE BOYS: I’d prefer my lover to have pale skin and a pronounced widow’s peak. WHITMAN: It’s like a future asshole dad farm. HOLDING THE DOOR FOR PEOPLE: Unnatural and phony, like McDonalds, and monogamy. MAN BUNS: Let’s not ignore that the recent swell in man bun popularity can be attributed to its glorification on Buzzfeed.
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DEADASS
Following the smoking ban, what SU will gain in cleanliness, it will lose in coolness by rock wavvy iii illustration by anna knighton imagine: A private university in upstate New York imposing a tobacco ban on its campus, limiting the rights of smokers on the grounds their habit infringes on others’ well-being. Absurd, I know. Well, that’s exactly what’s happening at SU. Beginning in the summer of 2015, the administration is implementing a smoking ban on campus. It threatens to issue tickets to anyone caught within campus limits burning a durry. As a journalist, I’m not known to shy away from controversy. My parents pay for this school, they inadvertently pay for my smokes, and therefore they pay for my rights to look really cool on campus. Cigarette, the quintessential agent of coolness. It’s a beautiful word with roots in classical French—the culture that brought us Brie, cousin-loving, and Gerard Depardieu, amongst other fancy shit. The administration is on a rampage against anything refined. 58% of students and 97% of faculty back the new policy. They’re trying to tell me the “majority” supports this ban. Sure, cigarettes are bad for you, but what isn’t? It ranges from processed foods, secondhand Newhouse egos, and sunlight. The
State of California has nailed down what’s a known carcinogen and what isn’t. Surprise: it’s essentially everything. Could I live without cigarettes? Yes. You know what I can’t live without? Looking cool on campus. Don Draper smoked Lucky Strikes, so did my Uncle. Don Draper is womanizer, that’s cool. My Uncle used to shoot his gun off in the house, that’s fucking cool. I’m a smoker, and I’m cool. Before you console me, I am aware that I’ll still be able to smoke off campus. But here’s the thing—it’s not about the buzz. Now, when I want to get “fresh air” I’ll have to sit on that weird bench thing outside Newhouse with nothing in my mouth and look like an idiot. Even as I type this, I’m stinging for a cigarette, and in a few minutes I’ll be standing on the quadrangle smoking a Marlboro 27. My classmates will walk by, we’ll share glances, and they’ll think, “Wow, what a cool guy. I bet he’s stressed, how mysterious. He’s so handsome with that cigarette.” But alas, this won’t last. For one final semester, I will cling onto my right of coolness, and then I will mourn the man that other people must have thought I once was. sv
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DEADASS
LET’S GET THIS STRAIGHT: MEAN, MEDIAN, AND MODE Shock Value takes the ‘ic’ out of statistics.
by xander illustration by anna knighton
mean, median, and mode. Big deal, right? Um, yeah… it actually is. But you’re just another apathetic Syracuse University student that has no idea how much we depend on these basic properties in our daily lives. But worry not, unworthy disciples. I’m here to educate you . I may be a magazine major, but taking MAT 121 was a truly enlightening experience. As a communicator, I would be remiss if I did not share my knowledge with the rest of you mindless drones. Mean is the average. You take the sum of the numbers in a set and divide it by the addends. For example, I have 15 cigarettes, and Zeke has five cigarettes. What’s the mean? 10 cigarettes. I am your savior; you are all little nothings floating in an ocean of ignorance.
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Median is the middle number once you’ve organized the set from lowest to highest. So if I had three cups of fair trade Sumatran pour–over at Kubal, Reagan had four, and Larkin had nine, then the median would be four. When God greets me at heaven’s gate, I will tell him “Father, I tried.” Mode is the most repeated number in a set. Completely devoid of individuality. Sound familiar ‘Cuse? So if Zeke’s band and seven other bands have 10 songs on their EP’s, but then Devon’s band only has eight songs, 10 is the mode. I am a shepherd, you are my sheep. Eat my grass, drink my water, bleat for me. BLEAT FOR ME. Sometimes I wonder how many people will cry at my funeral, I hope it will be a lot. sv
TOBY KEITH’S I HEART THIS ART & MUSIC
ARTIST: DJ FINESSE ALBUM: GET MONEY LABEL:
MARSHALL STREET RECORDS
the day that dj finesse’s “get money” was thrust upon me during a walk down Marshall Street is one that will remain engrained in my memory forever. Never in all my years of covering underground, independently produced hip-hop have I stumbled upon a mixtape quite like it. Exquisite, raw, and bordering on genius, the beats and lyrics weave together a musical tapestry leaps and bounds ahead of its time. The very first track, “DJ Finesse Real Exclusive,” whisks the listener away on an introspective journey upending every preconceived notion about human existence. It’s simple, yet so transcendent, and lyrically encapsulates man’s quest for truth in just a few thoughtful words: “And we always be lookin’ / for the booty even in the shade.” Listeners—take the time to fully commit to this mixtape. Pitch a tent in the backwoods of Fayetteville, cut yourself off from friends, family, and technology, and open your soul.
ART SHOWCASE
IN THE COURT OF THE CRIMSON CHANCELLOR Ink on canvas “My obsession with the infinite — with the extending, ubiquitous planar line — is expressed explicitly in this drawn piece. The lines are there, expressing themselves, and creating the surroundings. They are just there, with the other lines. But they are not stuck like that, they’re just formed like that. Don’t you see it? They like it that way, that’s why they haven’t moved. If they didn’t like it like that, they would’ve moved by now.” —om mani
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WEATHER OR NOT In the ungodly and sometimes downright dangerous cold, SU students are united by the same struggle: looking sexy. So why buy an ugly jacket to wear to parties when you could just buy winter clothing that’s both functional and stimulating? photography by nicola rinaldo
When a potential suitor sees these timeless sex fabrics on your head, they won’t be able to help but picture them on your pelvis. FISHNET BEANIE: $4 at Mesh Discount Store G-STRING EARMUFFS: $2 from the dressing room of Forever21
Showcase your finely toned abdominals while still keeping your nipples warm. CROP-TOP NORTH FACE: Found on floor of DJ’s, $5 cover charge
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Nothing keeps you warmer than sin! ANIMAL RAVE HAT: $20 from your local dealer
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Anyone not immediately hooked by this provocative item is probably asexual. ASSLESS SNOWPANTS: L.L. Bean, $80 FIRM BUTTOCKS: Your student fee
SCOOP
KENT, INTERRUPTED We sent Shock Value’s intern to unveil the man behind the emails. by james manfield illustration by nicholas padula october 12, 2014: I rouse from my slumber in a cold sweat, my mind on one thing. Today, I would bear witness to our Chancellor in his most unguarded residency—his home. Here lies the true executive control board. The Chancellor’s recent actions, coupled with his curiously proportioned face, make him a man of many questions and few answers. As a sophomore Newhouse student, it was my duty to break this man’s cold, brittle, public, exterior and penetrate his private inner core. I wanted to shake him up a bit, remind him of his susceptibility to the public’s scrutinizing gaze. I offered to write this piece for the Daily Orange but they turned down my idea. Fuck the D.O., and fuck their humor column—what do they know. Through a window I watched Syverud’s wife dutifully craft the family’s dinner, preparing what was either roast mutton or perhaps, a stewed duck. Knowing Ruth, either would be delicious. I scaled the eastern façade, ivy-masked and hidden from moonlight by two mottled pines. From my perch I could practically feel his darkest secrets. What will I find in there?
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Does he use 2-ply toilet paper? Where does he keep the safe stuffed with headshots of THE General Body protestors? In which room is he harboring the Advocacy Center, and how often does he abuse its resources? Soon, I was ready to strike. I swung the 12–pound crowbar I packed in my duffle bag through the second floor window and sleuthed my way through the Syverud household. Unfortunately, I lacked the foresight to predict that the sound of an iron tool smashing a large glass pane at 7:30 p.m. would arouse considerable suspicion. As I later explained to several officers, my embarrassment at this fact should be punishment enough. Unfortunately, The Honorable Judge Lisa Bledsoe thought differently. I’m now finishing out the third month of a seven month stay at the Onondaga County Justice Center, where it has come to my attention that my reputation has blossomed from grubby Newhouse know-it-all to infamous attempted assassin. No need to thank me for the new psychiatrist. Please send any explicit pictures or drawings to my mother, who will deliver them to me. sv
QUIZZICLE
WHAT SHOE SHOULD YOU WEAR OUT TONIGHT? START how edgy are you?
very.
where is your god now?
I smoked a marijuana once.
why does dad scream so loud when he gets home?
Um, I’m an atheist.
He’s busy deciding the outcome of a high school football game.
Just go to your room.
would you have sex with e.t.?
Is he my best friend’s dad?
would you fuck your best friend’s dad?
They say college is the time to experiment.
where should you eat alone today?
Bathroom stall in HBC.
You don’t have to eat alone again today, John. Besides, a cigarette does not count as a lunch. You need real food. You haven’t been taking care of yourself, John. No, don’t push me away, not again, I want to be here for you. John . . . John, look at me, John. Dammit, John, if you walk away I swear this is the last time. Fine. You’ve made your choice.
UM, GROSS!
I already have.
Daddy’s got a lot on his plate right now.
you got: White Orthopedic New Balance Sneaker! Sure, you’re humble, but you aren’t afraid to shine. Go ahead and hit the club with these bad boys tied tight. You’ll need the extra support face down in the bathroom of Chuck’s, neck deep in the smoldering remains of your sorry excuse for a lifestyle.
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POUP Hip hip pocket penis Shit is poop Vajayjayjay hey hey hey Fuck, bitch, where are my keys? Asshole and douchebags file in one line please Hip hip pocket pussy Sluts are whores Peanuts crackerjack peanus Crap attack! Fuck bitches, bang keys Dickheads and dinguses give me your money please My mom won’t let me play xbox Fuck that bitch My dad won’t let me ride bikes Fuck that guy
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