The 24-Hour Issue

Vol. 149, No. 5

THE YALE

May 25, 2021

RECORD

The 24 Hour Issue

“The Nation’s Oldest Humor Magazine” or

“The Nation’s Most Humorous Old Magazine” Join us.

chair@yalerecord.org

TOM BRADY’S SON SPOTTED WITH SEVERAL HICKEYS THE DAY AFTER SUPERBOWL LV Dear Sherman Electrical, Our power has gone out four times in the past two days, three of them while I was making love to my beautiful wife whom I adore. When the lights go out, I can’t see every detail of her exquisite face, which has only grown more stunning with age.

I’m the luckiest man in the world.

Every day we discover each other anew. My wife has my heart, my soul, my everything. I love her so much.

Please resolve this.

Regards, Dr. Cornelius Conrad

POWER TO THE PEOPLE! LIGHTING STRIKES POOL PARTY

Dear Dr. Conrad, Sorry about that—we’ve repaired our generator. Now you can get back to that beautiful journey we mortals call romantic love. To love a good wife is to love yourself; in holy matrimony, two individuals are joined into one.

Like the Yin and Yang of Ancient Chinese philosophy, each completes the other. Let us know if you have any other issues.

Regards, Sherman Electrical

GET YOUR TISSUES READY! THIS SENTIMENTAL MOVIE ABOUT DOGS IS GOING TO MAKE ME BUST A NUT Dear University Registrar, OCS is open for add/drop period? More like Imma add/drop your mom! Ha! In your face, Steve

Dear orthodontists, I am sorry for biting you. I know you say don’t bite, but when your hands go in my mouth I think they are food. I wish I could promise not to do it again, but you might just want to invest in thicker gloves or less delicious fingers.

Sincerely, Little Dicky Chompers

CAUGHT BETWEEN A ROCK AND A HARD PLACE! I’M LOST SOMEWHERE BETWEEN EAST ROCK AND YALE CAMPUS; WOULD YOU MIND OPENING UP GOOGLE MAPS SO WE CAN GET BACK? Dear Steve, Unfortunately, EPS 202 — My Mom — is full. You may not enroll in my mom.

Better luck next semester, University Registrar

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NEW STUDY FINDS PEOPLE WHO POUR MILK BEFORE CEREAL ARE AS MISERABLE AS THEY DESERVE TO BE Dear Dr. Jill Biden, Let me give you a bit of advice, sweetie. I know you think you can go by whatever you want, but trust me on this one. Drop the Biden.

You are so beautiful and tough and accomplished and I just really think you can do better than sleepy Joe. How about you try out a new last name? Say, Dr Jill Pence has a lovely ring to it don’t you think?

Sincerely, A Secret Admirer

NO PAIN, NO GAIN: FOR SOME REASON YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO BUY GAIN LAUNDRY DETERGENT UNLESS YOU LET THE CASHIER BEAT YOU WITH A HAMMER Dear Encyclopedia Brown, Print media is dead. Nobody reads you anymore. It’s time you retire to the dusty annals of unvisited library shelves.

Your superior and modern twin, Wikipedia Brown

A BLESSING IN DISGUISE: I THOUGHT IT WAS BAD WHEN I CUT OFF ALL MY LIMBS BUT NOW I GET TO DRINK ALL MY FOOD THROUGH A STRAW

Dear Wikipedia Brown, This is literally a printed humor magazine.

Sincerely, Encyclopedia Brown

MY TIME TO SHINE: SHIRLEY TEMPLE VOMITED ALL OVER HER HANDLER’S FEET SO NOW I HAVE TO POLISH HIS SHOES, BECAUSE I’M A SHOE SHINER IN THIS SCENARIO AND SHE’S LATE FOR A SIX HOUR SHOOT OF “LITTLE JANIE DIMPLES,” WHICH ALREADY GOT WAY BEHIND SCHEDULE WHEN HER COSTAR CHAPPIE “TAPS” MCGUAINE FUCKING DIED ON SET TWO WEEKS AGO AND THEY RECAST HIM AS A DOG VOICED BY THE GUY WHO MADE “BIRTH OF A NATION.” IT’S A REALLY FUCKED UP SITUATION OVERALL SO I’M HAPPY I’M JUST A SHOE SHINE BOY FOR NOW BUT ONE DAY I’LL BE A STAR, JUST WAIT AND SEE

T he CTorporate A merica he 24 H our I ssue I ssue

SEE YOU LATER ALLIGATOR: LOCAL ALLIGATOR ARRESTED FOR INSIDER TRADING Obituary Correction

The Editorial Board would like to apologize for an erroneous obituary in a previous issue which reported that Marilyn Monroe died of a barbiturate overdose. She actually died because she lit a candle in the wind, and it burnt her face off. The issue was correct to report that “Candle in the Wind” by Elton John was, by coincidence, based on an eleventh-century Gregorian chant.

Dear Webkinz, My parents told me they took our family dog to a farm upstate. Is that an expansion pack?

Sincerely, Jimmy

SHOCKING: MARY TOLD ME THAT CHERYL SAID TO MARLENE THAT DORIS DOESN’T LIKE HER. MARLENE IS KIND OF A BITCH, I AGREE, BUT DORIS IS ALSO KINDA PROBLEMATIC, AND THAT BITCH STOLE MY BIRKIN BACK IN 2009

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Check Checkout out our ourwebsite, website, yalerecord.org, yalerecord.org,

FOR SALE:

A signed book. I can’t tell you what book, or who the author is, or whether the person who signed it is the author or just some guy.

But it’s all yours.

for formore morehilarious hilarious content! content!

Dear Jimmy, The farm expansion pack costs $15.00. Click here to learn more...

Is the card on file okay?...Sure sure... installing...and done!

Regards, Webkinz Dear Webkinz, Thanks a ton! I just opened the farm pack, but Sparky isn’t here.

Where can I find him?

Sincerely, Jimmy Dear Jimmy, Your dog is dead. But at least you have a cool new farm! Click here to keep shopping.

Regards, Webkinz

—K. VanLandingham

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he 24 H our I ssue I ssue T he CTorporate A merica

Dear Sherman Electrical, Can you address these damn outages that have been plaguing our neighborhood? Last night we lost all power right while my wife was making a secret call on the landline.

When the power came back on, the machine started playing her call like it was a voicemail, and I heard all about her covert “liaisons” with Mike Tripoli who works at Mike’s Bait N’ Tackle. I bought a half ton of chum from that wife-stealing twotiming fuck. Just glad it’s all out in the open now. Fix my power.

Angrily, Dr. Conrad

CANCEL CULTURE STRIKES AGAIN! I KILLED MY UNCLE ON PURPOSE AND NOW I HAVE TO DO COMMUNITY SERVICE FOR A FUCKING MONTH GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN: MY STANKY ASS FART MAY HAVE DISSIPATED, BUT THIS IS ONE DAY CONDOLEEZZA RICE WILL NEVER FORGET

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Dear Dr. Conrad, A pair of downed power lines were probably the cause of your outage, but we’ve got things up and running again.

Marriage is a special thing, and we are sorry to hear that your wife defied your holy bond. That bond, however weakened, is not broken. Christ says in the Book of Matthew that “whoever divorces his wife causes her to commit adultery, and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery.” Though your anger is understandable, we believe that separation is not the answer. Talk to your wife. And make sure to let us know if you experience any more problems.

Regards, Sherman Electrical

—A. Jeddy

Emmy Waldman ‘11

M

y first words were, “Come hell or high water, when I’m Editor in Chief of the Yale Record, we will do a 24 Hour Issue.” My second words were, “Heck, even if there’s a global pandemic caused by a virus strain first isolated in December 2019 in Wuhan, China, there will be a 24 Hour Issue.” My parents didn’t question what the Yale Record was, or tell anyone that I made an eerilyspecific prediction about COVID-19. They just told me to keep dreaming.

Twenty years later, here I am, Editor in Chief of the Yale Record, and boy, has hell or high water or a global pandemic come. But I had to make the 24 Hour Issue happen, or my first words would be a lie! While I knew we couldn’t meet up in one of the college basements and kiss each other on the mouth like we used to do every year, I knew there was a way to make the 24 Hour Issue 100% COVID safe. It was actually a rather simple solution—we’d spend 24 consecutive hours outside on Cross Campus.

Immediately, the plan had its fair share of haters. For one, it was supposed to be thirty degrees, and Cross Campus was covered in snow. Some staffers were afraid of “frostbite” or “hypothermia,” but I told them that was just the price you have to pay if you want to write comedy. I then showed them the slash down my stomach from the time I said something at a meeting that wasn’t funny and former Editor in Chief Caleb Cohen struck me with his sword. Needless to say, I convinced them that to be a comedian is to live a life of pain, and they quickly stopped complaining.

So, at noon on February 20, we all gathered together to ring in the start of the most important 24 hours of our lives. The first hour went pretty well. I finally learned everyone’s names and even let the rest of Big Four look me in the eyes for the first time.

But once I got back from washing out my eyes, everything was turned upside down.

“Someone ate our entire supply of mixed nuts and drank all our hot chocolate!” said Online Managing Editor Joe Wickline, with a ring of chocolate around his mouth and a nutty breath. But now was no time to point fingers because we were in survival mode.

T he CTorporate A merica he 24 H our I ssue I ssue Stranded on the isolated island of Cross Campus with no resources, the Record staff erupted into chaos. It was a good thing I had my emergency conch to restore order. I established a rule that to speak, you had to be holding the conch. I wasn’t sure why everyone started calling me Ralph, or why they all started asking if they could be Simon so they could “leave by the end of Chapter 9.” Anyway, a few hours in, this little boy named Jack lured half of our staff to another part of Cross Campus, so our ranks were getting smaller and smaller.

By hour six, morale was at an all-time low. We were hungry, we were cold, and we had made little progress on the issue. Then Copy Editor Zosia Caes had a genius idea. “I learned about this thing called fire in one of my chemistry classes,” she told us. “It’s supposed to make things warm. Maybe we could start a fire.” She explained that we would need some wood, which was perfect, as lumber was practically spilling out of Business Manager Jacob Eldred’s backpack and coat pockets. Apparently, if we just rubbed two sticks together, eventually there would be a spark, and then a flame, and then a “fire.”

The fire was a success, and lucky for us, we managed to get cell service, so we could order a replenished supply of mixed nuts and hot chocolate. It was all smooth sailing for the next few hours.

But since there were only about ten of us left, we certainly had our work cut out for us. After a long period of writing, I could tell we really needed a break. I suggested we play my favorite game—Who Can Name the Most Billy Joel Songs?—but it didn’t work, because we all could name every single one. Managing Editor Sam Leone suggested that we recite Billy’s Wikipedia from memory in unison, but I had to keep him quiet, out of fear that a passerby might

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overhear us and realize that the world’s oldest humor magazine was actually a front for the world’s third oldest Billy Joel fan club.

It was midnight, and we decided to keep ourselves awake by telling scary stories. Sam went first, telling the story of the mysterious “Piano Man.” We heard of many more spooky characters—the Stranger, the Uptown Girl, the Innocent Man, Mr. Cacciatore down on Sullivan Street. While these stories all felt oddly familiar, I enjoyed them nonetheless.

Two hours later, I felt refreshed enough to keep editing. While our night certainly had its fair share of limitations, I finally started to feel, in the wee hours of the evening, that the issue was coming together. But at six in the morning, the group who had abandoned us earlier returned, with a completed 24 Hour Issue of their own.

“It really only took us twelve hours,” they said, “because we didn’t slack off and start telling silly stories like some people.”

I flipped through their issue and was in awe. It was really good, not overwhelmed with references to classic English literature they skimmed in ninth grade or to any Long Island-based singersongwriters. But it lacked the heart that our issue had. What we had may not have been technically the best, but within each line you could feel the sense of camaraderie, the passion, the fire. I told them that while I appreciated their effort, I could not publish it. They splintered off, never to be seen again, and started their own obscure magazine called “National Geographic.”

On these next few pages, you’ll find the honest work of the true, loyal Record staffers, all written in those fateful twenty-four hours on Cross Campus. It was hard, it was painful, and it was not fun. But, hey, that’s comedy!

—K. Walsh Editor in Chief

Harry Rubin ’22 Chair

Kaylee Walsh ’22 Editor in Chief

David Hou ’22 Online Editor in Chief

Will Cramer ’22 Publisher

Clio Rose ’24 Online Managing Editor

Joe Wickline ’24 Online Managing Editor

Jonas Kilga ’23 Managing Editor

Diana Kulmizev ’23 Managing Editor

Sam Leone ’23 Managing Editor

Zuri Goodman ’22 Webmaster

Raja Moreno ’23 Webmaster

Zosia Caes ’22 Copy Editor

Ayla Jeddy ’23 Design Editor

Avery Mitchell ’23 Design Editor

Ellen Qian ’23 Design Editor

Alex Taranto ’23 Art Director

Bea Portela ’24 Staff Director

Jacob Eldred ’24 Business Manager

Madelyn Blaney ’21 Old Owl

Rosa Chang ’22 Old Owl

Caleb Cohen ’21 Old Owl

Ethan Fogarty ’21 Old Owl

Sarah Force ’22 Old Owl

Luna Garcia ’22 Old Owl

David “Davey” McCowin ’21 Old Owl

Marcy Sanchez ’21 Old Owl

Maya Sanghvi ’22 Old Owl

Amanda Thomas ’21 Old Owl

Staff: Colin Baciocco ’21 Marty Chandler ’21 Paige Davis ’21 Lindsay Jost ’21 Jamie Large ’21 Alec Zbornak ’21 Ronak Gandi ’22 Ryan Fuentes ’22

Alex Kane ’22 Sam Karp ’22 Kyle Mazer ’22 Jocelyn Wexler ’22 Addison Beer ’23 Avery Brown ’23 Juan Diego Casallas ’23 Raffael Davila ’23

Lucy del Alamo ’23 Leo Egger ’23 Shirshak Gautam ’23 Dory Johnson ’23 Zoe Larkin ’23 Charlotte Leakey ’23 Jacob Kaufman-Shalett ’23 Andrew Kornfeld ’23 Jason Salvant ’23

Lucy Santiago ’23 Helen Tejada ’23 Katia Vanlandingham ’23 Amrita Vetticaden ’23 Erik Boesen ’24 Elijah Boles ’24 Alexia Buchholz ’24 Evan Cheng ’24 Finn Gibson ’24

Adriana Golden ’24 Will Gonzalez ’24 Cam Greene ’24 Joe Gustaferro ’24 Benjamin Hollander-Bodie ’24 Aarjav Joshi ’24 Alice Mao ’24 Simi Olurin ’24

Chanwook Park ’24 David Peng ’24 Michael Steinthal ’24 Arnav Tawakley ’24 Sarah Teng ’24 Miguel Von Fedak ’24 Joanna Wypasek ’24 Annie Lin ’25

Special thanks to: 2 Fast 2 Furious, the only movie any of us has ever seen.

Front cover: Ayla Jeddy ’23, who would be Atlas if The Yale Record were a globe (@ayla.r.j) Back cover: Joe Wickline ’23, who would be Atlas if the entire world were a globe (@joe.wickline) Founded September 11, 1872 • Vol. CXLIX, No. 5, Published in New Haven, CT by The Yale Record, Inc. Box 204732, New Haven, CT 06520 • yalerecord.org • Subscriptions: $50/year (print) • $10/year (electronic) All contents copyright 2021 The Yale Record, Inc. The Yale Record is a magazine produced by Yale students; Yale University is not responsible for its contents. Any resemblance to characters and events portrayed herein, without satirical intent, is purely coincidental. The Record grudgingly acknowledges your right to correspond: letters should be addressed to: Chair, The Yale Record, PO Box 204732, New Haven, CT 06520, or chair@yalerecord.org. Offer only valid at participating retailers while supplies last. The Yale Record would like to high-five the UOFC for its financial support.

THE GARGOYLE There is a gargoyle in Harkness Tower. He is a creature of living stone. When the sun sets, he gains a horrific life. His gnarled claws wrench free from the stonework. His stony eyes glimmer with an alien intelligence. Gargoyles have enormous batlike wings, and when the wind is right they can soar through the night sky. This gargoyle cannot fly. He never really learned because his parents were demolished to make room for anti-suicide grates on the windows.

Every night he leaps from the Harkness spire, and every night he plummets like the rock he is. But gargoyles are tough, and this gargoyle can climb. Up and down, up and down, the gargoyle makes his journey.

There is a gargoyle in Harkness Tower. He feeds on pigeons, but he can’t really catch them because they are small and fast, and he is big and slow and made of stone. Realistically, he catches one a month, and when he does he doesn’t really know what to do with the thing, so he just kind of waits for it to die naturally. This usually takes a week and a half, and most of those pigeons escape because they are small and fast, and he is big and slow and made of stone.

He usually only manages to eat one a year, so he’s really hungry all the time.

There is a gargoyle in Harkness Tower. Every time the carillon bells ring he is filled with fear. He does not know what those sounds are. He still hasn’t

figured it out, but his best guess is that God is mad at him. His vision of God is a really big gargoyle who can fly and catch pigeons easily. The God of Gargoyles loves all its children, even those who are slow and dumb and hungry. Every time the bells ring, the gargoyle screams and screams. Sometimes he falls off the tower.

There is a gargoyle in Harkness Tower. His name is Gurvl’ak, which is Gargoyle for “tiny sinner.” He believes he is the last of his kind. He’s wrong. There are other gargoyles in Milford, but they don’t visit because Gurvl’ak is such a fucking bummer. The gargoyle spends his days mourning the loss of his brethren. If he could drive a car he could find other gargoyles easily, but he cannot drive a car.

He is a gargoyle.

There is a gargoyle in Harkness Tower. His only friends are statues, and those cannot move or fly or talk because they are not gargoyles. At night, the gargoyle looks up at the stars and cries granite tears.

He dreams of a different life, where pigeons are slow and the ground doesn’t hurt so much. He dreams of taller towers, realer friends, and maybe even a lady gargoyle to love and to be loved by. He dreams so hard that he thrashes around with glee. The beautiful future in his mind feels so real he can almost touch it. He reaches out towards it, closer and closer.

Then he falls off the tower.

—J. Wickline

T he 24-H our I ssue

TOP TEN PLACES TO FIND THE LOCH NESS MONSTER 10. Inside a Bass Pro Shops fish tank at the mall.

9. In the Barnes and Noble manga section, after his shift at Bass Pro Shops in the same mall.

8. In line to get his license renewed at the Framingham DMV. 7. Out on the lake with his buddies from college wearing a hat that says, “Women want me, the Scottish fear me.”

6. At the MoMA, wearing a turtleneck and saying something poignant about Keith Haring.

5. Under your bed, but only because he wants to tuck you in and wish you good night.

4. On Cross Campus, handing out pamphlets about salvation to you and your friends.

3. In a corner booth at the Applebee’s by the highway, working on a plate of mozzarella sticks.

2. Across the table at the Applebee’s corner booth, wearing a cardigan, while your mom tells you that the Loch Ness Monster is your new step-dad.

1. At your wedding, walking you down the aisle with his slimy, gargantuan sea-monster legs as both of you approach your betrothed at the altar.

—A. Beer

—K. Vanlandingham

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GIRL SCOUTS ANNOUNCE CREATION OF NEW BADGE RECOGNIZING INJURY IN COMBAT

By D. Kulmizev NEW YORK, NY — In their annual announcement of new badges for the year, the Girl Scouts of America have released a collection of badges aimed at fostering leadership in young girls, including STEM exploration, civics, and a special badge for Scouts injured in combat.

Named the Pink Heart, the new badge is awarded to Scouts of all ages and recognizes those Scouts injured or killed in combat, whether hand-to-hand or armed. To be eligible for the badge, Girl Scouts must have been serving under the Girl Scouts of America when engaged in conflict that directly undermined its authority, including but not limited to refusal to buy cookies, confusing Brownies with Cadettes, or disputes with the Boy Scouts of America. Naval and air battles are also grounds for the award.

“We at the Girl Scouts take service and leadership very seriously. The Pink Heart is a badge of the highest honor, allowing Daisy Scouts and Senior Scouts alike to prove their loyalty to our cause,” Girl Scouts President Rebecca Laughlin said in a statement earlier today. “All our awards so far have honored commitment to family and community, but this is the first award we’ve given for courageously mutilating the enemy.”

Many Girl Scouts have already seized the opportunity to receive the patch. Third grader Ashley Bassett received it last week following an altercation with a Vietnam veteran in a Whole Foods parking lot in which shots were fired. “He wouldn’t buy any Thin Mints OR Samoas— it felt like an affront to both me AND the organization as a whole,” Ashley told us from her hospital bed. “Yeah, I lost my teeth, but you should see the other guy.”

At press time, the Girl Scouts were rumored to be preparing to release their newest badge, the Tech Scout Badge for Scouts who made contributions to science. Science, of course, being the American nuclear arsenal.

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MY TOTALLY ORIGINAL CAMPFIRE STORY So I hear we’re telling stories. Well I haven’t read much, but man, have I led an interesting life. I like to think I have some good stories to share, and they’re true AND personal. Seen and done ‘em all myself. It’d be awfully boring if I only told other people stories, no?

Hell, I’ve done it all. So buckle up boys, get ready to have your worlds rocked!

Back when I was a teen, I had plenty of adventures.

One day I said “fuck it” and set out to see the world with only my Harley, my washboard abs, and my best friend Pat. You would’ve thought I was invincible, with what I got away with. We were wild, me and Pat, in those early years. But only in the way two really close, totally platonic bros could have wild nights out on the town together.

We were young, hot and full of fighting spirit, so naturally we were gonna get ourselves into a bit of trouble. And boy oh boy, did we. This chick Helen had cheated on our friend Manny with this pretty boy Paris.

Obviously Manny wasn’t about to be cucked and stay quiet, so we had to back our boy when he went to call that asshole out.

Now this is when things got a little dicey. We all hung out at this dive bar called Troy’s, and people got a little divided. You were either with Manny or Paris— nobody was sitting it out. Soon you couldn’t walk into Troy’s without starting something. One night, Manny’s friend Agamemno– I mean Phil– decided to cross me.

Now, I’m a self respecting guy, so I couldn’t just sit and take it. Don’t get me wrong, I could have beaten this Phil fella blindfolded and barefoot any night of the week, but instead I stepped out for a minute. If they thought they could handle Paris’ bastard friends on the battlefield without me, I’d let them learn a lesson the hard way.

Obviously that didn’t go too well for them. Now, believe it or not (and you should believe it cause it’s true and also happened to me), Pat put on my totally sick custom leather jacket to inspire the other guys— ya know my presence has that sort of effect on the boys. It worked like a charm for a few minutes but then boom!

Paris’ brother Hector knocked him out. Just like that.

Right over the billiards table. Not to mention they forced Manny right out of his own bar and sliced up my new shoes. Crazy, right?

But they didn’t get off scot free. We snuck back

in under a mechanical bull and beat those other guys senseless later that night. We totally knocked them off their high horse. And this is true, every damn word of it. Good story, no? Well, as I said I’m just one of those guys. Interesting things just happen all around me. And if you think this one was epic, wait until you hear about one of our buddies getting home from the bar that night!

Now that one’s hard to believe...

—C. Rose

WHAT YOUR CHILDHOOD SUMMER CAMP SAYS ABOUT YOU Jewish Camp: Jewish Band Camp: Lame Rock Camp: Baller Space Camp: Lame and Rich Surf Camp: Baller and Rich Boy Scout Camp: Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave, Clean, and Reverent Girl Scout Camp: Girl Fat Camp: Fat Football Camp: Fat and Strong Cooking Camp: Fat and Rich Science Camp: Nerd Coding Camp: Meganerd Math Camp: Pathetic Nerd Journalism Camp: Deranged Knife Camp: Normal —H. Rubin

T 24-H I GO BACK I CAN NEVER TO REAL FIRES AFTER I WATCHED THE 4K FIREPLACE ON NETFLIX he

In the beginning, In the beginning, there was nothing. Then, there was noththere was light, then fire, then videos of fire. ing. Then, there And still, after videos of fire, the march of was light, then technology fire, then videos continued, and “Fireplace For Your Home” of fire. And still,descended onto this world. was I in 2008, you ask? It’s emafter videosWhere of barrassing to fire, the march of say now, but I was watching a YouTube technology con- video of a bonfire. That’s who I was, regular guy who liked regular things, like tinued, just and a“Firepellet place For Yourstoves and wood-burning stoves and gas It was a different time. But let me tell Home” stoves. descended you, when onto this world. I heard the news about “Fireplace Where For was Your I in Home,” I nearly choked on my onion andask? tahini bagel.

2008, you I mean, sure, we had all heard the rumors It’s embarrassing that Netflix had something big in the works, to say now, but but nobody could have predicted this. A new I was watching day vidhad dawned. No longer would I have to a YouTube stoop to the level of 1080p videos of fireplaceo of a bonfire. es on YouTube, because this new shit was in That’s who I was, 4K. That’s just a regular guy literally four times as good as most virtual who liked reg-fires, let alone normal fires. I mean, consider ular things, like this— most wood fires can only hope to reach pellet stoves andabout 1000°F. Meanwhile, according to Netflix, “Fireplace for Your Home” burns wood-burning withgas the wrath of 3.8 stars. stoves and Buta all good things must come to an end. stoves. It was I burned through all four episodes, differentQuickly, time. But andyou, I rewatched. Then again, and again, until let me tell had completely memorized every crinkle, when I Iheard the sputter, and roaring blaze. My life revolved news about “Firearound place For Your “Fireplace for Your Home.” I never and I forwent bagels in favor of phoHome,”slept, I nearly I called Netflix and told them to chokedtosynthesis. on my remove anything from my stream that wasn’t onion and tahini bagel. “Fireplace For Your Home.” I quit my job, they I mean,foreclosed sure, we on my house, and I lost the kids.

Now I’m in the streets of Cincinnati, living had all heard in a cardboard box. The nights are cold, and the rumors that I have to huddle around the trashcan bonfire Netflix had for warmth.

It doesn’t even let me adjust the something big volume. in the works, butSuch bullshit. nobody could have predicted

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Written by S. Leone Design by Ayla Jeddy

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DISCOVERY CHANNEL ANNOUNCES NAKED AND AFRAID SPINOFF CALLED CLOTHED AND CONFIDENT

By A. Golden SILVER SPRING, MD –– On Thursday, Discovery Channel representatives announced the long-awaited spinoff of hit TV show Naked and Afraid— Clothed and Confident. Instead of receiving only a microphone and necklace-camera, contestants are now provided with a camisole, sweater, black slacks, and statement accessory of their choice.

“We have been accused of sexualizing the act of camping due to the nudity featured on our show,” stated Creative Content Spokesperson Timothy Johnson. “Discovery Channel and its affiliates take those accusations very seriously. We want our viewers to know we value their feedback, and we are pleased to put forth a more family friendly, emotionally healthy, and physically comfortable extreme survival show.”

When asked, “Will this show be just footage of regular people camping?” Johnson answered, “No, not exactly, but in the most technical sense, yes.”

Johnson also responded to concerns about the financial burden that Clothed and Confident would place on the network, given that the Discovery Channel would now be forced to shell out on a costume department. According to Johnson, however, the network managed to break even. “Sure, we may have to pay for clothes, but we don’t have to pay the guy who censors out their privates,” he explained. “Also we make $2 billion a year. We could give them all a brand new mink coat every day if we wanted.

But they’d probably get hot. And also we don’t want to.”

A recent survey of Naked and Afraid viewers found that only about half of them would be interested in viewing Clothed and Confident. While many were concerned that the show would lose its charm if clothes were introduced, some were able to find a silver lining. “Sure, I won’t get to observe their supple thighs and back muscles as closely, but there’s something to be said about adding clothes,” noted avid viewer Jeffrey Crandall. “It’s almost more arousing, more tantalizing, to watch the tension that comes with such a simple layer of clothing. And no matter what, it’s prime time television, so the people they pick will still be hot.”

Clothed and Confident will air on the Discovery Channel on Tuesday nights at 8/7 Central. Bonus episodes, in which the contestants wear even more clothes, will stream exclusively on Discovery+.

FOLKTALE SEQUELS THAT WERE BETTER THAN THE ORIGINALS Paul Bunyan 2: 2 Paul 2 Bunyan Johnny Appleseed 2: 2 Johnny 2 Appleseed Bloody Mary 2: 2 Bloody 2 Mary Loch Ness Monster 2: 2 Loch Ness 2 Monster Chupacabra 2: 2 Chupa 2 Cabra Bigfoot 2: 2 Big 2 Foot Three Little Pigs 2: 2 Three Little 2 Pigs Humpty Dumpty 2: 2 Humpty 2 Dumpty Abominable Snowman 2: 2 Abonimable 2 Snowman The Woman With The Ribbon Around Her Neck: 2 The Woman With 2 The Ribbon Around Her Neck —Staff

—J. Eldred

T he 24-H our I ssue

HOW TO DECIDE WHO TO SACRIFICE AT THE BONFIRE It’s happened to all of us. You’re sitting around a bonfire. The spooky stories have been told. You’ve spotted the Big Dipper fifty times. The poop scoop has been used to bury your poop. What’s left? You look around at your friends and exchange a smile—it’s time to make a human sacrifice. But which of your friends should be the lucky winner of the evening? It’s a tough call for all, but we’ve got your back.

1. Don’t Neglect Seasoning.When it comes to sacrificing your friends, the gods don’t just care about a nice cut of meat. You gotta consider all the subtle flavors that make your friend group delish! Whose bug spray musk pairs best with rosemary? Whose perfume compliments a cranberry paste? The answer is probably Head of Silliman College and Professor of Psychology Laurie Santos, but it’s always good to double check.

2. Find the Virgin. Every amateur from Holland to Hoboken knows Virgins are the most fun to sacrifice.

But how can you tell in the era of fake news, fake noses, and fake friends? There’s always plan A: ask if they’ve ever touched a boob. But if that fails, you can always see if anyone is, by chance, a Professor of Psychology or Head of Silliman College (Virgin Alert)! Who leaps to their feet? The answer is probably Head of Silliman College and Professor of Psychology Laurie Santos, but it’s always good to make sure. If you’re truly desperate, suggest a game of Never Have I Ever. The peer pressure alone will reveal any maiden, whoever he, she, or the professor may be.

3. A Casual Game of Duck, Duck, Goose. Okay, so not that we’re picking favorites, but if you got to this point, you fucked up. Laurie Santos is unbelievably good at this game. The last time this happened, we all underestimated her. We were playing with Stephanie Spangler, and when she said “Goose,” Santos pounced.

We roasted Spangler under the open sky as the rules entailed. Finally, Laurie Santos leaned in and whispered, “Sacrifice is my secret to the Good Life.” And all this time, I thought it was avocado toast.

—A. Buchholz

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MICHAEL JACKSON SPOTTED DANCING IN THE GROVE STREET CEMETERY

By J. Kilga NEW HAVEN, CT—On Saturday, shocked onlookers reported a mysterious man popping and locking in the Grove Street Cemetery late at night.

Multiple reports of faint “Hee-hee”s originating from the cemetery have sparked an investigation.

The dancer, identified by groundskeeper Ralph Patterson as late pop-icon Michael Jackson, was also seen changing into his iconic red leather jacket before his elaborate performance.

“It was unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, save for when I first watched the Thriller music video in 1983,” Patterson explained. “He was just standing there, shaking his body, when suddenly a bunch of corpses rose from their graves and started joining him. It was grotesque, horrifying, to see in real life… but my hips just couldn’t stop swaying to the beat.”

An amateur video of this event was uploaded to the popular video sharing site known as YouTube.

Dead celebrities buried in the cemetery—among them Philip Seymour Hoffman, George H.W. Bush, and Jarad Anthony Higgins (known professionally as Juice WRLD)—can be seen slowly emerging from their graves, waving to the onlookers, and seamlessly joining Jackson in his impromptu performance. The video ends when Jackson grabs his crotch and jolts it forward, which causes the other dancers to collapse around him.

Jackson, who has since crawled back into his Grove Street grave, gave a short interview after his performance. “I was just trying to give back to the New Haven community, especially the kids,” he said, “Think of it as a little Shamone and a little Mama-say-mama-sa-mama-coosa as a gift.”

After the interview, he was seen giving autographs to children and rejoicing with the other dancers before waving goodbye once and for all, or at least, for now.

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N A Y N BU L U A P HOW T TO BE SO G ON GO R T S ND A G I B

T he Y ale R ecord Though young Paul Bunyan had a lumber-

Y B D E R O S N SPO D®MILK HOO

jack’s spirit, his size was lacking. Scrawny and a mere 4’11’’, he couldn’t swing an axe without the axe swinging him. His parents suggested other jobs—he could be an insurance salesman or a retail marketing manager, but these types of comments made Paul’s blood curdle. One day, as Paul sat at the dinner table, arduously trying to cut through a pad of naturally dairy-free margarine, he decided to go on a quest in pursuit of bulk.

The young man skimmed along the rivers and across the lakes of North America, hoping to get muscular. In Muskegon, he met with a CrossFit coach but felt demeaned when he was called “little buddy.” In Montreal, he asked around for advice, but all of the responses were in French, a dead language.

Finally, brave Paul reached a land called Massachusetts. On a hike through the hills, he chanced upon a group of eight-foot-tall giants and asked them for help. They led him to their leader, a giant in a red hood. Paul explained to the man that his size was not only a barrier for pursuing his dreams, but also an abundant source of insecurity and sadness.

The hooded figure replied: “Ah, I see. Sounds like you should try Hood® milk.” Paul was confused—he often drank soy “milk,” almond “milk,” and sometimes even Oatly.

“That’s not milk,” the man said. “Despite the claims of misinformed anti-dairy advocates, Hood® products are the only way to achieve physical perfection. Whether in a cheesy chicken artichoke pasta or a refreshing pumpkin eggnog, Hood® will give you the protein and micronutrients most often lacking in the American diet.”

Written by J. Gustaferro Design by Ayla Jeddy

Paul drank the giants’ milky elixir and became big and strong. Soon, he had befriended a sturdy blue ox... and a healthy, calcium rich diet, and the rest is history. Like the flavors in Hood’s® sweet and savory cottage cheeses, Paul Bunyan was known for being big and bold, and also good. Always good.

Always Hood®.

T he 24-H our I ssue

I HAD SUCH A GREAT TIME AT TRASH CAMP! What did I do this summer? I never thought you’d ask, Stacy! It’s cool and all that you went to band camp, but my summer was well… a little different from most kids’. It all started when I was playing baseball with my best friend, Spit, when he threw his ball into the old redstone quarry. Ma and Pa always told me to stay away from there, but I needed to find the ball so I could fire off a sick home run and best Spit once and for all.

Once I got to the bottom of the quarry, I couldn’t find the ball, but I did see a rope bridge. It was so long you couldn’t see the other side past the fog, but I decided to cross it anyway. When I got to the other side, I’ll never forget what I saw then— a makeshift wooden sign that read “Welcome to Camp.”

Mr. Katsopolis was the head camp counselor, and besides his weird obsession with lightning, he was a nice guy. There must have been a dozen kids or more at his famous Trash Camp, and he opened his home to each and every one of us, though he did say his real home was in the sky. He even let us meet his wife, Hera, and all his other girlfriends who would come by on the weekends. In the day, we’d roam the streets of Mr. Katsopolis’s precinct, picking up any and all the trash we could find. Big trash, little trash, young trash, old trash, we didn’t care! We knew it was our job to bring it to Mr. Katsopolis’s backyard, what he liked to call “Mound Olympus.” Once the sun set, Mr. Katsopolis spent all night rummaging through trash, looking for some kind of amulet. He said it would reunite him with his old throne. Day and night, this is what we did. We called ourselves the Trash Boys.

Believe it or not, Trash Camp became more popular every day! Heck, by July, I was given my own squadron of little Trash Tots, and we had to start setting up bunks in Mr. Katsopolis’s backyard. We all knew it wasn’t a real summer camp, and that stealing trash is illegal, but being a part of the Trash Boys really gave us a sense of purpose. But despite all the manpower, or should I say, boypower, all we could ever find was useless stuff like gold jewelry or winning lottery tickets.

All summer long… no amulet. And then one day, Mr. Katsopolis was gone. Some of us think he finally reclaimed his title as Lord of the Sky, while others think he got busted for child labor. Wherever he is, the Trash Boys will forever have an unbreakable bond, and that’s something you won’t get at band camp.

—S. Leone

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STORIES THAT WERE CUT FROM AESOP’S FABLES The Tortoise & The Slightly Faster Tortoise The Birds & The Bees The Fox Who Was Very Good At Getting Grapes From Hard To Reach Places The Tortoise & The Really Fast Tortoise The Town Mouse 2: Lost in New York The Boy Who Cried (A Memoir) The Fox & The Cocks Zootopia

—D. Hou

—J. Eldred

T he Y ale R ecord

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OPINION: I LIKE MY MARSHMALLOWS RAW

HOW JOHNNY APPLESEED MADE HIS FORTUNE

Don’t get me wrong, I can understand why some people would want to roast marshmallows to that “perfect” golden-brown. I wouldn’t wish Marshmallow-induced salmonella on my worst enemy, so I get it. I will say that the classic à point marshmallow is a bit cliché, but it’s acceptable, and doesn’t interfere much with the natural marshmallow flavor. At least, certainly not as much as a darker bien cuit treatment, with the hints of charring that ravage the sweet marshmallow flesh. But even that is nowhere near the level of the torch-waving maniacs, who seemingly find nothing sacred, who burn their marshmallows to black, conduct which should never be allowed within ten miles of any Michelin Star campfire.

That being said, my years of experience have proven to me time and again that even a lighter treatment of the marshmallow has subtle effects on the marshmallow’s chemical composition. This causes slightly caramelized undertones to come through.

This, while preferable to some, masks the true flavor of the marshmallow. While the sugar flavor certainly still comes through, the gelatin’s sophisticated zest is unfortunately crowded out. Instead, I would recommend simply warming the marshmallow in vicinity to the fire at most. Be sure to hold it adjacent to the fire and not above it, as you don’t want the smoke particles to corrupt the marshmallow and then your precious taste buds.

Of course, none of this is important if your palate is not refined enough to tolerate the marshmallow in its rawest form, just as nature intended.

Only a select few can truly appreciate all the flavor a raw marshmallow has to offer, typically after years of training, give or take a PhD. It takes an expert to immediately taste the difference between “JetPuffed,” “Kroger,” “Dandies,” “Smash Mallow,” and of course “Campfire.” But if you think you may be able to cherish the full flavor of the marshmallow, or as I like to call it, “nature’s candy,” try ordering it tartare next time.

Johnny Appleseed was born on February 24, 1955, in a town called San Francisco. When he was a young boy, his father gave him a MacIntosh apple and told him, “Son, this is the answer to all your problems. Never forget that.” Later that week, his father died in a freak forklift accident, so Johnny kept the apple in his memory.

Fifteen years later, when Johnny thought all hope was lost, he stumbled upon the apple in a box in his attic labeled “IMPORTANT.” Sadly, it had become rotten and infested with maggots. “This is no answer to my problems!” he said to himself, before entering a state of despair. Some hours later, a thought struck him—what if the apple could provide real answers to problems it was provided with?

The next morning, Johnny met with his best friends Steve and Ronald and presented them with the idea. They both loved it and got to work. A few days later, they had invented a machine which could solve problems, and they called their company Apple to honor Johnny’s father. Today, almost every person in America has at least one Apple in his house, mostly due to Johnny’s undying work in spreading Apples. It wasn’t long until Johnny became a billionaire, and everyone around the world knew his name and his trademark turtleneck and glasses. While he may no longer be with us, Johnny will live on forever as an American icon, daring us all to “Think different.”

—J. Kilga

—B. Hollander-Bodie —H. Rubin

T he 24-H our I ssue

CASPER

LENNY FROM “OF MICE AND MEN”

MY DAD — I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW HE WAS DEAD

HAROLD BLOOM

SIMON FROM “LORD OF THE FLIES”

ALL OF THE OLD HANDSOME DANS

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JAY GATSBY

HAMLET’S DAD

A STUDENT WHO GOT LOST IN THE STACKS 40 YEARS AGO

GHOSTS I’VE SEEN WHILE HAVING SEX IN THE STACKS

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T he 24-H our I ssue

THE GIRL WITH THE GREEN RIBBON Here’s a scary one for you, kids. Once there was a young woman named Jenny who lived in a small house in New Haven. The year was 1976. Jenny was very beautiful, but everywhere she went she wore a dark green ribbon around her neck. One day, she met a dashing boy named Barley Thruftler. Barley was a strong boy with big muscles, and they quickly fell in love. Within a year she and Barley were wed, with a white picket fence, a beautiful son, and a dog that misbehaved.

Even after the first year of their marriage, Barley had never seen his wife without the green ribbon.

“Dear,” he said one night, “Would you mind taking off that ribbon?” Jenny refused. “No, Barley. Go punish the dog.” A week later, he asked again. “Honey, I really would love to see you without that ribbon.” Again she refused. “No, Barley. Go punish the dog.” Soon, Barley was obsessed. He longed to see his lover’s neck untarnished by that foul flash of green. He dreamed of kissing that naked, necky neck-flesh with his big strong lips as they did the devil’s deed.

One night, when Jenny was asleep, Barley snapped.

He decided to take the cursed ribbon off himself. He opened the door… creeeeeaaaaak… then tiptoed in the room… clip clop clip clop. Then he quietly pulled the blanket back… sfffffff. Then, finally, he untied the knot… sflip sflup sflip sflup. And just like that, the ribbon was off. What he saw was so horrible I shudder to repeat it. Her dreadful secret was finally laid out to bear. When Barley pulled that ribbon off his beloved’s neck, he hardly noticed her beautiful, completely intact neck, for her arms came tumbling off her body! Barley leapt back with a shriek, and in that moment their nogood dog lunged forward, grabbed an arm in his jaws, and ran out the door.

To this day, the ghost of poor armless Jenny wanders armless through the New Haven Green. If you chance upon her, keep your distance. Her rascal of a hound is not far behind. And if you see Barley around town, say hello because he’s still alive and he’s really friendly, just a guy’s guy.

—J. Wickline

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BILLY JOEL ACQUITTED IN ARSON CASE AFTER RELEASE OF “WE DIDN’T START THE FIRE”

By A. Tawakley CENTRE ISLAND, NY — Singer-songwriter Billy Joel’s long-running legal saga has at last come to a happy end. After a compelling case by the prosecution that Joel burned down Pasquale’s Pizzeria in Oyster Bay, things were looking pretty grim for the 71 year old pop star. But in a shocking twist, Mr. Joel’s lawyer presented last minute evidence that irrefutably proved he could not have committed the crime. The evidence? His 1989 No. 1 single “We Didn’t Start the Fire.”

The Judge presiding over the case wrote in his ruling, “It’s pretty clear from the song that we—presumably Joel and his accomplices— didn’t start the fire.

And if he says he didn’t do it, he didn’t do it.”

Prosecutors expressed their gratitude to Joel not only for clarifying his own innocence, but for ruling out a number of other potential suspects. Per the Chief Prosecutor Tony Fiorentini, “Harry Truman, Doris Day, Red China, the list goes on and on and on and on. There’s a long list of people that we no longer have any reason to believe had a connection to this heinous crime. I’m not quite sure who ‘Bridge on the River Kwai’ is, but I can rest assured that he’s innocent.”

Among those ruled out is Bernhard Goetz, the culprit of a 1984 shooting in New York City that injured four, who Joel mentions in the final verse of the song. “I don’t know why they would consider me a suspect in this case, seeing as I have never even heard of a Pasquale’s Pizza,” Goetz remarked. “But, hey, now I don’t have to add arson to my legacy.”

As for the actual culprit, Joel’s song offered little evidence. “Mr. Joel mysteriously states ‘It was always burning since the world’s been turning’ in the aforementioned song,” Fiorentini explained. “I don’t think Pasquale’s has been on fire for billions of years, but I guess it’s now worth an investigation.”

At press time, officials were considering naming Sean Kingston a person of interest in response to his song “Fire Burning.”

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T he Y ale R ecord

TED CRUZ IS AT MY CAMPFIRE AND IS TELLING THIS REALLY DETAILED STORY ABOUT A SERIES OF MURDERS IN THE LATE 1960S It all started with Ted calling me up on his burner phone to tell me that he needed to get out of his house for a period of time, and fast. Classic Ted! After hearing that, I did what any good, God-loving friend would do—I invited him to my campfire! Ted showed up in that classic all-black, hooded costume he wears to ward off paparazzi, and we got the night started off right with some fresh American beer.

My buddies and I were having a great, relaxing time, but then things got weird. Ted started telling us an urban legend about a string of unsolved murders in Northern California that occurred during the late 1960s to the early 1970s. Before we knew it, he was pulling out newspaper clippings as “proof.” Ted always knows how to kill the mood, but he’s still a great guy! I told him to relax and enjoy his s’mores, but then he yelled, “The unidentified killer sent the Vallejo police department and the San Francisco Bay Area press a series of taunting letters and cards filled with cryptic messages.” Then he chuckled and whispered, “They still haven’t solved all of them,” before he started cackling like a hyena, hacking up a piece of graham cracker in the process. What a weirdo. But you gotta love Ted for who he is.

I wanted to be a good friend and let him off easy, but after he started spouting on about “how they only know about the victims in Benicia, Vallejo, Napa County, and San Francisco, respectively, between December 1968 and October 1969” and not about “his other murders after 1970,” I told him he had a bit too much to drink and to leave before things got messy. He left the campfire and in his wake, he left a little note with a bunch of weird symbols on it. We didn’t know what it meant, but you know that Ted, he loves drawing his little pictures.

After that night, it was clearer than ever—Ted’s an honest man who tries his best to lighten the mood, nothing like the one you see on TV. He certainly made our campfire one to remember for the ages. Texas, you got yourselves a killer senator!

—D. Hou

OTHER THINGS IN DAVY JONES’ LOCKER His frickin’ gym shorts His TI-84 Pinkberry Punch Card Surveillance system to guard his Pinkberry Punch Card Playboy magazines he stole from his dad The kid who wouldn’t give him his lunch money A poster of his crush with heart stickers Silly Bands His EpiPen Osama Bin Laden —Staff

—K. Vanlandingham

Call us today!

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T he Y ale R ecord

THE PARABLE OF THE FOOLISH BOY AND THE BEER “Gather round children, for all ye should well hear this tale of love and labor lost. It was a night not unlike this one, when the darkness pounded the ground with its inky fist and the cold filled every crevice like a risen tide.

You sit warmed by your fire, by your brother’s company, but these luckless souls had no such warmth to speak of.”

The professor paused. He stepped closer to the light of the fire. “You guys mind if I tell a little story?” he continued. The students shrugged, and the intruding professor took that as a yes.

“The tale be-tells two students. They sat hunched at desks, pencils in hand, a page of words written and five blank sheets ahead. They sat and wrote and sat and wrote, when suddenly,” the professor paused and raised a finger. He drew his breath and with great expression shouted, “one of the students said, ‘I’ll do this later.’

There began his end.”

The old man stopped and took a deep breath.

“The boy stood from his desk and walked from his room. He put on his finest clothes. Then he went out.

He left, and he walked to his friends, who were drinking and making merry.

“As he walked, the boy came across a bottle of Beer.

‘Hi Beer, where are you going tonight?’ ‘I’m going to see a kid who has one day to live.’ ‘Oh no. You should come to this party afterwards though. It’ll be a good time.’ The boy said goodbye to the Beer and ran ahead so he could get to his party.

“Later that night, the boy saw the Beer at the party.

‘Good to see you,’ he said. The Beer grinned. ‘Good to see you too man, you want a sip? You don’t have a paper or anything due tomorrow right?’”

The professor paused and stared at the students.

His gaze was calculated. “‘No!’” he shouted. “The boy

said ‘no.’ Beer considered the lie, obvious on the young boy’s tongue, and decided he was beyond repair.

“When the boy reached for a sip of Beer, Beer shook himself up and shot foam into the boys eyes and onto his clothes and hair. ‘That’ll teach him,’ Beer thought. But Beer had miscalculated. The boy stumbled backwards and into a bookshelf. His friends had no books, because they were stupid, but an empty bottle of whiskey who had been peacefully sleeping on the top shelf started rocking back and forth. Beer knew what he had done, but his regret would do nothing. The bottle fell with a shout from the shelf and cracked on the skull of the drunken, irresponsible boy.

“The next night, the boy awoke, dazed and with a beating headache. He did not know what day it was, and he barely knew where he was either. His friends, stupid though they were, were good people, and they fed him warm tea and scrambled eggs to recover.

“Then, just as the boy was about to return to write his paper and get some sleep, there was a knock at the door. It was Beer. He was holding a knife. Before the boy could react with even a kick, Beer had lunged forward and slid the knife into the willing chest of the irresponsible boy. The boy was dead, and he never even wrote his paper.”

There was silence around the campfire. Then the professor belched. “Can I have another marshmallow, please?”

“No, sorry, we’re almost out, and Sara hasn’t had her second one yet.”

“Oh, alright. Anyway, the other student stayed in and wrote his paper and did not die. Could I grab a seat for a little bit? I sure am tired.”

“No dude. Get out of here. You’re being weird.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry about that.” The professor stepped back from the light and continued his walk. To where is not known.

—J. Eldred

—A. Lin

SHOULD WE REPORT STACEY IN CABIN 3 FOR SMOKING WEED? T he 24-H our I ssue

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