The After Dark Issue

Vol. 143, No. 5

THE YALE

Feb. 1, 2015

RECORD

THE RECORD AFTER DARK

Motivational notes to my middle-aged self

Writing & llustration: D. Friedman

This issue is dedicated to Luchang Wang, a hilarious writer and kind soul.

The Yale Record THE RECORD AFTER DARK

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Mailbags & Snews

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Editorial................... S. Stern

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Shorts

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Features.................... Staff & Contributors DEMOCRATS TARGET NOCTURNAL EMISSIONS

J. Rutter

LOCAL MAN LAUDS NEW HAVEN GREEN’S NIGHTLIFE

A. Corcoran

FRESHMAN GETS SEXILED FROM SINGLE

I. Gonzalez

YALE TOUR GROUP EXPOSES SECRETS OF THE BLUE LIGHT SYSTEM

N. Sanghvi

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THAT ESSAY YOU DRUNKENLY WROTE LAST NIGHT

G. Ambrose

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YALE NOIR

R. Lackner

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GOODNIGHT MOON FOR THE COLLEGE SOUL

M. Kaplan

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ROBOT SEX INSTRUCTIONS

E. Campbell-Taylor,

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Dear Snow White, I know you picked all of our names based on characteristics, but could you change mine to Sleepy? A bunch of British people have been telling me that I’m a receptacle for baby shit.

—Nappy

ORPHANAGES ACROSS AMERICA EXCITED FOR YALE-HARVARD GAME, CALLING IT ‘TOTALLY NOT AN ELITIST SPECTACLE OF EPICUREAN SELF-DELUSION’

E. Sandford

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Shorts

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Mailbags & Snews

WOMAN KEEPS HUSBAND’S BALLS IN AN IRON VISE, ALSO KEEPS HIM UNDER CONTROL Dear Stella, There once was a man from Nantucket.

He tried to make money, With poetry written for his honey, But then he said, “just fuck it.”

And murdered a novelist.

—A disgruntled poet whose wife, Stella, just left him for a novelist

Dear little red wagon filled with unripe tomatoes, Aww, you shouldn’t have!

—Greg, who has a birthday today and wrote on his wishlist that he wanted unripe tomatoes for a sauce he’s going to make later but wasn’t sure anyone was going to get them for him because it’s not really the season and also all of his friends are in Iraq right now

WOMAN KEEPS HUSBAND ON TIGHT LEASH, ALSO KEEPS HIM UNDER CONTROL

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GIRL WHO WON’T STOP COUGHING Fine IN TD LIBRARY DESERVES WORSE Indian THAN DEATHCuisine “AHey treatguys, for the senses.”

Don’t forget the—Hartford nachos! Courant “Amid —Person elegance, a telling variety ofanIndian dishes.” inside joke —New York Times

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Dear redheaded lady passing on the street, Dinner Sunday - Thursday: 5:00 PM - 10:00 PM Does the carpet match the grapes?

Friday - Saturday: 5:00 PM - 10:30 PM —A French pervert

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PHD STUDENT JAMES FRANCO PLEASES PROFESSORS WITH GREAT ORALS, ALSO IMPRESSES THEM WITH SUCCESSFUL ORAL EXAMINATIONS 148 York Street, New Haven, CT 06511 203-776-8644 www.zaroka.com

My fellow Americans, Now, this may seem like a drastic idea- but hear me out. What if—and just listen—what if, for a full day, we just turned laws off? Now, this may seem like a terrible concept that will not only result in thousands of deaths and will almost certainly Ensure that we will never regain law and order, but I really think this might miraculously solve all our problems.

—That one Senator who came up with the idea for “The Purge”

NORTH DAKOTA REVEALED TO BE ELABORATE RUSE Dear faucet, I’d tap that.

—A horny teenager

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The Yale Record

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Serving the Yale Community since 1988

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advice • graphic & web design • digital & offset printing • copying & scanning • mailing • free pickup & delivery • and much more! please visit our website for detailed information:

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NEW REPORT CLAIMS THERE ARE A LOT OF WEDNESDAYS IN 36 YEARS Dear string theory, I don’t get what’s so confusing. It’s a string.

—A man who doesn’t actually understand strings, but wants to seem smart

NEW CHILDHOOD OBESITY STUDY LAUDED FOR LARGE SAMPLE SIZE

Deer kite, This isn’t working so well. At least you have a tail.

—A man who tied a string around a deer

LOCAL HABERDASHER STRUGGLES TO MAKE ENDS MEET, FORCED TO EAT HIS OWN HAT Dear Faucet, I’d tap that.

THE SUN NEVER SETS ON THE BRITISH EMPIRE, REPORTS MAN IN BRITISH ANTARCTIC COLONY IN THE SUMMER Dear your honor, Blood on the carpet? What would that even mean? She didn’t have any pets, and her living room wasn’t a car.

—A guy who’s totally botching his murder trial

—A horny teenager

on the corner of Park and Elm Open Fri-Sat: 11:30 am-3:00 am & Mon-Thurs: 11:30 am-11:00 pm

We deliver! Find us on Grubhub or call 203-782-6000

Emmy Waldman ‘11

s you know, things get scary at night. Maybe it’s the bats swooping overhead, or maybe it’s the snakes circling below (I live in a swamp), or maybe it’s the ghosts (it’s a haunted swamp), but nighttime is when things are the creepiest!

Nighttime is when hibernating bears wake up and lose their shit. Nighttime is when Shelly Kagan’s alter ego, Mr. Hyde, emerges. Nighttime is when you ponder what other parts of Freddy’s body are long and knives. Nighttime is when Brodes head to Toad’s cause it’s Woads and they have no comp sci tomorrow so there’s no need to write Codes (I ran out of –odes). Nighttime is when significant others do significant things with significant body parts and significant orifices (orifi?). Nighttime is scary!

So, in a meek effort to dispel some of the profound horror of evening, we here at the Record decided to write an entire issue devoted to things that go on after hours— parties, dreams, nightmares, naughty stuff. Making this issue was sort of like immersion therapy, but humor writing! However, before we get to the issue, I feel the need to lull you in, to prepare you, for the after-dark-ness. Thus, behold, hark, etc., the Record’s classic ghost story!

T’was midnight, and dark out, at Yale University And the staff of the Record, in all their perversity, Were considering ideas for their latest edition.

Their goal was to amuse, but also, contrition.

Their last issue, you see, was not up to snuff.

There had been something off, lots of crap, lots of fluff, Like a poem in the middle of a normal editorial.

So the Recordians needed help, like someone trying to find a rhyme for editorial.

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They sat there deep in thought, pondering, thinking, When all of a sudden, like an orphan’s lifeboat, sinking Appeared a large bird, it’s feathers black as night.

It rapped on the window, and gave them all a big fright.

With that realization, we could finish our writing.

Nothing else happened, nothing remotely exciting.

We could write many stories of Yale after dark.

And then, ravens aside, we could just disembark.

“What was that?!” shrieked Aaron, “Stay back! I know juijitsu!”

“Oh no!” cried Natalie, “Now we’ll never finish our issue!”

Then, extending its claw, wrinkled and orange, The bird entered the office, and sat on our door-hinge.

But the valuable lesson we learned on that day is, All the emphasis on how black are scary things is really quite racist.

And maybe, as you sit there, a smile on your face, You won’t notice that I just used a “ghost story” to fill up this space.

The bird was so creepy, so scary, so weird.

Its plumage as black as Blackbeard’s black beard.

Like a gargoyle, it just sat there, and moved not an inch.

We didn’t know quite what to do in this pinch.

But then Daniel remarked, so suave, so brazen, “Who the fuck cares, it’s just a dumb raven.”

And with that we went back to writing our pieces.

With just a little reflection, fear sure decreases.

A little reflection, actually, reveals a lot.

Like the fact that our issue was never not hot.

We had simply confused it, in our lack of Zen, For a tattered edition of the ol’ YDN! And that is the truly scary part of this story.

We need no details bloody, no photographs gory To tell a chilling tale of nighttime, of the living and dead.

What you think is most disturbing is mostly in your head.

Aaron Gertler ’15 Chairman

Also, ghosts!

So, what’d you think? Sort of scary, huh? Ravens are apparently really scary to some people.

Well, now that you’re ready, you can proceed to read the Record After Dark issue. It may contain things you’ve always wanted to read, such as the inner monologue of a condom or drunk texts from Peter Salovey. It may contain terrifying revelations, such as the existence of Ronnell Higgins’s secret vigilante crusade or the show that comes on after Adult Swim. It may contain lots of jokes about Toad’s. Or maybe it’ll have more of my poetry! Enjoy.

—S. Stern Editor-in-Chief

Scott Stern ’15 Editor-in-Chief

Natalie Warren ’17 Art Director

Sasha Rae-Grant ’18 Assistant Design Editor

Sam Savitz ’17 Business Manager

Madeline Kaplan ’17 Managing Editor

Sahil Gupta ’17 Online Editor

Zach Schloss ’15 Publicity Manager

Chris Rudeen ’17 Copy Editor

Nick Goel ’16 Publisher Daniel Hoogstraten ’17 Design Editor

Rachel Lackner ’17 Ethan Campbell-Taylor ’16 Special Projects Director Staff Director

Ian Gonzalez ’16 Managing Editor

Ben Rudeen ’17 Managing Editor

Ben Garfinkel ’16 Supplementals Editor

Mitchell Nobel, LAW ’16 Legal Counsel

Staff Writers, Artists, & Designers: Graham Ambrose ‘18, Brian Beitler ‘18, Louisa Cone ‘18, Amanda Corcoran ‘18, Valcy Etienne ‘16, Max Goldberg ‘17, Chasan Hall ‘18,

Mikayla Harris ‘17, Annelisa Leinbach ‘16, Mitchell Harris ‘16, Alison Mansfield ‘17, Victoria Kim ‘15, Tom McCoy ‘17, Archie Kinnane ‘18, Andrew Megerian ‘18, Joseph Kuperschmidt ‘16, Elizabeth Miles ‘17, Doo Lee ‘16, Isaac Morrier ‘17, Roger Lopez ‘18, Alex Ringlein ‘18,

Jonathan Rutter ‘18, Luchang Wang ‘17, Natalya Sanghvi ‘18, Madeleine Witt ‘15, Harrison Schneider ‘17, Alex Zhang ‘18 Justin Shi ‘18, Sarah Sukin ‘18, Teddy Thum ‘18, Lining Wang ‘15,

Contributing Writers, Artists, & Designers: Dan Friedman ‘17, Alyssa Knapp ‘18, Jolanta Pach ‘18, Alejandra Padín-Dujon‘18, Emily Sandford ‘14, Julia Shi

Special Thanks to: Our brand new staffers (seriously, look at that staff list), our brand old staffers, our former online editor Emily Sandford (who’s still writing!), and Mitt “So Much Material” Romney.

Cover: This month’s cover was illustrated by Madeleine Witt, a genius we do not deserve. We should totally be paying her...but we’re not!

Founded September 11, 1872 • Vol. CXLIII, No. 5, Published in New Haven, CT by The Yale Record, Inc. Box 204732, New Haven, CT 06520 • yalerecord.com/magazine • Subscriptions: $50/year (print) • $10/year (electronic) All contents copyright 2015 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: Chairman, The Yale Record, PO Box 204732, New Haven, CT 06520, or chairman@yalerecord.com. Offer only valid at participating retailers while supplies last. The Yale Record would like to high-five the UOFC for its financial support.

INNER MONOLOGUE OF AN ALL-NIGHTER 8:00 p.m. I have so much work to do. I have a paper and a project and a p-set. Jesus, why didn’t I get started on this last Tuesday when it was assigned?

Maybe I should have gone to that class just once.

9:00 p.m. OK, I’m making some progress here. I can take a break and go on Facebook.

9:45 p.m. Oh my god, did I just black out? Fuck you, Mark Zuckerberg. Fuck you and your smarmy, hairless face. What time is it? Jesus, that paper is due in two hours! Alright, I can do this. No more distractions! It’ll take arrow-like focus and self-control, but I think I can buckle down and finish this thing.

9:47 p.m. [absentmindedly opens Facebook again] 10:30 p.m. Well, I didn’t read the book that this paper is supposed to be based on, but I’m confident I can find analysis and quotes to use on Google.

10:49 p.m. OK, I’m not going to be able to reach this page limit, but maybe if I set six-inch margins and use a really big font like Gill Sans Ultra Bold the professor won’t notice.

11:00 p.m. I need coffee. And food. I wonder if the buttery is open.

11:59 p.m. Wait, it was the p-set that was due at midnight, not the paper. Fuuuuuuuuck.

12:15 p.m. OK, well, the p-set’s a lost cause, but I can still change that class to Credit/D/Fail.

12:17 p.m. You can switch a class FROM but not TO Credit/D? What kind of fascist dictatorship am I living under??

12:40 p.m. It’s probably not too late to change my major. I could do philosophy. I think about stuff.

1:00 a.m. Wait, is that lab report due tomorrow too?

Shit.

1:50 a.m. Ok, so I’ve done all the calculations…

500% error?! I have more mass at the end than when I started! Did I break the laws of physics?

In my ignorance have I shattered the very fabric of reality and ascended to godhood?

1:52 a.m. Nope. Divided wrong.

2:30 a.m. So I’ve built up a tolerance for coffee and it no longer keeps me awake. I’m now drinking a 30% (by mass) solution of pure aqueous caffeine. This will probably kill me but I haven’t been to my bio lecture often enough to know for sure…

2:45 a.m. I can’t feel my legs.

2:50 a.m. Am I growing fangs?

3:30 a.m.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep And miles to go before I sleep 4:15 a.m. Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.

5:15 a.m. The light, it buuurrrrnnns!!!!!

5:25 a.m. Wait, is today Sunday? None of this is due until tomorrow!

—C. Hall

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WHAT HIS SOCK ON THE DOOR REALLY SAYS Tube sock: He’s a virgin Gym sock: He’s aggressive Dress sock: He paid for an expensive dinner Red sock: He’s a communist Blue sock: He’s a Democrat Orange sock: Who the fuck wears orange socks?

Underpants: Doesn’t wear socks, believes they’re oppressive Thigh high: What the fuck?

Two socks: Overcompensating, not actually having sex Sock puppet: Lots of foreplay, or schizophrenic Condom: Oops Panties: Daaaaaamn, son —J. Shi

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SLANG FOR GENITALS YOU HAVEN’T HEARD OF Mexican Jumping Bean Didgeridoo Tree of Life Hungry Hungry Hippo Magic Watering Hole Cumquat Napoleon Dynamite Fertile Crescent Muffler Dennis Rodman Baby Button Mitch McConnell —A. Zhang

D. Friedman

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THE INNER MONOLOGUE OF DJ ACTION 10:39 p.m. An impenetrable silence blankets the club moments before opening. In the calm, a recurring question vexes me yet again: On what fiscal foundation does Toad’s operate? In all my statistical, monetary analyses, I can muster no scenario in which this establishment lands in the black. Look at the calculus of it: penny shots, free admission on victorious game-days, and an underutilized private room languishing atop the club. I fail to see the economic sense in it. But alas, I continue to labor.

11:02 p.m. The doors open, and the battle begins again. Am I Hannibal in the Alps, destined for glory? Or Leonidas at Thermopylae, doomed to fall? As security refuses to admit a belligerently drunk man, it appears as though I must wait and see.

11:29 p.m. Watching two half-naked girls dry hump a lacrosse goalie, I cannot help but wonder, is the ontological consideration of causality a priori in a Kantian sense or instantiated through experience existentially? Mead’s more compelling work argued thusly, but recent academic citations suggest a general scholarly exodus from this once rather innocuous question. Still, I’m left wanting.

11:43 p.m. I bear despondence as the boss tells me to “blow dat speaker with da bass.”

Does he not foresee the audial repercussions on the young, unprotected ears in tonight’s crowd? I assign to persuade him of the latest medical research on the topic.

11:58 p.m. The lights bounce and I wax poetic. The words assault me me with every ounce of their meaning:

A. Corcoran

O! Ye Toad’s!

Hark not on drunken revelry.

Waste not in the ecstasy of one regrettable evening song.

Feed on the water, on the air and the music in your tank, too.

And go forth, my tadpoles. Go forth.

12:23 a.m. An inebriated patron makes an eloquent plea for the inclusion of A$AP Rocky. On this otherwise inconsequential evening, despite a decidedly intoxicated disposition, she has retained a loquacious manner. I am moved. It reminds me of a favorite passage of Shakespeare from my childhood: “When devils will the blackest sins put on / they do suggest at first with heavenly shows.”

12:55 a.m. Grant me the chance to muse here on this institution’s signature canticum vale, “Livin’ on a Prayer.” I’m befuddled by its blithe indignation of contemporary metaphysical conventions. Is individual agency really to be subsumed to the whims of some far-off deity? No, Mr. Bon Jovi, I’ve never been a subscriber. But, then, what else is a budding philosopher to think in a shit-hole nightclub?

—G. Ambrose

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SEX POSITIONS YOU HAVEN’T HEARD OF

WORST TIMES/PLACES TO WAKE UP

Froggy Style: Doggy style, but both people are crouched awkwardly Toady Style: Back to front in a slimy New Haven nightclub.

The 6699: Two 69’s stacked on top of each other.

The 666999: Three 69’s stacked on top of each other.

The 6669999: The phone number for a pizza joint in Tallahassee, FL. The Station Wagon Road Trip: You end up loading way too much stuff in the back end.

The Subprime Mortgages Bundled in Credit Default Swaps and the American People: One partner is excessively contorted and the other one gets fucked hard.

The Reverse Reverse Cowgirl: Basically just regular Cowgirl.

The Barbara Walters’s 10 Most Interesting People: A bunch of celebrities fuck each other while Barbara Walters watches.

The People’s Choice Awards: A bunch of celebrities fuck each other while no one watches.

The Australian Kiss: Like a French kiss, but down under.

The Lesothoan/South African Kiss: Like a French kiss, but with one partner inside the other.

The Israeli Kiss: Like a French kiss, but constant frictions keep things interesting.

At a party that you are fairly sure didn’t start as a naked party.

With a math TA telling you to hand in your test.

During surgery (as the patient).

During surgery (as the doctor).

During surgery (as an onlooker who is allergic to watching surgery).

10:12am, cuz fuck that time in particular.

To the sound of your roommate making sweet, passionate love.

To the sound of your roommate making sweet, passionate love to himself.

To the sound of your geriatric professor cheering him on.

To the sound of your geriatric professor joining in.

Poland, September 1, 1939.

In the crow’s nest of the Titanic, April 19, 1912, just a little too late to do your job well.

Cambridge, Massachusetts, any time.

Just before your boring dream turns into a sex dream.

Just before you sex dream turns into an ice cream dream.

—B. Beitler

—S. Savitz LESS COMMON NAKED PARTY THEMES Totally Not Homoerotic Bro Night Timmy’s Fifth Birthday Party Knives Communicable Diseases First Date The Upcoming Film Adaptation of Paddington Bear ...Dad? Sorry About Your Failed Liposuction, Andy No Shave November A Pro-Concealed Carry Rally Attack Dogs Young Ron Howard Welcome Home from Sex Rehab, Grandpa Crab Fest Crabs Fest —C. Rudeen and R. Lackner

HOURS WHEN YALE IS DARK January 1, 2015: Until 7:18 a.m. and after 4:33 p.m.

January 2, 2015: Until 7:18 a.m. and after 4:34 p.m.

January 3, 2015: Until 7:18 a.m. and after 4:35 p.m.

January 4, 2015: Until 7:18 a.m. and after 4:36 p.m.

January 5, 2015: Until 7:18 a.m. and after 4:37 p.m.

January 6, 2015: Until 7:18 a.m. and after 4:38 p.m.

January 7, 2015: Until 7:17 a.m. and after 4:39 p.m.

January 8, 2015: Until 7:17 a.m. and after 4:40 p.m.

—J. Shi

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Government Stops Working to Save Daylight GREENWICH, CT – In a landmark decision last week, the United States government has ended the beloved tradition of daylight savings time. Since that time, riots have broken out across the country at 2 a.m. every night in protest of the decision.

“I had just figured out how to remember whether to set my clocks forward or backward,” local man Rich Bloomfeld yelled while smashing a grandfather clock with a child’s golf club. “Spring forward and fall backward. Now what am I supposed to do?

Spring nothing and fall nothing? How will I ever remember that?”

College kids around the country also spoke out against the change. “I look forward every year to that hour in the fall where I can do whatever I want and then there are no consequences,” local fraternity brother Chaz Lite said while pounding a beer. “That’s

what daylight savings time is all about, right?” Lite went on to say the words “Bro” and “Totally” and then misattribute a famous Shakespeare quote.

Supporters of the plan told us that daylight savings time is “unnecessarily confusing” and “unnatural” and “that thing my parents call me about twice a year.” The governor of the state of Arizona went on the record as saying, “We hope this is the first of many such policies that the US government will model after our own.” The US government declined to comment.

It is unclear whether or not the government will reverse the change in response to the widespread criticism and confusion. Sources say that plans have been discussed to have the time change every day so that citizens will remember to change their clocks and never again be late to an important newspaper meeting where they are assigned a dumb article as a result.

—C. Rudeen

When It’s Night Here, It’s Daytime in TD NEW HAVEN, CT – This past week, President Peter Salovey sent out his usual start-of-the-semester email, but the news it contained was received, by at least some students, with unusually mixed feelings. Timothy Dwight College, named after two distinguished university presidents and appropriately located in the far corner of the Eastern Hemisphere, has been placed in a different time zone. The continental U.S. time zones will now be as follows: Pacific Standard Time, Mountain Standard Time, Central Standard Time, Eastern Standard Time, and Timothy Dwight Time (TDT).

President Salovey admitted that this “will be a rather big change” and that “setting Timothy Dwight in a different time zone may be a very serious breach of federal law,” but insists that it was a much better option than other proposals considered by the administration, namely to make Timothy Dwight its own college altogether, to ask TD students to take online courses instead of attending regular classes, or to murder all of TD. All university event times will now be posted in EST/TDT format. In addition, Commons has changed its dining hours and meal plans to best accommodate TD students and the rest of campus at the same time, with Breakfast/Dinner, Lunch/ Midnight Snack, and Dinner/Insomniac meals. Because food variety is limited to what can be served

at any given time, dining hall operations manager Dan Rogers is glad that college students, similar to beasts left out in the wild and mangy stray dogs, will “pretty much eat anything.” This means that oatmeal, typically only served at breakfast, may now be labeled under a more all-encompassing name, such as “soup,” and that cereal, already a versatile anymeal food for some students, will be ground up into ambiguous blobs resembling veggie burgers.

Responses to the change have varied widely.

Some praise the time zone shift for finally setting straight the abnormality of it being nighttime at TD while daytime across the rest of Yale’s campus. Others disagree. Politically conscious junior Sharon Roderick ’16 is angry at the administration for apparent “lack of concern for the approval of Congress, the Constitution of the United States of America, or really any greater implications at all,” while Ted Howards ’18 argues that the time change has left him utterly confused as to “what time” it’s “socially acceptable” to “drink.”

Whether or not this will be a beneficial change for TD, or for the rest of the Yale students, is yet to be seen, but I think we can all agree that Yale’s next move should be to land a space probe on TD within the year 2020.

—J. Pach

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DREAMS I’VE BEEN HAVING LATELY The one where you wake up in your roommate’s body and watch yourself sleep for hours The one where your uncle is alive again and still has all of his limbs, even though you buried them several miles apart The one where a bird gets stuck in your hair and you wake up and it turns out that a bird is stuck in your hair The one where you’re taking an exam and you forgot to study, but then suddenly you remember everything – literally every single thing that ever happened to you in your entire life – and the sensory overload drives you insane, and you start madly gibbering and dancing around the room, at which point you realize you also forgot to wear pants The one where you wake up in your uncle’s body and you don’t have any arms or legs The one where you wake up in the body of a bird stuck in your roommate’s hair, and then the screaming of your roommate wakes you up, and you are both yourself and the bird at the same time and the contradiction is so intense that your teeth begin to fall out The American Dream The one where you keep waking up but you’re still dreaming and then you write a piece for the Yale Record in your dream but it’s not there when you wake up, so you write this piece instead —A. Gertler

OTHER THINGS THAT CRAWL INTO YOUR MOUTH WHILE YOU’RE ASLEEP A cactus, mistakenly attempting to hibernate for the winter The ceiling when the suite above you parties way too hard An ant that’s just looking for love An ant that’s willing to settle since, let’s face it, he isn’t getting any younger Spiders—but they crawled back out again Words that make you wish you hadn’t drank that whole handle A single burnt umber running sock The illusion of happiness The allusion to happiness (via a broken shelf and lots of romance novels) Ill-aimed projectile vomit The painful realization that you did in fact miss the last question on the exam Spider-man Nothing—you stopped sleeping in high school —S. Sukin

NEW HAVEN, CONN ECTICU T ·

MONDAY, JAN. 26,2014 2015 · V OL. CXXXIV, NO. 5

· yalerecord.com

Democrats Target Nocturnal Emissions

BY JONATHAN RUTTER STAFF REPORTER WASHINGTON D.C — As a newly energized Republican party prepares to take control of Congress, Democratic senators are attempting to cement their shining legacy with a landmark piece of legislation targeting nocturnal emissions.

The proposed bill, technically known as Questionable Jizzness Practices Bill 01, complements a long line of other emissions-related standards, especially limitations on carbon, by placing new restrictions on nocturnal emissions, which generally occur when male citizens ejaculate while asleep.

“The United States needs to step up and accept its role in the long-running global fight against wet dreams,” said Senate majority leader Harry Reid (D-NV). “Nocturnal emissions tear at the fabric of our society and seep into the fabric of our underwear.”

Surveys show that a majority of the pubic remains in the dark regarding the consequences of their emissions. Bed temperatures are reaching record highs across the world, especially in young developing nations whose primal urges are only just awakening. Semen levels have recently been rising at alarming rates, costing hundreds of dollars in damages to what the EPA has described as “all sorts of sheet.” Scientists fear that these emissions may even burst through the “O” zone, leaving people around the world with medical complications including high blood pressure and uncontrollable moaning.

President Barack Obama expressed his support for nocturnal emissions standards when he addressed the United Nations in September, saying, “On behalf of the United States of America, I assure you that change is cumming [sic].”

On the other side of the political spectrum, this last-ditch spurt

WHY WAS THIS ON OUR HARD DRIVE...?

of Democratic spirit has been met with opposition from Republicans and the conservative media.

“There is simply no evidence that human activity is affecting the dryness of bed linens,” said Representative Michele Bachmann (RMN) on the floor of the House last week. “Nocturnal emissions are

simply a testament to America’s pulsing economy and rock-hard resolve. Once again we have a situation in which liberals are threatening our most precious American Dreams.” Democrats have been quick to point out that 30 percent of Representative Bachmann’s campaign funds in 2014 were provided by Tide® and their Loads for Hope program.

With the 113th session of Congress meeting for a final time next week, the nocturnal emissions debate still has yet to climax. President Obama lamented at a recent press conference that it is already becoming much the same sticky mess as the climate change debate.

“I really don’t think this needs to be so hard,” he added. “It’s just time for Congress to do what it does best—beat around the bush.”

Contact JONATHAN RUTTER at join@yalerecord.com

Local Man Lauds New Haven Green’s Nightlife

BY AMANDA CORCORAN STAFF REPORTER NEW HAVEN, CT — Charles Smith, a New Haven resident, sent shockwaves through South-Central-Eastern Connecticut this week with his claims that the New Haven Green is “an absolute paradise” after dark. “I know it seems frightening, even downright life-threatening,” Smith said. “But believe me: I had a wonderful experience on the Green a few days ago.”

“It was my first time going through at night,” Smith says. “I’ve lived here for over forty years but always avoided it. Can you imagine that?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “But two nights ago I really wanted Buffalo Wild Wings and it

was so cold out that I decided to take the shorter way and cut through.”

“I had just entered when a large hooded man came lumbering towards me. He grabbed me by the shoulders and reached his hand into his pocket. At that point, I thought I was about to die, or at the least get mugged. Both options made me very upset because I really wanted those wings. But anyway, when he pulled out his hand, it wasn’t a gun, but instead a shimmering party invitation with Peter Salovey’s face on it!”

Smith describes the rest of the night as “amazing,” “inspirational,” and “epic—SO epic like dude you don’t even know.” He says that at one point he found himself dancing with Toni Harp while being serenaded by

DAAANG... LOOK AT ‘EM CUMULONIMBUSES

the Whiffenpoofs and pelted with wenzels. Also, it turns out those “gunshots” you hear every once in a while are actually fireworks, sent up whenever someone new enters the party! Also, the “murders” you hear about sometimes are really just pretend! Unicorns!

He pauses for a moment, a slight smile forming on his face. “I loved it so much that I live on the Green now so I never miss another night again!”

Students have since received

an email from Yale Chief of Police Ronnell Higgins warning them of “a deranged man living out a New Haven fantasy on the Green” and reminding them that “everything is dangerous all the time always and you should never go outside.

Love, Ronnell.”

Contact AMANDA CORCORAN at join@yalerecord.com

Freshman gets sexiled from single

BY IAN GONZALEZ STAFF REPORTER NEW HAVEN, CT — Yale freshman John Yao ‘18 thought he would be safe from the college phenomenon known as “sexiling” after learning he had been placed in a single in Welch entryway A. But thanks to some obscure (and somewhat controversial) subclauses in the dense piece of legislation that governs such aspects of college life—statute 713B, colloquially known as the “Bro Code,” the “Fratute”, or the “Ten Brommandments”—Yao found himself without a bed to sleep in one chilly November evening.

“My suitemate Nick came back with a girl that Saturday night, which was pretty normal,” Yao said. “I remember thinking that his roommate, Todd, would be pissed

about getting sexiled again.” But when Todd returned to the room an hour later accompanied by a prospective sexual partner, he was far from angry; instead, he calmly asserted his legal right to Yao’s bed.

“At first I thought he was insane,” Yao recalled. “He got down on one knee before me and announced that he was ‘officially invoking subclause 54c of the Bro Code.’ I protested, but we pulled out the copy of the Bro Code that Yale helpfully distributes along with the bluebook and it was pretty clear. He had every legal right to fuck in my bed.”

Subclause 54c of the Bro Code is only a sentence long. It clearly states that “Any bro who has been sexiled from his room via legal invocation of subclause 9a and who needs a room to engage in sexual intercourse with a partner (of at-

tractiveness rating greater than 6/10) has every right to fuck in the bed of a bro with a single (thereby sexiling said bro) as long as compensation in the form of a six-pack or equivalent is promised.” This allows for Yale students to sexile not only their suitemates with singles, but anyone ruled by the Code. Saybrook Master Paul Hudak has admitted that on one occasion several years ago, he too was affected by this same law.

“He had every right to fuck in my bed,” said Hudak of the incident. “The law is the law, especially when you have a reputation as a chill-as-fuck master to uphold.”

Although the circumstances under which subclause 54c applies are fairly limited, a number of Yalies, including John Yao, have expressed serious concerns about its implications.

Yale Tour Group Exposes Secrets of the Blue Light System

BY NATALYA SANGHVI STAFF REPORTER NEW HAVEN, CT — All official campus tours have three key components: a stop at the Woolsley statue on Old Campus, a trip to the tour guide’s college, or, as he will inevitably introduce it, “The Best College (forced laughter),” and a stop at one of the 514 (give or take 14) blue lights stationed around campus. Bright-eyed tour guides are apt to explain the importance of these phone systems, and to assure prospective parents that Yale police will quickly respond to a student’s call of distress. Though tourists have often wondered to themselves about the truth of the blue light system, until recently none had ever been brave enough to test it.

Last week, a tour group from the little town of Meredosia, IL, known the world over for its fa-

mous button factory, came to visit Yale’s campus. While spectators were impressed with SML and dazzled by Commons, what this group was really drawn to was the blue light system. One eager young man, Greg McGinnis, who had been working in the Meredosia Button Factory since his sixth birthday, became completely entranced by the glowing blueness of these emergency buttons.

“I just thought to myself, ‘Greg, have you ever seen such a lusciously pushable button in all your life?’” recalled McGinnis. “And then the voice of God answered me with a clear and surprisingly feminine, ‘No! Never in all my days have I seen such a fine button.’ So in the end, there was no other choice. I had to push that button.”

And push the button he did. At

precisely 4:37 pm, McGinnis applied pressure to the round surface of a blue light call button. Nothing could have prepared him for what followed: as soon as the supple flesh of his pointer finger made contact with the cold metal button, a chasm opened in the ground under his feet and from the bowels of the earth sprang eleven-time American Music Award winner and mother of Blue Ivy Carter, Beyoncé Delano Knowles, accompanied by Marilyn Manson and the ghost of polio-vaccine inventor and amateur harpist Jonas Salk. According to tourist Jenny Simons, the trio was dressed in “a hypnotic blend of bright-pink fur coats, thigh-high patent leather go-go boots, and a plethora of Silly Bandz. Marilyn then reached into his zebra-print bag and pulled out

“6/10 is just nuts as a lower bound,” said Chad Chadson ’15, a brother of SAE who hopes to study the Bro Code and related legislation in law school next year. “Realistically speaking, bed-fucking rights shouldn’t be given up for any less than a 9. That’s something I strongly believe.”

Yao expressed similar sentiments.

“I’m aware that the Code – first drafted in 1858 by Abraham Lincoln – is an integral part of the great nation we know today,” Yao told the News. “But isn’t it important for bros to question the past and to grow with the times? The law should at least call for a six-pack of Blue Moon – Todd got me fucking Keystone.”

Contact IAN GONZALEZ at join@yalerecord.com

his eye shadow case and began giving Jonas smokey eyes, which, according to Simons, were better than anything every seen on a catwalk for New York Fashion Week.

The group then broke into a soulful rendition of Whitney Houston’s “Million Dollar Bill,” which McGinnis called, “emotional” and “largely out-of-tune.”

After the song finished, the three disappeared back into the ground.

The baffled tour guide tried to play it cool and convince the group that she had been in on the truth of the blue lights all along.

McGinnis said that the release he felt after pushing the button was nothing compared to the rush of seeing his three favorite singers perform together. “Totally worth pushing the button,” said McGinnis. “It was probably my second-favorite part of the tour, after touching the foot.”

Contact NATALYA SANGHVI at join@yalerecord.com

Writing: G. Ambrose| Design: S. Rae-Grant, D. Hoogstraten

Writing: R. Lackner | Design: S. Rae-Grant, D. Hoogstraten

Writing: M. Kaplan | Design: S. Rae-Grant

T he Y ale R ecord

22

GIVE YOURSELF EXISTENTIAL DREAD: R.L. STINE BOOKS FOR ADULTS

sex

SEX POSITIONS, EXPLAINED: Hi guys! It’s your boy Virgin Vince here, packing all the naughty know-how you desire to jumpstart the New Year.

Armed with nothing but Frozen, my roommate’s yearbook, and shameless speculation, I’ve compiled a comprehensive list of the hottest sex positions of the season. This goes out to all my nasty nerds out there: educate yo’selves!

Welcome to the House Where You Will Grow Old Attack of the Los Angeles Traffic Jam Before Your Important Job Interview Night of the Colicky Infant Escape from Your Own Thoughts The Summer of Camp Two Thousand Dollars Per Week, Per Child House of Whispers Your Children Will Correctly Realize Concern Your Imminent Divorce Scary Birthday To You: And Exactly Fifteen More The Girl Next Door Who Has All Those Tattoos and Keeps Trying to Date Your Son Escape from Your Own Thoughts II: You Can’t Stay on the Golf Course Forever, Lisa Alone in Snakebite Canyon, and the Rest of the Universe, Just Like Everyone Else My Best Friend is Invisibly Suffering From Pancreatic Cancer Even More Tales to Give You Existential Dread —A. Gertler

Missionary—a tried-and-true classic. One person on bottom, one colonial emissary on top.

The Squat—a favorite of athletes and the incontinent everywhere.

The Queen Liz—partners wear pastel-colored hats modeled after elderly pigeons while defiling colonial currency. Tea breaks optional, but recommended.

The Bush v. Gore—the whole country gets fucked by Antonin Scalia.

The Good Spread—Person A lies on bottom, Person B straddles from up top, and both take turns feeding each other spoonfuls of Nutella. Peanut butter optional, but proletarian; double douche points for foie gras.

Woman On Top—a sexy sneak peek at 2016.

Doggy Style—a slightly bizarre take on role-playing in which one partner is the “poodle” and the other acts the part of a toddler asking “if it’s okay to pet.”

The Finals Week—a marathon. No one will sleep.

The Chair—also known as the “Juno.” Kudos if one or both partners is Michael Cera.

Comp Sci—an exercise in sexual tension.

Hair band: Girl’s Night Out Two hair bands and a purple Silly Bandz: Someone bring the Ben and Jerry’s and Love, Actually— you’ve got a breakup on your hands Orange peel: The suite is experimenting with a juice cleanse—enter at your own risk Rotten orange peel: The suite has died of malnutrition following a juice cleanse Yarn: Your roommate has taken up knitting Twine: Your roommate is going through a hipster phase A tiny mouse skull on a leather chain: You’ve been tapped into Skull and Bones A rat skull on a pleather chain: You’re being targeted by notorious serial killer James Jameson Sock: You’ve been sexiled!

Sock puppet: The owner of this sock puppet will never have sex

—A. Padín-Dujon

—N. Sanghvi

WHAT DIFFERENT OBJECTS ON YOUR DOORKNOB MEAN

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I

23

POINT: I love clubbing

I

COUNTERPOINT I love clubbing baby seals

love clubbing baby seals. I love the sight of their fur and tiny whiskers. I love the feeling of exhilaration I get when I see an unsuspecting specimen out on the ice. I love the sound of the sickening thwack the club makes when connecting with a soft, white, seal-y skull.

Sometimes I go clubbing baby seals alone. Other times I go out with friends. Dick Cheney and Dennis Rodman are always game to go out, and I can trust them to bring shotguns so we can cut short the animals’ already brief lives if the clubbing doesn’t work.

Occasionally, I get a bit carried away. I’ll have a couple of beers, and next thing I know, I’m decapitating a seal, embalming its head, and mounting it on the way as a grotesque monument to my own testosterone-fueled excesses. I keep resolving to never let it happen again, but what can you do?

Every once in a while, I think to myself: I should stop clubbing baby seals. What if I’m taking it too far? But then Dick Cheney yells, “What are you, gay? Don’t be a fucking pussy.” After that, I chug from a bottle of Ketel One and whale on some particularly fluffy ones.

Am I crazy? It’s debatable. Am I a deplorable human being who delights in the pain and mutilation of defenseless animals? My good friend Winston the Mounted Seal Head says not.

—S. Savitz

J. Shi

love clubbing. I love the sight of the bright lights. I love the feeling of exhilaration I get when I step out onto the dance floor. I love the sound of the pounding music.

Sometimes I go clubbing alone. Other times I go out with friends. John and Jennifer are always game to go out, and I can trust them to get me back home safely.

Occasionally, I get a bit carried away. I’ll have a couple of shots, and next thing I know, I’m making out with someone in the back of a taxi. I wake up the next morning with a headache and no pants. I keep resolving to never let it happen again, but what can you do?

Every once in a while, I think to myself: I should stop clubbing. What if I’m taking it too far? But then I tell myself, You’re only young once. There’s no harm in having fun.

I usually feel better after that.

Am I crazy? It’s debatable. Am I the life of the party?

There’s no question.

OTHER TITLES WE CONSIDERED FOR THE “RECORD AFTER DARK” ISSUE (AND THE REASON THEY WERE REJECTED)

The Record Before Morning issue (Not catchy enough) The Record During Orgies issue (Not invited enough) The Nocturnal Emission issue (Too messy) The Record Black issue (Potentially racist) The Record’s issue with African Americans (Definitely racist, and the person responsible for this idea was fired (although one of the new residential colleges is to be named after him)) The Guys on the Record Have Big Penises issue (Too truthful) …Dad? (Too likely to win an Oscar) The Leonardo DiCaprio issue (Too unlikely to win an Oscar) The Living in a Trash Can issue (Too likely to be Oscar) I am a migrant laborer who makes magazines in a sweatshop.

I haven’t eaten in three days. Help! (Too fake! Definitely fake! Definitely not real! Hahaha jokes!)

The Record Time To Go To Bed Sweety Issue (Awww mom do I have to?)

—B. Beitler

24

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S. Rae-Grant

“Wanna come play?”

T he R ecord A f ter D ark

THINGS THAT LOOK THE SAME AT NIGHT

25

MOST COMMON HEDGEHOG-RELATED NIGHTMARES

Antimatter Fudge-Covered Double-Stuff Chocolate Crème Oreos Bats in the heart of a cave Bats in the depths of outer space Bats in Morse B2, because it is a sad dark basement dungeon of a suite The inside of a sealed box The Invisible Man Giant squids, probably Your unrealistic expectations about the future Everything, if you have night vision goggles Everything, if you’re blind —N. Warren THINGS YOU SHOULDN’T COUNT TO FALL ASLEEP Black U.S. Presidents Times you disappointed mom and dad Every Oakland Raiders fan you’ve ever met Middle school couples that are still together Parents of yours that are still together Appropriate occasions to wear Crocs in public Times mom and dad disappointed you by fighting on Christmas and getting divorced and ruining everything All the parties you went to in high school People under the age of fifty named Barbara Number of NyQuil shots you need to take before passing out Positive male role models who aren’t mom’s asshole boyfriend Steve Band names without the letter ‘e’ Good movies starring Adam Sandler Movies starring Adam Sandler Adam Sandlers Times Steve’s told you to “just call me Dad” Easy classes in the Chemistry Department Ways to bury Steve’s stupid lifeless body out of state and destroy the evidence Baby sheep grazing in a meadow with sunshine and flowers —G. Ambrose

That one where you have to dance in front of your entire fifth grade class again but this time they are all hedgehogs and you brought your least-flattering leotard and they all laugh at you The dream where all of your spoons have been replaced with baby hedgehogs and all of your baby hedgehogs have been replaced with spoons That classic trope where a clown is chasing you and a small crowd of hedgehogs is mocking your poor running form even though they know it’s because of your flat feet The one where you are underwater, drowning, and are forced to watch an ill-choreographed hedgehog water ballet Sonic-themed sex dream The one where you’re giving a class presentation when you look down and realize that you’re totally naked.

The hedgehog in the front row is sort of into it, though The dream where there is no hedgehog but you know that it is only a dream because the hedgehog is watching you sleep, waiting for tomorrow —R. Lackner

FUN POST-COITAL ACTIVITIES Post-coital Jazzercise Post-coital interrogation of your partner about faking an orgasm Post-coital boat christening Post-coital Yale admissions tour Post-coital epiphany about the oneness of the natural world Post-coital conversion to Sikhism Post-coital conversion from Sikhism to Judeo-Sikhism Post-coital Netflix binge Post-coital commodities trading in beef futures Post-coital slow descent into alcoholism —S. Savitz

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INTERDEPARTMENTAL MEMO FROM THE ASTRONOMY DEPARTMENT: Well guys, I’m just going to level with you: we fucked up.

I know some of you may be asking why we built a giant anti-gravitational death ray in the first place, much less why we fired it at the sun. In our defense, it seemed like a really good idea at the time. I mean maybe not a great idea, but not a terrible one. Ok, you know what? It was the easiest grant to apply for. In that it wasn’t really a grant per se.

I mean hey, we’re kind of strapped for cash here and North Korea was bidding on a death ray. I mean, presumably. They actually just mailed us a crude little stick figure drawing on a cocktail napkin with a few dollar signs and a question mark written on it. I think they wanted us to build a death ray. That’s how we interpreted it. Professor Aaron Gerrow is, like, 92 percent confident we got it right. The point is, it really wasn’t supposed to work.

Seriously! It wasn’t supposed to do much more than blow up Sony Entertainment.

Long story short, some grad student spilled a cup of coffee on the damn thing and it fired straight into the sky and the sun turned off. Sixteen minutes later the earth was covered by the cold, cruel, darkness we all know today. Without a sun, the oceans pretty much all just froze and the planets started flying away in whatever direction they happened to be going at the moment. There’s a slight possibility we’ll run into Jupiter but honestly, what are the odds of us being that unlucky twice in a row? That’d just be crazy. I’m not really sure how long the human race will endure as the earth hurdles into the icy, unforgiving void but look at the bright side: If I did my math right, it’ll only take 10,000 years before we get close enough to another star for this eternal night to end. If you’re still alive and haven’t regressed to join a roving band of cannibals battling to the death over the last cans of Spam, hit us up.

We’re currently attempting to rebuild society in the steam tunnels under J.E. (even as the last desperate holdout for the human race, they still suck) Sorry again, we really dropped the ball on this one, C. Megan Urry, Director of the Yale Center for Astronomy and Astrophysics —C. Hall

LITERALLY WET DREAMS You’re on Noah’s arc You’re on the Titanic circa 2:20 a.m. on April 15, 1912 You’re racing a jet ski across the ocean of tears formed

by DS students You’ve become soggy toast You’re skinny dipping in the rain You’re swimming in waste from the soup factory You’re drinking the blood of Christ, but like, low fat and gluten-free You’re graduating from Froot Loop College and becoming a full-fledged member of Froot Loop, Incorporated, but you panic on the first day of the job and forget how to swim in milk Yore milking the trenta size at Starbucks Ryan Gosling —S. Sukin and A. Knapp

YALE NIGHTLIFE PROBLEMS, AS TOLD

BY JEBEDIAH SLOCUM, CLASS OF 1765 We keep running out of candles We are all men We’re out of candles again We have to drink very fast to finish the alcohol before we are swallowed by the darkness We all felt so sick the day after that we missed daily Chapel and were put in the stockade Someone spilled mead in my fireplace and burned down my entryway There are no women here and we are very lonely Also, recorded music will not exist for another 102 years The whale carcass we dragged onto Old Campus to provide oil for the lights of Spring Fling is now beginning to rot, and no one wants to help me pull it back to the ocean whence we found it Spring Fling isn’t very much fun, since anyone caught dancing in public is expelled My father refuses to send me more money to buy candles —A. Gertler

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POINT

Timmy: I’m afraid of the dark.

W

hen Mommy turns off the lights, the night terrors come. I can’t see anything. Everything inside and outside gets really black. It’s like that time on the kickball field when Ricky took my lunch money, then punched me in the face. Sometimes at night, if I’m really lucky, I get to see stars too.

I can’t really fall asleep either.

I asked Mommy what I should do, and what grownups do to go to bed.

Mommy said that Mommy uses ambyen but that’s not for children—except when Mommy has a man friend come for a sleepover. Sometimes I hear Mommy on the phone with Linda, and she gets really whispery and says, “Get me my amby-en, bitch, or I’ll fuckin’ kill your whole family.”

When it gets really dark, the boogey-man, the spider-man, and the bat-man all come out from under my bed, so to be really safe I’m going to take one amby-en for each of them.

And just in case Ronald McDonald comes out too, I’ll grab three more.

I’m going to really show the monsters who’s boss.

If the candies don’t work, I don’t know what to really do. Because the truth is, I’m afraid of the dark.

27

COUNTERPOINT

Stevie Wonder: It’s always dark

D

arkness is my ally. In the words of my favorite superhero, Bane, “I was born in it, molded by it.” There’s but one universal truth: from womb to tomb, we live in shade. Swamped in blackness, we make our way through the world largely through touch and sound, or a seeing-eye dog.

We all have this gnawing emotion that we live in nothing but shadows, but let me show you the light, by which I mean truth. Our lives are absent of any and all meaning. Open your eyes and witness the futility of a journey orbiting a sun where year after year the planet ends up right where it began.

Speaking of the sun, 99% of the radiation the sun bombards us with is invisible. While you might perceive jiggling photons of wavelength 400700 nanometers, you can’t see any more. No designer shield sunglasses or dose of vitamin A supplements will give you ultraviolet or infrared vision, so the truth is, we’re already blind. Isn’t it obvious? Can’t you see?

I can’t. Though sometimes I get those eye floaters.

If we look beyond the physical truth, we see there’s more to darkness than meets the eye. Actually not

much more. Which brings me to my next point. The universe is a dark, uncaring void. Intelligent life on that mote of dust we call the Earth, in the blink of an eye, can be destroyed by a stray asteroid or gamma-ray burst.

But don’t worry. You should never fear the dark. Call me superstitious, but it’s always dark.

—S. Gupta

28

LOCAL GRANDMOTHER RESPONDS TO ALL TEXT MESSAGES WITHIN 30 SECONDS Dear chicken waiting at the altar, I can’t go through with it.

—A man who was going to marry that chicken until he realized that he couldn’t because it’s a chicken, also the chicken slept with his brother

T he Y ale R ecord

Dear cars, Stop.

Dear cars, Go.

—Traffic lights

—Traffic lights

Dear traffic lights, This seems much more inefficient than the old system.

—Cars

Dear Mount Everest, I’m so close to—

EXSANGUINATION: HOLLYWOOD’S NEWEST CRASH DIET! IT’S THE TALK OF THE TOWN, BUT IS THIS VAMPIRE DOCTOR TAKING IT TOO FAR?

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29

30

T he Y ale R ecord Dear Adam, I appreciate you giving up your rib to me and all, but I’ve been talking a lot to this snake over here who’s been warning me about the dangers of an unsustainably meat-oriented diet, and he’s convinced me to go vegan. Also it’s over between us.

—Eve

PROFESSOR SO IMPRESSED THAT YOU DID SOMETHING LIKE THIS IN HIGH SCHOOL Dear Shelly, Thanks for coming in for your test results on such short notice! You mentioned that your astrological sign was Cancer, right? That’s ironic! ...No, not the way you were thinking.

You just have crabs.

—Yale Health

LOCAL TEEN TAKES ONE PHOTO OF HERSELF EVERYDAY FOR A YEAR, AND YOU’LL NEVER GUESS HOW MANY DAYS ARE IN A YEAR! Dear net income, Go any farther down and we’ll lose the Persian rug and end up sleeping on the social safety net.

—A concerned capitalist

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