The Church vs. State Issue

Vol. 148, No. 4

THE YALE

Jan. 24, 2020

RECORD

The

Churchvs.

State Issue

“The Nation’s Oldest Humor Magazine” or

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

Chair@yalerecord.org

FLORIDA MAN, 28, RESENTS MEDIA PREJUDICE AGAINST FLORIDA MEN Dear Pastor Steve, Why the fuck are there no more goddamn cookies and juice at bible study anymore??? How am I boutta study Deuteronomy when I don’t got my cookies and juice??!!!

Sincerely, Little Timmy Dear Little Timmy, Bitch that’s the communion wafers and wine!! You know better than that!!

Love, Pastor Steve

YALE STUDENT SHOCKED TO FIND NEW HAVEN HAS GROCERY STORES BESIDES DURFEE’S

Dear Mom, Thanks for doing my laundry! Just so we’re clear, those brown stains on my pants aren’t what you think they are. I sat on a chocolate bar and it surprised me so much that I shat myself.

Love, Michael

SHARP-EYED HANNAH MONTANA FANS REALIZE MILEY STEWART AND HANNAH MONTANA BOTH PLAYED BY ACTRESS MILEY CYRUS Dear The Charmin Bears, Are you furries?

—Johnny

Dear Johnny, No. We have a toilet paper fetish.

—The Charmin Bears

VAPING ACTUALLY EXTREMELY GOOD FOR YOU, REPORTS YOUR 15-YEAROLD NEIGHBOR NAMED BRAEDYN Dear Larry David, Who’s the funny guy in Seinfeld who’s friends with Seinfeld? Not George, the other one. I can’t ask my mom because she and her friend Dennis are upstairs wrestling.

—Little Billy

IT HAPPENED TO ME: I TRIED TO DONATE TO THE CAMPUS BLOOD DRIVE, BUT THEY WOULDN’T STOP ASKING ME WHERE I GOT ALL THIS BLOOD AND WHOSE IT IS, AND NOW I’M IN PRISON

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IN RESPONSE TO STUDENT DEMANDS FOR VODKA IN THE DINING HALLS, SAYBROOK PLACES SLICED POTATOES IN THE SPA WATER Dear Millicent, Egad! A mongoose! Quick, fetch me my musket! We shall teach this coated bandit a thing or two about the dangers of thievery! Whence cometh this coated bandit? No matter!

Forsooth, we shall teach the impudent fink a lesson or two!

Sincerely, Josiah Dear Josiah, Nay, my brave, brave love! Stay your hand! For that very mongoose slinks onto our humble farm not simply to burgle. Note the crimson streak across its flank! The poor creature is wounded, doubtless seeking only sanctuary upon our land.

Sincerely, Millicent Dear Millicent, Fie, woman! Be it thusly, then. I shall relent. Yet take heed: if the rascal ventures to lay but one single tooth upon our hearty yams, why then I shall wreak upon it a wrath hitherto unseen among these hills! This I promise thee.

In consequence, we shall see as we shall see.

Sincerely, Josiah

ZOO-WEE MAMA! GREG AND ROWLEY FINALLY KISS ON THE MOUTH IN LATEST DIARY OF A WIMPY KID

Dear Duolingo, Does your Premium app include one-on-one language lessions with professional tutors?

Thank you, Ted. Dear Ted, No, but it does include a random dude dressed as a green owl who bashes you over the head each time you forget the past participle of hablar.

After three concussions you get a lingot!

—The Duolingo Team

CHILDREN HATE HIM: LOCAL PEDOPHILE HANDS OUT RAISINS ON HALLOWEEN Dear Burt, My name is R. Cornelius Winsington the fourth, animal enthusiast, and I am inquiring about the purchase of your fine colony of bees.

Sincerely, R. Cornelius Winsington, as I have already established earlier in this letter Dear R. Cornelius, As I have told you many times before, my fine colony of bees is not for sale! Not now, not ever!

Sincerely, Burt

POTTERY BARN ANNOUNCES NEW OFFSHOOT “THOTTERY BARN KIDS” THE ONLY INTERIOR DECORATOR THAT ALLOWS YOUR PINT-SIZE FREAK TO REBEL AGAINST AMERICA’S PURITANICAL SEX CULTURE IN STYLE

T heT he C orporate merica I ssue M idlife CArisis I ssue

VOTE ELI SABIN FOR NEW HAVEN ALDER BECAUSE HE WILL CHEW UP FOOD AND FEED IT TO YOUR CHILDREN LIKE A LITTLE BABY BIRD

Obituary Correction

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The YaleRecord Record’s 2018 Board Editorial Board The Yale Editorial would like to would likefor to an issue an apology for in an aerroneous apologize erroneous obituary previous obituary in last year’s In Memoriam issue issue of the magazine.

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Theall Yale Board would like to Dear theRecord goysEditorial I’ve loved before, apologize for an THIS erroneous obituary in a previous YOUR AD CLEARLY SPOT'S TAKEN, Sorry, but my mom says I can’t issue of the magazine.

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My “Great Dearest Margaret, for Normal to Oily Skin!”

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“Great Normal to Oily Skin!”

Forever yours, Thomas Dear Thomas, Lol that’s craazyyy. War be really wild lmao. We should hang out sometime soon lol.

—Margaret

Check out our website, yalerecord.org, for more hilarious content!

Obituary Correction FOR SALE: The Yale Record Editorial would like for to Indulgences. $19.99 a piece.Board Extra charge apologize for an erroneous obituary in a previous especially heinous sins, like adultery, murder, issue of the magazine. The editors confused Stephen or still writing the Rumpus.Tony Buy two get Hawking with forskateboarder Hawk, off. * physicist as “X misidentifying theone latehalf theoretical Games champion and founder of the ‘Boom Boom HuckJam’ BMXonly freestyle tour.” *Offer validmotocross by mail-order

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—S. Gautam

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T he M idlife CA risis I ssue T he C orporate merica I ssue

Dear Universal Pictures, If Mel Brooks directed Jaws, would it be called Jews?

Love, Tim Dear Tim, No, it would be called Big Ass Gelfilte Fish: A Life.

Warm regards, Universal Pictures

DISAPPOINTING: APPARENTLY “JUST FUCK ME UP” IS NOT AN APPROPRIATE RESPONSE TO DINING STAFF ASKING HOW MUCH MUSTARD YOU WANT ON YOUR BEYOND BURGER

HYDROFLASK DROPPED IN STERLING LIBRARY WAKES CAPTAIN AMERICA FROM HIS CENTURIES-LONG REST

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PTA SCANDAL: DEBORAH LOOKED ABSOLUTELY STUNNING AT THE BAKESALE ON THURSDAY. NO ONE WANTED TO SAY ANYTHING BECAUSE SHE’S A SECOND WIFE, BUT IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE NOT TO NOTICE. SHE KIND OF FLOATED ABOVE EVERYONE ELSE, WITH REAL GRACE AND POISE. WHEN THE OTHER MOMS CAME TO CONFRONT HER, SHE STARED SHARON, THE LEAD MOTHER OF THE GROUP, IN THE EYES AND JUST SAID, “I FORGIVE YOU.”

Obituary Correction

NEW: Old Spice Men’s 5 in 1 Shower Gel

The RecordBoard Editorial Board would like to The Yale Editorial would like to apologize for an erroneous obituary in lastinyear’s In apologize for an erroneous obituary a previous issue.The Theeditors issue misreported issueMemoriam of the magazine. confused Stephen Obituary Correction that famous chef, skateboarder entrepreneur and Hawking with Tonycriminal Hawk, Martha wastheoretical laidBoard to rest peacefully The Yale Stewart Record would like to misidentifying the Editorial late physicist as “X behind the family’s estate in Rhode Island.

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“Great for Normal to Oily Skin!”

­—A. Mitchell

Emmy Waldman ‘11

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hirty-nine out of forty-five United States Presidents have been Protestant. Forty-three have identified as Christians, and none have identified with any other religion. From 1789 to 1960, there were more WASPs in the Oval Office than the Yale President’s office. Then, in 1961, John F. Kennedy took office as the nation’s first Catholic Commander in Chief.

Before his inauguration in 1961, John F. Kennedy met secretly with Pope John XXIII to discuss how best to infiltrate the United States’s government with the power of the Catholic Church. They met on a private island in the Atlantic equidistant from Boston and the Vatican, and feasted on shepherd’s pie and potatoes boiled in holy water. Pope John suggested that Kennedy convert the Washington Monument into a massive cross and hold Sunday Mass in the Rose Garden. According to most historians, Kennedy agreed, on the condition that the Pope let him use the Popemobile instead of his presidential limousine. Pope John refused. “The fiberglass window in the front is bulletproof, but there’s very little protection in the back,” the Pope explained to Kennedy. “You’d be as good as dead if, say, there happened to be a second shooter on some grassy knoll.”

JFK famously ignored the Pope’s advice, choosing to galavant around in an open-air convertible until his untimely assassination in 1963. Since that fateful day, America has been subjected to a long line of boring-ass Protestant Presidents, from Richard Nixon (whose Quaker mother prohibited him from dancing as a child) to Donald J. Trump (who claimed the Bible was his favorite book but couldn’t name a single verse).

It’s safe to say that all of our Presidents, regardless of their religion, would have died if the rapture came during their administration. With the federal government’s history of human rights abuses, genocide, and general corruption,

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I doubt any of these ex-POTUSes (ex-POTII?) will be resurrected to meet their lord in the clouds.

When the rapture does come and God is deciding whether or not I get to live for eternity in the divine kingdom, I wonder if he’ll take my own politics into account. I wonder if he’ll remember the time I filled out my absentee ballot incorrectly, or the time I interrupted a town council meeting on pedestrian safety to propose defunding the public high school and building a water park. If the Christian Presidents are right, I guess God will care less about my politics than about the fact that I’m a nonpracticing Jew who would burst into flames immediately upon walking into a church.

I know what you’re probably thinking. Who cares about the President’s religion? Aren’t we supposed to have separation between church and state? Don’t get me wrong—church and state are best kept separate. Just like family and business. Or like my dad and my mom’s new boyfriend. When I pull on my utility cargo pants in the morning, I put my pocket Bible in the left zippered pocket and my pocket Constitution in the right. Separate, just as Jesus and James Madison intended. I only study Bible with Youth Pastor Brett on Monday and Wednesday nights in the Methodist church basement, and I only study constitutional law by showing up unannounced and uninvited to Akhil Reed Amar’s office hours.

But sometimes, when I’m feeling especially bold, I like to mix a little church and state. Late at night, by the light of a single oil lantern, under the covers where even the Maddy Blaney ’21 Chair

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ghost of Thomas Jefferson can’t see me, I’ll pull out both my pocket Constitution and my pocket Bible at the same time. I’ll add subtle references to God into the preamble— like “in order to form a more pious union,” or “We the humble servants of our Lord and Savior Jesus H. Christ.”

Sometimes I’ll even mix up the Bill of Rights with the Ten Commandments (though only Amendments Two and Nine, not any of the important ones).

If mixing a little church with a little state is a sin, then send me right to hell. God already knows I’m a sinner. I listen to Pod Save America, which is blasphemous because they replace the word “God,” which is holy and divine, with the word “Pod,” which is cursed. At Thanksgiving dinner I’m always first in line to the sweet potato casserole so I can scoop off all the marshmallows before anyone else gets a chance. I never call my senators, and I texted STOP to Resistbot (which isn’t technically a cardinal sin but still feels wrong).

In this issue of the Yale Record, we will be mixing church and state like crazy. We will nail our sons to crosses while analyzing the Mueller Report. We will lament our partners’ love affairs with Pope Francis while discussing which of Connecticut’s senators are most likely to run a satanic cult. We will recount the sexiest moments in the Bible while determining who our grandmas are voting for based on their decade of birth. All this and more lie ahead—so God damnit, keep reading.

—C. Cohen Editor in Chief

Caleb Cohen ’21 Editor in Chief

Harry Rubin ’21 Online Editor in Chief

Marcy Sanchez ’21 Publisher

Sarah Force ’21 Managing Editor

Amanda Thomas ’21 Managing Editor

Will Cramer ’22 Director of Online Content

Luna Garcia ’22 Director of Online Content

Kaylee Walsh ’22 Managing Editor

David Hou ’22 Online Managing Editor

Ethan Fogarty ’21 Business Manager

Davey McCowin ’21 Copy Editor

Vivek Suri ’20 Design Editor

Elliot Connors ’20 Design Editor

Rosa Chang ’22 Art Director

Maya Sanghvi ’22 Staff Director

Ellen Yang ’20 Old Owl

Chloe Prendergast ’20 Old Owl

Dylan Schifrin ’20 Old Owl

Noah Amsel ’20 Old Owl

Mariah Kreutter ’20 Old Owl

Simon Custer ’20 Old Owl

Walker Caplan ’20 Old Owl

Staff: Colin Basciocco ’21 Itai Almor ’20 Paige Davis ’21 Addison Beer ’23 Alex Taranto ’23 Jonas Kilga ’23 Juan Diego Casallas ’23 Tilly Brooks ’23

Alex Kane ’22 Amrita Vetticaden ’23 Andrew Kornfield ’23 Avery Brown ’23 Avery Mitchell ’23 Katia Vanlandingham ’23 Lindsay Jost ’23 Zoe Larkin ’23

Jocelyn Wexler ’21 Grace Wynter ’20 Kyle Mazer ’22 Ryan Fuentes ’22 Ayla Jeddy ’23 Lucy Santiago ’23 Miguel Von Fedak ’23 Zosia Caes ’23

Alec Zbornak ’21 Bea Portela ’23 Clio Rose ’23 Diana Kulmivez ’23 Dory Johnson ’23 Raffael Davila ’23 Raja Moreno ’23 Jason Salvant ’23

Jamie Large ’21 Zuri Goodman ’22 Ellen Qian ’23 Erik Bosen ’23 Eva Quittman ’23 Sam Karp ’23 Sam Leone ’23 Lucy Del Alamo ’23

Omar Zakaria ’22 Finn Gibson ’23 Jacob Eldred ’23 Jacob Kaufman-Shalett ’23 Joe Wickline ’23 Simi Olurin ’23 Tanya Jomaa ’23 Shirshak Gautam ’23

Special thanks to: The Catholic Church. “Ad maiorem Dei gloriam,” or as we say in English, “For the greater glory of God, and nothing else creepy or illegal besides that at all.”

Front Cover: Itai Almor ’20, who spent weeks living with a family of turtles to prepare for drawing Mitch McConnell (@i.almor.art) Back Cover: Rosa Chang ’22, who is rooting for Abe Lincoln but thinks Moses is going to win (@rosart.c) Founded September 11, 1872 • Vol. CXLVIII, No. 4, 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 2019 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.

WHO YOUR GRANDMA’S VOTING FOR BASED ON THE DECADE SHE WAS BORN The 1910s: From the sinking of the Titanic to the invention of the zipper, this entire decade was a trash heap. Fortunately, your grandma’s so old she can’t remember it. Unfortunately, in her old age she’s developed a thing for silver-haired guys in sunglasses.

Candidate: Joe Biden The 1920s: Good ol’ grammy was just a child when the Great Depression hit. She’s eaten stale bread, waited in lines for soup, and been forced to flap on the side of the road for money. She’s also contracted dysentery, and she isn’t about to pay outlandish prescription drug prices to cure it.

Candidate: Bernie Sanders The 1930s: People only remember the boring parts of the 30s—World War II began, Oklahoma got really dusty, and some dude with polio created Social Security. Nobody remembers that someone invented an amphibious bicycle that works on land AND water. Why don’t we use those anymore? Granny wants a 1930s frog bike, and there’s only one candidate who will give her a dividend to buy one.

Candidate: Andrew Yang

The 1940s: Your gram-gram was a Woodstock baby.

For her, all that matters is saving the trees, saving the whales, and free love… at least that’s what she used to say before she inherited her father’s fortune. I heard he was a bigwig at General Motors!

Candidate: Donald Trump The 1950s: Did anything really happen in the 50s?

Wasn’t there a war or something? I honestly couldn’t tell you… I guess I’ll throw a dart at the board.

Candidate: Tulsi Gabbard The 1960s: Your granny is young and hip. She even knows how the internet works. “Look, I can browse it by myself!” she says. “This is called The Google, it’s where I find all my—oh look, this popup says I can get a free spiritual orb! And all I have to do is type in my Social Security number? What a deal!”

Candidate: Marianne Williamson The 1970s: If your grandma was born in the 70s, how are you even reading this? Aren’t you like four?

Shouldn’t you be watching cartoons? Hey, does anyone know whose kid this is? I’m not qualified to take care of it! Anyone, hello????

Candidate: Please someone call his parents, he just started calling me “Dad.” —J. Kilga

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ESSENTIAL OILS TO REPLACE YOUR FAVORITE VACCINES Lavender for Chickenpox: Nothing says “ease that itch” like some lavender oil! What’s chickenpox anyway besides an eensy-weensy little rash? And what are rashes besides teeny-tiny little beauty marks?

Plus, lavender helps you sleep—so if you do die of chickenpox, you’ll drift off peacefully while dreaming of fragrant purple meadows.

Rosemary for Measles: Measles is a fancy rash you get from male weasels. Soothe your blotchy red spots with rosemary! Rosemary is a mashup of the names of the girls who bullied you in middle school, and is also a miracle cure. You can also use rosemary to season an assortment of meats. So if the measles kills you, your friends can use your leftovers to garnish a yummy medium-rare steak.

Chamomile for Flu: Why use a 50% effective vaccination when you could rub chamomile on your wrists to bring down that 105-degree fever? You’ve seen it as a tea, but now it’s back and better than ever as a homeopathic cure. Your grandma’s weird neighbor thinks chamomile is a magic elixir, and we couldn’t agree more.

Cedarwood for Polio: Jonas Salk spent ten years in a dusty lab developing a vaccine when he could have just snorted some cedar chips and called it a day. You probably don’t need to use this one since polio’s pretty much eradicated, but why not smell kind of musky while evading death? Cedarwood has everything your lungs could possibly want: wood, cedar, pencil shavings, and natural moth repellent.

FDR didn’t know what he was missing.

—L. Jost

—P. Davis

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YALE DINING TO OFFER COMMUNION ON FIRST SUNDAY OF EVERY MONTH

By E. Qian NEW HAVEN, CT— Last Thursday, a group of students dressed in their Sunday best marched from Saint Thomas More to Cross Campus to protest limited food options in the dining halls for Catholics. “They have an entire section dedicated to glutenfree foods,” said John Anderson ’23, who skipped his Christian theology seminar to attend the march. “It’s ridiculous that communion isn’t provided. Are we Catholics not as important as the Celiacs?”

In response to protests, all fourteen of Yale’s dining halls will now be offering communion wafers and wine to undergraduates on the first Sunday of each month.

Durfee’s will begin piloting a program in the spring which will offer “Communion on the Go”—a Ziploc baggie of wine-soaked wafers for $6.95.

Save for the occasional parasite in Silliman’s steamed fish, Yale Dining has been one of the few controversy-free spaces on campus. But with mounting pressure from Christian activists, that might no longer be the case. “All we want is to consume the body and blood of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ—is that too much to ask?” explained John Jackson ’21. “Also, these communion crackers slap—they’re like Ritz without all that spicy salt.” He then proceeded to munch on some wafers he had ransacked from a local church.

Many students are thankful that they can finally express their religion in the dining halls. “I’m grateful to the Lord for the opportunity to receive the Eucharist on Yale’s campus,” said John Stevens ’22.

“Dining plans are temporary but His plan is forever. Soon, we may also be able to perform baptisms at the Women’s Table.”

At press time, Saint Thomas More announced plans to replace Yale’s spa water with holy water.

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Fetal: Get cozy! This position is a perfect fit for the desperation you’ll feel when you realize you’ve sinned, and Tyler—I mean, Jesus—doesn’t love you anymore! Nothing screams repentance like writhing on the ground and wishing you could return to the womb. This might be when you accept your eternal damnation to Hell. But don’t worry—Satan can’t hurt you more than Tyler already has!

—L. Santiago

SINNERS IN THE HANDS OF AN ANGRY GOD

—Z. Caes

TOP POST-SEX PRAYER POSITIONS Kneeling: Keep it simple! This timeless position for postsin repentance will remind you of kneeling to pray on the pastel shag carpet in your childhood bedroom, or kneeling on the same carpet to blow your high school boyfriend, Tyler, before he left you for that cheerleader, Stacey.

Supine: Stay in bed! Lying in the supine position is perfect for your moment of post-nut clarity. You’ll just adore staring at the ceiling, thinking about your sins, and wondering if all the sex you’ve had since high school has been an attempt to sate the void left

by Tyler’s sexy basketball shorts and Under Armour hoodies.

Downward dog: Yogis unite! Not only is this position a great way to show God you’re sorry for all the premarital sex—it’s also proven to realign your chakras so you can forget about the time you saw Tyler kissing Stacey’s neck in his 2004 Ford Taurus the same way he used to kiss yours. Forget Tyler; it’s time for God!

We are all sinners in the hands of an angry God. The guy who said that went to school here. He graduated in 1720. In 1720 I didn’t accomplish much, but that’s okay because my mom tells me not to compare myself to others.

She reminds me that I have other skills, like staying out of the way and practicing the viola.

We all have our own angry gods. My angry god is Peter. Peter is the crossing guard on York Street. Like God, Peter wears a crossing guard uniform. Also like God, I often find myself in Peter’s hands. Sometimes, when I cross the street, I pretend to faint so that he must give me mouth-to-mouth, as is required of him by the crossing guard oath.

Recently, he’s started to catch on, though. He says that every ten minutes he spends giving me unnecessary mouth-to-mouth each morning is ten minutes he doesn’t spend on the other collapsed pedestrians. He says that my antics are inspiring other pedestrians to fake faint, and that some of them get run over since he can only give mouth-to-mouth to one of us at a time. An angry, angry God is he.

“I understand,” I say. “It won’t happen again,” I say. But my fingers are crossed. “I see your fingers are crossed,” he says. Every morning the cars honk and honk while we dance this dance.

Sometimes when I drive down York Street, I don’t stop at the red lights. I just say a little prayer in my head.

I don’t pray for myself—I have good insurance and drive well despite my court-mandated steering wheel lock. No, I pray for Peter, who mans that intersection. I pray that he’s okay. I pray for his wife and his children. I pray for my angry god.

—A. Zbornak

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WHAT DOES YOUR FAVORITE DISNEY PRINCESS SAY ABOUT YOUR RELIGION?

the Press has a whole new lineup of guests talking about the issues that matter to me, and I don’t even have to leave the comfort of my home. Not to mention your pastor could never look as fine as Chuck Todd does on my 720p 36inch plasma.

Snow White: Seven dwarfs? More like twelve gods and Guess what, folks? My Jesus is white.1 Celebrate goddesses that rule the world from atop Mount while you can, bigots, because you won’t like hearing this Olympus. That’s right, you’re a Hellenic Polytheist! next part: she’s also a woman, and her name is Elizabeth You sacrifice lambs to Athena for better grades, you Warren. Does your Christ have a plan? I didn’t think so. know that when lightning strikes it’s good ol’ Zeus “What would Jesus do?” More like “She has a plan for having a little temper tantrum, and when you get that.” We already know what our Jesus is going to do. too sloshed you know it’s just tricky little Dionysus (Newsflash: your Jesus is dead so he can’t do anything). messing with you.

Your Jesus loves everyone? Oh yeah, well, which one Pocahontas: You’re a Christian! Like Pocahontas, you of our Christs wrote on her twitter that Black non-binary know what it’s like to have your parent’s beliefs thrust people are the backbone of our democracy?2 Sure wasn’t upon you, or in this case what it’s like to have the your Jesus, the same one the alt-right prays to. religion of your colonizers forced upon you only to be What else can your religion offer? Is it the holidays? labeled as romantically confused by Disney.

Nothing is more embarrassing than being an adult who Elsa: You’re into Pagan Witchcraft! Elsa’s kickass ice still looks forward to Christmas. Grown men getting magic reminds you of your Wiccan spell book. If Elsa excited over a day on a calendar? No thanks. On an can freeze an entire city, surely your incense sticks and unrelated note, Election Day makes me squeal with ritual oils can do more than make your room smell like delight. Good Friday could never compare to Super someone set fire to a Yankee Candle.

Tuesday. You say your religion teaches people morality?

Nothing says moral depravity like football, and football Ariel: Much like Ariel, you love to sing, which comes in handy at Shabbat services. For you, being Jewish is as happens on Sunday (Christian!) and is played only by men (toxic!). Does your religion give life purpose? Maybe, integral to your personality as being a mermaid is to but if it doesn’t include putting Liz Warren in the White Ariel. Don’t think about that too much!

House, it’s the wrong purpose.

Moana: You’re not religious, but you sure are spiritual!

Agnosticism isn’t exactly a religion, but your twice1. 1023/1024 daily meditations show just “how far you’ll go” to get 2. https://twitter.com/ewarren/ in touch with the divine. And how far you’ll go is a status/1192526820559785986 boat trip to the middle of the ocean—not to return the metaphorical heart of Te Fiti, but just to “find —H. Rubin yourself.” Don’t forget your bong!

—M. Sanghvi

POLITICS IS MY RELIGION Church in 2019? Please. The only religion I need is politics.

The New York Times is my bible and the Washington Post is my Koran. (That’s right: my religion loves diversity). You sit in the same stiff old pews every Sunday to hear the same man give a tired sermon about an old white guy in the sky? That’s cute. Every Sunday, Meet

—A. Taranto

SAFE SEX FTW! INTRODUCING THE HEATRESISTANT SAFE-SEX HELMET

WE ALL KNOW THE RISKS of unprotected sex: chlamydia, herpes, syphilis, or god forbid, children who reject the Word of the Lord. Your god-hating health teachers told you to use condoms and take birth control. But sex is strictly for procreation, which traditional contraception completely and blasphemously prevents. The only protection you need is an all new Heat-Resistant Safe Sex Helmet with Built-in Bible & Lust Filter™, now available for just $49.99!

Unlike other forms of protection, the Heat-Resistant Safe Sex Helmet with Built-in Bible & Lust Filter™ doesn’t protect you from STIs or pregnancy, but it does protect you from God’s wrath! This is the only sex helmet on the market that guards its wearer against sin while copulating. Upon detection of premarital sex, the built-in headphones play the teachings of the disciples with Gregorian Chants in the background. How’s that for euphoria?

But wait, there’s more! The helmet comes with its very own Lust Filter™! (In the past, this was a clunky separate installation.) Lust is a sin, as coitus is exclusively for creating a line of patriarchs to pass on the Word of God. The Lust Filter™ features a display screen which plays episodes of VeggieTales and occasional Chick-Fil-A commercials every time you’re feeling hot and heavy. Not only that, but the helmet itself is an ordained minister! If you’re trying to “fling without a ring,” the helmet will automatically unite you and your partner in the sacrament of holy matrimony by discreetly placing 24 karat gold rings on both your fingers. Call now to secure your Sex Helmet with Built-in Bible & Lust Filter™! Order in the next ten minutes and get two for the price of one! One for you, and one for your spouse-to-be.

—S. Leone

Design by: C. Prendergast

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I NAILED MY SON TO A CROSS A WEEK AGO AND HE STILL HASN’T RISEN

TIPS TO SPICE UP YOUR NEXT CONFESSION

Before you yell at me for being an irresponsible parent, let me explain myself. First of all, I am God. Secondly, I saw this movie called Heaven is For Real about a kid that came out of a coma claiming he had gone to heaven and come back. His family made a shitload of money cashing in on their child’s drug-induced hallucinations. I happen to have some pretty bad gambling debts, and I realized that all I had to do was prove my son was the messiah, set up a GoFundMe, and watch the cash come in.

I nailed my son to a cross to show the world that he was Jesus and I am God. It’s been a week now and he still hasn’t risen. He stopped breathing four days ago, but I know he’s still hanging in there. I also tried to unleash ten plagues on the Egyptians and none of them have worked, but I still have faith.

Season both sides of your pastor liberally with salt and some black pep—and make sure to let him rest (especially if it’s Sunday) for a few hours.

While he’s resting, start working on your romesco sauce.

Bring a pot of holy water to a simmer and toss in some fresh bell peppers.

Peel your peppers and then smash them up with a large wooden-cross, mixing in the blood of a lamb for body and flavor.

Sear your pastor on both sides with fire and brimstone, making sure to develop a nice crust.

Serve the meat with your Roman sau—I mean romesco sauce, and voila! A delicious meal that you can use to feed 5,000. Better yet, next confession you’ll have something big to tell your new pastor!

—A. Kane

—A. Beer

FORGIVE ME FATHER, FOR I HAVE SINNED Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two years since my last confession. Father, I’ve done some not so great things. I ate the little white oxygen absorber packet in a bag of beef jerky, and it was so good that I had another. In the primary for New Haven’s mayor, I wrote in Jill Stein. I lusted after my maternal uncle Brett who isn’t technically a blood relative but everyone says we look exactly alike. Father, I pee sitting down and I poop standing up.

How about you, Father? Do priests ever sin? Do you ever do things you regret? Do you ever, like, get suspicious of your mom’s friend Dennis who sleeps over all the time so then you fill his car’s fuel tank with hard-boiled eggs, but then they really damage the car’s inner doodads, and Dennis starts demanding to know who did it, and you don’t want Dennis to find out it was you so that night you do the same thing to every other car in the neighborhood and hit a few neighborhoods across town too for believability and you pretend there’s a mysterious prankster called the “Hard-Boiled Bandit” who’s clogging up fuel tanks all over New Haven, and Dennis buys it so you’re in the clear but now to maintain the lie every weekend in the dead of night you egg up a few fuel tanks to make it seem like the Bandit is still at large, and now you’re leading a double life but you don’t feel like you can talk to anybody about it because at this point you’ve caused hundreds of thousands of dollars in property damage? You ever do that kind of thing, Father? Me neither, Father. Me neither.

You can’t report any crimes I admit to, right Father? Like if I told you I vandalized a sign at City Hall so now it says “City Shit,” which would actually be pretty funny? No? Tough crowd. I bet you think you’re so much smarter than me. I bet you would have made it “Shitty Hall” because that’s “a better pun” and “actually less work.” Well guess what, Father? I didn’t THINK of that at the time!

What’s the matter, Father? You still there? I can hear you breathing. Listen, I gotta head out—I’m gonna spray paint the public library sign to say “Public PUBEbrary.” Wanna share an Uber home, Father? Some idiot put a bunch of eggs in your fuel tank.

—J. Wickline

BEST HAND GESTURES TOT USE WHILE SINGING AT CHURCH Y R 14

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1.) The “MaMa Mia ThaT’s a spicy pizza!”

PROS: Cool if you’re Italian Cool if you’re not Italian Gives you street cred among Catholics CONS: None 2.) The “LeT’s Rock n’ RoLL BaBy!” PROS: Super rad when Pastor Fred brings out his drum set during Youth Group CONS: Hard to use if you have weak finger muscles 3.) The “Why, God, have you foRsaken Me???”

PROS: Great for when God has totally forsaken you Easy to use if you have weak finger muscles CONS: People can put things in your hand, like gum wrappers, unwanted children, or chewed up communion wafers 4.) The “fooT” PROS: Impressive if you’re flexible enough to pull it off CONS: Technically not a hand gesture Makes you look slightly possessed 5.) The “BeRnie sandeRs” PROS: Cool if you’re Bernie Sanders Cool if you’re not Bernie Sanders You’ll look like a bird or a pterodactyl, which are very impressive creatures CONS: Pastor Fred is a Trump supporter —D. Hou Design by J. Wexler

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WHITE MEN OF YALE FORM CULT DEVOTED TO PODCASTING

By Z. Larkin NEW HAVEN, CT—Last Tuesday, in an undisclosed location rented by someone’s father, thirteen Caucasian hoarders of socioeconomic privilege huddled around a microphone. At the doorway stood a shrine to Michael Barbaro which must be kissed mezuzah-style before entry. This was the weekly meeting of White Heros of Yale (WHY), Yale’s premier podcasting cult.

The meeting commenced with Sawyer Abbot ’20, sect president, reciting an ad for ZipRecuiter.com. Members encircled their leader, removed their beanies, and tossed them into the circle as a weekly sacrifice. Next, Abbot yelled “DEVIL’S ADVOCATE,” prompting the group to begin their vocal warm-ups, carefully enunciating the words “dichotomy” and “Machiavellian.” To conclude the ritual, Abbot scribbleed “um, actually” onto a piece of Moleskin journal paper, burned it with a flaming cigarette, and forced the least-bearded member to swallow the butt.

This was a typical Tuesday evening for WHY, a for-profit group dedicated to “ums,” “buts,” and “both sides.” The group was founded in 2014 by Edgar Rutherford ’16, when he realized that “freelance podcaster” sounded better on his resume than “generationally wealthy.”

WHY is providing a safe space for Yale’s silent majority. “People always roll their eyes at me during seminars,” complained Auden Wellesley ’21, “But it’s like, I will not be silenced. Like, I just get the world. Like, people here are all about ‘Warren,’ but I’m like, Yang.

I’m the voice of reason, and I’ve found a family here at WHY.” Auden is one of the lucky ones. Due to soaring demand, WHY turns away hundreds of qualified cult applicants each fall. According to Abbot, criteria for admission include “vocal timbre, knowledge of Pod Save America trivia, a propensity for pregnant pauses, and male genitalia.”

WHY’s collective podcast, “Hot Takes,” has accumulated over ten listens on Spotify.

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GOD WORKS IN MYSTERIOUS WAYS: HOW STRIPPERS BROUGHT JESUS INTO MY LIFE It was a brisk November morning when I awoke to a loud knock on my front door. The crumbs that had accumulated on my stomach slid to the ground as I pulled on a pair of sweatpants. For the past week my wife Melinda had made me sleep on the couch, and in a last ditch romantic gesture, I ordered two male strippers as a “sorry-I-cheated-on-you-with-your-sister” gift. I thought I had ordered the strippers for 9 p.m., but I must have accidentally put “a.m.”

When I opened the door, I saw two well-dressed young men standing on our doormat. They had immaculate haircuts, rippling muscles barely contained by white button-downs, and name tags reading “Kevin” and “Peter.” They each held a heavy, leather bound Bible, and as they ever so sweetly asked if I had a moment to talk about my faith.

Kevin stepped forward, no doubt eager to start his dance routine. They seemed unusually perky, considering their line of work usually goes late into the night. Seeing the excitement in their dazzling eyes I simply couldn’t turn them away. With sweat starting to drip down my neck, I invited them in. Even if Melinda wasn’t in the mood, it would be irresponsible to just throw my money away, right? Sure enough, they were happy to work, and while I questioned the artistic choice of a thirty-minute analysis of a parable, I was happy to listen. After a few hours, I knew my time must be up. But I just couldn’t let them go, not at this point.

So I invited them to stick around.

When Melinda came downstairs she was thrilled to find our living room immaculately clean and a steaming plate of French toast on our kitchen counter, all thanks to Kevin and Peter. They stuck around for a whole day, helping out around the house and teaching us the lessons of the Lord. For the first time in weeks, Melinda and I could agree on something—Kevin and Peter should stay with us forever. Even though they never did take their dicks out, they brought us into the light and showed us the ways of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I guess I wouldn’t mind seeing their sweet pecs just once though.

—C. Rose

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PALS NOT GALS HOLDS INAUGURAL MEETING Last Tuesday, the Pro-Abstinence League of Students Not Going Around Living Sexually (PALS Not GALS) held their inaugural meeting on Yale’s campus. Their president, Gerald Doyle ’21, reserved SSS 114 expecting a large turnout. But when the time came, the only people there were Gerald himself, his roommate, and me, an undercover reporter for the Record.

“Welcome everyone!” said Gerald. “Today is the first ever meeting of PALS Not GALS, a new club dedicated to eradicating sexual activity on campus—that is, of course, until holy matrimony. We’re going to begin today’s meeting with a special guest.” At that moment, a thin, freckled, first year appeared on the stage. “This is Bernard,” Gerald announced as the special guest picked his nose and wiped it on his pant leg. “Bernard is going to tell us a story.”

For the next half hour, Bernard recounted the first time he learned about sex when his FroCo took him to see the CHE wooden phallus. “It sounded pretty gross and unholy at the time,” said Bernard, “and honestly, it still does.” Once Gerald and his roommate stopped snapping their fingers, Bernard continued: “So in conclusion, I’ve never had sex.”

“Wow! If that isn’t inspiring, I don’t know what is,” exclaimed Gerald. “Thank you very much Bernard.”

Turning out to the audience, he said, “Now for the next item on our agenda: we need to choose our official motto.”

The candidates for best motto were: “Abstinence: the most effective birth control,” “Have you tried masturbating?” and “Let’s be honest. Is sex really better than board games?” I voted for the last one, because board games are pretty fun. That’s not to say that I haven’t had sex. I’m totally cool and fuck, like, all the time. So does everyone who writes for the Record, as far as I know.

—F. Gibson

A CHRISTIAN MOM’S GUIDE TO LOSING YOUR VIRGINITY

REASONS I’M PRO-LIFE

Take her out: A great way to get to know a girl who you’d eventually like to see through God’s eyes is to take her out on a date! I personally love the Bible Study Group’s monthly screening of The Wizard of Oz! Every time they say the word “wizard” Pastor John dubs it over with “Satan’s worker,” for everyone knows that magic is sin.

Pop her cherry: Be a gentleman! If you go to the movies, make sure that you pop open her can of Cherry Coke.

That way if it spills, there’s no chance it will ruin her ankle-length white cotton dress, stockings, or polished mary janes.

Come in her: house. If she invites you in, come inside her home and meet her parents! They’ll see what an upstanding young man you are in no time.

Yank her chain: If you’re feeling a little daring, go ahead and give that gold cross necklace of hers a suggestive tug. It’ll remind you both of the reason you’re really here—Jesus Christ, Almighty God. Penetrate her: With the good word of the Lord.

If everyone got what they wanted in LIFE, how would the winners win and the losers lose?

Sometimes you just have to spin the wheel and see where LIFE takes you.

It might be difficult to take care of your kids while living Payday to Payday, but you can always borrow money from the bank.

The more the merrier! I love to see a plastic car full of happy boys and girls driving over bridges and past little white houses.

Education for the little ones isn’t too expensive! A couple hundred thousand is nothing if you play your cards right.

Why would you try to avoid having kids when each one is worth a LIFE token?

I really don’t understand what all the fuss is about.

LIFE is hours of fun for the whole family. People really need to calm down about a board game. You probably think I’m only pro-LIFE because I drew the Doctor career card, but I think you’re just mad that you lost.

—M. Blaney

—D. Johnson

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I DRANK FROM THE WOMEN’S TABLE AND NOW I UNDERSTAND BODILY AUTONOMY

THINGS WE THOUGHT THE MUELLER REPORT WOULD ACCOMPLISH

It was a crisp Sunday morning. Last night had been pretty crazy. The giant vomit rocket Brian had launched onto the steps of Sterling the night before still sat there, in all its chunky glory. I, Richard Saphot, President of LEO, walked past Cross Campus, my kickass Yeezys squeaking like hell.

Over to the left of Brian’s acid chowder sat the Women’s Table, which at this point I understood to be where some random hoe died or something. All I knew was that I’d downed four too many Four Lokos last night, and hydrate or diedrate amirite? I kneeled down and slurped from the Women’s Table’s chipped granite edge, chugging like the champ I was. Icy cold water flowed from an oval (honestly kind-of-vagina-shaped) spout. On the third sip, it happened—glowing, rose-gold energy flooded my entire being.

Suddenly, instead of visualizing where the clit might be on the oval of the Women’s Table, I visualized feminist legal scholars teaching me about reproductive justice. I watched Gloria Steinem going undercover as a Playboy Bunny. I felt predatory rich men slap her butt cheeks as if they were my own rock-hard glutes. I felt the unwanted stares of frat brothers at a house party. Suddenly, I understood.

When I came to, I found myself laying sprawled out beside the Table. My Yeezys were drenched in the life-giving waters emanating from the beautiful, majestic opening of the fountain. I cared not, for I finally understood: a woman’s body is not an object, it is her own. Since that fateful day, I have preached the truth to my fellow bros: women don’t want to hear what you think about their ass, Chad. They never have.

Conduct a thorough investigation of the President and his associates’ alleged misconduct during the 2016 presidential election Offer a prosecutorial opinion on whether the President obstructed justice Make elections security a legislative priority Convince Senate Republicans, Fox News, and your racist uncle that the President should be impeached and removed Become a NYT bestseller when everyone’s parents buy one for their coffee table to pretend they keep up with the news

—M. Von Fedak

THINGS THE MUELLER REPORT ACTUALLY ACCOMPLISHED ███████ ██████ [PERSONAL PRIVACY REDACTION] ███████████████████████ [HARM TO ONGOING MATTER] █████ ████████████ [INVESTIGATIVE TECHNIQUE] ████████████████████████ [GRAND JURY] ██████████ ███████ [PERSONAL PRIVACY REDACTION] —R. Moreno

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SLIFKA IMPLEMENTS PUNCH-CARD TO BECOME BAR-MITZVAHED

taking note of Slifka’s bold initiative. At press time, the Yale Christian Fellowship announced plans to release a punch card to become officially ordained.

By J. Kaufman-Shalett

MY WIFE IS IN LOVE WITH POPE FRANCIS

NEW HAVEN, CT—The Joseph Slifka Center for Jewish Life has announced that starting in the spring, non-bar-mitzvahed students of all religious backgrounds will be eligible to become bar-mitzvot by eating thirteen Slifka meals and filling out the all-new Slifka PunchCard™.

While this religious rite of passage traditionally entails learning to read Hebrew and preparing Torah and Haftarah portions, the new system thrives on chicken tenders and cooked-to-order pasta. “We need to incentivize Jewish participation on campus,” said Slifka’s Executive Director Linda Shapiro. “And nothing gets people in touch with their Jewish identity quite like fettuccine alfredo.”

Slifka has also announced that it will be hosting the students’ bar mitzvah parties in the Sylvia Slifka Chapel. The Joseph-SlifkaRocking-BM-Package™ will include a live band, Manischewitz wine, and party favors including a lock of Peter Salovey’s hair, a mug from Pierson dining hall, an iTunes gift card, and a pocket-sized Torah.

While many eagerly await Slifka’s Woadsalternative bar mitzvah parties, others see the punch card as an opportunity to engage with their culture. Self-identified “VSCOgirl-but-I’m-doing-it-ironically” Skylar “skskskSkylar” Liebowitz ’21 studies the intersection of Judaism and pop culture as an American Studies major. She sees her Slifka-bat-mitzvah as an essential way to connect with her Jewish roots. “I’m a quarter Jewish,” explained Liebowitz. “My Grandpa was Jewish, but nobody after him has ever set foot on a bima.” According to sources within the Slifka Center, Skylar’s bat mitzvah will critically compare VSCO girls’ fixation on the Holy Hydro Flask™ with the Israelites’ worship of the golden calf at the foot of Mount Sinai.

Other religious centers around Yale are

My wife Sheila and I have been happily married for twenty-two years. Sure, we’ve had our fair share of disagreements, brawls, and accidentally matching with each other on Bumble, but it’s mostly been smooth sailing. Lately, though, something has been up with her.

A few months ago, Sheila started going to church a lot more, which I guess should’ve raised some red flags since we’re devout non-practicing Jews. After her third trip to the Ash Wednesday service, I finally mustered up the courage to ask what was up. All she said was, “Frankie wanted me to come.” Now I was more confused than ever. Who was Frankie? A new lover? Was Sheila on Bumble again? I knew there was only one way to find out: I had to follow her to church and see who this Frankie was.

I knew I would have to be discreet about it, because I wouldn’t want to embarrass her in front of 1960s singing sensation Frankie Valli, or worse, the beloved Frankie Muniz from Malcolm in the Middle. So I sat in the church parking lot and watched from a distance. Sure enough, the service ended, and Valli and Muniz both walked out all alone. I waited a little longer, but there was no sign of my wife. I figured I had missed her, so I decided to go inside to use the bathroom and then head home.

But the moment I walked in, I finally had my answer. There was my wife Sheila, passionately kissing a cardboard cutout of Pope Francis in the foyer. I ran to my car, tears streaming down my face. “Frankie” was Pope Francis all along. He was the reason my wife won’t stop kneeling at the altar every Sunday, or asking me to whisper, “And also with you” in her ear during sex.

I drove home in a fit of rage. I threw Sheila’s clothes out of her drawers, ripped all of her Pope Francis posters to shreds, and cancelled our flight to the Vatican she begged me to book for the summer. She can set her preferred age on Bumble to 83, but as long as she’s stuck in the U.S., she’ll have to set her search radius to 5,000 miles to snag a Pontiff.

—K. Walsh

marc.rosenberg@yale.edu

T he C orporate A merica I ssue

Dean’s Excuse?

Dear Dean Rosenberg, Shabbat Shalom! Isn’t that a fun thing to say?! I see that you have not yet granted my Dean’s excuse for the upcoming holy day of Yom Kippur.

Your email mentions something about how I’m “not even Jewish” and how I “can’t convert to a new religion just for one day off.” When I read this, an old Jewish saying came to mind: “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I became a devout Jew about a week ago. My roommate Ben Weisenberg said he was off to “celebrate the high holidays.” I thought this meant he wanted to smoke while listening to Christmas Music, so I tagged along.

We ended up going to Ben’s house in New York City that weekend. After two hours of waiting to roll a joint, I realized it was actually the Jewish New Year! I read from the Torah (which is Jewish for ‘old-ass book’) with Ben’s Rabbi (which is Jewish for ‘guy with a beard’).

I had never been so instantly on board with an idea. A God that smites people because he’s having a bad day? Sassy! Inviting some strange old dude into your house so he can cut off the tip of your son’s penis? Innovative! Every holiday being about barely avoiding total annihilation? Inspiring! I knew I had to join. Ben’s mom gave me one of those cool hats that doubles as a Frisbee and sent me on my way.

So about that Dean’s excuse… I didn’t even know that Yom Kippur landed on the same day as my CS midterm. It probably seems like I was just trying to find a way out because I missed the review session. In my defense, I only missed it because I was hungover (from wine I drank for religious purposes).

Dean Rosenberg, I have connected deeply with my personal Jewish history that began seven days ago. I must take off for Yom Kippur so that when I grow old, I can ascend into the Jewish afterlife—a three-story home in Scarsdale.

Shana Tova (see, I said another fun Jewish thing!), Christian Smith

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WORST ANIMALS ON NOAH’S ARK Gnats: According to science, gnats are annoying as hell and as small as grains of salt. So how and why did Noah catch two of them? At the same time? I propose divine intervention.

Mosquitos: These assholes insist on draining my circulatory system and injecting me with malaria juice. Usually, I can slap them before they murder me in broad daylight. But every time one of those little heroin needle fuckers leaves a mark on me, I’m reminded of the fact that God told Noah to save these useless shits from the deluge that should have marked their end. Perhaps they are the chosen ones.

Shrew: I doubt anyone cares enough about the shrew to hate it. But if Noah was going to save something, couldn’t he have chosen something less ugly?

Pinnochio looking ass motherfuckers.

Fleas: Useless, but they kill it at the circus.

Head Lice: The blame rests completely on Noah for this one. If you’re on a rodent-infested boat in the middle of a flood for forty days and forty nights and you choose not to wash, that’s just poor hygiene.

Humans: God should’ve ended the miserable cycle of human life when he had the chance. He regrettably left Noah to repopulate the earth, probably with the notion that he would bring forth the next wave of pure and prosperous beings. Instead, we invented TikTok and started cooking the planet. Maybe we should just surrender to the mosquitos.

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Church of Blessed Lambs of the Lord: Entry to this elite heaven feeder will cost you $5,000/mo, or your first five sons. What we love about this cult is the lack of child marriage. CBLL is known for its progressive views, such as allowing women to speak every third Sunday. Its open minded policies set it apart from its peers. But as the hefty price tag suggests, freedom isn’t actually free. Kiss Jacob, Ezra, Harold, Donald, and Arthur, goodbye! May their organs be harvested.

The Manson Family: Although it had a bit of a rough patch in the late 60s, the Manson Family is ripe for a comeback. With a vintage feel, new management, and just the right amount of name recognition, the Manson Family is a great choice for anyone in search of a girl-gang vibe, long hair, and unshapely dresses. And at the bargain price of only three sacrifices per month, it’s highway robbery!

The Church of Scientology: We’ve sent five reporters so far. We haven’t gotten any back, so they must be having a ton of fun. James, if you’re reading this, give us a call. They were really nice on the phone and Tom Cruise is a member… so we’ll just say try at your own risk.

—L. Del Alamo

——J. Salvant

TOP HEAVEN FEEDER CULTS Long gone are the days of elite Ivy feeder prep schools. The new rage among the rich and powerful is buying direct access to heaven through elite cult membership. “Universities like Harvard and Yale started caring about ‘merit’ and ‘giving the poors [sic] a chance, too,’ so we’ve had to resort to more drastic measures,” said Phillip Charleston IV, a prominent member of several heaven feeder cults. “We’re very excited about the prospect of eternal bliss without any of the ‘good deeds.’”

Our reporters have compiled a list of the Top Heaven Feeder Cults along with their monthly dues:

—A. Mitchell

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I AM GROWING A COLONY OF FUNGAL SPORES IN THE SHAPE OF U.S. SECRETARY OF AGRICULTURE SONNY PERDUE I am not a religious man. This is because I am already at peace and I do not need a preacher or God to tell me so. In fact I am so well-adjusted that amidst my busy career and home life I have had time to begin growing a colony of fungal spores in the shape of U.S. Secretary of Agriculture Sonny Perdue.

This project was initially offset by the fact that I could not find any spores like literally anywhere. I tried the gardening store, behind a cemetary, even the “spore” aisle at Stop & Shop. (I was later informed that the spore aisle is actually an employee lounge and also that this particular Stop & Shop at been abandoned for sixty years.) When I finally got my hands on some, I had to carefully arrange the spores to resemble all 250 pounds of Perdue’s liberal-bashing heft. It was a physically and emotionally trying process, but more rewarding than anything I have ever done.

One day, as I was converting the master bedroom into a fungus-growing chamber, my wife was like, “Get rid of those horrible spores or I’ll leave you for your hot-ass cousin Brett.” I knew I could not allow this to happen, because I hate Brett’s guts (although they are probably very hot). That was then it hit me: clearly this was not really my wife. It was the voice of God speaking through her. I am the modern day Abraham, and I must sacrifice Shroomy Perdue to prove that I am faithful.

I do not look lightly upon my calling. It is a duty that demands serious concentration and follow-through.

My wife says she misses back when I didn’t spend all my time alone in my growing chamber. But she does not know what it’s like to care for something the way I do.

She also says our kids are growing up without a father.

As I carry my fungus up the proverbial altar that is my rain gutter, my wife will follow closely. I will cry, whisper goodbye, and promise Shroomy I will pull more funding from the EPA than anyone knows what to do with. And at the last second my wife will remove her maidenly blouse to reveal she is in fact the Lord.

And the Lord will say, “Thou beholdst mine removed frockery,” which, if you’re reading the King James

version, roughly translates to, “Well fuck, I don’t know what anyone was thinking here.”

So yeah, I was never religious growing up. But there’s always time to learn and earn a place in God’s cabinet—I mean, you know, heaven. Maybe my cousin Brett will be there, too, but I won’t even be mad because I will finally know true peace, and also because he is very hot.

—D. Schifrin

SCIENCE VS. SCIENTOLOGY People ask me all the time, “L. Ron, you hunk, why did you name your cult *scientology*? What does it have to do with *science*?” And I always respond, “Please, I’m no hunk. I’m just a humble veteran of the U.S. armed forces.”

But while I may not be a hunk, I still have a brain.

And that brain whispers little questions to me all the time, like: “what on earth does *scientology* have to do with *science*?”

It’s in these moments I have to stop thinking and just be. How is Xenu, the dictator of the Galactic Confederacy, so great that even a jarhead like me can have a brain? He really popped off on old L. Ron...

Xenu is noticing me whispering to my brain. Now he’s floating down from the heavens. And here is what he’s saying: Scientology is big science.

Everything science says, scientology says bigger.

Did that clear things up? Great!

Hahaha. Good one! You’re so funny.

Hey! Were you eavesdropping on me and Xenu?

You dirty naughty dog. I should smack you on your little tushy.

Don’t worry, I would never! That was just me “paling around.” A real soldier knows the greatest weapon in his arsenal isn’t smacking… it’s sharing. So, just like Alien Jesus did for me, I’m gonna share a signed copy of Dianetics with you for the low price of four thousand dollars. Stay hunky.

—D. McCowin

Call us today!

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T he Y ale R ecord

IT’S NOT ADAM AND EVE, IT’S ADAM AND EVE AND STEVE God created Adam and then fashioned Eve from Adam’s rib, but He didn’t stop there. The rule of threes, baby! After creating Eve, God fashioned Steve from the flesh of Eve’s third boob. That’s why most women only have two boobs now.

Fact: Eden was perfect. Another fact: monogamy is a social construct. Adam and Eve and Steve lived together in pleasure and harmony. They could bump uglies any time they wanted, as long as they followed God’s two rules: (1) Don’t eat an apple from The Tree of Knowledge, and (2) Never ever ever commit to a monogamous relationship and deny yourself the pleasure of two or more sexual partners.

Adam, Eve, and Steve followed God’s two rules for many months, until suddenly a serpent arrived and tempted Eve to take one of the apples from the tree.

Adam wasn’t there to stop her because he was busy noodling with Steve on the other side of the garden.

When God found out what had happened, his punishment was devastating. He condemned Adam to a lifetime of labor and Eve to the pains of childbirth.

But His real punishment was erasing Steve from the Bible and dooming us all to bland and unfulfilling lives of monogamy.

To raise awareness for Steve’s story, the Yale Polygamy Society will be hosting an orgy this Friday at 1:00 p.m. in the middle of cross campus. Bring your friends and be ready to find love and salvation!

Hallelujah, Steve!

Okay: wages, tips, and other compensation?

What’s that? $30,000, kissing babies, and the pressure of a crumbling hegemonic institution? Sure, I’ll put that down. Any allocated tips? No? Not even the collection plate? Fine.

Federal Income Tax Withheld? $0? Are you telling me you’re totally tax exempt? Do you consider yourself to be the literal physical embodiment of the Catholic Church as an organization? I’m not sure that’s gonna hold up in the audit your Holiness, but if you insist.

Do you have any Dependent Care Benefits you’d like to claim? I’m not seeing a provision for claiming 600 million people as your “flock, fruit of your word and dependents of your heavenly guidance,” but I’ll ask my manager.

State income tax rate for your bracket sir? Well, yes I can write that in, but I don’t think they’re gonna accept “TAXATION IS THEFT” as a legitimate answer. We do happen to sell bumper stickers that say that, though.

Just a few boxes to go. I can see the relief on your face, Holy Father. Would you like to claim any losses from depreciations or legal settlements?

Oh, oh dear. I’m afraid we can’t come up with a monetary value for the suffering of Jesus Christ, the Son of Man and God, the fault of Original Sin, or the temptation of this pagan Earth... Maybe we’ll just try to get you reimbursed for that big silver cross.

—J. Eldred

—A. Kornfeld

HELP THE POPE WITH HIS W-2 Welcome to H&R Block! How can I help you today, Holy Father? Need to fill out your W-2? Well it is that time of the year again, your Holiness.

Your social security number? 777-77-7777? Father I believe that is just the repetition of the holy number.

Really? Well okay, if you swear on the cross.

Your first name and middle initial, Father? You forgot them when you shed your earthly identity to become a living representation of the one true Christ?

Got it... I’m not sure the IRS will accept “Pope,” but I’ll pencil it in.

—A. Taranto

THE LORD’S PRAYER, THEN AND NOW Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be your name.

Gheav Josh, who art no longer at Gheav, we pour one out for you.

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, as you dab on ‘em at Gheav and also in other places.

Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we also have forgiven those who trespass against us.

Hit me up with my daily ciabatta roll, and forgive me for when I shat on VSCO girls for an hour despite the fact that I basically am one, as I try to forgive the Yale men that yeeted outta my life.

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

And lead me not into the darkness of vine compilations, but save me from the haters.

For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, now and forever.

For thy bacon, egg, and cheese hits real different, rn and 4ever.

Amen.

And that is the tea.

—B. Portela Design by V. Suri