The Legal Issue

Vol. 142, No. 4

TH E YALE

Nov. 21, 2013

RECORD

Parrot needs to watch its language!

Case File No. 2371472 Supervising Officer: J. McHenry Photo # 004 - annotations

Expired!

Covered in own fingerprints!

Suicide?

Highly suspicious!

(Was this here before?)

Only witness, very helpful

Certainly not the killer!

Hopefully ketchup?

Illustrated by K. Tian - Designed by S. Shea

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101 Whalley Avenue Dear Yale Green Energy Club, I have before me two petitions from your group. One demands that Yale divest from fossil fuels, “whatever the cost.” The other demands that Yale install a solar-powered hot tub in the courtyard of every residential college. I hate to seem like I’m not with the times, but... pick one.

Yours, Peter Salovey Dear President Salovey, So sorry! That other petition was a mistake. Please burn it over a coal fire and pipe it up your chimney. We’ll take the hot tubs.

—The Yale Green Energy Club

FDA BROADENS DEFINITION OF “FOOD,” SCHOOL CAFETERIAS REJOICE

Dear racist haikus, I don’t really have a joke. Somehow I just thought the phrase “dear racist haikus” was super funny. Like watching an Armenian try do math.

—A racist prose poem

“PANLIST” APPARENTLY JUST AN INVENTORY OF BAKING SUPPLIES Dear politically correct people, What’s wrong with jokes about infectious diseases? I think they’re malarious.

Sincerely, A struggling Ugandan comedian Dear Budweiser, Your product did not perform as advertised. I checked this morning and my IQ was still the same. I demand a refund.

—Bud

ALEX RODRIGUEZ “FOUND” “CLEAN” SAYS MLB “SPOKESPERSON” Dear Frank, I refuse. I’ll never so much as touch a beer; not after I watched my father’s alcoholism slowly destroy our family.

Honestly, I’m appalled that you’d even ask. The fact that you just led me to this water over here is kind of irrelevant.

You’ll never make me drink, —A horse Dear Visigoths, I know that “sacking Rome” has a nice ring to it, but why don’t we just take over the city and live there? When we carry their pottery and valuable art home in our sacks, it turns into a pile of rubble by Germany. And every virgin I kidnap suffocates before I can have my way with her.

—Eric

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PIMPLE EMBARRASSED TO BE ASSOCIATED WITH DORKY FRESHMAN Dear freshmen, We recognize that the first year of college can often be an emotionally trying time. For this reason, we want to offer you some simple pieces of advice for dealing with loneliness. First, when sitting alone at dinner, make sure to bring a laptop and type random sentences on it: This way everyone else will think, “Man, who’s that super busy guy?” instead of, “Man, who’s that sad guy?” Every once in a while hold a fake conversations on your cell phone, each ending with, “I love you too, [name].”

Hide behind the vending machines for large portions of the day. Try LSD. Anyways, point is, there’s lots of ways to cope, you whiners.

Buck up, Yale Mental Health Counseling

FRESHMEN GROSSLY MISUNDERSTAND CONTEXT OF “NAKED PARTY,” ARRIVE AT YPU DEBATE NUDE Dear Ben, I shouldn’t have to make this clear, but submitting your essay entirely in Wingdings is not an acceptable response to the question “What is postmodernism?” Please see me.

—Professor Schultz Dear Cultural Connections Staff, Thanks for the photos. I don’t know what we would have done without them.

Sincerely, The people in charge of making the brochures that show how diverse Yale is

UNDERAGE? we’ll sell you

CHAMPAGNE ...or scotch, or rum, or vodka in bright n’ bouncy plastic bottles, you name it - if it’s dirt-cheap and kills brain cells, we’ve got it.

And since we’ve got it, you can get it. We pay off the cops. You’d be amazed at how little money it takes to bribe ‘em. Terrified, in fact.

skeevy’s wines & liquor you know where • New Haven

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VENUS FLYTRAP JUST WANTED TO PLAY Dear Ho’s Crab Shack, With this letter, we order you to cease and desist operating under your current name. Would-be patrons of our Las Vegas location have informed us that your whorehouse’s title, however accurate, led to undue confusion and venereal disease. If you do not comply within 14 days, we will seek redress.

Sincerely, Joe’s Crab Shack

Dear Yale Record, As of the end of August, I weigh 176.4 lbs and am 5 feet 11 inches tall. Please add this information to my current Yale record. Thank you.

—Phil

THIEVES MAKE OFF WITH PLEDGE MONEY AND 200 MASTERPIECE THEATER DVDS IN PHONE-BANK HEIST

Dear Phil, We tried reading your submission out loud at our meeting, with little success.

Maybe try to add in a couple more obvious punchlines? Don’t be afraid of hitting someone over the head with your jokes! Solid effort, though. Don’t give up comedy writing just yet!

—The Yale Record, America’s Oldest College Humor Magazine

Dear Tyrannosaurus Rex, So, is masturbation even possible with you guys?

—Tyler Brown, PC ’15

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

Dear Tyler, Roar roar roar. Roar. Roar.

—Tyrannosaurus Rex

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

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The Yale Record

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LOCAL REFEREE DECLARED INNOCENT DUE TO LOOPHOLE IN WHISTLEBLOWER LAWS

Dear Simba, You may be the biggest member of the pride, but you really shouldn’t take pride in your big member. Mostly because I’ve seen bigger on a hyena. Have you considered Viagroar?

Love, Nala

Alright, Sebastian, I’ve gotta hand it to you, you’re a tough one. Waterboarding, electrocution, having screws pushed into your feet – and yet you still haven’t talked. I admire that. That’s why I’m going to give you one last chance before I start yanking out canines. So this time, answer me! Now…WHO’S A GOOD BOY?!?!!

—Someone who started asking their Dear Ben Bernanke, dog, “Who’s a good boy?!” before Night and day, I have retrieved data for Repair Repair things got out of hand about five academics and pundits and students who Shifting, Shifting, Braking Braking & & Wheels Wheels Repair, Apparel All Repairs Welcome minutes later All Repairs Welcome want to look smart.

I’ve typed so much my and Accessories Guaranteed Parts & Repairs fingers are bleeding, and I haven’t seen Guaranteed Parts & Repairs Dear Mike, Apparel the sun in years. I’m not sure how much Apparel Cold Cold Weather Weather Gear Gear You know what? Darn Mon-Thurs.

YOU. longer I can take this. Please, release me! Cycling Shorts 10:00-7:00 Cycling Shorts Sincerely, And you thought I was an acronym, Protective Equipment A family of possums wearing Protective Equipment Your socks burlap clothing as a political FRED Accessories Fri-Sat Accessories statement. That would be weird

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Full Service Bicycle Shop: • Repairs and tune-ups for any brand or style of bike • New bikes by Cannondale and Giant • Accessories, tools, replacement parts and clothing

C

Sydney Shea’14, Editor-in-Chief Jack Newsham ’14, Chairman Aaron Gertler ’15, Publisher

Becky Marvin ’16, Design Editor Ben Garfinkel ’16, Managing Editor Nick Goel ’16, Managing Editor Scott Stern ’15, Managing & Supplementals Editor Zach Schloss ’15, Staff Director Allie Beizer ’15, Art Director Daniel Fraser ’14, Director of Special Projects Emily Sandford ’14, Online Editor Ian Gonzalez ’16, Business Manager Claudia Shin ’16, Publicity Manager & Copy Editor Ethan Campbell-Taylor ’16, Recruitment Director Mitchell Nobel, LAW ’16, Legal Counsel

reating this Legal Issue was a long and arduous process.

First of all, no one signed up to write any pieces. I begged, I pleaded, I bought the staff all the Pop ‘Ems my Durfees dollars could buy. I even offered to relax my one-poop joke-per-piece limit, but to no avail. The writers were all too “busy” to write jokes. And the artists were no better, claiming they had all simultaneously gotten “that carpal tunnel bug that’s been going around.” If I wanted The Record to be to be published before Rumpus’s spring-ish issue, I had to do something drastic. And, thanks to a psych course I took in high school, I had just the thing...

By the next editorial board meeting, I was ready.

After everyone had gathered into the Record office, I quietly locked the door and handed everyone a participant waiver. “What’s this?” asked Scott as he instinctively formed his waiver into a tiny origami owl.

“The font’s so tiny, I can’t read it!” said Becky.

“I can’t read anyway,” added Ben. I soothed my disgruntled staff. “It’s just a paper saying you agree to be a part of today’s eboard meeting.” My explanation was met with blank looks.

I sighed. “And if you sign them, I promise I’ll never make Aaron get pineapple pizza for meetings again.”

Twelve signed names and one ‘x’ later, I was ready to begin my experiment. “Okay, everyone! So you just contractually agreed to be a part of a voluntary study on power and writing. Nobody’s heard of the Stanford prison experiment, right?”

“That’s not a real thing!” Ethan scoffed. “Stanford has too many trees to have a prison!”

“That’s what I thought. Well, anyway, you are now all my writing-prisoners, and I am your editorguard. You’re stuck here until we finish The Legal Issue. Hope you all brought your laptop chargers!

But before we start writing, you have to change into

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your Record prison garb to get into the right mindset.”

I pointed to a pile of clothes in the corner of the office.

“But those are just the leftover Game shirts from 2007... not to mention, none of us is a size XXXL,” observed Emily, using her top-notch skills of deduction.

“Well, the UOC rejected my request for prison funds, which is also why the only writing utensils we have are Prang crayons,” I replied. “Now get to work!”

Everyone settled down on the floor. Soon, they were clacking away at their keyboards, and I was ecstatic to finally be getting some progress done on this issue. That is, until I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.

“Wait a second! You’re not writing! You’re just watching clips of Wicked on YouTube!”

“People are always trying to bring me down!” Zach responded tearfully. “I needed some inspiration!”

I looked at the next laptop in the line. “And you’re playing WebDiplomacy!”

Jack whined in response. “Well, I couldn’t miss this phase! I was just about to take Warsaw!”

I looked around, frustrated. “Is there anyone here who’s written a single piece?”

Aaron raised his hand. “I wrote one!”

“What is it?” “‘Top Five Most Alphabetical Supreme Court Justices.’”

I groaned. “That’s it, I’m locking the booze fridge!

And no more computers! And from now on, you can only go to the bathroom in the Herald’s office!”

My announcement was met with cries of dismay.

Staff Writers, Artists, & Designers: Victoria Kim ’15, Travis Reginal ’16, Sylvia Zhang ’15, Claire Zhang ’15

But within fifteen minutes, I had ten drafts sitting in my inbox, plus one audio file to transcribe from Ben. However, when I opened them, I discovered all the word docs were blank and the audio file was just 4’33”.

I stared down at my prisoners. They stared back indignantly. “So.” I said quietly. “Is this a rebellion?”

Ian, the obvious ringleader, stepped forward. “We refuse to work until we get food!”

“Food! Food!” came cries from the others. I was beginning to think I had miscalculated this whole one guard-thirteen prisoner ratio.

Finally, I responded. “Okay, let’s make a deal. You get me first drafts from everyone within the next ten minutes, and I’ll get you each a wenzel.”

My bargain worked. In a record three minutes and forty-two seconds, I had everyone’s first drafts. We were sitting waiting for our wenzels when there came a loud booming knock at the door. I had a moment of panic. What if they had called for reinforcements?

I slowly opened the door to reveal Mitchell, our legal counsel. He looked around at the Prang-crayonwax smudged faces of the staff, perplexed. “I arrive an hour late and you’ve already got everyone locked in the office wearing the Recordian version of a prison uniform? I may only be an L1 student but I know that’s not acceptable.”

“Well... they did sign the waivers.”

—S. Shea The Yale Record November 2013 Contributing Writers, Artists, & Designers: Sahil Gupta ’17, Mikayla Harris ’17, Daniel Hoogstraten ’17, Madeline Kaplan ’17, Tom McCoy ’17, Isaac Morrier ’17, Ben Rudeen ’17, Chris Rudeen ’17, Sam Savitz ’17, Harrison Schneider ’17, Karen Tian ’15, Lining Wang ’17, Natalie Warren ’17

Special Thanks to: Michael Gerber, Gwyneth Tuckett, and an anthropomorphic gavel banging a tiny human on his podium to retain order.

Cover: This month’s cover was illustrated by Johanna Flato ’14, who likes it hot.

Founded September 11, 1872 • Vol. CXLII, No. 4, 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 2013 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. The Record is on sale on all the principal news-stands in New Haven, New York, and Boston (Providence can go fuck itself). The Yale Record would like to high-five the UOFC for its financial support.

POINT/COUNTERPOINT: WHAT TO DO AFTER LAW SCHOOL GRADUATION IN THIS ECONOMY? Point: Move in With My Parents You know, I’ve been thinking. With the legal market the way that it is, I don’t exactly have too many prospects lined up for next year. So, well, maybe I should just move back in with good ole mom and pop! Sure, they converted my room to a home gym/gift-wrapping room the moment I left, but I bet the basement will be warm enough. While I’m there, I can start looking for a job—I’m sure I’m eminently employable. Should be a piece of cake.

Cake! Free food. Yet another reason to move back home.

You know what, I’m starting to feel really good about this. I’ve really missed being able to wake up at noon, saunter down to the sparkling clean kitchen in my boxers, and dig into the leftovers from mom’s famous meatloaf with nothing but my bare fingers. Sure beats my original plan of dumpster diving with homeless Dave—that eye patch really gives me the creeps. And when I leave my dirty laundry on the floor, it just gets picked up! Like magic. I guess I’ll no longer be able to make a smelly-sock fort judgment-free like I did last week, but hey, it might be easier to convince girls to come back to a room that doesn’t smell like a Long Island tollbooth. Plus the family dog is a way better wingman than last week’s dishes!

Meanwhile, I can intern at the Arby’s around the corner. Third summer in a row! Maybe I’ll even get Employee of the Week again!

Besides, who could forget about Twister night?

Counter-point: Oh, god no Listen, Brandon. We need to talk.

You know how we’ve gladly paid your tuition these past three years? Well, sweetheart, that was it. It’s time for you to take that fantastic legal education, go out into the world, and show everyone what you can do! Arby’s was a good start, but maybe try something a little more, um, professional. Maybe you could do what your roommate Alex is doing, and go in-house at Bain Capital. How rewarding! Or go represent underprivileged, inner-city youth with your ex-girlfriend Sandy. So colorful!

We know may seem like we’re rejecting you, but honey, we’re here to tell you: it’s not you; it’s us. We’ve just gotten so used to the tri-weekly sex and occasional swinging that we’re not sure you’d fit in anymore. We just installed the hot tub and it’s more for our sorts of parties, if you get the drift. We’ve given Twister a new twist, but maybe it’s best you sit this one out.

And, as you must know, Aunt Veronica has moved back in and we would like to keep her very comfortable until the bitter end. She’s not long for this world—what with her arthritis, bunions, and various flesh-eating diseases— but it’s important that she understands we’re giving her as much love and attention as we possibly can. After all, every hour adds a few hundred to our inheritance check!

Besides, the basement’s where we keep the Twister.

And the whips.

—S. Stern

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INAPPROPRIATE TIMES TO YELL OBJECTION In the middle of your bar mitzvah.

When you accidentally see your suite mate naked.

When you intentionally see your suite mate naked.

When the priest tells you to do 5 Hail Marys and 3 Our Fathers.

“It’s a girl!”

During your own attorney’s closing argument.

In response to a demurrer on section 12.b.6 grounds.

During a eulogy.

When someone says, “Say ‘objection’ if you’re a holocaust denier!”

At a feminism conference when you actually mean ‘objectification.’

After your best friend comes out to you.

When the godfather makes you an offer.

During any wedding not in a 90s rom-com.

Absolutely any time you’re not in a courtroom.

—Staff HOW A BILL ACTUALLY BECOMES A LAW Day 1: Some annoying, persistent mom calls Congress with a complaint; the bill is born.

Day 9: The bill is written by an unpaid intern between Facebook breaks.

Day 17: The bill goes to committee - nothing happens for two weeks.

Day 23: The government shuts down.

Day 60: The bill is introduced in Congress, and is added to a controversial bill about eradicating orphanages, orphans.

Day 68: The bill is filibustered; the congressmen learn about the joys of hopping on Pop. Day 86: The government shuts down.

Day 123: In an effort to improve his image after a wiretapping scandal that completely ruined Wanda’s surprise party, the President makes an impassioned plea for the bill to pass.

Day 131: The bill becomes a campaign issue; everyone hears so many hours of superficial analysis and screamed talking points that it becomes literally impossible to care anymore.

Day 146: The bill is voted on; in the spirit of democracy, everyone votes nay.

Day 155: The bill is gradually stripped of all controversial language, until only out of-context legalese and a provision funding a cheese grater museum in Miami remain. The bill is two thousand pages long.

Day 199: The bill is voted on again, and it passes by a slim majority; everyone is still unhappy.

Day 210: The bill is now a law; no real change has occurred, and construction of the cheese grater museum is beset with red tape.

Day 224: The government shuts down.

—B. Rudeen REJECTED POLICE SIREN NOISES The 46th bar of the second movement of Tchaikovsky’s String Quartet No. 3 in C-Flat Minor The sound of an old man realizing he has wasted his life The dulcet tones of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir The theme song to Cops Selected works by The Police The sound the arcade machine makes when you die in Pac-Man An officer actually shooting a machine gun out the window An old Jewish woman from Brooklyn on a roller coaster The exact sound of a ’72 Oldsmobile Cutlass hitting 5400RPM in 4th gear The exact sound of Donald Duck having an orgasm OwoowhEEEheehahahWOOOoowOOOOwwooo BAAHDAMwub —D. Hoogstraten and S. Savitz

What judges do during recess.

—S. Gupta

K Sentenced to Death for Excessive Silence

BY TOM MCCOY ALBANY, NEW YORK – In a victory for phonetic spellers worldwide, the letter k has been sentenced to death. This controversial verdict comes after three years of tireless lobbying from the Society for the Elimination of k.

Alfred Ellerton, the president of the Society, who lost his sixth grade spelling bee for misspelling ‘knickknack’ and is reportedly trying to “make a comebac,” gladly elaborated on the Society’s aims: “If you take the k out of knight, it’s still pronounced ‘night.’ If you take the k out of knot, it’s still pronounced ‘not.’ Why have a letter that doesn’t make any noise? Brits might have a place they spell Worcesterhillknottinghamtownmountstonfordcester-

shiretown yet pronounce ‘Wharton,’ but Americans struggle with basic literacy even without unpronounced letters. K is clearly unnecessary - and what’s more, it’s decidedly unAmerican.”

“Is silence really golden?” added Ellerton. “I sure don’t think so.”

Last week, the Society brought k to trial for “excessive silence and crimes against humanity.” The prosecutors were represented by one of the Society’s own members, a Professor Cevin C. Franclin.

Franclin is so devoted to his cause that he has removed the k key from his keyboard (or “eyboard,” as he fondly calls it) to expose a wire that lies underneath.

Any time he tries to type a k, he receives a small electric shock.

“It is kind of painful,” Franclin reflected, “but it’s

a good kind of pain. It reminds me that I stand for a noble cause, something a whole lot larger than myself.”

Is silence really golden? I sure don’t think so.

ALFRED ELLERTON President, Society for the Elimination of k

Franclin’s speech reached its highest emotional note when he blamed historical atrocities on the hated letter: “Without even a single k, no one could have strung together three of them to make the KKK. Just think of all the tragedy caused by this one lethal letter.”

Kyle McKinnen, the attorney representing k, was hired jointly by Americans for Increased Potassium Intake, the Kelvin Tem-

perature Enthusiasts of Southern Kentucky, and a group of people so lazy that most of their texts consist of a single “k.” Despite the big-money backing, the defense seemed only to present a half-hearted argument. Letters, McKinnen claimed, “have a right to remain silent.” The jury was visibly unimpressed.

After brief deliberation, the jury found that k would be executed by lethal erasure, while j would now be pronounced “jay-ay” to keep the original rhythm of the alphabet song. K, silent as ever, did not comment on the verdict, but Franclin was heard to remark, “You’re next, w!”

In honor of the departed letter, the courtroom held a moment of silence.

Contact TOM MCCOY at recordsubscribe@gmail.com.

SOME ATHLETE DOES SOMETHI NEW HAVEN, CONN. – In a testament to the aweinspiring power of human skill, a Yale University athlete has accomplished

“We didn’t think he had it in him,” said Pete Franzen, SY ’17. “But he proved us all wrong, I guess.”

And indeed he did - shat-

hat happens to a poet with an empty belly?

Does he shrivel up like a raisin in the sun? Or rob a deli?

One such artist, without pay, Decided to steal some ham one day And also pilfer a loaf of bread— Or so the prosecution said.

“Rhyming about stealing the food you lack, man, Only works if you’re Hugh Jackman.

Unfortunately,” April said, “The justice system cannot strike you dead Instead, in keeping with your aesthetic, We will dole out a different justice: poetic.”

“Your sentence will be serving the In verse the poet gave his speech community: As uncomfortable and disappointing An English-teaching opportunity. as a nudist beach.

In rich suburbia you will teach, His defense was as hole-y as Listening to your pubescent pupils divine Swiss cheese preach And as shaky as Jell-O with About their struggles in the priviParkinson’s disease. leged class.

April was the cruelest juror You’ll hear each boy’s love poems to She recited the decision with sound each pimply lass.” and furor.

“Forward the white brigade!

She said: “We find you guilty of You ought not be dismayed! petty theft Into the valley of elitism you will But your punishment will carry charge great heft.

And adolescent vocabularies you Shall I compare thee to an autumn’s will enlarge.” day?

The berated bard broke down and Thou hath more bluster than that cried cliché.

Said he: “I’d rather just have died.”

You opening was quite Homeric: In scope it was epic but in quality, Written by S. Savitz barbaric.”

Designed by B. Marvin

Trial No. 78409 Yale University vs. Poopetrator

Crowd: **Rabble Rabble Rabble**

Judge: Order! Order in the Court! We will now begin the trial of the alleged poopetrator, Mr. Richard Charles Levin. Mr. Levin, how do you plead?

Levin: Guilty.

Crowd gasps in unison]

Judge: The prosecution, led by President - and surprisingly enough, first-class attorney Peter Salovey, may proceed to question the defendant.

Salovey: Thank you your honor. Listen, Richard. We all need to know. Why did you do it?

Levin: Oh please. This university was shit when I took over. I mean, when I came in, our graduation rate sucked because there wasn’t any grade inflation, student life was crap because we didn’t give them booze money, and our sports teams were a fucking joke because the kids kept breaking their ankles trying to moonwalk. I singlehandedly restored its reputation. But did I get any credit for turning things around? Noooo. I couldn’t even take my goodbye bonus from the Student Financial Aid Fund because we used it all up ordering custom-made water bottles for your goddamn inauguration! And the slightly phallic lids on those damn things don’t even work. I spilled all over my $50,000 Armani suit donated by Charles Dagwood ’74.

Salovey: Easy now, Dick. I really don’t think the inauguration was that elaborate.

Levin: Really? You had a block party. What the fuck is this, The Fresh Prince of Bel Air? And don’t even get me started on the

ceremony itself, with half the faculty and me dressed in those ridiculous robes. It reminded me of my cult days but without all the group sex. Just look - while you had a harpist, I had Mary Miller in a piano key necktie. A piano key necktie! And that crazy medallion you wore?! Actually, fuck it. The medallion was pretty sick.

Salovey: But the students, Rich? Why punish the students? What did they do to deserve this?

Levin: Psssh, I thought the President was supposed to be in touch with the student body. They love you, you mustachioed son-ofa-bitch. I do all the heavy lifting to make this university top-notch, and then you come along and send a few lousy emails and the whole student body swoons over you.

Salovey: Clearly this has been brewing for a while. What pushed you over the edge?

Levin: I think it was the Charles B. Johnson foundation. Some billionaire decides to drop $250 million on his alma mater instead of some cryogenic immortality chamber, and now I won’t even get a Residential College named after me. Why the fuck do you think I started that project in the first place? If I wasn’t going to be celebrated, someone had to get their comeuppance.Salovey: Their what?

Levin: Their comeuppance, you pompous, banjostrumming fuck! Their goddamn comeuppance!

Salovey: But why Saybrook?

Levin: I mean, everyone always says that Saybrook is the shittiest college and, well, I just couldn’t resist. Oh, and one more thing fuck the police.

Richard Levin grabs his crotch, is escorted out of the courtroom]

Written by H. Schneider Art & Design by I. Morrier

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People Who Might, Epistemologically Speaking, Have Died Since You Last Checked

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1) The guy who lost to Kelly Clarkson on American Idol—you know, Justin something, with the hair?

2) The last Yangtze River dolphin. (Dolphins are always doing shit like that.)

3) That one relative who you never managed to express your love for.

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4) Everyone else in the room, while you’ve just been staring at this page.

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5) All of the members of Congress, in independent “skiing” accidents.

6) Like literally twenty billion ants 7) Everyone in Guam except for one very confused restroom attendant named Toby 8) Don’t worry, only one person. Unfortunately, he was your pilot.

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9) Everyone else in the world except for that weird kid in section who’s always licking his lips for some reason 10) Even you? No, not even you. That would make no fucking sense.

11) Oh shit, those cats you were supposed to feed!

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12) According to multiverse theory, the version of you that exists in a parallel universe where chairs sometimes explode for no reason 13) Andy Rooney 14) A man who was just sneaking up behind you with an axe, but also a man who was just sneaking up behind you with a plate of cookies

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15) Just a few dozen Syrian dissidents

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Written by B. Garfinkel Designed by B. Marvin

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CREATIVE WAYS TO GET OUT OF JURY DUTY

INEFFECTIVE MONEY LAUNDERING SCHEMES

Bring a feral badger to the voir dire.

Loudly talk about how much you love torturing small animals.

Flee to a country that still uses the ancient ritual of dueling rather than due process.

Cut off your own hands. You need hands to be on a jury.

Steal the judge’s gavel. You need a gavel to be a judge.

Also, hands! Cut off the judge’s hands!

Get your mom to write you a note.

Show up belligerently drunk, repeatedly ask if you can “get some munchies up in this bitch.”

Mention your personal collection of used electric chair sponges.

While you’re swearing to be an impartial arbiter, wink and purse your lips repeatedly at the judge.

Create a complex and implausible system of pulleys and wires that will dramatically fling you from the courtroom.

Renounce your own right to a trial by jury in exchange for not having to serve this one time.

Blackmail the judge with a picture of him committing a minor jaywalking offense.

Over the years, slowly build up an insidious hatred for members of a certain race that consumes you so totally no legal professional would ever trust you with the sacred right of judgment.

—I. Gonzalez

Steal money from your own business, then spend it back at the same business.

Open up a fake brothel.

Create a fraudulent cancer charity but feel too guilty and actually donate the money.

Abuse Best Buy’s generous Geek Squad Protection Plan™ to get sweet, sweet, innocent store credit.

Step 1: Purchase Amazon gift cards. Step 2: Repeat Step 1 using Amazon gift cards.

Claim the ‘dirty’ money was created by God and gifted to you for your commitment to the church.

Claim you got the money from a Nigerian prince whom you helped to recover his family’s fortune.

“This local mother found a simple money laundering trick that’s making mobsters furious!”

Smuggle the money into your friend’s home. Locate his will and alter it so you inherit said money.

MURDER YOUR FRIEND. Repeat as needed.

Throw money in a laundry machine.

—D. Hoogstraten

LESS COMMON EXPERT WITNESSES Person with a doctorate in Art History Person who watches Law and Order a lot A balloon with a face painted on it The judge’s son, who he wants to see more often Person who doesn’t believe in the justice system Mrs. Wilson’s third grade class on a field trip A corpse dressed in a Hawaiian shirt A talking bear Really, just any sort of bear The defendant “I’ve actually switched to vertical stripes, they’re much more slimming.”

—S. Shea

—B. Rudeen

T he L eg al I ssue

DAY IN THE LIFE OF A YALE POLICEMAN 0500 hrs 100 Springfield Ave., New Haven Alarm rings. Wake up. Off to Duncan’s Do-Not-Stop Fitness to work out for an hour, then straight to the station.

0808 hrs 165 Church St. Take out the Crown Vic. Doin’ rounds by New Haven Green. I notice a young chap on a park bench a few hundred feet ahead. Got some stick in his mouth and coughin’ like crazy. Must be takin’ his temperature— Chief did say our flu awareness campaign was super successful this season.

1230 hrs 800 Orange St. Drivin’ down Orange. Down the road, spot this nice gentleman helping an old lady out of her car. Oh look, the gentleman even helps carry her purse while she exits the sedan! People are so kind these days.

1400 hrs 120 High St. Called to Bass Library. Today we’re on backpackchecking red alert—Chief says philosophy term papers are due tomorrow and students are hightailin’ it with books.

1616 hrs 130 Wall St. Either my radio is broken, or my hearing is. Just received a report over the air. Apparently some underage goofball tryin’ to buy alcohol. They tell me his name is Mick Loeven. Did I hear that right?

1842 hrs 242 Elm St. Doin’ rounds on my Segway around Old Campus, close to Saybrook. Smell something worse than the wife’s farts. Seems like it’s wafting over from this student with a red Solo cup. Follow her towards the laundry entryway.

Ah, she’s probably just carrying one of those newfangled “all-natural” detergents…

15

2030 hrs 1 Prospect St. Takin’ a brief afternoon nap when the radar gun alert goes off. Some nutcase going 30 mph above the speed limit. Up ahead, see this white van speeding. Looks like a mail truck. If so, first New Haven mailman I’ve ever seen tryin’ to get the mail on time, that’s for sure. It’s like somebody’s life depends on it. I turn on the flashers and siren. Got to meet my monthly ticket quota, and tonight I’m gonna make a killing. This guy’s going fast and swervin’ in and out of traffic. He’s already 3 blocks ahead of me. I call the station for backup. Tell ‘em to get the helicopter, lay the spike strips. Now I put car into high gear. Gettin’ closer. Wait, this is no mail truck. It’s worse. The vehicle’s got its flashers on and has a sign on the back. It’s a snake coiled on a stick—must be some new gang symbol!

—S. Gupta SIGNS YOU MIGHT BE ON TV COURT The judge repeatedly uses the phrase “kids these days.”

The court has an official soft drink.

The judge’s robes are actually flattering.

Cameras are not only allowed, but required in the courtroom.

The judge orders the defendant to cover the plaintiff ’s medical bills and also to pull up his pants.

You don’t know the judge’s first name.

You don’t know the judge’s last name.

You can watch an instant replay of your conviction.

You can only receive your verdict after a brief message from their sponsors.

The only person in the room that doesn’t have credit card debt is the judge.

Not only do you receive a speedy trial, it is always completed in less than 22 minutes.

You’re replaced by a better looking defendant halfway through.

You get paid before you win your case.

No one in the room actually graduated from law school, high school.

—Staff

16

T he Y ale R ecord

TYPICAL QUESTIONS FROM A LAW SCHOOL INTERVIEW How many buildings on our campus are named after your grandfather? (Dining halls don’t count.)

During the opening credits of Legally Blonde 2: Red, White, and Blonde, Elle Wood’s dog Bruiser sports a custom outfit by which Franco-Italian designer?

Kill, Fuck, Marry: Elena Kagan, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Sonia Sotomayor.

Kill, Fuck, Marry: Clarence Thomas, Antonin Scalia, Clarence Thomas.

Defend the racial segregation of American public schools prior to 1954.

I can tell you’re holding in a fart right now.

In season 6, episode 9 of Law and Order: SVU, Ice-T bumps fists with which fellow detective after tackling a pervert down a fire escape?

Defend the systematic internment of Japanese Americans during World War II. Do you think of yourself as a competent lover?

Do you think I’d be a competent lover?

How many times have you read my book?

What is the function of a corporate auditor in maintaining compliance with respect to fiduciary liability under Section 404, Title 18 of the Sarbanes-Oxley Investor Protection Act? Defend slavery.

—N. Goel

SCHEDULE FOR YOUR FIRST DAY IN PRISON 9:00 10:30 10:45 11:10 12:00 1:00 2:00 3:00

Meet your cellmate Brave the Extracurricular Bazaar Decide which prison gang you’re going to rush Set up a meal with your new “Jefe” Scope out the dining hall New inmate workshop: “Prison Slang” New inmate workshop: “Do-it-Yourself Tattoos” New inmate workshop: “Understanding Sexual Assault - Consent and The Myth of Miscommunication” 4:30 Make new friends in the prison yard 4:52 Get caught staring at Shifty Dan’s eye patch 5:00 Lay low for a while 11:00-? Cry —N. Warren COP SHOWS EVEN CBS WOULDN’T PICK UP Good Cop, Sad Cop Law and Order: Nursing Home Unit CSI: Butte, Montana Miami Mice The Dentalist To Catch a Petty Larcenist Mister Nubbins the Cat: Attorney at Paw Zach and Cody: Attorneys at Sea Zach and Cody: Special Victims Unit Cops —C. Rudeen and M. Kaplan TOP FIVE MOST ALPHABETICAL SUPREME COURT JUSTICES Samuel Alito Henry Baldwin Philip Pendleton Barbour Hugo Black Harry Blackmun

How Supreme Court Justices are actually selected.

—T. McCoy

—A. Gertler

17

T he L eg al I ssue

HARDY BOYS: THE GANGLAND-STYLE EXECUTION With night falling, Frank and Joe clambered down the cliff face and crept into the mouth of the cave just above the waterline. Same old, same old, Joe thought when he spied a speedboat tied to a crag. It’ll probably be smugglers, pretending to be pirates. Or maybe pirates pretending to be smugglers.

From a short distance into the cave, Frank heard voices from ahead and motioned for Joe to be quiet.

Creeping forward and peering around the corner, he saw just what he was expecting: there, between a counterfeit printing press and a stack of stolen artwork, was the Hardys’ friend Chet! The scene was illuminated by torches or something.

Chet wasn’t alone, however. He was hogtied, being kicked repeatedly in his generous stomach by a swarthylooking rough in an undershirt. Blood dripped from his mouth. A man in a tracksuit looked on, a pistol in his waistband.

“I don’t know where they are!” Chet burbled though the blood as he rolled away from his foe. “Please just let me goooo…”

“Oh, Chet,” Frank whispered to himself, shaking his head. He retreated and told Joe what he saw, including the surprising detail that the presumed smuggler-pirates were wearing neither trench coats nor fedoras.

“I told him his fake-art-detecting hobby would bring nothing but trouble,” Joe hissed, furrowing his brow.

Like Frank, Joe took after their father, the renowned detective Fenton Hardy; “a chip off the old block,” as he said once in every book.

Joe leaned around the corner, attempting to catch Chet’s attention with his signaling mirror. But Chet was being hauled up onto his knees by the thugs and didn’t see.

“Ohhhhhh,” groaned Chet, lolling his head as he was dragged over to the cavern wall. Chet moaned not out of pain, but out of hunger. He hadn’t eaten since he had wolfed down a generous slice of Aunt Gertrude’s pineapple upside-down cake earlier that evening. The lump of a human was dropped onto his knees. With his blood sugar dropping swiftly, he leaned forward against the cavern wall.

“I don’t like the looks of these fellas,” Joe said, putting away his mirror as he channelled this author’s distrust of foreigners. “What do you think we should do?”

Frank pondered their options. Could his crushing right hook take out the man in the tracksuit? Could Joe’s stinging kicks cripple their wifebeater-clad foe? Better not risk it, Frank thought.

“It’s time to call in the police,” Frank told Joe, verbing a noun.

Joe wasn’t listening, though. He could only look on as the man in the tracksuit drew his pistol, touched it to the back of Chet’s head, and fired. Blood sprayed out of his mouth and nose onto the cavern wall.

That day, the Hardy Boys became Hardy Men. And alcoholics.

—J. Newsham WORLD’S WORST ALIBIS Well, officer, last Wednesday night at 10:29 P.M., I was…

Drinking a bottle of sparkling apple juice alone while crying over the final episode of Masterchef Junior.

Being elected president of Zaire.

Getting my weekly dose of inspiration from Dateline.

Killing someone else.

Helping a needy orphan cross the street.

Creating a needy orphan.

Crafting a false alibi after committing the crime in question.

Somewhere else.

—C. Rudeen and M. Kaplan

—A. Beizer

18

T he Y ale R ecord

EVERYDAY LEGAL TERMS Lawyers everywhere rejoice! (At least the two of you who decided to take LAW 204: Displaying a Range of Emotions over LAW 202: Optimizing Your Argumentative Potential.) The following legal terms are now cool enough to use in everyday life.

Arraignment—though normally meaning the first court appearance of the accused party, this term can now be more broadly stated to refer to any initial encounter, particularly a first date.

“Blind arraignments are the worst. Where are all the normal people?”

“Married.”

Briefs—written statements prepared before a trial explaining one side’s legal and factual arguments. More commonly, a type of tight-fitting men’s undergarment.

“Oh crap I left my briefs at my ex-girlfriend’s house! I hope she hasn’t shredded them—they’re my favorites!”

Bond—bail and bond are used interchangeably in the legal world, so obviously it should be the same in the real world.

“Sorry man I’m gonna have to bond on our dinner plans. I forgot I have to feed my girlfriend’s cat.”

Conditional Discharge—typically when a defendant has to satisfy court-ordered conditions instead of a prison term; also refers to that stuff that comes out of your nose when you sneeze.

“You can’t sit with us if you’re sick, Katie. I don’t want your conditional discharge ruining my dress.”

Domicile—one’s permanent place of residence.

“Care to join me at the domicile tonight for some cheese, red wine, and polite conversation about euthanasia?”

“No.” —M. Harris

INAPPROPRIATE USES FOR A GAVEL Meat pounder Doorstop Wii-mote Testing your roommate’s knee reflex Teething toy for your baby Yelling “Order in the court!” at basketball games Yelling “Order in the court!” at tennis matches Yelling “Order in the court!” in courtrooms—when you aren’t the judge Killing roaches Dismissing group study sessions Saying things like “This gavel isn’t the only thing I’d like to bang” Pretending to be Thor Assaulting your enemies —N. Warren

Cross-Examination—to scrutinize a witness for the adverse party. Alternatively, to scrutinize a person while at a party.

“Yo dude, you gotta cross-examine that chick standing by the Jukebox.”

Hearsay—testimony given by a witness who tells second/ third hand information; colloquially, it just means bullshit.

“Lol, the Bare Naked Ladies are like the worst band ever.”

“Fuck you man, that’s total hearsay.”

“I found myself in somewhat of a hairy situation...”

—L. Wang

18 USC 2074!* Our favorite law forget

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d ecor R e Yal nniez!!” e h z T the fu l o “ L gs brin

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I mea n, at tha just look t shou lder!

*”Whoever knowingly issues or publishes any counterfeit weather forecast or warning of weather conditions falsely representing such forecast or warning to have been issued or published by the Weather Bureau, United States Signal Service, or other branch of the Government service, shall be fined under this title or imprisoned not more than ninety days, or both.”

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Keep the order, we’ll just take double the law!

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21

T he L eg al I ssue

“WILL THIS BE IN THE PAPER?” ASKS CONFUSED LOCAL Dear beautiful, Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?

Love, A man who has just witnessed a skydiving accident

Dear Mr. Disney, I understand that the children are flying and seeing giant animated penguins, but we simply cannot permit you to include the song “A spoonful of opium helps the medicine go down” in your motion picture. We appreciate your cooperation.

Sincerely, The Production Code Administration

CAT IN BAG, SUFFOCATES Dear Selena Gomez, First, you were like “Come and Get It.” Now you’re all like, “Slow Down.”

I can’t deal with these blurred lines, baby.

How about some unambiguous consent?

Your fan and lover, Marichal Gentry

22

T he Y ale R ecord Dear piranhas, I know I’m standing in Fine the middle of a river and bleeding profusely, but I’d also like to warn you thatIndian I just ate some Cuisine garlic bread. I’m toxic to you now. So let’s just go our separate ways, okay?

—Steve Keller, Amazon explorer “A treat for the senses.”

—Hartford Courant “Amid elegance, a variety of Indian dishes.”

Dear Steve, —New York Times

Fine Indian Cuisine “A Treat for the senses” —Hartford Courant

You’re thinking of mosquitoes!

Piranhas loveHours garlic blood. Now hold Lunch still; our cousins from Nueva Loja will Monday - Saturday: 11:30 AM - 2:30 PM be here soon, andPM it’s- been so long since Sunday: 12:00 3:00 PM we ate together as a family.

Dinner —Juan and Sofia Lopez, piranhas

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Dear bouncer, Yes, I know that you card people under 40. But your policy doesn’t apply to me——I’m 42! Can’t you see this luscious handlebar mustache I’ve grown?

—Ted Maravich SY ’17

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Dear bouncer, OW! FUCK! Do you have ANY idea how much glue it took to put that thing on? It cost me five bucks at the Halloween store, and you had to go and stomp on it! I demand reparations! Buy me a beer, and we’ll call it even.

—Ted Maravich SY ’17 Dear bouncer, Yes, I know that you card people under 40. But your policy doesn’t apply to me——I’m 42! Can’t you see this luscious handlebar mustache I’ve YAAAAAAAUUUUUUGH! OW! OW! OW! —Peter Miller ’91

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24

ON CAMPUS

T he Y ale R ecord Dear Chad, I knew you were a douchebag from the second I heard your name.

—The Central African Republic

THE OLDEST

OFFICIAL YALE SHOP

IN NEW HAVEN ON CAMPUS

Dear random word generator, You useless piece of shit. What the fuck is “tramble?”

—Cody Johnson, PC ’17

MATHEMATICIAN SINGLE-HANDEDLY PROVES ONE IS THE LONELIEST NUMBER Dear eggplants, You guys are definitely plants, but you’re not really eggs. You kind of look like big purple eggs though; I bet some really gnarly-looking purple monster would hatch out of you if you were an egg. Maybe it would even breathe purple fire and shit.

—Michael Dear Michael, Dude, you’re high as fuck. Please stop sending us these.

—Eggplants

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Ebony, Ivory,

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OVERWEIGHT FLORIDA MAN INSISTS ON NEW SIT YOUR GROUND RULE

STUDENT DECIDES TO MAJOR IN JUDAIC STUDIES, RECEIVES $100,000 SIGNING BONUS Dear Noah, You naughty, naughty boy. You’ve been soooo bad. I’m going to have to punish you. I’d better find my whips.

—Noah’s grandmother, who understands neither double entendres nor child abuse laws Dear Sleeping Beauty, Oh, you’re just gonna lie there, all peaceful and shit? Well you know, some of us have to work for a living, bitch. Some of us can’t just wait for no necrophile to come and help us— we gotta do it our own damn selves.

Educate yourself.

—Cinderella

AMISH FURNITURE MAKER DISAPPOINTED AFTER SEEING PRESIDENTIAL CABINET IN PERSON Dear Yale Record, Enough with the confusing humor!

Sincerely, A New Yorker cartoonist

Law school’s tough... especially when you’re not a billionaire genius supermodel.

LEGALLY

JANE WEINBERG

This January

“Jane is not a... bad...actress.”

— Maude Weinberg

Written and Designed by B. Marvin and S. Stern

brunette

try your hardest.

You’ll do OK. “Decent.”

—Peter Travers, Rolling Stone

Jane Weinberg does fine in college. She struggles with her figure and has thought about dyeing her hair. She is waitlisted at the Appalachian School of Law in Grundy, Virginia, but is eventually accepted and gets average grades. She struggles sometimes, like most of us, reminding us of these difficult economic times.