The Secret Issue

Vol. 150, No. 7

THE YALE

April 20, 2022

RECORD

The Secret Issue

140 Howe Street www.eatpataka.com

“The Nation’s Oldest Humor Magazine” or

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

chair@yalerecord.com

KID IN TWO TRENCH COATS IN LINE FOR R-RATED MOVIE WORRIED HE MESSED UP Dear ABC, How dare you cut me out of this season of your hit show The Bachelorette?

I had a launch party and my whole family laughed at me when I didn’t show up in the house. My nieces and nephews refuse to call me “Uncle Hunk” now. How will you make this right?

Concerned, Jeremy Teeth

JACKPOT! I CARRY MEAT AROUND IN MY POCKETS HOPING THAT HANDSOME DAN WILL BITE ME AND I’LL GET A SETTLEMENT FROM YALE

Dear Jeremy Teeth, We edited out your footage because you threw up from nerves when you were introduced to Jenna, then slipped in your own vomit, then tried play it off as intentional by shouting “Your beauty makes me hella queezy, Baby” seven times.

Hope this helps, ABC

LATEST VIOLENCE PROBABLY RESOLVABLE WITH MORE, DIFFERENT VIOLENCE Dear ABC, Maybe I’m old fashioned, but that sounds like riveting television to me.

Your loss, I guess.

Best, Jeremy Teeth

GLASS HALF FULL! SEVEN BILLION NINE HUNDRED THIRTYNINE MILLION FIVE HUNDRED EIGHTY-FIVE THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED AND FORTY-TWO PEOPLE NOT KILLED IN VIOLENT HIGHWAY PILEUP ON MAIN STREET Dear Zookeepers, Mom said it was my turn with the zoo. You’ve had it all day.

Best, Tommy

SHOCKING: ELECTRIC CHAIR WORKS JUST FINE

The Yale Record

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YALE RECORD The Secret Issue April 20, 2022

1 | Mailbags and Snews 6 | The Secret Editorial

“PEOPLE COME IN ALL SHAPES AND SIZES,” MOTHER SAYS TO CONSOLE STRANGE, POLYGONAL SON SHE DIDN’T WANT IN THE FIRST PLACE

12 | Shorts

Best regards, Mom

A prayer is just a mailbag for God. Stay blessed, Record Christians

ARCH ENTHUSIASTS MOURN FAILED ATTEMPT TO RENAME BRIDGERTON ARCHERTON

13 | Feature Yale’s Secret Tunnels

Dear Record Christians,

14 | Spread Secrets Magazine!

Homicide is just a care package for God. Tread carefully.

Stay blessed, OJ Simpson

17 | Shorts 19 | Feature FOIA Mad Libs 22 | News Study Finds Most Movies Are Fake • Point/ Counterpoint • An Interview With God 24 | Shorts 27 | Advice Ask Old Owl 28 | Quiz Corner Match the Username to the Password • Who Shot JFK?

Now that I’m no longer occupied with doing your laundry, I find myself busier doing the things I actually enjoy doing. Attached please find a When2Meet so we can find a time that works for both of us.

Dear Record Heretics,

8 | Shorts 11 | Feature The Nixon Tapes

Dear Bobby,

IS APRIL FOOLS A MONTH-LONG THING OR ARE MY PARENTS ACTUALLY GETTING DIVORCED? Dear Mom, Why aren’t you answering my phone calls? I thought you wanted to talk to me every night?

Love, Bobby

TALKING PART OF SONG ONLY GAINING MOMENTUM

STUDY FROM YALE’S JACKSON INSTITUTE FINDS THAT MEN WHO MAJOR IN GLOBAL AFFAIRS ARE ACTUALLY PRETTY GOOD GUYS WHO DIDN’T MEAN WHAT THEY SAID ABOUT TED CRUZ’S MASCULINE APPEAL AND YOU SHOULD PROBABLY GIVE THEM ANOTHER CHANCE, REBECCA, PLEASE Dear Goon #1, Did you hear something? Like there’s somebody skulkin around in here. Might be that they’re after the bossman!

Best, Goon #2

WOKE FROG SPEAKS OUT AGAINST CREEK LIFE Dear Goon #2, Aehh, you’re hearing things! Prob’ly just the wind or somethin. Nothin ever happens around these parts.

Best, Goon #1

The Secret Issue

REINVENTING THE WHEEL: REPLACE BUS WHEELS WITH THE BAD CHILDREN Dear Goon #1, I would like to pursue you sexually but I fear what it will do to our professional relationship.

Best, Goon #2

“THEY’RE BREEDING LIKE RABBITS” SAYS DINING HALL STAFF MEMBER WHO HAS TO REFILL CRANBERRY JUICE MACHINE A LITTLE TOO FREQUENTLY Obituary Correction

In our last issue, we erroneously reported that Henry Kissinger is dead as fuck. He’s actually not dead as fuck. He’s only a little dead right now.

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Dear Mums, You’re the word.

Love, Timmy

DONALD TRUMP, FAMED BILLIONAIRE AND TV HOST, CAUGHT IN INTIMATE RELATIONS WITH PROSTITUTE STORMY DANIELS Dear Mums, Whoops, I meant you’re the world!

Like you mean the world to me. God, I hope this doesn’t catch on somehow, I wouldn’t want my greatest contribution to civilization to be a stupid mistype. So Mums’ the world, okay?

Love, Timmy

ALL SHAPES AND SIZES: THIS BRAIN SURGEON SEEMS SET ON USING HIS FUNKY MICKEY MOUSE SCALPEL

Dear Timmy, I thought your letter was sooo sweet, so I showed it to my coworkers, even that whore Linda from accounting. Hope that’s okay!

Love, Your Mums

FOR SALE: The pornographic magazines I found under my son’s bed. That little rascal can’t even read, so he won’t fully appreciate them yet.

—G. Ellis

yale’s oldest stand-up comedy outlet

interested in STAND-UP COMEDY? participate in THE CUCUMBER!

performers wanted! no experience necessary. seriously, no experience necessary. you don’t even need to know how to read! (although if you don’t, you won’t be reading this.) email cucumber@yalerecord.com

The Secret Issue

ATHLETE STARTS HISSING AND FROTHING AT THE MOUTH AFTER BEING FED WATER INSTEAD OF BLUE GATORADE Dear Vincent P, Please pass this note to Liam S. Dear Liam S. I think you are much cuter than Liam R. Love, Marissa

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Dear Marissa, tf??? Liam R. is my boy and he’s cute as shit. No way am I passing your gross note.

Regards, Vincent P.

No. Of course you didn’t. How could you have? We were careful.

We covered our tracks, disposed of the evidence. You didn’t know.

HARD TO TELL HOW MUCH TO PUSH BACK ON NAMING BAND ELDER ABUSE Dear Vincent P., Please refrain from passing notes in this class. I need you to focus. First, though, pass this note to Liam R. Dear Liam R.,

FAMOUS LAST WORDS: “IT WENT DOWN THE WRONG PIPE” SAYS SWORD SWALLOWER

Did You Know?

Marissa is right, you’re an ugly boy. But your dad is rich, so you’ll go far in life. Keep that enormous concave chin up!

Regards, Teacher

WANTED A third wife, because I found out my second wife has a secret second family.

—G. Ellis

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The Yale Record

P

sst. You there. Are you alone? Are the curtains drawn? Is the door locked? Have you plugged up your keyholes? Have you nailed shut your windows? Have you combed your room for cameras? Have you combed your room for bugs? Have you combed your room for those Boston Dynamics robot dogs the cops are buying these days? Do you have one of those little plastic stick-on things over your laptop’s webcam?

Sorry for the theatrics, but you can never be too careful. There could be a Listening Boy in your air vent, or a tactical chimp with a GoPro outside your window. After all, information is more valuable than ever. Every secret has a price tag, and even that price tag is sometimes secret.

Look around you! These days, a nugget of juicy gossip is worth more than a nugget of gold. Scammers dress up as computers to farm social security numbers at old folks’ homes. President Joe Biden was elected on a platform of “I’ve got a secret, and if you pick me I’ll tell it,” then refused to tell the nation at his inauguration on the grounds that “it wouldn’t be a secret if I told you.” High-powered rumor traders have laid fiber-optic cables across the entire length of the country so Hollywood gossip can reach New York a tenth of a second faster. If you loosen your grip on a secret, it’ll be swiped before you know it, and sold in the marketplace of ideas for pennies on the dollar.

Of course, it isn’t easy to keep a secret all on your own; bringing someone else into the fold can make you feel less alone. If you get this urge, make sure to pick a reliable confidant. Shy boys are great at keeping secrets, like which girls they think are cute and whether they’ve been radicalized on a far-right internet forum. Parrots are very bad at keeping secrets, as are nationally syndicated gossip columnists. You can’t go wrong with a lonely old man on his deathbed; he’s got nowhere to be, and if you sit there long enough you might get one of his secrets in return.

The Secret Issue If you want, you could even share your secret with me. I have a terrible memory. If you tell me something, I’ll forget it within a week. I won’t tell anyone about it, because I’ll forget that I was planning to tell them until after they’ve left. Come spill your darkest treasures into my sieve. Pretty soon I’ll start talking about a lizard I saw, and soon after I’ll forget about that lizard too.

Whatever you decide, you’ll have made somebody’s day a little more interesting. Who doesn’t love a good secret? Our obsession with them makes sense; nothing can compare to the elusive satisfactions of the unknown. It whispers questions too titillating to leave unanswered: What is behind the mahogany door marked “Nothing To See Here” in bloodred letterhead?

What is the woman in the flower dress whispering to the man in the dapper suit? What does cheese from a mouse trap taste like?

Can a doctor tell if a hand injury was sustained while extracting cheese from a mousetrap? Will a doctor make fun of you if you tell them that you sustained your hand injury while extracting cheese from a mouse trap?

There’s so much we don’t know in this world. We live in the dark, and peer at the world through a crack in the wall of a high-end cell in a minimum security prison, where white collar criminals exchange little baggies of Oxycodone and stock options and the food is shockingly good. Half of everything we believe is untrue, which means a quarter of everything we believe is untrue.

Still, there’s no shame in that. Everybody has their blind spots. Maybe you pronounce “milk” weird and nobody’s ever Sam Leone ’23 Chair Jonas Kilga ’23 Online Managing Editor

Zosia Caes ’22 Old Owl Raja Moreno ’24 Old Owl

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corrected you, or maybe you think gullible isn’t written on the ceiling. People who travel to the ISS always leave thinking the world is flat. Many city-dwelling children are so sheltered in their concrete prison that they don’t know what animals are.

When they inevitably come across a subway rat or sewer gibbon, they just assume it’s an oddly shaped man. The generous ones will toss spare change, and the civically minded ones will ask if the creature is registered to vote. We all live in fictionalized worlds of our own construction. For every secret we learn, there are a thousand more that will remain behind the veil.

So do what you will—keep a secret, learn a secret, take a secret, tell a secret, write a secret on a scrap of paper and stick it in a golem’s mouth. The unknown will always hover just beyond your understanding, undiminished by your trove of forbidden truths. That can be sort of freeing, in the end.

It’s impossible to know everything, but it’s also very difficult to know nothing.

This is the Secret Issue. I can’t tell you exactly what’s in it, because I’ve already forgotten. I can tell you it’s full of secrets, so read up and try to remember as many as you can. At the end of the day, you’ll have barely scratched the surface.

—J. Wickline Editor in Chief

Joe Wickline ’23 Editor in Chief

Diana Kulmizev ’23 Online Editor in Chief

Ayla Jeddy ’23 Publisher

Avery Brown ’23 Online Managing Editor

Clio Rose ’23 Managing Editor

Joe Gustaferro ’24 Managing Editor

Joanna Wypasek ’24 Managing Editor

Adriana Golden ’24 Copy Editor

Annie Lin ’25 Art Director

Erik Boesen ’24 Webmaster

Addison Beer ’23 Staff Director

Aarjav Joshi ’24 Business Manager

Jacob Eldred ’24 Merch Manager

Rosa Chang ’23 Old Owl Bea Portela ’24 Old Owl

Will Cramer ’22 Old Owl Ellen Qian ’23 Old Owl

Ethan Fogarty ’22 Luna Garcia ’23 Zuri Goodman ’22 Old Owl Old Owl Old Owl Harry Rubin ’22 Marcy Sanchez ’22 Maya Sanghvi ’23 Old Owl Old Owl Old Owl

Arnav Tawakley ’24 Copy Editor

David Hou ’22 Old Owl Alex Taranto ’23 Old Owl

Avery Mitchell ’23 Old Owl Kaylee Walsh ’22 Old Owl

Staff: Jocelyn Wexler ’22 Evan Cheng ’24 Raffael Davila ’23 Lily Dorstewitz ’24 Leo Egger ’23 Finn Gibson ’24 Jacob Kaufman-Shalett ’23 Benjamin Hollander-Bodie ’24 Lucy Santiago ’23 Malia Kuo ’24 Claire Sattler ’23 Alice Mao ’24 Katia Vanlandingham ’23 Simi Olurin ’24 Alexia Buchholz ’24 Dom Alberts ’25

Joel Banks ’25 Ari Berke ’25 Tara Bhat ’25 Edward Bohannon ’25 Lillian Broeksmit ’25 Adam Burch ’25 Emily Cai ’25 Evan Calderon ’25 Lizzie Conklin ’25

Andrew Cramer ’25 Madelyn Dawson ’25 Jackson Downey ’25 Larry Dunn ’25 Mari Elliott ’25 Grace Ellis ’25 Annette Forchoh ’25 Odessa Goldberg ’25 Evan Gorelick ’25

Audrey Hempel ’25 Rena Howard ’25 Ishikaa Kothari ’25 Betty Kubovy-Weiss ’25 Emma Madsen ’25 Jacob Mansfield ’25 Alejandro Mayagoitia ’25 Maya Melnik ’25 Tyler Norsworthy ’25

Megan Sadler ’25 Tyler Schroeder ’25 Sophie Spaner ’25 Josephine Stark ’25 Lawrence Tang ’25 Cormac Thorpe ’25 Emmitt Thulin ’25 Natasha Weiss ’25

Contributors: Edwin Perez ’24, Phil Schneider ’23 Special thanks to: Private Browsing Mode, for sending all our secrets to advertisers so we know what to buy.

Front Cover: Emily Cai ’25 (@loremily_ipsum), who had a Catholic explain to her what confession booths look like.

Back Cover: Grace Ellis ‘25, who did not need a Catholic to explain to her what desks look like.

Founded September 11, 1872 • Vol. CL, No. 1, Published in New Haven, CT by The Yale Record, Inc. Box 204732, New Haven, CT 06520 • yalerecord.org • Subscriptions: $50/year All contents copyright 2022 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.

DIET SECRETS TO OUTLIVE YOUR EX-WIFE, CHILDREN, AND STUPID NEIGHBOR JEFF A chilled glass of water with cucumber and lemon, to start the day off fresh Your ex-wife’s custody papers, to fill the hole she left in your life when she broke your heart and took the kids Three protein-rich eggs, scrambled, to give you the strength to keep it together until lunch The remaining nine eggs from the carton, thrown at your kids who chose to live with their mother and didn’t know a good thing when they had it!

A tropical smoothie, for a sweet but responsible treat Vegetables from your no-good lump of an ex-wife Jenna’s vegetable garden that she planted with your neighbor Jeff, who you knew wasn’t just being friendly and had nothing but bad intentions when he joined the cul-de-sac book club Half a grapefruit, for additional Vitamin C Your mutinous children’s multivitamins, to deprive them of modern medicine’s health benefits and for additional Vitamin C Kale, for a lean source of calcium, and because it’s all Jeff grows in his stupid vegetable garden at your exwife’s house An entire family-sized Chicago-style deep-dish pizza, because your children would rather get sushi with Jeff, who “still has his license” and “doesn’t smell like birdseed and mayonnaise” Birdseed and mayonnaise, because you’re a grown man and you can do what you want!

A scoop of low-fat ice cream, because everyone needs a cheat day and You. Deserve. It. Ginger tea served in the World’s Best Father Mug your son bought you, the only asset you kept in the divorce Killing your seditious, child-stealing former neighbor Jeff with a shovel and burying him in his own vegetable garden, where the leafy greens your ex-wife uses in her salads will eagerly slurp up the valuable nutrients of his decaying body (one ingredient recipe, perfect for nights when you have nothing in the fridge, zero calories, glutenfree) Beets.

—D. Alberts

—S. Spaner

The Secret Issue

THE WORST CIA COVER STORIES OF ALL TIME

By J. Mansfield The meteor that killed the dinosaurs — Now you’re going to sit there and tell me with a straight face that a thriving population without borders, paper currency, or racial hegemony was just struck by a rock from outer space? The dinosaurs were warm-blooded communists, folks, and Lyndon B. Johnson couldn’t stand the red spread. You heard it here first: the Vietnamese only lasted so long because the last remaining velociraptors were stealthily ripping out the throats of American commandos.

The birth of Jesus — Do you remember what “gifts” the wise men brought our divine savior? Frankincense is some hard shit, kids. No one knows where these fuckers came from, and they just happened to destabilize a poor city with psychoactive drugs. Crack cocaine in Black neighborhoods has nothing on the CIA’s work in creating a major religion.

The invention of sliced bread — Nuh-uh. No way some moron single-handedly discovered God’s greatest gift to man by accident. You can’t fool me.

Every heart attack ever — People, the human body didn’t go through millions of years of evolution for your fine octogenarian figure to drop dead in a strip mall. Truth is, the CIA hates old people. Every U.S citizen gets a remote explosive implanted in their chest when they turn 60.

It saves the state a whole lot of taxpayer dollars; who needs CPAP machines when you can develop deadlier drones to use in the Middle East?

The JFK assassination — Frankly I’m not sure what this one is still doing on the list, my editor must have snuck it past me somehow. There was absolutely nothing dubious about the circumstances of our president’s death. To suggest otherwise is callous and frankly disrespectful. Does the Kennedy family, reeling from the shock of such a sudden passing, want to hear your tone-deaf conspiracy theories? Hold your tongue.

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EELS Hey, is that eel sauce?

Oh, it’s barbeque sauce?

Yeah, I guess that does make sense, considering this is a barbeque… but I mean speaking of eels, though, they are pretty crazy creatures. Like, did you know that a group of eels is called a “swarm”? Oh, you didn’t know that. Isn’t that so crazy though?

Yeah, I guess you could say I’m a bit of an “eel-head.”

I’ve definitely done my fair share of eel advocacy. What is eel advocacy? Well, one of my main projects is getting people to stop saying “cheese” for pictures and start saying “eel.”

So eels live in little holes in the ocean called “eel pits.”

Yeah. You’re right. I guess it does sound a bit like “armpits.”

That’s funny. Actually, maybe it isn’t. I know it’s all in jest, but I don’t think it’s so appropriate to call eel pits “armpits.” Like imagine if an eel called your house an “anal fin.”

Yeah, I know its not exactly the same because the word “anal fin” doesn’t really sound like the word “house,” whereas “armpit” and “eel pit” do sound alike, but that’s not really the point… I appreciate your apology, but you really should be apologizing to the eels.

Yeah, eels do lots of crazy things. They even… no, I shouldn’t tell you. It’s really cool, though! But no, sorry, I really can’t tell you how they fuck. And they do fuck, you know.

Believe me.

Oh, you don’t really care how they fuck? Trust me, you would care if you did know how they fuck. It’s like… you wouldn’t even expect that that’s how they do it. Like it’s so different from humans. But I already gave away too much.

You’re gonna have to get on your knees and beg and plead if you want to know how those eels fuck. ‘Cause they do fuck, you know. Some people like to say that eels don’t fuck, but they’re dead wrong. Eels do fuck, I’ve seen it with my own eyes.

Hey, what are you doing there? Are you…wait. Don’t look it up. No, stop. You can’t look up how eels fuck because it’s one of those things that you just can’t look up. Why not? Because you can’t. Ok fine, I’ll actually let you look it up but only if you promise to remember that 1) eels do fuck 2) I’ve literally seen it happen they do fuck and 3) the eel conservancy website is full of dogshit and everyone who works there is an asshole especially their CFO Mike so if they say something crazy like, oh I don’t know, something about how eels don’t fuck you can’t believe them. I wouldn’t want you to walk around thinking eels don’t fuck. Because they do. Eels do fuck.

What’s that? No, thank YOU for taking the time to educate yourself on eels. And remember… if it looks like an eel, and tastes like an eel, it’s probably an eel, and it can fuck.

—A. Berke

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The Yale Record

INSIDE YALE’S MOST SECRETIVE SOCIETY Yale’s secret societies have been shrouded in mystery for hundreds of years. Fearless reporters from the Record obtained audio documentation of what actually goes on inside the hallowed halls of the Skull and Bones, Yale’s most secret society.

BONESMAN 1: Yo, how have you been man?

BONESMAN 2: Eh, alright, I guess. You know, they had coffee-flavored ice cream today for dinner.

BONESMAN 1: That’s crazy dude.

BONESMAN 2: Don’t you think it’s a little weird? Like, coffee is a breakfast food, you know? So shouldn’t coffee ice cream be served at breakfast only?

BONESMAN 1: I never thought about it like that before.

Damn, you really are smart.

BONESMAN 2: Thanks. How have you been?

BONESMAN 1: I don’t really know. I guess kind of sad, my cat died a few weeks ago. It was all really unexpected, we don’t know wh— BONESMAN 2: For sure, did you consider rocky road?

BONESMAN 1: W-what?

BONESMAN 2: Rocky road.

BONESMAN 1: No, she couldn’t drive. She was a cat. I think she ate some bad fish food or something.

BONESMAN 2: Phish food, what kind of flavor is that?

Also, what’s up with butter pecan? Like what even is butter pecan? Do people eat butter with pecans? Who even eats pecans? Do you ever think about that?

BONESMAN 1: She really liked pecans.

BONESMAN 2: No, not the pecans. Butter pecan ice cream. The flavor. Also, what the fuck is up with pistachio? Who the fuck would want pistachio?

BONESMAN 1: Whoa, fuck you.

BONESMAN 2: Chill, bro. I mean, to each their own. Like if you want to eat pistachio, eat pistachio, you know?

BONESMAN 1: Eat her? You’re disgusting. She just died, asshole.

—T. Bhat FAMILY LAW 110 MIDTERM ANSWER KEY Part 1: Multiple Choice (2 pts each) 1. A 5. A 2. A 6. A 3. A 7. A 4. B 8. A m... how e

That’ll s

Part 2: Free Response (4 pts each) 1. The best car to recommend to a client is the 2009 Honda Civic (4 door variant). Great crash test reviews.

2. Lineup Identification (from left to right): Brad, My Ex-Wife, a Two Foot Gap, Myself 3. Bonus: if students wrote that the location was award a few additional points.

4. Valid answers to the case study include “Brad only won the car in the divorce because I let him and not because he outsmarted me,” or “Brad only got to keep the children in the divorce because I let him and not because I didn’t show up to court sober.”

5. The custody arraignment is SOLE (not JOINT) but I still get visitation. Supervised 10% is still 10% (just like $20 being $20). Deduct additional points for anyone who tries to reason or argue their answer.

6. “Because I crashed my Civic (and lived to tell the tale) after a fun night” is NOT a valid answer for GROUNDS FOR DIVORCE. (Valid answers include “never” and “in the case of both partners’ deaths.”)

—T. Schroder

—M. Melnik

The Secret Issue

The Nixon Tapes

By E. Bohannon

The Record has obtained 18 minutes of Watergate tapes, recordings of Richard Nixon’s conversations with John Ehrlichman, the President’s environmental advisor. The following is a selection of Mr. Nixon’s most revealing statements and thoughts.

11 a lonely place, you know. I resented my lack of power. I would sneak into the Oval Office and, uh, rub my balls all over his pens and notes. Just to feel something, you understand.

[E]: That’s very nice sir, but we have urgent developments in the FBI investigation that we need to discuss.

On visiting Red China: [N]: You know, one of my biggest regrets was that damn trip to Red China.

[E]: How come sir?

[N]: I had to smell Mao Zedong’s breath for an entire week.

I think the Great Leap Forward must have left toothbrushes behind. I couldn’t stomach the food either. I was sitting on the pot each night for longer than it took them to build the Great Wall.

On growing up Quaker: [NIXON]: John, do you know how God damn boring it was to grow up Quaker? I mean a whole hour of sitting in silence is, uh, difficult enough… for a teenage boy. Hormones and… the mind tends to wander, it goes screwy. I’d start imagining the women in the church. Naked. It would undo all the praying I had been working on.

[EHRLICHMAN]: Well sir, that’s understandable. I can only hope the Quaker women were lookers if you undid hours of praying with your imagination.

[N]: They were not.

On the environment: [N]: You ever just thrown trash out the window? It’s a damn good feeling. There’s nothing like launching a Coke can out of your Pinto while humming along at a cool 55 miles per hour.

[E]: Sir, I can’t say I have littered before, but I feel as if this doesn’t do much to

help your position with the new Environmental Protection Agency.

[N]: Tell the Secret Service to warm up the car. We’re going for a drive to the Potomac and you’re going to throw some car batteries in the river. It’s about time you get some hair on your chest.

On Checkers the dog: [E]: John, I just hated that damn dog Checkers. You know, sometimes when Pat wasn’t home I would punt the pooch across the room because it looked at me funny. If the mutt hadn’t saved my candidacy, I would’ve been perfectly content with letting it rot in the pound. It’s a damn shame I don’t have Checkers to kick around anymore.

[N]: Sir.

On the Kennedy debates: [N]: You know what bothered me about 1960, John?

[E]: No sir, what bothered you?

[N]: This notion that Jack Kennedy was better looking than me. He was softer than a Jello salad, and might I say light in the loafers. By God, if it weren’t for Pat, I would have to beat the ladies off me with a broomstick like they were dirty hippies blocking Pennsylvania Avenue.

[E]: I am sure the youth of America swoon over you in private, just like they did when Paul McCartney landed here in ’63.

On the Moon landing: [N]: I’m going to let you in on a secret John. We faked the whole moon landing. Brought that freak job Kubrick in to direct the whole thing. We couldn’t lose to the Reds, so we shot it all out in Encino.

[E]: Sir, I am utterly shocked. So we haven’t really been to the moon?

On the Vice Presidency [N]: I wish you could see [N]: The worst years of my your face, John. By God, you are life were spent rotting away one stupid son of a bitch. as Ike’s vice president. It’s [E]: That’s right, sir.

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The Yale Record

HOW TO GET RID OF THE FAMILY DOG When you’re lucky enough to welcome a dog into the family, it’s hard to even imagine the day you’ll finally have to run it over with your car. But when that day comes, weeks or even months down the road, it’s important, as a parent, to be prepared. Here are some strategies I’ve found helpful: Hit it with your neighbor’s car. That dumbfuck must think he’s in Wichita or something leaving his garage open all day like that.

Make sure your dog is wearing its ThunderShirt. Compound skull fracture can be stressful even for a well-adjusted pooch, making this a great time for the proven calming power of a mild pressure garment.

Type out a cancer diagnosis. Just say it was dying anyway.

Maybe put some animal words in there, or use one of those Microsoft Word templates with all the columns.

Tell Simon it was his fault. Kids his age are pretty suggestible.

Don’t overthink it. Remember, the worst that can happen is you get a new dog.

—A. Burch OPINION: BALD PEOPLE SHOULDN’T BE ALLOWED TO WEAR HATS Have you ever glanced at a bald person? I have. I like ‘em. By and large, they’re good, honest folks. However, I must apologetically insist that they have no business wearing hats. Some have told me that it’s not my place to say that, but if not I, then who? And if not now, then when?

A bald person’s head needs to be exposed. If they’re wearing a fedora, who knows what could be under there, lurking in all that free space? With a hair-headed person, we can say pretty confidently that there’s just some hair.

With a bald person, they could be hiding something beautiful—or something terrifying. Either way, I must know what’s under there because, well, that mystery… it haunts me.

Lurking under any bald person’s hat, we might discover a bird’s nest. Or perhaps we would find a goldfish bowl atop a polished noggin. But we won’t find anything as long as it remains concealed underneath a hat, cap, or chapeau. Some may hypothesize—and I believe foolishly so—that they could be up to nothing more sinister than keeping their shiny domes sheltered and

styled, but I assure you this conspiracy reaches farther than your haired head could ever imagine.

I’m not saying that all the beret-donning bald people are inherently dishonest or morally corrupt. But I’m not going to give them a clean bill regarding their candidness either.

I won’t try to convince you that they’re serial killers storing bodies up there (they might be, though). In fact, I don’t believe they are. Rather, I just hope to stare in wonderment at whatever little surprise they have waiting for me.

Wigs, toupees, and the like—I have no qualms with those. There isn’t enough room there for lies. But every time a bald person wears an extra wide-brimmed Panama, they deprive us of our universal right to know the status of someone’s head. That in and of itself—the human right to know—should be enough to convince you to join me in my stance with all the conviction you can muster.

Perhaps I’m being too harsh. Or perhaps I’m not being nearly harsh enough. Whether bald by genetics or by choice, bald people must deal with the consequences of their hairless life—for the benefit of both bald and haired persons.

To quote Abraham Lincoln, “None can be free ‘til each bald head is loosed from the bond of hats.”

—A. Cramer 10 RUMORS I’VE STARTED ABOUT MY FRIENDS Gavin was a backup singer on ‘Ignition - Remix’ by R. Kelly.

You wanna know who’s a freak (and not in a good way)?

Simona schedules a Covid test every day because she can’t get enough of those swabs up her nose. She says: “It’s the only thing that makes me feel alive anymore.”

This one is true: Caleb’s mom died of scurvy over the weekend. I didn’t really start this one, his mom’s diet did.

We send him our condolences.

Betty is pregnant.

Carla isn’t pregnant—she shoplifts with that big hollow prosthetic belly of hers.

Some people’s secret is that they pee in the shower, but Isabella secretly showers when she pees.

Max is quite gullible and believed most of these.

Ever wonder why Felix has been purring all the time? Or why he coughs up hairballs all the time? It’s not because he’s a cat; it’s because he’s a furry.

Washington-native Nico may say “Commanders,” but he still thinks about them as The Washington Redskins.

My mom is asking questions about the vaccine.

—E. Calderon

The Secret Issue

13

—A. Hempel

WHO’S OUT?????

+

ZENDAYA

The multite talen d mononym flustered fans this week by revealing her last name. Should have kept that to yourself, Zendaya Mussolini!

JOE BIDE! N The pudgy presi-

+

Talk about inflation rs with pandent perplexed reporte s conference. nt pres demic pounds at a rece the ice cream? off Maybe it’s time to lay

PRINCE ANDRtaErnW ished

+

rk The beloved Duke of Yoage after he his spotless public im Juul behind g on a was spotted slobberin e. lac Buckingham Pa

ELLEN

+

s actually The daytime darling ha for 25 years, t been out of the close uality in mosex after confirming her hofor her!

1997. We’re so happy

BETTY WHITE ALIVE AGAIN! PAGE 34

Secr

SEVENTEEN CELEBS SPOTTED SMOOCHING

SEVENTEEN STARS AND STARLETS, including Ben Affleck, Ariana Grande, Peter Dinklage, Kevin James, Bill Nye the Science Guy, Jojo Siwa, Ed Sheeran, Lindsey Lohan, Ed Begley Jr., Colin Hanks, Meryl Streep, Kumail Nanjiani, Chet Hanks, Will.i.am, Bobby Flay, Cher, and Jada Pinkett-Smith were caught canoodling in the courtyard of Canterbury Castle. The powerful polycule peppered press with pleas for privacy... but we’re reporting their range of romances regardless.

NUCLEA

IMMIN

JIMMY’S LATE NIGHT SNACK Dam that’s JIMMY KIMMEL good! offered a different type of belly laugh this week when he killed and ate a beaver from the local zoo. The frenetic funnyman’s furry feast fostered friction Friday, leaving former fans fretting.

Sniffed a source, “Dude ate a beaver!”

(SOURCES

rets

Magazine!

AR WAR

NENT?

S SAY NO)

Better luck next time kiddos!

NOTHING UP WITH PETE DAVIDSON THIS WEEK

THE SNL SMOKESHOW doesn’t seem to be in the mood to make headlines this week, but we’ll let you know if he does something down the line. Sorry.

WHO’S IN???????

OJ EXONERATED (PHEW!) (P HEW!) PAGE 33

RYAN REYNOLDS JUST SLAMMED UNIVERSAL PRE-K IN THE MOST RYAN REYNOLDS WAY POSSIBLE! THE “FREE GUY” FELLOW finally responded to education advocates on Twitter who demanded that he sign a petition in support of universal preschool. “Paying for other people’s kids with my hard-earned cash?

Yeah, I’ll pass,” he tweeted. “How about you take your kids to see Deadpool 3 instead?”

What a goofball!

+

The Rock scissored his flab away this year, leaving him paperthin. The former chunker attributes his weight loss to eating a carrot every day.

DWAYNE JOHNSON

Y TOM BR AatD ed his son Margly

+

The family man tre ner Thursday. to a steamy candlelit dinet and brownul brisk Brady broiled a beautif ther of the year! ies for his baby boy. Fa

R ARMIE HAMMndE s! This

+

ou Environmental envy abnnibal cowed ca s ou ci climate-cons aste “graveyard cs criti with his zero-w diet.” Bon Appetit!

NANCY PELOnaSnnyI

+

sty The nays have it! This naraditional nixed her nephew’s nontnkly freaked ker fra nuptials. The sassy spea enly French fiancee. op ’s ew meeting her neph

—Staff

It’s LIBEL TIME

by Lillian Broeksmit

ZAC EFRON DOLLY PARTON ENRIQUE IGLESIAS SCOOBY a megalomaniac and does not, narcissist, has sired 23 in fact, DOO children whose names like the

once ate a magazine. It was a 2009 copy of Reader’s Digest with his face on it.

all rhyme with Dolly. The oldest, Creepy Crawly Parton, works as a realtor in Chattanooga.

way you move.

is a literal slut.

EMILY DICKINSON EMMANUEL MACRON KHLOE KARDASHIAN GWYNETH PALTROW only drank salt water because “potable water — is just the ocean, castrated —”

still lets his mother pick out all his outfits.

has a secret child named 🌴. No one hears about him because Khloe hasn’t figured out how to pronounce 🌴 yet.

markets safe, science-backed, reasonably priced health solutions on her website Goop.

MICHAEL JACKSON chews AARON RODGERS EMMANUEL MACRON CLIFFORD and spits out brought his first nose home after his nose job “for safekeeping.”

No one knows where he kept it.

Goldfish crackers, saving the resulting “delectable cheddar purée” in a ziploc bag for “post-practice yum yum time.”

is actually a very large Playmobil figure.

the Big Red Dog is a cardcarrying member of the Chinese Communist Party.

GUY FIERI RUMPELSTILTSKIN ZAC EFRON’S ANDERSON COOPER had 12 toenails, and they were all ingrown.

WHO

WORE IT

BETTER? Alistair or Alistair Sr.?

avant-garde critique on celebrity culture, “Reader’s Digested,” sold at auction for $10,000.

moans when he farts.

CROSSWORD CHAOS! 1

ACROSS 1: You can scramble it or poach it, and eat it for breakfast.

ANSWERS 1 Across: EGG

has no idea how to pronounce “quinoa.”

Also, his hair is just one of those visors with a wig attached that he got on special from the Fourth of July section at Walmart.

The Secret Issue

SLEEPERS, AWAKE! The doorbell woke me up, and I deactivated the TV. Ha, “deactivate.” I’d fallen asleep to old videos of the 1984 Sarajevo Games, which I have recorded on tape. I never thought I’d be a family-room sleeper like my grandfather, the type of man who can’t muster the strength to even go to bed. But at this ripe old age of 79, sleep just falls over you without your noticing, and you’re in a slumber before you know it. Ha, “ripe old age.”

American idioms will never cease to amuse me.

Ding dong!

The doorbell rang again. American impatience. I looked through the front door’s peephole before turning the handle.

Ha, “handle.” Force of habit. I didn’t need to see to know who was on the other side.

“Paul,” I said, swinging it open. Beneath his new wrinkles and the pinch of salt in his hair, I still saw the bright-eyed, handsome 22-year-old I plucked from Annapolis. Ha, “SALT.” “Howdy, old friend. I didn’t wake you up, did I?” Paul cheerfully replied.

“No, I was just having breakfast.”

“Gosh, I hope it’s not that ‘Homestyle Very American Stew’ you used to make. Remember when we used to eat that stuff three times a day?”

He was thinking of my beetroot borscht, which I would call deliciously austere. I’m surprised when the man remembers anything from those years we spent together.

Paul was recruited after I advertised a typical American capitalist reading group, and interestingly, he was the only one to show up. I was surprised he didn’t catch on to the ruse, as we didn’t do any reading. I also didn’t speak English at the time and required that he learn Russian so that we could converse, but it must have been my praise of the bourgeoisie that kept him from suspecting anything. Soon enough, Paul was a highly trained agent under complete psychophysiological control of the KGB. Though victory was in my grasp, I lost contact with the Kremlin at around the same time and was thus compelled to use Paul for other things, like fetching my groceries from the disgusting displays of excess Americans call “supermarkets” and watching episodes of Hogan’s Heroes with me. Boy, did that Colonel Klink make us laugh!

Then, Paul’s family started poking around, wondering where he’d gone, so I had to force the man to covertly execute his own parents. I wanted to keep Nippers alive, his family cat, but we couldn’t take any chances if we wished to remain together. I was eventually so wracked with guilt that I ended it, waking him up to a state of selective amnesia and vowing to never activate him again.

“What are you doing here, Paul?” I asked.

“Well, I wanted to tell you I’m moving. Diane and I are

17

going to Maine.” Diane is a divorced barmaid Paul married who apparently doesn’t mind that her husband can’t remember the majority of the events of his life.

“I hear it’s nice. I’m excited to see it for the first time.”

Paul didn’t know that he and I had been there once before, and shared a beautiful weekend antiquing. I couldn’t bear to hear him talk this way. Before I could even think, I spoke: “The Cossacks will ride.”

Paul’s eyes widened, and his face calmed. He replied: “Что делать?”

—J. Gustaferro

QUESADILLA You took my quesadilla. You took my fucking quesadilla. I’m leaving this letter not just because you took it, but cause your spit has dried on the ledge of the sink and your socks are in the tub.

I’m sick and I’m tired and I’m sick. Moving in was my idea so I guess it’s fitting I be the one to end it. Rick: I’m leaving you.

You smell like a pig. After we have sex you smell like a hog.

I’ve never seen you make the bed. Shit I don’t even know if you know how to make a bed. I was watching this comedy about stupid people with some friends last weekend and they were all falling over and laughing at the jokes but I wasn’t. The stupid people sounded like you, Rick. Like you. This whole quesadilla business was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. I want to get back to my work and have space to think about ideas without caring for your fat, sloppy ass…that was too harsh, I’m sorry.

I can be tough on you sometimes. You’ve changed me. I feel like our love used to be a big, exciting blister and I was always secretly just waiting for it to pop but it never did. It just oozed and turned into a sad, hard callous. That’s what you’ve made me. Calloused. Don’t feel too bad about the quesadilla. This was coming, I’ve just been looking for something to make me say so.

—P. Schneider

18

The Yale Record

HOW TO COME OUT TO YOUR CONSERVATIVE KID 1. Sit them down in a comfortable chair.

2. Let them know that you’ll still love them and take care of them no matter what, even if you’re gay.

3. Tell them you are gay.

4. Have them understand that they don’t have to support it, but that you hope they can accept it.

5. Explain that your husband is your romantic lover and not your boy best friend.

6. Say that it’s not a coincidence that you and your “roommate” have the same health insurance plan.

7. Explain why they go to soccer practice every Thursday from 2-4 PM.

caution in his presence, and whatever you do, do not look directly into his eyes. I fear for my safety, but I will attempt to release updates in future issues.

Editor’s note: This piece is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons or organizations, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

—L. Dunn LOOK AT ALL THIS DOPE SHIT MY GRANDPA LEFT ME!

Don’t get me wrong, Gramps kicking the bucket was real sad, but TBH I’m kinda a fan of all this sick stuff he left me in his will. Mom and Dad snagged the house and the car, but I get —E. Perez and M. Kuo everything, and I mean everything, from ol’ GPop’s basement.

THE YALE SECRET SOCIETIES YOU DON’T KNOW ABOUT Delta Kappa Epsilon Literature and Debate society — Many know this fraternity for their campus ‘demonstrations’ and notable alumni such as George W. Bush and Brett Kavanaugh, but few are privy to their most secretive branch, their literature and debate society. This month, they’re taking a break from their journey through The Iliad to read and reflect on Rupi Kaur’s Milk and Honey.

The Council of Davids — While The Council of Davids may be the most well-known campus council, it is not the first.

In 1851, The Council of Ebenezers was established, eighteen years after the Charles Dickens’ blockbuster classic A Christmas Carol incited a naming frenzy. Tragically, the council was disbanded in 1907, when the last Ebenezer to attend Yale University died on the way to the hospital after being crushed by a Christmas tree.

The Killing Water Buffalo Club — Forced into secrecy after the ‘No More Water Buffalo Hunting in Connecticut Act’ of 1905, the Killing Water Buffalo Club’s name says it all. They can be best described by their perennial slogan: “ecologically irresponsible on the streets, brutal masochist in the sheets.”

The Yale Record — The Yale Record is not just a source of monthly gaffes and gags. The true nature of the magazine can only be found deep beneath the surface, in the center of a labyrinth of articles and cartoons. Dear Reader, it has been arduous work, but I believe I am close to the truth.

While I hope to soon present my findings in full, the inner workings of this enigmatic organization are still shrouded in secrecy. Be that as it may, this much I know: Editor-inChief Joe Wickline is not what he seems. I advise the utmost

• There’s gotta be like a hundred zip ties down here! Think of all the bags I could seal!

• Not my favorite find, but a bunch of girls’ dresses are down here. One of them has a weird red stain, looks like ketchup. GPop loved ketchup.

• Besides the dresses, there’s a shitload of old magazines.

Grandpa must’ve really enjoyed arts and crafts because each magazine is missing a ton of letters. I can’t find a single D, I, or E left in them!

• I also found this crazy fancy necklace that spells out “Veronica” in diamonds! I wonder if GPop was hitting that. Goddamn.

• Woah! One Ziplock bag down here is chock full of blond pigtails. I guess Gramps was collecting hair for Locks of Love. He was the GOAT when it came to philanthropy!

• Some high-quality pictures. Most of them seem to be of this one super hot chick. There are red Xs drawn over her face in each picture, but she’s got a bangin’ bod!

• Is that a bag of fingernail clippings? Damn! I’m going to hide those in my bro Jimmy’s bed and he’s gonna be super freaked. Grandpa loved pranks!

• There’s an insanely cool knife. It’s like a foot long and all authentic-looking. It has a ton of this crusty red-brown stuff on it, but I’ll wash it off. My friends are gonna be so jealous.

• The last thing I found was a note from ol’ GPop himself: “Burn everything before they find it, Jason. Veronica had it coming. I’ll see you soon.” What a kook. I’ll see if Dad has any lighter fluid.

Thanks for the dope shit Gramps! This next drink’s to you.

—N. Weiss

—T. Schroder

20

The Yale Record

IT’S HARD HAVING A SECRET SECOND FAMILY THESE DAYS My husband Edward sucks. He cannot function without me around. Yesterday when I was making dinner, I asked him to dice one onion. I turn around, and seconds later there’s blood everywhere. He probably would’ve bled out and died if I wasn’t there to seal his wound with my hot glue gun.

Same goes for my kids. One time I left them alone with my favorite box of matches. When I got back two hours later, those little fuckers had sold my matches on Facebook Marketplace. And don’t get me started on how clueless they get when I lock them in a car on a hot summer’s day. It’s like they need me to be with them all the time. You’re four and six, respectively—go get a job!

I used to spend more time with the husband and the boys, but it’s been too much lately, especially since I have a secret second family. For months, I had to hide my pregnancy from my husband. That guy is such a goddamn softie. He’d probably cry if he found out I was secretly mothering another man’s kids. What a wuss.

So I avoided Edward and the boys for several months, telling them I was at a moms’ retreat in the Berkshires.

When I finally came back, Craddox had broken his arm, and Jabber had missed his tetanus shot and gotten “a serious bacterial infection that causes painful muscle spasms and can lead to death.” It was then that I realized how dependent these dipshits are on me.

My other family is another story. My newborn son Jabber 1 is now two years old. I thought he would be a better embodiment of the name than my other son Jabber, who I’ve since renamed Jabber 2, and boy has

he delivered. I left him alone in a hot car one time, and that clever son of a gun figured out how to break the window. He also does this little trick where he puts a plastic bag over his head and dances around for me.

He’s so cool.

I wish I could dedicate all my time to Jabber 1 (New Jabber), especially because he shows so much more promise than the old one. But it turns out having a secret second family is not all sunshine and rainbows. I constantly have to go back and forth between families, and I think my husband is catching on. Last week he said to me, “Every weekend can’t be moms’ weekend.” Thank God he was on dinner duty that day; he passed out again from blood loss and forgot the whole thing.

Anyway, if you’re thinking about starting a second family make sure you’ll have enough time and energy.

It might have been easier if Edward and Craddox and Jabber 2 were stronger men, but I’ve been dealt a pack of weaklings. Without me, both of my families would fall apart.

I guess it never really occurred to me, but it’s about time I admitted it. I’m a great mom.

—K. Walsh I’M WORRIED MY SECRET SECOND FAMILY HAS A SECRET SECOND DAD Something is amiss with my family. I can sense it. To be precise, it is my second family that preoccupies me. You see, from the very beginnings of the Greenely lineage, my male ancestors have kept second families unbeknownst to their first, doubling the odds that our bloodline shall continue. My father had two families, and so did my

—C. Rose

The Secret Issue

grandfather and his father before him.

We are so committed to this tradition that I myself am unaware whether I was born into my father’s first or second family. Until recently, I thought this tradition was unique. However, recent developments have implied otherwise. I have reason to believe that my family, my secret second family, has a secret second dad.

My suspicions began three fortnights ago. I entered my second family’s abode after a “work trip” and noticed inconsistencies in its decoration. Every picture featuring my likeness was replaced with pictures of my second family with another man whom I have never laid eyes on. Then, a few days later, my second wife, Cynthia, suggested that we sleep in separate chambers, as my snoring disturbed her sleep. I love my second wife, so I obliged.

Later that night, as I snuck away to fornicate with my first wife, I heard my second wife scream, “Oh, yes, Dave!” into the cold night. I know no man named “Dave.”

In the morning, I confronted my second wife about this feral scream. Apparently, she was watching Chopped on television, and cheering on her favorite contestant, Dave, who was preparing a wonderful spotted dick. However, while my first wife and I “Netflix and chilled” that same night, I did not see any contestants named Dave on Chopped, and the only spotted dick either of us saw was my own.

My secret second children, like my secret second wife, have behaved erratically. One week ago, my secret second children asked me to play catch with them. Sadly, I had plans for my evening, as I was planning to take my first set of children to the World Series, so I told my secret second children that I had work to do. Yet, as I left to pick up my first set of children, I caught a glimpse of my secret second children playing catch in our neighbor’s backyard.

Thankfully, this neighbor was named David, not Dave, which assuaged some of my fears. Yet, I remain worried.

Could my children really be spending valuable time bonding with a man who is not their father? Why would they need another man to play catch with? They could have just asked me.

I am terribly sorry if these facts do not warrant such suspicions, but I just can’t stand the thought of my second wife lacking loyalty and my second children seeking a second father figure. Personally, I would never keep anything from my secret second family, except for my first family, as I know a lack of honesty is harmful to any relationship.

21

Therefore, I have decided upon a reasonable course of action. If I find conclusively that my second wife has been unfaithful to me, I plan to give her a taste of her own medicine. I will find a third wife and sire a secret third set of children, which to her will be my secret second family.

Only then will she understand that lying never pays. And when she does, we’ll finally be happy again, just three big happy families.

—A. Mayagoitia SIGNS YOUR DAD HAS A SECRET SECOND FAMILY If you are reading this, I empathize with you deeply. I was recently in a similar predicament, unsure of whether or not I was my father’s only son. Perhaps I should have been suspicious when he called me by the wrong name, or when immediately afterward said “wait, that’s my other kid.”

Regardless — with my guidance, you’ll be able to pick up on the signs faster than I did.

If your dad takes a lot of “business” trips to Florida, he may have a secret second family.

If your father is named Edward (bald, 6’2”), takes a lot of week-long “business” trips to Florida, he may have a secret second family.

If your name is Michael, and your balding father Edward ( 6’2”, bears a striking resemblance to J.K. Simmons) often takes week-long “business” trips to Florida, he very likely has a secret second family.

If you are MICHAEL GREENELY of 123 Harkness Blvd., and your dad EDWARD GREENELY (bald, 6’2”, bears a striking resemblance to J.K. Simmons, smells faintly of the Mr. Sketch® cinnamon marker) was in MIAMI last week, 2/07 - 2/11, he almost definitely has a secret second family.

MICHAEL! GREENELY! Your dad has a secret other family. I cannot be more clear. Your dad, Edward Greenley (bald, 6’2”, looks like J.K. Simmons, smells like the Mr. Sketch® cinnamon marker, unironically refers to women as “the fairer sex”) has another son, and it’s me. You’re the other family. Or I am? Either way, those trips to Florida had nothing to do with business.

If your dad is explicitly identified by name as having a secret second family in the magazine you’re reading, that bastard has a secret second family.

—M. Elliott

NEW HAVEN, CONNECTICUT • WEDNESDAY, APRIL 20, 2022 • VOL. LXVIII, NO. 7 • yaledailynews.biz

Study Finds Most Movies Are Fake

BY ALEJANDRO MAYAGOITIA STAFF REPORTER A recent study published by researchers at the University of Wisconsin-Stout found that a majority of movies released in movie theaters over the last 30 years are not real.

According to the paper, published early in January of 2022, the events unfolding before the audience’s eyes never actually happened, and often have no bearing on reality. What audiences watch on the silver screen, researchers say, is merely an artificial enactment of a purely fictitious story.

“The people in the movies are just pretending,” explained lead researcher Karl Hungus. “Nothing that happens in the movie is actually happening to them. Instead, every person you see in movies is being paid to act like the movie’s events are real.”

Other members of the scientific community were quick to point out that many events that happen in movies, like those in Hacksaw Ridge or Hidden Figures, are documented to have actually taken place.

However, the researchers claim that even these movies are not real. In fact, they go as far as saying that the characters in these films’ stories are all dead and have been for years.

“Sure, Forrest Gump, the guy from Forrest Gump, may have existed at one point,” conceded Hungus. “But the man you see in the film isn’t the real Gump. It’s just a liar named Tom Hanks.”

It was unclear whom the researcher meant by “Tom Hanks.”

The study went even further, arguing that sometimes the people shown on screen aren’t people at all. Thanos from Avengers: Endgame is one such example.

Hungus’ team argues that the charming purple socialite is in fact a model created using “Computer Generated Imagery” software, or CGI for short.

“Of course Thanos isn’t real,” said Hungus. “He’s a purple skinned motherfucker who is eight feet tall. You really thought you could just see him out on the street one day in the real world?”

(Hungus declined to comment when our reporter asked whether Barack Obama from the movie Barry was CGI or a real

POINT: Calm Down, Nobody Has To Find Out About This

BY ADAM BURCH COLUMNIST Listen, obviously this looks bad. But there’s really nothing tying us to it. If we just get out of town—and quick—there’s no reason anyone would think we had anything to do with the guy at all.

Remember, three days ago we didn’t even know him. This kind of case is almost always

traced back to a close friend or family member. Without any kind of physical evidence, that’s who they’re gonna be investigating, not a couple of small-time bozos like us. From an outside perspective, we don’t even enter the picture.

What’s important now is that we keep breathing. In… out… in… out… just like that.

Okay, I wiped down the shovel.

Are we forgetting anything here?

This “movie set” imitates the look and feel of a city street, to trick the viewer into thinking they are viewing a real event..

person.)

The recent surge in research into transparency in film was kickstarted by the release of David Attenborough’s A Life on Our Planet, a “documentary film.” A researcher from the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point explained:

“This farce is a textbook example of totally fictional movie practices. Attenborough says the globe is warming or whatever, but it was just -20 degrees last Friday. How can he explain that?”

COUNTERPOINT: Oh My God, We Killed Him

BY ADAM BURCH COLUMNIST One thing’s clear: We’re cooked for sure. That’s way too much blood for somebody to lose. God, it’s so red. Plus, did you even notice he stopped breathing? No. No, this guy is dead—and we killed him.

Look, this wasn’t supposed to happen. No one was supposed to get hurt. All we did was make

a series of innocent, completely understandable mistakes, but now he’s done for, and we won’t be far behind.

It won’t take them long to find us now. Cameras everywhere, everywhere an algorithm three steps ahead. Policemen with their own cellular phones.

It’s all over for us.

NEWS

“In my youth, I tiptoed about. I wore silk gloves and a cape as dark as the night sky. At the end of each day, my ears ached from all the secrets I had demanded people whisper to me.

So I think I know something about national security.” ANTONY BLINKEN SECRETARY OF STATE

EXCLUSIVE: God Reveals Real Name

BY BENJAMIN HOLLANDER-BODIE STAFF REPORTER Either you know him or you’ve heard of him—this guy is a big deal.

Today I sat down for an exclusive interview with the creator of the universe and all life within it, the big man himself: God. The interview, printed here, has been edited for length and clarity.

BG: So, God, tell me what’s on your mind today.

GOD: Well, Brad, to tell you the truth, I’ve been thinking a lot about issues of identity. Who am I? That’s something we all have to ask ourselves once in a while. I think most of us, myself included, base our identity in no small part on what we think others’ perceptions of us are. But whereas you mortals generally only have to worry about the opinions of a few hundred people at most, I have literally everyone’s opinion to worry about, and eventually even judge. It’s tricky to figure out who I really am.

BG: But God, isn’t there more to who we are then what other people think? Can’t we eschew those external opinions and transform ourselves into what we ourselves want to become?

GOD: In an important way you’re right, and I did eventually find that out. But you’re all social creatures, and you are made in my image, so of course I do care what people think of me. It’s impossible for anyone not to care at all about the opinions of others. And lately, an aspect of my own identity I’ve been thinking a lot about is my name.

nowadays, yes?

GOD: That’s exactly right. And that’s pretty much the problem.

Back in the old days, revealing my name would have removed all the mystique. You have to remember, Brad, things were harder back then. Every god and his primordial grandma had a name, so I was actually kind of a pioneer for declaring my name forbidden and just going by “God.” Helped with the monotheism project I was trying out.

BG: You did give us mortals some consonants if I recall.

“YHWH,” no?

GOD: That’s true. I gave the mortals just a few letters of my name to keep them guessing. And oh have they been guessing. Yahweh is the most popular guess, but many others have been proposed. I considered smiting one smug asshole who kept insisting my name is “Yahoo Wahoo,” but then I remembered that you guys all eventually die, so I could just send him to hell then.

it correctly yet?

GOD: The main issue is linguistic drift. Those letters are very outdated given our current alphabet system. The first three letters should now be “JFR,” and that last H is pretty much vestigial. I’ll be frank, Brad. My name is Jeffrey. I’ve kept it secret for a long time, but wow does it feel good to just come out and say it.

BG: How long would you say you have been waiting to tell the world your name?

JEFFREY: Pretty close to seven thousand years. I haven’t even had a pragmatic reason to keep my name secret since the Classical Period.

It honestly may have helped me spread throughout the world faster if people had a name they could latch onto more easily than “God.”

BG: So why have you kept your name a secret then? Was it one of those situations where people know you by a name, and you can’t really break out BG: Fascinating. But God, of that? There was another BG: That’s so true. if we have four letters of your Brad at my kindergarten back People mostly call you “God” name, how has nobody guessed when I was a kid, so a lot of

Cross Campus RETURN TO SENDER

The Yale Daily News has obtained a copy of Donald Trump’s contentious and long-concealed tax returns, through what many are calling an “Uncle Billy with the check from It’s A Wonderful Life-type mixup.”

Unfortunately, we can’t make heads or tails of it.

Turns out taxes are complicated as hell, so we didn’t find anything incriminating.

MORE ON PAGE 3

Inside The News In a speech Monday, President Biden promised that there’s not much more of this left. “We’re really running out of racetrack here, if you think about it,” explained America’s final president. “I don’t know how much longer people expected all this to go.”

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people called me “Bingo,” and it just kind of stuck with me for a while. I even started introducing myself that way.

It wasn’t until high school that I put my foot down and said, “No. I’m Bradley Gilman, not ‘Bingo’ or whatever you people want to pigeonhole me as.”

JEFFREY: Yeah, exactly like that. People would ask me my name, and I’d just say “Haha, most people just call me God.” And I just got so into that habit that I felt like I was kind of locked into that role as “God” and not as who I really was.

People think of me, they don’t think of me as a multifaceted person.

They just think, “Oh yeah, that’s God.” They all say I’m so mysterious and unknowable, but nobody is even trying to get to know the real me. And don’t tell me I’m wrong, because I’m omniscient.

BG: So, Jeffrey, now that you’ve revealed your actual name, are you still comfortable with people calling you “God?” Or would you rather people call you Jeffrey, or even Jeff?

JEFFREY: Oh, I don’t mind being called “God” at all—the problem was that I felt powerless in the determination of my own identity. Just knowing that I can push back against that, say, “No, my name is Jeffrey.” That’s what reminds me I’m in control of my own life.

BG: That is so inspiring.

Anyway, I’m afraid that’s all the time we have today. Thank you so much for stopping by, God. Or should I say… Jeffrey?

GOD: I’d prefer if you didn’t.

This is a professional environment.

BG: My mistake.

OPINION

EXPOSE

LADIES

Everything I Heard Crouching In The Rafters Of The Men’s Bathroom

Yale Women’s Center Unveils Cutting-Edge New Woman

You Can Tell That Guy Is Cool Because He Only Calls People By Their Last Name

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The Yale Record

24

OVERBOARD I lost my wife at sea. People ask me all the time how it happened, but I don’t like to talk about it. What is there to say? One minute she was there, the next she was gone. I was in the cabin at the time, looking for champagne. By the time I emerged the deck was empty.

People say to me that maybe she hit her head. She might have, but I don’t like to think about that. I try not to think about her, mostly.

Our dog was on the deck when it happened. I guess he saw it happen. People say dogs are supposed to be loyal, and useful when kids fall down wells and stuff, but when I came out he was just looking over the side. That confirmed it for me, that she had gone over. I didn’t swim around looking for her. I don’t know why I didn’t. One minute she was there, the next she was gone, and I sort of just sat there dumbly and thought about how lonely I was going to be.

Of course I looked guilty at the time, and of course there wasn’t proof that I did or didn’t do something. For what it’s worth I didn’t. You can believe me or not, it doesn’t affect my life really. I was grieving and the cops tried to make me admit it. I’m done trying to convince people.

I lost the dog at the dog park a week later. He went off leash and when I got up to go he wasn’t around, even though the whole park was fenced in. Maybe there was a hole in the fence, or maybe one of the other dog owners just took him.

I didn’t look for him either. Things end, and that’s okay even though it isn’t. Last week at the beach I thought I saw them both. There was a woman who

—G. Ellis

looked like her, with a dog that looked like him. I was tossing a football with my friends, so I didn’t try to get a closer look. I sort of hope it was them, even thought that would mean she left me and stole my dog. I think I’d be okay with that.

—J. Wickline DON’T LET YOUR BASTARDS GET YOU DOWN My bastards are annoying––always begging for food, tuition, more affection––and I’ll admit, sometimes it gets me down. Usually, I keep this struggle private: I mutter about my bastards to myself in my gold-inlaid sauna, which only my pedicurist and I have access to. But today, I’m going public with my story.

In the past, I could flit from bastard to bastard with the ease and grace of a carpet moth. Now, however, it is both possible and socially acceptable to track a loved one’s iPhone from afar—a devastating blow to prolific fathers like myself. Believe me, if Ghengis Khan lived in our time, his conquest of the Mongolian Peninsula would be curtailed by the sinister green dots of his many sons’ Find My iPhone icons.

With the advent of these stupid location trackers, it’s harder than ever to jet your bastards’ mother away to St. Tropez or go to yet another “environmental finance summit” in Atlantic City. They will find you, and they will want your cash and your presence at their middle school production of A Midsummer’s Night Dream.

In order to hide, I’ve had to buy a fourth phone for myself, a second phone for my pedicurist, and even a phone for my phone. I’ve bought so many phones that my local Apple Store has designated me as a “Frequent Flyer,” which doesn’t make sense but earns me enough Miles that I can’t complain.

To preserve my relationships with dozens of equally dear bastards (and my honest reputation), I have had to purchase disguises, dye my hair, buy a fake passport, and remember seven different bank PIN numbers. I had to have facial reconstruction surgery because one of the bastards’ mother’s kept holding up one of my phones to my face to see if I could open it with Face ID. I am not trying to victimize myself. The system is trying to victimize me. I am strong; I am a tiger. I am a millionaire with a penis, and I used it to create bastards. I sure as hell don’t let them get me down.

—A. Golden

The Secret Issue

YOU’LL NEVER BELIEVE THIS, FOLKS Ladies and Gents, children of all ages, I would like to welcome you to the Bentley Brothers Traveling Circus. I am the curator of curios, friend of freaks, ringmaster, and Bentley brother, Barry Bentley.

Now, this is not your run-of-the-mill bazaar, ladies and gents, I have scoured the far reaches of the Orient and braved the deserts of Arabia to find you the most abominable aberrations and agile acrobats. I am the man who brought you the Whiskered Whisperer from the deep jungle of Nepal and the sensational Samantha Sparrow, our own shaggy soloist with the voice of a nightingale. But mistake me not, this newest addition to the Bentley Menagerie will put our regular acts to shame.

Now I must warn you: avert your eyes if you have delicate sensibilities. Gentlemen, be sure to hold your lady’s hand in case she’s startled. I don’t mean to stir

25

up hysteria, folks, but not everyone can handle the truth of what this world has to offer. This man, our main attraction, is defined not by his stature but by the height of his accomplishments. His cry is known to curdle blood, and his sharp teeth are few and far between.

It is my honor—nay, privilege—to introduce to you, on behalf of my brother Boris Bentley, the world’s smallest man. He may be unsettling, my beloved audience, but there is no need to fear. He, this horrifying homunculus, does not have a normal human brain like you or I. He can speak nothing more than grunts and gurgles, and it is said that until we took him in, he had never yet worn clothes. But look!

There he goes in tiny overalls like a real person. Isn’t that just marvelous, ladies and gentlemen? Watch him crawl there like a beast on all fours. You’ve never seen anything like it.

—C. Rose

26

The Yale Record

12 RUMORS TO START ABOUT YOUR EX-BEST FRIEND JOSIE “Yeah, breakups are hard, but have you ever watched your best friend turn into a stranger?” – Edgar Allen Poe So Josie’s a bit of a dumb fucking bitch slut, isn’t she?

All of a sudden, the late night giggles, the hugs that make your worries go away, the mutual trauma dumping that generated an unhealthy codependency so you felt stuck together since you hadn’t told anyone else about your night terrors and you didn’t want to get a therapist because it would conflict with field hockey practice, the trips to the mall, all of it, just—poof—gone.

She’s no longer by your side to hold your hand, so it’s time to heal. Here are 12 handy dandy rumors to start for those days when classic old school locker shoves just aren’t doin’ it for ya.

1. She’s actually a cake.

2. She assassinated JFK. (Where was Josie on November 22, 1963? I certainly don’t know. And if you ask around, I think you’ll find nobody else does either…)

3. Armie Hammer. (I feel like this one speaks for itself.)

4. Hammer Armie. (See: Joseph Stalin.)

5. She lied about where she was after Homecoming she didn’t actually go to that college party she was sleeping with Jonah from calc and then bought him a new PS4 so he wouldn’t tell anyone.

6. She won’t stop fucking rattling off all the time just blah blah blah Peter doesn’t like me blah blah blah this dress makes me look fat blah blah blah Hillary Clinton is a lizard person rallying her colony of lizard people and they’ve already infiltrated every branch of U.S. government blah blah whatever.

7. She assassinated Franz Ferdinand. (Yeah, World War I? Ever heard of it? It’s all that bitch’s fault.)

8. She moonlights as a member of the Blue Man group, but she only got the job because her dad owns the Blue Man Corporation and all the other Blue Men shit talk her behind her back because she sucks at playing the drums.

9. Her #1 Artist on Spotify Wrapped was Nickelback.

10. She ghost-wrote the movie Cats.

11. John Wilkes Booth? More like Josie Wilkes Booth, if you know what I mean. (I mean she assassinated President Abraham Lincoln. Is that clear? That’s what I meant.)

12. Oedipus. (This one should also speak for itself.)

—J. Stark

BUTTERY SECRET MENUS BY COLLEGE TRUMBULL: A Stolen Bow Wow Medley — The perfect mix of sushi, Clif bars, and caffeinated chocolate, to barter among your cellmates in YPD lockup.

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN: Medical Grade Anesthesia — A locally sourced must-have from Yale Health.

GRACE HOPPER: Peanut Butter Cookies — Cookies containing peanut butter.* PAULI MURRAY: Weed Brownies — Ours don’t contain marijuana; instead they’re made of ivy and tallgrass handpicked to order from outside Pauli Murray.

SILLIMAN: The Sillimander Special — The Handsome Hamburger - A patty humanely sourced from the frozen corpses of Handsome Dan X and Handsome Dan XII (available in limited stock).

DAVENPORT: Freezer Burnt McRib — We cannot ensure freshness, but we can promise that you will need a pillow for all those turbulent nights spent in your suite’s bathroom.

TIMOTHY DWIGHT: Extra Sloppy Joe — Think sloppy Joe, but the meat is humanely harvested from TD’s garbage cans and served directly into your cupped hands.

MORSE: The Parfait — We’ve taken what you love most about Morse and put it into your new favorite snack.

Expired greek yogurt, month old blueberry compote, and freshly chipped granola from our gorgeous limestone to top the whole thing off, giving it an extra crunch that will knock your teeth off!

EZRA STILES: Raw Moose Meat — Fuel your workout at Payne Whitney with some fresh, raw, humanely decapitated protein! Choose your cut yourself or just go at the carcass with your teeth like we did back in the good ole days.

JONATHAN EDWARDS: Gold-Encrusted Filet Mignon — We use our endowment to provide only the best options for our students. Cooked in house to your liking and served with mashed potatoes and salted asparagus, you will be eating up every last bite and begging our in house Michelin star chef for more.

PIERSON: Apple Slices — This exotic, one-of-a-kind treat will have you calling home to your mom to tell her how great your day was. Add peanut butter for an extra dollar.* BERKELEY: The Cross Campus Catch — We round up the last students to leave cross campus and bake them humanely our meat lovers flatbread.

BRANFORD: Adderall — We know what the people want.

SAYBROOK: Zoloft — We know what the people need. *Peanut butter has peanuts in it, a known allergen to people with peanut allergies.

—E. Thulin

Ask Old Owl! Dear Old Owl, This has been weighing on me heavily. I would go to confession, but I’m not a Catholic and I’ve already gotten too many harassment charges for yelling my problems at old Italian men on the street. Still, I have to get this off my chest. Who better to tell than an anthropomorphic owl that is bound to secrecy? I am a sinner. I have committed unforgivable crimes against my fellow man.

When I was eight, I put my Christmas list through a paper shredder so I could blame it on my brother Thomas, because I was jealous that he had his own subscription to Better Homes & Gardens Magazine. I cried so hard that I needed an inhaler, and he got his browsing privileges suspended for the week. From then on, I stole each of Thomas’s copies as they were delivered and my parents never trusted his word after the shredding debacle. I watched as he fought at our mailman for forty-five minutes, fantasizing about paddling around in a brand new koi pond.

When Thomas moved out and got a gazebo of his own, I couldn’t contain my jealousy. I would lurk in his topiary by day and sleep on the sweet planks of pressure-treated pine at night. Finally, when Thomas got in a hedge-trimming accident last month, I told the doctor’s my brother had A positive blood instead of A negative and his body rejected the transfusion. The guilt is intense, but I write this from the tender embrace of a porch swing and know that, ultimately, it’s what Thomas would want.

How do I move on from this traumatizing experience?

Old Owl is an alcoholic, nicotineaddicted nightbird that roams campus scrounging for vestiges of the relevance he enjoyed in the Record’s heyday. He now offers advice, free of charge. If you’d like to Ask Old Owl about your weird life, email askoldowl@yalerecord.com.

Dear Owlet, This is a published advice column, dipshit. I may be a mischievous little rascal, but I’m not a madman; there are certain things I can’t get behind. There’s no confidentiality agreement here, you signed your email “cheers, Kevin Wasserberg” and included your home address.

You can take your anonymous confession straight to the police station.

Dear Old Owl, My job is requiring a background check and I don’t know what that entails. How do I make sure they don’t find anything incriminating?

most surefire way to get this done is to mass-produce latex gloves printed with your fingerprints and distribute them in major cities.

My final suggestion is a little more situation-specific. Pop on LinkedIn for a brief stalk and connect with all the family members of your potential employer.

Once you’ve built a thriving professional network, you can convince them to help you burn down the neighborhood Chuck E. Cheese and toast the flea-ridden mascot over the open flames. This will create a criminal history standoff, and your employer will be forced to look over your past misdemeanors for the sake of their family. In fact, depending on the connections you forge, this could even lock down a week-three promotion.

Dear Old Owl, I really need your advice. I have always struggled with being my most honest and authentic self, and have put up some pretty high walls around my heart. It took me a really long time to feel comfortable enough with someone to share all parts of me, and now that I’ve finally done it, they’ve started acting differently. Everyone keeps telling me to be vulnerable, but it seems like when I’m honest it makes everything worse. Help a guy out?

Dear Owlet, That’s an understandable concern; let me offer you some expert advice on ensuring a squeaky clean record. Step one is legally changing your name; it won’t stop them entirely, but it certainly throws them off the scent. I would suggest “Rob Banks” or “Pon Z. Skeem.” Someone Dear Owlet, Kevin, you signed this one, too, with a criminal name like that couldn’t actually be a criminal, it would be too dumbass. Why the hell did you add a photo? I literally already called the police. obvious.

If you don’t want to go through the hassle of changing your credit cards and monogrammed towels, though, there are alternatives. It is practically impossible to stay off the grid in the modern age, but flooding your employer’s search results will bury anything too suspicious. The

THE RECORD QUIZ CORNER 1. @Yitterqueen

A. 123456

2. @BillDeBlasio

B. password123456

3. Ethel’s Facebook

C. letsgobrandon

4. @VladimirPutin

D. atailof2titties

5. @PerrythePlatypus

E. theatertix4none

6. Ethel’s F-Book

F. aquísehablaespañol

7. @Charlz_Dickinz

G. (Will not disclose)

8. Calculator App

H. smile!youreoncamera

9. @StephanieSpangler

I. abolishy*le

10. Ethel Facebook 2

J. vyingf0rd3@n

11. @BetoORourke

K. 2345678

12. @JulianCastro

L. agentnovichok

13. @miranda

M. qwerty

14. @BowWow

N. PERRY_THE_PLATYPUS

15. @Muzzl3dMike

O.

16. @Soads

P. aquísehablaespañolmejor

17. @DominionVotingSystems

Q. [insertlastnameofguest]

18. @EthelsBurner

R. qpacID

19. @lauriesantos

S. Ethel’s Facebook

20. @yalecampussecrets

T. 5318008

21. @Colonialpipeline

U. @pass_word

22. @Watergatehotel

V. punxsutawneyphilkiller

23. @CambridgeAnalytica

W. 1234567

24. @Hillary Clinton

X. securepassword_100 —C. Thorpe

HOW DID JFK ACTUALLY DIE? A. An errant throw from legendary Dallas Cowboys quarterback Roger Staubach struck the President from above.

B. Jacqueline Kennedy sneezed a bit too hard and split her husband’s head open.

C. Fidel Castro killed Kennedy for sleeping with his wife, (nothing to do with the missile crisis).

D. Bobby was upset that Jack had cheated in Monopoly and sought to even the score.

E. A bad batch of Pop Rocks chemically reacted with the tissues in his brain, causing a small but deadly explosion.

F. In a cruel twist of fate, John Glenn’s space trash tumbled out of orbit right into the Kennedy’s convertible.

G. J. Edgar Hoover, (not the FBI Director, but a disgruntled Dallas resident whose Cuban cigar import business went bankrupt as a result of Kennedy’s trade embargo) fired from a grassy knoll.

H. Nikita Kruschev ordered the killing after Kennedy bet his life on a high stakes game of Go Fish and lost during the Vienna Summit.

I. Lee Harvey Oswald killed Kennedy as revenge for using Oswald’s dead grandfather (a proud, lifelong Republican) as an Illinois voter to steal the election from Nixon.

J. LBJ accidentally killed Kennedy after their long-running game of tag got a little out of hand.

—E. Bohannon ANSWER: Trick question. John F. Kennedy is alive and well, preparing his son to restore democracy to a captive White House in 2024. Don’t worry, we’re trusting the plan.

MATCH THE USERNAME TO THE PASSWORD!

@Yitterqueen / abolishy*le @BillDeBlasio / punxsutawneyphilkiller Ethel’s Facebook / 123456 @VladimirPutin / agentnovichok @PerrythePlatypus / PERRY_THE_PLATYPUS Ethel’s F-Book / 1234567 @Charlz_Dickinz / atailof2titties Calculator App / 5318008 @StephanieSpangler / theatertix4none Ethel Facebook 2 / password123456 @BetoORourke / aquísehablaespañol @JulianCastro / aquísehablaespañolmejor

@miranda / (Will not disclose) @BowWow / smile!youreoncamera @Muzzl3dMike / letsgobrandon @Soads / qpacID @DominionVotingSystems / securepassword_100 @EthelsBurner / @pass_word @lauriesantos / vyingf0rd3@n @YDNEIC / $@ybr00kp00petr@at0r @yalecampussecrets / 2345678 @Colonialpipeline / qwerty @Watergatehotel / [insertlastnameofguest] @CambridgeAnalytica / Ethel’s Facebook