Vol. 142, No. 2
TH E YALE
Sept. 23, 2013
RECORD PRESENTS THE
ISSUE
Written by staff/Designed by s. shea
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101 Whalley Avenue Dear doctor, Leeches? What is this, the 1800s? —A man in the 1800s who has no idea what century he lives in
GINGERALE SURPRISINGLY OUTLIVES BRUNETTEALE, BLONDEALE Dear reader, Hey, who turned out the lights? —Some idiot from a 90s cartoon who doesn’t realize that complete and utter darkness might be a sign that someone has deactivated sources of artificial lighting, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that has happened Dear Prudence, Won’t you come out to play? Sincerely, A child molester
ALPHABET SHORTENED TO 25 LETTERS, NO ONE KNOWS WHAT A ZEBRA IS ANYMORE
Dear CIA, I spy with my little eye... What? That’s all. I’m just a really good spy, and my eyes are small. —James Bond’s son
Dear Wildcats, This is our seventeenth game against the St. George Dragons, and in Edison Magnet School history we are 0 and 16. See them praying over there on the sideline? I think that’s their secret. Now, I don’t believe in God, and neither do most of you, but we’re going to have to come up with something holy right now, or this won’t be a fair fight. Any ideas? Hurry up–the kickoff ’s in ten minutes, Coach Ross
VWL SHRTG CNTNS, N ND N SGHT
Coach Ross, This isn’t a fair fight, but that’s because their quarterback is skipping tenth grade and going straight to the Denver Broncos’ farm system. Can’t we just forfeit and start a debate club? Thanks, The team
Dear Mindy, I don’t care if you’re a whore, I love you anyway. Yours, Carl Dear Carl, Again, I am not a whore. Don’t know where you got that idea. Willing to have sex for money, Mindy
YDN RUNS PROVOCATIVE OP-ED CRITICIZING YALE DINING
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RESEARCHERS RELEASE TIGERS FROM CLEVELAND ZOO FOR A DAY, HOPING TO “SEE HOW CAPTIVITY HAS CHANGED THEM” Dear Sam, I get it. We’re biochem lab partners, and you feel like there’s “chemistry” between us. Ha, ha. Well, I’m feeling some “biology” between us–specifically, the part of evolution where I only date people whose genes I want my children to share. And I’d really rather they not grow up to be short, prematurely balding little assholes. Yours, Sally
This man thinks THE YALE RECORD is the “cat’s pyjamas.” Come to a meeting and see for yourself ! Mondays, 9 pm, LC 209
TWO HUNDRED FOUND DEAD IN CLEVELAND ZOO 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
Dear children, I feel like you don’t respect me. You only let me out a few times a week, and when you do, you just laugh and laugh, mocking me with your heartless cruelty. And every time you let me out, you immediately shut me back in again. Sometimes you take me out again right away, but mostly I’m left to wallow in my despair. If you have any mercy within you, please let me go free. —A jack-in-the-box Dear Rare Disease Day promoters, What a great idea! Now, you can join forces to get the kind of attention your individual ailments are too uncommon to attract. Just one question: I’m trying to figure out whether to give this $50,000 check to Aarskog Syndrome research or Progeria studies. Which of you will be the last alive to claim it? Best, A philanthropist who also likes to have fun
SPEED! POWER! WHOEVER IS REVVING their motorcyle at York & Elm at 3 a.m. every night had better stop it. You’re an asshole.
Overwhelmed, Underwhelmed, Whelmed
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L.L. COOL J ANNOUNCES LINE OF OUTDOORS GEAR TO BE SOLD EXCLUSIVELY AT L.L. COOL BEAN Dear police officer, What? No, I can’t be charged for that! See, I’m a somnambulist, so I’m not actually aware of my actions while I’m asleep, however heinous they may be. I’m totally innocent here. —A guy who fell asleep while driving and then immediately crashed
Dear Rome, How long did it take to build you? Yours, Ryan Dear Ryan, Do I look like Wikipedia? Asshole. —Rome
CENSORING WORD BUBBLES DURING BATMAN SEX SCENE INCLUDE “WHAM,” “BLAM,” “THANK YOU, MA’AM”
SOMEONE READ THE NEW JOURNAL Dear cafeteria, I love mystery meat Wednesdays, they’re my favorite meal ever! What’s in them? Sincerely, Timmy, age 8 Dear Timmy, Wouldn’t you like to know. Your school’s cafeteria
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“SILLY” RABBIT RITUALISTICALLY MURDERS KIDS; FEASTS ON TRIX AND INTESTINES Dear reference humor, You make me so frustrated, like George in that episode of Seinfeld where he’s trying to prove to his ex-girlfriend that he’s not having a nervous breakdown, but then she sees him running down the street in a Henry VII costume. Sincerely, Ted, ES ‘15
Dear Snoop Lion, I just want you to know how much I admire your name change. It took real courage. —P. Doody Dear America, Do you have any idea what it feels like to be completely constipated? Actually, I don’t care. —A man who just doesn’t give a shit
Dear lemonade producers, I have a great idea for a new product! So you know how you squeeze lemons, have sugar, and voila? Well, we can take an alligator, trap him, skin him, then squeeze him until juice dribbles out. We’ll bottle it, and sell it to children. We Repair Repair Shifting, can call it Gatorade! Shifting, Braking Braking & & Wheels Wheels Repair, Apparel All Repairs Welcome —A man who’s about to get eaten by All Repairs Welcome and Accessories Guaranteed Parts Parts & & Repairs Repairs an alligator, and also sued Guaranteed Apparel Apparel
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HIGH SCHOOL FRIEND RETURNS FROM COLLEGE WITH “COOL” NEW BEARDMon-Thurs. 10:00-7:00
Dear Farmer Ben, Fri-Sat I’m gonna kick your ass!10:00-5:00 —ABike man who loves to abuse donkeys Locks
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W 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
hile brainstorming what adventures we wanted to have this year, the Record staff broke out into a heated argument: which is more deadly, a tornado made of sharks or a shark made of tornadoes? In the ensuing scuffle, we uncovered a mysterious stack of yellowed papers hiding under our taxidermied Great White head, which contained their own adventure: that of O. Owell ’42, chairman of the Record way back in 1940. In lieu of writing an editorial, I decided to reprint this tasty slice of history for the entire Record audience to savor like a bowl of shark fin soup. And here it is, in its entirety: “It was a typical summer day in the city of New Haven. The muggy heat was smothering me, causing me to move slower than a baby with two left dog paws. To alleviate these harsh working conditions, I had all the windows in my office open, although this had the unfortunate side effect of forcing me to look down on the Green. But ah well, better to look down on it than look up from it, my old man always said. I didn’t have much on my desk at the moment; work was slow going because my co-editor, J. Thomas Thompson, was sleeping with the fishes. There had been a nasty rumor going around that his satire was hitting a little too close to home for one of the city mobsters, so they gave him a South Haven sunset. In reality, he had been getting too close to a piece of pro skirt while under the watchful eye of his obsessive wife, who nailed ol’ Tommy with a double-barreled derringer. But anyway, I was just sitting there, thinking that I would sell my soul for a block of ice – hell, a cube of ice! A bullet of ice! - when all of a sudden a dame rapped on my doorframe. I quickly sat up and cursed myself for having pawned the actual door last week for ten bucks to go in my scotch fund. I mean, this wasn’t just any dame. She deserved to knock on a real door, like mahogany or teak or some such. She was all leg – and when I say that, I mean it was literally like her legs were coming out of her armpits. Exactly my type. She had topped it all off with a fur coat, and despite the heat
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she looked downright frigid. She pursed her beet-red lips and spoke, voice sounding like a cat in heat – but in a damned sexy way. “Mr. Owell, I presume.” “Uh.” My voice caught from the dehydration, and I reached for my lukewarm glass of scotch, only to discover that it was empty. They don’t make secretaries like they used to, I’ll tell ya. I cleared my throat. “That’s me.” She nodded, sat down in my office chair, and arranged her furs. I had the eeriest feeling that the fox head on her left shoulder was staring at me, but since it didn’t actually have eyes I waved my fears away like the dean of admissions to the audacious broads who keep trying to get into Yale. I chuckled awkwardly to fill the silence. “Kitten, you didn’t have to put on your glad rags on account of me.” “I’m actually in mourning.” “Sad rags, then. Point still stands. So you need a–” “Yes,” she interrupted, meeting my eyes with all the intensity of a Yale man shopping a seminar capped at five. I was a little puzzled as to why she would need someone like me, but I chalked it up to her needing a good laugh. That, or the fact that I have the best angled-hat-cock in New England. “Well, sugar, what can I help you with?” “I’ve heard about your… skills.” “I admit, I can spin a yarn about as well as my grandmother after three shots of whiskey! ... But before she takes her teeth out, mind you.” “Maybe so, but for this I need you to be square.” Square? I’m starting to get the idea this bird doesn’t know what I do for a living. Us Record men are as circle as they come. “But–” “Just shut your yap, Owell, and listen for a minute.” Her eyes darted madly around the room like a school of minnows fleeing a hammerhead. “They’ll be here any second, and then we’ll be in a jam. Strawberry.” “Strawberry!? Wait… who will be here any minute?” Staff Writers, Artists, & Designers: Victoria Kim ’15, Travis Reginal ’16, Sylvia Zhang ’15, Claire Zhang ’15
“Skid rogues. That’s all you need to know. They capped my husband at the haberdasher’s and tried to take this.” She reached into her fur’s fox mouth and pulled out a pale yellow diamond the size of a shark eye. “I need you to keep it safe for me, Owell. I’ve heard that you’re the best private eye in all of the adjectived Havens. So for you, this job should be eggs in the coffee. Duck soup. Cannibal in a daycare. Easy pie.” She set the rock carefully on my desk. This was really not the kind of ice I was looking for. “For now, I have to run. I’ll show myself the doorframe. But a lot is riding on you, Owell. Don’t let me down.” And with that, she swept out of the room, a broom in a dirty world. It took me a second to get over my shock, mostly thanks to the four whiskeys I’d consumed in the past hour. “But wait! I’m not a private eye! Hell, I’m not even a public eye! You’ve got the wrong Owell! I’m a humor editor! For The Yale Record! Didn’t you see the description on my office–” Oh, damn. I knew I shouldn’t have pawned that door. I looked around the office quickly, trying desperately to think of a place to stash this chunk of ice. And then, I saw it: the taxidermied Great White Shark head that some heeler had brought us to try and curry our favor. I rushed over and forced the stone under its tongue, cursing as the flesh of my arm scraped its teeth. From below, I heard pounding footsteps on the stairs. They were here. I slowly walked back to my desk and pulled out a few fresh glasses and my extra secret bottle of scotch. I capped off my glass and drank one more shot, then took my lucky shark’s tooth from my desk drawer and clenched it in my palm. Whatever came up those stairs, I was ready.” —S. Shea The Yale Record September 2013 Contributing Writers, Artists, & Designers: Serena Gelb ’15, Sarah Gertler, Daniel Hoogstraten ’17, Lorenzo Labitigan ’13, Emily Monjaraz ’14, Megan Ruan ’17, Ben Rudeen ’17
Special Thanks to: Michael Gerber, Gwyneth Tuckett, and homme fatales. Cover: This month’s cover was illustrated by Emily Monjaraz ’14, who is miraculously still a top-notch artist despite two door-crushed hands. Founded September 11, 1872 • Vol. CXLII, No. 2, 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.
JOURNAL OF THE MORALLY OKAY WITCH OF THE NORTHEAST February 17, 8:51 pm: Everything’s pretty good here in Oz, not too terrible, not too exciting. I’m just waiting for my new boyfriend to call. But if he doesn’t, I won’t freak out or anything. All this is seriously stressing me out—it happens!—so I think I might smoke some poppies. February 17, 9:16 pm: Much better. Dude. That road is so…yellow. I feel like I’m defying gravity. February 26, 2:06 pm: Today I got wet. It was mildly uncomfortable. March 19, 12:43 pm: Oh my goodness! A house just fell on my sister. Well, I’m very understandably upset! I don’t wish ill on any potential parties involved in this obvious malfeasance, but I’m quite distressed! Not to mention, my man hasn’t called yet either. You’d think he’d at least offer his condolences! March 28, 5:08 pm: I just saw a wholesome-looking girl walking down the road. And her little dog too! That’s somewhat out of the ordinary, I guess. April 2, 9:12 pm: We had my sister’s funeral today. I was sad. She left me her amethyst slippers. Perfectly good shade of slippers, I think. Not that I care all that much about slippers, to be honest. I was sort of
distracted by the fact that Glinda couldn’t bring herself to wear black—“not my color.” Bitch. May 6, 7:37 pm: Ughh… just waiting for my boyfriend to call back. Real life can be boring sometimes, especially when you’re just waiting around all day. Have you ever just sat and wondered what’s on the other side of that rainbow? No? Well, me neither. May 30, 7:40 pm: What the hell kind of city is built of emerald? Like, entirely of emerald? How very ostentatious. And emerald isn’t even that durable of a gemstone! Try ruby, that’d at least last through a few generations of Wizards. Or just wood or brick like everyone else! I mean, we live in a crazy enough world to begin with, what with the lions and tigers and bears. Oh, my…back is killing me. Might be PMS. June 21, 10:59 am: Just doing my usual witch duties, distracting myself while I wait for him to call back. Another day, another dollar. I guess it would be too much to ask for a career that I could get excited about. Maybe I should get a hobby… Yeah right. When monkeys fly! July 1, 7:44 pm: Yeah, life’s pretty meh, you know? I guess I’ll just sit around some more waiting for him to call. What did I ever do to deserve falling in love with the Tin Man? He’s just so, oh… I don’t know… heartless! —S. Stern
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LESS SUCCESSFUL MAGIC TREE HOUSE BOOKS Filipinos in February Arbor Day at Alcatraz Halloween at the Housing Project Wednesdays at Walmart Bad Bagels at Breakfast Tea Time on the Trail of Tears The Joint Persian-Avar-Slav Siege of Roman Constantinople on a Constantly Hot Afternoon The Ear-Nose-and-Throat Clinic on Earth Day Twerking in the Twenties Twerking in the 2010s Twerking in the Time of Christ Breakfast at Breakfast My Thoughts on the Negro Problem Mittens at Midday —B. Garfinkel and L. Labitigan ’13
LEVELS OF HELL LEFT OUT OF THE INFERNO 10) Once you escape Satan’s icy prison, everything is room temperature, no matter what you do. Fire doesn’t burn, fans don’t cool, and the coffee is undrinkable. 11) Reserved for followers of religions not yet invented in Dante’s time. Sinners are trapped in the audience of a never-ending debate between Martin Luther, Joseph Smith, and L. Ron Hubbard. God deems further punishment excessive. 12) Wall-to-wall mimes. 13) Everyone speaks a language you can’t understand, sneers at you when you try to communicate through hand gestures, and spits in your food. Some religious scholars argue that this level is actually just Paris, France, but no consensus yet exists. 14) Reserved for condom users. They are haunted by the tiny, wiggling soul of each sperm they murdered. 15) Upon touching down on this level, you slip on a banana peel and fall down an escalator covered in lard. Forever. 16) There is no 16th level of Hell. Instead, you are born with no memory of your past lives into a small Brazilian tribe with no knowledge of Christianity. Satan expects you back in 25 years or so. 17) Beware! The floor is covered with spikes! (God ran out of ideas.) —A. Gertler PLACES EVEN THE MAGIC SCHOOL BUS WOULDN’T GO Its 9:25 Art History lecture North Korea The Alpha Delta bathroom Inside the vast and varied world of BDSM Along a normal bus route Ms. Frizzle’s “special medicine cabinet” Beyond the veil into the dark void of death On a date with you Through the gastrointestinal tract of one of its own students…oh wait.
—S. Shea
—I. Gonzalez
s Case ve Service i t c e t o r P ly & Texas Fami : Dora Marquez 3 4 7 8 No. 58
onnell. Tim J. McC f: Rodrigo the case o ans r o f g o l n gal guardi io Investigat uez, parents and le rq and Ana Ma Dora Marquez. d r a w of the e home entered th invest s r fi I : eduled ly 17th Monday, Ju ez family for a sch , who was u ra q o r D a M -old of the . Six-year range shorts and t i s i v y r o and o tigat red pink shirt bowl haircut, answe wearing a e , r d r e a f z r i unde bly b had a nota e appeared terribly e found. I b h S o t . r e o r o nowhe the d ; she was ents were s r e a t p u n r i e m h 0 d 3 an r o f a r English or th Do ng in just ned bechatted wi i s r e v n o c of transitio incapable constantly She frequently d n a , h s i n . e Spa ges ?” Then sh two langua in Spanish ’” even tween the ’ e l b a t ‘ , y sa sa right, ‘me ow how to “Do you kn re saying, “That’s , e k i l s n efo uestio t conveong time b asked me q the neares ainfully l ing in response. t p a a n o t i i t a a w anyth would c evalu psychiatri adn’t said though I h chedule Dora for a S nts were Follow-up: . The pare g what e c n e d i s e r . in z nience the Marque e in the back, wear self, n turned to er o e h l r a o I t g n : g i h n y t i a 9 July 1 in talk Dora pl a , g d y a n a u d s o s ican tema f e x w n e I d M a e W ncient ng. Dor nt, and a i e h s f t b o o a , and l t c n r i o e a s m g some e backpack once a l r xact sa p o e r f u e p g h n t d i e k e g o b pag lo o She then a ok out a r appeared t ound the back yard it, she to out three minutes. tar n d a n g n fi n g i a o r t t e s d e n a b l a w into for a s unab f t a f i w o t e d a h e s t ” t ! n o k e Backpac ple. Wh , and tr “Backpack! he backpack back on o swim!’” t screamed, ‘t t s u n p ar’ mea isfied, one once peared sat , exclaiming, “‘Nad nd Dora al h were fi o t d d n e o n p r ic tu looking shorts, wh ill vous, I re singly ner irt and the orange st a e s r a c w n I e h : S h blood. pink sh uly 20t J f e o h , t y s a o rocking e g d s c n s l a i r a r r u Th like t he was ill wea s d t e s , , k r o s e o a v l w e w t e o a h f a sudden h. H d wh more. S nce. All o rd and and Spanis ith mud an e w s h e s d r i e p l k g a y n e m E r t both now s the ya ous to herself in haparge into med oblivi resisted, talking to th rapidly, and see bright red boots ch e h s t u b back , r y g o p t n f m e i i f wear e ch o sa back and chimpanzee tried to pull her t ly able to drive th no choice l a r e f a I saw I had entual ra. I e. I felt ” I was ev ght for Do make strai , “Boots! Mi amigo! he dilapidated hous it ng gross negl pily yelli rgrown woods behind ested for r r a e v y o l . e y e t d h a o t into immedi o cust should be e Dora int but to tak he Marquez parents T ung Dora, Follow-up: ers for yo ered her t r a u q d a e h cov es gence. ild servic ching, I finally dis r ked the ch et from an a c e e e f s h c e h r c I e u m m : t g r s n e 1 i t 2 d f n A y a l t . u s d J ! Swiper, ora cape Friday, no swiping arently es ding, where I saw D , p r p e a a p i d w a S h “ e buil rabbed Dor king, but sh behind the e was happily shrie ring its teeth. I g y e l l a n a ba Sh in rabid fox. ntinued to advance, children. o c apparently x o f disturbed e h y T l s ” u ! o g i n r i e p nside. no swi e for s her back i a in a hom and pulled nstitutionalize Dor I Follow-up: : Head Agent
LORER” P X E E H T “ DORA MARQUEZ
S. Stern Written by M. Ruan Designed by S. Shea Some art by
THE YALE RECORD’S
Trip Around the World in Eighty Days FEATURING THE EXPLOITS OF OLD OWL, THE BESPECTACLED, POTENTIALLY TIPSY, INDUBITABLY LOVED FACE OF THE RECORD WRITTEN BY N. GOEL ILLUSTRATED BY E. MONJARAZ DESIGNED BY S. SHEA
NORTHERN CANADIAN WILDERNESS: Got into an impromptu maple syrup fight with Justin Bieber, Celine Dion, and two grizzly bears; escaped on a passing caribou.
NEW HAVEN, CT
P TURN
LONDON, UNITED KINGDOM: Dropped the royal baby.
MIDDLE OF THE SAHARA: Stopped in Mali, sweated.
HORN OF AFRICA: Hjiacked by band of starving Somalian twelve-year-olds, requested “Parley.”
TEL AVIV, ISRAEL: Immersed himself in Jewish culture and spiritual life.
HONG KONG, CHINA: Spent three weeks in authentic Chinese opium den. AND BACK TO NEW HAVEN!
MUMBAI, INDIA: Washed away by freak monsoon during the visit to the Mumbai Zoo, formed deep spiritual bond with feline travel companion.
Disposable Minions Form Union BY IAN GONZALEZ A group of minions 10,000 strong formed a picket line on the lawn of the Capitol Building of Evil yesterday to declare the formation of a trade union, Minions with Opinions. Their demands were listed on their numerous black-and-red colored signs: fair treatment, better training, and body armor made out of anything stronger than papier-mâché. The minions hailed from a large number of evil organizations and seemed to be united in cause. “Our purpose is simple: we’re all here because we want justice,” said Stormtrooper #5347, the elected spokesperson for the union, who prefers to go by ‘Ted.’ “The Empire’s inability to account for basic design flaws in their battlestation resulted in the death of every one of my friends. And then they go and build another one exactly like it. I can still hear all the Wilhelm screams in my nightmares.” When prompted, participants in the protest expressed similar sentiments. An orc holding a sign that read “WE ARE NOT YOUR MEAT-SHIELDS” told
one of our reporters that the lodging and armor they were given was not up to the standards outlined in section 1928 of OSHA’s work safety regulations. “Our armor is basically aluminum foil—we know Sauron can do better,” he snarled in the foul tongue of Mordor. “You’re telling me the guy who forged an indestructible Ring couldn’t whip up a decent battle helm or two? Come on.”
We’re all here because we want justice. STORMTROOPER #5347 [‘Ted’] Spokesperson, Minions with Opinions
All of these complaints and more could be found in the official Charter of the Union, a lengthy legal document with sections outlining everything from “Provisions Against Killing a Minion With a Box Cutter to Teach Some Meth Cooks a Lesson” to “Grievances Involving the Shittiness of the Minion Cafeteria.” The Charter’s authors also outlined the organizational structure of the
The Stormtrooper faction of MWO gathers together before Monday’s march on the Capitol. union’s leadership, making sure to include clauses outlawing the random force-choking of underlings without probable cause. The leaders of the movement also wanted to make it clear that their fundamental loyalties had not changed. “I want to kill James Bond just as badly as my boss, you know?” said a hitman working for Sir Hugo Drax. “He just has to give me the right tools to do it. Some actual firearms training would help. More healthy
food would also be great—last time I saw 007, he knocked me out with a single punch because I was still recovering from my vitamin-B deficiency.” At press time, the Capitol building’s security force sent out a daring rogue with a heart of gold to kill off the entire crowd.
Contact IAN GONZALEZ at recordsubscribe@gmail.com.
THE CATS R IN UR CEILINGS
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Questing 101 Hunting and Gathering Archery in Application Mace Throwing Pillagin’ ’N Villagin’ Intermediate Dragon Slaying History of Crusades Chivalry The Art of Beard Enchanted Jewelry: How to Deal Apocalypse Now Orc Studies Advanced Pirate Navigation Written and designed by E. Monjaraz
Are you bored with the hum-drum stagnancy of traditional academic schools? Do you crave the thrill of battle, the scent of adventure, the salty taste of five-day-old troll meat? Located in the back of an abandoned Applebee’s in Hardesty, Oklahoma, we at Excalibur understand what really matters to you. Join us for an open house this November 17th. Email admissions@excalibur.edu for more details.
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INDIANA JONES AND PRINTING AT BASS Yale’s newest Anthropology professor typed his NetID with a winning smile. Uniprint PS1? He’d heard the legends, but didn’t buy them for a second. He’d outrun boulders. Survived a nuclear explosion. Shot a man dead to avoid fighting an honorable duel. Henry Walton “Indiana” Jones was more than a match for any printing system. Boots on, hat cocked, he sashayed up to the library gate. One flick of his ID card—he was in. “Professor Jones!” He whipped around. Behind the checkout counter stood the third-most-attractive female student in his lecture course. Karen something. He tipped his hat. “Nice to see you, Karen,” he said. “You’ve made a lovely evening lovelier still.” And, with a wink: “You can call me Henry.” Karen looked confused, but replied with a nod. Replacing his hat, Indiana strode to the nearest printer. Behind him, Karen began to compose an email. “To the University Committee on Sexual Misconduct…” Indiana slid his ID through the scanner. No reaction. His eyes narrowed. “So that’s how you’re going to play this,” he said, well above library volume. “All right, then! Let’s do it again! Reverse! Upside-down! Upside-down reverse!” He struck the printer with practiced force. Students glared, but Indiana cared little for public opinion. You know who cared for public opinion? The Nazis. Suddenly, the confirmation screen appeared. The professor stepped in for the kill, then stopped dead in his tracks. “No documents in queue?” Indiana bellowed. “Excellent gambit, my friend! But it won’t be enough.” With a few keystrokes, he redoubled his assault, then refreshed the printer. There it was—the paper that would make his name and finally secure his tenure. “A Technical Examination of the ARC OF THE FUCKING COVENANT,” he’d called it. The touchscreen yielded to his blows as easily as the flesh of Marion Ravenwood. More easily, in fact; years of hard labor in the Egyptian sun had left Marion’s flesh tanned and leathery. Karen, by contrast, was soft and rosy, and her bosom… Smoke was leaking from the printer. It hissed like a cavern of serpents. Indiana gave a start, then drew his whip. His first strike rang true. Plastic shattered. The
smoke became fire. Students screamed and ran for the exits. Terrified, Karen spun around. “Get back!” Indiana shouted. “This whole place is gonna blow!” Grabbing her pert body in one arm, he turned to the exit. Behind him, the floor caught fire, and alarms began to sound. From the mouth of Sterling Tunnel, Indiana heard the faint whirr of approaching Segways. He hurtled to the front of the room, losing Karen in his haste. Pity. A library guard sat unblinking, unmoved by the flames. “Got any books in that—“ Indiana darted through the gate. A nearby overhead projector spun to face him and burned a clean, inch-wide hole in his head with a weapons-grade laser. His hat flew off as his body hit the floor. The guard sighed. “That’s why we ask, you know,” he said, to nobody. —A. Gertler
The Smith family brough a whole new meaning to ‘the Wild West’. —V. Kim
OTHER THINGS COLUMBUS DISCOVERED What happens when you mix Diet Coke and Mentos How to save 15% or more on boat insurance Florida’s distinct wang shape That Spanish and Italian are the same language The capital of Ohio A successful but commercially inviable smallpox vaccine A variety of silly hats Carmen Sandiego The g-spot Genocide —J. Newsham
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NEIL ARMSTRONG’S EARLY DRAFTS
Here in the world was Carmen Sandiego. —S. Shea
One small step for man, one awkward space jump for astronaut-kind. Ha ha, first one down! Suck it, Buzz! Hey, Houston? I, uh, REALLY need to pee… One small step for man, one giant leap f—Wait, what is that? Oh no. The legends were true! Moon men! MOOOOON MEEEEEEN!!!! Close the doors! Don’t wait for me, they’re moving t— *static* Christ, this suit chafes like a bitch… One small step f—dammit! Why is this ladder uneven? Houston, do I look cool right now? I look cool, right? You are documenting this, right? Man, this is gonna be a sick cover photo. Man, that sure was a long flight. You know what I could really go for right now? A nice, long, drag on a Camel cigarette. Camel! The favorite cigarette of astronauts everywhere! *wink* Sorry, which camera do I look at again? —E. Campbell-Taylor
FLIMSY EXCUSES TO GO ON A QUEST You look good in chain mail You live in TD Your tiger mom forced you to An old guy of questionable mental stability told you that you were special You skimmed Eat, Pray, Love You need to lose ten pounds You wanted to win the heart of the fairest (only) maiden in the entryway You were disappointed with political gridlock in the Imperial Empire You were sick of people asking, “What can you do with a medieval studies degree?” You’re eleventy-one and having a hobbit mid-life crisis Your game of Truth or Dare went horribly awry You missed your stop on Metro-North The “Quest Resolution” passed congress by 1 vote You wanted to avenge the natural death of your parents If you find him, the dragon will give you his Netflix password #Quest was trending on twitter Peer pressure —Staff
AD-VENTURE Tad-venture: just a little bit of an adventure Had-venture: an adventure I had this one time Chad-venture: adventures in the African country of Chad Add-venture: equals you plus hijinks Salad-venture: An adventure that's good for you Rad-venture: the gnarliest adventure ever Doo-dad-venture: an adventure with trivial knick-knacks Nomad-venture: an adventure that kind of goes somewhere, but not really Scantily-clad-venture: an erotic adventure Dyad-venture: an adventure that’s sort of like a vector but more so Vlad-venture: adventures with my friend Vlad, PC ’16 Triad-venture: it’s actually three adventures! —Staff
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WHATEVER HAPPENED TO DUELS? A GENTLEMAN'S LAMENT Just last month, an underfed wire of a man looked upon my betrothed and paid her compliments upon her attire. In broad daylight, along the side-walk of York Street, he plainly fixed his gaze upon her bodice without seeking my permission. Yet in the eyes of my betrothed and the neon-shirted lawmen nearby, I could not throw down my glove. I could naught but seethe. I was expected to stand and take it. The indignity! The modern state of affairs is truly an outrage for any honorable gentleman. For the next week, I dreamt of finding the fair-haired waif and boxing him about the kidneys, or smashing his nose, or having one of my attendants secret into his dormitory and exchange the contents of his inkwell and his chamberpot. My fixated plotting caused in my gut severe mal au foie for the next fortnight. A white, Christian man of means certainly deserves better. Were the laws not as they were, I — or any man of good breeding! — could demand satisfaction in such a situation. I dearly miss the bygone days when I could insist that on the morrow, either that man-child or I would have our guts spilled upon the ground by rapier, or pistol shot, or thumb-tack; whatever the tool, 'twould be an honorable death. And my problems are not the only that could be solved by dueling. Imagine how pleasant the dance-hall Chez Toad would be if a gentleman could threaten to cut the flesh of any overly flirtatious cretin, or how quickly plagiarism might vanish if a professor were to challenge a student to defend his reputation — even a fight to first blood could assert the faculty's honor! That is how my governess raised me, and I certainly learned the ways of the landed world. I am certain our patricians will soon see the light. In the meantime, sniff your inkwell from time to time. —J. Newsham
“Indiana Joneses. Why did it have to be Indiana Joneses?” —S. Gertler
LESS FUN THINGS FOUND IN WARDROBES Normnia, a completely uninteresting mystical land A portal to downtown Hartford, Connecticut Toenails The toes they go with Self-conscious prostitutes A fur coat (and possibly Macklemore) A portal to uptown Hartford, Connecticut Just a guy named Kevin Children that didn’t know hide-and-seek was over An old Chinese woman who keeps sneezing into her hands, then touching your jackets Exactly the wrong amount of eels —B. Marvin and C. Shin OTHER THINGS THE DELOREAN COULD HAVE USED FOR FUEL Christmas cheer Baby tears Canned tuna oil The blinding orange of Marty McFly’s vest Biff Tannen’s hair gel Gravitational force from the all-consuming black hole that would unravel the very fabric of the universe were such time-travel to actually occur Premium unleaded gasoline —A. Beizer
T he A dventure I ssue
A GUIDE TO APPRAISING ANCIENT RELICS If you’re reading this guide, congratulations! You’ve either discovered something you believe to be an ancient relic or your friends struggle with gift-giving. Either way, we’d get along very well! Now I know from experience that you’re quite excited about your discovery, but I urge you to calm down a bit. Before you do anything else, it’s very important that you confirm what you have is indeed an ancient relic. If you’re unsure, think about where you found it. Booby-trapped temple? Sunken ship? Probably an ancient relic. Dollar General? Dumpster behind an Arby’s? Doubtful. Once you’ve sorted out the good stuff, the first thing to look at is the material to get a relative sense of the value. A basic guideline for this, from least to most expensive, is as follows: wood, stone, silver, gold, petrified gold, weapons-grade uranium, and crystallized baby tears. You probably won’t find much of that last one, but if you do, go ahead and send in your two weeks’ notice, because you are set for life. If you find something made of any other material, it’s probably worthless; all substances besides those were created after the 14th century.
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Of course, older objects are much more valuable, so determining the relic’s age should be your next step. Many people are tempted to carbon date their find, but you’re a treasure hunter! What do you need science for? There are a few much simpler, science-free tests you can perform to determine something’s age. My favorite is to cut the object in half and check the number of rings. If you see none, then the object is most likely not a tree, and may or may not be more than 400 million years old. If you do see rings, then it’s probably a tree, and thus not an ancient relic. Having taken these considerations, you are ready to start selling! Here are some helpful tips to get the best price for your relic. Most people willing to buy such treasures are very lonely, so be sure to flirt a lot and make empty promises about meeting up. It’s also important to act like you’re an experienced seller. Some helpful phrases to drop include “I sure did sell a lot of ancient relics today!,” “That vase you’re holding is made almost entirely of uranium,” and “How does some sexy time with yours truly sound? Not right now though.” If you do all this, you are well on your way to successfully selling an ancient relic. Happy appraisal! —E. Campbell-Taylor
Handsome Dan goes to Lilliput.
—S. Gelb
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Dear children, I am so, so sorry about your toys and cancer medicine. I did my best, but that hill was just too much for me. —The Little Engine That Tried
AREA MAN DISCOVERS THAT “LOVE DOCTOR” CANNOT HELP WITH CLINICAL DEPRESSION, ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION
Dear bike thieves, Maybe we can team up? —Bike lock thieves
LEMONY SNICKETT REVEALED TO BE LIMEY
Dear JE, We regret to inform you that you have forgotten to pay the super secret tax and so we are taking your college and making it a place where you can’t go and see who’s living there. Yours truly, The Government (not Timothy Dwight, which isn’t involved at all)
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T he Y ale R ecord Dear Yale Record, You may think you’ve won, but I’ve delivered many a pizza to the Apostolic Palace, so if anyone is entitled to make puns about Francis I, it’s me. —Popa John
MACKLEMORE FEATURED ON BAG OF RAP SNACKS; FLAVOR CALLED SNACKLEMORE Dear Jewish mother in law, I’ve heard great things about matzoh ball soup, but I think I’ll passover the bitter herbs! I’ll be here all night, unfortunately. —Jake Dear Storm, I’m all for puns, but maybe you shouldn’t have conjured a tornado during our game of “Twister.” Also, I can’t find Wolverine. Nice work. —Cyclops
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Dear downtown shopping center, You have a Home Depot for all of my home needs. You have an Office Depot for all of my office needs. But I ask you, what am I supposed to do about my boat? Sincerely, Howard Tottenham, Homeowner/ Office Manager/Boat Captain
Dear Chem TA, I’d like to be the buffer to your acid. Yours, A lonely Orgo student Dear Britney Spears, I know how it feels to no longer be relevant. I understand. I too used to have fame, used to have fortune, used to have glory. But then they took it away. So just know this: it’s not your fault. —Pluto
STUDENT WATCHES ENTIRETY OF “TRAPPED IN THE CLOSET,” “LOUIE,” “ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT,” AND “LORD OF THE RINGS” TO AVOID WRITING ONE-PAGE READING RESPONSE Dear health coordinators, When you say I should practice safe sex, does that mean I should stop sneaking into the aquarium to fuck sharks? —Carol
SOBER STUDENT HAS “GOOD TIME” AT TOAD’S