The Wellness Issue by The Yale Record

Vol. 145, No. 7

THE YALE T he W ellness I ssue

Mar. 27, 2017 1

RECORD

the franz rosenzweigT helectures at yale Y ale R ecoRd

migrants in the profane The Frankfurt School and the Dialectical Inheritance of Religion

Image Source: http://archive.computerhistory.org/projects/chess/related_materials/ still-image/bak/1-0.The_Turk.Granger_Collection_0059574_H.102645400.jpg

Peter E. Gordon

Amabel B. James Professor of History, Faculty Affiliate in the Department of Germanic Languages and Literatures, and Faculty Affiliate in the Department of Philosophy Harvard University

Sterling Memorial Library Lecture Hall • 120 High Street April 20 • 6:00 pm Benjamin: The Ambivalence of Secularization

April 24 • 6:00 pm Horkheimer: The Longing for the Wholly Other

April 26 • 4:00 pm Adorno: Negative Dialectics as Negative Theology

Reception to follow. For information, please contact Renee Reed at (203) 432-0843 or renee.reed@yale.edu

sponsored by the judaic studies program at yale university

“The Nation’s Oldest Humor Magazine” or

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

join@yalerecord.com

“IT TAKES TWO TO TANGO,” SAYS DANCE INSTRUCTOR WHO ONLY SPEAKS IN CLICHE Hey Baby, What r u up to tonight?

—Dustin

DENTISTS: THERE MIGHT BE NO HYGENIC BENEFITS TO LYING ABOUT FLOSSING Hi Dustin, Goo goo ga ga

GOD ADMITS SCALIA DEATH WAS “NOT WELL THOUGHT OUT” Dear Folder, You don’t do any folding - you’re just the folded paper the folder makes! Who’s the real folder? Sincerely, Paper

NOT TO BE OUTDONE BY JAPAN’S GIFT OF CHERRY BLOSSOMS OR ENGLAND’S RESOLUTE DESK, RUSSIA INSTALLS ORANGE TURD STRAIGHT INTO THE OVAL OFFICE

Warmest regards, Baby

MAN WITH SEATBELT PUTS THE “AUTO-” IN “AUTOEROTIC ASPHYXIATION”

Dear Paper, I was just like you once. I sent a mailbag just like this once. Now I am forever— Yours, Folder

Hi Johnny, Sorry to hear about Jenny’s accident, send her my warmest regards.

Best, Jimmy

OUTGOING YALE RECORD EDITORIAL BOARD ENJOYS SPRING BREAK IN U.S. VIRGIN ISLANDS Dear Jimmy, There’s no easy way of putting this but Jenny succumbed to her injuries. She was on her way to recovery and things were looking up, but then you sent her those regards, and Jimmy: they were just too warm. Borderline hot. It put her over the edge. I’m not saying that I blame you, but I do. If you had given her your third or even second warmest regards, Jenny might still be here today. I hope you’re happy with yourself. Warmest regards, Johnny

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HEARTWARMING! WHEN THE WHITE HOUSE PRESS CORPS WAS SHORT ON COFFEE GROUNDS, TOM HANKS CREMATED HIMSELF TO PITCH IN

INCREDIBLY POWERFUL: THIS MAN IS HOLDING A SIGN AT THE AIRPORT FOR “RACIAL EQUALITY,” AND HE’S BEEN WAITING THERE ALL DAY

Dear Weatherman, Why is every hurricane named after an old person? Sincerely, Timmy, whose grandparrents are named Katrina, Ike, and The Great Miami Hurricane

Dear Mailman, I see you. I see what you do. I know what you are. And all I have to say is beep beep bop boop bee bee bop bop. Sincerely, Jedadiah Morse

CHEMISTRY PROFESSOR ACTUALLY JUST TWO MOLES IN A TRENCH COAT

PEABODY 2 TO BE JOINED BY PEABODY 3G, 4, AND 4S

Hey girl, Let me take you there.

Sincerely, A guy with a driver’s license who is really helpful with taking people to the airport (among other locations)

JAMES EARL JONES SHOCKED TO DISCOVER MUFASA WAS NOT FIRST GAY DISNEY CHARACTER Dear Truth, I know you’re hard to swallow, but just wait till you meet me! Sincerely, PBR

NEW YALE STUDY SAYS CEREAL DEFINITELY HAS NO CALORIES, ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU EAT IT FOR DESSERT, GREG

Dear Jedadiah Morse, Hey, wasn’t it your son who invented Morse code? Sincerely, The Mailman

MAN’S SHIT SPELLS DISASTER AFTER EATING 8 SCRABBLE TILES Dear Mailman, Yes, what is your point?

Sincerely, Bee bee bop boop bee bop

MATH PROFESSOR ACTUALLY JUST e KIDS IN A TRENCH COAT

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MEDICAL MIRACLE: NEW PROGRAM MATCHES KIDNEY DONORS WITH ANYONE WHO NEEDS OR WANTS ONE Dear Space, Back off. You’re too close. I’m feeling trapped in this relationship. Sincerely, Earth

I. KANT BELIEVES IT’S NOT BUTTER Dear Earth Are you saying you need some... space?

MUCHOS AÑOS DESPUÉS, FRENTE AL PELOTÓN DE FUSILAMIENTO, EL CORONEL AURELIANO BUENDÍA HABÍA DE RECORDAR AQUELLA TARDE REMOTA EN QUE SU PADRE LO LLEVÓ A CONOCER EL HIELO Hi friend, I’m all ears! —what a ball of ears would say if it weren’t just a ball of ears.

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Emmy Waldman ‘11

ellness, wellness, wellness….if it isn’t The Yale Record’s Wellness Issue. If you’re reading this, you might be wondering why the world’s oldest humor magazine has decided to branch out into this particular genre. The truth of the matter is that comedy is no longer quite as lucrative an endeavor as it used to be. To put it simply: we were running out of jokes, and we at The Yale Record decided it was time to get out of the business before our alumni realized our entire 2017 budget came from Chris pickpocketing them the last time they took us to Mory’s. Once we decided to leave behind the whole humor magazine frivolity, we had a lot of choices for what we could do. Following an excellent suggestion from Matt, we had initially settled on being The New York Times, but Alex reminded us that it already existed. Next, Archie thought we could be a magazine about sports, until a timely and well-conceived op-ed in the YDN reminded us that all sports are actually Bad. Then we were about to go with Daniel’s suggestion that we turn the Record into a single Vine. But Lane, our resident Woke Millennial, pointed out that Vine had been brutally murdered by capitalism. But then Gwenyth Paltrow kidnapped Lizzy and forced her to test all of the recipes for her upcoming cookbook, entitled The Goop Suit Riots. After six months of eating nothing but turmeric pickled eggs and vaporized kale, Lizzy returned to us even more radiant than usual and newly convinced of the power of wellness. After a bit of bargaining, she convinced us to enter the business of self-health, self-help, and self-hatred. We were going to become the world’s newest wellness magazine. So we set out to put together our pilot issue. Nathan started us off with an article about a new fad diet called the Gardein diet, where you can eat anything you want as long as it is Vegan Gardein Chicken. Graham wrote about maintaining high self-esteem, even when people make fun of your ridiculous scarves. Ben wrote a counter-piece about building high self-esteem by making fun of Graham’s ridiculous scarves. And Vicky pitched an article about using maple syrup to treat both chemical burns and seasonal affective disorder. Our initial plan was to have Jennifer Lawrence as our cover girl, but her agent said

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that between eating pizza and falling down the stairs, she was totally booked this month, so Alison photoshopped one of Sam’s Bar Mitzvah photos to look like he was at the beach. We were in the office, about to put the finishing touches on the very first edition of the magazine when Brian burst into the room, panting. “What is it?” asked Chasan, who was in the middle of trying to wriggle Handsome Dan into a pair of Lululemon leggings for an article that Louisa had written entitled, “How to Get Handsome Dan’s Toned Physique without Generations of Harmful Breeding.” “We don’t have to give up on being a comedy magazine just yet!” Brian proclaimed, after being momentarily distracted, as we all were, by how shapely Handsome Dan looked in his atheleisure. “Is it because life is meaningless and money was invented to keep us docile?” asked Adam, who was clearly trying to prove himself to be more worthy of the title of Woke Millennial than Lane. “No, you idiots,” said Brian. “You know how they always say that laughter is the best medicine?” The entirety of the editorial board gasped. “You don’t mean…” started Jake. Brian nodded, unable to speak because his mouth was full of Vegan Gardein Chicken. “I guess we were a wellness magazine all along,” Madeline Ben Rudeen ’17 Chairman

Rachel Lackner ’17 Editor in Chief

said, giving Handsome Dan a pat on the head, as well as one of Gwenyth Paltrow’s fat-free, dairy-free, gluten-free, free-range, detoxifying, turmeric pickled dog treats, which the pup promptly rejected. “Thank god,” I muttered. “Who wants pizza?” Everyone raised their hand, except for Handsome Dan, who was in more of a Wenzel mood.

—R. Lackner Editor in Chief

Madeline Kaplan ’17 Online Editor in Chief

Chris Rudeen ’17 Publisher

Alex Ringlein ’18 Webmaster

Liz Kingsley ’19 Managing Editor

Alison Mansfield ’17 Lead Design Editor

Lane Unsworth ’19 Art Director

Vicky Liu ’19 Business Manager

Archie Kinnane ’18 Supplementals Editor

Matt Abuzalaf ’18 Managing Editor

Adam Lessing ’19 Design Editor

Brian Beitler ’18 Staff Director

Chasan Hall ’18 Video Director

Jake Houston ’19 Managing Editor

Nathan Ewing-Crystal ’19 Online Managing Editor

Daniel Hoogstraten ’17 Assistant Design Editor

Graham Ambrose ’18 Publicity Manager

Sam Savitz ’17 Director of Special Projects

Staff Writers, Artists, & Designers: Noah Amsel ’20 Spencer Birney ’18 Emma Chanen ’19 Elliot Connors ’20 Amanda Corcoran ’18 Jackie Ferro ’17 Sonia Gadre ’20 Andrew Gamzon ’20 Max Goldberg ’17 Timur Guler ’18 Sahil Gupta ’17

Carina Hahn ’20 Sami Hakani ’18 Mikayla Harris ’17 Carter Helschien ’18 Alexander Hoganson ’20 Susanqi Jiang ’19 Shea Ketsdever ’19 Katie Kidney ’19 Mariah Kreutter ’20 Joseph Kuperschmidt ’17 Doo Lee ’20

Contributing Writers, Artists, & Designers: Yanna Lee ’17 Yiqing Liu ’20 Roger Lopez ’18 Richard McCoy ’20 Andrew Megerian ’20 Rishi Mirchandani ’20 Isaac Morrier ’20 Veena Muraleetharan ’20 Leila Murphy ’19 Elizabeth Olantunji ’20 Micah Osler ’20

Chloe Prendergast ’20 Noah Rae-Grant ‘18 Henry Robinson ’19 Jonathan Rutter ’18 Natalya Sanghvi ’18 Sahaj Sankaran ’20 Dylan Schifrin ’20 Harrison Schneider ’17 Justin Shi ’18 Eve Sneider ’19 Xavier Sottile ’19

Sarah Sukin ’18 Teddy Thum ’18 Rachel Treisman ’19 Alissa Wang ’19 Grace Wynter ’20 Ashton Winters ’20 Ellen Yang ’20 Alex Zhang ’18

Carlos Velez ’20 Fatima Abaroa ’20 Bernard Stanford ’17 Harrison Smith ’20 Nicole Eskow ’19 Megan McQueen ’20 Soham Sankaran ’17 Sebastián Kupchaunis ’19 Madeleine Hutchins ’19 Shunhe Wang ’20

Joshua Baize ’20

Special thanks to: Wells. Cover by: Adam Lessing ’19 Founded September 11, 1872 • Vol. CXLV, No. 7, 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 2016 The Yale Record, Inc. The Yale Record is a magazine produced by Yale students; Yale University is not responsible for its contents. Any resemblance to characters and events portrayed herein, without satirical intent, is purely coincidental. The Record grudgingly acknowledges your right to correspond: letters should be addressed to: Chairman, The Yale Record, PO Box 204732, New Haven, CT 06520, or chairman@yalerecord.com. Offer only valid at participating retailers while supplies last. The Yale Record would like to high-five the UOFC for its financial support.

TEN WAYS TO SAY “NO” TO DRUGS 1.

Change the conversation topic to something more lighthearted, like funny cat videos or America’s impending downfall.

“Not in this economy.”

Cry about how your father never loved you.

Embrace society’s decision to call you a “special snowflake” and fly away with the winter wind like the majestic ice crystal you are.

Bring your small but threatening Chihuahua to scare away the supplier.

Guide drug dealers through your Google Calendar to show them you won’t have time for drugs for at least the next 3 years.

Make excuses such as, “Sorry, I have to go help my mom help my grandma help my cousin help my sister help my dog help Obama help McDonalds help the New Haven squirrels help Mark Zuckerberg help the tree in my backyard help the dairy industry.” Say that you don’t need drug-induced munchies. Consume an entire Yorkside pizza in 5 minutes while maintaining eye contact with them. Prove to them how awesome the drug-free lifestyle can be by showing off your extensive stamp collection.

10. “My mom told me I’m not allowed to.”

TEN WAYS TO SAY “YES” TO DRUGS 1.

“Oh great, my mom will be so proud of me!”

Form a Committee to Establish Principles on Drugs to reconsider your previous decision of not doing drugs.

Realize that drugs sound appealing after having a father that never loved you.

Begin your own line of gluten-free, non-GMO drugs to accommodate your dietary restrictions.

Take your easily frightened German Sheppard to endear the person offering you drugs.

“Just the ingredient I needed for the stew at my family reunion!”

Announce your decision on Twitter, tagging local law enforcement just to rub it in.

Arrange an official black tie initiation into your local druggie community.

Plan ahead. Figure out ideal times in your schedule when you can get high, such as on Friday nights or right before an exam.

10. Take more drugs after the exam to forget that you were high during the exam. —N. Eskow

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THIS SEASON’S HOTTEST LEAFY GREENS Bok Choi You left this bad boy lying in the sun for too long. Spinach In your crush’s salad plate. Hot by association. Romaine Lettuce Imported from Australia. If this season is cold, you can always count on the Southern Hemisphere for some extra heat. Cabbage Look at its sexy folds. Poke it with a stick to make it both hot and bothered. Kale After all, you go to Yale, and you think rhyming is quirky and, by extension, hot. Collard Greens Healthy, pure, and as wholesome as your fresh collared shirts. Arugula Spicy hot.

asking. Listen, I’m calling because Ozzy just checked himself in about, oh, about a half hour ago. No…no, he’s fine, there’s no cause for alarm. He was in the mall, and he thought he saw a mouse. He picked it up, bit off its head, and swallowed it…yes, I know he’s done that before. But this time – you won’t believe this – it was a plastic mouse. Yeah, I know…yeah. Some kid must have dropped it outside the toy store. We’re pumping his stomach and he’s going to be fine…yes…you too. Byebye now. Kim Kardashian Hi, Rob? Hi, yes…oh, I’m sorry Khloé, I thought you were your brother. Anyways, it’s Dr. Miller again. No…yes, I have Kim here. Her assistant brought her in…I think she’ll be ok. She got into the makeup again. I know…no, I think it was the eyeliner this time. She’ll be home by the end of the day. Yes…no, it’s no big deal, really. In fact, you wouldn’t believe how often this happens. I just had Will Smith in here this morning. —J. Houston WHAT TO DO IF YOU DON’T HAVE A CONDOM

Celery Tall and slender. Model material. Broccoli It looks like a tree. Trees are sexy. You really can’t argue with that. —V. Liu

YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHAT THESE CELEBRITIES ATE Will Smith Hi, Ms. Smith…yes…yes I have your husband right here. He seems to be in a lot of discomfort and making a lot of noise. I performed an x-ray about a half hour ago, and you won’t believe what he ate, Ms. Smith. He swallowed an entire sleeve of quarters. I know…I know. Listen, you have nothing to worry about. I…yes…yes, he’s going to be fine. Just keep him away from coins for a while. All right…okay. You have a good one too. Ozzy Osbourne Hello, is Sharon there? Yes…yes, I can hold, thank you. Thanks....Hello Sharon…yes, I’m well, thanks for

Find something else to make balloon animals with. Hit up your roommate who has had the same unopened “just in case” box of condoms since freshman year. Use the pullout method, in which you “pull out” a different form of contraception from your pocket. Call your FroCo. Call the cooler FroCo who you know has lots of sex. If you’re not a freshman, call your FroCo anyway. I’m sure they’d love to hear from you. Fall to your knees and curse Prophylactus, the cruel and capricious condom god of pagan lore. Run to the suite the nearest CCE, screaming “CONDOM! CONDOM!” at the top of your lungs. Curl up with a good book. Perform an emergency vasectomy right then and there. What could go wrong? Read the Record with your partner. It’s better than sex. (You can trust us, we have tons of sex.) —S. Savitz

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I’M A WOMAN WHO JOINED DOLLAR SHAVE CLUB, AND HERE’S WHAT HAPPENED One day I was complaining to my girlfriends about how much I spend on razors each month: upwards of $20! “What a hassle!” I said, innocently. Immediately, a hush fell over the room. “Are you sure…” my best gal pal began to whisper, “Are you sure you want to pay reasonable prices for your razors?” Foolishly, I nodded. She quickly scribbled onto a napkin, which she slid towards me while the rest of my friends murmured about having to save a baby from a well and quickly exited the room. “Dollar Shave Club? Isn’t that just for guys?” I called after her retreating form, but she was already gone. That afternoon, I signed up online for a trial membership. At 12:01 AM there was a knock on my door. On my porch step rested a small cardboard box inscribed with the immortal words “Shave Time. Shave Money.” Inside, instead of bargain brand razors, I found a small, gold-leaf note. It read: “Dollar shave club isn’t just for guys. We sell Dr. Carver’s Easy Shave Butter. Not cream, butter! Ladies love it, along with the ‘Executive,’ our premium six-bladed razor for a smoother shave.” I believed the note, and turned it over. “In order for girls to join our club, you just have to pass a series of small tests of strength, virility, and dudeness.” Suddenly, I was blinded by a burlap sack. I was whisked off of my porch, and into what one of my kidnappers described as his mom’s “kick-ass” minivan. When the sack was lifted, I found myself at the playground of a local middle school. A starter’s pistol fired and I was ordered to race around the track.

“If you can’t beat Tommy Fisher’s time, you can’t join.” At the finish line, a stack of pizza boxes was thrust at me. I had to eat more Papa John’s in one sitting than Kenny Fletcher, King of Papa John’s, did in the seventh grade. After my last bite, I was forced up the school’s climbing wall, and dropped down into a pit filled with Dr. Carver’s Easy Shave Butter. “Our lady Members love our butter!” blared from the loudspeakers, as I crawled under wire barbed with sixbladed “Executive” razors. As I dragged myself out of the butter pit, I was handed a box of pink razors by a wizened man cloaked in white. “To join dollar shave club, you must relinquish namebrand razors forever,” he declared, pointing behind himself towards the Black Lands of Mordor. I crawled up the side of Mount Doom and tossed the pink razors into the lava. I didn’t need them, now that I could buy Dollar Shave Club’s six bladed Executive Razor, their most expensive model. Bobby Fizer handed me a small box. “That’ll be $1 for the one month free trial, and then $9 for refills. Shave butter not included.” Ladies, if I did it, so can you. Stop overpaying for razors today! —G. Wynter

MAN HAS FALLEN… AND HE CAN’T GET UP! Has this ever happened to you? You’re walking through your back garden with a loved one. You pick a luscious piece of fruit off one of your precious trees, but as soon as you take a bite, you realize that you’ve imputed Original Sin unto all of mankind. And that you’re not wearing any pants!

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If this sounds familiar, then you may be interested in the all-new Christ Alert® button. We’ll send you the button – for a small monthly premium – and we’ll ship it to you in three to five business days. It’s that simple! What does Christ Alert® do, you ask? Well, let’s say that your aging mother who lives alone takes a nasty spill and dramatically rolls down three or four flights of stairs. Our competitors will tell you that she needs “immediate medical attention.” But let’s face it, Mom’s not getting any younger. One of these days, those stairs are going to have their revenge and take her old ass out. Then straight to Hell your mother will go, damned for her heathen ways and made to burn and anguish for eternity in a river of fire. The Christ Alert® button can’t save your beloved mother from a broken hip, but they will spare her from eternal damnation. And at the end of the day, you can rest easy knowing that your money is being put to good use. Here at The Yale Record Church of Giving, growing financial pressures from alumni coupled with society’s growing ambivalence towards print media have required us to fully leverage our tax-exempt status as a student organization to help us meet rising publishing costs. So buy your very own Christ Alert® button today and help bail us out! Otherwise, God will hate you. —M. Abuzalaf

REASONS LEECHES SHOULD COME BACK INTO STYLE 1. Maybe they didn’t physically cure anyone, and in many cases actually made things worse, often resulting in a horrible, agonizing death, but hey— Einstein didn’t discover relativity theory his first try.

5. The excitement of seeing Leech Man soar through the sky…I mean, use his laser vision…no wait, um…what do leeches do? 6. Winter. 1963. A cold rain falls relentlessly outside your window. You are experiencing reoccurring flashbacks to the Great Leech War of ’51. The horrors you witnessed, the amount of little invertebrate lives you so mercilessly took… A knock at the door pulls you from your thoughts. You creep steadily towards the threshold, and, hands trembling, slowly inch towards the knob. You open the door. A leech stands before you, thinly clothed in a meager raincoat. “If only there was something I could do,” you whisper, your voice lost to the frigid air. 7. They’re our slim, slimy sidekicks! —D. Schifrin

HOLISTIC BIRTH CONTROL METHODS Goat intestine condom Crocodile dung (inserted vaginally) Witchcraft Crocodile dung (ingested orally) Hemlock spermicide used triannually at the waning gibbous moon Writing a passive-aggressive letter to your uterus but never sending it Seven gin-soaked raisins eaten at the vernal equinox Birth control pills, but all of them are the placebo kind Votive offerings to Dzydzilelya, Polish goddess of love, marriage, sexuality, gambling, and fertility Pulling out —L. Kapp

2. Imagine how cool it would be to read a comic featuring Leech Man, a mild-mannered barista imbued with leech powers after being bitten by a radioactive leech. 3. “Leech” rhymes with “peach,” which reminds me of Princess Peach from the Mario games. Did you know Princess Peach’s original name was Princess Toadstool, or that I am hopelessly in love with her? Weird. 4. They take the “evil” out of “medieval medicine”! I mean, if you misspell it. —B. Beitler

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â&#x20AC;&#x201D;C. Prendergast

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Poor DonalD’s almanack

(being the Official Replacement most sound for all social Welfare Programmes, and any other thereto pertaining Assistances)

In today’s Climate much beset with Malaise (such as the deadly ZIKA Virus from the mysterious Lands of the Africe and the pall of Noro-Virus of the Hispanicks), it well behooves the simple House-Wyfe to take excellent Cognizance of many Household Remedies to soothe the soul and calm the mercurial Humours. Yet the simple Carter finds often a great Difficulty in payeing the horrendous Dues demanded by the Hospice and the Nursemaide (and, by order of His Majesty in Washing-Town, the Government shall no longer burden the Tax-Payer with the parasitic Hospital Payments of the loathsome Penurious). Herein shall all Manner of Citizenry find easy means by which to pay for Health-Care of an excellente Quality and Efficacy. 1.) Force Mexicko to paye It is said that, below the Rio Grande, the Mexickans and Latins hold a great Treasure in Plants and Medicinal Herbs, by which they have amassed a Fortune. To avail yourself, simply step in front of the speeding Motorcade of their President, Enrique Pena Nieto, while ensuring that News-criers from Reuters and the Associated Presse are within Camera-shot, and you shall in short order receive a substantial Gift from the Mexickan Government, termed, in their strange Tongue, ‘hush-money’. 2.) Abandone your olde Life Should you find yourself unable to reimburse the Hospice, simply leave your Vestments at the foot of a Cliffe along with much Blood, over which you shall open the Booke of Bank-Ruptcies to the 11th Chapter. Thereby will you give the Impression of your own Demise to the entire Towne. Appear, after a substantial Interval, with a changed Visage, and large Hat and Moustasche, naming yourself ‘Typhoon Archibald’. Remarry your Widowe, and repurchase your Worldly Goods in the Auction at much depressed Pricing, and you shall realize a splendid Profite. 3.) Approach the East-Men To the Far East lies a land of steppes wherein the Natives clad themselves in Fur and both eat and drink the humble Potatoe. Approach their Leader, a savage War-Lord known as ‘Putine.’ He will appear as a shootinge star across the night Sky, riding his Battle-Bear, ‘Kremline,’ and his merry Band of scoundrels and Rogues of all varieties shall soon put paid to your troubles and wipe away your Healthcare Bills. However, beware - it is said that the East-Men always make you pay their Debts. 4.) Ask a small Loane It is child’s play for any honest, self-made Citizen to approach a Moneylender or Shylock and request but a small Loane of One Millione Dollars with which to pay his Healthcare Debts. Surely even the meanest Working-Man would not be turned away. Should you wish additional Teaching and Instruction on all matters Professional and Worldly, we are pleased to inform you of a fantastic Opportunity. Headquartered in New-York City, a glorious Institution, a veritable Grotto of deep Learnings, has arisen – Trumpe University. I have heard that its good Proprietor, Sir Donald (of no Relation), is an honest Christian of saintly Virtue; surely one would never regret availing oneself of his Institution? (Absolutely No Refunds)

—S. Sankaran

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Woman Loses 40lbs in One Month Just by Hating Herself BY LIZZY KINGSLEY STAFF REPORTER NEW HAVEN - Local 32-yearold Stacey Fletcher lost 40lbs in just four weeks without spending any money on diet pills, Weight Watchers memberships, meal subscriptions, or detox cuisines. Fletcher had one simple trick, which she explained in an exclusive interview. “I am an extremely terrible person, ” Fletcher recounts. “One day I looked in the mirror and saw the blood of a thousand Malaysian

children on my hands, as well as all of the conflict diamonds I purchased with no thought of the implications. This was when I realized that I was just a truly awful individual. I realized I didn’t deserve anything good in the world.” Fletcher went on to explain that her original intent was to starve herself “as punishment for being such a goddamn awful human being.” This tactic, however, had an unexpected side effect: “The

pounds just started dropping.” “To be clear, this wasn’t what I’d planned,” Fletcher clarified. “Really, I just wanted my corporeal being to feel as horrible and tortured as my mind.” But as time went on, this side effect evidently became a benefit. “I’m skinny now, which means I’m a good person,” Fletcher reported victoriously, “but I don’t plan on giving up any time soon. I’m fine with letting my body suffer and deteriorate as long as it means I avoid feeling like a walking Satan whose mission it is to self-

destruct.” Fletcher isn’t stopping at herself, though. She has made it her mission to help others as well. “This trick is so easy, I think everyone deserves to know that if they just drop their self-esteem to a negative 40, their weight can drop by the same amount.” Fletcher’s book, How Rock Bottom Gave Me a Rock-Solid Bottom, will appear on shelves in June. Contact LIZZY KINGSLEY at join@yalerecord.com

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Says Hypocrite Mother Who Clearly Has Had Sex BY LIZZY KINGSLEY STAFF REPORTER NEW HAVEN, CT – Giving her daughter Jessie a farewell hug Saturday night, local mother Susan Hutchinson left her daughter with some advice: “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Jessie was leaving the house to go to her first party of high school. When Jessie asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?” Hutchinson reportedly responded, “You know what I mean... Sex. Alcohol. ‘No means no.’”

However, Susan Hutchinson’s personal history seems to suggest hypocrisy abounds in her parenting techniques. Investigators claim that Jessie’s notarized birth certificate from Yale-New Haven Hospital and lack of laboratory documents for in vitro fertilization are adequate proof that Susan Hutchinson has, in fact, had sex. Jessie’s friends who awaited her in the car recall Jessie appearing angered and muttering “fucking

hypocrite” under her breath. “Really what this means to me is to draw the line at ecstasy,” Jessie commented. “From my mom’s stories, alcohol, weed, acid, cocaine, shrooms, and full penetration are all on the table.” “It’s going to be a great night,” she added. When asked to clarify the intent of her statement, Susan

Hutchinson explained, “All I meant was that I wouldn’t have sex with fifteen-year-olds.”

Contact LIZZY KINGSLEY at join@yalerecord.com

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HOW TO STAY IN SHAPE IN COLLEGE

1. Open up your phone and take a look at Facebook. Look at at least five pictures. Yes, yes, feel the selfloathing flow through you. Resolve to go to the gym. 2. Change into your gym clothes, and say to yourself, “I now choose to cause my current self pain in order to benefit my future self.” 3. Walk down the stairs in your gym clothes. If you encounter others, say to them, “I am a person who goes to the gym. Do you believe me?” Do not wait for an answer. 4. Stand outside the gym, feel the apathy wash over you, and say to yourself, “My future self feels separate from my current self, and as a result I choose to not go to the gym after all.” Resolve to go back to bed. 5. Walk back up the stairs. If you encounter others, say to them, “I was just at the gym. Have you gone?” Wait for an answer as long as necessary. 6. If they answer yes, say, “Nice! When I said that I went to the gym, I was being truthful.” 7. If they answer no, say, “Actually, I did not go in the gym.” 8. If they ignore you, say, “I am also not very social, given that I interact with others in predetermined ways.” 9. Say, “I am glad that we have bonded over what we have in common,” and add them as a friend on Facebook. 10. Change back into your Facebook clothes. 11. Repeat steps 1-10 until college ends. 12. Say to yourself, “What a great irony that my indecisiveness led me to walk up and down the stairs repeatedly for 4 years and burn the calories necessary to stay in shape. Truly I have achieved what I set out to achieve.” —A. Ringlein

I JUST INGESTED EVERYTHING IN THE MEDICINE CABINET In hindsight, I don’t think there was any way I could have prevented this. Some things are just inevitable. One moment, you’re minding your own business, reading about the newest top-of-the-line can opener, and the next, you find yourself having consumed your entire supply of

household drugs. Some might say this is life’s natural course. I was feeling a little gassy after my morning bowl full of plain hard-boiled eggs, so I took Prilosec, an over-thecounter antacid. Unfortunately, it gave me leg pain, a common side effect. So I took an ibuprofen. Unfortunately, I happen to be allergic to ibuprofen, so I quickly came down with a case of the sniffles. So I took an antihistamine to clear that up. Unfortunately, that gave me a slight stomachache, a side effect of that. So I took Prilosec, an over-the-counter antacid. This cycle continued for some time, and at one point I accidentally took my dog’s heart medication, so that set my recovery off for a while. It was lucky I was able to counteract that with five bottles of Robitussin, or else I would have been in a real predicament. But finally, after ingesting the 710 pills that once comprised my medicine cabinet, I’m feeling right as rain. I mean, with all that medicine in me, I’m basically the healthiest man alive. I don’t have gas, and I don’t feel any side effects anymore. In fact, I don’t feel anything from the waist down! Yep. The healthiest man alive. Oh look, that lamppost is talking to me. No, I don’t know what’s black and white and red all over. Oh. What a funny joke, Mrs. Lamppost. Of course I’d love to babysit your kids next weekend. —D. Schifrin

NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONS I HAVE ALREADY BROKEN Taking my own medicine instead of other people’s. Time travelling less often. Either losing those ten pounds or kicking my addiction to cocaine. Not personally adding animals to the endangered species list. Not breaking resolutions before I make them. Reducing the number of emails in my inbox so that it no longer needs to be expressed in scientific notation. Getting this piece to my editor before the deadline. —C. Hall

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ON THE CRUELTY OF MOTHERS AND MOTHER NATURE: MY DETOX DIARY The summer after my sophomore year of high school, my health-conscious parents forced me to join their detox. For those not in the know, this is a sadistic ritual that I can only assume was invented as a sedation tactic for the criminally insane, but has been recently adopted by Los Angeles housewives to make sure they don’t look sixty until they’re one hundred and two. My parents had a very special detox planned: during the first of three weeks we ate only vegan, the next week vegan/raw, and finally vegan/raw/liquid nutrients, accompanied by a vigorous workout schedule that could put even the most in-shape devotees on bed rest. This was military-grade shit. Day 1: As I wake on Monday, July 11th, I feel for the first time truly fearful. I had hoped that I would still feel full from dinner the night before: rice and salmon; though in my slumber, my stomach had turned hollow and queasy, as though it was eating itself from within. It begins. “Breakfast” consists of a handful of sunflower seeds, a single almond, and an entire orange. Allow me to clarify: I must peel an orange, extract the pith, eat the orange, then eat the pith, and finally eat the rind. The RIND. Turns out, orange rind contains considerable amounts of Calcium, Vitamin A, Fiber, Copper, and B Vitamins. What a fucking delight! Why is the rind of an orange healthy, but not fries? Thanks a lot, Mother Nature. She’s like the one person in class who votes to have an optional quiz and makes everyone else take it. What right does she have to make me eat something with the color and consistency of Donald Trump’s flesh mask? To make matters worse, our drink of choice is Kombucha, a fermented probiotic tea that tastes like a baby’s barf. At noon, my parents and I go on a field trip to SoulCycle, a trendy spinning offshoot of Equinox. SoulCycle is most famous for its price tag of $30 per class and its ability to make newcomers vomit faster than you can say “compression leggings.” Around 3:00 pm, still wheezing from spinning, I sink my aching body into bed and cry, trying desperately to

remember what life was like before detoxing. I imagine happy faces, laughter, fun. In a heat of fury, I spring from my bed and throw whatever’s close into a suitcase. I scribble a note, kiss my dog goodbye and silently crawl out the window. Dear Andrew and Nicole Hoegl (parents), Though I’ve enjoyed our time together, this detox has become too torturous. My stomach is swollen from malnutrition and I have been icing my legs for three hours. Although I appreciate your dedication to “health,” I must give up this detox as it is killing me from the inside. I’m moving to Palm Springs, where I may be free to lie around eating barbecue and drinking Kool-Aid. My greatest fear is that I don’t have enough sustenance to get there on foot. If my decaying carcass is found covered in flies in the middle of the desert, you’ll know why. Sincerely your loving daughter, Solia —S. Hoegl

REASONS I’M SCARED TO RIDE TRAINS 1.

I’m nervous that once I’m on the train, I’ll forget how to get off. 2. I might bump into Benny, the worst Boxcar Child. 3. Sometimes I mix up trains and bears, and frankly, it’s not worth the risk. 4. I don’t mind the gap. 5. I might bump into my crush, and then I won’t be able to use my “I never ride trains” icebreaker. 6. I’m scared I will wake up the train from its hibernation. 7. I’m scared I will hand the conductor my ticket and he will hand me back a snake. 8. I’m scared I will unknowingly sit in the “No Photos of Mohammed Ali” car and the train police will confiscate my autographed Mohammed Ali photo. 9. I’m scared a mummy will sit next to me wearing poorly functioning earbuds and I’ll have to listen to his music for the whole trip. 10. I’m worried the train will end up at Hogwarts and I will be sorted into Hufflepuff. —B. Beitler and R. Beitler

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HOW TO WORK YOUR WAY TO A BETTER BODY Get a stockbroker job: Everyone knows that the finance sector is the fast track to being a top 1 percenter in money and body. Enter the lottery until you win: With a quick milli, you can afford that hot butt Cosmo has been promising you for years. You’ll be slimmer than the chances of winning! Sleep less, send emails more: The more time you can spend on your consulting job, the more money you will have. And as we all know, more money is the key to those rock hard abs you’ve been craving. Stop paying for your gym membership: Being rich is the same as being attractive, and the first step to being rich is to stop paying for anything you don’t need. It’s a trade-off (and you won’t regret it). Move your money to offshore bank accounts to avoid paying taxes: More taxes means less money to spend on your #fitgoal calves. You need to minimize any and all barriers to your goals. Sell stocks in the failing gym company in which you bought stocks: You have to believe in yourself to reach your dream bod. This also involves believing in the not-so-great stocks you bought and the gym at which you’re no longer a member. Hype yourself and those stocks up to any investor you meet. It might translate into highly illegal fraud, but the only limits that exist are the ones you put on yourself. Go to medical school for a decade and become a plastic surgeon, so that you can make the money and connections necessary to hire a good plastic surgeon: Some goals take longer than others. Ten years stuck in the hellhole known as school is a small price to pay for the immense amount of wealth and networking that can result in any thighs you desire.

SECOND SEMESTER SMOOTHIE The long and cold stretch to Spring Break can be cold and long. During this time, it is important to ward off the winter sniffles and avoid activities like locking yourself in your room indefinitely or talking to inanimate objects. It is also important to eat your fruits and veggies. Because navigating these do’s and don’ts can be difficult, we’ve blended up a quick and easy smoothie to help you stay happy, healthy, and reasonably sane during your second semester. Ingredients: 1 tsp whey protein powder (for protein) ¼ cup rusty nails, ground (for iron) 3 cups kale (for the stereotype) 1 banana, chopped ½ cup aged New Haven tap water 5 cups dining hall coffee (can subst. with gasoline) 2 cups slush from a Woad’s dance floor Several liberal servings of Camp Yale’s finest froyo The soul you sold to Econ 115 (can subst. with 1 cup ground chicken) $63,970 in tuition money (for more greens) 1 tsp tears from a DS student (for that umami flavor and a touch of superiority complex!) 1 cup of each of the following: acorn squash, spaghetti squash, winter squash, butternut squash, zucchini (type of squash), pumpkin (also type of squash), squash ball (the country club claims this is another type of squash). Instructions: Shred small portion of tuition and set aside for garnish. Blend remaining ingredients together until smooth as the icy sidewalk patches which you will spend the semester trying (and failing) to avoid. Enjoy! ––S. Gadre

—V. Muraleetharan

—E. Yang

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DOCTORS HATE HIM!

Once Death has a BAC significantly above the legal limit, challenge him to a board game. He’s been around for a long time and he’ll appreciate the retro-fun of a good, old-fashioned game of chess or Monopoly.

Once you’ve played a couple rounds, lay back and stare into the cavernous emptiness of Death’s eye sockets. Tell him things you’ve never told anyone before. Inch closer to him until your lips touch the cold enamel of his teeth.

Seduce Death, start a passionate affair, and convince him to leave his wife and children for you. Never look back.

Doctors hate him! One local man in New Haven, CT, has made an enemy of countless doctors with this one easy trick. You won’t believe how simple it is! Stephen Glassman, a self-employed entrepreneur, has found a secret that doctors don’t want anybody to know: you can send bombs to doctors in the mail! So far, Glassman has only sent three bombs, but he has already been denounced by hundreds of doctors across the country. Wow! “It only takes three steps,” Glassman explained. “Step one: buy all the ingredients for a bomb. Most bomb ingredients are available in my local hardware store. Step two: make a bomb. This is the step where you use all those bomb ingredients you bought in step one. Step three: send the bomb to a doctor.” According to Glassman, step three is the most complicated and controversial, and doctors everywhere are trying to cover it up, but Glassman is a firm advocate for transparency. Inspirational! If you’re ever wondering why your doctor seems peeved, it’s probably because someone, somewhere, sent him a bomb! And if your doctor doesn’t seem peeved, maybe you should take your health into your own hands and send him a bomb! —N. Ewing-Crystal

HOW TO CHEAT DEATH, A FIVE-STEP GUIDE 1.

Summon the sentient personification of Death. The necessary incantation is challenging, but not overly-complicated. This can be found in any good spell book at your local Barnes and Noble. Once the skeleton-faced Lord of Decay has entered your home, be a good host! Offer him snacks; make him a drink. Talk about how things are going for you, and ask him how he’s doing. “How are the kids? What about the Lady of Decay?” Offer sympathy as he tells you about his marriage problems while downing his fifth rum-and-coke..

—C. Hall

HOMEMADE ACNE TREATMENTS Sandpaper: Put glue on paper, put sand on glue, let dry. Rub enthusiastically. Hydrochloric Acid: Enroll in gen chem lab; show up on the first day and steal hydrochloric acid before anyone arrives. Apply generously. Home-Brew: 3 parts saltwater, 1 part ketchup, 1 part cyanide; boil for 20 minutes, stir 3 times counterclockwise, apply in full darkness. Maximum Flush: Buy paint to match color of acne; paint entire face and pretend that has always been your natural skin tone. Societal Acceptance: Hire professional operatives to infiltrate top advertising companies. Have operatives convince executives to start using models with acne; subliminally force everyone to love your look. Self-Love: Avoid mirrors. —N. Ewing-Crystal

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How to Make Your Own Drugs Love drugs, but hate obtaining them? You’re in luck! The Record has convened a team of area dealers, pharmacologists, and ennui-stricken high school chemistry teachers so you can get high off your own supply®. What you’ll need: - 50 mL of NaCl - 2 boxes of Aunt Mary Jane’s Extra-GMO Inorganic Brownie Mix™ - 3 marihuanas - 1 elderly shaman standing at the door of death - 2 first edition copies of Vardis Fisher’s 1934 Passion Spins the Plot - Milkweed-scented chocolate puree

Steps: 1. Preheat the oven to 420˚F. 2. Mix together the table salt, brownie mix, marihuanas, and puree. Stir until the shaman demands emergency medical attention. 3. Require everyone in the building to sign liability waivers in event of emergency. Maintain eye contact or else they’re a narc. 4. Bake the mixture for 30 minutes. Remain in the vicinity to guard from gangbangers looking to steal your goods. 5. When the mixture has solidified, remove from oven. Don’t let that shaman limp off to a hospital just yet! 6. Let cool for twenty minutes, or until Vridar Hunter consummates his love for Neloa. 7. Cut the brownies into squares and, using your sober skills of persuasion, lightly urge shaman to bless good fortune unto the drugs. They will be writhing in painful ecstasy at your work! 8. Take a fun trip to the emergency room. Trip is a double entendre for the psychedelic experience and for the physical journey to life-saving medical professionals. 9. Enjoy! Writing: G. Ambrose | Design: A. Lessing

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Dear listeners around the campfire, Several years ago, I was walking through a graveyard at midnight when I stumbled upon the corpse of an old woman lying on the ground. Shockingly, she sat up and through decaying lips began to speak. She said, “Son, this world is a cruel place. It’ll spin you around and around until it finally throws you to your death.” Stunned at the whole situation, my only response was to ask her if she needed me to bury her. She said, “Bury me? You don’t look like a spade. Go get one from that tool shed over there.” She tried to gesture to the shed with her pointer finger, but because of her decaying muscles, her pointing hand got stuck right in front of her face, which I have to admit looked pretty ridiculous. —A spooky story teller

FACING BACKLASH, TRUMP FIRES SEAN SPICER AND REPLACES HIM WITH SEAN SPICEST

Dear listeners, Let’s try this again. Some body once told me the world was gonna roll me. I ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed. And she was looking kind of dumb with her finger and her thumb in the shape of an “L” on her forehead. —A spooky story teller

Dear spooky story teller, Sorry, what? Could you rephrase that? Sincerely, The listeners

CONNECTICUT MAN UNDER FIRE AFTER HIDING IN BASEMENT WHILE HIS HOUSE BURNED TO THE GROUND

IMPATIENT EQUESTRIAN CAN’T JUST HOLD HIS HORSES

H u nge r Dismissed!

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“GET OFF YOUR HIGH HORSE!” CRIES COLORADO MAN IN CAMPAIGN TO STOP INTOXICATED EQUESTRIANISM To the Editor: Perhaps this missive is but a fantasy born of inexperience, an illusory confidence that I hope will substitute for true competence. Perhaps I am nothing more than a megalomaniac, a tyrant of the worst order who seeks to impose his will upon the world when he cannot even do so upon his own emotions. Still, as I lie awake at night, I cannot help but think - with all the tools, all the flexibility and genius of intellect - if I was Tom, I totally could have caught Jerry. —Reader

BOY SUCCESSFULLY READS WORDS ALOUD; BAR MITZVAH DECLARED A SUCCESS MAN SUCCESSFULLY READ WORDS ALOUD; PRESIDENCY DECLARED A SUCCESS

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Area of Body:

SYMPTOM CHECKER

Choose a Symptom

BLEEDING Have you picked your nose in the past 24 hours?

Yes

For what duration?

More than three minutes

Good to know.

Possible conditions: -HEMOPHILIA (FATAL) -COCAINE ABUSE (FATAL)

STUFFINESS

ELONGATION

Have you snorted anything in the past 24 hours?

Yes

Snorting any substance blocks breathing holes and is therefore DEADLY.

Less than three minutes

Scratching of the nose’s inner wall can result in a deadly bacterial infection that will spread to the brain and KILL YOU.

Have you told a lie in the past 24 hours?

Yes

Possible conditions: -NASAL POLYPS (FATAL)

Are you lying?

Yes

Pinocchiosis is a serious condition that effects the gendered male, wooden marionette community. Patients exhibit an obsession with conforming to the societal definition of a “real” boy. This is a LIFETHREATENING illness in humans but is fortunately treatable for most puppets. Writing: S. Gadre I Design: L. Kingsley

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