PARALLELOGRAM PUTS “TRAPEZOID” ON RÉSUMÉ “MOM OF THE FRIEND GROUP” WANTS ABORTION
NAUGHTY CHILDREN REJOICE: THE PRICE OF COAL IS UP
BITCHY MCBITCHBITCH DOESN’T LIKE HER NICKNAME
DYSMORPHIC SCORPION CAN’T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT
Dear Fat Anglo-Saxon Boy,
Please don’t eat me. I may be a mere turkey, but I have so much life to live! So many people to love, places to go, poetry to be read! My life could be so fruitful, so effervescent. I beg, nay I plead: think not of yourself, but of the many intellectual contributions I could make to our great American country! Think of the glory, of the exuberance I could inspire, if only you’d let me survive Thanksgiving.
Humbly, Turkey
WHAT’S THE POINT OF EYE BAGS IF I CAN’T PUT STUFF IN THEM?
Dear Turkey, Hehehehehehehe I’m gonna eat youuu.
Nom nom nom, Fat Anglo Saxon Boy
COLD CALLED “FLU-ISH” FOR PURPOSES OF EMAIL
SPIDER ON DOOR RECEIVES $5 MILLION IN RANSOM AFTER HOLDING STUDENT HOSTAGE IN DORM PASSWORD WEAK BUT DETERMINED HATERS WILL SAY THAT AI WILL TAKE OVER ALL OUR JOBS IN THE FUTURE, AND TO THAT I SAY: HA! I’D LIKE TO SEE A ROBOT TRY AND WORK THIS POLE LIKE I DO!
Dear Dad,
This is really hard for me to talk about and I’ve been keeping it a secret from you for quite some time. You see, I’ve been having these feelings, feelings that I cannot hide any longer. I’m sure this may come as a surprise to you, but I am gay.
Sincerely, Your Son, Brian.
Dear Gay Brian,
Sincerely,
Hey Owls,
I can do the Defying Gravity riff. Watch! Here, I’m gonna do it now. Three, two, right now, one. It’s gonna happen. Bring me down, here it comes, 321 here we go now…
Obituary Correction
In our last issue, we incorrectly reported that Mrs. Julia Sheffield died at 30 years old. Despite her glowing complexion, Mrs. Julia Sheffield was actually 91 years young.
— H. Murray Nelson
WANTED:
“OH
ADHD medication for my kids.
FOR SALE:
The tortoise’s racing shoes, signed. He is liquidating his assets. Debt catches up to you, especially if you’re slow and steady.
GOD!” UPPER MIDDLE CLASS WHITE LIBERAL FROM SOLID BLUE STATE CONSIDERING FLEEING THE COUNTRY.
AMERICA FACES SURMOUNTABLE CHALLENGE
UNSHAVED ATHLETE WITH BUZZCUT THINKS WE DON’T KNOW HE’S A REPUBLICAN.
ZOOKEEPER FRANTICALLY GOOGLES “ANIMAL OFF HAND QUICKLY”
Did You Know?
The prettiest fiancées make the fewest prenups.
My grits are my grandmother’s grits: expired. My grandmother’s grits were her grandmother’s grits, but nobody had any microwaves back then, so they were different. If you want it, too bad; her recipe’s a secret. Truthfully, I don’t even know it. I only perform it in a dream state that I reach when I snooze my alarms enough to enter a shallow sleep, but I always wake up with a bowl of cheesy, buttery grits and a melted spatula.
If you ask me for the recipe, you’ll make the whole thing before realizing I gave you instructions to make juicy beef tenderloin because I don’t give anyone my recipe. It’s what makes me a woman. Does it qualify as perjury? Not if you’re outside a court of law, baby! Catch me if you can. This is the Town and Country Issue.
“What is Town and Country?” you may ask yourself, if you made it through the first two paragraphs without going on TikTok to get your hours in before it’s banned. “Town and Country” is a mindset. It is a collection of buttery recipes, gingham tablecloths, cuffed sleeves, and fake smiles that you might fight through in your nearest temperate suburbia. It is a lifestyle magazine that tells you the proper way to live, if you are okay with compartmentalizing your actions and your Christian beliefs by spending a $6,000 minimum to get into Christmas.
I love my town in my country. We have blue skies as open as Blockbuster in 2011, green grass that rolls down hills to drive golf carts on (drunk), and more than enough tasteful botox to go around. Since my husband made partner, he works lighter hours, and I volunteer at the hospital when I won’t “get in the way.” Our oldest, Hampton, is at school out of state. In two years, when his fraternity finishes its mandated “atonement,” he’ll be back to turning boys into men before embarking on a career in substance abuse. Olivia-Wade (OW), our little girl, is auditioning for the reboot of Dance Moms called Dance Dads, with
my limber and sassy husband. We are happy. We have a beautiful family.
Every morning, with one hand on the wheel, my Chevy Suburban chugs under the shade of heavy oak branches and I have the urge to close Instagram and focus on the road. From the backseat, OW asks for help with homework. I mouth “I’m on the phone” until she gives up and goes on her iPad, and I have some peace. Once she’s locked in, I let my mind wander to love lost, until I run enough red lights that my kid says something about it.
I always feel a little melancholy while she’s walking out the car door. She gives me a hug from the back seat; then her barrette gets stuck in my hair, and I yell “OW!” And she responds “Yes?” just to make me regret naming her after my grandmother Olivia and grandfather Wade. Suddenly, the melancholy is gone.
I love life. Just check my bumper sticker. I love keeping up with the social scene, and keeping an eye on the prospective debutantes so I can tell the club who shouldn’t be up there. I was a deb, back in my day, and I still remember the night fondly: I got up on stage in my white dress made by the hands of elderly laborers whose names I prefer not to know, and I graced the stage with a deep curtsy, and my beauty astounded, so much that the venue decided to lower the lights when I went on
Amelia Herrmann ’26
Chair
Adam Hagens ’27 Online Managing Editor
Issy Arroyo ’25 Copy Editor
Daniel Wang ’27 Social Media Manager
Dom Alberts ‘25 Old Owl
Lizzie
Conklin ’25
Editor in Chief
Gabi Cohen ’27 Online Managing Editor
Avery Misner ’27 Copy Editor
Oz Gitelson ’26 Webmaster
Joel Banks ‘25 Old Owl
Emma Madsen ’25 Old Owl Alejandro Mayagoitia ‘25 Old Owl
Ari Berke ’25
Audrey Hempel ’25
Betty Kubovy-Weiss ’25
Cormac Thorpe ’25
Chet Hewitt ’25
Evan Calderon ’25
Ezzat Abouleish ’25
Jacob Kao ’25
Mari Elliott ’25
Maya Melnik ’25
Neil Sachdeva ’25
Theo Schiminovich ’25
Tyler Schroder ’25
stage to preserve the dignity of the other women. Most people could not even see my face, but my family insisted this made me even more marketable: it would be too embarrassing for the other women if my face were visible. Right? That is why they dimmed the lights, yes. To preserve my beauty, right after our wedding my husband gifted me a dermatology consultation, yet gravity resisted. Botox is like a bird: it migrates. But global warming and I do our best to put a stop to this.
The crossing guard taps on the window, waking me up from my train of thought and urging me to “pull forward,” and I whizz off to hot yoga to ignore the news. The coffee’s cold now, so I stop by my favorite ba-ri-sta to get jazzed, before texting my husband a winky face emoji, to which he responds “I’m in a meeting,” which means he’s playing Fortnite on our son’s Xbox. I respect the boundary my husband set, and search for a sign of peace on the road. I need him to check the grits on the stove. Maybe it’s better that he doesn’t; then the recipe stays my secret.
L. Conklin Editor in Chief
Debbie Lilly
’26
Online Editor in Chief
Terence Harris ’27 Managing Editor
Katya Agrawal ’27 Art Director
Dash Beber-Turkel ’26 Lead Design Editor
Anna Lehman ’27 Staff Director
Tara Bhat ‘25 Old Owl
Josephine Stark ’25 Old Owl
Adham Hussein ’26
Aidan Gibson ’26
AJ Tapia-Wylie ’26
Alejandro Rojas ’26
Alexa Druyanoff ’26
Alexis Ramirez-Hardy ’26
Alice Khomski ’26
Amanda Budejen ’26
Andie Gately ’26
Andrew Lake ’26
Ariel Kirman ’26
Bella Panico ’26
Brennan Columbia-Walsh ’26
Erita Chen ’26
Publisher
Devika Kothari ’27 Managing Editor
Harper Murray Nelson ’27 Design Editor
Emmet Houghton ’26 Business Manager
Leah Burch ‘25 Old Owl
Edward Bohannon ’25 Old Owl
Staff:
Caroline Utermann ’26
Elio Wentzel ’26
Emily Hettinger ’26
Emmet Houghton ’26
Grace Davis ’26
Helen Shanefield ’26
Jimmy Ruskell ’26
Linden Skalak ’26
Mia Cortés Castro ’26
Natasha Khazzam ’26
Owen Curtin ’26
Oz Gitelson ’26
Paola Milbank ’26
Emily Cai ’25 Old Owl
Annie Lin ’25 Old Owl
Sam Kumar ’26
Sivan Almogy ’26
Thomas Varghese ’26
Toby Salmon ’26
Tristan Hernandez ’26
William Wang ’26
Wolf Boone ’26
Zadie Winthrop ’26
Zoe Halaban ’26
Ami Gillon ’27
Anna Calkins ’27
Anna Feldman ’27
Anna Papakirk ’27
Emma Upson ’27 Design Editor
Ainslee Garcia ’27 Merchant
Andrew Cramer ‘25 Old Owl
Natasha Weiss ‘25 Old Owl
Audrey Jiang ’27
Avery Lenihan ’27
Braeden Cullen ’27
Ellen Windels ’27
Elora Sparnicht ’27
Gha Yuan Ng ’27
Gustavo Dominguez ’27
Jaylynn Cortes ’27
Juliette Propp ’27
Lucas Ranfranz ’27
Lucas Santos ’27
Max Watzky ’27
Nava Feder ’27
Special thanks to: Everbody who does the dishes — my people.
Front Cover: Grace Ellis, ‘25, who puts fennel in her crudités.
Back Cover: Emma Upson, ‘27, who serves honourably in all contexts.
Bipul Soti ’27 Managing Editor
Sadie Lee ’26 Supplementals Editor
Sofia Morfin ’27 Prank Czar
Grace Ellis ’25 Old Owl
Emmit Thulin ‘25 Old Owl
Rohan Shivakumar ’27
Samhita Kumar ’27
Sui Yu ’27
Tom Commander ’27
Victoria Mnatsakanyan ’27
Vidhi Bhartiya ’27
Will Sussbauer ’27 Ge Yu
BAKING WITH HATE: CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES
Nothing comforts me like a good chocolate chip cookie. I developed this recipe a few years ago while staring at a rain-pattered window and thinking about my cellulite gain and lost youth. Why cookies, why this recipe? The separation of ingredients appeals to me; even when you combine those vivacious chocolate chips into the batter, they retain their identities. Their shape remains independent, in batter and bake. I wish I were a chocolate chip sometimes, but when I married him, I lost my independence. I became one of those women I used to laugh at — women who make dinner for their husband, or do his laundry. I was ground up and mixed in. My relationship, once a soufflé — rising, breathing, warm — has since deflated. I wish my husband and I were cookies. I used to call him hubby, I used to have a “kiss the chef” apron, I used to have a “home is where the heart is” sign, but now all I have is a baby, which didn’t even save our marriage. We used to be happy. He wasted my youth without a second thought. You may read through this recipe and feel as though it is too cookie-cutter. I’ll tell you now, the secret ingredient is contempt.
Ingredients:
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup unsalted butter (softened)
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 cup packed brown sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 large eggs
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 cups semisweet chocolate chips
Instructions:
Preheat your oven to 350°F (175°C). Line baking sheets. Mix dry ingredients: In a medium bowl, whisk together the all-purpose flour, baking soda, and salt. Set aside.
Cream the butter and sugars: Beat the softened butter, granulated sugar, and brown sugar together until the mixture is light and fluffy. This should take about 3 minutes.
Add the eggs and vanilla: Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Stir in the vanilla extract.
Combine the wet and dry ingredients: Gradually add the dry ingredients to the butter mixture, mixing just until combined.
Add chocolate chips: Stir in the chocolate chips
Scoop the dough: Leave about 2 inches between each cookie for spreading.
Bake: Bake in the preheated oven for 10-12 minutes, or until the edges are golden brown but the centers are still soft
— H. Murray-Nelson
+ two generations of bakers
MILLENNIAL BEIGE
Rejoice! A thirty-something just had a baby — population crisis averted.
My friends, let our fluttering hearts engage, But keep calm, and have neutral tones in sight, For life is lived in fifty shades of beige.
Not a hint of red, not even purple, those colors too bright, The crib, the walls, and his tiny onesie too, All must be blanched and soothing off-white.
They’ve painted the walls #dab099, but pink? They’ve banished the hue!
For the soft, gentle, and sweet little lad… A bursting green? That just won’t do.
We want something bland, like uncooked tofu. Millennial beige, you know what to do. Millennial beige and consumer capitalism… I love you.
7. Part time Chair of the Council for Combating Climate Change in the Global Southwest.
8. Part-time Uruguayan fracker.
9. Part-time scarecrow.
10. Part-time scared crow.
11. Part-time Waldo, location unspecified (just like my husband!).
12. Part-time surrogate.
13. Full-time mom :)
—E. Chen & D. Kothari
WHERE DO WE DRAW THE LINE?
Esteemed Members of the Toledo School Board,
My name is Carolyn Stevens, and I am the mother of two beautiful children, Jimpop and Kayleigh, who are both students in our lovely Toledo Public School District. We’ve lived in Toledo for 16 years, and I’ve never been one to cause a stir, but the recent incidents at Jefferson Davis Elementary are downright unconscionable.
Two days ago, I was knitting in my armchair watching Martha Stewart when I got a call from my sweet little Jimpop. I was praying something horrible hadn’t happened because you know how scary schools are nowadays. And I really am never one to cause a stir, but it was worse than I could’ve possibly imagined.
Principal Daniel told my precious son Jimpop that there would be no 4th of July celebration on school premises. This is downright un-American and disgusting. What happened to American values? I had heard on TV about all this liberal riff-raff infiltrating our schools, but I never thought it would happen in Toledo! It is an absolute travesty that our patriotic young children are being taught to hate their country. Principal Daniels tried to say it was because of something called “summer break” and that “the school will literally be closed.” I don’t know what that means, but it’s a terrible excuse! The school board should be ashamed of themselves for allowing this to stand. Truly, it isn’t in my nature to cause a stir. But this? Don’t our children deserve better?
And that’s just the first part. Yesterday, Kayleigh walked in crying after school, saying, “Mommy! Our field trip got canceled!” She had been looking forward to this trip to the zoo for weeks, and now her dreams have been crushed. Now the radical liberals have allowed the animals to create some communist workers union! I have never been one to raise my voice against authority, but in this case, my hands are simply tied. My poor little girl, her trip canceled, because the black bears declared they would be going on strike this winter and “hibernating” or something. What kind of lesson on work ethic is this for our kids?! —A. Misner
BEST WAYS TO POISON YOUR HUSBAND
Say, “I bet you’re not strong enough to eat all this poison.” Paint a poison dart frog green; he will kiss it to become a prince.
Increase the thermostat ever so slowly. Replace all his beer with water. Double his usual dose of poison. Bit by bit, and then all at once. Poison Gun.
WHAT ARE ALL THOSE ACRONYMS YOUR TEENAGER USES?
LOL = Laughing out loud.
ILYSM = I like your sexy mother.
LMAO = Let’s meet again outside.
WYD = Where’s your drugs?
BRB = Benzoapedines reaching the brain.
IJBOL = I just brought out LSD.
AFAIK = Against father’s advice, I kill.
HBD = Hide bodies downstream.
NBD = Need to bribe detectives.
OMW = On my way!
—B. Soti
OUR FAVORITE NICKNAMES FOR OUR GRANDPARENTS
Papa and Peepee. Mepaw and Pemaw.
Pap-pap and Smear-smear.
Hunter and Gatherer.
Immovable Object and Unstoppable Force. Sine and Cosine.
Strong Independent Woman and Grandma. Frog and Toad.
American Exchange and Discover. Cremated and Up Next.
RABBIT BAKING PIE
BEST TOPICS FOR SMALL TALK
The changing seasons. Extreme weather events. Grain of sand. Vocal warm-up demonstration. Most recent illness. Your youngest child’s sexuality. Religion. Which parts of your body are you insecure about?
What would be the optimal conversation topic for all of your needs?
Would you say you were a planned pregnancy? Where were you on 21st September, 2010? Recent divorce.
Compliment body parts they are insecure about. Vintage Soviet erotica recommendations. The proportion of – NO THAT’S TOO BIG. Money.
—A. Hammer
A LETTER OF TERMINATION FOR THE DEPARTMENT STORE COWBOY
Dear Arizona Pete,
It is with a heavy heart that we at the Connecticut Target superstore must terminate your employment. The company’s concerns are outlined below:
First, we must address the parking violations of your vehicle: the horse you call Smokin’ Joe. As you’ve been previously notified, you may not “park” Smokin’ Joe in handicap parking. Nor may you “park” Smokin’ Joe in any of Target’s parking spots: he is not a car. Nor may you “park” Smokin’ Joe in the break room (because he is a horse). Customers have repeatedly complained that Smokin’ Joe has relieved himself on the premises. Employees have complained that Smokin’ Joe has left “smoking” –– or perhaps more accurately “steaming” –– piles of feces beside the break room refrigerator.
Several police officers have complained that, as they attempted to place a ticket onto Smokin’ Joe (who was haphazardly tied to the handicap parking sign), you pointed a pistol towards the officer and referred to the parking fine as a “bounty.” We acknowledge that your habits off company time are your prerogative, but you may not challenge police officers to “duels at sundown” while you’re on the clock.
We must address your damage to company property. As you’ve been previously notified, the doors to Target are automatic. You may not kick them open like the doors to a saloon, except in the case that you are fleeing an emergency. By kicking open the doors, loudly announcing your presence, and pointing your revolver towards the Target logos located around the store, you are actively causing an emergency.
We cannot prove that you are shooting the company logos after Target closes, but management has discovered thirty-six new bullet holes around the store. (This is thirty-six more bulletholes than there were before your employment.) The number of bullseyes was rather impressive, so management revisited your resumé where you called yourself “the rootin-tootinest gunslinger in the West.” Camera footage hasn’t captured the assailant, but there is audio of someone saying, “Bullseye!!! N’ that’s why I’m the rootin-tootinest gunslinger in the West. Let’s go Smokin’ Joe.” This is, at the least, a very curious coincidence.
Trumbull, CT Target thanks you for complying with the company standard of wearing a red shirt at work. Employees are concerned, however, that your red clothing is not actually red, but rather “soaked with blood.” Someone’s anonymous employee report asked, “Is’t not s’posed to be human blood on m’ shirt after shoot outs or it cain’t be no cow’s blood on m’ shirt?” Management responded to this apostrophe-riddled handwritten note in the staff meeting, and added this qualification to the employee handbook: There may not be any blood on any Target employee’s shirt, especially the dripping quantities that accumulate during a “shoot out.”
Trumbull, CT Target is very happy to offer paid leave in case of injuries, but we do require medical documentation. A cowboy hat riddled with bulletholes and a bloody, wrinkled poster of a man named “Deadeye Colt” does not suffice as medical documentation.
While you may engage in “duels” or “shoot outs,” or other culturally specific recreational activities, we ask that you do not arrive at Target with open bullet wounds.
Management cannot legally object to your use of whiskey as a topical ointment for wounds, but management has repeatedly asked that you do not store your whiskey ointment in the break room refrigerator.
Management strongly objects to the drinking of whiskey on company hours. When management notified you of this policy, you responded, “It’s five o’clock somewhere, lil lady.” You were notified that the time was 7:06am, and that the employee speaking to you was an average-sized man. You challenged him to a duel at sundown. He declined.
You will receive your final paycheck as soon as management receives legal documentation that your full name is “Arizona Pete.” I will remind you: a sign stating you are “Wanted: Dead or Alive in the state of Arizona,” does not count as legal documentation. This document is yet another cause for concern.
Best
Wishes, Prentiss Patrick-Carter Trumbull, CT Target - Floor Manager - Average Sized Man
—P. Patrick-Carter
JONESTOWN, MS POLICE BLOTTER
Sheriff Jim Jones
“To protect and serve, except during bingo night.”
Sunday, 12:17 AM
Vandalism
Man reports his Jesus decorations have been rearranged in inappropriate positions. The scene was officially declared “sinful.” Police are investigating.
Sunday, 12:18 AM
Vandalism
Farmer reports local squirrels leaving acorns in the catalytic converter of the farm’s tractor. Local environmental groups warn squirrels may be looking to organize against townspeople.
Sunday, 12:20 AM
Resisting Arrest
Local squirrels attempt to resist arrest by on-scene deputies. Local squirrels reported deceased after use of deadly force.
Sunday, 3:39 PM
Illegal Fishing/Assault
Two teenage boys were reported attempting to fish for geese. The geese promptly attacked the boys with deadly force. A 5-hour standoff ensued between the geese and local deputies. SWAT teams were called. Geese agreed to surrender after on-site negotiators offered Wonder-brand potato bread to the aggressors.
Monday, 6:22 AM
Unusual Circumstances
Cows at the Jonestown Dairy Corporation were documented dispensing chocolate milk. No culprit has been established. Local children petition to keep chocolate milk cows.
Tuesday, 9:02 PM False Call
Local conspiracy theorist claims that a UFO lit crops on fire. No UFO was located, nor was any sign of fire. Suspect was cited and tinfoil hat confiscated.
Wednesday, 1:11:11 AM UFO
A UFO descended upon town hall and promptly zapped the building out of existence. The fate of the people inside is unknown.
Wednesday, 1:47:25 AM National Guard Deployed
The Mississippi National Guard was deployed to the site of the UFO landing. The ship appeared dormant.
Wednesday, 2:16:54 AM Mass Murder
The entities within the ship dissolved the entire 155th Infantry Regiment. No survivors were reported.
Wednesday, 2:17:38 AM
Evacuation
Evacuation was ordered within a 30-mile radius of the site after the ship began drilling into the core of the Earth. Numerous local residents do not comply with the order, stating, “My freedom and my rights!”
Wednesday, 4:55:12 AM
The World Ends
Sheriff Jones arrived on scene to witness the end of the world. Oh well.
—E. Song
TOP 10 WAYS TO BE PATRIOTIC
10. Stand for the “Pledge of Allegiance” every morning.
9. Cry during the national anthem.
8. Throw various dried leaves into Boston Harbor, like the good ol’ days.
7. Drill for oil under your neighbor Steve’s lawn.
6. GO TO WAR. KILL PEOPLE. DO IT. RAAAAAH.
5. Trump tramp stamp.
4. Buy an AR-15 at your local Walmart.
3. Storm your neighbor Steve’s house (I will find you, Steve).
2. Pretend that national borders are real.
1. Eat a hamburger and also a hotdog.
—A. Coelho
THE HOTTEST NEW COUNTRY SAYINGS
Howdy there! If you’re fresh to the farms of Western Nebrasourri, you’re bound to hear some sayings that’ll leave you scratchin’ your head. Here’s a rundown of some country talk you’ll hear ‘round these parts to help you settle in right.
“When the trees sway light, the day’s just right.” A sunny day with a gentle breeze is perfect for taking the ol’ tractor for a romantic spin with the missus and tending to the goats with the kids.
“If the shadows lie long before noon, storms may come or something worse soon.” Out here, you can wake up in October and hit April by midday! We don’t want you to be caught by surprise by anything out yonder, ’specially not the occasional flying goat.
“A pig that squeals in midnight’s hush foretells all evil within the brush.” Those dang pests in the cornfield can be a real nuisance! I like to send my goats round yonder to eat those critters and they get as full as ticks!
“When trouble boils and the fog hangs low, the goats will see and the goats will know.” Shucks!
—A. Hammer
There’s just something about those silly billy goats—they always seem to be up to something, getting into trouble! Coulda’ sworn one chewed up my pig’s trough last week in the fog.
“If the goats cry out and the cows face east, you gotta count it as a warning, at least.” We’re a little superstitious around here. Sometimes, you just get a gosh darn feeling that there’s gonna be a drought. Bessie always knows!
“When the rooster goes quiet, expect a dark riot.” Life just doesn’t feel the same if you don’t wake up to the sound of that old rooster at dawn. The kids can’t wake up in time to feed the goats and everything goes south!
“Where is my son?” Sometimes, your son is missing. If he ain’t in the yard, and he ain’t at the saloon, and his Find My is disabled, he might’ve escaped to the city.
“When the goats line up along the gate, beware — it may already be too late.” You don’t want to miss the ideal season to plant your corn. You best be planting it by early May.
—L. Day-Richter
IF I CHOSE TO HAVE A CARPETED BATHROOM
Comfort! Nothing like the fresh feeling of stepping outta the shower and into the soft warm carpet!
Absorption! It collects the water that leaks from the damp towels my preoccupied, forgetful little husband always leaves on the floor.
Vibrancy! A little color is necessary for a good day! A good day I so desperately need.
Stains! The color red is amazing at masking stains! Whether it’s wine, ketchup, blood from a shaving mishap, the rug hides it all!
Decoration! I spend a lot of time in the bathroom. It’s the only room where I have space to think. Might as well decorate it!
Noise suppression! With our carpet suppressing sounds, neither my singing in the shower, nor, more importantly, my off-pitch husband’s yodeling, can be heard. Bless him, he shrieks in there.
Slip-resistant! When your husband slips coming out of the shower and goes to sleep forever, no one will be able to blame you, since poor little you had gotten this carpet specifically to prevent slippage!
Dry your tears! When you are obviously torn apart by your husband’s death, the carpet will dry your tears (or your spilled champagne).
—S. Singh
THE 47TH MEETING OF MOMS AGAINST OVER-URBANISATION (MAO)
Meeting Minutes recorded by Samantha Cooper, Notetaker. Agenda set by Claire Hughes, Mom of the Month (MoM).
Item 1: Open Letter for Reversing Modern Infrastructure
Communications Chair Elsa Wiley assessed mothers’ opinions on drafting an open letter to the Town Council regarding the MAO Initiative to Reverse Modern Infrastructure, which proposes a systematic dismantling of urban architecture. “The ugly buildings simply must come down, then the garden hoses to prevent fake ‘grass,’ and window ‘flowers,’ two hallmarks of the urban environment.” insisted Architec-
ture Director Brenda Lewis. “Since when has rain been ‘insufficient’ for us? Besides, garden hoses cause soil erosion and that’s killing the planet.”
In adherence to MAO tradition, the open letter will be handwritten on hand-crafted paper as meta-resistance against the Urban Threat.
Item 2: Demolition for Deer Diversity Development
Moms voted unanimously in favour of petitioning the demolition of the local hospital to increase forest cover. A local fundraiser is to be organised to airlift different deer species from around the world to bring the world’s first diverse deer sanctuary to New York City. Adjoining areas are to be declared pedestrian-only. “A deer will never be caught in a headlight ever again,” affirmed MoM Claire Hughes, filled with emotion. “The Urban threat may have got to us, but I won’t let it get to them.”
At this point, MAO Moms took a 7 minute introspection recess to ensure they were directing efforts to combatting overurbanisation, not just urbanisation.
Item 3: Emergency Horse Ownership Mandate
Carol Briggs, Director of Forward Thinking, cautioned against the Urban Threat’s latest mode of attack: increasing our reliance on motor vehicles. A mandate requiring every household to own at least one horse is likely to pass undeterred. Educational Chief Doris Graham has volunteered to teach the introductory course, “Horseback Etiquette for Beginners,” so no mom will suffer the indignity of riding side-saddle.
When asked what prompted MAO’s sudden organization, the ladies went silent. “It’s because… well… we care about other people,” said Carol Briggs, removing her mink pillbox hat.
Meeting was adjourned at this point because the sun set.
—D. Kothari
How to Raise
1. Ensure sustainable pastures
2. To protect them, trade some of their liberties for collective security
(Pastures with seven clouds have great grass)
3. When one cow inexorably develops MuzzleBook, encourage them to use it productively through social and emotional learning. Does that not work?
4. Oh no! You didn’t listen to experts and professors! You didn’t create data protection laws?!? You let private corporations and foreign governments control your citizen’s privacy and develop algorithms to channel their attention and polarize them for profit?
Also, in 2010, the Supreme Court overturned Citizens United, allowing billions of dollars to flow into elections, some through insidious advertising that surreptitiously filters people and builds echo chambers of political ideology!?! Now, they’re all polarized. Great job. The only beef you’ll be getting is verbal
5. The cows approach you - hoof over heart and ask for your help. "We all hate this! Brother is turning against Brother, Father against Son! People are suffering!"
6. “Oh. If you all hate it, then stop”
Help us!
But they can’t stop.
They can’t coordinate from a top-down level as individuals. For individuals to act in concert, they need to trust each other and their society – there must be no chaos. This is impossible.
Instead, you, dear farmer, must act.
7. First, advocate for election laws that prevent $4.5 billion of untraceable money from influencing the public through Super PACs. Ensure that the voice of the cows matters more than the milk and beef corporations that justify the cow’s existence.
Next, pass a digital bill of rights to ensure data privacy protections, limiting MuzzleBook, Snoutchat, FencedIn, and X by fairness, transparency, and consent, while holding them accountable for abuses of confidentiality, security, and storage.
Finally, pass laws addressing algorithmic control and screen addiction, focusing on building deeper connections with cows, their families, and communities Happy, hopeful cows engaged in meaningful education won’t spend 12 hours a day on MuzzleBook. It’s the farmer’s role to foster their potential.
8. These ideas may seem far-fetched, and cows on the ground may feel like they have no influence But, as Richard Hofstadter said, “It has been America's fate not to have ideologies but to be one.” The American experiment only fails when we lose faith in our ability to cultivate change. As cows in a meadow, it might feel like we’re destined to graze and be swept along by the winds of societal forces. Though it may feel like we’re swept by forces beyond us, GRASSROOTS action electing leaders who work for the people and believing in America’s ability to fix its faults can create lasting change.
This isn’t a real apple...
HOW TO MAKE MOTHER’S SALAD
Ingredients:
1 packet of red Jello
1 packet of blue Jello
1 packet of orange Jello
Optional: 1 packet of purple Jello too, during Minneapolis Pride
1 pound of store-bought Jello salad
1 container Cool Whip (1 liter, approximately)
½ kilogram cream cheese
⅔ cup white cane sugar
1 serving Jello salad
4 cups mayonnaise
Optional: 1 sprig of mint
Instructions:
In two separate bowls, make the red and blue Jello packets then leave to set in the refrigerator for 3 hours. Set aside.
In a large serving bowl, mix the Cool Whip, cream cheese, and sugar until smooth. The mixture should be white, dontcha know? Set aside.
Remove the red and blue Jello from the refrigerator then cut into rough cubes. Then, take the first serving of Jello salad and cut it into cubes. There will be many Jello cubes.
Pour the packet of orange Jello into the Cool Whip mixture and stir until fully combined.
In a bathtub, combine the Jello cubes, the Cool Whip mixture, and the mayonnaise by gently folding the ingredients. The mixture will be very gelatinous. If the salad seems to include too much Jello, add more mayonnaise as desired.
To top, carefully distribute the final serving of Jello salad as a garnish.
TOTALLY OPTIONAL: As not everyone cares for herbs and vegetables, the choice of whether to add a sprig of mint as an additional garnish is up to the chef. Don’t let anyone tell you salads need something green, gosh darn it.
Serve immediately. The salad will keep in the fridge (or chilled bathtub) for 1 week.
— A. Garcia
BREAKING: HOA OVERTHROWN IN COUP
BY SQUIRREL LANZ STAFF REPORTER
PARADISE ACRES, IA —
What started as a normal day in the small gated community of Paradise Acres (where the grass is arguably too green and the air always smells of fresh-cut flowers and methane) quickly became the material of nightmares as a group of residents took up arms against the president of the local Homeowners’ Association and the entire Board of Directors in what onlookers described as a “bloodbath.”
The first attack was launched by resident Sharon Alberhasky when she painted the fence surrounding her house a soothing shade of purple: a declaration of war. The Board of Directors was understandably terrified by this, and within minutes dispatched a squad of highly skilled agents to tear Alberhasky’s fence from the ground and replace it with a pleasant, acceptable, white one. Alberhasky resisted. She rallied the other residents for a violent siege on the Paradise Acres Facebook Page, posting “What happened to love thy neighbor? The HOA just demolished my fence. It’s time to vanquish thy oppressor ������✌ .”
After that, the residents became unstoppable. The Crawfords placed a twelve-foot tall inflatable turkey decoration in their front yard, then Martha and John Hickey allowed their children to draw with chalk in the driveway, and the Luckhardt family placed a peace sign sticker on their mailbox. The Board of Directors hid in the president’s basement and barricaded the doors with confiscated yard signs, but the residents were stronger than wood. The bloodthirsty residents dragged each and every board member out of their homes and into the street, where they were forced to listen to rap music resulting in one casualty and three hospitalizations.
Experts in the area warn that other communities might be inspired to similarly rise up against their local Homeowners’ Association, and that any HOA president reading this should take immediate precautions from bwiedb2eowfbqlmfo2ree – Help!!!! They’ve wjelnfxpiewwmwi
Hey everyone, it’s me, Sharon Alberhasky, and I just wanted to say praise the lord and death to the HOA ✌️��❤ ❤ . Toodles!
—S. Lanz
BAREFOOT CONTESSA PUTS ON A SHOE
Hello my little Toenails,
Contessa here, back with another Saturday blog post. After school on Friday, the kiddos came home crying, “Mommy Toe [the munchkins’ nickname for me], the other kids are making fun of us for going to school shoeless. What shall we do? “Revenge,” I responded. Some call it a dish best served cold, but I serve it sizzling, toe-curling hot.
As you all know, my children are even bigger barefoot warriors than I, but I have always made them wear shoes for fear of ringworms. This week, I put on a brave face and sent my bundles of joy to school barefoot! Lo and behold, the following week, I got a phone call from the school. Principal Jeff Stevens told me my little piggies were in big trouble. By the way, Jeff, I know you’re going through a divorce; hit me up on Co-Star (@NoSockContessa) if you ever need a shoulder to cry on.
He claimed the little shnookums had gone “feral,” that in retaliation for being made fun of, they allegedly stole the shoes and socks from all the other elementary schoolers; they allegedly created a large mountain of said shoes and socks in the middle of the playground, declaring, “We are the shoe kings. Bow down, you musty hoes.” Allegedly multiple children reported bite marks, skid-marks, and general emotional trauma.
The story goes that my pookies had tunneled under the school, planting multiple sock-nuclear bombs, threatening to detonate their weapons unless the United States declared a federal ban on all footwear. Supposedly the president had to declare a state of emergency and dispatch the National Guard. Apparently, my littlest angel, Timmy, may or may not have taken down 15 officers (precious).
Anyways, because my little beansprouts had allied themselves with multiple unnamed global arms dealers, we came to an agreement: my poopsies could get off without any international charges as long as they put their socks and shoes back on and agreed to leave the country. Guten tag; I write to you from Switzerland! As an act of solidarity (but mostly for legal reasons) I can’t be barefoot anymore.
Xoxo, Contessa
—A. Siciliano
WHAT IS MY BIRKIN BAG MADE OF?
Handle: Hand-carved ivory from the last Northern White Rhino
Zipper: 1000 exquisite stingers plucked from live bees
Feather keychain: That gorgeous bird from Rio… you know the one
Extra sparkles: Delicately crystallized baby beluga tears
Inside lining: Impeccable vegan leather
Pocket: Leather made out of vegans
Body: Moo Deng
—H. Shanefield
MAKING BUNDT CAKE!
This week, I wanted to cook something special for my lil’ kiddos, something that would get them to eat at the dinner table for once. Bundt cake is the perfect dessert to make dinner fun for my kids! I feel like any moment now they’ll be all grown up, leaving home, and off on adventures on their own. Maybe they’ll go to college or a state penitentiary. And then I’ll be alone at home with Tom. And I will have nothing.
This recipe looked amazing from the moment I saw it. Bundt cake is something I’ve always wanted to make, and the holey cake gives me a thrill! Tom had thrown out my only cake mold because he thought “It was taking up space,” so I brought my oldest, Lisa, to Homegoods with me to get a brand-new one. Lisa and I got into a little screaming match in the kitchen aisle. Those kiddos are always trying to get some space from their poor old mom. But I know she had fun. Just because she made me cry in the middle of Homegoods doesn’t mean she doesn’t still love and respect me and will definitely call me when she
gets to college. If not, I’ll probably fade into nothingness as I trudge through life with just Tom.
Now that I had my perfect Bundt cake mold, I was ready to get started in the kitchen. Well, first, I needed to put on my apron which Tom and the kids bought for me when they were little. It says “World’s Greatest Mom.” I wear it, but I don’t internalize it. I don’t care if I’m a good mother or not, but I know how to perform. I don’t even have to be in the kitchen! Sometimes, when I need a little metime, I wear it to bed and make Tom sleep on the couch.
Luckily for me, I keep my kitchen stocked with every ingredient I might need for my next confectionery creation. Once I had all my dry ingredients in the mixing bowl and my wet ingredients in another bowl, I was ready to mix it all together. This is my favorite part of the process where I get my youngest, Stewart, involved. When he was a little guy, he loved helping his mom with the mixing, and I always let him lick the spoon. When I called up to Stewart in his room, I got no reply. He’s probably listening to his music again. When I went up to his room, I found the window open and a note saying “went to get high, screw you, Mom.” Kids know just how to press your buttons! Stewart and I used to be so close. He was such a sweet boy. Now he blows marijuana smoke in my face whenever I see him. I have failed. They make me feel like I am just flesh and failure and a stupid lie of an apron.
Once I was done mixing, I poured that bee-yootiful batter into my Bundt cake mold and popped it into the oven. I knew it was almost time to call my family down for dinner when the whole house started smelling like cake. I love that smell — so many great memories. As I called my kids down for dinner, I thought about how my life would soon be just memories. I will lay in bed and watch Hallmark movies while my kids forget about me and think I care if they do.
No one is coming down, so I get to try the cake first! Yay, me! The cake came out of the mold perfectly, and I knew I had made something great. After having a couple of delicious bites at the empty dining room table, I threw the cake in the trash and ran outside in the rain. I fell to my knees and just let my body soak for a little while. Take me now, sweet Lord. Who am I? Who am I? Can’t wait to do it all again tomorrow with lemon bars!
—H. Lowitz
TOWN AND COUNTRY’S OFFICIAL TOP TEN SPICES
Because, one day, you might want to spice up your boring life.
Paprika
Saffron
All the Spice (Not to be confused with allspice)
Rosé
Powdered Milk
More Rosé
Ethyl alcohol (EtOH)
Fish Food Ivory from the Critically Endangered Sumatran Rhinoceros
Salt and Pepper
—L. Menchu-Sajche
“GLARBLE
SLUB BUGS, WAMB.” YOUNG COUPLE EXCITED TO SHOW OFF THEIR NEW NUCLEAR-POWER PLANT ADJACENT PROPERTY.
Three Mile Island, PA — If you’ve been looking for cheap, rural, and spacious housing on the East Coast, look no further. As Jacqueline and Corey, a pair of Pennsylvania newlyweds will tell you, they could not be happier in their new home on Three Mile Island, next to the now defunct Three Mile Island Nuclear Generating Station.
Due to pending litigation, the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) cannot technically prevent you from purchasing a Colonial-style
home overlooking the beautiful Susquehanna River. Similarly, residents have faced onslaughts of alarmist propaganda about an “extreme threat to human life” in the region. With prices you can’t believe and their bold, rebellious spirit, we understand why Jacqueline and Corey Watson were quick to move into the neighborhood.
“Slark duf shrap, gramble fom” said Jacqueline, who probably prefers to go by Jackie, as we sat with the couple in their newly furnished living room. Corey grumbled, in what we may assume is agreement, showing us just how cozy life can be in your own space.
The couple took us around the house. They were particularly proud of their innovative addition, the “spare tire room,” a bathroom piled high with worn rubber tires that Corey demonstratively gnawed on.
Looking at the abandoned towers of the Three Mile Island Nuclear Generating Station, we didn’t need much more to understand their move from the suburbs of Dallas, Texas. The neighborhood is surprisingly quiet, interrupted only by Corey’s night screams, and would be perfect for couples looking to start new families. The schools in the greater Harrisburg area are fantastic, too, as Corey explained by running into the wall a few times.
Jackie and Corey are currently engaged in a legal battle with the EPA, along with many of their living neighbors. Sunny Skies Nuclear Innovation and Power Company (SSNIP) backs them in their fight against federal encroachment. When contacted for comment, a representative from the federal agency stated, “We cannot overemphasize that this land is not suitable for human habitation or habitation of any kind.” When we noted this statement to the Watsons, Jackie scoffed and said, “plam,” while Corey rolled his eye and vomited onto himself a little bit. Their sentiment couldn’t be clearer. They are here to stay –till death do them part.
—A. Geldsahler
Day 1:
CARNIVAL ITINERARY
• (All Night Long) - Carnival games!
Dunk the clown (Mitch McConnell look-alike)
Reverse ping pong toss (instead of throwing ping pong balls into glasses to win goldfish, you throw goldfish into glasses to win ping pong balls!)
Climb the pole (get into it, girl…)
Guess your social security number (The closer we guess, the less you win) Basketball.
• 7:00 pm - Hot dog eating competition
• 8:00 pm - Local band! The Jeebie Heebies
• 9:00 pm - Medieval jousting
• 10:00 pm - Bingo! (Flirt w/ rich cougars)
Day 2:
• (All Night Long) - Petting zoo!
Alpaca, so many fish, a typhoid child, Georgia (the country), phytoplankton, Daniel, a gorilla, PETA CEO, Mitch McConnell look-alike
• 7:00 pm - Cow-milking competition
• 8:00 pm - Balloon twister (oh no, he forgot his balloons! All he has is condoms :/)
Ever since I was a little girl, I dreamed of going to Tahiti with my beautiful children and handsome husband. I saw visions of white Tahiti beaches and striking blue Tahiti waves cresting on the Tahiti shore as we reclined in the sun Tahitily. MiracleLuxe Moments made that dream possible!
With MiracleLuxe Moments’ accessible membership program, anyone can join the company and begin working their way up to Diamond UltraMax Platinum+ status. I joined in 2018 after my best friend introduced me to the founder and CEO, Christopher Kristofferson. Like all other members, I was blown away by Christopher’s kindness and unrelenting determination to bring me into the company. You just don’t get that kind of dedication from employers nowadays. I then paid a small initiation fee to begin paying for my trip!
The best part about MiracleLuxe Moments is that your aspirations are fulfilled for free! By encouraging your friends and family to participate in the company, either through direct involvement or purchasing our exclusive skincare products, the costs for your trip are absorbed by others! I’ve only been with the company for six years, so I still need to earn another $100,000 for my trip, but by joining today, the first $20,000 towards your trip is covered! I’m excited and happy to be a part of this company!
I highly recommend MiracleLuxe Moments to fulfill your deepest desires. From white sandy beaches to all-inclusive resorts, which I imagine will provide never-ending buffets, handsome lifeguards, and non-threatening security guards that ensure you have the best time (within the premises), MiracleLuxe has no equal. I love working with MiracleLuxe Moments and I am happy!
—A. Garcia
HOROSCOPES FOR DECEMBER, 2024 - JANUARY, 2025
Aries
The position of the moon, planets, and stars relative to Earth has no bearing on you or your actions.
Taurus
The position of the moon, planets, and stars relative to Earth has no bearing on you or your actions.
Gemini
The position of the moon, planets, and stars relative to Earth has no bearing on you or your actions.
Cancer
The position of the moon, planets, and stars relative to Earth has no bearing on you or your actions.
Leo
The position of the moon, planets, and stars relative to Earth has no bearing on you or your actions.
Virgo
Over the next thirty days, you will see the resurgence of an old flame. You will find yourself torn between your heart and your mind, knowing full well why your previous Virgo-Aquarius relationship ended, but suddenly hungry again for that passion. You will enthusiastically send five LinkedIn text messages to Sara. Sara, please talk to me again. I miss you. Please unblock me on LinkedIn. It’s the only way I get to see your face now. We share such beautiful memories. Please take me back. I’ll do anything. Please. I’m begging you.
Libra
The position of the moon, planets, and stars relative to Earth has no bearing on you or your actions.
Scorpio
The position of the moon, planets, and stars relative to Earth has no bearing on you or your actions.
Sagittarius
The position of the moon, planets, and stars relative to Earth has no bearing on you or your actions.
Capricorn
The position of the moon, planets, and stars relative to
Earth has no bearing on you or your actions.
Aquarius
The position of the moon, planets, and the stars relative to Earth has led you to respond to a former love’s advances on LinkedIn messages.
Pisces
The position of the moon, planets, and stars relative to Earth has no bearing on you or your actions.
—A. Kurz
HOW TO: MAINTAIN YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD’S HISTORIC CHARACTER
- Spend some time picking up trash with your kids.
- Make sure to leave the house only after shining your shoes!
- Make sure to only use quality paint with colors which would not arouse any scandal.
- Talk to your fellow neighbors about zoning! It’s fun and a great way to keep your property values high! Real estate is an investment, after all!
- Follow all HOA instructions to the T! They’re the only barrier between you and the ne’er-do-wells making your neighborhood “undesirable!”
- Exercise your Second Amendment rights to ensure you and your neighborhood remain safe.
- Take a gentle meandering stroll around the neighborhood, noting down HOA violations and reporting any “suspicious” characters to the police!
- Since the police won’t respond to your interloper calls, grab some friends and talk to the youngsters waltzing in unannounced yourselves!
- Talk with them and foster a stronger community you’re all proud of.
—A. Kurz
E. McMullen
Dear Old Owl,
Ask Old Owl!
Something is tearing my family apart. My baby boy, merely eleven years of age, is hopelessly enamored with antiquing. His heart beats for nothing else. While other boys play football, swim in the river, and maim each other joshingly, he stares longingly into the distance, and I can just tell he’s thinking of old chairs. I fear he will be ostracized for his penchant for the finer things—lord knows, my bank account can’t take it anymore. What should I do?
Dear Mother of Little Gay Boy, I myself have a collection of ceramic figurines of all our greatest presidents, which I keep on a fine mahogany shelf I purchased from a Craigslist widow. I assure you, your flowery little son will be just fine. Sensitive boys like myself may struggle through childhood — they’ll call him names, like “Corn Cake,” “Shirley Temple,” and “Little Gay Boy,” and flush his hickory combs down the toilet — but he’ll grow up to be a strong man who cares about things like purchasing territory in space or online banking. I’m well-adjusted. I’m very well-adjusted. You should be so lucky.
Dear Old Owl,
I toil day and night to keep our homestead clean, the butter churned, and the Good Book polished. I take the horses for walks that last for hours, and I even check in on the kids afterwards. But it has been some growing seasons since I have known my husband as a man. Of course we have always kept separate beds, but even around our children he is less affectionate; while he used to kiss them on the lips as he left for work, the children have now all but forgotten the secondhand taste of chewing tobacco. The sun is long gone by the time he trudges home. I want to think better of my husband, but the scent of another woman is something I knew once in college and will never forget. How can I corral my husband like the wild mustang he is and reign him back into our home?
Dear Forlorn Farmerette,
I get this question a lot, and have found the same thing to be true in every instance: YES, there is another woman. But YES, you still have a chance to snatch his mane. You sound like a proper, traditional woman, a real free-bleeder. That’s what America used to be. Women these days are out having sexual relations with robot vacuums and men who go to “hair salons.” A man, a real man, needs a woman who keeps true to the word of the Lord and walks the horses for days, at least. It’s time to go Full Gaia. Bear hunting. Fish hunting. Never even MENTIONING your ability to swim. Moving big rocks, back and forth, sometimes for no reason. Giving the horses a real goddamn walk. Fire, but slow. Your husband will follow the scent of smoke and also bear and fish home. How do you corral a wild mustang? Have you even been listening? Walk him for days.
