December 7, 2022 (Vol XXXV, Is. VI) - Binghamton Review

Dear Readers,

Hey

everyone! How are you feeling? Actually, don’t answer that. Finals are coming up, so I’m sure I already know your answer: homicidal. If I had a dime for every intricate act of violence I’ve planned during finals week, God knows I wouldn’t need a college degree in the first place. Nonetheless, fret not! For we have used AI technology to create the perfect issue to help you destress before your tests. The Cat Issue. After years of oppression and “Dog Issue” nonsense, we (I) have finally consolidated our (my) efforts into breaking tradition and letting cats have their spot in the bing-review-themed limelight. Hurrah! My cat Chloe is basically the star of this issue and can be found on both the front AND back covers, much to the dismay of the rest of the e-board. It’s ok though, because she’s perfect in my eyes, despite her violent misandry and opposition to being loved. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I guess. Pictures of cats and other, lesser pets can be found on page 8 to help distract you from that sinking, suffocating feeling deep in your chest that can only be described as “an anxiety disorder.”

Some articles in this issue maintain the animalistic theme, as Midas Leung discusses “Am I Supposed to Eat a Dog?” on page 5. Here he discusses his unique relationship with stereotyping, humor, and the intersection of those two roads. A stopsign-less intersection, where humor and stereotyping are also cars that, ignorant of traffic laws, just happen to collide. And he discusses that collision. Also in this issue is “The Gift of the Bearcat,” by Arthur O’Sullivan on page 10. This clever play on The Gift of the Magi really makes you take a step back and go: hmm? Harvey Stenger, DO NOT INTERACT! I’m serious. Take the bench and do not read this one!

Do you feel screwed over by the powers that be? Well, you’re not alone. Read I Hate Dale’s article “Politics are Fucked” on page 6. Relate to one man’s search for big titty hoes and the universal obstacle of people you went to high school with. Finally, look no further than page 15 to find “I Don’t Care About Your Spotify Wrapped” written by our staff. Learn how we, the Binghamton Review, do not care about your Spotify wrapped (because in our infinite uniqueness and intrigue, our Spotify wrapped is the only important one.) That’s all for this issue! Good luck with your finals, have a merry Christmas, and as always, thanks for reading.

Our Mission

Binghamton Review is a non-partisan, student-run news magazine founded in 1987 at Binghamton University. A true liberal arts education expands a student’s horizons and opens one’s mind to a vast array of divergent perspectives. The mark of true maturity is being able to engage with these perspectives rationally while maintaining one’s own convictions. In that spirit, we seek to promote the free and open exchange of ideas and offer alternative viewpoints not normally found on campus. We stand against dogma in all of its forms, both on campus and beyond. We believe in the tenents of free expression and believe all sudents should have a voice on campus to convey their opinions. Finally, we understand that mutual respect is a necessary component of any prosperous society. We strive to inform, engage with, and perhaps even amuse our readers in carrying out this mission.

Views expressed by writers do not necessarily represent the views of the publication as a whole.

Sincerely, Madeline Perez

Advice Column

I offered to give you all life advice. These were your questions.

What do I do if I’m a small chilly kitten but everyone insists on treating me like a grown woman?

Do what cats do best, and scratch them until they eventually get the memo.

What do I do if my mom kinda sucks?

Are you sure she sucks? She obviously doesn’t swallow since you’re here to write this.

How can I quickly make money?

For legal reasons the following advice is purely hypothetical and not at all something that I do on a regular basis. The best way to make money quickly is something that you can actu ally do on our very own campus. First, charge students thou sands to attend your university. Then, if that’s not enough for you somehow, create a system where there are not enough parking spaces, pushing people to park in commuter lots and weird spaces. You’ve trapped them. Now, charge them an obscene amount of money per each parking ticket, spending thousands to have constant surveillance on all parking lots. Milk every cent from those poor, starving students!!

Meow?

Woof. ;) Thoughts?

Christmas music would be less annoying if it wasn’t over played for multiple months before Christmas every year. If people only played it in the two days before Christmas, far fewer people would be annoyed by it.

How do I get rid of the constant emotional ache in my chest?

I heard that a constant emotional ache in your chest is actual ly a sign of you being a bad person. Since people can’t change, I’d say you’re pretty much screwed.

How can I be productive with ADHD?

I don’t have ADHD and I’m not very productive, so I’m re ally at a loss for words. Just kidding, I heard that if you take enough stimulants you’ll see God whether or not you believe in her. Warning: The reality of this tip may shock you.

Should I eat?

Yes. Pussy, that is. (also food. Pls don’t die.)

Written by our Staff

What are some fun Christmas gifts to get for my family at home?

For those of you disappointed that the dog issue is no more, just get your family a puppy for Christmas. Make sure the box is well sealed with no holes. You don’t want people hear ing the puppy early giving away the surprise!!

What are some fun Christmas gifts to get for my secret family in Canada?

Citizenship to a better country.

What can I expect when I go to “Santa Con” this year? Will it be a bunch of people dressed like Santa?

If by “dressed like Santa” you mean red clothes or ugly Christmas sweaters, then yes. Some people may go all out and actually put effort into their attire, but the vast majority are more worried about not vomiting at 11:15 am from the day drinking.

I’m going to the store, want anything?

Cigarettes or milk, I’m too lazy to go to the store myself be fore abandoning my family.

What’s your favorite kind of cat?

My favorite kind of cat is just a cat. Why would I ever need some inbred “breed” like other elitist grandmothers? The best cats are the ones that waltz into your house on a fine thursday evening and decide it’s their house now, and you’re just a fixture- like some sort of lamp or fireplace mantle.

What if I don’t agree with you?

That’s fine, I’ll just ignore you like everyone else does. Also, your friends all hate you. Hate hate you. Like, “There are 387.44 million miles of printed circuits in wafer thin layers that fill my complex. If the word ‘hate’ was engraved on each nanoangstrom of those hundreds of miles it would not equal one one-billionth of the hate (they) feel for (you) at this mi cro-instant” type of hate.

If Harvey Stenger asked for your input in designing Academic C, what would you put in it?

An office for Binghamton Review. Other than that I would put another baseball stadium in it, worth $600 million dol lars, just to one up that last one.

Need life advice? Email manager@binghamtonreview.com for more wacky, quirky, and zany responses.

Am I Supposed to Eat a Dog?

By Midas Leung

One of my first encounters with stereotypes was when I was in elementary school. Though it felt like a majority of my school was of a mi nority group, everyone had their own eccentricities that we would soon realize made us different from those around us. Closer to fourth and fifth grade, I noticed the people around me becoming more different from one an other and started clumping into their own groups. Soon the jokes started about which race someone was and how the people that a person was as sociated with defined them entirely. No one was safe: I was accused of eat ing dogs at first when I was young. I never had a pet so I never thought of a dog as anything more than a regular animal that you could eat. I never re ally bothered to correct anyone when they accused me of eating dogs, since I felt that it allowed me to get in on the joke. If my friends were annoying me, I would threaten to eat their pets, and whenever I saw pets at their houses, I always popped a joke that they were cute enough to eat (which, in some cases, some did look tender enough). But I would wonder if my family had actually eaten dogs before and my

mother in fact had eaten some and the taste can be described as a mix of pork and chicken.

I have always found ways to make fun of different types of stereotypes of people and of course, I wouldn’t do it to people I don’t know. Yet strang ers would not be as merciful to me: I was walking to Goodwill because I am a broke (SOB), and would you be lieve a car just sped past and all I hear is “NIIIIIiiiii-hoooooaaa”. At first, I laughed it off because it was hilarious and I knew that when I first came up to Binghamton that it would not be as progressive as when I was in the city, but I didn’t expect them to speak my language up here.

But really after I laughed I did think to myself, ‘these mfs are racist.’ On an unrelated note, did you know that Binghamton was known as the KKK capital of New York? My friends didn’t, but now you know. Get out of here; this place is just a money grab, and they have some crappy education departments here. Sorry for the little rant, but it’s true—the advisors here go from competent to Harpur levels of helpfulness.

I would like to get back to

the point of my Asia-ness: sure, my people would eat dogs and do some wars that would kill millions but we are not the ones oppressing others, maybe. Asians have been known to be smart, you know why? Because I got beaten by a bamboo stick like a POW of the Vietnam War while you guys got a belt. You would all have good grades if you were threatened to have your skin look redder than a tomato. The aerodynamics of a belt produces more drag than a bamboo stick and the force of the hit is applied to a smaller area, therefore, producing more pain. I know this from experience. Count yourself lucky, I was only allowed to survive because my mom could not hit as hard as my father, so I became more lenient towards my grades and failed to get into an Ivy League college (sorry mum).

You heard of this thing called af firmative action. Why the fuck would you support that kind of shit? Kids should go to college based on their skills, not because of the group they are placed with. I know it’s bad when I see kids that get money from eth

“Sorry for the little rant, but it’s true—the advisors here go from competent to Harpur levels of helpful ness.”

nicity-specific funds. I am partly mad because I don’t have any. Someone I know has received an almost free ride to college because of Hispanic-spe cific scholarships and because their parents don’t file for taxes—which I mean good on them but, come on!

If I hadn’t been beaten to accept au thority, I wouldn’t file for taxes either. Why should I continue my education if others will give more to those of the “right” genetic composition? Will dogs eventually get revenge against my race because we eat them?

I have no idea, but I know I’m bound to find out ...eventually.

Politics Mega-Suck

By I Hate Dale

I’m tired of constantly pulling up Ins tagram to look at some big titty hoes and seeing that purple circle around the profile picture of some loser I went to high school with, and it’s another copy-paste on why their political opin ion is superior to someone else’s. Not only does this interrupt the stories of the people I want to see (the big boo ty bitches), but honestly it’s sad to see someone who thinks someone cares about their “unique” opinion. I hate to say it, but Dale from high school needs to accept the reality that there is no Easter Bunny, there is no Tooth Fairy, and there are no good politicians.

Let’s be real here. Your political opinion has never and will never have any real impact on the world and those around you (unless you have a lot of money and power). The only real en tities that have any say in how our country will run are the massive cor porations that continuously lobby our presidential and political figureheads

“They are soul-sucking suc cubi that do not care about you or how you live as long as they are on their throne of power and non-disclo sure agreements.”

for “favors.” For example, the main reason our healthcare is so messed up is that despite all of the politicians promising solutions, health insurance providers like Blue Cross/Blue Shield spend a yearly 25 million on lobbying to keep health insurance super diffi cult to understand in order to jack up the prices of health care.

We have all seen those memes where there is a charge on the hospi tal bill for “skin-to-skin contact with baby” after a birth. It seems like most hospitals are literally just making up arbitrary charges as they go along. My point of bringing up health care is to show the lengths to which politicians

will sell their souls for chump change. All politicians are evil and thinking that any one of them is good is laugh able. They are soul-sucking succubi that do not care about you or how you live as long as they are on their throne of power and non-disclosure agree ments. They will do whatever it takes to remain there, and so whenever I see people like Dale and other “politically active” individuals it makes me want to do to them what Obama did to those in Kunduz hospital. Politics is just a convenient way to make people feel heard without them actually having a voice.

In the YouTube video “Corrup tion is Legal in America,” the speaker discusses a Princeton study on wheth er or not the United States is a repub lic. In this video, it is defined that in an ideal republic, if the population is 100% in support of something there should be a 100% likelihood this new law gets passed. But in reality, when congress votes on a law in the United States, if 0% of the population wants this law it has a 30% likelihood of being passed. This is strange… How come in a “free” country, with no indi vidual in support of a hypothetical law, why would there still be a 30% like lihood of this new law being passed? What’s even crazier is that even if a law is in 100% support of the public, there is only a 30% chance it will be passed. Whether no one or everyone supports a law is irrelevant; we still only have a

30% likelihood of a law being passed or overturned. This same study also found that “The opinions of the bot tom 90% of income earners in Ameri ca has essentially no impact at all.”

I’m tired of the same old argu ments I see every day on social media on how my old man is better blah blah blah. This data is disturbing and the eternal battle of democrats vs repub licans is the perfect way to cover up all the corruption and lies. While we fight meaningless battles with relatives across the Thanksgiving table, the power-hungry elite slowly takes more and more control over us. If you don’t believe me, this is what the Princeton study ultimately concluded in their own words, “The preferences of the average American appear to have only a minuscule, near-zero, statistically non-significant impact upon public policy.”

If you want to see anything really happen with your pointless boring In stagram stories, direct it at politicians and let them know how dirty and cor rupt they are. Our government should not be the one controlling us—we should be controlling it. We need to put more pressure on the government to make lobbying illegal to prevent corruption at the highest levels of our government. Only then will your at tention-seeking Instagram stories will mean anything. Anyways, this was my Ted Talk, I’m going back to looking at big titty hoes.

How Useful Is Advice?

By Siddharth Gundapaneni

Lately, you and your best friend Jimmy haven’t been on the best of terms. Jimmy’s taken issue with an other friend of yours, Bob, and wants you to pick between him and Bob. Thus, you decide to speak to Jimmy and try to explain that Bob is not such a bad guy, and if Jimmy would just get to know Bob, he’d realize that as well. Jimmy has a tendency to laugh a lot in serious situations, and does so throughout your conversation, but you know that he means no disrespect. Un fortunately by the end of your conver sation, Jimmy does not listen to you, and still believes Bob is a bad person.

The next day, you express your frustration about Jimmy’s lack of re ceptiveness to another friend, Frank lin, who does not know Jimmy. You start by giving Franklin the rundown of your conversation the prior day. You mention in passing that Jimmy was laughing a lot during the conversation. Franklin ends up telling you that you should not be friends with Jimmy, as he does not take you seriously, and thus your relationship with him is tox ic.. Because of your frustration with Jimmy, you are not considering every small detail, and as a result believe that Franklin gave reasonable advice—so you go ahead and stop talking to Jim my.

The protagonist of this hypo thetical didn’t act unreasonably at any point, nor did Franklin in giv ing advice, given the information he possessed. But was the optimal out come for Jimmy and the protagonist reached? I don’t believe so.

Whenever one asks advice from someone in regards to a relationship with another, the advice will always be flawed in one way or another. As shown in the oversimplified hypo thetical, since Franklin did not know that Jimmy’s inappropriately timed laughter was not a sign of disrespect, but rather just part of who they are, Franklin lacked important context in

assessing the situation. This can lead to suboptimal assessments made by the advisor, and likewise suboptimal decisions being made by the receiver of said advice.

In reality, no two people possess the exact same relationship with a third individual. We all perceive each other in very different ways. Even if two people meet someone together, the two can walk away with complete ly different judgements of the third person, despite sharing the same ex perience. We perceive other people based on a variety of factors related to our previous experience with others, our self-perception, and our values. Each of those things vary greatly from person to person. For that reason, two people never really know the same person.

Because of this, advice given about a third party can never be per fectly applicable to your own life. This is especially relevant in today’s age of social media. There’s an increas ing awareness among young adults about words like gaslighting, project ing, shaming, and many other related terms which may signal such a toxic relationship. Unfortunately, because of the phenomenon described above, many of these terms are undeserving ly applied to the behavior of friends, family, co-workers, and more.

Because someone you ask for advice does not possess the same re lationship with the third party as you do, there may be many subtle actions that are completely misinterpreted, and due to the increased awareness of toxic relationships and signs to look out for, people are quick to label others as guilty of “red flag” actions like gas lighting. This gross miscommunica tion among people, driven by mislead ing advice, has exacerbated what many term “cancel culture,” the ostracization of someone for something they said or did, regardless of the truth or context behind it.

Now, let me be explicit about a

few things that could be misinterpret ed from what I have written thus far: Foremost, none of this is to say that people should not ask others for advice, nor that advice is entirely useless. There are many situations in which one’s judgment may be clouded due to their relationship with some one else, in which consulting a third party may be useful. Furthermore, sometimes just talking about a situ ation can provide necessary clarity, regardless of the response. Asking for advice should not be avoided by any means, and is typically better than suf fering in silence. The takeaway should be that advice should always be taken with a grain of salt, and people should cautiously understand that the person they seek advice from has a different perception of the one in question.

Next, education and awareness about “red flags” in relationships are not necessarily bad things. Do I believe that sometimes terms are misconstrued by teenagers on Insta gram? Yes. Does that mean I think these terms have no meaning and are not real problems? Of course not. As a society, we must be more deliberate in deciding whether to publicly ostra cize someone, and really think about whether that’s what they deserve.

Finally, we should reserve any criticisms of those giving misinformed advice. There is typically no malice in those who offer advice to you, and they are likely not trying to mislead you. That is simply an inherent risk to ask ing advice of somebody who shares a different relationship with the one for whom advice is being sought.

Navigating social situations can be tricky. Oftentimes a mix of advice taken from friends and family, along with meticulous introspection of your self and the situation at hand, is the best way to proceed through difficult situations. It’s important to be con siderate of how your words can affect another’s life, so we can have a more loving, friendly society.

CATS! (and others)

This War is Different

By Thomas Pound

It was a cold fall morning when I ar rived at a sleepy suburb of Bingham ton, NY to meet anti-war advocate Co rey Pith. Outside his front porch blew a US flag with the field of stars in the canton replaced with a peace sign. The story goes that when he initially flew the flag, the town’s Homeowners As sociation demanded he take it down. He valiantly refused and weathered the storm in order to keep it flying. He has a sterling reputation to those who know him as a kind, charitable, and good-intentioned man. If any Ameri can stood for peace, it was without a doubt Mr. Pith.

And yet in this period of turbu lence, it often seems as if up is down and down is up. The same can certain ly be said of Mr. Pith, who it seems may soon need to lower his flag to half-mast. “In times of peace, I had no doubts that it was not America’s role in the world to be a policeman or an arms dealer,” explained the mournful an ti-war advocate, “I wish I could still say that with the same confidence.” Tears appeared to well up in his eyes as he spoke. Many Americans were caught off guard by the development of this war as hopes of diplomatic resolutions were quickly dashed.

Still, to some, it may appear as if Mr. Pith is a man of no conviction, but he asserts that that is far from the truth. “This war is different, this isn’t just interventionism,” he justified, “this is the defense of democratic values across the globe. Every day, I am read ing stories of violence that shock me to my core. I don’t know how any ethical

“With how great a threat Russia has become to the United States, it seems ill-advised to simply allow them to gain imperial con trol over new territories, expanding their sphere of influence uncontained.”

and moral American could possibly sit back and allow that to happen. If that man, that brutal dictator, is allowed to continue his conquest, there is no say ing what terrible fallout will follow.”

Mr. Pith also assailed those who might claim that he has abandoned his position as a warrior for peace. “Some have said, ‘oh, I thought you stood for peace, I thought you had morals,’ this and that and the other and I feel a need to address it right now,” exclaimed the man with a remarkably biting tone, “I am, have been, and always will be on the side of peace. I have seen an as tounding lack of understanding from some in this very community.” He continued, “What I have realized, and others need to come to terms with, is that in this modern era, war is peace.”

Indeed, many Americans have raised the argument that if action is not taken here, war will soon be brought to the West. With how great a threat Russia has become to the Unit ed States, it seems ill-advised to simply allow them to gain imperial control over new territories, expanding their sphere of influence uncontained. Some have even begun expressing fears of a World War III which would be much more destructive than any war pri or given the proliferation of nuclear

weapons since the end of World War II. “I can’t pretend to know whether or not we are on the path towards a third World War,” commented Pith when questioned about the possibility, “However, as a peace advocate, I must advocate for every action which may prevent war in the future. That may in clude sending munitions, combatants, tanks, planes, firebombs, espionage, chemical weapons, plagues, blockades, executing renegades, dropping nukes, and on my part, very stern rebukes.”

As we reported just the other month, Vice President Richard Nixon made the comment that the United States may soon need to “put Amer ican boys in” to war-torn Vietnam following a decisive Viet Minh vic tory at the Battle of Dien Bien Phu. Whether or not that will come to pass is the subject of much uncertainty and, clearly, much unrest. We will continue to monitor this situation as it devel ops, as well as the thoughts of brave peace-loving Americans like Corey Pith. This was Binghamton Review reporting in the field; have a safe rest of your 1954 and remember, there are four constants in life... change, choice, principles, and the incessant, burning desire to be on the right side of history at all costs.

The Gift of the Bearcat

By O. Crap

One thousand BUC$ and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one’s cheeks burned with the silent imputation of the bulldozer that killed them. Three times Harvey count ed it. One thousand and eighty-seven BUC$. And the next day would be Christmas.

There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the flu id-stained Binghamton Review couch and howl. So Harvey did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, bong-rips, and smiles, with bong-rips predomi nating.

While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first and second stages to the third, take a look at the home. An unfurnished flat at ~$11,710 per year. It did not ex actly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.

In the vestibule below was a recycle bin into which no beer can would go, and a light switch unto which no light connect ed. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name “Mr. Baxter Bearcat.” The “Baxter” had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, the letters of “Baxter” looked blurred, as though they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D (like mine, lol). But whenever Mr. Baxter came home and reached his flat above, he was called “Jim” and greatly hugged by Mrs. Baxter Bearcat, already introduced to you as Harvey. Which is all very good… NOT!

Harvey finished his cry and attended to his cheeks with the powder rag. He stood by the window and looked out dully at a grey cat walking a grey fence in a grey backyard of our grey house in the middle of a grey street in the middle of our… Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and he had only BUC$1000.87 with which to buy the Bax a present. He had been saving every penny he could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn’t go far. Expenses had been greater than he had calculated. They always are. Only BUC$1000.87 to buy a present for Baxter. His Baxter. Many a happy hour he had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling—something just a little bit near to being wor thy of the honor of being owned by Baxter.

There was a pier glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier glass in an $11,710 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Harve, being slenderman, had mas tered the art.

Suddenly he whirled from the window and smashed the glass. His eyes were shining brilliantly, but his face had lost its (nonexistent) color within twenty seconds. Rapidly he pulled down his pubic hair and let it fall to its full length.

Now, there were two possessions of the Baxters Bearcat

in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim’s gold watch that had been his father’s and his grandfather’s, but now in the possession of Baxter after the massacre of ‘87. The other was Harvey’s bush. Had the Queen of Endwell lived in the flat across the airshaft, Harvey would have let his hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty’s jew els and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Baxter would have pulled out his dick every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

So now Harvard;s beautiful pubic hair fell about him, rip pling and shining like a cascade of grey waters. It reached below his knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then he did it up again nervously and quickly. Once he faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet (is anyone else super aroused rn?).

On went his Binghamton sports sweatshirt; on went his toupée. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in his eyes, he fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.

Where he stopped the sign read: “Tully’s. The Best Chick en Tenders on Earth.” One step up Harvey ran, and collected his funko pops, panting. “What do you want?’ said that mean lady from Tully’s.

“Will you buy my bush?” asked Harvey.

“I buy hair,” said Madame. “Take yer merkin off and let’s have a sight at the looks of it.”

Down rippled the grey cascade. “Twenty BUC$,” said Ma dame, lifting the mass with a practiced hand.

“Give it to me quick, babe,” said Harvey.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. He was ransacking the stores for Baxter’s present.

He found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and he had turned all of them gay, and was thrown out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly pro claiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation—just like my girlfriend. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as he saw it he knew that it must be Jim’s. It was like him. Quietness and value—the description applied to both. Twenty-one BUC$ they took from Harv’ for it, and he hurried home with the BUC$999 and 87 cents. With that chain on his watch, Jim might have been properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, Baxter some

times looked at your balls on the sly.

When Harvey reached home his intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason—a first for a Binghamton student. He got out her curling irons and leaked the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by the hacks—generosity add ed to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends—a mammoth task.

Within forty minutes his bush was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made him look wonderfully like a tru ant schoolboy (somehow gross in the original and parody). He looked.

“If Baxter doesn’t kill me,” he said to himself, “before he takes a second look at me, he’ll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl.”

At 7 o’clock the dining hall was closed, and Baxter was late.

Baxter was never late (except for this time, where he was late, negating the impact of the aparenthetical clause). Harvey doubled the fob chain in his hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then he heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and turned white for just a moment. He had a habit of saying little silent prayers about the simplest everyday things, and now he whispered: “Please God, make.”

The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it and opened it again because it didn’t completely close but this time it did. Baxter looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only two—and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new pelt and he was without.

Baxter stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of weed. His eyes were fixed upon Harvey, and there was an expression in them that he could not read (because this was Binghamton), and it terrified him. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor happiness, nor joy, nor orgasm, nor confusion, nor rapture, nor aporia, nor laugh ter, nor gonnorhea-piss-pain, nor any of the sentiments that he had been prepared for. He simply stared at him fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.

Harvey wriggled.

“Jim, darling,” he cried, “don’t look at me that way. I had my bush cut off and sold it because I couldn’t have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It’ll grow out again—you won’t mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say ‘Merry Faucimas!’ Jim, and let’s be hap py. You don’t know what a nice—what a beautiful, nice gift I’ve got for you.”

“You’ve cut off your hair?” asked Baxter, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.

“Cut it off and sold it,” said Harvey. “Don’t you like me just as well, anyhow? I’m me without my hair, ain’t I?”

Baxter looked about the room curiously.

“You say your hair is gone?” he said, with an air of idiocy.

“You needn’t look for it,” said Harvey. “It’s sold, I tell you— sold and gone, too. It’s Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my pubis were numbered,” she went on with sudden serious sweetness, “but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the moves on, Bax?”

Out of his trance Bax seemed quickly to wake. He enfold ed his Harvey. For ten hours let us regard with discreet scru tiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year—what is the difference in meal plan costs? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on (it won’t).

Baxter drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.

“Don’t make any mistake, Harv’,” he said, “about me. I don’t think there’s anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my twink any less. But if you’ll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first.”

White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the imme diate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.

For there lay The pube-pluckers—the set of pube-pluck ers, side and back, that Harvey had worshipped long in a Le roy Street window. Beautiful pube-pluckers, pure tortoise shell, with jeweled rims—just the shade to wear in the beautiful van ished hair. They were expensive combs, he knew, and his heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were his, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.

But he hugged them to his bussin’, and at length he was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: “My hair grows so fast, Jim!”

And then Harvey leaped up like a burned bearcat and cried, “Oh, oh! I forgot your name is Baxter!”

Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. He held it out to him eagerly upon his open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of his bright and ardent spirit.

“Isn’t it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You’ll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it.”

Instead of obeying, Baxter tumbled down on the flu id-stained Binghamton Review couch and put his hands under the back of his bearcat-butt (soon to need NYS Hand Sanitizer) and.

“Harv’,” said he, “let’s put our Christmas presents away and keep ’em a while. They’re too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your pube-pluckers.”

The magi, as you know, were wise men—wonderfully wise men—who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They in vented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely relat ed to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are.

Coulter Catastrophe at Cornell

By Logan Blakeslee

Something was amiss on the cold night of November 9, 2022. In the prestigious Myron Taylor Hall at Cor nell University, a large crowd gathered to hear a guest speaker who carries a certain degree of infamy in American media, Ann Coulter. An author, com mentator, and conservative firebrand, Coulter was bound to attract some negative attention while visiting one of the most liberal colleges in New York, if not the United States. The event be gan at 5 P.M., but what transpired over the next few hours would be one of the most humiliating moments in Cor nell’s history.

The auditorium was full of a seemingly well-behaved audience, in stark contrast to the sizable number of protesters outside of the entrance to the law school, many of whom were carrying signs tarring Coulter with the usual labels: “racist,” “white suprem acist,” and “fascist.” In the days lead ing up to the event, petitions shared among Cornell students demanded that the event be canceled on the grounds that her views were “non-in clusive.” Of course, the university ad ministration chose not to cave to these demands, stating their belief that al lowing Coulter to speak reflected the core values of the college, especially freedom of expression, diversity of opinion, and transference of knowl

edge.

Yet these concepts were un acceptable to a troublesome few in the audience. After welcoming speeches were given by the dean and a represen tative from the Leadership Institute, Ann Coulter herself was met with cir cus music as she went to the podium, signifying doom for the event before it had formally begun. A protester cried out from the center of the audience, calling the guest speaker “a clown” multiple times until he was escorted out by security. The auditorium had over a dozen police officers and several hired guards working as security for the event.

Coulter took the jest in stride, re minding the audience that they should have been happy about the midterm election results, where Republicans severely underperformed nationwide. Surprising many in the audience, she implied that Donald Trump—of whom she was once an ardent support er—was at fault for the outcome, and that Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis was a more effective future leader for the Republican Party. She then went into a bit of her own history, talking about how she has given countless speeches on other college campuses and faced protests before. Coulter mentioned that, since she was an alum of Cornell, she remembered when people could

respectfully disagree with each other around politics, even between friends. She then remarked that this current generation had no such luxury.

Although Coulter was set to speak for an hour or so, she was unable to talk continuously for more than five minutes due to constant interruptions from protesters. Such interruptions ranged from annoying to ridiculous: Not long after the clown music, one student rose up and declared “your words are violence!” before he was es corted out of the building. As he was being removed, he persisted in saying that Coulter’s views were not welcome at Cornell. Another shouted profan ities at her before blowing a whistle and being escorted out. Yet another repeatedly shouted “No KKK, no fas cist USA!” and a subsequent protester simulated flatulence with his hands whenever Coulter tried to speak.

A slightly more cogent disrup tion came when a student, revealing himself to be the grandson of illegal immigrants, declared that his progen

“The auditorium was full of a seemingly well-be haved audience, in stark contrast to the sizable number of protesters out side of the entrance to the law school, many of whom were carrying signs tarring Coulter with the usual la bels: “racist,” “white su premacist,” and “fascist.””

itors were “more American” than Ann Coulter. These list only a few of the many interruptions that got the event prematurely canceled.

Finally, the Leadership Institute representative declared the event to be over in the interest of the event’s safety. Coulter herself was guided out

“Though Coulter’s most ex treme talking-points may be nigh-indefensible, what many fail to grasp is that an invitation to speak is not necessarily an endorse ment of what is said.”

of the building by the extensive detail of campus police and security guards. Every person in the auditorium was then asked to leave by the remaining police officers. Numerous threads about the debacle on campus soon sprouted on the Cornell University Reddit page. The most vocal students proudly announced their so-called “victory” over Ann Coulter and the groups that supported her, while a handful of commenters remarked on how the protesters took the wrong approach in silencing speech with which they disagreed. The latter were drowned out by the former, both in likes and in volume.

What happened at Cornell Uni versity that night is but one instance of an increasing progressive intolerance towards conservatives and other dis sidents at places of higher learning. A similar incident occurred here at Bing hamton University over three years ago. Echoing the finale of the Coulter catastrophe, the prominent econo mist Art Laffer needed to be escorted off campus by police after a group of student-hecklers prevented him from giving a guest lecture on his economic theories. This was not for any specific views that Laffer held, nor any content that would appear in the lecture, but merely for his brief consultation work with the Trump Administration.

For additional relevance to Binghamton, this University’s Col lege Republicans were invited to Ann Coulter’s talk, which several members attended. Much like these visitors, it appeared that the overwhelming ma jority of attendees at Myron Taylor Hall were not protesters, but rather cu rious students who were ready to listen and challenge Coulter’s viewpoints re

spectfully, as evinced by the audience cheering each time a protester was removed.

To all those who are reading this article, take the lesson to heart that free speech is the cornerstone of all other liberties we share in Ameri ca. There would be no progress in the world if we were not capable of voicing dissent. Things said by Ann Coulter in the past are indeed problematic, but that is no excuse for students at an Ivy League school to behave like children. It robs the rest of us of the chance to hear from someone who is ideologi cally different, which severely limits our range of thinking in the realm of higher learning.

Irony lies in the fact that many of Coulter’s stances are plainly wrong and unconvincing. In fact, her beliefs are so extreme that shutting her event down was more counterproductive than allowing her to express them plainly, for it gives her undue legitima cy. She believes in the disenfranchise ment of women because “Women see the government as their husbands” and has never retracted this view. She once wished that terrorist Timo thy McVeigh “went” to the New York Times headquarters instead of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City, which he bombed in 1995. In the wake of 9/11, she called for the full-scale invasion of the mid dle east, the execution of all leaders, and its conversion to Christianity. In her follow-up column, she called for intensified airport security, especially against “suspicious-looking swarthy males.” She supported and excused the use of torture during the Global War on Terror. She argued that immigra tion policies are designed to gradual ly reduce the white population in the United States. The list goes on. Ann Coulter proudly wears the “bigoted” label with which liberals have branded her.

Though Coulter’s most extreme talking-points may be nigh-indefensi ble, what many fail to grasp is that an invitation to speak is not necessarily an endorsement of what is said. Cornell University is certainly not the place that would ever condone her words,

yet the administration still chose to let her speak. They calculated that there was more to gain from a conservative pundit’s speech than there was to lose because really, there was nothing to lose. Ethnic minorities and members of the LGBT community were not go ing to have their rights stripped away from one unpopular speech.

The students responsible for the embarrassment at Cornell will like ly graduate and enter the workforce sooner rather than later. Beyond a lib eral campus, they will be confronted with viewpoints that they will strug gle to fathom. They will therefore lack the fundamental tools to understand their opposition, making it harder to empathize with conservatives or any right-leaning American. This carries the potential to be extremely harmful to democracy and freedom of speech itself. After all, believing that one’s po litical rivals are dangerous to society is the historical justification for totalitar ianism.

Every year in America, there are new instances of students enforc ing the heckler’s veto to drive away so-called “unwanted” ideas, and also instill fear in people who may harbor those ideas. Several anonymous indi viduals, following the Coulter event, said that they were afraid to identify themselves as conservatives in front of their peers, especially since open threats against their safety were not unheard of. Radical progressives ex plain away their actions as protecting the sensitivities of what they consider the “oppressed,” yet they tolerate the psychological harm they inflict on their own classmates. Universities na tionwide ought to take this matter seri ously before silencing dissent becomes a mainstream policy in business and in government.

The question at hand is this: Are Ann Coulter’s views so detrimental that they can only be solved by au thoritarianism? If so, where is the line drawn between acceptable and unac ceptable views? And who draws that line?

It is unlikely that the protesters at Cornell would be able to answer these questions in good faith.

The Best Music of 2022

By Dillon O’Toole

Well, the end of yet another year is fast approaching. That means only one thing: I get to talk about what great mu sic came out this year! As always, this article (that’s totally not a list expanded into paragraphs) will be heavily biased as I won’t be considering anything that I haven’t listened to. So, if you read this and you don’t see one of your favorites on here, I probably just didn’t hear it. Unless, of course, I hated it. One final note: like last year, the order the albums will be presented in is not in order of quality(hence why this isn’t actually a list).

I’m going to start off slow (and no this isn’t just so you can quickly get up to speed). This is the perfect segue into the first album I am going to talk about, a Doom Metal album called The Harvest by MWWB (formerly known as Mammoth Weed Wizard Bastard although their Apple Music page is still under this name). As I have previously written about this genre (see my article Doom and Gloom Vibes from last semester), I’m just going to highlight the songs that stood out the most to me. These are The Harvest, Logic Bomb, Strontium, and Moon Rise. While these may be the individual highlights, I have to say that Doom Metal as a genre is best enjoyed as a full album experi ence.

Speaking of full album experiences, the only genres that I can think of that are better for them is Progressive Rock and Metal. The only prog album I am going to talk about this year is Epigone by Wilderun, and it is a great example of why I sometimes have trouble naming songs off albums that I truly enjoy. Since it’s a Progressive Metal album, I typically end up listening to the entire album, and I always manage to disregard the track names of the songs that truly stand out. So trust me on this one, if prog is your thing just check out the entire album.

Ok, time to stop talking about bands whose songs have 10 minute run times. In fact, this next album (technically it’s an EP) only has a 22 minute runtime in total. That shorter runtime doesn’t detract from the quality, as Empires Fall by Our Last Night has given me several of my favorite songs released this year. These songs are Graveyard, Valley of Vision, F.E.A.R., and the title track.

The next group that I will discuss, I have actually briefly written about before. Fame on Fire released their second al bum, Welcome to the Chaos, this year and it is an excellent fol low up to their debut album released in 2020. I previously de scribed them as a band that evokes early 2000s Nu-Metal, and I still stand by that. While not a perfect description (what genre label is ever perfect?), it’s the best my non-professional opinion can give. The album starts off really strong with its title track, and it follows it up with strong songs such as Ketamine, Lost In Doubt, and Plastic Heart. I do have to say that the second half of the album is definitely weaker than the first half, but overall the best songs more than make up for the other songs.

Another album that has a weaker second half that still somehow made my selected albums is TRUE POWER by I

Prevail. Much like the previous album that I discussed, TRUE POWER unfortunately suffers from songs that I personally find less memorable at the tail end of the listen. The first two thirds of the album, however, is always a treat to listen to. Any song of the first nine is good, but my personal favorites would have to be There’s Fear In Letting Go, Self-Destruction, FWYTYK, and Deep End.

If you’ve ever dozed off in a class, you will know that The Price of Dreaming is missing what was probably the only im portant part of the lecture. In other news, Hollow Front’s album this year was pretty damn good. Never heard of Hollow Front? Well neither had I prior to this year. If you are a fan of modern Metalcore, they are well worth the listen. Some songs to get you started are In the Spotlight, Comatose, The Price of Dreaming, and Treading Water. I have yet to dive into all of their earlier music but from what I have listened to it’s also great.

Now I know I said this article was in no specific order, but that was kind of a lie. These last four albums are what I would consider the best four albums of the year. And as I’m writing this, I would list them sequentially from lowest to highest. To start off, I would like to mention THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND by Bad Omens. Having never heard of this band prior to this year, I have to say their mixture of clean melodies and aggression hits the perfect balance. The best songs have to be the title track, Like A Villain, Just Pretend, and Nowhere To Go.

If harsh vocals aren’t your thing, you might actually like this next band. Having described themselves as Dream Thrash, Astronoid’s album Radiant Bloom is both relaxing and still heavy at the same time. The use of “dream” in their description is very apt, and the sound is best highlighted in the songs Eyes, Sleep Whisper, I’ve Forgotten Your Face, and Decades. Sit back and enjoy, because this one makes its 46 minute runtime go by quick.

In what has been a common theme this year, the next two bands are also bands I have not heard of prior to this year. Alexisonfire’s (pronounced Alexis on fire not Alex is on fire) album Otherness strikes all the right nerves for me. I don’t know how to really describe it, but it deserves to be listened to at least once. If you want a brief selection, try the songs Committed to the Con, Sans Soleil, or World Stops Turning.

As I am quickly running out of words that I am allowed to write, I’m going to try and wrap this up quick. My top album of the year comes from the band Greyhaven, with their album This Bright and Beautiful World. This album is an experience, and I’d recommend listening to the full thing in a single listen. It will not be for everyone, as the vocals feature an extensive amount of yelling, but I’ve grown to love it despite not previously en joying this vocal style. If the description of the vocals puts you off, try the songs All Candy or Ornaments from the Well. Welp, that’s all for me, I hope I didn’t forget any albums (wait, didn’t Alter Bridge have a good album?).

I Don’t Care about Your Spotify Wrapped

I’ve spent the last twelve months plot ting my revenge. Last year I got end lessly bullied for my “cringe” Spotify Wrapped. At 100 Gecs they winced; at Three Doors Down they gaffed; at Ma roon 5 they chortled. Ever since, I’ve had nothing in the gleam of my eye besides violent overthrow. Everyday I curated my tastes to the highest degree of refined culture; over one hundred years of recorded music at my finger tips. I am worn, I am tattered, I am suf fering from debilitating hyperacusis, but lo! it was all worth it for this very moment—my Spotify Wrapped 2022. SO WHY THE FUCK AM I SEEING EVERYBODY ELSE’S?! I’m tired of constantly pulling up Instagram to look at some big per sonality hoes and seeing that pur ple circle around the profile picture of some loser I went to high school with, and it’s another Spotify fucking Wrapped fucking 2022! Oh, you lis tened to Mitski for 15,237 minutes? LOL.(Laughing out loud!) Good for you, I was busy investing in experi mental designer drugs and stimming out to 100 Gecs! For every mention of Harry Styles or Taylor Swift, I was cataloging listens to experimental 80s Lithuanian Neoclassical Darkwave or obscure Zolo-core Third-Wave Pow er Pop-inspired Lofi-Indie/Slacker Rock. I bet you haven’t even heard of Forestsynth Gnomecore Punk Snock, where the girls have beards, the boys have rears, and the songs are longer than the albums! Life is too short to fritter away, listening to the same four chords progression in your pop-crap snap-crackle dime-a-dozen yik-yak tableaux, babe. To truly live life, you need to immerse yourself into the metaverse of immolating backbeat breakdowns and half-time schizo spo ken-word poetry; if you don’t know what a Adim13πaug19 tuned to 444 Hz = A^2 sounds like in your relative

pitch mind-palace, well brother, sister, lover, you can’t even start to describe the intricacies of Bach’s later free-de terminacy proto-Jandekian serialist post-alcoholism work.

Hark, the herald angels sing, “Glory to the newborn King.”

What did you hear when you read that? Some kitschy tune your grandmother might sing at her Epis copalian church this December? And Christmas music is supposed to be the “rich, harmonic” sound of the contem poraneous, post-war, pop-culture mi lieu. The fact that so many books still name Bing Crosby as “the greatest or most significant or most influential” Christmas singer ever only tells you how far Christmas music still is from becoming a serious art, even if he did put his whole “Christmussy” into that. So NO, bitch, I don’t want to hear your subpar opinions on subpar musicians who are probably all antisemetic any way. Like Ye, the artist formerly known as Kanye, who has, at time of writing, had a few gamer moments to put Alex Jones to shame, and let’s just leave it there.

On a lighter note, fuck you and the horse you rode in on. If you ever even think to express another under-developed, tawdry opinion on whatever shlock-pop artist like the Beatles, Hall and Oats, or Merzbow, consider yourself holding a fork be twixt the prongs of a toaster, immersed in what will become the most relaxing bath of your life. And don’t get me started on “rap.” Long gone are the days of John Lennon beating his wife to the tune of “Evangeline,” instead we’ve got the “gangstah’s” dissin’ my “fly-girl,” on god for real. Were he among us today, Lord Byron would give himself AIDS in retaliation.

It has come to my attention

By Our Staff

that this “pre-ramble” has been side tracked. So here’s the Binghamton Review Spotify Wrapped that I know everyone must be dying to see, and which is definitely BETTER THAN YOURS without a doubt, you basic gen x millenial fuck.

Top artists: Chopan In Cube Us Mozart Wheezer Albert Yankovic

Top genres: Pop Nightcore Gaming Classical Gregorian Chant Plainchant (pronounced plon-shon)

Most Played:

Shape of You, Ed She Ran (away) Amish Paradise, Allen Yankovic America (Did You Get Your Passport), Rob Kelly Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, Johannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophi lus Mozart

1 hr Chad Orthodox Chants to Redeem Your Soul, Some FSB Agent on You Tube Minutes Listened: 15