HEMPSTEAD, NY Volume 420 Issue 166
Nonsense Humor Magazine
THE FAKE NEWS ISSUE THURSDAYS 9:23 PM
Keeping the Hofstra community misinformed since 1983
Alleged HvZ Hazing Involved Induced Gameplay, A Cage, And Anti-Nonsense Imagery By That Chronicle Reporter SPE C I A L TO NON S E N S E
I was five months into my investigation of the hazing allegations levied at Sigma Pi fraternity when I caught wind of something far more sinister. Hofstra students are likely to remember the well publicized and widely clicked-on reporting that brought us the images that are now iconic additions to the Hofstra canon. A man shoved in a cage? That’s pretty stirring. How about two fraternity brothers showering each other in regurgitated dairy? Haven’t forgotten that image, have you? Of course not, because The Chronicle published it and the New York Post republished it, without credit. Well, that was in November, and despite our best efforts to wring as much publicity from this story as possible, the Sigma Pi trail has gone cold. It was at this juncture that the editors of Nonsense Humor Magazine informed me that something far worse was brewing behind Hofstra’s closed doors. Even worse than praying on the insecurities of young men to somehow validate yourself before becoming continuously caught up in a cycle of abuse from which you will never likely escape, worse than hanging out on a regular basis
with the people who be-caged you, and worse than me not yet being verified on Twitter. All of these small grievances paled in comparison to the shit storm I was made aware of, in the killing fields that are the HvZ hazing ground. Former members reduced to shambling corpses, foregoing social interaction, hunting down other members, shadows of what they once were... But why? And for what gain? The trouble within the HvZ organization began when an anonymous source gave Nonsense Humor unfiltered Groupme messages concerning the 2015-2016 school year. References made to players being pushed to attend “rules meetings” or suffer the consequence of not playing in “the Big Game.” Reports indicate that other coercive hazing techniques were employed, including discouraging members from consuming alcohol during meetings, not immediately adding new members to the groupchat and forcing members to engage in public displays of humiliation, such as playing with children’s toys in public. “It’s just messed up, you know? Not letting club members drink
during meetings. I tried to join HvZ my freshman year, and when I pulled out my cans of 4loko, they asked if it could wait until after the meeting,” said the greased up Nonsense underclassman
we chased down and asked for comment. “That’s what I love about Nonsense. Hahaha, they get it. One time, Matt told me to race another kid to see who could finish one faster, haha, to see who was coolest. I won. I was the coolest. I just wish people didn’t feel like they have to be hazed in order to feel like they fit in somewhere.” While these screenshots
did not seem to point to the most destructive parts of the organization, it did reveal an even stranger incident. Images of members with Nerf guns, and other foam weaponry as well as an empty cage in the background raised many questions. While Nonsense Humor was not able to confirm what the cage could possibly be for, randomly shouted out suggestions ranged from a new age bookshelf to alien torture device used to indoctrinate new members. We sought an official comment from HvZ, to attempt to clarify the situation, to no avail. “It’s a filing cabinet, you vultures! It’s a filing cabinet!” cried the President of HvZ when we asked him to explain himself. “Get that microphone out of my face! I saw you take my name plate off of my desk and slip it in your bag I would really like to have it back please. Why are you doing thi--” But it was no use. They would continue to dodge our answers. The largest grievance of all came from another batch of GroupMe screenshots, this time highlighting a short discussion between several members concerning the critically acclaimed 2015 Hofstra Issue of Nonsense Humor Magazine. The names
of students involved in this conversation have purposefully been omitted from this article to better protect the identities of those involved. “Yeah I just read that new Nonsense Issue?” “How was it?” “To be honest, it was kind of eh. I don’t know why they bring us up.” “Sounds weird, I’ll pass.” “Do they not like us or something? I’m friends with a couple of them, and they say that everything is fine. It just seems kind of unfair, when they are literally just as insular, weird and--” The conversation goes on from there, but it only becomes more offensive and shocking, however the focus of the story cannot be on poor tastes and a lack of a keen sense of humor as shown in the previous interaction, but instead on the terrifying treatment of those who cannot handle the rigorous hazing process. Students go from active and outgoing with bright futures to empty shells who live to hunt down the more successful “survivors” of the hazing, seeking to convert them. When reached out for comment, the school simply regurgitated their anti-hazing policy and promised to send out another email.
Party Blackout Allegedly Involved Alcohol-Induced Vomiting, Sbarro’s, And The Commuter Lounge Bathroom
By Party Boy
SPE C I A L TO NON S E N S E
UNIONDALE — Verbal evidence from my friends and some strangers seems to allegedly suggest that I vomited on a girl, rolled around in some beer, vomited again, and then passed out in the commuter lounge bathroom. My roommates and I made of
the plans to go out to a party at one of Hofstra’s fraternity parties because we were sick of getting drunk and crying in our own dorm room. The night was started with a pre-game in our friend’s room: several beers were shotgunned and several shots were consumed. No one was sure on the number. When asked for comment my friend Steve said, “you drank a shitload
that night, man. Like we all saw everything coming.” He then called me a, “Fucking idiot who needs to get his priorities straight.” I told him to let me live my life and now he has threatened to stop buying weed for me. After I arrived at the party, I was allegedly a “riot” according to this one girl in my Math Excursions class. “Yeah, you were like
dancing on this wall really getting into it. You’re so weird in class I didn’t know you had this wild side in you,” said one girl who chose to remain anonymous. “I came over to try to dance with you, but then you fell right off the wall into some beer,” she recounts. At this point I allegedly started rolling around in the beer yelling, “Wrap me in a dough and call me
Babe the Dirty Pig Boy. Feed me your dinner scraps!” My friend, Deborah, who just happened to be at the party, helped me up. When asked about the situation she said, “It was really just a strange night for you. You were adamant about being wrapped in dough for a while then went into the frat house and ate all their hummus!” I replied with, “That’s crazy! I
A 2 • March 31, 2017 did that!?” At some point after this, the time cannot be certain, the cops showed up. Almost as soon as they arrived, I started vomiting a hummus-y beer mixture out of my mouth. My clothes were unscathed in the morning, so I was shocked when I was told this news. My friend Molly sorted it all out for me, “You threw up all over me. Down my shirt, on my shoes, everywhere. Then you made out with Stacy! And you know I have a crush on you!” I ran away shortly after that, scared of her crying or forcing me into
Nonsense
NEWS
commitment, so she did not give anymore quotes. Several minutes of the night cannot be described, because no one was with me. My friend had left to go to the popular late night convenience store, “Bricktown.” When he found me, I was lying on a tree singing Rhianna’s 2007 hit, “Umbrella” despite sources confirming that Future was playing at the time. He allegedly put me around his shoulder and helped me walk back to campus. “You know how much more I can lift than you at the gym,” he said on the situation, “it was a breeze
carrying you back.” The two of us then went to Sbarro’s, the best pizza on Long Island, where we ordered several slices. I was said to have taken one bite and then immediately vomited on the floor. My friend then took me to the commuter lounge where I destroyed it with my vomit and urine and proceeded to pass out, pants at my ankles. My other roommates were then called to come get me with their car, for they were sober. When asked to comment on the situation my friend Mike said, “You kept telling us, ‘if you try to make
Table Of Contents
Page 1 “Alleged HvZ Hazing Involved Induced Gameplay, A Cage, And Anti-Nonsense Imagery” By Jesse Saunders and Matt Tanzosh Art by Zachary Johnson Modeling by Trevor Parrish “Party Blackout Allegedly Involved Alcohol- Induced Vomiting, Sbarro’s, And The Commuter Lounge Bathroom” By Peter Soucy Page 3 “Press Briefing by Press Secretary Sean Spicer: “I Just Work Here, Okay?”” By Jesse Saunders “DIY Fashion Icon: Steve Bannon Debuts New Necklace Of Tiny Animal Bones” By Zachary Johnson Art By Zachary Johnson Page 4 “Local Student Praised on Presentation,Classmates Definitely Not Bitter” By Jordan Hopkins “Adelphi Is Gone” By Sam Thor “Report: Boogerfaced Butthead Misses His Mommy” By James Sweeney Page 5 “I Am Outside Your House and Concerned With Your Energy Usage” By Gillian Pitzer “Local Man’s Lawn Two Whole Goddamn Inches Over HOA Regulations” By Jordan Hopkins “Report: Local Cockroach Living Under Your Bed Thinks You Should Stop Fucking So Loud” By Zachary Johnson Page 6 SGA Weekly Wrap-Up By Nonsense Staff Public Safety Briefs By Public Staff Page 7 “Club Spotlight: The Vaping Dutchmen” By Victoria Jenkins “Your Horoscopes” By Quin Asselin Page 8 “Overheard At Hofstra” By Nonsense Staff “When Life Gets Busy, Put A Bunch Of Shit In A Jar” By Heather Levinsky Page 9 “Campus Profile: That Guy From Bits” By James Sweeney “Set Breakdown: Senior Bio Student Brings Magic to Hammer” By Matthew Tanzosh Page 10 “Humans Of Hofstra”: “Markus Conway”, “W Houston Dougharty” by Zachary Johnson “Kathy Schaffer” by Ashley Vernola Page 11 “I Thought Ponyo Was Hentai, What Gives?” By Ariel Leal Art By Gillian PItzer Page 12 “A Woke Review: Hidden Fences Is Important” By Rojanaye Daley “Weathered Old Man Who Lives By the Sea “Fucks Heavy” With New Ghost in the Shell Remake” By Jordan Hopkins
me move, I’m going to scream,’ you’re such a little fuck!” They eventually got me to my dorm and into bed. I awoke the next morning with the feeling that goes along with a blackout: What happened last night? It could have been anything. I could not expect how disappointed I would be in myself after hearing the story. At time of print, we have very few details regarding the appropriate amount of apologies that must be made, or if the girl from Math Excursions will call me back.
Nonsense www.nonsensehumor.lol
Editors In Chief
Heather “Papi” Levinsky Zachary “Poppy” Johnson
Head Writer
Matthew “Catthew” Tanzosh
Assistant Editors
Ashley “Can’t Spurn The Vern” Vernola Ariel “Me Cuban” Leal James “Funnyman” Sweeney
Design Director
Gillian Pitzer? I Hardly Know...Them.
Page 13 “Breslin’s New Art Installation Captures My Art Director Mother’s Everlasting Essence” By Daniel Nguyen Joseph “Streetwear” Kolb Page 14 “A Critique Of Hofstra Critics” By Jesse Saunders “This Years Music Watch List! (Unless the Business Manager Diseases Under Greenland Melt And Kill Us All)” By Peter Soucy Peter “Nice Boy” Soucy Page 15 “Letter To The Editor: Please Stop Being Mean To Me” By Jesse Saunders Faculty Advisor “From The Editorial Board: Shut Up” By Ashley Amy “We Managed To Meet With Vernola You This Semester” Karofsky Art By Bethany Foster Page 16 “The Party Line: Delta Epsilon Delta 90s Night Copyeditors Thirsty Thursday Absolute Rager Keg- Ashley “Can’t Spurn The Vern” Fest 2017” By Veronica Toone And Jordan Hopkins Vernola Page 17 “My Grandson Will Ruin You, Uber” By James Ariel “Me Cuban” Leal Sweeney Brenna Silly “A Word To Millenials In The Age Of Trump: A James Factorial Thoughtful, Intelligent, Center-Right Op-Ed” By Peter “Nice Boy” Soucy Toby Jaffe Quin “Give Spicy” Asselin Page 18 “I Tried To Do DMT But I Didn’t Know What Kind of Sandwich It Was” By Veronica Toone Contributors “Resident Little Bitch Thinks He Can Tussle With Rojan”ayeeee lmao” Daley Me” By Veronica Toone Page 19 “Opinion: I Would Like To Be In A Place” By Emily Shart Veronica Toone Jordan Webkinz “Opinion: I Would Not Like To Be In A Place” Toby “Definitely Still Goes Here” Jaffe By Zachary Johnson Victoria “Leeroy” Jenkins “Opinion: It Is Rude Of You To Decline Me A Job Damn, Daniel Nguyen Just Because I Am A Horse” By Zachary Johnson Jesse “Playing Both Sides” Page 20 “Nerf Dart Ballistics Test Reveals You Didn’t Saunders Fucking Hit Me” By Quin Asselin Veronica “Speef Nation “Change of Scenery? The Islanders are Looking For A New Home And My Uncle Knows Just The Worldwide” Toone Place” By Jesse Saunders Ham Thor Page 21 “What Is Luge?” By Brenna Lilly Bethany “Egg” Foster “How To Play Baseball” By Veronica Toone Trevor “World’s Best Model” Page 22 “Sports Spotlight: Hofstra Quidditch” By Parrish Emily Hart “Despite All Odds, Hofstra Basketball” By Nonsense Humor Magazine is Hofstra’s Ashley Vernola only intentional humor magazine. Please Page 23 Editorial By Heather Levinsky and Zachary don’t take any advice from us, because we don’t know what we’re talking about. The Johnson views expressed herein do not necessarily Issue Corrections By Nonsense Staff represent the views of Hofstra UniverBack Cover By Zachary Johnson sity. Any likenesses to people or school newspapers existing or fictional are purely coincidental. Nonsense Humor Magazine is not responsible for any paper cuts, political tantrums, or uncomfortable deja vu from reading Public Safety Briefs.
Nonsense
March 31, 2017 •A 3
POLITICS
Press Briefing By Press Secretary Sean Spicer: “I Just Work Here, Okay?” By Jesse Saunders STA F F WR IT E R
For Immediate release from the office of the Press Secretary, Sean Spicer. The following press briefing concerns the steps taken to create the Trump™ Wall, as well as the duties of the Press Corp and their expected treatment of the office of the Press Secretary. This press briefing is due for immediate release to all media organizations with a rating of “Not Shitty” and higher. James S. Brady Briefing Room 3:05 P.M. EDT Mr. Spicer: Sorry for the delay guys, it’s pizza day. I was supposed to kick this off with my pal Kellyanne. She’s really busy and is doing important business things, key
business events and duties. So my goal is we bang out your stupid questions first today and then I’ll drop a vital piece of information as Kellyanne walks in right on cue, and then she’ll talk to you as your editors struggle to put together a half decent non-sensationalized story. So hopefully this all works out. Before I take questions, I’m gonna shake things up – I’m gonna call on my New York Times buddies. First off New York Times you printed that I was a fan of music... I am not. You can figure out who I am fan of by answering a few riddles but we’ll leave that until after the meeting. Okay guys you get first question. So go ahead. Ask the question. Now. NYT: We at the New York Times do not care about your taste in music.
Mr. Spicer: Okay. NYT: Anyway, our question is this: what the fuck is wrong with you? Mr. Spicer: I’m sorry?
“You think I enjoy any of this?” NYT: No, seriously. What the fuck is wrong with you dude? Mr. Spicer: H’okay then. It’s like that. Alright. Listen guy, I just work here, okay? There’s this assumption going around that I enjoy being around you people. You, in your weird ivory high road tower -- you hacks at the Times are almost as bad as “Democracy Dies in the Darkness” over there. Yeah that’s right Washington Post, I know you snuck into this
briefing. Maybe next time try to be a little less conspicuous and just leave the merch table in the van, hmm? WaPo: Point taken.. Mr. Spicer: You all can’t just throw questions at me and expect that I’ll answer them, that’s a very New York way of looking at a problem. NYT: But that literally makes n— Mr. Spicer: I understand what you’re trying to say but I literally do not care. I just work here day in and day out while you take Buzzfeed quizzes on your phone, that’s right I fucking know about your phone CNN Mike. President Trump has been in office for over 60 days now, and you think I enjoy any of this? I mean, I do because I used to work at a Dennys and its just nice to come home sometimes and not smell like syrup. Have
you ever worked at a Dennys? Have you ever woken up every morning, rode your bike six miles, and then spent eight hours serving eggs in all-toobright single-parent purgatory? I mean, my coworkers were actually pretty great but all that is beside the point. I hate literally all of you, I hate that you don’t care about my music. What I don’t hate is the American taxpayer, unlike you MSNBC Karen. Whatever. Press Conference over. NYT: What? Mr. Spicer: Thanks guys, I look forward to seeing everyone except the organizations I have now deemed “Kind of Shitty”. Take care. NYT:...What. END 3:25 P.M. EDT
DIY Fashion Icon: Steve Bannon Debuts New Necklace Of Tiny Animal Bones By Zachary Johnson EDI TOR I N CH I E F
Carrying the tinkling sound of cartilage with him as he walked, White House Chief Strategist Steve Bannon was reportedly spotted this morning with a brand new necklace on his arm, made out of the dried remains of many unidentified small animals. This new accessory is the latest addition to Steve Bannon’s dazzling wardrobe, something which has been getting the advisor to the President much notoriety lately. “He’s just really got an eye for fashion, you know,” said local relatable teen, Kevin. “Last week I saw pictures of him with this elegant staff that looked something like… a large femur? I think it was a femur. We’ve got a test in Bio on the skeleton coming up, and
thanks to Mr. Bannon’s style I think I’m starting to get the hang of it.” Bannon also received a lot of press for a series of head scarves he wore last month, each seeming to be some combination of the upper and lower intestines of various woodland creatures. When asked for comment, Mr. Bannon had only opened his mouth, vomited a substance that reeked entirely of hard liquor, and uttered a low guttural noise while picking at the series of glowing, black spots that had appeared on his right hand. “I don’t think that Mr. Bannon felt he needed to defend or explain his fashion choices,” said Monique Flowers, a Fine Arts major at Hofstra, of the incident. “Bannon is only interested
in the form and the style itself. His art does not need explanation. It is the work that excites him. He likes to keep things simple, plain. The whole idea behind DIY is to do it yourself, with the materials you have readily available to you. Bannon’s continuing collection of fashion taken from animal carcasses is no exception to this rule, and that’s what makes him such a genius.” At press time reporters had spotted Bannon venturing into the forest, wearing no clothes, and holding only a large dagger and a jeweled goblet. Fashion specialists have high hopes he will return with something that will truly push the boundaries, but for now, we’ll all just have to wait with bated breath.
A 4 • March 31, 2017
LOCAL NEWS
Nonsense
Local Student Praised On Presentation, Classmates Definitely Not Bitter
By Jordan Hopkins STA F F WR IT E R
Early this morning, sophomore rhetoric student, Stewart Peters, turned heads as he debuted his newest work, an excellent PowerPoint on the importance of interpersonal communication. Peters stole the show by including Word Art, seamless effects, and a “really cool” slide transition, according
By Sam Thor STA F F WR IT E R
Responding to reports that Garden City just generally felt more pleasant to be around, authorities this Wednesday discovered that Adelphi University is officially gone. What used to be the mediocre campus is just nothing. We don’t know what is there, or if there even exists anymore. Whatever
to sources. Reports are still coming in, but we are hearing that his first slide contained a sampling of “High School Never Ends” by critically acclaimed band Bowling For Soup, as well as several gifs of excited animals, and even a few anime characters dancing suggestively. Sources inside Room 301 of the school of communications are confirming that Peters received a grade of 98, and
I’m happy for him, really.” that his fellow classmates are “not bitter”. “No, I think Stewart did great,” fellow classmate Amy Adams intimated to Nonsense Humor. “Really fantastic. I mean, I’m the one who showed him how to use Prezi in the first place, so I would
appreciate a little credit, but it’s fine I guess. I’m happy for him, really.” One of Peters’ groupmates, Max Peterson of Wantagh, echoed similar sentiments. “I just wish he had given us a little more credit, but it’s cool or whatever. I mean, we all got the same grade, so I guess it’s cool. Whatever, I mean.” This isn’t the first time Peters has turned heads with his presentations; in freshman
year, he debuted a fifteen-slide PowerPoint presentation on metamorphic rocks. “I mean, I’m just happy to be out there providing important information to the people,” Peters said. “Does it really matter who gets the credit? The important thing is that the rest of the class learns something new. I just hope Professor Simmons liked it.” Erika Simmons could not be reached for comment.
students that it still sucks in the afterlife. Surprisingly, the shuttle to Adelphi stills seems to be running. Adelphi’s one positive quality was that they had the only shuttle that knew when the trains came in and arrived accordingly, a skill that Hofstra never seemed to achieve. The vanishing of the entire university apparently wasn’t enough for the school to give up their one good
thing--the ability to leave there entirely, quickly and on time--so the shuttles continue. However, no one is ever driving, and nobody truly knows where the shuttle ends up. Scientists theorized during their break from more pressing, relevant matters, that the shuttles appear and disappear through a small black hole, or something, maybe. Similar to what Adelphi previously was.
Adelphi Is Gone
caused this, officials are still unsure, but also they don’t really care enough to put any more money into finding out. The entire student body of 7,500 students have also seemingly vanished, but their parents haven’t filed any missing persons reports, obviously, since no parent can truly love their child if they sent them to Adelphi. Hofstra University emailed the student body, confirming
that their gross smelly neighbor school ceases to be, but the email didn’t seem to be solemn, and with Stuart Rabinowitz actually typing “see ya the fuck later fats!” The area around where Adelphi was has become a huge party scene for the Hofstra youth, while many white students at Hofstra have started doing séances in the space the “school” used to occupy, just to tell the Adelphi
Report: Boogerfaced Butthead Misses His Mommy By Diane Weiss SPECIAL TO NONSENSE
In a recent development at St. Ladislaus Catholic Church in Hempstead, NY, a boogerfaced butthead little twerp is reportedly “missing [his] mommy real bad.” According to witnesses at the scene, the local snot-nosed ninny, Tyler Rollins of Uniondale, could be heard crying and throwing an absolute hissy fit throughout the church. To some, it was an understandable reaction to an unfathomable trauma. To others though, the wittle baby’s tantrum appeared potentially reflective of a lack of
proper discipline at home. “I can’t imagine how crazy things have been in that house lately,” said Clarissa Weir, 56, of Hempstead. “I get that children are known to act out in times like this, and obviously I’m sure the kid’s more than a little [messed] up about all the bull[stuff] that’s happened this past year, but as a parent myself I have to say that what I witnessed today was embarrassing and unacceptable.” Rollins, 8, caused such a stir at the church that many of its guests left the scheduled service prematurely; at least one reporter was tempted to join them.
“It’s never easy to witness that kind of thing. I’ve worked my fair share of funerals at this point, but this is the first one that I’ve ever had to actually leave midway through,” said Catherine Simmons, 43, a long-time volunteer at St. Ladislaus. “It may seem rude, but if I didn’t excuse myself we’d be having another funeral a week from now.” said Simmons with a hearty giggle, followed by a look of fearful realization. While the funeral began with a moving speech by the crybaby’s father, Mark Rollins, it quickly devolved into somebody’s all-too-typical demands for attention.
Nonsense
EXTREMELY
LOCAL NEWS
March 31, 2017 •A 5
I Am Outside Your House And Concerned With Your Energy Usage
By Gillian Pitzer
DESIG N DI RE CTOR
Dear Sir, I have been out here for forty-seven (47) consecutive days and I have to say, I’ve seen some shocking things. I mean, yeah, everyone’s got their secrets, but what you’re sitting on is dark. It’s downright concerning, and I wanted to let you know. I
am very concerned with your energy usage. I’ve checked your energy meter, and it’s honestly off the charts. You used two thousand (2,000) kilowatt hours of energy last month. That’s twice the household average. It’s not okay. Your dog doesn’t need the TV on when you’re not home. He’s fine. He would be perfectly okay without a human voice for a few
hours. Trust him. Energy does not grow on trees. It is not everywhere. This is just so… frustrating. Also, I know you weren’t in the bathroom for three (3) hours. You were in the kitchen making a milkshake. Shame on you! You know what was happening in your bathroom for three hours? The light was on. In fact, I don’t think you’ve ever turned it off.
How dare you. How dare you. You don’t really care at all, do you? Oh, and another thing: your phone? It’s been plugged in for six (6) days. Consecutive days. It’s been charged for so long! Why would you do that? Why would you leave it in like that? You’re a real piece of work, you know. What are you doing? Really, look at yourself! What are you doing?
Are you pleased? Are you happy with who you are right now? It’s gotten to the point where I have had to climb in your window while you were sleeping to turn off the lights in your living room. That’s so rough on my knees. Sincerely, A Concerned Citizen
Local Man’s Lawn Two Whole Goddamn Inches Over HOA Regulations By Jordan Hopkins STA F F WR IT E R
In breaking news today, Nonsense Humor Magazine has recently learned that local Sunny Springs resident, Mitchell McDitchell’s lawn measured in at a whopping four inches, two inches above the height listed as appropriate in the Sunny Springs Community Standards and Regulations Contract that McDitchell signed when he moved in two summers ago. In
unrelated news, John Walters, McDitchell’s next-door neighbor, has purchased a gun. The HOA delivered the news to McDitchell first thing Saturday morning, making sure to awaken him and his family by ringing the doorbell multiple times at 7:30AM, guaranteeing McDitchell would be home to receive the message. John’s gun arrived
at about the same time, delivered in a long brown box by an apprehensive but very courteous Fed-Ex employee.
shorter it’s going to brown.” McDitchell expressed frustration that the HOA put rules and guidelines over “aesthetic value.” McDitchell’s neighbor, John Walters, who had recently bought a rifle off of the internet, disagreed. “Listen, if there are rules, you’ve gotta follow them,” Walters said peering through his blinds, while
“Listen, if there are rules, you’ve gotta follow them,” McDitchell plans to contest the decision, stating that “we’ve been in a drought for six goddamn months. If I cut the grass any
gently caressing his new rifle. “That’s just the way things are. And if you don’t follow the rules, then there have to be consequences,” he glanced down the street and caught the eye of Mitchell McDitchell and slowly raised his hand in a wave, smiling widely, before lowering his blinds. The rifle stood at his side, his finger on the trigger. Mitchell McDitchell’s court hearing and subsequent sentencing will occur two weeks from today.
Report: Local Cockroach Living Under Your Bed Thinks You Should Stop Fucking So Loud By Zachary Johnson EDI TOR I N CH I E F
Frustrated that his time to think is so often disturbed, a local cockroach—who lives under your bed—is reported as saying this morning that he thinks “you need to turn it down a notch” when it comes to “the fucking.” “I’m not really even sure what they’re doing up there half of the time,” Timothy, the local cockroach told Nonsense this morning. “Doesn’t anyone have any respect for their
neighbors anymore?” Timothy informed Nonsense that the typical hours you “fuck very loudly” range anywhere from 6pm to 5am which we were able to confirm with the local snake that lives in your shower drain, Louis. “To be honest, sometimes I don’t even know if there’s another person up there,” Louis said, coiling himself into a more comfortable position. “Sometimes it sounds like there are several people up there. Maybe they’ve got some weird freaky masturbatory
habits going on, or there’s some sort of strange orgy ring at work here? I don’t know. It isn’t my job to know their business, I just want the noise to end.” When asked if he plans to take any legal action, Timothy merely shrugged. “All I’m concerned about is… well, I’m going back to school to get a law degree. I do classes online. I’ve got to be up really late some nights writing massive papers or doing loads of research, and don’t you think that maybe you could be a little
more considerate of me?” At press time, the local fly that lives in your pantry and the local rat that lives under your gross-ass washing machine were reportedly gathering other residents of your house—such as the termite that lives in your doorframe, and the centipede that’s taken a liking to your right slipper, which is weirdly always damp enough for him to be comfortable in—to sign a petition proposing your abstinence.
A 6 • March 31, 2017
Nonsense
NEWS Appropriations Report
SGA Appropriations Allocated $[redacted] of the Requested $[redacted] • Hofstra Versus Zombies’ request of $350,000 for Nerf darts was approved. • Adventure Club’s request of $300 for hot sauce/duct tape/cages was approved. • Nonsense Humor Magazine’s request for beer money was denied. • Request of 10,000 unmarked bills to “You Said No Names” for “You Said No Questions” was approved. • Hofstra Republicans request of $10,000 for eugenics research/Reagan cutout was approved. • Gambling Club’s request of “$100 Dollars, I can get it back to you I promise” was approved. • Accounting Society’s request of $17,000 to count was denied. Fuck you, nerds. • E-Sports Club’s request of 40 guns for “revenge” was approved. • SGA’s request of “let’s take home the rest of this,” specifically $[redacted], was [redacted].
SGA WEEKLY WRAP-UP Compiled by [redacted]
Public Safety Briefs On March 23rd, at 3:16 AM, an emergency blue light was activated on Academic Campus, on Memorial Quad. The operator responded by asking for the emergency, to which the student replied that it was “existential in nature.” The student was issued a summons and a referral to the Office of Community Standards. On March 23rd, at 4:00 PM, PS was called after a student was unable to enter Vander Poel Hall. After launching a full investigation, PS determined the student’s ID card was rejected because their GPA had fallen under the 3.3 required minimum. The student was issue a summons, and assigned a new room in Estabrook, which they will receive the keys to after the paperwork has four full business days to process. On March 24th, between 1:00 and 2:00 PM, a Hofstra Student reported they had left their metric
ton of 24-karat gold bars in the middle of the Student Center atrium while they “quickly just went to use the bathroom, got some food, went to class, met up with a Tinder match, got ghosted, masturbated alone, got more food, and smoked a J”. When the student returned to look for their gold bars at 9AM the next morning they discovered that they were missing. Police assistance was declined and an investigation will be conducted, JK.
“fucking lame as shit”. All students involved were issued summons and a referral to Office of Community Standards.
On March 26th, at 2:16 AM, weed, again.
On March 27th, at 10:00 AM, The Beast was born. The Beast will not be silenced. The Beast has been crafted by darkness for a thousand years and The Beast has risen again. The Beast will consume all human life, The Beast will destroy all man-made structures, The Beast will not stop until it has destroyed all in its path. The Beast cannot be bargained with, The Beast does not respond to reason. The Beast declined any further comment.
On March 26th, at 11:52 PM, PS received a call about a “dull-ass party on Meadowbrook.” PS responded to the call and, upon arriving at that party and launching a full investigation, determined that the party was indeed
On March 27th, at 9:50 PM, PS responded to a report of Bill of Rights residents smoking marijuana out of a small, living horse. PS was so impressed that the students were only asked to move “this sick ass atrocity” off campus.
On March 25th, at 10:47 PM, weed.
On March 29th, at 6:87 PM, literally more weed. On March 30th, at 9:23 PM, PS responded to a call about a campus humor magazine meeting in the basement of the Netherlands. After launching a full investigation, PS determined that “Nonsense Humor Magazine” meets in Room 018 of the Nethercore every Thursday at 9:23 PM and is always looking for new writers or artists to come out and submit. All students involved were issued summons. On March 31st, at 12:04 PM, a non-student entered campus, burnt Weller Hall to the ground, stole $1000 dollars’ worth of merchandise from ABP (later identified as two croissants), kicked the cat by Calkins Hall, and sacrificed a live ox on Memorial Quad. PS received the report of this incident, and upon arriving on the scene, escorted the non-student to the
information center, where the non-student was issued a ban from campus. On March 31st, at 3:11 PM, PS found a student hanging by rope in Salem House, Colonial Square. The materials present at the scene implied autoerotic asphyxiation. The corpse was reprimanded and referred to the Office of Community Standards.
Key PS - Public Safety BS - Be Safe (we hope you will) JK - Just kidding (are you stupid?) ABP - Some french words. They’ve got soup. RESPECT - Find out what it means to me.
Nonsense
March 31, 2017 •A 7
@HOFSTRA
Club Spotlight: The Vaping Dutchmen
By Victoria Jenkins S TAF F WR IT E R
Hofstra University offers over seven different student-run clubs and organizations on campus, the newest of which is the prestigious Vaping Dutchmen. Competitive vaping, a sport which many would call “not a sport”, offers a welcoming environment to this group of diverse, passionate, white males. “I used to be nobody.” says Dutchman team captain, Keith Russo, exhaling a massive cloud of Cinnamon toast crunch, the winter wind blowing the soft baby hairs on his exposed legs. “I was the empty plastic bag drifting across the street that catches the corner of your eye and kind of startles you until you realize it’s an inanimate object and you’re a worthless fool. Yes, I was once adopted by Bon Jovi, but that kind of thing doesn’t last, y’know? Vaping gave me purpose.” There are currently four members of the Vaping
By Quin Asselin WE B EDI TOR
With modern life being what it is, with its Twitters and Big Macs and Smartphones and beautiful healing crystals, it’s pretty easy to get completely mixed up in the ancient trappings of astrology and all the secrets it holds. So easy, in fact, that most have never had their proper horoscope breathed all over them. Find your sign and feel my warm breath on your supple little neck sprouts! The Craven (December 31st - ‘Til Next Year): You needn’t worry about the scorpion fish, Craven. I put that saucy little sawfish in a cage in the attic. It shan’t escape. So run freely into the eve. Take it. Take the eve and suck the sweet gelatinous
Dutchmen: Russo, Eric Campbell, Greg Johnson, and the Dark One Who Hurts and Maims. However, sophomore Campbell said that he might be able to get his friend’s roommate’s little brother to join if they start bringing snacks to the weekly meetings. “Creating a brand is really important for us. Other students see me and they’re like, y’know, ‘There he is!’, right?” said Russo, adjusting his ever present snapback so the little man in his buzzcut cannot escape. He has not seen the sun. Personal style is an essential aspect of the vape lifestyle, for him. His daily T-shirt and gym shorts pairing separates him from the other members, who each wear a T-shirt and gym shorts, respectively. The trio can often be seen moving around campus as an inseparable pack. This is more out of necessity than anything else; if one constituent were to break ranks, he would immediately lose half of his life force. That kind of
damage should be avoided at all costs, according to the Vape God Handbook. “Vaping changed my life,” freshman Johnson says, hands shakily dropping fluid into his rig. “I used to smoke cigarettes. Now I don’t. I have made a complete, 360 degree turn around. My life is different now. I’m better. I’m a better father, and a better friend.” The Vaping Dutchman are preparing to enter their first of many high-stakes competitions. Individuals blow vapor into the air and the longest distance achieved gets an amount of points, or something like that. The highly coveted first prize includes a trophy, a smaller trophy, assorted dollar coins, and 10% off your next purchase. Second place receives a used (re: empty) gift card to a local smoke shop. Everyone else goes to The Pit. “Do I think we can win? Eh,” said Russo, clearly bursting with optimism. Allegedly, a team flag is in
the works, so any designers who can “hold their own” are specifically invited to the next practice session. “A solid blue background. Maybe #5733FF would be a nice shade. Or #191970. And two vapes blowing smoke from the corners, but their clouds intertwine and become this bitchin’ dragon, but the dragon is also vaping. Within the eyes of dragon you can see each
Your Horoscopes
matter from its bones. You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’? Vegas baby!
The Astrologer’s Children (July 4th, 1776 - The Day My Love Was Shot Dead): Pib? Barmble? What are you two still doing awake? You young lads best scuttle back into your crypt before The Dreamsmith shambles with an ambling bramble by you, Masters Pib and Barmble. Look, you two mean the world to me and I’m just trying to raise you both right. And as for your mother… nah, you know what? Just get in bed. Beam Boy! The Only Super Powered Beam Made Of 100% Real Boy! (The Future - The End of All Beams): Oh damn! Is that the new Apple Watch? Fuck, can that thing cook turtles and shit like in the
commercials? I am sooooo jealous. I would sever my left leg for one of those. Anyways, your horoscope says you should be on the lookout to receive a heavy, wet, leg-shaped parcel soon.
The Dreamsmith (When The Words Evaporate From The Pages - June 12th): Dude, can you slink into my crypt and scare my sweet sleeping baby babs? You’ll know the signal when you hear it. Thanks, I owe you dude. I’m gonna get you like a half ounce man. What? Yeah of course I’m good for it, kind shit my guy. Benjamin Devino And His Shithead Twin, Harrison (Born September 3rd, 2002 at 3:36AM and 7:26AM respectively): When are you two going to learn to grow up? You two are just havoc incarnate, ya shit melons. I
mean, it’s not enough that you two financially burden your parents with your twinsmenship, but Harrison also took his sweet time strolling his way out of Mama’s baby palace. Frankly, I think you two have been living rent free long enough... Green Pisces (Green February 19th - Green March 20th); Look Green Pisces. We get it. You’re green. You’ve really made that abundantly clear to all of us by now. Just give it a rest for a bit, okay? The One With Inkwells For Eyes (Hoo Hoooo - Hee Heee): Click your heels. Click them. Harder. Click them hard enough for The Dreamsmith to hear. Good… Now like we discussed, weep your black satin tears. Yes, let them stain the waters below.
team member, but when you look closer, we’re just peopleshaped mods. Aren’t we all people-shaped mods in the end, anyways? Just a few ideas,” the Dark One suggested. Still, every student of the Hofstra community is welcome to join this up-andcoming organization. Keep an eye on the Vaping Dutchmen. We wish them the best in their athletic endeavors!
Catherine (You’re This Sign If Your Name Is Catherine. I Thought That’d Be Pretty Clear…): Hey Catherine, or Cathy, or hell, even Cat! Trust you’re doing alright today? I sure hope you are. But statistically, one of you is going to get hit by like, two different cars at once. So I mean… roll the bones and hope you’re lucky I guess? The Scorpion Fish (Every Moment Of Time That “The Craven” Is Not): The conditions are perfect my sweet. I’ve readied the skies and soon the black ichor shall rain down. That foolish Craven is in Vegas tonight, getting sloshed and losing $200 to a broken vending machine. You may reap what we have sought after for so long my pisciscene dream. Swim for us both.
A 8 • March 31, 2017
Nonsense
@HOFSTRA
Overheard @ Hofstra “10 a G, 30 an 8th, 50 a Q. Anyone picking up tonight?”
In General:
In LH Comm:
In Axinn Library:
“I’m really privileged to be here.”
“My mom is worried about how I’m going to pay for my Student Loans, but I just know I’m going to be a really famous filmmaker once the script I wrote about my ex-girlfriend finally sells. No, the other one.”
In Bits And Bytes: “It’s a clean job, you go to Bucharest one time.”
In Nassau: Right Across From Me: “I wish this reporter would stop writing down what I’m saying… Stop… NO STOP…. NO STOP IT.”
On Twitter:
By The Hofstra Dome:
In Stuyvesant (literally where else?): “I’m Italian which means I’m basically a couple percent black.” “I’m Sicilian so I’m allowed to say it.”
“Even though I was disappointed that she rebuffed my sexual advances, I understand and appreciate her autonomy.”
“My new country club has a better tennis court.”
When Life Gets Busy, Put A Bunch Of Shit In A Jar By Heather Levinsky EDI TOR I N CH I E F
You’ve been hit by the analog bulletin train! Pass this onto 15 people who need to take a good, hard look at their disastrous, unbalanced life. When everything in your entire whole life has gone to fuck and back, take a remember at this good speech from an extremely wise woman. Because she was wise, she was a professor. And because she was a professor, she
gave a speech, to her class. “Why don’t you all look at this mason jar that I have.” The class looked, because they were a good class. “Here I am. Gonna fill it up with sand.” The professor then poured enough sand into the jar to fill it halfway. “This represents the ‘Earth,’ your main priorities in life. Because without some ground beneath our feet, where would we have a leg to stand on, or a stand for our legs?” quoth the professor. The class
nodded quietly in rapt approval. “Now, class, would you say that the jar is full?” “No, I’d say it’s about halfway full.” a student spake. “You might want to think about pacing yourself, as far as the sand is concerned, or maybe, add the larger elements in first, and the smaller particulates later, so that there’s enough room.” “You are expelled. Never question the unquestionable authority of the tenured professor.” The student was astonished at her doctrine. What the professor did next was even more astonishing. “Next, I’m put some pebbles on top of the sand. Next most important in life, are the little rocks that give our lives texture. Salt is a rock, and they say the “salt of the earth” is what makes life so interesting!” The professor then reached deep, deep, deep into her most deepest pockets, scooping out two heaping handfuls of gravel and coarse salt. Pouring the rocks into the jar, the earthy contents almost reached the top. “Other important rocks are diamonds, which signify both
everlasting love and child labor: the duality of man.” The professor then reached deep, deep, deep into an even deeper pocket inside of the first one. Producing a handful of diamonds, she poured those over top of the gravel, spilling out of the top of the jar like a silty parfait. “Now, class, would you say that the jar is full?” A few scattered students said, “Yes. The jar is overflowing with precious minerals. The Swarovskian nonpareils shimmer in the fluorescent light, guiding us. We are content, and cannot, at this time, imagine an addition to this glass metaphor of our human life that would provide us with more satisfaction,” in unison, in monotone. “Your manner of thinking is maddeningly limited. You are all incorrect. Expand your minds, and let’s get our full life.” The professor then reached into a student’s ear and produced three golf balls. “Now, the golf balls: represent sports, leisure, and self-care. These are the least important things to have in your life. Golf is for losers, leisure is for those
without anxiety, and self-care is a fad diet invented to sell ad space on Tumblr Dot Com.” The professor then attempted to balance the three golf balls on top of the glittering sediment jar, but the opening was too small for all three golf balls to rest comfortably against each other in a triangular configuration. One of the golf balls fell to the ground. Just when the class thought she was done, the professor did the most surprising thing of all! Reaching into her bag, she pulled out three beers. After the raucous laughter subsided, one intrepid learner’s hand stood at attention. “I get it, Professor! The true lesson is that at the end of the day, you always have time left to kick back and enjoy a few beers with friends.” Chuckling, the professor responded with a sage thesis: “If you convince Public Safety that alcohol is an essential part of an extended metaphor for prioritizing your life, you can bring it onto campus.” That professor? Albert Einstein.
Nonsense
March 31, 2017 •A 9
@HOFSTRA
Campus Profile: That Guy From Bits
By James Sweeney A SS I STA N T E DI TOR
“Mile High burger! I got a Mile High!” A man, early 50s, moves swiftly behind an L-shaped counter. Students at Hofstra University see him almost every day, and while nobody is quite sure of his story, many have told him theirs. Who is this figure who is so deeply trusted, and yet even more deeply shrouded in mystery? Well, even that seems to be a point of controversy. Despite disagreements on a proper title, it’s not uncommon for Hofstra students from all walks of life to find themselves huddled around him inbetween classes. “Oh, you’re doing a story on the Calkins cat! I love that little guy!” said one student,
who requested anonymity upon learning that we were in fact not doing a story on the Calkins cat, and that said cat is definitely not a boy. “Oh, you’re doing a story on that that big dude that works at B.Y.O.B. in Bits and Bytes! I love that little guy!” said another student who, despite getting the subject of the story correct, also pushed pretty hard to have his name left out. Sorry Josh Newman, but we only get one per article. While opinions on the guy from Bits -- a.k.a. the head honcho behind one of the safer places to eat cooked meat on Hofstra’s storied campus -- run the gamut, most students view him as tough but fair, a stern father-figure who’s made all the difference in their college experience thus far. “I go to him for advice
“I need more char, I gotta have that char.” at least once a week,” said Hofstra student Jerrod Lattimore. “He just always knows what to say. Whether it’s hollering ‘Burger! I got a Cheeseburger here!’ and subsequently getting a bunch of spit-sweat on all the buns, or just staring right through me altogether for a solid minute-and-a-half when I ask him if I should drop the class I have with my ex, the big guy always knows how to push my buttons. I don’t where I’d be without him.” Similar sentiments were
shared by many Hofstra students. Time and time again, they said, his character has stood out to them as something worth noting. “He’s always there when you need someone to just vent to,” said Casey Newton, a sophomore at Hofstra. “If my friends are ever busy and I need someone to listen to my problems and grunt in response, the guy from Bits is the first person I go to. Honestly, he’s more attentive than most of the guys I’ve dated, even if he does mostly just mumble the whole time about the grilled chicken still not being burnt enough. ‘I need more char,’ he always says. ‘I gotta have that char.’” “Don’t get me wrong, the manager guy from Dutch Treats is pretty cool in his own right” said Hofstra senior
Dustin Kennedy. “He taught me how to pick up girls with just a look and a smile, and he’s always willing to help me out when I’m low on meal points. But nobody – not even what’s-his-name from HofUSA – has impacted my life the way Bits guy has.” When reached for comment, the nine-time Hofstra Food Service Employee of the Week had only this to say: “I told y’all I can’t say anything to anybody. Get outta my face with that shit – are you recording this? You want me to lose my job? Go ahead and put me in another one of your little stories. Really, go ahead and see what happens. I will find you.” There’s never a moment’s rest for the hardest working man on Hofstra’s campus. But he likes it that way, and so do we.
Set Breakdown: Senior Bio Student Brings Magic To Hammer By Matt Tanzosh H E A D W R IT E R
Being a gatekeeper, the final hurdle all theatre art must pass is trying. You’ve seen one piece of life-changing magic, opening up emotional doors you were heretofore unaware of, and you’ve seen them all. I’ve been sick with malaise for quite some time. I’ve been famished for novelty. Caberet and Once’s inclusion of a bar, while pleasurable, did not go far enough. For God’s sake, have someone eat some sushi off of my warm flesh. Innovate. It was in this state of static mundanity, this nadir of ebullience, that I found myself in Hammer Lab, finishing off another review. This would be the birthplace of my artistic second wind, so to speak. I was just capping off my review of the stage adaptation of James Carrey’s The Mask (it was not smoking), when I was made host to brilliance. I had the distinct pleasure this past Wednesday, of taking in a truly transcendent piece of theatre. Spring semester Senior Kelly Pucci is truly a tour de force in
Unplanned and Unpanned Performance Just What The Doctor Ordered her one woman show, a limited engagement at Hofstra’s very own Hammer Lab. Fashioned after the experimental Neo-Futurist stylings of The Living Theatre, Pucci’s untitled interactive (and eventually, viscous) masterpiece broadened horizons that Wednesday in the 24 hour computer lab, lifting the mood of students attempting to complete their midterm assignments; whether they asked for their mood to be lifted or not. Although Pucci’s performance would be best described as a free form one-woman public performance experience, this is not to say that there were not other sterling performance abound! Public Safety’s surprise casting in the role of “the terrified middle-aged men called in to quiet the caterwauling young woman” in particular, induced chills. The clear nod to Broadway
classic, Evita, shows that although her art may be unconventionally presented, it still rests on a firm foundation of musical theatre. More on that later. Pucci’s preshow overture lasted a full hour and 45 minutes, beginning with her seated in front of a computer, nervously wringing her hands, and quietly moaning to herself (I found myself detecting a possibly Tuvan influence), in a grim, pantomimed self-caricature of herself folding under the pressure of her Cell Biology homework. She accompanied her vocal performance by shaking an empty pill bottle and banging it against her desk, before throwing it at a nearby audience member when her low moans (from the diaphragm!) developed into a fierce howling. Talk about a renaissance woman! This pollyana polymath can sing, play and cry convincing tears. Very convincing tears, that did not stop even
after the “phone call to mother” interlude. My compliments to the amazing tech crew that must surely be behind her, managing to make it appear as though Ms. Pucci unintentionally left her prop telephone on speaker, allowing even the audience members in that back enjoy Mrs. Pucci’s stirring monologue—before the phone too was sent hurling at the same fortunate member of the audience, concluding the overture. Following the overture, Ms. Pucci at last took an elevated position. Standing on top of her chair, she opened the show with a showstopper, a number called “I Haven’t Slept in Three Days/ My Professor Wants Me To Fuck Him (and I Might)”, which transitioned seamlessly into her softer rendition of “I Just Want To Graduate On Time” directed at her scene partner, The Chapstick That Fell Out Of Her Bag When She Dumped The Contents Out Over Her Head. I was most moved by her recitation of her original poem, “I swear to God I have a Gun, and will Kill Everyone Here and Then Myself”, a brilliant metaphor
addressing the trappings of modern physics homework. Theatre this groundbreaking is nothing, of course, without an equally strong reaction from the audience. There were several walkouts that occurred during the space of the nearly four hour standoff stand-up performance. As Yoko Ono once said, “If 50% of the crowd has not left the room when I am finished, I feel as though I haven’t done my job.” And by Mama Ono’s standards, Kelly Pucci completed her job very well indeed, with more than 75% of them leaving by the time she started breaking the ground. The remainder were cleared out by the aforementioned SWAT team. Ms. Pucci has revitalized my faith in the transient and sublime SCIENCE of theatre, with her transgressive and uninitiated stylings. Tears sprung to my eyes long before they unleashed the gas that bears its name. After the show, Ms. Pucci celebrated by taking a Haloperidol dart to the neck. I eagerly await her next project, a new residency at Belview Hospital. Five Stars
A 10 • March 31, 2017
@HOFSTRA
Nonsense
Hu mans of Hofstra
Markus Conway
Kathy Schaffer
W. Houston Dougharty
“I came to Hofstra because I couldn’t get into NYU. My grades were bad but my parents have a lot of money. My dad tried calling NYU to see if they needed any more donations, so I could get in, but that didn’t work out. Huh, come to think of it I guess you can’t just bribe your way through life, right? Wow. I’ve been having a lot of really deep revelations like that lately. I think coming to college has made me a better thinker. Like, the other day in my Philosophy course, which is, so dumb, we were talking about Immanual Kant. I don’t really know who that is, and his last name sure sounds like c***, but anyways none of that matters because I was texting my girlfriend in class, right? And she was like, trying to be mad at me for never talking to her and always having sex with other people, right? Typical stuff. So I texted her back and said “look dude, I’m in Philosophy class. My dad didn’t pay for me to come here so I could get drunk all the time and fuck you, I’m, like, supposed to be learning and getting smarter.” So I broke up with her, and I think that’s really helped me focus on getting smarter. Now, instead of texting her in that class, I’m talking to this hot Education Major with a really high GPA that I met at my Frat’s mixer. I feel like I’m on the road to being a real braniac here at Hofstra, and I couldn’t be happier. Also my car is made of gold.”
“Yeah, I’m a professor, but I didn’t sit at home as a child thinking Wow! One day I get to be a professor. It never happens like that. Every day, same old s***, day in, day out. [mumbles] But yeah, when it comes down to it, I’m sick of teaching, and my students are sick of learning. They don’t pay 60,000 a year to go here or anything? You’d think they have the f****** ability to stay off their phones for an hour. There’s this one kid in my 2:00 class and oh my – nevermind. Can I tell you how little people care about Faulkner? God, all anybody cares about anymore are those hippie-dippie- Transcendentalists. Emerson isn’t going to help you get a job, you know. I thought I was going to be an actor. I had eyes for the big stage, but the big stage didn’t have eyes for me. I always thought, maybe one day. Oh, how I miss being young. What time is it? Oh Christ, off to my 12:40 I go. Thanks for this.”
“You see this nice drawing of me? I had it commissioned with University funds. Stuart thought I should have gone after something a little more ritzy, but I’m a classic man with simple tastes, you know? Also, after buying tickets to go see the Seahawks with University funds, I gotta be careful how much I spend! It’s just plain rude, and a total abuse of my position! I mean, spending that money is just so totally inconsiderate to the people in accounting who have to figure out a smart way to make it look good on paper. That’s unfair of me to do to them multiple times a semester. Just every now and then to keep their minds sharp, you know? Oh, uh, and my interests are the Pride Principles and Hofstra’s Community Standards. Make sure you write that one down. And cut all the other stuff, it’s totally unnecessary. Have a nice day, we’re so glad to have you as a part of our vibrant, diverse community! Oh, definitely make sure you include that last part in there, it makes me sound so good.”
Nonsense
A&E
March 31, 2017 •A 11
A&E Volume 420 Issue 166
I Thought Ponyo Was Hentai, What Gives? By Ariel Leal A SS I STA N T E DI TOR
I work hard. People in my life understand this, So get this. I get home late, and my weirdo roommate, he tells me he has just the thing to cheer me up. I get want to grab a nice cold one from the fridge and crawl into bed, but I can’t, because there he is. Standing in the way. I can feel the condensation meeting my fingers. I crave it. I am thinking about this and my eyes are just about to glaze over when he pull out this blu-ray. I don’t know where it came from, and I don’t want to know. He’s really into that anime shit, and I’ve promised him I’d check some out, but honestly, I’m scared. I don’t have the time for big 2D jigglage. I have a girlfriend I’m too tired to talk to, okay? I’m too old for cartoon boobs that refuse to follow Newtonian physics, where the nipple can be fully penetrated by a large manhood. This time was different, though. I could tell that he wouldn’t leave me alone unless I gave Ponyo a shot. I was ready. Taking a cursory
glance at the blu-ray case, I saw a little girl, and I saw fish. That’s all I managed to see, and I thought to myself, ain’t this illegal? I know what this anime business is about. Seeing the ocean life on the cover only confirmed my biases about where this journey was headed. Knowing what he’s into--Samurai Champloo (which I think is Japanese for coitus), Kingdom Hearts, Neon Genesis Evangellier (even jellier than what?), I got ready for the evening that I assumed he had planned for us. I got the baby oil ready and lathered the entire bottom half of my body like a hybrid of man and seal. My socks stayed on of course, to preserve heat. It’s to preserve heat. I popped that bad boy in hiding behind 7 different proxies (which is what my roommate calls our blinds) so the POTUS couldn’t spot me finna engage in some solid waifu lechery. From what I’d gathered by right wing people on twitter, though, the president loves anime--judging by his supporters avi’s so I wasn’t too worried, when I hit play. I see Disney’s logo upfront, and I nearly cry. Have they
stooped this low? But here’s the crazy thing. Not a single nipple. Not one. Buddy, you could put a magnifying glass up against the screen and I promise you that wouldn’t help find any nipples because there aren’t any. No inhuman amounts of ejaculate being funneled into genitalia, no swelling of the gastrointestinal system without any sort of health related repercussions and not one, not one, slippery bad boy with suction cups for fingers. Tentacles, in case you didn’t get it. The movie takes place in the sea, from what I had gathered, so that seemed like a given. Instead, what I did get was beautiful handpainted scenery, mindblowing cinematography of a breathtaking scope, and a renewed sense of purpose, with a sense that the world isn’t as cold as I make it out to be living this day to day life I call a mediocre waste of time and breath. When my roommate said that the film had strong female characters, I assumed he was judging by the amount of newtons worth of force their little buttholes could negotiate. I now realize that he was referring to the depth of
their character, which is--in a way-far more important. This film made me want to call my girlfriend. The tale of a little-girl-fish thing helping her newfound family find love, is exactly what I would expect of Disney. I didn’t even get an erection. How fucking cool is that? Apparently Hayao Miyazaki has a long history of making wonderous pictures that explore relatable themes, in ways that we are too busy down at the mill to consider. How was I supposed to know that Howl was the name of the protagonist of Howl’s Moving Castle, instead of just a description of the sounds buttstuff creates? How the fuck was I supposed to know Ponyo wasn’t hentai? Japanese, check. Female protagonist, check. That’s about all I got. You hear that, you think hentai. This was not that. 0/10 hentai, 10/10 film. I owe my roommate an apology. Not just for shunning all of his recommendations prior, but for begrudgingly stripping nude in his presence. Tomorrow, I might even check out Spirited Away! Look, was I a little disappointed when
I learned that Tina Fey hadn’t in fact lended her voice to a piece of animated pornography? Sure. Sure as I’ve got toes on my feets. I do not have toes on my feet. But seeing her out of character, in the role of a caring mother just trying to make sure her family can get by under the weight of the judgement of others made me consider how I’d been treating the mother of my own children, whom I have been separated from, for just so long. And that’s great. There is no other result that I would prefer to come from laying slick on a trashbag tarp of my own preparation. That’s just grand. This has been kind of nice actually. I feel as though the power of friendship is actually pretty important. Ponyo taught me that. Maybe there are things in life more important than playing five hand poker with the baloney pony. Ah who am I kiddin? I’m gonna go crack open a cold one and watch some busty beauties get shafted by failed government experiments. Consensually. -Dorito Man 48 signing off. See you later space cowboy.
A 12 • March 31, 2017
Nonsense
A&E
A Woke Review: Hidden Fences Is Important
By Ro Daley STA F F WR IT E R
Hidden Fences has become one of the most #woke movies of the past decade. Honestly guys, I’m #shook. After I watched it, I felt the warmth of Martin Luther King Jr. as my third eye opened. It’s so woke guys. Like Malcolm-X-becamemy-spiritual-guide woke, but like only when he said violence was bad. Like I went home and ghost wrote seven Buzzfeed articles about this movie woke. Ever since #OscarsSoWhite, writers,
producers, and Hollywood actors have taken enormous strides to ensure that their audience not only receives more diverse stories, but that said stories are treated with the respect and admiration that they deserve. I stumbled upon this movie by wandering through my local refurbished neighborhood, hoping to find some cool new place to pretend I discovered. I came across this new alternative movie theater. At first they were hesitant to let me in, so obviously I climbed in through the window and
claimed the land as my own. This hidden gem has the appearance of apartment, featuring a small kitchen with a moderately stocked fridge and some family photos. Their patrons feel more at home by providing old couches to sit on, and instead of a screen, there is a small television. The owner of the theater was super nice, and offered to bring me jewelry and money. The youngest of the customers began to sob obnoxiously. The environment was clearly designed to force visitors to make bonds with the other audience members, forcing
millennials to take a break from the phones and connect on a deeper level. I normally give local spaces 5 out of 5 stars, but the broken glass and crying children kind of killed the vibe and ruined my experience. :( Hidden Fences is the crime story, similar to the likes of the 2015 Oscars, 2017 Grammys, or that blackface Othello movie. Stanley, played by Denzel Washington, is framed for a crime he did not commit. He is sent to a detention center called ‘Camp Green Lake’, where he and the other inmates are forced to dig numerous holes in the desert every day. As Stanley comes to terms with his life, he uncovers the mystery of the holes and makes some friends along the way. The film has an incredible star studded cast, including Octavia Spencer, playing the mysterious and captivating
Madame Zeroni, and Taraji P. Henson as the Warden. These actors’ names are just pronounceable enough so you’ll feel cultured when you remember them, and you won’t feel racist if you can’t get them right. There hasn’t been a story so captivating since Hamilton. I would know, I’ve seen it live, and I’ve memorized all the raps. Inspired by true events, and directed by Tyler Perry, this movie had will have you whipping and nae nae-ing on the edge of your seat. This movie is so bad and bougie that your ‘boxer braids’ will look even more fleek than they did when you entered the trap house. On a scale of ‘My African American friend over there’ to ‘Living the Life of Pablo’, watching this movie will totally get your one black friend to give you ‘the pass.’ Do not watch unless you are ready to be woke
Weathered Old Man Who Lives By the Sea “Fucks Heavy” With New Ghost In The Shell Remake By Jordan Hopkins STA F F WR IT E R
The Ghost in the Shell remake starring Scarlett Johansson comes out in two weeks, and expectations are high. The Rupert Sandersdirected film is set to be the biggest anime live-action adaptation since Aeon Flux. However, with fame has come controversy; many people are up in arms concerning the film’s Asian protagonist being played by a white Hollywood actress. Always at the forefront of both art and clickable public debate with a high potential for shareability, we, here at Nonsense Humor, are just as excited as you are, and so to gain some insight on the upcoming release we went to our resident culture expert: a weathered old man
who lives by the sea. Howard Daniels is a seventy-six year old lighthouse owner from a nondescript but somewhat disarming town somewhere in Maine (maybe around the place where Stephen King lives or something). We spoke to him about the film – well, he shouted at us from the top of his decrepit, slightly menacing watchtower, the light pointing out to sea through the haze like a ghost. “Yeah, I’m dumb fucking stoked, my dude,” Daniels was quoted as shouting at our reporter from the parapet. “I read every issue of the manga when I was living in Japan after The War, and I loved the 1995 Mamoru Oshii-directed film. Artificial intelligence, man. That’s some heavy shit.” As huge waves battered the
spire from the east, spraying our reporter with their scenic brutality and throwing him several meters into the air, Daniels admitted that he did understand the problem with Johansson’s role in the film. “Yeah, I can understand
why people are upset,” he roared above the surf, his voice the ocean itself. “It kind of feels like they’re taking roles away from Asian actors, which I can understand is broke as fuck. I don’t want to support that kind of behavior,
you know?” Daniels admitted that he will likely not see the movie in theatres for this reason, and revealed that he would “probably end up torrenting it or something, I dunno”.
Nonsense
March 31, 2017 •A 13
A&E
Breslin’s New Art Installation Captures My Mother’s Everlasting Essence Hey friends! Matt here. In anticipation of this issue we received an envelope, covered in blackened banana guts. That’s right! An art review. With the Hofstra critics club staging their own bizarre attempt at performance art (see Jesse’s review on page 14), the line between art and criticism is blurring--and this guy GETS it, man. We thought we’d get in on that sweet intertextuality too, and showcase this young man’s brilliant critique of Hofstra’s latest piece of corporate art. Annotated by our editorial staff for clarity. Enjoy!
I missing something? Will this deteriorating body attract Public Safety? *He is trying to fuck the dumpster. Similar questions, of the necessarily erotic, of motherly affection, of motherly love, care, sickness and of bodily death, of timeless iniquity-deprived infinite rage, of vindication – why the fuck won’t this trash bag
embryonic fetus bag –no, no I’m sorry— amniotic sac. I meant amniotic sac. Bananas I ate early in the quest for the right homespace-Feng-Shui came in use later, but I never knew where to put those peels so I settled their uses as duplicate: for the nervous digestion and the preparation of self-destruction ready to receive. * *Penetration.
man. I’m a continuous reversal of excrement and its suit is only of green and grey back metal. *Public Safety found former Hofstra sophomore, Tommy Gretchen, a film major with a minor in philosophy, living in the dumpsters behind Breslin and Herbert after an alarming smell drew crowds of Hofstra cats, a raccoon and senior faculty from the Fine Arts Department. Upon
Matt Tanzosh Head Writer On Friday January 22nd, Hofstra University, in partnership with an undisclosed artist, revealed a new art installation in the vacant lot behind Breslin Hall and the Lawrence Herbert School of Communication. The pieces are part of an attempted renaissance of Hofstra’s campus to address the university’s abysmal lack of sufficiently productive art installations. Last semester, students reported experiencing a mildly wet, lachrymal occurrence only once every 33 steps when passing the existing 55-odd “sculptures” across Hofstra’s campus. The university’s newest addition to its otherwise insipidly barren landscape breathes fresh, sometime smelly, air into the desiccating corpse of Hofstra. Mother, please stop farting. Mother, you’re stinking up the whole can. The provocative installation consists of two 8’ x 5’ adjacent assemblies of spatial solids adorned with deviously simplistic illumines of green and grey. * *Editor’s Note: They’re dumpsters. By placing the two pieces next to each other, the artist throws into question the question. Like, will this succeed? * Am
which happened to be just the right size for charging my banana poppers… * *Penis? Penises? Unclear. No seriously, this guy needs help, why are we doing this? Fine, fine, whatever. And I did, oh yes I did, I charged those banana poppers. Finally, Warholian containers of stilted green and grey metal shouted, MONTBLANK PENS ARE BETTER YOU PIECE OF SHIT To me yesterday, January 23nd, and it stood up too, opening the wide sky to shine its glancing venereal juicer down on my poor mortal eyes. * *Is this guy talking about being fucked by a dumpster, now? How would he even begin to
open? I know there’s a half-full Boosted bottle of Naked Guava smoothie in here. I saw it, I saw it thrown away by some bottlenecked glasses snicker-wannabe in Breslin’s second-story men’s bathroom – of shoes, shit and of life after corporeal cessation are suggestions of critical insight by the piece’s reflection on late 1970s dialogue. * *Here he is talking about his dead mom, or something? Why did you show me this, Matt? The installation! The installation surpasses boundaries of modern discursive thought with its remarkable handling of form: a sentient structure active and still-born in modernism’s
Never quite got that banana peel pile placement right… Time has gotten away from me… My final moments with my mother came with a rumor that she had expired now and her brain had latched onto the loveless bond of a hospital waste basket. My mother’s body never meant much to me, but it provided physical comfort, however shallow, in the days after her soul’s untimely departure. I mean the mortal sequins of existential refuse kept me busy for a couple days before the men in squatters’ uniforms* came in their greenish-tangreenish-tan band-skin suits looked me up and locked its copcrying man-tears but I’m not no
discovery, Gretchen, like the raccoon, fled in a scurry of shrill screams and frantic movements. He left behind a collection of Naked Juice bottles semi-formed into a shape resembling a giant plastic dildo, piles of banana peels and the rotten remains of an unidentified body. Gretchen first went missing in the days following his mother’s untimely death on January 22nd, 2016. @majortom That nail-rod shitter brought unfamed technogofers to the grape farm one day, January 22nd, and they stunk up the whole breach not much like these two fecund greyish greenish grey lollipop incubators
My feeble salt and papercracker mind split right down its meridian axis to vacant loose ghost holes now open to the entrance of my loosely plagiarized experiment: the art can of macro-seeking genesis peeled inside itself past to deposit my poor mother’s soul into me*. And I became pregnant with her eternal essence. It came like a flood into my causal statis-chamber, my I belly belly. *Here he is being fucked by the dumpster. Now, six months in, I’m still on the miraculous train lavishing the Newest Hofstra Installation, but from afar, it doesn’t look too good. I can barely track the carnal doings of metal waste baskets from my telescope, twenty-two feet about the watchtower*. It’s obligatory with all the tan-skin suits runnin’ around, but the man is still running and I’m keeping the saint alive – oh, my poor, old Mother’s soul. *Gretchen’s current whereabouts are unknown.
A 14 • March 31, 2017
Nonsense
A&E
A Critique Of Hofstra Critics By Jesse Saunders STA F F WR IT E R
A strong voice in a growing criticism movement on Hofstra’s campus, the Hofstra Critics are really tapping into something we’ve previously seen only in every other major media publication, and that one guy that follows you after class to let you know he thought your poem was pretty good. While some publications split their magazines and papers into various sections, the newly growing critic collective is challenging the norm by dedicating their entire life’s work to the formula of
critique. The club sends out weekly manifestos similar to that of other growing art movements on campus, in the form of emails concerning their meeting times, and other pertinent information. One voice does not define the critics; they, instead, find their strongest art comes from their differences. One critic, sophomore Film Major Roger Wells, chose to write about the popular film Get Out, “Yeah I really loved it, like they tapped into something with that one,” Said Wells. “Get Out might be the movie of the year.” A fellow critic, junior Film Major Rachel Conway, also
chose to review the highly popular, heavily talked about film, “I loved Get Out. It was possibly the best movie of the year, and it’s only March!” she raved. The critics encourage critique in all form and have even started openly critiquing students around campus. Freshmen Bio Major Ana Simpson had such an encounter with the Hofstra critics, “This guy on the Unispan just came up to me and rated me 3/5 stars. His analysis of my deepest insecurities was really nuanced, but I’m still kind of confused.” The critics may be the most nuanced work of art the world has ever seen. Their critiques neatly sum
up the plot of films, books, music, and “that bitch Jade” in concrete understandable ways the student body can finally digest. The collective is a creation from a pure place of inspiration. Compromised only by an audience who is unable to compromise
their values for the sake of art, the Hofstra critics are off to strong start and will likely have a successful and award winning career in both criticism and talking more than anyone else in class, as they continue onward. But still… 2.5/5 Stars
This Years Music Watch List! (Unless The Diseases Under Greenland Melt And Kill Us All) By Dr. Souce S PEC I A L TO NON S E N S E
With every year comes new releases from the hottest artists, and perhaps ancient diseases frozen for millions of years under the humongous island of Greenland. Last year, Drake brought us Views, Beyoncé gave us Lemonade, Chance, the Rapper gave us Coloring Book, and Greenland gave us no cataclysmic diseases. Let’s dive right into the hottest albums that will be dropped this year! 1. Lorde - Melodrama Jun 16, 2017 Since the young New Zealand pop-star’s 2013 debut album, Pure Heroine, people have been blasting her catchy tunes at ironic tea parties and white college clubs. The album even garnered a cover from T-Pain’s hype-man while T-Pain got paid $30,000 to sit and drink bottled water at Hofstra’s very own Music Fest. Lorde has been showing some serious potential for this new album with the release of some new
singles, even if they are not as catchy as “Royals.” Global warming is also showing some serious potential in melting Greenland just enough that those world-ending diseases frozen in there may escape. Let’s hope we all die after we jam out to Lorde! 2. Spoon - Hot Thoughts March 17, 2017 Everyone knows that one Spoon song, “Underdog,” so everyone definitely wants another full album of music from them in 2017! The band may be older, but that does not mean they cannot keep up with the young Alternative bands of today. Also on the older side (by several hundreds of thousands of years) are those diseases under the largely Inuit populated island of Greenland that are definitely going to thaw. 3. Gorillaz - TBD This cartoon-turned-real person band has been MIA since 2012; nobody thought they were coming back, but here they are! Expect even more Snoop Dogg and more
features than ever before. There is sure to be no lack of their wacky music videos either. There is also no doubt in my mind that the frozen diseases under Greenland, once thawed, are capable of wiping out 99% of the population within one year. Being frozen for so long has given them a high resistance to antibiotics and the ability to transform fast. Be sure to groove to some Gorillaz as you slowly watch your family cough blood on each other! 4. Fleet Foxes - Crack Up June 16, 2017 We just had to include another animal-based band in this list; they just seem so plentiful these days! Fleet Foxes left their fans in the dust after their 2011 album Helplessness Blues. People thought they all died, but here they are again. They’re also gonna bring the original Seattle Folk style that fans have worshipped since their hiatus. After this album, they all will almost definitely die terribly painful deaths from those diseases under the (ironically-named)
Greenland. Be sure to listen to Crack Up as you contemplate all those diseases thawing and inevitably killing you.
and/or cries tears, killing himself and spreading the frozen (soon to be unfrozen) Greenland diseases to others.
5. Sky Ferreira Masochism - TBD This might be the year of the Indie-Pop Revolution! Sky Ferreira is a fierce and edgy pop musician who always does her own thing. Her album should once again bring her angsty and edgy vibes that her fans just adore. Her porcelainwhite skin will make it very difficult for doctors to notice when she has been infected by the diseases that are going to take her life sometime soon. However, it will be easy to tell when she starts coughing up the blood we are all bound to cough up eventually.
7. Some Country Music Who Cares These songs will come out in the summer, and I would not even give us until then to live. The diseases pent up in their frozen prison made-up of the largest non-continent island, Greenland, are itching to get their dirty hands on some animals, then humans. We will die before we hear the hottest country song of the year and there is no way around that.
6. Trey Songz - Tremaine - TBD Trey Songz comes out of the blue right when the world needs him. No one’s ever said “I hate Trey Songz” because everyone just sorta likes him. Maybe 2017 will be his comeback year, or maybe it will just be the year he coughs
2017 is sure to be a year full of new music, new experiences, and new diseases! These hot albums are sure to blow up the airways and the charts in the coming months, so be sure to start pre-ordering your copies. Also, be sure to watch out for those diseases! You may not be able to stop the apocalypse caused by them, but maybe you will be one of the 1% who is immune. Happy listening!
Nonsense
March 31, 2017 •A 15
OP-ED
Got a letter you want in here? Got some quesions? Just kind of lonely? I get it. Send in your shit to nonsensehumor@gmail.com and you might be in this here little dealy next time.
Letter To The Editor: Please Stop Being Mean To Me By A Concerned Student some people call you rude, CON TR I B U T E R
This letter is in regards to previous interactions in which I believe both the staff of this paper, and everyone else has not been nice enough to me. I am writing this to both address the situation and offer a new perspective as someone actively involved in my day to day life. I stand in solidarity with me, myself, and I. The time to be nice to me is now. I noticed none of you attended my last dinner party. Some people may call this rude. Why would you let
when you could have simply attended my small spattering of friends and my mother’s lovely casserole? Do you know what my mother had to do to make this casserole? Do you know? How did you find out? I speak for the needy, the under-privileged, the me’s of the world who have had it too miserable for too long. You all sit up there in your high castles and spit on me. Your stupid hamster peed on me last time I entered your house in the dark of the night. Maybe get better security than a hamster.
Beyond this offense, I have a list of grievances that must be remedied. In light of this, I have an entirely reasonable set of demands that must be completed by Monday at 12:30 PM Eastern Standard Time: 1. When you ran me over last year and then attempted to bury my body in the dark lagoon behind the strip mall, you didn’t even wave to me. We may not be close but I will not stand for such discourse. I am a strong person, and I will not let you continue to step on me. Wave at me before you follow through with your attempt at premeditated murder. 2. Carol in your office fucking sucks. She does not have to leave, but this must be acknowledged. Every day at 3:00 PM Eastern Standard Time. 3. My mother will not stop crying, just eat the casserole,
just celebrate the coming of a new dawn and EAT THE FUCKING CASSAROLE. Eat my mother’s casserole. 4. I noticed in the last issue of your paper you spelled the new Dean’s name incorrectly. Your articles are truly fantastic, but you have to be careful about these mistakes. 5. $500 dollars (American) in nickles. Resolved: you will stop being mean to me. I am a good person, my taxes were only 5 days late this year, a record compared to how late you are to my dinner party. Previous articles in this publication have utilized “labels” or other Neanderthal strategies to understand the human condition. Maybe it’s time we all took a step back and treated me personally better. There is no professionalism in this treatment of me and I will not stand for it.
I am not sure what you believed being mean would accomplish but I want an apology (which can be made through the completion of my list of demands that my mother and I have both deemed completely reasonable). Upon contacting your publication, I was informed that you conformed to professional standards of publishing and therefore would not be writing me an apology. This idea of professionalism is rather silly considering I do not like you, and I get to make the definitions which control my life. Next time you want to think about being mean, remember the golden rule, you are, I’m sure, aware of the golden rule. Treat others as if you operate on a public forum and can be taken to court for what you say to them. Please stop being mean It hurts.
From The Editorial Board: Shut Up.
By Editorial Staff
We have received several of your letters. I say “several” because after the many hundreds of them you have sent, truthfully, we stopped reading them, and most of them found a home as bedding for our office guinea pig, Harvey. So, thank you for providing a comfortable resting place for our precious Harvey’s soft tummy, and little feets. He thanks you. Yes, we have heard about your many dinner parties. We did receive the invitations for all thirteen of them this past year. You may call us rude all you’d like, but we are busy people, and we do not give a – pardon my language – flying fandango about your
dinner parties. We do not care about your mother’s casserole, or what she had to do to make it. But, for as we found out: your mother needs to stop using the Martha Stewart recipe. We used Google, for fucks sake. Do you remember the letter you sent us attacking our articles about the human condition of the canine? To this day, I’m not sure that any of us even know if you read that article. Your letter was so full of spite it made our head writer cry so hard that he sought Harvey, our therapy guinea pig, for help. We conform to professional standards, but we cannot embody this “golden rule” you speak of, when you do not embody it yourself. And speaking of the golden rule, we have
considered your list of “reasonable demands”. I had one of our interns read the list out loud while he was bringing me my morning coffee (we let them get a frappe for themselves too), and I will answer them one at a time. 1) If we wave, you might see us first. Or at all. No. 2) Carol was the only one that ever went to any of your parties in the first place, and she came back a changed woman. She is so strong. She remains so strong. 3) No. 4) All of our editorial mistakes are intentional artistic decisions. Our copy editors work off of strong VIBES, something you would not understand, and have no place commenting on to yourself while reading the one worn copy of Good
Housekeeping your mother keeps hiding from you, let alone in print. 5) See Debra in petty cash. This one can be easily arranged, but only if all 5000 nickels can be thrown at you from all corners of the office. Bring an umbrella, or a very large butterfly net. Carol could use the closure. We cannot answer to this matter anymore. Please refrain from sending us letters, as little Harvey is now finding himself with paper cuts on his little feets from the harsh 8” x 11” cardstock you are using. We refuse to listen to you complain anymore about these nonsensical matters. If we receive even so much as one more letter from you, we will be alerting the authorities and placing
a restraining order against you. Do not act like we haven’t heard you yelling and throwing rocks at windows from outside of our headquarters. We know it is you. Shut up. This is your final warning. We do not care about your feelings.
A 16 • March 31, 2017
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OP-ED
T he Party Line The Delta Epsilon Delta ‘90s Night Thirsty Thursday Absolute Rager Keg-Fest 2017 Fucking Rocked By Chadd SPEC I A L TO NON S E N S E
Lemme just say, for the record, that I’ve been to a lot of ‘90s-Night-ThirstyThursday-Absolute-RagerKeg-Fests in my day. You could call me a jungle juice connoisseur. People always hand me the AUX cord first,
and no one tops Chadd at Flip-Cup. So, when I heard that Delta Epsilon Delta was throwing a rager, I knew I had to go. I pre-gamed with my suitemate Todd before— we had some rummy bears that my ex-girlfriend left in my fridge—and ran into my boy Greg on the Night Shuttle. He said he wasn’t
going, but that’s not for everyone, you feel? Anyway, the party was lit. There was no beer when we got there, but we had the rummy bears, so it was fine. I got knocked on my ass. This dude was selling weed for mad cheap and I got so fucked up, dude. I ate a whole box of Triscuits that someone left, and I even
took a box home with me. There was this girl there that looked really familiar, and so I used that to hit on her. She was so beautiful. I got to second base, but she said she had to take an “emergency call” from her sister or something, so we didn’t go any further. There was a crossbow someone
brought that I tried out in the basement, and I think I got a pretty good shot. Actually, if you count the TV I hit right in the middle of the screen— right in the middle!—then that’s two good shots. Great Triscuits, great friends—all in all, great party! 5/5 Stars
The Delta Epsilon Delta 90s Night Thirsty Thursday Absolute Rager Keg-Fest 2017 Fucking Sucked By Todd SPEC I A L TO NON S E N S E
I want this to be crystal clear: I did not want to go to this party. Specifically, I did not want to go with my shithead suitemate, Chadd, mostly because I was still mad at him for spilling duck sauce all over our bathroom (please don’t ask). The only reason I went is because Chadd is too much of a baby to go by himself, and because he said he’d buy booze. What I didn’t know is that when he said booze,
what he actually meant was the half-full Tupperware container of rummy bears that his ex-girlfriend had left in the fridge for like a month and a half. He ate half of them, and got smashed because he’s a fucking lightweight. I only ate like two because I thought they tasted like burning plastic, and foolishly assumed there would be beer at an Absolute Rager Keg-Fest. Things first started to go wrong the second we got on the shuttle. I opened the door and was greeted
by my arch-enemy, Greg. Fucking Greg stole my girlfriend during freshman year, so naturally, we are not on good terms. Chadd loves Greg. I need new friends. The party was no better. There was no beer, and half the people there were either passed out or making out on the couch. I saw Chadd a couple times. The first time was when I walked in on him making out with my exgirlfriend, Sarah, which was great. The second time was when I passed him snorting
chopped-up kale off a mirror in the bathroom with a dude who looked like Chad Kroeger. That made me feel a little better. But, I still had a pretty shitty time, and that was before some douchebag SHOT ME WITH A CROSSBOW. Who shot me with a crossbow? Where did he get said crossbow? Boy, I wish I knew. The only thing I know is that there I was, minding my own fucking business, and suddenly there’s an arrow in my arm. A fucking arrow! I had to leave Chadd there so I
could call a cab to go to the hospital on account of being SHOT IN THE ARM WITH A CROSSBOW. My good polo is covered in blood and rummy bear juice. I didn’t get home until 7:30 in the morning. And, of course, I walked into my room and the first thing I did was step on a box of Triscuits someone had left on the floor. I hate Triscuits. If they’re Chadd’s, I’m going to kill him. 2/5 Stars, would not recommend.
I Didn’t Go To The Delta Epsilon Delta ‘90s Night Thirsty Thursday Absolute Rager Keg-Fest 2017 By Greg SPEC I A L TO NON S E N S E
The Rager? Yeah, I heard about that. I didn’t go, I had a paper due, but my friend, Chadd, said it was insane. Some dude got shot with a crossbow, I think. Hope he’s okay. 5/5 Stars, I guess. Sounded cool.
Nonsense
March 31, 2017 •A 17
OP-ED
My Grandson Will Ruin You, Uber.
By Gwynneth Gesth SPEC I A L TO NON S E N S E
Fascist tyrant of the streets, I write to you today on behalf of my grandson, Ross Gesth. I write to you today, in this very public, real, and good newspaper, to deliver you the news that you are finished. Ruined. My home doesn’t get internet, so I write to you now, you technological Pol Pot, from the local public library. I come here twice a week to keep up with the other world, that one Online, and I’ve gleaned from Facebook and Wordpress and Ticker and Zomit that you have made an
enemy of youths around this nation. Big mistake, Uber. Big mistake…you neo-Nazi. My grandson writes of you often, Uber. He makes “statuses” online about the way you lure vulnerable youngsters into serving a rigid totalitarian state, and on www. RossGoesOff.wordpress. com he even outlines a plan to sabotage you with pranks, hijinks, and more serious ideas as well. You want to use an army of cyber-youths to take down the media in order to further serve the oppressive regime you’ve help put in place? So be it. My daughter’s son Ross will erase your
website from his phone, and then he will become a fulltime taxi driver. My handsome and righteous grandson will combat you in the very streets you terrorize. I offer to you, through this good publication, an offer: Leave the young people of this country alone, cease your nationalistic rhetoric and your Constitutional injustices and, if you truly want to allay the gripes that Ross has alluded to on various online playgrounds and real-world playgrounds as well, stop employing drivers who take it upon themselves to decide what music is played. That’s indoctrination, and if it
does not end I will be forced to take matters into my own grandson Ross’s hands. Also, “surge pricing.” I’m not sure what that is, but Ross says on Twitter.com that it is “wack,” “so fucked,” and even notes them as an example of “some serious Nazi-level shit. Big, big bullshit.” Your fascist coup of LaGuardia airport hasn’t escaped us Uber. The eyes of the world are watching. Sickening. To Ross you are a new enemy. Your betrayal – your empty promises of a fairer, better world, where no middle-aged man is denied the opportunity to make a
little extra cash on the side – stung him hard, like the first round thwap of a switch from a time when parents had God’s blessing to do what was necessary. I remember that time. And I remember you, Uber. You’re nothing new to me. No. We knew you by many names: Stalin. Mussolini. Mao Zedong. We should have seen you coming, but how could we? You slithered in like all the others, cloaked in technology, innovation, and “progressivism.” You rose up on the back of the little guy, but you didn’t even realize that that little guy was my grandson Ross, who is 6’4”.
A Word To Millenials In The Age Of Trump: A Thoughtful, Intelligent, Center-Right Op-Ed By Brooks David I M P ORTA N T N E W YOR K TIMES GUY
Hi, I’m Brooks David. I’m balding but quite handsome for my age and I take really delicate shits — so Millennials, please listen. Like you, I was no great fan of Donald Trump or his (what seemed at the time to be) clownish brand of anti-conservatism. Like you, I enjoy that song that goes something like “WHY YA GOTTA BE SOOOO RUUUUUDE” and reminiscing about the Beanie Baby revolution. Oh, I should mention that I’m also in favor of Gay Marriage™ and am sort of moderate on Abortion™! Just don’t smoke dope or fuck if you’re under the age of forty! What I mean to say is: I understand you sweet and saucy Millennials. I know what’s best. Like many of you, I supported Hillary Clinton. It was the first time I voted for a Democrat for president in (as you kids say) a long-
ass while. It was not an need not fear Donald roots of the Donald Trump easy thing to admit, but my Trump. political revolution to wondrous upper-middle I think. latte-drinking suit-wearers. class readership in the New … We do this from our York Times appreciated it. I’m not sure yet. perched offices in midtown Besides, Hillary isn’t all What I do know, Manhattan and we do this bad. She has a vague, smiley without having a fucking however, is that you folks appreciation for illegal, need to calm down. Stop clue of what we are talking indiscriminate war. She, drinking so much dark about. We dismissed and like myself, supported the liquor. Stop making so laughed Mr. Trump and Iraq War from much sensual, the very sweaty love. Obviously, I don’t want beginning And you all of you to pursue a career in and, know what? also like political op-eds. That would fuck my Pick ONE myself gender. shit right up. Just get on board with We’re at and many of my war. It’s not the concept though, okay? colleagues, 1967 anymore, paid no price! I when everyone was his dopey supporters off could touch myself just either Man or Mutant. It’s for a long time, but hey! thinking about it, though not even 2005, when all Maybe they aren’t so bad. doing that would send me you kids were listening to If I’d known we’d be to Manhattan Socialite your AFI and sipping on getting corporate tax cuts Sexually-Depraved Moral bubbly hand soaps like and moderate increases in Hell, or MSSDMH for they were cocktails. (Or defense spending so soon, short. That means you can’t was that just me? Can’t I wouldn’t have put down touch yourself, either. get enough of that Miss a grand to get that damn Before I go any further, Murder. I just got the ‘Donald Trump Sux’ tattoo I might as well explain to Blood Album on vinyl.) on my doorman’s penis. you, dear Millennial reader, Regardless, this is my But enough about that. what my job is these days. point: It’s 2017, and I’m We’re not here to talk about You see, people like myself just like you! me and Greg. I’m here to make a living in 2017 by I don’t have a lot of time talk to you, dear Millennial. repeatedly explaining the on my hands to reminisce I’m here to say that you
with you Generation Y’ers, so here is the advice I will graciously hand over: be rigid. Adhere to arguments that are narrow. Be controversial in small doses, and only on issues deemed acceptable by whomever it is that determines acceptability (not that I’d know!). This is how I’ve made my living. And, dear youngins, this is how I how I hope you will make yours. (Obviously, I don’t want all of you to pursue a career in political op-eds. That would fuck my shit right up. Just get on board with the concept though, okay?). What I’m really trying to get at here, kids, is simply this: backbones are overrated, and moderation is always the answer. Unless that means furiously pulling yourself off to William F. Buckley’s toothy mug. There’s always time for that. And who exactly decides the answers? Well, my Millennial friends...it’s certainly not you.
A 18 • March 31, 2017
Nonsense
OP-ED
I Tried To Do DMT But I Didn’t Know What Kind Of Sandwich It Was
By Bill Whittleton SPEC I A L TO NON S E N S E
In retrospect, I gotta say that my intentions, at least, were good. I had a good head on, had my hopes high and a chipper attitude about the whole thing. And honestly, I think everything that happened really brought me and my son together: as father and son, and as bros, and as brothers. I think it was last Tuesday that I first heard about this DMT business. I had just gotten home from the daily grind to find my boy, Josh, sprawled out on the couch reading a comic book. Scooby-Doo Apocalypse, by
the look of it. Third issue. “Hiya there, Josh,” I said. “Father,” he replied. I took a seat in the armchair next to my son and watched him for a little bit. His favorite Diplo shirt was looking a little tight on him, and I thought about getting him a new one. “What’re you up to this weekend?” I asked. “Anything fun?” “Major Lazer concert,” he said shortly. I smiled: these kids and their boy bands. “Say, Sport, whaddya think about us doing something together this weekend, maybe before your little show? Your mother has the girls coming
by for Mahjong, and boy, I do not wanna be in the way for that!” “Go away, Dad,” said my sweet boy. The gears in my head started turning: there had to be something that would get that boy off of the couch besides that nu-disco he’d been listening to. I mean, hell, you can’t Hustle to that! And then it clicked. Just like that. I remembered one of the interns, Dennis, talking about it in the office, and I thought that maybe, just maybe, it was worth a try. “Whaddya say we try a DMT?” Josh’s head shot up. “What did you say?” “Y’know, DMT. Isn’t that what you kids are all tryin’ these days?” He looked skeptical. “You wanna try…DMT?” he asked me, slowly. “Well sure!” His face started to brighten—reel ‘em in, Bill!—and I sat back, proud of myself. “Dad, if you know where we can get some, that’d be awesome,” Josh said, beaming. It warmed me to my core to see such a big grin on
my boy’s face. “How about this weekend? You and me, before your concert—we can go around the corner and pick one up for each of us.” Josh nodded. “You’re cool as shit, Dad.” That, I think, made me happier than anything. “Of course, my boy. Just tell me what’s on it so I know I won’t be allergic to anything.” Josh’s face fell a little bit. “What do you mean?” “Well, I’m assuming there’s lettuce and tomato on it, hence the em-tee—” “Do you know what DMT is?” I sat there in silence. I didn’t understand. What else could it have been? Dennis was a good kid; always showed up to work on time and dressed neatly. Sure, he only fetched coffee, but I didn’t think he was an incompetent young man. Did Josh know something I didn’t? Josh continued to stare at me, smile nearly gone, then buried his head in his comic book. I went upstairs and closed the door, retreating to my bed for a moment of reflection. What did my son think DMT was? Some crazy
new dance move? A drug? I shivered. Not my sweet boy. I decided there was only one thing I could do. I tried it. I went to the guy at the gas station, and he got awfully tight in the rear about the whole ordeal. Asked me how I knew about DMT. And then asked me for way too much money— twenty dollars for something to eat?—so I decided to take my business elsewhere. Also, he wanted me to follow him to his truck, and I have work in the morning. So I said, “no, Sir!” Everything everyone said about it was—pretty true, I suppose. My conscience was radically altered, I guess. I was sweaty, I vomited, and I cried. A lot. It certainly made me go into my own head a little bit, but I think it was some bad mayo that was responsible for all of those hallucinations people talked about. They didn’t mention this online, though, so I will say this: make sure you get the roll toasted. Otherwise it makes for a pretty soggy mid-afternoon lunch. But overall, give the McDMT a shot: you won’t be disappointed.
Resident Little Bitch Thinks He Can Tussle With Me By Todd Brodnod SPEC I A L TO NON S E N S E
Look, it’s not a matter of how big you think you are, okay? It’s a matter of skill. It’s timing and all the stuff that make people like me, Todd Brodnod, in the business of delivering the hurt. So, resident little bitch—what’s your name? John? You think can tussle with me? Let’s fuckin’ tussle, little boy.
My son doesn’t want me fightin’ no more, says I gotta be a dad first. I’m a great dad, and I want you to know that, Josh. “Not gonna happen,” I says to him. I says, “this fuck really wants to scrap? He thinks he’s got balls? He ain’t got no balls! They’re not there!” That’s what I said. I really said that. What’s that, you say? Oh, you think since your girlfriend doesn’t want
you fighting that you’re just gonna walk away? You can’t hide forever, you small-handed, lonely little man-boy. You think you’re a fucking tough guy, huh? You’re a little whiny baby boy. “Oh, look at me! I’m Jim with a successful relationship and a Prius!” A Prius? You’re a joke. You got no shot at feelin’ hot victory sweat on your face, you little gremlin. You can put your fat,
weak, hipster fists up to defend your sad, squishy face, but rest assured I’m gonna make a Picasso out of it. I’ll take all the parts of your face off like a Mr. Potato Head. I’ve been doing this for years, you shit. Love the way my fist feels when it hits skin that isn’t mine. I crave it. And you know what? I’m an animal. What are you? A little tiny boy. I’ll scramble you like a egg. I have had
enough. E-nough. I am stanced the fuck up. Come at me, Jim. Oh, and you know what else, you baby boy? I’m pretty sure it’s your dog that’s been shitting in my yard, and I don’t appreciate it.
I’m a Retired UFC Fighter and I Will Win
Nonsense
OP-ED
March 31, 2017 •A 19
Opinion: I Would Like To Be In A Place
I Wrote This A PERSON
I would like to be in a place. I don’t want to pressure you. I don’t want you to feel obligated to send me there. This is a lowpressure environment. Please stop weeping, please halt those tears and take my soft hands. All I’m
saying is this: if you happen to be in a position as such to allow me to go, a position in which you may grant me that honorable honor, a position in which you will take hold of my bridles and lead me like your steed, then I will gladly go to A Place. If there are things there, oh I hope there are things there, then I will gladly
go. I’ll be a touch concerned if there is a lack of things, sure, but I’m certain I could still work something out. Are you listening to me? Take hold of my soft hands once more. It’s kind of so-so: I’m not dying to go to A Place. I don’t want to force your hands, which are also soft, but not quite as soft as mine. I just
want to merely plant that little seed into your inner ear, where it is warm, that little seed that says: “Yes, I would like to be there, in A Place, if I can.” That’s all. You’re a good man, who is good at sending people places, and I just want to be a part of that. I trust you. Thank you for your time: you may go.
Opinion: I Would Not Like To Be In A Place
I Did Not Write This A PERSON
I would not like to be in a place. I will not go there. I won’t. Whatever it is that you do, whatever it is that you say with your lips—those round, bulbous lips with grips like little, pink, slippy worms—I will not do it. I will stamp my feet and I will cry, I will ball my face up into a
large scrunchy hole, and I will purse my own pink slippy worms together and make this noise: phu-shh! That is the noise I will make. Phu-shh! Phu-shh! And you will step away from me, as the spittle from my lip cannon drenches the thread of your Brooks Brothers dress shirt, the one with the little blue square pattern that I detest so thoroughly, the one you received as a gift
from the Sultan’s horde. Your hands, they are not soft, but neither are mine: so jagged and rough, cracked, like the skin of a beast. I will take my beastly hands and tear your shirt apart, then with the ink of my pen, I will write on your chest the truth: I Would Not Like To Be In A Place. Places have things, and things I am scared of. Places have people, and air, and events, and
happenings. I will never again expose myself to a happening, never, you understand? So take your not-soft hands and go, and take that shred of a shirt with you before I am again forced to make this noise: phu-shh. I would not like to be in a place, and most certainly not with you, and most certainly not with the 40 horses of the Sultan’s horde. Not again. Not ever again. Phu-shh.
Opinion: It Is Rude Of You To Decline Me A Job Just Because I Am A Horse
By A Horse
SPEC I A L TO NON S E N S E
There, I have said it. I have made my words known. I believe that I have been severely wronged by the gross underbelly of corporate America. I am a proud stallion, and I am tired of being trodden upon. (please do not laugh at me, this is not a pun!) Over and over again I face this challenge in life. People say to me “Silas, you are a horse, you cannot drive this car”, “Silas, you are a horse, you cannot use glue”, “Silas, you are dear god oh my god dear god you are a horse you cannot be a masseuse please dear god oh god get off my back.” This is fine, for I have tried these things anyways. I have crashed a thousand cars, but tell me how many faulty airplanes did the Wright Brothers destroy before one worked? Probably a lot, I think. Don’t know the real number. The point here is that the power of the mind trumps all. And it means, that I should be able to successfully train and work as an athlete in horseraces.
Yes, it is rude of you to decline me a paid job at your casino because I am a horse. No, I do not wish to be a race horse. That is an awful typecast. Why can a horse not ride another horse? There’s nothing sexual about it! I am interested in this purely for
the thrill of the sport, all I want to do is ride another member of my species through a rough and physical challenge until we have both come to its completion. (This is also not a pun! Do not make a mockery of my struggle!) In conclusion, I am in
peak physical condition for this job, and I possess all of the necessary qualifications. I am a hard worker, and I am determined. Is it then, fair, to decline me this job considering all of those things? To that I say: nay.
A 20 • March 31, 2017
Nonsense
SPORTS
Nerf Dart Ballistics Test Reveals You Didn’t Fucking Hit Me By Quin Asselin WEB EDI TOR
I’ve seen the worst of it. Got a bad case of rug burn from one of them Velcro casings a while back during the Siege of Vander Poel. I owe my life thrice-fold to Ol’ Doc Stitches for patching up my flaky meat-wrapper… on more than one occasion. I’ve got a scar in the shape of my cousin Doyle’s fake leg on my lower back. The point is, Chris, I know my shit, and you totally could not have hit me from all the way back there. The only blaster with that kind of range is a Longshot™ and that’s before you even take into account the wind, my amazing reflexes, or the Coriolis effect. The report back from intel states that our opposition doesn’t carry that kind of armament, and even if they did have access to that class of hardware – I told you I didn’t feel it hit me, you tool! Listen, greenhorn, when I
joined up with The Triple B (Bloody Blaster Battalion) I had no idea. First day in basic they made me disassemble a pair of Nerf Doomlands 2169 Negotiators™, using just a couple of moldy darts like chopsticks. Sarge spat in my mouth when I said I didn’t know that zombies were the resident bad boyz. He spat right into my open mouth. But I grew to love the taste and subtle pulpy texture of his residual oat-based knowledge nectar. I was like a baby bird, gleaming scraps of blaster discipline from Sarge’s salivary surprise. I know my shit, ya little Krumph. I don’t care that you think you shot me. Look at me, cadet. Take a deep whiff of me with your sight sponges. Do you see that I’m more greased up than a baking sheet full of Crisco? I’m caked in the goddamned stuff. The purpose of this is two-fold: 1. I think my salamander has really started respecting me more
since I became such a slick muchacho. 2. The bullets fucking glide off you, Chris. Chris, do you even give a shit about accuracy in this realistic dart-based war simulation? Because, judging by your utter lack of grease, mud, or any sort of dart-proof lube, I’d wager that you didn’t even account for non-Newtonian drag. Oh no? You didn’t, huh? What a
surprise that “Big Piss” Chris here doesn’t even know about muzzle drop OR in flight trajectories once that dart is out of the muzzle. My ears are attuned, you wempled duck brain of a boy. I can hear a dart whizzing by like the honks of a legion of Canada Geese flying overhead and raining white hot salvation upon the war-grounds. I’ve got the reflexes of a little league
baseballer on two Redbulls and a couple bumps of those sweet sweet... battle salts. Here’s the deal, Chris: I’ll play the game with you, but I don’t have to… did you… did you just shoot me? Point blank? No way, I called a timeout earlier. This shit doesn’t count. I won’t be toppled, let alone degreased, by an outsider. Don’t make me. I HATE this game.
Change Of Scenery? The Islanders Are Looking For A New Home And My Uncle Knows Just The Place By Jesse Saunders STA F F WR IT E R
It’s been a stressful season for the New York Islanders, the renowned hockey team known for playing hockey similarly to other teams. In a development which proved shocking to fans everywhere, moving the team and forcing them to play in the middle of a Brooklyn bar and concert venue -- the Barclays Center -- was not as positive an experience as everyone and anyone could have expected. This is not the end for Everyone’s Favorite Team When Every Other Sport is Off-Season, though. With rumors that the team could move to Queens, or possibly even the seventh circle of hell – Staten Island – fans across both Nassau and Suffolk counties aren’t holding their breath for positive news any
time soon. Up-and-coming businessman and my favorite blood-related uncle, Dominick A. Vito, might have just the answer, though. As it so happens, he came into a piece of property that is mere minutes from the Islanders’ old place, the Nassau Coliseum. And, according to sources close to the situation, the place is “friggin’ yuge.” With amenities such as alcohol, my dad’s awesome jokes, semi-cold running water, and a pretty flat floor, what else could the team need for their new home? Uncle Dom even got that smell out of the carpet, so now it’s clean and fresh and ready for the blood of our least-skilled players,
especially now that the other blood is gone. It just takes some seltzer; it really wasn’t that big of a deal. Have you met my
uncle? If you have, you get it. He’s a hardworking man. I say that as a
reporter, so now it’s a fact. Angelo D. Vito, my dad and long-time bar-regular, gave a ringing endorsement of the establishment. “Little Dommy was never very good with the girls, but he’s got Miller on tap, so we all know who really came out on top.” “Women!” continued the lone patron who is, just to reiterate, the father to a woman who is me. “Who needs em?” Disgustingly, critics of my uncle’s plan have said that the team needs “a stadium”, and “seats” in their new home. Others, though, such as my uncle and his brother, see this as an example of Big Hockey trying to hurt the average fan. “Remember back in the
day when the average boy could go from playing in the streets to beating up the opposite team for millions of dollars a day? I want that shit in my bar,” said the younger of the Vito brothers, the one that’s my uncle. Objectively speaking, he makes a good point. Those days of opportunity – the opportunity for a young white man to break another man’s collarbone and be celebrated, rather than to be forcibly removed from the Roosevelt Field Mall – are over unless we support businessmen like my uncle, who have proven time and time again that they are the true lifeblood of Long Island. “Hey, Rangers suck,” Uncle Dom whispers, almost to himself. “Strong Island.” Strong Island indeed.
Nonsense
By Brenna Lilly COP Y E DI TOR
As the world starts preparing for the 2018 Winter Olympics in PyeongChang, South Korea, a question comes to mind for all with cable TV – What is luge? First seeking wisdom from my peers, I received many a reactionary answer. “Luge? Keep that fuckshit out of my Catholic home,” neighbor Mary Robbins protested. “Luge? Haven’t seen that bitch since college,” pondered coworker Eric Downs. “Luge? My wife told me to pick some up at CVS.
By Pappy SPE C I A L TO NON S E N S E
Hey there, Sport. I know you’ve been dying to learn how to play some good oldfashioned American baseball, dying to be a baseball superstar, but— What? A cowboy? You wanna be a cowboy? Well, to be quite honest, I don’t give a cherry-puckered rat’s asshole what you wanna be. Ya see, becoming a legend isn’t about puttin’ your big fat fuckin’ head in the clouds. Because you know where you’re really puttin’ it? Up that ass you got. The ass that could be playing some ball.
March 31, 2017 •A 21
SPORTS
What Is Luge?
She said it was like humping a dry carrot. A meaty, dry carrot, with those white flaky patches?” admitted stranger Todd Owen. It seems that this sport has long been left undefined for the general populous, requiring us to fill in the details of a sport lain dormant in the dragon’s nest. According to the National Olympic Newspaper for Sociological and Ecological Nutrition in Southern Europe (NONSENSE), luge can be defined as any sport that uses sleds and grease. The first ever recorded game of luge was played in 1483 at the dawn of English time when
Richard the Third lubricated the track with the blood of his enemies. The luge-sled, known in French as the Grosse bite (translation: large cock), was a large and oily piece of wood. This game was organized to celebrate the inauguration of Pope John Paul IV, who won the electoral college by a landslide vote. Today, luge is one of the most popular Winter Olympic Games. Players from all around Greenland and Canada’s Northwestern Provinces unite under a single steamy dome to participate in what has internationally become known as “The Lord’s Tournament,” gliding players into the hearts of man for 30 slippery seconds at a time while they evade death by mere millimeters. The track is the most important element in the event of luge. In Italy, the luge tracks are greased with freshly-pressed oil of the olive plant. In Thailand, coconut oil is used. In the United States, they prefer raw unrefined pig fat, also known as “hitting that shit raw.” Some Olympic qualification
tournaments have been known to use KY Intense Pussy Burn Jelly for Her, as well as actual strawberry jelly; the two products are largely interchangeable. As for the sled, most Olympians choose to use discarded Macbook Pros; here at Hofstra University, our team uses trays stolen from brittle old men visiting the Student Center who can’t carry their own food. Their tears lubricate our newly-erected Joseph J. Shapiro Family Steam Dome. This game is known as the second most dangerous sport in the Olympics, preceded only by Spicy Fencing (Supreme Edition). Mothers have wept sweet rose-scented tears at the edges of thousands of luge-tracks. And with good reason! Partakers of luge are a rare breed indeed; even the losers of such an arduous and life-changing sport must themselves be built by champions, forged in the flame, and cold as ice. To learn more, we asked internationally known lugerino Anita Nuthername to tell us a little about this fateful game of death and how one
How to Play Baseball
Monday -- Wednesday -- Friday: Contact Drills, Static Stretching, Verbal Reinforcement The first step in being a success is to learn how to swing. If you can swing a bat, you can pretty much conquer on the field. So swing that bitch, you little Howdy Doodylookin’ motherfucker! You’re gonna get so much pussy you’ll wonder how in the world you ever wanted to be a got-damned cowboy. Get out there and start hackin’, damn you! I don’t care if you are eight. I learned by swinging, got good by practicing, and lost it all by forgetting what the legal blood-alcohol limit is
in the state of Nevada. And by fuck, you’re gonna do the same thing. You’re gonna hit those baseballs, ya little sissy. You’re gonna learn to hit a fucking baseball if it fucking kills me. And if it kills me, well, you can bet your pristine ass I’m taking you down with me. Tuesday -- Thursday: Speed Drills, Dynamic Stretching, Learning Your Place I don’t give two shits if I have to chase you around the bases with an axe yellin’ “kill the sissy!” The chances of you ever hitting a homerun are about as high as the chances of me making it to next
Christmas, so you better learn to run like an ostrich with a cock in its mouth if you ever wanna make it to the majors like your old Pappy nearly did. If it’s an axe, garden shears or a prosthetic hook hand that’s gonna get you to haul your fat little ass around those bases, so be it. First, second, third, home. You can count ‘em all on your fingers, you little asshole. Monday -- Tuesday -Wednesday -- Thursday -- Friday: Long Toss, Short Toss, Don’t You Dare Look Me In the Eyes When I’m Speaking By God, I’ve seen you throw,
finds “success” at it. “Yeah, it’s really all in the buttcheeks,” said Nuthername, clenching hers tightly so that a squeaking noise could be heard through the entire luge practice complex, in turn inspiring her teammates to do more luge. “You just gotta squeeze ‘em real tight. That’s how Richard the Third would have wanted it.” When asked how long Nuthername had been practicing the luge lifestyle, she answered, “Since the day I was fucking born. When my mother, God rest her tender soul, squeezed her very own luge-ly buttcheeks and birthed me out, I was set forth onto my sled and into the track. The afterbirth followed suit.” Following this exchange, Nuthername paused briefly. “I miss my cheeky Mama,” she whispered to me, her glutes still squealing. Tears began to well in her eyes and, for the first time that day, it seemed as though she had more on her mind than just indentured swervitude. “But I just wish she would have explained to me what the fuck luge is.”
and I’ve, for certain, seen a better arm on your sister. And she’s two! Grab a fuckin’ ball and stop throwing like your arm is made of Model Magic. D’you think Pappy has time for your shit? Stop crying. Or, at the very least, close your fuckin’ eyes. Now, go grab me a bottle of scotch, set up some bases, grab a bat and a ball, and I’ll make sure I make somethin’ great outta you. Remember: Pappy loves you. But Pappy’s gonna love you even more when you’re rich and successful. And who knows? You can probably teach your kid all this one day.
A 22 • March 31, 2017
Nonsense
SPORTS
Sports Spotlight: Hofstra Quidditch By Emily Hart STAFF W R IT ER
This new upcoming season of Quidditch is gonna be a banger. Since their last game, they’ve just been going at it in the soccer fields. You know the type: the coolest kids in your Comp 2 class, always talking about how sore they are from practice. You’ve probably even seen their lanyards. Surprised that it’s Harry Potter? Why wouldn’t you be? I know people always talk about how Quidditch isn’t a real sport but I heard Greg in my class dispute this rumor. Greg and Dylan, the coveted seeker, were talking about how much work they’re missing out on because they have practice every night when this girl was like, “That’s not a real sport.” Being the Ravenclaw Greg is, he destroyed her using intellect and fact.
She was totally dumbfounded. One day, I hope I get to be like Greg because he reminds me so much of Hermione, but I’m just a Hufflepuff who watches from the sidelines. Watching them practice next to the soccer team, you can see just how dedicated they are to their sport. Sweating through their house sweatshirts, running around with that weird stick between their legs while trying to throw those balls into the hoops at the end of the field. There’s no other athlete who can do that kind of multitasking. In boring sports, they just do one thing with only one ball. In Quidditch, there’s gotta be at least three. Dylan has been perfecting the seeker position by doing extra practices and he’s finally starting to look like a great player. Not only is he a crazy good athlete, he’s crazy good-looking. Standing at a
whopping 5’6” with shaggy brown hair that covers most of his face, he is so dreamy. His aroma is tantalizing, his AXE body spray makes everyone go wild—even the straight boys on the team. I mean, I would love to date him but there’s no way he would even look at me like that. I’m just a groupie— nowhere near his level or even his league. Their first game since the terrifyingly upsetting loss against NYU is happening this weekend. NYU’s team was ripped; almost all of them were like close to six foot. They had exclusive merch that you can only get at Harry Potter World, so you know they’re good. Although that’s not really my type. I don’t go for the conventionally attractive type, you know? They’re not down to Earth like Dylan is. The NYU’s Hipster
Horcruxes really did rip us a new one that day. So our team is hoping people come to show support—while they may not have three people in the crowd yet, like the basketball team has, hopefully some day they will. The game should be in the bag for them since they’re playing against Adelphi, the worst Quidditch team in the tri-state area. Adelphi’s team is like the opposite of the Hipster Horcruxes. So if you really want to show your school pride, don’t go to any of the games with free shirts. At this game, you’ll thrive on the atmosphere of excitement and all the Harry Potter references that they throw around. You’ll also be able to see all the hot members, but stay away from Dylan. Remember to head on out to the acid fields at 12:30 pm on Sunday! You won’t wanna miss it or the team!
Despite All Odds, Hofstra Basketball
By Ashley Vernola A SS I STA N T E DI TOR
HEMPSTEAD, NY – Week after week, students walk their little legs through Hofstra University’s Sondra and David S. Mack Student Center. At the end of its red brick atrium, there is a beacon: HOFCAST, or, if you don’t know, that tiny little television mounted above the entrance to the Unispan. On that tiny little television, Hofstra University projects poorly made PowerPoint slides to remind students of events they will never attend. It is on this tiny little baby television that every week, Hofstra students lay eyes upon the announcements for guest lectures by Jet Tila, or Thai-re Food Tuesday, and… what’s this? – can you guess it? no? – yet another basketball game. Another basketball game that stands to remind us all that, yes, despite all odds: Hofstra basketball. It prevails.
From inside the David S. Mack Sports and Exhibition Center, I can hear the ticking of a clock across the room and the screeching of basketball shoes across the floor. In the stands, there are bodies with mouths open, the scattered pockets of friends and Tinder matches standing in awe, in awe of Hofstra Basketball. They’re doing it: the basketball. Who would have thought? Look! They run up and down the court. How brave! They throw the ball and make the swish. They ziggity zaggity, juke, jive, volleyball, basketball, cricket tall, lemon small between players. Wow! They smack the ball, YES, smack it, out of hands and into their own, and whoosh it to the other side of the court. They are doing it! They are fearless and strong, heroes to us all! Good for them! Despite all odds! Despite calf muscles long-since atrophied! Despite opening for each game’s headliner, Free T-Shirts. Despite...everything.
It triumphs. Hofstra Basketball has been developing little sweat drops, little sweat drops upon its head since Your Honor, High Lord, King Queen, President Stuart Rabinowitz dissolved the football team into itty bitty pieces after having gone
0-23. Hofstra Basketball, it fills the void with aplomb! It has enough school spirit for the entire university. Hofstra Basketball goes. Goes each week, so we do not have to. With clammy hands and flames in their fast heart rates, Hofstra Basketball has continued
to prove, week after week, that it will be the victorious team on campus. Who is this Quidditch? What is this Wrestle? None but Hofstra Basketball. It conquers. Despite. All. Odds.
Nonsense
By Heather Levinsky and Zachary Johnson EDI TORS I N CH I E F
“Listen, I read the Chronicle every week, religiously.” Heather Levinsky We over here at Nonsense are actually big fans of the school newspaper’s work, whether it be their investigative journalism on shit we all already knew about the frats, or the, let’s say, “incendiary” op-eds they publish about once a year to stir the pot a little. Nonsense and the Chronicle have historically and contemporarily maintained a fair amount of crossover among our respective staffs, so we technically are not allowed to hate or sue them, nor them us. (Please do not sue us.) Basically, we’ve been trying to get the Chronicle to agree to a collaboration, “The Nonicle” for like pretty much forever. But we got tired of waiting around and straight up talked down to, so we’ve just decided to go ahead and do it ourselves!
March 31, 2017 •A 23
LAST WORDS “Fake News” is a term that’s being thrown around a lot, but nobody really seems to be able to give a definition for it. Is it the left-wing media journalists “at it again”, or any amount articles that imply Hillary Clinton is a cryptid that your uncle shares on Facebook? We all just can’t seem to come to a rational decision on that as a society! Maybe we’ll never know! Whatever the case is, we kind of just wanted an excuse to print on newsprint to save some money in our print budget, even though this ended up being way more expensive in the long run. But we can forgive getting dicked over once more by our school’s administration since they decided to throw us a huge bone (lol) and grant us an office space once again! Some long-time Nonsense fans may recall the “SGA Issue” circa 2014 wherein we aired our grievances in one of the most immature, yet organized ways possible at losing our beloved office
Editorial
space. Now since Nonsense is now stronger than ever, they’ve realized their mistake and are trying to get us to shut up by cramming us into a miniscule office once more. Even more poetic is the fact that we, the two editors-inchief and only remaining members of Nonsense (besides Matt, but he was
also an outside dog then) who even remember the first office, will not live to see Nonsense in residency again. Okay anyways, we’ll shut up about our office for now. You will for sure be hearing about it in the future. It’s cool I guess that a whole new generation of Nonsense will have a place to hang
out and be creative and make the magazine on some fancy Mac desktops and NOT drink beers. So good for them. Have fun being in school, losers. JK, Love, Heather & Zach
Issue Corrections • • • • • • •
• • • •
Last issue, we printed that Ryan Gosling sings well in the film La La Land. This is wrong. In the last issue we wrote “the,” we meant to say “we.” In our last issue, we published an article referring to the female softball coach as a “pedophile,” we meant “paedophile”. Last issue we stated that all clowns are wearing makeups to cover facial scars, but it was only just that one clown I met. Correction: Nonsense previously stated that Trent Phillips, sophomore and business major at Hofstra University, got his “dick” stuck in the bullet hole in the Unispan. The article is meant to have read “prick.” We regret this tiny, limp error. Last month, we printed an issue. That was a mistake. We deeply apologize. Hey, guys, so, uh, last issue we accidentally printed a whole page of our Google search history here at the office. That was a mistake. If you’re reading this, I’m going to need every single one of you to tear those out and hand them over so they can be destroyed. Also, to be clear, I want you to know that none of us here likes to fuck horses, and that despite anything you might have read, we do believe the Holocaust actually happened. In our last issue, we implied that there were two equally probable choices for our president, but it’s really one guy controlling two puppets maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan. In the process of sending our last issue to the printer, somebody spilled juice on it, that was a mistake. It should not have juice stains. In the last issue, I said I missed my dead grandpa. I’m over it. To be honest, let’s just save the space in the next issue now and formally declare that this whole thing is one big mistake. Isn’t print dead anyways?