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jester spring 2018


WESTSIDE MARKET NEVER CLOSES 2840 Broadway, New York, NY, 10025


JESTER OF COLUMBIA proudly presents

table of contents


Letters to the Editor Editaurus Corrections and Death 3HWHU6HDQ5DͿHUW\ Rump: The Art of the Veal - Catherina Gioino What Happens at a White Supremacist Rally? - Supriya Ambwani Hamilton Professors Adopt MTA Rush Hour Practice - CG Locker Room Talk - Andrew Schur Is a Hotdog a Sandwich? - Guests Same Sandwich Everyday at Milano’s - Shreyas Manohar Girl Wonders if She Has Necrophilia - Henrietta Steventon Fun Maze Time - Mark Prusakowski The World According to Trump - CG Lines at Columbia and How to Cross Them - Ethan Widell You’ll Never Get a Job in America - Robert Pollack I Chose Columbia Because... - CG Building a Better Mousetrap (A Pictoral Guide) - EW The Susan Goldberg Guide to Rape - SA Bam Bam’s Yella Mustard - SR Plan Your Kid’s Labor Day/Back to School Party - SR How to Gentrify A Neighborhood - SA A (Un)comprehensive List of Birth Control - SA and EW 7KH%ORQGH(ͿHFW$6 Petition to Make a 7th Floor Hamilton Class Count as PE REQ - CG An Excellent Adventure Back to Days of Future Past - MP College: S1E1 - Andrew Schur and Krishi Korrapati /RYH 3HUVRQDOV&ODVVLÀHG The Jobs Section Friendly Tips from your Friendly Jester Science News -HVWHU6WDͿ Horroscopes

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DISCLAIMER: The Jester of Columbia, Established 1901 ~ Columbia University’s most laughable humor magazine~ Jester is published as often as four times a year and sometimes never. It’s distributed free of charge but there’s a special 2 for $5 deal we offer to a select few individuals. Please stick to one copy per person. Views, ideas, opinions, or unsavory epithets expressed in Jester do not necessarily reflect those of Columbia University, its student body, or even the wise-ass college students who wrote them-- although they’re a good indicator. Any similarities to actual people, places, or events are coincidental or satirical in nature. For information on getting involved, advertising, or our personal lives, please contact Also visit us online at and follow us on Facebook (Jester of Columbia) and Twitter (@CUJester).


Dear Anally Retentive Wife, As someone who has been fucked in the ass by both your husband and your pastor, I urge you to turn your anal retention into anal attention. Yours lubriciously, Mildred *Sean describes what a taint is: “Taint, it ain’t your ass.” Dear Mildred, The Great Depression is over but my depression is not. What should I do to be as happy as the U.S. economy? Unpatriotically yours, Depressed American Dear Fellow Keynesian , I hear unrestrained spending is the ultimate source of happiness. Buy stocks in the East India Company. Yours roaringly, Mildred Dear Mildred, My hippie neighbors invited a black man to their house for tea. I want to red-line my own neighERUKRRG+RZZLOOWKDWDͿHFWP\ property? Furiously yours, Whitey McWhiteface Dear Whitey McClueless,


The year is 2008. The blacks have already stolen our presidential seat. And the world is good. Yours hippie-edly, Mildred


Dear Mildred, My husband is back from the war and wants to try anal. My pastor VD\VWKDWWKHGLͿHUHQFHEHWZHHQ hell and heaven is the taint*. Clenchedly yours, Vanilla Vanessa

Dear Mildred, No one’s listening to my tales from ‘Nam. Frustratedly yours, Cadet Bone Spurs Dear GS Student, Try being in a more relatable war, like the war on white men. KKK? Yours Oppressively, Mildred Dear Mildred, ***Stares awkwardly*** Obsessively yours, Creep

Dear Restraining Order, I hear the NASA has been making huge improvements on frontal lobomitomititties. Buy yourself a pair. Yours sincerely, Mildred

Dear Mildred, I heard screwing the president and EUHDNLQJDFRQÀGHQWLDOLW\DJUHHment could get your student loans forgiven. Is this true? Desperately yours, Dormy Daniels Dear Aspiring Entertainer, Use your anthropology degree to get a job at Pottery Barn. Invest in Lehman Brothers. Your econ bro, Mildred

EDITAURUS DEAR READER, If you’ve found this issue lying around in one of many campus dormitories, proceeded to pick it up, took a gander at the local EXVLQHVVHVWKDWKDYHDGYHUWLVHGLQWKLVLVVXHĂ€JXUHG\RXDUHKXQEditors-in-Chief gry and need food anyway; we and they thank you for your supSupriya Ambwani port. If you found this issue in a classroom or other building where Catherina Gioino someone is allegedly instructing you or you should be doing work, we politely ask you to continue in our school’s stress culture by Managing Editor reading every single word to the very end and later come to the 6HDQ5DÍżHUW\ realization at 11:55 pm Friday night that this time could have been XVHGPRUHDSSURSULDWHO\/LNHZLVHLI\RXĂ€QG\RXUVHOILQVRPH Treasurer G\VWRSLDQIXWXUHZLWKVHYHUDORIWKHVHLVVXHVZHJXDUDQWHHWKHĂ€UH 0LFKHOOH*RÍż emitted from the burning of these issues will not only provide the most warmth, but will surely provide great visual entertainment thanks in part to the paper quality we splurged on after we found 6WDÍż:ULWHUV out about our budget surplus. Tanmay Khandelwal I believe at this point I should introduce my self. Hello, I’m Troy Mark Prusakowski McClure, Catherina Gioino, co-editor-in-chief of Jester of ColumAndrew Schur bia. I, along with the people listed to the side, take great pride in Ethan Widell being a part of Columbia’s oldest legal advice journal on campus, FXUUHQWO\\HDUVLQWKHPDNLQJ2XUVWDÍżKDVWRLOHGFRXQWDEOH Cover Art minutes thinking of the proper phrase to use when addressing Andrew Schur *ahem* infertile Twizzlers-guzzling men, or our very lively debates concerning morticians, which unfortunately, did not make this issue. Layout Design Yes, we are quite proud of our alumna. Since its legendary 1901 Andrew Schur April Fools founding, Jester has been graced by such stars like Joe Schmoe, Barack Obama (the phone service rep at Verizon, no relaGuest Writers tion to any politician), and of course, myself. Other, lesser notable Robert Pollack alumni include Allen Ginsberg (writer of Harlequin erotica), I. A. Shreyas Manohar L. Diamond (founder of Jared’s), Thomas Merton (a man so disilHenrietta Stevenson lusioned with the world, he graduated from Columbia and then began believing in God), and even Ad Reinhardt (created ad art-and this one’s true). And we’re fairly certain Ben Stein, CC’66, also was a part of Jester since every so often, our TV magically turns on and starts playing conservative eye drop commercials. This comedy writing is the best our intellectually stunted, emotionally unstable, sexually repressed, sleep deprived student body KDVWRRÍżHU:KLOHVRPHPLJKWFODLPWKH\GRQRWIDOOLQWRWKHDERYH categories, don’t let their semi-unconventional good looks hide the fact they haven’t showered for a few weeks while they moved into the Butler stacks. And since I mentioned Butler, looks, and “few,â€? I think it’s about time you start reading this in public to get a few looks of your own. You can thank me later :P Forever yours, until I graduate and turn my back on this school that has given me so much, Catherina Gioino JESTER


CORRECTIONS In our 1936 issue entitled “The Sexiest Men Aliveâ€?, we said that Adolf Hitler had the hottest moustache in history. We would like to revise that statement after seeing Saddam Hussein’s glorious facial hair. Our “Home and Gardenâ€? issue from 1993 erroneously attributed a white picket fence as the American Dream. Due WRLQĂ DWLRQLWLVQRZWKUHHSODWLQXPDOEXPVDQGDPRXQWDLQ of Peruvian blow. In our 2013 “Killing with Kindnessâ€? issue, we suggested that Pakistan should celebrate its rich tradition of honor killings. We have since been informed that these killings are non-consensual and therefore too pre-#metoo for our woke members. Jester claimed in our 1969 “Get Gassedâ€? issue that the best way to get drunk is to soak your tampons in vodka and then VWXÍżWKHPXS\RXUEXQJKROH$UHFHQWVFLHQWLĂ€FVWXG\FODLPV the easiest way to get drunk is to drink. Kirstie Alley, in our 2004 “Weight Watchersâ€? sponsored issue, incorrectly attributed her moderate weight loss to waist washers you attach at the hip...It was lipo.


The middle class: middle school, still in Concern about nihilism: tomorrow was a beautiful day Graduate Student Unions: John H. Coatsworth ran at them with a machete The Hippies: they’re called liberals now Experts: “I’m not a scientist, but‌â€? My dignity: one too many nights stuck in an EC elevator shaft My virginity: Madonna’s lover failed Subway: Jared’s pants got tighter but his asshole got wider The MTA: it literally got lit last night Flint, MI: There must be something in the water, and it’s not Michael Moore Democracy: do we need to explain this one? 5XVVLD¡V3ROLWLFDO2SSRVLWLRQ3XWLQĂ H[HGWKRVHVH[\SHFV 3

PETER E\6HDQ5DÍżHUW\ No. 17: “Peter Peterson’s Gallery of Life-Didn’t-Turn-Out-Quite-How-IExpectedâ€? Her dad was an artist. But more accurately, he was not. More accurately he was a dad. A father to three girls. More accurately a husband. An employee. He was employed by an ad agency to design graphics. His graphLFVZHUHĂ€QHJUDSKLFV7KH\ZHUHQ¡W seminal graphics, but you couldn’t get his graphics for free. You couldn’t get his art for free, either. You could look at it, but you couldn’t keep looking at it. Not whenever you wanted to. You couldn’t fuck it, or spill orange juice on it either. Not for free. Though, he’d probably let you fuck his graphics for free. He’d probably let you and two of your dirtiest, long-dickest friends gangbang his graphics in a bubbling jacuzzi full of hot orange juice expecting nothing more in exchange than an honest gesture of appreciation for his artwork. As he was an unsuccessful artist, it was so that as she grew up, the house that he once designed for them to live in became, one disappointing exhibition after another, not so much a gallery as a hospice for his creations. I would make a point to stare at his artwork in long stretches of stillness and silence, but only at times when he could see me doing it. I would, more times than I can remember, see his truck pull into the driveway through her bedroom window, or hear him outside on his Blackberry (I liked to ask him if all artists had Blackberries) or the jangle of his keys as he walked up their front porch, and I’d jerk my arm out from under her waist, quit whatever it was I was doing, cut short a pee, abandon a frying egg, (there were even a handful of times that I

withdrew myself from his daughter), for no other purpose than to run in front of a piece of his artwork and pose in false contemplation. Just so that he could walk in and see me looking at it whenever I damn well pleased. Even if my appreciation were gen uine, there was a narrower range of currency that he was willing to exchange for his artwork, which he GHĂ€QHGDV´FDVKFKHFNRUWUHDVXUHÂľ That was his line— “cash, check, or treasure.â€? He loved to say it. The SUREOHPZDVWKDWKLVDUWZDVĂ€QH,W was not Fine art, but it was Okay. It certainly wasn’t treasure. So, whenever he repeated this “cash, check, or treasureâ€? line, I imagined scuba diving through a shipwreck and discovering an ornate chest in the stern. So of course I pull the chest to shore and the next thing I imagine is that my knees are burrowed in the sand, and I’m holding a pair of bolt cutters with both hands, and the lid of the chest is leaning back, wide open, and the padlock is dangling from the latch. I imagine lifting the only contents of the chest, a single oil painting, in sideview, not unlike a graphic in a geology textbook, which depicts a bisected tract of wooded land where deep under the soil, a naked man is planted like a tree. His limbs are VWUHWFKHGRIFRXUVHDVLQFUXFLĂ€[LRQ This is also not unlike a painting his daughter tacked to the wall beside her desk that he painted while attending SCAD. Sometimes I would ask him, just to conjure up my fantasy, “Hey Peter, what would you take for this?â€? pointing, usually, at the wire sculpture in the yard while he was out harvesting Ă€JVIURPKLVĂ€JWUHHVRUDIUDPHGSRUtrait of her mother, his wife Stephanie, that hung in the TV room.


“Cash, check, or treasure,â€? he’d say; though, when he said it to me, the words were a degree fermented by the knowledge that I had no respect for him. My vision always ended the same way. A demented pirate ghost would descend upon the beach and press the cold muzzle of an ectoplasmic blunderbuss to my forehead, forcing me to choose! choose! between keeping the chest itself, or the “treasureâ€? that I’d found inside of it. I’d take another look at the painting. Then I’d hold it up to show the pirate. We’d exchange a glance, and there’d be a tense moment of stillness and silence. He’d DOZD\VFUDFNĂ€UVWWKRXJK IDLOLQJWRVWLĂ HKLVFURRNHG rotten smirk. Then I’d lose my composure too, and we’d both erupt into cruel, greedy laughter at Peter’s expense. Of course I would take the chest, because it had some utility, and it once belonged to real pirates, and not a fake artist. RUMP: THE ART OF THE VEAL Catherina Gioino Hi Donald Trump here, and I’m selling you my knew book, Rump: The Art of the Veal, the greatest ever newest cookbook for all you’re veal cooking needs. Bye this book twoday and ewe will Shirley sea watt an awesome cook you can bee. Learn from the best—that’s me!— and you will get inspired to become the greatest (second greatest) cooker of veals you can expect. Everyone knows there’s only one place to get the great meat for the great veal: the rump. That’s why I named my book Rump. Everyone knows this. If you don’t know this you’re an idiot and you


deserve to be sent back to whatever parts— CHINA. Read this book and you will learn what the great cooks of your day— me—have done with their rumps. We sat on them, making sure they greatly held all the juices you would want to eat with your V(eal). Just because I’m a nice, great guy, I’ll give you a great 5 point summary of what to expect from this great book. Grab it by the tushie: If you see a calf or a cow even, and you know you want it badly, but you don’t know how to go about and get it from the cow, just grab it by the tushie (Bannon hates the Jews so I won’t be using any more of their slang from now on). It doesn’t matter if the cow doesn’t moo or whatever, you’re a man and it’s a cow. They’re lesser than women, we all know that. Take away hands-tender bites: You’re a real man. You marinate that veal until there’s no hope left. You make sure to take away any rights—I mean bites—the tender might have. What’s hands-tender you ask? Well I frankly don’t know but I know my son Pencey is really angry at them so ,ÀJXUHGLWKDVVRPHWKLQJWRGRZLWK grabbing them by the tushie until your hands get tender. Hide the blacks’ heartburn: I’m friends with the blacks. I also love the Mexicans. No to CHINA. So I got some barbeque and gave it to my good friend Kanye and hid his heartburn. Can’t let that get out to the fake news press. Alt fact: I miss the old Trump. I am the new Kanye. So that’s my 3 point summary, exactly as promised. I’m a man of my word, and I have the best words.

WHAT HAPPENS AT A WHITE SUPREMACIST RALLY? by Supriya Ambwani The Jester of Columbia has been committed to high-quality and socially responsible journalism since 1901. We believe in being impartial observers of events. Since white supremacist rallies are the cool new raves in town but being diverse is woke, we decided to invite a diverse group of attendees at last week’s white supremacist rally in Staten Island to write about their experiences at the event. In keeping with the tenets of journalism espoused by Fox News, we urge our readers to sympathise with all the brave folk ZKRKDYHVHOÁHVVO\FRQWULEXWHGWRWKLV piece. Remember: the new Nazis are the good Nazis. Lord Eugeny X*, Grand Duke of the Kool Kids Klub (KKK) It was such a beautiful night. I looked out at a sea of beautiful white men. White in front of me, white to my right, white to my left, white to my diagonal. All my beautiful comrades with their buzzcuts, plaid shirts, and ÁDPHWRUFKHV,EUHDWKHGLQWKHVPHOO of victory. The good men were so sexy they made my Little Duke stand up. Unfortunately, they are clumsy men. Their ‘Heil Grand Dukes!’ were uncoordinated but at least they screamed at the Jews to stop replacing us with their homosexuals and money. I am so proud of my army of virility. All of a sudden, I saw a black man with dreadlocks, undoubtedly high on the marijuana and innocence of white women, approaching the stage. He was holding a huge bag that smelled like cheese and pineapples. It was a bomb! It had to be! That monkey man approached MY territory with such nonchalance. This country has gone to hell since it gave those people rights. I felt sick and overcome with

the urgency of saving my people. I am DEUDYHDQGVHOÁHVVOHDGHU,JUDEEHG my microphone and roared, “Black terrorist approaching with a bomb!!! GET HIM!!!” My brave men screamed and rushed towards him. I saw the terrorist tremble just like the rest of his people VKRXOG+LVEDJZDVSXOOHGRͿDQG he was pulled into the crowd. I heard him scream and then get thrown in the air. The scum continued screaming as he was bounced up and down by my brave, beautiful men. Serves him right. If only these were the 1930s… I would lock him in a special little chamber with the rest of his foreign-skinned occupant family. At that I concluded the night’s ceremony and went home to look for more beautiful, brave men on Grindr. For anatomic purposes, of course. Pale McFlaccid*, Protestor Holding a Tiki Torch I joined the Kool Kids Klub last year because my mate Darcy told me that it would help me get chicks. I am 27-years-old and the only woman who has not pepper sprayed me yet is my beloved mother. I do not understand why those women walk around exposing their ankles and looking for jobs if they do not want me to penetrate them. Feminazis today have forgotten their place--in the kitchen during the day and between the sheets at night. Darcy told me that I could set them right by joining the KKK. Why do those whores need jobs when they should be looking for husbands to serve? My mother tells me that those sluts do not understand that I am a precious, handsome boy. My mate Darcy and I get good money to go to KKK meetings and rallies. I am in charge of tiki torches. Some GLVJXVWLQJOLEHUDOVQRZÁDNHWULHGWR tell me that coloured people made WLNLV,WULHGWRVHWÀUHWRWKDWELWFKIRU talking to me but Darcy held me back


because he wanted to seduce her. He now admits that he would have succeeded if he had let me barbeque her Ă€UVW$Q\ZD\ZHDWWHQGHGDQDPD]ing rally in Staten Island led by Lord Eugeny X, Grand Duke of the KKK last weekend, across the pond from those feminazis. Lord X is such a sexy, powerful man. Darcy told me that he GHĂ€QLWHO\JHWVODLGMXVWOLNHZHZLOO one day. Darcy and I were hungry and ordered some pizza before turning our attention to Lord X. He spoke many truths about strangers coming in, killing our people, stealing our women, and taking over our land. I banged my tiki torch on the ground and roared that I would not let that happen. All my comrades joined me. All of a sudden, Lord X screamed “Black terrorist approaching with a bomb!!! GET HIM!!!â€? Everyone turned around to see a black man with wild hair characteristic of the black species strolling towards us with a large bag. I VQLÍżHGWKHDLUDQGWKHQVQLÍżHGDJDLQ I looked at Darcy and found him VQL΀QJWKHDLUWRR,WZDVRXUSL]]D We leaped onto the terrorist, grabbed his bag, and ran into the woods with it. We pulled out the box of pizza and RSHQHGLWWRĂ€QGDOOWKHJRRH\JRRGness of cheese and pineapples staring back at us. We sighed, biting into our respective slices. Pizza really IS better than sex. Freddy D, Pizza Delivery Guy White folks are so crazy man! Last Saturday started out the same as any other day in my life. I was working at my Famiglia, delivering pizzas to all the lazy folks too lazy to walk their butts over to get take out, when I got a call from the middle of buttfuck nowhere forest. I groaned because I thought it was those stoner kids who never tip again. So I was chilling there watching the chef bake their pizza when I saw him wrinkle his nose and put goddamned pineapples and extra


cheese on it. He looked as disgusted as I felt as I put it in my delivery bag. Well, at least it wasn’t the stoner kids ordering pizza to the middle of the forest again-- they had better taste than that. I biked fast. The weather was pretty good. As I approached the site, I heard FKDQWLQJDQGVDZUDQGRPà DVKHVRI light. As I moved closer, I realised that it was a rave. Dozens of men were chanting and banging tiki torches into the ground. They were facing a silver-haired man in a black robe who was standing on a stage, waving a microphone around. I was like dayuuuum Freddy! This is going to be a party to tell the folks about. ,PRYHGWRZDUGVWKHFURZGWRÀJXUH out who the hell ordered that damned pizza. The people were so white, but it’s Staten Island so I was like whatever. It looked like a fratboy orgy. It was pretty poppin’. All of a sudden, black robed dude grabbed his microphone and yelled something about a black bomb. Everyone turned towards me. I was the black bomb!!! Hell yeah they wanted me to party!!! I started bobbing my head to their chanting. The crowd rushed towards me to embrace me into its fold. Some kind souls got P\EDJRͿP\VKRXOGHUEHIRUHWKH RWKHUVVWDUWHGFURZGVXUÀQJPH,WZDV insane!!! They were bouncing me and GRZQDQGFKDQWLQJVRPHWDQWULFVWXͿ I couldn’t hear what they were saying because my body kept screaming in exhilaration but it sure seemed fun. As soon as I started getting dizzy, the black robe dude yelled something and ZDONHGRͿWKHVWDJH,WHOO\RXWKDW guy was psychic. How did he know that I wanted to stop? Anyway, the other frat boys stopped bouncing me and dropped me onto the grass. They could have lowered me down more gently but I was so pumped that I didn’t care and bounced right back up. And then I remembered that my boss

would kill me if I got back late, so I ran back to my bike after waving goodbye to my new friends. They seemed confused for a while but tried to chase me when they saw me leaving. I waved at them and thanked them for a great party as I left. It wasn’t until I hit the main road that I realised I had lost my bag and not even gotten a tip. Oh, well. Shit happens. * Some names have been changed to protect the writers from being triggered by trigger-happy liberals. HAMILTON PROFESSORS ADOPT MTA RUSH HOUR PRACTICE by Catherina Gioino Seeing how students pack up earlier than their dismissal, professors in Hamilton have taken it upon themselves to adopt MTA rush hour standards to better facilitate student happiness. “My friends and I all have a 6:10 class, but because I’m the only one in Hamilton, I have to rush to grab a table in John Jay at 7:25,â€? said freshman Jimmy Sellers. “It just adds all this anxiety to getting a table and appeasing my friends. And because ,¡PRQWKHVL[WKĂ RRU,VRPHWLPHV don’t make it out until 7:30, 7:50 sometimes.â€? To help Jimmy and others in his situation, professors have adopted the MTA rush hour method where they ZLOODOORZFODVVWRHQGĂ€YHPLQXWHV early to beat the rush. To make up for the missed class time and in keeping

with MTA practices, the class will sporadically and spontaneously meet in the basement, windowless classrooms of Pupin 4 unannounced. “It could EHIRUĂ€YHPLQXWHVLWFRXOGEHIRUDQ hour. We’re really trying to stay true to the MTA ways,â€? said Professor Keira Skinner. “I was making my morning scone and tea when I heard students running down the stairs,â€? Deantini said. “I usually get my scone perfectly dunked by class dismissal, so I thought I was late. I looked at my clock, it was only 11:19. I came out and heard all this rumbling and everyone running straight to John Jay. I commend them, really.â€? Deantini had some choice words to say about the professors’ practices in keeping with the transportation agency’s central identity of the city. “Beau-- I mean Prezbo and I,â€? Deantini wrote in a follow-up email, “Have decided the faculty has not initiated enough MTA measures to truly give our students the real New York experience. Beginning tomorrow, we are implementing other strategies like releasing a horrendous B.O./dog urine stench into classroom vents, interrupting an otherwise quiet classroom with singing panhandlers and Showtime! dancers, and occasionally setting the EDFNURZRIVHDWVRQĂ€UHÂľ “You know, common occurrences one can only enjoy on a NYC subway.â€? Deantini asked, “I mean, what misnomer is ‘Columbia University in the City of New York’ if we don’t implement New York City living into


our students?” 7KHDGPLQLVWUDWLRQKDVFRQÀUPHGLI these measures are well received, they will continue providing students with the NYC experience their welcome booklets promised. Such rumored ideas include having an overwhelming majority of black and Hispanic students stopped and frisked, segregating student dorms according to economic class, and replacing Ferris and John Jay dining halls with Whole Foods. LOCKER ROOM TALK by Andrew Schur Hemingway: Like I said, she was ÀQH6KHKDGDQDPSOHERVRP6KH walked from the classroom to the water fountain, then back to the classroom. I watched her. She was stunning. Her botox was also nice. I would enjoy her company. I’ve watched her closely over the past few days andEmerson: Would that constitute stalking? Hemingway: Absolutely not. Merely observing, but not stalking. The lion stalks his prey before he pounces. I have no intention of doing such a thing. Have you seen a lion stalk prey? Because I have. If you had, you would know that I am not stalking this girl. 6WDONLQJLVGLͿHUHQW,DPREVHUYLQJ Like I said, this has been going on for a few days. Hopefully one day I will be able to make my conquest andHarry Potter: Ok that also sounds predatorial. Hemingway: I’m not predatorial. I normally describe animals so my interactions with females exhibit a wild nature. I have the utmost respect for the female human. Anyways, soon I will have this girl under my pawsLouis C.K.: Paws?


Hemingway: Fine, hands. Soon I will have this girl under my hands. Louis C.K.: Under? Hemingway: Fine, in my hands. I will have this girl in my hands. Dr. Seuss: Hey, Hemingway, question for you: do you talk to girls like this? Hemingway: Like what? Dr. Seuss: This animalistic, direct language. Hemingway: Well women like when men are direct. I am direct. And my animalistic sides excites them. This is why I slay so often. I don’t see what the problem is. Emerson’s also direct, aren’t you? Emerson: I tend to think so. Just today, a lovely beauty gracefully walked across the room dothed in elegant garbs that glisten and sparkle like the Earth’s rain on a sunny day. Dr. Seuss: So she was pretty… Emerson: Nay, she was more than what one may deem ‘pretty’ in the idealistic yet so often anticlimactic sense of the word. This girl was the opposite of ‘pretty’ in that she was climactic in every positive sense of the word. Harry Potter: So she was hot… Emerson: Nay, she was more than such a primal, carnal being that men who pass by may think to be ‘hot’ for she had a demeanor and an attitude that evoked the most pleasing sensation of a woman who knows her way around this bountiful Earth. Louis C.K.: So she was sexy… Emerson: Nay, she wasn’tHemingway: Get to the fucking point! Dr. Seuss: Hemingway, you said he’s direct. That was the most convoluted shit I’ve ever heard. Hemingway: I guess I was mistaken. Seuss, what do youDr. Seuss: Doctor, if you will. Hemingway: What? Are you even a doctor? Dr. Seuss: Yes I study pussy. One bitch, two bitch, bed bitch, new bitch.

Big racked bitch, nice screw bitch, lil’ bold bitch, nice boob bitch. Some are sad, some are glad, and some are very, very bad. Louis C.K.: Talk about bad bitches, this one girl got mad because I whipped it out in front of her. Harry Potter: What do you mean? Louis C.K.: Well every now and then I like to work one out in front of a girl. Harry Potter: Oh. That sounds like too much work. Louis C.K.: What do you mean? How else am I supposed toHarry Potter: Ejacularmus! Louis C.K.: Holy-. Wait what the fuck. I just came! IS A HOTDOG A SANDWICH? E\0RLVHV3HQD-HͿUH\9LGHV8UUXWLD Kritzia Ley, and Houston Compton This has been taken from an actual [recurring] argument this group rehashes almost biweekly. Although it is in the best interest to prevent the group from becoming heated over their meats, the editor wishes to make her argument clear that, according to the National Hot Dog and Sausage Council, (which is a real thing, I shit you not), a hot dog is indeed not a sandwich. ‌ That being said, I present to you a rather semi-articulate argument despite the substances these people were on. First of all, if you went to a hot dog vendor and asked for a hot dog and he gave you just a frank, then you can’t even be mad. Second of all, a hamburger with just the meat, you don’t call it a burger. It’s a patty. Once you put it on buns with cheese, and then you add the goddamn pickles and the rest, THAT’S a burger. $OVRDKRWGRJE\GHÀQLWLRQLW should be hot. You can’t call something that you keep in the fridge cold af a hot dog. You can’t call the thing coming out of the package cold a hot dog.

The frank is the main component of the hot dog, not the hot dog itself. A hot dog needs the buns and the toppings. I’m not saying you can’t think that a frank is called a hot dog, I just think you’re WRONG. Pigs in a blanket are acknowledging that there are two essential and separate components. There’s the pig, the sausage, and the blanket, the dough. The meat is separate from the bun. Together they make something new. Like kolache. 0\ÀQDOSRLQWLQ6HWK5RJHQ¡V movie, Sausage Party, the reason the sausage and the bun are trying to get together is because they make a hot dog. The bun by itself is nothing. The sausage by itself is nothing. TOGETHER they’re EVERYTHING. Nothing else matters, that’s the point of the hot dog bun’s existence. SAME SANDWICH EVERYDAY AT MILANO’S by Shreyas Manohar The following is an excerpt of a story read aloud by Shreyas Manohar at the New York edition of Sunday Salon, an annual prose-reading series. The reading was held at Von Bar in Downtown Manhattan. Have you ever had the M6 at Milano’s? The M6 has eggplant, roasted red and green peppers, caramelized onions, melted gruyere, tomatoes, toasted rosemary focaccia, hummus, herb mayo, the feeling of trying to ZDONIRUWKHÀUVWWLPHDQGIDOOLQJ gently into your mother’s accepting arms, the invincible sensation of feeling like a prince sitting tall on your father’s responsible shoulders high above the ground, the tenderness of an overexcited puppy running towards you yapping unintelligibly and not unintelligently, the whisper of the breeze IURPWKHà DSSLQJRI\RXUZLQJVDV


\RXĂ \RXWRI\RXUVHOILPSRVHGFDJH \RXORFNHG\RXUVHOILQWRĂ HHIURPWKH burdening accountability of freedom, the cowardly sinisterness of wishing to dethrone the tyrannical ruler instead of decapitating him, the nausea from being swept away by not intuitions but institutions, the itch of wanting to measure the size of your dong with DUXOHUDQGWDWWRRWKHLQĂ DWHGUHVXOWV RQ\RXUIRUHKHDGWKHHPSW\GHĂ DWHG cushioning from holding life in great esteem, the delicious irony in thinking you’re good and moral with the bitter self-deception of your own complicity in everything you stand against, the pragmatic unawareness of knowing you can’t stand for anything because you’re lying down comfortably on your memory foam oppressing everything underneath before forgetting it all for your beauty sleep, and avocado. GIRL WONDERS IF SHE HAS NECROPHILIA AFTER DATE WITH YET ANOTHER GUY WHO’S DEAD BEHIND THE EYES by Henrietta Steventon Emma Nabokov, 21, is seeking counselling for necrophilia, as she believes she is only attracted to men who are dead behind the eyes. Nabokov, a senior at Columbia University, had been in a committed relationship with her rower boyfriend Matt since WKHĂ€UVWZHHNRIIUHVKPDQ\HDUXQWLO their break up last month. Nabokov VDLGWKDWVKHZDVĂ€UVWGUDZQWR0DWW because of his wide range of good qualities: good arms; good back; good chest. ‘Sure, his expression was always a little vacant but what athlete’s isn’t,’ Nabokov said. Since the couple split, Nabokov has been using a variety of dating apps and claims she has VZLSHGULJKWRQDUDQJHRIGLÍżHUHQW men, not just athletes but musicians, VFKRODUVDQGĂ€QDQFHEURV+RZHYHU


when it comes to going on dates with WKHVHPHQVKHĂ€QGVWKH\DOOVKDUHWKH common feature of being excessively vapid, unbanterous and evidently dead behind the eyes. Nabokov told Jester that on Tuesday of this week, she arranged to meet with a Tinder match at The Hungarian Pastry Shop. She tearfully recalled how at one point, her GDWHVWDUHGEODQNO\DWKLVFRÍżHHFXSIRU 25 minutes, exhibiting no signs of life. Nabokov said the worst part was that it made her ‘want him more’, and she ended up going home with the man. Nabokov begins therapy this week for suspected necrophilia and says she hopes to re-enter the dating scene at some point, just not at Columbia where the risk of relapse would be too great. THE JOKE SECTION A guy walking through the desert in the holy land stumbles upon a lamp. He picks it up and a genie pops out, saying he’ll give him one wish. “Why not three?â€? the man asks. “Because I’m tired today, be thankful.â€? The man thinks for a bit, pulls out a map of the holy land and says, “The Jews and Palestinians KDYHEHHQĂ€JKWLQJRYHUWKLVODQG for millenia. Can you make it so that they can just live in peace?â€? The genie looks at the map and responds “I’m not a god. Can you make it a little easier?â€? The guy sighs and puts away the map. He thinks for a second and then says, “Okay. My wife and I have been married for 24 years now and things in the bedroom are getting...well, a little dull. Can you spice things up a bit?â€? The genie thinks for a moment and then says, “Can I take another look at that map?â€?

FUN MAZE TIME by Mark Alexander Prusakowski

This is Bob. Bob needs to buy an assault rifle for reasons which he’d rather not get into right now. Can you help him get the gun without filling out any paperwork that might expose his criminal background?

This is Greg. Greg is trying to pass a law in his state that places restrictions on the types of firearms people can legally own. Can you help him get his bill through the state legislature?








Columbia is a college of many lines. Whether it be the wait for overcooked ferris noodles or the hypnotically straight bars in front of your John Jay window, there are all sorts of lines to be found. Regardless of where on camSXVZHĂ€QGOLQHVRUZKDWWKHVHOLQHV are, one thing is certain: Jester can help you cross them. Geometric / Architectural Lines The most obvious lines are, well, lines. Remember that there are no uneven angles or pesky structural pillars in your Harmony suite that can’t be FURVVHGRÍżZLWKDVOHGJHKDPPHU 1020 The best way to cross this one is to KRRNXSZLWKWKHVWDÍżDQGIRUHJRWKH line altogether. The same applies to Ferris lines. John Jay Elevator What is the john jay elevator but a vertical line? How do you avoid it. Never leave your single. Or just take the stairs. Lines Between Truth and Fiction Here at Columbia, the line is very very faint. Walking in a Straight Line to Class Walk instead in a circle from your dorm to 5 guys and back. Political Lines 'L΀FXOWQRWWRFURVV Lines between CC and Barnard See: crossing the street. Lines of cocaine If you come across this line, you’ve probably already crossed it. Pickup lines /LFN\RXUĂ€QJHUWRXFKKHUVKLUWDQG say “how bout you and me get out of these wet clothes?â€? Line crossed.

,DUULYHGDW&ROXPELDIRUWKHÀUVW time almost 62 years ago, when I came in from Coney Island’s Stillwell Avenue station by subway for my interview in Hamilton Hall. I had no idea what I was in for, but my English teacher in Abraham Lincoln HS had assured my parents that this was the place for me if I could get in, since I was good in science and loved books. Looking back at my time in the College – September 1957 to June 1961, then July 1978 until today – I have many fond memories of Jester, though I was just a hanger-on and never did get a E\OLQH0\ÀUVWSXEOLVKHGSLHFHZDV an article in Spectator from 1960 [see Figure 1], and it came out there largely EHFDXVH,GLGQRWKDYHWKHFRQÀGHQFH to show it to the editors at Jester. Since being invited at last to write for the magazine, I have begun to rethink the real meanings of some of the stories I can recall from my times here. Let me share these stories with you, and you will see what I mean.


Story 1, 1958-59 I am a sophomore living in 934 Hartley Hall. I am a physics major, working in the Physics Department. The laboratory I work in is directed by Charles Townes, and he in turn is part of the intellectual world created in Pupin by Isidore Rabi. So when I am not in class or in my room in Hartley, I am in a lab RQWKHWKĂ RRURI3XSLQ My research advisor is a graduate student recently arrived from City College, Arno Penzias. Our work involves the newly invented technology of coherent microwave radiation, precursor to the laser. Shades of Galileo, we are building antennas capable of picking up very low levels of microwave and infrared radiation from the moons

of Jupiter. Penzias has been allowed by Townes to hire me on a Defense Department grant to the lab. The previous year the United States and the Soviet Union had initiated a thaw in relations. That led to, among other things, an exchange program between the Schools of Journalism at Columbia and Moscow University. A visiting journalism student from Moscow, Oleg Kalugin, is given a tour through our laboratories by the university. I am very impressed to meet him; my parents are hard leftists, and in my house nothing since the fall of Nazi *HUPDQ\KDVPDGHDQ\GLͿHUHQFHWR them in their support of the Soviet Union. I even invite him to visit my parents. He does. /DWHUWKDWVHPHVWHU.DOXJLQÀQGVPH DQGDVNVPHWRKDYHDFXSRIFRͿHH with him. He tells me that my father has told him that I would be glad to share the details of my lab’s work with him, because he – my father – very much wants me to do that. 0\ÀUVWUHDFWLRQLV,NQRZP\IDWKHU has put me in a spot. I am embarrassed but still, I do not want him angry at me. Then, I have a second thought: I see this man may be a spy. So I say to him, No. He is very angry with me. I choose to ignore that, to ignore my father’s equally angry response, and also, to say nothing to anyone, because if he is a spy, then I cannot turn him in without also turning in my father, and that I cannot do. How did this turn out? My time in the Pupin lab taught me ZKDWÀUVWFODVVVFLHQFHORRNHGOLNH Townes got a Nobel Prize for his work on Lasers and Masers, and Penzias got his for the use of a microwave detector to pick up the 3 degrees-above absolute zero radiation left over from the Big Bang 13.7 billion years ago. Oleg Kalugin became the New York correspondent of Radio Moscow while

he was at Columbia, went back to Russia in 1961, and later became the head of Khrushchev’s KGB for North America. I did not mention this episode to anyone but my dear wife Amy, who married me nevertheless, until I was invited by the President in the Spring of 1982 to be the next Dean of Columbia College. I told him everything, because I did not want my story to embarrass the College. He asked me, “so did you do anything?â€? I said no, absolutely not. He said, “So, anyone complains, ignore them; you’re the next Dean.â€? Only he did not use the word “ignore.â€? Story 2, Summer 1961 ,KDYHĂ€QLVKHGXSP\IRXU\HDUVLQ the College as a physics major. I have decided to switch my graduate plans from a getting a PhD in Physics, to getting a PhD in Biology. I have the summer of 1961 to make the transition. Brandeis University has accepted me as a graduate student in their Biology/ Biophysics graduate program. I will have only $1200 to live on, but the stipend will go up when Amy and I get married, all the way ro $1600. First though, I have to get a B or better in Organic Chemistry in the Summer of 1961. No B, no fellowship. I am spending the summer in a room LQWKH6LQJOH5HVLGHQFH2QO\Ă RSKRXVH now called Hogan Hall. The lectures and quizzes in Orgo are not too bad; DIWHUDOO,GLGMXVWĂ€QLVKIRXU\HDUVRI physics and math, albeit without one course in chemistry or biology. But the lab! Orgo Lab in the summer: I am the only non-pre-med there, and it is really hot in Schermerhorn. The culminating work is to synthesize acetylsalicylic acid from salicylic acid. Salicylic acid is taken from the bark of the willow tree (Latin: Salix). As Wikipedia puts it: “Salicylic acid ‌



also known as 2-hydroxybenzoic acid. It is poorly soluble in water (2 g/L at 20 °C). Aspirin (acetylsalicylic acid or ASA) can be prepared by the HVWHULÀFDWLRQRIWKHSKHQROLFK\GUR[\O group of salicylic acid with the acetyl group from acetic anhydride or acetyl chloride.� Get it? We are synthesizing aspirin. The product of synthesis is drawn up into a thin glass tube and assayed for its melting point as a measure of its solubility and purity. My yield is a light brown crud whose melting point is not quite what it should be, but, I turn in my data and before I go home, I look around. 0\ÀUVWUHDFWLRQLV,NQRZP\\LHOG should have been the white powder that we know as aspirin. I am really worried that I have screwed up. Then I have a second thought: I see my classmates’ yields range from more brown than mine, to lighter brown WKDQPLQHWREULJKWZKLWHVKLQ\VWXͿ with precisely the right melting point. I’m in the mix, so I’m ok. How did this turn out? First, I got a B in Orgo, went on to Brandeis, married Amy that winter, we had a daughter and got my PhD. A good start, all around. Second, I found out soon after the course was over, that the lab was itself


an experiment, but one carried out on the students by the TAs. The starting material was C14- labeled salicylic acid. The yields were all assayed for radioactivity in a Geiger counter. Brown ones like mine had lots of radioactivity, because whatever contaminating crud we had, we also had made acetylsalicylic acid from the C14-labeled material. The lighter-brown yields had some radioactivity, but not much, because they were produced by doping the yield with a little crushed Bayer aspirin. And the really clever ones with the beautiful yields that were all Bayer? Those guys got an F for the lab. Third Story, the late 1990s I have been back as a professor of biological sciences since stepping down from the Deanship in 1989. In the decade since my Deanship, I have become the co-chair of the Jewish campus Life Fund, the organization WKDWIXQGHGWKHR΀FHRIWKH-HZLVK chaplain in Earl Hall since its formation in 1929 by Arthur Hays Sulzberger, himself the great-grand-nephew of Kings College trustee Gershom Mendes Seixas, as well as the greatgrandfather of the current publisher of The New York Times. As co-chair, I DPZRUNLQJYHU\KDUGWRÀQGDZD\ to get Columbia to allow us to build a building of our own. We seem to be making good progress and we get a big boost when Columbia 7UXVWHH5REHUW..UDIWRͿHUVWRGHVLJnate a prior $3 million gift to the University, to our planned building. We are able to propose a six-story building on 115 St. for a total of $6 million, and we are able to assure Mr. Kraft

that his gift would name the building as he wished. To close the deal, the President convenes a meeting in his R΀FHZLWK0U.UDIWWKHSURYRVWP\ co- chair and myself, and our friend and mentor, Herman Wouk. Author of Marjorie Morningstar and The Caine Mutiny, Herman is one of Columbia’s PRVWIDPRXVDOXPQL+HKDVĂ RZQLQ from California to grace and bless the moment. Thinking this is a piece of cake, I make the pitch and the president replies, “The Provost has shown me that the footprint of this site permits construction of 12 stories. You need only six. Would you be willing to raise the funds to build the full twelve, and GRQDWHVL[Ă RRUVIRUWKH8QLYHUVLW\WR use? We are very tight for space, as you know.â€? Mr. Kraft is frowning, and I can easily imagine him putting away his wallet as the naming goes out the window. The room is silent. 0\Ă€UVWUHDFWLRQLV,NQRZZHZLOO have to raise another six million and build the full twelve stories or give up the project. Then I have a second thought: I do have tenure. I speak up: I say that this building is to repair an historical injustice, but it is not a reparation. “We want to heal the past, and you, Mr. President, ca-nnot heal the past by charging a 100% Jew Tax.â€? A long silence, and then Herman Wouk gives me a big kick under the table. More silence, and then the President says “OK, build it for six.â€? How did this turn out? It took another year, but we held out for the Trustees to accept our gifts for the building, as gifts to Columbia. This meant we were picking this secular institution in America as a place that could reasonably be trusted to maintain a home for its Jewish constituency, in perpetuity. The Kraft Center opened in 2000. And today, alumni of any Columbia School can get credit for their

gifts to the Hillel, as a gift to Columbia. Fourth story: from 1960, but I did not understand it until now My roommate in Hartley in our senior year is Morris Dickstein, then Editorials Editor of Specta tor and now a well-known author and scholar. He, his wife, Amy, and I shared a dinner at Symposium a short while ago, and QRZ,WKLQN,Ă€QDOO\XQGHUVWDQGD story from those days in Hartley. One evening Morris comes back from a meeting somewhere, wearing a golden ring with a green, jagged line all around it. He has been elected to the Secret Society of Sachems, and this ULQJVLJQLĂ€HGWKDWWRRQHDQGDOO:DV I jealous? I suppose. But mostly I was annoyed; who gets to pick who gets to pick who gets a ring? Who do they think they are? So I took myself to Pupin where I had learned how to use many tools, among them a lathe. There I took a length of copper tubing of ring-diameter, and turned a full dozen shiny brass rings. I then carefully marked up each with a green jagged line all around, using the lab’s enamel paints. I gave one to Morris. I have saved mine, though WKHSDLQWKDVĂ DNHGRÍż>VHHĂ€JXUH@ Then I went around the dorms giving the other rings to ten guys who, like me, had not been picked to be Sachems but who, like me, did not think it was anyone’s business to judge us or anyone else that way. I was not done: I decided we had to be called by a fancy name, so I named us the Corinthians. If you look in the 1961 College yearbook there we are, taking a full page in the section on activities. The story ends this way. Later that spring semester, but before graduation, the captain of the football Team comes to our door, wearing the real ring. “Pollack,â€? he says, “get those crappy fake rings back and destroy them, or you will never get a job in


FIGURE 2 America!” And he was right. I never did. Instead, I have spent my life back here, still a student, still learning, enjoying my colleagues and my tenure. So while I never did get a job in America, that turns out to have been a blessing. Go know. I CHOSE COLUMBIA BECAUSE I DIDN’T WANT TO GO TO A FOOTBALL SCHOOL by Catherina Gioino With the Columbia football team ZLQQLQJDOOÀYHJDPHVLW·VSOD\HGWKLV season, it’s time we face the facts: Columbia is one win away from renting pick-up trucks and lustfully looking at their cousins. Sadly, Columbia has become a football school. ,ZDVÀQHZLWKXVEHLQJDQDUFKHU\ school, or a lacrosse school. Even a tap dance school, given everyone’s preferred gait while walking through Butler. But a football school? Now my feeds are littered with tags of Baker Field. People are proudly wearing their Columbia Football t-shirts, their faces covered in temporary Roaree tattoos that last longer than all of my relationships combined. My entire feed is just pantone 292! People are actually smiling and even acknowledge the football team’s existence. We’ve gone from an Ivy League school known for suicides (no that’s, surprisingly, somehow still Cornell), and Meatless Mondays to a school where coaches are exploiting their players and falsifying their GPAs. This is exactly why I declined Ole Miss, the Oxford of the Trailer Park Belt. I could have been a legacy baby, cracking open a cold one during Tuesday morning backyard sessions with my uncle-professor, wearing Confederate Flag shorts better than Trump dons


his MAGA hat/golf polo combo. I could have been riding shotgun on a tractor, shotgunning a beer while on the way to our tailgating party outside our 65,000-seat stadium—enough for everyone and their mothers, plus their memaws and seven other siblings. Instead, I chose Columbia, formerly ranked 173 nationwide for their IRRWEDOOWHDP0\ÀUVWWKUHH\HDUVKHUH were amazing: fall was just a reason people got SAD, the football players in my French class were just tired like everyone else. I got a little worried last \HDUZKHQWKH\ZRQWKHLUÀUVWWZR games—in like, ever—but I should have known that was the beginning of Columbia’s Football era. I guess we’ll wait until Saturday for them to win again, and then win the chip. Is it too late to transfer to Wagner?

Mariah Carey’s secret to losing weight is to stop one cookie short of serving size.

BUILDING A BETTER MOUSETRAP (A PICTORIAL GUIDE) article and art by Ethan Widell Since the dawn of creation, man has sought to outshine its fellow creatures. Indeed, the search for total dominance over all other walks of life is one of the most important facets in being human. This noble endeavor is epitomized in no place better than the mousetrap. For millennia, building a better mousetrap has stood as a testament to human ingenuity, a challenge for the generations, for every man, woman, and child to exterminate tiny animals better than those who came before. We at jester embrace this tradition, so we have delineated all the best ways to kill a mouse.

JJ’s Food See poison

Tom, From Tom and Jerry Why get an ordinary, boring house FDWZKHQ\RXFDQKDYHDĂ€FWLWLRXV animated one? Pros: More entertaining than the classic mousetrap. Cons: Destroys your house every episode.

Shame and Exclusion Make that mouse feel bad about itself and it might not want to spend time at your place. Pros: Sometimes it is fun to be mean. Cons: The mouse may become desperate for your approval. If this happens, it will become clingy and \RXUSODQZLOOKDYHEDFNĂ€UHG The Classic Mousetrap 7KLVLVEDVLFDOO\HYHU\ERG\¡VĂ€UVW move when they want to catch a mouse. Pros: It’s a popular choice, and you’ll be with the “in crowd.â€? Cons: We at Jester have more creative ways to kill rodentia. Poison :LWKGR]HQVRIĂ DYRUVWR choose from, You’re sure WRĂ€QGVRPHWKLQJIRUWKDW special nuisance. Pros: It will kill most lesser mammals. Rats, mice, your neighbor’s dog, your landlord‌ If you have a problem, Poison is the solution. Cons: You’re going to need a lot of poison to solve all of your problems.

The Flyswatter This handy hand-tool has EHHQNLOOLQJà LHVVLQFHZKHQ ever the fuck it was invented. It’s pretty decent for this purpose. 3URV.LOOVà LHVSUHWW\ZHOODQGLV HͿHFWLYHRQRWKHUà \LQJSHVWVWRR Cons: Doesn’t kill much else. The Pistol A direct approach to your pest issue. if you’re particularly inclined to cowER\W\SHDUPHGVWDQGRͿVWKHQDWUXVW\ revolver might be all that you need. Pros: It’s pretty easy to get a gun these days. Cons: May violate your tenant contract.


The Live Trap It’s like any other trap but it doesn’t kill the mouse. Pros: It doesn’t kill the mouse. Cons: It doesn’t kill the mouse.

as a bunch of trapped rats. We are also unsure of how to operationalize this: how does this happen? Can one simply tie together the tails of all of one’s household rodents, and put them out of your mind? Finally, we are concerned about the power of teamwork. The possibility of a freaky multimouse hive-mind super-organism running around your house is more than harrowing. THE SUZANNE GOLDBERG GUIDE TO RAPE by Supriya Ambwani

The Iron Maiden $PHGLHYDOWRUWXUHGHYLFH:HÀJXUH someone could whip up something like this for mice. Pros: You’ll really get those rats to VTXHDO0D[LPXPSDLQLQà LFWLRQ Cons: Not available at the Home Depot. The Atomic Bomb Pros: Kills all rodents in detonation area. 100 % guarantee. Cons: Does not kill cockroaches, and it’s not so easy to get enriched uranium these days. The Jewel Wasp A species of wasp whose young burURZLQWRWKHà HVKRIFRFNURDFKHVDQG eat it from the inside out. Pros: Kills cockroaches. Cons: Not resistant to the atomic bomb. Your house will now be infested with wasps, which may or may not be worse than the roaches, and you still KDYHWKHUDWV6HHà \VZDWWHU The Rat king It seems that a bunch of rats have become conjoined at the tail and died. Pros: Really fucking cool Cons: This is really more of an end than a means. We are really not sure LILWTXDOLÀHVDVDUDWWUDSVRPXFK


Suzanne Goldberg is a lawyer who is ostensibly an expert on the sex and the gays. She, like Admiral General Aladeen in The Dictator, holds many positions of power at Columbia University in the City of New York. Goldberg, a professor, is also in charge of acquitting sexual predators and shutting down the whiny entitled bitches who accuse those upstanding gentlemen. To ensure that pesky liberal dissenters do not sabotage her path to ensuring a campus that supports every single rapist, regardless of gender, ethnicity, and economic background, she has the power to pass edicts that limit their freedom and punish them for transgressing the boundaries she imposes. Executive Vice President Goldberg is meticulous in her scheming. The Jester of Columbia has received a copy of her personal handbook from an anonymous source entitled “The Suzanne Goldberg Guide to Rape.â€? In the interest of transparency and democracy, WZRYDOXHVWKDW-HVWHUKDVEHHQĂ€JKWLQJ for since 1901, we have reproduced extracts from her diary below. The Suzanne Goldberg Guide to Rape What is Rape? Rape is a theoretical construct. The legal cases that I quote in class call it penetrative sexual assault because that

s what the bothersome social justice warriors say. The Saudis, as usual, get it right by pointing out that women who cry rape are sluts who deserve to die. Campaigning against rape and ZULWLQJDJDLQVWLWLQ7KH+X΀QJWRQ Post are wise career moves. Talking about these subjects in class also ensures positive evaluations at the end of the semester. However, students and professors have started believing this myth. Both Prez Bo and I have decided to crack down on this fake news since we know that sexual assault does not exist at Columbia. Women on this campus like to play the victim by whining about consent and the lack thereof. They cry rape when someone overpowers them before penetrating their RULĂ€FHV7KLVJHQHUDWLRQLVDGLVJUDFH to our world. Back in my day, women would lie back and enjoy submissive fake orgasms; today, they want to be in control all the time and get the real thing. Those damned entitled millennials! Whose Fault is It? Many insolent students who should spend more time doing homework DQGZRUNLQJWKUHHMREVWRSD\RÍżWKHLU student debt choose instead to stand on the Low Steps and cry themselves hoarse about something called “culpability.â€? To set the record straight on that one, I need to continually educate those young, ignorant fools that rape is always their fault. Unless, of course, they have been accused of raping someone, in which case we lost the evidence. The people they accuse will be CEOs of banks and leaders of nations in the future. Allowing them to leave campus with this bitter aftertaste will only stop them from donating the millions that Columbia VSHQGVRQĂ€GJHWVSLQQHUVFURZGSHQV and my salary. Nobody wants that, except those silly girls who cry wolf at every assault. Grin and bear it, honeys! It’s for the greater good.

Things to do When They Insist on Being a Nuisance Although we have established that rape on Columbia’s campus is a myth, feminism, that radical blot on social sanctity, has led some people to believe that they must seek justice for extremely rough sex (or, as they mistakenly choose to label it, rape). To silence their radicalism, I have created a handy guide to respond to these allegations of “rape.� Assume that the complainant is a woman because that is the gender that never shuts up. Action: Student reports rape by a known fellow student. Reaction: Ignore her and do not report the assault. No one wants a paper trail. As the campus’ designated reporter, I voluntarily carry out this social service. Scenario 1: She shuts up, goes home, gets drunk and cuts herself. She never speaks of the incident again, spiraling instead into a wormhole of silent trauma, getting her out of my and Prez Bo’s way. XXX TARGET ELIMINATED XXX Scenario 2: She insists on pursuing this futile case. Reaction: Check the accused’s bank balance and see if his parents are alumni donors. If the former is high and the latter is true, destroy all evidence. If she has a high bank balance and alumni donor parents, forward her op-eds and papers that I have written about campus sexual assault to convince her that I, Suzanne Goldberg, care about her. Convince her to withdraw her complaints because we wouldn’t want her identity to be leaked now, would we? If she has neither a high bank balance nor alumni donor parents, ignore her. Scenario 1: If his parents are rich and powerful, give his family the accuser’s contact details. They will take care of the rest. XXX TARGET ELIMINATED XXX


Scenario 2: She insists on bringing the poor young man to “justice” and demands Title IX compliance. Reaction: Point out that my good friend Betsy took one for the team and shut that shit down. Scenario 1: She burns her pussy hat and shuts up. XXX TARGET ELIMINATED XXX Scenario 2: She points out that Columbia allowed her rapist to enter her room for a second time/ refused to allow her to move/penalised her for her obviously made-up assault/did not give her access to federally mandated resources/Sexual Violence Response lied to her. Reaction: Stroke her cheek, call her delusional, and destroy all evidence. Scenario 1: She gives up, leaves, and spirals into a wormhole of silent trauma, getting her out of mine and Prez Bo’s way. XXX TARGET ELIMINATED XXX Scenario 2: She threatens to suee the lating Title IX. university for violating on: Say “No Comments” and Reaction: wait for Prez Bo’s lawyerly masterstrokes to get Betsy to pardon CoOXPELDLQDOOÀYHRIWKH'HSDUWPHQW OXPELDLQDOOÀYHRIWKH'HSDUWPHQW RI(GXFDWLRQ·V2΀FHRI&LYLO5LJKWV· RI(GXFDWLRQ·V2΀FHRI&LYLO5LJKWV· investigations into Title IX violations. .LFNKHURXWRIP\R΀FHDQGSRS .LFNKHURXWRIP\R΀FHDQGSRS champagne with Prez Bo, celebrating my triumph over PMSing women. XXX TARGET ELIMINATED XXX Action: Student reports rape by a professor. Reaction: Ask her to stop tempting him and distracting him from his research. Scenario 1: She recognises that he needs to squeeze her ass to concentrate on the research that the university needs to boast about and shuts up. XXX TARGET ELIMINATED XXX Scenario 2: She tells other professors about the “sexual assault.” Reaction: They tell her to stay away from him if she can’t handle his play-


fulness. Scenario 1: She drops out, getting her out of mine and Prez Bo’s way. XXX TARGET ELIMINATED XXX Scenario 2: She, being a bothersome third-wave feminist, insists on continuing to study instead of looking for a rich husband at Columbia, forgetting that marriage is the only reason women need to go to college. Reaction: Ignore her complaints and destroy all evidence. Scenario 1: She gives up, leaves, and spirals into a wormhole of silent trauma, getting her out of mine and Prez Bo’s way. XXX TARGET ELIMINATED XXX Scenario 2: She threatens to sue the university for violating Title IX. Reaction: Say “No Comments” and wait for Prez Bo’s lawyerly masterstrokes to get Betsy to pardon CoKH'HSDUWPHQW OXPELDLQDOOÀYHRIWKH'HSDUWPHQW RI(GXFDWLRQ·V2΀FHRI&LYLO5LJKWV· RI(GXFDWLRQ·V2΀FHRI&LYLO5LJKWV· investigations into Title IX violations. .LFNKHURXWRIP\R΀FHDQGSRS .LFNKHURXWRIP\R΀FHDQGSRS champagne with Prez Bo, celebrating my triumph over PMSing women. XXX TARGET ELIMINATED XXX Due to copyright issues, the Jester of Columbia is not allowed to publish more than one chapter of a book without the explicit permission of its author. Since Admiral General Suzanne Aladeen Goldberg will punish our publication for impinging RQKHUGHÀQLWLRQRIIUHHGRPRIVSHHFKLIZH RQKHUGHÀQLWLRQRIIUHHGRPRIVSHHFKLIZH publish the rest of her diary, we will desist from doing so on our website. Our readers are, of course, welcome to reach out to us to read the rest in our secret headquarters over absinthe and Adderall.

BAM BAM’S YELLA MUSTARD E\6HDQ5DͿHUW\ Bam Bam’s Yella Mustard Yield: about 2 gallons Ingredients: 6 cups yellow mustard seeds 6 cups brown mustard seeds 5 cups white wine (about 1.5 standard bottles) 40 oz. malt liquor 5 cups white vinegar 5 cups apple cider vinegar 30 shallot, minced 1/2 cup sea salt 8 teaspoon cayenne pepper 8 teaspoon brown sugar 1/2 cup dry mustard power From “How to Devil an Ostrich Egg and Other Funeral Tricks” NOTES: August 1987. Sunset Motel, 3am. Went to King King’s Dominion in VA for Jean Claude’s 31st birthday because it’s the one he went to as a kid and makes him feel happy again. Stop in H-ville, NC on the way back. Have a catering gig in the morning. Am in charge of mustard for wedding reception/am unprepared. Lost Chef’s mustard recipe/is too late to ask for without being embarrassing obviously XQSUHSDUHG:LOOSOD\RͿDVEDOOV\ XQSUHSDUHG:LOOSOD\RͿDVEDOOV\ PRYHFRQÀGHQFHLQGLͿHUHQWUHFLSH PRYHFRQÀGHQFHLQGLͿHUHQWUHFLSH and he will have to deal because he has no other choice. It’s okay because am doing for small fee/mostly as a favor to an entrepreneurial friend. Jean Claude working event too, but as waiter so all is a joke. He “rescued” dumpster cat in water park food court and insists on taking it back in the car with us/is his car so we can’t prevent it. Has wanted pet for long time, says KHWKLQNVKHÀQDOO\KDVVKLWHQRXJK together. Stop at Brevard Supermarket before motel for mustard ingredients and blender/tupperware so we can make it in room/go straight to place in morning. Have to stop because both

falling asleep. J.C. refuses to leave the cat alone in car because he thinks it will “freak out” and ruin upholstery/ refuses to stay in car with cat because he needs to “stretch legs” and “has good feeling” about the grocery store. Ask him what he’s gonna do, carry cat through store? Says that would work because cat is most comfortable in his arms. In store, I grab two bottles of wine, Olde E, jugs of vinegar, salt. Hummus display catches my eye, made by local lifeguards. Woman by hummus catches eye, tattoo of piranha upper spine, open back dress, thinks she’s smiling at me. Swear she keeps looking at me like she knows me. Heart leaks from toenails. Think of J.C. somewhere in store with cat. Woman goes away to breads. Stock boy by sugar sees bottles in cart, tells me can’t buy alcohol after midnight in TranV\OYDQLD&RXQW\)8&.2ͿHUWR help out. Shows where deli keeps loose mustard seed/helps se smuggle groceries to parking lot. Is dark dark/humid. Share cigarette, victorious. FUCK. Fo Forgot shallots. Go back in, grab 30 shallots. Next to piranha girl in checkout line. More smiles. Ask how is night. Fine, she says. Asks if me and friend played show tonight. Ha-ha thinks am musician. Classic. Say depends, was show good? J.C. approaches without the cat in arms. Ask where is fucking cat? Says lost by cereal. Asks if can buy Count Chocula along with shallots. Has box and milk in his hands. Piranha girl asks J.C. if we played show tonight. Says, “uh, what?” Is useless like a tit on a bull. She has hiccups. Laughs at us, checks out, leaves. J.C. ia sad because he thinks he ruins everything. Say no, doesn’t ruin everything. Say we can buy cereal if he leaves the cat in the store. Say better than dumpster at King’s Dominion. Agrees. While we load rest of the groceries in the car, van parks nearby full of musicians that look little like us.


PLAN YOUR KID’S LABOR DAY/ BACK-TO-SCHOOL PARTY (& SKIP THOSE PESKY WAL-MART LINES WITH AMAZON PRIME) E\6HDQ5D͞HUW\ Hey parents, guardians, and caregivers of New York! It’s Nimrod the Clown here, with some more tips on having fun with young kids. So, if you’re anything like me and my partner, you were probably sitting around on September 3rd, dripping hot corn chowder on the calves of a gagged and bound runaway, and just breaking out in hives from the stress of planning the bangingest back-to-school party on the block. Luckily for all the kids whom I’ve, in one way or another, been charged with raising, I’ve got a whole basement full of hacks, tips, and fun ideas that make my back-to-school SDUWLHVVRà \WKDW\RXPD\QHYHUOHDYH I thought, in the spirit of all the beneficent prophets before me, that I would spread my own good word unto you fellow caregivers of this garbage city. So, slather some hydrocortisone on those stress rashes and take a dry sit on your sybian, because this is the last list of back to school party planning essentials that you’ll ever read! First of all, folks, and I think this should go without saying but, DON’T HIRE A CLOWN! It’s 2017. Coulrophobia is a real, widespread cultural phenomenon. A few years ago, the UniYHUVLW\RI6KH΀HOGFRQGXFWHGDVWXG\ by polling 250 child hospital patients about ward dÊcor, and all 250 reported a dislike, and in some cases, fear, of FORZQV5HPHPEHUODVW\HDUWKDWà DUH up of murderous, wandering clowns that terrorized various communities across the nation? Remember It? Remember Pagliacci? Clowns have been clinically sad, murderous cuckolds for centuries. If we were actually happy, we wouldn’t need all this makeup! Do you know how much clown makeup


costs? The truth is, not a whole lot. I like Graftobian, and that’s only about twenty bucks with Prime. Don’t even bother with that Snazaroo bologna. Okay, but, when you’re constantly reapplying it because your lithium-salted tears corrode away your foundation (which is another twenty bucks a jar), it really adds up. Look, all I’m saying is that we’re probably not people that you want around your kids, and we’re GHÀQLWHO\QRWSHRSOH\RXZDQWDURXQG other people’s kids for whom you’re responsible. Secondly, snacks. Two words, one twist: Cheez-it Grooves. If you don’t like Cheez-Its, that’s your prerogative, and you can just skip this passage altogether. If you do like Cheez-Its, then close your eyes and ask the person closest in proximity to you to read the rest of this passage aloud. If you’re alone right now, try to be strong, and remember, you’re not the only one. Alright, here we go. Recall that familiar crinkle of high density polyethylene when you plunge your hand into a box of Cheez-its Originals. 0D\EHVRPHERG\JRWWKHUHÀUVWVR you pull the whole bag out and unroll it. Hear the greedy crackling as you ÀVKRXWDFUDFNHUDQGORRNDURXQGWR see if anyone’s looking. Shhh. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Just put it in your mouth. Nuh-uh-uh. Too fast. You chewed, you swallowed, and it was so underwhelming. There’s a blandness that you weren’t expecting. Maybe from a Saltine, but surely not your Cheez-its. You’re reminded of Animal Crackers. You wonder why whoever went to the grocery store last didn’t just buy the white cheddar Cheez-its. You blaspheme. It doesn’t have to be this way. Slow down, you think, and place another Cheez-it down at the end of your tongue, draw into your mouth, and crush it against your soft pallet. Allow the cracker to steep inside the rush of saliva deployed by

the sudden sodium intake. There’s that GRZQKRPHĂ DYRU\RXPLVVHG Okay, now we’re back. That’s how one properly eats a Cheez-it to extract PD[LPXPĂ DYRU7KHSUREOHPLILWFDQ be seen as such, is that this approach scratches and tears the mouth. Like so many pleasurable activities, we accept scratches and tears as an inescapable consequence. But imagine if there was a snack so bonkers that it concentrates WKHĂ DYRURIDPRXWKIXORI&KHH]LW saliva into one, single cracker? That’s Grooves for you. At $2.88 for a 9-ounce ER[ RULJLQDOFKHGGDUQRWRÍżHUHG through Prime), versus the same price for a 12.4-ounce box of Originals, I’d VD\WKHĂ€UVWFODVVEXPSWRĂ DYRUWRZQ LVZHOOZRUWKWKH„SHURXQFHGLÍżHUence. Alright, let’s recap. I recommend a sharpie and maybe a legal pad or postit note, or your heavily sedated partner’s forehead: one, don’t hire a clown; two, Cheez-it Grooves. We’re running out of space here, and honestly, since I am a professional, I can’t reveal all of my secrets, so here’s one last invaluable tip. Rent farm animals. They’re the kind of interactive, life-experience-rewarding fun you sought with clowns, without any of the suicidal ideations, which, for the record, are absolutely contagious, and far more GDQJHURXVWKDQWKHVZLQHĂ X,¡OOSOXJ my personal favorite donkeys-for-hire, Tickle Me Pony Parties, renting ass from coast to coast for 26 years now. They describe their donkeys as “kind, friendly, gentle, loving, and game for just about anything!â€? And frankly, folks, it just doesn’t get any better than that. Unfortunately that’s all we have time for today, but if I know anything in this world, it’s that if you’ve got the Grooves and you’ve got the swine, and WKHDVVDQGPD\EHHYHQDIHZĂ DW brained cocks around for the adults

with loose cash in their pockets (you’re going to have to prowl the forums for any decent hardware—thanks PETA), and you keep the clowns as far away from your property as possible, they’ll be yammering on about your party until Summer comes back around! Yours in service, Nimrod HOW TO GENTRIFY A NEIGHBORHOOD by Supriya Ambwani Comrades, *HQWULÀFDWLRQLVWKHJUHDWHVWJLIWZH have given to the poor. I shudder to think about how dreary their lives were before they got avocado toast for breakfast and a Whole Foods on their block. Like, what did they even Instagram? Those un fortunate souls had been abandoned by the pleasures of wokeness before we selflessly swooped into their lives to save them from their communities and bodegas. They are VORZO\EHLQJUHGHHPHGE\RXUVHOà HVV missions. Unfortunately, many of those ungrateful people refuse to be helped. They refuse to move out of their homes, blabbering incoherently about things like family and roofs over their heads. This guide has been written to help you help others. Follow the steps listed here to get the poor, uncool people out of a neighbourhood and make it a great place to live in. 1. Identify a cheap neighbourhood. 2. Buy as much property as you can DͿRUGLQWKHQHLJKERXUKRRG,I\RX play your cards right, the banks will lend you extra money to buy more properties. 3. Raise the rents on all your properties to force those people out.


4. If the damned liberal city government says that you have to respect rent controls, systematically neglect your properties. Fire the super, ignore your tenants’ phone calls, release rats on the stairs, accidentally destroy the water and electricity lines, and hire VRPHRQHWRVKLWRQHYHU\ÀUHHVFDSH landing. 5. Wait for the rats to chew your tenants’ toes and for them to get sick of feeling like they are in Cape Town or Sana’a. 6. If they are actually from Cape Town or Sana’a and can live without water, ‘accidentally’ shut down the elevator while they’re inside and leave for the night (and the next day). 7. Pretend to be concerned when you ÀQGWKHLUIDPLVKHGERGLHVLQWKHHOHvator three days later and vow to take action. 8. If the stubborn fools continue to stay there, bribe your friends in the government to GHFODUHWKHEXLOGLQJVXQÀWIRUKXPDQ habitation and make those people leave. 9. Do not forget to give them cardboard boxes to sleep in because you are a benevolent, socially responsible human being. 10. Paint your buildings, restore water and electricity, and clean up the shit on WKHÀUH escapes. 11. Sell woke millennials authentic housing in an ethnic neighbourhood. 12. Build a yoga studio, a smoothie shop, an African dance room, and a bong shop to attract other woke millennials. 13. Chill with all your $$$ You’re welcome, The Trustees of Columbia University in the City of New York


A (UN)COMPREHENSIVE LIST OF BIRTH CONTROL USED BY COLUMBIA AND BARNARD STUDENTS by Supriya Ambwani & Ethan Widell Columbia Health conducted a massive, university-wide study of birth control methods employed by Columbia and Barnard students from 1917-2017. It has decided to publish this data through the only responsible source of journalism at Columbia University in the City of New York: The Jester of Columbia. Under the terms and conditions of the Columbia University Safe Sex Act, the Jester is required to advise its readers to not have sex because they will get pregnant, have a coat hanger abortion, and die. We advise our readers to follow this advice mostly because Ann Thornton, as part of her War on Fun, has installed cameras linked to in the stacks. Now that the necessary disclaimers have been thrown out there, The Jester is proud to present to you a century’s ZRUWKRIUHVHDUFKRQKRZGLͿHUHQW communities at our diverse institution save themselves from making babies while getting down ‘n dirty: Abstinence Columbia University College Republicans have the highest rates of abstinence on campus. However, it must be noted that this method of birth control is not practiced by choice; it is instead the result of a gradual increase in the overall decision-making powers of the rest of the university’s population. Breastfeeding Adherents of The Church of Jesus Christ of Lat- ter-day Saints, i.e. Mormons, practice breastfeeding as a means of birth cont- rol. Unfortunately, as many practitioners are shocked to realise when they unexpectedly fail to menstruate for another 9 months, WKLVLVRQO\HͿHFWLYHIRUDSHULRGRIVL[

months after giving birth. Castration Many have found that the best way to prevent childbirth is to become a HXQXFK7KLVKDVWKHDGGHGEHQHÀWRI making a Columbia graduate eligible to maintain Prezbo’s personal Harem. Condoms Poli Sci and Econ majors are the predominant users of condoms on campus since they lack the creativity to ÀQGDEHWWHUOHVVEODQGDOWHUQDWLYH Honour Killing Women (and many male homosexuals) who identify as Brown abstain from sexual relations under the threat RIVXͿHULQJDQKRQRXUNLOOLQJ IUD Women’s March attendees who are WHUULÀHGRIORVLQJLQVXUDQFHFRYHUDJH for birth control have switched to IUDs which often last longer than presidential terms. Patch 1DWLYHVRIUHJLRQVWKDWDUHDͿHFWHG by mosquito-borne diseases like zika, dengue, and malaria instinctively stick patches on their skin to protect themselves from fetuses the way mosquito patches purportedly protect them from spending extended periods of time suffering from potentially fatal, unwanted illnesses. Unfortunately for them, both are often a lie. Morning-After Pill Students named Chads’ one-night stands and procrastinators. Personality For a select few, being an absolute shit of a human being really does the trick. See: abstinence. Prayer The method of choice for many religious groups and some non religious RQHVWRR7KHEHQHÀWIRXQGLQWKLV form of birth control is that if it fails, your unwanted child is God’s fault. Pulling-Out Members of the Columbia University Wrestling Team claim to have as much

control over their penises as they do over their group messages. They thus attempt to practice pulling out but often fail and blame it on their barely-conscious partners for being ugly. Sponge Primarily employed by Columbia )DFLOLWLHV7KLVLVPRUHHÍżHFWLYHDVD means of cleaning your child then as a contraceptive. Socks and Sandals This method has been used across the athletics department for years and KDVEHHQIRXQGWREHLQFUHGLEO\HÍżHFtive. The only shortcoming is that it is FRQVLGHUDEO\OHVVHÍżHFWLYHRQRWKHUV who are using the same method. Vasectomy The most faked form of birth control.

What do you call a hitchhiking nun? A roamin’ Catholic. THE BLONDE EFFECT by Andrew Schur A Friday night, a writing workshop, sitting on a stool staring at the back of a girl’s head. Oh how the wind blew that night. It was one of those nights that would have been perfect for the casual walk up, small talk, side hug, spontaneous date which ends up back in room 1507, but no. This was not that night. You see, my friend and I had been staring at this girl from behind. Not even looking at her ass. She was sitting down. No, we were looking at her hair, that gorgeous blonde hair. From the back, this girl could have been Aphrodite for as far as we were concerned. Additionally, you could tell by the way she had tried to make it look like she had spent little time doing up her hair but actually made it look amazing that this was one of those girls looking to


Anywho, there we were, sitting on stools in an art room watching Charles Yu talk about creative writing. Well actually we were watching the back of the blonde girl’s head. I’m telling you, Aphrodite. This girl could have been Aphrodite. All of a sudden she turned to her friend and then to her friend sitting behind her. Dammit. My friend and I looked at each other and shared the solemn, depressing realization that we KDGIDOOHQYLFWLPWR7KH%ORQGH(ͿHFW :HHQGHGRXUÀ[DWLRQRQWKHEORQGH girl and resumed watching Charles Yu whose hair was black as Bruce Lee’s karategi. What, you may ask, is The Blonde (ͿHFW"%ORQGHKDLULVRQHRIWKHOHDVW common hair colors, clocking in at about 2% of the global population. Thanks Wikipedia. Because of its obscurity and the fact that it’s a nice hair color, people with blonde hair are generally thought to be more attractive. Similar to how cars with fancy tires are presumed to be faster, people with blonde hair are considered more attractive. Also similar to how cars with fancy tires are presumed to be faster, people with blonde hair are considered more attractive regardless of how they actually look. If you take a pair of Ferrari wheels and throw it on a Volkswagen, you’ll probably look at that Volkswagen and hate yourself for thinking how dope it looks even though it’s only hiding an inline 4 with 190 horsepower. For non-car people, that means you’ll look at a blonde girl (or dude) and can’t help but think about how hot they must be even though they’re only holding onto some saggy boobs or the six-pack’s less attractive cousin, the one-pack. Blonde hair is like branding. Anything with the Armani logo can be marked up by 65%. The same goes for anything with blonde hair. Now, this isn’t to say that there aren’t beautiful


blonde people, in the same way that some Armani products are extremely I’ve been told. 7KH%ORQGH(ͿHFWKDVEHHQWKHUXLQ of many a poor man and woman. My friend and I, sitting in that oddly lit creative writing workshop, were two of those poor men. If, however, you do ÀQGDEORQGHZKRVHSHUVRQDOLW\DQG looks match the prestige of her hair color, keep a wary eye. Others will come a knockin’. Charles Yu proceeded to talk for another half hour about the imminent threat of writer’s block and his interesting transition from being a lawyer to writing for Westworld. I learned a lot from his speech, however the most important thing I learned was this: Don’t judge a blonde by her color. PETITION TO MAKE A 7TH FLOOR HAMILTON LECTURE COUNT AS A PE REQ by Catherina Gioino Dear Committee on the PE Core Requirement, As a second semester senior delayed in my physical education studies thanks to the vicious cycle of not caring about my physical, emotional, or mental, health, I have received a threatening email requiring direct action in completing my requirements prior to education. You see, I just don’t care enough about my well-being to take a PE class. I already get enough exercise as it is, living in Harmony and walking to Pupin on a daily basis. I don’t need to take a mandated gym class to prove my computer science major is more than just a cliche. Instead, I’m petitioning to have my WKÁRRU+DPFODVVFRXQWQRWRQO\DV my Art hum seminar but also my PE requirement. Sure, I leave the class I have before ten minutes early to take the elevator most of the time, but if it’s one thing the Columbia administration

has taught me, it’s that you have to have trust that I’ll walk up those stairs. Columbia leads by example and there’s no better example than Deantini. He just waltzes into the building with a briefcase in hand, walks through that front door on the second/ IDNHÀUVWà RRUDQGJHWVWRVLWLQKLV comfy ass chair. HE DOESN’T EVEN TAKE THE STAIRS! He uses the ADA ramp and goes up that 170 degree UDPSWRKLVR΀FH The petition asks for reasons why I believe this should count as a PE requirement. They are as follows: I’m out of breath by the time I get up those three steps and wait for people to open the door as they’re walking out of the building. Talk about cardiovascular exercise. Waiting on line for the elevator teaches you patience you can only learn in such PE classes like skiing, when you sleep on the bus; self-paced running,

when you ditch into the locker room for twenty minutes; and WII Boxing when your MII avatar lags. Thanks to the credit limit, that 1-credit, 50 minute waste of time messes up my entire schedule. This is not a joke, it’s very annoying and you should reconsider your approach to mental health awareness. ,DOZD\VWKLQN,¡PRQWKHÀIWKà RRU when I just got to the third. That TXLFNWKLQNLQJVLGHVKXΠHDURXQG people opening the staircase doors is just what defensive linemen and center PLGÀHOGHUVOHDUQLQERWKIRRWEDOOV In those rare occasions that I do take the stairs [down to the basement so I can take the elevator up without waiting on line], I’m severely sweating. That should count as the swim test. Considering I’ll probably have like URFNKDUGDEVE\WKHWLPH,ÀQLVKPDNing it up there, I think damn well this class is worth as a PE req.


AN EXCELLENT ADVENTURE BACK TO THE DAYS OF FUTURE PAST by Mark Alexander Prusakowski Follow the plotline and choose your own adventure in this action packed story! THE BEGINNING: 1 6RWKHĂ€UVWGD\RIIRXUWKJUDGHGLGQ¡W go so well. You got three detentions, the other kids hate you, and the janLWRUVZLOOQHYHUJHWWKDWPHVVRÍżWKH class ceiling. But who cares? You’re biking now, pedaling quickly to your questionably grown-up best friend’s house, renowned scientist Dr. Spootzenpopper. He texted you about a new invention he made. A busy street is ahead: let’s hope you’re wearing a helmet! If you always wear a helmet, not only because it’s the law but because personal safety is very important to you, turn to step 2. If you think helmets are stupid and make you look even stupider, turn to step 3. STEP 2 &RQĂ€GHQWWKDW\RXUWUXVW\ELNHKHOmet will protect you, you swerve into the path of an oncoming semi. To your immediate but brief disappointment, it does not. THE END STEP 3 Safety’s for nerds! Laughing as you zip between lanes, you approach Dr. Spootzenpopper’s lab. It’s a mobile home powered by a giant wind turbine that Spootzenpopper claims blows away camera beams from snooping government satellites. You’re not sure if that’s how satellites work, but you’re just a ten-year-old and he’s a self-proclaimed genius. You hear the sound of ominous machines rumbling as you enter. “Dr. Spootzenpopper?â€? you call, but to no answer. Inside, you see the living room is empty save for two


strange contraptions. One is a clear glass phone booth with the words â&#x20AC;&#x153;TIME MAS HEENâ&#x20AC;? scribbled on the door in Sharpie. The other is shaped like a Keurig with the words â&#x20AC;&#x153;Tim Machineâ&#x20AC;? neatly lettered on it. If you enter the TIME MASHEEN, turn to step 4. If you turn on the Tim Machine, turn to step 5. STEP 4 You step into the TIME MASHEEN and immediately it catapults itself into a dimension of spinning clocks and VRXQGHÍżHFWV<RXPXVWEHJRLQJRQD â&#x20AC;Ś JOURNEY THROUGH TIME!!! (cue JXLWDUULÍż

Turn to step 6. STEP 5 You press a big red button labeled â&#x20AC;&#x153;DO NOT PRESSâ&#x20AC;? and the machine begins to whir. Smoke shoots out of the pot and a voice booms out: â&#x20AC;&#x153;I AM TIM, LORD OF THE NETHERWORLD AND GUARDIAN OF THIS SACRED VESSEL. WHO DARES DISTURB MY SLUMBER?â&#x20AC;? Panicking, you pick up WKHFRÍżHHPDNHUDQGVODPLWWRWKH Ă RRUVPDVKLQJLWLQWRSLHFHV(QUDJHG E\WKLVEODVSKHPRXVRÍżHQVH7LP VKRRWVĂ&#x20AC;UHDQGOLJKWQLQJDQGNLOOV\RX THE END STEP 6 The TIME MASHEEN spits you out onto a rocky outcropping overlooking a run-down Mexican church. An army RIPHQZDYLQJ$PHULFDQĂ DJVDUH defending the church from an army of soldiers yelling in Spanish. You must be at the Alamo! If you side with the Americans, turn to step 7. If you side with the Mexicans, turn to step 8. If you decide not to help either side because you donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want to mess with the space-time continuum and youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve QHYHUĂ&#x20AC;UHGDJXQLQ\RXUOLIHWXUQWR step 9.

STEP 7 Patriotic music swells as you survey the carnage before you. Without thinkLQJ\RXWDFNOHDSDVVLQJVROGLHURÍż his horse, take his sword, mount the KRUVHDQGULGHRÍżXQWLO\RXVSRWDWDOO warrior on a white stallion. The nerd you are remembers APUSH and thinks this must be the infamous Mexican revolutionary Pancho Villa. â&#x20AC;&#x153;PANCHO VILLA!â&#x20AC;? you yell, pointing your sword in his direction. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Your crimes against America will not go unpunished! Prepare to taste the righteous blade of freedom!â&#x20AC;? â&#x20AC;&#x153;Pancho Villa?â&#x20AC;? asks the soldier. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m just a farmer.â&#x20AC;? But youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re too American to know any Spanish and attack him. â&#x20AC;&#x153;This is for America!â&#x20AC;? you shout as you raise the sword high. You swing and miss, catching your horse in the legs instead. Both you and the horse topple to the ground, and both armies VWRSĂ&#x20AC;JKWLQJWRSRLQWDQGODXJKDW you. Turn to step 10. STEP 8 Your knowledge of Spanish is limited to some Dora the Explorer episodes, but you hope itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s enough to get on the Mexican army side. â&#x20AC;&#x153;DĂłnde estĂĄ el baĂąo!â&#x20AC;? you cry as you rush toward the battlements. Grabbing a sword from a fallen comrade, you scale the Alamo walls and dive into a sea of American bayonets. You die like the godless traitor you are. THE END STEP 9 As you step back into the TIME MASHEEN, it spins and lands on a ship ZLWKĂ&#x20AC;JKWLQJWKFHQWXU\SLUDWHVDQG soldiers. Swords clash, guns blaze, and youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re in the middle with nothing but a glass box to protect you. Suddenly, a nearby explosion knocks the TIME MASHEEN over and moves you onto the deck next to a soldier. You rise and spot a familiar pirate stepping out of the smoke just ahead.

â&#x20AC;&#x153;JACK SPARROW!â&#x20AC;? you holler, drawing a gun from the soldierâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s corpse. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Yours crimes against the British navy will--â&#x20AC;? The soldier you thought was dead raises his head to interrupt you. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Jack Sparrow? Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not a real pirate name. That guy is Blackbeard.â&#x20AC;? Noticing your puzzled expression, he rolls his eyes and says â&#x20AC;&#x153;Whatever. Just shoot him.â&#x20AC;? Shoot him? You look down at the pistol in your hand. Do you really have the guts to kill a man? Heck yeah! Letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s do this! Turn to step 13. What? No! Are you insane? Probably. Turn to step 14. STEP 10 A boot steps inches from your face. You crane your neck up and see an impeccably dressed Mexican general. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Pancho Villa.â&#x20AC;? â&#x20AC;&#x153;Who you are talking about?â&#x20AC;? The general replies in perfect English, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m Antonio LĂłpez de Santa Anna.â&#x20AC;? Crap, you mixed up Mexican revolutionaries again. No wonder you failed that last history test. Oh well. You stare into the manâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s eyes and say, â&#x20AC;&#x153;I know who you really are, Pancho. I swear I will end your cruel tyranny if itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the last thing I ever do!â&#x20AC;? You hope this speech makes you look intimidating, or at least as intimidating as a fourth grader pinned under a dead horse can look. Pancho Villa laughs and unsheathes his sword. â&#x20AC;&#x153;I have no idea who you are, American,â&#x20AC;? he says as he presses the point of the blade against your throat, â&#x20AC;&#x153;but I applaud your tenacity. A pity it will do nothing to save you.â&#x20AC;? -XVWWKHQDVWUD\EXUVWRIFDQQRQĂ&#x20AC;UH hits the ground right next to you, blasting you, Pancho, and the dead horse back into the TIME MASHEEN. When you come to, youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re lying on your back in a dimly lit forest clearing. Pancho and the TIME MASHEEN are


nowhere to be seen. A group of primitive-looking people emerge from the bushes in front of you, clad in leaves. You must be in caveman times. If you try to convince them youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re a god, turn to step 11. If you try to introduce them to modern technology, turn to step 12. STEP 11 â&#x20AC;&#x153;Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m a god!â&#x20AC;? you shout. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Worship me, pathetic mortals!â&#x20AC;? The cavemen stare at you in confusion. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the matter? Do none of you understand Engliâ&#x20AC;Ś oh. Yeah, that would make sense.â&#x20AC;? Ditch this stupid plan and turn to step 12. STEP 12 <RXĂ&#x20AC;VKDURXQGLQ\RXUSRFNHWVIRU anything that might impress your DXGLHQFHEXWDOO\RXĂ&#x20AC;QGLVDVZLWFKEODGH<RXEULHĂ \ZRQGHUKRZWKDW ever got in your pants, but the largest of the cavemen suddenly picks up a rock and begins hooting at you. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s take it easy, man,â&#x20AC;? you say, but heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s running towards you, rock held high. As if motivated by some primal LQVWLQFW\RXĂ LFNRSHQWKHVZLWFKEODGH DQGĂ LQJLW7KHEODGHVSLQVWKURXJK the air and embeds itself right between the cavemanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s eyes. He crashes to the ground, twitching slightly before laying still. You freeze, unsure whether to EHVDWLVĂ&#x20AC;HGWKDW\RXMXVWNLOOHGDJX\ $VLILQDQVZHUWR\RXUWKRXJKWVĂ&#x20AC;UVW one caveman and then another start bowing. Pretty soon, the entire tribe are bowing. You assert your dominance over the tribe, and ensure the next ten years of your life are going to be totally badass. Ten totally badass years later Any remnants of your past life have long since faded into distant memory; you are now a tribal warlord worshipped for your ruthlessness in battle. You still carry your old switchblade, but you are indistinguishable from the cavemen you rule. One day as you


VWDONDEDGJHU\RXVHHDEULJKWĂ DVKRI light. Peering through the bushes, you VHHDQRGG\HWIDPLOLDUĂ&#x20AC;JXUHVWHSSLQJ out from what a large transparent box. A spark of recognition enters your mind, but is quickly replaced by a bloodthirsty rage. If you attack the mysterious stranger, turn to step 18. If you go back home instead, turn to step 19. STEP 13 You aim your pistol at Jack Sparrow DQGĂ&#x20AC;UH7KHIRUFHRIWKHEODVWNQRFNV you over, but when you rise, you realize the pirate hasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t moved an inch. A cruel smile spreads across his face as he draws his sword and walks towards you. Trembling, you raise your pistol DQGĂ&#x20AC;UHDJDLQ:KDWKDSSHQVQH[WLV so unimaginably gruesome that parts have been removed to not harm the FKLOGUHQ)HHOIUHHWRĂ&#x20AC;OOLQWKHEODQNV yourselves: The impact of the bullet hits Sparrow square in the ___________ , spraying ___________ of ___________ all over the deck. The captain stumbles drunkenly, but continues forward, despite now missing most of his ___________. â&#x20AC;&#x153;What does it take to kill this guy?â&#x20AC;? you mutter as you yank a sword out of the chest of a fallen pirate. Before Sparrow can react, you bring the sword down on his ___________, slicing it FOHDQRÍżKLVERG\+HĂ&#x20AC;QDOO\FROODSVHV to his knees, his face mere inches away from yours. â&#x20AC;&#x153;No more franchise for you!â&#x20AC;? you quip before plunging the sword into his ___________, covering your face in ___________. You step back and survey your work. It is, by far, the second-most depraved thing you have ever done in your entire life. But enough-- itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s time for more time-travelling. Hop back in the TIME MASHEEN and turn to step 15. STEP 14 Jack Sparrow kills you faster than he

killed Johnny Deppâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s ppâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s drama career. THE END STEP 15 EN drops you in The TIME MASHEEN learing. Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve the middle of a forest clearing. n a caveman barely stepped out when overed in so leaps out of the bushes, covered ll if itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a much hair that you canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t tell man or a woman. It rushes att you with a small, sharp piece of metal, screaming something in caveman that probaed.â&#x20AC;? bly means â&#x20AC;&#x153;Prepare to get shanked.â&#x20AC;? Shoot it! Now! Turn to step 16. No! What if itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s friendly? Turn to step 17. STEP 16 You shoot the caveman right in the heart, but as soon as the bullet makes impact, an icy chill shoots up your spine, and you hear a ripping sound as if the very fabric of the space-time continuum is torn apart. You ignore this and return to the TIME MASHEEN. The machine throws you roughly onto a slab of concrete. Immediately, a voice above you announces: â&#x20AC;&#x153;HUMAN LIFE FORM DETECTED. PLEASE STATE NAME AND DESIGNATION.â&#x20AC;? Towering above you is a terrifying robot. A beam of blue light protruding from the robotâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s forehead sweeps \RXUIDFHEHIRUHVKXWWLQJRÍżDQGWKH robot beeps, â&#x20AC;&#x153;IDENTIFICATION NOT FOUND. PREPARE FOR ANNIHILATION.â&#x20AC;? The robot raises a saw attached to its arm, but before it slices you, a blast of energy bursts its head apart and it topples to the ground. Behind it stands the toughest-looking woman you have ever seen, clad in a bright blue space suit. She whips back her hair before holstering her blaster and staring at you. There is a moment of awkward silence, interrupted only by the distant shriek of blaring sirens. If you thank her for saving your life, turn to step 20. If you try to make some small talk Ă&#x20AC;UVWWXUQWRVWHS STEP 17

You hold out your hand in a warm gesture of camaraderie, but the caveman only responds by stabbing you in the gut. Looking down, you see a switchblade with your initials carved on the hilt sticking out of your midsection. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Huh, thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s funny, I wonder how that â&#x20AC;Śâ&#x20AC;? but you die too soon. THE END STEP 18 Looking down, you see a switchblade with your initials carved on the hilt sticking out of your midsection. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Huh, You leap out of the bushes, brandishing your switchblade and yelling â&#x20AC;&#x153;Prepare to get shanked!â&#x20AC;? The stranger does not answer, but instead pulls out an oddly-shaped LFN7KHUH¡VDĂ DVKDQGDEDQJDQG VWLFN7KHUH¡VDĂ DVKDQGDEDQJDQG u think, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Oh, yeah, thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a gun! I you ember those,â&#x20AC;? before everything remember goes dark. THE END STEP 19 rn to your cave to rest for the You return next dayâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s hunt and forget about the tranger and his box. You mysterious stranger manage to live to the ripe old age of 27 before dying of natural causes. THE END STEP 20 You thank her, but she quickly interrupts you: â&#x20AC;&#x153;Whatt the hell do you e? This is robot think youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re doing here? territory. I shouldâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve justt -â&#x20AC;? She stops as she notices the TIME MASHEEN. Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re â&#x20AC;&#x153;Oh my god!â&#x20AC;? she gasps. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re the time traveller! Thee one from the prophecy!â&#x20AC;? nfused. â&#x20AC;&#x153;The â&#x20AC;Ś prophecy?â&#x20AC;? you say, confused. She cheerfully nods. â&#x20AC;&#x153;When this human-robot war began, a scientistt uld prophesied that a time traveller would visit us and lead the human resistancee to victory over our robot overlords! And now youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re here!â&#x20AC;? She drags you back to her spaceship. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Come on, I can take you to the rebel base right now. Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve got to make sure you stay


DOLYHXQWLO\RX¡UHUHDG\WRIXOĂ&#x20AC;OOWKH prophecy.â&#x20AC;? You stop in your tracks. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Sorry, until I IXOĂ&#x20AC;OOWKHSURSKHF\"Âľ â&#x20AC;&#x153;Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, the prophecy said that you would save humanity, but not before dying an excruciatingly horrible death. Why, does it matter?â&#x20AC;? If you donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t mind dying if it means saving the world from eternal slavery, turn to step 22. If youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d rather let somebody else do it, turn to step 23. STEP 21 â&#x20AC;&#x153;Howâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s it hanging, girl? Come here often?â&#x20AC;? you ask, trying to lean casually with one elbow against the dead robot. Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re on a concrete slab in a desolate wasteland, so your guess is that no, she doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t come here often, but you canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t think of anything else to say. The space ranger wrinkles her nose. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Oh my god, are you - are you hitting on me? Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re like ten years old.â&#x20AC;? Oh, crap. I totally forgot youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re supposed to be a kid in this story. You know what, letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s just forget this ever happened and turn to step 20, shall we? Turn to step 20. STEP 22 You allow the rebel soldier to lead you back to her spaceship, which upon closer inspection you realize is a 2013 Ford Prius. â&#x20AC;&#x153;You future people have weird tastes,â&#x20AC;? you remark as you strap yourself into the passenger seat. â&#x20AC;&#x153;So KRZIDVWFDQWKLVWKLQJĂ \"Âľ Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve got to make sure you stay alive XQWLO\RX¡UHUHDG\WRIXOĂ&#x20AC;OOWKHSURSKecy.â&#x20AC;? You stop in your tracks. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Sorry, until I IXOĂ&#x20AC;OOWKHSURSKHF\"Âľ â&#x20AC;&#x153;Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, the prophecy said that you would save humanity, but not before dying an excruciatingly horrible death. Why, does it matter?â&#x20AC;? If you donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t mind dying if it means


saving the world from eternal slavery, turn to step 22. If youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d rather let somebody else do it, turn to step 23. STEP 21 â&#x20AC;&#x153;Howâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s it hanging, girl? Come here often?â&#x20AC;? you ask, trying to lean casually with one elbow against the dead robot. Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re on a concrete slab in a desolate wasteland, so your guess is that no, she doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t come here often, but you canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t think of anything else to say. The space ranger wrinkles her nose. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Oh my god, are you - are you hitting on me? Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re like ten years old.â&#x20AC;? Oh, crap. I totally forgot youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re supposed to be a kid in this story. You know what, letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s just forget this ever happened and turn to step 20, shall we? Turn to step 20. STEP 22 You allow the rebel soldier to lead you back to her spaceship, which upon closer inspection you realize is a 2013 Ford Prius. â&#x20AC;&#x153;You future people have weird tastes,â&#x20AC;? you remark as you strap yourself into the passenger seat. â&#x20AC;&#x153;So KRZIDVWFDQWKLVWKLQJĂ \"Âľ The soldier looks at you. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Fly? What PDNHV\RXWKLQNWKLVFDUFDQĂ \",W¡V not even ten years old and I still canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t get the engine running half the time.â&#x20AC;? Now itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s your turn to look confused. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Wait a second â&#x20AC;Ś what year is it?â&#x20AC;? ´ÂľVKHUHSOLHVVWLOOĂ&#x20AC;GGOLQJZLWK the key in the ignition. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Almost three years since this whole robot war EHJDQ$KDJRWLWÂľ7KHHQJLQHĂ&#x20AC;QDOO\ sputters to life, and the Prius starts chugging down the road towards a smoking city. â&#x20AC;&#x153;How could all of this have happened?â&#x20AC;? â&#x20AC;&#x153;Nobody really knows, but if my calculations are correct, it all started back in 2018 when some idiot time traveller accidentally killed his future self, creating a rift in the space-time continuum that caused robots to gain sentience nearly 100 years before they were sup-

-posed to. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m sure that has nothing to do with you, though.â&#x20AC;? She extends her hand. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m Tracy, by the way.â&#x20AC;? You shake hers and start to introduce yourself when a sudden metallic screech interrupts you. Tracy whips her head around to look out the rear window. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a drone! Theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve found us!â&#x20AC;? She hits the gas as you notice a giant robotic eagle with laser eyes swooping low over the car. 7UDF\JUDEVDGXÍżHOEDJIURPWKH back seat and hands it to you. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Here, ,¡OOGULYHLI\RXĂ&#x20AC;JKWÂľ<RXRSHQWKH bag to reveal a shotgun and about ten grenades. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s like Christmas all over again! If you take the shotgun, turn to step 24. If you take the grenades, turn to step 25. STEP 23 Saving the world sounds great and all, but youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re not too psyched about the whole â&#x20AC;&#x153;dyingâ&#x20AC;? part. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Uh, I just remembered,â&#x20AC;? you mutter, yanking your arm out of the soldierâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s grasp. â&#x20AC;&#x153;I think I left something back in my time machine. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s â&#x20AC;Ś itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s really important.â&#x20AC;? You race back to the TIME MASHEEN, ignoring the shouts of â&#x20AC;&#x153;Coward!â&#x20AC;? EHKLQG\RX7KHPDFKLQHWDNHVRÍżDV you step inside, landing in the middle of Dr. Spootzenpopperâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s living room. â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Home at last!â&#x20AC;&#x2122; you think, but youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve EDUHO\Ă&#x20AC;QLVKHG\RXUWKRXJKWZKHQD second, identical TIME MASHEEN materializes before you. A person exits who looks just like you, but their right arm has been replaced by a robotic appendage. You recognize this newcomer immediately. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Robocop!â&#x20AC;? you declare, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Your crimes against humanity will not go unpunished!â&#x20AC;? Robocop turns to you and smiles. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Oh, cool, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s me! Hi, me!â&#x20AC;? he waves with his robot arm. If you shoot Robocop in the face, turn to step 34.

If youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re sick and tired of this story and just want it to end already, turn to step 35. STEP 24 You roll down the window and stick the shotgun out Mad Max-style. You aim the barrel at the robot, but your shot goes wild and blows out the rear tire instead. You stick your head back inside before it skids sideways and Ă LSVRYHUNQRFNLQJ\RXUKHDGDJDLQVW the dashboard. When you come to, youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re strapped to a chair in a giant atrium-like room. Around you, robot sentries are stationed around the room, covering every exit. Sitting on an iron throne is Academy Award winner Gary Oldman, wearing a black cape. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Gary Oldman!â&#x20AC;? you gasp. â&#x20AC;&#x153;So youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve been leading these robots all along!â&#x20AC;? â&#x20AC;&#x153;Wrong!â&#x20AC;? he barks. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Gary Oldman is no more! This body is merely a vessel through which I project my robotic conscience!â&#x20AC;? You pause to consider how mind-bogglingly stupid this story has gotten. â&#x20AC;&#x153;So what are you going to do now, Gary Ol- I mean, robot who stole Gary Oldmanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s body? Kill me?â&#x20AC;? â&#x20AC;&#x153;No,â&#x20AC;? replies the robot. â&#x20AC;&#x153;That would just make you a martyr. To crush the spirit of the human rebellion once and for all, I must destroy you in a fair trial by combat.â&#x20AC;? He raises a hand and the straps binding your arms to the chair are immediately released. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Now,â&#x20AC;? smiles Robo-Gary Oldman, gesturing to a nearby pile of swords, â&#x20AC;&#x153;choose your weapon.â&#x20AC;? If you accept the robotâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s challenge, turn to step 26. If you try to defeat him with logic instead, turn to step 27. STEP 25 You take a grenade in your hand and ask, â&#x20AC;&#x153;So how do I use this thing?â&#x20AC;? ´:HOOĂ&#x20AC;UVW\RXKDYHWRSXOOWKHSLQ out,â&#x20AC;? replies Tracy.


You pull the pin out. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Then en what?â&#x20AC;? ´7KHQ\RXKDYHWRZDLW DERXWĂ&#x20AC;YHH VHF ´7KHQ\RXKDYHWRZDLWDERXWĂ&#x20AC;YHVHFHF-onds. Wa Wait Wait, it, no, maybe itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ss three. Make Make it thr ree seconds sec econ onds just to be be safe.â&#x20AC;? safe.â&#x20AC;? â&#x20AC;? three â&#x20AC;&#x153;An nd tthen?â&#x20AC;? hen? he n?â&#x20AC;? â&#x20AC;&#x153;And T raccy glances over and ra d no n tice cess you Tracy notices hold ldin i g the pin in your you ourr hand. hand ha nd. Her face face holding contorts s. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re â&#x20AC;&#x153;Y supp pposed d to to wait it contorts. supposed until af afte ter I give the instructions!â&#x20AC;? ins nstr truc u tions!â&#x20AC;?â&#x20AC;? she after scream amss. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Th Throw that that thing thi hin ng out before bef efore screams. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Throw iit-â&#x20AC;? it -â&#x20AC;? â&#x20AC;? THE H END STEP 26 Turns out R obo--Ga G ry Old dman is a Robo-Gary Oldman SUHWW\ JRR RRG G VZ VZRUUGĂ&#x20AC; GĂ&#x20AC;JKWHU 0XVWWEH EHDOO SUHWW\JRRGVZRUGĂ&#x20AC;JKWHU0XVWEHDOO that method metthod acting. THE END STEP 27 â&#x20AC;&#x153;We Well?â&#x20AC;? shouts Robo-Oldman. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Why â&#x20AC;&#x153;Well?â&#x20AC;? havenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t you chosen a weapon yet? Quit stalling! !â&#x20AC;? stalling!â&#x20AC;? Ignoring his words, s, you you look look him in the eye and yell â&#x20AC;&#x153;This â&#x20AC;&#x153;Thi â&#x20AC;&#x153;T his statement is false!â&#x20AC;? Robo-Oldmanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s smile droop ps. H droops. Hee closes his eyes as if in dee ep though ht, deep thought, then begins trembling violently. viol olently. His head explodes in n a shower of sparks spark ks and brain tissue. Normally thi hiss wo w uld this would disgust you, but youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve already m urrmurdered two other people today, so at this point it ainâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t no thang. 7KHVHQWULHVFROODSVHWRWKHĂ RRU 7KHVHQWULHVFROODSVHWRWKHĂ RRU their tiny robot brains unable to compute your paradoxical statement. Surrounded by the broken corpses of your fallen enemies, you decide it wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t hurt to do a little victory dance. Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re You o â&#x20AC;&#x2122;re halfway through some unholy mashup of the Worm and the Macarena when you hear a scream coming from the hallway to your left. It sounds like Tracy! If you try save Tracy, turn to step 28. If you keep dancing, turn to step 29. STEP 28 You grab a sword from the weapons pile and rush down the hallway. Skidding around a corner, you run into a tall robot with a lifeless body


slun lung ov over its shoulder. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Tracy!â&#x20AC;? yo you u slung shout, sh t, but butt the the body bod ody y do d esnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t stir. stir ir.. Th The doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t robo bott lo looks at y o , it ou iitss twin in red ed laser robot you, eyess glaring menacingly. ey menacingl gly. y â&#x20AC;&#x153;Why does everything in the future have hav a e to have lase la serr ey eyes?â&#x20AC;? you whimper. The robot laser does do es n ot answer, but ut instead ins nste t ad d raises raisess its its not arm m, w hich hi ch transforms into into a spiky arm, which stee st eell blade. blad bl ade. steel IIff yo ou use use yo your ur ssword, w rd, tu wo turn rn to step ep you 30 IIff y ou challenge chal ch alle leng ngee the he robot robo ro bott to a danceyou RÍżWX RÍż WXUQ U WRVW V HS  RÍżWXUQWRVWHS STEP ST EP 229 9 Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re so abs bsor orbe b d iin n you ur dancee absorbed your that you fail to notice not otic icee the the soldier-bot soldier-bo ot ente en teri ring ng the room. In an n act of comic entering timi ti ming g, yo y u start to do the robot, poptiming, you ping pi ng aand nd locking with all the expertise RIDGUXQN N JX\ Ă DLOL OLQJ QJ DWLPDJLQDU\ RIDGUXQNJX\Ă DLOLQJDWLPDJLQDU\ bats. Enraged by thi hiss he heinous act of this cultural appropriati ion,, the soldier-bot appropriation, shoots you in the back. baack ck. THE END D STEP 30 You chuck the swo ord aatt what you sword think is thee robotâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ss h ea art rt, but it just heart, bo oun unce cess aw away ay. The The robot robo ro bot laughs and bounces away. FFKRSV\RXUULJKWDUPRÍżZLWKLWVEODGH FK RSVV\R RS \ XU ULJ L KW DUP RÍżZLWKLWV WV EOD ODGH G  You pr Yo pray thatt th tthee rob bot willl p ut an en end d robot put to you you u quickly, qui u ckly, but bu just just then, the hen, n, you you see a URER UR ERW W DU DUP P O\ O\LQ LQJ J RQWKHĂ R RRU URERWDUPO\LQJRQWKHĂ RRU And itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s just jusst a few feett aaway! way! wa y! How ow unrealistically y convenient! convenieent nt!! You You ru un run past the robot ot and pic ck up tthe he arm rm. pick arm. $Î&#x20AC;[LQJLWWR R\RXUVWXPS S \RX R DOO OORZ R $Î&#x20AC;[LQJLWWR\RXUVWXPS\RXDOORZ the circuitry y to sync with hy ourr ne ou nervouss your system-- thee arm works per erfectly ly.. The Th perfectly. robot has no ow dropped Tracy to tthe he now Ă RRUDQG KDVVLWVIXOODWWHQWLRQĂ&#x20AC;[DWHG Ă RRUDQGKDVLWVIXOODWWHQWLRQĂ&#x20AC;[DWHG on you. Leaping Leeap pin i g forward you pile GULYH\RXU UURE ERĂ&#x20AC;VWLQWRLW¡VIDFH7KH GULYH\RXUURERĂ&#x20AC;VWLQWRLW¡VIDFH7KH force of you our hi hit, t disintegrating its your head upon n contac act. When When the smoke smok okee contact. clears, all th hat lef ft is you, Tracy, and a that left pile of smoldering smollderin ng robot p arts. parts. Tracy sudde d nly y coug ghs aand nd sputters, suddenly coughs and you rush to he her side to to assist assi as sist s her. +HUH\HVĂ XWWHURSHQ DQG Q VKHVHHV\RX +HUH\HVĂ XWWHURSHQDQGVKHVHHV\RX smiling down at her. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Is itt over?â&#x20AC;? over ov er?â&#x20AC;? ?â&#x20AC;? she he

whispers. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Is the robot king dead?â&#x20AC;? You nod. She smiles and closes her eyes again. â&#x20AC;&#x153;I guess I can die in peace peeace now,, k knowing nowing that humanity still has a no chance ce after after er all.â&#x20AC;? She pulls you closer. ´3UR RPL PLVHPH\RX¡OOQHYHUVWRSĂ&#x20AC;JKW´3URPLVHPH\RX¡OOQHYHUVWRSĂ&#x20AC;JKWiing, ng, o kay? Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll keep the rebellion okay? going no matter how long it takes to d de feat the robots?â&#x20AC;? defeat â&#x20AC;&#x153;Wait, I though g t I just killed their thought leader. Isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t the war basically over now? w?â&#x20AC;? you ask. now?â&#x20AC;? Tracy shakes her head. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Robo-Gary Oldman was just one of the robot commanders. Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s like 600 others stationed all around the world, and most are a lot smarter and stronger than he was.â&#x20AC;? If you dedicate the rest of your life to tracking down and killing 600 killer robots, turn to step 32. IIff th ther ereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; e s no chance in hell that youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll you uâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;lll thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s ever ev er do do that, that th a , because seriously, come o n, turn n to to step ste 33. on, STEP 311 W ait, ai t what? wha hat? t? You You o actually chose th that at Wait, opti tion o ? Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s That Th atâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s â&#x20AC;Ś thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s actually actual ally ly pretty option? p pa thettic. Just Just â&#x20AC;Ś wow. I honestly ho one nestly didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t pathetic. ev ven write wri r tee an an ending forr this because even I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t didn dnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t think k aanyone nyone would woul wo uld be stupid en nou ough to â&#x20AC;Ś you yo know what, what, letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s just enough sa ay yo you u di d e. say die. T HE END D THE STEP ST EP 332 2 For the next 30 years, yea ears rs,, you you travel tr the world hunting down every last las astt commander of the robot regime, most of w hom ho m ha have pos osse sess ssed ed the bodies of whom possessed various ce cele lebritie ies. s. Robo-Matt Ro obo-Ma Matt tt Damon celebrities. an nd Ro Robo bo-J -Jen enni nife ferr Anisto ton n donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;tt put put and Robo-Jennifer Aniston X SPXFKRII DĂ&#x20AC;JKWEXW5RER'RZQ QH\ H\ XSPXFKRIDĂ&#x20AC;JKWEXW5RER'RZQH\ Jr. mana ages to hac ck yo your other arm manages hack RÍż EHI HIRUH\RXSXVK VK KLPLQWRDYDWRI RÍżEHIRUH\RXSXVKKLPLQWRDYDWRI m olten steel. As you grow older ollde derr and d molten your body count grows higher, high hi g er, the the robots begin to fear aand nd rrespect e pect es ct y ou, ou you, and globally, humanity humani nity ty sees see ees you u ass WKHLUVDYLRU<RXĂ&#x20AC;Q QG GQ QRMR\LQ\R \RXU XU WKHLUVDYLRU<RXĂ&#x20AC;QGQRMR\LQ\RXU work, remini niscing on the the days when wh reminiscing you were jus ustt an iinnocent nno nn ocent child chil ild d readjust

ing me m ssed-up â&#x20AC;&#x153;Choose Your Own wn messed-up Advent n ureâ&#x20AC;? stories. By the time you yo ou Adventureâ&#x20AC;? DUHĂ&#x20AC;Q QDOO\GHIHDWHGLQDEDWWOHZLWK DUHĂ&#x20AC;QDOO\GHIHDWHGLQDEDWWOHZLWK Robo-G Greta Ger erwi wig, g, you you still have 300 Robo-Greta Gerwig, robots left on y o r hit li ou list st.. your list. THE END D STEP 33 You feel ki kind nd o bad d ab abandoni ing off ba abandoning Trac cy in n tthe he h allway a , but but you you realize realliz izee Tracy hallway, you wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; nâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;tt have have to to die die because beca be caus usee of that tha hatt wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t stupid proph p ecy after al all. l. Through Thr hrough gh a prophecy series of boring eevents vents that th I wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t won onâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t â&#x20AC;&#x2122;t ERWKHUZULWLQJDER E XW\RXĂ&#x20AC;Q Ă&#x20AC;QG G WK WKH ERWKHUZULWLQJDERXW\RXĂ&#x20AC;QGWKH TIME MASHEEN aagain gain and nd sstep tep te p inside. Waving goo odbye to o the the future, fu uture re, goodbye you happily watch as it fades fad des in nto into oblivion, replaced by a famili liar ar ssetting: ettting et ng: familiar Dr. Spootzenpoppers living room! m! You You know, the place from the beginning beg gin inni ning ng of of the story? Man, that seems ms like lik ke such such a long time ago. ag But none of that matters matt ma tteers now, ssince ince in c y ouâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re home saf ou afe! Hoor ray! y! youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re safe! Hooray! You mad de it to the one ending wher eree made where you donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t die a horrible death! deaath th!! Heari ing another another voice to your y ur left,, yo Hearing \RX X Ă&#x20AC;Q Ă&#x20AC;QG GDQ D H[D [DFW FWUHS SOL OLFD FDRI\R RXU X VHHOI OI \RXĂ&#x20AC;QGDQH[DFWUHSOLFDRI\RXUVHOI standi ing only onl nly y a fe few w feet away. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Oh, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Oh Oh, standing cool, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s m e! H i, m e!â&#x20AC;? yo e! you u smile aass you me! Hi, me!â&#x20AC;? wave your robot robo ot ar rm at you ours rself. f. arm yourself. You (other you, u, n o y ot ou y ou)) ou not you you) resp s ond by y pul lli ling n out u a gun and respond pulling shooting you sh you where whe here you stand. This ki ind of th hin ng se seems to happen to you a kind thing lot, lo t, doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t doeesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;tt it? it? THE TH EE ND D END STEP ST P 334 4 $V5RERFRSIDOOVWRWKHĂ RRUVWUXFN $V5RERFRSIDOOVWRWKHĂ RRUVWUXFN down by your mighty bullet, you hear a distant crumpling that sounds like the fabric of the space-time continuum b be ing cut up and sewn into an ugly being Ch hristmas sweater. Out of nowhere, a Christmas UHGHQ H YHORSHĂ LHVGRZQZLWKDOHWWHU UHGHQYHORSHĂ LHVGRZQZLWKDOHWWHU insid de: inside: Dear Time Time Traveller, It ha as come to my attention that, through has DDĂ DJUDQWYLRODWLRQRIWKHODZVRIWLPH D Ă DJUUDQWYLRODWLRQRIWKHODZVRIWLPH travel el, you have managed to kill yourself travel, twic ce today, creating a paradox that may twice br rin ing about the end of the universe as we bring


know it. This behavior is unacceptable. Please report to my Palace of Time immediately to be properly disciplined. The Lord of Time When you look up from the letter, you realize that you are no longer in Dr. Spootzenpopperâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s living room. You are standing inside what looks like an enormous cathedral made entirely out of broken clock parts. The Lord of Time stands before you, a 12 foot giant clad in a midnight-blue cloak decorated with strange, ancient symbols. He looks a lot like Helen Mirren, if Helen Mirren was an old man with a pointy beard who looked nothing like Helen Mirren. He says nothing, but draws a sword from deep within his robes. The PHVVDJHLVFOHDUĂ&#x20AC;JKWRUGLH If you attack the Lord of Time wit with \RXUEDUHĂ&#x20AC;VWVWXUQWRVWHS \RXUEDUHĂ&#x20AC;VWVWXUQWRVWHS ,I\RXWU\WRĂ&#x20AC;QGDZH ,I\RXWU\WRĂ&#x20AC;QGDZHDSRQĂ&#x20AC;UVWWXUQ to step 37. STEP 35 3 ,GRQ¡WOLNH\RXUDWWLWXGHEXWĂ&#x20AC;QH THE END STEP 36 You leap at the Lord of Time and neatly impale yourself on his sword. You want to explain to him that you were aiming a little further to the left, but youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re too dead to speak. THE END STEP 37 The Lord of Time swings at you, but you duck at the last second and run out of the hall, through an ornate pair of doors. The next room appears to be some sort of armory; rows upon rows of swords, sickles, slings and spears FRYHUWKHZDOOVIURPĂ RRUWRFHLOLQJ Two weapons in particular catch your attention: a transparent longsword made of some gaseous substance that feels solid to the touch, and a grenade shaped like an oversized pocket watch. If you pick up the pocket watch, turn to step 38. If you pick up the big gas sword, turn to step 39. STEP 38


What you thought was a grenade shaped like an oversized pocket watch turns out to simply be an oversized pocket watch. Chucking it at the Lord RI7LPHKDVQRHÍżHFWDSDUWIURPPDNing you look like an idiot. THE END STEP 39 â&#x20AC;&#x153;This sure is a big gas sword,â&#x20AC;? you mutter as you hoist the big gas sword RÍżWKHZDOO<RXZKLSDURXQGDVWKH Lord of Time barges into the room behind you. Time stops. I mean, time doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t literally stop but â&#x20AC;Ś you k know what I mean. The Lord of T Time comes to a halt as he sees y you holding the big gas sword. â&#x20AC;&#x153;No! â&#x20AC;&#x153;No!â&#x20AC;? he whispers. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Not the big gas sword!â&#x20AC;? â&#x20AC;&#x153;The same!â&#x20AC;? you cry, giving it a couple of intimidating swings. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Now GUDZDQGĂ&#x20AC;JKWÂľ 7KH/RUGRI7LPHĂ&#x20AC;JKWVEUDYHO\EXW he is no match for you and your big gas sword. Blade clashes against blade DVWKHWZRRI\RXĂ&#x20AC;JKWWKURXJKWKH palace, locked in an endless battle for dominance. At the top of the highest WRZHU\RXĂ&#x20AC;QDOO\NQRFN7LPH¡VEODGH out of his hand. He collapses to the Ă RRUDQG\RXSUHVVWKHSRLQWRI\RXU big gas sword against his throat. â&#x20AC;&#x153;No, please, donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t kill me!â&#x20AC;? he pleads. â&#x20AC;&#x153;You donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know what will happen if-â&#x20AC;? â&#x20AC;&#x153;I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t care!â&#x20AC;? you interrupt. â&#x20AC;&#x153;This battle is mine! Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve been having a hell of a day today, and I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want you ruining this moment for me! Now DIE!â&#x20AC;? You plunge your big gas sword into Timeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s chest. Lightning shoots down his body as he screams, and the fabric of his cloak begins to tear apart at the seams before dissolving into shreds. You pull out the sword and drop it to WKHĂ RRUÂś6ZHHW,MXVWNLOOHG7LPH¡ you think to yourself. â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;I wonder what happens ne THE END

COLLEGE: S1E1 by Andrew Schur and Krishi Korrapati SCENE 1: Wide shots of campus, beautiful day, pan into shot of dorm building. Cut to shot of a dorm room door. Voices oof Drew and Margot heard inside. DREW: I mean m what are we supposed to d do? MARGOT: Right? Do I really need to be squatting? DREW: Screw it I’ll just move the bed. MARGOT: Good idea that’ll make it ÀWDORWEHWWHUWRR,W·VLQDQDZNZDUG position. DREW: You’re telling me. A very hot girl in the hallway, Eva, hears the noises which sound like sex (Drew and Margot are grunting while moving furniture), smirks, and walks away. Cut to inside of the dorm where Drew and Margot are moving a standing desk. Once it’s in its place, they sigh and sit on the bed. MARGOT: (LOOKING AT DREW) I’m Margot by the way. DREW: I know (BEAT) we met in the hallway. MARGOT: (TO HERSELF) Dammit. DREW: What? MARGOT: I’m sorry, it’s this thing I do when I forget someone’s name. I was kinda hoping you forgot my name as well so that we could meet (MAKES QUOTATIONS) again. DREW: Ah no worries, I’m Drew. (They smile at each other.) MARGOT: So Drew where are you from? DREW: Virginia. MARGOT: Oh I’m from Massachusetts. Kinda similar, I guess. Except we actually have seasons. DREW: Ha, funny (BEAT) it’s like god gave sedatives to the mid-Atlantic so that it never gets too hot or cold. MARGOT: Wow are we really talking about the weather already?

DREW: Dammit you’r you’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry we’re better than that, let’s star start again, I’m Drew. M MARGOT: And I’m Margot nice to meet you (PAUSE). Hey I’m glad we met each other. I was beginning to get worried I wouldn’t make any friends DQG,GRQ·WNQRZDQ\RQHRQRXUÁRRU and I already miss my old friends and my family and that’s not even mentioniDREW: Hey, (BEAT) don’t worry. I’ve been thinking the same thing. We’re DOOLQWKHVDPHERDW:H·OOEHÀQH,·P glad we met too. MARGOT: (LAUGHS)(PAUSE) How about this. Let’s try to get to know VRPHRWKHUSHRSOHRQRXUÁRRUDQGVHH how it goes, but let’s also make a pact: no matter what we stick together. DREW: Ok sounds gooCommotion outside a couple doors down causes both of them to look up and go into WKHKDOOZD\'RZQWKHKDOO5DÀDQG2WWR are talking. RAFI: Yea bruh, it’s been a whole three days. I’ve gotta get laid. OTTO: Wait (BEAT) Three days ago you, me, and my sister went to dinner and then you and her went back to pack for college. RAFI: Yeah, we went to ‘pack,’ if you know what I mean. OTTO: Bro are you serious! What the KHOOPDQ,WROG\RXWREDFNRͿIURP her! Are you RAFI: Haha I’m messing with you I didn’t bang your sister. OTTO: Dammit bro that’s not funny. Jeez. (BEAT) Wait, so who was it?


RAFI: (LAUGHS) Remember Ms. Richmond? OTTO: (IN DISBELIEF) Noâ&#x20AC;Śbro you didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;tRAFI: (SPOTTING DREW AND MARGOT) Neighbors! Whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s up guys. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m 5DĂ&#x20AC;DQGWKLVLV2WWR MARGOT: Oh nice to meet you, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m Margot and this is Drew. '5(:5DĂ&#x20AC;GLG\RXVD\" 5$),<HDK5DĂ&#x20AC;/LNH´URRĂ&#x20AC;HÂľEXW with an ah. I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t cheat. Margot and Drew look at each other, confused. DREW: ...Okay ÂżQuĂŠ pasa amigo? Mucho gusto. RAFI: Do what now? DREW: (BEAT) Wait youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re latino right? OTTO: Wow, assuming gender on the Ă&#x20AC;UVWGD\ RAFI: (TURNS TO OTTO) Latino isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t a gender. OTTO: Yeah but you could b be Mexican. RAFI: Mexican is isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t a gender eitherâ&#x20AC;Ś '5(:,¡P '5(:,¡PVRUU\,WKRXJKW5DĂ&#x20AC;ZDV short for Raphael. I have a hispanic uncle named Raphael. RAFI: Ah gotcha. Nah you mixed up the beans and rice with the curry and spice. (WITH AN INDIAN ACCENT) Welcome to AT&T how may I take your call? They laugh. At that point, Eva walks by again and looks at Margot and Drew who DUHVWLOODOLWWOHĂ XVWHUHGIURPPRYLQJWKH desk. EVA: Looks like you two had a good time. (TO DREW) Not bad for only being here one day. DREW: What? (BEAT) Oh no weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re notret is safe with EVA: Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s okay your secret KS OVER HER me. (BEAT) (LOOKS R) And those guys I guess. SHOULDER)


3DQWR2WWRDQG5DĂ&#x20AC;ORRNLQJLPSUHVVHG and giving Drew a thumbs up. Otto is seen air humping. 6&(1(2WWRDQG5DĂ&#x20AC;DUHHDWLQJLQWKH cafeteria. OTTO: Bro that guy Drewâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s got game. Hasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t even been four hours and heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s already gotten past the Seven Articles of the Constitution. RAFI: What do you mean? OTTO: Bro (BEAT) he got past the seven articles: shirt, bra, two pants, two socks, and underwear. Hell he skipped ULJKWWRWKHĂ&#x20AC;UVWDPHQGPHQWIUHHGRP of the press (DRY HUMPS THE AIR AIR) if you know what I mean. RAFI: Wait (BEAT) who ssays â&#x20AC;&#x153;two pants,â&#x20AC;? itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s just â&#x20AC;&#x153;pa â&#x20AC;&#x153;pants.â&#x20AC;? OTTO: Yeah b but the Constitution has Seven A Articles and Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m not trying to me mess up what Big James made. RAFI: Jamesâ&#x20AC;Ś OTTO: Madison...Duh. Bro that guy had game. RAFI: How do you know? OTTO: Trust me if youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re wifeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s name is Dolley and sheâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s known for impressing (DRY HUMPS) the public, you know heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s got game. RAFI: Dude you donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know squat about game. OTTO: Are you kidding? Just watch me tonight. If anything itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s you who needs to hit the books. RAFI: Like three days ago when Ms. Richmond and I â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;studiedâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; in the library. OTTO: Bro, seriously whatt happened between you two? They see Margot and Drew approaching. wo come to the table. The two RAFI: Ayyy, neighbors! Whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s up guys. 0$5*27+H\5DĂ&#x20AC;DQG2WWRULJKW" Mind if we join you? OTTO: (UNDER HIS BREATH) You

join me anytime babe.(RAFI GUT PUNCHES HIM BENEATH THE TABLE) RAFI: Yeah of course. '5(:6RZH¡UHĂ RRUKXK" RAFI: Hell yeah we are! Room 6 â&#x20AC;&#x153;oh â&#x20AC;&#x153;ohâ&#x20AC;? 9. (HIGH FIVES OTTO) MARGOT: (BEAT) So...what So...w do you guys want to stud study? OTTO: Pussy Pussy. MARG MARGOT: Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m sorry, what? R RAFI: (IGNORING THE LOOKS OF MARGOT AND DREW) But how are you going to do that? You need at least 4 classes this semester. OTTO: Yeah, White, Asian, Latina, and European. Four classes. Well actually theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re genders but whatever. DREW: I really donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t think you know what a gender is... RAFI: (TO DREW) What about you man? (Beat) Wait, let me guess, English. DREW: (BEAT) Whoa, howâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d you know? RAFI: Well you walked in carrying a ing Hemingway poster and had a standing desk in your room. ervant. MARGOT: Someoneâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s observant. RAFI: Especially if the prospect is $70$5*27:+2 Ă&#x20AC;QH :,1.6$70$5*27:+2 HS).Speaking of prospects, are LAUGHS).Speaking wee going to DTD tonight? MARGOT: DDT? Like the insecticide that devastated the entire living America ecosystem in the 70s? (DREW LOOKS IMPRESSED) OTTO:(UNDER HIS BREATH)Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d like to get insecticide you.(RAFI HITS HIM AGAIN) MARGOT:(SLIGHTLY FLUSTERED) What? RAFI: Yeah that was a catastrophe that will be forever recorded in the anals of American history. DREW: I think you mean annalsâ&#x20AC;Ś RAFI: (IGNORING DREWâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S COMMENT) But nah itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s DTD, Delta Tau Delta, the frat. Theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re hosting a wel-

come party. OTTO:(EYING MARG MARGOT) Yeah, more like welcome to my pants. (HIGH FIVES RA RAFI LOWKEY) '5( '5(:<HDK,¡GGHĂ&#x20AC;QLWHO\EHGRZQ How did you guys already hear about this? RAFI: We got connections. OTTO: Soooo many connections (WINKS AND MAKES SEX GESTURE WITH HIS FINGERS WHICH DREW SEES BUT NOT MARGOT). DREW: (VISIBLY AGITATED FROM ALL OF THE SEXUAL COMMENTS) Okay Okay what time is the party at? RAFI: Meet us at our room at 10:00 sharp. MARGOT: Sounds good! OTTO: We gotta go but weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll catch you guys later (EYING RAFI). RAFI: (EYES WIDENING) Oh uh...yea permarket before we gotta go to the supermarket the party. Okay... see you guys soon. DREW: ...Okay... y leave). Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m really not sure about (They about those two. Theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re really... sexual. MARGOT: I guess but itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s too early to judge. They seem good at heart. I say we try to get to know them better. (checking time) So we have about 4 KRXUV:DQQDKHOSPHĂ&#x20AC;QLVKXQSDFNing? '5(:'HĂ&#x20AC;QLWHO\9DPRV SCENE 3: Margot and Drew approach 2WWR¡VDQG5DĂ&#x20AC;¡VGRRU DREW: Are you sure you want to hang around these guys? Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m not sure I would trust them or their parties. MARGOT: Aw come on Drew. Just give them a chance weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve barely met them. DREW: Okay okay. But so far the only things they seem interested in (COUNTING ON HIS FINGERS) are pussy, pussy, oh and pussy. MARGOT: Come on Drew. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m sure


thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s more to them than that. Loud scrambling noises are heard. Eventually they come out spruced up. MARGOT: You guys ready? RAFI: Ready forâ&#x20AC;Ś OTTO: Pussy! (THEY HIGH FIVE). (BEAT) Alright letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s bounce. Drew looks at Margot with a â&#x20AC;&#x153;Told ya soâ&#x20AC;? but Margot just gives him a wary but reassuring look. SCENE 4: All four approach the frat house WRĂ&#x20AC;QGDORQJOLQH DREW: You guys sure we can get in? This is a hell of a line. Is it really worth it for a party. MARGOT: Yeah, maybe we should just hang out in the dorms? RAFI: Yeah you guys are right. We should just go backâ&#x20AC;Ś '5(:<HDK,W¡VRND\5DĂ&#x20AC;ZHFDQ always just get some food and chill inOTTO: Sike! You really thought we werenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t gonna go party? Come on, they call us hound one and hound 2. (BARKS LIKE A DOG) From this day forward we will hunt pussy for betterRAFI: For worse. OTTO: For richerRAFI: For poorer. OTTO: In sicknessRAFI: And in health. OTTO: To loveRAFI: And to cherish, OTTO: Until we are parted by death. RAFI: (GETS DOWN ON ONE KNEE) This is my solemn vow. (BEAT) Otto Albrecht Samuelson, will you be my wingman tonight? OTTO: Yes! Yes! I thought youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d never ask!(CHEST BUMP) Drew looks at Margot somewhat disgusted and pulls her to the side DREW: These guys are seriously de-


ranged. Who talks like that? MARGOT: Yeah maybe we should just try to leaveâ&#x20AC;Ś DREW: Okay. I can get us out of this. (APPROACHES RAFI AND OTTO) Hey guys, I think we are just gonna getOTTO: Absolutely wasted tonight? RAFI:Drowned in sex tonight? OTTO: Good thing we can swim. RAFI: Donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t worry about the line. We got this. 2WWRDQG5DĂ&#x20AC;ZDONWRWKHIURQWRIWKHOLQH Margot and Drew observe a conversation EHWZHHQVRPHIUDWEURWKHUVDQG5DĂ&#x20AC;DQG Otto. All smiles. After a brief talk, the two walk back over. RAFI: (PUTS HIS ARMS AROUND DREW AND MARGOT AND ESCORTS THEM DOWN THE LINE INTO THE FRAT). Tonight, we shall impart our living essence deep within the halls of this residence. We celebrate ourselves in the pinnacle of our youth. OTTO: (THOUGHTFUL) We gonna banggg. RAFI: Yes, tonight there shall be no regrets following our inevitable inebriation or episode of sensual, risque fornication. Indeed, we shall instead mount the stallion that is the freshman libido. OTTO: (LOUDER) We gonna banggg. RAFI: For tonight, not one of us shall leave devoid of the hedonistic pleasures of this mortal realm. Instead, the tensions of our post-adolescent genitalia will be relieved such that happiness will be eternal. OTTO: (YELLING) We gonna banggg! SCENE 5: In the party, everyone is dancing. A girl passes out from drinking DQG5DĂ&#x20AC;DQG2WWRLPPHGLDWHO\VSULQJLQWR action, call an ambulance, help her regain consciousness, and then keep partying as if nothing happened.

6&(1(5DĂ&#x20AC;2WWR0DUJRWDQG'UHZ are sitting in the cafeteria rather tired from the party. They are eating. MARGOT: Are you guys not proud of what you just did? I still canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t believe it. RAFI: (STILL SLIGHTLY DRUNK) Well let me tell you sweet Margot. (PUTS HIS ARM AROUND HER) When you are as sexy as us (GESTURES TO HIMSELF AND OTTO), you gotta know your boundaries. OTTO: Sure we like to have a good time, but weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re not stupid. RAFI: (BEAT) Usually. Drew and Margot look at each other surprised. Suddenly a commotion is heard from the entrance of the cafeteria. A group of predominantly drunk girls walk in looking very concerned. EVAâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S FRIEND: (ALMOST IN TEARS). I just hope sheâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s okay. EVAâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S OTHER FRIEND: (ALSO CONSTERNED AND HICCUPING) I mean she drank 16 shots in 30 minutes (BEAT) What was she thinking? EVA: (SOBER) (TO HER OTHER FRIEND) (BEAT) She wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t. I wish I FRXOGĂ&#x20AC;QGRXWZKRKHOSHGKHU (RAFI AND OTTO HEAR THIS AND THEIR EYES WIDEN THE START TALKING IN UNISON) RAFI: (TO OTTO) Mine. OTTO: (TO RAFI) Yeahhhh no. RAFI: What? Bro I just saidOTTO: (POINTS OVER RAFIâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S SHOULDER) Oh damn is that James Madison? They all turn around as Otto gets up and goes over to talk to Eva. When the others WXUQEDFNDURXQG5DĂ&#x20AC;VLJKVDQGVKDNHVKLV head as he realizes that Otto left while they were looking away. DREW: (LAUGHING) Wait (BEAT) (HE MOTIONS OVER TO EVA) was

that girl even at the party? RAFI: (LOOKS OFFENDED) We gotta get you glasses man. She was, no offense Margot, the hottest girl there. MARGOT: (LAUGHS) None taken. Otto comes back over. OTTO:Who needs better vision? RAFI: Drew. DREW: What (BEAT) NoOTTO: Let me give you a lesson, the only letters youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll need to be able to read are A, B, C, D, and DD. RAFI: (RAISES HIS GLASS TO OTTO) Amen. OTTO: For example, (LOOKS AT MARGOT) D. MARGOT: (SHOCKED) What? OTTO: (TO MARGOT) (SARCASTICALLY) Oh, so was I wrong? MARGOT: (FLUSTERED) What, no, I mean uhRAFI: You see, Drew. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a science. Study up bro. (BEAT) (TO OTTO) Wait whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d you say to that chick? OTTO: (SMILING) Ohh right. Flashback to Otto walking over to Evan DQGWKHJLUOVZKRDUHVWLOOĂ XVWHUHGDERXW their friend. 27726KH¡VĂ&#x20AC;QH\RX¡UHZHOFRPH,Q case you were wondering, (212) 6057719. Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll talk soon. (WINKS AND WALKS AWAY) Come back to the present. Otto is grinning. OTTO: Yeah (BEAT) Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s on. Eva comes up to the table. EVA: Hey, thanks a lot guys I heard you helped out my friend. (NOTICES DREW AND MARGOT)(BEAT) (SMILES) Oh, how was your night?


DREW: Uh..good? EVA: Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll bet it was. Alright you guytake care.

TABLE) We, uh, helped her out before. He walks away nervously. Cut back to present.

She walks away. RAFI: Okay, wait. First of all what did you really say Otto? Second of all, (TURNS TO DREW AND PATS HIM ON THE BACK) Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re an inspiration to many. DREW: What (BEAT) Wait no Margot and I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;tRAFI: (TO OTTO) So what happened? OTTO: (GRINNING) Right... Flashback to Otto walking over to Evan DQGWKHJLUOVZKRDUHVWLOOĂ XVWHUHGDERXW their friend. OTTO: What has 42 teeth and holds back a monster? EVA: Excuse me? OTTO: My zipper. (BEAT) (212) 6057719. Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll talk soon. Cut back to the present. RAFI: Otto, (BEAT) the real story please. OTTO: (DEFEATED) Fineâ&#x20AC;Ś Flashback to Otto walking over to Evan DQGWKHJLUOVZKRDUHVWLOOĂ XVWHUHGDERXW their friend. OTTO: Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m sick and need some Vitamin U. Cut back to present. RAFI: The real story, please. OTTO: Fine. Flashback to Otto walking over to Evan DQGWKHJLUOVZKRDUHVWLOOĂ XVWHUHGDERXW their friend. OTTO: Hey, donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t worry youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re IULHQG¡VĂ&#x20AC;QH *(6785,1*727+(


RAFI: Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s it?? OTTO: Bro some things arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t meant to be spoiled so early. RAFI: What? OTTO: Bro itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s like when you go trick or treating. You donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t eat all of the big EDUVĂ&#x20AC;UVW\RXVDYHWKHPIRUODWHU '5(:8KKK,HDWWKHELJEDUVĂ&#x20AC;UVW OTTO: (LOOKING SUGGESTIVELY FROM DREW TO MARGOT) Clearly. (DREW LOOKS CONFUSED) RAFI: Damn dude I wouldâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve capitalized on that. OTTO: Bro thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s dumb. Like I said with the girl before, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m making a future investment. Sooner or later my investments will mature. RAFI: (IRRITATED) Well they better mature into your pants or else next time I get to talk to the hotty. DREW: (TO OTTO) Yeah Otto I WKRXJKW5DĂ&#x20AC;FDOOHGGLEVRQWKDWJLUO OTTO: Dibs schmibs. This is the wild Drew. Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s no honor among thieves. DREW: That makes no sense. OTTO: Whatever. RAFI: (TO DREW) Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s honor for \RXWKRXJKEUR'DPQĂ&#x20AC;UVWGD\RI college that must be a new record. DREW: What? RAFI: Bro the sex this morning! MARGOT: Whoa whoa. What are you talking about. What about this morning? OTTO: (TO MARGOT) Look, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s okay weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re all friends here. DREW: (TO HIMSELF, A SELF-REALIZATION) Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re all friends here. RAFI: Yeah you guys can come out of the closet. Or should I say Drewâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s dorm.(RAFI AND OTTO HOLD A HAND TO FIST BUMP DREW. DREW IS TOO SHOCKED TO REACT) MARGOT: (EMBARRASSED) No no no! I have a boyfriend. Drew and I did

not hook up! RAFI: Didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know you had a comedian in you Margarine. Look no shame in it. Drewâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a sexy man (HOLDS OUT A HAND TO HIGH FIVE) DREW: (SURPRISED) Hey, thanks man I appreciate that. MARGOT: (EMPHATIC) No, really. Nothing happened this morning. She ZDVWKHÃ&#x20AC;UVWSHUVRQ,ZDVMXVWKHOSLQJ KLPXQSDFNKLVVWXÍ¿ OTTO: Oh Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll bet you unpacked his VWXÍ¿ MARGOT: No! I have a boyfriend! Drew tell them! DREW: (SAD AND FLUSTERED) Oh.. Uh..yea..we were just gonna come back and chill...she has a boyfriend duh...besides...I...uh...have a girlfriendâ&#x20AC;¦ OTTO: Open relationship. Noooice. (HOLDS OUT HAND TO HIGH FIVE DREW). MARGOT: (MARGOT SWATS OTTOâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S HAND AWAY) Nothing happened? Nuh thing! Silence until everyone realizes they did not in fact hook up and were not going to. RAFI: (TO MARGOT) Wait so you have a boyfriend?! OTTO: (TO DREW) And you have a girlfriend?! MARGOT: (LAUGHS) I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t believe they thought we hooked up.(DREW ALSO QUICKLY, NERVOUSLY LAUGHS) OTTO: (TO DREW) Damn bro I was ready to take notes from you. (JOKINGLY) Big disappointment. DREW: (CHECKING TIME ON SMARTPHONE) Haha come on guys itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s late, we should get to bed. OTTO: Aw come on my fair lady, the QLJKWLVÃ&#x20AC;QDOO\KHUH RAFI: Sikeeee. (TO OTTO) Nah bro we gotta rest up for tomorrow. MARGOT: Whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s tomorrow? OTTO: Well letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s see. (COUNTING

ON HIS FINGERS) Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Pussy, Pussy, Sunday. (BEAT) I think itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s pussy tomorrow. MARGOT: (EXCITED BUT SLEEPY) Haha damn now I have to hook up with a chick. (PAN TO SHOCKED LOOK ON ALL THE GUYSâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; FACES IN SILENCE) Sikeee! 7KH\DOOODXJKDQG5DÃ&#x20AC;DQG2WWRDUHVXUprised that she just used their catch phrase. Scene 8: Margot and Drew are sitting in drewâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s dorm again, the standing desk is in the right place. '5(::HOOZHGHÃ&#x20AC;QLWHO\MXGJHG them too soon. I think theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re growing on me. MARGOT: Yeah. Theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re pretty cool guys. (BEAT) I just canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t believe they thought we hooked up. DREW: (DREW AWKWARDLY LAUGHS) Yeah and I have a girlfriend anyways. MARGOT: No you donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t. DREW: What? (BEAT) Wait yeah IMARGOT: Look itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s cool donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t worry. I NQRZLWZDVDQH[FXVHLW·VÃ&#x20AC;QH %($7  I have two brothers. I know what itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s like. Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s always this stigma that if youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re not getting laid youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re not Ã&#x20AC;WWLQJLQEXWWKDW·VQRWWUXH'RQ·WZRUry about all that right now. Like Otto said, sometimes itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s best to save the big pieces of candy for later. DREW: (LAUGHING) Yeah youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re right. (BEAT) (LAUGHING TO HIMSELF) RAFI AND OTTO HUH? MARGOT: (IGNORING HIS COMMENT) You know for an English major youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re surprisingly cool. DREW: (LAUGHING) Uh thanks I guess. (BEAT) You know I never asked you what you want to study. MARGOT: Pussy.

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Goldman’s Sack: Johnny was very disappointed when he realized the internship he had applied for wasn’t what he anticipated and ended up resting on his chin. General Boners: looking for more Privates Lead movie role available in exchange for sexual favors. Seeking Amnesty ambassadors to harass poor students for charitable donations between classes Seeking motivated summer interns to move back in with parent(s) and take interminable day naps. Prior experience as disappointing shithead preferred. Short Order Cook: no more than 5 feet tall Butcher looking for meat Lumberjack looking for wood Landscape architect looking for a bush Mall santa looking for lap sitters Miners looking for holes Blackjack dealer looking to change some craps Looking to get in over your head? Seeking 3$IRUVKLWW\0DVWHUVÀOP Seeking stern authoritarian for library circulation desk. Actors. Because we don’t have enough of them In need of new shin guards. Seeking qualLÀHGOLWWOHSHRSOH 0DQZLWK*R3URDQG6HOÀH6WLFNORRNLQJ to give colonoscopy Leader of the Free World Seeks: Secretary of State FBI Director National Security Advisor Chief of Staff Press Secretary Assistant Press Secretary Assistant to the Press Secretary Assistant to the Assistant Press Secretary Okay, the whole PR department Local startup seeking investors; says their lemon to water ratio is best in the Valley. Charter school seeks teacher/expert marksman

FRIENDLY TIPS FROM YOUR FRIENDLY JESTER If you want to appear like you have an extra long dick, just take a piss further down your pants leg. If youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re short on cash and are over KDYHDGDPQJRRGIDNHRÍżHUWR buy freshman some beer and mark it up 25% Gaining and losing weight prevents wear on the same belt notch Spending a late night in Butler and Blue Javaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s closed? Sticking a fork into an outlet will give you a quick burst of energy to get you through your orgo pset. If youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re talking to your mom and wanna hang up, start talking and repeatedly mute and unmute her. Sheâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll think itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a bad connection and wire

you a couple hundred for your phone bill. Constantly listen to podcasts to prevent you from thinking about your problems. Learn sign language in case people try to set you up by wire. If your girl gets pregnant and demands a paternity test, give her your best friendâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s DNA. This way you avoid IDWKHUKRRGDQGJHWWRĂ&#x20AC;QGRXWLI\RXU best friendâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s been hooking up with your girl. Peeing in the sink lets you wash your hands at the same time. Cutting the hard part of a pineapple makes it easier to eat.

SCIENCE NEWS A study shows that people will stop showing you baby pictures if you whisper â&#x20AC;&#x153;oh fuck yeaâ&#x20AC;? under your breath. A study shows that Twizzlers do not contribute to low sperm count but are just a snack preferred by impotent men. 1000 men interviewed across the country believe dropping their pants WRVKRZDĂ DFFLGSHQLVZLOOSUHYHQW women from misinterpreting their sexual advances as more than just platonic. 999 women across the country EHJWRGLÍżHUH[FHSW\RX&DURO A study twelve years in the making concludes drinking antifreeze does not prevent frostbite. A report from Northeastern University shows that vaginas are the leading

cause of insanity in men and women. Polls show it doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t matter why \RX¡UHVPHOOLQJ\RXUĂ&#x20AC;QJHUVLQSXEOLF because people will assume the worst. 99.9% of heterosexual women interviewed for a recent survey rolled their eyes when they were told: â&#x20AC;&#x153;Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not the size of the ship but the motion of the oceanâ&#x20AC;?. Study shows that said ocean has its good and bad days. A recent poll supported a motivated single mother named Krystal Boudoir. Studies show that mixing expired milk with fresh milk makes milk the average of the two expiration dates. Man in emergency room claims he VDWRQĂ DVKOLJKWVODWKHUHGLQ9DVHOLQH Now when he opens his mouth, he becomes a spotlight.

Seanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Would You Rather question of the day:

Would you rather get a good blow job from your grandma or a bad blowjob from your grandma?


JESTER STAFF Catherina Gioino: Lost Cat! Last seen in the deep bowels of underground discotecs. If found, ignore all her sexual advances and incredibly dull jokes and return to said deep bowels. Supriya Ambwani: Sanskaari. Michelle Goff: Michelle Goff has been around now for several hundreds of years, much to the dismay of the many people who have tried to get rid of her. Whether she is a superhuman or a monster remains a question of intense debate, but Michelle would like to apologize most sincerely for that one situation when she almost brought about the end of the world. She now spends her time on more calming activities and releases her inner rage by writing for the Jester. Sean Rafferty: Was never given the EJCPEGVQFGXGNQRCICITGƀGZ Mark Prusakowski: Mark is feeling sad :( today Andrew Schur: Andrew Schur has been playing music to remain sane for some years now, and has recently employed The Jester as an outlet to express what can’t be said in Lit Hum. All of his friends happen to be Indian and his specialties involve making OWUKECPFſIWTKPIQWVJQYVQIGVHTWKV out of John Jay without being caught. His most recent crusade involved boycotting the John Jay elevators despite VJGHCEVVJCVJGNKXGUQPVJGVJƀQQT Ethan Widell: Ethan Widell has net-negative value. When He’s not busy detracting from Jester and other institutions, He enjoys dampening the positive experiences of His friends, family, and peers. Guest Writers Robert Pollack: Professor of Biological Sciences, Director of University


Seminar, and of Research Cluster of Science and Subjectivity at Columbia University; former Dean of Columbia College; overall a damn cool guy. Henrietta Steventon: Polite. Intense. Smart. Really Intimidating. Shreyas Manohar: Shreyas Manohar is a graduating senior at Columbia majoring in English and Creative Writing. He is working on a collection of short-stories and does stand-up comedy in New York and Mumbai. For any clarifying questions about the M6, he can be reached at shreyasmanohar95@


ARIES: Mercury is in retrograde, which is why you should eat a Tide pod for breakfast. TAURUS: There’s mercury in your Gatorade, you should switch to Powerade. GEMINI: Venus crossed Mars’ path. You smelly SEAS kid, take a bath. CANCER: There’s a gem in your eye, flush it out with some Mountain Berry Blast Powerade. LEO: In a moment of quiet meditation, you will encounter a great pillar of seduction. VIRGO: Stop telling people you’re a fucking Virgo. LIBRA: If you’re depressed, just cheer up. SCORPIO: Push the fish, it’s beginning to turn. SAGITTARIUS: When Jupiter sets in the afternoon sky, prepare to cry. CAPRICORN: If you start thinking a self help book might be your best option, think again. AQUARIUS: You might benefit from taking care of a goldfish or watching two betas rip each other to ribbons. PISCES: Stop trying to eat other people’s lunch. Make your own god damned grilled cheese.

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Profile for Jester of Columbia

Jester Spring 2018 Issue  

Jester Spring 2018 Issue