The Macalester Hegemonocle Volume 3, Issue 1 Fall 2010
Mikey Freedman Bad Cop
Mina Bakhtiar Mistress of Cheetos
Hannah Fishman 1920s Paper Boy
Hannah Johnson J. Jonah Jameson
Erin Hocking Peer Mediator
Dan Rocklin Good Cop
Katie Campbell Bohemian
Jon Gershberg The Big Ticket
Alex Juffer Dasein of Denim
Ryan Kerwin Dingo Trainer
Matt Kusner Eye Candy
Maxwell Loos Fund Rager
The Big Fundamental
Man of Wax
Jeff Garcia Guvna
Michelle Einstein Nobel Laureate
Joey Mayer The Wildcard
Le Pink Panther
Hannah Tsuchiya &KLHI0HGLFDO2IÃ€FHU
Justine Decker Smart House
Melissa Larson The Pagemaster
Dear Readers of the Macalester Hegemonocle (Nerds), Today we write to you concerning the future of our venerable publication, the Macalester Hegemonocle. When we decided to found this magazine, we had several goals in mind: First, to provide the Macalester community with revolutionary literature that contained practical strategies for overthrowing Hegemony. Second, to provide a forum for local artists to showcase their skills by portraying ducks doing things ducks don’t normally do. Objectively, we succeeded admirably in both cases. Unfortunately, things are not as they once were. Due to the current financial crisis, and, admittedly, a few investments that did not quite pan out as expected (The Segway Corporation, a Heroin addiction), the Macalester Hegimonocle is now broke. Unless we are able to raise literally tens of dollars by the end of the semester, well, let’s just say Hegemony would really like that. We have tried to petition the administration for funds, but most of the college’s revenue is being directed towards purchasing candy, snap bracelets, and band-aid dispensers for Macalester Safe Walk. For this reason, we now turn to you, the students, for help. We are holding several fundraisers, which we shall describe below: • November 11th: we will be sponsoring a squirrel petting zoo. Contrary to popular belief, this will not be an activity where students pet squirrels. Rather, we are giving squirrels the opportunity to pet humans. I know what you’re thinking: “But the Hegimonocle, squirrels don’t have money”. True. But they do have acorns. Tasty, tasty acorns. (The money spent nursing our heroin addiction has traded off substantially with the money spent on food). • November 26th: A raffle contest to win a date with a member of the Hegemonocle. Although an org notorious for putting out on the first date, don’t think by winning this raffle you are home free. As a general rule Hegemonocle members do not drink coffee, eat dinner, eat lunch, or see movies. The only universally acceptable dates are to the circus or to a good bagel shop, neither of which are common in the twin cities. As a result, expect the date to be lackluster and subsequent days to be awkward. Raffle tickets are $100. • December 6th -13th: Liquor Store Robbery. Members of the Hegemonocle will participate in (what we hope will be) an annual tradition, a week of robbing Liquor stores across the Twin Cities and the outlying suburbs. Members of the Macalester community will be invited to participate in this rich tradition as drivers, lookouts, and trigger men/womyn.
• November 22nd: Who likes Nickleback?! Hopefully a lot of people at Macalester, cuz we spent a lot of money bringing them in. They will be playing in Janet Wallace at 10:00 PM. Tickets are 50$. • November 29th: A bake sale! Except we aren’t going to bake anything, we’re just going to sell some of our heroine. Don’t worry, we ran this by our lawyer and he assured us that heroin is legal in Minnesota. He should know too; we pay him in heroin. • February 5th 6pm-7pm: Heroine strike. Watch Hege writers perform the amazing feat of mental strength and willpower as they abstain from partaking in the sweet nectar of the heroine plant (native to Minnesota!) for a whole hour. We hope you will consider attending one or all of these events. If you fail to do so, hegemony wins.
xoxo, Gossip Heg
The Hegemonocle’s Award Winning Sex Column Presents:
The Art Of The Hand Job 5 REASONS HAND JOBS ARE GREAT: In the words of Franklin Delano Roosevelt AND Lance Armstrong, “I gots to get me some of those hand jobs.” 1) According to dictionary.com, the definition of a hand job is: slang for masturbation. That’s kind of confusing, because if I get a hand job I don’t say, “Man that girl masturbated me so good last night.” I enjoy masturbating but not all the time and effort I have to put into it, so this pretty much kills 2 sexy birds with 1 stone if I can get someone else to do it for me. 2) They’re classy. Yeah, you heard/read that correctly. Princesses, kindergarten teachers, and Taco Bell drive-through employees have been giving hand jobs for centuries all while maintaining their dignity and burrito orders. (Tip: CANNOT be substituted for mild taco sauce. Trust me.) 3) In a plane bathroom. In an office. At a baseball game. At a Dashboard Confessional concert. In a tree house. In a Honda Civic. On a segway. In your mom’s basement. In a lecture seminar on postcolonial literature. In the pantry. The back of the movie theater. These are just some of the places you can get/give a hand job. Pretty cool, huh? 4) A woman will treat your penis the way she’s going to treat you in a relationship. If she has soft, caressing hands then that is great news. If she’s King Konging that shit and about to rip your dick off, go ahead and take a rain check on that girl. 5) You can call it a handski. That’s a fantastic word. 5 TIPS ON GETTING THAT HAND JOB So you’re at the party, right? You scan the basement, see the 3 really horny freshman couples dry humping the shit out of each other and are about to make a run for the stairs when you catch the eye of a girl standing on the other side of the room. You smile. She smiles. You wink. She mimics gagging in her mouth. You’re good to go; this one is in the bag. But how do you tell her that you’re ready for that hand job? 1) If you have a boner, point at it with both hands in mock gun form. Also, give her that face that says, “Oh brother, what are we gonna do with this?” I bet she’ll know. 2) Dry hump that nearest inanimate object. Nothing says, “I’m so horny I might settle for this house plant” like dry humping it. It also conjures up images of our caveman brothers from back in the day. I’m pretty sure this is how they flirted. 3) Turn around and pretend that you’re talking to your really short friend that she can’t see from her line of vision. This will make her jealous. If she comes over and finds out you were actually talking to yourself, just tell her that you’re on crack, which I heard is catching on in the Midwest right now. 4) Walk over and lick her all over her face. This is self-explanatory. 5) Sometimes the best way to get a hand job is to not even ask for it. Now, I know what you’re thinking: “But how will she know I want a hand job if I don’t start out the conversation asking for it?” Bear with me. It may seem counterintuitive, but occasionally if you go with the flow and respect her and treat her like a proper woman, she will admire that and give you a hand job. WARNING: this last tip is extremely tedious and almost never works. I would say usually go with the plant
dry humping. It’s always money.
Dr. Professor Answers Your Idiotic Questions Hello Macalester students. I am Dr. Professor. For those of you who attended this fine institution last school year, I am quite sure that no introduction is in order. The rest of you are freshmen, so I’ll only take a moment to explain myself. Not because I have to, but because I want to. From the beginning, I knew I could excel in anything to which I applied myself. As I grew up, I proved this true on countless occasions, leading to seven PhDs and a garage full of sports cars. In my middle age, I spend my time pondering things far beyond your petty comprehension and answering questions sent to me by thick-skulled undergraduates such as yourself. Now that you can appreciate my genius sufficiently to read this column with awe, I shall move on to said questions. Dear Doctor Professor, I’m a geology major. At least, that’s what I think I want to be. When my relatives ask me I still tell them I’m ‘undecided,’ but that’s just because I’m still taking my first geology class and so I don’t want to tell everyone that I’m a geology major, then do badly on an assignment and change my mind, you know? Anyways, as a potential geology major, I just wanted to know something – what is your favorite kind of rock and why? Thanks :) --Hard Rocker Dearest Rockhead, Do you see video cameras somewhere? It sounds to me from your ‘question’ that you think this is some kind of daytime television talk show. It most certainly is not. I don’t want to hear your long-winded explanation of what you respond when questioned about your major. If that had been followed by a halfway-decent question, I may have overlooked it – even found it endearing, in a moronic way. But your emoticon ruined any chance of that. If pictures are worth a thousand words, emoticons say, “I AM A FOOL” 250 times and then vomit on your rug and pass out from lack of oxygen because they are too stupid to breathe. Then, in the emergency room, they neglect to tell the nurse about their allergies, and thus die as a direct result of their own idiocy. However, as you addressed me in a suitably formal manner at the start, I’ll tell you that my favorite rocks are ones forged in volcanoes, because they remind me of the fire in my heart that fuels my immense genius. --Dr. Professor Doctor P, I have a goat, a wolf and a head of cabbage on one side of a river and I have a boat that only ferries myself and one other across at a time. If left alone, the wolf will eat the goat, or the goat will eat the cabbage. How do I get everything to the other side of the river? --River Damn Jill,
As I told you when you came to my office and asked the same thing, you should ditch the boat and find a bridge. If you are unwilling to walk that far, just pick your favorite animal (or cabbage) and bring that along. You peasants can’t have everything in life. --Dr. Professor
My good Doctor, I’m writing a play about an egotistical professor with an exaggerated superiority complex. Since you seem to know so much about such a character, I wonder if we could meet up at some time and you could give me a few pointers. Yours, --Character Builder Bill,
I’m quite impressed by your observational abilities – you hit the nail on the head when you observed that I know a thing or two about being a professor who is ‘too big for his britches,’ to use an expression common among you uneducated folks. Many is the time that I have come across a professor who looked down his or her academic nose at me, even when I knew deep down that their IQ must be less than .76 times my own (as a generous estimate). Having spent absurd amounts of money and time earning their doctorates, they intrinsically seem to feel superior to individuals who did not follow the same path, regardless of whether or not said individual got his first PhD at age 13 and recently bought his eighth Lamborghini… Not to name any names. It could prove most amusing for us to meet and imbibe some caffeine at the local Dunn Bros Coffee establishment, at which point I could relay fantastic anecdotes illustrating how large a professor’s ego can grow if watered regularly and left in a sunny windowsill throughout graduate school. I am personally glad that I remain humble enough to connect with you commoners on such a personal level as to make this interchange possible. --Dr. Professor Mr. Professor, I’ve found many conflicting records as to how Rasputin was killed. Which is correct. --Russian to the finish line Russ,
None of them are correct. Rasputin is still alive – he just goes by the name Keith Richards now. --Dr. Professor
Dear Professor, I find myself struggling with many doubts about myself and my future recently. I don’t know exactly who I want to be, and I don’t know if coming to school here is the right way to figure that out. Right now it feels like my life is a scalar number – I’ve got no direction. Is there anything you can tell me from the wisdom that you’ve accumulated over the years to help me turn my life into a vector? --Inert up to the Eyeballs Dear Doubtful, I suggest you take Linear Algebra next semester. That class will teach you all you need to know about vectors. --Dr. Professor
I’m Going to Graduate from College a Virgin [Ruth Dayton] I am going to graduate from college a virgin. How do I know this? No, I’m not a Jonas Brother. I don’t do that purity ring stuff. I’m not hideous either. But seriously, how do I know this? Well history speaks for itself. I graduated from preschool a virgin. I graduated from elementary school a virgin. I moved up to high school as a virgin. And I received my high school diploma as a virgin. I gave my set of condoms to a freshman who had gone further than me. So I have no condoms in college (the condoms I gave away were really nice, too. Glow in the dark, ribbed and flavored… damn it). I’m pretty sure that this pattern will repeat itself in college. But wait. There’s more. What is the real problem, you may ask? It’s a combination of a couple things. When I PF’d (or Piffled, as my floormates call it), one of the girls on the softball team told me some very important information. She told me that half of the guys at Macalester are gay. Out of the other half, 75 percent are ugly. Out of the 25 percent that are attractive and straight, 99 percent are either douchey or taken. So that leaves me with less than one percent of the male population to work with. Oh, and Macalester is roughly forty percent guys and sixty percent girls, which makes the real number even more dismal. If Macalester has 2000 students, that means there is exactly 1.25 guys out there for me. And I have heard about those 1.25 guys (a sophomore named Jim and that kid Eric, but only on the one out of every four days he showers) and must compete with every woman at Macalester for them. You know what else? I live in Doty. The Virgin Isles. Extra Virgin Olive OIL. Our Lady of Perpetual Assistance Church Camp, Virgin Mobil. Virgin Airlines. West Virginia. I think I’ve met maybe four guys here. And none of them are attractive. Or find me attractive. Or know my phone number. Or are not scared of me. Isn’t that great? Plus, there aren’t that many guys in any of my classes… unless you count that one guy who wears a dress to school, and I am so not into sharing my clothes with my boyfriend. So far all the guys I’ve encountered have either done super creepy things like stroke my hair (when I don’t even know his name) or put steal my underwear (and don’t even stay to get my number) or are gay but want a cover-up girlfriend for their parents (ok, I’ve only done that once and only got to second base). I’m never going to get to ring the bell. I hate that bell—every time I walk to class I see it mocking my virginity.
Things Tim O’Brien Carried By Abroham, you know, from the Bible
By now it is a well-established fact that famed author Tim O’Brien was a student at Macalester College. What has gained less traction than a penguin covered in vegetable oil going downhill, however, is the fact that Mr. Tim “There’s Definitely Hair Under This Baseball Cap” O’Brien began work on his famous collection of not-so-short stories, The Things They Carried, while he was a student at Macalester. This generous helping of Knowledge Up In Yo Fuckin Face was made possible by one Brian “My Height Is An Optical Illusion, Like Hobbits In Lord Of The Rings But In Reverse” Rosenberg. The harrowing actions and adventures that led to the discovery/recovery of this manuscript were painstakingly chronicled by Ron “There’s Definitely Hair Under This Baseball Cap” Howard in The DaVinci Code (the book was pure slander). Important to note is that Tim “Story is Just Another Word for List, Right?” O’Brien’s story, in both its original and published forms, was intended to be a satire of the hipsters, though it is unclear how Tim O’Brien knew about the hipsters of the then-future, and thus he is likely a time-travelling squid. And now, the only surviving page of Tim “Read Me In Your Creative Writing Class Like I Give A Shit” O’Brien’s Macalester manuscript of The Things They Carried, Totes Unedited:
They carried only what they needed: two 16 oz. canteens, one full of water to drink, the other to fool the enemy into thinking they had more water to drink. 60 rounds of standard 7.62 NATO cartridges, a .45 cal belt for the machine gunner, and for each a vegan pizza and pineapple grenades, made of pure pineapple, useful in confusing the enemy. The pants they wore were skinny, skinny like attached to the skin when you fall into your uncle’s salmon farm tanks and the salmon won’t shake off your legs, skinny EHFDXVHLWZDVEHIRUHWKHEUDVVÀJXUHGRXW that tight clothes don’t make it harder to get hit by bullets. On one foot, one standard issue combat boot, polished and then thor-
oughly covered in shit, the shit to fool the enemy into thinking they had more shit. On the other foot, cowboy boots made of pure Italian leather from the enemy’s skin that was shipped to Italy, made into a boot, and stolen from a thrift store in Uptown. In their packs they had Pop Rocks, cigarettes, cigarettes, more cigarettes and AdBusters, because sometimes it got lonely humping it with the all-male totally platonic platoon and sometimes Darren would need a release, which could be heard by all the guys in the platoon, which sucked because the enemy could hear him too and they would throw grenades.
Shit on Shit
Pooping in college can be hard. Or sometimes a bit runny. Here are some tips to keep your bowels moving: Best Places to Poop on Campus: • The Veggie Co-op (no one would know). • In the cubbies at Café Mac (inside a backpack is ideal). • On the flowers outside the chapel (they’re always blooming!). • In a Dupre single (it already stinks). • In the chili container (bonus if there’s already corn in the chili!). • Through the grate outside of the fishbowl (may not be possible). • On the coats in the coat room (a lá Dane Cook). How to Poop Discreetly: • While someone is in the shower. • With someone while they’re in the shower (actually this probably isn’t very discreet). • Dig a hole in the snow. Proceed to shit in the hole. • While ice fishing! • Depending on the consistency, your sink might work. • Poop in your room, and then bring it to the bathroom. • Bring something really loud into the stall, like a jackhammer. • Pull a Larry Craig and distract the person in the stall next to you by tapping their foot -they won’t even notice the plop!
Ducks Doing Things Ducks Don’t Normally Do
A Treatise On Café Mac Pears [Chad Ochocino]
So here I am. I am sitting in Café Mac and my mouth is filled with blood. Now this is not a drop or an “oops, bit my lip” situation. Rather this is a gross, dangerous, possibly need a transfusion does anyone have A negative, wow dude did you just fucking eat somebody situation. And as any reasonable person would do in this situation I ask: how did I get here, what choices did I make that took me down a path that ended in blood oozing from my mouth like Dracula? Then I look down at my plate and remember, oh that’s right, I tried to eat a pear from the fruit bin at Café Mac. Now you may be thinking to yourself, why? Don’t you know that Café Mac pears are not one of the things humans have developed the capacity to consume? Don’t you know that on average, every Café Mac pear is so hard that by and large they are better suited to cutting diamonds than supplementing one’s lunch? Don’t you know that BP uses Café Mac pears at the end of their drills when boring through particularly hard bedrock? Don’t you know that the only thing that can damage the surface of a Café Mac pear is another Café Mac pear? Don’t you know that your small mouth and puny teeth won’t so much as leave a mark, much less break said pear into bite sized pieces? Don’t you know that Wolverine’s bones are coated with “Café Mac pear”-mantium? Well yes, I do know all of that. But you know those stories about 90 pound mothers lifting busses to save their infants who are stuck underneath? I was the 90 pound mother, the baby was that great pear taste, the bus was the pear itself, and the mother’s love for her child was just about how much I wanted a fucking pear. I figured maybe all my pent up rage at never once finding a ripe or even semi-edible pear in the bins
would give me superhuman abilities. And the thing is, for all I know it did; my rage endued bite strength could have been that of a polar bear/pitbull hybrid on steroids, but that still would not be enough. I love pears so much. When I was but a PF I distinctly remember seeing the bin of pears, falling in love, and then mentioning it four times in the “why Mac?” part of my college essay. The idea of being able to bite into a ripe and juicy pear every afternoon made Mac sound like heaven on earth. But then I get here and the nice, tasty, soft and fresh PF Sampler pears are replaced with what I can only assume are pears genetically engineered to feed rock people. So one day I just can’t take it anymore and I go for it and here I am, sitting here with half as many teeth and infinity times more blood in my mouth than I had when I started this meal. I know this game; my family spent most of the 1800s selling rocks disguised as potatoes to the Irish so I’m not passing a moral judgment here. But the point is that from that business we made a lot of money, invested wisely through the generations, came to America, and sent a son (me) to Macalester College for the price of a billion dollars (The equivalent of 500 million rock potatoes!). For that kind of money I feel I am entitled to at least three pears a semester that don’t feel like they could stop bullets. So seriously, Café Mac, I ask that you do one of two things. On the one hand you can invest some of that money I know you must save when you only give me one chicken wing into pears humans can eat. Or you can go fuck yourselves.
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Historical Note: The following is a recovered letter from Abrahamlet to his then girlfriend, DĂśrthy (referred to alternately as Candy-hips, cinnamon bun, strawberry tart, and, strikingly, shank-of-turkey-leg.) For readers unfamiliar with Abrahamlet (Abrahamlet has been woefully neglected in most history texts), it is perhaps easiest to understand him as a cross between Abraham Lincoln, our 31st-ish president, and Hamlet, Shakespeareâ€™s famous tragic protagonist (not to be confused with actual ham). Abrahamlet had qualities that ZHUHUHPLQLVFHQWRIERWKWKHVHZHOONQRZQÂżJXUHV6FKRODUVRI/LQFROQZRXOG recognize that the two shared the attributes of courageous leadership, unconventional facial hair (Abrahamlet sported a robust mane) and secret cannibalism. Furthermore, those familiar with the Shakespearean character would probably note that both people appear to have been Danish, (the nationality, not to be confused with the pastry). This particular letter, dated to 1269 B.C.E., was written while Abrahamlet was valiantly defending his country from a Vandal-led coalition that suspected Denmark of developing Catapults of Mass Destruction. As this point in his life, Abrahamlet was a captain in the Danish army (again, Danish does not refer to the pastry, but the nationality. Try to keep up here).
Dearest Candy-hips, I wrote to share with you good tidings, only to realize that I had none to share :( . The nights are long, and this winter has brought a biting and bitter cold with it. I thank the Buddha each night for making me virile enough to grow such a large and robust mane, for without it, I fear that my neck might freeze off.2 It is a fate I have witnessed too many times in this terrible war, as many of my young compatriots lack the facial hair necessary to prevent their necks from freezing and literally falling off.3 These are things that cannot be unseen, my sweet, sweet cinnamon bun. Why, why, oh why has the Buddha brought such a horrible war upon our land!?! Perhaps it is beFDXVH,GLGQRWVDFULÂżFHHQRXJKRUSKDQVWRKLVKROLQHVVWKLV\HDUÂŤ4 Oh, my beautiful strawberry tart , I have not even told you the worst of it.5 As DQRIÂżFHULQWKH'DQLVKDUP\,KDYHEHHQHQWLWOHGWRFHUWDLQDPHQLWLHVQRWOHDVWRI which was the privilege of being carried by the peasant enlistees.6 1
7KLVLVWKHÂżUVWNQRZQXVHRIDQHPRWLFRQLQZULWLQJ)DVFLQDWLQJ 2 Abrahamlet was apparently a Buddhist. It is theorized that he became attracted to the religion after encountering a portrayal of the Buddha as a round, well-fed man, and mistakenly assumed that the Buddha must have been a cannibal like himself. In 13th century Denmark, the only way one could encounter enough food to support excess body fat was to indulge in the occasional human meat. 'RFWRUVKDYHFRQÂżUPHGWKDWVXFKDQDFFRXQWLVPHGLFDOO\SRVVLEOH 4 Abrahamletâ€™s understanding of Buddhism seems to have been somewhat lacking. Historians estimate that $EUDKDPOHWSUREDEO\VDFULÂżFHGRUSKDQVLQWKDW\HDUDORQH 5 Abrahamletâ€™s extensive use of food-base nicknames for his wife DĂśrthy would foreshadow his eventual consumption of her body. 6 This appears to not have been normal practice in the Danish military, but rather a special practice demanded by Abrahamlet to his troops.
Unfortunately, and through no fault of my own, several of the peasants have EHHQFUXVKHGWRGHDWKXQGHUP\ZHLJKW$VDUHVXOWP\FRPPDQGLQJRIÂ¿FHUVKDYH requested that I begin to traverse under the power of my own legs. I protested, stating clearly that it was not fault of mine that the peasants werenâ€™t well conditioned enough WRVXSSRUWP\SRWDWRERG\EXWWRQRDYDLO1To make matters worse, I had previRXVO\HDWHQWKHKRUVHWKDWZDVSURYLGHGWRPHIRUULGLQJLQDÂ¿WRIVOHHSHDWLQJ1RZ after an entire hour of walking, my feet ache more than any injury that I have ever known.2 I fear that the pain and excursion may be driving me crazy.3 I have been applying leeches to my feet each night at the behest of the company medic, but that seems to help little.4 I suppose I should request extra leech rations, and hope that a larger dose will cure what ails me. Oh, my delicious shank of turkey leg!5 How I long to taste your sweet, meaty lips. Perhaps it is the leeches talking (they have drained quite a bit of blood, if I do say so myself), but I love you, and miss you more than anything in the world :).6 So PXFK,PLVV\RXWKDW,Â¿QGP\VHOIRFFDVLRQDOO\VQXJJOLQJZLWKP\KRUVHÂ¶VGHDGKDOI eaten carcass just to gain some semblance of spooning with your ample body.7 If only this war would end, I could return to your spherical bosoms. Lamentably, this war shows no sign of ending. The Vandals advance more every day, and I fear that we are no match for their superior numbers. We sent wave after wave of orphans at them, but to no avail.8 They cut through them like butter. Delicious, buttery butter.9 Although there is so much more that I wish to communicate to you, my savory salt lick, Iâ€™m afraid that I musnâ€™t shirk my duties any longer. These peasant enlistees arenâ€™t going to whip themselves! 7UXO\DQG)RUHYHU<RXUV Abrahamlet P.S. Donâ€™t tell anyone, but it was my idea to try and build Catapults of Mass DestrucWLRQ7KDWLGHDNLQGRIEDFNÂ¿UHG 1 Potatoes were the standard unit of weight in 13th century Denmark. One potato is roughly equivalent to 1.8 pounds. 2 If this is true, it would be quite impressive: historical records show that Abrahamlet once bit off a sizable piece of his own arm. 3 Crazy being a relative term, I suppose. 4 Boy, people in the past sure did think some dumbassy things, huh? 5 Arguably, she probably should have realized that he would eventually eat her. 6 Second ever use of emoticon! )RUHQVLFH[DPLQDWLRQRIKHUFRIÂ¿QUHYHDOHGWKDWVKHSUREDEO\ZHLJKHGXSZDUGVRISRWDWRHV 8 In 13th century Denmark, orphans were apparently quite numerous and quite expendable. 9 A drool mark once obscured this part of the text, but a team of scientists was able to remove it. ,QWHUHVWLQJO\WKH'DQLVKPLOLWDU\ZRXOGODWHULPSOHPHQWDSURJUDPLQZKLFKVRPHSHDVDQWVZHUHPDGHWR whip the rest.
Letter to George Lucas Dear Sir George Lucas, Hello oh Exalted Awesome (you donâ€™t mind if I call you that do you?) (or if I use parenthesis?) (well...I guess itâ€™s a little too late now....huh?...) (Wow. Awkward.) I just wanted to inform your Awesomeness that, contrary to the haters, I believe the Star Wars franchise is still on the way up (like Cloud City up). Not of course that it hasnâ€™t been strong like the martyrs of Alderaan (bless their force). But you know what I mean. Just this year we saw two Wookiee-sized events happen. These events were big. So big that they EURXJKWPHEDFNWR(SLVRGH,ZKHQ0DVWHU4XL*RQUX1VLQ7RĂ HHLQJ-DU-DU%L1.VZKLFKZRXOGSURYH invaluable to the war efforts against the Separatist droid forces because the Gungans had completely and XWWHU/<0$67(5('HQHUJ\Ă€HOGWHFKQRORJ\EDOODDVVKLW ZKLFKLVOLNHWKHVHFUHWZHDNQHVVRIGURLGHND armor (owned). But I digress. First, this year, a large group of students at the University of Mississippi attempted to make SuSUHPH&RPPDQGHURIWKH1HZ5HSXEOLF'HIHQVH)RUFH$GPLUDO$FNEDUWKHRIĂ€FLDO2O0LVV0DFRW7KLV would have made sooo much sense because then they would always know when the opposing defense was setting a trap (quarterback option mothafucka)! Also he could tell the coaches when their offensive line could not repel a blitz of such magnitude (seriously, why does no one know he has other quotes), forecasting quarterback sacks. Mississippi having Ackbar as their mascot would have been as moving as Hayden &KULVWLDQVHQÂˇVH[SHUWSRUWUD\DORIWKHH[LVWHQWLDOO\FRQĂ LFWHG$QDNLQ(SLVRGH,,6FHQHDPD]LQJH\H movement. Solid George, just solid). Unfortunately, the dark side of the force (douchebaggery) was at SOD\DQGWKHPDVFRWZDVUHMHFWHG.LQGRIOLNHZKHQ$QDNLQÂˇVWDONLQJZLWK6HQDWRU3DOSDWLQHDQGEHFDXVH 2EL:DQFRXOGQÂˇWWUDLQ$QDNLQIXOO\$QDNLQLWÂˇVDWUDSELWFK $QDNLQZKD" VXFFXPEVWUDS $QDNLQZKDW",LVGXPEDVV WRWKHGDUNVLGHPRWKHUIXFNLQWUDS $QDNLQ'DZKD" RIWKHIRUFHDOVR/LWWOH bitch). But again, I digress. Second this year was the unveiling of the missing lightsaber construction scene, where we see Luke constructing his green lightsaber. First of all, this really took a big burden off my back, because whenever ,ZDWFK(SLVRGHVDQG,FDQRQO\ZDWFKWKHPIRXURUĂ€YHWLPHVLQRQHZHHNEHIRUH,JHWWRRSLVVHGRII DW/XNHÂˇVOLJKWVDEHUWXUQLQJIURPEOXHWRJUHHQ%OXHW2*5HHQEO8(72*5((1:+<WKH)8&.ZDV WKH/,*+76$%(5*5((1ZKHQLW:$6)8&.,1*%/8(OLNH21(+285%()25(%/8(/,*+76$%(56'21Âˇ7-867)8&.,1*7851*5((17+(<'21Âˇ7(9(186(7+()8&.,1*6$0( /,*+76$%(5&5<67$/*2''$01,7 KXII KXII KXII %ODKEODKEODKEOHHHHHKKK2ND\ Iâ€™m cool....Iâ€™m cool man.......Iâ€™m cool. These two events were like when Luke removes his targeting computer to destroy Death Star I (the prettier one), the shit. As a brethren of the Rebel Alliance, I will continue my lightsaber construction tests, Iâ€™m still perfecting the hilt design, which I hope to have ready in about 25 years. Until then, I do believe weâ€™ll be seeing much more of these sorts of things, maybe Luke as the new U.N. mascot or the discovery of Tauntauns, I know they exist (bitches betta stop hidinâ€™). This is Red Leader. Signing off.
Macalester Finally Decides to End the Conversation ?/S½%RRERA
After years of constantly encouraging students and
faculty to start and continue “the conversation”, at the annual Envelope Pushing Discussion about Discussions, Vice President of Student Affairs Laurie Hamre announced that Macalester has finally decided to end the conversation. “It finally makes sense, we have all the answers. There’s no longer a need to continue the dialogue. Years of deep, critical, and intense yammering has left us without further discussion” quoted Laurie Hamre. The student body’s reaction was largely enthusiastic. Students expressed relief, now not plagued by endless hours spent contemplating ways to facilitate dialogue. A sophomore philosophy major told the Hegemonicle that this recent development has felt liberating, stating “ I only just realized that my countless conversations in the hall lounge at 1 am didn’t acknowledge the nuances of shit.” Despite support for the school’s new policy, approximately 82% of Macalester student organizations had to be forcibly discontinued. Macalester’s GCWLTABGC club—Global Citizens Who Like Talking About Being Global Citizen’s—have lead the most conspicuous protest, also getting support from MCE, Macalester Conversation Enthusiasts, and SFCTC, Students For Continuing to Talk Constantly. The organizations’ challenges have proved futile despite their use of provocative rhetoric like “hegemony,” “cross-cultural understanding,” “global paradigms,” and “queer theory lens.”
A satisfied President Brian Rosenberg with Macalester nerds post-flagpole beat up session. The administration’s official statement declares the end of “the conversation” as a component of the college’s heightened sustainability objective. “Countless tons of CO2 and shit will be stopped from entering our environment,” said President Brian Rosenberg. The most noticeable change at Macalester will be the closing of the Institute for Global Citizenship. After opening only a year earlier, the LEED platinum certified building will now be turned into a habitat for migratory birds. The administration hopes to expand this emerging zoo to include a variety of animals, marking a major shift from multi-cultural focuses to multi-species concerns. In addition, the philosophy department will also be closed. All WGSS majors will be integrated into the Geology department. American Studies professor` Jason LevinwitzTsu-Mandela-Jackson has opposed the policy saying “I think this short sighted move by the administration will prove ultimitely damaging to the college. For generations Macalester has survived and thrived as a center for meaningful cross culture dialogue.” In response President Brian Rosenberg stated “Will this nerdface mcgee just shut the fuck up?” And promised to beat him up at 3 o’clock by the flagpole later that afternoon. At press time debate remains over the replacement for Macalester’s current logo of the unraveling orange/world. Alternatives have included a mundane apple with the slogan “Whatever Brah.” Please send additional suggestions to firstname.lastname@example.org
Multicultural, international, intelligent = fucking annoying The HegemonocleJSYRHXLIRSXIGEVHWSJXLI½VWXHVEJXSJLMWWTIIGL[IPGSQMRKXLI GPEWWSJ;IHIGMHIHXSVITVMRXXLIQJSV]SYLIVI [Brian Rosenberg]
As the current President of Macalester College, one of the nation’s premier liberal arts institutions, I am proud to announce that the Class of 2014 is set to be the most international, multicultural, intelligent, and of course really fucking annoying, in the school’s entire history. While not to insult past students academic ability, background and overall
ern ati on al
al r u t l icu
lt u m
douchbaggery, the freshman class is truly an exceptional bunch. The Class of 2014’s average composite SAT was a whole 100 points higher than the Class of 2013 and they won’t stop talking about it for a fucking millisecond. At freshman convocation alone there were 145 backwards, flat brimmed Red Sox hats along with 201 pairs of yellow skinny
jeans. This year’s class also boasts assholes from 97 different countries and all 50 states who all can’t wait to monopolize class discussions, use the word “hegemony” in friendly conversation, and of course, drink all the upperclassmen’s alcohol. Many of them studied oversees while in high school, learning techniques from assholes abroad
en g i l l inte
about how to condescend classmates in their own countries. Some of them have overcome hardship to hold up the line in Cafe Mac. Others have come from years of excellence to throw up everywhere in a stranger’s house on a weekend. Yet while these shitmongers were dispersed throughout the country being annoying little fuckers, they have
congregated here at Macalester College to take full advantage of the academic experience and of each other while intoxicated. Over the next four years I expect the very best from this class, whether it be talking loudly in the library to being condescending as fuck about your lack of familiarity with Foucalt, class of 2014 will surely be by far the most outstanding.
Macalester Adrenaline Junkies “Intolerance will not be tolerated.” - Eternal President Weyerhauser Hello, fellow thrill seekers. If you are like us, you find this campus to be boring, dull, and devoid of all or most of the eXtreme. Most students attempt to avoid this soul crushing bleakness by masturbating, drinking, and watching Jersey Shore ironically. However, we are here to provide you with a list of ways that are guaranteed to bring you near death excitement. Follow these rules and every day and night will be an adventure. On Campus! - DO attempt to parkour to class. We mean rooftops. - DON’T look when going through the revolving door. - DO take the opportunity to spend a night in the Smellevator. - DON’T use a dental dam. Even without STDs, the experience will kill you inside. - DO try to look awesome by stacking ten weight plates on one bar at Deno. - DON’T light up 25 feet from entrances (minefields). - DO try to slide down the Humanities stair rail from level 4. - DON’T bow to the Squirrel King. - DO eat the four-cheese wheat pizza. I Fucking dare you. - DON’T put your backpack away when Harold is on watch. - First-years, DO believe you can drink all the alcohol on campus. Off Campus! - DO try to cross roads that suddenly turn into freeways. - DON’T lock your bike or put away your iPhone on University Ave. - DO fuck with the statues of the namesake at St. Thomas. - DON’T roll deep when streaking a Tommy event. - DO get drunk and pick a fight at a straight-edge club. - DON’T be nervous when someone gets friendly at First Ave. - DO attempt cliffdiving at the river. Social Interaction! (Note: these lead to self-esteem decimating levels of exclusion. Just like high school.) - DO have a favorite band with more to show than 150 pale, skinny, lame fans. - DO suggest that “Creep” is Radiohead’s most important song. - DON’T have a favorite food that is Asian or European. - DON’T believe every book/play/film has postcolonial undertones. - DO mount hunting trophies and sports awards in your dorm. - DO call out American-born peers that spent 5 weeks in SE Asia and claim spiritual rebirth. - DO show sympathy for conservatives in political circle-jerks. - DO laugh at hilarious jokes based on race or gender. - DON’T laugh at the translated joke that sounded “so funny in Hindi”. - DON’T support reforming everything
Bosh, Lebron, and Wade Hanging Out [author?]
James Earl Jones: Imagine if you will, readers and gentlemen, the soft, cozy, firelit eight story mansion of Dywane Wade. Inside we find Mr. Wade engaged with Lebron James. Engaged, that is, in a game of Battleship; a board game of wit and endurance. The two will play this NBA season on the same team, along with that sissy girl Chris Bosh. But I digress. We enter in the middle of the battle, and the tension is palpable. Lebron (on a throne): Oh man you are sinking them tonight Wade! Freakin’ draining ‘em!
Wade: It’s called.... Lebron: You’re like Jack fuckin’ Frost son!! “Ooo.. Hey everybody, I’m Dywane Wade. I can’t move properly. Because, I am fucking cold. And, whenever I get close to some hotties..., I just fucking melt! I live quite a lonely and depressing life.” Wade: the nuclear.... Lebron: “Aw shit I’m a puddle...and oh damn....there’s Lebron...throwing his coat over me for some..OMG!... Girlz!! Thank you Lebron...for choosing me, to drape your fine coat over...” Wade: A B9!!
Wade (on a throne): Hey, buddy, I’m just getting started!
Lebron: Fucking shit!
Lebron: All right, all right. Let’s see how I do with a D11.
Wade: And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how the good triumphs over the crappy. * Phone Rings *
Wade: Can I... Should I....... Say it..?
James Earl Jones: Served
Lebron: Oh, no. Not right now.
Lebron: No, please...
James Earl Jones: He is worried.
Wade: It’s another miss for Sir Kingliest.... a Jamesiest!
Lebron: Just don’t pick it up. Wait, just don’t...! * Wade picks up phone *
Wade: Yeah baby! Okay, all right...
Lebron: No way you got it! No way!!
Wade: Hello? This is Dywane.
Wade: I’ma use...da secret... weapon...
Bosh: Uh, hey dude!! What’cha doing? It’s Chris!
Lebron: You’re fucking cold man!! You don’t have anything!
Lebron: Tell him you’re busy!
Wade (To Lebron): Oh, yeah, fucking original. (To Bosh) Hey... Chris... we, uh... I mean I... Bosh: Oh! Is Lebron there?! Sweet! Lebron: Ya fucked up, son! James Earl Jones: Straight up. Wade (To Lebron): Damn. (To Bosh) Uh...why...uh... yeah, he’s here. Thing is... Bosh: Oh cool!! Can I come over?! Wade (To Bosh): I mean......I don’t have a good reason that you couldn’t. Lebron: What?! I’ve got ten: Nerd, Not pro, Noob, Un-l33t, Sauce of Newb, Geekasaurus, Sir Lankey-a-lot, Level 2 Sunfury Demon with no mana, zergling with 0 carapace armor, and NERD. Bosh: Awesome!! Man, it’s so great...us three superstars... hanging out together...
See you soon!! All right! Yeah! Wade (To Bosh): Alright, I’m hanging up. Bosh: No, wait! I’ll hang up first! Wade (To Bosh): Okay... Bosh: No, no! You hang up first!! Wade (To Bosh): Righ... Bosh: Wait! No! I’ll hang up!! Wade (To Bosh): Um... Bosh: Okay!! I’m hanging up! Wade (To Bosh): Yeah... Bosh: I swear! I’m doing it!! * Wade hangs up * Wade: Shit... Lebron: Fucking right, “shit”. Nice idea. Wade: Oh.......since you can’t win in one turn...B8. GG.
Wade (To Bosh): Uh huh.
Lebron: My patrol boat!! My Sweet patrol boat...
James Earl Jones: Non Sibi Sed Patriae. And so the night when on, and after the battle Chris Bosh came over and ate all of Dwyane Wade’s Totino’s Pizza Bites and didn’t use a coaster for his glass of Sunny D.
Bosh: being friends.... Wade (To Bosh): Yep. Lebron: Fuck. Bosh: getting closer to each other... Wade (To Bosh): Uh, okay. Lebron: The fuck? Bosh: Speaking of closer! I’m on my way right now!!
HegemonoclePersonals t͘:ĞīĞƌƐŽŶůŝŶƚŽŶ ϲϰͬDͬ^ƚƌĂŝŐŚƚ tĂƐŚŝŶŐƚŽŶ͕͘͘
>ĂƐƚŽŶůŝŶĞ͗dŽĚĂǇͲϭϮ͗ϮϳĂŵ DƵƐŝĐĂůůǇŐŝŌĞĚ͕ĐŚĂƌŵŝŶŐŐĞŶƚůĞŵĂŶƐĞĞŬƐďƵǆŽŵŝŶƚĞƌŶŝŶƚŚĞ͘͘ĂƌĞĂ͘DƵƐƚďĞĂďůĞƚŽĐƌŽƵĐŚƵŶĚĞƌ ĚĞƐŬƐĨŽƌůŽŶŐŚŽƵƌƐĂŶĚƚŽŽƉĞƌĂƚĞǁŝƚŚĚŝƐĐƌĞƟŽŶƵŶĚĞƌĮƌĞĨƌŽŵŚŝŐŚͲƌĂŶŬŝŶŐŐŽǀĞƌŶŵĞŶƚŽĸĐŝĂůƐ͘ &ĂŵŝůŝĂƌŝƚǇǁŝƚŚWŽǁĞƌWŽŝŶƚĂŶĚǆĐĞůĂƉƉƌĞĐŝĂƚĞĚ͘
'ŝůĚĂƌƚǌ^ŚĂĚŽǁĐĂƐƚĞƌ >ĞǀĞůϴϬͬDͬ^ƚƌĂŝŐŚƚ &ĞůǁŽŽĚ&ŽƌĞƐƚ
>ĂƐƚŽŶůŝŶĞ͗dŽĚĂǇͲϭϭ͗ϭϬĂŵ ,ĂŶĚƐŽŵĞƵŶĚĞĂĚǁĂƌůŽĐŬƐĞĞŬƐůƵƐĐŝŽƵƐǇŽƵŶŐůŽŽĚůĨĨŽƌƋƵĞƐƟŶŐƉĂƌƚǇƚŽŬŝůůƚŚĞ>ŝĐŚ<ŝŶŐ͘DƵƐƚ ŚĂǀĞŚŝŐŚŵĂŶĂĐŽƵŶƚĂŶĚŽǀĞƌϰϱϬŝŶƚů͘EŽĂƉƉůŝĐĂŶƚƐǁŝƚŚŐĞĂƌƐĐŽƌĞƵŶĚĞƌϯϳϱƉĞƌĂƌŵŽƌƉŝĞĐĞ ƉůĞĂƐĞ͕ĂŶĚůĞǀĞůϴϬĂƉƉůŝĐĂŶƚƐŽŶůǇ͘/͛ůůůĞƚǇŽƵŚŽůĚŵǇ>ŝŐŚƚĞŶŝŶŐ'ŝĂŶƚ^ƚĂī͘
,ĞŶƌŝ///͕ƵŬĞŽĨDƀŶƚŵĂƌƚĞ ϱϱͬDͬ^ƚƌĂŝŐŚƚ͍ ŚąƚĞĂƵĚ͛ŵĂƚĞƵƌůĞƐŶĨĂŶƚƐ >ĂƐƚŽŶůŝŶĞ͗KŶůŝŶĞŶŽǁ͊ tĞĂůƚŚǇ&ƌĞŶĐŚĂƌŝƐƚŽĐƌĂƚƐĞĞŬƐǇŽƵŶŐĐŽƵƌƚĞƐĂŶƚŽƉŽǁĚĞƌǁŝŐĂŶĚĂĚŵŝŶŝƐƚĞƌŽĐĐĂƐŝŽŶĂůƐƉŽŶŐĞďĂƚŚƐ͘ DƵƐƚŚĂǀĞĞǆƉĞƌŝĞŶĐĞǁŝƚŚƉĞƌĨƵŵĞƐĂŶĚůƵǆƵƌŝŽƵƐŝŵƉŽƌƚĞĚŚŽƚĐŚŽĐŽůĂƚ͘DƵƐƚŚĂǀĞƐŽŌ͕ƐƵƉƉůĞďŽĚǇ ĂŶĚŶŽĐŽŶŶĞĐƟŽŶƐǁŝƚŚƐĂŶƐͲĐƵůŽƩĞƐ͘
ϯϮͬDͬ^ƚƌĂŝŐŚƚ DŝĂŵŝ͕&>ĂŶĚŝŶĐŝŶŶĂƟ͕K, >ĂƐƚŽŶůŝŶĞ͗dŽĚĂǇͲϰ͗ϭϲĂŵ ^ƵĐĐĞƐƐĨƵů͕ŵĂŶůǇ͕ĂǁĞƐŽŵĞ͕ĚĞďŽŶĂŝƌĨŽŽƚďĂůůƐƵƉĞƌƐƚĂƌǁŝƚŚŐƌĞĂƚŚĂŶĚƐĂŶĚŚĂƌĚĂďƐ͕ŐůƵƚĞƐ͕ĂŶĚƉĞĐƐ ƐĞĞŬƐƉĂƌƚŶĞƌǁŚŽŬŶŽǁƐŚŽǁƚŽĨƵůĮůůKĐŚŽĐŝŶĐŽ͛ƐŶĞĞĚƐ͘WŚǇƐŝĐĂůƌĞƐĞŵďůĂŶĐĞƚŽKĐŚŽĐŝŶĐŽŝƐĐůƵƚĐŚ͖ ƉůĞĂƐĞƐĞŶĚŚĞĂĚƐŚŽƚ͘&ĂŵŝůŝĂƌŝƚǇǁŝƚŚ͞ZƵƐƐĞůůƚŚĞ>ŽǀĞDƵƐĐůĞ͟ĂƉƉƌĞĐŝĂƚĞĚ͘
'ĂďƌŝĞů>ŽǀĞũŽǇ ϯϱͬDͬ^ƚƌĂŝŐŚƚ ^Ăůƚ>ĂŬĞŝƚǇ͕hd
>ĂƐƚŽŶůŝŶĞ͗KĐƚŽďĞƌϮϬ /͛ŵĂĨĂŵŝůǇŵĂŶ͕ĂǀŝĚŵŽƚŽƌĐǇĐůĞĞŶƚŚƵƐŝĂƐƚ͕ƐƵĐĐĞƐƐĨƵůĨĂƐŚŝŽŶĚĞƐŝŐŶĞƌ͕hƚĂŚ:ĂǌǌĨĂŶ͕ƐĞŵŝͲƉƌŽƐŶŽǁͲ ďŽĂƌĚĞƌ͕ĂŶĚ/͛ŵĂDŽƌŵŽŶ͘>ŽŽŬŝŶŐĨŽƌĨŽƵƌƚŚǁŝĨĞ͖ŵƵƐƚĞŶũŽǇƐŚĂƌŝŶŐ͕ǁŚŝƚĞƐŚŝƌƚƐǁŝƚŚďůĂĐŬƟĞƐ͕ ďŝĐǇĐůŝŶŐ͕ƉƌŽƐĞůǇƟǌŝŶŐ͕ĂŶĚĐĂīĞŝŶĞͲĨƌĞĞĐŽŬĞ͘
ϭϳͬ&ͬ^ƚƌĂŝŐŚƚ ůƐŝŶŽƌĞ >ĂƐƚŽŶůŝŶĞ͗dŽĚĂǇͲϭϬ͗ϭϬĂŵ WƐǇĐŚŽůŽŐŝĐĂůůǇƵŶƐƚĂďůĞĂŶŝƐŚĂƌŝƐƚŽĐƌĂƚǁŝƚŚƚƌŽƵďůĞĚĨĂŵŝůǇůŝĨĞƐĞĞŬƐƐĐŚŝǌŽƉŚƌĞŶŝĐƉƌŝŶĐĞĨŽƌĞŵŽͲ ƟŽŶĂůůǇĂďƵƐŝǀĞƌĞůĂƟŽŶƐŚŝƉ͘/ůŝŬĞǁŝůůŽǁƐ͕ůŝůŝĞƐ͕ŐŚŽƐƚƐ͕ƐŽůŝůŽƋƵŝĞƐ͕ƌĂŝŶ͕ĂŶĚďŽǇƐǁŝƚŚĂŵďŝŐƵŽƵƐůǇ ƌŽŵĂŶƟĐƌĞůĂƟŽŶƐŚŝƉƐǁŝƚŚƚŚĞŝƌŵŽƚŚĞƌƐ͘EŽEŽƌǁĞŐŝĂŶƐƉůĞĂƐĞ͘
^ŚůŽŵŽ>ƵďŽǀŝƚĐŚ ϮϰͬDͬ^ƚƌĂŝŐŚƚ ƌŽǁŶ,ĞŝŐŚƚƐ͕Ez
>ĂƐƚŽŶůŝŶĞ͗zĞƐƚĞƌĚĂǇͲϭϮ͗ϱϳƉŵ ZŝŐŚƚĞŽƵƐ͕ďĞĂƌĚĞĚŚĂƐƐŝĚƐĞĞŬƐǇŽƵŶŐ:ĞǁĞƐƐǁŝƚŚĐŚŝůĚͲďĞĂƌŝŶŐŚŝƉƐ͘DƵƐƚĞŶũŽǇĚƌĞŝĚĞůƐ͕dŽƌĂŚ ƐƚƵĚǇ͕ƌŝƚƵĂůƉƵƌŝƚǇ͕ŵŝŬǀĂŽƚ͕ŚŽƵƐĞǁŽƌŬ͕ĐŽŽŬŝŶŐ͕ĂŶĚŵĞŶǁŝƚŚƉĞǇĞƐ͘>ŽŽŬŝŶŐĨŽƌĂƚůĞĂƐƚĮŌĞĞŶĐŚŝůͲ ĚƌĞŶ͘EŽ>ĞǀŝƟĞƐƉůĞĂƐĞ͘
^ŚĞƌĨŐĂŶdĂƌĞĞŶ ϮϭͬDͬ^ƚƌĂŝŐŚƚ ^ƚ͘WĂƵů͕DE
>ĂƐƚŽŶůŝŶĞ͗KŶůŝŶĞŶŽǁ͊ ǆƚƌĞŵĞůǇĂƩƌĂĐƟǀĞĂŶĚŚŝŐŚůǇŝŶƚĞůůŝŐĞŶƚZĞůŝŐŝŽƵƐ^ƚƵĚŝĞƐŵĂũŽƌƐĞĞŬƐŵĞƌŝĐĂŶƉƉĂƌĞůŵŽĚĞůƐĨŽƌŚŝƐ ŵŽĚĞůŝŶŐƐŽĐŝĞƚǇ;ŵŽƐƚĂƩƌĂĐƟǀĞŽƌŐĂŶŝǌĂƟŽŶŽŶĐĂŵƉƵƐͿ͘DƵƐƚĞŶũŽǇůŝǀĞůǇŝŶƚĞůůĞĐƚƵĂůĚĞďĂƚĞ͕ƚƌŝƉƐƚŽ ƚŚĞƐĂůŽŶ͕ďĞĂƌĚƐ͕ĂŶĚ:ŽŚŶDĐĂŝŶ͘^ŝǌĞϬϬŽŶůǇ͘
ďĞƐƚďĞĨŽƌĞƵŐ͘ϮϬϭϮͬDͬKƚŚĞƌ ŝƐůĞϳ >ĂƐƚŽŶůŝŶĞ͗zĞƐƚĞƌĚĂǇͲϯ͗ϰϳĂŵ DĞŶƚŽƐƐĞĞŬƐŝĞƚŽŬĞĨŽƌĞǆƉůŽƐŝǀĞĞǀĞŶŝŶŐ͘/ĂŵĂƉĂƐƐŝŽŶĂƚĞŵŝŶƚǇƚƌĞĂƚ͕ĂŶĚŵǇĨƌŝĞŶĚƐĐĂůůŵĞƚŚĞ ͞&ƌĞƐŚŵĂŬĞƌ͘͟/͛ŵĂĚǀĞŶƚƵƌŽƵƐĂŶĚůŽŽŬŝŶŐĨŽƌƐŽŵĞĨŽĂŵǇ͕ƟŶŐůǇĚĞůŝŐŚƚ͘>ŽŽŬŝŶŐĨŽƌƐŽŵĞŽŶĞǁŝƚŚ ƚŚĞƌŝŐŚƚĐŚĞŵŝƐƚƌǇƚŽƐĞƚŵǇĞƌƵƉƟŽŶŽī͘
What They Said Conversations I Imagined People Were Having About Me: When I was 10 Kid 1: Do you remember in class today when that kid used that giant word? Kid 2: I know, that has got the be like the longest word ever. That kid must be a genius. Kid 1:Well I sure don’t know what it means, so he is certainly smarter than me. Kid 2: You and me both. When I was 11 Kid 1: Look at that kid’s drawing of a tree. It’s terrible! Kid 2: Now wait a minute, he is examining his pencil. Why is he examining his pencil? Kid 1: Hmm. Well I guess there must have been a problem with his pencil, not with his drawing. Kid 2: Oh I get it. Yeah, that must be it. When I was 12 Kid 1: So did you hear the presentation that kid gave on why Coke is such a terrible company? Kid 2: Yeah, now that I know how they treat their workers I’ll never drink Coke again. Kid 1: I know, it’s amazing how aware and informed that kid is about the world. Kid 2: He will probably be President some day or something. When I was 13 Kid 1: Is that kid walking with his family at the mall? Kid 2: Wow, what a loser! Kid 1: No wait, he is actually walking slower, and a few paces behind that group of people... Kid 2: Oh I see, yeah he is definitely too far behind that family for us to establish a connection. Kid 1: Yeah, we better just not worry about it and go about our day. When I was 14 Girl 1: So it seemed like that guy was staring at your chest. Girl 2: I thought so too, but then when I looked at it him it turned out he was just looking around in a wide motion. Girl 1: Oh I get it, so the point at which it seemed like he was looking at your chest was actually just a moment in his larger attempt to take in everything in the room. Girl 2: Exactly. It was all just a coincidence. When I was 15 Kid 1: Wow, I’ve never heard of the band that kid has a decal for on his backpack. Kid 2: I know, he must be some kind of cultural genius. Kid 1: It’s amazing how in this age of made-to-order pop stars someone still has taste. Kid 2: It takes a kid like that to show us how culturally backwards the rest of us are. When I was 16 Girl 1: So you guys talked for like an hour at the party last weekend, but today he only gave you a nod in the hallway. Girl 2: He can be so funny and charming, it’s often hard to remember that he isn’t trying at all. Girl 1: His lack of effort makes him all the more attractive. Girl 2: I know, I should probably try twice as hard and maybe if I’m lucky enough he will show some
Bonus: Mac Libs Dear Editor, Do you remember the night President Obama won the presidency? What a(n) night for all of you liberal
at Macalester. You sat there in your
tower, sipping your
spiced lattes, blogging about how wonderful it was that
DVRFLDOLVWZDVĂ€QDOO\SUHVLGHQW Well, let me bring you a message from the working
myself am a(n)
America - the group of hard
who value what this country was built on, and cried all night. I born in the
FDPHWR0DFDOHVWHU,ZDVWKHĂ€UVWSHUVRQLQP\ money all by myself, welding
for 2 dollars an hour. So beand America. And the Obama
First off thereâ€™s that â€œhealthcareâ€?. If I wanted government telling me when to and how much
noun (shit! say shit!)
. When I
to go to college. I raised the
lieve me when I say I know about two things, presidency is about as American as
to eat, why I would have just moved to Canada. Socialized
Second, letâ€™s talk about the stimulus. In this time when regular Americans are tightening their
, the government starts spending money it doesnâ€™t have. We have a word for
that where I come from; we call that while rewarding those fat cats in
Well, I never thought I would see the What are we,
system of government
Third, donâ€™t even get me started on to preserve our right to
. It will put our children deeper into debt
, and Obama has the gall to say unit of time
fought hard is wrong.
when my country went down that road.