www.nonsensehumor.com
Contents Editor-in-Chief Matt “Eric Sparrow” Ern Managing Editor Cody “Codiene” Heintz Head Writer Andrew “Brokencyde” McNally Design Director Ana “The Real Slim Shady” Davis Art Director Holly “Where Are You” Mayer Community Manager Amanda “Pilot” Beneway Faculty Advisor Amy Karofsky, Ph.D
Contributors: Jacob “Rape Jokes” Triebwasser John “Rob” Thomas Matt “Up Vote” Matusiak Jay “He’s A Senior” Sia Aaron “Papa Roach” Calvin
DISCLAIMER: NONSENSE is Hofstra’s only intentional humor magazine. We accept no responsibility for strep throst, failed relationships, or blindness resulting from the consumption of our content. That said, please don’t eat this issue. We meet once a week and produce 3 issues per semester. The views expressed herein do not necessarily represent the views of do not necessarily represent the views of Hofstra University. Any likeness to people existing or fictional is purely coincidental. Issue 155, Volume 30, Number 1, Copyright MMXII
Page Ad 2 by Ana Davis Page Editorial 4 by Matt Ern Page Wanna Hang? An Open Letter from Mitt 6 Romney by John Thomas A Brief List of Actors That Should Really Do Buddy-Cop Movies Together by Jacob Triebwasser Page Carly Rae Jepsen, Time Traveling Worrywart 7 by Andrew McNally Page Boy Turns Puppy Into BMX Bike, Still Won’t 8 Do Tricks by Matt Matusiak art by Holly Mayer Page The Feminist Case For Whitney Cummings 9 by John Thomas Neil Patrick Harris Armstrong Dies At Age Awesome by Jay Sia, Aaron Calvin, & Andrew McNally Page Drunk Movie Review: Speed 10 by Matt Ern Page Hey Bitch, Anthony Weiner Still Has Your 11 Number by John Thomas Page I’m Pretty Sure that Dog from Sublime Killed 12 Brad Nowell by Matt Ern Page Smoking Is The New Black 13 by Amanda Beneway Page Mind the Gap, and the Violence 14 by Andrew McNally Page Obituaries 15 by Ana Davis
Issue 155
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Editorial Oh god, that thing is happening again. You know, that thing where you’re really high and when you try and pee it almost feels like you’re cumming. But then you get lost in that thought and how good it feels and that distracts you and you don’t realize you’re peeing all over your friend’s bathroom floor and some splashes up on the clean bath towel he’s painstakingly left sitting out for his shower later that night. Now what are you going to do, huh? Well that’s where this issue of Nonsense comes in. It attempts to answer the age old questions like the one posed above. Also you could use it to wipe up the pee. Like most Nonsene Editors-In-Chief before me, I’m starting my senior year and getting ready to take the helm of a club that’s meant a lot to me for the past three years. There’s a certain degree of pressure I feel to make sure the club keeps running (smoothly) and that its members are as funny/out-of-control drunk as the upperclassmen I met there my freshman year. There’s an added level of responsibility to make sure this club even still exists next year given all of the changes implemented last spring by our lovely Student Government. And so we soldier on. So now here we are in a considerably smaller office, having lost many of the trappings that made the old office feel like home. Several things “disappeared” from our new office over the summer including numerous drawings off dicks and vaginas that used to hang on the walls as well as the “Nonsense Blacklist.” These of course are all things only Nonsense alumni will really care about and the chances of them coming back and Matt “Put your 3D glasses on now” Ern picking up an issue are slim, as most of them are incarcerated by now. But it’s not all terrible (although the situation with our office is, I can’t stress that enough), we’ve somehow managed to recruit tons of new freshmen this year- the most I’ve seen since I’ve been here. So thanks to all of them for sticking around and smoking a few beers with us. And they’re funny too! Which is harder to come by than you’d think for a humor magazine. In order to get this issue out a lot of people had to rise to the occasion and answer the call to drink some beers and make a few dick jokes. Freshman John Thomas and non-freshman new person Jacob Triebwasser came in with something like four articles each their first meeting. Ana Davis did the majority of this layout herself as I don’t have much design sense, and look how pretty everything here looks. Fifth-year senior Amanda Beneway wrote something for the first time this issue, despite being in the club all these years, and it’s one of the funniest pieces in here. We also had a great time at the debate this year- we handed out tons of issues and got our signs on too many websites to count (but I will name drop a few here anyway: Buzzfeed, Newsday, Mashable, The Atlantic, etc.). I’d like to thank Jimmy Sia for being the loudest person out there that day and attracting lots of attention for us. It’s a wonder he’s not in prison right now. Once again there isn’t a theme to the issue, something we abandoned last year but you probably didn’t care about to begin with. What this issue does have are references to time-traveling pop stars and an uncomfortable amount of articles about dogs. We’re just all over the place in Nonsense this year, kind of like that wild pee from the first paragraph of this editorial. See, you didn’t think I’d tie that in at all did you? All of which brings me to my next point- cemeteries are a gross misuse of space. No demographic is growing faster than dead people, and us living chumps are left with the task of finding space in the ground for them to live in, while we’re forced to move upwards into apartment buildings and rigid airships. This is nothing short of criminal and the free ride for the dead needs to end now. That is why I’m proposing a campaign to recycle and consume your dead friends and loved ones. It’s really just something to think about. Now I’d like to invite everyone to open their third eye and step out on to the astral plane and enjoy this issue of Nonsense
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Is this what you meant by cozy?
Wanna Hang? An Open Letter From
Mitt Romney
Hey man… I know that we haven’t been friends for all that long, but I was wondering if you wanted to come over this Friday? Friday nights can be very busy nights for many people, and they are for me too, but it would not have to be busy for me if it wasn’t busy for you, so if you do decide to come over to where I live I would have the time to spend hanging out with you in a colloquial fashion. You probably think that a big time former presidential candidate like me has a lot on his plate. If you do think that, then you would be correct. However, I would not want to deprive you of my estate’s amenities, good friend. I have three pools that are connected by a river made of Mormon-safe fudge, every Siberian tiger that was left in the wild as of eight months ago, and a room that you think is room but is actually just one big trampoline that you can bounce on for hours when you’re feeling bad and want to do something where your multiple sclerosis having wife can’t bother you. Yeah, it is Thursday, and I probably should have planned a little better. For some reason I just couldn’t get my gumption to call you. It’s alright now though, because this is a call so I am calling you. If you can come, arrive around twenty-hundred hours, or we can pick you up in some sort of vehicle. I really do hope you can come over. Well, as long as you don’t turn out to be a faggot.
A Brief List of Actors that Should Really do Buddy-Cop Movies Together:
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Alan Rickman and Gilbert Gottfried Steve Buscemi and Gary Busey Steven Seagal and Michael Cera Nicholas Cage and Nicholas Cage wearing Groucho Marx glasses Kevin Spacey and that one really creepy guy from “The Cell” ed.- Vince Vaughn? Vin Diesel and an actual Diesel train John Travolta and Xenu, pretty sure we could get that guy out of his mountain prison or whatever Sir Ian McKellan and Sir Michael Gambon- GOD DAMN WIZARD POLICE Denzel Washington and a Na’vi, think of the “black and blue” puns, Christ Mike Myers and Michael Myers Nonsense: Is Nonsense Dead?
e a R y l Car n e s p Je
g n i l e v a r Time T t r a w y Worr
On November 21, 1985, Canada was graced with the birth of Carly Rae Jepsen, singer, timetraveler, and star of TV’s iCarly. As legend has it, she had an easy childhood, before appearing on Canadian Idol, which is like American Idol but with significantly more maple syrup. She won the show by not coming in first. And somewhere between 2010 and 2012, she gave her number to a provocative, almost total stranger. They had just met. It was crazy. Unfortunately for Jepsen, she gave the mysterious man the option not to call, leaving her devastated, since her young age and piles of cash gave her no bigger problems. It’s all documented in a song. I forget what it’s called. These boy troubles – which, coincidentally, is the name of a rapper who appears on her debut album – caused Jepsen to spend hours staring at her cell phone. Since she didn’t know the man’s number, she entered her own number into her phone, hoping to get some form of relief. Instead, she got transported back in time. This is when Jepsen – a high school graduate – realized that time is linear, a constantly-repeating algorithm that can be manipulated easily. Thus, she found herself in famine-stricken China in 1961. After harnessing the power to leap through all of time, she accomplished feats she could only dream of before. Jepsen played a benefit show for the victims of Pompeii, shot JFK, and attempted to save the town of Whoville from the murderous Grinch, but only the town’s doctor survived, who she taught to time-travel. But after years of time travel, and multiple revisits of Woodstock, Jepsen decided to settle down. In the 1970’s AD, she sought redemption for never getting called back. She changed her last name to Simon, and wrote a song about him called “You’re So Vain.” Rumor has it that Jepsen’s classic rock hit is about Mick Jagger, Warren Beatty, or fellow time-traveler John Mayer, but Jepsen simply never learned the man’s name. It might sound insane, considering two versions of one person cannot exist at once, but have you heard from Carly Simon lately? Issue 155
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Boy Turns Puppy Into BMX Bike, Still Won’t Do Tricks Little Timmy Bigums became the proud owner of a precious Pomeranian puppy for his 13th birthday. He decided to name him Poopy and they instantly became best friends. Timmy had big plans for Poopy and he just couldn’t wait to start their awesome lives together. There was only one problem, Poopy wouldn’t learn tricks. Timmy tried to teach Poopy tricks for about twenty minutes; the usual roll over, sit, play dead, etc. When the only progress Poopy made was to stand there and look like a stupid puppy-faced idiot, Timmy instantly became bored of him. Timmy decided that Poopy was a boring shithead, and that he needed to make him cool. When Timmy imagines cool, he thinks of three things: pizza friday, laser tag, and BMX bikes. Turning Poopy into pizza wasn’t realistic enough, and he’s too much of a stupid puppy fuckface to learn how to play laser tag, so BMX biking would have to do. Timmy knew that Poopy would never learn to ride BMX bikes, he lacked the swag, so the next best thing would have to be turning Poopy into a BMX bike. Timmy slaved over an EZ-Bake oven for hours, creating things just to throw them away and start again. Finally, after hours of toil, Timmy realized, “Oh yea! I need to turn Poopy into a BMX bike!” so he put his EZ-Bake oven away. He grabbed Poopy and brought him into his garage and strapped him down to his father’s workbench. 8
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Timmy wasn’t old enough to use the power tools yet, so his little brother’s plastic set would have to do. He went into his brother’s room, punched him in the dick and called him a faggot, and took the tools back to the garage. Poopy laid there and wagged his tail like the jerk-assed shitface he was while Timmy poked and prodded with the plastic tools. After about ten minutes, Timmy became bored again and decided to cut some corners. He grabbed some duct tape and wrapped Poopy around the seat of his little brother’s BMX bike. His brother tried to stop Timmy from ruining his bike, so Timmy held him down and farted in his mouth. This caused Timmy’s brother to start vomiting so Timmy punched him in the ear and told him to stop being such a poser. Once Poopy was secured to the bike, Timmy brought him out to the street. He told Poopy that it was time to get his swag on and pushed him down the hill. Poopy rolled down the hill, exponentially gaining speed. Timmy shouted out for Poopy to do a 360 spin off the curb, but Poopy only hit a parked car and was promptly run over by the mailman. As Timmy went back inside, already devising a plan to blame Poopy’s death on his little brother, he heard the mailman yell out to the heavens, “What kind of maniac would tape such a lame-faced puppy fuck to a bike!?” Timmy went back to playing Xbox, the mailman ran over Poopy a second time, Timmy’s brother is still a faggot, and the world went back to normal.
The Feminist Case for Whitney Cummings By Ariel Kunt
A lot of people say “Ariel, Ariel, why do you put so much time into watching “Whitney”, let alone defending that steaming pile of rancid rat feces that NBC has the audacity to call a television show?” and I always answer with the same reply “I am woman, woman, w, Whitney, Whitney Cummings, cum, men, misogyny, feminism. Any questions?” Although that’s clear enough for me and all my femi-not-nazi friends, they usually do have a few queries. They’ll ask about why she’s obsessed with marriage, let alone marrying a man with the intelligence of a steaming pile of rancid rat feces that NBC has the audacity to call a comedic character, or why the humor often revolves around “sexist” portrayals of Whitney and the steaming pile of rancid rat feces that NBC has the audacity to call a likable and contemporary cast of female supporting cast members. I never answer these questions, to you and me the answers are obvious, but even though they are, I don’t reply. Why? They won’t listen to a word you or I say until they realize who the real sexist is: them. Friends and colleagues, I’m sure you’re thinking at this moment “How do we convince them of this, Ariel? Ariel this seems to hard, woe is me Ariel I have the vapors!”, but do not fret, the solution is simple.
All we need to do is utilize the power of social networks with my new digital campaign – “Stop the Whate”. This is the best slogan for our cause. Not only does it let the world no that we are done with Whitney bashing (if you’re confused that’s what the W is for you silly tramp), but it also sounds like we’re saying “Stop the Weight” at our marches, so it’s as if we are taking a stand against fat bitches too, which is exactly what Whitney would want. I want you to start posting about this all over Facebook, Twitter, and especially Pinterest. You can try Tumblr to, if you dare, but that’s where all the tranny dykes live, so watch out. With your help we can finally end the season-two of oppression that Whitney and all of womanhood has had to endure. So take up your voices, and signs, and mice, and take them up now. If we don’t take a stand right this very moment I fear things will escalate to the point where we won’t even be able to get in a good episode of “Guys with Kids” without walking through the barbs of bigotry. I believe in womanity, and the bonds of motherhood that tie us. Here’s to a great year of change, for us, for Whitney, and for the world.
Neil Patrick Harris Armstrong Dies at Age Awesome The actor Neil Patrick Harris Armstrong who faked testicular cancer while on the set of the popular American television show “How I Met Your Mother” died this past September. The prolific television star is better known for faking the moon landing, which to this day is still wildly accepted as real. The only flaw in the faux moon landing is the American flag used is actually the flag from Neil Patrick Harris Armstrong’s pop-punk band Green Day’s American Idiot album. The discovery of the fraud was the final strike for Mr. Armstrong and his Tour De France medals have officially been taken from him, Cheryl Crow has also reclaimed her golden testicle from Armstrong. Followers of Neil Patrick Harris Armstrong who resemble disciples, believe he will rise again after a while and will reclaim the medals that are rightfully his. Neil Degrassi Tyson; boxer, Canadian Television series, and Pop Scientist offers these brave words to guide us through these dark, dark times, “Creationism is the only thing we should be teaching our kids in PE classes.” NPHA, as his fans called him, died in his sleep at the age of 27, falling to his death in his anti-gravity chamber.
Issue 155
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DRUNK MOVIE REVIEW
I hope you’re all happy. I got black out drunk alone on a Monday night watching a terrible Keanu Reeves movie for you. I had to go to class the next day. I don’t know if I threw up, but if I did it was probably from the terrible movie and not the bottle of whiskey I drank. Overall I would grade my Speed experience as very poor. I don’t remember the last half hour or so (of a two hour long movie- why on earth is Speed two hours?) so the ending is up in the air. Upon further inspection of my notes I discovered that in my blackout I rewatched the ending multiple time because I couldn’t remember what happened. I still don’t know. I promised myself I wasn’t going to cry at all during the experience, but then the opening credits started and I remembered I was about to watch Speed. I was also blown away to learn that Sandra Bullock was in the movie.
By the way, we don’t learn her character’s name till half-way through the fucking movie. During the opening scenes I was also struck by the fact that not a single thing was like The Matrix, but there was a face-stabbing within the first five minutes so I guess that’s something.
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Around twelve minutes in I acknowledged that I had no idea what was happening at all, this would continue for the rest of the movie. I also said “How is she going to fit through that? You crazy, Keanu” out loud around this point, so now you all know about the most embarrassing moment of my life. I guess I also referred to Keanu’s boss as “Top-cop with the mustache” and posited that he was “the funny one” and that Keanu was “the flirt.” Later on, the topcop would yell about firing everyone and I realized he wasn’t “the funny one” at all. I ’d like to point out that 50 mph is not spectacularly fast nor does it make a good premise for a movie. Oh, I guess I should explain what the premise of this movie is. Keanu Reeves and the guy from Newsroom fail to stop a bomber in an elevator at the beginning, so then he puts a bomb on a bus. Sandra Bullock’s car was missing or something so she rode the bus that day. Then Keanu gets on the bus, but not before one passenger remarks “That man sure has a hardon for this bus.” That’s a line someone wrote down and then made an actor say. Now this whole middle section is a little hazy (also the end) because all of my notes are about how I looked away to answer texts and missed key plot points, but I didn’t want to rewind and sit through more of the movie. I stand by that decision. Several of my notes are also about how drunk I was and the fact that there was no way I’d remember any of this. I’m proud to say I was right. I wrote a lot about a scene involving a go-kart, but I have my suspicions that whatever was happening had little to do with go-karts. If anyone has been stupid enough to watch this movie without blacking out, please tell me if there was a go-kart.
Possibly the most telling indication of my mental state while watching this movie were notes 45 and 46: “If Mitt Romney really cared about America he would arrest me for being so drunk right now,” and “I have that New Found Glory song stuck in my head. It’s the only song of theirs I know and I only hear it at parties. I have no idea what it’s called,” respectively. Again, the ending of the movie is completely lost on me. Sandra drives the bus for a bit while Keanu climbs all over it trying to disarm the bomb. Apparently they go to an airport but I’ll be damned if I know how or why. My biggest disappointment came when I kept waiting for Harrison Ford and the Janitor from Scrubs to show up because I had somehow confused Speed for The Fugitive. I have not seen The Fugitive nor do I intend to. My confusion about which movie I was watching had nothing to do with being drunk however; I thought that earlier in the day. I’m actually second guessing myself now if I was even thinking of The Fugitive. I’m fairly certain the climax of my notes were more entertaining than the climax of this piece of shit movie. The last things I wrote down make the least amount of sense of anything I’ve ever read, so I hope you enjoy them too: This some Resident Evil Two craziness. I have no idea how speed factored in any of this. Keanu fucked Keanu. This movie is dead to me. I’m going to assume they all get off the bus somehow, but I really hope that everyone died. They all had it coming. But I’d like to think the bomber also finally gets captured, because putting a bomb on a bus that needs to keep going over 50 mph is a totally ineffective way to bomb anything. I’m still so mad I watched this movie.
Hey Bitch, Anthony Weiner Still Has Your Number It’s really weird that we haven’t talked in a while. I mean, it’s not like I’m a congressman anymore, or anything like that. Someday I might be a mayor, or something like that. They let Bloomberg look like an actual puckered asshole everyday, so I feel like they could overlook seeing my dick a few times a month. You saw it a few times a day and were totally “chill” with it. Don’t you remember? Do you remember me? Of course you remember me. I’m the biggest fucking thing to ever happen to you in your entire miserable life. I’m fucking Anthony Weiner. I don’t know if you know this, but I fingered Hilary Clinton once. But back to this talking thing. I bet you thought I was angry that you went on Nancy Grace, and I was, I mean, sure I was, or something like that. That doesn’t mean that we had to throw away everything we had. It destroyed me to text you again, and again, for weeks, knowing that you couldn’t even take the time to respond with a “LoL” or maybe a tit or two. I knew you were a stupid, dirty whore, but I had no idea that you were a soulless cunt too. So, let’s get these balls rolling. Maybe at first it’ll just be a few times a week. A wink here, a beautiful Jewish peck there, but at least we’ll have something. I know it’ll be kind of awkward at first and that Twitter’s out of the question. I don’t care about the odds though, I just want you back in my life. We could start again, and damn it, I’ll take my boxer briefs off this time. Love always, Anthony Weiner Issue 155
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I’m Pretty Sure that Dog from Sublime Killed Brad Nowell Lou the dog from Sublime almost definitely killed Brad Nowell right? He was in the room where they found Nowell dead. He was a Dalmatian. He died just days after 9/11. You do the math. I’m not saying the dog did it, but the dog did it. This wasn’t some Breaking Bad, let’s-not-flip-overthe-guy-ODing-on-heroin-thing. This crime, if it did happen the way it definitely happened, was an active act of violence against what was one of the 90s greatest treasures. Lou, the murderous dog from the band Sublime, filled a syringe with heroin and carried it in its mouth over to the sleeping, angelic body of his loving master Brad. The anti-Semitic dog, who also once told me he didn’t really care for the blacks either, then stabbed his master in the heart with the needle. I’m not sure if this situation is supported by any science or evidence, but like, that dog had to have done it right? The death of Mr. Nowell, who regularly volunteered at soup kitchens and donated money to charity, was the single greatest tragedy of the 1990s coming in just ahead of the Oklahoma City Bombing. Nowell was the most gifted song writer of his generation and probably would have gone on to lead humanity into some sort of Pax Romana-esque golden age. But his time on this planet was cut short by a dog that almost certainly would have preferred The Big Bang Theory to Community. According to the popular micro-blogging platform Wikipedia, Sublime was “one of the most popular ska-punk bands, it is credited with reviving popular interest in ska, as well as bringing punk rock into the mainstream.” You hear that? There was once popular interest in ska music. And next time you’re enjoying some mainstream punk rock like FIDLAR or Joyce Manor, know that Sublime was single handedly responsible for that and should be given all the credit. 12
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Lou “Actual Murderer” Dog’s mug shots.
Lou Dog and band Sublime (not pictured).
smoking is the New Black
Above: Smoker takes a drink out of a segregated fountain.
It’s 2012. We have a black president. As far as I can see, racism is absolutely over. Most people think Obama is really cool, except for like, my grandma, but that’s not racism, that’s just how she was raised, and proceeded to raise my parents. Its totally harmless. So who is the group that’s discriminated against now? I know some of you are thinking “the gays” but they have their own television channel. Tell me that’s not reverse- homophobic. No, the real group, the new black people, are smokers. Think about it. Remember the days where you could smoke in a restaurant? I mean, I sort of do, I was 13 when it was suddenly illegal. Yes, there are ACTUAL LAWS, against smokers now. I can’t smoke inside, or on the beach, or in a NYC park anymore. Why else would I go to a park, if not to chain smoke comfortably? But aren’t these laws eerily similar to segregation?
I’m not allowed into the same beach as nonsmokers, unless I put out my cigarette. I know now how it felt when you couldn’t use the same establishments or ride in the front of the bus because of your skin color. I literally can’t even get on a bus at all if I’m smoking, which is worse than having to just sit in the back. Also, you know how when a black guy walks by and you clutch your children a little closer? Mothers do that to me now! Its as if they think the smoke coming out of my cigarette is going to harm their kid. Get real, not all cigarettes are dangerous. That’s prejudice. I don’t personally know of anyone who’s been killed or anything for being a smoker, but I’m sure if I google it, I can find something to prove my point. I mean, I know for sure my mom would kill me if she found out I smoked! That’s pretty similar to being black in the 60s. And like,I’m afraid of cops too! If I was smoking someplace where its “illegal”, they might hit me! But realistically, a cop isn’t going to bother you if you’re not doing anything wrong, so I don’t even know why this is even an issue people talk about. Now, I’m not whining like black people do when they talk about slavery. I’m jewish, I get it. My people were enslaved too. All I’m trying to say is, because of all of this, I should be allowed to say the n word.
Mind the Gap, and the Violence This is Mangia Risotto, president of the Long Island Railroad with a major announcement! You may have heard that we’re working on extending service to Grand Central Station, but we’ve decided to push even farther. By mid-2015, we’re hoping to extend service to two new locations – the suburban center of Staten Island, and the middle of the Palestine region. That’s right, you’ll soon be able to get from Montauk to Staten Island, or from midtown Manhattan to war-torn Palestine in one short trip! Taking your family to Rockaway Beach for a day trip? Going on a religious pilgrimage back to the land of your people? Well now you can! You can get from your home on Staten Island to any point on Long Island, to see some Long Island history and culture without transferring at Penn Station. Likewise, if your Muslim heritage is calling to take a hajj to Saudi Arabia, you can spend most of the trip in a comfortable, enclosed train! The Staten Island train stops at Jamaica Station, where you can transfer to any other connecting trains, and costs $15 to $30.The train to the Palestine makes no stops, and takes thirteen hours, ten of which are spend underwater in total darkness. The train costs $1,350. It should be noted that when you get off the train, you might be bombarded by men with guns or rocks. The same goes for the Palestine train.
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Obituaries
to our fallen comrades...
PICTURE OF BRYAN HAVING FUN
*image not found
Bryan Menegus
Sean Goggin
e c i ff O d l O e h T
R.I.P. Tom Gabel God gave rock n roll to George.
Tim Lee
Ryan”George” McAvoy