Brain Stew 16' / '17 - Issue 5

Fall 2016 Issue #5

IN THIS ISSUE: We finally have submissions!!! Thanks to Emma for making this super awesome cover (and for also using all of the black ink available in the Honors College). We have Poetry from Sarah about clean sandwiches and a poem from J. Laurence about our most favorite drug—coffee.

Meagan breaks her leg and reveals Nancy Gleason’s side hustle (spoiler alert: it’s not what you think it is). We *officially* announce our endorsement for President and provide you with some free campaign posters to get you into the democratic spirit. We also have a special featuring the felines of the Honors College, although you probably won’t be able to see any of the pictures and will have to use your imagination due to our poor printing quality. Zach uncovers Kate Votaw’s secret life as a mad scientist and gives you the inside scoop on who Jen Richardson really is. Need a Halloween costume idea? We’ve got you covered with our quick guide on what/who you should dress up as. Be sure to collect all six of the special edition faculty baseball cards we have put in each issue! Trick or Treat! It’s Brain Stew!

The Understew We ask Honors College faculty stupid questions – they answer, stupidly:

Have you ever Googled yourself?

Kate Votaw Oh yeah, I Google myself all of the time.

Sometimes I try to see what folks are saying about me on ratemyprofess-or.com.

I mostly get positive scores, but sometimes I like to make fake accounts and bolster my scores anyway.

Can’t hurt, right? Has anyone ever actually used that to choose a prof? Idk.

Kate Votaw I don’t have time to Google myself! I’m so busy talking about the importance of posters all the time. They’re so handy! If Brain Stew were a poster instead of a dinky little newsletter once a month, you probs wouldn’t have to worry about readership or receiving submissions.

Just saying.

Kate Votaw Oh yeah, I Google myself all of the time.

Sometimes I try to see what folks are saying about me on ratemyprofess-or.com.

I mostly get positive scores, but sometimes I like to make fake accounts and bolster my scores anyway.

Can’t hurt, right? Has anyone ever actually used that to choose a prof? Idk.

VILL-A-LYMPICS UPDATE

Faculty vs. Residents World Tournament of Wiffleball

On Friday, September 30th, the residents of Villa North set aside their usual petty competitiveness to unite for an even more petty and competitive cause: The World Tournament of Wiffleball. In what shaped up to be the most important athletic competition of all time, the student team of Lauren Jenkins, Meagan Burwell, Nicole Gevers, Rodney Whitey, Emilie LaBreyere, and Ariel Brown took on the faculty team of Dan Gerth, Nancy Gleason, Jen Richardson, Mandy Bibee, Kate Votaw, Kim Baldus, Jackie Warren and Trent “The Traitor” Conway. After a few innings of play before a forfeit due to rain, neither the faculty nor the students could agree on who won the match due to extreme arrogance and conceit. Stay tuned as the faculty and students battle it out once again in a chili cookoff and bonfire in November!

Be Sure to Collect All Six Special Edition Faculty Team Baseball Cards!

Clear Pane of Glass On the Back End of a Living Space: Kind of Like a Rear Window A Short, Very True Story by Meagan Burwell Villa North offers a cozy and community-centered living space for upperclassmen in the Honors College. It’s been a great experience so far, much preferred to Oak. That is, until I broke my leg. How, you ask? It all started with a certain other BS editor whose room happens to be attached to mine via the room where we keep the turtle in a bathroom. She hauled a ladder up from the Villa basement kindly borrowed a ladder from maintenance to hang various paraphernalia around her room, the likes of which I dare not describe.

Anywho, she came into my room one day and said, “Help me hang shit up on my ceiling or the turtle gets it else!” Fearing for the Shelley’s life, I obliged, and next thing I know, I’m standing on one foot atop a rickety chair atop a rickety bed atop a rickety floor. I gingerly lifted a ceiling tile to place a bent paperclip underneath, grade school classroom style, when suddenly…

“Bees?”

The image of my favorite Cards Against Humanity card flashed before my eyes, and then my life, as a swarm of bees made a line straight for my face, and, I assume, for freedom from the ceiling. I stepped back, failed to catch my balance, and continued to tumble in a scene that rivals Alec Trevelyan’s death in Goldeneye in drama and resulting leg contortion. Where was Nicole the other BS editor during all of this, you ask? Standing in the corner, getting her apiarist gear on. “Oh, sorry, I forgot to mention my side hustle of selling fresh honey to the locals. They’re usually pretty friendly. Are you O.K.? Your leg looks a little like an ‘N.’ Heh. My name starts with an ‘N.’ What a coincidence.” To be fair, this is the most caring thing N----- has ever said to me.

The doctors put me in a cast, and gave me 8 weeks to live to heal. That about catches you up to the point that things got a little fishy.

See, the window in the rear of the other BS editor’s room looks directly into one Nancy Gleason’s office. And as I was twiddling my thumbs the first weeks of my recovery, I had nothing to do but look out the windows, either at the ProHo shuttle stop or Gleason’s office. As you may guess, Gleason’s office is much more interesting. ********************************************************************************* I will now present to you the series of events that led to the most ground-breaking, world-shattering discovery since Nicole (it is here I drop the “the other BS editor” bit) found out about the difference between “cut” “copy” and “delete” in Microsoft Word.

October 5th: 8:30 a.m.

The lights in Gleason’s office switch on (she actually had turned them off the night before), and she hastily enters, a frantic look about her. I am shocked - her sweater is covered in blood stains! I didn’t know if I should call someone…maybe it’s just a really bad tie-dye job?

But no, she’s been sworn off tie-dye for years. She grabs a duffle bag, leaves the room, and comes back in a different sweater, blood-free.

October 6th: 6:27 p.m.

I was about to wheel away from the window for the evening when, unexpectedly, Gleason comes back into her office. Her hair is a mess and she rips off a pair of gloves. She paces frantically around the room.

October 11th: 1:12 p.m.

Nancy is just sitting at her computer...wait...Dan Gerth storms into the office. They end up in a hysterical argument in which Nancy is crying out in frustration and Dan is as riled up as Tom Cruise in A Few Good Men. I couldn’t make out the exact words, but I had to assume this confrontation was related to the blood stains and gloves.

October 17th: 3:40 p.m.

Nancy leaves her computer monitors on. Again. There, in large print, I can make out the words “Transfer 2morrow - Important. Nicole.” I wheel back from the window in disbelief. What does Nicole, the person who so lovingly let me fall off the bed and break my leg, have to do with Nancy’s likely drug cartel??

October 18th: 8:34 a.m.

I ask Nicole what her plans are that day. She replies, “nothing special,” giving me very obvious side-eye.

Not long after, Nicole walks into Nancy office. Out of a duffel bag, Nicole pulls wads and wads of cash. Nicole makes eye contact with me and races back over to her room, where I sit.

She stands menacingly in the doorway. “You know too much.”

I try to play dumb, assure her that I’m as harmless as her swarm of bees. (Y’know, like the one that broke my leg.) (Note: these situations are not the time for sarcasm.)

“You wanna know what we’re up to? Fine. Come on.” Nicole wheels me against my will to the elevator, and we slowly descend. (It is here that I will note we passed Zach Lee on the way to the elevator. He smiled and waved, seemingly oblivious to the look of terror in my eyes. Thanks, dude.)

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever been to the basement of ProHo, but it is fairly terrifying.

We take a left. Another left. One more left. Yet another left.

“Nicole, why didn’t you just turn right?”

“Shut up.”

She wheels me down a dark corridor to the old anthropology labs. There’s a noise that gets louder as we get closer. Is your refrigerator running? (You better go catch it!) Is an old TV cooling down? No. It can only be one thing.

Bees.

If you’re following along, this would be the part of the movie soundtrack where the violins are going wild.

Nicole opens the door to reveal Nancy putting “Nancy’s Own” labels on jar after jar of honey. (Cue record scratch.)

“Oh. So...y’all are really just selling honey?” I ask.

Nancy chuckled knowingly. “Oh, my, no. Well, it looks like Gevers dropped the ball.

Spilled the milk. Skipped the rope. Shot the gorilla. Burned the garlic…the honey started as a side hustle. Have you wondered why your Honors classes have seemed particularly difficult this semester? Why there has been nary an A on a paper?”

“Uh...sure. Yeah, definitely.” I said, just wanting to get to the bottom of this.

“Well for years, UMSL has been doing state-of-the-art research on bee communication. The former dean of the Honors College, Bob Bliss, was particularly fascinated by the intense romantic bonds formed between bee and human in Jerry Seinfeld’s documentary:The Bee Movie. In recent weeks, we have been making major breakthroughs in the field. Since the Honors professors have been very stressed and worn out from fielding all the dumb opinions and ideas students always have, we decided to let bees grade the papers for them. Turns out, they have a favorite letter. This is also why the professors’ comments are so difficult to read - they are literally random scribblings of a bee!”

“But...what about the blood on your shirt? And the fight with Dan?” “Blood stains….? OH. That was a Wednesday, right? Haven’t you ever heard of #WineWednesday? Live a little, Burwell. And Dan and I just had a small disagreement as to whose face should go on the label of the jars. I told him Burt has a monopoly on bearded men selling bee products, and he said beards are the only thing that sell anything. Once I started crying, I got my way. That’s a pro-tip for you ladies as you enter the workforce.”

“Oh, right, you do like to slosh your grape juice. Ok, so...Nicole, why were you so against my knowing about this operation? Is it illegal or something?”

At this, Nicole goes into a very flustered rant: “OK, so I only got roped into this because they said if I didn’t help I’d be kicked out of OSP. I thought it was kind of cool at first, maybe we could get to the bottom of colony

collapse and save the bees. But Nancy said that this was no place for such selfless thinking and to leave any drop of empathy at the door. ‘This is a cash cow,’ she said. ‘I’m using my matronly face as a marketing piece only, no public appearances. Those ruined Betty Crocker,’ she said.

The thing is, this operation is bringing in quite a bit of dough. I was afraid that if you found out, you would try to take over and get a slice of the pie. My pie. You’re always meandering around ProHo. I knew you’d eventually stumble upon part of the operation and spoil the whole thing. What better way to stop your wandering than to break your leg? And to do it with the very thing I was trying to hide from you, no less! Man, I am smart sometimes.

By the way, my plan worked very well – your exploration really slowed down. You, being so stubborn, continued to use the stairs instead of the elevator, even with this wheelchair. I’m surprised you haven’t broken more bones. If only I had remembered to close my blinds. Thwarted again by the Venetians.”

At this point, I am almost disappointed no one was murdered. “So (a needle pulling

threeeaad)...where do we go from here?”

Nancy jumped in: “Well, we can’t have you wheeling around with this information without any hush money. If you let us use your wheelchair to haul large quantities of honey upstairs – I’ve been carrying them one by one this whole time – I’ll give you a nickel a jar.

How does that sound? A nice, shiny nickel?”

“That...that sounds pretty nice.” (At this point, the pastoral music fades up, the camera pans out into an aerial view, etc. etc., the screen fades to black.) ********************************************************************* I mean, that’s a pretty good deal, huh? No one can tell me I don’t know how to negotiate. I would have settled for a wheat penny! And so, here I am, sitting on the floor in the basement of ProHo, absolutely swimming in nickels, writing this while Nicole and Nancy use my wheelchair to haul Nancy’s Own honey to supermarket shelves near you. Bring in this story for a nickel off your next purchase of 20 jars or more.

The End

Every Sandwich Is Clean

By Sarah Hayes He writes it on the blackboard: Every sandwich is clean. You imagine It: a sandwich, overflowing with all of the Farm raised sliced deli meats and cheeses, Lovingly hand washed, made pure for consumption By the flowing stream of mountain water that Passes through the mouths of virgin bees and is Filtered out the stomachs of exotic cats, to be Patted dry by a thousand thread count Persian rug And blessed by the relic bones of an obscure saint.

You eat it and you are filled with its immense weight.

The world slips away from under your paper plate.

All meals that came before are now mud in the throat.

Every sandwich is clean. Every mouth is tainted.

None of us are worthy. Everyone is hungry.

Perhaps you have taken this too far. Or: Perhaps you should order another sandwich.

Poetry corner

Espresso Black

By J. Laurence I am becoming black. I’m spitting out the grains of sugar the world pressed to my teeth. I’m sloughing off the cream I’ve rubbed into my skin for yearsrituallyreligiouslyMilk white and beautiful.

I’m beautiful, and bitter to some to the unrefined palette I can be jarring certainly; they cannot detect the floral undertones in my darkness.

When I am black How will they remember me? Astringent? Mellow?

Will I still be sweet enough?

I guess we’ll see an ever present query How black is the real me?

Beauty:

By J. Laurence

Seven, Six, Lights flickered in reds, greens, yellows. Vibrations ran through their nylon-covered legs as they rested in the central console chair. The air was scentless and still in the bulkhead, and they turned their head to gaze expressionless at the porthole across the room. They marveled at the great speed they were traveling. Twenty five thousand miles per hour. And yet resembling a dust mote among these celestial objects at their celestial paces.

They had never been so far from home.

Five, Four, The earth turned somewhere in the leftmost galaxy, drifting gently at about 1,000 mph in the primordial soup of blazing gases blue, white, violet, astounding the traveler with the thought of it’s beauty. Once someone had asked them to define beauty back in their freshman year of college,in an essay prompt that had gotten the scholarship that had led to the changing of undecided to astrophysics.

So many people, in that small piece of existence.

4.6 billion definitions.

And all them correct. They did believe that. In the strange, mundane, terrible, willful planet that they had spent so much of their lives on, there was a kind of reality large enough for all their thoughts. An asteroid passed outside, amid other soaring elements. The computers whirred efficiently and flashed data in a soft white glow. The scientist accompanying them tapped buttons just as efficiently as their companions while the cameras adjusted according to the new observations. Close, now.

It was the connectivity of it, really. So many levels in the fundamental web. You constantly learn these things; how the world is forever building and rending itself. Chemistry, physics, history, psychology; It almost reflects itself, they think as their eyes catch an incomprehensibly sized mass in the distance- the resemblance between an eye and a

collapsing star is uncanny. People should learn to appreciate each other more, appreciate themselves more. They should learn some new definitions. They’re certainly large enough.

The red light embedded in the white metal of the console blinked in confusion, it's urgent message going ignored.

Three, Two, Their fingers pressed harder down into the soft firmness of the seat, and readings danced through the air, through the pixels on screen. They enjoyed thinking of life in terms of particles. It was peaceful, making everything seem important and inconsequential all at once and in the best way. They needed that right now. They took in their surroundings, in that space shuttle drifting through places unseen by humans until then. A carbon being appreciating the whirl and vibration of atoms coming from the world around it.

The lights inside the chamber drowned affably in the approaching light. Amber rays flecked with unprecedented colours entered the small head that tilted back to take it in. The nose of the shuttle parted the boundary of the new galaxy , greeting it with the familiarity of parts of a whole brushing against each other in passing.

The sound of a camera shutter broke the transcendent stillness; only a notification, of course, from the computer. The shuttle was living, for one heroic moment. It took picture upon picture, filling albums in seconds. It shot video and recorded data until it could take no more. Humanity would go so far, would discover so much beauty. They would learn from this. The scent of drying tears, shifting with the cooling of the machines, saturated the air as every screen on board flashed red as one.

One. Definition, Beauty: The ocean. Apple pie. Driving on an empty highway, so fast you feel intoxicated. Friends.

The scent of books. Statistical Improbabilities. Dogs. Rock ballads. Flight. Discovery.

Existence is beautiful.

The Clear Winner of the Third Presidential Debate

By Ryan Brooks

Wow. That debate on Wednesday was really something, wasn’t it? Can you believe that Donald Trump said what he did? Or that Hillary Clinton would laugh the way she did that time? And who could have guessed that the moderator of the debate wouldn’t jump in and interrupt them/cut off the candidate’s mics?

The following is a brief review of the debate which I totally didn’t write before it actually even happened.1 Pick the candidate that you think won the debate, go to my online strawpoll to tell me who you think it was (http://ryanbrooks.me/winnerpoll), then read about how that candidate won below. If you can’t type a simple link into a browser, here’s a QR code you can scan with your phone:

If you still can’t figure out how to open the poll, don’t worry. Just make sure you vote on November 10th! Now, on to who won the debate!

Hillary Clinton Clinton was in rare form this evening. Knowing that she essentially locked up the election after Donald Trump was accused of sexual assault by nine separate women, she laughed and joked with moderator Chris Wallace at the beginning of the debate before enthusiastically shaking Trump’s hand while thanking him profusely for giving her the American presidency. She then proceeded to the podium and proceeded to expound at Okay, yes, I did. But the editors made me do it! It’s their fault! [Editor’s Note: We’re infallible. If Ryan had used a time machine like we suggested, he would have been absolutely fine.]

1

length about obscure policy issues in excruciating detail. Trump attempted to interrupt her no fewer than eighty-nine times, but was buzzed into silence each time by Wallace.

Trump’s performance could best be described as “lackluster”, “low-energy”, and “cadaver-like”. Even his multiple interruptions seemed half-hearted, as if he knew it was expected of him but had ceased to care about being President. As of press time, it is uncertain whether he had been able to take his customary pre-debate cocaine2, though his displaying symptoms of withdrawal point towards the answer being no.

Polls conducted immediately after the debate showed that more than 79% of Americans were in favor of skipping the election and going straight to a Clinton presidency, as “it is obvious that she’ll be the next president anyway, why bother with the hoopla surrounding all this”. The international response to the debate was much less mixed; according to the BBC, over 89% of the globe expressed relief that we had “finally come to [our] senses and realized that having a competent, qualified leader is the correct decision.”

Or maybe you think that the person who won the debate is Donald Trump Wow. Trump’s performance in this debate was absolutely stellar. In just an hour and a half, he managed to completely astound everyone with carefully thought-out answers to difficult questions. He gave a heartfelt apology to those he had wronged; he laid out his policies and plans in a comprehensive, well-reasoned manner; and he released his full tax returns, which showed that he anonymously donates almost $30 million per year. In short, he appeared more presidential than ever before. He somehow managed to allay everyone’s fears about a Trump presidency, while simultaneously appearing conciliatory towards his opponent.

Clinton, on the other hand, appeared to have been partying before the debate, in a textbook example of counting your presidential elections before they’re won. She appeared at the debate incredibly intoxicated, pushing away aides and Secret Service agents as she stumbled to the podium. While at first it seemed that her stumbling could be explained by a sudden onset of pneumonia or another illness, her repeated calls for tequila shots (and her subsequent passing out on-stage halfway through the debate) seemed to nip that possibility in the bud. Amazingly (and in a move completely out-of-character with everything we’d learned about him previously), Trump refused to mock his opponent, instead insisting that “everyone, and I mean everyone, has had a little too much to drink before. It’s part of business. It’s a yuge part of business.”

Polls conducted immediately after the debate showed that the election predictions that had previously shown Clinton winning 92% of the time had completely reversed. Today, we woke up realizing that we were going to have a Trump presidency... and that might not be a bad thing after all.

Interestingly, the Wikileaks revelations this week showed that Clinton has been paying for Trump’s cocaine habit.

2

The Coveted Brain Stew Endorsement for President Goes to…

Every four years Brain Stew is proud to endorse a candidate for president. We take this journalistic responsibility very seriously and would, again, like to apologize for 1994, 2002, 2011, and 2015 when we accidentally endorsed candidates even though it was not a presidential election year. That was our mistake, and if you were cool, you would stop bringing it up. Since September 2016, we have made it our mission to be politically informed and committed to bringing our readership the benefits of this dedication. This year we would like to encourage you to vote for Hillary Clinton because, well, Dan told us we had to. He got tired of our fighting and just said “vote for Hillary, dumbasses. I know she sucks, but seriously just do it. Don’t be stupid.” Because Dan records all conversations in his office, like Richard Nixon, his political hero, we bring you the transcript of this very important meeting.

Nicole: I say we endorse Gary Johnson. Three key reasons: 1. He smokes weed. Not like “I used to smoke weed when I was a kid.” He smokes weed now. 2. His name is Johnson. Heh, heh, heh.

Johnson. That means penis. Gary Penis. President Gary Penis. 3. I know he got in trouble for not knowing about Aleppo, but that’s not a fair question. I mean, I know about Aleppo, but that’s because we feed Aleppo to my dog, Lily. If you don’t have a dog, why would you be informed about Aleppo? Also, Even if you do have a dog, there’s like a ton of dog foods out there. How can you know about all of them?

Meagan: You’re thinking of Alpo, you idiot. Alpo is dog food. Aleppo is a catastrophic humanitarian crisis due to the war in Syria between rebels, ISIS, and the government. It’s a city. People are suffering and dying. Not a food for your stupid dog.

Nicole: My dog’s not stupid! You take that back! Just because she doesn’t know her name and has to wear socks to stop her from chewing on her paws until they’re bloody stumps doesn’t mean she’s stupid.

Meagan: Fine. Your dog isn’t stupid. You’re just stupid.

Nicole: (Audibly sobs) Zach: Ladies, ladies, ladies. I understand why women weren’t allowed to vote until 1920. I assume that your periods or some other malady you broads suffer from is messing with your emotions. The only logical solution to what ails America is to elect Donald J. Trump, a strong male who won’t stand for all this crybaby nonsense that keeps America down. That’s why I made these bumper stickers. (Holds up a sticker that reads “Trump 2016. He’ll Grab You by the P&$$# !”)

Meagan: I am going to punch you until you have “blood coming out of your eyes, blood coming out of your…wherever.” And you damn well better know that “wherever” doesn’t mean nose. You are stupider than Nicole.

Nicole: Yeah! You’re stupider than me! (pauses for way too long) Hey, wait a minute. What’s that supposed to mean, Meagan? I am not stupid (resumes sobbing). Who do you want to endorse, Miss Smarty Pants?

Meagan: Jill Stein is the only decent candidate. She combines the social freedoms advocated by Johnson and the economic progressivism advocated by Bernie Sanders. Plus while she does not advocate for militarism, she is not some strange isolationist capitalist who would only use the American military if allies paid us money, like Trump.

Nicole: I can support her. She believes that vaccines cause autism, and I’m pretty sure that’s what happened to my dog Lily. See, after she got her rabies vaccine all of a sudden she started – Dan: Enough!!! Just vote for Hillary, dumbasses. I know she sucks, but seriously just do it. Don’t be stupid. And get the hell out of my office! Why are you even in here? I have work to do…Leave the bumper stickers, though. I know some cars whose owners need pranking.

What Should I Be For Halloween?

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

First Name Sexy Spooky Dead Very Drunk Gentle Smelly Bloody Ghostly Evil Ugly Grumpy Sparkly Gangster Drunk Vicious Killer Sleepy Cheerful Creepy Foolish Mysterious Adorable Monster Invisible Small Aggressive

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

Last Name Common Room Coffee Pot Campus Shuttle Quesadilla Burger Provincial House Ann Torrusio Cultural Traditions Paper Nancy Gleason LeGras Classroom Trashcan Honors Orientation Shirt Goose Geri Friedline Jen Richardson Harambe Sherry and Pat Medea Vending Machine Kate Votaw Kim Baldus Gilgamesh Computer Lab Parking Space Mandy Bibee PLHCSA Poster Christoph Schiessl Brain Stew Editor

WHAT IS BRAIN STEW? Brain Stew’s mission is to provide for the Pierre Laclede Honors College student body a forum for uncensored free thought, commentary, and creativity, as well as news and event listings from PLHCSA and other related campus organizations. Brain Stew started in 1991, and this year we are celebrating our 25th anniversary (please don’t do the math). We won Student Life’s award for Best Sustained Program in 2012.

HOW CAN I CONTRIBUTE TO BRAIN STEW? Send your editorials, articles, poems, stories, reviews, plays, drawings, photography, fart jokes, personal ads, or whatever else you can think of to one of the editors: Nicole Gevers: nmgtzc@mail.umsl.edu Meagan Burwell: mcb284@mail.umsl.edu Zach Lee: zjlmr5@mail.umsl.edu Disclaimer: We issue no content guidelines beyond those of state, local, and federal law. All content is the responsibility of the creator. UMSL, PLHCSA, PLHC, and the Brain Stew staff are in no way liable for content. But feel free to complain.

KIM BALDUS

NANCY GLEASON

DAN GERTH

MANDY BIBEE

NANCY GLEASON

KIM BALDUS

Right Fielder

# gg

Left Fielder

04

#

05

2016 Season

2016 Season Base Hits

1

Diet Coke Consumed

1042

Profanity Usage

18

Stolen Bases (literally stole them)

7

References Made to Perry

207

Fights Initiated

19

Stoppages in Play to Show Photos of Perry

32

Glasses of Wine Consumed

17

Swatted Bats

2

Shots per Comma Splice

27

MANDY BIBEE

DAN GERTH

First Baseman

#

Interim Pitcher

01

#

2016 Season Base Hits

1

Bats Angrily Broken Over the Knee

18

Hits (Students and/or Bats)

5

Cheating Attempts (successful)

2

Cheating Attempts (unsuccessful)

23

00

2016 Season Student Hopes and Dreams Destroyed

27

Students Punched

19

Number of “Boo!”s Yelled

326

Weekly Emails Sent that Nobody Read

5087

Beard Length

27”

JEN RICHARDSON

KATE VOTAW

DAN GERTH

MANDY BIBEE

JEN RICHARDSON

KATE VOTAW

Center Fielder

Catcher

#

gg

03

#

02

2016 Season

2016 Season Mad Gab Intensity Level

9.8/10

Evil Laughs

52

Pumpkin Spice Lattes Consumed

36

Teeth Lost

7

Students Psychoanalyzed

232

Students Slapped

27

Personal Insults Yelled

82

Threats Made

12

Photos of Kate Taken

0

Students Recruited

21

DAN GERTH

MANDY BIBEE

First Baseman

#

Interim Pitcher

01

#

2016 Season Base and/or Bass Hits

12

Bats Angrily Broken Over the Knee

18

Hits (Students and/or Bats)

5

Cheating Attempts (successful)

2

Cheating Attempts (unsuccessful)

23

00

2016 Season Student Hopes and Dreams Destroyed

27

Students Punched

19

Number of “Boo!”s Yelled

326

Weekly Emails Sent that Nobody Read

5087

Beard Length

27”