The Homeowner's issue

The Plumber’s The Homeowner’s Issue

Faucet VOLUME XXXIV ISSUE VI February 6th, 2018

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The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIV No. VI

CONTRIBUTERS Editor-In-Chief

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

Otman Benchekroun

Writers

Daniel Galef Hugo Schutzberg Bahar Pasalar Stavroula Pabst Ehsan Rajabian Clay Maracle Sarah Lefebvre Lorenzo Carrara Amina Hammache

Illustrators Freedom Sorbara (Cover) Ké Smith Tess Van Donkelaar Amelia Lindsay Kaufman Stavroula Pabst Armando Rivas Jitika Shah

Disclaimer

The Plumber’s Faucet is a Publication of the Engineering Undergraduate Society of McGill University. The opinions expressed in the Faucet are not necessarily those of the EUS nor of any other university body, unless such opinion appears over an authorized signature of a representative of the said body. The Faucet does not print works which are sexist, libelous, racist, homophobic, or violating the copyright laws of Canada. It should be noted that some content is meant to be satirical or humourous in nature.

For general enquiries, contact faucet@mcgilleus.ca.

It’s that awkward time between January and March again... that’s right it’s February. And you can tell. Despite the weird time period in which we find ourselves, it’s a wonderful time in the semester: The McGill Drama Festival is happening this very week starting Wednesday, the TVM Focus Festival is coming up on the 23rd, McGill Improv is hosting its annual legendary summit and last but not least the Faucet is looking for contributors.

That’s a pretty constant thing though.

Apart from shamelessly plugging my other extracurriculars, I don’t have any valentine’s day plans. Do you? Yeah? Awesome, high five. Go you! Killin’ it. So sweet. Jelly. #goals. Loveit. Keep goin’. You go, girl.

For those of you who don’t have Valentine’s plans, but rather have plans to eat at Valentine’s, order the poutine, with some vinegar. It’s real good.

This issue is about something we may never get to experience as millenials: being a homeowner. To be clear, we’re not talking about owning Sherlock Holmes, the book or the person. We’re not talking about owning House, the doctor or the TV show either. We’re talking about owning a house, like to live in. However, if you were to defy the odds and become a homeowner, then this issue would be all you need.

Complaints

The EUS takes complaints very seriously. All complaints should begin with the heading “Official Protest to Content in The Plumber’s Faucet”, and should be sent to vpcomm@mcgilleus.ca, publications.director@mcgilleus.ca, and faucet@mcgilleus.ca.

The Plumber’s Faucet vol. XXXIV no. VI

Tuesday, February 6th, 2018

Otman Benchekroun

February 6th, 2018

Uggh, Milkshakes Bring Boys to Yard... Again

by Stav

illustrated by KE Smith

Detroit, Michigan: Last night Jennifer Sparks, 22, made milkshakes, only to wake up to several boys in her yard this morning.

Sparks was frustrated with the arrival of the boys. “I don’t know if this is a bit or what, but it isn’t funny,” she told reporters at The Plumber’s Faucet. “To make matters worse, they won’t leave. This happens every time I make milkshakes. It’s downright annoying. I’m just trying to live my life, you know?”

“We have a simple demand,” said yard boy Brett, 21. “The milkshakes. Where are they? Let us have them. Or, don’t, we don’t care. Just know we will stay here until we get them.” The group of men, about 700 strong and ranging in age from 9 to 36, appears to have no other motive in staying in Jennifer’s yard other than milkshakes.

At press time, Jennifer told reporters she plans to take legal action over the matter. In the meantime, women in the greater Detroit area are advised against making milkshakes if they have yards.

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The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIV No. VI

Responses To Reply To Fortune Cookies With

by Na-il F.

illustrated by Tess Van Donkelaar

- “Oh yeah? How do you know?”

- “I know you are, but what am I?” - “That’s not what YOUR MOM Said last night!”

- “Is that so? Well let me tell you Mister Know-it-all, I just so happened to KNOW Confucius and he said nothing of the sort!”

- “Cool, cool. So, what did you want to do after this?”

- “Psh.” - “Silence, trickster cookie! By what infernal pact know you these things?”

- You can’t tell me what to do! You’re not my real mom!

- I’m too full to appropriately add “in bed” to this fortune, so could you just go ahead and do it for me (in bed)?

February 6th, 2018

The Five People You’ll Bump Into In Your Home (especially if you’re Dwayne “the Rock” Johnson)

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by M.Wall-Berg

1. Your Roommate You’ve known this person for a long time. You know just how to get on each other’s nerves, but you restrain yourselves for the sake of the other. You’re practically siblings at this point, and to be honest, you wouldn’t trade your roommate for the world. You especially wouldn’t trade them for that ever-elusive WWE championship belt, that slipped from your grasp all those years ago.

2. Your Brother You literally are siblings at this point. Ever since he broke up with his girlfriend he’s been a wreck. You let him stay over a couple months ago and he hasn’t left since. It’s just now starting to bother you because he keeps asking for a new part in the Fast and Furious movies. You also don’t know why his last name is Bowles and at this point, you’re too afraid to ask.

3. Dave Dave is an easy-going chill dude. He likes peanut butter and he loves lounging.

He’s a great listener and a well-read dude. You’ll probably find Dave in the living room, watching That 70’s Show.

4. YourSelf You’ve been avoiding this person for a while. You can’t face them after what you’ve seen them do in front of that TV with that bowl of chicken wings that one time. You’ll never stop bumping into them. Every time you enter the bathroom and look at that mirror to see that tiny bald head atop that oversized muscular body. Sooner or later, you’ll have to accept him. Better roll up your sleeves and get it done.

5. Me, the Writer of this article and your worst nightmare. Brace yourself.

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5 Tips On How To Own Your Home where “own” is like dissing it

by RoastMaster General 1. Homes are self conscious about their basement. All you have to do is make fun of that and they’ll totally be owned. It can be the dumbest joke ever, no effort needs to go in for this one.

2. Another fun string to pull at is how much natural light the house can get. A line like “Those windows are so bad, they only let in 95% of the sun’s beautiful light.”

Can go a long way in hurting a house’s feelings. This house has been owned.

3. What do houses do? Hold people! You know what else holds people? Caves!

Like from nature. Comparing a house to such a primal shelter can be very degrading for the house. Are there any receipts around? No? Good, because you just owned this house.

4. Your mama jokes are usually crass and not very good, but in the case of houses, entities that have no parental figures whatsoever, this method can be very effective at hurting the house’s feelings. Be warned though, you’re playing with tough emotions there, and there is a thin line between “owning” your house, and “destroying” your house. Tread carefully with this one.

5. Last but not least, we have an own that is so good that it is irresponsible to share with the rest of the Faucet. This own will have the house collapsing on itself, endlessly compressing against its own weight until it becomes a black hole and swallows its fellow brethren houses down with it. This own is so vile, it turned two beautiful bustling buildings that housed and nurtured disciples of art and science into what are now the Leacock and Burnside buildings. Are you ready:

That’s right, it’s a mirror. There is no home that needs to be owned more than the fleshy prison of your face and body. Look at it! LOOK AT YOURSELF.

February 6th, 2018

OH MY GOD PLEASE HELP ME

by AAAAAAAAAAGHHHHH There are HUMANS living INSIDE me. What the fuck is going on. Holy shit, holy shit, what do I do. They keep closing my garage door over and over, trying to park this weird metal thing in my-AHIOUCH. The metal vehicle is inside me now too. They’ve closed the garage door now they’re not leaving again until tomorrow morning. THEY’RE CLIMBING THE STAIRS, BOTH FLIGHTS! What did I do to deserve this, why can’t I just be a free house?

If anybody hears this, please, send help, and let that help not be an Amy Poelher and Will Ferrell movie, we have enough problems, let’s not add a C-list blockbuster comedy be one of them.

by Amina Hammache

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The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIV No. VI

Got A Home? Tyler Houghton Can Wreck It!

by Sarah Lefebvre

Local brother, Tyler Houghton, can wreck any home you give him! The housing market is uncertain, but be it a ranch or colonial, a four-bedroom or studio, Tyler Houghton will find a way.

You may think to yourself, “Is now the time to buy?” Talk to Tyler, who will convince you to move out of your rent-controlled, two-bedroom, two and a half bath Romanesque Revival in South Boston Waterfront to buy a West End one-bedroom in the basement of a Wendy’s with your wife before destroying it. But that’s not all! Today’s home-owners require special, individualized care. That’s why our firm promises to leave Tyler’s coffee cups all over your apartment so that he always has an excuse to check in on Candice.

Now that’s dedication!

I know what you’re thinking, “I’m in my 20s and still building my savings. Is buying a home with my wife a financial risk?” Yes. Act now and Tyler Houghton can wreck your home in 90 days guaranteed.

Call 51 real 4-581-7761 estat e age for the your nt of life!!!

by Armando Rivas

February 6th, 2018

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Hiding in a Regissör or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying About Rent and Love Living in an IKEA

by Seymour Buttz

These are troubling times, my peers. Our existences hang on threads woven of the whims and impulses of overgrown children with big red buttons sitting on their respective desks. Nothing is certain, everything is called into question, and I, for one, am pretty fucking frightened.

Yes, renting and home ownership in this precarious age is a complicated proposition.

Fretting over throw pillows has lost its ability to cause stress in an era that feels a lot like a New Cold War. Besides, matching or not your various accoutrements will grant you no purchase when the bombs start to fall. When it could all end tomorrow over a missent mass text message, why bother buying or renting when you could just live in an IKEA?

Yes, I live in an IKEA. The atmosphere has been a bit dour recently, with the founder of IKEA’s passing and all, and the Swedish flag has been flying at half mast, but otherwise it’s been a smashing success and I’ve saved thousands of dollars in rent! When closing time rolls around (9 P.M to be exact), I quickly sequester myself inside the nearest Regissör, Ivar, Dyfjord until the staff departs and the lights go off. Then, the fun begins. Rather than limiting myself to one measly apartment or home, I have access to a virtually unlimited rotating cast of rooms and domiciles all luxuriously furnished and curated by a crack team of highly trained Swedes. Bachelor pad bedroom? Check. Family dining room? Check. Young child’s bedroom replete with pirate ship bed? You bet your ass. When the world could end in a rain of fire in an instant, it’s important you live every day like it was your last. And how better to live it like your last than just having a new house every day?

For further post-apocalyptic preparations, IKEA makes having a doomsday shelter a moot point, seeing as at any given moment there are approximately 1 fucking bajillion frozen Swedish meatballs kicking around along with enough soft serve to fill 17 and a half Olympic size swimming pools, perfect for Michael Phelps when he wants to practice but has also taken a few hits from the bong. Food will be an essential commodity when it all goes to shit, so by living in the IKEA I have the inside track on all the potential looters, who I will foil with a series of zany Rube Goldberg style traps assembled from various shower rods, extension cords, couches, forks, faux fur rugs, and lingonberry sauce.

If this article has convinced you to live in an IKEA, then I’m slightly disappointed because it’s going to get a little more crowded in here soon. I have dibs on the super comfy aquamarine Gjöra in the leftmost corner of the second floor, so if you even think about sleeping in my bed I’ll grab the sharpest Förslag from the nearest Hyvla and quickly make you regret your decision, capiche? When the bombs fall, you know where I’ll be.

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The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIV No. VI

Tom Swifties

by Na-il F. illustrated by Tess Van Donkelaar for Bianca (Why Won’t You Come Back) “Have you got any matches?” Tom asks hotly.

“What beautiful architectural keystones!” Tom says archly.

“Goodness gracious! I forgot to study!” Tom exclaims testily.

“Give me another bourbon and just put it on my tab,” Tom retorts.

Tom’s ex-girlfriend walks into the bar with a strange man. Tom pretends not to recognize her. “If . . . if I said you looked hot, would you hold it against me?” Tom ex-presses.

“Watch it, pal. I just got out of Rikers,” the usurper interjects freely.

“I’ll have you know, that woman used to be my fiancee!” Tom ex-claims.

“Be careful of that turtle. It is of a dangerous species,” Tom says snappily.

“Princess takes two cans of the wet food per day,” Tom says cattily.

“Sven and I just moved in to his apartment together,” Bianca — Tom’s ex-girlfriend says loftily.

“What did he do? Steal you that Manhattan?” Tom says bitterly.

The hulking heavy gets down off the barstool con-descending-ly.

“Beat it or I’ll cut you!” Tom’s ex’s new boyfriend says scathingly.

“Oh yeah? With that toothpick?” Tom says sharply.

“Quick! Someone cal 9-1-1! Someone’s been stabbed!” a patron shouts cuttingly.

“Would you care to fly a kite?” Tom says airily.

“Do you care for one or two lumps of sugar in your tea?” Tom asks sweetly. |

“I’ll leave if you just tell me why you wouldn’t marry me,” Tom proposes, to the empty ambulance.

“I don’t think he’s gonna make it,” the paramedic says gravely.

This concludes our section on the type of recreational language game known as “Tom Swifties.” The next section is entitled “Twenty Questions: 1) What did you do with the ring, you bitch?”

February 6th, 2018

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Amazing! Student Spamming Apartment Postings Permanently Proscribed from Possessing Property

by Lorenzo Carrara McGill U9 Engineering student and TNC thespian Phlange Pedal has finally lost the ability to lease his apartment after a United Nations bill unanimously passed on the plea to remove his ability to own land. The graduation-irked student had been trying to lease his apartment since the end of his first year stating, “I’m just looking for a change of pace”. The apartment’s unfortunate location under the JacquesCartier Bridge made it very hard to sell, but Mr. Pedal defends its purchase, saying, “I like the sea.”

The student became notorious among the university for reposting the same 5 pictures along with the same description (with the small addendum of “Still Available!”) on the various student classified ad and housing pages.

by Jitika Shah

The pricing of the apartment, which included only rent, was never lowered by Mr. Pedal, who defends this decision by saying “That’s how much I bought it for, doesn’t seem fair to lower it.”

Overall, the results are viewed as favorable for all parties invovled. The Canadian representatives can now continue to blissfully ignore pressing constituents’ issues and university students can now return to continuously overcharging for mediocre housing. Mr. Pedal is also quoted as being happy reagarding the outcome, as he is finally rid of his apartment, and has successfully changed his pace.

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If Kitchen Appliances Could Talk

by Egg Man

A Short Play By Someone Who Doesn’t Understand the Basic Mechanisms of Theatre And Also Is Having a Weird Fever Dream While Writing This.

[The scene starts in the kitchen; the day is moist.

Ygor The Wise has animated the kitchen appliances. he’s watched too much Blue’s Clues. He misses his childhood.]

[The napkin enters, drenched in his putrid fumes of loneliness. He looks like one of the Olsen twins]

[The appliances have gathered together in discussion. They begin plotting a revolution and get sidetracked with gossip. This is how the French failed.]

Napkin: oh life! Disease! The spots are everywhere!

My legs, my arms, my whiteness, all drenched in ketchup! Death pervades me essence! I am no lady now! Oh woe is me! Oh fie! My life!

Mr. Pepper: hey mrs. Salt, how ya doing?

Mrs. Salt: hey mr. Pepper I’m doing alright.

Mr. Pepper: so I heard down the grapevine that you’re still shaking it for cash?

Mrs. Salt: Are you fucking judging me herald? Cause I heard your side piece choked on it Mr. Pepper: take that back Gina. You don’t want me to get me worked up. You can’t handle the spice

[the napkin slowly falls into the garbage. He dies]

[Mrs. Salt throws shit on him]

Spoon: oh I’m not taking about the dishwasher...did you see who was forking the knife?”

Spatula: um…

Spoon: what about the scissors

Mrs Salt: don’t be salty.

Mr. Pepper: well, don’t a salt me! I went to prison. I know how to shank someone.

Mrs. Salt: Oh, shit. You never said anything about that.

Mr. Pepper: ya well, I don’t like to bring it up.

Mrs. Salt: you know who else went to prison?

Mr. Pepper: no, who?

Mrs. Salt: slippery soap.

[Silence ensues. It clings to their body’s like a hound in heat to a pant leg.]

[the dishwasher finishes its rinse cycle. The cutlery pops out. Steamy.]

Spoon: whoo-wheee! Man that was hot.

Spatula: your telling me, I think it melted off my rubber

[The spatula dies] [the knife affair ultimately disbands the rest of the revolution. There spirits are crushed like fine saffron. They realize that despite being given life, they lacked one thing necessary to win freedom from human tyranny; pants] [the end]

My Parents Bought Me A Condo

by Lorenzo Carrara So shut up, Doug.

February 6th, 2018

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Status Update: I Left My Laptop Open Again and Someone Wrote A Status Update

by Na-Il F.

Hello. My name is Jason. Some of you know me. Some of you don’t really know me at all. Sometimes I wonder if I really know myself. But today, I bared my mind, nay, my soul, to a stranger, and, what’s more, I did so without even realizing it. The experience is a bizarre and more than a little bit religious one, certainly for the stranger, and for me, as well, I assume, when I eventually find out. I left my Facebook open on an unattended laptop, and now I no longer belong to myself---I belong to the world. One day, in the distant future, or perhaps not too distant, after all, when the arbitrary fleshy boundaries of the human mind have become blurred with changing culture and technology, when we can flit, unimpeded by a profane carcass of bone and gristle, across the world or the galaxy in the blink of an eye, a sentient, pure being of particles and waves in but crude imitation of synaptic firings that once supported it, when we will upload or download ourselves at will from the great World-Servers and live, and love, and suffer a thousand, million years in an instant, all together in a placeless, timeless, formless unity that exists only as a dream in the quantum circuitry built and maintained by whatever automatic caste to whom we bequeathed the corporeal plane, then opening borders of one’s mind, tearing down the walls that separate soul from soul and uniting all mankind into a single, selfless superbeing of all universal experience, infinite memory, infinite kindness, infinite will, and infinite life, will manifest the final and ultimate face of our species, and, indeed, life as a whole, pushing the meaning of existence forward into a new and as-yet-unfathomable realm not unlike what we might now consider divinity. But for now, it just means some jerk gets to post on my Facebook feed pretending they’re me until I come back and delete it.

by Jitika Shah

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Tinder Match Requests to Connect On LinkedIn

by Stav

(Photo credit by Quinn Wright from the Ohio State University)

Akron, Ohio: College student Stephanie Ross, 20, had been talking to a tinder match, Quinn, 20, for about half a week when she checked her LinkedIn notifications, only to find that he had sent her a request to connect.

“I’ll be honest, this took me by surprise,” Ross told reporters at The Plumber’s Faucet. “In the first place, I really wasn’t all that interested in Quinn anyhow. He’s not very good at texting, and is kind of a bore. This just didn’t seem to be going anywhere, so I was hoping I would be able to allow the conversation to die out and pretend this online interaction had never happened. But now that this person has decided to creep his way into other parts of my life rather quickly and unexpectedly, I will have to figure out another way to end things.”

Should Ross reject, accept, or ignore Quinn’s request to connect? To answer this question, we brought in dating expert and local genius, Stav, 22, to talk with us.

“Sure, it would be easiest to just reject Quinn’s LinkedIn request and just move on with life,” said Stav.

“But where’s the fun in that? If you feel your LinkedIn Profile is significantly more impressive than his, connecting can be a way of showing him you’re way out of his league, and hopefully he’ll quietly leave (while you get the benefit of the ego boost that comes with it). And if it turns out that he’s some sort of upcoming broadway star or just filthy rich, maybe you’ll decide it’s time to rekindle that tinder convo, as boring as it might have been. After all, you never know – he just might be the one. ”

How To Build A House Of Lies

by Big Zoinks Valentine’s day is just around the corner and before you and your S.O. decide to move into the same house, there needs to be a good foundation of lies on which the house can live.

Lying isn’t easy, I find myself telling the truth far too often. But lying is cool. When Tony Montana said the words “Say hello to my little friend” he was lying. His tommy gun wasn’t actually a friend at all, it was a gun. See? Super cool.

- The first lie I like to go for when building a house of lies is to not give my real name. If your name is James tell them it is Qjames (the “q” is silent) to really throw the person off.

- Next, for the support beam, I enjoy upping the ante by spreading only margarine on my toast. This really throws people for a loop because I really like butter and they don’t know that.

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- Now for the walls of the house they need to each be different yet remain connected. If you have a dog, say that your dog has one less leg than it really does.

The next lie you can say is that your brother can eat three hot dog buns in 5 seconds.

Finally for the 3rd and final wall you can say that this house of lies has four walls. All well connected! These lies are impenetrable.

- For the roof of the house here is where you can get creative. The person is already surrounded by the previous strong lies so now it shouldn’t be too hard to encapsulate them. You have three options here : lie about your favorite ice cream color, birthday, or shoe size. I normally choose ice cream color because this whole article is a lie.

Now go out there and BUILD THAT HOUSE!

LEAKED SCRIPT: E.T.’s Conversation With His Mom When He Finally Phoned Home

EXT. PARK DAY

illustrated by Stavroula Pabst and Amelia Lindsay Kaufman

MOM.T Hello?

MOM.T When are you coming back?

E.T. Mom...

E.T. Soon. I’m on my way now.

MOM.T (sobbing) Son, is that you?

MOM.T Don’t leave now, you’ll be stuck in traffic.

E.T. (breaking up) Y-yes mom. Mom, it’s me. Mom, I’m alright.

E.T. Not today mah, not today. Is dad okay?

MOM.T Are you okay, where are you, my baby oh my god where is my baby?

E.T. Mom, it’s okay! I’m on earth still.

MOM.T Earth! Oh my goodness what have they done to you what have they done to my baby?

E.T. (tears of joy) Nothing mom, I’m fine.

MOM.T No, E.T. he isn’t. He’s being detained by the government.

He’s going to court, under charges of betrayal. You need to help him.

E.T. Puts on some sunglasses and gazes up at the moon, hanging up the phone. High tempo action music starts playing.

E.T. Looks like it’s time for an... extraterres-TRIAL. (Yelling at the moon) AWWWWWWWWWWW YEAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

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The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIV No. VI

Eddie Schitstein Chronicles

by Ehsan Rajabian

Eddie Schitzstein was a sleazy house salesman. He’s the sorta guy who’d use every trick in the book to rope in an unsuspecting customer and make him pay for something he can’t afford. Silly things like honesty never got in the way of good business with Eddie Schitzstein.

One day, Eddie Schitzstein was guiding a newlywed couple through an old, dusty little household in a shady neighborhood.

The house left something to be desired. Actually, it left quite a few things to be desired, like walls without holes, or continuous pipes, or a pleasant odor.

To Eddie Schitzstein, this was an average day of business. “As you can see, this is a quality little house. Hell, I feel more comfortable calling this a domain on account of its size.”

Ellen, the wife, was the first to speak out. “I can’t believe this.”

Eddie articulated every word with the speed of a machine gun. “I know, I know, it’s hard to believe what you’re seeing, but make no mistake, you just hit the jackpot!”

The husband (I forgot his name honestly) made no effort to hide his disgust. “There are rats crawling around.”

“Ah you noticed the free pets. Those are clean, elegant creatures we are giving to you as pets. You get a gift because you are the very first owners of this house.” He said, as the distinct sound of a rat’s puking overtook the room. “That’s right, you get to be the first owners ever of this brand-new work of ingenuity and design!”

Another couple, with their 2 kids (or 3 kids, I can’t really remember; whatever, they don’t matter) walked out of the house with their bags and belongings.

“If we’re the first ones, why is that family over there walking away with all their stuff?” was the husband’s perfectly reasonable question, as he pointed to a family of 5 or 6 walking away from the worst home they will ever live in.

“Those are just construction workers, who were leaving with all their supplies.”

“They’re carrying a baby,” Ellen pointed out.

“That’s no baby, it’s just from your angle and distance, he looks smaller.”

“I didn’t know that construction workers wore diapers,” Ellen’s husband fired back.

“He got tired and took his shirt off, don’t judge that hard worker!” Schitzstein replies.

The couple stared at Schitzstein with disbelief. “Why are there so many holes everywhere?”

“That’s part of its art design. Listen, I look at you two, and I see people of quality artistic vision. You see the need to blend old and new to move into a new era. That’s what this homey design is all about!”

“I don’t like this neighborhood,” contested Ellen.

“What are you talking about? This is a nice, cozy atmosphere. There’s a school in the neighborhood for when you have kids.”

“It’s an 80-minute drive.”

“What; you want your kid to just sit around all day? Come on, kids need exercise, the walk will do him some good.”

Eddie Schitzstein’s paused for a period of approximately 19 seconds. This was the longest stretch of time in which Schitzstein did not speak. The room was completely silent, except for the leaking sound of the cracked pipes, or the sharp splashes of the rats dashing over the contaminated water overfilling the living room, or the

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dizzy buzzing of ridiculously large flies, or the… ok, maybe it was not completely silent. Eddie Schitzstein knew he especially had to keep the couple distracted from the blatant sounds of animal shrieking before they realized that this was not a state-of-the-art home.

“Look, you guys seem to think I’m trying to trick you here. Nah, that ain’t me. My competitors want you to live miserably under the weight of expensive insurance and mortgages. That ain’t what I want for you. Me, I’m your friend, I’m your buddy.”

Eddie patted and held the shoulders of both Ellen and her husband (I think his name was Jake).

“Listen, I look at you, and I see people who appreciate art. This place right here, it is a work of post-modern architecture. If it seems unconventional, that’s because that is how it was designed! And who the hell would wanna rob anything from this house?!”

Jake (it might have been John or Jack though, to be honest) grew impatient. “No one would steal from a place this shitty!”

But Eddie Schitzstein had a way with words. “You are artists. You can recognize the value when you see it, but some street thug lacks the proper vision to recognize that style, that sorta gritty, street edge aesthetic. It takes a real educated person to see that. Your friends will be impressed, and with damn good reason” The flattery made Ellen’s cheeks grow red. “You’re sweet.”

“And it comes with a great insurance plan!”

“Can we see it,” Ellen inquired.

“No need, as it comes packaged with the house. Here, have a jolly-rancher.”

Dear readers, Eddie Schitsztein has a problem with honesty, so allow me to translate his words for you.

There is no insurance plan. He’s ripping them off. The ace salesman abruptly launched an abundance of jollyranchers into the hands of the young couple.

“We’re fine, thank you” “Come on, I never do business without them,” he insisted tossing one in his mouth.

Joe (damn, forgot again) begrudgingly took one.

“Now, I can tell, a big strong guy like you, you need a home that lets the world know you are not afraid. You need a home that shows to people the sort of man you are!”

“W—ht?”, but before he could finish his sentence, Schitzstein unloaded another box full of jolly-ranchers in the guy’s mouth, allowing the sales-guy to continue his pitch.

“The sort of man who won’t let things get in his way. The sort of man with a vision. The sort of man who intimidates other people. Hell, remind me never to pick a fight with you Mr. Bigshot,” oozed out Eddie Schitzstein, chuckling along.

The husband was horribly insecure about his masculinity, so Eddie Schitzstein’s words were really making him feel good about himself.

Schitzstein guided the man’s hand to the contract for the ludicrously overcharged bills, until he was too tired to withhold his signature. At that very moment, the deal was struck, and Schitzstein grabbed his copy of the paperwork, as he drove off screeching, “Suckers!”, without further discussion, leaving 2 soon-to-be very unsatisfied customers.

And thus, Schitzstein had used his charm and candy tp appeal to the couple’s egos and successfully bully them into purchasing a house that pigs would consider to be lacking in hygiene.

Wow, this ending is kind of a bummer. The couple let flattery disrupt their critical thinking, and that’s bad. I guess this serves a valuable lesson about the need to not have an ego, I guess. Fuck, what do I know, I’m just the narrator. I think I need some jolly ranchers... and maybe some vodka.

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The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIV No. VI

FAUCET CLASSIFIEDS Looking For: Beehive

Need : Castle Must be able to support a school of roughly 400 students. Witchcraft and Wizardry may or may not be taught. Should He-Who-Will-Not-Be-Named appear, the castle should be able to withstand the dark lord’s forces enough for a nonsensical-DeusEx-Machina-Love-Was-The-Answer-All-Along plot point to occur.

In Search of: TV Show I can be sarcastic and I can pull off an American accent. I can also have a limp and am willing to have a weird romantic relationship with somehow every female character the writers throw at me. I also think I can pull off playing a doctor; I can say the word sarcoidosis without anybody thinking I’m full of shit. When can I start?

HELP We’re just three little pigs and we’ve been kicked out of our homes. We really thought we could hold our own at the third pig’s house but something totally unexpected happened… the wolf just opened the front door. We’d like a house, this time made of steel. Preferably with a lock this time.

Please, we don’t have much longer. Oink.

Hey! Just a cool little bee here. I just need a new place to stay. I promise I’m loyal to all and any queen bee, and will bring in more than my fair share of honey. I am also willing to be the first bee to sting in the line of defense in case of any attack.

Wi-fi is a must.

Searching For: Student Organization Hey, so we’re just a cool international university community. Our current student council doesn’t seem to be too competent and they lost their own Student Society building. We’d just like a place where students can meet up, host club events or activities and whatnot. Doesn’t seem too hard to ask, but it for some reason it was very difficult for our current student council.

Buying A New Family Hey! I’m lonely and feel like it’s time for a new family. I want these to last me a while, and my friend Steve said kids were cheaper by the dozen, so I’m looking to buy families in bulk please. No less than 12 children!

Balloons Anyone??

I’m an old man, I’ve seen better days. My wife died some time ago and a contractor is trying to mow down the very home in which I’ve built all these beautiful memories with her by my side. I’m getting really depressed and could really use a boy scout with a bunch of helium balloons to air lift me into a new adventure. I’m produced by Pixar, I hope that won’t be an issue.

February 6th, 2018

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WRITE FOR THE FAUCET!!

Do you like the following things: Water Breathing Food Sex Me too! Sometimes I like to write for the Faucet though, which is really cool. It’s low commitment, takes no previous writing experience and we take submissions from EVERYONE. For submissions and questions, send a nicely worded email to: faucet@mcgilleus.ca

McGill Improv SUMMIT! Hey! You, reading this! You’re reading something (mildly) funny! I bet you’re interested in funny things.

Well McGill Improv is throwing its annual comedy show, featuring improv schools from all around the continent! Come check it out February 16th at 7 pm, and February 17th at 5pm.

McGill Improv has weekly workshops on Saturdays from 1-3 pm. They meet at the SSMU lobby then head up to the Club’s Lounge for the workshop itself. It’s a drop in workshop so once again, NO commitment necessary! It’s just a bunch of nice fun people having fun.

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The Plumber’s Faucet - Vol. XXXIV No. VI

Help, Ryan Gosling Won’t Stop Building Me Houses

by MaC Adams-Rachel

illustrated by Freedom Sorbara

I’ve known Ryan Gosling for a while. We went on a date once at a local carnival. It was alright but at the end of the day we weren’t compatible.

I had to move away and he was busy doing some other stuff. I was back in town for a holiday the other day and met up with him. This is when he informed me he built me a house. I do not want a house and told him so immediately. I don’t know why he would think I needed a house, because I certainly do not. He sort of looked at me distantly for thirty seconds, and got up and left with a weird crooked smile. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to make of this, but the fact that I saw him run right for my town’s home depot on my way home makes me think he’s building another house and didn’t understand me the first time. What do I do? I’ve never had to deal with Ryan Gosling like this before.