THE
MEDIUM
Volume XXXV, Number 4
The Entertainment Weekly Of Putting In The Nudity the Students Miss So Much. www.themedium.net
Wednesday, October 1st 2003
In this weeks Medium...
This is a 12-year old girl’s pussy. Fiesty, isn’t it?
Opinions Opinions
“Why you gotta drop your ass in front of my friends? Slut!”
Wednesday, October 1st 2003
The struggle of being an active college student By: Michael Stanley, Editor-in-Chief
The past few weeks of school have been quite challenging for me. I’ve been busy balancing work, school, the paper, and a social life. Quite recently I’ve found myself fatigued and exhausted. Not to bitch and complain, but I’ve found myself going to class and work quite worn out after a long night of hard work. I, for one, can relate to the problem that our University President has been encountering - fatigue. Whether it be going into work exhausted after a long night, or rolling out of bed forcing myself to make it to my first class on Douglass, I’m lacking the energy I had my first two years here. This is truly a difficult period in my life where I must sacrifice to get things done, it’s not fun but it’s what I need to do. I need to settle down and just do as much as I can, and do my best not to let my fatigue Working hard into the late hours of to get to me. I need to stop binge drinking every night. eic@themeduim.net the night.
Wanna rumble with the bee? Come to a Medium meeting, tonight at 9:30, Beck 003
Ladies and Gentlemen, We are the Asshole Drunks By Aija McKenzie,
The All-American Alcoholic?
(I was dubbed that at a bar while double fisting Coors Lights to catch up with my friends, I have no choice but to accept it) I realized that last week, I drank every day except Monday. I realize that 2 weeks ago I wrote an article about binge drinking, and lo and behold, we’re drinking again…Enjoy. If I were the kind of drunk to stay home with a six-pack and relax, drinking almost every day wouldn’t be that big a problem. However, I’m an asshole drunk. The only thing I want to do when I’m drunk is fight and fuck shit up. Lucky for me, and unlucky for you (if you’re in our path), my friends are asshole drunks, too. We have severe cases of beer muscles, and one day, we’re gonna get the shit kicked out of us. Until then, we’re prepared to be the most obnoxious drunks in the world. Somehow, to us, we’re being perfectly reasonable, and it’s everyone else’s fault. Since I can’t write a good editorial about drunken assholes by thinking like a sober person, I have to step into my drunken alter ego, Aija the Asshole, and here’s what she thinks about being an obnoxious drunk. 1. Music at bars. One night, we (meaning me and the rest of the asshole crew) go to the Knight Club and there’s this fucking ghey (yes, G-H-E-Y ghey) techno on. You know what would be a good song to sing? Sweet Caroline! Whenever a song comes on that you don’t like, sing whatever you want, at the top of your lungs. 2. Dealing with phone calls from mom. “No, I’m just really tired…Huh?” She can’t tell you’re drunk. Besides, it’s 3pm on Sunday, who’s drunk then? This girl, that’s who. 3. Trying to hit on boys. “You know what? My roommate and me are going to double team you. Yeah, we wanna run a train on you. We’re not asking, we’re telling you in advance.” Boys like aggressive heterosexual girls. You should go up to boys and tell them you’re gonna “do” them. It doesn’t intimidate them at all. 4. Hooking up with boys. Why not? Don’t you want to score? What’s better than getting ass when you’re drunk? Besides, you’ve got nothing to lose, let’s make the night interesting! 5. Food. Eat as much of it as you can. It’s really good. Besides, the guy at PJ’s is so nice. You know what? Pay with your credit card; it’s not real money, anyway. You should get pizza to eat while your sandwich is being made. 6. Slutty girls. Why was that girl looking at me? Is it because I have on a cowboy hat and a South Park T-shirt? No, it’s because she wants to do something. Call her on it; she can’t kick your ass. Say something like “fucking bitches looking at me, I’ll kill you all.” You’re totally justified. 7. Asshole bartenders. Why the hell did she cut us off? So okay, one of them was wearing nothing but overalls, and the other one spilled an entire pitcher of beer over the bar, and some of us were taking signs off the wall while others were stuffing their bags with shot glasses. Doesn’t this fucking bar want our business? Bitches, let’s get outta here, this bar blows. 8. Peeing. Five hours earlier, I made sure I washed my hands after I went to the bathroom. Now, as I’m leaning against this house, most likely standing in a puddle of one of my friends’ pee, I’m just hoping it doesn’t get on my jeans as I shake my ass to air dry. Wouldn’t it be funny if we peed in the sink/garbage can/bathtub instead of in the toilet? You find yourself unable to stop screaming or singing some annoying ass song, or you see somebody’s car (whether you know them or not) and think it’d be funny to put crap all over it. Suddenly all the papers tacked up at the bus stop are the scourge of your existence, and you can’t stop until they’re all ripped down. If you can relate to any of these sentiments, you’re probably an asshole drunk. Whenever you see people fucking shit up along Easton, and you think to yourself, “What a bunch of assholes,” you’re right. They ARE assholes. But you know what, being a drunken asshole is just about the best hobby I’ve picked up this year. And chances are, you’re just jealous because your friends want to sit around and do corny shit instead of fuck shit up.
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Drunks Editorials Olds News Features GMG Arts
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Ad Personals Personals What’s Shakin
Cover by: Michael Stanley and Ned Berke
MEDIUM
CONTENTS
Editor-in-Chief Managing Editor Business Manager Opinions Editor News Editor GMG Editor Arts Editor Faculty Advisor
Michael Stanley James Cortina Ned Berke Aija McKenzie Jim Cortina Dan’l Migliore Paul Simpson Jeff Buechner
Personals Editors Michael Stanley Steve “the man” Toboz Photographer Steve Toboz What’s Shakin’ Editor Larry “panda” Cheng Online Editor Chris Holt Advertising Manager Ned Berke Staff Artist Pat McRoch Senior Editor Aija McKenzie
THE MEDIUM is the entertainment weekly of Rutgers University. All articles are the opinions of the authors and are not necessarily shared by THE MEDIUM. Submission and business deadline is noon, Sunday. The office of THE MEDIUM is located in the SAC - Cubicle N. All correspondence may be addressed to THE MEDIUM SAC Box 78, New Brunswick, N.J. 08903. This issue is dedicated to functioning alcoholics. I might be fucked up in class, but at least I’m there. PENIS!
Wednesday, October 1st 2003
“HOCKEY SUCKS! PLAY RUGBY!”
A Talking Monkey’s Dream: RU Business School by Eddie W. Rosenthal
“All I want to be is a monkey of moderate intelligence who wears a suit everyday. Professor, I am transferring to the business school.” – Gunter, “Mars University” Futurama Rutgers Business School. The jewel of exotic and mysterious Livingston Campus. A place where professors put the “fun” and the “bus” back into “fundamentals of business.” Some people are impressed by it, others don’t give a shit. Though for the most part, people are somehow impressed. My mom at least has something to tell her bridge club. Freshman and sophomores, who otherwise don’t have any idea what they want to do, who have checked off that undecided box in their majors, want to be in it. Me, I was once one of those kids. Somehow I got in, probably because I am a talking monkey of moderate intelligence who wants to wear a suit. I sort of wonder how others got in and why they wanted to get in. I think most people want into Rutgers Business because they have an impression that you will make mad money coming out. This falls under the middle class worry of money. Being a member of the middle class, you have sort of realized by now, despite all the bullshit other people have told you, is that
Editorials Editorials
money makes the world go round. Consequently, because money is the most important thing in life, you worry about it to no ends. The worst thing you can be is a person without any money. The best thing you can be is the person with so much money he doesn’t have any idea how to spend it. You know you want the money, but have no idea as to obtain it. So you end up in something that you really don’t understand nor do others. You want to be some kind of millionaire or billionaire, but your life will probably end up living in some suburban wonder. With the money, at least you will get a semi-luxurious house in Paramus, the semi-hot wife (husband, life-partner, or whatever), and some imported semi-sporty car. All things bought or obtained thanks to money. You will spend too much time on the job, likely become overweight, and settle into a life of routines. You won’t retire until you are in your 70s, though it’ll be lucky if you make it that long with all the cancer, heart disease, and other miscellaneous things that can end your life – for instance, one day you don’t say hello to the mailroom boy and the next, you are staring down the cold steel barrel of an Armalite Ar-10 gas-powered carbine. That’s the life. But as long as I have money, I guess I will be happy. Just don’t expect me to give any to you or to Rutgers.
Psssst...submit your articles to shorty_fat_fat@yahoo.com!
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A Huge Leap in Human Civilization By John Minus former Opinions editor, to say the least I have recently stumbled upon a concept that may change the way we deal with each other. It could bring about world peace and an end to human suffering. What could possibly be this earth-shattering a concept you ask? Well I’ll tell you. The Platonic Blowjob. Now stay with me here, this is pretty heady stuff. The concept of the Platonic Blowjob at first sounds a lot like the idea of the fuck-buddy, or, more politely, friends-with benefits. It goes something like you are just friends with somebody, and each of you has the right to see other people, but when times are hard, or when you feel like it, you hook up with this other person. For purposes of this essay we’ll refer to that person as the Insignificant Other, or IO. Now the relationship between IO’s usually hinges on the two people being somewhat close, usually having known each other for many years. For some reason or other the two are incompatible as mates, but great as lovers, so that’s where the relationship stays. Occasionally these relationships turn into actual real relationships, but that’s mostly only in movies. In reality these sorts of things usually end very, very badly, with one person investing a lot more emotion into it than the other. The Platonic Blowjob erases this messy outcome, but it cannot work without the help of you, you, and you, every one of us has to make a commitment to making the Platonic Blowjob work. This is because for it to work it has to become a widely accepted cultural norm. “But”, you say, “we still don’t know what it is.” Good point. The Platonic Blowjob is simple really; it is nothing more than people who are really nothing more than mere acquaintances going down on each other. It drastically lowers the threshold for whom it is socially acceptable to give head. It reduces oral sex to the level of say, a handshake, or a backrub. That guy you’ve only known for a couple of days? Suck him off
as a way of saying hello. Say you know a girl who’s had a really bad day, but she doesn’t really like you that way. A no-stringsattached oral session will be just what she needs to cheer her up. Unlike friends-with-benefits, with the Platonic blowjob there really are no emotions involved; it’s simply one friend helping out another friend, like lending someone 5 bucks. It’s one of those “don’t mention it” favors that people do a hundred times a week for their friends. When blowjobs become so commonplace that everyone gets one or two on a daily basis, the overall stress level in the world will crash. Children will laugh, flowers will bloom, and people won’t drive like assholes…unless they’re getting road head, in which case you really can’t fault them. If you still don’t get it, here’s an example of how life will be with the platonic blowjob. John: Hey Suzy, how are you today? Suzy: Not so good, I got a D on my test today and I got a flat tire. John: Man, you look pretty down, is there anything I can do? Suzy: I don’t know, I don’t know what could bring me out of this mood. John: Well let’s see…I could make you some tea, or rub your back; I know, how about some head? Suzy: Hey, that’d really be swell. (Suzy pulls up her skirt and John crawls between her legs. A half hour later…) Suzy: Wow Johnny, that really hit the spot. I feel much better now. John: (Wiping off his face) Anytime Suze. You wanna go out for coffee tomorrow? Suzy: Sure thing Johnny, you’re such a good friend. John: That’s what friends are for Suzy! Seeya tomorrow. Now that you see how it works, you should have no problem implementing this fantastic new idea. Be the first one to give a platonic Blowjob! Impress your friends and be the envy of all your coworkers. You’ll be glad you did.
NEWS NEWS
“If I see the words “Anti-Semitic Rhetoric” in print again, I’ll scream!”
New Fraternity, or Bizarre Cult? By: Brian Dwayne Hexagonal! Yeah!
Wednesday, October 1st 2003
Jaywalkers Labeled Un-American By: Tie Adeline Porn Star Extraordinaire
“I’m not saying that jaywalking leads to flag burning... well actually I am.” President George W. Bush
New Brunswick - Students are expressing concern over a house located on Richardson Street, that is frequently mistaken as a frat and engages in obscure cult activity. “They’re not like other frats. Guys don’t have to bring like twenty girls to get let in. They let me in if I just bring a quart of goat blood,” said an RU student who attended the gathering at Richardson Street last week. “Emmanuel is cute, but he’s always trying to get me to commit suicide with him,” said Denise Vitale-a sophomore at RU-regarding the “frat’s” questionable activities. “Drinking and having a good time is what I call a party. Dressing up like Marilyn Monroe, pouring goat’s blood all over your body and dancing around a giant statue of Alf is not that kickin’.” commented Chas Corollo an RU student who was at the gathering last Friday. The cult is known as Alf’s awakening, a movement to bring the humorous sitcom character back on television so that they can decode his secret messages to unearth the coordinates to an unknown galaxy known as Astro Zorf where they will finally be able to get laid. The cult is often mistaken as a frat because it has three unusual symbols on the top of their house. The symbols are a swastika, a pentagram and the purple teletubby. The cult’s activities are open to speculation. “They were better than a frat I think because they were so sweet and charming. Jebediah (AKA Cutie)just took me outside to stare at the stars and told me he was going to take me there. That’s like really romantic. He was kinky too. He tried to get me to have sex with his giant alf statue. I hope he calls me tonight.” said Lesley Bishop a junior at RU. Some students enjoy the cults activities and would like to join. “Oh it’s totally a frat. They are just acting weird because it’s rush week and everything. They told me if I joined I’d be the coolest. They said no one would ever make fun of me on Astro Zorf. Alf is king of that galaxy. Alf will get me laid.” It is uncertain if the cult is a threat to Rutgers students. Apparently, it seems it has done nothing but improve social life here. The New Brunswick police seemed to be unconcerned. “What the hell are you talking about?” commented Officer Stevenson. “We aren’t dangerous. We are just here to bring Alf into the lives of the students. We want them to touch him, know him and be him, so one day we can travel to AstroZorf in our Styrofoam space shuttle.” It is certain that the group that gathers nightly to watch Alf reruns at Richardson is not a frat. “They don’t even live by the ethics of the Greek community which are uhh um, you know, ethical and stuff.” said a jackass with some frat shirt on.
www.themedium.net
Richard “Fatigue” McCormick called upon the Bush administration to stymie the uncontrollable amount of jaywalking that has been going on here at Rutgers. “We just can’t handle them all, what with these budget cuts and my being drunk all the time. So we’re turning to a larger and better funded ally, the Commander in Chief of the U.S. Armed Forces himself.” said president McCormick to an eager press conference, and when I say “eager press,” I mean a drooling Carmen Cusido, just waiting for her chance to spring upon McCormick’s “Little Richard.” (You’re welcome, Ned. - ed) In aid to McCormick, Bush has gone the full monty and proclaimed that all jaywalkers are un-American, and possibly supporting terrorism. “Now, I have it on a reliable source that Nigeria is providing these people with the tools to jaywalk, along with copious amounts of Plutonium.” Bush declared to the House Un-American Activites Committee, thought to be disbanded sometime in the sixties. “They jaywalk across streets and are terrorizing innocent Israelis and Americans, and we just can’t have that here.” The president has decided to order patriot missile attacks on those caught jaywalking. The streets of New Brunswick will be patrolled by helicopter. Expect an increase in the number of potholes on busy streets.
Rutgers Football Team “Bowl” Bound By Michael Stanley Staff Writer
This past Saturday Night the Scarlet Knights won their third game of the year defeating the Navy Mids, 48-28, bringing their record to a whopping 3-1, 0-0 Big East. Rutgers University is finally showing the United States that they are the “real-deal” not the pushovers they have been in the past few seasons. In a press conference early last night, Tuesday, September 30th at 6:00pm Coach Greg Schiano spoke about the future of the Scarlet Knights. Coach Schiano described in detail the plan to end their season this Friday October 2nd, a day before their planned Family Day game against Virginia Tech. Schiano believes that by ending the season early, Rutgers will have a record that will qualify them for a nationally televised Bowl game, bringing much needed revenue to the University. When asked for comment University President McCormick said “I can’t believe we’re 3-1 and if anyone knows what to do in a situation like this it’s Greggie. I mean, Coach Schiano, who is truly a magical man on and off the field. I trust him, he wouldn’t lie to me, he loves me.” President McCormick preceded to pull a small locket out from under his blazer and caress what seemed to be a picture of the football coach inside. On campus, the University students are filled with Rutgers Pride, the three wins this season ties the amount of wins they’ve had in the past two seasons. A Rutgers student commented “Holy shit man! We’ve got three wins, and I’ve got three STIs. I made a promise to my friends I’d get as many STIs this year as we had wins, I sure am glad we’re ending the season early this year!”
Wednesday, October 1st 2003
“Is there anything more pleasing in this world than boob collages?”
NEWS
Where everybody knows your name... I just thought she looked like Kirstie Alley. You know, in Cheers.
Cheers Eats Livers in Front of a Live Studio Audience by Fireball My modern adaptation of Prometheus Bound would be an episode of Cheers. This episode would take place some time in the sixth season, a long while after the ever-annoying character of Diane left the series. In this episode, Sam would win a Porsche in a fast food restaurant’s scratch-and-win giveaway game. He would equate to Prometheus in this scenario; the Porsche, something highly important that no spoiled little rich kid should be without, would be the bounty of Prometheus. When he sees that Rebecca, the object of his romantic pursuits since her introduction to the series, has ruined her car in an accident, Sam gives her the Porsche in an attempt to make her ingratiated to him. However, much like the mortals that receive Prometheus’s many gifts, Rebecca will take the Porsche and benefit from it without giving a word of thanks to Sam. Throughout the episode, Carla will scold him for his rash and nearsighted actions, assuming the role of the Chorus. The subplot of the show will revolve around Cliff and Norm’s efforts to install a new toilet and plumbing in Frasier’s loft. Frasier will represent Zeus, forcing Cliff and Norm’s Hephaestus and Kratos to go about a task that some may see as being awful. However, while Norm will complain about the burdens and implications of his job, Cliff sees it simply as a task to be performed and nothing more. The show will end with Woody’s pet hog escaping from behind the bar, Lilith discovering the liberating joys of Pop Rocks, and Coach rising from the dead. A sparrow flies out of the sky and pecks at Sam’s cirrhosisencrusted liver. Everyone shouts out, “NOOOOOOORM!!!!!!” Cue laughter and theme music.
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GMG
“HOO-RAY BEER!”
Come to a Medium Meeting to complain about the sexist objectification of women in the pages of the Medium. C’mon, you know you want to come. Besides, we need someone to make us sandwiches and knit for us. Oh, wait. That’s right...you have to stay in the kitchen. Barefoot. That’s right, I said it. Haikus By: Cheezi and Dan Migliore Richard McCormick also known as, simply, ‘Dick’. what a cock sucker. To all the ladies who get naked every week keep it up bitches To my precious love who is only four foot ten please get better soon So the other day.. I was laying in my bed and I jerked off twice I need to drink bad Such a rough day, so much work Shit! I hit a car! Nathaniel Berke, who Hates the Targum with whole soul whiny crybaby Girls, so many girls all naked just for you guys paper now cumrag Emotion icons called emoticons by dorks get a fucking life Poor, poor EIC so much work so little time ladies, give him head Family Guy’s back Peter makes me laugh so hard aw, crap! fell through stairs
Let’s hear it for no more room for haikus! Yay! Or damn. This is filler, so who really cares?
Wednesday, October 1st 2003
A Message from Your Editor By: Dan Migliore I was going to use this space to tell you about the machinegun arm that I wish I had, but that can wait until next week. This week, I’m gonna use my space to give props to Chak, that random dude who kicked me down a pitcher of beer. But he said something that concerned me greatly. He said there were not enough naked women in the paper anymore, and his friend agreed. “Good Grief!”, I said to me-self. “They’re right!” Since that was as close as I’ve ever come to polling the student body, I thus concluded that 100% of students want to see more naked women in the paper. So this week, for Chak, for the kid that gave me a beer, and for you, the students of Rutgers, The Medium presents GMG/Features in Nude-OVision. And in keeping with this, I am at the computer lab, completely nude as I write this.
How to Sneak Alcohol into the Dorms By: Beerman So you’ve settled into your dorms, got into the groove of classes, and now you want to drink in the comfort of your room. Understandable. But you have to be smart. Remember, your RA is a normal person. He or she doesn’t care if you drink, so long as you don’t make him or her look bad. So that means no loud parties, no throwing bottles out your window, and no running through the halls naked. Well, maybe you can do that. But the first rule of drinking in your dorm is to respect your RA’s. Don’t make them look bad, or they will make you do community service. That having been said, here’s how you get the booze to your room. And that, incidentally, is how to get the fly bitches to your room as well. The most important thing to consider is your environment. If you live on the ground floor, you can easily open your window grate, then sneak your alcohol in the back way under cover of darkness. If the elevator is close to your RA’s room, then you should take the stairs to avoid contact with that dreaded hall monitor. Also, pay attention to when your RA is in class, because that is the best time to sneak in your hooch. Now that you’ve planned your route, you should sneak it in silently, like a ninja would. That having been said, it should now be noted that cans are your friends, bottles, your enemy. Cans are silent. Bottles clink and make noise, giving your ass away. Now all you need is a clever means of transport for your beer. The most convenient would be a laundry bag or basket. For the basket, simply cover the sides with clothes so that you can’t see in. place your beer inside, and then cover it with more clothes. For the bag, pad it with some clothes, so you aren’t carrying a box in a bag. That’s a dead giveaway. There are other equally genius ways to sneak in alcohol. Backpacks and ladies’ purses work well for hard liquor and 40’s. But if all else fails, you can always make some moonshine out of some apple juice, floor polish, and an empty 2 liter bottle. We got this. Send in. To us. Normally we charge for subscriptions but we always try to help retarted children. So here you go, Cornelius, pull up that crash helmet and enjoy a semester of the Medium.
Wednesday, October 1st 2003
“Presented in Nude-O-Vision”
Penetrating Douglass, Part 2
Girl of My Dreams
By Brian Dwane
By: Henry Rarisan
Where was I? Oh yeah. So I dressed up as a girl (A really studly girl) and set off on an impossible investigation. Hopefully, I thought, I’ll be able to finally contradict the rumors and falsify the folklore. When I’m done the girls of Douglass won’t be thought of as nymphomaniacs, but respectable young ladies. That’s what I thought. As I began walking towards Douglass, I heard female voices in my head. “I need to get fucked hard. Please come and fuck me.” Dear God, I thought, I’m not going to be able to make it. Although the sexual talk was making my knees weak, I persevered on. I sang “MMMbop” to drown out the sexual innuendo that was clouding my judgment and making me weak. On my way, I had to cross a bridge that connected to Mountaintops that stood 40,000 feet off of the ground. The bridge was old and rickety. I felt as if I was going to fall at any second. At the end of the bridge, I was met by three goblins that told me I had to answer three riddles to pass. It’s a good thing that the riddles were all based on Full House trivia otherwise I would have never been able to pass. (Joey Gladstone is the funniest man alive. Cut it out! OMG LOL! Joey you animal!”) At the golden gates of the Douglass dormitories, there were three monstrous bull dykes. They were making sure that everyone entering did not have a penis. This would be impossible to pull off since my penis is fucking huge. As I walked up to them it was evident to them and people standing 40 miles away, that I had a penis. Luckily with the help of a couple George Washington’s they let me in. Then I was inside. I was so excited. I felt like a little girl all over again. The inside of the place looked like the porno Muff Divers Volume 5 (Don’t act like you haven’t seen it. You have.) With 400 times more hot girl on girl action! I was in the middle of the hottest porno scene ever. I made an interesting observation while exploring the inside of the dormitory. Each of the floors offered a different sexual fantasy. The first floor was one big pillow fight in bra and panties. “Oh my God, your boob fell out can I suck it?” I heard one Douglass resident say. The second floor was just hot girl on girl action! Lots of dildoes and fisting and stuff. The third floor didn’t have any rooms; it was just one big shower. No one washed themselves, other girls did it for them. “Lather up my big boobs, sugar,” said a 5’7, hot-bodied blond Douglass resident to another hot big-titted Asian Douglass resident (Now I have to say, that would never happen. Asians live on Busch. -GMG Ed.). On the fourth floor, girls kept putting on clothes just to take them off very slowly and erotically. On the fifth floor, the women were just whining about how much they needed to get fucked. As I was observing hot girl on girl action, my cover was blown. One of the Douglass residents started to play with my fake tits and took off my shirt. Instead of breasts she saw my rippling muscles (washboard abs, monstrous biceps and pecs to die for!) “Oh my God!” she exclaimed “You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen!”
Tune in next week for the thrilling conclusion to “Penetrating Douglass” by Brian Dwane. Same Medium paper, same Medium page!
Submit a picture, story, or naked picture of yourself, girlfriend, or sister to: Features@themedium.net
Why do I keep on staring at your face? Why do you keep me in this place? Is it because of your winning smile? Or those eyes where I can get lost for a while? No, it’s cause of your big tits and the thick fat ass, I just want to hit. I couldn’t care less about one thing you say Cause it’s the booty I want at the end of the day. Forget about flowers I’ll bring the grease. So I can lube up my member and stick it in your crease. And nothing would please me more than to find When I come on home a waiting behind. I could call you sweet, sugar, or honey but I would just be talking bout your body. So I’ll say this and come what may, you’re the girl of my dreams and I’m gonna keep it that way.
Bedevere, the Happy Medium Hexagon wants you to come to a Medium Meeting tonight or any Wednesday night in Beck 003.
Features
Arts
“It’s 5:45! Where’s the fresh bread? SUCKERS!!!” Metallica to Pave New Paths in Emo-Rock By Mike Litoris
The “best, most influential heavy metal band of the ’80s, responsible for bringing the music back to Earth” is about to change the face of rock yet again. After Metallica’s venture into so-called “nü-metal” was ill received by old-school fans, Metallica has announced their intentions to dabble in the other post grunge pop-rock scene: emotional rock, dubbed emo by its fans. Here, their press release states, they will “really set the record straight. [Metallica] will break down barriers in the emotional rock scene and bring it to a higher level.” Their next album will be styled after such artists as Saves the Day and Dashboard Confessional, only instead of the standard themes of emotional lyrics related to girls and dating, the band will instead focus on their feelings of sadness caused by file-sharing and peer-to-peer networks. It will be titled “Pass the jam, please, don’t steal my music.” After Metallica alienated their fan base by attacking peer-to-peer file sharing networks and becoming the unofficial spokespeople of the anti-downloading movement, the group’s record sales took a major blow. Beginning to feel the burn of what it actually means to become less than extraordinarily wealthy, the defining heavy metal group of the 80’s decided it was time to change styles. Sticking their fingers into nü-metal with their newest album, “St. Anger,” Metallica has found that it doesn’t work. “It’s just a horrible album,” says John Stromm, a longtime Metallica fan, “I love the band, but this is not them … this is just shit.” Record sales are at a low for the band. Failing in one of the two biggest post-90’s rock styles, the band will attempt a foray into the other. Metallica proudly states in a press release that, “We are going emo, and we are going to do it right.” “We hope to achieve a new sound… again,” said drummer Lars Ulrich in a recent interview. “We’ve been running through the same music for years, and recently, fans just won’t bend over anymore, so we realized it was time for a change.” “We realize that people have feelings, and we can profit off their feelings,” interjected James Hetfield. With song titles such as “Killed by Kazaa” and “Napster makes me cry,” Metallica is breaking down the long-held belief that emo-rock has to be about strife caused by the opposite gender. “Quite frankly,” Ulrich states somberly, “file sharing makes us sad.” He pauses in a moment of quiet introspection. “It makes us very sad. We don’t want to be sad anymore.” Ulrich looks over the thick black plastic rims of his new “sensitivity glasses,” a solitary tear grows in his eye. “Please make it stop.”
Be crescent fresh and send me some articles, OK? You can send reviews, articles, funny shit, serious shit, or anything else arts-related to volcanoworship@yahoo.com. In the meantime, come to the Medium meeting tonight at 9:30 at room 003 in the basement of Beck in Livingston. And be sure to listen to the Volcano Worshipper’s Hour, now at its new (but actually old) timeslot: Monday nights (technically Tuesday mornings) at midnight-2AM, on WRSU 88.7 FM. ROCK!!!!! CD Review: Dub Side of the Moon By: Raoul Dan, shining on like a crazy diamond since 1982 I am a white boy from NJ. I know nothing of the true roots of dub or reggae. My knowledge of this genre is limited to Bob Marley, Sublime, and the Long Beach Dub All-Stars. But I couldn’t resist hearing Dub Side of the Moon by the Easy Star All-Stars. It’s a completely dub rendition of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon. Now a few of you Floyd fans out there may raise an eyebrow, but rest assured, Mason, Gilmour, Wright and Waters get proper credit where it is so undeniably due. The voice-overs have changed, as the music has, but only slightly. Guitar solos have been changed to extra verses (“Time”) or horns (“Any Colour You Like”). But where change was required to fulfill the rules of the genre of reggae, new elements have been infused into the tracks, adding a new light, rather then detracting from them. And for those of you who enjoy visuals to accompany your listening pleasure, the liner notes say that the record can still be synched to The Wizard of Oz, something I have not yet tried. As a big fan of Dark Side of the Moon and the reggae I’ve been exposed to, I was very excited by the idea of a dub version of the Floyd classic. I was not disappointed, and neither will you. So turn on your blacklight, hit your pipe, and take a new trip to the dark side of the moon, where the colors you see will be red, yellow, and green.
Wednesday, October 1st 2003
12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 “Not Your Local Carnival” (Part 2 of 2) 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 by Chris Acker 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 We found a place to eat underneath one of the tents. Real classy if you asked me, but Kelly didn’t ask and 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 I was smart enough to have kept my mouth shut if only for a while. The seats around us started to fill. I 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 had trouble enjoying my Italian ice when another couple sat at our bench, the woman next to me and the 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 man next to Kelly. I never seemed to avoid this couple, or a couple like this one. You see, I had these 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 neighbors Peggy and Mario. He always wore a UPS cap, even though he had no job, with buttons and pins 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 covering every inch of the cap and all the way down his camouflaged suspenders. Every sort of walkie12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 talkie gadget dangled from his belt. His teeth were in a constant state of chewing, despite nothing being in 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 his mouth. Peggy was fat, no way around it, but the kind of fat where you looked at her and you 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 immediately knew something was off, deranged even. But the couple next to Kelly and me was the Peggy 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 and Mario Wannabes. Not my neighbors, but a carbon copy. Except that the Peggy-esque woman was in 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 an electric wheelchair with every stuffed frog, bear, and cartoon character packed into the rack beneath her 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 seat. The weirdest looking couple ever, but you know what, they seemed to enjoy the carnival more than 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 me. 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 ”What do you want to do next,” I asked Kelly after devouring my Italian ice. 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 ”I’m going to finish my sandwich.” 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 A line of mustard rolled down the chin of the Mario-wannabe and dripped onto his black shirt. I jolted off 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 the seat and tossed my food into the garbage. “Ready?” 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 Kelly slammed down her sandwich. The fuck-ups kept rolling without any end in sight, especially with the 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 rest of the carnival ahead of us. “Are you going to be the boyfriend and win me some prizes? God forbid 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 you do something for me.” 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 The Walk of Death was what I dreaded most at the state fair. It consisted of people who spent their 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 lifesavings just for a damn stuffed Bugs Bunny. But the toughest barrier in the Walk of Death was carnies. 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 CARNIES. I always go to any carnival - local or not - with blind optimism, but carnies managed to 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 destroy any hope I had. Everything about them is depressing, everything. They’re supposed to make the 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 carnival an enjoyable experience, but whenever I see one, I either pick up my pace or walk towards the 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 exit. Carnies were everywhere. Bargaining into a shotty microphone: “Say hey, what do you say, I see a 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 winner in you. Ho drum, ho drum, ho.” Forcing a greasy basketball into my hands: “Free try amigo. 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 Can’t loose,” and when I walked away, “come on, can’t refuse something that’s free.” Grabbing me by the 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 arm: “Nice night to win something for your girl, huh.” Babbling to themselves in their booths: “Come to 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 me, please, anyone. I’m lonely.” This time I had to face the Walk of Death because Kelly was with me. 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 ”Can you win me that poster of Justin,” asked Kelly. 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 I replied “sure,” before looking at the game. I took out my wallet and then saw that it was one of those 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 knock-down-the-cans type of games. “I can never win this. They put some sort of glue between the cans.” 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 ”Try anyway,” Kelly demanded. “Or don’t. See if I care.” 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 I had no other choice. I handed the lady carnie the money and she gave me three beanbags. I didn’t 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 concentrate on hitting down the cans and winning a prize that would have saved the dismal night. 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 Granted, I tried to hit the cans down, but my first toss wasn’t even close. The second toss nicked the side 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 of the top can, but it didn’t even budge. 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 ”Throw harder than that, son,” the carnie advised. 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 I gave her a look. “Fuck this. Let’s go Kelly.” 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 ”You have one bag left,” Kelly pointed out. 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 ”I know, but there’s no chance in winning.” 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 Fuck-up number four. Kelly was more pissed off that I didn’t even try to win her a prize. She stormed 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 away from the booth. I caught up with her and tried to hold her hand but she wasn’t in the mood. 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 ”What do you want to do next,” I asked. 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 ”Well, since you don’t want to win me anything, let’s hit the rides.” 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 ”Good idea. We can take the Sky Ride back to the exit so we can beat the traffic.” 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 Everyone has been on the Sky Ride, at least every couple has. It was like the Ferris wheel: slow, easy 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 going, a place to hookup maybe. That was fine I guess if you’re into shit like that, but for me the Sky Ride 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 was the birds-eye view over everything I didn’t want to see. Hoards of mind-tranced crowds, sparks flying 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 out of the death-trap rides, smog being lit up by the decadent neon lights, garbage cans overflowing with 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 carnival filth. 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 ”Oh man,” I exclaimed, “is that a guy?” 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 Kelly looked below. “It’s a woman.” 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 ”Are you sure? Just look at those clothes.” 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 ”It’s a woman.” 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 ”Why would a woman dress like that?” 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 That was all the talking we did in the Sky Ride; about some Goth-chick looking like a transsexual - a 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 romantic discussion between a boyfriend and girlfriend. It was the state fair and nothing about it was 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 uplifting or joyous to me, not even Kelly’s presence. The carnival’s exit never looked better. 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 ”Can I call you tomorrow,” I asked. 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 ”No. Don’t you get it?” 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 We walked past the petting zoo and I couldn’t help but imagine how horrible the animals’ diet must have 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 been. “I guess I get it now,” I said and watched Kelly leave me for good. Alone again, but I was by myself 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 even with Kelly. With no one to turn to, I looked down and noticed that I had been walking around the 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 entire carnival with an Italian ice stain on my shirt, quite conspicuous. I had no clue. I was one of them; I 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 was the Mario-wannabe; and you know what, it didn’t feel that bad. So I headed back to the knock-down12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 the-cans game, and with the first beanbag, I knocked down the cans. The lady carnie handed me a stuffed 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 Bugs bunny and I thanked her for it. I guess it was me. 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 THE END 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234 12345678901234567890123456789012123456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012345678901212345678901234
Underrated Band Appreciation!!! By the Volcano Worshipper!!! If you’ve read my articles for the Arts page from the last year or so, you know I like to talk about some of the more underrated and forgotten artists that have produced music over the past few decades. I decided that now would be a fine time to resurrect my old Underrated Band feature, to appreciate someone who isn’t as well regarded by most people as some other artists out there. One artist that I personally wonder “what the hell happened to this guy?” about is LaTour. William LaTour was a house music DJ and producer from Chicago who had a huge smash hit in 1991 called “People Are Still Having Sex”. MTV played the hell out of its eye-catching computer animated video, and the song was a big success on radio as well. I remember being pretty shocked upon hearing this song when it came out. I was only 7 or 8 at the time, and I was just discovering MTV and pop music, and I was pretty stunned that people talked about sex so much. What is this sex thing, why is it so controversial, and why do people on MTV and in Rolling Stone magazine keep talking about it all the time? (Eventually my parents stopped subscribing to Rolling Stone, but they still allowed MTV to ruin my childhood.) I hadn’t really decided what music I liked at that time (except for Queen, who will always be one of my favorite bands ever), but I thought this dance music crap was too weird. Well, obviously, eventually I got more into dance and electronic music (after many years of alternative rock) and I heard this song again. What a fucking awesome song. So hilarious, and completely true; there’s even a message behind it! Even though you can’t see them, or hear their breathing sounds, someone in this world IS having sex right now. This AIDS thing ISN’T working. I downloaded it and I listen to it often. I’ll have to play it on my radio show sometime. I should try and look for the video too; last time I remember seeing it was on Beavis and Butthead, where one of them brilliantly remarked “heh heh… he’s doing it with a donut.” If anyone can actually find a copy of LaTour’s first album in a used CD store somewhere, please let me know, I want it. Thanks.
let ‘em think that’s where it’s going. Wednesday, October 1st 2003 “He said he likes to put it in their mouths first“Iand bet he does that to his wife”
Then he rams it up their noses.”
Bling-Bling
Personals Personals To My Microeconmics Professor: You Are A Homosexual To The Max. Stop Molesting Little Boys You Freak! (To My Microeconomics Professor: Thanks for molesting me last night and givin’ me an A on the Exam) dear mom, You’re the saddest, piss-poor excuse for a man that I’ve ever seen, you chromosome-deficient uberimpotent rat-faced tardpopsicle. Celibate? You mean in the closet, right? The last time I saw something as fugly as you, I was cleaning up after my dog. I’ve seen better looking road kill. You’re a neo-Nazi, fundamentalist militant Republican-voting mega-asshole scumbag. Calling you a pea brain would be an insult to peas, you jellyfish-sucking mental midget. You’re so short, you’d have to get a running start to get up on a toilet. You could sit on a piece of toilet paper and dangle your feet. If you were ever kidnapped and eaten by a cannibal tribe, they’d all die of high cholesterol, you fat fuck. Do you get a clearer idea of how pathetic you are, you minimum wage earning human equivalent of a bidet? I like that outfit you’re wearing. You should hang on to it. It’ll probably come back in style some day. Why don’t you stop gyrating that gaping misplaced asshole of a mouth on your face for a fucking minute so I can see what the fuck a gibbering witless gimp looks like?
“what if the truth was that there is no truth?” For the bastard Indian who Did WELL on the PolySci Term Paper: I dont give a fuck if the TA thinks your paper is exceptional. Fuck You Man, this is fucking bullshit, your paper was a copy of mine except you agreed with all the bullshit I disagreed on. WELL FUCK YOU MAN, JUST FUCK YOU. I DONT GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THE TA’s GRADING ITS FUCKING BULLSHIT I KNOW. FUCK YOU MAN FUCK YOU UP YOUR CURRY INFESTEd ASSS.
Wednesday, cOctober 1st 2003
Nirvana, duh!
To The Zionist bastards: Why do you think its cool when a dumb chink tries to stop a barrage of tanks, yet you think its completely retarded when a slut tries to stop a bulldozer? If we had a race war on Rutgers All the Asians would side with Busch All The Mexicans and Blacks would go to Livingston All the Cracker would run to College Ave In the End of this war Busch would look like Livingston Livingston would look like Newark and College Ave would look like a fucking Concentration Camp. While the Farmers and Dykes At Cook/ Douglass would be partying and raping sheep since they have nothing important and are too fucked up to fight in the race war.
Hey Dan, lets make some scrap books. Oh remember this one, this is Oakridge boys, remember that dan “elivira” remember that dan. and all those babies we never had. Oh so that was sad.... Remember how sad I just was Dan, huh Dan?
(Best Personal Ever. UCB RULES, UCB ON DVD 114-03. I can’t wait at all. Little Donnie and ass pennies!) (that’s lovely...i’m glad we’re “retarted” and our “personnels” are stupid. or maybe we realized that, and that’s why we thought it was absolutely hysterical? why don’t you learn to spell instead of To the Medium Staff: spending your time making Please cease and desist with penises out of equal signs all “Personals” that make and the number 8. jackass.) disparaging remarks towards homosexuals, chinese and To the cunt who Ratted most of all women. Please Optimus out, when I find out To The Dirty Gook Who end this nonsense or I will who you are, I am going to Kept Laughing @ me have to file a complaint to the hunt you down and do you everytime I died on Time Office of Student Life On in the ass just like how they in Oz. And once im done Crisis. Go Fuck Yourself, I Busch. tearing your ass apart, Im want to see if your boat smelling ass can Survive 1 (Hey, fuck you faggot! I bet going to raise hell and suiHour of Time Crisis w/o get- you love sucking cock and cide bomb your family. One ting shot. Fuck You Man, taking it in your asshole, just More thing To L:Were you Fuck You, Banchod. like the YANKEES, ha ha!) born an asshole or did you not get any from your priest Hey assholes on staff, you guys suck and aren’t even funny at last night? all, I bet it’s be nicer to just put on BET and watch that supid comic with that black lady and we all know that, that comic Hey firecrotch: thanks for the sucks huge fuckin’ donkey nuts. Haha, I just said that the shitty coolest present ever from black show is better then your shitty paper.. ha ha ha ha. Have spain. i’ll always cherish my little bedsheet man...and i fun with a witty comeback to this if you dare! want to have your babies.
SEND US YOUR FUCKIN’ PERSONALS, DIPSHIT. Or, please send us some comments via e-mail. personals@themedium.net
Fran Lawrence, you rule. You’re the guy who directed the Shakira video where she is so hot, that guy at Rutgers is a fucking loser, like paul LOSER hall at TCNJ.. ha ha ha, oh fuckers...
To My Gay Roommate: Please stop bringing your whore to our room. I cant hear myself jerking off when she started sucking you off.
To the whore on Livingston, Please let my pinoy cock get the opportunity to tap your sweet ass. With much love, me.
(Blah, blah, blah. Just keep on bitching about your fucking roomate....)
To the fat fucking hippopotomus of Q2. You are a sorry fat ugly disgusting excuse for a rhinoserus. You filthy gutter slut, here are a list of names we humor ouselves with of you: WILBUR, SASQUATCH, BEEFALLO, SNUFFY, SNUFFULUFIGOUS, MISS PIGGY, OX, BUTCH, RALPHY, BIG FOOT, THE GRINCH WHO STOLE FATNESS, ONE EYED ONE HORNED FAT ASS MUFF EATER, ROTTEN CROTCH, SWAMP THING, BULL MOOSE, CHEWBACCA, BOOGER, BEEF CURTAIN, BEARDED WOMAN, AND FAT FUCKING FILTHY I CAN’T BELIEVE ITS NOT PUSSY DONKEY DICK. HOPE THAT DILDO KEEPS YOU COMFORT BECAUSE YOU CAN’T GET SHIT. ENJOY THE “MY TIME” DIKE.
You are not from China.Stop Pretending to be a Chink. Even the whities next door are Chinkier than you. Please stop it. You are only making asians look bad. Stop pretending to write in Chinese. We all know you are illiterate. You are a ricer. You think you are asian just because you watch hentai. Stop it.And Most of all, stop jizzing on the floor when I am not around! (what has this world come to when a fob can’t even be asian? come on...this is awful. i know too many whiteasians to consider it a healthy trend. start being racist, drinking sapporo, and souping up your hondas, my fellow Busch immigrants! our time is nigh!) to the gay roomate: don’t leave your shit-covered rubbers lying around where we can smell them. you’re the biggest tool ever. love - the roomies Hey, girlie girl, let’s go out. Let’s go see that new Jack black movie and we can go out to dinner and it’ll be all good. After the movie we can get some coffee or whatever then listen to music in my apartment.. it’ll be so chill, yo.
attention white people of the world: stop the invasion! stop immigration! prevent illegal aliens in your local community. a message from the local white trash The girl who gave you sex was homeless, haha. she’s a hoe bag sheezer with the droopy saggy skin. Haha, what a hoe-bag. I bet she’s from Rutgers. Stick it in her ass and have fun. Mexicans not Mexicants
Personals Personals
“I got more funky styles then my lazer jet got fonts”
Wednesday, April 2nd, 2003
Sky Blue vodka is disgusting. It fucked me up on several occassions, and when I woke up in the Quadjects with a big fat black man was on top of me...I don’t want to talk about it no more.
p-nut sa martinez
chad
tim
nick
Yeah, Yeah, I can hear it now. Haha Stan, you put Shakira next to 311. Well you know what, I don’t care it’s 4am. Word or as Shakira would say “chingame”. Only in my dreams....
dead old lady
Yeah, I had this problem once....but I wanted 311 to play a concert in my backyard but 911 came and I’m sure you know this but they aren’t very good at playing music. All of my friends left except that weird guy who just showed up. That man was Francis Lawrence former President of Rutgers Universlutty. To the crew members that squatted in my apartment over spring break: thanks for leaving the place a shithole. I had to clean a week’s worth of piss and pubes off the toilet and out of the bathtub, along with an “unknown white substance” that i’d guess was the product of the sausage party you guys threw. it was ok, tho, when your mom came to help me clean up. i popped her the dirty sanchez while she screamed out your name, you sick inbred, diseased fucks. next time, show some goddamn common courtesy and pull your ass-hairs from the drain, and don’t leave semen in the tub. learn to wipe yourselves, cause your mom had a hard time licking the shit off of my toilet bowl. by the way, if you sat on that bowl instead of squatting, i’d suggest going to the local clinic and getting tested for herpes, crabs, and the clap. love, your rentors. Hey, Comp Lab- I want one of those new computer monitors, what would happen if.. let’s say there was a fire and when you came back one of them was “missing” (It’s called theft you pussy!)
To all you people who got to sleep tonight (Monday) fuck you. I hope you had horrible dreams and if they were good, you woke up right before all the hot sex happened, or right after you found out that woman was a man! HAHAHA. BITCHES!
I need to get laid so bad. Why can’t any of the whores here be decent? All of the EMPTY SPACE! FONT SIZE 7 good girls are already taken, If you’re looking for a good Black people have the Nigga guy w/o diseases, contact me Hispanics have the Pendejo via the personals. Chinese people have noth(Dude, get the girl drunk and ing. So I propose that we call “walk her home” easy as Pi) each other Chinkee just like how blacks call themselves To my fucking roommate: If Niggaz. So a conversation you ever EVER wake me up could go: A:”Hey whats up again talking on the phone at Renton?” R:”Oh not much 8:30 when I have a 1:10 class Chinkee, im just doing some I’m going to take that phone EE work.” A:”Word my feland shove it up your tight low Chinkee, im gonna go hit virgin ass. it up @ PDPsi. Lata (why don’t you just shove CHinkee” R:”Later my crazy your cock up his ass, like you Chinkee. Give them some do on your drunken friday loving.” See? is that such a great idea and gives up pride nights? silly homo...) Sorostitutes from D.C. give and keeps us from getting killed by blacks in case we bad head. (Rutgers sorostitutes are mispronounce Nigga, which pretty good at anal, but they happens with the FOBS. need like, 8 beers...and a (asians taking EE? whoever good de-lousing!) thought of such a thing! to my smelly indian asians take classes like theroomaate: fuck you! stop eat- ater appreciation, music ing your curry, you smell education, and women’s ybasard! i don’t care if its studies. silly personal writer) good for cancer, i ahte you. i Why are you people so can’t drink enough in a day mean? to make msyelf feel better (well, it probably has to do about living with you. the with the fact that my father only reaosn i can live with raped me at an early age (3 you is the fact that you have months). when i was 6, i saw big teets, and i love you. my uncle kill someone for the
This page of personals has been brought to you by: Stan and Dan You can see us on Page 2. personals@themedium.net
mafia, but they wouldn’t let me join no matter how hard i pleaded. now i just torture small animals. toodles!!!) Who hates Brian? I do. I do... who? You do too.
the above is intentional - EIC I am a Chink and proud of it. And no one can take that away from me.
(Ok there chinky, make me some rice ‘cause i’m getting mighty hungry there, be sure (someone needs to tell john to park your bike in the front) minus to calm the fuck Please stop it. I am offended down...) by whats presented in the Why are Korean girls such medium, especially last fucking bitches when it week’s personal written in comes to everything?! German. Don’t you ingrates (the only korean girl i know know what my people went is a 16 year old pop singer through. Sure we have our who i’d bang till the sun own country and beat up on comes up. although asian Arabs everyday, but we’re women in general seem to be people too! I want to find out bitchier than usual... prob- who this Nazi is so I can ably because (insert asian shoot him in the head with a penis joke/stereotyope/any- rubber bullet, just like what thing to do with rice here) my Israeli brothers did to that I am not black. I still love rap whore who tried to stop our music. I am a gangsta. I live Jewish bulldozer. in the suburbs. I love black I am an international student people. I have never seen on from Germany and I am very until now. I love black offended by the German perwomen. I am white. I am an sonal from last week. Just beendangered race on cause we are German does Livingston. I am straight. I not mean that we are all evil. have a very gay roommate. I What have the German am screwed. I almost got people ever do to deserve this raped by my roommate. I am animonsity especially from fucked. I am WHITE. the Jews near the Rutgers (at least he realizes it. spread Hillel? German is not an evil your message to all your language, I want a white girl wigger brothers! let your cry as long as she is Christian be heard from the rooftops! and pure. WE ARE NOT BLACK!!) (FUCK YOU NAZI!) To God, why don’t you make things easy for everyone, especially me? You better have some kick ass future planned for me since I seem to be getting the short end of the stick way to often. Now do I call out of work or not, so I write my paper or not.... is it my choice or yours? Who knows.. but seriously.. help a nigga out!
I wish I had a 12 inch penis, no scratch that, I’d rather have a 12 inch pianist, it would be much more fun at parties and I bet I could play with him a lot longer, and well.. I can shove him up my ass too.. the hamster needs a break (Yeah, I wish my penis wasn’t 12 inches long, that way I’d not have to bang so many www.imissmartinscock.com bitches...)
Don’t be like these idiots, come to this weeks meeting in 003 of Beck(man) hall in the ghetto. Be sure to bring your mug money because we all know it’s rather dangerous there. Livingston, the only place at Rutgers where the police are scared of the locals. To re-iterate... 9:30 003 Beck Hall Tonight, Wednesday Mug Money a Must!
What’s Shakin’
“Vagina Junction, What’s your function? Takin’ in sperm and spittin’ out babies.” Wednesday, October 1st 2003
Concerts Wed, Oct. 1-Staind at Birch Hill, New Brunswick, NJ Wed, Oct. 1-R.E.M. at The Liacouras Center, Temple University, Philadelphia, PA Wed, Oct. 1-Big Orange Cone at Harry’s Roadhouse, Asbury Park, NJ Thurs, Oct. 2-Go Rhino at Willie McBride’s , Hoboken, NJ Fri, Oct. 3-Eve 6 at Northern Lights, New York Fri, Oct. 3-Yellowcard at Birch Hill, New Brunswick, NJ Fri, Oct. 3-Pale by Comparrison at Flyers Skate Zone Pennsauken, NJ Sat, Oct. 4 and 5-String Cheese Incident at Tower Theater, Upper Darby, PA Sat, Oct. 4-Severance at The Stone Pony, Asbury Park, NJ Sat, Oct. 4-Side to Side at Rocktoberfest, Asbury Park, NJ Mon, Oct. 6-Hoobastank at Electric Factory, Philadelphia, PA Tues, Oct. 7-Juliana Theory at Theatre of Living Arts, Philadelphia, PA Tues, Oct. 7-Train at Crocodile Rock, Allentown, PA If you’re over 3 you’ve gotta love mutated pet store turtles!!!
Go see ICE and E. Town Concrete at Birch Hill on Oct. 11th, tickets are $14 in advance. Call (732)991-1376 or goto www.secondiceage.com They get a special.... oval cause they sent in an event to: events@themedium.net
Come to a medium meeting, 9:30 P.M. in Beck 003 on Livingston . Come for the free hookers, stay for the free crack. (crack and hookers subject to avaibility and state laws)
Comedy Stand-up Wed, Oct. 1-Jim David at Caroline’s, New York Wed, Oct. 1-Jessica Kirson, Gregg Rogell, Eric McMahon at Gotham Comedy Club, New York Thurs, Oct. 2-4 - D.L. Hughly at Stress factory, New Brunswick, NJ Thurs, Oct. 2-4 - Wendy Liebman at Caroline’s, New York Sat, Oct. 4-Mike Epps at The Theater at Madison Square Garden, New York Sun, Oct. 5-Wali Collins, Mike Birbiglia, Ted Alexandro at Gotham Comedy Club, New York Mon, Oct. 6-Sketch Fights w/ Jim Gaffigan at Caroline’s, New York Mon, Oct. 6-Russ MEneve, Dean Edwards, Rob Stapleton at Stand-up NY, New York
I am really confused, if Rutgers can win three football games and have a winning record no matter what part of the season we are in, why can’t god give me the simple wish of clean hookers every morning giving me fellatio? It’s not such a huge request is it? To have a morning blow job along with my coffee? I don’t think so. With this display of obvious favoritism from the “almighty” above, I can see why god is never around for the big shit that happens in this world. Things like the Jets losing 4 times in a row, or the Mets finishing at the bottom barrel of the NL East. Why can’t I have girls like Katie here greet me in the morning with a mouthful of my cock? All this evidence has brought me to the conclusion that either god has abandoned me, or I’m like Job and he’s testing my faith. And if he is, he’s failed horribly and is a sadistic bastard. If I’m wrong then may he smite...........
Send in events or I’m going to get squirrelly!!!!!!!! Send events to: events@themedium.net www.page3.com