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October 2011

Volume II, Issue II

Johnston, Sohne-Johnston Return to Campus After Triumphant Victory at Wife Carrying Championships

There used to be two ways to get a wife in Kennebec County: actually find, date, woo, and propose to a single woman, or alternatively, steal another manʼs wife. With the former usually proving to be too much of a hassle for most men to bother with, a practice evolved known as capture the wife wherein a team of single men would band together to take on an opposing team of married men. The married men would hide their wives deep within their territory and the single men would attempt to cross over into enemy territory and steal a wife. If a single man managed to find a wife, and carry her back to his territory without getting tagged, it was mutually agreed among all parties that he was most deserving of the wife, and could keep her as his own. As the years went on wife-stealing attracted the ire of womenʼs-rights activists and the custom has become all but extinct, with the last reported incident occurring in Oakland in 2003. However, wife carrying— a sport where men race each other through an obstacle course while carrying a female teammate—has evolved as a pastime in its own right. While near and dear to many residents of Kennebec County, the sport did not impact Colby students much until this September when seeing Paul Johnston, Senior Associate Dean of Students, jog from Eustis to the admissions building wearing only bright blue spandex, and carrying his wife, Sandra Sohne-Johnston, Associate Director of Admissions and Financial Aid, became commonplace. Nobody knew what to make of this development until news surfaced that Johnston and Sohne-Johnston were preparing for the North American Wife Carrying Championships, which take place every year Columbus Day Weekend at Sunday River Ski Resort in Newry, Maine. The Libel spoke with Johnston before the championships and he explained the rules of wife carrying. “The official length of the race is 253.5 meters. The wife to be carried may be your own, your neighbor's, or you may have found her further afield; she must, however, be over 17 years of age. Finally, your wife must be wearing a helmet. Other than that everything is fair game. Although honestly I think the second

rule is kind of bullshit. Anyways, I would like to make it clear that I am in fact racing with my own wife, and when we win its gonna be that much sweeter.” Johnston and Sohne-Johnston experimented with several methods of carrying. “The Piggyback” and “the Fireman” were eventually abandoned in favor of the “the Estonian carry,” where the wife hangs upsidedown with her legs around the husband's shoulders, holding onto his waist. They also practiced all summer. Both moves seem to have paid off as they crushed the opposition, finishing the race in 43.83 seconds, beating the second place couple by a full 12 seconds. As is custom, the victorious couple received eight kegs of beer and a cash prize. Still wearing his “lucky spandex” Johnston returned to campus and exclaimed, “ALL CAMPUS KEGGER!” Johnston and Sohne-Johnston will soon start preparing for the World Championships in Finland, and the North American Husband Carrying Championships coming up next month.


Dear Sir,

Letters to the Editor

I proudly state that up until the writing of this letter, I have only read The Libel thrice (the two issues you printed last year, and last monthʼs). It seems that certain individuals have taken over The Libel and perverted it into their own little Dr. Seuss time. The Libel continually publishes articles regarding the most unnecessary and really useless topics. Last yearʼs Kilt Day “article” turned The Libel into a gigantic, angry, testosterone-filled banter that went on and on about the evils of females at Colby. Well, I donʼt care about your opinion. Because, as Charles Barkley once said, “I donʼt care what people think. People are stupid.” Regards, Mark Gracyk Dear Libel,

Whoever put homecoming and Halloween on the same weekend owes us a new liver and a get out of jail free card. - The Alumni

Editor-in-Chief P. Crane Jones

Graphic Designer M. Jean Davis

To Whom It May Concern:

Dear Libel,

Best, Chris “Porkchop” Christie Governor of New Jersey

- The Sexual Foot Philosopher

I realize that, as a humor publication, it must have been very difficult for you to refrain from making cheap jokes about my weight. More than you can know, I appreciate your admirable restraint in my time of deep personal stress.

Dear Editor,

After twisting every other possible wrist we can, the football team has finally turned to you. We need our round table back in Dana. The square tables do not allow us to facilitate our intellectual conversations of the arts, sciences, humanities and classics as all inclusively (modeled after the Harkness school of thought) as we always try to be. Please help in our desperate time of need. This matters way more to us than the fact that were 0-4. - The 2011-2012 Colby Football team

Established 1439

Humorists S. Alexander Grant T. John Letourneau P. Petrilli Eckert W. Cutestory Yu

I havenʼt had a sexual eruption since Iʼve come to Colby. That blue light myth is as greasy as Bro Adamsʼ hair. No wonder Snoop Dogg visited Bates. So I ask you, what are my peers doing with the 7,000 condoms and 18 gallons of Astroglide® the health center gives out yearly?

Dear Editor,

Do these Occupy Wall Street bastards really think they can get to me? I could buy a pair of Bose noise cancelling headphones for every day of the year. Step your game up, comrades. Sincerely, Brian Moynihan CEO of Bank of America Dear Libel,

Pirates or Ninjas? - Laura Maloney

Foreign Correspondent M. Thomas Langley Photo Doctor G. Adela Wyatt


Culture

Short Story Clearly Written by Guy Who Works at Paint Store

Palmetto Springs, FL Kris Holdman, owner of used bookstore Coral Books and editor and publisher of Coral Books Quarterly, the storeʼs accompanying fiction periodical, reports that he has received a short story clearly written by someone who works at a paint store. Holdman said that he publishes the small magazine “as a hobby, and as a way to show the folks of Palmetto Springs what kind of talent is living right in their backyard.” Last Thursday, he was checking the storeʼs email account when he received an email with the subject, “For Your Consideration,” which contained the short story. Titled “Hummingbird Green Leaves of a Forgotten Spring,” the story tells the life of a depressed middle-aged woman who revisits her childhood through her books of leaf pressings. Holdman said that while the

title did not initially seem out of the ordinary, it seems odd upon reflection. “I was just thinking that it was a little bit of a clumsy title or conversely that maybe the author even knew what he was doing and actually had some logical or symbolical reason for calling it ʻhummingbirdʼ green. But no, itʼs talking about a specific color of Benjamin Moore paint. Unbelievable.” Holdman said that the descriptions, otherwise bland, contain an overwhelming number of very specific colors. “I mean, check this out: ʻLaura ran her fingers along the marbury brown bookcase, stopping at a largespined, pinecrest gray binder.ʼ Are those even real colors? What the hell are those supposed to mean? And then thereʼs this whole obsession with walls: ʻShe sank into her albemarle blue easy chair and stared off at the walls, which were

painted with broad alternating stripes of elephant pink and tropicana cabana.ʼ Itʼs absurd?” Holdman reported that he first read the story with mild interest and slowly developed a perverse fascination. “Who writes like this? Thereʼs this one scene where Laura is remembering how she went for a walk in the woods with this boy, and it says, ʻShe gazed into his eyes, deep sereneta pools.ʼ Serenata? What color is that? What human has ʻserenataʼ eyes? And then thereʼs this whole uncomfortable digression where she remembers her fatherʼs ʻsoft pumpkin handsʼ Like, what the fuck?” Holdman reported that he was probably going to publish the story, remarking that he does not get many submissions, and was simply happy that this one spelled most of its words correctly.


Meet the Candidates: A Reluctant Brunch with Newt Gingrich

This is the second instalment in The Libelʼs Meet the Candidates series. This month, reporter Steve Jenkins interviews former Speaker of the House Newt Gingrich. ––––––

When The Editor first told me that I had to interview Newt Gingrich, my first reaction was: Gingrich? That tubby little goblin hasnʼt dropped out yet? But The Editor refused to acquiesce, so I called up the Gingrich campaign to arrange a brunch meeting. A familiar sounding voice picked up. “Newt for America 2012, how are you looking to help America today?” I paused for a few seconds in disbelief. “Is this Newt?” There was an uncomfortable silence. “Of course not. Former Speaker Gingrich has a very busy campaign schedule–” I cut him off. “Are you fucking serious? Newt, I know itʼs you.” “Alright, itʼs me. The girl who answers the phones is… is out to lunch.” “Whatʼs her name?” “Uh…” “Whatʼs her name, Newt?” “…” “You canʼt even pay anyone to answer the phones, can you? Alright, look Newt, Iʼm with The Libel and–” “What the hell is The Libel?” “Donʼt worry about it. Iʼd like to do a brunch interview with you–” “Whoʼll pay?” “We will.” “Deal.” We exchanged the meeting information and I hung up. What a goddamn mess, I thought.

I walked into the Shoneyʼs five minutes early, and saw Gingrich poring over the menu. It was painfully clear that he had been waiting for a while. I walked over to him. “Newt.” “Hi Steve.” “Now I was hoping we could go over a few lengthy policy issues before we ordered.” His face fell and I let him glance nervously for a few seconds. “Just kidding.” He laughed. A waitress walked over and asked us if we would like some drinks, which Newt took as an invitation to order a main course. “Yeah, could I get the BBQ Bacon Cheeseburger and the Pile Oʼ Shrimp? Oh and the Dixie Tater Chips with extra sour cream? And a Philly Cheese Steak?” The waitress and I both looked at Newt incredulously? “Jesus, Newt, youʼre one hungry son of a bitch.” I looked at the waitress. “Iʼll uh, Iʼll have the Pecan Chicken Salad.” She walked away. I told Newt that I had to go to the bathroom and then went out to the parking lot and called The Editor. “This guyʼs a fucking nutjob, chief. Heʼs got no shot. Why are we wasting our time?” But The Editor told me to go back in and give it another shot. When I re-entered the restaurant, Newt had his head in his arms and was gently sobbing. I sighed and returned to the table. He looked up at me. “Youʼre not going to put this into the paper, are you?” “Of course not.” “Look, I just, I just donʼt know what to do anymore? Iʼm unelectable. Nothingʼs going my way. Iʼm fourth in the polls and all the other candidates call me chub-nuts behind my back.” I squirmed uncomfortably. “Well surely…” “What? What, Steve? I have nothing. Name one thing going my way.” “Well…” “yeah?” “You kind of look like Hal Holbrook if someone inflated him up with a basketball pump so… so thatʼs something.” But it was no use. Newt just sobbed harder after that and put his head back on the table. I noiselessly slid back my chair and left the restaurant. Poor bastard.


Levi Johnstonʼs New Cookbook Scores Among Forty-Something Moms

Less than a month after his first book release, Deer in the Headlights: My Life in Sarah Palinʼs Crosshairs, Levi Johnston appeared on The View again to announce the release of his first cookbook, At Home with Levi: Diabolically Delicious Recipes for the Passionate Cook. As the illiterate Johnston recounted the events that led him to have somebody else write down his culinary concoctions, the panel of cross-legged gossipers leaned in with interest. Joy Behar sat particularly close to Levi surveying his body, and calculating his virility with her eyes. To the right of her was Elisabeth Hasselbeck, equally transfixed. On the other side Barbara Walters examined Johnstonʼs hands as he explained the particular qualities of a master chef. Whoopi Goldberg and Sherri Shepherd sat on the ends of the couch, rounding out a scene that could remind the infrequent viewer of a doubled-stuffed Oreo. “You see, on my time on this planet, Iʼve realized something,” Johnston explained, “more women need a man like me in their lives.” Behar nodded approvingly, and Hasselbeck giggled into her hand. “I canʼt necessarily give every women what they want, but I can help them fantasize about a life with me. Thatʼs why I did that photo shoot with Playgirl. But whatʼs even sexier than me posing naked with my hockey stick (no really, my actual hockey stick)? Iʼll tell ya what—a man who can cook. Thatʼs why I wrote this book…and so that Tripp can be proud of his daddy.” Johnstonʼs message seems to have resounded with forty-something moms. His book has already sold 4 million copies, 2 million of which were sold to women who identified themselves as “lonely, sexually-frustrated mothers between the ages of 40 and 49.” The Libel spotted a camouflage Ford F150 deliberately taking up two parking spots with a beat-up “Levi for Mayor” bumper sticker in the parking lot outside The

Viewʼs studio and waited for Johnston after the interview. He agreed to share a few more details: “Well, the recipes contained in this book are meant to make women feel passionate about their lives again. When they make my Chicken Tetrazzini or my Habanero Salsa, I hope it allows them to escape their loveless, routine days, and imagine a life with me standing next to them, sautéing shallots over medium heat.”

Although Johnstonʼs cookbook has been particularly well received by middle-aged women, Johnstonʼs stock has risen among women of all ages in recent months. Betty White released her monthly list of Most Eligible Bachelorʼs just yesterday, revealing that Johnston climbed all the way to third only behind Ryan Gosling and Fabio. Libel polling revealed that 84% percent of women at Colby would hook up with Johnston, and that 43% would “probably have his love child”. 92% have at least one of his Playgirl pictures in the top drawer of their dressers. Competing for sales and the top spot on The New York Times Bestselling Cookbooks list is presidential hopeful Herman Cainʼs new release: 101 Ways to Serve Black Walnut Ice Cream.


Obituary

Reflections on my Grandmother

My Grandmother was born on the hottest day in Maine history 83 years ago and, God help you, if you forget she will sit directly on your face. She was one of 14 children and she will tell you with relish how pissed she was about it. From hearty rural Maine heritage she looks something like Kathy Bates and will slap you across the face with one of her breasts if you refuse to make a drink whenever she asks. In high school, Grandma Lou came to all of my running meets. She would sit in the bleachers and yell things like "Take your shirt off" and "Go Thornton Academy! Dropkick their dicks!" She really does have a way with words. After the race, if I did well, she would pat me on the head and ask to be introduced to "my sexy-ass friends" or, if I did poorly, she would just ask them for their numbers herself. Lord how she loved younger men! Every fall I would go up North and help her with Harvest. She had a small vegetable and ferret farm. I would pick the potatoes while she would nourish 250 eager ferrets. Her husband had died years ago, and she took in stray ferrets for the comfort that they provided. "Happiness is a warm ferret nibbling at your ankle," she used to say. She also used to say "There ain't no fever like ferret fever," but I think that was the endorphins from the flea bite doing the talking. Anyway, after she fed the ferrets she brushed them and collected their

fur. Together, we would spend our afternoons spinning ferret fur into yarn, which would later become beautiful ferret-wool prom dresses for the local schoolgirls. A ferret wedding dress is one you will never forget. To be sure, the ferret and vegetable farm was not all work. At the end of the day my grandmother and I would sit on her porch and do body shots of tequila. When Grandma Lou had to take out her teeth, you know it was going to be a good evening. We'd sit on the porch getting our buzz on. She would toss her teeth for her Pomeranian-Great Dane mix puppy to fetch and I would pluck away at my autoharp. Damn if we didn't have a knee slapping good time. Of course, I was only fifteen at the time, but on those cool Autumn evenings, Grandma taught me so much about life and liquor. We'd get ready for bed, and she'd come out of her bedroom in her nighty (she could have covered more skin with two Bandaids and a cork) and we'd watch the stars one last time before hitting the hay. She told me such profound things like "We all finish ourselves off at the end of the night anyway" and "Your grandfather was piss ugly, but damn if he couldn't cook." Her wisdom will be missed. I didn't go up North this fall and it was strange not coming back from fall break smelling like wet ferrets and moonshine.

Squirrel-onProspie Violence to Lower Applicant Pool, According to Experts

Sciurus carolinensis, otherwise known as the eastern grey squirrel, can be easily spotted running around the lush, arborous campus of Colby College. These bushy-tailed rodents are beloved by many, coveted for their beautiful pelts, delicious meat, and Mr. Burns-esque arms. The eastern grey squirrelʼs ability to inhabit residential areas like Colby has made them an integral part of the campus— as much a part of this campus as the residents of the Greater Boston area, like 20 minutes outside of Boston, bro. Recently, however, several cases of squirrel-on-human violence have been reported, forcing the Colby community to reevaluate their views on the extroverted rodents. In one case, a prospective student visiting Colby was bitten over twenty times near Woodman. Waterville Police were called, but decided not to act since they donʼt care about Colby. In another case, a prospective student and her family were scurried on by a large group of squirrels outside of Bobs. The prospective studentʼs infant sister was almost trampled to death. Thus far, all victims have been prospective students, leading to speculation that Colbyʼs applicant pool is the target of these assaults. The ramifications of a smaller applicant pool are huge, as US News & World Reportʼs writer Khaled Gerochs makes clear: “The applicant pool, or the number of applicants a school receives, is imperative to any


institution of higher learningʼs wellbeing because it is how great schools like Colby acquire talented students and a larger endowment for poorer people. A smaller applicant pool, especially a squirrel attack-induced downward trend, means there is a greater chance that students will be rich and stupid for years and years to come.” Jason Voorhees (Friday the 13th), expert on scaring people away and avid camper in Maine, also commented on the recent squirrel attacks, insisting that “squirrels are fluffy and cute on the outside, but possess dark beady eyes, a clear sign of soullessness and evil.” He went on, saying “the number of Colby applicants will not recover for years, even after the attacks stop happening…camp was never the same after I ʻdiedʼ…” a reiteration of Gerochsʼs long-term prediction. With these impending consequences, the Colby community is currently looking into the causation behind the attacks. A majority of the community believes that this phenomenon is a widespread trend among the squirrel population on campus, but some, like Colby senior Tim Bear (ʼ12), believe that there is a specific sect of squirrels committing these heinous crimes. Referring to the attacks, he said, “itʼs a real tragedy and I get why people would think all squirrels are evil after the fact, but not all squirrels are evil, at least not the Colby ones.” Pointing to a theory he finds more plausible, Bear reports that “an eyewitness as well as the victim from a prospie attack near Hillside both identified an ugly female squirrel as the attacker – therefore, theyʼre probably Bowdoin squirrels.” At this time, Waterville Police are looking into this theory, among many others, and the case remains open.

Waterville Police Chief Hires Dementors in Attempt to Curb Underage Drinking

In a news conference last Tuesday evening, Waterville Police Chief Joseph Massey announced his latest effort to combat underage drinking in Waterville. After long negotiations, Massey has reached an agreement with the Ministry of Magic to lease a fleet of dementors for the duration of the 20112012 school year. He has instructed the dementors to glide around the streets of Waterville in search of parties with underage drinking and drain peace, hope, and happiness out of them. “They will suck the life out of every underage party and reduce them to something like themselves… soulless and evil,” Massey explained. “And anyone hosting these parties will be subject to the dementorʼs kiss.” After a record 75 Colby students were summoned on alcohol charges during September, Massey believed that dementors were the only option left for the Waterville Police Department. “The Northern Kennebec Underage Drinking Task Force has been completely overwhelmed. The dementors will allow us to continue our stringent enforcement of Maine State Law against Colby students. The power of the dementorʼs kiss should bring an end to the scourge underage drinking in Waterville,” Massey said.

Reactions to the announcement have been mixed. Many students believe Masseyʼs decision is the grossest breach of liberty since the hard alcohol ban. Others, however, are less fazed. After much research, The Libel confirmed that at least one student (who wishes to remain anonymous) possesses the ability to drive the foul beasts far, far away. The owner of a silver Toyota Corolla LE, Maine license plate “PTRONUS” usually parked in the Bobs lot, and pictured below, said “Yea, I mean, itʼs not like itʼs the Sienna, but the backseat is actually pretty roomy. Iʼll round them all up and drop them off down at Bates—their parties are lifeless away. Plus if anything gets messy Iʼll have my wand (ivy, 8 inches, unicorn hair, and springy) in hand at all times.”


Rare Unanimous GOP Approval for No-Shave November


Volume 2 Issue 2