A ST U DE N T W R I T T E N M AGA Z I N E
You Donâ€™t Belong at Coachella
What to Eat on 4/20
Soup Martinez is Mr. Beans
My Soylent D iet: T he End of Food is t he Futu re of Food
Ju st How H ip i s t h e H ipp e st Fa r m i n A m e r i c a?
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28 Meals Later
g After eating nothing but Soylent for nine days, tears never tasted so good.
BY MIK AL A EVERET T
Ear t h Day
g Four ways to celebrate Earth Day while you still can. Only one involves crop failure.
BY ANNE ERTLE
Soup Mar t inez
g The UT sophomore that’s one half of Neighbor Coffee, Austin’s newest and youngest bean roastery.
BY JACKSON PEOPLES
IN E V ERY IS S U E
Gal Shweiki FOUNDER
12 THIS MONTH ONLINE
A R T DIREC TOR
EDITOR- IN - CHIEF
SA LE S DIREC TOR
SR . GR A PHIC DE SIGNER
CUS TOMER SERV ICE REP
42 THE HIPPEST FARM IN AMERICA
28 GAMING 30 MUSIC 46 THE SKETCH BOOK
By Gabi Gibson Turns out “hip farm” might be an oxymoron.
48 THE INTERVIEW 50 E XEUNT
ON THE COVER: Photo by: Madelynne Scales
Models: (L-R) Amanda Spenser • Sterling Wilmer • Kevin Sparkman Nick Guild • Mikala Everet t • Luke Adamson Anna Rose Elkins • Gabriel Cook
Shweiki Design & Marketing PRODUC TION
DIS TRIBUTION M A N AGER Study Breaks magazine is published twelve times per year by Shweiki Media, Inc. copyright 2012. All rights reserved. This magazine may not be reproduced in whole or in part in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or hereafter invented without written permission from the publisher. Reproduction or use in whole or in part of the contents of this magazine or of the trademarks of Study Breaks Magazine, Inc., without written permission of the publisher is prohibited. The publisher assumes no responsibility for care and return of unsolicited materials. Return postage must accompany material if it is to be returned. In no event shall such material subject this magazine to any claim for holding fees or similar charges. Study Breaks Magazine is an entertainment magazine for the students of San Antonio, San Marcos, Austin and Lubbock, published 12 times a year. Corporate Office: Study Breaks Magazine Inc., 4954 Space Center Dr. San Antonio, TX 78218
CONTACT STUDY BREAKS
EDITORI A L: M A RK S TENBERG 210-705-3284 | email@example.com St udy Break s Magazine is excited to help your brand reach our audience t hrough v ideo and w r it ten content .
SA LE S: GIL PE TERS
210-892-0951 ext. 116 | firstname.lastname@example.org APRIL 2016
5 VALUELESS FACTS ABOUT THIS ISSUE
BY MARK STENBERG
We figured that since students do
not eat well, the food issue would be misrepresentative if it failed to ref lect
the malnourished, grotesque diets of the collegiate gourmand. We hope you enjoy.
Second—and if you don’t care about
food this is where you should start
reading again—I am proud to announce that this is the first entirely student-
contributed issue of Study Breaks (with
the ironic exception of this Editor’s Note, LOL). Sparing the kind reader a surfeit of boring details, we’ve been slouching our way toward a completely student-filled magazine for about three months now. With this issue, we’ve Two things about the April issue are
incredibly exciting to me, and depending
on what kind of thing generally gets you excited, could be potentially titillating to you as well.
First, I am happy to report that we
have designated April as our food
issue because I don’t even really need a reason? Nothing too important happens
in April, people are always eating food anyway, yada yada yada.
Of course, as Study Breaks valiantly
strives to approach its content from a student point of view, our food issue differs from most, chief ly in that none of
the included recipes could levelheadedly
be called appetizing, healthy or not
jokes (pg. 50); our bucolic profile of a local farmer channels Paris Hilton’s simple life a lot more than Thoreau’s (pg. 43), and instead of a kooky taco
cleanse or whimsical chocolate diet, we made Mikala Everett eek out a pitiful
existence eating only a chalky white
space vomit called Soylent for nine days straight (pg. 32).
finally reached our goal. By
photographers throughout Texas and across the country, we’ve been able to present you, the students, with a
magazine filled exclusively with content
written by you, the students. Whether
this is a good idea or not is yet to be decided. Alea iacta est.
We are now the first nationally
encompassing, student-writ ten print
magazine in the country, and we have big plans for the future. Thank you for supporting us with your readership and lending us your writers from time
to time. We look forward to making more beautiful music with you in the months to come.
“DON’T BURN THE SOYLENT” g The cover, an homage to Rockwell’s “Freedom from Want,” is an obvious spoof on modern food with the substitution of Soylent for the turkey. But the photo’s 50s gestalt and the misogynistic advertisements we mimicked in the piece also poke fun at the post-war concept of “The Future of Food,” a joke that aligned perfectly with the Soylent theme.
HATS ON g The idea for Gabi Gimson’s profile of “The Hippest Farm in America” stemmed from the oft-sported Johnson’s Backyard Garden (JBG) trucker hats that are the exclusive domain of only the hippest pates of Austin’s social élite. The lionizing of urban agriculture is a quintessential component of trendiness in 2016, and JBG and their must-have hats so perfectly represent the intersection of these two worlds that it was impossible to resist looking a little closer.
SOYLENT GREEN g Soylent first came to my attention in 2014 when I was writing my thesis, a defense of processed food. Then and now, there is no better exemplar of processed food’s potential for good than Soylent. It is vegan, lactose-free, inexpensive, nutritionally replete and only requires water. Some have postulated (seriously) that it could help end world hunger.
MUNCHIES g Sara Marie Seidel, our nonsmoking writer from CU Boulder, turned out to be an incredible asset for the “What to Eat on 4/20” piece. Through her we were able to explore the perspective of the millions of Coloradoans that don’t smoke pot but still celebrate April 20th.
THE GINGERBREAD MAN g The fact that Will Strecker wrote about diarrhea for our food issue was an irony that neither escaped nor displeased me. Sort of the food version of a memento mori, it’s always wise to temper any overzealous food-veneration with the reminder that everything becomes poop eventually.
Contributors COLLEGE WRITERS NATIONWIDE
01. WILL STRECKER
08. ANNE ERTLE
University of Texas at Austin
John Carroll University
02. GABI GIMSON
09. MOLLY BURKE
St. Edward’s University
University of Texas at Austin
03. AL VANDERKLIPP
10. JACKSON PEOPLES
English Literature Writer
Nutritional Science Writer
Study Breaks is writ ten exclusively by a team of student interns from across the country. These writers work with the editorial team to pitch and submit one piece a week for the website, in addition to writing for the monthly print magazine.
University of Northwestern Michigan
University of Texas at Austin
Summer internships run from May 28th
04. JESSE SISLER
11. NATALIE HAYS
close May 7th. If interes ted, email
Film & Government Writer
mark@s tudybreak s .com with “ Student
Writing Internship” in the Subjec t.
Texas State University
05. CHARLIE WOOLEY
12. MADELYNNE SCALES
San Diego University Psychology
06. SARA MARIE SEIDEL Writer
University of Colorado at Boulder English and Creative Writing
07. MIKALA EVERETT Writer
Texas State University
to September 14th, and applic ations
Texas State University
Journalism & Photography
13. MARSHALL TIDRICK Photographer
University of Texas at Austin Journalism & French
14. CHARLES BASS Photographer University of Texas at Austin Plan II and Texas Creative Advertising
Introduce yourself in the body, making sure to include your name, school and major. Please at tach at leas t t wo samples of your work. Ideal writers are intelligent, funny and talented, though no formal experience is necessar y.
Meanwhile, at studybreaks.com JUST THE FACTS
FROM THE ARCHIVES
“There’s nothing more engaging than pooping to the gurgling bassline of Tool’s ‘Stinkfist.’”
Texas Alcohol Laws Little did we know that a facetious piece about the complexity and self-entrapment of alcohol laws in Texas would become the single mosttrafficked article on the website. Inspired by a ninety-minute beer run caused by the alcohol opprobrium in Bandera County, the light-hearted article has become a valuable resource for confused, thirsty Texans googling Texas’ irrational drinking laws.
– Molly Burke, University of Texas at Austin “Decorating Your Student Apartment”
“Can a Catholic school—or any religious university—allow an event to be held on campus if it opposes a belief of the school’s religion?” –Jenna Ramsey, Seattle University “My Catholic University & Its Cancelled Abortion Seminar”
“I don’t think I’ll ever get a free drink. And I probably won’t ever get out of a speeding ticket.” - Jessinta Smith, Suffolk Community College “Life After Resting Bitch Face”
SPOTLIGHT THE COLOR ADO POT JOKES ARE CASHED (OK, Now They’re Cashed)
“Speaking of winners, how familiar are you with
Between April Fool’s Day and 4/20, April is a month ripe for humor. But for Coloradoans, writes UC Boulder student Sara Marie Seidel, the monotony of Colorado-related weed jokes really does make April the cruelest month. Although other states have legalized marijuana, she concedes that the Mile High moniker has made cannabis humor into a pretty lowhanging fruit. Still, as Ye would say, “It’s not funny anymore, try different jokes.”
Ted Nugent? Have you seen his Facebook? The Trump is strong with this one.”
John Miles, Sante Fe College “A Few Suggestions for Mr. Trump’s Official Campaign Song” “You’ll find glitter on everything you own—and
most things you don’t—for weeks to come, like a one woman Hansel and Gretel.”
– Sofia Rivera, Simmons College “An Appeal for Bringing Back the Awkward Stage”
Imani McGarrell’s Suggested Replacements for the “Crying Michael Jordan” Meme.
JAMES VAN DER BEEK
Online College LEARN HOW TO: Use your smartphone (the right way) to kill dorm bugs; celebrate a 21st birthday on a dry campus; cuss in front of your conservative parents; read your textbook in traffic; properly enjoy a college sick day; skip class for the first time; start a clothing line; deal with the death of your professor who is a monk; lament getting engaged in college; date without Tinder; go to prison.
WEAR »BUY »CELEBRATE 5 1 2 . 2 4 5 . 2 2 7 3 | w w w. b o o k s t o r e .t xs tat e . e d u
B Y M O L LY B U R K E , U N I V E R S I T Y O F T E X A S AT AU S T I N
SRIRACHA: The gold standard in hot sauce, but only if we’re talking the rooster brand (formally Huy Fong). Hipsters love it, and when have they ever been wrong? If you still have doubts, consider the fact that you can google “sriracha” plus literally any other food and get approximately 3 bajillion hits.
PESTO: Use it as a marinade for chicken, drizzle it inside omelets or smooth it onto pizza dough before you add the red sauce. Like sriracha, this garlicky basil concoction could show up anywhere on my plate and I wouldn’t be mad about it. Except maybe the underside. That’s wasteful.
here will come a time in your college career when you feel the urge
to branch out from your humble
culinary foundations. Maybe you’re sick of thrice-
daily Chick-fil-a, or perhaps you need to one-up a friend who’s talented in the kitchen.
It’s easy to cook delicious food at home if you
know what you’re doing. Luckily, the minimum
intelligence requirements for good cooking are astonishingly low. This is something the people at Food Net work caught on to early, as
evidenced by Paula Deen and Guy Fieri. It just goes to show that if you can think your way out of a paper bag or bad highlights, you can master a casserole.
HOW TO VEGETABLE RESPONSIBLY: If you’ve ever been on a health kick after one too many nights knocking back row after row of Oreo Fudge Cremes, you know that while having a cleaner diet can make you feel accomplished, it can come with its own set of drawbacks. For one, eating healthfully can coincide with out-of-control flatulence. This is often the result of getting veggie wasted, as vegetables come chock-full of dietary fiber and other militantly indigestible forms of carbohydrates. There’s a time and a place for ripping mad broccoli farts, and maybe for you, library snacktime or a dinner date with a reasonably dignified suitor doesn’t make that list. Luckily, #notallvegetables are out to sabotage your social
BRAGG’S LIQUID AMINOS: Sorry, FitFam, despite its confusing name this is not a protein supplement. It’s actually delicious, pure umami in a bottle. In flavor it’s a close cousin to soy sauce but with far less sodium, so you won’t feel like you just walked off the Mad Max set after eating it.
life with uncontrollable gas. Here are some veggies that won’t make you pray for a swift death a couple hours into stifling your normal bodily functions. • Bell peppers: Pan-sear them with chili powder, garlic and lime juice, and wrap them up in a tortilla with beef or chicken fajita meat. Can also be eaten sans meat for a sad but cultured vegan experience.
• Leafy greens: The big ones are spinach, kale and chard, in order of least to most likely to be spat into the trash. The key is to temper their wholesome, obnoxious bitterness with a good steaming. Chop them up and add to scrambled eggs or toss with walnuts and vinaigrette for a warm salad, which isn’t nearly as repulsive as it sounds. Or, blend them raw into a smoothie with bananas and chia seeds to channel your inner green goddess. • Zucchini: This phallic veggie is the stretchy support undergarment of Italian cuisine, because it works with nearly every conceivable dish and compensates somewhat for all the cheese you’ll be eating. Bake it into lasagna, layer it in an impressive swirly pattern for ratatouille, or buy zucchini chips and whip up a platter of morally ambiguous nachos.
V EGETABLES TO BE E ATEN ALONE OR W ITH YOUR LE AST-JUDGMENTAL FR IENDS. • Onions: Slice into rings and caramelize with canola oil, then put them in anything—salads, empanadas, ice cream. You’d be surprised at how many weird ways people accent dishes with caramelized onions. I guarantee that there’s a food blogger out there who shares your twisted onion-related fantasy. • Brussels sprouts: Deep fry in canola oil with salt and pepper and accept me as your savior. Yes, I know, deep-frying does tend to violently compromise a food’s health benefits. But you were awake for almost half of your classes this week and you deserve a treat. Drizzle these with spicy mayo and save the self-loathing for those ten awful minutes before you fall asleep at night.
• Cauliflower and broccoli: In my tried and tested humble opinion, these two are the worst offenders and should be regarded with no more than a sidelong glance until well into a complacent long-term relationship. Stir fry with soy sauce and scallions, then toss with shrimp and roasted cashews. Cauliflower is also great chopped into steaks and roasted in olive oil and curry spice. No matter how hard you squint vegetables will never taste like meat, but they will still be surprisingly palatable.
M A I N TA I N U R G A I N Z
Still hungry an hour after a meal? It’s probably because what you ate was low in fat or protein. If you want to feel fuller, flesh out a carb-heavy meal with one of these. • Avocado: Use a fork to smush it onto toast with freshly cracked pepper, or painstakingly lay a bunch of thin slices in a fan formation on top of any dish for an enviably photogenic meal. • Peanut butter: A spoonful or two bulks up oatmeal and smoothies, but I find that licking it off my index finger works just as well. PB can be added to curries to temper the spice, and is also the secret ingredient in many a champion chili recipe, although not anymore, I guess.
• Eggs: Try frying one over-easy and adding it to a burger or on top of ramen. If runny egg yolks give you the heebie-jeebies, suck it up. No pun intended. A quintessential part of being a foodie is pushing the boundaries of your gag reflex. Besides, this is just the tip of the iceberg. Which brings us to... • Crickets: Yes, as in Mulan’s fraudulent talisman! Not just for iguanas anymore, these little guys have been a global food source for humans for centuries, though you wouldn’t know it based on the collective American grimace that surfaces at the thought of endophagy. In 2013, the United Nations published a report on the sustainability of using insects to feed people and livestock, and US-based startup companies jumped at the opportunity to hop into the market. Consumers can now purchase edible cricket products in the form of flour, protein bars and chips. Skeptics, let’s face the facts: Japan, the Netherlands and Mexico all do it. Grossness is just a social construct. Molly Burke
Entertainment B Y J E S S E S I S L E R , D E PAU L U N I V E R S I T Y
GAME OF THRONES CHARACTERS THAT EVERYONE WANTS DEAD
THE SILICON VEEP OF THRONES T O C E L E B R AT E T H E R E T U R N OF G A M E OF T H RON E S , S I L IC ON VA L L E Y A N D V E E P, W E E NG AG E I N S OM E H Y P O T H E T IC A L S .
n April 24th, a heady triumvirate of HBO gold returns to the air. Likely using their parents’ login and password, students across the country will tune into Silicon Valley, Veep and Game of Thrones to await the fate of Pied Piper, realize there was a purpose for high school Government class (shoutout 20th Amendment) and know with certainty if hemorrhaging in a snowstorm after being repeatedly stabbed actually, you know, kills you. Each blockbuster features at least one iconic character, and the shows’ consecutive Sunday night time-slots give the programs a sort of loose association, which got us thinking: What if we did a character swap? If we put Erlich on Thrones, Dany on Veep and Selina Meyer on Silicon Valley, what would happen?
The whole list could just be Ramsay Bolton’s name over and over again and everyone would nod their heads in approval. He flays people alive, cuts off male genitalia, rapes his wife and generally is the closest thing to an antichrist that TV has ever seen.
G A M E OF B ON E R S ( E r l i c h’s t i t l e f o r i t)
Would Erlich be a Stark? A Targaryen? A depraved member of the House Lannister? Seeing as Erlich couldn’t fake honor if his life depended on it, a traditional house seems unlikely. The only appropriate sigil for the hairy, barbaric entrepreneur would be the f lag of the Dothraki. Erlich is the raging id, both enslaved and liberated by his devotion to the basest of animal instincts. He is loyal only to himself, but if his self-interest and yours align then he can be an incredible asset. Just don’t forget: As quickly as he’ll backhand a teenager to get you your Adderall, he’ll report you for illegally owning a ferret in the state of California.
JOFFREY BARATHEON OK, yes, he’s dead. But who else thinks his death wasn’t painful enough???
names. After renaming Drogon, he’d break Ondrug like a wild stallion and ride him nude through the Seven Kingdoms. When the Dothraki realize he’s stolen their beloved dragon, Erlich would nonetheless demand their respect and they would listen. At the end of the day, the Dothraki would realize, he’s a pot-smoking, awfulapp-endorsing, FAGE yogurt-eating douchebag, but he’s our douchebag.
Erlich as a Dothraki does not come without its complications, though. How would he deal with someone as beautiful—what he would call a “total smoke show”—as Daenerys Targaryen? Presumably by walking around naked and baked, but would Dany have to endure rigorous sex training to prepare for Erlich the way she did for Khal Drogo? Probably not. We are, after all, talking about the man who wanted to have sex with Gilfoyle’s satanist girlfriend with the knowledge that she had sex with Gilfoyle. Standards! But the question everyone’s wondering—how would Erlich deal with the dragons? The incubator extraordinaire would likely begin by embarking on a vision quest to come up with suitable new
If Dany left for D.C., the Seven Kingdoms would be in a pinch. With Jon Snow theoretically dead and the Night’s Watch in shambles, the White Walkers pretty much have a clear path to apocalypse. Since we know Game of Thrones has a few more seasons in it, the White Walkers presumably have at least a few road bumps to sort out, the bumpiest of which promises to be Khaleesi, her dragons and her sun-kissed military force. If Dany leaves for the White House though… The ruination of the Seven Kingdoms aside, how might the Mother of Dragons adjust to life on Veep? After replacing Selina Meyer, Dany would demand to be addressed as “Khalees” before beginning to benevolently lead a group of people so idiotic that they literally couldn’t elect a president. Upon Tom asking her to be his Vice President, Dany would have to choose between accepting the offer or feeding Tom to Drogon/Ondrug. Assuming a dragon is more persuasive to the House of Representatives than a lobbyist group, the Tom question sort of answers itself. Thus, Dany becomes president. In reality though, would a Targaryen presidency really even be that different from a Meyer one? Dany and Selina both do and say what they want, and they’re both at once victims and victors. The Thrones world is sadistic and cruel, while the Veep world is equally cruel, just maybe less blood-drenched. All things considered, most voters probably wouldn’t even know the difference.
MELISANDRE She needs to die for so many reasons, but not before she reanimates John Snow and then hooks up with him, cause their almost-tryst was the biggest tease of last season.
SAMWELL TARLY If no one else will say it I will: Samwell sucks. I don’t want him tortured or anything, and his “wife” should be taken care of, but if he fell off The Wall I wouldn’t shed a tear.
S E L I N AC ON VA L L E Y After rejecting Tom’s offer of the Vice Presidency, Selina Meyer
would realize that she needs to reconnect to the young vote in order to woo it. Since Erlich is off bare-backing Ondrug, Meyer could move to Silicon Valley and take over his start-up incubator.
When Gilfoyle and Dinesh try to hit on her, Meyer would
acerbically and racistly defend herself, calling Gilfoyle a
satanic prick and Dinesh a terrorist. Intimidated by Meyer’s uncouth brand of diplomacy, Richard would call Monica and
explain that he needs a strong female presence to balance Selina, prompting Jared to review whatever semblance of sexual harassment code Pied Piper has.
After settling in and embracing the culture of Silicon Valley,
Selina would take the reins of Pied Piper and navigate the app
through its legal troubles. When the Piper gang decides they need a new app to sustain their momentum, Selina would suggest
a technology capable of monitoring the IQ of prospective voters
using illicitly obtained DNA. She would become irate and storm off when Richard sheepishly (annoyingly sheepishly) explains
the impossibility of coding such an app. In her tirade she would run into Big Head, who somehow still holds a high position at
arl P 306 Pe
215 aT X 7 8 106 • S E T S • y arkwa
Hooli. She would retire from politics after realizing the futility of running a country where Big Heads and Gilfoyles succeed. Jesse Sisler
Do you like to party? Do you like to drink? Go out on 6th Street? Float the river? We all know college students like to have a good time, that’s one of the best parts of the college experience. One little mistake can haunt you for the rest of your life, so how do you protect your future? iDrinkResponsibly is offering a new service that can help.
What is iDrinkResponsibly.com?
Why was this company created?
We’re similar to insurance in that we protect our members if they ever make a claim. Unlike insurance, our plans cover nonviolent, alcohol related offenses and traffic violations, we call it “lawsurance” - but that’s what the board wants me to say. Look, we all know that college students like to party, but most people think that if they don’t feel drunk or buzzed, they’re ok to drive. The reality is that if an officer even smells alcohol on you, you’re most likely going to jail. iDrinkResponsibly.com is a service that will pay for your lawyer if you get arrested. iDrink is revolutionizing the way people drink and party.
People hesitate going to the doctor because going to the doctor is f****** expensive if you don’t have insurance. Going to a lawyer is expensive and fighting a DWI can cost more than a semester of college. I don’t know anyone who has that kind of money lying around. Our founders recognized a need to provide quality legal services to people who otherwise couldn’t afford it. Having a good attorney on your side can mean the difference between a proper defense and having a record that will follow you for the rest of your life. iDrink was created because, like you shouldn’t go to the doctor without insurance, you shouldn’t go to a lawyer without lawsurance.
The reality is that if an officer even smells alcohol on you, you’re most likely going to jail.
Is this encouraging drinking and driving? Is this a get out of jail free card? No. Just because you go to the doctor, it doesn’t mean you have cancer. Just because you have lawsurance, it doesn’t mean you’re going to drink and drive. We realize that good people make mistakes and that just because you have a beer at a party, you shouldn’t have a DWI follow you for the rest of your life. Most students would be saddled with a court appointed attorney who will just plea your case and will not fight for you. We’re helping protect your future.
How does it work? iDrink only costs $19.95 a month. If you get arrested for a DWI, PI, BWI, minor in possession or even if you get a traffic ticket, you pay a small deductible and you get quality legal representation. Go to iDrinkResponsibly.com to find out more.
BY WILL STRECKER, UNIVERSIT Y OF TEX AS AT AUSTIN
APRIL MARATHONS MAY BRING BROWN SHOWERS WHAT THE RUNNER’S TROTS CAN TEACH US ABOUT OURSELVES.
he Boston Marathon, the world’s oldest and longest running racing event, takes place on the 18th of this month. The venerable race and all those that compete in it are paragons of physical excellence, fitness idols for the world to admire proudly. Twenty-six miles is no small feat, and given the kind of shape I’m in currently, even walking to the finish line would be an accomplishment. However, despite the years of training that top athletes devote to disciplining their bodies, there is one physiological menace that cannot be tamed, appeased or abated. It is a secret danger, lurking in the loins, that according to a study in Current Opinion in Clinical Nutrition and Metabolic Care,
affects an estimated 30-50 percent of distance runners. Rarely is this silent assassin discussed, and after asking a marathon-running friend of mine and feeling the shame seep through her otherwise composed demeanor, I understood why. It is embarrassing. I am of course talking about runner’s trots, a.k.a. “the gingerbread man,” a.k.a. “mud butt,” a.k.a. “swamp ass,” a.k.a “runner’s diarrhea.” Personally, I prefer the name “the gingerbread man,” precisely because for the life of me I cannot understand the correlation between the two; in fact, I like to think that there is no correlation, just a mischievous leg-sweep to the gingerbread industry.
Runner’s trots affect long distance runners and are characterized by the sudden and urgent need to poop mid-run. Ideally, marathon volunteers have preemptively placed port-o-potties around the trail, but even then, the overwhelming urge to ass-plode often leads to drastic measures. Frequently, runners break off the path and crouch behind a bush, sacrificing their shirts to the cause and finishing the race bare-chested. More often than you might think, however, there’s no safe cover to unload, and runners are forced to try and hold in the inevitable. This, my friends, is when the utterly disgusting happens. Yes, grown adults poop their pants. And when I say poop, I’m not talking about a cute, smiling poop emoji nestling in your skivvies. What I mean is a hot, rancid, brown liquid erupting deep from within one’s bowels, spewing like a volcano and soaking one’s shorts in a poop smoothie. Even imagining it right now is making me cringe. And, trust me, I can’t make this stuff up. Case and point: the 2008 Göteborg half-marathon in Sweden. In perhaps the most infamous case of runner’s trots, Swedish runner Mikael Ekvall shit his britches mid-run, yet somehow fought through the loss of his dignity (maybe he had none to begin with?) and finished the race, placing 21st. His imbroglio was so dehumanizing that he earned the nickname “bajsmannen,” or “poop man” in English. APRIL 2016
TAPROOM SAN MARCOS, TX
It’s the time of the year that everyone dreads— the crunch zone between midterms and finals. You’re tired of going out to a coffee house every other night and staring blankly at a computer screen for hours. You deserve a night off. Nothing too exciting—you have an eight o’clock in the morning, but you’re still going to drink, damn it. You park in the forsaken battleground of downtown San Marcos after clawing your way into a back-in-only spot. So far, so good—except you’re hungry. Real hungry. As you strut through the Square, the wafting smell of fried food hits you as you pass by a sign that reads Taproom: Pub and Grill. You take the only available seat left at the bar; the place is packed. Before you can think, a waitress with a smile passes you a menu. “Hey there! Welcome to Taproom, have you been here before?” she asks. “Uh, no I haven’t actually.” “Welcome! Just so you know, we have about 102 different beers, with 42 of those on tap. We’ve also got some great food. My suggestion is the Avocado Queso Burger. I’ll give you a few minutes.” Your jaw is hanging slack. 102 beers? You look at the drink portion of the menu and sure enough, 102 beers. You’re not a massive beer drinker, but you love a good cider. You go with an Ace Pear Cider on tap. The smiling waitress brings you a chilled pint, and the crisp cider tastes like heaven on your tongue. You order the Avocado Queso Burger and a side of onion rings—Tuesday is now cheat day. As you chomp down into the glory that is the AQB, a trivia game roars behind you. The bar has the kind of atmosphere where everyone is happy to be together. As you wash down an onion ring with the last bit of your pear cider, you wonder why you hadn’t come here sooner. Your waitress catches you as you finish. “Want another one?” “Please. It’s been that kind of semester.”
By Natalie Hays, Texas State University
There are few things harder to look at than pictures of Ekvall, covered from the waist down in diarrhea, clearly distressed as the crowd points and laughs. Since the incident, pictures of Ekvall have become popular fodder for “Fail” memes and other disparaging internet jibes. Yet, despite the trauma, Ekvall has refused to let the abdication of his dignity stop him from racing. Ekvall may be the poster child for this affliction, but he is far from its only victim. In 2005, Olympic gold-medalist Paula Radcliffe fell victim to “the gingerbread man” in the London Marathon. Radcliffe won the race, toppling the previous world record by more than a minute, but her PR isn’t what the race is remembered for. Near the end of the course, the Olympian had to stop on the side of the road to defecate after apparently being hampered by “the gingerbread man” for a large portion of the race. What makes Radcliffe’s trip to the loo so memorable, though, is the fact that the cameras filmed the entire thing. Yes, a live TV broadcast filmed a grown woman and professional athlete pull down her pants and open the floodgate to her bowels. She still finished the run and apologized to the camera afterwards, explaining to viewers what happened as if they couldn’t guess. In 1998, renowned marathon-runner Catherine McKieran was hit with a case of “the gingerbread man.” Granted, she never admitted to pooping, but noted that she suffered from “stomach cramps,” a common euphemism for runner’s trots. The list goes on and on. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if someone reading this has dealt with runner’s trots, or knows somebody who’s dealt with them. Hell, maybe someone with mud butt is reading this in a mid-race port-a-potty. Meta! But let me be perfectly clear: I do not encourage self-defecation, but exercise is cool, so don’t let the trots hamstring your desire to exercise. Plus, poop jokes aside, there’s a lesson buried in here. Sometimes we put athletes on a pedestal, grouping them in a category separate from ourselves. The reality is that people who run marathons are not super-humans. They are athletic, yes, but really they’re just hyper-dedicated people, people who are capable of embarrassing themselves just like anyone else, if not more than anyone else. The fact that runner’s trots occur across the spectrum testifies to our humanity. We all have bodies that sometimes fail us or make us feel insignificant or inferior. But, in the end, we are all sacks of meat, bones and poop.
I AM OF COURSE TALKING ABOUT RUNNER’S TROTS, A.K.A. “THE GINGERBREAD MAN,” A.K.A. “MUD BUTT,” A.K.A. “SWAMP ASS,” A.K.A “RUNNER’S DIARRHEA.” PERSONALLY, I PREFER THE NAME “THE GINGERBREAD MAN,” PRECISELY BECAUSE FOR THE LIFE OF ME I CANNOT UNDERSTAND THE CORRELATION BETWEEN THE TWO; IN FACT, I LIKE TO THINK THAT THERE IS NO CORRELATION, JUST A MISCHIEVOUS LEG-SWEEP TO THE GINGERBREAD INDUSTRY.
So, the next time you get rejected by a pretty girl or fail your Bio test, the next time
your pride is hurt or you find yourself ashamed of something, think of Mikael Ekvall. The man shit his pants midway through a run, and instead of quitting and finding a bathroom to clean up in, he finished the competition.
OPENING PI DAY On April 28th, in their first season since decamping from St. Louis, the Los Angeles Rams will have the 15th pick in the NFL Draft. Jealously eyeing the Rams’ plush new LA digs are the Oakland Raiders, a franchise that has long broadcast its desire to relocate. One potential suitor for a Raider transplant is San Antonio. With the ink now dry on the Rams’ deal, the Alamo City’s odds of nabbing the Raiders have never been better. Consider: The potential stadium would be built between Austin and San Antonio, a metropolitan hub larger than most NFL markets. Mark Davis, the owner of the Raiders, recently bought land in the area. The city’s sports fanaticism (re: Spurs) is unparalleled. The two also share blue-collar vibes and black and silver color schemes. Most convincingly though—the city could adopt the Raiders’ original name. The San Antonio Señors definitely has a ring to it.
He swallowed his pride in the face of countless onlookers
who were probably thinking, “This guy is f *cking nuts,” or “This is the most hilarious thing I’ve ever seen,” or “Get some new f *cking pants, guy,” or “Is that poop?” Because despite the internet infamy that will follow him until he dies, the
“poop man” still gets to do what he loves. Only now, he does it with clean shorts. Will Strecker
BY AL VANDERKLIPP, UNIVERSIT Y OF NORTHWESTERN MICHIGAN
repetitive stealth platformer that contributes nothing new to the stagnant franchise. This Vita port is akin to giving a hungry family the warmed-over scraps of a bland meal, then charging them $30 for the privilege. Bon appétit. Q u a n t u m B r e a k ( X b ox O n e)
Quantum Break’s premise is pretty simple. When a time travel experiment goes awry, it (naturally) gives everyone present unique time-manipulation powers. In one memorable trailer, the hero, wandering a frozen office building, calmly pushes aside suspended debris from an exploding helicopter to grasp the wrist of a scientist, and in doing so pulls her into his still, quiet world. What’s yet to be seen is whether our heroes will be able to resist the naughty vices inherent in time-stopping fantasies.
A PR I L 12
R a t c h e t & C l a n k ( P S 4) The selling point of the Ratchet and Clank series is the arsenal of ludicrous weapons that offer many, many ways to humiliate and kill your enemies, a concept that is being worked into the upcoming animated family film. This is the game based on the movie reboot based on the original game from 2002, which promises to be a fun experience in spite of the obvious identity crisis. The graphics on the PS4 actually look even better than the
big-screen counterpart, but the movie (in theaters on the 29th)
has the advantage of including the voice talents of legendary actor John Goodman in the cast. Luckily, we don’t have to pick
XBOX AND CHILL: APRIL’S HOTTEST VIDEOGAME RELEASES HOW C A N U B I S OF T S T I L L? A PR I L 5
A s s a s s i n’s C r e e d C h r o n i c l e s C o l l e c t i o n ( P S V i t a) Desperate owners of Sony’s eternally neglected handheld
only have to endure the pain of one insult this month, courtesy
of developer Ubisoft. The Chronicles series has already been released on every current platform, and has met deservedly
negative critical reception. Though the included titles span historically significant periods in China, India and Russia, each game is a slow,
between the two.
A PR I L 22
S t a r Fox Z e r o ( W i i U ) In a last-ditch attempt to prove the Wii U’s gamepad useful,
Star Fox Zero forces the player to use the tiny display as a cockpit view, and the TV screen as a traditional third-person
perspective. Surprisingly dull environments and questionable
gameplay marred its performance at last year’s E3, and the development team has been forced into several delays to improve the fiddly motion controls.
Even with the inclusion of legendary dev PlatinumGames and
producer Shigeru Miamoto (the creator of Mario himself), it’s
hard to imagine the troubled development will lead to anything
other than more filler leading up to the announcement of the Wii U’s successor, the NX.
It’s not exactly encouraging that Nintendo, like a toddler
who has done something unintentionally funny and endlessly
attempts to replicate it, has worked the now-tired “Do a barrel roll!” line into every piece of marketing thus far.
PRESIDENTIAL PLATFORMER: 3 VIDEO GAME POLITICIANS TO SHAKE UP THE RACE The 2016 presidential primaries are nearly over, but it’s not too late for an independent fictional character to get into the game. Here are a few prominent political figures you might want to keep an eye on.
5 DYS T O PIAN FO O D V IDE O G AM E S EVERYDAY ITALIAN Crumbling Colosseum, eroding Spanish steps, graffitied Sistine Chapel: The opening montage is hailed as an “aesthetic spinal tap.” Things fall apart. In a post-apocalyptic, post-agricultural Italy, putting food on the table means everyday it’s Italians.
MAN VS. FOOD In one corner stands the protagonist, emaciated and wide-eyed with nothing left to lose. In the other, five-time Welterweight Champion and reanimated foodstuff, The Italian Hero. Two will enter, only one will leave.
CHOPPED Banned in the EU and California for its graphic violence, Chopped has been described as “Saw relocated in an industrial kitchen.” In a gruesome battle royal replete with cleavers, paring knives, blenders and military-strength washing machines, one kitchen staff fights to the death.
GUY’S GROCERY GAMES Set in medias res in a not-too-distant future, King Guy I rules the world with an accent-ring studded fist. Food is scarce and in order to control his mutinous peons, the King of Bling hosts gladiatorial games to appease the populace. Taking the “bread and circuses” maxim too literally, gameplay is in the 1st person POV of a clown.
BOYS MEET GRILL Supposedly inspired by a nightmare about Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego that producer Giuseppe Murillo experienced while pearl diving, the game purports an alternate ending to the miraculous Biblical tale. Cue the sizzle.
THE CANDIDATE: MAYOR MIKE HAGGAR Final Fight Series
On the issues: Haggar has personally kept his constituents in Metro City safe from crime and terrorists, taking to the streets to single-handedly combat scores of degenerate bikers. Can he do the same for an entire country? The electorate is doubtful.
Electability: Not good. Haggar is a strong leader, as evidenced by his ability to rip telephone poles from the ground, but his violent “eye for an eye” mentality is bad foreign policy at best. Haggar’s biggest gaffe this campaign cycle? His refusal to wear a shirt for more than a few minutes during the debates. Unprofessional!
THE CANDIDATE: ASHLEY GR AHAM Resident Evil 4
Electability: Decent. Senator Armstrong’s strong antiestablishment sentiments are sure to go over well with the fractured Republican party, but it’ll be hard to justify his efforts to harvest the brains of South American orphans for use in government-issued war robots.
In this fourth and final installment,
P l a y s t a t i o n’s l a n d m a r k a c t i o n -
adventure franchise, widely regarded for their cinema-like stories; think Indiana Jones with more guns, fewer
whips and less emphasis on xenophobia.
The foundation of the series has always been breathtaking environments and exciting discoveries, broken up by
hours of frustrating, shallow combat, a formula recently perfected by the latest entry in the rival Tomb Raider franchise.
On the issues: Senator Armstrong’s speeches, famously delivered from the body of an enormous mechanical spider, have resonated with the American people. His core values include strength, purity and returning America to its former exceptionalist glory.
Electability: Excellent. Her habit of hiding in dumpsters and small spaces in the face of danger is relatable not only to the anxiety-ridden youth of today, but to Cold War-era adults who are nostalgic for the under-the-desk cowering of yesteryear.
Un c h a r t e d 4 : A T hi e f ’s E n d ( P S 4) Unchar ted
Metal Gear Rising: Revengence
On the issues: The daughter of the Resident Evil universe’s President Graham, young Ashley is about as “establishment” as you can get. If elected, she’s expected to stick to the policies of the first Graham administration, but says she would hesitate before bombing a major US city again. As a bonus, her kidnapping in a vaguely Eastern European country gives her valuable foreign policy experience.
A PR I L 26
THE CANDIDATE: SENATOR STEVEN ARMSTRONG
Drake gets called out of retirement for one last adventure (at least until
another company takes over the
lucrative series). The gameplay we’ve seen so far is unbelievably gorgeous and precision-engineered to squeeze
every possible drop out of those adrenal glands. As a bonus, Naughty
Dog has announced the addition of dialogue options, which ideally means you get to choose which cheesy
quips Drake utters upon the deaths of clueless henchmen. Al Vanderklipp
BY CHARLIE WOOLEY, UNIVERSIT Y OF SAN DIEGO
DO YOU BELONG AT COACHELLA? PR E DIC T I NG YOU R C OAC H E L L A C OM PAT I B I L I T Y B A S E D ON YOU R S X S W DE C I S ION S
ast month, hundreds of t housands of mout hbreat hing iconoclast s descended upon Austin for South by Southwest. Following in tow like so many insurance-lacking lampreys came the faceless hordes of pubescent musicians, washout artists and a vampiric McDonald’s PR f leet looking to suck the last driblets of “cool factor” from the city’s clotting veins. And, like many thousand of other college students, you were probably there. At the end of your mem-filled week though, despite your enviable snap story, you still can’t help but wonder, “Is this it? Does my life have value? Is it all downhill from SXSW?” The answer, like so many answers in my life, is a disgusted no. You see, far out west, where the water’s dried up but the nuts are still thriving, there’s a beautiful city called Indio. And every April, that city hosts a magical festival called Coachella. W her e S X S W celebr at es squa lor, bohem ia a nd t he bon hom ie of t he pr olet a r iat , Coachel la i s a t emple t o t he goddess of lu x u r y. Ver da nt , w at er-i nt en sive law n s, r ich wh it e g i rl s wea r i ng i nt r ic at ely s t r apped sa nda l s, et h n ic veg a n food t hat ’s pu n k yet s t i l l f a m i ly f r iend ly— Coachel la i s wher e dec adence su m mer s .
Still, provided you and your drag-
rat friends manage to camouf lage
your true selves and aren’t politely
tsk-tsked away at the ticket window, there’s no guarantee that Coachella will fulfill you in all the ways that
SXSW was unable to. So here, using
the familiar territory of SXSW as a guide, is a questionnaire that will help you find out whether or not you belong at Coachella.
COACHELLA OR CO-CELLO?
CAN YOU TELL WHICH ARE BANDS PERFORMING AT COACHELLA AND WHICH ARE COMPOSERS OF CELLO DUETS? • Lord Huron
While waiting in line at Franklin Barbecue, a homeless man offers to hold your place for three hours if you give him $50. You’d already resigned yourself to missing the unplugged set of your favorite prog-rock band, Skunk Skank, under the I-35 bridge, but this hobo could be trustworthy.
IF YOU BELONGED AT COACHELLA, YOU WOULD…
Assume he must be famous. Why else would he be dressed like that? You ask for a picture, graciously thank him and ask if he wants your number. He says he doesn’t have a phone. You practically melt. “Wow,” you croon, “he’s so cool. He rejects the confining
• Yilmaz Hasan Hüseyin • TOKiMONSTA • Zhu • Jules de Swert • Nicole Moudaber • Friedirch Dotzauer
invites the more attractive half of your group
(you included) to an exclusive after-party, and he drops a hint that Metro Boomin will be there. “No
uggos,” the rep says, menacingly. “Metro doesn’t trust uggos.” You turn and look at the friends that didn’t get invited.
IF YOU BELONGED AT COACHELLA, YOU WOULD… Try and sneak them in by covering them in flash tats. Worked last year, didn’t it?
restraints of modern technology.” Afterwards, you tell your friends you met Shia LaBeouf.
• Breuer Bernhard • Tei Shi
While mingling inside the Fader Fort, a rep
You arrive at Spotify House at 10:00am ready to cash in on your three drink tokens and get the day started right. This morning, though, the bartender insists they’re out of Red Bull, so three Red Bull/vodkas are out of the question. They have Sugar Free though?
IF YOU BELONGED AT COACHELLA, YOU WOULD…
Never order Red Bull in the first place. Do you
You and your friends get drunk on the east
side and decide to take an Uber back to North Campus. When you finally arrive, the bill for your
twenty-minute ride is $15,000. When you turn to your friends, expecting to split it, you find them passed out and unresponsive.
IF YOU BELONGED AT COACHELLA, YOU WOULD… Ask the driver to keep driving until your friends
• Louis the Child
realize how bad that stuff is for you? And Sugar Free
wake up. After all, it was your dad that bought
• Nic Fanciulli
is even worse! Instead, ask the bartender to make you
everyone’s tickets. They do want to come back next
a vodka water with basil and a slice of strawberry—a
year, don’t they?
• Ida Engberg
thin slice please! If he says no, ask for a Bud Light.
• Kamasi Washington • Auguste Franchomme • George Fitzgerald • Guglielmo Quarenghi • Parov Stelar • Mbongwana Star • Luigi Boccherini
While waiting in line at Mohawk to see a band that’s popular enough to attract the most indie guy in the frat, but still underground enough that the crowd has no choice but to concede that the frat guy must just have good music taste, you see a retweet from SXSW Rumors. Apparently, Notorious B.I.G. is playing a surprise show. You’re positive that Biggie’s been dead for decades, but you still can’t shake that “what if” feeling.
IF YOU BELONGED AT COACHELLA, YOU WOULD…
Not go. Colin says it’s probably just going to be like Hologram Tupac, which was so four years ago. The possibility of making out with a hot business major sounds more appealing than potentially watching a dead fat guy anyway.
Everyone said that you had to get a breakfast
taco while you were in Austin, so you wind up at a friendly joint that the locals affectionately
call Taco C. You notice what looks like a rat-tail sticking out of the pico de gallo, and begin to think not all is what it seems.
IF YOU BELONGED AT COACHELLA, YOU WOULD… Stick around…until you find out that everything on the menu has gluten in it. Horrified by the unhealthy fare, ask the cashier where the nearest bottomless mimosas are.
Charlie Wooley APRIL 2016
2 8 M E A L S L AT E R Feature story by Mikala Everett, Texas State University Photos by Madelynne Scales, Texas State University
Soylent, created by Silicone Valley doll Robert Rhinehart,
I ATE SOYLENT FOR NINE DAYS AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY ORAL THRUSH.
is a new age meal replacement designed for those who forget to
eat, as the nutritionally
I should have prepared the liquid
replete pap is perfect
flour the night before, so that all the
for people who don’t
powdery chunks could dissolve and
care about food or their
slide more easily down my gullet.
lives. That being said,
Unfortunately I did not, and during
I ate nothing but the
my first meal I nearly choked on a
powdered play-doh for
large lump of Soylent.
nine days and nearly lost all semblance of
I spilled some of the space product
myself. Still, it was fun
on my desk, and being the lazy sun
in a macabre, I don’t
of a gun that I am, I left the mess
care about my life
there to clean up “later.” “Later”
anymore sort of way.
soon grew into a torrid affair that
My bodily functions were weird on the first day. Every burp came from a place in my chest that had never before produced burps. My pee was clear and beautiful, but not in the way that it is when you drink a lot of water, because I already do that—sort of. My pee was clear yet luminescent, almost like I pissed a bunch of crystals. It was dope. Also on the first day, a miracle occurred! A boy asked me if I wanted to grab some food, and I assumed it
left me pretending not to notice the
was because I was cute and hilarious,
filth accumulating on my only usable
not because he wanted the Krabby
Patty Formula. However, we can’t be right about everything.
My initial impression of the taste was that it resembled what I assume baby
On the inside I laughed manically
formula tastes like, and I wondered
while attempting to explain my eating
if the pseudo-milk we designate for
arrangement without saying “I’m on a
our tiny humans tastes as terrible as
diet.” He therefore received my entire
Soylent does. If it does, we are doing a
life history because I refused to be one
serious disservice to our children. As
of those girls who are on a diet even
I was drinking it come lunchtime, the
though I very much was on a diet.
phrase, “I am an adult baby” played repeatedly through the soundtrack of my mind.
Quote of the day: “ I’m a baby.”
Day 2 I woke up with a pounding headache and a tongue that felt so thick, heavy and sore that I thought I might choke on it. There was a lot of choking going on those first two days, but mainly on the Soylent. I went to the bathroom to survey the damage last night’s sleep had left behind, and I almost cried when I saw my tongue. Before I explain the dismal state of my (second) strongest muscle, it is important to point out that I have always had a strange organ of gustation.
Day 3 On this blessed day, the monthly bloodletting began and with it came a very moody and obstinate Mikala. By way of nature, I am generally moody and grumpy. Once periods and lack of actual food are added into the equation that is my mood—I’m not the best person to be around. I gave myself a very rousing speech about why I should eat a donut because the “white man has oppressed me enough.” I didn’t end up eating the
I am a victim of geographical tongue, which is when you have weird patches that plague your food’s landing strip. My affliction has led to sensitivity of the palette and lots of teasing. I had noticed upon entering my second year in college that it was clearing up, but leave it to Soylent to fuck all that up. My tongue was completely white, bumpy and irritated. Even after brushing my teeth and tongue, all of the white, bird-shit like substance was still there. I took some photos and sent them to my best friend, who in turn told me that I was dying. Such a lovely gal that one. So what did I do? I did what any reasonable millennial would and googled the symptoms. After scrolling through several sites that told me that I probably have cancer, I figured that it was similar to oral thrush and continued on with my life.
donut but I was very anti-man that day and everyone pissed me off. I got mad at a classmate for breathing. It was a rough day, but on the plus side I could feel my tongue again.
Quote of the day: “I can’t wait for this shit to be over.” Day 4 I realized that a truckload of other people have done this diet and written about it, so I spent most of the day reading their accounts. I felt a sense of kindred spirit with these people that I had never met, and began to feel better about my life choices. However, all that changed when I realized that Buzzfeed also has a video about it, and once Buzzfeed gets ahold of
Oral thrush is something that occurs most commonly in babies from all the mommy milk and formula, only confirming my suspicion that I was drinking baby formula.
something it’s no longer novel. Damn you, Buzzfeed.
Later that night, all my slightly sadistic tendencies came out in full force. I spent about three hours watching cake videos and crying internally because I was not allowed to eat cake.
Soylent meal was chugged down as fast as possible
Quote of the day: “Alas! My immune system is weakening and I just want cake.”
and just looked around, eyes slightly glazed over
Because eating is such a social act in the world, I was starting to feel very lonely and sad. Each in my room, followed by a stick of gum. It was very depressing. I even went to the movies by myself to see Deadpool, with hunger, at the loads of people with their friends and their popcorn. I was depressed.
As I walked to my car, I realized that I hadn’t spent much money lately because all my coin goes to food and gas, and all the gas I use has to do with driving to food places. Consequently I was rolling in the dough. As rich people like myself understand though, money doesn’t keep you warm at night. Food—oops, I mean Soylent—for thought.
I did not move from my bed with the exception of peeing and consuming matter. I also slept in sheets filled with crumpled tissues and dried tears. As mentioned earlier, I am lazy and was in a state of despair so deep that I couldn’t possibly clean at such a time. The recurring theme of the day was the desire for cake and someone to love me, but mainly the cake.
Quote of the day: “ I feel simultaneously hungry and full.”
Quote of the day: “My tears taste better than the Soylent.”
I noticed that I felt a lot better nutritionally, which makes sense because the majority of my meals are comprised of pizza and French fries. In honor of Valentine’s Day, I began my weekend with a marathon of movies that made me sob my eyes out. The added saltiness of my tears slightly improved the taste of the Soylent.
My poop disappeared. It was nonexistent and I was unsure if I would ever see it again. I probably should have been concerned much sooner, but it wasn’t until Day 6 that I realized that I hadn’t had a bowel movement since 2001—or so it seemed. I did end up excreting waste later that day, and it
was very tiring. Each poo nugget was solid as a rock and left my asshole very sore. This day was full of observations. I also noticed that when you leave Soylent in a cup for several days it resembles dried mud—maybe that’s why my poop was so hard. The rest of the day was spent writing several angsty poems about drinking clay and resisting the urge to eat ice cream with my friends. All of their male interests started acting like they didn’t have any type of sense on Valentine’s Day—of all days. I had never felt better about being a single shrew.
Quote of the day: “Arrrgg hhhhhhhh,” *heavy panting* “Blllug hhhhburgdhsj.” Day 7 I ran out of bottled water so I had to use tap water to make my delicious cup of liquid flour. Somehow, most likely by the heavens’ divine power, the Soylent tasted significantly worse and left me questioning all my life decisions. I started eating—excuse me, drinking—less of the stuff because I didn’t have much of an appetite anymore. Moreover, I think I lost some weight. I have an aversion to scales, so my judgment is based on the level of ease with which I put on my jeans and how flat my stomach looked in the morning. I pooped again!
Quote of the day: “Thanks to Soylent I lost 30 pounds. That’s right 30 pounds! With an easy payment of $54 dollars monthly, you too can lose 30 pounds!” APRIL 2016
My heart sung as the chocolate oozed into my mouth, warm and bittersweet. My soul sang as the sweet, sweet crust crunched between my teeth. Needless to say, I was a very happy girl. Reality struck later that day when I consumed yet another cup of Soylent. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
Quote of the day: “Mmm mmm.” Day 9 The final day was uneventful. So humdrum in fact, that I didn’t even bother to take notes. I don’t remember anything about this day other than my excitement at finally being able to rid myself of Soylent. By Day 9, I no longer missed food or the social interactions that came with eating, because I didn’t care about anything. Once 12am hit, I was already in Chik-fil-a wrapping up my transaction. My Soylent experience taught me a lot about myself. One, I should never, ever, go on a diet. Two, my relationship with food is similar to the love between two human beings that happen to bone each other. Three, never agree to anything without really
looking into it first. And finally, if it looks like clay and smells like clay, it will probably taste like clay.
A cookie fell into my mouth. I, of course, had no control over this phenomenon and was nothing but an innocent bystander. It is important to note that the cookie was beyond delicious and was truly a gift from above. When
Quote of the day: “If you hate being burdened with the troublesome task of eating or having bowel movements, then Soylent is the liquid flour for you.”
that warm chocolate cookie flittered onto this poor, geographic tongue, my taste buds exploded into a fiery inferno of pleasure.
Men and women achieve great things around this country every day. Some are athletes, college graduates and some are dedicated volunteers. Few build upon those achievements and even fewer use what they’ve gained to serve their country or reach their full potential. Evan Roberts is currently a senior at The University of Texas at Austin majoring in biochemistry and has chosen a challenging career as a Marine Aviator. To this end, he has competed and earned his spot as a Marine Corps Officer Candidate. Last summer Evan attended the Platoon Leaders Class, which is a physically and mentally demanding six-week leadership evaluation course held at Officer Candidate School, Marine Corps Base Quantico, VA. He is anticipating a return to the course this summer, where upon graduation, he will be granted the opportunity to accept a commission as a Second Lieutenant earning the title “Marine officer.” It is this title, and the values which it carries, that are emulated and admired around the globe. It is values like this and the challenges we pursue which enrich our lives. Perhaps we can take a page from Evan’s book and make an effort to reach our own potential. –Semper Fi and Hook Em’ Horns!
BY SAR A MARIE SEIDEL , UNIVERSIT Y OF COLOR ADO AT BOULDER
WHAT TO EAT ON 4/20: A GU I DE F OR NONS MOK E R S .
oing to school at the University of Colorado at Boulder is a lot like the smoke circle in That ‘70s Show. If you took out Eric Foreman’s basement, subbed in some Flatirons and added in a handful or two of hippies, you’d get my campus on April 20th. And although the fuzz has eternally canceled the famous 4/20 smoke out on the campus’ Norlin Quad, that doesn’t mean you can’t still participate in some puff-puffpassing at a location of your choosing. For me, 4/20 ignites stress in my Fear-Of-Missing-Out receptors. I don’t smoke weed but I can’t miss out on a social event, so the result is a pickle. Of course I’m going to go to the 4/20 Potluck, but I don’t want it to be obvious that I’m celebrating a holiday that means less to me than International Dog Biscuit Appreciation Day (February 23rd). As a solution, I came up with a foolproof way of going to the Potluck without making it obvious that I’m only there to avoid missing out on one of the most important college kid holidays. Your acceptance in the bong throng depends exclusively on what you bring to the BYOW and munchies Potluck, so here are a few failsafe suggestions.
M U NC H I E S The snack is actually called Munchies, and it’s basically Chex Mix for extremely high people (and 10-year old kids). The mix of Doritos, Cheetos, Sun Chips and pretzels all in one bag satiates the post-blunt snack crave, but also just tastes really good. That means that while you secretly indulge your sober desire for chips, the blazed souls alongside you can cling to their tenuous sanity by using the Harvest Cheddar as lifesavers. The best part is that Munchies come in cheese flavor, and it doesn’t get any better than cheese flavor.
C OM B O S
The only people that outwardly admit they like Combos are stoners. But secretly, everyone loves a cracker that tastes like pepperoni pizza. I know I do.
PI Z Z A ROL L S
You don’t want to bring any food that reveals that you’re only at the Potluck to eat the junk food and maintain your social status. Luckily, Pizza Rolls can be made in the microwave, so you can avoid successfully operating a dangerous oven—a dead giveaway of your sobriety. Everyone wins here.
L IG H T E R A N D E Y E DROP S
Don’t consume these! You aren’t even high, you would have no excuse. But what stoner would be caught dead without eye drops and a lighter? You would, because you’re not a stoner, you’re a FOMO. But just because you aren’t participating, doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t be on deck with the necessary legal paraphernalia.
P OP TA RT S
Not only do these function as a staple in every college kid’s diet, they’re also a great stoner snack food. It’s like eating a sandwich, except instead of bread and nutritional substance, it’s added
sugar and trans fats. Plus, each serving comes with not one, but TWO pop tarts. What more could you ask for? I guess three? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
IC E C R E A M A N D C H E E Z-I T S
The only thing better than putting fudge on your ice cream is putting Cheez-Its on your ice cream. This can be done two ways: One involves literally putting the crackers in your ice cream, and the other involves double fisting. It doesn’t matter how you do it though, as long as it gets done.
MOZ Z A R E L L A S T IC K S B.R.E.A.D.E.D. C.H.E.E.S.E.
C O S M IC B ROW N I E S
These suspiciously viscous treats were invented with two purposes in mind: 1.) Elementary school lunches and 2.) 4/20. Also, they’re a great snake-inthe-grass for non-smokers, because everyone associates brownies and weed. Sober or not, we all owe a big thank you to Lil’ Debbie.
No need for cutlery here, just shovel the brown gold out of the jar with a cupped palm and vacuum it into your gaping mouth, essent ially doing your best bear-cub-eat ing-honeyfrom-a-pot routine. If you want to be a little less barbaric you can spread it on something, but trust me, nobody’s going to be watching you.
If you want to save money, all you really need to bring to the Potluck is Cheese Whiz. Nobody asks the guy who brought the aerated nirvana any questions, except for maybe “Hey, dude, any chance I can get some of that Whiz??” Sara Marie Seidel
J O H N S O N ’ S B A C K YA R D G A R D E N
I B O U GH T T H E FA R M & T H E FA R M W O N A DAY AT AMERICA’S HIPPEST FARM
ss hy by Charles Ba STORY BY:
GABI GIBSON 42 |
ST. EDWARDS UNIVERSITY
ohnson’s Backyard Garden is a community supported agriculture (CSA) operation with two farms—one thirty minutes south of Austin and the other five miles east of downtown. JBG sells produce to several local restaurants, farmer’s markets and families in the community, and in a few short years has expanded to be one of the largest urban organic farms in Texas. The place is an organic-minded millennial’s soiled dream, and as a result, the iconic JBG trucker hats adorn the heads of almost every cut-off wearing yo-pro complaining about gentrification while listening to dream pop in their East Side megacondo. In an effort to utilize this adulation, JBG encourages these yuccies (young urban creatives) to volunteer at the farm to feel a little bit closer to the ground on which their $150 sneakers tread. In fact, JBG has events that seem so tailor-made for these types— veggie-pickling workshops and community-supported potluck dinners—that I’d be surprised if there isn’t a mustache-grooming station somewhere on the premises. Oh and let’s not overlook the cropside picnics. Yes, Austin foodies are so into farm-to-table dining that they’re more than happy to bring their own tables to the farm. But it’s like my Abuela always said, “If you can’t beat the blanquitos, join ‘em!” (or something like that, her English was never so good). I took a little jaunt to the larger of JBG’s two farms to try my hand at farm handing for the day, and as I’m more Little Edie of Grey Gardens than Anne of Green Gables, the experience was sure to be a test of my personal fortitude and physical capacities. I select my outfit two days prior, because I know this mission will require the proper attire for frolicking through crop rows, and I was told there would be photos. At first I consider a Juicy Couture sweatsuit and oversized Gucci sunglasses à la Paris Hilton in The Simple Life, but I settle on a rugged denim jacket and fresh sneaks. After first missing the dirt road entrance, I pull into the farm at 8:30am, expecting to live out all my Thoreauvian fantasies—to live deliberately, to
front only the essential facts of life. Instead, I sit in a shed that doubles as an office for the farm administrators, but this is alright as I am nursing a hefty hangover and must sit to prepare for what is sure to be a long day.
8:43 A.M. An employee named Katie asks me if today is the 26th; I tell her it’s the 9th. Katie’s confusion is telling of how the construct of time functions on the farm. The hours pass slowly yet quickly, all while the massive plot of land remains undisturbed by the outside, temporally contingent world.
9:02 A.M. We walk around the complex and I’m enamored. It’s completely still and quiet save for a few volunteers and workers stirring about. Katie tells me the story of the farm. It was started by the oft referenced Brent, an enigmatic phantom, who is supposedly doing something somewhere on the property. Brent, an engineer, planted a garden in his East Austin backyard in 2004 that quickly subsumed his family’s yard. In 2006, he purchased 20 acres near downtown Austin that became the first JBG farm, and four years later, another 40 acres in Cedar Creek, Texas—the same property that I’m currently enjoying. Katie tells me that the land functioned as a dairy farm for 80 years and that Brent’s family lives on the property. Convinced that it must be haunted by the spirits of cows past, I begin surreptitiously searching for the house. If those walls could talk, I bet they’d be mooing.
9:12 A.M. We hit the greenhouse first, where a lanky guy named Brandon is moving crates, which I learn are called flats. The flats are filled with soil, seeded, and kept in the greenhouse until the germinated crops are ready for the big time: transplantation. The sprouts are eventually re-planted in the outside farm with their veteran crop friends. I start to identify with the little greenhouse guys—not a girl, not yet a woman.
10:13 A.M. Strong winds from a recent thunderstorm had blown the plastic covering off one of the greenhouses’ PVC structure, and the team is re-covering it. Five bearded men attach a bundle of rocks to the corners of a huge swath of plastic to weigh down the ends and start throwing it over. I begin to realize that farming takes as much ingenuity as it does manpower. The sheet of plastic would make the ultimate slip-nslide, but there’s no time. Katie and I are assigned the less strenuous task of untangling wiggle wire, which proves to be quite the son-of-a-bitch, because damn if this wire isn’t wiggly. I give up 10 minutes in and begin eavesdropping on the workingmen’s conversation. One of today’s volunteers (volunteers get a box of vegetables) is a regular named Matt who is from South A frica. He mentions that a friend in his homeland grows avocados and his friend’s dogs subsist on the fruit, which makes their coats super shiny. I tell Matt that I’m pretty sure dogs aren’t supposed to survive on avocados.
11:04 A.M. I ask Katie, who I now acknowledge as my JBG sherpa, why she got into farm life. (I ask “Why she bought the farm,” but the phrase seems to confuse her, so I don’t try it again.) “Farming makes me feel connected to humanity,” she says. “Not to sound too hippy-dippy, but I traced my ancestry and all of my forefathers were farmers.” I like this explanation. It’s the same Romantic notion I had before I agreed to untangle the damn wiggle wire. Katie tears a piece off some reddish-green plant, throws it in her mouth and grimaces. “It’s spicy. Want some?” I oblige. It is spicy. She tells me it’s red mustard, and I ask if it’s the stuff that comes out of the bottle. Her reaction indicates that I have exposed my ignorance.
12:23 P.M. Katie and I pile into one of the farm’s Ford pickups to check out the transplantation team at the nether regions of the property. As we drive, she warns me that if I decide to travel by foot, tractors and trucks always have right of way, so pedestrians must yield lest they get run over by any number of large vehicles. I have enough trouble at designated crosswalks, so I take this advice to unreasonable extremes for the remainder of the day. I survey the expansive land through the truck’s window in awe. The closest I’ve come to anything like this is a traumatic trip I took to the Cabbage Patch nursery when I was 6, where creepy bloated doll-heads emerged from presumably fake cabbage plants to simulate some perverse birthing process. Long-repressed memories of this childhood nightmare emerge back into consciousness, and I fear that the post-traumatic stress will ruin the day.
12:30 P.M. When I get out of the car, I check the rows of cabbage heads. To my relief, no twinkling button eyes meet my own. Katie introduces me to the transplantation team, which is led by a scruffy young guy who tells me that he will answer questions as best he can, but may ignore me if he becomes too busy. I am alright with this, as most of my personal interactions tend to involve my questions and comments going unacknowledged.
12:34 P.M. Katie leaves me to my own devices, and I watch the transplanters go. They hop onto a vehicular chimera that looks like a tractor from the front and rollercoaster from the back. As one person drives through the crop rows, two people ride behind, seated low to the ground and planting the soil with crops as the tractor chugs along. The transplantation process is akin to ghost-riding the whip—people hanging off a slow-moving vehicle, shouting and performing some synchronized ritual that only the participants seem to understand.
The lighting is optimal, so I lean against a flatbed to take an Instagram-worthy selfie (to no avail), but after a few minutes I decide to wander from the drop-off spot without asking any questions at all. It’s time for me to leave the comfort and safety of my metaphorical greenhouse and explore the surrounding expanse of land, to expose myself to the perils and mercurial conditions of the open fields.
12:46 P.M. I walk along a row of beets, finally free to recreate my Green Acres dream. I am Eva Gabor, a beautiful urban socialite who trades in her penthouse for a barn. Except my penthouse is a shitty first-floor studio apartment and my social echelon is composed of penniless degenerates. But in this moment, none of that matters. I am she. I begin to sing the intro song to the ‘60s sitcom, but my fantasy is abruptly halted by a man running past holding a bunch of carrots. I follow to see what his hurry is. The running man finally slows down to tell his ostensible superior about an ingenious marketing idea. Running man shows the carrots he was cradling. Each has sprouted a second carrot from the body of the first. He tells his manager that, because the deformed carrots look like legs, he’d like to make a stop-motion video of the carrot legs “dancing” by arranging the two-in-one veggies in different positions to simulate choreographed motion. I maintain a safe distance so as not to interrupt the convincing proposal, but from 20 feet away, the manager seems unenthused. I walk off, vicariously feeling the sting of rejection.
1:03 P.M. Is a dog barking? Yes. That is a dog, running through the fields, barking at nothing—or barking at me. I want to pet the dog because he is a compact, big-eared creature, but he seems feisty. I pet him anyway, but he is thoroughly unimpressed by me. He doesn’t bite so I follow him around the plot making kissy sounds.
1:11 P.M I think I see Brent’s little house of herders (sorry I really butchered that one).
1:16 P.M. I have really made myself at home by this point, greeting passers-by and speaking Spanish to some of the harvesters. A few of the farmers even throw me a carrot, and I do my best “What’s up, doc?” After a few failed attempts at a Bugs Bunny impersonation, I realize that I have yet to excrete my own runoff—which is a gross farm-euphemism for going pee.
1:29 P.M. I cautiously walk along the dirt roads, remembering what Katie told me about the right-of-way rule. At the faintest semblance of any vehicular sound, I nervously jump out of the way for fear of becoming compost.
1:35 P.M. I finally make it to the bathroom, which is perched on a hill and tucked into a pavilion where farmers are eating lunch and listening to Norteño music. I meet; I greet; I strut around with a false sense of purpose. I’m ready for another task, so I head to the greenhouse where Brandon gives me some flats to soil and seed.
1:39 P.M. I sit with South African Matt at a picnic table to sprinkle pepper seeds, and low-and-behold, he’s a writer. We talk books and various other topics that two sort-of-writers would discuss while doing work that machines have made obsolete. He keeps referring to his significant other as his “partner” and using gender-neutral pronouns to refer to “them,” so I’m not sure if we’re talking about polyamory or some progressive rejection of the binary gender paradigm. I change the subject to avoid being too invasive or fumbling over my words and making a politically-incorrect snafu.
1:43 P.M. Matt educates me on the political situation in South Africa, a subject on which the extent of my knowledge comes from a Disney Channel movie
about an interracial friendship during Apartheid. Apparently the South African government once implemented a citizen-regulated traffic program where drivers would signal to one another with their thumbs. If someone were driving like a real asshole, other drivers on the road would shame the asshole by giving thumbs-down out their car windows. I throw my new friend a friendly thumbs-up and escape from the greenhouse inferno.
2:46 P.M. The photographer shows up late and because I am now a cog in this well-oiled machine, I escort him around the complex. I force him to snap a few photos of me clandestinely lying among the beet rows. I’m paranoid about the harvesters seeing me, because I haven’t worked all day cultivating a pristine reputation among these people just to have it all ripped away by one illicit photo-op—but anything for the shot, right?
3:02 P.M. I grab a bundle of carrots from the field and knock out a few poses next to a truck. I’m going for an American Gothic vibe, but I think the photographer lacks artistic vision, because he keeps asking me to smile. I never do.
3:30 P.M. I return to the office, because I’m exhausted from a full day of doing mostly nothing, and I’m ready to leave half an hour before I’m supposed to. I think about the fact that just this morning, all of the people in this room were complete strangers, and a mere seven hours later, I have the privilege of calling them friends—or at least people I’d say hi to if I recognized them on the street—if they said hi first. I say my goodbyes and run the hell out of there, because I’ve only eaten a piece of spicy mustard and a carrot today. I need a taco stuffed with inorganic, indiscernible sludge matter. Gabi Gimson
The Sketch Book BY ANNE ERTLE, JOHN CARROLL UNIVERSIT Y
EARTH DAY: CELEBRATE WHILE YOU STILL CAN B E C AUS E “ E A RT H DAY ” W I T HOU T “ H E AT ” I S J US T T DAY A N IC Y T DAY A N D A M E R IC A I S A N AT ION OF COF F E E DR I N K E R S , DA M M I T!
he globe is warming, the climate is changing, the plot is thickening: Whatever your terminology, Earth is going through a transitional phase reminiscent of any makeover montage in any Disney channel original movie. Bill Nye, the one person who managed to make grade school science interesting (Bill! Bill! Bill! Bill!) has confirmed it. What more proof do you need? Wake up, sheeple, and smell the roses. No, seriously, appreciate the roses before the Earth dries up like it’s swaddled in a planetary Sham-Wow. So yes, we’ve contributed to the Earth’s decline, and yes, our habits are setting a horrifying precedent for our children and our children’s children and so on. We are monsters whose refusal to acknowledge our missteps and adjust our behavior accordingly has resulted in an environmental disaster unlike any we’ve seen in our lifetimes. But here at Study Breaks, we’ve always chosen to look at the bright side of life, which we swear is the only reason we’ve buried our heads in the sand—to cool our burning retinas! When life hands you lemons, make lemonade, right? What else would you drink when gaping holes in the ozone have caused such swelteringly hot weather? Leonardo DiCaprio can only do so much. Follow my tips for taking advantage of this disaster, and you might just might end up agreeing with R.E.M. It may be the end of the world as we know it, but you feel fine. Or, fine-ish. Because, you know, the guilt and the flames. Anne Ertle
POOLS OF KNOWLEDGE WATER If you can be willfully ignorant of everyone peeing in the water around you, pools are a great time. Hit up your local rec center and soak up the sun, but be warned: You might need some kind of community pass to enter.
If anyone gives you trouble about coming in sans the necessary ID, remind them of your potential strengths as an ally when the world devolves into gang warfare as the search for resources intensifies. Like Mad Max: Fury Road, kind of! Side note: You would look so good with black grease smeared on your forehead. Imperator Furiosa chic.
BONUS: WEATHERING COLD WEATHER That older relative who’s always posting racist articles on Facebook might be quick to point out the flaws in global warming. “If the Earth was so warm,” he’ll checkmate you, “why was Winter Storm Jonas so disastrous?”
First of all, save that family member future embarrassment and tell them The Onion is satirical. Once that’s established, let them know that climate change affects regions differently. If you’re in one of those places hit with a cold front, just stay inside. Take a page from the bears and hibernate. Au natural.
If there are any plans you want to bail on, just blame the weather. If your “friends” press you further, claim to be cold-blooded like a snake and then slither out of the conversation. Put your phone on airplane mode. You have HBOGo to watch. Your cousin’s ex-girlfriend’s password isn’t gonna use itself!
HEAT FLASH FASHION
SEA: THE WORLD Venice is sinking, which is awful. Let’s all agree, though, that if a beautiful center for art and commerce has to be slowly overtaken by water, at least it’s the one where most of the city is already navigated by boat.
My point is, let’s all see the world before the world becomes a sea. There’s no better time to travel than right now because of economic markets and stuff (right?). The Sphinx in Egypt is already crumbling (we all remember the scene in Aladdin), and that’s not even factoring in the unpredictable weather. Go see that cat/woman hybrid while you can!
The best parts of summer are the lack of school and the resurgence of those popsicles that come as plastic tubes of juice that you just throw in the freezer. In third place, though, is the fashion. Summer fashion is easy and requires as little effort as it does fabric. Picture a world where this kind of dressing is possible all year round (people of California and the South, please use your imaginations).
When it comes to shorts, there are almost too many choices: high-waisted, running, jort, etc. But please you guys, no cargo shorts. I know, the pockets are great for storing trinkets (or snacks? I actually don’t know), but you look like the dad from The Wild Thornberrys. So beside this obvious exception, have fun with it. Girls, summer is the perfect time to break out the crop tops. If nothing else, don them in homage to the failing crops. Political statements are always in style!
INTERVIEWED BY JACKSON PEOPLES, UNIVERSIT Y OF TEX AS AT AUSTIN PHOTOGR APHY BY MARSHALL TIDRICK, UNIVERSIT Y OF TEX AS AT AUSTIN
G E T T ING T O K NOW:
SOUPMARTINEZ Soup Martinez is a sophomore at the University of Texas at Austin, an aspiring author and a reluctant coffee snob who recently decided to delve deeper into the coffee supply chain. Along with his friend and aspiring musician Bradley Vaught, Martinez started a specialty roasting company in Austin called Neighbor Coffee.
We realized: This has to sell and this makes no sense. We live in Austin there’s no mountains here, there’s no glaciers. So we’re just sitting there looking at our logo, thinking, ‘We just dug ourselves a hole before we even started. How can we sell this?’ Then we just said, ‘Let’s make it Neighbor Coffee.’
> Roasting coffee is really boring. You sit there for hours at a time watching the timer, watching how hot the coffee is, making sure you pull it at the right time. And it’s just that, on repeat for hour and hours and hours. > >
Any time could be a bad time. You know you can always make an excuse.
Coffee is such an easy example. The beans for this drink, which was made right in front of me at this coffee shop, were made by a completely different set of hands at this roastery, which got those beans from halfway across the world at this farm, where it was touched by a dozen different hands there. That, for me as an English major, is the first draw toward coffee.
> It hurts me to see people just basically dump coffee into this pile of milk and sugar, because I’m thinking, ‘There’s so much going on in there, you’re missing out.’ > There are markets like Portland and Seattle that are just saturated. Everybody roasts. Up in the Northeast too, it’s really similar. In Austin though, people don’t really roast.
> Lets just invest in ourselves. I believe in myself. Bradley believes in himself. We believe in each other. Screw it. >
I didn’t enjoy it until I was seventeen years old. I used to get coffee with one of my teachers every week, and we went to this place where they served it in a pot that had been sitting there all morning. It wasn’t good, so we loaded it with cream and sugar. Slowly, as we met every week, I added less cream, less sugar, until I was drinking this crappy coffee black.
> Our coffee is good, and I’m proud of it. If I owned a coffee shop in Austin, I would be proud to serve our coffee.
INGREDIENTS: (1) Guy Fieri’s “Psychopath Spliff” (Recipe Included) Tortilla Chips Pants
GU Y’S “DY NAMITE 4/20 COUP DE GR ÂCE NACHOS” *
01. Prepare Guy Fieri’s “Psychopath Spliff” per recipe. Invert the tube so that the crutch faces downward, then carefully slide the spliff onto your stiffest hair stalagmite until it’s nestled snugly but inconspicuously in your platinum coiffure.
02. Take the bag of tortilla chips and place it on your stovetop over direct heat. When the plastic has begun to melt and some chips have started falling onto the heat source, place whatever pants you were wearing onto the stove until they begin to smoke and catch fire. 03. As the fire grows larger, begin singing “Flight of the Valkyries.” At this point, Lori will hear you and run in from the Vapatorium. She’ll think you’re having an episode. She’ll make the joke about the episode being “Not the kind that buys momma her Ed Hardy.” Lori will make your live-in maid, Paula Deen, drive you to the hospital in whichever Corvette makes you sing less ruefully.
04. When you’ve checked into a hospital room, put Paula to sleep with your “Sound of Bacon Cooking” app, and puncture the orderly’s jugular with the platinum shiv you Gorilla Glued onto your scalp. Raid the drug closet quickly—Bennies, Vikes, Percs, Scoop, Skag—whatever you can get your hands on.
05. Run downstairs and hail a cab. Tell him, “Flavortown.” As the driver circles aimlessly, swallow as many pills as you can. As soon as your eardrums begin lightly bleeding, you know you’re ready. Tell the cabby, “It’s happenin’, Cap’n,” and jump out of the moving car.
06. Once you’ve gathered your bearings, draw your Guy Fieri Psychopath Spliff from its sheath, toke up and inhale deeply. Watch as the world fades to black. 07. Take a long drag as you watch thousands of Daddy longlegs swarm over your bloated abdomen. What was your life worth? If it were a chicken parm sammie, would it have been out of bounds, or just shut the front door? Watch as the sun sets. You were never meant to be happy. 08. Rub out the roach on your patriot eagle chest tattoo and lay down on your back. Exhale slowly, and repeat your favorite Smash Mouth lyric as your lungs begin to clench. “Only shooting stars break the mold. Only shooting stars break the mold. Only shooting stars…”
GUY FIERI’S PSYCHOPATH SPLIFF RECIPE: ½ G. Rottweiler Slobber
½ G. Lichtenstein’s Revenge ½ G. Einstein’s 5th Law 1 tsp. Pork Blood 1 tsp. Vegemite 1.0oz Krokodil ½ tsp. Yartsa Gunbu
1/8 tsp. Ivory
INSTRUCTIONS: Combine ingredients in a small mixing bowl and stir until evenly dispersed. Replace the filter with an artisanal crutch, then pack into a half-empty Parliament Light.
*This note was found stapled to the palm of a deceased Mr. Guy Fieri.
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A ST U DE N T W R I T T E N M AGA Z I N E
You Don’t Belong at Coachella
What to Eat on 4/20
Soup Martinez is Mr. Beans
APRIL 2016 • SAN ANTONIO • STUDYBREAKS.COM
My Soylent D iet: T he End of Food is t he Futu re of Food
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