HAVE A NietZsCHE DAY
The Botetourt Squat min K! Now with Vita
Vol. 4, Issue 5
‘Is It News?
Probably.’
February 7th, 2014
Botetourt Beat Charter Day concert by mysterious THE ONLY REASON YOU READ THIS
₰ Gym regular worried that a strict routine and diet won’t make him a likeable person
‘Wizard Caliphate’ baffles students
BY LAZERCUNT ₰ Perfectionist not so confident after realizing all THIRD YEAR SLYTHERIN humans are fallible “I hope there’s knee-high spangle sequin wizard boots,” mused anoth₰ Prince Charming buys Cinderella a matching er confused Tribesperson upon hearglass ceiling ing rumors that the bi-monthly Char₰ America sends The Undertaker and and Triple- ter Day concert would be headlined by none other than the reclusive and magiH to compete in olympic wrestling cal Wizard Caliphate. Whispers of wizardly activity swept the campus since ₰ BBC slightly embarrassed after googling itself the announcement last Friday - by tra₰ Local senior buys a USB 2.0 cable for his grand- dition, read aloud during the weekson instead of a PS4; “Back in my day, we used ly ‘that fucking vagina email’ public meeting - but verifiable information pneumatic tubes for our processing!” about the enchanted, monolithic Islam₰ Conjoined twins find it hard to allocate alone ic state-slash-rap group has been hard to come by. time for masturbation “We’ve only heard the teensiest of rumors about who the Wizard Caliph₰ Rape victims jealous of rape jokes’ insensitivity ate is, what they are, where they’re go₰ Bassnectar becomes professional fisherman; ing, and what they’re doing,” moaned magical affairs department chair Tiffachanges name to Bassnectar ny Bleakbreaux, all whilst suggestive₰ Outspoken man doesn’t want a bigger dick, just ly stroaking a rare replica Wizard Caliphate mahogany wand. “Our sourchuge ovular balls es suggest that, precisely as the name ₰ College kid probably just too smart to be happy suggests, the Wizard Caliphate is a universal Islamic state ruled, of course, by ₰ Absinthe bottles perfectly-shaped for butt-chug- wizards. But I’m afraid that’s all we have,” she continued, massaging the ging bottom of the wand and pushing its soft ₰ Grass-always-greener students want to return tip into the back of her throat. AMP has been characteristically to school after returning home after returning to tight-lipped about the entire operation, school after returning home after returning to scho
If you thought he was high, imagine how high the people who gave him a grammy were.
refusing to give even so much as a nod as to whether wizard-frontman Torgir Stormhammer will be wearing his famous purple dragon-leather boots, or even whether there will be any concert at all. AMP head Fatima al-Ensour proffered a smug smile when asked for clarification, only briefly mumbling something about a “zazzy wizard action after-party with nipple play.” Despite public confusion and the ambiguous nature of all wizardly doings, the campus’ usual calm has been
shattered by a series of bizarre, possibly related incidents. Students report that the door to James Blair 221 now opens onto a field of lava, burning mountains taller than anything on Earth, and gorgeous demons with giant phalluses and beautifully shaped breasts. A day of balmy, 60 degree weather will be followed inexplicably by blizzards that shut down campus. Cats have been seen copulating with dogs, and Sami Mirimiri reports hearing atonal music wherever he goes.
Ginormous slut from Sig Chi draws disdain for incredibly slutty leaked email BY HANK MANGKLACE
TAKES ONE TO KNOW ONE
The reaction from the William and Mary community was swift and unanimous, We. Hate. Sluts. This proud campus has no room in its storied traditions for perverse deviants like the Sigma Chi brother who founded the ‘Save the Sluts’ movement. I know that ‘slut’ is a harsh word, but what else could suitably describe the kind of person who would write about lying in bed hallucinating desperate screams from forlorn vaginas? That kind of single-minded fascination, that genitalia tunnel-vision that blocks out all other sensory information, could only belong to a slut. And, everyone agrees that we are done with these tramps crowding up our hallways, busses, classrooms, and lounges in their desperate hunt for poon. I speak for the entire William and Mary community when I say, “Hey, get your wiener out of
that Solo cup, you dumb slut. I was going to put beer in that cup and use the beer to get wasted.” The truth is, we do need to save the sluts-- from themselves. We need to take the author of the email and all of his Slutty Buddies, and deport them to a safe, desolate location where they can talk about which clouds look the most like boobs. But, before we do that, we should examine the other ways in which this Sig Chi brother is a gigantic slut. Here are some things he is slutty enough to have done or plan on doing. Remember, his sole purpose is to become an indomitable pussy monster. This bad little boy isn’t afraid to train for what he wants...which, incidentally, is arguably the sluttiest thing about him. This Sig Chi brother once filled a dozen tiny rubber coin purses with Miracle Whip and licked them until his tongue was raw and sore. He once tried to stir a jar of natural peanut butter with his manhood
but his tip broke off on the bottom. He concocts Wile E. Coyote-esque schemes to have excuses for vaginas to accidentally smack him across the face. He attempts to be passed around at parties but never fails to prematurely ejaculate and immediately fall asleep as he draws a vagina on his own face. We all like sex, the Bible tells us so. But, when we forget that we can aspire to higher things than bumping uglies, we run the risk of looking like total whores. Bravo, William and Mary, even in this harsh weather, we still know how to shame a slut when we see one. Loose lips sink ships. 8=====D~~~~~~
AGENDA SETTING
The Botetourt Squat § Friday, February 7th, 2014 § PAGE 2
There may be a skeleton inside your body right now! BY ANTICITIZEN ONE HE’S GOT A BONE TO PICK Holy shit guys, did you know that inside of you right now, there might be a bunch of solidified calcium that is arranged in such a way that it looks EXACTLY like a human skeleton?! I mean, I’ve heard of skeletons in the closet, (and I have plenty of those), but skeletons in your body? That’s crazy talk, man. I can’t even. Literally! This amazing discovery occurred while I was at the doctor’s office being treated for what I thought was just a broken leg stick. I had just come back from offroad four-wheeling near the Korean demilitarized zone. Let me tell you, those land mines are tricky to navigate, and the whole time we were there, we had some angry soldiers shouting at us to turn
around or we’d be shot. It kind of ruined the whole experience. Anyway, my friends and I were putting our ATVs away when I dropped my keys. As I bent over to pick them up, wouldn’t you know it, my leg snapped clean in half! So, my friends took me to the nearest hospital, (in South Korea; we’re not that dumb), where I told the doctor in my fluent Korean that I thought I’d broken my anterior leg stick. After some X-rays and a few gin and tonics, the doctor came back and said, “Yep, you’ve got a pretty nasty bone fracture there.” And I said, “Hold up a minute there, doctah. Did you say bone fracture?” “Yes,” he replied. “We’ll have to put a cast on it.” “As in a bone from a skeleton. That kind of bone?” “…Yeah. Now just let me set it and—“
“Doctor, am I going to be ok? There’s a skeleton inside of me! I’ve only dealt with skeletons in my home necromancy course.” “Well, it’s a good thing you’re not a doctor then. You’ll be fine.” With that, he set my “bone” back in place and put a cast around it so it can “heal.” See, that’s the thing about living with my condition. I’ve learned that having a skeleton isn’t something that just “goes away” like a cold or cancer. I have to live with it the rest of my life. I’ve come to accept this about myself. It’s part of who I am. I can try to break my bones or get rid of them, but they’ll just keep coming back. That’s why I’ve decided to form a support group for people like myself. If you fear that you may have a skeleton inside you, call 1-800-BIG-BONE, and my support-
ers and I will get you the help you need. Because you don’t have to be alone. Deep down, there’s a skeleton inside every one of us. It just might be more literal for some than others.
Weekly fire-drill-drills after tragic fire-drill accident ends in fire
commotion, the Steak Diane was lost. Incidentally, a fire also started that night, probably as a result of the drill. By the time authorities could bring the blaze under control, it had rendered the kitchen inoperable. The incident has inflamed members of the student community, who blame the fire department and residence life board for the infraction. “We know we’ve come under fire for this incident,’ says Blaze , firechief, “this happened because people were hotheaded and acted without thinking. This is why we’re instituting the new fire-drilldrill policy. We’re trying to keep everybody safe.” Despite these statements, it is clear that strong emotions still smolder in peoples minds.
BY MARK SKARL WE DIDN’T START THE FIRE The start of the semester is a trying time for people who enjoy the occasional sleep. The threat of being awakened by the dying wails of thousands of starving infants funneled through a bright red box of terror sits in the back of one’s mind like a hot ember, annihilating thought, destroying logic and reason, tearing the fabric of perception, and turning regular students into mindless savages, ruled only by the infernal screams of that bloodred bell. Such was the case on the evening of September 21. In a Botetourt dorm kitchen, freshman Immorta Firestone was attempting to baste a Steak Diane when the bell let loose. Immediately, the room filled with students, clutching their ears in pain and scrambling wildly toward the exit. In the
The Botetourt Squat
THE GOR’RAMMED STREET SOMESUCH QUESTIONMASTER
Wiz Khalifa: why?
‘Chances Are, It’s News’
Next to the President’s Office, James Blair College of William and Mary, Williamsburg, Va. 23185
THE SQUAT: botetourtsquat@email.wm.edu Rigel Kaufman, Editor-in-Chief JohnAugust Bridgeford, Editorin-Chief Jordan Obey, Managing Editor JohnAugust Bridgeford, Managing Editor Jake Balls, Copy Editor Sarah Lohmann, Arts Director Ryan Novak, Variety Rigel Kaufman, Opinion Tim Planert, Agenda Setting Nitin Iyengar, Beat Editor Pratik Sinha, Junior Staff Writer Aiden Benshimol, Staff Writer Rigel Kaufman, Staff Writer
William Brightly, Columnist William Amante, Boy Scout Daniel Duane, The Man Charles Gowan, Seabiscuit Matt Fruberry, Staff Writer Mike Holtzmann, Staff Writer Joseph Soultanis, Staff Writer Taylor Renard, Staff Writer Jack Crum, Plebe Catherine Bailey, Plebe Frank Enriquez, Plebe The Anti-Citizen, Plebe Kareem-O Obey, Plebe Miden Wood, Cartoonist
Layout by Zack Quaratella and Ben Reynolds. Disclaimer: This is a satire newspaper, and should be read as such. Not intended for readers under 18, or people who don’t understand satire. Not intended to be read by Student Affairs. Special thanks to our lovely Swem Cataloguers, who have to endure this monthly hardship. Any people represented in this paper are fictional, unless given express consent to the writer or editor. Please don’t sue us. We don’t have money.
Wait, a black person? Aren’t those diseased?
I got blood on my hands and there’s no remorse. I got blood on my dick cuz I fucked the corpse.
BLACK AND YELLOW BLACK AND YELLOW BLACK AND YELLOW BLACK AND YELLOW BLACK AND YELLOW BLACK AND YELLOW BLACK AND YELLOW BLACK AND YELLOW
News in Brief: Dare to Trim “Well at least I fucking tried!” said organizer of failed Chinchilla Derby -Thousands tired and unamused -One guy got pushed while waiting in line for the bathroom. Feelings still hurt. No one on the Basketball team knows how many dots are on a basketball -Didn’t they watch ‘Hey Arnold?’ It’s 9,366! -“They were probably too busy being tall!” says disgruntled jewish coach.
If speed skaters put lube on their skates, they’d probably skate a lot faster
Obama betting the entire state of Alaska that we will win the Winter Olympics
-Lube always helps me finish faster -Probably not alpha enough to try it despite already looking like penises
-President is “presidenting for the thrills this year” -Still will probably disown Alaska regardless of outcome -If we win, we officially own the Moon and can write what we want on it
Booty shakers train with large prosthetic booties to sharpen up for the Quarterfinals -Put a fake tooty on that booty! -NOT A REAL SPORT! -Winner gets hotdogged -Where are the booby shakers?
Super Bowl 48 promises to be ‘most 48th Super Bowl Ever’ -A numeric breakthrough in sports history! -A little bit closer to 50!
The Botetourt Squat
African children: “We don’t even like rice” BY PIPPI SCHLONGSTOCKINGS IN THE ARMS OF THE ANGEL
Helping African children goes in and out of style, but there are always efforts from around the world attempting to better the conditions across the continent in some way, especially attempts to end child hunger. There are many well known organizations involved in such attempts, (freerice.com, the KONY 2012 movement’s Invisible Children, Feed the Children, to name a few), that are widely acclaimed for their innovations. For example, many have heard of Feed the Children’s famous line, often adapted by other organizations: “For just one dollar a day, you could feed a starving child for a year. Starving Africans are hot this season but we just got some Filipinos from a disaster area that we think are going to be a hit, so don’t
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Friday, February 7th, 2014
hesitate to get ahead of the trend. Syrians are two dollars a day instead of one. Call 1-800-555-FEED to buy now.” How are the subjects of such human kindness and generosity affected? This reporter headed off to the Central African Republic to
find out. In a bare-walled elementary school classroom, a young girl in a pink dress, Sophie, is one of many children to receive aid from Feed the Children. “I don’t even like rice,” she says, to which her classmates nod their heads. Louis, always vociferous, stands up and shouts in support. “Sometimes, when I don’t feel like eating anymore, I throw my food away because I don’t want it,” he says. Explains Yannik, a tall, slender teacher of 28, “Some of the children play with their food and throw it at each other. They get very hungry, but they’re bored and don’t like rice much. It creates a real mess.” He
laughs. “I don’t suppose there is anything we teachers can do. I tell them that children in America are impressed that Central Africans are willing to eat so much rice, but they couldn’t have a care in the world. Kid will be kids.” Some aren’t so mellow. While passing one of the many wattle-and-daub houses, in one, a struggle between a mother and child could be heard from outside. ”EAT IT! Nnnno. EAT YOUR RICE! I don’t want it. GODDAMMIT EAT YOUR RICE OR YOUR GONNA DIE DON’T YOU GET IT? I don’t like rice. YOU’RE GONNA SIT AT THAT TABLE UNTIL YOU FINISH YOUR RICE!” Through the window of the house, a boy could be seen pouting at a table, occasionally drumming on the plate with his fork. The mother sat in a chair across the room, massaging her temples.
College replaces u-shaped desks with choo-choo trains; student productivity soars BY GOLDEN-HAIRED NINNY ALL ABOARD THE PAIN TRAIN
In a bold move last month President Reveley announced that he personally would be replacing all desks, some tables, and most rolling chairs with trains. Everyone was so surprised at the replacements that no one questioned why President Reveley insisted on doing all the replacements personally. Even more shocking, it appears to have worked. After running every statistical test thought of by man, and two thought of by the nightmare beasts at the bottom of the Crim Dell, it appears that students who utilized the trains had significantly higher grades than those who did not (Jones, Lee, and The Weaver of Nightmares, 2014). “We were all very surprised,” said Jones. “YES, WE THOUGHT THAT PRESIDENT REVELEY HAD GONE SENILE,”
added Weaver, in a voice that sounded like the pitch black darkness at the end of all things, which you couldn’t imagine had a sound unless you heard a nightmare beast talk, but after that you’ll never be able to forget that sound, and it feels like there’s a cold miasma around your heart that will never lift, “AND AS IT TURNS OUT, HE HAS. BUT HE ALSO HAD A PRETTY GOOD IDEA, SO THAT’S NICE.” “I dunno,” said Niles Jean Jr., one of the students who frequent the new trains. “It’s like, before I didn’t get the grades I could have because I spent most of the night before texting all my friends that I was going to fail the test tomorrow, posting that I was going to fail tomorrow on Facebook, and screaming that I was going to fail tomorrow at Reenactors in Colonial Williamsburg. But whenever I sit in one of those trains, I just feel really positive. Instead of freaking out, I’m like ‘I think I
Poverty caused by ‘not having money,’ study shockingly finds BY LAZERCUNT GROUNDBREAKING ECONOMIST Researchers at the College of William and Mary released a paradigm-shifting study last week with the stunning conclusion that poverty is directly caused by people not having any money. “We’d been looking in all the usual places - drugs, single-parent families, vice, sin, etc.,” said study author Thomas FitzThomhamble, “but found that the only thing that all poor people had in common was that they didn’t have enough cash, greenbacks, or dough.” The landmark study demonstrates conclusively that many of the poor have little in the way of investments in stocks, bonds, and mutual funds, own little to no real estate, and are typically not the CEOs of Fortune 500 companies. “Even more shockingly, we found
that not having money was even more predictive than education in determining how poor people were!” exclaimed FitzThomhamble, who was practically foaming at the mouth. The study ranks participants from the ‘very poor’ to ‘lower middle class,’ finding a neat 1.000 correlation between how much money each had and how well-off they are. “We even found college graduates who were poor, basically because they didn’t have any money,” wheezed the now semi-catatonic researcher. The study’s implications may have a profound effect on American politics. As Congressional Republican Paul Ryan explained, “Conservatives used to mess around with useless policies like ‘promoting marriage,’ or ‘the war on drugs,’ and liberals were equally infatuated with ‘early childhood education,’ and ‘anti-discrimination laws.’ I think we all now understand the only way to tackle poverty is by giving people money. Preferably taken from miserable rich bastards.”
can, I think I can, I think I can...’”. Niles continued to repeat “I think I can” at least until we left 10 minutes later. Of course, sometimes things can go off the rails. Not everything is quite on the right track. Train puns. Two female students have already been tied to the railroad tracks in Swem, and the Mason School of Business’s new Mustache Twirling Railroad Baron concentration means that these incidents will only increase. Most students think the benefits outweigh the costs though, as sacrificing a life for good grades is what William and Mary is all about. President Reveley just announced that he would personally replace all the tables in Sadler with rocketships to the moon. Or you could just jerk off in the stacks like everyone else.
Continued from “Wizard Caliphate” Perhaps most perplexingly, a group of sophomores was slaughtered by a barrage of magic missiles while they listened to an inane song about being “young, wild, and free.” The charred bodies were marked with glittering green X’s, the sign of the infamous Warlock Syndicate. “These are all hallmarks of a wizard bloodfeud,” explained Professor Bleakbreaux, all whilst suggestively tugging an already low-cut blouse lower to reveal a sexy black lace bra. “In all likelihood one of the wizards called one of the warlocks ‘gay’ or something.” The ‘event’ is scheduled for this Saturday. Fascist campus authorities have al-
ready warned students to “not try any of the usual crap” like smoking pot before the show, tripping balls and skanking out on the dance floor, or casting any anti-magic wards. Despite these warnings many students report planning to get trashed and smash up the show Henry Rollins-style. “I’ll fingerbang anyone for some molly,” announced an inebriated Terry McCauliffe. “Everyone knows rap-wizards aren’t metal,” he continued, “so the only thing you can do is get plastered. But seriously, handjobs, bean flicking, you name it. I’ll do anything. I don’t know who I am anymore.”
Pumping iron with Jake Balls Tips for true fitness A haiku for fitness: An old silent pond... A frog jumps into the pond, Get out of my gym. Jake Balls is a fitness instructor at the College of Williamand Mary, and he is a professional self-help columnist.
VARIETY
The Botetourt Squat § Friday, February 7th, 2014 § PAGE 4
My top blive greatest invention ideas BY ME A FEW STROKES OF GENIUS
The Number Blive. The thing that really irks me about our numerical system is the grossly limited amount of numbers to choose from. So, instead of sitting around pouting like some kind of Mrs. Poutfire, I took the initiative and created my own number. You will know it as the number blive. It’ll go right after the number five for what you are going to have to trust are legitimate mathematical reasons, and because of the delightful rhyme scheme. Do it with me; one, two, three, four, five, blive. Music to my wax stuffed ears. Klöwns. This isn’t so much an invention so much as an improvement on an old idea. Basically you take clowns, and then just make them incredibly German. Bozo is funny, but Bözö is hilarious. Just imagine two clowns, both named Bözö, whacking each other across the head with jum-
bo sized Bratwursts. “Ouch Bözö!” one would say before returning the favor with his own sausage slap to which the other would respond, in chilling German coldness, “that is a move you will regret.” I seriously can’t stop laughing.
Pants that adjust themselves according to whatever time-period they’re in. I spend a lot of time thinking about time travel, and one of the things that always fiddled with my diddles is the problem of dressing appropriately for the occasion. What I decided to do then was to invent these pants that adjust themselves accordingly. For instance, let’s say you want to travel back to the year 1990 to warn MC Hammer of his future financial troubles and while you’re at it you might as well take credit for the birth of grunge music since you’re going to be there anyway. Now, while you are on your quest you are going to want pants that make you fit in. So what you are going to want to do is, after you’ve traveled back in time, you grab the pants’ waist bend-
ing your face down as close as you can to them and scream PANTS [the year you are in]. In this particular scenario then you would scream “PANTS! 1990!”. And bingo bango you’re now wearing parachute pants, which will give you an in with the MC Hammer crowd, and the kicker is that they’ve got tears in them too, thus making you the one to have jump-started grunge fashion. You’re welcome. Invisible gloves. Gloves are ugly. Let’s make them invisible. Toilet Paper That Moans The number one complaint I always hear about the bathroom going experience is the lonesome silence that comes with it. You’re sitting there all alone, wiping yourself with nothing but the faint sound of paper scraping against the tender flesh of your nether regions. I want to make this experience a lot less drab and a lot more fab. Let’s have the toilet paper moan. Really loudly. This way every time you take
a poopy or whatever people will think you’re totally nailin’ some lucky lady, you stud you! And for women, I have toilet paper that grunts and falls asleep after you use it. Food and Drinks that eat and drink themselves. If you are in any way like me you find the act of consumption both grotesque and pedestrian. But what are you going to do with all the food and drinks you keep buying? Why first you throw them out into the streets so that the street people can have their way with them, and then you start buying self eating and self drinking drinks. This invention is not only highly amusing, it’s also shown to help those looking to shed a few pounds to gain a lot of weight as the the food and drinks are cursed so that the more they eat themselves the fatter you get. It’s like starving yourself only to find that you’ve become morbidly obese. It’s a gag gift!
Hell freezes over
BY GOLDEN-HAIRED NINNY SENIOR DAMNED SOUL
Violence, The Seventh Circle of Hell, Hell- The polar vortex that afflicted North America in early 2014 has finally died, and it is now freezing people’s balls off in Hell. That’s not hyperbole, either. That is a thing that is actually happening. Accounts say the temperature today may apparently drop as low as HOLY CRAP ON A CUPCAKE degrees Kelvin (HOLY CRAP ON A CUPCAKE AND EAT IT degrees with wind chill), and is expected drop into the negatives later this week. “It’s making our job really difficult right now” said Mephistopheles in an interview earlier this week. “Do you know how hard it is drive red-hot iron spikes into people’s urethras in this kind of cold? The spikes cool off before I get the chance to do anything with ‘em! And it’s not exactly like this job was easy before, you know? Sometimes, I’ve had a
rough day of doling out eternal retribution for a life of decadence and sin and I kinda just wanna talk about it. But do you think the damned care? No. ‘Hey, my wife just left me,’ I’d say. ‘AAAAAAAUGH I HAVE A HOT SPIKE IN ME GET IT OUT,’ they’d say. Some people just need to make it all about them. But I guess that kind of shit is the reason they end up down here, am I right? Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work. The cold’s been making the metal spikes stick, so getting ‘em back out’s been a real bitch
lately. And messy, too, let me tell you.” The effects of cold snap haven’t been limited to Hell, either. People didn’t realize is that when they said “When Hell freezes over,” or “A snowball’s chance in Hell,” those were things that were actually going to happen. Tens of thousands of people have won the lottery this week. The stocks of various companies have been all over the place, going up or down dozens of points every hour. Peace has erupted all over the Middle East. Shaquille O’Neal has become a critically acclaimed actor. Things have descended into absolute anarchy. We asked Metatron why God sent the polar vortex to Hell in the first place, and why He couldn’t bring to Heaven or something. “Unfortunately,” responded Metatron, “The polar vortex has been responsible for over a dozen deaths, which isn’t something we can take lightly. But don’t worry, we’re planning on having about a dozen volcanic eruptions and an apocalyptic rain of fire and brimstone occur in
North America later this month. When those go to Hell, that should heat it right back up.” When asked if that would cause more chaos and destruction then the skewing of the laws of probability, Metatron responded “Look, you can’t make an omelet without vaporizing the chicken that’s about to lay the egg in apocalyptic fire-rain.” You might like to ask us how we got this information. We’d like to ask you if you’re really that surprised that the writers of the Botetourt Squat have a special place in Hell reserved for them.
The diary of Comanche Wallace: our generation’s finest anthropologist BY COMANCHE WALLACE PART ONE: THE PART BEGINS When my friend Justin visited my office and asked me how much I knew about Volcanism, I told him that I was a good Catholic and that I had no interest in any of the more gay religions. When he explained that Volcanism is the phenomenon of the eruption of molten rock onto the surface of the Earth, I started thrusting my pelvis in his direction, grabbed my junk and told him that I’ve got some molten rock about to erupt right here. “Listen, Carlton..” “My name is Comanche, Comanche Wallace,” I told Justin before he had a chance to completely say my Christian name. I’m a good Catholic, but my christian name sucks tits, so I had it changed to Comanche Wallace for aesthetic reasons firstly, and tax reasons more firstly and much more importantly. “Listen, Comanche there’s a volcano about to erupt on a remote island, and we
need your help explaining to the native people what’s about to happen to them so that we can evacuate them as quickly as possible,” droned Justin. If you look at Justin for a long enough time while he goes on and on he kind of looks, well, he looks like he has a splash of the Down’s. “AYE CARUMBA!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, flinging my arms around like helicopter propellers, which is what I always did when I’m asked to do something. For some reason or another people tend to not ask you for things very often when this is your plan of attack. Justin, of course, was never phased by this tactic, which only serves to cement my theory about his Down’s. When he asked me if that meant I was coming, I said “noooooooo,” really meaning yes. I explained this to Justin. “Justin,” I said in the slowest possible voice to accommodate his monkey mind, “I know I said ‘nooooo,’ but that was meant to mean yes. In my years studying anthropology I’ve found that sometimes
humans say things meaning the opposite of the thing that they said. I believe the term for this comes from the German root ‘Sarkasmmügeisen’ which of course translate to the latin ‘irony’ meaning ‘to weave tales that are untrue for the sake of amusement’”. Yet again I was going to have to do Justin’s job for him and save some native people from impending doom, though I didn’t understand how they could live without such basic necessities like cable or mustard anyway. In a hellish life without mustard, maybe a volcanic cleanse is exactly what these people needed. And just like that we were head-
ed into the heart of darkness, into a place where man was never meant to be, a place where up was down and down wasn’t just the kind of syndrome Justin had. A place the locals called Panama.
The Botetourt Squat
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Friday, February 7th, 2014
“ha-HA! If you cut off one of my heads, TWO will grow back!” said Taylor Reveley to no one in particular BY DEMOSTHENES HERCULEAN MASTER REPORTER President Reveley revealed recently (several months ago to the Squat headlines document) that he is, in fact, a monster of Lovecraftian proportions when he proclaimed “If you cut off one of my heads, TWO will grow back!” Why exactly he mentioned this was initially unclear, as he remained in possession of his prestigious cranium. The Squat began its search in interviewing first-year classics minors. “He is clearly referencing the Hydra,” said total nerd Clarence Oswald. “It was the second labor of Hercules. I mean, nobody remembers the lion, which is really a lot cooler than slicing heads, since it had invincible flesh-” when we cut him off and asked him to stick to the head-slicy thing. We wanted to decypher this bizarre title we were handed with no context. “Well, a hydra is a snake-like creature that starts with one nasty head. But, SWISH, you slice that head off and you think you, like, killed it, right? But you’d be wrong because a couple seconds later, it springs out again. So after you’ve dealt
with it once, there’s more of them. Just a forest of long, throbbing necks with big stinking heads at their tips. BLARGH!” “But Revely still only has the one head, why would he bring it up?” asked Sorority Girl Gabby. And that’s where the logicians came into it. “What some people don’t know is that men have two heads. Now, people generally don’t talk about the second one in polite society, but it’s there. And for some reason, it’s considered okay to say that one makes most of the decisions. Not that I’m from Sigma Chi or anything.” So the Squat has come to a conclusion, since the Hydra is primarily associated with snakes, hence phallic, and Reveley asserted, specifically “heads” he was inadvertently, or perhaps deliberately, talking about his penis. There’s no walking around it, Reveley must have at least two penes (that’s penis plural, you uncultured swine), and he is prepared to get more. He is evidently also okay with the sensation of removal. What the heck. Seriously. What. Wow. Huh. Nuts. Bolts. Hydrangeas.
History finals TBD: to be deathbattles BY DEMOSTHENES PREPARE TO BE TERMINATED Finals for all history classes this year to be a 30-squad two-day-time-traveling battle-royale-slash-historical-reenactment with only the winning squad getting an A and everyone else getting an F and executed. Richard Trojan, a Junior majoring in Greek Philosophy, was decked out in full Spartan armor, by which we mean he was mostly naked. “My squad uses an advanced phalanx formation. So long as the enemy charges us from a 10° arc in front of us, we’re totally gonna pwn.”
Geoffrey Svenson, an historical linguistics major, was nude except for a helmet over his nether regions. “It is a slight mistranslation that vikings had horns on their helmets.” Economics majors’ finals are to bet on the winner of the battle-royale. At present, the smart money is on the kids in the College Company. The Revolutionary War reenactors plan to absolutely slaughter everyone in the name of liberty the almighty GPA.
Area man doesn’t appreciate everything his mother has done for him
BY KEKE THE TRILLE$T CALL YOUR MOM NOW JERK
An anonymous tip reveals that a local man never once called his mother this week. Oh well it’s not like it’s a big deal or anything! She only brought him into this world. But that’s not important right? Sources indicate that the man has also been running around with cheap tramps and spending all of his mother’s hardearned money on booze and cigarettes. Not that she spent years making sure he knew the dangers of alcohol and cigarettes and the importance of good financial responsibility.
I mean if someone deffered several of her own ambitions and dreams to raise me from childhood and ensure that I grew up in the best environment she could provide to make sure I was a successful and happy adult someday, I probably wouldn’t call her either. Honestly I think sacrifices and unconditional love are stupid and should be treated with as much contempt as possible. And if someone values those things and tried to teach her son to value them, well she probably deserves to be ignored. Area man will probably end up calling in a week to ask for more money without once asking how his mother is doing or what she’s up to. And that’s perfectly okay.
Lesser-known idioms for the savvy and Your Horoscope For today Libra: Well-read virgin. perverse Aries: Something something horny.
BY PARTICLE-MAN SKYLORD A CUNNING LINGUIST HAHA GET IT
Sold the Bucket- Fenced a recently deceased friend or relative to the mafia for organ trafficking. Grab a Poop- Looking for unflushed turds in a toilet to show your friends/ enemies; common among scato-social crowd. Literal grabbing not required, but common. Seventy Feet Over- Up-and-coming funeral trend in which deceased is launched seventy feet into the air via trebuchet; said to “kick-start” one’s journey into heaven. Steal the Shoe- Taking a garment of clothing from a friend so that they can’t travel without slight discomfort. Also: repeatedly stealing a garment of clothing during each encounter until associate’s wardrobe is exhausted. Hide the Bud- Variation of “hide the sausage;” offering to another party to conceal one’s clitoris, typically orally, though increasingly nasally and rectally. Also, advice among marijuana users when an authority figure makes an appearance (police, RA, parents, Romans, etc.); not necessarily vaginal, but can be. Kill the President- Preparing an odd number of bulk oven-baked foods (67, 91) and adding lethal amounts of laxatives. Common amongst fraternities and Klans-
men. Singed the Lawn- accidentally (?) burning off ass-hairs/pubes while trying to light a fart. Less common: burning one’s initials into another’s ass-hairs/pubes by farting flames towards the pelvis. Can result in mutual Lawn Singeing. Leased the Farm- Selling one’s soul to the devil to prolong one’s maleficence beyond the bounds of mortality (See: Faustus, H. W. Bush, Ambler). Guzzle the Leaky Pipe- Deep-throating a penis that is expected to climax, but is still only in the pre-cum phase. May result in mutual awkwardness and/or suffocation. Bitch-slap the Alpaca- Establishing dominance over an inanimate object by repeatedly threatening physical violence and power-humping (typically rocks or Republicans). Find the Meaning of Life- Euphemism for doing lots of drugs, skimping out on work, or cheating on significant others. Typically some combination of the aforementioned factors. Common amongst upperclassmen and people from Uzbekistan.
Taurus: Bullshit
Scorpio: Grab some cash, a change of clothes, and run… You know why.
Gemini: You lucky bastard.
Sagitarrius: Sag, git, tear, ass
Cancer: Your choices are Crabs and actual Cancer. Take your pick.
Capricorn: Capcom games. Paprika. Capris. Corn Porn.
Leo: You of all people should know horoscopes are a total waste.
Aquarius: THE AGE OF AQUARIUS!!! AQUAAAARRRIUUUSSSS.
Virgo: Virgin
Pisces: Something smells.
Not pumping iron with Ryan Brovak Tips for fitness Don’t you hate it when you go to unzip your fly to pee, only to find that it’s already unzipped, but you’ve already committed to doing SOMETHING down there, so you have no chice but to zip your fly back up and piss yourself? Ryan Novak is not a fitness instructor at the College of William and Mary, and he is not a professional self-help columnist.
FARTS AND LEISURE
The Botetourt Squat § Friday, February 7th, 2014 § PAGE 6
Sig Chi e-mail writer given Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, hired as Charter Day speaker 2015
BY THE MINAJESTY FELLOW CRITIC DICKBAG DOUCHE
Very few William & Mary alums have been published in the Huffington Post. Even fewer have done so during their undergraduate years at the College. Thus, it was no surprise that when the anonymous Sig Chi “Life, Love, and Pussy” e-mail writer had his worked published, he immediately rose to fame in the Tribe community. “This is a brilliant piece of writing,” said Creative Writing: Poetry 401 Professor Glenda Hasberry. “His repetition of the word ‘sluts’ and ‘pussy’ creates a poetic trance. His sensory imagery of the lesser sex’s undergarments is sublime. I itch to read more. In no way, shape, or form does this make me want to vomit. I would kill to have a writer as brilliant as this in one of my classes. Save the sluts!” Impressed,
she also added, “Most students don’t understand how to correctly use a semi-colon; he obviously does!” The college community obviously agreed with Hasberry, as #savethesluts began to trend on twitter within minutes of the e-mail going viral. Said a female student tweeter who wished to remain anonymous, “I just really identified with the message of the e-mail. I’m so sick of Greek boys being polite and respecting me for my personality. No other boy has understood that “all the pussies [are] crying out for a good fuck and not getting it,” like this man does. He’s the type of guy who I’d like to date, and I could even imagine him being a good Dad. He’d encourage our kids to ‘master your craft, hone your skills, and perfect your stroke.’ He’d probably carry our kids on his shoulders to their Little League games. My Mom always taught me to search for a guy like this.”
On Sunday evening, Pulitzer administrator Sig Gissler contacted William & Mary President Taylor Reveley to announce the Pulitzer community was planning on bestowing one of their coveted prizes to the young, anonymous writer. Said Gissler, “When choosing recipients for the Pulitzer Prize, we take into account almost solely the quality of the work. I’ve never seen an e-mail as groundbreaking or innovative as this. We’ve never given a Pulitzer Prize to so young a writer before, but I truly believe this artist deserves it.” Following the phone call from Gissler, President Reveley automatically announced the Sig Chi brother as next year’s Charter Day Speaker. Said Reveley, “Charter Day is one of my favorite tenured traditions of the college. We come together to celebrate community. I couldn’t be prouder to announce the 2015 Charter Day Speaker, William & Mary’s very own Pulitzer Prize
winning student, the Sig Chi Pussy Man. Until the young man reveals his identity, we are planning to print that pen name on the official programs. The celebrity speaker will be First Lady Michelle Obama.” The Squat congratulates Sig Chi Pussy Man on his recent achievements. We now remind him as he reminded us, “You’re here, you’re alive, your penis may not always work, but it hasn’t fallen off yet; be thankful.”
him by Captain Underpants, an analogy of how many of us feel wronged by the society that we live in today and lament the end of the American Dream. Eventually, Tippy Tinkletrousers attempts to kill Captain Underpants by using a stolen thermonuclear warhead to blow up the galaxy, showing how unwillingness to make sacrifices will ultimately lead to a self-destructive end and the betrayal of the American ideal. In this book, Dav Pilkey proves himself as one of the top American wordsmiths of the 21st century. However, the award was given to not only recognize the brilliance that is the Captain Underpants and the Revolting Revenge of the Radioactive Robot Boxers, but also to celebrate Pilkey’s career as a whole. Throughout the epic saga of Captain
Underpants, Dav Pilkey has again and again proved himself as not only the voice of America, but also as an innovator. For generations, Americans everywhere were thrilled and mystified by the invention that was Flip-O-Rama. At first, we wouldn’t quite get how this Flip-O-Rama worked. But after repeated attempts at flipping over the page, we would be astounded by how the drawing sorta moved. By the usage of said innovation, his books evolved beyond the text and were able to truly speak to the readers about the deep inner machinations of Captain Underpants. Although Americans everywhere loved Captain Underpants, some critics dismissed the series as “childish.” The Pulitizer Prize Foundation has finally recognized the great service that Dav Pilkey has done
to the America. Now, his genius may finally be appreciated by everyone who wears undergarments in the world, and kids everywhere may eagerly wait for Dav Pilkey’s next masterpiece, Captain Underpants and the Tyrannical Retaliation of the Turbo Toilet 2000. In the words of Dav Pilkey, “Tra-la-laa!!”
Captain Underpants and the Revolting Revenge of the Radioactive Robo Boxers wins the 2013 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction
BY CHENGIS HANN INTERMEDIATE WRITING WRITER
For distinguished fiction by an American author, preferably dealing with American life, Captain Underpants and the Revolting Revenge of Radioactive Robo-Boxers, written by Dav Pilkey, won the 2013 Pulitzer prize for fiction. An epic novel and a thrilling literary discovery, Captain Underpants and the Revolting Revenge of Radioactive Robo-Boxers follows one man’s dark struggle with the forces of Tippy Tinkletrousers, and explores what it means to be an American in the ever-changing society that we live in today. In this book, 10th in the saga of Captain Underpants, it is revealed that Tippy Tinkletrousers was not killed, and he vows to right the wrong that was done to
George W. Bush to host “The Joy of Painting” reboot on PBS BY PARTICLE-MAN SKYLORD KATRINA OR MONA LISA In the wake of President Obama’s resolute but largely unchanged State of the Union address, Republicans needed a new strategy to combat the slew of accusations that painted them as inactive and dissolute, mere wet adolescents at the teenage sleepover of politics, stamping their feet and holding their breath when they don’t get to play Halo. While many saw idyllic, attractive, ample-busomed, 40-something Republican woman’s response to Obama as a worthwhile, factual, non-pathos-based recitation of reasons why universal healthcare is bad and shambled education and immigration policy is good, other party leaders decided to err on the side of caution and are attempting to expand the appeal of the GOP towards the ever-growing middle. “People like George Bush, right? He was a well-spoken guy. Put that fucker on TV,” said Speaker of the House John Bo(eh)ner. Spray-tan heavy in the air, the stink of consensual, monogamous intercourse still strong on his pelvis and face,
Bo(eh)ner then takes a look at the margin by which Republicans lost in 2008 and Bush’s approval rating near the end of his second term. “Fuck me...(No, not you, honey, give me a minute). We gotta make the public like him somehow. Who’s a really nice, genial guy involved in some sort of liberal field that he could impersonate?
Bob Ross!” Lo and behold, PBS signed the USA’s 43rd president for a 120-episode contract, a revitalization of “The Joy of Painting” for a new era. “As you can, uh, see here, there’s some... there’s some clouds, okay, over that sunset. Well don’t those just look to be -heh- some
happy clouds you’ve ever seen!” The pilot coming swimmingly, Bush could neither imagine nor recall doing anything he was even remotely suited for in his life as painting. “This is my world, eheheh. I’m the creator. I find a kinda...a kinda freedom on this canvas. A very stern, limited freedom built on discipline and restriction. I can do it!” PBS Executive Manager notes that while “little Bushy is only doing fingerpainting at the moment,” he hopes that with the proper training and rearing, he could one day graduate onto sketching and maybe even pastels. While he’s a bit worried about the premier of the new series, he is confident in H.W.’s artistic abilities and potential for growth. “The trick with getting these kinds of people off the ground is to inspire them: ‘You can do anything, George! You could even be president some day!’ Yeah, so we lie to him sometimes, but is it really so wrong if it’s for the good of the viewers, the nation, even?” You voted for him. Don’t blame me, I’m a Libertarian.
OPINION
The Botetourt Squat § Friday, February 7th, 2014 § PAGE 7
-Opinions with Hank Mangklace-
BY HANK MANGKLACE DIDN’T YOU READ THE TITLE
Here’s an opinion: This whole section of the paper is preposterous. How you fucks fail to fill it with any real opinions is beyond me. Here’s 10 god damn opinions that fell out of me between the time it took to the shave the hairs on my inner ass-cheeks and the time it took to inflate Snoopy balloons for children. PICS INCLUDED! #1- I deeply regret swearing to make my ringtone Train’s ‘Drops of Jupiter’ forever. People don’t even use ringtones anymore. Stupid. My kids will hate me. Especially after I fulfill my promise to name all of my children after the members of the band Train: Pat, Jimmy, Scott, Rob, Charlie, Brandon, Magneto, and Johnny Colt.
#3- I’m scared of brain surgery. Why do we watch movies about scary houses and nephews when brain surgery can happen? As a nation, we need to reexamine our fear-priorities.
#5- People who don’t like emotions bore me. I like feelings. They’re the spice of life.
6- I get anxious when people use the word ‘jizz’ lightly. Talking about jizz is serious business.
#8- I bet if birds knew about Saturn’s Rings, they would try to fly there. Maybe they already do?
#9- I see a lot of shrubs that look like breasts and I acknowledge them as such but that doesn’t mean I’m aroused. Get it straight! I’ll tell you when I’m aroused!
#4- I’d let Bill Clinton nibble my earlobe if he wanted to. You wouldn’t? You’re insensitive.
#2- Why can I never remember the reason the sky looks blue? The explanation, in my opinion, must be a real brain-titty twister. We should stop referring to brains as ‘hemispheres’ and start referring to them as titties. ‘Hemi-boobs?’
#7- Did you know they have Pokemon in Afghanistan? In my opinion, that shouldn’t have been something to make me reconsider my conception of Afghanistan. But it did!
#10- Months from now, we’re still going to be listening to singles from Lorde’s album, Pure Heroine, and I’ll have already listened to them all and you’ll probably think they’re new. But they aren’t! Music doesn’t work that way!
Opinions are like blowjobs, there’s a reason they don’t really contribute anything to the world.
Self-referential article penned in the style of Ernest Heming- Thinking outside the box: A reway gets no laughs, ends up getting printed anyway
BY LAZERCUNT WRITE DRUNK EDIT SOBER
He was an old author now who wrote alone in his staid, dim room. He had gone forty years without publishing a piece, and each time he sat to write he remembered the face of his last editor: A good man, a brave man, a true man. His editor was a man in the
way that all Spanish men were. He loved to fight and he loved women, and he loved to fight women especially. He wore a beard that he scarcely groomed and wore the loose, bloodstained shirt of his dead brother, who had been a matador. His editor had told him once that he was a wretch of a man, the truly miserable sort, and so would one day make a great writer. His editor told him to use short, strong verbs, and to drink heavily before writing. The author stared at the paper. It was blank. The page had been blank for forty years and each time he looked at it with its torn edges and dirty surface it seemed to him the perfect image of accumulated defeats. He himself was already grey and withered with age. He was a man who had only known love from afar and as such knew it better than anyone else. He had once been bitter but he was past that point now, he had
tasted bitterness and lost even that inner battle which the brave finished with a bullet through the temple. In those days he had written in the style of McCarthy and he was considered very good, though he was young, but his editor asked him to use punctuation. He had written a story about a horse and he considered it to contain something of truth in it, but his editor told him it was no good and no one who read it could follow the dialogue and he burned the manuscript. Writers are the ones who watch, he thought. They are not poets. Poets touch the women and make love to them in the afternoon. Writers sit in the corner on a wicker stool and get off by watching it. He needed to cough and he hacked and wheezed and spat the fluid into an old coffee cup. He looked into the cup and saw flecks of blood suspended in the fluid, and he realized for the first time that he was feeling weaker every day. He caught his reflection in the window and felt that the lines in his face were sinking deeper like the small canyons carved by streams in the desert. The author looked out the window onto the street and its little caravans of cars and lonely suits bobbing to and from one another. He laughed. He’d had an idea for a story now. But first to sleep. In bed the author was sleeping on his face and dreaming again. He was dreaming of watching.
sponse to the Sigma Chi email BY ANTICITIZEN ONE A TRUE MAN LOVES THE DIVVETS ABOVE THE ASS
We have all heard about the recent scandal that has forced the College’s Sigma Chi chapter to voluntarily suspend themselves. The vile comma-splice-filled email that was captured and posted to the Internet for all to see by totalsororitymove.com has many students disgusted and appalled. It describes a fraternity brother’s expectations for his fellow brothers, stating that, “There’s beer to be drunk, porn to view, and sluts to fuck.” One female student who has chosen to remain anonymous says she is simply surprised. “How did someone think of this? I had no idea the guys at this school viewed girls in such a sexual manner. I just don’t know what to do now that I know that every guy I see may be silently checking me out.” Why the interest in vaginas? Do not misunderstand me; the female vagina is a vital part of human sexual intercourse. Many women take pride in their vaginas and the pleasure (and pain) it brings them. Men must also learn to appreciate the vagina. Without it, we are limited to wet sponges in solo cups and tube socks as penis recepticles. But very few men can claim to be vagina men. Vaginas are… Weird. Why did the author not objectify the full female package? Has he ever seen a vagina? I don’t get them. There are plenty of other options for voyeurism. A woman’s collar bones, for instance. A girl with well-defined clavicles is known to arouse many a virile male’s interest. The underappreciated nail cuticle is another attractive feature of a woman that can command any man’s attention. Hell, I hear some guys even dig ear sex. Why did the author of the email focus solely on the vagina? Has he ever seen one? And why does he insist on tying two independent clauses together with a comma rather than correctly separating them into two sentences?
¿SPÖRT?
The Botetourt Squat § Friday, February 7th, 2014 § PAGE 8
Philippine leader urges international help in resisting China’s massive sea clams BY @NETSECWONK YOU HAVE NO CLAM ON THIS LAND President Benigno S. Aquino III called on Tuesday for nations around the world to do more to support the Philippines in resisting China’s assertive clams in the seas near his country, drawing a comparison to the West’s failure to support Czechoslovakia against Hitler’s clams in Czech waters in 1938. Like Czechoslovakia, the Philippines faces demands to surrender territory piecemeal to the clams of a much stronger foreign power and needs more robust foreign support for the rule of international law if it is to resist, President Aquino said in a 90-minute interview. The aggressiveness of Chinese clams, he claimed, are inconsistent with accepted interpretations of the UN Law of the Sea, which covers maritime disputes.
Mr. Aquino’s remarks are among the strongest indications yet of alarm among Asian heads of state about the danger of China’s sea clams, and the second time in recent weeks that an Asian leader has volunteered a comparison to the prelude to world wars. Prime Minister Shinzo Abe of Japan caused a stir in Davos, Switzerland, when he noted last month that Britain and Germany went to war in 1914 because neither side was willing to appease the clams of the other — much like China and Japan today. Japan has been locked in an increasingly tense standoff with China over clams in the East China Sea and expressed alarm last year when Beijing announced that its maritime clams were extending to the skies above a vast area of ocean. While China’s clams in the rocks, shoals and fishing grounds off the coast of the Philippines in the South China Sea
have been less high-profile, the Chinese have moved faster there to reinforce their clams with civilian and military vessels. While recently reading about the predicament of Czechoslovakia’s leaders in the late 1930s, he said, he saw a parallel “in a sense” to his own problems now in facing challenges from Chinese clams. Ap-
tin and his family, including an excerpt in which Incognito claimed he was going to “Squib kick your (Martin’s) dick inside the 40” while Prickflip “made the sure the laces faced inward.” Various voices then proceeded to order a pizza and call the cable company, before engaging the pizza boy and the cable-man in banal and suggestivesounding conversation. The line then went dead. Philbin is suspected of initiating the onside, hypothetical sausage fest by ordering a code “Shark Tate”, in order to give Martin the raging, pruning hard-on (for victory) needed to stand out in the team locker-room. According to witnesses, Philbin blew hot air straight out of his blowhole, saying “Son, we live in a world that has walls. And those walls are all that separate
us from Cubans in banana hammocks. And those walls need to be guarded by men. Sumo-type fat men who put on some fucking pants and guard those walls. YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH.” The assailed reporter has yet to be named, but sources say he looked like he used to be cool, but then started making these rants against Ritalin and Zoloft and Paxil as if he were off his medication. He purportedly departed shortly thereafter in a giant spaceship, headed for vindication.
peasement did not work in 1938, he noted; within six months of the initial surrender, German clams had spread over most of the rest of Czechoslovakia. The Philippines, he said, is determined not to make similar concessions. “You may have the might,” he said of China’s clams, “but that does not necessarily make you right.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~A few fat men~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BY ALEJANDRO RAPEFACE JUNIOR UNDERLING SPORTS DUDE
Head Football Coach of the Miami Dolphins and Miami representative for the council of teams with fruity mascots Joe Philbin went off yesterday at a reporter when questioned about the allegations of his involvement in the team bullying scandal. Sources say a veteran lineman of the team, Richie Incognito, made himself cognito by harassing and hazing new-comer to the line Jonathan Martin. Police reports have confirmed their possession of an incriminating voicemail left on Martin’s message machine. The voicemail,containing the voice of Incognito, as well as the those of siblings Jesse Prickflip and Sam “The Thickness”, includes threats against Mar-
Any likeness to preexisting copyright material is purely coincidental and should definitely not be reported to the FCA, FBI, CIA, NAACP, or NCLU
Broncos fans celebrate close game in the streets of Boulder
HOPE
BY THE POPE
SOAP ON A ROPE IS SO DOPE I felt a fart coming, so I reached my right hand down behind me and toward my belt. It was Virginia, mid-summer, and I could already feel the sweat climbing as far up as the small of my back. I started there and made the descent, wormed under the belt like a soldier beneath barbed wire, and burst through into the humid, cavernous space just beyond. The moisture clung to me. I wore no underwear, considering it was a special day indeed. I readied my hand to receive the pass, brought it down into position and cupped the fart. I felt its presence in my hand. It had heft. Substance. I brought it up, out, and into the light. My arm swung out and I held my hand in front of me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mister President.”