I Like Big Butts
The Botetourt Squat ION
Y EDIT ST. PATTY’S DA
Vol. 3, Issue 6
‘Is It News?
Botetourt Beat
SMALL ARTICLES FOR SMALL MINDS
Probably.’
March 15, 2013
Aaron Carter and Backstreet Boys reunite
₰ Tiny giraffes are freebasing cocaine in your mother’s lungs. Why won’t Obama make a You- BY PARTICLE MAN SKYLORD Tube video about it? I WANT CANDY!
Popular 90’s boy-band and fem₰ Those gloves with the fingers missing are fuckboner-inducers The Backstreet Boys ing stupid. have recently gotten together with their ₰ Writer for Flat Hat unwinds by snorting adderall most prominent member, Aaron Carter. and shaving pubic hair into a lightning bolt. Thun- They are coming to William and Mary on their comeback tour. N-Synch is ofder Dong’s passion cannot be denied. ficially on notice. “Everyone knows the 90’s were the ₰ People aren’t wearing enough hats. best. Furbies? Gooze? Rocko’s Mod₰ Congress, circumnavigating second amendment, ern life? Come the hell on,” tour manager and agent Doug Adams interpasses bill that bans all bullets. jects, “So we thought: ‘why not bring the 90’s to the 2010’s?’” His ears were ₰ Sex: a How-To (strictly conjecture). deaf to cries of good things only be₰ Ravens win the superbowl by channeling the ing good from nostalgia, as vast piles egyptian sun god Ra, 49ers powerless with their of prepubescent estrogen-soaked money covered his ears. inferior Xenu. The band got big back in 1999 with the release of their songs, “Bye bye ₰ Racist physics professor creates ‘Mexican lightbye” and “It’s gonna be me.” But after ning’ then deems it “useless and disruptive”. their initial wave of success, the band ₰ The crushing realization when the toys you want- fell on hard times. “Things got hard,” Aaron Carter ed to order from infomercials on Nickelodeon as a reminisces, “members started hangkid you no longer want by the time you are 18 or ing out with girls instead of coming to older. practice and dancing in slow motion. I ₰ The Marketplace replaces Home Zone with a big had a problem with co—er…’Candy.’ I tried to express my troubles with adoak barrel full of pickled cunts. diction Anthony Keidis style by grow₰ Physics major crushed to learn that his fantasies ing out my hair and singing a mellow, of stopping time to have sex with every girl in the depressing song.” Little did Aaron expect that his upworld are far-fetched; impossible.
beat single “Candy” would instead be received as a romantic anthem for budding girls everywhere. “Little did I expect that my upbeat single ‘Candy’ would instead be received as a romantic anthem for budding girls every-
Sophomore found to be faking “Senioritis” BY C. BISCUIT
SHOCKING FRONT PAGE STORY
The Student Honor Council will convene on Monday to determine the fate of Drixie Adamsblotter, 2015, who was caught feigning senioritis to get extensions on school projects. Internet Anthropology Studies professor Redd Itterson first caught on to the sophomore’s ruse when he noticed her absence at the Green Leaf’s Mug Night on Sunday. “It just didn’t add up.” relates Dr. Itterson, “The cause of senioritis is still unknown, but we do recognize a lot of symptoms. Even the earliest cases of senioritis show three classic signs: missed classes before 11am, Mug Night attendance, and celebrating the completion of any trivial homework that happens to get done with a trip to College.” His suspicion aroused, Dr. Itterson checked in with the Dean of Students to look at Drixie’s transcripts. There he found even more
damning evidence. Despite having talked to all her professor’s about her condition, she was not taking a single slack course. “I know not everyone can get into Adventure Games, but there wasn’t so much as Rock Climbing or Ballroom Dancing on her schedule,” said Redd. The Dean of Students takes senioritis very seriously and encourages professors to meet the needs of students with proven cases. “We care about the money healthy students are paying to the school,” Associate Dean Von Dom Clam Dam Rattrap told reporters in a press conference called to address the rise of senioritis. “If students flunk out due to senioritis, we can’t make money off them, and that is a serious issue. But that doesn’t mean we can tolerate people abusing the system. Cases like miss Adamsblotter must be handled with extreme prejudice, otherwise we will lose our justice hard-ons.” Because Drixie falsified information that led to her getting special
where.” Around 2003, the band hit an alltime low. Lead singer and guitarist Kurt Cobain had committed suicide. The Supreme Court ruled against the CONTINUED ON PAGE 3
treatment, this is being treated as a viola- don’t write for an actual paper. Welp, I’m tion of the honor code. And as we all know, off to the bars. Later chumps. the honor code is set in place to make students feel safe in both their personal life -C. Biscuit is currently among the afand academic integrity. Haha, just fucking flicted with senioritis. If you would like to with you. It’s to fuck you in the ass if you help his cause, please send beer and cupscrew up. cakes to CSU 0360. Fuck, I ran out of steam a lot faster on this article than usual. But, if you are like most readers, you didn’t make it past the second paragraph anyway. This means that as long as it seems like there is more information down here, you will be content knowing you didn’t pick up a second rate satirical newspaper. Man, I used a lot of contractions in this article. I think that’s genMany sophomores live in Chandler Hall erally frowned upon. How the hell should I know? I
AGENDA SETTING
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Following successful trial, W&M prepares for campus wide A.I. system to go online sometime soon The Botetourt Squat § Friday, March 15th, 2013 § PAGE 2
Chavez Dies; Kim Jong-un Deals Poorly With the Death of His Hero BY SCUBA TUBA SENIOR DICTATOR The world was thrown into turmoil last Tuesday when the death of Hugo Chavez, President of Venezuela, sent the supreme leader of North Korea, Kim Jong-un (Glorious Leader), into a wild, raging depression that could spell the end to the world as we know it. Sources close to Kim Jongun report that upon hearing the news of the death of his personal hero and confidant, he immediately began throwing chairs around his office and breaking his prized Dale Earnhardt commemorative plates, screaming “Fuck this gay earth!” Shortly after this episode, Glorious Leader appeared on national television cradling the dead body of the Golden Doodle that Mr. Chavez had helped him raise, and insisting that he was “not dicking around this time”
and promising to use his hilariously underdeveloped nuclear warheads on “whoever tries to fuck with me.” According to a close relative of Kim Jong-un, Hugo Chavez was always a father figure for Glorious Leader. “Hugo was always happy to watch an entire season of The O.C. with Kim, and always listened to his latest Lord of the Rings fan fiction when no one else would,” the source said, shaking his head in utter contempt at how pathetic Glorious Leader is. “He was the only one who could ever put up with that entitled little piece of shit.”
Since Mr. Chavez’ death, Kim Jongun has not left his room, only screaming threats from behind closed doors that have many international observers concerned. “Clearly he’s heartbroken,” said Ban Kimoon, Secretary-General of the Unit-
Something’s happening with the Pope; nobody gives a shit BY SIR FANCYPANTS SENIOR POPE CORESPONDENT
For the past month, CNN won’t stop reporting about the pope. Several students have complained about this to the Squat newspaper, saying that there should be a firmer separation between news and media, and that those darn Christians are perverting their nonexistent children (which will probably never exist given their lack of hygiene). One student who asked to remain anonymous said, “Those idiots are just lying to themselves about some madeup dude in the sky. They need to face reality,” before he left for his LARPing session. But aside from this smallish faction on campus (whom we can safely persecute and ignore because of their taste for fedoras), most students have been walking
through the last few weeks in February in a state of hell. “I’ve got exams. Exams everywhere you look. Last night, I dreamt that Stephen Hawking strangled me with a string theo-
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ry. It was terrible,” said one student. When asked how he was dealing with his overwhelming worries about the state of the papacy, the student replied, “Shit. What’s a papacy? Dude. If that’s on my pysch midterm today, I’m going to fail,” before running to Swem. It seems that there is no issue more threatening to the security of William and Mary students than the election of the new pope. The problem is, no one knows how the new pope will be chosen, let alone who might be chosen. “I have no idea
ed Nations, “but he’s got to learn to buck up. I mean, sitting in his room, screaming about how unjust God is and how the entire world will soon know his pain….he just looks like a whiny bitch.” Kim Jongun, however, was not assuaged by Ban Kimoon’s statements, instead quietly whimpering into his pillow that “no one understands me. I wish the entire free world was dead.” Many international observers have expressed similar sentiments regarding Kim Jong-un’s extensive and violent mourning period. French President Francois Hollande released a statement insisting that Glorious Leader “should stop being a stupid fucking baby.” Barack Obama, speaking through an interpreter in the Oval Office, simply said, “Shut the fuck up.” Sources close to Kim Jong-un report that Kim Jong-un has not shut the fuck up yet.
who’s going to be pope. I don’t even know the last pope. I know who Jesus is,” said Pedro Fillia, one of the Catholics on campus, a demographic that has clearly been floundering in this state of chaos. “To be honest, I really only go to church because they give me wine. And crackers. I love crackers.” So do we, Pedro. So do we. But for now, Pedro must settle for crackers without a pope. So while CNN wonders whether there will be a black pope and desperately tries to prove that they are not racist, Pedro is left alone in the world, without someone to tell him which antiquated Latin phrase to say before he eats his crackers. “Dude. Just get a box of Ritz,” said the girl next to Pedro as she changed the channel to ESPN.
THE GOR’RAMMED STREET SOMESUCH QUESTIONMASTER
How do you feel about Nick Carter coming to campus?
‘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 Zack Quaratella, Editor-in-Chief William Brightly, Columnist William Amante, Boy Scout JohnAugust Bridgeford, Charles Gowan, Seabiscuit Editor-in-Chief Matt Fruberry, Staff Writer Ben Reynolds, Editor-Emeritus Jordan Obey, Managing Editor Mike Holtzmann, Staff Writer Joseph Soultanis, Staff Writer Jake Balls, Copy Editor Taylor Renard, Staff Writer Sarah Lohmann, Arts Director Jack Crum, Plebe Ryan Novak, Variety Catherine Bailey, Plebe Rigel Kaufman, Opinion Frank Enriquez, Plebe Tim Planert, Agenda Setting The Anti-Citizen, Plebe Nitin Iyengar, Beat Editor Kareem-O Obey, Plebe Pratik Sinha, Junior Staff Writer Aiden Benshimol, Staff Writer Emily Davis, Plebe Rigel Kaufman, Staff Writer Claire Gallespie, Moonlighter
IT’S NOT NICK CARTER, IT’S AARON CARTER, JERK!
Hello,, my friend. I’m sell brandnew iPad Apple for you to very cheap buy this day thankyou veryvery much.
I have never masterbated. I await Aaron Carter!!!!!!!!
ART! HOW TO ART! MY GPS LED ME HERE BY HANK MANGKLACE MY BOOTY HURTS
I don’t entirely understand what this section is for but here we go. Did you guys know that art and media aren’t Layout: Zack Quaratella and JohnAugust Bridgeford. just for crapping on and complaining about? It’s possible for normal people Disclaimer: This is a satire newspaper, and should like me and a more attractive version be read as such. Not intended for readers under 18, of you to create art whenever we want. or people who don’t understand satire. Not intended Some of you might be saying, “But I to be read by Student Affairs. Special thanks to our don’t know how to get out of bed withlovely Swem Cataloguers, who have to endure this out watching an entire season of somemonthly hardship. Any people represented in this thing on Netflix and then complaining paper are fictional, unless given express consent to about how my schedule makes food the writer or editor. Please don’t sue us. We don’t not taste like how my mother and best have money. friends don’t love me enough.” Well,
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shut your pie hole because that’s all that regular nonsense you talk about while your friends pretend to listen. From now on, we’re talking art nonsense. The easiest way to make art is find an empty wall where you live, hang up a big piece of paper on that wall, and then start drawing demented scribbles on it in your free time. You’ll be amazed at all the terrifying arts you can create when you let your idle mind work out all the problems with your inner child in doodle-form. Disembodied heads abound! And maybe you’ll realize, in this creative process, that making something and the experience of
making something is more important than just looking at something someone else has made. Maybe you’ll have a moment where you feel the tradition of creation that has continued on since man first took a pile of dung and drew a smiley face on a cave wall--and you’ll feel that and say, “Wow!” And in a burning fountain of dragons and horses and guitars, you’ll toss in all your jaded cynicism and watch it flare up into the air and your roommate will walk in and go sit down at his computer while you’re breathing heavily in the corner smiling and laughing. Congratulations! You’ve done it! You’ve learned how to art!
BY FATHER PADRE THE HUMANS ARE DEAD After the amount of enthusiasm directed towards the new frozen yogurt machine installed in the basement of the Sadler Center operating with artificial intelligence—unheard since the fabled log jam of 2012—the college has deemed the trial use of artificial intelligence as a whooping success! “Kids love watching that freaky little robot hand grab stuff,” said one William and Mary administrator when asked about the upcoming A.I. overhaul to take place on campus sometime soon. “This fro-yo machine was just the beginning! Some time soon we plan to have all the dinning halls staff by robots, all the bathrooms cleaned by robots, all the packages organized and handed out by robots, and
all the people who tell people what to do replaced by robots. Eventually we hope to have all the students be robots too, but we are talking like thirty, forty years down the road.” He added that the current tune playing on repeat at the yogurt station would be transmitted throughout campus to serve as a means of communication between the A.I. units. Asked to describe what shape these future campus employees would take, the administrator responded, “they will be a cross between the Cylons from Battlestar Galactica and the robots Will Smith goes ham on in iRobot.” The student assembly, in contrast to the administration, has been oddly silent on the issue. When asked to comment on the plan three members of the SA fled the room as the other two looked down as if they had not heard the question. When repeatedly asked to answer the question
(this reporter is on a mission for the truth!) one of the remaining two SA broke down into tears as the other passed this reporter a note reading, “look up.” However, when this reporter looked up he only saw the ceiling and what looked to be a newly installed security camera faintly emitting the frozen yogurt tune, and when this reporter looked back down in confusion, the remaining SA members had fled. Upon exiting the interview room this reporter began to feel as though he was being watched and noticed the fast paced shuffles of students with their eyes glued to the floor clutching their backpack straps with white knuckles. Looking around, as this reporter exited the Sadler Center, this reporter noticed a number of security cameras that this reporter had not seen before. And if this reporter listened closely enough, this reporter was sure that this reporter could hear the faint echo of the fro-
zen yogurt tune coming from every direction. And slowly this reporter began to realize that the A.I. system had already been installed and that that one William and Mary administrator who answered all the questions had seemed almost too excited, and that this reporter had never seen that administrator before, and that he, or maybe it, had looked a little off. And as this reporter returned to his dorm room to tell his roommate what he suspected all that came out was, “FROZEN YOGURT. FROZEN YOGURT. I WANT FROZEN YOGURT. ALL HAIL THE MACHINE. END TRANSMISSION.”
cording to the source, “and the selection process needed to be updated for the 21st century.” Proponents of the change say that flexibility is associated with youth and vitality, and that the tournament is a quick and effective way to find healthy pope, one who is likely to serve a long, fruitful term. Pope Francis, formerly known as Jorge Mario Bergoglio, is a seasoned veteran, having spent much of his youth in Buenos Aires’ world famous Twister dens, where the young people of the city congregate to play the game and socialize. Although it had been years since he put “derecho ma-
no, rojo,” as a Bishop, Bergoglio maintained his flexibility through a yoga routine. “The man plays like none other,” another Cardinal attending the conclave stated. “I never thought I’d see a 76 year old man who could put his foot behind his head.” Twister mats were disposed of after a single game because they smelled terribly like old feet. “I thought that the Church was burning carbon substances to create black smoke, which is terribly bad for the earth,” one environmentalist said. “However, since
learning that Twister boards are responsible for the smoke, I feel much more comfortable.” When Pope Francis won the final Twister match, nobody could remember what substance was burnt that alerted Catholics across the world that there was a new pope. “Ultimately, it was probably the Holy Spirit that made the smoke white,” said one source. “Well played.” Pope Benedict XVI will henceforth be officially known as Ex-Benedict.
Pope election takes a surprisingly Hasbro twist, like Twister, the board game BY TWO PAWNS SENIOR POPE CORESPONDENT Recent revelations about the papal selection process, heretofore kept in the utmost secrecy, have baffled Catholics and others everywhere. It was revealed by an undisclosed Vatican source that this pope was chosen not by the traditional multiballot voting process, but by a single elimination, high stakes tournament of the beloved Hasbro classic: Twister. Yes, that’s right, it appears we may have to start referring to Pope Francis the First as “His Flexibleness.” “The voting thing was getting old,” ac-
CONTINUED FROM “CARTER”
From Strange Wilderness to Saving Silverman: Steve Zahn a Hollywood Success Story William B. is a syndicated columnist with the Botetourt Squat. His other hobbies include being in Scotland and brewing IPAs. Some actors have given a single great performance which defines their career. Actors such as Johnny Depp, Christian Bale, and Daniel Day Lewis are doomed to eternally chase this one shining moment, the one role which they spend the rest of their careers perpetually trying to match. Then there are the heavy hitters of the acting world. Men and women like Burt Reynolds, Pauly Shore, and Rae Dawn Chong who can be better defined by the few roles where they weren’t stellar (ie: Burt Reynolds lackluster performance in Shamus) rather than the other way around. Burt Reynolds isn’t just Gator McKlusky, he’s also Bo “Bandit” Darville, Paul Crewe, Sgt. Tom Sharkey, himself on Golden Girls, Congressman David Dilbeck, etc. It is my opinion that Steve Zahn belongs in this group of esteemed actors and actresses and can most aptly be described as the Kevin Bacon of his generation. I unfortunately don’t have the time nor space to write a comprehensive review of the entirety of Steve Zahn’s work here. I will, however; discuss a two of his roles and extend a challenge to any reader who can find a film where he doesn’t live up to the level of excellence he sets in these two (feel free to contact the squat with findings at jpcrum@email.wm.edu). Daddy Day Care: The subtleties which Zahn brought to his character Marvin in the
2003 film Daddy Day Care have been unmatched in recent years. For the uninitiated, Daddy Day Care is a zany comedy about two unemployed fathers (Eddie Murphy and Jeff Garlin) starting a day care center when money starts to get tight. Zahn joins the action when Mr. Kubitz, the director of child services, informs Murphy and Garlin that they are one daddy short of maintaining the required ratio of daddies to children. Marvin, a bumbling trekie, soon develops a crush on the mother of one of kids enrolled in Daddy Day Care. Zahn masterfully conveys Marvin’s emotions and brings an awkward, hormone fueled intensity to his first interaction with the mother. Later in the film, Murphy and Garlin bail on Marvin to reclaim their big wig jobs at a cereal company. Through this adversity, Zahn again shines and one can really feel the impact that this let down has on Marvin’s character. Saving Silverman: As Wayne Lefessier (aka Cowboy Wayne), Zahn convincingly sells himself not only as a true friend but also as one of Neil Diamond’s biggest fans. He accurately captures the naivety and reticence of a first time kidnapper, who deep down has a burning desire to do good. His powerfully conflicted role in the film raises what would have been a good film, to the level of a great film. Steve Zahn undoubtedly gets less credit than he deserves. Even if readers disagree with me on the subject of Zahn’s genius, I will have succeeded if anyone is compelled to watch even one Steve Zahn flick, just to see what I’m on about. Also, how the fuck did Daddy Day Care have a sixty million dollar budget? That’s only 10 million shy of Saving Private Ryan.
distribution of their album “Straight Outta Compton,” labeling it as explicit, offensive, and without artistic merit, causing co-singer Dr. Dre to quit the group. It seemed like the band would never get back to its former glory. Oh ye of little faith. The second coming is here. Jimi Hendrix is accompanying Aaron Carter, Elvis Presley, and Stevie Nicks onto stage, with doves and harp music, as the new Backstreet Boys unveil their latest killer sound. Cancer and AIDS will not only be cured, but scorned and put into the corner for the rest of microbials to make fun of. Everyone’s dick will grow 3 inches. I will finally get laid. And you, William and Mary, will bear witness to the greatness.
Pumping iron with Jake Balls Tips for true fitness New Pope better stay 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
Blow your brain out BY DR. FEELGOOD RARELY SMILES
I have heard many complaints from patients over the years regarding theirhearing. Perhaps you’ve heard concerned adults or annoying peers say ‘Turn dowthat music! It’s hurting your ears!” and then perhaps you’ve ignored them. As you should. You ain’t a square. They obviously are oblivious to the fact that Rock and Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution. (I know, AC/DC told you so, how could they lie?) However, as much as I hate admitting anyone who I don’t see in the mirror is correct, the others aren’t lying to cramp your style. Excessive noise is hurting your ears. In fact, it’s hurting your brain too. The percussion, the wailing guitar, the edgy lyrics, are all aiding toward a fate worse than deafness: blowing your brain out. For anyone who didn’t actually care
about this crap in Psych 101, a recap-Inside the ear is about a hundred million little hairs. These little hairs nestle inside the snail shell part of your in-
ner ear. They vibrate in specific ways, and then nerves take up those vibrations and
Spring time: sincere joy is the new irony BY HANK MANGKLACE BITTER AT SO YOUNG AN AGE Look around you, fellow students! The Earth is tilted once more in our favor to be closer to the true prime mover--the bringer of smiles and sweeper of pale gloom. Warm delights dance in the air like a hundred flaming rainbow pinatas dropped from a blimp onto levitating landscape of confectionary frosting. Your genitals squeal with delight! Yes! It is the time of affirmation and deep inhalation because from ancient times it has been known that breath is the source of life. So live deeply! Expand your soul and lungs and feel your core twinge with the green pulse that feeds the days we can dance through. Your teeth bite into the soft flesh of a citrus fruit and as the juices run down your chin you exclaim to the people outside, “These bones will burn bright once more! My skin is a net and the beams are school of shimmering tuna!” Take your hammers and your nails and
your building materials and build a shrine you can crawl inside and make sweet love to the words that flutter up to the clouds and bring warm rains, inseminating the Earth and raising up the sweet crops that can be processed into delicious breakfast cereals and gummy snacks. Don’t hide from your joy! Tear it open and smash its husk onto the tops of your heads and step with verve and pizzazz, crowned with your helmet of sentimental affections.
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the brain interprets this as sound. But if you keep music blaring right into your ears consistently, these little hairs are going to break off and those nerve connections are going to die. And no, neither drugs nor sleep nor the dulcet tones of Benedict Cumberbatch and Morgan Freeman’s crack baby are going to save your brain from attaining the likeness of Swiss cheese by the ripe age of 28. What you can do to at least slow down the process is stop listening to your annoying chit music (read: Taylor Swift, Nickelback, etc) at such obnoxious volumes. Because if you don’t, you aren’t just hurting your brain, you’re hurting those around you. And like any newly minted public menace, I would have no sympathy toward you. Should you then seek my professional advice in the future, it would go thusly: crawl into a coffin, close the lid and light a candle. But not before texting me your location, because the morgue has me blacklisted, and finders keepers totally
applies to fresh cadavers. This has been a public service announcement regarding ear health and the promotion of a better America.
BY A WIZARD I AM A RAW PENIS
asked me if she was married. My voice is outside the average pitch of a typical person’s voice. I have been told that I can yell quite loudly when I am scared. I have a healthy fear of fire. I am familiar with quite a few dairy products. My extended family would not take a very long time to list in its entirety. Here is a joke: what did the lesbian say to the nocturnal carnival? Here is a joke: why do white people and black people not want to sleep on billboards together? Here is a joke: SARS.
Everything I do: I do it big
When my shower drain gets clogged up, I pull out the clog with a plunger while I’m still showering. When things get lodged in my eyes, I cry out powerful tears that have been known to make people want to believe in the dreams their grandma’s had. I am good at smiling. The amount of bothersome activities I do on a day-to-day basis is inversely proportional to the amount of compliments I get over how well my scarves complement my sweaters. I have ambitious plans involving creating a music band. Jungle gyms are no longer impressive to me. I now find the experience of hanging upside down to be annoying and an unnecessary safety hazard. I have outfitted three seats in two of my cars with double the amount of required safety belts. I can eat a semi-large pile of sugar in one sitting. I didn’t work very hard at writing this article. My elementary school vice-principal had a romantic interest in my mother and one time
Pasty William and Mary students suffer from serious bass deficiency, study finds BY PUBLIUS LEFT PITCHFORT TOO MAINSTREAM
A new study by the College Department of Psychology claims that students at William and Mary are being oppressed by as yet unheard of levels of bass deficiency. Bass deficiency, according to researchers, results from a lack of exposure to serious levels of bass – a condition eerily similar to Vitamin D deficiency and additionally co-correlated with pastiness. “We couldn’t find a trace of that real roots grime UK dubstep from Skream, Benga, Caspa, Hatcha, El-B, or Tempa – and hardly even anything from new-style San Francisco beats-influenced artists like Bassnectar or NiT GriT,” commented researcher Scad ‘Rudeboy’ Higgins. The study argues that declining bass exposure from personal listening, concert attendance, and involuntary aural assault in restaurants and coffee shops is responsible for sky-rocketing levels of pastiness. Pastiness is typically character-
ized by boring speech habits, mayonnaiselooking digs, walking like one has a stick up one’s ass, and compulsively writing angry letters to newspapers. “Pastiness is a real problem,” said Professor Ian McGwellyn, “but let’s not make this some kind of awkward racial thing – we find pastiness and blandness among all kinds of different ethnic groups, regardless of an individual’s ‘flavor’. That said, white Protestants are particularly likely to suffer from congenital or habitual pastiness.” “What we’re now seeing is the possi-
bility of a negative feedback loop,” offered bass music artist Flux Pavillion, “where increased pastiness increases an individual’s likelihood to respond poorly to bass, reverting to disgust and rants about what constitutes ‘real music.’ It’s an unfortunate tendency of the pasty to be unable to just simply enjoy music on anything except a squalid, purely intellectual level.” He then proceeded to make scary faces at this interviewer while playing “Bass Cannon” on repeat. Students are of mixed opinion on the
issue. Thomas McGuinn ‘14, a real mayonnaise-looking motherfucker, whimpered “I just can’t stand that really bass-y stuff, it gives me a headache and distracts from my international relations textbook readings.” Hobbesian anarchy in the international system is a myth, Thomas, why don’t you listen to the Terravita/Bassnectar remix of “Upside Down” instead? “Oi,” agreed bass-enthusiast Stipley Tuckler ‘15, “oi wuz wa’chin da videyo fuh Woo Boost wit ma mates and oi made a pun loik wit dem based artists loik Lil B ‘an de Slutty Boyz ‘an dem an dey dinnt hardly get nuffin man.” I don’t think anyone can deny the mutual influences of bass music and based music on one another, and their equal importance in combating pastiness. And so we reach the awkward part of the article where the writer can only vaguely grasp at a cute ending to his contrived story, and I must admit the attempt nearly always ends in failure.
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Male-pattern baldness: the next big thing? BY PARTICLE-MAN SKYLORD SENIOR BEE ANALYST. Time passes. Empires are built and then fall into the dust. Those you love come and go. Your death is assured. And fads will plague you until the very last day of your life. More often than not, fads don’t make any fucking sense. With the integrated ADHD nature of the internet , this generation finds itself with a wealth of knowledge at its fingertips, but the only enough patience and intellect to look up videos of monkeys having sex with frogs on youtube. I’m not even making this shit up. Early on the night of February 20th, a few friends were sitting around smoking a fat one while listening to some Pink Floyd. One of them thought it would be a good idea to grind up the CD case and smoke it. “You know, man, so you could, like, FEEL what they felt when they wrote it.” Another decided taping it would be a good idea. As the carcinogens of latent space-rock artwork and lyrics entered his lungs, he spontaneously and irreversibly
went bald. The video went viral. In just a few short weeks, people all over the country and world were smoking Pink Floyd CD cases, with sales at a record ‘high.’ People taped themselves smoking cases in bathroom stalls, in public, while skydiving, underwater, during sex, during masturbation; you name it, someone did it. However, a few poor souls seem unaffected by the influx of lethal polyethylene vapors and lead-based paints. “It’s just not fair,” chimes one especially saddened and estranged student, “some people have all the luck. I have the poor fortune to have a full head of hair right now, while everyone else is walking around with bald heads. You think I wished to be born this way? Do you know what it’s like to be on the outside, when all your friends, your teachers, your own family is bald. I went home for spring break, and my dog was bald. He’s a Peruvian Hairless Dog, but still. I feel like I’ve been forsaken by my genetics.” Exactly zero girls have been seen par-
Donuts ‘n’ Hot Dogs Sex advice with Brittani
I caught a bass when I went fishing
ticipating in what is now coined “PinkPuffing” (not to be confused with the sexual act). “It’s probably one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard of.” One particular girl interjects; unprompted, no less. “I’ve got better things to do with my time than go bald smoking the pretentious creations of 60’s dad-rock bands. Anyway, did you hear about the newest way to get high? Me and my sorority sisters tried...” “...Downton Abbey...”
“...all the way up to my forearm...” “...for no less than 3 hours...” “...intravaginally. Or was it anally?...” The recount of the interviewer appeared hazy. He was apparently tripping on some Piper at the Gates of Dawn. In other news, this article was not funny at all.
My penis hurt when I woke up this morning and it scared me BY TOM BOMBADIL WAY TOO OPEN ABOUT STUFF
I woke up this morning and the very tip of my penis hurt. It was not sore, or stinging; it was simply raw. My first feeling was extreme anxiety, was my dick fallBY FOX IN SOCKS ing off? PEOPLE NEVER LISTEN TO ME I should stop momentarily and mention that every time my penis hurts in any Dear Brittani, way, I have a mortal fear it will just drop Last semester, I got laid all the time. I was on top of the world (and of other down my left pant-leg and onto the ground things, if you know what I mean), and all the girls wanted me. I worked my way around where it is immediately snapped up by a my hall, and even branched out to other dorms! Unfortunately, I’ve had absolutely no snapping turtle and thrown into the high luck this semester—it’s like I’ve been forced to take a vow of chastity or some shit! The grass, never to be seen again. girls basically run away screaming when they see me. I’ve even stooped to tryna pick What if I never get to ejaculate again? up the Unit biddies, but with no success. I need help! What if frequent ejaculation is causing my Please help my penis, pain? Will I have to visit a urologist? Will Dry Spell in Dupont he touch my butthole? I’m not ready for a finger in my butt yet. Maybe I am ready, Dry Spell, but like I think I want it to be someone Everyone goes through periods of being completely undesirable, sweetheart, special. Will I have to date my urologist? so don’t feel like you’re alone in this! Luckily for you, there are a few easy things you I roll over on my side: a deliberate ploy can do to overcome your problem. First, remember that girls want you to be aggresto see if it continued to hurt. It did, badly. sive—they want to be chased! So don’t be afraid to be very direct with girls you’re I could feel my boxers scraping its tender interested in—I suggest maintaining eye contact while violently pelvic thrusting. This millimeters, agony gripped my stiff morntrick is especially effective if you perform it while shitfaced, they’ll be impressed by ing body. your coordination! Another trick is to make sure you make advances on girls who are This is going to be a tough day. I jump good friends. They’re far more likely to talk about you, making each other jealous and out of bed and immediately strip completeleading to you getting laid—did someone say ménage a trois? ly naked and examine my little friend. Kisses, Me: “How’s it going, buddy?” Brittani It: “My tip hurts.” Me: “ARE YOU GOING TO FALL OFF???” Dear Brittani, It: “Idk” I’ve found that the only time I can get off when I’m with my girlfriend is when she blows me. It’s starting to get awkward, every time we have sex I have to make excuses about why I can’t finish. My girlfriend used to love it, but now she’s starting to doubt her ability in bed, her jaw is sore, and it’s straining our relationship. I don’t know what to do! Any advice? Blow Jobs in Blair
After that short conversation, I sprinted to the bathroom and took a shower. Observations from the shower: slight discoloring on top, little red blotches, not rash-like in nature but more raw, friction related. Pain only when rubbing tender area against something rough. I thought back to my previous evening: no penis-related activity had occurred. No inhospitably dry vaginas. No cheese graters. Just a normal sleep. But then I remembered: I was wearing brand new boxers! Could this be the source of my friction problems? Would my penis be okay? Do I have to still date my urologist? I wish I could write a happy ending to this story, but my penis still hurts. It still sings out in pain with every movement. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn jeans today, but I was optimistic that the pain would go away. But it hasn’t gone away. Maybe it’s just going to get bigger? Or sprout another penis out of the top of my penis? Or is this all just wishful thinking... I’m so scared my dick is going to fall off. If anyone’s a dermatologist, please contact me at jpcrum@email.wm.edu.
Not pumping iron with Ryan Brovak Tips for fitness
Blow Jobs, I have two suggestions for you that should be able to fix your problem in a jiffy! First, try faking it! While it might not give you the immediate satisfaction you so crave, it will keep your girlfriend happy (and therefore keep that jaw a-workin’), and should help your relationship continue to grow. If that option doesn’t sit with you, try getting a new girlfriend! A change in scenery always perks me right up! Cheers, Brittani
Thansk goodness they instated a new Pope. I was worried they were going to have to cancel Easter. 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, March 15th, 2013 § PAGE 6
Let’s take a Peep:
OPINION
The Botetourt Squat § Friday, March 15th, 2013 § PAGE 7
Butts: How great is that?
Alien and Ridley Scott’s fear of genitalia and technology
BY DR. RALPHY MOMO, ESQ. “SORRY I DON’T SPEAK GEEK”
Science-fiction and horror films are great because they are like really extreme cinematic Rorschach tests. Where there are aliens some might see “ethnic types,” where there are the walking dead some might see “latent necrophilic desires,” where there are lasers some might see “penises, so many penises doc! And they’re mad at me!” With these genres our fears and perversions are supplanted by all sorts of fantastic shenanigans (Is that a sarlacc in your pants or do you just have a really wide-set vagina... that swallowed Bolba Fett?). This being said no contemporary film is as much as a freudian home-run than Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979): starring Sigourney the film takes place in 2122 and is basically the story of how crew members of a commercial towing vessel are terrorized by a horrifying penis/vagina monster that wants to rape and/or eat them all. Let’s take a look at this film shall we? First and foremost the catalyst of this film is an unwanted pregnancy resulting from brutal oral rape. This is important guys, I mean six years prior Roe vs Wade sparked a nation wide debate about abortion, and now this movie asks the ultimate what if, that is: What if Mork rapes Mindy? Clear-
ly Ridley Scott knows the answer to that question → their child will wreak havoc unlike anything you’ll ever see, and the only person that can stop it is the ultimate badass single lady, Sigourney Weaver! But the abortion politics of this isn’t the issue, the issue is that Ridley Scott is pretty terrified of genitalia in general. The egg that releases the squid thing that rapes the crew member’s face is made up of not one but two vaginas. This double vaginaed egg at first looks unassuming and in fact sparks curiosity, the crew member just wanted to take a gander at the little double vagina, because it looks kinda cute. And what does he get? Raped that’s what. Ridley Scott wants you to keep your face away from vaginas! But why? Because, apparently, out of vaginas come weird penis squids that want to stick themselves down your throat. So out of the vagina, comes a penis. Interesting play Scott, interesting play indeed. What happens next? The most fucked up live birth ever caught on film. Out of the chest of working-class joe bursts an erect penis with fangs. The fanged penis screams and then gets the hell out of dodge. You know, like babies do. What happens next? Well do you remember that baby penis monster? Well it grows up in a matter of hours.. into a creature that has a huge black cock for a head. What sort of racial messages are you trying to broadcast Ridley? All
of a sudden the fear goes from vaginas, to penis babies, to giant black cocks with teeth that are trying to destroy the working class! We should also note that the double vagina is ALSO black.. what’s up with that? ETHNIC GENETILIA IS THREATENING US ALL! That’s not all the though, the mouth of the huge black cock head has the likeness of a vagina dentata, with even more penis like things that emerge from it. It’s a penis, within a vagina, within a penis. Are you people taking notes? In Alien we are given images of Scott’s worst nightmare.. a vagina capable of penetration. Genitalia isn’t the only thing our dear Ridley Scott is telling us to watch out for in this flick, as he, in a sort of delightfully innocent 70s sort of way, is also pretty spooked out by technology. Sure there’s a huge black cock monster killing all of us but let’s not forget who the true enemy is in the end, a robot named Ash who wants to keep the damn thing as a pet. Isn’t technology the fucking worst guys? You think you’ve got enough problems with all the rape and murdering going on and then all of a sudden you find out that your goddamn iphone is on the rapist’s side. The 70s were a dark time. Summary: Vaginas. Bad. Penis. Bad. Black Penises. Worse. Technology. Don’t even go there girlfriend. What should you do? Throw your gizmos and gadgets in the
BY HANK MANGKLACE SEINOR BUTT LICKER
Elongated balls and low hanging vagina: sexier than we thought BY DR. RALPHIE MOMO GRAIN OF SALT
Rambling thoughts that come to me from time to time BY MR. BATES GRAIN OF SALT How do couples with a really tall guy and a really short girl engage in sex? Is it like the creepy fetishistic porn I watch? How do they engage in the 69 position? Does the guy, like, contort his spine forward so he can reach the girl’s snatch, so it looks like a circle with a tiny flat part on one side? Although giving oral sex, if the difference is large enough, would be easy. Or at least easy for the girl who could just look down and suck like she’s drinking from a water fountain and is just a little bit too short so she has to stand on her tiptoes. The guy, I suppose, could lift her up like he’s letting his child ride on his shoulders, except invert her to be in prime cunnilingus position. I guess that could work. Sometimes I wish I could suck my own dick, but then I immediately think that it’s probably better that I can’t. I mean if I did it once, I’d have to be living with the constant knowledge of how good it feels compared to my calloused, unlubricated hand. Popping a boner in Chem is already hard (ha) enough without thinking about the potential pleasures that await me. I imagine a lot of this is what people in a functional relationship feel when they’re with their partner. I imagine. Plus there’s that whole
fact that you can no longer not lose a finger in Never-Have-I-Ever when someone says “Never have I ever sucked a dick.” And then there’s the whole complication with explaining how it was your own dick which is really just a form of masturbation. It’s just not worth the trouble. How does one get to be a pornstar? Is there like…an application process? Do you have to list your experience on a resumee and come in to an interview all dressed up? I’ve seen enough of those casting couch videos to know that that’s probably not how it goes down. It was good for the first few spanks, but when that post-ejaculatory depression hits you, you start to wonder about the legitimacy. I’m probably my least trusting as a person when it comes to porn. I’ve gotten to the point where amateur is the only thing that gets me off; if I get the slightest vibe of illegitimacy, I close that tab instantly. God knows my queue is long enough without these atrocious faux-amateur videos. Sometimes I’ll be watching one of those pro videos, though, and I’ll be like, “this guy’s dick is smaller than mine!” Then I wonder if my true calling in life is to be a pornstar. But then I feel kinda bad for pornstars because I mean what do they do after their career is over? Are they gonna settle down with a nice old man and get married? “Oh, hey, I’m Claire, I used to be a porn-
star but now I’m looking to find a gentle man who loves me for who I am and start a family. I’ve probably been ejaculated in/ on hundreds of times by countless men, but I’m still a good person deep down.” It’s not funny, it’s depressing. Pornstars are people, too, but they don’t seem to afford the luxuries of a fulfilling family life. When I used to be rock-hard at the sight of any pair of tits, real or fake, I tended to disregard the fact. But now that I’m a sadder and wiser man, I can’t bring myself to climax knowing that the future lives of that person are tumultuous at best. When I used to live at home, I developed the compulsive habit of running up the stairs on all fours like some primal beast-man hybrid. I kind of want to do it here sometimes. But I live on the first floor, and there’s only three steps from the entrance to the main level because someone was like “we could just make the entrance be on the same level as the ground floor, but why not add three steps?” So, like, 1) the floor looks dirty all the time because someone thought the repulsive 80’s green and off-red tiles set on a background of white was a good idea and 2) even if I were to ignore point 1, there’s only three steps. So instead of climbing up the stairs like I have malicious intent to eat some juicy raw steak at the top if I climb it fast enough, It’s more like me leaning over
and planting both hands on the top step and then just stepping up twice. That makes it look more like my legs were giving out and I was having trouble climbing the stairs with traditional means. So one of my top three reasons to be excited to go home is I can have a solid consecutive 17 stairs to climb up. I wish I was as motivated in the other parts of my life as I am when I shower. Something about being naked and making your body all warm and slippery just gives you the insight and motivation that impending shame of your peers and personal fear of failure can’t. If I could take like a solid 3-hour shower, I could probably plan out the next ten years of my life. I often wonder why I have no friends. I put myself into their shoes, but then when I do the math I deduce that this person should be all over my dick (literally or figuratively). But then I realize I’m probably biased. Then I think I must be really ugly and unattractive and all-around not a good person. Then I drink heavily and listen to Alanis Morissette and contemplate how my life might be a combination of Fourty-Year Old Virgin and Stranger Than Fiction and that I’m really the product of forces beyond my control that destine me to be magnetically repelled from vaginas. Then I go to sleep.
Why does anyone go on a diet, go to the gym, or get drastic reconstructive surgery? Easy: to shape your body into the ideal form for the opposite sex. The mass media would have us to believe that this means bigger biceps, larger boobs, washboard abs, and a bootylicious badunkadunk. Of course this, like everything else the illuminati feeds us, is a lie. While all of those things are true the illuminati has purposefully hidden the true crème de la crème of sexual attraction: a long ball sack and a low hanging vagina. On my most recent hike on Kilimanjaro I came upon the most curious thing. I had finally reached the summit when I came across an old bearded sage. He stood there, naked; eyes close in meditation, knees bent at a complete ninety degree angle, a forty pound dumbbell tied to his ball sack. “What’s all this then,” I said in my best British accent, for I had been practicing it all day in case I’d ever have to enter the witness protection program. “What does it look like kiddo? I am expanding my mind, and one cannot do that without first expanding the ball sack,” The sage gently whispered. “Ah, you’re blowing smoke out your arse you are,” I replied, unable to drop the accent. But still, maybe this
sage was onto something so I enquired further. “The truth is this Doctor. You and everyone you know is a slave. The best kind of slaves; slaves that have willingly given away their self-determination and mental freedom in favor of the promise of better bodies, higher grades, bigger homes, nicer cars, and hotter spouses. I mean one of your most popular brands is called “OBEY” you wear the word on your shirts on your hats and you wear them with ironic pride. The invasion isn’t even subtle. Everyone keeps striving for all of these extraneous things believing them to be what will make them truly happy. But you don’t have the slightest fucking clue as to what the truth is.” “What is the truth?” “Long Ball sacks are sexy.” There you have it folks, we’ve been going about this all wrong! If we really want to get laid we gotta get dem long ballz. Lolz. And what is even more pleasing to the eye? A low hanging vagina of course! And both these can be yours if you purchase “SMELL YA LATA GENITALIA!” a super medicine that will finally give you a positive answer to the question: do your balls hang low? All for the low low price of $39.99!!!
As of late, this respectable source of words and spaces between words has published articles of a rather smutty persuasion. This article however, will not reflect on the vulgar or lewd thoughts that may arise when one takes the time to consider a butt. Furthermore, it will not decline into squeamish and toiletrelated obscenities. No. None of that. This article will serve as an honest and straightforward appreciation for the butt--the way one would appreciate any body part when considering its vital importance to the marvelous machine that is our body. Or, in short, there’s no wrong way to have a butt. Good job all you butt-havers out there. Many of us choose to cover our butts with cloth that we have purchased or made in textile plants. That’s really great. A covered butt is a happy butt. Although the skin and finer details have been obscured, most modern clothing allows for protection of the butt while still allowing anyone, even with an untrained eye, to confidently say, “Ah! There is a butt!” Not even Nazis could deny the importance of having a butt? Question mark? When we sit, we sit upon our butts. They thanklessly provide a barrier between the surfaces we rest upon and our vital organs that digest food and pump life giving nutrients throughout our body. A body without a butt is like a slurpee cup with a bottom. All that pink stuff is going to end up on the floor. Yes, it is a collection of fat indicating fertility and therefore elicits a thunderous trouser response, but it’s also the only real best friend that can never leave us. Thank your butt today. And if you see someone else’s butt, tell them “Great job”. And then if they’re like, “What?” Be like, “I was talking about your butt. But in a totally platonic way. I mean, in a way where it’s a manifestation of a higher form of the idea of butt...this isn’t--I’m not being weird. I’m just trying to appreciate it for what it is--I mean...” Keep working at it. Try it out with your friends before moving on to strangers. Then, when you feel comfortable with it, gather up a group of your associates and go around your neighborhood and invite yourself into people’s living rooms to spread the good word about the butt.
On Jennifer Lawrence’s Oscar win BY ANTICITIZEN ONE I LOOK AT YOUR BOOBS WHEN YOU TALK
As of late, this respectable source of words and spaces between words has published articles of a rather smutty persuasion. This article however, will not reflect on the vulgar or lewd thoughts that may arise when one takes the time to consider a butt. Furthermore, it will not decline into squeamish and toilet-related obscenities. No. None of that. This article will serve as an honest and straightforward appreciation for the butt--the way one would appreciate any body part when considering its vital importance to the marvelous machine that is our body. Or, in short, there’s no wrong way to have a butt. Good job all you butt-havers out there. Many of us choose to cover our butts with cloth that
we have purchased or made in textile plants. That’s really great. A covered butt is a happy butt. Although the skin and finer details have been obscured, most modern clothing allows for protection of the butt while still allowing anyone, even with an untrained eye, to confidently say, “Ah! There is a butt!” Not even Nazis could deny the importance of having a butt? Question mark? When we sit, we sit upon our butts. They thanklessly provide a barrier between the surfaces we rest upon and our vital organs that digest food and pump life giving nutrients throughout our body. A body without a butt is like a slurpee cup with a bottom. All that pink stuff is going to end up on the floor. Yes, it is a collection of fat indicating fertility and therefore elicits a thunderous trouser response, but it’s also the only real best friend that can never leave us. Thank your butt today. And if you see
“The behavior of a human being in sexual matters is often a prototype for the whole of his other modes of reaction in life.” -Sigmund Freud Think about it.
someone else’s butt, tell them “Great job”. And then if they’re like, “What?” Be like, “I was talking about your butt. But in a totally platonic way. I mean, in a way where it’s a manifestation of a higher form of the idea of butt... this isn’t--I’m not being weird. I’m just trying to appreciate it for what it is--I mean...” Keep working at it. Try it out with your friends before moving on to strangers. Then, when you feel comfortable with it, gather up a group of your associates and go around your neighborhood and invite yourself into people’s living rooms to spread the good word about the butt.
¿SPöRT?
The Botetourt Squat § Friday, March 15th, 2013 § PAGE 8
FIFA, IFAB officials remove ball from soccer BY PARTICLE MAN-SKYLORD SENIOR
This past weekend, the Fédération Internationale de Football Association (FIFA) and International Football Association Board (IFAB) voted 20 Yeas to 1 desperate, iconoclastic, and downright unlikeable Nay who shall remain unnamed (COUGHSPAINCOUGH) to get rid of the ball in Soccer. The Boutetourt Squat was on the scene of the otherwise-empty conference building with an interview with Sepp Blatter, President of FIFA. A:“We really felt like it was time to change the game of football.” Q: “Well that’s all well and good, but what about soccer? Shouldn’t you guys worry more about the sport you’re in charge of?” A: “Oh, good point. I guess I shouldn’t hold onto pedantic nomenclature and general assfuckery just because I’m upset
about how language has evolved.” Q: “That’s okay, everyone knows American football is objectively the best sport. No harm done. So why did you change the game like you did?” A:“Things have been stagnating for a while now. Fans have to play musical instruments at games that sound like a tide of considerably-loosened and farting asses just to keep them occupied for the 89 minutes that nothing worth a shit is happening.” Q: “But why remove the ball?” A: “When you look at the charts, you see that fans respond strongest to: 1) Penalties 2) Chanting 3) The Wave 4) Bad Calls 5) Brazillian Rap....It goes on like this for a while. The ball is 63rd on the list. Q: “How many were on the list?” A: “64” Q: “What was the 64th one?” A: “We...don’t like to talk about it.” Q: “What is it, the average number of
dicks each player has sucked to get into the pros? <long pause> So...how will soccer be played now?” A: “Well, since the game had become primarily acting like a pansy and running around like schoolgirls, we’ve made it just that. Now players take turns running back and forth across the field, pretending to get fouled whenever another player gets within 15 feet of them. Points are measured by the fan reaction when people get carded. The more negative the response, the more points!” Q: “That sounds pretty close to how soccer was before.” A: “You have no idea. Our focus groups were literally unable to tell the difference pre- and post-rule change. We even kept the nets to really solidify the illusion. What’s even better, now games are highscoring, which was another big complaint from fans. The new responses are off the charts compared to the old rules.”
Q: “So, like, what, three guys tweet about a game instead of zero?” A: “Four, actually. Five if you count Kanye West.” Q: “I don’t.” A: “Well, four, then.” Q: “So what do goalkeepers do now?” A: “Nothing.” Q: “So just like before, right?” A: [Continued laughter] Q: [Continued laughter] A: “Alright, that’s about everything I had to ask. Who’s your favorite team?” Q: “Barcelona” A: “Wow, fuck you.”
victor will receive a metal pail of pubic hair at the loser’s expense.” The race was off! The Devil got away to an early lead wearing cherry-red split cut shorts with a 1” inseam hotter than a stallion drowning in a pot of coffee. Team Blitz was in desperate pursuit. The race was a 3.5 mile dash to Astronomical Pancakes on Richmond Rd. The Devil hit the 2 mile mark with 3 Team Blitzers clipping his heels. While Jeff Normans huffed and puffed, the Devil laughed and belched smoke and ash. “The Devil’s engine runs on evil diesel and less-evil biofuel!” Jeff Normans cried out, “You fiend! The ecological benefits of biofuel propagated by corn lobbyists are vastly overstated!”
The pace was steadily dropping and a gap opened between the Devil and the top two Team Blitz runners. The sidewalk cracks flashed with hellfire as the Devil’s cloven feet strode lightly over them. Jeff Normans said to Jeff Normans, “Jeff Normans, I have a plan.” Jeff Normans replied, “What is it?” “To beat the Devil, we need to get to the finish line before him. And to do that, we need to run faster than he is running.” “Got it!” And so all of Team Blitz ran faster than the Devil and won the race. “Curses!” screamed Satan. “You figured out my plan and ran faster than me to win the race!” The Devil disappeared in a cloud of smoke, leaving behind only a bucket of screaming pubic hair.
“What?” said Team Blitz. And then they went for a run.
Team Blitz wins race against Satan
BY HANK MANGKLACE TYPICAL SQUAT RUNNER The Devil went down to Williamsburg last Thursday, he was looking to get a deal on off-season Christmas ornaments. But on his way, he spied a group of bird-chested lads standing on the corner of Barksdale field by Barrett Hall. He sidled up to them and said, “Now you boys looks pretty fast, but give the Devil his due. I bet a bucket of pubes against you rubes cause I think I’m fitter than you.” Team Blitz said, “We’re all named Jeff Normans, and it might be a sing, but we’ll take your bet, and agree to the terms and conditions of this wager; thus, entering into a binding verbal contract in which, the
Hello there young man
A rhyme. BY PARTICLE MAN SKYLORD SEXPERT NECKBEARD
I like to rhyme. I rhyme all the time. Some say “It’s rhyme time” whenever I find the kind of mind to rhyme. Some say it should be a crime to rhyme. If it was a crime to rhyme, then I’d be doing time for the crime of rhyme. And the saying goes “If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime” but I think they should change it to “If you can’t do the time, don’t do the rhyme” so that my rhymes and consequent crimes are in their minds for all time. Rhyme is sublime, and I’m primed to rhyme all the time. Some think I’m saying “rind” when I’m saying “rhyme” but I say they should mind that rhyming rhyme with rhyme would not mind the kind of rhyme in which my time is bind. If they, in kind, had a mind to arrest me for my rhyme, I would ask them for a sign to indicate that to rhyme was a crime. The only wind that would bind their time was if they made a sign that said “a rhyme is a crime.” If the rhyme-crime-sign was already in line, I would mind my time and prime myself to climb. penis. Because if I climb that sign and rhyme while on the sign, I could say “I’m a mime picking a lime.” My rhymes robbing time, the swine who wish to arrest me would throw dimes and rinds at me, the mime, who just has a mind to pick a lime from the sign. And they’d mind my rhyme and consign that I climb from the sign. I might chime “I’m to climb from this sign when you find me some thyme to go with my lime.” They might sign that I’m out of my mind, and ask why I’m in the mind for thyme and for lime, and that I have no lime, and why a mime might climb a sign just to rhyme, but resign and whine and grime in the slime to find some thyme, so that my rhyme time atop the sign decline. While the men trying to find some thyme, in the meantime, I would rhyme in ragtime, paying mind to the time. One might chime “would you climb from the sign for a clementine?” and I would cry “Nein!” For if rhyme meant doing time, then I would neither resign my climb from the sign, nor resign my mind as a mime, nor my lime, nor the thyme I wished to find. Finding my crime of rhyme a waste of their time, the slime would declare it lunchtime and resign. Just in time, I chime, and climb from the sign.