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WHY DOES iT HURT WHEN I PEE?

The Botetourt Squat S

URIOU F 2 T U O W O L 2B

Vol. 3, Issue 8

‘Is It News?

Botetourt Beat

BEER GOGGLES MAKE READING HARD

Probably.’

April 26, 2013

Student has time of his life on blowout

₰ Fact: gays have a 0% abortion rate. Eat that, BY FATHER PADRE Christians. I AM SOOOOOOOOOOOO DRUNK

-8:00 a.m.: wakes up roommate, ex₰ National Bomb Association responds to bomb its room in just a towel to yell “SHOTcontrol sentiment: “If everyone had bombs, noGUN IN THE SHOWER” to an empty, body would get killed.” non-responsive hall, shotguns 3 beers ₰ Rest of world converts to imperial measurement in the shower alone -8:27 a.m.: enters 8:00 a.m. class system; “We were so, so wrong.” -8:49 a.m.: sips vodka out of a water bottle, tries to get others to drink but ₰ Led Zeppelin songs become twice as enjoyable just starts farting uncontrollably, inducif you imagine Robert Plant is singing about a fees vomiting of neighboring students male dog. and self (vom-count-1) -8:58 a.m.: runs from class to Sadler ₰ Marketplace replaces Home Zone with the Berfor Irish breakfast of Guinness, shot of lin Wall thus creating East Home Zone and West Jamison, lucky charms; explosive fartHome Zone. West Home Zone serves beef proding begins, asked to leave ucts while East Home Zone serves sawdust and -9:43 a.m.: wanders into dorm, atrusty beard trimmings. Students thrilled with the tempts to moon RA go horribly wrong, switch. farting escalates into steady stream of gassy diarrhea, chased out of dorm ₰ Condoms: Reduce, Reuse, Recycle. -10:33 a.m.: runs into Crim Dell woods, finds kids smoking weed, takes ₰ Why do you shampoo your pubes? It’s not like hit, coughs heavily you’re going to get laid anytime soon. -11:02 a.m.: convinces self to do triathlon naked, gets too excited, vomits ₰ Trees jizz all over everything; “It’s in my eye!” (vom-count-2) -11:25 a.m.: swims across Crim ₰ AMP puts on event so half-assedly that their Dell, gets scared by a turtle, runs out of dicks fall off in the middle of it and they’re like, woods naked forgetting clothes “Shoot, I’m not gonna pick that up. You do it.” -11:34 a.m.: decides to streak sunk₰ Why won’t the Post Office let me send bones to en garden, runs around the periphery with arms extended making airplane strangers? noises and occasionally farting softy -11:52 a.m.: gets phone call from ₰ Camm 141, free drinks on blowout!!!

mom, trips on brick, passes out -12:04 p.m.: wakes up to stream of liquid on back of neck, realizes it is pee, is playacted with offering of beer by peer, vomits, drinks another beer (vom-count-3) -12:35 p.m.: thrown a sober shrit by sympathetic passerby -12:39 p.m.: sneaks into Sadler, finds unoccupied table and begins to rock slowly black and forth whispering, “…rally…rally…rally…” poops self just a little bit -12:51 p.m.: looks up with sheer determination, runs to the circular platform in the middle of Sadler, jumps on it and begins to shout, “RALLY, RALLY, RALLY,” watching students join in

-1:03 p.m.: gets a half-chub -1:05 p.m.: vomits upwards, creating a red- purple mist of vomit that descends slowly down, ends up mostly on this one girl who looks like she is not drunk enough (vom-count-4) -1:06 p.m.: vomits again, but mainly on self, realizes the chanting has stopped, looks up, bolts for door (vomcount-5) -7:42 p.m.: wakes up in pool of bodily fluids, mostly jizz, somewhere in C.W., slowly crawls to the Governor’s Mansion to complete the triathlon -7:58 p.m.: jumps the wall and thinks to self, “today was a good day.” This will never be you ;_;

International community closes eyes to Syrian slaughter, magically disappears CHIEF POLITICAL CORRESPONDENT

and we thought we’d actually have to do something!”

The world’s guilty conscience over not acting to halt the Syrian civil war was completely absolved on Tuesday as Syria poofed out of existence. After a long day of negotiations at the U.N. Security Council, representatives of the five permanent members passed a firm resolution to hide under their desks and squeeze their eyes tight shut. This collective dereliction of global responsibility sent ripples across the delicate fabric of space-time, tearing a rift between dimensions through which Syria vanished instantly. Delegates were reportedly stunned. At an impromptu press conference, NATO spokesman Alexander McDonoghue choked out his relief through a stream of tears. “This is just so unexpected. My God,

International observers have long been aware of Syria’s growing atrocities. According to some sources, the two-year conflict has claimed over 100,000 lives and displaced as many as 4,000,000.

BY HERACLITORIS

The nation’s top cosmic intelligence analysts were summoned to the Hill for emergency briefings. “Listen, we always thought it was possible, theoretically speaking,” stammered an unnamed CIA specialist. “Our computer simulations estimated that humanitarian crises can be sucked through the multiverse’s quantum foam, but that’s only if everyone with the ability to meaningfully alleviate human suffering looks the other way. We never dreamed it could work!” International relations scholars are already scrambling to rework their theoretical models. “This is a real breakthrough for the discipline,” said Yale professor Roger McFarrison in a statement on Wednesday. “It’s going to totally revolutionize the way we think about opportunities for cooperation on the international stage. Genocide in Darfur? The AIDS epidemic? Global warming? Forget about it—literally!”


AGENDA SETTING

The Botetourt Squat The Botetourt Squat § Friday, April 26th, 2013 § PAGE 2

William and Mary sells soul to devil in return for more student housing BY IVANKA TRAMP SATAN’S PERSONAL COCKSLEEVE All around campus, construction has been running rampant, to the mystification of students bearing witness to the noisy, dusty chaos. “What is this witchcraft and why does it exist?” is the question on most students minds, and hypotheses have included everything from, “Nothing makes a state school happier than red tape,” to, “They’re obviously building a time vortex so our saviors William (but not Mary) and James Blair can come back and be immortalized in large colossi for time immemorial.” But, finally, this reporter has consulted someone other than her purportedly imaginary friends to find the true cause. The answer, quite simply, is that a William and Mary committee of administra-

tors, spearheaded by Ginger Ambler and the one philosophy professor who wanted to see if there was actually an afterlife, approached none other than the devil himself after they had sunk into a deep pit of despair left by renovation An alleged witness to this deep sin revealed that in order to speed up the construction of new student housing, Ambler, with her ever-faithful companion Taylor Reveley, journeyed into the deepest, darkest parts of hell, even past the special circle of hell designated for people who take the last fucking cookie at the caf out from right under my fucking nose, to meet with the devil himself. “They agreed to establish a link between the housing for next year’s freshman and the underworld...after a meticulous inspection by Satan, of course”. When the frat castles open them-

selves to the desecration of the frat brothers, these new homes will become palaces of sin and debauchery, feeding the devil and making him infinitely stronger. Meanwhile, the newly acquired Ho House will be a breeding ground for other indulgences, its inhabitants slowly festering in their sloth and queen sized beds as the devil waits for them to fatten up before he devours them whole. Ginger Ambler was not available for comment, but Beelzebub gladly answered me when I called him up by sacrificing a two virgins (surprisingly easy to find on this campus) over the fresh grave of my former roommate. “See, I figure that these students have already sold themselves to their student loans. I’m just diversifying the market here. Why waste a lifetime in middle-class white-collar bondage, when

you could spend it down in this burning paradise with me? I mean, come on, who’s really going to choose making a steady salary while being crushed by death over making me another statue of myself while being crushed by twenty demons who are simultaneously whipping you and penetrating you in the anus? I know what I would choose.” In related news, William and Mary will start accepting more students in order to meet the devil’s strict requirements for human flesh. Coincidence? I think NOT.

BY PARTICLE-MAN SKYLORD SENIOR FOOD AND DRINK ANCHOR Eternally dedicated to providing students with high-quality meals in a timely manner, Sadler has named the employee of the month for April: the Nescafe Coffee Machine. “We really felt [Nescafe] went above and beyond this month,” says Manager Richard Johnson, “and we recognize when our employees go the extra mile to provide quality food and service to the college of William and Mary.” Students, too, express their approval. One female with far too much time on her hands chimes in: “It’s just great to see

someone who works so hard get rewarded. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Nescafe machine out of order, unlike that shitty old hot chocolate machine.” A male wearing a fedora and looking up images of a questionable public decency on his laptop voices how “the machine never makes intimidating eye contact” and how “even if [Nescafe] never responds to my thank-you’s, at least it’s just a machine and not a person refusing to communicate with me.” There are some fucking weird people in Sadler. One disgruntled employee, probably black, was none too pleased with the decision. “A fucking coffee machine? It’s not even an employee. I got beat by a goddamn little house-hold appliance that dispenses

The Botetourt Squat

caffeine to sleep-deprived students? That’s some whack-ass shit, nigga.” He goes on to reconsider, “the hot chocolate is really fucking good, though, man. It’s hard as tits to get some good hot chocolate without paying out the ass.” “Competition is stiff for the month of May, too,” Johnson adds, “We don’t often have back-to-back winners, but I think [Nescafe] might just pull it off.” Congratulations, Nescafe. We’re expecting big things from you in the future.

How drunk are you right now?

JohnAugust Bridgeford, Editor-in-Chief Rigel Kaufman, Editor-in-Chief Zack Quaratella, EditorEmeritus Ben Reynolds, Editor-Emeritus Jordan Obey, Managing Editor Jake Balls, Copy Editor Ryan Novak, Variety Tim Planert, Agenda Setting Nitin Iyengar, Beat Editor Aiden Benshimol, Staff Writer William Brightly, Columnist Jack Crum, Plebe Sarah Schnorrenberg, Plebe

Layout: Rigel Kaufman and JohnAugust Bridgeford. 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.

Aiden Jones discovered his love for travel during his sophomore year at the College when he studied abroad in Athens. Amidst the Acropolis, the Mediterranean climate, and olive oil orgies, Jones came to a realization that he wanted to travel for a living, saving dark-skinned babies and administering AIDS vaccines along the way. Now a graduating senior, Jones is making his dreams a reality with the National Geographic Drink Wine and Save the Babies Initiative, making $300,000 a year, plus benefits, paid vacation, and little to no workload. When asked how he secured such an incredible job in which his only responsibilities include tasting wines around the

world and hugging babies, Jones seemed just as confused at his good fortune as everyone around him. “I didn’t even have to apply,” Jones said, shrugging. “I literally just received a phone call one day from the Drink Wine and Save the Babies Initiative telling me that I was entitled to the job because I had written a few pretty good papers and had done kind of well in school.” In addition to his immediate job prospects, Jones has also been tapped by an unknown benefactor to receive an $80,000 stipend every year for the rest of his life because, as the benefactor said in his note of congratulations, “You seem pretty smart and are generally a nice guy.” Jones intends to use the $80,000 to travel around the world in order to find love, set up orphanages, and write a book during the lib-

eral amount of vacation time that he gets from the Drink Wine and Save the Babies initiative. However, Jones does recognize some downsides in his post-graduation plans. “All of that cavorting around the world, drinking wine and serving humanity won’t leave very much ‘me time.’ Also, it does not leave much room for a family.” Therefore, Jones plans to retire around the age of 35 in order to devote himself to the people and a community that he loves. “By that time, I’ll be financially independent will be able to pursue my passions in whatever way I see fit,” Jones pointed out. Meanwhile, one in three young U.S. workers is underemployed and one in five don’t have jobs at all. We’ll miss you lots, Scuba!

More bang for your buck: constant kicks to head equal in value to college education This spring semester, Randal Jones did what most college students fear doing: he weighed his options. Jones, a former student at the College of William and Mary, was suffering from chronic turning-into-aball-of-destructive-depression syndrome, when he made a groundbreaking discovery. “Basically, I did the math and found out that it would not only be more cost effective, but it would also greatly improve my mood if I were to drop out of college and just pay someone to kick me in the head repeatedly every day of the week, nine months out of the year for the next three years,” Jones reports. Since January, Randal Jones has been employing UFC middleweight champion Anderson Silva to kick him in the head as often as possible between 11:00 am and 3:00 pm on weekdays.

“I’ve been an Anderson Silva fan since 2006 you know, and when I realized I was basically getting fucked from all over anyways, it just clicked. I thought that I’d rather have Silva hand my ass over to me than listen to a heavy-breathing professor drone on about a paper on Foucault he wrote that I should really take a look at,” Jones spits through a bloodied mouth of broken teeth. Many are outraged by Jones’ apparent masochism calling it, “frightening” and “melodramatic”. “I don’t see what Randal’s problem is, school is supposed to be tough. Last night I shat blood and suffered a mild stroke due to sleep deprivation, and I’m twenty years old. Do you hear me complaining about the fact that I’m spending money to lose sleep, feel uninspired, and develop a vague dissatisfaction with myself? Hell no. Those are the tenets of success!” Says Gunderson Douglas, a firm believer in the institution of higher education. “Someone needs to learn to manage

their time better!” Douglas adds. Though there are many skeptics, Jones has inspired a wide-range of students who plan on leaving the college after this semester in exchange for getting kicked in the head non-stop five days a week for 9 months out of the year. “Jones isn’t lying when he says the math is there,” future dropout Gary Hamholder says, “it is more analogous to an actual college education than people would like to admit.” He adds, “ If we factor in the amount of alcohol the average college student consumes over a school year, the amount of brain cells lost over that time actually exceeds the amount one would lose if being knocked the fuck out by, say, an Anderson Silva type. Also, and there’s science to back me up here, constant kicks in the head do in fact produce the same stress levels and learning patterns as a liberal arts education. Now if they are just going to get you to the same place anyway, would

BY CRAPPLETINI WORLDS LARGEST LEFT TESTICLE

What language do blind people think in?

I don’t drink because I don’t like drinking except I’ve never drank before so I don’t actually know what it’s like but I still don’t like it.

Yes, yes, I have drinks many drunk for you now I am drunk too, haha! You come in and buy something, thank you very much, okay, good.

Man uses all his resources to return to mother’s womb BY DR RALPHIE MOMO FETUS ENVY Queefer Sutherland, age 37, found himself in the middle of quite the ethical quandary this week when he tried to reinsert himself into his mother’s womb. If that’s not news I don’t know what is. “Look, it’s not as crazy as it sounds friends. I just really miss my old digs,” Sutherland explains. “If I could just sit on a couch that was submerged in warm amniotic fluid all day while I eat lays brand potato chips I totally would, but that’s impossible. So I’m just going to reverse-birth

myself and remain in stasis.” According to Sutherland, this grand re-entrance into pre-post-in utero–stasis, has been planned for quite a while as he states, “Oh I don’t mean anything by it really, but I was never particularly fond of this whole large open space nonsense. “ He adds, “Also chewing has become a bit of a hassle, ever since I was a kid and to this day I try to shove mash potatoes into my belly button hoping it’ll just go right into my stomach. Those were the days, you could just float around and feel at one with the cosmic currents as mom’s yums yums worked their way into your stomach directly. First Class.”

In order to reenter his mother’s womb, Sutherland has developed a personalized time-machine. “The time machine can’t take me back in time or anything stupid like that, instead the machine reverses my biological clock. I’ll get younger and younger until I eventually reenter an embryonic state at which point I have instructed my assistant Ivan to press “pause” on the device, permanently leaving me placed within the confines of mom’s womb.” Sutherland’s Mom Gretilda Sutherland, age 127, when asked about her son’s plans stated “Eisenhower can charm the pants off an Arabian princess.”

In slurred speech shouted through a broken megaphone, Ginger Ambler announced to the student body that she and the rest of the College’s administration would out-drink the entire 8,000 person student body. Clearly wearing last night’s clothes with mascara running down her sweaty, vomit-caked face, Dr. Ambler attempted to elucidate the administration’s reasons for such a bold, yet futile plan: “My colleagues are fucking sick and motherfucking tired of you little motherfuckers shitting all over this campus on Blowout. Well not this year, you little cockgobblers. We’re going to drink you fuckers into the ground. Hopefully by the end of the day, I’ll be writing a condolence letter to one of your parents.” Pausing to dry heave into the megaphone, Ginger Ambler announced that the administration would be setting up a game of flip cup that stretched the entire length of the sunken gardens, specifying that the last member of each team has to take a shot of Bacardi 151 through their butt in order to “seal the deal.” Dean Gilbert, she said, had already volunteered for the honor of tak-

ing their team’s butt-shot. Dr. Ambler expressed confidence in the administration’s abilities to outdrink the student body, insisting that she would “massacre you little shits like it’s Mai Lai all over again.” When asked if President Reveley knew of the administration’s plans, Ginger broke down, saying, “That man is a fucking saint,” Ambler screamed, slapping the student who asked. “And you little shitheads have the nerve to ask him if he’s circumcised every goddamn Blowout. You people make me sick.” Soon thereafter, Ginger Ambler stumbled over to Ben Boone. The two immediately started crunking.

you rather pay thousands of dollars a year to go to college or would you rather pay a famous MMA fighter a couple hundred bucks and a few rides to the airport to kick you in the head repeatedly?” Representatives of prospective employers from top tier companies have commented on the possible new trend stating, “Would we hire someone who has spent four years getting the shit kicked out of their skulls by a famous MMA fighter rather than attending any actual class? Honestly, I’d say those people have about the same chance as any other liberal arts graduate, maybe even more, kids like that probably aren’t as mouthy.” In his months of getting kicked in the face Jones has reported feelings of nausea, cloudy consciousness, and a sort of “vague outlook on life.” “All in all,” Jones says, “Not much has changed really, but Anderson Silva is pretty good at pictionary, so we do that sometimes.”

A LIMERICK ON BLOWOUT There once was a student from Brown; He stripped and he ran around town; He was very drunk; He got locked in a trunk; And nobody has heard from him since. Please, if you see him, call the police.

Administration to Out-Drink Students

Next to the President’s Office, James Blair College of William and Mary, Williamsburg, Va. 23185

William Amante, Boy Scout Charles Gowan, Seabiscuit Matt Fruberry, Staff Writer Mike Holtzmann, Staff Writer Joseph Soultanis, Staff Writer Taylor Renard, Staff Writer Ben, Staff Writer Kenny, Staff Writer Kyle, Staff Writer Catherine Bailey, Plebe Frank Enriquez, Plebe The Anti-Citizen, Plebe Kareem-O Obey, Plebe Emily Davis, Plebe Claire Gallespie, Plebe

BY SCUBA TUBA NOT THE STUDENT IN QUESTION

THE GOR’RAMMED STREET SOMESUCH QUESTIONMASTER

‘Chances Are, It’s News’

THE SQUAT: botetourtsquat@email.wm.edu

Student graduates with great job, follows dreams, leads happy life

BY DR RALPHIE MOMO MILD CONCUSSION, MAJOR RELIEF

New coffee machine named Sadler “employee of the month”

PAGE 3

Friday, April 26th, 2013

Pumping iron with Jake Balls Tips for true fitness Squeeze. Release. Squeeze. Release. Squeeze those buttcheecks. Squeeze those buttcheeks. Squeeze those buttcheeks. Squeeze them. Jake Balls is a fitness instructor at the College of Williamand Mary, and he is a professional self-help columnist.


VARIETY

The Botetourt Squat The Botetourt Squat § Friday, April 26th, 2013 § PAGE 4

Point: Tits—better than a butt BY PARTICLE-MAN SKYLORDMY NIPPLES LOOK LIKE MILK DUDS A lot of argument has come about as a result of the tits-ass divide in modern society. And for what? We all know tits are better. Here’s why. Remember when you were just a wee baby? Probably not. If you did, you’d realize just how hard life is now in comparison. Either way, for a few years, guess what you were sucking on: tits. Nature has mandated you suck on tits to stay alive. Sucking ass, while still an option, offers neither the nutrition nor the maternal love that only sucking tits can provide. What’s more, tits are mathematically superior to asses. An ass is only an ass if it has the composite two cheeks, whereas tits can exist as a pair—a succulent, lovely pair—or a single unit to enjoy. Last time I checked, two is greater than one. Tits also

have several parts: the nipple, the areola, and the remaining spherical ecstasy of the breast. The ass lacks any such complexity, consisting only of two crass, vulgar globs and a rather unappealing hole. I’m no math major, but I’m pretty sure six is double the value of three. Even mathematics is against you, ass-lovers. Just give up. Sensually, tits provide a wonderful texture, a neutral, yet erotic smell, and an ideal view—cleavage, or even just bare breasts in their swaying glory. Girls, rightfully and thankfully, expose and enhance their tits, squishing them together, exposing them, even enlarging them to entice and inform males of their fecundity and induce jealousy in other females. This leads to a titillating battle of who can expose and enhance their tits the greatest amount, a competitive economic phenomenon that improves the overall quality of tits for consumers, something that can’t be said for asses. Granted, women also en-

hance their ass, I don’t deny this fact. But while tits are front and center—literally— asses are more of an after-thought. Some yoga pants or leg presses can be done to shape the ass, but it pales in comparison to the smorgasbord of ways to embolden, augment, or highlight tits. Asses, by comparison, are often unwieldy, cellulite-ridden, and bumpy. The smell is rather self-indicative of the quality: it smells like ass. There is the select fetishistic niche that enjoy the smell of ass, but the rest of us normal people would rather not smell them, at least not before extensive washing. Most importantly, tits can be used numerous ways during foreplay and sex: groping, licking, sucking, squishing, pinching, biting, clapping, using as a placeholder for bongos, you name it, it exists. If I wish to insert my penis between some tits, they can be fine-tuned for the optimal drag and tightness, increasing my

Counterpoint: An ass is an ass, of course, of course BY MANGK HANGKLACE COSMO KRAMER, THE ASS-MAN! Now, we could toss around mathematical equations and physiology and platonic ideals, but the simple, naked truth is that men can’t grow breasts. No matter how hard they try, no matter how hard they wish, a man cannot naturally develop fatty tissue deposits on his chest. Therefore, I think the argument is simple, we can’t enjoy something that can’t exist. The ass is the clear victor. Every blessed being has a butt bestowed on them from the moment they’re born and there it shall remain even after they have given up the ghost. When we look at a butt we feel that we are not

alone in the world. The Enchiridion by Epictetus tells us, “Let death and exile, and all other things which appear terrible be daily before your eyes, but chiefly death, and you win never entertain any abject thought, nor too eagerly covet anything.” I think the same can be said for butts. Like death, it reminds us of the shared fate from which we can never escape. In this acceptance, we find happiness. Furthermore, The Enchiridion tells us that things that are not in our control are “body, property, reputation...” The key word is body. Man can not control his body and because the male body lacks breasts, to strive for them or lust after the

Counter-counter point: asspulled claims BY MARTICLE-PAN SKYLORD KNOWS SHIT ABOUT TITS

Gynecomastia (pron.: / ˌɡaɪnɨkɵˈmæstiə/) is the benign enlargement of breast tissue in males. It may occur transiently in newborns. Half or more of adolescent boys have some breast development during puberty.Gynecomastia

Counter-counter countercounter point: tit-for-tat BY PARTICLE-MAN FLYLORD LIBERTINE PARTY INSIDER Could it not just as easily be that we like asses so much because they remind us of the cleavage of the breasts? Clearly breasts have precedent because they are the first thing imprinted onto our psyches as children; once you are born, you are immediately given to your mother for breastfeeding, not assfeeding. Tits just make more sense. Ron Paul, 2016.

idea of a man with breasts is foolhardy and will lead to unrelenting misery. In conclusion, when asked to choose if one is a “tits-man” or an “assman” the answer is exceedingly elementary. A “tits-man” is an impossibility. A grand folly. However, “ass-man” enters into the territory of Redundancy. All men are ass-men. In the future, through synecdochic semantic processes, I believe that the word “ass” will someday come to represent man as a whole. Even the gentler sex possesses an ass, but this publication rises above merely oogling and printing in lurid prose the grosser qualities of female anatomy.

Counter counter-counter point: It’s asses all the way down BY DANK MONEYKLACE FREUD WOULD BE PROUD

may arise as an abnormal condition assoBritish zoologist Desmond Morris hypothciated with disease or metabolic disorders, esized in his renowned 1967 book, The Naas a side-effect of medication, or as a re- ked Ape, that we find cleavage sexually atsult of the natural decrease of testosterone tractive because it unconsciously reminds production in older males. us of the cleft of the buttocks. Tits are just a Men can have breasts. Don’t dismiss cheap imitation of an ass that are more visitits-men just because you’ve got tit-envy, ble for our erect posture. But at the heart of sour grapes. everything, it’s still all about the ass.

Counter5 point: monkeys BY HANKY NECKLACE I ONLY LIKE MONKEY BUTTS The original hotness. Even today, we feel it in our bones...er--boners. DAT ASS!

pleasure greatly. While asses have a hole, they are difficult to reach, requiring the bottom partner to be in an awkward or impersonal position to access. And while they may be tight, assholes are not traditionally meant for penile insertion, anal sex often being painful and/or unenjoyable for the receiving party. There is also the risk of the dreaded shit-dick whenever asses are involved in sex. Moreover, asses lack the customizability and mutual enjoyment (or at least lack of pain) that only titfucking can provide. Don’t get me wrong, I love tits and ass, and I would prefer both, if at all possible. But claiming that asses are superior to objectively-perfect tits is just ASS-inine.

PAGE 5

Friday, April 26th, 2013

Track team: what are you running from? BY PARTICLE-MAN SKYLORD CONCERNED FATHER OF FOUR

Track team, I think it’s time you and I have a talk. Your mother and I are very worried about you. No, we didn’t find the porn in your search history again. It’s something much more important. We noticed you run a lot. Too much. It’s not good for you. I know, I know, you’ve told me time and again, “running is the best way to stay fit.” I get it. You’re right, of course. Suicide is also the best way to prevent a headache. See where I’m going with this? You’re running too much, track team. There’s a reason besides fitness for it, too, I can tell. We can tell. You’re not just running to stay fit, you’re running from something. What is it? You can tell us, track team, we’re your parents. Is it gay thoughts? It’s okay if you’re gay, track team, there’s no need to run from your problems. Your mother and I will love you just as much. No, no, we disinherited your sister because she was ugly, not gay. You’re still our child, no mat-

ter what, and we love you. But please, tell us what it is so we can understand why you’re running. Are you being harassed? Is a large man touching you and threatening you? You can tell us, we promise he won’t find out. We’ll help you. Point on this doll where he touched you. Please? We need to know. Oh, is it a large woman? Amazonesses can be scary, too. They’ll crush your pelvis if you’re not careful. No, honey, I’m just talking to track team. Yeah, YEAH, I’m talking about amazonesses again. No, fuck you, you cunt, I’ll talk about whatever I want. Where was I? Oh yeah, if you’re being harassed, we can find people who can help. William and Mary has a great counselling service. School is a hard time for everyone. Is it the pressure to succeed? You know I never went to college, but look at where I am! Yes, I know, it’s a trailer, but it’s a nice one, and in Virginia! You might have an easier time getting good grades if you spent the time you spend running studying. I’m sorry, that was mean. I just want to know what the problem is so I can help

Can I be high for this?--a guide BY SCIENCE THE SCIENTIST Dear Botetourt Squat, Tomorrow is my first day at work. It’s not really a demanding job but it does require some customer service, I roll pitas at The Pita Pit. Uhm, “Can I Be High For This?” Sincerely, Wake and Bacon Dear Bacon, Sure! Why the well not? Aren’t those dudes pretty much stoned all the time anyway? It’s a good time had by all at grand ol’ Saint Pita’s Pit. Plus, one time I went in there and asked for a chicken caesar pita and the cashier looked me in the eyes for two prolonged minutes before saying, “the fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.” Final Verdict: Can I Be High For This – we’re pretty sure it’s a requirement. Dear Botetourt Squat, I’m supposed to have dinner with my Grandmother next weekend, she’s okay I suppose but my week is usually pretty hectic so I like to take the ease off by smokin’ a fat one. I’m afraid that dinner with Grams might get in the way of that, like, really in the way of that. Sincerely, Ungrateful Youth Dear Ungrateful Youth, For the love of God yes. Nothing makes grandma’s anecdotes about F.D.R more interesting than some of that sticky stuff. Consider this peer pressure. Dear Botetourt Squat, Okay, I’m high as high right now... can I be high for this? Sincerely, Archipelago Jones Dear Archipelago Jones, What? Denotes heart healthy article

Dear Botetourt Squat, I’m pretty sure that my pet goldfish is feeling really self-conscious about his body. Can I be high for this? Sincerely, Archipelago Jones Dear Archipelago Jones, We don’t know if you quite understand the point of this column. We don’t know what you’re on, but we suggest you lay off for awhile. Dear Botetourt Squat, I took your advice, and man oh man is the world crazy! I called my exgirlfriend last night, but she said that she didn’t like being called that. That was joke, I’m funny right? Maybe I can like, write for you guys? Here’s another joke. Knock Knock. Who’s There? Hobgoblins chewing on some beef jerky. Uh, Can I be high? Sincerely, Archipelago Jones

you, track team. Is it your philosophy classes? Maybe your psychology ones? Psychology is hard, I know. If you’re having trouble, we can hire a tutor. We’ll find the money somehow. You don’t have to run from it. I really just want to help, track team, honest. Is it the boogey-man? Is he chasing you? Maybe Santa? Or jewish Santa? I don’t like beards either, I understand if you want to run. I think if you just stop and talk to him, he’ll give a perfectly good reason for why he’s chasing you. Unless you’re on his naughty list. Oh shit, maybe you should be running. But you’re not naughty, are you, track team? I don’t think you are. Are you running from death? You can’t run from death, track team. Death is everywhere. If you’re not careful, too much running will lead you right to it. My dad died from running, you know. Yes, he was on PCP, but it was the running that caused his heart attack. You aren’t on PCP, are you? What was I talking about? Death. You can’t escape it. Unless you run fast enough to go forward in time and find the

Guess who’s going to win

fountain of youth, you’re bound to die at some point. I don’t think you can run that fast. Don’t get me wrong, track team, you’re good, damn good. But you’re not The Flash. You don’t have to tell me now, track team, just think about what I said. Oh shit, Pawn Stars is on! Alright, go bug your mom, track team. Good talk...I’m glad we had it.

Need a new drink for blowout? Try gin and onyx!

BY SCIENCE THE SCIENTIST

Are you looking for a new gem to compliment your Blowout shenanigans? Do you need to feel a little boulder to drunkenly slur compliments to that one sweet thang you’ve had your eye on for the past 10 minutes? Well look no further dear Squat reader, because we are here for you with the latest drink that SquatLab Inc. has come up with: Gin and Onyx (served on the rocks, of course). This is not a drink for some backwater country ruby. This is a sophisticated drink that will give even the most py-trite soiree a little to-pizazz. Why, you’ll sure to be the opal of her eye. “But wait” says the jaded customer, “I’ve heard this slick talk before. This is just snake oil for shale! Emeroldest trick in the book!” But we assure you,

just one sip will set your loins and groins on sapphire and fill your head with mearth. Gin and onyxes are to diamond for! You’ll be drinking them by the quartz! Now that’s a sediment everyone can agree with! “Okay, I’m sold,” says our dear reader, with curiously little effort on our part, “how do I get my hands on this quarry?” You can buy a handle for only $20.00 – “What!? You must be stoned to let them go for that cheap! I’ll need to fight my way through the throngs of people! I hope I don’t get charged with basalt and battery!” Well, they’re slated to go on sale in September. “What!? But you promised that these could be peribought for blowout!” says our whiny-ass reader. Well, if you need it that soon, the recipe is one part gin, one part onyx. Seriously, with a name like gin and onyx, what did you expect? “Onyx”

Dear Archipelago Jones, That was actually great, so great in fact that some of our writers quit because they feel like they can’t keep up. Please don’t write again. Dear Botetourt Squat, I’ve spent this whole afternoon trying to fit my consciousness inside a water balloon with very little success. But as the saying goes, a little success is sticking a water balloon over your face as much as you can. Feel free to print that one. You know, I’m actually a pretty sweet guy once you get past this tough exterior. My insides are pretty warm and rubbery. Care to give them a try!?? Sincerely, Archipelago Jones Dear Archipelago Jones, You’ve given us a lot to think about. Thank you. This will probably be the last time we publish this column.

Not pumping iron with Ryan Brovak Tips for fitness “Ah, Blowout: that magical time of year when I have an excuse to sit in my room and drink alone.” Ryan Novak is not a fitness instructor at the College of William and Mary, and he is not a professional self-help columnist.


¿SPöRT? & LEISURE If I paint a picture of a guy sucking his own dick, is it art? BY AN ARTIST WITH NO NAME ZAPP BRANNIGAN Here’s a hypothetical situation for you to consider. I’m me. You’re you. I decide I’m going to paint a picture. It starts out with a green background and a white sky with blue clouds, and a sun with a smiley-face and linear sunrays. Where there would usually be a house made out of a triangle and a square, there is instead an immaculately-detailed depiction of a man engaging in auto-fellatio. But I don’t stop there. Next to the picture, I place a note to the viewer that says, “Under no circumstance should this be considered art. I simply wanted to paint a picture of a guy sucking his own dick on a background that might remind one of first-grade art class. This was painted with the express purpose of not being art. If you consider it art, not only are you disregarding my intention, but you are a horrible person and I will hunt you down and kill you.” But no, the critic doesn’t acknowledge my note. They’d say my piece is about the transition from childhood into adulthood, and how the cycle of life is self-serving and ultimately fruitless, as embodied by the man sucking his

own dick. They might declare the contrast between the 6-year-old watercolors and the anatomically-correct man hunched over, with his face in his own crotch, is to draw emphasis on how men want to remain in a state of childish body and mind, even after they have fully matured. The note, though, brings the entire thing together. The critic proclaims that the note is the true genius of the piece. By intentionally labelling the piece as something that should not be considered as art, I’m actually challenging the viewer to do so, or some bullshit like that. It also captures the idea of “death of the author” in modern times, and how art has become so abstract that interpretation loses sight of face-value observation and appreciation. Indeed, the death threat shows how serious the artist is about his piece being seen the way he wants us to see it. But we don’t care about that. So the question is: if I paint something amateurish and add some shitty explanation and contrast, is it art? Unfortunately, yes. Because some asshole decided that taking a runny dump on a canvas is art as long as the person looking at it can derive meaning from it. :)

The Botetourt Squat § Friday, April 26th, 2013 § PAGE 6 Team Blitz Gets terminated as Student Club. Mixed reactions from those forced to be in contact with them. BY HANK MANGKLACE

LAST BLITZ ARTICLE After failing to perform the minimal duties required by Student Activities and actively discouraging organizational responsibilities, Team Blitz was informed that it will no longer be a recognized by the College as a club. When pressed for comment Team Blitz responded, “We were a club? What does that make us now?” What does that make Team Blitz now? What does the future behold for the alternative running club and the drinks they prepare in the 2nd floor bathroom of Blow Hall? No one knows. Perhaps a better question would be, what was Team Blitz? Team Blitz was a few things to a several people. Almost a dozen, I bet. To the Botetourt Squat, they were the subject of an increasingly desperate series of articles attempting to sing the praises of Blitz. They were published mostly due to the fact that no one enjoys writing sports articles and...well, it technically counts. To the school bus full of children that passed by them every day before they started

running, Team Blitz was to be shouted at and mocked. To that one angry lady with the grey, buzz-cut hair, I’m sorry I bumped you that one time-it was an accident and I said I was sorry. There was no reason to yell. To most students, Team Blitz was nothing. In the way that a pubic hair on the rim of your toilet bowl is technically something, but for practical purposes, we’re going to treat it as nothing. To the future inhabitants of Mars, the legacy of Team Blitz will be one of hatred and disdain because they will never realize that in order to save the future of space colonization, Team Blitz had to become the villain. They weren’t the heroes SpaceColumbus needed, they were the heroes he deserved. And finally, to the members of Team Blitz, Team Blitz will remain in their hearts forever like the trans-fatty acids from a pancake wrapped around a burger dipped in a vat of boiling peanut oil. I walked among Gods and longed for men. I walked among men and longed for Gods.

BY RONALDINHO McDONALD GRAIN OF SALT

OPINION

The Botetourt Squat § Friday, April 26th, 2013 § PAGE 7

Banning words makes them worse BY PROBABLY HANK MANGKLACE WORDS DONT HURT PEOPLE, I HURT PEOPLE A Response to the Flat Hat’s “Using hurtful words colloquially doesn’t make them any less hurtful” Dear Flat Hat,

I feel uncomfortable around Muslims

BY JOHNSON SMITH IT HAS TO BE AN ACTUAL PERSON SERIOUS

I just can’t help it. I know it’s wrong. I try to be a level-headed person about it, but it’s hard. A lot of my peers just don’t like them. I mean, I really want to consider all people in an unbiased manner. I mean, a few killers run loose or bomb building X or kill important person Y, it’s natural just to be worried, right? I’m all for people practicing their religion, no matter what it is. But I just don’t feel comfortable around muslims. Could you just…like, build your mosques somewhere else? It’s not that you can’t have them, just push them away a little bit, just so I don’t have to look at them? You don’t have to, of course, but I’d really appreciate it. What? What are you talking about?

It’s nothing like persecution, where did you get that from? No, no, you’ve got it all wrong. Islam and other religions are still equal…they’re just separate, you see. Separate, but equal. It’s still fair! My guns are not dangerous, it’s the people that carry guns that make them dangerous. NO! No, we will not outlaw guns. We’ll outlaw Islam before we outlaw guns. My guns are protected by the second amendment. Where in the constitution is Islam protected? Nowhere. But we let them stay, because we’re nice. And It’s not against the law to feel uncomfortable around other people, you know? But still, could you just stay as far away from me as possible? Thanks for understanding. Shoulda puta ring on it!

You will die, why waste your time in class? BY LAZERCUNT SENIOR RATIONALIZING TECHNO-VAGINA

Manchester United wins 20th Premier League title, single fan applauds effort BY TOM BOMBADILL THAT SINGLE FAN In the wake of Monday’s 3-0 victory over Aston Villa, Manchester United once again raised the Premier League trophy. The players exalted in exuberant joy, confetti painting their chiseled bodies, as a lone fan cheered them on. Running away with the title race, Manchester United clinched the championship with still four games left to play. Because the Barclays Premier League uses a point system to determine its champion, there is no climactic playoff. Aston Villa has won only eight games this season (of a possible 34), yet was the only club standing Monday evening between Manchester United and another Premier League title. Predictably, it bent over and took the loss. Seeing the “title race” as all but concluded around mid-January, most of Manchester United’s fair-weather fans moved

on to other fascinating hobbies that they obnoxiously dabble in and pretend to be the best at. “They’re just too good this season,” said disgruntled fan Johnny Park in an interview. “They didn’t even try to make it entertaining for us. No late season drama, no bouts between title contenders. They just spanked some shitty team at the bottom of the table and then celebrated like it was the Queen’s birthday!” Ironically, it was the Queen’s birthday today. With interest in the Premier League at an all time low for the season, Manchester United decided it was high time to appease its one remaining fan with a Premier League title. Commented Manager Sir Alex Ferguson, “This team is total shit. The worst I’ve coached in two decades to win the league. I’m honestly not sure how it happened. I think it’s a combination of the league being terrible this year and so many lower tier teams just flopping over as soon as they see our bus show up. I mean, today we scored less than two minutes into the

game. Our only fan, Michael, hadn’t even gotten there yet!” The players and coaching staff congratulated themselves with phrases like “Good job guys” and “We did it” and “Dreams come true.” Michael, the only fan in Manchester United’s stadium, looked up from his iPhone and gave his childhood team a halfhearted round of applause. “I mean, they didn’t win the Champions League or anything,” Michael commented during the trophy ceremony. Talking over the echoing sound of champagne bottles popping in an empty 80,000 seat stadium, Michael continued, “To run away with the league title is cool and all, but any old team can do that. It’s just been so long since Man U has actually beaten a good team. It’s hard to sit here and cheer on as they slaughter Birmingham or Wigan but then lose to decent sides.” “Great job, you beat more shitty teams than Manchester City, Arsenal, and Chelsea. Here’s a trophy,” Michael sighed,

shaking his head as Robin Van Persie cradled his asshole hands around the Premier League trophy. “There’s always next year, I guess.”

Having studied quite a lot of philosophy I can tell you that you will certainly die at some point. Most people die, and many are now dead. There are a variety of claims floating around: reincarnation, heaven and hell, union with the universe, zombie reincarnation, etc. But they’re all wrong. You’re probably going to die, and that will probably be the end of it. So why are you wasting time in classes? You already have a hard enough time waking up as it is even after a relatively tame Wednesday night of drinking. Even considering the five minute walk to class leaves you paralyzed as you shower in lukewarm water. And do you know why the water is lukewarm? Because you woke up at eight for your class, which is probably a bullshit GER that you hate, along with all the other chumps who take morning classes and wake up at eight for them. You know why you did it? Because you’re a chump. That’s right. Only a total chump could contemplate the total magnificent wonder of the universe, the harmony of nature, the Dionysian immersion of drunken revelry, or the Apollonian satisfaction of pondering philosophy at the Daily Grind and then decide that the best possible use of their incredibly limited time is to voluntarily walk into a prison where a decrepit slug will drone on about the Laffer curve for an hour and a half. You don’t even like what you’re majoring in. You chose it because you decided to take the path of least resistance and want to slot yourself into some bullshit career you’ll hate to please your parents and your shallow so-called peers. You like sculptures and kung fu movies. You like taking day trips to the beach. Chances are you’re reading this article on a beauti-

ful day, perhaps even while soaking in the sun’s healing rays. Do you have any meaningful relationships? When was the last time you made love to someone you respect? Are you at the beach? Are you canoeing on a beautiful motherfucking lake in the Shenandoahs? If not, what the fuck are you doing? Do your bullshit classes make you happier than any of those things? When was the last time you painted something? Or visited a nudist colony and stared at the hot bodies? Even Jean Jacques Rousseau, the moral tarantula, one of the most fucking famous and intelligent Western philosophers, said you’d be better off playing tennis than going to class. And I sure as hell bet he’s smarter than you. You’d be as fucking smart as Rousseau and I if you stopped going to class and played tennis. Or did anything really. But why waste your time having your head drilled with meaningless memorized platitudes which are founded on an entirely ludicrous understanding of human being?

This is good advice. You may not recognize it now, but the very least you can do is do yourself the favor of skipping your classes today. Trust me. You’ll thank me later. The mind is so complex when you’re based. Welcome to my world. You can be a demigod. But you have to stop going to class.

You recently ran an article that said people are “misusing” the words “retarded” and “gay” and these words “have been made falsely equivalent to something bad, stupid or wrong.” You then raised the question “What perpetuates the misuse of these words?” Your answer is that this use represents a “lack of understanding” in people. Let’s straighten out some things. The issue here is not the “misusing” of words. Just because you don’t want a word to acquire a different meaning doesn’t mean that it’s invalid. Word meanings will always change. If someone says, “No grits for breakfast today--super gay.” It’s not a misuse of the word if his friend understands what he means. That’s a meaning that the words “gay” and “retarded” have taken on. Strictly on a language level, there’s nothing wrong about this process. It’s not “false” and doesn’t represent any “lack of understanding”. Everyone is aware of what’s going on and knows the difference between the literal and the figurative meaning. This might seem like a needless distinction to make but keep reading because I’m going to tell you why you’re making things worse. What you are actually objecting to is not the misuse of words but the ideas behind those words. You’re offended that the words “gay” and “retarded” have taken on negative connotations despite the fact that those groups have done nothing to deserve these associations. I agree. But then we have to ask: if these connotations aren’t inherent, what makes them so potent? Why would we use them to be offensive (which we must acknowledge is a perfectly valid and necessary function of a language) if they weren’t different somehow? The answer to that question is that the idea of a gay person and the idea of a retarded person makes a lot of people uncomfortable. It’s an uncomfortable idea because it’s relatively new and different, at least in terms of a label for people. We will always be uncomfortable around things that are new and different. And things that make us uncomfortable are great at producing an emotional response like shame or laughter. That’s why it’s a fun word to say for some people. Then, my problem with your cause is that instead of teaching people to be comfortable with people that are different (thus nullifying the effect of the words), you’re just trying to ban a word. Your attempt to censor and demonize the word is only making it more taboo and more uncomfortable and, therefore, more effective for the people who want to use it. This is the problem with not separating words from the ideas behind those words and not separating those ideas from their underlying connotations. So then, what do we do? Instead of telling people to not say a word we all already know is offensive or defending groups that have done nothing wrong, or trying to put peer pressure on people with your pledgewall, we need to show how people who use these words in a negative way are revealing their own insecurities and fears. Did you know that swear words/taboo language is a universal part of every single language? In other languages, words for animals like bears and wolves are swear words because it is believed that saying that word will summon that thing. The same holds true for our language but we don’t live in nature anymore so we’re afraid of less practical things. Unconsciously, people who say “gay” or “retard” think it is powerful because they are afraid of the idea of a gay or retarded person appearing. Let’s make fun of that! Let’s attack the underlying cause of this speech. Let’s teach and explain and even laugh at our fears and flaws instead of victimizing and apologizing and banning words for no reason. You gay You gotta know it It’s electric Boogie woogie, woogie! Now you can’t hold it It’s electric Boogie woogie, woogie!

But you know it’s there, Yeah here there everywhere Don’t wanna lose it It’s electric Boogie woogie, woogie But you can’t choose it


d n o c e s BEST COMEDIAN

{Watch} It is not often that we get to reach out to our lovely Swem employees, but we will do it here and now! Thank you The Throne, for all that you do: for making me laugh sometimes when I pee, being punny, and telling me about things I do not care about in the least. Keep on keeping on, and congrats on your first Squattie!!!!!

BEST UNDER CONSTRUCTION

THE DAlai LAMA

BEST TV SHOW I’m not really sure what happened in this show, or if any of my questions were really answered, but whatever, way to go, you lost me, so I guess at the end of the day, everything really was answered....was it? STEAM MONSTER!!!!

I’m not going to be on the meal plan next year, and if God has any sence of mercy I will never have to eat the Sadler, Caf, or Marketplace shit they call food again. That said, sitting at the Grind and watching the confused parents of admited students drive up the road only to discover that they could not cross the Terace and then having them back up was comedic gold. Way to go.

The only play I saw, the only play I needed to fucking see! You guys killed it, way to go, keep it up, OH YA!!! The Opheilia was a little bit much, but was it, naw...and Hamlet, nice one American Style.

Another year, more Squatties, another victor for the best readership ever, ever, EVER!!!! Thanks for everything you do for us, through the good and the bad...and trust us, we know there was plenty of both. You stay fierce out there, and know that we will stay out there. Whether you read us for the laughs, or the tears, we thank you and look forward to continuing to build a better future tomorrow. Keep it real....

You wanna try and argue with that? Fucking try it, I DARE YOU!!!! Lama and his crew roll up, crack some serious jokes, and I mean serious. Like so serious that it does not really that no one really knows what he said, but he laughed, so we laughed. Look I’m not saying it was worth it for SA to go bankrupt over this thing, but I mean, yeah, it was fucking worth it.

The AGLET

AFROMAN Something good happend at the Crust and people are still trying to understand what happened that night. Thank you Afroman for all that you are, and I hope the weed was good to you that night.

Thrift Shop by Macklemore

Bitch, who are you? Your song does not even rhyme! Nice coat, I guess, but you some British bitch ass honkey. And I’m pretty sure that you have never streaked anywhere. Oh and the dance moves, seen better, and the penis, seen pinker. Just think about it.....

One Accord I am not a Jesus man, I actually consider myself a pegan. At least until I heard you guys fucking belting it out. Thank you for helping me discover who I really am and getting me back in the fold. Until next year gents, I will miss your music, the passion, the Jesus, and the great backup singers--keep it up boys, and by that I mean my penis ;) It was a good run while it lasted, but ya...we’re not really that sorry.


The Botetourt Squat Vol. 3, Issue 8 - 4/26/13