YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 19, 2016 · yaledailynews.com
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WKND DOES EROTIC FANFICTION “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a story in possession of good characters, must be in want of an erotic fan fiction version.” — WKND
THE BARRIER METHOD // Eliot Levmore Donald Trump admired her from afar. He could lovingly identify every crevasse, every fold and wrinkle; he was obsessed. “I’ve waited for you for so long,” he murmured. And he had. Trump had chased her for years. He’d flown around the world for her, given speeches for her, and now, finally, she was his. The first embrace was exhilarating like nothing else. As he approached her, Trump was ecstatic and electrified. It was a great big wall.
// LAURIE WANG
JINKIES! // Ian Garcia-Kennedy Shaggy and Scooby looked on as they unmasked the Abominable Snowman. As Fred pulled off the mask, Daphne let out a gasp at who was underneath. It was Svetlana and Vladimir, the quadruple-jointed Russian gymnasts and identical fraternal twins standing on each other’s shoulders. Velma quickly explained that the entire plot had been to scare away all the skiers so that the twins could buy the resort cheaply, and turn it into an erotic massage parlor. While the mystery gang
stood in wonder at the plan, Svetlana exclaimed, “And we would have gotten away with it, if it weren’t for you attractive young people.” It was true: the gang had been hitting the gym a lot recently. Daphne explained that the twins would have to be punished for their crimes. Vlad replied, “That could be bad, depending on who’s the one punishing us.” Velma agreed, “Well, we would do it, but dishing out punishments can be really … challenging. I mean, intellectually.” Eyeing Shaggy, Svetlana replied, “You look up to the task.” Scooby immediately let out a “Scooby Dooby Dooooo!” of approval. As the group loaded the two into the back of the Mystery Machine, they realized that maybe they could start reforming the two criminals before the police got involved. Looking into the back of the van, Fred said, “Well, gang, looks like we got a bang on our hands.”
MASTER BB-8 // Caroline Tisdale The Millennium Falcon was dark. Quiet beeps emanated from the cockpit and penetrated the stillness in the air. BB-8 was alone, or so he thought. He heard whistles coming from the rear of the aircraft and rolled out of his holding compartment to investigate. The tender whistles grew louder, into heavy mechanic moans. BB-8 slowed his approach. His gears whirred quicker and quicker as he neared the source of the noise. Suddenly, R2-D2 came into view. The droid was alone, quivering in a shining spotlight left on by Han before he’d closed down the ship. BB-8 stopped and rolled back into the shad-
SATURDAY FEBRUARY
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BULLDOG DHAMAAL
Woolsey Hall // 6:30 p.m. Get in on that suave intercollegiate action.
THE CLAP // Aretha Guo Tinker Bell had always had a thing for Captain Hook. It was perverse, she knew, but as she struggled against the shoelace binding her to the gilded birdcage in his ship cabin, the fantasies floated to the surface, not unlike a mutineer who’d walked the plank. “I defile maidens, loot treasure ships and chart new territories!” Hook roared, often while pressing his rapier to Peter’s tofu-soft alabaster, prepubescent throat. Hook was a man. He shaved with a straight razor, spoke five languages and tossed screaming children to the alligators. While Peter found it hysterical to douse her with bathwater or drag underage side hoes to Neverland, Hook no doubt knew how to touch her skin — both square inches of it — with his rough, calloused, ring-studded hand. And hook. Sure, pixie dust made humans fly, but the mental image of Captain Hook’s dark-eyed gaze and blood-splattering brutal-
ows. He saw R2-D2’s probe extended, firmly mounted in a socket on the wall. Sparks flew, and the droid let out soft autotuned croons. BB-8 had never seen this from R2-D2 before. BB-8 was confused, but most of all, he was curious. “Bee weeeep-dee doo?” BB-8 rolled forward out of the shadows, so just the front half of his carriage was exposed. R2-D2 did not respond. BB-8 rolled forward some more, close enough to the other droid that he could feel the floor of the Falcon vibrating. The air grew sticky and hot as steam wafted from R2-D2’s ventilation shafts. With a particularly large tremor, BB-8 was thrust forward toward R2-D2. Finally, the round droid’s presence was
WKNDYDEAS RECOMMENDS: WKND
ity alone would kick Tink gasping into the stratosphere, her bursts of ecstasy punctuating the pirate’s every snarled oath in her head. “He’s a sexist capitalist pig!” fumed Peter once, punching their bin of laundered rags. “A bloodthirsty, lecherous, vain and power-hungry grown-up, right, Tink?” But Tink had only stammered an excuse. Later, she’d tossed for hours in her driftwood bed before darting over snoring Lost Boys to rant to her one trusted friend. “I’m frustrated and sick of waiting for Peter to notice me!” tinkled Tinker Bell, wings quavering. “Yeah,” replied her reflection in the cold, moon-dappled pool, possibly representing her sexual subconscious. “Hook’s ass, though.” In the present, Tink’s slackjawed reverie was interrupted by the metallic crank of a key in its padlock. Her heartbeat stuttered. Maybe dreams did come true in Neverland after all.
noticed. R2-D2 pulled his probe out of the wall in surprise. More sparks flew. The motion of the withdrawal propelled BB-8 across the compartment, into the opposite wall, from which he ricocheted back towards R2-D2, whose probe was still unsheathed and pointing right towards the other droid. They met with another surprised squeal. BB-8’s gears started turning. He didn’t know what was going on, or what to do now, but it felt right. “Beep eeeeeep wee…” R2-D2 softly chirped into BB-8’s auditory receptors. The pair hummed together, alone, or so they thought. From the doorway, C-3PO watched, and a single glistening tear rolled down his golden cheek.
SATURDAY FEBRUARY
Toilets that flush you away into mystical lands.
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A MORE PERFECT UNION // Agnes Enkhtamir Alexander Hamilton burst out of the General’s office and into his waiting room in a state of hysterics. His eyes searched the small but richly furnished place until they locked on their target: Thomas. The French-loving bastard sat in the corner, pathetically looking at the folded hands in his lap. Alexander had never wanted to punch someone out so much. But he wouldn’t. He would contain the rage and the betrayal that felt like fire in his throat. “Jefferson,” Alex choked out. “The General wants to see you. He broke up with me.” That was all he could manage. He didn’t want Thomas to see him weep, so he bolted from the scene. Thomas watched Alex run from the room, his coattails flapping in the wind after him. Perhaps they were waving goodbye. Thomas waited a couple of beats before entering the General’s office, so he wouldn’t cross paths with the heartbroken Hamilton. Just the idea of having George Washington all to himself made his heart beat faster and his palms sweat. He entered the office light-headed. He could see the back of the president’s chair. He was gazing out of the window behind his desk. Probably thinking about fiscal independence and Congress and declarations…God, he was hot. “Mr. President?” Thomas winced as his voice broke. “Mr. Jefferson. I was hoping we could work out some details about your Bill of Rights.” The general’s voice was a deep baritone, soothing and comforting and just a little bit dangerous. The sound of it made Thomas’s heart skip a beat because all of his blood was rushing to his loins. “Please, sit.” He reached for a chair, but the general stopped him. “I meant in my lap, Thomas.” Thomas blushed so furiously he was sure even his white hair turned a rosy red. “Alright, sir.” He walked toward the General seated at his desk. He wasn’t surprised to see that he was naked from the torso down. Thomas was so excited to coax the General to a compromise.
A DARK NIGHT IN GOTHAM // Jack Barry A heavy hot rain poured down, drenching anyone foolish enough to step outside without protection. Ben was foolish enough — usually, Jennifer reminded him to take an umbrella. Things had been hard ever since Jennifer decided to leave with the kids. She couldn’t stand any more late nights, wondering if Ben was ever going to come home. He had been different ever since he got a new job. As an actor, Ben devoted himself entirely to each role, but this one had been different. Now, Ben stayed up late wondering if his family would ever be whole again. Ben’s shirt was soaking wet when he arrived at the apartment. His fitted white tee clung to every ripple of his muscled body. Cold from the rain, Ben’s pecs and well-defined abs were visible through the thin fabric. “Ben, you’re soaked!” Christian said with a laugh. “Let’s get you out of that shirt, buddy.” Christian strode over to Ben, placing his large, rough hands at the hem of Ben’s shirt, slowly lifting the dripping white tee over Ben’s head. The two men were face to face. Ben could feel the heat radiating off of Christian’s muscular body. Christian’s chiseled face leaned in close to Ben’s ear. Christian whispered, “Let’s talk about Batman. Buddy.” Ben Affleck had met Christian Bale almost daily for the past several months, asking him every imaginable question about assuming the role of Batman. Over time, the two grew closer until Ben’s wife Jennifer Garner began to ask questions. But tonight, the only question left unanswered was what the two men would do.
BYX CASINO NIGHT
279 Crown Street // 9 p.m. Money will not be bet, but the stakes will still be high.
WKND RECOMMENDS: WKND YDEAS A sensory deprivation tank that fills up Woolsey Hall.