The Nautical Issue

Vol. 143, No. 2

THE YALE

Sept. 29, 2014

RECORD

COSMOPOLITAN | ADVICE

, y l e r e c Sin en Sir

IKEAFEVER Dear Siren, I am a 4’ 8” woman. Besides causing me to struggle to reach most shelves, climb out of most standard-sized ditches, and find that perfect pair of cropped white jeans for summer, my diminutive stature makes it hard to attract the man of my dreams, specifically the store manager of the Burlington, Ontario, IKEA. That hunk can rock my Fjellse any day. I’ve tried my usual seduction tactics, but nothing works. I think a new wardrobe might do the trick. Any tips for where I can find good clothes for a petite lady on a budget?

I’m Not Short, I’m Fun-Sized in Toronto

Dear Short, Might I suggest sequestering yourself, fully nude, on the isle of Anthemoessa, luring your man to his death with a bewitching song, and later ravaging his flesh for your consumption?

TENTACLETROUBLE

Siren

DESERTDILEMMA Dear Siren, I recently discovered that my fiancé has been cheating on me with another woman. I met Wolfe at Coachella during The Slutty Muffin and the Sun Bears’ set, and we hit it off immediately.

Within thirty minutes we were engaged (he used an ombre hair extension as the ring!). I was so ecstatic that I went to show all of my girlfriends, and when I came back he was tongue-spelunking down another girl’s throat. I want to give him another chance, but Coachella ended several months ago and I’m lost Writing: R. Lackner

in this desert with nothing but a crop top and a daisy chain to protect me from the elements. Does he deserve my forgiveness, or should I kick him to the curb as soon as I find him during next year’s festival season?

Boho Chic and Broken Hearted in Some Desert in California Dear Broken, Have you tried sequestering yourself, fully nude, on the isle of Anthemoessa and luring your man to his death with a bewitching song, to later ravage his flesh for your consumption?

Siren

Dear Siren, I’ve started seeing this new guy, and I think he might be the Kraken.

He’s tall, foreboding, and loves both seafood and walks on the shadowy depths of the ocean floor. Basically, he’s my dream guy! I really want him to meet my parents, but I’m worried about the whole potential giant-cephalopodintent-on-capsizing-ships thing. What should I do?

Kraking Up in Kansas City

Dear Kraking Up, Dump him.

Siren COSMOPOLITAN ADVICE 1

The Yale Record 3

Mailbags & Snews

8

Editorial................... S. Stern

10

Shorts

16

Features.................... Staff & Contributors 16

ANOTHER CASE OF SCURVY STRIKES CAMPUS

M. Kaplan

17

UNFORTUNATE BATTLESHIP NAMES

B. Beitler

18

FIFTY SHADES OF GREYBEARD

R. Lackner

20

LETTER FROM MCKINSEY TO SOMALIAN PIRATES

S. Gupta

21

TAIL-WAGGING ACTUALLY A SIGN OF PROFOUND ANGUISH

B. Garfinkel

22

Shorts

26

Mailbags & Snews

142

The Yale Record

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Mailbags & Snews “Huh?” “Time is money, and money stops people from making fun of your stupid name.”

—Ebenezer Scrooge

To save you time, we at The Yale Record collect and summarize the month’s most important news stories.

We also keep getting mail addressed to other people, so we decided the best course of action would be to print the letters for all to see.

That’s not a felony, right?

101 Whalley Avenue

TOAD’S ADDS ‘E’ TO EMAIL ADDRESS, BAR MENU Dear Animal Collective, What kinds of animals are you?

You can’t be a herd of cows, a murder of crows, or a crash of rhinos. Not an army of ants, nor a troop of baboons.

Not a shiver of sharks, nor a mustering of storks. What kind of animal gathers together into “collectives”?

—Katherine Muller, assistant professor of biology, Yale College

Dear Michelle, These are the times that try men’s souls. Please, no decaying cucumbers for salad tonight.

—Barack Dear world, Boom. Game-changer. Innovate.

Sincerely, Every startup ever

STEPHEN HAWKING ACTUALLY DEAD SINCE 1988

Dear Professor Muller, We are human beings. Except for our drummer, who is, in fact, a cow. Hope that clears things up!

—Animal Collective

Dear Record, We’d like to inform of you of a recent error in your magazine. Members of our society are actually known as Bonesmen, not Boners.

—Skull & Bones

UPS WORKER HAS LARGE PACKAGE, SMALL PENIS

Dear Skull & Bones, We are well aware. We don’t dick around here.

—The Record

FEAR OF RADICALS LEADS TO HIGH SCHOOL MATH TEACHER’S UNTIMELY DEATH Dear Major Hazer, Man, that Jamaican techno electrohouse fusion you played at your concert was really pretty great. I was a bit concerned though when you guys blindfolded everyone and made us walk around on our knees like prairie dogs while reciting the Greek alphabet backwards. I sure didn’t see that coming.

—Timmy, age six Dear Timmy, aka Pledge Thunderpussy Pound this Keystone right the fuck now.

—Major Hazer

MAN IN FLANNEL SHIRT TOTALLY GOES OUTSIDE

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STUDENT GOES TO CHAPLAIN’S Fine OFFICE TO FIND GOD, SETTLES FOR Indian ICE CREAM INSTEAD Cuisine “A treat for the senses.”

Dear Aesop, —Hartford Courant “Amid elegance, a variety dishes.”

Your fables are ofsoIndian inspiring.

—New York Times

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Dinner Desperately, Sunday - Thursday: 5:00 PM - 10:00 PM Daniel Tyson, TD ’18 Friday - Saturday: 5:00 PM - 10:30 PM Dear Daniel, Fast, Free Delivery Once there a goat,Buffet and none of Every Daywas Lunch the other goats would pay attention to 148 York Street, CT 06511 him. He New wasHaven, a blind goat, and a slave 203-776-8644 of the Ancient Goat empire.

Then he www.zaroka.com made up a bunch of stupid goat stories about other goats, and all the girl goats loved him. He was positively swimming in lady-goats. Hope that helps.

Fondly, Aesop

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Dear people in China, Why is rice your staple food? Why would you put staples in rice?

—Timmy, age 6 Dear Timmy, Communism.

—All 1.3 billion inhabitants of China

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MINIMALIST JOKE Dear turtle that I just ran over, Why did you have to be crossing the street then!? O, cruel world! You must have been such a noble creature.

—A man who actually just ran over Sen. Mitch McConnell, R-KY

LOCAL SORORITY GIRL HAS THE BEST BIG EVER, REPORTS LOCAL SORORITY GIRL

CANADIAN TEAM APOLOGIZES FOR WINNING GOLD MEDAL

DEBT CEILING RAISED, SPACKLED, PAINTED NEW SHADE OF EGGSHELL

Dear morality, Do I really have to do all that stuff?

Sounds lame.

—Budding nihilist

Dear new parents Jeff and Allie, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but... your baby has cancer.

—A doctor who thinks that’s just the worst astrological sign

Dear budding nihilist, Nope! Do whatever you want.

Realistically, Morality

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LAME DUCK PRESIDENT CAN’T WALK, CAN ONLY SWIM GINGERLY Dear agriculture, You’re boring.

Love, Everyone

Dear everyone, That’s it! No more fresh onions for you!

Love, Agriculture

PUTIN DECLARES, ‘UKRAINIAN TERRITORY IS MYKRAINIAN TERRITORY’ Dear man giving a sponge bath to a live tiger, You are a braver man than me.

—A man giving a sponge bath to a dead tiger

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Dear CliffsNotes, Thanks for destroying the art of literature and for mobilizing a generation of kids to divert their short attention spans from meaningful content to meaningless drivel. Couldn’t have done it without you.

—Buzzfeed

REPORT: COLLEGE FOOTBALL STAR WILL SOON BECOME BLUE DWARF Dear President Cucumber, Why did we elect you? Your stance on the issues was controversial, and also you’re a cucumber. I’m calling for impeachment.

—A racist zucchini who is also a concerned citizen

LOST GOD:

ROB FORD TAKES ANOTHER CRACK AT MAYORAL RACE

if found, return to Dyslexics Anonymous

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Emmy Waldman ‘11

f there’s one thing we here at The Yale Record love, it’s boats. They’re fucking awesome. So, naturally, we decided to create an issue devoted to all things nautical. To get into the spirit of the thing, we proceeded out onto our trusty ol’ 140-foot yacht, the Moby. Perhaps it’s cliché to name a yacht after a pioneering electronic singer-songwriter, but it just felt right. There, the sea breeze rustling through our hair, dining on freshly caught seagull, we began to feel the magic of the sea (scurvy).

Of course, this issue was a long time coming. Yale is brimming with nautical stuff, too.

Just think of Yale’s hypercompetitive oceanography department, where everyone’s either racing to get ahead or just trying to stay afloat—just like sailing! Or think of our beloved hockey stadium—nautically nicknamed “The Whale”—where you can watch scores of white people race around in petulantly violent fashion—just like sailing! Or think of the Yale Men’s Sailing Team, where the athletes are always trying to improve steadily, one step at a time—just like walking on dry land! And the boat shoes—dear god, the boat shoes.

Our excursion was going to be perfect. Everyone would love it. On board the Moby, we spent an obligatory hour-and-a-half discussing the potential of the phrase “poop deck.” We had moved on to brainstorming other shapes for Spongebob’s pants when, all of a sudden, a loud “crack” rang out across the bow.

“What was that?” I shouted, nautically.

Turning, we saw the thing pirates hate most (besides the glamorization of their craft by Johnny Depp): the dreaded flag of another pirate crew. It was the massive pleasure yacht of The Record’s arch-nemesis, the Yale Journal of Medicine and Law and Romance. Like the storied villains of Grand Theft Boat, they had pursued us across the high seas. And now they were firing enormous 3D-printed cannonballs at us. Hurriedly, we put the drafts of the nautical issue aside, and armed our cannons.

“Fire!” “Fire!” “Arrrr!” “Fire!”

Back-and-forth, back-and-forth, the fires of war blasted through our hull. But the tide

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was turning, in a manner of speaking. One by one, we were taking out their crew. And the tide was turning, in another manner of speaking. They started to drift away, and our crew cheered! Safe.

Hearts still pounding, the remnants of our enemies splattered across our poop deck (lol), we returned to writing this issue.

“So yeah,” I said. “Maybe Spongebob Rectanglepants? Or are we getting stuck in the paradigm of four-sidedness?”

Time passed. We brainstormed estuaries you probably haven’t heard of. We talked about what’s really under a turtle’s shell (insecurity and turtle goo).

All of a sudden, out of nowhere, without warning, hooks swung on board our poop deck (lol). We were being boarded! It must be members of our other arch-nemesis, the Yale Journal of Forestry and Subtropical Flora. Those bastards. Those beautiful, fragrant bastards. Their leader, gaunt and haggard, strode along the bow, slowly, deliberately, picking his teeth with a dagger. “I am ze captain now,” he announced in a high, weird voice. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, I’m getting over a cold. I’m the captain now.”

Aaron, the Record’s chairman, stared back at him. “You’re gonna need a smaller boat.”

Nick, our publisher, spoke up next. “You brought a knife to a gunboat-fight.”

Zach, the publicity manager, stepped up too. “Say hello to my

Aaron Gertler ’15 Chairman

9

little friend.” He reached into a nearby wooden barrel and pulled out Mary Miller. It was her first public appearance in months.

Terrified of having to discuss the intricacies of Mesopotamian art, our enemies jumped overboard. We cheered again.

This was getting close! We had to finish the issue, and quickly.

Turning our bow toward home, we congregated on the poop deck (lol). “Ok,” I said. “So how much inbreeding do you think there was on Noah’s Ark, anyway?”

Over the next hour, we wrote in peace. We considered the loneliness and crushing depression of the Loch Ness Monster. We tried to understand “Finding Nemo” from Bruce’s perspective.

We considered what actually happened at spring break at the cove (mass dolphin slaughter). We just couldn’t figure out why everyone gets so upset about baby seal clubbing. (If they want to hit up night clubs, who are we to judge?) Finally, all we had to do was come up with a cover. Would Aquaman sobbing into a giant sea of oil be in poor taste? Could someone harpoon the country of Wales? (Someone should.)

“BANG!” Cannon fire, yet again! We spun around, and saw the Yale Journal of Equestrian Breeding advancing swiftly through the murky waters.

“The fuck is this?” I shouted. Oceans are dangerous as shit.

Swim, Yale, swim for your lives.

—S. Stern Editor-in-Chief

Scott Stern ’15 Editor-in-Chief

Nick Goel ’16 Publisher

Natalie Warren ’17 Art Director

Sam Savitz ’17 Business Manager and Director of The Cucumber

Chris Rudeen ’17 Copy Editor

Daniel Hoogstraten ’17 Design Editor

Ian Gonzalez ’16 Managing Editor

Madeline Kaplan ’17 Managing Editor

Ben Rudeen ’17 Managing Editor

Sahil Gupta ’17 Online Editor

Zach Schloss ’15 Publicity Manager

Ethan Cambell-Taylor ’16 Staff Director

Ben Garfinkel ’16 Supplementals Editor

Mitchell Nobel, LAW ’16 Legal Counsel

Staff Writers, Artists, & Designers:

Contributing Writers, Artists, & Designers:

Max Goldberg ‘17, Mikayla Harris ‘17, Victoria Kim ‘15, Rachel Lackner ‘17, Tom McCoy ‘17, Elizabeth Miles ‘17, Isaac Morrier ‘17, Travis Reginal ‘16, Harrison Schneider ‘17, Lining Wang ‘15, Madeleine Witt ‘15, Sylvia Zhang ‘15, Claire Zhang ‘15

B. Beitler ‘18, John Bentley ‘17, Adam Chekroud GRD ‘19, Chris Chung, John Lancione ‘17, Lucy Wang ‘17, Jessica Yang ‘16

Special Thanks to: Our brand-new freshmen and freshwomen, Michael Gerber, the graphic-design-tastic (and generous!) Sydney Shea, and Oxford commas Cover: This month’s glorious cover was illustrated by Jessica Yang ‘16, a national treasure who seemed a little too familiar with giant aquatic monsters, if you ask me...

Founded September 11, 1872 • Vol. CXLIII, No. 2, Published in New Haven, CT by The Yale Record, Inc. Box 204732, New Haven, CT 06520 • yalerecord.com/magazine • Subscriptions: $50/year (print) • $10/year (electronic) All contents copyright 2013 The Yale Record, Inc. The Yale Record is a magazine produced by Yale students; Yale University is not responsible for its contents. Any resemblance to characters and events portrayed herein, without satirical intent, is purely coincidental. The Record grudgingly acknowledges your right to correspond: letters should be addressed to: Chairman, The Yale Record, PO Box 204732, New Haven, CT 06520, or chairman@yalerecord.com. Offer only valid at participating retailers while supplies last. The Yale Record would like to high-five the UOFC for its financial support.

LAST WORDS OF THE ICEBERG SPOTTER ON THE TITANIC

G

uys. Hey guys. I think we hit something. And it seems like it might have been…yup. That’s definitely an iceberg. I think the ship might have just run into a giant fucking iceberg, and I think it may have done, like, critical damage to the hull. Yeah, I can already feel us tilting—this is not looking good.

But seriously though…my b. This one’s definitely on me. I mean, I did not see that iceberg at all. Like one minute I’m up in the crow’s nest updating my Snapchat story and the next minute BOOOM!!!! I see it now, though.

It’s kind of just right underneath us, sort of sticking out of the ship. I would ring the bell now, but that might be a little bit…you know.

Well fuck. Guess there’s nothing to do now but wait until we drown. Down into the icy depths of the ocean.

The dark abyss. No coming back from that, no siree. I mean, I’m just glad that I’m not the captain—that guy must feel terrible right now.

Anyway…you guys about hear this? You know Leo DiCaprio and that one British chick from the Oscars— yeah, they totally banged. A custodian caught ‘em in one of those old-fashioned cars they got down in the cargo bay.

Apparently, they really messed up the leather. I mean really messed it up. White people, huh?

So, back to our impending deaths. I sort of feel like

it’s finally starting to sink in!…Get it? Get it, George?

Jesus Christ. No, for the last time, I don’t know where you’re fucking daughter is. She probably died of hypothermia already—she’s only 12. Oh and it’s all my fault?

Please. I’m not the one that didn’t want to pick her up from her swimming lessons. And now you’re going over to the starboard side? Like that’s gonna do anything.

You’re a bad father, George! You should have spent more time with her! … Jesus, that guy. What a prick, huh?

Wait guys, look down there! Some kids on the lower decks are waving to us. Let’s all smile and wave back!

Oh wait, never mind. They’re not waving—they’re flailing desperately while being crushed to death beneath gallons of seawater. And now here come the sharks. Oh boy, that’s awkward…

Hold on a second guys, I got another one…guys, guys…I think we’re gonna need a bigger boat!!! Get it?

Because this is like the biggest boat there is. With the most people on it. And they’re all gonna die. It’s pretty funny, right? What, you too?… How are you still going on about this! I already said that it was my b!

Really? Like seriously? You’re gonna make me walk the plank a minute before the entire ship sinks? What about that guy over there—he’s using Fat Teddy as a flotation device! Let’s all gang up on him! No? Alright, alright. If this is the end let me just say one last thing… …Tell George he can go fuck himself.

—N. Goel

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WHAT’S ACTUALLY IN DAVY JONES’S LOCKER?

INNER MONOLOGUE OF A BEACHED WHALE

An overdue library book with a late fee of 20 doubloons.

19 doubloons 10,000 notes home to Mr. and Mrs. Jones urging them to tell their son to stop sinking ships and taking the souls of lost sailors A picture of Davy Jones’s algebra teacher with a heart drawn around it A restraining order from Davy Jones’s algebra teacher A discarded piece of paper with the lyrics to a love song about Davy Jones by the Counting Crows A whimsically adventurous sea sponge and a mentally deficient starfish Old, old, old, old, old Spice Treasure, a CD with the hit single by Bruno Mars A single, sad, 1000-year-old contraceptive A Game Boy Color An embarrassingly extensive collection of CDs from the band Sirens, which, let’s face it, hasn’t been cool for millennia The souls of thousands of God-fearing, good men, doomed to an eternity of crushing stillness at the bottom of the sea Sweaty gym socks

h no. I knew I shouldn’t have tried to jump that far. Double-dogfish dare, my flipper. Mama always warned me about beaching and peer pressure! I never thought it would happen to me.

Guess I started floating with a bad pod…I should have seen it coming when they tried to get me to do cocaine last spring. They’re krilling me! If I ever get off this beach, I’m going to find new friends. They can be such Moby Dickheads sometimes. I bet they’re still back there laughing at me. Wish I could turn around to see. Hmm, maybe I can wiggle back into the water. Ahhh! One more try… Oww! Son of a fish! I’m stuck.

Oh no, those beachgoers are looking at me. This is so embarrassing. Look at all those muscled, tan people with their beach bodies. I’m not ready for this! I’ve still got my baby blubber! Maybe I can suck it in. Thank God I’m not one of those obese blue whales. Blue whales…why don’t they go get a job? So lazy! No, no, it’s not ‘cause they’re blue…it’s cause they’re always loitering about…

Oh no…is that my lady whale friend? Fracking oil rig! I can’t let her see me like this! Okay, don’t panic.

Look casual. Turn sideways a little… there. Perfect. And I’ll wave my tail nonchalantly. She waved back! Whew.

Okay. I think I came off as suave and adventurous. She definitely didn’t even notice that I’m stuck on a beach.

She probably thinks I’m cool for hanging out with humans. Maybe I’ll tell her a story about how I was saving some baby jellyfish when I got jumped by a gang of vicious dolphins. Yeah, that’s good! I’ll just have to wait out the tide. She’ll think I’m so cool.

—J. Bentley and C. Rudeen

PENIS-THEMED WHALES Moby-Dick Sperm whales A dolphin with two beach balls strapped to its tail Humpback whales Humpfront whales Free Willy Penis-nose dolphins Shamu’s lesser-known brother, Shaftmu Bowhead Whale Givehead Whale Monstro Anything with a blowhole —S. Savitz

O

—N. Warren INNER MONOLOGUE OF DAVID BLAINE AS HE BROKE THE RECORD FOR “LONGEST TIME SPENT HOLDING BREATH UNDERWATER” … … …

(Thinking requires oxygen) —A. Gertler

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OTHER ABUSES AT SEAWORLD A park in San Antonio. Really? San Antonio?

Captivity shortens animals’ lives Funnel cake shortens park-goers’ lives Cetacean employees have better health care plans than human employees The murderous orca is nicknamed “Tilly” No Hall of Presidents Promotes conservation while air conditioning polar bear habitats all year round Promotes conservation while air conditioning tourist habitats all year round Enough rides to make it seem from the outside like it’s a real amusement park Employees’ whale costumes are unflattering Dolphins forced to file own tax returns Eight fucking dollars for popcorn —S. Savitz TOTAL PIRATE MOVE Following the success of Twitter handles such as Total Sorority Move and Total Frat Move, we pirates decided to get in on the fun. It’s nice to go viral without all the communicable disease.

“I guess you could say we...hooked up.”

Being known across the seven seas for your booty Waking up wearing nothing but someone else’s eyepatch Every day is a good beard day “Who are you calling a land ho?”

Pretending to be hungover when you just don’t have your sea legs yet 99 empty bottles of rum on the wall The lifeboat ride of shame Wearing an eyepatch even though you have two fully functioning eyes Running into the captain you mutinied last week while burying treasure with your new captain Got 99 problems and they’re all scurvy Having a parrot on BOTH shoulders Buying tiny parrots for your parrots’ shoulders Autocorrect changing your r’s to arrrghs Seeing your former parrot on Tinder and swiping left

—R. Lackner and C. Rudeen

FUN WAYS TO DROWN While hanging out with friends in a ‘90s teen movie where the others have to learn a lesson about safety and friendship In the ocean, but while wearing a really fun hat While beating a dolphin at chess, finally proving who is smarter While in a dunk tank at a carnival—because you didn’t wait 30 minutes after eating that fried Snickers bar and corn dog In queso, while holding a bag of chips With Morgan Freeman narrating it While playing catch with your old man in the backyard then realizing that it’s actually a Kraken wearing your dad’s favorite shirt and you’re 20,000 leagues under the sea While eating soup, but, like, fun soup In soda after an especially hard Lent without caffeinated drinks While splashing in puddles after a biblical rain storm While eating a surprisingly deep bowl of sugary cereal that your mom finally let you buy Just in regular water, if you’re into that —J. Lancione

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AN OPEN LETTER FROM THE DENIZENS OF THE OCEAN TO AQUAMAN Dear Aquaman, Look. We all think it’s pretty neat that you can talk to fish. We understand that you’ve made some great friends among us, and from our perspective it’s been cool to talk to someone with thoughts more complex than “EAT AND BREED” who isn’t some asshole dolphin.

But in a lot of ways, you’ve kind of been like that friend who asks to stay over at your place and then eats your whole krill supply, accidentally crushes half of your developing eggs, and smokes your weed without asking. (On a related note, please get us more weed. You know how hard it was for us to get it last time, seeing as we are fish and all).

Remember that time you had to stop that hooded idiot from taking over the world and you defeated him by throwing a hammerhead shark at his face? That shark had a name. His name was Terry. He had a wife and three young kids that were left fatherless after the whole throwing incident. Who’s going to fight to bring them the choicest pieces of flesh off of fallen whale carcasses now, Aquaman? Will it be you? We somehow doubt it.

Speaking of whale carcasses, let’s not forget the blue whale you used as a giant meat shield in your battle with Hooded Idiot #2. They’re still finding (and eating, if we’re being honest) pieces of her all over the Pacific. According to an observant yellowfin tuna who was there at the time, you convinced her to get in the way of that laser by saying, and I quote, “It’s fine, it’s actually a fat-reduction laser” and that “the other whales will finally stop making fun of you for being the ‘biggest thing in the ocean.’” What the fuck, dude?

And these offenses are really only the beginning. You’ve used dolphins as living jetskis and mantis shrimps as living bottle openers to impress human females (who, we might add, are so useless that they can’t even breathe underwater and can only bear one to three of your young at a time). The squids have also told us about the frankly disturbing pornographic films you wanted to include them in (although the word on the street is that the octopuses were more than willing to participate). You also apparently cheat in your games of Go against the cuttlefish (I wasn’t even going to include that one, but they’re really pissed and they get pretty scary when they’re like that).

Our proposal is simple: You have to do shit for us, too. If you get to call on the might of the ocean’s residents to do your dirty work, it’s only fair that we get to call on the might of your nimble human fingers when we want to search Google Maps for frequently fished areas of the sea. I’d say that every whale meat shield is worth at least 200 cans of distributed fish food (and not the Costco brand crap, the real deal) and every shark thrown at someone’s face is worth at least one skinned fishing-industry executive with the message “FISH ARE FRIENDS, NOT FOOD” written in blood next to his body. Anyway, we can work out the details later— let us know if you’re in. You know where to find us.

Love, Denizens of the ocean

—I. Gonzalez

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POINT: We have to find Nemo!

D

ory, don’t forget our mission! We have to find my son, Nemo. He was abducted by a monster, taken from his peaceful home to the scorching island of Sydney. Since the death of my wife and my hundreds of other children, he’s been the only thing that makes my life worth living.

I can’t lose him now!

Please, Dory. We’ve gone through so much together. The sharks. The whale. The jellyfish. The turtles. If it’s big and lives in the ocean and you can make a plush toy out of it, we’ve seen it. If we give up now, all that work goes to waste!

Nemo is a precious diamond in the sunken ship that is my life. He is my Pacific Ocean and my seven seas. I can’t go on without him. Please, I’m begging you – help my find my son.

COUNTERPOINT: Let him die, Marlin

I

may have short-term memory loss, but I have a genius for grand strategy.

I’m also a charismatic leader, equally comfortable talking to clown fish and killer whales. And you dare to waste my talents on this hopeless rescue mission?

Your son is dead. And if he isn’t dead yet, he will be soon. I’ve known hundreds of fish who disappeared in the same way – taken by the monsters above the surface. And not a single one has ever come back.

It’s a terrible situation, but we’re not making it any better with this miserable journey. Just a few days, and we’ve already almost been killed three times. And for what? To save a single infant fish who – I’ll keep saying it until you understand – is almost certainly already dead.

You’ve got a great story, Marlin. People like you, they sympathize with you, they want to help you. That’s why I’m still here. I think you could be the emotional catalyst for an aquatic revolution, if you stop wasting your time on Nemo and start thinking about the big picture.

Just a few hours ago, we saved thousands of flounder – thousands, each with a brain and a life and a family, each just as precious to their friends as Nemo is to you – from being captured and butchered by the fishermen who terrorize the reef. We nearly sunk one of their ships for the first time in a century. And all it took was the right message, delivered to the right people at the right time: Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming.

Just keep swimming.

Follow me, and I’ll help you deliver your message to millions. Together, we can drive the monsters back to their precious landlocked kingdom.

But if you ask one more passing pelican if they’ve heard of your son, I’m gone. Those fuckers eat fish, for chrissake.

—A. Gertler

WHALE TO THE CHIEF:

WHAT IF A WHALE BECAME PRESIDENT? Pete: Welcome back to Pete’s America.

If you’re just joining us, our current segment, Whale to the Chief, features leading minds discussing the recently declared presidential candidacy of a one-ton beluga whale. Although many commentators were quick to dismiss the whale at first, it has since become a populist favorite, skyrocketing in the polls. There is in fact no law that says a whale can’t be president.

We now turn to our roundtable of whale candidacy experts for their analysis. Joining us are Senator Ted Cruz, a blonde conservative lady who wrote a book— Ann Coulter: I’m Ann Coulter.

Pete: This one is Ann Coulter, I’m being told. We also have a hashtag activist, a science man, and Teller from Penn and Teller. Now, many voices in the media have been suggesting that whales are a Russian species, and therefore may have communist leanings. Would anyone like to take up that point?

Science man: Well, there is a broad scientific consensus that there is more than one species of whale. However, while I am not aware of any study suggesting that whales are communists, I am still concerned about the whale’s ability to perform the physical duties of the president.

Pete: Expand on that.

Science man: Whales are very intelligent animals, but they lack arms and legs, and are also big. This would surely be an impediment to getting around the White House.

Hashtag activist: #ableist Science man: What?

Coulter: I am insulted by the suggestion that we should just blindly trust what this wimpy science man says. One day he tells us drinking a glass of wine a day prevents cancer, the next day he tells us it causes cancer.

Science man: I have never told anyone

either of those things.

Science man: What does “hashtag” even mean?

Coulter: I’m just saying I don’t want to find out a year into a whale presidency Coulter: I believe this country needs a whale at the wheel to steer us in a new that whales have been tiny all along. and better direction, but all this speculaPete: I think we can all agree that whales tion lately that the whale is a lady whale are larger than humans, but what does has me concerned. I’m just not sure we’re Axl Rose think? ready for a female president. What if her Axl Rose: Thanks for having me on, whale emotions get in the way?

Pete. I saw a whale once. Seemed pretty Pete: A valid concern. Science man, do big to me. whales menstruate?

Pete: Axl, what do you predict the Science man: The jury’s still out on whale’s position on the International this one scientifically.

Monetary Fund reform package will be?

Pete: Axl Rose, what do you think?

Rose: Unamerican, to put it simply.

Rose: All I can say is, that’d be super Pete: And do whales have gills? What’s gross. your take?

Hashtag activist: #MenstruationIsRose: They definitely have gills.

NotObscene Pete: Alright, thank you for your time! Pete: Thanks again for your insight, We turn now to Senator Ted Cruz. Axl. You’ve been an outspoken critic of the president since day one. Keeping in Rose: Any time. mind that the correct answer to this quesPete: Hold on now. I’ve just been intion is no, is there any lesson President formed that there is not a whale running Obama should take away from the whale for president, and that a whale running candidacy? for president would in fact be ridiculous.

Cruz: Yes. I think that all the excitement I’m not sure where those facts we were with which ordinary Americans are re- citing came from, but they have no coracting to the whale candidacy is simply respondence with reality. another indication that they’re tired of Science man: Mine did. Whale facts the same old brand of ineffectual, Masare my whole life. sachusetts, NPR totebag politics that’s been the norm for the last six years. It Pete: We regret the error. After the shows tremendous weakness on the part break, we’ll be turning to the topic of the of President Obama to not be a whale. current tension with Iran. We’ll be asking Would Putin have blown up the Ukraine the panel for their opinions on the theory if he knew he knew he was going toe to of economic sanctions, Iranian youth culfin with an opponent who could swallow ture, the personal relationship between Ali Khamenei and Hassan Rouhani, all him whole? of the contingencies of a military strike Pete: So are you then pledging that if on a nation of 76 million people, and elected president, you would be a whale? the process of uranium enrichment. We’ll Cruz: All I’m saying, Pete, is that the have with us David Schwimmer and a president is not a whale, and the presi- man who wrote a book about JFK. dent is bad.

—E. Campbell-Taylor Hashtag activist: #patrioglarch and B. Garfinkel

Another Case of Scurvy Strikes Campus At press time Davis’s mother was still unaware of her son’s illness, despite specifically asking him once a day how he was and whether he was eating enough fruit.

A representative for Davis has released an official report stating, “I’m fine mom everything is great and my classes are great and I’m fine. Call you later.”

BY MADELINE KAPLAN STAFF REPORTER

Ezra Davis ES ’17 was diagnosed with scurvy earlier this week after going six straight months without eating any fruit.

Davis is just the latest victim in what has truly become an epidemic on Yale’s campus. Besides sexually transmitted diseases, scurvy is the most prevalent pirate illness on campus.

Some have been quick to assign blame to the university’s dining halls, which haven’t served fresh fruit in over a decade.

Others point fingers at the student body’s lack of nutritional knowledge.

“I thought spa water was a fruit,” Davis said as he was wheeled out of Lawrence Hall on Monday. “Is spa water not a fruit?”

A recent study found that over 96 percent of freshmen will be diagnosed with scurvy at some point this year, while the other 4 percent probably have it but can’t be bothered to walk to Yale Health.

“There is no problem with the fruit

Why, just last week I saw half a banana in the Morse art gallery.

Peter Salovey Yale University President

YALE.EDU/SPAWATER

supply in Yale’s dining halls,” said President Peter Salovey when reached for comment. “Why, just last week I saw half a banana in the Morse art gallery. It was part of a found-art installation by Marcel Duchamp, but still.”

According to the university, Davis is scheduled to receive a fruit-and-nut basket from his mother at the end of the month. He is expected to fish out the M&Ms from the trail mix and throw the rest away.

Contact MADELINE KAPLAN at join@yalerecord.com

S e sap dol e l eme tum te p o rutr n e cong id e Inte in t tor tu p i Duis ris d u Nu lam o r m Don u pur nis

Local Man’s Mother So Proud of Him, Honey

BY DEBBIE FINKLESTIEN YOUR MOMMY

Max? Max? Can you hear me? It’s your mother speaking.

How are things? Are you eating well?

How’s Sharon? Do you see her a lot? She’s such a nice girl. Jewish too.

By the way, I ran into Jacob’s aunt last weekend at the Trader Joe’s. She told me Jacob is selling herbs door-to-door now.

This Indian Kush stuff is great on chicken Lorem ipsum solar sit amet test filler

HI MAX, IT’S YOUR MOTHER. DID YOU GET MY PICTURE MESSAGE? I MISS YOU.

and I just wanted to let you know that I love you. Can you still hear me? Please stay healthy Max. Go see Dr. Pomeranz soon. He’s really the best at urinary tract inblahbasdh aslkdhajs alkjsdhlk aslkdkl

not like her, but I think you should give Sharon one more shot. Her father treated my UTI, and she really is a nice girl. I heard from Nancy that she puts out so you won’t

Lor Sed sapi-

Unfortunate Battleship Names The United States Navy has an illustrious history of christening their vessels with formidable names worthy of the millions of tons of steel and weapons that patrol our seas and protect us from all ocean-based threats (mostly krill these days, for some reason). In recent years, however, there has been just the eensiest hint of backsliding.

Here is a list of the names of the newest members of the Navy family.

Lor e d ien o r, l enm emo r rum c , gue elit. eger tor-

urs . s in us i . let c i i . nec t rus sl.

USS Overcompensation

This ship capsized shortly after its launch as a result of the large number of Hummers stored on its port side deck.

USS Silent But Deadly

Newport News Shipbuilding has denied building this ship for the Navy, but they are widely believed to have supplied it.

USS M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I Not to be confused with the USS Mississippi

USS Titanic 3 Third time’s the charm!

USS Surrender

Currently on loan to the French Navy, this aptly named ship has the distinction of being the only ship to have surrendered during a land battle.

USS Hufflepuff

This ship has done nothing significant. No one in Navy High Command can even remember where it is.

e n

USS Hitlerwasokay

“This ship may have done some questionable things, but this ship actually had some good ideas…” said the soonto-be-fired man who named this ship

USS Godot

No one in Naval High Command is sure how long they have waited for the delivery of this ship, but they are confident that it will arrive tomorrow.

Writing: B. Beitler | Illustrations: L. Wang

Fifty Shades of Greybeard

could deny it no longer. The shared glances, the soft touch of wing to cheek when the crew’s backs were turned, the way she would not leave his shoulder, even to use the bathroom. Everything changed that night in Barbados, the night when he first felt the relationship evolve from that of a man and his mangy, diseased parrot to that of a man and his mangy, diseased lover. He imagined taking her in his arms, kissing her gently on the beak, caressing her delicate cheek with his hook, and feeding her endless sleeves of saltine crackers.

Maybe it was just the scurvy (it was probably just the scurvy), but the captain found he was no longer his usual self. Each night he put on two of his finest eye patches and danced with his hat—the black one with the single red plume—cradled in his arms, just to feel the forbidden tickle of feather to chin.

But he could no longer deceive himself with the old double-eyepatch-waltz-with-a-feathery-hat trick. Despite his fourth-grade education—as well as the rare brain-eating fungus he had picked up (along with a commemorative snow globe) after a fortnight of hilarious scalawagery in French Polynesia—he was no fool. And so, unable to keep his feelings contained like a ship of feelings in a bottle, Greybeard stormed into his quarters to find his darling perched as she always was, preening, her long blond hair flowing in the sea breeze.

18

Chapter XI

For a moment, he faltered, his breath trapped in his chest, wondering how his parrot got ahold of a long blond wig, but he quickly remembered that the audience of a romance novel cares little about minute plot details.

Graybeard exhaled in an especially sexy way, his muscles rippling like a handful of Lay’s® Ruffles, his hair as golden as the contents of a treasure chest that has been inexplicably filled with urine. She turned her head to see him and said, in a voice as sweet and melodious as that of your chain-smoking, recently divorced Aunt Helen, “Polly want a cracker.”

He liked a woman who knew what she wanted.

“My love,” he whispered, staggering forward under the weight of his adoration and the copious amounts of rum he had recently consumed.

“My love,” she repeated, because she was a parrot.

He grabbed her wing and kissed it. Greybeard looked deeply into her beady eyes and saw their future: margaritas on the shore, pink sand between their toes, cutting their wedding cake with the same sword he had used on One Eyed Pete (formerly Regular Number of Eyes Pete), their naked bodies rolling like the tide…

He kissed her passionately, kissed her like he had never kissed any woman before, which made sense because she was a bird. Her wings fluttered, as if to fly away, but Greybeard knew she had no desire to do so. They had a secret, unspoken language, one that could not be mimicked by any outsiders.

Except by all parrots.

19 Writing: R. Lackner | Illustrations: T. Tran

International Consulting Department of Questionable Ethics

9/18/2014 Abduwali “Boat-lover” Muse Pirate / Captain 132 Arabian Sea Some Small Boat, Indian Ocean Dear Captain, It is with great pleasure that I write to you on behalf of McKinsey & Company. This is our first maritime venture—in fact, our first piracy venture—and I can hardly express my enthusiasm at breaking the seal in Somalia.

Our goal is yours: to launch a new golden age of piracy. As a global management consulting firm, we assure you we know how to help our clients cleverly operate outside the law. First, we congratulate you on your competitive strengths of a broad market range and a strategic relationship with swashbuckling Somalian warlords. Second, we have to admit that we admire your business strategy. Few corporations truly know how to leverage fixed cost infrastructure to grow service revenue. And third, we see in you a high growth company with depressed valuation.

Together, we can revive the art of piracy and plunder.

That said, we find in certain key metrics cause for concern—and cause for change. From 51 vessels hijacked in 2010, you’re down to nil this past year. From claiming some $70 million in ransoms five years ago, you’re now down to zero hostages, zero kidnappees, and zero seafarers used as human shields. What is this, Switzerland? To address these issues, we have assembled some point-by-point recommendations.

•

Expand your markets from the Horn of Africa to the greater Indian Ocean and beyond. It’s not rocket science. It’s extortion.

•

Firmly plant headquarters in Somalia, where you’re free from nuisances like interest and taxes and government and law and order.

•

Business merger with ninjas?

•

Invest in sabotage-and-seizure insurance. There will be dangers along the way: thunderstorms, navy warships, your crew’s halitosis.

•

Abandon the Jolly Roger flag. The skull and bones logo suffers from brand dilution.

•

Recruit more seasoned pirates. To find talent, consider drafting from NFL teams such as the Oakland Raiders and Tampa Bay Buccaneers. The transition should be easy for them. Both professions enjoy an occupational hazard of death and grown men sporting tights.

Help us help you revive criminal violence at sea. Let’s return to the heyday of Barbary Coast pirates, when “walk the plank or I’ll cut your throat with my scimitar” really meant something. While we cannot guarantee success, we can promise that in your first year you will make a handsome one million dollars if you follow our advice, provided you start with at least ten million dollars.

The piracy bubble is promising if you’re on the right side. If it bursts, however, we would like to inform you that McKinsey & Co is hiring. You would make excellent consultants—you have nothing but contempt for your clients.

If anything, you’ve had your fair share of extracting wealth from rich prey.

Sincerely,

Richard Moneybags IV Phone: +1 (212) 555-CASH | Fax: +1 (212) 555-CA$H | Email: dick.bags4 mckinsey.com | McKinsey & Company Office of International Consulting Writing: S. Gupta

t but Saybrook freshmen continue to insist their innocence. aaaaaaaAnd that is what lead Professor Dexter Marks to seek an objective method for determining “coolness.”

Marks found that “popping” one’s

aaaaaa asdas aaaaaa asdas aaaaaa asdas assssssssssssssssssssssssssssssswssssssss “We found that 3.1 collars resulted in ‘super cool’ levels, and 5.8 collars, on average, resulted in ‘really super cool’ levels.

during the testing he sustained a fatal spinal cord injury on Saturday, September 6th.

Dexter ‘Smooth Daddy’ Marks died at age 72 wearing 221 ‘popped’ collars.

Scientists Report: Dogs’ Tail-Wagging Actually a Sign of Profound Anguish

BY BEN GARFINKEL STAFF REPORTER

A team of scientists at Yale University reported Tuesday that tail-wagging, often assumed to express happiness in dogs, is in fact an indication of unbearable psychic pain. The result came as something of a surprise to researchers and pet-owners alike. Before Tuesday, it can safely be said, few people suspected that dogs reside in a psychological prison of incomprehensible cruelty.

“Our conclusion may sound shocking at first,” explained lead researcher Harriet Vickers, “but what is perhaps more shocking is that the conventional wisdom about canine psychology was accepted for thousands of years without anyone bothering to test it. The hypothesis that dogs’ tail-wagging represents happiness somehow became a dogma—pun intended, of course—even though there was never any solid evidence to support it.”

In her groundbreaking paper, “Canine Psychology and Caudal Muscle Contraction,” Dr. Vickers claims the suffering detected by her team is “far beyond the power of mere words to capture,” but includes for illustrative purposes the sixteenth century apocalyptic painting The Triumph of Death by Pieter Bruegel.

“Imagine this,” Dr. Vickers writes, in reference to the depiction of an endless wave of skeletons indiscriminately massacring villagers, who are futilely attempting to flee across a blackened, nightmarish landscape. “But inside your dog’s brain, all day long.”

Evolutionary psychologists have been among the first to embrace these new findings. One leading scientist, David Barlow of Emory University, even hailed them as a “game-changer.”

Said Barlow, “Once you understand this fact about canine psychology, understanding the evolutionary roots of their behavior becomes simple. Consider an animal that has just spied some food that can provide it with nutrients and increase its chance of reproducing.

Obviously, evolution must have provided

RALPHSDOGGYBUTTPICTURES.EDU

some psychological motivation for the animal to consume this food. In the case of humans, the motivation is knowledge that the food will be pleasurable, but for the dog the motivation is terrible psychic pain, probably about on par with the pain soldiers in the First World War must have suffered while cradling the dying victims of gas attacks in their arms. The pain will only cease when the food is consumed, so upon sight of it the dog’s tail begins to wag and it rushes forward hungrily, desperately seeking to escape its agony. It is only several minutes after the food is eaten and the trauma fades—or at least returns to its baseline level—that we observe an end to the animal’s tail-wagging.”

“Similarly, the tail-wagging behavior of dogs and their submissive, excited gestures at the sight of humans, who offer the possibility of ‘treats,’ exercise, and other resources, can be thought of as a form of desperate pleading for the human to offer them these resources and end their unimaginable agony. The mere sight of its master, on most occasions, is evidently enough to cause a dog to feel a pain roughly equivalent to that of the loss of a parent, or of a particularly wrenching divorce.”

The discovery that dogs live lives of inexpressible pain also solves some of the classic mysteries of evolutionary biology.

For instance, scientists now suspect that dogs did not evolve opposable thumbs,

despite their tremendous utility, because they would have allowed for the tying of nooses.

Despite widespread acceptance by the scientific community, the results of Vickers’s study have not yet seemed to have an impact on the general public.

Polls show that nearly half of all Americans households own dogs, and that half of these dog-owners consider their pets “part of the family” and “definitely more important than grandma.” These figures seem unlikely to change any time soon, as 12,001 out of 12,915 people responding to CBS News online poll responded that the report—which unequivocally demonstrated that rubbing a dog’s belly, or even keeping it alive for that matter, is an act of indescribable savagery—changed their view of their dogs “not at all” or “only somewhat.”

George Tipliano, 47, owner of a young golden retriever which frequently yearns for death, perhaps best captured the sentiments of the several pet owners interviewed by The Record. Said Tipliano, “Toby is my buddy, and no matter what some guys in lab coats say I know he loves me.”

He then tossed a chicken treat to the dog, prompting rapid contractions of its hind muscles and diaphragm.

Contact BEN GARFINKEL at join@yalerecord.com

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22

TRUST ME, I’M A BOAT CAPTAIN by a Guy Who Owns Sperrys

I

know what you’re thinking. At first glance, from the shins up, you probably wouldn’t guess that I could steer a boat. I’m just a skinny teenager wearing shorts and a button-up. Even though my outfit is embroidered with thousands of tiny anchors, you probably see me as just another Dry Lander. How could I possibly captain a vessel, you might ask. Well, I implore you to look a little deeper.

And by deeper, I mean lower. At my feet. Yeah, I’m wearing Sperrys. I bet you feel like a real jerk now.

You can tell by the Sperrys on my feet that I totally know boats. Porthole. Look, I just casually threw a boat word into this totally un-boat-related conversation. Only captains can do that. I just want you to know, if there was an emergency and my dad had lifted my ban from his yacht, I could save the day so easily. And look good doing it.

I really hate it when people judge you without getting to know your footwear. They are always saying, “This kid shouldn’t go near a boat after all of his preventable boat accidents.” But they make those accusations before even noticing my new shoes. This is America, land of the free and home of the acquitted thanks to expensive lawyers. I can do whatever I want, no matter what that judge or jury or my parents or anyone says.

Back to the point: I’m a changed man. I have new shoes, and I am totally ready to take command. I want you to trust me; if you set sail with me, I’m sure that we will make it to harbor safely. Boom. Boat metaphor. I’m killing this, like I totally didn’t kill those passengers on that cruise ship last year.

In summation, because I am a successful, trustworthy boat captain, can I stay at our house on the marina alone this weekend while you and Dad are at your convention?

Thanks in advance.

Boatingly, Sperry “Sperry” Sperryson P.S. They have plaid on the sides.

UNEXPECTED UPSIDES OF AN OIL SPILL Those Dead Sea otters were actually plotting to blow up the Pentagon Great way to demonstrate the “oil and water don’t mix” concept to kindergarteners Bored housewives get to watch footage of cute birds being bathed to remove the oil Gives Aquaman something to do, for once Probably looks pretty sweet from space Job security for that one guy in documentaries who talks about disasters in a dramatic, yet disappointed tone Inspires millions of American kids, showing them that one person can make a horrible, horrible difference For every dead fish, millions of naphthalene-metabolizing bacteria will get a chance at life Provides a charity opportunity so that Bono stays relevant Makes the CEO of Exxon Mobil feel something, if only for a brief second, in the blackened husk that was once his beating heart —I. Gonzalez THE WORST THINGS TO BRING TO A DESERT ISLAND Your DS readings 2,000 lbs of poisoned fruit A dead meercat A dying meercat Cannibals Satellite phone powered by AT&T (their rates are so high) A love of winter A gigantic sign saying “I’m fine” An Urdu translation of “How to escape desert islands” Syphilis A finely tuned palate A finely tuned ukulele This list piece

—B. Rudeen We do not print this for its wit, Nor its poetic grace.

—Staff We don’t care what it says a bit— It’s just to fill the space.

T he N autical I ssue

23

THINGS THAT ARE HARDER TO DO UNDERWATER Catching butterflies Appreciating autumn Having a bar mitzvah Preparing for the New World Order Finding a husband by 35 Making toast Landscaping Manscaping The Dark Arts Keeping your cereal from getting soggy Keeping your family together Tending to a cactus Shuffleboard Taking a mid-afternoon nap Breathing

YALE’S SECRET-ER SOCIETIES

—Staff

Skull and Bones Porn and Chicken Port and Politics Copy and Paste Sweet and Sour Chicken ($7.95) I.S.C. (International Students’ Clique) No Girls Allowed Timothy Dwight College Vacuous and Wealthy Splish and Splash Boy Scouts of America Troop 827 Hit and Quit Despicable Them Kony 2012 (Defunct) Nesasio solomonensis Just Carl Lerner, CC ‘15 Rinse and Repeat Yale University Men’s Ice Hockey Team —A. Chekroud and C. Chung

SADDEST MESSAGES IN A BOTTLE Lost Dog: Answers to Skippy. Last seen in the ocean.

Please send pants Found the Lindbergh baby. Not that cute anymore. *A single tear* I think I left the back door unlocked I’m staying on this island until they bring back Community #sixseasonsandamovie I’m allergic to sand Did I miss Coachella?

This is the happiest I’ve ever been.

Lost: one bottle Use the enclosed $10 to buy Nickelback’s latest album I went to a deserted island and all I got was this bottle I went to a deserted island and all I got was crabs —R. Lackner and B. Rudeen

OTHER THINGS TO ATTACH TO YOUR WRIST STUMP A tiny particle accelerator Phantom limb (not the syndrome, but an actual badass ghost hand) A universal remote A functional lightsaber The “hand” your preschooler made out of craft sticks, modeling clay, and macaroni An extendable hotdog fork A crippling sense of loss and incompleteness A barbecued chicken drumstick A lightly seasoned barbecued chicken drumstick Someone else’s hand Your other hand —N. Warren

24

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JUST SO YOU KNOW, I OWN A YACHT

L

ook. Look here, at me. This is a yacht. I own this yacht. I am reclining in a comfortable chair on my yacht, which I own. We can all agree that my life is good, and I am successful. Otherwise, would I be on this yacht?

Sometimes people ask, “What makes a life worth living?” Socrates asked stuff like this, but yachts didn’t exist back then. Sometimes people say, “A man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?” Robert Browning said this, but Robert Browning never managed to grasp a yacht.

Look at my yacht again. It is big. And white. It has a Jacuzzi. It cost much more money than most people earn in a year, and it was advertised in magazines that the nonwealthy don’t even know exist. There is an attractive younger woman with me on this yacht. She’s wearing a yellow

bikini. No one could argue that my life is not worth living.

Maybe it is possible that people without yachts have lives that are worth living too. Maybe people in Hartford or Africa somehow manage to find meaning in their cashier jobs or their heroin, or in thinking about yachts. I don’t know if this is possible, though, because I don’t need to. I am someone who owns a yacht.

I have had a long, successful career at an investment bank. I put in tens of thousands of hours of my life, and these hours turned into money. Then I went to a boat dealership, and I turned that money into a yacht. I also turned some of the money into younger women in bikinis. This one is named Naomi, or something that sounds like Naomi.

Naomi likes boats.

—B. Garfinkel

A. Gertler

THE LITTLE MERMAID: SONGS THAT DIDN’T MAKE IT TO THE FILM’S FINAL CUT Yo Ho, Yo Ho, Can I Get Your Number?

Come Visit The Ocean Before It Rises To Swallow The Land (Formerly “It’s Getting Hot in Here” before threatened with copyright suit) She Gave Me Crabs: Prince Eric’s Lament She Gave Me (Singing!) Crabs: Prince Eric’s Lament After We Went For The G Rating Silent on Shore (Ariel Tries to Sing without a Voice For Five Minutes) When Will You Learn (formerly “I Spy a Fishing Hook!”)

Sparks! Eels in Love/Humans, Get The Hell Out of That Water Mashup: Gold Digger and Part of Your World (And Your Castle, And Your Kingdom, Once I Inherit It All In A Messy Divorce!)

When Seagulls Cry, by the Prince Formally Known as Eric Back That Tail Up (Explicit) Those Magic Changes (Will Cost You Your Voice, Your Freedom, and Quite Possibly Your Father’s Entire Kingdom, But Don’t Read the Fine Print) —E. Miles

POINT:

No man is an island

H

umans are social animals. We simply weren’t meant to live alone for long periods of time. Arctic explorers who spend years without human company describe a deep loneliness that never quite fades, even after they reach civilization. Or look at the movie Cast Away: Tom Hanks washes up on an island, and within a few days, he’s talking to a volleyball, because a volleyball is better than nothing.

In many ways, we’re even defined by the people we spend time with. It’s often said that we become the average of our five closest friends. Life isn’t some Rube Goldberg machine that sends a marble spinning through a maze without ever changing the marble itself. Life is a journey – the longest journey of all. And what’s a journey without travel companions?

We must let other people into our hearts if we are to live as nature intended. In short, no man is an island.

COUNTERPOINT:

This corpse I’m clinging to so I don’t drown is an island

T

hat was all very high-minded, Kevin. If you’d told me all that yesterday, I’d have believed you. Most people have good reason to believe that men and islands are different things.

Most people also don’t have idiotic yacht-owning friends who insist on sailing during a thunderstorm.

On a boat whose navigation system isn’t set up yet. So they may not have had the chance to see things from my perspective.

From my perspective, the last scraps of the S. S. Kevin have long since been swept out to sea. I’m going to have to live alone for as long as it takes for the Coast Guard to find me.

And, unlike Tom Hanks, I don’t have a sandy beach, coconut trees. Or the fucking volleyball.

Instead, I have a few planks of wood, a coil of rope, and the body of my good friend Kevin. On the one hand, he smells worse than a volleyball. On the other hand, he already has a face, so I don’t have to draw one on with a marker.

Plus, he’s by far the biggest

floating object left in my stretch of the ocean. He’s not bleeding at all, so I don’t have to worry about sharks.

Instead, I get to sit here, catching fish with my bare hands, sleeping under the stars, and enjoying life on Kevin Island.

It sure is convenient that I killed him before the boat sank.

—A. Gertler

26

EXPERT GIVES TED TALK ON PERILS OF OVERSIMPLIFICATION, COMPLETELY MISSES IRONY Dear grown-ass human being, I’m sorry, but I just don’t think we were ever meant to be. We just look so fucking stupid together.

Best, A clear plastic dome umbrella

T he Y ale R ecord

Dear SAE Pledge Educator, Hey man, so I’ve been having a little trouble with physics lately, do you have a minute? I mean, I can follow along fine in lecture, but when it comes to doing the problems, I keep on getting stuck.

Like on number 10, are we supposed to integrate with respect to time or frequency?

—Franklin Chou, DC ‘17 Dear Franklin, Stop talking so I can shave your head.

—SAE Pledge Educator

EXPERT GIVES TED TALK ON SPINACH, COMPLETELY MISSES IRON Oy, Quaker Oatmeal, Aren’t YOU somethin’. You ‘n’ yor pacifism, an’ yor social justice, an’ the way you cook in less ‘n a minute. I could take you! I could take you in a fuckin’ minute, mate.

Yeh, Irish Oatmeal

This man thinks THE YALE RECORD is the “cat’s pyjamas.”

See for yourself at one of our meetings!

Mondays, 9 pm, LC 209

T he N autical I ssue

‘BROS’ BEFORE ‘HOES,’ BUT STILL AFTER ‘AARDVARK,’ INSISTS OED

CHILDREN IN A VEGETATIVE STATE FOLLOWING OBAMA’S NUTRITION CAMPAIGN

Dear Greg, My sources tell me you’re having troubles with deadlines. You’ve got a history paper due in 6 hours and you haven’t started. Well, here’s some motivation.

—The Grim Reaper

Dear sunrise, I don’t get why you are so special.

No one marvels at me when I get up in the morning. Be better.

—Bob, the town’s resident gas giant

Dear Grim Reaper, Sorry, haven’t turned in my paper yet. I’ve just been really sick today, and wanted to know if I could get an extension. It’s just that I’ve suddenly gotten a dreadful cough and intense chills and—...

—Greg, whose last words didn’t make the deadline

WIKIPEDIA SERVERS DOWN ON SUNDAY, MODEL UN CONFERENCE POSTPONED TO NEXT WEEK Dear Mr. President, Stop ramming Obamacare down the throats of the American people! They don’t want this law! And it gives me a bad name.

—Obamacare P. Jones

MICHELLE OBAMA’S CAMPAIGN TO IMPROVE CHILD NUTRITION HAS PROVED FRUITFUL Dear laser tractor, I fear that this was a mistake. You work no better than my current tractor, and you’ve killed three of my workers.

Oh well.

—A sad farmer with a sweet laser tractor

Dear staples, You think you’re so hot, so tasty, so delicious. Well, think again, I’m the new thing in town.

—Comestibles

OBAMA’S NUTRITION CAMPAIGN REVEALED TO BE ELABORATE PYRAMID SCHEME Dear A(e)rial, What are you? A mermaid? A British antenna? An adjective meaning ‘pertaining to air?’ A typeface?

Please stop confusing me, —Lexical ambiguity

UPS WORKER OVERCOMPENSATES FOR SMALL PACKAGE WITH FRIENDLY DELIVERY Dear Congregation gathered at St. Thomas Moore on this fine Sunday morning, Let’s get fucked on alcohol.

—Ghost of Martin Luther King, Jr. Dear Assembly at the Royal Institute of Sciences in London, Eighteen percent of armadillos are born with a second vestigial foreskin.

—Ghost of Martin Luther King, Jr.

27

28

T he Y ale R ecord Dear students, Did you know that every 3.4 seconds you leave the tap on, someone in the world dies?

—Nick Gutierrez, Statistics PhD, and also compulsive serial killer

‘CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT,’ ASSERTS BAD VETERINARIAN Dear Monopoly, I know I said I wasn’t going to play games this time, but I lied.

—Sorry Dear Disney, I absolutely loved Frozen, especially the song ‘Let It Go.’ —A gross man who just found an excuse to sing on the toilet

CONFUSED INTERNATIONAL STUDENT NAMED YUAG KEEPS GETTING ASKED ABOUT ART Dear literature professor, Faulkner? I hardly know ner!

—A guy who’s only met ner like twice

Fuck, Marry, Cherish.

Dear Virgin Mary, More like Virgin Hairy!

—Jesus, in one of those weird noncanonical gospels where Mary is super hairy for some reason Dear Jesus, We are both oxen.

—Mary, because also in that gospel they’re both oxen

WEALTHY TUBERCULOSIS PATIENTS ENGAGE IN CONSPICUOUS CONSUMPTION Dear statue, Your abs are so chiseled! What’s your work out routine?

—Billy, age 5

Dear Billy, A chisel, and three hundred crunches a day.

—Statue

STUDY FINDS ALL CHILDREN UNDER AGE TEN NAMED TIMMY

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Your ad could go here

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unless upon seeing the ad, we say to ourselves, “Hmm… An advertisement of this aesthetic that is broadcasting a service or product of this nature would not belong here, but instead, belong over there, where the nature of such a service or product, broadcasted in an advertisement with the said aesthetic, would better fit the goals of our magazine, and ultimately, would have the best shot of improving the dismal reality that is the human condition.”

Your ad can’t go here.

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