The Horror Issue

Vol. 142, No. 7

TH E YALE

Apr. 4, 2014

RECORD

CHARDONNAY HESTON

SHERRY McDOWALL

D. Hoogstraten, S. Savitz

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101 Whalley Avenue Dear Rutherford B. Hayes, Your life sucks, huh? You work hard, day in and day out, to become president of the United States—the most powerful position in the world—and no one remembers you. Confined to the ranks of Chester A. Arthur, Millard Filmore, and Franklin Pierce. I feel for you, man.

No one remembers my presidency either.

—President Stanislas J. Winklethread, who is insane Dear Stanislas, Finally, someone who gets me! It’s great to hear from such a like-minded guy.

—Rutherford B. Hayes, who is also insane. Or was insane. He is dead.

LOCAL FAMILY MAN HEROICALLY WORKS 60-HOUR WORKWEEK TO AVOID SEEING HIS KIDS

Dear cancer, You’re making me look bad. I’m just a crab who makes people born in July really sassy and likely to have a good love life this coming week.

—Cancer Dear kangaroos, What are those big feet for? Jumping?

Kicking? Compensating for your exceptionally small hands? Tell me!

—Harold Bloom, who has small feet, probably

REALISM KNIGHTED, BECOMES SURREALISM Dear man lying in the road, Stop telling lies, silly!

Sincerely, The second man who hit the first guy with his car and is trying to lighten the situation with humor

Deer hunting, Is illegal from April to November.

—A poorly formatted state law

CHRIS CHRISTIE EATS DEPUTY STAFFER RESPONSIBLE FOR LATEST POLITICAL SNAFUS Dear rock with an inspirational word on it, Thanks a lot. You really helped me get through the death of my grandfather.

—Steve Dear Steve, Hope.

—Rock

HETERONORMATIVE GPS ONLY TELLS USER TO GO STRAIGHT

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STRIPPER JUST WANTS TO BE SEEN FOR WHAT SHE REALLY IS, A BAD MOM Dear Apple, I send this email because I hear there’s a security bug affecting Mac users. Is this true? What can I do to stay safe?

—Parnelia Langdon Dear Parnelia, You will only be safe if you forward you’re credit card information to robert431@gmail.com, an experienced Nigerian businessman who will ensure you’re financial security. Also, check out the attached links to learn the one simple trick that local single moms use to make $12 an hour from home!

—Appel Tech Suport Sqaud Dear spurious Apple Tech Support, Recently we learned that you’ve been trying to steal the identities of our loyal Apple customers. But guess what? It’s never going to work! We already stole their identities when they signed the 1400-page iTunes Terms and Conditions, giving us full use of their bank accounts, firstborn children, and kidneys. There’s nothing left for you to steal!

—The real Apple Tech Support P.S. We do have a lot of kidneys at the moment, so if you want a few of those we could probably work something out.

WOMAN HOPING TO BE POPE COMPLAINS ABOUT STAINED-GLASS CEILING

UNDERAGE? we’ll sell you

CHAMPAGNE ...or scotch, or rum, or vodka in bright n’ bouncy plastic bottles, you name it - if it’s dirt-cheap and kills brain cells, we’ve got it.

And since we’ve got it, you can get it. We pay off the cops. You’d be amazed at how little money it takes to bribe ‘em. Terrified, in fact.

skeevy’s wines & liquor you know where • New Haven

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Dear Jimmy Neutron, It’s not that I’m repelled by you. I’m sorry, but I just don’t feel any particular attraction for you. Can’t we just be good friends?

—Cindy Proton

STUDY FINDS PEANUT BUTTER

BILL CLINTON READY TO ASSUME FIRST LADY POSITION

Dear scarf, I just wanted to thank you for keeping my neck so warm.

—Jesus doing that thing where he walks around with a sheep around his neck Dear Jesus, This is making me really uncomfortable.

—That sheep

Dear stock market of 2007, I hate to burst your bubble.

—The housing market

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Dear novice monk, Do not dismiss the importance of dreams. Last night, I dreamt that I was a butterfly, and while I am awake now, how can we know that I am not a butterfly who dreams about being a monk?”

—A butterfly dreaming about being a monk Dear caterpillar, Do not dismiss the importance of dreams. Last night, I dreamt that I was a flower, and while I am awake now, how can we know that I am not a flower who dreams about being a butterfly?”

—An insane monk

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The Yale Record

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LESSER-KNOWN AZTEC COLANDER PREDICTS SOGGY NOODLES Dear Kelly, There’s nothing wrong with climbing a mountain “because it was there.”

But bestiality is not the same thing as mountain climbing. I’m sorry, but we’ll have to arrest you.

—The police

Dear cannibals, You know, based on our clothes, this should really be the other way around!

—A missionary cooking several cannibals in a large pot To the phrase “records were made to be broken”, I’m sorry, what? I don’t know how many records you’ve set, but I certainly don’t plan on relinquishing my claim to “world’s largest land mammal” anytime soon.

—An African elephant

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I Sydney Shea’14, Editor-in-Chief Jack Newsham ’14, Chairman Aaron Gertler ’15, Publisher

Becky Marvin ’16, Design Editor Ben Garfinkel ’16, Managing Editor Nick Goel ’16, Managing Editor Scott Stern ’15, Managing & Supplementals Editor Zach Schloss ’15, Staff Director Allie Beizer ’15, Art Director Emily Sandford ’14, Online Editor Ian Gonzalez ’16, Business Manager Claudia Shin ’16, Publicity Manager & Copy Editor Daniel Fraser ’14, Director of Special Projects Ethan Campbell-Taylor ’16, Recruitment Director Mitchell Nobel, LAW ’16, Legal Counsel

t was a dark and stormy night.

The Record’s editorial board was huddled in our office at 305 305 Crown Street, reading back issues while waiting for the rain to slow. Predictably, none of us had brought an umbrella. After five hours of listening to the drops beating ever-harder on the roof, the office atmosphere was getting a little tense.

Finally, Zach broke the awkward silence. “I’m tired of being here! If I don’t get home soon, I’m going to miss 2 Broke Girls!” Aaron shuddered in response. He knew all about 2 Broke Girls from reading its Wikipedia page. Becky sighed. “I wish we had checked the weather. Or remembered that we live in New Haven.”

“It’s too bad we fired the Director of Special Umbrellas,” said Jack.

“Well, we can’t do anything about that now,” I said.

“Let’s just look around and see if we find anything. If we divide the office into fifteen equal portions, we each only have a square foot to search!” Thunder rumbled around the building as if in agreement.

After a few minutes of frantic searching, I heard a muffled cry of triumph from under our armchair (the square foot assigned to Ethan). He emerged, an object clutched in his raised hand. “I found an umbrella!”

I grabbed it from him. It was rusted shut, but with an unladylike grunt, I managed to open it - only to reveal two enormous holes and a dead rat, which fell onto the floor.

At that moment, the lights flickered and went out.

We all shuffled around, trying to get our bearings.

Someone screamed.

“Hey, who turned out the lights?” asked Claudia.

“Seriously?” Emily, Mitchell, Ben, and you, the reader, said simultaneously.

“Ew, I think I stepped on the dead rat!” cried Allie.

“I can’t see anything!” said Daniel. “What are we supposed to do?”

“Maybe we could borrow a flashlight from the

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Herald?” I suggested. “I could go check!”

“I’ll go with you,” said Emily.

“And me!” added Nick.

“Well, you’re not leaving me behind!” said Zach.

“I’m still standing on this dead rat, guys,” said Allie.

“Okay, fine, we’ll all go,” I said. We slowly felt our way down the hallway to the Herald’s office. Upon arrival, I discovered that the door was slightly ajar. I knocked. No response.

I pushed the door open. It creaked eerily. From the corner of the office, I could see the dull light of a laptop screen where it looked like the Herald had been laying out their issue in Microsoft Word. Scott screamed again.

“What?” I asked, eyes still adjusting to the darkness.

“They’re not even using Microsoft Word!” said Mitchell. “That’s WordPerfect!”

“No...” Scott said, face ashen. “There’s someone lying on that computer. I think they’re dead.”

I looked closer. Scott was right! There was a Herald staffer slumped over the laptop, killed midway through compiling the Bulldog Blacklist.

“Oh my goodness!” said Claudia. “Look!”

She pointed to the screen. My eyes followed. The last blacklisted item he had been working on read: “Murderer666666666666...” (His head was resting on the ‘6’ key).

“I knew print was dying,” fretted Jack, “but no one told me it was this bad.”

I backed away from the corpse, right into another body.

Staff Writers, Artists, & Designers: Sahil Gupta ’17, Max Goldberg ’17, Mikayla Harris ’17, Daniel Hoogstraten ’17, Madeline Kaplan ’17, Victoria Kim ’15, Tom McCoy ’17, Isaac Morrier ’17, Travis Reginal ’16, Ben Rudeen ’17, Chris Rudeen ’17, Sam Savitz ’17, Harrison Schneider ’17, Natalie Warren ’17, Lining Wang ’17, Madeleine Witt ’15, Sylvia Zhang ’15, Claire Zhang ’15

“There’s more of them!” I squealed.

“Let’s get out of here!” shouted Ethan. We all rapidly filed into the hallway.

“Who could have done that?” asked Ian, solemnly.

“Let’s check the news!” said Emily, who pulled out a portable AM/FM radio, as one does, and fiddled with the dials. A staticky voice filtered through the speakers.

“Attention! Be on the lookout for an escaped convict. He goes by “Ivan the TK” and is known for indiscriminately murdering entire newspaper staffs.”

“Well, there we have it, I guess,” said Nick.

“Ohhh,” Ben moaned. “We’re doomed.”

“Wait!” said Becky, a grin spreading across her face.

“He only said newspaper staffs. He didn’t say anything about humor magazines!”

“She’s right!” added Daniel. “We’re safe!”

Instantly, the lights flickered back on. We rushed back to our office only to see that the rain had slowed to a light drizzle. We all gathered our belongings and headed out.

“Should we maybe call Yale Security?” asked Aaron.

“I mean, the lights came back on, soooo...” replied Ian. “Yeah, you’re right,” said Aaron. “Well, anyway - see you next week!”

—S. Shea The Yale Record April 2014

Contributing Writers, Artists, & Designers: Serena Gelb ’15, Rachel Lackner ’17, John Lancione ’17, Emily Monjaraz ’14, Karen Tian ’14

Special Thanks to: Michael Gerber, Gwyneth Tuckett, and the taxidermied owl we managed to reanimate in the Record office Cover: This month’s cover was illustrated by Serena Gelb ’15, who can never sleep due to her crippling fear of Goodnight Moonsters.

Founded September 11, 1872 • Vol. CXLII, No. 7, 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 2014 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. The Record is on sale on all the principal news-stands in New Haven, New York, and Boston (Providence can go fuck itself). The Yale Record would like to high-five the UOFC for its financial support.

SIGNS YOUR ROOMMATE IS DEAD

SIGNS YOUR ROOMMATE IS UNDEAD

The smell Your suitemates used him as a sled His keg stand has been going on for 2 hours You’re at the funeral He doesn’t leave when you sexile him He’s been taking a nap since October Everyone else at Yale is also dead The flies Your knife is still in his aorta He shut his goddamn mouth for once He hasn’t blinked in 3 weeks He’s a character on Game of Thrones who you were just starting to like The buzzards The Dark Mark is hovering over your room People keep bringing over casseroles The sex isn’t as passionate anymore Mary Miller is giving a eulogy about the Aztec calendar You go to Cornell, and it’s midterms season He said something about “Help...911...please!,” but that could mean anything You killed him

The smell He likes his steaks extra extra rare, without garlic He doesn’t like his stakes at all He can’t come into the entryway unless you swipe him in He hasn’t been the same since the zombie apocalypse You keep hearing the sound of xylophones Everyone else at Yale is undead He’s being followed by a van full of meddling high school kids and their stupid dog, too He laughs at you when you tell him YOLO He chews on your leg when you’re asleep He chews on your leg when you’re awake He ends every tweet with #brraaainnns His birthday on Facebook is listed as “It’s complicated” He was an extra on The Walking Dead He ate an extra on The Walking Dead There are a large number of townsfolk with pitchforks protesting your room He claims his favorite dining hall is Toad’s You go to Undead Cornell and it’s midterms season He is an international student from Transylvania You killed him, sorta

—Staff

—Staff

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MESSAGE FROM THE CHIEF: October 21, 2014 Wandering Troves of Kids at Large As we approach the end of the month, I would like to provide some information to help keep you and your property safe. The local police have shared with us that they are beginning to see incidents of something called the “Hollaween”: wandering troves of children scouring the streets for unwitting victims, soliciting them for sugary fixes. It appears their goal is to turn “tricks” to obtain “treats”—a dangerous precedent for our children. A recent incident happened on Elm Street, where some perpetrators begged for chocolates, didn’t receive any, and left some burning fecal matter on the resident’s doorstep.

Much like “apple picking”—where thieves grab an iPhone from a victim and then run away—the “Hollaween” appears to be a national trend. Police are highly vigilant, but it is important that you also take precautions such as locking your doors, turning your lights off, and hoarding Costco jumbo-rolls of toilet paper. As a last resort, deter this behavior by offering the children a bag of Craisins.

Eyewitness reports describe the thugs in a diverse array of costumes: slutty vampires, slutty princesses, slutty vampire princesses, etc. Fun-sized-Snickers seem to be the dominant target, and these children will stop at nothing to hoard solidified chunks of high fructose corn syrup. Knocking on doors at the worst time of day, the panhandlers know no bounds.

This childhood carnival of extortion, anarchy, and diabetes must come to a swift end. Please call Yale Police if you see anyone carving demonic faces into vegetables and leaving them outside to rot.

Ronnell Higgins Chief, Yale University Police —S. Gupta

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LESS COMMON SYMPTOMS OF DEMONIC POSSESSION Your holy water pong game goes to shit You get double-servings at the dining hall because you’re “eating for two” You suddenly no longer have a thing for altar boys You were a recent guest on VH1’s 16 and Pregnant…

With the Spawn of the Devil You like totally don’t remember anything from Friday night Living Water burns your soul You keep getting this weird recurring nightmare where you’re having sex with a virgin she-goat under the full moon while Karl Rove watches and take notes Your head isn’t the only body part that can rotate 360 degrees … ;) —N. Goel WAYS YOU KNOW YOU’RE IN A HORROR MOVIE Your friends decide it’d be fun to go on vacation somewhere abandoned.

Your car breaks down on the way to a stereotypical teen function, say a hoedown.

Your friend group is oddly diverse and strangely attractive.

There is corn nearby.

You unanimously decide that this time splitting up will be a good idea.

Someone says, “Let’s go towards that ominous sound.”

There is more foreboding music than usual.

There are no responsible adults. Anywhere. Except for that one lady who told you this would happen, but you didn’t listen to her.

Your token minority friend doesn’t die first (he dies second).

Someone doesn’t believe in ghosts.

The police won’t do their job.

It’s always foggy, regardless of the local climate.

Your lights never work properly.

Literally all of your friends died, but somehow you didn’t, and now you just have to go back to school.

Until the sequel.

—R. Lackner and C. Rudeen

D. Hoogstraten, S. Savitz

“HERE’S RONNIE!”

MONSTERS COMMUNITY COLLEGE

Office of Admissions

Welcome to Monsters Community College!

Welcome, freshmonsters, to Monsters Community College: your new home away from under the bed. Your terrifying faces, loud growls, and horrifying body odor have brought you this far. Take a moment to pat yourself on the back with your tentacle.

When you scuttle on to campus this August, you will be faced with myriad opportunities. We have a wide range of courses, from “Scaring 101” and “Advanced Growling” to “Booing without Suing: How to Avoid Lawsuits from Children’s Parents” and “Reading and Writing the Modern Essay.” Take advantage of all of our academic offerings, but make sure to have some fun as well. We have over 300 clubs and more than 4000 spears.

Now, our offerings are fantastic, but I know you might still have some reservations. You have probably heard about our bad reputation, especially in comparison to our more famous rival, Monsters University. I know there are also some horror stories out there about students eating other students, of monsters trying to scare children but instead inspiring pity or turning them to houses of faith. I am not here to comment on the validity of these rumors; most of those court cases are still pending.

To ensure that things run more smoothly in the future, we have some new ground rules that we need you to follow: 1. No eating the other students: I know that our dining halls can have off nights, but this is not the solution.

2. Explicit, glorious consent is necessary for any mauling or wounding.

3. Quiet hours should be respected, even if you are a screaming monster who only screams and screams all of the time (if this is the case, contact your RA- Resident Arachnid).

4. Stop defecating on the school grounds as a means of writing out Jodi Picoult quotes: We may be mediocre monsters, but even we know she’s derivative.

If you keep these rules in mind, our time together should run smoothly. Even though we take academics seriously now (no matter what that Department of Education report said), we still like to have fun. Always remember our motto: We couldn’t scare less. On an unrelated note, we will shortly be changing our motto to reflect our new academic focus.

Keep a few eyes out for that.

Speaking of eyes, I can’t wait to see you all on campus, even though I don’t actually have any, so really I will just be sensing your presence based on heat and some sort of sonar capability.

Gnawing the head off this rat I just found,

President Ronald T. Raaragh

Writing: B. Rudeen | Design: D. Hoogstraten

Written by J. Newsham Designed by I. Morrier

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HISTORY’S MOST ILL-CONCEIVED PRISON ESCAPES December 18, 1850: Scott O’Neil attempts to escape by not eating anything until he can squeeze through the bars on his cell. Accidentally dies of starvation.

March 19, 1701: Joshua Steel attempts to escape by telling guards that he can’t be in prison on his birthday, and also that it’s his birthday. Wrong on both counts.

September 29, 1983: David Hamilton attempts to escape by convincing guards that he is an undercover prison inspector, and that they’ve done a very good job, but should let him go now. Request denied.

April 7, 399 BCE: Socrates attempts to escape by presenting a logical argument to his captors about why he should be released. No one, like, understands logic.

July 24, 1994: Lawrence “Sloppy Larry” Owen attempts to escape by politely asking for a master key “in case there’s a fire.” Warden refuses; Owen perishes in fire two months later.

September 29, 1983: Rob Steinberg attempts to escape by taking David Hamilton hostage, believing him to be an undercover prison inspector, and negotiating for his release from prison. Snipers called in.

September 27, 1983: Frederick Greene attempts to escape by convincing David Hamilton to pretend to be an undercover prison inspector, and then ratting him out. Complications arise.

1955-1965: Clarence Allen escapes by patiently serving out his sentence.

—E. Campbell-Taylor WHAT ELSE IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE A slow, whistled rendition of “Old Man River” The sound of John Boehner crying Too many clowns A man wearing a hockey mask, and also hockey gloves and all of the gear, because he’s a hockey player and it’s time for practice A sexually satisfied woman A full grown Palomino wearing pants and a bolo tie The faint, wafting odor of white privilege The faint, wafting odor of sauerkraut Freddy, Jason, and the rest of your adult male book club

A leisurely procession of male flight attendants The good kind of screaming The call, because you lost your cell phone and are trying to find it —D. Hoogstraten and B. Rudeen

Something’s wrong: this isn’t the season for butternut squash.

—S. Savitz and B. Rudeen

LESSER-KNOWN STEPHEN KING NOVELS IT: When Computer Savvy Clowns Attack Send in the Clowns: When Judy Collins Attacks Outside the Dome On Top of the Dome Three Paces Immediately to the Left of the Dome Coo’ Joe: The Not Rabid Dog Pet Sematary 2: The Fixing of the Sign The A to Z Encyclopedia of Kittens Salem’s Lot: A Guide to Real Estate in Massachusetts The Killers: Greatest Hits Hotel: The Story of an Abandoned Hotel that Stays Abandoned Kerry: The Story of the 2000 Election Carrie: Not that Carrie; A Different One —C. Rudeen

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LESS SUBTLE HORROR MOVIE FORESHADOWING

THE HUMAN CENTIPEDE: A MOVIE THAT I HAVE DEFINITELY SEEN

A well-marked Indian burial ground A creepy doll with an eloquent murder threat taped to her cute little hand Red Rum written backwards on the wall The leader of the pack jokes, “Who could believe that later tonight, Johnny will kill us all in a surprise twist after we thought it was Jim the entire time?”

After you hear a report on the radio that a murderer just escaped from jail, the hitchhiker you picked up introduces himself as that murderer The owner of the hotel you are staying in explains that people don’t usually stay too long…because of the monster in the shed out back You are given a menu for dinner that has “you” listed as the entrée A branch breaks outside and you hear a gruff voice whisper, “Oh, shit, my sneaky approach has been ruined” The government keeps telling everyone that this new vaccine will turn people into zombies, but is mandatory anyway As your spaceship lands, you see a headless Statue of Liberty and far too many apes wearing suits The camera zooms in on a knife, and a loud voiceover declares, “He will be killed with this knife later” —B. Rudeen and S. Savitz

The Internet has been abuzz with commentary regarding the new cinematographic wonder The Human Centipede, and this reviewer raves, “I have [watched] this [movie].” Guaranteed to change your outlook on the world, as well as move you to emotions, The Human Centipede is this year’s answer to the question: “Can you tell me the name of a movie that you have totally watched?”

Adapted from a script of the same name, and written and directed by the people that brought you a different movie, The Human Centipede opens the viewer’s eyes to a world unseen. I know my eyes were open. I wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep during the previews if I had tried.

Surely, The Human Centipede will go down in history as one of the many movies to have come out in 2009. Some may even say that The Human Centipede is like a modern Citizen Kane, in that they are both both movies that I have watched.

Fans of spending 92 minutes doing one activity will love this movie, which features conversations, scenes, and props, as well as that classic movie trope. You know the one. I left the theater completely unsure of what I had just seen, because of the twist ending, not because of the narcolepsy, which I do not have. However, The Human Centipede is not for everyone, so stay away if you don’t love lighting, character development, gaffers, and more words that have to do with movies. I could talk for hours using real cinematic jargon about how this film is a thrilling take on the classic story of the human condition or an exposé of the great lengths to which we must go in order to make meaningful connections with our fellow man, but I won’t.

Not because I can’t. It’s because art, much like modern medicine, is subjective. Who’s to say what anything even really is about anyway? Aren’t we all just trying to clutch at some small moment of understanding as we hurtle towards our imminent deaths? What I will say is that The Human Centipede, unlike driving bans for narcoleptics, is something I have, without a doubt, observed.

WHAT’S ACTUALLY UNDER THE BED Mom, because of stress and mortgages and Long Island Iced Tea I dunno, some old clothes or something Porn. Lots and lots of porn.

Fido Your little brother, whom everyone calls Fido, and who isn’t allowed to leave his cage Those shoes. You know which ones.

That one pedophile I mean like gross, terrifying, hardcore porn. Seriously, Jimmy, what the fuck is this shit?

The gun A monster A monster who just wants to be left alone —S. Stern

—R. Lackner

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UNSUCCESSFUL HORROR FILMS AND THEIR TAGLINES THE NECKER: “You will not expect the part when he

comes at you and he has a weapon and he plans to use it on your neck!”

SHACK IN THE WOODS: “There is nothing unusual about this log cabin...Or is there? (Yes there is. [But what? {Vampires? (Ah)}])” ROBERT OPPENKILLER: “I am become death, the destroyer of stupid teens.”

PAIN WHITNEY: “You can run, but you can’t do it without looking stupid.”

666 FRAT ROW: “You can run, you can hide, but can you even lift, bro?”

HELL TRACTOR: “You can run, you can hide, and you can probably get away…”

A STREETCAR NAMED DEATH: “Egad! Whatever could be the significance of this trolley’s name?”

ULTRA-CRAB: “He’s scuttling this way!”

NIGHT OF THE LIVING TUPAC: “From the crypts to kill the Crips” THURSDAY THE 12TH: “Yesterday was Wednesday the 11th!”

SHAQ IN THE WOODS: “There is nothing unusual about this log cabin... Or is there? (Yes there is.

[But what? {Shaquille O’Neal? (Yup…)}])” —D. Hoogstraten

The real monster is the media’s leftist agenda —K. Tian

GROVE STREET CEMETERY’S WORST EPITAPHS “She died doing what she loved—her husband’s brother” “Loving husband, absent father” “Loving father, hidden dragon” “Here Lays® Frank” “Rest in Peat” “Gone and Soon Forgotten” “Always in our hearts, temporarily in our digestive tracts” “Here lies Papa John—ashes to ashes, crust to crust” “He will be pissed” “She had a heart of gold and a lung of shrapnel” “Meh” —M. Kaplan and S. Savitz

LESS OMINOUS WAYS TO BE TOLD YOU’RE NEXT TO DIE A handwritten note in your lunchbox An Instagram picture of a fancy coffee drink with the caption: #typicalwhitegirl #nofilter #you’renext #todie A misspelled and grammatically faulty sext A Buzzfeed quiz entitled “Which person who is going to die next are you?”

An Edible Arrangement An Inedible Arrangement Track 5 on an otherwise cringingly romantic mixtape from that kid in your math class A PowerPoint presentation, written in comic sans, complete with animation and sound effects A surprisingly tasteful lower back tattoo A doge meme (Such death. Very next. You.) “You’re next” written in blood on the wall…oh wait.

Nope. It’s actually just organic raspberry jam from the local farmer’s market.

This Record article —R. Lackner

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MEDICAL TORTURE DEVICES THAT SOUND LIKE SEX POSITIONS I have a confession to make. I did in fact have sexual relations with – wait, no, wrong confession. What I meant to say is that not all of the information contained in my articles in The Yale Record has been entirely factual. Yes, I have sacrificed truthfulness for the sake of comedy. In the last issue of the Record, for example, in my piece entitled, “Rejected Police Siren Noises,” I wrote that “The exact sound of Donald Duck having an orgasm” was a rejected police siren noise. In reality, no one has heard Donald Duck having an orgasm and lived to tell the tale. For this one article, however, all of the content I write will be completely factual. You can even Google all of the items on this list, if you really dislike nightmare-free sleeping. In the following, I solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me Donald.

The Brazen Bull Dunking The Choke Pear The Anal Pear The Thumbscrew The Breast Ripper The Spanish Donkey The Spanish Tickler The Spanish Spider (Author’s Note: The Medieval Spaniards were apparently both fucked up and pretty horny. Not much has changed.)

The Lead Sprinkler The Scavenger’s Daughter The Street Sweeper’s Daughter The Crocodile Tube The Intestinal Crank Impalement —S. Savitz IMPROBABLE SERIAL KILLERS Gandhi: How crazy would that be?

The BCG: The Big Clumsy Giant. “Accidentally” falls on you.

Malaria Jones: Desperate to overtake the death toll of her namesake.

The Perforating Plagiarist: Stabs people while they’re choking, claims responsibility.

The Choking Cheapskate: Strangles people while

17

they’re being stabbed, claims responsibility.

Henry David Thorough: Drowns people in poison just to be on the safe side.

The Fresh Serial Killer of Bel-Air: He’s fresh… to death.

Smokey the Bear: Anti-wildfire, pro-mauling.

The Brodiac Killer: Secretly behind one-third of all alcohol-related fatalities in Michigan.

Joe: Hires a hitman —E. Campbell-Taylor ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON’S THE ODD COUPLE JEKYLL: Hyde, could you come in here?

HYDE: [Enters. Uproarious applause.] Yes? JEKYLL: Where did all of my peanut butter go? I was saving it…for science. I was going to synthesize myself a sandwich! [Audience laughs.]

HYDE: I don’t know where your peanut butter went. I was out all night stealing—[Catches himself.]—the audience’s hearts in a community theatre production.

JEKYLL: You can tell me about your show later! I had three brand-new, delicious jars of Jif, and one perfectly edible jar of Skippy.

HYDE: You can check my hands! [He shows Jekyll his hands.] See? No peanut butter!

JEKYLL: Yes, yes, I can see there’s only blood on your hands, but I was snooping in your room earlier today, and underneath the dead prostitute I found a spoon covered in peanut butter. Explain yourself.

HYDE: Just because you went to medical school doesn’t make you an expert on dead prostitutes. Maybe she’s sleeping or— JEKYLL: I’m talking about the peanut butter! Stay focused, Hyde.

HYDE: [Begins hacking off Jekyll’s right leg with a rusty knife.] I didn’t eat your peanut butter!

JEKYLL: I see what you’re doing! You’re trying to distract me from the peanut butter situation by hacking off my right leg with a rusty knife. Well I won’t fall for that one again. I know you ate it.

HYDE: All right, already! I ate your peanut butter!

But you know what they say: [Looks into camera.]

Choosy monsters choose Jif! [Studio audience laughs. Jekyll slowly bleeds out. Credits roll.]

—M. Kaplan and B. Rudeen

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T he H orror I ssue

Dear Mother Teresa, God. Listen to me, bitch, I need my fucking money. I mean, Jesus, all that heroin. All those hookers. You better pay me, you better pay me, or fucking else.

—Gandhi Dear Gandhi, Bring it.

—Nelson Mandela, for an entirely unrelated reason

LOCAL MAN REALIZES HE HASN’T WASHED THESE JEANS IN LIKE SIX WEEKS Dear communists, You un-American sons of bitches are ruining this great country. Why don’t you just move to Russia, fuckers?

—Socialists

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Dear Google, Why don’t I get a doodle for my birthday?

—Adolf Hitler Dear Frank, Aww, fuck...Jesus, this is nasty... ewww, God...eww, eww, eww, eww... ok...ew, Jesus...fuck, fuck, eww, shit...

—Dr. Edward Boue, world-class thoracic surgeon performing Frank’s appendectomy

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T he Y ale R ecord

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I know towels are optional, but they —Hartford Courant are also recommended.

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Dear old men in 11:30 lockerAMrooms, Monday - Saturday: - 2:30 PM Sunday: 12:00 PM I have no advice to- 3:00 give PM you. I’m just tired of you dragging your balls on me.

Dinner Sunday - Thursday: 5:00 PM -—Sauna 10:00 PM floor

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Dear Neil Armstrong, Can we please not play golf when we get to the moon? I just feel like there are more important uses of our time, like maybe science. We can go play putt-putt when we get back to Cincinnati.

Sincerely, Buzz Aldrin Dear Buzz Aldrin, HAHAHA FIRST!!!! Also, don’t worry: I brought the tiny golfing pencils.

Love, Neil Armstrong

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—Severus Snape

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YALE SHOP

22

ON CAMPUS

THE OLDEST

OFFICIAL YALE SHOP

IN NEW HAVEN ON CAMPUS

T he Y ale R ecord Dear Katy Perry, How did you do it? No matter how hard I try, it seems I can never get a full tiger pelt, let alone its eye. But apparently you’ve got the eye of the tiger, even when you’re dancing through fire.

Gosh, you’re really a champion. I’ve tried all sorts of methods: drowning it in boiling acid, holding its cubs hostage, shooting for the paw, but I just can’t seem to do it!

—A poacher who enjoys pop music

MAN WEARING FLEECE MEETS SHEEP IN TENSE ENCOUNTER Dear Mother Jones, You guys are a good magazine, but you could really reach a younger market if we teamed up. I’m just saying, Mother Jonas — think about it.

Unemployedly, —Joe Jonas Dear pornography, Thank you. Oh god, after a rough day, you’re just...thank you.

—Joe Biden

57 BROADWAY, NEW HAVEN, CT 203-789-2157

Young, Restless, 57 BROADWAY, NEW HAVEN, CT Plausible 203-789-2157

KIDS’ TABLE SECEDES FROM THANKSGIVING DINNER, PLAYS MONOPOLY INSTEAD

To whom it may concern, OMG I’m like so fat, hahahaha. I mean, look at me. I’m like...too tall, overweight, like literally a hilarious ball of fatness. Haha. Hahahaha. What a rich topic for comedic witticisms and facetious commentary, am I right?

—Chris Christie, staring at himself in a mirror Dear tiny people from the ATM, Do you sleep on beds of dollar bills?

With dollar bills for bedsheets? I will trade you dollar-sized pieces of cloth for dollars, if you want, because I care about your comfort.

—Someone with nothing better to do

SAD MOTHER WAITING FOR SON TO CALL, SUN TO EXPLODE Dear HBO, I have an awesome idea for a show.

It’s about lunatics who do awful things and don’t realize they’re awful. Many of them are sociopathic; many of them are just deranged. We’ll call it, Mad Men. Then, it will all have been a dream.

—M. Night Shyamalan

MICHELLE OBAMA LOOKS KIND OF WEIRD WITH THAT BUZZ CUT

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Yale Record

presenting

S P OR T MUR P H Y

coauthor & musician (with S teve Young)

Everything's Coming Up Profits The Golden Age of Industrial Musicals

{

a colorful, song- and- dance-packed guide to the bygone (and bizarre) age of industrial musicals

}

P I E R S O N M A S T E R ’ S H O U S E 2 3 1 P A R K S T 4 P M M O N D A Y , A P R I L 1 4 T H