The Time Machine Issue

Vol. 143, No. 8

THE YALE

Apr. 20, 2015

RECORD

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The Yale Record THE TIME MACHINE ISSUE

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Mailbags & Snews

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Editorial................... S. Stern The Time Machine... Staff & Contributors

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PRE-CAMBRIAN

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VICTORIAN ERA

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DINOSAURS

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ROARING 20S

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STONE AGE

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GREAT DEPRESSION

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BIBLICAL THINGS

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COLD WAR

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ANCIENT ROME

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THE

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MIDDLE AGES

26 1990S

17 1492

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NEXT YEAR

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RENAISSANCE

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POST-SCARCITY UTOPIA

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REVOLUTION

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INEVITABLE HEAT DEATH

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CIVIL WAR

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Dear Alpha Centauri, You’re a star!

With love, Alpha Centauri’s mom, watching him perform in a tap-dancing competition

Dear hypochondriac, I regretfully write to inform you that you should quickly bid goodbye to your loved ones, as your symptoms indicate eight different counts of stage IV cancer and a rare case of gerbil influenza.

—Web MD

“DIABETES” SCREAMS MAN AS HE PLUNGES SWORD INTO HIS ARCHNEMESIS NAMED ABETES Dear geologists, I can’t believe it’s not butter!

—A man who nicknamed igneous rocks “butter”

60S

OF THE UNIVERSE

Mailbags & Snews

“WHAT HAPPENED ON THE FIRST DAY GOT MY ATTENTION, BUT WHAT HE DID ON THE THIRD DAY BLEW MY MIND,” REPORTS UPWORTHY ON JESUS Dear Harry Potter, Yer a wizard, Harry.

Dear Hagrid, Well, you’re a hairy wizard.

—Hagrid

—Harry

CONSTRUCTION WORKER DANGLING OFF BUILDING DROPS POWER TOOL ONLOOKER JUST STANDS THERE, RIVETED

;

Dear Little Timmy, I know you’re really upset that your baseball team just had its last game of the season. But I have a quote that will make you feel better. “Don’t cry because it’s over, cry because your father is a drinker, and life is but a cruel, cruel joke!” Hope this helps!

—Dr. Seuss Dear mom, I know you’re sad about grandma dying, but we really need to talk about how that priceless heirloom she left us is clearly a bong.

—Larry

LENGTH TIMES WIDTH, REPORTS AREA MAN Dear mosquitoes, West Nile Virus? More like best Nile Virus!

—Some guy who’s really happy that he didn’t get malaria

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RISE OF CHLAMYDIA IN KOALAS LEADS TO MORE STERILE KOALAS; LOCAL MAN UNSURE IF THIS MEANS WEARING CONDOM MORE OR LESS IMPORTANT Dear abominable snowman, So, I know you’re like, alive, or something, but what exactly makes you abominable? Webster’s informs me that to be abominable means to “cause moral revulsion,” and while you’re sorta scary, I have no problem with you on an ethical level. Is this some kind of commentary about the very essence of humanity? Or is it, perhaps, a version of speciesism?

Confusedly, A man who is about to get devoured by a polar bear Dear Oedipus, I fucked your mom.

—Oedipus

T he T ime M achine I ssue

MIDDLE SCHOOLER WEARING CAMOUFLAGE SUCCESSFULLY HIDES FROM PROBLEMS Dear pacifiers, Pacify this!

—A nursemaid with a baby that has been crying for an hour

Dear self, I’m so happy that I’m doing well in middle school. I’m really well adjusted and I have a good friend group. I hope nothing comes along and ruins that.

Best, Timmy Dear Timmy, Hahahahahaha!

Dear middle school self, I am writing to you to let you know that it gets better. For other people. For us, it will only get worse.

—Your future self, who still wears cargo pants, but has a patchy neck beard now

“BUT THAT’S NEXT TO THE BUTT!” EXCLAIMS FIRST-YEAR MEDICAL STUDENT DISGUSTED TO LEARN WHERE BABIES COME FROM

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—Puberty

“GIVE ME YOUR TIRED, YOUR POOR, YOUR HUDDLED MASSES YEARNING TO BREATHE FREE,” ASKS CANNIBAL WHO’S GETTING A BIT DESPERATE Dear pawnbroker, How much can I get for this antique chess set?

—A man who’s about to get all of the pawns in his chess set broken

WILL TRADE: placenta for beyblades

               



  

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T HE T IME M ACHINE I SSUE

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Dear Obama, The midterms didn’t go so well. People are dropping out and we’re losing seats.

I’m sorry, but the party’s over.

—Malia’s bio professor, who likes to call students by their last names

Dear gerbils, Did you know that if you don’t chew on anything your teeth will continue to grow forever and you will likely die?

—Humans

TITANIC CONSPIRACY THEORISTS BLAME JEWS, EXPLAIN SHIP HAD NO CHANCE: “EVEN IF IT HAD MISSED THE ICEBERG, THERE WAS AN ICESTEIN LURKING FURTHER ON”

—Gerbils

Dear humans, Fuck.

REPORT: MAN SAVES 13 HOURS A DAY

BY JUST TYPING “U” INSTEAD OF FULL SECOND-PERSON PRONOUN

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—A taxicab that developed the ability to write

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Emmy Waldman ‘11

Glug. Swish swish shishhhhhh. [The sound of swirling, amino acid-rich seas.] Glug. ~~ZAP!!!~~ Roar. Rooooaaaaaar. Roar. [Dinosaur clearing throat.] Roar. ~~ZAP!!!~~ Click. Smack Clack. [The sound of humans using stone to do things.] Wheels good. Both Grog and Grog wife have heelies now. Outroll cougars. ~~ZAP!!!~~ Greetings! Come hither thou, reader, and allowest me to tell of this issue theme. We of the Record hath undertaken a bold experiment in humorous scribbling. We hath chosen bravely to forego the writing of anything new at all (for there is nothing new under the sun) and merely allowest our brethren from years past and future to offer their content to thee. For this particular time period—one might call it “Biblical”—the content is only that which our Lord hath giveth. #blessed We shall call this the Time Machine Issue! Other time periods includest (from beginning to end): The Pre-Cambrian era, the dinosaurs era, the Stone Age, Roman times, the Middle Ages, the year 1492, the Renaissance, the year 1776, the Civil War era, the Victorian era, the Roaring ’20s, the Great Depression, the Cold War, the ’60s, the ’90s, the year 2016, the post-scarcity utopian era, and the inevitable heat death of the Universe. ~~ZAP!!!~~ Yet writing in these times of deviant sex and Russell Crowe and copious quantities of wine— our glorious Roman empire, all praise to Augustus—I begin to consider the ramifications of such an issue of the Record. Perhaps it may be confusing for the plebeians. Perhaps it may chafe the mind, just as an unlaundered toga chafes the testicles. ~~ZAP!!!~~ In Middle Ages, serfs no know read most time. Confusing no matter if no read. I bad write.

But I make funny articles. Example. Point: I dying of plague; counterpoint: I dying of plague.

Laugh. Laugh. Laugh. Serfdom. Laugh. ~~ZAP!!!~~ But never mind! If people don’t get it, we shall simply murder them! After all, it’s 1492, and killing non-white, non-Christians is what we do! Hasta la vista, bitches. ~~ZAP!!!~~ Ah, the Renaissance. Our era of beauteous liberalism and artistic expression. You know what’s great? Humanism. You know what’s also great? Corporate sponsorship.

Thank you, dear Medicis, for your noble generosity. Thank you, fair Hapsburgs, for your lavish compassion. And thank you, Mr. Shakespeare, for all of the donkey sex scenes. Every.

Last. One. Our popes may be lecherous and our queens virgins [raised eyebrows], but I think we can

T he T ime M achine I ssue all agree there’s nothing more satisfying than firm, donkey— ~~ZAP!!!~~

Hark, enough, brother! The year is 1776, and we have bigger things to worry about! Times have always been tough for educated, white, land-owing, slave-owning, Christian men, and it’s time we do something about it!

But first, we have an even more important mission. We must hide the greatest Templar treasure in history. Mr. Franklin, don’t forget to put a secret map on the back of the Declaration of Independence. But make sure someone knows, first.

The secret lies with Charlotte. ~~ZAP!!!~~ I do declare! Our great experiment with giving power to the educated, white, land-owing, slave-owning, Christian men has been a disaster! Some of them don’t even want to own slaves anymore! Oh, heavens!

It’s 1861, and frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn about what those Yankees think. This War of Northern Aggression will be over faster than you can say we have an insufficient number of munitions factories south of the Mason-Dixon line and our political system makes it fundamentally difficult to participate in total war, but hey, slavery! ~~ZAP!!!~~ It is now the Victorian Era, and I believe propriety dictates we return to our discussion of this issue of the Yale Record, that brand new magazine founded just last year, in 1872. This issue will be a bold experiment in the comedic form, just as Mr. Dickens’s prose is a bold experiment in orphan erotica. And we shall depict no legs! Not even one, you lecher! ~~ZAP!!!~~ Legs!!!!! So many legs!!!! The 1920s are awesome! Sex, booze, suffrage, April’s not even that cruel! Rapid deflation in commodity prices coupled with a dramatic drop in credit, as well as trade disruptions!! The fun will never end!!! ~~ZAP!!!~~

Aaron Gertler ’15 Chairman

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[The sound of an unemployed factory worker trying to roast a rubber tire for his family of seven.] ~~ZAP!!!~~ Well, the Great Depression and the Second World War are over, and all we have to worry about are the communists!

Psh, no biggie. Maybe we should just insert ourselves into world politics the teensiest bit, to stop any other country from “falling” to the red overlord. What could go wrong? ~~ZAP!!!~~ Whoa, dude, the Sixties are rad! Hey, fellow government officials: You know what we should do? Spy on and stalk the shit out of Martin Luther King! It’s not like there are actual problems for the government to address… ~~ZAP!!!~~ Ah, the ’90s. The age of scrunchies and grunge. What a great time for the Record. Point: twist it; counterpoint: bop it. ~~ZAP!!!~~

Yale, it’s the year 2016, and I fear we’ve gotten a little away from the point. The Record’s Time Machine issue was a smash success—such a success, in fact, that President Hillary Clinton asked us to take over the U.S. Mint! It’s so cool that she’s halfrobot now… ~~ZAP!!!~~ In our post-scarcity utopia, everything is perfect. The path to this moment has been fraught with violence, confusion, and breathtaking injustice, but now there is no more work left to be done. So stick that dopamine syringe into your brain stem, and let’s all go back to binging the Big Bang Theory’s 14,000th season on our retina screens. Bazinga!~~ZAP!!!~~ [The sound of nothingness. The void, the dark and featureless Universe as it settles into heat death. God shrugging his mighty shoulders.] What was the point of all this, again?

—S. Stern Editor-in-Chief

Scott Stern ’15 Editor-in-Chief

Natalie Warren ’17 Art Director

Sasha Rae-Grant ’18 Assistant Design Editor

Sam Savitz ’17 Business Manager

Madeline Kaplan ’17 Managing Editor

Sahil Gupta ’17 Online Editor

Zach Schloss ’15 Publicity Manager

Chris Rudeen ’17 Copy Editor

Nick Goel ’16 Publisher Daniel Hoogstraten ’17 Design Editor

Rachel Lackner ’17 Ethan Campbell-Taylor ’16 Special Projects Director Staff Director

Ian Gonzalez ’16 Managing Editor

Ben Rudeen ’17 Managing Editor

Ben Garfinkel ’16 Supplementals Editor

Mitchell Nobel, LAW ’16 Legal Counsel

Staff Writers, Artists, & Designers: Graham Ambrose ‘18, Brian Beitler ‘18, Louisa Cone ‘18, Amanda Corcoran ‘18, Valcy Etienne ‘16, Max Goldberg ‘17, Chasan Hall ‘18,

Mikayla Harris ‘17, Annelisa Leinbach ‘16, Mitchell Harris ‘16, Alison Mansfield ‘17, Victoria Kim ‘15, Tom McCoy ‘17, Archie Kinnane ‘18, Andrew Megerian ‘18, Joseph Kuperschmidt ‘16, Elizabeth Miles ‘17, Doo Lee ‘16, Isaac Morrier ‘17, Roger Lopez ‘18, Alex Ringlein ‘18,

Jonathan Rutter ‘18, Madeleine Witt ‘15, Natalya Sanghvi ‘18, Alex Zhang ‘18 Harrison Schneider ‘17, Justin Shi ‘18, Sarah Sukin ‘18, Teddy Thum ‘18, Lining Wang ‘15,

Contributing Writers, Artists, & Designers: Gersham Johnson ‘18 John Lancione ‘17 Sherry Lee ‘18 Alex Tang ‘18

Special Thanks to: The Cambrian explosion, our hardworking design team, and the ontology of time, all of which were essential for the making of this issue.

Cover:

This month’s cover was designed by the incomparable Annelisa Leinbach ‘16, who effortlessly interpreted our request for “a time machine, but, like, one that dinosaurs would make.”

Founded September 11, 1872 • Vol. CXLIII, No. 8, Published in New Haven, CT by The Yale Record, Inc. Box 204732, New Haven, CT 06520 • yalerecord.com/magazine • Subscriptions: $50/year (print) All contents copyright 2015 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.

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2.6 billion B.C.E

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—C. Hall Illustrations: S. Rae-Grant

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POINT

COUNTERPOINT

Dinosaurs are the greatest creatures ever to roam the Earth

...

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othing’s better than a dinosaur! We’re big, we’re tough, and almost all of us have bodies covered with spikes! Raaaar!

I happen to be a T. Rex, the coolest dinosaur of all, but it’s not just me who’s awesome. I mean, velociraptors?

They’re hella smart, doing all this thinking about life and stuff that I can’t even understand. And ankylosaurs? Walking fuckin’ tanks, whatever a “tank” is, I don’t know, sometimes I just say stuff.

Stegosaurus? Raaaar! Apatosaurus? Raaaar! Hooray for dinosaurs!

Seriously, no other life form even compares. What could be better than dinosaurs? The bugs? The fish? The mammals? Get real. I can reach into a tree and eat a mammal whenever I want. Mammals have a long way to go before they’re even half as great as dinosaurs.

Here’s another example: Think of the coolest question you possibly can. The question for which you’d give your own eggs to know the answer.

Was your question: “Who would win in a fight, an Allosaurus or a Triceratops?” If not, I bet you want to change your question now.

And guess what: I have the answer, because the other day, I got to see that fight happen in real life. The answer is “Triceratops wins, but gets bitten so many times that it bleeds to death over the next three days.” So cool!

In conclusion, dinosaurs are the best, and anyone who says otherwise is probably a mammal pretending to be a Compsognathus. Yeah, I went there.

... ... ... ...

—A Tyrannosaurus-Motherfucking-Rex, of course

—A. Gertler

100 million B.C.E

—An asteroid silently hurtling towards Earth

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T HE T IME M ACHINE I SSUE

THING HAPPEN: WORDS MAKED

BY EGORF CORK-TARF CAVE REPORTER BIG CAVE - Man maked words! Man name Warf. Warf maked words.

“Warf proud,” sayed Warf. “Grunts dumb. Words gooder.” Words much gooder than grunts; grunts say if feel mad or want meat, but otherwise dumb. Words though say lot things.

If bad at words, first time words ever maked, so plenty of room on wordshard boat.

Though words hard, everyone life gooder now. Now someone say ‘Meat Time’ when Meat Time instead guessing when Meat Time. Now people say who get soft rock at Meat Time instead savage beating. Now Meat Time have name. Warf life gooderest though! Before, Warf hunter. Now, Warf wordman. “Warf bad hunter.

Pale, flimsy. Point spear wrong way.

Cave laughingstock. But Warf good wordman! Warf only wordman, so hopefully good wordman!” Warf big hit with ladies now—as Warf sayed, Warf ‘virile’ and ‘playa.’

“Warf kind. Warf have feelings,” sayed woman Grundla. “Other mans bring Grundla meat. Warf bring Grundla new words. Grundla like meat, but like words much gooder.

Meat Time happen oftenly, but not every day someone make new word like ‘tumescent.’”

“Warf keeper,” Grundla then sayed.

When Warf say about words, Warf eyes get shiny. Warf sayed when words gooderest, words say all things. Whoa! Though words much impressive, but Warf not full satisfied. “Good first effort, but honest, words got long way go. Lexicon small. No copula.” When ask clarify, Warf sayed, “Hard explain copula without copula. Word party?” Warf then sayed embarrass, “Warf maked syntax bad.”

Other persons not like words, but different why. Chief Bigchief much not happiest person. “Warf maked words bad! ‘Meat Time’ much good word, but lots words not ‘Meat Time’! Why need words that not ‘Meat Time’?” Chief Bigchief not get point—persons like words and Meat Time.

Best words thing? Now “thinghappenedpaper” exist, and this reporter have gooder job: thinghappenedman.

Like Warf, this reporter much bad hunter.

Contact EGORF CORK-TARF at fire@cave.net

—E. Campbell-Taylor

51,063 B.C.E

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A FIRST DRAFT OF THE CREATION STORY

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LESSER-KNOWN BIBLE VERSES

o yeah, there was like this all-powerful God dude. And He was all alone in this dark, kind of dank abyss in the middle of nowhere. After a few eternities or more–give or take a few, because what is time even?–He decided it would be a good idea to actually see where the fuck He was. So He shouted at the top of His Godly lungs, “Let there be light!” And then, because He’s this all-powerful God dude, it happened.

And He totally dug it.

Sooner or later He probably realized what’s the point of having all this light if there’s nothing to see, so He karate-chopped that shit and made some comets and dust and, I don’t know, I guess probably the Death Star and other George Lucas memorabilia (He who knows all likes to think ahead). Then He probably realized that He still had no friends, so He balled up some of the leftover Play-Doh from when he made His divine bong and created Earth. This all was in one day, by the way, because night didn’t exist yet. So He crafted that shit.

But like, after all of that creating and Lording over, God must’ve needed to take a ginormous piss, right? And piss He did, so on the third day, Earth had water at last. But God, not having been properly hydrated in the abyss, definitely had a ton of kidney stones floating in there. He called those bitches fish.

Then, upon looking at His newly formed bitches, God was compelled to create the first philosophical question: If a fish exists but is not being consumed with a mild yet tasty sauce, is it really alive at all? So God made some giant-ass lizards to eat them. A few days passed, I think, and by day five or so God still hadn’t had a single conversation with anyone, which totally sucked. So He threw one of those flying rocks at the Earth and all those antisocial lizard fucks died.

He saw that shit was good.

And on the sixth day, after hours of brainstorming on his newly invented Etch-A-Sketch, God made Man. And a bunch of other random animals, too, because there’s no way it took more than a few hours to come up with something as lame as the fucking hippo.

But God was still sad, because upon the completion of his work, He had nothing else to do (even though He was God and probably could’ve un-invented sadness if He

“Abraham saddled his ass for the long journey through the desert. And he saw that it was a phat ass, and gave thanks to heaven. “ –Genesis 8:8 “Quoth Jesus, ‘If man lie with man, that is an abomination.

But if woman lie with woman, that is an a-boner-ation, amest I right?’” –Mark 4:14 “And the great prophet Amos said to the children of Israel, ‘Hey, I am a prophet too.’ But the people ignored him, and continued to pay attention to those jerk prophets like Samuel.” –Amos 26:2 “And on the sixth day, the Lord also created the chicken, and saw that it was good. Finger lickin’ good.” – Genesis 3:2 “May the Lord walk beside you always, and may Force be with you.” –Luke 6:20 “The first wise man bore gifts of gold, he was invited gratefully into the hovel. The second wise man bore gifts of frankincense and myrrh, and he too was invited in.

The third wise man bore a vegetable steamer, and yet he was still grudgingly invited into their abode—thus was the kindness of Jesus.” –Matthew 2:12 “And the swine, though he be cloven-hoofed, doth not chew his cud; he is unclean to you. And if you shouldst ever find a beast called a “llama,” it hath not hooves; he is unclean to you as well. We’ll make an exception for alpacas though.” –Leviticus 11:7 “If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. Then turn to them the right cheek again. Then the left cheek once again. This is how you shake your head, to indicate that you do not enjoy being slapped.” –Matthew 5:39 “Blaze it.” –Ecclesiastes 4:20

—S. Savitz

wanted). So on the seventh day, God created the militaryindustrial complex and was finally able to rest, content at least to know that no amount of labor would ever come close to bringing an end to His creative endeavor.

So there, God’s a pretty cool guy. You should cut off your foreskin.

—G. Johnson

56 C.E.

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TIPS FOR PLANNING THE PERFECT GAL PAL BACCHANAL

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VISIT POMPEII: A GUIDE TO THE PERFECT GETAWAY

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1. Stock up on wine. It’s not a real Bacchanal if you can remember it the next day.

2. The best Bacchanals are hosted in the mountains, so you can be close to nature, and far away from gross ex-boyfriends, like Brad.

3. Make sure you tell your guests to sharpen their teeth for gnawing on the flesh of whole animals.

4. Douse yourself with fragrant perfume. We suggest the blood of mountain lions with a hint of petunia.

5. Make this party more exclusive than the feast of Trimalchio. Uninvited guests should be punished with dismemberment. (That includes you, Brad.)

6. Reassure your guests that you really don’t need help with the food. No need to arrange a potluck when you can just tear apart wild goats.

7. Keep the alcohol flowing during the party!

If your head says ten shots but your heart says it’s all one shot, definitely go with that.

8. Be comfortable with your sexuality. It’s not gay if it happens at a Bacchanal – and if it is, that’s okay too. Boys who can’t remember your birthday or handle raw meat aren’t worth it anyway.

9. No men allowed. See tip number 6.

ero’s murderous regime getting you down? Watching brutal fights at the Colosseum isn’t doing what it used to for you? The lower class being extra plebeian lately?

Sounds like you need a vacation!

And Pompeii is the perfect place to take one! With stunning panoramas of Mount Vesuvius and the Bay of Naples, you’ll almost forget you’re vacationing on the site of the most explosive volcano in the world! Relax on one of our unique ash-sand beaches or revel in the beauty of the life-like statues that adorn our city. (You know what they say: One man’s petrified skeleton is another man’s public art piece.) Take a tour of the crumbled buildings that once housed happy families, and, if you’re feeling adventurous, hike our recently-opened-to-the-public Trail of Mortality, which traces the route the lava took down the mountain, decimating everything in its wake. Stop by the gift shop at the base of the mountain to get your very own “Everyone I once loved was buried under ash and all I got was lousy thisT-shirt” T-shirt!

Our one mostly intact hotel is, of course, top-notch.

Call today, and book the “Star-Crossed Lavas” Honeymoon suite at a reduced rate. The maids will even do that thing where they fold your towels in the shape of swans, and will try their best not to weep so much when cleaning your room.

And for all you gourmands, our city’s dining scene is at its best. Since most of the fish were killed off when the water heated up to thousands of degrees, restaurateurs are turning to the land for inspiration. Critics all over the Roman Empire are lauding chefs’ innovative ways to incorporate ash into meals. Try our ash soufflé, penne alla ash, or Cornish game hen with an ash-balsamic reduction, which The Times New Roman once called “one hundred percent more ash than I wanted.” Perfect for anyone in your party who’s living the locally sourced lifestyle!

Remember: The gods approve of Pompeii! Or at least they’ve already punished us once with the eruption and all, so we’re guessing they probably won’t bother us for a while. Right?

—S. Lee

—A. Corcoran

t’s a Friday night, but you and your gal pals have nowhere to go. Not to worry! Just follow this guide to hosting your very own drunken orgy, and the entire countryside will be your party.

342 C.E.

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POINT

Avoid clichés like the plague

he art of the written word lies in the purT suit of originality. Phrases that volunteer themselves to one’s consciousness are the ene-

my of the successful writer, and we must transcend the pervasiveness of common language, rather than succumb to it. Otherwise we risk our words, nay, our existence, losing all meaning. The purpose of our craft is to raise the public to a new plane of consciousness, to force the common man to question his deeply ingrained mores and values. If we indulge in the use of an inferior idea or phrase, then language loses its integrity, and without integrity, the written word may as well be dead.

COUNTERPOINT Avoid the plague

ou do raise an interesting point, GilY bert, and while I do think this would be quite the titillating discussion if any of us

were literate enough to write our own names, let alone the next great work of literature, I feel the need to remind you: Everything is meaningless in the face of death. Maintaining the integrity of the written word is hard to do from the mass grave, dontcha think?

And maybe if someone weren’t so busy penning his memoir to flagellate once in a while, God wouldn’t have decided to smite us all with this disease. Ever thought of that, hmm Gilly? We have tried leaches, we have tried rotten treacle, we have tried calling you mean names. (That last one was more for my entertainment, but one cannot be too safe when it comes to ridding our village of this terrible, terrible pestilence—and yes, Gilbert, by “pestilence” I do mean you. Ha. Also the plague.) So what’s left? Maybe we all put on some amulets or something and try not to die? Or maybe we cut our losses and just lick some rats with the hope that the sweet kiss of death brings an end to your incessant yapping about “integrity” and “consciousness.”

Goddammit Gilbert. I’ll teach you something about consciousness.

DEAR ABBY: ADVICE FOR THE MODERN SERF Dear Abby, I’m a witch.

Sincerely, Seriously I’m a witch Dear Seriously, My husband says I can be a real “witch” sometimes, too, but he certainly didn’t call me that when I spun straw into gold. Well, actually he did. But in a good way. Men. Yours in Christ, Abby Dear Abby, I have a theory that the earth revolves around the sun but nobody seems to believe me.

Sincerely, Copernicus

Dear Copernicus, Yeah, and our health isn’t governed by the four humors.

Sheesh, what are you smoking, and where can I get some? My local “apothecary” just went out of business.

Yours in Christ, Abby Dear Abby, How do I tell my boyfriend that I have the plague?

Sincerely, Plagued with poor communication Dear Plagued, Begin with the line, “Well, the good news is, I’m not pregnant!”

Then everything you say afterwards seems less traumatic.

Yours in Christ, Abby Dear Abby, How do I tell my girlfriend I have the plague?

Sincerely, Little Timmy, 8 years old Dear Little Timmy, You are far too young to have a girlfriend.

Yours in Christ, Abby

—-S. Sukin and N. Sanghvi

THE BEST OF “OVERHEARD ON MY FEUDAL ESTATE” Overheard in the smithery: M.C. Blacksmith: Stopeth! Hammerupon-anvil time!

Overheard in the fields: Peasant Father: No, no, no! It’s a cardinal sin.

Peasant Son: I swear father, I was born this way.

Peasant Father: Horsecockery! Your kind burns in hell for this.

Peasant Son: With all my heart, I don’t believe that is true. God wouldn’t want it that way.

Peasant Father: You’d better believe He does. And if you don’t burn below, I’ll certainly make sure you are burned at the stake!

Peasant Son: No! Please! I’ll become right-handed, I swear!

1356 C.E.

Overheard at a guild after-party: “Let’s just say Arthur showed me more than his round table.”

“Uh huh.”

“And that I could see why it was so hard to pull his sword from the magic stone.”

“Uh huh.”

“And he came…”

“God, Christy, we get it, you aren’t a virgin anymore. Stop rubbing it in my face alright? You’re already twelve anyway.”

—H. Schneider

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Christopher Columbus: Person of the Year

E

very annum, Persons Magazine profiles the person who has had the greatest impact on this fine continent of Europe. Starting in 1450, when we honored Gutenberg for literally inventing this medium, countless luminaries have graced these pages, from the guy who invented the type of torture where they burn your testicles to the guy who invented the type of torture where they stab your testicles. Despite this illustrious history, we can proudly say that this year’s winner is our most important person yet.

In the year of our Lord 1492, we honor a precocious adventurer named Christopher Columbus who crossed the ocean and discovered something that will forever change the world: cocaine.

Yes, you read that right, literate baron –our boy Chris is singly responsible for every line of that sweet, sweet nose candy that’s started off all your wildest fucking nights for the past year. Remember that one time the staff of Persons Magazine ended up partying with Viscount Harold IX in his manse in Ibiza and there were more strippers than at the Louis XII coronation after-party? No? To be honest, we barely remember it either.

High fucking five, Chris.

According to the man himself, he was simply drunk with his shades on, cruising the Atlantic with his crew in their three dopest rides when they made this incredible find.

“We suddenly came across countless miles of a foreign coast – we saw strange mountains and vast, unknowable forests peopled by an incredible variety of natives and never-before-seen types of life,” he said in the initial press release.

“Luckily, once we sped past that boring stuff, we found a lot of quality yeyo growing on these bush thingies.”

The consequences of Columbus’s find on European politics and culture have already been massive. Wars over land and religion have almost died away entirely, while wars started by petty arguments about who was looking at whose girl up in the banquet hall have dramatically increased. The Pope, too, has reportedly claimed that wine is a “pretty lame drug” to use for Communion and that we should all instead “partake of the dandruff of Christ – a bump of some of that smooth, pure blow.”

And his monumental discovery will undoubtedly continue to rock the world for years to come. The nobility of the continent is already planning

1492 C.E.

expeditions to get more of the drug.

Some have even decided to send exploration teams, on the off chance that there might be other interesting things to snort over there.

Yet Chris himself is modest about his accomplishments. “Woooo!” he said to the press, when asked to comment on the significance of his world-changing journey. “Let’s fucking party! Turn up!”

The peoples of America (or should we say Coke-Merica, amirite?) could not be reached for comment.

—I. Gonzalez

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DA VINCI’S LESSER KNOWN INVENTIONS Everyone knows that Leonardo da Vinci was a genius with incredible foresight, almost seeming to peer into the future with his designs for inventions like the flying machine and the tank. Unfortunately most people have only ever heard of a few of these incredible devices. Here we present some more of his futuristic designs, ones that have been all-too-often left out of the history textbooks.

The Fasten Seatbelt Indicator Shortly after designing his flying machine, da Vinci realized that users might occasionally experience light turbulence and would thus need some form of indication to put on their seatbelts.

Bermuda shorts Using advanced geometry, da Vinci divined the existence of the island of Bermuda long before its discovery and naming and accurately predicted that its climate and culture would require a new form of semi-casual clothing.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix Da Vinci carefully laid out all of the plot points for the fifth book in the Harry Potter series. Unfortunately, without our modern understanding of fluid dynamics he was unable to do the same for the first four or the last two books.

Penis enlarging pill Doctors hated him!

Pig slaughterer It really wasn’t particularly brilliant, but it sure was efficient. Lots of spinning blades and big objects meant for smashing things. It included cup holders.

Hungry Hungry Hippos After watching three friends brutally slaughtered by Nile hippos on a trip to Egypt, da Vinci was inspired to make a fun children’s game.

The Jet Ski Da Vinci needed something to land on after jumping out of an exploding helicopter in his daydreams. Keeping in mind that the device would need to be fast and hold at least three large-breasted women, he designed the jet ski.

Not the microwave A thorough search through his notebook reveals no device designed to heat up burritos using electromagnetic radiation. In fact, there is not a single page dedicated to methods of heating up burritos more quickly at all! On second thought, perhaps da Vinci wasn’t the visionary that he is thought to be after all.

—B. Beitler MOST LECHEROUS POPES Pope Innocent V (ironically) Pope Whoremonger II (less ironically) Pope Benedict Roman Numerals Pope Urban X (surprisingly lascivious) Pope “Urban” XI (surprisingly “articulate,” brought a “diverse” and “sassy” perspective to the Church) Pope xXxChildLoverxXx@hotmail.com Pope Boniface VIII (nicknamed “Pope Boner Face”) Pope Leo V: The Holy Roman Empire Strikes Back Pope John XX (established skirt-chaser) Antipope John XX (his arch nemesis in skirt-chasing) Pope Lecherus V (actually a pretty good guy) Pope Gregory LXIX (the name says it all)

1587 C.E.

—S. Savitz

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OTHER THINGS SELF-EVIDENT TO JEFFERSON

. e hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator W with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; that the pregame for the Boston Tea Party was the craziest party this continent has yet to see, and that Ben Franklin

especially killed it, having the longest keg stand anyone has ever witnessed; that George Washington grows the dankest cannabis on this side of the Atlantic, especially compared to that ditch-weed the New Jersey delegation grows by the outhouses; that this patch of skin on my arm looks kind of suspicious and I should get it checked out; and that Samuel Adams’s tavern burning down last year was an obvious attempt at insurance fraud.

—J. Lancione

OTHER THINGS GEORGE WASHINGTON WARNED ABOUT IN HIS FAREWELL ADDRESS Urinary tract infections World War II World War IX Not World War I, strangely Surprise parties Women The number 3 The ghost of George Washington What the ghost of George Washington will do to anyone who so much as smiles at Martha when he’s gone What the ghost of George Washington will do to anyone who thinks he’s fucking joking The number 3, again, over and over for about an hour and in a little girl’s voice for some reason Bees

OTHER THINGS WHITE, LANDOWNING MALES CAN DO Throw pool parties Go boogie boarding Do the hokey pokey Talk about reverse racism Burp The Iliad Ride a bike with no hands Appear in history textbooks Be created equal Enjoy tea Complain about tea Also own other people

—B. Rudeen & C. Rudeen

—C. Rudeen

1776 C.E.

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EXCERPTS FROM LINCOLN’S PRESIDENTIAL JOURNAL

A FIRST DRAFT OF THE GETTYSBURG ADDRESS

March 8, 1861: Today I visited the old log cabin I was born in and was struck by how small it was. Father always said that a home is a home, no matter how small. Is this true? I must know.

March 15, 1861: We finished a new log cabin today behind the White House! It’s only as long as I am tall, and I can’t stand upright in it.

Still, I am struck by the fear that a small enough man, or perhaps a dog, could still enjoy living within it. I must start over.

July 24, 1862: STILL. NOT. SMALL ENOUGH. October 27, 1862: Mary has expressed concerned that my new hobby is “distracting me from the war.” I expressed concern that she’s “shitting on the President’s ambitions.”

June 17, 1863: Headline today was “CABINGATE: LINCOLN ADMINISTRATION DOWNSIZES SCANDAL.” How absurd! This isn’t a scandal at all! Also, “Cabingate”? What an odd choice of suffix.

November 19, 1863: I was too busy working on my latest cabin to write an appropriately long speech for today, but people liked it way more than I expected. Here I was fretting all morning that they’d know I was half-assing it, but apparently not?

December 25, 1863: Curses! A “Christmas present” arrived from Jefferson Davis. The contents: a six-inch log cabin. That’s so tiny!

How can I mend this nation if I can’t build a smaller log cabin than anyone else?

January 17, 1864: General Sherman stepped on my latest cabin today and said some nonsense about me needing to concentrate on reality.

I told him if he hates buildings so much, why doesn’t he go destroy some in Atlanta? That shut him up.

June 3, 1864: I sent a “birthday present” to Davis today: my magnum opus, the two inch cabin. Checkmate, Confederacy.

August 5, 1864: I awoke in the middle of a dream of being crushed by millions of tiny log cabins. My own subconscious seems to discourage my true passion. But I will not be stayed, even by my own mind. The quest for the lower limit continues.

September 2, 1864: Update to Jan. 17 entry: Explain to Sherman the term “figure of speech.”

February 15, 1865: I cannot even see this last cabin. It’s too small, but I know it’s there. At last, I have finished. At last, I know peace.

February 16, 1865: Wow, what a great play!

So, like, a while back Tommy J and his top dudes started this country. And, thing was, they wanted it to be so free! AND ERRYBODY WAS GON’ BE AS GOOD AS ERRYBODY.

—E. Campbell-Taylor

—A. Mansfield

1865 C.E.

But now the South has its hoop skirt all up in a twist and is totally party fouling this beautiful nation. Well guess what? It’s war time, baby. And we’re here to call dibs on this field for the people who have already kicked the bucket. Bet everyone’s super uncomfortable now, aren’t they? Like, considering all the gnarly corpses and such?

TOO BAD. This is the right thing to do.

Have some respect, bro.

But let’s get philosophical, guys. We can’t make this ground special. Because the dead guys under us already did…and we can’t screw that up. I mean, people are totally going to blackout on this speech like Stephen Douglas at DKE last night, but they’re not going to blackout on what happened here. It was just too real. So like, I think we should do the dead dudes a solid and continue the cause. ’Cuz even though they’re dead, it’d be so chill if something good could come of this total bummer.

And…this country…is going to be like a NEWBORN SOFT-BUTT BABY. And our super-tight government WILL LIVE FOREVAAAAAAAA. Peace Out Girl Scouts, Your ‘Lil Baby Abey

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HOW TO SUPPRESS YOUR SEXUAL URGES 1. Upon arising, bathe in a vat of water, preferably rainwater. Do not undress.

S. Sukin

2. One’s head should never be marred by uncleanliness. Scrupulously remove all cranial hair through careful trimming, like a clean vagina. Err, rather, like the most brilliant diamond resting atop the fingers of our Queen Her Majesty.

3. Be vigilant. Never engage in contact with the opposite sex, lest touch turns to touch and “courtly acquaintances” quickly devolve into frequent coitus partners scrambling to conceal the evidence from your parents in their Dover cottage while Father searches the carriage for his handkerchief.

Speaking hypothetically.

4. Indecency enters the imagination through the visual organs. Remove them at once. The honorable Thomas Rhodes Armitage has lacked vision for years. He never had a problem with following the capricious social code, now did he?

5. While the excavatory tools are in hand, make haste and remove all organs of sexual conduct.

— Men, be wise with the refuse. Perhaps adhere it to the nose. Nothing says ‘stay away, broad!’ like a phallus upon the face.

— Women, you can store your discarded parts with me. I’ll look over them. Often.

For safekeeping.

6. Be careful with what food you nourish yourself.

Bananas and cucumbers simply will not do. Milk you must forgo, except from those sweet, sweet udders of your lady, that sultry one who so moves as to rouse even the deepest slumber. Err, no.

Enough with that.

7. Oh, but her lady humps. How do we not help but indulge in our Lord’s finest creation? No no no!

Jesus, William, get yourself together. She’s gone now, okay? She’s gone. You had your chance and it doth blew away, you daft pillock, you!

8. Never pen a drunken letter to your former lovers.

In fact, never have lovers. Or love. Or feelings. Or friends. Or self-esteem. I hate myself.

1889 C.E.

—G. Ambrose

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Baseball Predictions: This Will Be the Cubs’ Year

BY SAM SAVITZ STAFF REPORTER CHICAGO – Opening Day is just around the corner, so I thought it was high time to provide you with my predictions for the 1920 baseball season! I have compiled a set of predictions, based on the latest new-fangled statistics, like batting averages and earned run average (or, to use the new lingo, ERNRNAVG for short).

After in-depth analysis, my money is on the Chicago Cubs.

The Cubs are a perennial contender, but they haven’t won

it all since 1908. This team is hungry, and that’s not just because some of them spent the last few years of their lives in disgusting trenches in the godforsaken French countryside. That time away during the war has made them thirst for the touch of a woman – sorry, I mean for a championship. It’s mindboggling to think that the Cubs haven’t won a single championship since Roosevelt was president. I mean, seriously, how much longer can their World Series drought last? It’s been 12 whole years already!

I also see strong contend-

1927 C.E.

ers in other recent champions.

The Cubs’ cross-town rivals, the White Sox, won the World Series in 1917 and looked close to a repeat last year before their very surprising loss to the Cincinnati Reds. That series was universally seen as a testament to honesty and good playing. I am sure that the 1919 World Series will be remembered fondly throughout the years as the epitome of sportsmanship.

Contact SAM SAVITZ at

flapper_luver69@greatstockmarket.com

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Nation:

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKKKKKK”

BY MADELINE KAPLAN STAFF REPORTER “FUUUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKK,” exclaimed the nation, collectively, following the worst financial collapse in history. Tuesday’s stock market crash, which sent prices plummeting and resulted in the loss of millions of dollars in savings, has families reeling as they attempt to salvage their livelihoods.

“I had tickets to go see the Yankees this week,” said concerned citizen Jimmy Porcello. “But now I’ve had to fashion those tickets into a home for my family.”

Financial experts say that the situation may not improve for some time,

and may require stimulus funding or something really lucky like a major world war resulting in the deaths of 60 million people.

“I think I’ll be all right, actually,” said farmer Eddie Reynolds. “I’ve hidden my money in a place where it’ll be safe forever. Behind my farm, underneath the third oak tree to the left when you’re facing the stream. Walk thirty paces northeast, then dig. You can’t miss it,” he explained. “Wait.

Please don’t print that.”

The White House said in a statement that, in retrospect, it was unwise to appoint Shirley Temple to Secretary of Commerce. “It was a mistake to assume that acting ability at a young age directly correlates to an un-

derstanding of how to be an effective member of the United States Cabinet,” the statement said. “But, in our defense, Mickey Rooney has proven to be an exceptional Secretary of War.” “We must not despair,” said President Herbert Hoover in an emergency radio address. “I will successfully lead us through these trying times. To the American people, I ask you: Have you tried going on one of those game shows where you’re in a box and money blows around and then you grab the money?

That’s pretty much all I got right now.”

Contact MADELINE KAPLAN at fuck@thisshit.com

Government Releases List of Things You Can Probably Eat

BY ALEX TANG STAFF REPORTER WASHINGTON, D.C.— The United States government, recognizing the desperate economic state of the country, has released a list of foods that “seem like they’re probably edible.”

After months of eating snow stew seasoned with the tears of those who once believed in the American Dream, the public finally has an answer to the question, “What do rich people think we should be able to eat?”

Says Louise Martindale, poor person, “It’s about time. I went to the grocery store yesterday, and nothing remains on the shelves. It’s so empty in there that the cashier tried to give me a Buy-One-Get-One-for-the-SamePrice coupon for a tumbleweed.”

Desperate citizens all across the

country have latched onto the report’s recommendations with an enthusiasm that might even be classified as dangerous. The report begins by instructing, “All tree-based products should be consumed immediately,” and the American Book Association has since exploded in outrage as people have stormed the so-called “food vaults” behind the doors of the library. The ABA has predicted that illiteracy rates will rise exponentially as a result of the report, as human stomachs evolve to allow for the digestion of cellulose pulp.

When pressed for an explanation as to why it took so long to acknowledge the complaints of the American public, Congressman Richard F. Richman, head of the Committee on Hunger and Consumption, claimed that food was plentiful and the Ameri-

1934 C.E.

can people were simply not trying hard enough. At a press conference he said, “Cotton comes from the ground, right? Why have they not eaten their shirts?” When told that many had done so already, and were forced to fashion garments from their children’s terrible artwork, Richman maintained that more could be done. “Steak is delicious, and leather is all natural. Has anyone tried eating the soles of their shoes yet?” He could not be reached for further comment, as he had disappeared into a pile of money.

No one else could be reached for comment, either, because this reporter had by then eaten his own pencil, despite graphite not being on the list.

Contact ALEX TANG at wishing4war@fdr.com

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Fifteen Thumbs Up! Meet the man who just won the Arms Race for America by attaching thirteen extra arms to his body Move over, Jesse Owens!

A

lthough the most famous athlete in track and field history won three races at the Olympics, even he wasn’t up to the task of winning us the most important race of our time: the arms race against the Soviets! And if our greatest racewinner ever couldn’t do it, most Americans thought we’d never wash our hands of those nasty Reds.

Well, someone forgot to tell that to Bobby Butler!

Bobby just won the United States the arms race and thereby averted Arm-aggedon, and he did it in the most ingeniously American way imaginable.

That’s right—he did it by grafting 13 new arms to his body!

Way to go, Bobby! To the Commies, this fierce competitor is certainly not h-armless!

As soon as Bobby attached

his last arm, Soviet leaders knew the jig was up. Defeat was immediately conceded.

“When I saw him, armed to the teeth—literally—with 13 extra limbs, I thought, ‘Well, shit, that’s a lot of arms,’” Nikita Khrushchev said. “Like, a lot. No way we can compete with that."

Bobby is a perfect example of the indomitable American spirit, and his multi-handed victory is an inspiration for all. As is the fate of all true genius, Bobby was constantly misunderstood growing up. But he never gave up on his dream.

“When I was a kid, people would always say things like, ‘Bobby, it’s arms as in weapons, like nuclear weapons,’ and ‘No, you can’t have that dead body’s arms, get out of my morgue or I’ll call the cops,’” Bobby said.

“Haters made me famous.”

Americans today sure have reason to be glad that, despite the adversity he faced,

1959 C.E.

Bobby stayed true to his childhood dream.

“The first ‘arm’ I ever attached to my body was actually just a long sock filled with pebbles,” Bobby said, his chinarm spasming patriotically as he chuckles. “But when I felt what it was like to have that extra appendage hanging off my torso, I knew I wanted to do that for the rest of my life, and I wanted to keep on adding arm after arm after arm, until I had no free space left on my body.”

Bobby worked his ever-increasing number of fingers to the bone, and it all paid off. Because when his country needed a hand the most, Bobby was there, willing, with 15 of them.

He is the hero of a generation.

So take a bow, Bobby, bask in the glory, and give yourself seven and a half rounds of applause.

—A. Kinnane

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I’m Sure We’ll Have All This Racial Tension Sorted Out Soon

L

ook, there’s no denying that we live in an era of profound racial tension and animosity.

A glance at the nightly news will reveal the protests and marches which take place every day. Even as civil rights leaders like Martin Luther King Jr. inspire millions with their messages of nonviolent resistance, much of the country remains staunchly committed to racism and division. These are problems which define the ‘60s.

But I’m sure they’ll all be taken care of soon. Forty years, tops.

It’s clearly striking, the displays of hatred and intolerance raging across the nation. People are forced to protest and risk their safety to obtain rights as basic and obvious as equal access to schools and other public services.

And when they do protest, they are often mistreated by the police officers whose most basic responsibility it is to protect them. The police being used as agents of racial oppression is disgusting, and, when we’ve completely eliminated that in fifteen years or so, I’m sure people will be horrified to learn it ever existed.

I recognize, of course, that there are subtler forms of racism, and those might take another five or six years. Sure, each of us harbors in our deepest subconscious racially charged assumptions that color our every interaction.

And I get that people are loathe to admit that they individually might be part of the problem. But

I figure that children who grew up in a desegregated world will grow up to find these prejudices archaic and obsolete.

I am assuming, of course, that schools will be effectively desegregated, rather than becoming segregated not by law but by racism institutionalized in economics, but I think that’s pretty much a lock.

In forty years, I bet we’ll even be ready to elect a black president.

And, when we do, I’m sure it’ll serve as a celebration of the end of racial tension, rather than prompting baseless and subtly racialized attacks from millions of Americans apparently unwilling to tolerate anyone but a white guy in the presidency.

If you’re skeptical, just imagine the future. In 2015, I figure we’ll be grappling with big issues, like the ethics of cloning, artificial intelligence, and space travel. How ridiculous would it be for people living with things like these to still be unsure about whether or not someone’s skin color affects their job performance? It’s ludicrous.

That would be like if we still had an overwhelming number of male CEO’s or a lack of universal healthcare.

I also hope that, in fifty years, we’ll have gotten rid of all these fucking women.

—M. Nobel

1969 C.E.

BACKSTORIES BEHIND BEATLES SONGS “Here Comes the Sun”: The Beatles wrote “Here Comes the Sun” after their first trip outside of England, before which they had never actually seen the sun.

“Eight Days a Week”: They were musicians, not mathematicians.

“Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds”: Can’t a guy just write about marmalade skies, girls with kaleidoscope eyes, and rocking horse people eating marshmallow pies without EVERYONE assuming it’s about LSD? Grow up, people. (But yeah, this song is absolutely about LSD.) “I’m Looking Through You”: This is another Beatles song inspired by the girl with kaleidoscope eyes.

“Strawberry Fields Forever”: After taking the lyrics of “All You Need is Love” a little too literally, John Lennon tested that claim and went without eating for days. The lack of food combined with the copious sexual activity he thought could sustain him resulted in the hallucination of endless fields of strawberries. The rest, as they say, is history.

“Twist and Shout”: Before “Stop, Drop, and Roll” became common fire safety protocol, this song was the Beatles’ take on what to do if you caught on fire.

“I am the Walrus”: By metaphorically referring to himself as a walrus, John Lennon hoped to humanize the creature to elicit an emotional response from listeners, inspiring them to take action to conserve and protect the species. (This one is also about LSD. Lots of LSD.)

—L. Cone

26

T he Y ale R ecord

REGARDING “FULL” HOUSE: UM, THEY CLEARLY STILL HAVE ROOM IN THERE

MY NOKIA: A LOVE STORY

I

ou know the show Full House, right? The one that millions of Americans are tuning into every Friday night, with all the kids and the cool uncles? I’d bet anything that you’ve watched an episode and at some point thought to yourself, “Hey, that house sure does seem full.” Well, you were dead wrong. Turns out, THAT HOUSE STILL HAS TONS OF ROOM IN IT. There hasn’t been a single episode where the house is at full capacity. Not once have I seen crowds of people filling the living room, sitting on the island in the kitchen, or hanging out in Uncle Jessie’s sweet loft area. Not once have I seen people pressed against the windows in exterior shots, their breath fogging up the windows and their sheer weight straining the walls of the house.

Do you remember when D.J.’s cousin visited in the first season? How could he have visited if the house were full? Where would he have stayed? He would have had to sleep outside, or in a hotel, and he did neither of those things.

I think veracity in television is a necessity, so please, producers of Full House, change the name. Call it what it is: Partially Full House or House That Is Not Empty.

’d never felt a signal like this before. We’d just met, but it seemed like I was already in her contacts. Was it her touchbutton interface or nightly green glow? I may never know.

But they say the first call is the loudest, and I have to agree: I’ll never forget my Nokia 6110.

She was liberating. She showed me the world. At last, I realized it was time to tell my car phone goodbye. Refreshing, really, to be with someone with so little emotional baggage and so few entangling wires. She shined like a diamond, in fact replaced it on Mohs Scale too.

But I’d never bring her home. Even though she’d take a bullet for me, my parents just couldn’t look past the fact that she wasn’t human, or that Voldemort had tried to make her his Horcrux, or that she, in all her Finnish splendor, had sunk the Titanic.

See, she was quietly brilliant. She was the sort of phone who never asked for a software update. My Nokia, she could go for days. Whenever I needed her clock, calculator, or currency converter, she was there. Wherever I wanted to play Snake, she was there.

But after a while, I stopped feeling the sparks when I’d plug her in. I had to let go. I guess Ma Bell never meant it to be. I’ve since made it out, though. I’ve found someone new.

I call her Razr.

—B. Rudeen & C. Rudeen

—S. Gupta

Y

POINT

COUNTERPOINT

Twist it!

Bop it!

—C. Rudeen

1998 C.E.

27

T he T ime M achine I ssue

Dear Pre-2016 Self, Heyo. I know things have been rough recently. Don’t worry, though. I’ve literally been in your shoes. Also in your musky, sensual cargo pants. I am you, remember? From the future. I just wanted to give you some advice for the year ahead.

Learn from your mistakes Pretty soon you’re going to screw up big time and everyone you know and love will be violently killed. Why? The why doesn’t matter, but it involves thousands of Prius owners demanding free milkshakes. There’s no point in trying to prevent this, so make sure you take it as a valuable learning experience, like when you accidentally took your cousin to prom.

Just be yourself The aliens will crawl in through your ear canal and try to take control of your body. There are only two ways to retain control: using all the brainpower you can muster to fill your mind with an expansive love that no worldly force can overcome, or earplugs.

Always wear your rabbit’s foot The rabbit invasion will be tough, but keep in mind that not all the rabbits act as aggressively as Snuffles and Mr. Whiskers. After the invasion, many civilian rabbits will fear slave humans wearing their mutilated purple appendages.

Wigwams are not effective means of shelter!

This is important.

A penny saved is NOT a penny earned A penny saved is the same amount of money that you had before. Don’t be confused. If anything, spend all your pennies on carrots. You can use these to trade for goods and services after rabbit takeover.

Put one foot in front of the other And soon you'll be walking 'cross the floor! Put one foot in front of the other, And soon you'll be walking out the door!

Convert to Zoroastrianism ASAP It turns out these guys were right all along. Also, Ahura Mazda is a bro. The return of the dead will be pretty chill, for at least a couple months, as a long as you’re a solid wingman for Ahura. “I would start reading up now on female historical figures who might be interested in getting a few drinks with a sexy, all powerful being.

Live each day as if it were 324-n days away from being your last Here, “n” refers to the number of days after you receive this letter.

Love,

Me

—A. Ringlein

2016 C.E.

28

T HE Y ALE R ECORD

This seems fine, I guess For citizens of the universe, things have been going pretty well lately. This won’t be news to you; like all people, you’ve got full and instant access to all knowledge through the Wikichip inside your brain. When I ask “How many Earthyears has it been since anyone used money?”, you know that the answer is “5,472”.

But things haven’t always been this way.

And somewhere in our transition from war-torn, polluted Earth to glorious utopia, I fear that we’ve… well, “made mistakes” would be a little strong, since the Omnibenevolent Supercomputer in charge of the Galactic Republic makes optimal decisions. Still, it feels like something is missing from my life.

Back before the Singularity, I was a student at a place called “Yale University.” I wrote about all the problems in the world (I know, I’m ancient, right?) and suggested ways to solve them. No one ever lis-

tened, but I worked hard all the same.

Now, we live in a world without sexism, racism, classism, ableism, speciesism, opinionism, or numberof-ears bias. We have eugenics, but only the good kind of eugenics. And any time I want, I can open up a simulation of Yale in the year 2015 and hang out with my old chums from the YDN, including an attractive female version of Isaac Stanley-Becker who winks at me whenever I come up with a good sentence. Don’t think I’m not grateful for all of this. But what I’m trying to say is…

Hmmm. By this point in my old essays, I’d usually be complaining about something.

Maybe I can complain about writer’s block?

Nope, just got inspired again – good one, Omnibenevolent Supercomputer!

Anyway, this all seems fine. I can’t say that I have any specific problems with the paradise we live in. I’m not

one of those weird Extinctionists who thinks we should all die out voluntarily because life is meaningless with-

SCOTT STERN A Stern Perspective out suffering… sorry, sorry, opinionism, I know, I’ll stop. What I’m saying is, I have no complaints. But I’d still like to complain about the fact that I have no complaints. Can we at least acknowledge my feelings on this?

I used to advocate for making Yale free, but now everything is free and Yale got absorbed into the Univer-

14821 C.E.

sal University. I used to complain about racist Republicans, but now there are no Republicans and no races. Instead, I’ve been using the last seven hundred years to get good at folding origami versions of myself (not that I wasn’t already pretty good at it). But I still feel like I should be doing something more with my life.

Seriously, has the universe even considered the hardship that comes with having no hardships? The ennui of a life without struggle? I mean, I know there’s a pill that cures ennui, and I take those pills just like everyone else, and I feel great, but…

But what? I guess I can’t really articulate it, and that’s fine. The Omnibenevolent Supercomputer understands.

Maybe I’ll give the next origami Scott a fun hat.

—A. Gertler

29

T HE T IME M ACHINE I SSUE

The Universe: (beginning of time- 10

100

The Universe, an all-encompassing totality of continually expanding space and time, died yesterday everywhere. It was 10100 years old.

Its death was announced by no one, as no living organism,

from the smallest microbe to the most-advanced humanoid, lay beyond its infinite expanse. The Universe, best known for its role in the creation of everything that has ever existed anywhere, left no will or legacy. In its

C.E.)

wake remains nothing but a featureless void without depth or dimension.

The Universe is survived by no one.

Mourners remember nothing of the universe, as no organism or atom could be

reached for comment.

The service for The Universe will be held everywhere and nowhere, always, without beginning or end.

Prayers cannot be sent, as God too is dead.

—G. Ambrose

UNIVERSE STILL DEAD, REPORTS NO ONE EVERYWHERE—In a largely expected turn of events, yesterday played out in exactly the same manner as the day before yesterday.

Not a single account has been pouring in from everywhere, reporting a complete lack of stuff, things, and substance. The total of zero witnesses who managed to catch a glimpse of the monotony that ensued were completely indifferent.

There is not the possibility of some debate

over whether or not the invariability that took place can actually be confined to a “yesterday,” what with “yesterday” depending on the presence of a sun and what with a sun depending on the presence of “order.”

The concept of yesterday, according to no experts, may in fact be a thing of the “past,” which itself may be an obsolete concept.

In stark conformity with this belief, no objection was raised.

Raising anything

would have required a decrease in entropy, in violation of the second law of thermodynamics.

“Nothing happened today,” said no one at all, out of breath, and also out of everything else that is associated with life, movement, and thermodynamic order in general. No one accepted the interview on the condition of anonymity, which was unable to be granted because conditions do not really exist. The exception

10100 C.E.

of course is the conditions in the iTunes terms and agreements, which obey their own special laws of reality.

It turns out their existence predates, and now post-dates, the existence of the universe. The nature of their existence unfortunately will remain forever cloudy as they were never read.

No one could be approached for further comment at this “time.”

—J. Rutter

30

T HE Y ALE R ECORD Dear Fantastic Four, All I see is a stretchy freakshow, a pair of maybe incestuous siblings, and a walking kidney stone.

—Batman on PCP

BEST LIFE HACK EVER? MEET THE MAN WHO INGENIOUSLY STAYS WARM OUTSIDE BY PUTTING MORE CLOTHES ON HIS BODY Dear heirloom tomato, I’m glad Grandma bequeathed you to me, but I was hoping for something that isn’t a rotten fruit, like a lamp.

Sincerely, Disappointed in Dead Grandma Dear ant, I’m going to burn you with this magnifying glass.

—Your spiteful and terrifying niece who’s too young to know what a homophone is but not too young to murder

SNICKERING POPE DECLARES JESUS’S HANDS THE “HOLEY-IST” PARTS OF HIS BODY, IMMEDIATELY HEADS TO CONFESSION Dear DJ Influenza, Your beats are sick, but five people have died. You have to stop.

—DJ Sensible

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This offer is valid for travel on the Northeast Regional train service only. Advance reservations are required a minimum of fourteen (14) days prior to travel. Once purchased, tickets are nonrefundable; exchanges are permitted within the ticket validity period. Blackouts apply on the following dates: 2/13/15, 2/16/15, 4/02/15– 4/03/15, 4/06/15, 5/22/15, 5/25/15, 07/02/15–07/03/15, 07/05/15, 9/04/15, 9/07/15, 10/12/2015, 11/24/15–11/25/15, 11/28/15–11/29/15, 12/19/15–12/23/15, 12/26/15–12/30/15, 01/02/16– 01/03/16. Seating is limited; seats may not be available on all trains at all times. Fares are subject to availability. Up to 2 children ages 2–12 may accompany each adult at half the regular (full) adult rail fare. This offer is valid for Coach seats only; no upgrades permitted.

This offer is not combinable with any other discount offer. In addition to the discount restrictions, this offer is also subject to any restrictions, blackouts, and refund rules that apply to the type of fare purchased. Fares, routes, and schedules are subject to change without notice. Once travel has begun, no changes to the itinerary are permitted. Other restrictions may apply. Amtrak and Northeast Regional are registered service marks of the National Railroad Passenger Corporation.