Golden Words Issue 17, Volume 37

GOLDEN WORDS
Page 2
EDITORIAL
by dave
Volume XXXVII, Issue XVII
EDITORIAL
by eric
I Can’t Get Anything Done Being Sick Is Just No Fun
As a fourth-year
Engineering
student, it’s safe
to say that I’m a
little busy from
time to time. I have plenty of classes, but
I just can’t get any work done. It’s been
three weeks, and I’m three weeks behind
in everything! It’s impossible to get work
done at this school. From going out to
wasting time on the Internet, it’s
impossible to get things done.
Take, for example, trying to do
programming assignments on my
computer. As soon as I begin, I
immediately go to my MP3 directory
and cue up an appropriate playlist. But
then I don’t like it! So I start going through
my songs and finding better ones. At
that point, I decide that I’d rather watch
a small video in the corner of the monitor
while I’m programming. I justify this
by saying that it’ll help me keep busy
during periods when I need to think.
Then I think, that’s the stupidest possible
logic on Earth! At this point, I’m three
hours into my assignment and I don’t
even know what the assignment is. This
doesn’t just happen at home.
Sometimes I think it’ll be easier if I go
work in the library. I sit down in those
work booths, but the problem there is
that as soon as you put a quarter into
the booth, a dirty movie starts playing.
Why would Stauffer Library put those
in? How is anyone supposed to get any
work done with those things? Who
thought that this was a good idea? Sure,
it’s fun, but that’s another four hours
down the drain.
If Queen’s is supposed to be a place of
such high learning, then why are there
so many nice and cheap places to drink
on campus? I don’t want to sound like
I’m advertising for anyone, but between
Clark, the QP, and Alfie’s, there are too
many good places to go and drink and
NOT STUDY. Maybe if these places
would have a study-for-martinis hour,
I would feel a lot less guilty. The only
reason that I get some work done is the
fact that it takes about 20 minutes to get
a drink at the QP. Thank you, QP, for
letting me get my studying done without
hassling me by serving my order on
time!
This editorial is dedicated to the QP. Thank
you all!
Most winters, I end
up getting sick sooner
or later. Generally,
my poor eating and
sleeping
habits
combined with the nasty weather does
it, but there is one key difference this
year. Normally, when I feel a cold
coming on, I’m right on that mofo,
relentless-style. I hit ‘em hard with the
herbal tea, then I follow up with a good
nap, some soup, and, of course, a hot
water bottle. Nothing fucks up a cold
like a hot water bottle, and I know it.
When I pull out all the stops like
that, the cold is gone within three days,
and I’m back to normal. But not this
year, I tell you. This year, I did things
differently. Instead of fighting the
natural progression that my body was
going through, I chose to accept and
embrace my cold. There are a number
of advantages to this approach, which
have already revealed themselves to
me:
My voice is much deeper now. I
think it’s pretty sexy too, with low and
gravelly tones that can only be
described as a hyper-sexual, Barry
White timbre. I think that it could really
help me achieve my goal of become a
campus-wide sex symbol. That is, if I
could only get around the thick, green
phlegm that I cough up intermittently
all over myself, my notes, and my
classmates. That’s not so sexy. Or
hygenic.
Now that I’ve accepted that I’m sick,
I don’t worry about getting well
anymore. That’s a pretty big worry off
my shoulders, and it provides me with
a lot of time that I can use to continue to
eat poorly and find ways to avoid
sleeping, thus keeping myself in a
constant state of poor health.
It’s a pretty good excuse that will
allow me to do whatever I please. If I’m
late for a meeting, I can say, “Sorry, I’m
sick,” and cough, and they will forgive
me, no questions asked. Alternatively,
if I’m rubbing my naked body all over
storefront windows on Princess Street,
people will just say, “Look at that guy;
he’s sick for sure,” saving me the trouble
of explanation. People can be very
understanding sometimes.
Editors
Office Hours
David Connor
Monday 1-2:30
Friday 10: 30 - 11:30
Tuesday 10-11:30
Friday 11:30 - 1:00
Eric Martin
Sola Veritas est qui Facit ut me in Merda
Volume XXXVII
Issue XVII
January 29th, 2003
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OMAR!!!!RAMO
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Golden Words — a haven for those who
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Wor
dsday
y 29th, 2003
ordsday
dsday,, Januar
January
GOLDEN WORDS
(not necessarily yours)
Call Up The Instigators
I have been concerned for some time
now about the state of student
representation on this campus. What
is scarce amid the volley of platforms
and slick campaigning, and has been
scarce for some time within the actions
of so many of our student leaders, is the
very spirit at the core of true student
representation. What has drawn so
many good people into our student
societies is the desire to do good for
those whom they represent, to give
back to the community of which they
are thankful to be a part. Student
representation is about giving students
a coherent and powerful voice, about
working each day for the betterment of
students’ lives, about advocating our
concerns and defending our interests,
about making this place, our venerable
alma mater, one at which we can be
proud to learn, live, and play.
I have become increasingly aware of a
growing cloud over our student
government. Where once we saw
strong altruism and passion, we now
see growing self-interest and ambition.
We long ago prohibited fraternities on
this campus, perceiving that they
usurped power from the electorate and,
moreover, shattered into fragments the
cohesive community that we treasure.
Instead, we have traded that beast for
another silent partner. The force of
partisan politics has become that everpresent backdrop to the actions of our
student governments. Yet, the one thing
student representation should be most
resolutely not about is such politics,
for to confuse ideology with student
representation diminishes the worth of
the interests of students. Yet, partisan
politics have crept their way into the
offices of student societies ,
contaminating what is best for students
with what is dictated by allegiances
and ambition. What is worst is not that
parties attempt to manipulate student
leadership, but that these associations
are veiled from the electorate.
Yet the perfidy of self-interest does not
end there. I have seen too many student
leaders forget their passion in trade for
the flattery and goodwill of the
administration. I have watched as
many of those, who spoke with such
zeal of advocating for students, were
elected only to become but errandrunners and mouthpieces. Too many
student leaders have put their own
aspirations ahead of the interests of
their constituency, sacrificing the
purpose of their very office. Many
student leaders, past and present, have
conveniently forgotten their primary
allegiance to their constituency. But
whatever letters of reference or
employment that this yields, it does not
absolve the betrayal. It has only
furthered these parental pretensions
that resonate in administrators’
dealings with students. Such selfserving conduct by many our student
representatives has served to
subordinate students to the demands
and dictates of administration.
From the Faculty offices to Richardson
Hall, administrators argue that student
societies should not listen to their
constituency but dictate to them. These
university officers contend that
conformity is synonymous with
citizenship, that compliance is
equivalent to leadership, and that the
administration’s authority is absolute
and unquestionable. Espousing
students’ right of self-governance, they
remark that this governance exists only
so far as the administration agrees with
students’ decisions. The Queen’s Code
of Conduct is wielded as if forgetting
that the interpretation of that policy
belongs not to the administration but
to the students through the AMS
Judicial Committee. Yet all an
administrator need do is make mention
of a potential transgression of those
commandments to subjugate a student
before their rule. The mantra of
fostering citizens and leaders is
enforced by compelling obedience
through threat of non-academic
discipline
Citizenship is about choice. Each citizen
has a responsibility to challenge when
those who govern overstep their
bounds, lest the powerful forget the
extent of their accountability. If Queen’s
University does not teach students to
challenge power, then we learn but to
obey. Tyrannies are the spawn of such
conformity. My greatest fear is that our
student leaders will be idle while the
administration installs their vision,
bulldozing all that is deemed
inconsistent. Many of our student
leaders have yielded as administration
set about to sanitize the content of our
university experience until it assumes
the trustee-friendly veneer of the
Queen’s Gazette.
The institutions and traditions we
treasure come under attack. The
university counter-culture of 30 years
ago – that which gave birth to the edgy
satire of this publication, the
debauchery of our campus pubs, and
the pride of our Frosh Weeks, that
which established the autonomy of our
student societies – is no longer
acceptable to administration. The
administration is readying to lay siege
to student freedoms to assemble,.read,
watch, and experience. Yet do they not
recognize that these freedoms form the
reason for any affinity as alumni?
Next year, the administration will make
its case for the deconstruction of our
Orientation Weeks to a mere shadow of
themselves; it will justify the levying
of fines upon any underage student in
residence who comes home drunk; it
will again look to censor students’ access
to opinions in print and online, allowing
only what administration deems fit on
your societies’ webpages and
publications; and continue to prohibit
Page 3
students’ viewing of Sodexho contract
while denying us any significant input
or the right to run independent food
services. If deregulation comes again,
will the relevant leadership fight
against it with unrelenting and
uncompromising fury? A student
representative may compromise, either
from self-interest or from the belief that
compromise is the necessity of
negotiation. Yet the administration has
time to bide and can afford a ten-year
outlook in comparison with our four.
In that time, they can gradually erode
our institutions, each concession
appearing compelling and vital, and so
remold student life without our
consent.
We have forgotten that which makes
us Queen’s. From Goodes Hall palace in
the west to the rising ILC in the east,
from the Physical Sciences compound
in the south to the monolithic
Biosciences complex, our community
has become as estranged by geography
as we are along lines of Faculty, coming
to define our interests on deregulated/
regulated terms rather than as a holistic
community. And within all of this, we
have forgotten the true value of a
Queen’s education. As the cost of postsecondary education ever increases, it
is diminished to employment
preparation. Students forego their
passion in trade for pedantic
specialization. Forgotten is the pivotal
importance of a broad education that
fosters curiosity for all realms of
knowledge. We as students must unite
together again.
This is my plea to those now contending
for office: Make your battles noble and
never retreat from a contest should
your cause be just. Make this
community one again. I urge the
electorate
to
never
accept
condescension from the administration
or from your leadership. It is the station
of your leadership to listen to you and
to serve as your voice. Never forget
that, and hold them to it unequivocally.
This complacency has continued for far
too long. Shit needs stirring up. The
revolution will not be televized.
Arch the Angry Grapefruit
Page 4
Chancellor Gowron is a
Romulan sympathizer!
Qo’noS City, Qo’noS – At the Grand
Hall of Warriors, accusations and
spittle flew and bat’leths were
sharpened when the Standing
Committee on Internal Cowardice
gave its report on communiqués
between Chancellor Gowron and
the Romulan homeworld.
K’Tong vestai-Qan was the first to
speak. “Gowron dishonours his
house and the Empire by speaking
to the most dishonourable Romulan
scum with whom we have had a
blood feud for 75 years.” Shouts and
threats resonated throughout the
room as arguments erupted between
the great houses. “Truly he is like the
lowly targ!” shouted SuDtaHghach,
Son of loDHom. Chancellor Gowron
called out the name of K’Tong vestaiQan and warned, “A friend may
become a enemy in the time it takes
to draw a dagger.” Murmurs spread
throughout the chamber as K’Tong
vestai-Qan walked to the floor of the
hall. Gowron drew his bat’leth and
cut off the head of K’Tong vestai-Qan
in a swift blow, restoring his honour.
K’Tong vestai-Qan was decapitated
before evidence of the Romulan
correspondence was presented and
thus all accusations were dropped
as Chancellor Gowron restored
order. Qetlh lut noted, “yIloS. ta’
ngeb ghaH ta’’e’. ta’na’ ghaH
loDnI’Daj’e’. Hujmo’ loDnIDaj, che’
ta’qoq. qap ta’qoq.” To which all in
attendance agreed.
GOLDEN WORDS
Artist draws blood
TALLAHASSEE, FL – Humour and
horrible puns were the order of the day
Saturday at this weekend’s Busker
Festival. Finishing a caricature of local
landscape architect Lorna Springer, 32,
street artist Greg Lambdon, his marker
poised over the canvas sitting on his
easel, called out to the crowd, “All right,
folks, what should I draw next?”
“Blood!” came the sarcastic cry from an
unidentified
spectator,
a
humourous
play on words
that prompted
mirth
and
merriment
from
all
p r e s e n t ,
including
Lambdon. As
the wave of
l a u g h t e r
subsided,
Lambdon, still
chortling from
the spectator’s
wit, drew a
meat cleaver
and attacked
seven of the
innocent onlookers. Cleanup crews were
still scouring the area of blood and
human offal as of press time.
Herstmonceux pillaged:
Visigoths!
HERSTMONCEUX, UK - The threeweek siege of Castle Herstmonceux
ended in tragic pillaging by the
completely anachronistic Visigoth
hordes from upper Dacia. Classics
students fought valiantly but
confusedly against the completely
historically inaccurate attack. “What
the hell?” said Classics major Dan
Bartlett as he faced down a burly
Visigoth warrior; “The Visigoths were
a tribe of Germanic nomads who lived
in central Europe in the early –
AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHH!!!!!!!!”
Apparently the Classics students’
rigorous multiple-choice and fill-in-theblank tests did nothing to help prepare
them against spears and maces.
“In theory, we should have been able to
crush the onslaught,” commented Steve
McIntyre, “what with all of our modern
technology. I mean, I even know how to
make a ballista. I guess the fact that we
are all weaklings played against us.”
Medieval
Studies
m a j o r
Anthony
LeBlanc
added, “It’s
strange. If
anyone, it
should be
the Picts
or
the
Saxons
attacking,
o
r
p o s s i b l y,
although
somewhat
m o r e
rarely, the
Vikings.”
T
h
e
Visigoths
entered the
castle by
constructing a giant siege tower outside
of the castle walls over the period of a
few days. When asked why the student
body didn’t attempt to stop the
construction, Lucy Hargrove noted,
“We were all pretty occupied with this
crazy British humour. So funny. Have
you seen this show called The Monty
Python Show? How drole. It’s so fresh!”
While she was being tied up with the
other slaves, she added, “Who ever
thought that a rock on the end of a stick
would be so brutally effective?”
Visigoth leader Alaric demanded
tribute from the students of 100 gold,
their World Map, and Iron Working.
Volume XXXVII, Issue XVII
Killer bees sting Joe
Leiberman: “Ouch!”
ALBUQUERQUE, NM – While giving
an
early-morning
rally
in
Albuquerque, New Mexico, tax-andspend Democrat Joe Lieberman was
stung by a swarm of aggressive bees.
After extolling the virtues of a new
national social security system, an
unidentified white male screamed,
“Hey Lieby! Tax this!” and proceeded
to throw a nest of those angry, killer
bees that Fox keeps doing those
specials on. Secret Service agents took
many stings for candidate Lieberman,
but some very vigilant bees got
through and stung the presidential
hopeful.
Rush Limbaugh
questioned in
connection with ‘bee
attack’
ALBUQUERQUE, NM – Rush
Limbaugh was recently questioned
by Sheriff Josh Findlay concerning the
mysterious bee attack on Joe
Lieberman. An in-form Limbaugh
wittily retorted, “When it comes to
other issues, like taxing your money,
liberals want the government in total
control of your life.” When asked of
his connection to the bee industry,
Limbaugh answered, “Mexican bees
are taking hard-working European
bees’ jobs in the honey industry.
NAFTA is to blame. We need to raise
12-foot tall tariff barriers.” When he
was finally pressed on his
whereabouts on the morning,
Limbaugh replied, “The Democrats
are just trying to protect their own
constituents and make sure that their
bosses in Big Labour are happy. Once
again, homeland security is coming
second to the Democrats in favour of
their own constituents.” Limbaugh
finished, “Also, I’m not suggesting that
I threw bees at Lieberman, but suffice
it to say, Lieberman 0, Limbaugh 1.”
Justice Pillow, Big Big Shnal, and
Godot
Wor
dsday
y 29th, 2003
ordsday
dsday,, Januar
January
GOLDEN WORDS
Page 5
If Y
ou’re Looking FFor
or A Good TTime,
ime, Check Out
You’re
The JDUC Mens’ R
oom Stalls
Room
Now last week on Friday I met up with
my old friend Brian-Jones Samuelson,
whom everyone calls B.J., of course. So
we talked a bit, but B.J. was in a rush to
go to one of his classes, so we exchanged
phone numbers and agreed that we get
together on the weekend and go out for
some sort of ethnic cuisine. We hadn’t
agreed on how ethnic the food was
going to be since B.J. didn’t like food that
was spicy, hard to pronounce, looked
different, or used ingredients not
usually found on a pizza, so I was
thinking Red Lobster would be kind of
Nova Scotian ethnic.
Anyway, Saturday rolls around, so I
reach into my wallet to pull out B.J.’s
number, but in its place all I had was a
business card that said that if I was
having any trouble with drapery I
should give this person a call. Since B.J.’s
knowledge of drapes is limited to the
time he urinated on some and then tore
them off in order to use them to put out
a fire he’d started in the vicinity of his
cat, I deduced that this number and B.J.’s
were not one and the same.
With B.J.’s number lost, my whole
weekend was shot. Having no B.J. meant
no reason to eat out. No reason to eat
out meant no Red Lobster. And no Red
Lobster meant no lobster bib! You can
see my dilemma. I needed to think, so I
went out to get some coffee from the
Common Ground in hopes that B.J. may
be there as well, but I thought this
unlikely considering he’s deadly allergic
to Avril Lavigne and Craig Cardiff’s
music. I went regardless. I hung out a
bit and had a few coffees, but no B.J.
After a few coffees, of course, I started
to get that feeling deep down in my
weiner that usually means that I have
to tinkle. I managed to make it over to
the upstairs mens’ room in the JDUC. I
only needed to wizz, but I thought, heh,
let’s kill two birds with one stone… one
kidney stone! Ha! No seriously, I wanted
to take a poop. And it’s a good thing,
too, because what did I see while in the
stalls? That’s right: written on the mens’
room wall was “BJ, 599-7777”. Of all the
lucky coincidences! The very man I’d
been looking to meet that day had
already written his name and phone
number on the mens’ room wall. I also
thought that I was extremely lucky,
since I had had only a one-in-four
chance to walk into the right stall. But
when I actually went checking out the
other stalls, it seemed that BJ had left
his number on all of the stalls.
Except that they were all
different numbers. On
the others were
“Likes to give BJ,
545-4545”, which
sounded a lot like
the B.J. I know, who
would just shower
me with wonderful
presents on my
birthday. There was
one that was more
descriptive, “Sloppy BJ,
546-8888”, which definitely is
B.J. to a tee. He’s probably one of the
messiest guys I know; he can’t even eat
a chocolate bar without getting it all
over his face. A slightly more esoteric,
“BJ, loves to swallow, no size too big or
too small, 544-4410”, although I didn’t
understand what he was referring to
and figured that I hadn’t seen him in a
long time and that he’d recently become
involved in a neo-dadaist movement.
Regardless, I figured at least one of these
numbers must lead to my good friend
B.J., so I gave them all a call.
Me: Hello, is B.J. there?
Other Person: Sorry?
Me: B.J., it’s me, man.
Other Person: I don’t know what you’re
talking about.
Me: B.J., I got your number of the mens’
room wall.
Other Person: Oh, okay, I see, right. Hey
there.
Me: Yeah dude, so do want to go out
and, you know, go for some Red Lobster
or something?”
Other Person: Red Lobster, eh? That’s a
new one. Yeah, that sounds okay.
Me: Cool, where do you what to meet?
Other Person: Umm, the stall in the
upstairs JDUC mens’ room should be
okay.”
Me: Ohhh, okay, well
umm, I guess so.
Sure! See you
there!”
The other
calls went
similar to
this and I
figured
that I’d
managed to
contact B.J.,
even though he
sounded different
every time and pretended that I
hadn’t just called him a second ago. I
figured that the most logical
explanation was that somehow B.J. had
convinced Bell to give him four different
phone numbers that were all hooked
up to his one phone so that he could
lead four simultaneously different lives.
I tell ya, that B.J. is pretty crazy.
I went to the mens’ room stalls at night
and waited for B.J. to show up. I was
waiting for a few minutes when this
complete stranger walks into the mens’
room stalls with me. I looked at him a
bit suspiciously and said, “Hey.” To
which he smiled weakly and said,
“Hey,” back and started to undo his
pants. I thought that this was a bit new
to me, but I guess if this guy needed to
go, he needed to go. But he didn’t go or
anything. He just stood there and
looked at me. I looked back at him,
arched my eyebrows, smiled and said,
“So, looks like there’s going to be a war
in Iraq, eh?”
Just as it was beginning to get really
uncomfortable, the door opened again.
I was hoping that it was B.J. so I could
be relieved from this slightly awkward
situation. However, I was somewhat
disconcerted to see another complete
stranger enter the already cramped
stall. Nervous smiles were exchange all
around and there was much nodding
of heads and biting of lips. I looked at
my watch. This process was repeated
not once, but twice more! So there we
were, five complete strangers in a mens’
room stall and one with his pants
around his ankles. I thought, “What a
happening joint, you could charge
cover for this place!” I looked at my
watch and seeing that B.J. was 30
minutes late, said, “None of you guys
know where B.J. is?” They all looked
blankly. “It’s just I was supposed to
meet B.J. here about half an hour ago
and he hasn’t shown up.” They
exchanged furtive glances, some of
which lingered more than others.
“Anyway,” I said, making my way out,
“It’s been nice to meet you all,” and then
made my way out of the JDUC mens’
room without meeting up with B.J. But
that didn’t matter, because I had at least
had a very interesting Saturday night.
So if you’re ever really bored on a
Saturday night, I suggest going to the
upstairs JDUC mens’ room, first stall on
the left, and you’ll be guaranteed a very
interesting evening.
Big Big Shnal
GOLDEN WORDS
Wor
dsday
y 29 th, 2003
ordsday
dsday,, Januar
January
Page 7
Tech Support
Irate Soup Customer: Hey Soup
Factory, I can’t get my soup open. I’ve
got this crazy big business meeting
in about 35 minutes and I need my
soup. You’ve gotta help me, I’ve tried
everything.
Tech Support: You’ve tried a canopener?
Irate Soup Customer: Of course I
have.
Tech Support: Is it an electric can
opener?
Irate Soup Customer: Yeah.
Tech Support: Is the can-opener
plugged into the wall?
Irate Soup Customer: Yeah, but it’s
not opening my soup.
Tech Support: I don’t know what to
tell you. I could send one of my guys
but that’ll be at least an hour.
Irate Soup Customer: Fine then, I’ll
just go to my meeting without the
soup and probably get fired. *click*
Irate Ring Customer: Hey Ring
Factory, I’ve got a ring stuck on my
finger. I just got a divorce and am
going to get married to the love of
my life in three weeks, so I need to
get this thing off.
Tech Support: Alright, just calm
down. We’ll get this thing sorted out.
Have you tried sliding the ring off
your finger by gripping it firmly and
pushing in a direction parallel to your
fingers?
Irate Ring Customer: You mean, have I
tried to pull it off?
Tech Support: Yeah.
Irate Ring Customer: No, I was worried
about damaging my knuckle.
Tech Support: Don’t worry, just slide it
gently. That way if it gets stuck, it won’t
hurt.
Irate Ring Customer: Alright, I’m trying
it now. Nope, it won’t come off.
Tech Support: Alright, are you fat?
Irate Ring Customer: Yeah. Do you
think that’s my problem?
Tech Support: That’s my guess. You
want to try losing some weight first?
Give me a call back if that doesn’t work
for you, ask for Jim.
Irate Ring Customer: I’ll do that, thanks
a lot Jim.
Irate Banana Customer: Hey Banana
Factory, my bananas are brown.
Tech Support: Right. What can I do for
you.
Irate Banana Customer: My bananas
turned brown.
Tech Support: We’ve established that.
How can I help you.
Irate Banana Customer: I don’t want
brown bananas.
Tech Support: Well bananas are
designed to turn brown after awhile
Irate Banana Customer: Why?
Tech Support: Well, bananas contain
natural chemicals and enzymes that
react with oxygen to form a rust-like
substance, but that’s just what they tell
you. I think they’re designed so you can’t
use them anymore, that way you have
to buy newer and brighter bananas.
Irate Banana Customer: I think I’m
going to switch to Apple’s.
Tech Support: I suggest eating the
bananas before they turn brown.
Irate Banana Customer: Word.
Irate Politician Customer: Hey
Politician Factory, my local politician
isn’t representing the constituents.
Tech Support: Are you sure about that?
All of our politicians are manufactured
with the highest specifications in mind
to provide the most robust and accurate
possible representation of democracy.
Irate Politician Customer: Yeah, okay
but I elected him on a platform of taxcuts to the rich, increased military
spending, conscription and diminished
freedom of speech.
Tech Support: I think you want the
dictator factory.
Irate Politican Customer: ohh, really?
Tech Support: I’m pretty sure.
Irate Politican Customer: What’s
they’re phone extension?
Tech Support: I’m not sure; they don’t
communicate very well with the
people.
Irate Machine Customer: Hey
Machine Factory, my machine isn’t
working.
Tech Support: Hmm, that’s a toughy.
Machine’s are supposed to work all
the time and make our lives easier.
Irate Machine Customer: Tell me
about it, that’s why I bought a
machine in the first place.
Tech Support: Alright, any clue why
it’s not working?
Irate Machine Customer: Nah, that’s
why I called you.
Tech Support: Right, so what does
the machine look like?
Irate Machine Customer: It’s kind of
big, has some whirry things and
does some stuff.
Tech Support: Oh one of the newer
models, you want to stick your
finger inside that flat thing and push
down.
Irate Machine Customer: Hey, it’s
working now. Thanks.
Animal Mother
?
?
?
Bill is lying dead on the floor. His
body is lying in a puddle of water,
and he is surrounded by broken
glass. What happened?
Bill had been schtupping his neighbour’s
wife for about six months when his
neighbour found out about it. In a fit of
jealous rage, Bill’s neighbour smashed
a glass of water over Bill’s head and then
shot him five times. Oh yeah, Bill had
been shot five times. Sorry. I should have
mentioned that sooner.
Bill is lying dead on the floor. His
body is lying in a puddle of water,
and he is surrounded by broken
glass. He’s also been shot five times.
What happened?
Bill is Charleton Heston’s goldfish.
The body of Bill is found up in a
?
tree in the middle of the forest. Bill
is soaking wet and dressed in full
scuba gear. What happened to
Bill?
Bill was engaged in his favourite sexual
fetish, neoprene suit breathing
apparatus tree humping, when he
slipped from a high branch. As he fell,
his face became lodged in the crook of a
branch, making it impossible for him to
remove his scuba gear. As he struggled
to free himself, the hose from his air tank
was pinched off, causing him to
suffocate. Why was he soaking wet?
Bill was a very, very sweaty man.
They find Bill dead in a cabin on
the side of a mountain. There has
been a terrible fire, but that’s not
how Bill died. How did he die?
Bill was a 97 year old hermit. He died of
?
old age. Then his shack was hit by
lightning and went up like dry kindling.
“But wait”, you say. “I thought he was
in a cabin, not a shack.” Well, smarty
pants, that’s because a plane full of
gasoline and matches then crashed into
his shack, adding to the conflagration.
Then Bill’s charred and broken body was
hurled into the air and crashed through
the window of the plane, depositing him
in the cabin. “But what of the crew of the
plane?” you ask. Simple. It was a robot
plane. Man, these mysteries are really
easy.
?
?
Golden Words
Mini Mysteries
?
?
?
?
?
?
?
?
?
?
?
happened?
Holy shit! There’s some sort of
serial killer out there hunting guys
named Bill! That explains all the
other grisly murders as well! Who
else would be diabolical enough
to crash a robot plane full of
gasoline and matched into a remote
mountain shack?Run! Run for
the hills!
The naked body of Bill is found
staked to the ground in the middle
of the park. He is surrounded by
still-burning candles. He has been
completely shaved, and his skin is
bleached white by chemicals.
Unholy symbols have been carved
in his chest with a knife. What
The Pompitous of Love
Page 2
GOLDEN WORDS
Volume XXXVII, Issue XVII
Cars of 2004
Using powers beyond the comprehension of mortal man(and by “mortal man”, I mean “a gerbil”),
you, O lucky reader, have been given an opportunity not known to most: a glimpse into the future.
While you may wish to know how your own life will turn out, what sort of terrific advances
human society will make, or perhaps simply who will win Survivor: Brazilian Slum or The
Bachelorette: Live in Tehran. Unfortunately, we don’t know any of this stuff. However, we DO know
the secret plans for the cars of 2004. Enjoy!
The Chevy Responsibilivan. This handsome warehouse on wheels is perfect for carting children,
pets, and groceries endlessly from one place to another ad nauseum until the sweet relief of death
comes. Special features include revolutionary spacing that lets the Responsibilivan transport
up to 15 children, safe enough to be legal but close enough so that any ride will inevitably be
accompanied by hours of bickering. Also, the van features an alarm that goes off whenever the
phrase “I wonder what would have
happened if I’d never gotten married”
is uttered, as well as a ‘mid-life crisis’
detector with hair-loss early warning
system.
The Honda Spite. Realizing that no
driving experience is complete without
screaming obscenities at your fellow
motorists for the slightest traffic
infractions, the Honda Spite aids the
driver in hurling curses. For example,
the Spite’s horn can be programmed to
play pre-recorded insults. “Fuck you
buddy!” and “Get off the damn road!”
are favourites, as is the simple, elegant
“Motherfucker!” But if it’s a hands-on
experience you crave, the Spite also
comes with an ‘Insultoprompter’,
which randomly generates expletives
for you to mutter under your breath or
scream out your window.
The Audi Pretension. Pushing the
boundaries of luxury sedans preferred
by snobbish pricks, Audi’s new
Pretension allows for the upper
echelons of society to truly drive in
style. Offering endangered leopard
seal-skin interior, driver’s side martini
shaker, and an automatic scoffing
device, there is little more that even the
most discerning wealthy jackass could
want in a car. For the particularly
paranoid WASP, the Pretension also
comes with an optional anti-ruffian
device that sprays acid on squeegee
kids, panhandlers, and anyone who
comes within 10 feet of the car who
does not earn six figures a year.
The Legomobile. Capitalizing on the
current customization trend that is
sweeping the nation’s Civic-driving
youth, Lego™has decided to enter into
the car market with the world’s first
fully-customizable
car.
The
Legomobile comes not assembled but
in several thousand small pieces that
can easily be assembledthousands of
different ways by any adult in a matter
of months. Drivers can add or detach
spoilers, rims, wheels, and dashboards
at their own choosing, replacing them
with parts they’ve built themselves!
This car is not recommended for people
with young children, as the car presents
a dangerous choking hazard for infants.
The Al-Qaeda Motors Terrormobile.
With a highly affordable $1000 price
tag, this 4-door sedan will be quite
popular. Al-Qaeda Motors assures the
public that there is nothing wrong with
the car despite its low price, and not to
pay attention to that innocuous black
suitcase that comes in the trunk, which
is definitely NOT a bomb that will
explode when you park your car in a
crowded public street. They swear.
dr sporklove
Wor
dsday
y 29th, 2003
ordsday
dsday,, Januar
January
GOLDEN WORDS
An Argument for Ending the Sanctions Against Iraq
Typed on a Keyboard Where the “E” is Broken
Nowadays, all kinds of folks is talking about Iraq and how us ought to bomb it.
Saddam is bad, folks say, and him ought to pay for his bad things against his
own nation and against folks from additional nations, too. But by punishing
folks from Iraq and saying it’s about punishing Saddam, folks from our nation
would do a thing that is also bad.
Now, I’m not saying that Saddam is good. Far from it, in fact. But Washington’s
war on Iraq is not a war for, um… autonomy. Bush’s campaign is not about our
morals or political philosophy, nor is Saddam an actual guy who might ruin
any of that. This campaign is actually a part of an ongoing war against Iraq
that’s, uh… it’s continuing from that Gulf War.
From that war to now, sanctions against folks of Iraq by Bush’s nation is
producing all kinds of poor living conditions, contamination, poor folks, and
pain. Not-guilty adults and kids is all dying, many from ills that folks could
totally start curing if not for Washington’s sanctions. Bush says it’s about saving
Iraq’s adults and kids from Saddam, but in actuality, Washingston’s sanctions
do all kinds of bad to such folks, and Saddam is not all that hurt by that.
So why a war? Various folks say that it’s about oil. Many, for 1, say that it’s
about $ and not about what’s right for all folks of Iraq. A group of folks say that
Iraq’s now a symbol to various oil nations, and Washington’s sanctions is about
showing folks what Washington can do if such nations go in opposition to
Washington, which Iraq did. Or is it that war is just good for Bush’s looks as
“big guy” in Washington?
Who knows why with this war? But in any such justification, what’s important
is that not-guilty folks is dying, as Washington insists that it must fight Saddam
to aid such folks. This is lying, and us folks must fight it.
Folks in our part of this world all has known horrors of bombing and killing.
With 9/11 still in our minds, us all know pain of war. So how can us allow such
pain to hurt folks in Iraq, or in any nation, in light of that? Uh-huh, Saddam is
bad. But if a non-war solution is in sight, us cannot allow Washington to hurry
to war.
Simply put, us is all humans.
With faith,
Miss Kingston Pn 1993
BIG BOSS BALLOON IS ANGRY
Page 9
Daredevil: The Soundtrack
s
Various Artists
Album
Meatsock
meatsock
The spiritual successor to the
surprisingly popular Spiderman
soundtrack (led by the deplorable song
“Hero”), Daredevil: The Soundtrack seeks
to follow in the mass appeal of last
summer ’s torturous soundtrack.
Nickelback appears on this soundtrack,
so if you haven’t tuned out MuchMusic
entirely by now, get ready to be
bombarded by some stellar Can-con
backed up by the kung-fu stylings of
Daredevil.
This album is the most transparent
attempt to make a disc with broad
appeal. With some tracks sounding like
the bastard offspring of Collective Soul
and the Googoo Dolls and others
featuring the ‘luminaries’ of Nu-metal,
all the bases of terrible, soulless music
were hit. I’m pretty sure that this
album is a black hole for musical
integrity. Just holding it is enough for
it to drain off any integrity you may
have had.
I don’t think I can say enough about
how little there is of value on this
album. There is no cohesive sound,
there is no quality music. Nothing will
make you listen to it more than once to
understand the song in its entirety.
Musically, it’s about as challenging as
playing Mary Had a Little Lamb in Grade
6 music, and you’re on fucking rhythm
sticks and I’m playing the triangle.
Jack Kerouac Knapsack Band
s
Jack Kerouac Knapsack Band
Album
Pants Optional
This band delivered exactly what the name promised.
Ranma 1/2
P
Bandai Entertainment
Big
Big Big Shnal
If you pour water on a guy, there’s a 50% chance he’ll turn into a panda and a
50% chance he’ll turn into a girl.
Television Show!!!
,
The Previous Review
Big Big Shnal
Review
Reviewer
Surly
I only want to sing.
What have I done? I’m sorry. Please take me back. This
show is my only chance. PLEASE HELP ME!
Television Show
Revied by an Ousted Contestant
I HATE THIS SHOW. I WILL NEVER WATCH IT AGAIN. I’M
TALENTED. I’M GOING TO BE THE STAR! FAME!
V
Fox
THE WORKERS ARE STRIKING AT THE
BUBBLE FACTORY
American Idol
It’s quite true, in fact. That review summed up that show quite nicely.
Page 12
GOLDEN WORDS
Volume XXXVII, Issue XVII