The students of this alternate McGall seem set to strike, joining with many other Quebec universities in an effort to repel the Quebec government’s austerity program. McGall organizers had no problem conversing with representatives from other universities, as McGall students apparently make an effort to learn and speak French whenever possible in this universe.

Student representatives I spoke to in this universe were straightforward in their support for a strike. “Ever since the last strike – over tuition hikes, which we readily joined – this movement seemed like a no-brainer,” claimed SHMU councillor Ihavean Opinion.

“Our council took a strong stance on the events, despite the fact that some of our constituents may have disagreed. We figured that that was our job, and set out to properly organize, such that the entire student body could vote on the matter. I’m nearly certain that we’ll strike. Those who vote ‘no’ are sure to respect the decision.”

Opinion’s confidence was backed up by the voices of other students I spoke to on campus. “Listen, I don’t see my education as merely a means to an economic end. I’m not getting my degree just to get a job. Besides valuing the inherent worth of my education, I’m also very cognizant of my place within Quebec society, and feel that this movement supersedes the capital importance of getting my degree at exactly the time I planned,” said Ui student Mountain Dew Wolfman Bull. His opinion echoed many of the ones I heard during my trip through the alternate universe. There was clearly a strong, well-defined political left at this McGall campus.

Other things were strange about this place; Bull continued to tell me that the McGall Actually Daily is “well respected around campus. Not everyone agrees with it, but they make sure to make their disagreement part of a well-reasoned discussion as opposed to hating the entire paper regardless of the content.”

I asked him what the discussion was like on a site like reddit, specifically r/McGall. “Reddit? I, um, haven’t heard of that website.”

Stunned, I spoke to another student. “The McGall administration has been super supportive of us through all this,” said U6 Biological Economical Political Theory student Neputinius “Big Al” Batiboy.

“They really listen to our concerns, and have worked hard to continue to cater to the students’ needs. I feel like they could’ve stopped after successfully divesting from fossil fuel and military research, but they’ve gone the extra mile. My advisor, who’s always available to talk, was just remarking how well the school has responded to the stress of a strike. She even mentioned how the TAs would continue to be paid nearly as well as the professors themselves once the strike started.”

I continued to walk around this campus, strangely diverse and politically active. The campus bar was not jammed full of assholes, rather, there were a bunch of not-too-loud people enjoying a drink. I sat down at a table of people who greeted me warmly. As I took my first sip of beer, Satan’s voice beckoned me. “You must return to my fallen world,” he said. At that instant I traveled through a wormhole back to our own universe, back in Gerts. It was loud, and a bro was screaming at me to “chug or go the fuck home.” I walked back to The Weekly’s office. No one at this campus – in this universe – would ever strike.

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—Duly Depart(ing)

Long Dis-tance

(n). desire pushed to its absolute limits

The lover experiences true desire, not the sham by which the lover lives usually of false desire cycles, and finds it detestable.

• Ah, yes, I have returned from this summer newly refreshed, revived, as if after some sort of sommeil profond. Having crossed from death to life, summer to fall is a trifle. The tan fades.

• I’ve written much about separation and love (have you not read my Lover’s Discourse, Duly?), though perhaps the new technology of this age requires an update, of a sort. It was not the same in “my” times (oh, the pernicious possessive!).

• Let us first tell the story of two very intelligent people, dear friends, who at one time were in a long-distance relationship. It is a common enough thing. They are dead now – oh, how I miss them, on the other side (and how we say other, as if life and death were different things!) – so I can say, it was Jean Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir. Jean Paul and Simone – that fox, Simone – were more of what we today call “an open relationship” – friends with benefits (and now we imagine that film, with Ashton Kutcher and Mila Kunis, but instead with Sartre and Simone!) – yet they privately confided to me, in letters, their intense desires to be reunited – quite graphically! When he made such a show of not accepting the Nobel Prize; and fled to Helene de Beauvoir’s? That sly dog.

• Anyway, I digress. The lover, the true lover, is always separated, or always wishes to be. Attraction is rooted in the desire for what is not there; the desire for the desire itself. Tautology, of course, you know. When we are together in the same place, the same here-ness, the desire can be fulfilled regularly, can be completed, reset for the next cycle. Desire; communion; separation; desire. Repeat.

• Long distance creates a desire for that which we truly cannot have. “But we have biweekly Skype calls!” says the desperate lover. Ah, yes, when one can worship the image of the other, can connect their voice and image and deepen desire. That person might as well be in the room! Might as well; and now the realization: not there.

• No, long distance only takes the same desire and takes it to its end point. The separation will be longer, and yes, there will be reunions, planned for, yearned for, and they will be shorter. More desire, less completion. The longdistance lover as the glutton from the film Matilda: too much chocolate cake (too much desire).

• A long distance relationship could work, providing that there is a set end date; there must be an end to the lover’s impossible desire. Though, of course, you may find things changed once again when you return; it is as Goethe’s Werther says: “But alas! when we have attained our object, when the distant ‘there’ becomes the present ‘here,’ all is changed; we are as poor and circumscribed as ever, and our souls still languish for unattainable happiness.”

• So, I venture, it depends, ça dépend. It could work; it most likely will be terrible. It may just be the elongation – till some untenable point – of your break-up (yes, it is inevitable). Ça depend. If you came to this text expecting a clear answer – there is nothing to be done with you, Duly.

The post Dear Abby (or Roland Barthes) appeared first on The McGill Daily.

The Paw and the Pendulum
When inquisition judges hand down a ruling of “bad, bad boy,” Wishbone knows he’s in the doghouse. Panic sets in as our favourite furry friend flees from a series of torments that make a trip to the vet seem like a walk in the park.

Infinite Fetch
In a near-future world not unlike our own, PetCo has released a chew toy so effective that dogs will chew on it until they die. Various factions – including a group of three-legged francophone poodle nationalists and the new North American government, the L.E.G.H.U.M.P – vie for the chew toy against a backdrop of an elite dog competition training facility and a rehab kennel. With numerous and extensive pawnotes!

Puppy’s Complaint
Wishbone sits down with his psychoanalyst, Dr. Spielvogel, and proceeds to divulge a life of lurid sexual practice, including his special taste for Jewish mothers and dachshunds.

Underwoof
In this special three-hour episode, Wishbone experiences roughly everything that happened in the U.S. between 1950 and 1990, including the Shot Heard Round the World, nuclear paranoia, the comedy of Lenny Bruce, and the evolution of New York. Also, Wishbone is totally cheating on his wife – woof!

A Good Dog is Hard to Find
A family road trip to Florida takes an unexpected turn when a notorious killer escapes from the pound. Confronted with senseless violence at the paws of the rabid ruff-ian, Wishbone has to think fast or get licked.

Gravity’s Rainbow-wow
Wishbone starts the episode as an American soldier in occupied Germany post-World War II, of particular interest to a network of U.S. espionage agents because treats fall wherever he gets erections. Wishbone goes in search of a mysterious missing German dog toy, and then disappears in the last half of the episode. Good luck keeping up!

The Hound and the Furry
Witness the Wishbone family’s tragic decline in the early twentieth-century American South. Told in a shifting stream-of-consciousness style, “The Hound and the Furry” pushes the limits of the children’s educational daytime programming genre.

Love in the Time of Collar-a
The fantastic and devastating story of a romance that’s more than just puppy love. Wishbone stars as a devoted dog who shows the true meaning of man’s – or should we say woman’s – best friend, as he spends his life whining and begging for the beautiful Portuguese Water Dog Fermina.

Madame Rover-y
Wishbone, yearning to escape the provincial backyard with all its meaningless bone-ality, falls into a sordid extra-marital affair.

A Heartbreaking Tail of Staggering Genius
Wishbone is excited to start obedience school when – ruh-roh! – his parents are taken on a one-way veterinary visit. Left alone to raise his siblings in a dilapidated doghouse, this puppy has to grow up quick.

No Country for Old Dogs
Wishbone plays an old sheriff in pursuit of a nihilist dog catcher, on the hunt for a dog who’s dug up a bone he can’t handle. Maybe old dogs really can learn new tricks. Or not.

120 Dogs of Sodom
Four wealthy dogs, Wishbone included, resolve to experience a ruff-rollicking life of debauched breeding sealed in a secluded kennel. When all is said and done, you’ll have a whole new definition of “doggy style.”

SEASON FINALE: Old Yeller
Oh, Jesus…

The post Wishbone episodes that could never be appeared first on The McGill Daily.

It was 1:25 exactly when class ended; I had an hour until my next class and I needed to eat. I was hungry.

My class was in the Education Building and I did not want to eat in the bleak, fluorescent Education cafeteria. I decided to walk down the hill to Bronfman. There was a lot of construction along the way. I wanted to eat at the new Mexican place. It was called Quesada. I had never been.

As I walked into the modern-looking Bronfman cafeteria, I could not believe the line. It stretched to the entrance. I entered this line: this must be worth it.

I looked at my phone. I scrolled through Instagram, and liked a couple photos. I checked my Twitter. I briefly dealt with Facebook. My friend’s snapchats were funny. The line inched forward.

I saw the options for the burritos. Regular, large, and big ass. You could get a big ass burrito. In what place could this ever be appetizing? I did not want to go to the counter and ask for a ‘big ass’ burrito. The sound of it hurt.

I decided I wanted a large. I looked at the options for meat. Steak. Yes, that would be good. I asked for a large steak burrito. With white rice and black beans.

Then I saw the steak. This steak did not look natural. It did not appear to be from any cow I had ever known. It was grey. It looked as if it were created by some steak-substitute sludge. Still I decided to try it.

I looked at the counter. I could tell that this restaurant was trying to be like Chipotle. But it was as if these people saw Chipotle and wanted nothing to do with food quality. It was probably more profitable that way.

The number of topping choices was almost overwhelming. I did not want to slow down the people behind me. I got the guacamole for 75 cents extra. I even got the corn. I do not like corn that much, but I didn’t want to delay any longer.

They heated the whole burrito on another press, and then handed it over to me. I wanted it to go. I wanted to battle this burrito in private. I paid, and it seemed like a reasonable cost.

I went to the SSMU lounge. I saw a friend there. She said, “I haven’t had Quesada yet. I don’t like burritos. They’re like a food-tube of stuff.”
I was initially shocked. I like burritos. As I unwrapped this burrito, though, it was a food-tube. But I would finish this burrito. I took the first bite. At most I could say: it was a burrito, with beans, and rice, and cilantro, and onion, and corn. But there was no distinguishing flavour. It was all mush.
I got to halfway through the burrito. It had begun to drip something that could not be identified. But I would not be defeated. A man can be destroyed but not defeated. [Ed’s Note: Possibly written before The Old Man and The Sea].

Each bite was a battle. The meat was grey and slimy, barely tasting of anything. Though I knew I must beat this. “I will eat you, burrito,” I said to the last fourth of it. “I will say I have eaten Quesada.” I looked at my phone – 2:10 p.m.. “Burrito,” I said, “Burrito, you are going to be eaten anyway. Do you have to make me late for class too?”

I got to that part of the burrito where it has been destroyed from two sides. I thought of the great Joey Chestnut, who ate all those hot dogs. I must be worthy of the great Chestnut, who could eat all those hot dogs despite his pain. I tipped it over and took the last couple of bites, hoping that I would not have the drippings of this burrito on me. I thought the great Chestnut must be proud of me today.

I finished. I wrapped up my trash, careful to corral all the juices, and threw out my bag. I started to walk back toward Education. I was nearly out of breath by the time I arrived. It was 2:32 p.m.. I found a seat.

Yes, I conquered that burrito. But all through class, and for the rest of the day, I was uncomfortable, my stomach rumbled. In my life I was never to feel at ease again.

The post Hemingway eats at Quesada appeared first on The McGill Daily.

The email, sent around 9:30 a.m., announced a partnership between the city of Montreal and the University in the first step of McGall’s Protocol to Limit Student Mobility, Accessibility, Ease, and Humanity. The email reads, “When the city told us that they could make something nearly as inconvenient as the Annual McTavish Flood, but stretch it out over an interminable amount of time, we had to jump on it. Especially if it coincided with the first week of school. In fact, the walking corridors on each side of the street have been in our plans for quite some time!”

The email went on to outline the rest of the steps that would take place under the new Protocol, helpfully abbreviated as PLSMAEH. “PLSMAEH is only entering its first stage,” the email continued. “Phase Two will implement walking corridors throughout campus, each with two lanes. We know that this will bring the university together as we will all walk the same path! Along these paths, our friendly corporate sponsors have opened shops and restaurants for you to enjoy!” Under the new plan, students will be able to move between classes on these paths only. Lower Field has been divided into thirty two separate cubicles, such that students can have Leisure Time (Brought to You by Subway) for around thirty minutes a day. The email adds that “students will still be able to enjoy the Outdoor Air Pub in our new MOLSON OUTDOOR PARTY TENT, too!”

Phase Three is frankly fucking terrifying: “Once all have returned from winter vacation for the first day of second semester, the exits will be sealed. McGall will become its own independent state, with tuition rising to competitive rates of $60,000 per year, plus a mandatory $25,000 room/board/food stipend; if your family ever wants to see you again, they’ll pay. Students may be able to leave once they have completed McGall-sanctioned research.” Early reports indicate that this research will be for-profit and in service of military technology companies, asbestos mines, and the tobacco industry. McGall also announced the purchase of forty new armoured tanks in order to fully enforce PLSMAEH.

Student reaction to the email has been muted, as not one person has ever read a “Sup, Dawgz?/Ça Va, Chienz?” email before this intrepid reporter. The email ends ominously with these words: “Say goodbye to your families. Fuck budget cuts, fuck protesters, fuck student radicals. You belong to us now. The Glorious Republic of McGall (Sponsored by Bell) forever. Please join us for a barbecue Friday.”

The post McGall and Montreal unite to limit student mobility appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Shakespeare Wasn’t Even One Person
A Midsummer Night’s Cream
The Hempest
Dick III
King Beer

Totally Over Modernism
A Portrait of the Artist as a Drunk Man
The Lovin’ Song of J. Alfred Prufuck
The Wasted Land
Ezra Pound

White Male Postmodernists
The Crying of Lot 69
Mason & Dickin’
Infinite Keg
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Penis
Imperial Bedrooms
The Rules of Attraction

Canadian
Cumming Through Slaughter
There’s This Trick in Bed I’m Learning to Do: Poems
Anal’s Ghost
How Drunk Should a Person Be?
Stoner Diaries

Ugh, Hemingway?
For Whom the Balls Toll
A Moveable Queef
The Old Man and the Seamen
The Boner Also Rises
A Farewell to Beers

Ancient
Virgin’s the Aeneid
Carpe Noctem
In Vino Veritas

Awards are for Sell Outs
MacArthur Penis Grant
PEEN/Fuckner Award
Stephen Leacock Award

Too Soon
Bong Walk to Freedom

Too Meta
Swords and Scabbards Imagery
The Fight With the Monster in Spenser’s Faerie Queen
Dude The Obscure
This Week Gives Us Total License To Be Loud Assholes
Wow, We Don’t Give A Fuck About Anyone Else on Campus

—Compiled by Heaven Sent and Peein’ More

The post List of rejected Carnival names by a team of English Majors appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Demons are reportedly flying out of said pit, terrorizing large lecture-style classes, making snide comments about the university’s lack of school spirit, and stealing research opportunities and flying them to higher ranked universities. The demons have also been accused of disrupting job interviews of recent McGall grads by loudly discussing the university’s drop in quality, and, most notably, harvesting human souls from students and using them to empower Satan in his quest to wage war against God and retake Heaven.

Professors in McGall’s Department of Religious Item Analysis were quick to point out that this development was not unexpected, due to the aforementioned drop in the Arbitrary Rankings. L.N. Ate Ken, Associate Professor in the department, released a public statement after the rankings slip that, “The Bible has foretold that once the great school in the North falls behind the one slightly further South, and in a large urban area, the school of the North would lose their smug sense of superiority over the school from the South and be plagued by Satan himself.” Ate Ken went on to explain that “[researchers] originally thought this was something about the Holy Land, or something, but it’s pretty clear now that Hell on Earth has come to McGall campus due to our drop in rankings. May God have mercy on our souls.”

Satan himself later rose out of the pit, and held court with McGall Weekly reporter Dan A. Ray. “Listen, there’s a real estate phrase that’s really key here: location, location, location,” Satan said. “When you get a resodded field at Canada’s second best university, you just can’t pass that kind of thing up.”

Satan further went on to explain the attractiveness of McGall campus in comparison to its main competitors, the University of T-Dot and the University of Brattish Chrysanthemums: “Well, [the other campuses] were a little cramped. Not to mention their student to faculty ratios were actually getting lower, and, well, low student to faculty ratios are like upside down crosses to us: we stay away. Their rankings are increasing too, while McGall has this beautiful field and a lowering rank. McGall made the key decision to cut smaller classes in the Arts faculty, which shot that student-faculty ratio way up. So, when I talked over the decision with [key advocate] Margaret [Wente], it was clear where we had to go.”

After the interview, Ray briefly mentioned that Satan was “pretty chill,” despite the destruction he and his kin are continuing to wreak upon campus.

Student reaction has been unilaterally negative. “With this drop in the rankings, what will employers see my degree as? Worthless?” read one meacocks.com piece. Later in the piece, the author continued: “Oh yeah, I mean, I guess my soul is in danger of being feasted upon by demons, but, wait: what does this mean for my future?”

The post Rankings drop, portal to hell appears on lower field appeared first on The McGill Daily.

“It’s been a long road for us. But thanks to commenters on Facebook, Reddit, and the McGall Twice-A-Weekly’s website, I’ve learned how wrong I was about everything,” continued Blake.

Blake, who had participated in many demonstrations against the Quebec government’s tuition hikes – and also their proposed indexation and budget cuts – admitted that he had been “wrong” to demonstrate. “It became quite clear to me: because I could pay for higher tuition, I’m not allowed to protest against it. I have a MacBook and sometimes buy Starbucks coffee; after realizing this, I stripped off my red square in disgust. Also, Quebec’s tuition is the lowest in the country, and when things are low, they should be higher. That’s like downtown Duh-ville.”

“My original idea to instead tax corporations a percentage point or two more, I found, was also ridiculous. The businesses would leave, and, as is known, without businesses, how could the province survive? Yes, businesses, not education, is what’s important. I now feel strongly that education should be structured like a business, because business just works. Pay more, get better things. Economics: it always works. Unassailable, really.”

Blake expressed regret that “my and other campus radicals’ actions last year, in getting a tuition freeze enacted, caused the government to cut the education budget this year. The protests led to that, for which I am deeply sorry.”

Blake also addressed other recent controversies that he had taken a radical stance on, such as Divest McGall. “I thought that divesting from fossil fuels would make a more ethical university. But, once again, rationality came out ahead. Divesting would barely dent fossil fuels’ money supply, and what would it mean for engineers? Their post-graduate employment possibilities would be threatened. We can’t just willy-nilly go into a decision like that. It should take time. And we need to make sure engineers have jobs, before finding cleaner energy sources. Same thing with Demilitarize McGall. That research isn’t all bad, after all. The ends justify the needs.”

Blake had recently participated in the March Against Police Brutality. “What a horrible mistake,” he conceded, before announcing his intention to pay the $637 fine he had received after being caught in a kettle. “Listen. It’s like this. The police are among the best people we have in this great nation (I mean Canada here, though I think Barack Obama and the U.S. are doing great, too). They protect the people. I now have an implicit trust in them. Brutality is an outlier. And the protesters need to start submitting their route, really.”

Blake further pledged support for moderation in all facets of life. “Thank goodness I had my revelation before voting in the SSMU elections. I now know that a moderate approach – one that works with the administration, never too pushy, was the best for this school. Plus, everyone who I voted for declared that they would keep politics out of their platforms. Personal politics have nothing to do with making decisions for the students’ society, of course.”

Recent controversies over Frosh themes and 4Floors costumes were also addressed: “I used to be offended by things like blackface, sombreros, and Frosh themes that encouraged the hypersexualization of women. But I needed thicker skin. I mean, once you get rid of one thing, where does it ever stop? This slope is very slippery. Gotta just grin and bear it.”

At the end of his statement, Blake concluded with a statement regarding McGall’s administration, about whom he had previously penned numerous angry articles for The Twice-A-Weekly. “I used to think those guys were so, so bad. But then it came to me: the administration just wants to help us. They’re here, primarily, for students. I can’t wait to take more Arts classes with full-time professors, even if they’re bigger in size. Because I know the administration listened to people like me.”

Blake, when asked by The Twice-A-Weekly what he plans to do with his newfound rationality, gave a low-key answer. “Well, I plan to teach radicals the same lessons I’ve learned using internet commenting. But, when I’m not doing that, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go to some sports games, watch some movies – I heard Argo was really good – and definitely hit the wine and cheeses up. Oh, and BDA. Dolla dolla beers y’all!”

The post Campus radicals learn rationality appeared first on The McGill Daily.

WalkSafe reported that the student’s flashbacks were more than visual. “He said that he could taste the warm Boreale in his mouth, could feel the next morning hangover, could feel the August sun beating on his shoulders” as he raved into the night. He also reportedly heard the McGall fight song “multiple times,” but eye witnesses at the scene heard only the echoes of a house party happening three blocks away, mixed in with his shouts.

This incident is one of many reported this month, as recently divulged in a McGall MRO. “This time of year is especially difficult for students, especially those close to graduating who have to relive the trauma of their first years in the Milton-Parc area over and over again in what should be a simple commute home. Also, please don’t pee in the alleys,” reported McGall’s PR Mascot, Sweetie Boy-Sweet.

One student reported excrucriating migraines as she witnessed a group of first-years, decked in puke-suits, partaking in their first Carnival. Huddled in a ball on the ground, she attempted to warn these students, but her babbling was mostly incoherent. This reporter’s best attempt to transcribe these mutterings would look like: “ohgodpleaseno, stop, this is too much, so cold, the beer, the beer, the puke running down my chin, onto-my-suit. Ohgod.” The group, reportedly on the Carnival team For Whom the Balls Toll, merely dismissed these “haters” and moved onto their next event.

Many students are wondering how they can avoid such visceral reactions. “So, do we, like cut up on Pins and skip it altogether? How far north do I have to go? Just getting to the 80 [bus] at Pins might be difficult,” said fourth-year student Bo Plankton. “I mean, BDP is right there. Oh. BDP. The cups, the balls, going everywhere, a person crouching under you to pick up the balls, no room no room no room anywhere. It is only a Tuesday. Packed like sardines…”

Psychologist and VP of Student Life Mortono Joaquin Fendelson claimed to have some tips for students, available during his “many meetings with student groups this semester.” Fendelson has spread the following tips:

“Never, ever, ever, go into New Rez. You might remember the floor seven party you went to with promises of free pizza but all that was there was five guys playing beer pong, and the stickiest floors you had ever felt. You might remember eating yet another pasta in your to-go box in the cafeteria. It is highly suggested you stay away.”

“Similarly, Upper Rez is a place that shall not be named. Similarly, you might not want to go to the Greater Toronto Area [GTA] to prevent further flashbacks. Too many people you know from Rez are there. Think of it – Scarborough. Now run away from that place.”

Fendelson also states that despite these warnings, one should be able to look upon first year with “Fond Memories (TM).”

“Frosh is a wonderful event that brings people together on campus, much like a giant fruit salad, or not protesting, ever (but, if you have to, please form an orderly queue, and orderly is defined by this new document). I mean, not that McGall’s campus needs to be much more together. It is truly the happiest place on Earth, a wonderland, and Frosh and first-year is an intergral part of this Eden we have created on Earth. Also, please don’t yell swear words or pee in the alleys or drink outside Lower Field. There are fines for that.”

While filing this story, the original reporter was unable to finish, as he was given a tip about another incident occurring at Tokyo Nightclub on a Thursday night. Upon seeing the Marlin hanging over the queue, he went into an immediate fugue state. His recorder, turned over to this reporter, reveals these quotes: “I am the Marlin. The Marlin is I. Where am I going? Where have I been? This is where I’ve been, inside the Marlin, like Jonah. I am Jonah. What is my test?” And he was gone. He has not been seen in days, though reports have placed him at various Mile End locales, trying to “shed his skin, or former identity, like a snake.”

WalkSafe, in wake of these incidents, has pledged extra support for students, while also advising them to take the Metro or something.

The post Incidents of “visceral flashbacks” on the rise among fourth-year students appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Other documents found by The Twice-a-Weekly lay out the administration’s plans. The official plan was to spring a leak in the McTavish Reservoir, leading to a massive water slide down McTavish. At that point, students, professors, and administrators alike would rush into the stream and joyously ride to the bottom. The administration also planned to hand out McGall-branded inner tubes, but the delivery truck was not able to arrive in time.

In an email to VP (Counting and Adding Up) Princes Di Anna, Mama-Boom steams over the lack of enthusiasm. “We had a student who went in to show everyone how fun it would be! We had told her about it before, and she had volunteered! And yet, somehow, people were somehow dissuaded to join in. It might have been the chunks of debris that were also going down the slide.”

“God damn,” she added, “I can’t wait to get out of this soul-sucking, no-fun-allowed place.”

These emails and memos are dated to approximately hours after the flood had begun. When reached for contact by The Twice-a-Weekly, McGall PR Mascot Sweetie Boy-Sweet responded sixty hours later with a full explanation. “Well, the world record attempt was thoroughly misunderstood. We even had a nice lady from the Guinness Book of World Records there to take it in. She claimed not to see enough participation to truly call it a waterslide.”

Boy-Sweet’s email continues: “We didn’t really expect it to flood the buildings like it did, though. But we didn’t want to waste this primo opp[ortunity]. The city kept calling us and telling us that they could shut off the water, but we kept telling them to wait. Heatha had this great idea.”

Boy-Sweet’s email then describes what he calls “the best night of [his] life.” According to Boy-Sweet, Mama-Boom Fendelson, Di Anna, and Manfredo, along with key members of the BoG, snuck over to McTavish around 3 a.m., dressed in swimsuits and toting their own, personalized inner tubes. (“Mine is so awesome,” Boy-Sweet added. “And it only cost an extra $1,000 (or, 1 Arts class) to pay for it!”). At first, Boy-Sweet alleges that he was against the plan. “I was so worried we would get caught. I said, ‘Heatha, come on, do we have to??? We could get in so much trouble!’ To which she replied, ‘Joaquin and I will not have our fun spoiled by you, VP of being a wet blanket.’ So I went with them.”

At this time, the water was (somehow) still flowing. “Heatha and Joaquin took their tubes and just dove in! And then, whooosh! They went down the street! At first I was scared, but then Manfredo gave me a shove and then, whooooosh! There I was going! It was so much fun. I just looked at Heatha and gave her this huge smile.”

Boy-Sweet then goes on to describe, in detail, how the administration members took approximately twenty more rides. “Then,” he claims, “we had a great idea. Another water slide. So we broke one [pipe] above Wong and started going down that!”

By 6 a.m., Boy-Sweet claimed, the administrators were “very tired.” They were so tired that they decided to “pretend that James was flooded, so we could take the day off. With pay, of course.”

Twice-A-Weekly reporter Cherry Cola was thoroughly perplexed by the news and asked Boy-Sweet if the high costs of the administration’s waterslide was worth it. 67 hours later, Boy-Sweet responded with a short note.

“You know, as long as the administration is having fun, and top-level administrators from around the country know we are having fun, and we are drawing them in that way, then no expense is too much. Best wishes, Sweetie.”

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It’s like, what am I going to do with my life from here? My overly entitled years as a teenager are coming to an end. But what comes next? It’s just so worrisome. School feels like a trap, like I’m 2007 Britney Spears, shaved head, waiting to get out of her car and face the paparazzi. What will I do? I want to write, but, beyond the occasional MeCock’s Thought Catalog rip-off, what else is there to do? The Twice-A-Weekly? Ugh, so #controversial. I couldn’t. But who will be able to hear my unique voice in these trying times for millennial twenty-somethings?

My life on campus feels like a show on syndication – repeats over and over again. The same people you had that embarrassing one-night stand with at the same Sucka Frees, your same roommate quibbles, your same boring Poli Sci conferences. Where’s the excitement that countless college movies promised me would come? Even my attempts to get spotted on campus in another fantastic outfit come in vain; if you wear a beautiful scarf, jacket, and boots combo (I matched the leather!), and MeCock’s doesn’t spot it, did I ever even wear it? I come home after a long day of looking so put together and fall apart once I get home, my taken-off clothes a pile of unmet expectations. Will this be my twenties?

And, ugh, sigh at my love life. Where’s my partner that will lovingly stroke me to sleep during the cold winter months of my twenties? It’s like the more and more I watch When Harry Met Sally or The Notebook the less and less chance I find my own Ryan Gosling (#LOL, not Billy Crystal, amirite?). I look around the Ghetto and see guys in puke suits which is fun, but, you know, long term? No.

I’m halfway through school but like, it’s so dark (these winters are so dark!) and I can’t see anything on the horizon. I know it’s somewhat pretentious to quote F. Scott Fitzgerald (American Lit what what) but I feel like the man in the rowboat, beating on against the current, back borne ceaselessly into the past. I feel like that sentence will define me better than any attempt I’d ever make at writing something, but then again, I still have this urge to write. Unfortunate, right? It can only get worse.

Maybe I’m never growing up, never moving past this teenage angst, these feelings. Like I’m in permafreeze during my twenties. I’ll still watch Spongebob and the Rugrats and go to increasingly ironic nineties nights just to feel at home. I’ll have to figure out a job (oops to my unemployable degree) and my love life and new friends, maybe a new place. Making mistakes. It may be a cliché, but: I’ll take it one day at a time.

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