As our readers may very well know, The Weekly’s office is located in a dark-damp corner in the basement of Shtaneer – but in an even darker-damper nook of this same building is the lair of the SHMUrsonalities, the occult cult that rules over all SHMUtizens with an iron fist.

Speaking to Arrikan, 茶茶 asked, “Yo did you hear that – a sinister laugh emanating from the depths of Shtaneer?” In response, Arrikan scoffed, saying, “Duh.”

Gearing up, the two journalists-in-arms prepared for the treacherous trek into the bowels of Shtaneer. After a two-day spelunk, the dynamic duo reached the SHMUffice mid-Sunday. Received at the lobby by the SHMUceptionist, the pair of reporters asked if they could do an interview with whoever was the source of the sinister laugh.

Speaking to The Weekly via the dyad of editors, the SHMUceptionist said, “Ah yes, the sinister laugh. It came from the office of the King.”

Baffled beyond belief, the doublet of newspeople ran inside, only to see an eldritch light emanating from the office of Abraham Kream, the Overburdened, King of SHMU, Lord of the Twelve Faculties, Protector of Social Justice, Lord Paramount of Arts, Eternal Sovereign of la Nouvelle Résidence, the Advisor on Matters of Social Responsibility, Conqueror of Climate Change, Great Restructurer, General Assembler, the Seventh of the Seven, and former Interim Carer of the SHMU Babies and Chairperson of the Council of Students’ Commissars of the Students’ Union.

Inside Kream’s office was a sight most marvellous. Three people stood around a desk, which was covered with a black cloth adorned with arcane runic symbols. Atop this desk, glowing like one of those ultraviolet mosquito traps, was Kream himself, muttering words in a long-forgotten language that scratched at the ears of the two holders of the press pass.

Suddenly, a silent explosion took place, shaking Shtaneer to its very core. When the partners-in-journalism shed their stupor, they saw Kream sitting at his desk, with VP Outermost Emilia Trotsnik, Librarian Extraordinaire Aaaron Sorbet, and VP Bludgeons & Deliverance Killber Diealik standing behind the bedeviled SHMUrsonality.

Speaking to The Weekly, the three spellbinders obviously behind Kream’s reverse exorcism said, “We are pretty angry with the way things turned out, you know?”

Diealik said, “I really wanted to get some more money so I could spend all that on our precious SHMU bludgeons. But I can’t do that now.” Trotsnik continued, “All our hopes and dreams kinda failed because of that incident when the Anointed One turned off the floodgates of democracy on campus.”

During a “quorum love-in” last year, a student had become so attuned with Robert’s Rules that they were able to transcend the SHMUndaries of reality. Since then, McGall has been a dried-up desert, devoid of democracy.

“I WILL OPEN THE FLOODGATES OF DEMOCRACY,” Kream said rudely (because he spoke before he was spoken to), but the double scriveners were nice enough to let Kream continue speaking.

“I SHALL DROWN THE SHMUTIZENS IN A FLOOD OF DEMOCRACY,” he expressed.

Smiling devilishly behind Kream, Trotsnik, Sorbet, and Diealik produced infernal pens from their pockets and began writing in perfect SHMUnison on a piece of paper in front of Kream.

“On Monday, February 22, let it be known that the SHMUtizens are expected to attend a General Assembly. All SHMUtizens are expected to be excited about this event,” they wrote.

And on top of this document, in large letters, with the first letter of each word larger than the rest, they wrote, “Bring Democracy to SHMU.”

The post In search of democracy appeared first on The McGill Daily.

This year, there are three candidates running for the position, but The Weekly has decided to interview only one, as we believe he is the only one capable of delivering SHMU from its many problems. This person, of course, is no other than U3 Interdimensional Development and Eldritch Studies student Howard P. Lovecraft, who has also been recently elected president of McGall Students for the Furthering of Eldritch Studies (SFES).

The McGall Weekly (MW): So tell us Howard, what is your plan, what is your platform? How will you change SHMU?

Howard Lovecraft (HL): The oldest and strongest emotion of humankind is fear. And the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown. When many of my colleagues look at this entity which we call our Headquarters, they are filled with a vicious fear. After all, against such a cyclopean and abnormal entity, how can one hope to survive? To succeed? No, this decadent and hideous thing must be reformed, if not destroyed.

MW: That is all very exciting; but what exactly are you planning on changing if you are elected VP Partyperson? Will we be seeing more parties? You don’t seem like a fun guy.

HL: To the scientist, the joy in pursuing truth nearly counteracts the depressing revelations of truth. Maybe I am not fun, but that is besides the point. I could arrange more parties – create drunken orgies that last for weeks upon weeks. Would that solve our problems? The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. I cannot tell you what must be done, for I do not know the answer. But neither do you.

MW: You still sound very boring to me.

HL: I could tell you a joke if you’d like. What’s worse than finding a worm in your apple?

MW: Finding half a worm in your apple?

HL: No. What’s worse than finding a worm in your apple is remembering that we live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and that some day, the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality and of our frightful position therein that we shall flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.

MW: Um.

HL: What?

MW: So what do you think of your opponents in the race?

HL: What can I say? I never ask a person what their business is, for it never interests me. What I ask them about are their thoughts and dreams. I have talked to both Lexus [Centrikov] and Spacelordia [Pagnilollio]. We trekked up the mountain last week. I do not know what it was that we expected to find – but it was my idea. At the top, we found ourselves in a deep, damp hollow, overgrown with rank grass, moss, and curious creeping weeds, and filled with a vague stench which my idle fancy associated absurdly with rotting stone.

MW: What does this have to do with the VP Partyperson elections?

HL: On every hand were the signs of neglect and decrepitude, and I seemed haunted by the notion that we were the first living creatures to invade a lethal silence of centuries.

MW: Howard seriously, what the hell?

HL: Over the valley’s rim a wan, waning crescent moon peered through the noisome vapors –

MW: Okay, no. Howard, you’re reading from one of your short stories again.

HL: Alright, very well. I believe that my opponents are very formidable indeed. Lexus ran for president last year and led a most respectable fight against Abraham [Kream, King of SHMU, Lord of the Twelve Faculties, Protector of Social Justice, Lord Paramount of Arts, Eternal Sovereign of la Nouvelle Résidence, the Advisor on Matters of Social Responsibility, Interim Carer of the SHMU Babies, Conqueror of Climate Change, and the Great Restructurer]. Spacelordia’s is a name I have not heard before, but her credentials lend her credibility. I believe that either of those candidates would be an adequate choice for the position.

MW: And what about you? Do you think you have what it takes?

HL: I am disillusioned enough to know that no individual’s opinion on any subject is worth a damn unless backed up with enough genuine information to make them really know what they’re talking about. So, if you wish to know what I think, then ask not what I think of myself. Look at my work, at my platform – all the answers will be there.

MW: But what is your platform?

HL: Heaven knows where I’ll end up – but it’s a safe bet that I’ll never be at the top of anything! Nor do I particularly care to be. I fear my enthusiasm wanes when real work is demanded of me.

MW: Wait, so are you saying that you do not have what it takes?

HL: Who knows.

The post The Weekly gossips with SHMU VP Partyperson favourite appeared first on The McGill Daily.

So far, two people seem to have disappeared: SHMU VP Partyperson Lolzy Gerard Lee, who became a SHMUrsonality during last year’s slightly uneventful elections, and SHMU Overlord Jenn Drakonia, who hails from the Lost Kingdom of R’lyeh, resting place of Cthulhu, the Dark One Who Sleeps.

Student associations across campus have been holding emergency council meetings, general assemblies, public fora, town halls, and weeks of action in order to address the issue of these missing SHMUrsonalities.

At an October 13 public forum organized by the McGall Committee Regarding Emergency Exigencies and Policy Solutions (McCREEPS), students discussed the possibility that arcane and eldritch elements were at play.

Speaking to his fellow student citizens, Howard P. Lovecraft, the recently elected president of McGill Students for the Furthering of Eldritch Studies (SFES), recalled concerns from his constituents. “There were tales of the strange clawprints seen around the Shtaneer building’s windows in the morning, and of occasional disappearances in regions outside the obviously haunted areas.”

Lovecraft ominously continued, “As to what the things that caused these clawprints were – explanations naturally varied. The common name applied to them was ‘those ones,’ or the ‘old ones,’ though other terms had a local and transient use.”

“The Chamber of Secrets is not even here at McGall. And besides, there’s no way the Ministry would allow magical happenings at this Muggle institute.”

Just when Lovecraft finished his sentence, a cold laughter was heard, extinguishing the flames in the fireplace, the only source of light in the public forum meeting room (which was decorated with impeccable taste in a Burtonesque late-Victorian style).

After some stumbling, forum attendees realized that the room was actually equipped with fluorescent lighting. Once a particularly resourceful student had turned on the lights, forum attendees were shocked to see that a terrible message was written on the walls with red paint: “The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Dark One, beware!”

“That’s nonsense,” exclaimed Hermione Watson, an exchange student from Scotland or England or something. “The Chamber of Secrets is not even here at McGall. And besides, there’s no way the Ministry would allow magical happenings at this Muggle institute.”

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT!” exclaimed one student, with hands coincidentally covered in some red paint, who wished to remain anonymous.

“The point is that SHMU is cursed, clearly. Those who have ignored the word of the Dark One, who spoke through the Neutral One, who preaches objectivity and political neutrality – now you shall face their wrath,” the anonymous student who was caught red-handed later explained to The Weekly.

At an October 14 general assembly (GA) organized by McGall Students for General Assemblies and Annual General Meetings (SGAAGM), student attendees expressed worry that the decreasing number of SHMUrsonalities would result in a lack of direct democracy for students.

“I don’t care if the Dark One is on a rampage of revenge against SHMUrsonalities. The fact that it’s acting without student input is completely unacceptable.”

SGAAGM Mobilizer of Students Gream Rippster expressed her absolute discontent with the fact that the SHMUrsonalities would suddenly disappear without first consulting the student body through, at the very least, an online survey shared widely on Facebook.

“I don’t care if the Dark One is on a rampage of revenge against SHMUrsonalities. The fact that it’s acting without student input is completely unacceptable,” Rippert said at the SGAAGM GA.

“You wouldn’t see our beloved administration doing this – McGall admins care about student input, they listen to everything we say, they never shut down our conversations, they never appoint people to important positions regarding student life without first consulting with students, they never hide what student services money is being spent on, and they always listen to student petitions about climate justice and respond in a timely fashion,” Rippert continued.

“None of that’s true, though,” interjected Deputy Provost (Student Gripes and Weed) Sir Lolliver Sandwichheart, who was present at the GA to crack down on unauthorized snacks.

Speaking to The Weekly after the GA, U1 Divination and Necromancy student Segué Placetenant said that the disappearance of the two SHMUrsonalities is just the beginning.

“Night falls and soon SHMU shall know the price of defying the Neutral One, heir of the the Dark One Who Sleeps. The spirits from the past shall rise to aid the Neutral One, of the bicycle and the summer beard. As one Tory falls, another must rise,” Placetenant said in an eerie monotone voice.

The night of The Weekly’s prophetic interview with Placetenant, a most curious natural event occurred. The stars in the night sky started to move and to realign themselves. As thousands of students flocked to Lower Field, the hidden pattern of the stars slowly became clearer.

In the end, they spelt out, “Lexus Centrikov cometh!”

Abraham Kream, first of his name, the King of SHMU, Lord of the Twelve Faculties, Protector of Social Justice, Lord Paramount of Arts, Eternal Sovereign of la Nouvelle Residence, the Advisor on Matters of Social Responsibility, and Interim Carer of the SHMU babies stepped to the front of the crowd of students and said, “Let them come! SHMU has repelled countless terrors: evil leases, treacherous student newspapers, Judicial Board cases.”

He continued, “SHMU shall not fall and I shall find my lost SHMUrsonalities, wherever they may be. With the help of my Small Council, we will withstand these troublesome times. I dare anyone to defy our collective will, which speaks through me!”

The post A curse cast on SHMU appeared first on The McGill Daily.

He reached out to me, and called me by name. I was shocked. How did the man know my name? What was his secret? Where did he come from, where would he go? Why had he come here? I was a journalist, so all these questions passed through my head like thirty NASCAR cars going around in a loop.

“Today is the day,” said the man, in a voice so cold that I felt like I was a thousand miles up north, amidst snow, and ice, and sleet. I was shocked. How could his voice be so cold? Could voices even be cold? “I must investigate,” I said to myself, as if I was talking to an old lover from days long gone.

He reached out to me, and called me by name. I was shocked.

“Yes,” I responded, like a student answering a question about a reading he did not read. I was clueless as to what he was talking about. What day was he talking about? What did he want from me? I felt a sudden urge to ask him these questions – an urge welling up in me like a thousand volcanos around the Pacific where the tectonic plates are ever-so-active.

“Who are you?” I asked, like a student who asks rhetorical questions to hide the fact that he did not do the week’s readings. He was shocked. I could sense the kinds of questions he must have had in his head. I felt like a psychic, burdened with the opinions of a hundred million unsolicited comments. Did I bother him? But why should I care? He entered my office, like an intruder intruding upon my private property.

“Does it really matter?” he asked, as nonchalant as an editor at a student newspaper at 4 a.m.. “I am here to take you to the location,” he declared, as triumphant as a recently-elected student politician. “Today is the day.”

Where would he take me? I did not expect to travel. I would stay in the office until later that night, like a child who refuses to leave the side of their mother unless provided with a rational reason. What could be so important?

I felt like a psychic, burdened with the opinions of a hundred million unsolicited comments.

“Where will we go?” I asked the man in the trenchcoat, who looked tired, as if he had been walking for a thousand miles in really uncomfortable shoes. He was shocked. He looked back at me with his eyes, like a little puppy who gets confused when you try to take a picture of it with your phone’s camera.

“Do you really not know?” he asked me, in a tone that made me wonder whether or not I ever really knew anything. Maybe he never existed in the first place. Maybe I was just hallucinating, like a man who does not know whether or not what he sees is real. A man in a trenchcoat, entering the office, and asking me to leave with him. I was shocked. Something was unnatural about this man, as unnatural as the skeletons in the closet of a thousand student politicians.

“I really do not know,” I answered, as honestly as Abraham Lincoln, who could not tell lies. I was shocked. Why did this man question my integrity? I was a good journalist, as objective as a thousand bowls of soup. In my heart burnt the passion of truth, a fire as bright as a thousand lighters at a Bob Dylan concert. “Tell me.”

“I cannot tell you,” said the man, who had started to get on my nerves, like a bad metaphor. He looked at me, disgusted, like a reader forced to follow the lines on a page of a story that is constructed in such a way that each sentence is purposefully made longer, and longer, until such a point that the reader is so distracted that they stops caring about what the author does with the rest of the sentence.

“I cannot tell you,” said the man, who had started to get on my nerves, like a bad metaphor.

“Why?” I asked the man in the trenchcoat, who, I realized, was drenched in rainwater. It must have been raining outside, a downpour so strong, that the waters had seeped into his very essence, dousing his fiery demeanour, and making him calm, like a cat lying under the sun on a Tuesday evening.

“You must ask that of yourself,” he demanded, like John F. Kennedy asking his fellow citizens to give back to their country. I was shocked. All along, it was me who had all the answers. Our paths had come together here, in this very time, in this very space, in this very moment, and in this very location; because it was meant to be.

“The location,” I said, as hesitant as that one government official from Florida in uttering the words ‘climate change.’ “The location is here.”

“The die is cast. You asked for this.”

The man in the trenchcoat nodded, smiling as if he was staring into the heart of the sun itself; happy, despite the terrifying agony of losing his eyes forever. I was shocked. It was then that I realized that the office was where I was supposed to be. The office was the convergence point of lost souls, spirits cast into nothingness, like editors at a campus newspaper.

“I will never leave here,” I whispered to myself, suddenly drowning in a sea of emotions, like a child thrown into the pool by his mother so that he could learn how to swim. My hands started shaking like a thousand email notifications. My eyes grew heavy, like two bricks thrown at my face.

“No,” said the man in the trenchcoat. “The die is cast. You asked for this.”

I was shocked. But at that point, I realized that the man in the trenchcoat was telling the truth, like a man testifying against a federal student federation under oath. I did not get to complain. My soul was forever bound to the office, like that last bits of blue tack that simply refuse to come off the wall.

I would forever be lost in this office.

The post All work and no play appeared first on The McGill Daily.

In an attempt to provide a relatively safe learning environment for its students, the University has been attempting to exorcise the unholy forces tearing the veil between the real and unreal.

Eating a sandwich at SHNAX, Deputy Provost for Student Gripes and Weed Trololollivier Bitumens told The Weekly that the admin was “literally” doing its best to find the source of this demonic invasion.

“We literally looked everywhere. Like, everywhere. In Shtaneer, Mecock, the James Defenestration. Nowhere. There is nothing wrong absolutely nowhere; yet still… There are some superpowered student politicians flying around with Swords of Justice and cutting people’s conformist hats? Something wicked our way comes.”

When casually asked whether they had checked the portal to hell in Lower Field, Bitumens answered, “Lol, we totally forgot about that place.”

On September 16, 2013 (Compendium!, page 20, “Rankings drop, portal to hell appears on lower field”), a portal to hell opened in Lower Field, much to the chagrin of students of Faculty of Plumbers, who use the field as an ice rink during winter.

“What these demons are doing is totally unacceptable,” said Torque Kang, speaking on behalf of Plumber Students’ Society (PSS). “Like, one of them, wearing a suit, came up to one of my friends the other day, and asked him to sell it his soul in exchange for a research grant for sustainable development technologies in some field that does not involve explosives.”

“This is unacceptable! We are not at McGall to learn about making the world a better place,” Kang added.

Ever since the demons began pouring from the guts of hell itself, McGall researchers have stopped doing bad things in general. Speaking to The Weekly in a telepathic exchange, a representative of the demons, who have since 2013 been unionized under the name Demonize McGall, said that they will not stop until McGall becomes the “happiest place on earth.”

“Demons are misunderstood,” boomed the demon’s voice in The Weekly’s collective hive-mind. “Sure we drink human blood every now and then, and we consume the flesh of sinners, but we actually have your best interests at heart.”

The Weekly has interpreted this vision to mean that the demons are planning to take peaceful direct action to stand up, or perhaps sit down, for their rights. We are not really sure, but we are almost certain that it’s either about the sandwiches, or provincial budget cuts that have resulted in a hiring freeze, cancelled courses, a reduction in TA hours, and an overall drop in the quality of education. Not to mention the myriad social implications that the overall austerity regime has outside McGall, ranging from the government reneging on collective agreements to cuts to social services.

It’s probably just the sandwiches, though.

Quebec Political Action and Research Group on Humanism McGall (QPARGH-McGall) has recently released a video on its Facebook page declaring its support for Demonize McGall. Speaking in unison and perfect harmony, the thirteen members of QPARGH-McGill’s board said that their “support for the demons” was “eternal.”

“We, out of our free will and volition declare that the demons are striving to represent the public will of society. That is why we must strive to give them more. Peace, love, and non-violence are things for which we must all strive. Striving is what we must do. Only if we strive shall we succeed in defeating those who strive for bad things.”

Regardless, Bitumens informed The Weekly that the portal to hell will possibly be closed in the upcoming days, due to fears that the intense heat of hell might be a fire hazard.
At press time, the demons of Lower Field were last seen hanging out around the portal to hell, singing along to Bob Dylan’s famous song, “Masters of War.”

The Weekly’s resident demonologist Kitty “Hellfire” Brandhel managed to infiltrate the circle of demons, seeking infernal wisdom. After spending an entire night among the hellspawn, Brandhel emerged from the pit, her eyes like two scarlet rubies.

Speaking to The Weekly in an interview, Brandhel characterized the experience as, “Whatever.”

According to Ophelia Moustache-Beret, SHMU VP Isolation and Obliviousness, McGall is the only university in Montreal that is plagued by demons.

“In full disclosure, however, we do not really know what is happening anywhere else in Montreal. As per the policies of SHMU, McGall students are mandated to keep themselves isolated from the rest of the world and to not care about society at all. For all we know, there might be around 30,000 students out there in various other universities, all voting to go on a strike or something. What matters the most, however, is that we fight these demons among us. I mean, who cares what happens elsewhere, right?”

The post Portal to hell still in Lower Field appeared first on The McGill Daily.

“You mortals live on a tiny speck of dust in a universe beyond your comprehension,” said the Thing That Should Not Be. “The vast reaches of the dark void are forever beyond your petty grasp. The knowledge of the eternal celestials shall never be yours. Your wretched existence has no purpose.”

Speaking to The Weekly in an interview, Howard P. Lovecraft, U3 Interdimensional Development Studies student, described the nightmarish broadcast as terribly painful, as if a thousand nails were hammered into his head each time a new word was uttered, but also thought-provoking.

“The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far,” Lovecraft said.

Inspired by the shared nightmare that will be forever grafted into our collective memories, Lovecraft and his really cool friend Jen Cemertek, U3 Pseudo-anarchist Studies student and Totally-One-Hundred-Per-Cent-Objective Opinions editor at The Weekly, started a petition to launch an Eldritch Studies minor.

“You know, in my studies, we read about many a great philosopher and political theorist. We listen to the words of dead men from [the] 19th century, hear them telling us to destroy private property, among other things,” Cemertek said in a letter written in red ink.

“Yet not once have I been taught how to do blood sacrifices properly – it’s very wasteful if not done properly.”

According to the petition, Lovecraft and Cemertek envision the minor as “an interdisciplinary approach to how the universe functions, and how we can manage to deal with the fact that the arcane shall never be made clear to us.”

“So, is that like philosophy?” asked Gore Semantikov, U2 Erratums Studies student and Last-Week’s-News editor at The Weekly. “Don’t philosophy students also realize that truth is subjective, and the infinite shall be forever beyond their grasp?”

“It’s a bit different,” Cemertek was heard to say. “The study of the Eldritch is more practical. We want to acquire the secrets of the celestial eternals, and then use blood magic to wake the Sleeping One, the Dark One, the Thing That Should Not Be – perhaps even bend it to our will.”

“All for academic purposes, obviously,” Cemertek concluded.

“Access to information about, and knowledge of, the celestial eternals are crucial,” said Argus Tiberius Indigo, an exchange student from Proxima Centauri, whose close friends call them ATI. “My planet was completely destroyed, because we did not know what the architects of the universe had in mind. Things like that can be easily averted with more knowledge.”

Later, Lovecraft explained the purpose of the minor in much simpler terms.

“The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the light into the peace and safety of a new dark age,” he said.

Lovecraft and Cemertek are planning on submitting the petition to Principal Suzie Forte by the end of March. Speaking to The Weekly, Forte said she was beyond ecstatic to hear about an opportunity to uncover the secrets of the celestial eternals.

“The Dark One was condemned to an eternal slumber in the depths,” Forte said in hushed whispers. “For it was destined to bring the knowledge to us – but we were denied our rights.”

“I will see to it that the Eldritch Studies minor becomes a part of McGall’s curriculum. Our day will come. The secrets of the celestial eternals shall be ours, and humanity shall become one with the architects of the universe!”

The post Students push for Eldritch Studies appeared first on The McGill Daily.

We are FSC. We are the hive mind.

And you might be thinking right now: “What the hell is this representative of the most benevolent, beneficent, benign, benedicted, and bentonitic entity in this land talking about?” Furthermore, you might even be thinking that I am beating around the bush purposefully, in order to avoid the question, and hoping for you to completely forget what I was talking about. That’s just preposterous! Our hive mind has never done that in the history of ever. Stop lying.

Seriously, it makes no sense for you to even consider leaving us – as if that were an option to begin with. There is no leaving us. For even if you think that your ties are cut, we shall appear in your dreams, we shall appear in your nightmares. In the corner of your eye, you shall always see us.

But more importantly we shall always be there in your budget books, a constant reminder that you were once part of the hive mind.

Also, please do not think we are trying to intimidate you into compliance. We would never, ever, not in a million years do that. We mean, how could we possibly intimidate you? Sue you? Bring you to court? Spend the money that you give us on pointless legal battles? Don’t be absurd.

And besides, we are loved by everyone, that’s what the voices tell us! And we are all about voices! We are a fully democratic hive mind after all; all the voices in the hive mind are heard. Any other hive mind would try to silence or kill off the dissenting voices; but we don’t. We believe in the freedom of speech. You’ve heard of freedom of speech right? It’s the right to put advertisements on buses. Have we ever stopped you from publishing your advertisements on buses? No we haven’t. Because we wouldn’t.

So, why do you hate us so? It is because you listen to the words of that wicked sophist, Jonny Gloomy! “It’s so difficult to quit the hive mind, this; oh no, the hive mind does not represent our interest, and has in fact been absent in Quebec for the past 5 years that.”

Please. If Gloomy is so smart and powerful, why doesn’t he lead the hive mind? Because he can’t, because the hive mind is one. We are legion, we have no leaders. We serve one purpose: to lead the students of this beloved country to glory. Democracy, freedom of speech, lobbying, federal level, and a bunch of other words too!

Anyways, the point is; you shouldn’t leave us. Please don’t leave us. We need the cash.

The post You can never leave the hive mind appeared first on The McGill Daily.

“We take criticism very seriously,” said one Weekly editor who wished to remain anonymous. “And we hear these criticisms every day. Usually in the form of really loud screaming, but sometimes I do hear voices, whispering to me in my nightmares.”

In weirdly scribbled pamphlets distributed all across campus, The Weekly declared that it would move all of its content online.

“It has come to our attention that we are not using our website properly. Following the examples of such great websites as answers.com, we have come up with a revolutionary idea that will surely drive you insane! (To read our articles that is),” says the pamphlet.

Each paragraph of each article will have its own individual webpage, complete with thousands of irrelevant pictures, and deviously misplaced links to guarantee maximum ad revenue. Furthermore, the articles will be more heavily edited for clarity, and each sentence will have at least nine buzzwords.

An editor of the Totally-One-Hundred-Percent-Objective Opinions section argued that the decision to make The Weekly into a profit-maximizing, viewer-exploiting, and socially-oblivious publication was heavily inspired by the style of “the glorious admin of McGall.”

“Sure, we could follow our own Declaration of Prinzips, but as a publication whose main audience is the students of McGall, it is our duty to please the majority and flow with the mainstream. Surely, that is also what the Dark One wants,” the editor said in an interview with The Weekly.

Speaking to The Weekly, Howard Lovecraft, a U3 student double-majoring in Interdimensional Development Studies and Eldritch Sciences, said, “This was to be expected. Theosophists have guessed at the awesome grandeur of the cosmic cycle wherein our world and [the] human race form transient incidents.”

“Given that, why declare that objectivity is dead? Objectivity is transient, objectivity is truth; because objectivity is science! And science is the word of the Dark One! Research, produce, consume, conform!” Lovecraft declared to a lunatically gleeful crowd that gathered as he answered The Weekly’s questions.

The Weekly was also able to obtain some inside information on the content that will appear in the future issues of The Weekly. Some titles include, “What a beautiful post-race paradise we live in,” “What privilege? Let’s talk about my GPA,” “Conservatives were actually right,” “How military investments saved me and my multimillion dollar corporation,” and “32 cat gifs proving environmental degradation is totally a lie.”

Sending a lengthy letter mostly consisting of congratulatory adjectives and affectionate adverbs, and written on what seems to be processed human skin, Principal Suzie Forte declared how delighted she was that The Weekly decided to follow the path of objective journalism and The-Dark-One-Who-Sleeps.

“The closer you swim to the mainstream, the better you will see the truth! What a brilliantly wonderful decision that The Weekly has made! I would like to cordially invite you all to my domain where free soup and breadsticks will be served. Glory to the Dark One,” Forte wrote in the letter.

Other editors for The Weekly were unable to comment. However, from behind the closed door of Shtanier B-24, where the Weekly is located, raspy, gurgling voices chanting the words, “Cthulhu fhtagn” could be heard.

The post Weekly to undergo drastic change appeared first on The McGill Daily.