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EDITORIAL
GOLDEN WORDS
Volume 39, Issue 24
by Jon
Some Things Change...
I can’t believe how much my life has changed since
I became an editor for Golden Words. For example,
people used to say, “Jon’s just a normal guy; he puts
his pants on one leg at a time, just like the rest of us.”
Now, I make a habit of two-leggedly jumping into my
pants to reflect the change in my lifestyle that editorship
represents.
I’ve even managed to make a few political enemies
since assuming the reins here. The staff at the Journal
kidnapped my goldfish, and they’re not giving him
back. I mean, I think it was the Journal staff, but I’m
not 100% sure. My only evidence is the fact that the
ransom note was sixteen pages longer than it needed
to be, and had a crossword where every answer was
“dog”. I don’t care who did it, though: I just want my
fish back. Benson, if you can read this, I haven’t given
up on you. I’ll never give up on you. Swim strong,
buddy. Swim strong!
I don’t want to name names, but a certain administrator
at our fair university may or may not have offered me
a lucrative construction contract to lay off the “Our
Principal is a Crook” jokes. It’s funny: I’ve never built
anything more complicated than a model airplane,
but I’m apparently qualified enough to be bribed into
building a three hundred million dollar student centre.
Go figure.
I’m ge�ing a lot more respect in my classes now, too.
Instead of the customary namecalling, my professors
have started referring to me as editor jerkhole. The joke
is on you, Dr. Jenkins: I’m not planning on showering
before our next seminar together, and I might run a few
laps beforehand just for good measure.
Some things in my life have stayed pre�y consistent,
though. Lindsay Lohan, as usual, is not returning my
phone calls. Conversely, Loverboy won’t stop calling.
I tell you, you download a single mp3 of “Working for
the Weekend” and the record industry won’t leave you
alone until the day you die.
I’ve just realized that there is actually no point to this
editorial. Plus, Les informs me that I’m not allowed to
make a joke about “Empire of the Sun”, even though it
was one of the best movies of 1987. In summary: some
things change, some things stay the same, and my coeditor wouldn’t know funny if it slapped him upside
the head with a 7-iron.
That reminds me: I have to go get my 7-iron sharpened.
Enjoy the paper!
by Les
Boy, I Need A Haircut
Let It Keep Growing
Now, it may seem like this solution isn’t really a
solution, but it’s probably the one I’ll go with. For one,
it is the cheapest and the easiest. All I have to pay for is
extra shampoo and some hair elastics. They say hair is
made of the same material as finger nails, and I know
my fingernails chip off when they get too long; maybe
my hair will do the same. Is that why so many former
hippies are bald these days? Long hair seems to be
popular among the hip crowd, so my laziness may be
a boon for my popularity. This assumes that people
don’t mistake me for a girl.
Volume XXXIX
Issue XXIV
March 30th, 2005
Golden Words, Clark Hall
Queen’s University, Kingston, ON, K7L 3N6
tel: 533-3051
fax: 533-6678
e-mail:[email protected]
www.goldenwords.net
Come be a part of Golden Words!
If you can read this paragraph, you’re good enough for us. All party people are welcome,
regardless of year, faculty, or discipline. You can join us for Press Nite(tm), which is
held (almost) every Sunday during the Fall and Winter terms in the EngSoc Lounge
(pretend you’re going to Clark Hall Pub, only hang a right.) We kick start the crazy
antics at noon and keep on truckin’ until the paper is done (i.e. the wee hours of Monday
morning). Feel free to join in any time and hit us up with some of that world-class humour
of yours that we’ve been hearing so much about. And since you’re being such a good
sport, we’ll keep your cage clean with freshly laid out newspaper, gently comb your
fur from time to time, and give you all the food pellets and water you can eat! Those
food pellets are pretty decent, so this is a mighty sweet deal. Alternatively, you can
submit articles by e-mailing them to [email protected] any old time you like.
Golden Words is published at least 24 times a year
by the Queen’s Engineering Society
Queen’s University, Kingston, Ontario, Canada
(9000 copies distributed free on campus)
Proudly printed in Canada by
Performance Printing
65 Lorne St, Smith Falls,
Ontario, K7A 4T1.
Contents copyright © 2005 Golden Words
The opinions expressed herein are not necessarily those of the Queen’s Engineering
Society nor of its members. Unless otherwise stated, all submitted material is the
property of Golden Words and is reviewed by the editors in accordance with the 20042005 editorial policy, which is available on request. The editors reserve the right to
make final editing decisions. Any complaints or issues regarding the content of this
paper should be forwarded to the chair of the Golden Words Editorial Review Board.
All issues will be dealt with within one week. If the complainant, the editors or the chair
are not content with the proposed solution, a meeting of the Golden Words Editorial
Review Board will be convened. Please contact Rizwan Jiwan at riz@goldenwords.
net or (613) 533-3051 to lodge a complaint or comment. Golden Words is not intended
for persons under the age of 18.
EDITORIAL
I could really use a haircut. The last time it was cut
was late on Christmas Eve. No, Santa didn’t cut my
hair, my Mom did. That was a few months ago, and
you can imagine that it has grown a lot. I wouldn’t say
I look like a “hippie long-hair,” but my hair is ge�ing
a bit shaggy. I have had some trouble hearing lately
because my side burns get in the way. When I put on
earphones, all I can hear is hair (and I’m not talking
about the musical). It’s time to do something; here are
a couple of my ideas.
Sola Veritas est qui Facit ut me in Merda
Shave It Off
This is by far the most extreme solution, but it is not
out of the realm of possibility. Shaving my head is
almost as cheap as le�ing it grow. All I need is some
tin foil and a microwave. I have done it before and my
eyebrows grow back pre�y quickly. A bald head is
very aerodynamic, decreasing my drag coefficient by
35 percent and increasing my sex appeal coefficient by
–35 percent.
Go to Olympic Barbers
Hmm, so cheap it might be worth looking like a freak
for two weeks?
These are just three of the many things I can do to my
head. Why don’t you tell me how I should coif my coif?
Steer your web browser of choice to www.goldenwords.
net and participate in the online poll. Whatever you
decide, at least my hair will look respectable, unlike
the circus clown mop my co-editor wears.
The staff of Golden Words would like to
extend our deepest condolences to the family
and friends of Justin Schwieg.
Our thoughts and
prayers are with you in this
time of sorrow.
Editors
Leslie Bennett
Jon Thompson
Wednesday 9:30-11:30
Tuesday 1:00-2:00
Operations Manager
Jake Bricknell
Office Hours By Appointment
Business Manager
Don MacCannell
Office Hours By Appointment
Editorial Staff
Copy Editors
Layout Editors
Graphics Editor
Ass. Graphics Editor
Staff Writers
Production Assistant
Sarah Chan
Erin Weinberg
Michelle Redwood
Kasia Kmiec
Alex Lau
Jessica Jerez
Kiran Helferty
Imran Zaidi
Jason Law
Production Staff
Distribution Manager
Special Events
Cartoonist
IT Managers
Webmasters
Business Team
Layout Old-Hands
Graphics Monkey
Contributing Writers
Jamie Berkow
Candice Shaw
Erin Collins
Liz Arsenault
Laurie Kassabian
Chris White
Andrew Dickinson
Kevin McHale
Mark Patterson
Eve Forster
Melinda Parker
Alicia Storey
Dan Uno
Kelly Lynn Ongaro
Mark Samuel Patterson
Kevin McHale
A.J. Packman
Omar Omar Omar
Richard “Has-Been” Kelland
Ross Jamieson
Phrenz List
Medusa, Justice Pillow, Gary Empire, rabidpanda, twinkie boy, Caustic Muffin, Captain
Funk, epileptic penguin, Pink Samurai, cleobis, mustache peter, Wrecktal Fury,
chicklette the cat, Ravenous Libido, NEGATIVEspace, Wreckin’ Logic, Chocolate
Pilaf, tart, Frisbee Pilot, fridge on fire, Soul Brother #73, Flying Fox of the Yard, pulchra
pax, Deipnosophist, Butterfinger McFlurry, SmootH, snowman, Orthonormal Donuts
On the Cover
We’re not saying Jacko’s guilty...
Staff News
Masthead Wednesday at 5:30pm. Writer’s Meeting at 5:45
Golden Words – Not a significant source of Vitamin A,
saturated fats, or riboflavin. What is riboflavin, anyway?
GOLDEN WORDS
Wordsday, March 30th, 2005
Page 3
Commander Deathsphere and the
Rap-Tap Fun Squad
“Larry!”
Commander Deathsphere sobbed
uncontrollably, tears streaming down
his face as he clawed in futility against
the starship viewport. Could this really
be happening? Had his beloved first
mate Lawrence “Larry” Katsopoulos
really been sucked into the cold, deadly
vastness of space by a malfunctioning
space toilet? And was that… lemon
meringue he smelled?
Dear God. A lemon meringue alert could
only mean one thing: the squadron of
enemy space crocodiles had arrived. He
needed to focus.
He swallowed both his grief and his
tears in one mournful, salty gulp
and turned to the bridge crew of the
H.M.S.S. Bono. They stared back at him,
shocked.
“What are you all looking at?”
Deathsphere sniffled. “We’ve got a
war to win.” He dramatically tore off his
ba�le warm-up track pants, to reveal the
form-hugging silk ba�le shorts beneath.
This was all the crew needed. Within
seconds, the bridge was buzzing with
activity.
Deathsphere turned and gazed out
the viewport at his first mate’s lifeless
body.
This is for you, Larry.
***
One wouldn’t expect a twelve-foot-tall
clone of David Bowie to be elected
Mayor of Earth, but politics is sometimes
an unpredictable beast – much like
the aforementioned clone. The Ziggy
Stardust Purges alone claimed eighty
million lives.
Mayor Bowie looked out over the sea of
people gathered in Earth’s capital for the
victory celebration and felt three of his
four hearts fill with pride. He grinned
and waved as he stepped up to the
microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began,
“before each meal, I slaughter a
bo�lenose dolphin. I feel it is the only
way to obtain fresh dolphin meat. I
insist on killing the dolphin with my
bare hands, and its death is invariably
the end of a long and bloody struggle.
Similarly, today marks the end of a long
and bloody struggle for mankind. The
space crocodiles have been sent back
to the space lagoons from whence they
spawned.
“We owe this victory to one man. A
man of courage. A man of valour. A man
with the clearest pores I’ve seen this side
of a Swedish sauna factory. Citizens of
Earth, I present to you Commander First
Class Bryan Colossus Deathsphere.”
The crowd erupted in wild cheering.
Women threw their panties onto the
stage. Female robots threw detailed
schematics. All eyes went to the
backstage curtain. After several
breathless seconds, Commander
Deathsphere emerged.
won’t let us learn ballet with the human
kids ‘cause our reptilian feet don’t fit
in the shoes, and also we kill people
sometimes.”
The crowd suddenly fell silent.
“Oh,” said Deathsphere, still shaken.
“Right. Well, I guess I’m your new
coach. I’m Commander Deathsphere.”
His military-issue manblouse was
untucked. His once-impeccably coiffed
hair was a mess. He was clutching a
half-empty bo�le of hyperwhiskey.
Commander First Class Bryan Colossus
Deathsphere was a train wreck.
The weeks since Larry’s death had
been hard on the Commander. His
subordinates had tried to ignore
his descent into alcoholism just as
they’d disregarded the years of sexual
harassment that preceded it, but it was
impossible to ignore the stumbling,
hiccupping shell of a man now standing
before five hundred thousand stunned
onlookers.
Deathsphere grabbed the microphone
and pulled it down to his quivering
lips. “I’m… so… sick of you people,”
he slurred. “I’m sick of the Space Corps.
I’m sick of fighting your wars. I’m sick
of paying your whores. I’m sick of a lot
of other shit that doesn’t even rhyme.”
He took a long swig of hyperwhiskey.
“You can all go to hell.”
He then lost his balance and fell off the
edge of the levitating stage, plummeting
twenty feet into an adorable but
unluckily-placed basket of space
puppies. None survived.
***
Commander Deathsphere glumly
stuffed his hands in his pockets as he
stared at the sign. Des Moines Ballet
Academy. Twenty years in the Corps,
twelve counts of space piloting under
the influence, and a few dozen dead
prize-winning puppies had led to this:
a hundred hours of court-ordered
community service. He’d been grateful
for not receiving any jail time, but
how the hell was he supposed to teach
ballet to a bunch of kids? The solitary
confinement, electroshock torture and
Taco Bell-catered meals of the Neptune
Penitentiary suddenly seemed a lot
be�er in comparison.
Deathsphere sighed and entered the
building. Inside, he found a pack of
velociraptors waiting for him.
“Oh, fuck me!” he screamed in horror.
“Here, take my wallet! Take it!”
“Relax, mister,” said one of the raptors
calmly. “We’re just kids.”
“Talking raptors? Christ, what are they
pu�ing in these AA pills?”
“We’re super-intelligent,” another raptor
said. “The government genetically
engineered us to fight space terrorists,
but now they just use those ki�ens that
explode when you hug them. They
“It’s nice to meet you, Commander
Deathsphere,” said the first raptor. “My
name’s Dakota Fanning.”
“Any relation to the early 21st century
porn actress?”
“The what?”
“Never mind,” Deathsphere said. He sat
down on a bench and rubbed his eyes.
“Look… you all seem like nice raptors,
but to be honest, I don’t want to be here.
I don’t know a damn thing about ballet.
The only kind of dancing I know is tap. I
had to learn it at Space Academy. It was
either that or ultrasonic jazz band.”
“Can you show it to us?”
“Fine,” Deathsphere sighed, standing
up. He executed a quick soft shoe
routine, ending with a flawless stag
leap. “There. Happy?”
“Cool!” said Dakota Fanning. “Like
this?” She imitated the entire routine
perfectly, her sickle-shaped talons
clacking on the hard gymnasium
floor.
“Not bad,” said Deathsphere, genuinely
impressed. “Try this one.” He performed
a more advanced routine. This time, the
entire group of raptors repeated it in
unison, step for step.
For the first time since he smoked a
fat-ass blunt of space weed with Larry
on the bridge of the Bono, Commander
Deathsphere grinned.
***
No one could have predicted it, but
genetically enhanced velociraptors
were naturals at tap dancing. Their
heavy forelimbs gave them incredible
balance, their talons made special shoes
unnecessary, and their supercharged
brains allowed them to memorize
elaborate dance routines instantly.
The raptors called themselves the RapTap Fun Squad, and they quickly rose
through the ranks of the galactic tap
circuit. They soon became superstars on
Earth, hobnobbing with celebrities and
eating only the finest diplodocus eggs.
Still, they never lost sight of their goal:
the Francisco J. Muniz Cup. It was the
galaxy-wide tap dancing title, lusted
a�er by every man, woman, child and
metrosexual who had ever donned a
pair of tap shoes. Before long, it was
within the reach of Deathsphere’s ragtag
group of preadolescent girlraptors.
Only one competition – the galactic final
– remained.
“I’ve never been good at pep talks,”
Commander Deathsphere said the night
before the championship contest. “All I
know is the past few months have been
some of the best times of my life, except
for the forty-one years of my life before
the first mate of my starship died. So,
even if you lose, I know I’ll be proud.
But seriously, don’t lose, because I have
fi�y grand riding on this and the Space
Yakuza is going to cut off my other
testicle if I don’t pay them.”
The team got the message. The next
day, they gave the most mind-blowing,
heart-wrenching tap performance of
their lives. The Nova Scotia private
school they were competing against
looked like a group seizure next to
them.
Finally, the moment of truth arrived.
The head judge was none other than
David Bowie, Mayor of Earth.
“I was extremely impressed by what I
saw today,” he said a�er the teams had
performed. “I don’t think there’s any
question that the Rap-Tap Fun Squad
deserves the Frankie Muniz Cup.”
The velociraptors cheered wildly.
Commander Deathsphere smiled from
ear to ear. They’d done it.
“However,” continued Bowie, ignoring
the celebration, “I’d like to direct your
attention to paragraph three of the
Official Galactic Tap Rulebook. I quote,
‘All competitors must wear commissionapproved tap dancing shoes during
championship performances.’ Since the
Fun Squad wore no tap shoes, I’m afraid
the Cup goes to Antigonish Prep.”
Before anyone else could react, Dakota
Fanning had pounced on Mayor David
Bowie and removed most of his internal
organs with one quick swipe through
the chest. She turned to the other
judges.
“Would anyone else like to read from
the rulebook?”
Clever girl, thought Deathsphere.
The judges gaped at her, trembling.
One of them wordlessly handed her the
Frankie Muniz. She, in turn, handed it
to Deathsphere.
“Congratulations, Commander. The
Rap-Tap Fun Squad is the 2008 galactic
tap dance champion. And it’s all thanks
to you!”
“No, Dakota Fanning,” Deathsphere
said, “I think we had a higher power
helping us today.”
He turned his gaze upward.
Thanks, Larry.
Bu�erfinger McFlurry
Page 4
GOLDEN WORDS
Volume 39, Issue 24
How to get a wicked summer job
As some of you may know, I recently
acquired a summer job so fucking sweet,
it makes oil boy at the all-supermodel
strip wrestling club look like night
janitor at the centre for projectile vomit
research. My contract stipulates that I
can’t tell you what this job is, but let’s
just say it rhymes with “hardcore porn
scar.”
Now, it is more than likely that I got
this job because I am awesome. It is also
more than likely that you couldn’t get
this kind of job even if you pulled more
strings than the quality assurance guy
at a thong factory; this is not a problem.
With these helpful hints, you’ll be ready
to do to the job market what I did to
my co-star while auditioning for my
summer job.
Step 1: Punch your weight
Sure, there are some wicked summer
jobs out there, except not for you.
Sure, La Senza has lingerie-modeling
internships, but you’re not going to get
one. This is partially because you simply
don’t have the body for it, partially
because you don’t have any modeling
experience, but mostly because you’re
a guy, and years of beer commercials
have convinced you that there’s nothing
easier than walking into a situation
where you get to watch beautiful girls
get naked. Reality check Romeo: those
guys in the beer commercials are broke,
mostly out of work actors who aren’t
nearly as aroused by the half-naked
girls around them as they are by the
prospect of having enough money to
avoid eating cat food for the fourth week
running. Let’s get realistic, maybe you’re
studying biology and you want a job in
your field. Get a job eating unidentified
bacteria! It pays well and, as soon as
you go blind or suffer a debilitating
illness, the government starts giving you
money for nothing! This is the kind of
shit you need to get into if you want to
work your way up the bacteria-eating
ladder, widely considered to be the
most lucrative branch of the new and
exciting field of X-treem biology. Let’s
say you want overseas experience.
Why not just fly to Afghanistan and
walk around for a while? Chances are
within your first day there you’ll be
recruited by a warring tribe, or asked to
replace a recently assassinated cabinet
minister, or mistakenly shot in the leg
by a Canadian peacekeeper, in which
case, the government starts paying you
for free again! These kinds of jobs are
out there, folks.
Step 2: Lie like a dog on your
résumé
Résumé comes from the ancient Latin
word “Resumus” which means “Fantasy
dream paper.” Most people don’t
understand the point of a résumé. They
think you’re supposed to put what
you’ve done with your life on there. A
résumé is your chance to talk about what
you’d like to have done, what you think
your employer would have liked to see
you do, or what you think might be
doable given the known physical laws of
the universe. That’s why no one writes
“I worked at a donkey slaughterhouse”
on their résumé. Rather, they write
“Worked at a donkey slaughterhouse.”
This is important. You’ll want to write
something like “Went to the moon in
a spaceship” on your résumé. Who
cares if you didn’t actually do that shit?
Somebody has! Your résumé should
resemble a cross between a Lewis Carol
novel and Hunter S. Thomson’s life story.
Nothing looks be�er on a sheet of paper
than the sentence: “Successfully fought
off alien invasion.” Most employers
don’t have the time to check every single
detail on a résumé. In fact, they don’t
even contact your references, they just
look to see if it’s anybody they’ve heard
of. That’s why your reference list should
always include Nelson Mandela, Bono,
and the Internet.
Step 3: Rock the shit out of your
interview
Acing an interview is a lot like disposing
of a dead body: you want to be thorough,
meticulous, and you don’t want to
brag about it later. An interview is
your chance to show your prospective
employers that you have what it takes
to be a productive member of their
business. Your interview begins well
before you even enter the building.
If you pull up in a nice car wearing
nice clothes, your employer knows
you’re not messing around. If you pull
up wearing pimp coat in a souped
up Honda Civic with “Biggie Lives!”
written on the side, your employer
knows you’re not messing around…
assuming your employer is Ice Cube.
You’ll want to prepare for common
interview questions in advance. For
example, when they ask you, “What’s
your biggest weakness?” you should
be able to answer immediately, “I
have a nasty habit of hunting down
and killing the family members of
employers who don’t hire me.” That
kind of straightforwardness lets them
know you’re serious about excellence in
the workplace. Professionalism is also
important. Try not to touch yourself
during the interview, unless it’s part of
your performance art piece and you’re
applying for an Arts Canada grant, but
beware, thousands of people walk in
to Arts Canada and touch themselves
in the hopes of ge�ing a grant, so find
a way to separate yourself from the
crowd. Maybe wear a top hat while
you’re doing your thing or scream, “No
Apartheid Wall!” every once in a while
and call it a political art piece.
grabbers
Wordsday, March 30th, 2005
Jackson calls himself
“warrior”; other warriors
disagree
LOS ANGELES — Michael Jackson not
only continues to proclaim his innocence
in light of his child molestation trial, but
recently made bold statements in an
interview with Jesse Jackson to say he
was holding up well.
The King of Pop proclaimed on Rev.
Jackson’s radio show last week, “I’m
a strong person. I’m a warrior, and I
know what is inside of me.”
Jim Hellwig, be�er known to millions as
pro wrestler Ultimate Warrior, disagrees
with Jackson’s claim. The former WWF
Intercontinental Champion said in a
statement released from his Santa Fe,
New Mexico home, “Mr. Jackson is not
a warrior. Did he face Hulk Hogan at
Wrestlemania VII? Did he get put into
a coffin by the Undertaker? Did he have
an ongoing feud with Ravishing Rick
Rude? I think not.!”
“I just wish the Macho Man hadn’t
interfered in my match with Sgt.
Slaughter back in ’91 at Royal Rumble
when I lost the World Championship
belt.”
Other warriors weighed in on the
comments. Rodney White, small
forward for the NBA’s Golden State
Warriors also voiced his disapproval
at Jackson’s analysis. “Try ge�ing out
there and guarding LeBron James for
forty-eight minutes. That guy trash-
GOLDEN WORDS
talks like you wouldn’t believe, and the
refs let him get away with murder. And
then try only ge�ing paid two million
dollars a year, instead of thirty. That’s
rough.”
Some, however, are sympathetic to
Michael’s claim. “I guess you might
call me a warrior,” commented Lt. Ray
Mills of the U.S. Special Operations
Forces, “and I’d say that he’s worthy of
the title. He was forced
into fame and fortune as
young child, which can
be very trying. I never
went through it, but as
someone who served
in Afghanistan during
Operation Enduring
Freedom, I think we’ve
had similar amounts
of anguish in our lives.
Who’s to say that being
under heavy fire in a
broken-down Jeep is worse than being
really rich when you’re 11?”
North Korea acknowledges
presence of common cold
PYONGYANG — In an unprecedented
announcement, North Korean officials
— notorious for being extremely
secretive about conditions inside their
country — have admi�ed that the set
of viruses known to cause the common
cold are present in their country.
The Korean Peoples’ Central News
Agency on Monday said, “We have
reason to believe these viruses have
narrowly evaded the watchful eye of
the Great Leader and penetrated our
Utopic socialist paradise.”
Their South Korean counterparts
have been open about the presence of
the cold viruses in their country for
decades. Deputy Minister of Health
for South Korea, Jong-wook Lee, said
it was about time for the North to
recognize the virus’s presence. “It’s
been over fi�y years since
that lunatic Kim Il-Sung
took over. We’ve known
about germs for almost
two centuries.
Page 5
have experienced cut-backs in their
power. Since 1975, the government in
Malaysia has been expanding at what
international observers consider a
“ridiculous” rate.
“It’s a welcome change,” acknowledges
shop-owner Abdullah Badawi. “Last
December, I forgot to do up the last
bu�on on my shirt, and was jailed for
three months on charges of indecency.
The Department for the Correct
Bu�oning of Casual A�ire was pre�y
reasonable, but the Department for
Tucking in of Shirt-Like Garments
really let me have it.”
“Shoot, it’s not as if
suggesting a twomicrometre-long virus
being able to get through
your national borders
means we’re going to be
breezing across the DMZ
anytime soon, y’know.”
“It’s been great for my family,”
commented local business man
Muhammad al-Kaiz. “My son’s been
in jail for eight years since he violated
the “No Eating With Your Hands” Act
of 1983. The recent changes mean we’ll
be able to visit him this weekend and
celebrate his ninth birthday.”
When pressed for acomment, North
Korean officials remained tight-lipped
about the presence of such other
tiny invaders such as bacteria, dust
particles, smog, atmospheric carbon
dioxide molecules, troll dolls, and
mini-carrots.
However, not all Malaysians are happy
with the changes. “It really is a slap
in the face,” lamented Omar Aziz,
Shadow Minister for Keeping Papers
and Magazines Neatly Piled on Desks
and Tables. “I mean, we are the ones
keeping this country in a decent state.
Can you imagine a world where
citizens freely fold in the corners of
pages to mark their place in novels, or
where umbrellas can be maliciously
rested against walls at non-30 degree
angles?”
Malaysia to Curb “Moral
Policing”
KUALA LUMPUR – Following
complaints about state officials being
too intrusive in the lives of citizens,
many Malaysian state departments
Flying Fox of the Yard, Frisbee Pilot
Page 6
GOLDEN WORDS
The Sheriff
Sheriff Malcolm
Malcolmson is the
leading law enforcement officer of the
Westborough Township. Our crews
followed his beat on a perilous 24-hour
ride-along.
always use a good man on the force. I’m
deputizing you, here’s your badge and
a gun. Let’s clean up this town.”
0734h – Code 331, Paper Delivery:
“What’s that? No time for Johnny Law?
Listen, you need to cool down, son.
Turn in your badge and gun. You’re off
the force. In fact, it sounds like you need
to spend a night in the slammer to cool
off. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
Malcomson’s rich voice echoed down
the hallway as we approached his office.
We opened the door only to discover
that he was already in a conversation
with one of his constituents.
“You’re just here
to deliver the
paper?” he
asked the
t e e n a g e r.
“Well then,
d o n ’t b e
s h y. S e t i t
down over
there close to
those empty
bottles.” There
was a pause. “I like
your moxie – I
can
The youth tried, haltingly, to decline the
offer. The sheriff wasn’t amused.
0821h – Code 731, Stamp Buyery:
“Yes, I’d like to buy some stamps.
I’m mailing this dead fish to Bart the
Bandit,” said the Sheriff. The clerk
gestured towards a posted sheet of
regulations. “What do you mean I can’t
mail a fish!?” Malcomson bellowed.
“I’ve been mailing fish ever since you
were in diapers!”
“Now everybody calm down,” he
yelled, brandishing his revolver. “I
don’t want things to get out
of
control.
Put down that
letter opener:
you’re under
arrest!
0907h – Code 401, Disturbance in a
coffee-serving establishment:
Obeying local speed limits, our crew
was several minutes behind the Sheriff
when they arrived at the coffee house.
“Hang on,” he was saying. “This looks
like a small la�e. I ordered the big one!
Madam, you’re under arrest. Society is
be�er off with people like you behind
bars. I hope you enjoy your new home
behind cold steel bars.”
He locked her in the back of the squad
car before returning to buy doughnuts.
“Let me get this straight,” he drawled,
“If I buy a dozen doughnuts, you’ll give
me a free one?”
The clerk was lying on the floor with his
hands behind his back, hoping to avoid
the nightstick.
“I like your style, Doughnutman. I’m
going to deputize you. Here’s a badge
and a gun. Welcome to the force. There’s
only one thing you need to remember:
‘Crime never pays.’”
1031h – Code 060, Medical
Malpractice:
We weren’t allowed into the doctor’s
exam room, but we did observe a figure
in a labcoat being removed from the
building and admonished that “‘hard
time’ will teach [him] to diagnose
people with liver disease.”
1058h – Code 191, Disturbing the
peace:
Yet again, we caught up with the
Sheriff mid-arrest. “Break-dancing?
Never heard of it. Sounds like fighting
to me. Is this your cardboard? No?
Thief!”
S50529 Queens 102x190.5
23/3/05
2:52 pm
Page 1
I ’m p u t t i n g
you behind bars.
I’ll let you out of the
slammer once you’ve
calmed down.”
Volume 39, Issue 24
As the youth was cuffed, the boy’s
mother began protesting. “Ma’am, if you
gave him the cardboard then you’re an
accomplice. You’re under arrest! You’ve
got a one way ticket to the county jail. It’s
always the ones you never suspect.”
He then arrested everyone in the two
adjacent houses, including all the
Study Law In England
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Toronto, April 11, Bahen Centre, 40 St. George St., Rm 1180, 7pm
Ottawa, April 12, Morisset Bldg., 65 University, Rm 205, 7pm
Halifax, April 14, Dalhousie Student Un. Bldg., 6136 University Ave., Rm 224, 7pm
Contact
University of Leicester
University Road, Leicester,
LE1 7RH UK
Tel: 011 44 116 252 2296
email: [email protected]
www.le.ac.uk
St. John’s, April 15, Health Sciences Centre, Rm 2956, 6pm
Leicester is located in the picturesque Midlands, with easy access to London. All
first year students are guaranteed housing. The UK system includes lectures and
small group tutorials, (e.g. 8 per class).
We ducked behind the camera car as
the air was sha�ered by gunshots. The
deputy had narrowly missed the bear.
“ Yo u ’ r e o u t o f c o n t r o l , M r .
Doughnutman!” yelled the Sheriff. “Just
look at yourself! You’re a loose cannon!
Turn in your badge and your gun. I’m
taking you off this bear case. In fact, I’m
pu�ing you in the slammer in case you
try to kill again.”
Gun drawn, the Sheriff pursued the
bear into a shopping mall. He emerged
a second later with a crying shop owner
in handcuffs. “Crime never pays.”
At this point the bear wandered into the
parking lot. “Hey! Bear! Yes, you,” said
Malcomson. “Put down that honey jar!
You’ve got spirit, and that counts where
I come from. You’re my new deputy.
Here’s a badge and a gun.”
The danger over, we asked the Sheriff
to record a brief monologue. Asking the
Sheriff to record a monologue is a crime
in Westborough.
“What a great day,” said Malcomson,
shoving us into the already crowded
back seat of his cruiser. “I’ve never
managed to arrest everyone before
noon.”
1412h – Si�ing in jail:
Sheriff Malcomson was in the next
room arguing with his deputy. “Eating
garbage discredits the force, man!
You’re losing your edge. Turn in your
badge and gun! I’m pu�ing you in the
slammer.” The bear roared before he
was locked in the large open cell with
the rest of us. Please send help!
Gary Empire & Ravenous Libido
Top Seven Reasons
You Have a Headache
2. You painted your room and then
fell asleep in it.
BSc - Genetics, Biochemistry, Microbiology, Financial Economics
A representative from the University of Leicester will be giving a presentation on the
University and the application process at:
1132h – Code 923, Loose Bear:
1. You danced without a helmet.
The University of Leicester is currently accepting applications for:
BA - International Relations, Management Studies
guests of a 10th birthday party, “for
good measure.”
3. You took a reverse Tylenol by
mistake.
4. You are Marie Curie.
5. You sleep on a rock.
6. You don’t have a brain stem, but
you have three kidneys.
7. You insist on head-bu�ing people
to say “hello.”
A Leading Research & Teaching University
grabbers
Wordsday, March 30th, 2005
GOLDEN WORDS
Page 7
Page 8
GOLDEN WORDS
Volume 39, Issue 24
Courage
Those potatoes won’t fry themselves, sailor!
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Page 10
GOLDEN WORDS
Volume 39, Issue 24
Confessions of George Sanders:
Artifact Recovery Engineer
The career I chose isn’t an easy one.
The hours are long, the pay is paltry,
and it plays havoc with relationships.
Honestly, though, there isn’t another job
that I could do. I’m an artifact hunter.
I know a lot of you aren’t familiar with
just what my job entails so allow me to
elaborate: I hunt for artifacts.
I wasn’t always a hunter. I was an
archeologist back before I went rogue. I
could never abide with useless a�itudes,
regulations, or international treaties, so
I guess it was just a ma�er of time before
I started off on my own.
I still remember my first and last day
in the system. I was fresh out of a
competitive associate degree program
at Richton Community College. I’d
just watched the entire Indiana Jones
Trilogy. I had my whip, my luger, and
my fedora: I was the most promising
young scholar in my field, and I was
ready to kick some Nazi ass.
So imagine my surprise a�er spending
three days ge�ing to a dig site in Brazil
to find a bunch of granola-eating college
students fawning over some set of
rocks in the middle of the jungle. They
were spending hours painstakingly
uncovering an inch at a time. If Raiders of
the Lost Ark taught me anything, it’s that
pros don’t waste their time and certainly
don’t put up with filthy hippies.
The first thing these guys did was
tell me to put my gun away and set
up a tent. If that wasn’t enough, this
archeologist tries to convince me that
World War II had been over for fi�y
years. Fi�y years! What the hell does
he know about history? Given the
incompetence of the others, I did the
only thing I could do: I stole their jeep,
used it to uproot one of the rocks, and
sold it to some guy in Rio for three kegs
of Corona and a Snow album. It was the
worst weekend ever.
Yeah, those were the glory days. You
wouldn’t believe the a�ention a guy
in my line of work could get from the
ladies. There were local guides, fossil
groupies, and the occasional rival
artifact huntress. Man, those were the
days. In the nineties, I must have go�en
laid at least two, three times.
But times have go�en tougher. Now,
instead of Peru and Lima, the real
artifact hunters stay closer to
home, namely the Pineridge
Cemetery.
A lot of people just don’t
understand. My parents,
my friends, the police, they
all think I’m in it for the
money. If I wanted money,
I would have followed
in my brothers’ steps
and taken a job in the
family business making
shovels. They just don’t
understand how much
happier I am as their most
loyal customer. Well, the
most loyal customer who
steals from their inventory
on a regular basis.
They say it’s unethical but
everything I do, I do for science.
For example, if I hadn’t excavated
Mr. Wilson’s grave, how would
we have discovered what life was
like back in 1998? Speaking frankly,
the gold buried with him didn’t
belong in the ground. It belonged in
a museum, or at least a really nice
pawn shop. So did his tuxedo.
I t ’s a h a r d ,
thankless job.
A lot of people
stand in the way of
scientific discovery.
They question,
complain, and
organize massive
manhunts.
Still, I just try
to do my job.
I’m good at
t h e wo r k . I
always know
where to find a
decent excavation
s i t e ― t h e y ’r e
surprisingly well
marked. Besides,
I know it’s just
a matter of time
before another
civilization gets
wiped out and puts
me back in the
black.
Ravenous Libido
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PRO-ACTIVE is accredited by the National Sports Centre of Ontario
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Wordsday, March 30th, 2005
GOLDEN WORDS
Page 11
A GW Guide to
April Fool’s Pranks
The Airframe Gambit
Prognosis: Dolphin
Go to Home Depot, replace all the half-inch screws
with quarter-inch screws, and watch the next
generation of Boeing 747s fall apart.
Find a dolphin, write “You have hepatitis C” on it with
a magic marker, and carefully place it in your friend’s
bed while they sleep.
The Jenny From The Bloc Quebecois The Jolly Scotsman
In French, April Fool’s is called “Poisson d’avril.” Stuff
a fish full of dynamite and leave it on Avril Lavigne’s
doorstep.
Attach a sign saying “Hug Me” to your friend’s
back. (This prank will not work unless your friend is
recovering from several broken ribs.)
The Last Train To Pranksville
The Bananabath Maneuver
If you’re a train conductor, inform your passengers
that the next stop is Bear Junction, Land of Bears. As
they chuckle lightly, jump out of the conductor’s car
before the train hits the mountain.
Balance a bucket of puréed bananas atop your friend’s
door and watch as chaos ensues.
The Corleone Caper
Balance a Crabbuckit atop your friend’s door and
watch as K-OS ensues.
Replace your friend’s Godfather DVD’s with Godfather
VHS tapes.
The Iraqapella
With Bob Dylan’s assistance, help Saddam Hussein
reinvent himself as a folk singer. Before his big April
1st concert at Carnegie Hall, remove his vocal cords
and watch him feel uncomfortable and embarrassed
before a large crowd.
The Juno Jitsu
The Mob Hit
Order a mob hit on the prankee.
The O-Face
Freeze the O-rings on your friend’s space shu�le.
Aldous Could Be Yours
The Firehouse Folly
String an invisible wire across your friend’s doors of
perception and watch them trip.
Breathlessly tell your housemate that their bedroom is
on fire. If they laugh good-naturedly and congratulate
you on the April Fool’s joke, light their room on fire
and tell them this is what they get for doubting you.
The Bong Kiss Goodnight
Replace your friend’s bongwater with gasoline. It will
leave a horrible smell.
grabbers
GOLDEN WORDS
Page 12
There are some days I wish I could take
a break from this job. Even when I’m
on vacation, I just can’t separate myself
from my work. As I watch the sun set
on the vast Libyan tundra, I can’t help
but wonder what’s going on back in
Washington. Are our nation’s citizens
protected from the evils abroad? Did Bob
remember to refill the snack machine? I
am plagued with questions. Some people
are married to their work, but me, I’m in
a sado-masochistic relationship with
my job. It wears a black vinyl mask and
nightly makes me its pliable plaything.
It’s a wonder I come back day a�er day,
pleading for its nine tails of pain to tear
into my flesh, but I can’t stay away. My
country is my job, my job is my life, and
I love my life. People say I’m a hero, but
I’m just doing my duty for America.
My name is Jack Bauer, and I train
Po k é m o n f o r t h e U n i t e d S t a t e s
Government.
I work at a place called CTG: CounterTerrorist Gym. You see, a gym is where
you train Pokémon, only in this gym,
we train Pokémon to ba�le terrorists.
Bulbasaur, Squirtle, Bu�erfree… if it’s a
Pokémon, we can train it.
I’ve just go�en a phone call; it’s from the
President himself. He needs me.
***
“It’s beautiful. It’s absolutely beautiful.”
The president is crouched over his desk,
America,
i choose you
a magnifying glass in his hand, gazing
at something as if it were a precious
jewel. His eyes are brimming with tears
of rapture. He sure loves his bo�le-cap
collection. “Jack, come here. I want you
to see this. I call it… The Apogee.”
“Sir, you wanted to see me about some
sort of terrorist plot,” I remind him.
“Oh yes. The terrorists.” He locks The
Apogee into its place at the very center of
a large display case. It flips back into his
desk, and he returns his a�ention to me.
“They’ve developed a new Pokémon. It’s
an evolution of the vicious Zangoose,
called Zamiltiger.”
“But Mr. President, that’s impossible!
Zangoose is a non-evolving Pokémon!”
“I know, Jack. God forgive us all.”
***
I answer to Professor Holland Oak, the
foremost Pokémon researcher in the
country and head of CTG. He’s handing
me a photo collected from a recent
excursion to South Africa.
“This is an awful shot, Oak. Everyone
knows Pokémon hate having their
backs photographed. Why didn’t your
photographer throw a pesterball to spin
them around? What a rookie move.”
“I said the same things, Jack, but this is
the first ever photograph of Zamiltiger.
He’s a very rare Pokémon.”
“Who’s that in the photo with him?”
“That’s Jigglypuff. The man on the
phone is Kareem Abdul Jabbar. We think
he’s the mastermind behind this whole
operation. We want you to find him and
stop him. I’ve paired you with a dashing
young agent who’s new to CFG. His
name’s Ash. Show him the poké-ropes.
Oh, and Jack... bring Jabbar back home
alive. My wife wants an autograph.”
“Professor, that’s not your wife. You’re
pointing at a socket wrench.”
“Dammit, Jack, I don’t need any more of
your lip. Just get this done.”
***
We locate the terrorist trio in an
abandoned gym near the border of
Limpopo. Jabbar is just leaving, with
Zamiltiger at his heels.
“Jabbar, you’re sunk! Prepare for Pokéba�le!” I call, catching him off guard.
Options
make
all the
difference
Les options
font
toute la
différence
No matter what your
Peu importe la nature
university education,
de vos études
you can enjoy a career
universitaires, vous
with a difference in
pouvez bénéficier
the Canadian Forces.
d’une carrière
He doesn’t spare any time. “Zamiltiger!
I choose YOU!”
“Blastoise!” I cry out. I hope Jabbar
doesn’t know my greatest weakness:
my daughter is as accident-prone as a
Volume 39, Issue 24
deaf bat in the dark, and every single
season I have to drop everything to save
her tight, blonde kaboose. That’s just the
kind of guy I am.
Right away, Jabbar pulls out the big guns.
“Endangerment of… KIM BAUER!”
I turn around to see my daughter’s
frightened face. She must have followed
us. “Kim!” I cry out. “Kim!” Ash echoes.
I turn to him, puzzled.
“Oh no, panthers!” my daughter screams.
Three giant jungle cats pounce out of
nowhere and tear her to shreds. Cackling
maniacally, Jabbar morphs into a winged
basketball and flies away.
“Oh cruel fate! Take meeeeeeee!” Ash
howls at the sky. He drops to her side,
which appears to be all that’s le� of her.
He gazes up at me. “We were engaged,”
he explains.
“You bastard,” I spit at him. “How dare
you date my daughter?”
“What does it ma�er who she dates?”
His eyes narrowed. “We were in love.”
“The life of a Pokémon trainer is too
dangerous for love, Ash. You can’t do
this job and have a life. I tried and failed.
My wife – and now my daughter – have
both been killed by poké-terrorists. You
think you can do things differently? Well,
you can’t. You need to choose between a
life of love and a life of Pokémon, Ash.
Make your choice.”
Ash blinked a tear away. He lowered
his head in thought, fingering his
dead fiancée’s lapel. When he looked
back up at me, his face was filled with
determination and strength. He u�ered
the words every counter-terrorist trainer
loves to hear.
“America... I choose you.”
Caustic Muffin
différente dans les
• Engineers
Forces canadiennes.
• Physiotherapists
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Découvrez vos forces dans les Forces canadiennes.
1 800 856-8488
www.forces.gc.ca
VIOLENCE
IN THEATRES EVERYWHERE APRIL 8
Wordsday, March 30th, 2005
GOLDEN WORDS
I no longer hold my keys on a lanyard
because people kept yanking it out
of my pocket. I’d get mad at them,
but whenever I see someone else
with a lanyard sticking out of their
pockets, I’ll try and take it without
them noticing. Does that make me a
hypocrite? Anyways, I’m ge�ing pre�y
good at it.
any idea what anyone is talking
about.
Earlier in the year, this guy was playing
music a few doors down from me. He
asked me if it bothered me. I said “no”
to be nice, but over the course of the year
it’s really go�en on my nerves and now
it’s too late to say anything.
One time, this guy asked me if I had a
stapler and I said I didn’t even though
I did. The stapler was on my desk
(si�ing beside my printer.) I hope he
didn’t see it.
I bought a dryerase calendar from the
bookstore at the beginning of the year.
I don’t use it. It just sits on my wall.
Sometimes I’ll write fake dates and
assignments and stuff on it. Several
people have commented on how
organized I am.
Sometimes I’ll be hanging out with
upper-years and they’ll start talking
about Queen’s politics and stuff. I’ll
nod sagely and sometimes make a very
generic comment,
but I don’t
really have
I own and operate a toaster in my
residence room on a regular basis.
I frequently don’t wear socks. Laundry
is really expensive. I also use less than a
full cup of Tide just to save money.
I steal coffee mugs from Leonard
Cafeteria. I like to grow bonsai trees
in them but I always forget to water
them. I always return the mugs a�er
the trees die.
I have a great set of speakers for
my computer, but I always use my
earphones because I don’t want anyone
to know the lame types of music I listen
to.
On an unrelated note, I clean my
Internet cookies and history every day
in case someone comes over.
When I go home and see some of my
friends that are still in high school, I lie
all about the “crazy times” I’ve been
having at university. It makes me feel
like a big wheel.
I still don’t have a textbook for
economics.
Everyone seems to talk while they’re
doing their business in the bathrooms.
Page 13
I finally got used to it when guys do it,
but when a girl says, “Hey, who’s next to
me?” I feel really awkward. I no longer
use the coed bathroom because of this.
I think Diet Pepsi tastes better than
regular Pepsi. People will ask me why
I’m drinking a Diet Pepsi and I’ll tell
them I’m on a diet but really, I just like
the taste...
I don’t feel the same way about Coke.
Diet Coke tastes like copper.
I once went out on a date but didn’t
brush my teeth beforehand. I just used
mouthwash. The date went really
poorly so it wasn’t an issue.
I once went an entire month without
wearing deodorant. I just sprayed
myself with Febreze. No one noticed
until I switched to Citrus-Scented
Febreze.
I have this really funny friend.
Sometimes he’ll tell me a joke and I’ll
remember it. I’ll tell it to someone else
at a party or something - and if they
laugh, I credit myself.
I’m terrible with names. One time this
girl on my floor saw me on Princess St.
and said, “Hey, Steve!” but I didn’t know
her name, so I just pretended I couldn’t
hear her and went into the nearest
building, the Hemporium. I told the
clerk there I was “just browsing.”
I don’t take notes in film class. When
people ask why, I say it’s because I don’t
need to. But I do. Over the course of the
year
I’d say
it’s cost me
about 10% of my mark.
I wear white iPod earphones so people
will think I have an iPod. I don’t plug
them into anything.
Once I couldn’t find my sandals so I
didn’t have a shower that day.
Once for April Fools, I made my
vegetarian friend dinner and snuck
some pork in it. I told him it was tofu.
My parents got me a $300 watch for
Christmas. I lost it so I went to Wal Mart
and bought a $10 replacement. They
can’t tell the difference.
I once made love on the roof of the
JDUC. It wasn’t nearly as romantic as I
thought it would be, mostly due to the
gravel and broken glass.
Ryan Reynolds is absolutely dreamy. I
wouldn’t ever marry him, though, I don’t
think he’d make a good husband.
Deipnosophist
Page 14
GOLDEN WORDS
• You’re incredibly stupid
Si
• You’re really smart, but you’re in a
coma
• The guy who’s writing your reference
le�er walked in on you and his wife
totally going at it
u
o
’r e n
y
s
n
g
o
Volume 39, Issue 24
• You tell the graduate student giving
you a tour of the Computer Science
building that you’d like to “recompile
that sweet ass”
t
• On the financial aid application, you
answer the question about financing
your education by checking off the
box marked “Thuggery”
• You think Grad school applications
work like American Idol auditions,
and you can’t sing for shit
• You’re applying for a Masters in
Chemistry, but your undergraduate
degree is in Tantric Massage
• “Volunteering and doing shit with
stuff ” doesn’t fill up the entire extra
curricular involvement sheet on the
application, so you just glue a picture
of you standing outside a Children’s
hospital giving the thumbs up
• Your proposed thesis is titled, “Pimps
up, hos down? Questioning the ageold hierarchy”
• Your entire application is a crude
drawing of a giant laser cannon next
to the words “The future is now!”
• Your undergraduate advisor has
been referring to you as “Chuckles
McNofuture” for the past four years
• All the mistakes you made in college
come back to haunt you, including
skipping class, cheating on tests and
se�ing the graduate studies building
on fire in the middle of an LSDinduced rage fit
• On the day of your interview, you
forget to take the gimp mask off
before you leave the house
• A professional degree simply doesn’t
do that much for your earning
potential when you work in the field
of bull semen collection
t
ti n
oo
Ge
• You mix up your grad school and
Pimp My Ride applications, and
Stanford sends you a le�er saying
they don’t care that you drive a shi�y
Camry
l
• You ask Harvard for an informational
brochure and they send you back a
Polaroid of you with the eyes poked
out
g in
S
to G rad
ch
• Your grad school application is
covered in bull semen
• That stuff goes for $900,000 a litre,
dumbass
epileptic penguin
Flaws in the Car I Designed.
1. Bucket seats are actually buckets.
2. Flintstones braking system results in multiple compound
fractures.
3. Child seat is also ejection seat; ejection seat is triggered by
laughter; roof above ejection seat does not open.
4. Cruise control is a Top Gun DVD lodged under the gas
pedal.
5. The steering wheel is a pizza pie.
6. A penguin in the trunk manages the entire coolant system.
7. The rearview mirror was taken from a funhouse.
8. During saucer separation all crewmembers on level six are
sucked into the vacuum of space.
9. Speedometer is logarithmic.
10. There are only three gears: Reverse, Reversi, and Othello.
grabbers
GOLDEN WORDS
Wordsday, March 30th, 2005
FROM THE FILES OF
ENGSOC . . .
Will pay $1000 for summer sublet.
Why leave your place empty? Graduated
student looking for place for May
- August, willing to provide postdated cheques and references. Ideal
spot: close to campus, close to down
town, furnished, w/BBQ and porch.
E-mail [email protected] if
interested.
Love, Ryan
FREC SMOKER
Hey Sci ‘08 Frecs,
You have probably unconsciously
noticed those li�le pointy things every
half metre or so on the railing in the
Clark Hall stairwell that leads to the
pub and old lounge, but it likely never
crossed your mind as to why those
pointy things are there.
Come celebrate your inauguration as
Frosh Week’s coolest, scariest, most
stunningly good looking when dyed
gentian violet people. Meet the other
Frecs, have a great time, and maybe earn
a prize or two. As for physics: if it ain’t
two digits, it doesn’t count.
Many years ago began a story of someone
enjoying themselves perhaps too much
at the pub and a�empting to slide down
the railing to get to ground level. But,
being intoxicated (to the degree nobody
knows), he almost broke his neck so
for the longest time, a solution was
engineered consisting of a large, coarse
rope wrapped around the railing to
prevent this from happening again. But
for the sake of style, it was later changed
to what we see today.
Clark Hall Pub
Please email the application to
[email protected] by Wednesday
April 13th. Application is available on
our site:
h�p://www.engsoc.queensu.ca/seed/
Kingston_English_QueenUniv.qxp
To Eve and Imran,
Happy Birthday on non-specified
dates!
Love, GW
Housemate Wanted:
Still looking for a place to live next year?
This house has one empty room waiting
for you. House is clean, 5 min from
the Hub, has washer and dryer. Please
contact [email protected].
Love, Les
Wedensday April 6th
9:30
Dear ArtSci ‘05,
thump, thump, thump, thump, thump
Love, Sci ‘05
FREE
SEED IS HIRING
CO-CHAIRS
NATIONAL CONFERENCE
ON WOMEN IN
ENGINEERING
NOW HIRING 2005
EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE
Dear Alexa,
You’re hot.
13:14
Mike & Alex
Dear Les,
Thanks for the cake for my birthday.
And by cake I mean no cake.
“Love,” Eve
The National Conference on Women
in Engineering is now hiring its 2005
executive committee. Applications
can be picked up in EngSoc and are
to be submitted by 4pm on Sunday
April 3rd, 2005 in the Black Box (Clark
Hall). Questions? Email Darlene at
[email protected]
2005-01-24
Page 15
Dear Les,
At least I got her Donald Sutherland for
her birthday.
Sincerely, Kelly
Dear Mark & Kelly,
Thank you for being great Old-Hands!
Love, Michelle
Page 1
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M o n t r e a l • O t t a w a • K i n g s t o n • To r o n t o • N i a g a r a F a l l s • W i n d s o r • C a l g a r y • V a n c o u v e r
CFL Draft Day — will
Saskatchewan pick a dead guy
again?
Twenty snowman-preserving
tips for Spring
Morse Code: Poised for a
renaissance?
Heavy metal set to “tear Emo a
new one”
Eight sure-fire venison recipes
April Fools Day backlash: Your
guide to ge�ing stains out of just
about anything
GW reviews “Arachnophobia”...
fi�een years too late
Autogyro maintenance for the
novice owner
The new Spring diseases: is West
Nile old hat?
Autofellatio in six easy steps
Join us in the GW
forum www.goldenwords.net
Do it NOW!!!
Artwork by; Lil’ Taphy