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I have a little poetry for you today, but first I want to issue an apology. A lot of people were offended by the way I compared brothels to sorority houses. I think I threatened their feelings of entitlement or something. I don’t really know. But since I am a tolerant individual, when I realize I’ve offended a large group of people, I think it’s only fair for me to say “sorry.”
Hi, sororities. It’s good to see that you’ve finally quit your whining (note that I didn’t tell you to quit your bitching, because that is sexism, and sexism is wrong) and taken a positive step in the direction of womyn’s rights. Congratulations on your new houses. (How’d you get those past the brothel laws?) You’re halfway to regaining the self-respect you lose every time you blow a guy at Shooters because he’s in a good frat.
Dear Larry Moneta,
I’ll never forget my first night in Africa. The tribespeople I was staying with (I can’t spell out their name because English letters are too limited to express their much richer language) greeted me in the traditional way that they greet honored guests. They slaughtered their fattest cow, cooked it with great ceremony and served it to me, refusing to eat until I took the first bite.
Hi, fellow citizens, and welcome back to the Duke Bubble. Unless you’re first-years (a note to first-years, “freshmen” is gendered language, please refrain from using it). In that case, welcome to the haven of conspicuous consumption—no, consumerism, the bastion of conservativism, the bubble of isolation from world events that is Duke University. You’re about to spend the next four years of your life eating food most people around the world have never even heard of, wearing clothes that would cost clothing factory workers their life savings to buy and trying to shove yourselves into so-called “greek” organizations that represent everything that is wrong with our culture today. I hope you’re proud of yourselves.
Only 16 more days until students flood my living quarters for some sort of ludicrous concert that everyone should be able to see since there will be no Cataracts. The imminent end to the semester means that it’s registration time!
Fact: Alaska is cold. Fact: Squirrels can’t live there. Myth: Alaskans refer to the Bering Sea and Aleutian Islands as BSAI. Alaskans, squirrels and Duke students alike know that “BSAI” means something completely different in the Gothic Wonderland.
The esteemed Freddie Mercury once sang, “fat bottomed squirrels/you make the gothic world go round.” Perhaps he was prescient in that he knew that the population’s average weight would increase over time, or maybe it was one of those “the world will end in 2012” type shots in the dark that the Mayans are making a ton of money from. Yet, I’ve definitely noticed that across campus some of my Sciuridae brethren have sizeable badonkadonks.
“Readin’ all the front pages/Readin’ all the back pages/Gotta make my mind up/Which column can I read?/
A few days ago, I heard one person tell her male friend, “Those jeans are real tight.” He paused for a noticeable amount of time. How was he supposed to respond? “Are you calling me fat?” or “It’s lucky my girlfriend and I wear just about the same size!” He seemed surprised by this negativity. He apparently hadn’t previously received any criticisms about his legwear, leaving him unaware of his bad situation.
The Gothic Squirrel has heard students rumble about an upcoming hiatus from school that is occurring in the near future. The University has labeled this time as Spring recess, which is funny as spring doesn’t begin for nearly three weeks. However, according to students, the “recess” label is so accurate, it more than makes up for the mistaken season.
Three times a week, I see students at 8:45 a.m. sprinting across the quad. Why? To get to their 8:45 class, of course. There was no catastrophe that led to a time change (though there were a few f-bombs exploding); the student knew all along that the class was going to start exactly at 8:45. This begs the question: Why do students continually neglect the theory of linear time flow and thus throw punctuality out the window? The answer: organized chaos.
The Gothic Squirrel would like to wish everyone at Duke a happy Singles Awareness Day! Singles Awareness Day is the day when all couples make sure it is known that they are couples, all singles make it known they are singles and everyone for whom “it’s complicated” makes it well known that their relationship can be summed up by a phrase that noted billionaire/nerd/playa hater Mark Zuckerberg coined.
Here’s a bad joke: What do you get when you cross DSG, CC, and DUU? A really crappy alphabet soup.
If only I had a walnut every time I heard the phrase “There is a time and a place for everything.” I’ve heard this used an excuse to celebrate a rare occurrence, like Halley’s Comet, Mardi Gras or an A in Econ 51. I’ve heard it used as an excuse not to do something, such as “don’t do your homework on the kitchen table during dinner” or “no Shooters-style cage dancing on the kitchen table during dinner.” Even more commonly, this phrase is utilized to point out the stupidity of one’s actions. For example, it’s generally unadvisable to talk about sex-capades during your wedding toast. There is, however, a time and a place that the implied regrets of this phrase lose their meaning: college.
My unique vantage point allows me to see the world in a different way. I can see things from ground level and am immune to emotional bias. You all know me, how many times have you tried to pet one of my family members, just to see us scamper away at the very last second? Squirrels are known for not paying attention until the very last minute. It follows from this eleventh hour mindset that right now a perfect time for a squirrel to get involved in rush.
In my opening address I declared that openness and transparency would be touchstones of this Monday, Monday column. In the spirit of this promise, I wanted to open up the floor to you, the readers, without whom I would most likely sleep in on Sunday mornings instead of waking up early to piece together my weekend in a usually garbled 700 words (about 30 percent of which are “Tailgate”) that I then try to sneak past The Chronicle’s editors. So thank you, fanbase, for putting up with me until this—the last of my anonymous musings. I have given you the opportunity to ask of me anything—advice, my number, the inevitable “how do you sleep at night?”—and I have gotten back to you live via The Chronicle. I apologize for being unable to answer all of your thoughtful questions, but below is the best I could do. Enjoy!
In light of the recent “holiday,” I am taking over Gossip Bro’s sexist and racist column this week to tell people what they are actually celebrating when they sit so complacently at their “Thanksgiving” tables. These people are the same people who refer to Columbus Day as a holiday, not even recognizing that he was actually a MONSTER who massacred hundreds if not millions of Native Americans! HAPPY NATIVE AMERICAN GENOCIDE DAY EVERYONE.
It was denial, at first. Then anger. Then fear. Fear that at any moment it might cost me as much as $10 to get drunk, instead of the usual $5.40 that could once buy me eight Lokos at BP in a simpler, freer time. It was fear of the uncertain future, fear of the “what next?” Could they ban fun and merriment of any kind? Could they ban Christmas? Halloween? The Superbowl?
For immediate release
