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The 432 Feb 8, 2001

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 VOLUME FOURTEEN ISSUE NINE     'JBG fachiraS S@nd 8 February 2001
JOB
111!      I
ahcJ so much more...
'To adore is bliss, to be adored is but a nuisance/
Oscar Wiide
Chernobyl Victims Evolve
Super Powers
and Birth Defect Ridden Population Champions of Mankind!
Cancer
Kiev, Ukraine
In a startling announcement late last
week, the National Aeronautics and Space
Administration announced that a massive
asteroid was on a collision course with the
Earth. "This is truly mankind's darkest
hour" declared chief NASA scientist Geoff
Martin. "Unless, by some stroke of awesome, superhuman intervention the asteroid is stopped, all life on Earth will cease to
exist as of next Friday". Not surprisingly,
the announcement has thrown all peoples
from all corners of the globe into a total
panic.
"Dear God, no!" declared former U.S.
President Bill Clinton. "This is the worst
national calamity to strike these fair lands
since the last election!"
Response from the government has also
been strident. "If only they would let me
build those anti-missile systems that
daddy had originally suggested when he
was in power, we wouldn't be in this mess,"
said President George W. Bush. When it
was pointed out that such an anti-missile
system has it's warheads pointed towards
the Earth, Bush replied "I'm afraid that I
don't have any expertise in that area," and
was promptly hustled to the waiting Air
Force One by presidential handlers.
"I am afraid that it is absolutely, absolutely hopeless," said Dr. Michael Entredi, professor and acclaimed research leader in the
very exclusive field of Meteor Impactology
and World Devastation, "the world is
doomed. We'd have to find somebody, or
maybe even a small group of people, with
the astonishing special powers and abilities
to avert such an ultimate threat."
Meanwhile, in the small Ukrainian city of
Chernobyl...a group of young farm workers, uncharacteristically devoid of the cancers, birth defects and debilitating radiation poisoning plaguing the rest of their
people, had discovered that they were in
possession of radical and ultrahuman new
powers.
Under the tutelage of local radiologist Dr.
Yuriy Symonenko, the youths were able to
overcome their personal conflicts and combined each of their unique and extraordinary powers late Monday night, to alter the
meteor's trajectory away from the Earth
and into the Sun, destroying the lethal missile from the heavens.
"Just two weeks ago, I was wondering
from where and why I was able to harvest
so many potatoes with using only my
thoughts," Serhiy Matviyenko, the
appointed leader of the rag-tag group of
THt FAKIUN6 LOT 15 ftitL
by Jack McLaren and Pat Spaeek
http://www.ptif,com
heroes, speaking to the 432 through an
interpreter "but combined with Natalya's
invisibility, Anatoliy's psychic powers and
Hennadiy's hologram-creating ability, we
were able to commandeer a secret government aerospace project and save the
world."
Dr. Symonenko, who housed the surprising attractive and physically fit youths in
his perogie farm, credits the miracle of
radiation for their world-saving accomplishments.
"Without what was previously thought to
be a horrendous tragedy," Dr. Symonenko-
told reporters in Kiev today, "these youths
would have never been bestowed with the
very powers that saved humankind. What
are the horrible agonizing deaths of a few
nuclear technicians, and a few flipper
babies versus the saving of the entire
human race? The Lord works in mysterious
ways."
President Leonid D. Kuchma awarded the
young heroes with medals in a ceremony
yesterday in Kiev, and has declared February 7th as a national holiday to celebrate
the former Soviet republic's most significant contribution to the world since cheap
vodka.
"It is such a coincidence, that this considerable superhuman presence has arisen
out of the ashes of the worst nuclear
tragedy of the twentieth century," President Kuchma said from the podium in the
Ukranian capital, "But even more, it is a
great testament to the Ukrainian people's
ability to come up with radical new solutions to age-old problems."
"My childhood was very difficult," Natalya
Pustovoytenko, 19, the aformentioned
invisible superhero, "our livestock perished, my friends and family were always
sick from the radiation. But with my new
powers, there is hope for the rest of the
world."
The U.N. has decreed extra research funding into the effects of acute nuclear radiation, food additives, electrocution, natural
mutation, toxic chemicals, genetic engineering, rare poisons, magnetism, T.V. and
computer screen emissions, magical curses, and reanimation of corpses in the interests of creating a veritable force of super-
heroes to ensure the safety of the planet for
ages to come.
Canada is considering donating it's
CANDU Newfoundland-i reactor towards
the research.
Dean of Science Joins
Spice Girls
Yes, we- know it"s not. your birthday yet, but we decided
to bum you to effigy a bit early this year.
Surprise!
In a baffling move UBC Dean of Science
Maria Klawe has been revealed to be
the new fifth member of the British pop
group, The Spice Girls. She will replace
Geri "Ginger Spice" Halliwell who left to
embark on a solo career in May of 1998.
Dean Klawe was reportedly discovered by
a talent scout who accidentally infiltrated a
faculty meeting where she was kareokeing
to "Wannabe". "Dr Klawe is the real deal"
said Spice Girls Spokesperson Norma Jean
Baker.
Klawe has a musical background and has
played acoustic guitar for many years.
However, Baker admits that Klawe's dancing has to improve a bit before she can start
touring with the other four group members, Baby, Posh, Sporty and Scary. "She's
watched 'ABBA: The Movie' about fifty
times now, so she's working really hard
and improving fast. All the other girls are
having a great time helping her get her
moves down."
Klawe is considering several nicknames
for her pop-music debut including "Ph.D.
Spice", "Brainy Spice" and "Partial Differ
ential Equations Spice". She has already
rejected "PSpice" on the grounds that it
violates the copyright of the electrical circuit simulation software of the same name.
Speaking from a hotel room in London
where she was being fitted for leather hot-
pants and a teeny Union Jack miniskirt,
Klawe was enthusiastic. When asked what
was the most exciting thing about being
part of the Spice Girls, Klawe stated that
"having my own action figure is really
cool". Other spin-off products Klawe is
reportedly involved in include a Spice Girls
E-GEMS game.
Klawe wrote her first song - a peppy dance
number entitled "Integrate This" - with the
group last November and they are preparing to record it as a single this coming May.
Geri Halliwell has been surprisingly
receptive to the new addition to her old
group. "Perhaps Dr Klawe's presence in
'The Spice Girls' will do for women in
mathematics what Denise Richard's performance as Dr Christmas Jones in "The
World Is Not Enough" did for women in
nuclear physics." Page Two
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
8 February 2001
Volume Fourteen
issue NINE
8 February 2001
Ferdinand Marcos
Jay Garcia
jgarcia@interchange.ubc.ca
Fidel Castro
Andy Martin
troller2raven@yahoo.ca
Juan Peron
Chris Weston
Printed by
College Printers, Vancouver, BC
Oppressed Commoners
Dan Anderson
Bree Baxter
Jay Garcia
Jake "Muro" Gray
Jo Krack
Matt Laird
Kelly Mann
Andy Martin
mYk
Kiri Nichol
Kat Scotton
Ben Tippett
Chris Weston
Ben Warrington
Sherry Yang
Web Sites
http://www.a ms. u bc.ca/sus/
http://seercom.com/sus/432/
Legal Information
The 432 is produced through the
blood, sweat and tears of its writers, whilst its editors sit idly by, sipping vermouth and cracking a whip
with mean efficiency.
No, really.
Ail views expressed in this issue
are strictly those of the individual
writers, and as such are not the
responsibility of The 432, The Science Undergraduate Society, or the
Faculty of Science. Writers and cartoonists are encouraged to submit
their material lo The 432. Submissions must meet the requirements
of making the editor chuckle thrice,
and contain the author's name and
contact information.
In honour of engineering week, go
out there and overturn any of those
crappy new Volkswagens Beetles
that have defiled the memory of the
older, cooler Bugs.
From Creep to Geek
Jake Gray
In Need of an Editor
I came into write a cutting edge piece of
social satire. Instead all I can think
about is a new video game. The game
in question is called Oni and is probably
going to be a very large waster of my time
in the next few weeks.
I hate to use this space to pander something as useless as a video game, but this
is better than any I have ever played
before. The attention to detail is stunning.
You can hear necks break for crying out
loud.
The gaming world has always been about
who can make a game with bigger guns,
better graphics, larger and louder explosions, more action, more visceral stimulation. Well Bungie, the company (unfortunately now owned by Microsoft because
they wouldn't produce games for the X-
Box) has taken the visceral arms race to a
new level. You can practically smell blood
when playing this game. I actually did
smell blood when I bit through my lip
when a bad guy drop-kicked Konoko (the
heroine) from the side.
Anyway, great game, great story line,
great suck of time.
So much for a cutting piece of satire. This
article is rapidly turning into a waste of
time. But what the hell, you're probably
sittin on the shifter right now in chemistry, the smell from the crap that somebody didn't flush last week isn't currently
bothering you and you're settling in for
what could be the worst shit of your life
(UBC is not known for its world class toi-
-W*^   Jay Garcia
>~t ->  Bitter and Sadder
Valentine's Day
I would be more bitter about this, really,
if I felt like it. I mean most Valentines I'm
usually either waxing rhapsodic about the
flower-like qualities of her eyes, or the the
silken... <ahem. You know how that goes;
something hyperbolically Shakespearean
in nature. Yes, I know which sonnet
whereof I speak, and it is actually anti-
hyperbolic in nature; gimme a break, I'm
a Science student here.
In any case, most Valentines, I'm a ranting, raving lunatic bashing my head
against the wall and pouring out vitriolic
bile against the whole other half of the
species.
Women; warm, inviting, comforting, loving, conniving, heart-wrenching creatures
that they be, have managed to slip under
my radar this year.
I am neither planning some romantic
Island getaway (Bamfield, two years ago,
and Boca Raton the year before that), nor
am I moodily sulking in a dark corner,
nursing a bottle of cheap red wine and listening to Tom Waits "Bone Machine"
obsessively.
I fear that in the strange, obsessive rush
of work and school that I totally forgot to
be concerned about this entire "woman /
dating / relationship " thing.
Overall, anything that lowers my bitterness rating is a Good Thing.
Friday Night
Friday night last week was the Ukranian
Club's Bodka Garden. Those hearty Ukra-
nians! They do wonderful things with
potatoes. Potatoe pie, perogies, and, of
course, that wonderful clear liquor, king of
lets, in fact most of them rank right up
there with the main train station in New
Delhi, but that's probably because no one
actually uses the can.)
The actual experience of taking a big
dump can be quite pleasant, but many factors need to be taken into consideration.
1. Setting. Who wants to take a crap on a
gross dung heap. Just try to remember the
last time you were camping and had to use
the fifty year old outhouse that has been
inhabited by no less than 89 separate
species in the time between you used it
and the previous user. The ideal setting is
at your own home, a really nice hotel, or a
fancy restaurant. The public restrooms at
gas stations, McDonald and Main and
Hastings are to be avoided.
2. Diet. All I have to say is Fibre Fibre
Fibre.
3. Reading material. Obviously, a physics
textbook is the absolute last resort. First
choice- Maxim, followed by Stuff and perhaps then Bizarre (a great publication, but
sometimes a little disturbing for the loo)
If these are not available, something a bit
heavier, like a car service manual or per
haps a newspaper (for gods sake not the
Province which I swear should be investigated for its detrimental effect on the
average IQ of the population.
Ifyouhaveto, a student paper may be
substituted. If you have to. This paper is
crap. The Underground is crap. The
Ubyssey is unbelievable crap. The engineering paper is crap (although I do
admire Mr. T Blowing up a crackhead
Martha Piper) The Discorder is ultracrap,
The Point is crap.
4. Toilet Paper. A nice soft yet strong and
absorbent double ply. Anything less is to
be avoided. In the event this is unattainable and measures can not be taken to
delay,
If you have to, a student paper may be
substituted. If you have to. This paper is
crap. The Underground is crap. The
Ubyssey is unbelievable crap. The engineering paper is crap (although I do
admire Mr. T Blowing up a crackhead
Martha Piper) The Discorder is ultracrap,
The Point is crap.
I guess the point is, no matter how much
we try to escape from the society around
us, we are all still bound by the rules of
nature, either that or I should spend less
time in front of the computer and more
time doing something productive.
Jake has had a little too much time to
think.
In fact he has also had too much time to
drink wheatgrass, eat highfibre muffins,
drink fresh fruit juice etc etc etc.
-ed.
All Must Die
all liquors (if, by king, you are defining
that which is best at delivering an alcoholic punch that knocks you out faster
than Mike Tyson on PCP after you've
insulted his mother). Added to this was
the fact that the vodka they were serving
was Albert Vodka (a vodka that is only
slightly cheaper than the ever so smooth
Stoli, the vodka that James Bond drinks,
and yet possess the same taste and texture
of rubbing alcohol), and the prospects of
sobriety, coherence, and holding onto my
dinner were looking mighty slim indeed.
Compounding this comedy of drunkeness
was that the good 'ol Ukranian Boys were
selling 'em for half-a-buck apiece (three
perogies to a buck as well). As Frenchy so
eloquently put it: nothing good can come
of this.
Five dollars and ten shots worth of inebriation later, some bright lad amongst us
made the excellent suggestion to head to
the Cheeze, to enjoy Foreplay and $4.00
jug night.
Given that the Cheeze hasn't actually
been a pub for quite a while, having lost
their licence due to questionable acts that
occurred in front of an RCMP officer, the
'Geers were attacking the alcohol with a
vengeance.
To my (admittedly, somewhat blurry)
recollection, there was a rather cute nurse
at the Cheeze, a variety of sexual aids for
sale at the bar, some really horrendous
beer, and a giant, eight foot tall inflated
penis. I believe that both Jag and myself
had our picture taken with it. Now if only
I could remember whose camera it was...
Contributors
You are all wonderful, talented people: I
wasn't able to use all of your submissions
from last time, largely because of the
incompetence of one of our executive,
which forced me to place two additional
pages of advertisements when I promised
him only two pages to begin with. But
that's all water under the bridge (and so is
he... largely due to the fact that he doesn't
actually have the sense to come out of the
rain).
However, we must put this behind us. I
have received nothing but sterling, gut-
bustingly funny work from many, many of
you. In particular, Jo Krack, Kelly Mann,
and Kiri Nichol (who is responsible for
this issue's small cover article, something
of a rare occurance) must be commended.
If they show up for Friday's shindig at
Arts, I will buy them all Good Things to
Drink.
Editorship
I am rapidly approaching the end of my
tenure as Editor / Supreme Honcho, Dic-
tator-in-Chief, and Grumpy Old Bastard of
this paper, and I have, as of yet, not had
anyone volunteer to step up to the plate to
learn to edit this paper for next year.
This is largely due to the strange transitional nature SUS is experiencing and the
room relocation we've recently endured.
However, I am quite serious about training a replacement. I will feed you. I will
provide copious qualities of alcohol, if that
is what you desire. You will learn valuable
skills, like how to bullshit your publisher,
how to fake expense reports, and how to
survive the horrors of deadlines. You may,
if you are also quick on the uptake, learn
how to use Quark XPress, the fundamentals of graphic design, and other sundry
details.
If you are interested, see the ad in this
paper, or contact Andy or myself. My
email is in the screamer credits beside this
article.
I can also be found in this office most
afternoons after 4:00 pm. Look for the
grumpy guy with the beer. 8 February 2001
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
Page Three
And the Meek Shall Be BFGIOK'd
Dan Anderson
Flaming Frag
Geeks. Geeks don't rule the world.
Geeks ARE the world. Computer
programmers, engineers, tech support - your lives don't depend on these people. Your lives just wouldn't exist in the
same way without these people.
This is both good and bad: it's nice to have
some amenities, like microwaves and
email. On the other hand, calling a 1-800
tech support line is the bane of many exis-
tances.
Imagine this: you wake up one day, and
your phone isn't working. OK, you say, I'll
log on with my cable modem and email
BCTel (or whatever it's called now, stupid
telco renaming) and get them to fix it. Hey,
look, outlook just crashed! Ah, well, I'll use
hotmail. Oh, look, hotmail's down! Well
let's - hey, wait, the connection just died.
What the?!?
Geeks design your car. Geeks make the
blueprints for your houses and apartments.
Geeks run the internet, the telephone companies, and the TV and radio stations. They
are everywhere - and soon, if you are not
one of them, they /will/ come for you.
Think back on the uprisings in history.
There has always been an oppressed set of
people, somehow grouped together, who
decide to make their lives better. It doesn't
always work, but it's normally chaotic to
say the least.
Now think about geeks. They work 80
hour weeks. They get put down, by the
nature of their very existence. (Come on,
it's used as a schoolyard taunt, for [insert
random religious figurejs' sake.) They
rarely rise into management, because they
are too useful where they are. They /are/
the oppressed, albeit with good salaries.
But someday, there will be a charismatic
geek leader (stop laughing. A charismatic
geek is bound to come into existence sooner or later.) who will gather all his or her
brothers and sisters in geekhood together,
and revolt.
And it will be good.
The  two  M-tbacks
aiv tile Amish
any of you out there, but all I have to go on
is the stereotype, and a few christian
friends who seem to exhibit the fervor that
you are reputed to hold.
And that is scary. One or two religious
fanatics is bad. Dealing with "you're going
to hell! Repent NOW!" and "I'm sorry, I
can't socialize with you
blT.lllsi.'    \ou    aiv
moralh inkMi-
or".     and
" I ' m
I-   , not
'<*W^
portrait of the author as a rocket punk
e 11 g 1 -
nwr. 0111
wagon wheel
is broken"-1)
and the
Jehovah's
Witnesses.
The Amish obviously will not be taken easily - it will take great efforts on the part of
the new ruling geek regime to conquer
their un-jellified minds, as they have not
been exposed to enough TV to make their
brains laughably impressionable. The
Jehovah's Witnesses, well, no offense to
K " 1 ii g
to     talk
about I insert
l*'inrlfim tfmif
which happens to
require a tiny bit of rationality] because
you won't understand, because you don't
have Faith" are bad enough coming from
one or two people.
Imagine an entire building. Imagine one
of the JW Halls, packed with religious
fanatics. Then imagine them screaming
about the heretic geeks, demanding their
blood.
And it will be good.
"In the South corner, we have The Technologically Superior, reigning champion,
defender of the world championship belt of
Dictatorship and Power.
In the North, we have The Insanely Single
minded and Immune to Change, with a
strong right hook, a great left jab, and a
cross that they claim kills evil outright."
Mmm mmm, finger-licking evilness. I
mean, goodness. Off topic, it's a piece of
wood, carved to look like your god and
what he died on. You think that has some
kind of mystical power? That it will protect
you as if he was there? You know what, if I
held up a carving of Andre the Giant on the
ground where he died, I don't think it
would protect me as if he were there.
Get real. A symbol of your faith? Fine.
Useful in any way? Nah, not really,
unless you're determined to profess to
the world what faith you have. Like we
really care one way or the other.
But... so, the Jehovah's Witnesses and the
geeks are going at it. You, me, Bob, and
everyone else are just sitting around going
"I can't hack. I don't have The Faith with a
capital T and F. Hmm." And we'll end up
hiding in caves. Hopefully, someone will
set off a nuke, with either a cry of "Kill the
heathens! Our Lord will save us!" or "Bastards! Where's my Rocket Launcher or
Plasma Gun when I need it? Take THIS!",
leaving the rest of us to live like cavemen,
and perhaps one day recreate a society.
Which, with time, will develop religion and
technology.
But until then, it'll be fun. "WHACK. Grog
like Ogga. Ogga prettier than sheep. Grog
sorry for hitting Ogga on head with club.
Grok drag Ogga back to cave now."
Ramblin
mYk
Leprous and lazy
No one left me a long rambling or
mocking email to include in this
week's article, so i guess i'll have to
come up with some content myself,
remember the good old days, when i used
to talk about important stuff like microsoft
vs. linux/gnu and not just ramble incoherently?
On Science Week
we did it! well, the science week committee did it. a lot of us stood around and
watched in awe. science students seemed
to be having a lot of fun. by the end of it,
only a small percentage of sus councilors
and hacks were crying for each other's
blood, no violence actually occurred, fortunately, and hopefully by next week we'll all
be back to our normal cheery selves, pah.
the sub concourse was an awesome success, science Olympics were an, um, awesome success, and cold fusion! my god...
On Cold Fusion
waazzaahhh! Liveonrelease, Crowned
Kind and Bif Naked were completely awesome. Everyone had a great time, including all the bands! (especially Crowned
King, even after one of them slipped on the
stage and felll over they kept on rocking) i
had the privilege of helping out the entire
day. i've always wanted to be a roadie or
sound guy. i was the sound guy for the
early part of highschool. i even worked
with the jazz choir and stuff and got to run
a huge mixing board and stuff, in another
universe i'm sure i've chosen that life over
my glorious technology-obsessed life, on
cold fusion night, however, i learned that
being a roadie isn't all just sex and and
drugs and rock and roll, it's a lot of hauling
and a lot of staying up until 3am tearing
down lights, the PA system, the insanely
heavy metal gate thingy, and carting all of
the above down the elevator and out to the
sub loading deck, we kept ourselves sane
by singing bif songs at the top of our lungs
in the basement of the sub. all the real
roadies were really nice, and they all fit the
stereotype pretty well: leather jacket,
longish hair, carrying around rolls of duct
tape and mini-maglights. it was all a very
fulfilling experience, even the hellish hours
between midnight and 3am. i had a lot of
fun.
On EWeek
well this is the week that Engineers Rule
Their World more loudly than any other
time of the year, eweek. heh, that sounds
very trendy.
On Email
send me email, i will print it in my article
and you will have many girls (or boys) want
to have gratuitous, guilt free sex with you.
just like me.
love,
myk (myk432@hushmail.com)
Plumber's Crack
Matt Laird
Paranoia In Excelcis
I was walking down Main Mall a while
ago, and I'm sure we've all see the repairs
plant ops is conducting on Thunderbird,
and the row of cherry pickers parked every
morning right beside Main Mall. Well, on
this faithful morning, I saw what can only
be described as a redneck ballet.
Ballet is known to be a very delicate art,
dancers moving in carefully choreographed
patterns, with their movements having
such meaning and feeling. Well plant ops
seems to have found a way to recreate this
classic art form with cherry pickers...
I stood there watching in aww as they
moved their four cherry pickers around
each other again and again, going no
where, yet still moving. But it made me
think, are rednecks deeper then we
though? We watch opera, they watch monster trucks smashing cars, we watch the
symphony, they watch truckzilla. I mean,
are we so different?
I once saw a sign elsewhere on campus
reading "Men Working," I looked left, I
looked right, I looked up, nothing. Makes
me wonder where they were working. I
think it's all a propagranda campaign.
They're not working, they're too busy planning their next ballet, it's all propagranda,
but isn't that what it's all about? Propagranda that they're working, trying to fool
us that they're just stupid rednecks, don't
buy into it! They want us to think they're
stupid, then one day, WHAM, a shovel in
the back of the head. The rednecks are
planning to take over, with their leader
Ralph Kline. Oh yeah, you just watch,
they're coming, and they're going to
replace all our art with their demolition
derbies and songs about dead dogs and run
away pickup trucks, or is that run away
dogs and dead pickup trucks, whatever.
Dead dogs. Why did Raffle never sing
about dead animals? I mean, every kid
goes through it at least once in their childhood. If I was in Old Mr. Johnson's place,
that cat wouldn't be coming back! And if it
did, I certainly wouldn't stick around to
find out how it managed to escape that
bark mulcher, cuz I bet it'd be pissed!
Zombie cats I'm pretty sure fall under the
"should be avoided" category.
Speaking of people who would be pissed, I
bet if some of the early residents of Vancouver were alive today, they'd either be
pissed or laugh at the sign I saw on the side
of a Vancouver firetruck. It said, "Proudly
protecting Vancouver since 1886" Hmm,
now why do you suppose they picked
1886.... For those of you who don't know
your city history, Vancouver burnt to the
ground in 1886. Not so proud that day,
were you fellows?
It's like putting a big sign outside Chernobyl reading, "No meltdowns since 1986!"
Hmm, 100 years apart, I wonder if that
means anything....
Where's Nostradamus wiien you need
him?
Anyhow, rednecks, yes, they're coming!
Go now and get a pointy stick and prepare
for the coming attack. Just watch yourself,
and don't say I didn't warn you! Oh, and
never turn your back on a plant ops worker! Page Four
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
8 February 2001
And He Scores a Penetrating Goal!
Jo Krack
Procrastinating Quickly
Recently, for some odd reason, I
began to feel that dating is like a
sport, with its own set of skills and
rules. In the month of November, I
warmed up for a relationship by extreme-
dating, a sport that requires patience, perseverance, and a lot of attitude. It's also
arguably one of the most enjoyable contact
sports. After having honed my skills to the
point where I could reject potential datees
before the first date, I began to wonder if
athletes could transfer their skills to sex
and dating. To fill my free time, I decided
"YES! An athlete's sexual prowess CAN be
judged by his sport!" And hey, it eliminates
the less worthy right off the bat. So let's
go...
1. Football: Unfortunately, all that
padding is deceptive, so this isn't necessarily the best sport for those wanting big
beefy men. Of course, there are some big
beefy men too, but a lot of that beef tends
to be in their brains... pity. Also, skill level
must be considered: these guys think bashing into each other as.hard as possible
qualifies as "strategy" and "technique."
Therefore, they may be a little rough in the
bedroom, which is wonderful if you like
that sort of thing. Be forewarned, though:
The game is homoerotic, so don't be surprised if the phrase "tight end" comes up in
bed.
2. Basketball: Running up and down the
court takes a lot of stamina, which is good.
Basketball players are often tall, which is a
lot of fun if you're short (it opens up many
new exciting positions when you feel about
as heavy as a hamster to him!). The only
drawback is, once again, strategy.
Basketball players do not use many parts
of their bodies; it's all dribble and slam, so
don't expect a lot of imagination.
3. Hockey: Hockey players have missing
teeth, a multitude of bruises, and generally
look (and act) like escaped convicts. However, their physical drawbacks may be outweighed by their expert stick handling...
4. Volleyball: Calloused, rough hands.
Beer guts jiggling in the summer in the case
of beach volleyball. Lots of head plants in
the sand. Not the most exciting sport, but a
beach bunny who is playing for recreation
only might not be a total loss.
5. Swimming: Ah, the swimmer's
physique. Toned, strong arms and legs,
nice stroke, able to hold breath for a long
time. The swimmer's stamina and comfort
in water can make him an ideal partner,
but if you go to bed with a professional,
watch out: his legs may have more stubble
than yours, and you might give each other
a bad case of stubble burn!
6. Cricket: What a prissy sport. Don't
expect him to try anything messy or
sweaty; he wouldn't want to get his
sparkling white uniform dirty.
7. Baseball: Boring, boring, BORING!
However, if you drink enough while watching him play, you'll have the time of your
life, and perhaps even get turned on
enough to have the sex of your life. Do not
try this without alcohol.
8. Tennis: Lots of grunting and running
back and forth makes these guys both verbally expressive and fit. Nice strong arms,
but a tendency to handle things too roughly. Good spankings!
9. Ping-pong: Ever watched one of these
matches? The players look like nervous
chihauhaus! Their startled, lightning-quick
reflexes could be extremely dangerous: you
do NOT want to surprise these guys, so
take it ve-r-y sl-o-w-ly. Their quick wrist
action may be enjoyable, though.
10. Boxing: Any guy who believes hitting
someone is a sport should be feared. Run
away. Run far, far away.
11. Computer gaming: Anyone who considers this a sport is probably not very
physically fit, and is probably quite nerdy.
However, due to over-developed imaginations and a lack of sex, these guys will do
whatever you want and are extremely
adept at role-playing. Also, all those years
of extensive keyboarding makes them very
skilled with their fingers...
12. Soccer: Europeans are the best at this
sport, and are definitely the best lovers.
Soccer players have passion, stamina, and
use almost every part of their body to move
the ball. Can we say multi-talented?
They're quick yet can go for hours, and
watching expert ball-handling always gets
me in the mood. The goalies are your best
bet: gymnasts that use their hands as well
as the rest of their bodies, and defend the
net with a passionate protectiveness.
Yummy!
Anyway, I'm sure you can think of some
more, and I'm interested in how accurate
this guide is. Hopefully it will help all you
extreme-daters out there to get the most
out of your athletic aspirations. I forgot to
include "Porn Star" as a sport, but I don't
think guys like that would be much good in
bed, considering it's their job. ("Not
tonight dear, I gave at the office.")
urk. the only thing worse than working
as a pornstar would have to be working
as aflujfer. or the guy with the mop and
bucket.
-ed
DITOR
Do you want to be overworked, underpaid, and underappreciated?
Do you seek embezzlement opportunities aplenty?
Then contact either Andy Martin (troIler2raven@yahoo.ca) or Jay Garcia
(jaygarcia@home.com) and we will train you, feed you, and mold you into the
perfect editorial machine!
Appreciation of the satirical a must. Question all authority!
Fun With Medicine
Kelly Mann
Infractuated
It's amazing what fun you can have in
the hospital. The recent fracture of my
tibialis something-us during a pickup
game of'let's all fall off the roof put me on
a nice tour of the next thousand things I
want to borrow, in grand Engineering fashion, to have fun with.
First of all, ambulances are the coolest
vehicles on the road. They're big, roomy,
have all sorts of cool stuff on the wall, and
everybody in traffic stops when you go by.
And they're usually fully equipped with a
couple of cute paramedics. Oh baby, strap
me in one more time.
Next, crash doors. Damn have I got to get
a pair of those. These damn doorknobs and
the whole push-only or pull-only doors just
frustrate the hell out of me first thing in the
morning or last thing after a serious sousing. These doors swing either way, and do
so by just pushing them, or even by just
walking by them. Hallelujah!
Then there are those wheelchairs they
keep around the waiting room. They are a
blast. You go zooming around, nearly out
of control, with a midget's perspective on
the world. Now if only I could get my hands
on one of those special, electrically pow
ered, joystick controlled chairs. Unfortunately, the nurse told me that only the seriously incapacitated had access to those
wonderful toys. Damn it, cripples have all
the fun.
Next, the young resident doctor that came
to my bedside. I'd like borrow him to play
with too.
Unfortunately, like all men, he hurt me. At
least he asked 'Now, does this hurt?' before
he did it, which was a little more considerate than the rest. Did that sound nasty? Is
it Valentine's Day already? Hey, it is!
Hospital beds are also the greatest. The
buttons on the side that move the bed up
and down can be fun for hours when you're
on a heavy dose of painkillers. Good thing,
because the waiting to get the X-ray took a
while. The beds are comfy and can be
wheeled around.
Hmm, if they were only gas powered and
remote controlled, then attendance at
8:30AM classes might skyrocket...until
they hit the stairs.
Let's see how fast the front row nerds scatter to 'Look out below!' and a hospital bed
coming down at them with a pyjama-clad
slacker on top for the ride.
The X-ray room was relatively funless. As
much fun as it would be to take X-rays of
my hands and body in all sorts of expressive poses, it would kind of give me cancer.
The lead plates would be good defense
against cell phone users by using them to
smash the phone out of their hands while
they're using them too close to you.
The casting room is all sorts of fun too. It's
like paper mache for the body. Forget the
cast, I want to build myself longer legs, and
artful face design. The cast-removing saw
would also be great. The reaction that people have when you sneak up behind them
and start sawing away never gets boring. It
gets even better when either party is drunk
and/or stoned.
Lastly, the cast itself is a barrel of drunken
monkeys. While it does stink to be stuck in
one for six to ten weeks, they could be great
as a temporary attachment. They're artful.
They're a conversation piece. My glow in
the dark and heavily drawn upon cast is
quite cool. But the best thing about casts is
that they are hard and very well suited to
smack people with. And if anybody hits
back, they're attacking some poor girl on
crutches with a broken leg. Everybody
would come to my aid if I were in a fight,
even if it was over that I thought the price
of a pizza should be lower for a crippled
girl.
Man, I can't believe people think the hospital is a depressing place. You just have to
make sure that you're not going there to
die, but to have fun.
Next
Deadline
2001
All articles and cartoons
welcome. Must make the
editor laugh at least thrice,
contain your full contact
information, and should be
around 700 words.
Write about spam. Spam spam
spam spammity spam,
wonderful spam. Or not.
All contributions must be made
by 4:32pm, February 16,
2001.
. Send Email to
jgarcia@interchange.ubcca Page Five
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
8 February 2001
Presents:
How to Paint the Cairn
(with special guest host, Bob Vila)
Hi! I'm Bob Vila! Today, we're going to renovate
the Engineering Cairn. On the surface, this looks
like a simple project, as the Cairn is nothing more
than a three-faced stone structure lathered in
paint, unburnt tar, and other nasty compounds
left over from previous Cairn-painting expeditions,
and their subsequent cleanup.
But while painting the Cairn may not be difficult,
actually reaching it and completing your task
unmolested by the Engineers may be considerably
more complicated.
This is the Cairn, the target of
your creative painting endeavors.
Remember: your supplies should
suit your task.
You're going to need flat, quick-
drying latex paint. The last thing
you need is for your work to be
washed away in the next rainstorm,
or, even worse, by the Engineers
with a high-pressure hose.
About three gallons of paint are
required to paint all of the Cairn's
faces. Two gallons should be the
base color, and one for the color
of your group / faculty / society.
Further, you will need to be
carrying at least one six-pack of
Labatt's Wildcat per person. One
member of your group should also
be the designated donut carrier.
These supplies are not for your
consumption: these are distractions
to slow down any Engineer or
Campus Cowboy that may approach
and give chase.
If you are detected painting the
Cairn, run for this building! You
should head up to the third floor
and deke left. Head for the women's
washroom; it's the green door
hidden behind a series of lockers.
The Engineers may come in the
building to find you: stay put in the
washroom until you hear them leave.
It's not that they won't violate the
sanctity of the women's washroom
(as they have been known to do that
before), but because they won't be
able to find it.
I advocate that you actually check
out the area first before you
attempt the Cairn painting. That
way, you won't panic and get lost
while running from a pack of baying
Engineers.
The fastest getaway route from
the Cairn is through B-Lot. I suggest
that you keep your painting supplies
in cars parked here, drive over, and
then drive out.
If you're painting at night, as you
should be, then having your vehicles
on Main Mall shouldn't be a problem.
It is highly unlikely that the Campus
Cowboys would even care that you
were parked illegally. If they do
give chase or shine their lights at
you, throw a box of donuts and a
six-pack at them, which should
provide you t he time needed to
make good your escape.
This is the Arts Undergraduate
Society office, located in Buchanan
building, Block A: just head up the
ramp and you will see it.
If you have any paint, rollers,
brushes, or other paraphernalia
that you need to get rid of in a
hurry, the AUS office makes an
excellent dumping ground. If the
office is occupied, just distract
everybody within by crying out
nbear God in Heaven! Is that a
naked 432 editor coming this way?",
a statement guaranteed to clear
out the room.
Further, the AUS itself makes a
great scapegoat for all painting
affairs, as who would expect the
Artsies to be able to paint their
own symbol on the Cairn?
Painting the Cairn is a complex and
subtle endeavour. You can't just
wander over to the Cairn median,
slap down your paint buckets and
have a go at it: you need to plan
your approach carefully.
You'll need to post lookouts in this
area. Engineers can pour forth not
only from the direction of the
Cheeze, but from the northern
doors as well in order to surround
you.
Engineers usually travel in packs of
five (the minimum number for a
tanking). If you see Red, sound off!
The Cheeze Factory: home of the
'Geers. You'll need to send one or
more people to check out the area
and either perform a working head
count or confirm the amount of
activity / inactivity in the building.
Remember: For those of you
scouting the area- stealth is of the
essence. I would personally
recommend an air of breezy
indifference. Try to ignore the
presence of the tanking pond; it
may just make you more nervous
than you have to be.
Once you get your info, get the heck
out and get back to your group /
faculty 7 society. PageSix
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
8 February 2001
Bill Murray, All Over Again
f^faa^ Ben Warrington
Over and over
Hail the mighty groundhog! Groundhog's Day has just past, and it got
me thinking. What incentive does
that rodent have to not see his shadow? He
"sees his shadow;" he gets to sleep in for
another six weeks. I got up, paid rent, saw
that I had a midterm, and wanted to crawl
back in my hole.
I would have been happy to have been able
to sleep in for six hours let alone six weeks.
Speaking of small rodents. People are lemmings. I would call them sheep, sheep
being the world's stupidest animals, but
sometimes people show
cleverness and energy, two very un-sheep-
like qualities. Still people have the inexplicable tendency to follow the herd (What
does one call a plethora of lemmings?)
even to the point of throwing themselves
off a figurative cliff. Case in point: often I
cross the street against the light if I am in a
hurry, or if I just feel too stupid standing
on the corner when there is no traffic. I
cross, however, when it is safe for me to do
so, and not necessarily when it is safe for
someone who might be following six feet
behind me. Yet, when I look back over my
shoulder there is usually a trail of people
who were otherwise happy to stand on the
corner waiting for the great walk light to
tell them what to do until I started across.
These people are usually impeding traffic
which has to slow done for the pedestrians
even though it has a legitimate green light.
It would be nice if these people paid a little more attention to their surroundings. If
I ever want to commit suicide and take a lot
of people with me, I won't hijack a plane
and crash it into the ocean. I won't drive a
bus off a bridge. I will just find a busy intersection with a lot of pedestrians and step
off the curb a little bit early in front of a
truck.
That should get four or five of them.
Of course, there is also the opposite case of
the people who insist on pushing the walk
button and waiting for the light even
though it is 1:00AM, and there is no traffic
to be seen. This usually results in the one
car that does come by being forced to stop
and wait at a red light.
For those of you who do not drive, it is
annoying as hell to be the only vehicle
stopped at a light waiting for a pedestrian.
It also makes one feel stupid when there is
no reason to be stopped except for the fact
that some little light is red. If I ever get a
ticket for running a red light, it will be at a
time like that.
Speaking of people not paying attention to
their surroundings, there are occasional
articles written in the 432 or the NEUSpa-
per complaining about biking around campus. I do not bike on campus regularly, but
I have done it, and it is a pain in the ass.
Sometimes, however, when I am walking
around campus at class change time, (or
anywhere in a city, at anytime, really), I
notice that a car has been stopped at a
crosswalk for a long period of time waiting
patiently as a long line of people file across.
I figure that I am kind of between two larger clumps of people, so I stop to let the car
pass. The person who is just a little way
behind me only has to slow up about half a
step to let the car go, but no, he or she
walks right by me out in front of the car
blocking his path once more. Now, I am
feeling, and probably looking, rather stupid. How come I am such an effective
leader when stepping out into traffic, but
not when I try to do something considerate? Stupid fuckers. It is no wonder the
world is full of terrible drivers; people can't
even walk intelligently.
In junior high school, teachers built a scenario to attempt to illustrate the size of
China's population. They said that if everyone in China were to be lined up ten people
across and marched off a cliff, the population growth rate would actually cause the
line to get longer. This never helped me get
a concept of China's population, all of the
logical problems that I had with the scenario aside, but perhaps China should
implement something like this as a population control measure. Start some people
walking off a cliff, and I think others would
join of their own accord. The idea that the
line would get longer is maybe not so far
fetched either. More and more people
would get interested and join the line-up as
the popularity of this March of Death grew.
Yes, people are lemmings.
LOVE US ALL!
wiuwjai/garc ia.com
tuu/iu.andi/mar tin.com
w iuiu.johngraij.com
www; johnhallett.com
w w iu.keri.com
www. reka.com
w iuiu.miik.com
wu;u/.countrij-music.
ch/andijmartin/
defautt_e.htm
www .jag-touers.org
Dead Pool: The Undiscovered Country
Bree Baxter
(*«?& Death Cat!
eath, destruction, and famine. It's
^business as usual for humanity in
the 21st century.
Ronald Regan, former president of the
United States, broke his hip on the weekend. It's not quite death, but it proves how
frail the old guy is.
More in politics, the Democratic Republic
of Congo, President Laurent Kabila was (in
,: theory) killed in a shooting during some
kind df coup. He may be only half dead, as
the Belgians reported he died at the scene,
the Zimbabwe delegation said he died on
way to the hospital, and the Congo government-said he is really still alive but no one
t canifind him. But as he's not on any list, no
matter to you kids.
,' From the British art scene, the following
deaths: Auberon Waugh, a writer, journalist and satirist, died suddenly in his sleep at
.the age of 61. Robert Robertson (not to be
oinfused. by,Robbie Robertson, rock singer
and member of The Band), who played
pipe-sfnoking pathologist some British TV
show called Taggart, has died. The 70-year-
old suffered a heart attack on stage in Perth
on Tuesday evening while he was reciting a
Robert Burns poem, Holy Willie's Prayer.
Lastly* a prize-winning artist Sarah
Raphael has died from complications following pneumonia, aged 41.
But death is not confined to art and/or
Britain. Spain's bullfighting community is
, mourning the death of one of its most
respected bullfighters, Julio Robles, a
matador who was left crippled by a bull a
decade ago (ow). Mr. Robles died two Sundays ago in hospital after an unsuccessful
stomach operation (ow). A top-ranking
bullfighter, Mr. Robles was left paralyzed
from the waist down after being tossed by a
bull in 1990. He had been bullfighting
since he was 17 (wheel).
Pierre Trudeau is still dead.
Les Brown, leader of the Band of Renown
and lord of his own ego, died at age 88. His
Band of Renown was on the American popular music scene from the swing era of the
late 1930s to the present day. He died of
lung cancer.
Last week was national Not Smoking
Week.
William Hewlett, who, with his friend
David Packard, created the ultimate garage
start-up (Hewlett-Packard), helped define
the culture of Silicon .Valley and, in so
doing, helped create the Information Age.
Mr. Hewlett was 87. Bill and Dave, back in
the day, tossed a coin to see whose name
would get first billing.
Princess Vera Constantinovna of Russia,
94, was the great-granddaughter of Czar
Nicholas I and, in theory, heir to the Russian throne, due to the rules of Romanov
family laws of succession. No, she wasn't
the crazy amnesiac Anastasia, that was just
an urban legend.
Lastly, back to Britain, Sir Denys Lasdun,
who was a central figure in European mid-
century modernist architecture whose
most noted building, London's sprawling
Royal National Theatre on the south bank
of the Thames, was once described by
Prince Charles as a clever way of building a
nuclear power station in the middle of Lonr
don without anyone objecting. Anyway,
he's dead and getting the last laugh on the
London, which gets to look at a giant concrete mass in the centre of the city for the
rest of its life.
So there you have it. People are always
dying and that is the way it goes.
Enjoy your Science Week and don't drink
anything strange at Cold Fusion. Rohypnol
isn't just for the kids anymore/The email I
received from Alison the other day was
rather brief and to the point. "Hi, how are
you? Did you hear that Maggie's getting
married? Call me at my parents." The only
reason that this scared me (besides the fact
that Alison is still living at her parents
house a year after she graduated from UBC
with her BSc) is because Maggie is only
four months older than I am. People my
age should not be getting married. Hell,
I'm not even old enough to rent a car at any
of the major car rental agencies in Canada.
At 21 years of age, I don't know what I want
to do next year, let alone with the rest of my
life. All I know is that I have to graduate at
the end of this year, find an actual job, start
to pay back the $30,000 of student loans to
the government, and try to find another
actual job that pays better so I won't have
to be paying back my student loan for the
next several decades. I was barely old
enough to commit to the year-long lease on
my apartment, let alone commit to spending the Rest. Of. My. Life with another person. Granted, I heard all of this second
hand, you know, the part where this guy
Maggie married 35 or something to her 22.
Apparently, they roasted a goat at the
reception in Halifax. I wonder how they did
it. Roasting the goat, I mean. Did they cut
it up or roast it whole? How do you build a
fire to cook a goat?
As an aside, I went from happy-go-lucky
girl-child last year to old crochet this year.
I was in a local coffee shop (doing my
homework at 2pm on a Saturday afternoon, without prompting) and I was in the
verge of going to the coffee-hops downstairs and telling them to turn it all down
before I realized that I was acting like
Ebenezer Scrooge on the Night Before
Christmas. Arg. Loud music, goddamn
bloody teenagers with their baggy pants
around their knees and their boxer-wearing asses hanging out in the wind while
their cigarette smoking lungs shrivel and
clog. Bah humbug. And my hip hurts from
all of that walking. I need a walker or a
cane. Because with a cane, I can hit things
that bother me. Like teenagers hanging out
at the bus stop being all cool and shit. Hey
little boy, want some candy? Whap.
I'm really glad I'm no longer the editor of
this rag. Last year at this time, SUS's printer was still gone as some damn thief had
broken into the. old office over the holiday
to make merry with our office equipment,
so I had to take our old Mac over to the
AUS office and use their printer to get the
paper (was it 20 pages or just 12? Who
cares? Either way, it was long enough to
make me wish there was no more paper in
all the world to print the ting on and I
could just go back to sleep) fixed up. This
year, however, I am content to do my
homework and my research on British
Colombian waterstrider parasites on OVID
(which, in reality, means that I'm doing a
lot of looking and not a lot of finding) and
in general slacking off. I'm almost done the
Lord of the Rings Trilogy, the scarf I'm
knitting for my current significant other
(significant current other?) is falling quickly by the wayside and so I'll have to find
some other belated Christmas present, and
doing what I could not do while I was volunteering for the literary pleasure of all science students: make money (legally) off my
ventures.
And, just in case anyone here was paying
attention to my ill-luck with registration in
the last semester of my last year at UBC, I
finally got into the last course I needed
with the last-minute signing of an
add/drop form (adding, not dropping, as
that would be bad), my student loan papers
came in (almost a month later that they
should have, so I have been living off of
packaged noodles and water for the past
two weeks), and my brother gave me back
my camera after having borrowed it for the
last three years. Things may just be pulling
together after all. Of course, now that I've
said that, I'll probably be de-registered
tomorrow, my loan will fall through and I'll
end up on the street in a matter of days.
Such is the life I lead.
Never run for the bus while wearing high
heeled platform shoes. In fact, never wear
high heeled platform shoes. Especially
when you're already six feet tall. It's just
too much.
It's a Ben-ku Twofer!
my magic 8 ball
can answer all of my questions,
"Where's my Spaniard?"
Look to your left side
and to twelve other people...One
of you will fail 8 February 2001
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
Page Seven
The Drawers of SUS
President
Keri Gammon
You'll have to forgive Keri; she's not
currently in any shape to be writing
an exec report.
She had a little too much fun on Friday
night, as she was out with both Mr. Martin
and myself, and a large number of current
and ex-432 and SUS hacks at the Ukranian
Club's Bodka Garden. In the words of the
immortal Frenchman: $0.50 vodka shots
can never, ever lead to anything good.
Personally, all I can recollect from that
evening about Keri was that there were
Engineers involved, and perhaps a nurse.
*$?■&>*-*%''■■
As far as I can tell, there was also a giant,
eight foot tall inflatable penis as well.
Keri had so much fun last Friday, that she
was still in SUS on Saturday (or rather,
crashed on one of our couches). When I
queried her about an exec report, all I got
was a flurry of badly slurred expletives and
repeated blows to the head. So, no exec
report from Keri this week.
frankly, I had no idea that Keri knew all
those words. I am shocked and dismayed,
largely because I had to go look most of
them up in the Big Book of Expletives.
I've got to admit, I've never been called a
"Dighting, low-born gutter crawling vermin" before. At least, not by anyone I
wasn't dating at the time.
-ed
Social Coordinator
Katharine Scotton
Firstly: To the bastards who stole tickets from me, I hate you! Die and go to
hell, shitheads. I want my $18 per
ticket. That includes the fuckers that were
given tickets by a certain exec with a turban.
Secondly:
Cold Fusion rawked ass! Awbjyeah!!! You
missed a great show if you didn't go. BIF
sung her heart out. Crowned King and
LiveonRelease ripped shit up and got the
crowd going. It was definitely a high-energy evening. BIF said she had a great time
playing and that the crowd was a lot of fun.
Crowned King loved playing and said that
the ballroom was one of the best venues
that they have ever played, and would love
to come back. They gave me a t-shirt, too!
LiveonRelease enjoyed the veggie tray I
made them, and they were pretty damned
good for a bunch of youngens.
Thirdly:
If anyone has pictures of the show that
they took, please e-mail me and let me
know so I can scan them from you, or pay
for doubles, or something. I would greatly
appreciate it. I have some pictures I can e-
mail to you in return that I took with my
digital camera.
Fourthly:
"I see a lady on my right. She winked at me
and said, 'RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!'"
"We're right! Yeah! We're free! Yeah!
We'll fight! Yeah! You'll see! Yeah!"
"It's sick the way they dress. I hear they
all have big breasts."
"And I pray that this night's not the last.
Everything's okay, things seem all right.
So I lie awake and hold you tight"
"I'd like to tell you I think you should
come and see me sometime. I know that I
could possibly make it the best time of yer
life."
"It was me and my sisters out my window.
There it was! There, baby! You peed my
name in the snow!"
"You ran around, behind my back with a
pretty, blue-eyed girl. I am so sick of missing you, I think I'm gonna' hurl!"
"I've got my goals and my aspirations. I'm
not your average Joe, I've got other relations."
"My minds wandering. I savour the passion that your torture brings. My breath's
quickening. Inhaling the perfume of my
sweet sin."
"Remember the time we made love in the
roses? And you took my picture in all sorts
of poses?"
Question: What 10 songs are these? Name
the artist and song title, and I'll give you a
prize if you are the first one! E-mail me
with the answers before March 14th. Hint:
All songs were performed at Cold Fusion.
I love you all, (except the bastards mentioned in the first paragraph)
K@
kscotton@interchange.ubc.ca
Editor/Bastard
Jay Garcia
AS SUS' official Grumpy Old Fart, I
thought I'd fill a few lines of space in
this here ?ag shining example of
campus humour and journalism.
Okay, to begin with: The Not So Easy Contest, way, way back in issue 5 or 6. For
those of you with short-to-long term memory issues, that was the one asking you to
identify the strange black-and-white pic
ture. Well, now that I've actually found the
hard drive (and the rest of that computer     j- I H Q H r'CX
actually), containing those wonderfully
cogent email responses, I'll post the winner
of said contest on these pages.
Secondly: The Editorship of this here
paper. It turns out that I seem to be a full-
time student who also happens to hold
down a 40+ hour a week salaried job, and
Andy ends up in foreign parts too often. We
really, really, really want to train a replacement editor for this paper. See the ad in
this edition for details.
Jag Dost
Jag's a little too busy to write us an exec
report this week, as he is currently
shopping for a brand new car. It
seems that he's had an unexpected cash
windfall, and was looking into replacing his
old vehicle for something with more sexy
curves than a squad of Swedish Bikini
Babes, and with more oomph than a German oom-pa-pa band.
bastard. I wish $wk would miraculously
fall in my lap. Or these two below.
-ed
Internal Vice-Prez
Reka Sztopa
Well, Reka didn't actually manage
to write us an exec report this
week; she's a little, um, occupied.
And it's not as if she has access to a computer right now anyway, or even a pen and
paper for that matter. See, we at The 432
feel strongly about our writer's health and
welfare. And how better a way to be healthy
and feel good than to go out on a massive
city-wide pub crawl? And not just any pub
crawl, oh no, this was the daddy of all pub
crawls, starting off at Gotham's downtown,
wandering to the Atlantic (and all points in
between) and finishing up at Mugs and
Jugs in New West (the less of which is said,
the better). Now this turned out to be
rather expensive, so the Publications bud
get was a wee bit strained due to our
excesses.
So to recoup our losses, we sold Reka on
eBay.
I was actually quite surprised when someone met our reserve price.
So, you'll have to forgive Reka; her exec
report for this week may be interminably
delayed, up until the FedEx plane lands,
somewhere in Puerto Vallarta, and whoever it was who paid for her lets her out of the
extra-durable padded mailer.
We were going to try this with the rest of
the execs, but they got wind of the sale and
booked it as fast as they could go.
(PS, no Internal Vice Presidents were
actually harmed in the writing of this
article. A little chafed, perhaps. Mildly
bruised, maybe. But not actually harmed.
That's our story, and we're sticking to it)
—eds
Secretary
Sherry Yang
All I can say is wow. Did any of you
come by the SUB Friday at 12:30-
2:30 during Science Week? If you
saw any psychotic looking students roped
together hopping around in groups of five,
the Dean of Science running around with a
balloon tied to her ankle, or 6 people make
out sessions (ever tried to pass a fruit loop
on a topthpick held in your mouth?)... then
you witnessed the live - and very real - Science Olympics.
If you missed it this year... don't let it happen to you next year. It's some damn good
fun... and there were some damn cool
prizes given out afterwards too.
And of course there were tonnes of other
nifty things that went on during Science
Week. Can you say Cold Fusion?! What a
blast! For those of you that didn't come...
Bif Naked rocked some serious ass. And
Crowned King and LiveonRelease did some
pretty harsh ass kicking themselves. Like I
said - wow.
Hope all of you out there got a taste of Science Week - and cheers to Science. We had
a good one :)
Publications
Chris Weston
p-|-jhere's not a whole lot happening for
I SUS Publications this week. As you
JL may have noticed, Paradigm was not
out for Science Week. Unfortunately there
were a few problems with it, and we were
unable to have it published in time. However, it should be published within the next
few weeks, so look for it then. If you are
interested in contributing an article, I am
still accepting more articles for this issue.
Just e-mail me at wcweston@inter-
change.ubc.ca and let me know if you will
be writing one.
Other than that, things have been going
well in the last couple of weeks. I hope you
all picked up a copy of the Science Week
Edition of The 432. If you didh't you should
be able to find a copy around somewhere.
Jay and his team of writers did a great job
on that, so make sure you get a chance to
read it!
Science Sports Rebates! if you want your rebate, you have until March 8, 2001.
Contact Sara Stamm in Hennings 102 Page Eight
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
8 February 2001
Lemme Me Graze Into Your Veldt...
Andy Martin
Love Rhino
N
othing's harder on the ears than a
heartbreak.
What's the first thing to do to deal with a
frustrating femme fatale? Put the earphones on and blast everything from
'Blood and Fire' to 'Gasoline' to 'Detangler'
(ID all those and you're okay in my book, a
book entitled 'People who are Okay by
Me'...it's a very thin book). Just so long as
it includes distortion and lyrics that in even
the slightest way hint at men who blame
women for the pain that they feel when
they let themselves get mistreated.
I'm gonna be deaf before I'm 25.
It's the most stupid time of the year. It's
Valentine's season. And it's becoming more
and more commercial every year. This
year, I started seeing red and pink teddy
bears just a few days into January. This
kind of hollow commercial ruination is
usually reserved only for religious holidays.
Recently, I was watching a concert in the
Commodore with my 'just-friends-and-if-
you-touch-me-again-ril-rip-your-nuts-off
date. We watched the opening band finish
up and throw drumsticks to the crowd.
This jogged her memory. She punched me
and said, "I can't believe you gave her that
drumstick," referencing the Tragically Hip
drumstick I caught at a concert last October and subsequently surrendered under a
heavy barrage of female eyelash batting.
We started into a loud conversation,
yelling to fight the ambience music, of my
relationship with her gender as a whole.
She claimed that I kept doing nice things
for women, but kept expecting things in
return that I wouldn't get. So I euphemised
'bullshit' and explained that I am just in a
bad habit of doing nice things. All I expect
for all I do is respect (but honestly don't get
that too often either).
We (well... T, she wasn't much in for having her mind changed) negotiated across
the table to the term 'downtrodden' (she
stuck to her original offer of 'pathetic').
Referencing my 'Top 5 Ways Women have
Hurt Me' Countdown (yes, I'm a little too
influenced by popular media), several stories seems to include my helping a female
out of serious trouble, but as soon as
they're on their feet again, they use them to
run to another guy. I don't believe I'm selfish in thinking I deserve a little more credit. I don't expect an automatic relationship
or blowjob, but it sure sucks when you take
the time and effort in helping a girl you
come to care for only to then go home
alone to spend a night with your guitar, to
play the rift to 'You Give Love a Bad Name'
70 times, while she and whosit have a good,
fun, unbitter time together.
Women don't feel bad about incidents like
these. The closest they get is a cute guilt.
Guilt that goes somewhere along the lines
of: "Oh, I kind of feel bad that I tore his
heart out, jumped up and down on it, then
sat on it and cut one and...hey, that guy's
got big muscles! Yummy!"
Cooties must be a brain parasite.
See, doing all these nice things just cause
women to take you for granted (ask a certain 432 editor about his free-for-females
tech support service). Women will always
go for the charismatic jerk that won't do
anything for them. That's right, they want
Hitler, not Ghandi. Some of us are just
screwed because we can't stop being the
'nice guy', but I'm breaking out of it—eventually. I'm starting by punting small puppies and telling children about exactly why
they call him 'Big Bird'.
Said date later commented on all the supposed misogynistic comments I put in my
articles. Again, I called 'bullshit' and
punched her in the arm...in a nice way. I do
not make anti-women comments in the
paper (at least not for a couple of years (or
about a hundred and thirty-five words if
Jay didn't catch that last one)). Any comments of questionable taste are for entertainment purposes only. Any comments
towards women are no more than the usual
'girls ain't nothin' but trouble' gospel
preached by so many for so many years. I
don't hate anyone, except for Americans,
Artsies, and all allergens (I consider them
all in the same evolutionary class).
You know, I wish that life was like it was in
the movies. Everything's so simple and
proper. People always say the right things,
and are understood clearly by the other
parties. Things happen right and karma is
always repaid. And in every movie, people
who want to always find love within 90
minutes (90 seconds if it's porn).
Never happens in real life. And anytime I
try any of the stuff from my favourite
movies, shows, or literature, it only seems
to end in something less than ideal. Like
that time I broke my leg trying to climb the
ladder to my love's third storey bedroom
window or the time I got arrested for
impersonating a judge to help her out of a
speeding ticket. According to sitcoms, zany
stunts like that would win her over, not
result in a restraining order. (And don't
even get me started on what happened
when I followed the tips bestowed to me
from 'American Booty'. That was wrong
and I admit it now.)
That's why I love movies like 'Casablanca'
and 'Proof of Life'. They're still smooth, but
a little more real in the love department.
The final scene in 'Proof just gave me
chills. Now all we need are a few more onscreen romances that end in uneasy
estrangements.
A female acquaintance recently commented that she loved the movie 'High Fidelity'.
I said she couldn't possibly. She hasn't
lived it. It doesn't relate to the female position at all. You've never wanted to take an
air conditioner and smash the new guy's
ugly face in. That's strictly a guy thing.
And getting back to music: All those wonderful love songs like 'With or Without
You' or 'Hanging by a Moment' are written
by complete stalking psychos. That kind of
open emotion and unconditional dedication is beautiful in a theoretical, ethereal
world that we admire but never touch, but
the second anything like that appears in
the real world...Looooooooooser!
Note: the Pre-game show to the Super-
bowl featured both Ray Charles and the
Backstreet Boys. Never have I seen a finer
example of the old talent combined with
the new talentless.
And lastly, when Homer Simpson says
something completely stupid, everyone
enjoys a good laugh. When I say anything
along the same line of intelligence for other
people's enjoyment, I just get odd looks
and am generally shunned.
AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!! Whaddaya
mean Newsted left the band?!
Taking this break to see my world shattered by the possible break-up of Metalli-
cA, I see through the remnant shards nothing left to love in...except beer. I will always
love beer and beer will always love me.
Everytime I'm with beer, the world just
seems to b a better place. Beer will make
me feel warm and special inside. Beer will
never leave or betray me unless I give it
away, which makes me feel good too. And
when I am done with beer, there will
always be another, equally loveable beer
just steps away. [And no, I won't be making
any double-fisting or going down easy joke
here, you perverts. Mostly because there is
no room for that smut in this true romance,
but also because I'm still in trouble for that
'fudgesicle' comment.]
And Valentine's Day is for spending with
the one I love. Back to working on the serenade...
Wow. Usually, being bitter and disillusioned about women is such a part of my
cannon that I could teach a class on it.
But, as they say, "Now the student has
surpassed his master",
-ed
ARTS
UNDERGRADUATE.
Presents:
emu
^Jfdd
+
cience =
Fri. Feb 9th in Buchanan A200 from 6-10 pm
Candy Grams and special drinks available

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