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The 432 Nov 10, 1999

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10 NOVEMBER 1999
In this issue:
Strike Action!
Lots o' Complaints!
Evil Execufife Elections!
"Gee, Dean Klawe, I dunno. It seemed like a good idea at the time..
John Hallett
UBC Administration
Delays CUPE Strike
University Administration Orders Negotiators of CUPE Locals 17 6 and 2950 Executed
Vancouver (CP)
The University of British Columbia
has narrowly averted a pending
strike by university support workers late Monday night. The heads of
both CUPE locals 116 and 2950 were
asked to a 'special meeting', at which
they were  escorted into the meeting
room and summarily executed.
University Vice President   of Students,
Brian Sullivan, responded to criticism of
the action as being rather draconian. "As
a university, we are committed to a high
level of academic service to both our students and our researchers. The continuing threat of strike action by these
unions has prevented us from carrying
out this imperative. Something needed
to be done, and with all the recent funding cutbacks and budget shortfalls, this
was our only viable option."
Administration-commanded snipers
made quick work of all union officials
who missed the special meeting. Bodies
were still being recovered from the Rose
Parkade at press time.
"We had a lot of practice at this kind of
thing during APEC" stated RCMP Sniper
and Special Constable   Bill Harris. "Of
course, we didn't actually shoot anyone
during APEC. Well, no one that was
missed, anyway. This was a bit of a
change for my team. It was pretty damn
fun, cutting them down like sheep."
Nathan Allen,  AMS  External Affairs
Coordinator,   was   vehement   in   his
denouncement    of   the    University's
action. "This is a prime example of our
capitalist society's complete disregard for
the average worker. The days of the
worker in a socialist society are coming,
and the University Administration shall
be the first to fall victim to its glorious
reign." When asked about his role in the
planning of the special execution meeting with  the  unions,  Nathan  Allen
refused to comment further.
Administration officials stated, "It was
only a matter of time before something
like this had to happen. [Former UBC
President Dr. David] Strangway would
have let those unions walk all over him.
Heck, that guy'd agree to anything if you
gave him enough pastries and hot
chocolate beforehand.
"Nope, [President] Piper is totally differ
ent. She's one tough cookie who's not
going to take any shit from these self-
serving and self-centred unions. She's a
real ball-buster, that one."
"It was important that we send a strong
and very clear message to all campus factions," stated Mary Johnson, spokesperson for the President's Office. "Our first
plan, a strongly worded newsletter, may
have curtailed some on-campus subversive behaviour. However, we felt that a
brutal,  no holds barred slaughter of
everyone involved would really set the
tone for future talks. We mean business.
If this doesn't work ... well, we know
where they live, and we'll whack their
families next."
Unionized workers at other Lower
Mainland educational institutes
expressed much concern at news of the
"Man, do those guys ever have grounds
for a grievance. Administration could
only have screwed up more by axing coffee breaks," stated Oscar Ghallager, an
exterior upkeep engineer from Simon
Fraser University. "My CUPE local is
holding a strike vote of our own soon,
and I'm worried about how much the
UBC thing will affect how I vote. One
thing's for sure, I ain't going to any special meetings. Paid overtime be damned.
The head of my local can risk life and
limb for the damn union. They get paid,
you know. I don't pay union fees for the
membership card.
The average UBC student, for whom
Brian Sullivan claims the eradication was
for, does not appear to be overly concerned with the University's actions.
When questioned by The 432, it appears
that their concern lies solely on the
future. "I'm not one to get involved,"
said David Deol, fifth year honours math
student, "but how does the University
plan to get the rooms clean? There's only
so much the squirrels can do. Not that
I'm disagreeing with the University or
their camouflaged snipers. No siree."
Reactions from other faculties were similar, although some were more enthusiastic in their responses. "What? Mowing
down all of your enemies in one glorious
hail of cleansing gunfire? That's sassy!"
stated one Arts student, on the condition of anonymity.
Guns Kill People,
Study Reveals
San Antonio, Texas (AP)
Anew study from the University of
Northern Texas has provided conclusive  scientific proof to  link
guns and death.
"After many months of research on our
controlled condition gun range, we
reach two very startling conclusions"
stated Dr. Julia Buss, head researcher on
the UNT project. "First, shooting guns is
a lot of fun. Second, it turns out guns
really do kill people."
Reaction to the controversial research
has been mixed. The NRA was very quick
to challenge the research. In a press conference, NRA spokesperson Karen Mar-
latt attacked the research methodology
used in the study, claiming that "the
number of firearms and subjects used in
this study was far less than what would
be needed for this research to mean anything statistically. The NRA is still
upholding our long-standing philoso
phy that Guns Don't Kill People, People
Kill People."
Dr. Buss defended her research, saying
that, "There was startling correlation
between being fired at with a Colt .45
and needed some kind of medical assistance. This eliminated the need for large
volumes of subjects." Buss continued by
saying that "guns tend to do nasty, nasty
things to a person's chest."
Marlatt, continuing with NRA standard
policy, stated that "the rate of personal
injury in the study would have been dramatically reduced had the subjects
themselves been armed."
"The NRA will continue to support our
view that, if everyone had a gun, no one
would get shot because everyone would
have a gun!"
Dr. Buss decided not to comment on the
NRA's stance. She instead elected to
laugh uproariously out loud. PAGE TWO
10 NOVEMBER 1999
Volume Thirteen
Issue Five
10 November 1999
John Hallett
Copy Editor
Bree Baxter
Printed by
College Printers, Vancouver, BC
Dan Anderson
Bree Baxter
Keri Gammon
Jay Garcia
John Hallett
Ernest Hemingway
Andy Martin
Kiri Nichol
Mandy Seymour
Sara Stamm
Jeff Steinbok
Reka Sztopa
Andrew Tinka
Legal Information
The 432 is published fortnightly from
the basement of the Chemistry Building. The 432 is the official publication
of the Science Undergraduate Society
and science students in general.
All 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 from each and
every faculty are encouraged to submit
their material to The 432. Submissions
must meet the strict requirements of
making the editor chuckle at least
thrice upon first reading, and contain
the author's name and contact information.
In the interest of saving space, we will
publish some answers to common
questions we've been getting a lot of:
Yes, we have a complaint box. It is in
CHEM B160. There are forms available
there. No, we won't shave the editor.
Yes, those girls really were naked. Yes,
the editor really does have a beer gut.
No, he isn't single. Yes, we're allowed
to do that. No, we won't do it again.
Bree didn't partake because she has
some sense of self respect. No, that
isn't good grounds for a lawsuit. Well,
then you shouldn't have shown your
Grandma, shoudn't have you?
Next deadline is the 24th of November. Yes, we're having another three
week break. Why? Because that's the
way it goes. So submit your stuff to me
then! Yes, then! Or you can do it now,
Alcohol in the Morning
Jake Gray
Hemingway Clone
It was morning. So this is how it is,
this is how it always happens in the
morning. Damn your morning. With
my last 50 lira I purchased some true and
honest gin; I took a pull from the bottle.
It was good. It burned my mouth and
felt good and warm going down my
esophagus and into my stomach. From
there it went to my kidneys and my
bladder, and was good. I remembered
then when I last saw Hunter S. Thompson who was still a damn fine writer. It
was in Milan and we looked out the windows at the plateau and drank gin in the
morning. It was morning and had been
morning for some time. Then, I remembered a time when it was not morning,
and when it was night.
The night ambulance attendants shuffled down the long, dark corridors at the
General Hospital with an inert burden
on the stretcher. They turned in at the
receiving ward and lifted the unconscious man to the operating table. His
hands were calloused and he was
unkempt and ragged, a victim of a street
brawl near the city market. No one knew
who he was, but a receipt, bearing the
name of George Anderson, for $10 paid
on a home out in a little Nebraska town
served to identify him.
The surgeon opened the swollen eyelids. The eyes were turned to the left. "A
fracture on the left side of the skull," he
said to the attendants who stood about
the table. "Well, George, you're not
going to finish paying for that home of
"George" merely lifted a hand as though
groping for something. Attendants hurriedly caught hold of him to keep him
from rolling from the table. But he
scratched his face in a tired, resigned
way that seemed almost ridiculous, and
placed his hand again at his side. Four
hours later he died.
It was merely one of the many cases
that come to the city dispensary from
night to night ~ and from day to day for
that matter; but the night shift, perhaps,
has a wider range of the life and death
tragedy - and even comedy, of the city.
When "George" comes in on the soiled,
bloody stretcher and the rags are
stripped off and his naked, broken body
lies on the white table in the glare of the
surgeon's light, and he dangles on a little
thread of life, while the physicians struggle grimly, it is all in the night's work,
whether the thread snaps or whether it
holds so that George can fight on and
work and play.
Here comes another case. This time a
small man limps in, supported by an
ambulance man and a big policeman in
uniform. "Yes, sir, we got a real robber
this time ~ a real one - just look at him!"
the big officer smiled. "He tried to hold
up a dru g store, and the clerks slipped
one over on him. It was a--"
"Yes, but they was three of 'em, an' they
was shootin' all at once," the prisoner
explained. Since there was no use in
attempting to deny the attempted robbery, he felt justified in offering an alibi
for his frustrated prowess. "It looks like I
oughtta got one of 'em, but then, maybe,
I'll do better next time."
"Say, you'd better hurry up and get these
clothes off of me, before they get all
bloody. I don't want 'em spoiled." He was
thoroughly defeated and dejected, and
the red handkerchief he used for a mask
still hung from his neck.
He rolled a cigarette, and as the attendants removed his clothes, a ball of lead
rattled to the floor. "Whee! It went clear
through, didn't it? Say, I'll be out before
long, won't I, doc?"
"Yes - out of the hospital", the physician replied significantly.
Out on Twenty-seventh street a drug
clerk — the one of the three who used the
.38 - has a .38 bullet dangling from his
watch chain.
Now with Pants!
John Hallett
So Very Drunk
Well, last issue was about as controversial as I had hoped. It
was even the talk of the night
at AMS council. The look on people's
faces as they opened the paper was
worth it. Imagine a cross between "completely" stunned and "abject horror." He
Although I would have expected to get
more mileage out of the "give me free
beer or I'll take off my clothes" threat. I
probably should have taken the inverse
approach and gone with "give me free
beer and I'll put my clothes back on." I
suspect that I would have seen more
results that way.
Oh well, on to my rarely literate and
quite often entertaining rants.
Appearing nude with five women
Woo! Yah! That roeks! I- know-that The
Underground really would have liked to
see me in a bikini. Heck, I'll bet everyone
would have liked to see me in pants of
some kind (Aside: I did my best to, um,
hide certain aspects of my, um, personality.)
However, I feel that I must defend my
bikini-less approach to the issue. Besides,
have you every tried to find a bikini with
a 40-inch waist band?
Apologies are so two faced. The only
reason anything like apologies get published is so a publication can save face
with its financiers. Without a doubt,
every time you see something like
"We're so sorry for <insert offense>"
what the apologizers really mean is
"We're so sorry that you found out about
•dnsert offenso, you stupid f***."
So take any apologies you see with a
grain of salt. Chances are, the person
apologising means the exact opposite.
99 Chairs
Cool, 99 Chairs is back. For those of you
who are too young to remember, 99
Chairs was originally in the current location of The Beanery in Fairview. They
closed it down when someone pointed
out that the very centre of a residential
complex is a bad place to put a loud,
noisy pub that doesn't close until lam.
Oh well, in any event I'm pretty excited
about the fact that The Pit will no longer
be the closest pub to the SUS lounge. See
you there for some pints!
Do-gooder Ninnies
You know the ones. The types that
scorn social settings of any kind and prefer watching old Star Trek re-runs to a
good laugh with your buddies at The
I'm tired of receiving flak from these
people because I like to wet my whiskers
occasionally. Yes, I drink. No, I'm not
going to hell because of it, deal with it.
Heck, if you relaxed long enough to get
that freaking rod out of your ass you
might learn to like the night scene on
Okay, straight A's are nice. Heck, I hire
computer science grads for my company
and a neat row of A's really perks up the,
ole transcript. But I also look at these
people with a bit of suspicion.
You see, straight A's only shows that you
can do good in an academic environment. While that is a plus, there are
three things that matter to employers
even more than good grades.
1. People skills. You have to be able to
communicate with your co-workers.
This doesn't mean pronouncing things
right. It means chatting up the people
that you work with so that they can
relate to you on social level. This builds
trust. Trust is good.
2. Working under pressure. So you got
95% on that assignment about layered
network protocols. However, did you
start it the day the prof gave it to you
and then bug the TAs for help for the
next three weeks? Or did you do it the
normal way, and start it two days before
it was due and not leave the lab? This is
important because in the real world, you
very rarely have more than a week to do
this kind of stuff and your boss won't
take kindly to you constantly bugging
3. Are you truly a smart guy, or just stupid and very dedicated? You see, it is my
firmly held opinion that everyone can
get straight A's if they spend enough
time behind a book. So, if you have to
study more than 6 hours a day to get
straight A's, just give up. You don't make
the cut.
So, if you really want to make it in the
real world, put down the book and pick
up some old fashioned charm at the
nearest beer garden.
Liquor Credit
So, there I was, buying a small bottle of
gin and nice bottle of white wine at the
liquor store when the guy in front of me
hands the cashier a credit card. Nothing
too extraordinary there, the really mind
numbing part came when she accepted
it. I did a double take. Not believing my
eyes (maybe it was a MasterCard cash
card, or something) I asked "You guys
take credit cards now?!?"
She smiled, looked at me, and gave me
the money grin. "Yes, for a couple days
I giggled like a little girl. "I'll be back in
a couple seconds." I then practically
danced my way to the back of the store
and grabbed the two biggest bottles of
vodka and rum I could find.
I know that this whole scenario may
seem redundant to people from other
provinces, but I've been living under
B.C.'s draconian liquor law system since
day one. The concept of not needing
money to buy hard liquor is particularly
liberating to me.
So, kudos to the government. Maybe we
can start talking about these "Liquor
Stores closed on Sundays" and "Bars cannot be open 24 hours" laws. 10 NOVEMBER 1999
Lime, Citrus Fruit of Choice!
Bree Baxter
Green-Eyed Beauty
Green doesn't have the coverage it
should. After all, the world is covered in the stuff. Green grass,
green water, green leather jackets, green
St. Patrick's Day Beer. But there's never
any rush for things that have been made
green by the hand of the human. Those
lime green iMacs are always the last to
sell out at the stores, the green Sprite
cans stay on the shelf long after the red
Coke cans disappear, the green acid stays
in the hand long after the blue acid is
ingested and showing you the way to the
Wonderful Land of Talking Antlers. Is it
that our brains are just saturated with
green? The red and blues and purples
draw our attention from the green? Is
the green crayon left all alone in the
box, untouched when the black crayon
is just a nub and the pink one is a
chewed-up gummy mass? Is it screaming, "Colour with me! Make grass and
leaves and limes?" It's time to play with
the green crayon.
Limes are amazing things.  The pale
lime-green colour may appear harmless
on the grocer's counter, but inside that
wrinkly citric peel lies a flavor that is not
quite sour (certainly not sour as a lemon)
which makes your beverage just so
quashable. Limes are small and love a
game of hide-and-seek in your fridge.
They are much more playful than
lemons, yet more devilish than their
orange and tangerine cousins. A slice of
lime in your afternoon margarita just
completes the whole mind-numbing
experience. On the other hand, it is generally good practice to avoid adding a
zest of lime to your cat's bowl of milk.
Eating green items, limes in particular,
are wonderful to ward off scurvy. In case
you have never lived in Totem or eaten
the SUB cafeteria's patented 'Froot',
scurvy is when your body decides it's
had quite enough preserved food and
starts to reject your teeth. Your gums
turn black, your limbs swell up to double
their size and your hair falls out. There is
a rich and varied history of scurvy
among the early European explorers of
Canada. Ironically enough, they began
to ward the hideous nutrient deficiency
off by drinking and form of beer made
with fir tips. Yup, green saves the day
That was then, and this is now. The
only arm of the military that wears green
these days is the land forces, and it's that
hideous dark, "I'm lost in the jungle and
waiting to become a Vietcom POW!"
green. Not many civilian uniforms (service and otherwise) go for green. If you
put your hand up for 'Red' as the colour
of choice, lick the person next to you.
The redness of red gives the impression
of approach and aggressiveness (and sex,
don't forget sex. -ed). Green's a more passive colour. I still prefer my doctors in
MASH greens as opposed to those lovely
violet scrubs. Even in the near future,
green is passe. You'll never see Kirk in a
green shirt, or Lister sporting a green
cap. No, the advent of technology has
eradicated the colour green from our
colour archives in a search for the perfect, non-natural world.
There are people in black trenchcoats
watching me whenever I buy limes, you
Green has always symbolized the coming of a new age, you know. When the
winter ends, the spring buds grow on the
trees and the whole damn thing starts
again. Maybe humans are just sick of the
damn winter ending. Snow just makes
everything look more uniform. And isn't
uniformity what Microsoft wants? You
don't see them putting out any green
coloured computer cases, do you? At
least Apple puts out green computers,
although that was just a smart advertising ploy to match the sickly green colour
of their users' skin tones.
I like green apples too. They aren't as
sweet at the red apples. Snow White can
vouch for that one. The Wicked Stepmother gave her a red poisoned apple,
and the ditz fell for it. She wasn't the
quickest gazelle off the diving board.
Never catch me eating a red apple.
They're watching me when I buy green
apples, too.
Did you ever get the sneaking suspicion
that your writers really are looney? I do all
the time. Between Jake sitting in the corner
rocking back and forth like an autistic on
speed, and Bree hissing at Coke cans and
forming the sign of the cross with her fingers, I'm hard pressed to find any sane talent. Sigh. Maybe I should just quit and
move to Mexico.
Not So Dumb Ass Easy Contest #3!
Where the Hell is the Leonard S. Klinck Stone?
Attention: No one bothered to submit an answer last time, Come on if I can find the damn boulder, YOU can find it.What are you waiting for?
To win, you are required to submit a photo of you standing beside the Leonard S. Klink Stone. The prize is 2 VIP tickets to Cold Fusion.
Bitter Beer Face
Wty Jay Garcia
'** -> Bitter, bitter man
If you were to corral your average UBC
student and ask them to define the
meaning of the words "school spirit",
you'd probably get a lot of blank stares. I
figure that there's probably a direct correlation to a decrease in extracurricular
activities and the rising GPA requirements needed, to get into this fine institution. However, the sheer number of
boring academic types on this campus is
getting unbelievable. If you were to wander by Koerner Library on a Friday night,
typically prime drinking, staggering-
around, dropping dead drunk hours,
you'd see people sitting in the carols in
the lit windows. What are they doing,
you might wonder? Are they getting
away from the weather while considering their Friday night inebriation
options? Are they waiting for friends to
join them before hitting a kegger? Or are
they sitting there resting, pausing to stop
the world from spinning long enough so
they can find their way to the next beer
garden without stumbling down drunk
into the Main Library Pond?
No. None of the fucking above. They're
studying. Studying. On a Friday night. I
blame it all on the increasing lack of the
social graces that can only come from
never having had to explain your
actions after an embarrassing evening
where you drank yourself blind and silly,
hit on everything with two legs and a
pulse and then ended up worshipping
the porcelain gods until you passed out
in a puddle of your own vomit.
I mean, every fucking frosh who comes
through the Gates is book-smart, but is
otherwise a water-headed, mewling little
whinger. While this has always held true
for the past several decades worth of
frosh to attend this university, most of
them managed to turn into somewhat
decent individuals, largely through the
entertainingly corrupting influence of
the current inmates of this fine institution.
However, the trend towards ever-
increasing academic rigour has all but
culled the fun out of this place. I suppose
that I should have seen this coming
quite some time ago when, way back in
the mists of time in my second year,
when Dean's vacations were being handed out left, right and center. Those slips
of paper were being mailed out to friends
and acquaintances like they were free
Microsoft stock options. If you ask me,
the criteria for an assisted program
departure should be expanded to include
them uber-keeners who spend almost all
their time studying and no time socializing. Further, people who are on academic probation due to having missed one
too many a midterm, or who've'passed
out in class a little too often should be
exempted from having to leave their
programme just because of a few paltry
"F's" on their transcript.
I mean, if you take a look at the real
world, the real movers and shakers are
the ones who are both academically
adept and socially normalized. You
know the type, those smooth, charming
bastards who can compile C code in
their head and still slam back a couple of
bottles of TNT with no ill effect. Sure, all
those uber-nerds who did well in school
have great jobs, but, odds are, they're
probably all working for this bastard,
probably because the guy held his contract negotiations with said uber-nerds
in a bar, and waited for the effects of the
first beer to kick in before presenting the
contract. (Hey, wait a second, that how I
hired my staff at work... -ed)
I suggest that, if this University is to
produce qualified and normalized citizens capable of facing the new millennia
without breaking down in terrified hys
terics over the thought of the Y2K bug,
that certain sweeping changes be instituted.
First of all, we'll need some new courses
to be added to the calendar. Six credits of
either Oenophila 101, Barley and Hops
100, and Micro Breweries 201 should be
required and would all be good courses
to introduce new university students to
the wide world of inebriation. Then
there'd be more advanced courses in similar vein, such as Guinness 300, German
Beers 201, Hard Liquor 221 (for honour's
students only), and, of course, the honour's thesis on Falling-down-piss-drunk-
locked-buildings 449. In a similar vein, if
the provincial and federal governments
ever get the collective iron-plated rod
extracted from their extra-large gluteus
maximii, and the legalization of the
British Columbia's finest greenhouse and
basement-grown-"produce should-come
to pass, then the appropriate courses
should also be added to the calendar.
Classes could be held in the forest near
Thunderbird, the patio-deck between
Hebb Theatre and Chemistry A block,
and, of course, that bastion of dead
blank stupefied gazes that is Buchanan
Heck, if I had my way, I would go all out
to encourage real social normalization
on campus. First off, I'd get rid of all
vehicular traffic past the intersection of
Wesbrook Mall and University Boulevard. This would keep people from
drunkenly stumbling into traffic. Then,
I'd expand the security bus service to
include all areas of campus, and have it
running at all hours of the day, though
I'd rename them from "security buses" to
"convenience buses", and I'd paint them
black. White just shows up the puke
stains all too well, and the new purpose
of this rechristened service would be to
transport the drunken bastards from bar
to bar, and maybe the occasional class or
two. Secondly I'd up the number of bars
on campus. I find it unacceptable that a
campus of this size only has seven drinking establishments (The Pit, the Pendulum, the Gallery, Koerner's Pub, Thea's,
Cheeze Pub, and the Thunderbar).
Despite the upcoming addition of 99
Chairs right next to Trekkers, I find that
I still can't go to one establishment,
drink, fall over and reach the next bar
before I pass out, 'cause they're still too
damn far apart (unless we were to build
a hurl-proof Teflon slide leading from
the Gallery to the spot right between the
Pendulum and the Pit). Then, I'd replace
the water in the Main Library Pond with
Stoli. Both of them have the same mineral content, and that'd make the occasional tanking by the Engineers a pleasurable experience for a change. And I'd
add the sweet, sweet water-of-life that is
good 'ol Irish Whiskey to the water used
to run the steam plant. That way, students could get a good buzz from the
fumes belching out of those service-
entrance covers and those weird spotted
mushroom pipe-thingies. Speaking of
mushrooms, I'd see if the AMS would be
amenable to kicking out all those non-
profitable businesses in the SUB and
replacing them with a profitable grow
operation or two.
Hell on it. If all of these activities don't
end up with a happier, jollier, less
stressed out, and far-less keenerific campus, then I'll fall back on my original
plan of firebombing the campus, razing
the buildings to the ground, sowing the
land with salt and putting up a casino
over the remains. A casino with hookers.
And blackjack. On second thought, forget the blackjack.
Despite what you may think, Jay Garcia is
no where near as disillusioned in person as
he sounds in print. Ah, hell. Who am I
kidding, he's way more disillusioned in
person. The man sweats contempt.
10 NOVEMBER 1999
Vinyl Catsuit
Andrew Tinka
Feline In Charge
I like seedless grapes. I like seedless
watermelons too. You know why?
Because it's a real pain in the ass to
get the seeds out of regular grapes and
watermelons. If they come off the vine
without any seeds to begin with, it's
super fantastic, because you can just
munch away without crunching on
"Gee, Andrew," I can hear you say, "this
article seems far too mellow. What's
wrong? Aren't you pissed off about
something?" Yes, friends, I am. And I'm
going to tell you about it too.
We've had seedless grapes for how long
now? Twenty years? Fifty? A long time
anyway. What's taking them so long to
come up with gonadless kitties?
Yes, dear readers, I have a cat. And I had
to get her spayed. Why, you ask? Well
besides the fact that I only want one cat,
the fact is that horny cats are right messy
little bastards. They spray urine on
everything, they make really weird noises all the time, and they attract all sorts
of undesirable characters who come over
wanting sex. Quite like a roommate,
actually, but you're allowed to take surgical action against your cat.
If you think getting the seeds out of
grapes sucks, just wait until you try getting the gonads out of a kitty. Actually,
please don't try it. Despite what past
issues of The 432 might have told you,
it's far better to leave this task in the
hands of the disgruntled folks at the
SPCA. Even still, it's an ordeal. You have
to take time off, wait an hour or two for
a bus driver who's too stupid to realize
you've got a cat with you (Did you know
that you're not allowed on the bus with
a cat? Even if it's in a box?) then deal
with the SPCA receptionist, drop the little monster off, and come back ten hours
later to get 90% of your cat back. And
when you get her back, she's still doped
up on ketamine for the next few days
and can't do any of the things that you
take for granted, like walk, eat, or control her bladder. Plus, she looks weird as
hell because her belly's all shaved from
surgery, (must... resist... temptation... to
make... shaved... pussy... joke... back,
Satan... back, I say!!)
Despite my whining about spaying and
other unpleasantness, I'm really happy
with the addition of a cat to my life. For
one thing, I'm a complete and total slob.
Until now, I've had to accept infestations
of mice, rats, and other plague carriers as
an unfortunate consequence of my
hygiene-deficient lifestyle. Not anymore.
Now I've got a vicious little predator on
my side, and she's quite good at keeping
the number of species in the house
down to two. (I suspect she's plotting the
elimination of Homo Sapiens as well,
but I keep a cattle prod by my bed so I'm
not too worried.)
To the disgust of friends, family, and
total strangers, my roommates and I
decided that the cat would be named
"Roadkill". (By the way, there's an excellent black and white Canadian movie by
that name that I thoroughly recommend
watching while drunk. In case you're
interested, I bear a striking resemblance
to Weenie Boy.) Anyway, I was at the vet
one time with the cat, and the receptionist, of course, announced to everyone that it was time for Roadkill's
appointment. As I took my kitty to the
exam room, I overheard the two twelve-
year-old girls who were sitting by the
"Who would name their cat Roadkill?"
"I know. It's so immature."
I couldn't believe it! I was getting cut
down by twelve-year-olds! How the hell
was I supposed to react to that? "Eat shit
and die, Bitch" just doesn't seem like the
right thing to say in a situation like that.
If they were two years younger I could
have gone with the old standby "Yeah?
Well you're a poo-poo head!" Instead, I
could only shake my head and share a
"kids say the darndest things" look with
the receptionist. I think she was on their
side though. It sure would explain the
visit I got from the Humane Officer.
They're all out to get me. Them and the
bus drivers. I'll show them. I'll show
them all! But that can wait. I've got more
cat stories to tell.
The worst thing about getting a cat, I've
decided, is that you run a very real risk of
becoming a "cat person". Case in point:
Every bookstore has a shelf or two dedicated to cat books. Not books about feeding, training, or breeding, which I fully
acknowledge are useful and important.
No, the cat books I'm thinking about are
along the lines of "What Your Cat would
Say If It Could Talk, Volume Fifty-Three,"
"Chicken Soup for the Soul of Your Cat,"
"Aromatherapy for Cats," and similar
tripe. Ordinarily, I'd walk right past these
shelves with the disdain they deserve.
The other day, though, I got sucked in. I
browsed the titles. I found some of them
interesting. To my horror, I found that I
wanted to look at books filled with nothing but cute pictures of cats. I was close
to buying a book that would help me
figure out what my cat was thinking by
the shape of the clumps she left in the
litter box. Luckily, I gave myself a firm
punch in the nuts and got out of there.
There's enough freaky cat people in the
world without me adding to the problem. In fact, sometimes I think there's a
freaky cat person overpopulation problem. They reproduce fast, you know.
Someone's going to have to do something soon. So if you know a freaky cat
person, do the responsible thing and
have them spayed or neutered. SPCA
hours are 9 to 9, Monday to Saturday.
But do yourself a favor... don't tell them
your freaky cat person is named "Roadkill". Come up with something more
palatable, like "Muffins" or "Fluffy" or
"John Hallett" (Hey! Why I outta... -ed.).
You'll get less cruelty investigations that
Don't tell him, but Andrew Tinka doesn't
actually own a cat. In reality, Roadkill is
little more than a very large rat.
Official Apology
We're sorry. We're really, really sorry. Nobody needed to see that.
It won't happen again. Really.
Alternative and Integrative Medical Society
Topic: Sports Nutrition & Supplementation
Date: November 18th, 1999
Time: 12:30-1:30
Location: Woodward Lecture Hall 1
Topic: Top Ten Herbs: the Latest Research
Date: November 25th, 1999
Time: 12:30-1:30
Location: Woodward Lecture Hall 1
The Alternative & Integrative Medical Society
Box 81, University of British Columbia,
6138 S.U.B. Boulevard, Vancouver, BC, V6T 1Z1
web: www.ams.ubc.ca/aims
ph:    (604)-822-8085
fx:      (604)-986-6575
Official All-Purpose Decoder Ring
brought to you by
Don't understand Jake Gray?
Want to know the naked babes?
Confused about koala's real status?
This is your solution!
Simply cut out this decoder ring and hold it over
the object of your confusion! Problem solved!
Warning: Designed for people experiencing red-green colourblindness. Improper use may result in death and/or paper cuts. 10 NOVEMBER 1999
Merit Badge For Crack Cocaine
Dan Anderson
Not a Girl Guide Fan
I recently had a friend point out that I
always use the word "monkey" when I
rant. Monkey monkey monkey. I also
had said friend point out that I always
use the phrase "I recently had a friend
point out...". So, I pointed out his left
eye with my right index finger, and that
settled that.
All you people should give money to
FYC. We're so far in the hole, it's not a
good thing anymore; we're so far in the
red we can tell what time of the month
it is; we're a really big monkey, hear us
roar. Meow.
For the record, all the SUS teams are
kicking ass. You know badminton was
good when you wake up the next morning with aches in places you never knew
existed, (well, ok, there was that time
last month out in Ladner and you went
out to the bam and you saw those chickens and...) Anyways, you have to love
the "morningrafter ache". Especially
when you realize it's from playing with
your partner, when each of you was hitting a birdie and wielding a racquet, bay-
bie! (Don't even ask about the inner tube
water polo, what with the rubber, and
the tubes, and the burn marks, and the
hours of wetness, and the rule saying
how at least your legs must be protruding. Oh yeah, and the hot tub.)
(Ookaaaayyyyyy -ed.)
But, to get to something worth reading,
Jay, being the observant evil mastermind
that he is, noticed that the Girl Guides
were moving in on his turf. Seems like
their cookies are really just fundraising
for... well, I'll get to that later. Besides the
money factor, it seems the Guides also
put a mildly physically addictive substance in the cookies, meaning that if
you're like me, and you eat about three
or four boxes (thank you, Jay & Bree &
others for your generosity) then you will
have an intense craving for more. Note
that this is a separate craving than the
one caused by chocolate, apparently the
second thing better than sex. This plan
will keep us going back for more (cookies! more cookies! jeez!). Eventually, we
will all be completely addicted, then
they will raise the prices, making us
mortgage our homes, sell our cars, and
frolic with birds in public to make
money to give to them, and so control
the entire world through cookies.
With the money they make, they will
begin by purchasing all stocks of IBM
that are available, getting a majority
stake. They will then make it lose (even
more)   money,   causing   every   man
woman and child to lose their life savings in their techno-overbalanced
stocks. By thereby making everybody
completely poor, they will have the
advantage of major money gotten from
narcotic cookie sales, which will allow
them to purchase all the ganja in the
world, which will allow them to enslave
the youth, which will mean that all the
parents of the world will have to do their
bidding, under threat of returning their
children. The Guides will then force all
hamsters, guinea pigs, potbellied pigs,
and empty coke cans to be given to their
cause, which will give them world domination, power, and control of all recycling facilities.
As you can see, this diabolical plot must
be halted. The solution? Kill all the Girl
Guides. Do your part. Next time one
comes to your door, next time you see
one outside of the SUB, next time you
wonder about the little girl next door,
help the world rid itself of the horrible-
ness of the scourge that is Girl Guides.
All time favorites include repeatedly
poking them with sharp metal crafts,
selling them to McDonald's for '100%
pure beef bits' (trust me, if you can sell
them worms and roadkill, you can sell
them Girl Guides), and saying 'oh, I'm
sure there's a nice man who'll buy your
cookies over there' and pointing at the
apartment next door, which has been
filled with carbon monoxide.
If you are too timid or squeamish to perform any of the above improvements to
society, at least help us out, and scare
them. The easiest way is just to rant and
rave at them every time you see them,
but if your vocal chords can't take the
abuse, There are other ways, too,
although most of them require slightly
more effort or preparation. Making small
dry ice bombs is simple, just put warm
water in a plastic bottle, keep the cap
handy, and stick some nuggets of dry ice
in there. Make sure the bottle is at least a
little squished first, then cap it, and
throw it at the lil twerp. Smile. Or else,
you could just throw a bucket of ink at
them. I recommend India Ink, it sticks
best. Probably the most fun would have
to be picking them off from third story
windows with a BB gun... make sure you
keep on shooting them as they run away.
If caught, just say it was the kid next
With these tips in mind, have fun,
remember that homicide is only bad if
you're apprehended, and enjoy ridding
the world of those evil creatures known
as Girl Guides.
As a former Girl Guide, I must say one
thing: Danm Dan for figuring it out. I'll get
you, my pretty, and your little monkey too.
-copy ed
It Came From B-Lot
Kiri Nichol
Entropy in Motion
couple weeks ago, I was sitting in the
Science One office with a few
..friends, trying to augment my
understanding of Statistical Mechanics in
time for midterms. In case you are unfamiliar with Statistical Mechanics, it is, in laymen's terms, the study of why people
don't suffocate to death in closed systems. I shall elucidate: Let us, for a moment,
pretend that we have a bunch of oxygen molecules whose properties are described
by the fancy symbol "psi". These molecules, when placed in an isolated system, tend
to bop around more or less randomly in accordance with something called the "binomial distribution". To make things more interesting, we throw in two more Greek letters, "epsilon" and "tau" (think of it as "temperature" on cocaine) hoping that, within a finite and observable time period, our oxygen molecules will form a fraternity.
But the point is, our oxygen molecules DON'T form a fraternity - all because of something called "entropy", they are doomed to continue a lonely diatomic existence,
roaming around looking for a nice ethanol molecule to oxidize. While this may be
bad fojr;M^'spc&l lives of-oxygen particles, it's really good for humans because it
means tfiat as long as we're in a closed system, the odds are that there will be sufficient 02 spread around for respiration.
Anyways, a bunch of us were sitting around trying to figure this one out when our
efforts were interrupted by the arrival of a Fed Ex courier delivering a shipment of
sheep brains and pig hearts. All right! Dissections! Sadly, our program director
informed us that there must have been a mistake, because nobody in Science One
had requested the organs. We read the labels on the boxes despondently (Warning:
Carcinogenic - may contain 5-10% soya sauce) and thought of all the wonderful
things we could have done with those sheep brains and pig hearts. The Fed-Ex guy
phoned his dispatcher (now there's a company with entropy!) and discovered that
the shipment was really for the Vanier cafeteria-two blocks to the west. He departed
shortly thereafter with the boxes, but not before us Science l'ers had developed an
That night, at the Vanier cafeteria, I ordered the pork and mutton "Chef's Special"
and snuck out the door in the direction of B-lot. My fellow Science students were
already congregating with the necessary equipment: A broken Macintosh computer,
alligator clips, extension cords, 8 L of Coca Cola products, duct tape, the Van de Graf
generator from the Hebb building - we had it all. The procedure - gleaned from our
chem lab manuals - was simple: We attached the sheep brain and the pig heart to the
mouse port of the Mac via the alligator clips. Then we plugged in the Van de Graf
generator and took turns making each other's hair stand on end until the sun set. At
the stroke of midnight, we showered the whole apparatus with Gatorade, touched
the sheep brain to the charged surface of the Van de Graf machine and - nothing
happened. So we went back to our respective residences and did our math homework.
The next day, we went and discussed the situation with our professors who chuckled heartily and then suggested we return the Van de Graf generator to Hebb, thereby increasing the number of parking spaces available and, consequently, the value of
the multiplicity function for B-lot. In other words, we needed to nip back to the first
step of The Scientific Method and reformulate our hypothesis. So, putting our problem solving abilities into action, we came up with a new strategy to ameliorate our
understanding of Statistical Mechanics: We decided to hold a seance for Dead But
Very Smart Physicists.
An astrologically viable date for the event was determined and preparations made.
At precisely 7:00 PM the night before our physics midterm we, hushed and quiet,
entered the Klinck building. We lit our ceremonial Bunsen burners, sprinkled de-ionized water around the room and seated ourselves at several tables. Slowly, quietly, we
began to sing the "Bill Nye, the Science Guy" theme song. At first we could perceive
nothing, but gradually the water vapour in the atmosphere began to condense into
a recognizable form, with eyes - oh, such ghastly, glowing eyes - a mouth and a
QWERTY keyboard. The specter shuddered once and with a macabre hiss of static
"You.... have... reached... the sonorous and sorry realm of... LUDWIG BOLTZ-
A gull outside the window cried out as the tape recorder in the clock tower proclaimed the half-hour. The apparition quivered again:
"Dr. Boltzmann isn't available to speak with you right now, but if you'd like to
speak with his dog, Rover, stay on the line and he'll be with you in a second."
I stared around the table at my fellow Science Ones, eyes wide with fright. Suddenly, the ghost dissolved and we heard a "Woof" that no earth-bound canine would
vent. Quaking, I collected enough resolve to utter this instruction:
"Bark once for yes, twice for no - are you the spirit of Rover, Ludwig Boltzmann's
dog, friend and faithful companion from this life to the next?" We heard but one
"woof" in reply.
"Is, then, the partial derivative of entropy with respect to energy a measure proportional to the inverse temperature?"
"Wooooof." We glanced around, uneasy.
"In attempting to reproduce the results of Victor Frankenstein's famous experiment
in pigs and sheep, is it more appropriate to use Dr. Pepper in place of Gatorade?"
"Nooooo!" There was much wailing from all present - how could the chem lab
manual have possibly been so very wrong? We hastily held a conference - should we
attempt to repeat our experiment before dawn? No, there was not enough time.
There was only one thing left to do - hope that luck was with us and that all the oxygen molecules in the room would spontaneously find themselves in some high
crevice for a brief period of time - say five minutes. We were silent as we performed
the calculation. And while we waited to go quietly into the night, the spirit of Rover
happily chased flocks of bleating spirit sheep through B-lot in the light of the full
Kiri is one of those disillusioned frosh we all hear so much about. Normally, it takes
these young 'uns the whole first term and the exam period to reach that state of desperation where they will channel the dead to ask a beverage question. And besides, who in
their right mind would touch that sugar-impostering, electrolyte-filled, toxically-florescent
liquid substitute? Dr. Pepper (otherwise known as 'editing fluid') is quite possibly the most
creative drink known to man.
As an aside, if anyone (besides Kiri) comes into SUS and tells Bree who Ludwig Boltzmann is and what his contribution to science is, I'll give you a free Dr. Pepper. Sorry, no
Vanier dinner substitutes,
-copy ed. PAGE SIX
10 NOVEMBER 1999
Demi-Page O' Electoral Blurbs
Mike Boetzkes IT!
Matthew Cowper^T
Ajay Puri |       T-T
ey there you pieces of dung, I would
like to introduce myself, the name's
Ajay Puri and I am a bastard. That's
right a bastard! But you should know though that I am NOT a stupid bastard, not a
f***ing bastard, or not even a fat assed bastard, just a plain old bastard. Why should
you care? Well that's because um... well.... I don't know, but you should.
Okay anyway this bastard is running for Soco...actually I am the only person running... so I guess I'll rephrase that... this bastard is now the soco. That's right I'm
gonna be your social co-ordinator. I'm gonna plan the best parties, bzzr gardens and
other social events out there... cuz you know why??? that's right, cuz I'm just a plain
old bastard.
Don't worry though, this bastard will make sure everything goes as planned. Otherwise you know what will happen if it doesn't, that's right the wrath of the pink
pickles will be upon us ! They'll be after your sorry ass and there'll be nothing to stop
them except for maybe a jar, (you know cuz those pickle jars are like so hard to open)
but otherwise they are invincible!! Muaahhhahahaha! I am unable to deceive all of
you worthless pieces of cow dung anymore... I must expose my true self -1 am Pick-
loid from the planet Zoltrix and I have been summoned by the Pink Pickle master
(PP master for short) to take over this pathetic piece of dung planet! Becoming the
soco will enable me the power to strengthen my resources (i.e., that is give me
enough free beer) that I will become the all mighty pickle!! Muahahahaha! I will
make all you dung's worship me and my PP master. You will obey. And that's that. I
have said too much already the master will be displeased! Okalie dokalie this pickle
is out. Feel free though to approach me anytime, I am here to listen to your 'rule the
world' techniques.
t is quite possible that you
find this election rather
absurd, as I do. The incredibly
difficult and vexing decisions of whom to vote for SUS Prez and SoCo have been
made substantially easier this year. This is to be taken as a good thing, for although
artsies may have time for politics, we Science students have little room for such luxuries. Should you still have an unrequited desire to make a democratic choice, you
get to chose the SUS PRO. In this matte, I urge you to vote for the candidate with a
realistic view of the election process, namely me. If you actually want to find out
what policies I might or might not have, seek me out! I am fairly recognizable as I
habitually wear a black hat that makes me look like a London Paperboy.
Kate Saenko \\l
ote for Kate Saenko for PRO! I'm a 4th
year Computer Science major and a
computer geek. Contrary to popular
belief, I do not hide in my room, wearing inch-thick bi-focals and typing madly
away at the computer all the time. I only do that on Mondays ... Anyhow, I like people. I can speak four languages, I am very easy-going and friendly, which makes me
a perfect candidate for Public Relations Officer. My past experience in charity events
and doing press releases will help me do a great job. Also, I have many years behind
me as an ex-KGB agent in my native former Soviet Union (but don't tell anyone.) In
fact, if I am elected, I promise to make SUS a nuclear power. So, vote for me, please.
Or I might have to kill you. y    ^.   >.  .
Complaints Department
Here at the 432, we appreciate our
audience. As such, we want to take the
time to dr some of their recent complaints.
Thank you for your feedback. Please, come
•Bree Baxter, Dir. Pub
Ben "Gopher lovin" Tippet
I would like to register a complaint about:
The 432, Issue 4, October 27th, 1999,
A _j/^The haiiy naked men on page two.
B  •\The spelling.
C •y The grammar.
D ^ The Dead Pool.
E >^\JakeGray.
F •'''Other (use space below).
-Dark colour 6f paper makes me want to drown my caf.
-Off center rectangle behind +itte. gave me vertigo.
-No mention of Godeila or any other giant monster besides
Jay Garcia.
Hack of Louis Armstrong / Leonard Cohen / Bjcrk niusic
playedi in JAA
^oiinough. .refftreMJoib!!!S&...^_S^J!!i']	
-Bring back tAy Little Pof)y'! „__.'	
-when ^L/^^re^
+o kiss his nromal life goodbye.   .
-One more Pokemon keeps them from being a nice round
-Nobody knows how +o pdka anymore.
-Top. e^nsiye $. on paper?	
Name John
I would like to register a complaint about:
The 432, Issue 4, October 27th, 1999,
A _JxoThe hairy naked men on page two.
B   C/,The spelling.
C  1/ Jhs grammar.
D ■•"' The Dead Pool.
Ey22#ake Gray.
F _j/t)ther (use space below).
TO     mQsrCL
I would like to register a complaint about:
The 432, Issue 4, October 27th, 1999,
A •   The hairy naked men on page two.
B The spelling.
C  j^The grammar. (English W Frarh, ivt
D The Dead Pool.      owlish W -fre^Jf)
E       Jake Gray.
F  y^ Other (use space below).
77je mrth, (fWfftS = 3&, net <f£?).
ffe..^W»u (rfHs iss^e is I ueek. -top Artel.
' Form
Name E.^A».  )ABrASV^-^sC_»
Email \
I would like to register a complaint about:
The 432, Issue 4, October 27th, 1999,
A The hairy naked men on page two.
B The spelling.
C The grammar.
D The Dead Pool.
E Jake Gray.
F vS Other (use space below).
,^*Ar.. t>'\<^>:,	
*r,e.C_-t-ci.i.K.<>   SV^J-fC-ln^   \   VAJ.*.   kv-A*^
^f'\jt.Kiit>,  AajA   J-*-^  4f*-*^   &4s ^"'»-4-kJk-  ■*-■!*■*
JL^iJ*-  4v&lfc*s  *"^~^-  sa>»>>VL=l,;v*>s.fcij	
' Form
Name Kd-fca,  Sztopa,
I would like to register a complaint about
The 432, Issue4, October 27th, 1999,
A _j/yThe hairy naked men on page two.
B The spelling.
C The grammar.
D The Dead Pool.
E  Jake Gray.
F  ^'Olher (use space below).
...M%ax&g'i.iherc. „.jm&..mfa£dUkaay.mctt?......
WJujfJr' ;.	
*The views herein may not be the actual views of
the above mentioned complainant, and are in
fact entirely fraudulent.
J 10 NOVEMBER 1999
The Mitten Drawers of SUS
External VP
Mandy Seymour
Hi! I'm Mandy and I'm your SUS
External VP! Hope you're all psyched for Science Week - it's coming up January 24th to January 28th.
We're planning an action packed week of
interactive club displays and events
(we're hoping that we will again have
the Comp Sci car rally!) Also we've started  on  plans  for Beyond  First Year,
Jeff Steinbok
Hideho, hope you guys are all
enjoying the "wonderful"...
ahem.. Vancouver weather. (Well,
Bree said I could talk about the rain...I
think she just wanted to kill some
space). Anyway, to start, I'd like to congratulate everyone involved in the planning and attending of the Oct 22 bzzr
garden; it was, by far, one of the best
one's we've had in the past 4 years or so.
We lost money, about what we were
planning to and it sold out, so I can't
Sara Stamm
Hey there Science prodigies! Your
friendly sports rep reporting the
latest news from the sports
world. Register for Invade the Dome
Insomniac Softball. It is the rockingest,
late-nightest, most funnest thing you
can do this term. Registration ^hds-'fW-*-
day the 12th, so hurry yo' asses up and
hand in them forms.
Hey, just for your information, badminton set an all time record for registration this year with 225 players! Never
before has a racquet sport had such good
Beyond the B.Sc. and our huge Cold
Fusion concert. Stay tuned for info, on
the band - we're keeping it under wraps
until January, and then expect the hint
dropping to begin. I've been keeping
busy with AMS meetings til all hours - if
you'd like to know what's going on in
AMS land or in SUS land you can email
me at aseymour@interchange.ubc.ca.
While you're at it, check out the SUS
website at www.ams.ubc.ca/sus or our
newsgroup at ubc.sus on the netinfo
server. Later!!
complain, or so the other exec keep
telling me.
As far as finance goes, the big thing
right now is giving money to our clubs. I
have spoken with representatives from
most Science clubs. If your club hasn't
contacted me yet, please do, ASAP (stein-
bok@interchange.ubc.ca). I can't give you
money unless I hear from you. I will be
putting together proposals to bring to
the SUS budget committee over the next
few weeks, so get that information to me
soon. Lastly, if you want to be on Budget
committee or want more information,
email me or drop by the SUS office. It's
your money, have a say!
turn out. Thanx to all who participated.
Hockey pool updates will now be posted, I apologize on Aarne's behalf for the
slowety of procuring this, he is busy and
it's now my job however, so bitch to me
if you feel the need.
Anybody looking for rebates:  I need
your receipt and name and registration
form and what sport you registered in BY
looks like I'll be giving around 60% back
to all science teams.
HEY!!! Play sports.
Yeah, like basketball! I'll have a form in
SUS so come sign up, you hosers.
Internal Vice
Attention Science Grads!
Leave a lasting impression at UBC!
Become a Class Act Rep and create a
memorable grad gift for the Millenium!
Class Act is the committee that
advertises and collects money for the
year 2000 grad class gift This is your
chance to give back to your school!
If you have grad gift: suggestions or would like
to volunteer, contact Amanda Seymour at
aseymmT<&itte^^ or call 8224235 for more
Reka Sztopa
Hi everyone, another 2 weeks, yet
another exec report.  First Year
Movie Night was  a blast.  We
showed 'The Matrix' and Trinity is my
new hero.
Elections for our new President, Social
Coordinator, and Public Relations Officer are under way. Stay tuned to vote
from November 15th to 17th (Monday
to Wednesday) in all the science building.
Anyway, I must go and find a child-size
PVC suit and begin my Jujitsu training.
Keri Gammon
I really wish I had something to report
this week, but nothing crazy ever
happens to the SUS secretary. Yesterday I did some photocopying in the
Dean's office...then there was that paper
cut...I made some phone calls...that
about sums it up. But in my capacity as
the UBC United Way Campaign assistant, I would like to inform you all about
the upcoming Student Campaign
week, from November 22nd-26th. Look
for fundraising events around campus
and support the United Way - you know
you want to. Everybody's doing it. I'll
still respect you in the morning, I
promise. That is, unless you forget to
vote in the executive by-elections.
Need New Clothes?
PSA (Psychology
Student's Association)
is having a clothing
sale. Come on out
and get dressed!
X %
$10 $12
sweatshirts $27 $32
boxer shorts   $20 $25
t-shirts PAGE EIGHT
10 NOVEMBER 1999
I Wanted A Mission...
Andy Martin
Straight to Hell
Trying to do a project with incompetent, government-funded bosses
is like trying to pick up girls at a
bar without the control of your right
hand...and all that hand wants to do is
masturbate. It's frustrating, you never
get anything accomplished, and even
though you didn't have any fun, you get
fucked in the end.
It started as most of these things do,
with me happy and content...
My summer, low-respect, low-paying,
hard-working, stint with my former
employer was about to end in October. I
was hitting the pavement hard to get
another job before I ended up face-first
on said pavement. Then a ray of light
came down. I was pulled out of a meeting the day before the end and thrown
the War and Peace of raw data: "Make a
paper out of this, make it pretty, and
hand it in to the District office, and we'll
give you...what's something like this
worth? Something around twenty an
hour." I was so damn happy, I had to run
home that night just to joyously enter
data in my computer. Finally, everything
I had ever done was recognized. I was
getting paid almost what I'm worth and
loving what I was doing. I worked the
weekend through, fighting through a
bloody mess of data errors and useless
tripe (Note: when recording scientific
data, point form is usually preferred over
novel form. I don't much care what your
feelings are at any moment and the District doesn't much care that you fell in
brambles at 10:53am on August 11th) to
put together the finest report they'd ever
seen. I brought the first draft to the District with my supervisor. The District
loved it, and would support us for a follow-up (and much larger) contract, and
was even genuinely interested in my thesis from last year. My supervisor asks me
to lead the next contract, which will be
at least 6 months in length. I'm on top of
the world baby!
A phone rings up in Heaven.
"It's your quarter, make the most of it."
"Sir, this is Johnson"
"Johnson! How's it goin' in Shitsville?"
"I wish you wouldn't refer to Earth like
that, Sir."
"Ah, lighten up. So what's up? I haven't
heard from you in months"
"Sir, we've got a problem down here."
"Really? Harumph...(takes a swig of
scotch)...What kind of problem?"
"Do you remember Andy Martin, Sir?"
"Oh...[pause] girls, girls quiet
down...what happened?"
"Well, you see sir...he's happy."
"He's got a degree-related, well paying
job that he enjoys. It looks like all his
hard work is paying off"
"No, no, no. This isn't right at all."
"He's found a girl he likes who likes
"Oh...FUCK!!! I'll get right on it."
"Thank you sir. I knew you would."
"Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fu..."
Back on earth, I happily continue working on the contract, giving up a good
chunk of my Thanksgiving long weekend to double-check facts and details in
the report before handing in the final
copy due on Wednesday. I was working
through the last details of the work on
Tuesday when my supervisor came in.
He tells me he'd like me to put together
a digital map of the data. Great, the only
problem is that:
a) we don't have the anything that can
do that in the office; and
b) I have no idea how to do that.
These vital fact seems lost on him, and
on his insistence I spend the next six
hours combing every computer in the
office to show him this. So the day that
was to be efficiently ended at 4pm, now
will end at 2am as the final copy is due
the next day.
We reach Wednesday. Wednesday...The
middle of the week...'Hump day'. You
know, hump is another word for fuck.
The word fuck is beautiful, it can be a
noun, as in: 'my boss is a dumb fuck', an
adjective, as in the phrase: 'my boss is
fucking retarded'. However, it was originally intended as a verb, to be used in
such phrases as: 'my boss fucked me over
with a crankshaft' (What? No, no foreshadow here, why do you ask?).
I finished the paper, and left it for my
supervisor. I spent the rest of the day
helping to host a meeting of for a group
of fisheries conservation groups. By now
I'm in my tenth straight hour of work.
The meeting has gone off perfectly. The
bigwigs finish up their fine sushi and
arranged crackers as I resign myself to
cleaning duties. Just as the office 'numbers lady1 is going out the door, she turns
to me and I hear those ever-famous
words: "Andy, we have to talk." Oblivious to the plot against me, I half-joking-
ly reply, "Uh-oh, is this a 'good talk' or a
'bad talk'?" She replies, with a small smile
on her face, "Well, it's a good because we
talk about paying you, it's bad because
it's your last day on Friday."
"Oh...my. But 'Cletus' told me that I was
going to head the next contract."
"What next contract? We haven't got
anything coming up."
"But I got everything done quickly,
there's lots of hours left."
"No, no, somebody else has been working on it for weeks."
"But shit-all was been done on it when I
got it. It was the worst data set I've ever
And on it goes. I finish cleaning up, and
drive home in a daze. But of course, I
haven't hit bottom yet, I've just gotten a
little muddy in the outhouse basement
that is life. And the Lord is absolute.
Everything He does is absolute. Includ
ing exacting punishment from my heathen ass.
Thursday. And next on the Fuck-Andy-
Over Countdown is the pay itself. I give
my hours for the past two weeks, including weekend hours. The numbers lady
says that she'll process them and have
my check tomorrow. I naively ask "So
what is my exact hourly rate?"
"Same as before, nine an hour."
Fucker. Absolute Mother-bleedin'-
"But 'Rib' said I'd be getting around
twenty. You know, the kind of wage a
technical writer and the only person in
the office that can actually do the body
of your $10,000 contract would earn."
"No...we don't do that."
The remaining two days of my employment are spent with my supervisor,
showing him again and again that we
can't do the map thing he has his empty
peanut shell of a mind set on. You'd be
surprised how long he can drag something like that out. He eventually got the
message about a week after I left and sent
away for the right program. I expected,
and got, a polite call afterwards asking
me to come in and 'volunteer' my time
to do the map. I politely told them to
fuck themselves.
So I left, embittered and pissed off at
these paper-pushing, donkey-raping
desk jockeys and waiting for the fertilizer shipment to clear customs. But it's
water under the bridge in an existential
sense. I'm out, stress free and writing the
GRE before starting another job in a
month or so to finance my trip somewhere warm and tropical for grad
school. All this is only material. We're all
on earth to find one thing, true love.
And I found it. I found it tight where I
find everything: with an empty bottle, a
full baggie, and five naked women.
I have a deep seated fear that I will find
myself, not too far in the future, descriping
Andy Martin as "such a nice, quiet boy" to
a news crew.
o from this...
Vote in the upcoming Science Undergrad Society
Executive Byelections! Why? Everybody's doing it.
Don't you want to be like Ricky Ricardo?
Vote Monday, November 15th to Wednesday, November 17th, in most Scien
Bring your student card to vote! All Science Students can vote! (Once)
to this!


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