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 VOLUME THIRTEEN ISSUE FOUR
27 OKTOBER 1999
In this issue:
Flesh-eating Editors!
The Not So Dumb Assed Easy Contest #2!
Evil Election Results!
and much more...
"The difference between pornography and erotica is lighting."
Gloria Leonard
Small African
Nation Overthrown!
North America Stuggles to Care
New York, NY (REUTERS)
In a stunning and completely unexpectedly bloodless coup last weekend,
the existing government of Jambuta
was ousted by the military.
Jambuta's old military dictator, General
Honduba Mobobo, has been placed
under house arrest at his mansion in the
country's capital of Niara. The new dictator, General Mohammed "George" ibn
Amin, has seized control of Niara's key
government buildings, including the airport, military base, free clinic, and parliamentary hall.
Jambuta, established as a small French
colony during the height of Napoleon's
wave of imperialism, is nestled between
Kenya and Sierra Leone. It was given
independence from France in 1963 after
the colony failed to produce a goat
Camenbert deemed creamy enough for
French consumption. The first military
coup overthrowing the democratically
elected government occurred five days
later. The second coup happened within
two weeks. 46 years of mixed military
rule has followed.
Each military leader has solidified his
control by publicly hanging his predecessor in the main square of Niara on a
permanent gallows erected specifically
to hang ousted Generals. Originally, the
death of each General was marked by a
national holiday, but school teachers
complained that the nation's children
were forgetting how to read during the
lengthy absence from school, and the
practice was dropped in the late 1970's.
General ibn Amin is the latest in Jambuta's seemingly endless supply of high
ranking generals. He will face many
challenges during his first few weeks of
power, most notably bringing all
branches of the armed forces under his
control.
Jambuta's navy is led by General Amaar
Sabeen, who has a long history of publicly denouncing ibn Amin over his continued questioning of a navy in a country without a coastline, is the one most
likely to create further trouble in these
first fragile days of a new government.
Other factions in the regular army are
still loyal to Mobobo. Both of the army's
remaining high ranking generals, General   Bangulou   Umbaho   and   General
"GET-ntATHideous m\^ M *?°m me Gtiorni'
Mohammed Sibibi (not to be confused
with ibn Amin's right-hand man, General Mohammed al Sibibi), are loyal to
Mobobo and have vowed revenge upon
General Sabeen.
In a taped statement, ibn Amin
promised to improve the economy, institute mandatory military service for children under 11, eliminate the "scourge
that is yogurt," and to bring back the
country's former flag.
The old national flag, three vertical bars
of ebony, emerald and crimson, was
replaced with Mobobo's flag of three vertical bars of ebony, gold, and crimson
when Mobobo seized power last
Wednesday.
In fact, the official national colours
have fluxuated constantly for the entire
lifetime of the nation. Disputes over the
order of the colours in the flag (which,
despite the changing colours, has always
been three vertical bars) have been the
cause of three bloody civil wars. The flag
has, at one time or another, been every
possible combination of ebony, gold,
crimson and emerald. For a brief period,
the flag was three vertical bars of hot
pink, paisley green and mustard with
daisies of various colours randomly
placed on the pattern. This flag flew over
Niara during the fondly remembered
rule of General "Groovy" Ted in 1968.
The reaction from the United Nations
was mixed. In a prepared statement, the
Secretary General Kofi Annan said that,
"The United Nations wishes to express
our great disappointment in the actions
of General Mohammed ibn Amin. These
actions are not acceptable in our global
society as we approach the millennium."
When questioned, Mr. Annan denied
that the prepared statement was an exact
copy of the statement he read when
General Honduba Mobobo, General
Mohammed ibn Amin's predecessor,
staged his coup d'etat. Upon being
pressed for further comment, the Secretary General blurted out, "What, do you
think I even know where Jambuta is? It's
not like they put those countries on the
map!" before he was rushed from the
room by his assistant.
The Office of the President of the United States could not be bothered to comment on this matter.
Killer' Koalas
Moving North
Jakarta, Indonesia (SP)
A rare domestic breed of Koalas has
eluded Australian Conservation
Officials and is continuing their
relentless march northwards and will
reach the northern coast of Australia
before the start of the Aussie summer.
Normally, this would not be a major
problem, since various breeds of Koala
Bears can be found all over the continent. This breed, however, has been
dubbed the "Killer" Koalas due to their
abnormal temperament and shearing
canine teeth.
"Oh they're vicious little buggers," stated Larry Valard; spokesman for the Australian Natural Conservation Society.
"We've tried everything, but those bastards keep going north. Nothing can
stop them." When asked why Koalas
were bred for the sole purpose of killing,
Valard responded, "Well, for defence...
duh!  We've got hundreds of thousands
of square kilometres to cover and only a
few million men. We needed to defend
the citizens from the lurking red menace
of the 'roo. But something went wrong.
The original batch began to reject their
'scalpies and started tearing down the
compound rickers. Now they're out
there and we're completely defenceless."
"I don't think that the rest of the world
really understands what's going on here.
Everyone thinks that Koala Bears are
friendly, furry, teddy bears. To get a good
idea of what we're dealing with here,
imagine that same teddy bear with six
inch long razor-sharp claws and having
just done six lines of cocaine. Plus, they
breed faster than rabbits. The countryside is covered with these things."
"They're going to cross the straight and
get into Indonesia within the week. East
Timor's really in shit now. These things
steal more babies than dingoes on
speed!" PAGE TWO
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
27 OKTOBER 1999
Voiume Thirteen
Issue Four
27 Oktober 1999
Naked Editor
John Hallett
hallett@cs.ubc.ca
Not Naked Editor
Bree Baxter
bmonique@interchange.ubc.ca
Also Naked Editor
Andy Martin
spacemoose@bc.sympatico.ca
Graphic Editor
Jay Garcia
jgarcia@interchange.ubc.ca
Printed by
College Printers, Vancouver, BC
Contributors
Dan Anderson
Bree Baxter
Jake Gray
Jay Garcia
John Hallett
Andy Martin
Trevor Presley
Reka Sztopa
Andrew Tinka
Laura Yang
And all the lovely ladies...
Legal Information
The 432 is published fortnightly from
the Third Ring of Hell in the basement
of the Chemistry Building. The 432 is
the official publication of the Science
Undergraduate Society and science students in general. And may we remind
you that the Ubyssey printed porn just
last Friday, so don't bother raising a
ruckus.
All views and organs 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.
No Photoshop was used on any person in any way in the making of this
issue. Miss Karen asked for it, and for
her sins we gave it to her, served it up
like room service. Now that she has it,
she'll never want another. People
wanting cheap couches should go ask
the AUS office. Right now.
This seems the perfect time to remind
all the ladies that our Assistant Editor
is still single and that even our photographer commented on his 'nice
unit'. And his Enya CD collection.
Big Daddy's Editorial
John Hallett
Big, Hairy Sex Machine
Fuck. Are you happy now? Is this
what everyone wanted? For those of
you who aren't in the loop, I challenged The Underground's editorial staff
to continue publishing scantily clad pictures of their editor (Karen appeared last
year in a bikini). I said that I would publish a picture of my hairy ass if they did
this. They did. I have. I even gave them
two warnings, but it seemed like they
wanted to me in print (and how!).
In the picture that they published, you
could plainly see their entire editorial
staff standing in front of the Statue of
Democracy wearing nothing but smiles
and strategically placed copies of their
rag. They said that they had "raised the
ante." Well, to use more poker terminology, I just bet the pot limit.
The two unblurred people in the picture
below are none other than yours truly
and Mr. Andy Martin, my assistant editor. Bree elected to skip this photo shoot
because she has some sense of class.
Andy and I are not encumbered with
any such hindrance. The five anonymous ladies were thrown in to, uh, balance out the picture. You see, Mr. Martin
and myself are not exactly prime nude
modeling material. I figured that adding
2.5 lovely ladies for each of us would do
the trick.
You see, you Underground types, the only
way to beat this is to break pornography
laws. That would shut you down. Two
good things, really. In any event, I have
fulfilled my half of the bet and will no
longer participate in our own little personal arms race. MAD is a bad thing.
Also, to improve the quality of this picture to marketable levels, I have included a two handy-dandy pre-shaped
cutouts to enhance your viewing plea
sure. Enjoy! This should be enough
material to keep a dozen sweaty palmed
uber-nerds occupied until the next Sara
Michelle Gellar photo spread.
Oh, and yeah, that is your office. Those
are your couches. Getting in was not a
challenge. We took a few pictures
around your office and decided on this
one because it was pretty hard to see the
iMac (poor Katrina!) with my naked ass
sitting on the keyboard. Sorry about the
'H' key. I guess I got too excited.
Anyways, on to my rants.
The Underground
He he. <snort> B-waaa ha ha ha.
<snort> So, uh <chuckle> how're you
going to <snort> produce the next <he
he> Underground without touching
<snort> your keyboard? Kinda reminds
me of that urban legend with the burglars, the toothbrushes, and the camera.
Oh yeah, I did notice that you guys had
clipped my last editorial and put it up on
your wall. You highlighted the part
where I complimented your paper and
said that it still seems "lacking."
Someone then wrote "at least we have a
brain" below that. Sigh. And just when
you guys were showing some promise,
too. Remember what I said last year? You
can insult Science, but just don't resort
to printing "Science," "Stupid," and an
equals symbol between them. We're in
university now, people.
The SUS
What? I'm going to rant about SUS?
Why, yes I am. You see, this here rag is
the Official Newspaper of Science Students, not of The Science Undergraduate
Society. Therefore I can rant about SUS.
SUS didn't want me to publish a certain
photograph. They thought that they
should stop me. I wish to respond in a
manor that befits the tact and dignity of
the editor of The 432. Mine! My paper!
 ™ ■- -^^—«-s.  ji^Mfe^. « ■Mmm     i        jzumosismim^mmBsamm^
Why, yes, ail of our staff meetings are like this. Why do you ask?
Handy-Dandy Photo Cut-Outs
Instructions for use:
I. Cut out from this paper. 2. Apply in areas of excess hair.
3. Enjoy!
Not yours! Mine mine mine! Separate
societies. Separate budgets. Mine! Go
away! Keep your President-less hands in
your own pockets, you meddling ninnies.
On a separate front, I'd like to congratulate SUS for running their first successful
beer garden in lord knows how long. SUS
has always made a point of subsidizing
beer prices for the better enjoyment of
students. But at $1.50 a beer, it's hard to
make money (or come even close to
breaking even). I have long been a fan of
the All-You-Can-Drink model of beer
gardens (despite the fact that the cops
hate them). This beer garden was one of
those. So, thank you, SUS for finally listening to me. I'm always right, and you
would do well to remember that (Correction: John is, in fact, a bungling and
incompetent moron. - asst ed)
Pierre Trudeau
Mr. Fabulous just turned 80. He still has
that sass. I think that everyone's favorite
ex-PM should run again. Lord knows,
he'd be better than Cretien. For you
younger people, Mr. Fabulous is the only
PM to ever respond to protesters by flipping them the bird.
Group Sex
When I was young, a very influential
authority figure told me that "to be a
successful man, you must learn to set
goals in your life and meet them." So I
formed a checklist. Well, I just checked
off 'Be in  same room as five naked
chicks.' Now I'll have to start closing in
on 'Convince girlfriend that she's bi,'
'Threesome,' 'Group sex,' and 'Start own
orgy club.' Not all of the items on my
checklist have to do with sex. Other ones
include 'Own a bar,' 'Live in a remote
cabin in the Rockies for no less than a
year,' 'Own and operate a small Central
American banana republic,' and 'Use the
word "sassy" more effectively in every
day conversation.'
Some of the items that I've already
checked include 'Drink own weight in
beer,' 'Learn how to use toilet standing
up' (hey, I was really young when I put
the list together), and 'Be revered as a
God' (long story). I know, I need help.
Half the battle is admitting it.
Lowered four-by-fours
Am I the only one who is violently
opposed to this? For Christ's sake, people, do you just not get it? These things
are designed to be as far off of the road
as possible. Lowering them so far that
you have to take on speed bumps one
wheel at a time demeans you, the vehicle, your parents, and anyone who
knows you. Hang your head in shame.
Now go fix the freaking thing and climb
a mountain. If you want a road hugger,
buy a freaking sports car.
I caused my husband's
heart attack. In the middle of lovemaking I took
the paper bag off my
head. He dropped the
Polaroid and keeled over
and so did the hooker. It
would have taken me half
an hour to untie myself
and call the paramedics,
but fortunatly the Great
Dane could dial.
-Joan Rivers 27 OKTOBER 1999
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
PAGE THREE
Screw the American Dog
Andrew Tinka
Paranoid Wanker
Bad times are coming, kids., They're
less than a year away. I'm not talking about the Year 2000. I'm talking about the Year 2000 American Presidential Elections. Get ready for the Pain,
everybody. There's going to be a new
Commander-in-Chief in town, and he
ain't going to be a Democrat.
Let's review the facts quickly for the terminally clueless in the audience. Bill
Clinton is going bye-bye soon. The
American people will then select the
man who will be their executive overlord for the next four years. There are
only two serious contenders: Al Gore
and George W. Bush. It's OK if you did a
bit of a double take there, folks. Believe
it or not, the son of George Bush is running for president. And he's going to
win. The ascendancy of George II seems
guaranteed. The Americans ask for only
two things when it comes to presidents:
memorable sound bites and good television presence. RoboGore has neither.
Georgie Jr. has both. Even if he doesn't
say a single word, shake a single hand or
kiss a single baby, Little George can coast
into the White House based on memories of his father and the fact that his
opponent has all the charisma of a small
rock.
"But why," you ask, "do we give a rat's
ass? This is Canada, and the big bad
Republican is getting elected down in
the United States. They could make their
next president a dyslexic chimpanzee for
all the difference it would make to us,
right?"
Wake up, dumbass. Time for some Reality Coffee, hold the sugar. If Tom
Cochrane is right, then life is a highway.
If that's true, then America is a car. A big,
noisy, stinky fucker of a car. The President is the driver. Canada is a dog. A
furry, friendly, sorta stupid dog. And our
leash is tied to the back bumper of the
American car. Now, Clinton's been driving for the last few years, and that's OK,
because he might be a bit wacky sometimes but he still drives pretty slow.
We're running our ass off behind him,
but we're keeping up. But there will be a
new driver soon, and guess what he's
going to do? He's going to stomp that
gas pedal to the floor and in no time at
all, we're going to be a disemboweled
doggy corpse bouncing along the
asphalt, leaving a trail of blood and
intestines behind us.
Hmm. That analogy got a bit out of
hand. The point I was trying to make
that that Canada tends to follow what
the United States does, except we're usually not too happy with the process. (For
any Arts students reading this: It is not a
good idea to do the Car and Dog thing
for your next Political Science Show and
Tell. Profs don't like it. Believe me, I
know.)
Make no mistake, children. We're talking about Republicans here. We have no
concept of what these people are like.
The closest thing we've got is the semi-
organized herd of rednecks who call
themselves the Reform Party, and they're
really just morons who want tax cuts but
are bad at math. A true Republican is a
scary thing, and a true Republican with
power should be enough to make you
Planet of the...
©
Jake Gray
Liquid Pledge
JL cc
e manatee. Scourge of the river-
boat captain. The venerable sea-
cow.
How anyone could mistake that bloated
slug of a marine mammal for a mermaid
I'll never understand. Boy, those sailors
sure do drink.
The manatee has become the favourite
of environmentalist, folk singing, anti-
productionists. As a symbol of innocence molested by the inadequacies of
mankind, greenpeace/earthfirst/neoyup-
pie-ford expedition driving/yogurt eaters
couldn't have hoped for anything more
than the manatee. A peaceful fat jolly
creature, the manatee would spend its
days peacefully munching on the suppie
water reeds. Then came the British.
"My what great sport!"
"Quite right, Tad. These 'mermaids' are
so tame they are practically asking to
have their brains spattered across the
banks of the river by the hot lead of my
Enfield 30-06."
The manatees were decimated by English shooters and boats which with their
combinations of lead slugs and slicing
propellers to the absolute brink of
extinction.
The problem at the time was that manatees were not a commercially har-
vestable species and so were offered
absolutely no protection. This was completely along the lines of thinking of the
time however: that man was meant to
bend the earth to his own means.
And hence man had pets. He had dogs,
he had cats, he had small birds named
Pete, he had fish, he had ferrets, he had
chinchillas, he had tarantulas and iguanas and worst of all he had turtles.
Turtles are the worst pet of all. They
require hours of cleaning, a large heated
tank, and they eat aborted human fetuses.
Well, they don't actually eat aborted
human fetuses, but I'm sure they would
if you ground them up and compressed
them into pellet form.
Mmmm. Soylent Green.
"But you don't understand! Soylent
green is made of people! Its made of
people!"
"Get your paws off me you damn dirty
apes!"
Charlton Heston - Judah Ben-Hur -
Moses - Brighteyes - Master of the
cheese, Yoda to a young and impressionable William Shatner, current president
of the N.R.A.- hero to a generation of
young Bob Robertsii currently running
the house of representatives in the sparking gem of a metropolis Washington
D.C.
I find it supremely ironic that the capital of the U.S.A., the gem of Capitalist
society, firstly is built in a swamp off the
Potomac, secondly has the highest crime
rate of the Western world.
A vast cess pool of rotting bloated
bureaucrats sucking the blood from the
American electorate. Fat Cats sucking on
the scum dredged from the bottom of
the Potomac. Sitting to sun their bloated
bellies in the sun, peacefully chewing
their cuds while the real world floats by.
Somehow I don't feel so bad about the
English and their Enfields.
lose bladder control. Here's a taste for
you: Republicans believe in the death
penalty, but don't believe poor people
deserve lawyers. If that combination
doesn't give you the shivers, please
check your pulse. (Look it up: George W.,
the hombre we were discussing, is currently the governor of Texas. Texas executes more people per capita than anywhere else in world. George himself personally vetoed a bill that would give people who've been arrested in Texas the
right to a public defender within 20 days
of arrest. Yikes.)
Ordinarily, I don't get all hot and bothered when the policies of a foreign
nation differ from what I consider the
way things should be. But the United
States has a long and glorious history of
interfering in the internal affairs of anyone who doesn't do things the American
Way. Hell, Clinton invaded four independent nations that I can count. You
think George Junior is going to let himself be outdone by some pinko who was
too chickenshit to go to Vietnam? Never
mind the enormous inferiority complex
this guy's going to have as son as he realizes that every history book will list him
as "the son of George Bush". Daddy got
to fight in the last great American war.
What will Junior have to do to make a
name for himself?
Here's a scenario: Let's say the Parti
Quebecois manages to pull itself together and win a referendum for succession.
The United States has always been
opposed to the breakup of Canada, for
obvious reason; Canada is very close,
and therefore a potential threat, but
we're docile and easily led. (See dog analogy, above) If a truckload of juiced-up
Quebecois start carving themselves a
new country, though, all of that could
change. The way I see it, is George is in
charge, he's liable to "stabilize" the situation for us. Can you say Vive le Quebec
flambel
Or another fun one. Last time we had a
serious dispute with the States over fishing rights, a mob of Canadian fishermen
blockaded an American cruise ship with
their boats. You wanna take three guesses what the Republican solution to that
situation would be? Or the Nanoose Bay
thing. Do you want to be the one who
gets to say, "No, Mr. Bush, you can't put
your nuclear warheads there"? I can
think of much more pleasant things to
do, like pouring rubbing alcohol on my
hand and holing a lighter to it, which I
have done, and I can tell you that it
hurts like hell, even if you're drunk out
of your skull.
The moral of the story: When I hear
about people building remote survival
cabins in the middle of nowhere so they
can weather the Y2K storms, I think,
"Ha! Stupid paranoid wankers." But the
thought of a Republican president has
me looking for a nice quiet place that I
can be alone for four years. Fortunately,
once everyone realizes that Y2K is a dud,
it'll be a buyers market on remote survival cabins. Four year's worth of KD and
beer and I'll be all set. This dog is running away from home.
FCY Movie Night
Monday, November 1st, 7 pm SUB Threatre, $2
First year students get priority seating
Brought to you by the First Year Committee PAGE FOUR
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
27 OKTOBER 1999
Dead Pool
Update
The Reaper
Sister Soul
Apparently, some of you did not
understand the whole "deadline"
concept for entering your dead
pool list. Here we are, approaching the
end of the October, and a few of you
decided that last week was the time to
hand me your dead pools. Cute.
In the interest of housekeeping, here is
another list of people who have given
me their dead pool lists. Again, here are
the names of the people who have their
entries in.
Dan Allard, Dan Anderson, Viktor
Brumovsky, Bella C, Mark Fisher, Jay
Garcia, Aaron Koenig, Kathy Lo,
Frenchy Maftei, Andy Martin, Paula
Maylin, Meagan Roberge, James Rowe,
Barry Shin, Andrew Tinka, X-Com and
Tienyin Yau.
If your name isn't on this list, and you
are under the delusion that you have
entered my contest o' death, either
email me {bmonique@interchange.ubc.ca)
or wander into SUS and slip a note in my
mail box.
It was pointed out to me last week that
I left put a very important rule in my
presentation of this contest. In theory, I
was supposed to outlaw the candidacy of
any person on any death row. I didn't,
and Jay" Garcia, evil bastard that he is,
rounded up the names of the people on
American death rows scheduled to die
before April, 2000. There's nothing I can
do to stop him, so good luck to Mr. Garcia and the governors.
Speaking of old Reapers, I was speaking
with the original Reaper. It began back in
the orginal year of the Hallett, coman-
deered by Phil Ledwith, our very own
version of Methuselah. Phil appluads our
efforts and sends good luck to each and
every one of you from the top floor of
Hennings building.
As a reflection, let us now review who
may die in the next year, sending one
lucky student and one lucky guest to
Arts County Fair 2000! Pierre Trudeau
just turned 80 and the arrogant bastard
isn't looking too stable on his feet. The
President of Egypt has managed to elude
yet another assassin. Mumia Abu-Jumal's
execution is set (again). But, sorry to say,
John Hallett isn't going to die anytime
soon, so the three of you that have him
on your dead pools: Give it up.
Love to you all, and don't Fear the
Reaper. Even if he comes knocking on
your door on Sunday asking for candy
corn and vodka.
Alternative and Integrative Medical Society
Lectures:
Topic: Naturopathic Medicine
Date: October 28th, 1999
Time: 12130-1:30
Location: Wesbrook 201
Topic: Gerheral Nutrition for Students
Date: November 4th, 1999
Time: 12:30-1:30
Location: Woodward Lecture Hall 1
Topic: Sports Nutrition & Supplementation
Date: November 18th, 1999
Time: 12:30-1:30
Location: Woodward Lecture Hall 1
Topic: Tofj) 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
ema/'/;aims@interchange.ubc.ca
web: www.ams.ubc.ca/aims
ph:    (604)-822-8085
fx:      (604)-986-6575
Incredible Aits
Boy!
Trevor Presley
Blind Bastard
Halloween, always a scary time
of year. This infernal holiday
confronts us once a year as we
lumber through life. As you get older,
Halloween just gets worse and worse.
Here, I present to you the various
stages of Halloween that you will go
through.
The trembling years, Ages 1-12: This is
the age where you take the most goth-
ic pleasure in the holiday. You spend
Halloween evening meeting your
neighbours while dressed as Satan, but
your parents take great delight in
dressing you up as superheroes of their
generation like "Sensible Man" and
Thrifty Housewife". You spend the
night fascinated as complete strangers
give you piles of candy just by knocking on their doors. To your profound
disappointment, this does not work
any other day of the year. That night,
you eat about 42 Kit-Kat bars and
spend the evening vibrating around
the house like a hummingbird. You
spend the day after getting sick over
the toilet bowl. Line most overheard
during the evening: "Hey, who gave us
these crappy apples? Oh look, free
razor blades!"Favorite costume of the
age: Anything involving a plastic
sword and vampire teeth.
The Scary years 13-18: These are also
know as the awkward teenage years.
Somewhere in this age, you stop trick
or treating and start fooling around
with fireworks. You become the terror
of the neighborhood between egging
houses, detonating large quantities of
fireworks in various garbage cans and
doing the old, "crap in a burning paper
bag" trick. The fun ends when you
accidentally egg the local "Hells Angel
Chapter" headquarters. You spend the
rest of the night in the emergency
room wondering if the axe sticking
out of that guy is fake or real? Line
—most overheard during the evening:
"No officer, I had no idea that it was
as bad idea to light 24 Roman Candles
"at once." Favorite costume of the era:
"Acne boy" and "Constantly dieting
girl"
The frightened Years 19-40: You spend
these years attending Halloween Parties and drinking a lot. The biggest
dilemma is always figuring out what
you are going to dress up as. The other
big dilemma is trying to figure out if
that person at the party dressed as the
"Swamp thing" is actually cute or not.
Meanwhile they are trying to figure
out if they actually want to date someone who is dressed up as "a cereal
killer". Line most overheard during the
evening: "Is that a plastic sword in
your pants or are you just happy to see
me?" Favorite costume of the era: Doctor and 'Passed out guy'
The terrified years 41-75: You spend
these years sequestered in your home,
handing out treats to children and
home invaders cursed with a poor
sense of timing. The highlight of your
night is stamping out the mysterious
burning paper bag that appeared on
your porch and then wondering which
neighbour kid has the lingering ordor?
You spend the next day washing eggs
off your house and gathering your
exploded trash can bits. Line most
overheard during the evening: "Mildred, why doesn't anyone dress up as
an accountants anymore?" Favorite
costume of the era: 'Man who gives
out apples' and 'Man who has dog crap
on his shoes'
The years of the Living Dead 75-100+
By this age you should statistically be
dead. On the plus side, You have
shrunk in size so much due to spinal
compression that you can get away
with trick or treating again. If only you
had teeth left to eat the candy!
Happy Halloween Everybody!
13 november 1999
Give it to us,
hard or soft.
All articles and
cartoons welcome.
Must make the editor
laugh at least thrice
Write about anything,
anything but those
darned minx.
Hiss.
all contributions must
be submitted by 4:32 pm,
Wednesday, November 3rd.
Email to
BMONIQUE@INTERCHANGE.UBC.CA 27 OKTOBER 1999
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
PAGE FIVE
Damn Trains
Run Rampant
Dan Anderson
Pyro-parrot
Cops suck. One of them broke my
bag a while ago, and wouldn't pay
for it. They royally suck, like we're
talking sucking Queen Mum here, if
that's an image you are inclined to fantasize about. Especially when they
decide to observe alcohol consuming rituals which have an imposed chronological minimum in theory. Speaking of
pigs, someone pointed it out to me that
I eat raw food. A lot of raw food, but raw
food just the same. Fine, so I don't cook
food much. I wonder what raw tree
would taste like. Mmm... raw creamy
tree goodness... extra fibre... I was lucky
enough to overhear a conversation
about how Plant Ops is really a giant
government organization spying on us
and trying to control us. While I agree
with this, I feel that one must see all
viewpoints, and so I present mine: not
only is Plant Ops spying on us, but so are
plants! Look at all the inconspicuous
plants out there, look at all the trees on
campus which are just accepted! Think
about it: it's the perfect guise! When was
the last time you wondered if the trees
were involved in a conspiracy? Ok, fine,
when was the last time that you wondered that when you weren't on
shrooms? Thought so. It was further
back than last week, wasn't it. But the
trees, they're just accepted as existing,
often without questioning. I mean, they
could be used for kleenex, or food, or
lightbulbs, but they just sit there, apparently uselessly. Remember Darwin?
Things don't evolve to be useless. So,
they must be doing something... spying.
Have you ever had a conversation,
maybe leaning against a tree, or sitting
under it, or busying yourself with your
denderfeliac tendencies? Have you ever
had a conversation (or expression of
'interesting' tendencies) you wouldn't
want leaked to the press? Like that one
where you said you really hated that present from your Uncle, or the one where
you detailed how you think your best
friend's lover is a serious moron? It
would suck if it was leaked to the press!
Or worse yet, what if the tree just went
straight to your significant other, who
had no idea that you liked their pet aard-
vark as more than a friend? Wouldn't it
just suck if that juicy little tidbit, along
with why the aardvark had that healthy
glow on Monday, got printed in a newspaper? Even one like the 432 you're
holding in your hands now? The trees
are dangerous! Just to be on the safe side,
we should burn them all at the stake,
with good dry tinder underneath, and
once they're on fire we'll know which
ones are witches by which ones are floating and which ones are drowning as
they're tied to the stake, and by their
screams as they burn... mmm...
screams... mmm... burn... mmm... tied...
mmm... shiny objects... But really, what
if they were putting bugs in our food,
not bugs like insects, but bugs like taps,
to tap our intestines, like maples are
tapped, only not for syrup, but for information on syrup, but not syrup information like recipes, but like Gorbachev's
birthdate! That would be horrible! The
Day of The Three Fishes is upon us! The
unending Fishy-Fishy Curse is at hand!
Repent or be damned with foul breath!
Shrive yourself with spearmint and dou-
blemint, lest the Terror continue! Oh,
and come to SUS to check out the full
Wheel 'O Booze, it's probably taller than
you, and when on the stand, it's definitely taller than you (blatant self-plugging). Oh, and somehow I got into council, so if you didn't see the posters with
the 3 Fishes of The Glutamate or the
blurb thingie, too bad. But anyways, I
will begin officially accepting bribes on
Thursday, so until then, they'll have to
be a little hush-hush, OK? And when
coming up with bribes, remember,
money, alcohol, large beatsticks good:
feces, tree livers, tapes of 'Baby Beluga'
bad. Well, the 'baby beluga' tapes, anyways.
Never listen to Dan, whatever he says and
no matter how charismatic he may appear.
He's really the bastard son of the head of
the CBC and Ted Turner. Raffi once said,
"There's nothing more dangerous than
whales with firecrackers. I know. See this
scar?"
-ed
Geography BZZR Garden
It's
en
<?>
;«■
%,
°^&t, Pum p^in Ca
^
&
October 29,  4:30pm Geo Lounge
Geography Building
I once knew a
girl.,.
George Hicks
Blood-sucking aardvark
Despite being several weeks earlier
than normal, flu season is already
upon us. This year's candidate
for influenza mayhem: the dreaded Sydney "vampire" flu. To get a better idea
what you're in for, I spoke with Dr. B
Stoker, head of UBC's Virology Research
Centre.
"This could quite possibly become the
worst flu pandemic of this century,"
claims Dr. Stoker. "The Spanish flu pandemic of 1918 killed over 50,000 Canadians. This flu could easily kill four or five
times that number."
When asked why his particular strain is
so deadly, Dr. Stoker replied that the
virus is not only efficient at killing its
host, but that it also uses the host's dead
body as a carrier to continue spreading
the disease. Could this mean that there
were dead carriers already walking
among us? According to Dr. Stoker,
"there very well could be."
But how can we single out potential carriers from the myriad of strangers,
friends, and family that we interact with
everyday? "There are tell-tale signs.
Carriers often have pale skin, altered
sleeping patterns, and a penchant for
drinking blood. If your friend is suspiciously eyeing-up your paper cut, you
might have a carrier on your hands."
Even worse, if you catch this flu, bedrest may not be enough. "The usual
cure, plenty of bed-rest, hasn't proven
that effective in combating the virus but
we have discovered alternatives.
Bathing in holy water, popping garlic
pills, and getting plenty of sunlight all
seem to aid in recovery. We have also
discovered a correlation between religious fanaticism and recovery, but our
studies on the matter are not yet complete. That said, we're recommending
that men, children, and the elderly
receive vaccinations. This virus is insidious and the carriers tend to be quite
tenacious in their infection of others."
Why men and not women? "Men simply do not seem to have good resistance
to the virus. Women on the other hand
not only have better recovery rates, but
some even experience a positive side
effect of the disease. A small percentage
of female survivors gain increased
metabolism, energy, and strength as well
as an overwhelming compulsion to drive
wooden stakes through the hearts of carriers. We've called this condition 'Buffy
syndrome' after the first medically documented case."
"To be quite honest, this stake through
the heart technique appears quite effective at stopping carriers. I think women
are the key to turning the tide of this
potential pandemic."
Needless to say, after thanking Dr. Stoker I went and got my flu shot. I recommend you get yours. But if you're
already feeling poorly, pop those garlic
pills, go spritz with some holy water, and
get out and enjoy the wonderful, and
unusual, fall sunshine. Not that you
would otherwise need an excuse to do
that.
Ice Age Climate and
Its Ugly Surprises
A Science First! lecture by
Dr. Garry Clarke
Department of Earth and Ocean Sciences
Lecture: 12:30- 1:30 p.m.
Open for questions until 2:00 p.m.
Thursday, November 4, 1999 PAGE SIX
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
27 OKTOBER 1999
Evil, Baby, Yeah!
w"ty Jay Garcia
C * * C1
Sugar Daddy
When I was a wee lad, I thought
I knew what I wanted to be
when I grew up. Influenced by
the warming, mesmerizing glow of the
television, I decided that I wanted to
experience the adventure and excitement of being a spaceman, or a cowboy,
or maybe an investment banker. But as I
grew older, and started paying closer
attention to the shows and movies that I
watched, I realized that all the really cool
characters in these shows were the bad
guys. The bad guys had the better dialogue, the better clothes, the cooler toys.
Bad-guy leaders even had legions of
expendable minions, kind of like a Captain Kirk and his Red Shirt Ensigns,
without the hammy expression of moral
pangs - <Kirk voice on> "Oh... My... God!
Ensign... Jones... was... buried-alive...
by... tribbles!" <Kirk voice off>. Thus
began a decades-long love affair with
evil. However, it's strange that every
time I say this, I get deluged by a veritable biblical plague of. do-gooders complaining about this "antisocial" stance.
To these 1 say, don't get your frickin'
panties in a bunch. The dog-kicking,
building-bombing, Chuck Manson-like
knife-wielding evil can back to where it
came from. No, I'm more a fan of theatrical, over-the-top evil. The "if you're
so evil, eat this kitten" approach always
brings a smile to my face. Gimme Darth
Vader, gimme Goldfinger, gimme Snide-
ly Whiplash evil. Basically, any form of
evil that has cool accessories and comes
with its own outstanding musical score
is a-okay by me.
It's gotta rule being a cold, impersonal,
faceless creature of darkness. First off,
you've got this massive number of
expendable troops at your beck and call.
Feel like annexing a small country?
What about a neighboring star system?
Not a problem. Just throw enough manpower at the problem and watch the
bodies pile up on both sides of the conflict.
Then there are the perks to being an evil
overlord. After all, you get to live with all
your expenses paid. Need a super star
destroyer equipped with state-of-the-art
turbo lasers, all leather interior, and gold
taps? Who's gonna turn you down when
you ask for it?
Then there's also the accountability
issue. No-one's ever going to tell an evil
overlord that they screwed up. After all,
evil overlords have this nasty propensity
to dispose of the messenger, usually in a
painful and embarrassing way.
Furthermore, you always have underlings living in constant fear of you. Fear
is a wonderful motivator. D'ya think that
Darth Vader ever got served a bad cup of
coffee? You have to wonder how deep
the pile of dead Imperial interns got
before they finally found one that didn't
wind up in a telekinetic death grip.
However, it has recently come to my
attention that the position of evil overlord is largely unattainable to the bulk of
the populace. That's okay, because evil is
both modular and scalable. You can
think really big, i.e., Death Star, blowup-planets big; middling, like lacing an
elementary school's water supply with
LSD the day after the X-acto company
came by and gave out tonnes of freebies;
or small, like kicking a cat.
Even if you can't be an evil overlord,
you can always try out for the job of evil
genius or nefarious mastermind. All
that's required is that you consider the
lives of lesser mortals to be trifling and
insignificant, and at best useful only as
part of your overall plan to world conquest or the acquisition of excessive
wealth. I mean, being evil is not only
fun, it's often profitable. You never see
one of the good guys threatening to detonate a nuclear device over Detroit in fifteen minutes if they don't receive one
hundred million dollars and a date with
Tia Carerre. Hell, most good guys could
probably be turned to evil if offered a
date with a hottie of similar calibre.
Show me a man who won't go to the
dark side in exchange for a date with
Melissa Joan Hart, and I'll show you a
man who's missing his 'nads.
You can still be evil even if you don't
have the kind of intellect that makes
Aristotle, Einstein and Feynman look
like morons.
There is, in fact, loads of incentive to be
evil if you're just a regular Joe. If you
think about it, evil people have a lot
more fun than everybody else. Their
warped perspective gives them an interesting sense of humour. Why is this, you
wonder? Well, consider it in the light of
a famous quote once uttered by the
immortal Mel Blanc (who was also evil,
though far more subtle): "Tragedy is
when I prick my finger. Comedy is when
you fall in an open sewer and die." Generally, this equates to having the truly
evil people ending up out there digging
potholes into the city's seamy underbelly and cackling maniacally all the way.
These folk don't have any of these weird
"moral qualms" or strange hang-ups
involving social rules and regulations.
For example, a suitably evil student from
this fine institution could, say, fire-bomb
Koerner's Library on a Friday night while
the keeners who are studying for their
midterms are trapped inside, thereby
eliminating the upper end of the bell-
curve and consequently make the world
a better place to live. In a similar vein, a
more purely malicious evil bastard could
arrange to welcome one of those insane
extremist right-to-life groups to campus
on the same day that they saturated the
air of the Women's Student Office, the
Student's For Choice office, and the People with Good Taste office with PCP.
Evil people manage to get more out of
life just because they can do whatever
the hell they feel like. They can even
refuse those annoying family gatherings
that everybody dreads, and none of the
other relatives will blink twice, just
because they know that they were inviting an evil bastard in the first place. In
fact, evil people can turn down these
invites with malicious aplomb, such as
starting with a deep belly laugh, continuing onto some depraved cackling and
ending in an evil guffaw before saying,
in their most deadpan voice: "No."
Lest ye think that such levels of evil are
restricted to a small but sick proportion
of our population, think again. The best
thing about evil is that it's present in
everyone in some amount. Sure, Sadam
Hussein's a frickin' evil bastard (a frickin'
evil bastard with no style and certainly
no candidate for Darth Vader-hood, but
evil nonetheless), but even your friendly
neighborhood nun harbours some traces
of evil. It may just be squashed down
deep into a dank and festering hole in
the darkest recesses of her soul, waiting
to come out and explode in a paroxysm
of machete-wielding, machine-gun-firing anger. All one needs to release this is
the right kind of stimulus. It's kind of
like getting in touch with your inner
child, though, really, in this case, it's
more like getting in touch with your
inner child, enrolling them through Vitriol and Spite boot camps, arming them
to the teeth with the most expensive
hardware that illegal Pentagon slush
funds can buy and dumping them out
into the world.
On that note, Happy Halloween!
Joy is well known for his devious schemes,
demonic disposition, and his love of Sixpence None the Richer. — asst. ed.
Not So Dumb Ass Easy Contest #2!
Where the Hell is the Leonard S. Klink Stone?
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.
Alcohol: The cause of, and solution to all of Man's problems.
John Hallett
Getting Help.
I thought that it was over. The late
nights, the disturbing lapses of memory, the pounding headaches the next
day-all left behind when I got my
degree. President Piper (who, by the way,
only reigned for the last six months of
my degree) called me over on the stage,
gave me the piece of paper, and pretty
much said "You know how you've been
slowly killing your liver through almost
fanatical dedication to The Gallery? You
can stop that now." My liver said
"Woohoo!"
So I started my jolly way back to a life of
sobriety. I even managed to go thirty
days consuming only twelve beer, and
they weren't even all at once. I was doing
pretty good from an AA point of view.
Then my friend Jer's birthday came
around. Just to put things in perspective,
Jer (along with myself and Mr. Blair
McDonald) was one of the founding
members of the infamous SUS Tuesday
Night Drinking Club. The three of us,
with a guest drinker, would set up shop
at the bottom of the stairs in the gallery
and proceed to get thouroughly and
quite convincingly soused. Every Tuesday. There goes box 12 on those "Are you
and alcoholic?" forms from AA.
On top of this, we would also go to the
bars on Friday, Saturday, and Thursday.
Oh yeah, and then there was cheap
pitcher nights at The Pit on Sundays.
There goes box 7. And then I started
building up my own personal bar. Box 8.
Anyway, back to Jer's birthday. As I was
saying, I had been a relatively good little
boy for quite a while. Sure, I still had the
odd beer (and no longer considered 13
beer in a night to fall under this category) but overall I was keeping the waking
up in a ditch to a minimum. So when Jer
proposed that a bunch of us take a field
trip to Spinnakers, which is quite possibly the best brew pub on the planet, it
seemed like a good idea. We decided to
meet up at the recent SUS All You Can
Drink beer garden to map out our plans.
Actually, I should have seen this coming. Jer and seven of his biggest beer
drinking buddies from university gathering at a $5 All-You-Can-Drink beer garden and promising to "take it easy" so we
could be in good shape to roll into Spinnakers the next day.
Bullshit.
Four hours later I found myself having
closed the All-You-Can-Drink and now
over at Koerner's order multitudes of
pitchers of beer. I don't remember leaving.
I could accept this as a blip, an anomaly,
a rogue data point on an otherwise
unerring line chart towards permanent
sobriety. But the fact that the next morning I hauled my hungover ass out of bed
in order to catch a ferry that would put
me in a bar at two that afternoon. To
give you a good idea of what state we
were in, when we pulled into the park
ing lot of Spinnakers we were still drinking Gatorade in an effort to defeat our
hangovers.
Twenty minutes later the hangover didn't matter so much. Four hours later the
rest of the world didn't matter so much.
In fact, when we left the bar at eight
o'clock, I couldn't give a damn about any
body but my body.
Was I drunk? Six hours at a bar. $300 in
off sales to keep us fueled for the ferry
back. Two hours at another bar once we
got back to Vancouver. Three hours of
drinking hard liquor at Jer's house once
the bar closed. It could be said, without
inaccuracy, that I was drunk.
Then I had to drive home. Don't worry,
I didn't drive drunk. Heck, I didn't drive
at all. Usually, I take the hint and don't
drive when even thinking about driving
home causes the room to spin.
Sigh. So now I have to be good, cut back
on the juice, and go to the gym everyday
for a month. Then it'll be my good friend
Tim's birthday. 27 OKTOBER 1999
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
PAGE SEVEN
The Lingerie Drawers of SUS
Publications
Bree Baxter
Greetings to you all. As you will
have noticed from the executive
report beside mine, from the
lovely Reka, we have one more executive
position vacant now, brining the total
up to three. Yes, three executive positions down, six to go. Not that I'm advocating the resignation or impeachment
of the six remaining executive, of whom
I am one (and the most important). But
if the year end rolls around with Reka
not having to plan another election, I'll
be amazed and impressed, if not
impeached.
In other news, all aspects of my job are
in theory running smoothly. Science
clubs, all of whom get free advertising in
the 432, are taking me up on my offer. In
this edition of the paper alone, three (3)
clubs have printed ads! Hats off to AIMS
and their 'alternative' lectures; BPP for
their upcoming bPPr garden; and to
Geography! Now that's initiative.
With reference to the first part of my
report, there are two of our four AMS
Council seats unrepresented until after
the SUS by-election (president and PRO).
To fill those seats for the two AMS meetings, the remaining executive voted that
myself and Sara Stamm, your SUS director of Sports, will go to those meetings to
represent Science. This is very cool. The
AMS meetings are better than pay-per-
view. Plus, there are free refreshments for
all who attend. The only down side is
that we have recently had a five hour
(yes, a 5 hour) meeting. I should have
left, but the train wreck in progress was
more interesting than sleep.
Congradulations are due, first to Oana
Chirila for winning the Dumb Assed
Easy Contest #1, before the paper even
went to print! The winner of the 'Legal
Information' mug goes out to Tienyin
Yau. Right on, girls.
You'll notice I'm not among the naked
females in John's picture of challenge,
because of one little word: Internet.
These days, one appearance in a photo
of such ill-repute can result in your
naked butt plastered in the
alt.binaries.erotica.amateurs.college
area.
I love you all.
| Internal Vice |
Reka Sztopa
Hi everyone! Well I hope that
midterm season is over for everyone and that you enjoy a few
weeks of relaxing before hitting the
books again.
Lots of things have happened in the
past few weeks and there is lots more to
come.
First off, we had our Science Elections to
elect our year and departmental reps.
Please see the ad on page to see who our
elected reps our. A special congratulations goes out to Timothy Chan, our
Sports
Sara Stamm
Hello! SUS is doing great in Intramurals this year. The Bandicoots
(Volleyball) managed to win a
game, and are progressing towards the
new Science Senator.
In this issue of The 432 you will find
another nomination form for the next
elections (yes, it never ends). The elections are being held to fill the positions
of President, Public Relations Officer and
Social Coordinator. Nominations are due
on October 29th at 3:30pm.
Also coming up is the First Year Movie
Night. It is being held on Monday,
November 1st at 7 pm at the Norm Theatre in the SUB and we will be showing
The Matrix for two bucks which is an
awesome deal for an awesome movie.
First year students have priority seating,
so get there early.
Okay guys, have a great two weeks!
division finals. Even better, the Drunken
Achivers, our Day of the Longboat team,
are IN the division finals! They didn't tip
the boat the last time.
Visit SUS (Chem B160) and pick more
intramurals information. You can con-
ntact me at sastamm@interchange.ubc.ca.
Good luck.
ariftfawfogy, and physiology)
\%jtaw a 6ITO" Garden coming up on Nov.
Sim Friday at 4:30 prpfin SUB 212A.
k'J?
First drink free Jfpr membeggl
Every other glass :fe;Just '&$ ,
Cyder i$'l2^^V.
Free murMies! -      •-**-'
science undergrad society elections
The few. The proud. The brave.
Positions Available:
to
'/c Wo/75,
Nomination forms in the 432 or in SUS (Chem B160).
Nomination Deadline is Friday November 29th.
Contact Reka Sztopa at rsztopa@interchange.ubc.ca
These are your new elected officials
Love them.
General Officer:
Janel Casey, Harpreet Gill, Baharnaz Baharloo, Dan Anderson.
Biology
Miyako Hewett
Psychology
Sherry Yang
Science One
Alice Miro
Michiology & Immunology
Corrie Baldwin
Integrated Science Programme
Yvette Lu
Coordinated Science Programme
Sara Rosenthal
Firstyear
Paul Dhillon and Diana Soo Chan
Pharmacology & Physiology
Rajesh Pachchigar
Geophysics and Astonomy
Benjamin Warrington
Computer Science
Jagmeet Dost
Chemistry
Tejindra Saini
Biochem
Jason Elliott
Senator
Timothy Chan
Physics
Mike Boetzkes PAGE EIGHT
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
27 OKTOBER 1999
Fashion Tips from Heck
Andy Martin
Not Miss Jenn, Really!
If there is one thing I can't stand on
Hallowe'en, its the fact that kids don't
dress up and go out anymore. What
is it? Is it no longer kosher to dress up
like satanic demons and slowly chip
away at other peoples property with
small explosives? Because really, there's
only a small window in one's life from
the time we realize that evil is fun and
the time when we no longer qualify
under the young offenders act. And
now, when kids have the opportunity to
use this small window, they aren't
putting the effort and the creativity into
their hellraisin' anymore. They prefer to
sit in the school parking lot after dark,
drink bad beer and home invade. Sorry
guys, ski masks and your dad's crowbar
just doesn't count as a costume. Maybe I
am being hypocritical, while I was original, most of my costumes were put
together with basic household elements.
I never got too into it until these last few
years, coincedently the same years I've
had legal access to alcohol and carcinogens. But now we're living in a golden
age, an age where entire shops are dedicated to the best absolute shit ever sold.
Entire shops filled with pranks, novelties
and shirts with sexual double-entendre.
Thanks to these fine merchants, you can
almost leave it up to the manufacturer to
give you a good costume. There is no
excuse for another one of these unimaginative costumes. Guys, you can't just
dress up in drag anymore (its been done
to death).
Girls, you can't just dress up in black
and put eyeliner marks on your face and
claim you're a cat. And some of the most
popular costumes aren't PC anymore: a
ghost looks like some sort of low-ranking
KKK member to me, and a witch insults
those of us of the Wiccan faith
(hmm...three dumbass arts students
being stalked by a witch protecting her
pristine forest...guess who I was rooting
for?). But then, unless you want to be
dressed in just another cheap Austin
Powers costume made by child labour in
Indosnesia, you gotta come up with your
own. So, from the guy who last year
had his South Park's Kenny costume was
mistaken for 'a fireman' I don't know
how many times, comes your guide to
costumes nobody would even dare make
commercially. Me, I can't get sued. (Its
satire Your Honour, so tell the plantiff to
piss off or I'll really give him something
to sue about.)
Order from The 432's 1999 Catalogue of
Really Bad Ideas:
Aborted Fetus: Shave yourself and strip
naked, tape an extension cord from
your belly button and tape the other end
to the placenta (an oxygen tent you stole
from the hospital). For added effect,
wrap bits of toilet paper around you and
add red food colouring. Be sure to leave
bloody footprints everywhere. It's one
costume Fred and the Gang won't want
to take off you "And the Aborted Fetus
is...MOE SIHOTA?!" "That's right, and I
would've gotten away with it too, if it
weren't for you meddling kids."
The Gillette LD50 Bunny: Find one of
those big, cheezy, white bunny mascot
suits. Blast the plastic eyes with a
flamethrower to simulate the results of
the oven cleaner used in the Draize eye
iritancy test, shave and cut up a portion
of the suit and apply Brute colone. Put a
funnel into your mouth and carry a large
bottle of Clorox. Lastly, stick a wacky
oversized hypodermic needle into your
stomach for your daily forced feeding of
lOOOcc of Right Guard until halfthe subjects die. Funny, relevant and oh so cute.
Jesus H. Christ: This one's simple, fun
and holy. Grow your hair way out, and
get a cute little beard. Grab your bed-
sheets and make yourself some long
flowing ivory robes, and grab some tape
and bottle rockets. Bless people who give
you wagon wheels and whole chocolate
bars. When some old lady gives you
rasins, black licorise or fruit, start
screaming about eternal damnation.
Light the bottle rockets you taped to the
undersides of your wrists and fire bolts
of holy hell at them. Demand human
sacrifices at the top of your lungs until
the cops come.
East Van Park: An instant conversation
piece: Stich up a suit made of astroturf.
Using superglue, stick hypodemic needles, used condoms, fake vomit and vials
of crack all over your body.
Campus Cowboy: Pay homage to UBC's
(snicker) finest with this easy costume.
Badly simulate an RCMP uniform. Go
around ticketing everyone you run into
for pointless violations. If anybody questions you, get Rodney King on them
with your NERF nightstick.
Executed prisoner: Wear those brass
rings around your neck that women in
Burma wear. Do this for a few years. For
Hallowe'en, just take'em off and tie a
noose around the top of your footlong
neck. Sure, the strectching is perme-
nant, but you'll be taller and have one
kick ass costume.
Jean Chretien: Start working on greying
and balding. Try making the AMS to do
relevant work at an efficient pace for a
month, that should give you the stylin'
PM doo. Inject one side of your face with
tranquilizers. Get   Daniel   Arbour  to
teach you the famed PM-speak that isn't
quite english, but certainly ain't french.
Pack a can of pepper spray and a dinner-
plate.
Bum: This one is fun. Start two weeks
before Hallowe'en. Block all street access
to your apartment. Start a fire in your
buildig. Live on the street for two
weeks. You'll look, feel and smell just like
a real Homeless person. Bring a stolen
squeegie to top it all off. Try to lose a
few teeth or take up heroin for added
effect.
Construction worker: Dress up in jeans,
flannel shirt and steel toed boots. Go to
a construction site the day of and swipe
a hardhat and security pass. Walk up to
the foreman and present yourself as the
new blaster or wreckingball operator.
That night...mmm yeah, you like that
baby?
Couch: For the more voyaristic of the
group. Strip an old couch and attach all
the pillows to you in such a way that
when you pass out at the party, you'll
look like just another couch in the room.
Wait for a very drunk couple to start
going at it on top of you: instant threesome!
And...a little dated, but good in a pinch:
Heaven's Gate Drone: All you need is a
black track suit, white running shoes
and a purple hankie to put over your
face.
Dave Stupich: Grab a suit and one of
your Granma's old bingo cards. Wander
around looking confused. Instead of
'Trick or Treat' or anything else, your,
only words will be 'Bingo!', yelled as
loudly as humanly possible.
Try these, and honestly, tell me if any of
them work. I, however, will not post
bail.
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