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UBC Publications

The 432 Nov 13, 1996

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r-        -■   \ "*■ •.   ■■
"I like pigs. Dogs look up to us. Cats look down on us. Pigs treat us as equals/' ~ Winston Churchill
Ross Perot to
run for Mayor!
Texas Millionaire to 'Throw in his hat/
Earle Warren
Political Correspondent
In a surprise press conference
this morning, former
American Presidential candidate Ross Perot announced that
he will be running for the
Mayoral position in the City of
According to Perot, the decision was the "logical step" after
his disappointing loss in the
recent US Presidential elections.
According to 432 sources, Perot
plans to win the Vancouver
election as a stepping stone
toward higher positions -
Mayor, Premier, and eventually
Prime Minister.
A high-ranking Perot aide
"Our man Ross has already
competed against very similar
candidates," explained Martin
Landright. "An old man,and a
young...erm...person with questionable morals. He's got it
made," said Landright with a
smile. "Ross Perot, that is. Not
the one with the questionable
Representatives   for   Phillip
Owen and Carmeila Alvetto
were quick to voice their disapproval.
Mark St. Voix, an Owen supporter, was "disgusted," adding
that a "rat-bastard redneck
snooty nosed hick" had no
place in BC politics. St. Voix was
removed soon after, following a
brief scuffle with a Reform Party
Let me tell you something. The Canadian
people need a change.
And that change is me.
Ross Perot. Yesiree.
- Ross Perot
 — ii	
Supporters of Carmeila Alvetto
were skeptical about Perot's eligibility in the election.
"Ross Perot is a Texan. He lives
in Texas. Texas is not in
Vancouver," stated Alvetto press
agent Gertrude Wright, perhaps
over-emphasizing the obvious.
"There is no way this man is eligible.  No way at all. Not a
chance," continued Wright.
Perot Campaign agents
explained that although Perot
does not actually live in
Vancouver, he does hold 'temporary residence.' Indeed, it has
been revealed that Perot holds
temporary residence in virtually
every city in North America.
When 432 investigators asked
wether Perot will be seeking
election in any more of these
cities, representatives refused
Perot also announced in the
press conference that members
of his party will be running for
Vancouver civic other positions.
Former vice-presidential candidate Admiral Stockdale will be
running for Port Authority,
while Perot running-mate Pat
Choate will be seeking appointment as Parks Commissioner.
Perot campaign officials told
reporters that Mr. Perot was
running in this election because
he believed that a two party system was 'unfair.' When
Elections officers informed
Perot Headquarters that there
were, in fact, 12 people running
for the Mayoral position, they
seemed surprised.
"Well, that's unfair too," said
Perot "12 people? That's absurd.
Let me tell you something ~ 3
party system. That's where it's
Mayor Phillip Owen challenged Perot's knowledge of the
Municipal government system.
"We don't have capital punishment here, Mr. Perot," said
Mayor Owen, who appeared to
be addressing a potted plant.
"And we don't have lynch
mobs. Well... we have a few, but
they're only in Surrey."
President Bill Clinton was busy
re-structuring his government,
and unavailable for comment.
Though rumours have been circulating that the Democrats
will also be ninning candidates
in the Vancouver elections,
these rumours could not be
Republican Bob Dole, on the
other hand, addressed the issue
"Darned right there'll be a
Republican Candidate. Bob
Dole himself'11 run if he has to,"
said the always perplexing Dole.
"That little Texan didn't have a
prayer in the big vote, and God
help me if we'll let him take this
"In fact, we're planning a two
pronged attack. Jack Kemp'U
take on Vancouver and Bob
Dole'll run in Victoria where
he's more in touch with the
generation of the constituents."
British Columbia Reform Party
representatives have expressed
concern over Perot's entry into
the election, noting that Perot's
party holds the same name as
the one already in place in B.C.
Reformers are apparently concerned that voters may get big-
eared, ranch-raised Ross Perot
confused with big-eared, ranch-
raised Preston Manning
Early polls show Ross Perot
and his Reform Party holding
approximately 7% of the popular vote.
Students "Fried" In
Freak Heating Mixup!
"Mulder, I never trusted that purple dinosaur."
Gord McVanOlundsky	
Red Hot Columnist
Students at one of Canada's
largest university are being
advised by administration
to "dress for the weather."
These comments come after a
hard disk error crashed UBC's
Central Heating System computer, causing widespread fluctuations in classroom temperatures.
Students in BIOL 303 were
forced to suffer through a half-
hour of 130 degrees (F) heat
after circuits malfunctioned in
Scarfe 10, resulting in what was
termed "a Swedish sauna party,
complete with naked Swedish
stewardesses." by one student
obviously suffering from heat
exhaustion. Other students in
large Buchanan classrooms were
forced to cuddle together to
conserve body heat.
Director of Plant Operations
Bob Thurman has been made
aware of the problem, and a
policy statement is expected
shortly. With budget cuts looming, however, accountants with
UBC's Financial Services are
expected to recommend the
computer not be fixed.
William Simonale, project
accountant, seiys the regulations
are clear.
"You see, we're obligated to
provide a certain amount of
heat per building. This number
is calculated for the students'
maximum comfort and productivity/'
When it was pointed out that
this obligated the university to
fix the central heating,
Simonale replied,
"You weren't listening. I said
'heat per building' not 'heat per
classroom. It's a basic law of
physics: it takes less energy to
increase one classroom by 1000
degrees than 100 classrooms by
10 degrees. It's a basic surface to
volume ratio - I was a science
student before I saw the light
and transferred to Commerce."
An in-depth review of
Simonale's heating policy is
expected to get underway sometime in the early spring.
Students at UBC can expect at
least another four months of
fluctuating classroom environments. «
13 November 1996
Aristotle was what
I can never be.
Leslie Gold
Philosophical Columnist
The guys who are now long
dead had it easy. Take
Aristotle for example, he
had a major theory going down
on every subject from physiology to ethics (only it was called
not being an asshole back
then). The thing about Aristotle
is that even though a lot of people thought (and still think)
that he was the guy to believe, a
lot of the time, by today's standards of actually being right, he
was quite wrong. Like plants
don't, as Aristotle would have
us believe, absorb their food
whole from the soil. In fact they
make it themselves. This is why
we humans have legs, we can't
make our own food. So we need
our legs to walk to the Safeway
which has conveniently
arranged carbon compounds
which were ultimately derived
from plants. If plants simply
sucked their food whole from
the soil then we would not frequent Safeway at all. We would
instead be found face down in
our backyard three or four times
a day.
Hippocrates is another guy
who managed to gain the status
of intelligence as well as immortality without actually being
right a lot of the time. Today
what we call somatoform disorders used to be called hysteria.
The disorder (by either name)
basically means that something
physical is wrong with some
part of the body that cannot be
explained by any medical
means. Now while it is true that
we aren't entirely sure as to
what causes these symptoms
even today, I think it is safe to
say that they aren't caused by a
wandering uterus.
Yes, Hippocrates would have us
believe that wherever the symptom shows up, the right arm,
the eyes, the kneecaps, the
uterus has in fact wandered
there and is causing the discomfort (I assume because there just
isn't enough room for a uterus
in one's kneecap). And why has
the uterus wandered out of its
rightful place? Because it is
searching desperately for fertilization. So how do we treat
these poor afflicted women? We
marry them off so that their
uteruses can be fertilized and
happy. This to me, doesn't
sound like the reasoning of an
intelligent man, it sounds like
the reasoning of someone who
wants to get laid.
Obviously these people are
regarded as highly intelligent
because they changed the way
in which we view our world and
started the train of thought that
eventually pulled into the station with the right answers a
few centuries later. My point is
that back when the wheel was
still a pretty novel idea, the
hypothesis about men ejaculating tiny human bodies inside
the women to grow was just
being formulated, and someone
had yet to leave the cheese
sandwich out and discover
penicillin, the "great thinkers"
had it easy. They pretty much
dabbled in every subject area
and the 5% of the population
that was actually literate proba
bly didn't have the resources to
systematically question their
In our time everyone has
become a specialist. Think
about it, it is taking us four
years (or five, six and seven as
the case may be), to get a basic
degree. When we're done, in all
likelihood, we are still only
going to know an infinitesimal
amount of what there is to
know in our particular field. By
the time we learn enough about
what other people have found
to be true so that we can go out
and discover truths of our own,
the information we will have
will be so specialized that only a
handful of people will really
know what we are talking
about. I'll still be excited if I discover something amazing and
new about how well shade tolerant, halophillic bryophytes
perform along a nitrogen gradient in poorly aerated soils but
how many people other than
me are really going to know
what I'm talking about and are
really going to care. Yes, I may
earn prestige and fame (certainly not fortune) among the
handful of people whose particular path I followed along the
often-branching web of information that humans have compiled in their time on this planet of ours, but I, like most of
you, will never ever be the shit,
the way Aristotle was.
I've never met Leslie, but Matt
assures me that she's rather
weird. From what I've read, I
believe him.
Das editorial.
elcome to the half
way mark of The 432's
tenth incarnation!
Yes, we just get crazier from
here in folks! But if lunacy and
borderline fruitcake writing is
what you really what, just wait
until our Superlssue™! I have
spent considerable time this
semester making it my personal
quest from God to hunt down
old 432 hacks and force them to
write material for our tenth
anniversary special issue, which
is due out in the third week of
Heck, I even managed to get
ahold of the elusive Dik Miller.
For those of you who can't
remember that far back or are
just plain too young, Dik
brought us the continuing
adventures of his fledgling
detective agency and made the
phrase "When I regained consciousness..." famous.
So watch out for what is bound
to be a collectors issue coming
in January.
"But what's new this issue?"
you ask with a hint of distress in
your voice? Well, don't panic
In this issue, Jer continues his
epic trek to Russia. Will he ever
find a gas station with vodka?
How will he fend off an angry
Grizzly armed only with a
banana? Could this get any sillier? The answers are in this issue.
Blair and I wonder about the
oddities of evolution while Matt
considers a life living in the
And, as always, Jake seems to
have dropped a huge bunch of
ludes just prior to writing his
Oh well. At least it's funny.
and you.
Jake the Clogged
Corked Columnist
This, gladly, is an affliction
with which I have never
dealt. I have, on the other
hand, dealt with the opposite of
constipation. This is not as easily dealt with. It's rather hard to
specifically eat to give a little
more consistency to the results
of digestion. I'm really tired of
talking of digestive difficulties. I
never wanted to, but John
wanted some information on
the terrible affliction of constipation. Quite frankly I don't see
the problem, you eat a few
more bran muffins in the morning, have a couple more cups of
coffee and be near a toilet when
the alkaloids other than caffeine kick in.
What about Athlete's Foot?
Now there's an affliction that
the world health organization
needs to put a little effort into.
Now again, I'm not an athlete.
Now I'm not saying I'm a fat
lazy couch potato who picks
scabs and watches paint peel
and grows small plants in my
belly button lint. In fact, I play
a few sports. I play soccer, I
snowboard, I've even been
known to go for a run for no
good reason other than the fact
it wasn't raining. I'm just saying
I haven't devoted my god-like
frame to the pursuit of sports
excellence, hence I am not an
But take a look at an actual
athletes foot, they are gross!
They look like left over spinach
dip from the party you had two
weeks ago. I really don't like
spinach, cooked spinach,
canned spinach, spinach dip,
spinach salad, lasagna with
spinach and just plain old
spinach leaves from the garden.
I don't like any of it. But anyway, athlete's feet, whether
they're diseased or not are just
not very pretty.
Come to think of it, not too
many feet are very appealing.
How hard can it be to cure one
little disease? Its just a fungus,
for crying out loud! I think
some day in the future when
pigs can fly and Hiro can out-
drink anyone, there will be a
great miracle and the Almighty
will bring forth from the fiery
pits of arm a new and marvelous product which, using the
great power of aerosol, will
deposit a God-sent cure which
will provide instant relief from
the atomic fire of the nasty little
Wait a second. Maybe they do
already have a cure. Well the
World Health Organization
should work on... hmmm... well
they should work on something
other than what they're working on now. What was I spewing off about? Who cares? It's
not like I'm making any great
strides in human understanding
of the universe. I don't think I
can possibly improve on my
own understanding of the universe, knowing that the unf-^
verse actually does revolve
around me. Maybe that's why
I've been getting dizzy on the
'They really need to unclog the storm drains.'
Marc Emery
John Hallett
13 NOVEMBER 1996
Mikey Boetzkes, Phil Ledwith,
Jeremy Thorp
Propaganda Machine	
College Printers, Vancouver, BC
Doug Beleznay, Leslie Gold,
Jake Gray, Merrilee Hughes,
Tracy      MacKinnon,      Ryan
McCuaig, Blair McDonald,
Micah Reid, Jason Robillo, Matt
Legal rambling to ensure that
the candidates don't get sued
into ab|ect poverty	
The 432 will make a difference
in your life. It might not be a
difference for the better, but it
will be a difference. It is also
the official publication of the
Science Undergraduate Society.
It is printed twice monthly
from our World Domination
Headquarters™ beneath the
Chemistry Building.
All views expressed are strictly
those of the individual writers.
If you wish to take legal action
against them, go for it. A good
legal suit is always more interesting than TV. All rights
reserved The 432 1996
Writers and columnists from all
faculties are encouraged to submit material to The 432.
Submissions  must meet the
strict deadline requirements
and should not exceed 700
words in length. All submissions must make the editor
chuckle at least thrice and have
your real name attached (legal
stuff) before being printed.
The 432 does not believe in the
Republican Party, the
Democratic Party or the Reform
Party. We're not saying that we
disagree with them, we're just
saying that we don't think they
exist. 13 November 1996
The Four Thirty Two
The winner of the
poem contest is:
Last week, we ran this little
bit about a former editor,
Ryan McCuaig, who
stopped by our annual Wine
and Cheese. While here, he sat
down at one of our computers
and banged away at the keyboard for a while and then
passed the whole thing through
a spell-checker. The result was
The poem was so marvelous
and mystifying that we just had
to put in The 432. And to make
it interesting, we decided to
give away some stuff to the person that came up with the best
interpretation of Mr. McCuaig's
Well, the interpretations
poured in. They were many in
number and many in meanings.
After many a hard night interpreting the interpretations, my
assistant editors and I came to
the conclusion that one stood
out above all the rest. That is to
say, one was far loonier than
the others.
So I now announce that the
winner is none other than
(drum  roll  please)   Merrilee
Yes! Merrilee, you have just
won yourself the coveted 432 T-
Shirt and a Limited Edition
Science 22oz Bzzr Stein! And
your first bzzr is free! How do
you like them apples?
And just so you all know how
good her submission was, it has
been reproduced below. Enjoy!
The Dead
Pool update.
Agnes Winslow, next-door neighbour of The Beast.
Well, here we are again
and it looks like
another slow week for
the Grim Reaper. (Maybe I
should apply to take over the
job. After all, I'm bald, pretty
damn pasty after being trapped
inside classrooms for twenty-
plus years of my life, I have lots
of enthusiasm to bring to the
job, and I cut a mean streak
with a chainsaw...) Thanks to all
those of you who sent in entries
this week. Kyle from Physsoc (
he knows who he is) deserves a
special mention for the weirdest
prediction I have ever read.
Dawn Stevens from Ladner gets
acknowledgement also this
week for her diligent and unbiased appraisal of many of the
entries that came in while we
were discussing fire
eating/breathing bats on the
sofas in Chem 160.
Since no one recognized in any
of your lists went and bought
the farm this week, I won't trou
ble you with the obituaries. In
the news, however, Boris
Yeltsin's surgery was reported to
have gone "very well." The old
guy made it and is back on his
feet, apparently in better health
than ever. So your only chance
of getting a Boris bonus at this
stage is if the guy crops it from
liver failure. No news on JPII
since the appendicitis operation, and I'm afraid the Oasis
boys look to be just too damn
normal to end up throwing a
Never forget that I'm a really
busy guy, and that I'm by no
means infallible. Scour the
papers, watch the news (they
tell me that you can still buy
those picture-box things somewhere, and some folks even find
time to watch them). If someone on your list joins the choir
invisible today, let me know
and I'll cross him off and give
you points. My email address is
still l'edwith@unixg.ubc.ca or led-
That's all for this week. Don't
fear the reaper.
fbi.*^    Lit
i «
Losing it.
And in the meantime life goes on
ticking like a meantime bomb
and stories all start once upon a
-Peter Blegvad.
I've had enough. I'm sick of
them all; Barney the
Dinosaur, Bob Dole, old
grannies on the bus with their
evil twittering hypocrisy, Ted
Bundy, Flipper re-runs. I hate
the Eco-Nazi vegetarian chipmunk artsies wearing black all
the damn time, I hate the yappy
next door neighbour's dog, and
people with girlfriends, people
with boyfriends, people, near
people, telephone solicitors.
That's it. I'm getting a flame
thrower and I'm gonna torch
them all.
It started about four or five
days ago, smacking the alarm
clock at some God awful predawn hour while still dreaming
about sex and waking up with
my eyes closed thinking oh-my-
and then realizing at the same
time that there's nothing but air
underneath you and I'm gonna
fall and I'm at least fifty stories
off the ground and then I twist
like a monkey on some freon-
PCP cocktail in a desperate
attempt to save my self from
falling and then I drop with a
resounding thump to the carpet
which is in fact at the same
level as my mattress because I
can't afford a bed. Putting on
my underwear as I get out of the
shower while shoving a fistful
of stale cheerios into my
mouth, then taking off the
underwear and putting it back
on again the right way round,
tripping over my alarm clock
which has moved again as I do
so. My alarm clock is alive; it's
actually an electronic rat tethered to the wall by a plastic
cord. As my foot hits it, the
alarm clock bites me. I'm
screaming in agony over my toe
because my alarm clock is
Godawfully huge, and I'm
falling and I can't see my socks
in the dark and outside, the sky
is rainier and the cold is colder
and I keep getting sprayed with
muddy sluice crap as the bus
trundles past me at my bus stop
and I'd swear the driver actually
smiles his most evil "I've got
you now, young skywalker"
smile as he goes by.
My life at this point is more,
and more looking like an out-
take from Twelve Monkeys with a
sort of Woody Allen ironic
twist, (if you've not seen Twelve
Monkeys, it's about a bald guy
who comes from a different
time and so everyone else
thinks he is insane, until eventually he also thinks he is
insane. If you've never seen me
you'll just have to trust me
when I say to you that this is an
uncannily appropriate movie
for me to be jdiscussing right
now) And just when I thought
the truth.
$12. CHEM 160.
Alf submissions to The 432 must
be in Chemistry Blr>0 no later
20 November 1996
ten learn to call a murderer
'an =ig§|j$fs^murderer' and the King qf
Eng^^^^^sged King of England'to
avoid liBkPsuits?'
~ Stephen Leacock
it couldn't possibly get any
worse, I went and turned up for
my midterm.
When I say that I turned up for
my midterm, what I actually
mean is: I was running over for
my midterm, books in hand,
and I passed by Markus, one of
my classmates who'se name I
can't spell properly. "Markus", I
yell brightly, "Midterms, eh?
Gotta love 'em." Then I noticed
that Markus was preparing to
leave campus. "Where are you
going?" I asked, obviously puzzled that my classmate would
be so dense as to deliberately
miss a midterm. Markus
answered with a question of his
own. "Why weren't you at the
midterm?" he asked me, and it
was then that the sinking feeling began. You see, Markus was
leaving class because class was
now over, and my watch had
not been shifted to daylight savings yet so I hadn't realized the
discrepancy until now. Of
course, being on time wouldn't
really have helped. You see, the
midterm was tot week, and I've
not only fumbled the ball, I'm
playing on a whole different
field to everyone else.
Despondent and lost, I decide
to spend a few quality minutes
with my beloved friends, who I
felt sure would sympathize and
perhaps offer me some balming
words of wisdom.
John's words of wisdom were,
and I quote: " Wow, you're really stupid. Finished your article
yet? Deadline's in fifteen minutes."
Well "phpbbbtbtbtttt!"
Ever noticed that whenever
you're really depressed and
you've got almost no money
left you run into a Purdy's
chocolate shop? I hate the evil
old hags that run these stores. I
look in and there she is, and I'd
swear it's the same one, and
she's about four hundred and
thirty and she looks like
Griselda the Wicked Witch of
the East and it's just one little
chocolate dearie, just a one, yes,
and you're standing there and
you're sweating and you're
shaking because you're so tired
and depressed and it's been so
long it feels like practically forever since you last had chocolate and you know that if you
buy this you can't afford rent
and so you're just standing
there and she knows.
Evil. EEvil.
They'll find you, wherever you
are. They follow you around,
like parasites, like frikkin vultures. They wait til your most
vulnerable moment, because
they know you'll buy. You can't
help it. You'll cough up that
wad of cash you were saving for
rent and you'll buy fourteen
chocolate hazlenut hedgehogs
and a couple of marshmallow
bars and maybe just one toffee
brittle because we're never
going to do this again. Oh no,
this is it. Definitely the last
time. I'm kicking the habit me.
And all the time that eeeevil
woman is up there in your head
and she's cackling her evil twisted laugh of joy as she rubs the
money between her fingers and
chocolatey goo dribbles
through the gaps between her
teeth and runs down her chin.
Meanwhile you crawl on home,
starving because you have no
food, guilty because you have
no rent money, and obsessed by
your chocolate fix which you
smuggle in beneath your coat
and past your trusted friends
and roommates and eat in the
cupboard beneath the stairs in
the dark in case you might get
caught. But of course your
roommates choose that day to
vacuum for the first time since
the crusades and so of course
you do get caught and to make
it worse you bought too much
and now you feel sick.
So you go outside to get some
fresh air and the neighbour's
dog starts yapping again and
finally you can't take it anymore, you can't stand it all, so
you grab a sharp axe and you
The Faculty of Science Presents
A lecture Series
for ALL Science
Undergraduates       v
It's new and it's for a oh!
* "--)   A Science First! Lecture by
Dr. Jaymie Matthews
Department of Physics & Astronomy .
Thursday, 14 November 1996
1:00 - 2:00 p.m.
IRC Lecture Hall 2
< -vV
QUESTIONS?   CHLL 822-9876
start running at the little bundle of joy and you're clubbing
away and you haven't hit it yet
but any minute now you will
just let it hold still for a second
let it trap itself in a corner and
there's, this red haze appearing
in front of your eyes and you're
almost about to sound a bestial
yell of defiance from the bottom of your gene pool. As your
mouth drops open for that great
primal scream you see your
next door neighbour watching
you run rampant on their garden trying to kill their dog.
That's when your blood turns to
icewater and you really do feel
I'd go on, but by now I'd say
you're getting the picture. My
only chance is to leave the
country, so by the time you all
read this, I'm going to be in
Guelph. Or maybe even back
from Guelph if we leave early
and if I ever manage to find the
airplane with all that blood in
my alcohol stream. And if I so
much as glance across a guy in a
kilt singing about his lost Scottish heritage I'm gonna provide
him with the sort of traditional
sporran attachment that'll keep
him from ever eating haggis
Seen Trainspotting?
We didn't have to.
"Aristotle maintained
that women have fewer
teeth than men;
although he was twice
married, it never
occured to him to verify
this statement by examining his wives' mouths."
~ Bertrand Russell
Write lor The 432 or well be
forced to spin you round and
round and round until you're so
sick that you can barely stand
and then the whole world
starts closing in on you so you
decide that now would be a
good time to start hitting the
smack; so you go down to East
Hastings and sell your soul for
just a little glimpse of drug
induced happiness but it turns
out to be little more than sugar
and paint thinner and now
you're lying on the ground
staring at the rapidly receding
ceiling breathing your last
gasping, hollow breaths wondering what you did wrong and
then it hits you: you didn't
write for The 432.
Or we might just mock you,
but you never know. 13 November 1996
The Four Thirty Two
W0 £
Evolution? I think not.
Evolution has continually
provided the Earth with
new species of animals to
inhabit it. Lately, it has provided mankind with new species to
eat, domesticate or hunt down
just for the hell of it. Evolution
does this by continually changing life forms and letting nature
decide who gets to live and who
doesn't. It's all rather brutishly
effective, actually. (Biology
majors: this little elementary
introduction to evolution was
put in here to help pur friends
from, ahem, other faculties
understand this article)
Is evolution a perfect path
from ameba to mouse?
(Hitchhiker's Guide to the
Galaxy reference) No, it isn't.
Evolution progresses species for^
ward by altering them in so
many different ways that some
of them have to be better. I
could spend hours expounding
upon how wonderful and great
those animals that represent a
step forward are. But that's not
my style. I'm dedicating this
article to the misfits and geeks.
Yup, this is all about the
Evolutionary U-turns.
Well, not so much the U-turns
as the animals that have appar
ently de-evolved to the point
that they cannot possibly survive in the wild. These are the
animals that seem to get stupider species-wise with every passing generation. How can they
avoid extinction, you ask?
Simple, mankind breeds them.
Once we start interfering, very
little evolution takes place. The
animals no longer have to be
quicker, smarter or have better
senses to survive. Without competition, these qualities just sort
of decay with time.
Don't believe me? Let's take a
look at some prime examples.
Take cows, for instance. Cows
have to be one of the stupidest
animals alive. You can approach
one with a chain-saw and cut a
slab of steak for dinner and it
wouldn't put 'hurt' together
with 'loud noise and human
nearby'. How could this animal
possibly avoid being eaten in
the wild? Especially considering
that they've been bred to be oh-
so-tasty. That just can't be a
good survival trait.
Cows are hard to herd, too.
The main reason is that the
horses doing the job of herding
have a significantly higher IQ
than the cows in question.
Cows have been known to trek
directly through a thicket of
brambles to get away from a
horse. The horse refuses to follow (because it's not an idiot)
and the cow, scratches and all,
pops out the other side wondering where it is and where some
nice grass might be.
Now how about animals that
never existed in the wild? Like
wiener cats. Never heard of
them? Imagine a cat crossed
with a drag racer. Normal sized
back cat legs and ultra low-profile front legs.
These animals were bred for
some rich guy that somehow
managed the thought "You
know, I like cats and all. But
they just aren't goofy-looking
enough for me." The result is a
poor creature that is barely
mobile and, despite its cat heritage, can never ever land on its
Still not convinced that there
are some severely unnatural
creatures out there? How about
punt-puppies? You know the
ones. The dogs whose mere
existence makes you wonder
what it'd be like to boot one
through some uprights, hence
the name. Imagine: Whack!...
It's good!! 0ust kidding, folks.
I'd never hurt a dog, even
annoying ones.)
The whole species might not
seem so improbable if they foraged for roots while avoiding
predators with those big ears.
Wrong answer.
A close look at their teeth
reveals that they are carnivores."
No grubs for this little critter.
This, in itself, isn't so damning.
I mean, there are lots of animals
smaller than Chihuahuas that
they could eat. Take, for
instance, bugs and most
rodents. Then they could spend
their time in the woods hunting
smaller mammals and grubs
while listening for other, larger
and altogether hungrier beasts
(like mink).
Then it would follow that
these little fellows would be
timid and generally stay away
from larger animals. This theory
held up until a black bear wandered into my neighbourhood
back home and a poodle made a
beeline for it, yapping all the
Okay, maybe they hunted in
packs. Yeah, right. Maybe a pack
of a few thousand might let
your average dachshund hunt
enough to survive. Wouldn't
that be a sight, four thousand
yapping Chihuahuas running
over the hill looking for your
throat. Let's face it folks, here's
another species that we've
screwed up.
To close up, we'll take a look at
the single stupidest species
around. Yes, I'm talking about
humans. Don't be offended, I'm
not saying that you're stupid,
I'm just saying that mankind
has produced some folks with
rather, um, limited capacities for
higher reasoning.
Like this bloke that was
attacked by an elk in the United
States. It was on Fox a short
while ago because it Was videotaped and, hey, blood and gore
makes for good ratings. Now,
getting attacked by an elk isn't
so stupid. Neither is setting up a
scenario in which you would
run from an elk while your wife
tapes it for your friends. What
is stupid, however, is dousing
yourself with Elk Scent, provoking the beast and not expecting
the thing to start after you.
And while this guy is getting
the sh*t kicked out of him by a
full grown male elk, his wife,
who is a mere fifty feet away
with a camcorder, dutifully
keeps it in focus all-the-while
wondering if Cleetus is going to
make it. On top of it all, when
the guy got out of hospital, he
wanted to try it again. Cleetus,
even gerbils learn from their
Oh well, as my friend Kim said,
"Only Americans would do
something so stupid and have
the extraordinary foresight to
videotape it."
I guess we can only pray that
humans, start evolving and
don't go the way of cows. But
then again, being so stupid that
you occasionally forget to
breath means that you're pretty
much happy all the time.
Hmmm... Bernie Trek II: The
Wrath of Frank.
Last time... Jer began his
valiant quest to return Bernie
the Russian Dwarf Mackerel
to his home in former U.S.S.R.
Packing his meagre possessions,
his fish, and a mentally-unbalanced hamster into the back of a
'75 Plymouth Valiant, he headed
north. All went well.until the
hamster escaped and all but
destroyed the fuel system in his
car— and Jer found himself
stranded on the Alaska Highway.
Couldn't get any worse, right?
Well, throw in an angry Grizzly
bear, and it just did. Fortunately,
Jer was armed — with a banana.
Of course, Frank the Evil
Hamster picked this opportunity to attack.
I've already mentioned just
how evil Frank can be, but I feel
that I must reiterate. Barney
The Dinosaur is pretty malignant. Itchy (of Itchy and
Scratchy fame) is unquestionably evil. The Emperor (from
Star Wars) was perhaps the epitome of all things depraved.
Frank the Evil Hamster, on the
other hand, makes all of the
above mentioned Satan-spawn
look like particularly perky
members of the Christian
Elephants are scared of mice.
So scared, that when confronted by one, they perch themselves  on  impossibly  strong
I'm a good son. I call them
once a week, tell them and
tell them what I've been up
to, or at least the filtered-for-
parental-types version. Low
exam marks, drinking binges,
and that whole mess with the
ferrets, the stripper and the
police may occur, but they
never come up in conversation.
They know it, I know it, and we
both know that they're topics
best ignored. Lately, however,
my parents seem to have been
crossing that line. I've noticed a
definite pattern in our conversations, and it goes something
like this:
Me: Hi mom. Hi dad. How's
things at home?
Mom: Hello son. Found a job
Me: Well, not exactly. I went
over to Career Services last week
for a seminar, and I met this
really cool-
Dad (not getting the hint): So
you haven't found a job yet?
Mom: Have you got any ideas
about what you're going to do
next year?
Me: Well, I was thinking of
stools, and shiver like naked
Eskimos. For a moment, a glimmer of hope shined through my
doom-clouded mind — perhaps, bears are as scared of hamsters, as elephants are of mice!!
Perhaps Frank would be my salvation, attacking the bear with
hell-raising vigour! Or, perhaps
Franks would skip the bear all
together, and attack me. Oh
If you've ever had a squirrel
down your pants, you'll know
how I felt. My life, my health,
and my ability to father children all flashed through my
mind in a matter of seconds. I
wasn't sure how to react? Do I
let the hamster roam freely
about my limbs, and risk serious
physical harm? Or, do I shake
violently in an attempt to rid
myself of this unwanted rodent
visitor, and perhaps risk the
wrath of a hamster with very,
very pointy teeth? Fortunately,
this decision was made for me.
Apparently, the Russian Dwarf
Mackerel is in possession of a
very strong sense of dedication.
Unbeknownst to me, this particular species of fish is one of
the most loyal creatures on the
face of the planet. So loyal, in
fact, that they are willing to
abandon their aqueous environment to defend their owner. In
,a dazzling display of gymnastic
skill, Bernie leapt from his bowl,
and swung off the car's antenna, propelling himself toward
me at an alarming speed. For a
moment, I wondered if Bernie
had completely lost all control
of his senses, and if I was about
to be attacked by a fish, while a
near-rabid hamster took his
revenge on my inner thighs. I
closed my eyes and prayed to
whatever god is responsible for
this kind of thing, and hoped
that there was a hospital nearby, with a good supply of skin
cultures. Imagine my surprise
when, with a squeal, Frank fled
from my pantleg, with his little
hamster tail tucked neatly
between his legs. Moments
later, Bernie flopped out, gasping for air, with a look in his
eyes that could only be
described as bravado. Scooping
up the fish, I carefully paced
backward toward the car, and
plopped Bernie back into his
plastic container.
Wielding the banana, I turned
toward the bear. I was truly
inspired by my brave little fish
— if he could fight a hamster in
the dry pantleg of my dirty
pants, then surely I could confront a grizzly bear. Trying my
best for that brave look I had
seen in Bernie's eyes only
moments earlier, I stalked forward.
GROWL!! Squeak!! Growl!!
SQUEAK!! Growl?!?
I must admit I was somewhat
disappointed, as I watched the
bear flee into the forest surrounding the road. Sure/he was
eight feet tall, weighed about
the same amount as my car, and
had big, white, sharp teeth, but
I had a bananal What right did
he have to run away, when I
was ready to kick his sorry
brown... wait a minute. No bear.
Problem solved. And, if my
bravado-clouded eyes didn't
deceive me, there was no sign of
Frank, either. I was saved!
Well, kinda saved. Sure, I was
no longer threatened by various
psychotic mammals, but my car
still didn't work, it was four
o'clock in the morning, and I
was still stranded on the Alaska
Thank god for the petroleum
industry. Any of you who have
been any further north than
Prince George probably know
about the Alaska Pipeline. It's a
really big pipe (go figure) that
transports oil from the oil rigs
up north, down to the good ole'
USA. Luckily for ' me, the
pipeline was in view from this
section of the Highway, and I
marched towards it, my
Mackerel in tow.
Some of you may be wondering how I was going to use the
Alaskan pipeline to get to
Russia. The astute among you
may notice that the oil in the
pipeline flows in the other
direction — surely I wasn't
thinking about 'riding the
crude' up North? Well, to tell
you the truth, I originally headed to the pipeline to gain a better vantage jof the surroundings
— perhaps I could find a gas station, or a ranger, or something
other than a tree. When I
climbed atop the pipeline/however, my plans changed. It
would seem that just like a pool
filter/the Alaskan Pipeline has
to be backwashed, in order to
clear any unfortunate clogs of
congealed petroleum. This
process is undergone every
seven months, and it was a
strange coincidence that the
backwashing procedures were
happening on this particular
day that I found myself perched
atop the pipes.
Following the trend of unbelievable coincidences already
established in this story, I was a
mere seven feet away from a service hatch. After a few minutes
of grunting and groaning (oh,
get a life. This is a PG13 story) I
managed to swing the hatch
open. Looking into the pipe, I
was able to make out a vast river
of oil, and it was flowing in the
right direction!
I'd like to say that it was an
amazing feat of logic which lead
me to jump into the pipe, and
ride Northward. It wasn't. Oil is
slippery, and I slipped — plunging into the black river below,
grasping the handle of Bernie's
plexiglass palace.
I can't say as I remember much
of the next few hours. A strong
smell of oil, darkness, and a
not-so-comfortable cold pervade my memories, followed by
a sense of weightlessness. That's
when I woke up — rocketing
_/skyward_oyerthe icy arctic, riding a 137 foot plume of oil. Oh
dear, indeed.
To Be Continued in Part 3:
Frank's Revenge
Wiggin Hood.
maybe working for a bit and
then traveling.
Things generally degenerate
from there. Inevitably, the topic
of "Where Matt is Planning to
Live" comes up, usually in the
context of "well I most certainly hope you don't expect to
come back to live here." Later in
the conversation, I usually get
to here about how nice the person they're planning to rent
"my room" to is, and how
much I'll like them, and how
much better at not throwing
rocks at the neighbour's cat
they are, but I digress.
I don't mean to say that
they're bad parents. They're
great. It's just that they are a little more ready to consider my
future than I, am. When I first
got here, my life's plan ended
on Labour day of first year. It
still does, and it's making me
rather disconcerted. Somebody
(okay, my parents,) pointed out
that I have to leave university
someday, when I do, I'm fully
expected to go off and join the
Real World™ where I can get
the job, car, mortgage, dog, and
family, that is (apparently)
everybody's dream. Trouble is,
all I really want is the dog right
now. Somebody else recently
explained to me that our generation      is      "downshifting."
Downshifting means we don't
have to care about the job,
mortgage, house or car, because
that would be "so eighties." If
everyone else is doing it, I think
this makes it okay for me to opt
out from all those things. So I'm
Still, I need to do something,
preferably something that doesn't involve further education or
customer service. I also want it
to be exciting and (to please my
superego,) I want it to involve
public service.
I think I'm going to have to be
Robin Hood.
Think about it. Not only do
you get the excitement, intrigue
and sex appeal of a criminal,
you also get to be a fine
upstanding member of the
community (provided you
choose to live in a neighbourhood dominated by the lower
socio-economic classes.) Okay,
so I'll need to update the image
a little. Nobody would take me
seriously walking down the
street in green tights, and that
silly hat with a quiver slung
over my shoulder. I'm thinking
green fatigues, especially since I
could just pick them up at Army
Surplus (convenient, and better
yet, low overhead.)
Imagine, me and my band of
Merry...   People,   scaling   the
walls of the TD Bank in the
depths of the night. Well go in,
tie up all the security guards
(shooting people isn't nice,
especially if you can avoid it,)
and crack the vault. Don't ask
me how we'll do that. We just
will. Then/we'll um... ascertain
the cash inside, and escape just
as the authorities arrive to
stamp their feet in rage that
they let us get away again. We'll
whisk away to our secret hideout in "Endowment Lands
Forest." Finally, we'll divide up
the spoils, and send them off to
the needy. Some money to the
Food Bank, some to the United
Way, and a little to the Red
Cross, so that hopefully they
can afford to start screening
their blood. That evening, we'll
go to a party, and we'll never
have to buy our own drinks.
The next day, we'll get up and
do the whole thing over again.
Not a bad plan, eh? I can't wait
for my parents to call this weekend. Are they ever gonna be
proud of me...
"Man, these things are easy to park!" 13 November 1996
The Four Thirty Two
Pace 7
The drawers of
Tracy MacKinnon
Another early 432 deadline! John is so devious. (No Trac, I'm
just so overworked, -ed.) The exciting news on the forefront of
SUS is our Nothing Ever Happens in November Bzzr
Garden! It's on Friday November the 15th from 4:32-8:00 pm in
the SUB Partyroom. Mikey's promising cheap bzzr and syder, and
don't forget your 22 oz. Science Stein.
Today (November 13th) is the deadine for nominating your prof
for a Teaching Excellence Award, so be sure to get the forms in to
Henry today. Doug is still trying to sort through club grants, but
soon we'll have that all figured out, and clubs should be receiving
their grants this month.
Don't forget to hand in your sports rebate form to Warrick by
November the 29th. You'll also need a copy of your roster, and a
copy of your receipt. Contrary to what some people have been trying to convince us, you do not get a rebate unless you apply for one
(or else how do we know who you are, if your team is composed of
science students, and who to make the cheque out to). By the way,
you'll have to pick up your rebate at the SUB Business Office (SUB
John's right -1 do just steal everyone else's report. :)
Well, at least she didn't steal mine. Wait a second, I don't have one.
That's not the issue, though, cuz I could have one. If I wanted.
Phil Ledwith  ■ _^
External Vice President
I've been getting a lot of flak from people who say I'm being
uncommunicative lately, and this time it's not just the AMS.
People keep saying I don't give enough information about my
meetings, so, for all those who missed my last article, or the one
before that, or my council reports, or the little letters I left around
the place and on the whiteboard,
Science Week. 5;30 £M.
Everybody get that? Wednesday's the day that comes after
Tuesday, and usually before Thursday. PM refers to the part of the
day when classes end arid pubs open. I'm a bald guy and I 'm in the
office pretty much all afternoon if I can manage it just to be nice
to those of you who have to go home or can't make it at 5:30 for
some reason (about three of you right now). By the time you read
this I'll have skipped the meeting on Nov. 6th because I was leaving for Guelph, Ontario to talk about Subglacial Hydrology. I'm
sorry about that, but I won't be skipping any more.
There's probably more news, but it will have to wait till the next
issue. Hasta la vista, baby.
Despite evil rumours floating around the Science Undergraduate
Society office, Phil is not currently under psychiatric treatment nor has
he ever been. Although he probably should be.
Mikey Boetzkes	
Social Coordinator
As this term is coming to an end we are suffering from the fact
that absolutely nothing happens in November. Well I guess
that there are a couple of exceptions like the long weekend
whatever that is for (I forget) and well, yeah that's it. Midterms
don't count.
In order to reduce this common problem of things to fill up time
so that we don't have to study, SUS is going to put on the Nothing
Ever Happens In November Bzzr Garden.
Original name, no, but the exams have been putting us all to sleep
and since we moved the garden away from The Hip concert we
haven't had the energy to think of a more attractive name.
Please do take note that in past years something always has happened at this bzzr garden. If you don't believe me just ask our wonderful President about what happened last year, she claims that she
remembers most of it. Well anyway Show up to the SUB Partyroom
at 4:32 Friday Nov. 15.
We've even got a band coming in to play. The band Fuel wants to
play so I'm going to let them. They're a really good band who has
had gigs at the Starfish Room. Sounds good to me especially since}
there won't be any cover. Can't beat that, now can you?
Just a friendly reminder that the bzzr steins that where bought at
Oktoberfest will be filled for only one ticket as usual. If you didn't
get your 22oz mug at Oktoberfest I think that we still have some
left and Troy will be happy to sell them.
Other than this I don't think that I have anything to report
because I can't think more than two weeks in advance.
Doug Beleznay
Director of Finance
Alas we come yet again
upon another adventure
in Macro-economics... or
was that Micro, I never could
tell. Well bacon rinds are up,
and corn doodles are down, and
SUS has yet again been giving
away free stuff. As I mentioned
two weeks ago we've started
working on club grants, and
baring any major meetings
between me and a large motor
vehicle here's the results.
Biosoc, Astronomy, CSSS, Pre-
Dent, Pre-Opt, Pre-Med, SOS,
Physsoc, Chem, Microbi, and
PSA are all getting money based
on the number of students in
their club. Unfortunately
Dawson, Math, and BPP weren't
able to come up with adequate
budgets, so my question is why?
Maybe the clubs should be asking themselves why they
weren't in on a piece of the
action. The primary reason for
rejecting club grants were either
because nothing was submitted,
or there were simply too many
things mysterious about the
budgets. Look for a letter in
your club boxes explaining
what to do for next year..
On another note, council has
approved the expenditure of
$3000 on upgrading the photocopier, an $1000 for a new
vending machine, so look for
those coming soon as soon as
we get our act together, photocopies will still be just five
cents, and the candy will be at
Sales are going quite well too.
This week we introduced yet
another in the line of limited
edition SUS shirts. With the SUS
logo on the front, and the text
"Graduating in 4 years is like
leaving a party at ten, sober" on
the back. We've also still got
SUS 22oz mugs which we'll fill
at every SUS beer garden from
here to infinity. For more great
SUSware drop by and ask to talk
to one of our Sales Reps.
Besides that there's not much
of note. But if you have any
ideas of how to better spend our
money then feel free to drop by
and chat.
What no one knows about Doug
Beleznay is that he moonlights as
a hired goon. Yes, behind that
serious financial exterior is a man
who breaks kneecaps for a living.
Kinda makes sense, ho?
Wfieneyer I'm caught
between two evils, I
take the one I've never
- Mae West
Do you want to write
for a serious newspapet
like The Vancouver SiirQ
Neither do we.
Writers and
cartoonists needed.
The 432.
No talent required.
ir motion and event rimes.
Patently true.
In the highly competitive fields of industry
and commerce, even your brightest inventions
stand a dim chance without a thorough patent
search. At university, patent searching yields
valuable ideas and data. So, drop by UBC's
PATSCAN office in Main Library. Free tutorials
are available Mondays and Thursdays 5:30 to
7:30 and Tuesdays 1:30 to 3:30. Or, phone 822-
5404 to arrange an appointment. Take a tutorial before Dec. 1 and enter to win book certificates courtesy of the UBC Bookstore.
Wattage for your brightest light bulbs. 1
13 November 1996
Wallace should have studied
evolution in his sock drawer.
Bear with me. This story
does go somewhere, once
you,get past the real science crap at the beginning.
Darwin had it all wrong. And he
got the credit for someone else's
idea. You see, Darwinism and its
evolutionary beliefs aren't really
what Darwin made reference to
in The Origin of Species, Close,
but not quite. And Origin would
have never been written,
Darwin being the God-fearing,
Bob Dole conservative he was, if
it wasn't for the globe-trotting,
specimen collecting Al Wallace.
Wallace, long before Darwin
made his heretical notions of
the failure of scripture known,
stated that "every species has
come into existence coincident
both in space and time with a
pre-existing closely allied
species." That's evolution, in a
nutshell. But Wallace made the
biggest mistake of his life when
he wrote to Darwin about his
theory, thinking only that
Darwin might have some information from his Beagle voyage
that would support this theory.
Darwin, now aware that someone else would steal his glory,
wrote back to Wallace, reassur
ing him on one hand, but frantically preparing his manuscript
for first publication, on the
other. Thus Darwin gets the
credit, the -ism, the UVic
botany mail server named after
him... and Wallace gets the
shaft. Rides it big time. I'll take
"inventors no one knows or
cares about" for $200, Alex,
Wallace was a smart guy, and
unconventional as hell. And it's
obvious to me that Wallace
shouldn't have bothered traveling the world in search of the
reason species exist. He could
have stayed at home, avoided
malaria, dysentery, lice, mites,
mosquitoes, hunger, rotting
feet, and arduous sea voyages.
He could have studied evolution in a system so clear, so
interesting, so relevant to life,
and so cunning his critics, his
friends, and even Darwin himself would have dismissed him
as an irrelevant pseudoscientific
crank. Wallace should have
studied evolution in his sock
The average sock drawer is a
mini-ecosystem, an island in
the best traditions of MacArthur
and Wilson. It's surrounded by
a barrier of T-shirt drawers and
junk drawers, across which only
the most hardy, long-distance
dispersing socks can migrate.
This island exhibits MacArthur-
Wilson attributes of size, distance and age; a large sock
drawer tends-te have more sock
species than a small sock drawer, a sock drawer tucked away in
the laundry room tends to have
more sock species than one in
your bedroom, and that old
sock drawer your grandmother
gave you has more than the one
you bought last week at IKEA.
Wallace knew that faunal
species tend to be suited to their
"proper soil"; species evolve to
fit their conditions. He should
have seen that cold climates
have thick sock species, warm
climates have thin sock species,
Scotland has tartan sock species
and women have sock species of
every describable shape, pattern, colour and fabric, for God
only knows what reason except
to colour coordinate their feet
with the rest of society. But this
isn't an essay about the mysteries of female fashion.
No, Wallace should have seen
the complexity and wonder of
the sock assemblages sitting in
the corner of his English cottage, his suitcase, or the pile of
dirty socks he kept under the
hammock aboard ship. If he
had, evolution and evolutionary science would have taken a
decidedly different turn, and
today, we'd all be better sock
I could study competition in
sock communities and how it
leads to sockal diversity:
coloured socks are competing
with plain white sports socks,
and eventually those Eddie
Bauer sock specials carve out
their distinct niche. Green socks
go with beige pants, oatmeal
sweater; grey or cream socks
with blue jeans, coloured t-
Predation of the coin-operated
dryer on sock communities
could be a major area of NSERC
funding; a large population of
predominantly white tube socks
suffer less predation effects than
a mixed assemblages of many
sock species. You see, if the
predator Dryus coinopercus does
manage to capture and eat a
white sock, there's still lots of
white socks to breed and give
birth to the next generation.
White socks also have many
more refugia than other socks:
they hid beneath beds, in closets, and crawl into your house-
plants. They can migrate long
distances, as any one who's seen
the wonder of a white sock herd
migrating across the Canadian
Prairies can attest. On the other
hand, coloured socks are more
likely to go extinct - the dryer
gets one of your expensive
goat's wool socks, and wham!
the  species  can't  reproduce.
Unless you've got one of those
primitive hand knit wool socks
that reproduce asexually, that
No, the sock world could shed
whole new insights on evolution and diversity. Who cares
how humans evolved a bone
structure that can withstand the
weight of a musculature factors
heavier than our own? What I
want to learn about is how
women's socks evolved those
stupid little puffy pink balls on
the heels. The only theory I can
come up with is that evolution
isn't real, and the creationists
have been right all the time:
God does things that only God
understands, but sometimes He
does things just to have a laugh.
With evolution in the sock
drawer, today's environmental
conundrums would be much
more relevant. We're only just
now realizing the connections
between different species,
trophic levels and functional
groups. Scientists might get a
better grip on the whole problem if they understood the relationship between socks and
underwear (boxers and briefs)
competing for the same space
in the sock drawer. If only
Wallace had studied evolution
in his sock drawer.
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