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The 432 Mar 25, 1998

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Array VOLUME   1 1   ISSUE   12   •   3.25.98
BC Doctors Replaced by
Monday, March 23rd
flcterisi
Representatives from the Provincial
Government announced today that
Doctors in British Columbia are to be
replaced by tradesmen, in an effort to cut
costs, and to increase efficiency.
Minister of Health Penny Priddy said at
Monday's press conference that almost two
thirds of the province's general practitioners
would be replaced over the next few weeks,
by carpenters, plumbers, drywallers, and
other skilled workers.
"We feel that the transition will be very
smooth," commented Priddy. "Very few
alterations will need to be made to the existing billing practice, and I feel that the quality of health care will not diminish as a
result."
Ralph Williams, a veteran plumber of 25
years, was ecstatic. "This is great! I've always
wanted to  practice medicine,   and
Tradesmen
for on the street down there! Up here, I'm constantly being undersold by the locals."
When asked about his concerns for the quality of health care in B.C., Dr. Milton
stated "It's not much of an issue, really. In a few years, prescription drugs will only
be available to the extremely rich, anyway. Besides, I don't think our replacements
will make any poorer diagnoses, based on the quality of equipment available to most
B.C. doctors currently."
Dr. Alphonse Curio, president of the newly formed B.C. Trade Union for Plumbers,
Carpenters, Drywallers, and Medical Professionals stated that, in his opinion, his
union members will provide even better service than B.C. residents are used to.
"The difference will be noticeable. Patients will no longer be forced to sit in waiting
rooms with cracked drywall, leaky fountains, or non-flushing toilets. You'll be
impressed, and what we can't fix, we'll make you forget with prescription LSD.
"As for dress code. I've heard a lot of
"You'll be happy when
You can see
ever since that stupid court case
barred me in 1978, I've been itching
to be able to prescribe drugs again!"
B.C. doctors were no less pleased with the
change. B.C. College of Physicians President
Dr. Ethan Milton commented "I can hardly
wait! I've already picked out a water-front
condo in Florida and the wife's been packing since February. Not only will my wage
double and be paid in sweet, stable
American dollars, but you have absolutely
no idea how much medical marijuana goes
your doctor's crack."
- dr. alphonse curio
slack about  the  so-called  'plumbers
crack.' I'll have you know that the
practice of suspending your pants
half-way down your buttocks is a
symbol of seniority and superior
craftsmanship in our business. You'll
be happy when you can see
your doctor's crack."
Not      all      members      of
Parliament were pleased with the Minister's announcement. Liberal leader Gordon
Campbell was skeptical about how smoothly medical operations would work with
the new workers.
"I'm sure these people are very skilled at what they do," said Campbell, "but they
obviously don't know a thing about medicine. Last week I was in for a... er... sensitive operation. When I got back, I started having some complications. At first, I
thought it was kidney stones, but it turned out it was little chunks of drywall! That's
unacceptable."
In the meantime, there have
been several problems at
Hospitals, where the new Doctors
haive launched several complaints about the non-unionized
work.
"Yesterday, they asked me to
close some stitches," said Dr. Milt
Smith. "That's a welder's job. I'm
a plumber. If someone needs a
catheter, give me a call.
We're unionized workers for a
reason. I'm not going to give up
my lunchbreak just because
someone is leaking."
A bidding war is well underway
between the B.C. Autoworkers'
Union, and the Teamsters, to
gain the membership of the new
health professionals. A decision
will be made next week, when
the doctors meet for their first
monthly meeting.
Premier Glen Clarke was confident that any flaws in the system
will be only temporary.
"This is our best initiative yet,"
said Clarke. "Next week, we're
going to solve the prison overcrowding problem., and get rid of
all those complaints from teachers, all at once! Two birds..."
Dr. Piper to Take legal
Action Against the 432
Tesday, March 23rd
Vansouier, B J.
6£Neri$MS FINkLLT  £HlrlNZ£K. ftH*M-£PmWjr PZ-A/Vr...
Amidst a flurry of wild accusations and finger-pointing at last
Thursday's 432 press conference,
Dr. Martha Piper's legal offices
announced that there Would be action
taken against the 432 and it's editor
Jeremy Thorp. According to Saul
Jensen, Dr. Piper's chief legal advisor,
the 432 has caused Dr. Piper "undue
stress" and "an aggravated ulcer condition." Apparently we here at the 432
made an error in the last issue. We misprinted the RCMP hotline for tips
about the anthrax coverup, it's phone
number is 822-8222, not 822-4235 as
we had printed. The latter phone number turns out to be the direct line to Dr.
Piper's residence.
Jake Gray, 432 investigative reporter,
approached the Norman Mackenzie
House on Friday night hoping for an
interview with Piper. Unfortunately,
Jake reported that he was told to leave
the premises immediately after he
explained that he was there on behalf
of the 432. After he had begun to question Dr. Piper, she had called to her
contingent of security guards, and Jake
left peacefully. Saul threatened another
lawsuit after this incident:
"Dr. Piper answered the door, and was
greeted with the sight of a drunken
Scotsman wearing nothing but a kilt
and a weasel-like sporran," Jensen
claims. "He began shouting incoherently, and then proceeded to urinate
on Dr. Piper's 'Think about it!' doormat. The man was very startled when
the RCMP arrived, and dashed off into
the bushes shouting something about
some kind of astronaut moose. We are
looking into further legal action."
432 lawyers are currently working on
an out-of-court settlement, however, as
of yet, no agreement has been reached. page two
The
432
3.25.98
Open Letter to "The Man"
Firstly let me thank you for taking time
out of your busy schedule to read my
letter. Secondly I have a question; must
you persist in making my life more difficult than it should be?
Look you white bread, Kentucky fried
eating, Mars Bar deep frying, cheese out
of a can, foot fungus, southern drawl,
Java sipping, international consortium
forming, government toppling, professional wrestling match fixing, grand
conspiracy rat bastard, I'm on to you.
I've had enough of you sticking you're
grimy little black hand into my daily
affairs. How else could my taxes get
fucked up, my registration for summer
classes get cancelled, a freeway get
planned to run through my house, my
dog get picked up by the pound, and
my entire collection of Swedish pornog
raphy go missing in one week?
Now that the formal whining is out of
the way, let me be the first to congratulate you on attaining your illustrious
position. I myself am currently attempting to finish my degree so that I may
get on with pursuing my career in the
field of evil science. I feel my degree in
genetics will provide an adequate basis
for a life of arch villainy. I would like to
get your opinion on a few plans of
mine.
I am currently attempting to develop a
strain of really really bad plaque. This
airborne spore forming bacteria would
cause massive oral degradation in a
matter of days. Before releasing this
menace into society, I would make massive investments into Colgate, Listerine,
Crest, Aim, and Oral-B making millions
on the ensuing mad dash for oral
hygiene products.
My second plot involves creating a race
of man eating hamsters and sneaking
them into unsuspecting )',oungsters pet
cages in the middle of the night. Then
when the kids wake up and go to play
with their pets, the hamsters will
become violently enraged and chew
their young owners heads off. I haven't
figured out how to make money with
this one, but I really like the idea of
crazed man eating hamsters.
The third plot is a little more involved
and at this point in time is simply
beyond the scope of my resources.
Firstly I must take over the world supply of Bauxite. This would allow me to
slowly acquire all of the global aluminum smelting operations. Once control of aluminum supply has been confirmed, I may undergo a massive plan
to capture all of the worlds sheep
through the construction of secret aircraft quality sheep leg traps. Once all of
the worlds sheep have been collected, I
will remove all of their pituitary glands
to be used in the Kon Tiki Fire Dance of
Love. This dance will be performed in
the London Stock exchange forcing all
of the stock brokers to become over-
enamoured with my pet duck
"Winston". With all of the brokers
vying for the affection of Winston I will
force them to into giving me a free
hand in the stock market of London.
Once I have taken control of the LSE I
will be able to finance a theme park to
be built on the Moon. I will call it
Moonworld. The main attraction will be
a roller coaster three times higher than
the CN. Tower. The roller coaster will
actually end up running into a pit of
boiling acid. Seeing as only the most
extravagantly wealthy people will be
able to afford to fly to the happiest
place in the solar system, I will be able
to clear the world of the financial leaders, leaving it open for a quick easy
takeover.
I would appreciate any criticism you
could offer to my plots for world domination. I could also use any advice you
have for an up and coming villain.
Perhaps in years to come I will achieve
the state of a "nasty guy" and, with a
little luck, perseverance and guile,
maybe I could eventually be "the Man".
And hey, could I please have my
Swedish porn back?
Hrm... let's see... I've got the Swiss Porn,
the Jamaican Porn, the Dutch Porn, and
that stuff from Langley. Nothing from
Sweden, though. Sorry.
-ed
mmw.MmviEam$\m ammo.
My Last Editorial.
It occurred to me that, as this is my last
editorial, I should probably be writing
a long, emotion-filled thank-you to
everyone who has graced these pages
over the last year.
Screw that.
Instead I'm going to talk about something which has worried me for a great
deal of years: the difference between
men and women. Now, I know what
some of you are thinking; you've surfed
the internet... you know what the dang-
ly bits are for. That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about deeper,
more essential differences; differences
which define the gender gap so eloquently, you'll be wondering why we
ever bothered with Sex Ed in the first
place. I'm talking, of course, about Mind
Filters.
<I'd like to pause at this point to apologize
to any and all nutcases who may find the
following article offensive because of my use
of the following terms: he, she, hi$, shag,
hers, penis, female, male, ale, boyfriend,
chimpanzee, bondage, human, and Worcestershire. If it'll make it easier for you, you
can replace any of the above terms with
'rabbit' I don't think there is anyone who
finds the word 'rabbit' offensive; although
I'm sure I'll be surprised>.
First, an illustration. Let's say a good
friend of mine named Ted is enjoying a
22oz mug of ale, and conversing with a
pleasant looking, well versed young
female named Rowena, whom he has
just met 3.5 minutes ago. Already, the
gears in his head are turning, and he's
wondering if there may be even the
slightest possibility that she'll join him
for a quick shag sometime later in the
evening. The conversation might go like
this:
Ted: "I'd have to agree with you,
Rowena. I've always been a big fan of
Goethe."
Rowena: "Really? My boyfriend and I
read Goethe all of the time, and particularly enjoy his views on dispassionate
randomization of emotional discourse."
At this point, Ted's Mind Filter kicks in.
This is what he just heard:
Ted: "I'd have to agree with you,
Rowena. I've always been a big fan of
Goethe."
Rowena: "Really? My boyfriend blah
blah blah blah blay blah, blah blah blah
blah blah blah blah blah blay blah, blah
blah blah lah."
In this case, it's probably just as well.
Ted turns his attention to Rowena's
roommate Shirley, and Rowena is proba
bly better off without Ted anyhow.
Consider, though, if the conversation
had gone something like this:
Ted: "I'd have to agree with you,
Rowena. I've always been a big fan of
Goethe."
Rowena: "Really? My boyfriend and I
broke up three years ago, and I've been
looking for a Goethe fan ever since. In
fact, just the mention of the name makes
me a bit randy. Do you want to pop over
to my place in Gage for a bit of light
bondage and some feather play?"
As you've probably figured out, this
conversation would be disastrous for Ted
and Rowena alike. Ted would once again
be left with the second-rate girlfriend,
and Rowena would probably end up
alone in a corner of The Pit, drinking
Caesars with too much Worcestershire
sauce, and wondering if she probably
shouldn't have mentioned the feathers
in the first place.
As far as I can guess, the Mind Filter has
probably been around for quite some
kind. If I were a betting darwinist, I'd
wager that the situation has been the
same all the way down the primate line.
Just substitute 'boyfriend' with 'dominant male,' and you've pretty much all
of the simians, from Chimpanzees to
Charles Barkley.
I'm sure that Mind Filters exist in both
genders, though I have a lack of first
hand information on this. Whereas for
males, there is a limited number of trigger words (boyfriend, husband, slave-
master,) I'm sure it's a bit more complicated for the less dangly among us.
Indeed, I'd wager that the list would be a
bit longer (car, stereo, and vomit, along
with a full variety of 'chick'-related
terms).
More concrete information is desperately needed on this subject, and would certainly be welcome. Just be sure not to
start the conversation like this:
"My boyfriend and I had a few more
ideas for trigger words..."
I.look forward to hearing from you.
-Jer (jerthorp@unixg.ubc.ca)
I guess I really should say a quick goodbye. It's been fun; I hope you all enjoyed
this as much as I did. The format changes
are now completed, and should stay, with
any luck, for at least a couple of issues
under Craig Temple's reign. I'd love to hear
from you, to see what you think, or even to
tell me that I suck.
Oh yeah, I forgot to use one word in my
article. Penis.
The 432 is
ScierfceiUre
twkfjont!
dlilpf freakin,
All opinions expressed herein are strictly
those of the individual writers and not
those of The 432 or the Science Undergrad
Society.
Writers and cartoonists from all faculties
are encouraged to submit material to The
432.
The 432 is copyrighted by The Science
Undergraduate Society of UBC and may
not be reproduced in whole or in part
without express written consent.
Bfitor-in-Ghifif
Jer Thorp
jerthorp@unixg.ubc.ca
Assistant Editors
Craig Temple     JohI| mm
Cartoonist 3
Jake Mckinlay
CContriliiitM»>
Breeonne Baxter   Andy Martin
Jay Garcia
Mike Boetzkes
Jenn Gardy
Bella Carvalho
Aarne Hamalainen
Mandy Seymour jakefiray
-O 3.25.98
The
432
page three
The
Jean
Official Page Three™
Charest Activity Zone!
i
t has been brought to our attention that Page Three has been
rather...well... uninteresting in the last few issues. In fact, one
reader even compared last week's Page Three to The Underground
<shiver>.
Originally, we considered hunting him down and killing him, but
the last thing we need on our hands is another criminal charge.
Instead, we've provided you with this activity page, chock full of
fun and educational exercises to keep your brain in shape, and to
boost your pathetic knowledge of Federal politics. As an added
bonus, we've even soaked the entire page in LSD.
Now, don't say we never give you anything...
-The 432 Editorial Staff
h
\hy
Help Jean Find Quebec!
Jean Charest has lost his way! Help guide jean through the
maze to the Province of Quebec, where he is badly needed! Be
careful on your way; there are many dangers on the way East.
Good Luck!
Construct-a leader!
t
V  %
.-><!
Want to save the country? It's easy, and fun!
Use the body parts below to assemble your
own leader of a political party of your
choice. Only you can defend Canada from the
evil Bloc Quebecois!
So get busy... assemble your Super Leader, and
see what he/she/it can do! page fo
ur
The
432
3.25.98
Unclear on the Issues
Breeonne
Baxter
The good, ole' Canadian flag. Red and
white with a maple leaf. Very unassuming, very subtle. It is not a sign
of massive imperialism (like the
Americans), it does not strike fear into
the hearts of millions(like the
Americans). If you are scared by the facsimile of a maple leaf, maybe it time to
move to the States. If you are traveling
internationally, people love Canadians.
The world knows us as those snowy bastards who aren't American. Even within
Canada, we proclaim this fact. We are
not Americans. Right? Right.
How does one define Canadianism? Are
Canadians the ones who say "eh" at the
end of any sentence? Do Canadians live
in the great white north, surrounded by
ice and polar bears? Do we guzzle beer?
Do we live in igloos? Are we all polite
and courteous? No. Our main claim to
fame is our total lack of patriotism. We
just don't say anything, eh?
But now, a few wonderful members of
parliament have threatened to "out" our
closet patriotism. It all started due to a
certain Bloc MP. Madame Trembley went
to Nagano, Japan, to watch the
Olympics. When she returned, she lit a
fire under the soon-to-be-named "Flag
Flap". She saw "too many" Canadian
flags at the Olympics. Not only that, but
there weren't enough Quebec fleur-de-lis
flags on display.
It was at this point when I stopped to
think. It was early, I was tried, so it hurt.
But this is what I came up with. Why
would there be any Quebec flags on display at the Olympics? Were there any
Albertan flags? Any Nova Scotian flags?
The answer is no. Since Quebec IS still a
part of Canada, there were no blue and
white flags on display. This certain progression of logic makes sense to me. It
makes sense to the MP's in Western
Canada. Why doesn't it make any sense
to Madame Trembley?
The story gets better. When Madame
Trembley stood up in the House of
Commons to express her complaints,
some of the MP's stood and began a lusty
rendition of "O Canada". Two minutes
later, the song ended. Madame Trembley
was free to continue her rant... er, her
"statement". And continue she did.
Afterwards, of course, Madame
Trembley was outraged. Some members
of the press started to say that her rights
to speak were trampled on by the "inappropriate singing" of the national
anthem in the national place of government. To further exasperate the "problem", certain members of Parliament
draped Canadian flags all over
Parliament Hill. That is right, the
Canadian flag on Canadian soil. Ohh, a
big scary idea! The final straw was when
Reform MP's put tiny, 4 by 4, paper flags
on their desks in the House. The Liberals
demanded a vote on the flags. Get those
damn flags out of here! My eyes! My
eyes! "
The result was as follows: Against the
flag, 147. For the flags, 51, The entire
Reform party voted for the flags, as did
two Ontarian Liberals, a Nova Scotian
Tory and the lone Independent bastard,
John Nunziata. The entire Bloc, all but 2
of the Liberals, all of the NDP, and the
rest of the Tories. To this, I and everyone
else says, big hairy deal. If it were up to
me, I would have allowed the flag in
Parliament, but it's at that ridiculous
point where I ami simply stunned. If I
were speaker in the House, I'd paint the
floor red and white. Hell, if you wanted
to walk into the House buck naked with
a red Maple Leaf tattooed to your ass, I'd
applaud you.
Unfortunately, I am not the Speaker. I
am not an MP. I'm not even employed.
Damn. Enter Jean Charest. He decried
the whole issue, stating that excessive
nationalism like this started the Nazi
party. Maybe I missed that connection,
but in my mind, there is a BIG leap
between a Canadian flag and that whole
Nazi era thing. They must be feeding the
Tories undercook chicken up in Ottawa.
Lo and behold, there has been a media
outcry on the issue. Most Canadians
can't figure out why it is bad to display a
Canadian flag. This recent surge in patriotism is threatening our image. What if
people see that Canadians actually CARE
about their country? Why, world anarchy would result! Riots in the streets,
mass flag waving, chaos! At worst, we
might end up like the Americans! A flag
in every class room! A flag on every city
hall! Heaven forbid!
I think that is every Canadian's worst
fear. One day, we will wake up and be living in LA. Or worse, living in Toronto.
But fear not! I have the solution!
Everyone, repeat after me!
O Canada,
Our Home and native land,
True patriot love,
For all our son's command.
With glowing hearts, we see thee rise,
The true North strong and free.
From far and wide, O Canada
We stand on guard for thee.
God keep our land,
Glorious and free
O Canada,
We stand on guard for thee,
O Canada,
We stand on guard for thee!
Now, let's hear you sing that at the next
Canucks game. You'll prolly do a lot better
than Bryan Adams...
-ed
Get a 60%
rebate on your
science sports
team. Forms
can be picked
up in Chem
B160. Forms
must be
returned to
the Big Sports
Rebate Box in
Chem B160
by 4:32 p.m. on
April 9 th.
The Final Chapter
At last, dear reader, we have reached
the end of the terrible, terrible tale
of Miss Jenn vs. Outside, in which
the infamous three hour tour comes to a
close. Last we heard, I was racked with
intestinal cramps thanks to eating raw
"food," and I use that term loosely, as a
result of the Evil Flaming Barbecue of
Death gracefully arcing through the sky
into The Ocean, and my fellow campers
and I were stranded on an island whose
sole meritous feature was the excellent
fertilization provided by the leaky outhouse that sat haphazardly at its peak
like a sort of regal sanitation crown.
It was decided that, on account of the
fact that the bottom of our tent looked
like the cheap competitor's brand of
maxi pad on those commercials where
they pour that blue stuff on to show you
just how much crap can be absorbed,
that pitching a new, albeit smaller, tent,
on the REAL island might be a wise
move.
Now, who should be sent to set up this
tent? Should we send the girl scout
leader who camps every weekend and
could make a log cabin out of some pencil sharpener shavings and squirrel
dung? No, too easy. Should we send the
boy who comes to this island every
weekend on cliff-jumping expeditions?
No, too easy. Why don't we send the
epitome of cosmopolitan style and
grace, poster girl for condo living, and
Sworn Enemy of Nature, Miss Jenn? Yes,
that sounds like fun. And that's how I
came to left alone on an island, dressed
skimpishly (yet stylishly) in the pouring
rain, pitching a tent so racked with
mildew that it actually had a "Only to be
Used  in Biohazard  Level  5-Certified
Areas" warning displayed prominently
on its flap.
Eventually the tent was raised, and to
this day I honestly cannot recall how.
I'm fairly sure I had nothing to do with
it though. As a matter of fact, if you ever
take me camping and you give me a job
to do, and if: gets done correctly, I can
tell you now it wasn't me, it was the
Frisky Helpful Woodland Creatures like
Mr. Squirrel and Deerosaurus Rex that
did it. At this point, my fellow campers
had all been ferried over from the other
island and the only task that remained
to be done before we settled in for bed
was erecting a tarp over the tent to keep
us dry. This would have been easy if
there had been some sort of branch we
could tie the tarp to on any of the trees
in the immediate vicinity, but if there is
one thing we have learned about this
camping trip so far, it's that NOTHING IS
EVER EASY. So the only course of action
we could take was to tie the tarp ropes to
rock and throw them at the trees, in the
hopes that one of the ropes would loop
over the sole branch 40 feet up on said
tree and keep the tarp up. The final tally
after an hour of this exercise was: 4 ropes
over branches, 3 lost eyes, and 64 dead
or traumatized tree squirrels. I think I
figured out how flying squirrels evolved
too. Once upon a time, there was freaky
squirrel who was webbed and lived in a
tree. One day, some kids threw some
rocks at the tree, and all the other normal squirrels died. Webby Squirrel, however, was able to safely fly to another
tree, thereby avoiding the Evil That Is
Children Today, and mate with other
freaky squirrels, begetting a forest of
freaky flying squirrels. Darwinism in
action. Truly something to behold.
Amazingly, for the next few hours
NOTHING REALLY BAD HAPPENED.
This was really astounding. When you
calculate the odds of us doing something
stupid or nature doing something stupid
to us against the odds of everything
going right, you get a number so phenomenally large that mathematics as we
know it has no way of expressing it. At
last it came time to head back, and the
skies actually cleared for our long trip
home.
We arrived back at the dock where I was
to meet my Dad. However, we arrived
somewhat earlier than anticipated, with
the end result being that my Dad wasn't
there and wasn't picking up the phone
at home. I took the bus back to school,
where I tried to phone him again to no
avail. I phoned his girlfriend who lived
down the street from school, and he
wasn't there. However her daughter was
home and agreed to let me come over
there and wait for his return. And that is
how our story ends, with myself walking
down the side of the Barnet Highway,
looking disheveled to say the least, dragging two garbage bags full of wet food
and clothing, both of which were excreting their contents along the road like
two giant, lumpy, green, elderly, incontinent rabbits leaving pellets behind them
as they slowly crawl towards the Light At
The End Of The Tunnel. Stay Indoors.
The End.
Whew. That was the longest story I've
read since some idiot wrote a three part
epic about a crazy hamster, a Mackerel,
and the Russian border gourd.
We should really put a two-part limit on
our stories; it's not like any of our readers
can remember past a month, anyhow.
Heck, I can't remember what happened
this morning. All I know is that it definitely didn't involve flying squirrels in any
way. -ed
-Jer. 3.25.98
The
432
j>
Will Work for Crack Cocaine
page five
c
(Garcia ^^>
If you're still looking for a summer job
by the time you read this article, it may
already be too late. Oh sure, not too
late for a lot of the relatively student-oriented summer employment opportunities that might be found in, sa)/, flipping
burgers or hawking trendy eyeware of
slightly suspicious origins, but definitely
too late for that 9K in four months, two
attractive young interns, full and speedy
'net connected high-end Pentium II
"word processor", and corner-office-
with-a-view job.
So if a world of four months of drudgery
in some of the best weather this rain-
sodden corner of the Pacific Northwest
doesn't appeal to you, then it becomes a
moral imperative to get off your fat ass,
stop scarfing down those cheezy poofs
and consider your alternatives.
One option, and, of course, the easiest,
is to become a panhandler. A candidates
qualifications include the capacity to
absorb endless abuse and to withstand
hordes of strangers ignoring you all day
long. Students of Math and Physics and
other obscure science fields would probably most suited to this position. On the
plus side, the per-day take home can
range from around five dollars an hour
to a couple of grams of crack. Further, little or no motivation on the part of the
candidate is actually needed, as the job
largely consists of finding a place to sit
down and beg change from passers-by
(preferably someplace with high traffic
and well-shaded). Plus, the dress code
tends to be fairly lenient. After all, all
one needs is a relatively coordinated outfit consisting of some baggy clothes,
preferably something warm and relatively comfortable, scuffed repeatedly
against the sidewalk or other abrasive
surface for a bit, and with a few tears and
holes and voila! instant uniform.
Cuteness in this job is a plus; nothing
attracts sympathy money more than a
cute panhandler, though unwanted secondary interests are a high possibility
("hey baby, I've got some change in my
pocket, but you're going to have to reach
in and get it"). On this note, it may be
more useful to have a cute accessory, like
a puppy or a baby - though the baby is
likely to be somewhat more costly in
overhead, and its parents might get
mildly concerned as to its whereabouts
after a while.
To those with more of an enterprising
bent, there is always the world of crime
to consider. The type of crime that you
are suited to is best determined by your
temperament, as well as what skills and
talents are uniquely yours.
Do you have a penchant for fast cars,
easy living and loose women? Then consider the lucrative world of drug trafficking. Ferrying some of BC's high-quality
home-grown pot across the border and
back in exchange for harder drugs or
money can be a fulfilling, if somewhat
short-lived career. On the plus side, the
money's great, the women are desperate
and the life-style accessories tend to be
fabulous (the house, the car, the gold-
plated guns). On the down side, there's
the prospect of finding the job in the
first place; any personal contacts with
organized crime can be helpful in this
regard, as does a long and disreputable
history of crime. Further the dress code
tends to be both stringent and costly;
brand-name baseball caps, sweaters two
or more sizes too large and pants which
sag so much that from the waist down,
you could be mistaken for a shar-pei
tend to be fairly expensive, not to mention difficult to run in. On that note,
there's the largest down-side: apprehension by constables of the law. While
prison-time can only help but add to
your reputation as a "bad-ass motherfucker", incarceration is only a viable
option if one doesn't mind becoming
girlfriends with a 300 pound gorilla masquerading as a biker named "Biff".
If you want a job with somewhat lesser
dangers and appropriately lesser
rewards, with all of the adrenaline rush
that comes with drug running, then one
career to be looked into is car theft. This
job appeals to the independent entrepreneur possessing good hand-eye coordination, copious knowledge about the
various makes and models of car and car-
defense systems, and the street value for
both the entire car and for the car
stripped down to its components.
Connections with a good chop-shop are
a high priority in this field. With the
increasing number of people flooding
the Lower Mainland, and with them an
increasing number of vehicles, this job
offers endless opportunities for growth.
If white-collar crime is more your
milieu, then enter the cutting-edge and
competitive world of computer fraud.
Use your high-tech knowledge to
defraud corporations of information and
services, and still have time to play a
round of Quake II or stalk a couple of
people in the meantime. Qualifications
for this job include a strong background
in compiUters, especially in the fields of
cryptology and security. Working knowledge of corporate information security
protocols is a must. Secondary qualifications include bad posture, poorly coordinated clothing (preferably parent-
bought), poor-to-middling skin complexion, and a propensity towards making veiled nerdish comments, preferably
quoting from such nerd staples as Star
Trek, Babylon 5 and Star Wars, and anything written by J.R.R. Tolkien. Down
sides to this job are minimal, though at
worst, prison time can be a factor (if
caught).
In the end, the only things keeping you
from untold wealth in the span of the
next four months of summer are your
ambition and your will to succeed, seasoned with just with a touch of larceny
and a flagrant disregard for the Criminal
Code.
Ask Dr. Temple
Craig
Temple
Spring has sprung, the grass has ris,
I wonder where the birdies is. Yes,
Spring, the most wonderful season
of them all, has once again come upon
us. What do we expect to be a part of
spring? Warmer weather, longer days,
budding flora, all come to mind, but
what is it that we look forward to most
in Spring? The scantily clad members of
the opposite sex, of course. There is
nothing that quite compares to the
shape of a near-naked man or woman.
This may seem the happiest point in
the year for most, but it does have it's
dangers. Those who have significant
others must be very cautious this time
of year. For the rest of us, we don't have
to worry about gawking at people we
come across, for there is no fear of a
sudden elbow to the ribs, or, for us
guys, the more deadly time-delayed
shit-eye. I think we've all experienced
the shit-eye at one point or another. It's
the look you get that makes your most
precious bits 'n' pieces shrivel up and
try to hide deep within your body. The
only thing worse than this look is the
one that is time-delayed so that it
comes out of nowhere. With this one,
the man doesn't know what is is he has
done, but he does know that he has
done something. It is at this point that
the selective process begins; some men
will wisely apologize immediately for
whatever they had done. The other's
will foolishly ask what it was that they
did. New studies have shown that this
group of men is the most accident
prone of any demographic. The poor
guys wander around in a daze of misunderstanding and confusion, and
more often than not walk right into an
unfortunate incident. Roman here is a
perfect example of the less intelligent
group of men, who don't know what
treacherous ground they walk on from
day to day.
Dr. Temple,
Hey, how's it going? I'm a big fan of
your column, in fact I think that you
are the best writer for the 432. As much
as I'd like to tell you just how great you
are, I really wrote to ask you if you.
know if being accident prone is a real
thing. I think that I am very prone to
bad things happening, but my friends
say that it's just a coincident that I have
so many bad things happen to me. I
wonder if some people truly are more
likely to encounter accidents than others, or is what my friends say true, am I
only a victim to coincidence?
I can give you an example; about two
weeks ago I was in the locker room with
a bunch of the guys on my wrestling
team. I had just had a fight with my
girlfriend about something, but I'm not
sure what about, so I was psyched
about getting my mind off it with some
wrestling. Well, we were talking about
that big Metalica concert in Australia
that's coming up as we went out to
practice for the meet next week.
Anyway, I was talking about how cool
Metalica is and I was jamming my head
up and down and giving the Satan
salute like I was at the concert, when,
all of a sudden, I had tripped. Now, usually when I trip in the workout room, it
doesn't hurt, because the mats are real
soft. This time, though, I had managed
to land on the only hard surface in the
whole room. Some guy had left his golf
shoes just laying on the floor upside
down, and yup, you guessed it, I landed
face-down in them. I know now that
when somebody says that something
hurts less than getting kicked in the
face with a golf shoe, that it's not saying much. I don't think anything hurts
more than getting kicked in the face
with a golf shoe.
This is just one of the many cases of
when I hurt myself, and I'm beginning
to think that I am cursed. So, if you
have any thought on that subject, or if
you know how to dull the pain of golf
shoe injuries, please respond.
Roman Kaminski
Well Roman, although there is no scientific evidence showing that some
people are more likely to have accidents
than others, I think that you are indeed
'cursed'. There is a new drug on the
market called Etceterol, supposedly it is
supposed o raise your awareness of your
surroundings, and make everything
"really clear." Etceterol, or E! as it's
referred to, is just the thing for you. I
suggest that the next time you are in
the wrestling locker room with the
guys, you should take some E!, and I
think that it will be just what you need.
As for the golf shoe injury, I have the
perfect cure for it as well. Take some
cheese cloth and dip it into Vaseline,
and drape it over your face for a few
days. If the swelling and infection associated with a golf shoe injury does not
subside within a few days, you should
take some more E!, and all your troubles will disappear.
Faithful reader, I would like to
announce that Dr. Temple has been
offered a lucrative teaching job at the
American Medical School in Jamaica.
And as such, I might not be able to continue my column every issue of this
fine paper. Please though, continue
sending in your letters to
drtemple@unixg.ubc.ca, as I will be
having all of my e-mail forwarded to
my new residence in Kingston. As
much as is allowed by my busy schedule, I will endevour to continue
responding to your letters.
A WmMwp
forthe
Integrated Sciences Program
Faculty of Science
DESIGN YOUR OWN COURSE OF STUDY -
LET YOUR INTERESTS SPEAK!
What is it® Progmm about?
HmMwpply? WtmtotatktQ?
Come and ask all four questions!
Thare. Apr2/98 13:30- 2:30 Wesbrook 100
Fri. Apr3« 12:10-2:30 Wesbrook 201
Tues. Apr7m...2:36y**J Wesbrook 100
Tues. Apr 7/SJ8 ' "fad pro Vanier Residence
Shrum Lounge
Wed. Apr 8/58   6:30 pm Totem Residence
Commons Block
F&imia ininmetion sMtPiggmm and offer
Workshop dates please chock mb sHe
Wp:llwwM®MBMhc,cai~\$p
email: fep@ooixg.ubc.ca
•»■_■
forJmsctam
n - «>    »
11*8 »ew
Artificial Intelligence and
Robe tics: Eye, Robot
A Science First! lecture by
Peter Gomiak, Dr. James Little,
and Dr, Alan Mackworth
Computer Science, UBC
Thursday, March 26,1998*
12:30 -1:30 pm, Room 100
Wesbrook Building, UBC page six
The
432
3.25.98
Hey, the LD50 is only 47 cups
i
Mandy Seymour
come
Waking up sucks. I'm sure any student would agree - especially
those that get up at five-thirty in
the morning to make it through rush
hour tunnel traffic or to catch that jam-
packed bus straight to our sacred apathetic kingdom. Waking up instills a
crappy feeling that usually ruins a day.
Everything would be perfect in the world
if we all just slept and had happy dreams
about mythical sexual encounters with
Mr./Ms. Right, and never actually got up
and did anything.
For many, including myself, coffee is
the survival for those sucky physics filled
mornings. Ah, caffeine - the drug of
choice for the post-baby boomer generation. A good shot of expresso gives just
enough energy to remove our lazy asses
out of bed on weekdays. While sleeping
is an essential function of the body at
birth,  society has programmed us  to
become caffeine addicts. This is not by
choice - it's the Man, making us get up
before noon and doing ail the shit disturbing with our internal time clocks.
How else can you explain the phenomena of lack of sleep in the 20th century,
while, in the 19th century and prior, it
was acceptable to most to get up at an
insane hour in the morning to feed the
farm animals and wrangle up the cattle.
The real question is this: Why move
back the clocks and not our internal
REX MORGANN
Pre-Med Hopeful BONUS ISSUE
T.A. Kapowski's Oceanic Adventure
time clocks? Truth is, the farmers in
Saskatchewan, who want the extra hours
of sunlight are trying to mess with the
minds of city dwellers who just want to
wake up refreshed and motivated on
weekday mornings. Weekends, well hell,
we all sleep in 'til three pm every
Saturday morning no matter what, in an
effort to sleep off the aftermath of
Friday's all night drinking binge.
zzzzzzz....
<snort>! Huh? -ed
-w nam a«p ! wa?e on wop r&iMS.
Dm stiwaj m ne RHutfe v!th eyes
me Avueyi THAjii Ttuoor the spom
iHe cfioo ifcfrts otfeti iM/t-
V£ H At A Mifflfi P/SPiJIif ovfiR
wnefi£r -vter wMfflstfTosncK
-THffT/g VACWM FftOBg.
iVM K!CKI«-S<We- W£M ASS We iHfY STAgTtf P
I s-or me wwfptH of A
CtftTWe, "THsftV I WAi
fameo fAcfr ik/ro mem*
me i cww va. mist artffi mt> To havs a	 3.25.98
X**^*-»
The
432
—-^
page seven
The Drawers
of SUS™
-d
President
Bella Carvalho
Ah...my last report of the year. Actually, my last SUS report ever. Kind of a
weird feeling, that. 5 years here, and I'm finally getting out. Now, there's
not really much going on in Science this week. Constitutional changes
Thursday, and after that, new exec are in. And I am out. One thing I'd like to say
is thanks to my exec for a great year. You guys have done a terrific job, and done
a great job of putting up with me (most especially two: Jer, 'cause in this whole
year, I think I got 3 of my reports in on time, and henry who started off his term
with my nearly beaning him in the head with a gavel, and things sort of went
from there.) Anyways, in short, thanks for making my job as president a lot
easier boys. The same goes for Jason and Johan - it's been an amazing, or
in the words of a former president, fabulous year.
And now I am off. Possibly to join the real world. Possibly not. £ ^%
Best of luck to ya, John. You'll have a great time as President -1 4W<W
guarantee it.
It's been a blast.
Aarne Hamalainen   2fclllin9t Lea§ue sp°rtsare winding up for
the   year,   with   most   playoff
games starting soon. Storm the
Wall is coming up on Sunday the 29th, I'm hoping Science has a large turnout.
The reason for this is that I'm really looking forward to giving away rebates for all
those keen enough to join a team. If you want to get back 60% of your team's registration all you have to do is get a photocopy of the registration and receipt, then come
by SUS (Chem B160) and fill out an application. Then drop all three(3)forms into the
SPORTS REBATES box. It's not too hard, just go to the SRC and get them to photocopy
the forms for you. It only takes 5-10mins of your time. I will
NOT give out any money if the only thing you hand
-^ gk mm^S in is the Application form. The SUS Hockey pool
^_ AMillB Mf Jjf/fr   *» should be done by the end of April and it
W^C^W*"^ "Mj M^m. should be a very close finish, thanks to all
>
/
It's 5am on Monday morning. I have been up all night working
on this damn paper, the paper's almost done, and I decide to
check my e-mail. I read my messages and find Bella's exec
report sitting in my in-box. Now, it's been rumoured that the
deadline for exec reports, hell, all submissions, is the
Wednesday before production night, but I don't think that anybody listens to that. So where does that leave me? Well, in        *£££
place of Bella's new report, we were going to recycle her old one        ^L
from last week. This old report fit quite well in the space here to {gjfF
the left of the circle; her new one, as you can see, does not. Since dfk
Jer left me in charge of his very last issue of the paper, and        TdA
because I don't have the heart to cut Bel's very last report, I am *r a,
now responsible for filling this space. I figure that I can take some w*%«>,
initiative and have a little practice for my first editorial next week. 4&A
Usually, when it's five in the morning and Jer and I have a huge space 4wMp
to fill, we will just make a big penis and use that as shameless filler. I'm W  .
not kidding, last week we had a quarter of the back page filled with the
biggest, boldest, baddest penis you've ever seen, and right underneath, the caption: "Wow. That's a pretty big penis." Fortunately (unfortunately?) it didn't make it
to print, but tonight 1 have restrained myself and still managed to fill this space. -Craig
The Drawers
of SUS.
'■■■■
those who entered.
V<sA Spooooooonnnn!!!!!!!!!
9
Social
Coordinator
and science
news!!
Mikey ioetikes
w
All ol roe nttiei* Exec were drunk.
SORRY.
'ell since this will be my last
_ UUexec report I figure that I
jj^ ■■will give a detailed report
i£gk of all the money that I got to spend
s£||l *        in the last two years.
It all started two years ago with bringing
in speedbump. That one cost 1000 bucks.
After that The hard rock minors cost in
around $5500. mmm my first big loss. From
there I promptly went to 54-40. oh the money that
that one cost. The conservative estimates put it about
$20000. Add another one of those but with Junkhouse and
you've suddenly got another $20000 gone. Ahhh the great waste.
So what does it all sum up to? Over the last two years you have all very
generously given me about $50000. For that and all that fun I say thank
you.
oh but wait there may be more, keep your ears open for one last big bash
that will be all you can drink for really cheap. If you're going out go out
with a bang. See you all later.
Probably Shoulda Been Censored..
There are five disgusting freaks originating from somewhere in Northern
Europe. They have the screams of
banshees, enticing the female population into hypnotism. This five-headed
monster is know as the Spice Girls.
Bitchy, Silicone, Whiny, Slutty and
Spicy Spice are all really pissing me off.
They actually try to come off as role
models for young girls as they hike up
their skirts and change their bodies anyway possible. "We're in it for the girls,
you know, gurl power" Of course the 50
million each doesn't hurt. Then how
come most of their songs are about men?
For the love of God, can't anybody see
that they're basically invented by the
same businessmen that they tirade
against. They say be proud of who you
are, but only as long as you wear the
world's crappiest fashions, dye your hair
a zillion colours, and fit on the most
inorganic material your frame can hold.
And its happening too.  One of my
friends was unfortunate enough to be
working next to a theatre when
"Spiceworld: Planet of the Apes III" was
premiering, and the entire patronage
was a bunch of fourteen year old sluts.
What great role models. They're going to
be the cause of the single biggest jump in
silicone stock since Bill Gates.
A year ago they were wondering if they
had the stamina to do a live
show...Excuse Me? What a bunch of
wimps. Any band I love started with
only live shows, these chick walked into
a producer's office, did what ever the
hell they did, and got a huge contract.
Did MetallicA ever wonder about their
stamina. Even Hanson does live shows.
Hanson! They're still battling this bed-
wetting problem (but I'm counting the
weeks 'till one of them winds up dead in
a cheap hotel room with a rock of crack
and a fifty year old hooker) and they can
give an entire live show. They even play
instruments! But of course, to play one
of those things, that'd require skill and
co-ordination and hell, you could break
a nail on those things. The Spice Girls
only have to stand there, sing half-
decently and do some half-assed choreographed dance routine with some novice
kick-boxing moves and the crowd goes
wild. And they don't know if they have
the stamina? Come on.
And now they're multiplying. We see
groups like All Saints that are just four
chicks who look good in tank tops. They
can't sing, they can't write songs. No
skill required, but a nice set of boxed
lunches is desirable.
The only reason that I'd ever go to a
Spice Girls concert would be to be there
when one of them makes an official ass
of themselves and falls off their foot tall
platform shoes.
That and cleavage...lots of cleavage.
Crap, that isn't very long is it? Don't
want Jer mad at me, so I better kill space.
Here's a little advice for the next time
some wakko stops you on the street selling their latest G6d-is-an-Alien,-there-
fore-anal-probing-is-bliss religion. When
they give you the pamphlet, do what
comes naturally, laugh at them. This
works on religious fanatics, now if I
could only find some way to keep James
Pond from stalking me outside of
Koerner...
What was the deal with that Valentine's
poster being banned by Langara because
it was homophobic. If it was to be completely PC, it would have to picture a
threesome, and I don't think that would
go over well with the other 99.9999% of
the public that aren't offended by a construction paper cut-out. Why are we getting this stuff banned while modern art
entitled 'Menage a Russian Figure
Skaters' is considered brilliant perfect for
public display? And how come my
repeated letters and decapitated dolls
sent to Martha Piper haven't resulted in
the removal of all those library sensors,
which are in violation of my personal
religion which believes that bombardment with radiation will prevent my
soul from reaching Shangri-La, no matter how many urine-soaked Barney dolls
I sacrifice to each of the thirty turtle-
gods that live in my magical eggplant.
On the plus side, I'm finished my physiology labs forever tomorrow. No more
crying like a little girl every other week
because I can't figure just how I got such
crappy results.
Damn it, the Tylenol-3 is wearing off...
This is one of those articles that I probably should have looked at a bit closer
before printing. Oh well, -ed page eight
The
432
3.25.98
ust as You Get Rid of Oates..
St happens suddenly. You wake up one
■morning and realize exactly where you
■are in life: the far end of life's East
Hastings, and fame and fortune look
both harder to get to and further away
than the nearest smack dealer.
"How did I get here?" you scream frantically. I don't know. "What am I going
to do?" Well, you could try chewing on
the business end of a shotgun, but not
everyone can pull a trigger with their big
toe (Curt Cobain being a notable exception). You could also try a desperate
change in life, maybe in your hair
colour, accent feigned, or even in your
career.
There are dozens of excellent careers in
the world waiting for you to try them on
for size. Granted, not all have mass
groupies like Rock Star or Dentist, but
most have at least more satisfaction than
Janitor at Big Gay Noah's Big Gay Boat
Ride ("Bill, we need the mop in the elephant stall again").
My personal all-time favorite, fun-filled,
exciting job is Pest Exterminator. Think
about it, you get to wear cool overalls,
not shave for days, smoke cigars on the
job and people pretty much expect you
to not have any sense of personal
hygiene.
On top of all that, the public is willing
to pay you almost any exorbitant price
you care to name for ridding them of
rats. Lesson One: People hate rats.
And then there's the issue of removing
exotic or strange animals. Who gets
called when the sixteen foot python
pops his head out the toilet? Not the fire
department, that's for sure.
Just picture it: "Al's Exterminating. Al
Speaking."
"Um, yeah, hi. I've got a bit of a pest
problem. I think I'm infested."
"Alright. Whatcha got? Ants, rats,
sheep?"
"Actually I think I've got a folk singer of
some sort."
"Uh-oh. I'll be right over."
<ding-dong>
"Alright. Let's get to work here. Have
you seen any droppings or hair clippings?"
"Yeah, I found this strand over by my
old LPs."
"Hmmm... gray and curly. Any records
missing?"
"Yeah. Sounds of Silence!"
"Uh-huh. Has he been singing the
Simon part of Simon and Garfunkel
songs off-key?"
"Yes, he has!"
"Much as I'm afraid. I think what
you've got here is a Garfunkel. Not just
any Garfunkel, either. I think you've got
Art. Have you found anything lying
around?"
"Yes! I found this LP just the other day!"
"Just as I feared, it's a solo album. The
problem's worse than I first imagined.
We had a Garfunkel infestation out in
Surrey last winter. I thought we'd got rid
of him, but apparently he migrated up
oin your fellow Science grads fojr
an evening of fine dining,
cocktails, and dancing at one of
Vancouver's finest hotels.
Tickets in Advance.
Tickets available in Chem B160,
or from representatives visiting
your 4th year classes. Discount
for earlybirds; regular price $40
here. He's probably been hiding in your
basement since November just waiting
for a chance to launch a solo tour. I just
hope he hasn't lain any eggs yet."
"What are you going to do?"
"Well, we'll try the Garfunkel call first.
Stand back and don't move. Art's pretty
timid and easily frightened off. Ahem.
Art! Come on out Art! Paul's here and he
wants to cut a reunion album!"
"There he is!"
"Get him! Ah shit. Quick little bugger,
oh well, it was worth a shot but he won't
fall for that again. I'm going to have to
lay a trap."
"What are you going to bait it with?"
"A juicy record deal. Art'll come to it
faster than a whore to crack."
"Do you get many problems with crack
whores out here?"
"No, most of that problem's down on
East Hastings. Even once you get the little buggers out, the smell'U linger for a
few weeks. Ugly stuff, that. Just be glad
Garfunkels are much cleaner."
"That's an awfully big trap, will it hurt
him?"
"Well, that all depends on how you
define 'hurt.' If 'crushed to a bloody
pulp' meets your bill, then, yeah, this'll
pretty much hurt 'em. It's sad, but it's
the only way. Poor bugger wouldn't
adjust to the wild anyways, if we let 'em
go I'd just be fishing 'em out of yer
neighbours in a month."
"I don't want to hurt him. I mean, he's
kinda nice and all. The other nice he was
singing 'Sound of Silence' so nicely."
"Ya, but you shouldn't feel sorry for him
just because of that. I bet you were pretty mad when you found out that he'd
knawed through the side of your pantry
cupboard."
"That kinda cheezed me off, but..."
"And everytime you stepped on his
droppings in the shower."
"That was really disgusting, but..."
"And when he crawls into bed with you
for warmth?"     "*
"That's it! Kill the fucker. Do you have
anything stronger?"
"Yup, Garfunkel Poison, made just for a
case like this. Put a few dabs on that
record contract and you'll have a dead
washed-up folk-singer by morning.
Don't touch him, though, least you get
the plague."
"Oh thank you!"
And this is when the cute customer
throws herself into your arms and you
make mad, passionate love well into the
morning while a timid and not-long-for-
this-world Art Garfunkel watches from
the hallway. Tis the way of things.
So, review your life choice. Will you be
happy as a doctor? Or would you be better off in the service sector? Maybe as a
happy, carefree garbage man, who
spends his days roaming the city sanitizing back alleys and fights garbage-related
crime during the darker hours. Or how
about a mild-mannered drywaller who
gives out free medical advice during his
lunch hours?
Never give up on adventure and always
look for the unexpected thrill in those
monotonous day jobs.
Groovy Sizes!
^*Fejturing all of your favourite cRar
acters: Rex, Wanda, TA Kapowskff
Rafboy and more!
T-SHIRTS
$15
Available Now in Chem B160

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