Open Collections

 VOLUME   12   ISSUE   08   •  02.10.99
Paul Martin includes
Whorin' in new budget.
■e^mMnaiil
In a surprise move yesterday, Paul Martin
released next year's budgets early. Most
members of the Liberal caucaus were
confused by the new line 696 "Whorin"'.
The budget surplus from the past three
years of back breaking over-taxing and
under spending are going to pay off this
year for Canadian males between the ages
of fourteen and sixty-five.
"This is the one service that reaches all of
the special interest groups," said a
spokesperson for Martin. "Every living man,
be he homeless, unemployed, indebted to
student loans, or disabled." Martin also
expressed his happiness that women
would be able to benefit from the new
legislation as well. "We have an opportunity to allow women on welfare,
unemployed, disabled, and incarcirated
women to participate in this new service."
"What it comes down to, is that we're sitting on a buttload of cash. We figured we
could either blow it on whores or smack,
and Mr. Martin is afraid of needles."
When asked whether he was worried over
potential disease transmission through this new program, Martin replied "Well firstly, we're only going to hire the high class whores. Secondly, we're going to require
so much paper work to access this new service that the scuzzy diseased type people
will never make use of it. We would ensure that only the highest calibre of people
would be entitled to utilize these rescources, like the people we have in the child
care proffession."
Reaction to the announcment has ranged from "disgusted" to "elated" to "very
very confused". Preston Manning leader of the official opposition, the Reform Party
of Canada , was very active during the question
period which followed the budget announcement.
"Mr. Martin, can you explain to me again how you
are going to ensure that this vital service
will be maintained over the years to
come?" asked an adament Manning, in
"This is great! I
mean this is really
F**king great"
james adamson, young liberals
a striking change of character, Manning denied to
comment as he was "late for massage therapy."
Turncoat and Quebec
Premier, Lucien Bouchard,
seemed little moved by the
announcement.  "I do not
understand all the hoopla. This has been a right of Kaybeckers since confederation."
said a wobbly Bouchard. All the other premiers agreed last week to the increase in
funding, but the Quebec leader disagreed as Quebec would not see any practical
increase in its whorin' budget.
British Columbia Premier Glen Clark was very exited by the news saying "This will
be huge boon to the sagging B.C. economy. We have the highest per capita whore
rate in the country. This is exactly the kind of lucky break I've
been waiting for to ride into
another election."
Women's groups are expressing
"rage", "dismay", and "utter contempt". Ursala Magdalena from
the discussion group Women on
Women has described the move
as "the worst move since the first
woman gave head."
"We have been righting this kind
of male chauvinistic crap for
decades, and now this. Why
can't we have access to the
whores? I mean I need a good lay
just as much as the next fat balding sweaty construction worker."
Jean Chretien was unavailable
for comment as he and his family are currently engaged in a
week long ski-jaunt at Whistler.
Latest reports from sources close
to Cretien reported that he was
in deep conversation with Ursala
all day Saturday, and that afterwards she appeared to be placated on the issue.
Garage vs. Carport Debate
Turns Violent, Kills Four
432 editor at 300dpi, 6AM
iim&mJ®%mm®
Perhaps it is the heightened frenzy over
the Y2K computer bug, the violent tendencies fostered by the Jerry Springer Show, or
it may be even some erotic endotoxin
everybody seems to have acquired from
sniffing Furbies. Whatever it is, the world
has become a terrifyingly strange and deadly place to live.
Last week at a children's soccer game at
Arbutus Field, a heated discussion took
place between the parents of the players of
the Ladner First Nations Peoples and those
of the Richmond Wild Horses of
Unspecified Gender. The topic of the
debate was whether it is more proper to
refer to one's covered parking bay as a carport or as a garage.
The argument quickly turned violent
when Brenda Franorph, a rather large-assed
mother of the First Nations' star forward,
hurled her considerable mass into the midsection of the father of the Horses' fullback,
knocking him to the morning-dew moist
grass behind the 20 year old bleachers,
breaking 3 of his ribs and fracturing his
skull, sending into a deep coma from
which he would never awaken.
A bloody melee ensued as the children
watched their fathers, mothers and legal
guardians become a chaotic, pulsating
body of flailing limbs and breaking body
parts. The true horror came when Janet
Voorhees, whose son Jason tends goal for
the Nations', somehow managed to decapitate Richmond resident Tracey Rightman
with her seat cushion.
"That pompous bitch got just what she
deserved, " Mrs. Voorhees told the 432
from over the phone from her jail cell, "All
she could do all game was compliment her
daughter. 'Good job Tanya!' 'Great pass
Tanya!' Having to listen to that shit for
two hours straight while watching her ugly
little bitch on the field fall over herself—What would you have done?"
Charges are pending towards Mrs.
Voorhees. She and the seven other surviving soccer moms and dads are behind bars
tonight and will appear before the judge
tomorrow. page two
The
432
2.10.98
But Hotan, Us?
c
Snay
I really like anasthetic. If it wasn't for
the groinal surgery I had to have, I
would have enjoyed last week's trip to
the hospital.
Last Friday I ventured into the hallowed
halls of the venerable University
Hospital at a plucky seven fifteen a.m. to
checkin for my left inguinal hernia
repair which was schedueled to get
under way at nine fifteen a.m.
I was immediately subjected to a brief
checkin where I was asked many confusing questions including but not limited
to the following;
"What is your full name?"
"What is your address?"
"How many toes do you have?"
"How does Tinbergen's Theory on Great
Tit's apply to Alnus rubral"
"Who is your family doctor?"
"What are the implications of Hussein's
decision to pass the throne of Jordan to
his Son instead of his brother?"
"Have you had anything to eat in the
past eight hours"
I was then directed upstairs to the surgical clinic to be "prepped" for surgery.
This is another way of saying getting
naked and sitting around until you're so
bored you gladly accept having your
innards spilled onto the floor just to provide a little relief from the monotony.
They sat me on a bed in a room with
other people having surgery the same
day. I'm convinced these other
"patients" were just actors who the hospital placed in the room to make me feel
better because they were all having
surgery which sounded much more
painful and serious than mine.
A seeming ly skilled guy around the age
of thirty five then came in set up an I.V.
on one of these other "patients". A few
minutes later a skinny little asian girl
who looked about fifteen came into stick
my arm full of tubes. I'm sitting there
with a horse needle in my hand before
the actual little I.V. tube is inserted and
the nurse comes back into the room and
proceeds to say to the torture artist digging the inside of my hand apart "Who
the hell are you?"
That really helped quivering faith in the
hospital.
Anyway she got the drip going after
explaining to nurse Ratchet that she was
interning with the anesthetist. If you
grabbed some scrubs, you could easily
walk into a hospital and start practising
medecine.
Why do they call it practising
medecine? I don't wan't some beginner
practising on me. I want a guy whose
good enough that he doesn't have to
practise anymore.
So off I go wheeling down the halls of
the hospital, wearing piss all with only a
thin, but nicely warmed sheet between
me and the world. The orderly Hotan,
dumped me off in this room just outside
the operating room where I was accosted
by the friendliest lady I've ever met. She
was just way to happy. I guess when you
work in the hospital its not to hard to
get happy pills, or happy gas, 'or happy
suppositories.
So after a few minutes of happy chappy
cheriness, my orderly comes back to
wheel me away. You would think I
would be nervous by this point, but the
fact is I was so bored, I was glad to get
things under way. So into the Operating
room I go, where I was throughly
impressed with the operating table held
together with Duct Tape.
The anesthetist proceeded to mix me
one hell of a martini which he proceeded to mainline right to my brain. There's
no better way to consume alcohol then
by I.V. with the possible exception of
enema which I have yet to try.
I really have no desire to have a booze
enema, unless there was a familly of
Lithuanian refugees living in my rectum
who needed to be flushed.
I woke up a little quicker than most
people coming off of the anasthetic. In
fact I woke up as I was being wheeled out
of the operating room. I was a little confused by the lack of midgets and the
lizards who were catching the cockroaches running around on the ceiling.
After a few moments of terror, I realized
that I was in fact in the hospital recovering from major internal trauma so I
asked the local nurse the obvious question.
"Where the hell have all the midgets
gone?*
I was promptly sedated.
A couple of hours later I woke up back
in nurse Ratchet's dominion with a
headache and a bag of ice inhabating the
prime real estate next door to mister
happy.
About twenty minutes later an angel
came to take my home.
Three days later I could walk to the
bathroom without having to take a nap
afterwards.
THE KELVIN SCALE IS A COMMIE PLOT
Editorial
CfSPj
Temple
Last night's still a bit foggy. I can
recall almost the entire week, but
for some reason, my mind's ability
to observe and catalog all of the stimuli
around me ceased working on Saturday.
It all began innocently enough, the four
of us: Jake, Jenn, Frenchy, and myself
were sitting around in SUS discussing, as
we often do, how much fun it would be
to go on a road trip. We decided that it
would be the literal incarnation of the
word fun for the four of us to pile into a
vehicle and drive somewhere, to where
not being important. I'm sure that everybody has taken part in one of these yeah-
we-should-do-it conversations, but this
time we vowed to actually go for it. The
first step we decided to take was to
reserve a minivan rental, thus requiring
us to go, lest we lose our security deposit.
We spent a couple of days tying up all
the loose ends that taking five days off
school entails, then sat down in the
Gallery to do some serious planning.
Over copious quantities of alcohol, we
started to formulate an itinerary. After a
few hours of knocking back pitchers of
Shaftebury Cream and polishing all of
the burs out of the schedule, we came up
with the following: we were to get the
van and drive to California, on Thursday
turn around and come back. It was flawless. Elated with our planning, and excited to depart in two days, we settled back
for a long night of carousing.
1 remember at about midnight Jake was
trying his very hardest to convince our
waitress to come with us, but, even after
he filled her in on our detailed plan, she
turned the offer down. Dejected, Jake
resigned himself to the idea of a completely platonic road-trip. But, we all
knew full-well that the following week
would have plenty of room for some
drunken debauchery.
Finally the day dawned slightly overcast, but with an electric charge to the
air. Jake and I had already gotten the
van, and we were to all meet at SUS with
our supplies for the week. We loaded
into the van and set the dial for South.
The rear storage compartment was filled
with alcohol, so we had to keep the
bushels of fruit on our laps until we
could make enough of a dent in the two
supplies that they would both fit in the
back. As a result of this, Frenchy had to
flash his fake Customs badge and mutter
something like "it's all under control" at
the angry man asking us to step out of
the car at the Peace Arch. With the law
behind us, we were all very excited about
what lay ahead.   .    . ..:
We soon came to realize that highway
driving isn't the most fun experience in
the world, so we cracked open our beer
at about nine. Since Jenn was on the first
driving shift and Frenchy was next, only
Jake and I were able to drink. When
you're drinking in a bar, there are things
to distract you from your main task,
drinking. However, when you're in the
backseat of a minivan doing 120km/h
down a non-descript four-lane, you are
able to focus your attention. Several beer
later, Jake and I were nicely drunk and
decided to play the sock game.
The sock game is a great travel game
that Jake and I made up that morning.
The object of the game is to wrestle one
of the other players' socks from him or
her, hang it out the window, let it go,
watch it strike the windshield of the car
behind you, and cackle at the surprised
and bewildered looks on the faces of the
people in the target car. Jealous at all of
the fun we were having, Frenchy decided to have one beer to ease the tedium of
watching 47,000 white lines flash by.
Under an hour later, Frenchy was in the
back seat with us giggling drunkenly at
an old black man that shook his fist at us
after Frenchy's sock whistled off his
hood.
The sock game was a huge success at
passing the time until lunch. A little
after one, Jenn pulled into a McDonalds
just outside of Seattle. Inside,. Frenchy -a
PolySci major of course- lead a bitter
fight on the merits of the North
American Free Trade Agreement, detail*
ing why the manager should be happy to
serve us, and not fall back on some petty*
regulations that insisted we weren't
allowed, in the restaurant with bare feet.
Alas, Jenn aka Brute sabotaged our international trade talks by insisting that we
leave as well. So, a few minutes later we
were back on the highway eating our
chalupas and burritos and drinking our
rum 'ri' cokes through plastic straws.
The three of us were sitting in the back,
patting our backs and complimenting
each other on the way we made the
McDicks manager crumble before our
sophisticated arguments, while Jenn sat
in the front shaking her head. By four,
Jenn was getting pretty tired so we
decided to take it easy the first day, and
pulled into a Holiday Inn.
The man at the check-in counter raised
an eyebrow when a svelte young woman
with three drunken bastards in tow
walked up to him and asked for a double
room. After we were checked in, we were
happy to end a long hard day of drinking and we went up to our room on the
ninth floor. We knew that fate was
against us when we saw that we couldn't
open the windows, and me with my jar
of pennies. We were quickly placated
when we saw that they were showing
pornos on channel 52.
Stay tuned next week for the thrilling
conclusion of my narrative depiction of
our road trip where I will recount the
encounter we had with Steve, a U of A
student we met while he Was hitchiking
to Mexico.
Volume 12 Issue 8
13 JANUARY 1999
© 1999 The Science Undergraduate
Society cf UBC. All rights reserved.
The 432 is the offidal newspaper of thef
Science Undergraduate Society, published!
fortnightly by a grumpy son of a bitch who)
has much better things to do every otherj
weekend, so you should be very grateful j
for your chance to read this paper.
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.
Editor-in-Chief
Spaiilimpte i
drtemple@interchg.uDc.ca |
;!f itsfullofstars@penis.com j
Assistant Editors
Jake Ipaf
smeghead@penis.com
Andy Martin
spacerhooseC
Cartoonist
5*iie§"
Andy iirtti
jenn Gardy     Saw mmm
Ireeciiiig liifier 2.10.98
The
432
page three
Now the A.D.D.
Report
Q./    ^inii
So life is a bit strange right now. It
started Friday night after a Britpop
show at The Gate. My punk rock
mate and I go over to the Sugar Refinery
for a bit of after-hours action. The Sugar
Refinery is full of Arts students - people
who wear black, complain about the
treatment of underfed political prisoner
activist types in countries with gross
national products that are measured in
pocket change, and who list "making
statements" as one of their hobbies.
We get in and grab a table in front of
the night's entertainment - two guys,
one of whom looks like he had to ride
the short bus to school every morning,
playing drums and scratching records.
I'd use the term "DJ". but that would be
like describing Charles Manson as "a
pretty well-adjusted guy - good with kids
and pregnant women". Anyway, at the
end of their set one of the guys grabs a
hammer and "makes a statement' by
beating the shit out of one of the turntables. I'm not sure whether the statement was "This represents the routine
and systematic oppression of the
Tkvullu people of Northern Zambia by
the corrupt regime of Generalissimo
Sock" or "My girlfriend dumped my and
I'm a bit pissed off" but everyone is the
place was paying really deep attention.
Punk rock boy and I were pissing ourselves laughing.
So then this old* drunk guy in a scarf
gets up, grabs the hammer, and starts
the audience participation part of the
night , which basically entails attempting to crack my friend's skull open with
said hammer. Didn't work. So we went
home.
Next afternoon we go see a movie. The
second we step out of the theatre after
it's over, the whole world has changed.
We kinda got the feeling that you get
when you step out of the bathroom with
toilet paper stuck to your shoe and
everyone else knows and is looking at
you funny, but all your know is you're
the centre of attention and it's not good.
Anyway we walk through the city with
the toilet-paper-on-the shoe feeling and
get home. After dinner, Punk rock boy
heads home and 2 hours later, his psychotic ex-girlfriend appears at my front
door.
OK, so I'm kinda bored of talking about
all that crap. You don't know me, so it's
probably not of any interest to you.
Last night I made a small army of sock
puppets. They are stationed in my hallway, ready to protect me from alien
invasion.
I want to get famous, but not so famous
that I can't just disappear into obscurity
when I'm bored with it all. I never want
to be stuck hosting an infomercial like
most has-beens.
There're 3 ways to do things: the right
way, the wrong way, and the Science
way. the Science way is the wrong way,
but faster.
If I could fly, I'd fly above all the birds
that ever crapped on my car and I'd do
the same to them.
Three blondes go into a bar, order a
round of shooters, raise their glasses,
and shout "51 days!". They go up to the
bartender, order another round, and
shout "51 days!" again. They go up to
the bar a third time, order a round, and
shout "51 days!". They go up for their
fourth round and as the bartender pours
their shots, he asks them why they keep
toasting to "51 days". "Well," says one
blond, "we just finished a jigsaw puzzle.
The box said .4-7 years but we finished it
in 51 days!"
Always remember to clean the probe
carefully after every use.
C'nest Pas Un Souris
Horoscopes
Aries (March 21 - April 191: 'I his Valentine's Pay is the time to bring
up the idea of si'X. With .mvone I he more thr merrier, right? Right,
lliv !v>.| cLii' t>i | :ik ii|- |v .pli- is ..I l>,iio. |".ibs, beer gardens, and
mi ;si iin.iilvi -ii.il m\ ti> ■■!<-. . lu-lv i w.i\ :.. ;■!■ k someone up is with
\i-ii! ki:ivs l.ltirg with \'hi \\i.\ !>■ i:>l begging for injury.
I Mi !:> n's in'I Ciiili1 .is ■un wl'i-n ih.iTi 's iii ■ ■ ■nc to share it with.
l.mriis i \pril 2lJ M.»\ 2<)i: '■ n\i- ■ i-:-i- i.il m; ■ n:-.;.;» \. nr species
iC.iin. i..i\ i n'l i- ii.' I -ii inr I>-m i < -i-J. 111*: K.:\i 11:*.- i:>".h alone! It
:n.a n ^l hi si.iti:ti'i\ i.:|n iii In . p-:i [■•.■ hr.-lhi'!' i.ii; •.nil track your
i-.s .is.'.Mi .in.! |"i.,:n.| \,.i: 11.11■ ii'i- I'.i'.-.T'i'hi
'     -.
(it-mini (\1«'i\ 21  - lime HU:  V   iht.ui   \-iii pi.-sirii i   i:i \woel,
i:iii.'itnt  lau- \" tin   UiMid.  Km!  \.>Lir   p.iiiud   kin>i\k  '.'u truth.
Pivi.iiit MUi.iiiK h.is .1I-/..11-. \,u:ki>! \   nr   l*..i:i. *.' I.   .;v ik Oh, if
thev niilv knew in-! •>ni thnsi- whips .iini IijikIi sills
Cuiier (June 21 - |ul\ 22): living with inniiim.ili s d'H-s h.ivi its
dMwh.ii.ks Vimi can't suf.im .is Imid .is \nu w.int in ilu Ihmrs ni pas-
sum, viui i.int have si\ on Ilu- living renin lis-or jii\ turn- \.m leil
like it. <md tlmse pisk\ door links |iist .lin't holding up Invest in .i
dead-holt, .nid It'll vour ioi,mm.iti-s to bu\ iMrpluj,-..
Leo ijuly 2.\ - August 22): Internet pnrnograph\ is nnl n quired
leading inali'ii.il for \niir rlas.si-s. llnweu'r, .11 urriiulum um ling has
rvocnUv taken pl.iif. ami perhaps thev haw 1 li.iiigt-d the rules.
Contact its(iilln[sisirs(-pi-uis.i.oni fi»r fuithir iiilorm.ilion
Virgo 1 \iigust 2.? September 22v. As \..ui s.gn s.i\s. \..u .in tin
1111-.I virginal person vnu kimw. 1'i-ih.ips .1 h.iin .main Mi-.'in, Imt
..rllknv is tlu- s'iIuIidii. Ills i-i.'l ri'siilt is lh.it ^ 1 -ii .ui- hitti r. mi.ri
■ liid .iii-jis   I ink lull  iliil tiilsl viuiisi-ll .1 Hivki nil li.li-
1 ibr.i (Si-pti-mlHT 2i - Ottnhi-r lly. |-.:iiij.i-ring is the name of the
si-mi.ii g.iiM-  \\->\\ gel v. Ii.it \,.
is ii-l.i\i-il .mil in tiu- ni-sn.i, :n- ..r shr
1 Ifs ris wi-ith'.'.inle
h.ihv. 1 ivi- linns.
! Il" li- Ills '.i    in.:'   r. 1   ;.[ 1
iisr .1 phrase. If your partner
■i In- .nid she) will make your
ng rights. Five times,
Scorpio (October 2.-$ - November 211: < .in.nli.in 1 h< <i. I.iti- is highly
.uklii live, diis- to tin- high iniitcnt nt ii'i".i liijiu iir. Sim-nth, creamv,
dii.Klt-nt ... Vuin. I hen- was .1 s.uwv th.it si.mi' winiien preferred
1 hi>i>>l;iti- to m-\   Is this .1 1 h illengi- I Ih-.ii '
Sagittarius (November 22 - December 21): Sorry to loll you this,
hul wni'n- "'.-u-wi-d \i-.il ii-.' in .1 j:.iisi! v..i\. The psychotic ex's are
mil l-i gi-i \<!ii this \.:ioniiii.rs .lj\ l h,\ knnu where you live, they
km-iv win habits .un! iln-\ iiii-v. i-\.mK h -w to ruin your life. A
•.sii.itinii in the siim:v si-mil mi-Jit h.  1,-1 .11.ki.
f apricorn (Dcu-mher 22 - l.mii.m I'M: hint- !.. jit siimms. When
nuking .1 ilioi.e b.twom l.nnih .unl J.^iis. think .ibmit this care-
lulh. Waking up .iloni- m 20 vi-.ns isn'i ,is .ippi-u/ing .is 11 seems at
firsi (if ..jiirs.. I .,,ii"t ts.-lj v.sii v.li.ii I.- flunk, hut .i\ .1 iiu-iul of your
!i'\i-. I'm lilling vnu tli.it slu- kuks 1|^^ i >r .it k.is! lus the .ibilitv to
kit k .iss.
Aquarius MJmiuuiv 2D- li-hniiirv IX): Will, with ii-n hi.-kin ■ >.m
maiulniiuts ht-hind von. it's tmu- in mine nnlii m-w li-rnti-rv.
Morality is such a bumnu-r. Vnu ■ ■>u|.l hi- hit h> .1 bus .ui.l die lom.-r
row, so lijvi: fun todjy. C.in-liil tun. as 1M.1i bus might lum oft vmir
stn-i't before it hits \on. and you imglii live until \nuu- "d (,,j|" f,ltl
noiiolheless.
I'iscts (February 19- March 20l: A l,ill. h.indsonu- stranger will soon
wander into your life .uul bed. Best mlrodiuo yourself lo Uus
stranger before >ou «vnd up in the sack Tlu-re is nothing ipiiti- likr
m reaming. "Oh yos! Yes." C>h wh.il was \011r ndiiu- again.'1
wrjeBS»,9**«**
Reginald, a Polynesian Titmouse. . ^.-.^-^^^ssas-s^a^eas^ffl! issssssasj
page four
The
432
2.10.98
There's Gotta Be a 12-Step Program
^ara Stamm -   ^ „
■y^  imiemtM     '    .,,>	
I can remember worrying and
stressing out a lot during first
term. I used to get up an hour
and a half before I needed to be at
class (I live 10 minutes max. away
from the class rooms) and ending up
arriving late or even not at all (gasp!)
because I was incapable of functioning at a level that allowed me to get
where I needed to go when I needed
to be there and with everything I
needed. I think I must have acted a
lot like someone you might see in a
Psych ward in the hospital. I can
vaguely remember moments of sitting down for a "breather" and getting up to continue with whatever it
was I had been doing over an hour
later, although it only felt like minutes to me. Whatever ensued
between the time I sat down and the
time I got up I couldn't tell you, but
I can assure you that it involved
glazed, unfocused eyes and a slack
mouth.
I hope that the only witnesses of
this ever happening were my very
important and essential companions; my stuffed teddy beats. I could
never go through a day without
them. I hold very intimate conversations with them, and tell them all
the shit that goes down each day. I
don't mind what I look like when
they see me, but if anyone else happened to be present at a time that I
entered "la-la land" I think their
opinion of me might be compromised for the rest of our acquaintance. That is if there is a "rest of "to
our acquaintance.
Anyways, before I lose myself in
narrative even more than I have and
completely lose your interest, I'll do
my best to come to the point of
everything I've been saying. You
see, the first sentence of this article
contains: "during first term," which
I am hoping tells you that I am no
longer in that unflattering situation.
I have learned to cope! As I near the
end of the first part of the second
half of my first year at UBC, I find
stress to no longer be a part of my
equation of life. Why? you might
ask or How? Well, I just don't care
anymore! Nothing matters, it doesn't make a difference what happens,
as long as you have your teddy
bears! Teddy bears can fix everything. You should try having some
on the corner of your bed to watch
over you. I find it so very soothing
to know that they will be my
guardian angels.
When I do my homework (rarely,
but it does occur!), I sit on my bed
and ask my fuzzy friends what they
think of my answers, and I basically
just carry on a verbal monologue
that encompasses everything I need
to do to complete my homework.
Doing work out loud seems to strip
it of all frightening and potentially
stressful aspects. Although, you do
have to be careful, because I have
found myself slipping up at times,
and I think my teddy bears have the
two words "organism" and "orgasm"
mixed up. Either that or they think
that the two words can be used
interchangeably. That might get
them in trouble some day, don't you
think?
I also study with my teddies
(hmmm, "teddies", eh?) and that
helps me a lot as well. Again, of
course, you must be careful, because
anything you do with your bears
requires you to verbalize all your
thoughts, so make sure you say what
you mean.
I even sleep with my teddy bears!
You might think, "How scandalizing!" but really, the bears bear no
resemblance to any kind of sexual
figure in my mind. You must find
other things to provide that form of
stress relief. No, when I sleep with
my teddies, they are just there to
watch over me and comfort me if I
have a bad dream. Everybody likes
to be comforted after having a nightmare, right?
Does all this worry you? You think
I'm crazy right? Well, maybe you're
right, but I don't worry so much
anymore, and I enjoy life much
more. My grades are better, I enjoy
classes more, I get along with people
better, I look better (I have time to
make myself look decent when I get
■up, instead of daydreaming), and I
feel better. Which reminds me, my
teddy bears help me pick what to
wear every morning, and I've had a
lot more compliments this term
than I had last term. I guess my
bears have good taste!
I suppose that you don't have to use
teddy bears as your confidants if you
can think of a better alternative,
although the bears are pretty inconspicuous. You wouldn't know how
vital they were if you didn't read
this, so they serve the purpose well.
1 think that maybe all of you out
there should try to find something
like teddy bears to keep you sane in
the weird world of university and all
that. I think teddy bears are great.
Oh yeah, and then there is my gorgeous roommate...
Hey, what about me? -ed
Master of His Domain
Duncan McHugh ™ ~
■<.....   pifflijwfff eatgp  J?	
Oh, dearest readers, I have a
made a grievous mistake. I
have taken a bet to abstain
from alcohol consumption for the
month of February. Egads! Just as I
had never realized how bushy my
eyebrows were until I bleached my
hair, I had never known how deep-
seated boozing is to my existence.
Need I mention I was drunk when
the bet was taken.
I tells ya, life just ain't the same
without that frosty beer to greet me
when I get home, that glass of wine
to wash down dinner and that trusty
bowl of Cheerios and Vodka to wake
me up in the morning. And talk
about side effects. Man Alive! I've
already given up on the possibility
of romance for the next four weeks.
Without a couple of glasses of liquid
libido, there's little or no chance of
me being able to articulate anything
more than a monosyllabic grunt.
Not that me as a polysyllabic grunter
fares much better. I've been without
a girlfriend for so long, even my
hand is asking to see other people.
You probably didn't want to hear
that.
Speaking of large collections of hair,
I've dyed the hair on my head. As I
mentioned previously, I bleached it
and, for the sake of the federation,
quickly colored it purple. Damn,
some people really aren't down with
purple as a hair colour. Safeway
cashiers have started glaring at me as
though I had just car bombed a
Volvo full of nuns and puppies. Lord
knows my days in Beirut weren't
pretty, but puppies! I'd never harm
puppies. Well, except those fucking
poodles. Anyways, I digress.
I've decided I am anti-pants. I think
my thighs must be claustrophobic, I
get panicky whenever I get dressed,
very distressing.  From now on I
would like to declare the SUS lounge
a pants optional zone. For too long
we have been oppressed, shackled to
the whims of our waistbands and
inseams. Down with Khakis, Jeans
and Cords!!! Up with Moo-Moos!!!
I'm really finding it difficult to fill
this space. $23.50 to see Spirit of the
West in the Sub Ballroom, what's the
deal? Who on campus has yet. to see
SOTW? We've all  seen them  12
times, we all know the songs and
we'd all like to shove that really
tinny  flute  up  that  guy's  nose.
$23.50 is utter shite.
Belgium,   now   there's   a   scary
thought. We all think that Belgium
is so quaint, "oh, how cute; they
speak Flemish, wow, they're so grateful on account of our saving their ass
from Deutscheland", bogus, utterly
bogus. They're seducing us while
they continue their REMORSELESS
GRAPPLING  FOR  WORLD  DOMINATION!!! The wool has been pulled
over our eyes people. Slowly but
surely they're turning us into overweight couch monkeys with their
"waffles" and "Tintin". And where is
the central bank for the new Euro
currency    located?    BRUSSELLES,
baby! I'll let you know now, that
when the finely crafted chocolate
hits the fan, we're all going to be up
shit creek without a canoe.
One last thing. I'm beginning to do
research on Bathroom graffiti culture for an expose that shall appear
in a future issue. So, I want all you
degenerates to get cracking. If all the
scum on campus band together,
there's no way the janitor's can keep
the walls clean. Remember only the
amusing or patently absurd will be
up for consideration. So, go forth my
brave minions and don't forget,
should you find yourself in the stalls
of the basement in Lassere do not,
under any circumstances, tap your
foot under the divider to the next
stall. Trust me, it's a real pain in the
ass.
Oh jeez, I thought I recognized that
purple hair, -ed
fjomdJofti-U-Ufe
This Portion of
the Paper is
Laced with LSD.
Enjoy.
Hooi Uou  look a^
#\<l? beainnina o^
Hooi   uou FEEL k\X 2.10.98
The
432
page five
Spiced Ham
Moz
tm ffifi«if im$k
For those of you who are too
busy surfing the 'net' for porn
to read a 'real' newspaper I
bring you the headlines from last
week.
The Canadian Government voted
on its first major issue today, as 70%
of the house voted that Preston
Manning does in fact look like Mr.
Garrison off of South Park. The vote
could not be made unanimous as
the official opposition as well as the
Bloc Quebecois continued their policy of disagreeing with whatever the
liberals say. The Reform party insisted that Preston Manning looked like
Mr. Hat, while the Bloc Quebecois
stated that he looked like Mr. Hanky.
Other unimportant issues such as
trade strategies, the Iraq situation,
and the APEC controversy have not
yet been dealt with, but according to
a high ranking Liberal "we're going
to sit on our asses for a while pretending to argue about minor details
and then we're going to do pretty
much whatever the Americans tell
us to".
The Clinton impeachment trial,
which is now being called 'QJ II The
Return of Way Too Much Media',
has apparently gotten to the
American president, as 4 crack-
whores, a Cuban cigar salesman, and
an Iraqi arms dealer were seen going
into the oval office. A sticky note
attached to the door read "If I'm
going out, god damn it, then I'm
going out with a bang. "What type
of bang he meant was not specified.
It has been confirmed that the IOC
members received on average $150,
000 from Salt Lake city in order to
ensure that the Olympics would
come to town. As most people were
unaware of this fact and any other
worldly detail outside of Clinton's
sex life, we decided to inform people
about this controversy and get their
reactions, which were as follows:
Dennis Rodman - "Those damn
Mormons. I knew they were
crooked" Jean Chretien - "eh-salt?...I
put salt on mah plate" Bill Clinton -
"For Christ sake. I'm getting booted
out of office for getting my cock
sucked and those dipshits are getting
150 grand and no-one cares" Arthur
Griffith - "Damn, those bastards told
me that it wouldn't cost more than a
hundred thousand per vote." Ross
Rebagliati - "Cool man ... eh ya got
any Doritos?" Everybody else -
"Sweet. How do I get on the IOC?"
Bill Gates is Broke! In an unexpected turn of events Bill Gates lost all of
his 100 billion dollars worth of holdings in a bet with a small group of
BC residents. The bet was apparently
made on who would puke first during the milk drinking contest at
UBC. "It isn't possible" Gates is supposed to have said "I had that kids
milk soured and then spiked with
gasoline. He shouldn't have bee able
to survive three swigs of it much less
drink all four liters". In a post contest interview the winner, Ryan
Moslin, seemed ill, but was quite
a Heart to Heart
proud of himself.
UBC finally admitted to having a
hopelessly pathetic voter turnout.
Martha Piper made the following
statement "I give up! Those apathetic bastards just won't take us seriously. Well I'll show them, I've set up a
puppet AMS president who will do
whatever I say. I'm going to use their
tuition to buy a new yacht, and free
alcohol in the faculty lounges. Then
I'll force all the students to listen to
my stories about my imaginary
friend". Coincidentally members of
the RBF may capitalized on the low
voter turn out to shift their voter
support to the unnamed candidate
in exchange for political favours.
Such reports are of course rumours,
but there are two extra kegs of beer
in SUS at this moment. This accusation is strengthened by the seemingly impossible defeat of the Pylon.
Who, despite leading in the polls by
a huge margin, placed third in the
election results. The AMS is of course
investigating, but they're more useless than tits on a turtle.
Wreck beach is apparently the site
of US Navy Seal Training. This confession was reluctantly made by a
confused general who was looking
for his troops on Friday. Apparently
50 American soldiers stormed Vanier
cat on Thursday and demanded
food, stating that they hadn't eaten
in weeks. After having their request
granted they changed their mind
and asked directions to the nearest
McDonalds. It seems that the inhabitants of Wreck beach were not the
lazy unemployed nudist freaks that
we thought they were, rather they
were highly trained nudist freaks
who couldn't seem to figure out
where the hell they were. Rumor
that a certain 432 writer (and AMS
External hopeful) is trying to recruit
said soldiers for her own personal
militia could not be confirmed at
this time.
Two drunk UBC students were
almost arrested last week: The two
perpetrators, who would only give
their names as 'Moz' and Josh 'big-
poppa', got into a drunken argument which nearly turned into a
brawl; however, the arrival of the
cops somehow caused the two
drunks to forget their differences
and make a collective plea for their
innocence. One of the officers told
the students "We seriously don't
care if you kill each other just don't
do it on public property." The two
students and the rest of their drunken friends then returned to UBC.
In sporting news: Pavel Bure finally
realized what a little prick he was
and shot himself in the head. His
death had no effect on the 432 dead
pool. In related news Brian Burke
and Mike Keened finally professed
their love for one another.
Unfortunately they tried to consummate the relationship at a recent
Vancouver game and were spotted
when one of the fans actually woke
up during the game.
Thank you and now back to Jake
Grey and his amputee porn.
Dead Pool
People are still on the planet.
People are still dying. There
dying in all sorts of different
ways. People are dying from Malaria
because their colons take a few days
off causing explosive and bloody
diarrhea. People are dying from ALS
formerly known as Lou Gehrig's disease. They die because certain portions of the Limbic System of the
brain degenerates wreaking havoc
with muscle control and movement
until the person eventually wastes
away to a living skeleton reminiscent of victims of Auschwitz. People
are dying every day in bloody car
accidents when their ribs get collapsed into their lungs causing them
to drown on their own blood. People
are dying from cancer of every tissue
in the body which can be diagnosed
and the person dead three weeks
later. People are dying of AIDS where
the bodies immune system is the target of a virus which leaves the person susceptible to even the most
innocous of infections. People are
dying of Hepatitis B, a virus one
hundred times more infectious than
AIDS and considerably more virulent in time until death. People are
dying in gang conflicts in south cen
tral Los Angeles. People are dying
from massive hemmorhoid explosions because the itching and burning are just to much. People are
dying from multiple-antibiotic
resistent nosocomial infections.
People are dying from heart disease
because their arteries have been
choked shut by the buildup of
decades of overconsumption of fat
and cholesterol. People are dying
from liver failure due to years and
years of chronic drinking. People are
dying from Lung Cancer from the
years of chain smoking.
Recent interesting cases include of
course King Hussein. Who died just
hours before I wrote this. Also on
the hot seat are Wally Payton, who
has been diagnosed with a fatal liver
ailment. Gene Siskel (the bald one
on Siskel & Ebert) is at home* right
now, recovering from some major
surgery and you never know, something can go wrong so easily...
And of course, the man who to the
Dead Pool has only one name:
"Boris", continues his drunken
stumbling closer and closer to the
edge of etrnity.
These people could very well be on
your dead pool list. So keep looking
in the obituaries and make sure you
email Dr. Death at
Smeghead@penis.com with your
death and your source of the info on
said death. page six
The
432
2.10.98
A Life in the Day
Following in the footsteps of our
heroine, Dee, we come upon a
Thursday. Dee lives in an outlying
area of the Lower Mainland. Luckily for
Dee, the buses run close to her house.
For Dee does not own a car. In fact, Dee
does not even own a hairdryer. (But
that's another tale).
This fine day, Dee's alarm clock goes off
at 5:30 am. Someone had been fiddling
with Dee's alarm clock, and the lilting
strains of "Wanna-Be" blare, far too
loud. Once Dee's heart-rate returns to a
normal non-critical level, she manages
to get out of bed. Now, reader, are you
asking yourself why Dee awoke so early?
Dee has an 8:30 am chemistry class at
UBC. UBC is FAR from where she lives.
All proceeds well until Dee realizes that
she cannot find a textbook that she
NEEDS for one of her basket-weaving
classes. Oh, gosh, where can it be? After
ten minutes of frantic searching, Dee
concedes that this game is getting old.
She looks at the clock. What? 6:11!? She
is going to miss the bus! Not having time
to tie her shoelaces, she dashes out the
door. Oh no! The bus is turning the cor
ner! Run, Dee, run!
It's about now that Dee realizes why
shoelaces are to be tied, as she trips and
does a header into the sidewalk. Oh, did
I mention that it is pissing rain? And
Dee almost impaled herself on her
umbrella?
The one saving grace at this point is the
bus does, in fact, not run Dee over. Even
better, the bus driver stops and waits for
Dee. Dee praises this individual, as she
realizes that the fall broke her umbrella
and she is soaking wet.
Time passes. An uneventful bus ride
into the burg of Vancouver. Dee's hands
have stopped bleeding when she gets off
the bus. Forced to cross a busy intersection (let's just call it Grodway and
Brandville), she is struck by a cascade of
water tossed up by a passing truck. Lucky
for her, her witch-powers have been in
remission, so she's not melting at this
point.
Arrival at UBC is quick enough. By this
time, Dee's watch reads 7:30 am. One
hour until Dee's chemistry class. Time
for breakfast and a coffee? Sure, why not.
Does Dee have any money for breakfast?
Let's check her wallet. $ 1.39.
Enough for a coffee? Yes. Anything else?
Hell no. Coffee is good. Dee can live
with coffee. At least the mud has dried
on her jeans. Her hands still sting, but
the bleeding is still stopped.
Dee enjoys her low calorie breakfast of
coffee and 1%. Why, it's getting close to
that time for class. Dee packs up, and
meanders over to the chemistry building. Why, what's that little sign on the
door of the lecture theatre? "Thursday
8:30am lecture canceled."
Amid the screams of "The inhumanity!"
of the many diligent students who
hauled their collective asses out of bed
for the damn class, Dee sees flashes of
grey pass before her eyes. But wait! Is
that a silver lining? Perhaps it's a nickel
lining. Either way, this lining takes the
form of "quiz to be postponed".
You take what you can get.
Dee retreats to a quiet corner to contemplate. It's not that quiet, SUS never
approached silence. Whilst Dee sips the
free Canadian Springs water available to
all Science students in SUS, days of
yester-week flash before her eyes. A few
interesting occurrences come to mind.
And if you haven't given up this article
in disgust, read on, and be happy you're
not Dee.
When wind and rain mingle, umbrella-
havoc is wreaked. It's too wet to walk
unsheltered, as the whipping water will
blind anyone, but the second you open
your umbrella, you recreate the scene
from Mary Poppins and are blown halfway to PoCo. If you're not the President
of the United States, you might not be
pleased to be blown that way.
You have purchased a beautiful white
shirt. On the first day that you ever wear
this shirt, there is an upset and your coffee spills all over the front of this shirt. It
wouldn't be so bad, but it was a lopsided
spill. This spill nicely highlights the left
side of your chest. More specifically,
your left breast. Remember, Dee is
female. VERY female.
The class is silent. The lecture hall
packed. The teacher drones on. All eyes
are trained upon the front of the room.
You realize that you need the red pen in
your pencil case. Quietly, you unzip the
pencil case, and shuffle your pens
around. You sight the red pen. Tugging
gently, it's almost out of the bag, when it
snags. You tug harder. In a Machivellian
mastery of terror, the red pen goes flying
across the room, followed by all it's little
peri-buddies. The horror dances gleefully
as every person in the room turns to
look at you. They're not laughing with
you, they are laughing AT you.
Getting off on Getting Lost
<G
WSHty
Garcia
I've got to get out of this city. It's
getting to'trie point that if I even
see another red and white trolley
bus, I'll go postal and unleash a rain
of high velocity sabot rounds from a
conveniently protected elevation,
ventilating many an innocent passer-by. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm
not personally against the transit
system of this fair city. I'm against
the city itself, and I can think of
nothing more emblematic of this
muggy, horrible and cramped city
than tlie muggy, horrible and
cramped buses I am forced to endure
to get to campus on a daily basis. I
am tired of the endless rain, the
darkness, the gloom. And those are
the good points about this city. I'm
not even sure if I want to venture an
opinion about the things I don't
really like about this place.
School. School's another sore point.
You'd think that four-or-so years of
professional scholasticism would
have inured me to the dreary humdrum of classes and studying. Then
again, maybe the word "professional" is inappropriate. Hell, the word
"amateur" isn't even appropriate in
this instance. It's not as if length of
stay has any bearing on the quality
of the university experience. Maybe
they should make up a "continuing
novice" category for students
attending this fine institution. I
mean, people have so many expectations and assumptions. Frosh have it
easy, because people expect them to
be confused, lost and otherwise
befuddled for the first year of their
stay (or even their second; sometimes it takes a while for them to
land on their feet), third years and
higher are expected to be at least
mildly competent individuals, people who know their way around the
Library of Congress classification
system and the- arcane rituals of
summoning ' up an article from
MedLine or OVILX I'd fit in to "continuing novice" quite well, thank
you.
Right now, this seems to particularly apply to me. I feel like I've
regressed and switched brains with a
fresh-off-the-bus hapless frosh. I
can't find classes that I've been
going to for weeks now. I stumble
through even the simplest of article
searches. The reserve section of
Woodward .Library:: seems as
labyrinthine as a Victorian topiary
maze. All of this seems to indicate,
in a vaguely general way, that I'm
stuck in a rut. My brain's parked in
neutral,- but my body's in third gear.
Heading uphill. No wonder the
engine's making weird growly not-
enough-power, I'm in pain noises at
me. Or is that because I haven't had
breakfast yet?
No, what I need is a change of pace..
A break. Something that takes me-
away from the "get up in the morning, go to classes, go to the library,
go home and study, do some online
deathmatching until ungodly hours
to relieve the stress of being a student; cycle, rinse and repeat" humdrum ordinariness of my current
schedule. And I don't mean the
kind of break that comes from missing one or two months worth of
classes and playing gory videogames
until the concept of massive, carnage-enhanced gibbage becomes not
only acceptable, but expected. What
I mean is the kind of break that can
only come of hitting the road, Jack,
and not comin' back no more, oh
no. Road trip break. Plane trip
break.   Basically, a get me the fuck
away from this place break.
What a relief, then, that reading
break's not all that far away (one or
two weeks; depending on when this
paper hits a classroom near you).
My only regret is that reading week
is but nine short days. Two of which
are already booked to Do Things
with the Significant Other. Hey, she
hates boats, I hate hiking, so we're
going to Bamfield to live a quiet
romantic outdoorsy weekend
together, doing things we dislike and
communing with nature. I figure
that a little bit of controlled antagonism is probably good for a relationship; kinda like picMng at, a scab.
This weekend miglif be just: what the:
doctor ordered. Roughing it, as it
were, on the wilds of Vancouver
Island's West Coast. If you cornbined
the total outdoorsy ability we have,
it'd be the equivalent to that owned
by an eager little Beaver.Scout. You
know the type; nine years old, scabby, permanent smudges around trie
face, owns a jack knife and can probably tell you where north is if he had
a compass and some patience. I
guess that's what you get if you're a
biology geek dating a computer nerd
(bonus point if you can guess who's
who).
Maybe Bamfield's not the ideal getaway from it all excursion, but Bora-
Bora's a bit hard to get to on short
notice, and a mite bit unaffordable
at this point in the year (the nadir, as
it were, of the spending cycle, when
the money from the previous summer, so carefully budgeted to last a
full year has mysteriously vanished
into the weird ether of late-night
dinners and compulsive computer-
related purchases). If I did have the
cash, though, I wouldn't mind going
somewhere warm and tropical. Do
some  cliff-diving off of Borneo,
though, given my shape and athletic ability, the image of lithe grace
easily slipping into the coral-blue sea
. is replaced, with the image, of hap-
. hazard tumbling followed by a large
splash. A LARGE splash. Ocean levels may rise. Flooding may occur.
Or it may not; the general point is
that I need to get as far away from
this- place as humanly possible.
Recharge my batteries. I am, after all,
solar powered; I could do to roast in
the sun somewhere, basking in the
warming glow like some well-oiled
slug sipping Pina Coladas and
watching the surf betties do their
surf betty thing. That'd be a pleasant
change. Yet I fear that, come this
reading week, I'll be doing the one
thing most people don't usually do
when faced with seven days of free
time in the middle of their exam
schedule. I may actually buckle
' down and study.
So you can see that I am looking
forward to this Valentine's weekend
then. Two days of unbuffered exposure to another human being, sharing in activities that would, under
any other circumstance, turn ordinary mortals into raving psychotics.
Instead, we'll be slogging through
muddy paths and peacefully rowing
over, the beautiful fjords and bays
around Bamfield. Though if you
asked her, it would be more like
"hiking through the serene temperate rainforests of Vancouver Island,
and enduring the godawful rocking
motions inherent to small rowing
craft".
I am out of here. And with any luck
at all, I'll be back (though likely not
in as many pieces as went out).
PS, nik, if you're reading this, I'm
kidding. I'm really, really looking
forward to this weekend. Really.
Truly. Heh... 2.10.98
The
432
page seven
The Drawers of SUS™
t
External Veep w
hew!  Science Week
is done. It's actually
done.     One week,
one super week in the history
_     "' of UBC. Highlights included watching half the SUS
Htlif M§ MlllTSy  Executive puking their guts out at Dawson's Knock
Back a Cow (and being beaten by a passerby who
finished off his 4 litres in 25 minutes), and the absolutely fantastic Cold Fusion
dance with the Real McKensies. Andy looked so cute in his kilt.
The great success wouldn't have been possible without all the volunteers and the
efforts of all the clubs to put together the fabulous boothes and events. And a extra
"Thanks a Million" to our sponsors, Boston Pizza, Coast Mountain Sports, Paradigm
and Web CT for their great prizes and donations.
As far as the awards go, the following clubs won the awards for Best
Club Display:
1st: BioSoc
2nd: AIMS
3rd: BPP
And the following clubs won awards for "Best
Fundraising":
lst:Geology
2nd:BPP
3rd: PreMed
Once again, thanks for all the people who
made this a week to remember for everyone
involved
H
eh heh heh...
Internal Veep
ill lartin
o
^iM«^
5^ The Drawers
T     Of SUS.
Ttook a bullet yesterday.
I We were pushing charlie
A out of a small but vital
village in the Hu-nang province. We slowly moved
through the huts shooting anything suspicious. I group
of northern soldiers showed up on the north side of the village and started to fire at us from the trees. I set up a standard
phalanx having the men use the villagers as human shields and
slowly moved up towards the trees. I didn't see the second group of char-
lie who had flanked us and was firing at us from the pile of dung beside the barn. I
was lucky it didn't hit anything important. Besides, I've got another kidney.
I'm stuck in a hospital bed in a hospital just south of Saigon. I'm the only one in
the ward who isn't missing a limb. They're going to try and send .me home, but when
I look around at the crumpled heaps of former men, garbled and disfigured in their
blood stained sheets, I can't bare the thought of letting anymore of my men get hurt
without me being there with them.
The nurse has come in to stupify the other patients with morphine. If I have to be
here, I'd rather retain something of myself than give in to the sweet foggy bliss of
the poppy.
Ha ha ha!
BWA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
HA HA HAH HA HA HA HA HA
HA HA HA HA HA
HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
HA HA HA HA HA
Ha ha ha ha HAH. FOOLS! You have released me and allowed me to...Oh, damn,
where did the Crystal of Power go?
Ah fuck. Forget it.
That's right, your worst dream come true, I am second in
command in all the faculty of Science and as soon as a 16
ton chocolate heart lands on John F., I'll rule you all.
Science Week is done, and I'd like to say that I had a
freak of a good time. I got to DJ the 1st year dance,
came 3rd in milk chugging and ruled Cold
Fusion. I have to say that I had the most fun of
. anybody.   Hell, lots o' haggis, beer and regimental kilts, how could I not?
Well, until at least' next week, this is still a
democracy. So, I want to keep an open line to
youse all out there.   Any suggestions, comments, death threats, offers for sex, etc. etc.
can be directed to me at andmarti@interch...
or come by SUS (Chem B160) to talk to me,
buy 75c pop, or even just lounge on the
couch.   Hell, talk to me about anything, my
articles, what exactly I do or your recent problems with your loveiife. Come on and love me,
cause no one else will.
'■■■■
%
CO
Well, let's get- right down to it.  I have a couple of
big announcements. First, elections. SUS Executive
Elections are still a ways away, but if you think you
have the right stuff, I invite you to run.   Don't come
bothering me quite yet, I'm gonna be a touch grumpy for a
while. Nomination forms will be in a isssue in the near future,
so be sure to be extra attentive as you keep your usual bimonthly^.
vigil next to your favorite 432 "newstand". I'm also looking for an Election
Comissioner and always like poll clercks to make money for about 10 iniutes of work
an hour.
Second, I'm involved in cirriculum meetings right now. You might not know this,
but there is a "Breadth Requirement" tor some Science Degrees. This Requirement is
9 credits outside of your field of your major. It's now up in the air as whether or not
we're going to keep it. I need some input from students as to what you think about
it. Don't send me dumb emails, but if you have a legit viewpoint on this, please feel
free to let me know be email. I won't answer any "Do I have to..?" emails (talk to an
advisor), but I will listen to any intellegent emails.
I've run outta space. TTFN
Know Your Foe...
Kangaroo Lenin
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* .' *£   r-: 'A'--*'*-*-'   * ' -i'* *s.3Ej  ■     -"■'' ■       "* page eight
The
432
2.10.98
PNE Public Enemy No. 1
Well, Science Week is in full
swing and I'm getting no
homework done whatsoever.
What time I'm not spending hauling
things around, setting up events and
brushing the lint off my kilt, I'm running around the library searching for
anything that has to do with birds, bogs
and pyromania.
Have you ever done a thesis? Well, I'm
smack dab in the middle of doing mine.
For the first time ever, I'm writing my
432 article in the basement of
Woodward at 9:50pm between readings
of Ecology of Fire and Fire Ecology
instead of writing it in the Zoolab at
10:30 am, skipping between www.big-
bush-desperate-twobit-60+-funny-
things_inserted.com and www.space-
moose.com.
What is the thesis experience? Well...let
me put it this way: you know the
absolute biggest fourth year term paper
you ever wrote on some obscure topic
that was almost impossible to find?
Remember the hardest of the long,
tedious formal animal physiology lab
that you had to do?
Combine those two, multiply a few
orders, and add in getting up at 4am on
weekends over the summer and you've
pretty much got my thesis. Oh, and be
sure to add in traversing dangerous terrain in order to chase after some dumb
bird that doesn't want to sit still so you
can identify and log it.
"Oh, that looks like solid ground!"
[SQUISH!] "Oh my. Fuck. I'm up to my
nipples in quickmud miles from anywhere and sinking fast. At least my carcass will be perfectly preserved for future
generations to dig upland study to learn
exactly how 1 lived. I wonder if they'll be
able to tell that 1 died sporting a ginor-
mous boner?"
It's not all that bad, 1 really enjoyed
doing the field work, it gave me an
excuse to take off for an entire day to go
hiking and call it research. Of course, my
subjects weren't exactly cooperative.
Every try to identify birds? You have to
be able to see a shadow 50 meters away
and automatically be able to tell that the
bird has a speckled chest as opposed to a
white chest. And of course: The First Law
of Bird Surveying: If you see something,
it will move in that split-second that you
need to get the binoculars to your eyes.
Put pissy shit aside, it was still fun.
The problem with the thesis is right
now. After letting my data stagnate for 4
months, I finally got around to compiling it over the Christmas break. I tell
you, there is nothing more satisfying
that the six characters: p<0.05. The problem with the data, is that things didn't
all add up in a nice and theoretical manner. I'm going along., hmmm hm
hm...perfect...beautiful data, everything
as it should be. And then...boom.
Something goes-wrong, horribly, horribly wrong, and you've got some asshole
robins deciding that they'll sit right
where they're not supposed to be and it
fucks up my data real good (or should it
be 'fucks up my data really well'? I don't
know, I'm not some pompous, illogical,
over-commenting, Haiku-writing Son of
a bitch who would actually give a Philis
pubis' ass about things like that).
The data problems aside, then we get to
the literature search. This is a lovely
phase of the thesis where you get to use
the computerized catalogue at the
library and challenge yourself by resisting the urge to pick up the monitor and
hurl it into the groin of the nearest comp
sci student who decided that if it's web-
based then it must be a good idea. Then,
when you finally find a decent reference,
you look at the journal title and it turns
out to be Proceedings of the National
Academy of Ecology of New Zealand or
some other shite journal like that where
the nearest copy is exactly one Pacific
Ocean, and five time zones away from
you. The dewey never accounted for
this.
Then, when you finish going through
the entire lit search shite, you get to
write it all up. This again can be the
cause of some aggravation. I got close to
the brink (yes, THE brink, that one most
of us peer at from afar and would rather
give Linda Tripp an extended enema
than get within ten meters of the edge)
several times in the last few years with
ecological methodology and animal
physiology lab reports, but with this
100-150 pager looming in front of me, it
promises to be a bumpy ride on the way
down (ever see the episode on the
Simpsons where Homer falls while trying to jump Springfield Gorge on a skateboard? - multiply that by a few orders of
magnitude and add an array razor sharp
Lays Salt and Vinegar chips at the bottom, and you'll get the equivalent of
what I'm about to go through).
After write up, figure drawing, table
doing and formatting, I then have to
rewrite it about 6-7 times, each time
shredding everything I put there before
and continuing on to get a final edition
done and handed in by the middle of
April. All this while dodging all the other
big juicy turds that life seems to throw at
me at an admittedly impressive clip.
Then, I get to look like a complete imbecile defending my thesis against 5 profs
for a whole hour. 5 PhD. versus 1 cocky
little undergraduate...oh this is gonna be
good. I keep hoping that they'd consider
a kumatae, but Dr. Klawe isn't returning
my phone calls on the subject for some
reason.
I'll defend, get a barely passing mark,
and that'll be that. Dear God, I'll be
done. Done the thesis, done my fourth
year. Done my undergraduate
degree...fuck, what will I do? I mean past
the post-graduating party and the
month-long (drunken/stoned/PCPed/all
of the above) trip to Vegas where I'll get
married to my waitress, accumulate
about 20 or so strains of syphilis and win
big Big BIG at the Russian Roulette table.
Where will I go and where will I end up?
Fuck, that's depressing, it's like lying in
bed at 2 am and trying to grasp the idea
of exactly how big infinity really can be.
I can tell you, infinity is pretty fucking
big. That's why they call it infinity. If
God can create an infinite number 6f
hot dogs, could God eat every single one
of those infinite hot dogs? Would he
have enough time to eat those hot dogs
given the entire infinite time of the existence of God? If there's an infinite number of planets out there, is there a planet
where the people have to eat nothing
but hot dogs for eternity to stay alive for
infinity? Where is the edge of the universe? The universe must have an edge,
but where is it? And what's beyond
that? And does that have an edge?
What was there before the unvierse was
formed? Wouldn't being alive forever
kind of get boring? But then, wouldn't
heaven's eternal bliss get boring after a
while? Damn...now I'm really depressed.
Hey, it really is a small world after all.
Get my shotgun.
Well, that's the end of my regular article, now there's other things to think
about. I did my thesis work over the
summer in Burns Bog, on the same area
that is now slated to be developed for
the entertainment complex.
Maybe I can't quite see the same bottom
line that everyone involved sees. I've
been around the world, I went to the
Costa Rican rainforest last May and I
have to say that Burns Bog is probably
the most beautiful place I've ever seen.
And now, I see that my favorite place in
the world is slated to become Lot D to
Zippy's Funhouse. I hate to say "Paved
over Paradise, put up a Parking Lot, but
that is exactly what's going to happen if
these imbeciles have their way.
Sometimes the bottom line isn't dollars
and cents, sometimes it's something
more valuable.
Like those miniature plastic tables that
come in Pizza Hut boxes, -ed
the Arterbirm
\
$2.00Cover
$1.50 Psyder
and
rumblestrip
Come to SUS and talk to Kat for more info.
This event is brought to you by the Science Undergaraduate Society.