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The 432 Nov 29, 1993

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 Waking up at 5 AM with the
imprint of a keyboard in
our cheeks since 15>87.
Know what I hate about this time of
year? It's cold out, and if you leave your
mouth open, your teeth freeze. Then it
really hurts when you close your mouth.
Darren Schlamp
Vol 7 No 6 • 29 Nov'93
CAMPUS GROUPS DECLARE
HOLY WAR ON B'HARNE
"Kill the Lavender Lard Lord!" says Freedom Fighter Cmdr Jeremy Hallitm
 Gord Van McOlundsky
Roving Correspondent
Vancouver (CPI) - In
response to a call put forth on
the Internet, the global computer network, campus resistance
groups across the continent
today declared a 'jihad', or holy
war, against the entity known as;
B'harne\
Known to millions of children as Barney the Dinosaur,
B'harne is believed responsible
for the accelerated decay of society, and the metamorphosis of
children into strangely bloated,
purple creatures referred to as
Sponge Minions.
Pockets of the Resistance
have been forming worldwide,
with B'harn&c Jihad Central
Headquarters believed to be
located at Michigan Technical
University.
Jason S. Quick, Propaganda
Minister for Cerebrums Against
B'harne In the Northern European Theatre (CABINET), had
the following statement: "The
Purple Menace must be
stopped! To further this goal, we
have enlisted the aid of a
spokesperson, both ideologically
and spiritually pure... none
other than Weird Al Yankovic!"
Quick continued, "Remember his videos? I am positive I
saw a B'harne effigy being
decapitated by a Tyrannosaurus
Rex. He's truly one of us! Long
live the Jihad!"
Yankovic was unavailable to
comment on his acceptance of
the role of spokesperson, but G.
Rimace of the International
Federation of Benevolent Plump
Purple Publicspokepeople con-
demmed Quick's decision, saying there are plently of positive
purple orators available.
Canadian resistance factions,
based primarily at Camosuri
College in Victoria, support the
CABINET plan, and recently
released data on the effect of
various de-Spongifying techniques.
"We've found that industriid-
class music works the best, "
said Dr. Ralph Chetwynd-
Hayes of the Partnership for a
Barney-Free North America.
"Skinny Puppy provokes a violent reaction in the test subjects,
while Ministry seems to cause
extreme confusion. We can't
explain why, but so long; as you
subject the Sponge Minions to
extended periods of this music,
it seems to despongify their
brains."
"Blind. Melon is our most
effective form of sound treatment. It causes extreme nervous
spasms, followed by frothing
and convulsions. Profuse bleeding from the ears and nose.
Eventually, the test subject
undergoes renal failure and
explodes from the rapid accumulation of water." Chetwynd-
Hayes admitted that he had
approved, the use of the controversial treatment in the interrogation of B'harn^'s 'Special
Friends'.
As a result, Jihad headquarters has ordered that all vehicles
be equipped with conceit-size
amplifiers, speakers, and a wide
range of CDs. Troops in the
field predict that the mobile
sound platforms will be
extremely useful in flushing out
pockets of B'harnism.
A giant offensive is rumored
to be in the works, and resistance fighters are planning to
strike deep into the heart of
Barneyland, also known as the
midwest United States. Casualties are expected to be high on
both sides.
Members of the Jihad in
Southern California announced
the effectiveness of fire in
destroying the Purple Menace.
Code-naimed 'B'harne' Flambe',
the combination of napalm and
phosphorus have proved
extremely flammable when
splashed on the foam latex exterior found on most Sponge
Minions. Concern has been
expressed, however, that the
introduction of B'harne^ particles into the atmosphere may
accelerate the decay of the ozone
layer over Antarctica.
Attention has recently been
focused on Sponge Minions living on the Canadian West
Coast. Researchers have noticed
an upswing in the numbers of
Sponge Minions around the
greater Victoria region, thought
to be linked to the large numbers of K-Mart and Zellers
stores in the area.
Local commanders have prepared to beam transmissions to
every television set in the Lower
Mainland and Vancouver
Island, in the hope that seeing
an episode of Beavis and Barney
will slow the spongification of
residents' brains.
In an excerpt from the script:
Barney Hey Beavis, have you
ever told your friends that
you loooowvee them?
Beavis. Hey Barney have you
ever stuck a shrimp fork up
your nose?
Barney. Why no, Beavis.... YEE-
OWWW!
Beavis. Uhh, huh, huh, huh, huh,
that's cool!
The existence of the show
was one of the Jihad's closest
guarded secrets. Apparently, the
show was filmed somewhere in
New York, with a Cray IV supplied by Bell Northern Research
animating the computer generated images of B'harne\ Future
projects include the reading of
anti-Barney poetry over PBS.
As of press time, loyal anti-
B'harne forces at the campus of
See B'HARNE, p"! Editorial
B'HARNfi,fix>mp.l
Ryan
McCUAIG
There are many different
methods for handling an
encounter with a prof.
The first requires that one
adopt the hypothesis that professors, much like Tyran-
nosaurs, have vision attuned to
movement. Thus, if one sits
very still, he won't see you, and
thus can't ask you any questions.
I've noticed this behaviour
in my elementary Swedish
class, and have, on occasion,
tried it out myself. It only
results in being questioned a
second time very... slowly...
on... the... assumption...
that... I... didn't... understand. .. (usually quite an
accurate assessment, I might
add).
Another—my personal
favourite—is to completely
ignore what's going on about
you. This is the "Ravenous
Bugblatter Beast of Traal"
method.lt works on the
assumption that if you appear
busy enough, the professor will
assume that you can't see him,
and it logically follows that he
must not therefore be seeing
you. (This is derived with
Heavy-Duty First Order Predi-
co-Logical Deductive Calculus. It's not for the faint of
heart, so just trust me when I
tell you it works). It's worked
like a charm so far, and allows
me to get a fair bit of work
done for my other courses.
The last, and certainly the
most challenging, is to show no
fear. Not a smidgen. I'm told
this is reasonably reliable,
except when you run into
exceedingly keen profs who
truly care about the well-being
of their students and try to
give them a richly rewarding
educational experience. You
know, the ones that add that
all-too-frequently absent
human element to the undergraduate experience at this
university. (Yes, Murray, this is
the shameless suck-up for
marks that it appears to be...)
Anyway, that idea's been
about done to death. Let's
move on to more pressing,
timely things, shall we?
For instance, how the hell
does one spell that noise that
Homer Simpson (and now the
rest of Western civilization)
makes when faced with
extreme frustration? I don't feel
that "Doh!" is quite clipped
enough... it looks like it
should be pronounced
"Dough!" (which is right out).
Maybe "Dho!" ? Ah, it has the
right imperative sense to it,
but it's too Gaelic-looking. I
was thinking "D4" might be
the best one; it works just fine
if you're familiar with Scandinavian pronunciation.
I think this raises a broader
onomatopoeic issue for me as
an editor. When I'm feeling
grandiose and self-important, I
see myself not as an editor, but
as a wordsmith, toiling endlessly to forge the printed word
that will elicit laughter, chuckles... yea, even guffaws—oops!
Did I say "self-important"? I
meant "romantic" (as in the
Three Musketeers, not amateur poetry and roses). When
I'm feeling self-important, I
merely see myself as God
Emperor Supreme and Presi-
dent-for-Life.
Where was I? Oh, right—
Over the years, I've grown
tired of the textual representation of laughter as "hahahaha-
ha!". Who actually sounds like
that?
Take Sunshine, for
instance... those who know
her are well aware of what I'm
going to talk about. She
would, I'm sure, be frankly
insulted if I were to be lazy
and use the (ha)n notation
when scripting out a dialog in
which she is being told a funny
joke. Thus...
Anonymous Joke-Teller: Hi,
Sunshine! Did you hear the
one about the—
Sunshine: Whooooooonnnck!
Whooooopwhoopwhoop!
Ahhhh, huh, huh,
whooooo!
Anonymous Joke-Teller: Hey!
I'm not done! I'm trying to
tell a jo—
Sunshine: No, please...
Ahawhooonck! whonk!...
no more... hoooo... snort!
Now, I'm going to switch to
a distinctly unfunny, more editorial tone and talk about
something that's become very
important to me: SUS. I've
been "around" here for all but
the first week of my university
career, so it's kind of homey.
And, since it's so near and dear
to my heart, I have a little
trouble understanding why
some people couldn't care less
for what SUS does.
Without overstating my
case, this is as intelligent as
hiring someone to do a job,
paying their salary, and not
caring at all what gets done. I,
as well as the other exec, are
subservient to Council, which
is controlled by you. We are
your employees for our term of
office. Please, start thinking of
SUS in this way, and realize
that you do have a stake in
what happens around here.
Two weeks ago, SUS Council considered striking a subcommittee to gather information on what Science students
thought about what we're
doing and what we should do.
Would it be worth our while?
Look at our election turnout
over the last few years—it's
generally in the range of 5% of
the eligible voters. Considering
a poll would take somewhat
more time than voting, how
many of you would do it? I
have to be realistic here and
say, not enough.
We are not politicians. SUS
is not a government. It doesn't
have to be that way.
But, if nobody shows any
interest, you'll get politicians.
You'll get people who give
nothing for a year, and get five
or six flashy lines and a couple
of departmental references for
their resume. You'll give your
ten bucks to these people without a second thought, and
you'll get nothing for a year. It
happened to the University of
Alberta's Science Undergrad
Society a long time ago, and it
remains a hangout for pre-med
keeners looking for that edge.
With all the respect due
from an employee talking to
the bosses, I cannot allow that
to happen here. I've got too
much of a stake in SUS. Like
it or not, I won't let you do
that to this place.
Bet on it.
That said, good luck on
exams, Merry Christmas, and
enjoy the issue.
, Science
Undergraduate
Society
presents their
Annual
Christmas
Party
December
3, 1993
4:32 in Chem 160
Good cheer
available
Only $5.00
Drown your
sorrows.
the University of Victoria are under attack by Sponge Minion
Militia, and has been forced into nearly untenable positions
along the beach at Cadboro Bay.
Radio contact was made earlier today with Capt. Amelia
McCallum, leader of the Frigid Environment Rapid Response
Espionage Troopers (FERRET) in the area:
"<static backgroundxcrackle> er surrender. <hissssss> Message repeats.... Aid urgently required at present location.... under
massive attack from Minions of <hssss>ney... We're falling back to
the beach. There's no survivors left on campus... <crackle> <sounds
of sporadic gunfire> <hsssss> wave assault repelled but low on
ammo... position untenable, but we will nev<stationder."
The war has just begun.
Science UBC Jackets.
Navy melton.
White leather.
From $150.
Science Sales.
CHEM 160.
'NuffSaid.
THE 432 SPEAKS WITH THE RIGHT
HONOURABLE JOE "JOE" CLARK, FORMER
PRIME MINISTER AND MINISTER OF
EXTERNAL AFFAIRS ABOUT SCIENCE WEEK 94
by Kevin Phillips Bong and Malcolm]. Deprmtdatpboardchetsecake
Thanks for joining us today, Mr. Clark.
Oooh... where the hell am I? Who are you
people?
We're in your office. Please try to remain
calm, Mr. Clark. Those ropes will chafe
your wrists something awful if you keep
writhing around like that.
HEEEELLP!!!!
(laughter) Your secretary's gone home, Mr.
Clark. Anyway, we're from the, uh...
Globe And MaU—uh, yeah, yeah, the ol'
Globe—and we'd like to ask you about your
life as a member of the innermost circle of
Canadian government.
(sobbing) Please, take my watch. There are
some photos in my desk of Mila taking a
bubble bath. They're youiS^.
One thing that the Canadian public has
been clamoring to know all these years, Mr.
Clark is... why was the federal subsidy to
Science Week cut? And is your back really
as hairy as everyone imagines?
(more sobbing)
Hey, c'mon Joe, it's not so bad. Science
Week is still going to be the number one
event on the UBC campus this year... and
have you maybe considered body waxing?
Well, the electrolysis works well... Wait a
minute! UBC? That bastard Fotheringham
sent you two, didn't he?
Er... let's move on, Mr. Clark. How is it
that a cheap pair of glasses managed to fool
everyone about your true identity for so
many years? And is Lois lane as good a
XXXXX as everyone says?
What? Oh... (peers around)... oh, yeeeas,
the Daily Planet was a real hoot... say, could
you pass me that phone over there? I left
some delicates in the wash... if you could
just dial 911 forme... that's the stuff. If you
don't mind, I'd like to chat with my, uh,
wife for a moment... would you excuse me?
Sure thing, Mr. C. Mind if we look
through your files?
Not at ail (mumbles furtively into phone).
How about a statement for the folks at
UBC, Mr. Clark? Something like "Don't
miss Science Week '94, as I take on the
entire Engineering Undergrad Society boat
race team wearing only a brief garment
made of various naughty vegetab—"...
Who did you say you were again? Let me see
your press credentials. (Familiar sound of
jackboots in corridor).
Ooo, sorry, Joe! Gotta run! My how time
flies... What floor is this office on, anyway?
ScienceWeek'94
You Have No Idea What We've Gone Through For It.
The Science
Undergraduate
Society of UBC
CHEMISTRY B160
Ph: 604 822 4235 Leafy Things and Lego
Volume 7, No 6
29 November 1993
Ryan McCuaig
Starting Editor
Blair McDonald
Relief Editor
Graeme Kennedy
Injured Reserve Editor
Roger Watts
Idiot in the Stands Editor
Contributing Lineup
Leona Adams,! Kevan
Dettlehach, Jason Holmes,
Ryan McCuaig Blair
McDonald, Derek K.
Miller, Trevor Presley, Sarah
Thornton, Chris Woods,
Laurie: Yee, and some
spectator named Rog.
tayoat _____
Ryan MeCuatg, Blair
McDonald
Typin« ..   .
Jason ("the Quick") Holmes
Distribution 	
Keebler Elves Local 2461
Printing
College Printers, Vancouver,
B.C.
The 432 is prodtKwd in the
Science Undergraduate Society
offices, locaeed between Wreck
Beach and Barnaby
somewhere. We're not sure
exactly where, since none of us
have seen the light of*day for
the last ten months.
Submissions to The 432
should bfe about 5GG words in
length, proofread, and
extremely silly in nature.
Under pain of death, do not
submit serious articles or anything remotely resembling
anything found in Tfo
Ubyssey. Thank you for flying
our friendly sides.
Blair
Mc
DONALD
I funerals. They always
. depress me, especially when
you're saying good-bye to
someone who's been a part of
your life for years.
I'll never forget Claude.
Claude was the friend who was
always there for me, inspiring
me to new heights of achievement I'd never before imagined
I'd reach. Claude never complained, never criticized my
choice of music, never did anything to annoy me. Claude was
the perfect roommate, and I
loved Claude with all my
heart.Unfortunately, my roommate left bim out on the balcony overnight last Saturday,
and the frost finished him off.
Claude's not exactly his perky
green self I think Claude's
dead.
I'm still trying to get over
the grief. Every time I look out
at that empty spot on my shelf
where Claude used to sit, I just
* haveWery.' I"tan't^rlelfj*rernem-;
bering the time last year when
my roommate almost murdered Claude when I went
home for a week. I rushed
back, only to find Claude
dying of thirst. I spent days
nursing Claude back to health,
and with a bit of luck, Claude
pulled through. Sigh...
Oh well. Claude's only a
plant. Maybe I'm only loolcing
for an excuse to be depressed.
Maybe I'm trying to express
some terrible burden suffered
in my childhood. There's only
a few things that seem to cheer
me up. Playing with my molecular model kit always seems to
help. At the beginning I
thought the kit was only to
help me with Organic Chem,
but quickly I discovered the
thrill of constructing a
molecule of LSD. In a way, it
reminds of the Lego set I had
when I was a kid.
Wasn't Lego the best toy a
kid could have? None of those
stupid red or yellow bricks; I
was a strictly Space Lego kid.
There were only four Blair-
sanctioned colours: gray, black,
blue or white. My spaceships
had to be structurally sound,
and completely accurate, even
down to the airlocks and
engines. It usually took me
weeks to construct a single vessel, using every piece in my
possession, but by the time I
was done, I had a spaceship
capable of withstanding the
myriad dangers of space travel.
At the time, space travel
consisted of sailing the aforementioned spaceship down the
stairs into the blackness of my
basement, with the musical
accompaniment of the theme
from Battlestar Galactica. I
don't ever recall any model, not
even the Ultimate Starship'
(Mark V), surviving the impact
of cheap plastic bricks against
uncarpeted concrete. I'd turn
on the basement lights, only to
find the carcasses of those little
Lego astronauts lying scattered
among the debris of their ship.
Back to the drawing board, to
design a revolutionary new hull
two layers thick for the Ultimate Starship (Mark VI).
By this time, I had moved
the production plant into the
middle of the family room
floor, quickly creating a major
asteroid belt around the couch.
Production immediately ceased
after my dad casually strolled
through the room without his
slippers on. I never did find
out if the Ultimate Starship
(Mark VI) would have survived
its landing, although the double hull design did save it from
being demolished by my dad's
foot.
I guess that was why I never
especially liked the idea of
being an aerospace engineer.
Standard procedure for any
project I'd work on would be
much the same as the last:
build it and then throw it
down the stairs. As far as I
know, most satellite arrays
wouldn't survive that type of
testing.
I also applied that way of
thinking to all the other things
I did when I was a kid. Like
building forts. Everyone
remembers building forts. Even
if your fort consisted of blankets stretched across a chair,
the thrill of a treehouse was
worth spending an entire day
on. I was lucky than most. I
lived on two acres of forest,
and my dad always had tons of
scrap lumber lying around, just
asking to be dragged off into
the bush. Plus we had the best
fort-building Tree in the entire
world. The Tree was four trees
grown into one, alder, pine,
and two big old oak trees.
From a common root system,
they split apart and soared into
the sky. There was a good-sized
river right underneath, with a
deep part that was quickly
turned into a swimming hole.
It was as if the God of Carpenters himself had created this
place to build a treehouse.
One weekend, when my
parents were away, myself and
the other budding construction
workers struck. Like a pack of
howler monkeys, we descended
on my backyard, and scavenged lumber from wherever
we could find, including the
concrete forms my dad had
been working on for weeks.
Armed with a copy of 101
Things to do with Wood, we
hauled wood up into the highest part of the Tree we could
reach, and happily proceeded
to sink four inch spikes into
that old Tree to hold the lumber in place. Cord after cord of
wood was fastened to a single
board stretched between two
branches, until we had an
enormous platform, complete
with trapdoor and railings. We
spent most of the weekend
playing on that platform, way
up in the Tree, safe from everything a group of 14-year-old
boys could invent.
The next weekend, there was
a mild wind storm. The
branches of the Tree barely
moved, yet sometime during
the night, the entire treehouse
plummeted down from about
forty feet up, only to land
smack in the middle of the
river. I guess the river washed
the lumber away, cause the
next morning I went outside to
investigate the source of the
loud crash I had heard in the
middle of the night, only to
find no trace left of our mighty
engineering marvel.
That's why I'll never be an
Engineer. I'd hate to blamed
for the failure of the Hubble,
or find a multi-million-dollar
office complex lying in a pile of
rubble early one Sunday morning. I've got enough problems
just getting over the death of
my plant.
The Crossnerd, Part II
2
4
1
6
8
lA
3
18
5
12
7
9
14
16
u
13
"
This Weeks Theme
Chemistry
Across
1. 178.49 3. 114.82 5. 10.81 7. 1.0079 9. 32.06
11. 28.086 13. 186.20 15. 192.22
Down
2. 107.868 4. 127.60 6. 102.9055 8. 55.9332
10. 54.9380 12. 200.59 14. 238.029 16. 210A
18. 55.847 Kevan
DEITLEr-
BACH
We return to Luke and his
fellow rebels, trapped at
Whisder with Vader's forces
quickly approaching. The story
continues...
Cowboy: The rebels are at the
old AMS cabin. There is a
snow fort that will deflect any
attack we might make.
fust then, Vader's Ethics Prof
enters.
Prof:This midterm is just
deplorable, Vader. I'm afraid
I'll have to give you another
*F.
Vader. You've failed me for
the last time. (Uses force to
asphyxiate Prof.)
(Note: Remember, this is a
work of fiction. In real life you
shouldn't use paranormal powers
to snuff out a faculty member
just because of a bad mark.
Instead you should use any latent
PKtalent on your lousy friends
who literally forced you to go out
drinking with them when they
knew perfectly well that you had
to study for that midterm at 8:30
the next day)
Back at the Rebel Base,
Leah and Major Devlin are giving the evacuation drivers their
final briefing.
Leah: The Ubyssey will be
using standard blockade procedures. You'll have to drive
real fast to get by them. After
you escape, head direcdy to
the rendezvous. We believe
that Art Vader is leading this
attack personally, so be careful.
Devlin: Ehhh, it's a little
known fact that the name
Vader was first used by the
Aztecs. It literally means 'He
whose head is melon shaped'.
Luke enters.
Luke: Afternoon, everyone.
Rebels:  Luke!!
(For those readers who are
really confused by the above dia-
log, a close inspection of the credits of "The Empire Strikes Back"
will reveal that Major Devlin is
actually played by John Rdtzen- "
burger. That's right, Cliff Cloven
himself.)
The Ubyssey launches a massive ground assault. Luke and a
brave group of Rebels defend the
cabin in order to buy time for the
others to escape. Science forces ore
able to repel the initial attacks by
the cowboys. Just then, a rumbling of many marching feet is
heard in the distance.
Luke: Peace Walkers. We're in
for it now.
Rebel:   Their skulls are just
too strong for ice-balls.
Luke: Okay, everyone, use these
empty beer kegs. Go for their
legs.
The Rebels are able to knock
down many of the Peace Walkers
with their kegs, but the Walkers
just keep on coming. Finally the
call to retreat is sounded. Luke
races to his car, pausing only to
collect his calculator. Drum,
Chewie, and Leah escape on the
AUuminum Pinto.
Solo:Damn!
Leah: Would it help if I got out
and pushed?
Solo:Uhh, yah. I kinda left the
headlights on overnight.
Leah: (After pushing the Pinto
for 100 meters) We'll never
get by that blockage.
Solo:Oh yeah? Watch this.
(Twists valve on dashboard).
Leah: Watch what?
Solo:I think we're in trouble.
Hy50: Sir, I noticed earlier
that the nitro injection value
is damaged.
Solo:We're in trouble. Chewie,
take over.
Solo starts to climb onto the
hood, when the car shudders
mightily
Solo:What the... Something hit
us!
Leah: Drum, you'd better get
up here.
Solo:I see it, rush hour.
Chewie, take a left here.
Leah: You're not actually going
to enter rush hour?
HY50: The odds of surviving
are about 10,000 to 1.
Solo:Never tell me the odds.
PRE-MED SOCIETY LECTURE
*  RADIATION
**V ONCOLOGY
Dr. Karen Goddard
B.C. Cancer Agency
Tuesday, November 30 12:30
FNSCRoom60
Meanwhile, in Luke's car,
Luke is once again talking to his
HP calculator.
Luke: That's right. We're not
rejoining the rest of the
group. We're going to McGill.
No, that's okay. I'd like to
keep driving myself... oh all
right. We're in the prairies so
I guess you can drive.
(Note: Do not try
this at home. Even if you are
really really drunk, you can still
drive better than a calculator. A
toaster oven, no, but a calculator,
yes.)
Back in the Pinto...
Leah: If we stay out here much
longer, we'll be pulverized.
Solo:Hold on. I'm going to get
us closer to one of those bigger ones.
Displaying his driving skills,
Drum maneuvers the Pinto
behind a large Semi trailer. Once
they are safe, the group starts
repairs on the car. However, the
forces of the Ubyssey are closer
than they know.
Cowboy: Vader! The Editor
' wishWto'eottacVyotr." *:>*"-•<
Vader: Move us out of rush
hour so we can make a clear
transmission.
A few minutes later...
Vader:   What is thy bidding
my master?
Editor: Luke has grown strong
in the Force. He must be
destroyed.
Vader:   If he could be turned...
Editor: Yes, he would make a
powerful ally. Can it be done?
Vader:   He will transfer or
flunk.
Back in the Pinto, romance is
in the air.
Solo:It's because I'm a
scoundrel that you like me.
Leah: I happen to like nice
men.
Solo:I'm a nice man.
(All right. That's enough.
There's no way I'm going to write
about how Drum embraced
Leah, about how their lips tenderly meet... Doh.'AU right, you
got your sex scene. I hope you're
satisfied ... how Leah's hands ran
playfully down... Stop that! Stop
that!)
Leah: So where to now?
Solo:Hmmm, Granto.
Leah: The Granto system?
Solo:Granto's not a system, he's
a man. We'll find him over in
SAC City.
Leah: All right, now how do we
get past those cruisers?
Solo:We'll wait till they dump
the unread copies of the
Ubyssey and then drift away
with the rest of the garbage.
Later, on board Vader's personallimo...
Cowboy: I apologize, Art
Vader. I don't know how they
got away.
Vader:   That's all right. Tliese
things happen.
Cowboy: Are you all right, sir?
Vader: I was just kidding. I'm
jreally going tokiJkyQU, ,l;
Cowboy: Well, that's a
relief. Wait... Arghhhhhhhh!
Meanwhile, Luke arrives at
McGill safely though his car is
impounded since his calculator
did not have a valid driver's
license. Wandering around the
campus, Luke runs into a short,
big-eared creature with a strange
accent.
Perot: Looking for a friend, are
you, hmmm?
Luke: It's not a friend, I'm
looking for a Jedi Master.
Perot: Yertl! You seek Yertl!
Perot then tears off his mask
revealing the "just as short as
Perot" Yertl A little while later,
Luke's training begins...
Will Luke gain the skills of a
Jedi? Read the thrilling conclusion next issue!
Resistance
is useless who's Coming To Town? Dik Miller, Ifco-Warrior
I
have a feeling that Christmas
is close at hand.
Perhaps the recent snow
flurries have triggered that
warm Christmas feeling. Nah,
it must be all those imitation
Santa Clauses that have begun
infesting the malls. Yes, that's
right, boys and girls! Come on
down to your local mall and
meet someone who's unemployed for eleven months of
the year!
How do you get to be a fake
Santa Claus anyways? Is there
a school? Are there course in
how to be a better Santa
Claus? No, of course not... So,
how does one get this wonderful job? Simple. You read your
local paper and look for ads
like these:
Wanted: Short, old fat guy
with a full white beard. Must
have a jolly laugh and be familiar with reindeer service arid
tune-ups. Must enjoy dealing
with children and their parents.
Toy industry expereience an
asset. Great pay and free candy.
Hah. Dreamon! Mem about
this:
WantedAn unemployed person with a nice smile. Must not
have an aversion to sweating in
a hot, rented costume all day
(previous experience with bowling shoes a necessity). Must have
sufficient self-discipline to resist
telling whiny kids to fuck off.
Must be able to lie convincingly
to children while smiling. Any
Trevor Presley   psychic experience relating to toys
Columnist   an asset. Minimum wage, no
benefits.
And failing that:
Wanted: University students.
Must have a history of working
shitty summer jobs. All you have
to do is sit and hope the little
tykes don't piddle in your lap.
Must be able to refrain from hitting on 16-year-old elvettes.
Cannot shake down children for
food money Ability to look fascinated while your professors
drone on is considered an asset.
Payment is to be made in the
form of McDonald's Gift Certificates.
And last, but not certainly
least:
Wanted: Tattered Tired and
Left-Leaning Campus journalists, both current and past. Positions available for a Ms. Claus
(nie Dussauk) and Mr. Subor-
dinate-Claus. Ability to educate
children about the fact that
christmas was ripped off by
Christianity from the midwinter
celebrations of oppressed primitive cultures will be highly valued. Opportunity to wear red
Abilityrtc>eng4ge,parihts, in con-,
venations concerning starving
yak gelders in North Timor is an
asset. Payment is to be made in
the form ofBC Transit tickets.
Well, there you have it; if
any of these ads appeal to you,
go to your local mall and apply
today! Hurry, or you'll miss
your chance to influence the
next generation.
Chemistiry
Exam Sales
120, 230, 203/213
Get them while
they're hot !
Chem D222
NOT SUS!
Submit to
MIU.FR
/ was being hauled off by the
Indonesian Secret Police. This, in
itself was not entirely a good
thing but what I found particularly offensive was the constant
prodding in the back with a
nightstick.
"Ow," I said. "Stop that!"
I was in Jakarta, capital of
Indonesia, and had been on my
way fromClayoquot Sound to
the island of East Timor, where
the local population was being
slaughtered by the military and
the landscape devastated.
Of course, the main reason I
had come was because it was
warmer than Clayoquot
Sound.
"Stop what?" queried one of
the guards.
"Stop prodding me in the
back with a nightstick."
"But we always prod people
in the back with a nightstick
It's part of the being-captured-
by-the-Indonesian-Secret-
Police experience," he said
cheerily.
Oh great, I thought. A
stormtrooper with a sense of
humour. Really Hogan's
Heroes, guys.
"What exactly are you going
to do with me now?" I asked.
"Well, we'll detain you without trial, interrogate you, beat
you up and otherwise torture
you, and deny to the world
that we know anything about
your disappearance. We'll
probably kill you eventually."
World complicity with
atrocities in places like this was
beginning to make people
cocky, obviously. Then again, I
had to admire his honesty.
"I'd rather you didn't," I
said.
"Well, we'll take that into
consideration," he answered.
"Not!"
A snarky sense of humour,
cockiness about human rights
abuses, and he'd seen "Wayne's
World." This was turning into
my own private little Hell,
wasn't it?
After being handcuffed,
gagged, and blindfolded, I was
pitched into the trunk of a big
black sedan (of course) and the
lid closed behind me. Now not
only were my human rights
being violated, but I was
uncomfortable too.
I wouldn't stand for this any
longer.
Fortunately, my Dik
Miller™ bottle opener/skeleton key/neck massager cufflinks were still on my wrists.
All I had to do was get one of
them open, then I could open
my handcuffs and be...
...er, a guy without handcuffs still unable to get out of
the trunk of a car. Oh well, it
would at least provide some
interesting suspense to the
action.
Unfortunately, the Dik
Miller™ bottle opener/skeleton key/neck massager cufflinks are far too well-designed
to provide much suspense -
and besides.they had a full
money-back warranty. My
handcuffs, blindfold, and gag
were off in about thirty seconds.
So there I was, in the trunk
of a car, without any handcuffs
on. Wow.
The car stopped. I braced
myself to give the usually-lethal
Dik Miller™ Snuffling Wombat roundabout kick as soon as
the trunk was opened, holding
my body like a coiled spring,
ready to strike at a moment's
notice.
The trunk rattled. I tensed.
It opened. I let myself fly
upward with all the fury of an
uncaged piranha(i.e. dangerous, but strangely floppy and
out of place slightly funny
smell).
I managed to knock three of
the surprised guards over
before I landed on one foot,
ATTENTION 3rd and 4th CHEM
 STUDENTS!	
The Director of Grad Studies from McGill
University is giving a talk.
December 9, 10:00 - 11:00 am
ChemD225
(At least come out for the free cookies and
juice...)
lost my balance, and fell headlong down the heavily forested
slope the car had been parked
next to.
The next minute or so was a
blur. I rolled and bounced over
tree roots, rocks, and the occasional small scurrying tropical
animal. The shouts of the
Secret Police could be heard in
the distance above me.
Eventually, I rolled, dirty
and disheveled, onto a gravel
road and into the path of an
oncoming jeep. It squealed to a
halt close enough that I could
watch the oil dripping from its
crankcase.
"Oh my!" shouted the driver, who opened the door to
come to my aid.
I stood up. "Hello," I said,
"I'm Dik Miller, Private Ey- I
mean, Dik Miller, Eco-War-
nor.
She stopped in her tracks,
and said, "You're rather late."
"What?"
"I said you're rather late.
And this wasn't where we were
supposed to meet, Mr. Miller."
"What?"
"I said you're rather late and
this wasn't where we were supposed to meet. And you look
terrible."
"Pleased to meet you too." I
squinted. "What the hell are
you talking about?"
She sighed, exasperated. "I
was supposed to meet you at
the airport to take you to East
Timor, but when you didn't
show up, I decided to head
back there myself I'm on my
way to the airstrip. Why are
you here?"
"I was captured by the
Secret Police and they were
going to torture me." I looked
up. "In fact, that's them now."
I could hear voices coming
down the slope over which I
had so recently rolled.
"Oh! Hop in, then."
I hopped in and we were
soon on our way down the
road.
"Does this sort of thing happen often?" I wondered, looking back along the road.
"Usually only to really
stupid tourists who start
mouthing off about how
they're going to East Timor to
save the natives," she said.
"Oh," I muttered.
Stay tuned for more exciting
and thrilling non-stop action in
the next Dik Miller episode!
Same Dik-time, same Dik-chan-
nel! A Mindful of Good Cheer
Leona
ADAMS
I'll warn you right now: I've
been doing homework for my
sleep deprivation course for the
past few days. I haven't even
been running to the shelter of
Leona's little helper (read Coca-
Cola Classic: breakfast and
lunch and dinner of champions).
I'm kinda moody, so this may
turn out to be more of a gripe
session than an actual article.
Shoot me.
You know, it's one
thing to be one of the guys,
but some of my friends take it
a bit far. One was asking my
opinion about what to do
about a certain young lady, so
I told him that I had a good
feeling about it. "A woman
knows these things", I said. He
was perplexed. Had I talked to
the woman in question (whom
I had never met)? Had I talked
to another mutual female
friend of ours (why?)? Curiously enough, I was talking
about myself. Weird, huh? I
would attribute it to that
unfeminine Science girl motif,
but the other two involved are
in Science as well. I give up.
Strangely enough, it seems
that my male friends want to
be one of the girls. I think
each of my male friends has
had times when he was afflicted by PMS. God only knows
what the P and the M stand
for, but they've got the S, that's
for sure. It's one of those
things that gives you the Sub
terranean Homesick Blues:
"Look out, kid: it's something you did. Don't know
what it was, but you're doing it
again."
Maybe Santa will bring
them some Midol or something. I must remember to
include them on my letter.
Here's what I've got so far:
Dear Sir,
Thank you again for your
gifts from last Christmas. Alas,
that third pair of bedroom
slippers was not particularly
necessary, especially considering all I ever wear is my cows.
The donation to my personal
chequing account was greatly
appreciated, however. Don't let
the seasons restrict you: please
feel free to make these tax-
deductible charitable contributions throughout the year.
All I really want this year is
either a better memory or
faster hands. I know from last
year that you're not into the
idea of sending people whole
new bodies, but this isn't the
same sort of thing. I'm actually
trying to scam something useful out of you by telling you
the unselfish reasons for wanting it.
Firstly, I implore you to
grant me this for the sanity of
my supervising prof. He's been
very patient for the past two
months, but the fact that I
have bupkiss-diddli-squat in
the way of results can't be
pleasing him very much, and I
have a hunch that the little
things that I keep forgetting
are to blame.
Secondly, my friends' lives
are becoming much too complex for me to keep track. Try
ing to remember who likes
whom and who's doing what
to whom and why is a bit
much for my limited neuronal
capacity to handle. Mind you,
I should also ask this for one
of my roommates, who recently forgot what she was talking
about in the midst of a conversation. Now, normally I
wouldn't be one to talk, as
infamous as I am for saying,
"Now where was I?" In this
case, I am willing to make an
exception, however, because
she hadn't been interrupted or
anything. She just forgot.
Actually, if you're running low
on memory chips, you'd better
give mine to her.
Let's see, what can I
ask you for? World peace?
Overdone. An end to all
hunger and disease? For Pete's
sake, Santa, you're a gift-giver,
not a magician. A sweet, sensitive guy who is more interested
in brains - okay, fine, individuality - than appearance?
Yeah, right. Even you couldn't
find a guy like that. They just
don't build 'em like they used
to. How about some cds to
spruce up my feeble collection?
Sounds like a deal. Thanks in
advance, blah, blah, blah.
Semi-sincerely,
Leona Adams
Join the
International
Federation of
Graemes
No experience
required.
No money down.
Annual UBC Science Undergraduate Society
<§>
4r Paper Sale
*^ |-ooseleaf, 3-hole punched, ruler, margin!
Okay, here's some Math 100:
SUS: 500 sheets for only $1.50
Bookstore: 200 sheets for $2.25
You save $3.85 on a pack of 500!
SCIENCE
U     B     t
Bargain available only in SUS Office, CHEM 160
While supplies last! (All profits donated to charity)
The Anti-Barney Song
It's I hate you,
And you hate me?
This creature is driving me up a tree.
It's time to go kill Barney,
And end his stupid song.
Til rub him out
Without a trace.
I'm pumping hot lead in his purple &ce*
But hurry quick, "cause Barney
Is singing another song,
I hate him,
He hates me.
Let s hang Barney in a tree.
With a kick and punch and bullet to his head,
Now that purple freak is dead!
SCIENCE
UBC
Exam
Stress?
Try one of these
free samples!
Scratch fNf Sniff Diseases
Tobacco Mosaic
Virus
Swine Flu
Epstein-Barr
Virus
Dyspepsia
Hoof and Mouth
Disease
Guaranteed Exam Deferral!
Funded by a grant from
the Ministry of Health The Drawers of SUS
Sarahs Skivvies
Sarah Thornton
If you read anything on this
page, either you're really
bored, boring, or actually
interested in the affairs of SUS.
The latest news: SUS is getting a new computer, but it
probably won't be here until
after Christmas (we were told
4 weeks, which translates to 8+
weeks). This is to replace the
"Baby", the Mac SE that definitely needs to be retired.
However, the "Paperweight"
(as it is known to the D of F),
shall be kept alive for student
use as long as we can find
some necessary hardware.
Hopefully, students will be
able to use it to type up and
print reports sometime within
the New Year. Keep reading for
details....
In Council recently, a
motion was put forward that
SUS run a Faculty-wide survey
of students to find out what
you think of SUS, what you
think we're doing badly, what
we're doing right, as well as
any suggestions for things that
you would like to see. The
motion failed as it was deemed
that it was far too time-consuming for us to do (we're students too!), but its spirit is
embodied by the entire SUS
council. We are in the positions that we are because you
elected us to them: we are
responsible to you . If there is
ever anything that you do not
like, tell us. Give us input as
to what we're doing right: and
what you would like to see us
do. We cm best act for your
interests if we know what they
are. Tell us!
There is good news on the Science Week front: with hardly
any records or help from me,
Steve seems to be right on
track. He has a rather enthusiastic committee that is working daily on all sorts of events.
How does the Star Wars trilogy sound, eh? We're trying to
get all three of the best sci-fi
movies ever made. That's
approximately six hours of the
best trilogy ever made (though
Indy comes close). So mark
your calendar/agenda/Day
Planner/napkin/forehead
NOW for the best week you'll
ever have on campus, Science
Week in the third week of January.
Late breaking news: SUS
Christmas Party! On December 3rd, for the measly price of
$5, you too can hob-nob with
the academic elite, the SLIS
executive, and maybe even the
Dean. Admission gets you in
the door and as much alcohol
that you can consume including: Rog's famous "Coronary"
eggnog, true Swedish glogg
(truly majniflcjnt), and
Horseshoe Ba/s special Christmas Ale, which is not be
missed. Oh yeah, there'll be
food too. Show up with a $5
bill in hand to our humble
office, CHEM 160, starting at
4:32 PM, of course. Come
celebrate with some Christmas
Cheer!
Good luck on your exams,
guys. And have a relaxing
winter break.
Treasurers Trunks
Jason S Holmes
Thank all things Holy that
calculus is not required to balance a budget.
-me
As you have probably
guessed, Math is not
going so well. There are days
when I contemplate (gasp!)
entering the Faculty of Arts as
an English major. Thankfully,
I always have Ryan or Sarah
around to bash me in the head
and show me the error of my
ways. (Actually, Sarah usually
does the bashing and Ryan
does the lecturing. Watch out
for her right hook. And her
uppercut.) However, since my
communication skills consist
largely of talking in artificial
constructs such as Scheme and
Pascal, I have great difficulty in
actually forming the words
"Would you like fries with that
sirr
?»
Anyhoo, the finances of
SUS are what they usually are:
we should have money, I am
fairly certain of that, but as to
how much, who knows? I am
about a week (read: month)
behind in my work due to all
of the midterms I studied so
diligently to fail and thus have
not had the time to do much
else. I did, however, manage to
sleep for a grand total of twenty-two hours this weekend,
which is almost as much as I
get for an entire week.
Oh, I forgot to mention
that we are getting a new computer! Yes, after two fun-filled
weeks of wrangling with
Council, the funds for a new
computer were approved and
it should arrive sometime
within the next month (well,
they said it should manage to
come this year). The rather
large paper-weight that this
marvel of technology is replacing shall (fortunately for the
general public), be resurrected
yet again and be put on a special desk for explicitly student
use. Yes, this means you can
come in and print that essay
your English prof has always
wanted to see, or if you are
large enough, you could even
use it to produce that
essay/lab-report that you never
quite started an hour before
class! This service should
hopefully be available sometime in January, just as soon as
we work the bugs out of the
network.
In summary, the key points
of this article were the following:
a.) I need to work on my
Math lest I get thrown on my
arse out of my department
b.) SUS still has money
c.) I got sleep
Oh, and to those people
who are probably wondering
where the Hell I was during
the last Budget Committee
meeting, I was plotting to
leave the country.
Don't tell Dean.
Sports Update
1) Were in first place in both mens & women's categories! Good
work!
2) Sports rebates for first-term events will be available in January,
Just go to the AMS Business Office (SUB 266) and tell Joan you
think you've got a rebate coming. If it's there, she'll be more than
happy to give it to you. If it's not, she'll come down and kick our
asses for wasting your time. How can ya lose? I tell ya...
 Laurie's Lingerie
Laurie Yee
Well, my job in SUS is in
one of those slow times,
when work is light and it's not
really supposed to be. The
good news is that I had 6 profs
nominated for the Teaching
Excellence Awards for first
term. They are: Dr. Carrell
(Math 120), Dr. Harrison
(Biol 103), Dr. Rosenberg
(Biol 200), Dr. Gerry (Chem
120), Dr. Meyer (Phys 110)
and Dr. Tufaro (Micro 408). If
you have a prof that you really
think deserves to be recognized
for their outstanding teaching,
don't despair, you can nominate them next term. So for
those of you that missed out
on the first term nomination
deadline, keep and eye out for
the opening of the term 2
nominations (hint, hint) January 31st.
The Academics Committee
has been rather sparsely
attended so far, which is rather
discouraging. The Academics
Committee is the SUS committee to which all year and
department reps belong and
they administer the SUS
Teaching Excellence Awards.
If you know someone who
should be attending these
meetings (and you know who
you are!), then show up. Or
I'll get angry and sic the Prez
onto you, which is not a nice
thing.
I am happy to say that the
First Year Committee is ofFto
a great start with a bunch of
truly dedicated and industrious frosh. A successful Pizza
Garden was held in SUS on
November 18th, thanks go to
all of those who showed up.
Special thanks goes to those
council members who finished
eating all of the pizza by Tuesday of the next week (how do
you like your shoe leather?)
On a truly trivial note, I
have been made a member of
the Electrical Engineering
Club since I seem to be over
there all the time. I guess one
could call it "diplomacy", but
most of SUS already accept
Electricals as scientists who
have accidentally strayed off
the beaten path. As they do
say, Engineers Rule The
World, but Science Created
Them (And The World) In
The First Place.
If you don't like your profs
and they make you attend class
until 4:30 on Friday, why don't
you come out to the SUS
Christmas party and enjoy
some of Roger's great eggnog
and glogg. The party's at 4:32
PM in CHEM 160. It's going
to be great, especially if Matt
Brzzr gets to clean up again (he
just loves that job!)—he even
does it with a smile on his face!
Senate Shorts
Chris Woods
Things had finally begun to
settle down, until someone mentioned that there is
actually only a couple of weeks
left until X-AMS!! Well, needless to say, I didn't stress out.
What's the point, I never have
before. So, I got ready to go to
my Senate meeting—they are
monthly, you know—only to
learn that the agenda committee had decreed that due to a
lack of business for this
month's meeting, it was cancelled. Besides, Dr. Strangeway
will be away... not a good
impression to give to a brand
new Senate.
However, I really wanted to
get my piece in the paper, and
I am early too! I can tell you
that my committees are meeting frequently (more frequently than my professors, anyway.) We are going to discuss
the position of students in a
labour dispute, exam invigila-
tion procedures, and other fun
stuff like that! So, um... get
out and enjoy all the fun
upcoming SUS events that
were printed in the other
columns! And an early Merry
Christmas to you all. See ya in
London, ...ah,January.
Social Diseases
Matt Brzzr
We're having a Christmas
Party on Dec. 3rd at
4:32 in Chemistry 160. For
$5.00   you can drink all the
glogg, eggnog and Christmas
ale that your liver can handle.
This will be a great opportunity to meet the Dean, the head
of your department, and your
council representatives. Hope
to see you there. Good luck
on all your exams and have a
Merry Christmas! hid The Day of Reckoning
BIOSOC
PRESENTS
Roger
WATTS
Y'know, I don't quite know
what it is, but every now
and then I catch rnyself doing
or saying things that begin to
suggest to me that I might
actually be aging.
This is a possibility that I
hadn't yet fully considered.
Which isn't really all that surprising; I mean, who does
when they're 21 years old? The
average 21-year-old male, by
my experience, usually considers himself to be comprised of
about two parts Olympic
decathlete, two parts James
Bond and a jigger of Emperor
of the Universe, all neatly
enclosed within a sturdy bulletproof casing and lightly
topped with a tangy
adrenaline-testosterone sauce.
The net result is this wonderful if not slightly misguided
sense of immortality that says
I'm sorry, you must have confused me with someone unfortunate enough to have limitations here and there.
Which in itself is not a bad
thing. If it wasn't for a good
healthy sense of reckless self-
endangerment periodically
overriding the body's perfectly
rational desire to keep itself in
one largely distinct piece, life
just wouldn't be any fun. Such
treacherous thrills as skydiving,
bungee-jumping or running
across Somalia with a baked
ham under your arm while
singing Yankee Doodle Dandy
simply would not exist, and
wouldn't that be dull!?
But I digress. Most 21-year-
olds, suffice to say, honestly
believe that you could hit
them with, say, a dart, and it
wouldn't even hurt. There are,
of course, the odd bunch who
combine this sense of indestructibility with an exceedingly tiny brain, and thus believe
that you could affect them just
as little by hitting them with,
say, a Dodge Dart, which,
needless to say, consists" of several thousand more pounds of
steel than the average dart. Just
as long as you hit them in the
head. That puts the odds of
which would survive the
impact at more or less even
money.
But enough about Beavis
and Butt-head. Such people
generally don't have to worry
about aging; there are still
more than enough Dodge
Darts on the road, among
other things, to select against
this kind of thing and prove
the theory of the evolution of
the forebrain at work. For
those of us who actually came
away with half a brain and
managed to survive our youth
relatively unscathed (knock
wood), however, this aging
thing kinda takes you by surprise.
For example, while playing
soccer in early October, I
sprained my ankle pretty good,
and was thus riding the bench
(ie. got stuck with playing
goal) for a couple of weeks
while it healed up. No problem, I said. I'll just favor the
other foot and keep throwing
down the codeine, and things
should be just peachy before
long.
Well, we're now almost two
months down the road, and
you know what? The pain's
gone away, but the ankle still
looks kinda swollen and makes
bizarre clicking noises.
This isn't right, says I.
According to memory, I'm
supposed to be able to cut
most any appendage clean off,
sew it back on and win a gold
medal in the sport of my
choosing a week later. Doesn't
make sense.
It's a bit like when you take
something in to get fixed.
When you get it back, it's still
generally the same, but it
might have a new part or two
on it and just doesn't look or
work exactly like it did. Only
trouble is, your body doesn't
guarantee its workmanship, it's
kinda difficult to take it back
and bitch about the crappy job
it did healing itself, and the
spare parts situation kinda
sucks. (Hmm... just like
Dodge Darts.)
Another thing that kinda
took me by surprise was my
reaction to the unseasonably
cold weather we (ahem)
enjoyed last week. When
everyone first started bellyaching about how cold it was, I
heard myself start to give the
proverbial Grandpa's-You-
Don't-Know-What-Pain-Is
speech: "Ya call this cold? Boy,
you wouldn't know cold if it
fell from the sky, landed on
your face and started to wiggle!
Back in my day, when I was a
young 'un, we had cold! We
used to walk to school in -35°
temperatures, with the wind
howling and the snow piling
up and 30 pounds of books on
our backs... wild dogs chasing
us and eating the slow kids...
uphill... both ways..." blah-
blahblah, etc.
Anyway, as time went on, I
began to realize that maybe I
was harping just a touch too
much on how warm and
balmy -8° really was. I think it
really hit home when I stepped
outside, 'cause dammit, it was
cold.
Which of course then made
me turn around and wonder
why, if I had spent my childhood conditioning myself for
Winters On Pluto, I was so
damned cold. Jeez, I thought, I
must be getting old. Before I
know it, I'll be retiring. May as
well just apply for grad school
somewhere in Florida.
Okay, so I'm embellishing
things a bit. But in essence, the
things about the ankle and the
cold were true. True enough to
remind me that maybe I'm a
little less elastic and a little
older than I was when I was
15. Not a big deal... at least,
not yet. 'Course, I'm almost
22, and everybody knows that
22 is over the hill and pickin'
up speed, right?
Oh, who am I kidding? It's
4 a.m., I'm tired and my brain
is running on Coke and half a
bag of Whoppers. I'm young
and I love it, and I'm gonna
spend my whole Christmas
vacation skiing at Mach 12
like a crazed lunatic. May as
well enjoy it while I can.
Provided, of course, that it's
not too cold. I draw the line at
-45°. Ba ha ha ha ha! Merry
Christmas, Happy New Year,
see ya in '94.
the Japanese Art of Fish
Prints
Design and Create
Your Own T-Shirt
January 17-21, 1994
Science Week '94
CompSci Car Rally
BPP Trike Race
SUS Open House
Chemistry Magic Show
Red Cross Blood Drive
Beyond the BSc.
BioSoc Gyotaku
Science Week Movie Night
Egg Drop / Twister Challenge
First Year Students' Info Night
Physsoc Paper Airplane Contest
Microbi Home Brew Contest
Science Week Dance
You have no idea what we 've gone through for it.
MicftoeioLo^Y
CONTEST
Friday
Jan 21st
3-5 pm
This contest is open to all
feoiltksjievvcomers^ndto
experieneedbnsrers.
Brew win be judged bya
distinguished panel ofjudges
onJriday, January 21, im
Entries wiD be accepted on
January 21 between 3-5 pm.
Entry Fee: Only $5.
Prizes:
First Place $50
Second Place $30
Third Place $20
Ifyou missed the
mfirmalionallecnireon
Nwember 4, contact the
MkroMOubinWesbMon
Tuesdaysatnoon.

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