See Inside:

“Enginoods Boycot NHL

until lockout is over!”
We’re not going to watch one single
game.

“We ain’t affilliated with

nobody”
Volume 4, Issue 1

We’re back, as if any of you care

Back because no one demanded it and we felt like starting this shit up again.

It was just over a year ago that what appeared to be the last issue of the Noods hit the world like a
sledgehammer crushing a baby seal’s skull. Why did we stop there? Why did we leave our rabid
cult following hanging from their fingernails over the precipice of boredom screaming “why have
you motherfuckers forsaken me?” Simple, we got lazy.

Yeah, as easy as we make this shit seem, we were spending way too much fucking time on this
rag, so we decided to take a short hiatus from the Noods. Well, it lasted a little longer than we
thought, but we’re back and stronger and drunker than ever. So what the fuck can you expect
from this incarnation of the Noods? Two words: steaktastic fuckery. What the fuck does that
mean? We have no clue, so just assume it’ll be more of the same shit that we had before.

You’ll probably also notice that there aren’t as many copies of the Noods floating around on
paper as before. The main reason for this is that we still don’t have a fucking budget, and don’t
really feel like financing this shit by ourselves. There is hope though, since our website is back and
better than ever! Not only can you access a PDF of each painstakingly crafted, homemade issue
of the Noods since our Frosh Week Spectaculaaaaar, but you can talk about them (and anything
else you fucking feel like) in the brand spankin’ new Noods forum! So what the fuck are you
waiting for? Get thee to a fucking computer and go to:
http://enginoods.dnsalias.org/

Fuck ya later!
The Noods
THE ENGINOODS INVADE THE INTERNET!
http://enginoods.dnsalias.org
And you thought that the internet was safe for children, nutbags and pedophiles...
We’re looking for a more permenant server, if you know of one, Many FREE HATS for you!
“That one. The sultry bitch with the fire in her eyes. Bring her to me. Take her clothes off and bring her to me.”
 POETS
Would you like a Screaming Viking?
POETS Bottle Drive: Check the wall in POETS ya fucking moron.
POETS Etiquette for Dum Frosh
Let’s be clear - when I say etiquette, I don’t mean lacy pink doily girly Shit. That’s for lacy pink doily girls. I mean “life
lessons that will prevent serious fucking bodily harm.” How do you know if you’re a dum frosh? If you asked the question,
you are indeed a dum fucking frosh. If you’re in first year, you are a dum frosh (there’s just no avoiding it). If you’re in
second year, you may still be a dum frosh (it’s more of a state of mind than a strict chronology). Basically, it’s a catch-all
phrase the sums up “the state of being whereby you will annoy fourth year students who are smarter, wiser (not the same
thing), better looking, and better endowed than you are.” Who are these mythical beings (henceforth referred to as
“Enforcers”)? Here are some identifying signs: they are probably in fourth year (or higher), they know the bartenders by
name, the bartenders know them by both name and beer, they read the Noods, they know and accept that things are not as
good as they were “back in the day”. Note to any Enforcers: It’s your fucking duty to enforce these rules. A good start would
be to post these rules so that dum frosh will see them. I recommend stapling a copy to every frosh that walks through the
door; you may prefer nails but it’s really a personal preference. Secondly, never yell at dum frosh without swearing profusely
at them (at this point, it’s really all they understand). Thirdly, the acts of duct-taping to walls, zip-tying to chairs, dying purple,
sacrificing to dark lords, etc. are all appropriate responses to minor infractions of these rules. Major infractions may require
more severe methods of “persuasion.” Enough fucking preamble, on to the rules:

1. You require permission to speak: The only thing worse than noise is pointless noise. Dum frosh are only capable of
producing pointless noise. Listening would be much better.
2. You require permission to speak: Thought I’d mention it again in case it didn’t penetrate the “no-fly zone” that exists
between your ears.
3. The bar is for upper-years: Non-negotiable. It’s where upper-years sit so they don’t have to be near your dumb ass.
Respect that or else ... you have been warned.
4. Be polite to Bar Services: These people bring you beer. Treat them as gods incarnate.
5. Drink some motherfucking beer! When Bar Services has to stretch to sell two fucking cases of beer on a Friday to
Engineers, there’s a huge fucking problem. If you aren’t drinking, then you are a drain on society. If a bartender doesn’t
meet their quota, they get thrown into the viper pit for an hour-can you live with that on your conscience? Only ask for
beer: if any dum frosh ever asks for a “Mike’s Hard Lemonade”, I’m coming to their house to set things right. End of
discussion.
6. Tipping is mandatory: The price of beer isn’t the price of beer. You must provide a reasonable tip. If you don’t have enough
to tip, you don’t have enough for a beer and should go thirsty.
7. Movies are for watching: No matter how funny or inciteful you think you are, the movies are always better. Don’t talk and
watch the movie. See also rules 1 and 2. CENSORED
8. Wash your hands after using the washroom: This one isn’t particular to POETS but I thought it’s just generally solid advice.
Besides, your hands will soon be holding a beer. RESPECT THE BEER.
9. If a barstool is leaning against the bar, don’t fucking sit on it. This means someone has gone to take a piss, or to get some
food, get a blowjob, and will be back shortly. They will likely be bigger, or meaner, than you, and will be very fucking pissed
off that some fuckwad stole their seat.
10. Clean your fucking shit up! Your mother doesn’t live here; she only comes by once a week to suck my cock. Those big
fucking garbage cans at the front are there for more than just stuffing dumb fucking frosh into when they can’t follow the
rules. If you’re an enviro frosh, it’s your fucking responsibility to clean up after your brethern (you get course credit for
it).
11. Don’t be a pain in the ass: everyone is in POETS to relax and unwind. Stay out of the fucking way and it will go a long
way.

That’s it. That’s all you have to do. Follow these rules and soon you won’t be a dumb frosh anymore. And if these don’t help
... well ... have you considered transfering to Women’s Studies?

“I see you are a beer drinker, sir. Would you care for a martini?”
 THIRD PAGE OF DOOM!
Don’t read this page. It’s full of doom!
A Friendly Tour of the PI
On Saturday, the Perimeter Institute opened the doors of their new building to the public. In case you missed it, or just
didn’t fucking care enough to go, this article should shed some light on this new headquarters and what is in store for PI
over the next 3.14 years.
The new building was constructed with only two design principles in mind. The first was to make the structure look as
out of place in the neighborhood as a theoretical physicist getting a blowjob he didn’t pay for. There are the Seagram
Lofts, the old distillery, ye old grist mill and now, the big ugly black thing with a few random windows and a huge fucking
green splotch where the architect sneezed on the plans. You will also notice that some of the windows were deliberately
placed in order to house snipers. This consideration was part of the second design principle, to make it a modern day
castle in which PI can conduct its world domination schemes. To fully understand this second consideration, we first
need to look inside.
After entering, one does get a slightly eerie feeling that the fully functional wrought iron portcullis above the door is a bit
much, but we were assured that it was only for decoration and a key part of the “castle” theme. The fact that it was
electrified was just to keep it “modern”. Another feature of the entrance that seemed odd was the huge fucking iron
cauldron of oil bubbling away above us as we entered, or the large cannons situated near the windows. The main hall is
very regal; complete with uniformed guards to help protect their IP. Apparently, rival theoretical physics institutes try to
raid PI for their juicy, juicy, physics brains.
Continuing the tour up the large central staircase (being careful to avoid the tiger pit), we were guided into the torchlit
main research area. Here, in addition to the state of the art computer equipment, cubicles were equipped with large metal
shackles, certainly to ensure that physicists don’t get any strange ideas about “escape”. We also noted that these
cubicles are arranged in circles, which we were told was for efficiency. “This way” our guide explained, “our motivators
[read: guys with big fucking whips] can reach four physicists at once, whenever they fail to be theoretically creative, thus
increasing their productivity dramatically”.
If this whipping isn’t incentive enough, then the dungeons in the basement should be. Downstairs, in addition to server
and electrical rooms, the PI is home to the largest fucking torture chamber that we’ve seen since that party with all the
leather. Here, underproducing physicists are subjected to numerous medieval tortures including a whole wall of racks, an
Iron Maiden (complete with 80’s hair metal soundtrack), the “Machine”, and a computer lab filled with nothing but
Newtons. The blood curdling screams from the dungeons can be heard throughout the building and we were assured
that they were not just for atmosphere.
The final stop on the tour was the “fortress of solitude”, which is where Mike “the King” Lazaridis surveys his domain.
While most executives’ offices are adorned with useless shit like plasma
globes and fucking inspirational posters, the inner sanctum of “his evilness”
was decorated with the skulls of his enemies. Sitting behind a desk
upholstered with the flesh of physicists who failed to meet the cut,
Lazaridis mused about how he always “wanted to be a theoretical
physicist, but decided that being a multi-millionaire would have to do.” He
then ordered another professor, who had the audacity to suggest that
Hawking Radiation did indeed smell like maple syrup, tortured for our
amusement. When asked about his plans for world domination, we were
escorted out of the building with a warning that the pikes for decapitated
heads were being installed tomorrow.
So basically, whether the PI produces world class physics research is up
for debate (and Melvin the TortureMaster), but what isn’t up to debate is
that theoretical physicists do indeed scream like little girls when you rip
their toenails out with pliers.
The PI plans to hire its first co-op student next term.

“Well, you know, Man o’War, after they retired him from racing, they put him out to stud. And he had an average
of about a hundred and twenty, a hundred and thirty foals a year, and he lived to be thirty-six. And then when he
died, they did an autopsy, and they found out that he was a raving queen.”
 Back Breaking Page
“You can’t be too crazy, but you can be too sane.” - Editors

Noods Presents “Building your Wordpower”

Italian
puttana - whore
funculo - fuck
merda - shit
vaffanculo - Fuck off
Posse mangiare tu fiaga? - Could I eat your pussy?
Vostri odori della madre gradiscono i pesci! - Your mom smells
like fish!
Avete il corpo di una ciotola della toletta! - You have the body of
a toilet bowl
chesso - faggot
chessa - lesbian
fa mi un bachino - Suck my dick
sbulunate - FuckHead
finocchio - Faggot (also means anise -
To the right is a perfectly don’t ask)
straight checker board sticchia - cunt
pattern. THE LINES ARE cornutu - asshole
ALL COMPLETELY babaluci - little balls
STRAIGHT. Not only do cuglioni - balls
we fuck with your brian, we scustumatta (not sure about the spelling)
fuck with your eyes as well. - bitch
Frankly, we just like to skull figlio di puttana - son of a bitch
fuck you.

THIS WEEK’S CONTEST:

What’s a better evil fortress, MC or PI? and why...
FREE HATs for all that submit to the noods at enginoods@gmail.com.

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enginoods@gmail.com
If we publish your letter, you’ll get a FREE HAT & P**5 points! We at the Enginoods value your suggestions, and this
shit won’t get any better unless you tell us what to change.
Fuck you very much,
The Noods
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“Kiss my hot lips.”