By Eegull Eggelstein

RANSOM LAWN—According to students on
Ransom Lawn, an incredibly inconsiderate,
obnoxious baby stampeded down Middle Path
screaming at the top of her lungs without any
provocation, making a complete and total fool
of herself on Monday.
Students eating
dinner reported that
their meal was all
but ruined by the
“jackass” toddler,
whose actions they
described as symp-
tomatic of a bellig-
erent and abusive
alcoholic. On one
occasion, the baby
allegedly defecated
in her own pants.
“That baby was a
nuisance,” said psy-
chology major Colby
Katzman ‘11, who
reported the baby to
Safety & Security
after he witnessed
the child throw up in
the bushes next to the upside
down tree. “I was having a lovely evening with
my friends when all of the sudden this asshole
baby starts crying and tugging at my pant leg.”
“I’m sure that little sociopath hadn’t even
washed her flthy little hands,¨ added Katzman.
Many students were convinced that the tod-
dler was intoxicated, as she had trouble walk-
ing without falling down and was slurring all
of her words into incomprehensible jibberish.
“I couldn’t understand a single thing that
drunk baby was saying,” said Penelope Daly
’10, who witnessed the toddler in question re-
move her own shirt
and then pass out
on the sidewalk.
“She started drool-
ing on herself. I left
the number for the
counseling center,
but I think it might
be too late for her.”
“That baby
needs to pull her-
self together,” add-
ed Daly. “She’s a
To the relief of
everyone enduring
the toddler’s uncon-
trolled tantrums, an
adult picked her up
off of the ground
and placed her in
the back of her car,
where she proceeded to spit up on herself and
then fall into a coma-like sleep.
While the toddler’s behavior was deplorable,
it is not the frst time that her degenerative anti-
social behavior has caused problems for people
around her. Her behavior at home blatantly dis-
regards all cultural norms of a dignifed human
“She’s a shit-storm; a constant bombard-
ment of shit-storms,” said the baby’s distraught
mother Connie Glaser, as she scraped off bits
of creamed spinach stuck to the wall after the
baby’s latest tantrum. “She has absolutlyly no
self-awareness, and treats me like I’m some
sort of personal slave-bot.”
“I’m starting to lose my grip on things,” add-
ed Glaser. “Maybe I am a slave-bot.”
When asked to give a formal apology, the
toddler simply grew enraged and screamed
from the top of her lungs, expressing her im-
mense displeasure with the world and her cur-
rent situation. After being placed in time-out to
reconsider her actions, the baby became even
more irate and inconsolable.
“We’re just going to lock her up until she
gets control of her emotions,” explained an ex-
asperated Glaser. “Once she’s had some time
to reconsider things, she can eventually be re-
habilitated back into society and fnally get her
boo-boo blanket back.”
Philander’s Most Splendiferous Source of News and Gossip. Vol. 2, Issue 15 May 5, 2010
Drunk Toddler Ruins Beautiful Evening Picnic On Ransom Lawn
By Ed Strictly
and we thought it would be fun this yer if
maybe we did the sendfoo article live-- like
i mean written during it all. So i brought my
laptop but gerge spilled mimiosa on it a lttle
while ago when we were grilled eggs but it was
rainy so they wrener’t good eggs. the point is
that i think my “P” key is broken. i keep having
to copy and paste it from i’m really
good about doing it.
In other recent news, i don’t know any of
these fucking people. ONce i feelt liek i went
to this school and now i sometimes feel like i
don’t even go here. Who the fuck is that for ex-
ample? I don’t like her. Seriously it’s already
noon and the only people I know on this quad
graduated last year. There’s the guy who direct-
ed that show about gaypeopel. I would tell him
i missed but..... but but but but.
to go into the bounce house in uppah dempsey.
seE SeE, i feel sick. wouldn’t you. ask yourself
that now, chilldren of the night.
Okay hold on I need a replacement for my
shift at the writing center tomorrow, there is
no way i will be able to make that. prophecies.
prophecies on the house.
sometimes it does the trick, you old so-and-so.
Hi JOURNAL back again. Whatcha doin
Paul Rudd. Writing ni my gernal! Hold on.
Okay. I promised myself i wouldn’t cry this
sendoff. And i’m not. I’m just really fed up
with Kyle. I don’t think he even undesrstands
how hwe makes me feel sometimes. Unveli-
able. He never cleans. It’s just we’re graduat-
ing and does he even know that if w’ere living
together in detroit. Not detroit...real city conf-
dentail. “Hug the girl on acid.”
ABOUT MY. hood internet, i can’t make it this
year. it’s not youit’s me.
IN Conclusion. Keebl peat butter snak.
Strictly enjoys Sendoff.
The toddler throws up in a fower pot.
By Helga G. Pataki
SOUTH QUAD — On the morn-
ing of May 1st, Jill
Haddaway ’12 woke at
daybreak, experienc-
ing what she would
later describe as “the
call within the call”
and hurried straight to
South Quad. For most,
Kenyon’s annual Sum-
mer Sendoff means
a marathon of unin-
hibited drinking, ex-
perimenting with illicit
drugs, and developing
godawful tan lines. But
for Haddaway, Sendoff
2010 marked the per-
fect chance for her to
wield the philanthropic
prowess she has devel-
oped over the course of
this year as a Commu-
nity Advisor.
She told report-
ers, “A voice told me
to leave my dorm
straight away and help
the drunk while living
amongst them. It was
an order. To fail would
have been to break
the CA’s unbreakable
code of duty.”
When asked about
whether the CA’s un-
breakable code of duty
is a college-enforced policy, Matt
Troutman, Assistant Director of
Housing and Residential Life, re-
plied, “No, not at all. No one really
knows exactly what it means be-
cause it’s written in Latin, but she
made us sign it using our own
“Haddaway is
the most devoted
student I’ve ever
worked with,”
Troutman contin-
ued. “She also kind
of scares me.”
Haddaway told
The Collegiate that
Sendoff was a real
testament to her
strength and endur-
ance as a civil ser-
vant. “While com-
forting the sick and
hungover, I walked
up and down Middle
Path until my legs
and arms throbbed
in pain. I thought
about how much the
ill-guided students
must ache within
body and soul. As
I let my eyes scan
their desolate faces,
I did not let a single
tear come.”
Karl Schmidt ’10,
a Psi U and varsity
lacrosse player, ben-
efted from Had-
daway`s selfess
service on Sendoff.
“Dude, it was fuck-
ing nuts. I was going
so fucking hard, man. By 11am
all my limbs started tingling and
I passed out. I thought I was hal-
lucinating when this small woman
knelt next to me and offered me a
sip of water from a large wooden
ladle. That was real? Was she actu-
ally wearing a habit?”
Yes, she was wearing a habit.
Ever since Haddaway spent a
summer in Calcutta working at St.
Mary’s convent she has worn the
traditional attire of the Loreto Sis-
ters of Dublin, missionaries found-
ed in the 17th century to educate
young women.
Many have asked where she
found the perserverance to spend
all day in complete service to oth-
ers. According to Haddaway, she
found it “in prayer and in the si-
lent contemplation of President S.
Georgia Nugent, her Holy Face,
her Sacred Heart.” Indeed, she is
not actually interested in the stu-
dents’ welfare; rather, she insists
that her devotion is to Kenyon
College, the institution. She said,
“My intention is not to help peo-
ple. I don’t do it for this reason. I
do it for S. Georgia. I do it for the
CA Working Sendoff Comforts Indigent, Drunk
By Satchmo Dirk Jerkins
town Band has long been hailed as
one of the most celebrated student
music groups on campus. Its hip
ensemble and groovy R&B jams
have always been a favorite at the
Village Inn for anyone popular
enough to know someone in the
band. It came as a shock, then,
when group representative Ted
Brooks ’10 announced the addi-
tion of two little mice to the band.
“As a group we were lacking
a certain cohesion in our rhythm
section. We hope these little fel-
las will keep us swingin’,” said
Brooks. The cute, itty-bitty mice
were donated by the psychology
department last Tuesday. Professor
Niemiec agreed to hand over the
rodents as part of his study of the
effects of hype on the brain. “We
hope that by studying what hap-
pens to rodents’ brains when they
play the same damn songs all the
time and everyone still goes nuts,
we will understand the same
mechanism in our brains.”
The two mice (Eeks and
Squeeks) were hand picked
by Niemiec and Brooks out
of a pool of 100 applicants
screened for musical panache
and networking abilities. “We
wanted mice that could re-
ally get down, but also have
enough friends to come to
the shows, you know? Most
of the mice screened merely
scurried along the foor, chew-
ing on corn kernels. Eeks and
Squeeks were the only ani-
mals to grab horns and start
'The frst show with them
was a hit!” Said Motown
Bassist Cory Sheldon ’12.
“I still don’t understand why
the fuck we have mice in our
band, but dammit if the girls
don’t love ‘em!” The mice
were not available for com-
ment because they are mice
and cannot talk.
Motown To Incorporate Tiny Little Mice
Eeks and Squeeks getting ready for rehearsal.
Jill Haddaway saves students.
By Jean Shortz
Today marks the third consecutive day that Ke-
nyon`s Grande High Offcial Provost has been
missing both from His campus and His castle
grounds. Authorities suspect Kenyon student
Caroline McEver ’11, due to her involvement
in the college’s “Provost for a Day” program.
The program, modeled after the successful
“President for a Day,” intended to inform the
students “in a fun way” about the ins and outs
of a day in the life of the Provost, said Dean
Martindell. Any student could enter the ran-
dom drawing by submitting his or her name in
a plastic box outside of the Peirce servery with
the hopes of winning said contest and fulfll-
ing the Provost’s responsibilities for one day.
McEver, an Econ major from Kansas City,
was the only student to submit her name and
was subsequently chosen. When the Provost’s
white-breasted hawk delivered the gilded
parchment informing her of her win, McEver
expressed lukewarm excitement, saying, “Oh.
I forgot I entered that. Cool... I wonder what a
Provost even does? I guess I`ll fnd out.¨
The Provost was last seen by members of
the community escorting McEver to His ruby-
encrusted horse-drawn carriage and pulling
away from Bushnell dormitory towards His
castle grounds. Both McEver and the Provost
were scheduled to return to campus at 5PM
on Monday afternoon and did not. Her room-
mate, Rebecca Merrill ‘11, who was detained
for question-
ing by Campus
Safety and Secu-
rity, expressed a
strong suspicion
that McEver was
up to something
“really fucked
up,” based on the
text messages
that McEver had
sent her through-
out the day.
'At frst, they
were just nor-
mal,” said Mer-
rill. “Like in the
morning she was
like, ‘hey this castle is
tiiiiiight we are about to have a feast of spiced
meats and mulled wine!!!’ and ‘haha this is so
cool we are watching a jousting competition
between all of the eligible knights of the court...
i put money on lionel, duke of clarence, son of
edward III, provost of oberlin HOTTIE. ‘ But
after an hour or so of her being gone, she start-
ed saying weird stuff like, ‘i will be provost. i
must be provost. i cannot taste of this fruit and
leave it behind.’ and ‘it is better to be feared
than loved, if you cannot be both.’” Merrill
sobbed, “I don’t even know what the hell she’s
talking about.”
Safety and Security
knew something had
gone terribly wrong
when they received
a parchment written
in the unmistakable
quill of the Provost
reading, “This tyrant,
whose sole name blis-
ters my tongue was
once thought hon-
est; you have loved
her well; she hath not
touched you yet.”
They sent three golf
carts to the illustrious
castle grounds imme-
diately but turned back
at the gates, as McEver was fghting off out-
siders with a crossbow. The Mount Vernon Po-
lice Department reported to the scene minutes
later. As of press time, McEver was holding
them at bay with a battalion of young soldiers,
a shark-infested moat, and a dragon and could
be heard screaming, “LONG LIVE McEVER
Provost Missing, Kenyon Student Suspected
By Eegull Eggelstein
MT. VERNON — When a new product hits the
grocery store shelf--specifcally a new favor
of Nissin’s Cup of Noodles--people eat it up.
Hours into the night, diligent nocturnal em-
ployees of Walmart sweat under their arms and
stock the shelves for the next day’s throng of
consumers. From their carts, they unload prod-
ucts ranging from “traditional” to “new and
improved.” Last Wednesday in particular, mid-
night stocker Buck Chapin unloaded boxes of
Nissin`s new favor of Ramen noodles: bugs.
“’Each and every person counts.’ That’s our
motto here at Walmart,” said Chapin. “I’ve
never been too good at math, but I see where
they’re coming from. And I don’t know too
much about bugs either, but if Walmart carries
it and Nissin makes it, you’d better believe I’ll
snarf that stuff down like there won’t be a to-
Chapin is not the only employee of Walmart
excited about the new favor of the ready-to-
make soup in a Styrofoam cup.
“My prediction,” said Gary Johns, late night
manager of Walmart #4718, “is you won’t be
able to stop the commotion tomorrow. College
kids love ramen noodles as much as they love
sexing each other up, plain and simple, and
we typically sell new favors off like hot porn-
Nissin`s seasonal rotation of favors has con-
tributed to its cult status. “Me and my friends
have been waiting for the new soup to come out
ever since they discontinued that last one. The
French Fry and buffalo wings favor was amaz-
ing,” commented Burton Fray ’11, a Japanese
major, as he stocked his cart with two 12-packs
of bug soup. “The bugs are supposed to be nu-
tritious, not to mention delectable. That’s the
rumor, anyway.”
The Japan-headquartered Nissin Company
prides itself on its distribution of multi-purpose
noodles, which serve either as a hot snack or a
delicious meal that people can enjoy anytime.
'Our multi-favored Ramen noodles are de-
hydrated to perfection with the freshest peas,
carrot cubes, and corn kernels. We predict our
new favor, which includes real juicy insects,
will outsell all of our current favors, includ-
ing the all-too-conventional beef, chicken, and
our most popular favor, shrimp,¨ said Nissin
spokesperson, Momofuku Ando. “Our com-
pany needed a drastic marketing change. That’s
why we decided to sell new, nontraditional,
healthy products to appeal to stupid…I mean,
nontraditional, health-conscious Americans.
It’s all healthy, though. That’s the best part!”
Nissin, self-proclaimed maker of “America’s
Finest Ramen Noodle Soups,” completed its
frst in a series of new, fast and tasty Ramen
favors that will grace store shelves in months
to come. Also among these up-and-coming fa-
vors are mouse, gouda cheese, and the much-
anticipated lung chunk.
'All of our favors use the best ingredients.
The bugs for instance, especially high in pro-
tein, are selected from the choicest variety of
ants, cockroaches, housefies, and other miscel-
laneous insects. I can’t wait to see the results
of our other new nontraditional products,” said
Ando. “Last year sales went down big time
when we introduced our American Favorites:
ramen, including favors like Hot Dog, Taco
meat, sardine, bacon, and ketchup. But this
year we’re expecting a home run from every
corner. That’s a bunch of home runs. Go USA!”
In the end, the decision lies with the con-
Having made his way through the checkout
line, Burton Fray hoisted his boxes of ramen
triumphantly in the air. “I’m going home a
hero,” he said. “Waiter, there’s some bugs in
my soup, and they look way yummy.”
Students Look Forward To New Cup Of Noodles Flavor
The Sheriff and Security raid the castle.
By Clams Casino
ASCENSION HALL — This Monday, Profes-
sor Elkin’s Art History lecture was rudely inter-
rupted when Miles Beneville ’13 made a smelly
Sources say that the smelly fart took place at
12:35, while Elkins was applying the Theory
of Relativity to Henri Matisse’s Le bonheur de
vivre. Needless to say, there was little bonheur
de vivre left in Ascension Hall after Beneville’s
unwelcome emission.
At 12:30, Beneville reportedly looked around
nervously and bit feverishly at the eraser of his
By 12:31, the freshman Art History major
began to move back and forth from a slouch-
ing to upright sitting position, sliding his bottom
around his seat in order to keep his butt cheeks
clenched frmly together.
Beneville reached a full state of panic by
12:32. He began coughing, mumbling, and zip-
ping and unzipping his backpack in order to
make the most noise possible to distract from
the unavoidable emission.
When 12:33 came, the fart was ready to go. It
wanted to go. It needed to go.
At 12:34, the smelly fart began its journey
out of Beneville’s descending colon and was
approaching the sigmoid fexure only for Ben-
eville to will it back inside. The smelly fart re-
luctantly retreated back to its home.
At 12:35, Beneville heard a snippet of Elkin`s
point on Ernst Mach’s “positivism,” and a feel-
ing of relief washed over him. He surrendered
to the power of the fart. He unclenched his fsts
and gentled lifted his left butt cheek. As he re-
laxed, his sphincter released. Beneville immedi-
ately knew what he had done.
By Gurl Wulf
PEIRCE ATRIUM — Last Monday, as they
have every Monday, Kenyon College’s re-
nowned Juggling Club entered Peirce Hall at
7:45 PM to prepare for their weekly meeting.
The club, which senior club leader Amelia Har-
ris 10 has spent her college career fghting to
have promoted to “Team” status, includes nine
members of the Kenyon student body, two pro-
fessors, and a rogue Mt. Vernon resident, Kirk
Damian, who claims to have applied to clown
school thirty years ago with “nothing but the
pins in my bag and
the balls in my pock-
“We were nothing
until Ike [Nigut ‘11]
came along,” Harris
said. “He’s juggled
regular knives, fam-
ing knives, knives
with leprosy, knives
with extra little
knives poking out
the sides . . . He’s
amazing. The Jug-
gling Club owes a
lot to the Admissions
Offce for getting
him here.”
Kenyon`s Offce of
Admissions con-
frms Harris` state-
ment. “It’s true,”
said Dean of Admis-
sions Jennifer Dela-
hunty of Nigut. “Ke-
nyon’s swimming
efforts have fallen a
little fat lately, so we
looked to the second
most victorious group of
people on campus. Somehow the Juggling Club
has managed its own recruitment for its fve-
year lifespan, but it was defnitely their turn
to get some help. I asked then-captain Ulrich
Westervelt who he most wanted for the club,
and he picked Ike Nigut, who as I recall was an
academically-disinclined indoor kid from Min-
nesota who rode a mean unicycle.”
Nigut, voted next year’s captain and three-
time club MVP, said, “I wouldn’t say I’m the
heart and soul of the group. Maybe the hands.
Because those are what really matter in our
Still, Nigut is not the only gifted juggler on
the championship-winning team. Harris, who
was the MVP her freshman year, has been jug-
gling since she was seven. “My older brothers
taught me,” she said. “Well, sort of. They used
to throw things at me, like tomatoes and cans
of soup, and fnally I was so bruised and soupy
that I had to learn to catch them before they hit
me. Then I just added
some pizzazz.”
That very piz-
zazz has led the club
to four consecutive
national champion-
ships. Members Ali-
son Reilly ‘12 and Xi
Min ‘11, the club’s
only pairs juggling
team, have taken the
national doubles
title for the past two
years. In their last
competition, Reilly
and Min completed a
perfect back-to-back
3-club pattern passing
siteswap in the fnal
round, handily lock-
ing down the gold
It remains to be
seen whether the
club will continue
as merely a group of
animated ball-throw-
ers who sometimes
experiment with fre.
Peter Smith, Kenyon’s
Director of Athletics, said, “They deserve so
much more. The soccer team only needs to
prove its members can kick soccer balls into
nets every now and then. The Juggling Club
has consistently proven itself worthy of some
recognition. And those pictures of serious wres-
tling-types along the walls leading to the yoga
rooms could really use some fair.¨
The Juggling Club Is Real
Smelliness Farted
By Ruth “Thundercat” Bubis
GAMBIER — Where the all-knowing sun rises
and sets, there you may fnd storied wall-hater
Amanda Herrington-Fields ’11. The infamous
junior has only recently spoken outwardly
about her love of the sun, choosing tempo-
rarily to remain silent on the issue of walls.
“Mmmm,” commented Herrington-
Fields, peering out into the sunrise. “Mm-
mmmmmmmmmm. Mmm, mmmm, oh.”
Campus Wall-Hater
Loves Sun
Herrington-Fields’ drawing of what she saw.
Ike Nigut doing extra research.
Miles Beneville holds it in.
Lucky Sophomores To Live In Derelict, Inconve-
niently Located Senior Housing With No Insulation
Art Director . . . . . . . . Skeeter Demiglace
Executive Editor . . . . . . . Sheridan Whiteside
Senior Editor . . . . . . . . . Diesel Jackson
Managing Editor . . . . . . Luther Honeybucket
Associate Editor . . . . . . . . . Gordelo 3000
Associate Art Director . . . . . . Charlie Adams
Assistant Director . . . . . . Beauregard Beauregard
Copy Editor . . . . . . . . . . Eegull Eggelstein
Copy Editor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Granny Hayes
Copy Editor . . . . . . Satchmo Dirk Jerkins
Copy Editor . . . . . . . . Esteban Sinclaire
Creative Director . . . . . . Dingo Rockefeller
Sales Intern . . . . . . . . . Jean Shortz
Receptionist . . . . . . . . . . . Ed Strictly
Accountant . . . . . . . . . . . Gurl Wulf
Editor-In-Chief . . . . Ruth “Thundercat” Bubis
System Administrator . . . . . . . . . Clams Casino
Marketing Coordinator . . . . . . Roy McKluskin
Circulation Manager . . . . . . . . . . . Helga Pataki
Group Publisher . . . . . . Sgt. Clap Stormison
Chief Financial Ofhcer . . . . . . Joe M. Amamas

Editorial Assistants . . . . . . . . . Editorial Assis-
tant, Editorial Assistant, Editorial Assistant, Edito-
rial Assistant, Editorial Assistant, Editorial Assistant
Founder/Editor Emeritus . . . . . . . . Louis Fran-
cis Albert Victor Nicholas Collegiate, 1st Earl Col-
legiate of Ohio, KG, GCB, GCSI, GCIE, GCVO
By Sgt. Clap Stormison
NEW APARTMENTS – As a result of the re-
cent upset at the 2010-2011 Housing Lottery,
several fortunate students have the
rare opportunity next year to live
in some of the worst housing ever
built in the state of Ohio. The New
Apartments, reminiscent of post-
Katrina New Orleans, will host
at least ten sophomores in rooms
constructed entirely of origami
These rising sophomores
consider themselves incredibly
blessed at being forced to give
themselves at least twenty-fve
minutes to get to class on time.
“And,” added beside-herself
Amanda Beckett ’13, “I can’t
fall asleep at night without drunk
lacrosse players throwing what
sound like porcelain drums onto
the pavement outside my window
at 4 AM. It’s like a dream come
Members of the class of 2013
whose numbers fell just short of
what was needed to acquire hous-
es in what students affectionately
refer to as the ‘New Apt Shanty
Town’ related their jealousy of
their fellow classmates. “Man,
after the frst ice in the winter,
they’re all going to have so many
sprained ankles and broken legs
after trying to walk up that one
unbelievably steep hill. I can’t believe upper-
classmen don’t know about these residences,”
griped Preston Meyers ’13.
Kenyon Founder Philander Chase commis-
sioned the residences in 1829 to house the in-
dentured servants brought over from Ireland to
help construct the more solid stone buildings
found almost everywhere else on campus, al-
though the school moved the la-
borers after they complained of
excessive noise, inaccessibility,
and ball-removing cold. Students
retained the moniker “New Apart-
ments” with fondness throughout
the centuries of their use, and worry
about the day when a light breeze
will knock over these man-made
deathtraps like so many domi-
noes. However, these soon-to-be
residents from the class of 2013
express more excitement and opti-
mism than their predecessors.
“Thanks to these paper-thin
walls, I’ll be able to hear people
having sex in stereo, and maybe
even surround sound. That is, if
I’m lucky enough to have the room
in the middle!” exclaimed Denise
Fleming ’13, who followed her
comment with a fst pump and a si-
lently mouthed “yesss.”
“Take them all. We don’t give a
shit,” said rising senior Mike Dex-
ter ‘10. “All the upperclassmen are
living in Mather next year. Good
old cinderblock-walls, regulated-
temperature, doesn’t-run-out-of-
Mather. Enjoy your ‘New Apart-
ments,’ you stupid assholes.”
Derelict senior housing is run down.
By Arielle Monroe ’11
I view a cavalcade of merry stone faces grin-
ning up at me, and then shake myself, remem-
bering—no, it’s just the concrete sidewalk, and
those grins are just the cracks I’ve so often trod-
den on my way to and from my host family’s
My leg dangles—I trace the well-worn
pathway with my be-sneakered toes, casting
my imagination back…back days…months… all the fotsam and jetsam of human-
ity that has ambled this road before me, perhaps
before I was even born. Such memories this
sidewalk has seen: a toddler creating a child-
like masterpiece of a thousand vibrant chalky
shades; a pair of teenaged lovers meeting at
midnight for a secret tryst below a weeping
willow tree; an old man tipping his bowler hat
and whistling an old-sounding tune in his na-
tive Quebecois. This is what the sidewalk has
witnessed—the unending and eternal hoop of
life. I refect on this, and I realize: perhaps those
cracks are grins after all.
But I don’t have time to think about all of this
right now-I`m already late! Today is my frst
day volunteering at Lachute Elementary School
(or L’Ecole Lachute, as the natives call it!). I’ve
been assigned to teach art to six and seven year
olds, but I expect to do a lot of learning as well.
I arrive at the school, and as soon as I blink—
seemingly—the day has come to a close. I’ve
only just met Jessica stroking her sunset-hued
pig tails, Jacob squeaking “no merci!” in his
chipmunk voice, Pierre with his tragic yet beau-
tiful lazy eye, yet I feel that I’ve known them all
my life. That afternoon, foating back home to
the promise of a warm cup of cocoa and a slice
of my host-mother`s bumbleberry pie, I fnd my
eyes saturated with salty tears at the thought
that these wonderful artists-to-be might never
remember my name or this unforgettable day.
Yet through the waterfall of my tears, a sun-
beam of laughter shines through—for though
we have touched for the briefest of moments,
our destinies have become inexorably linked.
They may never know it, but my presence will
be a small whisper in the symphony of their
Tomorrow yawns before me—a grand chasm
promising limitless possibilities for the future.
Notes From Abroad:
Hello fellow party go-
ers. Julian here, again,
recapping the weekend in
food. I’ll tell you about
the ragers that tantalized
my taste buds and the
duds that pulverized my
People often say to
me, “Hey, Julian, get
your mitts off this cheese
sandwich. This party
doesn’t start for another half-hour.” And this
truth is, I can’t! When I see a square of Ameri-
can cheese, ripped from its individual packag-
ing, atop a slice of white bread, I’ve got to try
it, and quick! I love food and I have made it
my job to help you dodge the dredge and get
the goods.
Little has captured my attention like the gar-
lic breadsticks unveiled at Shock Your Mom
three weekends ago. Someone call the cops on
Papa John because these breadsticks should be
illegal! Not to mention your breath will have a
license to kill.
However, I am proud to say that Satur-
day’s Summer Sendoff marked an important
day for party food. Prior to this year, Sendoff
was not a blip on my salivation radar. I had
become accustomed to the small water bottles
and crackers that were dry as all get out. This
year, however, Social Board boldly expanded
the Sendoff selection to include miniature Slim
Jims. Weighing in at .28 ounces, these suckers
pack a zesty punch. If the Juggernaut were a
processed meat-snack, it would be a Slim Jim:
'I`m favorful, bitch!¨
The mixture of beef and mechanically sepa-
rated chicken made for a fantastic mid-day
snack. But beware, the burning after-effects
can trick the senses. There were a couple of oc-
casions when I thought I was still chewing on
a Slim Jim even though I was sure I had swal-
lowed it hours prior. Ouch that’s hot! Also, if
you hold one in your hands for too long, the
sensation is similar to touching acid. Look
out, H
! And no amount of water will re-
ally help the metaphorical fre. Too tangy! But
I wanted more. Too much is not enough!
When it was all said and done, I realized
that eating these Slim Jims really required a
sophisticated palate, one that truly understands
complex favor--I loved and hated Slim Jim for
that. At the end of the day, I overheard Betas
chanting at a food golf cart that was driving
by. They were shouting “meat-snacks! meat-
snacks! meat-snacks! meat-snacks.” I couldn’t
have said it better myself.
Someone should call the cops
on Papa John because these
breadsticks should be illegal!
Hey folks. Chet here. So
I’m a pretty conscientious
guy. Hey, hey, hey. Don’t
laugh. I haven’t started the
comedy yet. I am. I’m a
pretty conscientious guy.
You know, for a WISE guy.
But seriously. The other
day I was talking to my
friend Harpo. He was sitting
in the library, hunched over
his laptop, and so I says to him, I says: 'Harpo!
What are ya... bobbing for apples? In a COM-
And this guy, he looks at me and says,
“Dude. I’m studying for exams. It’s nothing to
joke about.”
Now, I don’t know much. I’m the guy who
thought koalas came from Austria! (Hey, there’s
probably a zoo in Vienna.) But I do know that
there’s only three things in this world you can’t
joke about: John Denver, the Constitution, and
non-Hodgkins lymphoma.
Exams? The last exam I took was an EYE
exam, and I got all A’s! Seriously, all I saw was
A’s! Maybe that’s why I have to wear these new
glasses! Eye exams? Please.
My dad...he’s a lawyer. Yeah, he and his
friends, they all took the BAR exam. They still
take it every Tuesday. It’s for their class Happy
Hour 101. The only question is: 'How Many
Whiskey Sours Can You Drink?” The answer?
A LOT! Bar exams. Ha, you wish.
Yeah, I got some exams coming up. Couldn’t
tell you what they’re about. I’ve got one, it’s
for this class Surprises at Infnity. Yeah, OKAY.
The only time I’m gonna be surprised in that
class is when it stops going on for INFINITY.
Speaking of math: count me out.
You know one thing I can’t stand? TEACH-
ERS. Who do they think they are? Martin Lu-
ther King, Jr.? The only dreams going on in
their classrooms are the ones I’m having when
I fall ASLEEP! Hey, when I’m in their classes,
I wish I was in the back of a bus...careening off
a cliff!
All I’m saying is, Pastino wouldn’t know an
exam if it came up to him and said, “Hey I’m an
exam! You have to take me to pass this class!”
Pass this class? I’ll PASS on that! (Or PASS I right?) And that’s FINAL(s)!
Who do they think they are?
Martin Luther King, Jr.?
As a Kenyon senior, I’m very invested in
maintaining the natural beauty of our campus
and consider it a personal mission to foster
community togetherness. That’s why I was ab-
solutely fucking devastated when I heard that
Middle Path Day was being canceled. For the
last three years, I’ve waited all year for that
Sunday when we all come together under the
shade of the mighty, mighty oak or oak-esque
trees to make that homely gravel strip into a
place I like to call home.
Middle Path is the artery that connects us all;
without it the college would gush its proverbial
blood all over the place. Students would be
living in a state of nature without it as a meta-
phorical anchor. We don’t have anything else
to hold us together as a community. I mean, it’s
not like there was any other event that weekend
that could replace it. I wound up with a bunch
of beer and sunscreen that I bought especially
for planting
saplings that
now sits
mol de r i ng
in my mini-
But it’s
not just my
we e k e n d .
Ca nc e l i ng
Middle Path
Day has re-
ally ruined
my whole
college ca-
reer. It was
fnally my
turn to lead the trash pickup brigade. I spent the
entire day running around and shaking my fst
at every looming storm cloud, daring whatever
cruel God rained out my beautiful Middle Path
Day to hit me with lightening. I wouldn’t use
the word suicidal, but it was really a low point
in my existence.
That’s why I spent all of yesterday afternoon
outside the College Development Center boo-
ing, chanting “USA, USA!,” and throwing a
fowerpot through the window; I shattered that
glass like the cancellation shattered my dreams.
I think I’ll go bury my feelings in Keystone,
cocaine, and freshly-fertilized mulch now.
That’s why I spent all of yester-
day afternoon outside the College
Development Center booing,
chanting, “USA, USA!,” and
throwing a fowerpot through the

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