Latest Issue
Volume 33, Issue 1:
The HEURISTIC! Squelch

The Secret Diary of Margot Frank

Anne Frank is considered by many to be the Lance Armstrong of hiding
from Nazi oppressors. Her secret diary made her one of World War II’s
most beloved personalities. But while Anne wrote away, the goofier and
more optically-challenged Margot Frank also kept a secret journal.
Recently uncovered by historians, her brief but courageous chronicle
allows us to experience the horror that is being trapped in a Secret
Annex with an annoying Jew-sister that won’t stop writing in her
journal. I bring you now the resolute and triumphant voice of Margot
Frank.
-Compiled By Danny Marshall

Wednesday, December 22, 1943

Family and I have been in hiding for almost one
year and six months now. Have decided that
Anne’s not going to be the only Frank keeping
a secret journal. Why can’t she just stare at the
maple tree outside our window like the rest of us?
I too have interesting things to write about. Yesterday,
stared at the maple tree out our window,
wondered if it could grow roast beef sandwiches.
So hungry, so tired of eating potatoes.
I wonder what Anne’s journal tastes like?
_Yours,

Margot_

Wednesday, January 5, 1944

Anne writing constantly in journal. UUURGH!!! What does potato-hoarding
bitch have to write about all day? I mean, we’re just eight run-away
Jews hiding in an annex behind a bookshelf to avoid falling victim to the
horrors and mass genocide that Hitler and his German Gestapo followers
are wrongfully trying to inflict upon my people just because of our choice
of worship. How uninteresting is that? No one will ever read Anne’s journal…
except for me! I’m going to sneak into her room and read it tomorrow!
HAHAHAHAHA!!! Can’t laugh anymore, Nazis below.
_Yours,

Margot_

PS Anne’s journal tastes like potatoes.

Thursday, January 6, 1944

Investigatory work was success. Was able to sneak into Anne’s room and
read some of her journal. Guess what I discovered? Anne’s a big Lesbo!!
Hahahaha!! She kissed one of her friends and tried grabbing her boobies.
I bet her whole journal is a bunch of lesbian adventure stories that
contain nothing about all the Jewish hardships of World War II, and I
guarantee you Anne’s journal won’t be what The New York Times calls
“an eloquent testament to the human spirit” like mine is. Also, she calls
it “Kitty.” Her journal I mean, not girlsex. How stupid is that? That’s the
kind of thing a homosexual would name his cat. Oh. Guess that makes
sense then. Sure hope Hitler gets rid of them before we get out of here.
Anyway, I think you need a name, journal. Was thinking “Cuddle Bear,”
“Huggle Bear,” “Fuck You Anne’s Journal,” or “Sunflower.” Keep you
posted! Oh, and send food.
_Yours,

Margot_

Saturday, January 8, 1944

Dear Huggle Bear (Anne is a cunt),

Being tucked away from world in secret annex is making
me feel uncomfortable. Reminds me of the time I
found out that Anne kisses other girls. Hahaha, still can’t
get over that. Hope Papa publishes her journal after the
war is over and subsequently has it translated into over
30 different languages. In fact, I hope every eighth-grade
student is required to read it. Might be wishful thinking,
but I also hope they adapt her journal into plays, television
shows and films starring some shit actress like Millie
Perkins so everyone can see how stupid and pointless her
lesbian journal is.
_Yours,

Margot_

Signs Your Professor is Moonlighting as a Bookie

  1. He takes notes when the handicapped students are talking
  2. Forty year old in the front row still talks too much, but about keeping his thumbs
  3. Pete Rose is scheduled to be a guest lecturer
  4. Office hours held in bar at Caesar’s Palace
  5. Most of your statistics homework revolves around Brett Favre’s throwing percentage
  6. Keeps asking you to start his car for him while he waits behind a brick wall
  7. GSIs keep talking about
  8. You got a 93% on last test, but got a B- for failing to beat the spread
  9. Instead of taking half a grade each day your paper is late, breaks your knees
  10. Keeps trying to make you double-down on your final grade

Douglas Unger’s Roommate Questionnaire

(1) SEX
Male
Female
First one, then the other
Both (specify/draw a picture) ________

(2) OCCUPATION
Quiet, Reflective, Full-Time Student
Professional Whisperer
Tiptoeologist
Drummer with Access to Prescription Sleep Aids

(3) COOKING EXPERIENCE
Confectionary Major
Watched enough Iron Chef to get the gist
Grilled cheese ala waffle iron
Tin cans make the microwave go fzzt

(4-5) FAMILY
4. Do You have any sisters? Are any of them hot? What is her cell phone #?

  1. Do you have any brothers? If not, why?

    (6) ETHNICITY

Chinese

Korean

Japanese

Filipino

Thai

Samoan

Vietnamese

Laotian

Cambodian

Malaysian

Burmese

Nepalese

Taiwanese

Cardassian

Indonesian

Hmong

Tibetan

Tongan

Fijian

Guamanian

Polynesian

Ethnically native Hawaiian

Note: You thieving Maori Tribesman need not apply.

(7-9) PERSONAL HABITS
7. Usually get up at:
7:00 AM 7:00 PM11:00 PMJanuary
8. Usually go to bed at:
7:00 AM 7:00 PM1:00 PMJanuary

  1. Usually shower at:
    7:00 AM 7:00 PM1:00 PMMicrowave in shower goes ZRZRKRKRKBK-BOOM!

    (10) TRUE-FALSE

T

F –
Dirty clothes belong properly in the dirty clothes hamper.

T

F –
By “hamper” I mean floor

T

F –
Hanky-Panky is not acceptable in the apartment or Scrabble.

T

T –
It gets damn hot during the summer.

T

F –
Structuralism provides that true implies false and false implies true.

The lease agreement releases the landlord of liability for any damages due to “flood, fire, earthquake, theft, or acts of God.” Discuss.

Wonka Actually Tyrannical Despot

Seeking to both capitalize on renewed interest in its Wonka trademark and respond to the complaints of labor unions and children’s rights groups, Nestle inc. has announced a marketing plan to “reimagine” their factories. Executives hope to involve customers in the candy maker’s production process by likening it to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, noting that child laborers in their factories will now be paid in golden tickets and will trade in their 22-hour work days for whimsical new Everlasting Work Days. The company also announced plans to relabel the African slaves who harvest their cocoa beans “oompa loompas” and to kill their first born male sons of any oompa loompas that refused to wear their new uniforms.

“We want to recapture the whit and whimsy of a child’s imagination that candy used to be associated with,” said Nestle spokesman Steve Sladden in defense of the program, “you know, like whipping the cocoa niggers with ropes made of licorice and so forth.”

“–er, the oompa loompas,” Sladden corrected himself, chuckling over his linguistic faux paux, “excuse me… As you can see, this is a big change for all of us.”

When asked about the morality of his company’s production methods, CEO Peter Brabeck-Letmathe responded by noting that everything in the press conference was, in fact, edible and implored those in attendance to “go ahead and indulge!”

Moments later, several journalists fell ill from trying to digest real, inedible ball-point pens and were forced to leave early. As they were leaving, Brabeck-Letmathe cracked an oversized candy cane across the back of a nearby oompa loompa and bellowed “SING!” Several re-christened servants then emerged to perform a contrived, loosely-rehearsed song-and-dance number that entertained no one.

Minorities Underrepresented in Area Porn Collection

Alta Plaza Park, San Francisco. Children
run, play tag, shriek as they climb on the jungle
gym. Some are Chinese, some Hispanic, others black
and others white. It is not hard today to look at
a model community such as this and assume that
there is nothing wrong with racial relations in
the United States. Yet even now, many areas are
still insufficiently integrated. One such region
resides on the hard drive of student Brian
McGuirk, at the University of California,
Berkeley.

“It is amazing to me that today, 40
years after Brown vs. BOE, less than 3% of people
in the blurry, highly compressed files are
identifiable as African- American,” comments UCSB
professor Howard Long, currently writing a report
on the collection for the Cato Institute. “Sure,
reactionists may point to the most visible icons
of Afro success–the Halle Berry’s, the Lil’ Kims,
the single well-hidden photo of Vin Diesel- -but
the fact is that when it comes to basic,
no-holes-barred fucking, virtually none of the
barely-18 fuck-sluts in question are of African
ancestry. And don’t even get me started on
American Indians or Pacific Islanders.”

Defenders of the collection have responded
fiercely. “Admission to this hard drive is
strictly merit-based,” pontificated Tucker Carlson
on The Situation, “In America, all hot, hot,
bodies may not be created equal, but they should
all have equal freedom for their digitized visages
to be feverishly milked off to. What do you say to
the girl who has worked long hours sewing her
cheerleader costume and suppressing her gag reflex
but is passed up for a less-qualified slam-pig
simply because of her skin.” Ironically, McGuirk
has been no less than a crusader for racial
coexistence since the very day he got broadband.
“Why else is the collection 25% Asian?”

“These ‘Model Minorities’ have little relevance to the
issue at hand,” countered Long, “The reality is
that while there may be plenty of Hong Kong Sluts
Going Nuts, Hispanics by and large still find
themselves Fucking For Their Green Card.”

McGuirk could not be reached for comment.

MapQuest Version 2.0

When you’re not sure how to get somewhere, a quick visit to MapQuest.com can save you lots of time and give you clear, precise directions.
If you have a good car.
But what if you don’t drive one of those brand-new, fancy-pants imports that can pass a smog test? What if your car, you know, has a door held on by a seatbelt? MapQuest is here for you too, and it’ll even tell you how to get from point A to point B and not go over any bridges with toll booths because you can’t roll your windows down and the driver’s side door doesn’t open.

Start: Long Beach
End: San Diego
Problem: Registration expired for two years.

Ideal Route: Take the 5 South and stay in the far right lane of traffic. Look for an ’89 minivan going 45
with a bumper sticker for “89.1 El Sol!” or something like that. Get in front of that minivan for the rest
of the trip. Invariably, that minivan will have expired tags that far outstrip yours. The lesser of two evils
rarely gets registration tickets.

Start: Your parents’ house
End: 76 Station a mile away
Problem: Have to get more oil, because you always have to get that shit.

Ideal Route: Take Orange Avenue all the way up to sixth. Then stall, and start smoking. Call your car a
“piece of shit, you’re such a piece of shit.” Dial a friend and tell him it happened again. Walk home.

Start: Your friend’s apartment
End: Your weed dealer’s house
Problem: You’re out of weed.

Ideal Route: Take the 5 freeway North and exit at Broadway. Stop at the Bank of America there and open a goddamned checking account. Deposit the money wadded up in the pocket of your wrinkled cargos. Now save up and buy a car that costs more than three hundred dollars next time.

Start: Your friend’s parents house
End: A house party in Pacific Beach
Problem: There are a lot of hills in Pacific Beach. Hills that stop ’84 Corollas with a bum clutch.

Ideal Route: Exit at Garnet Avenue and take the first left. When you come to the Safeway, turn into the
parking lot and get high. (Note: MapQuest does not endorse the use of illegal drugs, but rather, knows you were going to do
that anyway.) Go two blocks south and take a right at Citrus. Stop to look for the piece of paper with the
address on it. Fail to find it, call a bunch of people, then give up and go get rolled tacos at El Pastor.

Start: Your parents’ house
End: Your job
Problem: Job?

Ideal Route: Exit the 805 freeway South at H Street, then continue on the road for 3.5 miles. Take a
right into the first parking lot. Congratulations, you’re back at Southwestern college. Take eight units
and your parents will start giving you money again.

How Drunk Were You?

To quote every freshman in the history of ever: “I
was SOOOO drunk!” Problem is, there is no
objectivity to this claim. There are no gold
medals and no Jeopardy champions in the game of
Drunk. So how close can we ever come to explaining
this phenomenon of the lampshade-wearing,
sexual-favor giving, arrested-getting inebriate?

Simple: a comparison in five easy stages. Follow
along if you’re stage 3 or below.

ONE
Get your buzz on — 1 to 3 drinks

Congratulations, you’re just like a: British
person

Every now and then, you’re speaking so quickly
that your words run together a little bit. You
start saying uncharacteristic things like “thanks
love.” (Note: you do not start addressing people
as “queen” until roughly stage 3, when a fight is
forthcoming) For reasons passing explanation, you
start talking at length about politics and
culture. You start to think that maybe bad teeth
aren’t that big a deal.

TWO
Feelin’ no pain, or tact — 4 to 5 drinks

Congratulations, you’re just like a: Sex offender
on probation

You’re compelled to go around the area and
introduce yourself to everyone. You’re chatting
with girls/boys, but still cautious about groping.
You want to lure that special someone back to your
van, but probably shouldn’t. Damned if you’re not
trying to ignore the demon voices in your head
that tell you to do the things.

THREE
Faded — 6 to 9 drinks
Congratulations, you’re just like an:
Eighty-year-old Handicapped billionaire in a strip
club

You no longer feel the need to impress people or
act charming. Wild rounds of boasting are followed
by inappropriate sexual advances. “Heavy” girls
become “busty.” Motor control is spotty at best.
You can’t even remember when you had bladder
control. Special Bonus: After drink no. 8, you’re
confined to a chair for the foreseeable future.

FOUR
Doin’ a little side-to-side shuffle-dance — 10 to
14 drinks

Congratulations, you’re just like: Michael J. Fox

You shake and squirm quite a bit, but maintain a
huge smile on your face. Sentences are tough to
form, and are accompanied by wild gesticulations
to help make the point. People are always telling
you how brave you are, but in your case, it’s
because you took a swing at a cop and took off into
the neighbor’s backyard.

FIVE
You look like a hobo’s jockstrap — 15 drinks and
up

Congratulations, you’re just like a: Celtic Druid,
circa 1000 B.C.

You’re not speaking anything that sounds remotely
like English. You smell bad and regularly forage
for food. When presented with a simple technology
like a cell phone, you futilely poke at it and
wonder exactly where inside it the sun and planets
are hiding. You wake up in the morning to find an
animal chewing/humping on you. You have the plague.

Law & Order: Special Victims Unit Christmas

Detectives Stabler and Benson walked
into the cold morgue, glad they were
still wearing their trench coats from the
morning’s crime scene. The Medical Examiner pulled back the sheet covering
the victim’s body. The little boy’s cheerful red santa hat wasn’t the only red thing
in the room; his shredded entrails filled
the examiner’s table. He had been eating
peas, their green hue quite appropriate
for a December 24th rape and strangulation, thought Benson as she bent down
to examine the yellow fibers running
through what were once tiny ears.

“Wait till you see this,” remarked the
examiner, before turning off the lights
unexpectedly. She flipped a switch next to
the table and a string of beautiful Christmas lights running along the boy’s
body lit up. They reminded detective
Stabler of the Christmas lights that
used to adorn his childhood home,
except those weren’t covered in blood
and weren’t arranged to spell out the
words “SATAN LIVES HERE” across a
young boy’s chest.

The medical examiner turned the
lights back on, but it would never be light
again inside detective Stabler’s soul. Not
with the things he’d seen. Not with the
things he’d done. He took a bite out of his
gingerbread man.


Detective Munch stared into the little
girl’s eyes. He knew what he was going to
have to ask, but he couldn’t bring himself
to say the words. Detectives Stabler and
Benson were the lucky ones, he thought,
at least their victim was dead. Finally he
continued.

“Okay, sweetheart. Tell me exactly
where he held the mistletoe.”

The little girl pointed to a spot on her
Santa’s Little Helper Ken doll. She wasn’t
pointing to the doll’s mouth.

Munch slunk back in his chair. He tried
to offer her a candy cane from his desk,
but he knew nothing would ever taste
sweet for this little girl again. Nothing
ever could.


Captain Cragen smiled as his detectives gathered around the plump Christmas ham he’d prepared. He could barely
hide his anticipation; tomorrow morning
they’d all gather around the tree and open
the presents he’d carefully picked out for
them. For Olivia, a beautiful porcelain
doll to keep on her desk, to remember
the innocence and beauty of youth. For
Elliot, a little red fire truck to give to his
son. And for Munch, a CD of all his favorite music. It would be a special Christmas
for everyone. Except for the South Village
Rapist who was stabbed to death by a
cellmate prior to sentencing.

Thom Yorke Gives Birth to Litter of Ferrets

Last night in London, Thom Yorke, famed vocalist of rock group Radiohead, gave birth to what appears to be seven strong and healthy ferrets. The baker’s half dozen of rodents were delivered live on stage during a particularly spastic rendition of Radiohead’s hit song “Paranoid Android.”

Witnesses say that in the midst of a haunting ululation of post-modern ennui and despair, Yorke rolled onto his back, exposed a fleshy sac where his reproductive organs were thought to reside, and proceeded to “birth” ferret after ferret to the horror of the capacity crowd.

In interviews given after the show, a virtually glowing Yorke expressed his joy at the blessed, but unexpected arrival. “I’m a mom! I’m a mommy! What the hell am I doing here? I’m late for gymboree,” Yorke said.

Mere minutes after the concert, the internet was flooded with bootleg audio recordings of the screaming ferret birth, which Rollingstone.com immediately hailed as “not as good as their old stuff.”

While Yorke would not reveal the identity of the father, it has been suggested that it is, uh you know, probably some kind of ferret.

Top Ten Reasons Your Landlord Gave You the Place So Cheap

  1. Three words: location, location, it’s a crackhouse
  2. I don’t know, ask one of the other 19 illegal immigrants
  3. In the co-op, you’re your own landlord! And maid! And drug dealer! And fuck, this place is a shithole.
  4. The rat carcasses are load-bearing
  5. blah blah heartbeat in the floorboards blah blah
  6. 1000 square feet turned out to mean 200 feet wide, 5 feet long
  7. You are now legally liable for everything inside the Mystery Closet
  8. Half the deposit you gave to him, half the deposit he made in you
  9. Doorbell plays chorus from Tommy Tutone’s Jenny (867-5309) over and over again, and can never be turned off
  10. Apparently “French Doors” actually means “No Indoor Plumbing”