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Squelch M.D.
Volume 13- Issue 6

Anthropological Evolution of a Screen Name

April 1, 2004
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Throughout the history of my life, my Internet habits have changed, and as such, so has my screen name. I’ve seen some crazy ones out there, though I can’t say that mine haven’t been bad either. Here’s a brief history of my various assumed Internet aliases.

BenFV: (1993 – September 1998) Why would I have this simple, non-sensical name? Even eight-year olds have more originality than this. Well, I didn’t pick it, and I didn’t like it. It’s too plain and no fun. My dad picked it for me. In fact, everyone in my whole family had the same one. It was (name)FV. FV, of course, stood for Fountain Valley, my hometown. So, there we were, so cute, with the choreographed names like some cute little picture perfect family.

CuriousG111: (September 1998 GAA October 1998) As soon as I figured out how to make new screen names I picked this one. It made sense to me because I was a big Curious George fan. Somehow, though, this screen name attracted the wrong type of attention. Although I did receive some pretty cool gifts from my newly-discovered “uncles.”

4StarGeneral: (October 1998 GAA May 2001) Then, there was the computer-gaming phase. So, I took a term from my favorite game, Axis & Allies, and came up with this. This screen name took me through my Starcraft playing days, the depression of middle school, and the lowest lows of puberty. And, since this involves the Internet, I’m sure you all know what that means: cybersex with overwhelmingly disgusting people.

M1st3r l33t: (May 2001 GAA June 2002) The general name was getting too childish, especially around the rapidly evolving cybersex arena. I had to change with the times. I went from childish, albeit high-ranking, to smooth and fluent in l33t. Yeah, I pwned.

XxX_fCkauthrity_XxX: (June 2002 GAA September 2003) Then, I went from the computer phase to the rebellious high school student phase. Oh yeah, I was a punk, you could tell from all the Xs in my screen name. Rock on! Fight the power! Slam Poetry! AP English! And have cybersex with other punks on the Internet!

BenUCB: (September 2003 GAA present) Finally, I arrived at UC Berkeley, and decided my name was just a little too “high school”. So, I picked my name, and put it in front of the place where I am living. I really like the new name. It’s pleasantly simple, with some controlled originality. All the people I’m cybering with seem to like it. I just tell them it stands for BenUnCircumsizedBoner.

Volume 13- Issue 6

William Hung’s Fifteen Minutes Up

April 1, 2004
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Berkeley student, singer, and professional hip gyrator William Hung’s fifteen minutes are officially up. The announcement came from Professor Serena Chen during a Social Psychology midterm on April 5th. At 11:45 am, Prof. Chen announced, “You have fifteen minutes remaining.” Time was called at 12:00 pm, thus ending the fifteen minutes Hung had to finish the test.

When asked about his performance on the test, Hung said, “I banged, I banged, I banged it.” Hung then started laughing, sending four students to the hospital. Hung is still incredibly popular and talented.

Volume 13- Issue 6

Adventures in Laundry

Quarters, Detergent, and Crazies–The True Story

April 1, 2004
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On a lonely and mildly pathetic Saturday in Berkeley, I decided to embark on a mini-adventure to the local laundromat. The following is a true recounting of my experience that night, a tale that I offer with a warning label: “do not insert into ear canal.” In other words, “Beware the laundromat at night. Only the strong survive.”

8 P.M. Armed with my unwieldy pink hamper, a box of powder detergent, quarters, and reading materials, I enter the laundromat. I successfully load the clothes and send them on their way to the Land of Undirty. I sit down on one of a dozen empty benches and begin reading.

8:12 P.M. Homeless man on crazy drugs staggers into the laundromat and, despite the fact that there are at least ten empty benches in the place, plants himself as close to me as humanly possible. He proceeds to turn and stare at me. For no apparent reason, he begins laughing uncontrollably. I become slightly uncomfortable. And slightly offended.

8:13 P.M. Not amused, I opt to get away from Mr. Chuckles and proceed to stand next to the washing machine for the remainder of the wash.

8:20 P.M. I move clothes to the dryer. Woman with dredlocks next to me blows her nose into a t-shirt she just washed. I stifle gag reflex.

8:25 P.M. I watch the laundromat worker pull a huge wad of lint out of a massive lint trap. I consider the possibility of a sweater made of lint. Assuming that such a sweater would be possible to produce, I contemplate the fate of said sweater if washed and then placed into a dryer.

8:45 P.M. Aforementioned worker decides to mop the floor with sewage water. But only in front of the dryer I’m using. But, of course.

9:00 P.M. Clothes dry. En route from the dryer to my laundry hamper, socks and underwear fall in sewage water.

9:15 P.M. I arrive home, only to discover that my detergent has spilled all over my clothes and the inside of my trunk. I frantically shake every article of clothing to remove the white powder. I proceed to get detergent all over the floor of the apartment parking lot.

9:30 P.M. I roll up my jeans and carry water in a mixing bowl down to the parking lot so that I can clean the floor. I spill water all over my shirt. Still trying to de-powderize the trunk of my car, I lift up the flap of material that covers the spare tire in my trunk. Detergent flies from the trunk into my face and my mouth. I foam at the mouth.

9:45 P.M. I return to my apartment, disheartened and flustered. With my sudsy mouth, wet shirt, and rolled pants, I look like a rabid, lactating pirate.

The outcome: my clothes are not as clean as I would like them to be, my “clean” underwear feel like a bathing suit after a day at the beach when the sand rides up your buttcrack, and I have lost all dignity. The moral: do your laundry during the day, use liquid detergent, and eat your vegetables. That’s all I ask of you.

Volume 13- Issue 6

The Ultimate Guide To Cal

All the Rules You’ll Ever Need Here

April 1, 2004
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2004 is here, and my graduation is near. As I look back at my four fantastical years here at Cal, I think about all the important li’l bits of knowledge I’ve picked up that served me so well in my last couple of years. So, as a service to all of you who still have years to come, here’re some gems that will help y’all in the future.

DON’T TELL ANYONE YOUR BEARFACTS PASSWORD! If you do people might look at your grades. Don’t even think about losing your Telebears pin number, cause I’ll clear out your bank account and steal your girlfriend.

Buy multiple Cal-related hooded sweatshirts. You want to fit in, don’t you? Why bother getting “dressed up” for class when you can just “get up” for class. Nobody will know you slept in that same outfit.

Do not throw parties in your dorm room; all your shit will get fucked up. Throw them in your hallways instead. Just remember: the garbage chute is not a toy.

Accept suspicious drinks from strange dudes at frat parties, and then quickly bring them to me for consumption. Mystery drinks are my favorite.

Get your class pass. Why walk around Telegraph with all the homeless and beggars when you can drive around with them in close quarters.

Become a poli sci major. Feel important but remain unemployed.

Bring a blue book to your finals. Without it, you’ll have to “break glass in case of emergency.” (Like the idiot who pulled the fire alarm for a fucking Nutri-Sci 10 midterm last year, you motherfucking dumb shit. I could have passed that midterm with my eyes gouged out.)

You will not “find yourself,” Although you may find me, naked on the 3rd floor of Eshleman.

You will at first like the Squelch, then turn bitter with old age and complain that it was better when you were a freshman.

Fill bottle with two parts vodka, one part orange juice, and one part Sprite. Conceal near genitals and proceed to Cal football game.

Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees, mix pot and butter in a bowl and fold in brownie mix. Place good times into oven.

If you’re an Asian, prepare to be called a racist. If you’re black, prepare to be called a racist. If you’re white, you’re probably already prepared.

Volume 13- Issue 6

The Several Lost Diaries of Kaiser Wilhelm II

King of Prussia and Emperor of the Federated German States

April 1, 2004
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January 19, 1871

Grandpa Wilhelm was crowned Emperor yesterday. I’ve spent the last fourteen hours crossing “Prussia” off his royal letterhead and replacing it with “Germany.” He told me it builds character. Unified German character.

November 18, 1890

After firing Chancellor Bismarck, I went through his desk. He left behind some pretty cool stuff: the parts of Germany still unaccounted for, a jar full of Napoleon III’s tears, several large pheasants, and a five-page pamphlet on how to beat France.

December 18, 1895

I was chastised by my cabinet today for not setting a strong enough example of German virtue for my people, so today I’ve vowed to cease defecating.

March 15, 1897

Argued over telegram today with my cousin-grandmother Victoria as to who was more anemic. Turns out it’s me. As a result, my doctor has me eating ten nails a day.

January 1, 1900

Fired my “Commission on the Y1.9K Mechanical Counting-Machine Bug” after their predictions that dirigible-balloons would fall out of the sky and millions would spontaneously die of consumption upon the Turn of the Century proved false.

June 28, 1914

Well I’ve finally done it this time. You make one drunken promise of mutual military defense to the emperor of Austria-Hungary and it blows up in your face. Or it blows up Archduke Franz Ferdinand’s face. Oh snap!

August 22, 1915

Thank God the Jews are funding the Great War. In exchange, I’ve promised them Germany’s undying gratitude. Hopefully, I won’t be forced to abdicate by victorious Allied Powers. Not that that’s going to happen or anything. Just sayin’.

January 16, 1917

Ordered Foreign Secretary Zimmerman to send a telegram to the Mexican head of state asking him for his killer menudo recipe. I do hope Zimmerman got the updated Imperial Army codebook.

November 9, 1918

Little do they know, the Netherlands have a lower tax rate anyway. Score one for Wilhelm!

November 11, 1918

Not much happened today. Nope, not a thing.

July 11, 1933

Wrote a missive to Chancellor Hitler today:

_”Dear Adolf-I’ve come to understand your desires to restore the monarchy. I would just like to assure you that I’ve kept the Hohenzollern family jewels and regalia well maintained. Each morning I rise at 5:00 and polish the Crown of Brandenburg. The next seven hours are spent standing in front of a mirror dressed in the Imperial Robes and sobbing gently. I then break for tea and take my anemia medication. I then resume sobbing until Amos ‘n’ Andy comes on the radio. _

Yours sincerely,

Wilhelm”

July 1, 1934

Turns out I was way off on the whole “restore the monarchy thing.” Hitler actually meant “seize total control of Germany and murder all political opposition.” Exiled to the Netherlands? More like protected from that nut job wacko in the Netherlands. Score two for Wilhelm!

June 4, 1941

Today I plan to die quietly in my sleep.

Volume 13- Issue 6

Study: Cup-Shaking Not Marketable Skill

April 1, 2004
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An extensive study released Thursday by the UC Berkeley Business Administration Graduate Research Division reveals that cup shaking is in fact not a marketable skill.

Further, the researchers concluded, as a non-marketable skill, cup shaking thus does not warrant financial compensation. Other non-marketable skills delineated in the study include sitting on the sidewalk, writing on cardboard with a black SharpeeGA$A3, or repeating, “spare change” at passersby.

“Nowhere in the history of man has a person been given a wage or salary for merely shaking a cup or owning a diseased pit bull,” said professor Martin Wiley, director of the study. “Additionally, although selling Street Spirit does provide an alternative news source, we have concluded that providing a vehicle for disseminating People’s Park Peter’s poetry also is not a marketable skill, being only slightly more useful than dropping copies of USA Today off in front of the rooms at the Tuscaloosa Motel 6.”

Further analysis revealed that drawing on concrete with colored chalk, holding a stack of outdated newspapers, and blowing my mind, do not constitute desirable goods or services.

Volume 13- Issue 6

Child Abuse for the New Millennium

April 1, 2004
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Let’s face facts: Children today are dumb, ugly, and fat. Some blame television, single parents, or fast food, but the real reason is much simpler: we can’t beat our children anymore. Sure, you want to lay into little Junior with a flashlight, but it’s now verboten. No sir. Straight to prison. That’s why the future of child abuse isn’t physical, it’s psychological.

Technique #1

Constantly inflate and crush their hopes.

Dad: Merry Christmas, Suzy! [Gives present]
Suzy: I love you daddy!
Suzy: [Opens present to reveal dead possum] AHHHHH!
Dad: What? I thought you wanted a Playstation!

Technique #2

Give them compliments that aren’t really compliments; this will confuse them in lieu of building self-esteem.

Mom: [Affectionately] Oh Suzy, you’re looking so ironic today.
Suzy: Thanks. I think.
Mom: And little Timmy! Don’t you look just like a little Prussian?
Timmy: Um… yes?

Technique #3

Give them patently false information.

Timmy: Mom, what’s a homosexual?
Mom: Where in the world did you hear that word?
Timmy: In Sunday school, Pastor said being homosexual is a sin.
Mom: Well Timmy, a homosexual is someone who’s under 10 years old.
Timmy: But I’m only 9! Does that mean–
Mom: I’m afraid so.
Timmy: [Starts to cry]
Mom: You know, crying is like punching Jesus.

Technique #4

Expose them to emotionally scarring situations.

Timmy: Daddy, where are we driving?
Dad: Well son, we’re going to a really magical place.
Timmy: Is it a teddy bear picnic?
Dad: Kind of.
Timmy: Are the teletubbies–
Dad: It’s a porno theatre.
[Silence]
Timmy: Why are we driving through the woods to get there?
Dad: So we can hit some animals on the way.
[Thu-thump]
Timmy: [crying] So…many… Playstations.

Technique #5

Make subtle references to horrible fates that may befall them.

Suzy: Dad, can I have a dollar for ice cream?
Dad: No, I think you should work for that dollar. That way, the ice cream will taste even sweeter!
Suzy: OK. Maybe I could… sell lemonade?
Dad: Lemonade? I was going to say white slavery, but no, your idea’s good too.
Suzy: White slavery?
Dad: Yeah… lemonade works.

Technique #6

Puncture their cheery worldview with shards of your broken dreams.

Mom: And then they returned to the castle and lived happily ever after.
Timmy: And then what?
Mom: And then the princess made off with the prince’s stereo, which she traded for some maaagical fairy dust.
Timmy: I don’t get it.
Mom: You know the princess spent six months upstate after that? Six months.
Timmy: …
Mom: Well, mommy’s going to go and pick up her medicine at the 24-hour pharmacy.

Volume 13- Issue 6

Egg Donor Ad Way Too Specific

April 1, 2004
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Berkeley women interested in giving the gift of life to a childless couple in exchange for cold hard cash were upset Friday to find the Daily Californian’s latest egg donor ad impossible to satisfy. The ad read as follows:

“Loving couple seeks egg of double-jointed half-Indian/half-Irish woman able to ovulate on command. Must have SAT score between 1491 and 1499. ACT scores not accepted.

“Must be in my History 7b discussion group and must share a first name with a famous brand of fruit. Should not eat parsley or enjoy water sports during ovulation.”

When asked if she would respond to the ad, Chiquita “Blackfoot” O’Leary cracked one of her many joints and then remarked, “Nah, they’d never pick me.”

Volume 13- Issue 6

Frat Boy Makes Discovery During Spring Cleaning

April 1, 2004
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Spring cleaning brings up all sorts of hidden treasures, but none were as surprising as one found in Phi Kappa Tau’s hallway.

During the cleaning, frat boy Tim Shook found a single-handled broom. The broom, which was described as being wooden, hard, and useful, was found beneath three feet of crushed beer cans, half-eaten Cup-o-Noodles, racial intolerance, overly-repeated Dave Chappelle jokes, and a passed-out sorority girl. The broom was apparently lost two years prior during a spring-cleaning turned keg-party.

In light of the find, Shook proposed celebration in the form of a spring-cleaning keg party, saying, “Yeah, I’m Rick James bitch.” While drunkenly standing atop a Bud Light keg, Shook nominated the broom for the prestigious king of the keg position, saying “Yeah, I’m Rick James bitch.” The broom was lost during the party.