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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

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

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

The 1944 Olympics

April 1, 2004
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DANFORTH: Welcome to the 1944 Olympics! We’re coming to you live from the Olympics that no one thought would ever happen. While most of the World’s more impressive atheletes are currently vaulting over landmines, kayaking past enemy positions, and Greco-Roman wrestling Fascism, we’ve managed to bring together the best of the rest.

CLARK: That’s right, Danforth. We’ll never know where the idea of a worldwide battle for the glory of country got started, but it hasn’t stopped the Olympics.

DANFORTH: Well-said, Clark. And now the atheletes are marching into the arena under their flags. The Americans, British, and Canadians are storming the field.

CLARK: Interesting fact, Danforth: in fifty years no one in America will remember that the Canadians were involved, despite the vital role they played in defending the left flank.

DANFORTH: Of the atheletes.

CLARK: Of the atheletes, right.

DANFORTH: Now the Germans are entering the field. Oh, and the first bit of drama has erupted as the Polish team members have slipped away from the Germans and united under their own flag! They’re cheering and… oh… looks like the Russian team has just absorbed them.

CLARK: Definitely a moment to remember. Bringing up the rear is the Israeli team, marching proudly into the stands where they’ll be for the next four years until they get their own country.

DANFORTH: Coming up is our first event, the 400 meter relay. They’re lining up… and they’re off. It’s the German team with an early lead, followed by the Italians on a leash, and the British team badly trailing despite the Americans giving PowerBars to them. The Americans are trying to stick to the outside but OHHHHHH… the Japanese have come out from nowhere and clotheslined them!

CLARK: The Japanese were pretty clearly on the move. You have to wonder if the American coach saw that one coming, Danforth.

DANFORTH: Well, it’s really motivated the Americans, as they’re moving up to first.. neck and neck with the Germans… and the Russian team is a steady third despite having only one leg between them and wearing turnips for shoes… we’re approaching the finish line… it’s going to be close.. and YES! THE COSTA RICAN TEAM HAS COME OUT OF NOWHERE TO WIN!

CLARK: That really reminds you that this is a contest of individual atheletes, and not an elaborate metaphor for world events.

DANFORTH: Next up is the 200 meter dash. It’s Jesse Owens versus yet another batch of big blonde Aryan guys…. and Owens has utterly left them in the dust.

CLARK: Having already made his point about racial stereotypes in the 1936 Olympics, it’s hard to deny that Owens is just rubbing it in at this point.

DANFORTH: That’s it for today. Come back tomorrow for men’s gymnastics, which will be performed by women for the duration of the war.

CLARK: I’m sure they’re looking forward to baking pot roasts again instead of baking powerful symbols for women’s empowerment, eh Danforth?

DANFORTH: You’ve got that right Clark. See you tomorrow, world!

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

Suicide Dog!

The Dog That Wants to Die

April 1, 2004
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Something tells me my dog wants to kill himself. Recently his behavior has been getting worse and worse.

I got home one day and he had slit his doggie wrists. “Bad dog!” I yelled at him. “It’s down the road, not across the street.” Then I bandaged his wrists, but not before rubbing his nose in the pool he left on the couch. Luckily, it’s a red couch. I guess I should be pretty impressed that he found any wrists at all, him being a dog.

Another time I caught him on the 10th floor of Evans, weakly pawing at the new Plexiglass barriers. I would’ve let him out, but he’d been outside all night, barking at the edge of the Golden Gate bridge.

He also likes to bury things. Stuff like his inhaler. I once caught him burying his Cure albums, which is strange because he listens to them all the time.

Just yesterday he was chewing on a bottle of aspirin when I came back. It was a childproof bottle so he never really had a chance at it. It’s even more pathetic when he tries to turn the oven on.

I caught him going out at night and having unprotected humping with all sorts of beagles. That’s not really suicidal, I guess, because there is no Doggie AIDS or anything, but it’s a sure sign of low self-esteem.

I’ve also been finding a lot of really bad doggy poetry all over the place. “Arf arf… arf arf? Woof woof arf bark bark.” I know it sounds really cute to you and me but I’ll bet it means “Here is the knife that’ll end my life” in dog.

He never communicates with me anymore. He doesn’t want to chase a ball or roll around on the grass. All he ever does is sit in his Dogloo updating his LiveJournal under his user name “Canis Doloris.”

There’s another sign, too. Playing fetch shouldn’t involve that many highway crossings.

Finally, he’s really begun hanging out with youngsters I don’t like, especially that Harrison boy down the street. His parents just bought him a yellow Trans-Am and he’s been nothing but a little hellraiser ever since.

Volume 13- Issue 6

Stop Quoting Dave Chappelle. You Have No Idea Who Lil Jon Is.

April 1, 2004
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Oh, that’s hilarious! You really are Rick James, bitch. What? OKAY! Nothing irks me more than people who refer to the “Little John” sketch. First of all, he’s LIL JON, not Little John. Little John was one of Robin Hood’s Merry Men. Lil Jon is a dirrrty southern rapper who likes to get crunked. Other differences of note:

Little John first became friends with Robin Hood, says the legend, when Robin tried to cross a bridge and was challenged by John to a battle of quarterstaffs. Lil Jon once said “All skeet skeet motherfuckers. All skeet skeet god damn.”

According to folklore, Little John was famous for being seven feet tall. Lil Jon often feels seven feet tall when he’s high on PCP.

Little John was buried at Hathersage in Derbyshire, England. Lil Jon doesn’t know where England is located, how to spell it, or what a map is.

Just as Eskimos have 30 different words for snow, Lil Jon knows many more synonyms for “vagina” and “intoxicated” than Little John.

Little John is written of as being a skilled player of the lute, a stringed medieval musical instrument. Lil Jon’s songs often feature whistles, which are musical instruments in the same way that a crying baby is a musical instrument.

Little John, along with Robin of Loxley and his merry band, carried the hopes of the blighted rural peasantry of England upon their noble shoulders. Lil Jon makes songs about banging strippers.

Little John’s secretary was named Kennedy, and Lil Jon’s secretary was named Lincoln. Weird, huh?

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

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.

Volume 13- Issue 5

Volume 13, Issue 5: Peering Bush

March 1, 2004
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