- [incredulously] Who is Jesus!?
- Only this man can save you now.
- H. Christ.
- He came from Galilee.
- The grandson of Joachim and Anne.
Volume 33, Issue 1:
The HEURISTIC! Squelch
The HEURISTIC! Squelch
Latest Issue
Dear Bachelorette Trista,
First off let me say you made the right decision; but you definitely made the wrong choice. What do I mean by that you ask? Well let me explain.
When you cut the first 24 guys, you were right on the money. They weren’t worth the dirt on the bottom of your shoe. You were on the right track. You kept dumping them like sacks of used condoms, but then you had to screw it all up by picking that last guy Ryan.
You know Trista, we’ve never met or anything, but I think if we had, this show would have turned out much differently. You know, I’ve really got a lot more to offer you than that guy Ryan. Yeah sure he’s an attractive supormodel-esque firefighter, fine he’s sensitive and sweet and all those obnoxiously adorable things; but really I think you may be missing some key points.
First off, he’s an old and withered 27 years old. Basically, he’s got maybe two to three more years to live. I on the other hand, am an agile and youthful 20 years of age.
In addition, I think you need to take a second look at this man’s career. He is a govern-ment worker! How do you expect to raise a family on a government worker’s salary? Let me answer that for you. You can’t. I mean sure you might be able to get a three bedroom house with a lawn, but what about the glitz and the glamour it appears you have gotten so used to by now? Think about it Trista. You’re going to have to get a job. Yup, you’re going to be modeling bathing suits for Target, and when you’re too old for that, you’ll be a K-Mart foot model. Eventually you will be nothing more than a hack. A hack married to a hack of a heroic firefighter. It’s so sad.
Now look at me, an over-achieving college student. I’ve got potential; the world is an oyster for you and me to slowly slurp down. Other objects the world could be for us include a jungle gym (for us to play on), horse (for us to ride on), or even a popsicle (for you to suck on).
In addition to achieving an impressive GPA, I also play an array of instruments. These include guitar, drums, and piano. So while your beloved husband Ryan is writing cheesy and childish grade limericks, I could be writing you full songs. Shit, I could write you a full CD, and burn it myself with my computer skills. What can Ryan do for you? Write a terribly predictable 4 line poem then spray you down with a fire hose? Is this what your looking for?
Further, I have a great sense of humor. I mean it may not come out well in writing, but I shine for those “in-the-moment” times. Really what I’ve got is wit. It’s obvious Ryan is nothing more than a muscular bag of emptiness. Sure he can be sensitive and kind, but are those characteristics really important nowadays? No, I’m pretty sure about that one.
According to your profile, which I totally didn’t read (a friend told me this shit for real. He is such a loser. I totally don’t use the Internet. I feel it takes up precious time I could use for making love), you majored in Exercise Science and currently work at a Miami children’s hospital. Isn’t it funny, cause I totally go to the gym all the time. You know, I always saw my workout routine as a science. I do curls and push ups and stuff, we could talk about that. You know what, I totally don’t hate kids that much either. I mean I have two cousins who are seriously so young, and I sorta play with them sometimes. I play this one game, I call it the silence game. The kid who stays quiet the longest doesn’t get slapped. Lucky for me now they keep their little mouths shut most of time. Loveable little guys!
In conclusion, I think we have something too special to lose over this “dreamy” firefighting dude. Think about it, he will do nothing but spray cold and bitter water all over your burning heart. I on the other hand would log out the Redwood National Forest and throw it on your growing flame, spotted owls and all. Endangered Species won’t stand in the way of our love. You want an ivory toilet seat? I can make it happen. So Trista think about it and get back to me on my celly. Woop woop.
Bush Concedes to Worldwide Protestors
According to the White House, President Bush conceded that the recent anti-war protests were powerful enough for him to surrender his power as president to mob rule.
“The President has decided to relinquish the power of the executive branch of the United States government granted him as commander-in-chief and turn it over to global protestors,” said White House Spokesman Ari Fleischer.
Under the new Mob Rule Government, executive decisions concerning foreign diplomacy will require fractured special-interest groups to gather in large mobs in order to come to rational decisions on global policies. Protestors agree with the move.
One protestor explained, “The true essence of democracy is mob rule. I don’t care how many Starbucks I have to loot in order to get my point across, now I can enjoy my democracy with my stolen latte.”
In the letter released to the media, Bush explains that because “[he] was elected by you, the people of protesting mobs, I think it would only be fair to listen to your unorganized yet moving calls for power.”
Bush plans to send agents to global protests in order to understand what they are protesting. When the news is delivered to the White House he will respond accordingly.
Some early decisions that will probably be made include restarting and then immediately ending affirmative action, releasing Mumia while executing him, and an immediate disregard for national security.
Altercations with an Irishman
It’s 2024. My rebellious son Seamus O’Murphy Padrick-Keane wants to borrow the space-car, but he’s been grounded for breaking space-curfew. When I refuse to give him the keys, Seamus wallops me over the head with an empty bottle of space-whiskey. Reeling and bleeding, I stagger towards the space-foyer and alert his mother, who cold-cocks the unsuspecting Seamus with a space-wrench as he dashes towards the space-garage. “Seamus,” his mother bellows, “you’ve… shamed us!” His mother pauses as the hilarity of her statement sinks into her enormous Celtic head and the weight of it all eventually causes her to topple over.
So it was wicked cold one day in Southie and I was walking along the river. I was taking a nip a Jameson’s that I stole from my old man one night when he was passed out drunk by the fire and suddenly a cop car was pulling up beside me. O’Malley. This was not the first time we’d met. I eyed him up and down as he opened the car door. All the sudden there I was again, skirt around my neck and knickers around my ankles, goin’ at it on the hood. We humped like two leprechauns on the glistening emerald isle. I had a confession, I told him, “I don’t really know what the word ‘altercation’ means.” He paused for a second to eye me wildly, “and I’m too embarrassed to ask.”
While walking home from the pub, I spotted a tiny green-clad man with his tiny foot caught in a steam grate. I knew right away that it was a leprechaun, and that anyone who captures a leprechaun is entitled to his stash of hidden gold. So I looks the wee little guy in the eye, and I says, “Look, let’s play it straight here. Ye’re captured, and ye’ll be telling me where your gold is without any of yer leprechaun tricks.” He protested a bit, but eventually led me to a garden with hundreds of bushes. I made him tie a red handkerchief onto the bush which hid his gold, and went off to get my shovel. When I returned, every bush in the garden had a red hand-kerchief around it. I was so angry that I hardly noticed the partially-peeled potatoes being lobbed at me from a nearby tree. The little bastard gave me no gold at all, just a series of tiny-but-vicious kicks to the kidneys. The wee bugger was brutal with the pointy toes, but ye have to respect the man.
“Sit yer foockin’ arse down or I’ll climb up there and give you somethin’ to cry aboot” a disgruntled patron three rows back grumbles towards the stage. “Get yir foockin’ foot outa yer arse, Vladimir! Foockin’ do somethin ‘!” Estragon crosses, looks to the man: “I sometimes wonder if we wouldn’t have been better off alone, each man for himself.” Disgruntled patron stands, stumbles towards stage and sweeper kicks Estragon’s bum foot from under him “Well foockin’ A right!” (the sun starts to set) “Aye, let’s go,” I says to my friend. He said “feene, we’re goin.’ We’re goin.'” (nighttime, they do not move, blood trickles from Estragon’s nose, Vladimir sobs like a wee baby in the corner and the curtain falls).
The toughest altercation I ever had was with an Irishman named myself. Scrapping and brawling is one thing, but try learning to read at age 22. It’s always tempting to quit studying phonics and drown your sorrows in alcohol, especially when a jerk like Danny McGinnis is giving you shit about Dick and Jane and that foocking dog Spot. Still, you have to battle with yourself every day to stay focused on the goal of self-improve-ment and literacy, unless that McGinnins simply WILL NOT SHUT UP, and then you haul off and smack him one, and he responds with a knee to your groin, and at that point Timothy O’Flanneryhan breaks a bar stool over Danny’s head, and someone is biting your ankle, and just before you lose con-sciousness, you can read the label on the bottle of Bass Ale flying towards you in what seems like slow motion, for the very first time ever.
Top Ten Things Found by Lewis & Clark (while Dreaming)
- Thomas Jefferson’s evil plot to tip all the cows
- A job! (Those hippy slackers)
- That bartering sucks
- Lewis held captive by Lex Luther; Clark changes quickly in a phone booth, saves Lewis.
- Elvis, Osama, the Missing Link, and Sasquatch, all playing 5-card draw in Atlantis
- A clean, completely renewable source of fuel
- Warm and sunny Southwest coast, not shitty Northwest coast
- Sacagawea’s slutty sister
- Prairie cats
- Waterfall made of butter
Emeryville IKEA Declares Independence
In a move that may have implications far beyond Shellmound Street, the Emeryville IKEA has declared itself an independent republic. Speaking from the newly established capital next to the lighting aisle, Assistant Customs Manager/President-Elect Sven Nielsen spoke at length about freedom from tyranny, the natural rights of retail employees, and the success of the recent Winter Sale.
UC Berkeley professor Wilber Chaffee was not surprised by the decision. “IKEA is almost as big as the rest of Emeryville combined. With abundant natural resources, plentiful strudel, and a small, hex-wrench-wielding militia, IKEA should find great success on its own.” Chaffee then purchased a set of knives for $4.
The Emeryville government, still weakened from its efforts to put down the Best Buy revolt in November, is expected to offer only token resistance. Primary exports of the new nation are expected to be prefabricated bookshelves and traffic.
The Most Courteous Gentleman’s Guide to Office Efficacy
Greetings fellow young adults! Many of you are like myself, holding down a part-time office job in order to finance your necessary collegiate expenditures. Whether they be fees and housing or booze and hookers, having a well-paying part-time job makes any college experience more enjoyable. Many more of you will be graduating into a soft job market and are either too stupid for graduate school or too proud to teach a classroom full of our futures and will find yourselves spending years pushing paper in an office and masturbating to the dreams of that second dot-com explosion that will leave you with nothing but a broken spirit and a fistful of your own wasted seed. Or you can move back home with your parents, which will also leave you with nothing but a broken spirit and (this time) a bedsheet full of your own wasted seed.
But I digress…. I now humbly offer unto you, my classmates, my Most Courteous Guide to Office Efficacy GAA Advisement for the Junior Clerk:
- Many office managers will attempt to thrust tasks upon you simply because you are currently idle. They do not care that your mind is pondering the great mysteries of this universe! A quick solution is to always be holding a folded sheaf of papers in the left-hand while striding purposefully down the halls vigorously pumping the right arm, hand in a closed fist. No manager will attempt to abate the power of the Focused Junior Clerk!
- Do not underestimate “busywork.” The Junior Clerk can gain much praise by simply watering the plants in an office, particularly if the majority of its occupants are of the Fairer Sex.
- A modern office custom is to celebrate the birthdays of its employees. If presented with a card to sign, do not fret if you are not familiar with its eventual recipient! A well-placed Pink Floyd or Neil Young quote will always make you seem like the caring wit that you are.
- Although untoward romantic advances are forbidden in all but the most specialized workplaces, the Junior Clerk should always maintain a healthy repertoire of sexual skills should the need arise to disarm a heated argument or should the time come around for his or her biannual performance review.
- The Office Restroom is a place for relaxation. Always wear a loose fitting shirt or blouse so as to ease the smuggling of appropriate reading materials into this Den of Solitude.
- Should anyone in the Office produce unwholesome body odor, the Junior Clerk should immediately administer quaaludes in that person’s coffee and promptly call the Department of Sanitation.
- Heroin use of any kind is not appropriate for the Office.
My best to all of you and my warmest regards!
Art History Degree Put to Use
Art history degree holder Stephen “Stevie” Wilson put his degree to good use this weekend when he jury-rigged it for use as a dust pan.
“These Oreo crumbs spilled every-where and Julie’s been hassling me about being such a slob,” said an apathetic Wilson. “I was looking for something to pick them up with when I saw my degree and I thought, ‘Why not?'”
This marks the fourth time the degree has been used by Wilson. Other uses include: a prop to help solicit funds from parents; a potholder; and, in a rolled up form, a metephorical telescope used to scan the horizon for nonexistent jobs.
Words from the Top
Best Boy
While the Squelch is known for it’s off-kilter slightly irregular comedy, I’d like to take this chance to inform Berkeley and the public at large of one fundamental fact: I am a great boyfriend.
Sometimes I’ll be walking around town with my wonderful but still humble girlfriend and we’ll come across a couple whose love isn’t nearly as perfect as ours. We can’t help but laugh, for you see, I’m just that good. I’ll pull out a breath mint and then, coyly looking at her in that way that she really likes, we get out of that horrible imperfect-love-infected area. That’s the Sciortino difference.
Some other boyfriends have problems. Do you remember that time that you spent all that time on that thing for your boyfriend, and then when you showed that thing to him he was like, “Oh, a thing. Ho-hum.”? Not me. I’m like, “Why dear, I can tell through my keen and observant eyes that this took a lot of time and effort on your part. Here, I made you this tiny ship in a bottle for you over the course of two years and I decided to give it to you right now. Also, you just got a haircut didn’t you? I love it.”
When I’m not listening intently to my girlfriend recount her day at work, I’m off performing tasks to show off how sensitive I am. I paint watercolor, cook, keep my room clean, and write and draw my own on-going series of comic books based on how great of a boyfriend I am. It’s called, “The Adventures of Incredible Boyfriend Man.” In last week’s issue, I successfully negotiated a strike that was preventing my girlfriend from buying all organic produce. She’s into that kind of stuff. Of course, I understand the importance of organically grown foods to ecosystems and personal health and safety. Mostly, however, I care about the happiness and well-being of my girlfriend: the greatest boyfriend-having person in the whole world ever. Possibly in the whole history of ever.
Because really, why be in a relationship at all unless it is completely and totally perfect?
I’d also like to address those who may question the extent of my boyfriendular abilities. My extreme wonderfulness does not stop at the doors of the bedroom. I am woefully adequate. I don’t want to be crass (it would be unseemly) but lets just say that there’s plenty of “channels” on the “TV.” Don’t get it? Ok let me try this one: There’re “five birds” in the “window” and they’re all “thinking about Jimmy Carter.” No? Well, my penis is large and can bring great pleasure. Also, I give a very passable massage.
Of course, all of this wouldn’t matter if I didn’t have a wonderful and compassionate person to share my immediately foreseeable future with. My girlfriend is gifted in many ways. The main way is in myself. Because really, aren’t I a gift?
Think about it, won’t you?
Top Ten Greenest Things in the World. Ever
- Blue and Yellow mixed together, smartass
- Your mom’s crotch. Seriously, she should get that checked.
- Green Lantern, jealous
- A gangrenous leprechaun
- I’m serious, have you tried this Palmolive?
- Green Apple Palmolive. It smells as good as it looks. It’s incredible.
- St. Patrick’s Day Palmolive
- Popeye’s crap
- A Green polar bear in a green blizzard at the North Pole
- Ralph Nader smoking a joint on St. Patrick’s Day
