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Volume 33, Issue 1:
The HEURISTIC! Squelch
Volume 12- Issue 4

My First Time

January 1, 2003

The first time I pooped myself, I was 6 hours old. At least that sounds about right. I’m pretty sure that when it happened, it got on both my butt-cheeks and needless to say was a disturbing mess for my parents. And then once I punched myself in the stomach, that was a first, cause I only did it once. Well, I guess then some might say that it was the last. So what is it, first or the last? In this crazy universe, with all the words to help me express my thoughts, I am still left baffled by the mystery of God himself.

-DF

My first period was a completely bloody, humiliating experience. I should’ve used a comma.

-KD

My first time was nothing like the second time, which wasn’t remotely similar to the third time, but eerily reminiscent of the sixth time. Well, then again, nothing compares to the five thousand six hundred seventy-first time. That was the infamous airplane bathroom incident. As for my first time, I didn’t know what I was doing, but it felt completely natural. I mean, it still feels natural to me, but there’s no way I’ll go back to diapers at this point.

-MS

The first time I realized farting was funny was when I let one rip in kindergarten after my class got out of the pool. Students and teachers alike joined in harmonious laughter for one fleeting moment. Then I noticed my pants were completely soaked and around my ankles. Come to think of it, that’s when I realized small penises were funny, too. Ha Ha Ha. And they still are!

-AB

Giving birth to my first son was a huge ordeal. I opted for a natural childbirth, no anaesthesia, because I’m a hippie or something.

-ZF

They were so very soft and warm. It made me feel cuddly and safe. And what about those nipples? Wow! And that was the first time I slept on a pair of life-size baby bottle pillows. No, that’s not true: I’m talking about boobs.

-DD

I remember the first time someone accused me of being a homophobe. I was very defensive about it. “Look,” I said. “Just because I still call AIDS the Gay Cancer doesn’t mean I hate fags.”

-KB

My first birthday was a disaster for my parents. I had died in childbirth and the anniversary of my death made them weep.

-KD

I remember it was a royal blue one, with pictures of little harmonicas on it. One size fits all. My dad showed me how to put it on, but I was a quick learner. I insisted that I tighten the Windsor Knot by myself. That morning, I strutted proudly into Sunday School, and asserted my maturity while the other boys wore those cheap clipons. It was my first tie. My first time I wore my first tie. I suppose the only difference between my first time and my first tie is the “mmmm” sound. Which is the same sound a harmonica makes! Oh how the world turns. Here, let me tighten that for you.

-MS

I remember the first time I used a font besides Times New Roman. I had finally made my mark on the world. I mustered up the courage to boldly type my eigth grade mitosis essay in Futura. This must be how Neil Armstrong felt when he got his driver’s license, I said to myself. Then that whore Jennifer King one-upped me by using Comic Sans.

-RCB

“So how would you deal with the nuclear threat posed by the Iraqi government?” The debate crowd held its breath and waited for Ty’s response. In this, the first debate ever held for spouses and/or homosexual thespian lovers of presidential candidates, public attention was high. Laura Bush had already given an eloquent defense of the Bush administration’s missile shield proposal. Now, it was up to the greasepainted Ty to respond.

As moderator Dan Rather waited, Ty began to move his hands in an elaborate pantomime. Brokaw nodded appreciatively. “You mean, the US needs to build a metaphorical ‘box’ to ‘trap’ Saddam Hussein in. Of course!” The audience cheered and whistled their approval.

The rest of the debate was a string of triumphs for Ty. America pulling itself out of its recession by yanking an “invisible rope” of patriotic spending drew applause. When he analogized the development of a single-payer health-care system to producing a bouquet of flowers from a seemingly empty sleeve, there was a standing ovation. By the end of the debate, it was clear that America was going to elect its first gay, harlequin-fetishist president, and Ty would be the First Mime.

-SK

The first time I went to a Heuristic Squelch meeting I got free donuts. It was great!

-ZF

Volume 12- Issue 4

Boo Cal Band, Boo

January 1, 2003
,

For three football seasons now, I’ve put up with the Slovenian-army uniforms, the hats bought on clearance from Pierre’s Styles of the French Foreign Legion Boutique, and the damned high-stepping as if the entire gridiron were an Afghan minefield on which fifty St. Bernard’s with dysentery had done their business. But this year, Cal Band, you’ve gone too far.

As much as I loathe your langurous tempos and tendency to drag, and as much as that repetitive rat-tat-tat drum beat makes me want to sodomize my neighbor with a broken Amstel Light bottle, you’ve always been able to keep my interest with the purity and power of your music.

But why, oh why, did you have to go and do what you did at the Big Game? Here was your chance to come forward and perform the show of your life in front of a packed house of 70,000 cheering fans! You could have played your balls off, bringing the audience to its feet. You could’ve played a great show! Perhaps a medley of fight songs, or famous tunes from previous years of Cal greatness, or even a trite but witty collection of the Billboard Top 40 from 1995. Instead, you disappointed us all. You disappointed your parents, your friends, and your classmates, not to mention the wide-eyed members of that inner-city youth marching band who were standing in the end zone eagerly awaiting a stunnning performance from the (albeit self-described) “pace-setter of college marching bands.” At the very least you could have left them all with a sense that there was some meaning to those ten minutes of their life that you stole. Instead they got 150 geeky college kids awkwardly hacking through an arrangement of Nelly’s oh-so-seminal hit “Hot in Herre.” For shame.

Your performance shook my sensibilities to the very core. It wasn’t that your rhythm and tempo was squarer than Conan O’Brien eating a saltine covered in mayonnaise while doing the hokey-pokey and it wasn’t the fact that you cracked more notes than a note-cracker on crack; it was the fact that you danced. You stripped. You stomped about with a skill and unison only marginally better than that of the Cal Dance team. We shouldn’t have to see two dozen white and Asian bandos attempt to do a choreographed dance charade. First, learn to march to your sets together, then try dancing.

You may argue that you had a good crowd response to your performance, and this may be true. But it was not a pure response! They were not cheering your marching or your music, they were doing what any half-witted band of Philistines will do: they cheered your implied nudity. It didn’t matter that you were still dressed in more layers of fabric than 90% of the crowd, the simple act of faux-stripping will get cheers and laughs from even the most ignorant of audiences. It was a cheap, cheap, and shameful crowd reaction.

Oh, please do not treat this as just another mindless criticism. This is a call to action for those of you who truly desire to resurrect a once proud institution! You have grown complacent and formulaic and I’m here to give you a much needed (and well-deserved) kick in the pants. Onward and upward, Cal Band! Excelsior!

And no, I would not like to join.

Volume 12- Issue 4

Overused Name Becomes Worn Out

January 1, 2003
,

Despite repeatedly informing new aquaintences that “Frank is my name. Don’t wear it out” the name belonging to the UC student formerly known as Frank Galvan has deteriorated to a point where it can no longer be used. Undue wear on the name began to show only two weeks ago when despite repeated invocations of the name “Frank” by his roommate Charles Wong, the student simply continued playing Crazy Taxi 2. “It was very upsetting” said Charles. “He looked over and he was like ‘Why are you making that noise? Get gamefaqs.com up and help me navigate the crazy pyramid’.”

Also affected was the students girlfriend who found out only two days ago. “He looked in my eyes and said ‘Let me be frank with you…’ then he started crying and I knew that he could never be again.” Although his parents have not yet been succesfully contacted as of press time it is hopped that, having provided him with his first name, they can now provide him with a replacement.

Volume 12- Issue 4

Top Ten Reasons to Screw in a Light Bulb

January 1, 2003
  1. The old bulb burnt out.
  2. You don’t want to piss on the floor.
  3. You’re in the segregated south.
  4. Houseboy!
  5. You’re an ethnic minority and/or holder of an unpopular job description.
  6. You’re tired of masturbating.
  7. You’re Thomas Edison and think you’re really fucking great.
  8. You’re the only male in an office full of women who make you do all the goddamn repairs no matter how easy or trivial.
  9. You’re two electrons and listening to Barry White.
  10. You’re blind and bored.
Volume 12- Issue 4

Top Ten Things to Do With Five Minutes Left

January 1, 2003
  1. Win a gold medal in the 800 meters at the Special Olympics.
  2. Complete an unsatisfying ab workout.
  3. Wait patiently for the supervillain to explain his detailed plan.
  4. Cut the black wire … No, the yellow wire!
  5. Be a dick and cram in 30 minutes of material.
  6. Mark “C” for all the rest.
  7. Listen to over half a Weezer album.
  8. Don’t come!
  9. Wish for metric time (more seconds).
  10. Panic because now there’s only 3 minutes left.
Volume 12- Issue 4

Top Ten Terrorist Pick-up Lines

January 1, 2003
  1. How ’bout I go and invade your Gaza Strip, baby?
  2. Don’t let the terrorists win has always been my motto, but If you let me buy you a drink, we will all be winning!
  3. I just have to say that your complete lack of exposed flesh is really arousing.
  4. Is that an explosive device in your shoe or are you just happy to see me?
  5. Hi, I’m Osama Bin Laden and I’ve been on American TV! Sweet!
  6. Do you have Al-Qaeda ties? ‘Cause you’ve been terrorizing my heartall night.
  7. This bar doesn’t serve Irish Car Bombs, but I brought two of my own.
  8. You must have an uraniam core, ’cause you’re making me grow a third leg.
  9. Are you mustard gas? ‘Cause your beauty is burning my eyes.
  10. Baby, put away the box cutters cause you’ve hijacked my heart.
Volume 12- Issue 4

Top Ten Things a Frat Boy Would Do With a Time Machine

January 1, 2003
  1. Wish for more wishes.
  2. Break up time machine into small parts; paddle each other with the remnants.
  3. Go back to that day that everybody got totally hammered and gotthe goat on the roof and then we played foosball until Chad got his dick caught in the goal, because that was awesome.
  4. Go back and pledge a better house than Sigma Nu.
  5. Give younger self own ID.
  6. Put the keg on it.
  7. Toga party , sodomy, with Socrates and Plato.
  8. Buy beer when it was a lot cheaper.
  9. Hotbox time machine, lose sense of time, smoke more weed, then go back in time and meet Jesus.
  10. Go back and have breakfast again, because it was really good.
Volume 12- Issue 4

Top Ten Reasons to Get Naked

January 1, 2003
  1. You’re a terrier and dogs look stupid wearing clothes.
  2. Because that shit is hot.
  3. It’s a parade, and you’re showing off your new set of clothes to all yoursubjects.
  4. How else is anyone going to see your cock ring?
  5. Do you want to get into the Haas School of Business or not, youfucking crybaby?
  6. About to take a shower.
  7. To the reduce anxiety of the orator.
  8. It’s the final exam, you haven’t been to class all semester and you’redreaming.
  9. Because I paid for dinner.
  10. Because you’re all out of naked.