Posts by AProcton:
- Sweaters for centipedes
- Pants for octopuses
- Fingerless gloves for parakeets
- Pantsuits for iguanas
- Sweatbands for caribou
- Legwarmers for army ants
- Ski masks for rhinoceroses
- Cardigans for killer whales
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Hair bows for armadillos
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Sneakers for snakes
- With pictures of smaller socks on them
- With pictures of cats named “Socks” on them
- With speeches by famous orators on them
- With speeches by cult leaders on them
- Toe socks for polydactyl people
- Toe socks for hooved animals
- Toe socks with the part that covers your toes cut out
- Decorative socks, like to put out in nice bowls on dinner tables when you have a party
- Socks with rubberized soles that can be worn around town without shoes
- Striped.
- His crusade against the humanities will eventually leave only the sciences and Scientology.
- JYK hates psychiatry because it has never cured an AIDS patient.
- His location on Frat Row is optimal for “rehabilitating” drug- and alcohol-addicted students by teaching them about Dianetics.
- I saw him offering students “stress tests” outside of Collis.
- President Kim is able to summon skunks and provide scant weeks of nice weather while new students tour the campus, as he has attained Operating Thetan level VIII, “The Truth Revealed.”
- His position as president of a small liberal-arts college located in rural New Hampshire means that there is no way he could get Conan O’Brien or Ke$ha to come here without some sort of secret cult connection.
- Everyone who comes out of Parkhurst has been seen mumbling something about Xenu, Thetans, volcanoes, space airplanes, and how soothing Jim Kim’s explanation of all of this was.
- President Kim fled to this sleepy hamlet to escape the clutches of the Galactic Confederacy, but they have recently grown wise, infiltrating the town and forcing Ben and Jerry’s to leave and Gusanoz to shut down.
- The money light actually comes from when JYK is auditing another student.
- This year’s commencement speaker is rumored to be Isaac Hayes’s corpse, used as a marionette by the Phantom Limb people. He will lecture us on acceptance and then perform “Theme from Shaft.”
Rejected Subject Lines for My Gov 10 Survey Blitz
April 1st, 2012
Gov 10 Survey!
NOT another Gov 10 Survey!
DANCE PARTY (feat. Levels, Heart Vacancy, We Found Love)
Free Parking Available for 12S
Find a direction in life (any direction works)
Dartmouth Daily Updates
Free Arby’s in Novack tonight! (No donation necessary)
See me about your midterm immediately
Tell Jim Kim what you think about the snow sculpture!
COLLIS PASTA LINE IS REALLY SHORT RIGHT NOW
Please take this survey. I only want a QDS so I can go back to taking Public Policy classes. Please?
An Occurrence at Omega Phi Fraternity
February 13th, 2012
Portions of this story, as well as the entire premise, have been taken from Ambrose Bierce’s “An Occurence at Owl Creek Bridge
Chapter I
A young man stood in a room in a fraternity in a small liberal arts college in western New Hampshire, looking into the drink swirling in his hands below. The man stood to the side in a room filled with eight other people – two brothers of the house he was standing in, a sketchy alum, fellow freshmen, and an assortment of other revelers. A variety of posters were upon the wall, and rap music played from a MacBook’s speakers.
The man who was engaged in dropping Slither was apparently about nineteen years of age. He was a college student, if one could judge from his outfit, which was a spandex onesie festooned with a feather boa. His features were glazed, his jaw slack and gaze unfocused. He wore stubble and an unkept goatee was trying to grow, but no moustache. His face was young; evidently this was no upperclassman familiar with hard drinking. The liberal fraternity code makes provisions for drinking with many kinds of persons, and freshmen are not excluded
He closed his eyes in order to fix his last thoughts on his mom and that girl in his bio class he had a crush on. The Slither, tinted a dark purple by what some said was concentrated grape juice and others said was cough syrup; the boa playing around his neck, the posters, the creepy alum – all had distracted him. And now he became conscious of a new disturbance. Striking through the thought of him getting up the courage to ask that girl to Dirt Cowboy was sound which he could neither ignore nor understand, a wobbly, pulsating noise like someone shaking a metal sheet to generate storm noises for a middle school play. He wondered what it was, and why it wouldn’t stop. Its recurrence was irregular, sometimes it would speed up, and at other times it would become preposterously slow. The sounds hurt his ear like a boxing glove. What he heard was dubstep.
He unclosed his eyes and saw again the Slither below him. “If I just toss it back,” he thought “I might just go out to other frats and have a good time at my first Winter Carnival.”
As these thoughts, which have here to be set down in words, were flashed into the doomed freshman’s brain rather than evolved from it, he began to lift the cup to his lips. The liquid inside tilted towards his mouth.
Chapter II
Michael Ellis was an ordinary college freshman, from an upper-middle class New England family. Being at Dartmouth, and like other Dartmouth students technically an alcoholic, he was naturally excited for Winter Carnival and ardently devoted to the prospect of drinking for three nights in a row. Circumstances of an imperious nature, which it is unnecessary to relate here, had prevented him from dropping Slither fall term, and he longed for the larger life of the hard guy, the opportunity for distinction. That opportunity, he felt, would come, as it comes to all on big weekends. Meanwhile he did what he could. No beverage was too watery for him to drink in order to get fucked up, no adventure too perilous to undertake if consistent with the character of a freshman who was at heart a frat bro, and who in good faith and without too much qualification assented to at least a part of the frankly villainous dictum that all is fair in frat life.
One afternoon while Michael and his friends were sitting on a ratty couch in his common room, some guy who lived the next floor up walked in and sat on the couch.
“What’s up?” asked one of Michael’s friends, who apparently knew the guy from Bio 11 or something.
“OP has Slither tonight,” said the guy “I hear they put blood thinner and codeine and Xanax in it.”
“When is it?” Michael asked, still wondering who the guy was.
“The brothers start at, like, five, and I think they run out really fast. Also, you have to know a brother to get any.”
“Supposing a freshman – a student of raging who knows a couple of brothers – should wander in and get his hands on some Slither,” said Michael, smiling, “what could he accomplish?”
The guy who knew Michael’s friend reflected, “I was there fall term,” he said, “and that shit gets you totally fucked up.”
Chapter III
As Michael Ellis dropped Slither, he lost consciousness and was as one already blacked out. From this state he awakened – ages later, it seemed to him – by the sensation of a sharp tapping on his shoulder, followed by the smell of vomit. The tapping was persistent and seemed to continue with an inconceivably rapid periodicity. The vomit smell, for some reason, reminded him of the Foco pizza he had eaten that night. These sensations were unaccompanied by thought. The intellectual part of his nature was already effaced; he had power only to feel, and feeling was torment. He was conscious of motion. Encompassed in a luminous cloud, of which he was now merely the fiery heart, without material substance, he swung through unthinkable arcs of oscillation, like a vast pendulum. He was really fucked up. Then, all at once, with terrible suddenness, he heard the sound of more rap music and his name, repeated over and over again. The power of thought was restored; he knew that he had booted all over the floor and that his roommate was trying to get him out of OP before he embarrassed himself even more.
He was not conscious of an effort, but a sensation in his arms informed him that he was trying to stand up. He gave the struggle his attention, as a senior might go to a football game drunk, without interest in the outcome. Wow, what a good job! He was actually making some headway in getting up! Oh, wait, now he stumbled into his own boot. He fell back to the ground and watched with interest as his floormates grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet, dragging him out of the room and onto frat row.
He was now in full possession of his physical senses. His vision wavered and he found it was impossible to focus on anything for too long. His head ached constantly. A feeling of rising nausea was prevalent, and he tried to boot again but wasn’t even coordinated enough to pull the trigger.
“Maybe you should go to bed, Michael,” one of his floormates said.
He attempted to respond, but found he was unable to. He had come out of the house facing toward Jim Kim’s house, and decided that it was a good time to boot on his lawn.
“Dude, where are you going?” his roommate asked, “Frats aren’t even open yet. It’s eight at night.”
Michael kept walking down Webster, his mind fixed on booting on the president’s lawn. How funny it would be! How silly his friends would think his antics were in the morning! Suddenly, he felt himself pitching forward, and the ground seemed to rush up towards his face. On their own, his hands flew forward and caught him. He lay down, thinking it might be safer for him if he were to stay on the ground, and noticed how beautiful frat row was, when you looked at it; how nice it was that there were old houses falling apart because the money for repairs was spent on Keystone, how the flow of drunken people in and out of them created a delightful cacophony.
“Hey, we’re going to the Hop now,” he heard a voice call, rousing him from his dream, “you can come with us or you can keep sitting there.”
All night long he traveled, trying to get to the Hop, where they would make mozzarella sticks, although they would also be really upset when he asked. What astounded him so completely was that it somehow took him more than ten minutes to walk across the Green. By the time he got inside, he was sore, his head ached, and he had fallen down two or three more times. He looked at the a poster with upcoming performances, certain that there was a message hidden within – and only he was drunk enough to decipher it. He was sure that he heard whispers over his shoulder, people saying things like “shitshow” or “you need to get the fuck up.”
Somehow, Michael realized he had fallen asleep standing up in the Hop, for he now sees a different scene – or perhaps he blacked out, and was just now waking up, for he discovers he is in bed, with a splitting hangover. As he is about to get up and dry heave in the bathroom, he feels a splitting pain in his head; a blinding light blazes about him – then all is darkness and vomit smell.
Michael Ellis was passed out; his body, fallen over, lay in a puddle of vomit in a room in Omega Phi.
Local Mother Discovers Five Easy Steps to Whiter Teeth!
February 5th, 2012
1. Brush your teeth! Using regular sodium fluoride toothpaste, you can significantly resist the effects of tooth decay and prevent painful cavities! And don’t forget to floss!
2. Tan your face! If your face is darker, friends and family will see your teeth as whiter, plus they’ll envy your beautiful bronzed skin. Regular application of UVA and UVB rays is proven to boost levels of vitamin D, as well as increasing the ocurrence of severe cancers such as melanomas!
3. Never smile! Smiling is what allows other people to see your teeth, and, out of jealousy, ascribe the property of “not-whiteness” to them. If you don’t smile, everyone will assume you have beautiful white teeth! Like a shark! Sharks never smile!
4. Begin sacrificing bodies to the Old Gods! The great thing about Old Gods is that they’re dependable, and you can tell because people have been doing burnt sacrifices to them since before the whole “time” thing. If you can find the right arcane prayer and provide enough pounds of flesh upon the correct bloodied altar, you can get just about any wish granted! Except for another wish, don’t ask for that.
5. Bases! Sodium bicarbonate, or “baking soda”, works to make your teeth whiter because it is basic enough to destroy the nutrients that odor-causing bacteria need! Try stronger bases such as lye or Drano to really remove the stench of plaque and tartar!
How to Read Your Physiology Textbook
January 16th, 2012by Alex Procton ’15
1. Try to actually read the words
This step is really only a formality. Don’t pretend that any of the words make sense. “Homeostasis” isn’t a real thing. “Protein” isn’t a real thing. “Phosphofructokinase” is definitely a completely made up word. Don’t bullshit, biologists. Learning should not be on your mind, because the main point of this step is to give you plausible deniability when you have to face up to your prof (see step 4).
2. Personify your cells and organs
This is unlikely to get you credit on the exam, but it is a lot of fun to imagine that your brain is shouting at all of your other organs for not pulling their own damn weight. You can pretend that your heart is a power plant! Red blood cells are oxygen-delivery trucks! Fat is a gang of surly workers who like to protest whenever you exercise. Your liver is a port, and it sends out container ships of blood sugar to your muscles. Your pituitary gland has a tyrannical Napolean complex, which is why it made you go through puberty. Your liver is…not getting paid enough to filter all that alcohol out of your bloodstream!
3. Ask someone smarter than you
Someone on your floor has taken more biology than you have. Find them, then demand that they explain how gas exchange works. Be prepared to incentivize this with money, food, sexual favors, or professional laundry services.
4. Try to work it out in class
Listen carefully to what your professor is saying. This means that you should only check Facebook once every five minutes. If you still don’t get it, ask questions, but make sure you don’t reveal how little you understand. Science faculty can smell confusion on your breath, and they will begin deducting points from your final if you show any weakness.
5. Look it up online
First, use Wikipedia. When your head starts to hurt, move to the simple English Wikipedia. If this is too complicated, don’t worry! Biology is very difficult to understand, and you’ll definitely make more money after college as an econ or philosophy major.
Impractical Animal Clothing
November 20th, 2011by Alex Procton ’15
There's such a fine line between impractical and ADORABLE
Cool Designs for Socks
November 13th, 2011
By Alex Procton ’15
Canadians Invade Hanover!
November 13th, 2011
By Alex Procton ’15
INT. FRAT HOUSE, NIGHT
We open on BRET, a ’13, who is behind the bar in his crowded frat house, and JACK, a ’15, who wants a drink. JACK is holding up one finger and looking repeatedly in the direction of BRET.
BRET
Hey man, want a drink, eh?
JACK (surprised)
Uh, sure? Anything, yeah.
BRET
Is Guinness okay? We ran out of Molson’s a minute ago.
JACK
Yes! I mean, yes, Guinness is okay. I’ll take a Guinness. Please. What was that other drink you mentioned?
BRET
Molson’s. Y’know, Molson’s Canadian? It’s all we drink around here. It reminds us all of home.
JACK
Are you from the Midwest or something? I don’t think I’ve ever seen Molson’s around here.
BRET
Nah, we’re from Canada, eh! Didn’t you know that?
Jack is becoming increasingly flustered. Just then, MIRANDA, an attractive ’15 in a tight turtleneck sweater, walks over.
MIRANDA
Hey, could I get something to drink?
BRET
Sure, I’ll grab you a beer once these guys over here get some.
MIRANDA
Thanks, friend!
JACK
Wait, why aren’t you getting her a drink right away? She’s a freshman girl, and you’re an upperclassman guy! (To Miranda) And why are you so ready to wait for a beer? Couldn’t you get hard liquor in an instant in any frat just by showing a little skin? What the hell is wrong with you people!?
MIRANDA
It just wouldn’t be polite, y’know?
JACK
Wait, you’re Canadian, too?
BRET
Of course she is, eh? Most of us are down here.
JACK gives up on trying to get a drink and instead decides to try and get on table.
JACK
Hey bro, what’s line like?
BROTHER
Oh, uh, I guess you could get on next? Thanks for asking, buddy! Most people wouldn’t be that polite, y’know?
JACK (flatly)
Oh, fuck this.
END SCENE
A Brief History of Our Nation’s Leaders and Their Skills in Pong
November 6th, 2011by Alex Procton ’15
Since the dawn of time, man has sought to enhance competitive game-playing with alcohol, and our own United States of America is no exception. The history of pong in the US begins with our Founding Fathers, who staged the Boston Tea Party because British taxes made tea pong prohibitively expensive to play. But pong’s evolution did not stop when our overseas oppressors were driven out, and here we present a brief history of American presidents playing pong
George Washington was first introduced to the game by his soldiers when he wintered at Valley Forge. Unfortunately for him, and fortunately for our fledgling nation, Washington sucked so much that he never wanted to play, and was able to soberly navigate across the Delaware River.
Thomas Jefferson founded the University of Virginia so he could play drinking games whenever he wanted. Monticello was built to make visiting campus easier. Jefferson also fathered a secret family with his slaves, which is unrelated, but totally something he might have gotten really drunk and done.
Andrew Jackson was famous for being as tough as nails and as enthusiastic about getting on table as he was about expanding the power of the presidency. He once shut down the Bank of the United States so that he could play Social with his cabinet. And also because he hated the Bank.
William Harrison gave his inaugural address in the rain wearing no jacket because he was so drunk from running back Harbor an hour before that he no longer felt cold. He later died after two months in office, because binge drinking has some consequences.
Millard Fillmore is a mystery. Seriously, do you expect me to believe this guy governed our country? I bet he was really good at pong, though. I don’t know anything about him, but I have this hunch.
William Taft refused to partake unless he could play donut pong.
Franklin Roosevelt had a little trouble playing pong.
John F. Kennedy was assassinated for introducing the dirty Communist game of Beirut into our country following the Cuban Missile Crisis.
Richard Nixon was a great pong player. What, you didn’t think his ping-pong diplomacy skills had any other practical use?
Jimmy Carter was really bad at pong and solving hostage crises, but that’s okay because he’s great at peanut farming and advancing the cause of human rights.
George Bush (HW and W) are not to be trifled with. Their entire college careers turned them into the perfect pong-playing machines. Don’t get on table against one, but also, definitely don’t get on table against both of them.
Interior Decorating Tips for Evil Overlords
October 9th, 2011by Alex Procton ’15
So, you’ve subjugated a race, nation, or planet of humans or other sentient beings. Time to begin your despotic rule over their lives! But first, have you set up an evil lair? The evil overlord’s home base is among the most important aspects of their image, especially as this is more than likely where a climactic showdown or two will be happening. While furnishing your lair, keep these tips in mind:
1. Location, Location, Location
Swamp: a good location, but Lex Luthor was constantly complaining about the bad algae smell.
Upon carving your lair into a dormant volcano, do you find yourself spending money you haven’t stolen yet on replacement henchmen because of your bubbling lava pit? Do attacks by colossal squid interrupt scheming sessions in your underwater pleasure dome? Does the dearth of natural sunlight reaching your moonbase give you Seasonal Affective Disorder? The most important thing to consider when creating your heinous hideaway is where you will situate it, not only because of the dangers your environment may pose to you, but also because this will determine what sorts of decor you should use. A lunar base is the perfect place to put all that horrible 70s furniture your parents left you when you murdered them. Anything subterranean demands substantial mood lighting, unless you want your command chamber to look like a mining operation.
2. Keep Workflow In Mind
Just like the domestic kitchen, an evil lair demands that significant thought be put towards ergonomics. Is your seat of terrifying power located close enough to the chaise where scantily-clad nubile captives will feed you grapes? Is the booby trap located exactly where you expect guests to stand while they plea for your mercy? Can you watch this spectacle from both your throne room and your grape-eating lounge? If you want an easy way to dispose of corrupt advisers, consider placing their seats right next to the trap. Once you have set up your inner sanctum, make sure that it has appropriate feng shui, because it is considered unlucky to kill people, and rooms without good qi will counteract this.
3. Keep Decor Unified
Try picking a broad theme for your decor, such as "Evil."
Decide what image you want your lair to display, then make sure that every one of your furnishings is consistent with that image. A throne of skulls and flayed skin tells your enemies precisely how many people you killed to be sitting there. A similar throne that has been gilded and embellished with jewels carries the additional message that you enjoy the luxury your power has brought you. For the ultra-modern despot, neutral colors, clean, sweeping lines, and swiveling chairs will display your technological savvy, as will an information screen larger than your world-conquering ego. It’s difficult to blend two styles in a manner that projects power rather than incoherence. No one is intimidated by a skeletal throne when it is in a room that appears to have been designed by IKEA personal shoppers. More ridiculous still is a swivel chair in the Gothic castle you purchased to terrorize the countryside.
4. Accessorize!
Just because you’ve made yourself an archetypal villainous lair doesn’t mean you can’t bring your own personal style with you. One easy way is with personal photographs–family photos will humanize you, while pictures of your enemies in their final agony will up the intimidation factor. Just make sure you have no pictures of murdered family members in their final agony on display, or you will be regarded as especially cruel and probably get kicked out of the Despot’s Club. Another simple way to add “pop” to a drab chamber is with accent colors. Wall hangings, curtains, bejeweled skulls, and throw rugs are all good ways to complement the natural ambiance of your hideout. Important evil tip: select fabrics which won’t stain if you intend to commit atrocities in the same room as your accent pieces. It may seem like an afterthought now, but certain bodily fluids are almost impossible to remove from a throw rug!
Hopefully these decorating tips have put you on the right path! If not, it is recommended that you find and kidnap an accomplished interior designer who will plan your evil lair for you. Key qualities in this personal decorator include willingness to work for very little or no pay, grace under pressure, and experience with underwater decoration, lava-based plumbing, bones as construction material or low-gravity environments. Best of luck in all your ornamental conquests!
Irrefutable Proof that Jim Kim is a Scientologist
October 2nd, 2011