Posts by Jacko:
Yeah, you probably won’t get these.
1.That feeling of invincibility you get every time you turn in a problem set before the deadline.
2. That feeling of hopelessness that overtakes you when it’s too cloudy out for your solar-powered T-89 to work, but you can’t borrow your friend’s calculator because it’s not advanced enough.
3. Why “Webwork green” is the most beautiful color.
4. That factorials always look really excited(!)
5. How to pronounce “Gödel.”
6. What this equation means:
7. Or this one:
8. We all know only REAL math majors know when to use this:
9. Actually, if any math majors are reading this, can someone just like really quickly explain what this is used for? Haha
10. PLEASE, IF YOU ARE STILL READING THIS, CAN YOU HELP ME WITH MY HOMEWORK???
I’m proud to accept the Marketing Professional of the Year Award and there are so many people that I would like to thank. My boss for pushing me to succeed, my friends for supporting me every step of the way, my parents for raising me to be the man I am today, and of course the haggard ghost of Benjamin Franklin, who has haunted me since I was a young boy.
I guess you could say I’ve been preparing for this job my whole life. Ever since I was little I was always more interested in pretending I was making posters to show off my make-believe business, while long dead founding father Ben Franklin cast his unearthly gaze toward me, instead of just playing sports or action figures with the other boys. Then as I got older you might say it was Ben’s bony hand on my shoulder guiding me or maybe my own sense of vision, but I knew I wanted to study marketing.
It takes determination to succeed in this world, determination and just following your gut. You don’t rebrand one of the biggest fast food companies on the planet, the great Mickey D’s, without knowing when to listen to your gut. Ol’ Ben taught me that when he would point to his bony insides through the ethereal rags he wore and told me that “The ideas are here my child. Right here. When the crows feed this is where they will go first.”
The only other day that rivals this in importance for me is my graduation. I could see how proud all my family members were of me. Even my Dad, strong ex-marine that he is, shed a tear. Hell, I remember on that day Ben rose up into the sky and let out a blood curdling scream that ruptured the heavens; henceforth large drawings of his greatest inventions fell from the sky and warped like origami to form the phrase “Congratulations, my greatest disciple.” It was truly a special day for me.
Finally ladies and gentlemen I would like to say that I haven’t reached all of my goals at this company. No sir I have big plans going forward in the world of marketing and I hope you’ll all join with me. Now as Ben comes up to the stage I want to thank you all again for helping me realize my dreams. With this knife I drop my blood onto this contract, signifying that Ben and I can become one being as he always planned. As his ghostly form envelops me, the ritual can be complete and FINALLY WE ARE ONE, WE ARE THE LIGHTNING THAT YOU CANNOT TAME. TOGETHER WE ARE STRONG. TOGETHER WE ARE THE FUTURE. TOGETHER WE WILL BUILD A NEW WORLD. WE LOVE YOU MOM AND DAD.
Sources close to Mike Peters ’18 confirmed that the freshman entered TDX last Saturday night in hopes of forming close relationships with fellow partygoers in the fraternity’s crowded basement.
“Everyone is always telling me I’ll come away from Dartmouth with friends that will last a lifetime,” Peters explained, pausing momentarily to introduce himself to a couple grinding near him, “And TDX seems like the perfect place to start. Just look how many cool and social people are in this very basement!”
As he pushed his way through the sweaty entanglement of gyrating bodies, even a failed attempt to make small talk during a stranger’s keg stand did not discourage Peters from seeking out the kind of college friends that he’d been told would one day make up his wedding party. Intrigued by the wide range of social possibilities that the basement offered—including fighting fellow students for access to a limited beer supply and holding a girl’s hair back as she vomited in a corner—Peters continued to look for opportunities to form lasting bonds with the people around him.
“I can’t believe how many interesting Dartmouth students I’ve met in this basement,” Peters told reporters, “Just look at that guy over there in the jersey. He told me he’s already had 17 beers tonight. And that girl in the green shirt? She apparently likes dancing.”
Although Peters had only interacted with a small percentage of the party’s attendees by the time the basement cleared out, the night wasn’t a complete failure. Peters returned to his room content with the knowledge that the unidentified girl with whom he had briefly made out would one day become his wife.
The Dartmouth Secure server, the main source of wifi for campus, unexpectedly went down at midmorning yesterday. The unexplained outage lasted from approximately 11:05-12:43. Economics 10: Statistical Methods, taught by Professor William Trentos, meets during this time and experienced the dramatic fallout of the wifi failure.
Firstly, most students in the lecture experienced a state of denial. Many reported constantly refreshing their respective Facebook pages, Pintrest boards, Youtube videos, Reddit threads, and in the case of creepy Carl who sits near the back, their Pornhub pages. After a few minutes, it became clear to most class members that there was indeed a wifi outage. Students then had to face the incredibly difficult task of engaging with the Econ material for the remaining 50 minutes. Reactions from members of the class were mixed.
Jack Smith, ’18, comments that around minute 12 without Reddit, he began to shiver and sweat, reporting an acute headache and shakiness.
Cynthia Cross, ’15, stepped out of the classroom pretty soon after the outage, commenting that once she “actually started listening” she “realized that this was not French 2.”
Ben Miller, ’17, says the outage forced him to leave a lot of the Buzzfeed quiz he was working on unfinished. Now, he said, he has “absolutely no idea which Sex and the City character I am” but instead has “like a pretty good understanding of probability theory.” He said that he hopes the administration will realize that these DartmouthSecure outages have “real consequences.” In fact, he says that because of this distraction he will now have to stay up pretty late catching up on videos of dogs that look like the cast of Scandal.
Justin Michaels, ’16, counts himself as among the lucky few in the class that were unaffected by the outage. He was spared by the Sudoku game he had pre-installed on his computer. Michaels says he was “super relieved”, commenting that 45 minutes of unadulterated focus on Professor Trentos, the award-winning Economics author and researcher, would have been “literally horrible.”
“Hey man, what band is this?”
“Oh this? This is, ‘The Travelling Merchant Came Upon A House And Looked Inside But There Was No One Home So He Kept Walking And Walking And Walking Until He Got Really Tired And Had To Stop For The Night So He Set Up His Tent And Looked At The Stars And Wondered If He Would Ever Sell Any Clock Radios Now That All The Governments Had Collapsed And There Were No More Radio Stations Or Record Labels To Tell You That Your Band Name Was Too Long Because A Band Name Could Never Be Too Long Only The Music Too Short Because All That Matters Is The Music And If We Wanted To Be Like Every Other Band We Would’ve Called Ourselves Something Boring Like You Wanted But We Don’t Because Even When Civilization Has Ended And There Are No Radio Stations The Survivors Will Still Get Together And Perform Their Own Music Using Whatever Scraps They Can Find And It Would Still Sound Better Than Anything Any Record Label Has Ever Made Because It’s Real Music Not Fake Pop Made By A Bunch Of Suits Who Want To Make Radio Hits So They Can Sell Clock Radios So They Can Buy A Big House Which They Will Have To Abandon When Civilization Collapses Only To Return Years Later As A Travelling Merchant Who In A True Twist Of Irony Has Forgotten That It Was The Very House He Bought But Now He Can’t Even Sell One Clock Radio Because Everyone Realized They Don’t Need Radio Stations Or Record Labels And The Only Thing That’s Important Is The Music.’ ”
“Never heard of them.”
“Last week I farted in the middle of an office meeting and blamed it on the intern.” -Rachel W., CT
“I watch Desperate Housewives. It’s a total guilty pleasure; I’d hate if any of my buddies found out. Can’t help it, though. I love the drama!” –Eric B., NY
“When I was nine, my mother made me take piano lessons. I hated them, so I slit my piano teacher’s throat and buried her in the backyard.–Annie S., KY
“We share a toothbrush. We know it’s gross, but we really do feel like it brings us closer together!” –Sarah and Dan P., IL
“I only recently realized that the reason the ‘afternoon’ is called that is because it takes place after noon. I’m 26!” –Sophie G., PA
“I eat Flinstone’s gummy vitamins—they’re delicious!” –Tom H., NJ
“It was raining outside, and she was heavy. Her body left a long track in the mud that I covered with sticks and leaves, and my knees ached as I knelt and began to dig a deep hole. It took me forever to clean the dirt out from underneath my fingernails.”–Annie S., KY
“Alex is actually short for ‘Alexandria’. My mom really wanted a girl.” -Alex D., OR
“People began to wonder where she went. She had no immediate family, and no one to miss her enough to pry further. It was eventually assumed that she’d moved away, and I stopped having to take piano lessons”–Annie S., KY
“I hosted last week’s book club, and accidentally dropped the gingersnaps on the floor right before everyone arrived! I brushed them off and served them anyway. Five-second rule, right?” -Laura G., DE
“I still dream about her sometimes, her frail body decomposing beneath the ground. I’ve stopped by to visit my childhood home, and when I walk past that spot I sometimes hear Mozart’s 40th symphony playing in the distance, softly enough to be blamed on the wind.”–Annie S., KY
“Sometimes I jaywalk.” -Jake P., CO
It was a beautiful spring morning. Frog hopped up the dirt road to Toad’s house and knocked loudly on the door.
“Toad!” he called. “It’s me, your best friend, Frog! Let me in!”
“Go away,” a voice called back. “We’re not friends, you idiot.”
“Don’t be like that, Toad,” Frog implored. He pounded incessantly on the door until finally, with a groan, Toad opened it.
“Goddamn it, Frog,” Toad said. “You’re so fucking annoying.”
Frog pushed past Toad into the kitchen and started rifling through the cabinets. “Hey, do you have any Doritos or something?” he asked. “These Weight Watchers snacks look horrible.”
Toad sighed. “Can’t you buy your own snacks instead of mooching off mine?’ he asked Frog pointedly. “By the way, it’s ridiculous that you’re still living with your mom at this age, Frog. You’re not a tadpole anymore. Isn’t it about time you start looking for a new job?”
Frog, who had finally located a bag of barbecue chips, frowned. “Just because you’re bitter about your own inert career doesn’t mean you have the right to pick on me about mine. How’s that real estate venture doing, hmm?” He snapped his tongue into the chips bag disgustingly.
“You know damn well it’s gone underwater!” Toad blurted out before he could stop himself, snatching the chips away from Frog. That little dipshit always knew exactly how to push his buttons.
“Listen man, I’m sorry,” Frog apologized. “I was just feeling kinda lonely and thought I’d come over and see if you would tell me a story. You know, for old time’s sake.” He gazed pathetically at Toad with his sad, moist, amphibious eyes.
Toad sighed. “I can’t believe you’re still asking me about that. It’s been years,” he pointed out. “And I didn’t even make that story up, you know. Goodnight Moon is a children’s literature classic.”
“I don’t care,” said Frog. “I’ve been feeling really down lately and your voice is so soothing. Just one story? Please?”
It was true – Frog had really gotten caught in a downward spiral this year, Toad thought. First the lost button, then the breakup, and now getting laid off from the best factory job he’d ever landed and moving home. To be honest, Toad had been pretty worried Frog would start shooting up again.
“Fine,” snapped Toad, hiding his pity behind a sheer facade of annoyance. “But as soon as I’m done you better leave me alone.”
“Deal,” Frog agreed, because they both knew Toad didn’t really mean it. Frog took a seat in his favorite rocking chair as Toad told him the tale of the Ugly Duckling, which Frog still thinks is an original story inspired by their neighborhood.
Don’t worry Michael, I’m the cool dad. I’m not gonna bust you for anything like your mom. I’m cool. When you come over to this pad (please stop calling it a condo) you know you’re in for a good time.
You what? You want to store that bag there? Fine. That’s so cool. And I’m so chill I’m not even going to ask if that red stuff dripping out is blood. I’ll give you space. You tell me what you’re ready to tell me. I’m not going to pry. That’s such a your mom thing to do.
Michael, is that a hand reaching out of the top? Michael, why are you throwing away that cellphone? Michael, why is your computer screen opened up to a chatroom as the profile hotsexyvampirediarieslover22?
These are questions your mom would ask. Me? I don’t care. Hey. You know what I say? I say come over here and drink a cold one with your pops. You might want to take those bloody gloves off first. Or don’t. I mean, I’m cool with the fashion. Actually, buy me a pair. Or don’t, you know, if you want to wear what you wear and I wear what I wear. I get it. You need space. I need space too. I’m not dependent on your validation. Just like you’re not on mine.
I only get you every other weekend, and half of that time you’re out on your errands, which I don’t need to know anything about. I just want to enjoy my time with you. If that means letting you lock yourself up in the room and watch episodes of Dexter, so what? I’m a dad who knows better than to pester.
Am I worried that you keep putting notes under my door saying “You’re next”? Of course not. You’re next too, bud. I get pranks. I went to college. Once I covered my fraternity’s toilet with saran wrap so everyone’s pee bounced off. It’s not quite the same as the piles of dead rats you put on my pillow each morning.
Michael, you’re my son. I was a guy once too. Don’t think your old man didn’t get around to his own trouble in his day. But my dad was such a–pardon my language—prick. He was always on my tail. I hated it. I swore as a kid I would never be like that. You wanna smoke pot? Go ahead. Drink a little? Drink with me. Look up the addresses of all of your teachers? I don’t really know what for, but I’m not going to stop you.
When you’re in the pad, you’re not my son. You’re my bud. My partner in crime. We are a team. I’m not gonna help you with your wire cable traps, but I’ll give you my credit card to get the wire. All I ask is one night you come watch football with me instead of shooting pidgeons with your airsoft gun. Just once, unless that’s too overbearing. Because, that’s one of the last things I want to be.
- LH ’16