Vanitas
Dear Reader,
I would say I hope this mes-
sage finds you well, but how
could it not? You have the
latest edition of The Harvard
Lampoon™© in your hands!
Let’s be honest: If you’re read-
ing this, you’re either someone
in my family or someone in the
Lampoon. If you’re someone
in my family, thank you for
the kind graduation gift (this
counts as a thank you note).
If you’re someone in the Lam-
poon: Please buzz bow. I’ve
been standing out here for two
days.
Whichever group you fall into,
you’re probably waiting with
bated breath to hear what I’m
up to these days. Well, I’ve
been enjoying the blissful gap
between graduation and the
beginning of “real life.” Late
nights on the beach, golf, hours
spent reminiscing with old
friends, cold beers on boats.
That’s my life lately.
Ok, in all honesty, while I have
been enjoying
some
old school
New England fun, I’ve spent
a lot more time on some new
hobbies. Namely, I’ve taught
myself how to read QR codes
with my naked eye. I’ve also re-
mounted every TV in my house
vertically to optimize for Insta-
gram reels. Oh, I also went for
a .78 mile run today. It’s been
quite the summer so far.
Spending time at home has
been a great way to reconnect
with my parents. They’re both
in their early sixties, so their
grasp on reality is tenuous,
and we’ll probably have to stick
them in a nursing home soon.
That reminds me: call my sis-
ter. But quality time with them
has been nice.
So, how is my life these days?
I’d say it’s good. But you’re not
here to listen to me ramble
about my life, you’re here to
enjoy dozens of pages of com-
edy packed fun. So turn the
page and enjoy!
(Grammy: if you’re reading
this, skip pages 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9—
actually, I’d just stop reading
here. Love you.)
JTK
2
3
FDR’s Hits ————---—
After the popularity of his “the
only thing we have to fear is fear
itself” line during his presidential
inauguration, FDR began using
similar adages during other
speeches.
Speech to Striking Auto
Workers (1933)
“...so I say to you, the heart and
soul of American manufacturing,
that the only thing that can stop
corporate greed is corporate
greed itself… in that by striking,
we are being greedy against
corporations which means that
the corporations are having their
greed reduced… just, just keep up
the good work.”
Speech Promoting the Second
New Deal (1935)
“...I ask you, members of Congress,
to pass this Second New Deal
as a reminder to the American
public that the only way to solve
issues of spending, is to do more
spending (waits for applause that
doesn’t come). Mmmm, not a
fan of that huh? What about this,
the only way to fix the problems
caused by passing the New Deal is
to pass an even newer deal itself.”
Speech to Doctor After Being
Told He Has Polio (1937)
“Wow doc, that sounds serious,
and you’re telling me there’s
no cure? I wonder if, as a
transmissible viral infection, the
only theoretical cure for polio
could be inoculation through
a weaker strain so our body’s
natural immunity could protect
us from the lethal virus? In a way,
the only cure for polio is polio
itself. I know that probably won’t
work doc, I’m just playing the hits.
Why don’t you just give me more
of that heroine medicine.”
Speech Justifying the Japanese
Internment Camps (1942)
“You all know how I’ve said we
only need to fear fear itself, but I’m
actually scared of these Japanese
immigrants with their foreign
language and their Japanese-ness.
What does that say about them?
It means they’re fear itself, and
who wouldn’t want me to put fear
itself into camps?”
Speech to His Wife Before Sex
(1944)
“Yeah Eleanor, you look so hot
right now, but you know, the
only thing that can satisfy you is
satisfaction itself.
(Eleanor
gives a confused look)
It’s just that I recently
named my penis
‘satisfaction’.”
PM
EDUCATION
Meta
Protesters —
Protester
: 2-4-6-8 / God does not
discriminate!
Meta-Protester
: Oh I see you’re
protesting. That’s so touchingly
conformist of you.
Protester
: Ugh. These guys.
Meta-Protester
: We’re protesting
the protest. Our protest is a
commentary on protests writ large.
Protester
: What does that even
mean?
Meta-Protester
: [massaging
temples] If you think about it, your
protest is a conversion to the social
form, whereas our protest is a
reckless cry for help against rules
conceived generally. You try to fight
society, but you succeed only in
becoming it. Foucalt.
Meta-Meta-Protester
: Ah, I see
you protesting the protest. How
delightfully ironic! I hope you realize
your meta-protestation only gives
credibility to late-stage capitalism
by pretending there exists a space
of valid intellectual criticism at all.
Beauvoir.
Meta-Protester
: Oho! You are
naive in a way that is wonderfully
childlike! Just like one of Pavlov’s
french-style pousers, you cannot
see that if their meta-protestation
commits us to a space of
intellectual criticism, so does your
meta-meta protestation! Richard
Feynmann.
Meta-Meta-Protester
: You are
dumb like a beautiful baby. It is
making me cry. Can’t you see
that from my perspective, where
protestation is not a valid social
dialogue, what we are doing is not
a meta-meta-protestation, but a
mere pedantic standing? French
Dalai Lama.
My Friend Kyle
: Hey guys, I’m Kyle.
Both Meta-Protesters
: Hey Kyle.
EPS
The Will
I, Mommy, being of sound mind and body, not
acting under duress or undue influence, and fully
understanding the nature and extent of all my property
and of this disposition thereof, leave to my favorite son
Jeremy the TV and the XBox and the Nintendo Switch.
MSS
EDUCATION
Healthcare -
Though people say that
healthcare in America is too
expensive, you just have to know
where to look. I like to go to my
guy Frankie Pete under the bridge,
where appointments are always
free and never not at nighttime.
Today, I’m seeing him for my
annual checkup, which happens
weekly since Frankie Pete doesn’t
do dictionaries and has a loose
grasp of linear time.
Frankie Pete begins our
appointment by rubbing my chest
with the wetter of his two hands.
“Stethoscopes are a hoax,” he
grumbles. He then takes a quick
glance at the outside of my jeans.
Turns out I’ve got AIDS. Frankie
Pete breaks the news to me gently,
though, with a lip kiss, which is
safe because he also has it.
Worried about malpractice?
Frankie Pete’s got you covered.
Every appointment’s videotaped
by his trusty assistant, Nurse
Earl. “My name’s just Earl,” says
Nurse Earl. He films me during
the physical endurance part
of the checkup, where Frankie
Pete has me clean his tent and
stroke his shoulders a little.
“Cleanliness is next to godliness,
and the government owns all the
diseases,” muses the doc while
scrubbing dog poop off his pants
with gutter water.
Since Frankie Pete has no
medical specialty, he has
every medical specialty. As my
gastroenterologist, he gives me a
colonoscopy, but as my therapist,
he asks me how the colonoscopy
makes me feel. No matter how I
answer, Frankie Pete always tells
me that the colonoscopy makes
him feel great.
But Frankie Pete is more than my
doctor—he’s also my pharmacist.
After scratching around for a
while, Frankie Pete removes his
hand from his underwear, holding
a packet of powder. He tells me
it’s the stuff LeBron James
takes, if LeBron
took a lot
of suspect
street drugs.
Perfect. I’m the
LeBron James of
saving on healthcare. I
inhale the whole bag as
F.P. watches with a smile.
As the sun rises and Frankie Pete
drags his tent back into the sewer,
I can’t help but wonder why more
Americans don’t take advantage
of the valuable public service he
provides. You’re paying an arm
and a leg for a hospital bed, while
I’m paying nothing to lie in an
underpass, paralyzed by Frankie
Pete’s medicine, as my arms and
legs turn blue. Now tell me that
deal doesn’t sound too good to be
legal.
HTM
44
Are the SATs culturally biased? Decide for yourself.
The SAT faces accusations that high performance is tied to knowledge of the mainstream culture, which may
disadvantage marginalized groups. Here’s a sample question from 2018:
Max is holding five apples. He gets rid of the same number of apples as the Lakers had competent forwards in
the 2008 season with the finals against the Pirates. Multiply that number by two. Then divide it by the birth year
of Gary Hart’s 1984 running mate who was ousted for having an affair. How many apples do you have?
A)
The same number of apples as the number of battles in which European people were victorious over
other cultures (everyone should know this)
B)
The people of the Lahoka Tribe have a custom called water-dancing, where they anoint a new chief. In
1724 the water dance chief was Big Wame. What was the name of the white guy who high fived him? Getting
this correct is worth three apples.
C)
5 or 15, depending on whether you can currently view the Northern lights in Sweden.
Note: If you are from the dominant culture you can also just check this box instead of
answering:
EPS
4
5
Letter From The Principal
Parents and guardians of the students of Deerfield Academy,
Our current generation of Deerfield Academy students is highly
susceptible to internet trends. It appears that the poop dolla is the
newest prank to infest the minds of our youth.
I, too, was unfamiliar with the schematics of poop dolla. The prank
itself is harmless yet crude. A student wraps a dried piece of feces into a
dollar bill and places it outside my office.
When I inevitably collect what I perceive to be a reward for good
karma, an air horn blasts from each and every direction, and the
students announce, “Poop dolla!” as they scurry away to class.
The students continually enforce the ritual of poop dolla because they
believe I haven’t picked up on the patterns of the prank. I’m not foolish,
I know the present that awaits in each dollar bill. I merely lack the
financial flexibility to refuse the offer.
With such context in mind, I write to ask for your forgiveness and
understanding following the events that transpired today. Please know
that the “Poop SAT Bubble Sheet” prank was originally perceived as an
appropriate measure to get back at the students.
I will have you know I was not the only faculty member involved in the
gambit, but I appreciate you believing I would be capable of pulling off
a prank on such a large scale.
Before you call for my resignation, please recall one of Deerfield
Academy’s Pillars of Wisdom: What comes around, goes around.
Wouldn’t I be violating our code of conduct by not enacting Poop SAT
Bubble Sheet? It’s a good real-world lesson for the students.
Also, there will be no rescheduling for the SAT.
Yours truly,
The Principal
JGC
D
eerfield
A
cademy
“Semper Deerfus”
August 3rd
Hello Martha, I wanted to congratulate you on
your new son and for that great big hole in your
backyard. I’ve been asking my husband to dig me
a hole for years now; it’s very cool you got one
overnight.
August 8th
Hi Martha, you know it just occurred to me that
you weren’t pregnant the last time we spoke. I
don’t mean to pry, but if you had some sort of
divine pregnancy in the last couple of days, as a
Christian, I feel like I should get to know.
September 17th
Martha, there are some rumors that little Clark
doesn’t look like you or Jonathan, and I’ve taken
it upon myself to do a little punnet square exper-
iment. You have green eyes, Jonathan has blue
eyes, and little Clark has glowing red eyes. The
punnet squares say that shouldn’t be the case.
Just wanted to point that out.
September 29th
Hey Martha, it’s Nancy again. Yeah, I think
little Clark definitely has a muscular condition
because he just threw my cat into the sun. I know
you keep saying I’ve just been seeing things but
that’s the third one this month. Any more cats and
I’ll have to install a kitty fence in the atmosphere
haha, but joking aside this isn’t normal.
October 1st
Dearest Martha, I’ve just been doing some thinking
about all the stuff I’ve seen your baby son do, and I’m
just wondering how long until I can start worshiping him
as Jesus because I’m ready to offer my soul to him. Be-
fore you object I would like to point out that I saw him
walking on water, well it was more of a floating above
water, but I feel like that qualifies.
October 2nd
Martha, I wanted to offer my sincerest apologies. I
saw today that your son was wearing glasses; an
all-powerful being like Jesus would not wear glasses, so I
just wanted to say my mistake for making any assump-
tions about your son. I do hope he sees a specialist about his
glowing eyes though.
PM
N
eighbor
C
orrepondence
-
Letters sent to Superman’s mom by a neighbor during
his childhood.
6
7
LIFESTYLES
Confessions of a Swim Shirt Kid —
Um, hi everyone. My name is Will,
I’m 23, and I am—was—a swim
shirt kid.
The crazy thing is, looking back,
it’s hard to target the exact
moment wearing a swim shirt
went from a smart way to protect
against damaging UV-radiation
to a full blown problem, but there
were definitely signs.
I think one of the first times
I realized I might not be like
everyone else I was enjoying a day
on the beach. I had made a new
friend, and after hanging out for
a while, he asked me why
I was wearing my swim
shirt. I remember
exactly how the
conversation went.
“Hey, why do
you wear that
shirt when
you swim?”
“Oh, it helps
protect
against
sunburns.”
“Does your mom make you wear
it?”
“Yeah.”
In truth, it also protected against
unwanted judgment of my
prepubescent body. But I didn’t
tend to mention that.
Things only got worse as I got
older. One time, some friends
were having a party at the beach.
Jack brought beer, Alex brought
weed, and I brought a variety
of swim shirts in all colors and
sizes. When the other partygoers
chastised me for the decision, I
lashed out, reminding them of the
danger of the sun’s rays.
They all began laughing and
quickly pointed out that it was
pitch black outside. I tried to
pivot by mentioning the rapidly
dropping temperature and the
fact that the swim shirt could
provide protection against specs
of ash and other debris, but at
that point it was too late. I had
lost the argument with them,
but more importantly, I was
beginning to lose the argument
with myself.
Um, ehem, my partner has
been very supportive through
this whole process. The first
time she learned about my…
situation… was after a few dates.
We had gone back to my place,
things were getting a little hot
and heavy. As things began to
escalate I asked her if she was ok
with my using protection. She
said “of course.” But I could tell
she was surprised when I put on
my Billabong All Day Wave LF
Short-Sleeve Swim Shirt. God
that thing is something—75+ SPF
protection, such a lightweight
fabric—oh, sorry.
Yeah. She understands better
now, but it’s hard for her to hide
her resentment at the fact that I
wear a swim shirt during sex. But
we’re working through it and I’m
taking strides. I finally can see a
path to recovery.
Huh? Take my hoodie off? Why
would I do that?
JTK
Life of the Party ———------
—The girls get here in ten
minutes. You need to go home
and put some clothes on.
—God, I knew you were gonna do
this. I can never please you.
—It’s a decades party. You show
up naked, I send you home. It’s
pretty simple.
—Just because I picked the
46,370’s BCE, you punish me? I
brought a sharpened rock.
—Any normal person knows you
pick the 1960s or later.
—Then you should’ve called it a
1960s or later party.
—Are you still mad because I
chose you to get murdered at the
murder mystery party?
—Well, most murder mystery
parties have someone imaginary
get murdered.
—Yeah, but I wanted to immerse
people. It’s more realistic when
there’s an actual body.
—Did you ever consider how the
body felt?
—No, I didn’t.
—Exactly. People kept spilling shit
on me. You’re lucky I stayed in
character.
—Alright, maybe that was over
the line. But you really can’t be
naked right now.
—Because you think my physique
is off-putting?
—What, no! You look good. I can
tell you’ve been jogging once a
week.
—You’re disgusted by me.
—Come on, that’s not true.
—
(crying)
If I’m that repulsive I’ll
go home and put some clothes on.
—No, no. You should stay. You
look good.
—Really? You mean it?
—Of course man.
—Do you want me to put a leaf
over my dick or
something?
—No, you look
great just the way
you are.
—
(hugging
passionately)
JTK
Mohawk ——---
I have a rare form of alopecia where
my hair only grows into a mohawk.
What’s worse is that it’s extra
spiky and stands straight as if it is
perfectly gelled. It is spikier than
what you are picturing right now
As you can imagine, being a
middle-aged man with a giant,
spiky mohawk has really limited
my career paths. I am essentially
pigeonholed into working at Hot
Topic my entire life despite going to
law school.
Picture this: you just got off shift
at Hot Topic and now have to go
pick up your kids from elementary
school, all while sporting an
obnoxiously large mohawk. All
your coworkers mock you out the
door for being a single dad. At
school, all the other parents clutch
their pearls at the sight of you.
It’s not the optimal way to collect
children. At least all your kids’
friends think you’re cool. But that
doesn’t do you much good because
it’s not like you can be friends with
them.
Have you ever had to attend
a funeral? They’re kind of a
bummer. Now couple that with
having a giant, spiky mohawk. The
hair actually does a good job of
lightening the mood. A rare win for
the mohawk. You would think the
mohawk would lighten the mood
at the wake, too, right? Alas, it does
not.
A life with a giant, spiky mohawk is
a lonely one because my mohawk
makes me a terrible lover. At worst
I impale my counterpart with my
mohawk spikes. At best they are
into that. And the ones that are
into it are not exactly the ones that
will help raise my kids.
One day, I came across an ad
for hair-correcting surgery on
individuals affected by Mohawk
Alopecia. My first thought was,
“Damn you Bing and your targeted
ads!” However, after three weeks
of intense radiation treatment, I
finally removed the bandages to see
that the unsuccessful treatment
had rotated my mohawk 90
degrees. I now have a giant, spiky,
ear-to-ear mohawk and worsened
depression.
I guess I can’t be too mad— it’s just
genetics after all. No matter what
my hair looks like, I can always
count on my family. My brother’s
permanent Hitler mustache
reminds me that things could’ve
been much worse.
JWS
Why I’m Not
Left-handed
Anymore ———
Being born left-handed really
sucks because right from the start,
you’re a freak. When I was born
the doctors saw me reach half-
heartedly for my umbilical cord
with my left hand and jotted down
an L in my birth notes for “loser.”
Over the last year, though, I’ve been
continually forced to use my right
hand out of necessity and it has
changed everything.
Last semester the desks were
positioned way too close together
in my Spanish class. Whenever I
wrote, the sharp movements of
my elbow would jab straight into
Fragile Fred, who sat on my left.
Each jab left a strange pulsing
bruise on his thin, weak arm. Poor
guy. So I switched to my right
hand for his sake. On my right
sat Fat Fred, who could really
absorb the hits, that sturdy
son-of-a-bitch. My handwriting
was illegible, but Fragile Fred
lived to see another day. One more
day, to be exact. A strong draft in
the philosophy building killed him.
This summer I was the world
record ice cream scooper for my
hometown. Business was terrible
until surveys found that customers
considered my right arm to be
staggeringly more attractive
than my left arm so I switched to
scooping with the right arm. Sales
soared. They called me “Scoop
Dogg” because I have large, floppy
dog-like ears and they misspelled
the word “dog.”
Then this fall I was the ace right
handed pitcher for my college’s
baseball team. I started as a left
hander but the guys called me
“Lefty Loosey” which I thought was
vaguely gay. So I switched to being
a right hander, now called “Righty
Tighty” which looking back was
vaguely gayer. But it didn’t matter.
I was throwing out 35 mph zingers
that really shook the batters up for
a second before the ball reached
the plate six seconds later and they
sent it soaring. Baseball will never
forget ‘ol Righty Tighty.
Last week I tried to give my buddy
a crisp high five with my left hand
and it went totally limp upon
impact. That’s when I realized
my left-handedness was gone for
good and I was finally free. If those
doctors could see me now they’d
cross out the L and mark down
an R. For “radiant.” That’s how I’m
feeling these days.
LNW
LIFESTYLES
8
9
Professional Merman —————--—
Richard’s daughter is turning
six and she wants a mermaid-
themed birthday. He calls up
the local Rent-A-Mermaid
place. “You need a Mermaid in
one week? At this time of the
year? Fat chance,” they say as
they laugh into the phone. He’s
left with only one option: me,
the Merman.
I arrive fifteen minutes late to
his daughter’s birthday party.
My merman tail prevents me
from walking normally, so four
of my attendants wheel my
shirtless body in on a cart. They
pour sand into a kiddy pool and
dump me in its center.
At first, the girls are afraid
of me. I look nothing like the
mermen they’ve seen in the
movies. Richard’s daughter
picks out a large stick and
pokes my beer belly. “Do all
Mermen, look like this?” she
asks me. I don’t respond. I’m
too busy eating her birthday
cake off a nearby table with my
bare hands.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Richard asks me. “I hungry,
señor,” I say in my best
imitation of Spanglish. He
looks at me confused as I spoke
perfect English over the phone.
My attendants fan me. “You no
say I eat, señor?”
Richard shakes his head,
bewildered. That’s how people
usually react when I play the
immigrant card. No one can say
no to a poor immigrant man
cosplaying as a sea creature.
As Richard pieces together
what’s left of his daughter’s
shitty little birthday
cake, I begin my
performance.
I lift myself up onto
my tail, letting my
green scales shimmer
in the sun. I contort
myself into different
positions and the party
circles around me, cheering
brainlessly.
“Feliz compleanous Katie!” I
say to Richard’s daughter. “It’s
Kassie,” she responds coldly,
“And you ate my cake.” How
ungrateful. Man, kids these
days are so spoiled. Her father
paid me $500 to gyrate in a
repurposed fish costume and
she’s worried about some
goddamned frosting? This
country really has gone to shit.
CLHC
The Bachelor Life ——-
Guys who have girlfriends are
honestly lame. All they can talk
about is kids and dogs and picnic
sunsets, whereas us bachelors
explore high-minded topics like
Afghani politics and the Fourier
socialism and the sexiest ladies
we have ever seen on the internet.
What I love most about not
having a girlfriend is I can order
pizza pretty much whenever I
want. Well, unless my mom
is visiting or one of my nine
roommates
doesn’t
want
pizza. Plus, no one’s always
nagging me for sex. “Hey, can we
have sex now? Okay. What about
now?” This is not a problem
for me whatsoever. If you can
believe it, I suffer from not having
enough sex.
Instead of a girlfriend, I have the
privilege of being surrounded
by men. Men are like girlfriends
except you can’t kiss them or ask
them to go to the movies. Which
brings me to another point: the
woman you date is in fact not
so different from a man. I’m not
calling you gay for being straight
per se, I’m just pointing out that
you have sex with someone who
shares 99.99% of their genome
with a dude. Pathetic.
Just know that while you’re at
home getting it on with some
half-male ‘hottie’, me and the
boys are back at the crib grinding
hour nine of the COD Blacks Ops
campaign. Oh I’m sorry—you’re
building a relationship that you
hope will be the cornerstone of a
lifetime of happiness? You should
listen to yourself. You sound
like a children’s commercial for
rainbows.
At the end of the day, I won’t say
my bachelor lifestyle is better.
I’m not here to moralize. I’m just
saying I know nine dudes with
girlfriends, and all of them have
killed themselves.
EPS
LIFESTYLES
Injury ——-
- Fred, your foot is facing the
opposite direction! I think you
broke your ankle!
- I’ve always had “two left feet.”
Who else would fall down all
those stairs? So clumsy, so
Fred.
- I can see your bone bulging
out! I’ll go get help!
- Chill out, man. If my ankle
was broken, would I be able to
do this? (juggles)
- I mean probably. There’s
blood, Fred! Blood!
- Now hold on a second, if my
ankle was broken, would I be
able to do this? (macarenas)
- In terms of ‘90s dances, that’s
one of the more ankle-friendly
ones. Here, let me get a look—
- AHH! Ahem, that scream
was me remembering that
racism exists, not you touching
my ankle.
- AHH! You reminding me
racism exists reminded me
sexism exists. Wait, why are
you crying?
- All this ankle talk reminds me
of how my dad used his ankles
to walk out on us last week.
- I mean, I would rather have
no father than an ankle-less
and apathetic one.
- But my dad’s carelessness is
what made him cool! That and
his unbroken ankles.
- I always thought your dad
was cool because of his hot
wife. Enough! I’m calling the
EMTs!
- If my ankle was broken,
would I be able to do this?
(stands up, falls down, screams
in pain)
- You see, Fred?! It’s broken for
pete’s sake! … Sorry, are you
okay?
- I guess sometime between
the macarena and missing
my dad, I broke my ankle. Get
help.
JWS
Summer ———-—————
My God, there’s nothing like
the summer after graduating
high school. ‘Course, it’s my
friends that just graduated, not
me. I graduated a long time
ago.
Don’t worry, it’s not weird.
A lot of people might find it
suspicious that I hang out
with high schoolers so much,
but first of all, I only hang out
with them during the summer
after they graduate high
school. That’s when they’re the
coolest. Second of all, me and
the high schoolers have a give
and take relationship, so I’m
not taking advantage of them
at all. They bust my balls, and I
buy them liquor. They’ll be like,
“Hey dumbass! Buy us some
fucking liquor!” And then I’ll
buy them liquor. We’re just
tight like that.
One day in August, my buddies
told me they were gonna throw
an end-of-summer bash. They
said, “Hey dumbass! Buy us
some—” before I decided it was
high time I busted their balls
back. “C’mon guys, can you
please invite me to the party?
Please? I’m your oldest friend.”
True enough, none of them
had friends older than thirty-
six. After I busted their balls
some more, they finally invited
me to the party, “as long as you
bring booze and only stay for
thirty minutes.” Score!
I came up with a foolproof
plan to make sure they would
let me stay for more than
thirty minutes. I would bring
super glue with me so I could
secretly glue my feet to my
sandals and my sandals to the
floor. Who’s gonna kick out the
guy who’s glued to the floor? If
they somehow foiled
my plan, I could beg
and whine.
When I arrived, I
shouted, “Who’s
ready to get wasted?”
Words couldn’t describe how
ready they were to get wasted,
because they said nothing and
smashed the passenger side
window of my car to grab the
drinks. So cool. Once I got
inside, I learned two things.
First, it’s pretty easy to glue
yourself to the floor if everyone
is ignoring you. Second, gluing
yourself to the floor makes it
pretty difficult to have a good
time when everyone leaves to
go party in the backyard.
No one ever came back inside
to check on me, so I can only
assume they were having a
total blast out there. Can you
blame them? It was a perfect
August night. Or at least, I
imagine it was. I was too busy
trying to figure out how to
dance without moving my feet.
In the morning, someone
called paramedics to separate
me from the floor. It was neat
to see how far some of my old
friends from summers past
had come in their careers. But
it was even neater that I spent
ten hours at the party—way
more than the thirty minutes I
was supposed to get.
Best summer ever.
MSS
LIFESTYLES
LIFESTYLES
10
11
Name
Age
What did you see at Shenandoah National Park?
JACK
6
DEER
Ella
8
1 rabit and a deer and 12 birds !!!!!
Tiger Addams
67
Black bear, just a mile south of mile marker 19 on the southbound
trail. Not my first. Flip back through the Junior Rangers archives,
and you’ll see dozens of my tales. This one was big and burly and
protecting two cubs. Look at J.R.S. 1977, entry #303, and you’ll
see I was capable of wrestling a similar specimen to death in my
prime. Barbara would have loved to wrestle this one. I couldn’t do
it for her, but she would have wanted me to try. Barb always told
us to be strong. That’s how you wrestle bears—by being strong.
Junior Rangers, none of you are old enough to have had the
pleasure of meeting Barbara. Let me tell you, she was an amazing
woman, and an even better bear wrestler. Back when we were just
two Junior Rangers fooling around, we never realized we were
having the time of our life. I first saw the name ‘Barbara’ in the
Junior Rangers Sightings when I was seventeen…what a name!
She had seen a brown bear cub and kidnapped it from a den. And
how I wanted to impress her. So I would go out on the trail, wres-
tle a bear of my own, and log it. One time we both tried to wrestle
the same bear, and well, one thing led to another. The bear left our
wrestling match. The next day I proposed.
We settled down just west of the park, and built a little cabin. We
had forty-seven bear head mantelpieces over the fireplace. One
day the cabin burned down, and the insurance company had to
find forty-seven new bear heads. That took twenty years.
Among the proudest mantel heads was a fierce, coal-black mother
bear. The bear I saw today looked just like that. She had a burnt
streak along her left shoulder, indicative of her visiting a camp-
ground recently. This means the bear from today might have ra-
bies, and that Campgrounds 19 should be evacuated. But anyway,
I’m rambling. Back to Barbara.
Junior Rangers, you have your whole life ahead of you. Find a
special someone who inspires you to explore and grow. And when
you find them, put a ring on that finger because before you know
it a bear might chomp it off! Ha ha. We always used to say that.
Then it happened one day and the insurance company gave me a
lifetime supply of wedding rings.
Ha ha! We always used to say that because they only gave us one.
Because Barbara Renée Louchet was my one-and-only. Barb died
in 2002 from a wrestling-related mania.
MAX
5 1/2
BUNY
LKN
J
unior
R
anger
S
ightings
COURTROOM TRANSCRIPT
WITNESS: He came into Subway wearing
a ski mask and said, open quote, give me
all the cash in the register. Although I
don’t really care about my job, I –
WITNESS: Did I close that last
quote? I think I left it open. Court-
room reporter lady, can you go back and
see if I closed the quote? I can’t talk
to her? If I left it `open, everyone’s
going to think the burglar doesn’t care
about his craft. Let me end quote just
in case. End quote.
WITNESS: I think I just doubled down
on that last end quote. That implies
there was an open quote before my first
open quote, not to open a new quote, but
– Oh Jesus.
WITNESS: Your Honor, I know you
think it’s, open quote, not important to
get caught up in the quotes, end quote,
but I don’t want anyone getting confused
by the truth.
WITNESS: Anyways, he approaches
with a gun, and I say, open quote, this
is Subway’s hard-earned money, and I’m
willing to die for it. But first, I real-
ly need to use the bathroom, so please
excuse me for one moment… end quote.
DEFENDANT: Your Honor, I am guilty
and wish to testify truthfully. I walked
into Subway with a prop gun and deliv-
ered a meaningful monologue about how I
had no money to provide the next meal
for my children. The Sandwich Artist on
duty began air quoting at the begin-
ning and end of each sentence, but I
was talking too fast, and he got over-
whelmed. He opened the register and
locked himself in the bathroom.