The Battalion. (College Station, Tex.) 1893-current, April 01, 1993, Image 11

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Thursday, April Fool's Day
The Buttalion
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WANTED: SANTA CLAUS alias Kris Kringle, St. Nick -
known for pedophilia, cultural insensitivity and weird
penchant for toys, deer and elves. HO! HO! HO!
The Buttalion Idiotorial Bored
Steve O'Brien, editor in briefs
Jason Loughman, masturbating editor Kyle Burnett, booze editor
Todd Stone, boneheaditor Dave Thomas, snooze editor
Stacy Feduda, ruler of the known world Don Norwood, AP wire editor
Susan Owen, short chick editor Darrin Hill, phallic editor
Elvis Aron Presley, king of rock and roll, patron saint, rock vocalist
The Buttalion
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Regulate Santa Claus
Old Saint Nick is dirty old man
He goes by a number of aliases: Fa
ther Christmas, Kris Kringle, St. Nick,
and most commonly Santa Claus.
But his real name is Lucas Rhodes.
He's a heroin addict, a dead-beat dad,
and a convicted child molester who is
out on parole. Although it seems an
unlikely story, “Santa" may not be who
beseems. Underneath that snowy
white beard, he's purring when little
Johnny sits upon his
knee.
We all remember our
first ride on Santa's lap.
But lurking beneath the
fluffy beard is a de
bauched soul without a
conscience or a license.
That's right. All you
need to be a Santa in
America is some prison-
issue black boots and a
beer belly.
In a country where
you need a license to
ran a trot-line, kids can
wriggle on Santa's mag
ic lap without his hav
ing need for permit of any kind. Presi
dent Clinton says it's time for a change,
yet he lacks a coherent policy by which
Americans can again feel safe to walk
through mini-malls of this fine land.
The myth of Old St. Nick tell of a
man who sneaks around your house in
the middle of the night, uninvited,
leaving “gifts" for your children. This
story gives credibility to perverse be
havior exhibited by unscrupulous San
tas.
Clinton must get the despicable San
tas off their merry thrones, out of the
shopping malls and into a licensing of
fice before they stick another candy
cane into unsuspecting little mouths.
But let us not stop there. Next time
you walk through the Winter Wonder
land that is a shopping center in De
cember, look at the face of Santa. Do
you see the diversity of nationalities
that make up this nation? No. Do you
see the sharp minds of both sexes? No.
Almost every Santa in these United
States is a white male.
It's time for the Department of La
bor to step in. Where has the Equal
Employment Commis
sion been hiding its
head? In times when
more and more people
are growing sensitive to
knowledge that all are
created equal, the lone
profession of Santa
Claus-ing has been left to
white men. We need a
system where we can
pick Santas not based on
their sex and gender, but
on their knowledge of
gift-giving, reindeer,
elves, and the North Pole.
More Africans. More Na
tive Americans. More
Middle Easterners. More Asians. And
definitely more women.
Furthermore, someone needs to in
vestigate why their are no Jewish or Is
lamic Santas. Do those who hire these
masked marauders think a non-Christ
ian cannot be as skilled at gift-giving as
a Christian? Does a non-Christian Kris
Kringle lack the ability to “Ho! Ho!
Ho!" right along with the Christian
Kris? This lack of diversity is truly a
travesty of a nation that claims to be so
equal, especially in the holiday season.
In these times of change, we need
reform. And, in viewing the blatant
discrimination in the merriest of ca
reers, something must be done.
We need Santa reform, dammit.
Elvis seen at Bonfire,
a hunka burnin' love
Every year I get more and more dis
appointed with the way our esteemed
University handles the "Bonfire Situa
tion."
With each coming fall, hundreds of
doomed trees find their way to Ag-
gieland to be placed in one of the great
est phallic monuments with the antici
pation of a glorious ritual blaze to en
sure the spirit of victory against t.u.
Yet that is where the glory ends.
When will the fools in charge realize
that such a tradition needs — nay, de
mands a climax of ultimate propor
tions.
Instead of cautioning Aggies about
the evils of drinking and rowdiness,
they should be encouraging a total, un
bridled, orgasmic release. Let us drink.
Let us dance. Let us run naked before
the raw power of bonfire.
Return bonfire to its pagan heritage.
Return the glory to this tradition.
John M. Scroggs
Class of '93 - 4 - 5
Suspicious minds in
bathroom with Elvis
The secret of the campus is more un
told than that of The Crying Game.
It's scourge more awful than the lack
of multicultural Santas.
Stacy Feducia is a man.
Last Thursday night, 1 sat studying
on the library's fourth floor. As the
clock struck 11, nature called and I re
treated to the men s room. As I w alked
to the wall of urinals, I saw Ms. Fedu
cia with her skirt hiked up around her
Elvis sighted on Opin-yawn page
College: They call it a trap, and we can't walk out!
T he great communicator, Ronald
Reagan, almost once said, "If
breasts were fish, I would've
stayed in school." But, he didn't, and
that's where it all begins.
What is school? Is it fish? Could be.
Tm not talking about freshmen, either.
As a matter of fact, what is the rele
vance of that nickname? Do we all en
ter college with scales, fins and sick,
filmy, bulbous eyes? Of course not.
That happens about our junior year.
And what's the deal with names like
Piss Head, Band Queer and Corps
Turd? Oh, stop my quivering loins.
When Shakespeare said a rose by
any other name would smell as sweet,
he hadn't considered the full range of
possibilities. Buying someone a dozen
long stem snodspurts, for example, would not be a big Valen
tine's Day hit.
Another great communicator, Ross Perot, might have said,
"Here's how it is. Elvis — he of hound dog or bulldog fame
— took my wife's Caboodles makeup kit along with a pair of
her best support hose, made himself up like my daughter,
crashed her wedding and tried to marry my son-in-law before
someone noticed the sideburns. Now, that's just sad. Sad."
So, is school about Elvis? Could be. Look at all the king
has to offer. Everything we really need to know about life, we
can learn from any of Elvis' greatest hits volumes. I personal
ly recommend "Elvis Presley — Our Memories of Elvis, Vol
ume 2" and "Elvis — A Canadian Tribute."
Take these gems for example. . .
"I Got a Peelin' in My Body" — This is a song about how to
deal with the ill-effects of consuming too much cheese.
"Green Green Grass of Home" — This song was created
specifically for those who have trouble with color identifica
tion.
For those interested, I suggest listening to the lesser-known
"Red Red Bloodstains on the Sidewalks of Home" (also a pop
ular beer drinking song for those who find themselves in the
midst of government housing).
And finally, "That's What You Get for Leavin' Me" — After
listening to this song, there can be no mistaking its relevance
to the current Clinton Administration. Take these lyrics for
example: "Everything we have is gone, gone, gone. / Don't
you see. That's what you get for lovin' me. / Now don't you
start cryin' again. / You should have known how things
would end."
A lesser-known German communicator, appearing on a
special edition of Dieter's 'Sprockets/ unwittingly described
the relationship between University administration and stu
dents when asked to detail his ideal date: "I push you down.
I make you drink antifreeze until you puke. I pee on you
screaming, 'House on fire! House on fire!' Then, you wake up
in the morning with a size seven poop-shoot."
So, is school about dating? Could be. We each have our
own horrifying stories of interludes with the opposite sex.
But, the dating nightmare can be partially improved by using
the appropriate screening techniques for identifying satanic
pick-up lines. For your benefit, we'll review a few of the most
commonly used lines:
* "Are you free around midnight during Summer Solstice?
* "Are you a virgin?"
* "Do you have an aversion to naked men with large, shiny
daggers dancing in circles around your chained body?"
* "You know, I think the Satanic Bible is highly underrated
as a work of classical literature. Don't you?"
* "I'm particularly fond of hooved animals. Would you
know of any quaint little out-of-the-way goat farms in the
area?"
* And finally, the classic, "Hi, Tm Satan. You can call me
Bubba." Watch out for this one. It's particularly common at
the Chicken.
While these pick-up lines may seem quite obvious, more
than a few unfortunate souls have fallen victim to a smooth
talking devil. Take for instance, Paulina Poritzkova and Ric
Ocasek or Madonna and any one of her emasculated con
quests.
Maybe school is about Madonna. Could be. After all, she
is very fond of fish. In fact, it's been rumored that fish were
involved when she spent that night with Elvis and Ross Per
ot's son-in-law in a seedy Tucson motel room right next to Bet
ty Lou Thelma Liz's Red Neck Mother All-You-Can-Eat Cafe.
So, just what is college? Some say it's reality. Some say it's
dancing naked on the fourth floor of Evans library screaming
passages of Dostoyevsky's "Crime and Punishment." I say
it's neither.
Franny Glass may have come closest to the truth when she
said, "I got the idea in my head — and I could not get it out —
that college was just one more dopey, inane place in the world
dedicated to piling up treasure on earth ...
While that may be true, at least it's a better joint than Betty
Lou Thelma Liz's Red Neck Mother All-You-Can-Eat Cafe.
And that's something we can all be thankful for.
Clay is a brazen hussy and saucy tart.
TONI
GARRARD
CLAY
Bonehead
waist standing naxt to a urinal, peeing.
This cross-dressing behavior should
not be tolerated. All the queer cross
dresser types in the world should be
sent to storm that damn Waco com
pound and kill that crazy sonofabitch.
Sir Fatty
Class of '00
Love them tender,
Elvis slams writers
Being the only sane person around, I
have taken it upon myself to slam all
you non-ultraconservatives on the
opinion page. First of all let me say do
ing this hurts me more than it hurts
you. I am doing this strictly out of love
and concern for you and your welfare.
Although I hate all your stupid
columns, I still like you. So don't be of
fended, I am a friend. After all we
don't have to agree on everything in
order to get along, right? I've often
wondered what happens, though,
when you can't agree on anything.
Hmm... So maybe I'm not your
friend. And maybe 1 hate all of ^btir
guts -- and, and maybe I think all your
feet stink.
(This is the part where, with all the
education A&M has provided me and
all 23 years of maturity behind me, I
proceed to stick out my tongue.)
To change yourselves in order to be
as PERFECT as I am, I recommend sev
eral things.
1. All the guys should shave their
heads and wear robes. Joining a
monastery is an option for everyone
except Matt Dickerson. Sorry Matt you
can't. You're married, remember?
2. All the females can remain as
they are, that is as gorgeous and beau
tiful as God intended. Remember to
keep writing touchy-feely columns ex
hibiting the grace and compassion only
a female can have for the human race.
As for Stacy Feducia, I'll address her
columns individually.
Robert Vasquez, have you consid
ered counseling? Honestly, you write
about "lobsters crying out." Oh, and I
heard about you shedding a few tears
at Red Lobster just the other day. Yes,
you claim to be a chauvinistic pig but
we all know you are the ideal sensitive
man of the 90s.
Concerning Stacy and her columns:
Thank yot^so much for helping us un
derstand the human body more. You
continually help readers go past soci
ety's social taboos, explore new worlds.
new galaxies, new civilizations, and
boldly go where no man has gone be
fore- space. Yeah, yeah, space, space,
just lots of empty space. I won't bring
up the famous colon columns right
now.
They say honesty is the best policy. I
hope all of you think so after I
slammed you. 1 just needed to express
myself. Understand? I hope you'll for
give me and forget about it. I hope all
the 40,000 readers do too. Ha ha ha.
Janet Holder
Class of'92
Editor's Note: Holder is the president of
the Alternative Sex Club. She goes by the
alias, Janet "Hold me down" Holder.
Ecfitonots reflect the infinite wisdom of Stacy Feducia
and her immaculateiy intelligent Opinion Page staff.
We take no responsfcility for boneheads who write into
the Battalion complaining about Bonfire, homosexuals,
dborfion. Repub&cans and Democrats, religion, howdy,
MSC grass the Corps, non-regs, Greeks,
multicultufafem. od nauseum because they have
nothing better to do and. m fact, have no Ives.
We believe that these rdividuals were paid by David
Koresh to persecute those of us who are their
intellectual superiors and that they exist solely to make
Stacy's tfe hell by causing her irritable bowel
syndrome to act up.
Chieftains who habitually rant and rave are ineffective
leaders Huns who periodicaSy complain are just
being Huns - it is their wav of ridding themselves of
momentary frustration. - Attib the Hun.
Elvis lives inside of my butt. - Stacy Feducia, ruler of
the known world.