Please, Write Your Own Damn Column

Thanks to a friend with a clever CS50 project, we now have a computer program that will produce our column for the rest of the year. By allowing readers to choose their own jokes, we hope to finally have at least a few readers who think we’re funny. So grab your highlighter and get ready to choose your own adventure!



Everyone knows that section is like (a rainy day/a bridge to Terabithia/a highway to Terabithia/a Nutri-Grain bar)—that is, really (easy/fiscally responsible/jumbo/not enough data to decide).



Acing section requires preparing far ahead of time—to begin, show up early posing as your TF by wearing (a cardigan/a beret/a pinwheel hat/hipster glasses/a corduroy jacket/a cloak of invisibility/a cardigan made of berets). Start by asking if anyone has (“engaged with the text”/“at least watched the movie”/“been with an Asian”/”read the latest Marmaduke”/“read the latest Marmaduke as a Marxist critique of suburban angst”).



When the real TF does show up, make sure you size him up quickly, and remark, (“Well, well, well…if it isn’t ol’ Hubert Humphrey”/“You can’t spell ‘grad student’ without ‘RAD student’!” [INSERT HIGH FIVE]/“You are surprisingly attractive. I will politely yield”.)



If the TF angrily demands you sit down, remark, “TF equals teaching fellow? More like (tip-top friend/total fellator/titanic fellator/toothless fellator/tempestuous frigate/depressed and purposeless man in his early 30s).”



Your TF will undoubtedly ask you to write your name on a 3x5 index card, but spice it up by (writing your name backwards and then directing him to a mirror/drawing a treasure map of the campus revealing the location where you hid the REAL 3x5 index card/writing the number of girls you’ve been with [for frequent readers of this column please use scientific notation]/folding the paper into an origami goose and then claiming that it is part of your “culture”).



Now, it is time to introduce yourself. Everyone knows that first impressions count—so make a big one. If your TF asks for an interesting fact about you, claim to have (made out with Lady GaGa/been a contestant on Global Guts/gone to second base with Golda Meir/seen Tom Selleck in an airplane museum/lost your virginity to Lil’ Bow Wow…’s cousin).



But you can’t rest on your laurels for long. Before you know it, you are going to have to make a cogent argument, like (Jurassic Park I is better than Jurassic Park III/snakes are friends/they’re not upperclass “houses”…they’re upperclass “homes”/being quadded is not punishment for sins in a past life/it’s not gay if you’re drunk).



A lot of section is just about killing time. Everyone hates those awkward silences when TFs look for answers and no one wants to raise their hand. After ten seconds of silence, you should (start a slow clap/judge a book by its cover—with special reference to color and texture/live like you were dyin’/pretend the section is a crashing plane; choose whom you would rescue and explain why, without explaining the scenario/give the signal for Mariachi Veritas to take it away!).



But not every section is a match made in heaven. Conflicts between students in section are more common than we would like to admit. When you have selected your section arch-nemesis, proceed to (picture them naked and leave illustrated notes criticizing their physique/learn a mellifluous ocarina dirge to play whenever they speak and then when they finish, exclaim, “As if!”/follow up on all their comments by saying, “Building off what this major league code-orange intergalactic dickswamp supreme just said…”).



But not all conflicts are between students—sometimes, students and TF just can’t seem to get along. If your TF is a real asshole like (Registrar Barry S. Kane), at least take solace in the fact that he has been on “To Catch a Predator” (once/twice/three times/was caught but not apprehended by yelling “Punk’d!” and looking enough like Ashton Kutcher to pull it off). Most importantly, compared to this column, section could never be as (steamy/creamy/dreamy/dickswamp).