Alums. It's difficult to imagine that they went to the same school that we go to now. You certainly wouldn't be able to tell from the way they run their lives that they got their start in scenic New Haven.

Take, for example, their attitude towards Yale today: all they do is watch football games and wander around talking about secret societies. Sure, they mail in a check now and then. But the cash never goes directly to help us students.

No, the checks the alumni send in are never intended for the progressive groups about which today's students really care. Never for the Gay and Lesbian Studies Center. Never for the Green Party Alderman Re-Election Committee. Never for the Students Against Nuclear Byproducts.

Sorrowfully, all Yale alumni seem to care about are the worst, most repressive aspects of a patriarchal, homophobic establishment that has long since gone the way of chastity belts and skirts. But the very worst, the very most reprehensible thing which our "dear old" alumni condone is, of course, football.

It's disgusting.

Think about it: 15 sweaty young men, their rock-hard bodies poured like wax into their butt-snugging uniforms--their muscles tightening up, contracting, gently, forcefully--ouch.

And then there's the cheerleaders--the disgusting human pyramids they form, piling on top of one another in their scanty uniforms, hands slipping and grasping around one another's pert young breasts-rah-rah, indeed!

But what do former Elis do when confronted with these atrocities? Cheer!

We, the naked editors of the Yale Daily, feel that if those hairy-chested alums and their buxom, matronly wives could be a little less uptight and a little more politically aware, the world would be a better, happier, and more pollution-free place.

When you come right down to it, alums are assholes.