The new face of FM gossip: stinging rumor, swollen innuendo.
THE GAME DRINKING GAME!
It’s time for Gadfly’s 322nd Annual Harvard-Yale Drinking Game! Okay, sure, with the Boston Police Department overseeing this year’s tailgate, you’re more likely to get a shot in the eye than a shot to drink. But one thing’s certain—there’s no way in hell we’re watching Ivy League football sober, no matter what the administration may say.
Auto response from BenedictHGross71: “In my undergraduate years we certainly opposed the administration on many issues. But no one fought to preserve the right to get dangerously drunk.”
Gadfly: Right, back in ’71, you guys were fighting to preserve the right to get dangerously high.
In that spirit, grab your flasks, fill up your Nalgenes and tap those kegs. Game on!
—Drunk freshman bares breasts. Take a shot.
—Drunk alum bares penis. Take two shots.
—Kid from Yale asks your SAT scores. Drink a shot (1600 proof).
—Eli whines about lame tailgate. Throw a pancake at him.
—Overenthused HoCo member hugs you without irony. Go with it.
—Boston cop starts clubbing you. Chug a Sam Adams.
—Matt Mahan propositions you. Do not drink.
—Tailgate with Al Gore ’05. Take a shot.
—Tailgate with Al Gore ’69. Take two shots, then recount them.
—“Fake ID” is actually local library card. Encourage bouncer to reeeeelax, man.
—Harvard defeats Yale, clinching Ivy title. You’re still not getting laid.
—“Undisclosed” liquor distributor turns out to be O’Douls. Hop a train to New Haven.
—Michael M. Grynbaum and Zachary M. Seward
FIRE OF MY LOINS
A birdie tells us two female first-years found themselves in the middle of a Bret Easton Ellis novel at 7 Story Street last weekend. The literary lionesses were getting freaky on the dance floor when Signet President Raja G. Haddad ’05 decided to get in on the action like Humbert Humbert at an Aaron Carter concert. Haddad’s over-enthusiastic pelvic thrusts and occasional biting prompted onlookers to wince. Come on Raja: don’t you know the pen is mightier than the, uh, sword?
—-MMG and ZMS
WELLESLEY WOMEN FOR W HEART GADFLY
Rae Adams, president of the Wellesley College Republicans, objected to our Nov. 4 account of their field trip to Toscanini’s and wrote in with this critique:
Exemplifying that Dems continue to struggle with real numbers, the Gadfly got it wrong. *Ten* Wellesley Women for W polo-clad Bush belles, (who cover tuition via jobs and financial aid), ordered Toscanini’s unique and scrumptious Hot Vanillas—not the “five or six” misreported. And regarding our hasty departure, we exited not in fear of snide remarks from pampered Hahvahdians who live in the lap of luxury in Cambridge. Instead, we were bound to our “Huggy Buggy” schedule. Following many, long days of campaigning in places near and far for America’s undeniably, decisive Republican victors, we had to return to Wellesley and our studies that will eventually produce an array of well-heeled, well-coiffed, and scholarly PhDs, lawyers, business leaders, economists, legislators, scientists, philanthropists, wives, mothers, and others who know to do more than sit in coffee shops on a Sunday evening and critique makeup.
Gadfly regrets the error—almost as much as we’re going to regret the next four years.
—MMG and ZMS
CLUBBED
Late Sunday night—or, rather, early Monday morning—Gadfly was interrupted from her Irish lit reading by a high screeching sound. At first Gadfly thought she was being followed by the legendary banshee, as it sent a chill through her very marrow. Rushing downstairs to investigate, she realized it was merely the initiation rituals of the Sabliere society, an all-female social group started by several Crimson editors, among others, during the great “female social club” wave of the early millennium. Unfortunately, said society must bear the albatross of the greatest social deadweight this side of feminism: association with The Harvard Crimson. History is truly oppressive.
—Sarah M. Seltzer
Send your tips, frivolous gossip, and gratuitous rumors to fmgadfly@yahoo.com
