It’s Harvard-Yale week again, and that means that our school spirit is running higher than Yale’s reparation debts. Hell, Peter even dyed his toilet bowl crimson, although that could have been because he ate a shattered beer bottle on a dare. But the spirit doesn’t stop there, and, as usual, we’ve been sucked into the classic rivalry.
The cliche move in these situations is “Oooh! I’m gonna go capture the other team’s mascot!” Lame! What we did was go and capture the mascots of all the high schools that Yalies attended. As we write this column, we’ve got 400 teens in bobcat costumes over in an Allston warehouse, and you can catch all of their barely legal furry action in a forthcoming adult feature.
Our ingenuity hasn’t ended there, though. For the past two weeks, we’ve been prank calling every number that we could find on Yale’s website. So let’s just say that their football team is in for a rude awakening when they find out that pants are in fact required for the Game this year. Looks like there are gonna be a few more balls being passed around than usual!
Our best prank, however, was on Yale’s President, Richard Levin:
D.A.: Hi, is Richard Levin there?
Prez: Yes, this is he.
D.A.: Mr. Levin, I’m sorry to inform you that at 3:22 this afternoon your son perished in a car accident.
Prez: Uhmm...no he didn’t. He’s sitting right here, next to me.
D.A.: G-g-g-gotcha, you fucking dickhead bitch!!!
We gave that old Yalie douche hell, but don’t worry, cause there’s no way those New Haven losers can even attempt to mess with our president’s head like that. That prank would never work on Derek C. Bok, since his only son is Al Capone, who died of syphilis in 1947. And besides, it wouldn’t have the same effect. You simply can’t say “fucking” over a Western Union telegraph line, which is the only long distance service that Bok knows how to operate.
Pranks aside, though, the rivalry is based on our undeniable cognitive superiority. Sure, their SAT scores might be on par with ours, but that’s before you adjust for race. And sure, their graduates go on to all of the best law schools and investment banks. But what you won’t find in the admissions brochures is that lots of their graduates also go on to prison, mainly for being perverts. That fancy diploma won’t get them far there, but those “oral techniques” they picked up at a cappella retreats can be pretty valuable in the showers. Makes sense. Who wouldn’t expect a little extra sauciness from a vocal percussionist?
To any of you who think we’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion: that’s bulltitty. Yale is the worst college ever. It’s worse than most community colleges, including Amish ones. Imagine a whole campus of Amish, and then imagine sneaking onto it and knocking over all of the newly erected barns. That’s what it’s gonna feel like when we knock over Yale’s quarterback and burn his pant-less scrotum with our boiling hot wisdom butter.
