The Morris NorthStar once again demonstrates its nonexistent value

Nothing ever changes. The NorthStar, the stupidly conservative campus newspaper, is back. Well, one thing changed: now the editor comes to my office and personally hands me a copy. Yay. I am so special.

So I could at least take a look at it. I opened it to the first article, Why I Love Feminism, and skimmed the first page.

On one hand, I held the firm belief that feminism, hoorah, is about as important as condoms are for Donald Trump. But on the other, this girl is feeling my vibe and I don’t want to mess that up. As a young, overly-serious freshman, I unfortunately would tell the truth, albeit in a gentle way (the worst way if you are trying to score). “Well, I think women should be treated equally, not necessarily granted equal results,” [which is, actually, what feminism is all about, so I don’t know why he would think this uncontroversial statement is a moodkiller] I would say, as my chances of parking the beef bus in tuna town went to donut.[Charming.]

Fellas, you need to learn now from the mistakes I made as a freshman. Remember that feminism, hoorah, is a tool; it can be used for good, not just bad. While often times feminism, hoorah, is used to perpetuate negative gender stereotypes of men as pigs and sex-hungry animals [wait for it…] (one of many examples), you need to realize that it can also be used to your advantage to hook up with the (few attractive) feminists for the purpose of getting your banana peeled. [I think it’s obvious that the negative stereotype isn’t coming from feminists, but is being continually reaffirmed by anti-feminst men themselves]

Glancing ahead, I saw that the primary purpose of the article was to squeeze yet another tacky euphemism for sex in every paragraph, so I did another thing that never changes: I crumpled it up and threw it in the recycling, where it belongs.


  1. chigau (違う) says

    They may be providing some interesting sidelights for the coming semester.
    Be sure to have plenty of formaldehyde on hand.

  2. Richard Smith says

    …feminism, hoorah…feminism, hoorah…feminism, hoorah…

    Gee, I wonder if this is some sort of coy play on “pbuh”?


  3. carlie says

    I crumpled it up and threw it in the recycling, where it belongs.

    But did you leave behind a faint whiff of formaldehyde?*

    It’s funny how some people will write whole newspaper articles that demean and objectify a huge swath of humanity as if they forget that those people are entirely able to read said newspaper article that has their name attached to it. I’m sure this guy will have no trouble getting dates now after all of those comparisons of women to food, no sir.

    *explanation for newer readers: a former editor of this newspaper formally (to the police) accused PZ of throwing away many copies of the paper because he’s a bio teacher and the editor said the “crime scene” smelled of formaldehyde

  4. slithey tove (twas brillig (stevem)) says

    is it satire? or satire is what they claim? or do they cling to TRUTH. whether you like it or not, TRUTH?
    I suppose the latter.

  5. says

    What I remember of my university’s alternative (ie libertarian) newspaper was that it at least had better writing than the official newspaper–probably because the alternative news appeared quarterly while the official news appeared daily. Looks like The Northstar doesn’t have that advantage?

  6. oualawouzou says

    @Saad, #5

    I guess to some… “poets” any mention of anything phallic is a genius metaphor, regardless of if it makes sense or not.

    Getting your banana peeled.
    Grilling your hot-dog.
    Taping your hockey stick.
    Going all Gene Kelly on your lamp post.
    Outfitting your skyscraper with a new state-of-the-art fire sprinkler system.

    (though that last one sounds more like an STD…)

  7. says

    I think “getting your banana peeled” is a reference to having your penis flayed. I have scalpels and razor blades in my lab if anyone wants to borrow them.

    Also, alcohol — sterilize everything before beginning the procedure. Very important!

  8. Richard Smith says

    @rietpluim (#8):

    Getting the banana peeled sounds rather painful

    Could be worse. “Honey, I’m gonna skin your wiener!”

  9. says

    I crumpled it up and threw it in the recycling, where it belongs.

    Uh oh. Expect someone with punctuation in their name to start contacting everyone at your school over this egregious affront to freeze peach.

  10. mamba says

    #5, if you think of an UNcircumcised penis, it’ll make more sense.

    The skin pulls back, “peeling” the ‘banana’ to expose the head…which is when magic starts to happen. But especially if it’s soft at first, you don’t even see the head unless it’s peeled back first

    if it’s already hard by the time it comes out, the skin’s already pulled back.

    Still a dumb juvenile expression, but that’s the logic of it. Help any?

  11. Azkyroth, B*Cos[F(u)]==Y says

    I saw that the primary purpose of the article was to squeeze yet another tacky euphemism for sex in every paragraph, so I did another thing that never changes: I crumpled it up and threw it in the recycling

    Is that what we’re calling it now? ;)

  12. says

    While often times feminism, hoorah, is used to perpetuate negative gender stereotypes of men as pigs and sex-hungry animals

    And I’ll show them by writing an entire article about how to manipulate women into having sex with me, using so many bad analogies that it makes people wonder if it ever worked.

  13. Jack-booted Verbalist says

    So this writer knows or assumes there are no conservative feminist men or women on campus, I guess.
    I need to go wash my eyes out.

  14. Jack-booted Verbalist says

    Or just conservatives who don’t hate women.
    I’m confused. Don’t they want their readership to go up?

  15. wzrd1 says

    @Giliell, professional cynic -Ilk-, what an interesting an opposite metaphor for what I’ve done many times over the decades at the NCO club.
    I shot myself down, intentionally, albeit humorously, while offering to simply sit with a young woman who just wanted to be left alone to enjoy a drink.
    We got along great, we had our drinks and went to our mutual homes.

    In that young woman, all that I could see was one of my daughters.
    Just sitting there, with stripes up one collar and down the other made the junior enlisted grave pause to even consider looking our way.
    But worse, 2/3 of the time, I was mentally composing NCOER’s, Non-Commissioned Officer Efficiency Reports, all too frequently, of men within that club.
    Yeah, the boor fared poorly on that report, which went toward his chances of promotion.

    Young men: Creatures given to having two heads, alas, with only enough blood to operate one at a time.
    Having been one, I know altogether too well what that entails, to some embarrassing levels that I’ve only related to my wife of near 35 years and you need not apply.
    Today, believe it or not, I do have some level of wisdom. First, I’m not a honeybee, trying to get a bit more honey on his stinger, as honeybees are female and honey comes from their GI tract via vomiting.
    Second, most women go to a bar to have a few drinks and go home. Helen Keller could tell the few that want something else and they’re likely substance abusers.
    Finally, no means fucking no. Full stop, it’s over.
    For her, whoever you just met, for me and my wife. NO means no.
    In our case, considering how many injuries I’ve had, yeah, it’s extremely well understood, but counter intuitive from our youth.

    As for the “blue balls” brigade, screw you, the only time they’re blue is when you’re suffocating and they turn blue last or when you’re *seriously* cold and we can’t find the damned things.
    Look, we’re guy to guy, now. Don’t try to BS someone who remembers your age, it ain’t gonna play. At all.
    Want to play blue balls, I’ll happily escort you to the antarctic, we’ll both go streaking in mid-winter.
    Once the pallor is gone, they’ll be blue.
    Ya ain’t getting any when expecting to? Welcome to life, asshole.
    My wife and I were “in the mood” when something interrupted, be it a kid crying, a pain, one of my many injuries or someone knocking on the door. Get over yourself.
    The universe doesn’t revolve around you.
    It revolves around me. During nightmares.

    But, a life lesson, wanna “do her”? Cool, no problem, if she’s willing.
    Want to make it work for, well, for me and my parents, life?
    Talk to her, openly, fully openly, listen as well, it’s fully bidirectional communications.
    Early in my military career, I had an injury to my lumbar spine. The result, an, erm, shortcoming.
    Everything works as advertised. Things don’t quite work as long as they should and my CNS can’t control it, it’s a central nervous system injury.
    We’re dealing with my wife’s different, but same area injuries now.
    Our communications kept us together for over 30 years since that injury. We’ll remain together, until at least, one abandons us in death.
    Yes, that’s serious, child.
    You’re young, you don’t comprehend going through life with a true partner or even going through life with a partner that that gets injured.
    You think that you’re immortal.
    Yeah, been there, done that.
    Out of my very first team, I’m the only one alive.
    Compared to me, you’re less immortal than our first dog, an aged creature of 16+ years.
    But, to stay together for any amount of time requires domestic tranquility. See some founding documents on this nation for reference on that.
    An unstable relationship won’t stand.
    A disagreeing, but stable relationship very well may stand, we saw plenty of those. They managed to find a balance.
    For, balance is the key in life.
    I’m infamous for my ethanol intake, around four liters per week or so. It’s balanced, as I do have a family life to maintain and a professional life to maintain. So, overdose is on end hours of a “weekend” or similar.
    Or I do what I’ve long done, do without.

    For an example of extremities, so that you might learn something.
    Saturday night, I reported to work for midnight shift, albeit time zone delayed by an hour. So, 10:45, I logged in.
    My wife commanded my attention all day Sunday, until around 8:00 PM.
    It wasn’t worth trying to sleep that long, I’ve done longer operationally in the military, annoying, but doable.
    Sunday afternoon, I went abed.
    To be awakened by screams of alarm A 16 ounce milk glass was dropped, not shattered, but the milk was headed for reference works.
    I sprang to my toes, collapsed, as I failed to recognize, toes aren’t entire feet, I was half asleep and… TIMBER…
    I managed to literally crawl to a doorway, support myself and figure out what was going on.
    Did one hell of a dance step to both of my canes.
    Then, supported my wife’s efforts to protect valuable reference works.
    Once the offered, collected and discarded towels were fully collected, I went back abed.

  16. robro says

    …now the editor comes to my office and personally hands me a copy…

    But did you leave behind a faint whiff of formaldehyde?

    Perhaps he’s even become addicted to the faint whiff of formaldehyde.

  17. Akira MacKenzie says

    When I wrote for my college right-wing paper, this was the sort of two-faced crap that we thought was clever and edgey. Then we had the nerve to act indignant and wounded when we were called out on our racist and sexist bullshit.

    Sigh…It’s always depressing to be reminded what an asshole one was in their youth.

  18. ck, the Irate Lump says

    Thank goodness we have conservative writers to display what “man hating” is really about. Feminist writers seem to often forget they’re supposed to hate and despise all men, but conservative writers never fail to make it clear that men are uncontrollable beasts incapable of rational thought.

  19. John Morales says

    I don’t understand the “getting your banana peeled” one.

    I think “getting your banana peeled” is a reference to having your penis flayed.

    Those of us whose foreskins were not flayed understand the metaphor.

  20. blf says

    I moran for the trees killed and ink wasted to print that cootie hate.

    (That “moran” was originally an offering to Tpyos, but it seems to rather work and so has been kept…)

  21. Intaglio says

    blf @29 Moran is a frequently used descriptive of right wingers who make placards without checking their spelling. A simple search for “Get a brain morans” will find the image. You may have discovered a secondary use: “Moran – those who waste wood pulp without understanding humour, logic, or spelling”

    I once did an amateurish image comparing known feminists with a known anti-feminist, will try posting it

  22. blf says

    Intaglio@30, Yes, the “Get a brain morans” is known to me, and is why I decided to let the Typos offering stand — it seemed appropriate, as you also suggested. Many thanks for adding the explaination of the term for those who might not know! (And I like your proposed second definition.)

    I also got a chuckle out of your image, but admit I had to double-check both the individual and the individual’s appearance.

  23. Saad says

    John Morales, #27

    Those of us whose foreskins were not flayed understand the metaphor.

    Dang it. Yet another downside.