Tag Archives: August 2014 Issue

BRAD (and Julie’s) LIB

1. adjective _______________________________

2. body part ______________________________
3. other body part _______________________________
4. adjective _______________________________
5. past tense verb _______________________________
6. noun _______________________________
7. person’s name _______________________________
8. place _______________________________
9. noun _______________________________
10. adverb _______________________________
11. –ing verb _______________________________
12. noun _______________________________
13. verb _______________________________
14. same verb as #13 _______________________________
15. body part _______________________________
16. noun _______________________________
17. plural noun _______________________________
18. adverb _______________________________
19. noun _______________________________

There once lived a(n) __(1)__ girl who was __(2)__ over __(3)__ in love with a(n) __(4)__ boy. So the girl __(5)__ up a plan to win his __(6)__. She called __(7)__ to throw a party at __(8)__. At the party the __(9)__ was bumpin; everyone was __(10)__ dancing and __(11)__. Eventually, the girl worked up enough __(12)__ to __(13)__ the boy, but first she had to __(14)__ her best friend. This was a messy plan. In the moment, the boy hit his __(15)__ on a __(16)__ causing him to see __(17)__ around the girl’s face. From that moment on they were __(18)__ in __(19)__.

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Canada Invades Florida, Calls Americans Godless Whinny-sniffers by Nancy Raygun

When Canadian troops stepped onto the sandy beaches of Florida early Sunday morning, everyone’s fears became a reality.  In lieu of proper defenses, experts believe that Canada will overtake the entire state by the end of the week.  Many Americans have feared this kind of invasion for years now, claiming that former President Obama’s socialist policies would render the USA defenseless to such an attack.

According to Noam Chumpsky, former geologist-turned political agitator, this invasion was precipitated by President Obama’s 2013 budget plan which called for extreme cuts in defense in order to fund fully-inclusive universal healthcare. In a statement issued by Chumpsky on Sunday night, “Obama traded in our guns for health-insurance cards with his Obamacare scheme. When he drafted the budget—nay, probably ever since he seized the Presidential seat back in 2008—he was in cahoots with these thor-worshipping, snub-wubbling canucks.”

After the release of the 2013 budget, spearheaded by Obama and democrat majorities in both houses, most of the nation’s military dissolved. Weapons were sold to overseas parties in an effort to cut the national deficit while bankrolling the universal healthcare program. Most soldiers hired themselves out as mercenaries, many of whom made their way north of the border to Canada.

The Premiere of Canada, its Majesty Judith Buttler, the well-known feminist and war-mongerer has yet to publicly justify the invasion.  In the past, Buttler has published books which ridiculously purport that gender is merely a social construction based on internalized cultural performances. But recently, in a document procured on Wikileaks, Buttler repeatedly refers to Americans as “whinny-sniffers who wouldn’t know a true God from a crab-snatching wonker-doodle…All Hail the Mighty Thor.” Many feel that Buttler is completely out of touch with reality, citing irreducible differences between men and women.

Floridians, however, fear for their nationality and temperate climate. Chumpsky speculates that Buttler plans on detaching Florida from the USA, “probably with like dynamite or something,” and then towing it up to Canada with a fleet of golden, mechanical fish.  He presented the following diagram, saying he just happened to StumbleUpon the secret Canadian plot when questioned on its authenticity.


(Picture of a detached Florida being towed by Goldfish crackers with licorice ropes.   The top of the picture has child-like handwriting that says TOP SECRET PLAN.)


United States President Neil “Fat Neil” Messmore remains hopeful that the national reserves will be able to stave off the Canadians even though they have little more than sticks and stones. In a nationally televised press-conference last night, Fat Neil addressed the American people, attempting to quell fears. “As we speak, the top military officials are trying to plan a battle of the bulge style counter-offensive,  but they have very little to work with.  That willy-cricking Obamarama really screwed the pooch for us.  For those of you brave Floridians valiantly fighting for your lives, I pray that you won’t have to endure the harsh Canadian winters that drive these spooly-hoopkin gibber-gabbers to the shrines of Thor, forever thirsty for human blood. Fight the good fight dear patriots.”

Still, the question looming in everyone’s mind is why? Why has Buttler, who has managed to maintain a strong defense-force alongside universal healthcare programs in Canada, decided to take Florida?  Chumpsky further speculates that Florida, where it currently lays, appears too flaccid and that moving the penisula up the coast will give Buttler “the porkin-dandy hardon she always wanted.” Others say that she is merely appeasing Thor’s taste for the blood of septuagenarian Jews and their migrant Cuban pool-boys.

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Jeff Foxworthy’s “You Might Be A Rapist” by Jeff Foxxxxworthy



If, while in a clear state of mind (i.e. you are able to walk balanced, construct logical sentences, can make choices independent of substances), you choose to have sex with someone in an unclear state of mind (i.e. is not able to walk balanced, cannot construct logical sentences, has become sick from substances, cannot make clear choices)………youuuuuuuuuu might be a rapist!

If, while in a clear state of mind, you have witnessed a friend or even a stranger take someone in an unclear state of mind alone into a room, dancing too close, fondling too heavily, and you did not advise them that said person may not at that time be able to make choices about their sex life………youuuuuuu might be a rape apologist!

If you think it is okay to have sex with a significant other while they are in an unclear state of mind, because they would presumably choose to have sex with you while they are in a clear state of mind…………….youuuuuuuu might be a rapist!

If you request a significant other or a romantic interest to have sex with you in order to show their affection, or persuade them that sex is the greatest way to show yours if they otherwise are unsure about engaging in a sexual relationship with you………youuuuuuu might be a perpetrator of sexual and mental abuse!

If you have ever uttered something along the lines of “she/he was asking for it from everyone at the party, I was just the one to give it to her/him”……..youuuuuuuuuu might be a rapist!

If you live with the mindset that the only way to have sex in college is by getting intoxicated at parties and finding someone else in an equal or more than intoxicated state…….youuuuuu might be perpetuating rape culture!

If you identify with internet articles such as Brobible.com’s “How to tell if a girl wants to fuck, just by what she’s wearing” or most of the sex advice on TotalFratMove.com……………..youuuuuuuu might be perpetuating rape culture!
If you find yourself deeply offended by any of the statements above…….youuuuuu might be a rapist/rape apologist/perpetuator of rape culture!

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The Opinions of Lauren Kellett by Lauren Kellett

If You Like The Monitor, I Think You’ll Probably Like:

(These first three get their own paragraphs because they are off-campus organizations and they are not listed on Truman’s website)

The Aquadome: The closest thing you’ll find to Heaven in Kirksville, MO. From 2011 until last Spring, the Aquadome was a registered non-profit, entirely volunteer-run arts music and community venue located at 121 N Main. A few bad storms and a real leaky roof later, the Aquadome is still all of those things minus the building (if you happen to be strolling through the Square, you should check out the carnage inside the building – from a safe 20 feet away). This Fall, the Aquadome will exist as a community event planning organization, still hosting all of the events it usually does, but will rotate venues. Some events you can expect from the Aquadome are, first and foremost, sick concerts from Midwest artists, along with monthly open mic nights, poetry slams, potlucks, comedy shows, improv, the occasional film-viewing and even a karaoke night or two. The Aquadome exists to provide space for those who don’t have space to do whatever it is that makes life in Kirksville a little bit better. Have an idea for an event or want to get involved? Email theaquadome@gmail.com.

Rural Felicity: A fledgling in Kirksville’s art scene, Rural Felicity is on its way to becoming a non-profit community radio station – no commercials, no music that you hear a dozen times a day on other stations, just music that Kirksville wants to hear. The main genres KRFR 106.3 FM will cover are blues, classical, folk, independent Midwest bands, and whatever else the community wants to hear. To tide you over until the station goes live on-air (coming soon!), RF will be hosting a variety of events throughout the year, which may include anything from square dances and potlucks to concerts and jam sessions. Visit the Downtown Café (an awesome diner on the Square) every Saturday night this year for “Live Music Saturdays” to enjoy performances by local artists and eat really good food.

Tom Thumb Art Festival: This isn’t until Spring, but you should start getting hyped about it now. Tom Thumb is an independent art festival started in the 90s by two students who thought the University’s juried art shows were bullshit. For 19 years now, a lot of people agreed. So, in the spring, everyone and anyone is invited to submit absolutely anything that you believe is art – past submissions have included incredible prints, a painted refrigerator door, a cardboard bookshelf full of handmade books and CD covers, beautiful photography and more. To make the show an even bigger event, local musicians and performance artists put on a show throughout the entire day of the festival (sometimes it’s two days, sometimes it’s just one). Tom Thumb has had musicians, bellydancers, tarot readers, a fairy wedding, a fun house maze, comedians, poets, a dude get strapped to a chair with freezing water poured over him – a myriad of cool stuff.
All Other Cool Things on Campus You Should Check Out: TruSlam, UpChuckles, TAG, Notes from the Underground, IPAC, Art Gallery, Student Activities Board, Theater, PRISM, Stargazers, Amnesty International, Women’s Resource Center, Print Club, Beta Omega Beta, Prim Roses, TLS, APO, Windfall, the sports teams that are actually fun to watch (softball and basketball), Illusionz Danz Team, Bike Co-op, Free pancakes from Momentum on Reading Day Eve.

If You Like The Monitor, I Think You Probably Won’t Like:

Truman State Confessions: There are a type of people that frequent that page that make it have a certain culture, so it isn’t representative of all Truman students. That page does not summarize the entire opinion of many people who go to Truman. I’d guess maybe the same 100 people post on there and enjoy getting “Facebook famous” by commenting. It’s really bad.

Students For Life: Pros: They give out free cupcakes and balloons on the Quad. Cons: They don’t support women’s rights.

The Phrase “TTS”: Stands for “Typical Truman Student.” Negatively stereotypes all of campus. Glorifies overworking yourself in school. Traits that TTS’s are said to have include being asocial, extremely dedicated to school at the exclusion of everything else, except avoiding schoolwork. Truman can be difficult, but the attitude that you should feel stressed and obsessed with schoolwork all the time is not a healthy response. College isn’t just about getting a degree, it’s about developing and discovering who you are as a person and “TTS” culture discourages people from participating in things outside of your degree.

My Thoughts Overall On Being Involved:

To freshman: Regardless of where your interests lie, you should really get involved with at least one organization at Truman or in Kirksville. I’ve made some of my best friends through the organizations I listed above, and I bet you could too. Finding like-minded people at college is crucial to your mental health, imo. Join something that you’re passionate about, where others share that passion. However, don’t join something simply to “make friends” — do some trial runs, join a bunch of stuff, drop out if you hate it. I participated in every media outlet at Truman my first two years here, and finally figured out that none of them were right for me, leading me to The Aquadome, the best organization I’ve ever been a part of. Don’t be afraid of quiting something if you don’t like it. This is the time to figure out what you really care about, and it’s okay if it has nothing to do with your major. Don’t just take classes — find a passion.

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Tinder by Alex Wennerberg

A cold blanket covered Chris’s body in a small corner of a large room. Gripping the warm rubber casing of his phone, he opened Tinder. The app presented a picture of a girl with long hair and high heels smiling in a college dorm common room, her hands around another girl, also smiling. Chris stared at the picture. He swiped it to the right side of the screen. Below it was a picture of a girl with shoulder-length brown hair alone in a room smiling underneath an Instagram filter. He swiped it to the left side of the screen. He swiped the next picture to the left side of the screen. He swiped the next picture to the right side of the screen, etc. He didn’t think any words.

At 12:42 PM Chris looked at the time on his phone and resolved with conviction that he would continue swiping pictures on Tinder until 1 PM. He quickly flicked images off the right side of the screen, holding the phone with two hands and alternating the index finger he used to swipe. Eventually he slowed down, focusing on the images, reading the profile descriptions and reacting. He started to feel an aversion which coalesced into the thought that all the profiles had an oppressive blandness to them – the characteristics of the girls in the photographs could be fully captured by objective, already completely-defined categories: A certain weight. Hair of a length and color. Likes soccer, likes swimming. Likes to hunt, Harry Potter, American Horror Story, Breaking Bad, John Green, partying, “down to earth” guys, “adventure.” Goes to Mizzou, goes to Wash U, UMSL, SLU, Truman State. Reinforced with each profile was the despotic sensation that all human beings are hopelessly dull, that all emotion is trite (“loves [family/Christ/my dog]”) and that his ability to feel anything other than alienation around anyone outside of a small group of people he already knew at his university and maybe five people he followed on Twitter, was impossible, and if he ever lost these people, e.g. through graduating university or Twitter gradually becoming obsolete, he would be more helplessly alone than he had ever been in his life. Chris went to the settings for the app and checked the box for seeing male profiles as well, then went back and swiped through the photos more quickly.

Chris dropped his phone to the left of his body and stared at nothing. He felt frustration at his inability to react with a sadness that was constructive or fulfilling. Instead it manifested itself as a kind of paralysis. He thought “I am lonely” with sarcastic intensity. He thought ambivalently about Emily, Sofie and Jason. He thought about thinking about something, thought about he was thinking about that thing, etc. until he felt confused and anxious and sweaty. He made sounds to himself, then opened Tinder again. Many of the messages he had received called him cute or hot. A few others directly or indirectly propositioned him for sex.

Most of the messages Chris received were variations on “hi” and “what’s up” from guys. He felt almost uncontrollable anger. He knew that, if he responded “Not much how about you?” the boys would respond with something equally banal. He felt uninvested in expending energy on people who seemed, to him, inhuman and dull. He made a joke to a girl who took a picture of herself in a mirror about how much he liked her shirt with “backwards letters,” which she didn’t get. A guy with brown hair and glasses asked him what he wrote, referring to how he mentioned that he “liked to write” in his profile and Chris responded sarcastically. Someone else spelled out his words fully, with standard capitalization: “Hello, how are you on this fine evening? : )” to which Chris mocked by responding in a similar tone.

Chris felt embarrassment that the things he had just thought and done were selfish and cruel, and, as if reading them from a novel about a dysfunctional main character, thought about them as the clear, easily-solvable problem that was the cause of the main character’s vague and uncontrollable angst. Chris felt that if he were to try and explain why the things he had just thought and done were selfish and cruel, his explanation would make the feeling he was describing sound like “somewhat annoyed.”

At 1:21 PM Chris rolled over in his bed, refreshed his twitter feed, got up and walked into his kitchen. He started boiling a pot of water while thinking the tune to Aphex Twin’s “Avril 14th.” Seven minutes later he grabbed the opened box of angel hair pasta and put a handful into the boiling water. Chris learned recently that angel hair pasta was not the same as spaghetti, which is what he meant to buy at Hy-Vee two weeks ago.

In Kids, there is a scene in the middle of the film in which a teenage girl who just discovered she carried HIV was in a taxi going home, crying, while the Taxi cab driver, older and with a European accent, noticing that she was distressed, reassuringly told her, after saying she was very pretty, that if she can’t figure out how to make herself happy, just don’t think. Forget about your thoughts, block it out. The girl with HIV smiled momentarily and started crying less, and the scene changed. Chris paused the film and cried after watching this scene and thought about it every day, usually multiple times each day, during finals week, month after he had seen it.

Bubbles of boiling water pushed their way through the pasta and burst through the surface, steaming Chris’s cheeks and impressing upon them a distant redness. He grabbed his roommate’s bright orange plastic spoon with a smiling face carved out of it. He held it in front of his head for a second, unfocused his eyes and matched the spoon’s expression.

Alex Wennerberg is a junior physics major. His twitter is @w3nnerberg.

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Don’t Fight Don’t Win Don’t Surrender by Marisa Gearin

I am driving home from a dentist’s appointment. No cavities!. I turn on the radio and hear the opening notes of Taylor Swift’s new song.

She has had another breakup. This is nothing out of the ordinary. But when she begins to sing, I realize something is wrong. Her voice is different. Low. A little like Morgan Freeman.

I listen to the whole song, waiting to see if the radio host will make a comment about the change in Taylor’s voice. He doesn’t.

I get home and turn on the news. They aren’t talking about Taylor Swift. I check the internet. Nothing there either. Confused and a little nervous, I decide to call my brother. He answers the phone by saying, “Hello.”

“Have you heard Taylor Swift’s new song?” I ask.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Go listen to it,” I tell him.

“Okay.” I can hear the song, muffled, from the other end.

“What do you think?”

“Sounds pretty much just like her others,” he says.

“What! No!” I shout. “It’s totally different!”

He pauses. “I’ll get you her new album for your birthday,” he says, and hangs up.

“That’s not what I meant,” I say, and throw the phone on the couch.

I know now what I must do. I must ask Taylor herself. So I buy a ticket—a front-row ticket—to her concert the next night. I sit and wait through the first three songs. Before the fourth, she makes a generic comment about how pleased she is to be in this city. Her voice is still eerily deep. I choose this moment to act. I clamber onto the stage.

“Taylor, I need to speak with you,” I say.

“Yes, alright,” she says, and gestures for me to follow her backstage. The fans have stopped cheering, confused.

“Taylor Swift, I think something strange has happened to you.”

She nods sagely, and we stop in front of her dressing-room door. “You’re right. But I’m afraid I can’t explain it to you,” she says sadly. “I have to throw you in this abyss.” She opens the dressing-room door and I see the bottomless pit.

“Okay,” I say.

She picks me up and heaves me over the edge.

I scream—one sustained note. I am not afraid. All is clear.

Marisa Gearin was born at 3:25 p.m. on Wednesday, April 5th, 1995 at Lawrence General Hospital. Weight: 8 lbs 2 oz. Length: 19 inches.

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Sonnet 18, by William Shakespeare A Parody, by Mary Smreker

Shall I compare thee to my uncle’s toupee?
Thou art less ugly and more bearable.
Rough winds, on occasion, blow it away
And truthfully it looks quite terrible.
Sometimes too hurriedly it is adorned,
And often it appears to be askew.
And every hair to hair that then is worn
Appears as though trimm’d by chimps in a zoo.
But thine own bearing is quite well maintained,
And if synthetic it does not showest.
Thou dost look normal and not wholly plain
When the light thou doth stand in is lowest.
So long as men go bald, or eyes can see,
I will despise toupees, but not hate thee.


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Wordsmith by Natalie Welch


You are a wordsmith
shaping sculptures with your tongue
Statuesque figures
With round radial symmetry
Phrases rolling off
Caressing with inertia–

but on days
when it just barely rains
you spit fire,
molten metal behind your teeth
forging iron-alloy statues
of Zeus, jagged livewire in hand
I shy from their edges.

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Mister Angst by franCES

Hello Mister Angst,
You’re midwest dreaming:
I know your soggy heart’s
Still bleeding.

Our storm is now past
Lizards crawl at your feet.
They beg you each day,
For something to eat.

You’re still starving alone,
Your bills aren’t paid.
Your ideas are exhausted,
And your bed is unmade.

You only read a scribble,
To you, my words were useless,
Now you look at me:
Your thoughts and regrets get ruthless.

The water’s right there,
If you jump, you will drown.
But you secretly know
You’d let yourself down.

If only I’d come back
To pull you out of your burrow,
The way you glare at me,
Your eyes plead, brow furrowed.

I would have taken you to the beach,
East or West coast.
Away from all the mud,
And the currents you hate most.

I would have stolen you out,
Could have sailed you south with the dirt.
But you’re too afraid, without change,
Mister Angst has no worth.

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Last Night by Matt Ziegler

I had a dream
That I was lying awake
about writing this poem

I was hungry
So I got up and made a sandwich

And wrote about this
weird dream
I was having

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YELL AT THE MOON by chris Wacker

i got married nd we puked on e/o
soaked r newly ringéd fingers w/
bile from r innermost pts. this is a
love that the bible never got right.
coffee cups w paper spoons nd a
belief tht peter frampton will rise
again binds r chunky stomach so
aked hands w a ‘new dignity’ ok

petition to change the words our and are to ‘r’ so it is easier for usa to write
petition to change the usa to a nation committed to making its ppl ‘happy’

i hav drowned my dreams in stars that my mother said
’were unattainable’
well i have news for my mom and it is that her idea of conformity is also

its a slippery ladder ride down my sickdick
hop on nd we will journey thru my sickdick
into a utopian wet dream where yr  sickdick

is also mine nd we share popsicles
beneath evry metaphorical overpass
that accurately or inaccurately
exemplifies the things u will never achieve
c’mon ma nd pa look @ my sickdick
u made it after all
u snipd it after all

shove my sickdick in my father’s face
force obama to recognize my sickdick as a separate entity of the united states

christian Wacker was aged in a medium white oak barrel for sixteen years and fed a strict rimbaud, dobby gibson, and will eno diet. he is not real, but if he were he would produce theatre that focuses on humiliating white men as a whole. pairs well with panic attacks.

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(no subject) by France Desrochers


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by Helen Stanley

with streetlights come windowshadows and
orange-walls; right now, I am so tired
that all I can do is lie here
and wait as I listen to the world rumble in the distance.
The trains pass slowly, faintly, and though it is far
I can hear their groaning
and sighing
the whistles rub on air and ripple so slowly
slowly into my ears
like moth’s wings.

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Untitled by M.M.

When we said goodbye, you said you had a problem with commitment.
But I counted three commitments stained into your skin
and I sat in awe,
knowing that I would always have the memory of you
tattooed across my brain
inked into my heart
branded into my being
even though you were afraid to have my memory
last longer than three years.

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cute girls by alex wennerberg

there is a cute girl in my poetry class there are a lot of
cute girls in my poetry class every girl in that class is a
cute girl i think even the guys are cute girls in fact every
student in all my classes are cute girls wow

yesterday a cute girl gave me a seven-layer burrito through the
taco bell drive through window the seven-layer burrito was a cute girl
also there was a cute girl baja blast the drive through window was
a cute girl my car is a very cute girl taco bell as an institution is
really just one big cute girl its crazy how they are everywhere

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by Xavier O’Brien

Blanketed Bench

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August 17, 2014 · 7:37 pm

by Trista Sullivan ft. Greg Fister


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August 17, 2014 · 7:37 pm

by Katherine Blanner



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by Sarah Burns


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August 17, 2014 · 7:37 pm

Est. WPM’s of Famous Ppl by Wolf “I’m Better Than You” Chamberlain

Est. WPM’s of Famous Ppl:
-Wolf “I’m Better Than You” Chamberlain

Bob Dylan (1963): We’re looking at the upper fifty range here. Well-crafted, sincerity that takes time.

Bob Dylan (1966): Allegedly had a brief but sultry affair with meth during the recording of Blonde on Blonde, which does explain a lot. We’re looking at the upper eighty range here, folks. He succumbed to what I like to call “The Melvin Cummerbund Effect.”

Hannibal (while crossing the Alps): Let me just take the time here to talk about how much I love elephants. They’re so god damn dignified. Two hundred words per minute.

Aphrodite: In my case study of Aphrodite I spent the majority of my time trying to determine the hypothetical worth of a pearl in the shell in Botticelli’s Birth of Venus. Looks like it’d be a standard regulation size Voit® rubber ball, the dodgeball kind we got to break nerds’ glasses with. No more student debt, no more paying for dog food, ever. Hell of a damn pearl. Ninety words per minute.

Richard Pryor: Coincidentally performed near Bob Dylan in Greenwich Village in New York in 1963. A recent biography of Pryor described him as “furious.” By the early 1970’s Pryor succumbed to “The Melvin Cummerbund Effect,” giving him the dreamlike ability to crank out seventy funny words per minute and another ten funny ones that make white people uncomfortable. Grand total of eighty.

Condi Rice: Plays a mean piano. Worked with the NSA. A minimum of twenty-five words per minute.

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