Finding My Precious [Parka]

Last night, I was visited by Gandalf in a dream, and invited to go on the quest to find my perfect parka for the winter. We were having none of those namby-pamby synthetic non-down high-tech light jackets. I would go out and find the most hardy coat I could with features I would never use, to overcompensate for the pointlessness of my existence in general. I was reluctant about spending 2 hours of my time — time that would be better spent trying and failing to do my homework — on such a frivolous task. I mean, it wasn’t as if I could die or something, not having the best winter coat ever. Oh, on second thought…

Well, anyway, I didn’t want to die, or worse, hand in incomplete homework. So I went. I was dragged out of my Donlon-hole and on threat of death, went to the famed thrift store in the commons. Nope, I can’t afford Canada Goose.  At least, not yet.

“‘The Old Goat’ Gear Exchange” sounds like a harbinger of doom, but that’s where I went. I don’t have the patience or the persistence (unlike my colleague, Bilbo Baggins) to write a novel — or five — about my adventures there. Suffice it to say, I found a men’s coat a size too big that I bought home. My roommate did not approve.

Even as I write this, I second-guess myself and wonder whether I made the right decision. I’m googling the meaning of fill power, the differences between duck and goose down, and good and bad air pockets right now. Are my coat specs enough to get me through Ithaca’s winter? Just in case any of you better-informed readers can make sense of this stuff: It’s…actually, I can’t even bring myself to list it.

So, post war-adventure, any suggestions and tips on choosing winter clothes would be welcome! So would company when I inevitably go and try to exchange my current coat for another.

Disclaimer: Online shopping is not my thing. Any suggestions suggesting that will go straight to Sauron.

Kshama Sridevi Malavalli ’21

My Idea Notebook by Tucker Carlson

Boobed woman:
E lections will
N ot favor you
G ross woman
H A T E is what
A merica feels toward-
Z you
I gloo

B oundless like the wind
E nergetically, she destroyed us
N o to you, Shrillary!
H ell
A pologize to the
millionZ of americans
I ’m sad

Benghazi B
Enghazi Be
Nghazi Ben
Ghazi Beng
Hazi Bengh
Azi Bengha
Zi Benghaz

Bill Clinton
Engulfed i-
N flamesG
Iceberg lettuce

B et she can’t do
E leven chin-ups
H illary doesn’t lift .
Z ebra

H HillaryClinton
Z ebra

the B eatles
        A ren’t that good

   E ggs

Pegah Moradi ’19


VAMPIRE: Prepare to die, mere mortal, as on this All Hollow’s Eve, I will drink thy blood and live forever.

CAMERON: Lord, help me please- wait, Dylan, is that you?

VAMPIRE: What up, Cam? I heard you got a new job at a different firm here in New York. How’s it going?

CAMERON: Dylan, please tell me this isn’t about Sarah.

VAMPIRE: Wait, what? What did you do with Sarah?

CAMERON: Are you serious? This isn’t about me now seeing Sarah?

VAMPIRE: You are fucking my wife? Oh, now I’m definitely drinking your blood. No, I was not here because of Sarah.

CAMERON: Dammit, you know about Dani then.

VAMPIRE: Satan Almighty, Dani literally just turned 18 like last week.

CAMERON: I know, I know, but that somehow turned me on. I might have a problem.

VAMPIRE: No, really? In the name of Nosferatu, you are mine for dinner.

CAMERON: So I’m guessing you know about your son James too then.

VAMPIRE: The hell? He’s only in middle school, you sicko!

CAMERON: No, no, no. I just bit him, so he’s now turned.

VAMPIRE: Wait… you’re telling me you made him into a werewolf? Now my son is a disgusting half-bred mutt who will smell of carpet and eat super rare steaks!

CAMERON: Come on, don’t be racist now.

VAMPIRE: I was originally just going to take at most half a pint from you and later go to the bar to catch up with you, but now, I learned that you ruined my entire family.

CAMERON: Please, let me talk to my mummy before I die.

Happy Halloween, y’all.

Wilbert Ren ‘20

The Inconvenience

“Enter,” a cold, powerful voice boomed through the rich, mahogany doors.

Jenkins burst into the conference room with as much bravado as he could muster with a receding hairline and hemorrhoid cream musk. A figure stood across the room looking out at the skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

A harried secretary panted into the room. “Mr. Buffman, I’m so sorry. I told Mr. Jenkins here that you were…” The shadowed man rose his hand and she quieted.

“No trouble, Alexis. This isn’t too much of an… inconvenience. You can get back to browsing r/birdswitharms.”

Jenkins was fuming. “Oh, this isn’t too inconvenient for you, is it? I don’t give a flying spacedick about whether this is convenient for you or not. We have two weeks, two bloody weeks, until MENO… and we have got nothing to show for it!”

Mr. Buffman chuckled to himself. “You paused for a moment after saying the conference name. MENO… pause…”

Jenkins sighed. “Yes, your humor is as evilly horrible and unfunny as r/funny, but it can not be entered into the Most Evil Nefarious Organization’s yearly conference!”

“Indeed,” the super villain CEO mused, turning to face his belligerent, balding companion. Buffman’s neckbeard twinkled in the afternoon gloom coming through the windows. He smoothed his ponytail back with lightly Cheeto-dusted fingers and leaned forward on his personal Segway towards Jenkins. “But we will not be leaving in the corporate submarine with nothing.”

“I don’t see how that is possible,” Jenkins said coolly. “Research spent the entire quarter doing analysis on optimizing how to better reduce corporate productivity. And Development blew their budget on robotically tightened pickle jars without realizing millennials are killing the pickle industry.

“We should look into increasing communication between those departments.” The pensive CEO dismounted from his monogrammed ride and started pacing. “Listen… I haven’t been completely honest with the board. I have a plan. But you must promise not to tell a single soul or comment bot… and no bamboozles.”

Jenkins looked as if his mother’s funeral came early. “Yes! We’re saved! I knew you must have something boss, no one’s ever been as evil as you since… well… Mike Myers in short intervals between 1997 and 2002. What is it, Mr. Buffman, you’ve gotta tell me!”

The CEO smiled. “You may find this hard to believe, but I promise every word of it is true. While I was fact-checking a particularly feisty brony on r/eltonjohn, I fell into a vat of toxic waste and developed mutant superpowers.”

Jenkins took a sip of water just in time to spit it out. “r/eltonjohn!? Bullshit, I always pegged you as a r/davidbowie guy for your flamboyant pop-rock star subreddit fix.”

Buffman continued, “I soon realized my newfound abilities and just how powerful they were.” He raised his hands and looked at them in awe. “And I used to think true power was getting Reddit gold for the first time…”

Jenkins’ jaw dropped. “W-what is this?”

Buffman looked him straight in his watery eyes. “This is exactly how we will sweep MENO and take home the Golden Six-Pack Rings, the most prestigious symbol of evil. Let me ask you something Jenkins… have you ever tried plugging in a typical USB-A cable?”

Jenkins gasped. “It’s impossible to do so correctly the first time! It always takes no less than three attempts. Scientists said it was a combination of quantum physics and Murphy’s Law… but it was you all along!?” Buffman nodded with a glint in his eye.

Jenkins’ mind was racing. “Yes, yes, that is truly evil, but now laptops and phones have the new reversible USB-C port. You can plug it in either way and it works. And many tech enthusiasts are saying this will be the one port for everything… it seems your power will be useless, sir.”

Mr. Buffman’s smile grew wider. “And I thought the same, my expository friend. But mutations allow us to adapt, to change for the better. So now I ask you this second also rhetorical question… when people try to use their new-fangled devices with the rest of the world’s own, how ever will they connect their computers and tablets and USB-powered popcorn launchers?

Dawning realization crept across Jenkin’s face. A cold sweat covered his body from his Dr. Scholl’s orthopedic inserts to underneath his custom business hairpiece.

“Dongles, Jenkins. Dongles large and dongles small. They will use my dongle simply because they must. An extra purchase to maintain the same functionality. Forged by Lucifer himself in the fires of Hell. Like your itchy toupee, Jenkins, it is truly the most evil and minor of inconveniences… yet.”

Matt Barker ’19

How Ugly Are You?

Nathan Spring ’19

LL Cool J’s “Mama Said Knock You Out:” An Analysis of Some Lyrics of this Famous 90s Song

“Don’t call it a comeback, I been here for years/Rocking my peers and putting suckas in fears”

In this rocking start to the song, LL Cool J emphasizes the fact that he is God, our Lord and Heavenly Father. He’s been here for so many years that one day he was like “Let there be light. I can’t see my mic.” Therefore, since he is God, he literally can’t come back, or else it would be a paradox. (He wants his listeners to know their history and logic.) Also, LL Cool J was a writer for The Cornell Lunatic, often calling a bunch of magazines “fears” since everyone was scared to see the holy document. So like, if you messed with him, you were gonna be eviscerated in a cartoon in the magazine and have your life ruined. Don’t mess with LL Cool J.

Hook: “I’m gonna knock you out HUUUH!/Mama said knock you out HUUUH!”

LL Cool J was not only a writer for The Cornell Lunatic, but also the father of it. One day, while walking up Libe Slope, he saw this very sexy pair of boxing gloves and was like “Hubba Hubba.” The couple eventually gave birth to The Cornell Lunatic (and also the Kool-Aid Man, hence why his name is similar in rhyme scheme to LL Cool J). Due to this hereditary tree, LL Cool J thought it was appropriate to mention that both he and his baby mama can punch anyone out of their ring, especially since the two created The Cornell Lunatic.

“Don’t you call this a regular jam/I’m gonna rock this land/I’m gonna take this itty bitty world by storm/And I’m just getting warm”

LL Cool J was never a peanut butter guy, but he was always a fan of his fruit preserves. Like Popeye with his cans of spinach, LL can down a straight jar of strawberry jam and be imbued with the holy powers to write other songs like “Rock the Bells” and “I’m Bad.” Since LL Cool J already established that he is God, he physically can rock the land whenever he wants. In fact, earthquakes are caused not because of shifting tectonic plates, but because LL Cool J is practicing his WWE moves (the Cool J Hammerpile is a killer). The world is also so small for him that he does not live in NYC or LA, but instead on Jupiter since it’s the biggest thing that can handle all of LL Cool J. Often, LL Cool J does get fevers too, hence getting warm. He uses The Cornell Lunatic as a makeshift fan often.

Wilbert Ren ’20

That’s right, folks: We’ve got our newbies, and we’re ready to rumble. Get ready for new web content, as well as our under-construction Fall issue, coming unsolicited to a campus café tabletop or recycling bin near you.

Join The Lunatic

Think you have the balls, ovaries, and everything and anything in between to write, design, draw, or manage business for us? Email by 10:00 PM on Sunday, 9/17/17 with your name, graduating year, and the following:


  • Attach 1-2 pages of written, humorous work. This can be something you have written and published in the past or something you write solely for this application.
  • Submit 2 additional ideas for original content. Each idea should be 1-2 sentences in length.


  • Attach 1-2 original art pieces or comics.
  • Submit 2 additional ideas for original, humorous comics or artwork.

Designers (Layout Editors)

  • Attach around 1 page of layout work or graphic designing that you’ve done.

Business Managers

  • Send us your CV. (That’s douchespeak for résumé, which is douchierspeak for resume.)
  • Anyway, send it to us. We promise we’ll actually read it.

If you’re applying for more than one of these roles, indicate which is your first choice, second choice, etc.

If you have any questions, email us! We look forward to learning more about what you can offer our esteemed publication.

‘Twas the night before O-Week…

‘Twas the night before O-Week, when all through Cornell
Not a creature was stirring, not even one of the many rats that live in every North Campus stairwell.
The freshman were nestled, all snug in their beds,
While visions of academic recognition danced in their heads.
When out on the quad there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my inconveniently-sized twin bed to see what was the matter.
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a sick freshman and eight dudes full of beer!
More rapid than eagles his friends they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Brad! now, Chad! now Bryce and Mike!
On, John! on, Tom! on, Ike and the other Mike!
Right next to this wall! Where I hooked up with that girl!
Now dash away! dash away! I’m going to hurl!”
And then, in a heaving, I heard by the wall
The gagging and splashing of too much alcohol.
A wipe of his mouth and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And stumbled back home like some kind of jerk.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he hobbled out of sight—
“Happy O-Week to all, and to all a good night!”

Ian Kranz, ’19