Editorial: The Renonaissance

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From The Renonaissance

Welcome to “A Very Special Issue of Nonsense” and thank you for reading. As you can see, we’ve come out with a new issue in a timely manner because we are in the midst of a Nonsense renaissance, or a “Renonaissance” if you will (and we do).

Last semester was fairly productive for us, and after the semi-success that we had with both the Hofstra Issue and re-launching our formerly decrepit website, we’ve decided to do a bit of reflection.

I guess you could say that this issue kind of serves as both a declaration of “our revival!!” (the Renonaissance) and a look at Hofstra in a different light. As it is, it can often seem pretty medieval. You may say “but wait, isn’t it 2016? We can vape now!” but the fact is there’s still plenty of overlap with the past. For example, the archaic behavior of “men’s rights activists,” the hastily prepared Meat Stews Etc which flow like a bountiful shit river through the Studente Centre Café, and censorship at the hand of our student leadership organization who rule over Nonsense by hand and sword from the top of their ivory office (just kidding we love you guys!!!!)

But enough about that. We’ve written 16 pages of content to tell you about our interpretation of the past! However, since we’re all millennials attending college in this oh-so-overly sensitive age, the fact is we don’t know a damn thing about history. Not even a little bit. So we’ve tried our best to imagine what Hofstra might have been like in ye olde times. We’ve taken the liberty of chronicling Hofstra’s history as accurately as we could, which you can see for yourself on the next page.

Thankfully, we’ve also managed to give you our rendition of renaissance/medieval art (they’re all just the same thing right??) Are we still allowed to say “Dark Ages” or do you want us to be all “P.C.” about it? Oh, excuse us. “Miiiiiddle Aaaaaages.” I feel like we’re in the Dark Ages right now, you know? It’s like my dad says whenever he starts drinking again. Doesn’t anyone remember when music had real lyrics, and everyone was a wholesome Boy or Girl Scout? When every kid had a paper route, and the only “App” we had was “App-lying One’s Self To A Respectable And Ambitious Task, As Is App-ropriate For Youth Of Some Standing?” Now we have, shit, I don’t know, socialism and all-ages bathrooms. R.I.P music and culture 1910-2011 what happened.

Anyways, where the fuck were we going with this? This was gonna be a poem at some point but, I mean, I guess if you really think about it nobody really knows how to read those things anyways, and I feel like most people at Hofstra have a hard time with reading comprehension as is, so we’ll keep it simple:

There Once was a Manne from Long Island
He never made Jokes, and was Silent
But Thenne, one Fatefull day
He read our magazine Gay
And then he was happy and smilin.

Fucketh thee.

~Zach and Heather~ ❤

Choose Your Own Fucking Adventure: Renonaissance RPG Edition

By Veronica Toone

An excerpt from The Renonaissance!

 

Good evening, and again, my darlings, welcome to another round of CHOOSE YOUR OWN FUCKING ADVENTURE, where, true to its name, every decision is made for you and you realize that we’re all WORM FOOD.

While I’m sure that there are articles contained in this compendium that TICKLE YOUR G-SPOT infinitely more, I must say I’m truly honored that you would take the time to read the introduction. Now, unsheathe your sword from your ZIPPERED DENIM HOLSTER, mount your TRUSTY STEEDS, and adjust your FANNY PACKS, boys and girls, because this week’s adventure is:

ROLEPLAY TIME.

 

START HERE: The year is 1420. You find yourself in the Ye Olde Towne of Hempsteade, and have no idea how you got there. You look around—trees for miles. You get up and rummage through the satchel you brought with you. In it is: a vape pen, a lighter, several Nonsense Humor magazines, a big honking bag of weed, and a crumpled piece of paper.

If you decide to smooth out the paper, go to PARAGRAPH 2.

If you decide to smoke the weed, go to PARAGRAPH 4.

 

PARAGRAPH 2: You put the paper on the ground and smooth it out. Reading it over, you discover it is a MAP (now equipped!). You look up at the late afternoon sky (which doesn’t have any smog or lights in it because this is 1420 and that kind of bullshit isn’t even a concept at this point) and realize it is getting dark. You’re going to need to start a fire to keep yourself warm! Do you combine the LIGHTER and NONSENSE HUMOR MAGAZINES to start a fire?

If you decide that Nonsense Humor magazines are far too funny to be burned, even in a survival situation, go to PARAGRAPH 3.

If you decide to burn the magazines, go to PARAGRAPH 5.

 

PARAGRAPH 3: You don’t burn the magazines, instead using the fading daylight to read them. You laugh haughtily at the rubbish therein and go to sleep in the dark. You’re eaten by hungry bears that see you as the fragile, tasty woodland creature you are.

YOU FUCKING DIED, DUDE. GO BACK TO PARAGRAPH 2.

 

PARAGRAPH 4: You smoke that DANK KUSH and get higher than you’ve ever been in your life. Zoinks, Scoob, you didn’t think a strain of such phenomenal, wondrous weed could find its way to your titillated taste buds. It tastes like the best pottage your mother never made, because she spent most of her time finagling with the turkey foot seller at the market or fucking the local plague doctor, didn’t she, John? You pass out and are eaten by hungry bears that see you as the fragile, tasty woodland creature you are.

YOU FUCKING DIED, DUDE. GO BACK TO START.

 

PARAGRAPH 5: You burn the magazines with unmitigated joy. As they crackle and curl in the fire, you find that the smell of burning self-indulgent jokes is very comforting, and you fall asleep to the sound of Ye Olde police sirens. You wake up the next morning and continue on with your journey. Suddenly, out of the brush, a wild HOFCAT appears. He stands in front of you in a way that vaguely reminds you of a Japanese pocket monster game, but offers no battle cry. Instead—“’Sup, player,” says the cat, “what’s good?”

If you decide to talk to the cat, go to PARAGRAPH 6.

If you decide to kill the cat, go to PARAGRAPH 7.

 

PARAGRAPH 6: “Um, hi,” you reply tentatively. “You must be a hofcat.” The cat approaches you and hops gracefully onto your shoulder. “That I am. Do you know where you are, traveller?” “No,” you confess. The cat smiles, or would if cats could do that, and continues. “Why, you’re at the HOFSTRA CASTLE, home to the fiercest beasts and rarest treasures.” You stare about in wonder before your eyes fall on blue sign directly to your left. Hofstra Castle, home to the fiercest beasts and rarest treasures. You step onto the cobblestone path and, as if on cue, several solidly-built, well-endowed knights cross your path. “Oh!” you exclaim, startled, and take a step backwards. One of the knights notices you. “Why, hello traveller!” He looks you up and down before slapping a gloved hand onto his firm, tasty chest. “I am Sir Brodius of Dudeshire. My compatriots and I are off for an evening of cavorting and gallivanting at the Ye Olde McHebe’s. Care you to join us, fellow countryman?”

If you decide to follow the knight, go to the DOPE ENDING.

If you decide to continue on your path, go to PARAGRAPH 8.

 

PARAGRAPH 7: Whoa, really? Like, that’s a fucking talking cat. You’re just gonna kill it? You sick bastard; your mother didn’t kiss you goodnight, did she?

GO BACK TO PARAGRAPH 5. I HATE YOU.

 

PARAGRAPH 8: You shake your head. “I’m sorry, Mister Brodius, but I’m on a quest,” you reply. The knight nods and adjusts his chain mail. “Ah, I understand, young man slash woman. We will think of you, brave traveler, in the midst of our rollicking. Come, gents,” he says to his fellow knights, “let this night be fucking lit!” The knights cheer and like a flash they’re gone, leaving a cloud of Axe™ Body Spray in their wake. You continue on until you come to a fork in the road. On the LEFT, the path is dirty, littered with empty potion bottles and horse shit. It does not seem to end. On the RIGHT, much of the same: discarded bowls of Freshen’s stew and human shit, yet it appears to end at a derelict building. Which path do you take?

If you decide to take the path on the LEFT, go to PARAGRAPH 9.

If you decide to take the path on the RIGHT, go to PARAGRAPH 10.

 

PARAGRAPH 9: Completely lost, you decide to take the path on the left. The trees look menacing above you, and your little Hofcat looks around cautiously. “Brave knight, I really think you should turn back,” he says, but you are set on going forward for some reason. After a while, crumpled on the sides of the path, are the SKELETONS OF PEASANTS PAST. You think you see one blink its empty eyeholes. Dread bubbles up in your stomach like Mother’s three week-old mashed peas, and you wish the Black Death had just killed you when it had the chance. Suddenly, a skeleton steps in front of you: he is wearing a tattered Attack on Titan cosplay and is clutching a Nerf gun. He aims it at your head and fires.

“Long live Hofstra versus Zombies.”

YOU FUCKING DIED, DUDE. GO BACK TO PARAGRAPH 8.

 

PARAGRAPH 10: You decide to follow the MAP you have in your satchel (remember that shit? You didn’t think I would bring that up again, did you?) and take the path on the right. A chilled wind blows through your hair and shakes you to your core. After walking along the dirty path, you approach the broken-down building. Scanning the façade carefully, you see it is a SBARRO’S PIZZA. The Hofcat on your shoulder hisses. “Brave knight,” he protests, “this does not feel right!” Ignoring your tiny compadre, you continue on. You kick down the splintery door, and at first, nothing seems out of the ordinary: chairs scattered about, with a lonely stand in the centre of the room. The trays are full of Sbarro’s food, still looking edible. Surrounding the stand are skeletons in various pained-looking positions, which are themselves surrounded by human fecal matter. Hofstra shits. Poor bastards. There’s a loud whoosh, and as you turn, the door behind you slams.

YOU ARE TRAPPED. What do you do?

If you decide to look around, go to PARAGRAPH 11.

If you decide to give up and live on Sbarro’s forever, go to the PUSSY ENDING.

 

PARAGRAPH 11: You look around. Carefully avoiding the stinky dead Hofstra shit people (because those jokes never die), you glance around the moldy walls in the hopes of finding a way out. Suddenly, you spot a LEVER on the wall. Deciding that well, nothing matters and Death is coming, you pull it, and a part of the wall slides back to reveal and entrance to a CAVE. Your Hofcat is shaking now. You turn and, fearing what lurks ahead, take a SWORD from a gross poop skeleton (now in Items!). Carefully, you enter the cave, because you didn’t take the pussy ending so that means you’re a tough guy, aren’t you? Descending a set of stone steps, you find yourself surrounded by THE BUBBLING PITS OF HOT SMELLY PIZZA GREASE. Careful! One touch and you’re dead: keep moving! You trek on, past more skeletons, pieces of discarded armor and cigarette butts. You turn a corner, and…

Before you, nestled amongst the pits of grease and leftover pizza crusts, is the dragon. He opens one eye. What do you do?

If you decide to fight the dragon, go to the BATTLE.

If you decide to run away, go to the PUSSY ENDING.

 

BATTLE: The dragon awakens, and boy, is it pissed. You equip your SWORD and hold it out menacingly, before it occurs to you that you have no idea how to use a sword. The dragon rises to its full height and, with a mighty roar, releases a cloud of Froot Loops™ flavored vape smoke, right in your face. You cough: dude, not cool. The dragon is moving slow. You’re certain you could kill it if not for the fucking smoke everywhere. It just keeps…breathing on you. Trying to find a patch of clean air, you spot scales and swing blindly. The dragon lets out a roar of pain, and you think you might have actually damaged that bad boy. The air starts to clear, and you swing again and again. With a final cry, the dragon’s head tumbles to the floor. But your trial is not done, brave homie. Underneath the dragon’s head is none other than RENOWNED CHEF, BOBBY FLAY. You now have to, quite literally, beat Bobby Flay, just like on his new show, Beat Bobby Flay, hosted by chef Bobby Flay, airing only on Food Network Thursdays at 10, after Food: Fact or Fiction with Michael McKean. This is worse than the dragon. You look around in a panic for something to use to defeat him with, but all you find is a PRE-MADE SBARRO PIZZA CRUST and a CHAMBER POT. He laughs in your face. Do you admit defeat?

If you decide that Bobby Flay is a fucking piece of human garbage that deserves to lose in his own dungeon, go to the FINAL BOSS.

If you decide to admit defeat, go to the PUSSY ENDING.

 

FINAL BOSS: By combing the PRE-MADE SBARRO’S PIZZA CRUST and the CHAMBER POT, you are able to create SBARRO’S PIZZA! Bobby Flay, shocked that you were able to so accurately make the best pizza on the island, uses the dragon’s head and creates DRAGON FLAMBÉ! He laughs at you again, the smug bastard, and you stab him in the chest.

Bobby Flay is defeated! You eat the Sbarro’s Pizza and rejoice!

THE END. NICE GOING, MY DUDE.

 

PUSSY ENDING: Really? You’re just gonna give up just like that? What the fuck? Look around! Explore, adventure—fight! That’s what the point of this fucking thing is! Why do you think I spent days writing this? So that you could give up? Fuck no!

What? You still wanna give up? Fine. I hope you’re happy not doing anything fun ever, you piece of shit. Go back to your Tumblr blog.

THE END. FUCK YOU.

 

DOPE ENDING: You nod firmly and follow close behind the knight. He leads you down the street to a dirty building (even though really, in retrospect, all buildings in 1420 were fucking filthy, but that’s putting the cart before the horse). The tacked up wooden sign on the door reads: “Ye Olde McHebe’s. Two shots $38.” You hear the thudding of bass inside, and enter to find swarms of underage peasants, grinding up against each other like they’re trying to fuse together. “Hallowéd be the name of McHebe’s!” one shouts, clearly having imbibed copious amounts of mead. The wasted young sir staggers out of the pub, and you want to get that crunk yourself. You raise a Ye Olde shot glass and scream to the heavens:

“I’m ready to get fucked up! Who wants to blow me?”

THE END, HOMIE.  YOU’RE CLEARLY A LOVER OF ALL THINGS FUN; YOUR MOM WOULD BE PROUD.

Top 5 Butts of Renaissance Sculptures

By A Straight Man

An excerpt from The Renonaissance!

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5. Da Vinci’s David (David)

Nothing screams “Classic Crack” more than this pasty white ass. And is that a little taint I see? Da Vinci’s David has the perfect combination of a thirty-year-old’s face, a twenty-year-old’s body, and a 10-year-old’s ass. Does it make him legal? Who knows!

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cyberuly@yahoo.it

4. Hercules (Hercules and Cacus)

When I think, “Muscular ass” I
instantly think, “Hercules’s muscular ass.” These buns of steel might just steal your heart away. He was known to crack chestnuts with one clean rear-end-clench crush. Oh yeah. I’m talking about nutcracker butt.

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3. Perseus (Perseus with the Head of Medusa)

Talk about a knee-popping butt enhance! It’s all about the pose with Perseus. Perseus knows he doesn’t have the greatest butt, but he sure does know how to work with what he’s got. I give most of my points to the pose here. It’s got that one cheek flex aesthetic that screams, “I wax.”

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2. Samuel (Samuel Slaying a Philistine) 

Ambiguous much? Damn Samuel what’s happening with the guy on the other side of you? I mean who wouldn’t want some of that wide marble ass. All cold and smooth-like. Samuel has an ass that lets us know he’s definitely the “Daddy”-type and has that edgy alternative vibe that drives people crazy.

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1. Donatello’s David (David)

Alleluia! It’s an immaculate ass. The remake can’t live up to the original David. Only 15 years old and David knows what he’s got. That shiny dark brass bottom is calling out for someone to oil it, like how the tin man cries out in the Wizard of Oz. And those knee highs. Now I know why my 87 year old grandma keeps a mini replica of this statue on the side of her bed.

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Hofstra Republicans’ Ronald Reagan Cutout In Voyeurism Scandal

By Alex Luber

It was a typical Saturday night spent inside for Hofstra Juniors Michael Groban and Beverly Sims, but a late night visit from a life sized cutout of President Ronald Reagan spoiled the evening for them, appearing at the foot of their bed and emitting a faint hissing sound. As president, Ronald Reagan was known for his highly divisive endorsement of “Trickle-Down Economics” (Nicknamed “Reaganomics) as well as his “Peace through strength” diplomatic policies and influence over the emergent punk rock scene. However, on the Hofstra Campus, his likeness is now known for appearing in the bedrooms of couples engaging in pre-marital sexual intercourse. Several reports note that he mostly stares in silence, not speaking until the zeitgeist of the room all but demands that he speak. (AIDS. Reagan didn’t say stuff about AIDS.)

“It was very scary,” said Beverly Sims of Nassau Residence Hall, “He just showed up out of nowhere.” Michael Groban, Sims’ boyfriend of five months, confirmed that when he tried to move the cutout back into the hallway, it reappeared five minutes later. “His facial expression just got angrier,” noted Groban.

This is the forth instance this month of the 40th president’s cutout intruding in on the sexual relations of Hofstra couples, and while some believe these disturbances to be exclusive to the Hofstra campus, there have been three unconfirmed Reagan sightings in the greater Hempstead area over the past year.

Public Safety has been informed of the situation, though prior experiences with the cutout of the former Hollywood star and two-term Governor of California have become less than sporadic. One Public Safety officer, who wishes to remain anonymous, recalls seeing Reagan occupying a classroom on the second floor of Breslin Hall late one Wednesday night. When students arrived in the room for class the next morning, Reagan was gone. Left behind were the words “samtsirhC nO raW a si erehT” written on the board.

While the story remains ongoing, The College Republicans of Hofstra University have thus far declined to comment