Hard Work Pays Off: Hofstra University Secures Presidential Debate Without Taking Anyone’s Life

By Zachary Johnson

Wright State University announced yesterday that they would be withdrawing from hosting the first presidential debate of the 2016 election year, thereby releasing the slot to Hofstra University. “Incredible,” said a representative for Hofstra. “It was so kind of the folks at Wright State to think of us, and the well-being of their families, in making this decision. We’re simply overjoyed!”

A shaking, visibly pale Wright State University President David Hopkins cited rising security concerns as one of the reasons for WSU pulling out of the debate. Nonsense caught up with President Hopkins as he sat alone in his office, staring out the window and jumping every time his phone rang.

“I-it’s so un-f-fortunate that we c-couldn’t hold the debate, but at the least we’re glad to help out our g-g-good f-friends at Hofstra,” Hopkins said, wringing his hands.

Hopkins reportedly met with Hofstra President Stuart Rabinowitz and a large entourage of tough-talkin’, rough-ridin’, no-nonsense beefcakes in his office on Monday. When asked about the meeting, Hopkins sat straight up in his chair, let in-and-out three large breaths, and kissed the cross around his neck before responding:

“Stuart and I are o-old friends.”

At press time, President Rabinowitz escorted this reporter into his office and, lying on his rose-colored divan, had this to say:

“The true American dream is free enterprise. Ya hear me, kid? The Peters, Pauls, and Marys of this world ain’t never gonna understand that. When I was a wee lady-boy lad like yourself, my father, may he rest in peace, told me that the only thing standing in the way of what I wanted were all the people around me. And I ain’t never known America to be anything else than just that: getting what you want, whatever means necessary.”

The President then had this reporter escorted out of his office, but not before gifting Nonsense a free portrait of WSU President David Hopkins, with drywall flakes still fresh on the back of the frame. 

If A Town Hall Debate Falls At Hofstra, Does It Make A Sound?

By Heather Levinsky

 

Following presidential hopeful John Kasich’s town hall meeting at Hofstra on Monday morning, many (okay, a couple) people were shocked at the lack of student turnout for the event.

“Yeah, I guess this isn’t really as big a deal as the debate was in 2012” stated former student Annna Davis, referring to the major presidential debate which took place on Hofstra’s campus a month before President Obama’s re-election 4 years ago. “We really expected Hofstra to take it up a notch after that, but they took it down at least several notches.”

Hofstra Debate 2012 was covered by major networks such as CNN, FOX News, Univision, and CBS. Today’s town hall event focused on the major talking points of John Kasich, a candidate who is the human equivalent of a pile of dry mashed potatoes with a strong distaste for women and gays. But thankfully, not many students were there to notice.

“Yeah, we figured it was no big deal” said HU President Stuart Rabinowitz. “Nothing to worry the students about, nothing to skip class over.” Many were surprised that the town hall wasn’t held over common hour on Wednesday, a time when all students have a break from class so they can attend events or meetings.

Exactly one email was sent out to students to notify them of the event, which, to be fair, is about the amount of attention that Kasich deserves at this point in his career. However, many feel that there was not enough publicity surrounding what appeared to be a major political event.

When asked about the low turnout, campaign staffers smiled in relief.

“We were initially worried about the percentage of young, impressionable, liberal voters that we might encounter at a school founded on the principles of the liberal arts” said Blergh Ferghuson, a campaign staffer for Kasich. “But thankfully, the large sum we paid the school to not only quiet down the event, but also to bus in senior citizens by the thousands paid off quite well. John feels really good about how the event went.”

When asked about the management of the event, HU President-in-Chief Stuart Rabinowitz, after a startled jump, resumed walking with his head down, pulling our reporter closer under the wing of his jacket. After dodging the rest of the unispan paparazzi, he responded exclusively to Nonsense.

“Yeah, I knew from the get-go that, with the exception of the 8 members of the Hofstra Republicans, the majority of the student body would either A. Hate Kasich immediately, or B. Have no idea who he is. Understandably, we thought it was for the best if we kept the town hall under wraps.”

Insisting that he meant no offense to his long-time friend John, Rabinowitz continued in a hurried whisper. “Plus, going from immense media events like the 2012 and 2008 debates to something like this is just…embarrassing.”

We caught up with Kasich in a local men’s bathroom and asked him for his thoughts on the town hall.

“I just wish the student body had given me the chance to speak to them and change their minds, you feel me B?” Kasich lamented. With the New York primary election approaching, many candidates are becoming seemingly desperate to reach out to their constituents. 

“Well, I guess I was right about young people; they’re woefully uninformed, unapologetically lazy, and they’re all bleeding heart liberals, for fleek’s sake. But if I could say one thing to the younger side of the Hofstra fam, it’s that they should know that I am the dabbing-est choice for the Republican candidacy, namsayin? I’m old, I’m bold, and I’m running for president. And I’m an honest man, as straight as they come; I would never pander or change my platform to win the youth vote. Deadass.” 

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

How To Celebrate the Holidays

By Zach Klebaner

This holiday season Nonsense would like to present its readers with a comprehensive guide on how to celebrate the holiday’s. Here it is.

New Years Day

Ah yes. New Years. The day the world has designated to get lights out drunk and “celebrate” the past year of their existence. Whether you had a great year or a terrible year – you’re likely to be found with a bottle in your hand and a stranger in your bed on this special day.

The Prophet’s Birthday

Who’s birthday?

Epiphany

I had one of those once.

Stephen Foster Memorial Day

“Who’s Stephen Foster?” is a question you might be asking and let me tell you: this is the man that wrote that “Camptown Ladies” song. I personally celebrated this holiday by googling Stephen Foster and getting high as fuck. There were no ladies, Camptown or otherwise.

Orthodox New Year

I recently learned that there is a second New Year. I celebrate this one the same way I celebrate the first one.

Lee-Jackson Day

This holiday celebrates Robert E. Lee and Thomas J. “Stonewall” Jackson on their respective birthdays. It was for a time awkwardly combined with the celebration of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday because that made sense.

Mississippi State Holiday

Mississippi celebrates its own existence on a yearly basis. I’m. Not. Fucking. Kidding.

National Freedom Day

I celebrate this holiday by killing everyone I don’t like. Because freedom.

Groundhog Day

I always watch one movie on this day. I think you know the one.

 

Pulp Fiction. Great movie. Definitely worth the watch.

Rosa Parks Day

I sit in the front of the bus on this day.

Valentines Day

I watch the movie Valentine’s Day all day long – on repeat – and jerk off…also on repeat. I only stop when I can’t cum anymore or the power company turns off my electricity.

Chinese New Year

I just get really drunk. Again. But this time with access to dangerous explosives. The bottle is a rocket and the stranger in my bed has no arm.

Passover

(For the editor—there should be a space or some other use or space to indicate that this one is passing over to the next one. Erase this after reading it. Or don’t. Maybe it’s funnier if we just leave this shit intact—Matt)

Tax Day

Haha like I pay that shit.

Confederate Memorial Holiday

To celebrate America’s glorious past.

Cinco de Mayo

Celebrated by getting drunk. Often celebrated by people who don’t understand the context and significance of the holiday and whose closest association with Mexican culture is eating Chipotle and drinking a Corona.

Mother’s Day

Suddenly realizing how much you owe your mom followed by going back to your usual lack of appreciation like the selfish brat that you are.

D-Day

Not to be confused with Doughnut Day. Which, surprisingly, has actual significance also related to wartime events but your fat, dumb ass probably wouldn’t know that.

Father’s Day

On this day many reflect on the father figure that is absent in their life. Many also consider the reasons for their absence.

The Fourth of July

Something happened on this day a while back so let’s fire off some Goddam fireworks and get drunk as shit. ‘Murica.

Eid al-Fitr

Fuck ISIS. ‘Murica.

National Grandparents Day

A terribly glazed over holiday. Many forget to call their grandparents on this day not unlike every other day of the year…’Murica.

Jewish New Year

Get drunk and awkwardly murmur prayers.

Columbus Day

On this day we celebrate Christopher Columbus and his ability to find Asia. I personally celebrate by discovering my neighbors toilet paper and non-perishable goods and bringing them back to my apartment.

Boss’s Day

Nobody celebrates this holiday…unless they’re a boss. And even then…probably not.

The Nonsense Scavenger Hunt

“If you can remember it then you didn’t do the scavenger hunt right” – Ancient Nonsense Proverb

Halloween

Eat lots of candy. Cause, why not?

Thanksgiving Day

On this joyous day people gather round with family and friends and celebrate the conquering of an indigenous population.

Black Friday

An extravagant celebration of American commercialism. Common celebratory practices include going out at ridiculous hours to purchase the-generally-expensive-but-cheap-for-the occasion-because-the-company-didn’t-sell-quite-enough-this-year items, fighting over parking spaces, fighting over the last television set you just need to get, and trampling over people in the craze over cheaply priced items. Bring a Taser!

Cyber Monday

Lacks the fun of large crowds and fights over trivial matters associated with Black Friday. Definitely a less extravagant way to celebrate American commercialism. Still complain over social media, though.

Chanukah

Yes, the “c” is fucking silent. This holiday lasts 8 days. I celebrate by lighting up the rest of my weed and hoping it lasts the 8 more days I have left till my next paycheck in an attempt to recreate the miracle of Judah M’Applepipe. You get it? I smoke weed.

New Years Eve

Let the drinking commence.

All Other Holidays

Let the drinking commence.

This concludes Nonsense’s list on how to celebrate the holiday’s. I hope you enjoyed and will reference this guide in the future whenever the holiday’s come round and you’re lost on how to celebrate. Thanks for reading and enjoy the holidays. Be safe!

The 12 Days of the 4th of July

By Matthew Tanzosh

The year is 2018. Amid accusations of impropriety and a lack of respect for his adopted country following the release of poorly lit photographs of his misshapen, Canadian-born cock—President Cruz has declared one day of The 4^th of July insufficient. Calling a Joint Session of the United States congress, former Junior Senator and current Chief Executive of the Federal Government and commander in chief of the Army and Navy of the United States, and of the militia of the several states Theodore Cruz declared that the 4^th of July being “only one day” was “preposterous” and added, with a wince (although it was difficult to tell, his facial expression always resembling that of a man consensually watching another man pleasure his wife with a stale piece of gorgonzola cheese) that it was “unbefitting of this great nation—this nation, renowned for its conspicuous consumption—to have but one day set aside” for getting drunk and blowing shit up, scaring pets and veterans etc…

It was on that fateful day, 06/22/18, that President Ted Cruz presented the nation with an executive order to “keep Christ in Independence Day”. I won’t force you to parse through the one-thousand seven hundred and seventy six pages of mostly padding—138 drawings of Ted Cruz holding various firearms, 3 recipes pursuant a “bitchin’ bar-b-que”—but chiefly, the order extends the 4^th of July to twelve calendar days beginning at 12:00 AM on July 4^th, and ending 12 days later at 12:00 AM on July 4^th.

It went universally without contest. No one wanted to be the pussy calling for LESS explosions. Who the fuck wants LESS explosions? Local communities leaders are mandated to inform their public of the change, to the relief of local veteran’s associations. Col. Armie Hammer* had this to comment, “As long as we’re given time to mentally prepare ourselves, we’re fine. We won’t mind 12 days of pants-shitting terror at all, as long as we are given fair notice. Let’s just hope that no one gets too excited and fires anything off outside that 12 day hellscape of post traumatic stress. That would be inconsiderate to our boys.”

In the interest of preserving this landmark moment in American history, I will be recording my personal feelings, each of the 12 days of The 4^th of July. Because that’s what Journalism is now. Right VICE? RIGHT BUZZFEED? IT’S ALL ABOUT OUR FEELIE WEELIES RIGHT MOTHERFU—

7/4/18—As I gaze off into the middle distance, I see my dog Scruppy enthusiastically investigating the well-manicured anal glands of a stray waaay out of his league. This could mean pups that I can’t afford on my clickbait journalism salary, but I let him go to it. He deserves it. He has no idea of the 12 days of abject terror that await him, the sky falling all around him while my neighbors get drunk and yell encouragement. He hits it raw, dog—and I watch, musing on how fleeting pleasure really is. I’m not much of a patriot, in all honesty, but I’m going to try to go into this whole thing with an open mind and enjoy it.

7/4/18—Last night’s show was pretty good. The local fire department put on quite a show. They did the sizzle-y one, the one that looks like the palm tree and a bunch that looked like smiling faces. I saw a lot of smiling proud faces at the peer they were shooting them off of, it was nice. Even Kenny, from the convenience store showed up—he wore his Purple Heart! The canned music was kind of a disappointment. They ran out of Souza pretty quick and switched to midi-files of Liberty Bell (best known as the Monty Python theme song) and proud to be an American. No country yet though. When they said twelve days of non-stop fireworks, I really thought they meant each night—true to their word however, they have not stopped. Yep. Still going. While I write this. Stiiiiill going.

7/4/18—I spoke to soon. They have now graduated to Toby Keith. The smell of brisket is heavy in the air. My neighbors have taken to watching from their front yard, bathing themselves in a kiddie pool full of Crisco. They call me homophobic slurs for filling my pool with water and not “at least rootbeer”.

7/4/18—So what’s the deal? Is there just an unlimited supply of firemen and beer? And drinking all that beer, do none of them ever have to use the restroom. My dog no longer has any hair, and I can no longer tell the difference between the fireworks and the frequent gunshots. I always liked Kenny, he was a good man, though a little twitchy.

7/4/18—Fuck. Has anyone seen my dog? I had him chained outside, but the chain is broken and I can’t find my antique masonry hammer anywhere. I would have watched him, but my attention has really been all over the place. I didn’t really get to sleep the past couple of nights and I really needed that cigarette. I told Maureen that I quit, but she’s gone anyway. I don’t like when my dog watches me smoke so I went out back and oh god he’s gone just like her.

7/4/18—You ever wonder why you can only hear sounds? Why can’t you smell them? I can now. I can smell sounds and taste lights. They burn. But I’m proud to be an American, where at least I know I’m free and I won’t forget the men who died, who gave that right to me. Like Kenny, and Scruppy. Oh god I’m so alone. But at least I can’t hear my own terrible thoughts. I can taste them though.

7/4/18—Did you know that Toby Keith’s father served in the army? I do. Do to a glitch in the system (4 dollar Budweiser tallboys) the playlist is stuck. I have heard about how he continued to fly the American flag in his yard—even though he can only see half of it—roughly 700 times. In his hit song, The Angry American he yodels quoth, “Hey Uncle Sam Put your name at the top of his list/And the Statue of Liberty/Started shakin’ her fist/And the eagle will fly/Man, it’s gonna be hell/When you hear Mother Freedom/Start ringin’ her bell/And it feels like the whole wide world is raining down on you” I didn’t have to look those lyrics up, they now surmise my life. The French statue of liberty hates me, and freedom is ringing it’s multicolored bell. Truly the whole world is raining down on me. My house caught fire last night. All of the firemen are too drunk to do anything but launch more flaming freedom missiles. When Mr. Keith said, “Man, we lit up your world like the 4^th of July” he was referring to the bombing of innocents—and I now completely understand this metaphor. It may not have been a metaphor at all. I’m not sure if he is capable. Drones strikes on American soil.

7/4/18—Road kill is missing from my neighbors garbage can, and something has brutally murdered all of the neighborhood cats.

7/4/18—There is no more barbeque and they are now eating each other. Why must we fight. Is it because “we’ll put a boot in your ass?” because “it’s the American way?”. My neighbors have filled my pool with Crisco. They etch offensive slogans into my pool liner with time worn bowie knives. I hear a howling at night.

7/4/18—Scruppy is back, but he is not the same. He still recognizes me as his master, and as a result my neighbors are now dead. Good boy. Good good boy. Good hungry boy.

7/4/18—My eardrums are ruptured and I have purchased a gun. Me and my dog shall know peace. Justice will serve, and the battle will rage. This big dog will fight when you rattle his cage. Thank you Toby. I finally understand. I am the fireworks now. I am America, and it is me. And America is exploding. Get off my property or I will shoot. I gaze up at President Cruz’s enormous face, made large on the television screen. Forty years it had taken me to learn what kind of smile was hidden beneath the dark wince. O cruel, needless misunderstanding! O stubborn, self-willed exile from the loving breast! Two crisco tears trickled down the sides of my nose. But it was all right, everything was all right, the struggle was finished. I had won the victory over myself. I love Ted Cruz.

7/4/18—*Ed note—Our correspondant stopped writing on his computer, but continued to write illegibly on the wall of his home with barbecue sauce, any attempts to gain entry to his house were met with buckshot. Our hearts go out to the familes of Lane and Michael, two interns who have lost their lives attempting to acquire Mr. Tanzosh’s condiment work*

7/4/18—AND A PARTRIDGE AND A PEAR TREE

 

The War On Independence Day

By Charles Bukkake

I am Colonel Samuel “The American” Jonas (Co. Jones for short) and I am the hero this country needs.

You know, I ain’t nobody special. No siree, I am a red-blooded, tax-paying, law-abiding, upper middle class, caucasian, heterosexual, apple-pie lovin’, football watchin’, truck buyin’, American-speaking American and what I do? It’s just a job. Just like everybody else, I gotta work for a livin’, you know? I gots ta put food on my nieces and nephews tables (kids these days, the lazy shits, when I was 6 years old I used to work in the factory and granted it gave me a collapsed lung, it was work and I was more of a man because of it).  

Now people like me, that is to say true Americans, wake up extra early on that special day on that there red, white, and blue calendar there. If you’re a true native-born American then you know the day. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, Independence Day™. Just like everybody else I get up, pray to the good Lord, kick open my front door, punch one of them witnesses of Jehover it or whatever and buy myself a big ol’ beef patty. Of course, there’s about 17.76 metric tons of explosives in the back of my four by four because ain’t nothin’ like celebratin’ The Good Day™ by lettin’ off a lil’ steam, you feel me?

Now normally around this time I gotsta take my pills (and believe me, I do try not to. After all, it jus ain’t natural to put anythin’ in the body that The Good Lord™ didn’t intend to). They says I go all crazy and act like some hybrid of Clint Eastwood and Bruce Willis (God bless ‘em) and I say that’s just a load o’ horse manure. Anyway, I don’t really remember what time it is right now as I write this entry to commemorate the fallen forefathers that gave their rights to me, or however it goes. Feels like December but just like my good man Reagan said, “To republicans, every day is the 4th of July. To democrats, every day is April 15th”. People go and try to tell me its December and I just flick my cigarette at their hippy faces and make my own way, mindin’ my own business.

Today I did my bes’ in continuing the routine, thanking my lucky stars that I done survived one more day. After all, life is a jungle out there, and I’m the man that’s gonna tear it down. I was about to meet at the rendez-vous point to legally acquire some heavy-duty explosives but found that I had already accomplished the objective ahead of time. I must be going senile but I have no time to reflect on this; I have a country to save. I managed to work up an appetite and to my disappointment, there is a grave lack of food rations in the humvee. I drove a few miles south and found civilization. I’d tell these citizens to evacuate promptly but I needed food and fast. I tightened my combat boots and made my way inside a good ol’ fashion American diner.

My people, those I have sworn to serve and protect, I see them eating breakfast like Americans should. I shouted at a waitress for 4 orders of steak and eggs and consumed them, one after the other, with no breaks, the way that every true patriot should. On my way out, I gave the attractive female standing at the register a Jackson (one of our finest presidents in my humble opinion) and told her to “Keep the change”. Right then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted what I thought I had eradicated so many years ago.

“Commie!” I shouted, diving towards the family of four. The sick fuck was eating a falafel. Not “Not in my country you don’t,” I hissed, like an American snake. I smacked that stupid sandwich out of his hand and restored balance to traditional democratic ideals in this classic American mom and pop shop. I looked down and shook my head, chuckling to myself. Another job well done.

“Thank me not, citizens. I am just your average Joe who’s name is Sam. I do this not because I want to, but because it’s my job; it’s what I do. Carry on with your beautiful consumerist ways and remember…” I said, now putting on my sunglasses. “See you on the flip side.”

I drove away feeling like a hero. It was difficult not to feel like one. I smiled and waved at every pedestrian while driving and crashed my car into a flower shop.

“Right on time.”

I went over to that tree-hugger flower shop owner and punched him right in his square face.

“Hey! We don’t have room for no hippy flower children around here.” God it felt good to be an American.

I was about to drive away but I crashed my car so that wasn’t possible. That’s when the Boston Baked Beans sank in.

“By George!” I shouted. “It’s Independence Day!”

I looked around and saw no American pride. What a disgrace.

“It’s December, you psycho! The fourth of July is-”

“What did you say to me, you filthy commie?!”

I stopped that Charlie right in his tracks.

“I-I…I said that it isn’t even the fou-”

“What is this War on Independence Day™? Who are you trying not to offend, you red? This is my country. This is America, therefore we celebrate goddamn Independence Day and speak American while we do it!”

It made me sick, the creeping feeling that society has become hyper-sensitive and is even so far as to be ashamed to refer to such a beautiful and momentous holiday as just another day of the year, just a “fourth of July”. Trump wouldn’t be elected until next year, so I needed to act fast. That handsome business American couldn’t save us this time, so I had to take matters into my own hands. I had to make America great again.

I busted out my Desert American Bald Eagle and pointed the barrel at his stupid commie face.

“I see your insides match your outsides now,” I said, being that his nose was bleeding.

“Now I suggest you pursue happiness real quick, because I’m about to declare independence on your ass by the people and for the people.”

He didn’t budge, mostly because he was currently experiencing anaphylactic shock. He needed his inhaler, I guess the American air just wasn’t good enough for him. He was no coward, I can respect him for that. I can’t respect him for ruining my country and my masculinity, though.

I was sweating and I don’t know why and while I was halfway through squeezing the trigger, I turned around and pointed this unregistered beauty at the explosives I had in the back of my truck.

“Four score blaze it, mother fuckers.” Plumes of red, white, and blue shot into the air. It worked out well seeing as I only bought blue and white fireworks but there was sufficient people nearby who became one with America to make those finishing crimson streaks. The blast radius was exactly four hundred and twenty seven miles wide, exactly as Lincoln would have wanted it.

We did it, Reagan, we finally did it.

—

“So? What do you guys think? Thoughts? Feelings? I’m looking for constructive criticism here. This script took a lifetime to write but I’m feeling good about it!”

The executive sat before me on a floor cracked from the impact of his unhinged jaw colliding against it. This is good news; he must be awe-stricken by this masterpiece.

“Clint…I…”

“Well?”

“Just…get the fuck out of my office.”

I swore I heard him wrong. Only a backwards bulldog would refuse this dimepiece. Hurt and in no mood to argue I got out of there as quickly as I could.

I stood there, staring pensively out the window. There was no denying now that it was time. I had an important call to make.

“Bush, it’s time. We gotta start Project Frankenstein, collect the body and make preparations right away; we’re bringing him back…you know exactly whom…that’s right…Nixon.”