issue 29 // volume 42

humour // no. 23

Douglas’ declassified school survival guide

> How to survive the summer semester

Mercedes Deutscher News Editor

Ithough most students are lucky enough to escape the cruel grasp of Douglas College between the months of May and August, a few unlucky students are left trapped upon the high hills of New Westminster and in the distant lands of Coquitlam. Being in school during the summer semester can be scary. Long gone are the convenient meals of the cafeteria, replaced by barren silence and hunger. The professors that remain are devoid of care and unforgiving, looking to prey on those with the lowest GPA. The fountains return, posing a drowning hazard to the less aquatically inclined. In such a jungle, how could a student hope to survive? Thankfully, a very friendly campus publication—that still publishes in the summer ona reduced schedule— has compiled a list of all techniques needed to survive. Asmart summer student never comes to school without basic breaking-and-entering skills. When the cafeteria is closed, one must take their hunger into their own hands. Perhaps that high-achieving Winter student got so focused on their finals that they left their sandwich unattended in their locker. Although not ideal, breaking into the locker could be the difference between life and

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that comes with the realization that this semester will amount to nothing more than time that could have been spent working or going on vacation, and instead you're stuck in a dark and dismal campus during a dark and dismal semester. Readjusting to civilization once the Fall semester returns may be rough for students hardened by the unforgiving wilderness of the summer semester. One must resist the urge to chase new students across the concourse with a stick, or to over-feast on Triple O’s after a summer of starvation. However, like the injured pigeon, college students must too be reunited with their own kind after the healing process has taken place.

death. Another nutrient-rich area may be the offices of vacationing professors. All professors eat almonds. All of them.

Shelter is the next critical matter. Ever spend 15 minutes in the Fall semester doing the lockdown drill? While the procedure may be useful for campus intruders, it also proves a handy skill when barricading yourself in a classroom for four months.

Being trapped in the school during the summer can lead to desperation and loneliness. One may attempt to mate with an old videocassette in the library or cuddle with a soft chair. These futile efforts will do nothing to help you ignore the growing void of nihilism and emptiness

Why doesn't anyone trust me on here?

I

by David Manky, Senior Columnist

Photo Illustration

Life after Trump

Nation

> Diary entry, June 23, 2019, or

TrumpYear 2.124.1

Joseph Everett Concerned Canadian

[ has been roughly two years since the Great Downfall, though it is only ever called

that in hushed voices among trustworthy friends.

Donald Trump rose to power at the head of the strongest nations in the world after a devastating victory over Hillary Clinton, and since then the world has been crumbling.

Many Americans fled the nation, crossing their northern border to the sanctuary of Canada. Ma and Pa took a few in every now and then, fed them, let them shower before they continued on their way, ever northward, away from their lost country. Their forgotten dreams.

Pa and Ma have been fighting again. They say we should go as well. I ask them where but they just look at me, sadness filling their once shining eyes.

The television says that Trump has been joking about running for election in Canada. Ma says that it is impossible, but we have seen firsthand the impossibilities that have come from Trump’s joking.

We live near the border, and our nights are filled with the sounds of helicopters flying by, hammers on steel as the new wall is erected, a smaller cousin to the one that Trump had been building during the first year of his reign. The one across the Mexican border was built

to keep people out, the one up here is meant to keep them in.

To leave by boat or plane is folly as well, or Trump has ordered that any unauthorized transport be shot down or sunk, and it is said that if you do make it far enough, the United Nations have set up blockades in both the sea and the sky.

No word has been heard from any countries across the oceans, as a firewall has been put up on the Internet to act as its own wall, shielding those outside of it from the madness kept within.

Unfortunately for Canada, we were seen as America’s closest allies, and the electronic Trump quarantine has been placed over us as well. Pa says not to worry, that the good man Justin is doing all he can to convince the world that while we live above Trump’s America, we do not stand beside him. But it is rumoured that he has been greeted only by silence.

The other night, some refugees came by my school. One seemed to have been driven to insanity, the other holding him away from the children.

“Run!” he had yelled, to no one in particular. They went along their way, heads down, feet plodding ever forward. From his ramblings I gathered that they were heading to Alaska, and then, presumably, Russia.

The last escape from a Trump-torn world.

The Bering Strait.