Filed under: Strange Days | Tags: Boondock Saints, Procrastination, The Wicker Man
Well boys, we’re at it again. It’s 2 in the morning on the Monday after production weekend and we here at the paper are well on our way to producing our second issue of the year, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to get out of the print shop in time to sneak into my bed before the cock crows thrice. If only you knew the amount of non-sense that we go through to produce Fordham’s best publication of news, analysis, content and review.
And because deep down I know you care (you do really care don’t you?) I’d like to offer an inside glance of the absurdity that goes on inside the depths of the McGinley center among the brilliant minds and lost souls that bring our humble little publication to print on the Rose Hill Campus five times a semester.
To start with, the inexplicable attempt at acting made by Nicholas Cage in our favorite Horror/Suspense/Thriller of all time, The Wicker Man, has provided hours of valuable procrastination time that our entire staff has enjoyed. Be forewarned it’s about as intense a scene as you’ll ever come across.
Twice as slow = twice as stupid.
Even more time-wasting stupidity to follow after the jump!!
Filed under: About Us, Arts, Edits, News | Tags: Procrastination, the paper
Who's there?
Well, here we are folks, halfway through the production weekend for the second issue of le papier for the semester. At this point we’re thinking of it like this: Marlowe and his crew have sailed up the Congo to retrieve Kurtz and exit–only, once we entered the heart of darkness, the water supporting our little ship evaporated in an unheard of drought (ignore the fact that this is virtually impossible given the climate involved). We’re running out of supplies, and there is no foreseeable end in sight. We start to look at one another in our pangs of hunger (the cafe is closing; the cookies are gone). We realize that there is extra fat on our sports editors–previously unheard of–and look on in envy as our executive and news editors waste away in pain. The earwax editor has gone deaf, and the arts have once again become historic cave drawings. We hear a voice. It is Kurtz! Only a voice? No! His voice enthralls, inspires. It gives us pith with which to carry on.
Who is this Kurtz? It could be you!
