While you’re going to have to wait for our full review of Orgo Night, we bring you the script of tonight’s performance by the Columbia University Marching Band. CUMB packed Butler 209 per tradition the night before the Orgo exam and delivered
uncomfortable jokes to their audience. Take a break from reading about some boring shit you need to know for your final tomorrow and check out a little bit more entertaining light reading. Also, here are a few tweets from our livetweet tonight to give you a taste of the action prior to the show before you get into the script. It’s like you were there with us.
But remember: this isn’t the last you’ve heard from us on this semester’s Orgo Night…
Our bodies are ready pic.twitter.com/9nC1Hy5Vhn
— Bwog (@bwog) December 12, 2014
As of now the most offensive thing in 209 is body odour #orgonight
— Bwog (@bwog) December 12, 2014
We’re here pic.twitter.com/5T8HAYjZrl
— Bwog (@bwog) December 12, 2014
Ladies and gentlemen, and organic chemistry students, back despite misguided protests, it’s the most cancelled band in the world, the Columbia University Marching Not Your Turn!
J. ISIS: Death and mutilation
J. NYPD: No trials, but tribulations
J. CIA: Rectal rehydration
Welcomes itself back to spirited, saccharine, strangely antiseptic, sedulous, sententious, sesquipedalian, semicircular, semicentennial, solipsistic, recently renovated, yet still in need of renovation! College Library, where the shelves are longlasting, but sadly not the men, and the women are checked out but long overdue. As well as picket signs going up, protesters on college walk lying down, and the Columbia deans at an all time covering their own ass, the Band now presents its 60th consecutive, 69th semiannual drive to lower the curve in Organic Chemistry while consummating the world’s largest simultaneous Orgo! And so, in the interest of everyone’s enjoyment:
SEAS students, please turn off your electronic devices.
GS students, please turn up your hearing aids.
CC kids, please set your phones to vibrate;
Barnard students, please set your vibrators to phone. Let’s start the show!
Recently it seems cops are not the kindly and benevolent force white people assumed. Pepper sprayings, beatings, killings—it’s enough to make you throw up your hands in frustration, not that that’ll keep you from getting shot. Look: no one’s saying we don’t need a police force; except maybe CrackDel. Point is, the police are like the Legos of public services. They seem pretty fun when you’re a kid and they’re better in the movies than in real life, but they can be a severe choking hazard. Here in New York state, angry crowds braved NYPD pushback to protest the nonindictment of policeman, murderer, and WWE enthusiast Daniel Pantaleo. In the state of Missouri, angry crowds marched through a hail of rubber bullets to protest against the nonindictment of policeman, murderer, and rosacea sufferer Darren Wilson. And all across America, angry crowds were chased away by their sleepy town’s squad of police tanks.
Thankfully, courageous Darren Wilson supporters with nothing to contribute, braved their subpar internet connections to take a stand by tweeting: #AllLivesMatter, #INeverPersonallyOwnedASlaveSoWhatsTheBigDeal, and #WhyIsEveryoneCallingMeRacist. Here on campus though, students closed their laptops and took to the streets to fight racism. Columbians bravely marched on Amsterdam alongside a counterprotest staged by the proNYPD contingency: the NYPD. Students now passionately chant “I can’t breathe” in places other than the McBain shaft. And in solidarity, advocates for police brutality victims—and a few stray narcoleptics—laid down for justice during the Tree Lighting Ceremony. Luckily the cold College Walk ground wasn’t too uncomfortable, since many of the protesters were carrying around their mattresses too.
Activists also spoke out against institutional racism in the Department of Public Safety, which is exciting for public safety because it makes their police cosplay slightly more accurate. We’ve heard that James McShane, department head and resident 1984 aficionado, has ensured the latest suspect’s photo is blurry enough to blame any black man in Morningside Heights. Really, Public Safety should stop racially profiling, and focus on what they do best: making pleasant conversation with Barnard girls in the signin line.
Across America, it’s become increasingly clear that the phrase “We live in a postracial society” is as big a lie as “We’ll solve it at the next town hall.” But police don’t have any interest in tearing down the system that’s kept them comfortable since the days of aiming hoses at civil rights protesters. And the politicians who could pass real reforms are only concerned for the wellbeing of their overwhelmingly apathetic and blindingly white constituents.
In protest of the glue that chokeholds our society together, the Band now forms a middle finger and plays “Fuck You, Police.”
At a school as diverse as Columbia, there’s bound to be an equally diverse range of opinions. You may love Ferris omelets; your friend may prefer JJ’s omelets, and you both apparently like diarrhea. Some people think Jews control the Internet; others observe that Kim Kardashian is not Jewish. Some people think football coach Pete Mangurian was shitty at his job; other people are Pete Mangurian.
But for the discourse that actually matters, we turn to the Spec opinion pages, where Columbia’s unheard voices compete to be unheard the loudest. Where the “voice of reason” is whichever one aligns with your existing beliefs. And where if we can’t find something real to argue about, god dammit we’ll argue about whether dangerous spaces are truly dangerous, or merely spacious. And that cando attitude is how people who have a asston in common can get together, put aside their similarities, and shit all over each other.
The most offended offenders were, unsurprisingly, engaged in a war of words over an oped about an oped about a letter to the editor about an oped about a comment on an oped that was maybe written by someone from either SJP or The Artist Formerly Known as LionPAC. We’re sure that Palestinian and Israeli families in the midst of war are waiting with bated breath for the result of the “Is DSpar Neutral Enough” debate. We now turn to a more explicitly genocidal landgrab, committed by our university’s raping, pillaging patriarch and founding member of CUCR, Christopher Columbus. Jamie Boothe, CUCR’s director of colonial outreach, took the lead in reminding everyone what the Global Core is for. In his oped defending Columbus Day, Boothe taught us the valuable lesson that slavery wasn’t that bad, since it showed white people that it was wrong to own slaves—a fact black people realized pretty much immediately. At the very least, slaves should get college credit and a letter of recommendation, like they do today.
Without decent opeds, our only venue for written discourse is rehashing old Tumblr jokes on Yik Yak. Maybe Columbia students just don’t know how to communicate anymore without making themselves sound like selfrighteous, egotistical assholes. Maybe that’s what makes us such good Ivy League students. But as long as we’re being egotistical assholes, can we please stop pretending that we’re interested in an “open dialogue?” Here’s an opinion: 95% of people who call for “open dialogues” on this campus are 100% full of shit. It hurts to have your opinion attacked and it feels awesome to just know you’re right, which is why the Lewinsky is DEFINITELY the best HamDel sandwich, and why going to Orogo Night is DEFINITELY problematic, and why the Spec opinion page is DEFINITELY an ideological trainwreck.
In honor of shattered discourse, the band now forms an echo chamber and plays “Toxic.”
As fucked as the dialogue may be at Spec, it’s nothing compared to the dialogue, content, stability, appearance, fonts, comments, competence, and coherence at another campus outlet. Just to explain for the freshmen in the audience, we used to have a website called Bwog. And every year people said, “This couldn’t possibly get any worse.” But this semester, every stupid decision and subsequent watery retraction constituted a fullon textual assault.
Its readers cringed as the photo covering SJP’s 9/11 demonstration went up, then down, then up again, and ended up blurry, like a night at Bill Cosby’s. Things only got messier with Bwog’s coverage of the Rules of Protest town hall, which had a better script than any Varsity Show. It was hardhitting at first, but later so apologetic that it will be allowed back in the NFL. Bwog, you’ve really lost your balls…err, nongender binary genitalia of choice, because in the wake of all of this journalistic skullfuckery, you issued yet another apology and lost members like a leper at an orgy.
Last night, some impassioned individuals aired their grievances against Orgo Night jokes they haven’t heard, aren’t hearing now, and won’t bother to look up later. But we can’t entirely blame them—at this school, everyone’s become accustomed to confidently bullshitting without doing the reading. It’s important we acknowledge the calls to cancel Orgo Night are coming from a very small minority of speechsuppressing, a.k.a. silencing hypocrites who stand for nothing but the buzzwords they use to construct every sentence. But just in case Orgo Night is cancelled sometime in the next 35 minutes, we’ve decided to issue an apology to every person who’s offended by anything in this year’s script, inspired by Bwog’s own epic apology to its readers.
Dear members of the Columbia community:
It has recently come to our attention that Orgo Night frequently targets one of the most oppressed groups on campus. We’d like to take a moment to formally apologize to the football team for any lasting harm we may have caused. For 69 semiannual Orgo Nights we’ve tried to provide a safe and open space for dick jokes. But to be honest with you, we don’t know what the hell we’re doing anymore. Do you have any ideas? Since Bwog’s forum was as wellattended as the College Republicans’ Darren Wilson appreciation dinner, we thought it would be best to hold our forum now when none of you can leave. Orgo Night has always adhered to our most sacred principles, and we value your input in figuring out what those principles are. Please help, if you think that your helping would be a good idea. Also, consider running for a leadership position in the band; we’re running out of people who haven’t resigned already (or been kicked out for allegedly raping each other).
In order to placate everyone, the band now gives up trying and forms nothing, says nothing, and does nothing.
[Sound of Silence]
This NSOP, campus activists woke up the students of Barnumbia—or alternatively, The Colonialist, TransMisogynistic, Overpriced Rape Factory —to the evil realities of this institution. The Disorientation Guide was a logical collaboration between groups like No Red Tape, Students for Justice in Palestine, International Socialist Organization, and the Barnard Outdoor Adventure Team. In their “guide” they invoked liberal hero George W. Bush by saying “you’re either with us, or against us,” because, of course, to think rape is wrong you also have to be a Socialist Palestinian hiker.
Now, we in the Band also don’t want our tuition dollars to be funding private prisons and oil companies—we’d rather invest in one way plane tickets for members of Beta to the African savannah, so they can experience the true “circle of life” in the jaws of Mufasa. But the writers of the disorientation guide took it a step too far. They indoctrinated fetal freshmen, who raised their fists in solidarity with all of the other freshmen who wanted free lobster at NSOP. They pandered to the millennials by writing in the same style as an A I M away message. But most offensively, they highlighted the diss in disorientation. Don’t say the cword—you know, crazy—or the word “lame,” because that’s ableist, and ableist language is crippling to open dialogue. And don’t say “guys,” because that’s how Australians say “gays.”
Activist groups are now controlling our language as much as Ariana Grande’s ponytail controls her mind. Say goodbye to the phrase, “the football team really blew it,” for fear of offending Barnard girls everywhere. Don’t call someone a “nerd” unless they’re actually in SEAS, and don’t say “wench,” because it’s a culturally outdated phrase and you should just be saying “bitch” instead. For that matter, don’t speak English at all, for it’s the language of the Brutal British empire, and is therefore insulting to Indians. But don’t say “Indians,” because it could be interpreted as derogatory against Native Americans, but don’t use the term “Native Americans,” because it’s offensive to jingoistic white people.
The disorientation guide was nice enough to inform us that by attending school here, we might as well be personally chopping down an oldgrowth redwood onto a bus full of gay Palestinian orphans. But hey, don’t activists buy into the heroic narrative of Columbia—no, sorry, “Barnumbia”—as well? There’s something about this school that makes anyone who goes here think of themselves as the ruler of their own shitty little kingdom. You can be a white male chauvinist asshole, or an asshole who won’t shut up about the spirit of ’68, but in the end, you’re still an asshole.
In honor of the glory days, the band now forms a group of sweaty students storming Butler and plays “Time Warp.”
Despite the diligent efforts of our administrators, our sterling #4 reputation is now under attack. Though they’ve made their best attempts to shield our eyes from the horror, Columbia deans couldn’t keep campus rape under covers. The inadequacies of the administration’s handling of rape on campus is illustrated by SVR’s greenyellowred traffic light poster. You know, the one that helpfully reminds us that green means go, yellow means bust a nut within four seconds or you have to stop, and red means just wait it out—because every light turns green eventually. Thanks SVR.
Because of the administration’s impotence, Columbia was a twinXL hotbed of protests this past semester. Leading the charge is No Red Tape, whose visible and radical activism has frustrated the administration and tainted the image of rapists everywhere. No Red Tape has forced us to confront ugly truths; that rapes are dismissed as often as Pete Mangurian dismissed concussions, that complaints are as poorly handled as a Lion’s field goal attempt, and that the problem of sexual violence is as cultural and systemic as the football team losing. No Red Tape are like that guy who sits in the front of your 8:40 lecture; they make the right points and are one of the few actively making them; which is annoying, because fucking up the curve for anyone who thought just sitting on your ass and not raping people was enough.
Still, No Red Tape’s prescriptions for fixing this campus rape situation range from the obvious—”Don’t Rape People!”—to the unhelpfully vague—”Don’t Rape Culture!”—to the headscratchingly unrelated—”Free Free Palestine,” but at least somebody’s looking for solutions. We in the band don’t pretend to have all the answers, but we can identify some serious fucking problems that are worsening Columbia’s fucking problem. One thing everyone agrees on, other than that Bernheim and Schwartz’ shitty pilsner is overpriced, is that the judicial process needs to be better. Sure, contrary to what No Red Tape believes, PrezBo doesn’t personally invite all of Columbia’s rapists over for icecream and high fives. However, the way administrative incentives are structured is more twisted than the mind of Charles Manson’s fiancée. At Columbia, the very people who determine rape statistics by ruling on assault cases are the ones in charge of upholding the rapeutation of the university. If UNI cafe was allowed to be its own health inspector, they’d be getting A grades easier than at Harvard. So why the hell shouldn’t rape statistics be judged by a third party? Well, Columbia would say that the RA should have already shut down the first two parties.
In honor of creating a safe space for donors, the Band now forms the delusions of the administration and plays “Sweet Dreams.”
Ah, the Columbia circle of life. As the seasons change, tree lights go up, leaves fall down, and the green lawns are blanketed in white…tarps. But one thing never changes: the administration. Though the deans may come and go, their idea of change is switching the name in the thoughtlessly copy/pasted student death letter. It seems as though administrative reforms are destined to be stuck in purgatory forever. But it’s not always because they inherently take a long time; it’s because the administration knows it can just wait your ass out.
No Red Tape is a 30yearold group that tends to bubble up every four years when new students don’t realize how unresponsive the administration has been. At Barnard, President Spar has given transgender admission reform a timeline of…again, four years. You see, by then, a whole generation of student activists has moved on from smoking weed after comp lit to smoking weed after their fulltime internships. The second you cross that commencement stage and are promptly evicted from your dorm, every petition, editorial, and maintenance request you’ve ever written becomes Low Library toilet paper.
We in the band agree that trans women are just as worthy of an allwomen’s education as cisgender women. All women should have the opportunity to uncomfortably sign out their onenightstand, and be forced to see that stranger’s face in the harsh light of day. There’s no reason the administration needs four years to make a decision: the objection to admitting trans women boils down to a childish obsession with genitals. At the end of the day, all Barnard girls have dicks, most just keep them in their desks.
One person happy with recent changes is PrezBo, who saw the size of his package increase by almost 40 percent this year! Yes, President Bollinger will make $700,000 more annually, or approximately a thousand dollars for every second he spends on campus. Which makes his infamous $471 mattress removal fee to Student Worker Solidarity a lot more understandable…to PrezBo, $471 is chump change, pennies, halal money. To be fair to Columbia administrators, it’s not like they can pull that money out of an $8 billion endowment. That money is for the stuff that really matters, like paying off US News & World Report, gentrifying Manhattanville, and funding the football program.
In honor of institutional inertia, the band now forms an exploratory committee and plays “Snappy.”
Well, that’s all for us tonight, folks. But before we go, we’d like to leave you with a few study hints for the big Orgo exam tomorrow:
Molecules with antiaromatic rings are unstable. relationships with antiromantics are unstable and and you’ll never get a ring.
An ionic bond consists of a metal and a nonmetal. A covalent bond consists of two nonmetals. A fraternal bond consists of people throwing alcohol down your throat and beating the shit out of you.
Coordination complexes of 5 generally take a trigonal bipyramidal shape. Sexual coordinations of 5 generally take at least three bisexuals.
And finally, in chemistry, elements that are not part of the solution are part of the precipitate, whereas, at Columbia, students who are not part of the solution are part of the Band!
Thanks and good night folks! Try not to break any bookcases on your way out!