J. P. Crawfish
Staffwriter
One of the subjects, hopefully before 2030 if all goes to plan
Bio
Unknowable and Mysterious
Fun Fact
I like the rain
Previous Work
I wrote this article while sober
We the twenty two ago, in order to psshhh. I just think that we’d be good together, ya know. Like like as friends. It's fine I gotta catch the bus. The bus! I’m gonna walk walk away. Ring around the rosy. Cool. Cool. It’s fine. I’m just gonna lie down. Play some some tetris. All the blocks fit in together. So perfect. The line, it disappeared. Why? Why did it go? Awayyy. The lights are too bright. Like life. Psshhh. I’m a coward.
Wait, people actually read this?
Just to like confirm, people read this shit? Like, this? Like ReadMe? This ReadMe? There’s not a different ReadMe CMU satire magazine right? Just this one? Which to reiterate, people read?
I thought this magazine only existed to use up our print quota. I thought we only put this magazine out to weigh down the newspaper stands so they don’t blow away in the harsh Pittsburgh weather. I thought that perhaps a passing student could make a fun ReadMe paper hat to amuse themselves in passing, but I never thought someone would read it.
Let me get this straight. People have time. They don’t have much of it but they have some. And they use this time which they don’t have much of to read ReadMe. To bend down slightly, pick up a ReadMe, and read it with their eyes. People only have two eyes! And they’re using both of them on ReadMe? Like, you get why I’m having trouble believing this, right? Oh no. If people actually read this, which I’m still not convinced they do, that means they’re reading this article? Like right now? You know what, that’s fine. I’m super chill about that. I feel fine. I’m feeling so ok and normal and chill.
As I ponder the acquiescence of this periodical by a public able to discern their own literary free will, I question the impact of this renowned technical institution of higher learning on the well being of its student population. While I possess an understanding that the more avantgarde among us may enjoy the esoteric proclivities of this accursed biweekly, ReadMe’s readership among the general Carnegie Mellon populace continues to elude me. This particular line of inquiry has proven to be a persistent source of cognitive unrest, prompting prolonged periods of nocturnal wakefulness.
Fuck it. I give up. I’d like to sincerely apologize for everything I’ve ever written and will ever write, and for everything my colleagues have ever written and will ever write. I’m getting a pseudonym for my pseudonym and moving to an undisclosed location within the Pittsburgh metropolitan area.
ReadMe Bets Entire Budget on Landslide Mondale Election Victory
It’s not the 70s anymore. Hippies are out. Snorting cocaine in a yuppie penthouse is in. ReadMe is playing it fast and loose, strutting down Wall Street with slick backed hair, a new suit, and a son named ReadMe Jr. with a distant look in his eyes and a baseball game tonight. It’s 1984, and ReadMe is just getting started.
The markets are roaring. The lines are going up and then down a little and then up more. Telephones are getting slammed down at an unprecedented rate. ReadMe needs to move fast.
After countless sleepless nights drinking fine brandy and ignoring calls from the wife, ReadMe finds its goldmine: Walter Mondale, former vice president, presidential candidate, and veritable sex magnet. A financial opportunity like no other. Betting on presidential elections is risky, but ReadMe eats risk for breakfast, alongside three hard boiled eggs and a cup of black coffee.
ReadMe lives large and lives fast, but is also a publication of science. Theories must be tested. Minnesota: Americana in the North; a hub of whatever happens in Minnesota, the perfect testing ground. ReadMe transfers the funds from the million dollar budget of the Oweek issue into a vast Minnesota polling initiative. The results trickle in. They’re conclusive: a decisive victory for Walter Mondale.
It’s November 6th, 1984. ReadMe is symbolically sitting alone in a giant glass office. It’s time for the money to roll in. Soon ReadMe won’t just be the premier CMU satire magazine, but a titan of the financial world, an unparalleled economic behemoth. ReadMe smiles, not with joy exactly, but with a quiet understanding of what’s to come: Success, money, the affirmation ReadMe’s distant father never gave. Walter Mondale, you beautiful bastard. Nothing could possibly go wrong.
Buggy: An Introduction
So you’ve found yourself in, near, or aiding and abetting a carbon fiber tube going 35 miles per hour down a hill. Do not fear, this happens all the time. There are many reasons why you may find yourself in this situation:
1) You are short
2) You went up to the wrong table during club fair, but you didn’t realize and already took a lollipop, so you can’t do anything now except politely scan the QR code
3) You got so lost in Doherty that you ended up in the Stever basement
4) You are a mechanical engineering major
5) You were wandering around Schenley park at 4:30am
6) You are friends with mechanical engineering majors
7) Three ghosts visited you on Christmas Eve and you grossly misinterpreted their message
8) You have made eye contact with a mechanical engineering major at some point
Alongside complaining about 15122 and forgetting about the football team, accidentally joining a buggy team is a proud and century old Tartan tradition. Back in 1920, some spirited fraternity brothers made the first buggies, building and racing soapbox derby-like vehicles. These buggies were designed to look like fish, trolleys, bathtubs, and other whimsical and lively gizmos. Unfortunately, CMU students hold as much disdain for low-stakes whimsy as they do for windows, sleep, and preventing scurvy. However, thanks to the devoted efforts of generations of half-gifted, half idiotic, and fully intoxicated students, whimsy has been fully optimized out of buggy, allowing the sport to continue for decades.
Do CMU students not know how to have fun? Maybe. Or do CMU students just really like putting people under 5’2” into a torpedo with a big stick and three wheels and pushing them down hills? Or maybe both? It’s both. The answer is both. Two things can be true and two things are true because it’s both.
Buggy has a role for everyone with all consuming caffeine addictions who based their high school self-worth on academic competitions. Heard the story of Sisyphus and went ‘that sounds fun’? Become a pusher. Trust the safety designs of people you know can’t do basic arithmetic? Become a driver. Like carbon fiber splinters and sweeping leaves off the road before the sun rises? Become a mechanic. Under 5’2”? Maybe just avoid the area near the fence next week.
Now, buggy isn’t only about composites or carrying hay bales at 4:00 am. Buggy is about stressing out EHS. It’s about angering the City of Pittsburgh Street Maintenance Bureau. It’s about having a personal grudge against Pittsburgh weather as a concept. It’s about finding the right shawarma machine to heat your wheels. It’s about the very cool and insane people you will find that right shawarma machine with. Above all else, buggy is about the look of horror on the faces of non-Tartans when you pause and smugly say, “There's actually a person in there”.
Facing your fears: The self-assured squirrel that's four feet in front of you
It happened again. You were leaving the car, walking back home, when you encountered it: a squirrel (let’s call him Squeaky) standing only 4 feet away from you.
You take a step closer. Squeaky does not scurry away. You cower. Squeaky stares you down. You run away.
Does Squeaky have rabies? you ask yourself. No, Squeaky doesn’t. What does Squeaky have? Courage. Gumption. Chutzpah. Probably the confidence to make a phone call. Maybe even the confidence to leave a message.
Shouldn’t this squirrel (let’s call him Sir Nutsworth) be afraid of humans and cars? You are a human that just got out of a car. Surely you are the epitome of Sir Nutsworth’s nightmares. But no, Sir Nutsworth is calmly standing and looking at you with an expression that says, “I had a positive middle school experience.” And you, standing there pathetically, are afraid. Perhaps of Sir Nutsworth. Perhaps of your own ineptitude.
How do you remedy your self-worth when faced with a nonchalant squirrel? Your first instinct may be to insult Sir Nutsworth to make yourself feel better. You might try telling Sir Nutsworth that he sucks at burying acorns and that his colleagues wouldn’t want to run into him at a bar. Since Sir Nutsworth is secure in himself and his acorn burying abilities – and his colleagues all know he is the life of the party – this won’t work.
Instead, remind yourself: you are a CMU student and this squirrel (let’s call him Squirrellock Holmes) is a squirrel. Tell Squirrellock (who is named after his grandfather, not the famed literary detective, if you’d even bothered to ask) how many APs you took in high school. Remember that you’ve won robotics competitions Squirrellock probably hasn’t even heard of. Skillfully bring up in conversations that Squirrellock probably couldn’t handle the number of units you're taking. Make sure that when you are bragging to your friends about how little sleep you get, Squirrellock is within earshot. Be confident. Be daring. Be fearless.
Or just run away. That works too.
Welcome to Pittsburgh!
The Big Apple. The City of Angels. The Motor City. The Windy City. Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania is known by many names that reflect the splendor and enigma of this Pacific Northwest paradise.
A European jewel nestled in the foothills of the Adirondack Mountains, Pittsburgh has amazed at least a dozen CMU students — strangers to the excesses of Sin City.
“I’m from New York City where there's only a grassy field, two cows, and a gay club called ‘Club Diesel’,” commented one CMU student, “so seeing the towering skyscrapers of Pittsburgh was really different.” A second new student continued, “I’ve lived my whole life in the vibrant metropolis of Mossville, Illinois. It’s really fast-paced and densely packed and the only visible wildlife is pigeons. The giant sand dunes and rolling hills of Pittsburgh were definitely a new experience.”
“I’m from a city with a lot of bridges,” a third student added, “so finding out about the total lack of bridges in Pittsburgh was a real shock.”
Pittsburgh, more commonly referred to as the City of the Violet Crown, is known globally for its myriad of natural landmarks. In particular, Pittsburgh is famous for its three converging rivers: the Colorado River, the Ganges, and the Euphrates. Further, Pittsburgh landmarks such as the Colosseum, the Gateway Arch, and Gary-the-Rock-with-googly-eyes attract millions of visitors annually. For residents, Pittsburgh is known for its robust public transit, with maglev bullet trains, thirty person clown cars, and those dumbass electric scooters being the most common transportation methods. While travelling, residents report frequent sightings of kangaroos alongside rare sightings of the hellbender salamander. One person even reported seeing a squirrel.
Arts. Culture. Arts and culture. Culture and arts. Food. Pittsburgh cuisine is famous for the key lime pie reuben, an abomination enjoyed by Pittsburgh captains of industry since the Industrial Revolution. Since then, Pittsburgh industry has been dominated by the production of onions and onions alone. A bright eyed upstart once suggested producing shallots, and was promptly laughed out of the city. Lastly, Pittsburgh is known for its normal colleges, normal college students, and normal satire publications. One of those normal satire publications, ReadMe, a local gem and majority shareholder of Pittsburgh's third most prominent saloon, would like to say from the bottom of its normal satire publication heart: Welcome to Pittsburgh, the City of Brotherly Love.
Poetry Corner
Chuck Schumer’s Glasses
Chuck Schumer’s Glasses
Precariously perched
Tilted and tepid
How does he look up?
Or straight forward?
Or in any direction that isn’t at a 60 degree angle?
Left with many questions
I seek
No answers
Just Chuck
Fiddler on the Roof
Without traditions
Our lives would be as shaky as a fiddler on the roof
Oh no
That's not good
The fiddler
Has dropped the fiddle
From the roof
Onto Tevye’s eldest
She looks hurt
Ok it's just a bruise she’ll be fine
Surely nothing else bad will happen to the Jews of Anatevka
The Guy in the Maccabeats that Wears the Astronaut Suit in the Candlelight Video from 14 Years Ago
Please marry me
I know you’re married
And I’m a lesbian
But please marry me
This isn’t a poem
My Dad Kind of Looks Like Adam Sandler
The universe
Is cold and dark
Uncaring and random
So why then
Does my dad look kind of like Adam Sandler
Like they’re not identical but they have a certain similar likeness
The universe is
Absurd and answers to no one
So I shout to the void
If I have a child
Will it be Adam Sandler
Torah Review
Noah’s Ark
🔯🔯
Great ocean scenery but they put me with the only other human and he keeps looking at me weird.
Tower of Babel
🔯🔯🔯
Gribbledorf zanks flomptiously squibberwump’s jibbleflop.
Cain and Abel
🔯🔯🔯🔯
If my dad named me Cain, I’d also be pissed off.
Joseph’s Coat of Many Colors
🔯🔯🔯
A bit too much if you ask me.
Passover Story
🔯🔯
Can’t believe they plagiarized from the iconic 1998 American animated musical drama film The Prince of Egypt. Is nothing original these days?
The Desert
🔯🔯🔯🔯🔯
t’s been a great few days. I’m sure we’ll get to the promised land really soon. I’m really
not a fan of wandering or the number 40 but I’m sure that won’t be a problem.
Ten Commandments
🔯
We really traded a golden calf for two stones, huh.
Reasons Why a Nice Jewish Boy Like You Isn't Married
1) You won’t let me set you up with Rachel Cohen
Rachel is such a nice girl. I’m sure you two would have a lot in common. I saw her mother at Barbara’s shiva last week. Do you remember Barbara? Such a shame! And you know what her mother said? Rachel is moving to Philly for her residency. A doctor! Can you believe that? It would work out so well and you won’t even let me set you guys up. Fine, fine, I won’t. You know I do so much for you and this is all I get in return. I said I won’t. Oy, I don’t get an ounce of appreciation from this family.
2) Too focused on (unsuccessful) career
Wow, you want to be a writer! That's what the world needs more of. Why can’t you be more like your brother David. He and Rebekah are both gastroenterologists, just like Rachel is going to be. Why won’t you let me set you up with Rachel?
3) You stopped going to synagogue after your bar mitzvah You don’t even go to shul during the high holidays. Remember when you wanted to be a rabbi as a kid? Remember Morah Rivka? With the hair? She would be so disappointed in you. It wouldn’t kill you to show up once in a while you know. Just say hi to the Goldbergs. They asked about you the other day and all I could say was that you’re an unmarried schlemiel.
4) Your stupid haircut Your hair is too long. It’s unkempt. I don’t get your generation. Can you even see? I just worry about you bubbeleh. How will you raise my grandkids if you can’t even go to the barbershop?
5) Are you gay? I’d be fine if you’re gay but you have to tell me
You know I lived in New York in the 80s. I’m hip. But there's no good reason that a nice Jewish boy like yourself isn’t married. Are you gay? You can tell me if you're gay. I heard Susie’s son was gay. Why won’t you let me set you up with Susie’s son? He’s a gastroenterologist.