Category: Op-Ed

If You’re Gonna Be White, You Should at Least Be Irish or Jewish or Something 

by LEENA KAUR | March 17th, 2023

I think I speak for all people of color (yes we are a monolith) when I say that it is really uncomfortable when a white person is just plain mayonnaise wonder bread white, with no history of oppression. Like Brad, how am I supposed to relate to you when your ancestors spent centuries colonizing mine? 

If you were at least 1% Irish, we could make mutual jokes about colonization and British “people.” If you were something even better, like Jewish, we could more easily forget the discrimination Irish-Americans practiced towards African Americans. It’s just really weird to have no history of oppression whatsoever, like that one really rich kid who goes to a public school full of what his parents call ‘welfare leeches.’

Not to mention how boring it is, I mean, if you’re Jewish or Italian you’re basically a person of color and should be able to say racial slurs. But if you’re just German, British, or French? How am I supposed to interact with you? What if I jokingly refer to someone as Hitler and you say hey fuck off he was my grandpas best friend? What if we drive past a confederate flag and you salute it? What if you reported all the Queen Elizabeth memes as hate speech?

At least if you were some type of oppressed white, you could vote for republicans without guilt since you too are “one of us.” If you’re an unsalted cracker, please consider using some of the spices you spent centuries colonizing POC countries for. Lastly, I think it goes without saying that blondes should dye their hair brown … Why are you WHITE white? Side eye.

OPINION: How I Seized the Chambo Lobby’s Condoms To Display My Supreme Coolness


I am a really cool guy. If you ken me (that’s a traditional Scottish word for “know”), you are certainly aware that I am an attractive, strong, significant, intelligent human being who can ingest exactly twenty-one alcoholic beverages in one nighttime session. (And afterward, I can still recite every Hamlet soliloquy from memory.) But I have encountered a simple yet deceivingly complex conundrum (ah yes, the pleasure of an intentional contradiction)–most of you inferiors are not yet acquainted with me (and you shall regret that).

This year, I have been unable to converse with all my buddies from ninth, tenth, eleventh, and twelfth grades–my many, many close friends who all do, in fact, exist, such as Jimmy, Johnny, Jerry, Joey, Janie, Jenny, Jackie, and my best friend of all, Rick. I shall provide evidence of their quiddity (oh, what a sumptuous term!). I shall first provide Jenny’s phone number: 867-5309. And now, a video of Rick singing one of his delightful little tunes:

Although relinquishing time with J, J, J, J, J, J, J, and R was arduous, I shall now form new social attachments at Boing Doing. (That was a joke, by the way!) While adhering to social distancing guidelines, I concocted a scheme to demonstrate my utter coolness to my peers, without the help of my dastardly roommates. (My roommates refuse to acknowledge my quiddity [oh, what a voluptuous piece of vocabulary!], perhaps out of envy, but I shall disclose that tale during another 24-hour solar period!)

I shall now discuss my brilliant plot. It revolves around the free condoms in the lobby of Chambo, for one must take advantage of what one is given without cost. I often opine that power rests in the hands of those who hold condoms. I had to ensure all recognized the gargantuan number of condoms I possessed and certainly intended to employ during that night’s witching hour.

Enough chitter-chatter: shall we bask in my swagger? From here, I shall describe my six-point plan in enthralling narrative format. Prepare thyself.

Step 1: I stumbled upon a gathering–a legal one with mask-wearing collegiate citizens. Rule breaking is naughty, but not as naughty as I was about to (pretend to) be! They were socializing in the Chamberlain Hall lobby viewing the television (oh, the immaturity!)–next to the box of complimentary phallic protectors. Perfect!

Step 2: I strode to the condom box, guaranteeing my footsteps were as loud as possible. As I arrived at the box, I confidently yodeled (exact words: “YODELEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEH!”) to attract the attention of my classmates. They stared at me, in awe of my confidence and might.

Step 3: It was time to pop the question: “Which one of these condoms is largest?” A muscular first-year answered, “they’re all the same, headass!” But this was part of the plot from the outset! You see, now they know about my (ten sentences redacted for ‘flowery’ language).

Step 4: I grabbed each and every condom and stuffed them all in my wintry jacket. Oh, the pleasure of the condom! A round of applause erupted, and the plebeians chanted my name–oh, how fickle the masses are! The approval I desperately craved had been achieved, if only for a temporary amount of time; I was finally hip, as the masses say.

Step 5: I located a second gathering in my floor’s common room and “accidentally” spilled my jacket-full of condoms on the vodka-stained carpet. “Bravo!” exclaimed my proctor. “You are definitely going to have sex tonight, perhaps even seventeen times!” But my proctor counted the condoms incorrectly–there were in fact nineteen condoms on the ground. I was to possess nineteen sexes that night, in fact! Ah, how sophisticated–and sexual–I am!

Step 6: I returned to my room and immediately discarded the condoms, because no true patrician needs those anyway. Alright, I admit I played finger-puppets with them for a while, but quickly after, I buried them in the trash can as I ritualistically chanted Kant’s treatises on the immorality of sex. For no perspicacious human would base one’s sexual philosophy on infantile and lewd pieces of ‘cinema’ such as “The 40-Year-Old Virgin” or “Animal House” rather than Kant. One day, I shall find a partner who despises sex as much as I; on that day, I shall perhaps be open to….

Anyway, the deed is done. My reputation has skyrocketed–every time I encounter someone who attended that gathering, they laugh, as if enthused by my mere quiddity (if you have not looked up that word, you do not deserve life)! Thus begins my social dominion over the college.

Now, all grasp my coolness–except the guys who actually needed condoms that night.

College Releases Plans to Protect its Most Vulnerable: White Athletes


Two weeks ago, after several athletes were found sharing a blunt outside Farley Field house, the administration has decided to act. “This tragedy simply cannot be repeated,” spoke Dean Quinby to a Harpoon reporter, “I mean, how could our athletes be so poor as to not afford separate fatties”? In consultation with President Rose, Quinby has decided to implement a series of sweeping reforms. We have graciously summarized them for you below, which you may peruse at your leisure:

  1. The SWAG center will be converted into a safe space for white athletes. “They have suffered”, spoke Quinby, “can you imagine what it must be like—to have smoked marijuana and shared the same blunt? We must—”. As if of the same mind, Rose completed the sentence, “—care for them, as they so clearly care about us.” When asked whether ‘us’ referred to the administration or other students, Rose seemed confused that other students existed.
  1. The J-Board will introduce a new criterion to Covid-19 related hearings—the timed 1 mile. “We feel as if certain members of our community are more likely, due to socio-economic conditions, to violate Covid-19 regulations. In order to preserve collegial equity, we will be allowing students to share their track speeds with us during trials.” It seems, at long last, the administration is finally listening to the overwhelming chorus demanding fairness at Bowdoin.
  1. A statement will be released Friday warning that students who violate the on-campus community contract without wearing standard issue LL-Bean boots will be punished. 
  1. Different cohorts of students incur different expenses—a gender studies major endures hundreds of thousands in debt, another student might have to support their family, or an athlete might need to buy items (specifically, bagels for the lacrosse team). As a result, the college will be creating a “White Athlete Fund”—sponsored by Bank of America—in order to prevent fatty sharing. “No student should have to limit their experience at Bowdoin because of monetary restrictions” wrote President Rose in an email which began with his usual sweeping and unnecessary prologue.

For more information regarding the policy framework the college used to craft these reforms, please see:,_2020

Why I’m Not Hypocritical for Lying

BY: The Head Handmaid for People of Praise Herself, AMY CONEY BARRETT & AINE LAWLOR Sep. 27th. 2020

Everyone keeps saying I am being hypocritical—and by everyone, I mean all those liberals on social media—and I just thought it was time I cleared the record to prove I am not hypocritical, just a self-interested liar. There are two main issues I need to address: my pro-life stance and my desire to fill the supreme court right now. I don’t care about any other issues because if I looked beyond my church-induced fear of abortion into any other pressing political topics (the pandemic, the economy, healthcare, racial equality, the state of our democracy, etc.) then I would be forced to reckon with the blatant fact that Trump sucks, and the only reason I vote is to prevent other women from having reproductive rights. I only do this because my preacher says abortion is a sin, and I never recieved enough education to actually read and interpret the bible on my own (It’s a good thing women don’t need to be literate, especially when you have your own scribe. Don’t look me in the eyes, Marcella, we’ve discussed this.). It’s not like I’ll discover that biblical texts couldn’t give a shit about abortion (or my suppressed attraction to other women for that matter. Marcella, you didn’t hear that.).  

But anyway, back to the point, some people are suggesting that my support for the forced sterilization of women in ICE detention centers contradicts my fierce pro-life stance, which is just not sensible. They fail to acknowledge the key fact that my discriminatory views are precisely that — discriminatory — and that obviously my stances against birth control, abortion, and family planning only apply when I want them to and I don’t want them to right now! I need to reconcile my racist prejudices with my sexist ones and thus no hypocrisy here, just unashamed bigotry (No, you can’t go to the bathroom, Marcella. I don’t care if it’s been 3 days.)

Secondly, and I don’t even know why I have to explain myself here, it is not hypocritical of me to want to confirm a new Supreme Court justice before the election even though I adamantly claimed in 2016 that this exact situation was immoral and undemocratic. And the reason that this is not hypocritical is that, once again, I have different standards for everyone and morals don’t apply to me (Obviously, otherwise I would go to hell for the abortion I had when I was 17 after I seduced Father Whyte with my womanly charm. Oh, don’t give me that look, Marcella, as if your loins could ever entice a man of his stature.). And for the record, I was crossing my fingers (to ward off the devil that is Nancy Pelosi and her demonic curves), so I didn’t actually make any promises.

The most important part of my defense against accusations of hypocrisy is the pure fact that I am consistently and relentlessly acting in my own interests, and I have never done otherwise, which is a form of consistency in and of itself. My words may be hypocritical at times, but my actions are always, always predictable—I have never showed an ounce of altruism, selflessness, or care for people other than my own. Hypocrisy is like socially-liberal, fiscally-conservative people who say and act contradictorily every time they discuss politics. Or like Susan Collins who tries to fool liberals into thinking she has not been whipped by Mitch McConnell and her preacher in the same go (Of course, Susan Collins is a woman of rapturous eroticism. If only she and I could- Marcella! Have you been writing these asides in the article? Fine. But I’ll be checking later. (She can’t read, so I’ll be good – Marcella.)) But that is not me, my words mean nothing, and they never have, Like those Bowdoin guys who have the Healthy Masculinity Club in their bio and then interrupt women in every conversation. My actions speak louder than the biblical verses on my doormat, and my vote for Trump this November will never be about anything other than my steadfast belief that no other women should ever have any rights that are denied to me because my husband is a controlling asshole, and my life revolves around reinforcing the patriarchy. Now if we could all join hands, I’d like to lead us all in a prayer for the souls lost in abortion clinics, and absolutely not for any of the souls lost to “COVID.” Amen.

“Sweet Caroline,” “Jessie’s Girl,” and “Stacy’s Mom” Are All the Same Person and Here’s Why

by JACK SHANE February 10, 2019

Before you write this off as the ramblings of a mad man, hear me out. These three songs were released in an order such that the “Sweet Caroline” that Neil Diamond sings about in 1969 is a baby, likely his niece or cousin. The lyrics of Diamond’s song are much less sexually charged than the other two, showing that they are likely about a baby “reaching out to him.” Let’s be honest, there is nothing cuter than babies reaching out. His phrasing implies that he is babysitting this baby as the night “don’t seem so lonely.” He even sings about how perfect it feels “when I’m holding you.” So, either Neil is having a nice moment with his infant niece, or he is fucking this baby. Moving on.

In 1981, Rick Springfield longs to be with his best friend’s girl who, you guessed it, is (probably) named Caroline. Assuming that Neil Diamond was babysitting her between the ages of two and five, Caroline would now be 14-17, perfect age for the girl mentioned in Springfield’s high school anthem. Springfield laments about how Jessie holds her at night, likely reminding her of how her favorite uncle or cousin used to hold her when she was a baby. Hot, right?

Twenty-two years later, in 2003, Fountains of Wayne released the classic hit “Stacy’s Mom” about the same girl. Now a woman in her late 30’s, Caroline has birthed a child, who she named Stacy. This daughter has a boyfriend who longs to see Caroline. According to Rick Springfield, Caroline is a beautiful lady, which this boy now sees as well, even 20 years later. Springfield also grieves over how Caroline looks at Jessie, similar in the way that she is said to stare at the boy mentioned by Fountains of Wayne.

Canada Goose Heads South for Winter Break

by  BROOKE VAHOS and ELIZA JEVON Jan. 24, 2019

Hailing from Vancouver originally, Remington the Goose decided it was time for a change of scenery.  He so hated wearing his threadbare $1050 Expedition Multi-Pocket Parka Coat with Fur Hood. Drag racing his Lamborghini through the snow was getting old (he was generous enough to give his livery driver a break from time to time). So, he had Roger pack up his Louis Vuitton suitcases and book the next flight to Tijuana, Mexico. Continue reading “Canada Goose Heads South for Winter Break”

Clayton S. Rose: “If Everyone Could Just Venmo Me Like 5 Million That’d Be Awesome”

By SARA BARONSKY Oct. 12, 2017

Hey guys,

I know it’s super annoying, and you know I really hate to be that guy, but I kind of need you to send me that $5,000,000 right now if you haven’t already. So far I’ve only gotten money from Reed and the Schillers.

Graphic by Arah Kang 

Again, hate to be that College President, but I’m actually spending a lot out of pocket currently, so if you could get it to me quickly that would really mean a lot. Ugh, I hate to even mention this because, like, you guys know I hate talking about money, but I took out a loan against some of those new treadmills in buck, and it’s really getting down to the wire here.

Also, someone left a green Nalgene in the basement of HL. It’s in my desk if you want to swing by and pick it up. Thanks!


Guest Blog: I Have Never Seen My Own Penis


I wanted to write about something that has always been very hard for me to talk about. Whenever I bring it up, I get laughed at. Tormented. Prodded with wooden spoons. No one seems to get it, but I’m telling you all because I hope someone understands.

I have never seen my own penis.

I know, you’re probably already chuckling, but it’s the truth. I’ve never come face-to-head with my schlong. I think it’s there — I pee four times a day and have 2 beautiful children — I just haven’t seen it for myself.

No, this isn’t a weight issue. I’m definitely on the skinnier side, and I hit the gym every day. Maybe I just haven’t looked down enough? Other people have seen it, and even said that it’s the average length and girth, but I have yet to catch a glimpse of my own skin flute.

                            Maybe I left it in my other pair of pants?

What’s the next step? What do you think I should do? Maybe I haven’t been tried hard enough? Should I ask someone to take a picture of my one-eyed-snake? Or have I been lied to, and I don’t really have a pork sword of my own? It sounds crazy coming from a grown man, but I’d really love to see my giggle stick, even just once.

Thank you all for reading. I hope that this article helps end the stigma against men unable to examine their own meat scepters. Maybe this is the first step. Maybe you all will finally come to accept, even celebrate, that I may never get to see my own bologna pony.


A Possibly Phallus-less Fellow

Hey BOC, I Think We Should Talk


Hey BOC,

It’s me, Nature. You know, the one you never stop talking about with all your friends. I really don’t know how to approach this since it’s a little awkward for me, but we need to talk.


Everyone knows how much you love me, but I’m just not there yet. All the, “I’m in love with nature” and, “I just want to be out in nature right now” is really overwhelming. You’re smothering me and I can’t take it any longer. I think it’s best that we just be friends right now.

This doesn’t mean we still can’t hang out! You can keep using me to justify not showering or feeling like you’re better than that guy in your history class who didn’t recycle that one time. You can even write in Bernie Sanders for president if it somehow makes you feel close to me.

I’m sorry this is so abrupt. Maybe it’s the general warming of the Earth, but I just feel like we should let things cool down.

Take care of yourself,


Image Source:

Tequila, Beloved Friend and Hamster, Died on May 2, 2016


As humans, we come into this world with very little direction. Hopefully, we have parents that set us on the proper path and friends to root for us. If we are lucky, we have people on our side, hoping for our success, but it is never certain. If there is one certainty in life though, it is that our pets are always on our side — even if owning them in a first year dorm is in direct violation of campus rules.


Like any good friend, Tequila was always there for those who needed her. Whenever someone needed to avoid a problem set or take a break from a soul crushing Gender and Women’s Studies paper, she was there. Sure, saying her name caused security to come check to see if people were drinking in the room, but she was worth it.

If love is a journey, then loving Tequila was like climbing fucking Everest. She wouldn’t hydrate some days. Other days, she would pee on drunken guests who tried to hold her. Cleaning her cage was not exactly pleasant either.

Could anything ever fill the void left by such a presence? No. Not yet. She burrowed into our hearts much like she burrowed into her cage where she slept for twenty hours each day surrounded by her own feces.

Tequila is survived by her five mourning mothers. The service was brief, intimate, somber, and filled with Coldplay. The casket that now holds her cold, stiff body came from the finest corks, popsicle sticks, and hot glue the Craft Center had to offer.

In light of this campus tragedy, we should all be reminded that, some day, we will all go into that good night, hamster and human alike. Death waits for us all.

Bowdoin Counseling Services are available to all students affected by this tragedy.