Callum Keenan , Author at The Argosy

Chronically offline

Callum Keenan — Wed, 20 Mar 2024 19:52:40 +0000

Nowadays, people have their faces buried in cellular telephones. Everybody spends their time surfing the internet, or messaging each other over Black Berry Messenger, or whatever the cool kid equivalent is. All these new fangled gadgets have the youths of today talking in their own language.

They’re always salty, because their BAE didn’t get the boujee new kicks they wanted. Whenever I point out that bays are obviously salty since they’re part of the sea, these hip new kids respect the opinions of their elders, with their universal agreement in saying “Ok, Boomer.” Although some common phrases like the one before are possible to decode, others are unbreakable. The previous slang sentence was clearly talking about how a bay destroyed the shoes from a member of the bourgeoisie through salt damage. But a slang sentence like, “Alright fam, finna gonna skert on down to that bussin’ rager, make sure to bring my BORG and wear your drip,” are utterly incomprehensible.

All of this time spent online causes more than just a language of its own to form. There are entire worlds, discordes, and corners of the internet dedicated to the things as weird as erotic fanfics of The Office. Some of these fanfics do give Sarah J Maas a run for her money, in the spicy department at least.

Courtney Richard – Argosy Illustrator

It seems our world is split in two, those that are chronically online, and those that are chronically offline. When picturing those that are chronically online most people imagine a diva scrolling through Instagram, or a shut in nerd arguing about Star Wars physics in the depths of discord. While those that are chronically offline are either seen as a grandpa that calls it the internets and asks how to get to google every time, or seen as a straw in the mouth gardener that spends their free time hugging trees.

The reality is that most people fall somewhere in between the two. They’re on Instagram to find the best crop rotation for their garden. Or there are the divas that love nature posts, so they go hiking every second Sunday. Or the Star Wars nerds that get together and have epic lightsaber fights at midnight. Most people have a balance of the two, but there is just one thing I’d like those that are chronically online to find out: What the hell is going on with Princess Kate?

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When flocks of students hunting for food on campus

Callum Keenan — Wed, 06 Mar 2024 23:02:50 +0000

Every student at some point or another finds themselves sprinting from class to class with a grumbling stomach. And as many mothers would suggest, the solution is very simple, “just eat your damn lunch!” But for those that forgot to pack a lunch, Sackville, New Brunswick has other designs for its residents’ food shaped needs. When on campus the only shapes a proper meal comes in are sandwich shaped. Gracie’s has so-called soups and wraps, but really those are just diversity hires used to buff out the menu.

Tedi Buffett – Chief Editor

Once students resign themselves to the bland bread and drab meats—or worse, the egg salad sandwich that the Biochemistry Society suspects may have achieved sentients—they will have to line up nearly out the door of the library so they do not pass out from hunger in their three hour lab that bans food from the room.

Worse are those professors that insist on using food in every metaphor and question. Somehow they are always the ones with the hour and a half class at the end of the day, where students that were not fast enough to pick up some bland calories at the Flying Bean must sit in studious misery. They are the ones swaying back and forth from their blood sugar crash, the entire time tasting the sweet jelly-filled Timbits that their econ professor is using to describe opportunity cost. The only opportunity the hungry students are looking for is the opportunity to run home and finally sate their hunger.

Students with a laid back schedule get a buffet of options in the downtown core of Sackville. Everything from the pizza at Goyas, to the pizza at Fener’s, and even the pizza at Joey’s. Oh, wait. That’s ash. No wonder Song’s Chopsticks and Oh Chicken are doing so well. Robot servers aside, having a little variety is delicious.

At least the students in residence that pay an arm and a leg for meal hall get a little variety in their meals, plus it is right on campus. Though the choice of pickle bacon pizza is a culinary curiosity best left for those with damaged taste buds, but at least it is some sort of variety. On the other hand, many meals are spiced to the taste of a monotone robot, one that calls black pepper the spiciest thing known to humankind. Making meal hall work wonderfully for the white student body—at least, any students that are not vegetarian, vegan, gluten free, or have any allergies. In which case, good luck staying above the hunger line.

There is nothing more primal than hunting for food, and in many ways Mt. A proves a more difficult hunting ground than the Serengeti, especially when the sun goes down and campus turns into a straight up food desert. Feeling like our ancestors of old, prowling the night in the search for any morsels or scraps. Finding themselves looking in at Gracie’s fat fryers and salivating at the possibilities. Wondering if lock picking is as easy as it looks like in Skyrim.

When wandering the midnight food desert of Sackville there is one thing that crosses every student’s mind: how hard is it to kill, skin, and cook a deer? Then as reality sets in, the question becomes how hard is it to pluck and cook a duck? Because those ducks are trustworthy as hell, as long as there is bread in it for them. But before any students go out clubbing ducks for food I suggest they walk the two blocks it will take to get home and scrounge up dinner from their empty fridge. We are students after all, having no food in the house is a law of physics. As immutable as gravity. And unfortunately if you live in Sackville and go wanting for food at midnight, those laws dictate that you go hungry.

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The most diverse part of Mount Allison is its phishing pond

Callum Keenan — Thu, 18 Jan 2024 01:25:46 +0000

Wading through the ocean of ads for dick enhancement drugs, and for hot singles that, let’s face it, aren’t in your area, one would almost get nostalgic for the good old Mt. A spam emails. They are truly part of the healthy ecosystem that Mt. A fails to provide. Like when you are looking for a summer job and can’t find anything, you know the phishing emails will always be there for you. Promising zero work and high pay, just for your bank number, social insurance, and address. One time, I clicked on a phishing email and they even asked me about where I grew up and the name of my first pet. It felt like a really personalized phishing attempt, like they cared for me and saw me for who I was. They really went the extra mile to get all my banking security questions right.

Unlike other schools, Mt. A boasts a diverse ecosystem of phishing attempts. If you go into your email right now and search up phishing attempts you will see. See the cautionary emails warning students of all the new strategies they are applying. Everything from the classic “IMPORTANT NOTICE” that your student ID is about to be deactivated to the musically themed ones with subject lines like “About Piano” which may have been a convoluted conspiracy from mothers across the country to get their children to pick up piano lessons again, or just someone trying to steal all your money.

This is just the tip of the iceberg that is Mt. A scam emails. Like the one you get every semester demanding you pay over 5,000 dollars to the university, or they will kick you out for not paying tuition. Other than the institutionalized thievery running rampant, the phishing emails have been getting bolder and bolder, some would even say ostentats.

There have been some that have titles like “School News.” Which, as someone affiliated with The Argosy, feels like a slap in the face. Especially since there will probably be more people that read that phishing email than this article. Even though the humor section is as far away from news as one can get, and often devoid of humor, having phishing emails encroaching on the already dry news market of Sackville feels personal. Why not send one out about a fowl themed restaurant slash cafe. Sackville’s got about five of those, which does not sound like a lot but when there are only seven restaurants, it is.

Although getting in on the news cycle is a little ironic and bold, I’d say the attempt to masquerade as the CSD Helpdesk scores higher on the irony slash daring scale. The email itself is a humor article all on its own. It’s sent from an account with three first names in it, with no greeting or sign off. It utilizes arrows to point you to the email they would like you to send your password to, an email that is sketchier than Mt. A security: helpdesk.service@outlook.it.

Kaya Panthier – Argosy Illustrator

Often the key to life is seeing the silver lining in the most bland of all clouds. It’s being able to see the ocean of uninspired phishing attempts we receive on a weekly basis and look forward to the next one, wondering what weird font they will pull out next.

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Science students working for their participation marks in drama distribution credits

Callum Keenan — Thu, 18 Jan 2024 01:25:46 +0000

All science students have had this thought at least once, even the nice ones, even the few that don’t have an intellectual superiority complex: I could crush a drama slash screen studies minor between my thunder thighs, like a watermelon on New Year’s Eve. But life adores to prove us wrong, and it does it in the most unexpectedly brutal ways.

Kaya Panthier – Argosy Illustrator

Let’s take an imaginary computer science student, and throw them into a random drama class. Since they are a computer science student, statistically they are a white male with a bland name like Dave, or Dan. It really doesn’t matter. This imaginary Dave, Dan, or Danyle is about as interesting as a desert. To pick his distribution credit Dan made the rooki-est of all mistakes and threw a dart at a class list, instead of doing the sensible thing and looking up the top 10 bird courses at Mt. A.

This is how he ended up in an upper year Act-itorial, walking into the beautiful Purdy Crawford Centre of the Arts, with its high ceilings and modern architecture. Dan couldn’t help but be amazed, and in awe, of all the Nvidia GeForce RTX 4090’s the compsci department could buy for the amount of money sunk into this fancy art shed. Yah, Dan’s that kind of asshole.

Brushing off his rampant superiority complex, Dan pulled his head out of his ass just long enough to find the classroom. The ever locatable theatre room. Which was his first hint that he should feel out of his comfort zone in the realm of the theatre kids. Dun, dun, dunnn…

Dan missed all the warning signs. Including the students that kept singing everything they said instead of talking normally. Dan sat down in an inconspicuous spot, pulled out his computer to do whatever computer science students do. I want to say, surfing GitHub, and looking for his coding rivals repository so he can make something more impressive. But as Dan waited for the boring syllabus explanation to start, to hear that he would get to grade himself, to get his participation marks for the day, and for the class to be over, he got a bit of a shock. Class was in session, and he was about to learn how hard those participation marks are to earn.

The professor stood in front of the class and called them down saying that they should start with a fun little act-ivity, before calling it a day. Unfortunately the professor’s love of puns was only matched by his love for the stage. The eyeroll-inducing act-ivity was simple. Everybody wrote down one thing they did in the past week on a slip of paper, and one feeling on another. Each went into separate bowls and they were mixed up. Everyone would get both an action and a feeling at random. Then they would have to act it out.

Dan wrote down “making a sandwich” and “bored,” hoping he would get his own papers. When it was his turn the first part of his plan went off without a hitch, he got making a sandwich, easy enough. Even if he got an emotion like sadness it should be pretty easy, right? Wrong! His card had one word, horny.

That’s how Dan was standing on a stage asking himself the one question that we all eventually must ask ourselves: How on god’s green earth do you even make a smut sandwich?

After a great deal of blushing and shuffling around, Dan resignindly started to act. Consoling himself by thinking that it was better than pretending to stick his head in the fridge and saying, “step bro I’m stuck.” Dan pretended to open a peanut butter jar, imagining he had boulder shoulders in place of his scrawny little sticks. Then he stuck a finger into the jar and sensually licked it. Deciding that if he was in for a penny, he might as well be in for a pound, Dan said in his most rugged tone, “YUM!”

As Dan continued his performance he began to sweat from all the sexy shoulder rolling and smoldering that he was doing. By the end he had forgotten about the audience and was solely dedicated to the art of smut sandwichery. Dan may have come in with his nose a bit high in the air, but once he left he was well on his way to becoming a devout theater kid.

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How long you’d last in The Hunger Games

Callum Keenan — Thu, 23 Nov 2023 02:22:00 +0000

When going to the movies with your friends if you are one of the lucky ones that has those—there is always that one friend that says, “If I was in that situation I’d… ” First off, they always sound like the whiny kid from grade two that tells everyone about his monster truck he drives. And second, no Jarald, you couldn’t do a backflipping somersaulting roundhouse kick. That’s not a real thing.

Olivia Haill – Argosy Illustrator

But what if we were in an action movie, and we had to do a backflipping somersaulting roundhouse kick? I’ll ask the king of all grade school questions: how long would you last in The Hunger Games? Here’s some categories, which ones fit you?

The Camper:

Specifically, the kind of camper that brings a five person tent for themselves, and fills it up with an air mattress so thick you could swear it’s a waterbed. But then they need to bring their electric air mattress pump, and their car to plug it in. After they set up their camping sofa, while their pump is screeching and hollering in the background, they will remark on how rugged they are for “ruffing it” in the woods. The Camper will run straight to their rugged home in the woods and promptly die because they thought they recognized nightlock berries.

The City Kitty:

I am sorry to say but all those times you chose to drive instead of walking are catching up to you, like how all the other tributes run you down. Unfortunately, the other tributes are not coming to ask what your Starbucks order is, they are coming to introduce you to Mr. Stabbington.

The MMA fighter:

Your hands are registered as lethal weapons, and you might just be able to do the backflipping somersaulting roundhouse kick. You are a terror at the cornucopia, you do not go for the weapons, you go for the tributes. By the end, your lethal weapons are covered in blood and you are glad you went through all that training. Unfortunately, because of that training, you scoff at the very real weapons around you. Eventually, you find it hard to scoff when an arrow is buried in your chest.

The Theatre Kid:

You are trained in stage combat, your vocals are practically a sonic weapon, and you know you are putting on the biggest show of your life. This is your theater and you are the Demon Barber of Fleet Street. The game gets off to a great start: you pick up a rapier, you are trained in it, and most importantly, it does not clash with your costume. You kill your first opponent by quoting The Princess Bride until they get distracted by your words and stage combat training letting you stick them through the heart. You join a group of other tributes and everything is going well until you act out your part in Sweeney Todd one too many times. But hey, strangulation in your sleep is not worth death.

The Body Builder:

It turns out that being able to crush rocks with your bare hands helps when put into a death game. Then, you discover that by flexing your abs you can deflect arrows. Some of your prey pray for their lives, but you tell them they should have spent more time in the temple of gains. You die three days in from protein powder withdrawal.

Fantasy Book Readers:

You know the most about The Hunger Games, you have got a strategy, you know every outcome and every weapon. That is why you know it is a bastard sword and not a great sword that gets buried halfway through your chest.

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What to do when you’re stuck in Sackville for reading week

Callum Keenan — Thu, 02 Nov 2023 02:57:04 +0000

Clean The Argosy office because your boss asked whoever is left in Sackville to clean it, and you need to make a good impression because HR asked to talk to you after reading week and you are worried about your job.
Go to the foundry in the dead of night and wander the old decrepit maze of forgotten memories and lost souls as you watch the ravages of time. Thinking that this is the perfect metaphor for your dating life.
Star gaze by yourself and come to the profound realization that you are a little speck on a rock hurtling through the cosmos, and this speck really needs to find a date.
Ketamine
Go to Bagtown Brewery on trivia night, armed with a plan to make friends with strangers but then your gun jams when you realize you are an introvert that would rather sit at home writing essays on the differences between dust mites and termites (dust mites have a sense of humor). But it’s ok because you forgot to take your pills this morning and your split personality disorder is kicking in, so you are a trivia team unto yourself. As long as Jerrod would shut up about dust mites.
Walking around Waterfowl Park and feeding the ducks so you can pretend like you have friends, even if they are bought by Wonder Bread. As you stare into their soft trusting eyes, thinking about your dad’s duck confit recipe, you realize that one of these dumb ass birds could probably get a higher GPA than you.
Make duck confit
Study
Draft, star, and produce a one man rendition of Annie
Hold a viking funeral for all the snowmen that you made during the first snowfall that melted away, only to give up when people keep asking you why you are burning a box of carrots.

For those staying in Sackville over reading week, send us a picture of you doing something cool. Best pictures will be put in the next issue of the Argosy. Submit them to cdkeenan@mta.ca.

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Drugging your captain

Callum Keenan — Thu, 02 Nov 2023 02:57:04 +0000

There are some times in life when your stomach plummets to your toes as you realize you just fucked up in epic proportions. Like sleeping through an exam, or accidentally asking out your tutor. But this story is about the time I accidentally drugged my captain during the halftime of the big game.

Calvin is super serious whenever he is on the field. He is constantly talking to the team and coordinating our defense, but I have seen him stumble out of the bar enough times to know that he is only serious on the field. Our fateless story begins with Calvin’s poor, poor decision to trust me. He was limping around holding a hot pack to his back when he asked me for an Advil.

I rummaged in my bag, wrapping my hands around the first bottle I found and handing it to Calvin. He downed half a pill and was walking back onto the pitch when I realized what just happened. That was no container of Advil, that was pure LSD.

In a panic, I see my two options unfold in front of me. I could stop Calvin and get him to pull trig so that he isn’t tripping balls while playing, but our team’s no drug policy is iron clad. Or I pray to every god that he has the tolerance to take the half a pill and still be able to play. Given my knowledge of his extracurricular activities at the bar, I figured I would take my chances with his tolerance. Little did I know that during those times I saw him, he was only one White Claw deep.

At first Calvin was fine, directing everyone else on the field and holding his own against the other teams top players. But, it was a bit strange when he started galloping like he was on a horse instead of running. Although, he would look down and say “giddy up” before booking ass.

The problems really started when Dan had possession of the ball and Calvin started chasing him around. Dan unfortunately happens to be on our team and is not particularly fast. Calvin ran him down and trampled him. I am pretty sure I heard him say, “I spit upon thee, you rogue, and rakish knave.” Not sure anyone this side of the last century got what he said, but nobody seemed to want to get close to him, so that was a bonus.

He used the space he was given to brutal efficiency when he dodged past two defenders, nearly head butted the goalie and tied the game. Our team erupted in cheers, and I started to calm down, maybe this would be the worst of it. That is when he trotted up on his imaginary horse and flopped down onto the ground looking up at the sky. “Stars sure are beautiful tonight,” he said. I did not have the heart to tell him that it was 3 p.m. and overcast. But clearly Coach did not have any problems.

“Calvin, get your skinny ass back on the pitch before I knock the stars out of you!” Coach had such a way with words. Every time he talked you could hear the blood pressure of the team rise, as an instinctual fight or flight response was triggered. Fortunately Calvin’s flight response triggered and he dove back into the pitch. Unfortunately he said, “to arms, Rudolph, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, unite against the forces of evil!”

I think that is the moment that I realized he was not coming down from that high any time soon. But as the game went on I became less scared that I would be tracked down as the accidental drug dealer and more interested in what game Calvin was playing.

As best I could tell, he was fighting against the combined armies of Voldemort and Mordor. While he was fighting alongside Sprinkles the unicorn, his battle steed, and Santa’s reindeer army. I am predicating most of this on the last five minutes of the game in which he kicked the ball into an opponent’s face and said, “Take that you death eater.” Then he passed the ball to poor old Dan, while he said, “Fly Dancer Fly!”

That is when the other coach started raising good points about the possibility of one of our players having a stroke on the field. Calvin’s response: “Shut up Sauron, you’re the world’s worst case of pink eye!”

The best part is that Dan, I mean Dancer, passed the ball to Pracer, and then Vixen dropped it back to Calvin and he hammered a shot into the back of the net. We rushed the field and Calvin hugged Coach and siad, “Are you proud of me Santa?”

People just decided that Calvin had a little heat stroke during the game despite the fact that it was 12 degrees out. So I ended up staying relatively anonymous. Calvin still came up to me at the end of year party and asked for some Advil. But that night is another story.

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Going out on Halloween as an introvert

Callum Keenan — Thu, 19 Oct 2023 02:05:07 +0000

There are many nights that fill Sackville with pounding music and great parties. Nights like homecoming, or Saint Patrick’s Day. The overwhelming alcoholism and strangers with no understanding of personal space cause many an introvert strife. But there is one night every year where the masks that introverts wear at parties are material instead of social. Halloween. When you get to hide all your insecurities behind a mask and pretend that you are just another university student waiting for a liver transplant.

Halloween doesn’t just even out the party playing field for introverts and extroverts; it also evens out the playing field for men and women. Men are forced, for the first time in their life, to think, “what should I wear?” Or, “should I put makeup on?” But for most introverts coming up with a costume is the easy part.

Statistically speaking, some of you are going to be anime weebs, and for those of you that are, Congratulations! It’s time to dig out last year’s cosplay, throw it on and send your otaku ass out for a fun time. For those of you that have no idea what a weeb or otaku are, I’d like to congratulate you on your mental stability, and let you know that you are going to have to put in a modicum of effort. Fortunately for most introverts, instead of spending their time with others, they spend it on the internet, ending up with no innocence and a huge knowledge of pop culture that borders on cultish. Personally, after seeing one scene in Avatar: The Last Airbender, I could quote half of the episode. Since we know so much pop culture, there is no end to the possible costumes. Just pick one that suits your wardrobe or style and you are done.

Now for the hard part. Hyping yourself up enough to go to Chad’s mad rager of a costume party. Do whatever gives you confidence, or makes you happy. Like, making your favorite tv show into a drinking game. Or writing semi-erotic fan-fic about vampires until it becomes a bestseller (i.e. Twilight). Tons of people play hype music when getting ready to go out. The best way to ensure you at least get to Chad’s rager is to call your government issued extrovert friend. Whoever they are, they will make sure that no matter what you are excited, and that yes, this is the time you are going to a party.

Once your costume is ready, you have been hyped up, and there is a little bit of liquid courage in your system, all that is left is to enter Chad’s borderline frat house. Your issued extrovert is already there. But the house lights wash over you and you realize dancing with absolute strangers sounds ten times less cozy then curling up on a couch and watching your favorite movie for the fiftieth time. So for all of those introverts leaving the party early, staying home, or playing board games with friends: I wish you a happy Halloween. I’ll probably be watching Love, Actually, as that is the scariest movie I can watch without getting nightmares.

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Desperate costume ideas

Callum Keenan — Thu, 19 Oct 2023 02:05:06 +0000

Quick and easy:

Spongebob: All that’s needed for this costume is a ton of yellow sticky notes, brown shorts, and maybe a spatula. Enjoy your night of perpetually sticking sticky notes back onto yourself.
Ghost: The basic bitch of last minute costumes, nothing else to say.
Regina George: We do not mean dressing up in lingerie and some kind of animal ears. We mean the real Regina George look:the nipples cut out of the tank top.
Where’s Waldo: Simple, just need a striped shirt, a hat, and glasses. If you don’t have a striped shirt just paint them onto a white shirt. The only problem is you will be dealing with the same two jokes about Waldo all night.
Underwear model: Great idea for those of us that have been hitting the gym and want to flex in front of our friends, or flirt with your crush. Biggest requirement for this costume is confidence.
Pun costumes: Should only be used as a last resort. You may think your costume is funny, and people may even tell you they like it. But they don’t and it isn’t. Costumes include: taping candy and googly eyes to your shirt and calling yourself eye candy, writing “life” on a shirt and carrying around lemons, handing it out to people, and giving up and writing “error 404 costume not found” on your shirt.
Candy monster: Simple, stick a bunch of halloween candy all over your body with duct tape. You’ll be popular at the party, and people will help you get out of your costume all night.
Dalmatians: White shirt with black polka dots, nothing could be easier. It conveniently explains why your girlfriend has you on a leash.
Cheerleader: If you peaked in high school, this costume is perfect for you. Just grab the cheerleading costume you brought to university for no reason and throw it on.
Lab coat: This is for all the first years in chemistry. Throw on your lab coat and be a crazy scientist.

Cringe couple costumes:

Beauty and the Beast: Let’s be honest. Between you and your partner, you are the beast and they are the beauty.
Nun and Pastor: I swear to god if I have to see one more couple say, “she usually calls me daddy but tonight she will say father,” I’m becoming agnostic.
Ken and Barbie: Ducky’s could fill a dance floor with all the couples that are going to go as Barbie and Ken this year.

Expert level:

Shrimp: There’s no explanation for this one, it’s just really hard to pull off.
Scuba Diver: Duct taping a mini keg to your back and calling it an oxygen tank will make the hangover tomorrow 10 times worse, but you will make many friends at the party.
The Cube: You will most likely require PVC piping, tin foil, and copious amounts of free time to pull this off. But, you will be a legend in Sackville for doing this.

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How to stay sane during Thanksgiving

Callum Keenan — Wed, 04 Oct 2023 19:04:15 +0000

While devouring a Thanksgiving feast with your boisterous extended family can be joyous, there is always one aunt insinuating you will never find love away from despair. So, before you are thrown into a nest of feral younger cousins, you may want to take stock of your surroundings. Never ask your cousin about their fantasy novel they claim to be writing. You will be suffocated in a cocoon of unintelligible made up words and convoluted plot points that climax in their description of the dwelven uprisings and how that is the real beginning of their slice of life book. Worse, if you utter a word to boring uncle Brandon, you will be consumed by a comatose conversation about the history and evolution of junk mail. The only thing that will put you to sleep faster than his words is the cozy fireplace spot he always stakes out.

Now that you know that socially, your family has more in common with a pack of hyenas than a litter of puppies, you can start planning escape routes and emergency contingencies. The ideal time to start is while your mother is still in drill sergeant mode, ordering that more chairs be brought up in double time. While you are panting up the stairs with one measly chair and your brother is halling up a bench on each shoulder, start crafting some exit plans.

By leaving a chair tucked away in the corner of the mud room you can pretend like you need to put it back down stairs if your dad ever starts talking about the new hobbies he has picked up. Additionally, mix around the cutlery on a couple plates so that you can fake having to fix them if cousin Tom ever starts talking about Joe Rogan and his favorite conspiracy theories. Finally, sneakily take one of the cheeses from the array of appetizers and put it back in the fridge so you can feign just remembering that you should put it out.

With all your escape routes planned, now is the time for a preemptive strike against your most foul of enemies. Your family. Reposition aunt Mary’s favorite crackers near the fireplace in hopes that uncle Brandon will take her out. That way, she will not get the chance to ask if you have given up on marriage yet. Hide all the signs of your dad’s new hobbies that he placed up and around the house. That way, you never need to hear his five year plan that will be lucky to last the next five weeks. While your mom yells for you, run upstairs and grab whatever weird books you can find and pepper them throughout the house. This way you will not need to learn what a dwelf is. Your cousin will spend the night like all true authors wish, curled into a ball with a book, and pretending like they are being social by reading around people for a change.

Finish your preparations just in time for your mother to position her three children on the piano and order them to play. While the first couple of families appear, your mother says “oh do not mind the piano, they are always playing it.” The hardest part of the whole encounter is not laughing when your brother whispers “yeah, we are always playing it, under pain of death.”

And that is how you stay sane when your family comes to town. At least for the first five minutes, until you have to hear how the chemicals in the water are turning the frogs gay. Then you have to explain to your father that, no, the masterclass he took on stand up did not make his dad jokes any funnier, and that his five year plan to become the next Humour Editor for the New York Times is doomed to fail. As the shit storm you call Thanksgiving descends, and you get trapped in a conversation about junk mail, you will realize how much you fucked up. You can not start planning for your family a few hours in advance. You need a few weeks.

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