An unsuspecting student drops his/her life savings into the Trinity coffers (A). This causes a fist to upset the teeter-totter (B) holding the ball of destiny. The ball of destiny then spins down the spiral shaft, falling on a cage’s release switch (C). This causes a sunlight-deprived bird, which has been caged for years, to fly to sunlight. In the process of flying towards the sunlight, the bird goes through a passage (D) that gets depressed when the bird passes by. This causes the rope attached to the passage doors to fall causing the weight on the end of the rope to fall and break a sheet of glass (E). The falling glass hits the shining light sprayed from the flashlight causing a raven to dash towards shiny objects (F). The raven is tethered to a rope, and as he flies down, he pulls up a gate that releases (G) the mining cart of “FUN TIMES” and “DEBT”.

Dr. Mimms secretly hated the world. In fact, this was such a well-kept secret that even he didn’t know about it; he thought he was content. But his soul knew better; his soul knew his true hatred. He hated the world and he longed to mistreat it because the world hated and mistreated him first. The world broke him.

You see, Dr. Mimms had a handicap – he was born without a right ear. Because of this handicap he could never listen to stereos properly, his balance was far too poor to go snowboarding, and he found it very difficult to find sunglasses with no arms on them, like the ones Morpheus wore. Naturally, he lived with great difficulty for 24 long years.

Then, on his 25th birthday (which also happened to be his first wedding anniversary), a miracle happened—a terrible, terrible miracle.

Dr. Mimms and his wife were driving into town to buy a specialty single-earmuff for his lonely left ear. It was snowing lightly and the roads were icy. Suddenly, unbeknownst to Dr. Mimms, a shopping cart escaped from the Costco parking lot and tumbled carelessly onto the road. It was full of babies—a 12-pack of babies. Cute ones.
Dr. Mimms’s wife noticed the cart immediately and screamed from the passenger seat for him to stop. Of course, without his right ear, he couldn’t hear a thing.

He didn’t even have time to slow down. He ploughed through the cart of babies like a snowplough would plough through a snow-cart full of snow-babies. He slammed on the brakes but it was too late.

What happened next seemed to happen in slow motion. The car was on fire and was rolling end-over-end toward a gas station where a truck full of explosives and a truck full of knives were parked. Dr. Mimms (who was also on fire) quickly assessed the situation and did the last kind deed he would ever do.

Since his shoes had already burned up, he was able to open the passenger door with one foot and kick his wife out of the car with the other. She fell onto the snow and passed out before she could hear his last words to her: “I blame my handicap wholeheartedly!”

The knife-ridden explosion that Dr. Mimms caused that day injured hundreds of people and killed a group of 12 senior citizens (which is ironic, since the babies landed safely in the snow). It was the biggest disaster in the town’s history, and it left Dr. Mimms’s wife with amnesia and one less tooth.

If he had been driving in England, none of this would have happened.

* * *

25 years later. The present.

Today is Dr. Mimms’s 50th birthday and he is thrilled. Why is he thrilled, you ask? Why does a man whose body is burned, bludgeoned, and lacerated beyond recognition have any reason to be thrilled? Because today is the day that Dr. Mimms will exact his revenge on the world and its cruel sense of irony.

You will notice that I never revealed to you Dr. Mimms’s area of practice. Well, he is a scientist for the government. And he is quite mad. That makes him a mad scientist. The government saved him from a fiery death those 25 years ago. They recognized his genius and gave his life purpose–to create weapons that would seek out and destroy brown people.

Yes, that was the evil task this brooding scientist had been assigned. But that’s not what he’d really been up to. Along with Pon, his faithful and spineless lab assistant, Dr. Mimms has spent the past 25 years creating a flawless robot body in which to house his brain. With an enhanced cybernetic body, Dr. Mimms would finally be able to steal ice cream and squash dogs and live out all the rage he had been harbouring for two-and-a-half decades. Once again he would be mobile, once again he would be free.

Today Dr. Mimms finished building his robot. Today he will exact revenge on a cruel, cruel world. Today many innocent humans will die needlessly.

“Pon,” he cackled maniacally, “This day has been 25 years in the making. Look down at me and tell me what you see.”

Pon answered honestly with great pride, “I see a god.”

“No, you don’t, dumb!” Dr. Mimms shrieked. “You see a broken man, a crippled man, a man beaten by life. But after our little experiment, that will no longer be the case. I will become an unstoppable engine of war and destruction, or I will die valiantly in the name of science! Either way, Dr. Malleus Mimms will be a cripple no more! Now quickly – slice open my head and remove my brain. Then place my brain in the body of the robot and turn the robot on.”

“Yes my liege,” Pon said.

“Shut up,” Dr. Mimms continued, “And remember, you must act quickly. Don’t set my brain down and go on Facebook or something dumb like that.”

Pon silently held back his tears and pretended to agree that Facebook was dumb. As Dr. Mimms continued to laugh like a madman, Pon grabbed a nearby circular saw, drew a deep breath, and began to cut open his master’s head.

To be continued…

This year, after much pondering, and to the dismay of my fiancé, I decided that I would participate in the masculine game of growth. Why couldn’t a girl throw away her razors, waxes, tweezers and depilatory creams and let her hair grow out like a guy? I decided to be the first woman in TWU’s history to do No-shave November. That’s right, hairy legs, armpits and all. I was going to make history! The feminists would be so proud.

So on Oct. 31, I prepared for the grueling month ahead. I shaved all unwanted hair and buried my tank tops in the bottom of my drawer. I even plucked my three chin hairs to keep them from becoming too noticeable by the end of November. The legs I wasn’t too worried about. It is a well-known secret among women that we don’t shave much during the winter months anyways. I figured my downfall would be my armpits. God only knows how long they could get in a month. At least I knew no one would see them, and I heard that after they get through the prickly stage they aren’t that bad. I figured this must be true because you never hear guys complain about it.

So into a bag went all of my numerous hair removal tools, under the bed for its one-month hibernation. This was a fight that I was going to win!

The first week went by without any notice. By the second week, my armpit stubble was starting to itch, my leg hair was definitely noticeable and my three hideous chin hairs had re-sprouted. I was still as driven as at the beginning and I realized that this halfway mark wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

Then, unfortunately, at the end of week three, I looked in the mirror. There to my shock and dismay was an old enemy that I hadn’t seen since junior high: the unibrow. I had completely forgotten all about this ancient rival, and there she was, just staring me down through the mirror, laughing because I couldn’t destroy her the way I normally do. She still had one more week to bask in her glory before I could smite her.

This sent me into a minor depression. Should I walk around looking like a female version of Collin Farrel for one more week or should I give up my claim to fame to destroy an old enemy?

Alas, the next morning I decided that a spot in history wasn’t worth public humiliation. I pulled out my tweezers and pulverized her the way I have done for so many years. One week left, and a few random hairs between my eyes were my downfall.

But I think I made the right decision. The lesson I learned through all of this is that some games are best left to the boys. It is humourous to see a whole bunch of them running around with half-grown beards, but who really wants to see a group of girls running around with unibrows? Or worse yet, sideburns, mustaches, and random chin hairs!

So girls, next time you decide to join the man’s world just be careful to weigh all of your options and look at the whole picture first, because you never know what hideous monster may show its little head!

Fortunately, I asked myself this question when I was 15, which has allowed me to live a long, rich, definitively heterosexual life. But a heterosexual man doesn’t have to venture into the realm of homosexuality in order to appreciate a member of the same sex on a more than platonic level—far from it.

That is why there is “Man Love.” Scholars have been studying the exact origins of the natural phenomenon known as Man Love for decades, but have not come up with any concrete evidence. I credit ancient Mesopotamia. Though the origin of Man Love may be a mystery, a plethora of information on the subject is at our disposal. Lucky for you, I am an expert.

Man Love can best be described as a deep-rooted appreciation for another man, usually because that man is the physical embodiment of our inner persona. The most commonly experienced form is Celebrity Man Love, as in, “That Brad Pitt’s got some incredible abs.”

After that comes Prominent Historical Figure Man Love: “Man, Aristotle had great fashion sense.”
Trinity even has its own localized Man Love. In the original Greek form, this Man Love was known as Trinitus Male Lovus. For example, “Christopher Nash is like a miniature Buddha covered in hair.”
Finally, there is the most intimate category of Man Love: the Love of a man that is in your daily life. I call it Personal Man Love. This is Man Love at its core, the nitty gritty.

The Man Love of my life is Chris, my best friend’s brother-in-law. Chris is a former marine scout sniper turned body builder. I once saw him punch a horse in the face because he thought it disrespected him. I have Man Love for Chris because he is the Bizarro World version of me.

When I look in the mirror I might see a skinny, noodle armed guy who wet his bed until he was 17. But on the inside there is a 6’5”, 280 lb weapon of destruction who can hold his bladder for months at a time. Much like the Juggernaut.

Having Man Love for someone opens up many new doors that may have seemed locked. I get to live vicariously through Chris, taking credit for his accomplishments as if they were my own. After all, since he is what I look like on the inside, why shouldn’t I brag to people that I can squat 900 lbs?

I strongly suggest all readers equipped with hairy legs and a “Y” chromosome find someone to Man Love before it gets too late. Female readers with hairy legs need not heed this advice. Instead, go shave because you’re being gross.

Now, I’m not saying that children are actually evil little conniving monsters. It’s just that other people are essentially automata to satisfy our needs, and it feels really outrageous when they don’t perform that role up to spec. One responsibility of the parents is to beat this self-aggrandizing attitude out of their children. (Note: strictly beating is not always necessary. Thrashing, whipping, and water-boarding are also legitimate forms of education.)

Even by the time we reach university, most of us have only been educated in the bare minimum of formal respect for our fellow man. We know what we’re supposed to do, but we’re not entirely sure why. We’re still like little Billy, wondering why Timmy is hogging the air that God created for us. Coming back from Christmas vacation provides an excellent example of how we can improve our etiquette. I doubt there is a single student here who hasn’t asked, and been asked, a variation on following: “How was your Christmas/break/vacation/New Year/Kwanza/Hanukkah/Ramadan/Wintereenmas/Yule?”

So you ask the question and, God help you, the other person starts to respond! Your eyes instantly begin to glaze over as you try to maintain some kind of eye contact while nodding and “hmming” vaguely. You don’t really want to know about the other person. You only met her, like, that one time, at that dorm date way back in October. You barely even remember her name (though you would guess that it’s Sarah). The only reason you asked the question anyway is because your parents taught (or beat) you into believing that’s what a good boy does. We care too much about our own lives, and not enough about others. That sort of thinking leads to blogging, and that’s terrible. However, that particular aberration deserves an article all its own.

Now would normally be the part where I would print the moral, stern and rousing conclusion, but I don’t think I’ll bother. You get preached to enough in the other sections already. Thanks for reading, and don’t forget to ask people about their Christmas.