Spring 2002 was a semester of self discovery for the Demon staff. Over the past months, we have learned deep and fundamental truths about ourselves and each other. But were these truths worth $18,000 of first semester tuition? Sotheby’s appraised them at $24.39 We whacked Sotheby’s in the nuts with a field hockey stick and they uped the offer to $25 even, and threw in seven Marilyn Monroe pre-DiMaggio toenail clippings. Huzzah!
Demon asks: "What the hell did I learn last semester?

Last semester? Um, probably not too much, I have a short attentio

Ku Klux Klan members usually don’t have special interest meetings for homosexuals -
and yes, it does hurt to ask.

Larry Summers - he’s my daddy.

My expos preceptor is cocktacular.

“Cocktacular” is not a valid adjective, according to my expos TF.

Iowa is the state, Aiwa makes the stereos I like.

Inherited genetic diseases are funnier to people who don’t have them.

Bulimics, as fun loving as they might initially seem, do not appreciate being called “fatty fatty bo batty.” And yes, it does hurt to ask.

Cinnamon is the perfect spice for dog meat.

Also, the perfect spice for amore.

Calling Shakespeare a “sleazy, skank-ass bitch” in section is unlikely to improve your grade.

Don’t pick at it.

People generally don’t like it when I eat their pets.

Really, DON’T pick at it.

Did you know that “denial” isn’t just a river in Egypt? Me neither.

Apparently my Indian language tutor was wrong: “Mahatma” doesn’t mean “deeply indebted in gratitude.” Either that, or my up-to-tha-point gracious hosts suspected sarcasm.

Calling your mother a “sleazy, skank-ass bitch” to her face isn’t likely to improve my odds of getting nasty-old-woman play.

Even out of a tube, wasabi must never be used as toothpaste. It is, however, an adequate substitute for hemorrhoid cream.

Fuck you, Cabot-Open.

Merely being 13 timezones ahead does not enable someone in Shanghai to predict how the first half of your day will go. He also needs a Ouija board.

Calling Larry Summers a “sleazy, skank-ass bitch” is likely to improve your odds of achieving a living wage for Harvard workers.

The three lies about the statue in Harvard Yard:
1. It’s not really John Harvard.
2.. It’s actually Dean Rory Brown. Don’t stand so still, Rory!
3. I wouldn’t have been stuck in Mather if I hadn’t peed on him.

I learned how to love again. Or at least that’s what I paid the clown five dollars to teach me.

Dammit, the mime would have done it for four! And not woken up my roommate!

And damn this case of clown-errhea with its hilarious but painful itching!