Word: shit
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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...Joke Shop focuses on the amusing, perverse and possibly grotesque—think cross-dressing Marilyn Monroe or Can-Can Girls. “Our slant is not fright, it’s funny,” says manager Valerie Pontbriand. While costumes such as “Hot Shit,” “Holy Shit” and “Crock of Shit” and a selection of over 10,000 accessories draw people to the shop, it is the energetic and amused attitude of its employees that keeps customers there. A place where...
Scoring free shit at the regatta was as easy as Anne Radcliffe. (Historical note: Anne Radcliffe was a notorious whore.) Spectators gorged on complimentary Turkey Hill ice cream and Cape Cod potato chips—snack items perhaps not-so-coincidentally named after the favorite summer spots of most crew fans...
...started selling homophobic T-shirts. Hardcore Sox fans born and bred in places like Alabama, Seattle and Aix-en-Provence (aren’t they supposed to play soccer?) donned their newly-purchased Sox Gear and pretended to cause a fuss—Harvard style. That included crazy shit like running down the street in large groups (we’re talking five and six here), shouting stuff really loud on a school night, and that sin of sins, blocking traffic—even though the cops were actually the ones doing that. Yeah, we sure know...
...People with the vague impression that they ought to be participating in some sort of celebratory destruction were carrying traffic cones they’d stolen. There was a lot of milling around. A guy ran through the yard yelling, “Let’s go break shit!” Nobody followed him. The shouting grew ragged. There was lots of fist-pumping and inarticulate yells, including abortive attempts at a chanted “Yankees suck.” One of my roommates said, “I feel like I should be singing the score...
...what was missing on Wednesday night? Why was our celebration of our status as mostly temporary residents in Red Sox Nation somehow insufficient? I think we were primed for something more important than celebration, as we crowded Harvard Yard. The drunken guy inviting us to go break shit articulated a collective, inchoate desire for change—for some sort of change. Students cannot gather in the street, flanked by police in riot gear, without summoning up ghosts of Paris in ’68, of Tiananmen Square, of Kent State. And compared with these ghosts, we seemed awfully callow...