Word: vomits
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Every time Ryan D. Hartman ’05 sees his resident tutor, he has to laugh. Or else he would cry. Or maybe even vomit. In a feat of sleuthing that is the stuff of Columbo reunion specials, Hartman recently realized that the kinky cybersex fiend who divulged all of his most perverse sexual fantasies to him on a gay online chat room over the summer and his new resident tutor are, in fact, one-in-the-same. “It’s especially ironic,” says Hartman, “because he described himself...
...opposed to the current uses of the Pudding—indeed, I have attended some of those parties myself—but how dare Illingworth tell me that simply standing in a room and singing or talking would endanger the building more than vomit on its floors and beer bottles strewn from wall to wall? And how dare the University, which constantly touts the diversity of its student groups, use a building that my tuition pays for as an exclusive space for three privileged groups at the expense of the rest of the student body...
Mather’s singles would seem a lot less dingy if the carpet wasn’t fraying and vomit-stained. The folks in Currier House might not resent the long walk back to the Quad as much if they had a freshly-painted room to come home to. Even Adams could use a little renovation—in Dartboard’s room there’s only one internet jack conveniently located in Dartboard’s roommate’s bedroom. By slapping up a new coat of paint here and there, replacing cracked tiles...
...unseen superior known only as "Management," who orders him to hire Ben as a roustabout because "he was expected." Meanwhile, in California, ambitious minister Brother Justin Crowe (Clancy Brown) is also showing off supernatural muscle: when a woman steals from the collection basket, he makes her appear to vomit silver dollars. Which of the two magic men is the creature of light, and which is of darkness, is for Carnivale's creator, Daniel Knauf, to know and us to find out ver-r-y slowly...
...teenage rebellion? When you were fifteen or sixteen, enjoying the heady days of sophomore year? Remember sneaking in at 2 a.m. on a Saturday night through the glass sliding door in your brother’s room with the nasty smaste (the crusty combination of smell and taste) of vomit in your sinuses, stumbling drunkenly through the hallway, tripping over the dog and falling asleep lying on your back with your head lolling off the corner...