ARTS

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May 25, 2001

It's been real, dudes

This is the last issue of the Maroon for this school year! Can you guys believe it? I can't! It's fucking nuts! Seriously, fucking insane! I mean, it doesn't make sense! It's crazy. So crazy. It is without a doubt the craziest thing I have ever heard. So motherfucking crazy, words don't even begin to describe how insane this craziness is. Except these words, that we're writing, to explain the craziness! We've been through a lot. If we could play the Boyz II Men song “The End of the Road," for everyone, we would, but we can't, so fuck off. We're trapped in a fantasy world of newsprint!

Some of you are graduating — you can suck it raw. Some of us will be forced to live with the unmitigated torture of being repeatedly exposed to the horror of Palevsky Commons. Some new people will probably come to school here, despite our insistence that this place is a soul-crushing machine. My friend Ken says that a more appropriate U of C shirt might be, “The University of Chicago: Where people come to die."

But then again, we don't know about that strange, cold place. This here is Voices after all: home of lap dances, quarter peep shows, and a small crack trafficking ring. We are the fucking underground, the U of C subculture you dream of at night with your head wedged between the pages of your astrophysics book. But anyway, don't come down here complaining about your shitty life in this cesspool of humanity, cause more than likely you won't get by our black-masked bouncer Rod van Hugenstein.

Voices is really sad that this year is over. So many memories. Remember how many times we all got pregnant? Man, that was fucking awesome. And what about that time we all had to buy parking permit stickers from those motherless fucks down at the Credit Union? No matter how many times I have to go and see a “counselor" about our collective inner rage, I swear to GOD that I will not rest until I can gnaw on the skulls of The Useless.

But to get back to some sort of point, what can we expect to see next year? Well, for starters, Voices plans to launch a full-on vocal remix of this campus. That means bold new lyrics with that same U of C stank. And since we're all real sick of obsessively counting how many times we had to go to Crerar Library in the past year (or whatever), Voices has seen fit to introduce the wave of the future: The QTransporter (and yeah, that's how we spell it around here).

But what exactly is this transporter? Aside from the obvious definition, The QTransporter is a multi-tasking, organo-mechanical compound that makes virtually everything cool. To start, The QTransporter is what you dream about: it can deliver the best music you've never heard in a matter of seconds. It can get you drunk, yet stave off the hangover. It's your weed dealer. It's your seatbelt. It's safe sex, unsafe sex, rough sex, and unfulfilling sex. It demands your attention...

The QT will make sure you are in class while simultaneously allowing you to interface with your bed. While sleeping soundly, The QT uploads data into your brain. It will alter movies to suit your personal needs — with The QTransporter, every movie will be the “feel-good movie of the year," and not just Billy fucking Elliot. Oh, and of course you will make the most brilliant, lucid comments in class this side of that fucking quack who drools on the desk every time the teacher mentions the Barbary Pirates.

At the end of the day, the web of lies will be miraculously lifted from your field of vision, and The QT will knock back a cold one with you. Naturally, the QT will handle all administrative correspondence. What about your romantic life? The QT will provide you with all necessary, pertinent, and acceptable material for your conversations ala Johnny Five from Short Circuit.

After some time, the QT will gently assimilate itself into your brain, creating one of the most complex parasites ever encountered. And whom will you have to thank? Well, the black market cause you're certainly not getting your filthy paws on our QT. This one's reserved for the creme de la creme of the Voices staff. We were born screaming “Fuck the World."

Word is bond, you know. We doing this for the kids. Voices is for the kids. It's been a real nice run. We made a lot of people happy. We made a lot of people sad, too. But this is for the kids. But it's like Top Gun. Did Tom Cruise give up when Goose died? Never ever never. He keep right on keepin' on. We're your Goose. You know what to do.

Never leave your wingman. Remember that. They're telling me I have to get off the air now. Do not go gently into that sweet night, Voices readers. It's like Nas said in “Undying Love." I thought you loved Voices. I thought you needed Voices. Voices thought it found true love and you shitted on it. One nation under God, we elope. We elope.