Tisdahl explained, “When an establishment breaks the law, it must be warned, and then punished. When it continues to break the law, it must be shut down.”

The announcement did not come as a surprise to Evanston residents, as Mayor Tisdahl has previously supported efforts to enforce Evanston’s “brothel law” and denied a liquor license to “The Tilted Kilt,” another local restaurant, last spring.

What was surprising was the lack of opposition from the voice of the Northwestern student body, known party fanatic Morton Owen Schapiro. He declined to comment on Mayor Tisdahl’s announcement, but his secretary reported that “Morty has been extraordinarily depressed by his failures to keep Tisdahl in check and fears she may yet succeed in returning Evanston to the nineteenth-century dream of Frances Willard, a world of pure sobriety.”

President Schapiro was seen in his office, wearing a “Keg of Evanston” T-shirt and nursing a can of Bud Light.

Tisdahl also announced that she was ordering the Northwestern Panhellenic Association and Interfraternity Council to disband. “I understand that underage drinking is not confined to The Keg. That is why I am eliminating the Northwestern Greek system and reinstating Prohibition in our fair city.”

McCormick junior Alan Kaponé reacted to Tisdahl’s decree, “I don’t see the big deal. We’re Northwestern students; we can do anything we set our minds to. We’ll find a way to get alcohol. Some of us may even make a profit on it.”

Tom Migon, owner of the Keg, said he will be converting his bar into a pet store, called The geK-o. “No alcohol will be served there,” he promised.

Later Monday afternoon, The geK-o released the following advertisement: “Students who speak easily will be granted access to special discounts and offers in the back of the store.”

“Evanston would be just fine without Northwestern,” Tisdahl probably said during her press conference. “And since I’ve solved all the city’s other problems, especially theft, I felt it was time to shut down the Keg.”

The arthritic Evanston populace applauded Tisdahl’s decision, raising their catheters into the air in celebration. Now the city is safe, they chanted. Now I can let my grandchildren walk the street at 3 a.m., they chanted.

Somebody pass me a goddamn rum and coke.

“We were completely ready to step up our regulations and require two forms of paper or plastic identification,” said Tom Migon, former Keg owner and now homeless man who sits outside of CVS. “If we were the 9th-best college bar in the country, just imagine what going to a bar outside the top ten would be like.”

What the hell is going on? Where am I? Why does this place not feel like I’m walking through the streets of Hong Kong, but sweatier? Why isn’t there such a long wait for the bathroom that people are pissing in plastic cups? Where is the dance floor full of nerds pretending to live it up at college by randomly making out with people they cannot see?

Did they even serve alcohol at the Keg?

If there are typos, I don’t even care if I get a Medill F anymore. What reason do I have to go to Northwestern?

“We are going to address this issue and blah blah blah,” Dean of students Howard Burgwell said. I mean, what do they want from us? What am I supposed to do?

Fuck this. Now I’m going to have to buy a better fake ID.

Stacy Herman, the event coordinator, said the drinking game had a simple premise.

“The fact of the matter is that taking a shot every time we said ‘peer pressure,’ ‘disappointment,’ or ‘started failing all my classes’ is a complete disappointment to the University and a very clear cave-in to peer pressure. I would not be surprised if the members of our incoming class begins to fail all of their classes if they continue such behavior.”

Some students stick to the claim that they were not drunk. Daniel Marrison, a SESP freshman, said “I wish I could claim drinking as an excuse for passing out. Really. It was just that boring.”

In related news, Wildcat Welcome administrators are in the process of ordering breathalyzers for next year.

They’ll act all surprised to see you, which is strange because you go to Northwestern. You’ll say it’s nice to see you too and regret not sneaking in alcohol taped to your uppermost, innermost thigh like your friend did. (Friend. An interesting word, no? I think friend can be defined as someone you would be happy to see on Dillo Day.)

Then they’ll want to know where the alcohol is. You are stuck like a freshman scared of jaywalking on Sheridan. Of course you know where alcohol is, that is an inane question. It is Dillo Day. But you don’t want to lie. You’ve already lied once by saying you’re happy to see these numbskulls. You’re worried about karma — and unlike that kid from your high school, you still have finals.

You sigh. “Yeah,” you say, “just go up to the SigEp house and say Morty Shapiro sent you.”

You part ways. The spring returns to your step as you realize that if Nelly couldn’t ruin Dillo Day, your loser classmates don’t have a chance.

By Clare Roth

OH HELL YES we gon’ party. (Like it’s our birthdays, gonna sip Barcardi like it’s our—wait, hold up those are the lyrics right? Yes? No? That shit was my jam back at the 7^th grade parties)

As you will see by the end of this debate, the answer is clear that we, the winning Northwestern Debate Team, should have a party.

I’ll break it down for you. We never have anything to celebrate.  When is another opportunity like this gonna come up again? After our fifth consecutive weekend away from anything remotely resembling social interaction? Let’s face it, our lives are the reification of what the nerd protagonists in shitty teen movies worry will occur if they don’t lose their V-cards by graduation. We don’t get life-wins often. Let’s not let it slip away.

And do you know what else?  Guess what I got us? Fuckin’ Peppermint Schnapps! A whole half-fifth of it! Do you know what that means? WE’RE GOING TO GET MARGINALLY TIPSY. And Holmes has got that weird DJ set up with the tiny disco ball and light set. It’ll be just like the frat parties. Conditions are perfect.

Now think of the impacts: touching girls’ butts and yelling uncontrollably. 1. You can (accidently) brush right past them in a party setting. It’s so awesome. 2. We can shout and make sense whatsoever. I mean, that’s pretty much what we do in round anyways… but this time we can say shit like “fuckweasel” and “bitchtits” with NO repercussions.

I rest my case. Peppermint schnapps + a couple of double-X chromosomes in the room + old school Usher and R. Kelly =  bitchin’-est time ever.

Resolved: No.

By Andrew Schneider

Okay, this has gone on long enough, assholes. See this right here? Robert’s Rules of Order, bitches, and I’ve got the chair. Now what’s this I’ve been hearing about a party? Oh, sure, it’s not every day that you win a national championship, and it’s certainly not every day that you win a national championship for the fourteenth time, but may I remind you all that we did not become national debate champions by going out on weekends! Now cut the crap, get back to Slivka, and work on your arguments! Make me believe that Governor Walker is a fascist!

What’s that, you say? Just a tiny party? An itty-bitty shindig? What could possibly go wrong? Discounting the fact that our last BYOB party was derailed when fifteen kids brought battle-axes, do any of you even know where to get alcohol? ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t!

Oh, listen to this, everybody! Charles “knows a guy”, do you? Too bad the chair didn’t recognize your ass, Charlie. But my foot’s about to, so you’ll shut the hell up if you know what’s good for you. (Oh, and strike Charles from the minutes, would you? Thanks, Eric, you’re a lifesaver.)

Oh, ‘fer Christ’s sake, James, not you too! Yes, I know you’re 21, but need I remind you that the last time you got buzzed, you came to practice and presented a stirring, passionate defense of Muammar Gaddafi? Too bad we were debating J. Michael Bailey!

Okay, okay, tell you what; I’ll meet you halfway. Wednesday night, no alcohol, and an Adam Sandler movie. Not enough?!? Fine, Fine, FINE!

I’ll bring the kettle corn too.

What can I say? You make a pretty convincing argument.

Jones, who was dressed up as “sexy Big Bird,” consumed three Jello shots at Delta Upsilon, five Natty Lights at Pike, and one “something fucking delicious” at Lodge.

“This was obviously an attack on Phi Psi. She didn’t get the alcohol from us. Her stomach contents were her metaphorical pen, hate her message,” said Phi Psi President Dan Johnson.

This incident followed the proclamation by the Daily Northwestern of a Halloween hate crime on the Chabad house. The Phi Psi hate crime, however, has gone shamefully under-reported.

“People fail to understand that we as a predominantly white, middle-class fraternity are one of the biggest targets for prejudice in the frat quads,” Johnson said.

Other than the alcohol consumed that night, the upchuck contained only Diet Coke and bits of celery.

Stephens initially seemed exuberant upon hearing of the pregame. “I told Jack I just had to grab my ball and my bag and I’d meet him there,” the point guard explained, “but when I got to the room, there wasn’t so much as a Koosh hoop anywhere in sight.”

Vineyard explained that when Stephens entered the room, his gym attire and the orange ball in his hands initially confused the other attendees. However, his appearance was quickly forgotten in a chorus of “Hey!!!!” and Vineyard yelling, “SHOTS!!! FOR THIS GUY!” This seemed to delight Stephens, who then said, “Shots sounds good. I need to work on my jumper. Where are we going, exactly?”

The partygoers explained the Stephens that the party was right here, and he was about to get hammered. Stephens took offensive to this, replying, “I might be small, but no one throws down the hammer dunk on me. I’ll swat that shit away, no sweat.”

Eventually, Stephens began to lighten up, but retained his sporting personality throughout the pregame. When asked how he was doing, the point guard explained that he was just “taking it one drink at a time” and that he’ll “really need to step up at the actual party and give it his all.”

Stephens had reportedly been involved in a similar misunderstanding last week, when he wore his Sacramento Kings #4 jersey to a round of the drinking game of the same name.

No, I am talking about the $10,000 dorm room wall. You know it is a bad sign when a kid puts nothing on his wall. He probably has no personality. The kid’s is as empty as the girl’s volleyball stands and is as boring as Elder’s food selection.

For those not cool enough to come equipped with the Jon Belushi “College” poster or a Bob Marlee poster, salvation is around the corner at the poster sale (it is only a sale because things are being sold, not because prices are remotely reasonable). Praise Norris.

So the closet homosexual buys a nice poster of a girl’s bosom.

So the kid who has never been to first base buys a bikini poster so he shows everybody that he knows how to hit a home run.

So the girl buys a Twilight poster to try and justify her Goth related disorder.

More often than not, the posters turn out to be more interesting than the kid who bought them. That science nerd with the Star Trek ring tone has a fucking sweet poster of NASA bombing the moon. Hopefully, they kill that man living up there. I heard it is Osama Bin Laden.

The movie buff—who probably is only going to movies because he can’t find somebody to hang out with or has yet to acquaint himself with our good friend Mr. Alcohol—has a tight mafia poster. However, the only thing that kid ever stole was from an NU dining hall. Odds are the IMDB homepage kid looked incredibly suspicious as he stuffed cookies in his backpack while glancing away and whistled out of the dining hall.

I mean, come on. Everybody takes food from the dining hall. It’s like punching a baby in the face, or however that expression goes.

Spokesman for the Department of Labor, Shaun Chandler, was reluctant to share some of the government’s findings on the struggling economy. “Things are not looking up right now,” he stated in a press conference on Friday. “The federal government is doing everything in its power to sort through this mess and eventually bring relief to the people.”

With a very capable workforce unable to receive a paycheck, Chandler was asked when the relief would come. “We’re really working on it…You know, we can’t do everything here. I know there are millions without work, but it is not exactly like they are helping themselves.”

A new study by the department found that laid off Americans were not helping their situation. The study determined that 78% of those no longer receiving a salary “are doing very little to help the struggling economy.” Director of the study, Samuel Chastere, explained that “These laid off whathaveyous are not putting any money into the economy. If they don’t start buying things, I’m not sure we’ll ever get out of this mess.”

Betsy Schlieden, who recently retired from United Airlines, believes the unemployed are to blame for a weak economy. “The unemployed have abandoned their patriotic duties. They are spending far less than the people with jobs.” The unemployed have, however, helped one industry in particular. The alcohol industry has shown impressive numbers early in the first quarter.