Category Archives: Winter 2016

The MUSE issue for winter 2016!

A Mother’s Ordeal

Image: Wheat Field with Crows (Vincent Van Gogh, 1890). SourceCC License

Author: Antonino Mangiaracina

I

Cities have strict demands that rule the men
With blind reality they act, and more!
A Man must pray to God and say Amen.
A Man must hold his faith and start a war.
In a family order has no joys;
A Man must honour and respect his Father.
As soldiers shall behave the dutiful boys;
A Man must love and look after his Mother.
The picture of a man’s girl now is dim,
For good he chose to sacrifice his pearl
But an empty clam is all is left to him.
After all, a Man reveals to be a girl,
Whose only weakness was to be too good,
Because her world was no place for childhood.

II

What does it mean to be a flying bird?
Is it to feel the wind beneath your wings?
Perhaps, to say, there is no way or word,
But over you, no one: skies with no kings.
Then why do men imprison birds in cages?
From down below they hunt and grab the prey,
In rapid moments that persist for ages;
Attracted by such high splendour were they.
What does it mean to be a happy kid?
Is it to play with friends and whom you trust?
Perhaps, she does not know, since what he did,
A man in school there was who taught disgust.
Amazed I am to know how strong you are;
Thank you, my sweet Angel, you are my star.

III

So rare, a diamond’s beauty seems unreal;
So clear, its purity bewitches the mind;
But still we must remember its ordeal,
Too often is its value left behind.
It has endured the pressure of the world,
And time for long a while has passed it by.
Its lines and soul, carved from the underworld,
Now form a nature that could never lie.
As precious as a diamond is my mother,
She is the kindest I ever met:
Her love, sincere like no other.
For her, I promise to never forget.
O’ diamond mine, I wish you all the best,
May your clear eyes reflect from east to west.

(no title)

Image: Lighthouse at Stora Bält (Anton Melbye, 1846). SourceCC License

Author: Antonino Mangiaracina

No hut, in life and fear, except reason;
And yet men voted other ways, by choice;
They turned themselves in painters each season,
Their never-ending lines cover the voice.
A whispering blank canvas with a truth
Too hard to hear is coated in lies;
The bright colours pursue mercy and youth,
Delusions all, since everybody dies.
It may appear untrue, but all is real;
Afraid is every man of the unknown;
So he shapes what he sees to his ideal,
As beliefs builded not to feel alone.
People must learn luxuries are no need
And put an end to rules we never agreed.

Poems by Guy Da Costa

Image: “Footprint” by Conal Gallagher. SourceCC License

Author: Guy Da Costa

Christmas Spirit

I am not a poet and never will be.
I lack rhythm. My rhymes are poor and so is my poetry.
Scroll back up or down to the last or next prodigy.
Although you shouldn’t, you keep watching into me.
Outside I wrote my cleverest mandalas in pee
Spring blew them away. We could not agree.

Tracks and remains are deeper in the snow
And better kissers under the mistletoe.
It is Christmas and I have to let you know
That with all this fondue you should pray to a crow.
Your car has drowned and they’d help your child grow
In a world of funny fumes and they will never have to row.

As you join your hands thinking about Crow-Jesus
You ask yourself why Santa and his circus
Offer life while they’re as sterile as a cactus.
Black feathers snuggle to Mount Olympus
The crystals who now sleep in a hot bubbly mattress.
You alone and happy saved the whole world and us.

Snow is dying so I get in my car
And waste some gas hoping to outlive
The Greatest Addressee banned from any bar.
I sit, change my seat again, drink and try to dry heave
my pale songs of pee, bad even with a guitar.
I forgot to put on my licence what to believe.

Snow melts and I want to be drunk Penguins.


From Ludlow to Eternity

I have never been fond of fancied worlds
So imagine how I feel about the outside one.
On the way from Ludlow to Eternity
My shoes went flat between
Dixville Notch and Millsfield
Because I kicked a cat. He cried booze and moonshine.

My nails started bleeding and my feet
were shrinking. I fell and the hairy sky
swam in red feathers hanged by its handy ankle.
I ate a lot of plums hence my blues could see
A veteran elephant and a bold donkey.
Concerned by my situation, they cut my legs off.

The elephant threw me on his back.
His feet wounded by grey feathers
weighing heavily on the ground.
He was protective and carried me
To an even older elephant cemetery.
He crawled in a hole. I drilled the donkey.

They would talk loudly about circles and lines and repeat again.
I met all their donkey-friends that would guide me to Eternity.
My mechanic arm would stretch and once I saw a ditch.
They were so obnoxious and never noticed the gap.
Instead of a final leap, I beheaded this jackass
with anecdotal facts and only seventy dollars per year.

Laying on the ground I met a companion. His name was
Thunder Jr. and he brought me to Eternity.
As I waved him away, I understood that there will always be
an elephant waiting for a cemetery,
and in the shrewdest snow lost in the crowd another donkey.
Yet, I am still legless, hopeless and lonely.

Friends, Lesbianism, and Censorship

Image: Friends Logo by NBC. Source

Author: Sandrine Spycher

While discussing the episode 19 of season 4 of the memorable series Friends (David Crane & Marta Kauffman, NBC, 1994-2004), a friend and I realized that a particular plot element had been radically changed in the translation from English to French. Two main plot lines are developed in the episode “The One with All the Haste” (Kevin S. Bright, David Crane, Marta Kauffman, 1998). First, the evolution of the relationship between Ross (David Schwimmer) and Emily (Helen Baxendale). And second, the apartment switch between Monica (Courtney Cox) and Rachel (Jennifer Aniston) on the one hand and Joey (Matt Le Blanc) and Chandler (Matthew Perry) on the other. The girls have been living in the guys’ apartment for a while after losing a bet, but are getting sick of it and want to switch back. They first try to charm Joey and Chandler with year-round tickets to go see the Knicks, but when that doesn’t work they propose a second bet. They end up losing both the apartment and the tickets. However, while the guys are at the match, Monica and Rachel move back into their apartment. (Read the script here)

The scene that interests me here is when Joey and Chandler come back from the basketball match and discover the new apartment switch. Chandler is quite upset and hammers on the door of what he deems his apartment but where Rachel and Monica have just moved back in. They guys, especially Chandler, feel cheated, but the girls refuse to listen. After a few minutes of quarreling, Monica and Rachel finally open the door to Chandler and Joey. To convince them to let them have the apartment, here’s what they propose (watch it here):

Rachel: All right. We figured you might respond this way, so we have a backup offer.

Chandler: Oh no-no-no, no more offers. You can’t offer anything to us!

Rachel: Let us keep the apartment and…

Monica: As a thank you, Rachel and I will kiss for one minute.

As the viewer can clearly understand, Joey and Chandler have accepted to watch Monica and Rachel kissing for one minute. Joey even brags about it at the end of the episode, telling Ross that “Monica and Rachel made out.”

The gender cliché of men being aroused when they see women kissing is so obvious that it won’t be analyzed here. What rather interests me is the translation and rewriting of that short moment of lesbianism into the French version (I’m using this subtitles version by Stéphane Levine and Marie-Laure Fauvart, but the doubling by Jacques Dualliac is pretty similar). The rest of the plot is identical, but here’s what the offer sounds like in French:

Rachel : On s’attendait à cette réaction. On a une offre à vous faire.

Chandler : On ne veut plus de vos offres.

Rachel : Laissez-nous l’appartement et…

Monica : Pour vous remercier… on s’embrasse pendant une minute.

The francophone viewer thus understands that Monica and Rachel will kiss Joey and Chandler for one minute. And again, this is confirmed by Joey at the end of the episode when he tells Ross that “Monica et Rachel nous ont embrassés.”

The guys are therefore not aroused by seeing the girls kissing but by being kissed by them. The choice of this translation puts a radical change in the plot by censoring any hint of lesbianism. Yves Gambier tells us that a translator “cherche à éviter d’offenser les sensibilités des récepteurs” and the translation is most often than not ideological and takes into consideration what is politically/morally correct. (Read the article here, the quote is from paragraphs 34-35)

Consider now the following question: What is usually taken out of dialogues because it “offends the sensibility of viewers”? My spontaneous answer would be sexual content. Following this instinct, I would argue that the conversation (not even the act!) about a kiss between two women is considered by the French translators to be sexually loaded and therefore offensive and/or politically incorrect.

But then why is it not censored in the original American version? Thinking about this kiss in terms of a to-be-censored sexual act brings me to this: sexualized women are the norm in American TV shows and thus their portrayal does not offend the viewer. Oh come on, they’re not sexualized, we don’t even see them kissing, you say. The kiss itself would offend the viewer, so of course it’s not present on screen. However, notice Chandler’s and Joey’s behavior as they walk back into their apartment and straight to their respective bedrooms, slamming the door behind them.

So. What have we learned today?

First, that the best way to convince a man of anything is to offer him some sexual entertainment. Second, that a lesbian kiss is always considered sexual. Third, that American TV producers/directors don’t hesitate to oversexualize their female characters by having them exhibit a kiss for the male characters. Third still, that French translators are too shy to allow lesbianism on TV and would rather deal with the issue by deleting it altogether.

I also learned that comparing the translation to the original made me realize the connotations of Rachel and Monica’s negotiation with the guys for the ownership of the apartment. Translation is more important than one would first think, and it can certainly be creative and change the meaning of a story instead of being bound to the original plot, as we have seen with the case of “The One with All the Haste.”

Twitter Tirade

Image: © Corey Raymond Heimlich

Author: Corey Raymond Heimlich

Dude, this guy is straight up cre-cre…

All this got me like hey yo, this fool for real?

Dat one crazy gringo bra

oye ese güey está bien loco…qué desmadre

 

I’ve dabbled in everything, from real estate to reality TV,

I even founded a university giving phony degrees.

I’m not racist I own a few Harlem brownstones,

Can’t wait to take the White House and the joystick of drones.

 

I’m fed up with all this political correctness,

I’m white and I’m proud and you know it’s infectious.

I’m not afraid to call it by its name,

It’s Islamic terrorism and Muslims are to blame.

 

White men with ties, now that’s whom to trust,

We’re Christian and righteous and can turn you to dust.

I kill it with charm and law and order,

I’ll build a great wall along the Mexican Border.

 

Brought up by my bootstraps, I’m a working-class hero,

I’ll make everything great again, starting from zero.

All politicians lie, it’s part of this business,

I’ll make sure everyone has a tremendous Christmas.

 

Twitter them this and twitter them back,

Shovel them shit just make sure it’s whack.

I might add that I love a good artichoke,

The world isn’t warming it’s a ludicrous hoax.

 

Doesn’t my daughter have a “nice figure?”

I just wish her knockers were a little bit bigger.

I love women for everything they’re worth,

I mean at the end of the day, I don’t think I could give birth.

 

Did I leave anything out? sometimes I get sloppy,

The Mexicans at my hotels make great chicken teriyaki.

The media lies about me, it’s very unfair,

I’m the president for all Americans, I got here fair and square.

 

Of course, I’m all for the LGBTQ,

It’s a nice club they’ve got, I just wish it were true.

Of course Black Lives Matter, I listen to Tupac,

His star’s next to mine on Hollywood’s sidewalk.

 

And one last thing about the KKK,

I don’t see a problem and I don’t wear a toupee.

Putin and I will be the best of buds,

We’ll rid the world of these terrible thugs.

 

Can you believe it they voted for me?

We’ll be lucky to be left with a pile of debris.

What’s wrong with me this sounds like Dr. Seuss,

A Grinch and a conman is on the loose.

 

It is with great sadness that I bid you adieu,

I must head downtown for an important rendezvous.

Pondering all I’ve said from the top of Trump Tower,

I plan my next tweet over a tremendous whiskey sour.

The Paper Bird

Image: by Ulrike Mai. SourceCC License

Author: Sandrine Spycher

A cage is such a sinister home. Gray, cold, impersonal. All geometrical with its straight vertical bars. A cage is not a home. It is only a cage. A dead home, like your dead writing. Like those lifeless words thrown on paper in an attempt to reach some other world. Another world which can only be dark. Dark, like the pages covered with words. Dark, like life inside that cage. A life which really isn’t one.

A life which brings death. Like it brought death to the poor bird, killed during the best season. A bird which, locked in the cage, spent a life striving to live a life. A bird which, always condemned to look at nothing else than bars shrinking space into geometrical monotony, suffered a last breath to come out of the cage to make a paper fly. A paper, where dark lines of lifeless marks made up a story. A heartbreaking story relating death. Not the bird’s death, not yet. But your death.

Your death told with her words, her pen, her ink, her soul. Your death leaving her alone. Turning her beautiful into a cage, her fruitful garden into a rage. Her joyful smile sank to sorrow. Her sorrow submerged a heart, which was to be eternally yours, forever and anywhere. Even in death. As she could not live, she turned to paper, to dead paper and dead words. Dead because you could not read them. Dead because you could not love her. Her soul turned to paper. The bird turned to paper.

Corny the Barbaric

Image: Gallows, blue sky by Servicelinket. SourceCC License

Author: Nicolas Cattaneo

Our hero was contemplating the defaced cobble wall of his prison cell. He was no stranger to adversity, but Halas! His situation seemed hopeless. But he would not go gently into the night! He refused to let uncouth boors decide his fate. From the depths of his cell, he would rise again like a phoenix born out of the embers of desperation and-

“Oy, get up!” the door of our hero’s cell was suddenly opened, revealing the burly face of his jailor.

“I demand you release me from this unlawful bondage forthwith!” our valiant hero’s demands were not heeded as the cruel jailor buried his repulsive mug in his massive hands.

“Just… keep quiet, would you?” he said, before muttering under his foul breath, “Jesus all mighty…”

The boor’s lack of refinement was palpable¸ but our hero complied, biding his time for when he would spring out of his cage, his just fury equalling the wrath of a thousand suns.

“Stop droning back there! Told you to keep quiet!” the savage barked.

Dragged against his will outside the building, our fearless hero was faced with the terrible sight of a crowd riled against him. He raised his chin, looking down on the mob. They were obviously ready to tear him asunder, but as he walked through them, he feared no evil, for righteousness was his shield. A shield that had been battered by countless blows from all the foes he felled during his storied career. He knew he would triumph over this unwitting evil, for he was-

“Now then, perhaps you’d like to explain all this.”

Rudely interrupted in his thoughts by the leader of the rabble, our valiant protagonist, vanquisher of the evil of a hundred dark lords, pondered his next move. He knew his intellect to be far superior to that of this churl, but he was keenly aware he was in numerical inferiority. He knew he could overcome the populace, but he had made a vow not to harm the innocent, no matter how misguided.

“Hey, I’m speaking to you! Stop staring at the ground and answer me!”

“I shall forgive this obvious mistake if you release me at once! I understand lowly creatures such as yourselves cannot comprehend the importance of my work.”

“What kind of sick freak are you? You call beating a school teacher to death in front of her pupils work?”

“That witch was keeping the tots enslaved with her foul magic! I put an end to her misdeeds.”
“What about Estella? What did that poor cow ever do to you?”

“The high prophetess, thrice sanctified be her name, warned of a time of blood and despair. A time when neighbours will devour each other, when the Great Darkness will have spread so far and wide that it will have engulfed this world. I aim to fight until my last remaining breath to stop it.”

“What’s that pish got to do with the cow, you nitwit?” the peasant growled, ever bestial in his ways. It would not have surprised our hero to find out the man was in league with the terrible barbarians of the frozen North.

“That filthy horned beast carried the mark of the worshippers of the Darkness. It would have brought doom upon you all.”

“It was a bloody cow,” one of the peasants dared reply.

“Didn’t do squat ‘cept mooing,” another said.

“Mooing was a tad loud, though, wasn’t it?” a third added.

“You don’t skewer a cow cause it’s mooing.”

“What about the preacher? He’s still hanging from the oak tree…”

“The cow wasn’t mooing that we’s nothing but… err… what was it again?”

“Heather. Preacher said we was Heather. Remember cause I told meself it was funny. No one by that name here.”

“Right, so cow wasn’t pissy about us being Heather.”

“Well, cow wasn’t diddlin’ them-“

“Lads! I think we get the point here,” the leader of the crowd dutifully reminded them. Nothing as tiresome as peasant babble. But as our hero was about to take advantage of the situation to abscond, the rabble turned their attention back to him.

“And if all this weren’t enough,” the leader continued, “you tried to have your way with the cobbler’s daughter.”

It was simply natural that our hero would need rewarding after having faced such gruelling evils. To this end, he turned his ever-loving gaze to the town’s fairest maiden, who would only be too happy to reward him properly. He felt it was, after all, his right. Besides, who would refuse a gallant, handsome hero such as he? And yet, the boorish herd somehow took offence at our hero indulging himself.

“Where is that wench? I would speak to her myself,” our hero rightfully demanded.

“Not here, you sack of manure. Now, do you have anything to say in your defence?”

“I answer to a higher calling. I shan’t excuse myself for a wrong I haven’t committed.”

“Right. Ladies and gentlemen, let’s fetch the rope. The preacher’s yearning for company.”

Hangman’s ledger, entry forty-two:

Inventory of the possessions of a “Ser Corny”, real name unknown.
– One sword with some fancy scribbling on it. Smith stepped on it and broke it. Dismissed it as “some brittle piece of shit”.
– A picture of a man in black armour with “daddy” written on it. I shouldn’t judge kinks.
– A short wooden stick. Disturbing conclusions.
– A golden ring. Tied around the neck. What’s wrong with using your finger?
– A vial of some substance. Village idiot drank it and is now surprisingly sane.
– A sack of golden apples. Who goes about carrying something like that?

Spontaneous Prose & Free Verse

Image: © R.B.H.

Author: R.B.H.

April 6th 2016: “And so they danced under the dying light”

And so they danced under the dying light. They knew they did not and would not possess time. With the wind their love flew up high, blowing in the great white snows, melting away as the sun rose and set. Everything was going to disappear as the red lights were slowly fading to warm the hearts of others. They wanted to hold on. Hold on to time, hold on to love and these cherished moments… but they were condemned. Condemned to walk alone, banned from this place some like to call forever. And they knew it, they felt it. It was all already slipping through their fingers and they could see themselves a couple of years from now looking back at these two lovers that used to be, that used to shine and that used to dance under the dying light of a purple sky.

April 18th 2016: “What would come my way?”

So I stared into the distance. The horizon was dark with sparks of lightning here and there. The sky was calm, yet exploding stairways to heaven. What would come my way? I thought while gazing in awe at the infinite horizon. I was not afraid, I felt safe and calm within. The electric sky was just a reflection of this energy I had been feeling within me all my life. As the sky tore itself to pieces, I thought of life. So many things had happened to me in the past years, but now, at this very moment, what was coming my way? I tasted the present moment to remember it better a few years from now when I would have an answer to my question. I observed the magnolia tree in front of me. “You are beautiful”, I thought, “just like the life that grows within you, within me and everybody else that is sitting around this table talking their hearts out while nature is giving them a show”. I had stopped talking and was now just smoking my cigars watching darkness wrap her arms around this land I called home. What would come my way? I wanted to go for a walk, run, dance with the wind under the trees – it was all I could think about. I turned to my friends who had now also stopped talking and just like me, were wondering as the sky was being lit up by the fire of life, what would come their way?

June 19th 2016: “Perhaps my gypsy soul was to blame”

I guess I needed some time off and away.
Perhaps my gypsy soul was to blame,
Perhaps I had to escape a world that seemed to have gone insane,
Perhaps I just needed to be myself once again.

So I listened to the beat and let my feet lead the way,
To this unknown place that has become my harbour.
So many horizons, so many joyful faces, that my eyes have seen and have yet to see
This world is a beauty, a pearl of life, a spark of freedom.
My fiery eyes are hungry for this Earth that has become my fascination.

Sitting here watching this bright ball of fire set west,
I realize that there is no place I would rather be,
Because with every sunset comes a sunrise
And I will be here to gaze at this brand new day.

 

September 17th 2016: Drunk

Have you heard of the lonesome soul,
That calls the great unknown his home,
That walks through fire and battles scars
To know who and what for sure he shall be.
As the flame reaches higher to his soul,
He dances on burning stones,
Ashes from a forever past
That will beat his time as it will come,
Until he learns to break free from its unwanted sorrows
And reach out to the dying lights
Of eternity.

 

September 27th 2016: They said she was a “long time gone”

They said she was a “long time gone”
It was late when they last saw her dancing in her lover’s arms
Both nowhere to be found by the break of dawn.
Must’ve got lost while following a back road into the unknown
Run away together perhaps, they thought but did not know.
Where she has been and what she has seen can only be answered by suspicion
Some say they still hear the sound of her footsteps when Night approaches,
While some swear her silhouette still dances like a joyful ghost in the dusky horizon
Enveloped in her lover’s arms, the Darkness.

 

September 2016: The Quest

We are all looking for something
Something so strong, so rare
A pearl in an infinite ocean
And so sometimes we forget
That what we are actually seeking,
We already have it within.
And so we keep on searching,
Looking for the colours of our soul,
In somebody else’s eyes
Only to drown in them
And forget
Who and what we really are
To become
Somebody else’s soul
Somebody else’s freedom
Somebody else’s dream.

Occasionally we gather
And fly together
Side by side
Never knowing
Whether we are actually flying or falling.

 

November 14th 2016: You surround yourself with darkness

You shined dark in my heart like a moonless mid July evening sky. What was it about your obscurity that made me see the light that shone and burned within you like a fire of passion?

You surround yourself with darkness; such a friend you think can hide your sorrows away. But they say some eyes are of a different kind and can see right through the shadows of a stranger’s soul. Tell me, my dear unknown fellow, what is that burning light I seem to feel raging within your heart? Why silence your cries for life, for love, when they are the reason why you are the unique person that you are? Hush, my friend. Take my hand, for you can now trust, and let us give in together to the fire of passion.

December 5th 2016: Before I die longing for you

Just like the morning sunbeams embrace and golden the snowy mountaintops, spread your warmth on my cold cold skin and let me feel the love again. Let me taste your crimson lips and savour this flavour long forgotten while feeling love under your fingertips. Dance with me, even though they stare. Hold me tight, even tighter if you dare, so that they know we don’t belong to them any more. Kiss me now and send me high.

As your eyes glow staring into mine, fire rages in our untamed hearts – we’re about to break the walls – break them all. I guess the forbidden fruit must have been tasty and left our sister wanting more, ‘cause it’s now in our blood – we were meant to be naughty.
So come on now, come away with me and become my journey. For a night, let me travel within your infinity. Darkness wrapped her arms around my conscience but I now see stars, so many stars in those burning eyes that stare right into mine – do you see them too? I feel like the universe is listening – how can it not be? Yes, the universe is here with us tonight as we stand under the firmament of eternity – this was meant to be – can you feel it too?

Hush. Shut up. Kiss me. Kiss me again and again ‘till the world that lies at our feet crumbles to dust and disappears, ‘til there’s nothing left but you and me.

I want to make love to you, so kiss me now before I die longing for you.

June 22nd 2013: A Midnight Call from Madness

How long will this last? How long will this big blue ball keep on turning and spinning?

Until the light at the end of the tunnel bursts into flames and a magnificent purple dragon comes rushing by with a song in his head and the people finally stop, and stare, and listen.

They listen to the beat, the heart and the soul within the beast. They see themselves standing in the lines and waiting while life just passes them by. They recognize the tears on the child’s red and blue cheeks and they wonder… what if?

The cars that surround them suddenly take on frightening appearances and they wonder… what if?

They smell the smoke ghosting out of the chimney tops and they look up to the sky where a plane passes by and they wonder… what if?

They feel the ground trembling, suffering, begging for this machinery to end and they wonder… what if?

They retire back to their childhood where life seemed green, blue and yellow like a Crayola drawing and they wonder… what if?

Where has the sun’s smile fled to? Why does this earth feel flat and square? Why has the sky turned grey and where is the snow disappearing to? Why are the poles cracking into deep blue and dark grey oceans and why are we letting Noah’s boat sink? How come we’re the only ones with life jackets on while our brothers and sisters swim to a shore where we wait for them with silver guns and red, white and blue petals?

Please, please, please. Somebody, anybody – you, me, them, us – together! What if we all gave a hand? What if we thought twice before buying what we eat and drink and think we need? What if we started walking and talking and dancing like crazy people who have nowhere to go? What if we started being true to ourselves and the people who surround us? What if we woke up from this insanity – this dreadful illusion that we are too blinded to see?

What if…

Silently, the piano shuts and the people of the world, in the tick of a clock, rush through the streets, back to their offices – mountains of unnecessary piles – back to their business and to forgetfulness.

MUSEfeed Quiz!

Image: “Typewriter” by Lane Pearman. SourceCC License

Do you like answering absurd questions where the result pretends to know who you are as a person? Do you like to imagine to which kind of household appliance or, even better, to which English language writer your personality matches best?

MUSE has created THE quiz for you! We have carefully concoted a quiz of 10 obviously scientific questions that will help you figure out who your alter ego writer is!

 

To take the test, just click here!

Who Said? – Contest!

Image: “leave your mark” by Shelby Steward. SourceCC License

Author: Andrea Grütter

This semester, we have sent Santa’s elves into various classes in the English department to take notes for us! But they got their sheets mixed up, so we don’t know from what classes they are! :( We have set up a list of various approved quotes by various members of staff, and it’s your job to help us figure out who said what in time for exams!

The amazing only English bookshop in Lausanne, Books Books Books has helped us by giving us two book coupons (50 CHF and 25 CHF) that we will give to the two students who get the most right!

So send us an e-mail at muse.magazine@gmail.com until the 15th of January 2017 with which members of staff said the following quotes!

Have fun and good luck for our little contest called “Who Said?”!

 

1. “Do you know what Cheetos are? They’re a bright orange, powdery cheesy snack. You might have noticed last week that the United States have elected a racist, bigoted Cheeto.”

2. “I hate moodle. It’s really ugly and inelegant.”

3. “But here I am, waiting for a bigger BUT. But with one “t”, people. Come on.”

4. “He’s kind of like a cool guy, like Han Solo, just cruising around, making money here and there, except he turns to the dark side.”

5. “Never trust someone who appeals to your common sense.”

6. “And does anyone remember who is this temple devoted to? VENUS! Yes, Venus is back and she’s more naked than ever. This time, she’s letting it all hang out.”

7. “I don’t know where the flesh is coming from, and I’ve never weighed a penis…”

8. “The wage difference is bigger whether one is a man or a woman than whether one speaks English well or not. The other is more cumbersome, so maybe concentrate on your English.”

9. “This is the ultimate story about men thinking with their penises.”

10. “If you want to see children in a pie being eaten by their mother, this is your chance!”

11. “A revenant is someone who comes back from the dead, not necessarily a Leonardo Dicaprio.”

12. “The annoying thing with literature is you have to read it.”

13. “Scooby-doo is basically a romance re-make.”

14. “DO NOT start a sentence with “in the middle-ages”. I will kill you.”

15. “A prerequisite to become a university professor is to be able to count to two – did you know that?”

16. “It’s kind of like “clap if you want I don’t give a shit” and then he storms off the stage.”

17. “Should we study Macbeth or Hamlet? Macbeth is Scottish… but Hamlet is Hamlet.”

18. “And Sir Gowther behaves badly, like a really naughty child. Eventually, the mother confesses. And Gowther is like “I’m the son of the Devil. Shit. What can I do?””

19. “La Faculté des Lettres; it means you study what is not. Qu’est-ce que vous faites dans la vie? I mean, seriously.”

20. “You know what a eunuch is, right? If not, look it up. BUT DON’T DO AN IMAGE SEARCH!”