Why I Don't Read The Prince (or rather, one reason among many)

There's an article in the February 13, 2006 edition of The Daily Princetonian that has pissed me off. Perhaps I'm being overly critical of this piece of journalistic fodder because I'm not in a particularly pleasant mood right now; more than likely, it's because it's a pompous, self-indulgent, over-inflated piece of pointless, useless, and mind-numbing garbage.

There are few things in this world I can't stand more than shitty writing, and quite frankly, despite being a bastion of America's best and brightest young minds, the campus has several publications -- notably, The Prince and the Nassau Weekly -- that have recently been producing issues of questionable talent and quality....

Allow me a brief digression: again, perhaps I'm being a little too hard on the Nass, but let's face it, it's supposed to be a humor magazine. As of late, however, it's been packed with page-long articles about topics that are, how shall I say this, not funny at all. Just this week alone is the token bicker-hosee tale, a poorly-engaged argument about racial inequities on campus, and other lengthy, insignificant, and, most importantly, unfunny treatises. Guys, wake up: you're a weekly humor rag, not the fucking Idealistic Nation. Cut the psuedo-political bullshit and get back to the more valiant attempts at satire that got me as a freshman to go to a Nass meeting in the first place.

...Let's take, as an example, "Now! That's What I Call Weather (Vol. 33)," in which our intrepid reporter opens by noting that the article is "certified schmaltz-free by the Kiefer Sutherland Institute for Advanced Scowling." Let's ignore at present my standard objection to anything that attempts to unbadass the man who portrays Jack Bauer -- now that we've set that aside, what the fuck does that mean? What does schmaltz have anything to do with Kiefer or his 24 alter-ego? And besides, if the article really were schmaltz-free, there would be no place for Rod Stewart anywhere therein.

But then, I expected nothing less from a three-paragraph article that has an appendix. Seriously, why? And did we really need to call it Appendix A, as if there was another appendix forthcoming? That would only add to our original question of "why?"...

Sub-rant #2: the phrase "milquetoast pantywaists" should never be used. Ever. There's no reason for it. It's just a pretentious, overblown replacement for "pussies." Making me reach for a dictionary to realize you insulted me is the equivalent of explaining the punchline of a joke I didn't get in the hopes that I'll laugh.

...Which segues nicely into my next issue, which is that some metaphors just shouldn't be forced into life. Anyone who considers themselves even a semi-serious writer knows when an image just doesn't feel right, or at least they should. Which is why I have to wonder why the following images ever gained access to the second paragraph:

1) the Double Stuf Oreo image (because, really, who notices the extra creme only when they've eaten it? Those fuckers are thick -- if it's a Double Stuf, your hand knows that right away)

2) "Winter buffs, the Eagle has landed." (a bit better, but it's still out of left field)

3) the "Homeboys from Outer Space" reference (ah, how clever: the inane pop culture reference that like three people will understand. Dennis Miller called, he said stop fucking with his style.)

But the icing on this craptastic cake is the last paragraph, in which the author has apparently discovered that he's written absolutely nothing of consequence (and also committed himself to ending with a cheesy soft-rock lyric) and attempts to tie it all together with a "modest proposal" that must have Jonathan Swift rolling in his grave. There's really nothing specific to criticize about this conclusion except to point out, once again, because that damn horse just won't say die, that it's not funny. It was, in fact, never funny. I'm not 100% sure why, and I won't try to explain it (because delving into the psychological explanation of humor, as Prof. Wilder pointed out last week in ed. psych., is the least funny thing you could imagine), but apparently our intrepid author is under the impression that noun phrases culled from the depths of dusty SAT study guides and cookie-cutter usage of stylistic devices will have them rolling in the aisles.

The saddest part of all this, though, is that this was volume 33. Which means he's done this, or something like this, 32 times before, and someone in an editorial post let him continue. That means that either: a) the editorial board at The Prince doesn't realize that what they're putting in their papers is utter shit, or b) that the author and editors, as a collective, actually think this is good writing. Regardless of which is true, someone's red marker needs to come out in full force -- and it should start with a big red X over this drivel. And that goes for that goddamn appendix too.

On second thought, let's spare Appendix A, but under one condition: it's not Rod Stewart's song, it's Dan Hill's. The song may suck, but when Mr. Hill originally recorded it in 1978, that shit at least hit #3 on the charts. Let's give the man some credit, shall we?