cunninglinguistbroNoZeIsTheWarmestColor

lordemayorbroCocoNoZeShrimpII

shekelkeeperbroOrangeMochaFrapucciNoZebroImJusaPoorBoyNozebody LovesMe

intelligentdesignerbroHakuNoZeMatata

thebrothersbroTyraNoZesarusRexbroHaNoZeBarbarabro DoctorNoZe-N-FurterbroBillNoZeRieleybroSheWearsShortSkirtsIWearNoZeShirtsbroFearAndNozeingInLasVegas

venerableexilesbroBraveNoZeWorldbroNoZeCountryForOldMenbroWhiteNoZesCantDrivebroAcidNoZebroJJohnnycNoZelbroTacoCabaNoZe

...and a cast of thousands

tremblingneophytessore&fraidRoryGilNoZeFridaKahlNoZeNoZes With Attitude SanAnNoZeioBudNozer

The opinions expressed in this satirical, monthly, sporadically published publication are not necessarily represen-tative of those held by Baylor©®™ University, its administration, faculty, staff, or less-intelligent students. Unless otherwise noted, all quotes from all individuals contained herein are entirely made up in the interest of humor. By reading this rag, the user assumes all inherent risks which may include, but are not limited to, being exposed to new ideas, laughing at him/herself, and ultimate spiritual enlightenment. The Noble NoZe Brotherhood recom-mends readers to have an open mind, thick skin, and the ability to think. All others are encouraged to hide under their beds until the sky comes crashing down, or until they stop taking themselves so seriously, whichever comes first.

TheNoZe

Legal Mumbo Jumbo

Mene Mene Tekel Upsharsin! Satchel on, Bro. Long NoZe, Satch! BMMC! BSSS! HRGS! LHOOQ! KLIACH! BBBB! Chim chiminey, Chim chiminey, Chim chim cher-ee! The title nine office all they do is sweep. Chim chimineyChim chiminey, Chim chim cher-oo!And Kenny Starr’s office, yes they do it too. And blame it on Art... cause that’s justice too! Can I get a collective Boo! Hoo! Satchelooooo....Satchel on! Satchelissssssiiiiimooooo!!!

Keko Muckity Muck!

Thots from the Cunning Linguist

Just like the great Barack

Obama, I’m back for a second term. And you

still can’t put either of us on the nicotine patch! Despite poor approval rates, I’ll keep smoking

em, choking em, and hoping none of em realize I have absolutely no idea

what I’m doing. So shut up, sit down, chug a beer, do some pilates and enjoy

the stupidest, stupendist, and superfluous tablodial newspaper to ever hit the streets of this cricket-infested town. Maybe you might learn a thing or two. But probably not. Either way, we both know you’re only reading this passingly in-between puke sessions in your

friend’s guest bathroom. It is Comehoming for Christ sakes! I myself recently became of legal age to consume nature’s sweet bubbly nectar

from a keg and let me tell you, alcoholism isnt near as fun as my father makes it seem. But

he’s neither here nor there anyways. I digress, have a very merry ComeHoming everyone

and don’t forget to tip your waitress.

Sincerly, wearily and queerly,

Brother NoZeIsTheWarmestColor

Keko Keeper of the Safety ScissorsKeko Keeper of the Nonstick Pam

Keko Keeper of the Questionable Trackmarks

PAGE 3 THE ROPE WWW.THENOZE.ORG

CounterPoint: Carnie Lives Matter The media has been bringing these deplorable thugs to the forefront of all of our headlines and news feeds, and to be completely honest, I am irate. As a hardworking strongman, I find it ludicrous and ironic that these face painted buffoons think they are oppressed in any way. For them to elevate themselves above the rest of the big top and say that their lives are more important than us average freak shows is a crime in and of itself. We all have our own individual problems. The con-joined twins don’t qualify for the $20 dinner for two at Chilis. The Bearded Lady is always being mistaken for Russell Brandt. The cannon guy has to pay outrageous healthcare premiums. To top it all off, the lizard man is always running out of cocoa butter for his nasty skin. The Circus Ringleader himself has been clown-baiting these people for years in order to guarantee his recurring re-election as the head of the circus. We believe that not everyone involved in this movement has pure intentions. Ronald Mc-Donald, for years, has been abusing the Clown Lives Matter movement as a power play in order to peddle his greasy burgers and type 2 diabetes. We cannot label this violence as an outcry for help. We must view it as violence with no justification or reasoning. We have to remember that all Carnie Lives Matter and that one group cannot be elevated above the rest of us low lifes. It’s already bad enough down here, and to see those curly headed criminals try to inch their way above us is unac-ceptable. I think that the only person that can stop this violence would be our soon to be ringleader, Tronald Dump.

Point: #ClownLivesMatter We cannot look at these clown attacks as indications of a degenerate race of red-nozed hell-raisers, but as a representation of the victims of a greater system which oppresses clowns and pushes them into society’s ass-crack. These crimson-schnozed children-charmers have been marginalized for far too long, being forced to cater to the whims of ungrateful white kids and their Casey Anthony-style parents. SO WHAT they look a little different than you and me. SO WHAT they buy up all the size 18 Jordan’s at the store. SO WHAT we’re experiencing the largest banana cream pie shortage in our nation’s history because of them. That gives you no right to film these docile creatures as they lurk in random fields late at night. We can only attribute this violence to the Clown community finally saying, enough is enough, it’s time to stop clowning around. Every day, clowns are arbitrarily stopped in their tiny cars for minor infractions and then shot dead with novelty “BANG” guns. Though they may be faking death, the oppression is O so real. We spoke to the leader of the movement, Chuckles Kaipernoodle, who announced that he would continue to kneel at the circus during the national anthem until the oppressive tax on multi-colored wigs is lifted. This is not some fleeting internet trend or strange phenomena, but a community honking out for help. So next time you see a clown with a knife,,think about what it’s like to walk a mile in his colossal kicks. #ClownLivesMatter

Counter-CounterPoint: Carne Asada Matters Woah, woah, woah. Let’s not kid ourselves here. Tim Tebow might have saved the life of a seizing fan, but I guarantee if that man was near Carne Asada, he would’ve been pumping steak into his gullet and not permorming CPR. La Michocan might laun-der money to narcos, which is bad, but I might be willing to look the other way if there is some curry vindaloo in it for me. Let’s be clear about what we are talking about here, Carne Asada is the heavenly steak normally flank. ITS NOT GUISADA!!! Guisada is fine and dandy, but it won’t fill the special hole in your stomach reserved for Mexican meats.

Also, I need a good Gastroenterologist. Happy Comehoming everybody.

WWW.THENOZE.ORG THE ROPE PAGE 4

Chapel Ryan Faints After Tightness of Pants Cuts Off Circulation “I should start wearing Bermuda shorts instead.”

WACO, TX - During Monday’s 9:05 session, Chapel student employees were called into action after a life threatening incident. Workers were seen leaping from the balconies and parachuting to the stage using their Enos in order to come to Chapel Ryan’s rescue. Lights director, Selena Hernandez, was very shaken up by what could only be described as “the choking snake” to Bay-lor students. “They stayed in a perfect, six point formation, reached down, and ripped his pants off to release the pressure.” Through tears, Hernandez noted that after the reflecting light off of Chapel Ryan’s thighs started blinding the young freshmen, Baylor bears took the frightful scene as a beacon of hope to leave Chapel early. The only benediction that day was the chorus of hollers heard round the hall as the masses proceeded to funnel out the doors, taking the swipe machines with them. After the pale, eggshell color had been massaged back into Chapel Ryan’s purple thighs, he let out an exhaustive explanation of his condition. “During the eighth chorus of Amazing Grace, I started to lose feeling in my legs. At first, I thought it was just the mighty Holy Spirit pressing down on me like grapes in our Baptist wine press. It wasn’t until I noticed my blue-ish toes through my Chacos that I thought something might be wrong, and by that point, it was already too late.” Following the tragedy, Chapel Ryan insists on commuting on campus solely by wheelchair, and wearing striped black and white sweatpants fashioned after a monk’s frock.

PAGE 5 THE ROPE WWW.THENOZE.ORG

This year, as an attempt to deter students from falling into immoral practices, such as binge drinking, lettuce smoking, and promiscuity, Baylor offered spring breakers an all-inclusive trip and the opportu-nity to party like it’s 1875! Every-one is eligible for this once-in-a- lifetime experience to visit all the little house-parties the prairie has to offer. Guys and gals get to let loose Homestead Heritage-style in the Midwest without having to worry about disappointing their pastors. The skills these young adults were

able to learn truly took them back to a simpler time. The women were able to become proficient in bring-ing up a house while the men were given dual credit classes. “We try to go back to a simpler time before all of this ‘women have rights’ mumbo jumbo,” commented leader William Elliot, “we just need to let boys be boys and let women be continually overlooked by their husbands while they take care of everything in the home!” “Fine by me!” added sopho-more Christine Sheffield, “if I can learn how to give a homebirth without a doula, then the time I’ve wasted trying to get a creative writ-ing degree will be totally worth it! Ring by Spring baby!” However, despite valiant efforts from the supervising farm-ers, the vacationers managed to find ways to ditch their petticoats and let down their braids. After nightly prayers, story time, and group

hymns, rebellious students man-aged to sneak out of their A-frame cabins and light their smuggled contraband on the dimming bon-fires. This became a nightly ritual after their caretakers fell asleep at the magic hour of 7 PM. Ladies turned their bonnets into halter tops while the men plowed things other than their pasteurized crops. Not only that, but the in-ventiveness and productivity of the local craftsmen rubbed off on these young souls in the worst possible ways. Young fraternity men began to realize their gift for distilling. Former ΣΑΕ members snuck into an outhouse to experiment with their newly-acquired skills. Dylan Snodgrass bragged, “this moon-shine got my ass on the ground faster than my pledge master during my freshman year.” On the short ride back to the Baylor campus, student Stepha-nie Wood reflected on the trip, “I

learned so many great things about the way my ancestors lived in the middle of nowhere like that. I can only imagine what they had to go through without great modern tech-nologies, like making pies without using Pinterest. Okay, can I have my phone back now?”

Girls Gone Laura Ingalls Wilder

“TAKE YOUR TOP OFF…that wagon”

Holy Law #4chan.org:

Believe Everything on the Internet

Much like Vinyl, VHS is Making a ComeBack“Just because it’s old doesn’t mean it can’t be overpriced.”

WACO, TX – Much like our Lord and Savior, Vinyl has truly bounced back from the dead. While it doesn’t have the same impact as it had in your great aunt Martha’s Beatle-listening days, many youngsters find themselves almost equally entranced by their low quality, over-priced Cro-sleys. While listening to music in a much more difficult fashion better suits the integrity of some artists, young buyers are now starting to believe that the same process applies to television. You heard it here first folks, the VHS is cool again. Surprisingly, this trend is not just for the stoners who can’t afford the luxury of a Blu-Ray player and want to watch their well-worn copy of The Matrix. We caught up with a Waco local and asked her thoughts on today’s newest trend. “There’s something about the inconvenience and low image quality that makes it worth having to spend twenty-five minutes rewinding the tape,” ukulele enthusiast Lara Sunshine commented outside of the local Urban Outfitters last Tuesday. “Sure, my popcorn is cold by the time I get to eat it, but it’s almost like there’s an Instagram filter on my TV screen!” Local business owner Bart Oldman doesn’t quite understand the appeal to this new fad. “I’ve had countless young people, ‘hipsters’ as they like to call themselves, come into my pawn shop wearing beanies, John Lennon sunglasses, and suspenders that don’t do anything but dangle on the sides of their legs. They’re always looking to buy a VCR. One girl pawned off six mason jars, an infinity scarf, and her Apple watch for one that had been sitting here since the late seventies.” Bart then glanced down to check his text messages on his new watch before continuing, saying, “Hell, if I had known I could make so much money off of something old, worn out, and heavily used, I would’ve just put my ex-wife inside the display case.” Theorizer James Stromberg believes that the trend of old technology coming back into fashion will not go out of style anytime soon. “First it’s vinyl and VHS, then before we know it, everything that was old and useless fifteen years ago will be cool again,” Stromberg comments. “Flop-py disks, typewriters, soon people will even believe that the 2001 PT Cruiser will be trendy.” …Yikes. In this trend of bringing the old back into style, Baylor administration reverted back to some of its old ways by requiring that female stu-dents wear shorts and skirts that are no shorter than three inches below the knee. Also on the table to be reconsidered are dancing with the opposite sex, and a requirement of a parent or faculty chaperone at all on or off campus parties. “How’s that for being cool and relatable?” Vice President of Student Life Kevin Jackson said.

WWW.THENOZE.ORG THE ROPE PAGE 6

Student Sparks Creationism Debate in Biology Department

“God created Adam and Eve not Adam and evolution” A campus-wide conversation has been started as a result of tensions fuming between freshman Brian Wildly and his professor Dr. Duchovny. When the topic of evolution arose in Dr. Duchovny’s 8:00 AM Biology class, every-one suddenly became uncomfortable. As Duchovny boldly asserted humans were the product of millions of years of evolution and natural selection, a brave voice rose from the back of the room. “That’s just a theory,” cried Wildly, “why not just teach us that you believe the Earth revolves around the Sun while you’re at it!” Stunned, Duchovny ended his lecture prematurely to address the young man. Tenderly, the professor engaged the student in discourse, “tell me young man, what do you believe is our origin story, and what evidence do you have to back up your claims?” Brian strode down the stairs with an aura of confidence, “I know that God created us and it is blasphemy to assert we are the by-product of sophisticated apes. If that were true, why can I Uber over to Cam-eron Park Zoo and stare at my supposed ancestors?” Satisfied with his rebuttal, the freshman picked up his letterman, smoothly slipped it on, and single-strapped his backpack as he walked out of class. Distraught, Duchovny began to have a crisis of science, questioning his lack of faith. Several Greek-life groups have stepped up to bring support for Brian Wildly and his wild ride to crusade for creationism. Leading the charge are Chi-Omega and Phi-Chi, whose presidents released a joint statement, “We have noticed a larger and larger presence of pro-evolution students on campus, and honestly we’re feeling so attacked right now. We have come together as fraternities and sororities to put an end to this madness. We offer up several points which we feel cannot be refuted by so-called “science.” First, if the world is billions of years old, why is it only the year 2016? Second, where is this hypothesized link between man and ape? Would it not still be roaming the Earth alongside our poo-poo flinging brothers? We feel that the only thing missing more than this link is Chris Callahan’s field goals from beyond 20 yards. Third, if dinosaurs actually existed, why would Moses forego including them on his Ark? Would it not make sense to have Jesus and his disciples flying around on the wings of pterodactyls spreading the gospel as opposed to facing the wrath of Pontius Pilot? Finally, if the world wasn’t created in seven days, Chick-Fil-A would be open on Sundays, which totally contradicts everything I’ve grown up knowing.” Support was found in the faculty and staff of Baylor as well, most notably in a presentation by Burt Burleson in Chapel titled “The Trustworthiness of Theories.” As Burt walked on stage, several stations were set-up to simulate the shortcomings of various scientific theories, such as the theory of gravity, the theory of evolution, and the theory of heliocentrism. For each station, Burleson demonstrated how common sense could stump the “greatest” minds of science. To disprove gravity, Burt simply held up a helium filled balloon and addressed the audience, “If gravity were real, would this balloon not fall to the ground?” Moving to evolution, Burt removed the tarp covering a large kennel to reveal a scared, shaking Platypus. Pointing at the scared, egg-laying mammal, Burt questioned those in attendance, “why would nature allow something as puzzling as this creature come into existence? It lays eggs but looks like a weird duck-beaver thing. Surely the only explanation is God placed it here to prove his mysteriousness and grandeur.” Fi-nally, Burt stumped Copernicus with his disproving heliocentrism. “Ladies and Gentlemen, ancient scholars tell us we revolve around the Sun. I say no more, for we are the center of the universe. How else could you explain the media cir-cus that has been following us so closely these past few months? Baylor University is the literal center of the universe, for God has blessed us so well. Truly we are his chosen people, and we are facing a plight similar to that of the Jews in the Old Testament.” As roars of applause shook Waco Hall, Brian Wildly was called up to the stage to take his rightful place next to Burt Burleson. It seems that artificial selection has chosen Brian as the successor to Chapel Ryan, a move celebrated throughout campus, for Brian has a preference to wear loose fitting clothes rather than painted-on jeans. Chapel Brian will henceforth lead our chapel services out of the dark ages of “evil-lution” and boldly guide us as we convince the rest of the world to accept creationism once again.

PAGE 7 THE ROPE WWW.THENOZE.ORG

Baylor Athletics Advertise Lack of Sexual Assaults in Order to Boost

Attendance In the wake of controversy surrounding Baylor football, Baylor Athletics has announced their new advertising campaign, “Its On Them, Not US,” in hopes of boosting attendance at all sports games, but mostly sports that aren’t football. Newly hired Athletic Director, Mack Rhoades, bragged that there hadn’t been a single sexual assault in his two months as Baylor’s AD, and also announced plans to eventually bring soccer and tennis to McLane stadium while moving football to the intramural fields. “We’re taking Baylor away from football and in a new direction,” said Rhoades. “The Board of Regents has made it clear that we need to keep football out of the public eye, but this time we will sweep the entire football team under the rug instead of just a few cases. The Board is quick to fire people and won’t tell me how secure my job is, so I can’t allow any slip-ups under my watch. I’m walking on eggshells with these people.”Rhoades also announced plans to bring a Title IX office and suite to McLane Stadium so Patty Crawford (RIP) doesn’t have to constantly drive across I-35 to meet with football players and to show Baylor’s commitment to kicking more players out of the University. On Gameday, t-shirts will rain down on the crowd from the presidential Title IX suite bearing the “Its On Them, Not US” slogan and a list of players who have been kicked out of the University in the wake of the sexual assault scandal. In addition, the jumbotron will read, “No Sexual Misconduct” followed by the number of days since the team’s last infraction. “I think people from other schools will finally stop asking me if I’m afraid of all the football players,” said Freshman Barry Collins. “Also, soccer is the most popular sport in the world, why haven’t they been playing in McLane already?” Baylor will also fly green and gold Title IX flags at McLane Stadium since the “Its On US” video that’s always played never quite gets the point across. This new campaign is sure to finally get the media approval that the Board of Reagents so desperately wants.

WACO, Texas – With Colin Kaepernick continuing his protest during the National Anthem before his NFL games, some Americans have begun to question, just why is the Forty-Niner’s quarterback paying tribute to Timothy Richard Tebow?“He’s got a nice smile, I think,” said Lisa Maronelli, a sophomore communications major. “He’s devout, he’s got the jawline of a trailer park Adonis, but I just don’t know why Kaepernick honors him before every football game!” Lisa also expressed her con-cern that the rest of the team was not participating in kneeling as well. “I mean, what man wouldn’t feel a little higher on the Kinsey scale just watching him swing his bat around?”The act of Tebowing, which is the act of kneeling on one knee in prayer specifically with one’s head bowed and an arm resting on the one bent knee, originated from Tim’s propensity to beg God to be a professional athlete. “It’s simply a profession of faith,” said outspoken Christian and junior Theology major, Christian Welts. “Kaepernick and other national football league players are finally repenting for all of their past sins, and letting the joy of God into their hearts! All thanks to Tebow. They are finally not letting the art of competition get the better of them.” When questioned on whether the Dal-las Cowboys deserved their win over the Forty-Niners a couple weeks ago, (and that they’re going to the Super Bowl this year), Mr. Welts commented, “I’d rather slip blood money to Clay Matthews to shatter Dak Prescott’s spine, and take a Louisville Slugger to Zeke’s knees than see the Dallas Cowboys in the Super Bowl.” In regards to Kaepernick’s genuflecting, communities across the country are voicing their support for the struggling sports superstar, sending prayers and tweets to spur him on his way. “With all that has been going on,” responded Tebow when asked about the NFL players’ tribute, “it is just an honor to see the support of so many people in these trying times. It is the Lord’s work that we stand united, as I try to make millions of dol-lars hitting a ball around everyday.”

People Don’t Know Why Colin Kaepernick is Tebowing

“Were he and Tebow friends or... something?”

WWW.THENOZE.ORGTHE ROPEPAGE 08

Rory GilNoZeI submitted my essay for the NoZe Brothers on an innocent Sunday afternoon. I strolled away,

feeling confident in my work. I expected a call within the next day asking for my return, for them to plead to have more estrogen in their male dominated group. Oh, how I still wish it had only been a call. I woke up for my 8 a.m. speech class at the supple hour of 7:30. As I wiped the crust from my eyes from falling asleep in my contacts, a bright light shone directly above me. The only thing I could hear was the sound of people demanding, “be funny, be funny, be funny, be funny, be funny,” which was getting increasingly louder by the second. I attempted to look around the room to see where my roommate was, but was only confronted by the cold bodies from which the shouts were coming from.

I tried to hoist myself up from my twin XL bed, but right as I began to rise I felt a shot of insulin tear through my veins.

“I DON’T HAVE DIABETES,” I screamed as my head recoiled back into my pillow. “Well… you do now,” replied a single female voice in the crowd.I woke up in a room where the walls were a soothing color, a blue lighter than baby blue and the

white tiles on the ground were barren and cold. Everything felt serene while I received all my fluids through a tube in my left arm. I began to

close my eyes to the overwhelming presence of white noise and the smell of equipment that’s almost too clean. In the short amount of time it took for my eyes to go from three-quarters of the way open to near shuteye, I felt an almost God-like company in the room. My eyes flickered open to discover that the same group that hovered over me before. Clothed in ridiculous wigs, outfits, and thick-rimmed black glasses that rivaled those of your local librarian. What stood out most to me, out of all this insanity, was the over-powering size of the snouts adorned at the bridge of their glasses.

“Congrats on your surgery! Your copay will be $2000 upfront.”I swung up from the mass-ordered disposable hospital pillow only to feel a stabbing pain in my

abdomen and let out a hearty scream.“That’s what happens when you don’t get your bedrest! The symptoms of a pancreatectomy can

be damning if you’re not ready to handle taking care of yourself post incision.”It was then I became cognizant of my condition. I really felt like a whole person before this

group, conscious of who and what I was in this world, and now the NoZe Brothers had taken a part of me. Literally. My pancreas was now free as a bird, but like a bird with only one wing because I could still definitely feel half of it in there.I guess my discovery of my new body was shown on my face as the Brothers departed with, “And with that, we want to thank you for your generous donation, the clerk will take your cash, card, or check at the desk upon your departure.”

I woke up in a warm sweat. I jolted awake to discover that I had been left in my bathtub with lukewarm water, my hair shampooed but not yet conditioned. You would at least think these people have the decency to condition your hair if they leave you fully clothed in your own bathtub.

I examined my surroundings; everything seemed the same since I had left to surgery an unmea-surable amount of time ago. I then heard the chirping of my cell phone, located directly beside the vessel that contained myself and about 20 gallons of water. On the screen was a notification that simply stated, “REMINDER: Inject insulin 30 minutes before eating!”

San AnNoZeio“Yeah, I’m here to protest your intolerance of the gender neutral

pronoun movement.” I responded, still feeling indignant. “I think your name is socially regressive and you should chan-” I tried to protest as the black mask was slipped over my face. “Your joke isn’t funny. Strike one,” cackled the voice I would later come to know as Bro. CocoNoZeShrimp. “But I wasn’t trying to be funny?” I protested to no avail as I was shoved into the back of a truck with the fruit platter, with dipping sauce, I had brought as a snack to share after the peaceful resolution of our dispute.

How could I have known the consequence my innocent decision to oppose a group that called itself NoZe? It seemed so obvious what their goals were, but I guess I should have Googled them. “Look guys, I’m not looking for trouble,” I stammered as the SUV I was whisked away in careened through the dark. “I just thought the whole No ‘Ze’ thing was a bit unnecessary,” I posited. The only answer I heard was the screech of tires and the smell of booze wafting through acrylic beard. “You guys have heard of the gender neutral pronoun movement? The car slammed to a halt.

The door whipped open and I was dragged from my seat out into the sticky and warm night air and dragged into a room that smelled like Takis and Steel Reserve. “We got ourselves a kid who who won’t shut up,” a voice whistled through nylon whiskers. “Say something funny,” the voice prompted. I stammered, “Uh, I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on, I thought you guys were against gender neutral pronouns and I just…” My voice trailed off. No one was answering and all I could hear was breathing and the crack of opening beer cans. “Stop talking about pronouns,” a voice volunteered. “It’s not funny.”

The next thing I knew I was flat on my back. “Be funny, be funny, be funny…” the voices chanted as the mask was ripped from my face. My eyes were met with the blinding light, like something out of a bad cop flick. “What do George W. Bush, self-immolation, and the Pope have in common?” the voices demanded. “Um, I mean, they both speak in a lan-guage nobody understands?” A collective sigh of disappointment rippled through the room. “No pronoun boy, God spoke through a burning bush.” “It’s honestly like Ze’s not even trying,” another voice consoled me as the funny-smelling cheese cloth slipped over my nose and mouth.

When my eyes snapped open I was little spoon for one of the bears in the bear pit, and a Chamber member was trying to feed me raw meat. I sat up and yelled, terrified. So did the Lady the bear. I ran the past the startled Chamber member, who had just begun to grasp that I was not one of the bears. I was able to wash off the smell of Takis, Steel Reserve, and bear, but I can never wash out the memory.

Accounts of the Trembling Neophytes, Sore Afraid

PAGE 09THE ROPEWWW.THENOZE.ORGFrida KahlNoZe

It was the best of days, it was worst of days, but it was mainly the day I was knocked out with a plastic rock in Katy’s Custard parking lot. The last thing I saw was a purple sombrero dripping chloroform being shoved in my face and hearing the words, “It’s all about precautionary measures. Where did you guys put the Chinese finger traps?” I awoke to darkness but felt the truck speeding and sirens wailing after us. I touched my face and found gauze and duct tape wrapped around my head completely. I tried to speak, but all that came out was muffled roar and then twenty pairs were shoving me down as I tried to get up. “Try not to move! Hey, how many cops does it take to take down a brother? Answer me! Be funny! Also, there was a slight accident and we’re kind of trying to stop the stupid amount you’re bleeding right now.” Four sharp left turns and ten rounds of gunshots later, I was dragged by my Chinese finger traps into The Mansion. They stole my shoes, made bets on beta fish fights, and recited the entire script of Bee Movie backwards, all the while, having me count back from a thousand using prime numbers through the bloody gauze. Then finally, after forty hours and forty of their 40’s had piled high in arms, they began playing Fall Out Boy, brought me to my feet, and led me barefoot on a walk for what must have been ten miles with those finger traps on my toes.

We stopped in a field of grass where they cut eyeholes out of the gauze, placed a shovel in between my elbows, and happily said, “Dig us a grave plot!” I gladly agreed under the circumstances and dug for another forty hours while the Noze Brothers sang the acapella version of every Juan Gabriel song, finishing with blood oaths from the jugular to never speak of their singing session again. When the hole was six feet deep, a brother shoved me in screaming, “SATCCHHHH!” Together they buried me with just my wrapped head poking out of the earth. A broth-er stepped forward in a pumpkin suit, lit a cigarette with a pink Zippo and screeched, “Brothers I think we need to water this sad plant over here.” The rest of the brothers stepped forward, twisting open Bud Ice, and poured them over me. “And now that this plant is finely watered, maybe it’ll grow up to be funny.” In unison, they sang, “NooOOOooZe,” and sprinkled a ring of salt around me for “precautionary measures” and such. A limo arrived in the night with giant inflatable rubber ducky on the roof and took the Noze Brothers. A day later, a cop drove by and found me in my grand state. The sorry chump dug me out, but couldn’t quite figure the Chinese finger traps. Slowly, he unwrapped the gauze and duct tape and gasped. In the reflection of his eyes, I caught the gigantic snoozer cemented between my eyes. The thing that replaced my noze was something…some-thing of such great length and breadth of nostril… that someone could form a club around it.

BilNoZe Baggins It was a warm, sticky, cricket-filled night when I got my first glimpse into life as a NoZe Brother. I was ordered to stand at the back or Armstrong Browning library. The beautiful garden served as the only peaceful moment of that night. I sat down on a bench and awaited further instructions. As I sat wondering all the ways the brothers could torture me, I heard a faint sound growing closer while gaining speed, rapidity, and menace with each passing moment. What began as a low “NooooooZe” chant transitioned quickly into something akin to the chaos of the battle scene from Game of Thrones. Just as it reached its climax, I felt a dart pierce my neck and the whole world turned dark. I awoke nearly nude, the only clothing on me were my socks, a loincloth made of what felt like sandpaper, and some goggles cover-ing my eyes. I tried to remove the goggles, but my hand was met with a quick slap. A voice boomed, “keep those damned goggles on you idiot, what part of secret society do you not understand?”

I asked a few questions, “Where am I, what happened, why am I nearly nude, why does my body feel all sticky?”. In reply, I received a splash to the face of what I can only hope was totally not semen, for in an instant I was transported to my days as equipment manager for Jerry Sandusky. The first voice rebuked my questions, “We’re the ones asking questions tonight, got it? Now, let’s get down to business. Tell me fat boy, what makes you think you’re cut out to be a NoZe Brother?” I began to explain my love for satire, my desires to see change on campus, my dissatisfaction with Baylor’s administration, and the declining quality of the dining halls. Before I could get into the meat of my answer, I was pulled up onto my feet, shoved into a different room, and laid flat on a table. My goggles were ripped off and my eyes were met with the blinding light of several LED handheld spotlights. The dark silhouettes I could make out behind the lights all had their faces concealed by large noses and thick-framed glasses. The first voice rang out again, “Well it seems it is time for your first, and last, and only test. Are you ready? Hope so because there are no retakes. Tell us, Rascal Fatts, who was the first man on the moon?” The question seemed odd, but I answered, “Neil Armstrong.” “WRONG,” a chorus cried out, “It was Michael Jackson. How else could he have introduced the world to moonwalking?” The first voice inquired again, “Riddle me this, Buddha body, what is the opposite of Christopher Walken?” Confused, I meekly replied, “Christopher Sitten?” Dissatisfied, the chorus again yelled, “WRONG! It is Christopher Reeves.” Defeated, I began to soil myself a little. That’s honestly the funniest thing you’ve done tonight, the mysterious men chuckled. Good timing too because we’re out of questions and quite honestly would rather be drinking.” In an instant I felt another dart in my neck and the world went quiet. As I awoke, I was greeted by the sound of crickets chirping, for then I knew I was back on Baylor’s campus. I surveyed my surround-ings finding myself all alone, reminding me of the countless nights with only Palm-ela Hand-erson and me. I noticed a distinct lack of pants and a note stuck to my shirt. The note read as follows;“Dear Wilford Brimley hopeful, it is our deepest regret to inform you that we would like to consider you for membership in the Noble

NoZe Brotherhood. Please be expecting a call within the next week, though it could be as early as an hour from now. Either way, it would be best to have your phone by you at all times, so we recommend forgoing any shower, sleeping, and alone time with the op-

posite sex (or same sex, we don’t judge). With our deepest sympathies to your future academic career, The Noble NoZe Brotherhood.”

BudNoZer Ever since the early days of Freshman year I had been fascinated by bearded brothers with noses of great magnitude roaming the Baylor campus. These mysterious Nobleman always left pink noses, silly shenanigans, and the smell of stale beer and New-port cigarettes in their wake. I soon found myself unrushing in Burleson Quad. There I got instructions from a little person in a clown costume to find the NoZe Brothers deep in the bowels of Moody. I gave him a beer, tipped him a 20$ (Its just etiquette), and set off to deliver my 5,000 word article to the Noble NoZe Brothers.I woke up to an anonymous call at 4:21 AM one night in Moody after spending 3 days searching through every crevice of the library I could find.“Do you know who you’re talking to?” said an oddly terrifying cartoon voice. “Y-yes,” my voice trembled.“Walk into the sewers by Penland until you cant see the light,” said the voice as the phone cut off.After parking my Razor Scooter by the bear cage, I made my way through the wet sewer with nothing but a pink lighter I found at the entrance to light my way. After walking for some time, I began to smell the oh so familiar smell of a freshly lit Newport cigarette. Seconds later, a face appeared inches in front of mine. The smell of Bud Ice reaked off of his beard. The only thing I remember hearing was, “Be funny!” and then it all went black.I woke up blindfolded in whitey tighties riding in what I was told was a Volkswagen Beetle and with a bottle of liquor that

smelled like Fireball. I was sweating like a fat one-legged hooker working both sides of the street and crying like my normal Saturday night at Showtime.“The Mansion smells like farts so we’re taking a cruise,” I heard through my sobs, which seemed to calm me down now that I figured that was odd cheesy-eggy smell was that was radiating from the back seat.After what seemed about 3 or 4 hours of driving I was thrown into a small, hot elevator while I clutched the bottle of liquor. “Be funny,” I remembered, “BE FUNNY.” I could only remember the joke my dad told me the one time I remember seeing him.“Did you hear that the police have a warrant out on a midget psychic ripping people off? It reads “Small Medium at Large!”I shouted as loud as I could trying to cover up my nervous laughter. The smell of a Newport cigarette grew stronger and stronger until the doors of the elevator slowly opened up to a stream of bright lights that I could see through a hole in the side of my blindfold. It was silentexcept for the humming of lightsuntil I heard, “YOU THINK YOU’RE FUNNY?! Oh you better be funny.”I began to twitch as the smell grew stronger. There were more of them. Before I knew it I was taken by the hand and laid softly on a bed of noses that were just pointy enough to be uncomfortable. My blindfold was then ripped from my face and a 3000k LED PAR38 Flood Light was shined in my eyes causing me to burst into tears once again.“Be funny,” they all repeated as they pulled out the worst thing I could have imagined.The NoZe Brothers had brought to life my greatest fear: a feather tickling the bottom of my feet. When the tickling began I wasn’t sure if I was at the NoZe Mansion or if I had actually been taken to Guantanamo Bay. I was told time and time again to “be funny,” but no matter what I said or did, the only laughter that would ever come was my own. After what felt like days of relentless feet tickling and not being funny, things grew quiet except for the low humming of “NOOOOOOOOOOZE.”Suddenly, the summoned ghost of Leonard Sheof lifted me from the bed of noses and back into the elevator. After the longest elevator ride of my life, I was pulled out, once again blindfolded and put onto a short old yellow dog school bus. After about 10 minutes of driving I was stood up, embraced, and told “You werent very funny,” as I was knocked out by a sack of recalled Tyson chicken nuggets.I woke up the next day on the roof of Collins dorm with pink sticky notes stuck all over my body. Two days had passed and I had an intramural ‘almost golf’ game to get to. So I peeled off the labeled sticky notes one by one and laid them out until I discovered my new directions. They told me to be in the Zeta chapter room at 4:21 that night since “there’s probably booze there” and that I should “be funny this time.” So I gathered my clothes and began the long trek to my golf game twitching from the memories of the night before. Unrush had begun.

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Baylor Smackdown“People haven’t been slammed this hard since Lucifer got choke slammed to hell”

This Sunday night thousands gathered to witness Art “The Showstopper” Briles call out each and every member of the Baylor Board of Regents live at Summerslam. Briles was in a fiery state as he exclaimed “You sit there and you thump your Bible, and you say your prayers, and it didn’t get you anywhere! Talk about your Psalms, talk about John 3:16… well Art 3:16 says I have never done anything morally or ethically wrong.”

All of a sudden “Here comes the money” started playing over the speakers and Drayton McLane came running down the ramp to confront Briles in front of a sold out crowd of 12,000 here at the Ferrell Center.

“Art, you are an embarrassment to your school, your state and your country. I am the only reason this damn team got anything done, I am the only reason that stadium got built.” McLane then picked up Briles and suplexed him over the top rope.

All of a sudden the arena turned black and church bells began playing. The announcers were exclaiming “oh my god… it can’t be!” as Robert Sloan himself returned from the dead to hit McLane over the head with a steel chair. With a wicked look in his eye, Sloan grabbed the mic and challenged anyone in the locker room to come and try to stop him.

As soon as those words came out of Sloan’s mouth, Monica Lewinsky started playing as The Ultimate Warrior Ken Starr came running out of the locker room ready to meet Sloan’s challenge. Starr dove into the ring and immediately gave Sloan a DDT right into the steel chair. Starr then climbed the top rope and frogsplashed on top of the incapacitated Sloan.

Tune in next week to watch our main event as Kendall Briles faces off against Title IX coordinator Patty Crawford in an “I Quit” match.

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