WELCOME TO THE 
WONKY HOUSE

By the learnéd and libidinous Dr. Wilder

Q. Dr. Wilder, why was everyone so damn weird this Jan Term?

A. The answer is obvious, stupid.
Boredom.
Boredom is an incredibly rotten human malady. This dysfunction of the motivation 
gland turned campus into a noisy spook-show, filled with fish-eyed Acid Taikee Faces; 
into a bus-stop in the Twilight Zone, where guys eat mirrors and girls push their asses 
through walls; into the Starship Enterprise, infected by that virus that made Tasha Yar 
fuck a robot. And that was only the second episode of the show. We’ve been here for a 
month.
War is caused by boredom. *N SYNC is caused by boredom. Boredom makes you 
interested in spelling. If boredom wasn’t what caused the Brazilian currency crisis, it was 
what caused me to care about it for a tenth-of-a-second.
Sadly, there are only three cures for real boredom. They are sleep, drugs, and sex. 
Doing something productive does not cure boredom. It just makes your room cleaner than 
it ever needs to be. 
Sleep fills the time, but you can only sleep till you wake up. Drugs make you forget 
you’re bored, but drugs can lead to barfing, or bickering with chocolate bars. Sex is the 
only meaningful thing that mammals with no motivation can do, but reproduction leads to 
more boredom worldwide. So, either use a condom, or clean up your own vomit. 

Q. Dr. Wilder, a cruel God has destroyed my sleep schedule. What should I do?

A. At this point, you’re doomed. Most people are doomed. I’m doomed. My dinner is my 
breakfast. This is the fault of sleeping too much in the day, and keeping the company of 
drunk vampires in the night. In other words, it’s the fault of boredom. Now, my breakfast 
is my dinner.
Waiting outside the door of saga one morning, I thunk, “I can’t believe these grumps 
get up at eight o’clock in the morning to have soggy eggs.”
I asked people about it. Every single one had been up all night. We were all fucked.
Which brings me to my next solution: fucking. It sounds good, and it does not work 
one bit. Yes, it cures boredom. But, no, it does not fix your schedule. At night, it makes 
sleeping undesirable, and in the morning, it makes getting out of bed a logistical 
impossibility.
So, what is the solution? 
You have two choices. (1) Stay up all night, and all day, to go to sleep at a normal 
time the next day. Visit an Egg McMuffin. Get delirious at lunch. Find ice unthinkably 
funny; or (2) Sleep all day, and all night, and get up at a regular time the next day. Dream 
of naked angels. Wake up hungry. Acquire a crooked neck. 
Neither of these solutions work at all. Just abandon all hope.

Q. Speaking of crooked necks – My boyfriend’s penis curves slightly to the left when 
erect. Is this normal, or should I be afraid?

A. This is entirely normal, so I say, yes, yes, you should be very afraid. You’re dating a 
human. You’ve failed to find a fantasy. Run fastly. Humans grow that way, and there’s 
no fixing them. All you can do is bail. This guy’s is like you, and you know what you’re 
like. Your eyes are crooked, your legs are different lengths, and your fingers don’t match 
on both hands. You’re human: like us: like unlike breast sizes: just part of the human 
variety pack. So book!
Allah loves beautiful diversity. So does Dr. Wilder. So should you. You’re at 
Hampshire afterall, you hippie shit.

Q. Being that you’re sane and well-adjusted, like you, Dr. Wilder, what do you do to 
entertain yourself?

A. I call up ex-girlfriends and pretend to commit suicide. I say “goddammit” a lot. Most 
of all, I appreciate the little things. Like bras. Like the letter “2.” Like the word 
“sufficient,” which is admittedly medium-sized for word, but little for a thing. 
Then, I bitch and complain about how society’s screwed up. For instance, “afterall” 
should be a word, because it means something distinctly different from “after all,” 
afterall. “After all” means after everything is completely finished and gone; while 
“afterall” means something more like, as we all know, of course. The same with “alright.” 
When something is “alright,” it’s certainly not “all right.” “All right” would be great. It 
would be 100% correct. “Alright” sounds like it’s just sufficient, goddammit.
See? I just fixed a piece of the world. I feel better already. 
Don’t you?

Time to take the Prozac.