Rosenbaum’s reporting (assisted by a team of Bones-hating Yale undergrads equipped with “three night-vision-capable digital-video cameras, one tape recorder, a stepladder and two walkie-talkies”) confirms the growing suspicion that for all its elitism and hocus-pocus, Skull & Bones is just a somewhat more infantile version of your typical college fraternity. His findings appear in the April 18 New York Observer. Ron Rosenbaum, author of a classic Esquire piece about the Yale secret society Skull & Bones, has become the first journalist to witness the society’s initiation rites. Īnd stop by our Top Picks (Updated 05.07.10) because your mom isn't too fond of you anyway.Īnd don't forget to follow us on Facebook and Twitter to get dick jokes sent straight to your news feed.This is a great day in the annals of American journalism. ![]() Or find out how your mom may have messed you up, in 7 Things "Good Parents" Do (That Screw Kids Up for Life). Get to know some other clandestine organizations in 5 Inspiring Acts of Kindness by Terrifying Crime Syndicates. Read more from Kristi Harrison at Here in Idaho.ĭo have an idea in mind that would make a great article? Then sign up for our writers workshop! Know way too much about a random topic? Create a topic page and you could be on the front page of tomorrow! Those guys could be capable of launching a nuclear warhead. Well, unless he's also in the Navy, then apparently all bets are off. We can't even take the cheap route and say, "Ha ha ha, they're all really gay," because we've never seen a gay person conduct himself in this fashion, or even heard about it happening secondhand. They're having the time of their lives and we have no possible explanation for that fact. Look at the grins on their faces! This is freakin' Space Mountain for these guys. Grown men licking the stomachs of their co-workers. Because if you Googled the phrase "kissing the royal belly" you'll find dozens of similar pictures. It's at that point that the voice of Walter Cronkite gravely rolls forth from the owl, instructing the cloaked worrywarts that the only way to banish Care is to kill it with fire. That corpse is "Care" with a capital "C" and the corpse then starts talking trash to the Hoodies, bragging about how the worries of the world will never leave them. Druidish robed people muck about in front of a 40-foot owl like they've got nothing better to do when (surprise!) a boat with more Snuggie-clad Bohemians and a fake corpse start making their way to the island. ![]() The play begins on an island in an artificial lake. ![]() A play in which the personification of the world's worries, Care, is burned to ashes in front of a giant owl as an audience of the world's most powerful men look on. I swear I'll do it this time, you'll be sorry," but "dramatic" like it's part of a play. Not "dramatic" like "I'll slit my wrists if I gain another tenth of a pound. On the first Saturday of the encampment, a dramatic ceremony known as the "Cremation of Care" takes place.
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