Category Archives: On Campus

Black Sheep Banquet: Angsty Family Haters Hold Annual Meeting

On Thursday, Angsty Family Haters held their fifth annual Black Sheep Banquet for those too overwhelmed with angst to even consider going home, gosh.
Unlike many students for whom the trip would be financially unfeasible, these angst ridden mostly freshmen passed up the opportunity to eat a family meal at a friend’s house in Metairie or at an RA-lead meal in favor of bellyaching together.
The meeting was held in Warren, which was the only place not already taken over by more festive events. The possum who fell through the ceiling was in attendance, saying, “My family is the whole reason I fell through the ceiling. I was so sick of their shit I had to leave.”
The humans in attendance fell into three factions: middle children, the misunderstood, and “college has changed me.” The event was run potluck style. The middle children brought homemade cookies, which were completely forgotten about because the misunderstood had attempted to make kale into a dessert. The changed brought nothing because after an anthropology class most of them had taken they really began to question potlucks as an institution.
“I feel like I’ve found my people,” said some freshman. This writer thinks she then said something about feeling overshadowed at family holidays, but it was boring so I stopped listening.
One participant brought his artwork. “My family just doesn’t get my work. My mom’s always just like. ‘Oh that’s nice.’ It’s a meta examination of the deconstruction of post modernist theories of the commoditization of art. Get it?” It was a lump of clay with a coupon sticking out.
“I mean, I could go for some mashed potatoes,” said the president Lenny something. “Whatever, Thanksgiving is a racist holiday anyway, and so are potatoes.”



Tulane Villagers Fear Mysterious Curse of “Rain”

As a wet substance fell from the heavens over the weekend, Tulane villagers were seen huddled inside of their cottages, cowering from the phenomenon known to Western scientists as “rain.”

“I do not know what this is. Perhaps a scourge from the days of old, haunting me from my home village of the Land of Cleve” said freshman Isabel Citadel from her rudimentary shelter known as ‘Patterson.’ “This heaven-water makes little sense to me” continued Citadel, citing the presence of palm trees, previously sunny weather, and her total ignorance of spring weather patterns in southern Louisiana.

As the watery curse sent villagers into a frenzy, many lamented the plague of precipitation through written word, attaching scribed parchment to the town Yak, and guiding the beast from household to household. “Oh lord, what be this wet shit? I believèd I have come to New Orleans for sunshine, not these sky-droplets,” read one note attached to the yak. Another popular note read, “Doth any maiden wish to watch Netflix and cuddle? For I am a lonesome squire :(((((.” The hieroglyph that followed this note is believed by anthropologists to signal “intense sadness.”

Although the presence of rain baffled younger members of the village, more wisened villagers were familiar with such occurrences and were happy to pass down oral histories. “Ah yes, I know of this rain,” said senior Tyler Lenol while chugging a mug of meade. “Tis that stuff which comes down and marks the changing of the seasons.” Lenol also noted that the rains signaled the beginning of the festival of Crawfest, “which continues to be inauspiciously planned during the only goddamn time of the year it rains.”

While Tulane villagers remained confused and fearful of the water falling from the sky, primitive inhabitants of the neighboring community of ‘Loyola’ were similarly confused by the existence of water falling from showerheads.

Op-Ed by the President: Vignette Representation of Quakers is Nuanced and Respectful

After I pressed send on my latest “View from Gibson” describing my attendance at the Shabbat, only one thing was running through my head: “Hey I wonder what kind of janky photoshop images will come from this announcement.” The Vignette understands that the image of a Quakers shouldn’t be limited to oatmeal packaging: I’m actually violently allergic to oatmeal and I am breaking out into hives just typing this op-ed. Quakers are doctors, lawyers, and Oprah impersonators. We’re husbands, neighbors, grandmothers, and sometimes all three of those things at once. We invented the Cadbury egg. We invented Pennsylvania. Fricking Herbert Hoover was a Quaker. It’s nice to know that the Vignette writers are making the most of the $20 that gets allocated to the history department every year.

Throughout my schooling and into my professional career I was teased mercilessly for two things: not crying enough and being a Quaker. While I’ve made steps to change the first thing, I will never be ashamed of my Quaker identity. I only hope that one day, all newspapers will have the tact and historical literacy of the Vignette.

Prez Fitts in Quaker History!


Big Fittsy as William PennPresident....Hoover???

Tulane Student Accidentally Celebrates Purim

In a classic “only at  Tulane” moment, student Zurab Baratashvili accidentally celebrated Purim alongside what the rabbinical community is calling “pretty much the rest of the college community.”  Baratashvili, a freshman, came to Tulane from Montana to play tennis. He had never met a Jewish person before in his life, although he noted that he had “eaten a donut before, and that’s kind of like a bagel.” However, it wasn’t long before he was celebrating the debaucherous holiday with more religious fervor than even the most observant member of the tribe.


After learning the nature of the holiday, Baratashvili took his role in the celebration very seriously. “It helped that I really had no idea who He-man or Malachi were in the first place,” he said, referring to Haman and Mordechai, the villain and hero of the Purim story. “But just to make sure that I definitely couldn’t tell them apart, I drank enough fireball to fuel like nine million menorahs.”

Hundreds of Tulane students took a journey off-campus to celebrate the holiday, which commands the Jewish people to drink and be merry.  “Zurab began to understand Judaism on a completely new level,” commented a local rabbi, who joined in at the Boot’s Purim celebration.  “Though he said he had never been exposed to Judaism, its as if he was drinking God’s tears of joy and then barfing them up, before rallying in the most holy of manners.”

The Vignette reached out to Johanan bar Nafcha, primary author of the Jerusalem Talmud about the situation. Nafcha approved of the hijinks and noted that Baratashvili’s keg stand at an off-campus party following his escapades at the Boot was “totally Talmudical, bro.”

Greenbaum Cooking Demonstration Will Feature “Legendary Pot Brownies”

In a Jackie Rouege-approved event to occur Tuesday, the Goldring Center kitchen in Greenbaum dorm will feature a cooking demonstration entitled “Riding the Green Wave: Pot Brownies and You.” Rouege hopes to improve the visibility of the Center’s food research by combining two Tulane favorites: “being a fatass and gettin stoney baloney.”

“Goldring Center’s brownies use the most pure form of bud I’ve ever tried,” said Rouege who reported being “blazed out of my gourd” at the time of interview. “The brownies melt in your mouth, and then your mouth melts into your throat, and then your throat melts into your lungs and you keep melting until you’re forced make peace with the God-King of gravity.”

The Center’s brochure features half-peeled bananas and chefs tossing quinoa salads, but the true culinary gem isn’t featured in the school’s pamphlet. Past attempts at programming for the Center have been well-intentioned but ultimately low attended. “No one wants to learn how to incorporate greens into your diet on a shoe-string budget, they just want to know how incorporate greens into their three-chamber bong without anything looking suspicious on Venmo,” said a giggling Rouege before looking panicked while a police siren went by. The Goldring Culinary Center hopes that attendance will surpass their most popular event thus far: a kissing booth with Oz.

President Fitts has been taking a hands-on approach in order to raise the profile of this cutting-edge facility, and indulges frequently in “Boot Dorm Brownies.” Raffi Real, a spokesperson for the president’s office confirmed the story. “He poured out his heart and soul into his words, and his words poured out of his mouth and filled the entire room, and the room lifted off and pranced into the smallest corners of the galaxy.” President Fitts, a true fan of the program, can be usually found doing somersaults in his office and wondering if Gibson can see anything from him

Tulane Senior Finally Meets Someone from Louisiana

Yesterday, February 9th, senior Kevin Freet finally had the pleasure of meeting what he called “a certified Cajun real-life Louisianianana…”. While getting out of his car in Diboll, Freet noticed that the adjacent car’s license plate had a strange bird on it. “I asked what kind of dinosaur it was and it turns out it is a ‘pelican,’ the official state dinosaur of Louisiana.”

Freet’s new friend is named Brent Ng, a native of Slidell. “Yeah, I’m the token Louisiana-native for a lot of different groups. I tell them all what to wear for Mardi Gras, how much the streetcar cost, and where to pick up high school chicks on parade routes.” Ng added that his Northern friends, “teach me how to shop for winter coats and be an unapproachable asshole.”

Tulane is known for its geographic diversity. The class of 2018 boasts more students from New York and California than Louisiana. “Yeah, I got friends from all over,” reported Freet. “I’m from Jersey myself, but my friends are from everywhere. Outside of New York, outside of Philly, southern Connecticut, northern Delaware, and western Long Island. We even have one kid in the crew from the South, all the way down in Alexandria, Virginia! We call him ‘Southern Dan.’ He’s always cold, haha!”

Freet, a finance major, met every single one of his friends freshman year in Sharp and prefers to spend his time around campus bars, although they did venture out into the city once. “Yeah we tried to go to the Marigny one time, but we ended up in ‘the Metairie.’ It was still very jazzy, very authentic.” said Freet, who once spent a semester abroad in Madrid without meeting a single Spaniard.

Student Group Fights to Legalize Blow Jobs

After learning on his newsfeed that blowjobs are actually technically illegal in the state of Louisiana, junior Bobby Walker decided to take matters into his own hands. Walker’s , Blowjobs: Always, Everywhere (BAE) has one goal: “to educate people about literally the worst thing that’s ever happened in Louisiana.”  BAE has planned lobbying events and other events to raise its profile. A  ‘blow in’ in Baton Rouge was scheduled for next week, but the members of BAE sadly reported that they couldn’t find enough participants who weren’t “totally lame.” “We’re a lot like Divest,” claimed BAE President Walker, “except we love blowjobs and also I don’t know what Divest it.”

The law, which is not currently being enforced by any legal entity, “is totally ruining our lives,” said Walker. The law also controversially bans gay sex, but the men of BAE appeared unfamiliar with such provisions. “If we ain’t talking blowies I don’t want to talk,” said BAE treasurer Graham Brooks, who has never talked to a girl in a non-group project setting.

The members of BAE come from all grades and social backgrounds, but they all seem to share similar sentiments. “Louisiana’s RS 14:89 section 89 is unfair and causing us to live in fear” proclaimed Tony Bayton, who is unaware that the law was rendered unconstitutional by the Supreme Court in Lawrence v. Texas.
The club meets almost every day to talk about their mission. “It’s the most of any org,” said SOC student worker Margaret Finlay, “they just sit over there and keep saying how they want to ‘enact real change.’” “Oh yeah , we really want to enact real change” said Walker as he glanced at his dick and then over at Finlay, “reeeaal change….”

Donnie Waltham’s DEFINITIVE “Best Sandwich Ever” List

Hey there. Hey! Hey you! What the fuck? What the fuck are you eating? A sandwich? You’re calling that a fucking sandwich? Fuck you! Thats not a sandwich! That’s an abortion between two slices of yeast infection. Fuck off. There are only three sandwiches in this world:

  1. The Reuben sandwich. Does that abomination you’re stuffing down your fat gullet have cheese, pastrami, rye bread, thousand island dressing, and sauerkraut? Does your goddamn “sandwich” have any of those fucking ingredients? No? Fuck you! Go eat a dick!
  2. The BLT. It only takes three ingredients to make a good sandwich. If you need any more than that you are worse than every dictator. Except Leopold II. That guy knew how to fucking run things. But you, you can fuck off, you venereal disease. Bacon. Scumbag. Lettuce. Douche. Tomato. Dickhead. Bread. Where are those strippers.
  3. The Cuban sandwich. I don’t give a shit who’s in charge of that island. Fidel? Fuckdel, thats more like it. That bearded whore doesn’t know anything about anything. Except these god damn sandwiches. This guy is a genius. A true visionary. Pulled pork, ham, cheese, onions, bread. Press until flat. Goes great with a salad. But what the fuck do you know? You parasitic tapeworm. You waste of oxygen. Jesus, are you awful.

Do you see? Do you see now? You are dirt. You are FUCKING dirt. I swear to all that is holy don’t you ever look at another sandwich ever again. Stick to your risotto. Or whatever the fuck you eat. Fuck you.

Hey, does anyone have any more coke?

Donnie Waltham is the Tulane Vignette’s sandwich correspondent, and has been working at Jimmy John’s for three years.

Student Gets Top Yik Yak, Decides To Pursue Writing Career

Last Wednesday evening proved to be very fruitful for sophomore Michael Goldblum. Michael wasn’t expecting much when he Yik-Yakked, “So high not even God can touch me.” But what started out as an ordinary Yak, quickly turned into a life calling for this inspired student.

“I mean at first I was just flattered,” Michael explained from his Phelps “inspiration den” (the bathroom). “Once I started getting into the 80’s for upvotes though, that’s when I realized I have a gift. My parents don’t really understand, but I don’t expect them to. The life of an artist is a lonely, misunderstood one.”

Due to the anonymity of Yik Yak, Michael has had trouble gaining the recognition he desires. When a randomly selected student was interviewed about Michael he responded, “Who? Oh, I remember that Yak, I read that while I was shitting in the LBC. I chuckled.”

Michael has resorted to guerilla marketing strategies as a means of getting noticed. His most recent tactic was to sit outside PJ’s and yell, “Pssst! So high not even God can touch me, right? Funny stuff, right?” to confused customers, while winking fiercely.

One of Michael’s friends and suitemates, Connor Wilson, is starting to get fed up with Michael’s behavior. “He just sits in his room and alternates between smoking weed and cigarettes. But whenever I ask him to hang out, he claims he’s busy and that I wouldn’t understand because I’m not a writer.”

Michael was last seen in front of the arts building, wearing all black and drinking whiskey to “combat the troubles of a tortured artist.”

Freshmen Excited To Show Off New Orleans-centric Personality to Friends, Family Over Thanksgiving

With the Thanksgiving holiday coming up, Pat Callahan, a freshman here at Tulane, can’t wait to go home and catch up with his “Yankee” friends.


“Ooh boy, I just can’t wait to go home”, said Callahan, from what he calls his “Shotgun” Sharp dorm. “its gonna be great to just hang out with my friends after so long. I mean, I’ve learned so much living in New Orleans, I just feel like a local.”


“Its just like, hey, I know y’all [Callahan’s friends and relatives] are just a bunch of fast-talkin’, fast-walkin’ Yankees, but I got the voodoo spirit of NOLA running through my veins, so why don’t y’all come down ‘Naaawlins way and I’ll show you a real pot of gumbo” said Pat, speaking in a noticeable cajun accent. “The boudin is hot, but the jazz is hotter. Mardi Gras!”


In only three months time, Pat has not only vomited on Bourbon Street like a true local, but has worn Mardi Gras beads every day since arriving.


“Do I love New Orleans? Well, allow me to answer that question with another question. Do the Pelican love mudbugs? Do the cypress grow tall and strong? Yes sir, I love New Orleans. It’s as much of a part of me as the resurrection fern that grows thick on the oaks. Who Dat!”


After approximately three minutes of chanting “Who Dat” to no one in particular, Callahan proceeded to don a tall top hat decorated with bones, and started playing “When The Saints go Marching In” on a trumpet.


“It ain’t always easy though”, Callahan said woefully. “We still feel the pain that hurricane Kristina [Katrina] dumped on our doorsteps. But with the bayou spirit, and just a bit of jambalaya, I know we can all make it through”, said Callahan, while standing upon a large float and twirling a frilly umbrella.


“Well, I best be going now. As they say, I got a lot of beignets to eat, but I only got so much powdered sugar. Besides, Saint Jean Lafitte deBayoux Carondelet [Callahan’s pet alligator] needs walking. Laissez les bon temps rouler!”