At a recent Journal press night, while the other editors were busy with boring tasks like writing, production and layout, the free-spirited personalities at MiSC. were, as usual, bouncing about the parking lot, playing kickball with an empty can of Dr. Pepper.

As the rest of the Journal staff burned the bitter midnight oil, the ‘Pepper’-ball match drew to a reluctant close, and we MiSC. kids again expressed thanks for our blissful MiSC.-ilicious job here at the paper. With MiSC., you see, we are in charge of a section that is entirely vacant of journalistic responsibilities. It is true, and remarkably so. For one, the public expectations of MiSC. editorial integrity are laughably scant. Second, nobody else at the Journal cares about the admittedly unwholesome content that gets piped out of MiSC. into the hands of the unwitting populace. As long as the other staffers don’t have to take responsibility for MiSC., the widespread corruption of the public domain is dismissed as an unhappy coincidence. In a way, publishing MiSC. in The Journal is a lot like dumping toxic nuclear waste into a river. Outta sight, outta mind!

So, while printing our generously-funded mind poison, we began to revel in our artistic freedom, and contemplated the deliciously flagrant abuse of editorial power that the coming year has in store for us. With reckless impunity, the MiSC. staff has decided to execute the first of many self-serving, headstrong acts of journalistic fiat. We’re going to inaugurate a mascot. Make that MiSC.ot. It’s not surprising that MiSC. is the first editorship to take such a bold, populist step. The other sections in the Journal don’t have the mascottal possibilities that we do. Look at the options: The Features Creature? The A&E MVP? The News-y Floozy? Body Mind & Soul’s Snotty Rhymin’ Mole? Slim pickings, we say. Nothing personal, but none of those mascot monikers rolls off the tongue the way MiSC.ot does. (And we thought about MiSC. Jockey, but that wasn’t nearly clever enough.) What is our rationale for this arbitrary ordination of a MiSC.ot? Well, not that we need to, but out of politeness we’ll justify our actions just this once: MiSC. is a forum for ‘random ideas, stories and viewpoints,’ right? And everybody loves mascots, right? It makes perfect sense: bring on The Queen’s Journal MiSC.ot! It’ll be just like having a mascot, except more random. Miscellaneous-ness? Random-osity? The MiSC.ot will embody the tenets of these two wacky philosophies.

And here’s the best part: You, dear reader, get a shot at the glory! Your face and name in the paper! Once a month, a feature will appear in MiSC. dishing out the miscellaneous scoop on the new MiSC.ot, explaining how he or she copped this honour. It will print together with wacky back-page photos of the chosen one, fully embroidered with MiSC.ot paraphernalia. And let’s not forget prizes! Valuable rewards available for procuring the monthly MiSC.otships will soon be announced They won’t disappoint, we assure you. We plan to have one MiSC.ot per month: September, October, November, January, February, and (grudgingly) March. The editor is a benevolent king-maker indeed, and this is the real fazooli: you get to be the MiSC.ot!

So, what’s the catch? There is just one, and in comparison with the potential payoff, it’s relatively painless. You have to convince us why you deserve to be the monthly MiSC.ot. The criteria for choosing the MiSC.ot will be as follows, so pay close attention: These are the little things that may define you, the next Journal MiSC.ot. So get moving, and get random. Let the world know what a truly dynamic, sexy, and hilarious person you are. Fulfill the four easy application requirements, then get in touch with the editor by email (7pt2@qlink.queensu.ca), or contact the Journal House by phone at 533-2800. The contest starts today! And the rest, as they say, will be history.

Become the MiSC.ot. Like becoming Prime Minister, it’s a challenge and an opportunity, except for this one you get more pies in your face… we’ll keep you posted!

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Pat Tanzola is MiSC. editor at The Journal. He pines and yearns, his urine burns, to make you famous.