In my three-and-a-half years at The Quinnipiac Barnacle, I’ve committed countless acts of satire. Remember John Lahey? I don’t – at least not since I wrote, “John Lahey Plants Bomb On Shuttle, Mark Thompson is the Only One That Can Save Us,” a flawless satire of Lahey and Thompson’s relationship set in the film Speed – a mere 21 years after the film came out. How about Albert Schweitzer? Yes, that French-German Nobel Prize winner was surely taken down a few pegs when I pointed my satirical eye at the fact that he was but two kids in a trench coat. Folks, you can’t make this stuff up – you can only satirize it. With that being said, it is now time for my final act of savage, sardonic truth telling: graduation.
You plebes, with your parties and lack of real-world responsibility, probably don’t understand what I mean. And I wouldn’t expect you too – the levels of satire I’m approaching are unlike any ever seen. Tina Fey as Sarah Palin? Scary Movie 5? Unkar Plutt, the infamous “One Quarter Portion!” character from Star Wars: The Force Awakens? They pale in comparison to the levels of satire I will be approaching after my matriculation.
With the job market being very unkind to me – I was rejected by Red Lobster, politely told to reapply at a later date by Joe’s Crab Shack, and obscenely asked to light myself on fire at Long John Silver’s – I now have all the free time in the world to tear down this university.
Using Jonathan Swift’s very pen and Mark Twain’s bowtie, I shall write dozens of articles criticizing this very modern world. For example: “I Bet Gandhi Fucks A Lot,” or “I’m Glad We Legalized Gay Marriage, So Gay Men Won’t Have Sex With My Girlfriend,” or even “If I Can’t Get Drafted By the NFL, I Shouldn’t Get Drafted By the Army.” This is the type of work true artists create and I shall finally ascend to that level in my post-graduate years. Also, I failed a science class, so I will be back in the fall to finish that one off.