Investigmatic Journalschism
by Joe Marchese
I was recently stopped in the hallways of our fair school and was met with friendly hostility from the Duke of Red House for breaking one of the new rules, and it made me think of how I hadn’t contemplated over the effect and more importantly, the reasons behind the new rules. I decided to give myself the task of trying to figure out the thoughts of our Lord and Master, Elliot, so like seemingly every modern day journalist, I did minimal research, and in retrospect, made a bunch of crap up.
I began by closely examining his stature. This stout, portly man was a very formidable sight to behold. This object of formidability seemed to have little to no weakness. This led me to believe that our head principal was, in fact, a robot. Let me say that again, our head principal may in fact, be a robot. His overly repeated phrases, endless clapping, and empty sincerity seemed to support these claims. This thought gave me hope because robots can be reprogrammed to serve good. I regret to inform you all that Elliot is not a robot and is prone, like all humans, to ignorance, arrogance, stubbornness, and egotism. After his chemical and anatomical structure was established in my research I decided to take a different approach.
I logged on to myspace.com; which, as I’ve been told, is frequented by our principals in search of “hot babes”, which as I understand are not actually babies, which is good, because I think we can all agree that babies suck. (Also, because its somewhat related to principals surfing myspace, it has been rumored that, with a tip from a parent, Mr. Wentzel managed to repress a local myspace terrorist organization.) Anyway, I quickly found Mr. Elliot’s myspace (www.myspace.com/bruceondaloose) and aside from James Brown’s “I got you” as the music, proving to me once and for all that Bruce has got Soul and is not an Uncle Tom, everything on the site shocked me. Bruce calls himself an idiot and he says he has no idea how to run a high school. He also goes as far as to annotate his own resemblance to the domino brownie character fudgems, and all he gets is hate from his own students. All the pieces then began to fit together. I’m no psychiatrist, but this was an obvious cry for help. My mind began racing, most likely comparable to what LSD users experience, and I started to understand everything, and everything made sense. I understood the backpacks, the IDs, the teachers in the hallways playing the part of Big Brother, the failure is not an option mugs, the failure is not an option sign, the ridiculous amount of bureaucracy you have to deal with to “legally” go to a different ELO, the failure is not an option slogan in general, and countless other examples I’m forgetting that accurately represent the stupid crap we’re forced to go through just to learn in our school. I understood. Perhaps Bruce Almighty was not so formidable, perhaps Bruce was just normal human Bruce, and he needed a hug and someone to talk to. I encourage all of you to open your hearts to Bruce this holiday season, and maybe, just maybe, we can establish a dialogue with him and the other principals and get these things sorted out. Before we can bring the backpacks back into our school, we need to bring the love.
From what I've extrapolated this is a typical paper submission by my fellow students at Williamsport Area High School.* Notice the interesting use of cursive. Thats about it. Thats about all this paper has got going for it. It earned a B+, quite possibly the gayest of all grades. Oh and my younger brother pointed out that "Racecar" is a palindrome just like the word "poop" is. But this writer isn't completely doomed. I'm almost positive he'll have a job waiting for him over at the sun gazette, so long as his articles are watered down and do not pertain to anything relevant or interesting. Who knows this guy may be the next Fox news lead anchor* or our next Principal or our next Mayor or our next President*. I guess thats why America is such a great place to live, and why everywhere America attacks is such a horrible place to live. And what the fuck is Kwanzaa anyway. What the hell was I talking about again? Fuck it. 
