We’re here again, here in this place. A different building, some unfamiliar face. But we’re still here, after a summer filled with filler, cynicism, and pessimism*. But no matter your experience, welcome. Welcome to the zanier side of the newspaper, where the sarcasm flows like rivers.
*Others’ experiences may vary
I’m here to regale you with tales of the news of the school, and so I shall begin by speaking of the obvious: It’s back in session. We’re in a new building and there’ very many new people, most of which are small and gremlin-like. And the entire colony of small creatures (and the occasional outlier that manages to be alarmingly tall and look surprisingly pseudo-adult-like) that scuttle around on the second floor, learning things like mathematics and other similar subjects gremlins need to know before they can advance onto pseudo-adulthood. And the pseudo-adults on the first floor (some of which are, in fact, short and gremlin-like) can’t avoid the light ridicule either. Them and their nearly-rebellions in the more pretentiously advanced groups and their constant drama. But, alas, t’is the nature of the beast. Both of these groups inhabiting a single building that whenever I remember scenes from inside of it I view them in sepia tone.
And now, onto the real news. It’s election season in more than just actual American politics. No, the far more important-for-the-entire-nation elections are the SGA elections. With positions like treasurer, president, secretary, vice president, and candidates like Grace Bassett (the oh-so-illustrious and glorified leader of the newspaper, blessed be thine overlord’s name), Bre’onna Powell, Joseph Brentjens, Alan Sessor, Destiny Cook, Daija Kainen and many others (legitimately many others, there’s so many you’d think it’s the start of the Republican party’s primary). While I cannot throw my support at any of the candidates, as the whisperings in the night of my lord Cthulhu tell me that I cannot settle for anyone but him, you are free to vote for whomever you want for any position you want. T’is an elective governmental body, is it not?
Now for an update on an older story (one from last year, believe it or not), that essay you wrote in seventh grade is still filled with Filler and half-truths. You’re thinking of it now. Remembering how much you’re glad the teacher never noticed. But it’s okay. No one but you specifically remembers how bad it was, so you’re safe.
And, after all of this wonderfully timed ridicule and sarcasm, it is time for this terribly wonderful piece of organized madness that hath bled unto this paper (you’re reading it digitally and I wrote it digitally so it’s actually a screen) to end.