Satire: What it do, baby

Michael Pearce, Sports Editor

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Oh my word, it has been a while since I got to pour out my feelings into the satire section of this here fine publication. I just wanted to start off this therapeutic session by saying something unpopular: summer vacation is kinda bad once you get past the fourth of July.

It blows, big time.

The NBA and NFL are gone. All I have as far as entertainment goes is looking out my window and watching how many people die of heat exhaustion, and all my friends are either working on my days off or have off the days that I’m working. Inject Oakland back into my bloodstream, no cap.

At least then, my friends are in a location where I can easily bust in and make myself at home even though I’m unwanted. At this point, I have to use like 3 gallons of gas to get to their houses.

Yeah, classwork can suck sometimes, but good GOD I need a phat and basically tax-free paycheck courtesy of that queen Ora Pescovitz. Taxation really does suck, I feel you, Thomas Paine. You had a point. Right now, I just scrape by after good old Uncle Sam robs me of my hard-earned moola, and I have to act like summer break is so great. It feels like ages since I had access to consistent, solid air conditioning.

Since I’m at home, my parents are worried about “money,” “saving energy,” “responsibility” and all that garbage. They keep telling me, “Michael, clean up your room” and “Michael, stop using all of the bread to feed the ducks,” and frankly, I’m sick of it. I need my small, cramped dorm back where I can set the thermostat at 56º and watch the polar ice caps melt in real time due to my insensitive habits.

And another thing. I thought this satire gig would land me more invites to summer pool parties. You all have been severely slacking. My email is on the inside page of this newspaper, my social media is all public. I expected more from all of you. If I can’t get invited to the most hopping parties of this generation, then what is the point of all this?

All I’m saying is that if I don’t start getting some recognition for all of this, I’m going to have to resign from my post as resident-bitcher of The Oakland Post. I don’t think you want that to happen, so I’m going to need some of that there clout real quick. This isn’t a threat, it’s a promise.

Anyway, I’m happy to be one day closer to being back on the campus I love, as well as one day closer to my inevitable demise. I‘m sure once I get back I’ll be complaining again about how tired I am and how shitty the snow is, but that’s why you love me. That’s why we work well together. I can’t wait to bother you weekly with my insufferable presence and remind you again and again that nothing really matters and we’re all headed toward doom and despair.

Happy summer, my friends! Also, please forward this article to the best therapist you know … I need it.