So Dale Whittaker won. What a big fucking surprise that was. I mean I can’t even describe how astonished I am that he somehow managed to get elected president of UCF. I’m obviously kidding. No shit he won.
Let’s just get one thing straight, it’s all rigged. The whole system, man. The selectmen select the men that are in “the circle.” I don’t know what fucking club you have to be in just to have a chance in this world. I mean, just last year, I ran for the Party Officer position in my frat and I lost to some jerk-off who couldn’t even funnel a beer without it coming out his ears. But back to good ol’ Dale.
Maybe he’s a nice guy, maybe he’s a flesh-eating serpent hiding in a human shell; if anyone’s willing to ask him, it’d be worth finding out. Either way, he’s in charge now. But how did that happen? Didn’t the search committee say they were going to have a “transparent and inclusive search?” Yeah, they did. Just like when I tell my parents not to worry about that $200 dollar transaction on my bank account, that it was used for “gas money.” Bull-fucking-shit. Sorry for all the cursing by the way, I’m just so heated, bro.
Anyway, the search committee – those sniveling little dirt bags. How dare they?! First, they placate us by saying that this search will be inclusive, diverse, and transparent. Yeah, right. I tried walking up to the Chairman and one of his big-muscled cronies picked me up by my nose-hairs and tossed me out the second story window; I was polishing my novelty gun-replica while trying to approach him, but that just shows the evils of assumption, as if I would’ve hurt anyone. Sheesh.
Back to the search committee. After they fed us a load of shit about how things are going, they hire a third party search firm run by some Austin Powers troupe of villains laughing in their evil lair beneath the Student Union, which at any moment could transform into a giant robot bent on destroying all that is innocent and good! But we won’t get into that.
The search firm. Our university officials hand these guys God-only-knows how much money to find some homeless dudes and a Taco Bell janitor to pose as “potential candidates” so that they can scheme undisturbed in the shadows with Darth Whittaker. And now, after all this shit-sweeping, they go and choose the only candidate at UCF. Whoopty-fucking-doo. Those ham-handed simpletons might as well have told us, “Yeah, I hope you don’t mind that we spent public funds on a search firm we didn’t need, chose the only person we ever had in mind to choose in the first place, then pretended like we were so jolly and naïve after Whittaker won.”
But they didn’t. Not that Whittaker’s a bad choice, or that I would prefer any of the other candidates that ran. But come on! Give us a little suspense, some kind of surprise. You might as well have put Whittaker up against a half-witted monkey wearing a Sombrero. That’s what the president race felt like. Thanks, UCF.
Respectfully, Fraternally, and Drunkenly, Yours Truly,
P.S. Dear Whittaker, congrats on the position, you’ll do great. Also, if you could give a shout out to me and my frat bros – especially Carson, B-Man, and Count Spankula – at your acceptance speech we’d greatly appreciate it. Or just, you know, give us some PR, ya feel? Plus, if you do us this solid there might be a “happy ending” in it for you. Or unhappy. Don’t test us. Just kidding, we’re harmless. Or are we?
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