The following piece is satire and should not be misconstrued as actual reporting. Any resemblance to a student, staff or faculty member is coincidental.
In the beginning, there was nothing. Nothing except for a faint smell of Tito’s and despair. The heathens that inhabited the ancient land of South Campus were divided into three tribes: Letts, Anderson and Centennial.
For eons, they lived in perpetual chaos, partying and disrespecting campus property to their hearts’ content. It was only when a heavenly figure came to them that they were shown the light. That figure was Jesús, the resident assistant.
Jesús was unlike anyone the freshmen had met before. He had no taste for their alcohol, which flowed like water. He maintained a consistent sleep schedule. He never dared to skip class out of an inherent respect for the institution.
Instantly, rumors began to spread. How could such an immaculate human exist? They concluded that he couldn’t be one of them. He was a half-student, half-administrative member sent to live among them.
At first, the people of Letts floor two paid no heed to his teachings. His initial floor events were sparsely attended, but the residents who did show up were enlightened. Come November, 12 residents had dedicated themselves to honoring and spreading Jesús’s word. These residents gazed in awe as he began to perform miracles across campus.
As finals approached, the desperate heathens of LAC were in shambles. Every vending machine on campus had run out of Celsius, leaving hordes of lepers strewn about with no energy. That is, until Jesús merely touched a bottle of Aquafina — the masses gasped as it began to form bubbles, and take on a signature chalky taste. He had manifested liquid energy from thin air (or, thin water)!
Of course, as Jesús’s fame grew, so too did the target on his back. The unconverted loathed him for his insistence on “quiet hours,” his constant proclamations on GroupMe and his signature look of superiority.
In January, a plot formed against him. The non-followers were able to contact Judah, a student especially close to him. Judah resented Jesús for his cheerfulness and his insistence that it was the students’ fault for not studying. One fateful Saturday after finals, Judah lured Jesús into a party of biblical proportions.
Jesús immediately breathed life into the party. He was tempted by Lucius, an especially jacked frat brother. Within the hour, the party had spilled out into the local woods. For the first time, Jesús neglected his inner values, letting loose and even keg standing on water.
All it took was one leaked photo from Judah on YikYak for word to get out to the administration. Jesús was promptly exiled and sent to live with his brethren in the Kingdom of St. Louis. Today, we mourn his treatment by the freshman and honor his sacrifice.
He was expelled for our sins.
Domenic DiPietro is a sophomore at American University and a satire columnist at The Eagle.
This article was edited by Aidan Dowell, Alana Parker, Quinn Volpe, Neil Lazurus and Walker Whalen. Copy editing done by Sabine Kanter-Huchting, Arin Burrell, Paige Caron and Andrew Kummeth
