If our miserable lives have any impact on the scope of history, then today would surely be as banal and ultimately useless as every other day, even though and Eyeopener legend is dead.
The putrefying corpse of Rob Granatstein, Editor-in-Chief of The Eyeopener for 1997-98, was found sitting upright on a park bench in the quad.
The preliminary cause of death was an acute allergy to crack squirrels.
Granatstein’s former peers, colleagues and jizz monkeys have left pita falafels at the gates of The Eyeopener in reverence for this fallen colossus of a manchild.
“He was a beautiful person, a super-groovy human being,” said news editor Lori “can’t shake this queer feeling” Fazari. “If only he was as gay in life as he is in death.”
Many of the other staffers were too bereaved to go on record, although Editor-in-Waiting Kenny “peaceful man” Yum and business manager Ryad “no more pages you fucking daffodil” Ali released a statement on behalf of the staff. We, uh, lost that statement … yeah, that’s it! Of course it was heartfelt and shit, er, whatever.
His colleagues at the Toronto Sun were also devastated. “Rob who?” asked Krusty Blachfart. “Are you talking about that wiry little coffee gofer with big feet? Hey, that’s a real fuckin’ tragedy, now get me my goddamn latte or get da fuck out.”
Granatstein, “Robbeee” to his close friends, will be best remembered for proving that brevity is not necessarily the soul of wit in editorial after editorial.
Other achievements include a demoralizing penalty box record of 3,069 minutes in just four years of intramural play, brainstorming The Eyeopener’s 30th anniversary boozefest (the casualty reports are still coming in on that one, but at last count the death toll stodd at a whopping 23) and hyperbolic polemics on subjects ranging from engineers to engineers with morals.
Granatstein’s mildly upset family told reporters his tombstone will be inscribed with the words “Yehsss” and “Quite frankly, I think…”