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The return of the fun king of Rye

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By Jake Scott

The vapid, mouth-breathing fun editor who currently curates this cacophony of crap has asked me to write him something. That’s right, something! Not a witty anecdote, a satirical look on politics or even a comic, but simply something.

And now here I am, the previous fun editor, filling space for a man who doesn’t know what he wants. I mean the guy abolished the fucking horoscopes! Can you believe that shit? Now how are people going to dictate their sad, little lives? I’ve been witnessing the effects of horoscope withdrawal all over campus.

Just the other day some poor soul was sweating as she decided which direction to swipe on Tinder. Without my horoscopes telling her what the planets and stars had already decided for her she was absolutely fucking lost. She didn’t even make a selection, she simply threw up a pumpkin-spiced latte and started googling photos of “Kimye.”

Even worse, a young man in line at Tim Hortons practically exploded. The server asked him his order and the sad sap tried to opt out of his RSU health care. When she told him that she could give him either dark roast or regular coffee he started smashing his face off the counter screaming, “I don’t even need dental!”

Don’t you see what he’s done? Free will isn’t something you can just throw around like a bag of puppies. It’s something that needs to be suppressed by a steady stream of innocuous celebrity Twitter accounts, inane talk shows and MOTHER. FUCKING. HOROSCOPES.

Instead, this long-haired, nerd-jock abomination is feeding people fantasies about mink conquest and political mind control! I worked my ass off keeping this student body apathetic and droll. I even ran a bloody campaign on that platform! It just makes me sick.

Here you go, Keith. I hope you’re happy. Dick.

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