Serving the GW Community since 1904

The GW Hatchet

AN INDEPENDENT STUDENT NEWSPAPER SERVING THE GW COMMUNITY SINCE 1904

The GW Hatchet

Serving the GW Community since 1904

The GW Hatchet

NEWSLETTER
Sign up for our twice-weekly newsletter!

Officials name senior vice president, chief of staff
By Fiona Riley, Assistant News Editor • March 26, 2024

UPD on patrol: we don’t make this shit up

Green lights flash. The silence of the night is shattered by squawking radios, “32, what’s your 10-20? 32? 32? Big Dawg! Where the fuck are you?” Just another Newagehippiesmokinup Hall drug raid. Just another Wednesday night for the intrepid gumshoes of the Universally Pointless Dopes.

Tonight began like any other in Foggy Bottom. Big Dawg was prowling the campus looking for criminal activity and twirling his GW-issued Nerf nightstick. He strolled past two men carrying a computer down the handicapped ramp of the Mostly Posh for Administrators building and sidestepped an unkempt man with a strong body odor who appeared to have locked his keys in his car since he was using a coat hanger to jimmy the lock on his Z-3 roadster with diplomatic plates. Funny, he didn’t look like a diplomat, Big Dawg thought. Oh well, I’m sure he’ll be fine.

Big Dawg proceeded on to the Pardon Center – recently renamed in honor of former president Lick Swilly who is rumored to hold a Robert Shapiro “Dream Team” Fellowship but is rarely seen except with mistress, renowned journalist and fellow fellow Helluvalooker Thompson. Once inside the Pardon Center, a building that has undergone more renovations than Pamela Anderson Lee’s tits, Big Dawg ambled over to Booger King to buy three or four Mad Cow Burgers, advertised at “crazy” low prices (obligatory pun). He whipped out a GHurl card he confiscated a couple of days before when ogling freshmen girls in the lobby of Thrustin’ Hell and handed the thin piece of plastic to a J Street worker whose head shimmered with more horse hair than National Velvet. She reached for the card careful to show off the newly minted “Hottie” tattoo on her forearm in an obvious attempt to flirt with the strapping six foot, 350 pound hunk of ebony lovin’ standing before her. Glancing at the picture on the card as she asked, “You wan fries wit dat?” Hottie thought. Funny, he don look like Fawn Liebowitz.

Hottie glanced up and her eyes met Big Dawg’s gaze; there they stood mouths drooping open like Rainman watching Wapner. Minutes passed. The line for Booger King began to grow and snaked its way into the lobby past the Pardon Center bathrooms renowned for their orgies and frequent Lick Swilly sightings. After what seemed like hours to the freshmen hungry for their British beef, Big Dawg’s radio burst forth in a cacophony of chatter tearing him away from the rapturous, bloodshot eyes of the filly across the counter. There was an emergency. Someone who appeared not to be a GW student was dozing on the couches in the Zippolighterdrome (sponsored by Marlboro SuperCigs – “When one is never enough.”).

Big Dawg, following UPD procedure, finished his meal, made a pit stop to “lighten his load” and after the minimum twenty minutes required by University regulations governing emergency response times, he waited for the Pardon Center’s one working elevator. Earlier in the week, according to flyers originally posted all over campus but later removed because they exceeded Just Eatingawayatour Credibility size limits, an irate CI parent “had an accident” in the words of Assistant Vice President and Capo de Tutti Capo Mario Garbanzo.

Once the elevator, teeming with devout Jews and Muslims throwing stones and insults, delivered Big Dawg to his destintation, he spied a wrinkled white man who appeared to be liberally sprinkled with eau d’ vodka. Taking out his trusty Nerf baton, Big Dawg prodded the man, known to friends as Henry Macaroni and to UPD as that dirty rotten bastard with friends in high places, down the stairs and out of the building. The whole way, Macaroni hurled a stream of epithets and vulgarities that would make Lil’ Penny blush.

Big Dawg disposed of Macaroni and waddled down toward Newagehippiesmokinup Hall where he was scheduled to do his rounds with the beepy thing that magically and mysteriously keeps GW students safe. But on the third floor, Big Dawg smelled something familiar. It was a Papa John’s Pizza – probably bought below fair market value, he thought. He went in to investigate. After knocking on the door and hearing, “Whoa man, like, your door just spoke to me man…” Big Dawg knew something was up. He looked for the nearest Constantly Fuckingup to help him get in the door. The CF called the Can’tIjust Diealreadythisjobiskillingme to conduct a search.

According to Constantly Leasing Lousy Communities protocols, the presence of undervalued pizza is a sure tip-off of buggery and marijuana use. The CD shooed the sheep out of the bathroom where they were stashed and began to search the room. The search turned up four pounds of Mary Jane hiding beneath the bed, but this was merely the fat removed in her liposuction the week before. The residents refused to tell the CD where the weed was hidden, but they eventually gave in when the search became more thorough and began probing more … er … deeply. Four bags of pot were recovered and handed over to Big Dawg. As he and the sixteen other officers present left the room with the evidence, they began to plan their next assignment. Big Dawg handed the baggies to Major Major. Big Dawg was off to find munchies. UPD had a lot of evidence to destroy back at Weedhull House.

More to Discover
Donate to The GW Hatchet