Reader’s note: This story is satirical in nature and published in a spoof issue.
I’m going to tell you all something that I’ve known for a while now: The Hot Shit sucks.
I’ve spent the last year of my life writing for a student-run blog, trying to expose the dirty practices and shoddy reporting of this so-called “newspaper.” I’d like to share the story of my soon-to-be successful attempt to stop the printing presses and put these bastards out of business.
It all started last March when I personally observed The Hot Shit’s editor in chief conclave. Unfortunately, the selection process isn’t exactly open to the public, so I had to forcibly break and enter The Hot Shit’s former townhouse.
Side note: I’d like to thank former editor in chief Byers Remorse for dropping all criminal charges against me and allowing me to continue on with my life. We all make mistakes and I’ve learned from mine.
Anyways, what I saw in there before I was caught was absolutely horrifying. Hot Shit editors were huddled in a circle wearing black robes with hoods, chanting something incomprehensible in Latin in the midst of some kind of human-sacrifice ritual on a naked guy restrained in bondage who vaguely resembled one of their former Lifestyles editors.
That was the very moment I realized The Hot Shit sucked and I needed to tell people about it.
Since then, I’ve read every single issue of the paper, looking for things to undermine the newspaper’s credibility. My favorite “gotchya” moments were when I discovered typos and then proudly pointed them out to protestor in chief The French Revoltuion over Gchat with a friendly reminder to “get a fucking copy editor.” I’d also mix it up sometimes and attach a video of puppies drowning or poachers skinning a baby panda alive just for good measure, but she eventually blocked me.
Sure, I’d also occasionally write a story about the stupid shit I’d read in The Hot Shit and how much it totally sucked, but it eventually dawned on me that the only way to destroy the beast was to bring it down from the inside.
So naturally, I tried going to the townhouse to ask for a job. After being escorted off the premises by the Unpopular Police Department in my first two attempts, I finally convinced them to give me a stupid interview.
During my tour before the interview, I made mental observations of the inside of the townhouse, but nothing too glaring caught my eye – maybe with the exception of the framed pictures of pentagrams on the desk of every editor. I mean, it’s a little weird, but everyone at GW is either an atheist or a Jew, so no biggie.
During the interview, I craftily convinced them to make me a columnist, but was forced to participate in an initiation event, which I did later that night. It consisted of several editors holding me down and pouring vodka into my eyes. I think I remember reading about this somewhere before, but boy did it get me fucking wasted.
Fear not though, my Trojan horse plan has already paid huge dividends. I’ve already discovered a solid number of “goodies” from dumb Hot Shit writers who think I’m actually part of their pseudo-journalism cult and tell me all their dirty secrets, but the best shit has come from the “super top-secret” file cabinet in The French Revolution’s office.
So folks, keep clicking refresh on that certain irreverent student-run blog I’m still working for, baby! If you do, you’ll soon be reading detailed accounts of how Hot Shit writers exchange oral sex for access to Socially Awkward Association senators, see photographs of the huge stash of cocaine hidden inside the decpetion editor’s desk and see a copy of an internal Hot Shit memo that contains the sexual orientation and list of sexual fetishes of every GW administrator that certain reporters use to blackmail their way to exclusives.
Areal Patriot, a senior, is The Hot Shit’s newest ex-pat.