A bong by any other name would smell as foul, corrupt as deeply

By Winslow Morgan

It hath come to mine attention that the good people of Lewis & Clark, in the year of our Lord Two Thousand and Twenty-and-Three, are perpetrating an unconscionable sin upon the streets of our fair college. As we busy souls traverse to and from our daily toils, we are all endangered by these acts of evil. I can remain silent no longer.

From the windows of our abodes, a vile stench emits. This repulsive corruption is a blight upon our land, that threatens our way of life and our bodily purity walking our own streets. One cannot pass by ye olde halls of Copelande without fear of such an repulsive attack. 

I speak, of course, of the unholiest of waters: bong water.

My friends, mine fellow learned folk, ye must know of this danger we face every day. From the first blushes of the rosy-cheeked dawn through the deep velvet of our nights, the peril of used weed brewing stock, flung from the windows of our abodes, imperils us. We cower from windows, looking to and fro, affearing that a slurry of jaundiced liquid and ashy remnants of the devil’s lettuce should rain on our innocent heads without warning. 

A disgusting abomination, these damnable forces which fling their unspeakable filth from windows surely must do so as an attack against their fellow man. We cannot continue on under such defilement. Our beautiful campus, our home, is rendered contaminated by such knavish behavior. 

But surely, ye must say, this is no different from the flinging of chamber-pots which our forefathers practiced in the time of great individuals such as Shakespeare and Queen Elizabeth. 

Nay I say, nay! There was a decorum, a sense of civic pride that told our forebears they could not fling their leavings upon the heads of their fellow man without some warning. But the customary cries of “Heave!” and “Look out below!” and “Heads up!” are no more. The slop now rains down without warning. It is the work of villains, villains I say!

Wickedness cannot go unpunished.

I call upon the protectors of the halls of learning, our valiant and most noble Campus Safety officers, to do by us their sworn duty to this fair campus. In our time of need (and of weed), we turn to them and beseech them to protect us from hogwash. 

It could perhaps come to pass that these innocent students merely attempting to traverse to their lessons and clubs may come to enjoy some protection in the form of an umbrella-ed escort, in that our brave Campus Safety officers should don some covering and hold our most sworn enemy as subjects of the PNW, the umbrella, over our heads. 

They may also, in the pursuit of our protection, distribute such items as rain ponchos and suits of armor to the defenseless masses, so that those prevailed upon to travel without escort may yet remain unharmed.

Finally, it would do for these bastions of campus law to rain the hellfire of consequences upon these perpetrators as they rain their refuse upon us. Seek out and punish these rapscallions, pursue them to the ends of the earth, or at least their dorm rooms, and bring them to justice. 

A public whipping, or stockades erected in the square in front of what was once our beloved Maggie’s cafe would be, to this author, more than appropriate. These knaves must learn to fear the crushing hand of the law, the might of our guardians.

Too long have we labored under the yoke of such terrors. It is time for the people to say no more, and rise up against these reprobates. We must be able to walk our streets in safety once again, free from the perils of defnestrated bong water.

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