From monsters to members, Mt. Rushmore glows-up

As a SOAN major, I often find myself confronted with our campus’ harshest realities: athlete team-cest, the proliferation of white Hispanic Studies majors and the ever-relevant myth that you can smoke enough weed to get off. My studies have taken me from the depths of the Hu Media Lounge to the trail in Tryon where my roommate got her back blown out. But for my thesis project, I have decided to examine an issue at the heart of modern American politics: Why the fuck have we not updated Mount Rushmore?

I spoke to dozens of LC students to determine who should replace our geriatric heads of state upon that beauteous mountain range. It is high time LC leaves its mark on this country for something other than colonialism (the fact that Mt. Rushmore itself is a symbol of colonialism with a controversial history of contentious land ownership, did not occur to me until it was too late to back out).

My first interviewee was Ella D. Generous ’24. 

“Yeah, Hunter Biden, for sure,” she said between epic bong rips. “Keep it in the family! Modern presidents don’t deserve to be there, but he did coke, so he’s cool.” 

Indeed, Mr. Biden’s known penchant for speeding through residential neighborhoods and drug indulgence makes him an appealing role model for the average LC deadbeat looking to branch out into the harder stuff. 

It is worth noting that the looks I got from studying Mr. Biden’s lewds on the Bon TVs indicate that not every student is in agreement. Apparently riding water slides with hookers while nude is not as based as it seems. God forbid a man likes to smoke a little crack once in a while.

While making my stoned evening trudge to the Tamarack vending machines, I tripped over Psychology major Carlie Jung ’25 who was lying prostrate on the floor. Jung was watching TikToks like 

pre-cancellation-Shane Dawson watched cat videos, with a twisted fascination for the limits of the human body. Naturally, I had to ask her who she thought most deserved their bulbous form carved into the nation’s landscape.

“Personally, I’m pro-Gypsy Rose Blanchard. Bitch has a freaky side,” Jung said. She peeled herself off the floor revealing a cropped t-shirt that read “It’s Four Loko Friday” and a red, mildly infected belly button piercing. Cute!

At this point, I was certain I had the answers to my research question. But just to be sure, I consulted with my upstairs neighbor, Gay Mike ’24. Gay Mike, named so for his sexuality and NOT because he is mirthful, has had his finger on the zeitgeist since he came flying out the womb. I followed the sound of Troye Sivan’s “Rush” blasting through the Juniper hallways, making my way toward this beacon of truth.

I knocked on Gay Mike’s door and he opened it with dramatic flair. I explained my research undertaking. 

“Wig,” Gay Mike said, with a pop of his tongue. 

Gay Mike proceeded to spill his poppers on me, giving me mild chemical burns. Luckily, this has happened to him before and he was able to use his WFR (Wet Fucking Rectum) training to administer first aid. Between gasps of agony and hits of my pen, I decided it was the perfect time to ask him who he thought deserved to replace our presidents on Mount Rushmore. 

“Lady Gaga!” he responded, performing a triple Axel jump into a back handspring. “Wait!” he said, giving a dramatic pause. “Drake’s dick,” he said. Gay Mike arched his eyebrow and pursed his lips, mewing with the resoluteness of a true genius.

“That’s it!” I realized. The single greatest unifying force of our generation — Champagne Papí’s, ah, champagne papí. 

I raced back to my dorm room, eager to inform my thesis advisor of this revelation. My research has the potential to start a national movement. Until the day Mt. Rushmore the Remix drops, I will see you at the Chromatica Ball, you filthy sluts.