By Pompous Pellegrini
If this were London and I was the king you would all be preparing yourself for a knighting ceremony right now or maybe even a new version of the Bible.
Why? Because there is one man who happens to write for The Chronicle B-Section that has produced the most profound literary works of genius since, hmmm, I guess ever. No one has been able to over-rationalize, overanalyze and morally debase an entire population of human beings in quite the way this man has. If there were a Pulitzer Prize for being the most gullet jiggling, degrading writer ever, he would undoubtedly be it.
You know who I am talking about, the Yoda of The Chronicle, brandishing his lightsaber, uh I mean, razor sharp wit in every issue. (The overlord of page 4)
What, you don’t know? You’re kidding me right?
I get it. You just stopped reading after the first paragraph like everyone else because you were tired of reading the same self-righteous holier-than-thou hilarity that is Silence Doless.
You have wanted to do something about his wit for so long but you just could not. You feared his brilliance and his iron tongue which does not let even the smallest problem or action pass him buy. He is fully armed with blowout and idiot jokes so there is no way to ever approach him in a rational way, no one is funny enough to speak with Doless.
Finally, someone is here to embrace the task whole heartily. The only problem is his head is so full of hot air that when he finishes writing, he floats high into the clouds only to come down again when you commoners give him something worth mocking.
Having pondered this very problem for weeks, I have come up with the solution. While reading one of Doless’ brilliant criticisms of campus food or blowouts and the same stock jokes that every freshman learns the second he steps foot on to campus, I realized something. I was beginning to lift off the ground, feet up over my head, grasping onto the keyboard trying to hold myself in the real world. The only way to reach Doless was to be Doless.
If I can write a story that is as self-fulfilling and downgrading as his I might just be able to float to the heavens and be graced by the brilliance of the legend.
It is I the honorable, lovely, mesmerizing, amazing, hilarious, fantastic, delicious, wonderful and, of course, tremendous Pompous Pellegrini.
As you can already tell my pen shines with brilliance. I turn stories into gold, I walk on water and at parties I sometimes turn water into wine–wait that may have been Jesus. Whatever, it is working. My huge head is already growing. I can all ready feel it the seams on my Pirates fitted cap are starting to split my shoes are lifting off the floor. What in Gods name am I even talking about, oh well doesn’t matter I am just tremendous.
Nothing even has to make sense and my humor is staler than three-day-old bread. I am wonderful; everyone I hang out with thinks I am brilliant. No one can ever stop laughing.
And those people who don’t get it well, (insert smug face here) they are just not smart enough.
There it goes. I am starting to warm up. My Ice Cream Sneakers are starting to melt. I look like Charlie in Willy Wonka. Feet over my head, I can barely reach the keyboard.
You are probably laughing so much right now at how funny I am that I can’t even stand it. I am amazing-the next King of Comedy. Look out Bernie Mac, everyone is here to see the Real Kaang.
Yes, steam from the ears I am getting there. I’m a little tea-pot right now. Do you see that I get better as your eyes race through my article; you can’t stand it, you want more. More words, more jokes, less Silence.
That’s why The Chronicle crawled to me, begged me to share my brilliance. Forget the fact that I am friends with the editorial staff, that does not even matter. Everyone who looks at me thinks I am hilarious.
Hmm, what is that lovely smell? You have to be able to smell it, I told them to make the paper scratch and sniff so everyone can smell the most vibrant thing in the universe. Amazing isn’t it? You want to know what it is? It is my own brilliance, finally overpowering the stench of rubbish coming from my cross page counter part.
Oh, yes finally the world of Silence Doless masked facades of news print parading around under the face of a finely inked comic. You people look so small and so busy from up here where all of us smart people stay. Ah ha it is good to be among the great.
Wait, what, what the hell is this? Maui Taco, Pizza Exchange, damn it Silence this is the Unispan and there are a million people here. We are in the same place as everyone else, same school, same food, same address. I thought when you filled your head with this much hot air everything was different? I thought that when you spoke down to everyone around it meant that you were far beyond Hofstra.
Damn it, I just wasted everyone’s time, 10 column inches and The Chronicle’s printing budget with nonsense that no one will even finish. I am just like you.