Spring Broken: Satire Columnists Go Missing

By Tony Peroni and Vinny Cooper
Correspondents

Spring break is a time to travel, see old friends, spend time with family and unwind from the stress of midterms. While many students from the College could be seen visiting every corner of the country, from the roaring waterfalls of Niagara to the arid plains of Texas, others took the time to regain a sense of perspective on life.

“I love spring break,” said Patty Goldblum, a sophomore English major. “I like seeing my family and being with my friends! I also like Spring Break because the sun is usually warm!”

But not all the glitters is gold — while the students of our beloved school were out on the town, letting their worries flow out like their hair in the wind, The Chip  went into Maximum Overdrive. Tony Peroni and Vinny Cooper went into Maximum Creative Mode. The laptops in which they were typing on went into Maximum Overheating. They had to go to Best Buy three times to buy New MacBook Pros.

“I have never seen investigative journalism like this before,” says Monica Trisko, behind the scenes editor of the very esteemed publication, “day in and day out, it was just typing, typing, typing!”

“I mean, three newspapers worth of articles a day? Who does that? Who comes up with this?” clamored Chip president, Ringo Carr, “Have any of you guys seen Tony or Vinny around? I wanna tell them how much of a good job they’re doing before the day is done!!”

To this writer’s surprise, Tony and Vinny were nowhere to be found. Their shared office was left in disarray. Their seats –– warm. Laptops –– missing. Their articles –– fresh off the press and waiting to win awards. Where could our dynamic duo have disappeared to? As I scanned the room for clues, my eyes were drawn to a particular set of dots and dashes.

A lone string of morse code hung from the edge of The Chip’s company telegraph, a gift from Fabio Morse himself. The message read “.– …. .- – / .- / –. .-. . .- – / -.. .- -.– / .. -. / – …. . / — ..-. ..-. .. -.-. . .-.-.- / … . . / -.– — ..- / .- .-.. .-.. / – — — — .-. .-. — .– -.-.– / .- .-.. … — / … – .-. . .- — / . …- . .-. -.– / -.. — –. / -… -.– / -.-. …. . -.– . -. -. . / -.. .- -. .-.-.-

“Drats,” I said. “I can’t speak Morse, and Fabio, the only human I know fluent in the ancient language, is still in Cancun with all 30 of his lovers.”

Search parties investigated the authors’ most frequented locations, including T-Dubs, Bass Pro Fishing Shop and Big Bobby Ink Blot’s Type Writer Factory.

“I haven’t seen ‘em,” said a T-Dubs cashier.

“Vinny and Tony know very well they are banned from this Bass Pro Shop for life,” said Philly Rivers, owner of the Bass Pro Shop located on Christopher Columbus Blvd, in Atlantic City, New Jersey.

“Tony and Vinny? Vinny and Tony?” asked Big Bobby Ink Blot. “… Ohhh!! You mean Peroni Boy and Coops?!?” Ahhh, I haven’t seen em since they rushed every single fraternity at TCNJ and one of them got sent to Greece. I think it was Tony… Or was it Vinny?…”

Nothing’s worse than a cold trail. Not even swallowing a spider in your sleep, or stubbing your toe or even the feeling of impending doom of adulthood lurking around a corner.

With the weight of the world on my shoulders, I walked back into The Chip HQ with the bad news that our writers in shining armor were nowhere to be found but deep down in our hearts.

“Hank, what the [expletive] you think you’re doing? Who gave you the idea that me and Vin were missing?!” asked Tony, whacking me upside the head with his Pulitzer Prize.

“Yeah Hank, do you have any common sense? Do you know how office hours work? Don’t you go home at night?” yelled Vinny, absolutely giving me the business, waving his Nobel Peace Prize in my feeble and defeated face.

To this reporter’s surprise, The Chip’s office hours are indeed confined to the nine to five paradigm in which 90 percent of society runs on.

Mission accomplished!

DISCLAIMER: This is obviously a satirical piece and does not describe a real event.

 

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