What are we going to do?

Ben Florence, god among men

December 19, 2017

Volume III, Issue III

With the absence of half of The ‘02 Tribune staff, and “finals” season upon us, how in the world are the remaining journalists going to accomplish crafting a 6 page newspaper in addition to studying for their stress inducing exams? The answer may surprise you: they’re not. At least, they are not, as indeed only one of them, a singular man, will undertake the task of writing the entire paper himself. That man is Dr. Benjamin R Florence, Ph.D. I am that man.

If the ensuing prose appears lengthy and rambling, that is because I am attempting to fill up two entire pages with complete nonsense, adding as many unnecessary, redundant, superfluous adjectives as is humanly possible. I understand completely if you decide to skip reading this drivel entirely, however, it couldn’t possibly take up more than two minutes of your time, maybe three if you’re a Tisch student, but come on, it really just doesn’t take that much time to read this. Even so, I would still understand if you didn’t read this. I know millenials have the attention span of a flea, and if you haven’t read any of this paper’s other articles, which many of you haven’t, because there are just “too many words,” then I can’t possibly expect you to make it through this one. For those of you who do, I appreciate you greatly, and who knows? Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two,

about what I don’t know,

but who knows?

At this point you may have noticed that the title typically denoting a new article is absent from this half of the page, and perhaps you realize that yes, this article intends to go on without stop for an entire two pages. I might end up adding some pointless photos here to take up space and shorten the amount that I have to write, but if I did that, it may interrupt the flow that I have created for myself, so more likely than not, both of these pages will be completely void of visual aid, making it even more difficult for your poor, childish attention span to cling to the words put before your eyes. Reading those words, you probably realize that this is only three-fourths of the way through page one, and sweet relief, much like I described in the first article, will not be within your grasp for over a page. But it’s too late now. You’ve committed, and whether or not you’re entertained, you must struggle on, wasting your precious, stressful, finals-studying time on a worthless article about literally nothing, because you don’t give up. You don’t quit. You are a survivor, and you follow through on your endeavors.

Something just occurred to me while writing that last sentence, which you may or may not have realized yourself: I am addressing myself at the same time it appears I am addressing you. In fact, another thing just occurred to me: I forgot to set a timer for my laundry, so I guess you’ll get that visual relief after all. Oh wait, looks like there’s not enough room left on this page. Better luck next time.

And we’re back. If you’re joining us for the first time since deciding to skip the previous page of this article, welcome, although I do recommend going back to read this in its entirety, otherwise what’s the point, really? Why would you just read the second half of a completely pointless article? The only thing you could possibly get from reading this is a feeling of accomplishment, a little pat on the back, maybe bragging rights if you ever see me and remember that you read all of this. Which, if you happen to do, feel free to let me know. I’d really appreciate it. And if you are one of the aforementioned page-skippers who have happened to get this far in the paragraph, just lie to me and say that you’ve read the whole thing. Then, when I’m out of sight, feel the crushing guilt and self-loathing of being not only a quitter, but a cheater and a liar, and slither back to your nest to wreathe in sweaty, devastating loneliness. A cloak of shame will cover you, and only supreme light will wash your body clean. But how could that light possibly reach you, with the thick clouds of indecency that surround your poor soul? So you carry your wrongdoings on your back, like some kind of tormented hiker, lost in the hills of misfortune, looking desperately for that peak to rescue you from the valley of depraved habitual self-pleasuring. But you find nothing, but a thousand judging eyes, staring back at you from the cover of a stolen Victoria’s Secret catalog.

I dunno.

This article’s pretty cool.

Sorry about that. Where was I? Oh yeah, rambling on about absolutely nothing. For those of you who have made it this far, I suppose a reward is in order (I know you millenials love those). Let’s just say this isn’t the first time I’ve hidden a reward for those either perceptive, dedicated, or lucky enough to notice in the middle of something I didn’t expect people to read. Since the first issue of this publication, what we lovingly call the “cis-gendered male” personal ad has run in the Classifieds section, and every issue I changed one word of the ad (excluding Volume I, Issue IV, in which the only change was the addition of the photo). However, beginning in Volume II, Issue IV, I have taken out the entire middle section of the ad and replaced it with random offensive statements, including “women are property” and “Nico sux donkey ballz.” I’ll confess, in addition to rewarding you for reading this whole article, I also just wanted to get away with inserting the statement “women are property” into a semi-widely viewed publication another time (It’s just a joke people. Well, to me it is).

I also felt obligated to fulfill our,

unfortunately long-lasting,

tradition of including something about balls.

Anyway, that’s all I have. And just in time for my laundry to get out of the dryer. If you got nothing else from reading this article, well, then that sounds about right. Thank you for bearing with me until the end, and…

I’m sorry. For everything. You know what, here’s that picture I said I might include, you’ve earned it: