I am a victim of hate. Returning to my dorm on what was supposed to be a festive Green Key Saturday (I was admittedly inebriated after several rounds of herbal tea at the Green Bean Cafe) I stumbled onto a cesspool of hatred. High and proud there hangs a bumper sticker on my door, proclaiming to all, "The Indian Will Never Die." Yet, on this fateful night, I saw my harmless sticker defaced, the words "Die, Die" scrawled on it with MY dry-erase marker. As if that wasn't enough, a (rather poor) attempt was made to tear the sticker off.
You might be wondering why I am writing this. Most of you are probably confused as to why a white male who calls for the return of the Indian (send your hate mail to HB 2492, no bombs please) mascot is complaining about being offended. As for those of you simply offended by my defense of the Indian: shut up. Enough already. Frankly, I don't care if the mascot is "Abercrombie & Fitch."
But my political asides aside, back to the story. All year I have been watching social activism from the sidelines. Candlelight vigils, rallies and political speeches have all been observed from afar, and I have never gotten the chance to get involved in such activities. However, this incident provides me with a unique opportunity to immerse myself in the world which I have thus far been an onlooker.
First of all, I would like to address the perpetrator of the crime: I do not know who you are, yet I hate you deeply. (That is, unless you play football, in which case I completely support and agree with your actions). I think what you did was a truly horrible act that will go down in history as one of the worst most disgusting terrible atrocious actions ever. Defacing my bumper sticker virtually assures you a nomination for Worst Person of the Millennium; you are more despicable than even Stalin, Mussolini or that guy from Dawson's Creek that told the whole school that he nailed that really hot girl although you just know he didn't ... I hope you realize just how upset I am at what you have done and how deeply you have hurt me. I bet you're the kind of persons that torments kittens.
I know what you readers are thinking: "The D can be using this valuable space for meaningful, witty and informative journalism. I am going to beat this kid!" Please don't. Seriously, though, I know you feel my pain and want to help me on my quest for the Holy Grail. After many hours of deep thinking and heavy drinking I have decided that what I will be holding a candlelight vigil to condemn the perpetrators. I have come to realize that this is the most effective method of achieving one's desired goal. Remember Candles for Kosovo (those responsible tell me it wasn't officially a vigil, but I am going to bash it anyway)? Since then, we've practically won the war, and I think it's mostly because of the candles. Sure, some poor Kosovar is staring at an incoming SCUD missile as I write this, but he has the momentary comfort of knowing that some rich, white kids lit candles for him.
Thus, noting the efficacy of the aforementioned vigil, I will be holding one on the Green tonight. I think that our message of tolerance and community would be best served if we burned down Dartmouth Row, thus showing a united Dartmouth front. I bet that would get people's attention. Then, after effectively tapping several kegs and playing a HUGE game of social on the green (bring your own paddles), we will turn into a malcontent mob that will kill anyone we view as a possible suspect. How's that for social action?
In retrospect, the column may appear a bit harsh. I hope that I have not offended any bleeding-heart-hippie-communist liberals.
Well, maybe just a few.
