There is a traitor among us, dear friends. Something watches passively from a shadow where the wall meets the ceiling and slithers its way into our bedrooms, our stomachs, our minds, and our Visa statements (I don't think it takes American Express). It buys property and forces us to eat DDS, all the while supplementing our meager (besides the Cordon Bleu) but costly (cranberry juice has gone up thirty cents since I was a freshman) Hop rations with intermittent Steak Bombs, Original Bricks, Egg and Cheese Subs, ramen noodles, Easy Cheese, and other less healthy dining experiments. It tells us to register our cars, abuse in moderation, climb through fraternity windows, drink watery orange juice in the morning, and gain 15 pounds freshman year. It makes us go to school in the summer. It buys property (hasta la vista to Jewel of India, Ramunto's, Happy Home, Crackhouse, et al.). It requires political correctness, and throws hyper-inflated fines around like monkeys eat bananas (hoohooheeheeHAAA). And that doesn't even touch the admissions process.
So where does Benedict reside? The grapevine provides several suggestions: 1) behind the third window from the right above the Gap (on Tuesdays and Saturdays); 2) in the steam tunnels underneath the Green (from Christmas through Memorial Day); 3) McNutt (the obvious choice); 4) the President's house (the other obvious choice); and 5) among the boughs of the non-denominational, non-confrontational, "oh-look-I'm-PC," un-holiday, unlit, give-me-a-freakin'-break, Christmas tree/Chanukah bush/Kwaanza shrub (sorry if I forgot anyone). I'm leaning toward the Gap -- who else but The Man would want to see "everyone in leather" and run such a tiresome ad campaign.
Many myths surround Judas' activities and ideology. Here are some I've heard around campus:
The Man showers in the Sphinx. The Man is big, but not big enough to use enough water to cause the highest water bill in Hanover (though he does have the power to manipulate that bill).
The Man dines only in DDS-related facilities. The Man does NOT eat DDS, no matter how good Cream of Tomato soup with Mrs. Dash at the Hop or chicken fingers at Food Court taste when inebriated. (However, Dartmouth Dining Services may later be proven to be an incarnation of The Man -- at the very least, Topside and Westside.)
Bureaucracy is not The Man's best friend -- the Registrar is.
The Man abstains from alcohol and drugs. He's no lush, but he partakes in Natural Light Ice and smokes PCP (hey, at least it's not crack, kids).
The Man loves Rush Limbaugh. Wrong, he adores him.
The Man was beaten as a child, sexually abused by Big Brother, and played Doom and Quake. Well, maybe that one's true, but I think he simply drank too much milk.
The Man is fascist, but he did not think The Phantom Menace lived up to the Trilogy standards. Close, but he's a communist and loved Star Wars: Episode 1.
The Man is not good from far; he's far from good.
The Man has sex. What, are you kidding me? Pamela Anderson couldn't take his card.
The Man comes from a good family. Please, he's a bastard.
The Man is a man. NO, The Man probably is not a man at all -- no male is THAT manipulative.
If The Man is so strikingly inept, uncool, and illegitimate, why do we cower blindly in his shadow? Well, besides being a jerk, he's intangible. The only advice I can give is this: don't vote, don't read, don't watch TV, don't buy, don't sell, don't love, don't hate, definitely don't go to class, don't go blindly into the dark, don't carry a flashlight or spare batteries, don't be passive, and don't ever, ever be active. Lock yourself in your room, dear friend, and order food online -- he's not on the web yet.
