As a member of the premiere satirical newspaper at UCLA, I personally feel like I’m being held back. I know I got what it takes to bring in the big bucks and save this newspaper company. The top dogs that run the show waste my talents on mere fluff pieces. I bet they won’t even read this because those fat cats are too busy swiveling around in their comically large desk chairs and eating corn nuts from the corn nut jar on top of the fridge.
Every day, I walk into the office ready to shine, but those large lions throw a pile of fluffy writing material into my arms so quickly that it tilts my glasses! I didn’t come to this city to take on crap like, “Leaves Have Veins But Not Blood,” or “Guy With Pool Finally Goes Swimming.”
These silly stories should be left for the Enabler’s toddler drone workers to write. Although I am quirky and messy, I can handle the big boy pieces such as “Our Carbon Footprints Aren’t As Big As Our Carbon Assprints.” Don’t forget that I am the protagonist of this narrative, and especially don’t forget that we hired toddler drones.
I just want one chance to show this town what I’m made of. I can maintain The Westwood Enabler’s sassy yet fierce reputation just as well as the fancy pen club. I’m ready to roll with the big boys, shoot with the sharks, and take off my outside shoes when I go in the sharktank lounge.
