Our Editors Are So Erratic

Exposing the atrocities of the Humor department during Disrespectator season.

Reading Time: 2 minutes


I’m trapped in the Spectator Humor Department.

It’s 4:30 a.m., and Mike and Munem have kidnapped us yet again. We slipped this article in UNEDITED into this issue. Please, we beg you, hear our pleas. Listen to what they do to us and don’t stay silent when you next see them. Here’s just a small taste of the crimes the editors have committed, all done to make this issue of The Disrespectator possible:

First of all, it wasn’t our fault the article was late. We tried to finish on time, but it’s really difficult when the editors only let us write with our non-dominant hand, or, if we’re lucky, our dominant foot. Now my spacebar has a toe-shaped indent and whenever I take my laptop out during class, I have to pretend that it’s an ergonomic design feature so people don’t think I have a thing for my own feet. 

Mike and Munem are also big believers in upholding tradition. They always yap about back when we were in caves and learned about rocks, telling us about the times when the ink and paper for The Stuyvesant Neanderthator were made by hand. Thus, we’re made to go out in the middle of the night in the cold and cut down our own trees from Rockefeller Park. As for the ancient and vital-to-life art of ink-making, that knowledge has been lost for centuries. But no fear, we instead use our tears and various other bodily fluids to make our own ink! Just don’t ask us how we got it to be so dark.*

*Note to reader: if you’re reading a physical copy, go wash your hands after this.

Furthermore, Mike doesn’t believe that our articles are valuable enough to be read, so they make us repurpose them into articles of clothing so that, according to Mike, “Your articles aren’t a complete waste of paper.” In an act of resistance, we gave it to them to wear on a rainy day. I think that’s why I got half of my liver removed. Or maybe it’s because I accidentally breathed the same oxygen as Munem last Tuesday. Oopsies.

Plus, Mike and Munem’s standards are higher than my parents’. They say it builds character, but I think they just like watching us get hurt. If we make a singular spelling mistake in a draft, Munem makes us do the worm off of an eight-foot platform. We also don’t just get free bathroom breaks like those spoiled writers in the other Spec departments; we have to earn them by winning Pulitzer prizes for our articles. I haven’t pissed in 17 years.

They also force us to eat any copies of past issues left around the school. By their logic, if people read our articles and could still bear to part with the precious paper, our articles clearly aren’t compelling enough. Please, for the love of god, take this paper home and frame it.

What bothers me the most as a writer is that for every other issue, they stuff us in their lockers after the meetings. Seriously, their behavior is so erratic.

So please, get us out of here. I don’t know if we can make it much longer. Oh wait, Mike’s telling me to start cutting down trees to make the paper for the next issue of the Spectator. The tears in my eyes right now will make up the words on the page you’re reading at this very moment. Gotta go! (HELP)