STORAGE CABINET, ENGCOM – If you’re reading this, I’m already gone. They found me – they got me. I have been subsumed into the giant, inebriated mass that is engineering subculture. Tell my mother I love her, and tell my father when he gets back from the gas station that it shouldn’t take seven years to get Doritos.
It all started in first year when a friend smacked me in the face with a newspaper, transferring the ink from the blacked-out back cover onto my skin. I think it’s called ‘Toiking.” Actually, I know it’s called “Toiking.” I learned that in a Toike Oike meeting.
All started as a joke, a goof. I’d just go to one meeting, see what it was like, then I’d never come back. Then, against my better judgment, I submitted an article, then another, and then a graphic and BAM now I’m knee-deep in vaguely sexual memes. I have a file on my Mac labelled “Punny Puns That Are Funny Fun” and the only thing in the Word document is an image of a doge dressed as a doge.
I’m writing this as a warning to all incoming ArtScis – oh dear god, I’m even talking like them now. Just… I’m writing this so that people know I was here. I WAS HERE, DAMMIT. CAN’T YOU SEE IT WAS ALL A LIE. IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE BEAUTIFUL, IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE FUN. BUT IT WAS ALL A –
Oh no, I hear footsteps. Oh god, they’re getting closer. Shit, I left the cabinet door open. They’re gonna get me, I’m so so so sorry I couldn’t save you Sp-…
GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF ME, I DON’T WANNA DYE MYSELF PURPLE. NO. NOOOOO.