Satire: Kendall Hall boots Phantom

Guess what? I’m doing it, and you can’t stop me! What are you going to do? Pry the Phantom of the Opera off my shoulders and make him stop giving me a deep tissue body massage? You can’t! His hands are lotioned!

Head Propagandist

For a year, I have begged and pleaded with my so-called benevolent fellow student writers to do me a solid. A little favor. Just one article. “You’ll get $10 for it,” I’d say, “and make Mama happy.” (I’m Mama.)

Well, here we are at the last issue of the semester—and my last State-Run Media totally objective news section. No one has been nice to me and done this pitch. I guess what they say is true: 1) in this life, no one is going to write me a personalized article starring a scantily clad Phantom of the Opera with fanfiction-like circumstances and place this into their college newspaper; 2) if you want something done, you gotta do it yourself.

So, I’m going to write this fucker, and you’re all going to love it. And after you read this article, you must find me, give me

ism this is. That’s the rule for any of you reading this section. Also, you should’ve been affectionate to me and telling me how awesome and funny I am all along, and quite frankly, now that we’re talking, it’s upsetting that you haven’t. I guess we’ll discuss that at another time.

he Phantom of the Opera has long resided in the sewers underneath Kendall Hall. His grotto, which can only be found via traveling a rippling watery interlude with the sexiest, rawest duet you’ve ever heard, is not the best kept secret ever. He extorts us and gets paid the same unreasonable salary as one of the football coaches, but he’s part of the TU experience all the same — so integrated into campus culture that the University Ambassadors briefly mention him on the tour to prospective students.

When the rumors started about the Kendall Hall remodeling, the question was raised: where the hell is the Phantom of the Opera going to live during that construction work? The students and faculty can certainly breathe all the asbestos they’d like, but the Phantom of the Opera? A Frenchman? Quelle horreur!

Needless to say, all that stress really makes his abs, which peek through his skin tight white shirt, more defined. (While gathering a statement from the illustrious Phantom of the Opera, your proud propagandist eagerly devoured the view of him recently wet from his dip into the sewers. A bead of water trailed down the slope of his mask and lovingly settled in the crook of his lips, softly parted from his exertion of breath.

“Mind if I take this off during the interview?” the Phantom of the Opera asked, gesturing to his soaked shirt.

“You can take my house if you want to,” I said.)

Commenting on the situation and how it affects his already shaky and quite homicidal emotional state, the Phantom of the Opera states: “I appreciate The Collegian taking interest in my story: so quick to bleed out medleys and operatic musings, so eager to nourish my mewling hungry kittens with ballet numbers and dead bodies, so used to giving that I forget what it’s like to receive. Also, you look like you’re really hot and funny and smart, by the way.”

“Oh, what was I saying? Right. I’ve long enjoyed my professional relationship with the University of Tulsa,” the Phantom continues. “To push me out of my grotto— where I absolutely need silence to castrate myself and let my innards fall onto music sheets and piano keys—is already a slight, but then to not immediately tell me of my rehoming situation? Unthinkable. Sacré dieu!”

With that, the Phantom of the Opera promised dire repercussions if this issue wasn’t solved soon. Seniors had already seen what would happen if the university upset the masked menace: during True Commitment when administration threatened to cut his pay, he killed off most of the Philosophy and Religion departments. The loss blame was officially placed on True Commitment, but the rope burns on the professors’ necks tell witnesses otherwise.

All of that to say, we at The State-Run Media are strong advocates for finding the Phantom of the Opera a new home during reconstruction. No, we aren’t being influenced by the way the Phantom’s nipples coyly poke out of his shirt, his rich tenor voice that could be a toe-curling moan or, like, the way he reeks of sewer.

So far, proposals for his new home include the tunnels underneath McFarlin, the first floor of Zink Hall or handcuffed to my bed’s headboard. Your move, TU.

Okay, Phantom aside, this is my space, right? My section! My last act as dying Head Propagandist, hands shaking, breath stuttering, is to use this moment — now that we’ve all climaxed — to declare my successor: Kyle Garrison. He is sturdy. He is cultured. He is literate (something The Collegian struggled with yours truly, as Editorin-Chief Justin Klopfer had to teach me how to read). He will light the darkened path, reveal the fake news and tuck every reader in with a bedtime story.

Goodbye, mortal realm. Goodbye, The State-Run Media. And remember: tell me how funny and smart and pretty I am and how good this article is — or don’t talk to me at all.

Me-YOW!!!! Now THIS is content for the University of Tulsa’s newspaper!!!!!! Hello, sailor!!!! graphic lovingly by Anna Johns