Pulling double duty like I do is a thankless job. Writing for the Argus is demanding, and I can’t count the number of times my editors have had to resort to small arms fire to get me to file a story. But the Ampersand isn’t a walk through the park either. If Wolovsky isn’t laughing after the first sentence of an article, the next thing you know you will be on the ground, your heart ripped from your chest thanks to David’s punishing Tiger Claw technique.
But I’m from Columbus, Ohio, and as everyone knows, all we do there is farm. If I wasn’t up at six every morning to milk the cows for hay or drive our anteater wagon to market or whatever the hell it is we do, my hide would be as good as tanned, which sounds pretty gay, but it isn’t, I swear. Point is, I’ve got no problem writing for the two most respected outlets of journalism at Wesleyan, but I think someone else might.
It all started the week before spring break. Wolovsky called a meeting for that Thursday to discuss what we would do for the first issue back. I have no one to blame for missing that meeting but the Spanish language. But then things took an interesting turn. To make a long story short, I didn’t get back to campus until eleven o’clock the night of the 22nd, a full twenty-nine hours after I was originally supposed to return. I won’t go into the details, but suffice to say, there were simply too many missed connections and scheduling errors at work for me to discount the notion of foul play.
Then the unthinkable happened. Almost immediately after I arrived back at campus, I fell ill, and not just with a cold. My stomach is currently engaged in a violent rebellion against me, and I fear it has found sympathy in the politically volatile region of my throat, forcing me to abstain from attending the first Ampersand meeting of the new quarter for fear of infecting the rest of the staff. Now lest you think otherwise, let me reassure you that I am as fit as any other young buck. Some would say my virility is unmatched. So the thought of my immune system suddenly breaking down before a common fever, and on the eve of spring no less, is more than a little suspicious.
I write this wespeak for two reasons. First, to ensure my own survival. I am currently in hiding, knowing full well that when Wolovsky learns of my decision to miss two entire meetings, he will hunt me down and destroy me. I fear not even death can stop him. But secondly, and more important, I am writing to alert whoever has poisoned me that they have one chance left. If you come forth and confess at once to poisoning me in the hopes of striking down the rest of the Ampersand’s staff, I may allow you a chance to repent. You have one week before I dust off my detective’s fedora and seek you out myself. And if I don’t get to you, then rest assured Wolovsky will. And you will not survive.
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