This is all we know.

An agent known only to several sources as “The Deep Wolf”, working for a clandestine department of the university called the University Secret Goons (USG), infiltrated all student media organizations from the Statesman to Blackworld. From the Press’ office, The Deep Wolf took old fried chicken from their fridge, their only copy of Super Smash Bros. Melee, and an early edition of the April Fools issue from the Press’ computers.

The document landed on the desks of important Stony Brook administrators. As the issue slapped like a wet towel against the wood of The President (of the university’s) table, sources state his face twisted in confusion. For several minutes he sat hunched over the articles, trying to understand content that was clearly untrue and referencing actual events in hilarious tones. It is said by several sources that an intern leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Sir, it’s just satire.”

600 feet underneath the administration building lies an underground bunker known to officials as the “Jim Fiore Memorial Bunker.” Only during the most intense situations is the bunker used. Examples include the The Roth Regatta Runoff and that time the sun was too hot.

University officials quickly congregated at the bunker in a committee to help describe the nature of “satire.” The committee included directors of the English department, the psychology department, the physics department as well as a number of chefs who cook the chicken in the Union Commons. The committee’s first meeting was held at a black table 50 feet in length. The President sat at the head, holding a telescope in order to see the other committee members and a megaphone to speak to them.

Through effort and heartbreak, The Press managed to get a copy of the minutes of that meeting.

“Satire has existed since the epochs of Don Quixote and, later on, Shakespeare,” the English director said. “This query has bifurcated in recent years where modern English authors continue to create polemics to the degree to obfuscate the true discernible understanding of the word away from its original prominence. It’s only with sedulous research can we find end to this temerity.”

After several minutes of head scratching, the director of the psychology department spoke up next.

“After several hours of analyzing the articles, we of the psychology department have determined that satire is a subliminal message that will subtly mould the subconscious into a sleeper agent killing machine. Only with more faculty and grants for the psychology department can we…”

“No,” The President shouted. “No, not if it involves money. Next!” he said, pointing to the director of physics.

“Well, sir, the physics department has deduced that, on a quantum level, the concept of satire exists on a physical plane well beyond our understanding. It resides somewhere in between the minds ability to perceive the 4th dimension and the sound of one hand clapping.”

“But can we sue them?” one university official asked. There were a few blank stares as the question was asked. Somebody in the background coughed.

The President slammed his fist on the table. “I don’t know, but when I find this man named ‘Satire”, there will be hell to pay. Oh yes, there will be hell to pay.”


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