Friday, September 09, 2005

Potty Talk: Counting on Accountability


By now the frenzied Mardi Gras adrenaline-riddled atmosphere of Traditiation and Moving In has given way to a less cheerful creeping

realization: You actually have to do work.

You’d think, that for a thirty thousand dollar tuition, they could figure out how to give us an education, diploma and degree without forcing us to learn stuff.

College is one of those few places where you pay them to allow you to do work. The other is the NorthPark fitness center, which tried to kill a friend of mine last year.

Fortunately, there’s still a veritable bevy entertaining

entertainment planned to entertain you with. For example, this week the Homecoming dance (see page 3)

But to awkwardly transition to the main point of this article:

As your Senator, I need your help. I have a favor to ask you. One that doesn’t involve buying t-shirts. (Although, you know, if you want to still buy a T-shirt, that’s cool and everything. I mean, I really wouldn’t mind.)

You know what you want from me as a Senator. You know what I promised you during my campaign:

That I would spread your ideas throughout Whitworth, fight for a better

college year, inform you of events, write entertaining newsletters, adhere to strict financial responsibility, and have a Giant Monkey climb the Campanile to protest Frisbee restrictions.

There may be times that I screw up. I’m expecting that. The difficulty is, is sometimes I screw up and don’t know it.

That’s where you guys come in. I want you to hold me accountable to my promises.

I’m fully expecting to be jerked out of bed one night by five men in ski masks, bound and gagged, driven to a dark warehouse, hit with a tire iron a couple times and then pressed up against the brick wall as the apparent leader of the thugs hisses, “Walters! Your Stall Street’s have been uninspired as of lately, and resort to tacky gimmicks instead of incisive analysis and finely honed humor! That makes me and da boys upset. Capiche?”

I’ll wake up the next day with new

vision, energy, and bruises!

So, let me know if I’m doing a bad job. I may cry, but it’s better for Warren in the long run.