So, as we all know, there was no article from me last week. Considering the fact that I’m your favorite author and Muhlenberg Weekly writer of all time, I know you missed me. I have good reason for my absence, however (and no, it’s not because I was lazy and out of ideas, don’t you dare). It’s because I went on a little bae-cation (bae being me). I remember it like it was yesterday, because it was. I was sitting in my basement (don’t ask why), watching the new CBS reboot of The Twilight Zone. Suddenly and rapidly, I felt a sneeze coming on. I said to myself, “oh boy, here we go,” and let out the violent sneeze. It rippled pain through my body, as sneezes usually do for us hue mans. I sighed, eyes still tightly shut, hoping that I never had to experience such unnecessary violence again. In fact, my exact thoughts were, “I hope to never sneeze again in my life. Ever. Never ever triple dog dare.” As I opened up my weak little eyes, I realized I could no longer see the screen. Why, you might ask? Well, it was because there was too much thick vapor in the air, and it reeked of artificial cotton candy flavor. In the distance, I heard a whisper. “In the fleshy-fleshy… In the fleshy-fleshy…” As confused as I was, I was fairly certain these words had graced my little ears in the past. I looked around for the source, my little Chuck E. Cheese eyes trying to cut through the thick fog that had filled the room. Finally, they landed on a figure, standing in the corner of the room. Once my little McDonald’s eyes were able to focus, I realized, to my surprise, that it was none other than Tracy Morgan himself! This could only mean one thing: I must also be in the twilight zone! …To be continued, after these messages…
Hi, friends. Thanks for reading my articles. I’m not a hacker.
…Now, back to the show… I quickly ran outside, high-fiving Tracy Morgan on my way out — to which he responded, “That’s the fleshy flesh.” I wanted to experience the slightly changed world, before I experience an ironic horror, possibly even my own demise. Like many main characters do at the end of episodes of The Twilight Zone. The world was definitely different. The hibachi place down the street suddenly said Ice Cream Hibachi instead of Asian Hibachi. I wondered if the chef would flick ice cream in his pocket instead of shrimp (he would). I continued to walk, passing where the Walmart once stood, now called Openmart (get it? hehe). I wondered if they sold walls now, since they hadn’t before (they didn’t). On my walk back to campus, all I could hear was distant sneezes. “Please don’t let this be the ironic horror I am forced to experience,” I thought to myself. I finally walked into Seegers Union, only to be berated by the sounds of sneezes all around me. I was getting strange looks from people, as if it was weird that I wasn’t sneezing. I started to wonder, “Why aren’t I sneezing?”
I walked into the General’s Quarters to find a new section amongst the weirdly familiar yet foreignly-labeled food. Packets of pollen, a buck a piece. As I stared in confusion, the Op/Ed Editor of the Weekly and my good friend Will Wamser walked up to me and said, “Jarrett, you’re looking at those like you’ve never sneezed before, is something wrong? You know you can’t write for the Muhlenberg Sneezely unless you’re sneezin’.” I told him nothing was wrong, but that was just to get him off of my case. He’s always on my case, and I swear I’m gonna speak up soon. Anyways, I reluctantly bought a few of the packets and started sniffing the pollen. Nothing. Nothing was happening. I wasn’t sneezing. As I kept sniffing, some man in a Tom Brady jersey (of course) slapped my back and said, “What’s wrong, lame-o? Can’t sneeze?” As him and his friends started to walk away, high-fiving and laughing, I was jolted awake.
It was my good friend and future roommate Will Wamser. He told me I was late for the Weekly, as it was a Tuesday. I followed him to the Weekly, and began frantically writing an article for the week’s paper. When suddenly, I began to feel a sneeze coming on. I had to let it out. The violence rocked my body once again, yet this time, when I opened my little veggie eyes, there was no Tracy Morgan, no thick vapor. There was only Will Wamser, staring me down. He looked into my eyes and said, “We’ve talked about your sneezing in the office! Get out, like the movie! No article this week, sneeze boy!”
And so now you know. It wasn’t my fault you were miserable last week. It was Will Wamser and the Twilight Zone’s. All in all, that CBS reboot is a solid 3.5/5.
The Sneeze, The Queen, Wataholic Numero Uno