Goodbye and I’m Scared of Death


This is it.
And I’m not talking about the acclaimed documentary-concert film capturing Michael Jackson’s last days. I’m talking about the ruin that is the Golden Word’s financial state and it’s now inevitable demise. If this wasn’t our last publication, we would most definitely be talking about This is It as it illustrates the tragic genius of the late Michael Jackson. But alas, our time is too finite to give such masterpiece the attention it deserves.
By clicking “NO” on the winter referendum, you destroyed the innocent dream of a lovable group of misfits who just wanted to make people laugh with not-so-innocent things. Because you probably didn’t even read the voting page, I’ll remind you that all were we asking for a $0.25 increase. Twenty-five cents. A fucking quarter. A coin that you literally wouldn’t have noticed was lost lodged in your couch or in one of your many rolls. You all have collectively killed the most reliable newspaper on campus. Good luck relying on the Journal for any type of news whatsoever. Just so you know, the Journal’s AMS endorsement had the predictive powers of a potato.
Because my body has fused to the couch in the Clark Lounge, my fate is directly linked to that of Golden Words. I have no choice but to die for the cause that is mediocre humour. I’ve lost track of the nights where I’ve sat by my fireplace, stroking my many exotic birds, wondering where did we go wrong and how I could have stopped this tragedy. And for the buzzkills who are wondering, “Well, how is she sitting by her fireplace if she’s fused to a couch in the Clark Lounge?”, I have a team of volunteers who move me and the couch to the places I have to go. I’ll also add that the couch moving service costs more than $0.25 to run. They also bathe and feed me, and I know if would make more sense to motorize the couch or add wheels or something, but alas, I have to remind you again that our time is finite.
As I drift towards the light and my body starts to go cold, I ask you to remember Golden Words as the stallion it was. Please cherish your memories of our paper so it can live on forever in your hearts. Remember the times Golden Words have made you laugh, held you during that rough break-up or when you used the paper to wipe away a grease stain. Remember that Golden Words hated and made fun of everyone equally, and there really is poetry in blind hate.
Also please let my mother know she was alright. She did the satisfactory mom stuff – nothing more, nothing less. I don’t want her to get too cocky with praise.