The Ninja Tenor Line
Major/Year: Human Biology, Health, and Society, 2019
Previously Known As: "Beep Beep", "Lipstick Diva"
Well Ja-Ja, you put me in quite the pickle. You see, with those earphones on you can’t hear me. BUT the odds are highly against you opening up that yapper and annoying me today. So what to do, what to do…
Must I continue...
Drumming isn’t a learned skill, it’s one given by the great Dan Harmon. IF DAN HARMON DIDN’T WRITE IT, IT DIDN’T HAPPEN. I am still waiting to see if Danny Boy has written drumming into my story, or left me behind to sob in a pile of my own unused Chief Resident business cards.
Conversation was invented by humans to conceal reality. We use it to sweet-talk our way around natural selection, You know who has real conversations? Ants. They talk by vomiting chemicals into each other's mouths. They get right down to brass tracks. Bleh! "Which way's the picnic?" Bleh! "That way." Humans are more evolved. We lie.
You might ask me to stay, but..
If I stay there can be no party. I must be out there in the night, staying vigilant. Wherever a party needs to be saved, I'm there. Wherever there are masks or if there's tom foolery in joy, I'm there. But sometimes I'm not because I'm out there in the night staying vigilant, watching, lurking, running, jumping, hurdling, sleeping. No I can't sleep. You sleep, I'm awake. I don't sleep. I don't blink. Am I a bird? No, I'm a bat. I am Batman. Or am I? Yes, I am Batman.
Major/Year: Pimpin', 2020
Previously Known As: "I Am The Kinga"
I am just your run of the mill, successful CEO. I have a particular interest in defense tech. I think it’s really important to be technologically superior to your enemies, it makes it easier to subdue them non-lethally. That part always surprises people. Why create all of this defense tech and be against killing? It’s a personal thing, I don’t believe in killing. These people, however vile, have families. I like to spend my free time spelunking. Something about caves and the silent darkness just appeals to me. I’ve been meditating in them for years; it really helped me to understand myself better, and largely contributes to who I am today. The thing most people fear, I was molded by. I try to use my wealth for good, I’m pretty big on philanthropy. Unfortunately though, the more I give and the more I end up in the spotlight, the more enemies I make. Slowly my enemies are turning the public against me. An old butler of mine did warn me of this, so I can’t say I’m surprised. Something about leaving the public’s eye before seeing yourself become a villain. I can’t remember. Anyways, I see something weird in the sky, I should probably go investigate, goodbye!
Major/Year: Citrus, 2021
Every morning, I’m up at 5:15. I drag my weary legs into the chicken coop, scanning the nests for a-- no, the-- perfect egg. Amelia Egghart’s are always sufficient, but today is the day I finally get this recipe right. I poke my head into Atilla the Hen’s cubby, and I see the immaculate, round pearls of life hidden beneath her wings. These, I say to myself, these will do just fine.
I hold the eggs close to my chest, for a cold egg will not thicken. My olive oil is purified, EXTRA virgin. The lemon juice comes from the fruit itself, never from that imposter of a bottle. The salt is from the saltiest of seas. Now, I am ready to create.
Sturdy whisk in hand, I separate the egg yolks into the bowl. Remember, one with high sides will prevent any splashing. We will not have a mistake like last time. Lemon juice goes in drops at a time, my forearms burning from the constant whisking at 90 beats per minute, but I refuse to give in. The oil follows, only to be decanted at an alarming speed. “Help!” I cry into the air, expecting nothing, but praying for a stranger to save me from this hell I’ve created. Too much oil, too little yolk I chant to myself, a mantra made to comfort my rattled mind. Chef Gusteau said, “Anyone can cook.” Today, I prove him right.
Thick, off-white, velvety goodness, whipped to perfection… my mayonnaise is complete.
Major/Year: ECE maybe? Mech-E? You writing a book?, 2021
Previously Known As: "Turtwiggered"
So if I asked you about art you’d probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo? You know a lot about him. Life’s work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientation, the whole works, right? But I bet you can’t tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You’ve never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling. Seen that. If I asked you about women you’d probably give me a syllabus of your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can’t tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. You’re a tough kid. I ask you about war, and you’d probably, uh, throw Shakespeare at me, right? “Once more into the breach, dear friends.” But you’ve never been near one. You’ve never held your best friend’s head in your lap and watched him gasp his last breath, looking to you for help. And if I asked you about love you probably quote me a sonnet. But you’ve never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone could level you with her eyes. Feeling like! God put an angel on earth just for you…who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn’t know what it’s like to be her angel and to have that love for her to be there forever. Through anything. Through cancer. You wouldn’t know about sleeping sitting’ up in a hospital room for two months holding her hand because the doctors could see in your eyes that the term visiting hours don’t apply to you. You don’t know about real loss, because that only occurs when you love something more than you love yourself. I doubt you’ve ever dared to love anybody that much. I look at you; I don’t see an intelligent, confident man; I see a cocky, scared sh*tless kid. But you’re a genius, Will. No one denies that. No one could possibly understand the depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine and you ripped my fkn’ life apart. You’re an orphan right? Do you think I’d know the first thing about how hard ! your life has been, how you feel, who you are because I read Oliver Twist? Does that encapsulate you? Personally, I don’t give a sh*t about all that, because you know what? I can’t learn anything from you I can’t read in some fkn’ book. Unless you wanna talk about you, who you are. And I’m fascinated. I’m in. But you don’t wanna do that, do you, sport? You’re terrified of what you might say. Your move, chief.
Major/Year: Engineering Physiques, 2022
Screw the Mets. You think you can come from Long Island and call yourself a New Yorker if you like the Mets? Screw that. Yankees all the way!
You think you can call that a bagel? Upstaters beware, you can’t call that thing from CTB a bagel!
No, Jersey doesn’t deserve statehood! Why would you even think the Red Sox are a respectable team?
No, Alexa, shut the fk up! Residency in New York don’t mean a thing! That’s so sad that you think that, Alexa...Play Despacito.