The Stuyvesant Spectator Gets an Angry E-mail

Freshmen Caucus candidates aren’t too happy with the press The Stuyvesant Spectator gives them, and take it up with the editors.

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By Ashley La

*The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this article are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.*



Dear editors of The Stuyvesant Spectator,

This week, the Imposter-Sus ticket (that’s us!) so graciously gave you our time and energy and picked up a copy of The Spectator. We were excited to read about our ticket’s positive coverage in the paper, so you can imagine our surprise when our ticket was so rudely dragged through the mud. Apparently, our ideas are “too broad” and “unfeasible,” our behavior “immature” and “attention-seeking,” and our entire ticket, in your nearsighted eyes, “fell short.” You fail to recognize how our ticket is actually a beacon of improvisation and adaptability. Our “too broad,” wide, sweeping ideas are actually perfectly open to new change and input from others, and our a capella version of “Gangnam Style” at the Freshmen Caucus Debates as a response to a difficult question actually demonstrated an ability to adapt in the face of trouble, and was NOT “indicative of fatherless behavior” as The Spectator so rudely described it.

You called our plan to build an ice skating rink on the 11th floor by freezing the tears of AP Chem students “impractical.” In what world is this not the perfect method to add a fun new activity, introduce a varsity hockey team, and monopolize student suffering? When we proposed the addition of a “death fountain” to the third-floor gym, how could that possibly be read as a health and safety hazard rather than the sick playtime area it is truly meant to be? We think this is just a classic case of upperclassman superiority over freshmen (an issue we resolve in our policies!).

Our ticket is prime material to rule Stuyvesant. We have done impossible feats no other student has achieved, like getting a 100 first try on an AP Biology test, impressing Dr. Markova with our incredible athleticism, and single-handedly fixing the elevators on the Tribeca Bridge. Peter Stuyvesant himself visited us in a dream and told us we were destined to lead the Freshman Caucus. He finds it unfortunate that you do not see the god-like talent presented in front of you.

We demand compensation for our suffering. Our ticket will be camping on the half-floor, awaiting an official apology, ownership of The Spectator, five million doubloons, and keys to Principal Yu’s house (Mr. Moran’s house is also acceptable). Until we receive these things from you, we will not be beholden to mortal upperclassmen such as yourselves. We will govern ourselves and establish a new, independent nation of freshmen, whipped into shape by the pain we will inflict and raised to be the worst nightmares of the cowardly upperclassmen—nay, of humanity. Only once our terms are met will we even consider gracing Stuyvesant with our ticket’s presence again.


The Imposter-Sus Ticket



From the desk of the Editorial Board of The Stuyvesant Spectator:

Dear prospective Freshmen Caucus candidates,

We are sorry that our review of your ticket is not up to your standards. Before, we didn’t realize the dedication of your ticket. Through this e-mail, we now see that you guys are TRULY motivated to become Freshman Caucus Presidents. While The Stuyvesant Spectator cannot determine the outcome of the Freshman Caucus election, we can offer you guys “The Spectator Complimentary Participation Award”!

It comes with:

- Half of a Wooden Desk that hasn’t been used since 1999

- One kindergartener-sized plastic chair (sticky, for some reason)

- An AC that is constantly dripping and never works

- Cobwebs (so aesthetic!)

- And one of those dangling lightbulbs your grandma has

All of this, contained within the closet of room 260 (the Student Union room), are yours to claim if you respond to this e-mail within the next day.


The Editorial Board of The Spectator