[media-credit id=14 align=”alignnone” width=”300″]
[/media-credit]
A new mini-trend has cropped up on Twitter. This trend is one that may be dangerous. One that may very well change how this school is run. One that inspires anarchy and justice in the humdrum lives of Carlmont’s students. One that, curiously, has only appeared in Journalism students’ Twitter pages.
Occupy Carlmont.
What is Occupy Carlmont, you say? That is a very good question.
Occupy Carlmont is new. Occupy Carlmont is fresh. Occupy Carlmont is unique. Occupy Carlmont is revolutionary. Occupy Carlmont is a whole lot of words that sound good, yet really mean nothing at all.
Because, in reality, Occupy Carlmont is nonexistent.
Occupy Carlmont is nothing more than an inside joke, started by none other than Journalism II student, Virginia O’Callahan. There is not currently any sort of protest, sit-in, hunger strike, or shower strike planned.
“But, wait!”, you may shout. “I know certain things that I may wish to protest about! Things that happen at this school! Things that I want to scream angrily through a bullhorn, then gripe about whilst sitting in a freezing tent with a bunch of hobos who either share my point of view, or simply want some of my canned soup!”
Sorry. There’s no real opportunity to do so.
Yep, no secret base of operation miles below the new gym, only reachable by prying up twenty floorboards with a large piece of pipe, then scaling down using about a hundred PE shirts tied together, followed by crawling through a few feet of concrete tunnel before coming upon a burly guard named Philip who will only allow you to enter if you utter the password “butternut squash.”
No plan labeled “Operation Minty Hippo”, during which we will hold an unnamed teacher’s third cousins’ cat hostage until the School Board agrees to Taco Bell Tuesdays.
No ultra-super-if-you’re-reading-this-it’s-too-late tattoos that have a big “OC” conjoined in a swirly style, with a large emblem of a Scotsman wearing a Zorro costume in the background that we display proudly on our clavicle.
Occupy Carlmont doesn’t not exist. Understand? Good.
So, if you happen to be walking by room T-67 (where is T-67? Wouldn’t you like to know.) and hear what sounds like revelry, madness, and general anarchy within it’s fuschia-colored walls, and you feel the need to join in… well, there’s TECHNICALLY nothing to join, is there?
We thought not.
Welcome the the Movement.
