Nina Howe-Goldstein ‘25
Supreme Allied Commander Scripps College
I wake up every morning bright and early at 7 a.m. sharp. Unlike my roommate, who needs a trigger warning before her alarm goes off, I roll straight out of bed and open the windows to breathe the fresh, free air blowing in from Simi Valley to the west. I light a few candles at my Ronald Reagan shrine to thank him for sending the nice Republican air so that I don’t have to smell the burning stench coming from Los Angeles (I hear that Antifa burns the whole city down every week or so for government handouts).
Most Scripps students exercise by doing mental gymnastics to justify communism, but I go for a daily morning run through the land of my people — Claremont McKenna. I stop at the Hub on the way back to exercise my God-given rights with other free thinkers; we don’t wear masks while buying our hot coffees (got to stay away from the Homosexual Agenda). On my run, I meet up with my best friend Reighfyl. She’s a Pitzer student, so she suffers even more than I do. All she did was write “All Lives Matter” on the Free Wall and the vegans nailed a dead squirrel to her door, so now she goes out in a disguise that covers her natural platinum blonde hair.
Every single person in my Core 2 class has blue hair and pronouns, so they hated me before I even said a word on the first day. It’s all a big cover for Critical Race Theory, of course — it doesn’t take a genius to notice that “Core Two” sounds just like “CRT.” I emailed Project Veritas to see if they wanted to do an exposé, but I haven’t heard back.
I’ve decided that the only way to get an A in this class is to make my final project a performance piece. I’m going to have people line up on Jacqua Quad and make them sob that they’re sorry for being white while actors dressed as some of the worst politicians in American history (Barack Obama, Al Gore, Jimmy Carter, and Mitt Romney) threaten them with vaccine syringes. My professor hasn’t responded to my email asking why “the female ones” wasn’t an appropriate answer when she asked for my pronouns, but this will definitely impress her.
At lunch, the lines are long but I’m in and out quickly, because I’m the only person in line for a real meat burger at the grill station and for dairy milk at the coffee machine. (Reighfyl and I tried veggie burgers and oat milk once on a dare, but we both had to be hospitalized for allergic reactions to all the oppression.) SAS never got back to me about adding “liberal tears” to Malott, but luckily I have a friend undercover at Oberlin, and she sends me some monthly, so I’m never thirsty.
I have my Chemistry class at 1 p.m., and luckily they haven’t managed to make science “woke” yet, so the rest of the afternoon is a breeze. Reighfyl and her boyfriend and I meet up for dinner in the Village — we like to patronize the local businesses who bravely defy L.A. County’s vaccine mandate, even if we had the shots forced on us ourselves. We tip our waiter a whole 10 percent as thanks for not looking for handouts all the time from the mutual aid orgs on campus.
After dinner, Reighfyl’s boyfriend goes back to CMC and she walks back to Pitzer, which leaves me alone as I head to my dorm. It’s dark out, and I like to listen to the parties as I walk through campus. It always gets me thinking, after spending a day being so oppressed for my right-wing views. After all, these girls and so-called nonbinaries hate Joe Biden, think our parents should pay fewer taxes, and want the government’s hands off our bodies.
Maybe we’re not so different after all.
Graphic Courtesy of Isabel Suh ’24
