Last Thursday night I sat irate
No suits, no Martin’s, and no debate.
Write my term paper?
I most certainly will not.
Ode to the Seniors?
Now there’s a thought…
No part of this poem can I redact
Cuz then the rhyming would be all whack.
So if you don’t like it, take solace in
The fact that in two weeks my term ends.
Four years have past,
And here you are,
Not much smarter than before.
But one thing has changed,
Can’t question it,
You found your family in Philodemic.
Chancellor Dubs, you’re the mom
A MILF, that is, cuz you’re the bomb.
Your facial expressions we always check
To make sure debate is right on track.
Cantirino, as Merrick winner,
You speeches are good, I guess,
But no one can match Desnick’s jest.
Downes has the market cornered on bombast,
While Myers’ tailcoats and top hats are super high class.
Tosetti, we’re so glad you left DOD
To share your wisdom on fine liquor and philosophy.
Walker, it’s true, you are a star,
We all know just how brilliant you are
And if we happen to forget
You remind us of it in an instant.
As for your double life, Butterworth,
Toward the IRC we show no mirth.
You may have run your own non-profit
But Philodemic’s not impressed—
Humility and charity we detest.
To the residents of 11 VB,
Glad to have you back from the thesis penitentiary.
McCarthy, none of the guys can resist,
You’re our resident hot scientist.
Miss English, I know, you don’t actually live there,
But everything else you basically share.
Stephens, your Henle I have visited more than one time
Never in quite the right state of mind.
But always you show great faire-savoir
Just like the good STIA major you are.
Durfee, the only thing weirder than STIA
Is, as you know, being a CULP diva.
You never let anyone forget, Mr. Gore,
That you have seniority on the floor.
Park, you once encouragingly said,
“Give a floor speech, it’s not so bad!”
To which Mr. Marsh gave the following reply
“I’m Mem Sec, who the hell is this guy?”
Rosenthal, your hair is longer than mine,
But it’s cool, you read econ textbooks in your spare time.
To the writers at the Voice
Who think we’re all sexually repressed
Let me introduce you to a term called “Philodemincest”
Consider the case of Mr. Olmsted:
No doubt an esteemed member—
But didn’t you graduate in December?
Don’t worry, we won’t kick you out the door
You made out with a member of the Officer Corps.
On serious note,
It will be hard to cope.
Your class is so freaking awesome.
You’re leaders, and friends, and compassionate people
Of the Philodemic Society you’re a staple.
So this coming week, break every rule
You have earned the right to look like fools.
But even when you graduate,
You’ll have a seat at Thursday night debates.