Hey dweebs, welcome to my office. Hiram Chodosh here. CMC really values intelligence and pragmatism in the world. Because I want to be president of Harvard, I think it’s worth noting that climate change is real, but there’s no reason for us to divest. It’s wayyy too late for that. Sunk cost fallacy, dumbdumb idiot heads? [Chodosh taps every student’s head with fatherly disappointment]
It’s ridiculous that you all even showed up. I thought registering the meeting as a CMC party would be enough. But let’s just talk for real. Since you’re all CMCers, you can drop the act. I know you’ve never read a book–it doesn’t matter. You only need to read these lips: I fucking LOVE oil.
I wake up slathered in it. My portfolio is literally just a grease stain on the Pacific Ocean. It’s in my cereal every morning; sometimes I forget the dry stuff. So you can try to shove an apple down this little piggy’s throat, but you’re never going to get funding for “trees.”
Fuckkkkkk I love oil. I’m singing rub-a-dub-dub on my solid gold turlet. Im diving in that water like Scrooge McDuck. Hear that? It’s the sound of my king-sized heart, thumping Exxon every night like it’s my honeymoon. Go fuck yourself if you think I’ll ever stop. I’m the Big Tuna–the Red chair in a sea of slightly smaller red and white chairs.
My stage name is C. E. O. Know what that spells? Ciao-goodbye. I’m going to buy more oil after this, because fuck you. The boss is in charge, and CMC is my company. How many econ majors in here? 5? 7? Doesn’t matter–in my company, the only carbon that matters is the ice on my wrist. Beat it, virgins.
CMC only supports the economy. Someone tell me what that has to do with a goddamn coral reef. In the economy, you’re only a winner if your dick is the biggest. Ours are the gnarliest–keep going to class kids–but we’re never going to beat Pomona without the money to pave over those bastards with concrete.