COLUMN: 'Hey Jude,' stop sending us junk mail

From Jason Brenner's, "My 20 Inches," Fall '97 From Jason Brenner's, "My 20 Inches," Fall '97I've always considered myself somewhat musically inclined. Although my singing voice is subpar to say the least and I cannot play the guitar or the drums, give me a ukulele or a set of spoons and I can bring a room full of senior citizens to a frenzy of orgasmic delight. (Now that's a disturbing image, isn't it?) For example, when certain Wharton professors stood accused of unseemly sexual activities, I fashioned a lovely little ditty entitled "Love Me Do? Before They Haul My Ass to Jail." After the terrifying crime spree of last September, capped off by the shooting of senior Patrick Leroy, I, of course, felt the need to express my outrage through music; I, therefore, created the song "Yellow Submachine Gun." So when I got a ridiculous letter in the mail from University President Judith Rodin last week, I simply could not contain myself. I felt required to answer her foolish correspondence in a beautiful song. Rodin wasted hundreds of dollars of our tuition money by mass mailing a letter to seniors detailing some of her concerns about graduation. The letter begins: "I am looking forward to your parents and other guests joining us on Monday, May 19 for the University's 241st Commencement. The ceremony is a celebration of your achievement. As always, there will be a great deal of academic pageantry and other activity linking you to ancient tradition." Fine, I thought. That's not so bad. In fact, it's kind of cute. I was honored that Rodin took the time from her busy schedule to drop me a personal note explaining the significance of my upcoming graduation. It took me a few more paragraphs to realize that this was no congratulatory letter, but rather a dangerous piece of propaganda. Rodin's memo continues: "Please arrive at the Superblock assembly area on time, appropriately attired, with your considerable mental acuity well-rested and alert, and your system and pockets free of champagne, beer or other alcoholic beverages. Remember that you have a dual role: you are the guest of honor but you also have responsibilities as host to your family and friends." Of course, I thought, Ol' Judy couldn't give us some simple graduation instructions without warning us to refrain from imbibing the drink of the devil. In fact, I never even would have thought to get wrecked for graduation until she mentioned it. Never one to resist a call to action, I immediately ran to my room and -- with my pan flute in my hand and my Beatles T-shirt on my back -- sat down in my recording studio and got to work. Needless to say, I thought this letter was so ludicrous I felt required to berate Rodin's lame attempt at reinstalling Prohibition with a few verses. I think you all have heard the original before. Feel free to sing along if you like. Hey Jude Don't be afraid I will not ruin our graduation. Due to a state of inebriation. Hey Jude Please understand My parents make me exasperated. In order to spend a weekend with them I must first get intoxicated. Na-nah, nah, nah, nah-nah-nah. Hey Jude I would not dream Of insulting the Cos, our speaker. By getting wasted and taking off all my clothes. Alcohol makes me a deranged streaker. Hey Jude I realize That you and Stanley have worked real hard. To make our commencement a bright success. Our class will not rant like drunken tards. Nah, nah, nah, nah-nah, nah, nah, nah-nah, nah, nah, Hey Jude. C'mon, everybody sing. Nah, nah, nah, nah-nah, nah, nah, nah-nah, nah, nah, Hey Jude. In case you're wondering, I used to be a member of the Beatles but they kicked me out of the band because the British ladies were downright infatuated with me, and John and Paul had a jealous fit. Oh well. After all, a person with a voice like mine can really be a thorn in the side of the establishment? as well as anyone else averse to high-pitched shrieking.

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