Proving once again that Cat is better than Stanford, three unnamed Cat students recently infiltrated the Stanford campus, getting past the bullet-proof windows of Chelsea Clinton’s dorm and stealing her underwear. The operation, named the Presidential Panty Raid (or PPR for short), fell short of its goals when two of the students decided, “What the hel1, I’ll sleep with her.” They are now dead. The other student, an EECS major, was saved by his own stupidity. By mistake, he walked into the room of one of the Secret Service agents posing as college students. Mistaking it for a new computer game, the student took the agent’s diary and brought it back here. Naturally, we beat the crap out of him and took the diary. Here it is:
September 20, first day: Took Chelsea to a frat party tonight. She was the only girl there who wasn’t fat. No one noticed me until I pissed my pants. Long story.
September 21: Boy is she ugly!
September 22: I took my sunglasses off for the first time since high school. Took Chelsea out on the town. Guess what, there is no town, so we came home pretty early. I took her to her room, then went to mine when I realized had I left my wallet in her room. I walked back in to see her naked. I think I m going to join the priesthood.
September 26: Chelsea got some action. But when she took off her shirt, the guy (at least I think it was a guy), got up and ran. I don t know why. Maybe it s the dick on her chest.
September 28: Chelsea studied. I had to watch her. God this job is fucking boring. I haven’t killed anyone for days! There s a funny-looking guy with a big tree outfit in his room down the hall. He takes a shower in it. Maybe I’ll kill him. Yeah, I’m going to kill him. It’ll be fun; like high school all over again.
September 29: I killed that tree guy today, beat him to death with some jell-o I stole from the mess hall, I mean, DC. The best part is making up the official report. This one will be the same as all the others, the official cause of death is: Chelsea did it.
Performing perhaps the hardest job ever known to mankind, the agent went a little crazy. The day after the raid when this diary was discovered, he was taken to a mental hospital because he thought he was Joan of Arc. Two days later he escaped and is now living happily in People’s Park. Here are his final three diary entries:
September 31: There is no September 31, or at least that s what the scientists say.
October 2: I had tuna today. I wonder what it would be like to be a giraffe? They have pretty long Johnsons, don t they? What about a rhinoceros? Ooohhh, yaaahhh, rhinoceros!
October 30: What day is it? Where am I? Mom? Is that you? Hey, cool Ronald Reagan! What are you doing in my sock drawer?