To: Alabama English Department Listserv
From: Commissioner Oliu
Subject: A Very Special Message From the UAEDFL

My fellow English,

Growing up in the 1980s in a small Cape Cod-style house in rural New Jersey, I know what it’s like not to have things. Things like rocket cars, and ice-cream faucets, and pterodactyls. Things that we have come accustomed to here in the crowning moments during the normal vaginal birth of our great century; these ‘two-thousands’, where anything is possible (aside from Americans winning the Nobel Peace Prize and myself successfully learning Capoeira). If you DREAM you can ACHIEVE!

However, as a society, we have gotten spoiled. Yes, we have become the flubdub flapdoodle mollycoddles that we have dreaded. It’s like that moment in your favorite movie where someone is all like ‘I have become what I hate,’ and then Ennio Morricone comes swelling in and someone jumps off a building. Yes! It is exactly like that. And you know, what, I don’t like it.

Some of you (none of you) may be asking yourselves, “Brian Oliu. Why are you saying such things? We have become accustomed to the UAEDFL e-mails being a source of joy and babies’ laughter and positive high energy and love and allusions to the key members of le Mouvement souverainiste du Québec!” and to that I say, “No more!” Je t’aime! Moi non plus! Again! You have become wonted with accordance with regular practice or procedure (TheFreeDictionary.com, 1)!!!

For those of you (none of you) who then think to yourselves, "Brian Oliu. You didn’t answer the question. In fact, you just quoted Serge Gainsbourg in a complete non-sequitur and didn’t even harp upon his relationship with both Brigitte Bardot and Jane Birkin, nor that it was an inspiration to Donna Summer’s “Love to Love You Baby,” and in that, you are a failure, Brian Oliu. An awful awful failure. “L’amour physique est sans issue!”

To that I reply:

WE ONLY HAD FIVE PEOPLE SHOW UP TO FOOTBALL LAST SUNDAY YOU AWFUL PEOPLE I HATE YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW UGH YOU MADE MICHAEL MARBERRY SAD AND NOBODY MAKES MICHAEL MARBERRY SAD ON MY WATCH

To Ryan Browne, Luke Southworth, Kevin Waltman, and the aforementioned sad Michael Marberry, you are golden and lovely. You realize that showing up to football is a PRIVILEDGE and not a RIGHT (like driving! or living under this roof!) and that you should be honored to be a part of the greatest wordsmith academic sporting collective outside of the 2002 Portland Trailblazers.

The rest of you, I am saddened and ashamed. As punishment (turn away, other members of the Fab 5), here is a list of words that everyone hates. I hope they put awful visions in your head and make you cringe:

moist
beefy
panties
chunky
lard
maverick

NOW SHOW UP AT FOOTBALL ON SATURDAY AT 10:30AM. If you do not, the league will fold in on itself like a Swen crab angle. Which brings me to another gross word, ‘cream cheese.’

In fact, I’m still angry.

“[YOUR NAME HERE] was too busy being a maverick to play football…instead [YOUR NAME HERE] decided to eat a moist, beefy, chunky cream cheese and lard burrito while in their panties.”

There. I feel better. Show up Saturday. Seriously.

− The Commissioner