Editor’s note: Last year, a similar item appeared in our Secret Submissions Area (no, not that). We thought we’d thrown him off our trail by doing nothing, but our mysterious scribe returned, demanding a share of  Voter Funded Money and claiming that we had “been enriched by his musings, and must be held to account.” So we offered him double or nothing and got…this.

Wong! You may be President now, but your injustices will not be forgotten.

An illustration, from my own humble upbringing: When I was a boy living in the Mountains, during the Year of the Long Summer, a rumour spread through the towns and holdings of our County. It said that Pastor Josephus, who had served for forty years as the head of our our truly-guided Plainspeak Church of the Fiery Mount, was devoting the Church’s basement “activities room” to Papist orgies; furthermore, that the town’s fishwives and charwomen, being of lowly intellect, were drawn in by his heretical sermons, which painted the Hierophant Benedict as God’s Word made Flesh and bid them to perform libidinous acts in his service.

Good, clear-eyed men accorded this rumour the authority it was due, and no longer painted their shadows on Pastor Josephus’ sin-smeared pews. Others were less wise. When it came time for the townsfolk to elect next year’s Pastor, and the Counting Sticks of our Democracy were added, Josephus was returned to his seat of power. Shame! Shame upon the people of the mountains.

For an Inquiry held not three months hence found several of the Church’s boardwomen – once thought upstanding, trustworthy and pure – carrying idolatrous medals of Saints between their breasts, scented with the brimstone incense of moral indolence. Moreover, that Fall (a dry one, if I recall), one of the women bore the Pastor a son. It was said the child was born cloven-hooved and gurgling Latin, but none can be sure, for it was swiftly put out of its misery with a blow from a rifle-butt.

And Pastor Josephus? He fled in the night, before he could be apprehended, carrying with him the Church’s ivory-handled circumcision kit, as well as three barrelsworth molasses-tithes.

Which is all to say: Do not be surprised in the coming months if outside inquiries – from upright students, from The Oobissy, etc. etc. – uncover Wong’s rotten core. Her scandalous behaviour during the elections? Those were but the pale end of the worm drawn from a sheep’s bowels with cheese bait on a string; the rest of the coiled monstrosity is yet to be loosed.

Allow me, Dear Readers, to “re-cap” the events of this election, more importantly, those of last week, which revealed the true nature of this Herodias.

First, a member of Wong’s sabbat was rightly accused of inserting her visiting cards beneath the doors of student sleeping-cells. Not only does this defy the most fundamental notions of visiting card decorum – notions every freeman learns at his nursemaid’s teat – but it openly violated the rules of campaigning.

And rightly so! Sleeping-cells are for earnest study and prayer; the slick tendrils of Government should never cross their threshhold. Solicitors have no place in student domiciles. (It is for this reason that I keep a loaded musket beneath my cot.)

Further, Wong blamed this infraction on the actions of her “volunteer,” whom she claims was misinformed.

Ha! As if the nefarious Wong could truly have “volunteers.” Those weak souls who were not entranced by her sorcery (Blue hair! What magick is this?) had no souls at all. How is this, you ask?

Wong is a member of Alpha Gamma Delta, a confirmed enclave of necromantrices. Among the “Greeks” on campus, AGD is known as “Belial’s Bordello.” There is no doubt Wong is schooled in the Infernal Arts. And there is no way her “volunteer” could be blamed for misconduct, for that volunteer was nothing more than a flesh-bound dybbuk, a golem shaped from grave-clay by Wong’s harpy talons.

So: We have established that all blame falls to Wong. It is no surprise that her next infraction was so  black-brained that she was barred permanently from campaigning.

On Thursday, one of the nefarious Wong’s volunteer skin-husks seized her word processor and posted electro-mails to ninety-five Club Presidents, pleading with them to rendez-vous with her (most likely so that she could drink their souls). Because only Wong had access to the electro-mail list that let her petition these unsuspecting students (due to her estwhile role as AMS Vee Pee Administration), it was ruled that she had misused her powers, in a sense illicitly shuffling the Counting Sticks of Our Democracy into a pattern favourable to her own cause.

Not only did she transgress the rules, she revealed for all to see her vain disposition by omitting certain “smaller” clubs from her petition.

I am the Founder and President of the the first Tree-Honey Club at UBC. Every new moon, I and the other Club Members (Cherry Boy, Big Herc, and Courtney) set out for Pacific Spirit Forest, to crack the skin of half-dead oaks, smoke out bees’ nests of Wild Tree-Honey and gather the bittersweet nectar therein.

This club is important because it supports the same “student well-being” Wong perfididiously touts. The Jar-Honey sold by Grocers today, having been subjected to the Pasteur Technique, is devoid of the humour-balancing organisms found in Wild Tree-Honey, the same Edenic organisms which granted Adam and Eve their long lives and tall stature.

I received from Wong no invitation to rendez-vous. To disregard the Tree-Honey Club is to disregard the health of the Student Body as a whole. We have established that Wong is a power-hungry sorceress of the lowest sort; it is no wonder that she is so repelled by the pure and Divine nature of Man’s First Nourishment that she would sacrifice her constituents in the same way the Foul Newt detaches its tail in service of escape.