The ECHO, May 2023

The dark truth about
graduation rehearsal
By Hammond Cole Sherouse
Co-Editor-in-Chief
East seniors were shocked
this week to learn of Principal
Jesse Casey’s plot to have them
kidnapped and replaced by
robots at the June 9 graduation
rehearsal.
The sinister scheme came to
light after a group of seniors
pulled a seemingly harmless
prank May 25, breaking into the
bins of confidential documents
marked for shredding that are
kept in the hallway which
connects the Cafe Commons
to the Wildcat atrium.
Just as they were about to
dump the
“Alas, this is the
only way to keep
them in line.”
contents of
the bins over
the railing of
the balcony
overlooking
the Cafe Commons,
one of the students
noticed something disturbing.
“It was what looked like a
schematic for some kind of
humanoid automaton,” senior
Rahm Bunctius said. “As I dug
deeper, I saw that there were
hundreds of similar blueprints,
each one corresponding to the
bodily form of an East senior.”
Indeed, the confidential
document bins contained
detailed mechanical diagrams
of robotic doppelgangers in
the likeness of every member
of the senior class.
Underneath, Bunctius
discovered an even more
shocking item: a printedout
copy of an email
correspondence between
Casey and a high-level official
at Eduspire Solutions, the
educational technology
company also known for their
e-hallpass software.
“Dearest Jesse,” the email
begins. “Upon consulting with
our research department, we are
happy to report that your idea
is in fact a scientific possibility.
For the low price we discussed,
Eduspire will be able to provide
you with the fully functional
‘e-childreplacement’ androids
that you requested.”
When Bunctius confronted
Casey about the worrying
contents of these documents,
the principal begrudgingly
revealed the true extent of his
plan, not knowing that Bunctius
was secretly livestreaming the
conversation to hundreds of
other seniors.
“Graduation is always such
a logistical hassle,” Casey told
him. “So, we figured that we
could save a lot of time and
effort by eliminating the human
component from the equation.
Eduspire was happy to supply
the necessary equipment, and
at the graduation rehearsal
on June 9, we were going to
swap out all
the seniors
for their robot
counterparts.
“And we
would have
gotten away
with it too, if—” Casey cut
himself off. “No. I’ve already
diverted millions of dollars of
the school’s budget to this. I
can’t let one nosy kid stop me.”
Following a guttural scream
and a mechanical whir, the
livestream’s feed cut out.
Since this fateful conversation,
an ominous uncertainty
has taken hold of the entire
senior class. Though many
have expressed a desire to skip
the graduation rehearsal in
order to save their own lives,
others worry that failing to
attend will impede their ability
to graduate.
“I think everyone should go
to the graduation rehearsal,”
senior Reau Botkin said. “If we
don’t, there’s no telling what
could happen. What? No, I’m
not a robot. Why do you ask?”
For his part, Casey told the
ECHO he regrets that it has
come to this.
“If students would just
follow directions, we wouldn’t
need to spend this much money
on technological solutions,” he
said. “But alas, this is the only
way to keep them in line.”
He then beeped and booped,
apparently having been
replaced by a robot himself.
*The stories on this Satire page are works of fiction,
intended as commentary on events and issues at East.
The quotes and details are entirely made up.
SATIRE*
Phonics hooked me; I had to let go.
By Graham Jones
Staff Writer
I was born at a very young
age. To say it was hard would
be an understatement. I couldn’t
walk, I couldn’t talk, I soiled
myself daily and I cried myself
to sleep every night. Worst of
all, I was born with a condition
I wouldn’t wish on my worst
enemy: I was born hooked to
phonics.
A phonics baby happens
when the mother exposes the
developing fetus to really lame
British quiz shows like “UK
Jeopardy,” “Countdown” and
the short-lived 1938 classic
British radio show, “Spelling
Bee.”
There are tests doctors run
on at-risk newborns to see
if they are born hooked on
phonics. Babies are placed in
front of a television and are
forced to watch an episode of
“UK Jeopardy.” A child tests
positive if they show abnormal
interest in the program. Those
who test positive are taken to
the treatment facility where
they watch the Minions movie.
This helps melt the child’s brain
into the preferred paste texture
wanted in a newborn. It’s similar
to a factory reset for babies.
I showed little interest in
By Will Pazzula
Staff Writer
As everyone filed into their
first period classes, students
eagerly checked their email,
excited at what wonderful news
they would be delivered by each
of the colleges that inexplicably
had their email addresses. The
mood quickly turned as they all
opened a message from their
beloved Principal Jesse Casey,
containing the following text:
“Due to an issue of staffing
today, today will be a normal
Monday instead of a PAC
Monday. In fact, there will
be no more PAC days for the
remainder of the year. Please
proceed with your normal
schedules, and thank you for
your understanding.
XOXO, Casey”
This seemingly innocent
memo sparked an incredibly
strong reaction in the students
the show, not because I wasn’t
hooked on phonics, but because
I hate the British; I was a false
negative.
Growing up I exhibited
symptoms of phonics addiction:
antisocial behavior, a slight
lisp, interest in learning and an
inexplicable obsession with
1986’s “Labyrinth.” These
were written off as quirks and
my mother said they made me
“special.” I wasn’t special, I was
hooked.
In kindergarten we were
taught basic letters on the first
day of school. That was the
day my life changed forever.
The high of reading was new
to me, but I knew I would need
it forever. First I started with
the vowels and sometimes ‘y,’
then I moved on to consonants
and from there… I lost control.
Before I knew it I was churning
through 15 “Geronimo Stilton”
books in an hour just to feel
something.
But, I soon became
disillusioned with the magic of
phonics. Turning page after page,
reading book after book, the high
of phonics never recaptured the
raw passion I first felt for them.
I tried everything to recapture
that feeling. Libraries worked
at first. They were like a magical
wonderland full of free stuff,
of East. Cries erupted from the
classrooms, screams of despair
could be heard from the toilets.
Even the teachers were mortified
by the tragic news.
“I felt betrayed on the kids’
behalf,” said teacher and PAC
supervisor Jen U. Enperssón.
“They all loved PAC, everyone
instantly became friends from
the first icebreaker, and we all
had such deep conversations
in our restorative circles. They
truly felt Loved, Respected, and
Connected in that extra period”
The decision had a severe long
term impact on East as a whole.
More people reported seeing
peers vaping in the bathrooms,
which are now indiscernible
from the amount of graffiti
they’ve recently received.
Attendance rates dropped to
less than half, and a survey put
out after PAC was canceled
revealed that a whopping 102
percent of students are currently
old people, struggling college
students and ecstasy. But, that
magic soon wore off when I
realized there was a “check-out
limit” and that I couldn’t just
check out all the copies of “War
and Peace,”—greedy lameos
holding out on me.
When I reached high school
my phonics addiction reached a
crippling level. I became numb
to phonics in their physical
form; books, signs, bathroom
graffiti, things I used to enjoy
now make me feel empty. Even
then I couldn’t stop. I felt like if
I didn’t read a word every hour
my world would collapse.
That’s when I discovered the
internet. On the internet words
are unregulated, people can post
whatever they want. There are
no publishers, no proofreaders,
only people who feel the need
to share their opinions. It’s just
pure concentrated phonics. I
spent months of my high school
career freebasing phonics on
my smartphone. The janitors
found me on multiple occasions
passed out, in the bathroom,
with a Reddit thread opened on
my phone.
I should have stopped then,
stopped after the 36th “Captain
Marvel” review complaining
about “forced representation”
and “historical inaccuracies
struggling with depression due
to the change.
“I just feel terrible now,” said
senior Sara Tonyn. “PAC was
such an important part of every
student’s mental health; now
that it’s gone I don’t think a lot
of people have a reason to keep
going.”
Fortunately, this tale has a
happy ending. The day after,
the school sent out an email
in the superhero movie.” But
I didn’t, I was reading and
experiencing words I have never
seen before, so many slurs and
insults I didn’t even know could
hurt me! I needed more.
Then I stopped. I just stopped.
I woke up one afternoon
with one of the worst phonicsinduced
hangovers I had ever
had and opened up Twitter.
I was greeted by a sobering
post that read, “Ted Cruz kinda
got a dumpy tho.” I stared at
my phone for what felt like
hours trying to understand that
message. Ted Cruz? A dumpy?
Why? I couldn’t understand why
that post existed, it served no
purpose other than to harm those
who read it. With that realization
it all became clear to me…
Reading brought me no joy.
That day was the day I started
my journey toward recovery. It
was hard at times, even harder at
others, but I couldn’t look back
at the risk of seeing Ted Cruz’s
“dumpy.” At the time of writing
this I’ve been off the books for
five years and can confidently
say I am no longer hooked on
phonics. So please, I implore
you to reach out to someone if
you see them reading a book, it
might be the olive branch they
need to start their own journey
to illiteracy.
What will East do without PAC?!
One East student, devastated by the loss of PAC
Hammond Cole Sherouse/The ECHO
allowing for students to sign up
for “Wellness Activities” after
exams. While they weren’t a
perfect replacement, they helped
valiantly cure their growing
depression once again.
“I, for one, will not be skipping
the wellness activities,” senior
Anna Estee said. “Nothing
boosts my mental health quite
like structured time at East
Chapel Hill High School.”