Journalism Has Betrayed Me, It’s Okay I Guess

Who needs a positive public image when you have haikus?

by Hillary Bosch

Opinions Editor

This past week, a publication (we do not speak its name here at the paper) published an article about me. I think it was intended to be complementary? Perhaps even admiring? However, upon reading it this past Wednesday, I found it to be insensitive, inappropriately toned, and: here’s the kicker. It was written so poorly and edited so haphazardly that it accidentally implied I was both sexist and racist. It did not explicitly call me a racist, but it could be inferred through misleading pronouns. Misleading pronouns: you know, that thing you learned not to do in middle school grammar class.

As if that weren’t enough, the writer misinterpreted quotes, fabricated a quote, and even miscredited a sexual harassment acknowledgement/ survivor support movement to the wrong people! I told the writer the right names, I guess she just liked other ones? It’s as if they had a bonfire using the textbook on journalistic ethics to make marshmallows, burnt the marshmallows, wiped them on a piece of paper, and then published it.
Although the 24 hours following its publication were the most emotionally distressing and heartbreaking of my college career, I have officially moved through all the stages of grief. Anger was the worst, mostly for my roommates and boyfriend. Sorry y’all. But now I have reached acceptance since they pulled the article from their website. Thanks guys, didn’t want to have to explain that in a job interview 15 years from now.
Rather than continue to crap on this publication which is run by genuinely good and compassionate people (and is really well done 90% of the time), I figured I’d write a bit more misleading stuff about me. My print media public image is already shot so why not take it a step further? Please enjoy my revised article and feel free to reach out to me with any questions about my #cool habits and hobbies:
Hillary Bosch is an FCRH junior swamp monster who hails from the semi-submerged city of Metairie, Louisiana. She survives solely on nutrients she gains from eating street trash, which is why college in New York was such a big draw for her. She has a pet ocelot in her dorm that only eats frat bois and discarded Under the Tent tickets.
In her free time she is the President of T.O.P., Two Orange Pandas, and a member of F.E.T., Flamboyant Energetic Trains. She also writes poetry, but only haikus about slurpees. She has included her finest work below:

Oh sweet cola ice
What a perfect drink mixer
I stay up all night

Oh dream of sugar cold
Home at 7/11
Is my aching heart

How I long for you,
It’s 20 degrees, and yet
It’s your touch I crave.

Moral of the story: vigilant journalism is imperative, and anything less than honest is worse than haikus about Slurpees.

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