Looby Loob Doo And The Mystery of The Free Speech Publication

This is not a real mystery book, but you can donate to our GoFund Me

by John Looby


I’ve been thinking about how to start this article for years. I don’t mean that as hyperbole. The first time I read a deadit I was a freshmen and the editor for the News section. I’d spent months reading articles about depressing news all over the world and nothing hit my heart quite as hard as raw emotion poured into these articles. I was nervous that I would never be quite as devoted as the staff writing these articles. Then the months went by and I fell in love with the paper and eventually the day came where I had to give up being a co-editor chief (shout out to all my incredible co-editors through the years, but especially actual real-life talented journalist, Luis motherfucking Gomez), leaving the paper felt like tearing a piece out of my heart. I haven’t come back to the print shop since I turned the lights off on my last day. I don’t know if I could ever take another last time in that place.

I just can’t move on. (Did the paper break up with me?). The hours in that place have launched some of my closest friendships in all of my time here at Fordham. We developed into the most tightly bound and largest group of friends I’ve had in my life. I have two group chats just for this group of friends. We have such a large group of devoted friends that a splinter cell for those who care about superheroes had to be created to avoid bothering the others. I’m sure that to a lot of people that seems like a fucking weird thing for weird people, but I’ve never felt as so in touch with a group of people. The paper has become my family here at Fordham. I have never met a group of friend with such an incredible breadth of deep cuts. Every obscure reference feels like an act of love. To know someone so well enough that you’re willing to describe the flash in Justice League as Ezra Miller playing Andrew Garfield’s amazing spider man without fear of judgment is to truly trust and be trusted.

the paper, for me, is and always will be remembered as a place where I could truly express myself in any comma free manner I chose. I once argued for an entire article that left shark could become a new messiah in what was clearly a way too elaborate way of getting to the fact that I think most sports entertainment is just so overly important to this country. WHO NEEDS MILLIONS OF DOLLARS TO THROW A FUCKING BALL. (Says something about this problem that there is no way of determining what sport I’m referring to). What I’m getting is that the paper gave me a voice. Was I at times perhaps screaming nonsense in the void? Yes, absolutely, but at a school so tightly restrictive as Fordham it’s nice to be able to rant about all the stresses we’re forced to endure like whatever the hell reason I had to hide my mini fridge for in Walsh. The paper is the single greatest outlet for expression I have encountered at Fordham. The paper has earned itself a reputation on campus that when a member of the admin signs his email vaguely man shaped bag of pigeons no part of it is considered strange. This is a freedom I never knew I needed in life.

I love the paper. I’m not sure I’ve made that clear. From the bottom of my heart I owe so much of the joy I’ve experienced at Fordham to everyone involved. I want to list some highlights of and confessions about the people I’ve worked with here. Anyone left off it’s a word count issue, you know how it is. (I will deny anything in this paragraph.) Declan Murphy is a saint and I wanted to be his friend since the first time he contributed to the paper (mission accomplished?). Michael Sheridan makes me feel uncultured and I respect it, to be honest. Michael Jack Jack Michael doesn’t get the credit he deserves and I’m not just saying that because we look alike. Nick Peters has single handedly reignited (with assistance from the Scott Saffran) my passion for comics and can mostly spell the word definitely. Matt Whitaker memes are art. Colleen Burns, ghosts might exist and I think you might be able to end the weird nihilist thing the paper “accidentally” starting doing. Claire, you’re rocking the game right now. Anna, how about those commas though? Rachel Poe, thanks for young justice and coming into the paper running. Luis motherfucking Gomez, first and foremost we are the peak game of cover designs. This is the hill I will die on. In all sincerity thank you for the assistance over the years. You’d think I would stop pitching cover designs I couldn’t make at some point. You made this paper a collection of journalists instead of “journalists”.

I guess this is how it ends. My final paper article. Goodbye. My heart aches.

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