The Eighth Page

The Roast of B.J. Garry

“Hey there. My name is B.J. I write jokes.”-B.J. Garry The guy who promised jokes and didn’t quite deliver is finally leaving Features. Save your champagne and fireworks, everyone. We don’t want his feelings to be hurt as he leaves the one place that allowed him the rights and opportunities of normal people. Just wait until the toils of Senior Spring have blinded him before you make “The Wicked Beej is Dead” T-shirts. Let’s take a closer look at B.J., who you have probably heard little about. Bert James Garry has always been around laughter. In his early years, the majority—if not all—of this laughter was directed toward him rather than with him. Due to his crippling eisoptrophobia (fear of mirrors), B.J. never realized that he resembled a young, Irish Jackie Chan. In fact, B.J. is so Irish that he went to Cloverfield and left sorely disappointed. But being such a comedic prodigy had its downside: his social skills were not completely developed. For example, B.J. cries everytime he sees Karate Kid 2… we don’t know why either. He also unplugs his computer every time he hears the song, “Fight the Power”. Academically, B.J. did not quite excel. He did so poorly in school that his college choices were limited to Bunker Hill Community College. His résumé will provide him with less job security than Conan O’Brien. The academic rigors of PA took their toll on the poor B.J., who had no choice but to take his anger and frustration out on the Features associates. He verbally abused us and demoralized us to the point where we didn’t go to the bathroom without bowing at his feet and begging for permission: permission we seldom received. We ran through Pampers faster than they did on the set of Baby Geniuses. We are not able to discuss the nightly beatings because of the pending legal action we have taken against B.J. (No hard feelings, pal.) B.J. is more than just a Features Editor. When he realized his cross-dressing habits wouldn’t be accepted by the general public he decided to become a Blue Key Head. The free-flowing blue key uniform empowered him and made him known to everyone on campus. B.J. always wears a bra to match his skirt on Fridays. He feels it draws eyes away from his meaty thighs and “abnormally huge” feet. B.J. is also co-head of the Yorkies, a band of brothers whose sole mission is to serenade PA’s female population. The high notes that B.J. is able to conjure surpass any member of Azure or the Andover Elementary School, showing how he has not yet hit puberty. An Olympic-bound athlete, B.J. has participated in sports such as JV 2 baseball, varsity Nordic, and cluster soccer. He was worse in cluster soccer than Lieutenant Dan from Forrest Gump (before and after Lieutenant Dan lost his legs). The only reason he is good at Nordic skiing is because his heart is as cold as the snow on which he skis. Now we speak with all joking aside, a tactic B.J. has used his entire time at Features. B.J. brought unprecedented humor to the Features section. When someone hears the name, “B.J.”, several different ideas come to mind. Those of us who don’t have our minds in the gutter think of a sleek boy from New Hampshire with the voice of an angel and the abs of a Roman God. But behind his short skirt is a boy—nay, a man, whose wit and comedic genius have caused sore cheeks and jaws across campus. Whenever he tells a joke, an angel is born without a sense of humor: a sacrifice God made to create such a funny and gifted writer. His stunning good looks have caused many a lazy eye as well. And in the future, we know that B.J. is going to make people laugh all over the world, in places where humor is as abundant as US healthcare. We wish him luck in his future endeavors and hope that humor continues to prevail over things like academics and personal hygiene. P.S.: B.J. still hasn’t looked at a mirror. We know you’re good looking Beej, that’s good enough.