Photo by Pennsylvania Department of Corrections / FBI / Wikimedia Commons
When Stanley “Slick” Sullivan (W’21) walks through the aisles of 1920 Commons, a cloud of fear descends upon the hall. In just two short months, tales of this freshman’s infamy have spread far and wide. Ask Slick’s cronies about his exploits, and you’ll be lucky to receive anything more than a thin lipped sneer and a gravelly warning against “people sticking their noses where they got no business.”
We decided to figure out what the big deal was by sending our reporter to interview the man himself. What follows is the chilling narrative our correspondent related to us the next day...
The last thing I remember was bruising my knuckles on Sullivan’s leather embossed door knocker. When I came to, I found myself restrained to a chair in a dimly lit study. I tried to cry for help, but I ended up choking on the thick cloud of smoke that seemed to permeate the room. I figured they must have moved me to Rodin.
“I know why you came”
Sullivan’s voice-- a smooth baritone with a slight Sicilian lilt-- was impossibly cultured.
“Smart kid like you must've noticed how the breadbaskets of our campus are beginning to run dry. The food courts are closing. The food trucks are extorting us. Someone needs to keep the bread flowing.”
Taking a deep drag from his cigar, Sullivan continued.
“Take it from me, kid. I’m not a bad person. I saw a demand, I supplied it”
Slick followed with a harrowing description of how he regularly pilfers entire loaves of bread from the various campus dining halls while the staff look on in helpless terror.
“Don’t think I’m a common hoarder” scoffed Sullivan, brushing a few crumbs off of the face of his jewel encrusted Rolex, “I’m a generous man, see. I hand out the dough to my loyal friends and good little reporters who know how to keep their mouths shut.”
Shocking stuff. UTB urges the good readers of this publication to keep a tight grasp on their food stockpiles. We are also accepting donations from our readers to help pay off the ten thousand dollar ransom that a crumb-encrusted note delivered to our offices this morning demanded if we ever "want to see [our] reporter again."