Irish Awakening: Students Riot after Guinness Served at DCT

What was first seen as a celebration of Irish culture soon turned into pandemonium at the DCT. As a wet campus, Emory decided to celebrate St. Patrick’s day the only way they know how, with pints of Guinness. Most students found themselves acting like you typically do at parties. Head banging, pong, and standing in the corner on your phone scrolling on the weather app. However, a select few found themselves engaging in a metamorphosis of sorts. Finn, a 5’6 (5’10 according to his fake ID) English major began to yell about independence.

Finn exclaimed, “Where is me pot o’ gold?” which left many observers confused. Soon, the rest of the wee little lads joined him in a mob no taller than 5’8. It was hard to hear them from down there, but it seemed really intense. These itty-bitty protestors were soon outdone by the ginger diners that night, who began joining the chorus of anger with a fiery spirit. These viking spawn used their ancient fury to cause havoc and scare off the rest of the unaffected dining hall. Pans scattered the Luncheonette and Fire and Spice. Root and Stem, while still untouched, looked bewildered. The ice-cream machine was still broken, so the rioters saw no point in tearing it to shreds. Those who escaped came to the sobering realization: The DCT had fallen.

Following a moment of silence, Greg Fenvez decided that it was time to call in a mediator,.

“We just want to talk, to understand where you’re coming from,” Shane, the mediator, called out to the new patriots of the Emerald Isle.

“Weh don’t trust yeh yeh blowdy liya!”

“We get that,” Shane remarked. “We understand that you’ve have some ‘unlucky circumstances’ and just want to help.” This line was found highly offensive. However, a breakthrough soon came through ways of miscommunication. Seven hours into the ordeal, an exhausted Shane pleaded with the rioters.

“Late Dinner is about to end and they’re going to kick you out. Let’s just hash this out and I won’t have to call in another dispatcher.”

“Thatcha? I fooken hate that devilish bech.”

“Wait,” Shane asked. “Y’all hate Margret Thatcher too?” The group, bewildered at Shane’s lack of awareness of Irish politics, replied:“Who doesn’t?”

This ended up being a turning point in the mediation. The two groups, unified by their basic upkeep of dental hygiene and hate of mushy peas, walked away from their respective barricades to finalize the deal. The peace agreement, while unfinalized, should hold through so long as none of the missing car bombs go off.