Congratulations on Ruining Che Guevara for Everyone Else!

As a sophomore in college, you’ve got a few jobs.  You’re supposed to smoke weed, get sad about at least three girls a month, vomit in a public bathroom, and awkwardly stare at a black kid’s dick in a communal shower.  The low percentage of black people at your school has kept you from doing the last one, so you’ve taken up the small liberal arts college version of that goal: destroying the memory of Che Guevara by making him into a sort of “revolutionary brand” that you can apply to any sort of counterculture.

You’re going to kick it off this week by buying a Che Guevara t-shirt at an “Army Surplus store” that has never seen a scrap of Army equipment, but instead sells novelty t-shirts and Frolf discs.  Two hours later you’ll buy a beret to wear around, Che style, indicating your revolutionary spirit/love of all things French.

You’ll return to campus a “changed man,” or “the same selfish prick with new clothes,” depending on how you look at it.  Once you get settled in on the quad you’ll sit down, pull out the megaphone you just bought with your beret and flip it on before declaring to the world:

“NO MORE CLASS FOR OIL!”

You’ll scream this repeatedly, at the top of your lungs, hoping that campus security will come and give meaning to what you’re shouting.  But instead a nearby drum circle will just come over and ask you to please quiet down a little.

“DON’T SILENCE MY VOICE!” you’ll shout back at them, at which point they’ll wander off, unnerved by your total overreaction.

You’ll sit out there, undisturbed, shouting yourself hoarse until the sun sets.  Once the sun goes down you’ll begin to feel unsafe within the walls of your school, so you’ll wander home, paranoid and afraid, occasionally murmuring “long live the proletariat” into your megaphone as you wander.

Congratulations on Ruining Che Guevara for Everyone Else!