A new group is taking the Paul Smith’s community by storm: Neo-Euros. This alt-European cult has risen in the void left behind by the Bernie acolytes, who promptly dropped their passion for the old Jewish man after Hillary Clinton was nominated.

The Neo-Euros congregated last Friday for their first meeting. The leader, Kevin Shea, a junior at the college, walked into the Pine Room at 4:00 P.M. and began the meeting. Our most experienced reporter, Stephen Sellers, was there to observe the rally.

Shea, a blond haired, blue-eyed man of 20 (the wet dream of Adolf Hitler), strutted into the hall, seemingly unfazed by the lack of attendees — apart from myself. At the front of the room, in front of the unnecessarily large amount of empty chairs, stood a large oak podium. Kevin, being a small man of almost 5 feet, had to scavenge through the janitor’s closet for a stool. Eventually he found a childishly small and decrepit stool with three pegs. Once at the podium, he stood silent for a minute. His cold, angry eyes scanned the empty room.

Then, he began.

“Fellow brothers and sisters!”
There was still no one in the audience.
“What we dreamed for years.”
He paused and surveyed the room again.
“Has become a reality.”
“The symbol of unification of all classes of the European people.”
Another brief pause.
“Has become the symbol of the Neo-Euros.”
He pointed his chin up and basked in imaginary applause. The corners of his mouth pulled slowly to create an unnerving grin. It took great strength on my part not to leave.
“The most precious possession you have in this world, is your own people.”
“And for this people,” he shouted the word people and brought his fist in the air. Foam and spit spat from his mouth. “And for the sake of this people, we will struggle and fight. And never slacken.”
His face was tomato red. The hall was filled with his shouting and swinging fist.
“And never slacken!”
“Never tire!”
“Never lose courage!”
“And never lose faith!”

Silence once again took hold of the empty hall. Kevin’s red face shone brilliantly in front of the enormous stage lights he had rented for the event. It would have been a tremendous moment, had there been an audience member.

It took Kevin a minute to realize there would be no applause.
No shouts of joy or approval.
No standing ovation.
And no pats on the back.

It was an awkward seven minutes. He stood on the podium, waiting for what would never come: a resurgence of European pride. He now wished he hadn’t shaved every portion of his mustache except the square piece he had left under his nose.

Kevin’s shoulders slumped, and he hopped off the stool behind the podium. For a minute he was hidden by the podium, but then, slowly, he sauntered from behind the wooden tower, off of the stage, and exited the room. Before he did, however, he slipped off the red arm band that had been wrapped around his left arm. It floated gently to the floor. Thus came the end of the Neo-Euros.

Satire by Kevin Shea

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