Hello, hello. What’s happening in the mustard world? If only you could understand. Mustard Rick made a comment at work that just ruined me for the rest of the day. It was just one of those things, you know? One of those little things that he probably didn’t even think about before he said it. But he said it anyway, and here I am, hurting. Why is it that Mustard Rick can get away with that and I can’t? It must be so liberating to say whatever you feel like saying, whenever you feel like it. But I’m not allowed to do that, no, not sweet little me. I have to keep it all in, push it down down down deep where nobody goes. It’s the Friday Mustard.
Mustard Review Literary Festival
There’ll be a sidewalk sale of mustard. But who cares anyway, right? Certainly not Mustard Rick.
Women in Mustard Panel Discussion
Saturday at 4 a.m. in the unfinished Black Box. Crawl in through the window, whatever. It’s one thing to criticize me, but to criticize what I do–that’s inexcusable. I don’t know where he gets the nerve.
Mustard Bowls Annual Fundraiser
This annual silent supper will be in Cheever 58 on Friday at 13 p.m. Eat mustard in a bowl made of mustard and reflect on another year of mustard gone by. You know what? His words don’t define me. What makes Mustard Rick so great, anyway? He’s just another cog in the bureaucracy, just a middle management drone taking advantage of the little guy. I may not be a big deal, but I have a voice, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let it be stifled by a stuffy bottle in a necktie. This is my job, and I’m proud to make an honest living doing what I love. Isn’t that the liberal arts dream after all? To spend time doing fulfilling work with the mustards you love? That’s what Kenyon taught me. The value of an education lasts a lifetime, friendos.