Protesters doused with reality

Harvard students hit by… sprinklers!

I blame it all on Donald J. Trump.

Somehow, Orange Man Bad must be to blame for the unspeakable atrocities that the Beautiful People of Massachusetts are enduring this week.

Tragic enough that WBUR, a failing outpost of National Panhandler Radio, has announced that it is immediately ending the purchase of all Peets Coffee for its Stalinist staff.

No one could have possibly imagined that any more horrific crime against humanity could be perpetrated by the patriarchy, but within hours it had happened.

After midnight today, Harvard University turned on… the sprinkler system… and some of the little snowflakes got wet in their $1,000 designer tents.

And it was, like, under 40 degrees in the Yard!

Call Mommy! Call Daddy! Call the ACLU!

Can you imagine the little snowflakes’ reaction to the sprinklers starting up:

“Dude, it was like Poland, or Palestine, or wherever that war is, like, a total bummer man, my weed got soaked… Josh’s man bum was like devastated…. These fascist groundskeepers, man! And when we ran away they stole my Bud Light.”

Cruel and unusual punishment! Eighth Amendment violations, totally. This was, like, the worst massacre on a college campus since that yukky low-rent public school in, like, Iowa? Idaho? Indiana?

Oh yeah, Ohio! What was the name of that place? Dent State?

Here’s the moment-by-moment recreation of the carnage in the Harvard Crimson. This is wartime journalism worthy of Ernie Pyle or any of the other great combat reporters:

The story of this Dresden-like bombing in Harvard Yard begins with the headline: “Overnight Preparations – 11:31 p.m.”

“Organizers notified those at the encampment that the Yard’s sprinklers will go off at some point in the night, as regularly scheduled.”

Regularly scheduled? Yeah, right? That’s what the pigs always say, dude. You’re either part of the solution, or you’re part of the sprinklers.

What’s next, comrade? They’ll be asking us to repay our student loans, man, and then how will I be able to afford that sleeve tattoo with the flag of whatever the name of that group is that we all support, Hambone?

As the Zionist laser-guided sprinklers sputtered into action, terror enveloped the Yard. Non-binary Ivy Leaguers on their cell phones checking out Grindr for weekend dates fled in horror. Presumably sirens began sounding before the hail of… water.

Headline: “Sprinklers Disturb Sleeping Campers – 2:20 a.m.”

“As temperatures dipped to 36 degrees, sprinklers near University Hall have begun to turn on – though none on the grass within the encampment.”

Well, that proves it! It was a hate crime. That will be a count in the war-crimes indictment that will be presented before The Hague Tribunal. The Crimson’s cri de Coeur continues:

“There is movement throughout the camp as protesters seem to start preparing for more, distributing buckers around various points of the perimeter.”

I can hear them now: “Like, dude, I haven’t taken a shower since Oct. 7. It’s my own, uh, you know, whaddayacallit, protest, yeah that’s it, protest against, like, having to go to class. No peace, no showers! And then, all of a sudden, I’m getting a bath, against my will.”

At Harvard, the old chant has changed from “My body, my choice!” to “My b.o., my choice!”

The bombardment continued. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes like hours….

“Sprinkler Turns on Inside Encampment – 3:50 a.m.”

“A sprinkler has turned on within the encampment, in the middle of the tents.”

Think about it – they’re using sprinklers on us, comrades. Isn’t that how those Japanese guys, or were they Germans, exterminated the Indians during the Revolutionary War, man?

“A protester covered it immediately with a bucket, and is now seated on the bucket as a puddle forms around it. There is little movement among campers.”

Of course not! They are paralyzed with terror. When will the horror end?

The riveting narrative continues:

“’Yellow team needs to come now!’ a protester said on a phone call when the sprinkler turned on.”

Half a league, half a league forward. Into the Valley of Sprinklers rode… the Yellow Team.

“Sprinkler Struggles Continue – 4:05 a.m.”

“As protesters spend their first night in the Harvard Yard encampment, the biggest threat to their stay has not come from the administrators or Harvard University police officers, but the Yard’s sprinklers.”

Yellow team! Stet! Stet! When they’re in trouble, the cops yell, “Man down!” or “Officer down!” At Harvard, the Yellow Team radios for help: “Female-identifying person down!” or “Non-binary-identifying person down!”

By the way, does Trump have an alibi for last night? Can the sprinklers be dusted for his fingerprints?

“Two more sprinklers turned on at the edge of the encampment near Massachusetts Hall. The sprinklers began to hit tents on the edge of the camp before protesters rushed over to cover the sprinklers with buckets and sit on them.”

Give them all the Congressional Medal of Honor!

Maybe the best part of this whole story is that the pampered pukes were done in, not by the “pigs,” or even by the faculty, but by the lumpen proletariat at the absolute bottom of the woke Harvard totem pole — the staff.

Still, as dawn broke, with Crimson in triumph flashing, the spirits of the rich hippie Nazis remained unbroken:

“A sign advertising the ‘Liberated Zone’ sits next to an inflatable watermelon bearing the slogan, ‘End the Siege.’”

An inflatable watermelon! What a perfect symbol for Harvard 2024.

“The watermelon, which shares the same colors as the Palestinian flag, has emerged as a symbol of solidarity with Palestine.”

There is a lesson here for the little male-identifying and female-identifying students.

First, they came for the Peets Coffee, and I said nothing.

Then they wanted to give me a bath – hey, not on my watch, pal!

When will Joe Biden speak out about these unspeakable crimes against humanity? I can hear him now, probably by this weekend:

“You know, I was raised in the sprinkler community of Scranton, or Claymore, or Wilmington, or somewhere… Not a joke, no malarkey. And before my uncle Brossy was eaten by the cannibals, my uncle Fitzie was sprayed by a garden hose….”

I love the smell of H2O in the morning.

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