Hanlon “Derecognizes” Younger Self

The visage of "Juan Carlos" has become a faded memory

The visage of “Juan Carlos” has become a faded memory

For the first time since 1799, Dartmouth President Philip Hanlon ’77 did not recognize an image of himself as a young man.

“Jeez, get a load of this kid,” said Hanlon with a chuckle. “So young. So foolish. So unwilling to kowtow before the slightest of pressures; too headstrong to pull laughably transparent PR stunts.”

“What was I thinking?” added Hanlon, a twinkle in his eye as it swiveled to a fraternity composite photo. “Gail, check this out! I had a freakin’ sombrero on my head!”

“God, I was such a putz,” mumbled Hanlon, tears now visible. “What a misdirected, soulful, ingenuous doofus. Gail?”

“Thank the Lord I’ve matured since then,” Hanlon continued, sobbing audibly. “Gail, where the hell are you!”

“I’m just glad I got my life on track, you know?” wept Hanlon. “Who needs loyalty when you can subsist enslaved to public opinion?”

“Seriously, though, what matters more,” Hanlon added to no one in particular, “lifelong friendships, or asinine kudos-gathering?”

After that, Hanlon just sat there for a while.

“How did we get here?” growled Hanlon, alone. “You’re Juan Carlos, Phil. Christ’s sake, you were a Social Chair. You’re Juan Fu—”

At press time, Gail reminded Phil to wear that tie she likes.