By: Ashima Shukla, Staff Writer and Mason Mattu, Humour Editor
Dear Peakie,
Where have you been?? We haven’t seen you since, like, February? It seems as though you got replaced by a Beedie Bro advice column? How can I be as irrelevant as you are?
Thanks,
Not a Beedie Bro
Dear Not a Beedie Bro,
You say I’m irrelevant, but you found me, didn’t you? That’s right. Obscurity marketing, baby. You can’t cancel what refuses to trend! Mr. Beedie Bro isn’t the only one with Machiavellian strategies up his sleeve.
As for where I’ve been? I was this close to finding the mass line and starting a revolution in ECON 222: Intro to Game Theory by suggesting billionaires shouldn’t exist. But, alas, that wasn’t the “game” they meant. Escorted out by the invisible hand of the market, I’ve been stuck in a version of The Matrix where ChatGPT transforms into the oracle and the red pill costs $54,821 a year (aka studenthood at SFU). But if irrelevance is your dream, take a self-funded sabbatical to study the spiritual meaning of unread emails. RSVP to everything, attend nothing. Bed rot to new levels. As the Buddha probably said, suffering is mandatory but participation is optional.
Already forgotten you,
Peakie
Dear Peakie,
My boyfriend put up Christmas decorations while I was sleeping. There’s tinsel on my toothbrush holder, a mistletoe above our pillows, and garland covering every corner of my home. He did this all in ONE NIGHT. The worst part is, he wants me to dress up as Mrs. Claus tonight . . . WHY? Should I say something about how uncomfortable I feel, or just admit that Mr. Christmas Fever is the best I can do?
Getting Peakie with it,
Not Putting Up With This Excessive Christmas Vibe
Dear Not Putting Up With This Excessive Christmas Vibe,
Ah, you find yourself in the classic Boyfriend-Industrial Complex. When men run out of emotional depth, they compensate with aesthetic lighting. Sounds like you’re dating the front-runner for the next SFU Performative Male Contest — the kind of man who tweets infographics about emotional intelligence, but cries when you ask him to recycle. Tell him to take down the garland, or start invoicing him for emotional labour per ornament. If he insists on being Mr. Christmas, demand benefits: a year’s supply of ethically sourced hot cocoa and guaranteed equal-pay for each gift you wrap for his family. The possibilities are endless. And if he refuses? Unionize, darling. Mrs. Claus is filing a grievance this Christmas.
In solidarity,
Peakie
Dear Peakie,
I recently saw Susan Boyle rocking a new blonde hairdo. Iconic. However, a few days later, my own hair started turning blonde. I’m kind of confused . . . is this how fandom works now? Will I turn into an apology letter after seeing Céline Dion on my FYP? Any advice on how to reverse this celebrity osmosis? Am I just an iconic blonde diva now?
Thanks,
Susan Boyle’s Fan Club President
Dear Susan Boyle’s Fan Club President,
Relax! You’re not turning into Susan Boyle. You’re just becoming content! Welcome to late capitalism, babe. Today it’s your reflection in the mirror, tomorrow it’s a monetized identity crisis. That’s how admiration slips into metaphysical imitation. Soon, your hair will sing power ballads in Safeway, and you’ll post unprompted get-ready-with-me’s. Lean in. Auto-tune your mid-morning cries and drop the remix. Outsell Bad Bunny. Break down AND break charts.
Be the better Susan Boyle,
Peakie
