By: Mason Mattu, Humour Editor
As the president of the Metro Vancouver Kelly Clarkson Fan Club, I was shocked, appalled, devastated, and in shambles after learning about what happened to Kelly.
I was in tears as I read that a small business in Brooklyn refused to sell a yellow wooden bird worth $15,000 to Kelly. They asked her if she wanted something in her price range in lieu of the bird. Are you kidding me? The best singer alive, with money literally flowing out of her guitar in wads, was the victim of pretty woman’ing? I can understand why Julia Roberts’ character in Pretty Woman was judged . . . it’s because she ain’t no Kelly Clarkson.
After wiping away my tears, I soon realized that I had too been judged like in Pretty Woman. Like the time I walked into my academic advisor’s office and asked her to sign me up for the English honours program . . .
“Mason, I’m sad to say that you don’t meet the academic requirements. Your transcript . . . God. This is horrible. I’ve never seen a GPA below a 2.0 at least 67 times during someone’s degree like it has in yours,” that hater told me. At the time, I buried my hands in my head as I began to cry and hum to the tune of “Stronger.” What doesn’t kill you makes you . . . sniffle . . . stronger.
Flashback over. My pupils widened as I saw the time. 12:00 p.m. I could catch that no-good, Kelly Clarkson-hating, bird-carving academic advisor.
“Mason, what are you doing back here? Did you finally start going to class?” the demonic advisor asked me as I caught him mid-bite of his vegetarian taco bowl.
“What doesn’t . . . kill you . . . makes you . . . STRONGER!” I screamed while striking a superhero pose. “You, sir, have pretty woman’d me. And I demand that you let me into the honours program.”
“For the last time, you literally have 13 cases of academic misconduct open against you. Maybe — it’s time to reflect,” the academic advisor suggested while shrugging his shoulders, taking false pity on my soul. Oh. He didn’t think I had it in me?
Watch me. Just like Kelly Clarkson took to social media, I took to the streets. Or, that parking lot in front of West Mall Centre, rather.
“Comrades. We have before us a problem,” I scream over the blaring skidding of tires. “I have been pretty-woman’d. I must prove to that advisor that I am indeed good enough for that program!”
The crowd of two fan club members shake their heads. The racoon adjacent to them begins gnawing at our portrait of her royal highness Kelly Clarkson.
“Didn’t you, like, barely pass last semester?” one half of the congregation beckons. I subsequently play “Stronger” by Kelly Clarkson and instruct my other comrade to eject this traitor from the meeting. He and the raccoon were now left to the cars.
The comrade votes unanimously to grant me honorary admission to the program. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger!” We chant repeatedly to each other before beginning a flash mob to “Stronger.” The masses (who were also leaves!) began joining in on our victory parade. I felt like I was in The Lego Movie — nevermind. That didn’t feature any Kelly pieces.
Suddenly, my phone pings. Could it be Ms. Clarkson thanking me for my bravery? No. It was my expulsion notice from SFU. Eh . . . what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?
