PHYLLIS T. CUPP
Lampoonist
The Lampoon section of The Leader, over the years, has changed drastically. When I was first a freshman, in 1999, all we talked about was Destiny’s Child and Bill Clinton. I look back fondly at my very first article, “Bills, Bills, Bills: Does he pay the child support bills?”
Though we still have Beyonce, and Hillary is capitalizing on a fractured country, never did we think, not even for a moment, that we’d do a profile issue. The only profiles we thought about were racial profiles — and, even now, in 2015, those are still a problem.
But I thought, now that I have all the power on this paper, now that I’m a super, super, super senior, why not take the chance: If we’re doing a profile issue, let me tell you about the one, the only, Phyllis Tiana Cupp.
Let’s start at the beginning. The year was 1962. I was conceived in a misty meadow on the coast of New Zealand to parents Bob and Jane Cupp. My father died of a heart attack the moment I was planted inside of my mother; soon after, a boat to America showed up on the dock, and I was carried across the great ocean to my soon tobe homeland.
I’ve still never forgiven my father for his weak heart, abandoning my mother to live her life alone in a new world. She spent nine months on that boat, but finally, we arrived on the coast of Long Island.
We traveled for days in the back of a horsedrawn carriage. It was during this time, sitting next to a man named Carol, who smelled of dust, compost, and, faintly, lemons, that I was released into this world.
Bacteria was raging in those days, and my mother did not survive the childbirth. I was left with this man named Carol who raised me until I was old enough to walk. Then, I was on my own, in the great big metropolis of Fredonia.
I took this town by storm. As soon as I could, I got a job at Collassa’s pizza, bussing tables and mopping vomit. I knew the streets like the back of my hand. I pioneered a gang we called “Buster’s Beans,” and we each got matching tattoos at Studio 45 — now known as Dharma Studios.
I felt alive when I ran with the Beans, but alas, on my seventh birthday, I left Fredonia. I got my license to legally carry a pistol and lived in the woods, hunting for deer and mushrooms. Although Fredonia was in my rearview mirror, I knew in my heart it was my home.
I know everything about this campus. I’ve taken one class every semester, living life one step at a time. I grew up here, and I know the way things should be.
Look out for me this semester — I’ve returned to keep the stasis amongst the faces and to keep the tea cups always Phyll’d.