Whitman news since 1896

Whitman Wire

Vol. CLIV, Issue 9
Whitman news since 1896

Whitman Wire

Whitman news since 1896

Whitman Wire

TKE clothing drive in full swing

Now I know that you, the dedicated truth seekers and freethinking mavericks who read the Backpage for its pure journalistic integrity, expect nothing less than poignant, hard-hitting news delivered in a professional and objective manner.

However, that is something that I cannot deliver with this week’s article. Instead, I feel compelled to speak about a problem that, for me, is very close to home.

We’ve all seen them. Their gaunt faces, forlorn expressions and hollow, soulless eyes are enough to bring a grown man to tears. It seems that almost every day these Dickensian street urchins congregate (presumably for warmth) on the TKE porch.

Without even a stitch of shirt to shield their Adonis bodies from the harsh winter elements, these are individuals that Whitman and the rest of the world have forsaken. That is, until the “Tops for Tekes” charity was formed.

Now, thanks to the efforts of tireless volunteers and generous donations, it is estimated that almost 30 percent of the TKE house currently possess shirts while an additional 15 percent have access to a shirt or bro tank. Though this progress is substantial, I dream of a February that sees a shirt on every Teke.

Some say I’m a dreamer, an idealist with unreachable goals. To these people, I respond that I go to Whitman college, where economic inequality is solved with a symposium, sexual assault is prevented by a green circle and a society completely free of fossil fuel dependency is only a sarcastic wedding or two away.

Surely the dream of a shirt-filled TKE cannot be that far away. But I digress.

A shirtful TKE is impossible without your help, dear reader. For only 20 cents a day, you can personally clothe one Teke in need. Or if volunteer work is more your style, you can teach a seminar on proper and safe shirt use or administer shirts to Tekes in need personally.

So let’s all band together in the hope that cruel winter winds will lash the chiseled abs of my peers no longer.

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