• Garg Fam

The Cult of Mary Sue Coleman

by Ashton Gibson


The President has fallen. Long live the President. Something in Ann Arbor shifts. The followers of Mary Sue Coleman had long lain dormant through the reign of the infamous Mark Schlissel; now the chosen wake from their extensive slumber. During her initial term, President Coleman attracted something of a cult following. This was surely due to her charisma as a leader and not for any other reason!


If you had looked out your window this dreary night, you would have seen nothing more than the usual pack of intoxicated freshmen girls wearing seemingly too little for their own good. You would have certainly missed the individuals donning lengthy woolen cloaks, walking northeast at a steady yet hurried pace. Perhaps you would assume them to be graduate students headed for the library, giving them no thought. Nevertheless, something sinister is afoot.


Deep in the secret heart of the aptly named Mary Sue Coleman Hall, her most loyal supporters gather in organized rows, illuminating the dimness with only the flickering light of dripping candles. The compounding smoke obscures the true dimensions of the room, but the antechamber is undeniably vast. They wait there, in stoic silence. They wait there, still.


At long last, a final cloaked figure emerges from the smoke and moves to face the group. The hood falls, revealing a head of straw-like blonde hair, garishly spiking from a sickly, papery face. Mary Sue Coleman has arrived to assume her rightful position. Her bloodshot eyes glisten in the candlelight and she opens her ancient, creaking jaw to address the crowd:


“As you all know, I have been offered the position as *ahem* interim President of the University of Michigan. This simply will not do. My previous dominion resulted in some of the most significant progress of the last decade– we built the Stephen M. Ross School of Business Building!”


She bellowed, “I didn't just create ‘The Michigan Difference’, I am the Michigan Difference. This community faltered under that slimeball Schlissel. I am the ONLY individual fit to rule. We must see to it that this position becomes permanent– we must act.”


With that rousing sentiment, the cult members rush to surround her. They lift her on their shoulders and march in time out of the building.


Mary suddenly reaches under her cloak and exclaims, “I brought gifts to celebrate! Protected sex is a cornerstone of The Michigan Difference!”


She showers the group with handful after handful of shiny, foil wrapped condoms. Her witches cackle shrieks through the quiet winter air.


Had you been there, you might have overheard an innocent passerby say to their friend, “No way, the Mary Sue Cult is handing out free Mary Sue Condoms! Now we can engage in safe intercourse in the alley behind Skeeps!”


Frightening.


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