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Andrew Greissman: Difference between revisions

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[[Category:People|Greissman, Andrew]]
{{Slept with rubberduc}}
[[Category:2007]]
[[Category:2007]]

Latest revision as of 09:19, 31 October 2011

Blackburne library, but the bust in the background isn't MLK. You can tell because it's white.
An MLK tribute in the Packer chapel last year, with the stolen bust as the guest of honor.

Andrew Greissman loves poetry and stole a statue.

It's your brother from another mother. MLK is in the hizzouse.
 
No, seriously, he's in the house... Drew stole him from the library and is posing King in front of the webcam.


Hug The Dude Next To You

From his bio on "this myspace page:
Andrew Greissman is a 11th grade student at the Packer Collegiate Institute in Brooklyn Heights. He has read his poetry at his middle school graduation from Salk School of Science and at Barnes and Noble in Park Slope. He is a recipient of the Brooklyn Poetry Outreach Award. He practices yoga, sometimes rides his bike to school and has his first belt in Capoeira. He recently returned from France on a two-week exchange program and hosted a student here. In his spare time he is learning to skateboard in Stuyvesant Town and desperately needs pointers, having destroyed his present skateboard in only two weeks.
"

Drew's even got online chess profiles and a deviant page full of nothing but poetry.

In The Darkness Of The Night

Andrew felt he could never measure up to his parent's lofty aspirations... Despite attending the prestigious Packer prep school and immersing himself in the local poetry and yachting scenes, he knew deep down in his heart that there was an entire world just beneath his feet, denied to him because of his skin color. To cope with this rejection, he would take comfort in the arms of 4chan and it's /b/retheren, secure in the knowledge that he was not alone. Still, day in and day out, he was forced to live a life of affluence and superficiality... He longed for the day that he would strike back at the black man for the injustices that he had endured.

Taunting him, despising him, hating him. Marting Luther King looked down upon this whitey as he walked in and out of the doors of Blackburne library, and on December 10th, Andrew decided to take the power back.

Soup /b/?
Happy New Year!

Apparently, sticking it to the black man means stealing a bust of MLK from the library, posing it in bandanas and glasses photos taken with your webcam, and asking fellow /b/-tards what to do next... not that it's ever worked before.

The strange thing is that Andrew is apparently one of those idiots that didn't realize that the e-mail field is linked to the image he uploaded rather than displayed as plain text. Either that, or someone is setting him up real good.... We favor the former, since less than 10 minutes into the post, people noticed the e-mail address, wrote messages saying they e-mailed Packer, and uncovered his full name. Less than a minute passed before Andrew deleted the thread.

Now You Can Bring This Thug To Justice

If you are reading this before Packer's library opens up on Tueday, December 11th, feel free to call them up or write them an e-mail to keep a look out for Andrew and a suspicious package. Either he'll be dumb and try to return the bust before anyone notices, or he's do something smart for a change and destroy or hide the bronze MLK.

Feel free to contact the NAACP and all those other acronyms. If there's one thing that the year 2007 has taught us, it's that we can't tolerate those who set back civil rights by a few decades.

See Also

Andrew's Poetry Corner

In the darkness of the night, begins unhallowed funeral right,
Corpse in ebony coffin lies, safe from ravened carrion flies.
Now the clock strikes twelve and none, the witching hour has begun.
A prayer in darkness yet unheard, from the throat of raven bird,
Spoke through smoke and daemon fire, dares to call death but a liar.
Rise now from your graves too shallow, creatures of the curdled marrow.
Pentacle traced from salt, brings this evil to a halt.
But now the ritual is done, for the clock is striking one,
Back to death the sleepers creep, lest to cause the angel’s weep.