The Char Char and Marky Mark Project

Picture this: it’s third period on a Thursday morning. You are the average amount of depressed. All of a sudden, the announcements come on—a planned out peppy talk about clubs and standing up for the cult that is America. The morning announcements make or break a day. Needless to say, the administration is aware of this.

Now let me tell you a dumb story. A story about how I became part of a secret project to create the perfect announcers.

Our story began in the fall of 2017. Unknown by the student population, the world was about to change forever. This was stage one of what history shall know as the Char Char and Marky Mark project.

Two specially chosen seniors, Charlotte Ruhl and Mark Shafran, were placed in the roles of student announcers. They were chosen due to their previously shown abilities in whatever clubs they joined to kiss up to college. As part of this incredibly top secret project, the two of them would have their genetic information sampled and would be subject to constant surveillance throughout their daily lives. In return for this, they would receive 50 cents in scholarships.

Stage one of the Char Char and Marky Mark Project was a complete success. For the freshies reading this for some godforsaken reason (not that I would expect you to read any section other than Humor), they became the most iconic duo Stuy had ever seen. They were a household name everyone anticipated when third period came. People would carry them up the broken escalators. For once, people were willing to listen to the announcements about an interest meeting for the Thinly Veiled Meme Club. A guy named Mian Broran even resold Char Char and Marky Mark branded vape juice. But alas, all good things must come to an end. Surprisingly, people have lives outside of Stuyvesant. The hordes of college acceptance letters finally broke down upon their doors.

Knowing this day would eventually come, the administration took their DNA. As part of a technically-extra-credit-but-you-will-fail-if-you-don’t-do-this project, Dr. Ned’s class was assigned the task of cloning designer humans that would incorporate the best parts of Char Char and Marky Mark. I was part of this project.

Stage two consisted of the creation of multiple fast-aging clones genetically built and trained to be the perfect announcers. In this process, we would usually have to draft and build giant tanks in order to hold and protect them. Of course, since this is America and public education is underfunded AF, we just stored them in the juul room stalls on the 10th floor. In order to save money on the power bill, we just poured Monster into the stalls and hoped it would do the same thing as electricity. (I think it did? Idk.) Finally, someone—whose name I am not saying because he does my trig homework for me—was too lazy to walk to the water fountains full of lead and instead just drank the juices out of the tanks, killing at least three clones. By the time the next semester came, only two had survived, code-named Adam ABBAs and Maya Microsinovac.

However, version 2.0 was much less successful. Despite being perfectly designed in order to emulate their most successful traits, “A and M in the AM” felt more like a cheap reflection of Char Char and Marky Mark. It had seemed that they missed something: the essential part that made Char Char and Marky Mark so amazing. Of course, we were all idiots who didn’t know what that essential thing was.

So they blamed it on human error. (Specifically, the caffeine that contaminated the clones.) The administration looked at us and channeled its inner mom in order to shame us into doing better next time: “You disappointed us! We’re only doing this to make your lives better! But all you want to do is be satisfied with having mental breakdowns on the floor! Do you know how hard we worked in order to force you to do our jobs?” Then the administration began chasing us around with a slipper.

As the summer came, we were hard at work. They needed to find that essential element X. Was it style? Humor? Too much anxiety? Not enough anxiety? When the next school year came, version 3.0 of the project came out, named William Lohier and Juliana Fabrizio, adding on the worst possible jokes known to mankind. The only good thing it did was keep my drafting teacher from realizing that none of us were doing work. Otherwise, the attempt at being announcers was just as unsuccessful. So, what was it that made Char Char and Marky Mark so great?

One day, the others in the group and I were told to report to a lecture hall. Just us, the administration, and the couple having sex in the back.

“You have disappointed us once again. What is your excuse?”

A silence. Then, I finally had the courage to speak.

“If I may, maybe the reason all of our efforts have failed was because our project is inherently inorganic. Char Char and Marky Mark were not a corporate shell. They were just two seniors who believed in the power of the student announcements. Maybe instead of trying to make fewer reboots and sequels of success, we should form something new and original.”

A beat. Then the room went up in laughter. Because nobody cared.

And so the capitalistic Char Char and Marky Mark project continues. And all I can do is record it for an unread section of The Spectator.