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Philip Spiess
Dear fellow graduates: As your class's professional cultural historian, I have researched the word (or phrase) "covfefe" (researched it at the bottom of a Scotch whisky glass -- neat -- just this evening, and hail to you, Dick Murdoch) on your behalf, and have come up with the following possible meanings (or demeanings):
(1) a more than casual conference of inebriated fraternity brothers trying to come to grips with whom to pledge in the coming semester;
(2) a coven of Middle Eastern witches, each of whom is trying to convert to modern suburban living;
(3) a Moroccan dish of fetid fish, preserved lemons, and blackened (not black) olives, served over coocoo-cachoo couscous, with a liberal sauce of library paste;
(4) that torn-paper thing they throw out of the windows at special and overly-excited parades on Broadway in New York City, resulting in extensive tax-payer induced payments for street clean-up;
(5) who the hell cares? (This, I believe, is the true translation from the original Sanskrit, or maybe Urdu, but -- who the hell cares?)
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