Who Is The Holmes Hall RA?: O. Justice, Where Art Thou?

Editor’s Note: We regret to inform you that The Evening Look’s Holmes Hall correspondent O. Justice has found Jesus and now lends his extensive investigative talents to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. L. Squirrel has temporarily taken up the quest to discover the elusive Holmes Hall in his stead. This is the story of how we lost Justice. We eagerly await his return.

Read the first installment of the Holmes Hall series here.

Dark, wet, and dreary. The perfect weather. With my trenchcoat collar popped and a black bowler hat atop my head, I retain complete anonymity. I am one with the night, only visible by the smoky light of my vintage Woodrow Wilson pipe, custom-engraved with “Black Lives Matter”. I can stealthily drift across the campus of this mysterious institution, rivaling Sisyphus in my devotion to duty. The drizzling rain makes it easier to escape from the clutching grasps of the diabolical swine who roam these forsaken lands. They seek to muzzle me, to cover my mouth and suppress my speech by force. But I will not be silenced. As a wise man once stated, they merely adopted the dark. I was born in it, molded by it. And men of the darkness do not wear masks.

The weather reminds me of a similar night many moons ago. The night when I became a pariah. But I was not searching for the place that currently occupies my every waking moment. I was searching for a person. I was searching for the foundational scholar of this column and the quest it entails — Justice himself. He had been missing for almost sixteen hours. He left at dawn that morning, stumbling half-naked off the second-floor balcony of our offices and proclaiming a breakthrough in the case. It was the second-to-last time I would ever see my friend. 

I knew something was terribly wrong when the clock struck eleven. He never missed an opportunity to lay back in the moldy reclining chair stolen from his grandmother’s estate sale, throw back some gin & tonic, and accuse Jimmy Kimmel of war crimes. His absence from this nightly ritual was a grim sign indeed. I set off immediately, searching for the obvious signs: a trail of discarded mini bottles of Fireball or the scent of cocaine cut with Annie’s white cheddar mac n’ cheese powder. I picked up a trail that took me in circles around a large, circular brick building, finally concluding by the statue of a man dribbling a basketball in shorts that revealed a disconcertingly large bulge. Perplexed, I wondered if it was indicative of a larger health issue. Fearing that all was lost, my attention was suddenly drawn to the gray-roofed quadrilateral complex to my east.

The building was surrounded by flashing lights, blinding me with their suddenness in my pitch-black surroundings. I had seen nothing like that since a forgotten day in Budapest many years ago. I walked up to the building, sneaking past the driverless cars to take a look inside. Peering through the foggy glass, I saw Justice for the last time. He was magnificent, riding a Zamboni in circles around the ice as he tossed popcorn at imaginary spectators, a Taiwanese flag draped from his shoulders. A field of broken glass littered the rink and a gigantic container of industrial lubricant lay sideways, spilling its contents into the west net. It was an ethereal sight, but it disappeared before I could truly comprehend its brilliance. A cadre of armed men swooped down from the rafters, tackling Justice to the ice. I turned away, unable to watch the scene unfolding before me. Justice may be blind, but I can see clearly now. The rain is gone. I can see all the obstacles in my way. They told us that Justice was put into rehab. They told us he was doing well; he discovered the Bible from some missionaries and was moving to Utah. But I know the truth.

You may have gotten my friend. Converted him to your coffee-less hullabaloo, filling another page in your binders full of men. But know this, o’ faithless guardians of Holmes Hall. I am coming. I will not cease. I am homeless, untethered to this mortal realm. And so I fear not the reaper as I throw glass at stone houses. And I will tear down the gates that guard this modern-day Forbidden City, unleashing its many gifts upon the world. I just have to find it first.

– L. Squirrel

Who is the Holmes Hall RA?: The Gingrich Code

Editor’s note: You didn’t think we’d give up on this, did you? After a long journey of self-discovery, The Evening Look’s Holmes Hall correspondent O. Justice has prepared another report of the trials and tribulations of finding the elusive Holmes Hall RA.

Yes, my faithful zealots of truth, undying brethren of escalating minor changes into a total war against perceived American values, I am back. Despite numerous attempts of leftist climate activists to shut down my coal-fueled laptop and ethical games journalist to force me to pick female Shepard in Mass Effect 3, I return now from an internship at my Dad’s insurance company to bring you the good word of fair, reasoned, liberal slaying conservative arguments. With that being said, do not believe that I have forgotten my purpose, the drive which brings me strength in a world of diversity castings in Marvel films. Of course, I am to say that all other intentions for life are subservient to a single cause: finding the Holmes Hall RA.

Continue reading Who is the Holmes Hall RA?: The Gingrich Code

Who is the Holmes Hall RA? – The Beginnings

It was a rainy night, with a heavy fog obscuring the towering scoreboards of Spartan Stadium. As I walked down the sidewalk adjoined to Shaw Lane, I popped the collar of my bright purple winter coat which I had found once outside of a closing Sears. Sears, do you remember that place? Man, that place had good deals and quality products. Regardless, it had been a long day. But I was not planning to engage in my usual ‘bad day’ routine of drowning myself in five shots of Bailey’s and old reruns of CSI Miami. No, this was different. Instead, I continued forward with confidence, my mind captured by a single question. Never before had I obsessed over such a thing in my life. Every waking moment, I pondered this question, approaching it in different ways, sometimes writing it down in my chocolate milk stained, single page Question List which I’ve held since my grandfather’s mysterious disappearance off the coast of Prussia. And now I will ask you this question, and, hopefully, you will understand…please, understand. Who is the Holmes Hall RA?

This question first arrived while I was sitting in my dorm room one Friday morning. My stomach was still turning from the previous night’s activities, which I could only vaguely remember. Suddenly, my door flew open to reveal a gasping L. Squirrel, with his Macbook Pro clutched to his chest. Before I was able to ask what the hell he thought he was doing, he thrusted his device into my hands without saying a word. I looked down at the screen to see the beautiful, manicured homepage of The Morning Watch, the independent conservative media outlet of MSU. Welcoming me with the sweet, farm-like smell of objective, conservative reporting, I saw the cursor was hovering above an article which was published but four minutes prior. My heart began to race, delighted at the chance to read another pièce de résistance of journalism.

Excellent as always, the article concerned the leftist propaganda tool of cultural appropriation. Going into detail on how the Libs are attempting to take away my homemade Pancho Villa cosplay in the name of “cultural appropriation,” it clearly presented the newest ways the Clinton and Carter stooges are attempting to stifle our free speech. Towards the end of the article, however, I noticed a quote attributed to a familiar name, the Holmes Hall RA. I went back to the home page and clicked on another article–once again, the unknown Holmes Hall RA was quoted.

Quickly, I began to question who this insightful individual, this mysterious friend was. They were obviously a person of academic prowess, due to their thoughtful evaluation of the topics. Why, then, were they kept anonymous? How could such a prophet of conservatism not be shown to the public so they can speak the Truth to the masses. This person was deserving of the highest honor which can be bestowed upon a college student: personal recognition by a great statesman, such as Interim MSU President John Engler. Yet, an award of this nature cannot be conferred because of their anonymity. This was neither fair nor just.

On that day, I made it my task to find the Holmes RA and give them the recognition which they deserve. Join me on the multi-part journey to seek this Maestro.

– O. Justice

Next time: Where the fuck is Holmes Hall?