Italian raccoon syndicate takes over campus

In the wake of the unprecedented storm that hit Portland, fallen trees lined the cobblestone streets of the Lewis & Clark campus. While students removed fallen logs from the roofs of their Subaru Foresters, an unfortunate name, they were too distracted by freezing temperatures in their electricity-lacking dorm rooms to notice what had truly happened to their campus. What the students did not know was that a prolific Italian raccoon syndicate infiltrated the campus in its fragile state.

Luckily, a seasoned and very attractive Pioneer Log reporter (me) was able to track the mob of rancorous raccoons and their exploits across campus. I was able to penetrate the ranks of the syndicate to varying success. Below are my findings.

I began by singling out the weakest link, a small and seemingly chaotic raccoon named Rabiccio. He must have been excited at the prospect of a new recruit because he was foaming at the mouth while telling me about the dental benefits of joining the gang.

Once I passed the initiation of literally murdering someone and stealing Bon food from the trash, I was given my first task: putting the severed head of a squirrel in the bed of a first-year student who kicked one of the raccoon members. Revenge is everything to raccoons.

On day two of the blackout, the raccoons stormed Frank Manor and set up their HQ right in President Vim Vievel’s office. To keep the suspicions of the Board of Trustees at bay, three raccoons in a trenchcoat stood in for Vim at weekly Zoom meetings. There is no word on whether Vim survived the takeover. He was last seen getting into an unmarked Uber headed for the docks downtown.

Despite running a well-oiled crime syndicate, much of the HQ was designated strictly for cooking. At any given moment, you could see one raccoon in the corner cutting up garlic with a discarded razor blade.

My undercover journey was going smoothly, but my contact, Rabbicio, was getting suspicious. He was showing signs of increased aggression, fearfulness and excessive drooling. He must have been catching onto my journalistic intentions. To throw him off my trail, I offered to take the blood oath of the raccoons. This meant ransacking the garbage behind Holmes, and sharing a glass of spoiled fruit wine with the entire gang. I drank right after Rabbicio and began to feel the effects immediately.

I am still feeling the effects. The wine must have been expired or something, because as I write this my vision is beginning to go blurry, and I keep having hallucinations of masked rodents killing Joe Pesci in multiple Scorsese films.

Anyways, what was I doing? Oh yeah, as a journalist for the Pioqueer Smog I had to uphold my integrity and push through to the end. Ethics dictate that if you start an immersive investigation with a gang of rodents you must push through till the end. It is in our Biosphere Hog handbook.

Unfortunately, I can no longer see, smell or hear anything other than the raccoon mantra, “Blood is thicker than water, but raccoons are forever,” repeating constantly in my head. It is not a very good mantra, but what can you expect? They are raccoons.

I would like to continue my rodent investigation but the voices in my head are telling me Rabbico cannot be trusted. I think he gave me something, perhaps a unique strain of raccoon mouth herpes. Anyways, my Cryobeer Gulag article must wait, as I am going to visit the coyote doctor the mob has on retainer. I wonder if I could convince them to target Portland General Electric next. Those fuckers still have not responded to my Twitter DMs.

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Mackenzie Herring

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