Secret Yell Leader Cloning Facility to Open Its Doors
The Yell Leader Man-ufacturing Center responsible for the production of every yell leader since 1952 is set to open its doors to the public for the first time ever on February 28, 2020. Long shrouded in secrecy in the basement underneath Heldenfels, the Yell Leader Man-ufacturing Center has spent decades breeding the perfect Aggie man.
“They need to be the kind of leaders that students can look up to as the perfect Ag — they should seem capable of independent thought, yet still subtly perpetuate the deeply ingrained status quo,” said Emily Gilbert, a staff member who has been curating Yell Leaders since the late ’90s. “They are carefully designed to reflect what Aggieland wants, regardless of what Aggieland needs.”
Lead trainer Steven Chang provided more insight into the process. “With the aid of genetic modifications, we get closer every year to creating five perfect Caucasian baby boys,” Chang said. “Over the next 20 years, we raise these children to become what studies show is the quintessential student body leader. It truly unites all of Texas A&M University’s resources — from the scientific production of the babies themselves, to the training that goes behind making these boys the men that hold A&M together, to the psychological preparation for years of commodification.”
According to James Conley, a recently released production and current yell leader candidate, the future yell leaders live a pretty typical life. “Don’t get me wrong, we’re treated as well as any other kids,” Conley said. “The only difference is every aspect of our lives is imbued with the spirit of Aggieland. For example, we grew up singing the War Hymn instead of ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.’”
In a press release, university representatives said they hope the Yell Leader Man-ufacturing Center’s opening “will preserve the tradition of muscular, slightly taller than average men with light colored hair, beaming smiles that put the sun to shame, and features distinguishable enough to have separate fan bases but not enough to be noticed when replaced.”
— Broken Reed Arena
It’s 9:47 on a Thursday night. Your group project is due at midnight, and there’s one member who hasn’t added any of her work yet: Broken Reed Arena. She won’t answer her phone, but you know where she is from her Snapchat story — she’s faithfully cheering on the women’s basketball team. You say a prayer. Suddenly, at 11:53, her perfectly formatted portion of the project appears in the google drive, just in time for submission. No one knows how she does it, and no one dares to ask.