SATIRE | UCCS rolls out new SAAP program for affordable, easy access syllabi 

After the launch of TAAP, or the Textbook Affordability and Access Program, UCCS followed it up with the launch of SAAP, the Syllabus Affordability and Access Program, on the first day of classes.  

SAAP, as described by program director Alfred T. Akemoney, is an easy, affordable way for students to collect their syllabi from the bookstore at the low, low cost of $30 per credit hour.  

“We want students to understand exactly how their classes are going to look over the semester, because we believe in transparency and accessibility,” Akemoney said in a speech on Monday. “Thus, all of the syllabi will be delivered to our conveniently located bookstore at exactly 8 a.m. on Aug. 21, right when you need them for classes.” 

Upon being informed that 8 a.m. was five hours ago, Akemoney gave a high-pitched laugh that witnesses later called “chillingly lacking in comprehensible human emotion” and said, “Well, I suppose you’d better hurry then!” 

Students rushed to the Bookstore, only to discover haphazard stacks of paper reaching up to the ceiling and trailing all the way outside as the only three bookstore employees on duty frantically sifted through and threw them randomly at hapless students.  

Syllabi for multiple classes were backordered, leaving teachers to begin their classes with no actual information to give to their students about the courses. Several teachers canceled class, and one art class was given the impromptu assignment to make deeply symbolic drawings criticizing SAAP.  

“I don’t understand why we had to change this system, giving out syllabi to our students was never a problem,” frustrated English teacher Sherrie Smith said as she stood in the line of teachers waiting to receive their own syllabi. “This has just been a nightmare for everyone.” 

According to witnesses, Smith was then approached by Akemoney himself, who gently placed his finger over her lips and told her to “shhhh” before covering her nose with a handkerchief, causing her to collapse.  

Her colleagues say they have not seen her since that day, and Akemoney has only responded to questions about her whereabouts with “she’s on vacation.” 

Lest Akemoney be accused of not giving students a choice in the matter, an option was provided to opt out of SAAP. Plenty did after seeing the fee on their account and panicking, and many fled to the FAQ page on the SAAP website.  

When clicking the link and asking how they would know anything about their class curriculum without paying $300 for some pieces of paper, they were taken to a website that was blank except for a poorly drawn picture of Clyde holding a sign reading, “Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy!” 

Numerous complaints and missing person reports led to the re-examination of SAAP and an investigation into Akemoney’s practices. Campus police discovered that Akemoney was simply a strange man of no discernible origin who had been living in the basement of Main Hall for an undocumented number of years.  

“That explains all the reports of giant rats we’ve been hearing,” said Bob Jones, a maintenance worker cleaning up blood from the floor of Akemoney’s lair. Akemoney was later dragged off campus, babbling about the state of education in America and cackling uncontrollably.  

In the end, SAAP turned out just like its arboreal namesake: messy, sticky and hard to wash off greedy hands.  

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