Last Saturday, hundreds of students were jared from their peaceful though slightly hungover sleep by the CU marching band’s thundering drums of protest.

Their trumpets and trombones gleamed with the glory of revolution, and in their eyes there were tears of overwhelming pride in their movement. The Golden Buffalo marching band, an ensemble of woodwinds, brasses, and snares, is usually dedicated in its attempts at getting the stands at CU football games to cheer in triumph. But last Saturday, at roughly six in the morning, the beloved CU marching band set down their tenor drums of entertainment and optimism and picked up their snare drums of protest and war– marching with the sense of purpose a marching band is meant to have. There was no question that there was a revolution afoot, but what did they want reformed?

“Sleep.” clarified one clarinetist, “It is just a construct, you know? It’s been imposed on us by society and the patriarchy and the government and–” her eyes bugged– “and the aliens!” She gasped, then refocused, “We don’t need it– sleep. I haven’t slept in two– no, three, three months— anyways, I don’t need it, I’ve actually never felt better in my liiiiife,” she warbled. “We’re doing everyone here a favor, you know? That’s why we protest– we do it for the people.” Her eyes began to tear up. “We’re giving them the truth, you know? We’re enlightening them on the benefits of never sleeping again, because now, I can see everything that the government and the aliens hid from me.”

The clarinetist then spent the next twenty minutes hyperventilating into her instrument, which signified to me that the interview was over.

I continued my investigation, sickly intrigued by the mental well-being of the Golden Buffalo Marching band, weaving my way through the ranks of tubists and flutists when I came across a saxophonist who was willing to answer my question.

“I’m here because I derive pleasure, especially sexual gratification, from inflicting pain and humiliation on others,” the saxophonist explained calmly. “I mean, look over there,” he pointed toward the string of dead eyed students shambling in the general direction of the C4C, “They won’t remember that the cafeteria opens at nine until they walk in the door and see that it’s roped off.” The saxophonist checked his watch, “It’s only seven right now– they’ll have to walk all the way to the Starbucks on the hill.” He grinned frenziedly, “And that’s where EVERYONE is going before the game starts.” His gaze returned to the suffering students, “In other words…” he sighed pleasurably, “…I’m one sadistic saxophonist.”

I was becoming increasingly concerned for my safety, but still I pushed onward. Such is the curse of the investigative journalist; I could only leave when my quest for truth had been fulfilled. It was then that I came across my third and final interviewee– a freshman tubist from Florida.

“We’re protesting?” questioned the tubist, “I didn’t know that…” he frowned worriedly, “I hope it’s not somethin’ stupid like global warming or that whole controversy ‘round that Ian Hurricane fella.” He shifted the weight of the tuba on his shoulder. “I’m a freshman, actually, flew here from Florida. And actually I was in the news lately too– don’t know if you saw it.” The tubist beamed with pride. “Was caught on the side of the highway with 12 automatic rifles, a baby alligator, and a couple pounds of meth n’ the back of my pickup truck.” He gloated, “Was tryin’ to dump it all into the swamp but the coppers got me first. Don’t worry though,” he winked; “They didn’t get all of it.”

When the Floridian tubist was informed that the Golden Buffalo marching band was protesting against the concept of sleep, his eyes shone with tears of joy and pride in participating in such a meaningful and noble movement.

After my meeting with the tubist, I continued interviewing many members of the Golden Buffalo marching band, and as a general whole, the majority of the instrumentalists profusely agreed that the very notion of sleep needed to be abolished. It was Saturday the 24 of September, 2022; a day that will no doubt be remembered alongside the powerful revolutions of old. It was the day when the CU marching band began challenging the legitimacy of a concept as old as life itself; waking the irritated and hungover students of Baker, Cheyenne Arapaho, Libby, Willard, and Farrand halls at six in the morning with the art of protest and I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.

It was the inspiring spirit of revolution and the poetic rejection of the status quo that took over the CU Golden Buffalo marching band that morning. That, and the other equally inspiring spirit of methamphetamine, which the Floridian tubist smuggled into the university by method of fifty small ziplock bags down the bell of his tuba. The only person that tested negative was the saxophonist.

Such is the nature of glorious revolution.

Such is the curse of investigative journalism.

I am also currently on methamphetamine.