IMPERIAL GAZETTE, FYB CODE EDITION

The Ghost Doc (29/04/25)

Damn. Damn. Damnnn.

FYB lawa sehhh—we outside, we up, we ghostly.

Top of the scroll?

Happy birthday to the real champ, John Cena—our AVMS P.R.O, unseen like your namesake but loud in legacy. Watching you rise makes the spirits smile, ejeh mi.

The funny thing? You probably don’t even know who I am. That’s 'cause I always send my write-ups to the editorial board strictly through Gmail. No WhatsApp chats. No face to tie it to. No loose ends. I’m the wind behind the curtain.

But here’s a tiny clue for today: white socks.

No cash to spray, so I’ll just say it from the gut—a king was born today. We loff you.

COLVETishians, this FYB lifestyle? It’s madness. I ironed my shirt like a prince going to war.

Adeife? Na teddy bear in disguise—man’s a hug with a heartbeat.

Mesioye, caught you red-handed at Osiele—3 yards, calm cruise.

Weather’s hugging like it missed us.

The College? On sweet mode.

Yabaleft trend? E fit be anybody next. Watch your corners.

And yes, Mesioye, your gator almost claimed my fingers, but we dey.

My Ben 10 paper wristwatch still fine pass most of una smartwatches. Don’t play.

The day’s still young. But for now...

But remember—Johneh, the world’s a better scroll with you in it.

 The Ghost Doc (30/04/25)

Man’s choking on laughter rn.

I combed through the Dinner Night award nominations and bruh—if this isn’t the softest roast party of the year, I don’t know what is.

Flames? Popular.

Abdulazeez? Influential.

Obanimi/Detola/Marvelous? Most Handsome.

Somewhere, mirrors across FUNAAB are shaking with laughter. Most Handsome?? In this economy of facial inflation??

But let’s be honest, it’s giving “vibes over validation.” And honestly, I live for it.

What shocks me is the silence for those whose impact was too subtle for the naked eye—those who left no footprints but left fingerprints on our hearts. Where’s the award for the Shadow Ink Scribes? The behind-the-scenes kings and queens who made COLVET feel like more than a battleground? Who edited our chaos into memories? Who wrote when others just reposted?

Respect the ink, abeg.

The audacity. The temerity. The bodacious effrontery. You think we just hold pens for aesthetics?

Let’s switch gears.

The jerseys? Madness.

Shoutout to the Arsenal people—your faith is both poetic and concerning. After all that heartache, y’all still wear that badge like it’s a love letter. I respect it.

I don’t understand it, but I respect it.

This set— *our set* —might just outshine the last.

And no, that’s not shade, that’s starlight. We’re dripping confidence like it’s blood-type O Positive.

We’re PS2 kids in a PS5 world but somehow still running the server.

The Ghost ain’t here to throw jabs or chase clout—I’m just scribbling history with a smirk and a side-eye.

So when we toast at that dinner, don’t just raise your glass for the winners—raise it for the ghosts too. For every late-night reader. For the quiet moments that made the noise worthwhile.

Until then, COLVETishians...

Stay imperial.

Stay ghostly.

And stay ready, because the final scroll is coming.

Ciao, mi familia.

The Ghost Doc fades.