Professor Refuses To Release Class On Time Despite Swarms Of Frogs, Locusts

KENNEDY HALL—Professor Ray Farrow’s 11:00am biology lecture failed to conclude on time today despite a seemingly biblical intervention of frogs and locusts enveloping the auditorium. While the entrapped students pleaded with the course instructor to stop the class at the scheduled time, Professor Farrow could not be dissuaded by the barrage of amphibian interruptions.

“He just kept talking about this ‘really good YouTube video’ that he needed to show,” recalled Sam Levi ‘25, brushing locust limbs off his pant leg. “This thing was six minutes long and I couldn’t hear a word of it between all the croaking and buzzing. Professor Farrow just kept grinning at the screen and saying ‘That’s a really great point.’”

As the locusts began to crawl up Farrow’s tweed jacket, he proclaimed that “the frogs will probably eat the locusts,” and proceeded to the subsequent slide of his PowerPoint presentation. When Farrow’s lecture was momentarily delayed by a torrent of hail falling from the ceiling vent, he promptly sidestepped the new hazard and continued his explanation of the kinesin processive motor.

“I haven’t been on time to my next class once this semester,” said Hannah Lais ‘24. “When the frogs started coming out from under the seats, I was hopeful we might finally get out of here. I don’t think Professor Farrow even noticed, he was too busy trying to see if anyone wanted to ask him a question. No one ever asks any questions. The locusts were useless too, he just kept explaining how the current slide was ‘super critical for the next exam.’ I don’t think he knows how to read a clock.”

The students’ confinement came to an end after all the lights in the room suddenly went out, leaving the auditorium in total darkness and permitting the captives to flee. Professor Farrow then proceeded to present an additional ten lecture slides before graciously dismissing the empty classroom.

“You Shouldn’t Have Done That,” Says Levitating, Glowing-Eyed Professor as Student Stays in Class Past Drop Deadline

BAKER HALL—Students in CHEM 3090: Inorganic Compounds were left cowering in fear this Tuesday as their instructor achieved apotheosis at the close of Cornell’s drop period.

According to witnesses, the class started as normal but quickly went off the rails when Dr. Frederica Jackson locked eyes with Samuel Weiss ‘22, who was attending his first lecture of the semester to see “what those funny numbers on Student Center are all about.” Suddenly, Baker Hall’s seasonal affective disorder-inducing dimness turned to supernatural darkness as all doors to the classroom slammed shut.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” warned Jackson as her feet drifted off the floor, body propelled only by the sheer rage caused by spending twenty years in Baker Hall. Invisible hands yanked a struggling Weiss from his .25x.25” desk and dragged him to the center of the lecture hall before a glowing-eyed Jackson. “Once you had hopes, dreams, a chance of graduating with a C average. But now? You’re nothing.” Jackson then used her newfound psychic abilities to banish Weiss to the 8 AM Lecture Zone, an interdimensional prison in which each minute is as long as a lifetime of suffering.

When asked for comment, Weiss’s classmates responded by chanting “GLORY TO CHEM 3090!” in unison as they too began drifting upwards to the darkening sky.

Shocking! White Guy Wearing A “This Is What An Engineer Looks Like” Shirt Isn’t Technically Doing Anything Wrong

Last Monday, Jackson Carter ‘25 surprised his introductory Physics zoom lecture with an inspiring new T-shirt choice: one of the “This Is What An Engineer Looks Like” shirts given out by the College of Engineering.

“At first, I wondered why this idiot had his camera on in a 300 person lecture,” classmate Samantha O’Neill ‘25 remembered, “but then I noticed his shirt and realized, ‘Oh this guy is just an asshole.’ So you can imagine my shock when I later learned that they don’t exclusively give out those shirts to white guys who take fifteen seconds to decide whether or not to hold the door to Duffield open for you even though you’re only walking one pace behind them and now there’s a whole line of people waiting to get inside while he internally praises himself for being both a Gentleman™ and a Feminist™.”

During Monday’s zoom lecture, Carter made an effort to sit chest first in front of his camera in an effort to show off that he was, in fact, an engineer and looked like one. Carter also often unmuted to incorrectly correct the professor’s math and, during breakout rooms, personally invited each one of his peers to turn their cameras on too.

“I just think it’s my job, as a Caucasian male, to provide an inclusive environment for my less advantageous peers to speak out and release their burden,” Carter explained. “After all, if I don’t personally talk to all the women in my class, do I truly have the right to bear the insignia of the Cornell engineer in this manner? Do I disrespect the name and honor of my school if I don’t speak up for the masses about the mathematical misinformation being spread by the establishment? Must I be the one emblem of equality in an unfair world?”

By Wednesday’s class, Carter had already dropped the course and become a business major, claiming a desire to “take on a new challenge where I can touch more people’s lives” and shrugging off allegations that a horrendous GPA was to blame.

“What if There Was a Student Evaluation Form?” Wonders Stoned Professor Oblivious to Concept of Grades

UPSON HALL—While perusing course evaluation forms and hotboxing his on-campus office, mechanical engineering professor Travis Valensi began to wonder about the feasibility of some kind of equivalent student evaluation form.

“It’s, uh, it’s kinda unfair that students can say whatever they think about professors, but professors don’t get that opportunity as well, you know?” said Professor Valensi, seeming to forget that the point system and grades more generally are designed specifically for this purpose. “What if I made a form that went the other way? It would be, like, okay, let’s say this student didn’t show up to a lot of lectures, right? Shouldn’t I be able to say that’s a problem? Or what if it seemed like they didn’t know the material that well? I don’t know, am I crazy here? This is such a good idea, I think.”

Despite receiving a PhD from the California Institute of Technology and having contributed to significant advancements in robotics technology over his career, Dr. Valensi was steadfastly convinced that this conceptual framework was his life’s finest achievement.

“What if—now bear with me here—you could attach a number to a student’s performance on an assignment, and then one for the whole semester? Wouldn’t that be fuckin’ far out?” wondered a visibly excited Valensi between hits. “This is so good. Are you hearing this? This is so good! I feel like I gotta make this and just, like, tell everybody! Okay, here’s what I’m gonna do: I’m gonna make a model for this, like a blueprint or an outline or something, and then I’m gonna go show it to my girl Martha, and she’s gonna be all over it. Yeah, just as soon as I’m not stuck to this chair anymore that’s what I’m gonna do. Say, are you hungry? Wanna go get some taquitos? Let’s go get some taquitos once I’m not stuck to the chair anymore.”

At press time, Professor Valensi remained stuck to the chair while cackling about the inherent hilarity of the word “taquitos.”

“Jingle Bells, This Professor Smells” Writes Student In Devastating Christmas-Themed Course Evaluation

IVES HALL—Professor Parker Wallace was taken aback early Monday morning when he received an email that each student in his Introduction To Organizational Behavior class had already completed their anonymous online course evaluation. Spending a few minutes perusing their comments over a cup of coffee, Wallace reached the very last without any notable criticisms. It was when the final evaluation that made his heart go thumpitty-thump-thump. “Jingle Bells, This Professor Smells!” wrote an unnamed student to begin their evaluation of Wallace’s teaching.

“Never in my 16 years of teaching at this school have I received a review like this,” said Wallace, before continuing, “This wasn’t an off-the-cuff remark. This was a deliberately constructed evisceration of my teaching style,” pulling up all 25 pages of the student’s holly jolly manifesto, one for each day of Christmas.

Much like toys in Santa’s workshop, the criticisms just kept coming. With scathing lines such as “Ho, Ho, Horrible Professor” and “Would not recommend this course to ANYBODY, even if they’re on the naughty list,” Wallace was roasted more thoroughly than chestnuts on an open fire. The veteran ILR professor seemed more confused about the origin of the student’s qualms than anything.

“Listen to this: ‘Professor Wallace couldn’t see my hand in the back of the lecture hall if he had Rudolph’s red nose guiding him to my seat.’ What the hell does that even mean? It’s a 25-person course; I know all of my students by name.”

Wallace, who does not celebrate Christmas, did admit that after reading the student’s not so jolly letter that he felt that his heart shrank three sizes that day.

Professor Six Chapters Behind in Lecture Going to Put All That Shit in Final Anyways

ROCKEFELLER HALL—After a semester in which the bulk of the material was pushed to the last few days of class, Professor James Kent ‘88 has decided the best solution is to just assume all his students know it anyways and put it all in the final exam.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t get to this material in class,” explained Professor Kent to his Monday Economics section. “But these six chapters are no more dense than the six chapters we covered in the three months prior to now. Therefore, we should have no trouble skimming through all six in one fifty-minute lecture, holding one office hours section, and then basing sixty percent of your grade on that knowledge I never taught.”

Professor Kent then moved on to a lecture in which he, at the speed of a freshman sprinting across the Arts Quad, described in vague detail everything from GDP calculation to Philips curves to applications of economic theory to modern politics. Students furiously scribbled in notebooks as the professor casually mentioned concepts on which he would base entire free response questions on the class’s cumulative exam in one week.

“Honestly, I got about a third of that,” admitted Matthew Kroger ‘25. “He lost me at the inflation stuff, and I had no idea what to make of the whole Krebs cycle thing. I think he accidentally started teaching us biology there for a few minutes, but I don’t know, maybe it has something to do with supply and demand? Seriously, is this what college is? Like, sure, I haven’t shown up to most of my sections, but I expected better from a tenured professor.” At the time, Professor Kent was giving a one-minute overview of game theory, a topic that would make up about a third of the final exam.

Asked to comment, Professor Kent stated that he is aware that the grades on the final will likely be abysmal, but that he was planning on curving everyone’s grade to a C+ anyways.

Econ Student Condescendingly Explains Why We Can’t Just Print More Big Red Bucks

STATLER HOTEL—When a date at Terrace led his girlfriend to ask why administration simply couldn’t increase the number of Big Red Bucks included in meal plans, one Cornell Econ student burst into a histrionic rant that this would surely cause the destruction of the Cornell economy. 

“Of course they can’t just print more BRBs, sweetie,” scoffed Allen Brooksby ‘24, taking out his Introductory Microeconomics textbook with a heavy sigh. “You clearly don’t understand simple principles of economic thought. Have you ever heard of inflation? Of course not. You know the Great Depression? The 2008 housing crisis? The horrors of Communism? Venezuela? In case you didn’t know, this is exactly why all those things happened. When you print more money the entire country has bad things happen, that’s basically a law of economics.”

To demonstrate his points more clearly, Brooksby proceeded to graph the situation, labeling the x-axis Inflation and the y-axis Economic Disaster. He drew a line with a steep positive slope labelled Cornell’s Economy, which he claimed was definitive proof that issuing extra BRBs would bankrupt the university. Extremely proud of himself, he proceeded to show the graph to passing students, mentioning multiple times that he was teaching economics to his girlfriend.

“Honestly, I’m not even insulted that he treated me like a child, just kind of confused what his point was,” explained Brooke Henderson ‘25. “You can’t compare the Treasury issuing new currency to Cornell making its meal plans slightly more affordable, that’s a complete non sequitur. I’d be willing to bet that a fair amount of BRB’s don’t wind up getting spent at all, and that’s just a bad deal for us. You can only spend them at like six places on campus anyways, it’s an extremely lame system for anyone who likes not losing money. And did he just call me his girlfriend? This is the second time we’ve hung out.”

Following this interview, grades for the first Microeconomics prelim exam were posted, with Henderson scoring ten percentage points higher than her friend.

OP-ED: Saying “Don’t Come to Class When You’re Sick” Discriminates Against Cornell’s Sickly Little Victorian Boy Population

My dearest Cornell community—you see us wandering about campus in our finest nightgowns, draped dramatically over the lavatories, or reclining in our sumptuous beds that do nothing to alleviate our physical agonies, but do you truly care about us? Lately I have been witness to a dangerous trend, one that puts my entire community at stake. Telling students to stay home when sick is a direct attack on the sickly little Victorian boy population.

As sickly little Victorian boys, telling us to only come to class when well ensures that we shall never be in class. There is no telling what dangers may assault a sickly little Victorian boy, such as tuberculosis, reading by candlelight, or The Miseries. On my way to Oceans lecture this very Wednesday, I caught chill from the advanced speed with which my horse-drawn carriage proceeded down the cobblestones towards central campus. Should I stay home every time I feel my humors become unbalanced, I would never attend class at all. 

Missing class is especially difficult on a Victorian child such as myself. I try to collect notes from my classmates, but by the time their carrier pigeons arrive at my window I find the prelim has already passed. My father disapproves of this correspondence with the common folk, limited as it is, and often uses the pigeons for riflery practice to teach me a lesson. I have sought to protest, but my choler elevates with worrisome rapidity, and thus I am resigned. I am so lonely in my bedroom, attended to by none but the nurse who mops my fevered brow as I shake like a willow branch in the wind. What is the point of taking a 50-50 mixture of laudanum and cocaine if I cannot then allow myself to be surrounded by 300 of my closest friends as I cough blood into a satin handkerchief? ‘Tis cruelty, dare I say, cruel—

—Mamá? Is that you, here to bring me to heaven? You look so young, and the light is so beautiful. Don’t cry for me, Papá. I am not afraid. The light, it takes away my pain. Goodbye forever, Cornell, goodbye—

Alas, ‘twas but a phantasm wrought by the plagued recesses of my spirit. I must establish swift correspondence with CAPS ere these ghoulish apparitions further impinge upon my coursework. But who am I, a sickly little Victorian boy, to seek counseling in this uncaring university? I can but pray the superintendents pity my woeful pleas.

Wistful Alum Stares Longingly at Table in Duffield Where They Once Hit Rock Bottom

DUFFIELD HALL—Having returned for the University’s Homecoming, alumnus Todd Bauer ‘20 found himself visiting some of his old haunts. He eventually arrived at Duffield Hall, where he gazed yearningly at the place where he had experienced some of the absolute lowest points of his life.

“Wow, I’ve really missed this place! It hasn’t changed a bit…I used to come here all the time!” exclaimed Bauer as he walked past the alcove where he once spent an adderall-fueled night completing three problem sets after being rejected by dozens of companies, broken up with, and just generally sent on a downward spiral.

“I remember hangin’ out with the guys, grabbin’ a bite to eat at Mattin’s,” said Bauer with a nostalgic look on his face, referring to his frequent “brunners” junior year in which he ate all three meals in a single sitting. On several occasions, having not showered in multiple days, Bauer would then pass out in one of Duffield’s cold metallic seats, having truly bottomed out in terms of life.

“These are the best years of your life, kid!” Bauer said knowingly to an underclassman passerby, walking past the bathroom where he had once spent the afternoon wiping away tears as the crushing weight of his academic, extracurricular, and social commitments slowly plunged him into a state of abject misery.

Bauer’s next stop was the streets of Collegetown, where he would experience a sentimental moment outside the fraternity annex where he once drank himself into oblivion and was subsequently hospitalized.

Hmm: Professor Just Implied He Was in Dallas the Day Kennedy Was Assassinated Before Quickly Changing the Topic

ITHACA—An international relations lecture took a brief and unexpected turn on Tuesday afternoon when Professor Johnathan Hendricks implied that he was in Dallas on November 22nd, 1963, which was the same day that President John F. Kennedy was assassinated.

“It was weird, bro,” said Daniel Gardy, ‘23 before continuing, “we were talking about the CIA’s foreign interventions during the Cold War and it seemed like a normal lecture, but then he sorta started mumbling and said something like ‘the trip I took to Dallas with George Sr. in November of ‘63 really set things off’ out of nowhere. It was super confusing.” Hendricks reportedly then shook his head and said “I’ve said too much.”

Professor Hendricks is an accomplished scholar in International Relations, but prior to his career in academia, he spent most of the second half of the 20th century working for the State Department. Hendricks began teaching at Cornell in 1995, where his remarks about the Warren Commission or a second gunman have at times bemused his students.

Peter Graven, ‘22, who took Political Intervention In The Western Hemisphere with Hendricks during last year’s spring semester, had a similar experience to Gardy’s: “I remember it vividly because it was so strange. I was walking into his office for office hours and he was standing at his desk, just muttering under his breath. He was saying something about some movie called like the Zapruder Tape or something and how ‘they’d missed everything’ and then he started chuckling before he noticed I walked in.”