Nooz Explains: How To Ask Acquaintances Who Might Be A Narc If They Want to Take Online Prelim Together

Both beloved and hated, the online prelim represents the crosssection of two axioms all Cornell students know to be true: prelims fucking suck and everyone is cheating. Unique from other schools’ tawdry tests or even… exams, prelims are the true inquisition into the twenty-year-old student’s (who is intelligent but not too smart or they’d have attended Harvard) mind. Yet some evil, decrepit, no-good groups of students have the gall, nay shamelessness, to cheat on this hallowed tradition. 

That leaves each student with one option: How can I cheat with the smartest people I kind of know, without getting ratted out? Worry not, friend, for we are here to explain with a simple three-step plan for undetectable academic mischief: select a target, gaslight, and strike a deal.

The first step, target selection, is deceptively complex. See, we would all love to cheat off the smartest student in class, the one we all know is going to set the curve. But that person is almost certainly a narc, a teachers’ pet, or some sort of Machiavellian sadist who derives pleasure from learning. So cheat off the second or third smartest student in class, who knows the answers but is insecure enough to think giving you the answers might be worth it.

After separating the frailest genius from the herd, it’s time to gaslight. Casually drop into conversation your fictitious 4.33 GPA, perfect prelim scores, and glowing recommendations from past professors. Ask them their scores and scoff openly at anything less than a 96. You want to convince them that they need you, despite how absurdly obvious it may be that they do not. 

Once you have them believing that they will fail the next exam while you pass with flying colors, you’re ready to pop the question. Ask them if they would like to have you check over their answers, since they are so worried about doing poorly. You would be happy to help them out if they really want it. But what if they catch you, they ask? Risk means nothing to you if it means helping a friend in need. After that, you’re all set to mooch your way to academic success, and you got them to ask you with nothing more than your wits and some light psychological manipulation! Congratulations, you benevolent monster!

“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.

Morrison Dining to Accept Recited Plot Summary of Beloved As Alternative to Meal Swipe

MORRISON HALL––Following the launch of North Campus’s Morrison Dining Hall this January, Student & Campus Life has announced a new substitute for meal swipes: students can now access the state-of-the-art dining facility by narrating the entire plot of Toni Morrison’s novel, Beloved.

Within days of the announcement, every copy of Beloved was checked out of libraries all across campus. Due to a sudden surge in demand for the book, library staff have reported an estimated wait time of 50 weeks to obtain a copy.

The new policy has proved to be an exciting opportunity for book lovers to demonstrate their passion for literature. One English professor explained, “I made the 45 minute trek to North Campus today just to discuss the significance of the milk scene. I had already eaten lunch, but couldn’t resist a good chance to stop by and spread some knowledge.”

Several STEM majors have expressed their frustration with the new practice. “I wish it could have just been named Nye Dining instead,” physics major Hailey Godiner sighed. “I could sing the theme song from Bill Nye the Science Guy in my sleep.”

At press time, students were entering a mass panic as the Sparknotes website crashed from overuse.

Dank Frat Basement Designated as Protected Wetland Habitat by New York State

STEWART AVENUE—In a landmark moment for environmental lobbyists, the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation officially moved to protect the invariably flooded Beta Phi Tau house basement as a critical wetland habitat.

“It was almost like a dream come true when our surveyors stumbled across this swamp, nearly untouched despite its close proximity to human habitation,” said Associate Director Connor Walsh ‘92, stepping into a wetsuit and brandishing a test tube for specimen collection. “The biodiversity of the Beta Phi Tau Mucklands is hardly matched anywhere north of the Amazon Basin—its species richness is on par with such famed sites as the Everglades and the New York City Subway system. We’ve already discovered several previously unidentified species of bacteria and protists, truly an unprecedented find anywhere in North America in the 21st century.”

Ecologists noted that the marsh was extraordinary in its size and permanence, allowing far more biota to flourish relative to smaller and more ephemeral fens, such as those located on the first floor bathroom of the Sigma Upsilon Gamma fraternity. Judging by the growth rate of herbaceous plants, Walsh estimated that the bog must have persisted since at least the early 1960s. Despite its long history, the biome evaded the watchful eye of researchers until resident Kevin Astair ‘21 reported “some water on the floor” on Saint Patrick’s Day of 2019.

“Oh yeah, I remember that—I was fuckin’ loaded and went down there to take a piss when I realized I was standing in a goddamned lake,” Astair recounted at the press release. “I was pretty sure I hadn’t pissed that much, so I called the other brothers down to have a look. None of us had any idea there was a whole thing down there, but it did help to explain all the croaking and shit at night.”

At press time, controversy began brewing over land access after visiting researchers were barred from entering the quagmire unless they could prove they knew three brothers.

OP-ED: I Don’t Really Care If You Watch Family Guy Porn On Your Laptop In Front Of Me During Lecture, But At Least Have The Decency To Put The Subtitles On

Now I’m not one to get up on a high horse and piously judge the actions or interests of others, but some things really bother me. When something is deliberately rude, I can’t help but notice it and take it a little personally. Take, for example, what happened last week during my film class. It’s a pretty lovely class, spent watching movies and discussing the social implications of the themes in the films, which is usually a highlight of my week. I sit alone in the very last row of desks and I quietly mind my own business, taking in the art and trying to appreciate the analysis that my professor provides. It wasn’t until last week that the quiet, calm environment of the class was upended by the student sitting in front of me. 

Like myself, this anonymous student sits alone in his row, albeit three seats to my right. He has never distracted me, let alone raised his hand to join discussions in class. He does not make any noise and sits in the same seat every class. But last week everything changed. While our class was enjoying Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove Or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Bomb,  a classic entry in American cinema, I was distracted by this student’s laptop screen. Juxtaposed to the black and white film that our class was watching on the projector, his screen was brightly lit, rainbow-colored, and was visible only to him and myself. Drawn away from the film at hand, I glanced at his screen and that’s when I saw it: fucking Family Guy porn.

I am not one to judge another person’s sexual proclivities and I do not have nearly enough hubris to call out someone else’s fetishes, but Jesus Christ, my class is an 11:25 am where we watch old movies. I get watching porn and can’t blame someone for enjoying it, but if you’re going to distract me from one of the most critically acclaimed films of all time, at least give me a little notice first before you do so with Peter and Lois Griffin engaged in lustful, anatomically generous sex.

If watching incredibly graphic animated pornography starring beloved cartoon characters in public wasn’t bad enough, this monster took things two steps further: he not only distracted me in class (which I don’t really give a shit about), but he didn’t even have the basic decency to put the subtitles on. I mean if you’re going to distract me with Quagmire banging the dog, I at least deserve to know enough about the plot to know how they got there. 

It’s not that big of a deal honestly, but it really says a lot about the world we live in where a guy who’s trying to enjoy some Family Guy hentai in a public space fails to consider that other people might want to know a little bit of backstory before being subjected to hardcore porn of beloved cartoon characters. That being said, I guess it is kinda nice to know that those ads are targeted to a real demographic. 

Study: Plot of Grass in Shade Has Gotten More Ass Than All Greek Life Combined

ARTS QUAD—According to a landmark study released in an unprecedented joint collaboration between Cornell’s Plant Science and Psychology departments, grass that’s conveniently located beneath the motherly shade of a firm oak tree is getting way more ass than the combined membership of all Greek Life.

 

“I initially laughed when my advisee said he wanted to investigate how much ass grass got,” said psychology professor Matthew Hitcherson. “But after spending an hour on the Arts Quad, observing how eager Cornell students are to throw down their derriere on the nearest open ground, cleanliness be damned, I realized we had another epidemic on our hands.”

 

Hitcherson sought out professor of plant science Amanda Maronta and together they observed the characteristics of grass that allowed it to pull more than a top house.

 

“Over the course of that first week, we found that your average shaded plot of grass has the sexual appeal of Fight Club Brad Pitt,” says Maronta. “Now I know the youth these days are a little—what do you call it?—brazy, but not even the combined might of three wine tours, two sloshy six-ways, and four sorority formals can compare to the pure attractiveness of a nice thick, lanky patch of green under the cool protection of nature’s lungs.”

 

Hitcherson’s advisee, Chet Battersworth ‘24 of Delta Theta Omega, had different concerns.

 

“I’m an economics minor so I’m used to examining the big picture of things, especially the unintended consequences of trends,” Battersworth said. “Ass is a scarce good, and I thought to myself, what are the externalities of grass getting all this ass? So I looked into it, and we found a direct link between every bottom placed upon greensward under a sturdy hardwood and the decline of Greek Life members’ extracurriculars-after-dark.”

 

Even the blades of grass count themselves lucky having been born into a privileged community. “Could you imagine if I hadn’t been planted under the coddling and protection of a shade-giving tree?” asks Gillette, a blade of grass located under tree number six on the Arts Quad. “I’d have negative game, like someone in Greek Life.”

 

Hitcherson and his adviser went different directions with their conclusions. Battersworth vowed to fight against the impact of grass on the ass economy, whereas Hitcherson concluded that perhaps Freud was right, and Cornell students’ preference for giving grass ass was oedipal in nature, pining for humanity’s collective parent: Mother Earth.

Astronomy Class Looks Up, Learns

SPACE SCIENCES BUILDING—Students in ASTRO 1195: Observational Astronomy this week have been participating in a new groundbreaking form of experiential learning: looking up at the sky.

 

“You know, it really is an amazing experience that I don’t think I would be able to get anywhere else but at Cornell. We go outside, turn our heads upwards, and see that big bright sun,” says dazed Alexandra Heisen ‘24, “and we’re like ‘Yup, there it is. Fascinating.’”

 

Squinting students enrolled in the course praise it for its lack of traditional teaching methods, citing that although the course required the purchase of a $400 physical textbook, it has yet to be opened and is only used for seating when the grass is wet.

 

The course consists of tri-weekly 2 hour long labs of nothing but sittin’ back and keeping their eyes open. “It’s a super rigorous course, my eyes do get kind of strained at some points, but I really am learning a lot about how clouds can sometimes cover up the sun, and sometimes they can move away. It’s crazy,” continued Heisen.

 

As Cody Broffer ‘23 puts it, “Sometimes, the moon is full. Sometimes, it’s much smaller. I’m not sure why, maybe it’s because of the weather or something, but it’s cool I guess.”

Mom Just Calling To Let You Know The Neighbors Got A New Patio

ITHACA一 Oren Stephens ‘23 was in the middle of an Organizational Behavior lecture on Monday when he received three rapid calls from his mother, Susan, just letting him know that their neighbors got a new patio. 

Stephens was shocked at the consecutive calls and instantly worried that something terrible had happened, immediately calling her as he left Ives Hall, with his mind racing about all of the awful possibilities. To his surprise, when Susan answered the phone she was perfectly fine and there was no emergency. “It was total bullshit, man,” said Stephens before continuing, “I thought she got in a car accident or Dad had a heart attack or something.”

According to Susan, the Johnsons (one house down from the Stephens family on Hope Lane) decided to redo their patio at the end of summer. 

“I wasn’t expecting three calls during class so I thought it was something serious, but no, it was just the fucking neighbors repaving their porch or whatever a patio technically is.” continued Stephens, who had not called his mother since he first moved into his dorm this semester. 

This isn’t the first time Susan has caused her children to feel alarmed with a harmless anecdote. According to Stephens, Susan will routinely text him “CALL ME” in all caps just to ask if he needs her to send him more laundry detergent. “I get it, she’s a lonely empty nester now, so she looks for reasons to talk to me, but the Johnsons’ patio isn’t exactly breaking news. I probably wouldn’t have even noticed when I went home,” said 

As of press time, Stephens was seen frantically texting his mother “URGENT PLEASE PICK UP!!” after realizing he was low on Tide.

Shocking! Financial Aid Department Actually Just Three Cats Dressed Like Martha Pollack Swiping At A “Postpone Aid Award” Button All Day Long

DAY HALL—While meeting with advisors to discuss tuition payments, Lynn Talbot ‘24 was startled to discover that her financial aid, now nearly a month and a half overdue, would be postponed further due to the office being staffed by literal cats swiping at the “postpone aid award” button all day every day.

“I thought there would be actual people running the fin aid office,” Talbot confessed, “but I guess between Covid and budget cuts they just couldn’t afford it. Although I do think that if they were to hire any animals, you can’t get anyone more apathetic to your struggles than cats walking across computer keyboards and repeatedly sending out emails asking for my patience.”

The cats working at the financial aid’s office are named Cash, Payment, and Franklin. Each wears a different iconic Martha Pollack outfit, although Franklin often dresses like Ryan Lombardi instead.

“In fairness, the cats were kind of cute with their little pant suits and short brown wigs,” Talbot added. “Even the passive aggressive meow one of them let out when I asked if he could estimate when my award would be released was adorable.”

In a last-ditch effort to expedite the process, Talbot stole the “postpone aid award” button the office cats were so fond of, but they just moved on to ripping up printed copies of submitted W-2 forms instead.

“I’m Just Gonna Lay Down for a Bit,” Says Student Changing into Pajamas at Noon

COLLEGETOWN—After exiting the first Zoom class of her day, April Woodward ‘22 surprised her roommates by changing into her pajamas and announcing that she was going to have a bit of a lie-down. “It’s not something I do every day,” she said as she turned on her 10-hour “afternoon naps”  Spotify playlist, “but it’s nice to just recharge your brain for an hour, especially when you’ve been super busy.”

Woodward is no novice to power naps, and with her seventeen alarms set one minute apart and a mountain of blankets to cocoon herself in, she is well-prepared for the endeavor. “It’s always a gamble whether you’ll wake up in time,” she said, holding back a yawn, “but I have, like, a fifty percent success rate, and that curves up to a C! Totally worth it.”

Self-care and relaxation can be difficult to prioritize, but it does pay off: Woodward’s professors have noticed a clear difference in her classroom participation. “I can always tell when April’s taken a quick nap before class,” said Esteban Herrera, who teaches Woodward’s afternoon math discussion. “Instead of the usual sight of April checking Instagram and looking bored out of her mind, the Zoom square just isn’t even there! She’s taking care of herself, and I have one less quiz to grade—it’s a win-win for campus mental health.”

In preparation for Woodward’s five-minute afternoon doze, her roommates have stockpiled bottled water and microwaveable ramen noodles outside her door for when she emerges, disoriented and dehydrated, at three in the morning.