ITHACA—With less than a week until graduation, the class of 2022 has been feeling sentimental, especiallysenior Michael Cohan who claims to “want to savor every moment” and do so by partying hard enough to be blacked out the entire week.
“These are the last days I’ll have with my best friends,” lamented Cohan. “No more watching the sunset from the roof, no more late nights cramming for an exam, no more midnight 7/11 runs. I don’t want to forget a single second.” Cohan paused and took a large swig of a handle of vodka at his hip, before vomiting his entire lunch onto Linden Ave and collapsing from dehydration.
Senior week, the week between the end of final exams and graduation, is a time of celebration for graduates and for parties that start during the day and continue throughout the night, accompanied by copious amounts of alcohol. When asked about his senior week plans, Cohan replied that he was “planning to go through a case a day.”
“Yeah he’s not going to remember anything,” commented Winston Popperfield ‘22, one of Cohan’s housemates. “He stopped drinking water two days ago so that he can save room for more alcohol. It’ll be a miracle if he remembers graduation, or even makes it to graduation. But hey, at least he’ll be having fun.”
At press time, Cohan had no recollection of this interview.
GOLDWIN SMITH HALL–In a refreshing bout of honesty, Cornell’s most exclusively selective premier business club, Cornell Opportunity Consulting, celebrated their graduating class with a new tradition: sharing how thankful all the returning members are to never have to see them again.
“Samantha, if it wasn’t for Cornell Opportunity Consulting I would never have had the misfortune of meeting you,” began COC’s president Benjamin Snee ’23, loading up a pretty deck of slides to provide graphic support for his speech. “I can confidently say I dreaded reading every single text you sent me, like, bitch… you need a therapist, not an e-board position. Thank fucking god you’re gone next year. And, your boyfriend sucks.”
Other speakers at the celebration harkened it as a cathartic exercise in self-care.
“For far too long we’ve been forced to make up fake platitudes for our graduating members, as if they were an important part of our time here at Cornell or something,” said Nicole Truly ‘24 through tears of joy. “Like fuck, what am I supposed to say? That I can’t imagine Cornell without them? I totally can! It’d so much better!”
The event brought unique challenges to the speakers unfamiliar with the social norms of letting their true opinions be heard.
“Before, I was worried because I thought I had nothing negative to say about Kevin. He could give me a rec for a job, you know,” said Nicholas Wilhelm Lee ‘24. “But then he opened his ugly ass mouth, and I remembered this is the dude who derails every goddamn meeting with his ‘humor.’ Good riddance.”
The seniors could be found later complaining that they should have hazed the new members.
CORNELL HEALTH—Administrators from Cornell Health and Safety introduced a new member of their team this morning: Godfrey the Knee-Licking Goblin.
“We thought it was past time to fight back against the epidemic that is guys wearing 5” inseam shorts in the middle of winter,” announced Arnold Riggs, newly appointed director of C.U.P.D. (Cornell University Patellar Division). The task force consists of Riggs and ten “goblin handlers” whose job it is to “keep fatalities to a minimum.” Godfrey himself sports a five-foot-long prehensile tongue and two rows of razor-sharp teeth.
“There are a few kinks that need to be worked out,” Riggs admitted. “Godfrey is a dedicated and caring creature, but once he gets a taste for blood, there is no stopping him.” Riggs went on to describe the process of training the goblin, which involved spreading peanut butter on mannequins’ legs and “only rewarding [Godfrey] when the knees were licked squeaky clean.”
“Anyone wearing pants has no cause for concern,” Riggs said in his closing statements. “We project a 75% decrease in frostbite-related knee injuries this winter. Come summer, Godfrey will be put into cryosleep, where his hunger for knees will grow until he is released again next fall.”
Several students expressed support for the new initiative. “It’s clear they have students’ best interests in mind,” said George Basset ‘23, licking his lips. “Campus will be a better place because of it.”
Basset was later seen on Ho Plaza ripping holes down the front of his pants and asking passersby if they had any spare peanut butter.
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.
HELEN NEWMAN HALL—Cornell administration has received several complaints from students enrolled in PE1560 Introductory Self Defense after instructor John Ladin broke into their respective homes on Sunday night in an unorthodox final assessment that students describe as a “harrowing ambush executed by a gleeful psychopath.”
“How am I possibly supposed to evaluate my students’ self-defense capabilities if I’m not allowed to take careful notes on their gravest weaknesses, stalk their homes for potential entry points, memorize their daily schedules, and then pounce when they least expect it?” noted an exasperated Ladin. “Also, this has been in the syllabus all semester so I don’t know why it was a surprise.”
Several students have protested that the class material did not adequately prepare them for some aspects of the attack. “He literally busted down my apartment door, kicked me directly in the face, and yelled, ‘You’ve been John-ed, dumbass!’ None of that was on the study guide,” complained Max Green ‘23.
“I actually did read the syllabus so I knew this was coming, but it was already past the drop deadline and I’d honestly rather get my shit rocked than take a W on my transcript,” admitted Amy Price ‘24. “I’m really not sure how I did, but I heard one kid just curled up in a fetal position and started crying for his mommy, so I’m hoping it’s graded on a curve”
In response to complaints from students, VP Ryan Lombardi defended Ladin’s actions, writing, “We take great pride in the rigor of our coursework. Cornell is a world-class institution dedicated to preparing its students for anything life may throw at them, including a 4 am haymaker to the scapula. If these students can handle John’s violent attempt at their physical safety, we’ll know the university is doing its job.”
MALOTT HALL—Last week, I briefly overheard Stacy and Emily talking about their floundering love lives between bites of food at Trill. Stacy lamented that Liam from her discussion section has a thing for her, even though Stacy is actually crushing on Rachel from that same section, who is also in love with Liam. Tragic! And Emily? Her love life is even more complex, why, she’s in a love pentagon! How does that even work? I don’t know, but she at least has a shape goddamn it. All the while, I couldn’t help but think one thing: what about me? I don’t have a shape.
For far too long, we’ve allowed people who can’t make up their goddamn minds about love to define a cool shape for their relationship problems. But if there is one thing that teen romantic comedies taught me, it would be that by defining your lack of mutual romantic attraction to someone as a geometric structure is the truest testament to a sound mind.
Why be lame and admit that your crush doesn’t like you when you can instead be in a spiffy and spicy love triangle? When your love life is defined by a geometric silhouette, anything is game. Want to read his mail? Go right ahead; you can’t let Natalee win! Need to dye his crush’s hair an awful shade of green? All is fair in love-triangles and war. For this reason, I have come to the brave decision that I will no longer accept the slur “single.” Nay, “single” is for those vanilla bitches. You know the type: ladies who are confident in themselves, have healthy hobbies, and do not need external validation through relationships. You see, I’m mature enough to know that’s not me. All real relationships correspond to shapes that we learned in 9th grade geometry class. Or, in other words, I’m in a love dot.
MEWS HALL–Much as the Lord’s only son went into the Garden of Gethsemane to ask the Heavenly Father that His life might be spared, so too did Brantley Wentworth ‘25 call upon his own father to spare him an even darker fate—a summer in his company’s Ohio branch.
Although Wentworth had long accepted his role in life–to spend the most functional years of his cocaine addiction falsifying ledgers in order to increase stocks by .03%—as his LinkedIn feed filled with announcements of his classmate’s internships in Silicon Valley, Wentworth found himself filled with doubt for the first time in his smug, entitled life. Just as the Son of God in the Gospel of Matthew lay prostrate in the garden, Wentworth threw himself down among his discarded beer cans and contacted his father the only way he knew how–by calling his secretary’s number.
“Dad, please, if it’s possible to find an opening in California, let this internship in Ohio pass me by,” Wentworth pleaded with the answering machine, trembling with sorrow and synthetic weed withdrawal. “Through You all things are possible–like deforesting the entire Amazon, or getting My three DUIs dismissed. Give Me the keys to the kingdom of heaven, or at least to an apartment outside of the central United States!”
Wentworth’s prayers were answered by a voicemail threatening to cut off his allowance, causing Wentworth to declare, “Not My will, but Yours be done!”
ITHACA—Two days of rest and relaxation were not enough for Joel Robinesson ‘23, who used his February break to embark on a thrilling and debaucherous methamphetamine-fueled bender.
“I’m just feeling great. Really great. Super great. Totally great. You guys can see me right?” said Robinesson late Monday afternoon when he was spotted wandering around campus. “Look at that! That’s Ezra Cornell. He’s coming over. Oh no, he’s coming over? Are you Ezra Cornell? I have to go.”
Robinesson began his high early Sunday afternoon, claiming that he wanted to spend Saturday at Greek Peak and attend Sunday brunch at Taverna Banfi. Citing his great stamina and above-average metabolism, he felt confident in his ability to recover in time to write a paper and study for an exam in the days immediately following February break.
“Joel’s an absolute fiend so if it was just meth he’d be in the clear,” commented Robinesson’s roommate Jackson Villagen ‘22. “I was there when he started smoking up but I left to pick up a FaceTime from my girl. When I came back there were crazy pills all over the table and Joel had taken at least half of them. It was crazy dude.”
At press time, Robinesson was unavailable for comment. However, there have been recent reports of a man fitting Robinesson’s height and build wandering around the nearby town of Lansing.
LIBE SLOPE—In an unabashed declaration of disregard for your safety, the “No Winter Maintenance” signs across campus have been revised to say “I Hope You Slip And Fall, Bitch.”
The change, unaccompanied by a statement from administration, has received a variety of reactions from students.
“You know what? I gotta appreciate their honesty,” said Gustavo Lanza ‘23, “It’s like if you’re gonna actively root for my physical demise at least give it to me straight. Don’t tip-toe around the fact that there is black ice and that you are intentionally leaving it there for me to hurt myself.”
“I’ve been more careful recently, actually. I think them effectively telling their message to always be vigilant of the people who want to see you suffer. It’s a well-placed, lovely little threat,” said Margaret Paul ‘22, “Make me terrified to be alive, in a state of constant arousal. In fact, I think it has put a fire under my ass to do better. Be better. No matter what it takes. Because if I don’t, I might lose my balance and hit the ground hard. But that’s why I wear my boots. They have lots of traction.”
“Haven’t they always said that?” wondered Wendy Langmore ‘24, “Or I guess not that exactly, it used to say ‘Warning: Ice Cold Snow’ or something. As long as it gets the message that it’s slippery and that they’re not gonna do anything about it across I think it’s fine. It’s comforting to know that if I belly flop on the concrete, someone will be watching.”
The change follows the recent addition of an immersive speaker system embedded around the slope playing sound clips of reversed audio of little girls whispering and wolves howling ghostly cries between the hours of 1:00 AM – 3:00 AM.
LOW RISE SEVEN—The University Housing Department faced criticism this past week for their rapid action regarding rodents in Ganędagǫ: Hall as they continued to ignore the rampant infestation of bloodsucking vampire bats throughout Low Rise 7. The host of flighted mammals have reportedly occupied the dilapidated residence hall for several months without any university intervention.
“It’s getting pretty hairy over here,” explained Low Rise 7 resident Martin Beale ‘25, wielding a broomstick to defend himself from the dorm’s winged invaders. “I’ve tried filing maintenance requests, but I can’t even find ‘Low Rise 7’ in the list of serviceable regions. So for now we have to adapt, just like with the dorm’s other quirks; I take hair out of the shower drain with a tiny rake, I leave my door shut to keep in heat, and I wear a motorcycle helmet to sleep so that the bats don’t bite me in the face.”
The university has been quick to address issues in other dorms, but remains negligent to their unwanted middle child of a residence hall. While a quick and thorough statement was made regarding the string of arsons last semester, no comment was made a week earlier when a mad scientist attempted to turn all of the Low Rise 7 residents into duck-people.
“Actually, the bats are fine,” stated a noticeably paler Beale, wrapped in a large red cloak. “The real issue on campus is the garlic bread. It’s everywhere, and it’s vile. Forget about the bats, no really, forget them, and get rid of that damnable garlic abomination.”
At press time, all of the shades in Low Rise 7 had been drawn, and a host of residents were seen outside of Low Rise 6 asking for permission to enter the premises.