NORTH CAMPUS—Cornellians are privileged to have access to such a wide variety of unique opportunities, and new students are always eager to take advantage of the multitude of offerings. Many freshmen have already forged new friendships through the abundance of extracurriculars that this university provides. Tragically, the dream college life has not materialized for one unlucky freshman, who is struggling to find his home at Cornell despite his best efforts to adhere to a strict routine every single day.
“I’ve tried to reach out to people, but everyone here seems so closed-off,” lamented Shane Conley ‘27. “I usually make extended eye-contact with a girl I walk past on the Slope at 3:46 PM on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but today she wasn’t even there.”
Evidently, Conley hasn’t yet realized that his regimented daily routine may actually be inhibiting his social life. “Yesterday, after I found some kid sitting in MY spot, I panicked, pushed him off the chair, and dragged him across the floor to another table,” he admitted. “In my defense, I thought everyone knew that the Cocktail Lounge had assigned seating.”
Variety might be the spice of life for most people, but Conley’s unwavering commitment to monotony, loneliness, and boredom is certainly impressive. Despite dissatisfaction with his admittedly pitiful social life, he staunchly refuses to attend club meetings or initiate conversations with his peers, arguing, “it requires effort to do so. And they might be weird.”
When asked if he has hobbies and interests that could save him from his dreary, repetitive life, Conley responded, “I love movies. I can never get enough of Groundhog Day.”
OLIN LIBRARY—Panic ensued among patrons of Libe Cafe as what started off as a wimpy high-pitched whine grew into a deafening whistle, its shrill sound piercing ears and shattering phone screens. Searching for a means of sequestering the shrieking, workers rushed to unplug their appliances and knock over anything that might produce such an intense trill.
The workers’ efforts were rewarded with respite as the ringing in their ears receded and the discomforting sound softened. Believing danger to have abated, students stood pondering the source of the disturbance. Realization dawned on the crowd as it recognized the sound starting up again from a dark corner of the cafe, not from a malfunctioning machine but from a frenzied freshman.
Trent Marco ‘27 sat alone at a table, fists clenched and pounding his temples. As a screaming Marco grappled with the harsh reality of his eighteen credit schedule and five consulting club applications, his face flushed fiery red and steam began streaming from his ears and nose.
A self-proclaimed “academic weapon,” Marco spent the first two months of the semester getting settled with the belief that when the going got tough, he’d turn on the gas and conquer any academic adversity. Instead, as prelim season began, Marco developed the habit of generating more steam than a hydrogen combustion engine and expelling it in moments of high stress.
“I can’t help it,” Marco explained, “I tried keeping a lid on it, but if I plug my nose, then the ear steam doubles. And if I plug those too… God, that was terrible…”
Cafe customers had little empathy for the frustrated freshman, going as far as to boo him until he took his whining outside. Marco was observed fleeing across the Arts Quad soon after, the steam from his head condensing into a cloud and raining down on just him.
RUTH BADER GINSBURG HALL—Freshies, the first week of college is tough—college-living is a huge transition! If you’re feeling worried about the multitude of first-year frights—homesickness, courseload, dining hall food—you should probably add yet another anxiety to that list: the fact that you don’t have any friends while every single person around you has already found their long-time besties.
College moves quick! While you initially may have thought that you had some time to “find your people,” time is rapidly running out. Look out your window. See that group of 15 or so excited 18 year-olds? Well, they can see you sitting alone in your room, and think you’re a fucking loser.
One such ultra-popular freshman, Kylie Richards ‘27, expressed how easy it was for her to adjust to college life. She struggled to understand how you could be a loser with no friends when you have had 14 days to learn everything there is to know about someone who you get along with super well.
“I am so cool and I have, like, one-hundred friends,” Richards said. “We’re all super pretty and rich and already have boyfriends and girlfriends who we will be with forever. Yay!”
A friend of Richards’, Alex Ellis ‘27, concurred. “I have so many friends already and it has only been two weeks,” Ellis said. “The amount of available friends is finite so I had to collect as many as possible. I have so many friends and I get along with every single one of them. Woohoo!”
MARY DONLON HALL—James Woodhouse ‘26, who took eight shots of strawberry lemonade-flavored Svedka prior to attending ClubFest, awoke Monday morning to a pounding headache and hundreds of unopened GroupMe messages and listserv emails from completely unfamiliar organizations.
“Oh god, what the fuck happened yesterday?” cried Woodhouse as he peeled laptop stickers off his clothes. “I’ve never even heard of half of these organizations. Why did I sign up for the Latin debate club? The fencing club? Am I currently in both the Cornell Democrats and Cornell Republicans? Fuck, there must be a hundred emails from consulting clubs alone—they must’ve thought I fit their vibe. So many invites on my Google Calendar for info sessions… I think I’m gonna be sick.”
Woodhouse reportedly took five shots before stumbling to Barton Hall for the first session of ClubFest, where he stoically listened glassy-eyed to the impassioned speeches of club representatives before dutifully consigning himself to receive email and text updates on anything and everything. The real damage, however, came when Woodhouse took three more shots prior to the second session. According to eyewitnesses, the inebriated freshman snatched every quartercard in arm’s reach and scanned QR codes with reckless abandon before hopping onstage to contribute jokes to a stand-up club’s performance—a star turn of which Woodhouse had no recollection.
“Did… did I actually do that?” stammered Woodhouse. “Yikes, I hope I didn’t say anything too offensive—the last time I grabbed an open mic while belligerently drunk, I apparently made some pretty disparaging comments about Slovenian people and the sport of croquet. Wait, let me check—yep, I’ve got messages from both the Slovenian Students’ Union and the croquet club. Fuck.”
At press time, Woodhouse had been made president of the stand-up club whose performance he invaded after receiving a positive reception for his monologue on Slovenian croquet players.
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.
NORTH CAMPUS—Halloween weekend, typically a staple of Cornell student culture, returned in full force after COVID-19 decimated last year’s celebrations. For many students, this was their first chance to experience a true, in-person Halloween at Cornell. After weeks of building excitement, students were eager for the big weekend to arrive and early reports indicate that it did not disappoint.
“Halloweekend was a fucking movie, bro” said Peter Greenfield, ‘25. “I got the invite to Sigma something’s party at their house and it was insane. I walked in the door and the first thing I see is two absolute smoke shows making out. Like with tongue!”
Eyewitnesses on the scene confirmed that Greenfield’s account of the event was not only accurate but that it was actually even fucking sicker.
“Dude I wanted to stay in at Donlon this weekend, but Peter dragged me out,” said James Gomez, ‘25 before continuing “I’m so glad I went with him because the function was totally like Project X vibes in that bitch, man. You know when you see a couple kissing, but it’s like a guy and a girl? It was just like that except they were both girls! It was so badass.”
At press time, Greenfield and Gomez speculated that their next best chance to “peep some yiddies” at a holiday party was most likely Election Day, maybe Thanksgiving at the latest.
DAY HALL 一 Student protestors participating in the first Maskless Monday protest against Cornell’s masking policy were met by the repulsive aroma of a sweaty, virginal freshman’s dorm room as CUPD Riot Police sought to disperse the protest.
“At first I didn’t know what scents were hitting my bare, uncovered nose,” said Chasten Miles ‘25. “The flavors of dead rat, gamer sweat, rotten food from Nastie’s… it smelled weirdly familiar. It was only when I started seeing upperclassmen faint from the odor, and the freshman protestors sort of just shrug it off, that I realized I was smelling the despair and disgust of a freshman dorm in tear gas form.”
The deployment of Freshman Dorm Smell tear gas is banned under the Geneva Convention, but Cornell’s use of the brutal protest suppressor demonstrated the administration’s desire to prevent the Maskless Monday protests from growing further. Leaders of the Maskless Monday Movement have reportedly already filed a complaint against Cornell at the United Nations for the use of this illegal, deadly chemical.
“Use of this toxin does not come to us lightly,” explained Cornell Riot Police Chief Reston Angler. “We reserve the right to deploy Freshman Dorm Smell only when a peaceful protest descends into an illegal, violent riot. The effects have been proven to work: if rioters don’t faint immediately from the smell, they cry profusely at the deep sorrow contained within it and convulse from the enriched chemical compounds of Gamer Sweat and Halitosis. Unfortunately, it doesn’t have any effect on freshmen themselves, since they’re kinda used to it.”
As the gas was being deployed Monday, protest leaders, many of them frat brothers, reportedly screamed “GAS MASKS ON!” only to yell, “Sike!”, high-fiving and laughing in their commitment to the Anti-Mask cause as they began to lose consciousness and became immobilized from the stench.
ZOOM—Charlie Richmond ‘24 unsuccessfully attempted to impress his SPAN 1101: General Spanish I professor with a refined pronunciation of “grathías” on the first day of class.
“At first I thought that the other students would be intimidated by my obvious natural proficiency for Spanish,” Richmond explained, “but then I remembered my most recent trip to Barthelona and knew I couldn’t let my good friend and hired tour guide Jothe down by dimming my own sparkle to make others comfortable.”
Immediately after speaking, Richmond noticed the other students in the class stopped typing in the zoom chat and instead starting texting on their phones. Later that day, he texted a friend in his class, Frank Whitford ‘24, about their homework assignment. He has yet to receive a response.
“I’m a little disappointed that Frank and the other students don’t respect Spanish culture as much as I do,” Richmond commented, “but I think the professor will really appreciate how committed I am to this class.”
Richmond plans to invite Whitford and the other students in his class on his family’s next vacation to “Barthelona” to “help improve their accents too.”
Los Angeles—After a completely dry semester spent playing Among Us and aimlessly staring at the ceiling of his dorm lounge, Trent Jackson ’24 began listing the names of the lying adults who told him college would be “the best four years” of his life.
“My dad used to tell me his college stories: frats, bars, intramurals, peeing off balconies, you know, the whole shebang. Then around June he stopped and told me to make the best of what I had,” said Jackson as he scrolled through the list of family members who were dead to him. “I was promised parties every day, life-changing professors, and a chance encounter in the rain with my future wife. What the fuck, Dad?”
Jackson reserved a portion of his righteous anger for his other family members too.
“Even my uncle, legendary UMich frat star and current high school football coach, is scared to talk about college with me,” said Jackson. “But like why? I’m okay. I’m totally fine. This is just how I imagined these four years. It’s not like they filled my head with unreasonable expectations and then hoped that I would forget them. Right?”
At press time, Jackson was found wistfully scrolling through Instagram’s backlog of old Slope Day pictures while his parents huddled together in their office brainstorming a list of safe, non-college related topics to talk to their son about.
MORRISTOWN, NJ—An immense feeling of relief washed over Anthony Moses ’23 after his routine trip to the restroom suddenly became the subject of intense research on the symptoms of the COVID-19 virus, in fear that he had contracted the deadly disease after experiencing a burning sensation as he urinated.
“It was terrifying,” remarked Moses before continuing, “I felt my life flash before my eyes. I had met up with a new girl from Tinder the night before and it didn’t even occur to me that she could’ve had the ‘Rona until I woke up. Thank God the first page of Google has a list of symptoms otherwise I would’ve had to get tested, like I had an infectious disease or something.”
Thankfully for Moses, neither the CDC nor any other credible health organization has found painful urination to be a symptom of the virus which has been considered a global pandemic since March. A burning sensation whilst urinating is often associated with another viral disease, which Moses seemed to have no knowledge of.
“I’m no ginger, but oh boy do I feel like a firecrotch!” exclaimed the sophomore when asked if he had any theories about the source of his calamity. “Honestly, I’m just relieved that I don’t have to quarantine, that would be such a cockblock. I have another Tinder hookup coming over and it would’ve been a total bummer to cancel on this rocket.”
When asked if he had purchased condoms in anticipation of his guest’s arrival, Moses appeared puzzled at the concept, replying: “I wear a mask so I don’t get COVID, but I wouldn’t wear a poncho on Splash Mountain, kinda defeats the point, you know? Stay safe, but Live Mas.”