ROBERT PURCELL COMMUNITY CENTER—Despite having known each other for a mere six days, Brian Furman ‘26 and Evan Adames ‘26—the shining stars of a fairly dim orientation group—have already entered into a relationship.
“After giving the rest of the group a quick once-over, it was love at first sight,” said Adames. “Bri-Bri and I just have so much in common. Like, we’re both hot—how crazy is that?! I’m so glad to have found a diamond in the rough.”
While the rest of their orientation group participated in icebreakers, the flame of love was enough to thaw the straits between Furman and Adames. They were further entangled by failed attempts to score beer in Collegetown and a surprisingly sensual diversity, equity, and inclusion training session (described by onlookers as “pretty inappropriate”).
“Kevin just seems really cool,” said Furman, apparently in reference to Adames. “It’s like, not only is he hot, he’s also really smart. When we were in Collegetown that one time—dude, it was crazy—he came, like, super close to getting us into that rager. It was the best moment of my life.”
At press time, Furman and Adames had “mutually agreed” to break off their torrid romance after noticing additional attractive people.
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.
GOLDWIN SMITH HALL— Last Friday, freshman Andre Potter grew alarmed during his FWS class’s Two Truths and A Lie icebreaker when he realized the murderous subtext of his classmate Mason McKay’s ‘25 answers.
“At first, I kind of felt bad for the guy when his first answer was that he took a gap year after the loss of his girlfriend,” Potter explained, “but then he said that he’s never buried a body beside an isolated cabin in the woods of Maine before and I thought, ‘Why even mention that?’”
According to Potter, McKay’s final answer was that he disliked pineapple on pizza, a statement he later disproved when he pulled a slice of Hawaiian pizza out of his Saw lunchbox and began slicing it with a blood-stained knife.
“At that point, I freaked out because he totally murdered his girlfriend and hid her body. He even tried to explain it away by claiming that the red stains on the knife were pig’s blood,” Potter added. “And during our discussion he claimed he was playing Devil’s Advocate when he said that he admired the hard choices that the Donner Party had to make. I’m starting to think he fried and ate his girlfriend too!”
Despite the suggestion that his classmate committed homicide and possibly cannibalism, Potter maintains that the day’s most disturbing revelation was that McKay actually likes pineapple on pizza.
CLARA DICKSON HALL – In a desperate attempt to impress his peers, Jonah Brockston ’24 tried to highlight just how many people he has interacted with by changing his background to a quarantine room in Statler.
“It could’ve been from that massive party I went to this weekend at that one fraternity with all the hot girls,” Brockston explained to his online freshman writing seminar while double fisting a White Claw and a Keystone. “But it’s so hard to tell. I’ve seen so many people in the last 10-14 days that I can’t even keep track.”
Brockston kept up the act during class, going off-mute several times to take obviously fake phone calls from his purported friends and gratuitously coughing throughout the meeting. His transparent charade confused fellow classmates.
“I don’t understand why he thinks this makes him look cool,” said a bewildered Estefania Sanchez ’24. “If he broke social distancing guidelines or got COVID, it isn’t something to joke about. He 100% didn’t, but, you know, in theory.”
After class, Brockston sat alone in his Dickson dorm room and reported himself for a Behavioral Compact Violation so he could post about it on Instagram.
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.
DONLON HALL—Per sources close to the situation, the bulk-sized box of condoms purchased in August by freshman Isaac Moore at a Costco remained completely unused at the onset of winter break three months later.
“When I first moved in, he showed me the box of rubbers almost immediately and asked me if I thought he’d bought enough ‘raincoats,’” said Matt Steinbeck, Moore’s roommate. “I was kinda skeptical at the time, but in hindsight, jeez. Did he even leave the room to do anything other than eat in the last three months?”
Moore indicated that while the semester had not gone as anticipated, he was still optimistic about putting his “investment” to good use in the near future.
“It was rough going at times, I’m not gonna lie,” said Moore. “But I think we definitely made some progress over the last few months. A loser doesn’t get 22 matches on Tinder. It just becomes a matter of converting those matches to Snapchats, and then meeting in person, which is where we faltered the most this semester. Hopefully we can make some moves during the break and see some strides.”
At press time, Moore was reportedly “getting real close” with a Tinder match who last responded “k” three hours earlier.
DONLON HALL—Rebecca Tinsley ‘24 knew things weren’t going to work out the moment she moved into her second floor Donlan double and saw her roommate had already hung a Pulp Fiction poster that would continue to haunt Tinsley throughout the semester.
“I walk in, and there she is, just smoking a cigarette, though my second cousin by marriage had just died from smoking-caused COPD 4 months prior,” said Tinsley, referring to the poster of the character Mia Wallace, played by Uma Thurman, smoking a cigarette on a bed, “I mean, cruel much?”
The animosity only festered, Tinsley explained, as Uma refused to back down or lower her sultry, come-hither gaze. Not only did she feel terrorized by the gun perched by Uma’s hand, but the poster-star challenged Tinsley in her role as room 215’s resident fashionista. “That art hoe bitch with her trendy micro-bangs thinks she’s better than me,” said Tinsley.
While the rivalry has not yet come to physical violence, the tension has escalated to an aggressive staring contest that Tinsely, despite her corporeal disadvantage, swears she “will not back down from.”
By press time, Tinsley’s roommate’s amazon-purchased poster has not responded to a request for comment.