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Witnesses report that yesterday’s 11:00 MWF section EBIO 1010 plunged into chaos shortly after Professor Wiley Gertner, a seasoned instructor and respected authority in his field, announced he had a fun video to show the class. The whimsical deviation from the lecture slides proved disastrous only after the video – a PBS clip of rare birds’ mating calls – began to play without audio.
“Okay, who knows how to work this thing?” he asked the class, receiving only blank stares in return. He asked again, “Are any of you kids tech-savvy?” met with silence.
Gertner carried on relentlessly asking for student assistance for twenty minutes before making the switch from “Ask the Audience” to “Phone a Friend.”
“The first thing he did was call every number on the back of his splash card,” reported Sam Dimmadome, a fourth-year B-school student in need of a lab science. “The primate center folks redirected him to the Line when he started sobbing.”
According to beleaguered TA Jenny Esposito, the calls piled on and on. “After the Line, he called Gibson, then Student Affairs, then Jackie Rouege from Dining. He called his grandson who’s very good with the Cyber, but no luck there. Finally we saw him call WTUL but almost immediately he was screaming ‘I don’t want your damn Voodoo tickets; I want my bird calls!” and he hung up.
“He thought maybe it was his desktop that wasn’t working, so he tried his laptop… then my laptop,” said freshman Abby McGovern as she gently rocked her MacBook. “That didn’t work either, so he tried a student’s iPad, then iPhone, then a flip phone, a graphing calculator, and a Tamagotchi… I dozed off a bit and when I woke up there was an original Ms. Pacman game machine hooked up to the projector.”
At around 12:52, Gertner, broke into tears and fell onto his knees, scraping them on the tough, wiry carpet of Jones 102 in the process. He then wailed, “Might as well just re-enact the video.” Allegedly, the professor then began to shriek in increasingly high-pitched tones, eventually mustering the strength to hop around the room in a manner that was at least moderately similar to that of a Strelitzia reginae.
Finally dismissing the 50 minute class 123 minutes late, Gertner made sure to remind the class that yes, content from the video would be on the midterm.
This is a letter for the boy in my MCOM class who cringed when he saw dozens of mini ‘kins spill out of my backpack. This is a letter to the Loyola Starbucks manager who had the gall to tell me that I had gored his PSL inventory. Most of all it’s for the ex who told me he was leaving because “I could never love any human person as much as I love that goddamn pumpkin spice,” because finally, I’m ready to admit that he was right.
I’ve loved pumpkins ever since I can remember. My parents started noticing my love was more extreme than most the first time they caught me trying to dye myself orange so I could “leave the human world behind.” I was six years old, and I still don’t get why they didn’t think that was adorable. When pumpkin spice came into my life, a new world opened up more beautiful and nutmeggy than I could have ever imagined.
Some people’s hearts are pump-in’ blood, mine is pump-kin blood. I think the seasonal gourds are cute, fun, wholesome, sexy. Yeah I said it; I’m attracted to pumpkins. They turn me on. What the fuck are you going to do about it?
Of course, nothing hits me harder than the end of pumpkin season. Nothing. When my barista tells me they’re out of Pumpkin Spice? Forget it. I do not move from my room. I can’t. So no, I don’t appreciate your comments about the beginning of winter. I GET IT, CHRISTMAS IS COMING, AND NO MR BARISTA, I DON’T WANT A FUCKING PEPPERMINT MOCHA. YOU KNOW WHAT I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS? ONE MORE SIP FROM EACH OF THE 1,734 CUPS OF PSL I HAVE HAD THIS YEAR THAT ARE CURRENTLY IN MY CLOSET BUT DON’T TELL MY ROOMMATE.
I’ll admit it can be hard sometimes, like when my peers try to tell me “All lattes matter.” Or when my professor says that my IV of that sweet spiced good good is “leaking and creating a sticky mess.” Or when my boss says that handing out homemade pamphlets about the virtues of pumpkin spice while adorned in mini pumpkins is “unprofessional.” But if you think I’ll stop petitioning Starbucks to create a new size called Pumpké that is a jumbo pumpkin filled with PSL and served in a rustic wagon, or lighting a pumpkin spiced candle everywhere I go, or proclaiming my pumpkin spiced love to the WHOLE PUMPKIN WORLD then you are DEAD WRONG.
Well, students, it is philanthropy season here on Tulane’s campus, and all your favorite sororities are hosting fun, lucrative, and righteous events to raise money for their favorite charitable causes. How many of these events have you been to?
▢ Dancing for Dandruff
▢ Piñatas for Prostate Cancer
▢ Kahlua 4 Kids
▢ Baking 4 Burn Victims
▢ Friends 4 Fitts
▢ Egg Donations for Eczema
▢ Sing-Along for Snakes
▢ Crabs for Crabs
▢ Gumbo for Gonorrhea
▢ Cha Cha for Chunkers
0 out of 10:
You, insolent goober, are undeserving of love from any of your classmates, family members, or personal deities. How can you watch people suffer from burns, crab, and Fittsiness, and not raise a finger to help them? For shame, young ingrate; you shan’t be afforded the philanthropy of others in your future hour of need!
1 out of 10:
It is clear that you must have only supported your own sorority. Heathen! You writhe in sin, motivated only by self interest!
If you are not in a sorority and still only scored one then you may suffer from SLOTH, an ailment for which no cure is forthcoming.
2-5 out of 10:
Thine spirit is strong but lacks resolve. Why stop at two, three, four, or even five contributions of time, money, and enthusiasm to the holy alleviation of the trials of the needy? Do not wallow in the complacency of your own good deeds when the work of staving off human suffering is never done.
6-8 out of 10:
Your devotion is admirable, and your deeds good and just. You must be wary of the pit that lies in wait for the falling feet of the prideful.
9-10 out of 10:
Okay, why the fuck are you trying so hard? It’s not that big of a deal.
As if our nation didn’t have enough shit going down, the past few weeks have seen a noticeable increase in creepy clown sightings throughout the country. With the changing weather, flocks of clowns have migrated from the north in their iconic V formation and most recently, several Tulane students reportedly saw one of the creatures Monday night.
“I was like, JESUS FUCKING CHRIST WHAT THE FUCK,” said junior Allie Goffman, remembering the incident.
Having faced past criticism for slow responses, TUPD reacted to the reports of a single clown and created a perimeter in record time. According to witnesses, more than 40 officers piled out of a single patrol car, and an additional dozen arrived on the scene via unicycle.
Despite the police response and the quick dismissal of the case as a hoax, some felt they must take matters into their own hands.
“The clown huntin’ life chose me when my Ma got pied in the face when I was just a young whippersnapper.” said vigilante clown buster, Buster Clownman, “They usually move in packs in the dark of night, but this little bastard must’ve gotten separated. A death sentence if you ask me,” Buster sighed as he fueled up his flamethrower.
Thanks to one sorority’s GroupMe, which is now being considered for a Pulitzer, news of the sighting was disseminated to the entire Greater New Orleans Region within 37 seconds. Soon, many Tulane students had taken to social media with their own opinions about the sighting.
“If the clown was a hoax, then why are all my shoes so big and red?” asked sophomore Steven Bing.
Freshman engineering student Ricky Balmaceda reported being an avid believer in the clown, despite seeming to not quite know what a clown is. “Yeah I saw the clown,” he said, nodding a little too much. “With its four legs and its duck-like bill, laying an egg right outside Warren.”
One disgruntled faculty member expressed frustration with how much attention the clown was taking away from real campus issues. “Like the circus on the fourth floor of Newcomb,” said Italian literature professor Marya Cranston. “Every day I have to help the stilt-walkers that have fallen on those godforsaken stairs, all while enveloped in the stench of elephant dung.”
Coach Fritz took matters into his own hands. “We are at DefClown 1, people!” Fritz shouted as he loaded a t-shirt cannon with dynamite and used Riptide as an avian shield.
Fitts would have released a statement, but at press time he was paralyzed by fear, hiding under his bed and humming, “My Favorite Things.”