“These are strange and unprecedented times.” “I hope you’re staying safe.” “We’re all in this together!” Blah, blah, blah. Yeah, well, that’s not gonna stop me from calling out an asshole when I see one.
Earlier this month, the nation marked the nineteenth anniversary of the September 11, 2001, terror attacks with our usual solemnity, care, and grief. Photos of the burning World Trade Center were once again splashed across social media, lest anyone get the impression that they had forgotten the event which so scarred our collective consciousness.
That 70s Show was one of the most binge-worthy shows on Netflix, until it was recently removed.
The wonders of Electronic Dance Music.
It’s 13:00 at the feeding center. Before the meltdown, the center’s windows allowed in sunlight. Now, the windows are walls. We each line up six feet apart on our designated floor positions. Like newly manufactured widgets under inspection for defects, we are summoned towards the checkpoint. The feeding officer motions for me. I tap my proximity card onto the reader, “Welcome A160038**,” she vocalizes. “Brave new world,” I remark. “Mhm,” she murmurs from under her mask. Robotically, she administers an isopropyl alcohol solution onto my hands. Mercilessly, the hydroxyl groups “shred apart” the phospholipid bilayers of my resident microbes—my hands rendered devoid of life. Having executed this brutal scorched earth policy, I follow the red arrows into the main chamber. It is different here; the new quietness and impersonality is discomforting. Once my selection of hermetically sealed rations has been made, I’m efficiently directed out of the center. The whole process takes no more than three minutes. It’s painless, but nothing more. In and out, we’re processed, allotted rations, then expelled.
My name is Erin, and I dislike children. I’m not sorry—they’re just not my thing. If you have a kid or a little brother or sister or nephew that you think will be an exception because they are just “so cute,” they won’t be. They’ll be covered in slobber, snot, and every other bodily fluid you could imagine. In my opinion, they are an 18-year, at the very least, burden of time and finances. If I wanted a cute burden, I would get a dog. They scream less. It makes no sense to me that it’s more socially acceptable to go through all the pain of having a child than to simply opt out. It frustrates me immensely when I am at a wedding or similar event and hear somebody ask a couple about when they think they will have kids. For one, stay in your lane. But additionally, why do you feel the need to interrupt the couple’s happiness so quickly? Leave them alone and let them enjoy their lives at least a little bit before they decide to give up almost two decades of life experiences and a year of sleep.
Good news everyone—the Big Z is back at ya with a brand-new article! As many of you have heard, candidates Joe Biden and Kamala Harris, in an effort to get more youth involvement in the election, have begun to reach out on Animal Crossing New Horizons, and I have something to say about it… typical liberal pandering! Everyone knows no real Americans play Animals Crossing. Caring about animals, the environment, being relaxed, CROSSING! That is everything Tucker Carlson terrified us into hating! So I have proposed an idea where God’s chosen president can counter this liberal conspiracy by reaching out to the youth and joining in on another popular game one where people just like him gather to speak and have fun the American way in an American game! The one that only the top tier of Americans play…. FORTNITE! Imagine the joy on their faces as their favorite president regales them with stories of how he beats the fake news all the time or how he has beaten “GINA” on every corner of the world.
Taco Bell is an American institution. Its Cheesy Fiesta Potatoes, Mexican Pizzas, Bean Burritos, Chalupas, Baja Blasts, and other venerable items have long powered the American landscape and my own life. However, recently the Bell has decided to betray the American people by removing some of these treasured foods from its expansive menu. Specifically, over the course of the last two months, TB has eliminated from its offerings the Mexican Pizza, Cheesy Fiesta Potatoes, Shredded Chicken Soft Taco, Shredded Chicken Burrito, Shredded Chicken Quesadilla Melt, Pico de Gallo, Grilled Steak Soft Taco, 7-Layer Burrito, Quesarito, Nachos Supreme, Beefy Fritos Burrito, Spicy Tostada, Triple Layer Nachos, Spicy Potato Soft Taco, Loaded Grillers (both cheesy potato and beefy nacho), Mini Skillet Bowl and Chips and Dips. This is a travesty. This is an American horror story. This is one of the worst things to happen in 2020.
The first weeks after students return to college campuses are always a period of unbridled revelry. Young adults who spent the summer in dead-end minimum wage jobs reunite with old friends and can once again entertain the possibility of getting laid on a twin XL mattress. Freshmen, free from parents’ watchful eyes for the first time, scramble to establish social circles and show their new friends how quickly they can poison themselves with Svedka and Bud Light. It is a time of new beginnings and crippling hangovers.
Gazing over the crowd of freshmen watching Fordham’s orientation video on consent, I realized something: Fordham has well and truly fucked us. We chose to give them our eight grand, we chose to get into bed with them, on the assumption that all of us were going to work to get the best situation possible in these unprecedented times. Now, not only do they refuse to use protection—more on that later—but they continuously refuse to give us any information on what’s going to happen next.