I came to Chapman for one reason and one reason only: to become the frat darling of the Class of 2023.
That dream shattered last December when I found bacteria cultures swimming in jungle juice at a PIKE party. I pocketed my Rudolph the red-nippled Reinwhore pasty that fell into the offending liquid, and decided to take it back to my home lab in Henley 118 for further testing.
I was shocked by the results. I tried to convince myself I was wrong. I must have fucked up somewhere. But, I couldn’t deny the novel coronavirus bacterium slide sitting in front of me. PIKE was up to trouble.
I tried to take my findings to Public Safety, but they just asked me if I registered my bike. Then I tried to tell my RA, Zachary Gordon, but he just told me to “shut the fuck up, I’m watching Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Rodrick Rules” I felt hopeless in my journey to bring the truth to light. But, then I thought I’d email the kumquat.
(The Kumquat would like to take this chance to apologize for our late response but we were too busy having sex.)
Fire. Plague. Floods. I couldn’t have known then what was to come, but hindsight is 2020, and 2020 is Hell. Everything led back to PIKE, but what I couldn’t understand was why. Why commit high-treason against humanity? Set the entire West Coast on fire? Sabotage Super Tuesday?
Despite PIKE’s best efforts, I had a single, sobering moment.
It’s all been a Heaven and Hell pregame. And oh baby, this year is Hell.
