By Josh Payong

As the temperature drops below 283.15 kelvins, Grinnellians have been forced into dire straits. In order to adapt to the November frigidity, the campus population has begun engaging in some innovatively bizarre activities. From developing migratory patterns during active school periods to making arctic skinsuits – here are our findings.

First to adapt is a flock of international students, who have begun their migration home prior to the end of the semester. 

“It’s not the workload. I’m perfectly fine,” reports Đuc Ling ‘25, with eyebags so prominent they would put Michael Yagoobian to shame, “It’s just a little too cold for me here.” 

Ling then proceeded to jump off the JRC in his makeshift wingsuit to begin his voyage home. SHAW says he will never walk again.

Lamenting the fragility of the human body in extreme climates, other students have decided to take matters into their own hands – or fins. Much like the acclaimed horror movie Tusk (2014), Wahl Russ ‘26 sewed himself into a skinsuit of a certain marine mammal. Having made the Osgood Natatorium his new place of residence, Russ has refused to attend his classes and only eats salmon from D-Hall. We are very concerned, as no functioning organism would ever willingly subject themselves to a life of D-Hall salmon. Any close friends of Russ are encouraged to help him transition to fried cod.

In their first active semester after The Bob Incident of ‘21, members of the Bear Watching Club have begun hoarding all of the burgers at the grill in preparation for winter hibernation. They cite Grazer, winner of the 2023 “Fat Bear Week” poll, as their role model. The majority of the club has already begun “hibernation”, rendering them “unable” to attend finals week. The prospect of hibernation has led to a spike in Bear Watching Club member applications.

However, not everything is going well for the Grazer Fanclub. The lack of burgers at the grill has sent the football team into a fit of aggressive, wanton rampaging. They roam High St. actively hunting the Bear Watchers who have hampered their nutritional needs. 19 separate incidents of unprovoked tackling and unnecessary roughness have been attributed to Pioneers football players in the past week—none of which resulted in physical injury as the tackles never pushed any of the victims down.

In self-defense, these Ursus Observers retain their right to bear arms with literal bear arms. They now walk around campus in full bear fursuits. “This is 100% necessary for our protection,” says Grazer fanatic Pup Floofson ‘25, “and there is nothing sexual about this whatsoever.” An anonymous informant states that Floofson placed #4 on the Yiffer Leaderboards under an alias, Biggus Ursus Dickus.

Lastly, the testicle-bearing populace of Grinnell College woke up to a shocking revelation after fall break: their balls were gone. The weather had become so cold that their bollocks receded into nothingness. With this came a massive hormonal shift. Toxic masculinity came to a screeching halt, legs around campus grew squeaky clean with an utter lack of body hair, and men stopped having sex. However, without a biological drive for maximal gym gains, a new wave of depression is sweeping through the campus.

“If ball is life, what are we now?” ponders Tess Tostherhone ‘24, “Lifeless, like an autumn leaf carried carelessly to the colorless corners of our cosmos by a cruel wind amongst a cacophony of other crying men, ball-less and alone? What if–” Tostherhone spent the next seven hours sobbing and waxing philosophical about a world without cojones. 

There is no adapting to this one. Why bother? It’s not like I’m getting my nuts back.

This concludes our findings.


With neither balls nor purpose,

The B&S.