By Sarah Reif

One morning a couple of weeks ago, I was walking through the HSSC when I crossed paths with a horde of jabbering youths, all adorned in red lanyards. It was, as I soon discovered, Admitted Students Day.

I always reserve judgement until I am confident that I truly know and understand the subject matter. That being said, I immediately knew I didn’t like them. Ambling around like thieves casing the scene of the crime. Fraternizing among themselves. Answering questions about prepositions in my German class (that I also knew the answer to, I just didn’t raise my hand as quickly because I’m not competitive). The sight of these possible future students instantly sickened me.

I had not been consulted on the admittance of new students. Pardon me for wanting to know what those admissions officers do behind closed doors! They should get off their high Honda Civics and give us, the people, a voice in this matter. These incoming freshmen—I don’t know these people and frankly, I don’t like many of the fashion choices they are displaying. 

Look, I don’t seek to sow disinformation, but I’ve heard frightening conspiracies that the new students seek to gradually take our place at this institution until we are entirely replaced. B&S reporters are still looking into this claim. We are, however, certain that they plan to eat the HSSC service dogs as well as Boy George.

How am I so sure of these threats? Take a look around, dumbass. Witness the wonders of Grinnell, Iowa. They laid their eyes on the Noyce geometrically-patterned furniture upholstery and fought the wind every single time they tried to open a building’s door and their minds and spirits were undoubtedly set ablaze with desire. “I must have this!” they schemed whilst an approaching train blared its horn repeatedly. They are hungry for and seek to drain the overpriced pastries and Twizzler rations peddled by Spencer Grill.

I live the simple life of a true Grinnellian: Every morning, I awake after my fifth alarm, at which point everyone on my floor is awake whether they like it or not. Once I emerge from my abode, I cut directly across Ward Field. Against the behest of our college landscapers, my peers and I are engaged in a communal effort to trudge a permanent diagonal path of dirt and mud through the grass towards the JRC. At breakfast, I illicitly transport an obscene amount of food out of D-Hall. I park this contraband along with my bags in an empty HSSC room and promptly proceed elsewhere. I will not return for hours. On Fridays, I take four shots before my Poli-Sci class. Nobody can tell. This is because I am also stubborn and belligerent while sober.

This is the life of true Grinnellian—and this is what the prospies risk destroying. This is the culture that we have battled so hard to erect and maintain, and that we shall NOT hand over to a reckless generation of feckless, brain-rotten, culturally listless normies. Future students, be warned: I will not give in easily.