HAMILTON, NY —  Growing up in Scarsdale, New York in Westchester County, the Beta Shitter came from a lower upper class family.  While growing up, BS often struggled with feelings of inadequacy.

“Do you know what it’s like to grow up with only two yachts in Westchester?  I was bullied, harassed, embarrassed almost daily. Kids would steal my ascot, pull my lapels, hide my cufflinks, step on my Sperry’s.  It was horrifying! You don’t fucking know the pain I’ve endured,” BS said.

Since he was a young kid, BS dreamed the American Dream, or FBGM—”Fuck Bitches, Get Money.”  

“Dude, I fucking knew I was gonna get tons of puss when I came here.  These girls are LOOSE man! Anyway, now that I’ve declared my major I’ve really had to scale back on the punnany.  Econ man, shit takes time,” BS said wistfully.

While BS always had the FBGM dream, he didn’t expect that he would become a campus hero.

“Campus legend, bitch!  Let’s put this straight, I’m a campus LEGEND!  God, it was fucking hilarious to shit on those pricks’ porch.  I wish I could’ve seen their faces… Man, time really flies,” BS reminisced.  

When asked about his opinion on the so-called “copycat” from this year, BS bristled.

“What the fuck are you talking about?  Copycat?! Copycat?!  The guy from Curtis or Drake or wherever the hell wasn’t making a statement.  He wasn’t squatting in solidarity with his sisters. No—that dick was drunk and pooped in an innocent person’s dorm.  That’s some Beta shit right there. Man, it gets me heated whenever they try to compare me to him. People think I just took a shit on a porch.  They don’t understand the dedication that it took. The clarity of mind. The goddamn artistry,” BS said.

When asked if he has any more statements on the horizon, BS was reluctant to share any specifics.

“Man, you’ll just have to wait and see.  I’ve got some ideas, but you’ll just have to wait and see,” BS said.

HAMILTON, NY — The Monthly Rag recently acquired some pullover sweatshirts—and it is no overstatement to say that they are “fye.”  The pullover is black, with a crest in the front-left with the motto “The pen is mightier” inscribed in the bottom of the crest.  On the back, the saying “13 Stories Written by 13 Writers After 13 Beers” is written out. Multiple members of the Monthly Rag have reported an increase in: body count, lip bites in their direction, winks in their direction, and general lust directed toward their soul.  The new swag has created a real stupor among the Colgate population.

“Oh god..they’re just so fucking cool.  Do you know if [redacted] is single? I’ve just never seen so much drip in my life.  Oh lord, the ambiguous motto just… Does it mean 13 writers drank 13 beers between them or does it mean they each drank 13 beers?  God, I don’t care. I just want [redacted] right now,” first-year Nadie NoOne said.

This much sauce, however, has caused some friction among the Rag members.

“I just don’t know man.  Do they want me for my fucking handsomeness or for my sauce?  It’s a real mind-fuck, man. It’s keeping me up at night, man,” Rag member Great Personality Jared said.  

The lust hasn’t been limited to the students either.

“Dude, I was just in Frank getting some food when this lady just comes up to me and my friends.  It was fucking wild. She says she fucks with, like, the Rag and shit. And I’m like ‘Aight, dope.’  Then she’s like ‘I don’t always fuck with it.’ And I’m like ‘Bet? Aight then.’ So, like, basically, she wanted my dick,” a first-year Rag member said.

Despite the general lust for the new Rag pullovers, there have been some students that don’t appreciate the aesthetic.

“Does [redacted] not fucking have anything else to wear?  [Redacted] has worn it to French all damn week. He has like six fucking stains on it!  And one of them looks crusty as fuck… Just, uhhhh, wash it for God’s sake!” senior Todos EveryOne said.

Although some students’ jealousy will get in the way of their fashion sense, the Rag has vowed to persevere.

“Fuck him!  This—this is just some lotion I dropped on it.  My elbows get ashy!” an anonymous Rag member said.

HAMILTON, NY — Lace up your Supergas, put on the best ripped jeans you own and order some odd-shaped rose-colored glasses on Amazon. Its girls dirty rush szn! What does that entail, you might ask? Here at the Rag, we have the answers. We’ve put together this handy guide to help freshmen and confused upperclassmen alike with the process known as sorority dirty rush. For the woefully confused, let’s get a few basics out there: Dirty rush is all about getting hammered with people you barely know and just hoping that someone was sober enough to remember your name or at least save your phone number. The more ‘pregames with friends’ you get invited to, the better shape you’re in. Come fall, rushee’s can use the connections they made to get a bid because of your conversation skills, and totally not because you and Becky in Kappa went to the same High School in Westchester. Here are some tips from a junior girl who asked to remain anonymous. “First, you should totally try to dress to match the group you’re hanging out with”, she said. “The more people who are confused if you’re a sister or not, the better”. The junior continued on, advising freshmen to keep an ear out for these key phrases: “Omg i love your outfit”, “wanna come pregame with my friends???” and “Heyyy, so where are you from” which, she told The Rag, are all symbols that you’re on the right track to get invited to dirty rush events. A vast difference from being invited ‘down to the house to play with the bros’, dirty rushing for girls is all about pretending you haven’t talked to any other groups when really you’ve been to 5 different pregames in the past week and you lost track of the number of times you’ve answered the question “so where do you think you want to rush next year?”. Finally, it’s crucial to play it cool: never refer to an event as a dirty rush, everyone knows it’s just ‘hanging out with my upperclassmen friends’. Feel free to use this handbook liberally, and don’t forget to thank The Rag during recruitment next year when you’re light years ahead of the fucking losers who didn’t dirty rush.

HAMILTON, NY — Over the past several weeks multiple professors have entered their Monday classes to find a staggeringly low number of students. While typically most don’t find a 9 am detox cum Legacies a particularly invigorating way to start their week, even in classes with 15% participation grade, large portions of the Colgate population were absent for their $200-a-session desk-nap. Professors and staff (who had begun an underground black-market based on reselling of hungover students the Juul pods they left in common rooms over the weekend) began to severely investigate the origin of these staggering low student turn-out. 

“At first I thought they had just forgotten where the classroom was,” an introductory-economic professor stated, “it wouldn’t be the first time, last semester a half dozen of them forgot how stairs worked and just sat in the entryway of Pearson’s for three days. But after a while I noticed that those absent would usually show up to Wednesday and Friday classes, and I figured it was too much of a coincidence that they got lost the same day every week.” 

Through the deep, underground, hard-hitting investigative skills members of the Rag staff had gained via osmosis of playing Clash of Clans in the chapel during the Anne Curry coloqueim, we were able to determine the real reason why students weren’t showing up to their regularly attended courses: Game of Thrones. 

“People just won’t shut the fuck up!” one of the absent students (who would only give their fursona name so will be left anonymous cause we don’t fuck with that) said as a justification for their refusal to attend Monday classes, “I’m sorry I don’t have HBOfuckingGO like the rest of you, I have to wait till Tuesday before the Bosnian ear porn website I pirate it from posts it. It’s the only place to get a quality high-definition so I can count each hair on Samwell Tarly’s neck beard, I won’t settle to watch it any other way. But that means I have to wait a whole 48 hours to watch and by then people won’t stop spoiling it. I have to stay in seclusion.”  

Several particularly (obsessively?) dedicated fans (freaks?) have begun bunkering themselves in the tunnels under Olin to ensure absolute seclusion and avoidance of potential pricks who may ruin the show that gives their lives some semblance of meaning. Armed to the teeth with cosplay weaponry and noise-cancelling headphones, they call themselves the Sunday Nights Watch, sworn to protect themselves from plot spoiler until they too can watch the show and spoil it for everyone else sainly invested in this overrated, televised Dungeons and Dragons with boobs.