HAMILTON, NY—As the first semester draws to a close at Colgate University, many students are beginning to grow tired of the typical Saturday night sweat-fest at DU or banal blackouts at the Jug. In response to growing frustrations at the seemingly routine drunken nights, the Rag sent an undercover team to a new party-hot spot: the amish community.

Upon arriving at the Amish compound, our team was pleasantly surprised to see thicc kegs with mysterious contents and the absence of the Colgate “X,” a favorite move of our beloved frat boys that stand guard at the door swagged out in their nike elites. As the night progressed, the compound members got progressively rowdier, chanting old german drinking songs and enthusiastically executing a bangin’ attempt at the Can Can.

The crowd’s sense of tradition as well as their famous moonshine recipe was a hit with the team, giving students a better blackout than the Jug ever has. “The energy was UNREAL. And those farm boys? God DAYUM. They have better arms than any DU football boy I’ve ever seen. I’d be a ho in their field any day,” gushed junior Ginny Tonic. The compound also excelled in their partying attire, with their whole crew smartly dressed in vintage suits and dresses with hipster-esque beards (a total catch). The attire brought an air of class and sophistication to the party while students shotgunned in the horse stalls, an atmosphere that is typically lacking in the frat basements choked with boys wearing identical Lebron James jerseys. “The dress code of the amish parties is baller. For once, I knew for a fact that I looked like the sluttiest girl at the rager. Big ego boost honestly,” senior Tiffany Hilton bragged.

As the night wore on, participants praised the unique music and the appearance of various horses wandering around the field in which the rager was hosted. “You have no idea how glad I am to not hear the same remix of Mo Bamba for the five hundredth time. This new acoustic cover is BANGIN! It’s so much easier to drop it low to,” junior James Smith said. His friend Tina Clark agreed, adding “This music? Lit. And who doesn’t want to play with a horse after downing a tub of moonshine? Lit. And the scenery? I feel so in touch with nature, more so than when I’m passed out in the village green post Jug night.” Our team left around 4am as the rooster began to crow, and were sent home in a VIP horse and buggy in true amish style . “The amish know where it’s at. 10/10 would recommend, they’re the littest frat in town,” said sophomore Dan Harvey before passing out on the steps of Andrews.

HAMILTON, NY — The hero stood for what is right and tried to save people. No, I am not talking about John Jug. Our savior rose from the cult (though not as cult-y this year) of Gate House. Rumors abound as to the identity of the hero. Most, however, agree that is actually a heroine. While the identity is currently unknown, the story of her heroism has spread through entirety of the campus.

“So, like, I was fucking there. I saw it all. She is such a badass. I mean, like, I wasn’t there there, but I live in Gate House. I mean, lived. Okay, man, it fucking counts. Anyway, I’ve heard the story like a shit ton of times so I know what happened. Okay, so like, the fire alarm starts going off at Gate House and everybody is, like, fucking panicking. But not her. No. You see, she was just getting back to her dorm from, like, class or some shit, when she realizes she’d forgotten her key. Before she’d left that morning, she’d set up a ‘pong table to hone her skills after class. And, like, she was going to play against herself. And, like, bitch cup was a goddamn cup full of vodka. This girl went hard. So, like, she realizes she doesn’t have her key and then remembers of the game she’d setup. She knows she can’t let goddamn campo see that shit. So, she gets this look and—holy shit man. She fucking bullrushes the door. Just like, lowers her shoulder and boom. She does this, like, seven times. Then she starts fucking punching the door. Like, jab, jab, jab, uppercut, body shot, jab, jab, until she makes a hole. Then she sticks her hand through it and opens her door. It was so badass,” Walton “Seventh Year” Logans, class of 2013, said.

As the story spreads through campus, the myth becomes grander and grander.

“I heard that this chick, like, fucking busted down her door with a high heel. She, like, put her hair in a ponytail, grabbed the high heel, and started wailing on that bigass door. It was so cute,” a sexist but well-meaning (I mean, kinda) admirer, Bradley “Rad Brad” Whiteashell, class of 2021, said.

Despite schoolwide clamoring for the heroine to be presented some plaque or commemoration, President Casey has so far refused.

“Guys, she broke down a door. While, yeah, it was badass, I just can’t give an award for that. I just can’t,” Casey said.

In spite of Casey’s failure to acknowledge just how badass the unknown heroine was, campo officers have offered her their unquantified respect.

HAMILTON, NY — Local reporter, me, doesn’t have time to actually come up with an idea for this article, and apologizes profusely to all parties involved. 

Look, it’s not that I don’t want to write for the Monthly Rag, I really do, but my first priority is my education, and I’m afraid I don’t have time for a ‘number’ word column; I’m genuinely sorry.

So yeah, I’ve made certain, “bad decisions,” with respect to time management that if I had handled responsibly would’ve allowed me to write an adequately funny, intelligent article. But sometimes, you’ve just got to go to a *obscure club name here* pub and play a drinking game where you watch the Scooby Doo movie and take a shot every time something screams, “I was made in the early 2000’s, can’t you tell?” Sometimes, you have to blackout and wake up next to a guy in an ascot with a tail in your ass.

But now that my two day hangover is over, I need to finally buckle down and focus on my academics. Sure, I didn’t do the last few problem sets, and maybe I haven’t attended lecture since mid-September, but school is really important to me, and Professor…oh, what’s their name…? Well, it’s besides the point anyways; the point is that I can’t allow an extracurricular, especially one like The Monthly Rag to get in the way of a Bachelor’s degree, so I’m afraid that I just won’t be turning in an article, and that even if I did, it certainly wouldn’t be a size within relative uniformity of the other articles in the issue.

No! Stop asking me, I don’t care that I do this for every club and that if I didn’t go on three month coke benders, I could write a simple page long joke article, but it’s not that simple, and I’d appreciate it if you’d stop. Listen, my addiction to a copious amount of varied drugs in no way affects the quality of my life, and I don’t have a problem.

See? Now I’m agitated and I’ve dropped my heroine needle. Don’t you know I need it to study? Look, see, my Astro textbook is right here, I’m just about to start, honestly. What’s that? This is just a Flat Stanley picture book? Well fuck off! How I study is my business! Now where’s that damn needle?

Oh, oh, and now I’m just wasting the reader’s time with a one-gimmick comedy article that’s gone on for way too long and devolved into an extremely distasteful running gag about drug addiction, a topic that is serious and relevant to the college aged Colgate student body? And that now I’m just using meta-jokes to distract that I’m reminding them that we’re all slaves to our dopamine receptors and that impulsive behavior from procrastination to drug abuse will hound us all our lives and that the consequence of such behavior has nothing to do with the merit of the individual but whether they were lucky enough to develop the addictions they can live with? Well, even if I wanted to engage with those ideas, I wouldn’t, because I just don’t have the time to write this article, and that’s my final answer. Suck it, Monthly Rag, and checkmate!

HAMILTON, NY — As the first month of college for the freshmen of Colgate University draws to a close, a common anxiety befalls the dorms: the five grams of marijuana they had left in their mason jar or stolen tupperware container is swiftly depleting. As students continue to use the drug to ease their social anxieties, they must find a new source for their sticky green. 

“What will I do to ease the tension of a Tinder hookup?” says member of the freshman class, Mary Kusch. “I only match with seniors, and they provoke anxiety.” Ms. Kusch later explains that her “constant” trips to The Jug, a local establishment, are “tiring,” and finds that “lighting up in the showers of Gate House” helps her to calm down after a long week of going out.

Ms. Kusch admits that she uses the drug marijuana as somewhat of a “crutch” to ease her social interactions, as she is having trouble transitioning into the party culture at the school. Soon, the mason jar full of dryer sheets, her pipe, and a lighter, will be absent of the “whacky tobacky” Mary has become so dependent on, and she is looking for what she calls a “plug.” 

Mary is not alone in her search.  In fact, sources say about 78% of the class of 2022 has no idea where to purchase marijuana in the small town of Hamilton. “It’s not New York,” says Kyle, Ms. Kusch’s classmate, “[a student] can’t just take a 40-minute train ride downtown to find a dealer.” 

Many students we spoke with are resorting to urban connections such as these and the extensive package delivery service at Colgate to keep them in the green. Others, however, speak to the fact that “the line in the [O’Connor Campus Center] is too long for [them] to wait for packages.” They would much rather purchase their drugs the old-fashioned way: late night, with the hoods of their Ivy (or Baby Ivy) League sweatshirts up, in the far corner of a parking lot, sneakers tied tight in case they need to run from the authorities. 

The search for a new plug is much like searching for a new doctor. Patient-doctor confidentiality is a given, as well as a mutual trust between the two. A good doctor would never give their patient the improper medicine, but this relationship takes time to build, and it’s anxiety-provoking for many students to attempt this task. Some have resorted to self-medicating with their current stores of reefer, which further diminishes their resources, exacerbating their need for a new plug. 

The vicious cycle continues until the student is forced to grovel at every pregame, every Jug night, even in their extracurriculars, for a trace–an inkling of a plug. “Give it two more weeks,” contributes second-year Jane Keefner, “they’ll figure it out.” The optimism displayed by older students is only slightly reassuring to the freshmen, as they currently stare into the abyss: the thought of going a few days without getting high is terrifying–enough to warrant a few joints to “take their mind off it.”