I was fresh on the scene of Tinder when it happened. Desperately swiping through Pittsburgh plugs to find my husband-to-be, I got a notification on Instagram. Alarmed because I never use the app other than to hate-watch the feeds of Bella Hadid and the like, I clicked on the notification banner with fear in my heart. As it turns out, I had reached a milestone in my journey to desirability: I may never match with a single soul on Tinder, but someone had finally slid into my DMs!
Sure that my Prince Charming was on the other side of this message thread, I sent a reply right away, before even really reading what he had written; his name was Brad, and that was enough for me. I wrote something along the lines of “Hey there ;) wanna know what I’m wearing??”
Then I read the message.
My basically-fiancee had initially sent me this: “Hi! I was wondering if you were willing to put your name down to back the red this November.” And that was it. No winky-face, no “u up?”. Nothing. Nada. I had no butterflies in my stomach. Just questions. A metric fuck-ton of questions.
First-off, was this Brad guy referring to the hammer-and-sickle type of “red” or the go-back-to-where-you-came-from kind? The two are quite different, but I’m not sure I’d fancy romantic involvement with either, even at this juncture in my desperation. Secondly, what on my feed would lead Mr. Brad to believe that I would in fact want to “back the red”? Was it the pictures of my cats? If so, which ones? Which cat? I concluded that reading too far into Brad’s inquiry would open a can of worms that would kill any chance of romance between us, so I just kept up my side of the one-sided flirtation, saying “My roommate is away for the weekend ;))”. You see, Brad was all about making the first move when it came to winning a vote on Nov. 3, but now that I was ready to go all-in for him, he was nowhere to be seen. I called him out on this inability to commit and again, nothing in response.
I was just about fed up with my communist/republican e-boyfriend at this point, and I went back to my DMs to break it off. That was when I saw that Brad’s messages to me had disappeared. Similarly, his account wouldn’t show up when I searched for it either. Even worse, my WhitePages Premium search came up empty as well. I guess my cyber-lover had come to terms with his hypocrisy and made the decision to deplatform himself. I can only applaud that choice on Brad’s end, but I am left with the question of what could’ve been to ponder for the rest of my days. I guess it’s back to Tinder for me, wish me luck!
So here’s the deal. You want to pretend that you’re invincible. I get it, we’ve all been there. But you need to get with the times. 2020 has ushered in a pandemic, and with it came an elevated awareness of our mortality. And if you’re anything like me, Covid-19 isn’t the only thing tarnishing your perfect picture of human health; there’s an empty package of Oreo cookies on your desk that is doing that just as well. (Pro tip: If you wear a mask in your own home, you can’t eat oreos with nearly as much efficiency. It’s basically free weight loss, so mask up!) So now is the time to sack up and start planning your funeral! Think about it, nobody knows you like you do, and the funeral is basically the only party that you are guaranteed an invitation to. With BonBon cracking down on large gatherings, your post-mortem plans are all you have left. I got my start in the fantasy funeral biz when I was seven. This sounds odd, I am aware. But mind you, I was a strange kid with even stranger parents. My dad and I would pass the time on road trips imagining our dream memorial services. (sidenote: Hello father, I hope you opened the link that I sent you to this article. Tuition well spent, don’t you think?) Here are some of the highlights of what we came up with over the years.
My service will take place in a funeral home that doubles as a crematorium. This is crucial.
As soon as I perish, I have notified all who are close to me to begin preparing a set. About 10 minutes in length, each friend and family member will stand at the front of the room and address the large portrait of me, which will be propped up ahead of time. They will make jokes about me with no holds barred: nose jokes, fat jokes, mentioning that one time I was caught in the act of trying to stuff a family-sized container of uncooked pillsbury halloween cookies under my bed sheet to “save for later”, all the good stuff. Nothing will be off-limits at the Grand Roast of Sarah Yule, and I have already warned those speaking that I will haunt them for eternity if they go easy on me. They will get the crowd going with increasing numbers of knee-slappers.
By the time friend number 3 takes the stage, there won’t be a dry pair of pants in the viewing room. And if you are peeing, you probably aren’t crying, and this is the plan. It’s a celebration of life, after all!
At the end of the roast, a creepy older gentleman will materialize from the back room. More specifically, the man will be carrying me in an urn, fresh with my ashes, which were being prepared during the first half of the service. At this point, the man will take the microphone and announce that I was being roasted, while I was being roasted. This is why it is of the utmost importance that I am memorialized in a space that includes a crematory. If you thought the crowd was laughing before, now they’re really going. People are wheezing, falling to the ground. A few might even die from the lack of oxygen brought on by such a whacky turn of events; I mean COME ON, it’s a double roast. You don’t see those everyday.
After Party at Denny’s, need I say more?
As guests walk out of Denny’s, they will receive a t-shirt that reads: “Sarah died, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt”. Very much tourist, very “I survived the Bermuda Triangle.” With these amazing plans for my funeral, it is hard not to look forward to doom. Fearing death? Plan your funeral! You’ll barely be able to wait.
Reports from University of Pittsburgh police early Sunday morning disclosed that Pitt football head coach Patrick Regan Narduzzi was taken into police custody at around 3:45 AM, and was charged with public urination, excrement consumption, resisting arrest, first-degree scumbaggery, twelve counts of “actions detrimental to the honor and tradition of college football,” and just being a moron in general. Which, after an embarrassing stretch of performances including four straight losses suffered against the entire wolf population of North Carolina, Boston University, the University of Coral Gables, and an absolute annihilation at the hands of some French preachers from Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris, are not surprising infractions at all.
Coach Narduzzi was made available for comment before spending the bye week in a dark, dank jail cell, thinking about what he did wrong. Unfortunately, most of the questions from reporters were not questions at all. Instead, the press conference quickly degraded into disgusting comments joking about what a stupid little dumb idiot Pat Narduzzi is, or how he is such a stupid idiot nerd, or how he’s so dumb and stupid, and annoying, and sucks at his job, or how I hate him, or how he looks like an ostrich, or how he’s too braindead to stop using power run with a 5’8” running back, or how he made me waste $25, four hours, and a piece of my soul to watch my poor panthers get curb stomped by a coterie of Catholics, or how his defense is so godawful that a white guy with the first name Iancarved his pride and joy up like a jack-o’-lantern. Please do keep in mind that all of these insults are unprofessional, not at all funny, and should never be repeated. I was able to get in a few completely unbiased questions amidst the chaos and general rioting of the crowd. Below is a direct transcript of the Q&A with Narduzzi.
Evan Rafferty (ER): “Alright Coach, this has obviously been a tough last month or so for your football team. It certainly could have gone better, but setbacks like this could be seen as an opportunity to bring out the best in players and people in general. That being said, what in the name of God was going through your head this time, and, follow up question, why are you so stupid?”
Patrick Narduzzi (NARD): “Alright, uh, yeah. Gimme a second to sober up here.” Narduzzi then did a set of pushups, took off his shirt, and threw up into a nearby trash can. “Football? Yeah, football. Basically, what happened was, things were going great, right? Just playin’ some football, guys being dudes, what could be better than that? Then, all of a sudden, this big old half-bald white guy standing next to me looks over and says-”
ER: “You’re referring to Mark Whipple, your offensive coordinator?”
NARDZ: “I don’t know, I don’t really pay attention to names and all that. I just shove a couple of bennies in some guys’ pockets and let ‘em goof off for a few hours every gameday. Not really my problem. Anyway, that nipple guy or whatever looks at me and is like ‘Hey, the game’s over. We lost, again.’ And then I look up at the scoreboard and I’m like, ‘Oh, shit, what?’ I don’t know how to read it anyway, but I see all the people in the other colors jumping up and down and celebrating, which I’ve learned is what people do when they win something.”
ER: “Wait, so, you can’t even read? How old are you?”
NARD: “That’s an off-topic question, shut up and let me finish. Basically, I forgot to score more points than the other team. It’s that simple. I trusted all these nerds that I hired to remind to score more points and I guess they just didn’t tell me. Then I ask for a score check and some dweeb next to me tell me we’re down by forty-two. Like, what the hell, right? So then, after the Notre Dame game, my wife doesn’t let me in the house, and I have to drag my ass all the way back to my mom’s place just to have her make fun of me for an hour and a half. It’s not fair, you know? So after the fifth or sixth round of her telling me to get my act together, and kick the bath salts addiction, I packed up my stuff and made plans to crash at my boy Brad’s place in South O for the weekend. Apparently, I had a couple more Appletinis than I could handle before I got there and the next thing I remember is pissing in the Schenley Memorial Fountain and some sirens going off behind me. I guess having to take a leak is a crime now. It’s nature!”
ER: “So, what are you going to do now? Will you retain your position as the head coach of Pitt football?”
NARD: “Oh, obviously. Those geezers up at the AD’s office are paying me over $4,000,000 to lose to Boston College every year. You’re stuck with me unless I’m dragged out of Heinz Field and shot.”
ER: “As tempting as that sounds, you don’t think that you might be on the hot seat after you’ve disappointed and underachieved for the last five years? Maybe with your severance package, you can give me back my $25, pay for my hospital bills after I broke both of my hands from beating the devil out of the poor chair in front of me every third down, and bribe your wife to let you back in the big house instead of crashing with Brad every weekend and spending your Sunday mornings too plastered to even attempt to become literate.”
NARD: “What the- Who the hell are you, anyway?”
In fear of attracting the attention of the security guards, and the potential that my poorly put together Pittiful News press pass that I had to pay seven of my hard-earned cents to print might be discovered as a fake, I was forced to flee into the vents of the police station and make my escape back into the safety of the darkness.
Let this tale serve as a message to all those who stand with Narduzzi and his plans to destroy the sanctity and extensive tradition of Pitt football from the inside- I will be waiting. Once Heather Lyke returns all of my phone calls, emails, texts, love letters, and fruit basket messages, you’re all as good as gone. #FireNarduzzi, and, as always, hail to Pitt.
So, you might be thinking why is he being so open about this, that is a federal offence. But I am telling you all this because I trust you. Also, I have publicized many other treasonous acts, so if they are coming to get me, they will do it one way or another. I will start with that, yes, I did illegally cast 2 votes in the 2016 election. During that election I was not old enough to vote for real, so I had to get creative with how I got alone time with one of those sweet voting machines. In the past when I had committed voter fraud, I went to the polling location with my parents and while there I pretended to play with those fake voting machines. While I played with those toys, I provided enough of a distraction for me to signal my ninjas without anyone noticing. Comically, I voted for then host of the Celebrity Apprentice, a show I executive produced at the age of 8, Donald Trump, 7 times in 2008. At that time, I thought he was just a goofy guy who was friends with my favorite magician Penn Gillette. I could have never expected that after receiving only 7 votes, he would decide to run for president 8 years later. In 2012, before I realized the power my illegal votes held, I voted for a different candidate for president. I voted 39 times for ISIS, and I realize now that based on my previous success at guessing future candidates, I should have been more careful. I apologize for my past indiscretions. So, I decided I would make up for it in 2016 when Trump announced his run after sending me a letter thanking me.
In 2016 I went to two separate polling locations to make sure all of my illegal votes were counted equally. The first polling location I went to was well guarded, to get in and vote I had to answer a few riddles such as: what is your name, can you sign here, what is 3 times 6, “I run but never walk and I have a bed but never sleep”, what is your voter registration number. I just answered “river” for all of these questions, which confused the poll watchers but they guessed that turning river into numbers would give them my voter registration number. This worked because many years prior I had murdered someone named river and assumed their identity for the purpose of voting in this election. I got through and stole the voting block key thing and voted twice for: Donatello the ninja turtle (President), Yertle the turtle (Vice President), The tortoise who beat the hare (Governor, he lost to Tom Wolf, so I still got an animal elected), and Crush from finding Nemo (Australian ambassador).
Once I left that polling spot, I knew I would need help to pull off my next mission. So, I pulled some strings with my contacts in the many Narco states to our south and got myself a lot of Latin American Asylum seekers, illegal immigrants, mafia members, and other assorted rapists, criminals, and good/bad hombres to help me with my task. We all went to a polling place and I used the skills I picked up at hypnotism camp to have the workers and voters let us pass and cast our votes. All said and done, we cast over 3 million votes for Hillary Clinton. I then sent an email to Trump to inform him that I brought a bunch of illegal immigrants to vote for his opponent and he thanked me for giving him a scapegoat to blame if he lost.
In the most recent election, the 2020 Presidential election, I voted only once. As I am now old enough to vote legally, I decided I would hang up my voter fraud suspenders, yes I was wearing suspenders this whole time, rethink what you imagine a felon who casts illegal votes looks like. I plan to pass on my skills of disrupting the democratic process to my kids one day, but until then, I suppose I will live under either the radical socialist government the Right seems to think will happen or the barely change government under Biden that the Left envisions. Also, if you live in Georgia remember to vote in this upcoming runoff, I would never try to influence who you vote for, just don’t let it be a turtle, any other animal is ok, there are already too many turtles in the senate.
By the Writers of The Pittiful News
(Try to match the activity to the writer, hint, some are easier than they seem)
Made the granola bar equivalent of a brick by not reading and following the recipe
Ate lo mein in the rain
Nearly passed out from cry laughing so violently at Dean Winchester’s reaction to Castiel’s confession
Watched all three seasons of Scream Queens with zero minutes of sleep betwixt the episodes
Watched as a Husky and a Corgi attempted to make sweet sweet love in the middle of Schenley Plaza. I simply could not look away.
Attended Ann E. Cudd’s rager last weekend. Girl is a beast at pong.
Kissed the woman who complimented my glasses at work passionately
I went to a halloween party held by my church group. At this party a friend of mine did not want to participate in the festivities for fear that it would be considered demon worship. This was unfortunate because I really needed more people to help me complete the circle for the demon worship I was planning. I at least got a virgin sacrifice out of her :)
Made a new sad Spotify playlist to celebrate the new Sam Smith album and then created an even sadder, more concentrated playlist of despair that contains only the 3 saddest bops of Sam Smith’s new album and A Whole New World from Aladdin.
Tested positive for covid after licking all of my dearest friends ;)
Put all of my cool sweaters back in storage because some freak decided to make it 75 degrees in November
Found Hillman Library
Suffered a debilitating mental breakdown upon the realization that I have to live with my parents again for two months
I crushed my astronomy essay. Literally, it came to life and tried to escape to space. I cast a spell to make it come to life, but I was naive enough to think that made me its master. They stole my laptop and began hacking into NASA to determine where the nearest space port was. My essay, Essme (yes you need to name them), found a space shuttle and took off. The topic of this essay was a journey to mars, and detailed the flight path, what pilots would do on the long trek, and how to fly the rocket. Thus Essme had all they needed to escape my clutches. When I determined this I knew that I had to catch them before they could pass the moon, so I built my own rocket ship. Luckily, i knew all of the info in the essay i was writing so i was prepared. I beat Essme to the moon and I used the giant magnets I brought to pull their ship out of flight, then I used a car crusher to crush Essme. As they lay in my arms, wrinkled and destroyed Essme told me they loved me and apologized for the trouble they had caused me. I apologized to them as well, told them I loved them too, and as is tradition, I placed them gently inside of an envelope and licked it sealed, knowing that I had sealed the kindest and most amazing soul I had ever known inside, never to see them again. Luckily, i passed my essay with flying colors because my professor saw me build a rocket and fly to the moon, proving that i understood what a space flight required.
I sheltered in place like I was supposed to do, cause I make money moves. While inside I sent in my mail in ballot for our new WAP (White Ass President). I then went to the year 3000, everybody lived underwater, and your great great great granddaughter was doing fine, until I infected her with Corona, I guess COVID-3000 is going to be a real hit.
Outlaw all colors other than green, categorize littering as an act of eco terrorism, and force all citizens to wear green contacts
The Progresso Party
Soup for all, all for soup
The Party City Party
Make America Lit Again, nobody parties for less
The Darty Party
Make booze a fundamental human right, make pong the next great American pastime
The Whig Party
A classy group of older gentlemen who wanted to feel alive again, both in political spirit and new hair.
The Party Rock Anthem
In favor of shaking, shuffling, and just having a good time. Also pro-fracking, for some reason.
The Democratic Party
I don’t know, they like democracy, I guess. Isn’t that a little out of touch these days? Kind of a boring name.
The Golfing Par-Tee
Fore score and seven years ago, the Golfing Par-Tee was founded to rid the United States of bogies and make it safe again for the birdies. Supports changing the national bird from an eagle to an albatross.
The Donner Party
Travel across the United States. Eat each other. What’s not to love?
The Bull Moose Party
Own big sticks and talk quietly
The Youth International Party
Called the Yippies, they were active in the election of 1968 with their stellar candidate, Pigasus the Immortal, a 145-pound domestic pig. Famously ran on the slogan, “If we can’t have him in the White House, we can have him for breakfast.” While they have not been active since, I want them back. Please.
Orange Soda Party
Similar mission as Jonestown but with orange soda this time
You show up at the wrong house and play settlers of catan with the least cool kid in school, but at least you get snacks (gluten free, vegan, nut free, sugar free, and with no added narcan)
The only time is 5:00 PM, drinking and relaxing is mandatory B-)
Write in candidates for the races you don’t understand:
Runs on a progressive platform, big on insurance
Campaign speeches consist only of half-baked puns.
The plan is to just steal a turtle and make it the president, turtles can live very long and nowhere does it say that the president must be human
Is a pretty immature candidate and wants to re-fund the football department
Wants to require naptime every other hour by law. Needs someone else to bring his food on a platter, pre-mushed
Has learned a lot from his recent scandals and is ready to take on DC. Note: he is sponsored by Little Ceasars
That goofball businessman from that show “The Apprentice.” Wouldn’t it be really funny if that guy was president of the United States? Wouldn’t it?
It’s 5 o’clock on a Tuesday, the masked crowd shuffles in hoping to vote for someone who does not outlaw music.
Raised on dirt roads and sweet tea, Paula Deen is running a platform centered around free speech; she’s been really bored since the Food Network days
The long lost 5th Green brother Carlos
Is currently openly bisexual and will make bi erasure punishable by banishment, supplies the country with lesbian aunt style pants and gay old man sweaters, will start lid-con a convention based around sharing lids with your friends from around the world
Tilda Swinton and Mathew Perry
They will fight to the death to determine who will win the race they are in
Get dressed up and sit on your xl twin bed and call your mom and cry.
Virtual trick or treating. Don’t ask how it works.
Drop out of college to scare your parents!
Come to the Cathedral lawn and take one (1) instagram photo with Pittiful News writer Sarah Yule so her parents will think she made friends at college this semester. Wear a mask, vigorous use of the Facetune “reshape” tool before posting is required.
Watch “Jonas Brothers: The Tale of the Haunted Firehouse” and make a Pinterest board dedicated to the JoBros’ TV dad. If time is an issue, here’s the link to mine: Link
Disinfecting candy you bought from target
Get violently drunk with the dude who sleeps next to the dunkin on forbes
Use a ouija board to open up a portal to the demon world because maybe there’s no social distancing there.
Participate in Panther central’s fun virtual halloween activities! (SIKE nobody does those)
Go on tinder. It’s scarier than any horror movie.
Make your own “haunted” house: it is as easy as just putting up a few spider webs and using some glitter!
Make your own haunted house: kill someone!
Make a list of your favorite forms of frozen potatoes. It’s like a gratitude list but it’ll make your loved ones ask if you’re alright. And you’ve been hoping they would. Happy Halloween!
Get all gussied up in your guise, take one selfie for your instagram, then take it off.
Recreate your favorite scene from your favorite horror movie! I like the part from The Shining with that old lady in the bathtub. I’ll be Jack Nicholson, who wants to be my better half?
Fall in love with a handsome small town stranger who works at the lodge you just inherited from a distant cousin.
Talk to a girl. Spine tingling!
Make a diy potion that’s actually just lean
A jungle juice-esque concoction of melting together candy corn, Twizzlers, raisins, and Svedka.
Take shots until you are ok with hooking up with your roommates; I am looking at you Stella, we should play this just the 2 of us
Remind all of your friends to vote! If you don’t, there will be consequences.
Chow down on some edibles, but it’s actually just regular Nerds Rope. They have pretty much the same effect.
Listen to One Direction’s complete discography (It only takes 5 hours and some change) and think about how you will never be able to feel the feelings you felt when you heard those songs for the first time. Also sob about Zayn leaving. You and I both know you aren’t over it.
The presence of death annihilates all that is imaginary. We are the offspring of death and death delivers us from the tantalizing, fraudulent attractions of life; it is death that beckons us from the depths of life. If at times we come to a halt, we do so to hear the call of death… Throughout our lives, the finger of death points at us.
Read a spooky book! Might I recommend Bram Stoker’s Dracula, or Astrid Lindgren’s Pippi Longstocking?
Redownload Wattpad. Or, more likely if you’re on our site reading this article, just open the app. You never deleted it, and that’s okay! HarryxLouis fanfics are a timeless artform.
Reminisce about the time when the world turned against Taylor Swift and chose team Kanye; terrifying!
Happy birthday to you happy birthday to you happy birthday dear satan, happy birthday to you.
Watch the office for the like a hundredth time this month
Go on Omegle; think of all of the unexpected penises as jumpscares in a haunted house!
Cower in the corner, for you feel so alone, and the truest fright of all is that you will die without anybody to grieve your passing.
If you want a really scary costume idea, dress up as your 7th grade self.
Watch Glee! Nothing says horror quite like Matthew Morrision singing the thong song.
Leave the cute boy in your calc class’ halloween party in tears because he got back together with his ex, who you just became friends with. This is exceptionally upsetting because she promised to help you get with him. Next, tearfully run to meet up with your two artsy outcasts friends who are watching a horror movie in their garage and accidentally scare them when you walk in. Tell them what happened and devise a plan to take down the head plastic of your high school.
Sing pop country so all your friends will leave you
Eat last years halloween candy that you hid so that thief ROBIN URCANDY would not steal it
Suggestions for what to do if you want to get covid
Go to Brad’s makeout party and kiss Stacy, she is a medical miracle as she has gotten mono multiple times
If you had the sense to mute your Outlook notifications this past Monday, you may have missed the news that we Pitt students are “strongly encouraged” to shelter in place about two weeks prior to going home for Thanksgiving. As can be said for many aspects of this Flex@Pitt dystopia, this recommendation can feel a tad yucky. Who wants to spend the last fourteen days of living under the rule of the benevolent and all-powerful Kenny BonBon and Pitt’s very own Galligator within the four walls of their teeny dwelling? We should be out and about, sowing our wild oats from one dirty South O basement to the next. But alas, we find ourselves here, and I have taken up the task of gifting you some advice on what you can do to make your shelter-in-place less depressing.
1. For all my freshman, maybe you took the Freshman-15 as an obligatory sprint instead of a lightly suggested marathon. Maybe you, say, blew all of your dining dollars on pints of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream at Market to Go and have resorted to using your debit card these past weeks. Maybe, just maybe, the workers in said Market to Go know you and give you the same sad look when you check out with said Ben & Jerry’s ice cream pint on a near-daily basis. All of this is hypothetical, and I am totally not speaking from experience. So, now is the time to turn it around. Okay, I know, it is not possible nor healthy to embark on a total weight loss overhaul with mere days left in the semester. But, if you get off at the Gain Train’s next stop, you can ensure that this Thanksgiving of comments like “Wow, you really grew up!” is the last of its kind.
2. Read that book that you told yourself you were going to read. It’s been sitting on your desk as a reminder of your failure to stick to anything and to leave it there would be letting that book win. What’s my shame book, you may ask? It’s a self-help read sent to me by my father following my first tearful phone call home in August when I couldn’t figure out how to get the dryer to start. While the book doesn’t directly deal with the function of laundry apparatuses, I’d assume it must have something useful to offer me. So, I will be delving into that sucker come November 12th.
3. Call your friends from your hometown and prepare to make all of this shelter-in-placing for naught. You’ve been away from these people for months, so logically that extra week before Thanksgiving has to include a large gathering with half of your graduating class. Sure, it’ll put everyone around you in danger, but a life not lived on the edge is hardly worth living.
4. Walk (six feet away from all human life forms) around campus and say a quick goodbye to all of your favorite spots. Much to my chagrin, I do have to advise you not to actually kiss the structures you’re bidding adieu to; I love a good building as much as the next guy, but these are unprecedented times, folks. I plan on washing my hands one last time in the definitely-haunted bathroom on the third floor of Cathy. I’ll get my last large iced coffee with almond milk and pumpkin swirl from the Forbes Ave Dunkin. Lastly, I will eat my last order of Sarah’s signature shame lo mein from Schenley Plaza’s Asia Tea House. That goodbye will undoubtedly be the most heartbreaking.
Once you’ve done all of these things, you’ll be perfectly ready to go back to your hometown. I wish you luck, and look forward to seeing you crying as I pass you on your very own farewell tour of Pitt’s campus over the coming weeks.
Let me confide in you, my loyal reading public: I’m scared. I’m really scared. I might even go so far as to say that I’m downright frightened. Maybe not quite terrified, but it’s getting there. I’m on the cusp of terrifism. It’s a horrifying state to be in.
I went outside today – which alone is newsworthy – to find a brave new world. Everyone around me, from the garbage man to the construction worker to fancy lady Francine “la damme française” Laderoute and even Fanny and Lady, her dogs, were wearing masks. Even the sidewalk had a mask on it, suggesting that it too was in on the plot. I longed to return to the safety of my closet, but I put on a brave face. I had made a commitment to several strangers that I had met on the r/Pitt subreddit that I would meet them to toss around a frisbee, like normal college students are supposed to do.
To my horror, they too were wearing masks. How did they expect to catch any frisbees? With their hands?
They just stared at me judgingly. I glanced nervously between them. One of them, a tall boy with astonishingly short legs and a disproportionate torso to make up for it, and a very large, ugly head with eyes that seemed to be two different sizes and ears that seemed to be two different shapes, one like a boat and the other like a camera, and hair that seemed to have been styled in the form of an elliptic paraboloid – what was I saying? Anyway, this guy seemed to be the least judgmental and kindest of the group, so I tossed my frisbee at him.
Surprisingly nimble for his little dachshund legs, he dodged away and said, “Dude, we’re not frizzing with you if you aren’t going to wear a mask.”
What were they all hiding behind the masks? I guess I had been in that closet for a long time. Do people still have mouths? Are mouths taboo? Did some serial fruit-placer go around putting orange slices in mouths across Pittsburgh, creating a need to cover one’s mouth constantly in fear of the orange slice placer? Or maybe aliens have invaded, and they were able to replicate every part of the human body except for the mouth, and I’m the only real human left? But then why would they want me to wear a mask, shouldn’t they want to keep me marked as a true human for future brain autopsies or for a spare member on their Wednesday night human pop culture pub trivia team?
Whatever it was they were hiding, I knew I had no similar need to wear a mask. I felt my mouth to make sure it wasn’t replaced with a garbage disposal or a plastic bag or a mirror or something and, finding my mouth wet and squishy as usual, picked up my frisbee and went home. I don’t think I’ll come out again for another few months, maybe masks will be out of fashion by then.