The eve of Thursday, October 10th, was special, but not because of the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see the northern lights—at least not only because of that. That night, a storm besides the extremely rare geomagnetic one responsible for the spectacularly bright showing hit campus: a cataclysmic tempest of horniness that rocked beds, communal suite couches, library stacks—heck, even various patches of grass across campus. Scientists are calling the never-before-observed phenomenon The Aurora Whorealis.
Explaining his experience contracting chlamydia, student Jack Menoff said: “Dude, when I saw that reddish glow in the sky, I was filled with this sense of awe, like ‘aw, I gotta get some.’” He thinks he got it—chlamydia that is—from his ex-situationship, who responded within minutes to his hey, the aurora shit happening has got me thinking about you, those dancing lights made me realize that i should’ve never let you dance out of my life, you’ve got that indescribable glow text. When he tested positive for chlamydia shortly thereafter, all he felt was regret (that, and a vague itchiness, you know, down there). “Like, no hook up is going to be as good as you expect, you know? Just like those lights, things look better through my phone screen late at night than in person.”
It seems the outbreak can be traced to the basic human instinct to jump each other’s bones at the vaguest hint of natural wonder. As Menoff remarked, “It just sorta makes you think about our world, how all that really matters is connecting with each other in all its glory.”
Other students in line to pick up their antibiotics at the Health Services pharmacy nodded in agreement. One chimed in, “My girl’s a pillow princess—I didn’t even get to see the fucking lights!”
The hunt for patient zero, our very own Timmy Tim, Brown’s venereally-inclined Typhoid Mary, is ongoing.