Admitted students day a big, virgin-killing scam
Many current Puget Sound students fondly recall that weekend when they first visited the campus. The blue sky, the fluffy clouds, the flowers, the girls in their sun dresses, the boys in theirs and everyone as pale as a Geisha (except for, of course, the diverse people).
In an idyllic enclave nestled between the Gothic spires of our childhood fantasies, we watched the frisbeers frolic among the daffodils and cherry blossoms. In the face of such a two-day onslaught of the senses, how were we to know something was rotten? And it’s not just the knee-deep Todd Field mud.
The University has a dirty little secret. And the guilt of that secret was just too much for the Assistant-to-the-Vice-President-of-the-Council-Advising-the-General-Secretary-of-the-Assembly-of-Experts-on-University-Admissions-for-the-Institution-Formerly-Known-as-University-of-Puget-Sound-and-Henceforth-Referred-to-Only-as-Puget-Sound, Unger Wordsfart, to hold in. The following are fragments of Wordsfart’s written testimony:
“Each year, top administration officials crack the seal on the Methodist Archives buried deep within Collins Library to offer the most awkward virgins culled from the year’s freshman class (always a stiff competition) to the Incan water god Pariacaca.
“As Incan religious customs died out following the liberation of the Incan people from their bodies by the heroic Spaniards, Pariacaca began using his powers to throw killer parties for the Church of England during the mid-18th century. Methodism was founded by a pair of Pariacaca’s groupies: John and Charles Wesley.
“The offerings are part of an agreement with Pariacaca that in return for the flesh of the pure (and socially unawares), the water god will provide at least two days of dream-like weather. The quality of sacrifices correlates to the quantity of extra rain-free days the University receives. For instance, the class of 2012 was particularly weird and extra-virginal, so 2009 experienced considerably milder winter. Take in contrast the class of 2014, who we know to be a class of smooth-talking, insatiable nymphomaniacs, which made for a particularly unpleasant winter this year. Now, where my five dollars?”
When questioned about these details of Wordsfart’s’s story over the phone, the administration declined to comment, but only after gasping, “Who the hell told you?”
While the University leadership believes that the only sure way to attract new students with rich parents is through virgin-powered weather manipulation, Wordsfart came forward with this information in part because he believes the University’s merits can stand on their own.
When asked what he thought these merits were, Wordsfart pointed to the often-overlooked Kittridge Art Gallery and accompanying Ceramics building.
“I mean,” Wordsfart said in an interview, “have you seen the rejected art out behind the Ceramics building? One time me and Davy [presumably University Chaplain David Wright] got stoned out of our minds and played with that tube of water out there for like 45 minutes. Then the wolf statue scared us and I messed myself. I had to borrow new pants from Davy. I don’t think his mom found out. Then we saw Iron Man 2, and Davy’s mom made us queso-dillas.”