Love was in the air like carbon monoxide on Saturday. Singletons across campus dreaded opening Instagram out of fear of what to expect. 

One unsuspecting friend group gathered for Galentine’s festivities made the fatal error of tapping through stories without any mental preparation. Boom. As if they were shot point blank, found: beautiful, radiant, glowing girl locking her sweet lips to a man who looked like he was assembled from the crushed Coors Light cans at the back of F. Witnesses reported audible gags followed by 5 ladies asphyxiated by their chocolate-covered strawberries with bile in their throats.

Across campus, a 5’9, somewhat handsome, deceptively athletic, lab-section regular bio major on the premed track decided to check the story of the cute girl who once borrowed his pencil. Truly, he could pull if he didn’t chicken out. Nevertheless, what he found can only be described as spiritually destabilizing: her, smiling by what can be simply described as a fat fucking chud. Sources confirm the lab regular proceeded directly to Chidsey gym, where he attempted to process his emotions via bench press, only to discover that heartbreak does not, in fact, increase upper body strength. 

Elsewhere, some actual chud quietly eating alone at Commons experienced just about everything but death. After spotting his ex-situationship from a semester ago with a man that can only be described as the objectively hotter version of him, he could only pick up a fiery brie melt and burn for an extended period, contemplating the fragility of ego and the cruelty of side-by-side comparisons.

In a last-ditch effort to avoid emotional ruin, one hopeful romantic placed all her faith in the Marriage Pact that failed to deliver. Unfortunately, the only other option was the new Davidson Cupid, as advertised on YikYak, who was paired with the only other gay girl who did the survey. Spoiler: they’ve already fingered one another. Turner House meeting will be fun! Pondscum to that.

However, bisexual or not, we as a campus must acknowledge a universal law: it is objectively good for society when hot people date hot people. The timeline breathes easier. The grid aligns. Skin clears. When two stunning girls post mirror selfies together? Restoration. Balance. Jubilee. Hallelujah, lesbians. 

Likewise, the stylish hot guy bagging the even more stylish hot girl? Public service. Infrastructure investment. Urban renewal for the eyes. 

Yet still, where are the gay men? 

Sightings remain unconfirmed. Some speculate they’re gathered in undisclosed cottages in Canada, engaging in candlelit media consumption and speaking via Russian monologue exclusively in references about said cottage. Others believe they are sealed inside the closet at Lula Bells, emerging only to hand out textbook rentals before disappearing again. To any gay men reading this: please report to the quad. You are likely attractive. The public deserves visibility. 

Now. We must address the casualties. 

Though no official statements have been released, emotional devastation spread rapidly after multiple hard-launches revealed couples that could only be described as “Shrek and Fiona coded but without the whimsy.” Beautiful girls, glowing like Renaissance paintings, arm-in-arm with men who are built like scaled up toddlers.

Alas, love is blind. 

If you posted your boyfriend this weekend, just know: you have contributed to major disarray. Accountability starts at home. 

Next year will not be easier. In fact, statistically speaking, it may be you triggering widespread unrest with a soft-launch-turned-weaponized-grid-post of your fugly boyfriend. 

So prepare now. National Boyfriend Day is approaching, so begin microdosing exposure therapy immediately by rewatching the stories. Sit with the discomfort. Practice typing “so cute omg” without grinding your molars into dust.

And if all else fails?

Might as well call baby poo.