Scott BresslerEditor’s Note: This article was published in an April Fool’s Day edition of Student Life. Its content is not factual.
Since the dawn of time, Danforth University’s frozen yogurt machines have been the campus’s most esteemed landmarks. Like orcas to a flame, undergrads flock to these devices no matter the outside temperature. They often eschew a cup for their mouth, or as one husky sophomore put it, “Nature’s cone.” The ritual has escalated to such an extent that Morgan Freeman has offered to narrate a documentary chronicling the migration of freshmen to Bear Mart.
But thanks to one clumsy Bon Appétit worker who spilled a batch of lead-riddled Asian Bosco sticks into the University’s fro-yo reservoir, many students’ sole source of happiness on this Earth has been dashed. At first, Bon Appétit staff thought a sign reading “Out of Order” would keep students away. But undergrads still came in droves with their funnels and suction tubes, trying to siphon all they could muster of that sweet, sugary panacea. After underestimating how little students cared about contracting lead poisoning, the University erected an electric fence around Bear Mart.
Now “weeping circles” are becoming popular across the South 40. Undergrads meet to cry and discuss their fondest fro-yo memories. The tears are then pooled and eaten, in hopes the taste of the frozen treat will be evoked.
“Fro-yo tears have half the calories of normal tears; weeping circles are an excellent way to combat withdrawal symptoms,” said one pre-med student.
When an actual doctor was reached for comment, he called these circles “utterly moronic” and “cult-like” and recommended that students “just stop eating frozen yogurt for a while and buy a damn piece of fruit!”