The John Wesley Methodist Charter: World War D3
WORLD WAR DIII
Fall 2025
General-in-Chief
Adam Wilan
Managing Lieutenant General Liv Rubenstein
Media Master Chief John Earling
Design Colonel
Sadie Gray
Layout Admiral Sophia Molina
Front Cover
Giovanna Milisic
"Roth the Riveter" Back Cover Luri Lee
Uncle Wes poster
Milo Aitken
Contributing Infantry
A. Bowman
Mel Cort
Ethan Diamondstein
Eva Gamboa
Shanti Hinkin
Clio Moock
Eli Pearl
Flynn Rorty
Kiran Shatz
Jojo Treisman
Letter From the Editor
Tie up those boots, soldier. And wipe that shit-eating grin off your pimply face. I SAID WIPE THAT SHIT-EATING GRIN OFF YOUR BOIL-COVERED FACE – SWEET JESUS, MAGGOT!
Do you think this is a joke?! Do you find something funny about an epic war between the NESCAC schools? Something amusing about Amherst College bombing Tufts University into oblivion, pummeling its once-mighty hill into but a radiated mound of ash? Something silly in a series of trenches being built along the Connecticut-Massachusetts border? Goofy in a blood-feud between the Maine Coalition (Bowdoin, Colby, Bates, and Amherst) and the Connecticut Coalition (Wesleyan, Conn College, SMFA*)? Does the image of a grizzled Connecticut College professor stabbing a Colby College History TA through the scrotum with a bayonet make you giggle?
… it does?
You sick fuck.
This issue will be my last as Editor/General-in-Chief of The John, ending a truly wonderful era of my life. Stretching from our origins in fall 2023 as a WordPress website run from the attic of Eclectic, it’s been such a pleasure watching this organization…– I’M NOT CRYING, MAGGOT, – grow into the glitzy, official print publication we are today (with a snazzy office in the UOC). It’s been an honor to work alongside such talent and wit, and I am so proud to release my little abomination into the wide open wilderness.
Now fly, my little birdy! Fly as far as your gnarled little wings can carry you!
Adam Wilan Editor in Chief
*Tufts’ School of the Museum of Fine Arts
Mapping the Conflict
New York Front
*neutral
**late entr into the conflict, allied with Connecticut Coalition
***officially allied with Maine Coalition but has an active resistance
Connecticut Front
Williams
Hamilton*
Middleburry**
Vermont
Sadie Gray
Neutral Territor
Maine Coalition - Home Front
Ruins
of Tufts, capture by Amherst
Vermont Front New Haven, site of the Franz Ferdinand incident- Maine coalition, major deployments - Connecticut Coalition, wondering why the other guys get tanks
Conn College
- trench warfare
Colby
Bowdoin
The Homemaker's (and/or enterprising girlfriend's) Guide to Surviving WWD3
Jordana Treisman
As our rations of swipes and points dwindle, we must take meal preparation into our own hands. Here are some patriotic foods you can whip up by foraging the abandoned wastelands of Pi and Usdan Cafe.
The “Soy Sauce Extravaganza”
Ingredients:
- Three soy sauce packets from table outside Usdan Cafe
- Any other condiment packets you can find for extra flavor/thickness
- Lone, stale olive bagel
Zofran, 4 mgs
Mix sauce packets and attempt to spread on the bagel. Take Zofran following meal and hope for the best.
The “Continental Concoction”
Ingredients:
- Hot water from Pi
- Spoiled creamer/milk
- Straw - Packet of honey
- Faith
- Trust
- Pixie dust (yes, that kind)
Mix liquids together into Owala or whatever abandoned bottle you can strip from the war dead. Take the straw wrapper and put it into the beverage for fiber. Use leftover straw as a whistle device and to shoot spitballs at the enemy.
The “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles”
Ingredients:
- A quarter of your weed ration
- Edible lube they gave out at last year’s Sex Carnival
- Sugar pills from last week of birth control packet
- Remnants of Seitan Stir-Fry
- Three Vitamin C Gummies
A perfect treat for a special occasion, should last you up to two weeks! May cause bloating, diarrhea, third ovary, or ego death – but only for wimps and pussies.
The Bombing of Tufts, or: The Day That Jumbo Fell
Twas’ a dull, dreary night
That old bombing of Tufts
The blood, it rained down
When they bombed out good old Tufts.
The Mammoths, they rolled in, So welcomed by old Tufts! They brought a treach’rous gift
A statue for old Tufts
Then the bomb it went off! And leveled out old Tufts!
Hell opened up, When they massacred old Tufts!
The hill, how it sparkled
With blood, red, brown and blue. Young bodies, now in pieces, Jumbos ripped in two.
Twas’ a right rotten sin! That old bombing of Tufts
Death marched on in When they bombed out good old Tufts
Hill, now in rubble, Only SMFA remained To join with the Wes-men And fight on to the grave
So you Maine boys - Watch out! You Amherst mice as well! We shall get revenge for The day that Jumbo fell!
- Adam Wilan
Art by Vin Weimelt
Dearest Jane,
It has been three weeks since Tufts was destroyed and I was sent to the frontline. The days are cold and the nights bright with flares shot by our Connecticut College friends. The trenches are bleak, lacking any shelter from the wind and rain. The supplies I brought in my Cotopaxi are running low, with my fig bars being completely eaten in the first few days. I was told that we will be given jerky rations soon, but I’m vegetarian and there are no plant-based alternatives.
I’ve been notified that a group of refugees are being transported to our posting from what’s left of Tufts. While I’m happy to hear that there are survivors of this tragedy, I am concerned as to how this will affect the few resources we have left. Also, my ex girlfriend happens to be one of these refugees, so that blows. We’ve been no contact for three years, but I feel like that will be hard to sustain in a trench, especially one this small. I wonder if my grandfather who fought in Vietnam had a similar experience.
Amherst’s technology has proved far superior to our own. We’ve tried everything from joints on bayonets to laced carts, but it’s no use. Last night, I was hit with one of Amherst’s “Mustard Gas” Geek Bars. My vape died as soon as I got to the front line, so I simply couldn’t resist the sweet temptation of it. I haven’t been able to get the taste of chlorine out of my mouth; I’m lucky I wasn’t killed.
My captain, Cloud, told me that I will be able to go home next week for a break. You see, I have a Bjork concert to attend, and I simply cannot miss it. They said they understand because “Bjork is the voice of the revolution.”
I will be thinking of you until then, and kindly ask that you not smoke all our weed. Trust me, I need it more than you.
With love,
Eva Gamboa
Additional Tags: WorldWarD3 , WWD3, warfic , angsty, 1D, Harry, hairy, gruesome, Hurtcomfort, doctor, emergency, infection, riverdisease, nile, Niall, feet, Wes,
In the Trenches with You
Shanti_Hinkin
Notes:
Currently fighting a war, sorry for the delays between chapters!
“Ugh, shit,” I think. “My trench foot hurts like a bitch.”
I brush my thick golden hair and pull it into a messy bun. I admire my golden locks and sigh, blowing the stray baby hairs out of my face.
Then, I slick it back with my own ashy mucus as gel.
I never imagined a girl like me would be a soldier. The image of myself with dirt on my face, bloodshot eyes, and one arm – I used to have two – makes me giggle.
For the last week, I have been on the frontline, the Connecticut frontier. I camped out in a bog for three days straight, submerged in water to my shoulders, anticipating a Colby invasion that never came.
I look down at my feet. The soles are wrinkled, like finger tips shriveling up in the bath. One of them is completely numb, just the nerves tingling gently like a jazzy piano riff. The toenails are black and slightly puffed up, with a fur peeking out from the top.
“Shit,” I remark. “That is so fucking gross,”
I saunter to the medical tent, effortlessly gliding across basecamp to the beat of falling bombs. Each step is excruciating, but it’s better than falling asleep and waking to the hot sting of swampwater up my nose.
When I arrive to the tent, I recognize the medic immediately. He is my TA from ARHA284: Buddhist Art and Architecture. Andrew.
“Andrew.”
“Abigail,” he says.
He picks me up by the trench foot and places me gently on the triage cot.
In one swift motion he cuts the mold off my foot with his keychain switchblade and smells it, before putting it in a compost bucket.
“We’ll keep this to use as fertilizer for Long Lane.” He winks.
From there, we had a battle of our own. He made love to me in what was once the fishbowl of Sci Li. I exploded with pleasure for the first time since the Tufts bombing.
“Huh, maybe this conflict isn’t so bad after all”
Ladies Play Ball?
A. Bowman
WESLEYAN UNIVERSITY, CONNECTICUT — With many Wesleyan men fighting on the frontlines, the remaining University population has discovered that women play sports.
“Why did I never hear about this?” said senior Adam Wilan, on leave from the Williams trenches.
In the past months, students and faculty have discovered the existence of women’s basketball, crew, and track teams, as well as a team competing in something called “field hockey” somewhere called “Hicks Field.”
“I found out we have a women’s volleyball team, too. They had a 20-3 record last season, which is okay, I guess,” said Liv Rubenstein ’26.
Due to the damage Wesleyan’s “softball diamond” has sustained from war, the only area left for them to play is Dresser Diamond. “Since the baseball team was drafted to participate in the Siege of Providence, the field is not in use.” the athletic department said in a statement. “It’s, uh, right in the middle of campus, though. Could be a lot of, uh, psychological pressure, to, you know, have people watch their games. We might have to ask someone if [women] are allowed to play there.”
Thomas Lyons, in his last year of college, thinks the athletic department is a little old-fashioned. “I think some people would watch women’s sports sometimes,” he said. “If other schools have softball teams, maybe we could invite them to play here and they could all form a league of their own.”
The 4/20 Truce
Sadie Gray
Lighters passed between dirt-caked fingers. Bob Marley played almost-in-synch from seven Spotify-jamming phones. The clouds of smoke obscured, for a moment, distinctions between enemy and ally.
The SMFA* students offered free caricature-drawings to all, with the small fee of a singular hit if you wanted them to add back any missing limbs. The sun was out and, for an April in the Northeast, it was warm. Munchies made our gruel rations almost appealing, and everyone pooled together any hidden luxuries: chips, beer, expiration-immune Oreos.
Siblings divided by sweatshirt color reunited for the first time, recalling the 18 years of what they could appreciate now as relative peace that they had shared before the violence.
Ultimate frisbee was played. Hack was sacked. The fallen were remembered. The greened-out were sent to the medical tents. Uncontrollable laughter and taunts of “you’re sooooo high right now” rolled over the grass. Someone said “Maybe, as a Brooklyn-brownstone-raised 3rd gen Choate student, I didn’t know suffering like I thought I did.” A new-found friend beside them nodded, “I was also raised upper-middle class…”
Blood-shot eyes were opened to what united us instead of what divided us. We were D-I and Ivy and USC rejects. We were on the “Top 10 Stoner Schools” list year after year. We were NESCAC.
It was the 4/20 Truce of 2026. It was brief. It was brave. It was the only time we allowed the joy of survival to break through the tragedy. It lost each army roughly 100 soldiers who decided it was better to be high than at war. We shared bud that day; we also remembered our shared humanity.
*Tufts School of the Museum of Fine Arts, unharmed in the bombing
A WARTIME REPORT FROM ADMIN
TO: ALL Wesleyan students, soldiers, support
FROM: John Earling
The following is a warm and mandatory report from Admin to be distributed to and read in completion by the student body:
Today, March 30th, the glorious FDA and UNHRC approved Wesleyan University enjoyed its one hundredth consecutive day of uninterrupted peace.
The only disruption was an unusual “bang” heard from the ‘92 Basement that generated an impromptu bonfire by excited students using a remote device (likely an upscaled Geek Bar). Admin would like to assure the student body that there was no violent act or student uprising bombing, but merely a friendly “kickback” gotten out of hand. Terrorism, after all, is only present at less privileged institutions, like Columbia. The violatory students have since been willfully escorted to CAPS for voluntary medical leaves to treat addiction. Admin would like to remind students that smoking kills, but not as much as terrorism. At Wesleyan, we are blessed to only have to deal with the former.
Wesleyan is endowed to provide nicotine rations to our most vulnerable and highest paying junkies/students. The Maine Coalition has been reportedly reduced to “Trust Fund Mash,” a gruel paste consisting of ground up zyns and sawdust. Admin would like to remind students of the glorious luxuries afforded in this time of great uncertainty elsewhere. Admin is excited to announce that despite the food shortages to the North, Fish Friday will become Fish Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. This development comes from an abundance of resources and no other reason.
In this time of unspeakable horrors across foreign New England shores, we are most fortunate to prosper on a campus green riddled not with bomb craters but with gentle lovers embracing (with Davison appointed protection). Wesleyan may be at war, but there is no war at Wesleyan. This is not a war; this is Wesleyan.
Please sign below with your student ID for war bonds payment (not including tuition for your school that holds freedom of speech above all else). Readers are reminded to commit to the glorious privilege of higher learning that allows students to engage with the world around them critically and responsibly. Now all hail Supreme Leader and Benevolent Father Roth, who will lead us to victory and NYT Editorial!
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