became a senior?? (NOT CLICKBAIT, COPS CALLED)

windows and chirping extremely loudly. Instead, I found myself in a small bedroom, laying on a twinsized bed with thin white rumpled sheets. What is going on? I get out of the bed slowly to try to interpret where I am.

by tanishka kapoor ‘26

On a bright spring morning, I woke up (to my very shock) NOT to the sounds of birds banging their heads against the Jonas Brothers Hall

Girl Talk

by ethan kleschinsky ‘24

So like, it’s me again, I don’t know if any of you remember me from last year, so I’ll give you a quick refresher. When The Stupe can’t find any girls to write their Girl Talk column, I step up to the plate. It’s a long story, but to keep it short, I was elected as the most effeminate man on all of campus. So I spent this last week asking the women of Snevets, the few and the proud, what they wanted to hear. I got a lot of recommendations, like “nothing,” “why are you writing girl talk,” and “tell us about your Costar,” so I am going to take some of my space to do that. Today, March 27 when writing this, my Costar is telling me to keep a few secrets because I’m scared of adaptability and I want things to feel simple and natural. My

dear claire and ethan... Behind the scenes

Suddenly, thoughts came pouring into my brain with such rapidness that I stumbled backward with the need to steady myself. Whoa. I remembered. I was a senior. I somehow must have teleported into the mind and body of a senior. I could not believe I was so naive to think that I could escape the side effects of the water main break. The raw, unfiltered water straight from the Hudson River must have made its way through the water pipes and somehow snaked down into my esophagus without me knowing. Fascinating. I traversed through my newly acquired memories as if I was rewinding old tapes to see what my life looked like as a senior. I found my morning routine: I wake up every morning and think to myself, “This is it. The last stretch. Just keep going. You don’t even have class today, unlike the other two days of the week.” Then I haul myself out of bed, drag my feet across my over-expensive two-bedroom apartment that housed five people, step over a person who I hope is my roommate, and go to the bathroom to tell myself my daily affirmations. “Snevets got nothing on you. If you can deal with the constant rejections from internships, you can deal with anything,” I tell myself as I splash cold water on my face. “Let’s survive today,” as I brush my teeth. “You got

off the press Our new website

by off center

Do’s are shared playlists, matching socks, and promises and my Don’ts are hot heads, sidehugs and stage lights. So, it seems like I shouldn’t get in over my head today. I am told that Claire and I (she’s my opinion column counterpart) are an intellectual match. There wasn’t much else relevant information on my Co-star. Since the few women on campus weren’t giving me a lot to work with, I was doing extensive research to find other things to talk about that they might appreciate. Marriage.com says that women want to be encouraged and appreciated, so I will say that I am rooting for you and hopefully one day there will be more women on campus to relate to. Also, there will hopefully one day be enough women on campus so that I am not called upon to write the Girl Talk.

Now that we’ve dotted the last “i” and crossed the last “t”(much to its dissatisfaction), Off the Press is excited to announce our new website is up and running and ready for a mad dash of traffic. Upon launch, the first user, Dash, was quick to connect the dots to realize none of us knew how to run a website. It redirected to OTP dot com, our old website where our friend Dot would ask you to sign weird forms on the dotted line. Dot has since abandoned that job so Dash was immersed in a really awful “news” website for quite a while before he was finally interrupted by a DoorDash order of “just the beans from Taco Bell.” The driver got a great tip and review for arriving at 6 o’clock on the dot.

When we heard about this strange order though, we wondered who else would be the type of guy to just order beans. One of our editors is known for snacking on cans directly so much so that a few friends started giving him bags of dried beans, but we couldn’t think of anyone else. Thinking about the beans made us realize that they were also Dot’s favorite food, and every day at noon she would dash out the door and get to the store to buy a can of dotted beans for lunch. We said she abandoned the job, but in reality, she was fired from it because every time she needed to write an ellipsis, she would only write dot dot. Everyone knows, an ellipsis is dot dot dot.

Maintaining a website is a lot of work though. No one told us we’d still have to pay to have it hosted, and we aren’t about to give a bunch of money to Jeffrey Bezos and Amazon Web Services. So we’re looking for a really social person to constantly host all the people who go on our website. We dashed to Dot’s place to ask her to come back, but had a fender bender with her car, and her dashcam showed Dot wasn’t breaking any laws, we were. Our host would have to register with the NJ DOT because they’ll be driving so much traffic to our site that Dasher the reindeer might have to get involved to carry people over the cars. We expect Dasher’s dashing looks and the thrill of riding on essentially a flying horse to be signif-

by claire hannan and ethan kleschinsky (reluctantly)

Why is Ethan angry all the time?

this,” as I point at myself in the mirror. I walk out of the bathroom with my newfound motivation to open my laptop only to sigh heavily at the big letters that screamed SENIOR DESIGN PROJECT. I then tell myself “Meh, I have time,” and go to my bed to take a quick nap.

Wow. What a wildly exciting day. I can’t wait to walk onto campus with such confidence knowing fully well that I am one step closer to my midlife crisis. Or wait, did it start already?

Ethan: I’m not, just on Sunday evening when I have to answer your questions.

Claire: That’s a great question. I think he’s lonely. Every Sunday, I tell Ethan that it’s time to write our column and I watch a piece of his soul die. The anger he has in his heart started long ago and has nothing to do with me.

Who asks these questions anyway?

Ethan: I honestly don’t know who writes these questions, but I do know that they suck. Consistently annoying or irrelevant questions that I wait as late as possible to answer which ultimately ends up ruining my weekend.

icant pull factors. The big surprise for our loyal readership here, is that we’re doing more than just a website. Only for members who read at least two thirds of our articles, next week we’re opening a stock exchange. No crypto here, only early 2000s tech stocks like eToys and Flooz. We’re recreating the dot com bust. Accessible only through our partner Dashlane’s VPN, you’ll have colorful, informative dashboards to watch your money disappear as you wring your hands and cry out “That’s Balderdash!” You will of course be able to access the stock exchange from our website, but we assure you that they are two separate entities and not at all a scam to fund our future operations because journalism of our quality is a thankless job.

Hopefully by now you’ve been able to find the answer to all your questions about our website and journal, you can put all the pieces of the puzzle together. But it’s only our job to bring you the information, not tell you what to do with it.

Claire: No one asks the questions. I was supposed to set up a system for readers to ask us questions at the beginning of the year, but I forgot, so I just make up a random question each week. Ethan seems to hate the questions though, so I don’t have the courage to tell him it’s really me.

Wait, so who’s asking this question right now?

Claire: Also me. Everytime I write this column it’s just a conversation with myself.

Ethan: Don’t know, don’t care.

Does Claire need help?

Ethan: Mind your own business, Claire can handle herself.

Claire: Yes, someone, please. I’ve run out of questions to ask for this godforsaken column. My roommate, and EIC, Isabella Ziv gets mad if I turn in my articles late.

When will EIC Isabella Ziv let me out of my room?

Claire: I don’t know. Isy, please let me out. I’ve turned all my articles in on time this month. I’ll do anything.

Ethan: This one doesn’t apply to me, but Claire’s probably in the wrong here.