In what was a gross misrepresentation of the rest of the year, January had a slow, comfortable and cozy start. But here we are, a week and a half later, and January has given way to April. They say time flies. We just didn’t know they were right.
So, allow me to welcome you to April (though by the time I’m done it’ll likely be July). In case you missed it, it’s finals season. So if you haven't had time to panic just yet, you better do it soon or it will be too late.
In the midst of three research papers, two tests, class registration, move-out plans, work, applying for summer jobs, advisor meetings, office hours, flight booking, email-reading, thesis-planning and an utter lack of sleep, I am also panicking (and writing this article). But to all of you should-be-panicking LMU students out there, I’m here to offer some hope. LMU has devised a solution tailored to the specific needs of students to alleviate the panic, and it might surprise you.
Hear ye, hear ye: a stress-relief plan that maximizes on the college student's need to self-destruct. We all know them: the student who decides to pull an all-nighter on the Internet instead of doing literally anything academic, knowing dang well they’re choosing BuzzFeed quizzes over any chance at a good day tomorrow. The student who decides intentionally to pick a fight with the very person set to pay their next tuition bill. And though not mentioned (for this-is-a-newspaper-article's sake), there are the students who self-destruct in other, more, ahem, illicit or relational ways. Use your imagination.
According to the new LMU program, self-destruction is actually a fantastic way to cope with the stress of finals. The program will be meeting every school night at 3 a.m. for the rest of the year. It is set to have dangerous so-called adventures to appeal to the risky impulses young adults tend to have, attempting to release stress through adrenaline. The first stress-relief group will go on a rattlesnake catching endeavor. Groups following will play chicken on Lincoln Boulevard, engage in drinking games inspired by frats and take part in the Tide Pod challenge. The whole thing is quite clever, if you ask me.
If you’re interested in joining, all you have to do is sign a waver indicating that the activities are, in fact, voluntarily self-destructive and that any destruction that does incur cannot be at fault of the University. Then you’re good to go. Happy finals, and see you tonight!
The Bluff is a humorous and satirical section published in the Loyolan. All quotes attributed to real figures are completely fabricated; persons otherwise mentioned are completely fictional.