Everyone has that one kid in their class who can sleep through anything. Lawn crew hacking down a bush? He’s fast asleep. His professor’s mic crackling? Out like a light. Those tornado sirens that just won’t shut the fuck up? He’s sleeping like a baby. This type of student leaves everyone wondering how a teeny tiny lecture hall desk is more conducive to sleep than a nice warm bed.

Except this student is different. Last week, a concerned student noticed sophomore Sami Sleeper hadn’t woken up at the end of class like usual. “Somehow he always seems to know when class is about to end and pops up like a daisy,” Claire Welche told a Doily reporter, “but no matter what I did, he wouldn’t wake up.”

Welche confirmed she tried, “giving him a wet willy, dumping water on his head, loudly saying happy hour was starting, and even gently nudging him.” Nothing seemed to work. When Welche reported this sleeping student to her Intro to Soothsaying professor (whose class Sleeper fell asleep in), he declared the student was cursed.

“It’s quite common, actually,” Professor Whim told us. “The boy can only be woken by true love’s kiss! I can’t believe it happened right under my nose. Now we just need to find his true love!”

The takers thus far of people willing to kiss the sleeping Sleeper have been… low to say the least. With the new knowledge that he was a computer science major, well, he probably reeked, and every day he stays asleep, he gets smellier and smellier. (And yes, all of us tried. For the plot, of course. How else would we know how rank he is?)

Our thoughts go out to Sami Sleeper’s family today, but, more importantly, to every class that uses that lecture hall until his true love sucks it up and smooches him.

It’s finally that time of year- trying to secure a summer internship!

Securing a summer internship is a rite of passage that every college student must go through. You’ve taken your mandatory business professionalism course, you’ve talked to recruiters at the all-majors career fair, and you’ve connected with your mom on LinkedIn.

You’re ready to start building the foundation for a solid career after college, hopefully one that even remotely aligns with your major and your general interests. But every college student knows what REALLY matters when it comes to securing a summer internship: getting the coolest, highest paying, most prestigious job to absolutely dunk on your chud peers.

As we are all finally entering the world of adulthood, it’s interesting to see what career paths the people you grew up with go down. Little Timmy, who lived across the street from you, is now a finance bro working for his dad’s accounting firm, the girl you had a crush on in middle school is studying botany to grow a ton of weed, and the dumbest guy you knew in high school English is studying to become a brain surgeon.

However, the worst part of seeing people get internships is when you are still waiting to hear back from the 20 you applied to, and all of a sudden, an evil bitch announces they secured one in February.

Like, why is your high school bully becoming a nurse? Can she be trusted? That succubus is the reincarnation of MacKenzie from Dork Diaries, and I do NOT want her digging around in my veins in the future.

Even worse, there’s this girl in your class with a million stickers on her laptop that she just bought off of Amazon. She has the Bible verse 1 Timothy 4:12 in her Instagram bio: “Do not let anyone look down on you because you are young, but be an example for the believers in your speech, your conduct, your love, faith, and purity.” Some of her hobbies include listening to Alex Warren, catching up with the latest episode of AI Fruit Love Island, and calling the nonbinary Starbucks barista who just made her coffee homophobic slurs. She is also soooooo happy to be interning at BlackRock this summer and is so grateful for this opportunity the Lord has granted her!

Don’t be fooled, these evil bitches exist in every sphere imaginable. That one girl in your local community theatre just announced she’s spending the summer in New York City to take PRIVATE dance lessons with Bob Fosse’s long-lost nephew. She’s convinced a scout noticed her from her role as the witch in Into the Woods (she clearly outshone her fellow castmates, who were all 9 years old).

Last but not least, remember that girl from elementary school who claimed that wild animals just had a special connection with her that no one else had? She went to community college to become a veterinarian, but she gave up on that the moment she realized she actually had to learn how to do things like shove your arm up a cow to help it give birth. Now, she’s happy to announce that she’s accepted a summer internship at the local PETA animal shelter as a euthanasia and legal injection trainee!

Why are so many evil bitches securing internships before me, you might be asking yourself? Fear not, dear reader, because most of this probably won’t matter once you graduate.

And, hey, maybe you are that evil bitch securing a summer internship! And there’s nothing wrong with that, it’s evil bitch summer. Just please, please, please don’t post about it on LinkedIn; no one actually cares, and anyone who unironically engages with those posts is already lost in the sea of corporate jobslop.

Missed your department’s scholarship deadline? Don’t worry, Doily’s got your back! Here are some scholarships that are perfect for YOU and YOU only.

• Study Abroad Scholarship for Dance Marathon volunteers with French minors- $8,000.

  • Requirements- Must have been a volunteer in Dance Marathon at least once, have a declared French minor, and have registered to study abroad in Toulouse, France, during the Summer 2028 semester.

• Un Gosse De Riche Scholarship for Naperville natives who haven’t received their weekly allowance yet- $1,000.

  • Requirements- a pinky promise to not spend the money on drugs or alcohol (beer is okay).

• Hatshepsut Scholarship for aspiring Egyptologists who aren’t super sure about it but are definitely considering the career- $1,000,000 cash.

  • Requirements- 4.12+ GPA, have maintained sufficient Maat, must submit a 5-page, single spaced recommendation from at LEAST one Pharaoh or Egyptian royal, as well as an offering of a 2 1/4 year old PURE white calf to the scholarship committee, healthy and not in despair but okay with being sacrificed if necessary (WE WILL CHECK).

• Dunkin’ Donuts Scholarship for those on the Pre-PT track with a history of asthma- $10,000.

  • Requirements- must be on the Pre-PT track, have a history of asthma, and have ordered a strawberry frosted donut from the Dunkin’ Donuts location in Holstein, Iowa any time between February 2-26, 2026, and/or have been to any Dunkin’ Donuts location in the state of Massachusetts within the last two years (must submit a receipt).

• Smith Foundation Scholarship for Geographical and Sustainability Sciences Majors considering proposing to their situationship- $1,000

  • Requirements- must have a declared major in Geographical and Sustainability Sciences, submit substantial evidence of a 2-5 week long situationship, and photos of the ring you’re considering and why. Give us the deets!

• Consolation Scholarship for African American Studies majors- $500, a hug, and a LinkedIn connection request.

  • Requirements- must have declared a major in African American Studies during or before the Fall 2025 semester. Sorry.

• The Ones Who Know™ Scholarship for beginner conspiracy theorists- $200 applied to your tuition over the course of four semesters.

  • Requirements- must submit a 10+ minute video essay on a topic of your choice, cannot be backed by any scientific studies but must have sufficient evidence. Wikipedia is okay.

• Marshall House Scholarship for those who have taken a ghost tour of Savannah, Georgia- $5,000.

  • Requirements- 3.95+ GPA, a 2-3 page essay on your experience and your favorite ghost story. Must be in your own words, we know the ins and outs of every online source you may find to cheat off of and know if you attempt to even reword anything. Don’t try it.

• Delta Upsilon Mu Beta Alpha Sigma Sigma Scholarship for business majors who regret not pledging- $2,500.

  • Requirements- must have a 2.1-3.4 GPA, must win a beer drinking competition between all other applicants. Busch Lite will be supplied and the scholarship committee is NOT responsible for any physical or mental harm inflicted as a result of the process.

• [REDACTED] Scholarship for [REDACTED]- [REDACTED]

  • Requirements - [REDACTED], [REDACTED], must have a [REDACTED].

Happy applying, get that bag!

Dear Doily,

I put my heart and soul into everything I do. 100 percent. All gas; no brakes. This semester I’ve been taking 20 s.h. along with two part time jobs, so one full time job in total. I haven’t had time to do anything. I’ve ignored my friends’ texts about hitting up the bar on a Wednesday night to play pool just so I can get the instant gratification of Canvas confetti for my optional reflection paper.

Stars aligned, I did all my school work, and now that sleeping panda is telling me to recharge.

After all the confetti, I feel nothing now.

My cortisol levels are high. I spent all day yesterday trying to turn everything on time just to see my beloved confetti. Now, I’m starting to wonder who I actually am without all the academic weaponry. This really cute guy has been hitting my line, but my answering hours only exist once I’m done with all my assignments. HE HASN’T RESPONDED!!! I’m also pretty sure all my friends stopped reaching out to me after I ghosted them during midterms. I’ve already submitted one presentation, took an exam, studied for my next exam, and jumpstarted on my final project that’s not due until May. There is absolutely nothing going on for me in the foreseeable future. Who am I without a full Google Calendar. Oh Doily, am I doomed? What NOW???

Sincerely,

Confetti Connoisseur

Dear Confetti Connoisseur,

Let’s consider life is totally not passing you by. It’s Sunday night, but just know you will never be this young again. Maybe respond to your friends’ reels they sent you? Consider what you prioritize most, and don’t burn yourself out. Good thing there’s another week for you to turn in your next assignments. Take a deep breath and remember: there’s 365 11:59 PMs in a year, but only about two cute single guys here at Iowa. Whether you accept the doomed narrative of yourself is up to you.

Yours Truly,

The Doily Allergen

This past Monday, smack-dab in the middle of the Pentacrest where the four paths meet, underneath the cold, bleak, zero-UV clouds, a University of Iowa student was found tanning: limp, almost lifeless, displaying his meaty, hard nipples for everyone to see; however, what was most jarring, most cruel, and most ludicrous about this finding was that he was naked. Completely naked. Naked in the wind, naked, letting the smallest sliver of sun seep into his white skin, naked and letting the wind blow his little pecker from one side to the other, naked, yet not afraid.

Word quickly spread and, soon after, handfuls of students piled around the tanning body, admiring, searching for a reason, and the police soon arrived on the scene. Officer Shane Dyerumper pushed and shoved through the crowd, parting the waves of students with swift force and fervor until, at last, he beheld the chains, anchored and fastened to the ground, and the cuffs, linked to the chains, and then he saw the chains and cuffs were attached to each limb, sprawling the body out and contorting it in a submissive and helpless position, and then he saw that he was clean shaven up and down and wore nothing but pitch-black sunglasses: underneath the glasses was a nose, and then the mouth, and the mouth was slim and neutral, sealed tightly and braced, shrinking, like the rest of his body against the wind, and the longer he examined the body the longer it sat, unbothered yet restless, with nothing moving except his manhood, flapping.

And the flashes, flashes and flashes and the camera shutter and the laughs, young men and women laughing, looking onwards and laughing at his helplessness, and the shade of pink, so sweet like evening hibiscus, flooded on Shane’s face; and the student was chiseled and white, carved out and stoic on the floor, seemingly prepared for the chalk to be outlined, so the officer held the chalk in his hand but he stared and gawked, hands on hips, itching to grab the radio for backup, but his hip dropped and he clutched the chalk in between the pointer and the middle. Laughter, talking, questions floating and buzzing.

What is behind the sunglasses?

Maybe it is the eyes, are they opened or closed? Bloodshot or clear? Brown, blue, hazel; maybe green, amber, or gray? Are the lashes long or short? How dilated are the pupils? Or maybe behind the sunglasses there are oceans to swim in with giant larvaceans, shooting, trapping and rebuilding, rebuilding and consuming; how many times can you check back in on your sustenance, and only your sustenance? What is keeping you alive is the only thing that matters, none of the flashes or the waves peaking out the top which create dizzy swirls and patterns for the light blue blanket and white bubbles to watch, matter. Or maybe there lies blackness behind the pitch-black, blanketing grassy hills and forming thick, wispy dew as the gray clouds that look like veins are painted along and around the yellow moon, a moon that now looks like a yellow eye, and the veins look like blood vessels, caressing and growing swiftly over the eye like thick vines and glaucoma until there is nothing but dew and grass hills that you can’t see. But you can’t see it, so it couldn’t be that.

And they chanted for the sunglasses to be stripped off, thrown to the side, thrown to the crowd who will bobble with the sunglasses and, eventually snap the lenses, the bridge, and the temples to ash, and they will walk away, for there is nothing left to see–

Nothing but his flapping penis, and so everyone will look at his penis, moving and squirming from fierce blows of wind’s mouth, but then they will get bored and leave. So the officer craned his neck and scratched his beard before he began to reach for his sunglasses, and as the temple was clinched with pointer and thumb, he stopped the movement and looked at the body’s penis so he could see if it was moving, and it was moving so he was content. Content with some sign of life, some sign of primal manhood and privacy exposed unabashedly, and he was content with the fact that everyone was deriving some energy out of its presence. There was no crime here.

And so the officer put away the chalk and swam through the crowd, and so they chanted, and they called for help, and they reported the crime, and they inched closer and closer to the body until their shoes touched the chains that were implanted in the ground, and when they collapsed on top of him they laughed and laughed and were very happy, exploding into confetti balls and touching their chests with one hand, leaving another to wave in the air as they rolled around on their backs, laughing and heaving, and then one person cracked the sunglasses.

Then everyone got up and made room to look at what was behind the sunglasses. The eyes were eyes, brown, with small pupils from being exposed to sudden light, and they stared at the clouds. They didn’t twitch when a guy snapped. They didn’t move when a girl waved her fingers. But he was alive. And there was no officer, no legal trouble, so people got bored and they left and he kept tanning, chained to the ground, unwavering, basking underneath a black blanket, harvesting to have something to eat.

At 3:25 PM, Wednesday of last week, something happened to an unnamed student at the end of T. Anne Cleary, the part where it stops feeling like T. Anne Cleary and merges into the dorms. That student was you, and you know it’s you because you’ve been thinking about it ever since.

After your 2:30 lecture, you were walking back to Burge, and someone waved at you. It’s not an uncommon occurrence for you. You’re not incredibly social, but you’ve stumbled your way through enough classes and parties and friend groups that people recognize you. Usually, you recognize them. “That’s Pavo, who lived on the same floor as me in Mayflower.” “That’s Sabrina, who was in the horrible Rhetoric class with me.” “That’s Oliver, who cheated on my roommate’s best friend and who doesn’t know I hate him yet.” But you didn’t recognize this one.

And that’s odd, no? From the way he waved at you, he seems to think you do. You don’t have a poor memory for faces; you could say, as part of an eyewitness account, that you’ve never seen this man. But he was enthusiastic—that was a full smile. He even said your name, took out an earbud to hear your response. So you smiled, you said hello, you waved back, and you walked on. But you didn’t remember his name, or even where he met you.

Night fell. You wondered: how does this man know me? Did you meet in the low light of a house party, drunk on the back steps? Did he sit behind you in a class, where he saw you raise your hand each time, but, eyes ahead, you never saw him raise his? You can’t have spoken much, but what if you had? There is a reality, you thought, in which you fished his name from the aether, in which you traded contacts, in which his presence in the rest of your life became more concrete, more than a shifting face in watercolor. Alas, you thought, the moment has drained into the pipes, and it is moving, moving on.You razed the house his single wave had built in your mind, and he drifted on to haunt another. He is leaves to the wind.

But what if we told you that was truer than you knew? What if we told you that, that evening, this man you met at some point you never knew walked out of his dorm room, across the river, and into the waiting night, to vanish from your world? Would you feel vindicated? Would it satisfy you to know he left the world in the same inconclusive manner he existed within it? Or would you feel a small pang of remorse, deeper than you can find the origin of?

And let you be assured, this cessation of being is not sudden. It is not like a tree falling in a forest, because that implies sudden violence, a moment within seconds where the tree transits from foliage to debris. This is soft and peaceful, like the tongues of deer dipping cautiously into warm water, like bubbles of dish soap popping down the drain, like Benjamin Button growing young. In a share of slow and singing moments, he is gone, and looking in between, you would know he was going, but you wouldn’t have the heart to stop him. It would simply seem to you that “going” is where he was meant to go.

A Hinge notification pops up on your phone.

“Finally,” you think. “Someone wants me.”

As you pull up your “Likes” page, all that dopamine gets sucked out of your body and escapes lifelessly at your feet. This account liked you before. In fact, this account liked you five separate times. You even matched with him once, but he just never said anything. It’s almost sentimental in a way. A pitiful camaraderie.

This is a composite account of numerous stories throughout the Iowa City Hinge community. This man, Trent F. Dickson, keeps reappearing in feeds all across campus. Straight or gay? He’s there. Put your age preferences to men over 30? Trent is there, verified, with a shitty AI age filter.

We at the DI had a hard time tracking Trent down, as this name is not attributed to any UI email. We actually had to hop on Hinge ourselves (the horror) in an effort to match with him, as this was the only way of contacting him. We established contact after matching with Trent, but responses were brief and left us waiting. Below lies the transcript.

DI: Hey! It’s the Doily Allergen. Ik this is so weird but you are kinda like a celebrity on campus. Can we schedule an interview? (Sent 1:00pm.)

DI: Hey! This is the Doily Allergen (again LOL). Just following up. This article is due in a couple days so please let me know! Thank you. (Sent 8:03pm)

Trent: hey u up? (Sent 2:50am)

Trent: wanna hang out? (Sent 3:21am)

DI: Hi. Yes. Hi. Sorry I was sleeping. Yes. Yes I would love to hang out. The interview should not be that long, maybe fifteen minutes of your time. Might be longer though! Thank you. Yes. Can you make it to our studio in Adler? Let me know when, I can make coffee! Please text back soon as the article is due, like, tomorrow. Thank you. (Sent 8:30am)

Doily Allergen has turned off notifications (1:09pm)

Doily Allergen has turned off notifications (10:34pm)

Trent: hey u up? (sent 4:21am)

The DI wishes our readers luck in the hellscape that is modern dating. If they see Trent while swiping, please let him know that his coffee is getting cold.

Following his triumphant return from the land of the dead, the Burge Sign Guy has carefully reviewed his list of those who shall be banished to Hell, and today discovered a major omission: four-eyes. Thankfully, he made haste to correct this error. Long a terror upon all things good and natural in society, four-eyes have finally been recognized by Iowa City’s preeminent prophet as the scourge they are.

As a journalistically neutral organization, The Doily Allergen has no official opinion on the status of speckies. However, any objective reporting must recognize the triumph that it is for such a grand figure as the Sign Guy to finally condemn the disgusting baseness of the four-eyed community. In the hours since this change, every local church—with the exception of the most extreme leftist religious institutions—has issued a statement endorsing the Sign Guy’s messaging.

“While we disagree with His Holiness the Sign Guy on many issues, such as homosexuality, abortion, and trans rights,” wrote the First Antispectacular Protestant Church of Iowa City in an Instagram caption, “we applaud the commitment of the Resurrected Messenger to supporting the omnipresent battle against the corrupting influence of four-eyes on our world. His justice must be echoed across all of Christendom.”

At the Sign Guy’s latest signholding, a Doily Allergen reporter bore witness to a speckie attempting to engage the Guy in a debate. The results were as predictable as they were joyous. The Sign Guy, blessed by God through his resurrection to cast divine judgment upon the sinful, spoke but one word: “Shatter.”

Immediately, the four-eyes’ glasses broke into a hundred pieces, cutting into the grim creature’s skin and drawing blood as they fell to the ground. Even the metallic frames were rent apart and crushed beneath the Sign Guy’s boot a moment later. The speckie was left sobbing and blubbering as she fell to her knees, grasping about to compensate for her lack of vision. The human beings at the scene all broke out into applause, whooping and cheering for the celestial act they had just observed.

We reached out to the Sign Guy for comment, but he simply showed us his sign, pointing with both satisfied glee and noble power at the new addition. It speaks for itself in its glory.

Dear Doily,

I once thought it was easy, laughably so, to decide who the hottest priest ever put to screen is. Since the release of season 2 of Fleabag in 2019, it’s been so obvious! The Priest is CLEARLY the best one to ever grace our screens. That sense of security was all destroyed by the 2025 release of Wake Up Dead Man.

I have spent the months since its release agonizing over who now holds the spot of hottest priest. Is it The Priest? Father Judd? Monsignor Wicks? Daddy Judd could wake up this dead man, but I would roll away the brain rock itself to be with Monsignor Wicks. And The hot, sexy Priest could burn my bush any day! I’d love for any (or all) three to crack open this tomb.

I cannot for the life of me decide which is best, and with Easter upon us, I have to call in the big guns. Doily, who is hottest hot priest?

Tired and Frazzled,

Hotpriestfucker

Dear Hotpriestfucker,

That is quite the predicament you have there. We take this query with the utmost seriousness, as it is a topic that is no easy feat to discern. The best way for us to find out who’s the hottest is to ask our writers their opinion and then pit them against each other in a debate/gladiator style contest.

Now that the dust has settled and blood has been spilt, here is what we have decided: In the case of hot priests, the hottest and most clear winner was Father Judd! The sexy boxing stance, the earnestness, the hope for the future? What’s not sexy about that? Next up at second-hottest is The Priest from Fleagbag. Despite not having a name, plenty of our writers wanted a hot priest to read their bible and make them call out to God. At third and least hottest is Monsignor Wicks. Sadly, you were not in good company, as not enough of our writers had absent fathers in their lives. Though the last two were surprisingly close. So a few absent fathers.

We hope we have been able to shed some light on your difficult predicament.

Yours Truly,

The Doily Allergen

Picture this: you’re sitting alone at a bar, enjoying a crisp Angry Orchard (please sponsor us), and some asshole starts disturbing your peace. Awesome, right? Who needs silent reflection? Not this girl! Sitting alone at a bar is an invitation, and he’s hitting RSVP baby! Hey, at least you don’t really have to do anything, he’s talking enough for the both of you! But that’s because he knows you. Like, really knows you. As a matter of fact, he knows you better than you know yourself.

Sure. Like okay, sure. Whatever man. Obviously no one knows you better than you. No one knows your next move or how much you love Angry Orchard Crisp Imperial Hard Cider.

Except this guy.

We interviewed the man on campus, Tom Marvolo “Bloodhound” Riddle.

Tom is an expert in “the art of knowing.” He identifies as an “insightful empath” but not a psychic. “I thought about getting into crystal balls, readings, and all that stuff, but I get way more girls this way.” When asked if he considered himself clairvoyant, he said he “doesn’t know anyone named Claire.”

Isn’t he such a charmer?

Tom first realized he had this gift last semester. “I saw this girl sitting all by herself at one of those small tables along the wall at TCB’s. I was just drawn to her, ya know?” No Tom, not really. “Anyway, I started talking to her and asked her how her rumspringa was going. She freaked out. She was like ‘oh my god how did you know I’m on rumspringa???’ like I just knew!”

Tom graciously allowed us to observe his interactions this past weekend, while we took detailed notes.

Thursday, March 26th, 8:00 PM:

Dear Diary,

Here we sit, collectively sipping on an ice-cold Angry Orchard. It’s a beautiful night, and Riddle is simply buzzing with excitement. He hasn’t locked in on anyone yet.

Hold that thought. He appears to be locked in on someone now. She’s sitting alone and clearly busy, maybe doing homework. Headphones on. Surely he’ll leave her alone?

Wrong. Swear he just said: “She’s got a real ‘woe is me vibe’ I gotta get over there.”

This poor girl.

Oh my poot, get a load of this. We thought he was just going to approach her but he stopped at the jukebox and turned on One Less Lonely Girl. Yeah. Okay okay he’s walking up to her now.

Looks like he’s doing alright… She hasn’t thrown her drink in his face, yet. Wait, she just hugged him??? She’s laughing at something he said?? Oh my god she just kissed him on the cheek?????

Riddle has returned.

He said, and we quote, “Don’t let anyone tell you it’s weird how much you love magic. Sleight of hand IS sexy. Jesse Eisenberg was super hot in Now You See Me 2.” And that’s when she hugged him. Then he “offered to be her assistant.” Because, “I’d let that girl saw me in half.” We would too, though.

Anyway, then he said, “Not many girls can pull off the top hat and bowtie combo, but on you, my dear, it’s magical.” So that’s when she kissed him on the cheek.

MY DEAR???? Aca-scuse us???

Like, she gave him her number. He’s texting her right now. They’re doing the “we’re so cute we text each other from across the room even though we’re with other people.” Barf. They keep looking up at each other and giggling. What’s so funny!!

Right is left. Up is down. What the poot is going on????

There he goes, ditching us for some hot magician. Maybe she’ll saw him in half.

Whatever, man. We’re leaving.

Friday, March 27th, 10:45 PM:

Dear Diary,

Joining Riddle a little later tonight. Yesterday was a bit too taxing, and we need our beauty sleep.

We are perched on the curb tonight, observing Riddle as he “works the line” at Sports Column.

He’s killing tonight. Fit is fresh. Eyebrows on fleek. Is that contour?? Okay Riddle!! We see you!!

He is approaching a group of baddies in line now. Oh, he’s in the zone. It’s magical watching him work. We think we’re falling for Riddle.

What the hell?? Lock in. Journalistic Integrity.

So Riddle’s approaching this group of baddies. It’s four or so girls who appear to be with their boyfriends. The boyfriends all have at least a foot on Riddle, but he’s not backing down. There he stands, chopping it up with all four of them. This guy knows how to work a crowd.

Riddle’s leaving now. Four baddies on his arm. Boyfriends are dumbstruck. Our socks are blown off. The entire line is actually clapping. What a legend.

It’s 1:30 AM now. We’ve moved to a nearby porch because that curb was not good for our knees. Several Angry Orchards deep. Man those things sure are good.

Riddle’s back. He’s wearing a bald cap? Covered head to toe in blue paint. Damn he looks good. Sorry. What the hell is going on?

Mr. Steal Your Girl over here starts spewing this insane story. Riddle and the baddies left with him after he asked if they wanted to “form our own Blue Man Group.”

They went to his apartment, got all blue, put on bald caps, and performed Drumbone.

The four baddies were Blue Man Group superfans. They invited him to their private performance in Las Vegas this summer.

This experience has taught us a lot. Mainly that we need to get a grip. Also, this guy knows you better than you know yourself. We wish you well Tom, and we thank him for letting us experience the magic. We are in love with you. And you, man, know your place. You do not know her better than she knows herself. Only Tom does.

Disclaimer: The following anecdotal report has been shared by a University of Iowa student who has suffered trauma from the incident they speak of here. We applaud them for their bravery and courage to speak. We thank them for agreeing to this interview and for trusting us with this sensitive story of theirs by engaging in this dialogue. We ask every reader to please respect their privacy at this time if you know or think you know this victim. The following story is transcribed from an audio recording.

Doily Allergen: How are you feeling today?

Anonymous: I’m feeling better than usual today, feeling ready to share what I have to say with the world.

DA: Good, good. We’ll let you have the floor.

A: I’m a University of Iowa student, and part of the reason why I reached out to the Doily was to spread awareness to students like me in particular about what can sometimes go on at the Food for Thought Café. My day starts like any other day. I go to class, sit in the sun for a bit, then I go to the Main Library. I go to the Café and I order an iced lavender chai latte, I sit down, and that’s when it started. I’m sitting at one of those high chairs that face away from the Café, and that day I just so happened to have forgotten my AirPods, so I couldn’t listen to music to block out people’s conversations while studying.

DA: And what did you exactly hear, if you don’t mind me asking?

A: The first thing I overhear is something about giraffes, about how they have the longest neck in the animal kingdom, and I really like talking about animals, so I turn my head around and there were these two freshman-looking boys sitting by one of the high tables in the middle of the Café. Both white, tall, lanky, I think. I try to go back to studying but, unfortunately, I have a little bit of an eavesdropping habit. I can’t stop listening once I start. The next thing I hear from one of the boys is some sort of joke about how their girl’s neck is longer than a giraffe’s, obviously trying to be funny with some sort of sexual joke. And from there it got worse.

DA: How so?

A: They started talking about how they recently stole one of their friend’s condoms and poked a super obvious, big hole in the condom so their friend would see it the next time he had sex with his girlfriend. They said they did it because they didn’t like their friend’s girlfriend and their friend had recently thought that his girlfriend had been trying to babytrap him, so, they saw this as an opportunity to degrade his girlfriend’s character so he would break up with her.

DA: Wow.

A: Mind you, one of them didn’t even have a backpack. The other one was on his phone. I don’t know why they were even sitting in the library talking about this. Why would they even want to be in the library?

DA: Right.

The Doily reporter cracks a smile. Both the Doily reporter and the anonymous interviewee start laughing together.

A: Oh, that’s hilarious, man. Oh. Anyways, after the babytrap conversation one of them had started talking about this girl he was going to see that night, but what was confusing me was they were talking about a girl who had a different name from his previously aforementioned “girlfriend.” And just about the time I was wondering if I had misheard the girlfriend’s name the other guy had said, “But what about [REDACTED]?” And that’s when it all clicked. He was cheating on his girlfriend.

DA: Daaammmnnnnnnnn…

A: Right? Apparently he was going to the gym with this girl and telling his girlfriend that he was going to the gym with a friend, and that after he was done with the gym he was just going to his friend’s house to do whatever and hang out. I know this because the other guy had said, “She still think you’re going to the gym?” It’s like they reinforce each other, these little cockroaches, they latch onto each other and reinforce their mistreatment of people while simultaneously disrespecting themselves and the world around them as well. Their conversation was so captivating–it was like a car crash. I couldn’t stop listening in the same way you can’t look away.

DA: And what was the moment when you realized you had to drop your studying and completely focus on their conversation?

A: Probably when they were talking about the house party they went to last week. They were talking about some girl throwing up all over one of their new white t-shirts and how the host had sent the girl home for getting a little bit of throw-up on his shoes. Poor girl. And that reminds me, right after the guy who had gotten vomited on told that story he said, “I’m wearing that white t-shirt right now, man,” and the other guy replies, “I mean, looks clean to me,” and they both started laughing. Bro. I mean, if you clean it, you clean it but how was he able to stop the vomit from staining the shirt so quickly? That’s what I wanna know. He must have ran home and run it under some cold water and put on some baking soda real quick. That’s dedication right there.

DA: Mhm. So, why exactly was this the worst conversation of all time, then?

A: Let me tell you why. It’s because I couldn’t get any work done. The conversation was filled with so much bullshit, so much gossip, that I simply couldn’t get any work done. I had a rhetoric essay due that day, too, and as a result of that conversation I had to turn it in late and my grade suffered because of that. That can’t be happening. That’s why it was the worst conversation ever, because why are you talking about this type of stuff in the library when you know full well that people are trying to get work done without using noise-cancelling headphones to block out the noise. Some people like the ambience of the library, okay, I mean, I’m not one of them because I listen to music when I work, but I know some people who do.

DA: Oh! And I think that’s all the time we have for today. Thank you for sharing your story with us.

The anonymous interviewee was then grabbed from behind by two muscular Doily staff members and dragged out, screaming, kicking and shouting in the process, saying, “What happened? I thought I was in the middle of an interview here?” We realized that we had been bamboozled, however. While the conversation may not have been traumatic in the traditional sense, it certainly may have been traumatic to the interviewee’s grades in the sense that their focus was diverted from what was important in the moment: their schoolwork. Remember to bring noise-cancelling headphones or to go to a secluded, quiet area next time you study at the library, or you might end up like our interviewee: gossipy, nosy, unfocused, and failing all their classes (yes, we did a background check).

In a shocking 8-1 decision, the Highest Court has declared frat weddings meet the constitutional requirements of matrimony, granting full legal recognition to ceremonies conducted in crowded basements between rounds of beer pong.

Under the Court’s new framework, key elements of a valid frat wedding include:

• An officiant who has seen at least three episodes of Better Call Saul

• A first kiss with way too much tongue

• Documentation of the event (exclusively via blurry Snapchat videos with captions like “NO WAY 💀💀” )

• A bouquet toss replaced by hurling a dead Geek bar into a crowd of disoriented witnesses

• A legally binding “wyd?” text sent within 24 hours to reaffirm the union

Justices noted that vows beginning with “I swear, bro” are “not ideal, but sufficiently binding when repeated twice.” Additionally, the Court emphasized that “chanting ‘KISS! KISS! KISS!’ constitutes a form of collective witnessing long recognized in Anglo-American law.”

In his dissent, Brett Kavanaugh—drawing heavily from his own fraternity-era understanding of matrimonial law—warned that if the majority’s standard were applied consistently, he himself would be “legally married at least seven, possibly eight times, depending on whether Chi O’s Winter Formal counted.”

Iowa’s own Barb Wilson has generously offered the guest room of the President’s Mansion for any newlyweds who want to consummate their relationship with a Hawkeye twist.

The Iowa City International Documentary Film Festival (ICDOCS) celebrates its return to Iowa City for its 21st year. ICDOCS is a student-run experimental documentary film festival running from April 23rd through the 26th. With completely free admission, ICDOCS welcomes all who love avant-garde cinema and want to expand their horizons of non-fiction filmmaking.

“Each year that we run this festival it has gotten bigger, more ambitious as students’ ideas about community outreach grow,” says Festival Director Laura Gede. “Bringing together the Iowa City community over free international cinema is an immense joy and I can’t wait to share what our class and collaborators have put together.”

ICDOCS:

• Will feature 8 competitive shorts screenings, a collaborative screening with Bijou and Film Scene of documentary filmmaker Khalik Allah’s films, a talk with Khalik Allah at the Stanley Art Museum, the Open Screen Film Festival of community and student work, a late night screening and DJ set at FilmScene, coffee talks with visiting filmmakers, two juror screenings from JJ Martinod and Anna Hogg, and a special screening from filmmaker Rhayne Vermette.

• Ran by students of the University of Iowa

• Completely free admission to the public*
  *All FilmScene screenings will be Pay What You Can with the option for free tickets

ICDOCS will open at FilmScene at the Chauncey theater on April 23rd, and continue to host screenings throughout the weekend on campus at the University of Iowa.

ICDOCS Contact information:
Laura Gede, Festival Director
icdocs@gmail.com
https://icdocs.wordpress.com/

Community Outreach Team:
adamsaudrey041@gmail.com
gmopiazza@icloud.com
12madgin@gmail.com

Carmen Snow, president of the Hunger Games franchise, IS the head honcho of Geese the band the bird. GOOSE the band the bird came to Iowa City in order to spread their tasty jams, not the paste for bread. They were hosted by GFA (Goose Fellas Anonymous), which turned out to be a million geese.

Geese are an evil species. When the fallen angel crashed into Earth, just before he broke the crust and fell deeper, into the bottomless bowels of hell, he plucked one fingernail from his pinky and tossed it to the nearest dinosaur. That dinosaur? Yeah. That became a goose.

This is why Carmon discusses the existence of God in his song “$0,” where at the end he says, “God is real.”

EDITOR’S NOTE: Our sincerest apologies, readers. Cameron Winter of the band Geese broke into Doily headquarters and wrote this article. We decided to post it, as it is a truly insightful look into the male mind, and tomorrow we will be posting his home address and phone number.

A damning report was just released by the College of Public Health, placing Iowa as second in the United States in terms of cancer rates. Polk County, the Des Moines metropolitan area, and various other rural communities remain most affected. Oncologists are blaming the leakage of hog manure and chemical runoff, which contaminates local aquifers.

In response to this controversy, Agricultural students will now have to drink 6oz of chemical pesticides to “build up tolerance and to familiarize themselves with the chemicals they spray on America’s food.” Students are expected to take their rations by drinking a regular cup of Iowa City Water, or they can stand under an active crop duster for at least 15 seconds. The same amount of exposure should be derived from both activities.

Students in Iowa’s limited Agricultural programs have mixed feelings on the change. One made their disgusts known on the 3 person Ag GroupMe, but the other two seemed way too excited to mix their chemical sludge with the syrups from Clinton Street Market.

This new program will substitute 3 credit hours from the Chemical and Bioengineering requirements of all Agricultural disciplines, with the College of Public Health hoping to implement these changes in the fall semester of 2026.

拝啓 (Dear) Doily-sama,

I (26 M) am a very private person. I’m an only child, so I’ve lived by myself for my whole life, and I’m very used to having my own space. I’ve always been quiet and more of an indoors person.

I took a few gap years after finishing high school while I figured out what I wanted to do with my limitless possibilities. I ended up deciding on Computer Science, since I’ve always wanted to make my own video games, with a minor in Asian Languages and Literature, emphasizing Japanese, since I want to live in Japan one day. My family has been very proud and supportive of this decision, so they’ve offered to pay my tuition and costs, along with a $500 monthly allowance for me to save or spend, to improve my skills with money. However, despite my protests, they agreed that it would be best for me to live in the dorms with a roommate for my first year.

My “roommate” (19 M), who I put in air quotes because he was almost never around until recently, is very different from me. He’s very social, and while I initially thought we would connect over our shared interest in Asian culture, it quickly became clear to me that his interest in anime was limited to entry-level work like Cowboy Bebop and Ghost in the Shell, with little interest in hidden gems like I Became a Gardener with 100 Girlfriends in Another World or My Little Sister Can’t Be This Cute.

In the early days, he would often bring people over to watch films (he’s in Nursing, but has a film minor) and play board games, but I asked him to stop, as I felt they were intruding on my personal space. He seemed sympathetic and agreed, and asked if we could work out a schedule, where he could have some time with the room. Since all of my friends are online, and, again, I’m a very private person, I felt a little attacked, and refused. He seemed upset, but after a long explanation from me about my life and needs, said that he could work something out and didn’t bring it up again.

Over time, my “roommate” stopped being around. He got a girlfriend, who I initially feared he would bring over and flaunt to me, but this turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as he began to stay over at her place often. In his absence, I decided to make the room my own. When I ran out of room for clothes and decorations, I began putting things on the floor. Since he wasn’t using his desk, I started placing my anime figures there (not much room on my desk with my triple monitor surround sound setup), and I covered our walls with traditional Japanese art and anime posters (I figured he would actually like this, since he claims to be an artist). I wouldn’t have done all this if he were here often, but, again, he only really came back to sleep.

A month into the spring semester, my “roommate” started being around more and more. He demanded I move my figures off his desk, and that I move some of my clothes to make space for his in the closet. When I asked why the sudden change, he confessed that he’d broken up with his girlfriend recently, and that he was going to be around more. Ever since, he’s been extremely rude to me, moving my belongings without consent and playing music loudly while I practice Japanese or, as I will explain more about later, masturbate.

About a week ago, my “roommate” came to me, looking extremely aggressive and irate. I bowed to him (as it is a sign of respect in many countries), even though I had no reason to do so after his recent actions. He demanded that I clean up the room by myself (even though we agreed to split responsibilities at the start of the year), start going to bed at midnight, and stop staying in the room all the time. Then, he began sex-shaming me, saying I turned the room into my “goon cave” and that if I didn’t stop masturbating, he would bring it to the university.

I was, of course, shocked by this and didn’t really understand how to respond. I calmly explained to my “roommate” that this was my space as well as his, and that putting all of the responsibility for the room on me after being absent from the room for so long was unfair. I particularly objected to his characterization of my sexual habits, which seemed much too personal. Though it’s nobody’s business, I don’t actually masturbate that much: only three times a day, with a longer session in the evening sometimes before I go to bed. Masturbation is, of course, healthy and normal, but my “roommate” framed it in such a negative light.

After this incident of harassment, I consulted my Heian period texts, devised a mystic Japanese seal to bar my “roommate” entry to our dorm, and pasted it to our door, with an explanation in English for his uncultured mind. I did this for my own safety. However, I’m wondering if I’ve gone too far this time. Was I the asshole here?

敬具 (Sincerely),

Iowa-san

Dear Iowa-san

NTA. Your goon cave, your rules.

Your Truly,

The Doily Allergen

A new location of conservative Christian chicken corporation Chick-fil-A had its grand opening today at the Iowa Memorial Union, where it plans to serve all followers of Jesus the tender flesh of the blessed poultry, divinely deep-fried in the blood of Christ, until the day of the Second Coming—but not until the Lord Himself gets a chance to try their grub.

The event was proudly sponsored by the Iowa Young Americans for Freedom (YAF), which forbids its membership to eat at any establishment deemed “too woke,” such as Luna’s Tacos, Sumo, or Masala. (The connection between these examples is unclear.)

YAF spokesman Buffman Gaylord said in a statement to the press, “We at Iowa YAF are real men proud of our white and straight heritage, and therefore we’re honored to sponsor any establishment that bravely battles against the homosexual agenda. Please, if there’s any more homophobic food out there, we’d love to sponsor you. We’re literally on our knees begging to slurp up your delicious, delicious homophobic food. Please, Father, please, we’ll be good boys.” (It is further unclear what was meant by this.)

The event was met with protest from some members of the far left, however—but not for the reasons you might expect.

“I just don’t think Chick-fil-A has it in them to serve it the ocky way,” protester Tristan Chickensworth told us in an interview. “They’re just not ock-core, y’know? I have never seen them ockmaxxing.”

Meanwhile, local LGBTQIA+ rights group and restaurant industry workers’ association EAT (Everyone Accepts Taste) raised other concerns.

“We are of the opinion that this Chick-fil-A should have been an Auntie Anne’s instead, or perhaps a Bass Pro Shop. Iowa YAF and Homophobic Food, Inc. [Chick-fil-A’s parent company and a major YAF donor] do not represent the interests of Iowa City’s residents, who generally prefer to eat pretzels or fishing supplies, both of which are inherently gay, we think. We’ll get back to you on that one,” EAT wrote in a statement on social media.

As of now, the University of Iowa has made no announcement regarding protesters’ concerns. When asked directly, however, an anonymous university president associated with the institution uttered but three words: “We like money.”