Student Athletes on their Electric Scooters: “Get out of the Way, you Fat Fucks.”
Using our legs is a tribulation suffered only by us mere mortals. Those above us–our saviors–are not forced to walk the face of the earth. Of course, we are talking about University of Iowa student athletes. Instead, they have the privilege of riding around on their university-provided electric scooters, or e-scoots, as the snowflake libs call them.
You may have seen it: a student athlete on a mission, zooming through Iowa City on their e-scoot. The distance between Power Cafe and BUS:6900 (Covering Up Sex Scandals in the Workplace) is no easy trek, one that can only be traversed on scooter. There’s only one problem, however: you.
With such a tragic case on our hands, our top reporters set out to get to the bottom of this issue. Iowa basketball god Connor McFlurry outlined his thoughts for us.
“Daddy stopped paying for our limousine service, so now I’m forced to get around using my e-scoot,” McFlurry said. “It’s just not fair! And fat people are constantly in the way. Why don’t they move? I’m more important than you! I’ve got places to be!”
“They’re all fat?”
“They’re all fat! Being fat is bad. No one wants to be fat. And don’t hang around fat people, they’ll make you fat. Being fat is a choice, as well. If you’re fat it means you’re lazy and you don’t exercise or work out or play children’s games that grown men pay to watch like me.”
We ended the interview. But that wasn’t the end of this story for us. We knew exactly where to go to find our next student athlete. We managed to squeeze in an interview with Iowa quarterback god Spencer Peestain at Studio 13.
“Are you really so lazy you have to walk everywhere?” Peestain said. “Just the other day, I was late to my fudge-packing class because the untouchables wouldn’t move. Why don’t they have scooters? Can’t your daddies just buy you one?”
Our interview with Peestain was unfortunately cut short because everyone in Studio 13 began frotting at that moment and Peestain felt the urge to join.
We tried to interview an Iowa baseball god, but because we couldn’t show proof that we were indoctrinated into the Church of Donald Trump on January 6, we were unworthy of approaching any of the players.
With our tails between our legs, we got on the bus to go home, but guess who the driver was! That’s right! Iowa basketball god Caitlin Fart! We begged to interview her about the issue, but she informed us that she was, in fact, a woman. We didn’t know this. We don’t think anyone knew this. Isn’t the only reason people actually go to women’s basketball games is because they think it’s all men on the court? I mean, it’s in the name: woMEN’s basketball. What do people watch sports for if it’s not large, sweaty men playing slap and tickle? Turns out all of the members of the women’s basketball team are women, and none of them are provided with e-scoots.
Feeling like we hit a dead end, we nearly gave up. But wait! If no one cares about women’s sports, then how do the female athletes get around? That’s it! Rowboats! We knew exactly where to go, but it wasn’t going to be pretty. Our editor advised us against it, but we knew we had to do it for the sake of the story. So, we undertook the perilous journey to Mayflower Residence Hall. Only in the pits of Mayflower can one find the Iowa Rowing Team.
We were forced to answer a riddle, fend off a three-headed dog, and politely inform Salt Co. that we weren't interested in attending Bible study this week. Not until then were we able to stand before the Rowing Team.
“Speak, you insignificant, yet totally credible news reporter,” every member said in unison.
“Thank you, my great rowers,” we said. “Your fellow student athletes have lamented about mere mortals like myself trodding the earth without respect to your grace. How does the Rowing Team overcome this catastrophe?”
“If thou seekest answers, thou must prove thyself worthy of such wisdom.”
“Yes, of course! We’ll do whatever it takes!”
“Join us on our next voyage. If you can evince sanction from us upon completion of the expedition, then you may receive the answer you so yearn.”
And the next morning, the Doily Allergen staff was working as galley slaves for the Iowa Rowing Team. It was a long journey down the Iowa River through fierce storms. Our rowing was cut short, however, by a crash. We climbed to the deck to find the vessel beached on a river bank. The rowing team had abandoned ship due to the dangerous conditions. We were left stranded in the middle of nowhere. The sun would set soon and we needed to find shelter. Fortunately, there was a large cave a few paces down the beach, and we quickly retreated into it.
Our repose was brief because further down the cave, we could hear a large beast approaching us. It was too dark to make out its figure, but from the magnitude of its stomps and the deepness of its breath, we knew we were in over our heads. As the beast entered the light, it revealed itself to be the horrifying, one-eyed giant, its existence rumored only in folklore: the terrible wrestler Cyclops Spencerleemus.
“Hungry!” Spencerleemus groaned. “Must feast on fat people!”
“No! Nooo! O, great Spencerleemus,” we said. “Forgive us for our intrusion! We are in search of an answer to your quarrels.”
“I have trouble seeing you. Do you walk on two legs like a lazy fuck going nowhere in life? Or did you peak in high school?”
“We peaked in high school! We peaked in high school!”
“I see no e-scoots nor Iowa athletic backpacks with the sport you play on the back. How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“We’re all business and finance majors, our parents are extremely rich and they bought our way here, and we each have at least one kid that we neglect!”
“Hmm… that is acceptable. I see you truly are student athletes. You may leave my cave with your lives.”
“Thank you, great Spencerleemus!”
We walked our asses back to Iowa City. And after all we had gone through, we gave up. There really is no understanding student athletes. Just let them be. Don’t bother them, we beg you.