4/20

Cornell Frats to Lower Maximum Rice Purity Scores Amid Rise in Sexual Activities 

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The Cornell Interfraternity Council has recently announced a dramatic change in their application process — in an effort to maintain their reputation of exclusivity, the IFC has voted unanimously to lower the maximum acceptable Rice Purity Test score to 30. Since 2008, it has become standard for fraternities and sororities to administer a “Rice Purity Test” for their new recruits. Comprising a list of 100 activities — from “held hands romantically” to “engaged in bestiality” — the Rice Purity Test was originally meant to be used for research purposes at Rice University. However, in more recent years, it has become the go-to measure for finding out if potential pledges are cool or not. 

According to a manufactured data set, the average acceptance score at Cornell fraternities was approximately 50/100 in previous years. But due to the rise of apps such as Tinder, Grindr and Gradescope, students claim it has never been easier to get fucked.

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SEX ON THURSDAY | Lao Tze and The Art of Post-Coital Banter

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The date itself was great. As recent Ivy grads living in New York do, we met on Hinge, the millennial’s go-to catalog of both eligible and ineligible singles. The digital prelude consisted of playful digs atCornell and Columbia’s sports programs, obligatory “Fuck Trump” talk and our shared affection for the filmography of Marty Scorcese. After a few days of feigned interest in her gap year in Italy (“ugh im soo jealous – ive always heard naples is beautiful”) and mutual social media vetting, we agreed to meet at a ramen joint in the East Village. 

She happened to live a few blocks away (what a convenient coincidence), so we went back to her place to smoke some medicinal reefer. And after a joint and nine minutes of Scorcese’s criminally underappreciated 2011 masterpiece Hugo, we found our way to her bedroom where, without too much detail (basically – me on top, her on top, me on top, sideways, me from the back, concluding with an unironic congratulatory high-five) and with the clarity of hindsight, I can confidently say we enjoyed one of the three greatest sexual experiences of my life. 

Sweaty and spread-eagled on her bed, we passed each other a Menthol Juul, listening to Daniel Caesar’s romantic banalities humming in the background.

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SEX ON THURSDAY | Masquerade of the Red Death

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I couldn’t tell what caused it initially, but everyone was sexier when I came back to campus after an endless summer of quarantine. Certainly some of this was attributed to my pent-up isolation lust, but there was an added x-factor that really churned my butter. Never before have I thought such a vast number of people were attractive as I twiddled my thumbs, six-feet-apart, in the arrival test line. That is, until I recollected my childhood crushes: Zorro, the Phantom of the Opera, Mrs. Incredible, and Hannibal Lecter. All of them wore masks.

Sex on Thursday

SEX ON THURSDAY | I’m a Brat, and You Might be Too

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Not unlike a miserably small man maintaining a Napoleon complex to counter his stunted stature, I, a small Asian girl, have always harbored a tendency to offset the likely impression of myself as quietly obedient and accommodating with behavior indicating the total opposite.

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SEX ON THURSDAY | Eat, Pray, F***: The Garden of Culinary Delights

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Seeing a partner lay nude before you like a Thanksgiving meal is a heavenly sight — especially if there is actually a Thanksgiving meal smothered across their body. In my case, it was a generous layer of honey, whipped cream and peanut butter. Synesthesia ran rampant as the sensations of sustenance and sensuous touch were blurred. With every kiss came a taste of sweetness and when we’d roll around it was like two pieces of bread being slapped together to make a slippery sandwich. When I slouched I felt like that vine of the peanut butter baby and my sheets looked like Willy Wonka and all his Oompa Loompas collectively combusted, but it was somehow still hot, like a sriracha-drenched jalapeño popper.